Ladies and gentlemen who are not judges of the superior entertainments
announced, are respectfully requested to bring as many as possible
with them who are.
_N.B. A full Moon during the Week._
This bill is here inserted as a curious specimen of the method adopted
to draw an audience to the superior entertainments of a pleasant little
summer theatre, which, to its credit, discourages the nuisances that
annoy every parent who takes his family to the boxes at the other
theatres.
* * * * *
Before mentioning other particulars concerning the Fair here described,
I present a lively representation of it in former times.
~Bartholomew Fair in 1614.~
“O, rare Ben Jonson!” To him we are indebted for the only picture of
Smithfield at “Barthol’me’-tide” in his time.
In his play of “Bartholomew Fair,” we have John Littlewit, a proctor “o’
the Archdeacon’s-court,” and “one of the pretty wits o’ Paul’s”
persuading his wife, Win-the-fight, to go to the Fair. He says “I have
an affair i’ the Fair, Win, a puppet-play of mine own making.--I writ
for the _motion_-man.” She tells him that her mother, dame Purecraft,
will never consent; whereupon he says, “Tut, we’ll have a device, a
dainty one: long to eat of a pig, sweet Win, i’ the Fair; do you see? i’
the heart o’ the Fair; not at Pye-corner. Your mother will do any thing
to satisfie your longing.” Upon this hint, Win prevails with her mother,
to consult Zeal-of-the-land Busy, a Banbury man “of a most lunatick
conscience and spleen;” who is of opinion that pig “is a meat, and a
meat that is nourishing, and may be eaten; very exceeding well eaten;
but in the Fair, and as a _Bartholmew_ pig, it cannot be eaten; for the
very calling it a _Bartholmew_ pig, and to eat it so, is a spice of
idolatry.” After much deliberation, however, he allows that so that the
offence “be _shadowed_, as it were, it may be eaten, and in the Fair, I
take it--in a _booth_.” He says “there may be a good use made of it too,
now I think on’t, by the public eating of swine’s flesh, to profess our
hate and loathing of Judaism;” and therefore he goes with them.
In the Fair a quarrel falls out between Lanthorn Leatherhead, “a
hobby-horse seller,” and Joan Trash, “a gingerbread woman.”
“_Leatherhead._ Do you hear, sister Trash, lady o’ the basket? sit
farther with your gingerbread progeny there, and hinder not the prospect
of my shop, or I’ll ha’ it proclaimed i’ the Fair, what stuff they are
made on.
“_Trash._ Why, what stuff are they made on, brother Leatherhead? nothing
but what’s wholesome, I assure you.
“_Leatherhead._ Yes; stale bread, rotten eggs, musty ginger, and dead
honey, you know.
“_Trash._ Thou too proud pedlar, do thy worst: I defy thee, I, and thy
stable of hobby-horses. I pay for my ground, as well as thou dost, and
thou wrongs’t me, for all thou art parcel-poet, and an ingineer. I’ll
find a friend shall right me, and make a ballad of thee, and thy cattle
all over. Are you puft up with the pride of your wares? your arsedine?
“_Leatherhead._ Go too, old Joan, I’ll talk with you anon; and take you
down too--I’ll ha’ you i’ the _Pie-pouldres_.”
They drop their abuse and pursue their vocation. Leatherhead calls,
“What do you lack? what is’t you buy? what do you lack? rattles, drums,
halberts, horses, babies o’ the best? fiddles o’ the finest?” Trash
cries, “Buy my gingerbread, gilt gingerbread!” A “costard-monger” bawls
out, “Buy any pears, pears! fine, very fine pears!” Nightingale, another
character, sings,
“Hey, now the Fair’s a filling
O, for a tune to startle
The birds o’ the booths, here billing
Yearly with old Saint _Barthle_!
The drunkards they are wading,
The punks and chapmen trading,
Who’ld see the Fair without his lading?
Buy my ballads! new ballads!”
Ursula, “a pig-woman,” laments her vocation:--“Who would wear out their
youth and prime thus, in roasting of pigs, that had any cooler
occupation? I am all fire and fat; I shall e’en melt away--a poor vex’d
thing I am; I feel myself dropping already as fast as I can: two stone
of sewet a-day is my proportion: I can but hold life and soul together.”
Then she soliloquizes concerning Mooncalf, her tapster, and her other
vocations: “How can I hope that ever he’ll discharge his place of trust,
tapster, a man of reckoning under me, that remembers nothing I say to
him? but look to’t, sirrah, you were best; threepence a pipe-full I will
ha’ made of all my whole half pound of tobacco, and a quarter of a pound
of colts-foot, mixt with it too, to eech it out. Then six-and-twenty
shillings a barrel I will advance o’ my beer, and fifty shillings a
hundred o’ my bottle ale; I ha’ told you the ways how to raise it. (_a
knock._) Look who’s there, sirrah! five shillings a pig is my price at
least; if it be a sow-pig sixpence more.” Jordan Knockhum, “a
horse-courser and a ranger of Turnbull,” calls for “a fresh bottle of
ale, and a pipe of tobacco.” Passengers enter, and Leatherhead says,
“What do you lack, gentlemen? Maid, see a fine hobby-horse for your
young master.” A corn-cutter cries, “Ha’ you any corns i’ your feet and
toes?” Then “a tinder-box man” calls, “Buy a mouse-trap, a mouse-trap,
or a tormentor for a flea!” Trash cries, “Buy some gingerbread!”
Nightingale bawls, “Ballads, ballads, fine new ballads!” Leatherhead
repeats, “What do you lack, gentlemen, what is’t you lack? a fine horse?
a lion? a bull? a bear? a dog? or a cat? an excellent fine Bartholmew
bird? or an instrument? what is’t you lack?” The pig-woman quarrels with
her guests and falls foul on her tapster: “In, you rogue, and wipe the
pigs, and mend the fire, that they fall not; or I’ll both baste and wast
you till your eyes drop out, like ’em.” Knockhum says to the female
passengers, “Gentlewomen, the weather’s hot! whither walk you? Have a
care o’ your fine velvet caps, the Fair is dusty. Take a sweet delicate
booth, with boughs, here, i’ the way, and cool yourselves i’ the shade;
you and your friends. The best pig and bottle ale i’ the Fair, sir, old
Urs’la is cook; there, you may read; the pig’s head speaks it.” Knockhum
adds, that she roasted her pigs “with fire o’ juniper, and rosemary
branches.” Littlewit, the proctor, and his wife, Win-the-fight, with her
mother, dame Purecroft, and Zeal-of-the-land enter. Busy Knockhum
suggests to Ursula that they are customers of the right sort, “In, and
set a couple o’ pigs o’ the board, and half a dozen of the bygist
bottles afore ’em--two to a pig, away!” In another scene Leatherhead
cries, “Fine purses, pouches, pincases, pipes; what is’t you lack? a
pair o’ smiths to wake you i’ the morning? or a fine whistling bird?”
Bartholomew Cokes, a silly “esquire of Harrow,” stops at Leatherhead’s
to purchase: “Those six horses, friend, I’ll have; and the three Jews
trumps; and a half a dozen o’ birds; and that drum; and your smiths (I
like that device o’ your smiths,)--and four halberts; and, let me see,
that fine painted great lady, and her three women for state, I’ll have.
A set of those violins I would buy too, for a delicate young noise I
have i’ the country, that are every one a size less than another, just
like your fiddles.” Trash invites him to buy her gingerbread, and he
turns to her basket, whereupon Leatherhead says, “Is this well, Goody
Joan, to interrupt my market in the midst, and call away my customers?
Can you answer this at the _Pie-pouldres_?” whereto Trash replies, “Why,
if his master-ship have a mind to buy, I hope my ware lies as open as
anothers; I may shew my ware as well as you yours.” Nightingale begins
to sing,
“My masters and friends, and good people draw near.”
Cokes hears this, and says, “Ballads! hark, hark! pray thee, fellow,
stay a little! What ballads hast thou? let me see, let me see
myself--How dost thou call it? ‘_A Caveat against Cut-purses!_’--a good
jest, i’ faith; I would fain see that demon, your cut-purse, you talk
of.” He then shows his purse boastingly, and inquires, “Ballad-man, do
any cut-purses haunt hereabout? pray thee raise me one or two: begin and
shew me one.” Nightingale answers, “Sir, this is a spell against ’em,
spick and span new: and ’tis made as ’twere in mine own person, and I
sing it in mine own defence. But ’twill cost a penny alone if you buy
it.” Cokes replies, “No matter for the price; thou dost not know me I
see, I am an odd _Bartholmew_.” The ballad has “pictures,” and
Nightingale tells him, “It was intended, sir, as if a purse should
chance to be cut in my presence, now; I may be blameless though; as by
the sequel will more plainly appear.” He adds, it is “to the tune of
‘_Paggington’s Pound_,’ sir,” and he finally sings--
~A Caveat against Cut-purses.~
My masters, and friends, and good people draw near,
And look to your purses, for that I do say;
And though little money, in them you do bear,
It cost more to get, than to lose in a day,
You oft’ have been told,
Both the young and the old,
And bidden beware of the cut-purse so bold.
Then if you take heed not, free me from the curse,
Who both give you warning, for, and the cut-purse.
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.
It hath been upbraided to men of my trade,
That oftentimes we are the cause of this crime:
Alack, and for pity, why should it be said?
As if they regarded or places, or time.
Examples have been
Of some that were seen
In Westminster-hall, yea, the pleaders between;
Then why should the judges be free from this curse
More than my poor self, for cutting the purse?
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.
At Worc’ter ’tis known well, and even i’ the jail,
A knight of good worship did there shew his face
Against the foul sinners in zeal for to rail,
And lost, _ipso facto_, his purse in the place.
Nay, once from the seat
Of judgment so great,
A judge there did lose a fair pouch of velvet;
O, Lord for thy mercy, how wicked, or worse,
Are those that so venture their necks for a purse.
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
Than live to be hanged for stealing a purse.
At plays, and at sermons, and at the sessions,
’Tis daily their practice such booty to make;
Yea, under the gallows, at executions,
They stick not the stare-abouts’ purses to take.
Nay, one without grace,
At a better place,
At court, and in Christmas, before the king’s face.
Alack! then, for pity, must I bear the curse,
That only belongs to the cunning cut-purse.
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
Than live to be hanged for stealing a purse.
But O, you vile nation of cut-purses all,
Relent, and repent, and amend, and be sound,
And know that you ought not by honest men’s fall,
Advance your own fortunes to die above ground.
And though you go gay
In silks as you may,
It is not the highway to heaven (as they say.)
Repent then, repent you, for better, for worse;
And kiss not the gallows for cutting a purse.
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.
While Nightingale sings this ballad, a fellow tickles Cokes’s ear with a
straw, to make him withdraw his hand from his pocket, and privately robs
him of his purse, which, at the end of the song, he secretly conveys to
the ballad-singer; who, notwithstanding his “Caveat against Cut-purses,”
is their principal confederate, and, in that quality, becomes the
unsuspected depository of the plunder.
Littlewit tells his wife, Win, of the great hog, and of a bull with five
legs, in the Fair. Zeal-of-the-land loudly declaims against the Fair,
and against Trash’s commodities:--“Hence with thy basket of popery, thy
nest of images, and whole legend of ginger-work.” He rails against “the
prophane pipes, the tinkling timbrels;” and Adam Overdoo, a reforming
justice of peace, one of “the court of _Pie-powders_,” who wears a
disguise for the better observation of disorder, gets into the stocks
himself. Then “a western man, that’s come to wrestle before my lord
mayor anon,” gets drunk, and is cried by “the clerk o’ the market all
the Fair over here, for my lord’s service.” Zeal-of-the-land Busy, too,
is put with others into the stocks, and being asked, “what are you,
sir?” he answers, “One that rejoiceth in his affliction, and sitteth
here to prophesy the destruction of fairs and may-games, wakes and
whitsun-ales, and doth sigh and groan for the reformation of these
abuses.” During a scuffle, the keepers of the stocks leave them open,
and those who are confined withdraw their legs and walk away.
From a speech by Leatherhead, preparatory to exhibiting his “motion,” or
puppet-show, we become acquainted with the subjects, and the manner of
the performance. He says, “Out with the sign of our invention, in the
name of wit; all the fowl i’ the Fair, I mean all the dirt in
Smithfield, will be thrown at our banner to-day, if the matter does not
please the people. O! the _motions_ that I, Lanthorn Leatherhead, have
given light to, i’ my time, since my master, Pod, died! _Jerusalem_ was
a stately thing; and so was _Nineveh_ and _The City of Norwich_, and
_Sodom and Gomorrah_; with the _Rising o’ the Prentices_, and pulling
down the houses there upon Shrove-Tuesday; but _the Gunpowder Plot_,
there was a get-penny! I have presented that to an eighteen or twenty
pence audience nine times in an afternoon. Look to your gathering there,
good master Filcher--and when there come any gentlefolks take twopence
a-piece.” He has a bill of his _motion_ which reads thus: “The Ancient
Modern History of _Hero and Leander_, otherwise called, the _Touchstone
of True Love_, with as true a Trial of Friendship between _Damon and
Pythias_, two faithful Friends o’ the Bank-side.” This was the motion
written by Littlewit. Cokes arrives, and inquires, “What do we pay for
coming in, fellow?” Filcher answers, “Twopence, sir.”
“_Cokes._ What manner of matter is this, Mr. Littlewit? What kind of
actors ha’ you? are they good actors?
“_Littlewit._ Pretty youths, sir, all children both old and young,
here’s the master of ’em, Master Lantern, that gives light to the
business.
“_Cokes._ In good time, sir, I would fain see ’em; I would be glad to
drink with the young company; which is the tiring-house?
“_Leatherhead._ Troth, sir, our tiring-house is somewhat little; we are
but beginners yet, pray pardon us; you cannot go upright in’t.
“_Cokes._ No? not now my hat is off? what would you have done with me,
if you had had me feather and all, as I was once to-day? Ha’ you none of
your pretty impudent boys now, to bring stools, fill tobacco, fetch ale,
and beg money, as they have at other houses? let me see some o’ your
actors.
“_Littlewit._ Shew him ’em, shew him ’em. Master Lantern; this is a
gentleman that is a favourer of the quality.
[_Leatherhead brings the puppets out in a basket._]
“_Cokes._ What! do they live in baskets?
“_Leatherhead._ They do lie in a basket, sir: they are o’ the small
players.
“_Cokes._ These be players minor indeed. Do you call these players?
“_Leatherhead._ They are actors, sir, and as good as any, none
dispraised, for dumb shows: Indeed I am the mouth of ’em all.--This is
he that acts young Leander, sir; and this is lovely Hero; this, with the
beard, Damon; and this, pretty Pythias: this is the ghost of king
Dionysius, in the habit of a scrivener: as you shall see anon, at large.
“_Cokes._ But do you play it according to the printed book? I have read
that.
“_Leatherhead._ By no means, sir.
“_Cokes._ No? How then?
“_Leatherhead._ A better way, sir; _that_ is too learned and poetical
for our audience: what do they know what _Hellespont_ is? _guilty of
true love’s blood_? or what _Abydos_ is? or the other _Sestos_
height?--No; I have entreated master Littlewit to take a little pains to
reduce it to a more familiar strain for our people.
“_Littlewit._ I have only made it a little easy and modern for the
times, sir, that’s all: as for the Hellespont, I imagine our Thames
here; and then Leander, I make a dyer’s son about Puddle-wharf; and
Hero, a wench o’ the Bank-side, who going over one morning to Old
Fish-street, Leander spies her land at Trig’s-stairs, and falls in love
with her: now do I introduce Cupid, having metamorphosed himself into a
drawer, and he strikes Hero in love with a pint of sherry.”
While “Cokes is handling the puppets” the doorkeepers call out “Twopence
a-piece, gentlemen; an excellent _motion_.” Other visitors enter and
take their seats, and Cokes, while waiting with some of his
acquaintance, employs the time at the “game of _vapours_, which is
nonsense; every man to oppose the last man that spoke, whether it
concerned him or no.” The audience become impatient, and one calls out,
“Do you hear puppet-master, these are tedious _vapours_; when begin
you?” Filcher, Leatherhead’s man, with the other doorkeepers, continue
to bawl, “Twopence a-piece, sir; the best _motion_ in the Fair.”
Meanwhile the company talk, and one relates that he has already seen in
the Fair, the eagle; the black wolf; the bull with five legs, which “was
a calf at Uxbridge Fair two years agone;” the dogs that dance the
morrice; and “the hare o’ the taber.”
* * * * *
Ben Jonson’s mention of the hare that beat the tabor at Bartholomew Fair
in his time, is noticed by the indefatigable and accurate Strutt; who
gives the following representation of the feat itself, which he affirms,
when he copied it from a drawing in the Harleian collection, (6563,) to
have been upwards of four hundred years old.
[Illustration: _Hare and Tabor._]
* * * * *
For an idea of Leatherhead’s _motion_ take as follows: it commences
thus:--
_Leatherhead._
Gentiles, that no longer your expectations may wander,
Behold our chief actor, amorous Leander;
With a great deal of cloth, lapp’d about him like a scarf,
For he yet serves his father, a dyer at Puddle-wharf.
Which place we’ll make bold with to call it our _Abidus_,
As the Bank-side is our _Sestos_; and let it not be denied
us
Now as he is beating, to make the dye take the fuller,
Who chances to come by, but fair Hero in a sculler;
And seeing Leander’s naked leg, and goodly calf,
Cast at him from the boat a sheep’s eye and an half,
Now she is landed, and the sculler come back,
By and by you shall see what Leander doth lack.
_Puppet Leander._ Cole, Cole, old Cole.
_Leatherhead._ That is the sculler’s name without controul.
_Pup. Leander._ Cole, Cole, I say, Cole.
_Leatherhead._ We do hear you.
_Pup. Leander._ Old Cole.
_Leatherhead._ Old Cole? is the dyer turn’d collier?--
_Pup. Leander._ Why Cole, I say, Cole.
_Leatherhead._ It’s the sculler you need.
_Pup. Leander._ Aye, and be hang’d.
_Leatherhead._ Be hang’d! look you yonder,
Old Cole, you must go hang with master Leander.
_Puppet Cole._ Where is he?
_Puppet Leander._ Here Cole. What fairest of fairs
Was that fare that thou landest but now at Trig’s-stairs?
_Puppet Cole._ It is lovely Hero.
_Puppet Leander._ Nero?
_Puppet Cole._ No, Hero.
_Leatherhead._ It is Hero
Of the Bank-side, he saith, to tell you truth, without erring,
Is come over into Fish-street to eat some fresh herring.
Leander says no more but as fast as he can,
Gets on all his best clothes, and will after to the swan.
In this way Leatherhead proceeds with his _motion_; he relates part of
the story himself, in a ribald manner, and making the puppets quarrel,
“the puppet Cole strikes him over the pate.” He performs _Damon_ and
_Pythias_ in the same way, and renders the “gallimaufry” more
ridiculous, by a battle between the puppets in _Hero_ and _Leander_, and
those of _Damon_ and _Pythias_. Zeal-of-the-land Busy interferes with
the puppet Dionysius, who had been raised up by Leatherhead--
“Not like a monarch but the master of a school,
In a scrivener’s furr’d gown which shows he is no fool;
For, therein he hath wit enough to keep himself warm:
O Damon! he cries, and Pythias what harm
Hath poor Dionysius done you in his grave,
That after his death, you should fall out thus and rave,” &c.
Zeal-of-the-land contends that Dionysius hath not a “lawful calling.”
That puppet retorts by saying he hath; and inquires--“What say you to
the feather makers i’ the Fryers, with their peruques and their puffs,
their fans and their huffs? what say you? Is a bugle-maker a lawful
calling? or the confect-makers? such as you have there? or your French
fashioner? Is a puppet worse than these?”--Whereto Zeal-of-the-land
answers--“Yes, and my main argument against you is, that you are an
abomination; for the male among you putteth on the apparel of the
female, and the female of the male.” The puppet Dionysius triumphantly
replies, “You lie, you lie, you lie abominably. It’s your old stale
argument against the _players_; but it will not hold against the
_puppets_: for we have neither male nor female amongst us.” Upon this
point, which persons versed in dramatic history are familiar with,
Zeal-of-the-land says, “I am confuted, the _cause_ hath failed me--I am
changed, and will become a beholder.”
* * * * *
These selections which are here carefully brought together may, so far
as they extend, be regarded as a picture of Bartholomew Fair in 1614,
when Jonson wrote his comedy for representation before king James I. We
learn too from this play that there was a tooth-drawer, and “a jugler
with a well educated ape, to come over the chain for the king of
England, and back again for the prince, and to sit still on his hind
quarters for the pope and the king of Spain;” that there was a
whipping-post in the Fair, and that Smithfield was dirty and stinking.
Beside particulars, which a mere historiographer of the scene would have
recorded, there are some that are essentially illustrative of popular
manners, which no other than an imaginative mind would have seized, and
only a poet penned.
* * * * *
A little digression may be requisite in explanation of the term
_arsedine_, used by Trash to Leatherhead in Jonson’s play; the
denomination _costermonger_; the tune _Paggington’s-pound_; and the
_Pie-pouldres_, or _Pie Powder Court_.
_Arsedine._
This is also called _arsadine_, and sometimes _orsden_, and is said to
be a colour. Mr. Archdeacon Nares says, that according to Mr. Lysons, in
his “Environs of London,” and Mr. Gifford in his note on this passage,
it means _orpiment_ or _yellow_ arsenic. The archdeacon in giving these
two authorities, calls the word a “vulgar corruption” of “arsenic:” but
arsenic yields _red_, as well as _yellow_ orpiment, and both these
colours are used in the getting up of shows. Possibly it is an
Anglo-Saxon word for certain pigments, obtained from minerals and
metals: the _ore_ oꞃe or oꞃa is pure Saxon, and pluralizes _ores_; to
_die_ in the sense of _dying_, or colouring, is derived from the Saxon
ðeaᵹ or ðeah. The conjecture may be worth a thought perhaps, for
dramatic exhibitions were in use when the Anglo-Saxon was used.
_Costermonger._
This is a corruption of costard-monger; Ben Jonson uses it both ways,
and it is noticed of his costermonger by Mr. Archdeacon Nares, that “he
cries only _pears_.” That gentleman rightly defines a _costard_-monger,
or _coster_-monger, to be “a seller of _apples_;” he adds, “one
generally who kept a stall.” He says of _costard_, that, “as a species
of apple, it is enumerated with others, but it must have been a very
common sort, as it gave a name to the dealers in apples.” In this
supposition Mr. Nares is correct; for it was not only a very common
sort, but perhaps, after the crab, it was our oldest sort: there were
three kinds of it, the white, red, and grey costard. That the
costard-monger, according to Mr. Nares, “_generally_ kept a stall;” “and
that they were general fruit-sellers,” he unluckily has not corroborated
by an authority; although from his constant desire to be accurate, and
his general accuracy, the assertions are to be regarded with respect.
Randle Holme gives this figure of
[Illustration: _A Huxter._]
Holme, in his heraldic language, says of this representation, “He
beareth _gules_ a man _passant_, his shirt or shift turned up to his
shoulder, breeches and hose _azure_, cap and shoes _sable_, bearing on
his back a bread basket full of fruits and herbs, and a staff in his
left hand, _or_. This may be termed either a _huxter_ or a _gardiner_,
having his fruits and herbs on his back from the market. This was a fit
crest for the company of _Fruiterers_ or _Huxters_.” This man is a
_costard-monger_ in Mr. Archdeacon Nares’s view of the term; for
doubtless the huckster pitched his load in the market and sold it there;
yet Holme does not give him that denomination, as he would have done if
he had so regarded him; he merely calls him “the _hutler_ or _huxter_.”
_Packington’s Pound._
Concerning the air of this old song, “Hawkins’s History of Music” may be
consulted. The tune may also be found in the “Beggar’s Opera,” adapted
to the words--“The gamesters united in friendship are found.”[275]
_Court of Pie Powder._
This is the lowest, and at the same time the most expeditious, court of
justice known to the law of England. It is a court of record incident to
every fair and market; its jurisdiction extends to administer justice
for all commercial injuries done in that very fair or market, and not in
any preceding one; and to every fair and market, the steward of him who
owns the toll is the judge. The injury, therefore, must be done,
complained of, and redressed, within the compass of one and the same
day, unless the fair continues longer. It has cognizance of all matters
of contract that can possibly arise within the precinct of that fair or
market; and the plaintiff must make oath that the cause of an action
arose there. This court seems to have arisen from the necessity of doing
justice expeditiously, among persons resorting from distant places to a
fair or market, without leaving them to the remedy of an inferior court,
which might not be able to serve its process, or execute its judgments
on both, or perhaps either of the parties; and therefore without such a
court as this, the complaint must necessarily have resorted to, in the
first instance, some superior judicature. It is said to be called the
court of _pie-poudre_, _curia pedis pulverizati_, from the dusty feet
of the suitors; or, as sir Edward Coke says, because justice is there
done as speedily as dust can fall from the feet: but Blackstone, who
says thus much of this court, inclines to the opinion of Daines
Barrington, who derives it from _pied puldreaux_, (a pedlar, in old
French,) and says, it signifies, therefore, the court of such petty
chapmen as resort to fairs or markets.
Courts similar to pie-powder courts were usual both with Greeks and
Romans, who introduced fairs into Germany and the north.[276]
[Illustration: ~_The Pedlar._~]
This is his figure from Randle Holme, who describes him thus:--“He
beareth _argent_, a crate carrier, with a crate upon his back, _or_;
cloathed in _russed_, with a staffe in his left hand; hat and shoes
_sable_.” He observes, that “this is also termed a pedlar and his pack,”
and he carefully notes that the difference between a _porter_ and a
pedlar consists in this, that “the _porter’s_ pack reacheth over his
head and so answerable below; but the _pedlar’s_ is a small truss,
bundle, or _fardel_, not exceeding the middle of his head as in this
figure.” Every reader of Shakspeare knows the word “fardel:”--
-------“Who would _fardels_ bear
To groan and sweat under a weary life,” &c.
_Fardel_ means a burden, or bundle, or pack, and so Holme has called the
pedlar’s pack. The word is well known in that sense to those acquainted
with our earlier language. An Act of common council of the first of
August, 1554, against “Abuses offered to Pauls,” recites, that the
inhabitants of London, and others, were accustomed to make their common
carriage of “_fardels_ of stuffe, and other grosse wares and things
thorow the cathedrall church of Saint Pauls,” and prohibits the abuse.
There is an old book entitled, “a _Fardel_ of Fancies;” that is, a
variety of fancies fardelled or packed together in a bundle or burthen.
“_Fancies_” was a name for pleasant ballads, or poetical effusions;--and
hence, because Orlando “hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on
brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind,” she calls him a
“_fancy_ monger.”
_The Porter._
It is to be noted too, that a porter is clearly described by Holme. “He
beareth _vert_, a porter carrying of a pack, _argent_, corked, sable;
cloathed in tawney, cap and shoes _sable_. This is the badge and
cognizance of all porters and carriers of burthens;” but that there may
be no mistake, he adds, “they have ever a leather girdle about them,
with a strong rope of two or three fouldings hanging thereat, which they
have in readiness to bind the burdens to their backs whensoever called
thereunto.”
[Illustration: ~_The Porter’s Knot, now used,_~]
did not exist in Randle Holme’s time. This subsequent invention consists
of a strong fillet to encircle the head, attached to a curiously stuffed
cushion of the width of the shoulders, whereon it rests, and is of
height sufficient to bear thereon a box, or heavy load of any kind,
which, by means of this knot, is carried on the head and shoulders; the
weight thereof being borne equally by the various powers of the body
capable of sustaining pressure, no muscles are distressed, but the whole
are brought to the porter’s service in his labour of carrying.
* * * * *
“Bartholomew Faire,” a rare quarto tract printed in 1641, under that
title states, that “Bartholomew Faire begins on the twenty-fourth day of
August, and is then of so vast an extent, that it is contained in no
lesse than four several parishes, namely, Christ Church, Great and
Little St. Bartholomewes, and St. Sepulchres. Hither resort people of
all sorts and conditions. Christ Church cloisters are now hung full of
pictures. It is remarkable and worth your observation to beholde and
heare the strange sights and confused noise in the Faire. Here, a knave
in a foole’s coate, with a trumpet sounding, or on a drumme beating,
invites you to see his puppets: there, a rogue like a wild woodman, or
in an antick shape like an Incubus, desires your company to view his
motion: on the other side, Hocus Pocus, with three yards of tape, or
ribbin, in’s hand, shewing his art of legerdemaine, to the admiration
and astonishment of a company of cockoloaches. Amongst these, you shall
see a gray Goose-cap, (as wise as the rest,) with a what do ye lacke in
his mouth, stand in his boothe, shaking a rattle, or scraping on a
fiddle, with which children are so taken, that they presentlie cry out
for these fopperies: and all these together make such a distracted
noise, that you would thinck Babell were not comparable to it. Here
there are also your gamesters in action: some turning of a whimsey,
others throwing for pewter, who can quickly dissolve a round shilling
into a three halfepeny saucer. Long-lane at this time looks very faire,
and puts out her best cloaths, with the wrong side outward, so turn’d
for their better turning off: and Cloth Faire is now in great request:
well fare the ale-houses therein, yet better may a man fare, (but at a
dearer rate,) in the pig-market, alias Pasty-Nooke, or Pye-Corner, where
pigges are al houres of the day on the stalls piping hot, and would cry,
(if they could speak,) ‘come eate me.’”
_Pye Corner._
This is the place wherein Ben Jonson’s Littlewit, the proctor, willed
that his wife Win-the-fight should not eat Bartholomew pig:--“Long to
eat of a pig, sweet Win, i’ the Fair; do you see? i’ the heart o’ the
Fair; not at, Pye-corner.”
“Pye-corner was so called” says Dr. (James) Howel, “of such a sign,
sometimes a fair Inne, for receipt of travellers, but now devided into
tenements.” It was at Pye-corner as observed before, that the Fire of
London ended: the houses that escaped were taken down in October, 1809,
and upon their site other dwelling-houses have been erected, together
with an engine-house, belonging to the Hope Fire Assurance company,[277]
where it stands at present (in 1825). It was estimated in the year 1732,
that “the number of sucking pigs then annually consumed in this city,
(of London) amounted to fifty-two thousand[278].”
~Roast Pig.~
“_A flower_--cropped in its prime.”
ELIA, author of the incomparable volume of “Essays,” published “under
that name,” by Messrs. Taylor and Hessey, indulges in a “Dissertation
upon Roast Pig.” He cites a Chinese MS. to establish its origin, when
flesh was eaten uncooked, and affirms that “the period is not obscurely
hinted at by the great Confucius, in the second chapter of his ‘Mundane
Mutations,’ where he designates a kind of golden age by the term
Cho-fang, literally the cooks’ holiday.” He premises “broiling to be the
elder brother of roasting,” and relates on the authority of the
aforesaid MS. that “roast pig” “was accidentally discovered in the
manner following”--viz.
“The swine-herd, Ho-ti, having gone out into the woods one morning, as
his manner was, to collect mast for his hogs, left his cottage in the
care of his eldest son Bo-bo, a great lubberly boy, who, being fond of
playing with fire, as younkers of his age commonly are, let some sparks
escape into a bundle of straw, which, kindling quickly, spread the
conflagration over every part of their poor mansion, till it was reduced
to ashes. Together with the cottage (a sorry antediluvian makeshift of a
building, you may think it), what was of much more importance, a fine
litter of new-farrowed pigs, no less than nine in number, perished.
China pigs have been esteemed a luxury all over the east from the
remotest periods that we read of. Bo-bo was in the utmost consternation,
as you may think, not so much for the sake of the tenement, which his
father and he could easily build up again with a few dry branches, and
the labour of an hour or two, at any time, as for the loss of the pigs.
While he was thinking what he should say to his father, and wringing his
hands over the smoking remnants of one of those untimely sufferers, an
odour assailed his nostrils, unlike any scent which he had before
experienced. What could it proceed from?--not from the burnt cottage--he
had smelt that smell before--indeed this was by no means the first
accident of the kind which had occurred through the negligence of this
unlucky young fire-brand. Much less did it resemble that of any known
herb, weed, or flower. A premonitory moistening at the same time
overflowed his nether lip. He knew not what to think. He next stooped
down to feel the pig, if there were any signs of life in it. He burnt
his fingers, and to cool them he applied them in his booby fashion to
his mouth. Some of the crums of the scorched skin had come away with his
fingers, and for the first time in his life (in the world’s life indeed,
for before him no man had known it), he tasted--_crackling_! Again he
felt and fumbled at the pig. It did not burn him so much now, still he
licked his fingers from a sort of habit. The truth at length broke into
his slow understanding, that it was the pig that smelt so, and the pig
that tasted so delicious; and, surrendering himself up to the newborn
pleasure, he fell to tearing up whole handfuls of the scorched skin with
the flesh next it, and was cramming it down his throat in his beastly
fashion, when his sire entered amid the smoking rafters, armed with a
retributory cudgel, and finding how affairs stood, began to rain blows
upon the young rogue’s shoulders as thick as hailstones, which Bo-bo
heeded not any more than if they had been flies. The tickling pleasure,
which he experienced in his lower regions, had rendered him quite
callous to any inconveniences he might feel in those remote quarters.
His father might lay on, but he could not beat him from his pig.”
Bo-bo in the afternoon, regardless of his father’s wrath, and with his
“scent wonderfully sharpened since morning, soon raked out another pig,
and fairly rending it asunder, thrust the lesser half by main force into
the fists of Ho-ti, still shouting out, ‘Eat, eat, eat, the burnt pig,
father; only taste--O Lord!’--with such like barbarous ejaculations,
cramming all the while as if he would choke.” The narrative relates,
that “Ho-ti trembled every joint while he grasped the abominable thing,
wavering whether he should not put his son to death for an unnatural
young monster, when the crackling scorching his fingers, as it had done
his son’s, and applying the same remedy to them, he in his turn tasted
some of its flavour, which, make what sour mouths he would for a
pretence, proved not altogether displeasing to him. In conclusion, (for
the manuscript here is a little tedious,) both father and son fairly set
down to the mess, and never left off till they had despatched all that
remained of the little.
“Bo-bo was strictly enjoined not to let the secret escape, for the
neighbours would certainly have stoned them for a couple of abominable
wretches, who could think of improving upon the good meat which God had
sent them. Nevertheless, strange stories got about. It was observed that
Ho-ti’s cottage was burnt down now more frequently than ever. Nothing
but fires from this time forward. Some would break out in broad day,
others in the night-time. As often as the sow farrowed, so sure was the
house of Ho-ti to be in a blaze; and Ho-ti himself, which was the more
remarkable, instead of chastising his son, seemed to grow more indulgent
to him than ever. At length they were watched, the terrible mystery
discovered, and father and son summoned to take their trial at Pekin,
then an inconsiderable assize town. Evidence was given, the obnoxious
food itself produced in court, and verdict about to be pronounced, when
the foreman of the jury begged that some of the burnt pig, of which the
culprits stood accused, might be handed into the box. He handled it, and
they all handled it, and burning their fingers, as Bo-bo and his father
had done before them, and nature prompting to each of them the same
remedy, against the face of all the facts, and the clearest charge which
judge had ever given,--to the surprise of the whole court, townsfolk,
strangers, reporters, and all present--without leaving the box, or any
manner of consultation whatever, they brought in a simultaneous verdict
of Not Guilty.
“The judge, who was a shrewd fellow, winked at the manifest iniquity of
the decision; and, when the court was dismissed, went privily, and
bought up all the pigs that could be had for love or money. In a few
days his lordship’s town house was observed to be on fire. The thing
took wing, and now there was nothing to be seen but fires in every
direction. Fuel and pigs grew enormously dear all over the district. The
insurance offices one and all shut up shop. People built slighter and
slighter every day, until it was feared that the very science of
architecture would in no long time be lost to the world. Thus this
custom of firing houses continued, till in process of time, says my
manuscript, a sage arose, like our Locke, who made a discovery, that the
flesh of swine, or indeed of any other animal, might be cooked (_burnt_,
as they called it,) without the necessity of consuming a whole house to
dress it. They first began the rude form of a gridiron. Roasting by the
string, or spit, came in a century or two later, I forget in whose
dynasty. By such slow degrees, concludes the manuscript, do the most
useful, and seemingly the most obvious arts, make their way among
mankind.”
ELIA maintains, that of all the delicacies in the whole eatable world,
“roast pig” is the most delicate.--“I speak,” he says, “not of your
grown porkers--things between pig and pork--those hobbydehoys--but a
young and tender suckling--under a moon old--guiltless as yet of the
sty,” with “his voice as yet not broken, but something between a
childish treble and a grumble--the mild forerunner, or _præludium_, of a
grunt.
“_He must be roasted._ I am not ignorant that our ancestors ate them
seethed, or boiled--but what a sacrifice of the exterior tegument!
“There is no flavour comparable, I will contend, to that of the crisp,
tawny, well-watched, not over-roasted _crackling_, as it is well
called--the very teeth are invited to their share of the pleasure at
this banquet in overcoming the coy, brittle resistance--with the
adhesive oleaginous--O call it not fat--but an indefinable sweetness
growing up to it--the tender blossoming of fat--fat cropped in the
bud--taken in the shoot--in the first innocence--the cream and
quintessence of the child-pig’s yet pure food--the lean, no lean, but a
kind of animal manna--or, rather fat and lean (if it must be so) so
blended and running into each other, that both together make but one
ambrosial result, or common substance.
“Behold him while he is doing--it seemeth rather a refreshing warmth,
than a scorching heat, that he is so passive to. How equally he twirleth
round the string!--Now he is just done. To see the extreme sensibility
of that tender age, he hath wept out his pretty eyes--radiant
jellies--shooting stars.
“See him in the dish, his second cradle, how meek he lieth!--wouldst
thou have had this innocent grow up to the grossness and indocility
which too often accompany maturer swinehood? Ten to one he would have
proved a glutton, a sloven, an obstinate, disagreeable animal--wallowing
in all manner of filthy conversation--from these sins he is happily
snatched away--
Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade,
Death came with timely care--
his memory is odoriferous--no clown curseth, while his stomach half
rejecteth, the rank bacon--no coalheaver bolteth him in reeking
sausages--he hath a fair sepulchre in the grateful stomach of the
judicious epicure--and for such a tomb might be content to die.”
ELIA further allegeth of “pig,” that “the strong man may batten on him,
and the weakling refuseth not his mild juices. He is--good throughout.
No part of him is better or worse than another. He helpeth, as far as
his little means extend, all around. He is the least envious of
banquets. He is all neighbours’ fare.”
“I am one of those,” continueth ELIA, “who freely and ungrudgingly
impart a share of the good things of this life which fall to their lot
(few as mine are in this kind) to a friend. I protest, I take as great
an interest in my friend’s pleasures, his relishes, and proper
satisfactions, as in mine own. ‘Presents,’ I often say, ‘endear
absents.’ Hares, pheasants, partridges, snipes, barn-door chickens
(those ‘tame villatic fowl’), capons, plovers, brawn, barrels of
oysters, I dispense as freely as I receive them. I love to taste them,
as it were, upon the tongue of my friend. But a stop must be put
somewhere. One would not, like Lear, ‘give every thing.’ I make my stand
upon pig. * * *
“I remember an hypothesis, argued upon by the young students, when I was
at St. Omer’s, and maintained with much learning and pleasantry on both
sides, ‘Whether, supposing that the flavour of a pig who obtained his
death by whipping (_per flagellationem extremam_) superadded a pleasure
upon the palate of a man more intense than any possible suffering we can
conceive in the animal, is man justified in using that method of putting
the animal to death?’ I forget the decision.
“His sauce should be considered. Decidedly, a few bread crums, done up
with his liver and brains, and a dash of mild sage. But banish, dear
Mrs. Cook, I beseech you, the whole onion tribe. Barbacue your whole
hogs to your palate, steep them in shallots, stuff them out with
plantations of the rank and guilty garlic; you cannot poison them, or
make them stronger than they are--but consider, he is a weakling--a
flower.”
* * * * *
[Illustration: ~Part of Bartholomew Fair, 1721.~]
The two engravings whereon the reader now looks, are from a very curious
scenic print of this Fair, as represented on an old fan, recently
published by Mr. Setchel, of King-street, Covent-garden. The
letter-press account subjoined to Mr. Setchel’s print says, that “about
the year 1721, when the present interesting view of this popular Fair
was taken, the drama was considered of some importance, and a series of
minor, although regular, pieces, were acted in its various booths. At
Lee and Harper’s, the ‘Siege of Berthulia’ is performing, in which is
introduced the tragedy of ‘Holophernes.’”
Mr. Setchel’s account further represents, that “Persons of rank were
also its occasional visitors, and the figure on the right (with the
star) is also supposed to be that of sir Robert Walpole, then prime
minister. Fawkes, the famous conjuror, forms a conspicuous feature, and
is the only portrait of him known to exist.”
[Illustration: ~Another Part in the same Fair.~]
There is however, another portrait of Fawkes, the conjuror: it is a
sheet, engraved by Sutton Nichols, representing him in the midst of his
performances. Hogarth’s frontispiece to a scarce tract on “Taste,”
wherein he bespatters Burlington-gate, further tends to perpetuate
Fawkes’s fame, by an inscription announcing his celebrated feats. It is
recorded, too, in the first volume of the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” that
on the 15th of February, 1731, the Algerine ambassadors went to see Mr.
Fawkes, who, at their request, showed them a prospect of Algiers, “and
raised up an apple-tree, which bore ripe apples in less than a minute’s
time, which several of the company tasted of.” This was one of his last
performances, for, in the same volume, his name is in the list of
“Deaths,” on the 25th of May, that year, thus: “Mr. Fawkes, noted for
his dexterity of hand, said to die worth 10,000_l._” The newspapers of
the period relate, that “he had honestly acquired” it, by his
“dexterity,” and add, that it was “no more than he really deserved for
his great ingenuity, by which he had surpassed all that ever pretended
to that art. It will be observed from the show-cloth of the tumblers,
that Fawkes was also a “famous posture-master:--
The tumbler whirls the flip-flap round,
With sommersets he shakes the ground;
The cord beneath the dancer springs;
Aloft in air the vaulter swings,
Distorted now, now prone depends,
Now through his twisted arms descends;
The crowd in wonder and delight,
With clapping hands applaud the sight.
_Gay._
On the platform of Lee and Harper’s show, with “Judith and Holophernes,”
in Mr. Setchel’s print, which is handsomely coloured in the manner of
the fan, the clown, behind the trumpeter, is dressed in black. The lady
who represents Judith, as she is painted on the show-cloth, is herself
on the platform, with feathers on her head; the middle feather is blue,
the others red. She wears a laced stomacher, white hanging sleeves with
rosettes, and a crimson petticoat with white rosettes in triangles, and
suitably flounced. Holophernes, in a rich robe lined with crimson and
edged with gold lace, wears light brown buskins, the colour of untanned
leather; Harlequin, instead of the little flat three-corner flexible
cap, wherein he appears at our present theatres, has a round beaver of
the same light colour. Two females entering at the door below are,
apparently, a lady and her maid; the first is in green, and wears a cap
with lappets falling behind, and white laced ruffles; the other, with a
fan in her hand, is in a tawny gown, striped with red, and cuffs of the
same; the lady and gentleman in mourning are evidently about to follow
them. From hence we see the costume of the quality, and that at that
time Bartholomew Fair was honoured with such visitors.
The boy picking the gentleman’s pocket is removed from another part of
Mr. Setchel’s print, which could not be included in the present
engraving, to show that the artist had not forgotten to represent that
the picking of pockets succeeded to the cutting of purses. The person in
black, whose gaze the baker, or man with the apron, is directing with
his finger, looks wonderfully like old Tom Hearne. Indeed, this
fan-print is exceedingly curious, and indispensable to every
“illustrator of Pennant,” and collector of manners. In that print to the
right of Lee and Harper’s is another show, with “Rope-dancing is here,”
on a show-cloth, representing a female with a pole on the tight-rope; a
stout middle-aged man, in a green coat, and leather breeches, walks the
platform and blows a trumpet; the door below is kept by a woman, and the
figures on the printed posting-bills against the boards exhibit a man on
the tight-rope, and two slack-ropes; a figure is seated and swinging on
one rope, and on the other a man swings by the hams, with his head
downward: the bills state this to be “At the great booth over against
the hospital-gate in Smithfield.” Near to where the hospital-gate may be
supposed to stand is a cook, or landlord, at the door of a house, with
“Right Redstreak Cyder, at per quart,” on the jamb; on the other
jamb, a skittle is painted standing on a ball, and an inscription
“Sketle ground;” above his head, on a red portcullis-work, is the sign
of a punch-bowl and ladle, inscribed “Fine punch;” at the window-way of
the house hang two _Bartholomew_ “pigs with curly tails,” and a side of
large pork.
There is an “up and down,” or swing, of massive wood-work, with two
children in three of the boxes, and one empty box waiting for another
pair. Then there is a spacious sausage-stall; a toy-stall, kept by a
female, with bows, halberts, rattles, long whistles, dolls, and other
knick-knackeries: a little boy in a cocked hat is in possession of a
large halbert, and his older sister is looking wistfully at a Chinese
doll on the counter; a showman exhibits the “Siege of Gibraltar” to two
girls looking through the glasses. These are part of the amusements
which are alluded to, in the inscription on the print now describing, as
“not unlike those of our day, except in the articles of Hollands and
gin, with which the lower orders were then accustomed to indulge,
unfettered by licence or excise.” A man with tubs of “Right Hollands
Geneva, and Anniseed,” having a cock in each, is serving a bearded
beggar with a wooden-leg to a glass, much nearer to the capacity of half
a pint, than one of “three outs” of the present day; while a woman, with
a pipe in one hand, holds up a full spirit-measure, of at least half a
pint, to her own share; there is toping from a barrel of “Geneva” at
another stall; and the postures of a couple of oyster-women denote that
the uncivil provocative has raised the retort uncourteous. The visit of
sir Robert Walpole to this scene might have suggested to him, that his
licence and excise scheme, afterwards so unpopular, though ultimately
carried, would aid a reformation of manners.
_Lady Holland’s Mob._
On the night before the day whereon the lord mayor proclaims the Fair, a
riotous assemblage of persons heretofore disturbed Smithfield and its
environs, under the denomination of “Lady Holland’s mob.” This
multitude, composed of the most degraded characters of the metropolis,
was accustomed to knock at the doors and ring the bells, with loud
shouting and vociferation; and they often committed gross outrages on
persons and property. The year 1822, was the last year wherein they
appeared in any alarming force, and then the inmates of the houses they
assailed, or before which they paraded, were aroused and kept in terror
by their violence. In Skinner-street, especially, they rioted
undisturbed until between three and four in the morning: at one period
that morning their number was not less than five thousand, but it varied
as parties went off, or came in, to and from the assault of other
places. Their force was so overwhelming, that the patrol and watchmen
feared to interfere, and the riot continued till they had exhausted
their fury.
It has been supposed that this mob first arose, and has been continued,
in celebration of a verdict obtained by a Mr. Holland, which freed the
Fair from toll; but this is erroneous. “Lady Holland’s mob” may be
traced so far back as the times of the commonwealth, when the ruling
powers made considerable efforts to suppress the Fair altogether; and
when, without going into particulars to corroborate the conjecture, it
may be presumed that the populace determined to support what they called
their “charter,” under the colour of the “Holland” interest, in
opposition to the civic authorities. The scene of uproar always
commenced in Cloth-fair, and the present existence of an annual custom
there, throws some light on the matter. At “the Hand and Shears,” a
public-house in that place, it is the usage, at this time, for tailors
to assemble the night before the Fair is proclaimed by the lord mayor.
They appoint a chairman, and exactly as the clock strikes twelve, he and
his companions, each with a pair of shears in his hand, leave the house,
and, in the open street of Cloth-fair, the chairman makes a speech and
proclaims “Bartholomew Fair.” As soon as he concludes, every tailor
holds up and snaps his shears with a shout, and they retire, shears in
hand, snapping and shouting, to the “Hand and Shears,” from whence they
came forth; but the mob, who await without, to witness the ceremony,
immediately upon its being ended, run out into Smithfield, and being
joined by others there shout again. This second assemblage and shouting
is called “the mob proclaiming the Fair;” and so begins the annual mob,
called “Lady Holland’s mob.” Since 1822, the great body have confined
their noise to Smithfield itself, and their number and disorder annually
decrease.
ORIGIN
OF
~Bartholomew Fair.~
About the year 1102, in the reign of Henry I., the priory, hospital, and
church of St. Bartholomew, in Smithfield, were founded by one Rahere, a
minstrel of the king, and “a pleasant witted gentleman.” It seems that
Rahere was determined to this pious work in a fit of sickness, during a
pilgrimage he made to Rome agreeably to the fashion of the times, when
St. Bartholomew appeared to him, and required him to undertake the work
and perform it in Smithfield.[279] Before that time Smithfield, or the
greater part of it, was called “the Elms,” because it was covered with
elm trees; “since the which time,” saith Stow, “building there hath so
increased that now remaineth not one tree growing.” Smithfield derives
its name from its being “a plain or smooth field.”[280] Regarding
Rahere’s occupation as a minstrel, it may be observed, that minstrels
were reciters of poems, story tellers, performers upon musical
instruments, and sometimes jugglers and buffoons. Rahere “ofte hawnted
the kyng’s palice, and amo’ge the noyse-full presse of that tumultuous
courte, enforsed hymselfe with jolite and carnal suavite: ther yn
spectaclis, yn metys, yn playes, and other courtely mokkys, and
trifyllis intrudyng, he lede forth the besynesse of alle the day.”[281]
It is related of a person in this capacity, that he was employed by a
king as a story teller, on purpose to lull him to sleep every night; and
that the king’s requiring him to tell longer stories, the romancer began
one of so great length, that he himself fell asleep in the midst of
it.[282] Racine, the French poet, was scarcely higher employed when he
was engaged in reading Louis XIV. to sleep with “Plutarch’s Lives:” to
such a king the narratives of the philosophical biographer were fables.
Rahere was the first prior of his monastery. There was a remarkable
visitation of it by Boniface, archbishop of Canterbury, who being
received with a procession in a solemn manner, said he did not require
that honour, but came to visit them; whereto the canons answered, that
to submit to the visitation of any other than their own prelate, the
bishop of London, would be in contempt of his authority; whereupon the
archbishop conceiving great offence, struck the sub-prior in the face,
and “raging, with oathes not to bee recited, hee rent in peeces the rich
cope of the sub-prior, and trode it under his feete, and thrust him
against a pillar of the chancell, with such violence that hee had almost
killed him.” Then the canons dragged off the archbishop with so great
force that they threw him backwards, and thus perceived that he was
armed, and prepared to fight; and the archbishop’s followers falling
upon the canons, beat and tore them, and trod them under foot; who
thereupon ran bleeding with complaints of the violence to the bishop of
London, who sent four of them to the king at Westminster, but he would
neither hear nor see them. In the mean time, the city was in an uproar,
and the people would “have hewed the archbishop into small peeces,” if
he had not secretly withdrawn to Lambeth, from whence he went over to
the king, “with a great complaint against the canons, whereas himself
was guilty.”[283] How the affair ended does not appear.
Stow says, that “to this priory king Henry the second granted the
priviledge of a Faire to bee kept yeerly at Bartholomew-tide, for three
daies, to wit, the eve, the day, and the next morrow, to the which the
clothiers of England, and drapers of London repaired, and had their
boothes and standings within the church-yard of this priory, closed in
with wals and gates locked every night, and watched for safety of mens
goods and wares; a court of piepowders was daily during the Faire
holden, for debts and contracts. But,” continues Stow, “notwithstanding
all proclamations of the prince, and also the act of parliament, in
place of booths within this church-yard (only letten out in the Faire
time, and closed up all the yeere after) bee many large houses builded,
and the north wall towards Long-lane taken downe, a number of tenements
are there erected, for such as will give great rents. The forrainers,”
he adds, “were licensed for three days, the freemen so long as they
would, which was sixe or seven daies.” This was the origin of
Bartholomew Fair, over which the charter of Henry II. gave the mayor and
aldermen criminal jurisdiction during its continuance.
Bolton was the last prior of this house, to which he added many
buildings, and built “the manor of Canonbury, at Islington, which
belonged to the canons.” In 1554, on the dissolution of the religious
houses, Henry VIII., in consideration of 1064_l._ 11_s._ 3_d._ granted
to Richard Rich, knt. attorney-general, and chancellor of the court of
augmentations of the revenues of the crown, the dissolved monastery or
priory of St. Bartholomew, and the Close with the messuages and
buildings therein appertaining to the monastery. He also granted to the
said Richard Rich, knt. and to the inhabitants of the parish of St.
Bartholomew, and the church of St. Bartholomew, all the void ground
eighty seven feet in length, and sixty in breadth, adjoining the church
westward, for a church-yard. In the first year of Edward VI. that king
confirmed the grant to sir Richard Rich, who was created lord Rich, and
appointed lord chancellor of England; but under Mary the ejected monks
were restored to the priory, where they remained till the accession of
queen Elizabeth, who renewed the grant to lord Rich and his heirs; and
lord Rich took up his residence in Cloth-fair. The lord Rich ultimately
became earl of Warwick and Holland, and the property regularly descended
to the present lord Kensington, through William Edwards, who was son of
the lady Elizabeth Rich, and created, in 1776, baron of Kensington of
the kingdom of Ireland.
Henry VIII. having in this way disposed of the priory and church of St.
Bartholomew, he gave the hospital, with certain messuages and
appurtenances, to the city of London. When connected with the priory, it
had been governed by a master, brethren, and eight sisters.
On the 13th of January, 1546, the bishop of Rochester (Holbetch,)
preaching at Paul’s-cross, declared the gift of St. Bartholomew’s
hospital to the citizens “for relieving of the poore;” and thereupon the
inhabitants of the city were called together in their parish churches,
where sir Richard Dobbs the lord mayor, the several aldermen, and other
principal citizens, showing the great good of taking the poor from their
miserable habitations, and providing for them in hospitals abroad, men
were moved liberally to contribute what they would towards such
hospitals, and so weekly, towards their maintenance for a time, until
they were fully endowed; and in July 1552 the reparation of the St.
Bartholomew’s hospital commenced, and it was endowed and furnished at
the charges of the citizens.[284] The number of the poor and sick to be
maintained therein, was limited under the foundation of Henry VIII. to
one hundred; but, at this time, several thousands of persons who need
surgical aid are annually received and relieved, under the management of
the most eminent surgeons of our age.
* * * * *
Smithfield, whereon the Fair was held, was likewise a market-place for
cattle, hay, straw, and other necessary provisions; and also, saith
Stow, “it hath been a place for honourable justs and triumphs, by reason
it was unpaid.” After it had ceased to be a place of recreative exercise
with the gentry, loose serving men and quarrelsome persons resorted
thither, and made uproars; and thus becoming the rendezvous of bullies
and bravoes, it obtained the name of “Ruffians’-hall.” The “sword and
buckler” were at that time in use, and a serving-man carried a buckler,
or shield, at his back, which hung by the hilt or pommel of his sword
hanging before him.[285] Fellows of this sort who hectored and blustered
were called “Swash-bucklers,” from the noise they made with the “sword
and buckler” to frighten an antagonist: “a bully,” or fellow all noise
and no courage, was called a “swasher.”[286]
With the disuse of pageants, the necessity for Smithfield remaining a
“soft ground” ceased; and, accordingly, as “it was continually subject
to the iniquity of weather, and being a place of such goodly extendure,
deserved to be much better respected, it pleased the king’s majesty,
(James I.) with the advice of his honourable lords of the counsell, to
write graciously to the lord maior and the aldermen his brethren, that
Smithfield might be sufficiently paved, which would bee the onely
meanes, whereby to have it kept in far cleaner condition: And” says
Stow, “as no motion (to any good end and intent) can be made to the
city, but they as gladly embrace and willingly pursue it; even so this
honourable motion found as acceptable entertainment, and it was very
speedily proceeded withall. Some voluntary contribution in the severall
parishes (what each man willingly would give) was bestowed on the worke;
but, (indeed,) hardly deserving any report. Notwithstanding, on the
fourth day of February, in An. 1614, the city began the intended labour,
and before Bartholomew-tide then next ensuing, to the credit and honour
of the city for ever, it was fully finished, and Bartholomew Faire there
kept, without breaking any of the paved ground, but the boothes
discreetly ordered, to stand fast upon the pavement. The citizens charge
thereof (as I have been credibly told by Master Arthur Strangwaies,)
amounting well neere to sixteene hundred pounds.” This improvement, it
will be remembered, was effected in the year wherein Ben Jonson’s
“Bartholomew Fair” was written.
* * * * *
In “The Order observed by the lord maior, the aldermen, and sheriffes
for their meetings, and wearing of their apparell throughout the whole
yeere,” it is ordained, That
“_On Bartholomew Eve for the Fayre in Smithfield_:--
“The aldermen meete the lord maior and the sheriffes at the Guildhall
chappel, at two of the clocke after dinner, having on their _violet_
gownes lined, and their horses, but without their cloakes, and there
they heare evening prayer. Which being done, they mount on their horses,
and riding to Newgate, passe forth of the gate. Then entring into the
Cloth-fayre, there they make a proclamation, which proclamation being
ended, they ride thorow the Cloth-fayre, and so returne backe againe
thorow the church-yard of great Saint Bartholomewes to Aldersgate: and
then ride home againe to the lord maior’s house.”