THE cellarers quickly succeeded each other, and every one of them at the year's end became involved in a great debt. There were given to the cellarer, in aid, twenty pounds out of Mildenhall, but this did not suffice. After that, fifty pounds were assigned to the cellarer each year from the same manor; and yet the cellarer used to say that this was not enough. The abbot, therefore, being anxious to provide for his security from loss and comfort, as well as for our own, knowing that in all our wants we must have recourse to him as to the father of the monastery, associated with the cellarer a certain clerk of his own table, by name Ranulf, so that he might assist him both as a witness and companion in the expenses and receipts. And lo! many of us speak many things, murmurings thicken, falsehoods are invented, scandals are interwovenwith scandals, nor is there a corner in the house which does not resound with venomous hissing.
One says to another, "What is this that is done? Who ever saw the like? There never was such an insult offered to the convent before. Behold! the abbot has set a clerk over a monk; see, he has made a clerk a master and keeper over the cellarer, as if he could do no good without him. The abbot thinks but lightly of his monks; he suspects his monks; he consults clerks; he loves clerks. 'How is the gold become dim! How is the fine gold changed!'" Also one friend says to another, "We are become a reproach to our neighbours. All of us monks are either reckoned faithless or improvident; the clerk is believed, the monk is not. The abbot had rather trust the clerk than the monk. Now is this clerk a whit more faithful or wise than a monk would be?"
And again, one friend would say to another, "Are not the cellarer and sub-cellarer, or can they not be, as faithful as the sacrist or the chamberlain? The consequence is, that this abbot or his successor will put a clerk along with the sacrist, a clerk with the chamberlain, a clerk with the sub-sacrists to collect the offerings at the shrine,and so on with all the officials, wherefore we shall be a laughing-stock and derision to the whole people."
I, hearing these things, was accustomed to answer, "If I, for my part, were cellarer, I had rather that a clerk were a witness for me in all my transactions; for if I did well he would bear witness of the good. If, again, I had, at the end of the year, become laden with debt, I should be able to gain credence and to be excused by the testimony of that clerk."
I heard, indeed, one of our brethren, a man truly discreet and learned, say something upon this subject which struck myself and others very much. "It is not," he said, "to be wondered at, should the lord abbot interpose his exertions in the safe conduct of our affairs, especially as he wisely manages that portion of the abbey which belongs to him, and is discreet in the disposing of his own house, it being his part to supply our wants in case of our carelessness or inability to do so. But there is one thing," he added, "which will prove dangerous after the death of the abbot Samson, such as has never come to pass in our days or in our lives. Of a surety the King's bailiffs will come, and will possess themselves of the abbey, I mean the barony which belongs to the abbot, as was done in the past after the deaths of otherAbbots. As after the death of Abbot Hugh, the King's bailiffs likewise desired to appoint new bailiffs in the town of St. Edmund, alleging as their warrant that Abbot Hugh had done this, in the same way the King's bailiffs will, in process of time, appoint their clerk to keep the cellary, in order that everything shall be done therein by him, and under his discretion. And then we shall be told that they are entitled to act in this manner because Abbot Samson did so. Thus they will have the power of intermixing and confusing all the concerns and rents of the abbot and of the convent; all which, indeed, Abbot Robert, of good memory, had, with due consideration, distinguished in account, and had separated one from the other."
When I heard these and such like expressions from a man of great thought and foresight, I was astonished, and held my peace, not wishing either to condemn the lord abbot, or to excuse him.
Hubert Walter, the Archbishop of Canterbury and legate of the apostolic see, and Justiciary of England, after he had visited many churches, and had by right of his legation made many changes and alterations, was on his way home from his natural mother, who lived at Dereham and was then dying.He sent two of his clerks over to us, bearing the sealed letters of their lord, wherein it was contained that we should give credit to what they should say and do. These men inquired of the abbot and convent whether we were willing to receive their lord, the legate, who was on his way to us, in such wise as a legate ought to be received, and, in fact, is received by other churches. If we were agreed to this, he would shortly come to us, for the purpose of making order concerning the matters and affairs of our church according to God's will; but if we were not agreed, those two clerks could more fully communicate to us their lord's behest. Thereupon the abbot called together most of the convent, and we came to the decision that we would give a gracious answer to the clerks thus sent to us, saying that we were willing to receive their lord as legate with all honour and reverence, and to send together with them our own messengers, who, on our part, should communicate the same to the lord legate.
Our intention was that, in the same way as we had done to the Bishop of Ely and other legates, we would show him all possible honour, with a procession and ringing of bells, and would receive him with the usual solemnities, until it shouldcome to the point, perhaps, of his holding a visitation in chapter. If he were to proceed in doing this, then all of us were to oppose him might and main to his face, appealing to Rome, and standing upon our charters. And the lord abbot said, "If at this present time the legate will come to us, we will do as is aforesaid, but if indeed he shall defer his arrival to us for a time, we will consult the lord Pope, and inquire what force the privileges of our church ought to have, as being those which have been obtained from him and his predecessors, against the archbishop who has now obtained power from the apostolic see over all the privileged churches of England." Such was our determination.
When the archbishop had heard that we were willing to receive him as legate, he received our messengers graciously and with giving of thanks. And he became favourable and kindly disposed towards the lord abbot in all his concerns, and for certain pressing causes deferred his visit to us for a time. Therefore, without the least delay, the abbot sent to the Pope the same letters which the legate had sent to him and the convent, wherein it was contained that he was about to come to us by authority of his legation, and by the authority of thePope, and, moreover, that to him was given power over all the exempt churches of England, notwithstanding the letters of exemption obtained by the church of York or any other.
The abbot's messenger expediting the matter, our lord the Pope wrote to the lord of Canterbury, asserting that our church, as his spiritual daughter, ought not to be accountable to any legate, unless he were a legate of our lord the Pope senta latere, and enjoined him that he should not stretch forth his hand against us; and our lord the Pope added as from himself a prohibition against his exercising jurisdiction over any other exempt church. Our messenger returned to us, and this was kept a secret for many days. Nevertheless, the same was intimated to the lord of Canterbury by some of his adherents at the court of our lord the Pope.
When, at the end of the year, the legate made his visitation through Norfolk and Suffolk, and had first arrived at Colchester, the legate sent his messenger to the abbot, privately letting him thereby know that he (the legate) had heard say that the abbot had obtained letters contravening his legation, and requesting that he, in a friendly way, would send him those letters. And it was done accordingly, forthe abbot had two counterparts of these letters. The abbot, indeed, did not pay a visit to the legate, either by himself or by proxy, so long as he was in the diocese of Norwich, lest it should be thought that he wished to make fine with the legate for his entertainment, as other monks and canons had done. The legate, disconcerted and angry and fearing to be shut out if he came to us, passed by Norwich, by Acre and by Dereham to Ely, on his way to London.
The abbot meeting the legate within the month, between Waltham and London, on the King's highway, the legate censured him for having refused to meet him, as being justiciary of our lord the King whilst he was in that country. The abbot answered that he had not travelled as justiciary, but as legate, making visitation in every church; and alleged the reason of the time of year, and that the passion of our Lord was nigh at hand, and that it behoved him to be concerned with Divine services and cloister duties.
When the abbot had opposed words to words, and objections to objections, and could neither be bent nor intimidated by threatening language, the legate replied with scorn that he well knew him to be a keen wrangler, and that he was a better clerk thanhe, the legate, was. The abbot, therefore, not timidly passing by matters inexpedient to allude to, nor yet arrogantly speaking upon matters that were to be discussed, in the hearing of many persons made answer that he was a man who would never suffer the privileges of his church to be shaken either for want of learning or money, even if it should come to pass that he lost his life, or was condemned to perpetual banishment. However, these and other altercations being brought to a close, the legate began to flush in the face, upon the abbot lowering his tone and beseeching him that he would deal more gently with the church of St. Edmund, by reason of his native soil, for he was native born of St. Edmund, and had been his fosterling. And, indeed, he had reason to blush, because he had so unadvisedly outpoured the venom which he had bred within him.
On the morrow it was communicated to the Archbishop of Canterbury, that the lord Archbishop of York was about to come as legate into England, and that he had suggested many evil things to the Pope concerning him, stating that he had oppressed the churches of England by reason of his visitation to the extent of thirty thousand marks, which he hadreceived from them. The legate, therefore, sent his clerks to the abbot, begging him that he would, with the other abbots, write to our lord the Pope and justify him.
This the abbot willingly did, and thereby offered his testimony that the lord of Canterbury had not been to our church, nor had he oppressed any other church, speaking according to his conscience. And when the abbot had delivered those letters to the messengers of the archbishop, he said before us all that he did not fear, even if it were the archbishop's wish to deal deceitfully with those letters. The clerks answered on the peril of their souls, that their lord did not contemplate any subtle dealings, but only wished to be justified. And so the archbishop and the abbot were made friends.
KING Richard commanded all the bishops and abbots of England that for every nine knights of their baronies they should make a tenth knight, and that without delay those knights should go to him in Normandy, with horses and arms, in aid against the King of France. Wherefore it behoved the abbot to account to him for sending four knights. And when he had caused to be summoned all his knights, and had conferred with them thereon, they made answer that their fees, which they had holden of St. Edmund, were not liable to this charge, neither had they or their fathers ever gone out of England, although they had, on some occasions, paid escuage by the King's writ.
The abbot was indeed in a strait; on one hand observing that hereby the liberty of his knightswas in peril, on the other hand apprehending that he might lose the seisin of his barony for default in the King's service, as indeed had befallen the Bishop of London and many English barons. So he forthwith went beyond seas to the King; and though fatigued with many troubles and expenses, and very many presents which he gave the King, in the first instance he could make no agreement with the King by money. For the King said that he did not want either silver or gold, but that he instantly required four knights; whereupon the abbot obtained four mercenaries. When the King had got these, he sent them to the Castle of Eu, and the abbot paid them thirty-six marks down for their expenses for forty days.
Now on the morrow, there came certain of the King's attendants, and recommended the abbot to carefully look to what he was about, stating that the war might possibly last a whole year or more, and that the expenses of the knights would consequently increase and multiply, to the endless damage of him and his church. They therefore advised him that before he left the court he should make fine with the King, so that he might be quit in respect of the service of the aforesaid knights after the forty dayswere passed. The abbot, having adopted this good counsel, gave to the King one hundred pounds for such a quittance. Thus being in favour with his sovereign, he returned to England, bringing with him the King's writ, commanding that his knights should be distrained by their fees to render him that King's service which he had got performed for them.
The knights, being summoned, alleged their poverty and manifold grievances, and prevailed upon their lord to accept two marks upon every shield. The abbot, indeed, not forgetting that he had that same year burdened them much, and had impleaded them to make them render their escuage individually, was desirous of conciliating their esteem, and in good part accepted what they with a good grace offered.
At that time, although the abbot had been put to great expenses beyond sea, yet he did not return home to this church empty-handed; for he brought with him a golden cross, and a most valuable copy of the Gospels, of the value of fourscore marks. On another occasion when he returned from beyond seas, sitting in chapter, he said that if he had been cellarer or chamberlain he would have made some purchasewhich would have been serviceable to his office; and since he was abbot, he ought to purchase something that should beseem him as abbot. After saying this, he offered to the convent a valuable chasuble, and a mitre interwoven with gold, and sandals with silken buskins, and the head of a crozier of silver and well wrought. In like manner, so often as he returned from beyond sea, he brought along with him some ornament or other.
In the year of grace one thousand one hundred and ninety-seven, certain innovations and alterations took place in our church, which ought not to be passed over in silence. Insomuch as his ancient rents were not sufficient for our cellarer, Abbot Samson ordered that fifty pounds from Mildenhall should be given by way of increase to the cellarer yearly by the hands of the prior, not all at one time, but by monthly instalments, so that he should have something every month to expend, and that it should not all be disbursed at one time of the year.
And so it was done for one year. But the cellarer with his fellows complained of this, saying that if he had that money in hand, he would provide himself and preserve a sufficient stock. The abbot, although unwillingly, granted his petition. Now, on the commencementof the month of August, the cellarer had already spent all, and, moreover, was in debt twenty pounds, and a debt of fifty pounds was about to fall due before Michaelmas.
Hearing of this, the abbot was wroth, and thus spoke in chapter: "I have often and often threatened that I will take the cellarership into my own hands on account of your default and improvidence, for all of you keep incumbering yourselves with heavy debts. I put my own clerk with your cellarer as a witness, and in order that matters should be more advisedly managed; but there is neither clerk nor monk who dares to inform me of the real cause of debt. It is nevertheless said that excess of feasting in the prior's house, by the assent of the prior and cellarer, and superfluous expenses in the guest-house by the carelessness of the hospitaller, are the cause of all this. You see," he continued, "what a great debt is now pressing; give me your advice, and tell me how this matter can be amended."
Many of the cloister folk hearing this, and half smiling, took what was said in very good part, saying privily, "All that the abbot says is true enough." The prior cast the blame upon the cellarer, the cellarer in his turn upon the hospitaller; each one justifiedhimself. We all of us well knew the truth of the matter, but we held our tongues, for we were afraid. On the morrow came the abbot, and said again to the convent: "Give me your opinion as to the means whereby your cellar can be better and more economically managed." But there was no one who answered, except one, who said that there was no superfluity at all in the refectory which could occasion such a debt or pressure. On the third day the abbot spoke the same words, and one answered, "That advice ought to proceed from yourself, as from our head."
Then the abbot said, "As you will not state your opinion, and as you are incapable of managing your house for yourselves, the management of the monastery rests solely upon myself as father and supreme keeper. I take," he said, "into my own hand your cellar and the charge of the guests, and the stewardship of everything indoors and out of doors." So saying he deposed the cellarer and hospitaller, and put in their stead two other monks, under the style of sub-cellarer and hospitaller, associating with them Master G., a clerk of his own table, without whose assent nothing could be done, either in respect of meat or drink, or in regard to disbursements or receipts.
The old purveyors were removed from their buying in the market, and provisions were bought by the clerk of the abbot, and all deficiencies were supplied out of the abbot's purse. The guests that ought to be entertained were received, and the honourable were honoured; the officials and monks, all of them alike, took their meals in the refectory, and on all sides superfluous charges were retrenched. However, some of the cloister monks said among themselves, "Seven, ay seven there were who devoured our substance, of whose devourings if any one did speak, he was accounted guilty of treason." Another would say, stretching forth his hands to heaven, "Blessed be God, who hath imparted this resolution to the abbot to correct such excesses"; and very many of them said that it was well done. Others would say, "Not so," they considering that such reform was an abatement of respect; and they styled the prudence of the abbot the ferocity of a wolf. Verily, they were again beginning to call their old dreams to mind, that the future abbot was to rage as a wolf.
The knights marvelled and the townsfolk marvelled at the things that came to pass, and some one of the common folk said, "It is a strange thing that so many monks and learned men should permit theirpossessions and rents to be confused and mingled with the possessions of the abbot; especially as they have been always accustomed to be kept distinct and apart from each other. It is strange also that they take no heed of the peril that may befall them after the death of the abbot if our lord the King should find them in such a condition."
Another person said that the abbot was the only one amongst them who acted wisely in the governing of external affairs, and that he ought to govern the whole who has the knowledge requisite to govern the whole. And there was one who said, "If there had been but one wise monk in such a large convent, who knew how to govern the house, the abbot would not have done as he has." And so we became a laughing-stock and a scoff to our neighbours.
About this time it came to pass that the anniversary obit of abbot Robert was to be sung in chapter, and it was ordered that aplaceboanddirigeshould be sung more solemnly than ordinarily, namely, with tolling of the great bells, as upon the anniversaries of abbots Ording and Hugh, on account of the noble act of the aforesaid abbot Robert, who made the division between our possessions and rents, and the rents of the abbot. Thissolemnity, indeed, was performed by the advice of certain persons, so that thus at least the heart of the lord abbot might thus be stirred up to do what was right. There was also one who thought that this was done as a reproach to the abbot, who, it was said, was desirous of confusing and mingling together our and his possessions and rents, insomuch as he had seized the cellarership into his own hands. The abbot, however, hearing the unwonted noise of the bells, and well knowing and observing that it was done against all usage, discreetly ignored the reason of its being done, and solemnly chanted the mass.
Indeed, on the next Michaelmas day, desiring to appease the murmurings of certain persons, he appointed him who had been formerly sub-cellarer to be cellarer, and he ordered some other man to be named sub-cellarer; the aforesaid clerk, nevertheless, remaining with them, and managing all things as before. But when that clerk began to exceed the bounds of temperance, saying, "I am Bu," meaning the cellarer, when he had exceeded the bounds of temperance in drinking, and without the knowledge of the abbot was holding the court of the cellarer, taking gages and pledges, and receiving the annual rents, disbursing them by his ownhand, he was called by the people the chief cellarer.
It was his habit to stroll about the court followed by a crowd of debtors, rich and poor, and of suitors of all ranks preferring various complaints, as if he were the master and high steward. On one such occasion, one of our officers happened to be standing in the court, and, upon seeing this, for confusion and shame, he wept outright, considering that this was a disgrace to our church, pondering upon the peril consequent thereon, and realizing that a clerk was preferred to a monk, to the prejudice of the whole convent.
Therefore some one, who shall be nameless, undertook, through a third party, that these things should be intimated to the abbot in a proper and reasonable manner; and he was given to understand that this species of arrogance in the clerk, which was committed to the disgrace and dishonour of the society, was very likely to breed a great disturbance and dissension in the convent. The abbot certainly did, when he heard of this, forthwith summon the cellarer and the aforesaid clerk before him, and gave orders that thenceforth the cellarer should consider himself as cellarer in receiving moneys, in holding pleas, and in all other things,save that the aforesaid clerk should assist him, not as an equal, but as a witness and adviser.
Hamo Blund, one of the wealthier men of this town, on his death-bed could hardly be persuaded to make a will. At last he did, but disposed of only three marks, and this in the hearing of no one, except his brother, wife and chaplain. The abbot, ascertaining this after the man's decease, called those three persons before him, and sharply rebuked them, especially upon this point, that the brother (who was his heir) and his wife would not suffer any one else to approach the sick man, they desiring to take all. The abbot said in audience, "I was his bishop, and had the charge of his soul; let not the folly of his priest and confessor turn to my peril. Insomuch as I could not advise the sick man when alive, I being absent, what concerns my conscience I shall now perform, late though it be. I therefore command that all his debts and his moveable chattels, which are worth, as it is said, two hundred marks, be reduced into a writing, and that one portion be given to the heir, and another to the wife, and the third to his poor kinsfolk and other poor persons. As to the horse which was led before the coffin of the deceased, and was offered to St. Edmund, I orderthat it be sent back and returned; for it does not beseem our church to be defiled with the gift of him who died intestate, and whom common report accuses of being habitually wont to put out his money to interest. By the face of God, if such a thing came to pass of any one again in my days, he shall not be buried in the churchyard!" On his saying these things, the others departed greatly disconcerted.
On the morrow of the Nativity of our Lord, there took place in the churchyard meetings, wrestlings, and matches, between the servants of the abbot and the burgesses of the town; and from words they came to blows, from cuffs to wounds and to the shedding of blood. The abbot, hearing of this, called to him privately certain of those who were present at the sight, but yet stood afar off, and ordered that the names of the evil-doers should be set down in writing. All these he caused to be summoned, that they should stand before him on the morrow of St. Thomas the archbishop, in the chapel of St. Denis, to answer therefor. Nor did he, in the meantime, invite to his own table any one of the burgesses, as he had been wont to do, on the first five days of Christmas.
On the day appointed, having taken the oaths from sixteen lawful men, and having heard their evidence,the abbot said, "It is manifest that these evil-doers have incurred the penalties of the canonlatæ sententiæ; but because both parties are laymen, and do not understand what a crime it is to commit such a sacrilege as this, I shall by name and publicly excommunicate them, in order that others may be deterred from doing the like: and that in no wise there be any diminution of justice, I shall first begin with my own domestics and servants." And it was done accordingly, we putting on our robes and lighting the candles. So they all went forth from the church, and being advised so to do, they all stripped themselves, and altogether naked, except their drawers, they prostrated themselves before the door of the church.
When the assessors of the abbot had come, monks as well as clerks, and informed him, with tears in their eyes, that more than a hundred men were lying down thus naked, the abbot wept. Nevertheless, making a show of legal severity both in word and countenance and concealing the pity he felt, he desired to be persuaded by his counsellors that the penitents should be absolved, knowing that mercy is exalted over judgment, and that the church receives all penitents. Thereupon, they being all sharply whipped and absolved, theyswore all of them that they would abide by the judgment of the church for sacrilege committed.
On the morrow, penance was assigned to them, according to the appointment of the canons; and thus the abbot restored all of them to unity of concord, uttering terrible threats to all those who by word or deed should furnish matter of discord.
Further, he publicly forbade meetings and shows to be had in the churchyard; and so all things being brought to a state of peace, the burgesses feasted on the following days with their lord the abbot, with great joy.
ACOMMISSION of our lord the Pope had been directed to Hubert, Archbishop of Canterbury, and to the lord Bishop of Lincoln, and to Samson, Abbot of St. Edmund, touching the reformation of the church of Coventry, and the restoration of the monks thereto, without any revision of their case. The parties being summoned to Oxford, the judges received letters of request from our lord the King, that this business should be respited.
The archbishop and the bishop, seeming to know nothing, were silent, as if seeking the favour of the clerks. The abbot was the only one who spoke out, and he did so as a monk for the monks of Coventry, publicly advocating and defending their cause. And by his means it was so far proceeded with on that day, that a certain simple seisin was made to one of the monks of Coventry by delivery of one book.But corporate institution was deferred for a time, that so in some degree the abbot might obey the request of our lord the King.
At that time he entertained in his inn fourteen monks of Coventry who had appeared there; and when the monks were sitting at the table on one side of the house, and the masters of the schools who had been summoned thither on the other, the abbot was applauded as noble and liberal in his expenses. Never in all his life did he seem so joyful as at that time, for the reverence he bore towards reform of monastic rule. The feast of St. Hilary being now at hand, the abbot journeyed on to Coventry in high spirits, neither was he overcome by fatigue or charges, for he said, that even if he had to be carried in a horse-litter, he would not remain behind. On his arrival at Coventry, where for five days he was waiting for the archbishop, he kept with him all the afore-named monks, with their servants, in most honourable fashion, until a new prior was created, and the monks had been formally inducted. "He that hath ears to hear, let him hear," for it is an act worthy to be had in remembrance.
After this the abbot Samson and Robert of Scales came to an agreement concerning the moiety ofthe advowson of the church of Wetherden, and the same Robert acknowledged it to be the right of St. Edmund and the abbot. Thereupon the abbot, without any previous understanding taking place, and without any promise previously made, gave that moiety which belonged to him to Master Roger of Scales, brother of the same knight, upon this condition, that he should pay by the hand of our sacrist an annual pension of three marks to that master of the schools who should teach in the town of St. Edmund. This the abbot did, being induced thereto by motives of remarkable generosity; in order that as he had formerly purchased stone houses for the use of the schools, that poor clerks should be free from house rent, so now from thenceforth they might be freed from all demand of moneys which the master of the school demanded by custom for his teaching. And so, by God's will, and during the abbot's life, the entire moiety of the aforesaid church, which is worth, as it is said, one hundred shillings, was appropriated to such purposes.
Now the abbot, after that he had built in his vills throughout the abbacy many and various edifices, and had taken up his quarters at his manor houses oftener and more frequently than with us at home, at length,as if returning to himself, and as if making good better, said that he would stay more at home than he had been used to do; and would now erect some buildings within the court for necessary purposes, having regard to internals and externals, and as if he was aware that "the presence of the master is the profit of the field." Therefore he gave directions that the stables and offices in the court lodge and round about the same, formerly covered with reeds, should be newly roofed, and covered with tiles, under the supervision of Hugh the sacrist, so that thus all fear and risk of fire might be prevented.
And now, behold the acceptable time, the day of desire, whereof I write not but with great joy, myself having the care of the guests. Lo! at the command of the abbot the court lodge resounds with spades and masons' tools, for pulling down the guest-house; and now it is almost all levelled. Of the rebuilding, let the Most High take thought! The abbot built for himself a new larder in the court lodge, and gave to the convent the old larder (which was situated, in a very slovenly fashion, under the dorter) for the accommodation of the chamberlain. The chapels of St. Andrew and St. Katherine and St. Faith were newly covered with lead;many repairs were also made, both inside the church and without. If you do not believe, open your eyes and see. Also in his time our almonry, which previously was of wood and out of repair, was built in stone; whereto a certain brother of ours, Walter the physician, at that time almoner, contributed much of what he had acquired by his practice of physic.
The abbot also observing that the silver retable of the high altar, and many other precious ornaments, had been alienated for the purpose of the recovery of Mildenhall and the ransom of King Richard, was not desirous of replacing that table or such-like matters, which upon a similar occasion were liable to be torn away and misappropriated. He therefore turned his attention to the making of a most valuable cresting for the shrine of the glorious martyr Edmund, that his ornament might be set in a place whence it could by no possibility be abstracted, and whereon no human being would dare to put forth his hand.
For indeed, when King Richard was captive in Germany, there was no treasure in England that had not either to be given up or redeemed; yet the shrine of St. Edmund remained untouched. However, the question was raised before the justices of theexchequer, whether the shrine of St. Edmund should not, at least in part, be stripped for the ransom of King Richard. But the abbot standing up, answered, "Know ye of a surety, that this never shall be done by me, nor is there a man who can compel me to consent to it. But I will open the doors of the church: let him enter who will, let him approach who dare." Each of the justices replied with oaths, "I will not venture to approach it." "Nor will I." "St. Edmund grievously punishes those who are far off as well as those who are near at hand; how much more will he inflict vengeance upon those who take away his vesture!"
Upon this neither was the shrine despoiled, nor redemption paid. Therefore passing by other things, the abbot carefully and advisedly turned his mind towards the making of a cresting for the shrine. And now the plates of gold and silver resound between the hammer and the anvil, and "the carpenters wield their tools."
Adam of Cockfield dying, left for his heir a daughter of three months old; and the abbot gave the wardship of his fee to whom he would. Now King Richard, being solicited by some of his courtiers, anxiously sought for the wardship and thechild for the benefit of one of his servants; at one time by letters, at another time by messengers.
But the abbot answered that he had given the ward away, and had confirmed his gift by his charter. Sending his own messenger to the King, he did all he could, by entreaty and good offices, to mitigate his wrath. And the King made answer, with great indignation, that he would avenge himself upon that proud abbot who had thwarted him, were it not for reverence of St. Edmund, whom he feared. When the messenger returned, the abbot very wisely passed over the King's threats without notice, and said, "Let the King send, if he will, and seize the ward; he has the strength and power of doing his will, indeed of taking away the whole of the abbacy. I shall never be bent to his will in this matter, nor by me shall this ever be done. For the thing that is most to be apprehended is, lest such things be made a precedent to the prejudice of my successors. On this business I will never give the King money. Let the Most High look to it. Whatever may befall, I will patiently bear."
Whilst, therefore, many were saying and believing that the King was exasperated against the abbot, lo! the King wrote in a friendly way to the abbot, and requested that he would give him some of his dogs.The abbot, not unmindful of that saying of the wise man—
Gifts, believe me, influence both men and gods,By the offer of gifts Jove himself is appeased—
sent the dogs as the King requested, and moreover, added some horses and other valuable gifts. The King graciously accepted them, and in public most highly commended the honesty and fidelity of the abbot.
He also sent to the abbot by his messengers, as a token of intimacy and affection, a ring of great price, which our lord the Pope, Innocent the Third, of his great grace had given him, being indeed the very first gift that had been offered after his consecration. Also, by his writ, the King rendered him many thanks for the presents the abbot had sent him.
MANY persons marvelled at the changes in the customs that took place by the order or permission of the lord abbot Samson. From the time when the town of St. Edmund received the name and liberty of a borough, the men of every house used to give to the cellarer one penny in the beginning of August, to reap our corn, which annual payment was called rep-silver. Before the town became free, all of them used to reap as serfs; the dwellings of knights and chaplains, and of the servants of the court lodge being alone exempt from this payment. In process of time, the cellarer spared certain of the most wealthy of the town, demanding nothing from them. The other burgesses, seeing this, used openly to say that no one who had a dwelling house of his own was liable to pay this penny, but only those who rented houses from others.
Afterwards, they all in common sought this exemption, conferring thereon with the lord abbot, and offering an annual rent as a composition of this demand. The abbot, indeed, considering the undignified way in which the cellarer used to go through the town to collect rep-silver, and the manner in which he used to take distresses in the houses of the poor, sometimes taking trivets, sometimes doors, and sometimes other utensils, and how the old women came out with their distaffs, threatening and abusing the cellarer and his men, ordered that twenty shillings should be given every year to the cellarer at the next portman-moot, at the hand of the bailiff before August, by the burgesses, who were to pay the rent to discharge this. And it was done accordingly, and confirmed by our charter, there being given to them another quittance from a certain customary payment, which is called sorpeni, in consideration of four shillings, payable at the same term. For the cellarer was accustomed to receive one penny by the year for every cow belonging to the men of the town for their dung and pasture (unless perchance they happened to be the cows of the chaplains or of the servants at the court lodge). These cows he used to impound, and had great trouble in the matter.
Afterwards, indeed, when the abbot made mention of this in the chapter, the convent was very angry, and took it in ill part, so much so that Benedict the sub-prior in the chapter, answering for all, said, "That man, abbot Ording, who lies there, would not have done such a thing for five hundred marks of silver." The abbot, although he himself felt angry, put off the matter for a time.
There arose also a great contention between Roger the cellarer and Hugh the sacrist concerning the appurtenances of their offices, so that the sacrist would not lend to the cellarer the prison of the town for the purpose of detaining therein the thieves who were taken in the cellarer's jurisdiction. The cellarer was thereby oftentimes harassed, and because the thieves escaped he was reprimanded for default of justice.
Now it came to pass that one holding as a free tenant of the cellarer, dwelling without the gate, by name Ketel, was charged with theft, and being vanquished in a trial by battle, was hanged. The convent was grieved by the offensive words of the burgesses, who said that if that man had only dwelt within the borough, it would not have come to the ordeal, but that he would have acquitted himself by the oaths of his neighbours, as is the privilege of those who dwellwithin the borough. Therefore the abbot and the more reasonable part of the convent seeing this, and bearing in mind that the men without the borough as well as those within are ours, and ought all of them in like manner to enjoy the same liberty within the jurisdiction, except the villeins of Hardwick and their like, deliberately took thought with themselves how this could be done.
Thereupon the abbot, being desirous of limiting the offices of the sacristy and the cellary by certain articles, and of quieting all contentions, commanded, as if taking the part of the sacrist, that the servants of the town bailiff and the servants of the cellarer should together enter upon the fee of the cellarer for the purpose of seizing thieves and malefactors, and that the bailiff should have half the profit for their imprisonment and safe keeping and for his pains therein; and that the court of the cellarer should go to the portman-moot, and judge the prisoners in common. It was also ordered that the men of the cellarer should come to the toll-house with the others, and there renew their pledges, and should be inscribed upon the bailiff's roll, and should there give the bailiff that penny which is called borth-selver, whereof the cellarer was to have one half part; butat this time the cellarer receives nothing at all from this. The intent of all this was, that every one should enjoy equal privilege. Nevertheless, the burgesses at this time say, that the dwellers in the outskirts ought not to be quit of toll in market, unless they belong to the merchant's guild. Moreover, the bailiff (the abbot conniving at the matter) now claims for himself the fines and forfeitures accruing from the fee of the cellarer.
The ancient customs of the cellarer, which we have seen, were these: The cellarer had his messuage and barns near Scurun's well, at which place he was accustomed to exercise his jurisdiction upon robbers, and hold his court for all pleas and plaints. Also at that place he was accustomed to put his men in pledge, and to enroll them and to renew their pledges every year, and to take such profit therefor as the bailiff of the town was to take at the portman-moot. This messuage, with the adjacent garden, now in the occupation of the infirmarer, was the mansion of Beodric, who was of old time the lord of this town, and after whom also the town came to be called Beodricsworth. His demesne lands are now in the demesne of the cellarer, and that which is now called averland was the landof his rustics. And the total amount of the holding of himself and his churls was thirty times thirty acres of land, which are still the fields of this town.
The service thereof, when the town was made free, was divided into two parts, so that the sacrist or town bailiff was to receive a free annual payment, namely, for each acre twopence. The cellarer was to have the ploughings and other services, namely, the ploughing of one rood for each acre, without meals (which custom is still observed), and was to have the folds wherein all the men of the town, except the steward, who has his own fold, are bound to put their sheep (which custom also is still observed); and was to have aver-peni, namely, for each thirty acres twopence (which custom was done away with before the decease of abbot Hugh, when Gilbert of Elveden was cellarer).
Furthermore, the men of the town were wont upon the order of the cellarer to go to Lakenheath, and bring back a day's catch of eels from Southrey. They often, indeed, used to return empty-handed, so they had their trouble without any profit to the cellarer. It was therefore settled between them that each thirty acres, from thenceforth, should pay one penny by theyear, and the men were to remain at home. But, in fact, at this time, those lands are subdivided into so many parts, that it can hardly be ascertained by whom that annual payment is to be made; so that I have seen the cellarer, in one year, receive twenty-seven pence, but now he can hardly get tenpence halfpenny.
The cellarer was also wont to exercise authority over the ways without the town, so that it was not lawful for any one to dig for chalk or clay without his licence. He also was accustomed to summon the fullers of the town, that they should furnish cloth for his salt. Otherwise he would prohibit them the use of the waters, and would seize the webs he found there; which customs are still observed. Also, whosoever bought corn, or indeed anything from the cellarer, was accustomed to be quit from toll at the gate of the town when he went homewards, wherefore the cellarer sold his produce dearer; which usage is still observed. Also, the cellarer is accustomed to take toll of flax at the time of its carrying, namely, one truss from each load. Also, the cellarer alone ought, or at least used to have, a free bull in the fields of the town; now many persons have bulls.
Also, when any one surrendered his burgage land inalms to the convent, and this was assigned to the cellarer, or other official, that land used, thenceforth, to be quit of haggovele, and most especially so to the cellarer, on account of the dignity of his office, for he is the second father in the monastery, or even as a matter of reverence to the convent, for the estate of those who procure our provisions ought to be favourable. But the abbot says that usage is unjust, because the sacrist loses his service. Further, the cellarer was accustomed to warrant to the servants of the court lodge, that they should be quit of scot and tallage; but now it is not so, for the burgesses say that the servants of the court lodge ought to be quit only so far as they are servants, but not when they hold burgage in the town, and when they or their wives publicly buy and sell in the market.
Also, the cellarer was used freely to take all the dunghills in the street, for his own use, unless it were before the doors of those who were holding averland; for to them only was it allowable to collect dung, and to keep it. This custom gradually lapsed in the time of abbot Hugh until Dennis and Roger of Hingham became cellarers. Being desirous of reviving the ancient custom, they took the cars of the burgesses laden with dung, and made them unload; but amultitude of the burgesses resisting, and being too strong for them, every one in his own tenement now collects his dung in a heap, and the poor sell theirs when and to whom they choose.
The cellarer was also wont to have this privilege in the market of this town, that he and his purveyors should have pre-emption of all the provisions for the use of the convent, if the abbot were not at home. Also, that the purveyors of the abbot, or cellarer, whichever of them first came into the market, should buy first, either the latter without the former, or the former without the latter. But if both were present, then preference was to be given to the abbot. Also, in the season when herrings were sold, the purveyors of the abbot should always buy a hundred herrings at a halfpenny less than other people, and likewise the cellarer and his purveyors. Also, if a load of fish or other provisions should come first into the court lodge, or into the market, and that load should not have been discharged from the horse or from the cart, the cellarer or his purveyors might buy the whole and take it home with them without paying toll. But the abbot Samson commanded his purveyors that they should give preference to the cellarer and his men, because, as he himself said, he had muchrather himself go without than his convent. Therefore the purveyors, "in honour preferring one another," if they find there is any one thing to be bought which is not enough for both parties, buy it between them, and divide it, share and share alike, and so between the head and the members, and the father and the sons, there remains an agreement in disagreement.
The poet has said, "Envy aims at the highest," and it is for this reason that I repeat these words, that when some one was perusing this narrative, and while he was reading of so many good acts, he called me a flatterer of the abbot, and a seeker of favour and grace, saying that I had silently suppressed some things which ought not to have been passed by.
When I inquired which and what sort of acts they might be, he answered, "Do you not see how the abbot grants away, at his own good pleasure, the escheats of land belonging to the demesnes of the convent, and the female heirs of lands, and the widows, as well within the town of St. Edmund as without? Also, do you not see how the abbot draws to himself the plaints and pleas of those who demand by the King's writ lands which are of the fee of theconvent, and especially those plaints from which profit arises; and those from which no gain ensues, he turns over to the cellarer or sacrist, or other officials?" Whereto I answered, as I believe the fact to be, perhaps rightly, perhaps wrongly, and said that every lord of a fee whereto there is homage, ought by right to have an escheat whenever it shall have fallen within the fee in respect whereof he has received homage. By parity of reason, there is due to him general aid of the burgesses, and also the wardships of boys, and the gifts of widows and girls, in those fees in respect whereof he has received homage; for all these things seem to belong to the abbot alone, unless by chance the abbey shall be vacant.
Moreover, in the town of St. Edmund a special custom has place, by reason of its being a borough, that the next in blood shall have the wardship of a boy with an inheritance, until the years of discretion. Furthermore, I thus answered him concerning the plaints and pleas, that I had never seen the abbot usurp jurisdiction that belonged to us, unless in default of our administering justice; but nevertheless, he had on some occasions taken money, in order that by the intervention of his authority plaints and pleasshould attain their final determination. Also, I have sometimes seen pleas which belonged to us decided in the court of the abbot, because there was not any in the commencement of the suit who would, on the part of the convent, assert jurisdiction.
IN the year of grace one thousand one hundred and ninety-eight, the glorious martyr Edmund was pleased to strike terror into our convent, and to instruct us that his body should be kept more reverently and diligently than it had hitherto been.
There was a wooden platform between the shrine and the high altar, whereon stood two tapers, which the keepers of the shrine used to renew and stick together, by placing one candle upon the stump of another in a slovenly manner. Under this platform there were many things irreverently huddled together, such as flax and thread and wax, and various utensils. In fact, whatever was used by the keepers of the shrine was put there, for there was a door with iron gratings.
Now, when these keepers of the shrine were fast asleep, on the night of St. Etheldreda, part ofa candle that had been renewed, and was still burning, fell, as we conjecture, upon the aforesaid platform covered with rags. Consequently, all that was near, above or below, began to burn rapidly, so much so that the iron gratings were at a white heat. And lo! the wrath of the Lord was kindled, but not without mercy, according to that saying, "In wrath remember mercy"; for just then the clock struck before the hour of matins, and the master of the vestry getting up, observed and noticed the fire. He ran at once, and, striking the gong as if for a dead person, cried at the top of his voice that the shrine was consumed by fire.
We then, all running thither, found the fire raging wonderfully, and encircling the whole shrine, and almost reaching the woodwork of the church. Our young men, running for water, some to the well, some to the clock, some with their hoods, not without great labour, extinguished the force of the fire, and also stripped some of the altars upon the first alarm. And when cold water was poured upon the front of the shrine, the stones fell, and were reduced almost to powder. Moreover, the nails by which the plates of silver were affixed to the shrine started from the wood, which had been burnt underneath tothe thickness of my finger, and the plates of silver were left dangling one from the other without nails. However, the golden image of the Majesty in front of the shrine, together with some of the stonework, remained firm and untouched, and brighter after the fire than it was before, for it was all of gold.
It so happened, by the will of the Highest, that at that time the great beam which used to be over the altar had been removed, in order to be adorned with new carving. It also happened that the cross, the small image of St. Mary and St. John, the chest with the shirt of St. Edmund, and the reliquaries and other shrines which used to hang from the same beam, and other holy things which also stood upon the beam, had every one of them been previously taken away. Otherwise all these would have been burnt, as we believe, even as a painted cloth was burnt which hung in the place of this beam. But what would it have been had the church been curtained?
When, therefore, we had assured ourselves that the fire had in no place penetrated the shrine, by carefully inspecting the chinks and crannies, if there were any, and had perceived that all was cold, our grief in a great measure abated: but all at once some of our brethren cried out with a great wailing, that thecup of St. Edmund had been burnt. When many of us were searching here and there for the stones and plates among the coals and cinders, they drew forth the cup entirely uninjured, lying in the middle of the great charred timbers, which were then put out, and found the same wrapped up in a linen cloth, half burnt. But the oaken box in which the cup was usually placed had been burnt to ashes, and only the iron bands and iron lock were found. When we saw this miracle, we all wept for joy.
Now, as we observed that the greater part of the front of the shrine was stripped off, and abhorring the disgraceful circumstances of the fire, after a general consultation we sent for a goldsmith, and caused the metal plates to be joined together and fixed to the shrine without the least delay, to avoid the scandal of the matter. We also caused all traces of the fire to be covered over with wax or in some other way. But the Evangelist testifies that "there is nothing covered which shall not be revealed": for some pilgrims came very early in the morning to make their offerings, who could have perceived nothing of the sort. Nevertheless, certain of them, peering about, inquired where was the fire that they had just heard had been about the shrine.And since it could not be entirely concealed, it was answered to these inquirers that a candle had fallen down and that three napkins had been burnt, and that by the heat of the fire some of the stonework in front of the shrine had been destroyed. Yet for all this there went forth a lying rumour, that the head of the saint had been burnt. Some indeed contented themselves with saying that the hair only was singed; but afterwards, the truth being known, "the mouth of them that spake lies was stopped."
All these things came to pass by God's providence, in order that the places round about the shrine of His saint should be more decently kept, and that the purpose of the lord abbot should be sooner and without delay carried into execution; which was, that the shrine itself, together with the body of the holy martyr, should be placed with greater security, and with more pomp, in a more dignified position. For before this aforesaid mishap occurred, the cresting of the shrine was half finished, and the marble blocks whereon the shrine was to be elevated and was to rest, were for the most part ready and polished.
The abbot, who at this time was absent, was exceedingly grieved at these reports; and he on his return home, going into the chapter-house, declaredthat these and the like, nay, much greater perils might befall us for our sins, more especially for our grumbling about our meat and drink; in a certain measure turning the blame upon the whole body of the convent, rather than upon the avarice and carelessness of the keepers of the shrine. To the intent that he might induce us to abstain from our pittances for at least one year, and to apply, for at least a year, the rents of the pittancy, for the purpose of repairing the front of the shrine with pure gold, he himself first showed us an example of liberality by giving all the treasure of gold he possessed, namely, fifteen golden rings, worth, as it was believed, sixty marks, in our presence, towards the reparation of the shrine.
We, on the other hand, all agreed to give our pittancy for such purpose; but our resolution was afterwards altered, by the sacrist saying that St. Edmund could very well repair his shrine without such assistance.
At this time there came a man of great account, but who he was I know not, that related to the abbot a vision he had seen, whereat he himself was much moved. Indeed, he related the same in full chapter, with a very bitter speech. "It is indeed true," hesaid, "that a certain great man has seen a vision, to wit, that he saw the holy martyr St. Edmund lie outside his shrine, and with groans say that he was despoiled of his clothes, and was wasted away by hunger and thirst; and that his churchyard and the courts of his church were negligently kept."
This dream the abbot expounded to us all publicly, laying the blame upon us, in this fashion: "St. Edmund alleges that he is naked, because you defraud the naked poor of your old clothes, and because you give with reluctance what you are bound to give them, and it is the same with your meat and drink. Moreover, the idleness and negligence of the sacrist and his associates, are apparent from the recent misfortune by fire which has taken place between the shrine and the altar." On hearing this the convent was very sorrowful; and after chapter several of the brethren met together, and interpreted the dream after this fashion: "We," said they, "are the naked members of St. Edmund, and the convent is his naked body; for we are despoiled of our ancient customs and privileges. The abbot has everything, the chamberlainship, the sacristy, the cellary; while we perish of hunger and thirst, because we have not our victuals, save by the clerk of the abbot and by hisministration. If the keepers of the shrine have been negligent, let the abbot lay it to his own charge, for it was he who appointed such careless fellows."
In such wise spoke many in the convent. But when this interpretation of the dream was communicated to the abbot, in the forest of Harlow, on his way from London, he was very wroth, and was troubled in mind, and made answer: "They will wrest that dream against me, will they? By the face of God! so soon as I reach home I will restore to them the customs that they say are theirs. I will withdraw my clerk from the cellary, and will leave them to themselves; and I shall see the fruits of their wisdom at the end of the year. This year I have been residing at home, and I have caused their cellary to be managed without incurring debt; and this is the way in which they render me thanks."
On the abbot's return home, having it in purpose to translate the blessed martyr, he humbled himself before God and man, meditating within himself how he might reform himself, and make himself at peace with all men, especially with his own convent. Therefore, sitting in chapter, he commanded that a cellarer and sub-cellarer should be chosen by our common assent, and withdrew his own clerk, saying,that whatsoever he had done he had done it for our advantage, as he called God and his saints to witness, and justified himself in various ways.
"Hear, O Heaven!" the things that I speak; "give ear, O earth!" to what Abbot Samson did. The feast of St. Edmund now approaching, the marble blocks were polished, and everything made ready for the elevation of the shrine. The feast day having therefore been kept on a Friday, a three days' fast was proclaimed on the following Sunday to the people, and the occasion of the fast was publicly explained. The abbot also announced to the convent that they should prepare themselves for transferring the shrine, and placing it upon the high altar, until the masons' work was finished; and he appointed the time and the manner for doing this work.
When we had that night come to matins, there stood the great shrine upon the altar, empty within, adorned with white doeskins above, below, and round about, which were fixed to the wood by silver nails; but one panel stood below, by a column of the church, and the sacred body still lay in its accustomed place. Lauds having been sung, we all proceeded to take our disciplines. This being performed, thelord abbot and those with him vested themselves in albs; and approaching reverently, as it was fit they should, they hastened to uncover the coffin.
First there was an outer cloth of linen, overwrapping the coffin and all. This was found tied on the upper side with strings of its own. Within this was a cloth of silk, and then another linen cloth, and then a third. And so at last the coffin was uncovered, standing upon a tray of wood, that the bottom of it might not be injured by the stone.
Affixed to the outside, over the breast of the martyr, lay an angel of gold, about the length of a man's foot, holding in one hand a golden sword and in the other a banner. Underneath it, there was a hole in the lid of the coffin, where the ancient custodians of the martyr had been wont to lay their hands, for the purpose of touching the sacred body. And over the figure of the angel was this verse inscribed:—
"Martiris ecce zoma servat Michaelis agalma."
("Behold the martyr's body St. Michael's image keeps.")
At the two heads of the coffin were iron rings, as there used to be on Danish chests.
So, raising up the coffin with the body, they carried it to the altar, and I lent thereto my sinful hand to help in carrying it, although the abbot hadstrictly commanded that no one should approach unless he was called. The coffin was placed within the shrine, and the panel was put thereon and fastened down.
Now we all began to think that the abbot would exhibit the coffin to the people on the octave of the feast, and would replace the sacred body before all of us. But we were sadly deceived, as the sequel will show; for on Wednesday, while the convent was singing compline, the abbot spoke with the sacrist and Walter the physician, and it was resolved that twelve brethren should be appointed who were strong enough to carry the panels of the shrine, and skilful in fixing and unfixing them.
The abbot then said that it had been the object of his prayers to see his patron saint, and that he wished to join with him the sacrist and Walter the physician when he looked upon him; and there were also nominated the abbot's two chaplains, the two keepers of the shrine, and the two keepers of the vestry, with six others, Hugh the sacrist, Walter the physician, Augustine, William of Diss, Robert and Richard. The convent being all asleep, these twelve vested themselves in albs, and drawing the coffin out of the shrine, carried and placed it upon a table nearwhere the shrine used to be, and commenced unfastening the lid, which was joined and fixed to the coffin with sixteen very long iron nails. When, with considerable difficulty, they had performed this, all were ordered to go further away, except the two forenamed associates.
Now the coffin was so filled with the sacred body, both in length and width, that even a needle could hardly be put between the head and the wood or between the feet and the wood. The head lay united to the body, somewhat raised by a small pillow. The abbot, looking attentively, next found a silk cloth veiling the whole body, and then a linen cloth of wondrous whiteness, and upon the head a small linen cloth, and after that another small and very fine silken cloth, as if it had been the veil of some nun. Lastly, they discovered the body, wound round with a linen cloth, and then it was that all the lineaments of the saint's body were laid open to view.
At this point the abbot stopped, saying he durst not proceed further, or view the holy body naked. Taking the head between his hands, he sighed and spoke thus: "Glorious martyr, St. Edmund, blessed be the hour wherein thou wast born! Gloriousmartyr, turn not my boldness to my perdition, for that I, miserable sinner, do touch thee, for thou knowest my devotion and my intention!" And proceeding, he touched the eyes and the nose, which was very massive and prominent. Then he touched the breast and arms, and raising the left arm, he touched the fingers, and placed his own fingers between the fingers of the saint. Proceeding further, he found the feet standing stiff up, like the feet of a man who had died that day, and he touched the toes, and in touching counted them.
It was then proposed that the other brethren should be called forward, in order that they might see these wonders; and six, being thus called, approached, and also six other brethren with them, who had stolen in without the abbot's assent, and saw the saint's body, namely, Walter of St. Alban's, Hugh the infirmarer, Gilbert the brother of the prior, Richard of Hingham, Jocell the cellarer, and Thurstan the little, who alone put forth his hand, and touched the feet and knees of the saint. And the Most High so ordering it, that there might be abundance of witnesses, one of our brethren, John of Diss, sitting upon the roof of the church with the servants of the vestry, saw all these things plainly enough.
All this being done, the lid was fastened down on the coffin with the same, and with the same number of nails, and in like manner as before, the martyr being covered up with the same cloths and in the same order as he was when first discovered. Finally, the coffin was placed in the accustomed place, and there was put upon the coffin, near to the angel, a certain silken bag, wherein was deposited a schedule written in English, containing certain salutations of Ailwin the monk, as is believed, which schedule was found close by the golden angel when the coffin was uncovered. By the abbot's order, there was forthwith written another short memorandum, also deposited in the same bag, in the following form of words: "In the year of the incarnation of our Lord, 1198, the abbot Samson, upon the impulse of devotion, saw and touched the body of St. Edmund on the night after the feast of St. Catherine, these being witnesses." And thereto were subscribed the names of the eighteen monks.
The brethren also wound the whole coffin up in a suitable linen cloth, and over the same placed a new and most valuable silken cloth, which Hubert, Archbishop of Canterbury, had offered at the shrine that very year, and they placed lengthwisea certain linen cloth doubled under it and next to the stone, to prevent the coffin or the tray whereon it stood from being injured by the stone. Afterwards the panels were brought forth, and properly joined together on the shrine.
When the convent assembled to sing matins, and understood what had been done, all who had not seen these things were very sorrowful, saying among themselves, "We have been sadly deceived." However, after matins had been sung, the abbot called the convent to the high altar, and briefly recounting what had been done, alleged that he ought not to call—and could not call—all of them to be present on such an occasion. Hearing this, with tears we sang "Te Deum laudamus," and hastened to ring the bells in the choir.
On the fourth day after, the abbot deposed the keepers of the shrine and the keeper of St. Botolph, appointing new ones, and establishing rules, so that the holy places should be more carefully and diligently kept. He also caused the great altar, which heretofore was hollow, and wherein many things were irreverently stowed away, and that space which was between the shrine and the altar, to be made solid with stone and cement, so that no danger fromfire could arise by the negligence of the keepers, as had been already the case; according to the saying of the wise man, who said,
"Happy is he who learns caution from the danger of others."