CHAPTER IV.THE ABBEY—II.

DOOR TO THE CHAPEL OF EDWARD THE CONFESSOR; NOW PYX OFFICE.

cloister as well as out, precedence was the chief thing sought. Or there was the office of Sub-Prior, who sat among the monks at meat, said grace, saw that everyone behaved properly, and, at five o’clock in the evening, shut up the House.

There were next the offices of administration. The importance of the Altarer could not be denied. He had the care of refectory, kitchen, and cellar. The interest naturally taken in the proper administration of kitchen and cellar caused the officer exemption from at least half the daily services. There was the Precentor (cantor), a functionary who knew the exact order of everything in church, refectory, cloister, and dormitory. He was the Director of Ceremonies; so complicated were the rules, so exact and minute were the prescribed ceremonies, robes, and gestures, that no one except those who had been brought up from childhood in the House could hope to learn or to remember them all. There were, besides, the Kitchener, who ordered and arranged the food, and looked after the sick in the infirmary; the Seneschal, who was a kind of bailiff and held the courts; the Bursar, who received the rents and paid the bills and the wages; the Sacrist, who had charge of the Church plate and vestments and candles, and, with the Sub-Sacrist, slept in the church; the Almoner, who did a great deal more than administer alms, for he provided the mats and the rushes for the cloister, chapter house, and dormitory; he distributed broken victuals to the poor, and he was to seek out cases deserving of help and relief in the town or nearest villages—e. g., St. Thomas’ Hospital was originally the almonry of Bermondsey Abbey, and it was in the town of Southwark that the Almoner sought for deserving cases.Next, there was the Master of the Novices. There were other offices, but these were chiefly held by lay brothers and by servants, of whom, in Westminster Abbey, there were some two hundred, following every conceivable trade that was wanted for the maintenance of the Abbey.[4]

Brother Ambrosius held no office, and presently lost whatever ambitions he might have had. But the life, which seems to us so monotonous, was to him full of variety. There was always something to expect, just as children are always looking forward to holidays, to a birthday, to a change. For instance, here are some of the incidents which saved him from falling into lethargy. On certain days the Brethren shaved each other in the cloister. On an appointed day, two days before Christmas, the whole Brotherhood bathed. On Christmas Day there were rules about combing the hair. At the same season they celebrated the Office of the Shepherds, acted by boys for the angels and the Brethren for the shepherds. They also enacted a Feast of Asses, for which there was to be prepared a furnace made of cotton and linen ready to be fired; there was a procession of prophets, including Balaam on his ass, the angel represented by one of the boys. This drama finished with the appearance of Nebuchadnezzar with an idol: three youths were called upon to worship the idol; they refused and were instantly thrown upon the lighted furnace, and as instantly taken out again by a supposed miracle. At this

TREASURE CHEST IN THE CHAPEL OF PYX, USED IN THE TRANSPORTATION OF THE KING’S EXCHEQUER.

juncture the Sibyl appeared, but her reason for joining in the drama is not apparent.

At this season there was also the Liberty of December, with its Feast of Fools, the Abbot of Fools, the burlesque services, the bawling, drinking, and misrule permitted at that season.

On the Epiphany they performed another miracle-play called the Office of the Three Kings. Another Feast of Asses represented the Flight into Egypt. On Shrove Tuesday there was feasting. At Easter there was a succession of offices, plays, shows, and processions. At Whitsuntide the Descent of the Holy Spirit was represented by the flight of a white pigeon.

This multiplication of rules, this attention to trifles, these childish diversions, prove, if any proof were wanted, the deadly dullness of the monastic life, unless it was lit up by spiritual fervor. The ordinary mind cannot dwell continually upon things spiritual, yet it must be occupied with something; therefore, when the monks were not engaged in services or in the Refectory, although they were ordered to work at some bodily or intellectual pursuit, most of them occupied themselves with trifles; they amused themselves with childish shows; they admonished and corrected each other with boyish discipline. We need not ask why Westminster produced no great scholars: it was not the real business of the Abbey to produce scholars, but to sanctify the life of the monk, and to sing so many services a day for the good of the Brethren first and of those outside afterward. Now comes the question, How much of the Rule was obeyed in the latter days, just before the Dissolution? The discipline varied from House to House. It is very certain that the Carthusian Rule was strictly observed at the Charter House, and that

A PILLAR NOW STANDING IN MR. THYNNE’S GARDEN AND FORMING PART OF THE RUINED CHAPEL OF ST. CATHERINE.

the Benedictine Rule was observed with laxity at the Priory of the Holy Trinity. Chaucer’s jolly monk has horses in the stable; he can go abroad as he pleases; he is not dressed as a monk. Again, there is one of the stories concerning Long Meg of Westminster which seems to show that the monks went about in the taverns outside the Abbey. Yet the holding of certain offices gave permission to go outside the Abbey.

JERUSALEM CHAMBER, ABBOT’S RESIDENCE, WESTMINSTER.

There is every kind of evidence to prove that luxury and pride and laziness had become a common charge against the monks long before the Dissolution. Was there a voice or a hand raised in London or Westminster to save the Houses? Why, had there been even a small minority in London by whom the Houses were respected, Henry had not dared to touch them. He beheaded those who opposed his will. True, the great nobles he beheaded, but not the crowd, who, had they cared for the Houses, could have defended themagainst all the power of the King. But the scanty memoir of Hugh de Steyninge, which has been collected painfully from various sources, does not enable me to state with any exactness how far the Rule was still observed.

There exists no portrait of this, or any other, Brother. He lived in the Abbey, whose walls he never left till he died, full of years, and with the reputation of having been a good monk. He was buried in the cemetery close to St. Margaret’s Church, with his brethren of a thousand years: of them, and of their works, the name and the memory have long since perished. Although no portrait remains of Hugh, in Religion Brother Ambrosius, we can discern his face after the manner of the photographer who produces a type by superposition. There are thirty generations of Westminster monks passing in procession before us. Here and there one perceives the keen eye and the aquiline nose of the administrator. Such a brother will become Abbot in due course. One observes here and there the face of a scholar: such a brother is moody and irritable; he cannot, even after forty years, reconcile himself to the wearisome iteration of services. Here and there one observes an ascetic, thin, pale, fiery-eyed; here and there the face of a saint—the kind of face which you may see on the marble tomb of Westminster’s greatest and noblest Dean. The rest are like our friend Hugh de Steyninge: they are dull and heavy-eyed; their faces express the narrowness of their lives; they are not alert, like other men; they have no craft or guile in their eyes; in worldly things they are ignorant; you have only to look at them to discover this. But Hugh de Steyninge never became a hypocrite, nor was he ever a sensualist; at the worst

ABBOT’S PEW (SHOWING THE MEDALLION OF CONGREVE BELOW).

he was a man checked in his growth, stunted in mind, ignorant, incapable of the finer emotions because he was thus stunted; an imperfect man because he was cut off from the things which made the real man in the Palace Yard beyond the wall: viz., the dangersand perils and chances of life; the struggle for life; the natural affections; the madness of battle, victory or defeat. What compensation could there be for a life so stunted? Alas! poor Hugh! One of his brothers, I believe, was killed in battle, and another was hanged for alleged conspiracy; he was quite safe all his life, his eternal future even was assured. And yet—yet—— Besides, there are sins in the cloister as well as without. No man, even among the Trappists, can escape from himself, from the wanderings of his thoughts, from his instincts and his heredities. He has buried the half of himself—is it the nobler part? For the other half, besetting devils still contend.

Some of us can remember how under the old system at Cambridge the Senior Fellows remained in College all their lives, their interests centered in the Society, dining in hall every day, sitting over the College port in Combination Room every day. Few among the Seniors, as one remembers them, were any longer capable of intellectual work; they had never had any ambitions; they played bowls in the garden; they walked every day the customary round; they were in Orders; they were regular at chapel, and they led decorous lives; when they grew very old they fell into the hands of their bedmaker. Of other women they knew little. Such as were these aged dons, so were, I believe, the monks of Westminster,—dull and respectable, decorous, obedient to so much of the Rule as they could not escape, and stupid and ignorant,—since they had been locked up within those walls from childhood. Just as those old dons had long since lost any enthusiasm for learning which might once have possessed them, so our friend Hugh de Steyninge, plodding through the monotonous days, with the iterationof the same services till he knew every line by heart, had long ceased to connect their words with any meaning.

A. SQUARE WINDOW (NOW WALLED UP), USED BY THE ABBOT TO MAINTAIN SURVEILLANCE OF THE MONKS AT NIGHT.

There is one exception to the general charge of worldliness and luxury. It is an officer—rather a resident—of the Abbey concerning whom historians are mostly silent. Of him alone it can be said that he was most certainly neither luxurious nor sensual nor a hypocrite. This man was the Solitary, the Recluse, the Anchorite or Ankret, of the Abbey.

The Ankret must not be confused with the Hermit, who was another variety of the Recluse. The latter chose his own place of residence: sometimes it was a cave, sometimes a hollow tree, sometimes a cell on or near a bridge, sometimes a wood; he was a law to himself; he owed obedience to no one; all he had to do was to impress the people with the belief that he was a real hermit in order to live by their charity. The Ankret, on the other hand, was set apart and consecrated by a solemn service; there was generally one at least attached to every great religious House, there was an Ankret or an Ankress belonging to many parish churches. On the other hand, no church was allowed the distinction of a Recluse without the special permission of the Bishop. Thus in 1361 the Bishop granted permission to the parish church of Whalley to maintain two Ankresses in the churchyard, with two women as their servants, on an endowment provided by Henry, Duke of Lancaster. These two Ankresses were apparently immured in their cells, the attendants bringing them their food. In many cases the Ankress slept in the church, which she swept and kept clean. This office might appear desirable for many a poor woman, and probably such an Ankress was never wanting. But to be actually immured; to sit for the rest of life in a narrow cell with a narrow grating for light and air and conversation; without fire or candle; alone day and night, in good or bad weather, without hearing a voice or speaking with anyone; unwashed, uncombed, in rags and cold and misery—this could never come to be regarded as a trade or calling by which to make one’s livelihood. Of the Ankret’s sincerity we can scarcely entertain a doubt.

MONK OF THE ORDER OF ST. BENEDICT.

The following extracts from an unpublished chronicle by a nameless Brother may illustrate the Service of Consecration of an Ankret. The date appears to have been about the beginning of the reign of Henry IV. It will be observed that the practice of whispering or singing news, gossip, and scandal instead of the appointed Psalms was practiced at Westminster.

“After the singing of Mattins, on the morning of St. Thomas’ or Mumping Day, when the Brethren began the Lauds for the Dead, it was whispered abroad that the Abbey Ankret was dead at last. Brother Innocent, my neighbour on the right, sang the news in my ear when we turned to the Altar for theGloria: ‘Dead is our holy Ankret; he is dead; he died at midnight; the Abbot confessed him; he is dead.’ I for my part in like manner transmitted the news to Brother Franciscus. In this manner, though by our Rule it is a sin, do we lighten the labour of chanting and keep off the sleep which is sometimes ready to fall upon us.

“We knew that his time had come: he had reached the extremity of age allowed to man—even, it was said, his hundredth year. For sixty years he had been immured. Those who conversed with him—but of late his discourse was wild—saw through an iron grating a long, bent figure, with white hair and white beard reaching to his waist. His face was like the face of some corpse which had escaped corruption—so thin, so white, so sunken it was; but for the gleaming of his eyes one would have thought him the figure of Death as he is painted in the cloister of Paul’s. He was reckoned a very holy person; the Brothers were justly proud of having an Ankret of such reputation for saintliness. Formerly, it was said, he would recountengagements with Devils, such as those which happened to St. Dunstan, our Founder, when he was a recluse at Glastonbury, or those which happened to St. Anthony; but of late, the Devils being routed, he was left to his meditations, and his discourse consisted of pious ejaculations, some of which have been written down by the Cancellarius; and for the last year or two, his soul being rapt, his voice spoke only words uncertain. King Richard himself, that noble benefactor of the House, thought it not beneath his dignity to take counsel with the Ankret before he went forth to stay the rebellion. I know not what the holy man told the young king, but all men know how the leader was killed and the rebels were scattered. Like the renowned Mother Julian of Norwich, our Ankret brought honour and offerings to the House.

“Now he was dead. After daybreak, when we met in the Common Room, the air in the Cloisters being eager and cold, we whispered each other, ‘How shall we bury him? With what honours? Will he work a miracle? Shall the House obtain at length a saint for itself? If so, those of St. Albans and those of the Holy Trinity of London will not hold up their heads beside us. And who—if any—who will succeed him?’ And at this question we hung our heads and dropped our eyes, and murmured, ‘Nay, if one were worthy; but these vows are too much for me.’ Yet there must be found someone, because an Abbey without an Ankret is like a ship without a rudder. We Monks pray for the world; the Ankret prays for the Monks. Unless we know that all night long the Ankret in his cell is praying for the House and ourselves, who can sleep upon his bed?

“The anxiety was speedily set at rest; for it became

ABBOT ISLIP’S CHAPEL.

known that one of the Brotherhood—a most unusual circumstance—the Sub-Prior—Heavens! nothing less than the Sub-Prior, who might reasonably expect to be Prior, and even Abbot!—had humbly offered himself to the Abbot for this living sacrifice. Yet, when we considered the matter, it seemed neither wonderful nor unexpected. The Sub-Prior—Humphrey of Lambhythe—was always a silent man and zealous in his duties. As one of the monitors he had been thought too zealous, and many a Brother could show upon his back the marks of the zeal which had placed him on the culprit’s bench in Chapter. The Sub-Prior! Perhaps he would be more free to carry on his austerities in the Ankret’s cell: he cared nothing for the Refectory, and his drink was only water. Heaven would doubtless reward him, and perhaps would grant to the Brothers of lower saintliness a milder Sub-Prior. In this life compassion and indulgence are more desirable than the strict investigation of every little sin.

“That night the Sub-Prior spent alone in the Abbey Church, after confessing to the Abbot and receiving absolution from him. In the morning we set him apart and consecrated him according to the Order prescribed. And the manner of his consecration was as follows:

“The Sub-Prior, being a priest, was taken into the choir, where he prostrated himself with bare feet. The Abbot and three of the Brethren who were priests having taken their places, the Cantor began the service with the Responsory, ‘Beati in melius,’ after which the Abbot and assistants before the altar sang with the choir certain Psalms, fourteen in number. After the Psalms followed a Litany, the choir singing after each clause, ‘Ora pro eo.’ The Litany finished, the Abbot advanced toward the prostrate brother bearing a

THE WESTMINSTER SCHOOLROOM, FORMERLY THE ABBOT’S DORMITORY.

crucifix, a thurible, and holy water, and, standing over him, he thrice sprinkled him with water, censed him, and prayed over him. The Abbot then raised the candidate with his own hands, and gave him two lighted tapers, at the same time admonishing him toremain steadfast in the love of God. Then the candidate, standing, listened to the Deacon, who read first from the Prophet Isaiah, next the Gospel according to Saint Luke, as on the Festival of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. After this the new garments which he was to put on were blessed. The candidate then took the vows, which were three only, and those the same as the vows at profession—viz., of chastity, of obedience, and of steadfastness.

“The candidate next kneeled at the altar, and, kissing it three times, repeated each time the words ‘Suscipe me, Domine,’ etc., the choir responding. This done, he offered the two tapers at the Altar, and again kneeled while the Abbot removed his monastic frock and clothed him with the garments newly blessed. Then followed a service of prayer. It was theVeni Creator, with thePater-nosterand ‘Et ne nos.’ The Abbot then, standing on the north side of the Altar, preached to the Brethren and to the congregation assembled, commending the new Recluse to their prayers. The candidate then himself sang the Mass of the Holy Ghost.

“We had now completed that part of the consecration which takes place in the church. The Abbot then took the new Recluse by the hand, and led him down the nave of the church, followed by the choir and all the Brethren unto the little door leading into the West Cloister. The church was filled with people to see the sight. A new Recluse is not seen every day. There were thedomicellæ, the maidens of the Queen, come from the Palace; there were knights and pages, and even men-at-arms; there were Sanctuary men, women, and children; men with hawks upon their wrists; men with dogs; merchants from the wool staple; girls of

TOMBS OF VITALIS, GERASMUS DE BLOIS, AND CRISPINUS, ABBOTS OF WESTMINSTER.

wanton looks from the streets and taverns beyond the walls. The hawks jangled their bells, the dogs barked, the women chattered, the men talked loudly; the girls looked at the Brothers as they passed, and whispered and laughed; and I heard one Brother say to another that this was a thing which would make the Sub-Priorreturn to the Monastery an he saw it. And all alike craned their necks to see the man who was going to be shut up in a narrow cell for the rest of his days.

TALLY FOR 6s.8d.ISSUED BY TREASURER TO KING EDWARD I. TO THE SHERIFF OF LINCOLNSHIRE ABOUT 1290.

“The Ankret’s cell is on the south side of the Infirmary Cloister. It is built of stone, being twelve feet long, eight feet broad, and with an arched roof about ten feet high. On the side of the church there is a narrow opening by which the occupant can hear mass and can see the Elevation in the Chapel of St. Catherine. On the other side is a grating by which he can receive his food and converse with the world. But it is too high up for him to see out of it; therefore he has nothing to look upon but the walls of his cell. This morning the west side had been broken down in order to remove the body of the dead man and to cleanse the cell for the newcomer. So, while we gathered round in a circle and the people stood behind us, the Abbot entered the cell, and censed it, and sprinkled it with holy water, singing more Psalms and more prayers. When he came forth the Recluse himself entered, saying aloud: ‘Hæc Requies mea in seculum seculi.’ The choir sang another Psalm. Then the Abbot sprinkled dust upon the head of the Recluse with the words beginning ‘De terra plasmasti.’

“This done, theOperarius cum suis operariisreplaced the stones and built up the wall anew. And then, singing another Psalm, we all went back to the cloister, leaving the Sub-Prior to begin his lifelongimprisonment. A stone bench for bed; his frock for blanket; a crucifix, and no other furniture. In the cold nights that followed, lying in my bed in dormitory, I often bethought myself of the former Sub-Prior alone in his dark cell, with Devils whispering temptation through the grating,—Devils always assail every new Recluse,—well-nigh frozen, praying with trembling lips and chattering teeth. No, I am not worthy. Such things are too high for me.

“But the new Sub-Prior proved to possess a heart full of compassion, and the House had rest for many years to come.”

Note(in another hand): “This Recluse, formerly Humphrey of Lambhythe, surpassed in sanctity even his predecessor. It was to him that Henry V. repaired after the death of his father, as is thus recorded by Thomas of Elmham: ‘The day of the funeral having been spent in weeping and lamentation, when the shades of night had fallen upon the face of the earth, the tearful Prince, taking advantage of the darkness, secretly repaired to the Recluse of Westminster, a man of perfect life, and unfolding to him the secret of his whole life, being washed in the bath of true penitence, received against the poison of his sins the antidote of absolution. Thus, having put off the cloak of iniquity, he returned decently garbed in the mantle of virtue.’”

TheAbbey must not, however, be dismissed without some reference to its history. There is a history of its buildings, and there is a history of its people. The architectural history of the Abbey has been written in many volumes. Briefly, there was a monastery with its church here as early as the eighth century: this was destroyed by the Danes; then a new House with its church was founded and the House was rebuilt on a scale of great magnificence by Edward the Confessor. Next, Henry the Third resolved to honor Edward the Confessor by pulling down his church and rebuilding it entirely. This he accomplished as far as the crossing of the transepts and the nave. The great feature of the new church was now the Shrine of the Confessor, raised high above the floor of the church by an artificial mound of earth brought from the Holy Land. St. Peter, to whom Edward had dedicated the church, was now supplanted by St. Edward. The nave was continued by Edward the First, who built five bays, according to Gilbert Scott. The chantry of Henry the Fifth, Henry the Seventh’s Chapel, and the completion of the western towers by Wren, or by his pupil Hawksmoor, have been added since the work of King Edward.

As for the domestic buildings of the Abbey, there are still fragments remaining of the Confessor’s work. But the buildings were in great part rebuilt by AbbotLitlington toward the end of the fourteenth century. The Cloisters, the Jerusalem Chamber, the Chapter House, the Abbot’s dining hall, still remain; while the Cloisters, the Refectory, the Infirmary cloisters, and fragments of the Chapel of St. Catherine also show in ruin, more or less complete, the beauty of his work. The history of a monastery apart from its architecture must be meager. The more meager it is, the more likely, one feels, is it that the House has sustained its pristine zeal. To the Benedictine of the ancient rule, behind his walls, cut off from the outer world, there were no events: he was buried; the world did not exist for him; the small events of the Abbey, the death of one Abbot and the election of another; an unexpected legacy; the building of another chapel; the addition of new carved stalls to the Abbey church; what else was there to chronicle?

At Westminster the monks were noted for their scriptorium. The work of copying and illuminating was one which flourished in religious Houses first because it was work which required the attention and care of men who were not bound by any consideration of time—whether a missal was completed in a year or in ten years mattered nothing; the only point worthy of consideration was the excellence of the work; next, it was just the kind of delicate artistic work, conventional in its drawing and in its coloring, which a monk of artistic tastes would like. What else did the Westminster monks do? They taught their novices; they received the sons of noblemen as scholars and wards; they administered their very large estates; they governed the rabble of Sanctuary; they carried on a tradition of learning, but they produced no scholars; and they took part in every national and Royal Function held in the Abbey church. I think it may be conceded that, except in one deplorable case, there were few scandals attached to the Abbey of St. Peter’s, Westminster. The stories connected with the poet Skelton point to a certain laxity as regards going outside the House and drinking in the Westminster taverns. Indeed, it is plain that the monks were frequently seen in the streets and in public places. But we hear little of the monks, and this fact must be placed to their credit.

Twice is the silence broken. On one occasion some prophet announced that a high tide was coming up the Thames, which would overflow the Abbey buildings and drown the monks. Then the Abbot with all the brethren betook himself to a small House at Kilburn, the Priory of St. John the Baptist, where they took shelter until the tide was past and the prophet was covered with confusion.

The second case is that of Richard Podelicote, which deserves a longer notice.

This case occurred in the year 1303. It is certainly one of the most astonishing and daring attempts in history—only equaled by Colonel Blood’s attempt nearly four hundred years later. It was the Robbery of the Royal Treasury. The King’s Treasure consisted of the Saxon Regalia; the jeweled crowns, swords, cups of state, and precious vessels acquired by the Norman and Plantagenet kings, and of such moneys as the King had accumulated or set apart for special purposes, or acquired by ordinary means from year to year. The Treasury was the ancient Norman Chapel of the Pyx,i. e., Chapel of the Box, which contained the things required for the assay and examination of new coins. In 1303 the chapel contained a far largeramount of specie than was usual. This money was lying there, ready for the use of the King in his Scottish campaign. It amounted to one hundred thousand pounds, an enormous sum, equivalent to something like a million or more of our own money.

The robbery apparently began with a raid upon the Refectory, and was not at first intended to go any farther. The robber was one Richard de Podelicote, described as a merchant of some kind, formerly trading in the Low Countries. We must, of course, be careful not to suppose that a so-called “merchant” was necessarily a person with the dignity and authority of a Whittington. Richard de Podelicote was probably an unsuccessful trader in foreign wares, not a craftsman or a retailer, else he would have been so described. Richard, who said in his confession that he had lost the sum of £14 17s. in a lawsuit, was a broken man, desperate and cunning; he observed that the small gate in the wall which led from the Palace to the Abbey (at the door now by Poets’ Corner) was unwatched and neglected. At this time the King himself, with a great army, was on his way to Scotland; the Palace was therefore deserted. All the grooms, armorers, blacksmiths, pages, and men-at-arms were with the King. A crowd of servants followed with such gear as was wanted for the cooking, carrying provisions, wine, and all kinds of things. There were left in the Palace only the Queen and her people, the canons, vicars, singing men, and boys of St. Stephen’s; the women and the children; and some of the servants. The courts of the palace were therefore quiet and deserted; the strictness of the rules about closing and opening gates, and about watching those who entered or went out, was relaxed. This private way from thePalace to the Abbey was hardly ever used—perhaps it was well-nigh forgotten. The thief, therefore, would have no difficulty whatever, pretending to be a workman sent perhaps to repair the roof, in introducing by this postern a ladder into the Abbey precinct. Or indeed he might have entered boldly by any of the remaining four gates into the Abbey.

At night all the gates, except this, being locked and made fast, and all the monks, even the two guardians of the church, being asleep, the thief was perfectly safe. No one could see him. He set his ladder against one of the Chapter House windows and so, opening a window and tying a rope round the stonework, he easily let himself down into the Chapter House and so into the Cloisters. There is mention of some kind of night-watch; there was such a watch in the church; the Sacristan is said to have been responsible for a night-watch in the Abbey; there was perhaps an irregular patrol; perhaps the Sacristan, whose guilt in what afterward occurred is but too apparent, was already an accomplice. However that might be, there were no watchmen out on the night when Richard de Podelicote stood in the silent Cloisters and glanced hurriedly around before he forced open the lock of the Refectory door and proceeded to the job in hand. This was to fill his bag with silver cups from the aumbries or cupboards in the Refectory. Nobody disturbed him; he retreated as he had entered; he climbed up his rope; he replaced his ladder along the wall as if it had been left there by a workman, and he passed through the postern into the Palace itself. To find a place for rest and concealment in that deserted nest of houses, chambers, and offices was not difficult; to carry out his bag in the morning—his bag full of silver cups—wasalso easy. Perhaps, as happened later, the custodian of the gate was an accomplice in this job as well.

The next chapter in the story is more difficult to understand. To rob the King’s treasury was a far more serious job than to rob the Refectory. For the Treasury was a chamber with stone walls of great thickness, cemented firmly, only to be dislodged by being taken away piecemeal with infinite labor: and to carry out whole sacks and hampers full of treasure was impossible for one man unaided. There must be confederates. There must certainly have been confederates within and without the Abbey: monks who would assist in averting suspicion; people who would buy up the plunder.

The story has been related by two writers from such documents as remain; one of these is Mr. Joseph Burtt, late Assistant Keeper of the Public Records, who contributed a paper on the subject to Gilbert Scott’s “Gleanings from Westminster Abbey,” and the other is Mr. Henry Harrod, F.S.A., in a paper printed in the forty-fourth volume of “Archæologia.” The differences between the two accounts are very slight.

Mr. Harrod, however, endeavors to prove that the King’s Treasury was not the Chapel of the Pyx, but the Crypt of the Chapter House. I cannot think that he has made out his case. It is true that the Crypt is a strong and massive structure perfectly well adapted for such a purpose; but the tradition which attaches to the chapel, the strong iron door, the provision about the keys, the nature of the things actually stored there after the regalia was removed, seem to me quite clearly to prove that this place and not the Crypt was the Royal Treasury.

In considering the method of the robbery it makesa very great difference whether the Treasury was in one or the other place. Consider the plan (p. 101) of the Abbey. If the Treasury was in the Chapter House the robber might, if the postern were closed, work all day at the back of this house. No one ever came into the cemetery which is now Henry VII.’s Chapel. If the Treasury was in the Chapel of the Pyx, he would have to work by night only in the passage frequented every day by the monks, and leading from the Chapter House to the Cloisters.

In any case the whole world knew the position of the King’s Treasury. In the reign of Edward I., just as now, there was the massive and ponderous iron door, closely locked, which could not be broken open in a single night by a dozen men. The Abbot and the Prior were the official guardians of the Treasury; they kept the keys. A key was also kept by the Master of the King’s Wardrobe.

Matthew of Westminster is deeply indignant at the suspicion that any of the monks were concerned in the robbery. But he is careful not to tell the story, which is suspicious to the highest degree. Meantime it is perfectly certain that no one unaided could effect this work without its being discovered while incomplete. Dean Stanley (p. 369) says that Richard “concerted with friends, partly within, partly without the Precincts.” He refers to Matthew of Westminster under the year 1303. Unfortunately Matthew makes no reference whatever to any accomplices; he merely says, “Edward had his Treasury plundered by a single robber.” And this bald statement he repeats immediately afterward.

The undeniable facts in the case are these:

1. At the end of April, 1303, the King’s Treasury atWestminster Abbey was broken open and a great quantity of treasure was stolen.

2. On June 6 the King, being then at Linlithgow, heard of the robbery and very naturally fell into a wrath more than royal. He dispatched writ after writ, ordering the most searching investigation.

3. An investigation was made. In consequence of this all the monks of Westminster and forty other persons were taken to the Tower and kept there.

4. On the day of Annunciation, 1306, the monks were released.

The evidence, so far as it has been preserved, shows how the robbery was planned and carried out.

First there is the confession of Podelicote himself:

“He was a travelling merchant for wool, cheese, and butter, and was arrested in Flanders for the King’s debts in Bruges, and there were taken from him £14 1s., for which he sued in the King’s Court at Westminster at the beginning of August in the thirty-first year, and then he saw the condition of the Refectory of the Abbey, and saw the servants bringing in and out silver cups and spoons and mazers. So he thought how he might obtain some of those goods, as he was so poor on account of his loss in Flanders, and so he spied about all the parts of the Abbey. And on the day when the King left the place for Barnes, on the following night, as he had spied out, he found a ladder at a house which was near the gate of the Palace toward the Abbey, and put that ladder to a window of the Chapter House, which he opened and closed by a cord; and he entered by this cord, and thence he went to the door of the Refectory, and found it closed with a lock, and he opened it with his knife and entered, and there he found six silver hanaps in anaumbry behind the door, and more than thirty silver spoons in another aumbry, and the mazer hanaps under a bench near together; and he carried them all away, and closed the door after him without shutting the lock. And having spent the proceeds by Christmas he thought how he could rob the King’s Treasury. And as he knew the ways of the Abbey, and where the Treasury was and how he could get there, he began to set about the robbery eight days before Christmas with the tools which he provided for it, viz., two ‘tarrers,’ great and small knives, and other small ‘engines’ of iron, and so was about the breaking open during the night hours of eight days before Christmas to the quinzain of Easter, when he first had entry on the night of a Wednesday, the eve of St. Mark (April 24); and all the day of St. Mark he stayed in there and arranged what he would carry away, which he did the night after, and the night after that, and the remainder he carried away with him out of the gate behind the church of St. Margaret, and put it at the foot of the wall beyond the gate, covering it with earth, and there were there pitchers, cups with feet and covers. And also he put a great pitcher with stones and a cup in a certain tomb. Besides he put three pouches full of jewels and vessels, of which one was ‘hanaps’ entire and in pieces. In another a great crucifix and jewels, a case of silver with gold spoons. In the third ‘hanaps,’ nine dishes and saucers, and an image of our Lady in silver-gilt, and two little pitchers of silver. Besides he took to the ditch by the mews a pot and a cup of silver. Also he took with him spoons, saucers, spice dishes of silver, a cup, rings, brooches, stones, crowns, girdles, and other jewels which were afterwards found with him. And he says that what he took out of the Treasury hetook at once out of the gate near St. Margaret’s Church, and left nothing behind within it.”

It will be observed that he takes the whole blame to himself and names no confederates. Was this loyalty to his friends? If so, it was loyalty of a very unusual kind. Another man, John de Rippingall, however, who also confessed, states that there were present two monks, two foresters, two knights, and about eight others.

The evidence of conspiracy was very strong. First, as regards the monks. Podelicote himself says that the work took him four months. Was there no help from within to keep this work secret? Consider: the robber was cutting through a massive stone wall; he would have to remove the stones one by one at night and replace them when he ceased at daybreak. But this kind of work cannot be done without making a considerable amount of mess. Now, the Sacrist and his officers had charge of the church and the close, and they were charged to watch “in the cemetery.” By the cemetery is meant, I suppose, the ground lying between the East end of the Abbey and the wall, now covered by Henry VII.’s Chapel.

Stanley, without any discoverable authority, calls the cloister-garth the cemetery. During that time of four months the Sacrist’s watch never once discovered this workman. I do not suppose a nightly patrol, but any kind of watch means some kind of irregular visit here and there.

The work would involve the removal of those stones which were underground. In order to effect this the flags must be taken up every night, if the passage was paved; if it was not, the difficulty of opening and closing the cavity for working in was very greatly increased. It seems to me, in fact, impossible that thething could have been managed at all without confederates in the Abbey itself.

There were other reasons for suspecting the Sacrist. He brought one day, before the discovery, a silver-gilt cup to the Abbot; he found it, he said, outside St. Margaret’s Church. It was debated whether the Abbot could rightly keep the cup thus found within the precincts. Where did the Sacrist get that cup? Did he give it up in fear of having it discovered in his possession? William the Palmer, Keeper of the Palace, deposed that he had seen a very unusual coming and going of the Sacrist, the Sub-Prior, and other monks, carrying things. What things? Some of the things were taken away in two great hampers by a boat from King’s Bridge, the river stairs of the Palace. Another monk, John de Lynton, was proved to have sown the ground in the cloister with hemp seed in the winter, so that when the hemp grew up there might be a convenient and unsuspected place to hide their plunder. One John Albas deposed that he was employed to make certain tools for the use of the robbers, and that Alexander de Pershore, the monk, threatened to kill him if he revealed the design; it was he who had seen the said Alexander and other monks taking two large panniers into a boat at the King’s Bridge. John de Ramage, another confederate, went in and out of the Abbey a good deal at this time; he suddenly bought horses and arms and splendid attire. Where did the money come from? The robbers were also assisted by William de Paleys, who had charge of the Palace gate. He it was who passed the burglars in and let them out. Under his bed were found the richly jeweled case of the holy Cross of Neath, with other valuable things belonging to the Treasury.

They stole the King’s money, a great quantity of gold and silver cups (some of these they broke up), and many rings, jewels, and other precious things. They had the sense to understand that the King’s crown and the greater jewels would be of no use at all to them, therefore they left these things behind; but they took the money, and they took the things they could melt down and sell for silver or for gold. A good deal was sold in London, the purchasers not caring to inquire how this valuable stuff was obtained. Some of the jewels were sold by Podelicote in Northampton and Colchester. This worthy was actually found to be in possession of two thousand pounds’ worth of property stolen from the Treasury.

Such is the story. It does not state in what manner the fact of the robbery was discovered. It took place at the end of April or the beginning of May. The King heard of it in June. It is stated, however, by Burtt that it was not till the 20th of June that the Master of the Wardrobe, John de Drokenesford, came with the Keeper of the Tower, the Justices, the Lord Mayor, and the Prior of Westminster, and opened the doors of the Treasury, when he found “the chests and coffers broken open and many goods carried away.” But the robbery was known before that date. How? We cannot learn.

Many of the criminals were caught in actual possession of the spoil. Among these were Podelicote, William de Paleys, and John de Ramage. The history of this wonderful case is unfortunately incomplete. The fate of the ringleaders is unknown and the particulars of their trial have not been preserved. It is, however, quite certain that they were all hanged, most likely with the pleasing additions to hanging whichprolonged the ceremony and gave it greater importance. In Rishanger there is a brief note on the subject. He is speaking of the robbery: “Propter quod multi fuerunt—et quidam insontes forte—suspensi.” All the monks, forty of them, were sent to the Tower; another company of forty persons, not monks, were sent there as well. The monks were liberated after two years’ imprisonment; what became of the rest I know not.

The following letter from the King, enjoining the Justices to make speed with the trial, is interesting, if only because it gives the names of the monks:

“Rex dilectis et fidelibus suis Rogero Brabazan, Willielmo Bereford, Rogero de Higham, Radulpho de Sandwico et Waltero de Gloucestriâ, salutem.

“Cum Walterus Abbas Westmonastriensis:

“Commonachi ejusdem domus;

—de fractione Thesaurariæ nostræ apud Westmonasterium nuper furtive factâ et Thesauro ibidem ad valorem C. M. librarum capto et asportato indictati et eâ occasione in prisonâ nostrâ Turris nostræ London detenti, asseruerunt se inde falso et malitiose indictatos fuisse et nobis attente supplicaverunt quod veritatem inde inquiri et eis justitiam exhiberi faciamus. Assignavimus vos justiciarios ad inquirendum per sacramentum tum militum quum aliorum &c.... de comitatibus Middlesex et Surrey per quos &c. super negotio prædictam plenam veritatem et ad negotium illud audiendum et terminandum &c., &c.”

The names suggest a few observations. First, the monks, with one or two exceptions, all come from country villages or from small country towns—one is from Lichfield; one from London. How are we to interpret this fact? Surely by the very simple explanation that to be made a member of this rich and dignified foundation was a provision for a younger son.The wars carried off some of the sons—eldest as well as younger; in the service of the King or of some great Lord some found employment and preferment; some were apprenticed in the great companies of London and perhaps of Bristol, York, and Norwich; some were put into the monasteries as children, and remained there all their lives. With three exceptions all the surnames are territorial. The three—Payn, Vil, and Temple—may have belonged to gentlehood, but I know not. A boy received as a novice was assured at least of a tranquil life, free from care. We are not to suppose that these rich endowments were given to boys taken from the plow. I say that the names in this list go to prove the fact that the monasteries were filled with the children of gentlefolk. For, granting that a rustic would also be called by the name of his village, how was a plain country lad from Pershore, Merton, Warefield, Henley, Sudbury, Rye, to get himself recommended and accepted by the Abbot of Westminster?

The other names—those of the persons indicted who were not monks—also illustrate the change and growth in the surname. There are thirty-one names—twenty-one are places of birth; four signify trade; six are names which I do not understand.

One more episode in the life of the Abbey—an episode which startled the Brotherhood in a way long remembered. There was a Spanish prisoner in the hands of his captors, two English knights named Shackle and Hawke. The prisoner was allowed to go home in order to collect his ransom, leaving his son behind in his place. But the ransom was not sent. Then John of Gaunt, who pretended to the crown of Castile, demanded the release of the young Spaniard. This the two knights refused; they intended to securetheir ransom, and according to the existing rules of the game as it was then played, they were quite right. John of Gaunt, without troubling himself about the legality of the thing, imprisoned them both in the Tower; but he could not find the young Spaniard. The knights escaped and took sanctuary at Westminster. Hither they were pursued by Alan Bloxhall, Constable of the Tower, and Sir Ralph Ferrers, with fifty armed men. It was on the 4th of August, in the forenoon, during the celebration of High Mass, that the two fugitives ran headlong into the church followed by their pursuers. Even in the rudest times such a thing as was then done would have been regarded as monstrous and horrible. For the knights and their servants ran round and round the choir, followed by the men of the Tower, and the words of the Gospel—they were at the Gospel of the day—were drowned by the clash of mailed heels and of weapons, by the shouts and yells of the murderers and the groans of the victims. Hawke fell dead in front of the Prior’s stall; one of the monks was killed, no doubt trying to stop the men, and one of Hawke’s servants. Then the Constable recalled his men and they all went back to the Tower, feeling, we may imagine, rather apprehensive of the consequences. And the Spanish prisoner was not caught after all. Now, this young Spaniard seems to have been the soul of honor, for he was with the knights all the time, disguised as one of the servants; it seems as if he might have given himself up at any moment.

Naturally, the Abbot and the monks sent up an outcry that was heard over all Christendom. Was the like wickedness ever heard? Not only to break sanctuary, but to commit murder—a triple murder—in theChurch itself and at the celebration of High Mass! The Abbey Church was closed for four months; Parliament, which then met in the Chapter House, was suspended; the case was brought before the King; the two chief assailants were excommunicated; and they had to pay two hundred pounds to the Abbey—a fine of about three thousand pounds of our money. Meanwhile Shackle compromised the matter of the Spanish prisoner; he gave him up, but received a sum of five hundred marks down and an annuity of one hundred marks.

Another breaking of sanctuary took place at the time of Wat Tyler’s rebellion, when the unfortunate Marshal of the Marshalsea was dragged from the Confessor’s shrine and murdered. But the rebels being dispersed and their leaders hanged there was nothing more said.

Such events as these, from time to time, broke the monotony of the monastic life. A coronation; a Royal wedding; a great funeral; the flight of a Queen—Elizabeth Woodville: or a Duchess—as the Duchess of Gloucester—to sanctuary; the death of a King—Henry IV.—in the Abbey; these things gave the Brethren something to think about, something to quicken the slow march of Time.

There were, and are, however, other residents of the Abbey besides the monks; there are all the dead Kings and Queens and Princes; all the dead nobles and the dead ignobles; the dead men of letters and the arts who lie buried in this Campo Santo, the most sacred spot in all the Empire.

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