The Celebrated Mr. Pepys

Years ago my father chastised me for not having read the Diary of Samuel Pepys. I can never forget the usual refrain: "What! You graduated phi beta kappa with a degree in English and you've never read blah blah blah..." I remember seething at the preposterousness of being expected to have read every major work of literature under the sun. But, at the same time, underneath my anger was embarrassment over not having ever heard of Samuel Pepys. Living in England for these past two years has sparked my interest in the history of this nation and I've finally begun to read the Diary of Samuel Pepys. I'm enjoying it immensely. It is an unparalleled look into 17th-century London. Much more rewarding than all those period BBC docudramas and dime-a-dozen historical novels. I'm aghast at how casually Pepys and his wife accept and attend public hangings. I cringe at the misguided medical treatments of the time. I'm surprised about the naughty bits (which I don't think they allowed in the extracts during my father's time). I lap up greedily the accounts of Pepys' brushes with royalty. And I laughed out loud at the following passage:

My wife and I by coach to the Opera and there saw Romeo and Julett, the first time it was ever acted. But it is the play of itself the worst that ever I heard in my life, and the worst acted that ever I saw these people do; and I am resolved to go no more to see the first time of acting, for they were all of them out more or less.

Hey, it took me a while to get 'round to it, Daddy-o, but in honor of your birthday I wanted to thank you for the tip about Pepys.