What a week! The King’s lifeguards on the run… 20 men shot dead on London streets… and all in a week where the prettiest woman I saw was a young man called Kynaston…
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If you somehow missed it, then let me catch you up. As Sunday turned into Monday, the rogues known as the Fifth Monarchists up and killed six or seven officials, then fled to forests north of the City.
Our Lord Mayor, Sir Richard Brown, immediately gathered some 40,000 men to take arms against them (some say only 4,000, but I know Sir Richard’s sway…).
These Fifth Monarchists reckon the Kingdom of God is upon us. They believe the execution of Charles I was the final omen for this. Such is why one of their adherents, Major-General Thomas Harrison, helped organise that execution. And since Harrison was executed for regicide last October, that may have spurred the remaining fanatics into action.
More fool them, if you ask me, since if their goal was to kill our current King, Charles II, he’s been away from London this week seeing off his mother and sister in Portsmouth.
Not more fool them if they asked me, though. Yes, I wore my pistol about town this week like many a Londoner – but I lacked for powder, so could not have fired off more than a yelp had they set upon me…
Incidentally, the King was just as readily welcoming his mother and sister back, since Princess Henrietta seems to have contracted smallpox at the start of their voyage to France.
Being the third in her family to do so in the past year, having lost a brother and a sister to the illness in that time, maybe the auspices are in the Fifth Monarchists’ favour…?
No, I refuse to believe that – even though, for much of the week, they brought London to a standstill. Shops were closed, offices were empty, and you couldn’t pass a street without guards checking your person for signs of affiliation to the enemy.
But this is London. Yes, ordinary folk began bearing arms just in case. Yes, I had to stay with Aunt Wight to ease her mind while my Uncle went out for work.
But we’ve recently seen successive civil wars.
The theatres stayed open.
I saw two shows this week. The Silent Woman was by far the most bedazzling, with Kynaston simultaneously both the prettiest woman and the handsomest man in the building. The Widow not so much, not least because the women struggled to remember their lines…
The fanatics couldn’t halt the celebrations of Twelfth Night either. Elizabeth and I again enjoyed a feast at my cousin Strudwick’s. This time Elizabeth was crowned queen – a much more fitting monarch than my sister Pall last year, I’m pleased to say.
Now she works as our maid, of course, Pall remained at home with Jane and the boys. But Elizabeth and I returned to find them all rather merry courtesy of the young Davis lad from next door.
Well, if it is the end of days, it would have been most ungracious of me to punish them for their pleasures.
From the above, you may think I was being similarly frivolous. But in truth, at long last this week I received my salary from Mr Downing, in lieu of my procuring a stand-in clerk for him while I sailed with my Lord last May. This gave me a free 20£ for this week’s entertainment, leaving my purse still able to cope should Christ decide not to return this year.
Besides, some of my greatest pleasures this week required no passing of coin. One morning, with the fanatics still at large, Elizabeth and I lay very long in bed, pleasing one another in discourse. I spent many an evening plucking at my lute. And, as expected, Mr Coventry returned my Christmas gift with a very kind letter, meaning I can now add it to my collection – and some credit to my political capital…
In the end, the fanatics were easily rounded up. There were only 30 or so, despite their efforts leading us all to believe they numbered at least 500. That so few men should dare and do so much mischief is a thing that never was heard of.
Now, though, the King’s officers are keen to ensure it never shall be again, and I was among those sent to set guards in the King’s yards. So, if anything, the fanatics have done me a favour…
That is why I am ending this week writing to you from Deptford, where I have travelled with Colonel Slingsby to arrange the stationing of their troops.
On our first day here, we’ve already dined at the Globe, and I’m now lodged most royally. Never till now did I see the great authority of my position. All the captains of the fleet came to us cap in hand, and I’ve received so much respect and honour that I’m almost at a loss how to behave myself...
After all the week’s uncertainty, though, I am now most worried about Elizabeth – for the other day, I arrived to collect her from Mrs Hunt’s only to find her being kissed by the Frenchman who lodges there.
I did not much like it, but I said nothing to her. After all, I’m sure there could not be any hurt in it… Right?
My purse
I am most lately 302£ clear in my purse.
In return for these words of mine, please pay just one word of yours. What one word sums up your reaction to the Fifth Monarchists?
Speak with you again soon – and may the Lord bless you and keep you till then!
I am shocked that Elizabeth was kissed by a Frenchman.
What one word would you use to describe the impact of the Fifth Monarchists on London, exactly 360 years before January 6th 2021?
"Trumpian" perhaps...?