London

by Walter Besant

"Ha!" he said, "the air of London is wholesome. We have had no plague since the sweating sickness, fifty years ago." (There was to be another the year after, but this he could not know, and it was not for me to tell him.) "Yet at Iseldon, hard by, fevers are again very prevalent, and the falling sickness is reported from Westminster. This, sir, is the street of St. Mary Axe. It is not one of our great streets, yet many worshipful men live here. Opposite is the house of one who is worth £4000—aye, £4000 at least; not a Gresham or a Staple, yet a man of substance." The house was four stories high, the front of brick and timber, the windows filled above and below with rich carvings, and having a high gable. "The wealth of private citizens hath lately much increased. In my youth there were few such houses; now there are a dozen where formerly there was but one. If you go into that house, sir, you will find the table plentiful and the wine good; you will see arras hanging in every chamber, or a painted cloth with proverbs at least; sweet herbs or flowers are strewn in every room; the house is warmed with fires; the sideboards are loaded with plate or are bright with Murano glass. There are coffers of ivory and wood to hold the good man's treasure; and in an upper chamber you shall see hanging up the cloaks and doublets, the gowns and petticoats, of this worthy and worshipful merchant and his family, in silk and velvet, precious and costly. Fifty years ago there would have been none of these things, but treen platters; of arras none; and but one poor silver mazer for all his plate. But we are not ashamed to see the tenements of the craftsmen side by side with the great houses of the rich. For we are all brothers in this city; one family are we, rich and poor together; we are united in our companies and in our work; our prentices are taught their trade; to our maids we give marriage portions; we suffer no stranger among us; our sick and aged are kept from want and suffering."

"But you have great Lords and noblemen among you. Surely they are not of your family."

"Sir, the time was when it was a happy circumstance for the City to have the nobles within her walls. That time is past. They are fast leaving our bounds. One or two alone remain, and we shall not lament their departure. There is no longer any danger that the City will be separate in feeling from the country, and it is true that the rufflers who follow in a noble lord's train are ever ready to turn a silly girl's head or to lead a prentice into dissolute ways. In this street there were once no fewer than three parish churches. Yonder ruin at the north end was St. Augustine on the Wall: here of old times was the house of the old and sick priests, called the Papey. King Henry turned them out, and who took in the poor old men I know not. 'Twas a troubled time. Yonder was the church—its church-yard yet remaining—of St. Mary Axe, dedicated not only to the Virgin whom now we have ceased to worship, yet still reverence, but also to St. Ursula, whom we regard no more, and to the Eleven Thousand Virgins, at whose pretended miracle we scoff. And opposite is the goodly church of St. Andrew Undershaft. Of churches we have fewer than of old. As for piety, truly I see no difference, for some will always be pious, and some prodigal and profligate. I remember," he went on, gazing, as was his wont, at the church as if he loved the very stones—"I remember the May-pole when it hung upon hooks along the south wall of the church. I never saw it erected, because Evil May-day, before I was born, when the prentices rose against the aliens, was the last time that it was put up. It was destroyed in King Edward's time, when one Sir Stephen, curate of Katherine Cree, preached at Paul's Cross that the May-pole was an idol. So the people brought axes and cut it up—the goodliest May-pole that the world has ever seen, and taller than the steeple of the church. The same Sir Stephen wanted to change the names of the churches, and the names of the week-days, and the time of Lent, all for the sake of idolatry. And the same Sir Stephen caused the death of the most honest man that ever lived, for alleged seditious words. Well—'tis fifty years ago."

With this reminiscence we passed through Leadenhall, and into a broad and open place. "Now," said Stow, "we are in the very heart of the City. Here hath been, for time out of mind, a corn-market. And here are pillory and stocks, but," said Stow, "this pillory is for false dealing only. The greater pillory is in Cheapside. Here we have the Tun prison"—in shape the building somewhat resembled a tun—"for street offenders and the like. It has been a city prison for three hundred years and more. Beside it is the conduit. Here are two churches: St. Peter's, which falsely pretends to be the most ancient of any in the City, and St. Michael's. But the chief glory of Cornhill is the Royal Exchange. Let us look in."

The entrance and principal front of the Royal Exchange were on the south side. We looked in. The place was crowded with merchants, grave and sober men, walking within in pairs, or gathered in little groups. Among them were foreigners from Germany, France, Venice, Genoa, Antwerp, and even Russia, conspicuous by their dress. "Before the building of this place," said Stow, "our merchants had no place to meet, and were forced to seek out each other; nor was there any place where the latest news might be brought, however much the interest of the City might be affected. Now all is changed, and every morning our worshipful merchants meet to hear the news, and to discuss their business. Come, we must not linger, for we have much to see; else there would be many things to tell. Believe me, sir, I could discourse all day long upon the trade of London and yet not make an end."

He led me past the Royal Exchange, past two churches, one on the north side and one on the south, into a broad and open street, which I knew must be Cheapside.

"Here," said he, "is the beauty of London. This, good Sir, is Chepe."

The street was at least double the width of its modern successor. The houses, which were the fairest, taken all together, in the whole of the City, were nearly all five stories high, each story projecting above the one below, with high-pitched gable facing the street. The fronts were of brick and timber, and some of them were curiously and richly carved. In some the third story was provided with a balcony shaded from the sun. The ground-floor contained the shop, protected by a prentice. A sign hung in front of every house. In the middle was Queen Eleanor's cross, the figure of the Virgin and Holy Infant defaced by zealous Protestants. Near the cross was the conduit. The shops on the south side were of grocers, haberdashers, and upholsterers. Farther west the goldsmiths stood together, and then the mercers. The street was filled with people, some riding, some walking. There were gallants, followed by servants carrying their swords; there were grave city merchants and fine city madams; there were working-men and craftsmen; there were the prentices, too, in every shop, bawling their wares.