Tacitus, “in describing the process by which Roman manners diffused themselves throughout Britain, and gradually completed the subjugation of the country, speaks of the natives of Britain as acquiring a taste for the two leading features in Roman civilization, ‘Porticus and Balnea,’—the portico, in which they were delighted to stroll and sun themselves; and the baths, which were their national luxury. He mentions these, and we cannot but be struck by the coincidence with things with which we are all familiar—the rows of our ancient city, and the Hypocaust, which is still shown as the Roman bath. We are hereby led to infer, that the mode of construction which gives the character to our city, originated in Roman habits.” [51]
Principal Streets.
Within the walls, the city is subdivided by four principal streets, intersecting each other nearly at right angles at St. Peter’s Church, which stands in the centre of the city. These streets retain numerous old timber buildings, which give them an unusual and quaint appearance, and are wider in general than those of cities of equal antiquity. Immediately in front of the church formerly stood the High Cross, which was pulled down and defaced by the Parliamentarians, when they took possession of the city in 1646. The upper portion of this valuable antiquity is still preserved in the grounds of Netherlegh House, though some of the carved figures are a good deal injured. Mr. Pennant is of opinion that St. Peter’s Church, and a few houses to the north and west, occupy the site of the Roman Prætorium, with its Court of Judicature and Angulale, where prayers, sacrifices, and other religious rites were wont to be performed.
Adjoining the Cross formerly stood that ignominious instrument of punishment, called the Pillory.
Adjoining the south side of St. Peter’s Church stood the old Pentice, where the magistrates performed their judicial duties, where the sheriffs sat to determine civil causes, and where the Town-office was kept, until the year 1803, when it was removed for the purpose of widening the road into Northgate and Watergate streets, at that time extremely narrow and dangerous. The bench of magistrates was then removed to much more commodious apartments in the Exchange. At the corner of the east of Bridge-street and the west of Eastgate-street, and near to the Cross, there was formerly a small stone building, forming a basin at the top, called the Conduit, to which water was formerly brought into the city from St. Giles’s well at Boughton, and thence conveyed to different parts of the city.
The Cross used formerly to be the scene of the barbarous sport of bull-baiting, of which the following satirical sketch is given in an old History of Chester:—
“The Cross is famous for being the annual scene of exhibition of that polite play called a bull-bait, where four or five of these horned heroes are attended by several hundred lovers of that rational amusement. Till within a few years, the dramatis personæ of this elegant scene included even magistracy itself, the mayor and corporation attending in their official habiliments, at the Pentice windows, not only to countenance the diversions of the ring, but to participate in a sight of its enjoyments. A proclamation was also made, by the crier of the court, with all the gravity and solemnity of an oration before a Romish sacrifice; the elegant composition of which ran thus—‘Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! If any man stands within twenty yards of the bull-ring, let him take—what comes.’ After which followed the usual public ejaculations, for ‘the safety of the king and the mayor of the city;’ when the beauties of the scene commenced, and the dogs immediately fell to. Here a prayer for his worship was not unseasonable, as even the ermin’d cloak was no security against the carcases of dead animals, with which spectators, without distinction, were occasionally saluted.
“We shall not attempt a description of the tender offices practised, at such times, on so noble a creature—one, however, we cannot omit mentioning: in 1787, an unfortunate animal, smarting under his wounds and fatigue, was very naturally induced to lie down;—the argument made use of, in this situation, however, as naturally induced him to get up; his humane followers hitting upon the ingenious expedient of setting fire to some straw under his body, when, it is hardly necessary to add, ‘the wretched animal heav’d forth such groans, as stretch’d his leathern coat almost to bursting.’ This circumstance of the fire was, however, no bad satire (emblematically considered) on the transactions of the day—the whole being little better than a—‘burning shame.’
“The late Dr. Cowper is said to have had the merit, when mayor, of putting a stop to the attendance of the corporate body on these days; and Mr. Alderman Brodhurst, in his mayoralty, made a laudable but ineffectual effort to suppress a relic of barbarism ‘more honoured in the breach than the observance.’”