Pepys's entry beautifully captures the joy of looking back on a day spent with friends in unguarded company:
"In the evening they went with great pleasure away, and I with great content and my wife walked for half an hour in the garden."
As always with Pepys, the unorthodox syntax adds poetry to the passage.
"supped there to save getting anything ready at home,"
--- Oh my, this is so incredibly modern, hilarious.
"I took much pains in sorting and folding of papers."
I agree so very very much, Sam. The folding part is often overlooked. A paper that is being put to use must be folded. It's a mark of recognition and appropriation. The unfolded paper is alien, the folded paper is trusted.
[The truth, I'm not sarky.]
Yup. That kind of day. "Rummaging of papers, tearing some and sorting others". Not creative work in itself, for sure, but it establishes the conditions for it, doesn't it. Not so bad a day after all.
"Be a knight, and keep my coach."
Oh, this is so sweet. Sam's perfectly straight in all things. I shall write this out and pin it above my kitchen sink, for motivation when I do the dishes.
OK, Sam, I'm glad you brought this to our little meetings here. Let's disentangle the event, shall we. 1) Don't hit other people, it's not right. 2) Especially not people who are in your charge and who can't hit back. It's not right. 3) Fate sometimes pays you back on your mis-deeds. Be grateful for the lesson, and learn from it.
"...but we did give him no ear, but are resolved to stand to our report; though I could wish we had shown him more justice and had heard him."
A rather strange entry this, isn't it. Pepys and his committee refuse to listen to this guy's response to their report on his project, blocking him. But now our Sam feels guilty about it. Not sure whether it was Sam himself who chose to block him and he now regrets his own power play, or whether he got over-ruled by others in the committee and he feels sorry for his own insignificance.
Sir Nicholas Crispe (or Crisp) apparently was an important player in the colonial trade linked to West Africa, including redwood and gold, and including the slave trade. He also manufactured glass beads for trading in North America. The "project" referenced by Pepys may be Crispe's proposal for a wet-dock.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sir_Nicholas_Crispe,_1st_Baronet
" ... with my mind very highly contented with my day's work, wishing I could do so every day."
Wishing the same, Sam. Wishing the same for myself quite frequently, Sam.
"... and drank some Rhenish wine and sugar."
Hhhmmm, wine and sugar? Are you sure? I've been searching the net but haven't been able to find a proper detailed souce. It is clear though that mixing wine with sugar was quite a common thing at the time. (Rhenish wine at the time being a light, low-alc wine.)
My search brought up this pleasant little article about our friend Sam's consumption patterns, by historian Steven Shapin in a 2005 New Yorker.
"As if they were a newly-married couple."
A fine euphemism, destined to become a verb. I can picture our Sam asking his wife at dinner time: "Lizzie, what do you think, after the cheese and sherry, shall we newly-married-couple a little?"
For heaven's sake, Sam, just four days ago you graciously wrote you wanted to sort out the differences cooperatively, and I applauded you, and I grandly tooted about your wisdom to my friends here.
And now you take the matter to court? I am disappointed. Did you not read my toot? And does it mean nothing to you that I now look like a fool?
"That our difference might be made up between us by ourselves."
The way to do it, and beautifully said.
Never let an opportunity casually to judge another man pass.
"And so we dined very merry, at least I seemed so, [...]."
I wonder, though, Sam. How well did you really manage to hide your dislike of these gentlemen?
"And that [namely, to check my accounts] I am loth to do, for fear I have spent too much, and I delay [these checks] the rather that I may pay for my pictures [...]"
I may be mis-reading this, but I think our Sam is spending money he doesn't have --- and he deliberately tries to avoid confirmation of that fact. The route to unhappiness; I know the feeling.
Rather inconsiderate of Mrs Montague!
"To the office; and there finishing late estimates ..."
That's the spirit, Sam --- end the year with some overdue spreadsheet work for the office. I do the same.
"And here I made them a promise to do this every year, but I do not intend to keep it."
Remarkable. The icy modern look into the mirror, amidst the noisy joviality.
I can see this as a movie scene. A group of office friends who are now changing jobs, on a last evening out. The cheery one who's organised the event proclaims loudly that he'll do this every year. The camera rests on his face for a moment, his eyes revealing his sudden awareness that they won't meet again.
Lovely serial construction, with a gentle rhythm of changing subjects.
A
"A coach came"
B
"and I carried my wife ...,"
C
"and she went ...,"
D
"and I to the Abbey,"
E
"and there meeting with Mr Hooper,"
F
"he took me ...,"
G
"and there I sang with them their service."
So we have: "Coach (does A) and I (do B), and she (does C), and I (do D), and (also do E), he (does F), and I (do G).
It sings. Though the comma after Hooper (between E and F) should be a semicolon.
"[...] and very merry they were, and I seemed to be, [...]."
That is so beautiful, it hurts, Sam.
