the cities, but the city of the
sixteenth century bore slight resemblance to a city of to-day.
London, with less than 200,000 inhabitants, was still a medieval city in
appearance, surrounded by a defensive wall, guarded by the Tower, and
crowned by the cathedral. The city proper lay on the north of the
Thames, and the wall made a semicircle of some two miles, from the
Tower on the east to the Fleet ditch and Blackfriars on the west. Seven
gates pierced the wall to the north, and the roads passing through them
into the fields were lined with houses. Westward along the river were
great palaces, behind which the building was practically continuous
along the muddy road that led to the separate city of Westminster. The
Thames, noted for its fish and swans, was the great thoroughfare,
crowded with many kinds of boats and spanned by the famous London
Bridge. By one of the many rowboats that carried passengers hither and
thither, or on foot over the arches of the bridge, between the rows of
houses that lined it, and under the heads of criminals which decorated
its entrance, you might cross the Thames to Southwark. Turning west,
past St. Saviour's and the palace of the Bishop of Winchester, you were
soon on the Bankside, a locality long given over to houses of ill fame
and rings for the baiting of bulls and bears. The theaters, forbidden in
the city proper, were built either in the fields to the north of the walls,
or across the river close by the kennels and rings. Here, as Shakespeare
waited for a boatman to ferry him across to Blackfriars, the whole city
was spread before his eyes, in the foreground the panorama of the
beautiful river, beyond it the crowded houses, the spires of many
churches, and the great tower of old St. Paul's.
[Page Heading: Tudor London]
It was a city of narrow streets, open sewers, wooden houses, without an
adequate water supply or sanitation, in constant danger from fire and
plague. But dirt and disease were no more prevalent than they had been
for centuries; in spite of them, there was no lack of life in the crowded
lanes. The great palaces were outside the city proper, and there were
few notable buildings within its precincts except the churches. The
dismantled monasteries still occupied large areas, but were being made
over to strange uses, the theaters eventually finding a place in
Blackfriars and Whitefriars. The Strand was an ill-paved street running
behind the river palaces, past the village of Charing Cross, on to the
royal palace of Whitehall and to the Abbey and Hall at Westminster.
The walls and surrounding moat had ceased to be of use for defense,
and building constantly spread into the fields without. These fields
were favorite places for recreation and served the purpose of city parks.
The Elizabethans were fond of outdoor sports and spent little daytime
indoors. The shops were open to the street, and the clear spaces at
Cheapside and St. Paul's Church-yard seem to have been always
crowded. St. Paul's, although still used for religious services, had
become a sort of city club or general meeting place. Mules and horses
were no longer to be found there as in the reign of Mary, but the nave
was in constant use as a place for gossip and business. The churchyard
was the usual place for holding lotteries, and here were the shops of a
majority of the London booksellers. In its northeast corner was Paul's
Cross, the famous pulpit whence the wishes of the government were
announced and popularized by the Sunday preachers. And here the
variety of London life was most fully exhibited. The processions and
entertainments at court, the ambassadors from afar, the law students
from the Temple, the old soldiers destitute after service in Flanders, the
seamen returned from plundering the Spanish gold fleet, the youths
from the university come to the city to earn their living by their wits,
the bishop and the puritan, who looked at each other askance, the
young squire come to be gulled of his lands by the roarers of the tavern,
the solid merchant with his chain of gold, the wives who aped the court
ladies with their enormous farthingales and ruffs, the court gallant with
his dyed beard and huge breeches, the idle apprentices quick to riot, the
poor poets in prison for debt--these and how many more are familiar to
every reader of the Elizabethan drama. As often in periods of
commercial prosperity, luxury became fantastic. Men sold their acres to
put costly garments on their backs. Clothing was absurd and ran to
extreme sizes of ruffs, farthingales, and breeches, or to gaudy colors
and jewels. Enormous sums were spent on feasts, entertainments, and
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