the tendrils creep along the walls, wind round the pillars, wreath the
capitals, or, hanging down in clusters, obscure the space beneath. But
instead of dilapidated fragments, overspread with weeds and choked with
brambles, the floor is covered with a smooth verdant turf, which, by
keeping the original level of the church, exhibits the beauty of its
proportions, heightens the effect of the gray stone, gives relief to the
clustered pillars, and affords an easy access to every part. Ornamented
fragments of the roof, remains of cornices and columns, rich pieces of
sculpture, carved stones and mutilated figures of monks and warriors,
whose ashes repose within these walls, are scattered on the green sward,
and contrast present desolation with former splendour.”
Although the exterior appearance of these ruins is not equal to the
inside view, yet in some positions--particularly to the east--they
present themselves with considerable effect. From a point on its left
bank, and about half a mile down the river, the ruins assume a new
character; and seeming to occupy a gentle eminence, impend over the
river without the intervention of a single cottage to intercept the
view. “The grand east window, wholly covered with shrubs, and
half-mantled with ivy, rises like the portal of a majestic edifice
embowered in wood. Through this opening, and along the vista of the
church, the clusters of ivy, which twine round the pillars or hang
suspended from the arches, resemble tufts of trees; while the thick
mantle of foliage, seen through the tracery of the west window,[47]
forms a continuation of the perspective, and appears like an
interminable forest.”
<g>The Abbey</g> is a cruciform structure, built, it is said, after the model
of Salisbury Cathedral,[48] consisting of a nave, north and south
aisles, transepts, and choir. Its length from east to west is two
hundred and twenty-eight feet, and from north to south, at the
transepts, one hundred and fifty feet. The nave and choir are
thirty-seven feet in breadth; the height of the central arch is seventy
feet, of the smaller arches thirty feet; of the east window sixty-four
feet, and of the west window forty-two feet. The total area originally
enclosed by the walls of the abbey is said to have been thirty-four
acres.
The exterior of the western front is singularly striking; but, on
entering, as already observed, the scene that represents itself is
indescribably grand and impressive. “When we stood at one end of this
awful ruin,” says Gilpin, “the elements of earth and air its only
covering and pavement, and the grand and
[Illustration: VIEW FROM ENTRANCE.]
venerable remains which terminated both, perfect enough to form the
perspective, yet broken enough to destroy the regularity, the eye was
above measure delighted with the beauty, the grandeur, the novelty of
the scene.”
The inner walls of the church are nearly entire; most of the elegant and
massive columns, as already noticed, which separated the nave from the
south aisle are yet standing; and the four lofty and magnificent arches
which formerly supported the central tower are nearly perfect. The
columns that divided the nave from the north aisle have fallen; but
their bases still occupy the ground, showing their number, shape, and
dimensions.
<g>Windows.</g>--The magnificent windows are little altered by time: and though
somewhat obscured by a luxuriant and graceful drapery of ivy, the
tendrils of which twine in their tracery, creep along the walls,
encircle the columns, and form natural wreaths around the capitals, the
forms of the principal objects are still so far preserved as to be
easily discriminated. The tracery of the western window, as already
observed, is exquisite; while the eastern window,[49] high and graceful,
and occupying nearly the whole breadth of the choir, with its slender
umbilical shaft rising to a height of fifty feet, and diverging at the
top into rich flowery traces, has quite a magical effect. The other
windows, though less ornamented, are all in character, and have the same
elegant design and finish.[50]
The floor, originally covered with encaustic tiles, is now enveloped in
a thick smooth matting of grass, trimmed like a bowling-green, and here
and there spotted with little heaps of mutilated sculpture, and striped
with flat tombstones--all thrown open to the winds of heaven.
[Illustration]
The effigy of a knight in chain armour, a _pavache_ shield, and crossed
legs, is supposed to be that of <g>Strongbow</g>, first Earl of Pembroke,
already noticed, but more probably that of Roger Bigod, as Strongbow is
historically known to have been buried in Dublin. This interesting
relic, that had escaped the ravages of time and the hostile spirit of
resolution, was at last, as Mr. Thomas informs us, wilfully mutilated by
a native of the village.[51]
The next relic is a group of the Madonna and Child, much disfigured, but
with sufficient evidence of its having been the work of a skilful
artist. Mr. Bartlett considered it to be of very graceful design and
execution.
Near the eastern window is the sculptured head of a friar, with the
tonsure, but otherwise quite disfigured.
In the centre, between the transepts, is another broad stone slab,
supposed to cover the ashes of the <g>founder</g>; but the fall of the tower,
and the continual dropping of loosened fragments--until the ruin became
an object of interest and consideration--have not left one of the
sepulchral tablets or inscriptions entire. Many fragments may be
discovered among the rubbish, but to reunite the scattered members were
a very hopeless task. In the southern aisle is the only sepulchral
antiquity that bears a legible inscription. It is elaborately carved in
black or slate marble, with a cross finely sculptured on its surface
longitudinally, and near its base three trouts,[52] so entertwined as to
form the symbolic triangle, with the figure of a salmon on the right and
left. The inscription, in black letter, along the top of the cross, is
simple--
“<g>Hic jacet humatus Johann: Willino.</g>”
The sepulchral brasses have all disappeared. For a century and more
after the Dissolution, the Abbey appears to have been abandoned to every
species of wilful depredators, who defaced the altars, ransacked the
graves, and carried off without molestation whatever was curious or
portable.
[Illustration]
In the same aisle, close to the wall, and now preserved with great care,
is the lately-discovered pavement of encaustic tiles, with escutcheons
of the ancient <g>Clare</g> and <g>Bigod</g> families intertwined. The figures on
these coloured tiles represent flowers, animals, and knights in full
career at a tournament. This pavement was probably that of a private
altar, belonging to the founder, or benefactor of the Abbey. In the
process of clearing away the vast accumulation of rubbish, many of the
ancient memorials were removed in fragments; and of the few that remain,
not one, probably, now covers the dust over which it was originally
placed.
Leaving the grassy lawn-like floor of the Abbey, the ascent to the top
is still practicable by means of a spiral staircase in an angle of the
northern transept. Those who conclude their survey of the ruins by this
experiment, will be amply rewarded for any fatigue it may occasion. At
the time of our visit, however, in the month of August last year, some
unexpected obstacle prevented the custodier from gratifying our
curiosity by a view from the summit: for the steps were either so unsafe
or deficient, as to make the experiment rather hazardous.
Mr. Thomas, from whose notes we have already quoted, and whose late
professional residence near the Abbey rendered him familiar with all its
minutest features, tells us that the prospect it commands is highly
picturesque; and in turning from the outward landscape, to look down
into the cloistered depths below, the view of clustering pillars, lofty
arches, mullioned windows, and flowing tracery, is indescribably grand
and impressive.
The broken summit of the walls, throughout its whole outline, is adorned
with a profusion of shrubs and flowers, that, with interlacing leaves
and tendrils, cover the mouldering coping like a fragrant mantle. Where
the labour of man appears to decay, nature has put forth her vigour and
beauty, and transformed those roofless walls into a wild botanic garden.
Here, and amidst the débris immediately adjoining, Mr. Thomas[53] found
a luxuriant crop of shrubs and flowers, all of different families, some
of them rare, and in number between forty and fifty.
<g>Reed</g>, in his ‘Remains,’ gives the following eloquent and highly poetical
description of the Abbey by moonlight:--“The great tree or vegetable
rock, or emperor of the oaks, if you please, before which I bowed with a
sort of reverence in the fields of Tinterne, and which for so many ages
has borne all the blasts and bolts of heaven, I should deem it a
gratification of a superior kind to approach again with an ‘unsandalled
foot,’ to pay the same homage, and to kindle with the same devotion. But
I should find amidst the magnificent ruins of the adjoining Abbey,
something of a sublime cast, to interest and give pregnancy to my
feelings. I must be alone. My mind must be calm and pensive. It must be
midnight. The moon, half-veiled in clouds, must be just emerging from
behind the neighbouring hills. All must be silent, except the wind
gently rustling among the ivy of the ruins; the river lulling, by its
faint murmurings, its guardian genius to repose; and the owl, whose
funereal shriek would some time die along the walls in mysterious
echoes. I should then invoke the ghosts of the Abbey; and Fancy, with
one stroke of her magic wand, would rouse them from their dusty beds,
and lead them into the centre of the ruin. I should approach their
shadowy existences with reverence; making inquiries respecting the
customs, and manners, and genius, and fate of antiquity--desire to have
a glimpse of the destiny of future ages, and enter upon conversations
which would be too sacred and even dangerous to communicate.” The lines
by Sir Walter Scott, on “Melrose Abbey by Moonlight,” are equally
descriptive of Tinterne.[54]
It has been well observed, that, as the Abbey of Tinterne is the most
beautiful and picturesque of all our Gothic monuments, so is the
situation one of the most sequestered and delightful. One more abounding
in that peculiar kind of scenery which excites the mingled sensations of
content, religion, and enthusiasm, it is impossible to behold. There,
every arch infuses, as it were, a solemn energy into inanimate nature; a
sublime antiquity breathes mildly in the heart; and the soul, pure and
passionless, appears susceptible of that state of tranquillity which is
the perfection of every earthly wish.[55] By the late Sir C. Colt Hoare,
a man of taste and many travelled acquirements, this “seat of devotion,
solitude, and desolation,” is pronounced as surpassing every other ruin
he had seen in England or in Wales. Captain Barber, whose “Tour” is now
very scarce, was so charmed with the scene, that he locked himself up in
the Abbey, and employed several hours in delineating its picturesque
features.
From the general aspect of this venerable pile--a _coup d’œil_ that
never fails to captivate the stranger--we proceed to a few detached
features of the picture, all more or less interesting as relics of men,
and times, that have long passed away.
[Illustration]
<g>Walter de Clare</g>, the founder, was grandson of Osbert, Lord of Tudenham
and Wollaston, by gift of William the Conqueror.[56] He departed this
life on the 10th of March, 1139, and dying without issue, was succeeded
by his brother, <g>Gilbert</g>[57] de Clare, who survived him nine years, and
dying on the 6th of January, 1148, was buried in the church of
Tinterne. This Gilbert de Clare left two sons by his wife Elizabeth,
daughter of Walleran, Earl of Melent--Richard, surnamed <g>Strongbow</g>, and
Baldwin,[58] who, “fighting stoutly on the part of King Stephen, at the
battle of Lincoln, was there taken prisoner.” <g>Richard</g> was one of the
witnesses to that “solemn accorde,” made in 1153, between King Stephen,
and Henry, Duke of Normandy, whereby the latter was to succeed to the
crown of England after the king’s demise. In the year 1170 [16 Henry
II.], the said Richard, Earl of Striguil or Pembroke, being stript of
his paternal inheritance by King Henry II., invaded Ireland, and
captured the cities of Dublin and Waterford. Soon after this event, when
“the king, who was then at Argentine, was consulting with his nobles
about an expedition into that realm; certain messengers from this earl
being present, offered, on the part of Richard, the above-named cities,
with all the castles which he had there captured, at the death of
Dermot, king of Dublin, whose daughter and heiress he had married.” With
this conciliatory offer, King Henry was so well pleased, that he
restored to him all his lands, both in England and Normandy, and freely
granted that he should enjoy all those in Ireland which he had received
in dowery with his wife, constituting him at the same time constable or
governor of that realm, and “thereupon passing thither, subdued it
wholly without any considerable resistance.”
By the daughter of the said King of Dublin or Leinster, this last earl
of his family, Richard Strongbow[59] left an only child, Isabel, who
remained in ward fourteen years to the king, and was then given in
marriage to <g>William Marshall</g>, who thereupon became Earl of Pembroke,
Lord of Striguil, or Chepstow, and took possession of Leinster, with all
the inheritance of the said Strongbow; and being thus advanced to that
honour, he bore the royal sceptre of gold, with the cross on the head of
it, at the solemn coronation of King Richard I.[60] The history of this
family is given at full length in the Monasticon and Baronage of
England, but it is much too diffuse for our purpose. William Marshall,
who, by his marriage with Isabel, only child of Richard de Clare, came
into possession of his estates and titles, was a great benefactor to the
church; he built and endowed many religious houses both in England and
Ireland; and having, by his last will and testament, constituted the
abbot of St. Augustine’s at Bristol, and Henry Fitzgerald, his
executors, he departed this life at Caversham, in the third of Henry II.
Being thence carried to Reading, his body was received in solemn
procession by the monks of the abbey, and placed in their choir, whilst
mass was celebrated for him. It was then taken to Westminster, where
the solemnity was again performed, and on Ascension-day it was consigned
to the earth[61] with the following epitaph:--
Sum qui Saturnum sibi sensit Hibernia: Solem
Anglia; Mercurium Normannia; Gallia Martem.
These complimentary lines, meant to record his virtues, are
characteristic of the times when heathen mythology was so frequently
called in to assist in the eulogy of some great champion or benefactor
of the Christian church. He certainly appears to have merited all that
could be said of him as a great mover and promoter of monastic
fraternities--especially the <g>Cistercians</g>; and in the same strain,
Matthew of Paris has recorded that this mighty earl was a severe tamer
of the Irish, a great favourer of the English, achieved much in
Normandy, and was an invincible soldier in France--“Miles strenuissimus,
ac per orbem nominatissimus.”[62] But of the five sons whom he left
behind, with the fair and flattering prospect that his name and titles
would descend through many generations, all died prematurely and without
issue. This deplorable fact was much commented upon at the time:--“Some
did attribute it to God’s especial judgment, by reason that, when the
said William, first earl, was a great commander in Ireland, and,
according to the practice of soldiers, exercised such cruelties of fire
and sword as usually accompany that sort of life, he took away by
violence two fair manors from a reverend bishop there, and possessed
himself of them as the acquisition of war; and that the bishop, after
frequent and earnest entreaties for their restitution, without any
effect, did thereupon pronounce the sentence of excommunication against
him for the fact, which he the earl contemned.” The bishop,[63] having
proceeded to London, made his grievous wrong known to the king, showing
wherefore he had excommunicated the said earl. “Whereupon the king, then
very pensive, desired the bishop that he should go to his grave and
absolve him, and _then_ he would satisfy his desire. Whereupon the
bishop went, and the king with him, and spoke as followeth: ‘O William!
who liest here buried, and shackled with the fetters of excommunication,
if these lands which thou most injuriously didst take from my church, be
restored with full satisfaction, either by the king or any of thy
kindred or friends, I _then_ absolve thee: otherwise, I ratify that
sentence to this end, that, being wrapt up with thy sins, thou mayest
remain condemned in hell.’”
<g>The king</g>, who was “much displeased at these his expressions, blamed him
for his ghostly rigour;” but anxious to remove the curse from the
illustrious defunct, he sent private messages to the heir and his
brothers, advising them in a friendly manner to come to terms with the
bishop, and thus “in mercy release their father’s soul.” But the
brothers were obstinate; they would not restore even an acre of bog, nor
a stock of timber; observing that, “as the old doting bishop hath
pronounced the sentence unjustly, the curse will fall upon himself. For
my part,” quoth the heir, “I will never lessen my patrimony descended to
me by inheritance.” The king being still under tutelage, and fearing the
resentment of so powerful a family, “forbore to displease them.” But the
bishop, hearing thereof, was much grieved, taking more offence at their
contumacy, than of the injury first done by their father; and going to
the king, he said, “Sir, what I have spoken, I have spoken; and what I
have written is not to be reversed: the sentence therefore must stand;
the punishment of evil-doers is from God; and, therefore, the curse
which the Psalmist hath written, shall come upon this earl, of whom I do
thus complain. His name shall be _rooted out in one generation_, and his
sons shall be deprived of the blessing--_increase and multiply_. Some of
them shall die a miserable death, and their inheritance shall be
scattered. And this, O king, thou shalt behold in thine own lifetime,
yea, in thy flourishing youth.”
Having spoken “thus much in the bitterness of his spirit, the bishop
departed thence, leaving the defunct earl enthralled with that curse.
Whereupon it happened that, in a few years after, all his sons died
without issue.”[64]
<g>William</g>, his successor, who, “in his father’s lifetime, had taken part
with the barons, then in arms against the king, was one of those betwixt
whom and the <g>King</g> those covenants were made, whereby the government of
the realm was placed in xxv. of them, and the city of London thereupon
put into their hands. Yea, so great a confidant was he of that
rebellious pack, that they constituted him to be one of those xxv., for
which respect amongst _them_ he underwent the sentence of
excommunication by the Pope. But upon the death of King John, which
happened soon after, his noble father reduced him to obedience; so that
he became loyal to King <g>Henry</g> the Third, and thereupon had a grant of
the lands of <g>Saier</g> de Quinci, Earl of Winchester, and David, Earl of
<g>Huntingdon</g>, two of those great rebels, for his support in the king’s
service.”
A few years after this, “whilst he, the said <g>William Marshall</g>, was in
Ireland, <g>Leoline</g>, Prince of Wales, took two of his castles; and having
cut off the heads of those whom he found therein, manned them with his
own soldiers. But when tidings thereof came to him, he soon returned
into <g>Wales</g>; and having, with a great power, won them again, took the
like revenge upon the Welsh: and thinking this not enough, he invaded
the lands of <g>Leoline</g>, and wasted them with fire and sword. Whereupon
Leoline advanced towards him with all his strength, but to little
purpose; for, encountering him in battle, the Marshall totally routed
his whole army, of which to the number of nine thousand were slain and
taken.” This earl married Eleanor, daughter of King <g>John</g>; and dying at
Kilkenny, in 1231, was there buried in the choir of the Mendicant
Friars.[65]
[Illustration]
<g>Richard</g>, his brother and successor, being irritated by the violent
conduct of the king and his ministry, formed an alliance with <g>Llewellyn</g>
ap Jowarth, Prince of Wales, and in 1233 defeated the king’s army at
<g>Grosmont</g>; but with dutiful respect for his sovereign, he fell back with
the Cambrian army before sunrise, to allow his Majesty’s retreat from
the Castle of Gloucester. Henry, not appreciating the generous conduct
of his reluctant foe, resisted this attack; and on the return of the
Lord Marshall to his estates in Ireland, he was treacherously wounded to
death at Kildare,[66] and there buried by the side of his brother
William, whom he had survived only three years.
<g>Gilbert</g>, the third son, married a daughter of Alexander, King of
Scotland, and died in 1242.
<g>Walter</g> Marshall, the fourth son, died at Goodrich Castle, in December,
1245. And--
<g>Anselm</g>, the fifth and last son of this doomed family, died like his
brothers, childless, in the same month of the same year, in the Castle
of Striguil or Chepstow, and was interred with his brother in Tinterne
Abbey.
Of their five sisters, Eve, the youngest, married “William de Braliuse
or Braose,[67] of whose family more hereafter.
The male line in him having thus failed, Maude, their surviving sister,
and heiress to the family possessions, was espoused to Hugh Bigod, Earl
of Norfolk. From this alliance sprang two sons, Hugh and Roger, or
Rudulfus. The younger of whom, Roger, in right of his mother, was
installed lord-marshal of the kingdom, and granted a charter[68] to
Tinterne Abbey, confirming those granted by the Clares and Marshalls,
and adding large possessions to the brotherhood. Maude, on the death of
her husband, Hugh Bigod, married John de Warren, Earl of Surrey; and
departing this life, anno 1248, was buried in the Abbey of Tinterne;
when her four sons--two by each marriage--carried her body into the
choir. To prosecute the descent farther, would far exceed our limits;
but readers who may feel curious to trace the genealogy of the founders,
will find ample details in the Baronage, the Monasticon, and old
chronicles.
Of Earl Roger it is told, that, being “openly reproached by the king as
a traitor, he replied with a stern countenance that he lied; and that
he, Bigod, never was, nor would be a traitor;” adding, “if you do
nothing but what the law warranteth, you can do me no harm.” “Yes,”
quoth the king, “I can thrash your corn and sell it, and so humble you.”
“If you do so,” replied Bigod, “I will send you back the heads of your
thrashers.”
The <g>Hospitium</g>, or guest-chamber, was generally a large room with
columns, like the body of a church, and called _palatium_--the original
meaning of which was a place of short residence. If a visitor came
before dinner to the refectory, notice was given to the refectioner; if
he was too late to dine with the convent, he staid in the _locutorium_,
or parlour, until the refectory was swept, and then was introduced. The
_hosteler_ provided all things fit for Mass for the visitors; and if he
was prevented, any one asked by him sang the mass and hours to them, for
they had divine service as well as the convent. The visitors had meat
and drink at solicitation, and the hosteler was to fetch the viands
according to the rank of the person; all which, however, was accompanied
with the appendage of a “soiled table cloth, very indifferent wine,
grease in the salt, and a clownish servant.” The hospitaler[69] could
not introduce them to the collation before the end of the first verse.
When this was over, he lighted his lantern with which the visitors
waited before the Chapter door. He then introduced them into the
parlour, after which they had refection, and _Complin_ was sung to them.
When the visitors wished to depart before daybreak, or at that time, the
hosteler took the keys of the parlour from the Prior’s bed; but on
Sundays, before _procession_, no one could receive the benediction, or
ceremony of dismission.
[Illustration]
Persons of rank were received with processions and high honours. One of
the great bells was struck three times, to give the monks notice of
assembling in the church to robe themselves. Visitors were allowed to
make a stay of two days and two nights, and on the third day, after
dinner, they were to depart. If by accident a guest could not then go,
the hosteler signified his request to the Abbot, or Prior, for a longer
stay. If in health, he was to be present at Matins, and follow the
convent in everything, unless he had leave to the contrary. Women were
to be received who came with an honourable suite.[70] Particular
attention was paid to the parents of monks, for whom necessaries and
food were to be provided whenever they came to see their
children--especially on the Nativity of the Virgin Mary, wheresoever
they took refection, in the town or house; and they were to be
honourably received on the Vigil.[71]
<g>The Refectory</g>, as described by monastic writers, was a large hall
wainscoted on the north and south sides, and in the west and nether
parts was a long bench of stone, in mason-work, from the cellar-door to
the pantry, or cove-door. It had a dresser in it: above the wainscot
was a large picture of CHRIST, the Virgin Mary, and St. John; but in
most places--and here perhaps--was the Cross or Crucifixion, to which,
on entering the Fratry with washed hands, the monks made obeisance with
their faces to the east. Within the door on the left was an
_Almery_--where stood the grace-cup (the classical αγαθου δαιμονος), out
of which the monks, after grace every day, drank round the table--and
another large one on the right, with smaller within, where stood the
_mazers_, of which each monk had his peculiar one, with a ewer and
basin, which served the Sub-prior to wash his hands in at the table, of
which he sat as chief.[72] At the west end was a loft above the cellar,
ascended by stairs with an iron railing, where the convent and monks
dined together, the Sub-prior sitting at the upper end of the table. At
the south end of the high table, within a glass window-frame, was an
iron desk, ascended by stone steps, with an iron rail, where lay a
Bible, out of which one of the novices read a part in Latin during
dinner. The readers at the table were to give ear to the Prior in case
of error; and if they did not understand his correction, they were to
begin the verse again, even repeatedly, until they comprehended the
Prior’s meaning. When the reader had finished, the master of the novices
rang a silver bell hanging over his head, to call one of them to come to
the high table to say grace; a single stroke of this bell (_skilla_),
signified the conclusion of the lecture or the meal.[73]
[Illustration: H]<g>ospitality</g>, which the monastic rule enjoined upon all
its professors, was faithfully practised by the Cistercians. The
Refectory, as well as the Hospitium, or Guest Hall, of this Abbey,
appears to have been an elegant and capacious chamber, with a vaulted
stone roof supported on Gothic pillars, the massive bases of which still
remain. But as the buildings were long thrown open as a stone quarry,
for the use of the public, the squared and sculptured materials with
which they were built and adorned, were employed for ages in
constructing those shapeless hovels which now cluster, as if in
mockery, around the sacred pile, and show to what base uses in this
changing world, even the masterpieces of art may be applied.
<g>The Dole.</g>--An opening in the wall of the refectory westward, shows the
place where the monk appointed to that duty, administered to the poor
their daily portion of bread and beer. To that door the hungry and the
weary never applied in vain--
Pilgrim, whosoe’er thou art,
Worn with travel, faint with fear,
Halt, or blind, or sick of heart,
Bread and welcome wait thee here.
At the east end of the <g>Refectory</g> was “a neat table, with a screen of
wainscot over it, for the master of the novices, the elects, and
novices, to dine and sup at: two windows opened into the refectory from
the great kitchen, one large for principal days, the other smaller for
ordinary days; and through these the dishes were served. Over against
the door in the cloister was a conduit or lavatory, for the monks to
wash their hands and faces, of a round form, covered with lead, and all
marble, excepting the outer wall, without which they might walk about
the Tower. After the monks had waited a while on the <g>Abbot</g>, they sat
down at two other tables, placed at the sides of the refectory, and had
their service brought in by the novices, who, when the monks had dined,
sat down to their own dinner. Fires in the refectory were ordered from
All-hallows Day to Good-Friday, and the wood was found by the cellarer.
Pinafores or super-tunics, to protect the clothes at dinner, are
mentioned by Lynwood, and occur in foreign consuetudinals. Giraldus
Cambrensis, on dining with the Prior of Canterbury, “noted sixteen
dishes, besides intromels,” or _entremets_; “a superfluous use of signs,
much sending of dishes from the Prior to the attending monks, and from
them to the lower tables;” with “much ridiculous gesticulation in
returning thanks, with much whispering, loose, idle, and licentious
discourse;” herbs brought in but not tasted; numerous kinds of fish,
roasted, boiled, stuffed, fried, eggs, dishes exquisitely cooked with
spices; salted meats to provoke appetite; wines of various kinds;
_pimento_ made of wine, honey, and spices; with claret, mead, and other
beverages. Respecting these, it was not unusual, says Barnard, to see
brought a vessel half full to try the quality and flavour of the wine;
and that, after proof thereof, the monks decided in favour of the
strongest. Superior dinners were always given on the feasts of the
Apostles; but it was not lawful, it seems, to eat the flesh of any
animal nourished on the earth, because this had been cursed by God; but
the curse not extending to air and water, birds were permitted, as
created of the same element as fish. Hence the prohibition of
quadrupeds; but as it was found
[Illustration: _The Refectory._