London in Modern Times / or, Sketches of the English Metropolis during the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.

by Unknown

Cromwell's state residence in London was Whitehall. With much less of splendor and show than had been exhibited by the former occupants of that palace, the protector maintained a degree of magnificence and dignity befitting the chief ruler of a great country.[[1]] He had around him his court—composed of his family, some leading officers of the army, and a slight sprinkling of the nobility; but what interests posterity the most, it included Milton, Marvell, Waller, and Dryden. Foreign ambassadors and other distinguished personages were entertained at his table in sober state, the dinner being brought in by the gentlemen of his guard, clothed in gray coats, with black velvet collars and silver lace trimmings. "His own diet was spare and not curious, except in public treatments, which were constantly given the Monday in every week to all the officers in the army not below a captain, when he used to dine with them. A table was likewise spread every day of the week for such officers as should casually come to court. Sometimes he would, for a frolic, before he had half dined, give order for the drum to beat, and call in his foot-guards, who were permitted to make booty of all they found on the table. Sometimes he would be jocund with some of the nobility, and would tell them what company they had kept, when and where they had drunk the king's health and the royal family's, bidding them when they did it again to do it more privately; and this without any passion, and as festivous, droll discourse."[[2]] In the neighboring parks, the protector was often seen taking the air in his sedan, on horseback, and in his coach. On one occasion he turned coachman, with a rather disastrous result, which is amusingly told by Ludlow, whose genuine republicanism prejudiced him against Cromwell after he had assumed the supreme power. "The duke of Holstein made Cromwell a present of a set of gray Friesland coach-horses, with which taking the air in the park, attended only by his secretary Thurloe and a guard of janizaries, he would needs take the place of the coachman, not doubting but the three pair of horses he was about to drive would prove as tame as the three nations which were ridden by him, and, therefore, not content with their ordinary pace, he lashed them very furiously; but they, unaccustomed to such a rough driver, ran away in a rage, and stopped not till they had thrown him out of the box, with which fall his pistol fired in his pocket, though without any hurt to himself: by which he might have been instructed how dangerous it was to meddle with those things wherein he had no experience." In connection with these anecdotes of Cromwell may be introduced an extract from the Moderate Intelligencer, illustrative of the public amusements in London at that time:—

"Hyde Park, May 1, 1654.—This day there was a hurling of a great ball by fifty Cornish gentlemen of the one side, and fifty on the other; one party played in red caps and the other in white. There was present, his highness the lord protector, many of his privy council, and divers eminent gentlemen, to whose view was presented great agility of body, and most neat and exquisite wrestling, at every meeting of one with another, which was ordered with such dexterity, that it was to show more the strength, vigor, and nimbleness of their bodies, than to endanger their persons. The ball they played withal was silver, and was designed for that party which did win the goal." Coach-racing was another amusement of the period, perhaps something of an imitation of the old chariot races; races on foot were also run.

The author of a book entitled, "A Character of England, as it was lately presented to a Nobleman of France," published in 1659, further describes Hyde Park in the manner following: "I did frequently in the spring accompany my lord N—— into a field near the town, which they call Hide Park; the place not unpleasant, and which they use as our course, but with nothing of that order, equipage, and splendor, being such an assembly of wretched jades and hackney coaches, as, next a regiment of carmen, there is nothing approaches the resemblance. The park was, it seems, used by the late king and nobility for the freshness of the air and the goodly prospect; but it is that which now (besides all other exercises) they pay for here, in England, though it be free in all the world besides, every coach and horse which enters buying his mouthful, and permission of the publican who has purchased it, for which the entrance is guarded with porters and long staves."

During the commonwealth, what may be called a drab-colored tint pervaded London life, absorbing the rich many-colored hues which sparkle in the early picturesque history of the old metropolis. The pageantries of the Tudors and Stuarts were at an end; civic processions lost much of their glory; maskings and mummings were expelled from the inns of court; May-day became as prosaic as other days; Christmas was stripped of its holly decorations, and shorn from its holiday revels. The companies' halls were divested of royal arms, and the churches purified from images and popish adornments. But the preceding particulars show that the tinge of the times was not quite so drab as it seems on the pages of some partial and prejudiced writers. London had not the sepulchral look, and commonwealthmen had not the funeral-like aspect commonly attributed to them. They had, as we have seen, their cheerfulness and festivity, their banquets, recreations, and amusements; and, no doubt, in the mansions and houses of the city folk, both Presbyterian and Independent, there was comfort and taste, and pleasure, far different from what would be inferred from the accounts of them given by some, as if they were all starched precisians, a formal and woe-begone race. There was a dash of humor in Cromwell, to many about him quite inconsistent with that lugubriousness so often described as the characteristic of the times. With the suppression of the rude, boisterous, profligate, and vicious amusements of earlier times, there was certainly an improvement of the morals of the people. London was purified from a good deal of pollution by the change. The order, sobriety, and good behavior of the London citizens, during the period that regular government existed under Cromwell, appear in pleasing contrast to the confusion and riots of earlier times. There was a general diffusion of religious instruction, an earnestness in preaching, and an example of reverence for religion, exhibited by those in authority, which could not but operate beneficially. No doubt in London, as elsewhere, there were formalism and hypocrisy; the length of religious services had sometimes an unfavorable influence upon the young; severity and force, too, were unjustifiably employed in controlling public manners; but when all these drawbacks are made, and every other which historical impartiality may demand, there remains in the condition of London in those times, a large amount of genuine virtue and religion.

The night of the 2d of September, 1658, was one of the stormiest ever known. The wind blew a hurricane, and swept with resistless violence over city and country; many a house that night was damaged, chimneys being thrown down, tiles torn off, and even roofs carried away. Old trees in Hyde Park and elsewhere were wrenched from the soil. Cromwell was lying that night on his death-bed, and the Londoners' attention was divided between the phenomena of the weather, and the great event impending in the history of the commonwealth. The royalists said that evil angels were gathering in the storm round Whitehall, to seize on the departing spirit of the usurper; his friends interpreted it as a warning in providence of the loss the country was about to sustain. Amidst the storm and the two interpretations of it, both equally presumptuous, Cromwell lay in the arms of death, breathing out a prayer, which, whatever men may think of the character of him who uttered it, will be read with deep interest by all: "Lord, though a miserable and wretched creature, I am in covenant with thee, through thy grace, and may and will come to thee for thy people. Thou hast made me a mean instrument to do them some good and thee service. Many of them set too high a value upon me, though others would be glad of my death. Lord, however thou disposest of me, continue and go on to do good for them. Teach those who look too much upon thy instruments to depend more upon thyself, and pardon such as desire to trample upon the dust of a poor worm, for they are thy people too."

Cromwell was not by any means given to excessive state and ceremony, but after his death his friends evinced their fondness for it by the singularly pompous funeral which they appointed for him. Somerset House was selected as the scene of the lying in state, and thither the whole city flocked to witness the spectacle of gorgeous gloom. They passed through three ante-chambers, hung with mourning, to the funeral apartment. A bed of state covered the coffin, upon which, surrounded by wax lights, lay Cromwell's effigy, attired in royal robes. Pieces of his armor were arranged on each side, together with the symbols of majesty, the globe and sceptre. Behind the head an imperial crown was exhibited on a chair of state. Strikingly did the whole portray the fleeting and evanescent character of earthly pomp and power. It being found necessary to inter the body before the conclusion of the public funereal pageant, the effigy was removed to another room, and placed in an erect instead of a recumbent position, with the emblems of kingship in its hands, and the crown royal on its head. This exhibition continued for eight days, at the conclusion of which period there was a solemn procession to Westminster Abbey. The streets were lined with military, and the principal functionaries of the city of London, the officers of the army, the ministers of state, the foreign ambassadors, and some members of Cromwell's family, composed the cortége, which conducted the funeral car bearing the effigy to the place where the body was interred.

The city of London acknowledged Richard Cromwell as lord high protector on his father's death. Probably an address of congratulation from the metropolis on the event of his accession, was included among the contents of the old trunks, filled with such documents, to which Richard humorously referred when his short career of rulership reached its close. "Take particular care of these trunks," he said to his servant, when giving some directions about them; "they contain no less than the lives and fortunes of all the good people of England." The corporation of London having played a conspicuous part in all the changes of those changeful times, was particularly consulted by the parties who seized the reins of government when they had fallen from the hands of Oliver, and could not be held by his incompetent son. So cordial seemed the understanding between the city magistrates and the ruling authorities—consisting of the rump parliament, the council of state, and the officers of the army—that an entertainment was given to the latter at Grocers' Hall, on the 6th of October, 1659, by the lord mayor and corporation, to celebrate Lambert's victory over Sir George Booth, who had raised an insurrection in the west of England. At these festivities there was, on the part of the city, more of the semblance than the reality of friendship; for in the disjointed state of public affairs, and the manifest impotence of those who had undertaken to rule, London shared the general sentiments of dissatisfaction and alarm. It was felt that the parliament was but a name, and the re-establishment of a military despotism by the army was the object of apprehension. In the disagreement between parliament and army the city wished to stand neutral, though the apprentices rose in riotous opposition to the committee of safety, which was formed of republican officers. The feelings of this youthful part of the community were sympathized in by many others, though they prudently desired to avoid any infraction of the public peace. A general wish pervaded the city that a free parliament might be called; and when the rump parliament required the collection of the taxes, the citizens refused the impost, and objected to the power which had levied it. General Monk was ordered to march on the refractory citizens, which he did. He forthwith stationed guards at the gates of the city, and then broke them down, destroying the portcullises and removing the posts and chains. While Monk was thus chastising the Londoners, he fell out with the parliament, in whose service he professed to act, and at once changing sides, sought the forgiveness of the city for his deeds of violence, which, as he alleged, had been done, not from his own inclination, but at the command of the parliament. Mutual engagements and promises were now exchanged between the general and the citizens. Posts, gates, chains, portcullises, were replaced and repaired; and the corporation being let into the secret of Monk's design to promote the restoration of the monarchy, cordially acquiesced in the object. When messengers from Charles, who was at Breda, reached the city, they were joyfully welcomed, and £10,000 was voted out of the civic coffers to assist his majesty. While preparations for the king's return were proceeding prosperously, a solemn thanksgiving-day was held on the 10th of May, 1660, on which occasion the lord mayor and aldermen and the several companies assembled at St. Paul's Cathedral, when the good Richard Baxter preached to them on "Right Rejoicing: or, The Nature and Order of rational and warrantable Joy." Feeling deeply as he did for the political welfare of the city and the country, and deeming the restoration of the monarch conducive to that end, yet the preacher, filled as he was with love to souls and zeal for God, would not let the occasion pass without wholly devoting it to the highest ends of the Christian ministry. It was his compassion, he says, to the frantic merry world, and to the self-troubling melancholy Christian, and his desire methodically to help them in their rejoicing, which formed his exhortation, and prompted the selection of his subject. No doubt men of all kinds thronged old St. Paul's to hear the Puritan preach on the king's return; and on reading over his wonderfully earnest and conscience-searching sermon, one cannot help feeling how many there must have been there to whom his warnings were as appropriate as they still are to multitudes in our own day, perhaps even to some person now perusing this sketch of the history of London. "Were your joy," said he, "but reasonable, I would not discourage it. But a madman's laughter is no very lovely spectacle to yourselves. And I appeal to all the reason in the world, whether it be reasonable for a man to live in mirth that is yet unregenerate and under the curse and wrath of God, and can never say, in the midst of his greatest pomp and pleasure, that he is sure to be an hour out of hell, and may be sure he shall be there forever, if he die before he have a new, a holy, and a heavenly nature, though he should die with laughter in his face, or with a jest in his mouth, or in the boldest presumption that he shall be saved; yet, as sure as the word of God is true, he will find himself everlastingly undone, as soon as ever his soul is departed from his body, and he sees the things that he would not believe. Sirs, is it rational to dance in Satan's fetters, at the brink of hell, when so many hundred diseases are all ready to mar the mirth, and snatch away the guilty soul, and cast it into endless desperation? I exceedingly pity the ungodly in their unwarrantable melancholy griefs, and much more an ungodly man that is bleeding under the wounds of conscience. But a man that is merry in the depth of misery is more to be pitied than he. Methinks it is one of the most painful sights in all the world, to see a man ruffle it out in bravery, and spend his precious time in pleasure, and melt into sensual and foolish mirth, that is a stranger to God, and within a step of endless woe. When I see their pomp, and feasting, and attendance, and hear their laughter and insipid jests, and the fiddlers at their doors or tables, and all things carried as if they made sure of heaven, it saddeneth my heart to think, alas! how little do these sinners know the state that they are in, the God that now beholdeth them, the change that they are near. How little do they think of the flames that they are hastening to, and the outcries and lamentations that will next ensue." Baxter knew that he would have, in all probability, many a light and careless mortal to hear him at St. Paul's that day, whose every thought and feeling would be engrossed in the anticipation of the gayeties that were about to return and supersede the strictness of Puritan times; he anticipated the presence of men who, like moths round a candle, were darting about in false security on the borders of everlasting fire, and thus he sent the arrows of his powerful eloquence direct at their consciences. Imagination can scarcely refrain from picturing some dissipated merry-maker arrested by such appeals, trembling under such tremendous and startling truths, quailing with terror, pale with anguish, melted into repentance, fleeing to the Saviour for mercy, and going home to pour forth in secret tears and prayers before God.

On the 26th of May, King Charles II. landed at Dover, and on the 29th entered the metropolis. He was met by the corporation in St. George's fields, Southwark, where a grand tent had been fitted up for receiving him. A sumptuous collation was ready, and the lord mayor waited to place in the hands of the monarch the city sword. Arrived and welcomed by his subjects, Charles conferred the honor of knighthood on the chief magistrate, and then proceeded to London, amidst a display of rejoicing such as brought back the remembrance of other days. The streets were lined with the companies and train bands; the houses were adorned with tapestries and silks; windows, balconies, roofs, and scaffolds, were crowded with spectators; and the conduits ran with delicious wines. The procession was formed of a troop of gentlemen, arrayed in cloth of silver; two hundred gentlemen in velvet coats, with footmen in purple liveries; another troop in buff coats and green scarfs; two hundred in blue and silver, with footmen in sea-green and silver; two hundred and twenty, with thirty footmen in gray and silver, and four trumpeters; one hundred and five, with six trumpets; seventy, with five trumpets; two troops of three hundred, and one of one hundred, all mounted and richly habited. Then followed his majesty's arms, carried by two trumpeters, together with the sheriff's men and six hundred members of the companies on horseback, in black velvet coats and gold chains. Kettle-drums and trumpets, twelve ministers at the head of the life-guards, the city marshal, sheriffs, aldermen, all in rich trappings, the lord mayor, and last of all, the king, riding between the Dukes of York and Gloucester. The rear of the procession was composed of military. An entertainment at Guildhall followed, on the 5th of July. Nothing could exceed the rapture of the old royalist party in London. Cavaliers and their followers, restrained by the regulations and example of the governing powers during the commonwealth, and now freed from all restriction on their indulgence, were loud and extravagant in their demonstrations of joy. London was transformed into a scene of carnival-like festivity. There were bonfires and the roasting of oxen, while the rumps of beef divided among hungry citizens suggested many a joke on the rump parliament. Revelry and intemperance were the order of the day. The taverns rang with the roundelay of the licentious and intemperate—"The king shall enjoy his own again." At night, the riotous amusement continued, amidst illumination of the most brilliant kind which at that time could be supplied. The whole was a fitting prelude to the reign that followed, and an affecting commentary on the moving exhortations of Baxter, to which we have before referred.

A band of wild and crazy enthusiasts, denominated Fifth Monarchy men, troubled the peace of the city in the beginning of the following year. Led on by a fanatic named Venner, they insisted on the overthrow of King Charles, and the establishment of the reign of King Jesus. Though only between sixty and seventy in number, they were so feebly opposed by the authorities who had the safety of the city intrusted to them, that they marched from street to street, bearing down their opponents, and engaging in successful skirmishes, both with train-bands and horse-guards. For two days this handful of misguided men kept up their insurrection, and at last intrenched themselves in an ale-house in Cripplegate, where, after severe fighting, the remnant of them were captured. About twenty persons were killed on each side during the whole fray, and eleven of the rebels were afterwards executed. Soon after this, on the 23d of April, the coronation took place, which occasioned another gala day for the citizens, who now, in addition to other demonstrations of joy, erected four triumphal arches—the first in Leadenhall-street, representing his majesty's arrival; the second in Cornhill, forming a naval representation; the third in Cheapside, in honor of Concord; and the fourth in Fleet-street, symbolical of Plenty.

The old national amusements were revived in London on the restoration. May-day and Christmas resumed their former appearance. The May-pole in the Strand was erected in 1661. The theatres were re-opened, pouring forth a flood of licentiousness. The love of show and decoration was cherished afresh. Dresses and equipages shone in more than their ancient splendor. In 1661, it was thought necessary to repress the gilding of coaches and chariots, because of the great waste and expense of gold in their adorning.