Curiosities of Literature Volume Ii Part 26

_Gracechurch-street_, sometimes called _Gracious-street_, was originally _Gra.s.s-street_, from a herb-market there.

_Fenchurch-street_, from a fenny or moorish ground by a river side.

_Galley-key_ has preserved its name, but its origin may have been lost.

Howell, in his "Londinopolis," says, "here dwelt strangers called _Galley-men_, who brought wines, &c. in _Galleys_."

"_Greek-street_," says Pennant, "I am sorry to degrade into _Grig-street_;" whether it alludes to the little vivacious eel, or to the merry character of its tenants, he does not resolve.

_Bridewell_ was _St. Bridget's-well_, from one dedicated to Saint Bride, or Bridget.

_Marybone_ was _St. Mary-on-the-Bourne_, corrupted to _Marybone_; as _Holborn_ was _Old Bourn_, or the Old River; _Bourne_ being the ancient English for _river_; hence the Scottish _Burn_.

_Newington_ was _New-town_.

_Maiden-lane_ was so called from an image of the Virgin, which, in Catholic days, had stood there, as Bagford writes to Hearne; and he says, that the frequent sign of the _Maiden-head_ was derived from "our Lady's head."

_Lad-lane_ was originally _Lady's-lane_, from the same personage.

_Rood-lane_ was so denominated from a Rood, or Jesus on the cross, there placed, which was held in great regard.

_Piccadilly_ was named after a hall called _Piccadilla-hall_, a place of sale for _Piccadillies_, or _turn-overs_; a part of the fas.h.i.+onable dress which appeared about 1614. It has preserved its name uncorrupted; for Barnabe Rice, in his "Honestie of the Age," has this pa.s.sage on "the body-makers that do swarm through all parts, both of London and about London. The body is still pampered up in the very dropsy of excess. He that some fortie years sithens should have asked after a _Pickadilly_, I wonder who would have understood him; or could have told what a _Pickcadilly_ had been, either fish or flesh."[120]

Strype notices that in the liberties of Saint Catharine is a place called _Hangmen's-gains_; the traders of _Hammes_ and _Guynes_, in France, anciently resorted there; thence the strange corruption.

_Smithfield_ is a corruption of _Smoothfield_; smith signifies smooth, from the Saxon ?me. An antiquarian friend has seen it designated in a deed as _campus pla.n.u.s_, which confirms the original meaning. It is described in Fitz Stephen's account of London, written before the twelfth century, as a plain field, both in reality and name, where "every Friday there is a celebrated rendezvous of fine horses, brought hither to be sold. Thither come to look or buy a great number of earls, barons, knights, and a swarm of citizens. It is a pleasing sight to behold the ambling nags and generous colts, proudly prancing." This ancient writer continues a minute description, and, perhaps, gives the earliest one of a horse-race in this country. It is remarkable that _Smithfield_ should have continued as a market for cattle for more than six centuries, with only the change of its vowels.

This is sufficient to show how the names of our streets require either to be corrected, or explained by their historian. The French, among the numerous projects for the moral improvement of civilised man, had one, which, had it not been polluted by a horrid faction, might have been directed to a n.o.ble end. It was to name streets after eminent men. This would at least preserve them from the corruption of the people, and exhibit a perpetual monument of moral feeling and of glory, to the rising genius of every age. With what excitement and delight may the young contemplatist, who first studies at Gray's Inn, be reminded of _Verulam_-buildings!

The names of streets will often be found connected with some singular event, or the character of some person; and _anecdotes of our streets_ might occupy an entertaining antiquary. Not long ago, a Hebrew, who had a quarrel with his community about the manner of celebrating the Jewish festival in commemoration of the fate of Haman, called _Purim_, built a neighbourhood at Bethnal-green, and retained the subject of his anger in the name which the houses bear, of _Purim_-place. This may startle some theological antiquary at a remote period, who may idly lose himself in abstruse conjectures on the sanct.i.ty of a name, derived from a well-known Hebrew festival; and, perhaps, in his imagination be induced to colonise the spot with an ancient horde of Israelites!

SECRET HISTORY OF EDWARD VERE, EARL OF OXFORD.

It is an odd circ.u.mstance in literary research, that I am enabled to correct a story which was written about 1680. The Aubrey Papers, recently published with singular faithfulness, retaining all their peculiarities, even to the grossest errors, were memoranda for the use of Anthony Wood's great work. But beside these, the Oxford antiquary had a very extensive literary correspondence; and it is known, that when speechless and dying he evinced the fort.i.tude to call in two friends to destroy a vast mult.i.tude of papers: about two bushels full were ordered for the fires lighted for the occasion; and, "as he was expiring, he expressed both his knowledge and approbation of what was done, by throwing out his hands." These two bushels full were not, however, all his papers; his more private ones he had ordered not to be opened for seven years. I suspect also, that a great number of letters were not burnt on this occasion; for I have discovered a ma.n.u.script written about 1720 to 1730, and which, the writer tells us, consists of "Excerpts out of Anthony Wood's papers." It is closely written, and contains many curious facts not to be found elsewhere. These papers of Anthony Wood probably still exist in the Ashmolean Museum; should they have perished, in that case this solitary ma.n.u.script will be the sole record of many interesting particulars.

By these I correct a little story, which may be found in the Aubrey Papers, vol. iii. 395. It is an account of one Nicholas Hill, a man of great learning, and in the high confidence of a remarkable and munificent Earl of Oxford, travelling with him abroad. I transcribe the printed Aubrey account.

"In his travels with his lord (I forget whether Italy or Germany, but I think the former), a poor man begged him to give him a penny. 'A penny!'

said Mr. Hill; 'what dost say to ten pounds?'--'Ah! ten pounds,' said the beggar; 'that would make a man happy.' Mr. Hill gave him immediately ten pounds, and putt it downe upon account. Item, _to a beggar ten pounds to make him happy_!"--The point of this story has been marred in the telling: it was drawn up from the following letter by Aubrey to A. Wood, dated July 15, 1689. "A poor man asked Mr. Hill, his lords.h.i.+p's steward, once to give him sixpence, or a s.h.i.+lling, for an alms. 'What dost say, if I give thee ten pounds?' 'Ten pounds! _that would make a man of me_!' Hill gave it him, and put down in his account, '10 _for making a man_,' which his lords.h.i.+p inquiring about for the oddness of the expression, not only allowed, but was pleased with it."

This philosophical humorist was the steward of Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, in the reign of Elizabeth. This peer was a person of elegant accomplishments; and Lord Orford, in his "n.o.ble Authors," has given a higher character of him than perhaps he may deserve. He was of the highest rank, in great favour with the queen, and, in the style of the day, when all our fas.h.i.+ons and our poetry were moulding themselves on the Italian model, he was the "Mirrour of Tuscanismo;" and, in a word, this c.o.xcombical peer, after seven years' residence in Florence, returned highly "Italianated." The ludicrous motive of this peregrination is given in the present ma.n.u.script account. Haughty of his descent and alliance, irritable with effeminate delicacy and personal vanity, a little circ.u.mstance, almost too minute to be recorded, inflicted such an injury on his pride, that in his mind it required years of absence from the court of England ere it could be forgotten.

Once making a low obeisance to the queen, before the whole court, this stately and inflated peer suffered a mischance, which has happened, it is said, on a like occasion--it was "light as air!" But this accident so sensibly hurt his mawkish delicacy, and so humbled his aristocratic dignity, that he could not raise his eyes on his royal mistress. He resolved from that day to "be a banished man," and resided for seven years in Italy, living in more grandeur at Florence than the Grand Duke of Tuscany. He spent in those years forty thousand pounds. On his return he presented the queen with embroidered gloves and perfumes, then for the first time introduced into England, as Stowe has noticed. Part of the new presents seem to have some reference to the earl's former mischance. The queen received them graciously, and was even painted wearing those gloves; but my authority states, that the masculine sense of Elizabeth could not abstain from congratulating the n.o.ble c.o.xcomb; perceiving, she said, that at length my lord had forgot the mentioning the little mischance of seven years ago!

This peer's munificence abroad was indeed the talk of Europe; but the secret motive of this was as wicked as that of his travels had been ridiculous. This Earl of Oxford had married the daughter of Lord Burleigh, and when this great statesman would not consent to save the life of the Duke of Norfolk, the friend of this earl, he swore to revenge himself on the countess, out of hatred to his father-in-law. He not only forsook her, but studied every means to waste that great inheritance which had descended to him from his ancestors. Secret history often startles us with unexpected discoveries: the personal affectations of this earl induced him to quit a court where he stood in the highest favour, to domesticate himself abroad; and a family _pique_ was the secret motive of that splendid prodigality which, at Florence, could throw into shade the court of Tuscany itself.

ANCIENT COOKERY, AND COOKS.

The memorable grand dinner given by the cla.s.sical doctor in Peregrine Pickle, has indisposed our tastes for the cookery of the ancients; but, since it is often "the cooks who spoil the broth," we cannot be sure but that even "the black Lacedaemonian," stirred by the spear of a Spartan, might have had a poignancy for him, which did not happen at the more recent cla.s.sical banquet.

The cookery of the ancients must have been superior to our humbler art, since they could find dainties in the tough membranous parts of the matrices of a sow, and the flesh of young hawks, and a young a.s.s. The elder Pliny records, that one man had studied the art of fattening snails with paste so successfully, that the sh.e.l.ls of some of his snails would contain many quarts.[121] The same monstrous taste fed up those prodigious goose livers; a taste still prevailing in Italy. Swine were fattened with whey and figs; and even fish in their ponds were increased by such artificial means. Our prize oxen might have astonished a Roman as much as one of their crammed peac.o.c.ks would ourselves. Gluttony produces monsters, and turns away from nature to feed on unwholesome meats. The flesh of young foxes about autumn, when they fed on grapes, is praised by Galen; and Hippocrates equals the flesh of puppies to that of birds. The humorous Dr. King, who has touched on this subject, suspects that many of the Greek dishes appear charming from their mellifluous terminations, resounding with a _floios_ and _toios_. Dr.

King's description of the Virtuoso Bentivoglio or Bentley, with his "Bill of Fare" out of Athenaeus, probably suggested to Smollett his celebrated scene.

The numerous descriptions of ancient cookery which Athenaeus has preserved indicate an unrivalled dexterity and refinement: and the ancients, indeed, appear to have raised the culinary art into a science, and dignified cooks into professors. They had writers who exhausted their erudition and ingenuity in verse and prose; while some were proud to immortalise their names by the invention of a poignant sauce, or a popular _gateau_. Apicius, a name immortalised, and now synonymous with a gorger, was the inventor of cakes called Apicians; and one Aristoxenes, after many unsuccessful combinations, at length hit on a peculiar manner of seasoning hams, thence called Aristoxenians. The name of a late n.o.bleman among ourselves is thus invoked every day.

Of these _Eruditae gultae_ Archestratus, a culinary philosopher, composed an epic or didactic poem on good eating. His "Gastrology" became the creed of the epicures, and its pathos appears to have made what is so expressively called "their mouths water." The idea has been recently successfully imitated by a French poet.[122] Archestratus thus opens his subject:--

I write these precepts for immortal Greece, That round a table delicately spread, Or three, or four, may sit in choice repast, Or five at most. Who otherwise shall dine, Are like a troop marauding for their prey.

The elegant Romans declared that a repast should not consist of less in number than the Graces, nor of more than the Muses. They had, however, a quaint proverb, which Alexander ab Alexandro has preserved, not favourable even to so large a dinner-party as nine; it turns on a play of words:--

Septem convivium, Novem convicium facere.[123]

An elegant Roman, meeting a friend, regretted he could not invite him to dinner, "because my _number_ is complete."

When Archestratus acknowledges that some things are for the winter, and some for the summer, he consoles himself, that though we cannot have them at the same time, yet, at least, we may talk about them at all times.

This great genius seems to have travelled over land and seas that he might critically examine the things themselves, and improve, with new discoveries, the table-luxuries. He indicates the places for peculiar edibles and exquisite potables; and promulgates his precepts with the zeal of a sublime legislator, who is dictating a code designed to ameliorate the imperfect state of society.

A philosopher worthy to bear the t.i.tle of cook, or a cook worthy to be a philosopher, according to the numerous curious pa.s.sages scattered in Athenaeus, was an extraordinary genius, endowed not merely with a natural apt.i.tude, but with all acquired accomplishments. The philosophy, or the metaphysics, of cookery appears in the following pa.s.sage:--

"Know then, the COOK, a dinner that's bespoke, Aspiring to prepare, with prescient zeal Should know the tastes and humours of the guests; For if he drudges through the common work, Thoughtless of manner, careless what the place And seasons claim, and what the favouring hour Auspicious to his genius may present, Why, standing 'midst the mult.i.tude of men, Call we this plodding _frica.s.seer_ a Cook?

Oh differing far! and one is not the other!

We call indeed the _general_ of an army Him who is charged to lead it to the war; But the true general is the man whose mind, Mastering events, antic.i.p.ates, combines; Else is he but a _leader_ to his men!

With our profession thus: the first who comes May with a humble toil, or slice, or chop, Prepare the ingredients, and around the fire Obsequious, him I call a frica.s.seer!

But ah! the cook a brighter glory crowns!

Well skill'd is he to know the place, the hour, Him who invites, and him who is invited, What fish in season makes the market rich, A choice delicious rarity! I know That all, we always find; but always all, Charms not the palate, critically fine.

Archestratus, in culinary lore Deep for his time, in this more learned age Is wanting; and full oft he surely talks Of what he never ate. Suspect his page, Nor load thy genius with a barren precept.

Look not in books for what some idle sage So idly raved; for cookery is an art Comporting ill with rhetoric; 'tis an art Still changing, and of momentary triumph!

Know on thyself thy genius must depend.

All books of cookery, all helps of art, All critic learning, all commenting notes, Are vain, if, void of genius, thou wouldst cook!"

The culinary sage thus spoke: his friend Demands, "Where is the ideal cook thou paint'st?"

"Lo, I the man?" the savouring sage replied.

"Now be thine eyes the witness of my art!

This tunny drest, so odorous shall steam, The spicy sweetness so shall steal thy sense, That thou in a delicious reverie Shalt slumber heavenly o'er the Attic dis.h.!.+"

In another pa.s.sage a Master-Cook conceives himself to be a pupil of Epicurus, whose favourite but ambiguous axiom, that "Voluptuousness is the sovereign good," was interpreted by the _bon-vivans_ of antiquity in the plain sense.

MASTER COOK.

Behold in me a pupil of the school Of the sage Epicurus.

FRIEND.

Thou a sage!