John Falstaff was born in the city of London, at the Old Swan Tavern,
near the Ebgate Stairs, at the north end of London Bridge, on the 23rd
of January, 1352. It is to be regretted that the place of his birth,
which, though much decayed, and frequently altered, retained its ancient
name and usage for more than three centuries after the event which shed
such lustre on its humble walls, should have been destroyed in the great
fire of London; whereby, as is well known to antiquarians, the wharves
and buildings in that part of the town were burnt down to the water’s
edge. By those who believe in idle presages, this circumstance of birth
in a tavern will be deemed prophetic of a life foredoomed to be for the
most part spent in such places, and, indeed, to end in one. But such
vain speculations are as unworthy the historian’s attention as their
conclusion is anticipatory of his object.
For the extreme minuteness of the details we have been so fortunate as
to acquire on this important event,--even to a special mention of the
very room in which our hero’s first cry was heard,--we are indebted to
the accidental preservation of a family letter. The publication of
this document entire, with necessary orthographical and idiomatic
modifications, will not merely simplify this portion of our biographical
studies, but will also afford the biographer an early opportunity of
asserting the independent course he means to pursue, by setting at
glorious defiance the rule laid down by himself for his own observance
in the closing remarks of the foregoing chapter.
To my very dear sweet Wife, the Lady Alice Falstaff, of Falstaff in
Kent.
This in haste.
“Written at the Gate-house, in Westminster, Jan. 24. 1353.
“My dear Sweet,--I think I am the most wretched man in all England, I
and no other am he. I must fain tell you the truth, which, in my great
love and care for thy sweet peace, I have hitherto kept back, and would
have done, cost me what might, had it been longer possible. I lie
here at the suit of one Bruno, a Longobard, for a pitiful sum I was
constrained to borrow of him, and for which he exacts fifty in the
hundred usury. And for a miserable debt like this, am I to be made
wretched, and kept from my dear wife and child? * Did I not say I was
the most unhappy wretch in England? Oh! pity me, my dear wife; I am here
in a foul room, with greasy rogues and villains. If I send out for civet
to sweeten the air, the knaves rob me in my exchange, and bring me in
foul stuff. Truly I am in the hands of thieves and robbers; for they
charge me sixpence the quart for thin drugged wine, when the best
Gascon wine is but fourpence the gallon in the Vintry. Thou seest
how impossible it is for me to send thee the money thou dost require.
Already have I shortened my gold chain by four links, for meat and
drink. I may not part with more, for there be here confined certain
gentlemen of the court, before whom I am fain to keep up my estate. But
for all their gentility, I suspect some of their number to be no better
than false knaves and coggers. For last night, they decoyed me, through
my distraction and unbearable misery on thy account, into play, and
stripped me of my last gold Florence, as I do think by foul means. Oh,
my dear wife! how thankful thou shouldst be to be spared the sharing
in my troubles! Do not grieve nor fret at the thought that they were
brought on by my great love for thee, as indeed they were; for was it
not my zeal to have thee make a figure at court that first got me in
such debt? But have I not cheerfully borne all for thee,--as thy love
hath indeed well merited? Did I consider my rank and ancestry when
thou didst witch me with thy rosy cheeks and blue eyes, though but the
daughter of a low-born trader? Nay! I must dwell on it, for methinks
thou dost sometimes rate my love too low. Did I not bear with thine
ignoble kinsmen, till they took to reviling and slighting me? I believe
thou art a changeling, thou pretty rogue! and none of their blood. I
meant not to tell thee of this, but I am on the matter, and it must
needs out. Yesterday, on my arrest, being at the end of my wits what to
do, I sent a hoy to thine uncle Simpkin the Tanner, saying, that in time
of suffering, ill blood should cease, and I would be willing to forget
all past differences so that he would come and release me with his
surety. I shame to write his answer; but that thou shouldst know, for
once and all, from what a churlish stock thy good fortune hath rescued
thee, it must needs be told. He sent back word, that he had thought Sir
Gilbert Falstaff had forgotten all past differences long ago, including
a difference of a hundred and fifty golden marks; meaning the paltry sum
I had of him on my receiving the grant of arms from the King’s Majesty,
whom heaven preserve! I could have wept for shame and vexation.
* It is worthy of remark that Sir Gilbert does not admit his
lady so far into his confidence as to mention the amount.
“And yesterday, our dear little Jack was a twelvemonth old! Pretty
fellow, and I not near him, to load him with sweets and knick-knacks! He
should go ever in Italian velvet and Flanders lace, had I my will. Thou
shouldst know this, wife, without telling; and I own (though ‘tis rarely
I have to chide thee) there seemed lack of love and thoughtfulness in
thy vexing me about trifling things amid all my troubles. With a heart
breaking for lack of kindliness and sympathy, I get a letter tormenting
me about such petty grievances as hose and blankets. This was selfish,
wife! The worst part of the winter is past, and the boy’s homespun
coat will serve well with a little piecing and darning; and for nether
stocks, there is nothing like knitted wool. I must indeed urge thee to
thrift, wife. It doth not behove a fallen house like ours, to waste in
outward vanities; except, indeed, the wretched master, who is compelled
to keep up a show in courts and cities. Thou knowest well the shifts
I have been put to, to pass for a man of a hundred pounds a year, and
avoid the sumptuary law. But these things are riddles to thee. I believe
thou wouldst submit to see me forbidden the use of silk, gold, and
silver, in my garments. Thou wouldst be content to see a man of my
standing restricted to two courses of three dishes each. Well, it is not
thy fault, but that of thy training.
“I would forgive thee in a greater matter than this, my sweeting, for
the great love I bear thee; but I am nigh distracted with my sorrows,
and know not what I write. Had it not been for those gentlemen knaves,
who carried me to play with them last night (may the foul fiend seize
them!), I should have gone mad. I thought of that time twelvemonth. The
whole matter stood, as it were, on a picture before me. I remembered our
landing at the Ebgate stairs, from the boat we took at Deptford, when
thou wast taken ill. Say what thou wilt, thou shalt never persuade me
but it was thy violence of temper hastened thy trouble. Thou wast well
enough till it proved that I had brought thee to London without money,
or preparation for thy condition. I acted (as I always do) for the best.
Were there not brave rejoicings at Court, in honour of the new-founded
order of knighthood, that I wished thee to see? and how could I get the
money I wanted, from the churl, thy brother, which he refused, without
thy presence? Thou dost not know, and never wilt know, what I suffered
for thee at that time. I was too much moved to lend a hand, as they
bore thee from the boat into the Old Swan. When they had taken thee
up stairs, the hostess had to ply me with strong waters, in her little
room, for more than an hour. They told me afterwards, I did nothing but
exclaim, many times, ‘The Flagon,--where the Flemish bed is!’ which
I had heard them name as the chamber thou wast to be carried to, and
wherein our dear little Jack was soon afterwards born. (I pray you send
down to Dame Cackle’s orchard, and beg two of her finest last year’s
pears, the which present to master Jack as the gift of his good father.)
How I rushed out of the house when I heard thy cries! I know not where I
went, nor what company I fell into. I was as one possessed. And oh! what
agonies I endured during the five days afterwards, when I was kept
from visiting or having news of thee, through a rumour of the great
pestilence breaking out again near London Bridge, for fear of bringing
contagion in with me, which in thy weak state would have been fatal.
Well! we shall all have our reward. But when I reflect that, during
that trying time, none of thy heartless kinsfolk came near thee, I could
even----but ‘tis no matter.
“But first to get me out of this accursed place. If I have not fifty
silver marks by Wednesday, I am a dead man. I cannot longer endure the
knowledge of thine unprotected state. Thou hast no great need of thy
cramoisy velvet gown in thy secluded life. Lambert can dispose of
it secretly in Sandwich, where we are not known. (Thou seest I am
thoughtful to spare thee shame.) Let him also ride to Canterbury, with
thy golden bracelets, and little Jack’s baptism cup and trencher. They
will fetch together some ten silver marks. Thou canst borrow twenty
marks from Dame Adlyn, the yeoman’s wife. In times like these, we must
not be over nice; and I withdraw the prohibition I have laid on this
good woman’s visits to Falstaff. Thou mayest even call her gossip at a
pinch. Make up the rest as thou canst. Lambert himself must have saved
money in our service. Promise him increase of wage (though, indeed,
the last three years have been indifferently paid), and dwell upon a
vassal’s duty to his lord. At any rate, I _must have the money_. When
thou hast raised it, let Lambert gallop post to London, and spare no
expense, in order that he may arrive not later than Wednesday, for the
river is already frozen over, and if the frost holds, there are to be
sports on the ice, with the king and all the princes present, which I
would not miss for a barony.
“I would answer thine inquiries about the blankets and under-clothing,
but it is so cold in this detestable place, that I can no longer hold a
pen. Happily thou art spared this.
“I commend thee to the care of Heaven, my beloved wife.
“Gilbert Falstaff,
“Eques et armig.” *
* This remarkable epistle (which is justly esteemed the gem
of the Strongate Collection) appears rather to have owed its
preservation to the fact of its being scrawled on the backs
of leaves torn out of a costly illuminated chronicle of the
period--the authorship of which is apocryphal,--than to any
intrinsic merit of composition. This fact may be accepted as
significant of the hereditary Falstaff character.--Ed.
This Gilbert Falstaff was the tenth in lineal descent from Hundwulf
Falstaff, the great Saxon leader who performed such signal service
to William Duke of Normandy, on that prince’s memorable invasion of
England, and of whose exploits and succession it behoves us here to
speak.
A numerous and well-armed troop of patriotic English noblemen had been
enrolled some weeks for the purpose of resisting the invaders, but
had been detained, debating, in a truly English manner, as to the
constitutional means of choosing a leader, till news reached them of the
landing of the Norman, at a distance of a hundred and fifty miles
from their camp. They were about to disperse in a panic, when
Hundwulf Falstaff appeared suddenly amongst them, and, by dint of much
eloquence,--also, it must be added, of some secret influences in the
camp, wherein he had skilfully introduced his agents,--succeeded in
rallying these disheartened warriors, and inducing them to accept him as
their leader. He led them by forced marches to the Isle of Thanet, where
they bivouacked in a chalk pit; expecting to come up with the main Saxon
army encamped near Hastings, under prince Harold, who was notoriously
in want of soldiers, on the following day. Here, while divested of their
armour--as had been preconcerted between Falstaff and Duke William--they
were fallen upon by a superior body of Normans and cut to pieces.
For this admirable piece of generalship and loyalty, whereby the
victorious Normans were spared the opposition of some hundreds of
warriors, the flower of English chivalry, Hundwulf Falstaff--contrary to
the general treatment of the Saxon proprietors--was allowed not only to
retain his own lands (his title to which had, indeed, been disputed in
favour of his nephew, Essel Falstaff, who, serving under his uncle,
had been engaged in the action of the chalk pit, and died, leaving
no issue), but to add to them the possessions of many gentlemen, his
neighbours, who had perished in the glorious engagement above mentioned.
The Falstaff estates, on the settlement of the land, were found to be
as spacious and wealthy as those of many powerful barons. Nevertheless,
their holder was not suffered to take the rank of nobility, an honour
he had been led to expect: nay, on his humble petition for the lesser
dignity of knighthood--backed by a memorial of his services to the
crown--he was informed that he should think himself fortunate to be
allowed to retain possession of his estates, and that the honours of
chivalry were not for a False Thief like him.
This _sobriquet_ of _False Thief_ stuck to him, and has been by many
writers asserted to be the origin of the family name--corrupted into
Fals-taff. Nothing is easier of refutation. In the first place, it is
improbable that a gentleman should voluntarily adopt, as his family
title, a term of ignominy and reproach. Moreover, the name is known to
be of ancient Saxon origin, derived from Fel-staf--felling-staff, or
cudgel; clearly tracing the antiquity of the house as far back as those
barbarous times when the savage German warriors took their names from
their favourite weapons. There is a curious old record (in the Strongate
Collection), of the time of Edward the Elder, in which one Keingelt
Felstaf appeals to the brethren of a Sodalitium, or fraternity of
mutual protection, whereof he is a member, to subscribe two marks apiece
towards the liquidation of a fine levied on him for the murder of
three ceorles, which he is unable to pay, owing to the straitened
circumstances of his family. He adds, that there is another fine
against him for a like offence; but the victim in this case being only a
Welchman, he believes he will be able to meet it without assistance.
Hundwulf Falstaff died in 1088, at the age of fifty-four, it is supposed
of a broken heart, caused by the ingratitude of a monarch whom he had so
efficiently and loyally served, aggravated by the unnatural conduct
of his two daughters, whom, in pursuance of his cherished scheme
of attaching himself to the Norman aristocracy, he had bestowed in
marriage, with the dowry of a substantial estate apiece, on two poor
knights of Guienne,--Philip le Borgne and Hugues le Bossu (surnamed
Bandylegs). These ladies immediately after their marriage deserted their
munificent parent for the gaieties of a court life; refusing even to
recognise him in the public thoroughfares, except on pressing occasion
for pecuniary assistance. The Falstaff possessions were further crippled
in this reign by repeated gifts to divers Norman noblemen, who being
chivalrous gentlemen, with an instinctive abhorrence of wrong, got up
frequent agitations against Hundwulf; suggesting to their monarch
the propriety of hanging up that chieftain for his glaring political
immorality, and distributing his estates among themselves--men of
spotless integrity. These agitations generally broke out at a time of
national pressure, and Hundwulf found no means of allaying them but
the one already alluded to. Thus, early after its acquisition, were the
seeds of decay sown in the very system of the great Falstaff estate;
which, as the sequel will prove, may be likened to a strong man attacked
with a mortal disease, who may live and struggle for years, but whose
every effort to recover strength serves to hasten his dissolution.
The Falstaffs, in every reign, were staunch courtiers. Hundwulf’s son
and successor, Aymer de Falstaffe (the name had been Gallicised by his
father), was a great favourite with William the Second, by whom he
was knighted. In proof of the good fellowship that existed between the
monarch and subject, the latter is not merely known to have lent his
royal master repeated sums of money (which, owing to the troubles of the
reign, were never accounted for), but is rumoured to have embraced the
Jewish religion with that humorous monarch. This calumny remained as a
stigma on the family for three generations, to the great annoyance of
its representatives. Any suspicion, however, of leaning to the tenets
of Judaism was triumphantly refuted in the reign of Henry the Second, by
Roger de Falstaffe (fourth in descent from Hundwulf), who, lacking the
means of keeping up his dignity at court, entrapped two travelling Jews
into his castle, whom, with a view to making them divulge the secret
of their hidden treasures, he placed upon hot plates over a slow fire,
having previously extracted their teeth, according to the custom of the
period. The cries of these wretches (who, with the obstinacy of their
race, declared they were only poor Jewish youths, driven out of the
Empire and in search of help from a wealthy kinsman in London) attracted
the attention of a passing troop of King Henry’s private guards. The
leniency of that monarch towards the Jews has been commented on with due
severity by the clerical writers of the period. It is certain that his
persistent protection of those outcasts, in their lives and properties,
was difficult of explanation to all well-disposed thinkers of that time,
except on the ground of an utter absence of religious principle. Be that
as it may, the king’s guards besieged Falstaff Castle, and took the
two Jews off the fire ere they were half done. Roger was tried for the
offence, and sentenced to perpetual banishment, with confiscation of his
estates.
Peter de Falstaffe, his son, followed Cour de Lion to the Crusades; and,
in consideration of faithful services, was reinstated by that monarch in
the possession of a considerable portion of his inheritance. Peter,
who was an enthusiastic hero-worshipper, imitated his lion-hearted
benefactor in everything--even to adopting the Royal mistake of wishing
to be thought a poet. It was a received maxim among the critics of the
period, that there was only one man living capable of writing worse
poetry than the king’s--that man being Peter de Falstaffe. Falstaff
Park, in his time, was known by the ignominious title of Fiddler’s
Green, in allusion to the droves of minstrels, troubadours, and
illuminators who, with their wives and families, flocked to enjoy the
munificent hospitality of Peter’s mansion, where (strangely belying
their ancient nomadic reputation) they took up their quarters as a
permanency. Peter died in 1132, much in debt to the Gascon merchants of
the Vintry, and deeply regretted--by the minstrels and illuminators.
The first act of Haulbert, his son, was to clear the premises of
those gifted occupants; in which work of ejection he was assisted by a
faithful bulldog. He administered to his father’s literary effects by
tying them up in a bundle, and disposing of them for something under the
cost price of the vellum to a Lombard broker in the city of London.
There is a blank in history as to the fate of Haulbert. He is known to
have been a man of violent character, and to have died somewhere towards
the end of Henry the Third’s reign. In this reign, several noblemen and
country gentlemen were executed for highway robbery.
Henry Falstaff (son of Haulbert, and seventh in descent from Hundwulf),
in the time of Edward the First, restored the family name to its ancient
spelling. Inspired by the successful efforts of this prince to fuse
the various elements of the nation into one common English whole, he
attempted to restore the old Saxon ways on his estate. He called himself
Hengist; and, amongst other obsolete institutions, revived the Hirlas
Horn, with the customs of Drink Hael and Waes Hael. These--by way of
enforcing precept by example--he made frequent use of in his own person;
till, like many other inventors and reformers, he fell a victim to
his own devices. His death, however, was accelerated by a singular
circumstance. He had a number of brass collars made, intending to fix
them about the necks of his tenantry, or, as he preferred to consider
them, his ceorles, after the manner of the ancient Saxon proprietors.
Meeting with a prosperous farmer on his estate, one Snogg, the son of
Huffkin, he requested the latter to kneel down that he might affix
the badge of servitude, which, he assured him in the blandest and most
engaging manner, was the old English way of doing things. Snogg replied,
that he knew another old English way of doing things, namely, the way
to give anybody a good thrashing who attempted any liberties with
a free-born Briton. Snogg explained this method of proceeding in a
practical manner, and left his landlord (already enfeebled by copious
reference to the Hirlas Horn) for dead on the field. Snogg’s life was
declared forfeit; but as he was very popular among his labourers, and
had some excellent pitchforks at his disposal, he succeeded in keeping
the forces of the sheriff at bay for a considerable period, receiving
the extreme unction at the age of ninety-seven, in the reign of King
Edward the Second.
Uffa, son of Hengist Falstaff, was a wit, and court favourite in the
reign of Edward the Second. None of his good things have been preserved;
but as a proof that his facetious powers were of no mean order, it is on
record that towards the close of Edward’s reign he received a crown from
the privy purse for making that unhappy monarch laugh; an achievement
which, considering his Majesty’s lively position at the time, could not
have been easy. What the exact jest was is unknown; but it seems to have
been levelled at Roger Mortimer, the leader of the queen’s faction.
For, on the seizure of the king’s person, as Falstaff (dreading the
resentment of the victorious party) was hastening to conceal himself on
his estate, he was arrested by Mortimer himself, at the head of a troop.
On being told the name of his prisoner, Mortimer said, “So! this is the
knave who got a crown for a jest at my expense. He owes me a crown in
common equity; and by the Lord he shall pay it. Let his head be lopped
off straightway.” Which sentence was put into immediate execution.
The above anecdote is in part mentioned by Hume.
Geoffrey Falstaff, son of the sprightly but ill-fated Uffa, lost a limb
in the Scottish wars, wherein he had greatly distinguished himself. Thus
incapacitated from further service in the field, he resolved to devote
himself to the improvement of his estate--which, to be sure, stood in
need of something of the kind. The manner in which he set about the
undertaking is characteristic. He ordered William of Wykeham, the
celebrated architect (then engaged in rebuilding the king’s palace
at Windsor), to construct for him, on the site of the old tumble-down
family mansion,--which, though dignified by the name of castle, was
merely a dilapidated old Saxon grange, frequently altered and added to
at the caprice of its successive owners,--a baronial residence, fit for
a man of his rank and fame. William drew out his plans, and the works of
demolition and reconstruction were set in hand. A splendid tower, which
was to form the corner of an immense quadrangle, to be surmounted by a
donjon keep in the centre, was all but finished, when it was discovered
that money and building materials were no longer forthcoming.
Geoffrey--always a bad accountant--was with difficulty made to
understand that the mortgage or even sale of his entire possessions
would not suffice to meet the cost of erecting two sides of the proposed
quadrangle. As the good knight’s building mania had already reduced his
estate to a bare sufficiency for the maintenance of his household, the
design was reluctantly abandoned. Fortunately, the main portion of
the old structure had been left standing for purposes of temporary
accommodation. The solitary tower with William of Wykeham’s bill (in
an unreceipted condition) were preserved by the family as colossal
monuments of Geoffrey’s magnificent intentions.
Geoffrey’s son and successor was the father of our hero, that Gilbert.
Falstaff of whose character and financial condition a glimpse has been
already obtained from his own writing. As he will appear personally in
our narrative, we will dismiss him for the present with a brief allusion
to his marriage. For the most part, the early Falstaffs seem to have
married into the poorer branches of noble families, in order to support
their aristocratic pretensions. This being impossible in Gilbert’s
case, owing to the scantiness of his patrimony, he wisely resolved on
reversing the rule, and disposing of the honour of his alliance. He
espoused Mistress Alice Bacon, the daughter of a wealthy merchant of
the Wool Staple. The dower of this gentlewoman established the house of
Falstaff--for some months at any rate--in a position of something like
comfort and solvency. Sir Gilbert never ceased to remind his lady of the
great sacrifice his love for her had induced him to make, in bestowing
on her his name and protection. He was at the pains to do this, in order
that she might feel assured he had made such sacrifice willingly, and to
prevent her debt of gratitude to him from being burdensome.
There seem to have arisen no collateral branches of the Falstaff family.
The circumstances of the house, generally, make it improbable that there
should have been any material provision for its younger sons. These
seem usually to have left home, at an early age, to seek fortune; and as
there is no record of any of them having found it, we must conclude
that the evil genius of their race pursued them, and that they met with
various dooms among the bands of free lances, condottieri, Brabançons,
crusaders, rapparees, pirates, sheepstealers, rogues, thieves, and
vagabonds, with which the history of those ages abounds.