BROTHER HUGH
"Ye might write th' doin's iv all th' convents iv th' wurruld on the
back of a postage stamp, an' have room to spare," says Mr. Dooley; and
we rather expect some hiatus in our history here. Goodbye to beef,
butter, and good red wheat; white corn, sad vegetables, cold water,
sackcloth take their place, with fasts on bread and water, and festivals
mitigated by fish. Goodbye to pillows and bolsters and linen shirts.
Welcome horse-hair vests, sacking sheets, and the "bitter bite of the
flea,"--sad entertainment for gentlemen! Instead of wise and merry talk,
wherein he excelled, solitary confinement in a wooden cell (the brethren
now foist off a stone one upon credulous tourists) with willing slavery
to stern Prior Basil. The long days of prayer and meditation, the nights
short with psalmody, every spare five minutes filled with reading,
copying, gardening and the recitation of offices. All these the novice
took with gusto, safe hidden from the flash of emerald eyes and the
witchery of hypergeometrical noses. But temptation is not to be kept out
by the diet of Adam and of Esau, by locked doors, spades, and inkpots.
The key had hardly turned upon the poor refugee when he found he had
locked in his enemies with him. His austerities redoubled, but as he
says he "only beat the air" until He who watches over Israel without
slumber or sleep laid His hand upon him and fed him with a hidden manna,
so fine and so plentiful that the pleasures of life seemed paltry after
the first taste of it. After this experience our Hugh used to be
conscious always of a Voice and a Hand, giving him cheer and strength,
although the strong appetites of his large nature troubled him to the
last. Here Hugh devoured books, too, until the time floated by him all
too fleetly.
His great affectionate heart poured itself out upon wild birds and
squirrels which came in from the beech and pine woods, and learned to
feed from his platter and his fingers. It is difficult to read with
patience that his prior, fearing lest he should enjoy these innocent
loves too much, and they would "hinder his devotion," banished these
pretty dears from the dreary cell. But in charity let us suppose that
the prior more than supplied their place, for Hugh was told off to tend
a weak old monk, to sing him the offices, and to nurse the invalid. This
godly old man, at once his schoolmaster and his patient, sounded him
whether he wished to be ordained priest. When he learned that, as far as
lay in Hugh he desired nothing more, he was greatly shocked, and reduced
his nurse-pupil to tears by scolding him for presumption; but he
presently raised him from his knees and prophesied that he would soon be
a priest and some day a bishop. Hugh was soon after this ordained
priest, and was distinguished for the great fervour of his behaviour in
celebrating the Mass "as if he handled a visible Lord Saviour"--a
touching devoutness which never left him, and which contrasted
strikingly with the perfunctory, careless or bored ways of other
priests. He injured his health by over-abstinence, one effect of which
was to cause him to grow fat, Nature thus revenging herself by
fortifying his frame against such ill-treatment.
In the talk time after Nones, the brothers had much to hear about the
storms which raged outside their walls. It is rather hard for us
nowadays to see things through Charterhouse spectacles. There is
our lord the Pope, Alexander III., slow and yet persistent, wrestling
hard with the terrible Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, who is often
marching away to seiges of Milan, reducing strong rogues and
deeply wronging the church (whose forged documents are all purely
genuine). Then what a hubbub there is in the church! Monstrous
anti-popes, one of whom, Victor, dies, and a satanic bishop Henry of
Liége consecrates another, Pascal, and the dismal schism continues. Then
our lord Alexander returns to Rome, and the Emperor slaughters the
Romans and beseiges their city and enthrones Pascal. There
are big imperial plans afoot, unions of East and West, which end in
talk: but Sennacherib Frederick is defeated by a divine and opportune
pestilence. Then Pascal dies, and the schism flickers, the Emperor
crawls to kiss the foot of St. Peter, and finally, in 1179, Alexander
reigns again in Rome for a space. Meantime, Louis VII., a pious
Crusader, and dutiful son of the Regulars, plays a long, and mostly a
losing, game of buffets with Henry of Anjou, lord of Normandy, Maine,
Touraine, Poitou, Aquitaine and Gascony, and leader of much else
besides, King also of England, and conqueror of Ireland--a terrible man,
who had dared to aspire to hang priestly murderers. He has forced some
awful Constitutions of Clarendon upon a groaning church, or a church
which ought to groan and does not much, but rather talks of the laws and
usage of England being with the king. But the noble Thomas has withstood
him, and is banished and beggared and his kith and kin with him. The
holy man is harboured by our good Cistercian brothers of Pontigny, where
he makes hay and reaps and see visions. He is hounded thence. These
things ignite wars, and thereout come conferences. Thomas will not
compromise, and even Louis fretfully docks his alimony and sends him
dish in hand to beg; but he, great soul, is instant in excommunication,
whereafter come renewed brawls, fresh (depraved) articles. Even the
king's son is crowned by Roger of York, "an execration, not a
consecration." At last (woeful day!) Thomas goes home still cursing, and
gets his sacred head split open, and thus wins the day, and has immense
glory and sympathy, which tames the fierce anti-anarchist king. He, too,
kneels to our lord Alexander, and swears to go crusading in three years'
time, meanwhile paying Templars to do it for him. All this comes out in
driblets after Nones, and brings us to 1171 A.D., brother Hugh being
aged about one and thirty. When the old monk died Hugh was given another
old man to wait upon--Peter, the Archbishop of Tarentaise, who came
there often for retreat and study. This renowned old man had been a
friend of St. Bernard, and was a great stickler and miracle worker for
Alexander III., and he was a delegate to make peace between Henry and
Louis, when he died in 1174. Hugh found his quotations, compiled any
_catena_ he wished to make, retrieved saintly instances, washed his
feet, walked with him, and sat with him on a seat between two large fir
trees, which seat "miraculously grew no higher, as the trees grew." In
this manner Hugh knew and was known of the outside world, for Archbishop
Peter was a man of large following and acquaintance.
And now Hugh is made, wincingly, the procurator or bursar of the Grande
Chartreuse, after he has spent eight years there, and is plunged in a
sea of worldly business. The prior makes good use of his tact, business
capacity, and honourable nature. He had thought and read to some
purpose, for he ruled the lay brothers with diligence, and instructed
the monks with great care, stirring up the sluggish and bitting the
heady into restfulness. He did his worldly work vigorously, and turned
it swiftly to spiritual gain. He had strong wine of doctrine for the
chapter-house, milk for the auditorium. The secular people, if they were
rich, he taught not to trust in riches; if they were poor, he refreshed
them with such rations as the Order allowed. If he had nothing else, he
always had a kind and cheery word to give. Among the travellers must
have been many noble postmen, who carried letters in their hands and
messages in their heads from Henry to Humbert of Maurienne, who held the
keys of all the Alpine roads to Italy and Germany and whose infant
daughter was betrothed to the boy John Lackland with dowries disputable,
whereat Henry junior rebels, and makes uncommon mischief. The
procurator was keen and accurate in his work. He never mislaid the
books, forgot, fumbled, or made a "loiter," _morantia_, as they called
it, when the office halted or was unpunctual. The lay brethren did not
have to cough at any trips in his reading, which was their quaint way of
rebuking mistakes.
Henry II. was reconciled in 1172 and his crusade was to begin in 1175;
but during these years his dominions were in constant flame. Scotland
and France harried him. His sons leagued against him. His nobles rose.
He fought hard battles, did humble penances at St. Thomas' tomb, and
came out victorious, over his political and ecclesiastical opponents
too, and began again the ordering of his unruly realms. What a rough and
tumble world the Chronicles reveal as we turn them over! There is a
crusade in Asia Minor in 1176. Manuel Commenus relates his success and
failure. There are heretics in Toulouse who are Puritans, half Quaker
and half Arian, condemned by a Council of Lombers, 1176. Next year Henry
seems to have begun his penance, which was commuted from a crusade into
three religious foundations, and rather shabbily he did it. Some people
try to put Newstead in Selwood in the list, but this was founded in
1174; and Le Liget has been mentioned, a Charterhouse in Touraine
founded in 1178. The most probable explanation is this. Henry tried to
do the penance (a) by buying out the Secular Canons of Waltham at a
price determined by Archbishop Richard. He replaced these by Canons
Regular under Walter de Cant. He then endowed them handsomely and had
papal authority for this. (b) He found this so expensive that he tried
to do the other two more cheaply. A scandal had arisen in Amesbury. He
expelled the incontinent nuns, and brought over from Font Evroult a
colony of more devout ladies in their room. The chroniclers show that
this evasion was severely commented upon, and we may conclude that Le
Liget was a tardy substitute--a cheap strip of forest land granted to an
order which was celebrated for its dislike of covetousness, and whose
rules required manual labour and a desert (and so valueless) land. Le
Liget, be it noticed, is founded after the peace of Venice has given
more power to the Papal elbow. The Lateran Council is also a little
threatening towards King Henry in March, 1179, particularly on the
question of the ferocity of mercenaries. Young Philip Augustus is also
evidently succeeding his waning father, and generally speaking it is
better to be conciliatory and to admit that the Amesbury plan was
perhaps insufficient. At any rate, it is well to found another house:
Carthusians of course, for they are holy, popular, and inexpensive.
Henry, who was generous enough for lepers, hospitals, and active
workers, did not usually care very much for contemplative orders, though
his mother, the Empress Matilda, affected the Cistercians and founded
the De Voto Monastery near Calais, and he inherited something from her.
These considerations may have first prompted and then fortified Henry's
very slow and reluctant steps in the work of founding Witham, in
substance and not in shadow. It is also quite possible that he had not
entirely given up the notion of going on a crusade after all.
The first attempt was little more than a sketch. 5,497 acres were
marked off for the new house, in a wet corner of Selwood forest. But the
land was not transferred from William FitzJohn and the villeins were not
evicted or otherwise disposed of. The place was worse than a desert, for
it contained possessors not dispossessed. The poor monks, few and
unprepared, who came over at their own expense, probably expecting a
roof and a welcome, found their mud flat was inhabited by indignant
Somersetæ, whose ways, manners, language, and food were unknown to them.
The welcome still customarily given in these parts to strangers was
warmer than usual. The foreign English, even if their lands were not
pegged out for Charterhouses, were persuaded that the brethren were
landsharks of the most omnivorous type. The poor prior quailed,
despaired, and hastily bolted, leaving an old and an angry monkish
comrade to face the situation with a small company of lay brothers.
Another prior arrived, and to the vexation of the king shuffled off his
maltreated coil in a very short time. After spending Christmas (1179-80)
in Nottingham, the king crossed into Normandy with young Henry before
Easter, meaning to avenge the wrongs Philip Augustus did to his
relatives. Here most probably it was that a noble of the region of
Maurienne (come no doubt upon business of the impending war), chatted
with him about the Charterhouse. He paid a warm tribute to Hugh in words
of this kind, "My lord king, there is only one sure way of getting free
from these straits. There is in the Charterhouse a certain monk, of high
birth but far higher moral vigour. His name is Hugh of Avalon. He
carries on him all the grace of the virtues; but besides, every one who
knows him takes to him and likes him, so that all who see him find their
hearts fairly caught. Those who are privileged to hear him talk are
delighted to find his speech divinely or angelically inspired. If the
new plantation of this most holy order in your lands should deserve to
have this man to dress and rule it, you will see it go joyfully forward
straight away towards fruiting in every grace. Moreover, as I am
certain, the whole English Church will be very greatly beautified by the
radiance of his most pure religion and most religious purity. But his
people will not easily let him go from their house, and he will never go
to live elsewhere unless it be under compulsion and against his will, so
your legation must be strong and strenuous: you must struggle to compass
the matter even with urgent prayers until you get this man and him only.
Then for the future your mind will be released from the anxieties of
this care, and this lofty religion will make a noble growth to your
excellency's renown. You will discover in this one man, with the whole
circle of the other virtues, whatever mortal yet has shown of
longsuffering, sweetness, magnanimity, and meekness. No one will dislike
him for a neighbour or house-mate; no one will avoid him as a foreigner.
No one will hold him other than a fellow politically, socially, and by
blood, for he regards the whole race of men as part and parcel of
himself, and he takes all men and comforts them in the arms and lap of
his unique charity." The king was delighted with this sketch, and sent
off post haste Reginald, Bishop of Bath (in whose diocese Witham lay),
and an influential embassage to secure the treasure, if it could be
done.
But the man who was being sought had just about then been finding the
burden of this flesh so extremely heavy that he was more inclined to run
riot in the things that do not belong to our peace than to settle
comfortably upon a saint's pedestal or to take up a new and disagreeably
dull work. The fatal temptations of forty, being usually unexpected, are
apt to upset the innocent more surely than are the storms of youth; and
poor Hugh was now so badly tried that the long life of discipline must
have seemed fruitless. He just escaped, as he told his too-little
reticent biographer, from one nearly fatal bout by crying out, "By Thy
passion, cross, and life-giving death, deliver me." But neither frequent
confession, nor floggings, nor orisons, seemed to bring the clean and
quiet heart. He was much comforted by a vision of his old prior Basil,
who had some days before migrated to God. This dear old friend and
father stood by him radiant in face and robe, and said with a gentle
voice, "Dearest son, how is it with thee? Why this face down on the
ground? Rise, and please tell thy friend the exact matter." Hugh
answered, "Good father, and my most kind nurser, the law of sin and
death in my members troubles me even to the death, and except I have thy
wonted help, thy lad will even die." "Yes, I will help thee." The
visitor took a razor in his hand and cut out an internal inflamed
tumour, flung it far away, blessed his patient, and disappeared, leaving
no trace of his surgery in heart or flesh. Hugh told this story in his
last illness to Adam, his chaplain, and added that though after this the
flesh troubled him, its assaults were easy to scorn and to repress,
though always obliging him to walk humbly.
The king's messengers took with them the Bishop of Grenoble and unfolded
their errand. The Charterhouse was horrified, and the prior most of all.
He delayed a reply. The first prior refused the request. The votes
varied. Bovo, a monk who afterwards succeeded to Witham, declared
strongly that it was a divine call, that the holiness of the order might
be advertised to the ends of the earth. Hugh was too large a light to
keep under their bushel. He seems better fitted to be a bishop than a
monk, he said. Hugh was then bidden to speak. He told them that with all
the holy advice and examples about him he had never managed to keep his
own soul for one day, so how could any wise person think him fit to rule
other folk? Could he set up a new house, if he could not even keep the
rules of the old one? This is childishness and waste of time. "Let us
for the future leave such matters alone, and since the business is hard
and urgent do you only occupy yourselves to see that this king's
undertaking be frittered no longer away half done, to the peril of souls
and the dishonour of the holy order, and so from among you or from your
other houses choose a man fit for this work and send him with these men.
Since these are wise, do you too answer them wisely. Grant their desire,
not their request. Give them a man not such as they seek under a
mistake, but such as they devoutly and discreetly demand. It is not
right that men should be heard unadvisedly who mistake the man of their
request and who do not really want to be mistaken in the man's
qualifications. So, in a word, do not grant their request, but cheer
them by bettering it." The prior and Hugh were of one decision. The
former declared point blank that he would not say go, and finally he
turned to the Carthusian Bishop of Grenoble, "our bishop, father, and
brother in one," and bade him decide. The bishop accepted the
responsibility, reminded them of the grief which arose when St. Benedict
sent forth St. Maur to Western Gaul, and exhorted Hugh that the Son of
God had left the deepest recess of His Deity to be manifest for the
salvation of many. "You too must pilgrimage for a little time from your
dearest, breaking for a while the silence of the quiet you have loved."
After much interruption from Hugh, the sentence was given. They all
kissed him and sent him away forthwith. The king received him with much
graciousness and ordered him to be carried honourably to Witham, and the
wretched remnant in the mud flat received him as an angel of God. Well
they might do so, for they seemed to have passed a melancholy winter in
twig huts, now called "weeps," in a little paled enclosure, not only
without the requisites of their order, but with barely bread to their
teeth. There was no monastery, not even a plan of one. William FitzJohn
and his clayey serfs scowled upon the shivering interlopers, uncertain
what injustice might be done to them and to their fathers' homes, in
sacrifices to the ghost of St. Thomas.
Witham is a sort of glorified soup-plate, still bearing traces of its
old Selwood Forest origin, for the woodlands ring round it. The infant
river Avon creeps through its clayey bottom, and there are remains of
the old dams which pent it into fish-ponds. Of the convent nothing
remains except a few stumps in a field called "Buildings," unless the
stout foundations of a room, S.E. of the church, called the
reading-room, mark the guest house, as tradition asserts. Much of the
superstructure of this cannot go back beyond the early sixteenth
century, but the solid walls, the small size (two cottage area), allow
of the fancy that here was the site of many colloquies between our Hugh
and Henry Fitz-Empress.{1}
The church itself is one of the two erected by St. Hugh, partly with his
own hands. It is the lay brothers' church (called since pre-Franciscan
days, the Friary). The conventual church has left no wrack behind. The
style is entirely Burgundian, a single nave, with Romanesque windows,
ending in an apse. The "tortoise" roof, of vaulted stone, is as lovely
as it is severe. In 1760 the Tudor oaken bell-turret survived. The
horrid story of how a jerry-built tower was added and the old
post-Hugonian font built into it, how a new font was after long
interval added, does not concern us. The tower was happily removed, the
old font found and remounted (as if the text ran, "One faith, two
baptisms"), and a stone nozzle built to uphold three bells. The
buttresses are copied from St. Hugh's Lincoln work.
FOOTNOTES:
{1} The present Vicar is anxious to turn this place, which has been
alternately cottages, a lock-up, and a reading-room, into a lecture hall
and parish room; but the inhabitants, unworthy of their historical
glories, seem rather disposed to let the old building tumble into road
metal, to their great shame and reproach.