CHAPTER VIII

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS

In this chapter I propose to put together a miscellaneous collection bearing upon the manners and customs of mediæval London.

1. Letters from the Corporation.

It is not easy to arrange them in any kind of order. I begin, however, with certain letters, which illustrate the City Government and show that there was already some organised plan of communication between London and the chief centres in the country, by which the Corporation was kept informed as to matters concerning its interest in those cities and especially with regard to runaways and rogues.

These letters, copies of those written 1330-1370 by order of the Mayor and Corporation, have been recently published. They may be divided into classes.

The first class, of which there are one or two, illustrates the manner in which London, the parent of so many municipalities—twenty-seven at least can be proved to be the children of London—was looked to for guidance in difficult and doubtful procedure. Thus in 1357 the Mayor of Oxford writes to know the manner of holding Pleas of Land in the Hustings of London. The charter of Oxford expressly instructs the burghers or citizens that in cases of dispute they should refer to London. And the charters, not only of Oxford, but of Exeter, Gloucester, etc., conferred on the burgesses the same privileges and customs as those enjoyed by the citizens of London. This fact makes the early charters of London far more valuable than if they stood alone. We see London as the fountain of liberties, the exemplar, the free City, to which all the lesser cities looked as an example and a model.

The next class is that of letters demanding the return of tolls and taxes levied on merchants in contempt of the Charter.

Now, the most important of the early charters, after that short and comprehensive document, the Charter of William, was that of Henry I. (see vol. ii. pt. i. ch. ii.). In this there occurs the invaluable concession which placed the London merchants above the reach of the barons, that they were to be “quit and free, they and their goods, throughout England and the ports of the sea of and from all toll and passage and listage, and all other customs.... And if any shall take toll or custom of any citizen of London, the citizens of London shall take of the borough or town where toll and custom was so taken as much as the man of London gave for toll, and as he received damage thereby.”

In other words, when the Lord of the Manor could enforce upon other traders a tax for murage, pavage, pontage, stallage, and other tolls, customs, and taxes, the London merchant alone could be called upon for none of these charges, or, if any, then only those which belonged to the general usages of trade. Many of these letters, then, are letters demanding the return of tolls and taxes levied upon merchants in contempt of the Charter. The first letter was invariably courteous, asking “for love’s sake,” and calling upon the offender to act “in such manner as they could wish their own folk to be treated in like case, or weightier.” If the first letter produced no reply they sent another called an _alias_, because it sometimes called upon them to remark that they should answer the letter, _otherwise_.... If this failed they sent a third called _pluries_, because several letters had now been sent without reply, and the time was come for reprisals, which would certainly be taken upon such of their own folk as might be living in London.

Another class of letters is concerned with piracies and outrages committed at sea.

Thus in 1364 the Mayor and Aldermen demand of Baudwyn de la Heuse, Admiral of France, compensation from the towns of Rouen, Harfleur, Caen, and Bayeux, for an outrage in which certain Norman sailors called “billecoks claybakes” had captured and pillaged a ship laden with tin. Again, there was the case of Thomas de Ware, citizen of London, who loaded a ship with wine, oil, pewter vessels, spurs, etc., to the tune of £231: 0: 10 and sent it across to Bruges. While sailing on “La Sheelde” the ship was attacked and pillaged by four Flemish ships. Would the city of Bruges make compensation, or would they prefer reprisals?

It is sometimes asserted that all the carrying trade for centuries was in the hands of foreigners, and especially of the Hanseatic merchants. This is not wholly true, for there were many ships belonging to the London merchant, the Merchant Adventurer; it is undoubtedly true that the Hanseatic Merchants at one time threatened to absorb the whole of the carrying trade, but they never quite succeeded. There were the English ships, a very large fleet which sailed every year to Bordeaux and back, bringing with them some fifteen thousand tuns of wine. They went forth together, and they came home together, for fear of the pirates who swarmed in the Channel and in the North Sea. Now and then the Hanseatics put forth their strength and drove the English vessels off the seas, but they went back again. In 1348 a pirate named Vitaliani seized Bruges, a city containing English as well as German Merchants, and looted it. We remember how Mayor Sir John Philpot manned a fleet, put himself on board, and destroyed the ships of Mercer the Scottish pirate. In 1440 the Bastard Falconbridge received the thanks of the City for his services against pirates. In consequence of the losses sustained at the hands of the Breton pirates, Edward III. granted to the towns of Dartmouth, Plymouth, and Fowey, the right to carry on war with Brittany. The people of Brittany, says the poet,

“Are the greatest rovers and the greatest thieves That have been on the sea many a year.”

The Mayor and Aldermen also collected debts. Debt-collecting forms another class of letters. They wrote, for instance, to the Mayor and Bailiffs of Gloucester informing them that one John de St. Alban, pinner, owes Walter Wyredrawer, citizen of London, 41s. Will they get the money and send it up to London?

A great many letters refer to runaway apprentices. It must not be imagined that the condition of the prentice was always satisfactory, or that his conduct was always good. Very often he ran away, sometimes taking his master’s property with him; sometimes he complained that his master would not teach him his craft; sometimes his master sent him to prison for idleness or roguery; sometimes, when his articles were out, his master refused to get him his freedom; he then petitioned the Lord Mayor’s Court.

The letters always show that the City knew where the runaway prentice, or where any other kind of rogue that they wanted, was to be found. How were they traced? In country districts there was no resting-place or hiding-place found for persons escaping with stolen property. They could not sell it in the country; nor could they live on it; they were obliged, therefore, to take refuge in towns; all the towns were small, so the runaways could not hide or skulk in obscure corners, they had to declare themselves, their names, their quality. That this was the case is shown by these letters, many of which demand restitution for a citizen unjustly detained and deprived of his wares on suspicion of being a rogue.

Thus, Roger Bountayn, Citizen of London, was arrested at Chepstow as a suspicious person. For some unknown reason, for he was clearly a respectable citizen, he was unable to give an account of himself. Perhaps he stammered. So he was clapped into prison, and they took from him all he had; viz. 10s. 6d. in money, two chains and a ring of silver, worth 5s., and a robe trimmed with white budge (rabbit fur) worth 7s. 6d. I suppose that he communicated by means of some Lawyer or Merchant with the Mayor, who presently entreated the Bailiffs of Chepstow to make restitution “for love’s sake.”

For the same sweet reason, the Mayor and Bailiffs of Oxford were entreated to send to John English the goods, viz. a horse, half a sack of wool, and four nobles in money, taken by them from William Ware, the runaway apprentice of the said John English. Sometimes the Mayor and Corporation wrote an account of an injury which reveals, or seems to reveal, a great deal.

What possibilities, for instance, there are in the story of John de Walhouse! He was a citizen of London; and, being moved, one hopes, by piety and not by a morbid desire of change and travel, was resolved on going a pilgrimage. He might have gone to the Black Virgin of Willesden, in which case he could have taken his wife Lucy, and so might have done the job in one day. Or he might have gone to Our Lady of Walsingham, which would have taken a fortnight or three weeks. He could have taken his wife there, too. Nothing would do, however, but that he must go to Rome, a long journey of two thousand miles, too far for tender woman to endure. So he left her at home, in charge of all he had; perhaps, but this is not explained, in charge of the shop, if there were a shop. What happened in his absence? The Tempter came; he must have come, otherwise Lucy would not have behaved as she did. He came in the shape, form, and appearance of a young man of attractive manners. He flattered poor Lucy, who was but weak; he made love to her; he persuaded her to fly with him; and, as there was property in the house, they took the property with them—robes of fur, harness, mazers, all kinds of things. They loaded a pack-horse or two with these things and they travelled northwards. When the pilgrim returned, proud of his staff and cockleshells, bearing perhaps some priceless relic which a good friar had let him have for a mere trifle, burning to tell his wife about all his adventures, he found the house closed. Where was Lucy? The neighbours only knew that one morning, when they arose at break of day, the house was closed. Lucy must have gone through the gates of the City as soon as they were opened. While he stood agape with looks of distraction, one whispered in his ear, “Master, I know where they are—he and she—and your goods. They are at Lynn.” So the Mayor wrote the letter calling for restitution, and one knows nothing more, but fears the worst.

It was to Lynn that another sinner, John Aleyn, repaired, taking with him the goods of his mistress Alice. Again, there was the injury done to Peter Grubbe, who chartered a ship and sent her to Winchelsea to bring home a cargo of free wood. Observe that the Sussex forests were not then destroyed, and that the woods on the north of London were not sufficient to provide the City with fuel. The Captain loaded his ship, but then steered for Dunkirk, where he sold the cargo on his own account. Will the Echevins of Dunkirk, asks the Mayor of London, act honourably in the matter, and make Peter disgorge? It would be a pity to proceed to reprisals.

One more case. It is that of John de Hilton, citizen and pewterer. He thought himself quite safe when he went away to St. Ives’ Fair with his string of pack-horses and his load of pewter. For he had confided the care of his property to his servant Agnes, whom he trusted, as a woman of blameless life. Alas! Agnes had deceived her worthy master. She was a married woman who pretended to be single, and her husband was a great rogue. As soon as the master went away the husband concerted with his wife, and they carried off between them property left behind to the extent of £30: 14s. There were no banks in those days, nor were there any “running cashes” at the goldsmiths’. What a man had he carried about, or kept in some safe place, unknown to the world. Agnes took with her £10 in gold, £6 in silver, silver pieces valued at 26s. 8d., fourteen silver spoons, 20s., one piece of cloth, 100s., one long furred robe, 33s. 4d., one short robe, 26s., one stone called “peletote,” 16s., rings of gold, 20s., and naperie, 20s.; the fugitives were traced to the City of Dublin. The Mayor of London writes to the Mayor of Dublin asking for the recovery of the goods, and the bringing of the two to justice.

Another class of letter was the Letter Patent, or the Letter Recommendatory. Two friars are going to Rome on business, they bear with them the Mayor’s Letter Recommendatory; a merchant is going to a country fair, he takes with him Letters Patent with the Mayor’s seal, stating that he is a good and true man and entitled to the privileges of the City. The unfortunate John de Radclive, born in St. Botolph’s Without Bishopsgate, asks for and obtains a letter from the Mayor, stating that his left ear, deficient by one half, was not, as many would think, struck off by the hangman as the concluding ceremony of procession and pillory, but was actually bitten off by a horse.

These extracts may conclude with a case which illustrates the custom of London as to testamentary disposition. It was that the testator could bequeath one-third of his estate as he wished, but that one-third must go to his heirs, sons, or brothers, and one-third to his widow. If, however, it could be shown that the heirs had received the part or the whole in advance, they would have nothing. These shares were called the “reasonable part.” The custom continued in London until 11 George I., _i.e._ 1725. In the case before us, the Mayor and Aldermen inform the Burgomasters and Echevins of Bruges, that Agatha, widow of Geoffrey de Wantynche, lately resident in Bruges, had brought over the property of her husband, or such of it as was portable, and had satisfied her husband’s two brothers Peter Brown and John Brown of Wantynche, brethren and heirs of the deceased, as to the “reasonable part” of the property. To this testimony they are asked to give credence “for love’s sake.”

Concerning the position of women in Mediæval London. The ladies of the Palace and the Castle certainly managed to obtain as much pleasure out of life as their modern descendants. The young maidens, who were, in a way, apprentices of the _grande dame_, learned how a household was to be managed; they sat at the spinning-wheel; they carded wool; they heckled flax; they embroidered very beautifully. As for amusements, they had plenty, for they danced, they sang, and danced as they sang; they played games, of which they possessed and knew an immense number; they listened to the reading of romances and to minstrels; they either heard music or they played music; they went to mass every morning; they told stories and asked riddles; they played chess and draughts; they rode; they went hunting; they went hawking; and they kept pets—larks, magpies, falcons, jays, parrots, squirrels, cats. In the spring and summer they passed a great deal of time in the garden—the literature of the period is full of the garden.

The ladies in the garden danced; they looked on at dancing; they played the mandoline and sang songs; the young knights sat with them and played and sang with them; they plucked the fruit; they played with their pets; they picked the flowers and made garlands—for themselves and the young gallants. The wife and daughters of a merchant had a garden, which they used in exactly the same way as the ladies of the Castle. A summer-house and a fountain were necessary accompaniments to every garden.

“Amiddes the garden so moche delectable There was an herber fayre and quadrante, To paradyse right well comparable, Set all about with floures fragraunt: And in the myddle there was resplendyshaunte A dulcet spring and marvaylous fountaine Of golde and asure made all certaine.”

The great ladies had their bevy of maids in attendance, who sat at the spinning-wheel and embroidered. They made all kinds of fine things for themselves; they had their hawks and hounds; they practised music; they understood how to distil certain things. In the City, the merchant’s wife had her servants who made things, but not so much as in the country because there were shops where one could buy. Many of them, however, were skilled in the properties of herbs; they understood midwifery—it is remarkable that in the whole of Riley’s _Memorials_ the midwife is never mentioned. Was every married woman, then, a practitioner among her friends? Or were there _sages femmes_? The amusements of the better sort in the City were, one imagines, principally the gossip and daily chat among friends, particularly after the morning mass. The women dined with their husbands in the Companies’ Halls; they held banquets in their own halls; they had dancers and mummers to amuse them; they had their children to bring up; and they paid great attention to their dress.

If we descend a step we find ourselves among the retailers and the craftsmen. The retailers or shopkeepers included many women—regratresses: there were alewives—brewsters—who made and brewed and sold their own beer; there were fish-wives—from time immemorial there have been fish-wives—there were “broiderers” and dressmakers of all kinds in immense numbers; there were weaverwomen—websters; women who baked—baksters; those who spun—spinsters; there were domestic servants; and there were many thousands of matrons who took care of the house, brought up the children, brewed the ale, bought and dressed the food, made and mended the clothes.

A married woman could rent a house, or carry on business in a shop or a craft on her own account; if her husband had nothing to do with the business she was to be charged as a _femme sole_. She could be sued for debt and she could be cast into prison, her husband being untouched.

The women who worked for their livelihood were cheated and defrauded, as they are now, for they had no companies or guilds, and no associations; they were paid in kind. Edward IV., for instance, passed an ordinance that the carders should pay their women servants in coin and should give them full weight of wool. Some of the women, as has happened since, occasionally got drunk; some played dishonest tricks, as that woman who was set in stocks for putting pitch into the beer measure, thereby lessening the quantity of the quart; or that fish-wife who sold stinking fish and stood in the stocks while her fish was burnt under her nose—a terrible punishment; there were scolds among them; there were in fact as many kinds of women as there are at present.

In a poem called “The most Pleasant Song of Lady Bessy,” by Humphrey Brereton, are the following lines which illustrate the education of noble ladies. “Lady Bessy” is Elizabeth of York, and she thus speaks:—

“Good father Stanley, hearken unto me, What my father King Edward, that King royal Did for my sister, my Lady Wells, and me. He sent for a scrivener to lusty London, He was the best in that City, He taught us both to write and read full soon If it please you full soon you shall see. Lauded be God! I had such speed That I can write as well as he, And also indite and full well read; And that—Lord—soon shall you see, Both English and alsoe French And also Spanish if you had need, The earle said, You are a proper wench.”

(_Antiquary_, XV.)

One little anecdote I must give to show the spirit that was then in the women of England. In the year 1404 the French effected a landing at Dartmouth, the landsmen turned against them armed; they were joined by their wives, who fought beside their husbands and drove off the invaders.

Another anecdote to show the small consideration held for women. In the year 1379 Sir John Arundel’s squadron, then at sea in the Channel, was overtaken by a storm. There were on board the ships sixty women, some of whom had gone with the sailors of their own accord, and others who had been forcibly carried off. To lighten the ship, every one of these wretched women was thrown into the sea and drowned.

The model _bourgeoise_ is set forth in “How the Good Wyf taugte hir Dougter” (published by the E. E. Text Society in _The Babees Book_) beginning

“The good wife taught hir daughter Ful manye a time and ofte A ful good woman to be: And saide ‘Daughter to me dere, Sum good thou must lere (learn) If were thou wolt thee (thrive).”

The sum of her teaching is as follows: It is the aim of every woman to become a wife, she must therefore carefully consider her actions. In the first place, she must go to church every day and love God.

“Go to Church whanne thou may Look thou spare for no reyn: For thou farest best that ilke day Whanne thou hast God y-seyn. He must need weel thrive That liveth weel all his life My leef child.”

She must pay the church, dues; she must help the poor; in church she must pray, beads in hand, neither chattering nor laughing; she must be “of fair bearing and of good tongue.” If any man makes her an offer of marriage, she is to receive him courteously, whoever he may be, and must show the case to her friends, and she must not sit with him in any place where a scandal might arise. When she marries a man she must love him above all earthly things; she must answer him meekly; she must be fair of speech, mild of mood, true in word and deed, of good conscience. She must be of seemly semblance; she must not be loud in laughter. In the street she must not brandish her head or shake her shoulders; she must not swear; she must not gaze about in the streets; she must not visit the tavern; she must take “measurably” of the good ale; and must not get drunk. She must not go to see wrestlings or cock-throwing like a strumpet—the ways of the class, one observes, remain unchanged—they went to public shows then just as they go to the Music Halls now. Again, if a strange man speaks to her in the street she is to greet him and pass on; above all things she must not stand and talk with him lest he tempt her with gifts. She is to govern her household wisely and set everybody to work early; if need be, she will work herself; she will see that when work is done things are put away; on pay day she must administer the wages. She is not to envy her neighbour’s fine attire, but to behave in a friendly spirit towards her neighbours.

“It behoveth thee so for to do And to do to them as thou woldist be doon to.”

She must not ruin her husband with extravagance, nor must she borrow. She must not spare the rod if her children “been rebel.” As soon as her daughters are born she will begin to collect things for them against their marriage—this leads us to think that the wife was expected to contribute part at least of the furniture of the house: or was it a _dot_ that was gathered and stored up for the girl?

That is enough; the good mother supposes the life of a housewife, able to work herself if need be, _i.e._ work of making and sewing, embroidering, brewing, cooking, and all kinds of household work; obedient to church and husband; a fond mother, a good manager. There is not a single word said of books or of learning, of reading or of writing—was the _bourgeoise_ not taught to read and write? I do not know. But I imagine, remembering the custom later on, that the woman was taught to read, but that she seldom had any occasion to use that accomplishment. Nothing, again, is said of any amusements, we are not in the gardens of the Castle, we are in a City street, the house is one of a cluster, each house facing a different way, perhaps, gabled, the storeys projecting one above the other, we look out across the narrow street upon another house like this. At the back is a small garden, the doors are all open and the housewives come out and talk to each other about the prices of everything, which have gone up horribly within the memory of people still young; within, the maids and the daughters work and whisper. The rod hangs upon the wall for those who talk and do not work.

“Now have I thee taught, daughter, as my modir dide me Think thereon nyght and day, forgete that it not be: Have mesure and lownes, as I have thee taught, And what man thee wedde schal, him dare care nought. Better were a child unbore Than untaught of wise lore Mi leve child.”

We learn, from the frequent practice of bequeathing a dowry, that it was customary to endow a girl with a marriage portion. Thus in 1341 Richard atte Gate leaves his daughter Agnes ten pounds of silver for her marriage; in 1342 Nicholas Crane, fishmonger, leaves Amina his niece £20 sterling for her marriage portion, a robe valued at 20s., and divers household stuffs. In 1340 Lucy Wycombe leaves her daughter Johanna certain rents in Eastcheap, certain household goods, and a letter patent of the King worth £100, all for her dowry. In 1344 Philip Swift leaves an annuity to hand out of his estate to Juliana his daughter for her marriage. If a girl, the daughter of a citizen, was left an orphan, the right of giving her in marriage belonged to the Mayor and Commonalty.

It was held to be greatly meritorious for a widow to make a solemn vow of chastity in honour of her deceased husband. Such an act had to be first allowed by the Bishop before whom the widow was led, and after the celebration of mass she made her vow in these words:—

“I ... M. or N. heretofore the wife of M. or N. vow to God and to our Holy Lady Saint Mary and to all Saints in the presence of our Reverend Father in God M. or N. by the grace of God Bishop of M. or N. that I will be chaste henceforth during my life.”

And the Bishop, after receiving her vow, put a ring upon her finger and clad her in a mantle which she was to wear during the rest of her life.

I must now touch upon a subject which belongs to every great town in all times, namely, the existence of the disorderly woman. There is little direct information on the subject, but indirectly much may be inferred. Thus in 1281 women of the town were ordered to wear hoods lined with common lambskin or rabbitskin and not with richer furs. In 1351 such women were ordered to wear abroad a hood made of ray only, and without lining of any kind, _i.e._ they were not to set off their faces by beautiful hoods, and thus try to make themselves attractive. In the year 1382 they were again enjoined to wear hoods of ray only. In the year 1393 they were admonished to keep within the quarters assigned to them on Bankside, and in Cock Lane, Smithfield, and they were ordered not on any account to presume to be seen in any tavern, street, or public place outside these limits. These repeated ordinances clearly point to a considerable number of such women, and to their intrusion into respectable places.

John of Northampton, Mayor and Reformer, took upon himself the duty of the Bishop, and cleansed the City of the disorderly women, ordering any woman guilty of unchaste deeds to be carried through the City on a cart and placed in stocks, with her hair cut off.

In the year 1385 there is a suggestive case. It is that of Elizabeth, wife of Henry Moring, who, under the cover of the craft of brodery, which she pretended to follow, took in one Johanna and other girls as apprentices, but instead of teaching them that craft she incited them to follow a lewd life, and let them out on hire to friars and chaplains and other men.

From time to time there were attempts to get rid of the scandal, especially among the followers of the court and camp. The women were driven away, but they came back again; they were punished in the most cruel manner; they were made hideous by slitting their noses and even cutting off their lips, yet more women came.

Everything, in a word, points to the fact that in spite of all ordinances and provisions, London was then, as now, greatly frequented by the disorderly woman. She was musician, singer, dancer, and tumbler; tambourine in hand, she haunted the taverns; she followed the army in multitudes; she arrayed herself in gorgeous clothing to entice the young priest and the friar; she would not be restrained within certain quarters; she lived in the Palace; she belonged to the Court; when her beauty faded, unless she died, as often happened, she became servant to those who succeeded her; or she became an alewife; or she procured and enticed girls to take her place and follow in her steps. History is almost silent about her; yet we can make out so much. Her appointed places were Bankside and Cock Lane: near the former place there lay, until quite recently, a narrow patch of green without any tombs or tombstones—it is now a timber yard. It was the graveyard of the “Single Women.” They existed—they still exist,—because there was then—as there is now—a whole army of single men. Then there were thousands of priests, monks, and friars, thousands of men-at-arms following in the livery of this Lord and that Lord; now there are thousands of men, no longer ecclesiastics and soldiers, but of every profession and every trade, who remain unmarried into middle life, for whom the “single” woman still exists. Now, as formerly, the only way to abolish the courtesan is to teach the young men restraint.

The maintenance of houses for the reception of prostitutes was always strictly forbidden within the walls of the City. The licensed houses of Bankside were kept up until the reign of Henry VII., then they were closed: but the old traditions clung to the place, and the women, if they were banished, quickly returned. Ordinances for the management of the houses and regulations for the prevention of disorder were issued by Henry II., by Edward III., by Richard II., and by Henry VI. The following is the information upon the subject given by Stow:—

“Next on this bank was sometime the Bordello, or Stewes, a place so called of certain stew-houses privileged there, for the repair of incontinent men to the like women: of the which privilege I have read thus:

In a Parliament holden at Westminster, the eighth of Henry the Second, it was ordained by the Commons, and confirmed by the King and Lords, that divers constitutions for ever should be kept within that lordship or franchise, according to the old customs that had been there used time out of mind.

I have also seen divers patents of confirmation, namely, one dated 1345, the nineteenth of Edward the Third. Also, I find that in the fourth of Richard the Second these stew-houses, belonging to William Walworth, then Mayor of London, were farmed by ‘Froes’ of Flanders, and spoiled by Wat Tyler and other rebels of Kent: notwithstanding, I find that ordinances for the same place and houses were again confirmed in the reign of Henry the Sixth to be continued as before. Also, Robert Fabian writeth, that in the year 1506 the twenty-first of Henry the Seventh, the said stew-houses in Southwarke were for a season inhibited, and the doors closed up, but it was not long (saith he) ere the houses there were set open again, as many as were permitted for (as it was said) whereas before were eighteen houses, from thenceforth were appointed to be used but twelve only. These allowed stew-houses had signs on their fronts, towards the Thames, not hanged out, but painted on the walls, as a Boar’s Head, the Cross Keys, the Gun, the Castle, the Crane, the Cardinal’s Hat, the Bell, the Swan, etc. I have heard of ancient men, of good credit, report, that these single women were forbidden the rites of the Church so long as they continued that sinful life, and were excluded from Christian burial, if they were not reconciled before their death. And therefore there was a plot of ground called the Single Woman’s Churchyard, appointed for them far from the parish Church.

In the year of Christ 1546, the thirty-seventh of Henry the Eighth, this row of stews in Southwarke was put down by the King’s commandment, which was proclaimed by sound of trumpet, no more to be privileged, and used as a common brothel, but the inhabitants of the same to keep good and honest rule as in other places of this realm, etc.”

To turn to another subject. In the account of the early days of St. Thomas à Becket we get a glimpse of the London merchant’s home which, like Fitzstephen’s description of London, goes not far enough. The future Archbishop, Martyr, and Saint was born where the present Mercers’ Chapel stands in Cheapside. His father, Gilbert, was of knightly family, a native of Thierceville, a little town near the Abbey of Bec in Normandy. He appears to have migrated to Rouen while still young; there he married Roesia, daughter of a burgher of Caen. The young couple came over to London about the year 1116 and here prospered. It has been suggested that Gilbert of Rouen and Roesia of Caen were Thomas’s grandparents and that his father, Gilbert, was born in London and that his mother’s name was Matilda. It seems difficult to understand how a simple burgher from Rouen should in two or three years become a leading citizen in London, even, according to his biographer, vice-comes, _i.e._ portreeve. He was a man at one time of large property; he founded a chapel in St. Paul’s Churchyard, where he was himself buried; and for many years the newly elected Mayor paid a visit on his election to the tomb of Gilbert. To say that Gilbert came over in the wake of the Conqueror is absurd, because he must then have been of age, which would make him seventy, at least, when Thomas was born. Yet he was a leading citizen of London during the years of his boyhood, and this fact is impossible to explain on the assumption that Gilbert came over in 1116. If, however, his father, the elder Gilbert, came over in 1066 or thereabouts, being then, perhaps, twenty years of age, a son of his, born say in 1086, might very well be the father of Thomas, born in 1118. (See also p. 8).

The City of London in any case claimed the saint as her own son:

“Me quae te peperi, ne cesses, Thoma, tueri.”

Gilbert claimed kinship with the Norman Theobald; among his friends was one Rechin de l’Aigle of Pevensey, a noble of Norman birth, who lodged with Gilbert when he came to London.

The visions which came to the mother before the birth of her child are pleasing in their simplicity. We are told that she saw her child standing before her at the door of Canterbury Cathedral; that twelve bright stars dropped into her lap; and that she dreamed that she was giving birth to the Cathedral itself. There is the pretty story of the baby’s coverlet. Roesia (or Matilda) found fault with the nurse for not laying a coverlet over him in his cradle. “Why,” said the nurse, “he has already got a beautiful red silk coverlet.” She took it up and unfolded it. The coverlet proved too big for the room; it was too big for the hall; it was too big for the street; it was too big for Smithfield.

The mother placed Thomas under the special protection of the Virgin, who saved him from a fever—when she came to him in a vision and gave him the keys of Heaven. She also saved him by a miracle when he fell into the stream and was nearly drawn into the mill-wheel.

It was the mother’s godly custom to put the child into a scale and to weigh him against bread, meat, clothes, and money which she gave to the poor. She died when the boy was twenty-one. If only the good and pious soul could have lived to see her boy a glorified Saint! He was sent to school at Merton Priory—not one of the City schools. From Merton he was sent to Paris. On his return he found that his father had suffered losses, having had his house burned over his head three times. He then, with the intention of becoming a merchant, entered into the counting-house of one Osbern Huitdeniers “of great name and repute.” Two Normans, however, named Baldwin the Archdeacon and Eustace of Boulogne, who lodged with Gilbert when they were in London, remarked the intelligence of the young man, Gilbert’s son, and introduced him to Theobald. The rest of the story belongs to history.

Here is a glimpse of City manners. To Thomas, son of Hugh atte Bow, citizen and mercer, was left the sum of £300 on the death of his father. This sum was deposited with Robert de Brinkeleye, mercer, to be kept and judiciously employed for the profit of the boy. Robert had the use of this sum for thirteen years. He paid yearly for the use of the money “according to the custom of the City” 4s. for every pound, or £60 a year, which is 20 per cent. This makes £780, so that when Thomas came of age he would have had, but for deductions, the sum of £1080, equivalent to about £15,000 of our money. But Robert, also according to the custom of the City, sent in a bill for 2s. in the pound per annum for the said £300 for his trouble in the guardianship of the boy. That amounted to £390. Further, he charged for the board of Thomas 2s. a week or 104 shillings yearly, which amounted to £67: 12s. For the clothes of Thomas he charged 40 shillings a year or £26 in all. Also, for teaching, 2 marks yearly for ten years, making 20 marks or £13: 6: 8. Also, for learning to ride and for work and residence at Oxford £13 more. It was not, therefore, uncommon for the son of a London merchant to study at Oxford. In all, the guardian’s charges amounted to £509: 18: 8, so that Thomas’s inheritance came to £570: 1: 4. This little history shows that the cost of maintenance of a boy at that time was no more than 3½d. a day; that education could be had for £1: 6: 8 a year, and that for the use of money 20 per cent was considered a fair charge.

The cost of keeping a girl, perhaps not an heiress, in the case of a certain Alice, was reckoned at 8d. a week, and the cost of her clothes at 13s. 4d. a year.

We may now consider the expenses of London members of Parliament. In the year 1389 Parliament was held at Cambridge and was attended by four representatives of the City, viz. Adam Bamme, Henry Vanner, William Tonge, and John Clenhond. They rode down together, taking with them or sending before them two pipes of red wine. They hired a house at Cambridge, but were compelled to take one nearly ruinous; the woodwork was rotten, the roof leaky, the plaster broken. A thorough repair of the house was carried out; the rubbish with which it was filled was carted away, fine stools and forms were made; tablecloths, cushions, and wall-hangings of striped worsted were bought; eating, drinking, and cooking utensils were procured; fuel, consisting of firewood, charcoal, turf and sedge, was laid in; and the bills for the whole attendance were sent in to the Corporation and by them paid. They show that the journey to Cambridge and back of the party, with their servants and “harness,” cost £7: 16: 8; the distance we know is 57 miles or 114 miles there and back; but the number of servants we do not know; and we cannot get at the items. But this was what the City had to pay for its members of Parliament. The total may be reckoned, money being worth then fifteen times its present value, at least, at about £1500, which is an enormous bill.

£. _s._ _d._ Rent, Repairs, and Furniture 6 9 0 Utensils, Tablecloths, and Cushions 6 16 8 Fuel 5 13 0 Horses, their keep and litter, also straw for Servants’ Beds 12 15 7 Journey to Cambridge and back 7 16 8 Wine 9 2 0 Vestments for Servants’ Livery 22 5 0 Food, Ale, Candles, and Lavender 23 5 9 Wages to Butler, Cook, etc. 7 13 4 —————————————- £101 17 0

The language used in London was most certainly always English. The better class undoubtedly understood that kind of French which Chaucer called the French of Stratford-atte-Bow. For the nunnery of St. Leonard, Bow, was an ancient Benedictine Foundation, where Anglo-French was taught by the nuns.

The people never spoke any other language than English. The proceedings at the Court of Hustings were in English, so were those of the Folk mote and the Ward mote; the sermons were in English; the miracle plays were in English: the Early English Text Society has unearthed and published a vast mass of Early English, not Anglo-Norman, work, consisting of popular songs, satirical verses, paraphrases of Scripture, rules of Anchorites and monks, and translations.

At Oxford the students translated into French and English alternately, “ne illa lingua Gallica penitus sit omissa.” Chaucer knew Anglo-French, but wrote in English, and he wrote for the better class, not the common people. Gower wrote first in French, then in Latin, and lastly in English. In the year 1362, Parliament was opened by a speech in English: about the same time the Courts of Law were ordered to be held in English.

The custom of the Anglo-Saxon of the present day, who, wherever he is found, imposes his language upon the markets in place of the language of any other trader, no doubt prevailed on the quays and at the port of London then, where the polyglot Babel of the foreign sailors had to be reduced to the common English for the transaction of business.

Skeat has the following remarks on Chaucer’s “French of Stratford-atte-Bow”:—

“There is nothing to show that Chaucer here speaks slightingly of the French spoken by the Prioress, though this view is commonly adopted by newspaper-writers who know only this one line of Chaucer, and cannot forbear to use it in jest. Even Tyrwhitt and Wright have thoughtlessly given currency to this idea: and it is worth remarking that Tyrwhitt’s conclusion as to Chaucer thinking but meanly of Anglo-French was derived (as he tells us) from a remark in the Prologue to the _Testament of Love_, which Chaucer did not write. But Chaucer merely states a fact, viz., that the Prioress spoke the usual Anglo-French of the English Court, of the English law-courts, and of the English ecclesiastics of the higher rank. The poet, however, had been himself in France, and knew precisely the difference between the two dialects: but he had no special reason for thinking more highly of the Parisian than of the Anglo-French. He merely states that the French which she spoke so ‘fetisly’ was, naturally, such as was spoken in England. She had never travelled, and was therefore quite satisfied with the French which she had learnt at home. The language of the King of England was quite as good, in the esteem of Chaucer’s hearers, as that of the King of France; in fact, King Edward called himself king of France as well as of England, and King John, was, at one time, merely his prisoner. Warton’s note on the line is quite sane. He shows that Queen Philippa wrote business letters in French (doubtless Anglo-French) with ‘great propriety.’ What Mr. Wright means by saying that ‘it was similar to that used at a later period in the courts of law’ is somewhat puzzling. It was, of course, not similar to, but the very same language as was used at the very same period in the courts of law. In fact, he and Tyrwhitt have unconsciously given us the view entertained, not by Chaucer, but by unthinking readers of the present age: a view which is not expressed and was probably not intended. At the modern Stratford we may find Parisian French inefficiently taught: but at the ancient Stratford, the very important Anglo-French was taught efficiently enough.”

Lydgate’s poem called “London Lickpenny,” because the City drinks and absorbs the visitor’s money, contains the most lively picture of the streets of London in the fifteenth century. The title, as Skeat has pointed out, was wrongly conjectured (by Halliwell) to mean “London Lackpenny”:—

“To London once my steps I bent, Where truth in no wise should be faint: To Westminster I forthwith went To a man of law to make complaint. I said—‘For Mary’s love, that holy saint, Pity the poor that would proceed!’ But, for lack of money, I could not speed.

And, as I thrust the crowd among, By froward chance my hood was gone! Yet for all that I stayed not long Till to the King’s Bench I was come. Before the judge I kneeled anon, And prayed him, for God’s sake, to take heed! But, for lack of money, I might not speed.”

Whether he wanted money for the payment of fees, or whether it was necessary to bribe the judge, he does not explain. Let us charitably take the former view:—

“Unto the Common Pleas I did go, Where sat one with a silken hood; I did him reverence (I ought to do so) And told my case as well as I could, How my goods were defrauded me by falsehood. I got not a word of his mouth for my meed, And, for lack of money, I might not speed.

In Westminster Hall, neither rich nor poor Would do for me aught, although I should die; Which seeing, I gat me out of the door, When Flemings began on me for to cry, ‘Master, what will you copen[6] or buy? Fine felt hats, or spectacles to read? Lay down your silver, and here you may speed.’

[6] Buy (Flemish).

Then to Westminster-gate I presently went, When the sun was at high prime; Cooks, to me they took good entent, And proffered me bread, with ale and wine; Ribs of beef, both fat and fine. A fair cloth they began to spread; But, wanting money, I might not speed.

Then unto London I did me hie, Of all the land it bears the price. ‘Hot pease-cods!’ one began to cry, ‘Strawberries ripe!’ and ‘cherries on the rice!’ (_bough_) One bad me come near and buy some spice; Pepper and saffron they did me bede (_offer_); But, for lack of money, I might not speed.

Then went I forth by London stone, All the length of Canwick[7] Street; Drapers much cloth me offered anon; Then met I one, cried ‘Hot sheep’s feet!’ One, ‘mackerel!’ One did ‘rushes’ repeat. One offered a hood, to cover my head; But, for lack of money, I might not be sped.

[7] Candlewick Street, now Cannon Street.

Then I hied me to East-Cheap, One cries ‘ribs of beef,’ and many a pie; Pewter-pots they clattered in a heap; There was harp and pipe, and minstrelsy. ‘Yea, ’faith,’ and ‘nay, ’faith,’ some did cry. Some sang of Jenkyn and Gill for meed; But, for lack of money, I might not speed.

Then into Cornhill anon I strode, Where was much stolen gear among; I saw where hung my own lost hood, That I had lost among the throng; To buy my own hood, I thought it wrong. I knew it as well as I did my creed; But, for lack of money, I might not speed.

The taverner took me by the sleeve, ‘Sir,’ saith he, ‘now my wine assay’; I answered ‘that cannot much me grieve, A penny can do no more than it may.’ I drank a pint, and for it did pay; Yet sore a-hungered from thence I yede (_went_), And, wanting money, I could not speed.”

He ends by saying how he at last went to Billingsgate and there tried to persuade a bargeman to row him across the river for nothing. But the bargeman declined to take any less than twopence, saying that he was not yet come to the time of life when he wished to practise active benevolence by the bestowal of alms. At last the poet got safely into Kent, and made up his mind to have no more to do with lawyers. The whole concludes with a pious wish for the welfare of London and of all honest lawyers:—

“Save London, and send true lawyers their meed! For who-so lacks money, with them shall not speed!”

The moral of the ballad is obvious. If you wish to go to law, you should go to London; and if you wish to go to London, you should first of all fill your purse.

We want to get at the mind of the people. We have seen that the women at least did not read, and of book-learning the London craftsman had none. But they must have had ideas, subjects of conversation, current beliefs,—what were they? Towards the end of the fourteenth and throughout the fifteenth century, there can be no doubt that there was everywhere a spirit of restlessness and questioning. The wandering preachers, Wyclyf’s Preachers, made the people compare the true religious life with the example of the religious life held out for them by the prelates and abbots with their splendid retinues and their pride, by the monks with their sloth, and by the friars with their greed and their licentiousness. Those who defend the Church at this time are unwilling to admit either the pride of the former or the license of the latter. Let us, therefore, be content to mark what was said and taught, whether it was true or not, and to remember that these things were openly said and taught, and were believed by the people. One remembers what was said by a woman of London when a fire broke out at Willesden and the image of the Virgin was partly burned? “How can she help me,” asked this shrewd questioner, “if she cannot help herself?” During this period of slow awakening the people learned anew the lesson that religion was not a thing of rule and purchase, and that the profession of religion demanded a corresponding life of purity. To put on the Franciscan habit, and to profess the Franciscan Rule, was not, it was discovered, in itself an act, or a proof, or an illustration of religion. The perception by the people of the great rule—the scholars had long since understood—prepared the way for the expression of free thought in the sixteenth century.

Equally interesting it is to mark the revolt in the minds of the people against their rulers—and the mingling of the revolt against the Church with the revolt against the nobles:—

“John the Miller hath yground small, small, The King’s son of heaven shall pay for all, Beware ere ye be wo! Know your friend from your foe, Haveth ynough and saith (_say ye_) ‘ho’! (_stop!_) And do well and better and fleeth sinne, And seeketh peace and holde therein! And so biddeth John Trueman and all his fellows.”

“John Ball, Saint Mary Priest, Greeteth well all manner of men, And biddeth them in name of the Trinitie, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Stand manlike together in truth, And helpe truth, and truth shall help you. Now reigneth pride in price, Couetise is holden wise, Lechery without shame, Gluttonie without blame. Enuie raigneth without reason, And sloth is taken in great season, God do boot, for now is time, Amen.”

And again (Percy Society):—

“Jack Trewman doeth you to understand That falsenesse and guile hath raigned too long: And truth hath been set under a locke, And falsenesse raigneth in every flocke, No man may come truth to, But he sing, si dedero: Speake, spend and speed, quoth John of Bathon, and therefore, Sinne fareth as wilde flood, True love is away that is so good, And clarkes for wealth wirketh them wo— God doe boote for now is time, Amen.”

“My good friends”—these were the words of John Ball of Canterbury, as reported by Froissart—and there were others who preached the same doctrine—“things cannot go on well in England, nor ever will, until everything shall be in common; when there shall neither be vassal nor lord and all distinctions levelled; when the lords shall be no more masters than ourselves. Are we not all descended from the same parents, Adam and Eve?” He then goes on to contrast the lot of the lords with that of the people. “We are called slaves, and if we do not perform our services we are beaten, and we have not any sovereign to whom we can complain, or who wishes to hear us and to do us justice.”

As regards the ideas of the people on Government, we must remember that in London the old Saxon freedom was never lost. Londoners chose their Mayor, Aldermen, and Sheriffs, and appointed their own Judges. Every freeman of the City of London, therefore, felt that he had part in the government of the City. As we have seen in the history of the City, there were dissensions and factions from time to time, but the one great principle that London was free to elect its own magistrates and to preserve its own form of government was never departed from.

It was, therefore, not an imposed government, but a popular government of their own. There was never any question about obeying the government of London, there was never any popular rising against the government of London. It was natural and it was proper that the Aldermen should be the rulers, and if any one had the temerity to strike an Alderman or refuse to obey his ruling, it was just and proper to the people themselves for that man to have his hand struck off; and in the same way it was understood by everybody that in defence of the King, their “Overlord,” it might be necessary to go forth and fight. Therefore it was incumbent for every one to learn the use of arms and to be possessed of certain weapons. In the inventories which we find of house furniture of the fourteenth century, there are always armour and arms. The craftsman, therefore, was a soldier, a freeman, and an elector. Further, for the advantage of his own trade, he understood that it was important for him to combine and associate himself into a guild or company. He understood that he must be loyal to this company, that he must obey its officers, and that he must put in good work.

The rebellion of Wat Tyler was encouraged by the people of London, according to Froissart, who repeats what he heard and clearly echoes the rumours prevalent at the Court. The Londoners, he says, invited the country people to assemble and to march upon London, where they promised them a good reception and such a welcome that there should soon be not a slave left in all England—but there were none in London. The people came up from all parts of the Kingdom; they came in companies of a dozen or a hundred. Froissart says they knew not what they wanted; it is, however, quite certain that they wanted to realise the dream of their preachers; they wanted, what people always want, justice; they wanted to see the life of religion instead of the profession of religion, and they knew very well what the life of religion meant; they wanted a more equitable division of the world’s goods. The great rebellion of Wat Tyler, if it was really encouraged, welcomed, or invited by the common people of London, which I doubt, further than that there were certainly some who had imbibed the ideas of John Ball, shows us what the common people thought.

As for the extent of their knowledge and its limitations, London was a place of foreign trade, and the centre of internal trade. It was therefore filled with people carrying on the trade of distribution, collection, import, and export. In other words, it was constantly receiving and sending forth men to foreign countries across the sea and to all parts of the realm of England to carry on their trade. The boys went down to the quays to talk with the sailors and the stevedores: they learned to distinguish the Genoese and the Venetian galleys, the ships of the Hanseatic League, the ships from Lisbon and the ships from Bordeaux, they heard where these places were, and what they sent to London. The voyagers themselves in the taverns told their travellers’ tales. All that trade could teach the people was learned by them in the fourteenth century as well as in the nineteenth. I suppose that they would not be able to draw a _mappa mundi_ with much approach to accuracy, but they knew where places were.

Their knowledge of geography and of peoples was widened also by their pilgrimages and by the stories told by pilgrims on their return. As to science, each man had the mastery of his craft: that was enough for him. As to history, the people of London remembered; no doubt they mixed up a good many events, but they remembered at least their own liberties. Of books they had none and could not read; of songs satirical, historical, commemorative, they had, of their own, a good many which are still surviving.

It will be understood from the foregoing what were the rough ideas of the people as to religion and social economy; how their knowledge of the world was considerable; how their trades taught them a certain amount of science; and how their popular songs extended and deepened and strengthened the popular ideas.

In the chapter on Sports and Recreations these matters are fully dealt with, but there are a few minor notes which do not exactly belong to these things and come more properly here under the heading of Manners. On festive occasions the people wore garlands, the Master and Wardens of a Company wore garlands on their great days, at banquets they wore garlands, ladies wore garlands, young ecclesiastics wore garlands. When any one rode abroad—not to battle—he hung little bells on the bridles and harness of his horse. Wyclyf speaks of a priest “in pompe and pride, coveitise and envye, with fatte hors, and bridelis ryngynge be (by) the weye and himself in costly clothes and pelure (fur).”

In every wealthy household the falcon was as much of a domestic pet as the dog. The peregrine especially was easy to tame, “mult cortois et vaillan et de bon manniere”—very tame, bold, and of good manners.

The clerk and the notary and the scrivener carried about with them a case containing paper, pens, ink, and other necessaries for writing, so that they could be called into a house or shop for the purpose of writing down anything. The writing-case was called a Penner.

I have already said that every man was bound to keep ready for use arms or armour according to his degree. We must always bear in mind that the Londoner was a soldier first, whatever his calling; he was liable to be called out for the defence of the City, or even, on occasion, to march out into the country. Therefore every man had to learn, and to practise, the use of arms, such as shooting with the long-bow, how to handle a pike, and how to use a sword. Thus in the inventory of the furniture belonging to Hugh le Bever, whose case is quoted elsewhere, we find a haketon—_i.e._ a jacket of quilted leather sometimes worn under armour, sometimes used as armour. In the reign of Henry II., every one who held a knight’s fee was bound to have a habergeon or under coat of mail, a helmet, a shield, and a lance. A free-holder of sixteen marks must have the same; one of ten marks must provide a small habergeon, and a capeline of iron and a lance; while the ordinary burgher must at least have a capeline and a lance.

Besides the wholesale merchants and the shopkeepers there were the “stationers.” In every public place, wherever there was a church, or a cross, or a conduit there were put up “stations” or stalls. Thus in the year 1370 there were eleven stations round the High Cross of Chepe, let to as many women, at the annual rent of 13s. 4d. In that year the whole number were convicted of using false measures. The modern word stationer is derived from the practice of selling paper, pens, etc., at such stations.

Among the Fraternities of London must not be forgotten that called the Company of the Pui, “in honour of God, our Lady Saint Mary, and all saints both male and female; and in honour of our Lord the King and all the Barons of this country.” It has been suggested that the Fraternity was named after our Lady of Le Puy in Auvergne, an image of the Black Virgin which worked miracles. There were many societies of the Pui in France: this of London drew up for its own use and guidance a set of Rules which are still existing and have been published in the _Liber Custumarum_. It was, in fact, an early specimen of a club founded for purposes of peace, joyousness, harmony, and friendship. It was open to everybody, that is, to everybody whom the governing body chose to admit. There were no distinctions of nationality. There was an entrance fee and a subscription. The society was governed by a committee of twelve members, elected for life, and by a “Prince,” who was elected every year. As no Fraternity could exist without religion, a Chaplain was maintained for the purpose of singing mass every day and for all the members, living or dead. The great day of the Society was the first Sunday after Trinity, when a meeting was held in a Hall newly strewn with rushes and decked with branches. On this day the Prince for the year was invested. The old Prince, with the crown of office on his head and a gilt cup full of wine in his hands, marched down the room singing. Then he gave the newly chosen Prince the crown, offered him the cup, and hung up his arms over the Presidential chair.

This done, the meeting proceeded with the business of the day, which, like the famous annual Festival at Toulouse, chiefly consisted in choosing and rewarding the best song. The competitors sat in a row on a seat covered with cloth of gold; the judges were the newly elected Prince and the outgoing Prince, assisted by fifteen jurymen: the competitors sang the songs to music of their own composition. When the prize was adjudged the successful competitor was duly crowned.

Then dinner was served, and after dinner they all rode in procession through the City, the two Princes heading the cavalcade, followed by the poetic champion of the day. At the house of the new Prince they all dismounted, and the brethren executed a dance in the street. The day after this great feast, mass was sung at St. Helen’s for the souls of the brotherhood. It is a pleasant glimpse of the sunnier side of the City life. The merchants unite once a year at least—English, French, and Germans, all alike, in friendliness; they sing, they feast, they dance, they go to Church, and they encourage each other, all together, in the practice of concord and harmony, brotherly help and brotherly love.

The postage or carriage of letters was by no means neglected, and grew into a regular system by slow degrees. Edward IV. stationed men every twenty miles, whose duty it was to carry despatches as fast as they could gallop for this distance, and to hand them on to the next man. Edward I. had messengers, who took charge of the despatches of the Officers of State, the Constables of Castles, and the Sheriffs of Counties. The messenger was paid at the rate of a shilling a day. Some tenants held their land on the condition of carrying the lord’s letters. There was a regular mail sent off by the Venetians from London to Venice every month. It included the letters of the merchants of both cities. Private gentlemen also sent their servants to carry letters. In this way the Paston correspondence was carried on. If this correspondence be taken as an average example of the letter-writing of the time, there must have been great need of an organised postal system. The internal trade was managed in the summer by means of long strings of pack-horses; in the winter there was very little travelling and no traffic. Probably messengers were sent about at least on the King’s service, which could not be stopped, all the winter, but the state of the roads forbade any but the most necessary travelling. Yet they were not so bad in the fourteenth century as they were in the seventeenth, three hundred years later.

Here are a few notes:—

It was customary after the arrest of criminals and disorderly persons, at the dragging of a man on a hurdle, or at the putting of a man in pillory, to precede the prisoner and his guards with music—trumpets, pipe, and tabor. The object, of course, was to call general attention to the culprit, and to increase the shame of his punishment.

Lovers gave and exchanged a true-love-knot; some of these knots had four loops, for which reason the herb paris, which had four leaves set against each other, was known as True Love.

A great feast was continued for three days, during which the company continued to eat, drink, sing, dance, and look on at games.

It was a common practice with friends to take oaths of fraternity and friendship one with another; sometimes even to die for each other if the occasion should demand this proof of friendship.

Of reconstruction of the past there is no end, because something new, which was also old, is continually turning up. See, for instance, the cart covered with a black cloth on which is a white cross, slowly passing down the street. The horse carries a bell which tolls mournfully, the cart is led by a man in the livery of the Carthusian Brothers; it contains the body of one who has died a violent death, killed in a brawl by some rioter unknown, killed in a mad fight over a woman—who knows? They will take the cart to Pardon Churchyard where lie buried so many victims of the Black Death; the poor wretch will be laid, at least, in sacred soil. Or there is the procession of the sanctuary-man who has abjured the Kingdom; he is bare-headed and bare-footed; he carries a wooden cross; he is led to the Bridge Gate by the serjeants of his Ward; he has three days in which to reach Dover and to get across the seas. And after? History knows no more. Here is a crowd gathered round the woman set up in the shameful thew. Why is she set there? For tampering with her measures and defrauding her customers. The interests of beer are concerned. The crowd is justly indignant, words of reproach and contumely greet the culprit; she hides her face in terror and in shame. It seems a light thing to stand up for an hour or two before the people. It is anything but light, it is grievous, it is a lifelong disgrace; women have been known to fall down dead in such a case, overwhelmed and heartbroken with the public exposure.

Here comes one, a City officer, clad in a tunic ornamented with death’s heads. The grinning skulls proclaim his office. He is the Death Crier. In his hand he carries a bell, which he rings as he walks along the streets; at night he carries a lantern; he might walk through the streets at any time of the day or night, for he announces the death of some great man. “Good people,” he cries, “of your charity pray for the soul of our dear brother ——, who departed this life at such or such an hour.” As he passes, perhaps in the dead of night, his voice awakens those who sleep. They arise, they open their windows, they put out their heads, and murmur a prayer. When the King died, it was the custom for the Death Crier to march through the streets escorted by the Guild of Allhallows carrying crosses.

Other duties were imposed upon the officers in order to find work enough for them to do. There was one, it seems, for every ward. They inspected taverns and reported to the Alderman on their conduct and management, they also watched for, and reported, houses of ill-fame, and places which harboured disorderly persons.

Chaucer, in describing the Miller, speaks of the “goliardeys.” The goliardus was a professional diner-out; one who earned his dinner by telling tales, reciting verses, and making jests for the amusement of the company. The profession is one branch of the many devoted to making a sad world merry. The mime, the tumbler, the dancing girl, the juggler, the Tom Fool, the singer, the musician, and the diner-out are all members of this honourable and creditable profession.

Professor Skeat has kindly sent me the following notes on Mediæval manners and customs, taken from a Lecture delivered before the University Extension Conference in 1898. In one or two places they mention matters already recited by myself. The greater part of the notes, however, will be found to supplement my own. But the field of Mediæval manners is absolutely inexhaustible. I would recommend the reader to look through the learned Professor’s _Notes to Chaucer and Piers Plowman_ for an illustration of the axiom.

It was usual, he remarks, for tradesmen’s apprentices to stand at the shop-doors, touting for custom by means of incessant shouting. At the door of the cook, who provided meat and drink for the hungry wayfarer, was heard the cry—“Hote pies, hote,” _i.e._ hot pies, all hot. Or else—“gode grys and gees,” _i.e._ good roast pigs, good roast geese. Or—“gowe, dyne, gowe,” _i.e._ let’s go and dine. At the door of the taverner was heard the cry—“whyte wyn of Gascoigne,” _i.e._ white wine of Alsace, red wine of Gascony. Or else—“wyn of the Ryne,” _i.e._ wine of the Rhine; or “wyn of Rochel,” _i.e._ wine of Rochelle; and these wines were especially warranted to assist the digestion, as being the correct drink to take after dining off roast meat.

One common use of bread was to feed horses and dogs with. I have often seen a horse eat a loaf of bread in Switzerland, but never in London; so I suppose it is not now in use here. One common name for a horse was _Bayard_, and hence a horse-loaf was sometimes called a _Bayard’s bun_. In the same way, I may here note that there was once a place in London called _Bayard’s water_, _i.e._ a watering-place for horses. It is now called _Bayswater_.

It deserves to be mentioned that there was a kind of ale particularly known by the name of _London Ale_. As early as the time of Henry III., London had established a special reputation for its ale, which was considered by good judges of drink as being of the first quality. There is a particular allusion to it in Chaucer’s description of the Cook. The Cook, it seems, was a good judge of liquor, hence it is said of him—“well could he know a draught of London ale.” One of the most noticeable and obvious characteristics of Old London was the use of tradesmen’s signs. At the present day, we seldom see signs hung out before any houses except inns and taverns; but it was formerly usual for nearly every trade to exhibit a sign, and their great multitude added considerably to the picturesque effect of nearly every street. They were extremely conspicuous, being intended, of course, for advertisements, and varied greatly. Sometimes they were stuck up on posts, but these were in the way of the passengers; so it was more usual to hang them out above the door, supported by poles or ornamental iron-work; or, if the street was unusually narrow, they were slung across the road. It is capable of proof that it is from this custom that the phrase _to hang out_ originated. “Where do you hang out” is now a colloquial phrase for “where do you live”; but the fuller expression “where do you hang out your sign” could once have been asked in all seriousness, and would have been understood in the same sense. Examples are given in the New English Dictionary and in the Century Dictionary. There are still a few survivals of the old custom. Thus it was common for a dealer in woollen articles to hang out the Golden Fleece; and the Golden Fleece may still be seen before shops of this description. Another sign is well known as the barber’s pole. These signs were so numerous, so cumbersome, and in a high wind so dangerous, that they sometimes had to be suppressed; and we meet with enactments that attempted to regulate their size. The most objectionable were the ale-stakes of taverns. An ale-stake was a horizontal pole, projecting far in front of a tavern, sometimes bearing a sign, and almost invariably ornamented with a bunch of leaves suspended from its extremity. This bunch was called a _bush_, and gave rise to the proverb that “good wine needs no bush,” _i.e._ no advertisement. We find the following ordinance in the _Liber Albus_:—

“Whereas the ale-stakes, projecting in front of taverns in East Cheap, and elsewhere in the said City, extend too far over the King’s highways, to the impeding of riders and others, and by reason of their excessive weight to the great deterioration of the houses in which they are fixed, it is enjoined that no one in future shall have a stake, bearing either his sign or leaves (_i.e._ or a bush) extending over the King’s highway, of greater length than seven feet at most.” Seven feet is rather a large allowance, and affords some notion of the lengths to which these ale-stakes had grown.

There is one famous passage in Langland which reminds us of Shakespeare’s description of the Boar’s Head tavern in East Cheap, where Sir John Falstaff was wont to “take his ease in his inn.” It is a description of the company assembled in a large tavern in Cheapside or thereabouts; a company of a very miscellaneous sort. The chief person there is called Sir Glutton, who seems to have been just such another as Sir John Falstaff. This Sir Glutton was on his way to church on a certain Friday, in order to make confession; but he just called in at the tavern as he went along. For it so happened that Beton the brewster was standing at the tavern-door, and took occasion to mention that she had some especially good ale for immediate consumption. “But have you,” said he, “any hot spices to put in it?” “Yes,” said she, “there’s pepper, and peony-seeds, and a pound of garlic, and a farthing’s worth of fennel-seed, especially reserved for Fridays.” That was just too much for him. In went Sir Glutton; and, it is remarked, “great oaths went with him.” We are then introduced to the company, which included Ciss the sempstress, Wat the gamekeeper and his wife, who was already drunk, Tom the tinker and two of his boys, Hick the horse-dealer, Hugh the needle-seller, Clarice of Cock Lane, and the clerk of the church—which probably alludes to St. Peter’s Cornhill—a certain Sir Piers, a Flemish woman named Parnel (once a common female name), a hay-ward or hedge-warden, a hermit, the hangman of Tyburn, Daw the diker, _i.e._ hedger and ditcher, and a dozen rascals more, made up of porters and pick-pockets and drawers of teeth. Then there were a minstrel and a rat-catcher, and Rose the seller of dishes; Godfrey who sold garlic, and a Welshman named Griffin; and, to conclude all, a heap of upholsterers or dealers in ready-made furniture.

Then the whole company looked on while Hick the horsedealer and Clement the cobbler played at a kind of game called the _New Fair_; which was really a kind of bartering by handicap, and constituted a mild form of gambling. The idea was simple enough, though it led to a large amount of dispute and wrangling before it could be satisfactorily settled. First of all, Clement the cobbler took off his cloak and laid it on a table or chair. Then Hick took off his hood, and laid it beside the cloak. Then the whole business was to appraise the relative worth of the articles, which they wholly failed to do, till they appointed an umpire, viz. Robin the rope-maker. Robin’s decision was very advantageous to the taverner. It was clear that the cloak was worth more than the hood; so that some compensation was due to Clement, who accepted the hood in exchange. So he was allowed to fill up his cup at Hick’s expense. And it was further provided that, if either of the parties was dissatisfied with the award, he was to be fined in a gallon of ale; out of which gallon he was to drink the health of Sir Glutton, who had been so good as to preside over the matter in dispute.

And so things went on, till every one grew more or less uproarious; and we are not surprised to hear that when Sir Glutton at last rose up, late in the evening, too late to go to church, he had already consumed about a gallon, and a gill over; and, in crossing the floor, he went no straighter than a blind man’s dog, which is sometimes in front and sometimes behind. He had much difficulty in finding the door, and finally stumbled over the threshold, unable to rise; and at last, Clement and others had to carry him home. Then, with all the trouble in the world, his wife and his maid got him safely into bed, and there he slept all Saturday and all Sunday, waking up at last on the Sunday evening. And as soon as ever he unclosed his eyes, the first word that he said was, “Where stands the bowl?” It is some satisfaction to know that his wife administered to him a severe rebuke, and that he was thoroughly ashamed of himself, and promised to observe Friday, thenceforward, as a day of abstinence and church-going. From this it would appear that the manner of life as conducted inside a tavern was not very different from what it is now. One of the most curious points in Langland’s description of this company is his inclusion of “the hangman of Tyburn.” Perhaps it is not generally known that there were, in fact, two Tyburns. The more celebrated one is that which took its name from the bourn or stream that was formerly called Tybourn. The exact spot where the gallows stood was not always precisely the same, but one position of it is denoted by a mark near the junction of Edgware Road with Oxford Street, not far from the Marble Arch. But there was another place of execution in Southwark, close to the St. Thomas-a-Waterings mentioned by Chaucer in his famous Prologue; and this place was expressly called Tyburn of Kent, to prevent mistakes.

In one passage, Langland alludes to what was then known as “the benefit of clergy.” This is a phrase which I strongly suspect has frequently been misunderstood; at any rate, to the modern ear, it is extremely misleading. It sounds as if it meant that the attendance of a clergyman might benefit the condemned criminal; but it means nothing of the kind. The word _clergy_ had formerly two distinct meanings; or, strictly speaking, there were two distinct words which came to be sounded alike. One of these, referring to the clerical order, is still in common use; the other, meaning “clerkship, scholarship, or learning,” is practically obsolete. In old law, it meant “ability to read”; and at a time when such ability was uncommon, it was permissible, in the case of some misdeeds, that the criminal should claim his privilege of scholarship, if it was his first offence. If he could prove his ability to read, he could claim exemption from capital punishment. The person who examined the criminal—perhaps we may call him “the examiner”—usually selected one of the Latin psalms as the subject; very often it was the fifty-first psalm beginning with the words _Miserere mei, Deus_; or sometimes he pointed to the fifth verse of the sixteenth psalm, _Dominus pars hereditatis mee_. It is to be suspected that some of the thieves carefully learned these Latin verses by heart before they stole a purse: a practice of which we never hear at the present day. Langland’s praise of the benefits of a good education is surely remarkable, and such as we are by no means accustomed to. “Well may the child bless the man who set him to learn books. Familiarity with literature has often saved a man, body and soul. _Dominus pars hereditatis mee_ is a pleasant verse; it has been known to save from Tyburn some twenty strong thieves. When ignorant thieves are made to dangle, just see how the learned ones are saved!”