The Chronicle of Clemendy/The Discourse of Ale
THE CHRONICLE OF CLEMENDY
MASTER PERROT'S DISCOURSE OF ALE
OF THE invention of beer divers tales are told; for some say that the Egyptians first concocted this super-excellent and glorious juice; some place that primitive brewery among the Germans, lauding their King Gambrinus, and some stiffly maintain that those Asiatic peoples that fought with Xenophon did used to get drunk on ale, and nothing else. But I believe these to be idle tales, legendary fables, and false conceits, for our old bards in their Triads name cwrw (and that is ale) as one of the three special blessings of the Land of Summer. Hence I believe that the Silurians, while they dwelt in that land, by some happy chance brewed beer, and, as they journeyed westward, imparted the secret of its concoction to the races through whose midst they passed; and finally, having brought their ships to anchor off the coast of Gwent, made a stay at last to all their wandering, and set up their vats beside the waters of the Uske. And this Manor of Pwllcwrw, in which I dwell, I suspect to have been from the very first a moist yet ever thirsty soil; for the word meaneth Beer Pool, or in the Latin tongue, as it is styled in the ancient Court Rolls, Stagnum de Cervisiâ. And unto this day, if you shall ask a man in the manour who is casting barley-seed upon the ground, "Friend, what sow you?" he will answer, without more ado, "Hot beer." Whereby you will perceive how subtle a people we are, and how keenly we search into eschatology, looking rather to final ends and effects than to what is but passing and transitory. And, if you come to practice and leave theories, I suppose there is not a man amongst us that loveth not a cup of old and corny ale, who will not joyfully dip his beard into the foam, turn up the can, and pour the torrent down. Wherefore amongst us the Mystery of Ale Drapers is held in great honour and repute, from the highest unto the lowest, from the little taverns on lonely roads, atop of hills, and in forgotten valleys to the great masters of the Tankard that fill the can in our fenced cities and towns of frequentation. Of these last we have some egregious specimens, fellows with round paunches and long heads, who have seen so many generations of travellers, and such diversity of morals, trickeries, methods, humours, counterfeits, revelries, noses, doublets, lecheries, japes, breeches, arguments, and appetites that their wits have grown very sharp, so that they perfectly comprehend the difference between a cassock and a smock, understand when it is wise to ask questions, and when to lay finger unto nose, when to call the crier, and when mumchance is the only word. Sometimes these gentry lose all sense of hearing and seeing to boot, and inquisitive strangers who wish to find out things, and have a well-founded conceit that the master of the Ivy-Bush sees what is done under the ivy, are greatly astonished at a deep, impenetrable ignorance, and go away as they deserve, no wiser than they came. But at other times Red Lion and Boar's Head see through the blankets and hear through the keyhole most wondrously well; they have, I believe, a special kind of tankard in the which they look when they desire to learn the A B C of an affair, and likewise a fashion of ear-trumpet that carries the click (it is some such sound, at all events) of a kiss from the cock-loft to the cellar. These Master Tankards are, in fact, mighty pleasant fellows, who bear witness to the error of giving the name "fuddlecap" to them that have much traffic with ale; and this is, it seems certain, a very great mistake, which all good Christians ought to avoid. A man who comes home late, goes to bed by a lanthorn which he has forgotten to light, and blows it out heedfully before he gets between the sheets, doubtless seems a little foolish; but, if you should interrogate him, he would be able to give good reasons and arguments of justification, showing that he was a judicious and agreeable Silurian, and that you were a jolterhead. Well, then! leave Silurians alone when they come home late and do strange things, for you must know they have been gazing, for I wis not how many hours, into a certain dark brown, foaming, silvery fountain, wherein they have seen all manner of strange sights, visions, hieroglyphics, steganographics, pyramids, triangles, spells, perpetual motions, hot fiery conjunctions, drolleries, and mosaics; they are therefore illuminated with a transcendent science which often makes them laugh very heartily to themselves, whenas they think how ignorant and silly others are. And, from seeing in that admirable fountain and abysmal well how this earthly sphere does certainly whirl around the sun in an everlasting gyre (indeed Pythagoras taught as much, but nobody would listen to him), Silurians are obnoxious to a circularity of motion after these meditations, the which the old hieroglyphical writers symbolise by the likeness of a man driving turkeys along a road.
Praised be the home of the Greyhound in Abergavenny, and the habitations of the Salmons in Uske; thither we all hasten after we have crossed the bridge, for we see the shield from afar, azure, three salmons nayant in pale argent; 'tis a very goodly coat. But all the company within must be blazoned hauriant and not naiant, for they sit drinking and drinking evermore, forgetful that the Portreeve passeth along the road, they hear not the noise of his trumpets nor the beating of his drums. No thought give they to the high service in St. Mary's quire, nor to dalliance with fair ladies in the castle that overlooks the town; but the tankards, and cans, and cups foam up, and foam again, and in the Salmons they sit still drinking, and drinking evermore. And thou, most swift Greyhound, that swingest in the city dreaming below great hills, where the Gavenny and the Uske do meet interflow, for thee, I say, they have set up a rare kennel, a kennel with a courtyard and low passages, where is stored baronial ale, ale such as was pleasant to De Broase what time he had lordship here, and dwelt in a mighty fortress. Hither journey weary men who have crossed mountains and are sore afoot; along the road they come at evensong and count the miles unto thy gate, till the noise of chiming bells grows near, and they enter in and sit them down, and with a long breath do drain oblivion of all their toils. Hither comes the cold and melancholic people and go away duly spiced, and warmed and gingered; hither also do the merry folk hold their synods, and Silurianise till the flame leapeth out through the chimney-top, and the tiles clatter together with their singing and their mirth. Gather ye, O gather ye, and pull the greyhound's tail, all dumpish and doting men. I cite, summon, and admonish you to be and appear before the High Court of Cervisage holden within the afore-named tavern at six of the clock in the afternoon on the Calends of May, that ye may, there and then purge ye of your contempt toward this honourable Silurian Assize. Fill your purses, and be ready to do suit and service and pay your quit rents to the High Tosspot our lord paramount, and to his magistrates the Lords Maltworm of Wales, humbly craving pardon for past sadness, dolour, wry mouths, cramped foreheads, knitted brows, griefs, ill haps, and all the like iniquities. For 'tis a very merciful Court, and will ever pardon them that desire to amend. I have known one come before the Most High and Mighty Lord Tosspot confessing that he had fared well in no single undertaking of this life, that all the glad hopes and expectations of his youth had come to nought, that his days were passed in misery and woe, and that he wished for nothing better than to die; yet he submitted himself to his liege lord, and craved mercy. But my lord looked pitifully upon this wretched sinner, and charged Levrier d'Argent, his herald, to set him in the ingle-nook, and there to deliver to him the sentence of the Court; and that was brought in a great tankard of old ale, so strong that it burned upon the fire like oil, so concocted that it smelt as a garden of spices of Arabia. Then the session went on, and the Sub-chanter raised the song—
Potus blandus! Potus fortis
Regibus, cleris et scortis
Et in hortis atque portis
O dulcis cervisia:
after the order appointed in the Consuetudinary of the Court. Then was read a piece from "The Red Book of Rabanus Jocosus," and the whole assembly from the High Tosspot to the Clericus Spigotti recounted tales so quaint and admirable that the guilty, pardoned man was like to have been bursten with laughter, notably at the tale of a certain clerk, called The History of the Silver Tankard with the Golden Spout, and how rain water flowed forth from it. Which I would gladly set down here had I not sworn by Gwen-Wen and the Round Table not to publish nor blaze abroad the acts done in Cervisage at the Greyhound; but this tale is engrossed on the Court Rolls, with many other choice relations that the Court has heard told and laughed at, you may be sure, as they have deserved. This ancient society of Cwrw Dda was founded, it seems certain, in the time of King Arthur, and sat for many years in that quarter of Caerleon which has ever since been renowned for its malt-houses; but about the time that the Normans came over great alterations and reformations were made, and, on account of the decayed magnificence and diminished frequention of Caerleon, the Court was removed to Abergavenny and the day of session fixed for the Calends of May, being the day on which the great May Mart is held at the aforesaid town. And shortly after this, summons was directed to Gruffydd Perrot, assigning to him the office of Tankard Marshall, unto him and his heirs for ever—"quia et ille et ante-cessores sui semper habuerunt domum Columbariam in manerio de Stagno Cervisiæ"—for that he and his forefathers have always held Clemendy in the Manour of Beerpool. And then I think this High Court was constituted as it is now, and records kept by the Clerk of the Acts in Cervisage; yet all customs and precedents of weight were curiously maintained and are observed unto this day as they were in the reign of King Arthur. For all our doctors and antiquaries who have searched the Chronicles and turned up the soil of the Caerleon meadows are agreed that the High Tosspot, and his proctors, lieutenants, summoners, clerks and surrogates, with all their acts, arrests, prescriptions, methods and consuetudinaries, their merum et mixtum cervisium, their writ of Cyathum hausit extremum and all their other benefices, exemptions and immunities, have their source and beginning from that wonderful Round Table, which is as potent now as when King Arthur and his Knights first made it famous. From this origin proceeds the Benefice of Free Sokage and the famous character of Terra Sabulosa or Sandy Soil. And this latter name is given to no desert place nor stony land but rather to the fairest and most delicious manours, and the merriest cities of Gwent, and confers inestimable privileges. But, before it be granted and set forth under the seal of the High Tosspot, the Clericus Spigotti visits the place and strictly interrogates all men, gentle and simple, whether they be verily addicted to strong ale and waggish ways; and, if he find so much as one politique or rancorous meddler therein, without more ado he tears his mandate in twain and rides hot foot away. But if the Spigot Clerk find the folk to be true Silurians, mellow men; the girls comely and jesticulous; the country provided with sunny nooks for winter and shadowed summer byways; and, above all, the ale mighty and sound to the core; he brings a good report to the Court and speaks favourably of that land. And if it be a town the Spigot Clerk must find a fair open street or square for wags to walk in; and walled gardens and trees and orchards, without which the largest town is no better than a rat-hole and fitter for brutes than Christian men. Then is the charter engrossed, and signed and sealed by the High Tosspot, and carried with pomp and worship to the place with trumpets, and vyalls and banners and the rarest show imaginable. The which place is thenceforth called Sandy Soil, because the thirst of it is insatiable, and craving moisture without end. Observe, then, what lordship Ale hath over us Silurians, and especially over the folk of Pwllcwrw; for 'twas by virtue of holding land in this gracious manour that my ancestor was cited to the Court and had an honourable office given him at the Reformation, which he and those who have come from his body have fulfilled through rain and sun ever since, both at High Sessions in Abergavenny, and at Petty Sessions in Uske. We Perrots indeed have gone wet foot and dry foot to these solemnities, not let by turmoil or distress, and when Levrier d'Argent calls Canthari Mareschallus, our adsum never fails, nor the function of our Marshalsea, nor have we broken faith with the Round Table. And know that by this Session Cwrw Dda ale is ennobled and glorified for us, exalted from a tinker's drain to a sempiternal spring of deep signification and high method, whence comes Silurianism and all that joyous knowledge which will not let us be dumpish, disconsolate, nor over-sorrowful have we never so much reason for sadness and dolour. Of these sweet thoughts the Saxons know nothing at all, and hold our mirth for folly and dotage, and, merely seeing that many of us are poor and meanly clad, deride and despise Silurians more than all other men, declaring that we are fools, dolts, jolterheads, idlers, whoremongers, drunkards, and so forth, and at the best pity us with a kind of scorn as a moonstruck silly folk, harmless for want of sense. But we, though we hear these people so declaring in their pride that our Round Table is nothing more than a Roman shambles or slaughter-house, merely shrug up our shoulders, smile under our beards, and utter some quaint saying as to the foolishness of men talking about a place to which they have never been, or at least do not understand in the smallest degree. But by the Oar and the Stillions! by the Spigot and the Pitch! these stupid persons are not worthy of a seat in the Greyhound nor the Salmons neither; nor should they be allowed so much as to cross the boundaries of the Land of the Moon, lest they make us as dull and dismal as they themselves always are and always have been. But, if you wish to learn a little Silurian wisdom, go any day to Uske, and spend a few hours and a little money at the Salmons, taking the seat between the fire and the window which looks out on a fair open place, where there is always some pleasantry or racy galliardise on foot. Then you shall go to the Boar's Head, and there they will give you all you want, whatever it may be or how much so ever of it you require at their hands. 'Tis the first degree in Cervisage, and so you must go on, till the fame of your deeds and conversation come to the ears of the High Court, who will in due course issue the writ, Bene, Bene, Bene Bibere, and cite you to their Petty Sessions. It may be that I have said too much of the customs of Cervisage, and am growing somewhat wearisome; but, by the Bottomless Vat! I have looked so long into the Tankard that it is still dancing, shimmering, brawling, foaming, ebbing, flowing, before my eyes; and as for my ears there is ever a humming, a surging on the Brim, a deep thorough Bassus sounding in them, with treble, tenor, and counter-tenor, duly falling in and making up the concert in more descants, symphonies, antiphons, fugues, madrigals, rounds, canons, and catches, than it is convenient for one man to listen to. And the chime of silver cans is still changing, ringing, and tingling against the tympanum, the meatus, and Eustachius his tubes, running back and fore from the outer ear to the inner, so that I can hear nothing else. In fine, all my five senses (some naughty fellow has added a sixth, fye on him!) rational and vegetal soul, sensus communis, memory, understanding, will, and phantasy, are quite absorbed in this one object; and, if you talk to me of letters, I can but think of the Library of Burgavenny, where are so many great embossed books clothed in skins, and bound in chains; such chests of parchments and rolls, where is kept the Silver Oar borne before the High Tosspot, where are desks, lecterns, and stalls for learned Silurists, where in the midst hangs a silver lamp, fed with pure and quintessential ale, and such a store of wonderful and joyous histories, and phantastic inventions that a London bookseller would go raving mad to think thereon. Am I not, then, a complete and special Tankard Marshall, and a true Silurian? One of that company who cannot laugh too much or turn the tap too often; and in truth, whether it be good or bad, that is all our philosophy. As for the rest; reforming, regenerating, couzening, amending, perfecting, leading-by-the-nose, and beatifying our fellow-men, we leave to the wise folks, those I mean that have a finger in every pie, and whose pockets never lack plums; maybe we should be tempted to follow their example did we not see these same righteous busybodies, and sanctified intermeddlers sometimes giving one another odd, sour looks, and drawing their foreheads into all manner of comical shapes, which they call gravity and expect us to consider mighty solemn. But we Silurians had rather laugh and lie still, leaving other matters to God and the King, who (it is lawful to say) can be trusted to do what is best. What ho! My Lord High Tosspot cometh with his Silver Oar and Great Seals, and all his merry company. There go the vyalls and the horns to the tune of O my Madam in the Can. Lo! you; in crossing the brook the Clericus Spigotti hath been spilt; there'll be a tang of beer about the water till it flows into the Uske hard by Caerleon. Fill up a foaming measure, and make all ready for the joyous session of the Cwrw Dda.