Eleanor Marx Aveling
Source: Weekly Times and Echo, Sunday, 6th May, 1894, page 5
Transcribed: by Graham Seaman, June 2025
It was towards the end of April, and London town was in a state of unwonted excitement. For not only was May Day at hand—a day welcome enough to the young folk, but always fraught with some unpleasantness for quiet, steady-going souls—but the town was alive with rumours, strange forebodings, whispered menaces. 1t was said that at last there would really be the rising so often threatened (notably only a year ago at the last May Day), but never thoroughly carried out; the rising so often attempted but not brought to a successful issue yet, against the strangers from over sea, the pestiferous aliens who infested the town, nay the very realm of England, to the "undoing" and "sore oppression" of all true-born Englishmen. And now, said rumour, these aliens—in London, at any rate—were to be got rid of; killed outright or, those who escaped the more summary process, shipped back to the lands whence they had come.
But these anxious April days, and this First of May so fearfully awaited, were not those of our own year of grace. The England was not this England of the 19th Century; the London not our own little village of five million inhabitants. The year was 1517, the England was 16th Century England, and the London, though already the most considerable town in England, and one politically and commercially important withal, was the London of Tudor, not Victorian times. On the Throne sat no Hanoverian figure-head, but Henry Tudor—eighth Harry of England—not yet the monster, physically and morally, he was later to become, but a "marvellous handsome youth," the beloved of the people, friend and protector of the new learning. And not a Rothschild-Rosebery was the "Statesman" of England, but Thomas Wolsey, Cardinal of York; and the special hope and hero of London, the observed of all observers, trusted alike by all, loved of his fellow countrymen, and destined to be loved through all the ages by them, was one Thomas More. At this particular period More was giving up his position as city magnate, agent of the Steelyard, and successful lawyer, to take on the "service of the King" that was to end so tragically, and his good services were to be called into requisition more than once by his fellow townsmen during these April and May days.
The England, as I have said, was the England of the beginning of the 16th Century; when the whole country was in a state of transition; when the so-called "Golden Age" of the workers (there was a good deal more dross mixed with the gold than our friend William Morris seems to think) was gone; when entirely mew relations between the various classes were growing up; and when of the two great props of feudalism, the barons and the Church, the first had disappeared, and the second had begun to totter; nay, when the battle, though it seemed not yet fairly begun between what remained of feudalism and the growing commercialism, was already in England practically lost. But those who would know what the England of this early 16th Century was, have but to turn to their "Utopia." In his own day More's immortal work was, according to so great an authority as Brewer,[1] "regarded as a mirror of the social and political evils of the times," and all our modern research, all the invaluable documents unearthed among the "Domestic and Foreign Papers" and the English archives have but gone to confirm the opinion of More’s contemporaries. The times were out of joint. The misery of the people was growing daily; the artisan and journeyman and apprentice were being replaced by "labourers" in the towns, while in the country the sheep were busy at their work of eating the men, or worse, of driving them to the towns; there was almost constant dearth and sickness; if not yet fallen into the complete "decay" that was to overtake them later, there were towns upon towns fast becoming "desolate and vacant, "where what had been the main streets were "replenished with much uncleanness and filth ;"[2] the numbers of "idle vagabonds" and "sturdy beggars" were increasing by leaps and bounds, and even in London town, "one of the flowers of the world as touchynge worldly riches," the poor were beginning "to beg from door to door," or "sit openlye in the street begging." And the people, not yet accustomed to this load of misery, murmured aloud, and whilst some denounced the iniquitous treatment of the poor by the rich, the mass of the people seized upon a very fortuitous circumstance to explain the wretched situation. It was all the fault of the alien, the foreigner, that English men and women lacked food, and went bare.
Against the foreigner the Englishman has always been bitterly prejudiced, and the Statutes of the Realm, like the Municipal Archives and historical documents generally, bear witness to the intensity of this hatred. Originally, of course, there was not much national feeling in the matter; it was purely local, and the "stranger," the "foreigner," was simply a person outside any particular city, borough, or gild. "Ye schal not suffer nor counsel any foryner to dwell with (i.e., to enjoy) the franchys of this craft, but oftentymes as ye schal wet (know) it, ye schal warne the Maister and Wardens thereof, and han (them) informe wher their be, as fer forth as ye have knowlych that they may do correcyon (correction, i.e, punishment) there … ye schal cover no foren strenger nowys (wise) under your franchys to use thys craft," ran one of the oaths of the Exeter gild (1467). "All foren poulterers coming into the city (London) schal,” &c., &c.; "all foreners who come into the city to sell cheese and butter,” &c., &c., "they shall sell to strangers of the realm as to citizens," &c., are a few examples taken from the London Ordnances (1346, 1360, 1373), where the words "forener" and "stranger" simply refer to men outside a particular craft, or to non-freemen of the particular city. But the word gradually lost, though slowly enough, its local meaning, and it need bardly be pointed out that if the local stranger was looked on with a suspicious eye, the actual alien was a ten-fold greater object of distrust and dislike. Froissart already, and even writers earlier than he, have noted this insular hatred of the "foreigner." "The English," he says, "are the most perylous (i.e., dangerous) people in the world, specially the Londoners … and most comonly have great envy at strangers … and set nothing by any nation but their own." The various travellers in, and ambassadors and envoys to, England, say much the same. "The English" remarks Govio, for example, in his "Descriptio Britanniae," (1548) are commonly destitute of good breeding, and are despisers of foreigners, since they esteem him a wretched being and but half a man (semi hominem), who may be born elsewhere than in Britain," The classical “There's a stranger, 'eave ’alf a brick at him" illustrates the same genial trait of character.
The foreigner, then, was hated in England, though the special unpopularity of special nationalities varied with the political relations of the country. Thus the Flemings, who—for "strangers"—were at one time quite popular, were at other periods the most hated of all the aliens, Thorold Rogers even suggests—and the idea is borne out to sume extent by contemporary documents[3]—that the welcome given the peasant insurgents in 1380 by the Londoners, was chiefly due to the belief that they would drive away the Flemish aliens. Then the Spaniards, at the particular period of which I write—1517—were liked (Catherine of Arragon was very popular), while a few decades later their very ambassadors were hardly safe in London streets. Now, the "Easterlings" (Germans) were granted special privileges, now subjected to exceptionally repressive laws, Three nationalities, however, seem to have been unvaryingly and uniformly hated. The French, a necessary result of the constant wars; the Lombards (not the other Italians so much), and the Scots. But while this hatred of the foreigners, though varying in expression, was constant, the causes, real and imaginary, for such hatred, and the class as well as the nationality hated, had undergone an immense change. Till well into the 15th Century, the "alien" had been for the Englishman almost wholly the alien merchant and business competitor; now, while the complaints of the English merchants against their alien rivals were as clamorous as ever, they were reinforced by the outcry of the English artisan and handicraftsman against the alien artisan and handicraftsman, usually more skilled than himself. Certainly, large numbers of Flemish weavers had long since been introduced into England (with results upon the status of the weaver that would repay careful examination), and a few workers belonging to other trades, notably miners, had come over also, but generally, with the exception of the weavers, in such small numbers that the English artisans had been little or not at all affected. Now, however, they began to arrive more frequently and in larger batches, refugees for the most part, who naturally settled down in the larger towns and ports, and chiefly in London. As to the actual numbers, although there are some data to go upon, they are scanty and altogether insufficient for any definite conclusion, while the various writers differ so enormously on this question that to speak with anything like certainty upon it is impossible. The contemporaries exaggerate wildly, especially where their prejudices are involved, and modern writers are little better. Froude, for example, writes vaguely of "tens of thousands" of Flemish refugees in England, and of 15,000 as being in London in 1527; but then he is anxious to show that "Providence had given plenty to 'heretics,' and need and hunger"[4] to the wicked Roman Catholics, and that therefore for "every languid English gentleman who had fled … to enjoy the consolations of the Catholic religion. … a hundred Flemish artisans" [5] throve in England.” Other writers vary in their estimate of the number of “aliens.” By some it is given as 30,000 in England; by others as 30,000 in London alone, while yet others speak of "untold thousands," and so forth. According to Thorold Rogers the population of England during the 14th, 15th, and 16th Centuries—centuries during which, in his opinion, the population varied but little—was from 2 1/4 to 2 1/2 millions; the population of London, about 35,000.[6] Probably, almost certainly indeed, London had grown more than Rogers seems to admit, though, equally certainly, it did not, till well into the 17th Century, attain anything like the population it is often credited with at a much earlier period. As to the exaggeratious of the contemporaries these are easily explicable, especially where the much hated "alien" was concerned; just as I have heard people quite seriously affirm that there are at least 250,000 pauper Jew aliens in the East-end at the present time. As a matter of fact, several censuses were taken of the foreigners in London during the Tudor period, especially in Elizabeth’s reign. No doubt these censuses are not altogether reliable, but they still give an idea of the actual position that is worth far more than any amount of mere conjecture. One of the most careful of these numberings of the aliens was made in 1567, when in their first panic at the Blood Council the unfortunate Netherlanders fled from Alva's persecution. Writing of this census, on the 22nd November, 1567, Guzman de Silva informed his royal master, Philip: "Five days since, by order of the Queen, all the houses in this city were visited, and a memorandum taken of the people therein, with the parish churches where they attend divine service … also in the case of foreigners, how long they have been here. This has been done on previous occasions, but they say never with so much care. The Queen told me she was going to have this inquiry made in order to learn who had come into this country since the beginning of the disturbance in Flanders."[7] In December the "number of all manner of straungers in the several wards and parishes of the said cytie," made under the Bishop of London’s directions, was ready for the Queen. Within London itself there were 3,760 aliens, "1,252 of one year's continuance or under." In the outer wards of Londea there were another 1,001 “straungers," making in all 4,851.[8] Now the numbers must have increased since the beginning of the century, and no doubt neither denizens[9] nor naturalised aliens were counted among these foreigners; but while taking the lowest possible increase in the alien population of London, and allowing for all omissions and errors in the 1567 census, it will yet be seen that there could be no question in 1517 of 15,000 Flemings in London alone, not to speak of 30,000. Careful research into the records of other towns much affected by the refugees, Sandwich, Norwich, Colchester, e.g.—has given exactly the same result — that the number of aliens there has been almost as much exaggerated as the number of them in London itself.
It is clear, then, that in these April days of 1517 there could not have been an overwhelming number of aliens in London. But in the popular imagination the foreigners loomed large and dangerous, The chronic state of ill-feeling towards them was reaching the acute stage. And the condition of London was serious enough. The people were not only suffering from the general depression, and the consequent influx into the town of men from the outlying suburbs and villages, but for the second time within little over a twelvemonth the terrible and mysterious sweating sickness was decimating the inhabitants; business was practically at a standstill, there were none of the masques and jousts and tournaments and brave processions the Londoner loved so well, and that always helped to keep him in a good humour; the Court and the wealthier citizens had fled to the country to escape if possible the contagion, while an unusually large number of foreign merchants (not to be confounded with those permanently settled in England) had flocked into the town with the hope of quickly transacting their business and re-joining their ships awaiting them in the river. The City was thus left practically unguarded, and the City fathers, accustomed to turn to the Court for help in any emergency, were quite incapable of dealing with any serious difficulty that might arise, or of keeping a firm hand upon the London ’prentices, ever on the look out for mischief, and always eager for a headbreaking.
There are, of course, innumerable allusions—chiefly in private letters and papers, since the English Government was anxious to have the matter hushed up—to this May Day and its tragic sequence, and there are two longer accounts of the affair. The one written by Hall in his "Chronicles," the other sent by Sebastian Giustinian in his despatches to the Signory. Hall's account—like the whole of his Chronicle—though vigorous and interesting, must be taken with a great many grains of salt. It is coloured too strongly by his prejudices, and in his fanatical hatred of all "strangers," and his determination to throw all the blame upon them, and above all to find some fresh accusation against Wolsey, whom he loathed, he makes the facts fit in with his own views, and where his statements are uncorroborated they are, on the face of them, generally quite unreliable.
With the account of Giustinian it is quite otherwise. What do we not owe to these astute, profound, subtle, clear-eyed Venetian diplomatists! Today their "relazioni" are the store-house of the modern historian. Nothing escaped those shrewd, observant watchers, and they report everything, from matters of deepest import to the whole diplomatic world of their day, down to the latest fashion, or the latest bit of Court gossip. Looking "quite through the deeds of men," with their finger in every political pie, a match for the greatest and most Machiavellian statesmen, meeting intrigue by intrigue and plot with counter plot, they were also not above sending to their Council full reports as to the general customs and habits, the commerce and the trade of the countries they were in, of the dresses worn by Court dames at the last pageant, and of the latest scandal touching an illustrious person. From these despatches we obtain a knowledge of the actual economic and social, as well as political, conditions of a country to be got nowhere else. They show us the men and women, till then looked on as mere puppets on the political stage, real flesh and blood, gradually developing and growing under our eyes into the human beings the world now knows them for. Historically, these Venetian archives are invaluable, and to quote Mr. Rawdon Brown’s admirable introduction to the "State Papers," published for the English Government by the permission of Italy: "Even when no historical fact is related, contemporary State papers have the interest of original memoirs, with a stronger guarantee for their veracity. In truth, ancient gossip becomes history, and trivial things when they tend to illustrate the manners of the times cease to be unimportant … And for the merits of graphic description and truthfulness the Venetian State papers are conspicuous … There is apparent an anxiety to report everything just as it was said, to describe men and things just as they appeared, as if to enable the Signory to form its own conclusions and to check the writer's inferences by his own state ments,"[10]
From England, during some 400 years—between 1316, when Gabriel Dandolo, half admiral of the Flanders Galleys, and balf State official was sent as envoy (the first actual ambassador was not sent till 1360), and 1669, after the war with Candia—these brilliant Venetians sent home to the Council and the Signory the "rich argosies" of their unrivalled despatches and "relazioni." And not the least interesting of these great diplomatists was Sebastian Giustinian. He must too have been a man of much personal charm, and he has for us the supreme merit of having loved, aud been loved by, Thomas More, "the most sage and virtuous, and the most linked with me in friendship of any in this Kingdom" he writes of More to Venice.[11] Thanks to Giustinian we are able to piece out the story of the "Evil May" of 1517.
As we have seen, the condition of the country generally, and of London in particular, was sad enough, aud any cry, especially so popular a cry as "Death to the strangers" was pretty sure to be taken up. And so a certain broker, one John Lincoln, called upon Dr. Henry Standish, warden of the mendicant friars (familiar to all readers of Erasmus), then an immensely popular preacher, to request him to preach on Easter Monday against the strangers, and "to move the Mayor and Aldermen to take part with the Commonalty" against them. For on Easter Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, sermons were preached in the fields at St. Mary's Spittle, attended in State by Mayor and Aldermen, and crowds of London citizens. Standish seems to have had some sense at least (despite Erasmus), and refused. But Lincoln was not to be so easily put off, and he proceeded to lay the grievances of the Londoners before a certain Dr. Beale. Beale promised to consider the matter, and it became known that as he was to preach on the Easter Tuesday he would comply with Lincoln's request. He chose for text "The earth is the Lord’s and the fulness thereof, but the earth He has given to the children of men," and, of course, the worthy Beale pointed out that the particular portion of the earth known as England had been given to the people of England, and that Englishmen must defend what the Lord had meant for their sole use from the aliens, those "raveners and destroyers" of the land. Great was the excitement, especially as Beale had repeated a number of ridiculous stories (all vouched for and embellished by Hall, of course), of the "haughty pride" of the foreigners in their treatment of the people, and of the ravishing of the wives and daughters of honest London citizens by them. Here is how Giustinian tells the tale: "After Easter a certain preacher, at the instigation of a citizen of London, preached as usual in the fields … and commenced abusing the strangers in the town, and their mode of life and customs, alleging that they not only deprived them of their industry and of the emoluments derivable thence, but disgraced their dwellings, taking their wives and daughters, adding much other exasperating language … by which means he so irritated the people that from that day they commenced threatening strangers that on the 1st of May they would cut them to pieces and sack their houses. Perceiving this bad feeling to increase daily, and the minds of the people to become inflamed, I said a few words hereon to the right reverend Cardinal, who told me he would make provision against any accident on that day, which I believe he did."[12] What Wolsey actually did—as we learn from other sources—was to send for the Mayor and chief members of the Corporation, and ask them how things stood in the City. "'Well and in very good quiet,' answered the Mayor. 'Nay,' said the Cardinal, ‘we are informed that your young and riotous people will rise and distress the strangers. Hear ye of no such thing?' 'No, sir,' said the Mayor, 'and I trust so to govern them that the King's peace shall not be broken.'"[13] … But although Wolsey bade them be on their guard, they did nothing but wrangle among themselves, and the rumours of a rising grew ever louder and more threatening, and there were even a few small scuffles in the streets. So Giustinian determined to see the King himself. "On the last day of April I thought fit, for the benefit and security of our nation" (perhaps too for the benefit and security of Giustinian himself) "to come here to Richmond, the actual residence of the King, whom I went to see and stated the matter to him, placing before his eyes the peril to which all foreigners were exposed. His Majesty listened to me graciously, promising to take every precaution,and the next night, having received news that the Londoners were in arms, and committing great outrages, he got up at midnight and took the field with a good number of persons, and sent messengers to London announcing his coming with a large army, though in reality he never quitted Richmond." Meantime, the riot in London had begun. Hall tries to represent the whole thing as a very trifling matter in itself, only made serious through the blundering of Wolsey and the authorities. According to him, the actual fray began through one of the Aldermen, Sir John Munday, finding two apprentices playing at bucklers in his ward of the City, aud a number of holidaymakers looking on, and the apprentices refusing to stop, and the crowd refusing to leave at his command, Sir John took one by the arm to force him to move on. Then arose the cry "Clubs! 'Prentices!" and in a moment they were all fighting. Then, still according to Hall, quite casually the crowd surged into Leadenhall to the house of Peter Meautis, the King's French Secretary (and Clerk of the Signet under Henry VIII) and into the streets mostly inhabited by the strangers, still quite casually, and without premeditation, sacking them as they went along. But this accords ill, either with the statements of Hall himseif on the Easter sermons, with the damage done, and with the horribly severe measures taken to repress the rising. Giustinian’s account squares better with the known facts and with the probabilities of the case. "On the night preceding the first of May, the London apprentices … with a number of bandits, amounting in all to 2,000, rose, and went to divers parts of the city inhabited by French and Flemish artificers and mechanics" (note that it was to the houses of mechanics and artificers that the crowd first proceeded), "whose houses they sacked, and wounded many of them, though it is not understood that any of them were killed. They next proceeded to the house of His Majesty's French Secretary, which they sacked, doing very great damage thereto, and had he himself not escaped up the belfry of the adjoining church, they would have cut him to pieces; they also sacked a number of houses of French artificers, (again note the artificers) in the neighbourhood of his residence. They next went to the houses of the Florentines, and Lucchese, and Genoese merchants, whom they insulted; but as the said dwellings were well supplied with men and arms and artillery, they could do them no harm. Against the houses of the Venetians, on the contrary, no demonstration was made, as they have ever comported themselves with so much equity and decorum that there was no wishing them harm" (here Giustinian's patriotism seems to have got rather the better of his veracity). "The house of the Spanish Ambassador likewise received some insult, but not of importance. My dwelling by the Grace of God was guarded and preserved like a church, some of the cordial friends who visit me there daily" (probably More was one of these) "having had it at heart … Much greater bloodshed would have taken place had precautionary measures not been adopted beforeband." As to precautions, not many had been taken, but now, in their fright and confusion the authorities, fearing a general massacre of the aliens, took prompt and unnecessarily severe measures. The lieutenaut of the Tower battered [sic - battened? MIA] down the city walls, the Lord High Admiral of the Fleet came with an army of soldiers, the Duke of Norfolk aud other great lords secured the gates, and the prisons were soon full to overflowing. "About seventy of these ribalds," says Giustinian, "being captured" (his letter is dated the 5th May), "twelve of them regarded as ring-leaders have been already condemned to death, Had not strong measures been adopted not a single house of the strangers would have escaped, and their property would have been sacked and themselves cut to pieces." Not quite so exaggerated a statement as it appears at first sight, for undoubtedly the Londoners were in a mood for anything. But, after all, beyond the wounding of a number of men—some severely—the destruction of some houses, and the looting a good many more, there was little harm done—no "straunger" having actually been killed, and the repression of the rising was hideously brutal. It is a litle difficult to discover the actual number of the executions. On May 9th Giustinian speaks of the execution of "some twenty of the delinquents." On the 12th he speaks of further executions, but these may have been the executions of the twenty unfortunates originally condemned. On the 19th, Giustinian's secretary, Nicolo Sagudino, writes to Aloise Foscari that "the most severe example was made of some twenty of the delinquents," though he also speaks of forty as having been hanged. At these cruel "examples" the Londoners had again become exasperated, and further bloodshed seemed imminent, Thus—still on the 19th May—Sagudino writes that in cousequence of the "punishments inflicted … the people here, men, women, and childien, had recourse to threats and blows most outrageously, and amongst the rest wounded two of our servants." This, by the way, hardly bears out Giustinian's complacent statements about the esteem in which the "equitable and decorous Venetians" were held. In face of the excitement in London, thanks probably also to Sir Thomas More, who had been doing his best to pour oil upon the troubled waters, it was decided to now be "merciful" and to have one of those carefully prepared scenes in which the King delighted, in the arranging of which Wolsey was a past master, and which never failed of their effect upon the people. But the story shall be told by Sagudino—who reported it home: "The King having lately exercised such rigorous justice, thought fit moreover to display his extreme clemency by pardoning the rest of those concerned in this conspiracy, and came one day to a place distant half a mile hence, with his Court, in excellent array, the right reverend Cardinal being there likewise with a number of lords … and his Majesty being seated on a lofty platform surrounded by all these lords who stood, he caused some 400 of the delinquents, all in their shirts and barefoot, and each with a halter round his neck, to be brought before him, and on their presenting themselves before his Majesty, the Cardinal implored him aloud to pardon them, which the King said he would not by any means, whereupon the Right Reverend Cardinal, turning towards the delinguents, announced the royal reply. The criminals on hearing that the King chose them to be hanged, fell on their knees shouting "Mercy," when the Cardinal again besought his Majesty most earnestly to grant them grace … So at length the King consented to pardon them, which was announced to these delinquents by the Right Reverend Cardinal, with the tears in his eyes, and he made them a long discourse, urging them to lead good lives, aud comply with the royal will, which was that strangers should be well treated in this country … And when the Cardinal told them this, that the King pardoned them, it was a sight to see each man take the halter which hung from his neck, and throw it in the air, and they jumped for extreme joy, making such signs of rejoicing as became their escape from such peril. It was a very fine spectacle and well arranged, and the crowd of people present innumerable."
With this "well-arranged" comedy, in which King and Cardinal both had parts to their taste, and in which the "crowd" duly shouted and flung caps into the air, the Evil May Day apparently ended. But only apparently. The memory of the cruel executions of their fellows rankled deeply in the hearts of the Londoners, and no wonder. Even the Venetian Ambassador and his secretary were shocked at the reprisals. "These people," wrote Sagudino, "cannot bear that forty of their countrymen should have been so cruelly hanged and quartered, at the City gates one sees nothing but gibbets, and the quarters of these scelerats, so that it is horrible to pass." And very soon there was wind of another plot for the extermination on Michaelmas Day of the strangers. But this time Mayor and Corporation were more prompt, and nothing came of the conspiracy. Yet the people did not forget, and London, in addition to its hatred of the aliens, hated now, perhaps even more fiercely, the nobility for the part they had played in suppressing the riot. "Hatred of the nobility," says Mr. Brewer, "became henceforth a strong element in the loyalty of London citizens, and no inconsiderable motive power in the Reformation,"[14]
But if “peace” was restored in London, the foreign powers were still angry, and as it was essential for Wolsey at this time to be on good terms with the other potentates, means were taken to pacify their ruffled feelings. It is well known that from the end of 1517 to 1518 More was sent on a mission to France. His instructions were to arrange the "difficulties" with the French merchants. It is curious that the only writer who should have thought of the obvious connection between this embassy (whose object has puzzled More's biographers) and the May riots, is Rawdon Brown. Certainly no better envoy than More could have been chosen. Beloved and trusted by his fellow citizens he was also known and respected abroad; for More was incapable of the prejudices of most men of his time, and the insular hate of the "foreigner" he could not even understand. "Many ouly favour men of their own kind and nation," wrote Nucerinus to Montanus, in the tragic year of 1535, "but he (More) was friend to Irishmen, Frenchmen, Germans, and Hindoos"[15] —and the very man therefore to undertake such a mission. It was successful, and ere long the friendly relations between the French and London merchants were resumed. But the peopie of London could not so easily forget. All May poles and decorations for the festival were put away; the memory of the riot and its tragic end grew into a tradition, and for many a long year after 1517, on the eve of May, watch and ward were kept in the town lest haply another Evil May should dawn upon London.
And now, once again, Londoners are beginning to keep a May holiday—not yet alas May Day. If their processions have not the gorgeousness of the old Court pageants, still they are brave with the gay flags aud banners of the workers, Above all, they meet, not to declare war upon the "stranger" and the "alien," but to declare that for the workers there is no such thing as an alien or a stranger; to declare that for them the workers of all countries are their brethren, and their only enemy the capitalists of all lands. And so, in the better, happier time to come, the May Day of 1890, when the people first met to proclaim this new gospel of international fraternity, may perchance come to be known as the Good May Day, and then the evil of the old times and old conditions will have passed away, and be no more than a memory, a tradition, no more than a story like that of the Evil May Day of 1517.
[1] Brewer's preface to "The Calendar of State Papers, Foreign and Domestic, of the Reign of Heny VIII," Vol, II, Part 1, p. cclxvii. [RETURN]
[2] Statutes: Henry 28, cap. 18. [RETURN]
[3] "The Chronicle of London, 1089-1483," speaks of the “rysing of the comones’ (i.e., in 1380), and, after detailing sundry executions in connection therewith, naively adds that there were "behedings … of many questmongers, jorours, men of lawe, Flemyngs, and other aliens as they comen to hand" ! [RETURN]
[4] Froude: "History,” Vol. xii, p. 2. [RETURN]
[5] “History," vol. xii,, pp. 1, 2. [RETURN]
[6] Thorold Rogers: "Industrial and Commercial History of England,” 1892, pp. 46-49. [RETURN]
[7] "Calendar of Letters and State Papers.” Spanish Series, 1558-1567, Rolls Series. [RETURN]
[8] The various nationalities are represented thus: Inner Wards : Duche, 2,993 ; French, 512; Italians, 128; Venetians, 10; Spaniards, 54; Portingalles, 23; Scottes, 36; Gretians, 2; Blackamores, 2 = 3,760. In the other Wards: Duche, 844; Italians, 9; French, 208; Portingalles 2; Scottes, 22; Danes, 1; Spaniards, 4; Polion, 1 = 1,091. In all 4,851 "straungers." Of course, under "Duche" would be counted the Germans also.— (Burghley, "State Papers," edited for the Rolls Series by Haynes.) [RETURN]
[9] Denization was a sort of cross between the position of an alien and of a natural-born subject. It could be granted by the sovereign by means of letters patent, either for a specific purpose (e.g., a merchant might receive denization while he was transacting any particular business), for a given period, or for life. On the other hand, the Sovereign could not grant papers of naturalization. The naturalization of aliens has been dealt with again and again in Parliament. According to Hansard’s "Treatise on the Law relatiug to Aliens," the first Act of naturalization was passed in 1558, the person naturalized being one Garsome Wroth, originally "made in Germany." [RETURN]
[10] Introduction to the Calendars of State Papers (1314-17), Venetian Series, edited by Rawdon Brown. [RETURN]
[11] "Four Years at the Court of Henry VIII," p. 162, "The Complete Despatches of Giustinian and his Secretary," edited and translated by Rawdon Brown. [RETURN]
[12] This and the following quotations from Giustinian are all taken from his dispatch of May 5th, 9th, and 19th, 1517, printed in "Four Years at the Court of Henry VIII" [RETURN]
[13] Brewer’s Preface to "The Calendar of State Papers of Henry VIII," Vol. II, Part 1. [RETURN]
[14] Preface to "Calendar of State Papers," Vol. II, Part 1. [RETURN]
[15] Calendar of State Papers, Foreign and Domestic, July 1535 [RETURN]