Other occasions than Cromwell's death, if slightly contrived, are fortunately available to give the people something else to celebrate today, but do we detect a wistful note at the end of this report from Mercurius Politicus, as Thomas Rugge summarized it in 1672, with 12 years' worth of hindsight?
"In this month the citty of Worester, it beeinge the 3 day September, kept a great day of rejoycinge for the deliverance of his Majesty, it beeinge that his Majestie lost the day of battel with Oliver Cromwell, for on that day of the month hee had a great victory in Ireland and another on that day at Dunbarre in Scotland, and that day of the month hee died. Vale [farewell], Oliver."
The prince de Ligne, ambassador extraordinary for Spain: Just the name and title evoke pump and luxury, of the sort that bring head-shaking in taverns and even at Court, and gets you into Sam's carnet mondain. Venetian ambassador Giavarina, whose job obviously includes watching that scene closely, has been tracking Ligne for months and reported home a couple of weeks ago that "warships have already been despatched to the coasts of Flanders to fetch him, at his request" - this alone would get him on Sam's radar. Warships plural, for "[h]e comes with a large suite of over 100 persons. He brings four coaches and six, a large number of pages and lackeys and will be accompanied by a number of distinguished persons of Flanders, who are bringing their coaches and six, and liveries at their own cost, to render the embassy as splendid as possible." Giavarina's letters are at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…, this one is dated September 3, new style, August 23 Pepys standard time. Ligne was expected "next week" at the time, so a bit of delay maybe.
A suite of over 100 persons! What do they even do? Most of them will probably have nothing more to do than look pretty. By definition, the court of Spain travels in style and must be awesome, but in this case there's stuff at stake. There's the port of Dunkirk, a strategic gateway to Holland that's currently in English hands and, 'tis said, available at the right price. There's Spain's interminable war with Portugal; the poor Portuguese ambassador has been angling for the king's eye ever since Charles returned - from Spanish lands, heh heh heh - and he can't afford quite so much soft power but, Giavarina also reported on September 10 (new style), "he makes very liberal offers, which extend to a marriage between the Infanta of Portugal and this king" - that will never work, the wags say, "with a most extensive dowry in Brazil, the East Indies and some port in Portugal itself". "Portugal" did meet Charles in July, but on 30 July (n.s.) Giavarina passed on gossip that "he paid 10,000l. sterling to the grandees of the Court to smoothe the way". Surely an exaggeration, but not a surprise either; the court's gotta catch up on 11 years of not getting bribed. We doubt, however, if the prince de Ligne will have to do anything quite so gross.
And finally, there's England's demobilization of much of its army and navy. As soon as he got this news, Giavarina reacted with "if the most serene republic wants troops this will be an excellent opportunity for getting as many as she requires". He puts the loot at 10,000 men, "all good veteran troops [who] would be glad to serve her in the war with the Ottoman". Well, maybe, but since legally they cannot serve forreigne princes, the king must approve. Spain surely has its eye on that as well, either to get them, or to steer them as far from Portugal - aye, to Venice, why not - as possible.
This week's Parliamentary Intelligencer also has a few ADVERTISEMENTS, including for this interesting book: "Jews in America, Or, Probabilities that those Indians are Judaical, made more probable by some Additionals to the former Conjectures. By Thomas Thorowgood, S. T. B Norfolciensis." Sold "H. Broom at the Gun in Ivy-lane", where we'll presently rush to find how these Additionals make jews of the Cherokee; we find at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jew… that the idea is currently in vogue.
And with this, that's it for the publick holdings of the Parliamentary Intelligencer at https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo…. Many thanks to the University of Michigan (in Potawatomi territory). Anyone knows where to find issues after No. 36, please leave us a note at the Gun in Ivy-Lane.
While the kingdom heaves a huge sigh of relief at the Act of Oblivion finally being passed, king Charles also devotes half of his speech before Parliament to the "Act for a speedy Provision of Money to pay off and disband all the Forces of this Kingdom, both by sea and land", the "pole bill" also voted upon today and which, in all probability, is the reason why Sam had to work so hard of late at tallying the Navy's debt.
What the king has to say, as reprinted in the Parliamentary Intelligencer (No. 36, August 26-September 3 but with newes through August 29 onely) is interesting: "I do thank you as much as if the Money were to come into My Own Coffers (...) I pray very earnestly, as fast as Money comes in, discharge that great burthen of the Navy, and disband the Army as fast as you can". He doesn't quite add 'and take their guns away', but probably he needs not. Then, "the weekly expence of the Navy, eats up all you have given me by the Bill of Tonnage and Poundage." Too bad, as Charles is about to expand it with one of Europe's largest programs of naval construction.
The rest has to be one of the most tear-jerking demonstrations of modesty on record, from someone who just arrived loaded with mountains of gold plate from Holland and on whom the whole country has showered more gifts: "I am not richer, that is, I have not so much money in my Purse, as when I came to you. The truth is, I have lived principally ever since upon what I brought with me (...) Nor have I been able to give my Brothers one shilling since I came into England, nor to keep any Table in my House, but what I eat my self. And that which troubles me most, is, to see many of you come to Me to Whitehall, and to think that you must go some where else to seek your Dinner." O the poor brothers, I can hear their tummies rumbling, O the humiliation of having to turn friends out to the tavern next door. Maybe Sam could help with some leftover cold chicken?
Next week it will be made clear that Peter Johnson is right, and Mr. Walker, no doubt drawing on his lawyer's thick books of precedents, trimmed a priviledge here and there in my lord Sandwich's commission. At this time my lord is in charge of counting His Majestie's silver spoons, and can't wait to get back in the sea spray. In fact his journal (at https://archive.org/details/journ…) has been blank since he disembarked in May, as if there really was nothing worth writing down in my lord's life right now. But a few months of derring-do await in the papers that Walker has revised.
The Duke of York is sharing some breakfast chocolate with his trusted lawyer, and remarks in a jolly mood, "do you know, Walker, I dream'd of you this night past. A voice was saying, 'the kingdome is broke! You must get Walker to cut the Navy's budget'".
"I'm so honored, your grace".
"How absurd, no? When we're broke, why, then we just stop paying. Why would we cut anything?"
Walker, who had one hand inside his portfolio and was about to pull his monthly invoice, opts to extract a lace kerchief instead, and replies with a forced smile. "Indeed, you grace. How droll".
Sam makes "doing something (...) as to the debts of the Navy" look almost easy, but we suspect this understates what must have been quite a paper chase. Surprise, a lot of records disappeared during the Interregnum. But the State Papers do provide a few fossils that seem to come from that exercise, some showing up a bit late, as if claimants were still rushing in with their old invoices long after the bell was rung, or had been advised at the last minute: On August 20, the Victualling Commissioners write to the Navy Commissioners to "request an imprest of 9,000L. or 10,000L" - the imprecision must have brought a few sighs - as "there are bills in the Excise Office value nearly 5,000L. imprested to Mr. Gawden" - a victualler Sam will get to know well, and who then may have had about a 50% market share. On this day the 22nd, a smaller victualler's claim shows up, for £3,399 3s. of butter, cheese and peas in "Mr. Chaplin's account". A lot of invoices are apparently stuck in the Excise Office, yet another place to search, and of course victualling is not the biggest bit of the Debt.
Why this sudden interest in evening out the books? We believe that next week, H.M. himself will come to Parliament with full pump and circumstance to promulgate the Act of Oblivion, which will surely get most of the attention, and just after that, before the klieg lights go out, an "Act for a speedy Provision of Money to pay off and disband all the Forces of this Kingdom, both by sea and land". This "Act for Poll-money" has been making its way through Parliament since at least July (e.g. at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) but now the message will clearly go out to the multitude of unpaid men with guns: "Go back to the farm, but before that, we'll pay your wages". They'll cheer and throw their hats, then it could become a dangerous moment. So Sam may be under a bit more pressure than the Diary conveys.
Also, a prince, new to power, always enjoys having a dossier on what a shambles the previous Government has left him. The more methodical the dossier, the better it looks.
A letter today is being written to Sam by Capt. Robert Clay, on board his stinking, lice-infested ship the Sapphire. It probably runs to page after flowery page, but the busy editors of the State Papers summarized it thusly:
"Capt. Robert Clay to Samuel Pepys, Clerk of the Acts to the Navy. Congratulates him on his entrance into office. His ship wants cleaning".
First letter of congratulations on record so far, though. Maybe the only one; original slightly gnawed at by a rat. Or maybe the captain was a scrub fanatic, always petitioning for more soap and new brushes? His short career is about to end anyway (says https://threedecks.org/index.php?…) The Sapphire's general filthiness, however, will not keep it from an illustrious history culminating in its own Wikipedia page (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS…)
Pray consider, as you entrust your gold to factotums through London's twisting streets, in the Parliamentary Intelligencer (No. 35, August 20-27, at https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo…) the following ADVERTISEMENT:
****** WE are desired to give notice, that William Hall about seventeen years old, is run away from his Master Major Dennis, and hath taken with him the sum of twenty nine pounds. He is in Footmans habit of grey Serge, edged with red, brown hair curled, not very long, and of a pale complexion. If any can give notice of him, they may leave word with Mr. Samuel Mearn His Majesties Bookbinder, in little Britain, and they shall be thankfully rewarded. ******
Got all that? To the gallows, I say. Pale, brown hair not very long; may have cut his hair and changed his clothes. There he is!! And emerging from the Navy office, no less!
But tussling with the local taipans, prying out Bendysh and stuffing his pockets may not be all that's in Winchelsea's brief. On July 17, the Senate wrote to Giavarina that its ambassador to France, Giovanni Battista Nani, "writes about a report that England is negotiating an offensive and defensive alliance with the Turk." Unfortunately we don't have that cable from Nani, but an offensive alliance, now that would be something. Asked to confirm, Giavarina mulled it over for a month and responded finding "no indication of anything of the sort". But what European prince, except in Venice and perhaps for the pope, hasn't come up with the cunning idea of an alliance with the Turk?
The Venetian ambassador, Francesco Giavarina, has been watching my Lord Winchelsea for a couple of months. He describes an interesting character sailing into an uneasy situation.
On July 9 (new style, so June 29, Pepys Standard Time; all dates in new style), he wrote home: "The earl has been to see me. (...) [I]t is my duty to inform your Serenity that the earl is a young man full of idle talk, informed about many things, but not very steady, rather inclined to be light and volatile, like the climate of the country. For this reason no one thinks him suitable for the post of Constantinople, which requires mature and sober men, but his chief object being gain, he has not thought of anything beyond and his talk is all of occasions which may bring him profit".
By August 27 Giavarina will have softened his views, to "he seems very devoted to the public interests". Winchelsea, and others perhaps then also in the run for the post, have also been falling over themselves with outpourings of love for Venice, Giavarina writing on May 14 that "the earl of Winchelsea and house of Arundel (...) announce themselves as much Venetian as English".
Back in Constantinople, Giavarina says, "The [English] merchants [of the Turkey Company, the main English presence there] are amazed at a person of this rank wanting to go to Constantinople, a thing never seen before, and they are not altogether pleased, as they will have to incur greater expenses, for the earl no doubt desires the post merely for the gain, but such being his Majesty's wish they must needs conform to it." Letters still flew back and forth to London, and on August 6, he reported that on August 2 the Company had formally asked the king to keep the current ambassador in place but had been rebuffed (one wonders how things can have moved quite so fast, given the weeks the mail takes between England and Turkey); while the Venetian Senate, perhaps drawing on the various other sources surely at its disposal, still reflected that "the opposition of the Turkey Company may stop the earl of Winchelsea from going to the Porte." The current ambassador, Sir Thomas Bendysh, is no less venal - on June 8 Giavarina wrote that he "thirsts for an absolute dominion over the marts of the Levant (...) because this would mean the greatness of his house and fortune" - has been clinging to his post since 1647 and indeed he is going to cling yet a bit longer.
In further evidence of the frantic scramble for bureaucratic plums that continues as the monarchy rebuilds itself, consider this minute from today's session of Parliament's Treasury Committee (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) "The question of the lease of the Ballast Office".
Ah, the Ballast (or Ballastage) Office. The glamour, the romance of that one; it's in charge of quarrying and hauling around the gravel to ballast ships, and what girl wouldn't fall for the gallant, mysterious ballast-man? Anyway; the Committee's minutes and the State Papers record at least six and perhaps up to 10 petitions from hopeful contenders; plus a claim from Trinity House, which holds a "patent of Lastage and Ballage" which Charles I, who set up the Ballast Office in his final year, apparently forgot about (how could he).
And we say nothing of the petitions for seaweed, or of the bold proposal sent on August 2 by "George Paul" to the king, "for a grant of all mud or oozy lands in England, between high and low water mark (...) now worth nothing" - yea, a squishy empire of no less than the kingdom's entire coastline, as long as it's oozy and bounded by tidelines that must be loosely charted at best, if at all possible to map.
So now there's this tussle, in which the State Papers show that Colonel William Carlos alone has been agitating for at least three months, and which now has the committee throwing up its collective hands in despair and kicking up the file to H.M. himself for resolution.
By late August the Gravel Crisis has reached the very top of the Government. An undated letter from Lord Treasurer Southampton to the king's secretary, placed in the State Papers for next September, will record that one of the petitioners offered £400 to get the patent for 21 years - compare this with the £1,000 Sam has been offered for his complex, intense and strategic position on top of the entire Navy, and decide which is the fairer price.
(As the party goes on, Col. Carlos takes his young associate to a quiet spot near the water-pool: "I want to say one Thing to ye". "Yes sir". "Are ye listening?" "Yes sir, I am". "Just one word: gravel... There's a great future in gravel". See the whole scene at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U…)
The Treasury opines that it should all really be the King's gravel, but petitions will still be flying in November. Carlos, a far from insignificant character who may have saved the king's life twice at the battle of Worcerster, will get rights to gravel in the Thames (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wil…) but will still be litigating against Trinity House in 1663 (https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) Spoiler: Trinity House comes on top in the end (https://trinityhousehistory.wordp…)
The Shipping Newes: Wm. Blaides today (7 August) advises the Earl of Sandwich that he has victualled the Merlin frigate; to his letter is added a note "[by Pepys]", the State Papers' editor records (at https://play.google.com/store/boo…) "that Lord [Sandwich] desires some masts to be sent for from Lisbon, which may be spoiled by worms, &c."
&c., alas - we want to know about the Worms, in which Sam is now so expert, in those the first of many, many ship's masts he will handle. How they come from Portugal, a nation now anxious to please England if it will mean help against Spain (just wait). We note also how the business, properly with the Admiralty (in whose papers the letter resides) is still done seemingly on a personal level with Sandwich. In the future Sam will just be the face of the faceless "Office".
So, Sarah, is Sam the go-to, or does he get his mail ex-officio, as per a naval rulebook that says, "in case of no-biscuits, write to the Admiralty with copy to the Clerk of the Acts"? In the name of good government, we wish the latter! And undoubtedly much of his footprint in the State Papers is mail that was nothing personal. But in the case at least of that letter from Dublin, its coming on top of the more clearly official appeal to the Commissioners and its tone - "beg[ging] him to urge" - inspir'd us to see evidence of widespread fame, and of the back-channel being worked.
The Admiralty Commissioners, so impersonally designated, have also been getting a number of appeals for money and victuals since May-June, with no copy to Sam at least as far as survives in the State Papers (these appeals will tumble out of a search for "Admiralty" at https://play.google.com/store/boo…) So Jowles' letter stands out as a tad unusual.
And Jowles isn't just any captain, by the way. On March 31, when Sam was still on the Naseby, "this morning Captain Jowles of the 'Wexford' came on board, for whom I got commission from my Lord to be commander of the ship" [https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…] Jowles may remember the Admiral's diligent little clerk, and paying him £5, and the promissory-note complications that ensued may have further impressed the captain's memory.
Sam spent weeks while at sea building up this phantastickal collection (dare we say network) of captains, many of them up-and-coming given the Times; getting acquainted while waiting for the ink to dry on their paperwork; &c. Gotta be good for something. And it sure goes with the job, but we think he's not the sort who'd lose a business card anyway.
Letters were written yesterday (1 August) in Dublin by Capt. Valentine Jowles, of the Wexford, to whine (to the Admiralty Commissioners) that for want of beer and biscuits he "will be obliged to put his company [crew] to shorter allowances". One goes to Sam, to "beg him to urge his want of provisions to the Commissioners". (This in the State Papers, at https://play.google.com/store/boo…)
So, welcome to the Navy Office. These letters, complaining of no money/no food, coming from all corners of the naval empire, will be Sam's life as long as he's in there, at a rate of up to one per day just for those (likely a small fraction) that ended up in the State Papers (this is one of the first on record). The State being broke, as everyone is starting to find out now that the Restoration's confettis are dispersing, Sam's life will be one of frustration in that respect. We note, though, that he's already known as far away as Dublin as the go-to man who can speed things up in the bureaucracy. Which may be worth something, too.
>And we're pretty sure we saw (but where??) a report of the guard being doubled in happy-go-lucky Whitehall, just in case
Found it - in Venetian ambassador Francesco Giavarina's weekly dispatch, dated July 23 (new style, and so about a couple of weeks after that aborted attack on the king): Writing of Presbyterian plots, and noting that "there are many Presbyterians in the house of Commons", Giavarina writes that "they have increased the guards at Whitehall. Besides the double sentries on foot they have added two on horse at every approach." Happily, "this does not prevent the king from going out every day and engaging in hunting and other recreations in which he most delights."
We find this day, in the Parliamentary Intelligencer (No. 24, June 4 thr'o 11) this ADVERTISEMENT:
****** Lost the 24th of May 1660. between Charlton and London, (by conjecture neer Greenwich wall) one table Diamond weighing twelve or thirteen grains, having a little speck in it, bring word to Mr. Nicholas Clobery at the Fleece in Lumbarstreet, and you shall have 5 l. for your pains, and many thanks ******
13 grains = 0.8 gram = 4.22 carat, worth about $83,000 at 2023 prices according to https://www.diamondse.info/diamon…, not taking into account the "little speck". Diamond prices may have been around 90% lower in the 17C (see http://www.palagems.com/ball-gem-… for a brave attempt to reconstitute pre-industrial gem prices), but not "£5", by any conversion factor, "many thanks". Oh boo-hoo-hoo, I lost my table diamond somewhere neer Greenwich wall. The Quality can be so much fun sometimes.
Order in Council, Whitehall, 4 July: On Report of a Committee of Council, in favour of the Appointment of Commissioners of the Navy to manage its affairs, - that John Lord Berkeley, Sir Wm. Penn, and Peter Pett be so appointed, in connection with Sir George Carteret, treasurer, the future comptroller, Sir Wm. Baker, surveyor, AND SAM PEPYS, CLERK OF THE NAVY; specifying also the salaries to be received by each. (State Papers; sorry, we couldn't help shouting).
"Order in Council", cuz. Doesn't get more official than that.
Here's a job for Sam, between lookin' for Mylord and delivering letters: Capt. Roger Cuttance - of the Naseby, remember him? - send him a letter today (June 24, No. 144 in the State Papers) to advise that "the Vice-Admiral has brought Lord [Montague] a canoe from Greenland". Oh joy. It's "for one man to sit in a round hole to row in, and the rest close like a ship's deck" - well, a kayak, you get the picture.
Why a kayak? Where from? Is this a gift from the king of Denmark? Does it come with one of these sealskin-clad Arctick Indians? And where is it now? Will we ever know? Anyway, "he wants his Lordship to see it before he sends it away [to whom?], but does not like to lose the opportunity of sending it by the bark that is ready". In other words, could Sam perhaps come fetch the kayak, "18 or 19 feet long", show it to Montague and rush it back to wherever "the bark" is? Because perhaps Montague has other fish to fry than get into a coach to go look at it.
Sam for all his taste for curios kept the canoe out of the Diary, but he did jump into it as it will reappear on July 4 in a letter (State Papers again) from VAdm Lawson, confirming to Sam that he "will command, as ordered, his Excellency's barge, and the canoe to be carried to Lynn, in Norfolk". And there the canoe disappears. So at least it didn't have to be manoeuvered with a team of horses through the cramped streets of London, all the way to Westminster. Pity; what a scene, what a team they would have made, Sam and the harpoon-wielding Eskimo, chasing off little boys as they tried to get inside the canoe.
Something else happened today. The Parliamentary Intelligencer (No. 27, for June 25 through July 2) will shortly inform us, matter-of-factly and seemingly without anyone else taking notice, that OMG, someone almost kill'd the King.
****** On Thursday [today, June 28], being the day appointed for the Thanksgiving for his sacred Majesties restauration, in his Majesties passage between the Guard-chamber, and his Closet, stood a person neer up to the wall with a drawn sword under his cloak, which was not for some time discovered; but his Majesty passing to the Closet, George Charnock, Serjeant at Arms, casting his eye about for the security of his Majesties person, discovered the glittering of the Sword, and thereupon presently with his Mace seized on the person, took from him the said naked sword, and upon view found the same to be a short sword, back hilted, hacked half way down from the point, a weapon fit for a dangerous design, but by the care and prudence of that Gentleman, his Majesties faithful servant, all intended mischief was prevented, the person secured, and his Majesty informed thereof by the Right Honorable and truly Noble Lord, the Earl of Pembroke, and the party remains under examination. ******
And that's it, folks, nothing to see here, move along now. We're used to bigmouths being hauled to the Tower after blurting out their regicide plans in taverns, but here we get the glittering of the Sword, the Secret Service lunging, the serjeant's expert eye on the hacked-off blade, wow.
Amid all the pageants and the bonfires and the dinners overflowing with glee at Charles' return, a few malcontents do lurk - to wit, a "Capt. Hen. Cleer" (hmm - sounds Dutch to me) who, full of bold talk "that he would sheathe his sword in the King's blood, lurks about in disguise, and was yesterday seen stealing upstairs at Whitehall" - this in a letter that "Chas. Fulwood" will pen next July 26, now founde in the State Papers ("sheathing my sword" in various parts of the king being quite a popular expression among plotters). And we're pretty sure we saw (but where??) a report of the guard being doubled in happy-go-lucky Whitehall, just in case.
Charnock had been restored to his job as serjeant at arms (and king's escort, then) just six weeks ago (https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) In 15 years, on 8 June 1675, he will still be "Sir George Charnock, Serjeant at Arms", attending the Lord Keeper in Parliament (https://dokumen.pub/the-law-and-t…) after, perhaps, his keen eye had chang'd the course of history.
Sam, gourmand that he is, may be interest'd in the following ADVERTISEMENT, published on this day in the Parliamentary Intelligencer, No. 29 with newses for July 9 thr'o 16:
****** Most excellent and approved Dentrifices to scour and cleanse the Teeth, making them white as Ivory, preserves from the Toothach; so that being constantly used, the parties using it, are never troubled with the Toothach: It fastens the [alas, word missing], sweetens the Breath, and preserves the Gums and Mouth from Cankers and Imposthumes, and being beaten to powder, and drunk in Wine, or any other drink, is a good remedy for any Flux or Lask. Invented and made by Robert Turner, the onely Author of them, and are onely to be had at the House of Thomas Rockes, Stationer, at the Holy Lamb at the East-end of St. Pauls Church, near the School, in Sealed Papers. ******
"Dentifrice" is still the French word for toothpaste but, should you wonder about dental hygiene overflowing from Louis XIV's demesne, is at root (ha ha) a Latin word with an ancestry going back to the Pyramids.
Hmm - Sam does keep his mouth closed in every portrait we have of him, no? But he did perhaps come across Mr. Turner's anti-imposthumall powder, having accompanied the missus "to La Roche’s to have her tooth drawn", on April 7 (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) If that's the one; the Encyclopedia refers to Peter La Roche, not Thomas Rockes, and he "worked near Fleet Bridge"; not quite the East-end of St. Paul.
Comments
Third Reading
About Monday 3 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Other occasions than Cromwell's death, if slightly contrived, are fortunately available to give the people something else to celebrate today, but do we detect a wistful note at the end of this report from Mercurius Politicus, as Thomas Rugge summarized it in 1672, with 12 years' worth of hindsight?
"In this month the citty of Worester, it beeinge the 3 day September, kept a great day of rejoycinge for the deliverance of his Majesty, it beeinge that his Majestie lost the day of battel with Oliver Cromwell, for on that day of the month hee had a great victory in Ireland and another on that day at Dunbarre in Scotland, and that day of the month hee died. Vale [farewell], Oliver."
(https://doi.org/10.1017/S20421710…, p. 110; paywalled).
About Saturday 1 September 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
The prince de Ligne, ambassador extraordinary for Spain: Just the name and title evoke pump and luxury, of the sort that bring head-shaking in taverns and even at Court, and gets you into Sam's carnet mondain. Venetian ambassador Giavarina, whose job obviously includes watching that scene closely, has been tracking Ligne for months and reported home a couple of weeks ago that "warships have already been despatched to the coasts of Flanders to fetch him, at his request" - this alone would get him on Sam's radar. Warships plural, for "[h]e comes with a large suite of over 100 persons. He brings four coaches and six, a large number of pages and lackeys and will be accompanied by a number of distinguished persons of Flanders, who are bringing their coaches and six, and liveries at their own cost, to render the embassy as splendid as possible." Giavarina's letters are at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…, this one is dated September 3, new style, August 23 Pepys standard time. Ligne was expected "next week" at the time, so a bit of delay maybe.
A suite of over 100 persons! What do they even do? Most of them will probably have nothing more to do than look pretty. By definition, the court of Spain travels in style and must be awesome, but in this case there's stuff at stake. There's the port of Dunkirk, a strategic gateway to Holland that's currently in English hands and, 'tis said, available at the right price. There's Spain's interminable war with Portugal; the poor Portuguese ambassador has been angling for the king's eye ever since Charles returned - from Spanish lands, heh heh heh - and he can't afford quite so much soft power but, Giavarina also reported on September 10 (new style), "he makes very liberal offers, which extend to a marriage between the Infanta of Portugal and this king" - that will never work, the wags say, "with a most extensive dowry in Brazil, the East Indies and some port in Portugal itself". "Portugal" did meet Charles in July, but on 30 July (n.s.) Giavarina passed on gossip that "he paid 10,000l. sterling to the grandees of the Court to smoothe the way". Surely an exaggeration, but not a surprise either; the court's gotta catch up on 11 years of not getting bribed. We doubt, however, if the prince de Ligne will have to do anything quite so gross.
And finally, there's England's demobilization of much of its army and navy. As soon as he got this news, Giavarina reacted with "if the most serene republic wants troops this will be an excellent opportunity for getting as many as she requires". He puts the loot at 10,000 men, "all good veteran troops [who] would be glad to serve her in the war with the Ottoman". Well, maybe, but since legally they cannot serve forreigne princes, the king must approve. Spain surely has its eye on that as well, either to get them, or to steer them as far from Portugal - aye, to Venice, why not - as possible.
About Wednesday 29 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
This week's Parliamentary Intelligencer also has a few ADVERTISEMENTS, including for this interesting book: "Jews in America, Or, Probabilities that those Indians are Judaical, made more probable by some Additionals to the former Conjectures. By Thomas Thorowgood, S. T. B Norfolciensis." Sold "H. Broom at the Gun in Ivy-lane", where we'll presently rush to find how these Additionals make jews of the Cherokee; we find at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jew… that the idea is currently in vogue.
And with this, that's it for the publick holdings of the Parliamentary Intelligencer at https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo…. Many thanks to the University of Michigan (in Potawatomi territory). Anyone knows where to find issues after No. 36, please leave us a note at the Gun in Ivy-Lane.
About Wednesday 29 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
While the kingdom heaves a huge sigh of relief at the Act of Oblivion finally being passed, king Charles also devotes half of his speech before Parliament to the "Act for a speedy Provision of Money to pay off and disband all the Forces of this Kingdom, both by sea and land", the "pole bill" also voted upon today and which, in all probability, is the reason why Sam had to work so hard of late at tallying the Navy's debt.
What the king has to say, as reprinted in the Parliamentary Intelligencer (No. 36, August 26-September 3 but with newes through August 29 onely) is interesting: "I do thank you as much as if the Money were to come into My Own Coffers (...) I pray very earnestly, as fast as Money comes in, discharge that great burthen of the Navy, and disband the Army as fast as you can". He doesn't quite add 'and take their guns away', but probably he needs not. Then, "the weekly expence of the Navy, eats up all you have given me by the Bill of Tonnage and Poundage." Too bad, as Charles is about to expand it with one of Europe's largest programs of naval construction.
The rest has to be one of the most tear-jerking demonstrations of modesty on record, from someone who just arrived loaded with mountains of gold plate from Holland and on whom the whole country has showered more gifts: "I am not richer, that is, I have not so much money in my Purse, as when I came to you. The truth is, I have lived principally ever since upon what I brought with me (...) Nor have I been able to give my Brothers one shilling since I came into England, nor to keep any Table in my House, but what I eat my self. And that which troubles me most, is, to see many of you come to Me to Whitehall, and to think that you must go some where else to seek your Dinner." O the poor brothers, I can hear their tummies rumbling, O the humiliation of having to turn friends out to the tavern next door. Maybe Sam could help with some leftover cold chicken?
About Saturday 25 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Next week it will be made clear that Peter Johnson is right, and Mr. Walker, no doubt drawing on his lawyer's thick books of precedents, trimmed a priviledge here and there in my lord Sandwich's commission. At this time my lord is in charge of counting His Majestie's silver spoons, and can't wait to get back in the sea spray. In fact his journal (at https://archive.org/details/journ…) has been blank since he disembarked in May, as if there really was nothing worth writing down in my lord's life right now. But a few months of derring-do await in the papers that Walker has revised.
The Duke of York is sharing some breakfast chocolate with his trusted lawyer, and remarks in a jolly mood, "do you know, Walker, I dream'd of you this night past. A voice was saying, 'the kingdome is broke! You must get Walker to cut the Navy's budget'".
"I'm so honored, your grace".
"How absurd, no? When we're broke, why, then we just stop paying. Why would we cut anything?"
Walker, who had one hand inside his portfolio and was about to pull his monthly invoice, opts to extract a lace kerchief instead, and replies with a forced smile. "Indeed, you grace. How droll".
About Wednesday 22 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Sam makes "doing something (...) as to the debts of the Navy" look almost easy, but we suspect this understates what must have been quite a paper chase. Surprise, a lot of records disappeared during the Interregnum. But the State Papers do provide a few fossils that seem to come from that exercise, some showing up a bit late, as if claimants were still rushing in with their old invoices long after the bell was rung, or had been advised at the last minute: On August 20, the Victualling Commissioners write to the Navy Commissioners to "request an imprest of 9,000L. or 10,000L" - the imprecision must have brought a few sighs - as "there are bills in the Excise Office value nearly 5,000L. imprested to Mr. Gawden" - a victualler Sam will get to know well, and who then may have had about a 50% market share. On this day the 22nd, a smaller victualler's claim shows up, for £3,399 3s. of butter, cheese and peas in "Mr. Chaplin's account". A lot of invoices are apparently stuck in the Excise Office, yet another place to search, and of course victualling is not the biggest bit of the Debt.
Why this sudden interest in evening out the books? We believe that next week, H.M. himself will come to Parliament with full pump and circumstance to promulgate the Act of Oblivion, which will surely get most of the attention, and just after that, before the klieg lights go out, an "Act for a speedy Provision of Money to pay off and disband all the Forces of this Kingdom, both by sea and land". This "Act for Poll-money" has been making its way through Parliament since at least July (e.g. at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) but now the message will clearly go out to the multitude of unpaid men with guns: "Go back to the farm, but before that, we'll pay your wages". They'll cheer and throw their hats, then it could become a dangerous moment. So Sam may be under a bit more pressure than the Diary conveys.
Also, a prince, new to power, always enjoys having a dossier on what a shambles the previous Government has left him. The more methodical the dossier, the better it looks.
About Monday 20 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
A letter today is being written to Sam by Capt. Robert Clay, on board his stinking, lice-infested ship the Sapphire. It probably runs to page after flowery page, but the busy editors of the State Papers summarized it thusly:
"Capt. Robert Clay to Samuel Pepys, Clerk of the Acts to the Navy. Congratulates him on his entrance into office. His ship wants cleaning".
First letter of congratulations on record so far, though. Maybe the only one; original slightly gnawed at by a rat. Or maybe the captain was a scrub fanatic, always petitioning for more soap and new brushes? His short career is about to end anyway (says https://threedecks.org/index.php?…) The Sapphire's general filthiness, however, will not keep it from an illustrious history culminating in its own Wikipedia page (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS…)
About Monday 20 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Pray consider, as you entrust your gold to factotums through London's twisting streets, in the Parliamentary Intelligencer (No. 35, August 20-27, at https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo…) the following ADVERTISEMENT:
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WE are desired to give notice, that William Hall about seventeen years old, is run away from his Master Major Dennis, and hath taken with him the sum of twenty nine pounds. He is in Footmans habit of grey Serge, edged with red, brown hair curled, not very long, and of a pale complexion. If any can give notice of him, they may leave word with Mr. Samuel Mearn His Majesties Bookbinder, in little Britain, and they shall be thankfully rewarded.
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Got all that? To the gallows, I say. Pale, brown hair not very long; may have cut his hair and changed his clothes. There he is!! And emerging from the Navy office, no less!
About Thursday 9 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
But tussling with the local taipans, prying out Bendysh and stuffing his pockets may not be all that's in Winchelsea's brief. On July 17, the Senate wrote to Giavarina that its ambassador to France, Giovanni Battista Nani, "writes about a report that England is negotiating an offensive and defensive alliance with the Turk." Unfortunately we don't have that cable from Nani, but an offensive alliance, now that would be something. Asked to confirm, Giavarina mulled it over for a month and responded finding "no indication of anything of the sort". But what European prince, except in Venice and perhaps for the pope, hasn't come up with the cunning idea of an alliance with the Turk?
The Venetian diplomatic archive is at https://www.british-history.ac.uk….
About Thursday 9 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
The Venetian ambassador, Francesco Giavarina, has been watching my Lord Winchelsea for a couple of months. He describes an interesting character sailing into an uneasy situation.
On July 9 (new style, so June 29, Pepys Standard Time; all dates in new style), he wrote home: "The earl has been to see me. (...) [I]t is my duty to inform your Serenity that the earl is a young man full of idle talk, informed about many things, but not very steady, rather inclined to be light and volatile, like the climate of the country. For this reason no one thinks him suitable for the post of Constantinople, which requires mature and sober men, but his chief object being gain, he has not thought of anything beyond and his talk is all of occasions which may bring him profit".
By August 27 Giavarina will have softened his views, to "he seems very devoted to the public interests". Winchelsea, and others perhaps then also in the run for the post, have also been falling over themselves with outpourings of love for Venice, Giavarina writing on May 14 that "the earl of Winchelsea and house of Arundel (...) announce themselves as much Venetian as English".
Back in Constantinople, Giavarina says, "The [English] merchants [of the Turkey Company, the main English presence there] are amazed at a person of this rank wanting to go to Constantinople, a thing never seen before, and they are not altogether pleased, as they will have to incur greater expenses, for the earl no doubt desires the post merely for the gain, but such being his Majesty's wish they must needs conform to it." Letters still flew back and forth to London, and on August 6, he reported that on August 2 the Company had formally asked the king to keep the current ambassador in place but had been rebuffed (one wonders how things can have moved quite so fast, given the weeks the mail takes between England and Turkey); while the Venetian Senate, perhaps drawing on the various other sources surely at its disposal, still reflected that "the opposition of the Turkey Company may stop the earl of Winchelsea from going to the Porte." The current ambassador, Sir Thomas Bendysh, is no less venal - on June 8 Giavarina wrote that he "thirsts for an absolute dominion over the marts of the Levant (...) because this would mean the greatness of his house and fortune" - has been clinging to his post since 1647 and indeed he is going to cling yet a bit longer.
About Saturday 11 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
In further evidence of the frantic scramble for bureaucratic plums that continues as the monarchy rebuilds itself, consider this minute from today's session of Parliament's Treasury Committee (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) "The question of the lease of the Ballast Office".
Ah, the Ballast (or Ballastage) Office. The glamour, the romance of that one; it's in charge of quarrying and hauling around the gravel to ballast ships, and what girl wouldn't fall for the gallant, mysterious ballast-man? Anyway; the Committee's minutes and the State Papers record at least six and perhaps up to 10 petitions from hopeful contenders; plus a claim from Trinity House, which holds a "patent of Lastage and Ballage" which Charles I, who set up the Ballast Office in his final year, apparently forgot about (how could he).
And we say nothing of the petitions for seaweed, or of the bold proposal sent on August 2 by "George Paul" to the king, "for a grant of all mud or oozy lands in England, between high and low water mark (...) now worth nothing" - yea, a squishy empire of no less than the kingdom's entire coastline, as long as it's oozy and bounded by tidelines that must be loosely charted at best, if at all possible to map.
So now there's this tussle, in which the State Papers show that Colonel William Carlos alone has been agitating for at least three months, and which now has the committee throwing up its collective hands in despair and kicking up the file to H.M. himself for resolution.
By late August the Gravel Crisis has reached the very top of the Government. An undated letter from Lord Treasurer Southampton to the king's secretary, placed in the State Papers for next September, will record that one of the petitioners offered £400 to get the patent for 21 years - compare this with the £1,000 Sam has been offered for his complex, intense and strategic position on top of the entire Navy, and decide which is the fairer price.
(As the party goes on, Col. Carlos takes his young associate to a quiet spot near the water-pool: "I want to say one Thing to ye". "Yes sir". "Are ye listening?" "Yes sir, I am". "Just one word: gravel... There's a great future in gravel". See the whole scene at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U…)
The Treasury opines that it should all really be the King's gravel, but petitions will still be flying in November. Carlos, a far from insignificant character who may have saved the king's life twice at the battle of Worcerster, will get rights to gravel in the Thames (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wil…) but will still be litigating against Trinity House in 1663 (https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) Spoiler: Trinity House comes on top in the end (https://trinityhousehistory.wordp…)
About Tuesday 7 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
The Shipping Newes: Wm. Blaides today (7 August) advises the Earl of Sandwich that he has victualled the Merlin frigate; to his letter is added a note "[by Pepys]", the State Papers' editor records (at https://play.google.com/store/boo…) "that Lord [Sandwich] desires some masts to be sent for from Lisbon, which may be spoiled by worms, &c."
&c., alas - we want to know about the Worms, in which Sam is now so expert, in those the first of many, many ship's masts he will handle. How they come from Portugal, a nation now anxious to please England if it will mean help against Spain (just wait). We note also how the business, properly with the Admiralty (in whose papers the letter resides) is still done seemingly on a personal level with Sandwich. In the future Sam will just be the face of the faceless "Office".
About Thursday 2 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
So, Sarah, is Sam the go-to, or does he get his mail ex-officio, as per a naval rulebook that says, "in case of no-biscuits, write to the Admiralty with copy to the Clerk of the Acts"? In the name of good government, we wish the latter! And undoubtedly much of his footprint in the State Papers is mail that was nothing personal. But in the case at least of that letter from Dublin, its coming on top of the more clearly official appeal to the Commissioners and its tone - "beg[ging] him to urge" - inspir'd us to see evidence of widespread fame, and of the back-channel being worked.
The Admiralty Commissioners, so impersonally designated, have also been getting a number of appeals for money and victuals since May-June, with no copy to Sam at least as far as survives in the State Papers (these appeals will tumble out of a search for "Admiralty" at https://play.google.com/store/boo…) So Jowles' letter stands out as a tad unusual.
And Jowles isn't just any captain, by the way. On March 31, when Sam was still on the Naseby, "this morning Captain Jowles of the 'Wexford' came on board, for whom I got commission from my Lord to be commander of the ship" [https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…] Jowles may remember the Admiral's diligent little clerk, and paying him £5, and the promissory-note complications that ensued may have further impressed the captain's memory.
Sam spent weeks while at sea building up this phantastickal collection (dare we say network) of captains, many of them up-and-coming given the Times; getting acquainted while waiting for the ink to dry on their paperwork; &c. Gotta be good for something. And it sure goes with the job, but we think he's not the sort who'd lose a business card anyway.
About Thursday 2 August 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Letters were written yesterday (1 August) in Dublin by Capt. Valentine Jowles, of the Wexford, to whine (to the Admiralty Commissioners) that for want of beer and biscuits he "will be obliged to put his company [crew] to shorter allowances". One goes to Sam, to "beg him to urge his want of provisions to the Commissioners". (This in the State Papers, at https://play.google.com/store/boo…)
So, welcome to the Navy Office. These letters, complaining of no money/no food, coming from all corners of the naval empire, will be Sam's life as long as he's in there, at a rate of up to one per day just for those (likely a small fraction) that ended up in the State Papers (this is one of the first on record). The State being broke, as everyone is starting to find out now that the Restoration's confettis are dispersing, Sam's life will be one of frustration in that respect. We note, though, that he's already known as far away as Dublin as the go-to man who can speed things up in the bureaucracy. Which may be worth something, too.
About Thursday 28 June 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
>And we're pretty sure we saw (but where??) a report of the guard being doubled in happy-go-lucky Whitehall, just in case
Found it - in Venetian ambassador Francesco Giavarina's weekly dispatch, dated July 23 (new style, and so about a couple of weeks after that aborted attack on the king): Writing of Presbyterian plots, and noting that "there are many Presbyterians in the house of Commons", Giavarina writes that "they have increased the guards at Whitehall. Besides the double sentries on foot they have added two on horse at every approach." Happily, "this does not prevent the king from going out every day and engaging in hunting and other recreations in which he most delights."
Giavarina's letters (and more) are at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…
About Monday 11 June 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
We find this day, in the Parliamentary Intelligencer (No. 24, June 4 thr'o 11) this ADVERTISEMENT:
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Lost the 24th of May 1660. between Charlton and London, (by conjecture neer Greenwich wall) one table Diamond weighing twelve or thirteen grains, having a little speck in it, bring word to Mr. Nicholas Clobery at the Fleece in Lumbarstreet, and you shall have 5 l. for your pains, and many thanks
******
13 grains = 0.8 gram = 4.22 carat, worth about $83,000 at 2023 prices according to https://www.diamondse.info/diamon…, not taking into account the "little speck". Diamond prices may have been around 90% lower in the 17C (see http://www.palagems.com/ball-gem-… for a brave attempt to reconstitute pre-industrial gem prices), but not "£5", by any conversion factor, "many thanks". Oh boo-hoo-hoo, I lost my table diamond somewhere neer Greenwich wall. The Quality can be so much fun sometimes.
About Wednesday 4 July 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Order in Council, Whitehall, 4 July: On Report of a Committee of Council, in favour of the Appointment of Commissioners of the Navy to manage its affairs, - that John Lord Berkeley, Sir Wm. Penn, and Peter Pett be so appointed, in connection with Sir George Carteret, treasurer, the future comptroller, Sir Wm. Baker, surveyor, AND SAM PEPYS, CLERK OF THE NAVY; specifying also the salaries to be received by each. (State Papers; sorry, we couldn't help shouting).
"Order in Council", cuz. Doesn't get more official than that.
About Sunday 24 June 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Here's a job for Sam, between lookin' for Mylord and delivering letters: Capt. Roger Cuttance - of the Naseby, remember him? - send him a letter today (June 24, No. 144 in the State Papers) to advise that "the Vice-Admiral has brought Lord [Montague] a canoe from Greenland". Oh joy. It's "for one man to sit in a round hole to row in, and the rest close like a ship's deck" - well, a kayak, you get the picture.
Why a kayak? Where from? Is this a gift from the king of Denmark? Does it come with one of these sealskin-clad Arctick Indians? And where is it now? Will we ever know? Anyway, "he wants his Lordship to see it before he sends it away [to whom?], but does not like to lose the opportunity of sending it by the bark that is ready". In other words, could Sam perhaps come fetch the kayak, "18 or 19 feet long", show it to Montague and rush it back to wherever "the bark" is? Because perhaps Montague has other fish to fry than get into a coach to go look at it.
Sam for all his taste for curios kept the canoe out of the Diary, but he did jump into it as it will reappear on July 4 in a letter (State Papers again) from VAdm Lawson, confirming to Sam that he "will command, as ordered, his Excellency's barge, and the canoe to be carried to Lynn, in Norfolk". And there the canoe disappears. So at least it didn't have to be manoeuvered with a team of horses through the cramped streets of London, all the way to Westminster. Pity; what a scene, what a team they would have made, Sam and the harpoon-wielding Eskimo, chasing off little boys as they tried to get inside the canoe.
About Thursday 28 June 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Something else happened today. The Parliamentary Intelligencer (No. 27, for June 25 through July 2) will shortly inform us, matter-of-factly and seemingly without anyone else taking notice, that OMG, someone almost kill'd the King.
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On Thursday [today, June 28], being the day appointed for the Thanksgiving for his sacred Majesties restauration, in his Majesties passage between the Guard-chamber, and his Closet, stood a person neer up to the wall with a drawn sword under his cloak, which was not for some time discovered; but his Majesty passing to the Closet, George Charnock, Serjeant at Arms, casting his eye about for the security of his Majesties person, discovered the glittering of the Sword, and thereupon presently with his Mace seized on the person, took from him the said naked sword, and upon view found the same to be a short sword, back hilted, hacked half way down from the point, a weapon fit for a dangerous design, but by the care and prudence of that Gentleman, his Majesties faithful servant, all intended mischief was prevented, the person secured, and his Majesty informed thereof by the Right Honorable and truly Noble Lord, the Earl of Pembroke, and the party remains under examination.
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And that's it, folks, nothing to see here, move along now. We're used to bigmouths being hauled to the Tower after blurting out their regicide plans in taverns, but here we get the glittering of the Sword, the Secret Service lunging, the serjeant's expert eye on the hacked-off blade, wow.
Amid all the pageants and the bonfires and the dinners overflowing with glee at Charles' return, a few malcontents do lurk - to wit, a "Capt. Hen. Cleer" (hmm - sounds Dutch to me) who, full of bold talk "that he would sheathe his sword in the King's blood, lurks about in disguise, and was yesterday seen stealing upstairs at Whitehall" - this in a letter that "Chas. Fulwood" will pen next July 26, now founde in the State Papers ("sheathing my sword" in various parts of the king being quite a popular expression among plotters). And we're pretty sure we saw (but where??) a report of the guard being doubled in happy-go-lucky Whitehall, just in case.
Charnock had been restored to his job as serjeant at arms (and king's escort, then) just six weeks ago (https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) In 15 years, on 8 June 1675, he will still be "Sir George Charnock, Serjeant at Arms", attending the Lord Keeper in Parliament (https://dokumen.pub/the-law-and-t…) after, perhaps, his keen eye had chang'd the course of history.
About Monday 16 July 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Sam, gourmand that he is, may be interest'd in the following ADVERTISEMENT, published on this day in the Parliamentary Intelligencer, No. 29 with newses for July 9 thr'o 16:
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Most excellent and approved Dentrifices to scour and cleanse the Teeth, making them white as Ivory, preserves from the Toothach; so that being constantly used, the parties using it, are never troubled with the Toothach: It fastens the [alas, word missing], sweetens the Breath, and preserves the Gums and Mouth from Cankers and Imposthumes, and being beaten to powder, and drunk in Wine, or any other drink, is a good remedy for any Flux or Lask. Invented and made by Robert Turner, the onely Author of them, and are onely to be had at the House of Thomas Rockes, Stationer, at the Holy Lamb at the East-end of St. Pauls Church, near the School, in Sealed Papers.
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"Dentifrice" is still the French word for toothpaste but, should you wonder about dental hygiene overflowing from Louis XIV's demesne, is at root (ha ha) a Latin word with an ancestry going back to the Pyramids.
Hmm - Sam does keep his mouth closed in every portrait we have of him, no? But he did perhaps come across Mr. Turner's anti-imposthumall powder, having accompanied the missus "to La Roche’s to have her tooth drawn", on April 7 (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) If that's the one; the Encyclopedia refers to Peter La Roche, not Thomas Rockes, and he "worked near Fleet Bridge"; not quite the East-end of St. Paul.
The Intelligencer is at https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo…
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