belonging to the merchants of the Wool Staple, the market place of which was at the back of the houses; an archway opened into King Street at the northwest corner; the west side was occupied by houses, the gate into the Abbey, and St. Margaret’s; on the south side was Westminster Hall, with the Courts of the Exchequer; on the east was the Star Chamber, ending in what was called the Bridge, and a pier running out into the river. Under the Courts of the Exchequer were two prisons called “Hell,” and “Purgatory.” There was also “Heaven,” and all these places became taverns.
When one speaks of Westminster Hall it seems as if the whole of English history rolls through that ancient and venerable building. Historians have exhausted their eloquence in speaking of these gray old walls. What things have they not seen? The coronation banquets; the entertainments of kings; the proclamations; the solemn oaths; the State trials; we cannot, if we would, keep out of Westminster Hall. It was once the High Court of Justice: three Judges sat here in different parts of the Hall, hearing as many cases.
The State trials may be left to Macaulay and the historians. I think that we are here most concerned in that curious trial of the ‘prentices which followed “Evil May Day,” 1547.
Everybody knows that the Church of St. Andrew Undershaft is so called because a tall May-pole, the highest in London, was laid along, under a pentice, the side of the church and a row of houses called Shaft Alley. Every May Day the pole was taken off its iron hooks and set up on the south side of the church in the street, being higher than the steeple itself.Now, as to the connection of the steeple with Westminster Hall, it shall be told in the words of Maitland:
“About two Years after this, an Accident happened, which occasioned the Epithet ofEvilto be added to this Day of Rejoicing, and that Day was afterward noted by the Name ofEvil May Day. In the ninth Year of the Reign of KingHenryVIII. A great Heart-burning, and malicious Grudge, grew amongst theEnglishmenof the City ofLondon, against Strangers; and namely, the Artificers found themselves much aggrieved, because such Number of Strangers were permitted to resort hither with their Wares, and to exercise Handicrafts, to the great Hindrance and Impoverishing of the King’s Liege People: Which Malice grew to such a Point, that oneJohn Lincolne, a Broker, busied himself so far in the Matter, that aboutPalm-Sunday, or the fifth ofApril, he came to one Dr.Standish, with these Words; ‘Sir, I understand that you shall preach at theSpitalonMondayinEasterWeek; and so it is, thatEnglishmen, both Merchants and others, are undone by Strangers, who have more Liberty in this Land, than they, which is against Reason, and also against the Commonweal of this Realm. I beseech you, therefore, to declare this in your Sermon, and in so doing you shall deserve great Thanks of my Lord-Mayor, and of all his Brethren.’ And herewith he offered unto the said Doctor a Bill containing the Matter more at large: But DoctorStandish, wisely considering, that there might more Inconvenience arise from it, than he would wish, if he should deal in such Sort, both refused the Bill, and toldLincolneplainly, that he meant not to meddle with any such Matter in his Sermon.
“Whereupon the saidLincolne, went unto one Dr.Bell, orBele, a Canon of the aforesaidSpital, that was appointed likewise to preach uponTuesdayinEasterWeek, at the sameSpital, whom he persuaded to read his said Bill in his Pulpit. Which Bill contained (in effect) the Grievances that many found from Strangers, for taking the Livings away from Artificers and the Intercourse from Merchants, the Redress whereof must come from the Commons united together; for, as the Hurt touched all Men, so must all set to their helping Hands: Which Letter he read, or the chief Part thereof, comprehending much seditious Matter, and then he began with this Sentence;Cœlum Cœli Domino, Terrain autem dedit Filiis Hominum, i. e.,The Heavens to the Lord of Heaven, but the Earth he hath given to the children of Men: And upon this Text he shewed how this Land was given toEnglishmen, and, as Birds defend their Nests, so oughtEnglishmento cherish and maintain themselves, and to hurt and grieve Aliens for Respect of their Commonwealth: And on this Text,Pugna pro Patria, i. e.,Fight for your Country, he brought in, how (by God’s Law) it was lawful to fight for their Country, and thus he subtilly moved the People to oppose Strangers. By this Sermon, many a light-headed Person took Courage, and spoke openly against them: And by chance there had been divers ill Things of late done by Strangers, in and about the City ofLondon, which kindled the People’s Rancour the more furiously against them.
“The twenty-eighth Day ofApril, divers young Men of the City picked Quarrels with certain Strangers, as they passed along the Streets: Some they smote and buffeted, and some they threw into the Channel; for which the Lord Mayor sent some of theEnglishmento prison, asStephen Studley, Skinner,Stevenson Betts, and others.
“Then suddenly rose a secret Rumour, and no Man could tell how it began, that onMay-Day, next following, the City would slay all the Aliens, insomuch that divers Strangers fled out of the City.
“This Rumour came to the Knowledge of the King’s Council; whereupon the Lord Cardinal sent for the Mayor, and other of the Council of the City, giving them to understand what he had heard.
“The Lord-Mayor, as one ignorant of the Matter, told the Cardinal, that he doubted not so to govern the City, but that Peace should be obtained.
“The Cardinal willed him so to do, and to take heed, that, if any riotous Attempt were intended, he should by good Policy prevent it.
“The Mayor coming from the Cardinal’s House, about four o’Clock in the Afternoon, onMay-Eve, sent for his Brethren to theGuildhall; yet was it almost seven o’Clock before the Assembly was set. Upon Conference had of the Matter, some thought it necessary, that a substantial Watch should be set of honest Citizens, which might withstand the Evil-Doers, if they went about any Misrule: Others were of contrary Opinion, as rather thinking it best, that every Man should be commanded to shut up his Doors, and to keep his Servants within. Before eight o’Clock, the Recorder was sent to the Cardinal with these Opinions, who, hearing the same, allowed the latter: And then the Recorder, and SirThomas More, late Under-Sheriff ofLondon, and of the King’s Council, came back again to theGuildhall, half an Hour before nine o’Clock, and there shewed the Pleasure of the King’s Council; whereupon every Alderman sent tohis Ward, that no Man, after nine o’Clock, should stir out of his House, but keep his Doors shut, and his Servants within, until nine o’Clock in the Morning.
“After this Command was given in the Evening, as SirJohn Mundy, Alderman, came from his Ward, he found two young Men inCheap, playing at the Bucklers, and a great many young Men looking on them; for the Command seemed to be scarcely published: He ordered them to leave off; and, because one of them asked, Why? he would have them sent to theCompter: But the ‘Prentices resisted the Alderman, taking the young Man from him, and cried,‘Prentices, ‘Prentices! Clubs, Clubs!then out of every Door came Clubs, and other Weapons, so that the Alderman was put to Flight. Then more People arose out of every Quarter, and forth came Serving-men, Watermen, Courtiers, and others, so that by eleven o’Clock there were inCheapsix or seven hundred; and out of St.Paul’sChurch-yard came about three hundred. From all Places they gathered together, and broke open theCompter, took out the Prisoners committed thither by the Lord-Mayor for hurting the Strangers; they went also toNewgate, and took outStudleyandBetts, committed for the like Cause. The Mayor and Sheriffs were present, and made Proclamation in the King’s Name, but were not obeyed.
“Being thus gathered in crowds, they ran thro’ St.Nicholas’s Shambles; and at St.Martin’sGate SirThomas More, and others, met them, desiring them to return to their Homes, which they had almost persuaded them to do; when some within St.Martin’s, throwing Sticks and Stones, hurt several who were with SirThomas More, particularly oneNicholas Dennis, a Serjeant at Arms, who, being much wounded,cried out,Down with them; and then all the unruly Persons ran to the Doors and Windows of the Houses within St.Martin’s, and spoiled all they found. After that they ran intoCornhill, and so on to a House East ofLeadenhall, called theGreen-Gate, where dwelt oneMewtas, aPicard, orFrenchman, with whom dwelt several otherFrenchmen. These they plundered; and, if they had foundMewtas, they would have struck off his Head.
“They ran to other Places, and broke open and plundered the Houses of Strangers, and continued thus till three o’Clock in the Morning, at which Time they began to withdraw; but by the Way they were taken by the Mayor and others, and sent to theTower,Newgate, and theCompters, to the Number of three hundred.
“The Cardinal, being advertised of this by SirThomas Parre, sent him immediately to inform the King of it atRichmond; and he forthwith sent to learn what Condition the City was in. SirRoger Cholmeley, Lieutenant of the Tower, during the Time of this Business, shot off certain Pieces of Ordnance against the City, but did no great Hurt. About five o’Clock in the Morning the Earls ofShrewsburyandSurrey,Thomas Dockery, Lord Prior of St.John’s,George Nevil, LordAbergavenny, and others, came toLondon, with what Forces they could get together; so did the Inns of Court: But, before they came, the Business was all over.
“Then were the Prisoners examined, and the Sermon of DoctorBellcalled in Question, and he sent to theTower. A Commission ofOyerandTerminerwas directed to the Duke ofNorfolk, and other Lords, for the Punishment of this Insurrection. The second ofMay, the Commissioners, with the Lord-Mayor, Aldermen, and Justices, went toGuildhall, where many of the Offenders were indicted; whereupon they were arraigned, and pleadedNot Guilty, having one Day given them, ‘till the fourth ofMay.
“On which Day, the Lord-Mayor, the Duke ofNorfolk, the Earl ofSurrey, and others, came to sit in theGuildhall. The Duke ofNorfolkentered the City with one thousand three hundred Men, and the Prisoners were brought thro’ the Streets tied with Ropes; some Men, some Lads but of thirteen or fourteen Years old, to the Number of two hundred and seventy-eight Persons. That DayJohn Lincolne, and divers others were indicted; and the next Day thirteen were adjudged to be drawn, hanged and quartered; for Execution whereof ten Pair of Gallows were set up in divers Places of the City, as atAldgate,Blanchapleton,Grass-Street,Leadenhall, before each of theCompters, atNewgate, St.Martin’s, atAldersgate, andBishopsgate: And these Gallows were set upon Wheels to be removed from Street to Street, and from Door to Door, as the Prisoners were to be executed.
“On the seventh ofMay,Lincolne,Sherwin, and the two Brothers namedBetts, with several of their Confederates, were found guilty, and received Sentence as the former; when, within a short Time after, they were drawn upon Hurdles to the Standard in Cheapside; whereLincolnewas first executed; but, as the rest were about to be turned off, a Reprieve came from the King to stay the Execution: upon which the People shouted, crying,God save the King; and thereupon the Prisoners were carried back to Prison, there to attend the King’s farther Pleasure.
“After all this, all the Armed Men, which beforehad kept Watch in the City, were withdrawn; which gave the Citizens Hope that the King’s Displeasure towards them was not so great as themselves conceived: Whereupon, on the eleventh ofMay, the King residing at his Manor ofGreenwich, the Mayor, Recorder, and divers Aldermen, went in Mourning Gowns to wait upon him; and having Admittance to thePrivy-ChamberDoor, after they had attended there for some Time, the King, attended with several of his Nobles, came forth; whereupon they falling upon their Knees, the Recorder in the Name of the rest spake as followeth:
“‘Most Natural, Benign, and our Sovereign Lord, We well know that your Grace is highly displeased with us of your City ofLondon, for the great Riot done and committed there; wherefore we assure your Grace, that none of us, nor no honest Person, were condescending to that Enormity; yet we, our Wives and Children, every Hour lament that your Favour should be taken from us; and forasmuch as light and idle Persons were the Doers of the same, we most humbly beseech your Grace to have Mercy on us for our Negligence, and Compassion on the Offenders for their Offences and Trespasses.’
“To which the King replied; ‘Truly you have highly displeased and offended us, and therefore you ought to wail and be sorry for the same; and whereas you say thatyou the substantial Citizens were not consenting to what happened, it appeareth to the contrary; for you never moved to let them, nor stirred to fight with those whom you say were so small a Number of light Persons; wherefore we must think, and you cannot deny, but that you did wink at the Matter: Therefore at this Time we will neither grant you our Favournor Goodwill, nor to the Offenders Mercy; but resort to our LordChancellor, and he shall make you an Answer, and declare to you our Pleasure.’
“At this Speech of the King’s, the Citizens departed very sorrowful; but, having Notice that the King intended to be at his Palace ofWestminsteron the twenty-second ofMay, they resolved to repair thither, which they did accordingly, though not without the Appointment of CardinalWolsey, who was then LordChancellor; when as a Cloth of Estate being placed at the upper End ofWestminster-Hall, the King took his Place, and after him the Cardinal, the Dukes ofNorfolkandSuffolk, the Earls ofWiltshire,Surry,Shrewsbury, andEssex, with several others; the Lord-Mayor, Recorder, and Aldermen, together with many of the Commons, attending in their Liveries; when, about nine o’Clock, Order was given for the bringing forth the Prisoners, which was accordingly done; so that in they came in their Shirts, bound together with Ropes, and Halters about their Necks, to the Number of four hundred Men, and eleven Women, one after another; which Sight so moved several of the Nobility, that they became earnest Intercessors to the King for their Pardon.
“When Silence was made, and they were all come into the King’s Presence, the Cardinal sharply rebuked the Mayor, Aldermen, and Commonalty, for their negligence; and then, addressing his Speech to the Prisoners, he told them, That for their Offences against the Laws of the Realm, and against his Majesty’s Crown and Dignity, they had deserved Death: Whereupon they all set up a piteous Cry, saying,Mercy, Gracious Lord, Mercy; which so moved the King, that, at the earnest Intreaty of the Lords, he pronounced thempardoned; upon which giving a great Shout, they threw up their Halters towards the Roof of the Hall, crying,God save the King. When this News was bruited abroad, several that had been in the Insurrection, and had escaped, came in upon their own accords with Ropes about their Necks, and received the Benefit of the King’s Pardon; after which the Cardinal gave them several good Exhortations tending to Loyalty and Obedience; and so dismissed them, to their no small Joy; and within a while after the Gallowses that were set in the several Parts of the City, were taken down, which so far pleased the Citizens, that they expressed infinite Thanks to the King for his Clemency.
“This Company was called theBlack Waggon; and the Day whereon this Riot and Insurrection happened, bears the Name ofEvil May-Dayto these our present Times. And thus have you heard how the Citizens escaped the King’s Displeasure, and were again received into Favour; though, as it is thought, not without paying a considerable Sum of Money to the Cardinal to stand their Friend, for at that Time he was in such Power, that he did all with the King.
“These greatMayingsandMay-Games, with the triumphant Setting-up the great Shaft, a principal May-pole inLeadenhall-Streetbefore the Parish Church of St.Andrew, thence calledUndershaft, were not so commonly used after this Insurrection onMay-Day, 1517, as before.”
The story must be finished, though this part of it does not belong to Westminster, by showing the end of the shaft.
After the Evil May-Day it was never raised again.This proves the growing dread, in the minds of the officials, of the mob when they came together. The after history of London is full of this dread, which experience fully justifies. The famous May-pole hung upon its hooks from the year 1517 to the year 1549, the third of Edward VI. There flourished at that time a certain person named Sir Stephen, a curate of St. Katharine Cree, a fanatic of the most abominable kind. He wanted to turn the Reformation into a Revolution; all the ancient ways were to be abandoned or turned upside down. He wanted the names of churches to be altered; the names of the days of the week to be altered—“Saturday” is sheer pagan, and so is Friday, for we all know who Freya was; he wanted fishdays to be any days except Friday and Saturday; and Lent to be observed at any time of the year except the time between Shrove Tuesday and Easter Sunday. “I have often,” says Stow, “seen this man forsaking the pulpit of his said parish church, preach out of a high elm tree in the midst of the churchyard, and then entering the church, forsaking the altar, to have sung his high mass in English upon a tomb of the dead towards the north.” Now on one occasion Sir Stephen preached at Paul’s Cross, and he told the people that by naming the church St. Andrew Undershaft they made an idol of a May-pole. “I heard his sermon,” says Stow, “and I saw the effect that followed, for in the afternoon of that present Sunday, the neighbours and tenants to the said bridge over whose doors the said shaft then leaned, after they had well dined, to make themselves strong, gathered more help and with great labour rending the shaft from the hooks, whereon it had rested two and thirty years, they sawed it in pieces, every man taking for his share so much as hadlain over his door and stall, the length of his house: and they of the alley divided among them so much as had lain over their alley gate. Thus was this idol, as he, poor man, termed it, mangled and after burned.”
Many great and memorable events took place in the Hall, apart from the grand functions of State, or beside them. For instance, here began the massacre of the Jews at the coronation of Richard I. Here, in the same reign, the Archbishop and the Lords sat to pronounce sentence upon William Longbeard, who came with thousands of followers, so that they dared not pronounce sentence upon him. Here they brought the prisoners of Lincoln, a hundred and two Jews charged with crucifying a child, Hugh of Lincoln. That must have been a strange sight, this company of aliens who could never blend with the people among whom they lived: different in face, different in ideas, different in religion. They are dragged into the Hall, roped together: the prospect of death is before them; they are accused of a crime which they would not dare to commit, even at the very worst time of oppression; even when the wrongs and injustices and hatred of the people had driven them well-nigh mad. At the end of the Hall sit their judges; the men-at-arms are at their side to let none escape; the Hall is filled with people eager for their blood. The witnesses are called: they have heard this said and that said; it is all hearsay—there is nothing but hearsay; and at the close eighteen of them are sentenced to be hanged, and the rest are driven back to prison, lucky if, after many years, they live to receive the King’s release.
Stalls and shops for books, ribbons, and other things were set up along the sides of the Hall; and it wasalways a great place for lawyers. Lydgate says, speaking of the Hall:
Within this Hall, neither riche nor yet poore,Wolde do for aught, althogh I sholde dye:Which seeing I gat me out of the doore,Where Flemynge on me began for to cry,Master, what will you require or by?Fyne felt hatts or spectacles to rede,Lay down your sylver and here you may spede.
Within this Hall, neither riche nor yet poore,Wolde do for aught, althogh I sholde dye:Which seeing I gat me out of the doore,Where Flemynge on me began for to cry,Master, what will you require or by?Fyne felt hatts or spectacles to rede,Lay down your sylver and here you may spede.
Within this Hall, neither riche nor yet poore,Wolde do for aught, althogh I sholde dye:Which seeing I gat me out of the doore,Where Flemynge on me began for to cry,Master, what will you require or by?Fyne felt hatts or spectacles to rede,Lay down your sylver and here you may spede.
And so enough of Westminster Hall and the History of England.
ILEAVE to courtly hands, to ecclesiastics of rank, to those who understand the pomp and dignity of history, the Abbey Church, with its royal memories and national associations. It is for Deans to dwell at length upon this stately shrine of England’s story. Those whose place is duly assigned and reserved for them at Coronations, Functions, and Funerals in this Church; those whose office brings them into personal relations with Kings and Queens, Princes and Princesses; those who belong to the Palace as much as to the Abbey, are the fittest persons to write on the events and episodes belonging to the Church, and to enumerate the chapels, altars, tombs, and monuments within its walls. Again, there is the building itself: this has been described over and over again by architects and the students of architecture; stone by stone the structure has been examined; hardly one that has not been assigned to its builder and its date. We have been taught all that remains of Edward the Confessor; all that Henry the Third began and his son continued; what Richard the Second raised; what is due to Henry the Seventh and what to Wren. We may leave aside, for the most part, the ceremonies of state, Coronations,
ARMS OF THE ABBEY OF WESTMINSTER.
ARMS OF THE ABBEY OF WESTMINSTER.
ARMS OF THE ABBEY OF WESTMINSTER.
Weddings, Funerals, the monuments, and the architecture. Are they not written in the book of the Dean? Some of us, when we read of these great Functions, fall into the reflection that in that time, as in this, the place of the scholar, the poet, or the storyteller would have been outside among the crowd; the man of letters would have been distinguished beyond expectation had he been invited to stand somewhere far back in the nave—if he had secured a point of vantage near the North Porch, or anywhere in the Abbey Precinct where he could stand and see the Procession sweep past, the Procession of Heralds, Trumpets, Knights and Barons, and rich Lords, Bishops, and Mitered Abbots, Pursuivants and more Trumpets, splendid banners and canopies and shields borne by Nobles, Esquires, and the King’s Valets: lastly, their Highnesses the King and the Queen themselves. If he should happily stand near the Porch, he would hear the rolling of the organ and the voices of those who sing. When the soldiers rushed out of the church at William’s crowning to hack and cut down the people in suspicion of a tumult, the poet was among them and was glad to escape with a broken head; when King Richard’s men-at-arms slew the Jews, the poet who was then outside among them thought himself happy that he was not mistaken for one of those unfortunates; the poet was standing outside the Abbey Church—in a very good place too—when, with Pageant,songs, and flowers, the whole world turned out to welcome Good Queen Bess. At every Coronation before and since that festival he has formed part of the outside throng. When the Rejoicing and the Thanksgiving for the happy closing of Fifty Years were solemnly celebrated, seven years ago, the poets and the men of letters occupied their old, old place: it was the curb. All that was really noble and great and worthy of honor in the nation was invited within the walls. For literature was left, according to immemorial custom, the usual struggle for a place upon the curb. The proper place for the man of letters in this country has always been, and is still, the curb.
Here let us stand, then, happy at least in hearing the discourse of the people. When the Procession has been reformed and has swept past us again, we will betake ourselves to coffee-house or tavern, there to talk about it, while the great folk—the Quality—sit down to their banquet in Westminster Hall. If we take from Westminster Abbey its Kings and Princes, its Abbots, its Coronations, its Funerals, what remains? Exactly that which remains when you have taken out of history the Kings, Barons, and great Lords. There remain the people—in this case the monks, with the servants of the Abbey. If we consider the daily life of one monk, we shall understand pretty well the daily life of all; and we shall presently realize that our old friend Barnaby Googe is not an authority to be altogether trusted; that the monks of Thorney were not all gross sensualists, wallowing in their animalism; and that on the other hand most of them were not, and in the nature of things could not be, followers of the austere and saintly life, great scholars, or great divines. The unremembered life of Hugh de
PLAN OF THE BENEDICTINE ABBEY OF WESTMINSTER.(By kind permission of Professor Henry Middleton.)
PLAN OF THE BENEDICTINE ABBEY OF WESTMINSTER.(By kind permission of Professor Henry Middleton.)
PLAN OF THE BENEDICTINE ABBEY OF WESTMINSTER.
(By kind permission of Professor Henry Middleton.)
Steyninge, in Religion Brother Ambrosius, sometime monk in this Benedictine House, may be chosen to illustrate the Rule, as it was practiced in the fifteenth century, just before the Dissolution.
Hugh de Steyninge was the younger son of a knightly house; the family originally, as the name shows, held lands in Steyninge, east of Chichester; at the time of his father’s death—he was killed fighting for the Red Rose at Tewkesbury—there was still a small estate in Sussex, to which the eldest son succeeded; the second son was sent to London, where he was articled to Sir Ralph Jocelyne, Draper, Lord Mayor in the year 1476. (This son afterward rose to be Sheriff, and would have been Mayor, but that he died of the sweating sickness.) A third son went abroad and entered the service of the Duke of Tuscany. What became of him is not known. Hugh, the youngest, for whom there seemed nothing but the poor lot of becoming bailiff or steward to his brother, was so fortunate as to receive admission to the most wealthy Monastery in the kingdom. He was thus assured of an easy life, with the chance of rising, should he show ability, to a position of very considerable dignity and authority.
It was now extremely difficult to enter one of the richer Abbeys; a lad of humble origin had no chance of admission. Sometimes Founders’ or Benefactors’ kin possessed the right of nomination; sometimes admission was bought by money or the gift of land; sometimes it was obtained by the private interest of some great man.
At this time, however,—about the year 1472,—the monastic life, owing to many causes, had lost some of its attractions. First, there was going on a long and
HABIT OF A NOVICE OF THE ORDER OF ST. BENEDICT.
HABIT OF A NOVICE OF THE ORDER OF ST. BENEDICT.
HABIT OF A NOVICE OF THE ORDER OF ST. BENEDICT.
exhausting civil war, in which many noble houses were doomed to destruction, and the flower of English youth had to perish. Men had become too valuable to be shut up in a cloister. Again, the spread of Lollard opinions made all classes of people question the advantages of the monastic life. Thirdly, the wars hadgreatly damaged the value of the monastic property, so that an Abbey no longer supported so many monks as formerly. Thus the number of monks decreased steadily. At Westminster there had been eighty; before the Dissolution this number sank below thirty; at Canterbury a hundred and fifty became fifty-four; at Gloucester a hundred went down to thirty-six. Probably those who remained had no desire to return to the former and longer roll, which would involve a diminution in the splendor of their establishment. We must remember that the external splendor of the Abbey, which does not necessarily involve luxury and gluttony, was a thing always greatly regarded by the Brethren: it magnified the Order; it glorified the religious life. Even the most ascetic desired a splendid service, rich robes, vessels of gold and silver, gorgeous tapers, a fine organ, a well-trained choir of glorious voices, troops of servants, and stately buildings. So that this remarkable diminution of numbers may have been due, in some measure, to the increase of this kind of luxury.
However, there is no doubt that when little Hugh de Steyninge was admitted to the Abbey of St. Peter the House was at its highest point of splendor. It was the richest of all the English Houses; its manors had partly recovered from the losses caused by the civil wars; the Abbot was greater than any bishop; he lived in a palace; he entertained kings. The Brethren were surrounded by lay brothers and servants; the early austerities of the Rule had long been relaxed; the buildings of the Abbey, Church, Cloisters, Chapter House were more stately than those of any other House; the situation, close to the Palace and within easy reach of the Port and Markets of London, wasmost desirable. Nobody asked the boy if he would like to be a monk; nobody in those days ever consulted boys on such subjects; the child was told that he would be a monk, and he obeyed.
They offered little Hugh in the Church as a Novice. First they cut his long curls round, offering the hair to the Abbey, an act which symbolized something, but I know not what—only a Brother learned in the Rule could interpret all the symbols in the ritual; he was then, carrying in his hand the host and chalice, presented to the priest at the altar. The parents, or their representative, then wrapped the boy’s hands in the pall of the altar, and read a written promise that they would not induce him to leave the Monastery or the Order. After this the Abbot consecrated a hood for the boy and laid it upon him. He was then taken out, shaved after the fashion of the Order, robed and brought back, when he was received with prayers. This done, he was a Novice, and was supposed to belong to the House for life, provided he entered upon full vows in due course.
It took many years to make a perfect monk. The rules under which Hugh was now brought up were more voluminous than those of the Talmudic Law. Long hours of silence, sitting with eyes downcast, never being left alone, allowed to play only once a day; the performance of every action, even to the lifting of a cup to the lips, to be done according to the Rule; the separation of the boys from each other,—all these minute regulations, all these vexatious and petty precautions, learned after frequent floggings, and fully observed only after the habit of long years, gradually transformed the boy from possible manhood to certain monkhood. Gradually the old free look vanished; he
ENTRANCE TO CHAPTER HOUSE.
ENTRANCE TO CHAPTER HOUSE.
ENTRANCE TO CHAPTER HOUSE.
WALL OF THE REFECTORY, FROM ASHBURNHAM HOUSE.
WALL OF THE REFECTORY, FROM ASHBURNHAM HOUSE.
WALL OF THE REFECTORY, FROM ASHBURNHAM HOUSE.
became silent, timid, obedient. The House was all his world; the things of the House were the only things of importance in the whole world. He was not cruelly treated; on the contrary, he was most kindly treated—well fed, well clothed, well cared for. He quickly understood, as children do, that these things, so irksome at first, were necessary; that all the elders, even the Abbot and the Prior, had gone through the same discipline. All the time the boy’s education in other things besides the Rule was going on. He was taught a great deal—grammar, for instance, logic, Latin, philosophy, writing and illuminating, music, singing, the history of the Order. The Benedictines always rejoiced in a liberal education. The schoolhouse was the west cloister. Here, the arches being glazed, desks were placed one behind the other, and the boys sat in this single file, with their books before them. There were rules of silence, rules of talking French only, rules how to sit, how to carry the hands, rules here and rules there, regulations everywhere. If they had all been enforced, imbecility must have followed. As Hugh did not become imbecile, the regulations were certainly interpreted in a kindly spirit. The Brethren, for instance, except the teachers, were not allowed to converse with the boys; but we may be very certain that they did converse with them, and that they were kind to them, because St. Benedict could never wish to drive out of human nature that best part of it which prompts man to be tender toward the young. What happened to Hugh was that he acquired, little by little, the habit of living according to Rule, that by continual iteration he gradually learned the whole of the Litanies and Psalms, and that he obtained, before he became a full monk, some knowledge of the various branches of learning in which he had been grounded at his desk in the west cloister.
I pass over the ceremony of Profession. To give it in detail would take up too much space; to quote extracts might convey a false impression. Let it suffice that nothing was wanting to make the ceremony the most solemn occasion possible. It is true that children were brought to the Abbey quite young and without regard to vocation, but might not the practice be defended on the grounds (1) that nothing, from the mediæval point of view, could be better for a man than the Benedictine Rule, so that everyone, even though he might yearn for the outer world, ought tobe grateful for this seclusion; and (2) that by the long years of preparation and education, the calling to Religion, which ought to be in every mind, was cultivated and developed? And really, when we consider how many of our own clergy are in the same way set apart from youth, without question as to their vocation, we need not throw stones at the mediæval Benedictines.
THE ABBOT’S DINING HALL AT WESTMINSTER; NOW USED AS THE DINING ROOM OF THE SCHOOL.
THE ABBOT’S DINING HALL AT WESTMINSTER; NOW USED AS THE DINING ROOM OF THE SCHOOL.
THE ABBOT’S DINING HALL AT WESTMINSTER; NOW USED AS THE DINING ROOM OF THE SCHOOL.
Hugh, therefore, at the age of eighteen made his profession and became Brother Ambrosius, a Junior inthe House. His was the duty of reading the Gospel and the Epistle; he carried a taper in processions; he read the martyrology in the Chapter. And he now entered upon the daily round, which was to continue until the end of his life or till old age demanded indulgence.
It consisted mainly of services. They began at two in the morning with Matins. These finished, the choir went back to bed; the rest remained to sing Lauds for the dead. They then went to bed again until daybreak or five in the morning, when they rose for Prime; at 7A.M.there followed Compline; at 9A.M.there was Tierce; at 11A.M.there was Sext; Nones were held at 2P.M., and Vespers at 6P.M.There were thus eight stated services, requiring certainly as much as eight hours out of the twenty-four. They went to bed at 8P.M., getting six hours of sleep before Matins, and two or three after Lauds. This accounts for sixteen hours. Then there was the daily gathering in the Chapter House, taking perhaps one hour. This leaves only seven hours for meals, rest, and work. We are told that a Benedictine House was to be self-supporting as far as possible; everything wanted by the Brethren was to be made in the place, if possible; every Brother was to be working when he was not in the Church, in the Refectory, or in the Dormitory. We know that there have been many learned works produced by Benedictines. Not, as I understand it, that learning or art or handicraft was ordered by the Founder, save as a means of keeping the hands of the Brethren out of mischief. Dean Stanley wonders mildly why, in the long history of Westminster Abbey, there was found no scholar in the Brotherhood, and there was produced no learned work. One wouldrather be surprised if any good work had been produced; nor can we readily believe that good work could be produced by men wearied by seventeen hours of services and ceremonies.[3]
TOWEL AUMBRIES IN THE SOUTH WALK.
TOWEL AUMBRIES IN THE SOUTH WALK.
TOWEL AUMBRIES IN THE SOUTH WALK.
The situation of St. Peter’s exposed the younger Brethren to temptations from which the monks of such retired spots as Glastonbury, Tintern, or Fountains were happily free. These temptations assail the young Brother Ambrosius with great violence during the earlier years of his profession. It was, indeed, on account of these temptations that he was more than once, in the Chapter House, flogged in the presence ofthe whole fraternity. Eight years of drill and discipline, although they made him a monk, had yet left in him the possibility of becoming a man.
Consider the dangers of the situation for a young man. On the other side of the wall which formed the eastern boundary of the Abbey was the Palace, the court and camp of the King, a place filled with noisy, racketing, even uproarious life. There were taverns without the Palace precincts where the noise of singing never ceased. There was the clashing of weapons; there were the profane oaths of the soldiers; there was the blare of trumpets; there were the pipe and tabor of the minstrels and the jesters; the monks in their cloister, which should have been so quiet, could never escape the clamor of the barrack. The world, in fact, was always with these good monks—they could not escape it; invisible, but audible, the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil were continually presented to them through the medium of ears unwilling, yet constrained, to hear. Only a low wall between a world of action and the world of prayer; between a world rushing headlong down the flowery path, gathering roses with both hands, committing sins all day long, heedless of repentance, and a world of Rule, where even the holy brethren had to step heedfully along the narrow walk prescribed by the wisdom or the inspiration of St. Benedict.
In the cloisters the Brother Ambrosius sat before his books, eyes down-dropped. What did he read on the illuminated page? I know not; what he heard—and it filled his heart with yearnings indescribable—was the sound of pipe and tabor, the merry squeak of crowd, and the jangled bells of tambourine; was the lusty song trolled out by soldier; and—ah, Heaven!
CHAPEL OF THE PYX.
CHAPEL OF THE PYX.
CHAPEL OF THE PYX.
why is everything that the natural man longs for sinful?—the singing, like the voice of a bird for silver sweetness—it sank into the soul, and blurred the page of the Psalter, and made him giddy—the singing to the tinkling of the mandolin—the singing of girls. All that life, that worldly life, the life of those who feasted and drank, sang, made love, and died on the battlefield, going headlong—there was no doubt whither—might be heard all day long in the cloister of the Abbey. Did no young man ever leap to his feet, tear off hood, gown, and robe, and rush out of the Abbey gate (that which led into King Street), and so into the outer life, there to wallow in the transitory joys of this sinful world?
There are no chronicles of the House left to tell if this lamentable lapse ever happened. So, on the other side, did the chanting of the monks, the rolling of the organ, awaken no thought of repentance in the rude soldiers? We know not; for, again, no chronicles survive of the men who followed the King and had bouche of Court. In the course of time even these temptations ceased to assail the young monk. Brother Ambrosius became like his brethren; he mechanically chanted the Psalms and the responses; his chief joy was in Refectory; he sat in the cloisters and whispered the small talk of the day; he went to Misericorde for indulgence permitted; as for scholarship, he had no turn for it. His whole life was worked out according to formula and by repetition. Just as the laborer goes forth every day with his spade for twelve hours’ digging without a murmur or any discontent, so did Brother Ambrosius every morning rise at two to begin the many hours spent in the services of the day. They were his work. And for the ordinary monk, of no more than average intellect, it was quite enough work for the day.
Brother Ambrosius was never advanced to any post of honor or dignity in the House. A certain rusticity, perhaps a certain dullness produced by the discipline acting on a mind of only ordinary intelligence, prevented his advance. But he presently became not only learned in the minor points of the Rule, but also a great stickler for forms. He knew everything: the exact time and manner of changing clothes, putting on shoes, taking knife in hand, lifting the cup to drink, holding the hands in the Chapter, and other important points. He knew them all: he watched his Brethren; he insisted on observance; he was so jealous for these things that the Sub-Prior once rebuked him, saying that the Rule must be obeyed indeed, but that he who thinks too much of his brothers’ obedience in small things is apt to forget his own obedience in great things.
Perhaps this Brother at one time may have entertained ambitions. There were many offices of honor in the House. Might not he, too, aspire to rise? Who would not wish to be an Abbot, and especially a mitered Abbot? Besides ruling the House and the Brethren, the mitered Abbot had the rank of a peer; he rode abroad, hawk in hand, his mule equipped with cloth of gold, followed by a retinue of a hundred persons; he created knights; he could coin money; he received the children of noble families among his pages; he administered enormous estates. Or, if he could not be Abbot, he might be Prior. The privileges and duties and powers of the Prior are bewildering to read: to go first after the Abbot; to sit in a certain stall; to put on his hood before the others,—in the