About the most interesting wine entry in the whole of the voluminous accounts of Durham priory is one on the roll of Adam of Darlington, bursar, for the years 1355-6. Edward III. returned hastily from the north of France in November, 1355; for whilst he was invading France, the Scots invaded English territory and surprised Berwick. In January Edward, in his turn, invaded and ravaged Scotland and recovered Berwick. On his march to the north the priory sent forth one of their monks, William de Masham, to join the King, in charge of the sacred banner of St. Cuthbert, and with him he also took a pipe of wine. May we not conclude that this was intended for the relief of the wounded on the expected battle-fields?
The last monastic record relative to wine that shall be here named tells of the self-denial of the monks of St. Albans. At a time when funds were sorely needed for the rebuilding of the refectory and dormitory, the monks agreed to forego their allowance of wine on festivals altogether for fifteen years, the value to be added to the building fund.
CHAPTER VI
MONASTIC MORALITY AND FOREST COURTS
SEEING that a well-occupied life is always acknowledged to be the least likely to fall into mischief and sin, the rule of St. Benedict—which required a monastery to be, as far as possible, complete in itself, equipped with workmen of every requisite trade and industry, and independent of external supplies—was one of great wisdom. Prayer, labour, and study, with brief occasional pauses for recreation and rest, filled up the entire day. The Austin Canons were not bound to manual labour like the monks; but in every well-ordered house of regular canons the necessity for a full occupation of time was one of the very first principles of the religious life. On the very eve of the utter and violent overthrow of monastic life in England, when, according to the average run of historians, religious life was in a state of considerable decadence, the commissioners for dissolving the Austin priory of Ulvescroft describe the canons as engaged in “embrothering [illuminating] or writing bookes in a very fair hand; making their own garments, carving, painting, and graffing; the house keeping such hospitality that except by singular good provision it would not be maintained; and the relief of the poor inhabitants.”
The continuous round of work with head or hand, blended with the frequently recurring services of prayer and praise by night as well as by day, regularly practised by those who were leading well-ordered, disciplined, and chaste lives, served to produce not a few of the finest characters that the world has ever known. Such as these were brought into prominence by some adventitious circumstances, and were but samples of thousands of others of equally pious life and conversation, but unknown outside their own precincts or the area to which their relief of the poor extended. The general attachment and devotion of the religious to their own houses, wherein they found so deep-seated and genuine a joy, and so true a knowledge of the higher life in the midst of evils and turmoils that rent the world around them, is not infrequently expressed in terms of almost ecstatic delight by chroniclers who wrote from within the walls with no idea of publicity. The genuineness of their utterances, after making due allowance for the flamboyant exuberance of the Latinity of the day, is amply shown by the freedom with which they at the same time commented on the occasional littleness displayed by superiors, or still rarer lapses from virtue. Thus, a fourteenth-century Cistercian monk who wrote glowingly of the general peace and happiness within his cloisters, and how the lives of his predecessors and contemporaries had made the whole district into a valley odorous with the sweet flowers of virtuous living, told a quaint tale of a recent abbot who would have his own name stamped on the silver spoons given to the community by a predecessor. There can indeed be no doubt that the great majority of the religious of mediæval England led a well-occupied and busy life, and found therein some measure of the true happiness they sought.
Montalembert, in an eloquent passage in his Monks of the West, when writing of happiness in the cloister, cites about forty place-names given in early days by the religious of France to their earthly homes, which are expressive of the joy or heavenly delights they therein experienced. Nor is England, considering its more limited area, one whit behindhand in the selection of names for monastic sites that tell more of gleams of spiritual joy than of mere natural beauty. Such names were peculiarly dear to the stern Cistercians. It was the White Monks who gave to Netley on the Southampton Water its first name of Lutley or Place of Joy. Beaulieu was the title chosen for their house, not only by the Cistercians of Hampshire, but by the Benedictines of Bedfordshire, and by the White Canons of Sussex; whilst Beauvale, or the Fair Valley, was the choice of the Nottinghamshire Carthusians, Belvoir of the monks of the Leicestershire cell from St. Albans, and Bella Landa, or Byland, of the Yorkshire Cistercians. To their house near Leek the White Monks gave the name of Dieu l’Encresse, or Dieulacres, and Gracedieu to their abbey near Dean Forest; the latter title was also chosen by the Cistercian nuns of Leicestershire. One of their Lincolnshire houses was known as Vaudey, a corruption of Valle Dei. Both in Somerset and Cardigan these White Monks termed their home a Vale of Flowers, whilst in Warwickshire they had the happy Valley of Merevale. Mountgrace expressed the thankfulness of the Carthusian Monks for their Yorkshire Charter-house, and the Austin Canons’ name for their Norfolk cell at Heveringham was Mountjoy.
It is the aim, however, of these chapters to deal with facts in an endeavour to dispel fictions, and not to rest on generalities or vague assertions. It is, therefore, incumbent on us to admit that scandals from time to time occurred within the cloisters in England as elsewhere, and were indeed bound to do so as long as sin exists. Sin cannot be walled out. It is wicked to gloat over sin, it is diabolical to exaggerate it. There is no good in unnecessarily dwelling upon sin, but there is also distinct evil in denying it. “It is better,” said St. Gregory the Great, who was monk as well as Pope, “to have a scandal than a lie.” That there were abuses must be frankly and honestly admitted, but in that connexion it is well to recollect the bold and vigorous writings of Lacordaire. “Abuse,” he writes, “proves nothing against any institution; if it is necessary to destroy everything subject to abuse—that is to say, of things which are good in themselves, but corrupted by the liberty of man—God Himself ought to be seized upon His inaccessible throne, where too often we have seated our own passions and errors by His side.”
When undoubted monastic evils come to light through visitations, they bring to mind a graphic story that was a favourite pulpit illustration of that saintly French parish priest of last century, the Curé d’Ars, showing the fierce and persistent temptations that beset the earnest strivers. A hermit, who doubted of the reality of the powers of darkness, had a prayer granted that he might for one day be able to see these hidden forces. Taking a journey that day to a distant city, mainly heathen, he had to pass a house of religious men of great repute. To his horror he noticed devils hovering over the roofs, and perched on every point of vantage on the walls, and at first thought that it was a terrible abode of hypocrisy. But journeying on to the bad city, and finding only one sleepy imp over the gateway, he realised that Satan knows well the power of goodness, and how best to distribute his forces.
We believe, with emphasis, after a close and absolutely candid study of the whole of the episcopal act-books of several of our more important English sees, and of a great variety of monastic records, as well as of all that has been printed pertaining to England’s old religious houses, that no unprejudiced person could possibly follow such a line of study without coming to the conclusion that goodness of life very largely predominated, and that the records of evil—all things considered—were singularly few and far between. It also appears to be well established that the general morality and uprightness of the regular clergy was a good deal in advance—as it ought to have been—of that of the secular clergy.
In proof of the last point a singular and quite novel piece of evidence can be adduced. Hitherto but little attention has been given by general, county, or local historians with regard to England’s old forests, or royal wastes appropriated to sport, which were often of vast extent and to be found in almost every shire. There is, however, a very considerable store of documents, from King John’s time downwards, dealing with the exceptional and somewhat severe forest legislation, wherein are recorded the forest offences that were brought before the Justices at the occasional sittings for Forest Pleas, and also at the constantly recurring smaller courts of Swainmote or Woodmote. With England’s forests the religious houses were most intimately associated. There was not a single forest wherein several monasteries had not particular and exceptional privileges conferred in early days by royal charters—privileges that brought their inmates or their servants into the closest connexion with these great game-stored preserves. Over the great wild stretch of Peak Forest, Derbyshire, or certain parts of it, the abbeys of Basingwerk, Beauchief, Darley, Dernhall, Dieulacres, Leicester, Lillenhall, Merivale, Roche, and Welbeck, together with the priories of Kingsmead, Launde, and Lenton all had rights. When Forest Pleas were held and chartered claims had to be put in, it almost invariably happened that those of monasteries far exceeded those of the laity. Not only had the surrounding monasteries, and sometimes those at a distance, particular rights, but, as a rule, there was at least one religious house within the forest bounds, to say nothing of the granges of more distant convents. Thus there was Ivychurch Priory in the centre of the Wilts Forest of Clarendon, Flaxley Abbey in Dean Forest, Rufford Abbey and Newstead Priory in Sherwood, Tutbury Priory in Needwood, Beaulieu Abbey in the New Forest, Pipewell Abbey in Rockingham Forest, or Chertsey Abbey in the Forest of Windsor.