Introductory.
In the later Middle Ages the Abbey of St. Albans was the most
brilliant, though by no means the wealthiest,[1] of the English
monasteries. There was ample reason for this pre-eminence. Proximity
to London kept its members abreast of the times and freed them from
the stain of provincialism, and its position on the Great North Road
ensured as its frequent guests the greatest men in the kingdom. Its
hospitality became proverbial, and Matthew Paris records that there
was room in the monastic stables for three hundred horses at one time.
Always, too, there was the glamour of literary greatness as well as
its association with St. Alban,[2] England’s proto-martyr, whose
genuine relics by universal consent it was admitted to possess. Besides
these special traits the Abbey bore the usual insignia of exempt
houses--royal foundation, a wide franchise with episcopal jurisdiction,
and a place for its abbot among the Lords in Parliament. The homage of
some twelve daughter houses or cells, while not increasing its material
prosperity, added considerably to its dignity.
[Sidenote: Growth of St. Albans Legend.]
The growth of the St. Albans legend is proof that it was no unconscious
greatness the members enjoyed. In the eleventh century, when the
monastery had become ‘the school of religious observance for all
England’ arose the idea of a miraculous origin; it received final
consecration in the narrative of Matthew Paris. Henceforth, it was
sober history that King Offa founded the Abbey on August 1st, 793,
when the ground opened miraculously, revealing the body of the martyr
himself with a golden band around his forehead inscribed with his name.
From this point its history was made to run on without a break; the
names of successive abbots were given with the dates of their reigns,
and the acquisition of existing possessions attributed to various of
them by a method hidden from us. From a great deal of tradition little
more can be deduced than that the Abbey was of royal foundation and
exempt from episcopal jurisdiction, that it was early endowed with a
wide franchise, and, by analogy, that morals and discipline would be by
no means strict in Anglo-Saxon times.
[Sidenote: Effect of the Conquest.]
With the advent of the Norman Conquest we are on surer ground. Under
Abbot Paul (1077–1097) the Abbey was purged of the abuses of the
Anglo-Saxon period and a stricter discipline enforced, although only
by the loss of exemption from episcopal control. The monastery was
now rebuilt on a more magnificent scale, and for nearly two centuries
St. Albans was a model house. Under the saintly John de Cella
(1195–1214), a stern ascetic, the House perhaps reached its zenith.
At no other time were feasts and vigils so strictly observed by the
monks, who for fifteen years gave up drinking wine in order that the
refectory and dormitory, then ruinous, might be rebuilt. During the
Norman period St. Albans had been endowed by many gifts of manors.
On some of these cells were founded,[3] but most of them were simply
absorbed into the monastic estates, and of course brought within the
Abbot’s jurisdiction. The effect of this territorial enrichment of
the monastery was twofold. First, it tended to subordinate religious
to secular functions: the Abbot became primarily a man of business
absorbed in the administration of the estates. Secondly, it attracted
the covetous glances of needy kings and popes. At the very commencement
of the thirteenth century the Abbot had to face a reorganised Papacy
intent upon obtaining funds for the realisation of its strong political
ambitions. The Abbey had scarcely escaped the jurisdiction of the
Bishop of Lincoln[4] (1163) when it fell under stricter subjection
to Pope Innocent III. For the future each abbot was to go in person
to Rome to secure confirmation of his election, that is to say to be
mulcted in a vast sum of money.[5] In a lesser degree the monastery
was menaced by the Crown. Every vacancy put the convent at the mercy
of the King’s escheator, who in practice could, and often did, exact
far more than the sums to which he was entitled. Indeed, both kings and
popes were coming to regard the Abbey as a sure source of wealth in any
emergency, and they did not scruple to multiply excuses for continual
exactions.[6] These dangers of papal and kingly oppression were
self-evident, but in the gradual disintegration of feudal society lay a
more subtle peril. The monastery’s failure to adapt itself to the new
system of relationships which were springing up on lay estates brought
upon it the further misfortune of unpopularity.
[Sidenote: Decay of the Monastery.]
The disfavour incurred by the attempt to retain the manorial system was
increased when the organisation itself began to show signs of decay.
The decline of religious fervour was followed by a gradual relaxation
of monastic discipline, and comparative luxury invaded the cloister.
After the death of John of Berkhamstead in 1301 the extent of the
falling off began to be apparent. For the next generation the convent
was in an unhealthy condition. But though weakened, the organisation
was far from being destroyed. At times like this the traditional
routine was invaluable. The writing of history, for instance, was
continued, and the period is still known to us by the works of John de
Trokelowe and Henry de Blaneford, contemporary chroniclers.
At this point our subject begins. The period may be broken up into two
parts, and a line of division is supplied by the year 1396, in which
Abbot Thomas de la Mare died. Taking our stand, first at 1396, and then
at the Dissolution of the Monasteries, we shall look back over the two
periods under review and summarize the chief tendencies by which they
are marked.[7]