Inns and Taverns of Old London | Page 4

in his coat and
hood of green with a mighty bow in his hand. A group of ecclesiastics
light up for us the mediaeval church--the brawny hunt-loving monk,
whose bridle jingles as loud and clear as the chapel bell--the wanton
friar, first among the beggars and harpers of the courtly side--the poor
parson, threadbare, learned, and devout ('Christ's lore and his apostles
twelve he taught, and first he followed it himself')--the summoner with
his fiery face--the pardoner with his wallet 'full of pardons, come from
Rome all hot'--the lively prioress with her courtly French lisp, her soft
little red mouth, and Amor vincit omnia graven on her brooch. Learning
is there in the portly person of the doctor of physics, rich with the
profits of the pestilence--the busy sergeant-of-law, 'that ever seemed
busier than he was'--the hollow-cheeked clerk of Oxford with his love
of books and short sharp sentences that disguise a latent tenderness
which breaks out at last in the story of Griseldis. Around them crowd
types of English industry; the merchant; the franklin in whose house 'it
snowed of meat and drink'; the sailor fresh from frays in the Channel;

the buxom wife of Bath; the broad-shouldered miller; the haberdasher,
carpenter, weaver, dyer, tapestry-maker, each in the livery of his craft;
and last the honest ploughman who would dyke and delve for the poor
without hire."
Smilingly as Chaucer may have gazed upon this goodly company, his
delight at their arrival paled before the radiant pleasure of mine host,
for a poet on the lookout for a subject can hardly have welcomed the
advent of the pilgrims with such an interested anticipation of profit as
the innkeeper whose rooms they were to occupy and whose food and
wines they were to consume. Henry Bailley was equal to the auspicious
occasion.
"Greet chere made our hoste us everichon, And to the soper sette he us
anon; And served us with vitaille at the beste. Strong was the wyn, and
wel to drinke us leste."
But the host of the Tabard was more than an efficient caterer; he was
something of a diplomatist also. Taking advantage of that glow of
satisfaction which is the psychological effect of physical needs
generously satisfied, he appears to have had no difficulty in getting the
pilgrims to pay their "rekeninges," and having attained that practical
object he rewarded his customers with liberal interest for their hard
cash in the form of unstinted praise of their collective merits, In all that
year he had not seen so merry a company gathered under his roof, etc.,
etc. But of greater moment for future generations was his suggestion
that, as there was no comfort in riding to Canterbury dumb as a stone,
the pilgrims should beguile their journey by telling stories. The
suggestion was loudly acclaimed and the scheme unanimously pledged
in further copious draughts of wine. And then, to "reste wente echon,"
until the dawn came again and smiled down upon that brave company
whose tale-telling pilgrimage has since been followed with so much
delight by countless thousands. By the time Stow made his famous
survey of London, some two centuries later, the Tabard was rejoicing to
the full in the glories cast around it by Chaucer's pen. Stow cites the
poet's commendation as its chief title to fame, and pauses to explain
that the name of the inn was "so called of the sign, which, as we now
term it, is of a jacket, or sleeveless coat, whole before, open on both
sides, with a square collar, winged at the shoulders; a stately garment of
old time, commonly worn of noblemen and others, both at home and

abroad in the war, but then (to wit in the wars) their arms embroidered,
or otherwise depict upon them, that every man by his coat of arms
might be known from others." All this heraldic lore did not prevent the
subsequent change--for a time--of the name Tabard to the meaningless
name of Talbot, a distortion, however, which survives only in
antiquarian history.
At the dissolution of the monasteries this inn, which up till then had
retained its connection with the church through belonging to Hyde
Abbey, was granted to two brothers named Master, and in 1542 its
annual rent is fixed at nine pounds. An authority on social life in
England during the middle of Queen Elizabeth's reign ventures on the
following description of the arrangements of the inn at that period. "On
the ground-floor, looking on to the street, was a room called 'the darke
parlour,' a hall, and a general reception-room called 'the parlour.' This
was probably the dining-room of the house, as it opened on to the
kitchen on the same level. Below the dark parlour was a cellar. On the
first floor, above the parlour and