"You belong to an old city family, Master Stow?" I asked.
THE MANNER OF BURNING ANNE ASKEW, JOHN LACELS, JOHN ADAMS, AND NICOLAS BELENIAN, WITH CERTANE OF YE COUNSELL SITTING IN SMITHFIELD
"Sir, my forefathers for five generations—at least, my memory goes not farther back—are all buried in the little green church-yard behind St. Michael's Cornhill. My grandfather, citizen and tallow-chandler, died when I was yet of tender years. This have I always regretted, because he might have told me many curious things concerning the City in the time of Edward the Fourth. The penance of Jane Shore he would surely remember. Nay, he may even have known that unfortunate lady, wife of a reputable citizen. Yet have I in my youth conversed with old men and learned much from them. My grandfather, by his last will, thought it no superstition to leave money for watching-candles. I was once taken to the church to see them burning, and there I remember I saw a poor woman who received every Sunday, for a year, one penny for saying five pater-nosters for the good of his soul. Thus she lived, poor wretch, wasting her breath in fruitless labor. I marvel to think what has become of all those who lived by the altar in the old days. The priests of the churches and the chantries, the chaplains of the fraternities, the singing-men, the petty canons, the sextons, singers, sayers of pater-nosters, sellers of crosses and beads and chaplets and wax tapers, the monks and the nuns with all their officers and servants—there were many thousands in this city alone—what became of them? How get they now a livelihood? Tell me that. As for me, I have been hauled before the courts on a charge of Papistry. Bones o' me! All my crime was the reading of old books, yet do I remember the evil days of King Edward's time, when the Reformation was new, and people's minds were troubled, and all things seemed turning to destruction, so that many welcomed back the old religion when Mary came, yet when she died there was found none to mourn for its banishment. Sir, the old are apt to praise the past, but from one who has lived through the glorious reign of Queen Elizabeth shall you hear nothing but praise of the present. Consider"—he arose and walked to the open window and looked out—"this fine town of London, like the realm itself, was devoured by the priests and monks. It is now freed from those locusts. The land that belonged to the Church could not be sold, so that those who lived upon it were always tenants and servants. That land is now free. Learning, which before was on sufferance, is now free. Nay, there hath been so great a zeal for learning—such an exemplar was Her Highness the Queen—that noble ladies, as well as gentlemen, have become skilled in Latin, Greek, Italian, and even in Hebrew. The trade of the City hath doubled and trebled. Thanks to the wisdom of our merchants and their courage, London doth now surpass Antwerp. The Spaniard, who vainly thought to rule the world, is humbled, and by us. The French, who would strike at England through Scotland, have lost their power. Our ships sail round the world; our merchants trade with India in the east and with America in the west: our trading companies cover all the seas. What does it matter that I am old and poor and licensed to beg my bread—and that in a city which hath ever scorned poverty—what does it matter, I say, so that one has lived through this most happy reign and seen this city increase, year by year, in wealth and greatness? Who am I that I should murmur? I have had my prayer. The Lord hath graciously made me the historian of the City. My work will be a monument. What more can a man want than to have the desire of his heart?" His voice trembled. He stood in the sunshine, which wrapped him as with a glory. Then he turned to me.
"Sir," said he, "you are here—whether in the flesh or the spirit I know not. Come with me. Let me show you my city and my people. In three hundred years there will be many changes and the sweeping away of many old landmarks, I doubt not. There must be many changes in customs and usages and in fashions of manners and of dress. Come with me. You shall behold my present—and your past."
He put on his cloak—a shabby cloak it was, and too short for his tall figure—and led the way down the narrow stairs into the street. He stepped out of the house, and looked up and down the street, sniffing the air with the greatest satisfaction, as if it had been laden with the perfumes of Araby the Blest instead of the smell of a glue-making shop hard by.
OLD FOUNTAIN INN IN THE MINORIES
Taken down in 1793