SAMSON'S PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS
The abbot Samson was of middle stature, nearly bald, having a face
neither round nor yet long, a prominent nose, thick lips, clear and
very piercing eyes, ears of the nicest sense of hearing, arched
eyebrows, often shaved; and he soon became hoarse from a short
exposure to cold. On the day of his election he was forty and seven
years old, and had been a monk seventeen years. He had then a few grey
hairs in a reddish beard, and a very few in a black and somewhat curly
head of hair. But within fourteen years after his election it became
as white as snow.
He was a man remarkably temperate, never slothful, of strong
constitution, and willing to ride or walk till old age gained upon him
and moderated such inclination. On hearing the news of the Cross being
taken, and the loss of Jerusalem, he began to use under garments of
horsehair and a horsehair shirt, and to abstain from flesh and flesh
meats. Nevertheless, he desired that meats should be placed before him
at table for the increase of the alms dish. Sweet milk, honey and such
like sweet things he ate with greater appetite than other food.
He abhorred liars, drunkards and talkative folk; for virtue ever is
consistent with itself and rejects contraries. He also much condemned
persons given to murmur at their meat or drink, and particularly monks
who were dissatisfied therewith, himself adhering to the uniform
course he had practised when a monk. He had likewise this virtue in
himself, that he never changed the mess set before him.
Once when I, then a novice, happened to be serving in the refectory, I
wished to prove if this were true, and I thought I would place before
him a mess which would have displeased any other than him, in a very
black and broken dish. But when he looked at it, he was as one that
saw it not. Some delay took place, and I felt sorry that I had so
done; and snatching away the dish, I changed the mess and the dish for
a better, and brought it to him; but this substitution he took in ill
part, and was angry with me for it.
An eloquent man was he, both in French and Latin, but intent more on
the substance and method of what was to be said than on the style of
words. He could read English books most admirably, and was wont to
preach to the people in English, but in the dialect of Norfolk, where
he was born and bred; and so he caused a pulpit to be set up in the
church for the ease of the hearers, and for the ornament of the
church. The abbot also seemed to prefer an active life to one of
contemplation, and rather commended good officials than good monks. He
very seldom approved of any one on account of his literary
acquirements, unless he also possessed sufficient knowledge of secular
matters; and whenever he chanced to hear that any prelate had resigned
his pastoral care and become an anchorite, he did not praise him for
it. He never applauded men of too compliant a disposition, saying, "He
who endeavours to please all, ought to please none."
In the first year of his being abbot, he appeared to hate all
flatterers, and especially among the monks; but in process of time it
seemed that he heard them more readily, and was more familiar with
them. It once happened that a certain brother of ours, skilled in this
art, had bent the knee before him, and under the pretence of giving
advice, had poured the oil of flattery into his ears. I, standing
apart, smiled. The brother having departed, I was called and asked why
I had smiled. I answered, "The world is full of flatterers." And the
abbot replied, "My son, it is long that I have known flatterers; I
cannot, therefore, avoid hearing them. There are many things to be
passed over and taken no notice of, if the peace of the convent is to
be preserved. I will hear what they have to say, but they shall not
deceive me if I can help it, as they did my predecessor, who trusted
so unadvisedly to their counsel that for a long time before his death
he had nothing for himself or his household to eat, unless it were
obtained on trust from creditors; nor was there anything to be
distributed among the poor on the day of his burial, unless it were
the fifty shillings which were received from Richard the farmer, of
Palgrave, which very fifty shillings the same Richard on another
occasion had to pay to the King's bailiffs, who demanded the entire
farm-rent for the King's use." With this saying I was comforted. His
study, indeed, was to have a well-regulated house, and enough
wherewith to keep his household, so managing that the usual allowance
for a week, which his predecessor could not make last for five days,
sufficed him for eight, nine or even ten days, if so be that he was at
his manors without any extraordinary arrival of guests. Every week,
indeed, he audited the expenses of the house, not by deputy, but in
his own person, which his predecessor had never been wont to do.
For the first seven years he had only four courses in his house,
afterwards only three, except presents and game from his parks, or
fish from his ponds. And if at any time he retained any one in his
house at the request of a great man, or of a particular friend, or
messengers, or minstrels, or any person of that description, by taking
the opportunity of going beyond sea or travelling afar off, he
prudently disencumbered himself of such hangers-on.
The monks with whom the abbot had been the most intimate, and whom he
liked best before he became abbot, he seldom promoted to offices
merely for old acquaintance' sake, unless they were fit persons.
Wherefore certain of our brethren who had been favourable to his
election as abbot, said that he cared less for those who had liked him
before he became abbot than was proper, and particularly that those
were most favoured by him who both openly and in secret had spoken
evil of him, nay, had even publicly called him, in the hearing of
many, a passionate unsociable man, a proud fellow, and Norfolk
barrator. But on the other hand, as after he had received the abbacy
he exhibited no indiscreet partiality for his old friends, so he
refrained from showing anything like hatred or dislike to many others
according to their deserts, returning frequently good for evil, and
doing good to them that persecuted him.
He had this way also, which I have never observed in any other man,
that he had an affectionate regard for many to whom he seldom or never
showed a countenance of love; according to the common proverb which
says, "Where love is, there is the regard of love." And another thing
I wondered at in him was, that he knowingly suffered loss in his
temporal matters from his own servants, and confessed that he winked
at them; but this I believe to have been the reason, that he might
watch a convenient opportunity when the matter could be advisedly
remedied, or that by passing over these matters without notice, he
might avoid a greater loss.
He loved his kinsmen indifferently, but not less tenderly than others,
for he had not, or assumed not to have, any relative within the third
degree. I have heard him state that he had relations who were noble
and gentle, whom he never would in any wise recognize as relations;
for, as he said, they would be more a burden than an honour to him, if
they should happen to find out their relationship. But he always
acknowledged those as kinsmen who had treated him as such when he was
a poor monk. Some of these relations (that is, those whom he found
useful and suitable) he appointed to various offices in his own house,
others he made keepers of manors. But those whom he found unworthy, he
irrevocably dismissed from his presence.
A certain man of lowly station, who had managed his patrimony
faithfully, and had served him devotedly in his youth, he looked upon
as his dearest kinsman, and gave to his son, who was a clerk, the
first church that fell vacant after he came to the charge of the
abbey, and also advanced all the other sons of this man.
He invited to him a certain chaplain who had maintained him in the
schools of Paris by the sale of holy water, and bestowed upon him an
ecclesiastical benefice sufficient for his maintenance by way of
vicarage. He granted to a certain servant of his predecessor food and
clothing all the days of his life, he being the very man who put the
fetters upon him at his lord's command when he was cast into prison.
To the son of Elias, the cupbearer of Hugh the abbot, when he came to
do homage for his father's land, he said, in full court, "I have for
these seven years deferred taking your homage for the land which the
abbot Hugh gave your father, because that gift was to the damage of
the manor of Elmswell. Now I am overcome when I call to my mind what
your father did for me when I was in fetters, for he sent to me a
portion of the very wine whereof his lord had been drinking, and bade
me be strong in God." To Master Walter, the son of Master William of
Diss, suing at his grace for the vicarage of the church of Chevington,
he replied, "Your father was master of the schools, and at the time
when I was a poor clerk he granted me freely and in charity an
entrance to his school, and the means of learning; now I, for the sake
of God, do grant you what you ask."
He addressed two knights of Risby, William and Norman, at the time
when they were adjudged to be in his mercy, publicly in this wise:
"When I was a cloister monk, sent to Durham upon business of our
church, and thence returning through Risby, being benighted, I sought
a night's lodging from Norman, and I received a blank refusal; but
going to the house of William, and seeking shelter, I was honourably
entertained by him. Now, therefore, those twenty shillings, which are
'the mercy,' I will without mercy exact from Norman; but contrariwise,
to William I give thanks, and the amerciament of twenty shillings that
is due from him I do with pleasure remit."
A certain young girl, seeking her food from door to door, complained
to the abbot that one of the sons of Richard, the son of Drogo, had
forced her; and at length, by the suggestion of the abbot, for the
sake of peace, she took one mark in satisfaction. The abbot, moreover,
took from the same Richard four marks for licence to agree; but all
those five marks he ordered forthwith to be given to a certain
chapman, upon the condition that he should take this poor woman to
wife.
In the town of St. Edmund, the abbot purchased stone houses, and
assigned them for the use of the schools, so that thereby the poor
clerks should be for ever free from house-rent, towards payment
whereof all the scholars, whether rich or poor, were compelled twice
in the year to subscribe a penny or a halfpenny.
The recovery of the manor of Mildenhall for one thousand and one
hundred marks of silver, and the expulsion of the Jews from the town
of St. Edmund, and the founding of the new hospital at Babwell, are
proofs of great virtue.
The lord abbot sought from the King letters enjoining that the Jews
should be driven away from the town of St. Edmund, he stating that
whatsoever is within the town of St. Edmund, or within the banlieue
thereof, of right belongs to St. Edmund: therefore the Jews ought to
become the men of St. Edmund, otherwise they should be expelled from
the town. Licence was accordingly given that he might put them forth,
saving, nevertheless, that they had all their chattels and the value
of their houses and lands. And when they were expelled, and with an
armed force conducted to divers towns, the abbot gave order that all
those that from henceforth should harbour or entertain Jews in the
town of St. Edmund should be solemnly excommunicated in every church
and at every altar. Howbeit it was afterwards conceded by the King's
justices that if the Jews should come to the great pleas of the abbot
to demand their debts from their debtors, on such occasion they might
for two days and two nights lodge within the town, and on the third
day be permitted to depart freely.
The abbot offered King Richard five hundred marks for the manor of
Mildenhall, stating that the manor was worthy sixty and ten pounds by
the year, and for so much had been recorded in the great roll of
Winchester. And when he had conceived hopes of success in his
application, the matter rested till the morrow. In the meanwhile there
came a certain person to the King, telling him that this manor was
well worth yearly a hundred pounds. On the morrow, therefore, when the
abbot urged his suit, the King said, "It is of no avail my lord abbot,
what you ask me; you shall either give a thousand marks, or you shall
not have the manor." And whereas the Queen Eleanor, according to the
custom of the realm, ought to have one hundred marks where the King
receives a thousand, she took of us a great gold cup of the value of a
hundred marks, and gave us back the same cup for the soul of her lord,
King Henry, who first gave the same cup to St. Edmund. On another
occasion, when the treasure of our church was carried to London for
the ransom of King Richard, the same Queen redeemed that cup for one
hundred marks, and restored it to us, taking in return our charter
from us as an evidence of our most solemn promise, that we should
never again alienate that cup from our church upon any occasion
whatever.
Now, when all this money, which was got together with great
difficulty, had been paid, the abbot held a chapter, and said he ought
to have some portion of the great advantage derivable from so valuable
a manor. And the convent answered that it was just, and "Let it be
according to your wish." The abbot replied that he could well claim
the half part as his own right, demonstrating that he had paid towards
this purchase more than four hundred marks, with much inconvenience to
himself. But he said that he would be content with a certain allotment
of that manor called Icklingham, which was most freely granted him by
the convent. When the abbot heard this, he said, "And I do accept this
part of the land to my own use, but not that I intend to keep the same
in my own hand, or that I shall give it to my relations, but for the
good of my soul and for all your souls in common, I give the same to
the new hospital at Babwell, for the relief of the poor, and the
maintenance of hospitality." As he said, so it was done, and
afterwards confirmed by the King's Charter.
These and all other like things worthy to be written down and lauded
for ever did the abbot Samson. But he said he had done nothing, unless
he could have our church dedicated in his lifetime; which done, he
said he wished to die. For the solemnization of this act, he said he
was ready to pay two thousand marks of silver, so that the King should
be present, and the affair be completed with the reverence it
demanded.
The abbot was informed that the church of Woolpit was vacant, Walter
of Coutances being chosen to the bishopric of Lincoln. He presently
convened the prior and great part of the convent, and taking up his
story thus began: "You well know what trouble I had in respect of the
church of Woolpit; and in order that it should be obtained for your
exclusive use I journeyed to Rome at your instance, in the time of the
schism between Pope Alexander and Octavian. I passed through Italy at
that time when all clerks bearing letters of our lord the Pope
Alexander were taken. Some were imprisoned, some hanged, and some,
with nose and lips cut off, sent forward to the pope, to his shame and
confusion. I, however, pretended to be Scotch; and putting on the garb
of a Scotchman, and the gesture of one, I often brandished my staff,
in the way they use that weapon called a gaveloc, at those who mocked
me, using threatening language, after the manner of the Scotch. To
those that met and questioned me as to who I was, I answered nothing,
but, 'Ride ride Rome, turne Cantwereberei.' This did I to conceal
myself and my errand, and that I should get to Rome safer in the guise
of a Scotchman.
"Having obtained letters from the pope, even as I wished, on my return
I passed by a certain castle, as my way led me from the city; and
behold the officers thereof came about me, laying hold upon me, and
saying, 'This vagabond who makes himself out to be a Scotchman is
either a spy or bears letters from the false pope Alexander.' And
while they examined my ragged clothes, and my boots, and my breeches,
and even the old shoes which I carried over my shoulders, after the
fashion of the Scotch, I thrust my hand into the little wallet which I
carried, wherein was contained the letter of our lord the pope, placed
under a little cup I had for drinking. The Lord God and St. Edmund so
permitting, I drew out both the letter and the cup together, so that
extending my arm aloft, I held the letter underneath the cup. They
could see the cup plain enough, but they did not see the letter; and
so I got clear out of their hands, in the name of the Lord. Whatever
money I had about me they took away; therefore I had to beg from door
to door, without any payment, until I arrived in England.
"But hearing that this church had been given to Geoffrey Ridel, my
soul was heavy, because I had laboured in vain. Coming, therefore,
home, I crept under the shrine of St. Edmund, fearing lest the abbot
should seize and imprison me, although I deserved no punishment; nor
was there a monk who durst speak to me, or a layman who durst bring me
food except by stealth. At last, upon consideration, the abbot sent me
to Acre in exile, and there I remained a long time.
"These and innumerable other things have I endured on account of this
church of Woolpit, but, blessed be God, who works all things together,
behold! this very church, for which I have borne so many sufferings is
given into my hand, and now I have the power of presenting it to
whomsoever I will, because it is vacant. And now I restore it to the
convent, and I assign to its exclusive use, the ancient custom or
pension of ten marks, which you have lost for upwards of sixty years.
I had much rather have given it to you entire, could I have done so;
but I know that the Bishop of Norwich might gainsay this; or even if
he did grant it, he would make it an occasion to claim to himself such
subjection and obedience from you as it is not advisable or expedient
you should acknowledge. Therefore let us do that which by law we may;
that is, put a clerk in as vicar, who shall account to the bishop for
the spiritualities, and to yourselves for ten marks. I propose, if you
all agree, that this vicarage be given to some kinsman of Roger de
Hengham, a monk, and one of your brethren who was joined with me in
that expedition to Rome, and was exposed to the same perils as myself,
and in respect of the very same matter."
* * * * *
This said, we all rose and gave thanks; and Hugh, a clerk, brother of
the said Roger, was nominated to the aforesaid church, saving to us
our pension of ten marks.