With examples like this before them—and numerous others might here be cited—it is not surprising that many of the monastic priesthood preferred to endure fines, imprisonment, and even death, to the enjoyment of that life and freedom which could only be purchased by acts of apostacy. And on this portion of our subject we avail ourselves of an eloquent passage from one of the most popular works of the day:—
The conversion of the Anglo-Saxons to Christianity was the first of a long series of salutary revolutions. It is true that the church had been deeply corrupted both by that superstition, and by that philosophy, against which she had long contended, and over which she had at last triumphed. She had given a too easy admission to doctrines borrowed from the ancient schools, and to rites borrowed from the ancient temples. Roman policy and Gothic ignorance, Grecian ingenuity and Syrian asceticism, had contributed to deprave her; yet she retained enough of the sublime theology, and benevolent morality of her earlier days, to elevate many intellects, and to purify many hearts. Some things also which, at a later period, were justly regarded as among her chief blemishes, were in the seventh century, and long afterwards, among her chief merits. That the sacerdotal order should encroach on the functions of the civil magistrate, would, in our time, be a great evil. But that which in an age of good government is an evil, may, in an age of grossly bad government, be a blessing. It is better that mankind should be governed by wise laws well administered, and by an enlightened public opinion, than by priestcraft; but it is better that men should be governed by priestcraft than by brute violence,—by such a prelate as Dunstan, than by such a warrior as Penda. A society sunk in ignorance, and ruled by mere physical force, has great reason to rejoice when a class, of which the influence is intellectual, rises to ascendancy. Such a class will doubtless abuse its power; but mental power, even when abused, is still a nobler and better power than that which consists merely in corporeal strength. We read in the Anglo-Saxon chronicles of tyrants who, when at the height of greatness, were smitten with remorse; who abhorred the pleasures and dignities which they had purchased by guilt; who abdicated their crowns, and who sought to atone for their offences by cruel penances and incessant prayers. These stories have drawn forth bitter expressions of contempt from some writers who, while they boasted of liberality, were in truth as narrow-minded as any monk of the dark ages, and whose habit was to apply to all events in the history of the world the standard received in the Parisian society of the eighteenth century. Yet surely a system which, however deformed by superstition, introduced strong moral restraints into communities previously governed only by vigour of muscle, and by audacity of spirit; a system which taught even the fiercest and mightiest ruler that he was, like his meanest bondsman, a responsible being, might have seemed to deserve a more respectful mention from philosophers and philanthropists.[134]
The same observations will apply to the contempt with which, in the last century, it was fashionable to speak of the pilgrimages, the sanctuaries, the crusades, and the monastic institutions of the middle ages. In times when men were scarcely ever induced to travel by liberal curiosity, or by the pursuit of gain, it was better that the rude inhabitant of the north should visit Italy and the East as a pilgrim, than that he should never see anything but the squalid cabins, and uncleared woods, amidst which he was born.[135]
In times when life and female honour were exposed to daily risk from tyrants and marauders, it was better that the precinct of a shrine should be regarded with an irrational awe, than that there should be no refuge inaccessible to cruelty and licentiousness. In times when statesmen were incapable of forming extensive political combinations, it was better that the Christian nations should be roused and united for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre, than that they should, one by one, be overwhelmed by the Mahometan power. Whatever reproach may, at a later period, have been justly thrown on the indolence and luxury of religious orders, it was surely good that, in an age of ignorance and violence, there should be quiet cloisters and gardens, in which the arts of peace could be safely cultivated; in which gentle and contemplative natures could find an asylum; in which one brother could employ himself in transcribing the Æneid of Virgil, and another in meditating the Analytics of Aristotle; in which he who had a genius for art, might illuminate a martyrology, or carve a crucifix; and in which he who had a turn for natural philosophy, might make experiments on the properties of plants and minerals. Had not such retreats been scattered here and there, among the huts of a miserable peasantry, and the castles of a ferocious aristocracy, European society would have consisted merely of beasts of burden, and beasts of prey. The church has many times been compared to the ark of which we read in the Book of Genesis; but never was the resemblance more perfect than during the evil time, when she rode alone, amidst darkness and tempest, on the deluge beneath which all the great works of ancient power and wisdom lay entombed; bearing within her that feeble germ, from which a second and more glorious civilization was to spring.[136]
In the final seizure of the abbeys and monasteries of England, the richest fell first. In the spring of 1540, all the monastic establishments of the kingdom were suppressed, and the mass of their landed property was divided among courtiers and parasites. The gold and silver, and costly jewels of shrines, had partly gone in that direction, and had partly been kept for the king’s use. The troubled fountain of the Reformation, it has been said, sent forth two streams—the one of sweet, the other of bitter waters.[137] “It is the duty of an impartial historian to dwell for a time by the bitter stream. Between the ignorant zealots of the new doctrines, and the rudeness of the men employed in the suppression, who were all most anxious for spoil, and who probably cared little for any form of religion, or any decency of worship, innumerable works of art were destroyed; magnificent specimens of architecture were defaced and left roofless. Statues and pictures, many of them the productions of Italian masters,—and which had, in the eye of taste, a sort of holiness independent of Saints and Madonnas,—were broken to pieces or burnt. The mosaic pavements of the chapels were torn up; and the same brutal hands smashed the painted windows, which, almost more than anything else, gave beauty and glory to our old abbeys and cathedrals. The church-bells were gambled for, and sold into Russia and other countries. Horses were tethered to the high altar; cattle were kept in stall in the very recesses of the shrines and the chapels; and these, according to good authority, were at times the least bestial of the occupants.” “The libraries, of which all the great houses contained one, numerously if not judiciously stocked,—but wherein existed, no doubt, many a book in manuscript, which we would now willingly possess,—were treated with the greatest contempt. And here we should wonder why the enlightened men who promoted the Reformation did not interfere, were we not convinced of the danger of opposing the king’s will, and the ruffianly character of the persons to whom the task of suppression and destruction was committed.” “Some books,” says Spelman, “were reserved to scour their candlesticks, some to rub their boots, some sold to the grocers and soapboilers, and some sent over the sea to bookbinders—not in small numbers, but at times whole shipfuls, to the wondering of foreign nations. A single merchant purchased, at forty shillings a-piece, two noble libraries, to be used as grey paper; and such as having already sufficed for ten years, were abundant enough for many years more.” Such is the testimony of an eye-witness.[138]
All the abbeys were totally dismantled, except in those cases where they happened to be the parish churches also, or where they were rescued in part by the petitions and pecuniary contributions of the pious inhabitants, who were averse to the worshipping of God in a stable. Cranmer and Latimer in some cases petitioned the king; but, as it is proved by their letters, they were too dependent on the court, and too fearful of its wrath to do very much. Latimer was the bolder of the two; and even before the final dissolution, he ventured to condemn in public the practice, which Henry had already adopted, of converting some of the monasteries into stables, conceiving it a monstrous thing that abbeys, which were ordained for the comfort of the poor, should be kept for the king’s horses! “What hast thou to do with the king’s horses?” retorted a noble courtier of the right stamp—“Horses be the maintenance and part of a king’s honour, and also of his realm; wherefore, in speaking against them, ye are speaking against the king’s honour!”[139] The following were the
Results.—The men who had recommended the wholesale spoliation of the church, had represented it as a never-failing fund, which would enable the king to carry on the government with none—or but the slightest taxes; and which would furnish him with the means of creating and supporting earls, barons, and knights, and of forming excellent institutions for the promotion of industry, education, and religion. But, in the event, the property was squandered in a manner which is scarcely accountable; for the king had the conscience to demand from parliament “a compensation for the expenses he had incurred in reforming the religion of the state:” and within a year after the completion of his measures, “the obsequious parliament voted him a subsidy of two-tenths and two-fifteenths for this express purpose. It is a striking fact, that none of the objects contemplated and spoken of were promoted by the money of the religious houses—always excepting the making and supporting of certain noblemen.”[140] Pauperism increased; as the whole body of the poor, which had been supported by the monks, who had funds for that purpose, were thrown, clamorous and desperate—unprepared for, and unprovided with, employment—upon the wondering nation, which had not before been aware of the extent of the evil. Education declined most rapidly; the schools kept in the monasteries were at an end; while other schools, and even the universities, were deserted. Religion was not promoted; for nothing but miserable stipends were given to the preachers, and none but poor and unlettered men would accept the office. To preach at St. Paul’s Cross had been a great object of clerical ambition; but now there was a difficulty of finding a sufficient number of preachers for that duty: and about four years after the final suppression, Bonner, Bishop of London, wrote to Parker, then Master of Corpus College, importuning him to send him some help from Cambridge; and not long after—during the short reign of Edward the Sixth—Latimer said, “I think there be at this day ten thousand students less than were within these twenty years.”
In the Country, “the rural parishes were served by priests who had scarcely the rudiments of education.” Following an example set them by the king—who required Cromwell to give a benefit to a priest who was kept in the royal service, because “he had trained two hawks for his majesty’s pastime, which flew and killed their game very well”[141]—the patrons of livings gave them to their menials as wages or rewards; to their gardeners, to the keepers of their hawks and hounds; or otherwise they let in fee both glebe and parsonage; so that whoever was presented to the benefice would have neither roof to dwell under, nor land to live upon, being but too happy if his tithes afforded him a chamber at an alehouse, with the worshipful society of the dicers and drinkers who frequented it. According to Latimer, the parish priest, under these circumstances, frequently kept an alehouse himself—thus uniting the more profitable calling of a tapster with that of a preacher of the gospel.[142]
So completely were the funds absorbed, and so greedy were the courtiers to keep fast hold of what they got, that no proper recompense was reserved for Miles Coverdale and his associates, who translated and published the first complete English Bible—the greatest achievement of the age, and the measure that most effectually promoted the Reformation. Coverdale himself was left in great poverty; and the printers, in order to cover their expenses, were obliged to put a high price upon their copies—thus impeding the circulation of the book, and thwarting the wishes expressed by the king himself.[143]