The enmity between the Franciscans and Dominicans was notorious. A friar of each order came at the same time to the side of a brook, which it was necessary to ford, and the Dominican requested the Franciscan to carry him across, as he was barefooted, and must otherwise undress. The Franciscan took him on his shoulders and carried him to the middle; then suddenly stopped and asked if he had any money with him. “Only two reals,” replied the Dominican. “Excuse me then, father,” said the Franciscan; “you know my vow—I cannot carry money.” And in he dropped him. It is stated in Surtees’ “History of Durham” (vol. i., p. 42): “The monks well knew how impossible it was to preserve peace betwixt two bodies of ecclesiastics having property contiguous to each other, and therefore wisely provided in most of their grants that neither their feoffees nor tenants should lease or alienate to Jews, nor to any religious house save their own.”
MONKS DISLIKED BY CLERGY.
The chronicler Matthew Paris says that in 1207 the preachers who were called Minors arose under the favour of Pope Innocent and filled the earth, dwelling in towns and cities in bodies of ten or seven, possessing nothing whatever, living on the Gospel, displaying a true and voluntary poverty in their clothes and food, walking barefoot, girded with knotted ropes, and showing a noble example of humility to all men. But they caused great alarm to many of the prelates because they began to weaken their authority—first of all by their preaching and secret confessions of penitents, afterwards by their open receptions.
A MONK WHO WANTED TO BE AN ANGEL.
It is related among the wise sayings of Antony the hermit and others, that a monk of Mount Sinai, finding his brethren working, said, “Why labour for the meat which perisheth? Mary chose the good part.” On hearing this the abbot ordered the monk to be put in his cell, and when the dinner-bell rang the monk was not called, which made the monk ask the reason why. The abbot replied, “Thou art a spiritual man, and needest not food. We are carnal, and must eat because we work; but thou hast chosen the better part.” The monk was then rather ashamed of his brave resolution. Another monk, John the dwarf, also wanted to be “without care, like the angels, doing nothing but praising God.” So he threw away his cloak, left his brother the abbot, and went into the desert. But after seven days he came back and knocked at the door. “Who is there?” asked his brother. “John.” “Nay, John is turned into an angel and is no more among men.” So he left John outside all night; and in the morning gave John to understand that, if he was a man, he must work; but that if he was an angel, he had no need to live in a cell.
DEATH OF AN ABBESS AT ARLES (A.D. 632).
In 632 St. Rusticule, abbess of the convent of St. Cesarius at Arles, died, and her last illness is thus related: “It happened on a certain Friday that after singing vespers as usual with her nuns, finding herself fatigued, she exceeded her strength in making the usual reading. She knew that she was shortly to pass to the Lord. On the Saturday morning she felt cold and lost the use of her limbs. Lying down on a little bed, she was seized with fever; but she never ceased praising God with her eyes raised to heaven. She commended to Him her daughters, whom she was about to leave orphans, and with a firm mind she comforted those who wept around her. She found herself still worse on Sunday; and as it was her custom that her bed should only be made once a year, the servants of God begged permission to give her a softer bed, but she would not consent. On Monday, which was the day of St. Laurence, she lost all strength, and her breathing became difficult. At this sight the sad virgins of Christ poured forth tears and sighs. It being the third hour of the day, as the congregation in its affliction repeated the Psalms in silence, the holy mother in displeasure asked, ‘Why do I not hear the chanting of psalmody?’ The nuns replied that they could not sing through grief. ‘Do sing still louder,’ she replied, ‘in order that I may receive the benefit of it, for it is very sweet for me to hear it.’ The next day her body had lost the power of motion, but her eyes preserved their lustre and shone like stars. Looking on all sides, and not being able to speak, she made signs with her hand that they should cease weeping and be comforted. When one of the sisters felt her feet, she said it was not yet time; but shortly after, at the sixth hour of the day, with a serene countenance and eyes that seemed to smile, this glorious and blessed soul passed to heaven and joined the innumerable choir of saints.”
HOW CÆDMON, A COWHERD, BECAME THE MONK POET (A.D. 680).
When St. Hilda was abbess of Whitby, about 660, the rustics used to have their beer-parties, at which they sang or recited warlike songs, turn about, to the accompaniment of the harp. One of the rustics, when the harp was passed round to him in his turn, confessed he could not sing, and left the company covered with shame and confusion. That night he lay in his cattle-shed and had a dream. Some one approached him and said, “Cædmon, sing me something.” He said he could not, and that was the reason of his leaving the party; but the visitor said he knew better, and insisted that Cædmon should sing, and sing then and there of the Creation. Whereupon in his sleep he sang some verses. On waking he remembered the verses, and told the bailiff what had happened. All who heard the verses believed he was inspired, and suggested to him fresh subjects, and he immediately turned them into sacred songs equally impressive. The abbess hearing of this, told Cædmon to become a monk and learn sacred history, which he did. He soon became famous for his extemporaneous versifications of all kinds of sacred subjects, such as the Resurrection, the future judgment, the Passion, and the heavenly kingdom. He is now known as the father of English poetry, and the metrical paraphrase now extant and known as “Cædmon” is a singularly graphic description of sacred scenes. He was the wonder of his time for this gift of song, and lived long among the monks of Whitby. He was cheery in his talk; and when he drew near his end, he asked them to bring the Housel, which he took into his hands, and solemnly said he had friendly disposition towards all God’s servants. The monks wondered what he meant. He asked them how long it would be before the brethren would be awakened for nocturnal lauds. On being answered he said, “Good; let us wait for that hour.” They waited; he then signed himself with the cross, lay back on his pillow, and died amid the music of the sacred hymns he loved so well.
A MONK SLEEPING TOO LONG (A.D. 744).