Part 29
A manuscript diary of a middle-class family belonging to the time of George the First shows anything but a stay-at-home life. The ladies were always going about. But they stayed at home in the evenings. There was a very good reason why the women should stay at home. The streets were infested with prowling thieves and with dangerous bullies: no woman could go out after dark in the City without an armed escort of her father's apprentices or his men-servants. In 1744 the Lord Mayor complains that "confederacies of evil-disposed persons, armed with bludgeons, pistols, and cutlasses, infest lanes and private passages," and issue forth to rob and wound peaceful people. Further, that these gangs have defeated, wounded, and killed the officers of justice sent against them. As yet they had not arrived at the simple expedient of strengthening the police.
As for the dangers of venturing out after dark, they are summed up by Jonson:
"Prepare for death if here at night you roam, And sign your will before you step from home. Some fiery fop, with new commission vain, Who sleeps in brambles till he kills his man-- Some frolic drunkard reeling from a feast, Provokes a broil and stabs you for a jest. Yet even these heroes mischievously gay, Lords of the street and terrors of the way, Flushed as they are with folly, youth, and wine, Their prudent insults to the poor confine: Afar they mark the flambeau's bright approach, And shun the shining train and golden coach."
The occupations of a young lady--not a lady of the highest fashion--of this time are given by a contemporary writer. He says that she makes tippets, works handkerchiefs in catgut, collects shells, makes grottoes, copies music, paints, cuts out figures and landscapes, and makes screens. She dances a minuet or cotillion, and she can play ombre, lansquenet, quadrille, and Pope Joan. These are frivolous accomplishments, but the writer says nothing of the morning's work--the distilling of creams, the confecting of cakes and puddings and sauces, the needle-work, and all the useful things. When these were done, why should not the poor girl show her accomplishments and taste in the cutting out of landscapes with a pair of scissors?
They certainly did not always stay at home. In the summer they sometimes went to Vauxhall, where the girls enjoyed the sight of the wicked world as much as they liked, the singing and the supper and the punch that followed.
We have quite lost the mug-house. This was a kind of music-hall, a large room where only men were admitted, and where ale or stout was the only drink consumed. Every man had his pipe; there was a president, a harp was played at one end of the room, and out of the company present one after the other stood up to sing. Between the songs there were toasts and speeches, sometimes of a political kind, and the people drank to each other from table to table.
It was a great fighting time. Every man who went abroad knew that he might have to fight to defend himself against footpad or bully. Most men carried a stout stick. When Dr. Johnson heard that a man had threatened to horsewhip him, he ordered a thick cudgel and was easy in his mind. There were no police, and therefore a man had to fight. It cannot be doubted that the martial spirit of the country, which during the whole century was extraordinary, was greatly maintained by the practice of fighting, which prevailed alike in all ranks. Too much order is not all pure gain. If we have got rid of the Mohocks and street scourers, we have lost a good deal of that readiness to fight which firmly met those Mohocks and made them fly.
I suppose that one can become accustomed to everything. But the gibbets which one saw stuck up everywhere, along the Edgeware Road, on the river-side, on Blackheath, on Hampstead Heath, or Kennington Common, must have been an unpleasing sight. Some of the gibbets remained until early in this century.
The subject of beer is of world-wide importance. It must be understood that all through the century the mystery of brewing was continually advancing. We finally shook off the heresies of broom, bay-berries, and ivy-berries as flavoring things for beer; we perfected the manufacture of stout. There sprang up during the century what hardly existed before--a critical feeling for beer. It may be found in the poets and in the novelists. Goldsmith has it; Fielding has it. There were over fifty brewers in London, where, as a national drink, it entirely displaced wine. The inns vied with each other in the excellence of their tap,
"Where the Red Lion, staring o'er the way, Invites each passing stranger that can pay; Where Calvert's broth and Parsons' black champagne Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury Lane."
There were many houses where every night there was singing and playing, to the accompaniment of beer alone; and there was at least one famous debating club--the Robin Hood--where stout was the only drink permissible.
Here are one or two notes of domestic interest. The washing of the house was always done at home. And, which was a very curious custom, the washer-woman began her work at midnight. Why this was so ordered, I know not; but there must have been some reason. During the many wars of the century wheat went up to an incredible price. One year it was 104s. a quarter, so that bread was three times as dear as it is at present. Housewives in those times cut their bread with their own hands, and kept it until it was stale. If you wanted a place under Government, you could buy one; the sum of £500 would get you a comfortable berth in the Victualling Office, for instance, where the perquisites, pickings, and bribes for contracts made the service worth having. Members of Parliament, who had the privilege of franking letters, sometimes sold the right for £300 a year. Ale-houses were marked by chequers on the door-post--to this day the Chequers is a common tavern sign. Bakers had a lattice at their doors. All tradesmen--not servants only, but master tradesmen--asked for Christmas-boxes. The Fleet weddings went on merrily. There was great feasting on the occasion of a wedding, duly conducted in the parish church. On the day of the wedding the bridegroom himself waited on bride and guests.
If the married couple were city people, they were regaled after the ceremony with the marrow-bones and cleavers--perhaps the most delectable music ever invented. It was also costly, because the musicians wanted drink, and plenty of it, as well as money.
Nothing seems grander than to hear of a city illuminated in honor of a victory or peace, or the King's birthday. For the most part, however, the grand illumination consisted of nothing but a thin candle stuck in a lump of clay in the window.
In the days before the policeman there was a good deal of rough-and-ready justice done in the streets--pickpockets were held under the pump till they were half-dead; informers were pelted through the streets, tarred, and feathered; those worthy citizens who beat their wives were serenaded with pots and pans, and had to endure the cries of indignant matrons. The stocks were always in view; the pillory was constantly in use. Now, the pillory was essentially punishment by the people; if they sympathized with the culprit, he escaped even disgrace; if they condemned him, addled eggs, rotten potatoes, turnips, dead cats, mud and filth, flying in his face, proclaimed aloud the opinion of the people.
One thing more--the universal patten. When women went abroad all wore pattens; it was a sensible fashion in days of bad pavements and muddy crossings, as Gay wrote kindly, yet with doubtful philology:
"The patten now supports each frugal dame, Which from the blue-eyed Patty takes the name."
There was also great expense and ostentation observed at funerals; every little shopkeeper, it was observed, must have a hearse and half a dozen mourning-coaches to be carried a hundred yards to the parish church-yard. They were often conducted at night, in order to set off the ceremony by hired mourners bearing flambeaux.
The amount of flogging in the army and navy is appalling to think of. That carried on ashore is a subject of some obscurity. The punishment of whipping has never been taken out of our laws. Garroters, and robbers who are violent are still flogged, and boys are birched. I know not when they ceased to flog men through the streets at the cart-tail, nor when they left off flogging women. The practice certainly continued well into the century. In the prisons it was a common thing to flog the men. As for the severity of the laws protecting property, one illustration will suffice. What can be thought of laws which allowed the hanging of two children for stealing a purse with two shillings and a brass counter in it? Something, however, may be said for Father Stick. He ordered everything, directed everything, superintended everything. Without him nothing was ever done; nothing could be done. Men were flogged into drill and discipline, they were flogged into courage, they were flogged into obedience, boys were flogged into learning, prentices were flogged into diligence, women were flogged into virtue. Father Stick has still his disciples, but in the last century he was king.
We have spoken of station and order. It must be remembered that there was then no pretence of a clerk, or any one of that kind, calling himself a gentleman. Steele, however, notes the attempts made by small people to dub themselves esquire, and says we shall soon be a nation of _armigeri_. The Georgian clerk was a servant--the servant of his master, and a very faithful servant, too, for the most part. His services were rewarded at a rate of pay varying from £20 to £100 a year. A clerk in a Government office seldom got more than £50, but some of them had chances of a kind which we now call dishonest. In other words, they took perquisites, commissions, considerations, and bribes.
I have said, elsewhere, that the London craftsman sank about this time to the lowest level he has ever reached. In the City itself, as we have seen, he was carefully looked after. Each little parish consisted of two or three streets, where every resident was well known. But already the narrow bounds of the Freedom had pushed out the people more and more. The masters--the merchants and retailers--still remained; those who were pushed out were the craftsmen. When they left the City they not only left the parish where all were friends--all, at least, belonging to the same ship's crew; where there was a kindly feeling towards the poor; where the boys and girls were taught the ways of virtue and the Catechism--they left the company, to which they were no longer apprenticed, and which became nothing but a rich company of masters or men unconnected with the trade; they left the Church; they left the school; they left all the charities, helps, encouragements which had formerly belonged to them. They went to Whitechapel, to St. Katherine's Precinct, to Spital Fields, to Clerkenwell. They lived by themselves, knowing no law except the law of necessity, and they drank--drank--drank. No energetic vicar, no active young curate, no deaconess, no Sister, no Bible-woman ventured among them. They went forth in the morning to their work, and in the evening they returned home to their dens. We read about these people in Fielding, Smollett, Colquhoun, Eden, and others; we see what they were like in Hogarth. Their very brutality rendered them harmless. Had they been a little less brutal, a little more intelligent--had they been like the lower sort of Parisian, there might have been a revolution in this country with brutalities as bad as any that marked the first act in that great drama played between 1792 and 1815.
The seamy side of London in the last century has been laid bare by one writer after another. Because it seems more picturesque than the daily humdrum life of honest folk it is always chosen in preference to the latter. Gentlemen who live by their wits are common in every age; they adorn the Victorian as much as the Elizabethan period. The rogue is always with us. There are, however, as we have seen, varieties belonging to each period. Thus the kidnapper, who has now left these islands, was formerly a very common variety of rogue. He was sometimes called crimp, sometimes kidnapper, and his trade was the procuring of recruits. In time of war he enlisted for the army and the navy, and in time of peace for the merchant service and the East India Company's. He carried on his business with all the tricks and dodges which suggested themselves to an ingenious mind, but his favorite way of working was this: He prowled about places where young countrymen might be found. One presently appeared who had come to town on business or for amusement. He lent a willing ear to the courteous and friendly stranger who so kindly advised him as to the sights and the dangers of the wicked town. He readily followed when the stranger proposed a glass in an honest tavern, which could be highly recommended. He sat down without suspicion in a parlor where there were two or three of the right sort, together with two gallant fellows in uniforms, sergeants of the grenadiers, or bo's'ns in the E. I. C. service. He listened while these heroes recounted their deeds of valor; he listened with open mouth; and, alas! he drank with open mouth as well. Presently he became so inflamed with the liquor that he acceded to the sergeant's invitation, and took the bounty money then and there. If he did not, he drank on until he was speechless. When he recovered next day, his friend--the courteous stranger of the day before--was present to remind him that he had enlisted, that the bounty money was in his pocket, and that the cockade was on his hat. If he resisted he was hauled before a magistrate, the sergeants being ready to prove that he voluntarily enlisted. This done, he was conducted to a crimp's house, of which there were many in different parts of London, and there kept until he could be put on board or taken to some military depot. In the house, which was barred and locked like a prison, he was regaled with rum which kept him stupid and senseless. Should he try to escape, he was charged with robbery and hanged.
The continual succession of wars enriched London with that delightful character, the man who had served in the army--perhaps borne his Majesty's commission--and had returned to live, not by his wits, because he had none, but by his strength of arm, his skill of fence, and his powers of bluster. He became the bully. As such he was either the Darby Captain, who was paid to be the gaming-house bully, or the Cock and Bottle Captain, who was the ale-house bully, and fought bailiffs for his friends; or the Tash Captain, who now has another name, and may be found near Coventry Street.
The Setter played a game which brought in great gains, but was extremely difficult and delicate. He was the agent for ladies whose reputations were--let us say unjustly--cracked. His object was to restore them to society by honorable marriage, and not only to society, but also to position, credit, and luxury. A noble ambition! He therefore frequented the coffee-houses, the bagnios, and the gambling places on the lookout for heirs and eldest sons, or, if possible, young men of wealth and position. Of course they must be without experience. He would thus endeavor to obtain the confidence of his victim until it became safe to introduce him to the beautiful young widow of good family, and so on; the rest we may guess. Sometimes, of course, the young heir was a young fortune-hunter, who married the widow of large fortune only to find that she was a penniless adventuress with nothing but debts, which he thus took upon himself and paid by a life-long imprisonment in the Fleet.
The travelling quack we have considered. There was another kind who was stationary and had a good house in the City. This kind cured by sympathy, by traction, by earth-bathing, by sea-bathing, by the quintessence of Bohea tea and cocoanuts distilled together, by drugs, and by potions. He advertised freely, he drove about ostentatiously in a glass coach; he had all kinds of tricks to arrest attention--for instance, the Goddess of Hygeia was to be seen by all callers daily, at the house of the great Dr. Graham. The cruel persecution of the College of Physicians has extinguished the quack, who, if he now exists, must have first passed the examinations required by the regular practitioner.
The bogus auction has always been a favorite method of getting quick returns and a rapid turnover. It is not now so common as formerly, but it still exists.
The intelligence office, where you paid a shilling and were promised a place of great profit, and were called upon for another shilling and still another, and then got nothing, is now called an agency, and is said to flourish very well indeed.
The pretended old friend, who was a common character in 1760, has, I am told, crossed the ocean and changed his name. He is now a naturalized citizen of the United States, and his name is Bunco Steerer.
Let me add to this account--too scanty and meagre--of London in the last century a brief narrative--borrowed, not invented--of a Sunday holiday. It has been seen that the City was careful about the church-going of the citizens. But laws were forgotten, manners relaxed; outside the City no such discipline was possible, nor was any attempted. And to the people within the walls, as well as to those without, Sunday gradually became a day of holiday and pleasure. You shall see what a day was made of a certain Sunday in the summer of 17-- by a pair of citizens whose names have perished.
The holiday makers slept at the Marlborough Head, in Bishopsgate Street, whence they sallied forth at four in the morning. Early as it was, the gates of the inn-yards were thronged with young people gayly dressed, waiting for the horses, chaises, and carriages which were to carry them to Windsor, Hampton Court, Richmond, etc., for the day. They were mostly journeymen or apprentices, and the ladies with them were young milliners and mantua-makers. They first walked westward, making for the Foundling Hospital, on their way passing a rabble rout drinking saloop and fighting. Arrived at the fields lying south of that institution, they met with a company of servants, men and girls, who had stolen some of their masters' wine, and were out in the fields to drink it. They shared in the drink, but deplored the crime. It will be observed, as we go along, that a very creditable amount of drink accompanied this holiday. Then they continued walking across the fields till they came to Tottenham Court Road, where the Wesleyans, in their tabernacle, were holding an early service. Outside the chapel a prize-fight was going on, with a crowd of ruffians and betting men. It was, however, fought on the cross.
They next retraced their steps across the fields and arrived at Bagnigge Wells, which lay at the east of the Gray's Inn Road, nearly opposite what is now Mecklenburgh Square, and north-east of the St. Andrew's Burying-ground. Early as it was, the place already contained several hundreds of people. The Wells included a great room for concerts and entertainments, a garden planted with trees, shrubs, and flowers, and provided with walks, a fish-pond, fountain, rustic bridge, rural cottages, and seats. The admission was threepence. They had appointed to breakfast at the Bank Coffee-house, therefore they could not wait longer here. On the way to the City they stopped at the Thatched House and took a gill of red port.
The Bank Coffee-house was filled with people taking breakfast and discussing politics or trade. It is not stated what they had for breakfast, but as one of the company is spoken of as finishing his dish of chocolate, it may be imagined that this was the usual drink. A lovely barmaid smiled farewell when they left the place. From this coffee-house they went to church at St. Mary-le-Strand, where a bishop preached a charity sermon. At the close of the sermon the charity children were placed at the doors, loudly imploring the benefactions of the people. After church they naturally wanted a little refreshment; they therefore went to a house near St. Paul's, where the landlord provided them a cold collation with a pint of Lisbon.
The day being fine, they agreed to walk to Highgate and to dine at the ordinary there. On the way they were beset by beggars in immense numbers. They arrived at Highgate just in time for the dinner--probably at two o'clock. The company consisted principally of reputable tradesmen and their families. There was an Italian musician, a gallery reporter--that is, a man who attended the House and wrote down the debates from memory--and a lawyer's clerk. The ordinary consisted of two or three dishes and cost a shilling each. They had a bottle of wine and sat till three o'clock, when they left the tavern and walked to Primrose Hill. Here they met an acquaintance in the shape of an Eastcheap cheesemonger, who was dragging his children in a four-wheel chaise up the hill, while his wife carried the good man's wig and hat on the point of his walking-stick. The hill was crowded with people of all kinds.
When they had seen enough they came away and walked to the top of Hampstead Hill. Here, at the famous Spaniard's, they rested and took a bottle of port.
It was five o'clock in the afternoon when they left Hampstead and made for Islington, intending to see the White Conduit House on their way to the Surrey side.
All these gardens--to leave these travellers for a moment--Ranelagh, Vauxhall, Bagnigge Wells, and the rest, were alike. They contained a concert and a promenade room, a garden laid out in pleasing walks, a fish-pond with arbors, and rooms for suppers, a fountain, a band of music, and a dancing-floor. The amusements of Ranelagh are thus described by a visitor who dropped into verse:
"To Ranelagh, once in my life, By good-natured force I was driven; The nations had ceased from their strife, And peace beamed her radiance from heaven.
"(I stop to apologize for these two lines; but everybody knows that _strife_ and _heaven_ are very neat rhymes of _life_ and _driven_. Otherwise I admit that they have nothing to do with Ranelagh.)
"What wonders were there to be found That a clown might enjoy or disdain? First we traced the gay circle around, And then we went round it again.
"A thousand feet rustled on mats-- A carpet that once had been green; Men bowed with their outlandish hats, With women so fearfully keen. Fair maids, who, at home in their haste, Had left all their clothes but a train, Swept the floor clean as they passed, Then walked round and swept it again."
At these gardens this Sunday afternoon there were several hundreds of people, not of the more distinguished kind. They found a very pretty girl here who was so condescending as to take tea with them.
Leaving the Conduit House, they paid another visit to Bagnigge Wells in order to drink a bowl of negus. By this time the place was a scene of open profligacy. They next called a coach, and drove to Kensington Gardens, where they walked about for an hour seeing the great people. Among others, they had the happiness of beholding the D-- of Gr-ft-n, accompanied by Miss P--, and L--d H--y with the famous Mrs. W--. Feeling the want of a little refreshment, they sought a tea-garden in Brompton known as Cromwell's Gardens or Florida Gardens, where they drank coffee, and contemplated the beauty of many lovely creatures.