Chaucer and His England Part 4

Of all-kind living labourers leapt forth some, As d.y.k.ers and delvers that do their deeds ill, And drive forth the long day with _Dieu vous sauve, Dame Emme_ Cooks and their knaves cried "Hot pies, hot!

Good griskin and geese! go dine, go!"

Taverners unto them told the same [tale]

"White wine of Alsace and red wine of Gascoyne, Of the Rhine and of Roch.e.l.le, the roast to defye!" [digest.[87]

The very sticks and stones had an individuality no less marked. The churches, parish and monastic, stood out as conspicuously as they still stand in Norwich, and were often used for secular purposes, despite the prohibitions of synods and councils. For even London had in Chaucer's time scarcely any secular public buildings, while at Norwich, one of the four greatest towns in the kingdom, public meetings were sometimes held in the Tolhouse, sometimes in the Chapel of St. Mary's College, in default of a regular Guildhall. The city houses of n.o.blemen and great churchmen were numerous and often splendid, and Besant rightly emphasizes this feudal aspect of the city; but he seems in his enumeration of the lords'

retainers to allow too little for medieval licence in dealing with figures; and certainly he has exaggerated their architectural magnificence beyond all reason.[88] But at least the ordinary citizens' and artisans'

dwellings presented the most picturesque variety. Here and there a stone house, rare enough to earn special mention in official doc.u.ments; but most of the dwellings were of timber and plaster, in front and behind, with only side-gables of masonry for some sort of security against the spreading of fires.[89] The ground floor was generally open to the street, and formed the shop; then, some eight or ten feet above the pavement, came the "solar" or "soller" on its projecting brackets, and sometimes (as in the Custom House) a third storey also. Outside stairs seem to have been common, and sometimes penthouses on pillars or cellar steps further broke the monotony of the street, though frequent enactments strove to regulate these in the public interest. Of comfort or privacy in the modern sense these houses had little to offer. The living rooms were frequently limited to hall and bower (_i.e._ bedroom); only the better sort had two chambers; gla.s.s was rare; in Paris, which was at least as well-built as London, a well-to-do citizen might well have windows of oiled linen for his bedroom, and even in 1575 a good-sized house at Sheffield contained only sixteen feet of gla.s.s altogether.[90] Meanwhile the wooden shutters which did duty for cas.e.m.e.nts were naturally full of c.h.i.n.ks; and the inhabitants were exposed during dark nights not only to the nuisance and danger of "common listeners at the eaves," against whom medieval town legislation is deservedly severe, but also to the far greater chances of burglary afforded by the frailty of their habitations.

It is not infrequently recorded in medieval inquests that the housebreaker found his line of least resistance not through a window or a door, but through the wall itself.[91] Moreover, in those unlighted streets, much that was most picturesque by day was most dangerous at night, from the projecting staircases and penthouses down to doorways unlawfully opened after curfew, wherein "aspyers" might lurk, "waiting men for to beaten or to slayen." These and many similar considerations will serve to explain why night-walking was treated in medieval towns as an offence presumptively no less criminal than, in our days, the illegal possession of dynamite. The 15th-century statutes of Oxford condemn the nocturnal wanderer to a fine double that which he would have incurred by shooting at a proctor and his attendants with intent to injure.[92]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE TOWER, WITH LONDON BRIDGE IN THE BACKGROUND

(FROM MS. ROY. 16 F. ii, f. 73: A LATE 15TH CENTURY MS. OF THE POEMS OF CHARLES D'ORLeANS)]

But to return to the inside of the houses. The contract for a well-to-do citizen's dwelling of 1308 has been preserved, by a fortunate chance, in one of the city Letter-books. "Simon de Canterbury, carpenter, came before the Mayor and Aldermen ... and acknowledged that he would make at his own proper charges, down to the locks, for William de Hanigtone, skinner, before the Feast of Easter then next ensuing, a hall and a room with a chimney, and one larder between the said hall and room; and one solar over the room and larder; also, one oriel at the end of the hall, beyond the high bench, and one step with a porch from the ground to the door of the hall aforesaid, outside of that hall; and two enclosures as cellars, opposite to each other, beneath the hall; and one enclosure for a sewer, with two pipes leading to the said sewer; and one stable, [_blank_] in length, between the said hall and the old kitchen, and twelve feet in width, with a solar above such stable, and a garret above the solar aforesaid; and at one end of such solar, there is to be a kitchen with a chimney; and there is to be an oriel between the said hall and the old chamber, eight feet in width.... And the said William de Hanigtone acknowledged that he was bound to pay to Simon before-mentioned, for the work aforesaid, the sum of 9 5_s._ 4_d._ sterling, half a hundred of Eastern martenskins, fur for a woman's head, value five s.h.i.+llings, and fur for a robe of him, the said Simon, etc."[93] Read side by side with this the list of another fairly well-to-do citizen's furniture in 1337. Hugh le Benere, a Vintner who owned several tenements, was accused of having murdered Alice his wife.[94] He refused to plead, was condemned to prison for life, and his goods were inventoried. Omitting the stock-in-trade of six casks of wine (valued at six marks), the wearing apparel, and the helmet and quilted doublet in which Hugh had to turn out for the general muster, the whole furniture was as follows: "One mattress, value 4_s._; 6 blankets and one serge, 13_s._ 6_d._; one green carpet, 2_s._; one torn coverlet, with s.h.i.+elds of sendal, 4_s._; ... 7 linen sheets, 5_s._; one table-cloth, 2_s._; 3 table-cloths, 18_d._; ... one canvas, 8_d._; 3 feather beds, 8_s._; 5 cus.h.i.+ons, 6_d._; ... 3 bra.s.s pots, 12_s._; one bra.s.s pot, 6_s._; 2 pairs of bra.s.s pots, 2_s._ 6_d._; one bra.s.s pot, broken, 2_s._ 6_d._; one candlestick of latten, and one plate, with one small bra.s.s plate, 2_s._; 2 pieces of lead, 6_d._; one grate, 3_d._; 2 andirons, 18_d._; 2 basins, with one was.h.i.+ng vessel, 5_s._; one iron grating, 12_d._; one tripod, 2_d._; ... one iron spit, 3_d._; one frying-pan, 1_d._; ... one funnel, 1_d._; one small canvas bag, 1_d._; ...

one old linen sheet, 1_d._; 2 pillows, 3_d._; ... one counter, 4_s._; 2 coffers, 8_d._; 2 curtains, 8_d._; 2 remnants of cloth, 1_d._; 6 chests, 10_s._ 10_d._; one folding table, 12_d._; 2 chairs, 8_d._; one portable cupboard, 6_d._; 2 tubs, 2_s._; also firewood, sold for 3_s._; one mazer cup, 6_s._; ... one cup called "note" (_i.e._ cocoanut) with a foot and cover of silver, value 30_s._; 6 silver spoons, 6_s._"[95]

This implies no very high standard of domestic comfort. The hall, it must be remembered, had no chimney in the modern sense, but a hole in the roof to which the smoke went up from an open hearth in the centre of the room, more or less a.s.sisted in most cases by a funnel-shaped erection of lath and plaster.[96] It is not generally realized what draughts our ancestors were obliged to accept as unavoidable, even when they sat partially screened by their high-backed seats, as in old inn kitchens. A man needed his warmest furs still more for sitting indoors than for walking abroad; and to Montaigne, even in 1580, one of the most remarkable things in Switzerland was the draughtless comfort of the stove-warmed rooms. "One neither burns one's face nor one's boots, and one escapes the smoke of French houses. Moreover, whereas we [in France] take our warm and furred _robes de chambre_ when we enter the house, they on the contrary dress in their doublets, with their heads uncovered to the very hair, and put on their warm clothes to walk in the open air."[97] The important part played by furs of all kinds, and the matter-of-course mention of dirt and vermin, are among the first things that strike us in medieval literature.

But the worst discomfort of the house, to the modern mind, was the want of privacy. There was generally but one bedroom; for most of the household the house meant simply the hall; and some of those with whom the rest were brought into such close contact might indeed be "gey ill to live wi'."[98]

We have seen that, even as a King's squire, Chaucer had not a bed to himself; and sometimes one bed had to accommodate three occupants. This was so ordered, for instance, by the 15th-century statutes of the choir-school at Wells, which provided minutely for the packing: "two smaller boys with their heads to the head of the bed, and an older one with his head to the foot of the bed and his feet between the others'

heads." A distinguished theologian of the same century, narrating a ghost-story of his own, begins quite naturally: "When I was a youth, and lay in a square chamber, which had only a single door well shut from within, together with three more companions in the same bed...." One of these, we presently find, "was of greater age, and a man of some experience."[99] The upper cla.s.ses of Chaucer's later days had indeed begun to introduce revolutionary changes into the old-fas.h.i.+oned common life of the hall; a generation of unparalleled success in war and commerce was already making possible, and therefore inevitable, a new cleavage between cla.s.s and cla.s.s. The author of the B. text of "Piers Plowman,"

writing about 1377, complains of these new and unsociable ways (x., 94).

"Ailing is the Hall each day in the week, Where the lord nor the lady liketh not to sit.

Now hath each rich man a rule to eaten by himself In a privy parlour, for poor men's sake, Or in a chamber with a chimney, and leave the chief Hall, That was made for meals, and men to eaten in."

Few men, however, could afford even these rudiments of privacy; people like Chaucer, of fair income and good social position, still found in their homes many of the discomforts of s.h.i.+pboard; and their daily intercourse with their fellow-men bred the same blunt familiarity, even beneath the most ceremonious outward fas.h.i.+ons. It was not only starveling dependents like Lippo Lippi, whose daily life compelled them to study night and day the faces and outward ways of their fellow-men.

But let us get back again into the street, where all the work and play of London was as visible to the pa.s.ser-by as that of any colony of working ants under the gla.s.s cases in a modern exhibition. Often, of course, there were set pageants for edification or distraction--Miracle Plays and solemn church processions twice or thrice in the year,--the Mayor's annual ride to the palace of Westminster and back,--the King's return with a new Queen or after a successful campaign, as in 1357, when Edward III. "came over the Bridge and through the City of London, with the King of France and other prisoners of rich ransom in his train. He entered the city about tierce [9 a.m.] and made for Westminster; but at the news of his coming so great a crowd of folk ran together to see this marvellous sight, that for the press of the people he could scarce reach his palace after noonday."

Frequent again were the royal tournaments at Smithfield, Cheapside, and Westminster, or "trials by battle" in those same lists, when one gentleman had accused another of treachery, and London citizens might see the quarrel decided by G.o.d's judgment.[100] Here were welcome contrasts to the monotony of household life; for there was in all these shows a piquant element of personal risk, or at least of possible broken heads for others.

Even if the King threw down his truncheon before the bitter end of the duel, even if no bones were broken at the tournament, something at least would happen amongst the crowd. Fountains ran wine in the morning, and blood was pretty sure to be shed somewhere before night. In 1396, when the little French Princess of eight years was brought to her Royal bridegroom at Westminster, nine persons were crushed to death on London Bridge, and the Prior of Tiptree was among the dead. Even the church processions, as episcopal registers show, ended not infrequently in scuffling, blows, and bloodshed; and the frequent holy days enjoyed then, as since, a sad notoriety for crime. Moreover, these things were not, as with us, mere matters of newspaper knowledge; they stared the pa.s.ser-by in the face.

Chaucer must have heard from his father how the unpopular Bishop Stapledon was torn from his horse at the north door of St. Paul's and beheaded with two of his esquires in Cheapside; how the clergy of the cathedral and of St. Clement's feared to harbour the corpses, which lay naked by the roadside at Temple Bar until "women and wretched poor folk took the Bishop's naked corpse, and a woman gave him an old rag to cover his belly, and they buried him in a waste plot called the Lawless Church, with his squires by his side, all naked and without office of priest or clerk."[101] Chaucer himself must have seen some of the many similar tragedies in 1381, for they are among the few events of contemporary history which we can definitely trace in his poems--

Have ye not seen some time a pale face Among a press, of him that hath been led Toward his death, where as him gat no grace, And such a colour in his face hath had, Men mighte know his face that was bestead Amonges all the faces in that rout?[102]

What modern Londoner has witnessed this, or anything like it? Yet to all his living readers Chaucer appealed confidently, "Have ye not seen?"

Scores of wretched lawyers and jurors were hunted down in that riot, and hurried through the streets to have their heads hacked off at Tower Hill or Cheapside, "and many Flemings lost their head at that time, and namely [specially] they that could not say 'Bread and Cheese,' but 'Case and Brode.'"[103] It may well have been Simon of Sudbury's white face that haunted Chaucer, when the mob forgot his archbishopric in the unpopularity of his ministry, forgot the sanct.i.ty of the chapel at whose altar he had taken refuge, "paid no reverence even to the Lord's Body which the priest held up before him, but worse than demons (who fear and flee Christ's sacrament) dragged him by the arms, by his hood, by different parts of the body towards their fellow-rioters on Tower Hill without the gates. When they had come thither, a most horrible shout arose, not like men's shouts, but worse beyond all comparison than all human cries, and most like to the yelling of devils in h.e.l.l. Moreover, they cried thus whensoever they beheaded men or tore down their houses, so long as G.o.d permitted them to work their iniquity unpunished."[104] De Quincey has noted how such cries may make a deeper mark on the soul than any visible scene. And here again Chaucer has brought his own experience, though half in jest, as a parallel to the sack of Ilion and Carthage or the burning of Rome--

So hideous was the noise, _benedicite!_ Certes, he Jacke Straw, and his meinie Ne made never shoutes half so shrill, When that they woulden any Fleming kill ...[105]

Last tragedy of all--but this time, though he may well have seen, the poet could no longer write--Richard II.'s corpse "was brought to St. Paul's in London, and his face shown to the people," that they might know he was really dead.[106]

Nor was there less comedy than tragedy in the London streets; the heads grinned down from the spikes of London Bridge on such daily buffooneries as scarcely survive nowadays except in the amenities of cabdrivers and busmen. The hue and cry after a thief in one of these narrow streets, enc.u.mbered with show-benches and goods of every description, must at any time have been a Rabelaisian farce; and still more so when it was the thief who had raised the hue and cry after a true man, and had slipped off himself in the confusion. The crowds who gather in modern towns to see a man in handcuffs led from a dingy van up the dingy court steps would have found a far keener relish in the public punishments which Chaucer saw on his way to and from work; fraudulent tradesmen in the pillory, with their putrid wares burning under their noses, or drinking wry-mouthed the corrupt wine which they had palmed off on the public; scolding wives in the somewhat milder "thewe"; sometimes a penitential procession all round the city, as in the case of the quack doctor and astrologer whose story is so vividly told by the good Monk of St. Alban's. The impostor "was set on a horse [barebacked] with the beast's tail in his hand for a bridle, and two pots which in the vulgar tongue we call _Jordans_ bound round his neck, with a whetstone in sign that he earned all this by his lies; and thus he was led round the whole city."[107] A lay chronicler might have given us the reverse of the medal; some priest barelegged in his s.h.i.+rt, with a lighted taper in his hand, doing penance for his sins before the congregation of his own church. The author of "Piers Plowman" knew this well enough; in introducing us to his tavern company, it is a priest and a parish clerk whom he shows us cheek-by-jowl with the two least reputable ladies of the party. The whole pa.s.sage deserves quoting in full as a picture of low life indeed, but one familiar enough to Chaucer and his friends in their day; for it is a matter of common remark that even the distance which separated different cla.s.ses in earlier days made it easier for them to mix familiarly in public. The very catalogue of this tavern company is a comedy in itself, and may well conclude our survey of common London sights. Glutton, on his way to morning ma.s.s, has pa.s.sed Bett the brewster's open door; and her persuasive "I have good ale, gossip" has broken down all his good resolutions--

Then goeth Glutton in, and great oaths after.

Ciss the seamstress sat on the bench, Wat the warrener, and his wife drunk, Tim the tinker, and twain of his knaves, Hick the hackneyman and Hugh the needler; Clarice of c.o.c.k's Lane, the clerk of the church, Sir Piers of Prydie and Pernel of Flanders; An hayward and an hermit, the hangman of Tyburn, Daw the d.y.k.er, with a dozen harlots [rascals Of porters and pickpurses and pilled tooth-drawers; [bald A ribiber and a ratter, a raker and his knave [lute-player, scavenger A roper and a ridingking, and Rose the disher, [mercenary trooper G.o.dfrey the garlicmonger and Griffin the Welshman, And upholders an heap, early by the morrow [furniture-brokers Give Glutton with glad cheer good ale to hansel.[108] [try

[Ill.u.s.tration: A TOOTH-DRAWER OF THE 14TH CENTURY, WITH A WREATH OF PAST TROPHIES OVER HIS SHOULDER

(FROM MS. ROY. VI. E. 6 f. 503 b)]

CHAPTER VIII

ALDGATE TOWER

"For though the love of books, in a cleric, be honourable in the very nature of the case, yet it hath sorely exposed us to the adverse judgment of many folk, to whom we became an object of wonder, and were blamed at one time for greediness in that matter, or again for seeming vanity, or again, for intemperate delight in letters; yet we cared no more for their revilings than for the barking of curs, contented with His testimony alone to Whom it pertaineth to try the hearts and reins.... Yet perchance they would have praised and been kindly affected towards us if we had spent our time in hunting wild beasts, in playing at dice, or in courting ladies' favours."--The "Philobiblon" of Bp. R. de Bury (1287-1345).

Even in the 14th century a man's house was more truly his castle in England than in any country of equal population; and Chaucer was particularly fortunate in having secured a city castle for his house. The records show that such leases were commonly granted by the authorities to men of influence and good position in the City; in 1367 the Black Prince specially begged the Mayor that Thomas de Kent might have Cripplegate; and we have curious evidence of the keen compet.i.tion for Aldgate. The Mayor and Aldermen granted to Chaucer in 1374 "the whole dwelling-house above Aldgate Gate, with the chambers thereon built and a certain cellar beneath the said gate, on the eastern side thereof, together with all its appurtenances, for the lifetime of the said Geoffrey." There was no rent, though of course Chaucer had to keep it in repair; in an earlier lease of 1354, the tenant had paid 13_s._ 4_d._ a year besides repairs. The City promised to keep no prisoners in the tower during Chaucer's tenancy,[109]

but naturally stipulated that they might take possession of their gate when necessary for the defence of the City. In 1386, as we have already seen and shall see more fully hereafter, there was a scare of invasion so serious that the authorities can scarcely have failed to take the gates into their own hands for a while. Though this need not necessarily have ended Chaucer's tenancy altogether, yet he must in fact have given it up then, if not earlier; and a Common Council meeting held on October 4 resolved to grant no such leases in future "by reason of divers damages that have befallen the said city, through grants made to many persons, as well of the Gates and the dwelling-houses above them, as of the gardens and vacant places adjoining the walls, gates, and fosses of the said city, whereby great and divers mischiefs may readily hereafter ensue." Yet _on the very next day_ (and this is our first notice of the end of Chaucer's tenancy) a fresh lease of Aldgate tower and house was granted to Chaucer's friend Richard Forster by another friend of the poet's, Nicholas Brembre, who was then Mayor. This may very likely have been a pre-arranged job among the three friends; but the flagrant violation of the law may well seem startling even to those who have realized the frequent contrasts between medieval theory and medieval practice; and after this we are quite prepared for Riley's footnote, "Within a very short period after this enactment was made, it came to be utterly disregarded."[110] The whole transaction, however, shows clearly that the Aldgate lodging was considered a prize in its way.

That Chaucer loved it, we know from one of the too rare autobiographical pa.s.sages in his poems, describing his shy seclusion even more plainly than the Host hints at it in the "Canterbury Tales." The "House of Fame"

is a serio-comic poem modelled vaguely on Dante's "Comedia," in which a golden eagle carries Chaucer up to heaven, and, like Beatrice, plays the part of Mentor all the while. The poet, who was at first somewhat startled by the sudden rush through the air, and feared lest he might have been chosen as an unworthy successor to Enoch and Elias, is presently quieted by the Eagle's a.s.surance that this temporary apotheosis is his reward as the Clerk of Love--

Love holdeth it great humbleness, And virtue eke, that thou wilt make A-night full oft thy head to ache, In thy study so thou writest And ever more of Love enditest.

The Ruler of the G.o.ds, therefore, has taken pity on the poet's lonely life--

That is, that thou hast no tidings Of Love's folk, if they be glad, Nor of nothing elles that G.o.d made: And not only from far countree, Whence no tiding cometh to thee, But of thy very neighebores That dwellen almost at thy doors, Thou hearest neither that nor this; For, when thy labour done all is, And hast y-made thy reckonings, Instead of rest and newe things Thou go'st home to thy house anon, And, all so dumb as any stone, Thou sittest at another book Till fully dazed is thy look, And livest thus as an heremite, Although thy abstinence is lite.[111] [little

Here we have the central figure of the Aldgate Chamber, but what was the background? Was his room, as some will have it, such as that to which his eyes opened in the "Book of the d.u.c.h.ess"?

And sooth to say my chamber was Full well depainted, and with gla.s.s Were all the windows well y-glazed Full clear, and not one hole y-crazed, [cracked That to behold it was great joy; For wholly all the story of Troy Was in the glazing y-wrought thus ...

And all the walls with colours fine Were painted, bothe text and glose, [commentary And all the Romance of the Rose.

My windows weren shut each one And through the gla.s.s the sunne shone Upon my bed with brighte beams....

Those lines were written before the Aldgate days; and the hints which can be gathered from surviving inventories and similar sources make it very improbable that the poet was lodged with anything like such outward magnificence. The storied gla.s.s and the frescoed wall were far more probably a reminiscence from Windsor, or from Chaucer's life with one of the royal dukes; and the furniture of the Aldgate dwelling-house is likely to have resembled in quant.i.ty that which we have seen recorded of Hugh le Benere, and in quality the similar but more valuable stock of Richard de Blountesham. (Riley, p. 123.) Richard possessed bedding for three beds to the total value of fifty s.h.i.+llings and eightpence; his bra.s.s pot weighed sixty-seven pounds; and, over and above his pewter plates, dishes, and salt-cellars, he possessed "three silver cups, ten s.h.i.+llings in weight."

Three better cups than these, at least, stood in the Chaucer cupboard; for on New Year's Day, 1380, 1381, and 1382, the accounts of the Duchy of Lancaster record presents from John of Gaunt to Philippa Chaucer of silver-gilt cups with covers. The first of these weighed thirty-one s.h.i.+llings, and cost nearly three pounds; the second and third were apparently rather more valuable. We must suppose, therefore, that the Aldgate rooms were handsomely furnished, as a London citizen's rooms went; but we must beware here of such exaggerations as the genius of William Morris has popularized. The a.s.sumption that the poet knew familiarly every book from which he quotes has long been exploded; and it is quite as unsafe to suppose that the artistic glories which he so often describes formed part of his home life. There were tapestries and stained gla.s.s in churches for every man to see, and in palaces and castles for the enjoyment of the few; but they become fairly frequent in citizens' houses only in the century after Chaucer's death; and it was very easy to spend an income such as his without the aid of artistic extravagance. Froissart, whose circ.u.mstances were so nearly the same, and who, though a priest, was just as little given to abstinence, confesses to having spent 2000 livres (or some 8000 modern English money) in twenty-five years, over and above his fat living of Lestinnes. "And yet I h.o.a.rd no grain in my barns, I build no churches, or clocks, or s.h.i.+ps, or galleys, or manor-houses. I spend not my money on furnis.h.i.+ng fine rooms.... My chronicles indeed have cost me a good seven hundred livres, at the least, and the taverners of Lestinnes have had a good five hundred more."[112] Froissart's confession introduces a witty poetical plea for fresh contributions; and if Chaucer had added a couple of similar stanzas to the "Complaint to his Empty Purse," it is probable that their tenor would have been much the same: "Books, and the Taverner; and I've had my money's worth from both!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: 1. GROUND PLAN AND SECTION OF THE CLERGY-HOUSE AT ALFRISTON--A TYPICAL TIMBER HOUSE OF THE 14TH CENTURY. (For the Hall, see Chaucer's "Miller's Tale")

2. PLAN OF ALDGATE TOWER AS IT WAS IN CHAUCER'S TIME]

Professor Lounsbury ("Studies in Chaucer," chap. v.) has discoursed exhaustively, and very judicially, on Chaucer's learning; he shows clearly what books the poet knew only as nodding acquaintances, and how many others he must at one time have possessed, or at least have had at hand for serious study; and it would be impertinent to go back here over the same ground. But Professor Lounsbury is less clear on the subject which most concerns us here--the average price of books; for the three volumes which he instances from the King's library were no doubt illuminated, and he follows Devon in the obvious slip of describing the French Bible as "written in the _Gaelic_ language." (II., 196; the reference to Devon should be p. 213, not 218.) But, at the lowest possible estimate, books were certainly an item which would have swelled any budget seriously in the 14th century. This was indeed grossly overstated by Robertson and other writers of a century ago; but Maitland's "Dark Ages," while correcting their exaggerations, is itself calculated to mislead in the other direction. A small Bible was cheap at forty s.h.i.+llings, _i.e._ the equivalent of 30 in modern money; so that the twenty volumes of Aristotle which Chaucer's Clerk of Oxford had at his bed's head could scarcely have failed to cost him the value of three average citizens' houses in a great town.[113] Among all the church dignitaries whose wills are recorded in Bishop Stafford's Register at Exeter (1395-1419) the largest library mentioned is only of fourteen volumes. The sixty testators include a Dean, two Archdeacons, twenty Canons or Prebendaries, thirteen Rectors, six Vicars, and eighteen layfolk, mostly rich people. The whole sixty apparently possessed only two Bibles between them, and only one hundred and thirty-eight books altogether; or, omitting church service-books, only sixty; _i.e._ exactly one each on an average. Thirteen of the beneficed clergy were altogether bookless, though several of them possessed the _baselard_ or dagger which church councils had forbidden in vain for centuries past; four more had only their Breviary. Of the laity fifteen were bookless, while three had service-books, one of these being a knight, who simply bequeathed them as part of the furniture of his private chapel.

Any similar collection of wills and inventories would (I believe) give the same results, which fully agree with the independent evidence of contemporary writers. Bishop Richard de Bury (or possibly the distinguished theologian, Holcot, writing in his name) speaks bitterly of the neglect of books in the 14th century. Not only (he says) is the ardent collector ridiculed, but even education is despised, and money rules the world. Laymen, who do not even care whether books lie straight or upside down, are utterly unworthy of all communion with them; the secular clergy neglect them; the monastic clergy (with honourable exceptions among the friars) pamper their bodies and leave their books amid the dust and rubbish, till they become "corrupt and abominable, breeding-grounds for mice, riddled with worm-holes." Even when in use, they have a score of deadly enemies--dirty and careless readers (whose various peculiarities the good Bishop describes in language of Biblical directness)--children who cry for and s...o...b..r over the illuminated capitals--and careless or slovenly servants. But the deadliest of all such enemies is the priest's concubine, who finds the neglected volume half-hidden under cobwebs, and barters it for female finery. There is an obvious element of exaggeration in the good Bishop's satire; but the Oxford Chancellor, Gascoigne, a century later, speaks equally strongly of the neglect of writing and the destruction of literature in the monasteries of his time; and there is abundant official evidence to prove that our ancestors did not atone for natural disadvantages by any excessive zeal in the multiplication, use, or preservation of books.[114]

Chaucer was scarcely born when the "Philobiblon" was written; and already in his day there was a growing number of leisured laymen who did know the top end of a book from the bottom, and who cared to read and write something beyond money accounts. Gower, who probably made money as a London merchant before he became a country squire, was also a well-read man; but systematic readers were still very rare outside the Universities, and Mrs. Green writes, even of a later generation of English citizens, "So far as we know, no trader or burgher possessed a library."[115]

Twenty-nine years after Chaucer's death, the celebrated Whittington did indeed found a library; yet this was placed not at the Guildhall, to which he was a considerable benefactor, but in the Greyfriars' convent.

The poet's bookishness would therefore inevitably have made him something of a recluse, and we have no reason to tax his own description with exaggeration.