“Have pity upon me, my excellent Mr. Postern,” interrupted I, “for I am naturally impatient at reflections; if you love me, then, give me scenery without meditations, and history without a moral.”
“Truly, Sir,” said he, “I was oblivious, for I’d got upon a favourite topic of mine, the worth of our Saxon fore-fathers; but we’ll cut them off short by another draught of the sack-posset, and take up again with the establishment of a ferry by one Master Audery, in the year nine hundred and ninety——Ah! see now, my memory has left me for the precise year, but nevertheless, Mr. Geoffrey Barbican, my service to you.” When he had passed me the tankard, after what I considered a very reasonable draught, Mr. Postern thus continued.
“I hold it right, my friend, to mix these convivialia with our antiquarian discussions, because I know that they are not only ancient, but in a manner peculiar to this part of the water-side; for we find Stephanides, Stephanus ab Stephano, as I may jocularly call him, whom I before quoted, saying at folio 32, ‘Præterea est in Londonia super ripam fluminis,’ &c. but we’ll give the quotation in plain English. ‘And moreover, on the banks of the river, besides the wine sold in ships’—that is to say, foreign wines of Anjou, Auxere, and Gascoigne, though even then we had some Saxon and Rhenish wines well worth the drinking—‘besides the wines sold in ships and vaults, there is a public eating-house, or cook’s shop. Here, according to the season, you may find victuals of all kinds, roasted, baked, fried, or boiled. Fish, large and small, with coarse viands for the poorer sort, and more delicate ones for the rich, such as venison, fowls, and small birds. In case a friend should arrive at a Citizen’s house, much wearied with his journey, and chuses not to wait, an-hungered as he is, for the buying and cooking of meat,
The water’s served, the bread’s in baskets brought,
Virg. Æn. i. 705.
and recourse is immediately had to the bank above-mentioned, where every thing desirable is instantly procured. No number so great, of knights or strangers, can either enter the city at any hour of day or night, or leave it, but all may be supplied with provisions, so that those have no occasion to fast too long, nor these to depart the city without their dinner. To this place, if they be so disposed, they resort, and there they regale themselves, every man according to his abilities. Those who have a mind to indulge, need not to hanker after sturgeon, nor a guinea-fowl, nor a gelinote de bois,’—which some call red-game, and others a godwit—‘for there are delicacies enough to gratify their palates. It is a public eating-house, and is both highly convenient and useful to the city, and is a clear proof of its civilization.’
“Thus speaks Fitz-Stephen of the time of Henry II. between the years 1170 and 1182; and if you look but two centuries later, you shall find that John Holland, Duke of Exeter, held his Inn here at Cold Harbour, and gave to his half-brother, King Richard the Second, a sumptuous dinner, in 1397. Then too, when this spot became the property of the merry Henry Plantagenet, Prince of Wales, by the gift of Henry the Fourth, the same King filled his cellars with ‘twenty casks and one pipe of red wine of Gascoigne, free of duty.’ This you have on the authority of John Stow, on the one part, in his ‘Survey of London,’ the best edition by John Strype, &c. London, 1754, folio, volume i. page 523; and of Master Thomas Pennant, on the other, in his ‘Account of London,’ 2nd edition, London, 1791, 4to, page 330.”
“Aye, Master Postern,” said I, “and that same Cold Harbour is not the less dear to me, forasmuch as Stow noteth, in the very place which you have just now cited, that Richard the Third gave the Messuage, and all its appurtenances, to John Wrythe, Garter Principal King of Arms, and the rest of the Royal Heralds and Pursuivants, in 1485.”—“True, Mr. Geoffrey, true,” answered my visitor; “and you may remember that here also, in these very Shades, did King Charles the merry, regale incognito; and here, too, came Addison and his galaxy of wits to finish a social evening. Then, but a little above to the North, was the famous market of East Cheap; of which our own Stow speaks in his book before cited, page 503, quoting the very rare ballad of ‘London Lickpenny,’ composed by Dan John Lydgate, of which a copy in the old chronicler’s own hand writing, is yet extant in the Harleian Manuscripts, No. 542, article 17, folio 102, of which stanza 12 says—
‘Then I hied me into Estchepe;
One cried ribes of befe, and many a pie,
Pewtar potts they clatteryd on a heape,
Ther was harpe, pipe, and sawtry,
Ye by cokke, nay by cokke, some began to cry,
Some sange of Jenken and Julian, to get themselves mede;
Full fayne I wold hade of that mynstralsie
But for lacke of money I cowld not spede!’
“Lydgate, you know, died in the year 1440, at the age of sixty. In the present day, indeed, we have only the indications of this festivity in the names of the ways leading down to, or not far from, the river; as, Pudding Lane, Fish Street Hill, the Vine-tree, or Vintry, Bread-street——”
“Hold! hold! my dear Mr. Barnaby,” interrupted I, “what on earth has all this long muster-roll of gluttony to do with London Bridge? You are, as it were, endeavouring to prove, that yonder is the moon lighting the waters; for certes, it is a self-evident truth, that the citizens of London have from time immemorial been mighty trencher-men; nay, if I remember me rightly, your own favourite Stephanides says, ‘The only plagues of London are, immoderate drinking of idle fellows, and often fires:’ so that we’ll take for granted, and get on to the Bridge.”
“You are in the right,” answered Mr. Postern; “the passage begins ‘Solæ pestes Londoniæ,’ &c. at folio 42, and truly I wished but to shew you how proper a place these Shades are to be convivial in; but now we will but just touch upon the Saxon Ferry and Wooden Bridge, and then come at once to the first stone one, founded by the excellent Peter of Colechurch, in the year 1176. I would you could but have seen the curious boat in which, for many years, Audery the Ship-wight, as the Saxons called him, rowed his fare over those restless waters. It was in form very much like a crescent laid upon its back, only the sharp horns turned over into a kind of scroll; and when it was launched, if the passengers did not trim the barque truly, there was some little danger of its tilting over, for it was only the very centre of the keel that touched the water. But our shipman had also another wherry, for extra passengers, and that had the appearance of a blanket gathered up at each end, whilst those within looked as if they were about to be tossed in it. His oars were in the shape of shovels, or an ace of spades stuck on the end of a yard measure; though one of them rather seemed as if he were rowing with an arrow, having the barb broken off, and the flight held downwards. It is nearly certain, that at this period there was no barrier across the Thames; for you may remember how the ‘Saxon Chronicle,’ sub anno 993, tells you that the Dane Olaf, Anlaf, or Unlaf, ‘mid thrym et hundnigentigon scipum to Stane,’—which is to say, that ‘he sailed with three hundred and ninety ships to Staines, which he plundered without, and thence went to Sandwich.’
“Before I leave speaking of this King Olaf, however, I wish you to observe the paction which he made with the English King Ethelred, for we shall find him hereafter closely connected with the history of London Bridge. The same authority, and under the same year and page, tells you that, after gaining the battle of Maldon, and the death of Alderman Britnoth, peace was made with Anlaf, ‘and the King received him at Episcopal hands, by the advice of Siric, Bishop of Canterbury, and Elfeah of Winchester.’ On page 171, in the year 994, you also find this peace more solemnly confirmed in the following passage. ‘Then sent the King after King Anlaf, Bishop Elfeah, and Alderman Ethelwerd, and hostages being left with the ships, they led Anlaf with great pomp to the King, at Andover. And King Ethelred received him at Episcopal hands, and honoured him with royal presents. In return Anlaf promised, as he also performed, that he never again would come in a hostile manner to England.’