There is one famous passage in Langland which reminds us of Shakespeare’s description of the Boar’s Head tavern in East Cheap, where Sir John Falstaff was wont to “take his ease in his inn.” It is a description of the company assembled in a large tavern in Cheapside or thereabouts; a company of a very miscellaneous sort. The chief person there is called Sir Glutton, who seems to have been just such another as Sir John Falstaff. This Sir Glutton was on his way to church on a certain Friday, in order to make confession; but he just called in at the tavern as he went along. For it so happened that Beton the brewster was standing at the tavern-door, and took occasion to mention that she had some especially good ale for immediate consumption. “But have you,” said he, “any hot spices to put in it?” “Yes,” said she, “there’s pepper, and peony-seeds, and a pound of garlic, and a farthing’s worth of fennel-seed, especially reserved for Fridays.” That was just too much for him. In went Sir Glutton; and, it is remarked, “great oaths went with him.” We are then introduced to the company, which included Ciss the sempstress, Wat the gamekeeper and his wife, who was already drunk, Tom the tinker and two of his boys, Hick the horse-dealer, Hugh the needle-seller, Clarice of Cock Lane, and the clerk of the church—which probably alludes to St. Peter’s Cornhill—a certain Sir Piers, a Flemish woman named Parnel (once a common female name), a hay-ward or hedge-warden, a hermit, the hangman of Tyburn, Daw the diker, i.e. hedger and ditcher, and a dozen rascals more, made up of porters and pick-pockets and drawers of teeth. Then there were a minstrel and a rat-catcher, and Rose the seller of dishes; Godfrey who sold garlic, and a Welshman named Griffin; and, to conclude all, a heap of upholsterers or dealers in ready-made furniture.
Then the whole company looked on while Hick the horsedealer and Clement the cobbler played at a kind of game called the New Fair; which was really a kind of bartering by handicap, and constituted a mild form of gambling. The idea was simple enough, though it led to a large amount of dispute and wrangling before it could be satisfactorily settled. First of all, Clement the cobbler took off his cloak and laid it on a table or chair. Then Hick took off his hood, and laid it beside the cloak. Then the whole business was to appraise the relative worth of the articles, which they wholly failed to do, till they appointed an umpire, viz. Robin the rope-maker. Robin’s decision was very advantageous to the taverner. It was clear that the cloak was worth more than the hood; so that some compensation was due to Clement, who accepted the hood in exchange. So he was allowed to fill up his cup at Hick’s expense. And it was further provided that, if either of the parties was dissatisfied with the award, he was to be fined in a gallon of ale; out of which gallon he was to drink the health of Sir Glutton, who had been so good as to preside over the matter in dispute.
And so things went on, till every one grew more or less uproarious; and we are not surprised to hear that when Sir Glutton at last rose up, late in the evening, too late to go to church, he had already consumed about a gallon, and a gill over; and, in crossing the floor, he went no straighter than a blind man’s dog, which is sometimes in front and sometimes behind. He had much difficulty in finding the door, and finally stumbled over the threshold, unable to rise; and at last, Clement and others had to carry him home. Then, with all the trouble in the world, his wife and his maid got him safely into bed, and there he slept all Saturday and all Sunday, waking up at last on the Sunday evening. And as soon as ever he unclosed his eyes, the first word that he said was, “Where stands the bowl?” It is some satisfaction to know that his wife administered to him a severe rebuke, and that he was thoroughly ashamed of himself, and promised to observe Friday, thenceforward, as a day of abstinence and church-going. From this it would appear that the manner of life as conducted inside a tavern was not very different from what it is now. One of the most curious points in Langland’s description of this company is his inclusion of “the hangman of Tyburn.” Perhaps it is not generally known that there were, in fact, two Tyburns. The more celebrated one is that which took its name from the bourn or stream that was formerly called Tybourn. The exact spot where the gallows stood was not always precisely the same, but one position of it is denoted by a mark near the junction of Edgware Road with Oxford Street, not far from the Marble Arch. But there was another place of execution in Southwark, close to the St. Thomas-a-Waterings mentioned by Chaucer in his famous Prologue; and this place was expressly called Tyburn of Kent, to prevent mistakes.
In one passage, Langland alludes to what was then known as “the benefit of clergy.” This is a phrase which I strongly suspect has frequently been misunderstood; at any rate, to the modern ear, it is extremely misleading. It sounds as if it meant that the attendance of a clergyman might benefit the condemned criminal; but it means nothing of the kind. The word clergy had formerly two distinct meanings; or, strictly speaking, there were two distinct words which came to be sounded alike. One of these, referring to the clerical order, is still in common use; the other, meaning “clerkship, scholarship, or learning,” is practically obsolete. In old law, it meant “ability to read”; and at a time when such ability was uncommon, it was permissible, in the case of some misdeeds, that the criminal should claim his privilege of scholarship, if it was his first offence. If he could prove his ability to read, he could claim exemption from capital punishment. The person who examined the criminal—perhaps we may call him “the examiner”—usually selected one of the Latin psalms as the subject; very often it was the fifty-first psalm beginning with the words Miserere mei, Deus; or sometimes he pointed to the fifth verse of the sixteenth psalm, Dominus pars hereditatis mee. It is to be suspected that some of the thieves carefully learned these Latin verses by heart before they stole a purse: a practice of which we never hear at the present day. Langland’s praise of the benefits of a good education is surely remarkable, and such as we are by no means accustomed to. “Well may the child bless the man who set him to learn books. Familiarity with literature has often saved a man, body and soul. Dominus pars hereditatis mee is a pleasant verse; it has been known to save from Tyburn some twenty strong thieves. When ignorant thieves are made to dangle, just see how the learned ones are saved!”
[CHAPTER IX]
FOOD
London has always been a City renowned for the great plenty and excellence of its food. In the twelfth century Fitz Stephen vaunts the cook-shops. He says, “There is also in London on the bank of the river, amongst the wine shops which are kept in shops and cellars, a public eating house. There are to be found, according to the season, every day, dishes of meat, roast, fried, and boiled, great and small fish, coarser meats for the poor, more delicate for the rich, of game, fowls, and small birds.” These cook-shops were principally stationed in Thames Street and East Chepe.
The Londoner had two meals a day. For the nobility, dinner at eleven and supper at five. For the merchants, dinner at twelve, supper at six. Cookery books in manuscript have come down to us from the fourteenth century, and a great many menus of feasts have been preserved. So it is quite easy to understand how the King and the great lords lived, but it is not so easy to understand the ordinary fare of the well-to-do citizen and the craftsman. Before presenting the menu let us speak of certain dinner customs. The tables were movable; they were laid on trestles; they were covered with white cloths. Before every man was a wooden platter or a “roundel.” The roundel was a circular wooden platter, one side of which was covered with a black ground on which were inscribed certain verses in gilt letters within a circle formed by a broad band of white and a narrow band of gold. In the inner circle was a figure of some kind, and generally each roundel was one of a series representing a group of figures. Thus in Archæologia, vol. xxxiv., may be found the figures and verses of nine such roundels out of a set of twelve. They belong to the time of Elizabeth or James I.; that is to say, later than that we are now considering. Each figure represents some calling or trade. Thus, there are the Courtier, the Divine, the Soldier, the Lawyer, the Merchant, the Gentleman, the Bachelor, the Wife, the Widow, nine in all. Three are lost. It is suggested that these platters were used for fruit. But surely fruit would speedily have stained the figures. May they not have been intended for bread, which would not spoil a trencher? But it is possible also that they were only used for ornaments.
For the King or for any great lord there was the taster, to prevent the danger of poison; and the fool or jester sat or stood near the King and made him laugh—a feat, at times, of considerable difficulty.
As for the provisions at the banquet, here are two menus, both of the fourteenth century; they belong to great feasts, the kind of feast which would last for perhaps three days:—