farther back--are all buried in the little green church-yard behind St.
Michael's Cornhill. My grandfather, citizen and tallow-chandler, died
when I was yet of tender years. This have I always regretted, because he
might have told me many curious things concerning the City in the time
of Edward the Fourth. The penance of Jane Shore he would surely
remember. Nay, he may even have known that unfortunate lady, wife of a
reputable citizen. Yet have I in my youth conversed with old men and
learned much from them. My grandfather, by his last will, thought it no
superstition to leave money for watching-candles. I was once taken to
the church to see them burning, and there I remember I saw a poor woman
who received every Sunday, for a year, one penny for saying five
pater-nosters for the good of his soul. Thus she lived, poor wretch,
wasting her breath in fruitless labor. I marvel to think what has become
of all those who lived by the altar in the old days. The priests of the
churches and the chantries, the chaplains of the fraternities, the
singing-men, the petty canons, the sextons, singers, sayers of
pater-nosters, sellers of crosses and beads and chaplets and wax tapers,
the monks and the nuns with all their officers and servants--there were
many thousands in this city alone--what became of them? How get they now
a livelihood? Tell me that. As for me, I have been hauled before the
courts on a charge of Papistry. Bones o' me! All my crime was the
reading of old books, yet do I remember the evil days of King Edward's
time, when the Reformation was new, and people's minds were troubled,
and all things seemed turning to destruction, so that many welcomed back
the old religion when Mary came, yet when she died there was found none
to mourn for its banishment. Sir, the old are apt to praise the past,
but from one who has lived through the glorious reign of Queen Elizabeth
shall you hear nothing but praise of the present. Consider"--he arose
and walked to the open window and looked out--"this fine town of London,
like the realm itself, was devoured by the priests and monks. It is now
freed from those locusts. The land that belonged to the Church could not
be sold, so that those who lived upon it were always tenants and
servants. That land is now free. Learning, which before was on
sufferance, is now free. Nay, there hath been so great a zeal for
learning--such an exemplar was Her Highness the Queen--that noble
ladies, as well as gentlemen, have become skilled in Latin, Greek,
Italian, and even in Hebrew. The trade of the City hath doubled and
trebled. Thanks to the wisdom of our merchants and their courage, London
doth now surpass Antwerp. The Spaniard, who vainly thought to rule the
world, is humbled, and by us. The French, who would strike at England
through Scotland, have lost their power. Our ships sail round the world;
our merchants trade with India in the east and with America in the west:
our trading companies cover all the seas. What does it matter that I am
old and poor and licensed to beg my bread--and that in a city which hath
ever scorned poverty--what does it matter, I say, so that one has lived
through this most happy reign and seen this city increase, year by year,
in wealth and greatness? Who am I that I should murmur? I have had my
prayer. The Lord hath graciously made me the historian of the City. My
work will be a monument. What more can a man want than to have the
desire of his heart?" His voice trembled. He stood in the sunshine,
which wrapped him as with a glory. Then he turned to me.
"Sir," said he, "you are here--whether in the flesh or the spirit I know
not. Come with me. Let me show you my city and my people. In three
hundred years there will be many changes and the sweeping away of many
old landmarks, I doubt not. There must be many changes in customs and
usages and in fashions of manners and of dress. Come with me. You shall
behold my present--and your past."
He put on his cloak--a shabby cloak it was, and too short for his tall
figure--and led the way down the narrow stairs into the street. He
stepped out of the house, and looked up and down the street, sniffing
the air with the greatest satisfaction, as if it had been laden with the
perfumes of Araby the Blest instead of the smell of a glue-making shop
hard by.
[Illustration: OLD FOUNTAIN INN IN THE MINORIES
_Taken down in 1793_]
"Ha!" he said, "the air of London is wholesome. We have had no plague
since the sweating sickness, fifty years ago." (There was to be another
the year after, but this he could not know, and it was not for me to
tell him.) "Yet at Iseldon, hard by, fevers are again very prevalent,
and the falling sickness is reported from Westminster. This, sir, is the
street of St. Mary Axe. It is not one of our great streets, yet many
worshipful men live here. Opposite is the house of one who is worth
£4000--aye, £4000 at least; not a Gresham or a Staple, yet a man of
substance." The house was four stories high, the front of brick and
timber, the windows filled above and below with rich carvings, and
having a high gable. "The wealth of private citizens hath lately much
increased. In my youth there were few such houses; now there are a dozen
where formerly there was but one. If you go into that house, sir, you
will find the table plentiful and the wine good; you will see arras
hanging in every chamber, or a painted cloth with proverbs at least;
sweet herbs or flowers are strewn in every room; the house is warmed
with fires; the sideboards are loaded with plate or are bright with
Murano glass. There are coffers of ivory and wood to hold the good man's
treasure; and in an upper chamber you shall see hanging up the cloaks
and doublets, the gowns and petticoats, of this worthy and worshipful
merchant and his family, in silk and velvet, precious and costly. Fifty
years ago there would have been none of these things, but treen
platters; of arras none; and but one poor silver mazer for all his
plate. But we are not ashamed to see the tenements of the craftsmen side
by side with the great houses of the rich. For we are all brothers in
this city; one family are we, rich and poor together; we are united in
our companies and in our work; our prentices are taught their trade; to
our maids we give marriage portions; we suffer no stranger among us; our
sick and aged are kept from want and suffering."
"But you have great Lords and noblemen among you. Surely they are not of
your family."
"Sir, the time was when it was a happy circumstance for the City to have
the nobles within her walls. That time is past. They are fast leaving
our bounds. One or two alone remain, and we shall not lament their
departure. There is no longer any danger that the City will be separate
in feeling from the country, and it is true that the rufflers who follow
in a noble lord's train are ever ready to turn a silly girl's head or to
lead a prentice into dissolute ways. In this street there were once no
fewer than three parish churches. Yonder ruin at the north end was St.
Augustine on the Wall: here of old times was the house of the old and
sick priests, called the Papey. King Henry turned them out, and who took
in the poor old men I know not. 'Twas a troubled time. Yonder was the
church--its church-yard yet remaining--of St. Mary Axe, dedicated not
only to the Virgin whom now we have ceased to worship, yet still
reverence, but also to St. Ursula, whom we regard no more, and to the
Eleven Thousand Virgins, at whose pretended miracle we scoff. And
opposite is the goodly church of St. Andrew Undershaft. Of churches we
have fewer than of old. As for piety, truly I see no difference, for
some will always be pious, and some prodigal and profligate. I
remember," he went on, gazing, as was his wont, at the church as if he
loved the very stones--"I remember the May-pole when it hung upon hooks
along the south wall of the church. I never saw it erected, because Evil
May-day, before I was born, when the prentices rose against the aliens,
was the last time that it was put up. It was destroyed in King Edward's
time, when one Sir Stephen, curate of Katherine Cree, preached at Paul's
Cross that the May-pole was an idol. So the people brought axes and cut
it up--the goodliest May-pole that the world has ever seen, and taller
than the steeple of the church. The same Sir Stephen wanted to change
the names of the churches, and the names of the week-days, and the time
of Lent, all for the sake of idolatry. And the same Sir Stephen caused
the death of the most honest man that ever lived, for alleged seditious
words. Well--'tis fifty years ago."
With this reminiscence we passed through Leadenhall, and into a broad
and open place. "Now," said Stow, "we are in the very heart of the City.
Here hath been, for time out of mind, a corn-market. And here are
pillory and stocks, but," said Stow, "this pillory is for false dealing
only. The greater pillory is in Cheapside. Here we have the Tun
prison"--in shape the building somewhat resembled a tun--"for street
offenders and the like. It has been a city prison for three hundred
years and more. Beside it is the conduit. Here are two churches: St.
Peter's, which falsely pretends to be the most ancient of any in the
City, and St. Michael's. But the chief glory of Cornhill is the Royal
Exchange. Let us look in."
The entrance and principal front of the Royal Exchange were on the south
side. We looked in. The place was crowded with merchants, grave and
sober men, walking within in pairs, or gathered in little groups. Among
them were foreigners from Germany, France, Venice, Genoa, Antwerp, and
even Russia, conspicuous by their dress. "Before the building of this
place," said Stow, "our merchants had no place to meet, and were forced
to seek out each other; nor was there any place where the latest news
might be brought, however much the interest of the City might be
affected. Now all is changed, and every morning our worshipful merchants
meet to hear the news, and to discuss their business. Come, we must not
linger, for we have much to see; else there would be many things to
tell. Believe me, sir, I could discourse all day long upon the trade of
London and yet not make an end."
He led me past the Royal Exchange, past two churches, one on the north
side and one on the south, into a broad and open street, which I knew
must be Cheapside.
"Here," said he, "is the beauty of London. This, good Sir, is Chepe."
The street was at least double the width of its modern successor. The
houses, which were the fairest, taken all together, in the whole of the
City, were nearly all five stories high, each story projecting above the
one below, with high-pitched gable facing the street. The fronts were of
brick and timber, and some of them were curiously and richly carved. In
some the third story was provided with a balcony shaded from the sun.
The ground-floor contained the shop, protected by a prentice. A sign
hung in front of every house. In the middle was Queen Eleanor's cross,
the figure of the Virgin and Holy Infant defaced by zealous Protestants.
Near the cross was the conduit. The shops on the south side were of
grocers, haberdashers, and upholsterers. Farther west the goldsmiths
stood together, and then the mercers. The street was filled with people,
some riding, some walking. There were gallants, followed by servants
carrying their swords; there were grave city merchants and fine city
madams; there were working-men and craftsmen; there were the prentices,
too, in every shop, bawling their wares.
[Illustration: SOUTH-WEST VIEW OF AN ANCIENT STRUCTURE IN SHIP-YARD,
TEMPLE BAR]
"When I was a prentice," said Stow, "the boys were made to wear blue
cloaks in summer and blue gowns in winter, with breeches and stockings
of white broadcloth, and flat caps. They attended their master at night
with a lantern and clubs, and they fetched the water in the morning,
unless they were mercers, who were excused. But all good manners are
changed. Now they dress as they please, and except that they carry the
club and break each other's pates withal, they are no longer like the
old prentice. Also, formerly £10 would suffice to bind a lad and make
him free of the City; now £100 is wanted. Well, sir, here you have
Chepe. Rich it is with goodly houses and its ancient churches; I say not
stately churches, because our forefathers loved better to beautify the
religious houses than their parish churches--yet many goodly monuments
are erected in them to the memories of dead worthies. Much of the carved
work and the painting has been destroyed or defaced by the zeal of
reformers, who have broken the painted windows so that false doctrine
should no longer be preached by those dumb orators. Truly, when I think
upon the churches as they were, with all their monuments and chapels and
holy roods, carved and beautified by the cunning of the sculptor and
limner, and look upon them as they are, hacked and hewn, I am fain to
weep for sorrow. Yet, again, when I remember the swarms of monks and
priests from whom we are set free, and our holy martyrs who perished in
the flames, I confess that the destruction was needful." He stepped
aside to make room for a gentlewoman who walked proudly along the
street, followed by a servant.
"Aye," he murmured, "thy husband is a respectable merchant on 'Change;
his father before him, citizen and armorer, also respected. But his
profits will not long suffice to meet thine extravagance, my fine city
madam."
She was of the middle height, and about thirty years of age; her hair
was a bright red. "A week ago it was brown," said my guide. It was
knotted and raised above her forehead; on her head she wore a hood of
muslin, under which one could see gold threads in her hair, and open
peascods with pearls for peas; her face was smeared all over with paint;
a heavy gold chain hung round her neck; her ruff was of enormous size,
and her waist was extravagantly long; her gown was of rich velvet,
looped back to show her petticoat of flowered satin; she had a lovelock
under her left ear, tied with a freshly-cut rose; she was so stuffed out
with hoops that she covered as much space as six women; in one hand she
carried a fan, and in the other a pomander-box, at which she sniffed
perpetually.
"She moves like a painted galley," said Stow. "No barge on the river
finer to look at. All the argosies of the East would be swallowed up by
such a woman. 'Give, give,' say the daughters of the horse-leech. Sir,
the Lord made the female less comely than her mate; witness the peahen
and the pullet in their russet garb compared with the splendor of their
male. This, I take it, is the reason why women continually seek by some
new fashion or device to remove the inequality, and, if possible, to
overtop their lords as well as each other. As for me, I have always
loved a maid in her simplicity, her hair falling in curls about her
lovely face, and her shape visible instead of hidden under ruffs and
hoops. But, alas! what hath a man of eighty to do with maidens?" he
sighed.
"Yonder," he went on, "is the chief pillory, the whipping-place of the
City. Chepe is not only a place of trade and fine clothes. Here have I
seen many things done that would be cruel but for the common weal. Once
I saw a comely maiden lose her ears and have her forehead branded for
trying to poison her mistress. Once I saw a school-master flogged for
cruelly beating a boy. It was rare to see the boys shouting and clapping
their hands as the poor wretch screamed. Some have I seen pilloried for
cheating, some for seditious words, some for disorder. Pillory is a
potent physician. The mere sight of these round holes and that post doth
act like a medicine upon old and young. It is in Smithfield, not in
Chepe, that we chiefly hold our executions. Men and women have been
burned there for other things besides heresy: for poisoning, for false
coining, for murdering. Many are hanged every year in that ruffians'
field. But to-day we shall not see executions. Let us talk of more
mirthful things. And see, here comes a wedding-train!"
The music came first, a noise of crowds and clarions playing merrily.
Next came damsels bearing bride-cakes and gilded loaves. After them a
young man carried the silver bride-cup, filled with hippocras and
garnished with rosemary, which stands for constancy. Then came the bride
herself, a very beauteous lady, dressed all in white, decorated with
long chains of gold, pearls, and precious stones. On her head was a
white lace cap. She was led by two boys in green and gold. After her
walked her parents and other members of the family.
"Ha!" he said, "there will be rare feasting to-day, with masks and
mumming and dancing. We marry but once in our lives. 'Twere pity if we
could not once rejoice. Yet there are some who would turn every feast
into a fast, and make even a wedding the occasion for a sermon. See!
after a wedding a funeral. I am glad the bride met not this. 'Tis bad
luck for a bride to meet a burying."
Then there came slowly marching down the street, while the people
stepped aside and took off their hats, a funeral procession.
"Who hath died?" asked Stow. "This it is to be old and to live retired.
I have not heard. Yet, considering the length of the procession, one
would say a prince in Israel. Neighbor," he asked a by-stander, "whose
funeral is this? Ha! So he is dead! A worthy man; a knight, once
sheriff, citizen, and mercer. You will see, my friend, that we still
know how to mourn our dead worthies, though we lack the singing clerks
and priests who formerly went first, chanting all the way."
The procession drew nearer. "Now," he said, "I take it that you will not
know the order of the march, wherefore I will interpret. First,
therefore, walk the children of Christ's Hospital, two by two; he was,
therefore, a benefactor or governor of the school. Then follow the
yeomen conductors, two by two, in black coats, with black staves. The
poor men of the parish, two by two; then the poor women in like order;
the choir of the church; and the preacher--he has crape over his
cassock. Then a gentleman in hood and gown bearing the standard. Next
three gentlewomen in black gowns; there are the aldermen in violet.
Those two grave persons are the executors of the deceased. There is the
pennon borne by a gentleman in hood and gown; the helm and crest borne
by a pursuivant; the coat of arms borne by a herald, Clarence, King at
Arms."
[Illustration: OBSEQUIES OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY]
After this long procession came the coffin itself, borne by six yeomen
in black coats; it was covered with a black velvet pall. On either side
walked two gentlemen in hoods and gowns, carrying pennons. One of them
bore the arms of the deceased, a gentleman of good family; one bore the
arms of the City; one those of the Mercer's Company; and one those of
the Merchant Adventurers.
Then came the rest of the procession, and my guide began again: "There
follows the chief mourner, the eldest son of the deceased; then four
other mourners, two by two; then the Chamberlain and Town Clerk of the
City; the Sword-bearer; the Lord Mayor in black; the Alderman having no
blacks." I confess that I understood not the distinction, or what
followed. "The estates of women having blacks; Aldermen's wives having
no blacks; the city companies represented by their wardens and clerks;
the masters of the hospitals having green staves." I could have asked
why they chose this color, but had no time. "Lastly, the neighbors and
parishioners carrying evergreens, bay, and rosemary."
So it was finished. A procession wellnigh a quarter of a mile in length.
"Since we must all die," said Master Stow, "it must be a singular
comfort to the rich and those in high place to think that they will be
borne to their graves in such state and pomp, with, doubtless, a goodly
monument in the church to perpetuate their memory. As for me, I am poor
and of no account, only a beggar licensed by grace of his Majesty the
King. My parish church hath a fine pall which it will lend me to cover
my coffin. Four men will carry me across the street and will lower me
into my grave. And so we end."
"Not so an end, good Master Stow," I said. "This city Knight--his name I
did not catch--shall be forgotten before the present generation passes
away, even though they erect a monument to his memory; but thy
achievements will be remembered as long as London Town shall continue. I
see already the monument that shall be raised to thy memory, in addition
to the book which will never die."
"Amen. So be it," he replied. "Come, you have seen the merchants in the
Royal Exchange, and you have seen the shops of Chepe. We will now,
before the hour of dinner, visit Paul's Church-yard and Paul's Walk."
At the western end of Cheapside was the Church of St. Michael le Quern,
a small building sixty feet long, with a square tower fifty feet high,
and a clock on the south face. At the back of the church was the little
conduit. The houses north and south were here exactly alike, uniform in
size and construction. On the south side a broad archway, with a single
room above, and a gabled roof, opened into Paul's Church-yard. "There
are six gates," said Stow, "round the church-yard. This is called Paul's
Gate, or, by some, the Little Gate."
The area included was crowded with buildings and planted with trees. On
the north side were many shops of stationers, each with its sign--the
White Greyhound, the Flower de Luce, the Angel, the Spread Eagle, and
others. In the middle rose the church towering high, its venerable
stones black with age and the smoke of London.
"The place is much despoiled," said the antiquary, "since the days of
the old religion. Many things have been taken down which formerly
beautified the church-yard. For instance, on this very spot, covered now
with dwelling-houses and shops, was the Charnel Chapel, as old as King
Edward the First. It was a chapel of the Blessed Virgin. Sir Richard
Whittington endowed it with a chaplain. There were two brotherhoods; its
crypt was filled with bones; the chapel was filled with monuments. One
would have thought that reverence for the bones would have sufficed to
preserve the chapel. But no. It was in the reign of Edward the Sixth,
when everything was destroyed. The Duke of Somerset pulled down the
chapel. The bones he caused to be placed in carts--they made a thousand
loads--and to be carried to Finsbury Fields, where they were thrown out
and strewn around--a pitiful spectacle. Beside the Charnel Chapel was
the Chapel of the Holy Ghost, served by the seven chaplains of Holme's
College, on the south side of the church-yard. That, too, was destroyed.
But most of all I lament the destruction of the Pardon Church-yard.
Truly this was one of the wonders of London. There stands the plot of
ground, a garden now for the minor canons, but formerly a cloister
wherein were buried many persons of worship, and some of honor, whose
monuments were of curious workmanship. Round the cloister was painted a
dance of death, commonly called the Dance of Paul's, with verses by John
Lydgate, done at the dispense of John Carpenter. Over the east quadrant
was a fair library, given by Walter Sherrington, chancellor to Henry the
Sixth; and in the cloister was a chapel, built by the father of Thomas à
Becket, who lay buried there. Of such antiquity was this beautiful and
venerable place. Neither its age nor its beauty could save it. Nor could
the lesson concerning the presence of death, in this lively portraiture,
save it. Down it must come, and now there remains but two or three old
men like myself who can remember the Dance of Paul's. Well, the figure
of death is gone, but death himself we cannot drive away. There is
Paul's Cross." He pointed to an edifice at the north-east angle of the
transept.
I looked with curiosity at this historical edifice, which was smaller,
as all historical things are, than one expected. It was made of timber,
mounted upon steps of stone, and covered with lead. There was room in it
for three or four persons; a low wall was built round it. A venerable
man was preaching to a small congregation, who sat on wooden benches to
listen.
"What things have not been heard," said Stow, "at Paul's Cross? Here
were the folk motes of old, when the people were called by the great
bell to attend their parliament, and take counsel together. No Common
Council then, my masters, but every man his freedom of speech, and his
vote. Paul's Cross it was which made the Reformation. Here have I heard
Latimer, Ridley, Coverdale, Lever, and I know not whom besides. Here I
saw with my own eyes the Bexley Rood shown, with all the tricks whereby
it was made to open its eyes and lips and seem to speak. All the
Reformation was accomplished from this Cross. For a king may set up a
bishop, and proclaim a doctrine, but the people's hearts must be moved
before their minds are changed. Think what a change was made in their
minds in a few short years! Masses for the dead, purgatory, intercession
of saints, good works, submission to the Church, all gone--all swept
away. And to think that I survive, who was brought up in the ancient
faith, and have witnessed this great revolution in the minds of men. For
now they no longer even remember their ancient faith, save as the creed
of those who lit the accursed flame of Smithfield, and still light the
flames of Madrid. Let us go into the church," he said. "But first
remember, when you look round, that in the old days the chapels in the
aisles were always bright with the burning of wax candles--a
superstition, because the burning of a candle is a fond thing to save a
man's soul withal. Also, in every chapel, all day long, there was the
saying of masses for the dead--another fond superstition--as if a man's
soul is to be saved by the repetition of Latin prayers by another man.
Yet, with these things the Church fulfilled its purpose. Now there are
no more masses; and the chapels are empty and silent, their altars are
removed, the paintings are defaced, and the Church is given over for
worldly things. Come in."
We entered by the north transept.
[Illustration: DR. SHAW PREACHING AT ST. PAUL'S CROSS]