FOOTNOTES:
[84] In the well-known romance of Aucassin and Nicolette, Aucassin complains that if he cannot have his beloved he cares not to go to paradise. "For there go those aged priests, and those old cripples and the maimed, who, all day long and all night long, cough before the altars ... who are naked and barefoot and full of sores.... But to hell will I go! For to hell go the fair clerks and the great warriors.... And there go the fair and courteous ladies, who have friends, two or three together with their wedded lords!" This was blasphemous enough, but it was not atheistical.
[85] This was very much like the penance imposed on Henry II after the murder of Thomas à Becket at Canterbury.
[86] These plays might be guild or even civic affairs, with the secular element predominating among the actors.
[87] His real "wisdom" probably lay in a superior knowledge of mathematics.
[88] This wizard and witch evidently used almost exactly the same means to "overcast" their victim as did Robert of Artois' wizard, when (in 1328) that great nobleman tried to destroy his aunt Mahaut.
Chapter XIX: The Monastery of St. Aliquis[89]: Buildings. Organization. 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.
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.
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!
The Abbey Cloisters
THE GALLERIES OF THE CLOISTER OF THE ABBEY OF MONT-SAINT-MICHEL (THIRTEENTH CENTURY)
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.
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.