Is a degree, or (if you will) a pair of stairs above an ale-house, where
men are drunk with more credit and apology. If the vintner’s nose be at
the door, it is a sign sufficient, but the absence of this is supplied
by the ivy-bush: the rooms are ill breathed like the drinkers that have
been washed well over night, and are smelt-to fasting next morning. It
is a broacher of more news than hogsheads, and more jests than news,
which are sucked up here by some spungy brain, and from thence squeezed
into a comedy. Men come here to make merry, but indeed make a noise; and
this musick above is answered with the clinking below. The drawers are
the civilest people in it, men of good bringing up; and howsoever we
esteem of them, none can boast more justly of their high calling. ’Tis
the best theater of natures, where they are truly acted, not played; and
the business, as in the rest of the world, up and down, to wit, from the
bottom of the cellar to the great chamber. A melancholy man would find
here matter to work upon, to see heads as brittle as glasses, and often
broken; men come hither to quarrel, and come hither to be made friends:
and if, Plutarch will lend me his simile, it is even Telephus’s sword
that makes wounds and cures them. It is the common consumption of the
afternoon, and the murderer or maker-away of a rainy day. It is the
torrid zone that scorches the face, and tobacco the gunpowder that blows
it up. Much harm would be done, if the charitable vintner had not water
ready for these flames. A house of sin you may call it, but not a house
of darkness, for the candles are never out; and it is like those
countries far in the north, where it is as clear at mid-night as at
mid-day. To give you the total reckoning of it; it is the busy man’s
recreation, the idle man’s business, the melancholy man’s sanctuary, the
stranger’s welcome, the inns-of-court man’s entertainment, the scholar’s
kindness, and the citizen’s courtesy. It is the study of sparkling wits,
and a cup of canary their book, whence we leave them.
* * * * *
Bishop Earle, in his character of a “Poor Fiddler,” describes him as “in
league with the tapsters for the worshipful of the inn, whom he torments
next morning with his art, and has their names more perfect than their
men.” Sir John Hawkins, who cites this in his History of Music, also
abstracts a curious view of the customs at inns, from Fyne Moryson’s
“Itinerary,” rather later in the same age:--
“As soone as a passenger comes to an inne, the seruants run to him, and
one takes his horse and walkes him till he be cold, then rubs him, and
giues him meate, yet I must say that they are not much to be trusted in
this last point, without the eye of the master or his seruant to ouersee
them. Another seruant giues the passenger his priuate chamber, and
kindles his fier, the third puls of his bootes, and makes them cleane.
Then the host or hostesse visits him, and if he will eate with the host,
or at a common table with others, his meale will cost him sixepence, or
in some places but foure pence, (yet this course is lesse honourable,
and not vsed by gentlemen): but if he will eate in his chamber, he
commands what meate he will according to his appetite, and as much as he
thinkes fit for him and his company, yea, the kitchen is open to him, to
command the meat to be dressed as he best likes; and when he sits at
table, the host or hostesse will accompany him, or if they haue many
guests, will at least visit him, taking it for curtesie to be bid sit
downe: while he eates, if he haue company especially, he shall be offred
musicke, which he may freely take or refuse, and if he be solitary, the
musitians will giue him the good day with musicke in the morning. It is
the custome, and no way disgracefull, to set vp part of supper for his
breakefast: in the euening or in the morning after breakefast, (for the
common sort vse not to dine, but ride from breakefast to supper time,
yet comming early to the inne for better resting of their horses) he
shall haue a reckoning in writing, and if it seeme vnreasonable, the
host will satisfie him, either for the due price, or by abating part,
especially if the seruant deceive him any way, which one of experience
will soone find. I will now onely adde, that a gentleman and his man
shall spend as much, as if he were accompanied with another gentleman
and his man; and if gentlemen will in such sort ioyne together, to eate
at one table, the expences will be much deminished. Lastly, a man cannot
more freely command at home in his owne house, than hee may doe in his
inne; and at parting, if he giue some few pence to the chamberlin and
ostler, they wish him a happy iourney.”
* * * * *
Through a most diligent collector of archæological authorities, we find
in the time of Elizabeth only eight-pence paid at an inn for a physician
all night; and in the time of Charles II. only two-pence for a man and
horse at Bristol.[266]
* * * * *
Bristol has now attained to so great wealth and prosperity, as to
provide inns of importance equal perhaps to any in the kingdom. A
friend, who sojourned there at the undermentioned date, hands me a
printed document, which he received from his landlord, Mr. John Weeks;
it is so great a curiosity, as bespeaking the opulence of that ancient
city, and the spirit of its great innkeeper, that I cannot refrain from
recording it.