Dr Finch in his letter to Lord Conway (at https://play.google.com/books/rea…) also had an excellent report to provide, on what the city of London has been dealing with: "On Sunday [6 Jan., the events' kick-off] , 50 Fifth-Monarchy men went to Mr. Johnson , a bookseller near St. Paul's, and demanded the church keys; being refused, they broke open the door, and setting sentries, demanded of passengers [customers, presumably] whom they were for; one answered for King Charles, on which they replied they were for King Jesus, and shot him through the heart" - those Fifth Monarchists are on to something, here. "On Wednesday morning, they returned to the city with mad courage, fell on the guard, and beat the Life Guard and a whole regiment in half-an-hour, refusing all quarter. Venner their captain was taken [with a bullet in his back, as we noted earlier, less sure of the date than we now are]".
Perhaps Sam's excuse of having to travel tomorrow was a bit convenient, amid all these flying bullets and random terror? Anyway, "the Dukes of York and Albemarle marched with 700 horse into the city, but all was over".
"This news do make people think something indeed, that three of the Royal Family should fall sick of the same disease": The dot connectors, a species that will surely have withered in future, more enlightened aeons such as the 21st century of ye ladies and gentlemen, do not have to stretch very far on this one. Why, only recently was the Princess Royal, Mary of Orange, buried, and, as Mercurius Politicus said (in Thos. Rugge his summary), "pray take notice that this solemenity was a privet thinge don in the darke in regarde the two famous leaders fell soe soone that not above three quarters of one yeare but fell the most renowned and hopefull Prince, Duke of Gloucester, on the same distemper, the small pox, as fell this royall lady". And now this; sir John Finch, himself a physician, notes this day in a letter to Lord Conway (State Papers) that "Princess Henrietta is (...) out of danger; Dr Frazer has let her blood; [Finch] hopes it will be with better success than the rest of the Royal Family have had".
A doctor's plot? A curse? Or, less rationally of course, corrupted blood running deep in the Stuart line? Because, to think of it - Mary queen of Scots, deposed; Charles I, shortened; this pox on their house, and on the way to France, at that. Could there be an element of Dieu Le Veult?
@@@ We were provided a palace exceeding well furnished. Of the People of wild Turkestan, I should tell you that they are Mahommetans, and tho' they do revere the Lord and are much fond of sweetmeats which they do present each other at their Festivals, they know nothing of Twelfth Night.
A colonels' revolt: In the fever of the moment, the shorthand we conjured up for what is more properly known as the Overton plot. It was a bunch of colonels, if a very different event. We plead guilty to not using generally accepted terminology but were writing hastily from the wilds of Turkestan and so distraught by last night's rampage that we just couln't remember the rascal's name.
Francesco Giavarina the Venetian ambassador in his next weekly dispatch (dated January 21, new style) will explain that "last Sunday was Epiphany" – so that's when it actually was, not today – which "is usually spent in exceptional merriment with banquets and drinking". Sam didn't get invited to any or even disturbed by the party noise, but anyway "the rebels expected to find the people buried in slumber in the dead of the night" and, with the guards "drunk after the day's rejoicings", planned to "enter the houses and slaughter all who did not share their opinions".
But they were betrayed by "one of the confederates", who told all to the mayor of London, who "fortwith mounted his horse". Some mayhem followed while Sam slept peacefully, with "all the streets (...) in arms", York and Monck themselves leading the response, a standoff with "some discharge of muskets", &c. – "one discharge" only from the rebels according to a dispatch dated January 20 (new style, January 8 old style) in the French Gazette, which said the government fielded two companies of trained bands, surely not amounting to 40,000 anything. Mercurius Politicus, which puts the insurgents' number at "neere 40", reports that the rebels "fired with chawed bullets and peeces of curtine roddes shaged" – whatever that is – and, asked by the watch "who are ye for? They said, For Kinge Jesus, and with that they fired and killed som of the trained bands, and so marched towards another watch and in ther hairebrained march killed a constable and wounded a bell man, and proceeded to another gate of the Citty and theire fired againe and killed some more and fled". Eventually the leader, Thomas Venner, "a wine cooper", "was sore wounded, a shot through his backe". We're not quite sure if that happened today, as search is still ongoing in the woods, so hope we're not spoiling any suspense.
Recall that another conspiracy was undone just recently, led by a bunch of colonells. The French Gazette on December 30 said more than 6,000 ["plus de six mille personnes"] were involved, likely an exaggeration but clearly meaning it wasn't a joke.
This is a developing situation, which should keep us and Sam busy in the next few days, so stay tuned (and safe!) Will Charles II the fun-loving, benevolent monarch, decide he can't trust the people after all and and launch a full-spectrum purge?
At least one of the Thomases Pepyses (the Dr., we surmise) has cause to be merry tonight: On its last day, one of the many pieces of business that Parliament dispatched was to "report a List of Debts, charged by this Parliament, and yet unsatisfied", toward their repayment out of Excise revenue. A "Thomas Pepis" is in there, along with 577 other people (list at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) with £203 19s. 2d. to his name. It's the 287th largest amount, so nothing extravagant and he'll probably have to take a ticket to be paid out, but, even if he never sees the cash, there's always something to be made out of being officially owed money by the State. And hey, it's two thirds of Sam's net worth. So Tommy should pay the drinks.
This should also not keep us from wishing everyone a happy new year. This to apply both to Old Style in the Pepys frame of reference, and New Style for anyone on the different plane of the Universe where we seem to find ourselves.
Perhaps, in the Lindsay/Oxford tussle, Charles just got better vibes out of Lindsay? The Lord High Chamberlain manages Westminster palace, a sensitive position at a time of so many plots, and one which must also call for a few practical skills and some alertness given the sheer complexity of the place. The king in any case has made clear, early on, that he's uninterested in reversions for their own sake and will rather grant offices based on competence.
But in any case it's a Lords decision. It's the Lords who, way back in 1626 under Charles I, shunted the office from the earls of Oxford, who had held it since the 12th century, to the Lindseys when the Oxfords happened to have no suitable male descendent on offer. A quick rummaging through the State Papers (at https://play.google.com/books/rea…) find, apart from a reference on December 26 which shows this has been going on for months, an unattributed note on December 19 on "reasons why the decision concerning the Earl of Lindsay's earldom and office should not be taken out of the hands of the judges, to whom the King referred it". The King has other things to do than step into every personal matter he's petitioned about, or than doing the Lords' job perhaps.
It's also not an obvious choice to make, because both of them have legitimacy: Lindsay can fall back on the Lords' decision of 1626 - in the hallowed days of Charles I! - but Oxford's claim goes back all the way to Queen Mary and even earlier. Lindsay's proposed solution, if the office and the earldom of Oxford go together, is very simple: make me earl of Oxford too. That seems a rather more radical thing to do. Lindsay himself, in his petition to the king (visible at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) has little justification to offer, other than 1626 being "to the great Wrong of your Suppliant", and some old records that he thinks would convince the Lords to overturn their predecessors' prior decision. No one wants to take that hot potato, so the king passes it to his secretary, who sends it to the Lords, who, as of today, have only decided to "adjourn [their decision] to the Fourth Day of the Sitting of the next Parliament", whenever that may be. So we wait in suspense.
In the end Lindsay stays high chamberlain and Oxford stays Oxford. Our astrologer predicts that at the king's coronation - an event where the high chamberlain as the king's attendent basks in maximum visibility - those two will still be at it. On 9 May 1661 a commission set up to sort out the avalanche of petitions thrown at the king on that occasion will confirm Lindsay in his appointment, "as being actually in possession", and changing it just being too much bother, "but with a saving of the right of" Oxford, for future reference. Should something happen to Lindsay. We phant'sy that, if the two of them will ever find themselves at the top of a steep staircase, neither will want to go first.
And, ah yes, that other thing about the Duke and his, er, woman Ann Hyde. Piero Mocenigo the Venetian ambassador stays very close to the story, and reported on December 12 (24, new style) that "the King (...) seems to have taken the lady's side, telling his brother that having lacked caution at first he could not draw back in conscience at this stage" or embroil her dad Chancellor Hyde, "so it looks as if everything will go smoothly". Nothing new there, and it only confirms what Sam heard from my Lady Jemima, down corridors of power that have been positively thrumming with the barely-contained scandal.
Charles meanwhile has tried to defuse opposition by elevating Hyde to the Lords, on whose honour no Commons-man may dare trespass and, Mocenigo adds, "it is said that at [Charles'] coronation", planned for February, "the chancellor will be raised to the rank of duke, and so the marriage will be rendered more compatible" [https://www.british-history.ac.uk…] Actually our palantir suggests Hyde will only be created Viscount Cornbury and Earl of Clarendon, already something, but a dukedom would be a bit much.
The specific project of "burning Westminster" which L&M references, is echoed in Mocenigo's mention that the reinforced palace guards are "as likely to be the first to suffer, as it seems these villains meant to set fire to them and destroy them". "Burning Westminster" still seems easier said than done - where do you start? How do you trap the king in a building of that size, where somebody is probably always rushing with a water bucket to take out a bad candle? Just an idea: on December 13, Nicholas also got a report on the seizure of a barrel of gunpowder, "brought (...) to Sarum [Salisbury?] and claimed by Himphrey Ditton, a Commonwealth man", one of several with "plots in hand", who "hope to (...) see the Cavaliers beg their bread before Christmas".
And so, here we are: Westminster in full panic mode. "Great guards att the Tower, in the Citty, and other places", the Mercurius reports, "and for almost a fortnight togeather all the talke was a plot or what persons was taken prisoners". From the King himself, no less than "A proclamation, commanding all cashiered officers and soldiers, and other persons that cannot give a good account for their being here, to depart out of the cities of London and Westminster" (full text at https://ota.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/rep…) Good luck with enforcing that one, but it should get the attention of the most inattentive, and it's a chance for the Watch to test the new night-sticks on a few "other persons".
Expect reports of guards, arrests, searches and more rogues and under-plots for weeks and weeks. Those evil Fifth Monarchists could be anywhere! Viz., Gen. Albermarle (whose regiment it is, that moved into Westminster) writes to Nicholas today that Col. John Clerk "is upon the guard at Whitehall, but it is not fit that he should be there this night". Amazingly, another "John Clerk" - gotta be the same man - petitions the King on the same day to be released from the Gatehouse. And what of the "obnoxious person (...) concealed in Wm. Du Gard's house, Newington Butts", whom "gentleman pensioner" Edward Short went to arrest and, Short wrote two days ago, who disappeared with Mr. Obnoxious despite posting a bond for £5,000? (Hmm. Du Gard, a papist froggie for sure). Anywhere, I tell you! Bar the doors!
Holy masked potatoes, not another plot against H.M.! Not a week goes by without a report in our State Papers on how some shmuck was overheard in a tavern promising to sheath-his-sword-&c. We even stumbled over one last week (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) while discussing the weather in Holland.
And then we surmise that Shmuck gets a free ticket to sunny Barbados like the others. But aye, this one looks a bit serious, and in fact has been ticking awhile, somehow without registering on Sam's radar. At the end of his summary of Mercurius Politicus for November, Thomas Rugg had a longish report that "in this month on[e] Major White was commited prisoner to the Tower of London, as report said for endevouring' a plotts and make a disturbance against kingly power". There followed "great serches", "the Kings guards doubled and cannon mounted in Whit Hall, a regiment of trained bands and a company a night apointed to watch", an entire foot regiment "quartred in the subuarbs of Westminester", all of this lost to Sam in the London noise as far as the Diary shows. The King's secretary, Edward Nicholas, wrote today that he "had early notice of this plot, but suffered it on purpose to ripen till it burst out a few days ago". Venetian ambassador Mocenigo, on the ball as always, reported on December 12 (December 24, new style; handy converter at http://aulis.org/Calendar/Old_%26…) that "some of the accomplices were arrested and imprisoned yesterday (...) Meanwhile strong guards have been set at all the corners of London and the palace" [https://www.british-history.ac.uk…] Aye, shocking we know, but Sam is five days behind on the newes. Well, his entries were kinda short lately, so he must've been busy, and only now thought "I gotta mention the plot".
And yes, "Many persons committed, as Major Generall Overton, Colonel Zankey, one Babinton and Bagster and other collonells". The State Papers for December 15 include a flurry of reports on the great serches, notably the examination of "John Hall, of Beech Lane, St. Giles's", whom Maj. Thomas White told "he would have the blood of General Monk, and would have killed him and burnt the city before, had his colonel permitted". Discipline, discipline, but still "he will make the city a second Jerusalem, by setting it on fire, and pull the King from his throne". A bit worryingly, Hall "showed [White] a Parliament roll, with the names of all those engaged in the design". Add to the plotters' list, in particular, "Miller, Baxter's Lieut.-Col.", and Hall himself, if he wasn't there to entrap White. Now that's a lot of colonels.
It seemes this was no ordinary gust of wind, for we now see in Rugge his summation of Mercurius Politicus, that "In this month [December, tho' the day unknowne] their were very great winds, that many yeares there [were] not the like; many ships cast away, many houses blowne downe and churches tome with winds. The States of Holand lost a very great many of the shipes their; the Spaniard lost eight of his galleouns, or his best ships. The Earle of Argile and Laird Swenton was then att sea bound for Scotland, [but were] by ill weather forced into Yearmouth."
We see in our crystal ball that on December 20, a Mr. Russell will write from Amsterdam that, among recent events he recaps, "a terrible storm has cast away 50 ships, and blown down 500 houses". And this, whoa, "the very night the burgo-masters refused so just a demand" as a request for assistance in the arrest of "Harry Cromwell", "Huson the cobbler" and other rogues, apparently long pursued as one of the fanaticks' innumerable plots and cabals. Nice to see how Zephyr favors the House of Stuart; they should enjoy, for it won't always be.
So much for the reverend's "mild weather": It's not one ship that this "extraordinary gust of wind" claimed, but three, for as the State Papers will reveal tomorrow the Maria lost its mainmast, while the Blackamore also "ran aground between the piers". This in Yarmouth, over 100 km north from Woolwich, but somehow the storm avoided Essex. A month ago (November 15) a dispatch had informed us that a storm had "much injured the quay" in Harwich.
The good duke did indeed need to know a.s.a.p. about the Assurance, because in addition to being Lord High Admiral, on December 18 he will also be made Governor of the Royal Adventurers into Africa, with a monopoly on English, hm, "trade" in that direction. No doubt we'll revisit that glorious appointment in good time, but the company has been around for a couple of months, and no doubt Guinea is already very dear to HRH, as soon will be vast numbers of the Guineans themselves.
If God is a Quaker, perhaps He had a hand in that gust of wind. If so it didn't work. The Assurance was salvaged and repaired. Two ships of that name appear in an interminable list of slaving ships at https://www.reuters.com/graphics/…; but from its record at https://threedecks.org/index.php?… and its absence from a company history at https://www.jstor.org/stable/2713…, it seems the one in the news today mostly stuck to European waters and wasn't one of them.
On translating Latin: We are informed that Mr. Google in his great booke-shop keeps a lad, full of Artifice and Intelligence, who translates Latin on request, along with a few other languages of greater daily usefulness such as Chichewa or Sepedi. He renders "Falsum etiam est verum quod consuit superior" as "It is also true that what was said above is false" (and in the Chichewa language of Malawi as "Ndizowonanso kuti zomwe zanenedwa pamwambapa ndi zabodza"). Leave him your learned maxims from Cicero at https://translate.google.com, and weep if ye will for all these hours offered to declensions and the ablative case.
On Parliament's resolution of today: At least Sam expresses an opinion, however timid. Our other sources - admittedly scarce, as we're rarely in the barbershops of 1660 London - are either matter-of-fact to the point of indifference (Thomas Rugg his summary of Mercurius Politicus, written in hindsight 'tho while Oliver's head was still overseeing London, Venetian ambassador Mocenigo his dispatch of next week) or entirely silent on the matter (John Evelyn his diary, which will picks up after a few days' hiatus, ironically to marvel at "incomparable" heads he saw at court, made by Holbein in this case). The only ballad mentioning Oliver in late 1660 or 1661 in the collection at https://ebba.english.ucsb.edu will appear, however, on the occasion of his transfer to Tyburn and it does come with a couple of interesting woodcuts; it ends with "there is an end to a stincking crew" and "vivat Rex", so no deviation from the official Line there.
'Tis Parliament's decision, however, with no sign of the king having asked for anything like it. It remains subject to the Lords' approval, and the proceedings at https://www.british-history.ac.uk… suggest that it wasn't an instant rush to the vote: The matter of the attainder of Cromwell (his exemption from pardon) was taken up three times, interspersed with humdrum private business ("humble Petition of Edmond Challenor Esquire" and "Earl of Dorset's Estate"), of the sort which the king had precisely asked Parliament not to waste its time on in the days left before recess, before the Glorious Resolution on "Regicides Carcases to be taken up" finally comes up too. We phant'sy there were quite a few conferences whispered in the hallways on Whether To Do It Or Not while the problems of Esq. Challenor got the floor. We wish something like Grey's Debates or C-SPAN had been there already.
And wine? An amendment added to the Excise Bill on July 25 sought to exempt it from duty. Which seems odd, given how 'tis mostly imported, but ambassadors such as our friend Giavarina, who all have vast hoards in their cellars, will appreciate the gesture.
And sack? Tax-free, apparently. Meanwhile, drinking the king's health has just taken a new meaning, as might the Puritans' dry regime. Imbibe if you love your sovereign! Now, there's a ready excuse for that coach accident.
A little exploration of the House of Commons' Journal (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) has found it quite preoccupied with the business of the Excise, as with diverse other revenue flows which H.M. now has the time (for which God be praised) to rearrange in his direction. To wit, the recent business with gravel &c. and claims thereto over which the Ballast Office has prevailed, but also an extraordinary entry on July 17 on the House's detailed examination of duties charged for various imports and commodities, resolving for instance "That there be no Alteration in the Rate for Figs", or "Abatement of the Rate upon Muscavado Sugar", while the rate on "Fustick Wood" is reduced and we are reassured that "The Particulars (...) concerning Saltpetre, Sizers, Orgazine Silk, Raw China Silk, and Raw Long Silk, were, on the Question, agreed unto".
The day's news, which cannot fail to contribute to the tavern talk around Sam, is that the House has "Resolved, That the other Moiety of the Revenue of the Excise of Beer, Ale, Cyder, Perry, strong Waters, Chocolate, Coffee, Sherbett, and Metheglin, be settled on the King for and during his natural Life".
Chocolate (a.k.a. "Chocoletta") and Coffee are, we understand, herbal drinkes and novelties from New Spain and Turkestan. Metheglin and perry will be of course be familiar to all. A moiety, https://languages.oup.com/google-… more or less helpfully reminds us, is "a part or portion, especially a lesser share". So this Moiety, not "all the Excise" contrary to what Sam heard from the table-pounding drunks around him this morning, goes toward the "Twelve hundred thousand Pounds per Annum Revenue, resolved to be settled on his Majesty", starting next Christmas (next what??), which the House on November 21 had unanimously voted to bestow on the king, at the time expecting just the excise on "Beer, Ale, Cyder, Perry, and strong Waters" to be sufficient.
But 'tis not, and so we're having to tap chocoletta, humble metheglin and the new coffee craze too. There are other claims on the Moiety, such as the budget for the garrison at Dunkirk, £3,450 to be similarly taken from the excise on beer and ale as per a report read on August 25 and a vote just yesterday, November 26. In fact a State Council order referenced on August 8 had mentioned that the lonely soldiers in Dunkirk would also be paid off "Perry, Cyder, and Metheglin", which will, then, go to a different pocket. Their budget was also cut, from the £4,800 that had been appropriated on June 30. On August 8 the House had also resolved that up to £825 of anything left from these accounts would go to "Edward Backwell, Alderman of the City of London", who may now have to find something else to support his lifestyle (he invented the banknote, so we're not concerned). Even General Monck was granted a piece of the Excise receipts, on June 27.
So why did cozen Thomas "the turner" give Sam a cup? Perhaps just a shared interest in woodworking, since Tom gave Sam a set of tools a month ago (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) but there may also be something to celebrate. We find in today's State Papers a brief note, recording a "Grant to Thos. Pepys of an Almsroom in Winchester Cathedral". Assuming this isn't a homonym, then we know (from https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl…) a Thomas Pepys who "at his death [in 1676] was living as an almsman in Sion College": Uncle Thomas, the turner's papa. Alas, Sion College (in London) has nothing to do with Winchester Cathedral (in Hampshire, visit at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Win…) but that won't stop us from connecting the dots.
An almsroom is a crashpad for the indigent, which is what uncle T is right now, granted as a "gift of the crown", and so not easy to get (says https://www.taylorfrancis.com/cha…) Perhaps Sam lent a hand with the application, and gets a mug in return.
And maybe there's more than meets the eye, because on the same day another almsroom is also granted at Winchester to a certain "John Williamson". Not the most uncommon name in England, but if it's the future P.A. and intelligencer to the king, maybe there's different qualities of almsrooms and having one in a cathedral isn't the bleak dead-end it seems at first.
On His Majesty's leniency: We cannot know what prompted that discussion. Of course 'tis always a good topic to consider among courtiers in the privacy of your coach, and last month's gruesome executions and reeking baskets are still fresh enough - not that direct witnesses are likely to ever forget them - to provide fuel for thought.
In this case we wonder if some little Controversy may not have aris'n on the case of "one Tench", whom Thomas Rugge will record in his summary of the Mercurius Politicus (doi:10.1017/S2042171000000406, page 128) as "the carpenter that made the scaffold and knocked the staples on the scaffold [of] the King' Charles the First". Now Tench "in this month (...) was beheaded". A footnote drawing on the original Mercurius says Tench had been "apprehended and sent close prisoner" to the Gatehouse on November 25, so still in the future, but execution within a week of arrest seems a bit quick in something as momentous as a trial for regicide.
So we wonder if Tench, whose case is notorious enough for Rugge to give it its own subheading in his book, hasn't been macerating for a while already, and become a minor cause célèbre, in this case a test of whether H.M.'s avengers ain't starting to reach a bit too deep with the ax. In a few centuries historian David Farr will say so, noting disapprovingly in a biography of regicide Gen. Thomas Harrison that "Indeed, the 'merry monarch', Charles II, even had one Tench, the carpenter of the gallows for Charles I, executed" (https://books.google.fr/books?id=…, page 257). Farr isn't around to disapprove in 1660, but among some folks who are, the martyrdom of a carpenter could even be grist for a few seditious pamphlets, hmm?
On the Ballast Office: The Trinity men having "obtained something" is certainly occasion enough for their buying the next round, for they have been for months in a Furious Battle for the realm's gravel, which it would seem is now being decided; see our little note at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/… on its opening stages.
The poll tax problem is prominent enough for Venetian ambassador Giavarina to make it item No. 1 in his weekly dispatch (dated November 26 new style, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) Venice cares about this stuff, because it has been granted royal leave to recruit England's demobbed soldiers into its own wars. Giavarina his letter:
"[Parliament's] special aim is the complete disbanding of the army and the disarming of the fleet (...) Finding that their orders were left unfulfilled chiefly from lack of money they immediately applied themselves to find fresh cash for the purpose, which absorbs immense and incredible sums. They are therefore discussing a tax, which will soon be ripe, of 70,000l. sterling a month for six weeks, and as much of the poll tax is still unpaid, they are preparing stringent orders, threatening with severe penalties those who show an unwillingness to submit."
So, problem: The People, perhaps made dizzy by the influx of oxygen (sorry, "vital spirit") that came with the end of one Dictatorship, aren't paying this Tax. Solution: Create that new one, with even more stringent deadlines. Hmm, yes, that should do it. Adjourn, then. Everybody to the Devil Tavern!
Comments
Third Reading
About Friday 11 January 1660/61
Stephane Chenard • Link
Dr Finch in his letter to Lord Conway (at https://play.google.com/books/rea…) also had an excellent report to provide, on what the city of London has been dealing with: "On Sunday [6 Jan., the events' kick-off] , 50 Fifth-Monarchy men went to Mr. Johnson , a bookseller near St. Paul's, and demanded the church keys; being refused, they broke open the door, and setting sentries, demanded of passengers [customers, presumably] whom they were for; one answered for King Charles, on which they replied they were for King Jesus, and shot him through the heart" - those Fifth Monarchists are on to something, here. "On Wednesday morning, they returned to the city with mad courage, fell on the guard, and beat the Life Guard and a whole regiment in half-an-hour, refusing all quarter. Venner their captain was taken [with a bullet in his back, as we noted earlier, less sure of the date than we now are]".
Perhaps Sam's excuse of having to travel tomorrow was a bit convenient, amid all these flying bullets and random terror? Anyway, "the Dukes of York and Albemarle marched with 700 horse into the city, but all was over".
About Friday 11 January 1660/61
Stephane Chenard • Link
"This news do make people think something indeed, that three of the Royal Family should fall sick of the same disease": The dot connectors, a species that will surely have withered in future, more enlightened aeons such as the 21st century of ye ladies and gentlemen, do not have to stretch very far on this one. Why, only recently was the Princess Royal, Mary of Orange, buried, and, as Mercurius Politicus said (in Thos. Rugge his summary), "pray take notice that this solemenity was a privet thinge don in the darke in regarde the two famous leaders fell soe soone that not above three quarters of one yeare but fell the most renowned and hopefull Prince, Duke of Gloucester, on the same distemper, the small pox, as fell this royall lady". And now this; sir John Finch, himself a physician, notes this day in a letter to Lord Conway (State Papers) that "Princess Henrietta is (...) out of danger; Dr Frazer has let her blood; [Finch] hopes it will be with better success than the rest of the Royal Family have had".
A doctor's plot? A curse? Or, less rationally of course, corrupted blood running deep in the Stuart line? Because, to think of it - Mary queen of Scots, deposed; Charles I, shortened; this pox on their house, and on the way to France, at that. Could there be an element of Dieu Le Veult?
About Monday 7 January 1660/61
Stephane Chenard • Link
@@@ We were provided a palace exceeding well furnished. Of the People of wild Turkestan, I should tell you that they are Mahommetans, and tho' they do revere the Lord and are much fond of sweetmeats which they do present each other at their Festivals, they know nothing of Twelfth Night.
About Monday 7 January 1660/61
Stephane Chenard • Link
A colonels' revolt: In the fever of the moment, the shorthand we conjured up for what is more properly known as the Overton plot. It was a bunch of colonels, if a very different event. We plead guilty to not using generally accepted terminology but were writing hastily from the wilds of Turkestan and so distraught by last night's rampage that we just couln't remember the rascal's name.
About Monday 7 January 1660/61
Stephane Chenard • Link
Francesco Giavarina the Venetian ambassador in his next weekly dispatch (dated January 21, new style) will explain that "last Sunday was Epiphany" – so that's when it actually was, not today – which "is usually spent in exceptional merriment with banquets and drinking". Sam didn't get invited to any or even disturbed by the party noise, but anyway "the rebels expected to find the people buried in slumber in the dead of the night" and, with the guards "drunk after the day's rejoicings", planned to "enter the houses and slaughter all who did not share their opinions".
But they were betrayed by "one of the confederates", who told all to the mayor of London, who "fortwith mounted his horse". Some mayhem followed while Sam slept peacefully, with "all the streets (...) in arms", York and Monck themselves leading the response, a standoff with "some discharge of muskets", &c. – "one discharge" only from the rebels according to a dispatch dated January 20 (new style, January 8 old style) in the French Gazette, which said the government fielded two companies of trained bands, surely not amounting to 40,000 anything. Mercurius Politicus, which puts the insurgents' number at "neere 40", reports that the rebels "fired with chawed bullets and peeces of curtine roddes shaged" – whatever that is – and, asked by the watch "who are ye for? They said, For Kinge Jesus, and with that they fired and killed som of the trained bands, and so marched towards another watch and in ther hairebrained march killed a constable and wounded a bell man, and proceeded to another gate of the Citty and theire fired againe and killed some more and fled". Eventually the leader, Thomas Venner, "a wine cooper", "was sore wounded, a shot through his backe". We're not quite sure if that happened today, as search is still ongoing in the woods, so hope we're not spoiling any suspense.
Recall that another conspiracy was undone just recently, led by a bunch of colonells. The French Gazette on December 30 said more than 6,000 ["plus de six mille personnes"] were involved, likely an exaggeration but clearly meaning it wasn't a joke.
This is a developing situation, which should keep us and Sam busy in the next few days, so stay tuned (and safe!) Will Charles II the fun-loving, benevolent monarch, decide he can't trust the people after all and and launch a full-spectrum purge?
About Tuesday 1 January 1660/61
Stephane Chenard • Link
At least one of the Thomases Pepyses (the Dr., we surmise) has cause to be merry tonight: On its last day, one of the many pieces of business that Parliament dispatched was to "report a List of Debts, charged by this Parliament, and yet unsatisfied", toward their repayment out of Excise revenue. A "Thomas Pepis" is in there, along with 577 other people (list at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) with £203 19s. 2d. to his name. It's the 287th largest amount, so nothing extravagant and he'll probably have to take a ticket to be paid out, but, even if he never sees the cash, there's always something to be made out of being officially owed money by the State. And hey, it's two thirds of Sam's net worth. So Tommy should pay the drinks.
This should also not keep us from wishing everyone a happy new year. This to apply both to Old Style in the Pepys frame of reference, and New Style for anyone on the different plane of the Universe where we seem to find ourselves.
About Friday 28 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Perhaps, in the Lindsay/Oxford tussle, Charles just got better vibes out of Lindsay? The Lord High Chamberlain manages Westminster palace, a sensitive position at a time of so many plots, and one which must also call for a few practical skills and some alertness given the sheer complexity of the place. The king in any case has made clear, early on, that he's uninterested in reversions for their own sake and will rather grant offices based on competence.
But in any case it's a Lords decision. It's the Lords who, way back in 1626 under Charles I, shunted the office from the earls of Oxford, who had held it since the 12th century, to the Lindseys when the Oxfords happened to have no suitable male descendent on offer. A quick rummaging through the State Papers (at https://play.google.com/books/rea…) find, apart from a reference on December 26 which shows this has been going on for months, an unattributed note on December 19 on "reasons why the decision concerning the Earl of Lindsay's earldom and office should not be taken out of the hands of the judges, to whom the King referred it". The King has other things to do than step into every personal matter he's petitioned about, or than doing the Lords' job perhaps.
It's also not an obvious choice to make, because both of them have legitimacy: Lindsay can fall back on the Lords' decision of 1626 - in the hallowed days of Charles I! - but Oxford's claim goes back all the way to Queen Mary and even earlier. Lindsay's proposed solution, if the office and the earldom of Oxford go together, is very simple: make me earl of Oxford too. That seems a rather more radical thing to do. Lindsay himself, in his petition to the king (visible at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) has little justification to offer, other than 1626 being "to the great Wrong of your Suppliant", and some old records that he thinks would convince the Lords to overturn their predecessors' prior decision. No one wants to take that hot potato, so the king passes it to his secretary, who sends it to the Lords, who, as of today, have only decided to "adjourn [their decision] to the Fourth Day of the Sitting of the next Parliament", whenever that may be. So we wait in suspense.
In the end Lindsay stays high chamberlain and Oxford stays Oxford. Our astrologer predicts that at the king's coronation - an event where the high chamberlain as the king's attendent basks in maximum visibility - those two will still be at it. On 9 May 1661 a commission set up to sort out the avalanche of petitions thrown at the king on that occasion will confirm Lindsay in his appointment, "as being actually in possession", and changing it just being too much bother, "but with a saving of the right of" Oxford, for future reference. Should something happen to Lindsay. We phant'sy that, if the two of them will ever find themselves at the top of a steep staircase, neither will want to go first.
About Sunday 16 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
And, ah yes, that other thing about the Duke and his, er, woman Ann Hyde. Piero Mocenigo the Venetian ambassador stays very close to the story, and reported on December 12 (24, new style) that "the King (...) seems to have taken the lady's side, telling his brother that having lacked caution at first he could not draw back in conscience at this stage" or embroil her dad Chancellor Hyde, "so it looks as if everything will go smoothly". Nothing new there, and it only confirms what Sam heard from my Lady Jemima, down corridors of power that have been positively thrumming with the barely-contained scandal.
Charles meanwhile has tried to defuse opposition by elevating Hyde to the Lords, on whose honour no Commons-man may dare trespass and, Mocenigo adds, "it is said that at [Charles'] coronation", planned for February, "the chancellor will be raised to the rank of duke, and so the marriage will be rendered more compatible" [https://www.british-history.ac.uk…] Actually our palantir suggests Hyde will only be created Viscount Cornbury and Earl of Clarendon, already something, but a dukedom would be a bit much.
About Sunday 16 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
The specific project of "burning Westminster" which L&M references, is echoed in Mocenigo's mention that the reinforced palace guards are "as likely to be the first to suffer, as it seems these villains meant to set fire to them and destroy them". "Burning Westminster" still seems easier said than done - where do you start? How do you trap the king in a building of that size, where somebody is probably always rushing with a water bucket to take out a bad candle? Just an idea: on December 13, Nicholas also got a report on the seizure of a barrel of gunpowder, "brought (...) to Sarum [Salisbury?] and claimed by Himphrey Ditton, a Commonwealth man", one of several with "plots in hand", who "hope to (...) see the Cavaliers beg their bread before Christmas".
And so, here we are: Westminster in full panic mode. "Great guards att the Tower, in the Citty, and other places", the Mercurius reports, "and for almost a fortnight togeather all the talke was a plot or what persons was taken prisoners". From the King himself, no less than "A proclamation, commanding all cashiered officers and soldiers, and other persons that cannot give a good account for their being here, to depart out of the cities of London and Westminster" (full text at https://ota.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/rep…) Good luck with enforcing that one, but it should get the attention of the most inattentive, and it's a chance for the Watch to test the new night-sticks on a few "other persons".
Expect reports of guards, arrests, searches and more rogues and under-plots for weeks and weeks. Those evil Fifth Monarchists could be anywhere! Viz., Gen. Albermarle (whose regiment it is, that moved into Westminster) writes to Nicholas today that Col. John Clerk "is upon the guard at Whitehall, but it is not fit that he should be there this night". Amazingly, another "John Clerk" - gotta be the same man - petitions the King on the same day to be released from the Gatehouse. And what of the "obnoxious person (...) concealed in Wm. Du Gard's house, Newington Butts", whom "gentleman pensioner" Edward Short went to arrest and, Short wrote two days ago, who disappeared with Mr. Obnoxious despite posting a bond for £5,000? (Hmm. Du Gard, a papist froggie for sure). Anywhere, I tell you! Bar the doors!
About Sunday 16 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Holy masked potatoes, not another plot against H.M.! Not a week goes by without a report in our State Papers on how some shmuck was overheard in a tavern promising to sheath-his-sword-&c. We even stumbled over one last week (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) while discussing the weather in Holland.
And then we surmise that Shmuck gets a free ticket to sunny Barbados like the others. But aye, this one looks a bit serious, and in fact has been ticking awhile, somehow without registering on Sam's radar. At the end of his summary of Mercurius Politicus for November, Thomas Rugg had a longish report that "in this month on[e] Major White was commited prisoner to the Tower of London, as report said for endevouring' a plotts and make a disturbance against kingly power". There followed "great serches", "the Kings guards doubled and cannon mounted in Whit Hall, a regiment of trained bands and a company a night apointed to watch", an entire foot regiment "quartred in the subuarbs of Westminester", all of this lost to Sam in the London noise as far as the Diary shows. The King's secretary, Edward Nicholas, wrote today that he "had early notice of this plot, but suffered it on purpose to ripen till it burst out a few days ago". Venetian ambassador Mocenigo, on the ball as always, reported on December 12 (December 24, new style; handy converter at http://aulis.org/Calendar/Old_%26…) that "some of the accomplices were arrested and imprisoned yesterday (...) Meanwhile strong guards have been set at all the corners of London and the palace" [https://www.british-history.ac.uk…] Aye, shocking we know, but Sam is five days behind on the newes. Well, his entries were kinda short lately, so he must've been busy, and only now thought "I gotta mention the plot".
And yes, "Many persons committed, as Major Generall Overton, Colonel Zankey, one Babinton and Bagster and other collonells". The State Papers for December 15 include a flurry of reports on the great serches, notably the examination of "John Hall, of Beech Lane, St. Giles's", whom Maj. Thomas White told "he would have the blood of General Monk, and would have killed him and burnt the city before, had his colonel permitted". Discipline, discipline, but still "he will make the city a second Jerusalem, by setting it on fire, and pull the King from his throne". A bit worryingly, Hall "showed [White] a Parliament roll, with the names of all those engaged in the design". Add to the plotters' list, in particular, "Miller, Baxter's Lieut.-Col.", and Hall himself, if he wasn't there to entrap White. Now that's a lot of colonels.
About Sunday 9 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
It seemes this was no ordinary gust of wind, for we now see in Rugge his summation of Mercurius Politicus, that "In this month [December, tho' the day unknowne] their were very great winds, that many yeares there [were] not the like; many ships cast away, many houses blowne downe and churches tome with winds. The States of Holand lost a very great many of the shipes their; the Spaniard lost eight of his galleouns, or his best ships. The Earle of Argile and Laird Swenton was then att sea bound for Scotland, [but were] by ill weather forced into Yearmouth."
We see in our crystal ball that on December 20, a Mr. Russell will write from Amsterdam that, among recent events he recaps, "a terrible storm has cast away 50 ships, and blown down 500 houses". And this, whoa, "the very night the burgo-masters refused so just a demand" as a request for assistance in the arrest of "Harry Cromwell", "Huson the cobbler" and other rogues, apparently long pursued as one of the fanaticks' innumerable plots and cabals. Nice to see how Zephyr favors the House of Stuart; they should enjoy, for it won't always be.
About Sunday 9 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
So much for the reverend's "mild weather": It's not one ship that this "extraordinary gust of wind" claimed, but three, for as the State Papers will reveal tomorrow the Maria lost its mainmast, while the Blackamore also "ran aground between the piers". This in Yarmouth, over 100 km north from Woolwich, but somehow the storm avoided Essex. A month ago (November 15) a dispatch had informed us that a storm had "much injured the quay" in Harwich.
The good duke did indeed need to know a.s.a.p. about the Assurance, because in addition to being Lord High Admiral, on December 18 he will also be made Governor of the Royal Adventurers into Africa, with a monopoly on English, hm, "trade" in that direction. No doubt we'll revisit that glorious appointment in good time, but the company has been around for a couple of months, and no doubt Guinea is already very dear to HRH, as soon will be vast numbers of the Guineans themselves.
If God is a Quaker, perhaps He had a hand in that gust of wind. If so it didn't work. The Assurance was salvaged and repaired. Two ships of that name appear in an interminable list of slaving ships at https://www.reuters.com/graphics/…; but from its record at https://threedecks.org/index.php?… and its absence from a company history at https://www.jstor.org/stable/2713…, it seems the one in the news today mostly stuck to European waters and wasn't one of them.
About Tuesday 4 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Oh, and the woodcut of Oliver's ride to Tyburn is, to give its more precise address, at https://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/bal…. It's worth a look.
About Tuesday 4 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
On translating Latin: We are informed that Mr. Google in his great booke-shop keeps a lad, full of Artifice and Intelligence, who translates Latin on request, along with a few other languages of greater daily usefulness such as Chichewa or Sepedi. He renders "Falsum etiam est verum quod consuit superior" as "It is also true that what was said above is false" (and in the Chichewa language of Malawi as "Ndizowonanso kuti zomwe zanenedwa pamwambapa ndi zabodza"). Leave him your learned maxims from Cicero at https://translate.google.com, and weep if ye will for all these hours offered to declensions and the ablative case.
About Tuesday 4 December 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
On Parliament's resolution of today: At least Sam expresses an opinion, however timid. Our other sources - admittedly scarce, as we're rarely in the barbershops of 1660 London - are either matter-of-fact to the point of indifference (Thomas Rugg his summary of Mercurius Politicus, written in hindsight 'tho while Oliver's head was still overseeing London, Venetian ambassador Mocenigo his dispatch of next week) or entirely silent on the matter (John Evelyn his diary, which will picks up after a few days' hiatus, ironically to marvel at "incomparable" heads he saw at court, made by Holbein in this case). The only ballad mentioning Oliver in late 1660 or 1661 in the collection at https://ebba.english.ucsb.edu will appear, however, on the occasion of his transfer to Tyburn and it does come with a couple of interesting woodcuts; it ends with "there is an end to a stincking crew" and "vivat Rex", so no deviation from the official Line there.
'Tis Parliament's decision, however, with no sign of the king having asked for anything like it. It remains subject to the Lords' approval, and the proceedings at https://www.british-history.ac.uk… suggest that it wasn't an instant rush to the vote: The matter of the attainder of Cromwell (his exemption from pardon) was taken up three times, interspersed with humdrum private business ("humble Petition of Edmond Challenor Esquire" and "Earl of Dorset's Estate"), of the sort which the king had precisely asked Parliament not to waste its time on in the days left before recess, before the Glorious Resolution on "Regicides Carcases to be taken up" finally comes up too. We phant'sy there were quite a few conferences whispered in the hallways on Whether To Do It Or Not while the problems of Esq. Challenor got the floor. We wish something like Grey's Debates or C-SPAN had been there already.
About Tuesday 27 November 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
And wine? An amendment added to the Excise Bill on July 25 sought to exempt it from duty. Which seems odd, given how 'tis mostly imported, but ambassadors such as our friend Giavarina, who all have vast hoards in their cellars, will appreciate the gesture.
And sack? Tax-free, apparently. Meanwhile, drinking the king's health has just taken a new meaning, as might the Puritans' dry regime. Imbibe if you love your sovereign! Now, there's a ready excuse for that coach accident.
About Tuesday 27 November 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
A little exploration of the House of Commons' Journal (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) has found it quite preoccupied with the business of the Excise, as with diverse other revenue flows which H.M. now has the time (for which God be praised) to rearrange in his direction. To wit, the recent business with gravel &c. and claims thereto over which the Ballast Office has prevailed, but also an extraordinary entry on July 17 on the House's detailed examination of duties charged for various imports and commodities, resolving for instance "That there be no Alteration in the Rate for Figs", or "Abatement of the Rate upon Muscavado Sugar", while the rate on "Fustick Wood" is reduced and we are reassured that "The Particulars (...) concerning Saltpetre, Sizers, Orgazine Silk, Raw China Silk, and Raw Long Silk, were, on the Question, agreed unto".
The day's news, which cannot fail to contribute to the tavern talk around Sam, is that the House has "Resolved, That the other Moiety of the Revenue of the Excise of Beer, Ale, Cyder, Perry, strong Waters, Chocolate, Coffee, Sherbett, and Metheglin, be settled on the King for and during his natural Life".
Chocolate (a.k.a. "Chocoletta") and Coffee are, we understand, herbal drinkes and novelties from New Spain and Turkestan. Metheglin and perry will be of course be familiar to all. A moiety, https://languages.oup.com/google-… more or less helpfully reminds us, is "a part or portion, especially a lesser share". So this Moiety, not "all the Excise" contrary to what Sam heard from the table-pounding drunks around him this morning, goes toward the "Twelve hundred thousand Pounds per Annum Revenue, resolved to be settled on his Majesty", starting next Christmas (next what??), which the House on November 21 had unanimously voted to bestow on the king, at the time expecting just the excise on "Beer, Ale, Cyder, Perry, and strong Waters" to be sufficient.
But 'tis not, and so we're having to tap chocoletta, humble metheglin and the new coffee craze too. There are other claims on the Moiety, such as the budget for the garrison at Dunkirk, £3,450 to be similarly taken from the excise on beer and ale as per a report read on August 25 and a vote just yesterday, November 26. In fact a State Council order referenced on August 8 had mentioned that the lonely soldiers in Dunkirk would also be paid off "Perry, Cyder, and Metheglin", which will, then, go to a different pocket. Their budget was also cut, from the £4,800 that had been appropriated on June 30. On August 8 the House had also resolved that up to £825 of anything left from these accounts would go to "Edward Backwell, Alderman of the City of London", who may now have to find something else to support his lifestyle (he invented the banknote, so we're not concerned). Even General Monck was granted a piece of the Excise receipts, on June 27.
About Wednesday 21 November 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
So why did cozen Thomas "the turner" give Sam a cup? Perhaps just a shared interest in woodworking, since Tom gave Sam a set of tools a month ago (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) but there may also be something to celebrate. We find in today's State Papers a brief note, recording a "Grant to Thos. Pepys of an Almsroom in Winchester Cathedral". Assuming this isn't a homonym, then we know (from https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl…) a Thomas Pepys who "at his death [in 1676] was living as an almsman in Sion College": Uncle Thomas, the turner's papa. Alas, Sion College (in London) has nothing to do with Winchester Cathedral (in Hampshire, visit at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Win…) but that won't stop us from connecting the dots.
An almsroom is a crashpad for the indigent, which is what uncle T is right now, granted as a "gift of the crown", and so not easy to get (says https://www.taylorfrancis.com/cha…) Perhaps Sam lent a hand with the application, and gets a mug in return.
And maybe there's more than meets the eye, because on the same day another almsroom is also granted at Winchester to a certain "John Williamson". Not the most uncommon name in England, but if it's the future P.A. and intelligencer to the king, maybe there's different qualities of almsrooms and having one in a cathedral isn't the bleak dead-end it seems at first.
About Monday 19 November 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
On His Majesty's leniency: We cannot know what prompted that discussion. Of course 'tis always a good topic to consider among courtiers in the privacy of your coach, and last month's gruesome executions and reeking baskets are still fresh enough - not that direct witnesses are likely to ever forget them - to provide fuel for thought.
In this case we wonder if some little Controversy may not have aris'n on the case of "one Tench", whom Thomas Rugge will record in his summary of the Mercurius Politicus (doi:10.1017/S2042171000000406, page 128) as "the carpenter that made the scaffold and knocked the staples on the scaffold [of] the King' Charles the First". Now Tench "in this month (...) was beheaded". A footnote drawing on the original Mercurius says Tench had been "apprehended and sent close prisoner" to the Gatehouse on November 25, so still in the future, but execution within a week of arrest seems a bit quick in something as momentous as a trial for regicide.
So we wonder if Tench, whose case is notorious enough for Rugge to give it its own subheading in his book, hasn't been macerating for a while already, and become a minor cause célèbre, in this case a test of whether H.M.'s avengers ain't starting to reach a bit too deep with the ax. In a few centuries historian David Farr will say so, noting disapprovingly in a biography of regicide Gen. Thomas Harrison that "Indeed, the 'merry monarch', Charles II, even had one Tench, the carpenter of the gallows for Charles I, executed" (https://books.google.fr/books?id=…, page 257). Farr isn't around to disapprove in 1660, but among some folks who are, the martyrdom of a carpenter could even be grist for a few seditious pamphlets, hmm?
On the Ballast Office: The Trinity men having "obtained something" is certainly occasion enough for their buying the next round, for they have been for months in a Furious Battle for the realm's gravel, which it would seem is now being decided; see our little note at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/… on its opening stages.
About Saturday 17 November 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
The poll tax problem is prominent enough for Venetian ambassador Giavarina to make it item No. 1 in his weekly dispatch (dated November 26 new style, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) Venice cares about this stuff, because it has been granted royal leave to recruit England's demobbed soldiers into its own wars. Giavarina his letter:
"[Parliament's] special aim is the complete disbanding of the army and the disarming of the fleet (...) Finding that their orders were left unfulfilled chiefly from lack of money they immediately applied themselves to find fresh cash for the purpose, which absorbs immense and incredible sums. They are therefore discussing a tax, which will soon be ripe, of 70,000l. sterling a month for six weeks, and as much of the poll tax is still unpaid, they are preparing stringent orders, threatening with severe penalties those who show an unwillingness to submit."
So, problem: The People, perhaps made dizzy by the influx of oxygen (sorry, "vital spirit") that came with the end of one Dictatorship, aren't paying this Tax. Solution: Create that new one, with even more stringent deadlines. Hmm, yes, that should do it. Adjourn, then. Everybody to the Devil Tavern!