Reading-Room, the Scriptorium, or Writing-Room, was almost an essential
adjunct. In the absence of the printing-press, the demand for skilled
writers and copyists throughout the country was enormous. In the
Scriptorium all the business, now transacted by half a dozen agents and
their clerks, was carried on. The land of the country in those days was
subdivided to an extent that it is now almost impossible for us to
realize, and the tenure under which the small patches of arable or
meadow-land were held was sometimes very complex and intricate. The
small patches were perpetually changing hands, being bought or sold,
settled upon trustees, or let out for a term of years, and every
transaction would be registered in the books of the monastery
interested, while the number of conveyances, leases, and enfeofments
made out in the course of the year was incalculable. In such an abbey
as that of Bury St. Edmunds a small army of writers must have been
constantly employed in the business department of the Scriptorium
alone. Obviously it became a great writing-school, where the copyists
consciously or unconsciously wrote according to the prevailing fashion
of the place; and there have been, and there are, experts who could
tell you whether this or that document was or was not written in this
or that monastic Scriptorium. Paper was very little used, and the
vellum and parchment required constituted a heavy item of expense. Add
to this the production of school-books and all materials used for
carrying on the education work, the constant replacement of _church_
service books which the perpetual thumbing and fingering would subject
to immense wear and tear, the great demand for music which, however
simple, required to be written out large and conspicuous in order to be
read with ease, and you get a rather serious list of the charges upon
the stationery department of a great abbey.
But though by far the greater portion of work done in the Scriptorium
was mere office work, the educational department, if I may so term it,
being subsidiary, it must not be forgotten that the literary and the
historical department also was represented in the Scriptorium of every
great monastery. In the thirteenth century men never kept diaries or
journals of their own daily lives, but monasteries did. In theory,
every religious house recorded its own annals, or kept a chronicle of
great events that were happening in Church and State. Where a monastery
had kept its chronicle going for a long time, it got to be regarded
almost as a sacred book, and was treated with great veneration: it lay
in a conspicuous place in the Scriptorium, and was under the care of an
officer who alone was permitted to make entries in it. When any great
piece of news was brought to the monastery that seemed worth putting on
record, the person giving the information wrote out his version of the
story on a loose piece of parchment, and slipped his communication into
the book of annals for the authorized compiler to make use of in any
way that seemed best to him, after due examination of evidence. This
was the rule in all monastic houses. Unfortunately, however, as it is
with the journals or diaries of men and women of the nineteenth
century, so it was with the journals and diaries of monks of the
thirteenth, they evidently were kept by fits and starts; and before the
fourteenth century was half out, the practice of keeping up these
diaries in all but the larger monasteries had come to an end.
Before passing on from the Library and Scriptorium, on which a great
deal more might easily be said, it is necessary that one caution should
be given; I know not how that notion originated or how it has taken
such hold of the minds of ninety-nine men out of a hundred, that the
monks as a class were students or scholars or men of learning; as far
as the English monasteries of the thirteenth century are concerned, I
am sure that the notion is altogether erroneous. If we except some few
of the larger and nobler monasteries, which from first to last seem
always to have been centres of culture, enlightenment, and progress,
the monks were no more learned than the nuns. As a class, students,
scholars, and teachers they were not. When King John died, in 1216, a
little learning went a long way, and whatever the Norman Conquest did
for England (and it did a great deal), it certainly was not an event
calculated to increase the love of study, or likely to make men bookish
pundits.
I should only confuse my readers if I dwelt more at length upon the
buildings of a monastery. It is enough for the present that we should
understand clearly that the essential buildings were (1) the church,
(2) the cloister, (3) the dormitory, (4) the refectory, (5) the
chapter-house. In these five buildings the life of the convent was
carried on. Having said thus much we will pass on to the corporation
itself--that which strictly was called the convent; and for convenience
and distinctness it will be as well if we use that word _convent_ in
the more accurate sense and employ it only as signifying the corporate
body of persons occupying those buildings of which I have been
speaking, and which in their aggregate were called a _monastery_.
Once more I think it necessary to start with a caution. Not only do I
propose to take no account here of that large class of conventuals
which comprehended the mendicant order or friars as they are called,
but I must needs pass by with little or no notice the various orders of
regular canons-_i.e._, canons living under a rule. The friars came into
England first in 1220. During the thirteenth century they were, so to
speak, upon their trial; and from the first the monks and the friars
were essentially opposed in the ideal of their daily lives. So with the
very numerous houses of canons regular up and down the land. They and
the monks did not love one another, and when I speak of monks and their
houses it will be advisable to exclude from our consideration the
friars on the one hand and the canons on the other, and, in fact, to
limit ourselves to that view of conventual life which the great English
monasteries under the rule of St. Benedict afford.
At the time of the Norman Conquest it may be said that all English
monks were professedly under one and the same Rule--the famous
Benedictine Rule. The Rule of a monastery was the constitution or code
of laws, which regulated the discipline of the house, and the Rule of
St. Benedict dates back as far as the sixth century, though it was not
introduced into England for more than a hundred years after it had been
adopted elsewhere. Four hundred years is a very long time for any
constitution or code of law to last unchanged, and though the English
monasteries professedly were living according to the Benedictine Rule
during all the Saxon and the Danish times, yet there is too much reason
to believe that if St. Benedict could have risen from the dead in the
days of Edward the Confessor and made a visitation of many an English
house, he would have been rather astonished to be told that the monks
were living according to his Rule.
About one hundred and fifty years before the Conquest, a great
reformation had been attempted of the French monasteries, which it was
said had fallen into a state of great decay as far as discipline and
fervour were concerned, and a revision of the old rule had been found
necessary, the reformers breaking away from the old Benedictines and
subjecting themselves to a new and improved Rule. These first reformers
were called _Cluniac_ monks, from the great Abbey of Clugni, in
Burgundy, in which the new order of things had begun. The first English
house of reformed or Cluniac monks was founded at Lewes, in Sussex,
eleven years after the Conquest, by Gundrada, a step-daughter of
William the Conqueror, and her husband, William, Earl of Warrene and
Surrey. The Cluniacs were at first famous for the simplicity of their
lives and the strictness of their discipline, but as time went on they
became too rich and so too luxurious, and at last they too needed
reforming, and a new reformer arose. In this case the real moving
spirit of reformation was an Englishman, one Stephen Harding, probably
a Dorsetshire man, who was brought up at the Benedictine monastery of
Sherborne, and in the course of events chosen Abbot of the monastery of
Citeaux, where St. Bernard became his ardent disciple, and where the
two enthusiasts, working cordially together, brought about that second
reform of the Benedictines which resulted in the founding of the great
Cistercian order.
Thus, without looking too minutely into the matter, we find that when
the thirteenth century opens, or if you will, when Henry III. came to
the throne in 1216, there were three great orders of monks in
England--the old Benedictines, who had held houses and lands for
centuries; the Cluniacs, who were the reformed Benedictines; and the
Cistercians, who may be styled the reformed Cluniacs. But inasmuch as
the architectural and other reforms among the Cistercians were many and
peculiar, it will again be advisable to pass by these peculiarities
without remark.
* * * * * * *
The constitution of every convent, great or small, was monarchical. The
head of the house was almost an absolute sovereign, and was called the
Abbot. His dominions often extended, even in England, over a very wide
tract of country, and sometimes over several minor monasteries which
were called Cells. Thus the Abbot of St. Alban's had under himself the
cell of Tynemouth in Northumberland and two others in Norfolk-_viz._,
Binham and Wymondham, the latter of which eventually became an
independent abbey--and the heads of these cells or subject houses were
called Priors. An _abbey_ was a monastery which was independent. A
priory was a monastery which in theory or in fact was subject to an
abbey. All the Cluniac monasteries in England were thus said to be
alien priories, because they were mere cells of the great Abbey of
Clugni in France, to which each priory paid heavy tribute; while the
priors were almost always foreigners, and always appointed by the Abbot
of Clugni, and responsible to him much in the same way as a Pacha is to
his suzerain the Sultan. On the other hand, the Cistercian houses were
all abbeys, and their abbots sovereigns in alliance or confederation
with one another, and exercising over their several convents supreme
jurisdiction, though recognizing the Abbot of Citeaux as their
over-lord. The abbot not only had a separate residence within the
monastery and lived apart from his monks, but he had his separate
estate for the maintenance of his dignity, and to bear the very heavy
expenses which that dignity necessitated, and he had the patronage of
every office in the convent. These officers were numerous. The first of
them was the prior, who was the abbot's prime minister and head of the
executive and the abbot's representative in his absence. Under him was
the sub-prior, sometimes a third prior, and then a number of
functionaries, to whom, as in the case of the abbot, separate estates
were assigned out of which they were bound to provide for certain
charges which they were called upon to meet as best they could, while a
complicated system of finance provided for the surplus of one office
being applied when necessary for the deficiency of another.
In the great Abbey of Evesham a very elaborate constitution was drawn
up and agreed to in the year 1214, after a long dispute between the
abbot and convent which had lasted for several years, and this scheme
has come down to us.
From it we find that certain officers (obedientiaries was their
technical name) were charged with providing certain articles out of the
revenue of the office. The prior, to whom no mean share of the revenues
was assigned, had to provide the parchment that might be required for
business purposes or for legal instruments and all other materials for
the scriptorium, except ink. The manciple was to pro-vide all wine and
mead, the keeping up the stock of earthenware cups, jugs, basins, and
other vessels, together with the lamps and oil. The precentor had to
find all the ink used, and all colour required for illumination, the
materials for book-binding, and the keeping the organ in repair. To the
chamberlain were assigned certain revenues for providing all the
clothing of the monks, it being stipulated that the abbot's dress was
not to be paid for out of the fund. In the same way certain small
tithes are apportioned for buying basins, jugs, and towels for the
guests' chamber; while all rents levied from the various tenants paid
not in money, but in kind--as, _e.g_., capons, eggs, salmon, eels,
herrings, &c.--were to be passed to the account of the kitchener. Every
monk bearing office was bound to present his accounts for audit at
regular intervals, and the rolls on which these accounts were inscribed
exist in very large numbers, and may still be consulted by those who
are able to read them.
It looks as if it were the policy of the Benedictines to give as many
monks as possible some special duty and responsibility--to give each,
in fact, a personal interest in the prosperity of the house to which he
belonged--and the vacancies occurring from time to time in the various
offices gave everybody something to look forward to. There was room for
ambition, and, I am bound to add, room for a good deal of petty
scheming, on the one hand, and truckling to the abbot, on the other;
but it all went towards relieving the monotony of the life in the
cloister--a monotony which has been very much over-stated by those who
have never studied the subject. To begin with, it does not follow that
what would be very dull to us would be dull and insipid to the men of
the thirteenth century. Before a man offered himself for admission to a
monastery, he must have had a taste for a quiet life, and in many
instances he had grown tired of the bustle, the struggle, and all the
anxious wear of the work-day world. He wanted to be rid of _bothers_,
in fact; he was pretty sure to have had a fair education, and he was
presumably a religious man, with a taste for religious exercises;
sometimes, and not unfrequently, he was a disappointed man, who had
been left wifeless and childless; sometimes, too, he was one whose
career had been cut short suddenly by some accident which incapacitated
him for active exertion and made him long only for repose and
obscurity. Moreover, in those distant times the instinct of devotion
was incomparably stronger than it is now, and people found a real and
intense delight in the services of the sanctuary, to say nothing of
their entire belief in the spiritual advantages to be derived from
taking part in those services. Add to this that a monk had to pass
through rather a long training before he was regularly admitted to full
membership. He had to submit to a term of probation, during which he
was subject to a somewhat rigorous ordeal.
A novice had the pride taken out of him in a very effectual way during
his novitiate--he was pretty much in the position of a _fag_ at a great
school nowadays, and by the time that he had passed through his
novitiate he was usually very well broken in, and in harmony with the
spirit of the place in which he found himself. It was something to have
a higher place assigned him at last in the church and the dormitory, to
have some petty office given him, and to have a chance of being
promoted by and by. There was Brother So-and-so, who was getting
infirm, and he could not do the pitanciar's work much longer; the
precentor was getting as hoarse as a raven, and the sacrist was gouty,
or the cellarer was showing signs of breaking up. Nay, the prior's
cough gave unmistakable signs of his lungs being wrong, and if he
_were_ to drop off, which we should of course all of us deplore--there
would be a general move up, it might be; unless, indeed, Father Abbot
should promote his chaplain over the heads of all of us--for such
things have been!
But, when we come to look a little closer, we find that the monotony of
monastic life was almost confined to the frequent services in the
church. There were six services every day, of one kind or another, at
which the whole convent was supposed to be present, and one service at
midnight. [Footnote: Peckham's Register, ii, Preface, p. lxviii, et
seq.] The lay brethren among the Cistercians, and the servants engaged
in field labour, were excused attendance at the nocturnal service, and
those officials of the convent whose business required them to be
absent from the precincts were also excused. Indeed, it would have been
simply impossible for the whole brotherhood to assemble at all these
services; there would have been a dead-lock in twenty-four hours if the
attempt had ever been made in any of the large monasteries, where the
inmates sometimes counted by hundreds, who all expected their meals
punctually, and for whom even the simplest cookery necessitated that
fires should be kept up, the porridge boiled, the beer drawn, and the
bread baked. Hence, they whose hands were full and their engagements
many really had no time to put in an appearance at church seven times
in twenty-four hours. While, on the other hand, the monk out of office,
with nothing particular to do, was all the better for having his time
broken up; going to church kept him out of mischief, and singing of
psalms saved him from idle talk, and if it did him no good certainly
did him very little harm.
The ordinary life of the monastery began at six o'clock in the morning,
and when the small bell, called the skilla, rang, all rose, washed
themselves at the latrines, put on their day habit, and then presented
themselves at the matin Mass. _Mixtum_ or breakfast, followed, and that
over the convent assembled in chapter for consultation. After chapter
the officials dispersed; the kitchener to arrange for the meals, and
not unfrequently to provide hospitality for distinguished guests and
their retinue; the precentor to drill his choir boys, to tune the
organ, to look after the music, or to arrange for some procession in
the church, or some extraordinary function; the infirmarer to take his
rounds in the hospital; the cellarer to inspect the brewhouse and
bakeries; and each or all of these officers might find it necessary to
go far a-field in looking after some bailiff or tenant who could not
safely be left alone. At Evesham the sacristan, the chamberlain, and
the infirmarer were allowed forage and the keep of one horse. Meanwhile
in the cloister all was stir and movement without noise. In the west
alley the schoolmaster was teaching his little pupils the rudiments of
Latin, or it might be the elements of singing; in the south alley,
where the light was best, a monk with a taste for art was trying his
hand at illuminating a MS. or rubricating the initial letters; while on
the other side, in the north alley, some were painfully getting by
heart the psalms, or practising meditation--alone in a crowd.
Within the retirement of that cloister, fenced all round, as I have
said, with the high walls and the great buildings, there the monks were
working, there the real conventual life was going on; but outside the
cloister, though yet within the precincts, it is difficult for us now
to realize what a vast hive of industry a great monastery in some of
the lonely and thinly-populated parts of England was. Everything that
was eaten or drunk or worn, almost everything that was made or used in
a monastery, was produced upon the spot. The grain grew on their own
land; the corn was ground in their own mill; their clothes were made
from the wool of their own sheep; they had their own tailors and
shoemakers, and carpenters and blacksmiths, almost within call; they
kept their own bees; they grew their own garden-stuff and their own
fruit; I suspect they knew more of fish-culture than, until very
lately, we moderns could boast of knowing. Nay, they had their own
vineyards and made their own wine.
The commissariat of a large abbey must have required administrative
ability of a very high order, and the cost of hospitality was enormous.
No traveller, whatever his degree, was refused food and shelter, and
every monastery was a vast hotel, where nobody need pay more than he
chose for his board and lodging. The mere keeping the accounts must
have employed no small number of clerks, for the minuteness with which
every transaction was recorded, almost passes belief. Those rolls I
spoke of--the sacrist's, cellarer's, and so on--were, it must be
remembered, periodical balance-sheets handed in at audit day. They
deal, not only with pence and half-pence, but with farthings and
half-farthings, and were compiled from the tablets or small
account-books posted up from day to day and hour to hour. They give the
price of every nail hammered into a wall, and rarely omit the cost of
the parchment on which the roll itself is written. The men must have
been very busy, or, if you prefer it, very fussy--certainly they could
not have been idle to have kept their accounts in this painfully minute
manner, even to the fraction of a farthing.
* * * * * * *
In the natural course of events, as a monastery grew in wealth and
importance, there was one element of interest which added great zest to
the conventual life, in the _quarrels_ that were sure to arise.
First and foremost, the most desirable person to quarrel with was a
Bishop. In its original idea, a monastery was not necessarily an
ecclesiastical institution. It was not necessary that an abbot should
be an ecclesiastic, and not essentially necessary that any one of his
monks should be in holy orders. Long before the thirteenth century,
however, a monk was almost invariably ordained, and being an ordained
person, and having his local habitation in a bishop's diocese, it was
only natural that the bishop should claim jurisdiction over him and
over the church in which he and the fraternity ministered; but to allow
a power of visitation to any one outside the close corporation of the
convent was fraught with infinite peril to the community. Confessing
their faults one to another, and asking pardon of the Lord Abbot or his
representative, the prior, was one thing; but to have a querulous or
inquisitive or even hostile bishop coming and intruding into their
secrets, blurting them out to the world and actually pronouncing
sentence upon them--that seemed to the monks an absolutely intolerable
and shocking condition of affairs. Hence it seemed supremely desirable
to a convent to get for itself, by fair means or foul--and I am afraid
the means were not always fair means, as we should consider them--the
exemption of their house from episcopal visitation or control. I
believe that the earliest instance of such an exemption being granted
in England was that of the Conqueror's Abbey of Battle. The precedent
was a bad one, and led to all sorts of attempts by other houses to
procure for themselves the like privilege. Such attempts were stoutly
resisted by the bishops, who foresaw the evils that would inevitably
follow, and which in fact did follow; and, of course, bishop and abbey
went to law. Going to law in this case meant usually, first, a certain
amount of preliminary litigation before the Archbishop of Canterbury;
but sooner or later it was sure to end in an appeal to the Pope's
court, or, as the phrase was, an appeal to Rome.
Without wishing for a moment to defend or excuse a state of things
which was always vexatious, and at last became intolerable, it is
impossible to deny that a great deal of nonsense has been talked and
written about these appeals. Almost exactly the same state of things
exists in the present day both in civil and ecclesiastical matters.
Parsee merchants fall to loggerheads in Bombay or Calcutta, and bring
their disputes before the courts in India; one side feels aggrieved by
the sentence, and straightway he removes the case to a court of appeal
in London. Or some heretical person in Asia or Africa or somewhere else
gets into hot water with an orthodox society for the promotion of
religious persecution, and sooner or later the archbishop is appealed
to, and the ecclesiastical lawyers have a most delightful time of it.
It all costs a great deal of money nowadays, and leading advocates on
this side or that are actually so extortionate and exorbitant that they
will not do anything for nothing, and insist on receiving the most
exorbitant fees. So it was in the old days. The final court of appeal
in all matters ecclesiastical was before the Pope at Rome or Avignon,
and the proctors and doctors, and all the canonists and officials,
actually required to be paid for their work.