Samuel Pepys (1633–1703)

The great Diary is such a multi-faceted work, it's difficult to know where to begin to talk about it. It is a daily autobiography of a young bureaucrat on the rise; a political and economic history of seventeenth-century England; a treatise on social customs and mores of London; a pornographic memoir; and forty other things as well, all written by a very observant young man with a good eye for detail, excellent powers of description, and a lively, witty writing style. (As the editors observe show more in the introduction, it is possible for a diarist to be observant and detailed and still be blindingly dull--witness William Byrd of Westover, whose diary is tedious in the extreme. Pepys does not EVER suffer from dullness.)

Pepys (and in case you weren't aware of it, he pronounced his name "peeps") was uniquely situated to see and record one of the most fascinating periods in English history: the end of the Interregnum and the restoration of Charles II to the throne. A minor clerk in the Exchequer—the equivalent of the Treasury—at the beginning of the diary, by the time it ended he had risen to the equivalent of deputy Secretary of the Navy, and was responsible as much as anyone for its day-to-day operations. Along the way, he becomes known to, and associates with, the first Earl of Sandwich (Pepys's relation by marriage), the first Earl of Clarendon (Charles II's chancellor, which amounted to prime minister at the time), Sir George Carteret, Sir William Penn (father to William Penn of Pennsylvania), the Duke of York (James, Charles II's brother and later James II) and the King himself. And along the way, he made himself a fortune—worth perhaps £25 (2023 USD $5,850) when the diary begins, he reckons his personal wealth at upwards of £8,000 ($2.1 million in 2023 dollars) eight years later, obtained through a combination of fees and legal graft and bribery.

Not only does the diary provide an eyewitness to the Restoration, it contains first-hand, eyewitness accounts of two of the most important events in seventeenth-century England: the Great Plague of 1665, when twenty percent of London died, and the Great Fire of 1666, in which three-quarters of the city burned to the ground. (His own house escaped burning by perhaps half a block.)

Pepys pulls no punches with himself, and doesn't filter anything either. His daily entries mix outhouse trips with major naval contracts, visits to the theatre (he was an avid playgoer) with putting up a bookshelf at home, graphic descriptions of his many affairs with gloomy analyses of the progress of the Second Dutch War of 1664-67, bouts of indulgence in food, drink, and other diversions with more penitential periods when he gets down to real work and does astonishing amounts of it. It's as close to a seventeenth-century reality show as a reader could hope for.

A word about the edition: this, the great California edition, is the absolute, definitive one. Earlier editions omitted as much as three-quarters of the text, and incorporated a good many emendations and plain errors. The editors here went back to first principles and the original manuscript, and include not only the entire Diary text with extensive and comprehensive (and interesting) footnotes, but a separate one-volume index and a Companion with extended essays on subjects that wouldn't fit in footnotes. show less

The full version of this diary deserves five stars, a wonderful first-hand account of events worthy of historical note. It combines Pepys' penetrating objective observation of his own quirks and contradictions - the two facets of the public and private man, honestly divulged as a whole for posterity to chew over and wonder at. Naturally the diary has been subjected to numerous versions since first transcribed from Pepys' original shorthand in 1822, as it contains all sorts of indecencies show more that weren't believed fit to print. You will need a 1976 version or later (William Matthew's transcription) of the diary to read the original in full, or else visit pepysdiary.com

This volume, Modern Library's "Passages" (editor Richard Le Gallienne), is one eighth of the Bright transcription of the 1890s that was already holding back some objectionable content. Consequently it is not only censored but it is also abridged to an almost unbelievable degree, to the extent that I have to laugh when its introduction supposes I should be satisfied that I will know Pepys just as well as if I'd read the diary in full. Pepys wrote every day, almost always at length. "Passages" gives no indication of this, skipping days at a time and shortening the majority of entries it does provide. Also aggravating (in my edition at least), it doesn't note the month/year on every page and I was often having to flip back/forth to remind myself what year I was in.

If you desire nothing more than highlights of historical significance with a sprinkling of some personal bits, perhaps you could say it does a serviceable job. Those highlights include ubiquitous music, the first introduction of women actors onto the stage, weather observations that may (unknown to Pepys) hint at the global effects of volcanic activity, a treasure hunt in the Tower of London, first-hand accounts of living through the last gasp of the Black Plague, and witnessing the Great Fire of London. Sam's wife Elizabeth also deserves the reader's attention, for always standing up for herself. Sam loved her and feared her in equal measure, and well he ought to have.

Not everything was wonderful in jolly old England. Public executions included being drawn and quartered, and Cromwell was dug out of his grave so he could be hung too. Folks were accustomed to spitting in the theatre or being accidentally spat on, bloodletting was part of a casual doctor's check-up, and press-gangs forced able-bodied men onto the ships to fight the war with the Dutch. Sam was liable to commit acts of domestic violence, and his callous objectification of women is beyond the pale with some pedophilia thrown in for good measure. Women and girl victims had no recourse but to find other benefactors if they could - only to encounter the same thing everywhere, I'd hardly doubt.

The single most interesting aspect of Sam's diary is the clear-eyed capturing of his own hypocrisy. He simultaneously pledges himself to be above bribery while taking bribes, devoted to his wife while cheating on her, etc. It is remarkable how equally well he records his pledges and personal code as well as all of the ways he contravenes them. While occasionally he chastises himself for poor behaviour, and sometimes corrects it, he just as openly slips back into bad paths again. He does not pause his diary to explore this hypocritical dichotomy (at least not in these stripped-down excerpts), though there's no question that he's aware of it. His diary paints him as a kind of disinterested observer of himself, as if his own contradictions were a source of fascination to him rather than something needing to be resolved.

While Pepys may not have written with an audience in mind, he had enough inkling of his diary's value after its completion to make it a secured part of the library he left to posterity. It is not the only surviving diary from this period, but his is special for sheer readability and for its uniquely objective, naked reporting of a man both public and private as told from the inside. show less

**Review: *The Diary of Samuel Pepys: Excerpts***

What struck me most about *The Diary of Samuel Pepys: Excerpts* is how many things it manages to be at once: a record of the 17th century, a firsthand account of the Bubonic Plague, a witness to the Great Fire of London, and—unexpectedly—a study in what it actually means to be a diarist.

Pepys does not write like a historian. He writes like someone living day to day. Some entries are brief and almost transactional, little more than data show more points. Others expand into detailed and engaging accounts. That unevenness is not a flaw—it’s the form revealing itself. Life does not arrive in polished narratives, and Pepys does not pretend that it does.

One detail I found especially revealing is his habit of beginning each year with an inventory of his assets. Pepys was not born into wealth, but rose through circumstance, proximity, and what can only be described as good fortune in attaching himself to the right patron. That yearly accounting gives the diary a secondary arc: not just survival through crisis, but steady personal advancement. It quietly reframes him—not as a passive observer of history, but as someone actively measuring his place within it.

The sections on the plague and the fire are particularly valuable because they resist dramatization. Pepys records what he sees, often with a noticeable distrust of rumor. This makes his account feel grounded, even when the events themselves are extraordinary. Interestingly, the Great Fire comes across as a more immediate and tangible threat than the plague. The fire is visible, advancing, undeniable. The plague, by contrast, is uneven, partially hidden, and filtered through reports and uncertainty.

In that sense, the diary highlights two different kinds of danger: one that can be seen and reacted to directly, and one that must be interpreted and managed through incomplete information.

Overall, this is not a dramatic retelling of history but something more valuable: a record of how it feels to live through it without knowing the outcome. It also serves as a reminder that diaries are not narratives shaped for an audience, but accumulations of days—some meaningful, some mundane, all equally part of the record. show less

Walter Isaacson said that Ben Franklin was the Founding Father ‘that winks at us’.

Samuel Pepys was the first historical robust rascal I read that had a wicked, witty sense of humor that shines clear through the centuries, so that I felt he was winking at us too. Separated by a hundred years, these two huge men are joined by a sense of fun, by enjoying and living their significant lives to the very utmost. It shows in their actions as well as their writings – and no one is sure why show more Samuel wrote his diaries in such great and often unflattering detail, and in a code he designed himself – and in the obvious esteem their peers held these two public servants.

When we lived in London for about seven years my wife and two sons would often explore the city, and often took along one of the ‘complete’ diaries with us and revisited – as one still can – many of naughty Samuel’s favorite flirting, drinking and eating spots. As recently as 2009 my family was able to float down the Thames to an Inn that Pepys often visited and were still able to sit at windows on wooden benches and eat “whitebait and brown bread and ale” as he did.

Spanning the several decades of his significant career in the creation of the British Navy, through England’s own revolution and shortly lived Republic and the eventual return of the Monarch that Pepys served so well, the diaries (and there are several volumes) detail his day to day life in great personal detail that draw strong mind pictures of those dramatic times. The reader can “see” him hiding his wheel of Parmesan Cheese by burying it in the Admiralty yard, reporting to the King on the Great Fire of London, surveying and establishing His Majesty’s Dockyards at Chatham and Sheerness.

Pepys offers the reader deep insight to parts of a rich, full life of many contributions and public service, of scandal and intrigue, of plots and flirting - a fascinating history. show less