In towns the hospitality of the burghers was not always given gratis, for it was a common custom, even among the richer merchants, to make a profit by receiving guests. These letters of lodgings were distinguished from the inn-keepers, or hostelers, by the title of herbergeors, or people who gave harbour to strangers, and in the larger towns they were submitted to municipal regulations. The great barons and knights were in the custom of taking up their lodgings with these herbergeors, rather than going to the public hostels; and thus a sort of relationship was formed between particular nobles or kings and particular burghers, on the strength of which the latter adopted the arms of their habitual lodgers as their signs. These herbergeors practised great extortions upon their accidental guests, and they appear to have adopted various artifices to allure them to their houses. These extortions are the subject of a very curious Latin poem of the thirteenth century, entitled “Peregrinus” (the Traveller), the author of which describes the arts employed to allure the traveller, and the extortions to which he was subjected. It appears that persons were employed to look out for the arrival of strangers, and that they entered into conversation with them, pretended to discover that they came from the same part of the country, and then, as taking especial interest in their fellow-countrymen, recommended them to lodgings. These tricks of the burghers who let their lodgings for hire are alluded to in other mediæval writers. It appears, also, that both in these lodging-houses and in the public inns, it was not an unusual practice to draw people into contracting heavy bills, which they had not the money to pay, and then to seize their baggage and even their clothes, to several times the amount of the debt.
No. 224. A Hostelry at night.
Our cut [No. 224], taken from an illumination in the unique manuscript of the Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles (fifteenth century), in the Hunterian Library at Glasgow, represents the exterior and the interior of a public hostel or inn. Without, we see the sign, and the bush suspended to it, and a company of travellers arriving; within, the bed-chambers are represented, and they illustrate not only the practice of lodging a number of persons in the same bedroom, but also that of sleeping in a state of perfect nudity. Our next cut ([No. 225]) is a picture of a mediæval tapster; it is taken from one of the carved seats, or misereres, in the fine parish church of Ludlow, in Shropshire. It will, probably, be remarked that the size of the tapster’s jug is rather disproportionate to that of his barrel; but mediæval artists often set perspective and relative proportions at defiance.
No. 225. A Mediæval Tapster.
The tavern in the middle ages seems to have been the usual scene of a large portion of the ordinary life of the lower class of society, and even partially of the middle class, and its influence was certainly very injurious on the manners and character of the people. Even the women, as we learn from a number of contemporary songs and stories, spent much of their time drinking and gossiping in taverns, where great latitude was afforded for carrying on low intrigues. The tavern was, in fact, the general rendezvous of those who sought amusement, of whatever kind. In the “Milleres Tale,” in Chaucer, Absolon, “that joly was and gay,” and who excelled as a musician, frequented the taverns and “brewhouses,” meaning apparently the lesser public-houses where they only sold ale, to exhibit his skill— In al the toun nas brewhous ne taverne
That he ne visited with his solas,
Ther as that any gaylard tapster was.
—Cant. Tales, l. 3,334.
And Chaucer’s friar was well acquainted with all the taverns in the towns he visited— He knew wel the tavernes in every toun,
And every osteller or gay tapstere.
—Ibid., l. 240.
The tavern was especially the haunt of gamblers, who were encouraged by the “tapster,” because they brought him his most profitable customers. As I have said before, when his customers had no money, the taverner took their articles of dress for payment, and in doing this he added the profits of the money-lender to those of the taverner. In the fabliau of “Gautier d’Aupais,” the young prodigal Gautier, hungry and penniless, arrives towards evening at a tavern, where he finds a number of guests enjoying themselves. His horse is taken to the stable, and he joins the guests, but when the moment comes for paying, and the taverner demands three sols, he is induced in his desperation to try his luck at the dice. Instead, however, of retrieving his fortunes, he loses his horse and his robe, and is obliged to return to his father’s house on foot, and in his shirt—
Si a perdu sa robe et son corant destrier;
En pure sa chemise l’en convint reperier.
The story of Cortois d’Arras, in the fabliau in “Barbazan” (i. 355), is somewhat similar. Young Cortois, also a prodigal, obtains from his father a large sum of money as a compensation for all his claims on the paternal property, and with this throws himself upon the world. As he proceeded, he heard the tavern-boy calling out from the door, “Here is good wine of Soissons, acceptable to everybody! here credit is given to everybody, and no pledges taken!” with much more in the same style. Cortois determined to stop at the tavern. “Host,” said he, “how much do you sell your wine the septier (a measure of two gallons)? and when was it tapped?” He was told that it had been fresh tapped that morning, and that the price was six deniers. The host then goes on to display his accommodations. “Within are all sorts of comforts; painted chambers, and soft beds, raised high with white straw, and made soft with feathers; here within is hostel for love affairs, and when bed-time comes you will have pillows of violets to hold your head more softly; and, finally, you will have electuaries and rose-water, to wash your mouth and your face.” Cortois orders a gallon of wine, and immediately afterwards a belle demoiselle makes her appearance, for such were in these times reckoned among the attractions of the tavern. It is soon arranged between the lady and the landlord that she is to be Cortois’ chamber-companion, and they all begin drinking together, the taverner persuading his guest that he owes this choice wine to the lady’s love. They then go to carouse in the garden, and they finish by plundering him of his money, and he is obliged to leave his clothes in pledge for the payment of his tavern expenses. The ale-wife was especially looked upon as a model of extortion and deceit, for she cheated unblushingly, both in money and measure, and she is pointed out in popular literature as an object of hatred and of satire. Our cut [No. 226], also furnished by one of the carved misereres in Ludlow Church, represents a scene from Doomsday: a demon is bearing away the deceitful ale-wife, who carries nothing with her but her gay head-dress and her false measure; he is going to throw her into “hell-mouth,” while another demon is reading her offences as entered in his roll, and a third is playing on the bagpipes, by way of welcome.
