Chapter Eleven.
Well Met.
“O God, we are but leaves upon Thy stream,
Clouds in Thy sky.”
Dinah Mulock.
A busy place on a Monday morning was Bread Street, in the city of London. As its name denotes, it was the street of the bakers; for our ancestors did not give names, as we do, without reason, for mere distinction’s sake. If a town gate bore the name of York Gate, that was equivalent to a signpost, showing that it opened on the York road. They made history and topography, where we only make confusion.
The fat, flour-besprinkled baker at the Harp, in Bread Street, was in full tide of business. His shelves were occupied by the eight different kinds of bread in common use—wassel, used only by knights and squires; cocket, the kind in ordinary use by smaller folk; maslin, a mixture of wheat, oats, and barley; barley, rye, and brown bread, the fare of tradesmen and monks; oaten, the food of the poorest; and horse bread. There were two or three varieties finer and better than these, only used by the nobles, which were therefore made at home, and not commonly to be found at the baker’s: simnel, manchet or chet, and paynemayne or pain de main (a corruption of panis dominicus). We read also of pain le Rei, or the King’s bread, but this may be paynemayne under another name. Even in the large towns, at that time, much of the baking was done at home; and the chief customers of the bakers were the cookshops or eating houses, with such private persons as had not time or convenience to prepare their own bread. The price of bread at this time does not appear to be on record; but about seventy years later, four loaves were sold for a penny. (Note 1.)
The cooks, who lived mainly in Eastcheap and along the water-side, of course had to provide bread of various kinds, to suit their different customers; and a young man, armed with a huge basket, came to have it filled with all varieties. Another young man had entered after him, and now stood waiting by the wall till the former should have finished his business.
“Now then,” said the baker, turning to the man in waiting, as the other trudged forth with his basket: “what shall I serve you with?”
“I don’t want you to serve me; I want to serve you,” was the answer.