THE CITY AND THE COURT.
One day, in the year 1456, a citizen of London, passing along
Cheapside, happened to meet an Italian carrying a dagger. The citizen
was a young merchant who had lately been on the Continent, and who had,
in some of the Italian states, been prohibited by the magistrates from
wearing a weapon, even for the defense of his life. Naturally indignant
at seeing an Italian doing in the capital of England what an Englishman
was not allowed to do in the cities of Italy, the merchant ventured
upon stopping the foreigner and reminding him of the laws of his own
country.
Not having any relish for being thus challenged, the Italian answered
with some degree of insolence; and the Englishman, stung to the quick,
forcibly seized the dagger of the foreigner, "and," according to the
chroniclers of the period, "with the same a little cut his crown and
cracked his pate." Enraged at this assault, the Italian complained of
the outrage to the lord mayor; and the Englishman, having been summoned
to the court at Guildhall, was committed to Newgate.
Between the London merchants of that day and the foreigners carrying on
business in London no good-will existed. Free trade was not the fashion
of the age; and the inhabitants of the city, hating the Italians for
interfering with their commerce, were ready on any fitting occasion to
rise to the tune of "England for the English." No sooner, therefore,
was it known that an Englishman had been incarcerated for breaking an
Italian's head than he was regarded as a martyr to his patriotism; and
the Londoners, assembling in crowds, compelled the mayor to deliver the
merchant from prison, and took the opportunity of attacking the houses
of all the Italians in London. The mayor, in the utmost alarm, summoned
the elder and graver of the citizens to his assistance; and these, with
much difficulty, prevailed on the crowd to disperse to their homes. As
for the merchant, not seeing any security under the circumstances, he
repaired to Westminster, and there took refuge in the sanctuary.
The riot in London created considerable sensation; and, unfortunately,
the queen, as if she had not already business enough on her hands, took
upon herself to interfere, and expressed her intention of inflicting
signal punishment on the offenders. With that purpose in view, she
instructed two of her dukes, Buckingham and Exeter, to proceed to the
city; and these noblemen, with the mayor and two justices, opened a
commission at Guildhall.
At first the business was conducted with all due form, and the inquiry
was ceremoniously prosecuted. Suddenly, however, a great change
occurred in the city. Bow bell was rung, and at its sound the streets
filled with armed men, who appeared bent on mischief. The queen's
high-born commissioners were, doubtless, as much taken by surprise as
if Jack Cade had come to life again; and, probably, not unmindful of
Lord Say's fate, they abandoned the inquiry in a state of trepidation
hardly consisting with the dignity of a Stafford and a Holland. The
city, however, was nothing the worse for their absence; indeed, the
lord mayor, having thus got rid of his lordly coadjutors, called
some discreet citizens to his aid, and dealt so prudently with the
multitude, that order was restored and justice satisfied.
The part enacted by the queen, in regard to the quarrel between the
English and Italians, destroyed the last particle of affection which
the inhabitants of London entertained for the house of Lancaster; and
Margaret, for many reasons, began to prefer Coventry to the metropolis.
This, however, was not the only result of her interference. In the eyes
of foreigners it elevated the riot to the dignity of an insurrection,
the French mistaking it for one of those revolutions in which the
Parisians, under the auspices of Jean de Troyes and Jean Caboche, were
in the habit of indulging during the reign of the unfortunate Charles.
The French were excusable in their delusion. With an insane king and a
reckless queen in both cases the parallel was somewhat close. But the
French soon discovered their mistake. Having fitted out two expeditions
to avail themselves of our domestic disorders, they intrusted one to
Lord de Pomyers, and the other to Sir Peter de Brezé. Pomyers landed on
the coast of Cornwall, and having burned Towey, sailed back to France
without doing serious mischief. Brezé, with four thousand men, embarked
at Honfleur, made a descent on Sandwich, and proceeded to spoil the
town, which had been deserted by its defenders on account of the
plague; but, the country people in the neighborhood arriving in great
numbers, the invaders were fain to return to their ships.
Such was the end of the riot in London; and from that time the
metropolitan populace adhered to the chiefs of the White Rose; and
to that badge of hereditary pride and personal honor they clung with
fidelity long after it had lost its bloom in the atmosphere of a
corrupt court, and been dyed red on scaffold and battle-field in the
blood of the noble and the brave.