THE NEW ABBOT'S REFORMS
After these things the abbot caused inquisition to be made throughout
each manor, concerning the annual quit rents from the freemen, and the
names of the labourers and their tenements, and the services due from
each; and he reduced all into writing. Likewise he repaired those old
halls and unroofed houses round which hovered kites and crows. He
built new chapels, and likewise inner chambers and upper stories in
many places where there never had been any dwelling-house at all, but
only barns. He also enclosed many parks, which he replenished with
beasts of chase, keeping a huntsman with dogs; and, upon the visit of
any person of quality, sat with his monks in some walk of the wood,
and sometimes saw the coursing of the dogs; but I never saw him take
part in the sport.
He cleared much land, and brought it into tillage, in all things
looking forward to the benefit likely to accrue to the abbey; but I
wish he had been equally careful in assigning the manors of the
convent. Nevertheless, he, for a time, kept our manors of Bradfield
and Rougham in hand, making up the deficiencies of the rents by the
expenditure of forty pounds. These he afterwards reassigned to us when
he heard that dissatisfaction was expressed in the convent, on account
of his keeping our manors in his own hand. Likewise in managing these
manors, as well as in all other matters, he appointed keepers who were
far more careful than their predecessors--some monks, some laymen, to
look after us and our lands more carefully.
He also held the eight hundreds in his own hand, and, after the death
of Robert of Cockfield, he took in hand the hundred of Cosford, all
which he committed to the keeping of those servants who were of his
own table; referring matters of greater moment to his own decision,
and deciding by means of others upon matters of lesser import--indeed,
wringing everything to his own profit.
Moreover, by his command, a general survey was made throughout the
hundreds of the leets and suits, of hidages and foddercorn, of
hen-rents, and of other dues and rents and issues, which, for the
greater part, had ever been concealed by the farmers. He reduced it
all to writing, so that within four years from the time of his
election, there was not one who could defraud him of the rents of the
abbey to the value of a single penny, whereas he himself had not
received from his predecessors any writing touching the management of
the abbey, except one small schedule, wherein were the names of the
knights of St. Edmund and the names of the manors, and what rent was
due on each farm. This book he called his kalendar, wherein also were
entered the debts he had satisfied; and this same book he almost daily
perused, as if in the same he were beholding the face of his honesty
in a glass.
The first day that he held a chapter, he confirmed to us, under his
new seal, sixty shillings from Southrey, which his predecessors had
unjustly received from Edmund, surnamed the golden monk, for the
liberty of holding the same vill to farm all the days of his life. He
also proposed, as a general rule, that from thenceforth no one should
pledge the ornaments of the church without the assent of the convent,
as had been the custom heretofore, nor that any charter should be
sealed with the convent seal, unless in chapter in the presence of the
convent. He appointed Hugh as sub-sacrist, ordering that William the
sacrist should not have anything to do with the sacristy, either in
the matter of receipt or disbursement, unless by his consent. After
this, but not on the same day, he transferred the former keepers of
the offerings to other offices; lastly, he deposed the same William:
wherefore those who liked William said, "Behold the abbot! Lo, here is
the wolf of whom it was dreamed! See how he rages!"
And some of them would have entered into a conspiracy against the
abbot. When this was disclosed to him, he, not caring to be altogether
silent, nor yet to disquiet the convent, entered the chapter-house on
the morrow, and pulled out a little bag full of cancelled deeds, the
seals yet hanging thereto, consisting of the securities, partly of his
predecessor, partly of the prior, partly of the sacrist, partly of the
chamberlain, and other officials, whereof the total was three thousand
and fifty-two pounds and one mark without alloy, besides the interest
that had accrued thereupon, the amount of which could never be
ascertained. All these he had arranged for within one year after his
election, and within twelve years entirely discharged. "Behold," said
he, "the good management of William, our sacrist; look at the
multitude of securities signed with his seal, whereby he has pledged
silken copes, dalmatics, censers of silver and books ornamented with
gold, without the knowledge of the convent, all which I have redeemed
and have restored to you."
He likewise added many other things, showing why he had deposed the
said William: howbeit he suppressed the real cause, not wishing to put
him to open shame. And when he put Samson the precentor in his place,
a person approved by us, and above all objection, everything was quiet
again. Furthermore, the abbot commanded that the houses of the sacrist
in the cemetery should be entirely plucked up, as though they were not
worthy to stand upon the earth, by reason of the frequent
wine-bibbings, and certain other acts not to be named, which he, with
grief and indignation, had witnessed while he was sub-sacrist. So
completely did he obliterate the whole that, within a year, upon the
spot where a noble dwelling had stood, we saw beans growing, and where
casks of wine had lain, nettles abounding.
After the end of Easter, the abbot went over every one of his and our
manors, as well as over those we had confirmed to the farmers in fee,
requiring from all of them aid and acknowledgment, according to the
law of the land. Thus every day he was increasing in secular
knowledge, and was turning his attention to the learning and method of
ordering outdoor affairs. Now when he had come to Warkton, where he
slept at night, there came to him a voice saying, "Samson, arise up
quickly"; and, again, "Get up without delay." Getting up astonished,
he looked around him, and perceived a light in a necessary house,
namely, a candle ready to fall down upon the straw, which Reiner the
monk had carelessly left there. When the abbot had put it out, going
through the house, he perceived the door (which was the sole entrance)
so fastened that it could only be opened by a key--likewise the
windows fastened: so that if a fire had arisen, he, and all with him,
who slept upon that floor, had surely perished, for there was no place
whence they might get out or escape.
At that time, wheresoever the abbot went, there came about him Jews as
well as Christians, demanding debts, and worrying and importuning him
so that he could not sleep. Thereupon he became pale and thin, and was
constantly repeating, "My heart will never rest until I know the
extent of my debts." The feast of St. Michael being come, he took all
his manors into his own hand, with but small store of live or dead
stock; he freely forgave Walter of Hatfield nineteen pounds arrears,
that he might absolutely take back four manors which Hugh the abbot
had confirmed to him, namely, Hargrave and Saxham and Chevington and
Stapleford; Harlow, indeed, the abbot deferred to take to himself on
the present occasion.
Once on a time, as we passed through the forest in returning from
London, I inquired in the hearing of my lord abbot, from an old woman
passing by, whose was this wood, and of what town, who was the lord,
and who was the keeper? She answered that the wood belonged to the
abbot of St. Edmund, as part of the town of Harlow, and that the name
of the keeper was Arnald. When I inquired further, how Arnald
conducted himself towards the men of the town, she answered, that he
was a devil incarnate, an enemy of God, and one to flay the poor
alive; but now, she added, he is afraid of the new abbot of St.
Edmund, whom he believes to be prudent and vigilant, and therefore he
treats the men gently. On hearing this, the abbot was delighted, and
deferred taking to the manor for a season.
At that time there came unexpectedly the news of the death of the wife
of Herlewin of Rungton, who had a charter to hold the same town for
her life; and the abbot said, "Yesterday, I would have given sixty
marks to have freed the manor from this incumbrance, but now God has
freed it." And as he was going thither without delay, that he might
take that town into his own hand, and on the morrow was going to
Tillener, a part of that manor, there came a certain knight offering
thirty marks for the tenure of that carucate of land, with the
appurtenances, by the old rent-service, to wit, four pounds, whereto
the abbot could not agree; and he had therefrom in that year
twenty-five pounds, and the second year twenty pounds.
These and such like things induced him to hold everything in his own
keeping; as it is written elsewhere, "Caesar was all in all." In the
first place, far from being inert, he commenced building barns and
byres, above all things solicitous to dress the land for tillage, and
watchful in preserving the woods, in respect whereof, either in giving
or diminishing, he confessed himself to be a very miser. There was but
one manor, and that was Thorpe, which by his charter he confirmed to
one of English birth, a villein, whose honesty he trusted the more, as
he was a good husbandman, and could not speak French.
Scarcely seven months had elapsed since his election, when, behold!
there were presented to him the letters of our lord the Pope,
appointing him a judge to determine causes, for the execution of which
he was incompetent and inexperienced, although he was thoroughly
imbued with liberal arts and divinity, as befitted a man of learning,
a literate man, educated in the schools and a master in them, known
and approved in his own province. Wherefore he invited two clerks,
learned in the law, and associated them to himself. Of their advice he
availed himself in ecclesiastical matters, employing himself upon the
decrees and decretal epistles, when an opportunity offered; so that
within a short time, as well by references to books as by the handling
of causes, he became reputed a discreet judge, proceeding in every
suit according to form of law; so a certain person said, "Cursed be
the court of this abbot, where neither gold nor silver can help me to
confound my adversary."
In process of time, becoming somewhat practised in secular causes, and
taught by an inborn commonsense, he became of so subtle a wit that all
marvelled; indeed, by Osbert Fitz-Hervey, the under-sheriff, it was
said, "This abbot is a wrangler; if he goes on as he has begun, he
will outwit us all, many as we be." Now the abbot becoming an expert
man in causes of this description, was made a justice errant, but yet
he preserved himself from error and corruption. But "envy aims at the
highest." When his men made their plaints to him in the court of St.
Edmund, because he was unwilling to give hasty judgment, or to
"believe every spirit," but preferred to proceed in due course of law,
well knowing that the merits of causes are developed by the
allegations of the parties, it was said of him that he would not do
justice to any complainant, unless by the intervention of money given
or promised.
Because his aspect was acute and penetrating, with a Cato-like
countenance, rarely smiling, it was said that he inclined to severity
rather than kindness. In receiving amerciaments for any forfeiture, it
was said that "Mercy rejoices against judgment"; for as it seemed to
many, when it became an affair of receiving money, he seldom remitted
what by law he was entitled to take.
In like manner as he advanced in wisdom, so did he advance in
thoughtful care, in respect of keeping and acquiring property, and in
creditably regulating his expenses. But even here many backbiters took
their ground, saying that he resorted to the sacristy at his own
pleasure, sparing his own purse, letting his corn lie by for a dear
season, and taking to his manors in other sort than his predecessors
did, charging the cellarer with the entertainment of those guests he
himself was bound to receive; so that by this craft it might be said
that the abbot was careful and well stocked at the end of the year;
while, on the other hand, the convent and officials were to be
accounted careless and improvident. In reply to these back-bitings, I
used to observe, that if he took anything from the sacrist, he turned
it to the good account of the church, and this none of these
slanderers could deny. And in good truth, greater and more numerous
works were carried out by the help of the offerings to the sacristy
within fifteen years after his election than in the forty years before
it.
To the other objections, that the abbot was fond of betaking himself
to his manors, I was wont to answer, and did excuse him, saying, "The
reason is because the abbot is more in spirits and in good humour
elsewhere than at home." And this was true enough, whether it were by
reason of the frequency of suitors who came about him, or from the
tale-bearers, wherefore it frequently happened that by the appearance
of severity in his face he lost much favour and grace in the eyes of
his guests, notwithstanding they fared well in eating and drinking. I
noticed this, and took an opportunity, when I was with him in private,
to say, "There are two things in which I am much surprised at you."
When he had inquired what these things might be, "One is that in spite
of your position you still encourage the doctrine of the school of
Melun, which says that from a false premiss no conclusion can follow,
and other idle sayings."
To which, when he had said his say, I added, "The other indeed is,
that when you are at home you do not exhibit the same gracious
demeanour you do when elsewhere, nor do you mix in society with those
brethren who have a strong regard for you, and have chosen you for
their lord; but contrariwise, you seldom associate with them, nor do
you, as they say, make yourself on sociable terms with them." Hearing
this, he changed countenance, and hanging down his head, said, "You
are a simpleton, and speak foolishly; you ought to know what Solomon
says--'Hast thou many daughters: show not thyself cheerful toward
them.'" I indeed held my peace from thenceforth, setting a watch on my
mouth.
On another occasion I said, "My lord, I heard you this night after
matins wakeful and sighing heavily, contrary to your usual wont." He
answered, "No wonder; you are partaker of my good things, in meat and
drink, in riding abroad, and such like, but you have little need to
care concerning the conduct of the house and household of the saints,
and arduous business of the pastoral care which harasses me and makes
my spirit to groan and be heavy." Whereto I, lifting up my hands to
heaven, made answer, "From such anxiety, almighty and most merciful
Lord, deliver me!"
I have heard the abbot say, that if he could have been as he was
before he became a monk, and could have had five or six marks of
income wherewith he could have been supported in the schools, he never
would have been monk or abbot. On another occasion he said with an
oath, that if he could have foreseen what and how great a charge it
had been to govern the abbey, he would rather than abbot and lord have
been master of the almonry, and keeper of the books, for this office
he said he had ever desired above all others. Yet who would credit
this? Scarcely myself; and not even myself, except that being
constantly with him by day and night for six years, I had had the
opportunity of becoming fully conversant with the worthiness of his
life and the wisdom of his rule.
He once related to me, that when he was a child of nine years old, he
dreamed that he was standing before the gates of the cemetery of the
church of St. Edmund, and that the devil, with outspread arms, would
have seized him, had not St. Edmund, standing by, taken him in his
arms; whereupon he screamed whilst dreaming in his sleep, "St. Edmund,
save me!" and thus calling upon him whose name he had never heard, he
awoke. His mother was alarmed at such an outcry, but having heard the
dream, took him to St. Edmund for the purpose of praying there; and
when they had come to the gate of the cemetery he said, "See, mother,
this is the place, this is the very same gate which I saw in my dream
when the devil was about to seize me"; and he knew the place as well,
to use his own words, as if he had seen it before with his natural
eyes. The abbot himself interpreted this dream thus: By the devil were
signified the pleasures of this mortal state, which would fain have
drawn him away; but St. Edmund threw his arms around him when he made
him a monk.
Once when he was told that certain of the convent grumbled at some act
of his, he said to me as I sat by him, "Good God! there is need enough
that I should remember that dream wherein it was dreamed of me, before
I was made abbot, that I was to rage among them as a wolf. True it is
that above all earthly things I dread lest the convent behave in such
a way that I shall be compelled so to rage. But even so it is, when
they say or do anything against my will, I bring to mind that dream of
theirs, and although I do rage in my own soul, growling and gnashing
my teeth in secret, I do violence to myself lest I should actually
rage in word or deed," and "My hidden grief chokes me and my heart
surges within me."
Although by nature he was quick to wrath, and easily kindled to anger,
yet with a great struggle he mostly restrained his temper in view of
the dignity he held. Concerning which he sometimes used to boast,
"This and that I saw, this and that I heard, yet I held my peace." The
abbot once said, seated in chapter, certain words by which he seemed
to eagerly desire the good-will of the monastery. "I do not wish," he
said, "that any one should come to me to accuse another, unless he is
willing to say the same openly. If any one does otherwise, I will
publicly proclaim the name of the accuser. I wish also that every
cloister monk shall have free access to me, that he may speak to me,
whenever he chooses, concerning all things necessary to him." This he
said, because our leaders in the days of Abbot Hugh, wishing that
nothing should be done in the monastery except through them, had
decreed that no cloister monk should speak with the abbot unless he
had first told the abbot's chaplain what he wished to speak about.
On a certain day he made an order in chapter, that every one who had a
seal of his own should give it up to him, and so it was accordingly
done, and there were found three-and-thirty seals. He himself
explained the reason of this order, forbidding that any official
should incur any debt above twenty shillings without the assent of the
prior and convent, as had been the custom heretofore. To the prior and
to the sacrist, indeed, he returned their seals, but kept the rest
himself.
At another time he ordered to be delivered up to him all the keys of
the chests, cupboards, and hanapers, strictly enjoining that
thenceforth none presume to have a chest or anything locked up, unless
by special permission, or otherwise possess anything beyond what the
rule allows. Notwithstanding this he gave general licence to every one
of us to have money to the amount of two shillings, if so much
happened to have been given to us by way of charity; so that it might
be expended upon poor relations, or for purposes of piety.
On another occasion the abbot said, that he was desirous of adhering
to our ancient custom respecting the entertainment of guests; that is,
when the abbot is at home, he is to receive all guests of whatsoever
condition they may be, except religious and priests of secular habit,
and except their men who present themselves at the gate of the court
in the name of their masters; but if the abbot be not at home, then
all guests of whatsoever condition are to be received by the cellarer
up to thirteen horses. But if a layman or clerk shall come with more
than thirteen horses, they shall be entertained by the servants of the
abbot, either within the court-lodge, or without, at the expense of
the abbot. All religious men, even bishops if they happen to be monks,
are to be charged upon the cellary and at the expense of the convent,
unless the abbot will do any one special honour, and entertain him in
his own hall at his own expense.