King Alfred the Great passed away, and all the line of Saxon and Danish
monarchs after him; yet probably the curfew, under one or another of its
ancient names, was kept up as a national observance in each of their
reigns, with more or less laxity. At last the Conqueror came, and after
that sanguinary struggle, which had to roughly pave the way for England's
advancement, he set himself the task of governing the people he had
overcome. Whether he found the law of the curfew still feebly kept up, or
whether it had died out we cannot tell, but we know that two years after
the battle of Hastings--in 1068--he ordered fires to be covered at the
ringing of an eight o'clock bell, and the people to retire to rest. He had
probably been accustomed to a similar regulation in Normandy; and it is
evident the enactment, however more severely enforced than the Saxons had
previously experienced, could not have been purposed as a suspicious and
contemptuous safeguard against them, for the haughty robbers called nobles
were as subject to the curfew as the meanest swineherds they owned. There
seems to have been, from an indefinitely early period, a religious service
at eight in the evening. When William, after the injuries received by the
plunging of his horse as it trod upon hot ashes, lay dying, the vesper
bell of a neighbouring church aroused him from the stupor which had
gathered round his sinking mind. He asked if he were in England, and if
that were the curfew ringing, and on being told he was in "his own
Normandy," and the bell was for evening prayer, he "charged them bid the
monks pray for his soul, and remained awhile dull and heavy."
Polydore-Vergil tells us that William, to convert the native ferocity of
the people to indolence, ordained that the head of each family should
retire to rest at eight in the evening, "having raked the ashes over the
fire; and for this purpose a sign should be made through every village,
which is even now preserved, and called in the Norman, _cover-feu_." Mr.
Hutchinson, in his "History of Durham," speaks of the curfew with great
bitterness: he says that William "under severe penalties, prohibited the
use of fire or candles when the curfew bell should ring, to prevent
associations and conspiracies. This bell was heard by the English as the
knell of their departed liberty, and a repeated testimony of slavery."
We learn from Du Cange, that the ringing of the _couvre-feu_,
_ignitegium_, or _peritegium_ bell, as it was called in mediaeval low
Latin, prevailed generally in Europe during the Middle Ages as a
precaution against fire; and this fact is alone sufficient to justify
William in reviving and extending the law in this country.
Voltaire, in his "Universal History," ridicules the notion of the curfew
being a badge of degradation; he observes that "The law, far from being
tyrannical, was only an ancient police, established in almost all the
towns of the north, and which had been long preserved in the convents."
And he adds this reason for it: "That the houses were all built of wood,
and the fear of fire was one of the most important objects of general
police." Throughout the reigns of William I., and his son, William II.,
the curfew law was rigidly enforced, and, however good its intentions
were, the rigour of its administration rendered it increasingly obnoxious.
The politic Henry I., in 1103, wisely repealed the enactment, modifying
the law, which, however, though not compulsory, "settled into a cherished
custom." Though perhaps no longer as Thomson describes:
"The shiv'ring wretches at the curfew sound
Dejected sunk into their sordid beds,
And, through the mournful gloom of ancient times
Mus'd sad, or dreamt of better."
Yet the weary yeomen would doubtless for a long time welcome the hour that
heralded rest. Certainly the name lingered as a dividing period of the
day.
Blackstone says (vol. iv., p. 420) that Henry "abolished the curfew, for
though it is mentioned in our laws a full century afterwards, yet it is
rather spoken of as a known time of night (so denominated from that
abrogated usage) than as a still subsisting custom."
Chaucer speaks of it as a time of day:
"The dede sleep, for every besinesse,
Fell on this carpenter, right as I gesse,
About curfew time, or litel more."
In the _Antiquarian Repertory_, vol. i., p. 4, it is stated upon the
authority of Monsieur Pasquier, that the ringing of the curfew bell was a
custom long established in particular towns in France, and originated, as
he supposes, in times of tumult and sedition. But the earliest instance he
gives is no farther back than the year 1331, when the city of Laon, which
had forfeited its privileges, was reinstated therein by Philip de Valois,
who directed that for the future a curfew bell should be rung in a certain
tower in that city, at the close of the day. Pasquier adds, that under the
reigns of Charles VI. and VII., it came much into use.
We will now glance over the records of the curfew, as found in deeds,
enactments, poetry, and tradition, preserving, as nearly as convenient, a
sequence of date.
In the second mayoralty of Sir Henry Colet, knight (father of Dean Colet),
A.D. 1495, and under his direction, this solemn charge was given to the
quest of wardmote in every ward, as it stands printed in the _Custumary of
London_: "Also yf there be anye paryshe clerke that ryngeth curfewe after
the curfewe be ronge at Bowe Chyrche, or Saint Brydes Chyrche, or Saint
Gyles without Cripelgat, all suche to be presented." Stow may be regarded
as corroborating the statement of curfew usage at the two latter churches.
In Stripe's edition of Stow, 1721 (vol. i., b. 3, p. 542), speaking of St.
Mary-le-Bow, it is stated that "The parish clerk's office, belonging to
this church, was to ring the curfew bell; as it was to be rung at three
other churches in London, at a pretty distance from each other. That, so
this notice, all the curfew bells in other parishes might be rung in due
season, viz., Barking Church, S. Bride's, and S. Giles's without
Cripplegate."
In the articles agreed upon and settled in 22 Henry VIII. (1531), for the
guidance of the sexton of Faversham, we read: "Imprimis, the sexton, or
his sufficient deputy, shall lye in the church steeple; and, at eight
o'clock every night, shall ring the curfewe by the space of a quarter of
an hour, with such bell as of old time hath been accustomed."
In the Middle Ages, so much regard was paid to ringing the _couvre-feu_,
that land was occasionally left to pay for it. This feeling appears to
have been not altogether extinct, even so late as the close of the
sixteenth century, for in Bishop Hall's "Fourth Satire" occurs the
following:
"Who ever gives a paire of velvet shooes
To th' Holy Rood, or liberally allowes
But a new rope to ring the _couvre-feu_ bell,
But he desires that his great deed may dwell,
Or graven in the chancel-window glasse,
Or in his lasting tombe of plated brasse."
In the churchwardens' and chamberlains' accounts of Kingston-on-Thames,
occurs the following item:
"1651. For ringing the curfew bell for one year L1 10."
According to the Hon. Daines Barrington, curfew is written _curphour_ "in
an old Scottish poem, published in 1770, with many others, from the MSS.
of George Bannatyne, who collected them in the year 1568." It is observed
in the notes which accompany these poems, that, by "Act 144, Parliament
13, James I., this bell was to be rung in boroughs at nine in the evening,
and that the hour was afterwards changed to ten, at the solicitation of
the wife of James VI.'s favourite, James Stewart." This lends some
countenance to what might otherwise seem erroneous in the works of the
poets and dramatists. Thus, in the old play of the _Merry Devil of
Edmonton_ (1631), the sexton exclaims:
"Well, 'tis nine a clocke, 'tis time to ring curfew."
We fear, however, that Shakespeare cannot be held free from mistake and
uncertainty in his fixing of the curfew hour. Thus, in _Measure for
Measure_, the Duke says:
"The best and wholesom'st spirits of the night
Invellop you, good Provost! Who call'd here o' late?
_Provost_: None since the curfew rang."
In _The Tempest_, Prospero says:
"You whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew."
Again, in _Romeo and Juliet_, he seems to advance the time still further.
Lord Capulet is made to say:
"Come stir, stir, stir, the second cock hath crowed,
The curphew bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock."
In _King Lear_, we also find the curfew considered a midnight bell: "This
is the foul fiend, Flibbertigibbett: he begins at curfew, and walks to the
first cock."
Instances of land being given for the ringing of the bell are at Mapouder,
Dorset, where land was given "to find a man to ring the morning and
curfew bell throughout the year," and at Ibberton, in the same county, one
acre of land was given for the ringing of the eight o'clock bell, and L4.
for ringing the morning bell.
Macaulay, in 1791, says: "The custom of ringing curfew, which is still
kept up at Claybrook, has probably obtained without intermission since the
days of the Norman conqueror." In winter, and in flat and dangerous
localities, the ringing of the bell in the evening has often been the
means of safely guiding and sometimes saving the lives of travellers; and
there are instances on record of persons so saved leaving a sum of money
for ringing this bell. Such is the story told of a bride who, from an
English village, stole out to hide, like another Ginevra, from her friends
on the wedding day. The place was near a wide moor, and the girl hid
awhile among the furze. When she sought to return, to laugh merrily at the
anxious groom and guests, she, alas! took a wrong path, and presently
found herself lost on the waste. The shades of night and the shrouding
snow fell fast, and the bride had well nigh given herself up to despair,
when, hark! the curfew bell! Yes, it is the well-known curfew bell
solemnly, and O, how sweetly, pealing from the grey old tower, that
overshadowed her home. After being guided to that home by the blessed
sound, she presented a chime of bells to the church, and, upon her death,
years after, it was found she had bequeathed money to keep up the ringing
of the curfew bell for ever.
We may here state that we are indebted for some of the information given
in this paper to Mr. H. Syer Cuming. He has also kindly favoured us with
facts and suggestions for other chapters included in this volume.
The curfew bell may now be said to be one of the things of the past. True,
here and there a bell may ring in the evening from the powerful force of
old custom, yet all the associations of the custom itself are lost; the
bell summons us from home, not commands to retire to sleep; the
_couvre-feu_ is a rare object of interest in our museums; and now only in
the volumes of the poets shall we find that
"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day."
Curious Symbols of the Saints.
Some curious symbols of the saints were carved on ancient clog-almanacks
which were in use before the introduction of printing. Even as late as the
year 1686, when Dr. Robert Plot compiled his "Natural History of
Staffordshire," he tells us that the clog-almanack was "in use among the
meaner sort of people." It was largely employed in the northern counties,
but Plot failed to trace it further south than the county of Stafford. In
Denmark, it was in use in bygone times, and it is supposed to have been
introduced into this country by the Danish invaders.
The almanack was usually a square stick made of box or other hard wood,
about eight inches in length, and often having a ring at the top for
suspending it in a room. It occasionally formed part of a walking stick.
The days of the year are represented by notches running along the angles
of the square stick, and in each angle three months are indicated. It will
be seen from the picture which forms the frontispiece to this work, that
Sunday is marked with a somewhat broader notch than the other days. Its
chief interest, however, is on account of representing emblems of the
saints, and a few of the more important may be mentioned. On January 13th,
is the feast of St. Hilary, and there is a cross or badge of a bishop. An
axe, on January 25th, indicates St. Paul's Day. It was with that implement
that St. Paul suffered martyrdom. On St. Valentine's Day, is a true
lover's knot. For the Patron Saint of Wales, St. David, is a harp. It was
on that instrument that he praised God. On March 2nd, the notch ends with
a bough, and it is the day set apart to the memory of St. Chad. It is a
symbol of the hermit's life he led in the woods near Lichfield. A bough
also appears on May 1st, the popular day for bringing home May blossom. A
harvest rake is figured on June 11th, which is St. Barnabas' Day. It
denotes the time of hay harvest. A sword on June 24th, marks St. John the
Baptist's Day. He was beheaded with that weapon. St. Peter's Day falls on
June 29th, and there are two keys shewn in allusion to his being
recognised as the janitor of Heaven. On St. Laurence's Day, August 10th,
is a gridiron. He displayed firmness and constancy under great suffering.
He was laid on a gridiron and broiled to death over a fire. A wheel, on
which St. Catherine suffered death, represents the day set apart to her
memory. A decussated cross, on which St. Andrew was crucified, indicates
his day. His death was rendered more lingering by tying him with cords to
the cross. He may fairly be regarded as one of the most popular of our
saints; some six hundred churches have been dedicated to his memory. This
saint is always represented in pictures as an old man with a long flowing
beard. On October 25th, is St. Crispin's Day, the Patron Saint of
shoemakers, and, most appropriately, a pair of shoes marks his day. The
Feast of St. Clement, November 23rd, is indicated with a pot. The symbol
is an allusion to the old custom of going about on that night begging
drink to make merry with. Christmas Day is marked with a horn, which has
reference to the custom of the Danes wassailing or drinking healths,
"signifying to us, that this is the time we ought to rejoice and make
merry." We must not omit to add that for the Purification, Annunciation,
and all other feasts of our Lady, there is always the figure of a heart.
A careful study of the picture of the clog almanack will reveal other
curious matters of interest.
Acrobats on Steeples.
In bygone times, the public were often entertained by the performances of
acrobats on church steeples. We gather, from the brief particulars which
have come down to us of the feats enacted, that they were far from
elevating, and it is surprising that the acting was allowed to take place
on any part of a church.
Rope dancing was provided and appreciated. At the coronation of Edward
VI., a rope was stretched from the battlements of St. Paul's to a window
at the Dean's gate, and the king was highly entertained by the capering of
a sailor of Arragon on it.
A less successful piece of acting was attempted in 1555, when a Dutchman
stood on the top of St. Paul's steeple, and waved a streamer. The wind was
high, and the lights could not be kept burning to enable the public to
see him. Sixteen pounds was paid for the perilous performance.
At Salisbury, a similar foolhardy trick was enacted by a man who hoped to
receive a gratuity from George III. But the king declined to give
anything, saying: "As the father of my people, it is my duty to reward
those who save life, and not those who risk human life."
At the reception of King Philip, in 1553, we are told, "a fellow came
slipping upon a cord, as an arrow out of a bow, from Paul's steeple to the
ground, and lighted with his head forward on a greate sort of feather
bed." This kind of feat remained popular for a long period. William
Hutton, the historian, saw a man giving a similar entertainment at Derby,
in 1732. Hutton's account of the affair is full of interest, and we cannot
do better than quote a few particulars from it. "There are characters,"
wrote Hutton, "who had rather amuse the world, at the hazard of their
lives, for a slender and precarious pittance, than follow an honest
calling for an easy subsistence. A small figure of a man, seemingly
composed of spirit and gristle, appeared in October, to entertain the town
by sliding down a rope. One end of this was to be fixed at the top of All
Saints' steeple, and the other at the bottom of St. Michael's, an
horizontal distance of 150 yards, which formed an inclined plane extremely
steep. A breast-plate of wood, with a groove to fit the rope, and his own
equilibrium were to be his security, while sliding down upon his belly,
with his arms and legs extended. He could not be more than six or seven
seconds in this airy journey, in which he fired a pistol and blew a
trumpet. The velocity with which he flew raised a fire by friction, and a
bold stream of smoke followed him. He performed this wonderful exploit
three successive days, in each of which he descended twice, and marched up
once; the latter took him more than an hour, in which he exhibited many
surprising achievements, as sitting unconcerned with his arms folded,
lying across the rope upon his back, then his belly, his hams, blowing the
trumpet, swinging round, hanging by the chin, the hand, the heels, the
toe, etc. The rope being too long for art to tighten, he might be said to
have danced upon the slack. Though he succeeded at Derby, yet, in
exhibiting soon after at Shrewsbury, he fell, and lost his life."
He was buried in the churchyard of St. Mary Friars, Shrewsbury, in 1740,
and over his remains was placed a tombstone, bearing the following
epitaph:
"Let this small monument record the name
Of CADMAN, and to future times proclaim
How, by an attempt to fly from this high spire,
Across the _Sabrine_ stream, he did acquire
His fatal end. 'Twas not for want of skill,
Or courage to perform the task, he fell;
No, no, a faulty cord being drawn too tight
Hurried his soul on high to take her flight,
Which bid the body here beneath, good night."
Hogarth immortalised Cadman in one of his most popular pictures.
To return to Derby, we find that, in 1734, a second "flyer" visited the
town. He was much older than the first performer, and less in stature.
"His coat," we are told, "was in deshabille: no waistcoat; his shirt and
his shoes the worse for wear; his hat, worth three-pence, exclusive of the
band, which was packthread, bleached white by the weather; and a black
string supplied the place of buttons to his waistband. He wisely
considered, if his performances did not exceed the other's, he might as
well stay at home, if he had one. His rope, therefore, from the same
steeple, extended to the bottom of St. Mary's-gate, more than twice the
former length. He was to draw a wheel-barrow after him, in which was a boy
of thirteen. After this surprising performance, an ass was to fly down,
armed as before, with a breast-plate, and at each foot a lump of lead
about half a hundred. The man, the barrow, and its contents arrived safe
at the end of their journey. When the vast multitude turned their eyes
towards the ass, which had been braying several days at the top of the
steeple for food; but, like many a lofty courtier for a place, brayed in
vain; the slackness of the rope, and the great weight of the animal and
his apparatus, made it seem, at setting off, as if he were falling
perpendicularly. The appearance was tremendous! About twenty yards before
he reached the gates of the county-hall, the rope broke. From the velocity
acquired by the descent, he bore down all before him. A whole multitude
was overwhelmed; nothing was heard but dreadful cries; nor seen, but
confusion. Legs and arms went to destruction. In this dire calamity, the
ass, which maimed others, was unhurt himself, having a pavement of soft
bodies to roll over. No lives were lost. As the rope broke near the top,
it brought down both chimneys and people at the other end of the street.
This dreadful catastrophe put a period to the art of flying. It prevented
the operator from making the intended collection; and he sneaked out of
Derby as poor as he sneaked in."
The clergy in Derby, in years agone, appear to have enjoyed popular shows.
When Topham, the celebrated strong man, visited the town, in 1737, he
performed, among other feats, the following: "He took Mr. Chambers, vicar
of All Saints', who weighed 27 stones, and raised him with one hand. His
head being laid on one chair and his feet on another, four people, 14
stones each, sat upon his body, which he heaved at pleasure. He struck a
round bar of iron, one inch diameter, against his naked arm, and, at one
stroke, bent it like a bow. Weakness and feeling seemed fled together.
Being a Master of music, he entertained the company with Mad Tom. He sung
a solo to the organ in St. Werburgh's church, then the only one in Derby;
but though he might perform with judgment, yet the voice, more terrible
than sweet, scarcely seemed human. Though of a pacific temper, and with
the appearance of a gentleman, yet he was liable to the insults of the
rude. The hostler at the Virgin's Inn, where he resided, having given him
disgust, he took one of the kitchen spits from the mantel-piece, and bent
it round his neck like a handkerchief; but as he did not choose to tuck
the ends in the hostler's bosom, the cumbrous ornament excited the laugh
of the company, till he condescended to untie the iron cravat."
In 1600, Banks, and his famous horse, Morocco, ascended to the top of St.
Paul's. The animal was made to override the vane, much to the astonishment
of a large gathering of Londoners. It is related in one of the "Jest
Books" of the period that a servant came to his master, who was walking
about the middle aisle of the church, to ask him to go and witness the
wonderful performance. "Away with you, fool!" answered the gentleman,
"what need I go so far to see a horse on the top, when I can see so many
asses at the bottom?" In France, Banks and his horse attracted much
attention. At Orleans, we are told, the fame they had obtained brought
Banks under the imputation of a sorcerer, and he narrowly escaped being
burnt at the stake. According to Bishop Morton, Banks cleared himself by
commanding his horse to "seek out one in the press of the people who had a
crucifix on his hat; which done, he bade him kneel down unto it, and not
this only, but also to rise up again, and to kiss it. 'And now,
gentlemen,' (quoth he), 'I think my horse hath acquitted both me and
himself;' and so his adversaries rested satisfied, conceiving (as it might
seem) that the devil had no power to come near the cross." It is stated by
several writers that Banks and his horse were burned to death at Rome, "as
subjects of the Black Power of the World, by the order of the Pope." Other
writers assert that he was living in the days of King Charles as a jolly
vintner in Cheapside.
The most serious results of permitting acrobats to perform on churches
remain to be recorded. It is related by Raine that, in 1237, Prior
Melsonby was elected Bishop of Durham, and that his mitre was taken from
him for encouraging a rope dancer to perform his feats on a cord stretched
between the towers of the cathedral. The poor fellow fell and broke his
neck.
THE END
Index.
Abjuring the realm, 4
Acrobats on steeples, 244-251
Ale at weddings, 199
Alford, plague at, 164
Armour, buried in, 219
Bainbridge horn, 79
Banks and his horse Morocco, 250
Battle Abbey, 38
Bear-baiting on Sunday, 99
Bedford bridge, 51;
prison, 51;
Bunyan, 51;
curious regulations, 51;
chapel, 51
Bernwood forest, 72
Beverley sanctuary; 14,
plague at, 160
Biddenden Maids Charity, 148-151
Bible burned, 127
Boar slaying, 74
Boiling oil, ordeal of, 24
Boiling water, ordeal of, 23
"Book of Sports," 103
Bowling on Sunday, 97
Bradford-on-Avon bridge, 53
Bradley, plague at, 166
Brentwood Church, sanctuary in, 9
Braintree, plague at, 167
Broad-stone, East Retford, 164
Bull-baiting announced in church, 92
Buried alive, 165
Burning to death, 85
Cadman killed, 247
Carlisle horn, 75
Castleton, curious custom at, 180-182
Chapels on Bridges, 44-64
Chairs, sanctuary, 15
Charter Horns, 65-79
Cheapside Cross, 138-147
Chingford horn, 78;
singular tenure, 79
Chimney money, 183-185
Clog almanack, 240