The street, in fact, belonged to two parishes; one of these was the parish of St. Faith under Paul’s (see p. 340). St. Faith’s parish includes Paternoster Square, the Row, and Ivy Lane, with little fringes or strips, on the north and south. The east end of the Row is in the parish of St. Michael le Querne (see p. 326). This little parish, whose church is now St. Vedast’s, Foster Lane, included no more than 250 feet of the Row, with that part of Chepe west of Foster Lane, and the buildings on the north-west of the cathedral precinct. If you stand now on the site of the church, you will find it difficult to understand how there could be room for a parish church and a graveyard on the little space between the Row and the west end of Cheapside. By measurement, however, you will ascertain that a line drawn from the shop at the end of the Row to the corner of Cheapside is 130 feet in length, while a line drawn perpendicular to the buildings is 110 feet. Now the mediæval builders were ingenious in cramming churches and halls into small areas. I have laid down the church as it might have been, and I put the present statue of Peel at the crossing of the transepts if it was a cruciform church. I do not think, however, that it was cruciform, but that it consisted of a nave and chancel only, with a small burial-ground on the north, and a tower on the east side. The Fire of 1666 left it rootless, broke its windows, melted its glass, calcined its marbles, and destroyed its woodwork. It also burned up the coffins with their contents in the vaults. The parish was poor and small; the “Paternostrers” existed no longer; the parishioners decided not to rebuild the church; they amalgamated their parish with another; they widened the way that led from Newgate Street into Cheapside; and the bones of the dead, which were now so much grey powder, were trampled in the mud and dust of the street.

When the Reformation came, the trade of the street was annihilated. Fortunately for the poor “Paternostrers” the work of destruction was not sudden; it took time for the old services and the old ceremonies, which required their handiwork, to be abolished. What they did when the accession of the Protestant party to power closed their shops; how they got rid of their unsold stock, their piles of rosaries, beads, crucifixes, candlesticks; what new trades they learned; what bankruptcies and disasters fell upon them, no one knows. There is no chronicle to tell of the immediate effects of the Reformation on the trade and the common life of the City. It is, however, certain that the Paternostrers had to try something else.

They vanish; the historian hears no more of them; they rejoiced, we may be very sure, when Queen Mary brought back the ancient things; they trembled when Queen Elizabeth showed herself as independent and as masterful as her father.

But the place is central; it is a quiet and convenient place, retired from the noisy market; it is essentially a street for business of a quiet kind. Therefore the people who had formerly occupied the stalls of Broken Cross, the Standard, and the Great Cross, changed their quarters and took the small shops of the Paternostrers, where they sold paper, parchment, ink, pens, and the like—being the forerunners of the booksellers.

But the day of the booksellers was not yet. Paternoster Row was too large for the stationers; the mercers, silkmen, and lacemen found out the place and began to crowd out the stationers. It became the principal place for the sale of these fashionable goods; in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries all the great ladies went to Paternoster Row for their fineries; latterly the lane was thronged with carriages.

Then came the Fire.

After the Fire, according to Strype, the mercers migrated to Covent Garden, Henrietta Street, and King Street. According to Defoe, the Row was rebuilt after the Fire, for the convenience of these trades; “the spacious shops, back warehouses, skylights, and other conveniences made on purpose for their trade are still to be seen.” He goes on to say that the other traders were then dependent on the more important shops: lacemen were in Ivy Lane, button shops at the Cheapside end, shops for crewels and fringe in Blowbladder Street. He says that this continued for twenty years after the Fire, and that the mercers began then to migrate to Covent Garden, where, however, they did not remain many years. They then returned to the City and established themselves on Ludgate Hill.

But all the mercers and silkmen did not desert the Row. In 1720 there were still some “with many tirewomen.” It is at this period that we first hear of booksellers in the Row. Their previous quarters, before the Fire, had been St. Paul’s Churchyard not far off. After the Fire, some of them went to the upper end of Paternoster Row, where there were built “large warehouses for booksellers well situated for learned and studious men’s access thither, being more retired and private” (Strype). Others retreated, their stocks destroyed by the Fire, in an impoverished condition, to the cheaper street of Little Britain, where they continued for eighty years, when they began to flock into Paternoster Row.

“From the manufacture of paternosters to the publication and sale of books is a long step. The Row, however, gradually lost all its mercers, lacemen, and silkmen, and became the home of books, old and new. Other booksellers there were in other parts, but not many—Dodsley, for instance, in Pall Mall, Murray in Fleet Street, Newbery in St. Paul’s; but the greater number had their shops, being booksellers as well as publishers, in the Row. No longer did the coaches rumble along the narrow street; posts placed across forbade the passage of coach or cart; it became the most quiet street in all London. Gradually another change fell upon the place: the booksellers’ shops disappeared, and with them the throng of scholars who had been wont to meet and talk among the books. The Row became a wholesale place, whither the ‘trade’ came to buy; printers, bookbinders, and papermakers came for orders; and needy authors came, hat in hand, in the hope of picking up a guinea.

“There is a book called Travels in Town, written in the year 1839. The author, speaking of the output of books, boldly states that they had all to pass through Paternoster Row—certainly an exaggeration, but by far the greater number had to do so. The busiest day in the month was Magazine day, when the new magazines were sold to the trade. About 400,000 copies left the Row that morning. When we consider the nature of these magazines—the Gentleman, Tait’s, the New Monthly, the Metropolitan, Blackwood’s, Fraser’s—there can be no doubt that among the better class of readers the magazine occupied a much more important place then than it does at present.

“The Row kept up its character as the headquarters of the book trade for many years. But other changes have set in. There now are as many publishers outside the Row as in it. We find publishers about Covent Garden and Charing Cross; booksellers there are, of course, everywhere. The Directory gives a list of over four hundred publishers, of whom not more than forty or fifty need be taken into account. Of the four hundred, however, the Row still numbers thirty; while of booksellers, stationers, and other persons connected with the book trade, there are another thirty in the Row. So the old literary atmosphere hangs about the place, and, though most of the greater publishers are gone, there are enough left to keep up the traditions of the past. And north of the Row, in Paternoster Square and the courts and lanes, other publishers and booksellers are found who lend their name to make the Row and its vicinity still the headquarters of new books.

“As for the social side of the Row. It once boasted two places of resort where men could meet and dine, or sit and talk. The first of them was Dolly’s Chop House. This house was built in the time of Queen Anne for a certain cook named Dolly. It is said to have stood on the site of an ordinary kept by Tarleton the Elizabethan mime. If this is true, there was probably, according to the conservative habits of our people, a tavern kept up on the spot continuously. It was not the custom, in the early years of the eighteenth century, to create a new tavern, but to carry on an old one. However, Dolly’s remained a place of great resort for more than a hundred years. It seems to have been famous for its beefsteaks.

“The other, a more important place, was the Chapter Coffee House. This place was in the eighteenth century the resort of the booksellers; here they met for the sale, among themselves, of copyrights, and for the sharing of any new enterprise in new books. Here also met many of the wits and writers during the last half of that century—Goldsmith, Johnson, Lloyd, Churchill, and many others came here to sup and to talk. Chatterton found his way here, sitting in a corner and thinking himself already admitted among the acknowledged poets of the day. In the early part of this century the coffee house was frequented by a knot of writers of some importance in their own day. There was Alexander Stevens, Dr. Buchan, the Rev. W. Murray, the Rev. Dr. Berdmore, Walker ‘the rhetorician,’ Dr. Towers, Dr. Fordyce, Johnson, called in his day ‘king of the booksellers,’ Phillips, editor of the Monthly Magazine, Alexander Chalmers, Macfarlane, and others whose names are well-nigh forgotten, who yet thought themselves no mean citizens, and formed a group which came here every night and talked. Sad it is to think that to these circles, as well as to that of the Chapter Coffee House, Time will apply the sponge and efface their names and their sayings from the memory of the world.” (Paper on Paternoster Row.)

Ave Maria Lane was “so called” (Stow) “because of stationers and text writers who wrote and sold there all sorts of books then in use, namely, A.B.C. with the Pater Noster, Ave, Creed, the Graces, etc.”

On the east side of Ave Maria Lane was the “Vicarage” of the Vicars Choral of St. Paul’s, “bounded on the east by the Penitentiarie’s house; on the west by Ave Maria Lane; on the south by the highway leading through St. Paul’s churchyard; and on the north by the Bishop’s Palace.”

The Garden of the Bishop of London’s Palace on the west was divided from Ave Maria Lane by a great brick wall reaching to an old house in Paternoster Row, the Three White Lyons.

The site of the Bishop’s Palace was in London House Yard. The Palace was pulled down in 1650 and tenements built upon its site.

Here has been demolished the old tavern, No. 8, distinguished by its sign of the Goose and the Gridiron. The tavern stood, perhaps, on the site of the Mitre, where, in 1642-44, was exhibited a collection of curiosities which, according to their Catalogue, must have consisted mainly of rarities similar in kind to those of “Tradeskins Ark” at Lambeth, or of the Royal Society when lodged at Gresham College. The Catalogue says they are “daily to be seen at the place called the Music House at the Mitre near the west end of St. Paul’s Church.” The sign may have been designed in burlesque of that of the Swan and Harp in Cheapside, as cited in Little London Directory of 1677. It formed the meeting-place of the St. Paul’s Masonic Lodge, to which Wren belonged for many years. He presented to the sodality of the Lodge, the mallet and trowel that had been used in laying the first stone of St. Paul’s (Midd. and Herts. Notes and Queries, vol. ii. p. 179).

Amen Corner is chiefly modern, but the two brick houses next the gate which shuts in Amen Court are both ancient, one of them being restored. Through great claret-painted wooden gates we pass to Amen Court where there is an unbroken line of old seventeenth-century houses facing the back of Stationers’ Hall. These are all of brick, creeper-covered, with iron lamp-holders arching over the doorways, and link sockets attached. One or two have quaint old iron scrapers. They were built by Sir C. Wren. The court is the ecclesiastical residence for many of the dignitaries connected with St. Paul’s. A gravelled walk leads round the corner by a buttressed wall to the more modern part. Quite a large garden space lies before the houses. The later row, built in 1876, are in a modern Queen Anne style, and the material used is glowing red brick.

The lodge or entrance to this side from the lane stands back behind picturesque iron gates with red brick piers surmounted by great urns. Over the foot entry is a Latin inscription, and in the street on a stone slab set in the brickwork under a projecting cornice are the words:

In Ave Maria Lane are the ordinary business houses.

Amen Corner formerly ran from Ave Maria Lane as far as the wall. The present court has been constructed on part of the ground formerly occupied by the Oxford Arms Inn. Stationers’ Hall (see p. 199) was also built against the wall; its small garden is the old burial-ground of St. Martin, Ludgate Hill.

St. Martin’s Lane had St. Martin-le-Grand on the east side. This was a house for Augustine canons, and William of Wykeham was one of its deans. It formed a precinct with its own liberty, which survived the Dissolution. In the sanctuary Forrest, the murderer of the little princes in the Tower, died (see Mediæval London, vol. ii. p. 234). Stow tells the story of the famous action in which the City challenged the claims of sanctuary set up by St. Martin’s in the year 1442.

“This college claimed great privileges of sanctuary and otherwise, as appeareth in a book, written by a notary of that house, about the year 1442, 19 Henry VI., wherein, amongst other things, is set down and declared, that on the 1st of September, in the year aforesaid, a soldier, prisoner in Newgate, as he was led by an officer towards the Guildhall of London, there came out of Panyer Alley five of his fellowship, and took him from the officer, brought him into sanctuary at the west door of St. Martin’s church, and took grithe of that place; but the same day Philip Malpas and Robert Marshall, then sheriffs of London, with many others, entered the said church, and forcibly took out with them the said five men thither fled, led them fettered to the Compter, and from thence, chained by the necks, to Newgate; of which violent taking the dean and chapter in large manner complained to the king, and required him, as their patron, to defend their privileges, like as his predecessors had done, etc. All which complaint and suit the citizens by their counsel, Markham, sergeant at the law, John Carpenter, late common clerk of the city, and other, learnedly answered, offering to prove that the said place of St. Martin had no such immunity or liberty as was pretended; namely, Carpenter offered to lose his livelihood, if that church had more immunity than the least church in London. Notwithstanding, after long debating of this controversy, by the king’s commandment, and assent of his council in the starred chamber, the chancellor and treasurer sent a writ unto the sheriffs of London, charging them to bring the said five persons with the cause of their taking and withholding afore the king in his Chancery, on the vigil of Allhallows. On which day the said sheriffs, with the recorder and counsel of the City, brought and delivered them accordingly, afore the said lords; whereas the chancellor, after he had declared the king’s commandment, sent them to St. Martin’s, there to abide freely, as in a place having franchises, whiles them liked, etc.” (Stow). The whole of the district is now being gradually covered by the mighty buildings of the General Post Office, which has inherited the name of its predecessor, and is known as St. Martin-le-Grand. For the history see London in the Nineteenth Century, p. 307.

Aldersgate, formerly called Aldrechegate and Aldresgate, was built during the Saxon occupation. It is named in the laws of Ethelred. It is also mentioned in the Calendar of Wills, but not very early. Riley contains some interesting notices of the gate and the ward.

Thus in 1277 an inquest is held on the unlucky Matilda, wife of Henry le Coffeur, who fell down, being drunk, broke her right arm, and soon after died, and was laid in the house of the said Henry in the ward of Anketin de Auvergne, i.e. Aldersgate. In 1339 the Chamberlain of Guildhall expended 20s. 4d. on the pavement of the gate of Aldersgate, the pavement being one of cobbled stones laid close and rammed down. The first pavements were those laid down in much frequented places such as the City gates and markets, where otherwise the feet of the passers-by would make pools of mud. In 1346 a certain Simon is hanged for robbery in the ward of Aldersgate—observe that the name of the alderman is no longer given to the ward. In 1350 mention is made of shops within Aldersgate. In 1375, there are ordinances, already referred to, concerning “foreign” poulterers. In 1379 there are ordinances respecting the cattle-market of Smithfield without Aldersgate. In 1391 a scrivener stands in pillory without Aldersgate for forgery.

Aldersgate was not thrown open as a highway. Bishopsgate received the traffic from the north; Aldgate from the east; Newgate from the west; and Bridge Gate from the south. Aldersgate simply opened upon the moor beyond which was the great forest. It became necessary to have this gate for access to Smithfield, when that place began to be used as a market for horses and cattle; as the City playground, and as the site of races, wrestling matches, and archery practice. It was also, later, used as a place of execution; and it was partly occupied by religious houses.

Stow’s derivation from the “Elder” or “Older” gate is too far-fetched. It is named probably from one Ealdered, its earliest name being “Aldredesgate.” It is mentioned in a deed witnessed by Henry of London Stone, Mayor of London. In 1274 John Blackthorn is alderman of this ward, but in 1115 there is found in the documents of St. Paul’s a Warda Brickmarii Montlarii, Ward of Brickman, the Moneyer, which is probably Aldersgate.

Stow says of it:

“This is the fourth principal gate and hath at sundry times been increased with buildings, namely, on the south, or inner side, a great frame of timber hath been added, and set up, containing divers large rooms and lodgings; also on the east side is the addition of one great building of timber, with one large floor, paved with stone or tile, and a well therein curbed with stone, of a great depth, and rising into the said room, two stories high from the ground; which well is the only peculiar note belonging to that gate, for I have not seen the like in all this City to be raised so high” (Stow).

“The gate described by Stow was taken down in 1617, and rebuilt the same year from a design by Gerard Christmas, the architect, as Vertue thought, of old Northumberland House. On the outer front was a figure in high relief of James I. on horseback, with the prophets Jeremiah and Samuel in niches on each side; on the inner or City front an effigy of the King in his chair of state. King James, on his way to take possession of his new dominions, entered London by the old gate; the new gate referred to this circumstance, with suitable quotations from Jeremiah and Samuel placed beneath the figures of the two prophets. The heads of several of the regicides were set on this gate, which suffered by the Great Fire, but was soon after repaired and ‘beautified.’ The whole fabric was sold on the 22nd of April, 1761, and immediately taken down. I may add that it is written Aldrichgate in the London Chronicle of Edward IV.’s time, printed by Sir Harris Nicholas; and that John Day, the printer of Queen Elizabeth’s time, dwelt ‘over Aldersgate,’ much in the same manner as Cave subsequently did at St. John’s” (Cunningham).

Milton took a “pretty garden-house” in Aldersgate Street on his return from his foreign tour.