Cavalier, p.25
Cavalier, page 25
A map of the city of London made in 1666 shows the area destroyed by the Great Fire. Clerkenwell, William's neighbourhood, is marked with an arrow
Evelyn has been keeping notes for his famous diary since the age of eleven, and is also a versatile and enthusiastic scholar (Plate 28). His intellectual interests embrace both arts and sciences. He passes his time in writing papers for the Royal Society and in public works, such as serving as a commissioner of the sewers or on a committee for licensing hackney carriages.7 Unlike his fellow diarist Pepys, he does not crave society's attention and is a quiet, sober Anglican who dislikes the louche atmosphere of the current court.
As his coach heads north out of the city, Evelyn's surroundings become more pleasant, almost rural. William Cavendish, now seventy-four years old, is once again resident at Newcastle House, his great London mansion, and is served both in London and Nottinghamshire by the remnants of his old household, reunited and revivified. In his youth, William rented a townhouse in the City, but by 1630 he had acquired a new, permanent London base for his annual visits to the capital. He chose a former nunnery in Clerkenwell, which was then a long-established but newly fashionable settlement adjacent to open meadows, with the springs of Sadler's Wells only a short walk away. In the years before the Civil War, the ambitious or newly prominent could not find space in the traditional 'millionaire's row' of the Strand, and indeed the noisome and noisy streets of the city and the river seething with boat traffic repelled them. Clerkenwell was becoming something of an aristocratic dormitory suburb.
As Evelyn approaches Clerkenwell Green, he enters an affluent neighbourhood, with the pastures and bowling greens of the city's northern margin not too far distant. Here are the gardens of the Charterhouse and the monastery of St John's, and near by the river Fleet and the open space of Hatton Garden. 'Codpiece Row', leading off Clerkenwell Green, bears the alternative name of 'Town's End'.8 Now Evelyn passes the entrance to the church of St James, with its square tower rebuilt after a collapse in 1627; it was here that William's daughter Elizabeth was married in 1641.9 William has as yet failed to pay his Poor Rates this year, and the parish wardens of St James are deterred from hounding him by his ducal status. Eventually they will give up asking for the required ten shillings and simply hope for 'what his Grace pleaseth'.10 Beyond the church is Clerkenwell Close, surrounded by spacious and handsome houses. The fine brick residence on the west side of the close was once a temporary home of Oliver Cromwell.
On the east side of the close, the nunnery of St Mary's (now Newcastle House) was converted into a mansion after the Dissolution of the Monasteries and has perhaps inspired William's wife Margaret's risque play The Convent of Pleasure.11 Its cloisters and physical attachment to the church of St James were bound to appeal to William's residual fondness for the Gothic and romantic. He has built a gallery across the west end of the church's nave so that he can walk from his first-floor chambers straight into the church to hear a service. The house's great antiquity brings with it certain practical problems. London has a chronic shortage of burial space in its one hundred and thirty cramped churchyards, and the residents of neighbouring properties note that the 'skulls & bones of dead people' have been found in William's - formerly the nuns' - garden.12 The residents complain that 'ye rotting moisture coming from ye dead bodies has perished ye foundation of [their] houses'.13
It was only two years ago that William was elevated from marquis to duke. Londoners are intrigued by the new duke and duchess, and their behaviour during this particular stay in the city has caused much comment. William and his wife have every reason to be well disposed towards John Evelyn and his wife Mary, for it was Mary's mother who helped Margaret to prepare for her marriage to William in Paris in 1645. At the time, William had been so grateful that he promised her £1,000, but Evelyn notes somewhat sourly that 'now all was forgotten of that nature'.14 Yet he has seen the Cavendishes several times in recent weeks, and on previous visits has been 'much pleasd, with the extraordinary fancifull habit, garb & discourse of the Dutchesse' 15 Today, on 11th May, he has been invited to dine with the duke, whose fortunes have been transformed since his penniless exile in Antwerp, and Evelyn may even catch sight of England's most exotic duchess as well.
In 1660, the small Cavendish household in Antwerp rejoiced at the news that Charles II was to be restored to the throne, but William's return to England was less triumphant than he had hoped. He arrived too late to see the victorious entry of the king and his supporters into London, 'brandishing their swords and shouting, with unexpressable joy: The wayes straw'd with flowers, the bells ringing, the streetes hung with Tapissry, fountaines running with wine'.16 After a dangerous crossing in a leaky ship, William passed his first night in England at Greenwich, where his supper nevertheless 'seem'd more savoury to him, than any meat he had hitherto tasted; and the noise of some scraping Fidlers, he thought the pleasantest harmony that ever he had heard'. 'Surely', he thought in bewildered joy, 'I have been sixteen years asleep, and am not thoroughly awake yet.'17 When he reached London, one sight undreamt of was an immensely tall maypole (loved by William and forbidden by the Commonwealth) in the Strand outside Somerset House. As it was pulled vertical, 'little children did much rejoice, and ancient people did clap their hands saying, golden days began to appear'.18
With the returning Cavendishes came some '30 trunks &C cases [...] containing only household stuff, but after years abroad William longed to see his houses and former possessions once again.19 John Evelyn, who like William was forced to live on the continent during the Commonwealth, now looked forward to the return of 'the days of our fathers', when girls would care for 'cupboards of ancient useful plate, chests of damask for the table and store of fine Holland sheets fragrant of Rose or Lavender for the Bed'. Meanwhile, to complete this vision of old households reunited, 'youths would sing old Simon, Chevy Chase, and dance Brave Arthur, and draw a bow that made a proud Monsieur tremble at the whizz of a grey goose feather'.20
Yet William's golden days were a little slow in coming, and did not glitter as brightly as he might have hoped. His servants were scattered and demoralised, his houses almost derelict, and his son Henry, having moved to Welbeck so reluctantly, was dismayed at having to vacate the mansion once again. William and Margaret were initially forced to take inferior London lodgings in Holborn, as another family was occupying Newcastle House. Now that the military battles were over, the legal battles to reclaim their property were about to begin. There were pains as well as pleasures involved in returning home.
John Evelyn's coach draws up at the imposing entrance to Newcastle House itself. Unlike William's houses in Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire, the front of this mansion is brick-built.21 It presents an intimidating front to the street, with its lower storey consisting of blank brick walls. Above this, classical columns fill the spaces between a row of high windows. A gateway flanked by decorative scrolls opens onto a small forecourt; it is overlooked by possible hidden watchers from the high first-floor windows of the main rooms. A second attic storey with dormers is hidden away behind the parapet roof. This modern roofline, combined with the Ionic columns on the front, cleverly gives this ancient house something of the contemporary appearance of an Italian palazzo. Evelyn, though, is a connoisseur of classical architecture of the newest, strictest kind. As he steps out of his coach and glances upwards, he probably finds the building a somewhat unsatisfactory compromise.
Evelyn steps into a hall as long and high as those of the Middle Ages, and indeed this part of the house was formerly the lodgings and hall of the prioress of the medieval nunnery of St Mary's. In the days of the nunnery, Evelyn would have entered via a screens passage at one end of the Hall, but the classicising of the house means that today he uses a large door placed centrally. The former nunnery determines the whole layout of Newcastle House, for the refectory, to the north, has become the house's long gallery, and the square garden at the back was once entirely surrounded by the nuns' cloister; indeed, part of the cloister still remains. After William moved to Clerkenwell in 1630, 'John Plasterer', 'Thomas Tyler' and 'John Stayner' make an appearance in the records of the parish. Perhaps they were craftsmen newly come down from Nottinghamshire to work on improvements to William's new house, their surnames not yet familiar to the parish clerk.22
A BEDCHAMBER CONVERSATION
The entrance to Newcastle House
Evelyn has little time to linger in the shadowy hall, for William's usher shows him the way up the great staircase beyond in order to climb to the first-floor reception rooms. Evelyn catches his first glimpse of the aged but still hale figure of his host.
Contrary to the habit of his younger years, William is today almost certainly wearing a wig. The fashion was born in France, much earlier in the century, and the French king Louis XIV has his head shaved daily for the accommodation of the masterpieces made by his forty wig-makers.23 Charles II brought the French craze for wigs with him on his return from exile, and all of fashionable London is now hiding its natural hair. Even Samuel Pepys, another diarist, has finally adopted the style, having changed his mind since the occasion four years ago when he 'did try two or three borders and periwiggs, meaning to wear one; and yet I have no stomach, but that the pains of keeping my hair clean is so great'.24 Black is the most popular colour, in imitation of the king's own hair, which is 'shining black, not frizzled, but so naturally curling into great rings that it is a very comely ornament'.25 Such is the great cost of hairpieces that wig-stealers have become a new danger on the London streets: the thieves employ a trained and cunning dog, or a small boy, to tweak a wig off the head. The thief himself then makes a noisy business of pretending to have witnessed the theft and of chasing the perpetrator out of sight, never to return.26
William's wig is restrained and rather sober in character: he does not approve of the most fanciful French fashions, and often makes fun of those who follow them. He shares these conservative views with John Evelyn, who is equally disparaging of the lavish Frenchified look. 'It was a fine silken thing which I spied walking the other day through Westminster Hall,' Evelyn scoffs in his book about the tyranny of fashion or 'mode', 'that had as much ribbon about him as would have plundered six shops and set up twenty country pedlars. All his body was dressed like a May-pole [...] and the colours were red, orange and blue.'27 The basic form of the latest style for gentlemen is a long fitted waistcoat worn over knee breeches, though feathered hats, cravats and ribbons avoid any appearance of sobriety.
William now greets Evelyn with some cordiality, and has even unbent so far as to have come out onto the landing at the top of the stairs. On his last visit, a couple of weeks ago, Evelyn brought his wife to dinner at Newcastle House and was extremely flattered when William accompanied them not only down the stairs on their departure but right out into the court.28 A less cordial host would have remained in the first-floor apartments. Evelyn now sinks into a low bow. An inferior may not keep his hat on in the presence of a duke, and as he removes his, Evelyn places one foot forward and sinks into his obeisance. A hundred years ago, he would have stepped backwards to bow, but the fashion has now changed, causing a writer on courtesy to warn that care must be taken to avoid bowing simultaneously, 'that the person of quality bowing civilly towards you, and offering to embrace you, may have a blow in the face with your head for his pains'.29
Evelyn and William have enjoyed free and frank exchanges with each other over the years, as indicated in the poem that William wrote for Evelyn on the occasion of Evelyn's own marriage - now long ago to the eleven-year-old Mary Browne. William outlined the benefits of marrying such a young girl: she must surely be a virgin, 'not spotted or yet sullied', and Evelyn can shape her into the mould he desires as she grows up. Not holding back from giving even the most intimate of advice, William recommends that Evelyn make his young wife 'a scabord for to fit thy sword', though if Evelyn's sword should prove 'too little or too big' when he first inserts it into Mary's 'scabord', he should be careful and gentle, just as when:
Like a young Colt backt gently not by forse
By skilful riding maks a ready horse.30
At his best, William's 'discourse is as free and unconcerned as his behaviour, pleasant, witty and instructive'.31 Yet his manners in company are a little more stiff and formal than is normal in the new relaxed Restoration society. He is probably pleased when a guest does not immediately replace his hat on being given permission to do so but waits for a second urging from his host. Then, as a courtesy book suggests, the guest 'must do it with some reluctance, but not so as to be troublesome'.32 Only when both parties belong to the same household may 'the inferiour [. . .] cover himself at the first request' after the salutation with politeness.33 Margaret considers her husband's behaviour in society to be 'Courtly, Civil, easie and free, without Formality or Constraint', but despite his cordiality William's visitors are never allowed to forget that they are in the presence of a nobleman.34 He detests the overelaborate French manners acquired by those who have travelled abroad, and indeed James Howell, in his Instructions for Forreine Travell, notes how those returning from the continent can be spotted at once by 'their gate and strouting, their bending in the hammes, and shoulders, and looking upon their legs, with frisking and singing'.35 The poet Richard Flecknoe praises William for an informality that, strangely, has the effect of reinforcing his greatness. From those of whom he knows and approves, William does not expect hats to be doffed at a distance:
He looks not (as some do) that you should d'off
Your Hat, and make a reverence twelve-score off:
Nor take Exceptions, if at every word
You don't repeat your Grace, or else my Lord;
But as they'd seem great men by Pride, so he,
Is one indeed by noble curtesy:
And does appear a hundred times more great,
By leaving it, then they by keeping state.36
This apparently contradictory mixture of formality and informality, easy courtliness and yet grandeur worthy of respect is perhaps as close a description as an English writer can achieve of the stiff continental art of cortesia or courtly behaviour as it is still practised by the old-fashioned in England, an art which William learned in Italy over fifty years ago.37
On this intimate occasion, William does not lead his guest into 'ye great Dining Room' but into a smaller and more private parlour, a room whose name is taken from the French verb parler and which is a chamber for conversation.38 Many of the rooms of the house look over the pleasant gardens to the east, and this view becomes the topic of debate.
As William and Evelyn look out, they see a cloister immediately below them enclosing a square garden laid out with lawn and paths. The arcaded walk surrounding it was formerly the nunnery cloister, its floor recently renewed with Flemish tiles. Unnoticed by anyone, a fragment of seventeenth-century bottle glass was trapped in the mortar during the job and will be recovered by archaeologists in three hundred years' time.39
Although the cloister garden is laid out just like the parterre at his own house at Sayes Court, John Evelyn probably has few genuine compliments for this garden. Pleasant though it is, it is also small and prim, on a single level, and lacks trees. Since 1652, Evelyn has been creating his own superlative garden at Sayes Court, and the writing of his book Elysium Britannicum, an encyclopaedic history of gardening, has occupied him for many years. His views have changed over time: initially he favoured French-style flower gardens, but now he is in favour of 'extensive' or rural gardening and the use of trees. In 1660, he even wrote a book called The Manner of Ordering Fruit-Trees. He anticipates in these writings the landscape gardens of the eighteenth century; in fact, it is Evelyn who introduces the word 'avenue' to the English language as a gardening term.
Evelyn's book Sylva (1664), again about trees, is of particular interest to William. (Evelyn himself admits that he 'has hardly the power to take off his Pen on the delightful subject of woods'.40) The book outlines some pioneering methods of cultivating trees, but is addressed to gentlemen rather than foresters. In it, Evelyn insists that major replanting must urgently take place in the wake of the depredations of the Civil War, and William cannot fail to agree. When, on his return to the Midlands, he saw that his beloved park at Clipstone had been felled, he could not hide his feelings from his wife. Margaret considered that she had 'never perceived him sad or discontented for his own Losses and Misfortunes, yet when he beheld the ruines of that Park' she 'observed him troubled, though he did little express it'.41
At Newcastle House, though, schemes for the garden have taken second place in William's mind to plans for a magnificent manège yard, ambitious proposals that have never quite come to fruition. Beyond the cloister lies a larger garden, and William now outlines his proposals to Evelyn, a man who appreciates a fine horse. Unlike William, Evelyn has visited the birthplace of manege in Naples. There, in the riding house of the Spanish viceroy, he saw 'the noblest horses I had ever beheld, one of his sons riding the Menage with that address and dexterity as I had never seen anything approach it'.42 Poignantly, his own manege horse was sent during the Civil War from the riding house to serve the king on the battlefield.43
