From the February till the April following thereon Evelyn was confined to bed with ague and its after effects, but found strength to write and publish a pamphlet, The late News from Brussels unmasked, and His Majesty vindicated from the base calumny and scandal therein fixed on him, ‘in defence of his Majesty, against a wicked forg’d paper, pretended to be sent from Bruxells to defame his Majesties person and vertues, and render him odious, now when everybody was in hope and expectation of the General and Parliament recalling him, and establishing ye government on its antient and right basis.’ Early in May came the tidings that the King’s application for restoration had been accepted and acknowledged by the Parliament ‘after a most bloudy and unreasonable rebellion of neare 20 years,’ and before the end of the month Evelyn was an eye-witness of the triumphal entry of the new king into his capital. ‘29th. This day his Majestie Charles the Second came to London after a sad and long exile and calamitous suffering both of the King and Church, being 17 years. This was also his birthday, and with a triumph of above 20,000 horse and foote, brandishing their swords and shouting with inexpressible joy; the wayes strew’d with flowers, the bells ringing, the streets hung with tapissry, fountaines running with wine; the Maior, Aldermen, and all the Companies in their liveries, chaines of gold, and banners; Lords and Nobles clad in cloth of silver, gold, and velvet; the windowes and balconies all set with ladies; trumpets, music, and myriads of people flocking, even so far as from Rochester, so as they were seven houres in passing the citty, even from 2 in ye afternoone till 9 at night. I stood in the Strand and beheld it, and bless’d God. And all this was don without one drop of bloud shed, and by that very army which rebell’d against him; but it was ye Lord’s doing, for such a restoration was never mention’d in any history antient or modern, since the returne of the Jews from the Babylonish captivity; nor so joyfull a day and so bright ever seene in this nation, this hapning when to expect or effect it was past all human policy.’
Despite his dilettantism and dabbling in science, philosophy and letters, Evelyn had for years past felt the desirability of having some sort of fixed employment. Previous to this, during 1659, he had communicated to the Hon. Robert Boyle, son of the Earl of Cork, a scheme for founding a philosophic and mathematical college or fraternity, and had even arranged with his wife that they should live asunder, in two separate apartments. The Restoration, however, put a stop to this scheme, which then evolved itself, soon afterwards, into the foundation of the Royal Society, Boyle and Evelyn being two of the most prominent original Fellows.
Evelyn was about forty years of age when the Restoration changed the whole prospects of his still long life. He had been a devoted Royalist, though it can not be denied that his zeal in this respect was ever tempered with a vast amount of caution and prudence. In addition to what interest he had earned by his own actions, he had the far more powerful influence of his father-in-law who had, like Charles himself, been exiled for nineteen years. Mrs. Evelyn was promised the appointment of lady of the jewels to the future Queen, which she never received; and Evelyn might have had the honour of knighthood of the Bath, but declined it. He was present at the Coronation in Westminster Abbey on St. George’s Day, 1661, and had prepared and printed a Panegyric poem on the occasion, a screed of bombastic doggerel in fulsome praise of the King. He was a frequent visitor at the Court, and loved to sun himself in the royal presence. One of the finest examples of this feature of Evelyn’s character is his Fumifugium, published in 1661, which will be more particularly referred to later on, a work which marks the real commencement of his literary career.
In 1661, also, Evelyn wrote a pamphlet entitled Tyrannus or the Mode, an invective against ‘our so much affecting the French’ in dress, and he was pleased with the idea that afterwards, in 1666, a change in costume then adopted by the King and court was due to this cause. He, too, donned and went to office in ‘the vest and surcoat and tunic as ’twas call’d, after his Majesty had brought the whole Court to it. It was a comely and manly habit, too good to hold, it being impossible for us in good earnest to leave ye Monsieurs vanities long.’
At length employment, at first unpaid, in the public service fell to Evelyn in May, 1662, when along with ‘divers gentlemen of quality,’ he was appointed one of the Commissioners ‘for reforming the buildings, wayes, streetes, and incumbrances, and regulating the hackney coaches in the Citty of London.’ About this same time he was also on the Commission appointed ‘about Charitable uses, and particularly to enquire how the Citty had dispos’d of the revenues of Gressham College,’ and in the original grant of the Charter of the Royal Society he was nominated by the King to be on its Council. Among the other Commissions upon which he shortly sat were those on Sewers, and on the regulation of the Mint at the Tower; but it was not till 27 Oct. 1664 that he received a paid appointment as one of the four Commissioners for the care of the sick and wounded prisoners to be made in the war declared against Holland. For this the remuneration was ‘a Salary £1,200 a year amongst us, besides extraordinaries for our care and attention in time of station, each of us being appointed to a particular district, mine falling out to be Kent and Sussex.’
Before this, however, an event had occurred which must have given intense gratification to Evelyn, when on 30th April, 1663, ‘Came his Majesty to honour my poore villa with his presence, viewing the gardens and even every roome of the house, and was pleas’d to take a small refreshment. There were with him the Duke of Richmond, E. of St. Albans, Lord Lauderdale, and several persons of Quality.’
The year 1664 was a busy one for Evelyn, as he then brought out his two great masterpieces Sylva and the Kalendarium Hortense, of which more anon, as well as the translation of a French work on Architecture. His official duties in connection with the maintainance of the Dutch prisoners also became so heavy that the charges came to £1,000 a week. The Savoy Hospital was filled with them, and a privy seal grant of £20,000 was made to carry on the work; but the expenses increasing reached £7,000 a week, and Evelyn had hard work to get money from the treasury. Harassed with anxieties of this sort, he frequently went ‘to ye Royal Society to refreshe among ye philosophers’ where he found solace in serving along with Dryden, Waller, and others on a Committee for the improvement of the English language.
In the following year the dreadful plague broke out, when he and one other Commissioner were left to deal with the task of providing for the sick and wounded prisoners. From 1,000 deaths in a week in the middle of July, the mortality increased to near 10,000 by the beginning of September, so he sent his wife and family to his brother at Wotton, and remained at work, ‘being resolved to stay at my house myselfe; and to looke after my charge, trusting in the providence and goodnesse of God.’ Prisoners poured in in larger numbers than he could receive and guard in fit places, and he was continually forced to importune for money lest the prisoners should starve. It was then, perhaps, that Evelyn was thrown most in contact with his intimate friend Pepys, for both of them remained steadfast when others had fled. And they had their reward in coming safely through their trial of faithfulness to official duty. ‘Now blessed be God,’ he writes on 31 Dec. 1665, ‘for his extraordinary mercies and preservation of me this yeare, when thousands and ten thousands perish’d and were swept away on each side of me.’
This hard work was a source of loss to Evelyn, as from time to time he advanced monies of his own to supply provisions for the needy committed to his care: and subsequent petitions for reinbursement were only partially successful. But he was rewarded by the sunny warmth of that royal favour which cost nothing, because when the King returned from Oxford to Hampton Court and Evelyn went to wait upon his Majesty there at the end of January, 1666, he duly records how ‘he ran towards me, and in a most gracious manner gave me his hand to kisse, with many thanks for my care and faithfulnesse in his service in a time of such greate danger, when every body fled their employments.’ Poor Evelyn seems to have been rather easily duped in this sort of way. ‘Then the Duke (of Albemarle) came towards me and embrac’d me with much kindnesse, telling me if he had thought my danger would have been so greate, he would not have suffer’d his Majesty to employ me in that station.’ And so on, ‘after which I got home, not being very well in health.’ It certainly was such ridiculously insincere treatment that it might well have caused immediate sickening in one of robust health.
It was, forsooth, only in very minor matters that Evelyn profited by the royal favour or by his courtiership. In April, 1666, Charles informed him that he must now be sworn for a Justice of the Peace, (‘the office in the world I had most industriously avoided, in regard of the perpetual trouble thereoff in these numerous parishes’), and he only escaped this infliction by humbly desiring to be excused from fresh duties inconsistent with the other service he was engaged in. So excused he was, by royal favour, for which he ‘rendered his Majesty many thanks.’ And on that same day he declined re-election to the Council of the Royal Society for the following year on ‘earnest suite’ of other affairs; for he had to be consistent in such different matters that would have engaged a portion of his time.
Besides his work in connection with prisoners and the Mint he was shortly afterwards nominated one of the Commissioners for regulating the farming and making of saltpetre and gunpowder throughout Britain, an appointment which was all the more appropriate from the fact that his grandfather, George Evelyn of Long Ditton and Wotton (1530-1603), had been the first to introduce the manufacture of gunpowder into England, when he established mills on both of his properties. He was also appointed one of the three Surveyors of the repairs of St. Paul’s Cathedral, ‘and to consider of a model for the new building, or, if it might be, repairing of the steeple, which was most decay’d.’
With hands and head fully occupied with business affairs he found time for other work of a useful nature, while still having plenty of leisure for social duties and enjoyments. In this respect he forms a good example of the well-known truth that it is always the busiest men who can spare most time for matters lying outside of their special grooves of work. Thus in September, 1665, he drew up a scheme for erecting an infirmary at Chatham, in which he was supported by his friend Pepys, then a high official in the Navy Department and like himself a shrewd man of business and method, and therefore finding time for other than purely routine official work; while in August, 1666, he entreated the Lord Chancellor ‘to visite the Hospital of the Savoy, and reduce it (after ye greate abuse that had been continu’d) to its original institution for ye benefit of the poore, which he promis’d to do.’
But nothing came from either of these schemes, for on 2nd. Sept. ‘this fatal night about ten, began the deplorable fire neere Fish Streete in London.’ It raged by day and by night,—‘(if I may call that night which was light as day for 10 miles round about, after a dreadful manner).’ Nothing could be done to stay its progress, and the citizens were awe-stricken and paralyzed by fear. ‘The conflagration was so universal, and the people so astonish’d, that from the beginning, I know not by what despondency or fate, they hardly stirr’d to quench it, so that there was nothing heard or seene but crying out and lamentation, running about like distracted creatures without at all attempting to save even their goods; such a strange consternation there was upon them, so as it burned both in breadth and length, the churches, publics halls, Exchange, hospitals, monuments, and ornaments, leaping after a prodigious manner, from house to house and streete to streete, at great distances one from ye other; for ye heate with a long set of faire and warm weather had even ignited the aire and prepar’d the materials to conceive the fire, which devour’d after an incredible manner houses, furniture, and every thing. Here we saw the Thames cover’d with goods floating, all the barges and boats laden with what some had time and courage to save, as, on ye other, ye carts etc., carrying out to the fields, which for many miles were strew’d with moveables of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both people and what goods they could get away. Oh the miserable and calamitous spectacle! such as happly the world had not seene since the foundation of it, nor be outdon till the universal conflagration thereof. All the skie was of a fiery aspect, like the top of a burning oven, and the light seene above 40 miles round about for many nights. God grant mine eyes may never behold the like, who now saw above 10,000 houses all in one flame; the noise and cracking and thunder of the impetuous flames, ye shreiking of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses, and churches, was like an hideous storme, and the aire all about so hot and inflam’d that at the last one was not able to approach it, so that they were forc’d to stand and let ye flames burn on, which they did for neere two miles in lengh and one in breadh. The clowds also of smoke were dismall and reach’d upon computation neer 50 miles in length. Thus I left it this afternoone burning, a resemblance of Sodom, or the last day. It forcibly call’d to my mind that passage—non enim hic habemus stabilem civitatem: the ruines resembling the picture of Troy. London was, but is no more! Thus I returned.’
For days the conflagration raged, although the whole situation might probably have been saved if the advice of seamen, then as now amongst the bravest and most practical of Britain’s sons, had been followed. When the court suburb of Whitehall began to be threatened,—‘but oh, the confusion there was then at the Court!’—the gentlemen, ‘who hitherto had stood as men intoxicated, with their hands acrosse,.... began to consider that nothing was likely to put a stop but the blowing up of so many houses as might make a wider gap than any had yet been made by the ordinary method of pulling them downe with engines; this some stout seamen propros’d early enough to have sav’d neere ye whole citty, but this some tenacious and avaritious men, aldermen, etc., would not permitt, because their houses must have been of the first.’ At length, however, the fire died out, the houseless citizens finding refuge in tents and miserable huts and hovels hastily erected about St. George’s fields and Moorfields as far as Highgate. But Evelyn’s abode had remained untouched. From reviewing the now poverty-striken people ‘in this calamitous condition I return’d with a sad heart to my house, blessing and adoring the distinguishing mercy of God to me and mine, who in the midst of all this ruine was like Lot, in my little Zoar, safe and sound.’
The plague and the fire were held to be the visitation of God’s anger, and Evelyn evidently thought the heavy punishment richly merited. ‘Oct. 10th. This day was order’d a generall fast thro’ the Nation, to humble us on ye late dreadfull conflagration, added to the plague and warr, the most dismall judgments that could be inflicted, but whiche indeed we highly deserv’d for our prodigious ingratitude, burning lusts, dissolute Court, profane and abominable lives, under such dispensations of God’s continu’d favour in restoring Church, Prince, and People from our late intestine calamities, of which we were altogether unmindfull, even to astonishment.’
Like Wren and Hooke, Evelyn submitted a scheme for the rebuilding of London upon an improved plan, but the new city was formed mainly upon the old lines.
Meanwhile the Dutch fleet was lying off the mouth of the Thames. Though England then happily produced all the food she required, yet the city became ‘exceedingly distress’d for want of fuell’ because of the traffic up and down the estuary being interrupted. Hence Evelyn was appointed one of a Committee to search the environs of London and find if any peat or turf were fit for use. Experiments were made with houllies or briquettes of charcoal dust and loam in the Dutch manner, and Evelyn shewed to many proof of his ‘new fuell, which was very glowing and without smoke or ill smell’. But the process never caught on, and was abandoned as giving no promise of commercial success.
Evelyn’s account against the Treasury now amounted to above £34,000, and he continued to urge for payment of it, or for the settlement of unpaid portions of it, as late as 1702, about three years before his death. Whether this straitened his means or not, he was at any rate eager to make money by speculation. So in 1667 he joined Sir John Kiviet, a Dutch Orangeman who had come over to England for protection and had been knighted by King Charles, in a scheme for making bricks on a large scale. Perhaps as a sort of advertisement of this commercial enterprise he subscribed 50,000 bricks towards building a college for the Royal Society. It was a big scheme, including the embankment of the river from the Tower to the Temple, and if successful it would have brought much gain to the partners.
Evelyn says nothing about the ultimate results of his undertaking, but Pepys furnishes the necessary clue in his diary for September, 1668—‘23d. At noon comes Mr Evelyn to me, about some business with the office, and there in discourse tell me of his loss, to the value of £500, which he hath met with in a late attempt of making of bricks upon an adventure with others, by which he presumed to have got a great deal of money; so that I see the most ingenious man may sometimes be mistaken’. Kiviet a year or two later on had a fresh scheme for draining marshy lands ‘with the hopes of a rich harvest of hemp and cole seed’, but Evelyn took no share in this new adventure.
In July 1669 his University, Oxford, bestowed upon him the honorary degree of Doctor of Civil Law, but he had still no permanent official appointment, his Commissionerships now being completed. Early in May 1670 he went ‘to London concerning the office of Latine Secretary to his Majesty, a place of more honor than dignitie and profit, the revertion of which he had promised me’, though the promise was not fulfilled.
Early in 1669, it had been proposed to Evelyn by Lord Arlington that he should write a history of the Dutch War, but he declined. Towards the middle of the following year, however, pressure was brought on him to undertake the work. ‘After dinner Lord (Arlington) communicated to me his Majesty’s desire that I would engage to write the History of our late War with the Hollanders, which I had hitherto declin’d; this I found was ill-taken, and that I should disoblige his Majesty, who had made choice of me to do him this service, and if I would undertake it, I should have all the assistance the Secretary’s office and others could give me, with other encouragements, which I could not decently refuse’. This work was never completed, so much as was written by way of introduction being subsequently published in 1674 as Navigation and Commerce, their Original and Progress.
Evelyn was, however, not to have much longer to wait for regular official employment, as on 28 February, 1671, ‘The Treasurer acquainted me that his Majesty was graciously pleas’d to nominate me one of the Council of Forraine Plantations, and give me a salary of £500 per ann. to encourage me’. He was pleased with his appointment in connection with our Colonies, ‘a considerable honour, the others in the Council being chiefly Noblemen, and Officers of State’. In the following year the scope of this department was increased by adding the Council of Trade to its duties. He at once went to thank the Treasurer and Lord Arlington, Secretary of State, whose favour he possessed though he ‘cultivated neither of their friendships by any meane submissions’. And he failed not, of course, to kiss the King’s hand on being made one of that newly established Council. But Royalist though he was, he could not be blind to the profligacy of the Court and of the King, to whose Majesty his works were so grandiloquently dedicated.
On one occasion after submitting progress of his History to the King, he says ‘thence walk’d with him thro’ St. James’s Parke to the garden, where I both saw and heard a very familiar discourse between... and Mrs. Nellie as they cal’d an impudent comedian, she looking out of her garden on a terrace at the top of the wall, and... standing on ye greene walke under it. I was heartily sorry at the scene. Thence the King walked to the Dutchess of Cleaveland, another lady of pleasure, and curse of our nation’. Evelyn is usually so strict about any reference to the proprieties that it is hard to understand why this particular interview between King Charles and Nell Gwynne should be mentioned so circumstantially. As for the Court, when it went abroad, say to Newmarket, one might have ‘found ye jolly blades racing, dauncing, feasting, and revelling, more resembling a luxurious and abandon’d rout, than a Christian Court.’
Early in 1672 his father-in-law, Sir Richard Browne, resigned office as Clerk of the Council, a place which his Majesty had years before promised to Evelyn; but he was induced to give up this lien on renewal of the lease of Sayes Court for 99 years, although the King’s written engagement to grant the estate in fee-farme is still extant at Wotton. In 1673 Browne became Master of the Trinity House, and Evelyn was sworn in as a younger Brother, having in the previous autumn been chosen Secretary to the Royal Society: and two months later his son John, now 18 years of age, was also made a younger brother of Trinity House. Evelyn’s life seems now to have glided on very quietly. Much of his time was taken up with the colonial and commercial work controlled by the Council of Plantations and Trade, though he still found leisure for literary work, scientific recreation, and other affairs. His mind apparently about this time became greatly attracted towards religious subjects, and it seems more than probable that this may (in part, at any rate) have been due to a very strong though purely platonic attachment he now formed to Miss Blagg, one of the Queen’s Maids of Honour, who married Mr. Sydney, afterwards Lord Godolphin, in 1675 and died in childbed in 1678 at the early age of twenty five. His Life of Mrs Godolphin, never published till 1847, was ‘design’d to consecrate her worthy life to posterity.’ In February 1680 his son John, now 23 years of age and imitating his father’s literary beginning as a translator, was married to Martha Spencer, step-daughter of Sir John Stonehouse. That Evelyn was now fairly well off is evident from the terms of the jointure and marriage contracts then made. ‘The lady was to bring £5,000 in consideration of a settlement of £500 a yeare present maintainence, which was likewise to be her jointure, and £500 a yeare after myne and my Wife’s decease. But with God’s blessing it will be at the least £1000 a yeare more in a few yeares.’ Always of business habits, Evelyn particularly records how, in the following month, he went ‘To London, to receive £3,000 of my daughter-in-law’s portion, which was paid in gold.’
The deeply religious caste of thought above alluded to as now becoming very noticeable in Evelyn shewed itself strongly in the autumn of 1680. ‘I went to London to be private, my birthday being ye next day, and I now arriv’d at my sixtieth year, on which I began a more solemn survey of my whole life, in order to the making and confirming my peace with God, by an accurate scrutinie of all my actions past, as far as I was able to call them to mind. How difficult and uncertaine, yet how necessary a work! The Lord be mercifull to me and accept me! Who can tell how oft he offendeth?... I began and spent the whole weeke in examining my life, begging pardon for my faults, assistance and blessing for the future, that I might in some sort be prepar’d for the time that now drew neere, and not have the greater work to begin when one can worke no longer. The Lord Jesus help and assist me! I therefore stirr’d little abroad till the 5 November..... I participated of ye blessed communion, finishing and confirming my resolutions of giving myselfe up more intirely to God, to whom I had now most solemnly devoted the rest of the poore remainder of life in this world; the Lord enabling me, who am an unprofitable servant, a miserable sinner, yet depending on his infinite goodnesse and mercy accepting my endeavours.’
It were well if all men, even before attaining 60 years of age, could bring themselves to such periods of reflection on past and present acts, and even though all the good resolves may not have been quite rigidly acted up to. And even in Evelyn’s case, at any rate so far as his diary shews, he appears afterwards to have continued just as much a man of the world as he was before these solemn resolutions, although the glamour of being a courtier seems perhaps to have henceforth become less rose-coloured. A trivial incident happening while he was supping one night at Lady Arlington’s, in June 1683, gave rise to the reflection that ‘By this one may take an estimate of the extream slavery and subjection that courtiers live in, who have not time to eate and drink at their pleasure. It put me in mind of Horace’s Mouse, and to blesse God for my owne private condition.’ Twenty years previously he would not have thought or said this.
Evelyn took a leading part in the negociations for the repurchase of Chelsea College for £1,300 from the Royal Society to whom it had been recently presented by the King, and for the establishment of a hospital for old soldiers there at a cost of £20,000 with an endowment of £5,000 a year.
Several violent fits of ague having afflicted him during the winter of 1681-82, to cure which ‘recourse was had to bathing my legs in milk up to ye knees, made as hot as I could endure it’, Evelyn made his will and put all his affairs in order ‘that now growing in yeares, I might have none of the secular things and concerns to distract me when it should please Almighty God to call me from this transitory life’. In November 1682 he was asked by many friends to stand for election as president of the Royal Society, in succession to Sir Christopher Wren, but pleading ‘remote dwelling, and now frequent infirmities’ he declined the proffered honour. Subsequently, in 1690, he had actually, ‘been chosen President of the Royal Society’, but desired to decline it ‘and with greate difficulty devolv’d the election on Sir Robert Southwell, Secretary of State to King William in Ireland.’ For a third time, in November 1693, the honour was again offered—‘Much importun’d to take the office of President of the Royal Society, but I againe declin’d it.’
On 12th February 1683 his father-in-law, Sir Richard Browne, who had been created a baronet in 1649, and to whose influence he owed much, died at his house at Sayes Court, leaving Mrs. Evelyn as his sole heiress. Meanwhile grandchildren had been born to Evelyn, some of whom soon died in infancy. His appointment on the Council of Plantations and Trade seems to have lapsed before this time, for no further mention is made in his diary of Council meetings, and he seems to have resided chiefly at Sayes Court, gardening and spending his time in scholarly leisure and recreation. This surmise is borne out by what he says in 1683, ‘Oct. 4th. I went to London, on receiving a note from the Countesse of Arlington, of some considerable charge or advantage I might obtaine by applying myselfe to his Majesty on this signal conjuncture of his Majesty entering up judgment against the City charter; the proposal made me I wholly declin’d, not being well satisfied with these violent transactions, and not a little sorry that his Majesty was so often put upon things of this nature against so great a Citty, the consequence wheroff may be so much to his prejudice; so I return’d home.’
On 6th February 1685 King Charles II. died after an apoplectic fit, and his brother James, Duke of York, ascended the throne. Evelyn comments fully on the virtues and vices of the late monarch. ‘He would doubtless have been an excellent Prince had he been less addicted to women, who made him uneasy, and allways in want to supply their immeasurable profusion, to ye detriment of many indigent persons who had signaly serv’d both him and his father..... He was ever kind to me, and very gracious upon all occasions, and therefore I cannot, without ingratitude, but deplore his loss, which for many respects, as well as duty, I do with all my soul.’
With the accession of James II., Evelyn was again to feel the sunny warmth of royal favour in the form of an official appointment. But previous to this he had to suffer a heavy loss by the death from small-pox of his eldest daughter Mary, in the 19th year of her age, who had been born at Wotton in the same room as her father had first seen the light.
In September 1685 Evelyn was informed that on Lord Clarendon, Lord Privy Seal, going to assume the Lord Lieutenancy of Ireland the King had nominated him as one of the Commissioners to execute the office of Privy Seal during such appointment; and early in December he was ‘put into the new Commission of Sewers.’ It was nearly Christmas before he kissed hands on receiving the patent for executing this office and entered on its duties along with the two other Commissioners. They performed these till the 10th March 1687, when the King relieved them with compliments on their ‘faithfull and loyal service, with many gracious expressions to this effect’, and bestowed the seal on Lord Arundel of Wardour, a zealous Roman Catholic.
In the early days of James II’s reign the patronage which seemed to be coming in Evelyn’s direction appears to have, not unnaturally perhaps, somewhat coloured his opinion as to the new monarch’s capacity and disposition. After a journey undertaken with Pepys to Windsor, Winchester, and Portsmouth in September 1685, whither the King went to view the state of the fortifications, he recorded that ‘what I observ’d in this journey, is that infinite industry, sedulity, gravity, and greate understanding and experience of affairs, in his Majesty, that I cannot but predict much happiness to ye nation, as to its political government; and if he so persist, there could be nothing more desir’d to accomplish our prosperity, but that he was of the national church.’ Biassed and prejudiced in the royal favour as he then temporarily was, this account of King James proved so totally incorrect that it is a wonder Evelyn retained it in the compilation which he left as his Diary. The only explanation seems to be that he wished to record his prevision as regards Roman Catholicism proving the main rock upon which the King might come to grief, as he afterwards did.
Titus Oates’ conspiracy and the Duke of Monmouth’s invasion and insurrection went by without affecting Evelyn much. He was in the latter case called upon to supply a mounted trooper, which he did rather grudgingly. ‘The two horsemen which my son and myselfe sent into the county troopes, were now come home, after a moneth’s being out to our greate charge.’ But what concerned him much more was that matters frequently came before the Commission of the Privy Seal to which he could not, on religious grounds principally, give his assent. On such occasions he would sometimes go to his house in the country, ‘refusing to be present at what was to passe at the Privy Seale the next day’, because any two out of the three Commissioners formed a quorum. At other times, however, he had to face his responsibility properly, by refusing to put his seal to the papers in question, while noting his objections to the course of action proposed. The Papistry which was spreading over the country under the King’s influence seemed to darken the land and to obscure the future. ‘Popish Justices of the Peace establish’d in all counties, of the meanest of the people; Judges ignorant of the law, and perverting it—so furiously do the Jesuits drive, and even compel Princes to violent courses, and destruction of an excellent government both in Church and State. God of his infinite mercy open our eyes and turn our hearts, and establish his truth with peace! The Lord Jesus defend his little flock, and preserve this threaten’d Church and Nation.’
A staunch Protestant, Evelyn no longer possessed the King’s favour, and henceforth he received no further appointment or token of royal approval although he still frequented the Court at Whitehall. In August 1688 he was secretly informed by the Rev. Dr. Tenison, afterwards Bishop of Lincoln, of the impending invasion of the Prince of Orange, and, while regularly paying his duty as a courtier, he informed the lately imprisoned Archbishop and Bishops of the intrigues on which the Jesuits were hard at work. And subsequently ‘My Lord of Canterbury gave me great thanks for the advertisement I sent him in October, and assured me they took my counsell in that particular, and that it came very seasonably.’ On 18th December, he ‘saw the King take barge to Gravesend at 12 o’clock—a sad sight,’ on the very day that the Prince of Orange came to St. James and filled Whitehall with Dutch guards. All the world at once went to pay court to the Prince whose star was now in the ascendant: and, of course, Evelyn went too. A couple of months later he ‘saw the new Queene and King proclaim’d the very next day after her coming to Whitehall, Wednesday 13 Feb., with greate acclamations and generall good reception.... It was believ’d that both, especially the Princesse, would have shew’d some (seeming) reluctance at least, of assuming her father’s Crown, and some apology, testifying her regret that he should by his mismanagement necessitate the Nation to so extraordinary a proceeding, which would have shew’d very handsomely to the world, and according to the character given by her piety; consonant also to her husband’s first decleration, that there was no intention of deposing the King, but of succouring the Nation; but nothing of all this appear’d; she came into White-hall laughing and jolly, as to a wedding, so as to seem quite transported..... This carriage was censured by many.’
After the Restoration Evelyn’s life as a courtier was practically at an end, as he never quite approved the enforced abdication of King James. So henceforth he spent his time, without further attendance at Court or seeking after office or appointment, in study, literary work, and retirement. He did not like the new régime, with its ‘Court offices distributed amongst Parliament men.... Things far from settled as was expected, by reason of the slothfull, sickly temper of the new King, and the Parliament’s unmindfullness of Ireland, which is likely to prove a sad omission.’ He even seems to have regretted that his son was in March 1692 made ‘one of the Commissioners of the Revenue and Treasury of Ireland, to which employment he had a mind far from my wishes.’ This son contracted serious illness in Ireland, and died ‘after a tedious languishing sickness’ early in 1699, aged 44 years, leaving one son, then a student at Oxford.
Some time before this his elder brother, George, having lost his last son and heir, had settled the Wotton estate upon John Evelyn. In May 1694, yielding to the request to make Wotton his home, he went to Wotton, leaving Sayes Court in charge of his daughter Susanna and her husband William Draper, whose marriage had been celebrated about a year previously. In 1696 it was let for three years to Admiral Benbow, who sublet it in 1698 to Peter the Great, then visiting the Deptford Dockyards for three months as his Majesty’s guest. So great was the destruction done to the gardens, trees, and holly-hedges, that Wren was asked to report on the compensation suitable, and £162-7-0 were paid to Evelyn for damage to the house and garden.
Early in 1695 Evelyn accepted the offer of the Treasurership of Greenwich Hospital, then about to be rebuilt and endowed for the maintainence of decayed seamen, which was made to him by Lord Godolphin, who had been the husband of his former friend Miss Blagg. During the days of Charles II. some such transformation of the Palace had been under consideration, but it was the 30th June 1696 before Evelyn and Sir Christopher Wren ‘laid the first stone of the intended foundation, precisely at 5 o’clock in the evening, after we had din’d together.’ This appointment carried with it ‘the salary of £200 per ann. of which I have never yet receiv’d one penny of the tallies assign’d for it, now two years at Lady-day; my son-in-law Draper is my substitute.’ When the new Commission for Greenwich Hospital was sealed in August 1703 Evelyn resigned his office of Treasurer in favour of Draper.
His brother George dying in October 1699, Evelyn then became the owner of Wotton, and looked to his grandson, the Oxford Student, to ‘be the support of the Wotton family.’ The lad had a bad attack of small-pox in the autumn of 1700, a malady that had caused many gaps in the family circle; but, coming safely through this illness, he was in July 1701, by the patronage of Lord Godolphin, made one of the Commissioners of the Prizes, with a salary of £500 a year, while he was still an undergraduate at Oxford. And in January 1704 the same noble patron appointed him Treasurer of the Stamp Duties, with a salary of £300 a year. He afterwards married Ann, daughter of Hugh Boscawen (afterwards Lord Falmouth), Lord Godolphin’s niece, and was created a baronet in 1713. It was through him that the present family of Evelyn of Wotton directly descend, though the baronetcy lapsed on the death of his grandson Frederick in 1812.
As he had done twenty years before, so also on now attaining his 80th birthday on 31st. October 1700 Evelyn rendered thanks for mercies with his characteristic religious feeling. ‘I with my soul render thanks to God, who of his infinite mercy, not only brought me out of many troubles, but this yeare restor’d me to health, after an ague and other infirmities of so greate an age, my sight, hearing and other senses and faculties tolerable, which I implore him to continue, with the pardon of my sins past, and grace to acknowledge by my improvement of his goodnesse the ensuing yeare, if it be his pleasure to protract my life, that I may be the better prepar’d for my last day, through the infinite merits of my blessed Saviour, the Lord Jesus, Amen.’
Five times more was he to be privileged to record his thanks and prayers on successive returns of this anniversary. One of the very last entries in his memoirs is that on 31st. October 1705 ‘I am this day arriv’d to the 85th year of my age. Lord teach me so to number my days to come that I may apply them to wisdom’. And numbered, indeed, they then were; for on the 27th of February 1706 he passed quietly and peacefully away, retaining his faculties to the last. And he was laid at rest in the Chancel of Wotton Church.
During the course of his long and distinguished life he had seen many stirring events, had taken part in many important affairs, had achieved much, and had suffered much. He had outlived four reigns, two of which were terminated by a natural death, one by public execution, and one by abdication. He had served many public and other distinguished offices with zeal, ability, integrity, and success. He had given to English literature some of the classic works that are among the treasures of our literature of the Restoration period. He had outlived all of his six sons, most of whom had died in childhood, as well as his eldest and favourite daughter. Of all his nine children, the sole survivors were his daughter Elizabeth, who was soon afterwards married to a son of Sir John Tippet, and Susanna, wife of William Draper, afterwards of Adscomb near Croydon. After nearly 60 years of pure domestic wedded life, in marked contrast to the prevailing dissoluteness of the time, Evelyn was survived for nearly three years by his widow, who died in 1709, aged 74 years, cherishing to the last her love and affection for him to whom her destiny had been committed whilst she was still a mere child. ‘His care of my education’, she wrote in her last Will and Testament, ‘was such as might become a father, a lover, a friend, and a husband; for instruction, tenderness, affection and fidelity to the last moment of his life; which obligation I mention with a gratitude to his memory ever dear to me; and I must not omit to own the sense I have of my parents’ care and goodness in placing me in such worthy hands.’ Surely no husband ever had a nobler epitaph.
In an age of fierce political and ecclesiastical conflict, Evelyn, often, no doubt, strongly tempted to partisanship, managed to steer his course with prudence and great worldly judgment. But for that, his industry and business talent would probably have brought him more prominently into office under Charles II. In a corrupt and profligate age, however, his character stands out as that of one unsullied by excesses, impurities, or vices. And it is not the least of his merits that, in an age of bigotry and narrow-mindedness, he was not intolerant towards those whose religious views happened to differ from his own.
Evelyn’s earliest publications, some of which have already been referred to, consisted mostly in translations from the French, Latin, and Greek, that of the first book of Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura being in verse. Their authorship was usually veiled either under Greek pseudonyms or else more thinly under the initials ‘J.E.’ That on A Character of England (1659), a tract purporting to have been written by a foreigner, appeared anonymously.
Of all these seven publications appearing before the Restoration, the only one of any importance was The French Gardener, the translation of a work by N. de Bonnefons, which appeared at the end of 1658 and was thus referred to in the diary,—‘Dec. 6th. Now was publish’d my “French Gardener,” the first and best of the kind that introduc’d ye use of the Olitorie garden to any purpose.’ Subsequent editions of it appeared in 1669, 1672, 1691, bearing Evelyn’s name on the titlepage in place of the Philocepos on its first publication.
With the Restoration, bringing to him greater personal freedom of thought and speech, came the most active period of Evelyn’s literary production. His loyalty at once found opportunity to answer a libel on King Charles (entitled News from Brussels) in The late News from Brussels unmasked, a long vindication of his Majesty from the calumnies and scandal therein fixed on him. From a literary and antiquarian point of view, however, far greater interest attaches to a much shorter treatise entitled Fumifugium: or the Inconvenience of the Aer and Smoak of London Dissipated, together with some Remedies humbly proposed. As this is the earliest reference to the great London Smoke Nuisance, which, like the poor, we have always with us, it is of more than passing interest to know how large this difficult problem of curing it loomed about two and a half centuries ago. Moreover, this short work affords a very typical example of Evelyn’s literary style, while at the same time well exemplyfying his profusely enthusiastic outbursts of devoted and loyal attachment to the King’s person and interests.
In the dull days of autumn and winter, when the heavy, damp air wafted inwards from the sea shrouds London with a dirty pall of fog thickened and discoloured with the smoke belched forth skywards from the long throats of thousands of tall factory chimneys and emitted from hundreds of thousands of household and workshop fires, the dweller in this vast overgrown city is tempted to range himself for the moment among the belauders of better times in the past. Almost groping his way along the streets in semi-darkness, and half choked with the sulphurous surcharge in the atmosphere, this latter-day growler may perhaps be astonished to learn that his complaint is of very old standing, and that long before the days of his great-great-grandfather, in fact more than seven generations ago, this poisoning of the atmosphere with the impurities given off from ‘sea-coal’ and other combustibles had already come to be looked on by some as a public nuisance. It will, therefore, interest Londoners in general, and will delight the hearts of Sir William Richmond R.A. and the County Council in particular, to know that their great precursor in this matter of reform nearly 250 years ago considered the question even then one of urgency, admitting of no delay. How graphic, and how refreshing, is the pithy point thus neatly scored—
‘I propose therefore, that by an Act of this present Parliament, this infernal Nuisance be removed.’
There is no beating about the bush here, and no mincing of phrases. The matter is at once probed with the needle.
Evelyn was not merely a rather notable person in the London society of that period. As a man of science he was one of the most prominent pillars of the then recently founded Royal Society. As an official he was His Majesty’s Commissioner for improving the streets and buildings of London, in addition to various other particular duties. But finally,—and, at the same time, first of all, if it be permissible to emphasise the fact in so paradoxical a manner—he was a courtier; and that at a time when expressions of loyalty to His Gracious Majesty, King Charles II., were somewhat too highly coloured, too servile and sycophantic, to suit our modern taste.
This short work Fumifugium, really only a pamphlet, was therefore dedicated to the King in language of the period extravagant in the highest degree, though eminently typical of the Royalists during the early days of the Restoration. The treatise was thus occasioned:— ‘It was one day, as I was Walking in Your Majesty’s Palace at White-Hall (where I have sometimes the honour to refresh myself with the Sight of Your Illustrious Presence, which is the Joy of Your Peoples hearts) that a presumptuous Smoak issuing from one or two tunnels near Northumberland House, and not far from Scotland-yard did so invade the Court; that all the Rooms, Galleries, and Places about it were fill’d and infested with it; and that to such a degree, as Men could hardly discern one another from the Clowd, and none could support, without manifest Inconveniency. It was not this which did first suggest to me what I had long since conceived against this pernicious Accident, upon frequent observation; But it was this alone, and the trouble that it must needs procure to Your Sacred Majesty, as well as hazzard to Your Health, which kindled this Indignation of mine against it, and was the occasion of what it has produc’d in these Papers.
Sir, I prepare in this short Discourse an expedient how this pernicious Nuisance may be reformed; and offer at another also, by which the Aer may not only be freed from the present Inconveniency; but (that remov’d) to render not only Your Majesties Palace, but the whole City likewise, one of the sweetest, and most delicious Habitations in the World; and this, with little or no expence; but by improving those Plantations which Your Majesty so laudably affects, in the moyst, depressed and marshy grounds about the Town, to the Culture and production of such things, as upon every gentle emission through the Aer, should so perfume the adjacent places with their breath; as if, by a certain charm, or innocent Magick, they were transferred to that part of Arabia, which is therefore styled the Happy, because it is amongst the Gums and precious spices.’
Objectionable cottages had thus apparently only recently, probably during the democratic Commonwealth, been erected to the east of Whitehall, and were surrounded by fields. These fields were to be divided into blocks of about 20 to 40 acres, and palisades or fences of shrubs were to enclose belts of 150 feet or more between the various fields. The fences were to be formed or filled with sweetbriar, periclymena, woodbine, jessamine, syringa, guelder-rose, musk and other roses, broom, juniper, lavender, and so on,—‘but above all Rosemary, the Flowers whereof are credibly reported to give their sent above thirty Leagues off at Sea, upon the coasts of Spain. Those who take notice of the Sent of the Orange-flowers from the Rivage of Genöa, and St. Pietro dell’ Arena; the Blosomes of Rosemary from the Coasts of Spain many leagues off at Sea; or the manifest and odoriferous wafts which flow from Fontenoy and Vaugirard, even to Paris in the season of Roses, with the contrary Effects of those less pleasing smells from other accidents, will easily consent to what I suggest: And, I am able to enumerate a Catalogue of native Plants, and such as are familiar to our Country and Clime, whose redolent and agreeable Emissions would even ravish our senses, as well as perfectly improve the Aer about London; and that, without the least prejudice to the Owners and Proprietors of the Land to be employ’d about it.’ Evelyn further recommended ‘That the Spaces, or Area between these Pallisads, and Fences, be employ’d in Beds and Bordures of Pinks, Carnations, Clove, Stock-gilly-flower, Primroses, Auriculas, Violets, not forgetting the White, which are in flower twice a year, April and August; Cowslips, Lillies, Narcissus, Strawberries, whose very leaves as well as fruit, emit a Cardiague, and most refreshing Halitus: also Parietria Lutea, Musk, Lemmon, and Mastick: Thyme, Spike, Cammomile, Balm, Mint, Marjoram, Pimpernel, Serpillum, etc., which upon the least pressure and cutting, breathe out and betray their ravishing Odors.’ Plantations of trees were also to be made and nurseries formed, which would have the additional advantage, besides mere beauty and ornament, of providing for the fields—‘better Shelter, and Pasture for Sheep and Cattel then now; that they lie bleak, expos’d and abandon’d to the winds, which perpetually invade them.’ It is said that the planting of Lime trees in St. James’ Park was due to these suggestions. Evelyn’s recommendations concluded with the exhorting that ‘the further exhorbitant encrease of Tenements, poor and nasty Cottages near the City, be prohibited, which disgrace and take off from the sweetness and amoenity of the Environs of London, and are already become a great Eye-sore in the grounds opposite to His Majesty’s Palace of White-hall; which being converted to this use, might yield a diversion inferior to none that could be imagin’d for Health, Profit, and Beauty, which are the three Transcendencies that render a place without all exception. And this is what (in short) I had to offer, for the Improvement and Melioration of the Aer about London, and with which I shall conclude this discourse.’
Besides dedicating his pamphlet especially to the King, as well as proposing, on the title-page, the remedy “To His Sacred Majestie, and To the Parliament now Assembled”, Evelyn likewise adresses himself “To the Reader” by way of a second introduction; and he does so in these plainer and rather contemptuous terms:— ‘I have little here to add to implore thy good opinion and approbation, after I have submitted this Essay to his Sacred Majesty: But as it is of universal benefit that I propound it; so I expect a civil entertainment and reception....’ Confessing himself ‘frequently displeased at the small advance and improvement of Publick Works in this nation,’ he further expresses himself as ‘extremely amazed, that where there is so great affluence of all things which may render the People of this vast City the most happy upon Earth; the sordid and accursed Avarice of some few Particular Persons should be suffered to prejudice the health and felicity of so many: That any Profit (besides what is absolute necessity) should render men regardlesse of what chiefly imports them, when it may be purchased upon so easie conditions, and with so great advantages: For it is not happiness to possesse Gold, but to enjoy the Effects of it and to know how to live cheerfully and in health, Non est vivere, sed valere vita. That men whose very Being is Aer, should not breath it freely when they may; but (as that Tyrant us’d his Vassals) condemn themselves to this misery and Fumo præfocari, is strange stupidity: yet thus we see them walk and converse in London, pursu’d and haunted by that infernal Smoake, and the funest accidents which accompany it wheresoever they retire.’
Surely, if John Evelyn could in spirit revisit the metropolis he loved so well and was so much at home in, he would, while lamenting the continuation and the now much more acute form of the “infernal Nuisance”, to a certainty find ample cause for rejoicing at the admirable work of late years carried out in the London Royal Parks and Pleasure Grounds, and in the Parks and Open Spaces under the administration of the County Council.
It was in 1664, however, that Evelyn achieved his greatest literary triumph by the publication of his three masterpieces, Sylva: or a Discourse of Forest Trees, and the Propagation of Timber in His Majestie’s Dominions; Pomona: or an Appendix concerning Fruit Trees in relation to Cider, the Making and several ways of Ordering it; and Kalendarium Hortense: or the Gard’ners Almanack, directing what he is to do Monthly throughout the Year.’
The manner in which the idea of the Sylva originated is clearly shewn by what is noted in his Diary on 15th October, 1662.—‘I this day deliver’d my “Discourse concerning Forest Trees” to the Society, upon occasion of certain queries sent to us by the Commissioners of his Majesties Navy, being the first booke that was printed by order of the Society, and by their printer, since it was a Corporation.’ This latter reference evidently anticipates events, as one often had reason to note in this so-called diary, because Sylva was not actually published until the beginning of 1664, when along with it were included Pomona, and the Kalendarium Hortense. In February, 1664, ‘16th, I presented my “Sylva” to the Society; and next day to his Majestie, to whom it was dedicated; also to the Lord Treasurer and the Lord Chancellor.’
There is no doubt that Sylva was a work of national importance. Then, as now, England was dependent on her Navy. But the stock of Oak timber suitable for the requirements of the naval dockyards had become almost exhausted. From a tonnage of 17,110 tons in 1603, our fleet had risen to 57,463 tons in 1660, and during the 25 years of Charles II’s reign it increased to 103,556 tons. To supply these rapidly expanding requirements the stock of timber in the country was feared to be inadequate. From 197,405, loads of timber fit for the Navy in the New Forest in 1608, the stock sank later to 19,873 in 1707; and in the royal forests in Gloucestershire a similar state of affairs obtained. At a meeting of the Council of the Royal Society in November 1662, Evelyn followed up his recent Sylva by suggesting a discourse ‘concerning planting his Majesty’s Forest of Deane with oake, now so much exhausted, of ye choicest ship-timber in the world.’ This was before the days of steam or even of macadamized roads, when we had to grow our own supplies of food and Navy timber. True, oak for wainscoting and the like had long been imported from the Continent; but if we had been anything like dependent on foreign oak, the Dutch War which shortly afterwards broke out would probably have cut off the same entirely from reaching our ports.
It is unnecessary to say much about this charming classic of Forestry, of whose various excellences the reader can herein judge for himself. Gracefully written in nervous English and in a cultured style, ornately embellished according to the then prevailing custom by apt quotations from the Latin poets, it contains an enormous amount of information in the shape of legends and of facts ascertained by travel, of observation, and of experience. No man of his time could possibly have been better qualified than Evelyn for undertaking the special duty laid upon him; and he carried out his task in a brilliant manner. Sylva soon ran into several editions. The fourth edition appeared in the year of his death (1706) and a fifth in 1729. From 1776 to 1812 other four editions were published, with notes by Dr. A. Hunter of York, the last of which served as the text for the celebrated forestry article in the Quarterly Review for March, 1813. A later issue of Hunter’s editions appeared in 1825; but in 1827 ignorant and wanton hands were with much bombastic language and buffoonry laid on this great classic, when James Mitchell, an agriculturist, published Dendrologia; or a Treatise of Forest Trees, with Evelyn’s Silva, revised, corrected, and abridged by a Professional Planter and Collector of practical Notes forty years. Since then no other edition of Sylva has appeared until the present reprint of the 4th edition, making the 12th edition of this classic work.
The publication of Sylva gave an enormous stimulus to planting in Britain, the benefits from which were subsequently reaped at the end of the XVIII and the beginning of the XIX century, when during our war with France the supply of oak timber for shipbuilding almost entirely ran out. Dr. Hunter’s editions did much to revive the ardour for planting, which was further stimulated by the Quarterly Review article and by the advice which Sir Walter Scott put into the mouth of the Laird o’ Dumbiedykes to his son: ‘Jock, when ye hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it will be growing, Jock, when ye’re sleeping.’ To the impetus then given to planting, many of the woods now growing in different parts of Britain, and especially in Scotland, owe their origin.
As Evelyn had given the copyright to Allestry, the Royal Society’s printer, Sylva brought no pecuniary profit to its author; and indirectly it was the cause of disappointment to him. How this came about may be seen from the following extract from a letter, dated 4th August 1690, to his friend the Countess of Sunderland, which is further of interest as giving Evelyn’s own account of the origin of Sylva—‘when many yeares ago I came from rambling abroad, observ’d a little time there, and a greate deale more since I came home than gave me much satisfaction, and (as events have prov’d) scarce worth one’s pursuite, I cast about how I should employ the time which hangs on most young men’s hands, to the best advantage; and when books and severer studies grew tedious, and other impertinence would be pressing, by which innocent diversions I might sometime relieve my selfe without complyance to recreations I took no felicity in, because they did not contribute to any improvement of the mind. This set me upon planting of trees, and brought forth my “Sylva,” which booke, infinitely beyond my expectation, is now also calling for a fourth impression, and has been the occasion of propagating many millions of usefull timber trees thro’out this nation, as I may justifie (without im’odesty) from ye many letters of acknowledgement receiv’d from gentlemen of the first quality, and others altogether strangers to me. His late Majesty Charles the 2nd. was sometimes graciously pleas’d to take notice of it to me, and that I had by that booke alone incited a world of planters to repaire their broken estates and woodes, which the greedy rebells had wasted and made much havock of. Upon this encouragement I was once speaking to a mighty man, then in despotic power, to mention the greate inclination I had to serve his Majesty in a little office then newly vacant (the salary I think hardly £300) whose province was to inspect the timber trees in his Majesties Forests, etc., and take care of their culture and improvement; but this was conferr’d upon another who, I believe, had seldom been out of the smoake of London, where though there was a greate deale of timber, there were not many trees. I confesse I had an inclination to the imployment upon a publique account as well as its being suitable to my rural genius, borne as I was at Wotton, among the woods.’
A still greater success was achieved by the Kalendarium Hortense, which reached its tenth edition (1706) during Evelyn’s lifetime, and of which two reprints have subsequently been made. This small work was the forerunner of the more modern books on English gardening, the names of which are now almost legion.
Previous to this, Sculptura: or the History and Art of Chalcography and Engraving in Copper and Mezzo-tinto, had been published in 1662, being the first work on this subject that had appeared in England. But it was a poor production, and ran into no second edition while the author lived. His chief subsequent literary successes were Terra: a Philosophical Discourse of Earth relating to the Culture and Improvement of it for Vegetation, and for the Propagation of Plants, (1676), which was first read before the Royal Society on 29th April 1675, and of which the third edition was printed in 1706, and The Compleat Gardiner, or Directions for cultivating and right ordering of Fruit Gardens and Kitchen Gardens; with divers Reflections on several parts of Husbandry, (1693), which went into five editions by 1710. His History of the Dutch War, already referred to (page xliii) would have been by far his most important work in point of length had its completion been allowed, but only the introductory portion saw the light as Navigation and Commerce; their Original and Progress, Containing a succint account of Traffick in general; etc. etc...... to the beginning of our late differences with Holland; in which his Majesties title to the Dominion of the Sea is asserted against the Novel and later Pretenders. (1674). His own account of the stoppage of the work is given in the diary for 19th August 1674,—‘His Majesty told me how exceedingly the Dutch were displeas’d at my treatise of the “Historie of Commerce;” that the Holland Ambassador had complain’d to him of what I had touch’d of the Flags and Fishery, etc., and desired the booke might be call’d in; whilst on the other side he assur’d me he was exceedingly pleas’d with what I had done, and gave me many thanks. However, it being just upon conclusion of the treaty of Breda (indeed it was design’d to have been publish’d some moneths before and when we were at defiance), his Majesty told me he must recall it formally, but gave order that what copies should be publiqly seiz’d to pacifie the Ambassador, should immediately be restor’d to the printer, and that neither he nor the vendor should be molested. The truth is, that which touch’d the Hollander was much lesse than what the King himself furnish’d me with, and oblig’d me to publish, having caus’d it to be read to him before it went to the presse; but the error was, it should have been publish’d before the peace was proclaim’d. The noise of this book’s suppression made it presently be bought up, and turn’d much to the stationer’s advantage. It was no other than the Preface prepar’d to be prefix’d to my History of the whole Warr; which I now pursued no further.’ Years afterwards, however, he wrote somewhat bitterly on this subject to his intimate friend Pepys, in a letter dated 28th April 1682, in which he says, ‘In sum, I had no thanks for what I had done, and have been accounted since, I suppose, an useless fop, and fit only to plant coleworts, and I cannot bend to mean submissions; and this, Sir, is the history of the Historian. I confess to you, I had once the vanity to hope, had my patron continued in his station, for some, at least, honorary title that might have animated my progress, as seeing then some amongst them whose talents I did not envy: but it was not my fortune to succeed.’ This certainly seems as if Evelyn had been hoping for knighthood from King Charles. If his desire lay this way, it is difficult to reconcile such private admission with the definite statement made in the diary of 19th April, 1661, that ‘he might have receiv’d this honour,’ of Knighthood of the Bath ‘but declined it.’
Evelyn’s other publications, works of considerably less importance, include Tyrannus or the Mode, in a Discourse of Sumptuary Laws (1661); A Parallel of the Ancient Architecture with the Modern (1664), and An Idea of the Perfection of Painting, Demonstrated from the Principles of Art (1668), both translated from the French of Roland Freart; Another Part of the Mystery of Jesuitisim, also from the French (1665); Publick Employment, and an Active Life preferr’d to Solitude (1667: a reply to Sir George Mackenzie’s Work on Solitude); The History of three late famous Imposters (Padre Ottomano, Mahomed Bei, and Sabatei Sevi: 1669); Mundus Muliebris: or the Ladies Dressing-room Unlock’d and her Toilette spread (1690: a burlesque poem, ‘A voyage to Marryland,’ cataloguing female follies of the time, by his daughter Mary, who died in 1685); Numismata: a Discourse of Medals, Antient and Modern: &c. (1697); and Acetaria: a Discourse of Sallets (1699), which was merely a chapter, written many years previously, of an extensive work he intended writing under the comprehensive title of Elysium Britannicum. There is no doubt that, but for his immersion in public affairs in middle life, Evelyn would have been a much larger producer of literary work than he actually was. But it seems very questionable if this would in any substantial way have added to the enduring reputation he won for himself by Sylva.
In addition to his published works, however, he left numerous manuscripts, which he had noted as ‘Things I would write out faire and reform if I had leisure,’ comprising poems, mathematical papers, religious meditations, and biographies. The most ambitious of his poems is Thyrsander, a Tragy-Comedy, which is probably one of those referred to by Pepys in his Diary for 5th Novr. 1665, when, visiting Evelyn at Sayes Court, he says that ‘He read me part of a play or two of his making, very good, but not as he conceits them, I think, to be.’ Some of these, including My own Ephemeris or Diarie, an autobiographical memoir based on the journal or common-place book kept by him ever since being eleven years of age, and his correspondence, were published posthumously as Memoirs illustrative of the Life and Writings of John Evelyn Esqre. F.R.S. in 1818. This has gone through nine editions and reprints; and it affords, along with Pepys’ diary, one of the best views of the life of those times. Each is the complement of the other, and the only matter of regret is that the original manuscript of Evelyn’s actual diary has not hitherto been forthcoming, as it would be infinitely preferable to the compilation he made therefrom, which often refers to future events. Other of his MSS. appeared as Miscellaneous Writings of John Evelyn Esq. F.R.S. in 1825, The Life of Mrs. Godolphin (see page xlv) in 1847, and subsequently in five or six editions and reprints, and The History of Religion: A Rational Account of the True Religion in 1850. Of these the so-called Diary is by far the most interesting and important, and it is on it and on the Sylva that his literary reputation rests and has a sure and abiding foundation.
There can be no doubt that John Evelyn, both during his own lifetime and throughout the two centuries which have elapsed since his death in 1706, has exerted more individual influence, through his charming Sylva, or a Discourse of Forest Trees and the Propagation of Timber in His Majesty’s Dominion (first published in 1664) than can be ascribed to any other individual. The attention drawn to the subject of Arboriculture by Dr. Hunter towards the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth centuries was in connection with several new editions of that classic work, while the impulse given to the formation of large plantations between 1800 and 1830 by Sir Walter Scott and the celebrated Quarterly Review articles was connected very closely indeed with the appearance of fresh editions of Sylva.
It is easy to understand the success of Evelyn’s work and the influence he exerted on British Arboriculture. First and foremost, he held the brief in an excellent cause, because the maintenance of adequate supplies of oak timber for shipbuilding ever remained a question of very serious national importance right down to the time when this pressure was removed by the introduction of steam communication and the use of Indian Teak and subsequently of iron for purposes of construction. Then again, his position as a courtier and a country gentleman, and as one of the most prominent members of the recently established Royal Society, gave him a much higher degree of prominence than such adventitious aids would ensure in our present far more democratic days. Finally, he had no small confidence in his own ability (‘conceit’ his friend Mr. Samuel Pepys calls it in his diary); and this has been recognised in the numerous editions of Sylva that have from time to time been found worthy of publication.
Although by far the most celebrated of English writers on Arboriculture, Evelyn was by no means the first who wrote on this subject. That honour belongs to Master Fitzherbert, whose Boke of Husbandrie was published in 1534. But it is a curious fact that the most important previous contribution towards the propagation of timber—leaving Manwood’s Treatise of the Forrest Lawes (1598) out of consideration—is apparently never mentioned by Evelyn. This was a small booklet of 34 pages, a mere pamphlet in size, published in 1613 by Arthur Standish and entitled New Directions of Experience ... for the Increasing of Timber and Firewood. In this, Standish strongly urged sowing and planting on an extensive scale; and the pamphlet was so highly approved by King James I., that in 1615 a second edition was issued. This included, among the prefatory matters, a royal proclamation ‘By the King, To all Noblemen, Gentlemen, and other our loving Subjects, to whom it may appertaine,’ which set forth the ‘severall good projects for the increasing of Woods’ and recommended them to ‘be willingly received and put in practise’ with a view to restore the decay of timber ‘universally complained of’ within the realm.
Although exhortations and royal proclamations had previously been issued more than once by James I. relative to the ‘storing’ of timber trees when falls were being made in copsewoods, and generally to ensure better effect being given to the intentions of Henry VIII’s Statute of Woods of 1543, as amended during Queen Elizabeth’s reign (in 1570), yet Standish’s treatise was the first occasion (so far as I have been able to discover) on which a private subject had endeavoured to stimulate the progress of British Forestry by means of the publication of his views in the form of a small book. His aims and objects are thus described on the title-page of the second or royal edition of 1615:—“NEW DIRECTIONS OF EXPERIENCE authorized by the King’s most excellent Majesty, as may appeare, for the increasing of Timber and Fire-wood, with the least waste and losse of ground. With a Neare Estimation, what millions of acres the Kingdome doth containe; what acres is waste ground, wherever little profit for this purpose will arise—which waste being deducted, the remaine is twenty-five millions; forth of which millions, if two hundred and forty thousand Acres be planted and preserved according to the directions following, which is but the hundred part of the twenty-five millions, there may be as much timber raised, as will maintaine the Kingdome for all uses for ever. And how as great store of Fire-wood may be raised, forth of hedges, as may plentifully mainetaine the Kingdome for all purposes, without losse of ground; so as within thirty years all Spring-woodslxvii:1 may be converted to Tillage and Pasture. By Arthur Standish. Anno Domini MDCXV.”
This was the only work of the sort which had been published up to the time of Evelyn’s Sylva appearing about fifty years later, in 1662. It is curious that he made no reference to this work written with similar objects to those he himself had in view. Another work, however, he does mention, evidently that of a practical horticulturist and arboriculturist, probably belonging to a lower status of society than himself. Writing of the New Orchard and Garden (1597, 2nd. edit. 1623), he patronises the author by calling him ‘our countryman honest Lawson’; and after giving a long quotation from it with regard to pruning, he complacently concludes by adding ‘Thus far the good man out of his eight and forty years experience concerning timber-trees.’
Evelyn had the satisfaction of seeing his work bear much fruit during his own life-time, and this must have occasioned a quite exceptionally keen pleasure to a man of his disposition. In his preface, dated 5 December 1678, to the fourth edition of Sylva, he writes in ‘The Epistle Dedicatory’ to the King that ‘I need not acquaint your Majesty how many millions of timber-trees, besides infinite others, have been propagated and planted throughout your vast dominions, at the instigation, and by the sole directions of this work; because your gracious Majesty had been pleased to own it publickly for my encouragement, who in all that I here pretend to say, deliver only those precepts which your Majesty has put in practise; as having, like another Cyrus, by your own royal example, exceeded all your predecessors in the plantations you have made, beyond, I dare assert it, all the Monarchs of this nation, since the conquest of it.’