An Ill-Ruled Abbey.
The great St. Bernard has written thus of the convent: "Good is it for
us to dwell there--where man lives more purely, falls more rarely,
rises more quickly, treads more cautiously, rests more securely,
dies more happily, is absolved more easily, and is rewarded more
plenteously."
Every now and then they say in the castle of St. Aliquis: "Such
and such a cavalier has become a monk!" Then there are cries of
astonishment and probably slurring remarks, but even Conon in his heart
wonders, "Has he not, after all, chosen the better part?" at the very
moment when he storms about the "greedy monks" before his sons. The
monastery is the great interrogation point thrust before the castle.
The castle says: "The hunt, the tourney, the excitement of feudal war
are the things for man. Who truly knows about the hereafter?" The
monastery replies: "There is a kingdom not of this world, where baron
and villein must spend the æons. Prepare ye for it!" Very probably the
monastery is right.
[Illustration: VIEW OF AN ABBEY OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY
At the left of the structure the building for guests and in front of
it the church; beyond the two cloisters the buildings reserved for
the monks; in the foreground the gardens of the abbey and the outside
wall.]
The monastery of St. Aliquis has existed for centuries. It is a
Benedictine monastery--that is to say, its rule (system of government
and discipline) comes from the famous St. Benedict of Nursia, who lived
in Italy in the sixth century. Many new orders of monks have been
founded since then, but none more holy than the Benedictines when they
really live up to the ideals of their founder. Barons of St. Aliquis
and other rich people have endowed the monastery from time to time with
ample lands. It is a passing wealthy institution.
Ignorant folk of other ages may think of a monastery as a collection
of idlers meditating on heaven and living on charity. Such groups
once perhaps existed in Eastern lands, but never in a Benedictine
monastery. Each is the scene of a very busy life. Many industries are
carried on. The monks are almost self-supporting. The monastery, in
fact, contributes more to the economic life of the region than does the
castle; and Abbot Victor, its head, is hardly less important, even in
a worldly sense, than Messire Conon, with whom, happily, he is now on
cordial terms.
[Sidenote: The Abbey Buildings]
The monastery, however, is an establishment distinctly set off by
itself. It is in the world, but not of it. As you travel from the
castle, you presently enter fields unusually well cultivated. These
are part of the abbey lands. Then you come to a small village,
comparatively clean and well built, where the lay servitors of the
monks live with their families. Then straight ahead there rises a
strong battlemented wall of wide circuit surrounded by a water-filled
moat. Beyond this wall appear the spires and pinnacles of pretentious
buildings. The wall is needed to stand off attacks of bands of godless
men who dream even of plundering convents. There are a drawbridge,
portcullis, and strong gate. Inside you are within a little world. The
center is not the donjon, but the new monastery church, an elegant
pointed-arch structure almost equal to a small cathedral. Grouped
around it are numerous buildings--usually long, high, and narrow.
These are the dormitories, the refectory, the cloisters for the monks'
walks and study, as well as many less handsome barns, storehouses
and workhouses. There is a good-sized garden where rare herbs and
flowers are tended with loving care, and an orchard where fruit trees
are grafted with unusual skill. One even sees a slaughterhouse in a
convenient corner, a tannery (at a safe distance from the garden!) and
a building where the monks' garments can be spun and woven out of flax
and wool produced on the abbey lands. The monks of St. Aliquis are,
therefore, anything but droning hermits.
Some monasteries really comprise small towns. The famous establishment
at Cluny harbors four hundred monks; that at Clairvaux, seven hundred;
that at Vezelay, eight hundred. St. Aliquis is content with one hundred
and fifty brethren, but that number (plus the lay servitors) is enough
for a busy community. As has been said, the focus for its entire life
is the abbey church. Without a church building a monastery is almost
impossible. The choir is constantly needed for the recitation of the
canonical hours; many altars are required so that the monks who are in
holy orders may celebrate mass frequently; while the great processions
around the nave are part of the routine, especially on Sundays.
Abbot Victor, like all his predecessors, is straining every nerve to
gather funds to beautify his church. In it are deposited invaluable
saints' relics. It is hard, however, to convince the laity that they
are extremely sacred unless they are lodged in a splendid edifice.
The monks of rival monasteries are always comparing their churches
enviously. Victor has set his heart upon widening the transepts and
putting in a new rose window. If only a certain pious heiress in
Champagne would be called to heaven!
[Illustration: THE GALLERIES OF THE CLOISTER OF THE ABBEY OF
MONT-SAINT-MICHEL (THIRTEENTH CENTURY)]
[Sidenote: The Abbey Cloisters]
In the choir is a long array of stalls, one for each monk in order of
seniority. The abbot sits in a chair of state on the southern side; the
prior, his chief lieutenant, faces him on the north. Connected with one
transept of the church is the cloister. It is a rectangular court. Its
four walks are roofed in, the walls nearest the court being pierced
with open arcades. The pillars upholding these arcades are beautifully
carved with floreated capitals, each separate pillar forming an
individual work of art, lovingly executed, and differing slightly from
its neighbors. The three walks of the cloister which do not touch the
church adjoin very needful buildings--the chapter house, where the
brethren congregate, the refectory on the side opposite the church,
and the dormitory. The walk nearest the church is where the monks are
supposed to spend the time allotted for pious meditation. It faces the
south, and the great structure behind cuts off the chilling winds. It
is, therefore, a pleasant place in cold weather. On the inner side of
this part of the cloister are many little alcoves let into the massive
walls; here monks can study or even converse without annoying others.
Looking down upon the cloister court is a remarkable object. If
holy brethren did not possess it, the peasants would declare it was
possessed by a devil, although these mechanisms are now becoming more
common. It has a dial marking the twelve hours, and by an ingenious
system of pulleys and weights indicates when it is noon or midnight
without reference to the shifting of shadows or movement of the stars.
It even has bells that ring every hour--a great convenience.[90] The
monks are almost as proud of this device as of some of their less
important saints' relics.
The books which consume so much of the monks' time are kept in
cupboards in the cloister alcoves, since this is not a Cistercian
monastery, which always has a separate library. From the cloister one
is naturally led to the chapter house. Almost as much care has been
taken with this large oblong chamber as with the church. The ceiling
is beautifully groined and vaulted. The abbot sits on a raised seat at
the east end, with all his officers at right or left. The remainder of
the brethren are on stone benches ranged around the walls, while in
the center of the floor stands a desk, whence the daily "lection" is
read from the lives of the martyrs, or the chapter (hence the name of
the room) from St. Benedict's holy Rule--a document only a little less
authoritative with the monks than the actual Scriptures.
[Illustration: THE REFECTORY AT THE ABBEY OF MONT-SAINT-MICHEL
(THIRTEENTH CENTURY)]
Then come other rooms. The cloisters are _supposed_ to be extremely
quiet for study and meditation. But sinful flesh requires an outlet.
Go then to the parlor (the place of _parle_), a good-sized room where
merchants can bring their wares. The subprior can discuss the sickness
of certain pigs on the farms, and the saints know how much personal
gossip can be tossed about. Next is the dormitory, a large open
apartment with the beds of the monks standing against the walls between
the numerous windows, so that the feet of the sleepers point in two
long rows toward the center line of the room. A quiet place, but at
night, with several score of brethren all snoring together, what repose
is left for the stranger? In any case, there is very little privacy,
for few of the monks have separate bedrooms.
[Sidenote: Refectory, Kitchens and Infirmary]
Close by the cloister is the refectory--an aisleless hall with a wooden
roof. Across the east end is a high table for the officers--the whole
place resembling the great hall in a castle. Most of the brethren sit
at very long tables running up and down the apartment; and near the
high table is a still higher pulpit mounted by a winding stair. Here
a monk will droningly read a Latin homily while his associates are
expected to eat and hearken in silence.
The kitchen with its great fireplaces adjoins the refectory. At the
entrance to the dining hall, just as in the castle, there is the
lavatory, a great stone basin with many taps, convenient for washing
the hands. Since some brethren are sure to be sick, there is a separate
infirmary, a well-arranged suite with places for sleeping, dining, and
even a little chapel for those too feeble to get to the church.[91]
The abbot has lodgings of his own where he can entertain distinguished
visitors, although he is expected to mingle freely with his fellow
monks and not to assume solitary grandeur. The less exalted guests are
put in a special _hospitium_ in the court. The monastery never turns
away any decently behaving wayfarer; but the guest master, a canny old
religious, naturally provides better quarters and supper for those
likely to put a denier in the alms box than for those who may have just
fled the provost.
This is a bare summary of the important buildings of the
establishment. If St. Aliquis had been a Cistercian convent, following
the rule of St. Bernard of Clairvaux, its structures would have been
extremely plain--no mosaics, stained glass, silken hangings, or floral
carvings in the church; nor anything else calculated to distract the
monks from thinking upon the heavenly mysteries. Said he, austerely:
"Works of art are idols which lead away from God, and are good at best
to edify feeble souls and the worldly." Bernard was a mighty saint, but
all do not follow this hard doctrine. The monks of St. Aliquis, for
their own part, are sure that the Heavenly Ones are rejoiced every time
they add a new stone leaf to the unfading foliage about the cloister
arches, or carve the story of David and Jonathan upon the great walnut
back to the prior's seat in the chapter house.
[Illustration: A BENEDICTINE MONK (THIRTEENTH CENTURY)
From a manuscript in the Bibliothèque nationale. He is clad in a frock,
a robe supplied with ample sleeves and a cowl.]
The monks of St. Aliquis, being Benedictines, are "black monks." If
they had been Cistercians they would have been "white monks"--that
is, with white frocks and cowls. The cowl is a cumbersome garment
enveloping the whole body, but it is worn only at ceremonies.
Ordinarily the monks wear black scapularies, covering head and body
less completely. They also have short mantle-style capes. New outer
garments are issued to them every year, new day shoes every eighteen
months, new boots once in five years, and a new pair of woolen
shirts once in four years. They are also granted both a thin and a
thick tunic, a fur-lined coat for cold weather, also undershirt and
drawers--in short, no silly luxuries, but no absurd austerities.
[Sidenote: The Abbot: Center of Monastic Life]
The control of the whole community rests with the abbot. Under the
monastic rule and vows the monks owe him implicit obedience. If he
is a practical, efficient man, the whole establishment is happy and
prosperous; if the reverse, it is soon in debt, the property is
wasted, the monks live evilly or desert; and the whole place often
is ruined. Abbeys resemble seigneuries--they are either growing or
dwindling. Many church canons forbid abbots to abuse their office, to
live luxuriously, to waste the abbey property, or to take important
steps without consulting the older monks, but such decrees are hard
to enforce. Fortunately, the head of St. Aliquis--Abbot Victor, is a
moderate, kindly, yet withal a worldly wise man. He was the younger
son of a petty noble and was thrust into the monastery somewhat
because his worldly heritage would have been very small. The monastic
life, however, agreed with him. He became popular with the brethren
of peasant stock, yet never let them forget that his parents had been
gentle. As prior he knew how to deal with Conon and other seigneurs.
When the old leader died, there had been one cry from all the monks
assembled in the chapter house. "Let Victor be our abbot!" Since then,
despite inevitable grumblings, he has ruled acceptably, avoiding
alike Cistercian severity and that lax rule which has made certain
monasteries the hatching nests of scandal.
Victor wears on ceremonial occasions a miter with gold fringe, although
it cannot be adorned with pearls like a bishop's. He has also
handsome gloves (especial emblems of his office), a crozer (a pastoral
staff), and a ring. His administration is aided by a whole corps of
officers. First of all is the prior, named by the abbot and the abbot's
chief lieutenant, who is his superior's deputy and general man of
affairs.[92] Next the subprior, the third in command; then the third
and fourth priors, known as _circatores_ because they have to make
frequent circuits of inspection; while below them come the _precentor_,
in charge of the singing and chanting; the _sacristan_, responsible
for the bells, lights, and ornaments of the church; and all the heads
of the kitchen, storehouses, infirmary, and monastery finances. There
is also the garnerer--a sagacious monk who collects the grain due from
the abbey lands and either sells it profitably or turns it over to the
storekeeper (_celerer_).
[Sidenote: Routine of the Monks' Day]
The activities of the monks are multifarious, but everything is really
subordinate to the duty of chanting the holy offices in the church.
The brethren go to bed, even in wintertime, at sunset. Then by the
light of cressets, bowls of oil with floating wicks, they rise at
midnight, put on their clothes, sit down on stone seats at either end
of the dormitory, and next file in silent procession to the great, dark
church. There they chant a long service, with the organ rumbling under
the gloomy vaulting--a service made still longer by the prayers for the
dead. As solemnly as before they file back to the dormitory and sleep
until daybreak in winter, until actual sunrise in summer; whereupon
they all rise again, go to the church, and chant Prime. Tierce follows
about 9 A.M.; Sext at noon; Nones at 3 P.M.; and Vespers at about
sundown. This continues every day through a long life. No wonder the
monks all know by heart their offices for the day and night as given in
the breviary.
After Prime a meeting is held in the chapter house. A section is read
from the Rule, the abbot or priors call off the work for each monk,
individual complaints can be uttered, and corrections and public
reproofs are given by the officers. At the Tierce service mass is
said; then the morning work goes on until the Sext, after which the
first regular meal is eaten, although some bread soaked with wine is
allowed earlier to the weaker brethren. Talking during the meal is
discouraged, but there is nevertheless much whispering while the reader
(allowed to eat earlier) tries to center attention upon the pulpit.
The brethren then rise and sing grace, ending up with the "Miserere,"
which is chanted in procession marching through the cloister. Everybody
thereupon retires to the dormitory and enjoys a siesta until it is time
for Nones. Work is next resumed until Vespers just before supper. After
supper there is another meeting in the chapter house, with more reading
from a pious book. Then once more to the church to chant Complines;
after that (since St. Aliquis is a well-ordered monastery) all the
monks are compelled to go straight to bed and do not sit up for carnal
chatter. All the doors of the establishment are securely locked. The
officers make the rounds to see that every monk is safe on his cot--and
so the whole brotherhood settles for the night.
Life in the monastery thus has a strict routine which soon becomes a
perfect habit with most of the inmates. Of course, monks working in the
fields are not required to come in for all the daytime offices--they
can drop their tools when the great bell rings and pray in silence
reverently standing. In nunneries about the same divisions of time
are applied, although chaplains have to come in to say mass. The one
thing impressing every visitor to a well-ruled monastery is the intense
sense of order as compared with the tumult and coarse informality
characteristic of even the better castle. To a certain type of mind
this regularity is indescribably fascinating apart from any question of
its advantages in religion.
To ask how the different brethren of St. Aliquis come to enter its
portals is to ask as many individual questions. The abbot is typical
of many companions, who were placed there because worldly prospects
were small and because they were decently urged by their relatives.
Sometimes the pressure was not mild. There are a few brethren who seem
discontented men without vocation, chafing against irrevocable vows
taken practically under compulsion, and yearning to be back in the
world. There is also one coarse, scar-visaged old man who was a robber
knight. "Tonsure or the scaffold?" so the duke had put the question.
To such a person the monastery is nothing but an honorable prison.
There are, however, two or three other elderly ex-cavaliers here for a
better reason--they have been overwhelmed with a consciousness of their
crimes and are genuinely anxious to redeem their souls. A considerable
proportion of the monks are gentle, although the majority are
non-nobles. If of the latter class, however, they have been subjected
to searching scrutiny before entrance, to make sure they will be useful
members of the community. If they are mere clownish peasants, they are
often taken only as _conversi_ (lay brethren), who learn a few prayers,
but spend most of their time on the abbey farms and who do not sleep
in the dormitory.
[Sidenote: Reasons for Becoming Monks]
The greater number of the monks have apparently joined voluntarily
in early manhood--because they are repelled by the confusion and
grubbing hardships of the world, because they have a hankering for an
intellectual life, and because they are genuinely anxious to deliver
their souls. After a round of fêtes, tournaments, and forays, many
a young knight has suddenly turned from them all, announced to his
companions: "What profit? Where will I spend eternity?" said farewell
to his beloved destrer, and knocked at the convent door. Sometimes he
has sickened too late of his choice. More often in this new world of
chants, solemn offices, books, honest toil, gently spoken words, and
quietness he has discovered a satisfaction not possessed by his brother
who is still messire the seigneur.
In the monastery there are, however, certain very young boys, who it is
to be hoped will prove contented with their profession. Their parents
or guardians have taken them to the abbot, and in their ward's behalf
have uttered vows that bind the helpless children forever. "I offer
this my son (reads the formula) to the Omnipotent God and to the Virgin
Mary for the salvation of my soul and the souls of my parents.... And
so shall he remain in this holy life all his days until his final
breath." Earnestly do the wiser brethren pray that these practically
orphaned boys do not become a source of sorrow to themselves and of
discord to the community in future years.[93]
St. Aliquis is a well-ordered monastery. Its monks, however,
point with some pharisaical satisfaction at certain neighboring
establishments. It is well said that "ten are the abuses in the
cloister--costly living, choice food, noise in the cloister, strife
in the chapter, disorder in the choir, a neglectful discipline,
disobedient youths, lazy old men, headstrong monks, and worldly
officers." It is alleged that all these evils and worse ones have
existed in the monastery of St. Ausonne, five leagues away. This
community had an excellent name for sanctity until twenty years
ago. Then a foolish abbot admitted too many "younger sons" who were
being forced in by their relatives. The duke, likewise, imprudently
pardoned a whole gang of highwaymen on condition that "they should
turn religious." Also, several self-seeking cavaliers deliberately
entered the order, in sinful expectation that family influence could
procure their election as abbots or bishops--posts of great worldly
consequence. Thus it was that our old enemy, Satan, entered into St.
Ausonne. All accounts are that he still refuses to be ejected.
[Sidenote: A Disorderly Monastery]
The evil tidings of this convent presently spread to Rome; and the Holy
Father, deeply grieved, ordered the Bishop of Pontdebois to visit the
establishment and restore discipline.[94] It was well that he took a
troop of armed sergeants with him, or he would have been stoned by the
furious inmates. The monks of St. Aliquis lift their hands in horror
at the least of the stories told about his discoveries. Part of the
bishop's report reads like this: "Brother Regnaud is accused of great
uncleanness of life. Bartholomée, a cantor's assistant, often gets
drunk and then does not get up for the matins service. Roger, the
third prior, frequents taverns. Jean, the fourth prior, is an habitual
tippler. Morell, another cantor's assistant, is given to striking and
evil speaking. Firmin, in charge of the abbey lands, does the like,
etc."
These charges, however, are mere details. The real sorrow is that from
the abbot down the whole organization of St. Ausonne has fallen utterly
away from the monastic ideal of a "school for the Lord's service" (to
quote St. Benedict). The abbot has been not merely very worldly, but
very miserly. Recently a jongleur sought hospitality at St. Ausonne.
The monks offered him merely black bread and water, although their
own supper was far more sumptuous than the "two cooked dishes and
half a pint of wine" allowed by the Benedictine rule. On leaving the
abbey, the minstrel met the abbot returning from pushing his political
fortunes at Paris. He profusely thanked the prelate for his monks'
noble hospitality, because they had given him choice wine, rich dishes,
and finally presented him with good shoes and a belt. The abbot
returned home in a rage and caused his guest master to be flogged for
squandering the monastery property. The minstrel, of course, spread the
tale of his revenge, and so indirectly prompted the visitation of the
establishment.
In fine, the bishop reported that from St. Ausonne many monks ranged
the country "with wandering feet"--as mere religious vagabonds, levying
alms upon the peasantry, and sometimes bearing letters from their abbot
allowing them to quit the cloister at pleasure. The abbot himself,
defying the canons, would have elaborate hunting parties with hawks
and hounds. The Church law merely permitted monks to kill rabbits and
crows dangerous to the crops; but the bishop actually found a kennel
of great dogs and a sheaf of boar spears within the holy compound.
The dietary at St. Ausonne was fit for a castle. Venison was served
on Friday, and the amount of wine consumed was astounding. Women are
never supposed to set foot within the inner precincts of a monastery,
but, to spare the Church further scandal, one conceals what the bishop
discovered to be the practice at this establishment.
The St. Ausonne monks, too, have cast reproaches upon their more
honest brethren elsewhere. One of them, after visiting the St. Aliquis
convent, is discovered to have complained: "One cannot talk in the
refectory; and all night they 'bray' the offices in the church. The
meals are very poor; they give us beans and unshelled eggs. The wine
is too thin and too mixed with cows' drink (water). No--never will
I get drunk on _that_ wine. At St. Aliquis it is better to die than
to live!"[95] Another brother seems to have drifted round the duchy,
visiting the more disorderly seigneurs, becoming their boon companion,
cozening their women, and boasting that his ideal of life was "a big
salmon at dinner time and sitting by a fountain with a friendly dame."
With such monks sheer sacrilege in performing the sacred offices was
possible. The story goes that at the morning office they were all very
drowsy. Soon their heads would fall on the service books at the close
of every line. The choir boys were expected to keep up the chant; but
the latter, impious young mortals, soon learned how to begin quiet
games the moment the last monk had fallen asleep. Then when the proper
time has expired the boys would all call out loudly "Let us bless the
Lord!" "Thanks be to God!" the monks would respond, awakening with a
start; and then everybody would go comfortably away.
[Sidenote: Discipline of Unruly Monks]
The report of the bishop will probably produce one of two orders from
Rome--either the Holy Father will appoint a new abbot strictly enjoined
to rule the convent with a rod of iron and to restore discipline, or
the whole establishment will be broken up as hopeless and its inmates
distributed around among other and stricter monasteries. Cases as bad
as St. Ausonne's are rare, but they breed infinite scandal and provide
outrageous tales for the jongleurs. So long as monasticism exists there
will be institutions afflicted with idleness and luxury--"the lust of
the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the pride of life." Doubtless
no monastery is exempt from evil thoughts and evil deeds, yet it is
pitiful that the saints allow such institutions as St. Ausonne to exist
to bring into contempt the tens of thousands of monks who are trying to
serve God with sincerity.
FOOTNOTES:
[89] In these chapters the terms "monastery," "abbey" and "convent" are
used synonymously. Of course, the term "convent" (from "conventus," or
"meeting") might also be used for "nunnery." A "priory" was usually a
smaller type of institution, ruled by a prior and not an abbot (see p.
322 note) and dependent on some greater "abbey."
[90] Clocks run wholly by weights were known as early as Charlemagne's
time, and the famous "magician" Pope Sylvester II (see p. 303) studied
their mechanism. By the thirteenth century they were slowly coming into
general use. Of course, at first they had only one hand--showing merely
the hours.
[91] By its very nature, a monastery would contain a disproportionately
large number of doddering old men, or sick and helpless individuals.
"_Stagnarii_" or "_stationarii_" they are significantly called.
Besides, a monk was supposed to be bled for his health four or five
times a year. While recovering from this operation he could stay in the
infirmary.
The Church usually rejected candidates for regular priesthood who
labored under serious physical disabilities. The monasteries had to be
less arbitrary. Thus they probably obtained more than their share of
blind, semi-invalids, purblind, halt, deaf, etc. In 1161, at an abbey
near Boulogne, there are said to have been so many lame, one-eyed, or
one-armed monks that the abbot refused to admit any more defectives for
thirty years. This was probably an extreme case.
For similar reasons many women, unmarriageable through physical
defects, seem to have been placed in nunneries.
[92] In monasteries affiliated with the great abbey of Cluny the
highest officer was the prior; the only abbot for the entire group of
establishments was at Cluny. Various other small dependent monasteries
had merely a prior, supposedly dependent on the abbot at a superior
monastery.
[93] While such children would be sometimes presented out of motives
of genuine piety, to save their own souls or to redeem those of their
relatives, often they were thrust into the convent merely to dispose
of unwelcome heirs or to avoid the cost of rearing them. Wise abbots
would, of course, sift out such cases carefully.
[94] Bishops theoretically had themselves the right of inspection
unless a monastery had a direct papal charter; but in any case the
monks would probably resist episcopal interference vigorously unless
the Pope gave the bishop specific orders to intervene.
[95] These complaints are identical with those actually made by a
worldly monk who visited the venerable abbey of Cluny.