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.
St. James, ground zero of the recent riots and mutinies, and Westminster, where Parliament cowers behind the few guards paid well enough to remain loyal, are open for quality tourists it seems. We wonder if Mrs Turner and Joyce do share Sam's taste for the lingering sweet smell of cordite and fresh blood.
And Monk's in town! A huge event, awaited in suspense for weeks, as his progress was charted from town to town and his intentions speculated upon. Viz, by our friend Venetian ambassador Francesco Giavarina in his weekly dispatch of January 30 (at http://www.british-history.ac.uk/…)
"What Monch's plans may be when he reaches London is not disclosed and remain hidden and doubtful. It is probable that he has something at the back of his mind as in spite of the answer received London will not make any declaration until he comes. The city has also this day sent three of the common council to meet and congratulate him. This serves to augment the suspicions of parliament which apparently does not want Monch to advance as far as London with his forces, which are all devoted to him, but to establish his quarters some distance out. But if, as is argued, he cherishes secret intentions of raising himself to the supreme post, especially now Lambert has fallen, who alone could stand in his way, he will never allow himself to be separated from his men. That there is something of this kind is accredited by the report now circulating that he will not take quarters at Whitehall but has hired a house in London. If this be true there is certainly a secret understanding between him and the city, and it will soon come to light. It may be that he will allow parliament to sit for some months longer to draw them more easily into the snares which he may be spreading for them."
Giavarina's letter also supplies useful background on the Rump: for it is rumpish indeed: "These [dissensions] are more likely to occur as there are serious differences among the parliamentarians themselves. Of the 40 or 50 at most now taking part, out of over 400 that there ought to be, there are three or four parties, so it is easy to see in what confusion affairs are here and how little one can foresee." 40 or 50 is a bit more than a clique, but a Parliament it aint.
"But those [apprentices] that they took, they [the Guildhall constables] ware very severe to them, for that they cut many of them and striped almost naked, for they did use these more creueley for excamples sake; for the army trooper ware very fearefull least the Citty would have risen that night in regard that Lord Gen. Monck was to com into towne the next day, hee lyinge so neere London with his army."
Rugg is a bit hazy on how the "five untoward regiments" of drunk infantry that eventually mutinied were brought under control, but of course they were, because "in all these disorders of the souldiers the horse never made any show of a muteney". It seems cavalry is more reliable; perhaps better paid, since the (expensive) horses under them won't be as disposed to wait 3 years to be fed? However, "pray take notis that these muteninges in London did so much fright the Parliment that, on that night whe[n] it was they sent 1 messenger 3 times to hasten Lord Generall Monck away."
"Now the next morninge [today, then] that muteney in St. James Feilde worked in the heads of another regiment of foot, which was quartred in Sumersett House. (...) Also, in Saulsbury Cort there ware another muteny in on of the companys which did belonge to that regiment att Sumersett House. (...) [As] the Captaine rebuked them, they tooke theire coulers and tore them in peeces, and beate the poore Captaine and kicked him, and wore the peeces of theire coulers in there hatts, and came back to Sumersett House. And this action of that company made the rest of the regiment make a full stop, and swore they would not sture one foot. Not one of the officers durst speake for feare of being kicked or worse. They had 14 or 15 weeks behind of their pay. That day the spent in this mutenie and att night they stood by Sumersett House Gate, and coatches came by; they stoped them and asked if any of the Rump was theire. Others cryed out for a free Parliment; others of them cryed out for King Charles the Second. Many ware drunk that night of them, for they did not want those that would speare mony for to raise theire dull soules into an absolute madness, for the aprentises of London did back them one, and tould som that [they] could trust that they would rise in the Citty that night, and that Generall Monck was for them and a free Parliment which would produce a kinge and liberty."
Cue the rabble of city 'prentices:
"Now the aprentises of London was not worse then their words, for that night that the muteney was at Sumersett House they did what did lye in theire power to promote a rising in the Citty, in so much that one hundred and ode was goten into Leadenhall and ware in armes, such as they could gett for the present, expectinge that more would rise in severall places in the Citty. Now the gards that ware upon the gard att the Guildhall, haveinge notis of theire beeinge att Leadenhall, hasted theither and brake the gates open and entred the hall and tooke 3 or 4 score of them, for the rest made escapes over houses and the like conveninceys."
As it happens we have at our disposal a highly graphic and detailed Relation of that one-man mutiny. The source is "The Diurnall of Thomas Rugg", who kindly excerpted and rewrote the Mercurius Politicus, the main news-booke until the Gazette will appear, from 1659 all the way to 1672. This treasure of course not unknowne to us but newly found to be available from Cambridge University Press at Cambridge University Press, doi:10.1017/S2042171000000406, and paywalled but for less than we'd readily pay for a dishe of anchovies and some oysters.
Soe then, as related at page 34 of said Diurnall. As it happens, the mutiny didn't start today, but was simmering since last night:
"A[t] this time that regiment of foote once Lord Lambertts was drawne up in St. James Feild, and one of the officers strook a common soulder for some ofronts that the soulder gave the officer. The souldier with the but end of his [gun] strok the officer on the heade, that hee fel to the ground, and upon that the souldiers with one consent dinied to goe to theire gardes, and said they would have mony first and that they would see theire officers hanged first eare they would march without mony, nither would they goe to their gards. Some cried, Lett us hang up our officers; som said, Letts teare theire cloathes from of theire backs and stript them naked, and they with on consent marched a small distance from there coulors. The Colonell came and intreated them and within an houer or two they was a littl apased by great promises; they that night marched to there gards and quarters."
It's one of Lambert's regiment that mutinies, what a surprise.
The minutes of the Council of State's meeting for today (summary at https://books.google.fr/books?id=…) preserve an amusing little film of how the day went, seen from inside Westminster. In the source they don't appear in this order but we rearrange them by column number and find this:
Caithness stables assigned (col. 5; brisk weather today, no?) Letters from Shropshire referred (col. 7; there we go again) Deptford storehouses (col. 7; how humdrum) Dunkirk letters referred (col. 7; yawn) Denmark papers considered (col. 7; so where's ye going for lunch?)
**At this point a brick sails through one of the windows**
London tumult (col. 16; what was that? We did fix the backdoor, yes?) John Lawrence's petition for apprentices (col. 16; rummaging furiously through papers) Money to the guards (col. 17; I don't care, mint some if you have to!) Letter to Gen. Monk (col. 17; help us Obi-wan Kenobi, ye are our only hope!)
This should be more or less when Sam, hearing the distant riot while strolling through the mud in his highly-visible white suit, has this healthy reaction, perhaps helped by that recent quart of wine: "Gunshots! Let's go look!"
The letter is duly written (same source): some souldiers, "taking advantage from the pretence [the insolent ruffians!] of their long stay here (...) have declared themselves unwilling to depart, and one of them [always a bad apple] has fallen into a high mutiny (...) being fomented, as it appears to us, by our enemies in the city [a vast citywing conspiracy]. This is a matter of high concern to the State [that's us of course], and not knowing the consequences, we desire you to (...) help what you can to the suppressing of this disorder".
The French Gazette for February 5 (continental style, which by our plain, so much more sensible English calendar should be January 26, and so quite current; https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…, page 154) we find more detail on the troops which we were told yesterday Parliament is edgily surrounding itself with: "22 horse companies [Compagnies de Cavalerie] & 78 of infantry".
Assuming around 100 men (or horses) per company, that's a force of 10,000, all in the center of a city of 350,000 where there already were a lot of weapons around. All these new halberds and souldierly swearing must give a quite a martial color to Sam's comings and goings (and imagine if they knew he's the paymaster). Not that he would mention it; perhaps Sam's learned the prudent skill, in such cases, of seeing right through them?
Not that we bear him any grudge, because "and so I returned and went to Heaven" has got to be one of the finest, most tongue-in-cheek diary entries anywhere.
And what of this item in the Council of State's agenda for today (https://books.google.fr/books?id=…) "A key of the orchard to be furnished to all members of Council, and to Sir John Trevor [who's not yet a member but will be appointed next month]". While these keys be cut, we wonder at this sudden need to go frolic under the apple-trees, at this season of all times. Or is the orchard where the getaway helicopter be park'd?
Oh wow, a great resource is the EBBA's archive. We knew about it, but they've made themselves really accessible now. Thanks, what a treasure trove. It sure is a diff'rent choir from the State Papers. We chanc'd upon http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball… & almost caus'd a riot in the tavern. And they're indexed by date!
Aye Sam, that's right, party like it's the end of the world. Dance on that volcano! Monk's still a few days away with his, what, 6,000 horse, all of them battle-hardened tree-throwing savage Scots. Aren't you relieved at every shred of evidence that, though Monk could feel he doesn't have to bend the knee to anyone, he won't seize power, that they won't sack London, that they won't quarter a dozen of these troopers in your spare bedroom. Of course he'd want everybody to believe that, wouldn't he, before he got to Parliament's doors with these rams.
Surely you would tell us, if you weren't as relaxed as your Diary suggests, if the city was as much on edge as this dispatch tends to suggest, from John Shaw to the king's secretary in Brussels in today's State Papers: "The western declaration is very seasonable to induce Monk to be of the same sense as undoubtedly he will find the City of London, of whose temper those of Westminster must doubt, by their drawing so great guards into the city, as they probably do of Monk, as if they designed to possess themselves of the city before his coming".
In the State Papers today (at https://books.google.fr/books?id=…) Nothing but happy news, we think. Letters of thanks from the Council of State to various county officials for your support to Parliament, wages paid to their militias as they are (please) asked to disarm and (please) go home now (OK? please). The letter from the gentlemen of Northampton is in the same vein - hurray to the free Parliament, and "all the Souldiery that will acquiesce in the Judgment of a free and full Parliament (...) may have their Arrears paid". Even a letter from Calais, to Charles' exiled court in Brussels, relating how "Monk is said to have written to the Speaker that, in all his march through the land, he has observed that nothing will content the people but a free Parliament. Many corporations and whole counties have declared for it".
So, friend Josselin, things ain't so uncertain (and peace was signed months ago between France and Spain - ye should go out more). Free Parliament. Monk no want junta. Troops paid off and back to the farms.
We like, however, this item in the Council of State's agenda for the day: "The back doors at Whitehall to be made up". And, toward the end of the list as if some members had mulled it over during other business, and had an afterthought: "A guard on the river Thames to be considered of".
Actually the Commons must have felt their "Declaration on Settling the Government", as it was more or less styled, to be quite a big deal if they went to the trouble of getting "printed for the people’s satisfaction". A "System of Government" has been due for months, and now seems a good time to publish it since Monk, on the march with thousands of troops, is sending signals that he's not on his way to another coup. Was this it?
So imagine the members' disappointment at Sam's dismissive little codicil on this their great worke, and even worse at its near-total disappearance into obscurity and irrelevance. For you can hardly find a mention of this text in parliamentary histories - for instance in "Acts and ordinances of the Interregnum" (HMSO, 1911, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk… and https://archive.org/stream/cu3192…) which notes that a lot of documents from this period were lost, but mentions none for that day. And indeed, 'twas not even a formal Act.
The House of Commons Journal for today only lists minor edits (some perhaps not so minor, e.g. a proposal to replace "a King" by "the King"), so to get a sense of what Sam got to peruse we need to check yesterday's Journal, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…, which has a clear enough if not final draft. Yep, plenty in there to Please the People:
"Ordered, That it be referred to a Committee to bring in a Declaration, That the Parliament intends forthwith to proceed to the Settlement of the Government: And will uphold a Learned and Pious Ministry of the Nation, and their Maintenance by Tythes, and the known Laws of the Land: And that they will proceed to fill up the House so soon as may be; and to settle the Commonwealth without a King, Single Person, or House of Peers: And will promote the Trade of the Nation: And will reserve due Liberty to tender Consciences: And also encourage and settle the Universities: And that the Parliament will not meddle with the executive Power of the Law, but only in Cases of Male-Administration and Appeals; and that Proceedings shall be according to the Laws: And also, That they will ease the Burdens of the Nation, as much as is consistent with the pressing Necessities of the Commonwealth: Viz. unto Lord Chief-Justice St. John, Sir Arthur Hesilrig, Mr. Attorney-General, Mr. Solicitor-General, Mr. Say. And it is especially referred to the Lord St. John and Sir Arthur Hesilrig, to take care, that this Declaration be brought in on Monday Morning next." That would be today.
But it still wasn't a constitution, just a vacuous list of promises ("we'll uphold the law" - well, you betcha) and 'twas still the Rump, which went on to the more pressing task of filling army commissions; and "without a King" was neither a surprise, nor anything like a consensus opinion. So, a damp squib it was, and to wrap that piece of beef it went.
Think ye that Oliver will enjoy their glitter, whence he is, or will, from the improved vista he'll soon have?
"Beg pardon?"
Ye should! How fast it fades, then, the good English restraint, the god-fearing modesty! Six years, I say, six years, 'ere the Beast returns. Until then, roll in the baubles, the golden lace, the pretty wigs, the painted coaches, the beauty spots, the ostritch feathers, the jesters, the harlots, the actors! Babylon! Sodom! Gomorrah!
"Who's speaking?" Sam scans the street, which is empty.
Soon London will be like a parade of Romish bishops, twinkling harder than the court of the Grand Mogol! Six years! Heh heh heh heh heeeh. Enjoy your buckles! And remember: Look ye not behind thee!
(Elizabeth now asks, with a bit of concern, "Samuel, who're you talking to?")
"Hmpf. Nobody. Some crazy Leveller hidden in a barrel". They walk on to Fleet Street.
Reading Dave Fowler's entry of 2015, we discover that there was a "Gazette" in 1658... but not quite "the London Gazette", that of Henry Muddiman (who made a brief appearance in the Diary on the 9th inst.), which will only start in 1665. Though the layout and type do look quite familiar.
And alas, as we all know, the Internet wasn't invented until 1665. And so we have trawled far and wide to find a full online collection of whatever news-book may enlighten us in on world agitations in the long years of 1660-65, e.g. the aforesaid "The Gazette", or Muddiman his "Mercurius Politicus". In fact a library index at https://natlib.govt.nz/records/29… suggests that those two are the same thing, which would explain the déjà-vu typesetting.
But our searche so far's been in Vain, and so for our daily newes we look at four years of the French Gazette only. And it's already something and certainly is at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…, but an awkward format, and (urgh) it's French! Unless someone knows a resource that escap'd us?
Comments
Third Reading
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.
About Friday 3 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
St. James, ground zero of the recent riots and mutinies, and Westminster, where Parliament cowers behind the few guards paid well enough to remain loyal, are open for quality tourists it seems. We wonder if Mrs Turner and Joyce do share Sam's taste for the lingering sweet smell of cordite and fresh blood.
And Monk's in town! A huge event, awaited in suspense for weeks, as his progress was charted from town to town and his intentions speculated upon. Viz, by our friend Venetian ambassador Francesco Giavarina in his weekly dispatch of January 30 (at http://www.british-history.ac.uk/…)
"What Monch's plans may be when he reaches London is not disclosed and remain hidden and doubtful. It is probable that he has something at the back of his mind as in spite of the answer received London will not make any declaration until he comes. The city has also this day sent three of the common council to meet and congratulate him. This serves to augment the suspicions of parliament which apparently does not want Monch to advance as far as London with his forces, which are all devoted to him, but to establish his quarters some distance out. But if, as is argued, he cherishes secret intentions of raising himself to the supreme post, especially now Lambert has fallen, who alone could stand in his way, he will never allow himself to be separated from his men. That there is something of this kind is accredited by the report now circulating that he will not take quarters at Whitehall but has hired a house in London. If this be true there is certainly a secret understanding between him and the city, and it will soon come to light. It may be that he will allow parliament to sit for some months longer to draw them more easily into the snares which he may be spreading for them."
Giavarina's letter also supplies useful background on the Rump: for it is rumpish indeed: "These [dissensions] are more likely to occur as there are serious differences among the parliamentarians themselves. Of the 40 or 50 at most now taking part, out of over 400 that there ought to be, there are three or four parties, so it is easy to see in what confusion affairs are here and how little one can foresee." 40 or 50 is a bit more than a clique, but a Parliament it aint.
About Thursday 2 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
And now the happy end:
"But those [apprentices] that they took, they [the Guildhall constables] ware very severe to them, for that they cut many of them and striped almost naked, for they did use these more creueley for excamples sake; for the army trooper ware very fearefull least the Citty would have risen that night in regard that Lord Gen. Monck was to com into towne the next day, hee lyinge so neere London with his army."
Rugg is a bit hazy on how the "five untoward regiments" of drunk infantry that eventually mutinied were brought under control, but of course they were, because "in all these disorders of the souldiers the horse never made any show of a muteney". It seems cavalry is more reliable; perhaps better paid, since the (expensive) horses under them won't be as disposed to wait 3 years to be fed? However, "pray take notis that these muteninges in London did so much fright the Parliment that, on that night whe[n] it was they sent 1 messenger 3 times to hasten Lord Generall Monck away."
About Thursday 2 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
It continues:
"Now the next morninge [today, then] that muteney in St. James Feilde worked in the heads of another regiment of foot, which was quartred in Sumersett House. (...) Also, in Saulsbury Cort there ware another muteny in on of the companys which did belonge to that regiment att Sumersett House. (...) [As] the Captaine rebuked them, they tooke theire coulers and tore them in peeces, and beate the poore Captaine and kicked him, and wore the peeces of theire coulers in there hatts, and came back to Sumersett House. And this action of that company made the rest of the regiment make a full stop, and swore they would not sture one foot. Not one of the officers durst speake for feare of being kicked or worse. They had 14 or 15 weeks behind of their pay. That day the spent in this mutenie and att night they stood by Sumersett House Gate, and coatches came by; they stoped them and asked if any of the Rump was theire. Others cryed out for a free Parliment; others of them cryed out for King Charles the Second. Many ware drunk that night of them, for they did not want those that would speare mony for to raise theire dull soules into an absolute madness, for the aprentises of London did back them one, and tould som that [they] could trust that they would rise in the Citty that night, and that Generall Monck was for them and a free Parliment which would produce a kinge and liberty."
Cue the rabble of city 'prentices:
"Now the aprentises of London was not worse then their words, for that night that the muteney was at Sumersett House they did what did lye in theire power to promote a rising in the Citty, in so much that one hundred and ode was goten into Leadenhall and ware in armes, such as they could gett for the present, expectinge that more would rise in severall places in the Citty. Now the gards that ware upon the gard att the Guildhall, haveinge notis of theire beeinge att Leadenhall, hasted theither and brake the gates open and entred the hall and tooke 3 or 4 score of them, for the rest made escapes over houses and the like conveninceys."
About Thursday 2 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
As it happens we have at our disposal a highly graphic and detailed Relation of that one-man mutiny. The source is "The Diurnall of Thomas Rugg", who kindly excerpted and rewrote the Mercurius Politicus, the main news-booke until the Gazette will appear, from 1659 all the way to 1672. This treasure of course not unknowne to us but newly found to be available from Cambridge University Press at Cambridge University Press, doi:10.1017/S2042171000000406, and paywalled but for less than we'd readily pay for a dishe of anchovies and some oysters.
Soe then, as related at page 34 of said Diurnall. As it happens, the mutiny didn't start today, but was simmering since last night:
"A[t] this time that regiment of foote once Lord Lambertts was drawne up in St. James Feild, and one of the officers strook a common soulder for some ofronts that the soulder gave the officer. The souldier with the but end of his [gun] strok the officer on the heade, that hee fel to the ground, and upon that the souldiers with one consent dinied to goe to theire gardes, and said they would have mony first and that they would see theire officers hanged first eare they would march without mony, nither would they goe to their gards. Some cried, Lett us hang up our officers; som said, Letts teare theire cloathes from of theire backs and stript them naked, and they with on consent marched a small distance from there coulors. The Colonell came and intreated them and within an houer or two they was a littl apased by great promises; they that night marched to there gards and quarters."
It's one of Lambert's regiment that mutinies, what a surprise.
About Thursday 2 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
The minutes of the Council of State's meeting for today (summary at https://books.google.fr/books?id=…) preserve an amusing little film of how the day went, seen from inside Westminster. In the source they don't appear in this order but we rearrange them by column number and find this:
Caithness stables assigned (col. 5; brisk weather today, no?)
Letters from Shropshire referred (col. 7; there we go again)
Deptford storehouses (col. 7; how humdrum)
Dunkirk letters referred (col. 7; yawn)
Denmark papers considered (col. 7; so where's ye going for lunch?)
**At this point a brick sails through one of the windows**
London tumult (col. 16; what was that? We did fix the backdoor, yes?)
John Lawrence's petition for apprentices (col. 16; rummaging furiously through papers)
Money to the guards (col. 17; I don't care, mint some if you have to!)
Letter to Gen. Monk (col. 17; help us Obi-wan Kenobi, ye are our only hope!)
This should be more or less when Sam, hearing the distant riot while strolling through the mud in his highly-visible white suit, has this healthy reaction, perhaps helped by that recent quart of wine: "Gunshots! Let's go look!"
The letter is duly written (same source): some souldiers, "taking advantage from the pretence [the insolent ruffians!] of their long stay here (...) have declared themselves unwilling to depart, and one of them [always a bad apple] has fallen into a high mutiny (...) being fomented, as it appears to us, by our enemies in the city [a vast citywing conspiracy]. This is a matter of high concern to the State [that's us of course], and not knowing the consequences, we desire you to (...) help what you can to the suppressing of this disorder".
About Saturday 28 January 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
The French Gazette for February 5 (continental style, which by our plain, so much more sensible English calendar should be January 26, and so quite current; https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…, page 154) we find more detail on the troops which we were told yesterday Parliament is edgily surrounding itself with: "22 horse companies [Compagnies de Cavalerie] & 78 of infantry".
Assuming around 100 men (or horses) per company, that's a force of 10,000, all in the center of a city of 350,000 where there already were a lot of weapons around. All these new halberds and souldierly swearing must give a quite a martial color to Sam's comings and goings (and imagine if they knew he's the paymaster). Not that he would mention it; perhaps Sam's learned the prudent skill, in such cases, of seeing right through them?
Not that we bear him any grudge, because "and so I returned and went to Heaven" has got to be one of the finest, most tongue-in-cheek diary entries anywhere.
And what of this item in the Council of State's agenda for today (https://books.google.fr/books?id=…) "A key of the orchard to be furnished to all members of Council, and to Sir John Trevor [who's not yet a member but will be appointed next month]". While these keys be cut, we wonder at this sudden need to go frolic under the apple-trees, at this season of all times. Or is the orchard where the getaway helicopter be park'd?
About Saturday 21 January 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Oh wow, a great resource is the EBBA's archive. We knew about it, but they've made themselves really accessible now. Thanks, what a treasure trove. It sure is a diff'rent choir from the State Papers. We chanc'd upon http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball… & almost caus'd a riot in the tavern. And they're indexed by date!
About Thursday 26 January 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Aye Sam, that's right, party like it's the end of the world. Dance on that volcano! Monk's still a few days away with his, what, 6,000 horse, all of them battle-hardened tree-throwing savage Scots. Aren't you relieved at every shred of evidence that, though Monk could feel he doesn't have to bend the knee to anyone, he won't seize power, that they won't sack London, that they won't quarter a dozen of these troopers in your spare bedroom. Of course he'd want everybody to believe that, wouldn't he, before he got to Parliament's doors with these rams.
Surely you would tell us, if you weren't as relaxed as your Diary suggests, if the city was as much on edge as this dispatch tends to suggest, from John Shaw to the king's secretary in Brussels in today's State Papers: "The western declaration is very seasonable to induce Monk to be of the same sense as undoubtedly he will find the City of London, of whose temper those of Westminster must doubt, by their drawing so great guards into the city, as they probably do of Monk, as if they designed to possess themselves of the city before his coming".
About Wednesday 25 January 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
In the State Papers today (at https://books.google.fr/books?id=…) Nothing but happy news, we think. Letters of thanks from the Council of State to various county officials for your support to Parliament, wages paid to their militias as they are (please) asked to disarm and (please) go home now (OK? please). The letter from the gentlemen of Northampton is in the same vein - hurray to the free Parliament, and "all the Souldiery that will acquiesce in the Judgment of a free and full Parliament (...) may have their Arrears paid". Even a letter from Calais, to Charles' exiled court in Brussels, relating how "Monk is said to have written to the Speaker that, in all his march through the land, he has observed that nothing will content the people but a free Parliament. Many corporations and whole counties have declared for it".
So, friend Josselin, things ain't so uncertain (and peace was signed months ago between France and Spain - ye should go out more). Free Parliament. Monk no want junta. Troops paid off and back to the farms.
We like, however, this item in the Council of State's agenda for the day: "The back doors at Whitehall to be made up". And, toward the end of the list as if some members had mulled it over during other business, and had an afterthought: "A guard on the river Thames to be considered of".
About Monday 23 January 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Actually the Commons must have felt their "Declaration on Settling the Government", as it was more or less styled, to be quite a big deal if they went to the trouble of getting "printed for the people’s satisfaction". A "System of Government" has been due for months, and now seems a good time to publish it since Monk, on the march with thousands of troops, is sending signals that he's not on his way to another coup. Was this it?
So imagine the members' disappointment at Sam's dismissive little codicil on this their great worke, and even worse at its near-total disappearance into obscurity and irrelevance. For you can hardly find a mention of this text in parliamentary histories - for instance in "Acts and ordinances of the Interregnum" (HMSO, 1911, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk… and https://archive.org/stream/cu3192…) which notes that a lot of documents from this period were lost, but mentions none for that day. And indeed, 'twas not even a formal Act.
The House of Commons Journal for today only lists minor edits (some perhaps not so minor, e.g. a proposal to replace "a King" by "the King"), so to get a sense of what Sam got to peruse we need to check yesterday's Journal, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…, which has a clear enough if not final draft. Yep, plenty in there to Please the People:
"Ordered, That it be referred to a Committee to bring in a Declaration, That the Parliament intends forthwith to proceed to the Settlement of the Government: And will uphold a Learned and Pious Ministry of the Nation, and their Maintenance by Tythes, and the known Laws of the Land: And that they will proceed to fill up the House so soon as may be; and to settle the Commonwealth without a King, Single Person, or House of Peers: And will promote the Trade of the Nation: And will reserve due Liberty to tender Consciences: And also encourage and settle the Universities: And that the Parliament will not meddle with the executive Power of the Law, but only in Cases of Male-Administration and Appeals; and that Proceedings shall be according to the Laws: And also, That they will ease the Burdens of the Nation, as much as is consistent with the pressing Necessities of the Commonwealth: Viz. unto Lord Chief-Justice St. John, Sir Arthur Hesilrig, Mr. Attorney-General, Mr. Solicitor-General, Mr. Say. And it is especially referred to the Lord St. John and Sir Arthur Hesilrig, to take care, that this Declaration be brought in on Monday Morning next." That would be today.
But it still wasn't a constitution, just a vacuous list of promises ("we'll uphold the law" - well, you betcha) and 'twas still the Rump, which went on to the more pressing task of filling army commissions; and "without a King" was neither a surprise, nor anything like a consensus opinion. So, a damp squib it was, and to wrap that piece of beef it went.
About Sunday 22 January 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Nice shoe buckles.
"Thank you", Sam responds absent-mindedly.
Think ye that Oliver will enjoy their glitter, whence he is, or will, from the improved vista he'll soon have?
"Beg pardon?"
Ye should! How fast it fades, then, the good English restraint, the god-fearing modesty! Six years, I say, six years, 'ere the Beast returns. Until then, roll in the baubles, the golden lace, the pretty wigs, the painted coaches, the beauty spots, the ostritch feathers, the jesters, the harlots, the actors! Babylon! Sodom! Gomorrah!
"Who's speaking?" Sam scans the street, which is empty.
Soon London will be like a parade of Romish bishops, twinkling harder than the court of the Grand Mogol! Six years! Heh heh heh heh heeeh. Enjoy your buckles! And remember: Look ye not behind thee!
(Elizabeth now asks, with a bit of concern, "Samuel, who're you talking to?")
"Hmpf. Nobody. Some crazy Leveller hidden in a barrel". They walk on to Fleet Street.
About Saturday 21 January 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Reading Dave Fowler's entry of 2015, we discover that there was a "Gazette" in 1658... but not quite "the London Gazette", that of Henry Muddiman (who made a brief appearance in the Diary on the 9th inst.), which will only start in 1665. Though the layout and type do look quite familiar.
And alas, as we all know, the Internet wasn't invented until 1665. And so we have trawled far and wide to find a full online collection of whatever news-book may enlighten us in on world agitations in the long years of 1660-65, e.g. the aforesaid "The Gazette", or Muddiman his "Mercurius Politicus". In fact a library index at https://natlib.govt.nz/records/29… suggests that those two are the same thing, which would explain the déjà-vu typesetting.
But our searche so far's been in Vain, and so for our daily newes we look at four years of the French Gazette only. And it's already something and certainly is at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…, but an awkward format, and (urgh) it's French! Unless someone knows a resource that escap'd us?