This letter is dated 1490, and is addressed to William, presumably William Wallingford, as he became abbot in 1476; it is however confidently asserted that he died in 1484. But this date may need revision. For he was succeeded by his prior Thomas Ramryge, who was not elected till 1492; ‘at all events this period of eight years is very obscure,’ says the historian of St Albans[1003]. Concerning William Wallingford we know that the chapter of Benedictine abbots held at Northampton in 1480 appointed him to visit all the monasteries situated in the diocese of Lincoln, but that he deputed two of his convent to do so[1004]. His successor Ramryge wrote a book ‘on the doings of the abbots, monks and benefactors of the monastery of St Albans’ in which Wallingford appears of a character very different from that suggested by Morton’s letter. ‘Prudent and wise in the management of his abbey and resolute in the defence of its rights,’ says Dugdale on the authority of Ramryge, ‘he was successful too in resisting the claims of Archbishop Bourchier (Morton’s predecessor) which upon appeal to Rome were decided in his favour.’ He completed the high altar at St Albans and set up a printing-press in his monastery between 1480 and 1486.
In face of this evidence the language used by Morton appears somewhat violent. Unfortunately no additional information is forthcoming from the nunneries of St Mary Prée and Sopwell. We have an account rendered by the prioress Christina Basset of Prée for the year 1485-1486, four years previous to the date of Morton’s letter, entries in which show that Christina Basset had succeeded Alice Wafer, who had been deposed for mismanagement of the revenues, but continued to live in the convent[1005]. About Sopwell we only know that Wallingford appointed a commission in 1480 to set aside the prioress Joan Chapell on account of old age and infirmity in favour of Elizabeth Webb, one of the nuns[1006].
It were idle to deny that the state of discipline in many houses was bad, but the circumstances under which Morton’s letter was penned argue that the charges made in it should be accepted with some reservation.
It remains to cast a glance on the views expressed on the state of monasteries in general literature in the 15th century, from which we gather that the religious settlement was fast sinking in popular estimation. Two poems in this connection deserve especial attention, the ‘Land of Cockayne,’ a spirited satire on monastic life generally, written about 1430, and a poem of somewhat later date preserved in fragments only, which has been published under the title, ‘Why I cannot be a nun.’
The ‘Land of Cockayne’[1007] describes in flowing rhyme a country ‘of joy and bliss,’ where flow rivers of oil, milk, honey and wine, and where stands a fair abbey of white and grey monks. Their house in accordance with the popular fancy is a delightful abode constructed out of food and sweetmeats with shingles of ‘flour-cakes’, and the cloister is of crystal with a garden in which spices and flowers grow. The monks dwell here in the greatest comfort; some are old, some are young; at times they are engaged in prayer, at times they seek diversion away from home. Another abbey, ‘a fair nunnery,’ stands at no great distance, the inmates of which live in the like ease and carelessness. Here too there is a river of milk, the nuns wear silken clothing, and when it is hot they take a boat and go to bathe in the river. They here meet the monks and disport themselves together, throwing off all restraint.
Clever and much to the point as this poem appeared to the laymen who had come to look upon convent life as a life of idleness and self-indulgence, its historical importance is exceeded by the poem, ‘Why I cannot be a nun[1008].’ It is generally spoken of as the production of a woman on the ground of its reflecting a woman’s experiences, but there is no direct evidence on the point; its author writes as one unattached to a nunnery, and by the remark that he knows more than he chooses to tell is perhaps concealing his ignorance.
It consists of an adaptation to a different purpose of the story of the ‘Ghostly Abbey,’ which was peopled with personified Virtues[1009], and to which reference has been made in previous chapters of this work. Here personified Vices are described as having taken possession of the abbey. The poem is divided into two parts, of which it seems doubtful through the state of the manuscript which ought to come first. As it stands printed it begins abruptly with a description of how commissioners received the charge to ride all over England to seek out nunneries and enquire into their state. They visited the houses of Kent and are represented as returning to the father of the writer, who asks them how they have sped and how the nuns fared (l. 28). When he has heard their report he tells his daughter, who wishes to become a nun, that he will have none of it. The girl is sore aggrieved; she deplores her ill-luck and continues in this strain:
‘Then it befell on a morn of May
In the same year as I said before,
My pensiveness would not away
But ever waxed more and more.
I walked alone and wept full sore
With sighings and with mourning.
I said but little and thought the more
But what I thought no man need hear.
And in a garden I disported me
Every day at divers hours
To behold and for to see
The sweet effect of April flowers.
The fair herbs and gentle flowers
And birds singing on every spray;
But my longing and sadness
For all this sport would not away.’
She kneels to Jesus, the king of heavenly bliss, and tells Him how she is destitute of good counsel and would commit her cause to Him. She then falls asleep and a fair lady appears to her, who calls her by name (Kateryne, l. 122), and who on being asked says her name is Experience, and that she has come with the help of Christ Jesus, adding ‘such things as I shall show thee I trust shall set thy heart at rest.’ She takes the girl by the hand and leads her through a meadow fair and green to a house of ‘women regular,’ a cloister, ‘a house of nuns in truth of divers orders old and young, but not well governed,’ for here self-will reigns instead of discipline. ‘Perhaps you would like to know who was dwelling here; of some I will tell you, of others keep counsel; so I was taught when I was young,’ says the writer. The first lady they encounter in the house is Dame Pride, who is held in great repute, while poor Dame Meekness sits alone and forsaken. Dame Hypocrite sits there with her book, while Dame Devout and her few companions have been put outside by Dame Sloth and Dame Vainglory. In the convent remain Dame Envy ‘who can sow strife in every state,’ Dame Love-Inordinate, Dame Lust, Dame Wanton and Dame Nice, all of whom take scant heed of God’s service. ‘Dame Chastity, I dare well say, in that convent had little cheer, she was often on the point of going her way, she was so little beloved there; some loved her in their hearts full dear, but others did not and set nothing by her, but gave her good leave to go.’ Walking about under the guidance of Experience the writer also comes upon Dame Envy who bore the keys and seldom went from home. In vain she sought for Dame Patience and Dame Charity; they were not in the convent but dwelt outside ‘without strife’ in a chamber where good women sought their company. Meanwhile Dame Disobedient set the prioress at nought; a fact especially distressing to the writer, ‘for subjects should ever be diligent in word, in will, in deed, to please their sovereign’ (l. 273). Indeed she declared, when she saw no reverence, she would stay in the house no longer. She and Experience left and sat down on the grass outside the gates to discuss what they had seen. Experience explained that for the most part nuns are such as they have seen (l. 310); not all, she adds; ‘some are devout, holy and blessed, and hold the right way to bliss, but some are weak, lewd, and forward; God amend what is amiss.’ She passed away and the writer awakes, convinced that she certainly does not care to go and live in a nunnery. ‘Peradventure,’ the writer adds, ‘some man will say and so it really seems to him that I soon forsook the perfect way for a fantasy or a dream, but dream it was not, nor a fantasy, but unto me welcome information (gratius mene).’
The other part of the poem advises the ‘ladies dear,’ who have taken the habit which is a holy thing, to let their lives correspond with their outward array. The writer enlarges on the good conversation and the virtues of the holy women who were professed in the past, and enumerates as models of virtuous living a number of women saints chiefly of English origin.