Читать книгу The Story of London - Henry B. Wheatley - Страница 6

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IN the mediæval city the proper protection of the municipality and the citizens largely depended upon the condition of the walls and gates. The government of town life was specially congenial to the Norman, and the laws he made for the purpose were stringent; while the Saxon, who never appreciated town life, preferred the county organisation. Thus it will be found that, as the laws of the latter were too lax, those of the former were too rigorous.

Riley, referring to the superfluity of Norman laws, describes them as ‘laws which, while unfortunately they created or protected few real valuable rights, gave birth to many and grievous wrongs.’ He proceeds to amplify this opinion, and gives good reason for the condemnation he felt bound to pronounce: ‘That the favoured and so-called free citizen of London, even—despite the extensive privileges in reference to trade which he enjoyed—was in possession of more than the faintest shadow of liberty, can hardly be allowed, if we only call to mind the substance of the … enactments and ordinances, arbitrary, illiberal and oppressive: laws, for example, which compelled each citizen, whether he would or no, to be bail and surety for a neighbour’s good behaviour, over whom it was perhaps impossible for him to exercise the slightest control; laws which forbade him to make his market for the day until the purveyors for the King, and the “great lords of the land,” had stripped the stalls of all that was choicest and best; laws which forbade him to pass the city walls for the purpose of meeting his own purchased goods; laws which bound him to deal with certain persons and communities only, or within the precincts only of certain localities; laws which dictated, under severe penalties, what sums and no more he was to pay to his servants and artisans; laws which drove his dog out of the streets, while they permitted “genteel dogs” to roam at large: nay, even more than this, laws which subjected him to domiciliary visits from the city officials on various pleas and pretexts; which compelled him to carry on a trade under heavy penalties, irrespective of the question whether or not it was at his loss; and which occasionally went so far as to lay down rules at what hours he was to walk in the streets, and incidentally, what he was to eat and what to drink.’[16]

We see from this quotation that the position of the inhabitant of a walled town was not a happy one. Still he was more favoured than his neighbour who lived in the country. A few examples will show us what the city life was, and these specific instances are necessary, for so many centuries have passed since Englishmen lived in a walled town that without them it is barely possible for us to conceive what this life of suspicion and fear of danger was really like.

The one thing which we do see distinctly is the gradual emancipation of the Englishman from the wearing thraldom of his position. He went on gradually in his course, always bearing towards the light, and he gained freedom long before the citizens of other countries. In the fifteenth century we find that galling laws here in England were allowed to fall into desuetude in favour of freedom, while the same rules were retained in foreign countries. Some of our countrymen objected to this, and English merchants were irritated to find that while the regulation enjoining every alien merchant during his residence in London to abide in the house of a citizen assigned to him as a host by the magistrates had fallen into abeyance, the restriction was rigidly enforced abroad. The writer of the remarkable Libelle of Englyshe Polycye (1437) alludes to this feeling:—

‘What reason is’t that we should go to host in these countries and in this English coast they should not so, but have more liberty than we ourselves?’[17]

The citizens had to put up with constant surveillance. The gates were closed early in the evening, and at curfew all lights, as well as fires, had to be put out. Night-walkers, male and female, and roysterers generally had a bad time of it, but probably they were very ill-behaved, and in many cases they doubtless deserved the punishment they received. In the year 1100 Henry I. relaxed these stringent regulations, and restored to his subjects the use of lights at night. The streets were first lighted by lanterns in 1415.

London within the walls was a considerable city in the Middle Ages, although it only contained the same area that was walled in during the later Roman period. The relics of this wall, continually renewed with the old materials, are so few, and the old area is so completely lost sight of in the larger London, that it is necessary to point out the line of the walls before dealing further with the habits of the Londoners. It was long supposed that the Ludgate was the chief entrance to the city from the west, but, in spite of its name, there can be little doubt that for some centuries the great western approach was made through Newgate. We will therefore commence our walk round the walls with that gate.

Although there can be no doubt that here was a gate in the Roman period, we have little or no record of its early history. One of its earlier names was Chamberlain’s Gate. The ‘new’ gate was erected in the reign of Henry I., and in a Pipe Roll of 1188 it is mentioned as a prison. In 1414 the prison was in such a loathsome condition that the keeper and sixty-four of the prisoners died of the prison plague. In consequence of this it was decided to rebuild the gate. Richard Whittington was the moving spirit in this rebuilding, and it is supposed that he paid the expenses. In the course of excavations made in 1874–1875 for the improvement of the western end of Newgate Street, the massive foundations of Whittington’s gate were discovered several feet below the present roadway.

The wall passed north through the precincts of Christ Church (Christ’s Hospital), formerly occupied by the Grey Friars (or Franciscans). The town ditch, which was outside the walls, and arched over about the year 1553, ran through the Hospital grounds. The wall then turned round to the north of Newgate Street, and passed into St. Martin’s-le-Grand, where, in 1889, the foundations of several houses on the west side were exposed while the excavations for the latest addition to the General Post-Office were being proceeded with.

The great bell of the Collegiate Church of St. Martin’s tolled the curfew hour when all the gates of the city were to be shut. The great gates were shut at the first stroke of the bell at St. Martin’s and the wickets opened; at the last stroke the wickets were to be closed, and not to be opened afterward that night unless by special precept of the Mayor. The ringing of the curfew of St. Martin’s was to be the signal for the ringing ‘at every parish church, so that they begin together and end together.’[18] In an Ordinance (37 Edward III., 1363) the bell at the Church of our Lady at Bow was substituted for that at St. Martin’s.

Outside the walls were Smithfield, where the tournaments were held, and Giltspur Street, where the knights bought their spears, and armour might be repaired when tournaments were going on.

Within the gate were the Grey Friars, Stinking Lane (now King Edward Street), and the Butchers’ Shambles in Newgate Street.

St. Paul’s had its enclosed churchyard, so that the main thoroughfare for centuries passed round it from Newgate Street to Cheapside. The name of Cheap tells of the general market held there, and the names of several of the streets out of Cheapside tell of the particular merchandise appropriated to them, as Friday Street (Friday’s market for fish), Milk Street and Bread Street. At the west end of Cheapside was the Church of St. Michael le Querne (or at the Corn), which marked the site of the Corn Market. It was destroyed in the Great Fire. At the east end of this church stood the Old Cross, which was taken down in the year 1390, and replaced by the Little Conduit, which is described as standing by Paul’s gate. There is an engraving of this church and the conduit, with the water-pots of the water-carriers dotted about.

The wall passed north along the side of St. Martin’s-le-Grand till it came to Aldersgate, close by the Church of St. Botolph. The exact spot is marked by No. 62 on the east side of the street. Stow’s etymologies of London names are seldom very satisfactory, but he never blundered worse than when he explained Aldgate as old gate and Aldersgate as the older gate; but his explanation has been followed by many successive writers, who do not seem to have seen the impossibility of the suggestion. One of the earliest forms of the name is Aldredesgate, showing pretty conclusively that it was a proper name.

The wall proceeds east to Cripplegate, with an outpost—the Watch-Tower or Barbican. The Rev. W. Denton has explained the name of Cripplegate as due to the covered way between the postern and the Barbican or Burgh-kenning (A.S., crepel, cryfle or crypele, a burrow or passage under ground). The name occurs also in the Domesday of Wiltshire, where we read: ‘To Wansdyke, thence forth by the dyke to Crypelgeat.’[19] If this etymology be accepted, we have here the use of the word gate as a way. In the north this distinction is kept up, and the road is the gate, while what we in the south call the gate is the bar. For instance, at York, Micklegate is the road, and the entrance to the wall is Micklegate bar.

It may be noted that St. Giles was the patron saint of Cripples, but the first church was not built until about 1090 by Alfune, the first Hospitaller of St. Bartholomew’s, so that the dedication may have been owing to a mistaken etymology at that early date. In the churchyard is an interesting piece of the old wall still in position. The course of the wall to the east is marked by the street named London Wall, from Cripplegate to Bishopsgate Street. Here it bore south to Camomile and Wormwood Streets, where stood till 1731 the gate.

The distance between Cripplegate and Bishopsgate is not great, and much of the space outside the walls was occupied by Moorditch. Still, in 1415, Thomas Falconer, then Mayor, opened a postern in the wall, where Moorgate Street now is, for the benefit of the hay and wood carts coming to the markets of London. He must also have made a road across the morass of Moorfields, for that place was not drained until more than a century afterwards. The site of Bishopsgate is marked by two tablets on the houses at the corners of Camomile and Wormwood Streets respectively (Nos. 1 and 64 Bishopsgate Street Without), inscribed with a mitre, and these words, ‘Adjoining to this spot Bishopsgate formerly stood.’[20]

Bishopsgate was named after Erkenwald, Bishop of London (d. 685), son of Offa, King of Mercia, by whom it was erected. At first the maintenance of the gate was considered to devolve upon the Bishop of London, but after an arrangement with the Hanse Merchants it was ruled that the bishop ‘is bound to make the hinges of Bysoppsgate; seeing that from every cart laden with wood he has one stick as it enters the said gate.’ The liability was limited to the hinges, for after some dispute it was (1305) ‘awarded and agreed that Almaines belonging to the House of the Merchants of Almaine shall be free from paying two shillings on going in or out of the gate of Bishopesgate with their goods, seeing that they are charged with the safe keeping and repair of the gate.’ The line of the wall bears southward to Aldgate, and is marked by the street named Houndsditch.

The earliest form of the name Aldgate appears to have been Alegate or Algate, and, therefore, has nothing to do with Old, the d being intrusive. Within the walls was the great house of Christ Church, founded by Queen Maud or Matilda, wife to Henry I., in the year 1108, and afterwards known as the Priory of the Holy Trinity within Aldgate. In 1115 the famous Cnichtengild, possessors of the ward of Portsoken (which was the soke without the port or gate called Aldgate), presented to the priory all their rights, offering upon the altars of the church the several charters of the guild. The King confirmed the gift, and the prior became ex officio an alderman of London. This continued to the dissolution of the religious houses, when the inhabitants of the ward obtained the privilege of electing their own alderman. Stow tells us that he remembered the prior riding forth with the Mayor as one of the aldermen. ‘These priors have sitten and ridden amongst the aldermen of London, in livery like unto them, saving that his habit was in shape of a spiritual person, as I myself have seen in my childhood.’

The old name of Christ Church is retained in St. Katherine Cree or Christ Church, on the north side of Leadenhall Street, which was built in the cemetery of the dissolved priory. This church was taken down in 1628, and the present building erected in 1630.

The wall led south by the line of the street now called the Minories to the Tower, thus dividing Great Tower Hill, which was within the wall, from Little Tower Hill, which was outside. The Abbey of Nuns of the Order of St. Clare, which was situated outside the city walls, gave its name of Minoresses to the street. When William the Conqueror built the Tower he encroached upon the city ground, a proceeding which was not popular with his subjects. Near Tower Hill, that is out of George Street,

ALDGATE AND PRIORY OF THE HOLY TRINITY. (From Newton’s Map of London.)

Trinity Square, there is a fine fragment of the old London wall.

We must now turn westward and follow the course of the river from the Custom House to the Blackfriars, as this forms the southern boundary of the city.

A little to the west of the Tower gate was Galley Quay, where, according to Stow, ‘the gallies of Italie and other parts were used to unlade and land their merchandises and wares.’ These strangers, inhabitants of Genoa and other parts, lodged, says Stow, in Galley Row, near Mincing Lane. They ‘were commonly called galley-men, as men that came up in the galleys, brought up wines and other merchandises, which they landed in Thames Street, at a place called Galley Key; they had a certain coin of silver amongst themselves which were halfpence of Genoa, and were called galley halfpence; these halfpence were forbidden in the 13th of Henry IV., and again by Parliament in the 4th of Henry V. … Notwithstanding in my youth I have seen them pass current, but with some difficulty, for that the English halfpence were then, though not so broad, somewhat thicker and stronger.’ Next Galley Quay was Bear Quay, appropriated chiefly to the landing and shipment of corn.

The first Custom House of which we have any account was built by John Churchman, Sheriff of London in 1385, and stood on ‘Customer’s Key,’ to the east of the present building, and therefore much nearer Tower Wharf. Another and a larger building was erected in the reign of Elizabeth, and burnt in the Great Fire of 1666. Wren designed the third building, which was completed in 1671 and destroyed by fire in 1718. Ripley’s building, which succeeded this, was destroyed in the same way in 1814. The present is therefore the fifth building devoted to the customs of the country.

Billingsgate must be of great antiquity, but it has not always held its present undisputed position. In early times Queenhithe and Billingsgate were the chief city wharfs for the mooring of fishing vessels and landing their cargoes. The fish were sold in and about Thames Street, special stations being assigned to the several kinds of fish. Queenhithe was at first the more important wharf, but Billingsgate appears to have gradually overtaken it, and eventually to have left it quite in the rear, the troublesome passage of London Bridge leading the shipmasters to prefer the below-bridge wharf. Corn, malt and salt, as well as fish, were landed and sold at both wharfs, and very strict regulations were laid down by the city authorities as to the tolls to be levied on the several articles, and the conditions under which they were to be sold.[21]

In 1282 a message was sent from Edward I to the Serjeants of Billingsgate and Queenhithe commanding them ‘to see that all boats are moored on the city side at night’; and in 1297 the order was repeated, but it was now directed to the warden of the dock at Billingsgate, and the warden of Queenhithe, who were ‘to see that this order is strictly observed.’

Opposite to Billingsgate, on the north side of Lower Thames Street, the foundations of a Roman villa were discovered in 1847 when the present Coal Exchange was built. A spring of clear water which supplied the Roman baths was found running through the ruins at the time of the excavations. This was the spring which supplied the boss, fountain or jet by the corner of an opening, of old called Boss Alley, where a reservoir was erected by Sir Richard Whittington, or his executors, expressly for the use of the inhabitants and market people.

We now come to London Bridge, the great southern approach to London, and the most important strategical position, as when that was fortified the inhabitants were safe from attack on the south. Passing westward from the bridge we come to the Old Swan Stairs, the Steelyard, Coldharbour, Dowgate and the Vintry, and then we come to Queenhithe, said to have been named after Eleanor, widow of Henry II., to whom it belonged. It was previously known as Edred’s hithe. Passing Paul’s Wharf, we come to the vast building known as Baynard’s Castle, built by Humphry, Duke of Gloucester, in 1428. This mansion had an eventful history until it was destroyed in the Great Fire. A previous Baynard’s Castle was situated on the Thames nearer the Fleet River, and was named after Ralph Baynard, one of the Norman knights of William the Conqueror. It afterwards came into the possession of Robert Fitzwalter, chief bannerer or castellan of the city of London. When the Dominicans or Black Friars removed from Holborn to Ludgate they swallowed up in their precincts the Tower of Mountfichet and Castle Baynard, which were the strongholds built at the west end of the city. Edward I. allowed the friars to pull down the city wall and take in all the land to the west as far as the River Fleet. Moreover, the King intimated to the Mayor and citizens his desire that the new wall should be built at the cost of the city. We here pass up to Ludgate, which does not appear to have been a gate of much importance until the beginning of the thirteenth century. The idea that it is named after a mythical King Lud is, of course, exploded now, and there are at present two etymologies to choose from. Dr. Edwin Freshfield supposes the name to be derived from the word lode, a cut or drain into a large stream. The main stream of the Fleet passes from the Thames to the foot of Ludgate Hill, but a short branch went in a north-eastward direction to Ludgate, joining there the town ditch. Mr. Loftie explains Ludgate as a postern, and supposes it to have existed in the Saxon period as a postern gate.

All along the river front of London originally there was a wall, remains of which have been found at various times. Fitz-Stephen, writing in the twelfth century, says: ‘London formerly had walls and towers … on the south, but that most excellent river the Thames, which abounds with fish, and in which the tide ebbs and flows, runs on that side, and has in a long space of time washed down, undermined and subverted the walls in that part.’[22]

Outside Ludgate the road to the west was not much frequented. Fleet Street and the Strand were not the important thoroughfares during the Middle Ages that Holborn was. The roads were much neglected, and no one traversed them who could travel by boat on the Thames, which was literally the Silent Highway of London.

When the gates of London were closed at eight o’clock at night, and the inhabitants were ruled with an iron hand, it was somewhat a sign of reproach to live outside the walls. This feeling continued for centuries, and the name of ‘suburbs’ was long held in little respect. In spite of this stigma, the main avenues leading to the several gates became inhabited, and in course of time were added to the city of London as liberties. The extent of these liberties was marked by bars—thus outside Ludgate was Temple bar, outside Newgate, Holborn bars, outside Aldersgate, Aldersgate bars, outside Bishopsgate, Bishopsgate bars, and outside Aldgate, Aldgate bars. After this arrangement the liberties were no longer suburbs, and the disreputable neighbourhood was therefore pushed farther out. The suburbs outside Cripplegate were unlike those of any of the other gates. There was no main road straight north, but a village with a church and a Fore Street grew up outside the walls.

There is a great deal of information respecting the protection of the walls and the city gates in the important series of ‘Letter Books’ preserved among the city archives and in Riley’s Memorials. The authorities were allowed by the King to levy a tax called Murage from time to time on goods entering the city to enable them to keep the wall and gates in a state of efficiency. In 1276 Edward I. called upon the citizens to devote a portion of the dues to the rebuilding of the city wall by the house of the Blackfriars, and eight years after the grant of murage was renewed to the Mayor and citizens on condition that they built this wall, so that for some years the city gained no particular advantage from the King’s license. The Hanse Merchants were freed from payment of murage on account of their engagement to keep Bishopsgate in order.

In 1310 a royal writ was issued for the punishment of those who injured the city walls, gates and posterns.[23] Two years before this date special orders were issued as to the guard of the gates. The Wards adjoining each gate had to supply a certain number of men-at-arms. Newgate was supplied with 26 men; Aldgate, Bishopsgate, Ludgate and Bridgegate with 24 each; Cripplegate and Aldersgate with 20 each.

The authorities were often very parsimonious, and we find in Riley this curious entry under the date of 1314: ‘Removal of an elm near Bishopsgate and purchase of a cord for a ward hook with the proceeds of the sale thereof.’

Some of the gates were let as dwelling-houses, Chaucer’s tenancy of Aldgate being a familiar instance; but this practice was found to be very inconvenient and objectionable, and in 1386 an enactment was issued forbidding the grant in future of the city gates or of the dwelling-houses there.[24]

There must have been accommodation at the gates (even when let as dwelling-houses) for the serjeants who performed the duty of opening and closing the gates. One of the orders that these serjeants had to carry into effect was to prevent the admission of lepers into the town. Money was collected at the gates for the repair of the roads, a charge which was in addition to murage. The serjeants had also to see that a fugitive bondman did not enter the city, because if one gained admittance and resided in a chartered town for a year and a day he obtained freedom and was entitled to the franchise. In small towns it was easier to keep out the fugitive, but in a large city like London he could often escape notice, although the authorities might be against him. In Letter Book A we read this notice: ‘Pray that the said fugitives may not be admitted to the freedom of the city’; and Pollock and Maitland write: ‘The townsmen were careful not to obliterate the distinction between bond and free, and did not admit one of servile birth to the citizenship.’[25] There can be little doubt that there was much laxity in keeping the gates at various times, and in cases where there was fear of invasion the King sent special orders to the Mayor to see to the protection of the city.

In spite of the singular freedom of England from invasion the English have constantly been overwhelmed with panic, fearing the worst which never came. In 1335 an alarm was raised of a French invasion. The King at the beginning of August wrote to order all men between sixteen and sixty to be arrayed, and a Council to be immediately held in London. Leaders of the Londoners were appointed who were to defend the city in case the enemy landed. Again in 1370 preparations were made for an expected attack upon the city, and in 1383 false reports were circulated from the war in Flanders, for the circulation of which an impostor was punished.[26] Three years later the citizens were in great terror on account of a widespread report that the French King was about to invade England. There seems to have been something in the report, because Harry Hotspur believed it, and having waited impatiently for the French King to besiege Calais, returned to England to meet him here. Stow, however, was very satirical about the English fears. He wrote: ‘The Londoners, understanding that the French King had got together a great navie, assembled an armie, and set his purpose firmely to come into England, they trembling like leverets, fearefule as mise, seeke starting holes to hide themselves in, even as if the citie were now to bee taken, and they that in times past bragged they would blow all the Frenchmen out of England, hearing now a vaine rumour of the enemies comming, they runne to the walles, breake downe the houses adjoyning, destroy and lay them flat, and doe all things in great feare, not one Frenchman yet having set foote on shipboard, what would they have done, if the battell had been at hand, and the weapons over their head.’[27]

No improvement in the condition of houses in London appears to have taken place until long after the Conquest, and the low huts, closely packed together, which filled the streets during the Saxon period, were continued well into the thirteenth century. These houses were wholly built of wood, and thatched with straw, or reeds.

All mediæval cities were fatally liable to destruction by fire, but London appears to have been specially unfortunate in this respect. In the first year of the reign of Stephen a destructive fire spread from London Bridge to the Church of St. Clement Danes, destroying St. Paul’s in the way. This fire caused some improvements in building, but special regulations were required, and one of the early works undertaken by the newly established ‘Commune’ was the drawing up, in 1189, of the famous Assize of Building, known by the name of the first Mayor as Fitz-Ailwyne’s Assize.

In this document the following statement was made: ‘Many citizens, to avoid such danger, built according to their means, on their ground, a stone house covered and protected by thick tiles against the fury of fire, whereby it often happened that when a fire arose in the city and burnt many edifices, and had reached such a house, not being able to injure it, it there became extinguished, so that many neighbours’ houses were wholly saved from fire by that house.’[28]

Various privileges were conceded to those who built in stone, and these privileges are detailed in the Assize of 1189. No provision, however, was made as to the material to be used in roofing tenements. This Assize, which has been described as the earliest English Building Act, is of the greatest value to us from an historical point of view, and much attention is paid to it in Hudson Turner’s Domestic Architecture, where a translation of the Assize is printed. Turner points out that it is evident from this specimen of early civic legislation that although citizens might, if it so pleased them, construct their houses entirely of stone, yet they were not absolutely required to do more than erect party walls 16 feet in height, the materials of the structure built on such walls being left entirely to individual choice, and there can be no doubt that in the generality of houses it was of wood. This assumption is justified by the fact that, in deeds of a much later period, houses constructed wholly of stone are frequently named as boundaries, without any further or more special description than that such was the substance of which they were built. Turner adds that it is obvious such a description would have been vague and insufficient in a district where houses were generally raised in stone, and he therefore supposes that the Assize of 1189 had no more direct effect than in regulating the method of constructing party walls, and then only in cases where individuals were willing to build in stone.[29]

There can be no doubt that the Assize had but little effect, for in 1212 a still more destructive fire occurred which destroyed part of London Bridge—then a wooden structure—and the Church of St. Mary Overy, Southwark. It raged for ten days, and it is calculated that 1000 persons—men, women and children—lost their lives in the fire.

This fire had a striking effect upon the authorities, for at once they set to work to enact a new ordinance which introduced certain compulsory regulations. This is known as Fitz-Ailwyne’s Second Assize, 1212; and thus the first Mayor, about whom little else is known, is associated with two important Acts, one issued at the beginning and the other near the end of his long mayoralty. Thenceforth everyone who built a house was strictly charged not to cover it with reeds, rushes, stubble or straw, but only with tiles, shingle boards, or lead. In future, in order to stop a fire, houses could be pulled down in case of need with an alderman’s hook and cord. For the speedy removal of burning houses each ward was to provide a strong iron hook, with a wooden handle, two chains and two strong cords, which were to be left in the charge of the bedel of the ward, who was also provided with a good horn, ‘loudly sounding.’ It was also ordered that occupiers of large houses should keep one or two ladders for their own house and for their neighbours in case of a sudden outbreak of fire. Also, they were to keep in summer a barrel or large earthen vessel full of water before the house, for the purpose of quenching fire, unless there was a reservoir of spring water in the curtilage or courtyard.[30]

Ancient lights are not provided for, and chimneys are not mentioned. They were not general in Italian cities in the fourteenth century, but in London they were comparatively common by the year 1300. In the Rotuli Hundredorum, date 1275, a chimney is mentioned as built against a house in St. Mary-at-Hill made of stone, a foot or more in breadth, and projecting into the street.

Most of the houses consisted of little more than a large shop and an upper room or solar. The latter was often merely a wooden loft. When an upper apartment was carried out in stone it was described in deeds as solarium lapideum. In the fourteenth century houses were built of two and three storeys, and in some cases each storey was a distinct freehold. This seems to have caused a large number of disputes. It is an interesting fact that at a certain period there was the possibility of London becoming a city of flats. One cannot but feel that it is strange that flats should be general abroad and in Scotland, while it is only lately that they have become at all popular in England. Some reason for this diversity of custom must exist if we could only find it out. Cellars were entered from the street; and possibly, in those cases where separate floors belonged to different tenants, the upper storeys were entered by stairs on the outside.

Sometimes a householder was allowed to encroach upon the road, and in Riley’s Memorials we find patents of leave for building a hautpas, that is, a room or floor raised on pillars and extending into the street. Such a grant was made to Sir Robert Knolles and his wife Constance in the year 1381. Penthouses are frequently mentioned in the city ordinances, and they were to be at least 9 feet in height, so as to allow of people riding beneath. It was enacted, for the benefit of landlords, that penthouses once fastened by iron nails or wooden pegs to the timber framework of the house should be deemed not removable, but fixtures, part and parcel of the freehold.[31]

Shops were open to the weather, and the need of a better place of protection for certain property was felt, which caused the erection of selds—sheds or warehouses—which were let out in small compartments for the storing of cupboards or chests. These served in their day the purpose fulfilled in ours by Safe Deposit Companies.

Several of these selds are mentioned in the city books; thus there was the Tanner’s Seld, in or near St. Lawrence Lane, and Winchester Seld, near the Woolmarket of Woolchurch, also another in Thames Street. In the Hustings Roll we hear of the ‘Great Seld of Roysia de Coventre in the Mercery,’ known as the Great or Broad Seld. In 1311 we find tenants surrendering to Roysia, wife of Henry de Coventre, space for the standing of a certain chest in the seld called ‘La Broselde,’ in the parish of St. Pancras, in the ward of Cheap.

Windows are mentioned in the Assize, but glass was only used by the most opulent. The windows of the citizens in the reign of Richard I. were mere apertures, open in the day, crossed, perhaps, by iron stanchions, and closed by wooden shutters at night. Glass is mentioned as one of the regular imports into this country in the reign of Henry III., and in the time of Edward III. glaziers (verrers) are mentioned as an established gild.[32]

The buildings were constantly improved as time passed, and there is reason to believe that London was much in advance of continental cities as to comfort and cleanliness, in spite of some unflattering pictures that have come down to us. We have reason to believe that the standard idea of Englishmen as to comfort and decency was always higher than that of his neighbours. This point, however, will be more fully considered in the seventh chapter on Sanitation.

It took some time to establish the principle that an Englishman’s house is his castle, and some of our Kings tried hard to override the rights of the faithful citizens. Mr. Riley makes the following remarks on this point: ‘In the times of our early Kings, when they moved from place to place, it devolved upon the Marshal of the King’s household to find lodgings for the royal retinue and dependants, which was done by sending a billet and seizing arbitrarily the best houses and mansions of the locality, turning out the inhabitants and marking the houses so selected with chalk, which latter duty seems to have belonged to the Serjeant-Chamberlain of the King’s household. The city of London, fortunately for the comfort and independence of its inhabitants, was exempted by numerous charters from having to endure this most abominable annoyance at such times as it pleased the King to become its near neighbour by taking up his residence in the Tower. Still, however, repeated attempts were made to infringe this rule within the precincts of the city.’

Henry III. instituted some specially tyrannical proceedings in the year 1266, which naturally gave great offence. The particulars are related in Stow’s Chronicle: ‘Henry III. came to Westminster, and there gave unto divers of his householde servants about the number of threescore householdes and houses within the city, so that the owners were compelled to agree and redeem their houses, or else to avoyde them. Then he made Custos of the city Sir Othon, Constable of the Tower, who chose Bayliffs to be accountable to him. After this the King tooke pledges of the best men’s sons of the city, the which were put in the Tower of London, and there kept at the costs of their parents.’

To meet such violations of the liberties of the city an enactment was promulgated apparently in the reign of Edward I. to the effect ‘that if any member of the royal household or any retainer of the nobility shall attempt to take possession of a house within the city, either by main force or by delivery [of the Marshal of the royal household]; and if in such attempt he shall be slain by the master of the house, then and in such case the master of the house shall find six of his kinsmen who shall make oath, and himself making oath as the seventh, that it was for this reason that he so slew the intruder, and thereupon he shall go acquitted.’

In spite of this, Edward II. tried to carry out a similar piece of tyranny, but he was thwarted by John de Caustone, one of the sheriffs, who proved himself a stalwart leader of the citizens. Alan de Lek, serjeant-harbourer (provider of lodgings), prosecuted John de Caustone, and said ‘that whereas his lordship the King, with his household, on the Monday next after the Feast of the Translation of Saint Thomas the Martyr, in the nineteenth year of the said King then reigning, came to the Tower of London, there at his good pleasure to abide; and the said Alan, the same day and year, as in virtue of his office bound to do, did assign lodgings unto one Richard de Ayremynne, secretary to his said lordship the King, in the house of the aforesaid John de Caustone, situate at Billyngesgate, in the city of London, and for the better knowing of the livery so made, did set the usual mark of chalk over the doors of the house aforesaid, as the practice is; and did also place men and serjeants, with the horses and harness of the said Richard, within the livery so made as aforesaid.’

The sheriff knowing this to be an illegal exercise of royal privilege, boldly rubbed out the obnoxious marks and turned the King’s men and serjeants out of his house. When he was brought to trial the Mayor and citizens appeared for him and pleaded the rights of the city. Caustone successfully defended himself before the Steward and Marshal of the King’s household sitting in the Tower in judgment upon him, and he came off scot-free.[33]

When we consider the smallness of the houses in the early period of the Middle Ages and the insufficient accommodation for families we see that the greater part of the population must of very necessity have constantly filled the streets, and the Londoners appear, from accounts that have come down to us, to have been rather a turbulent body.

The watch and ward arranged for the protection of the city was efficient enough in quiet times, but when the inhabitants were troublesome it was quite insufficient. The regulations were strict, but the streets were crowded, as more than half of them were used as market-places, and every moment occasions for quarrelling arose, of which the young bloods were only too ready to avail themselves.

Punishments and fines were frequent. Cheats and fraudulent tradesmen were promptly punished, and those who had a sharp tongue soon found that the free use of it was dangerous. The authorities, who had the making of the laws, had no fancy for being maligned. Such entries as these are frequent in Riley’s Memorials: Process against Roger Torold for abusing the Mayor, 1355; Punishment or imprisonment for reviling the Mayor, 1382; Pillory and whetstone for slandering the Mayor, 1385; Pillory for slandering an alderman, 1411; Punishment for insulting certain aldermen; Pillory for insulting the Recorder, 1390. The pillory was freely used for cheats, users of false dice, false chequer boards (1382), swindlers, forgers of title-deeds, bonds, papal bulls, etc., impostors pretending to be dumb, etc. False measures, false materials and unwholesome food were confiscated and publicly burnt. Dishonest tradesmen appear to have been very reckless, and punishment was constantly awarded for the sale of putrid fish, food and meat. Enhancers of the price of wheat were specially obnoxious to the citizens, and some of the cheats connected with bread-making were curious, such as inserting iron in a loaf to increase the weight (1387), and stealing dough by making holes in the baker’s moulding-boards (1327). The seller of unsound wine was punished by being made to drink it (1364). Night-walkers (male and female) were very summarily treated, but they must have been mostly connected with the dangerous classes, for we read of notorious persons with swords and bucklers and frequenters of taverns after curfew, ‘contrary to peace and statutes.’ We may presume that quiet, inoffensive persons, who were known to be law-abiding citizens, were not necessarily hauled up for being in the streets after regulation hours. Mr. Riley, in his valuable Introduction to the Liber Albus, makes special reference to these night-walkers: ‘It being found that the houses of women of ill-fame had become the constant resort of thieves and other desperate characters, it was ordered by royal proclamation, temp. Edward I., that no such women should thenceforth reside within the walls of the city under pain of forty days’ imprisonment. A list, too, was to be taken of all such women by the authorities, and a certain walk assigned to them. The Stews of Southwark are once, and only once, alluded to in this volume, and the result of this enactment was no doubt to drive the unfortunates thither.’ Ordinances of later date appear to have been still more stringent. The Tun, a round-house or prison on Cornhill, was so called from its having been ‘built somewhat in fashion of a tun standing on the one end.’ It was built in 1282 for the special reception of night-walkers.

In spite of stringent regulations the streets were seldom free from rioting of some kind, and the watch were kept fully employed. There is a record of inquests or trials by juries (the jury consisting of no less than four representatives from each of the wards), held in 1281 upon a number of offenders ‘against the King’s peace and the statutes of the city.’ The offences for the most part comprise night-walking after curfew, robbery with violence, frequenting taverns and houses of ill-fame, and gambling.[34]

In 1304 there was an Inquisition as to persons rioting and committing assaults by night,[35] and in 1311 a similar Inquisition and Delivery made in the time of Sir Ricker de Repham, Mayor, as to misdoers and night-walkers.[36]

Women of bad repute were restricted to a certain garb.[37] It was enacted by royal proclamation of Edward I. that none of them should wear minever (spotted ermine) or cendale (a particular kind of thin silk), on her hood or dress, and if she broke the law in this respect the city serjeant was allowed to seize the minever or cendale and retain it as his perquisite. At later periods it was enacted ‘that no common woman shall wear a vesture of peltry or wool,’ and again, that she shall not wear ‘a hood that is furred, except with lambs’ wool or rabbit skin.’ From the Letter Books we learn that, in the middle of the fourteenth century, most of these women were Flemings by birth.[38]

The prisons mentioned in the Liber Albus are Newgate and Ludgate, the Tun and the Compters. They could none of them have been pleasant places, but it is probable that they were not so intolerable as they afterwards became. It is impossible that they could have been in a worse condition than the grossly mismanaged prisons of the eighteenth century.

It is not easy to understand what was the level of morality in the mediæval cities and towns. In truth, we can only draw inferences from the facts, and as most of the documents that have come down to us relate to those who have broken the laws, we are too apt to take a low view of the morality of the mass. Laws are not made for the law-abiding, except for their protection, and we have reason to know that this class is by far the most numerous.

Comfort, as we understand it, could not have existed in the Middle Ages, but the life seems to have been fairly agreeable to those who lived it, and it is only fair to give credence to such witnesses as Fitz-Stephen, who knew ‘the noble city of London’ well, and could only write of it in terms of hearty praise. He commences with these words, and then proceeds to substantiate the several points mentioned: ‘Amongst the noble and celebrated cities of the world, that of London, the capital of the kingdom of England, is one of the most renowned, possessing, above all others, abundant wealth, extensive commerce, great grandeur and magnificence. It is happy in the salubrity of its climate, in the profession of the Christian religion, in the strength of its fortresses, the nature of its situation, the honour of its citizens, and the chastity of its matrons; in its sports, too, it is most pleasant, and in the production of illustrious men most fortunate.’

The people must have been closely packed in some parts of London, but gardens and open spaces within the walls were not uncommon. The statistics of the Middle Ages are not to be relied upon, as they largely consisted of the wildest guesses. Kings and Parliaments were continually deceived as to the produce of a tax, owing to the impossibility of knowing the number of the people upon whom it was to be levied.

During the latter part of the Saxon period the numbers of the population of the country began to decay; this decay, however, was arrested by the Norman Conquest. The population increased during ten peaceful years of Henry III., and increased slowly until the death of Edward II., and then it began to fall off, and it continued to decrease during the period of the Wars of the Roses until the accession of the Tudors.

A calculation has been made of the population of England and Wales in the last years of the reign of Edward III. (1372), which fixed the number at two and a half millions. Macpherson adopted this as a correct guess, but it probably errs more on the side of excess than of deficiency. Of this population it has been estimated that those employed in agriculture were in proportion to townspeople as eleven to one, but, according to another estimate, it was as fifteen to one.

It is not easy to arrive at a satisfactory calculation of the approximate population of London at different periods. At the end of the twelfth century Peter of Blois, Archdeacon of London, in a letter to Pope Innocent III., calculates the population at 40,000, and this is a quite probable calculation, although Francis Drake maintains that London was less populous than York about the time of the Conquest. York, however, could not then have had anything like 10,000 inhabitants. Fitz-Stephen greatly exaggerated the population of London. He wrote: ‘The city is ennobled by her men, graced by her arms, and peopled by a multitude of inhabitants, so that in the wars under King Stephen there went out to a muster of armed horsemen, esteemed fit for war, twenty thousand, and of infantry sixty thousand.’ Hallam agrees generally with Peter of Blois’ calculation, for he supposes London to have had a population in John’s reign of at least 30,000 or 40,000.

In 1377 the population, reckoned by the poll tax, was 44,770; the number taxed (consisting of males and females above fourteen years of age) being 23,314. We see from these numbers how greatly the population of London was in excess of the other great towns. From the same source we find the population of the towns next in size were:—

York,		7248
Bristol,		6345
Plymouth,		4837
Coventry,		4817
Norwich,		3952

Londoners were fortunate in not having suffered from any severe attack upon their fortifications, and therefore we are unable to tell how London would have stood a prolonged siege. We know, however, that at some periods it was very insecure. The most portentous event in England during the Middle Ages in respect to the changed conditions of life caused by it was the Peasants’ Rising of 1381, the turning-point of which is entirely connected with the history of London. For four days the very existence of the city was in the direst peril. It is styled a rising, but it was really a revolution, and it is only lately that the full history of the movement has been presented to us in Mr. G. M. Trevelyan’s valuable book, England in the Age of Wycliffe (1899).

There are two particular incidents in the history of mediæval London which are of the first importance as illustrations of the life of the inhabitants of a walled city. They stand alone, for no other internal occurrences fraught with such possible evil consequences are to be found in our history; and it is well to compare their likenesses and distinguish their unlikenesses. For this purpose it is not necessary to enter at all fully into the respective causes and effects of Wat Tyler’s and Jack Cade’s Rebellions.

The consideration of these points belongs to the history of the country, but a fairly full account of the proceedings of the few days in which the city was given over to the lawless violence of the followers of Wat Tyler and Jack Cade respectively seems to be necessary here.

In both insurrections the mob had their own way entirely at the beginning of the outbreaks. The insurgents were allowed to enter the city through the sympathy of many of the citizens, and in both cases the insurgents were worsted in the end, one hardly knows how, except we explain the cause as due to the inherent weakness of an undisciplined mob. Both insurrections occurred owing to widespread discontent. In the case of Wat Tyler’s, from social ills of the most serious character; while in that of Jack Cade’s the evils complained of were purely political. Again the movement in the earlier rebellion came from below, while in the later one the prime movers were the squires.

In Wat Tyler’s Rebellion the King and Court were present at all the great events, but in Jack Cade’s the King marched off to Kenilworth and left the city to take care of itself. Other likenesses and unlikenesses will be evident in the notices of the respective insurrections.

In order to understand the doings in London from Wednesday, June 12th, to Saturday the 15th inst., 1381, it is necessary to take some measure of the movement as a whole. Most of the chroniclers naturally write in strongly condemnatory terms of Wat Tyler’s Rebellion, but Stow in his Chronicle attempts to be just, although he describes John Ball as ‘a wicked priest.’ He had the advantage of consulting a manuscript account of the Rising in 1381, written in Old French apparently by an eye-witness.[39]

The different descriptions are full, but they vary greatly in details, so that, though it is possible to make a complete record of events, we cannot be sure that we are altogether correct. At this distance of time from the occurrences we ought to be able to consider the sequence of events with a judicial mind. Both sides in the duel are to a great extent outside our sympathies. The rebels were exorbitant in their demands and violent in their methods, while the Court, being completely at the mercy of the mob, promised everything demanded, with no intention of carrying out their pledges. They had, however, this excuse, that the only way to save the city and its inhabitants was to get the mob into the open country by any possible means available.

The vast concourse of persons who demanded entrance into the city was composed of a heterogeneous mass of discontented men with different aims to forward and different grievances calling for redress. The poll tax, although it gave great dissatisfaction to the nation, was not the cause of the outbreak; the great object of the majority was to obtain the abolition of serfdom. Had this been the only demand the sympathies of the country would have been entirely with the insurgents, but, in order to increase the number of their followers, the leaders had gathered around them all the disaffected persons they were able to get together, and Wat Tyler, to enhance his importance, formulated a number of revolutionary and socialistic demands.

It is not necessary here to discuss these demands, for their number sufficiently condemns them. We may allow that the masses have a right to demonstrate and urge upon their rulers a change of so fundamental a nature as serfdom, which affected them all more or less, but an evil which the rulers were very remiss in attempting to redress. At the same time no government can exist if mob law is triumphant and if an irresponsible mass of people is allowed to demand changes which require much consideration by a legislative body, as Wat Tyler’s followers did. It is instructive to find that although the demands were first agreed to by the King, and then the promise revoked, the serfs were gradually freed while the other demands were quite overlooked. Serfdom was out of date, and the change could no longer be postponed.

Richard II., a boy of ten years, came to the throne in 1377, and few sovereigns have had to take up a more troubled inheritance. The whole country was distressed, and the agricultural population had been driven to the verge of rebellion. Revolutionary views, supported from the writings of Wyclyf and Langland, had taken root among large masses of the people. Doubtless the reformer and the poet had great influence on the people, and although they were not themselves sowers of sedition, their burning words were quoted with effect by the leaders of the revolutionary movement. John Ball’s democratic preaching caused the insurrection, but he gave way to the more practical Wat Tyler, as the leader of the rebels.

The area of the risings extended over part of the Midlands south of Yorkshire, and the whole of the South. There was a reign of terror on all sides. The manor houses were broken open and sacked by mobs, and it was said that every attorney’s house in the line of march was destroyed. Lawyers were exposed to the special hatred of the rebels, who exhibited an ignorant hatred of legal documents. The University of Cambridge suffered severely from the lawlessness of the mob. The University chest was robbed, and a large number of documents were ruthlessly destroyed. Many of the colleges also suffered.

The mob that marched on London and besieged it were mostly from Kent and Essex, and their march was marked by murder and pillage. The authorities were paralysed, and when the mob arrived at the walls of London no preparations had been made, save the strengthening of the gates, so the King and the Court were cut off from communication with all outside London. It is remarkable that we are able to record the daily proceedings of the mob which took place more than six centuries ago; still we can be fairly certain that the events which dovetail into one another are to a great extent correctly reported. The chief difficulty arises when we consider the speeches of the several actors. Chroniclers like John Stow are very picturesque in their descriptions, and often put words into the mouths of their puppets which are evidently written for the purposes of effect. Even when the words are probably historical there is some doubt as to whether they have not been attributed to the wrong persons.

On Monday, June 10th, Canterbury had been overrun, and on Wednesday, the 12th, the main body of the rebels from Kent were crowded together on Blackheath. John Ball preached to them from the text which has come down to us in the familiar couplet—