A Short History of Social Life in England/Chapter 12
CHAPTER XII
Circa 1509—1558
THE NEW WORSHIP
"For, indeed, a change was coming upon the world … the paths trodden by the footsteps of ages were broken up; old things were passing away and the faith and life of ten centuries was dissolving like a dream."—Froude.
WHEN the frail little nine-year-old son of Henry VIII. succeeded to the throne of England in 1547, the great change in the worship of our forefathers had already begun. How momentous and far-reaching a change this was, all students of the Reformation well know. The severance, already accomplished, of the Church of England from allegiance to the Church of Rome, with all it entailed, swept away those habits of life and thought to which Englishmen had grown accustomed for the last ten centuries. No more would they ride off on those sociable and picturesque pilgrimages to the shrines of St Thomas of Canterbury or Our Lady of Walsingham, for pilgrimages played no part in the reformed worship. Moreover, the shrine itself had been despoiled, the sacred bones of St. Thomas scattered to the wind, and his name erased from the new Church calendar, while the famous miracle-working image of "Our Lady" had been likewise destroyed. No longer were they required to murmur their prayers in the Latin tongue, as heretofore, for in Edward's reign they were provided with the now familiar Book of Common Prayer, they had a collection of hymns compiled by Miles Coverdale, and a great Bible translated into the English tongue was chained, by law, somewhere in every church, so that all who could might read it for themselves. The parish churches themselves, so thickly planted over the country that no land in Europe could compare with them for number—the pride of the people, the joy of past generations, glorious with offerings from rich and poor, with shrine and image—these were now robbed and confiscated to swell the Royal treasury.
Neither was this all. The famous Abbeys and smaller monasteries that had arisen throughout the country during the past ten centuries had likewise been ruined, till out of some two hundred and fifty religious houses, not one was at the last left in England. True, the inmates had for the most part lost much of their old enthusiasm and religious fervour: luxury and wealth had bred vice and immorality within their walls, but to the King of England they were "garrisons of the Pope" within his realm, stout upholders of the traditions that he wished to set aside, and strong opponents to his wishes. Moreover, they had rich lands and stores of treasure which were sorely needed to meet the King's increasing expenditure. Though for the most part men succumbed to what they deemed the Inevitable, and, "stupid in their despair," left their monasteries at the King's command, yet there were those who were ready to die for the faith they held to be more precious than life itself. Amid the prevailing gloom we see "gallant men whose high forms, the sunset of the old faith, stand transfigured on the horizon, tinged with the light of its dying glory." The old Abbot of Glastonbury—infirm and broken—hangs on the gallows erected on the Tor overlooking his once famous Abbey on a bleak November morning in 1539, strong in his courage, firm in his faith. We call to mind pathetic scenes in connection with the Carthusians of the Charterhouse, men still earnest in their high ideals, their piety and devotion. They had not lost the old simplicity and asceticism of ten centuries ago, and their refusal to acknowledge that Henry VIII. was Supreme Head of the Church of England on earth was the signal for their doom. Some were hanged, some cast into prison, where they were chained in an upright position for the space of thirteen days, after which they were executed. After the monasteries were suppressed and some 9,000 friars, monks, and nuns cast adrift, wanton destruction of property took place: chalices of gold and silver, embroidered stuffs, illuminated books and missals, bells, images—the very lead from the roof was seized, and only the lonely moss-covered walls speak to us to-day of the departed glory of a bygone age.
With the suppression of the monasteries came the closing of many schools in connection with them. But the grammar schools of Edward VI. are still famous in many provincial towns, and it is a fact of no mean significance that between the years 1509 and 1553 over one hundred schools were opened in England, Notwithstanding this, the education of our forefathers was still very crude and scanty, and the period of their childhood very unhappy. There was little parental display of affection. The poor apprenticed their children at the age of seven, away from home if possible, and the wealthy sent their boys and girls to be brought up in the houses of strangers from a very tender age. "On enquiring their reason for this severity, they answered that they did it, in order that their children might learn better manners. But I, for my part," says a contemporary, "believe that they do it, because they like to enjoy all their comforts themselves, and that they are better served by strangers than they would be by their own children." Not that a sixteenth-century father felt any scruples about beating his own child. Sir Peter Carew was leashed like a dog and coupled to a hound by his father for playing truant at school.
The birch played a large part in the bringing up of children. "It serveth for many good uses," says Dr. Turner, "and for none better than for betyng of stubborne boys that ether lye or wyll not learn." It was the general opinion of the age that the best schoolmaster was the greatest beater, and many a story is told of Nicholas Udal, the famous Eton master. One of his boy pupils has recorded his miseries in verse:
"From Paul's I went, to Eton sent
To learn straightways the Latin phrase;
Where fifty-three stripes given to me
At once I had
For fault but small or none at all,
It came to pass, thus beat I was.
See, Udal, see the mercy of thee
To me, poor lad."
But no mercy was forthcoming from those who had charge of the young. In vain Ascham pleads for gentleness and kindness in teaching children: "Learning is robbed of her best wits by the great beating," he cries sadly.
Education was certainly not made attractive to the little grammar-school boys of these days. The tolling of a bell summoned him to school at 6 a.m. As the maids of the household were supposed to rise at three, presumably he had some breakfast of sorts—perhaps bread and ale—before he started, for he stayed at school till eleven. The school itself, we are told, was like a prison or dungeon, cold and bleak, bare and ugly; and here the boy spent another four hours from one to five. Holidays were always the same. They began on the Wednesday before Christmas, Easter, and Whitsunday, and lasted twelve days. There was no rush to the seaside for parents, children, and masters during the brief vacation. Scholars were required to attend daily from eight to nine and two to three, to repeat such lessons as the schoolmaster deemed profitable for them. It is hard to realise the mass of useless information which was forced on the unfortunate boy—a barbarous Latin taught in a still more barbarous manner, freely interrupted with pitiless floggings to subdue the natural animal spirits of youth. "They went to the grammar school little children," says Ascham, "they came from thence great lubbers, always learning and little profiting: learning without book little or nothing," for "their whole knowledge of learning without a book was tied only to their tongue and lips, and never ascended up to the brain and head." At the University things were not more luxurious. "There be divers at Cambridge which rise daily about four or five of the clock in the morning, and from five till six of the clock use common prayer with an exhortation of God's word in a common chapel; and from six until ten of the clock use ever either private study or common lectures. At ten of the clock they go to dinner, whereas they be content with a penny piece of beef among four, having pottage made of the broth of the same beef with salt and oatmeal, and nothing else. After this slender diet, they be either teaching or learning until five of the clock in the evening; whereas they have supped not much better than their dinner. Immediately after which they go either to reasoning in problems or to some other study, until it be nine or ten of the clock; and then being without fires, are fain to walk or run up and down half an hour to get a heat on their feet when they go to bed." Another glimpse of unhappy childhood is afforded us by Ascham. He found Lady Jane Grey indoors one day diligently reading Plato's "Phædo," in Greek, at the age of thirteen, while her parents, together with the gentlemen and women of the household, were hunting in the park. In answer to a question why she was not hunting with the others, she replied smiling, with a wisdom beyond her years, "I wis all their sports in the park is but a shadow of that pleasure that I find in Plato. Alas, good folk, they never felt what true pleasure meant!"
"And how came you, madam," asked Ascham, "to this deep knowledge of pleasure?"
"I will tell you," said the girl. "One of the greatest benefits that ever God gave me is, that he sent me so sharp and severe parents and so gentle a schoolmaster. For when I am in presence either of father or mother, whether I speak, keep silence, sit, stand, or go, eat, drink, be merry or sad, be sewing, playing, dancing, or doing anything else; I must do it as it were in such weight, measure and number, even so perfectly as God made the world; or else I am so sharply threatened—yea, presently sometimes with pinches, nips, and bobs and other ways (which I will not name for the honour I bear them), that I think myself in hell, till time come that I must go to Mr. Elmer; who teacheth me so gently, so pleasantly, with such fair allurements to learning that I think all the time nothing whiles I am with him. And when I am called from him I fall on weeping, because whatsoever I do else but learning is full of grief, trouble, and fear."
Likewise the Princess Elizabeth so displeased her father that she was sent away from Court for a whole year, when he at last forgave her. The learning of the Princess Mary rivalled that of Elizabeth and Lady Jane Grey. At the age of twelve she was "ripe in the Latin tongue," at fourteen she spoke and wrote Greek with "incredible skill," at fifteen she was beginning Hebrew.
But in the humbler classes of life there was little time for women to cultivate themselves in the newly found classics. Even in this rushing age, we read breathlessly of the list of duties which were required of the "well conducted housewife" of these days. She had to spin, from the wool and flax produced on the farm, sufficient cloth and linen for the use of the family; it was her duty to measure out the corn to be ground and send it to the miller; the poultry, pigs, and cows were under her charge, and it fell to her lot to superintend the brewing and baking. The garden was under her, and on it she had to depend for herbs, long since given up, for medicinal use; she had to look after the fruit trees and to see that plenty of wild strawberry roots were transplanted from the woods to be brought under cultivation. For, be it noted, Englishmen had just discovered the excellence of strawberries and cream. Further than this, an old writer tells us it was the wife's duty to make hay, drive the plough, and take to market the produce of dairy and poultry yard, rendering the accounts thereof to her husband. These were the days in which the yeoman farmer could sing:
"Good bread and good drink, a good fire in the hall;
Brawn, pudding, and sauce, and good mustard withal;
Beef, mutton, and pork, shred pies of the best,
Pig, veal, goose, and capon, and turkey well drest,
Cheese, apples, and nuts, jolly carols to hear,
As then in the country is counted good cheer."
Picture the small farmer's wife going to the nearest market to sell her wares. Sometimes she would walk beside a heavily packed horse or mule, sometimes she would ride the animal harnessed into the most elementary farm cart. The distances were long, the roads were very bad, there were no umbrellas to shield her from the rain or sun. But once arrived at the market or fair, she would not hasten home, for there was a deal of gossip, when social intercourse was difficult to obtain and women's tongues as loose as they are to-day. The market prices were fixed by law. Thus in the year 1541 a large fat hen cost 7d.[1]; 100 eggs in summer 1s. 2d., in winter is. 8d.; butter was 3d., but sugar 1s. 4d.; a sack of coals cost 10d., a pound of soap 8d., though this was not much in demand as yet, for the value of cleanliness was unproved. Prices were rising year by year.
"Cannot you remember? " said a man of this period to his friend and neighbour, "within these thirty years, I could buy the best pig or goose that I could lay my hand on for 4d., which now costeth me double and triple the money? It is likewise in greater ware as in beef and mutton. I have seen a cap for 13d. as good as I can get now for 2s. 6d.; of cloth ye have heard how the price is risen, how a pair of shoes cost 12d., yet in my time I have bought a better for 6d." Such is the plaint of human nature, which amid all the changes of the world remains ever the same.
- ↑ It must be remembered that the value of money was different in these days.