times hears no more than a confused murmur: one sees a swarm working
like ants; a bell rings: they knock off work; another bell: they run
together; they shout; they wave their hats; the listener, however, hears
no words. It is difficult in any age--even in the present day--to learn
or understand what the _bas peuple_ think and what they desire. They
want few things indeed in every generation; only, as I said above, the
three elements of freedom, health, and just pay. Give them these three
and they will grumble no longer. When a poet puts one of them on his
stage and makes him act and makes him speak, we learn the multitude from
the type. Later on, after Chaucer and Piers Ploughman have spoken, we
know the people better; as yet we guess at them, we do not even know
them in part. Observe, however, one thing about London--a thing of great
significance. When there is a Jacquerie, when the people, who have
hitherto been as silent as the patient ox, rise with a wild roar of
rage, _it is not in London_. Here men have learned--however
imperfectly--the lesson that only by combination of all for the general
welfare is the common weal advanced. I think, also, that London men,
even those on the lowest levels, have always known very well that their
humility of place is due to their own lack of purpose and
self-restraint. The air of London has always been charged with the
traditions and histories of those who have raised themselves; there
never has been a city more generous to her children, more ready to hold
out a helping hand; this we shall see illustrated later on; at present
all is beginning. The elementary three conditions are felt, but not yet
put into words.
[Illustration: THE ARMS AND SEALS OF THE PRIOR AND CONVENT OF ST.
SAVIOUR AT BERMONDSEY]
We are at present in the boyhood of a city which after a thousand years
is still in its strong and vigorous manhood, showing no sign, not the
least sign, of senility or decay. Rather does it appear like a city in
its first spring of eager youth. But the real work for Saxon and Norman
London lies before. It is to come. It is a work which is to be the
making of Great Britain and of America, Australia, and the Isles. It is
the work of building up, defending, and consolidating the liberties of
the Anglo-Saxon race.
They were not wretched at all, these early London citizens; but, on the
contrary, joyous and happy and hopeful. And not only for the reasons
already stated, but for the great fact--the greatest fact of the
time--of their blind and unreasoning faith. It is impossible to
exaggerate the importance of unreasoning faith as a factor in human
happiness. The life of the meanest man was full of dignity and of
splendor, because of the great inheritance assured to him by the Church.
We must never leave out the Church in speaking of the past. We must
never forget that all people, save here and there a doubting Rufus or a
questioning Prince of Anjou, believed without the shadow of any doubt.
Knowledge brought the power of questioning. As yet there was no
knowledge. Therefore every man's life, however miserable, was, to his
happy ignorance, the certain ante-room of heaven. We are fond of
dwelling on the mediæval hell, the stupidity and the brutality of its
endless torture, and the selfishness of buying salvation by masses.
Hell, my friends, was always meant for the other man. He who saw the
devils painted on the church-wall, rending, tearing, frying, cutting,
burning the poor souls in hell, knew these souls for those of his
enemies. Like Dante, he saw among them all his public and his private
foes. He looked upward for his hope. There he beheld loving angels
bearing aloft in their soft arms the soul redeemed to the abode of
perfect bliss. In that soul he recognized himself; he saw the
portraiture, exact and lifelike, of his own features.
When the ambassadors of the Caliph Haroun al Raschid brought gifts to
the great King Karl, the finest thing he had to show them was the
splendid service of the Church.
This story is told literally. It might be told as an allegory. In London
Saxon and Norman, as also for many centuries to follow, the finest thing
they had to show was the Church, with its music that moved the heart to
tears; its promises, which steeled the soul to endurance; its glories,
which carried the beholder far away from the wattle and clay of his hut
and his grimy leathern doublet; its frown, which stood between him and
the tyrannous Over Lord, and saved his home from starvation and his
womankind from dishonor. Fortunate was it for the people that they had
the Church to show to those ambassadors of the Moslem.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] See Loftie's _History of London_, Appendix N, "List of Buildings
which existed before the Great Fire."
[3] A hat or bonnet. Du Cange.
[4] Fosbrooke's _Monachism_.
[5] Fosbrooke.
[6] Loftie calls attention to the name of our Church St. Mary Staining,
_i.e._, built of stone, as if that was an exceptional thing.
[7] Morley's _English Writers_, vol. i., p. 760.
III
PLANTAGENET
I. ECCLESIASTICAL
Prince Pantagruel and his companions, pursuing their incomparable
voyage, sailed three days and three nights without discovering anything,
and on the fourth day made land. The Pilot told them that it was the
Ringing Island; and, indeed, they heard afar off a kind of a confused
and oft-repeated noise, that seemed at a distance not unlike the sound
of great, middle-sized, and little bells rung all at once.
Commentators have been much exercised as to the city which the great
Master of Allegory had in view when he described _l'Ile Sonnante_.
Foolish commentators! As if even a small master of allegory, much less
the great and illustrious Alcofribas Nasier, could, or would, mean any
one town in particular! One might as well search for the man whose
portrait he painted and called Panurge. He described all towns. For, in
truth, every mediæval city was an _Ile Sonnante_, and the greater, the
richer, the more populous, the more powerful was the city, the louder
and the more frequent were the jinglings and the janglings, the sonorous
clang and the melodious peal, the chimings and the strikings, the music
and the jarring of the thousand Bells. They rang all day long; they rang
from the great Cathedral and from the little Parish Church; from the
stately monastery, the nunnery, the College of Priests, the Spital, the
Chantry, the Chapel, and the Hermitage. They rang for Festivals, for
Fasts, for Pageants, for Processions, for Births, Marriages, and
Funerals; for the election of city officers, for Coronations, for
Victories, and for daily service; they rang to mark the day and the
hour; they rang in the baby; they rang out the passing soul; they rang
for the bride; they rang in memory of the dead; they rang for work to
begin and for work to cease; they rang to exhort, to admonish, to
console.
With their ringing the City was never quiet. Four miles out of London,
the sound of the Bells rang in the ears of the downcast 'prentice boy
who sat upon the green slopes of Highgate: the chimes of Bow struck
merrily upon his ear above the tinkling of the sheep bell, the carol of
the lark, and the song of the thrush. To him they brought a promise and
a hope. What they brought to the busy folk in the streets I know not;
but since they were a folk of robust nerves, the musical, rolling,
melodious, clashing, joyous ringing of bells certainly brought for the
most part a sense of elation, hope, and companionship. So, in this our
later day, the multitudinous tripper or the Hallelujah lad is not happy
unless he can make, as he goes, music--loud music--in the train and on
the sands. So, again, those who march in procession do not feel complete
without a braying band with drums great and small, banging and beating
and roaring an accompaniment to the mottoes on their banners, and
uplifting the souls of the champions who are about to harangue the
multitude.
The _Ile Sonnante_ of Rabelais may have been Paris--of course it was
Paris; it may have been Avignon--there is not the least doubt that it
was Avignon; it may also have been London--there can be no manner of
question on that point. Rabelais never saw London; but so loud was the
jingle-jangle of the City bells that they smote upon his ear while he
was beginning that unfinished book of his and inspired the first
chapters. London, without a doubt, London, and no other, is the true
_Ile Sonnante_.
[Illustration]
Of Plantagenet London there is much to be said and written. _Place à
l'Église!_ It was a time when the Church covered all. Faith
unquestioning seemed to have produced its full effect. The promised
Kingdom, according to eyes ecclesiastic, was already among us. What
could be better for the world than that it should be ruled absolutely by
the Vicar of Christ? Yet the full effect of this rule proved in the
event not quite what might have been expected.
In London, says an observant Frenchman, there is no street without a
church and a tree. He speaks of modern London. Of London in the
thirteenth century, there was no street without its monastery, its
convent garden, its College of Priests, its Canons regular, its Friars,
its Pardoners, its sextons, and its serving brothers, and this without
counting its hundred and twenty parish churches, each with its priests,
its chantries, its fraternities, and its church-yard. The Church was
everywhere; it played not only an important part in the daily life, but
the most important part. Not even the most rigid Puritan demanded of the
world so much of its daily life and so great a share of its revenues as
the Church of the Middle Ages. There were already whispered and murmured
questions, but the day of revolt was still two hundred long years ahead.
Meantime the Church reigned and ruled, and no man yet dared disobey.
Let us consider, therefore, as the most conspicuous feature of
Plantagenet London, her great religious Houses. We have seen what they
were in Norman London. Already there were there in existence the
Cathedral of St. Paul's, with its canons and priests, its army of
singing men, clerks, boys, and servants--itself a vast monastic House;
the Priory of St. Bartholomew; the House of St. Mary Overies; the
Hospital of St. Katherine; the Priory of the Holy Trinity. After three
hundred years, when we look again upon the map of London, and mark in
color the sites of Monastery, Nunnery, Church, College, and Church-yard,
it seems as if a good fourth part of the City area was swallowed up in
ecclesiastical Houses. Not so much was actually covered by buildings of
the Church, but at least a fourth of the City, counting the gardens and
the courts and chapels, belonged to the Church and the religious Houses.
Without such a map it is impossible to estimate the enormous wealth of
the mediæval Church, its power, and its authority. It is impossible to
understand without such a map how enormous was that Revolution which
could shake off and shatter into fragments a power so tremendous.
Because, as was London, so was every other city. If London had a hundred
and twenty churches, Norwich had sixty; York had forty-five. If the
country all round London was parcelled out among the religious Houses,
so all over the land, manors here, and estates there, broad acres
everywhere belonged to the monks. But though their property was
enormous, their power was far beyond that conferred by any amount of
property, for they held the keys of heaven and kept open the gates of
hell.
As for the vast numbers actually maintained by the Church, the single
example of St. Paul's Cathedral--of course, the largest foundation in
the City--will furnish an illustration. In the year 1450 the Society, a
Cathedral body, included the following: the Bishop, the Dean, the four
Archdeacons, the Treasurer, the Precentor, the Chancellor, thirty
greater Canons, twelve lesser Canons, about fifty Chaplains or chantry
priests, and thirty Vicars. Of inferior rank to these were the Sacrist
and three Vergers, the Succentor, the Master of the Singing-school, the
Master of the Grammar-school, the Almoner and his four Vergers, the
Servitors, the Surveyor, the twelve Scribes, the Book Transcriber, the
Book-binder, the Chamberlain, the Rent-collector, the Baker, the Brewer,
the singing-men and choir-boys, of whom priests were made, the Bedesmen,
and the poor folk. In addition to these must be added the servants of
all these officers--the brewer, who brewed in the year 1286, 67,814
gallons, must have employed a good many; the baker, who ovened every
year 40,000 loaves, or every day more than a hundred, large and small;
the sextons, grave-diggers, gardeners, bell-ringers, makers and menders
of the ecclesiastical robes, cleaners and sweepers, carpenters, masons,
painters, carvers and gilders--one can very well understand that the
Church of St. Paul's alone found a livelihood for thousands.
[Illustration: RUINS (1790) OF THE NUNNERY OF ST. HELEN, BISHOPSGATE
STREET]
The same equipment was necessary in every other religious foundation.
Not a monastery but had its great and lesser officers and their
servants. In every one there were the bell-ringers, the singing-men and
boys, the vergers, the gardeners, the brewers, bakers, cooks,
messengers, scribes, rent-collectors, and all complete as was St.
Paul's, though on a smaller scale. It does not seem too much to estimate
the ecclesiastical establishments as including a fourth part of the
whole population of the City.
The London monasteries lay for the most part either just within or just
without the City Wall. The reason is obvious. They were founded when the
City was already populous, and were therefore built upon the places
where houses were less numerous and ground was of less value.
Let us, in order to visit them all, make a circuit within the City Wall,
beginning from the Tower on the East.
The first House at which we stop is the Priory of Crutched Friars, that
is, Crossed Friars. They wore a cross of red cloth upon their backs, and
carried an iron cross in their hands. The order of the Red Cross was
founded by one Conrad, of Bologna, in the year 1169. Some of the Friars
found their way to London in the middle of the next century, and humbly
begged of the pious folk a house to live in. Of course they got it, and
many houses afterwards, with a good following of the citizens. This
monastery stood behind Seething Lane, opposite St. Olave's Church. The
site afterwards became that of the Navy House, and is still marked by
the old stone pillars of the entrance and the open court within. This
court is now a receiving house for some railway. Beyond this, on the
other side of Aldgate, stood a far more important monastery, that of the
Holy Trinity. The site of the place is marked--for there is not a
vestige left of the ancient buildings--by a mean little square now
called St. James's Square; a place of resort for the poorer Jews. This
noble House was founded by Matilda, wife of Henry I., in 1109, for
regular Canons of the Order of St. Augustine. The Priory, enriched by
many later benefactors, became the wealthiest and most splendid in the
City. Its Prior, by virtue of his office, and because the old Knighten
Guild had given their property to the Priory, was Alderman of Portsoken
ward; the monastery was exempted from ecclesiastical jurisdiction other
than the Pope's; its church was great and magnificent, full of stately
monuments, carved marbles, and rich shrines; the House was hospitable
and nobly charitable to the poor.
The beautiful old church of St. Helen, filled with monuments curious and
quaint, was formerly the Church of the Priory of St. Helen. This nunnery
was founded by William Basing, dean of St. Paul's, in the reign of
Richard I. The church, as it now stands, consists of the old Parish
Church and the Nun's Chapel, formerly separated by a partition wall. The
Leathersellers' Company acquired some of their ground after the
Dissolution, and the old Hall of the Nunnery, afterwards the
Leathersellers' Hall, was standing until the year 1799.
On the north of Broad Street stood the splendid House of Austin Friars;
that is, the Friars Eremites of the Order of St. Augustine. The House
was founded by Humphrey Bohun, Earl of Hereford, in the year 1253. It
rapidly became one of the wealthiest Houses in the City; its church,
very splendid, was filled with monuments. Part of it stands to this day.
It is now used by the Dutch residents in London. The quiet courts and
the square at the back of the church retain something of the former
monastic arrangement and of the old tranquillity. The square is
certainly one of the courts of the monastery, but I know not whether the
Refectory or the Library or the Abbot's House stood here.
The next great House following the wall westward was that of St.
Martin's le Grand, of which I have already spoken. It was a House of
Augustine Canons. It formed a Precinct with its own Liberty. William of
Wykeham was its most famous Dean. In the sanctuary Miles Forrest, one of
the murderers of the two Princes in the Tower, died--"rotted away
piecemeal." The Liberty survived long after the Dissolution.
Adjoining St. Martin's was the great Foundation of the Grey Friars.
[Illustration: ST. HELEN'S, BISHOPSGATE]
They were Franciscans. Who does not know the story of St. Francis and
the foundation of his great order? They were the Preachers of the poor.
The first Franciscans, like the Buddhist priests, lived upon alms; they
had no money, no endowments, no books, no learning, no great houses.
Those who came to England--it was in the year 1224--nine in number, of
whom only one was a priest, were penniless. They first halted in
Canterbury, where they were permitted to sleep at night in a room used
by day as a school. Four of them presently moved on to London, where
they hired a piece of ground on Cornhill, and built upon it rude cells
of wattle and clay with their own hands. Already the Dominicans, their
rivals--Preachers of the learned and the rich--had obtained a settlement
in Oxford. The Franciscans stayed a very short time on Cornhill. In the
year 1225 one John Ewin bought and presented to them a piece of ground
north of Newgate Street, whither they removed. Their austerity, their
poverty, their earnestness, their eloquence drew all hearts towards
them. And, as always happens, their very popularity proved their ruin.
Kings and queens, great lords and ladies, strove and vied with each
other to show their love and admiration for the men who had given up all
that the world can offer for the sake of Christ and for pity of their
brothers and sisters. They showed this love in the manner common with
the world. They forced upon the friars a portion of their wealth; they
made them receive and enjoy the very things they had renounced. It is a
wonderful record. First, the citizens began. One Lord Mayor built a new
choir for their church, with a splendor worthy of the order and of the
City; another built the nave to equal the choir; a third built the
dormitories--no more wattle and daub for the dear friars; other citizens
built Chapter House, Vestry House, Infirmary, and Refectory. Their
Library was given by Dick Whittington, thrice Mayor of London. Then came
the turn of the great people. Queen Margaret thought the choir of the
church should be still more splendid, and added to it or rebuilt it.
Queen Isabel and Queen Philippa thought that the nave should be more
splendid, and with the help of the Earl and Countess of Richmond, the
Earl of Gloucester and his sisters, Lord Lisle and others, built a new
nave, 300 feet long, 89 feet broad, and 64 feet high. Here were buried,
as in ground far more sacred than that of St. Paul's or any acre of
ordinary consecration, Margaret, wife of Edward I.; Isabel, wife of
Edward II.; Joan of the Tower, Queen of Scots, daughter of Edward II.;
Isabel, daughter of Edward III.; Beatrice, daughter of Henry III.; and
an extraordinary number of persons great and honorable in their day.
What became of their monuments and of the church itself belongs to Tudor
London.
[Illustration: SOUTH-WEST VIEW OF THE INTERIOR OF THE CHURCH OF ST.
HELEN, BISHOPSGATE STREET]
All those who visit London are recommended by the guide-books to see the
famous Blue-coat School. The main entrance is at the end of a narrow
lane leading north from Newgate Street. On the right hand of the lane
stands a great ugly pile built by Wren twenty years after the Great
Fire. This is Christ Church, and it stands on part of the site of the
old church of the Grey Friars. At the Dissolution, Henry VIII. made
their church into a parish church, assigning to it the two parishes of
St. Nicolas Shambles and St. Ewin, together with the ground occupied by
the Monastery. The church within is as ugly as it is without. One
shudders to think of the change from the great and splendid monastic
church. On the other side of the lane is an open space, a church-yard
now disused. The old church covered both this open space and the area of
the modern church. Behind it stood the cloisters, the burial-ground, and
the monastic buildings of the House, covering a great extent of ground.
Those who go through the gate find themselves in a large quadrangle
asphalted. This is now part of the boys' play-ground; their feet run
every day over the old tombs and graves of the Grey Friars'
burial-ground; the soil, though not accounted so sacred as that within
the church itself, was considered greatly superior to that of any common
church-yard. Most of the dead were buried in the habit of the Grey
Friars, as if to cheat Peter into a belief of their sanctity. On the
south of the quadrangle two or three arches may be observed. These are
the only fragments remaining of the cloisters. The view of Christ's
Hospital after the Great Fire of 1666 shows the old courts of the Abbey.
The church formerly extended over the whole front of the picture; the
buildings now seen are wholly modern; the cloistered square was the
church-yard; the Hall stood across the north side of the first court;
beyond were the courts appropriated to the service of the monks; the
cells, libraries, etc., were round the great court and the small courts
on the right. The Franciscan House is gone; the Friars are gone. Let us
not think, however, that their work is gone. On the contrary, all that
was good in it remains. That is the quality and the test of good work.
It is imperishable. If you ask what is this work and where it may be
found, look about you. In the prosperity of the City; in the energy, the
industry, the courage, the soberness of its people; in whatever virtues
they possess, the Franciscans have their share; the Grey Friars, who
went straight at the people--the rough, common, ignorant people--and
saved them from the destruction of those virtues which built up this
realm of Britain. The old ideas change; what is to-day faith becomes
to-morrow superstition; but the new order is built upon the old. It was
a part of the training necessary for the English people that they should
pass under the teaching of the Friars.
In the south-western corner of the City Wall were lodged the Dominicans
or Black Friars.