Samuel Pepys (1633–1703)

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

And so I've come to the end of The Diary of Samuel Pepys which I began reading six months ago (interspersed with many other books). Rather than write a review for each volume, I've decided to write this one review and let it stand for the whole.

If you're unfamiliar with Samuel Pepys and his world, then let me begin with a brief introduction. Pepys was a member of the upper classes, but by no means a member of the gentry. His father was a tailor, but he provided his sons with the best show more education possible. Both Sam and his younger brother John attended Cambridge during the Interregnum. The older son, Tom, didn't attend university, but rather took over their father's business after he retired. Pepys had the good fortune to be related by marriage to Sir Edward Montagu, the 1st Earl of Sandwich who recognized Sam's natural intelligence and organizational skills and became his mentor and benefactor. Much of success in life is having the good fortune to be in the right place at the right time, and the intelligence and industry to take advantage of the opportunities available. Sam was well blessed in both respects. His native intelligence and industriousness allowed to him to rise high in government circles after the restoration of Charles II to the throne of Great Britain. His competence, youthful vitality and meticulous record keeping made him an indispensable bureaucrat, and he in time rose to be Secretary to the Admiralty. His reforms of the British Navy helped to turn it from a playground of the peerage into a professional world class Naval power.

I hope that gives you a feel for who Samuel Pepys was. Now, a bit about his world. The diary opens on January 1, 1660 in the old Julian calendar. England was once again in turmoil. After the English Civil War, the establishment of the Commonwealth, the execution of King Charles I, and Cromwell's Protectorate, chaos had once again descended on the nation. The government had changed hands several times after the death of Oliver Cromwell. No one seemed to be able to hold the reigns of power. As the diary opens, the Scots General George Monck has begun moving his army south towards London. When he arrives and takes control of the city, he begins the process of negotiating the restoration of the monarchy, the election of a new Parliament, and the return of Charles II to the throne. (Charles II has been living in exile on the continent for over a decade, subsisting on handouts from other monarchs and royalists sympathizers.) The succeeding years see a suppression of the Presbyterians and puritanical religious fanatics...the so called Nonconformists, because they wouldn't conform to the rituals of the Church of England. Sam's diary covers ten tumultuous years which see the restoration of the monarch, the Great Plague of 1665, the Great Fire of 1666 and the Second Dutch War. He is well placed to see everything at close hand. Always close to the center of things, he is well placed to record what happens. And a lot happens.

The historical value of the diary is unmistakable, but it's literary merits are, I think, greater. Pepys wrote the diary in shorthand to keep it safe from prying eyes. It was always intended to be a purely personal record, so he is unsparingly frank in what he records about his life. I deliberately chose to say "frank" rather than "honest" because Pepys is often an unreliable narrator. His self justifications are everywhere. He is scurrilous in his treatment of his fellow officers at the Navy Office, denouncing them as knaves and worse for their dealings with navy suppliers. Yet he dismisses the bribes he receives as being irrelevant since the deal was in the best interest of the King.

Sam's diary is like a rough draft of a novel by Thackeray or Defoe with Sam as it's anti-hero. Yes, Sam rises through the world on his merits, but there is also scheming, backstabbing, and bribery. He is outwardly a model man--friendly, pious and hardworking. But the diary reveals a vain, hypocritical flawed creature lurking in the dark. He is violently jealous of his wife, but he's a serial philanderer. He claims to love her, yet twists her nose painfully during at least one violent argument and gives her a black eye for Christmas during another.

I admit, the diary can on occasions be somewhat dry. It's difficult to follow the twists and turns of the legal wrangling over his uncle's estate. But Sam's diary is also filled with court gossip and intrigues. There is high drama and low comedy. You get magnificently described scenes of the London fire, the entire city ablaze and it's citizens on the move. But juxtaposed with that are comedic moments such as when Sam's neighbor's "house of office" leaks turds into his basement. Or when Sam (during another row with his wife) shuts himself in his room and reads Robert Boyle's "Hydrostatic Paradoxes" aloud to drown out Elizabeth who's shouting at him through the door. (Elizabeth was no shrinking wall flower. She could give as good has she took.)

While the diary was simply a record of Samuel Pepys's daily life, it feels as though it has a structure and plot. Over the course of almost ten years, we watch a young man rise high in the world from a clerk in the Exchequer's office to a man who has the ear of the Duke of York and the King. He's gone from making ends meet to being rich enough to own a coach and horses. He hobnobs with the rich and powerful. He hosts parties with famous actors and musicians. This is the story of a man who makes something of himself in the world, even if what he has created is a soul that is dark and bent. show less

A strange way to deliver messages
4 FEBRUARY. (…) Among other at table, he told us a very handsome passage of the King’s sending him his message about holding out the town of Newarke, of which he was then governor for the King. This message he sent in a Slugg=bullet, being writ in Cypher and wrapped up in lead and swallowed. So the messenger came to my Lord and told him he had a message from the King, but it was yet in his belly; so they did gave him some physic, and out it came. (…)

At show more least one gentle thought for France…
1 MARCH. (…) Among others, a very particular account of the making of the several sorts of bread in France, which is accounted the best place for bread in the world. (…)

10 MARCH. (…) Here Captain Cooke met me and did seem discontented about my boy Tom’s having no time to mind his singing nor Lute; which I answered him fully in, that he desired me that I would baste his coate. (…)

The first passage I find where Pepys used Greek, and I do not see to which purpose, given that άλλω χ[ρ]όνω does not seem very reprehensible…
24 AUGUST. (…) And jo haze ella metre so mano upon my pragma hasta hazerme hazer la cosa in su mano. Pero ella no voulut permettre que je ponebam meam manum a ella, but I do not doubt but άλλω χ[ρ]όνω de obtenir le. (…)

A funny experience
7 SEPTEMBER. (…) He showed me a black boy that he had that died of a consumption; and being dead, he caused him to be dried in a Oven, and lies there entire in a box. (…)

Twice in the chimny
28 SEPTEMBER. (…) And so I to bed, and in the night was mightily troubled with a looseness (I suppose from the fresh damp Lin-nen that I put on this night); and feeling for a chamber pott, there was none, I having called the maid out of her bed, she had forgot I suppose to put one there; so I was forced in this strange house to rise and shit in the Chimny twice; and so to bed and was very well again, and to sleep till 5 a-clock, when it is now very dark; (…)

Pepys likes hearing people snoar
1 OCTOBER. (…) But Lord, the mirth which it caused to me to be waked in the night by their Snoaring round about me — I did laugh till I was ready to burst, and waked one of the two companions of Temple, who could not a good while tell where he was, that he heard one laugh so, till he recollected himself and I told him what it was at; and so to sleep again, they still Snoaring.

Pepys prefer men rather horses for drawing timber
2 OCTOBER. (…) And among other things, a Team of four horses came close by us, he being with me, drawing a piece of timber that I am confident one man would easily have carried upon his back; I made the horses be taken away and a man or two take the timber away with their hands. This the Comissioner did see, but said nothing; but I think had cause to be ashamed of. (…)

A problem with a wet bed, not to speak of the smell
5 NOVEMBER. (…) After an hour’s talk, we to bed — the lady mightily troubled about a little pretty bitch she hath, which is very sick and will eat nothing. And the jest was, I could hear her in her chamber bemoaning the bitch; and by and by taking her to bed with her, the bitch pissed and shit abed, and she was fain to rise and had coals out of my chamber to dry the bed again. (…)

Very merry at others’ mishaps
24 DECEMBER. (…) and very merry at a mischance her young son had, in tearing of his new coat quite down the outside of his sleeve in the whole cloth — one of the strangest mishaps that ever I saw in my life. (…)

Incredible: can one read while walking in the dark?
27 DECEMBER. (…) and thence I walked quite over the fields home, by light of link, one of my watermen carrying it and I reading by the light of it, it being a very fine clear dry night. (…) show less