There is no conversation concerning the Scriptures, none concerning the
salvation of souls; but small-talk, laughter, and idle words fill the
air. At dinner the palate and ears are equally tickled--the one with
dainties, the other with gossip and news, which together quite prevent
all moderation in feeding. In the mean time dish after dish is set on
the table; and to make up for the small privation of meat, a double
supply is provided of well-grown fish. When you have eaten enough of the
first, if you taste the second course, you will seem to yourself hardly
to have touched the former: such is the art of the cooks, that after
four or five dishes have been devoured, the first does not seem to be in
the way of the last, nor does satiety invade the appetite.... Who could
say, to speak of nothing else, in how many forms eggs are cooked and
worked up? with what care they are turned in and out, made hard or soft,
or chopped fine; now fried, now roasted, now stuffed; now they are
served mixed with other things, now by themselves. Even the external
appearance of the dishes is such that the eye, as well as the taste, is
charmed....
Not only have we lost the spirit of the old monasteries, but even its
outward appearance. For this habit of ours, which of old was the sign of
humility, by the monks of our day is turned into a source of pride. We
can hardly find in a whole province wherewithal we condescend to be
clothed. The monk and the knight cut their garments, the one his cowl,
the other his cloak, from the same piece. No secular person, however
great, whether king or emperor, would be disgusted at our vestments if
they were only cut and fitted to his requirements. But, say you,
religion is in the heart, not in the garments? True; but you, when you
are about to buy a cowl, rush over the towns, visit the markets,
examine the fairs, dive into the houses of the merchants, turn over all
their goods, undo their bundles of cloth, feel it with your fingers,
hold it to your eyes or to the rays of the sun, and if anything coarse
or faded appears, you reject it. But if you are pleased with any object
of unusual beauty or brightness, you at once buy it, whatever the price.
I ask you, Does this come from the heart, or your simplicity?
I wonder that our abbots allow these things, unless it arises from the
fact that no one is apt to blame any error with confidence if he cannot
trust in his own freedom from the same; and it is a right human quality
to forgive without much anger those self-indulgences in others for which
we ourselves have the strongest inclination. How is the light of the
world overshadowed! Those whose lives should have been the way of life
to us, by the example they give of pride, become blind leaders of the
blind. What a specimen of humility is that, to march with such pomp and
retinue, to be surrounded with such an escort of hairy men, so that one
abbot has about him people enough for two bishops. I lie not when I say,
I have seen an abbot with sixty horses after him, and even more. Would
you not think, as you see them pass, that they were not fathers of
monasteries, but lords of castles--not shepherds of souls, but princes
of provinces? Then there is the baggage, containing table-cloths, and
cups and basins, and candlesticks, and well-filled wallets--not with the
coverlets, but the ornaments of the beds. My lord abbot can never go
more than four leagues from his home without taking all his furniture
with him, as if he were going to the wars, or about to cross a desert
where necessaries cannot be had. Is it quite impossible to wash one's
hands in, and drink from, the same vessel? Will not your candle burn
anywhere but in that gold or silver candlestick of yours, which you
carry with you? Is sleep impossible except upon a variegated mattress,
or under a foreign coverlet? Could not one servant harness the mule,
wait at dinner, and make the bed? If such a multitude of men and horses
is indispensable, why not at least carry with us our necessaries, and
thus avoid the severe burden we are to our hosts?...
[Illustration: _MONASTIC LUXURY._
Photogravure from a Painting by Edward Grützner.]
By the sight of wonderful and costly vanities men are prompted to give,
rather than to pray. Some beautiful picture of a saint is exhibited--and
the brighter the colors the greater the holiness attributed to it: men
run, eager to kiss; they are invited to give, and the beautiful is
more admired than the sacred is revered. In the churches are suspended,
not _coronae_, but wheels studded with gems and surrounded by lights,
which are scarcely brighter than the precious stones which are near
them. Instead of candlesticks, we behold great trees of brass fashioned
with wonderful skill, and glittering as much through their jewels as
their lights. What do you suppose is the object of all this? The
repentance of the contrite, or the admiration of the gazers? O vanity of
vanities! but not more vain than foolish. The church's walls are
resplendent, but the poor are not there.... The curious find wherewith
to amuse themselves; the wretched find no stay for them in their misery.
Why at least do we not reverence the images of the saints, with which
the very pavement we walk on is covered? Often an angel's mouth is spit
into, and the face of some saint trodden on by passers-by.... But if we
cannot do without the images, why can we not spare the brilliant colors?
What has all this to do with monks, with professors of poverty, with men
of spiritual minds?
Again, in the cloisters, what is the meaning of those ridiculous
monsters, of that deformed beauty, that beautiful deformity, before the
very eyes of the brethren when reading? What are disgusting monkeys
there for, or satyrs, or ferocious lions, or monstrous centaurs, or
spotted tigers, or fighting soldiers, or huntsmen sounding the bugle?
You may see there one head with many bodies, or one body with numerous
heads. Here is a quadruped with a serpent's tail; there is a fish with a
beast's head; there a creature, in front a horse, behind a goat; another
has horns at one end, and a horse's tail at the other. In fact, such an
endless variety of forms appears everywhere, that it is more pleasant to
read in the stonework than in books, and to spend the day in admiring
these oddities than in meditating on the law of God. Good God! if we are
not ashamed of these absurdities, why do we not grieve at the cost
of them?