Mediæval London

“The said Robert ought to come, he being the twentieth man of arms on horseback, unto the great west door of St. Paul, with his banner displayed before him of his arms. And when he is come to the said door, mounted and apparelled as before is said, the Mayor with his Aldermen and Sheriffs, armed in their arms, shall come out of the said Church of St. Paul unto the said door, with a banner in his hand, all on foot; which banner shall be gules, the image of St. Paul, gold; the face, hands, feet, and sword of silver. And as soon as the said Robert shall see the Mayor, Aldermen, and Sheriffs come on foot out of the church, armed with such a banner, he shall alight from his horse and salute the Mayor, and say to him, ‘Sir Mayor, I am come to do my service, which I owe the City.’ And the Mayor and Aldermen shall answer, ‘We give to you, as to our Banneret of Fee in this city, the banner of this city to bear and govern to the honour and profit of this city, to your power.’ And the said Robert, and his heirs, shall receive the banner in his hands, and go on foot out of the gate, with the banner in his hands; and the Mayor, Aldermen, and Sheriffs shall follow to the door, and shall bring an horse to the said Robert, worth twenty pounds, which horse shall be saddled with a saddle of the arms of the said Robert, and shall be covered with sindals of the said arms. Also they shall present to him twenty pounds sterling, and deliver it to the chamberlain of the said Robert, for his expenses that day.” The Banneret then sets forth and desires the Mayor to cause a marshal, “one of the city,” to be chosen for the host, and the citizens to assemble and all go under the banner of St. Paul. If they should go out of the city, then Fitz-Walter was to choose two out of every ward, the most sage persons, to look to the keeping of the city. Lastly, for every siege which the host of London should lay against town or castle, the said Robert shall have one hundred shillings and no more. Baynard’s Castle passed from the hands of the Fitz-Walters and came into the possession of the celebrated “Duke Humphrey,” on whose attainder it was seized by the Crown, and, as we have already said, became one of the royal places of abode within the city.

Close by Baynard’s Castle to the west, and at the mouth of the river Fleet, stood the palace of Bridewell, still more famous as a royal residence, of which we have already written.

Old Whitehall, with its Tennis Yard and Cock Pit, belongs, in its royal splendour, to later times, although it existed, under another name, from an early period. It was originally built by Hubert de Burgh, the great justiciary of the reign of Henry III. From him it passed, through an intermediate grant, into the possession of Walter de Grey, archbishop of York, who purchased it in 1248. It then became, and long continued, the London house of the See of York, and was known as York House. Wolsey was its last archiepiscopal owner, and had to surrender it to his imperious master, Henry VIII., by whom, and his royal successors, it was occupied as a palace until its destruction by fire in 1698.

The mansions of the nobility which lined the south side of the Strand, with their river gates and stairs, have an interest almost equal to that of the royal mansions already mentioned. On a site extending west from Fleet Street to the present Essex Street anciently stood a building known as the Outer Temple, which, with the Inner and Middle Temples, formed the abode of the Knights Templars. This mansion passed, during the reign of Edward III., into the hands of the Bishops of Exeter, who made it their London residence under the name of Exeter House. It afterwards became known as Paget Place and Leicester House, from the names of two subsequent owners – Sir William (afterwards Lord) Paget, and Queen Elizabeth’s favourite, the Earl of Leicester. The unfortunate Earl of Essex became in turn the owner of the property, which was then known as Essex House. Here he assembled his followers on Sunday, the 8th of February, 1600-1, and marched at their head into the City, hoping to rouse the Londoners to the support of his cause. He signally failed, and with difficulty escaped by boat to Essex House. Here he was besieged by the royal forces, to whom he surrendered with his friend, the Earl of Southampton, and paid the supreme penalty a little more than a fortnight afterwards.

Another stately river mansion was Arundel House, at first known as Bath’s Inn, or Hampton Place, the London seat of the See of Bath and Wells. It was next called Seymour Place, from another owner, Lord Thomas Seymour, uncle of Edward VI. On Seymour’s attainder and execution, the property reverted to the Crown, and was sold, with other messuages for the moderate sum of 41l. 6s. 8d., to the Earl of Arundel, who gave it his own name. This nobleman was the famous collector of the Arundel marbles, and his house was the common resort of the most famous artists of his day, among them being Inigo Jones, Vandyck, and Wenceslaus Hollar. Here, too, the Royal Society found a temporary home after the destruction of Gresham College in the Great Fire. Soon after, Arundel House, said to have been one of the finest and most commodious of London’s mansions, was pulled down, its site being now occupied by Arundel, Norfolk, Surrey, and Howard Streets.

Further west we come again to a building of historic fame, which took a large part in the activities of mediæval London. This was the palace of the Savoy, built in 1245 on the spot which still bears its name, now occupied by Wellington Street at the approach to Waterloo Bridge. Peter de Savoy, its founder, was the brother of Boniface, archbishop of Canterbury, and uncle to Eleanor, the queen of Henry III. On coming to England, he was created Earl of Savoy and Richmond, and was knighted in Westminster Abbey. The house came afterwards into the possession of the Earls of Lancaster, by one of whom it was enlarged on a magnificent scale in 1325, at a cost of 52,000 marks. John of Gaunt became by marriage the owner of the Savoy, and in 1356 it was used as the prison-house of John, the captive King of France. Here he lived for four years, and hither, on failing to fulfil the conditions of the treaty which secured to him his liberty, he chivalrously returned. On the 9th of April, 1364, he died in the Savoy, and his remains were honourably conveyed to France for burial. The great Duke of Lancaster and his Palace at the Savoy were in much danger from a rising of the citizens of London under their standard-bearer, Lord Fitz-Walter, in a quarrel arising out of the citation of Wickliffe before the Bishop of London. The danger became more real in 1381, the year of Wat Tyler’s insurrection. On the 12th of June the Kentish rebels had complete mastery in London, one body marching off to attack Lambeth Palace, whilst another assembled at the Savoy. Here they set fire to the building, breaking up the gold and silver plate, while, to complete the work of destruction, some barrels of gunpowder, which the rioters supposed to have been filled with treasure, were thrown into the fire, blowing up the Hall and surrounding houses. For a century and a quarter the Savoy lay waste, and when it arose from its ruins it was endowed as a hospital by King Henry VII. Much interest attaches to the latter fortunes of the Savoy and its famous Chapel, but the story lies outside our present purpose.

Many noble mansions built in later times shared the beautiful Thames frontage with the older houses, which are the proper subject of our notice. Beyond the Savoy to the east lay Worcester, Rutland, and Cecil Houses, and then we come to Durham House, one of the oldest and most interesting in this street of palaces. It stood on the site afterwards occupied in part by the Adelphi theatre, and was originally founded by Anthony de Beck, Patriarch of Jerusalem and Bishop of Durham, in the reign of Edward I. Bishop Hatfield is said by Stow to have rebuilt it. Here the challengers in the famous joustings at Westminster, in 1540, entertained at dinner not only the King and Queen, with the Court, but also the whole House of Commons and the Mayor and Aldermen of London, with their wives. In the following reign the Royal Mint was established in Durham House. Here, too, the unfortunate Lady Jane Grey lived, under the roof of her ambitious uncle, the Duke of Northumberland, and set out in great state from its portals on her ill-fated mission to be acclaimed Queen at the Tower.

We will now again turn our steps citywards to the great highway of Bishopsgate, where, closely adjoining the church of St. Helen, still stands the venerable mansion known as Crosby Place. Sir John Crosby, the owner and reputed builder of the mansion, was an Alderman and Sheriff of London in Edward the Fourth’s reign, and served the city in Parliament in 1461; he was also Mayor of the Staple of Calais. Attaching himself to the fortunes of Edward IV., he was knighted by the King on his approach to London in 1471. Four years later Crosby died, and his magnificent abode soon became a favourite royal residence. Richard, Duke of Gloucester, whilst Protector, made this his home and the centre of his plots to secure the Crown for himself. In the story as told by Shakespeare, the usurper bids the Lady Anne —

“presently repair to Crosby House;Where, after I have solemnly interr’dAt Chertsey monastery this noble King,And wet his grave with my repentant tears,I will with all expedient duty see you.”

There is little doubt that we owe the preservation of the Great Hall and so much of the rest of this fine building to the notoriety which it has gained from the allusion in the above passage. In later times the Hall was used for the acccommodation of foreign ambassadors; many a mayoralty feast was held within its walls, the most famous recorded one being that given by Sir Bartholomew Read, goldsmith, in 1502, when the guests were most numerous and “of great estate,” and the provision made for their entertainment was on a scale of unparalleled magnificence.

Far away below bridge on the right bank of the Thames lay another Royal Palace, that of Greenwich. The Manor of Greenwich belonged to the Crown at an early period. In 1300 Edward I. and the Prince his son made offering “at each of the holy crosses of the Virgin Mary at Greenwich.” The estate passed for a time out of Royal hands, but Humphrey, duke of Gloucester, enclosed a park of 200 acres, built a tower known as Greenwich Castle, and the more famous Palace of Placentia, which on his death in 1447 reverted to the Crown, the Palace becoming the favourite abode of the early Tudor sovereigns.

It now remains to speak of that grand national monument which, for varied interest, exceeds all its sister buildings in the ancient city – the Tower of London. Stow has well described the various uses which from time to time it has served: – “A citadel to defend or command the city; a royal palace for assemblies or treaties; a prison of State for the most dangerous offenders; the only place of coinage for all England; the armoury for warlike provision; the treasury of the ornaments and jewels of the Crown; and general conserver of the most ancient records of the King’s Courts of Justice at Westminster.” The Great or White Tower was built at the command of William the Conqueror by Gundulph, Bishop of Rochester, about the year 1078. Much injury was done to the new work by a storm in 1092, and the fortifications were repaired and extended by William Rufus, who, for this purpose and for the erection of Westminster Hall, cruelly oppressed his subjects with taxes. The building of the subsidiary forts and defences appears to have continued during the reigns of Henry I. and most of his successors to the time of Edward I.

The custody of the Tower was committed by the Conqueror to a Constable or Governor, whose office was at first hereditary. In or about the year 1140 it was held by Geoffrey, grandson of Geoffrey de Mandeville, who was created Earl of Essex by King Stephen. Soon afterwards he took the side of the Empress Maud, and being besieged by the citizens, sustained the attack for a long time, and in a sally took the Bishop of London prisoner at Fulham. The Tower seems to have been regarded in those days as impregnable, and Geoffrey retained his possession of it until 1143, when he was taken prisoner by stratagem, and compelled to surrender it. The possession of the Tower fortress was always regarded by the English monarchs as of the highest importance, as it enabled them to overawe the citizens, and also furnished a safe retreat for the sovereign’s own person. Longchamp, bishop of Ely, was left by Richard Cœur de Lion as chief guardian of the kingdom and in charge of the Tower during the King’s absence in Palestine. John, by his influence with the citizens, prevailed on them to desert the cause of his royal brother and Longchamp, and the latter, after handing to John the keys of the Tower, escaped, disguised as a woman, to France. During the insurrection of Wat Tyler, the mob, through some unaccountable negligence or treachery on the part of the guard, got within the Tower and overran its apartments, insulting the Princess of Wales, the mother of Richard II., and dragging forth from their refuge in the chapel Simon, archbishop of Canterbury and chancellor, and Sir Robert Hales, treasurer, both of whom they immediately beheaded. The importance attached to the safe keeping of the Tower appeared in a striking manner at a much later period, when, in 1641, Charles I. roused the whole city and both Houses almost to a frenzy by appointing and persisting in maintaining Colonel Lunsford as Lieutenant of the Tower. The appointment was universally regarded as dangerous and unfit, and the King was at last compelled to recall it. It may be mentioned, as a fact not generally known, that the Lord Mayor receives every three months a list, under the sovereign’s sign-manual, of the daily pass-word to the Tower.

As a palace, the Tower can boast of an almost continuous use by the English sovereigns for five hundred years, ending with the accession of Charles II. Stephen is the first King who is recorded to have held his Court within the Tower. This was in 1140, when his affairs were not in a prosperous state, and the security of the Tower offered him a great temptation. John was also a frequent resident here, and on his death Prince Lewis, the Dauphin of France, made his abode at the Tower previous to renouncing all claim to the throne of England. Henry III., during his minority, constantly kept his Court here, celebrating the religious festivals with great pomp. These were held in the chapel in the White Tower, perhaps the most perfect Norman building existing in England; a chaplain, who received a yearly salary of fifty shillings, conducting daily service. The three Edwards who succeeded Henry on the throne, seldom resided in their London fortress, but its dungeons were filled with their foreign prisoners of highest rank. Richard II. visited the Tower to prepare for his coronation procession. On the preceding day he was welcomed in great state and with brilliant pageantry by the Mayor, Aldermen, and citizens, and this city reception became from this time an established custom. Froissart gives a brilliant description of the grand tournament held in London by Richard in 1390, when the King entertained in the Tower a large number of distinguished foreign guests. It witnessed a very different scene nine years later, also chronicled by Froissart, when Richard abdicated the throne in favour of Bolingbroke. In the following year his body was brought from Pontefract to London, and carried on a bier from the Tower to Cheapside, where it lay for two hours, while 20,000 people, says Froissart, came to gaze upon his face. It was then carried to King’s Langley, and interred in the church of the Dominican Friars; but was removed by Henry V. to the tomb which Richard had prepared for himself in Westminster Abbey. Neither Henry IV. nor Henry V. lived much in the Tower, but Charles, duke of Orleans, and his brother John, count of Angoulême, who were taken prisoners at Agincourt, suffered many years’ imprisonment here. Among the Harleian manuscripts is a copy of the poems of the Duke, which contains the beautiful illumination, already mentioned, representing the Tower and London Bridge, with the intervening buildings, at the time of the Duke’s captivity. It is reproduced in our frontispiece.

With the reign of Henry VI. begins the series of royal tragedies connected with the Tower. As king and prisoner alternately, the unfortunate monarch spent here most of his life, until after the battles of Barnet and Tewkesbury in 1471, which finally crushed his cause, he entered the Tower once more, where, a few weeks later, he was found dead, not without grave suspicion of foul play on the part of the Duke of Gloucester, the brother of his successor, Edward IV. Gloucester’s brotherly regard, whether real or assumed, ceased with the King’s death, and he found no words too black in which to paint the character of the late monarch, and so pave the way for his own accession to the throne. No obstacle was allowed to interfere with his ambition, and the murder of the two young princes is the saddest and most closely associated of all the historical events which give the walls of the old fortress an almost sacred character. From this cruel crime the Bloody Tower takes its name.

In the records of its later years the Tower kept up its tradition of violence and bloodshed; the little church of St. Peter ad Vincula close by bears sad witness to the dangers besetting the path which those must tread who seek for high estate.

CHAPTER VI

THE PASSING OF MEDIÆVAL LONDON

Changes in Human Thought in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries – Drawbacks to Civilisation, Worldliness and Neglect of Religion – Reflection of this in London Life – St. Paul’s in Neglect – The Struggle for Better Things – Hope for the Future – The Great Fire.

A few words seem called for before we leave the middle age of the great City. The world may be said to have entered on a new life in the wonderful movements of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The downfall of the ancient city of Constantinople, which had driven the scholars of the East westwards, especially into Italy, led to the great revival of learning in Western Europe. The splendid works of Architecture, and of Painting and Poetry, all trace their origin in part to this source. The discovery of the Mariner’s Compass had led on to that of a New World in the West, and of the passage round Africa to the East. The new learning had produced the revolt against traditional authority in theology. All this was wonderfully influencing English, and therefore London, life. And so we have exploits of rich citizens over the seas. We have the establishment of places of education, in London pre-eminently Christ’s Hospital, and the good works of Sir Thomas Gresham.

But there were unpleasing features as well. The revolt from mediævalism in religion led to very much wanton destruction in churches and religious houses. The destruction of beautiful works of religious art has often been all put down to the days of Cromwell, but this is not fair. There was a vast amount of vandalism by “hot Gospellers” in the days of Elizabeth. Thus Laud complains that he found the beautiful stained-glass windows in Lambeth Chapel all broken and “patched like a beggar’s coat.” One may just note here that his restorations of them were broken again in his day, and were restored by Archbishop Tait. And even more evil was wrought apparently by neglect and worldliness; the casting off Papal authority was too often accompanied by casting off all religious restraints.

This is all seen too clearly in the records that are left to us of St. Paul’s Cathedral. Grievous neglect befell it in the latter part of the sixteenth century. It is doubtful whether lightning or the carelessness of a workman set the lofty spire on fire in 1561, but it fell in and did much damage to the roof. This was to a certain extent repaired, but the glory seemed to have departed. Inigo Jones built a new west portico in Italian style, as that part had become dilapidated. Charles I. was endeavouring to restore it when the Civil Wars broke out. At the Restoration, things had, of course, become far worse, but while new plans of restoration were being discussed came the Great Fire, which for awhile settled matters. During the reigns of Elizabeth and James the Cathedral was a place of exchange and of public parade, merchants met to arrange bargains and dandies to show themselves. “The noise,” said Bishop Earle, “is like that of bees; a strange humming or buzz mixed of walking tongues and feet; it is a kind of still roar or loud whisper. All inventions are emptied here, and not a few pockets. The principal inhabitants and possessors are stale knights and captains out of service.” This agrees with what Falstaff tells us; he “bought Bardolf in Paul’s.” And Ben Jonson speaks of Captain Bobadil as “a Paul’s man.”

As the light of history falls on all this, it becomes clear to fair judges that whilst there was widespread ungodliness and worldliness, there were good and earnest men belonging to the two religious parties, who were striving after Reformation. The Puritan divines in the early times of the Stuarts were learned and most devout. Their commentaries on the Bible are well worth study. So are the men on the other side: Andrewes, Hooker, Jeremy Taylor, for example. The collision came, the Puritan triumph and failure, the godless reaction. The history of London during all this time again exhibits beautiful examples of men who saw opposite sides of the same good shield, and strove for the love of God to make the world better. The hand of God was visible, as J. R. Green once put it, shaping the course of the middle age, and we believe and are assured that there is still a nobler future for the City which we love, under the same Fatherly and Almighty hand.

The epitaph of the noble mediæval city which we have endeavoured to describe is engraved on the north side of the Monument on Fish Street Hill: – “In the year of Christ 1666, the second day of September, eastward from hence at the distance of two hundred and two feet (the height of this column), about midnight, a most terrible fire broke out, which, driven on by a high wind, not only wasted the adjacent parts, but also places very remote, with incredible noise and fury. It consumed eighty-nine churches, the City gates, Guildhall, many public structures, hospitals, schools, libraries, a vast number of stately edifices, thirteen thousand two hundred dwelling-houses, four hundred streets. Of the six and twenty wards it utterly destroyed fifteen, and left eight others shattered and half-burnt. The ruins of the City were four hundred and thirty-six acres, from the Tower by the Thames side to the Temple Church, and from the north-east along the City wall to Holborn Bridge. To the estates and fortunes of the citizens it was merciless, but to their lives very favourable, that it might in all things resemble the last conflagration of the world. The destruction was sudden, for in a small space of time the City was seen most flourishing, and reduced to nothing. Three days after, when this fatal fire had baffled all human counsels and endeavours in the opinion of all, it stopped as it were by a command from Heaven, and was on every side extinguished.”

1

One of the “properties” still remains in Ironmongers’ Hall, an ostrich on which a black boy was seated in a seventeenth-century Mayoralty pageant. The beautiful drawings of Anthony Munday’s “Chrysanaleia,” a pageant prepared for Sir John Leman’s Mayoralty procession in 1616, are preserved at Fishmongers’ Hall.

2

“Piepoudre, so called from the dusty feet of the suitors; or, according to Sir Edward Coke, because justice is there done as speedily as dust can fall from the foot.” —Blackstone’s Comment., vol. iii., chap. 2.

3

This extract from Fitzstephen is from the translation in Thoms’ edition of Stow, 1842.