Medieval English Nunneries c. 1275 to 1535 Part 30

"Thou spakest foolish things and against our honour. Our convent is shut and no man is allowed therein and the dear Lord Jesus knoweth well that this is true." "How little ye know him," said the lovely lady, "Ye have spoken the name of mine own dear lord. Ye have named him and well is he known to me; he is also called Jesus the flower-maker."

The maidens in the convent deemed then that her words were of G.o.d and marvelled thereat:

"Let Jesus our beloved lord stay with us for ever, for all who are in this convent have vowed themselves to him." "If all ye who are in the convent have vowed yourselves to him, then will I stay with you all my days and I will keep the troth I plighted with him and never will I waver in my firm faith in him"[1589].

Another song contrasts the love of the lord of many lands with that of the lord of life, to the disparagement of the former[1590]. A similar contrast between earthly and heavenly love is the _motif_ of the beautiful English poem called _A Luue Ron_, made by the Franciscan Thomas of Hales at the request of a nun[1591]; of a somewhat similar (though poetically inferior) poem ent.i.tled _Clene Maydenhod_[1592]; and of a coa.r.s.e and brutal treatise in praise of virginity known as _Hali Meidenhad_[1593]. This alliterative homily of the thirteenth century is startlingly different from the two other contemporary works in middle English, with which its subject would cause it to be compared. It has none of the delicate purity of the _Luue Ron_, nor even of the mystical, ascetic visions of Mary of Oignies, Luitgard of Tongres, Mechthild of Magdeburg, and the many saints and song writers who realised the marriage of the soul with Christ in the concrete terms of human pa.s.sion[1594]. Neither, on the other hand, has it the moderation and urbanity of the _Ancren Riwle_, though the same hand was once supposed to have written both treatises. The author of _Hali Meidenhad_ persuades his spiritual daughter to vow her virginity to G.o.d by no better means than a savage and entirely materialistic attack upon the estate of matrimony. He admits that wedlock is lawful for the weak, for

this the wedded sing, that through G.o.d's goodness and mercy of his grace, though they have driven downwards, they halt in wedlock and softly alight in the bed of its law, for whosoever falleth out of the grace of maidenhood, so that the curtained bed of wedlock hold them not, drive down to the earth so terribly that they are dashed limb from limb, both joint and muscle[1595].

And again:

of the three sorts, maidenhood and widowhood and thirdly wedlockhood, thou mayst know by the degrees of their bliss, which and by how much it [maidenhood] surpa.s.ses the others. For wedlock has its fruit thirtyfold in heaven, widowhood sixtyfold; maidenhood with a hundredfold overpa.s.ses both. Consider then, hereby, whosoever from her maidenhood descended into wedlock, by how many degrees she falleth downward[1596].

This comparative moderation of tone does not, however, last long and the author proceeds to draw a picture of the discomforts of wifehood and of motherhood so gross and so entirely one-sided that it is difficult to imagine any sensible girl being converted by it:

Ask these queens, these rich countesses, these saucy ladies, about their mode of life. Truly, truly, if they rightly bethink themselves and acknowledge the truth, I shall have them for witnesses that they are licking honey off thorns. They buy all the sweetness with two proportions of bitter.... And what if it happen, as the wont is, that thou have neither thy will with him [thy husband] nor weal either and must groan without goods within waste walls and in want of bread must breed thy row of bairns?... or suppose now that power and plenty were rife with thee and thy wide walls were proud and well supplied and suppose that thou hadst many under thee, herdsmen in hall, and thy husband were wroth with thee, and should become hateful, so that each of you two shall be exasperated against the other, what worldly good can be acceptable to thee? When he is out thou shalt have against his return sorrow, care and dread. While he is at home, thy wide walls seem too narrow for thee; his looking on thee makes thee aghast; his loathsome voice and his rude grumbling fill thee with horror. He chideth and revileth thee and he insults thee shamefully; he beateth thee and mawleth thee as his bought thrall and patrimonial slave. Thy bones ache and thy flesh smarteth, thy heart within thee swelleth of sore rage, and thy face outwardly burneth with vexation[1597].

Then, after an unquotable pa.s.sage, the author considers the supposed joys of maternity and gives a brutal and painfully vivid account of the troubles of gestation and childbirth and of the anxieties of the mother, who has a young child to rear. He seems to feel that some apology is needed for his brutality, for he adds:

Let it not seem amiss to thee that we so speak for we reproach not women with their sufferings, which the mothers of us all endured at our own births; but we exhibit them to warn maidens, that they be the less inclined to such things and guard themselves by a better consideration of what is to be done[1598].

The point of view is a strange one. No girl of moderate strength of character, good sense and idealism would shirk marriage solely for the purely material reasons set down by the author. One cannot but wonder at the lack of spiritual imagination which can display convent life as the easy, comfortable, leisured existence, the primrose path which a hara.s.sed wife and mother cannot hope to follow[1599], thus inevitably securing for the brides of Christ all who are too lazy and too cowardly to undertake an earthly marriage. Self-sacrifice and high endeavour alike are outside the range of the narrow materialist who wrote _Hali Meidenhad_. His treatment represents the ugly, just as _A Luue Ron_ represents the beautiful side of medieval praise of virginity and of monastic life.

Of all treatises for the use of nuns the most personal and the most interesting is the thirteenth century _Ancren Riwle_ (Anch.o.r.esses' Rule).

The book was originally written for the use of three anch.o.r.esses, but the language of the original version (the English version is by most scholars considered to be a translation from a French original), the author and the anch.o.r.esses for whom it was written are alike uncertain[1600]. The conjecture that it was written by Richard Poore, Bishop of Salisbury from 1217 to 1229, is discredited by recent research. It is usually said that the book was compiled for the anch.o.r.esses of Tarrant Keynes in Dorsetshire; but this view rests upon the evidence of a rubric attached to a Latin version of the rule, which states that it was written by Simon of Ghent Bishop of Salisbury (who died in 1313) for his sisters, anch.o.r.esses at Tarrant; but though the Latin translation was doubtless due to Simon of Ghent, there is no evidence that the original anch.o.r.esses lived at Tarrant; and the most recent research seeks to identify them with Emma, Gunilda and Cristina, who were anch.o.r.esses at Kilburn about 1130 and whose settlement developed into Kilburn Priory. The book is certainly of English origin, though the original seems to have been written in French. It must be noticed that the women for whom the _Ancren Riwle_ was intended were anch.o.r.esses and not professed nuns; the essence of their life was solitude, whereas nuns were essentially members of a community. But the moment an anch.o.r.ess ceased to live alone and took to herself companions the distinction between anchorage and convent tended to disappear; several English nunneries originated in voluntary settlements of two or three women, who desired to lead a solitary life withdrawn from the world.

Nine-tenths of the _Ancren Riwle_ is equally applicable to a community of recluses and to a community of nuns and may therefore with advantage be used to ill.u.s.trate convent life. The treatise has a dual character. It is partly a theological work, telling the three sisters how to think and feel and believe. It is partly a practical guide to the ordering of their external lives. The author cares for the stalling and feeding of Brother a.s.s the Body, as well as of his rider the Soul. His book is divided into eight parts, of which the first seven are concerned with the religious and spiritual welfare of the anch.o.r.ess and the eighth part is (in his own words) "entirely of the external rule; first of meat and drink and of other things relating thereto; thereafter of the things that ye may receive and what things ye may keep and possess; then of your clothes and of such things as relate thereto; next of your tonsure and of your works and of your bloodlettings; lastly the rule concerning your maids, and how you ought kindly to instruct them"[1601]. This mixture of soul and body, of spiritual and practical, is amusingly ill.u.s.trated in the chapter on confession, when he gives the following summary of all mentioned and known sins,

as of pride, of ambition or of presumption, of envy, of wrath, of sloth, of carelessness, of idle words, of immoral thoughts, of any idle hearing, of any false joy, or of heavy mourning, of hypocrisy, of meat and of drink, too much or too little, of grumbling, of morose countenance, of silence broken, of sitting too long at the parlour window, of hours ill said, or without attention of heart, or at a wrong time; of any false word, or oath; of play, of scornful laughter, of dropping crumbs, or spilling ale, or letting a thing grow mouldy, or rusty, or rotten; clothes not sewed, wet with rain, or unwashen; a cup or a dish broken, or anything carelessly looked after which we are using, or which we ought to take care of; or of cutting or of damaging, through heedlessness[1602].

The author of the _Ancren Riwle_ shows throughout true religious feeling, compact of imagination and pa.s.sion, but (as the above pa.s.sage shows) he never loses hold on reality. He is sober and full of common sense, almost one had said a man of the world. He brings to his a.s.sistance (what writers on holy maidenhood so often lack) a sound knowledge of human nature, a sense of humour and a most observant eye. His psychological power appears in his account of some of the sins to which the nun is exposed, in his picture of the backbiter, for instance, or in the pa.s.sage in which he explains that the worst temptations of the nun come not (as she expects) during the first two years of her profession, when "it is nothing but ball-play," but after she has followed the life for several years; for Jesus Christ is like the mortal lover, gentle when he is wooing his bride, who begins to correct her faults as soon as he is sure of her love, till in the end she is as he would have her be and there is peace and great joy.[1603] Not only is the _Ancren Riwle_ full of flashes of wisdom such as these. It is ill.u.s.trated throughout by a profusion of metaphors and homely ill.u.s.trations drawn from the author's own observation of the busy world outside the anchorage. Moreover it contains pa.s.sages of a high and sustained eloquence almost unmatched in contemporary literature, such as the famous allegory of the wooing of the soul by Christ, under the guise of a king relieving a lady who loved and scorned him from the castle where she was besieged[1604].

Even more interesting than the spiritual counsels of the _Ancren Riwle_ are its practical counsels. The moderation and humanity of this most unfanatical author are never more striking than when he is dealing with the domestic life of the anch.o.r.esses. When laying down the general rule that no flesh nor lard should be eaten, except in great sickness, and that they should accustom themselves to little drink, he adds: "nevertheless, dear sisters, your meat and drink have seemed to me less than I would have it. Fast no day upon bread and water, except ye have leave"[1605], and again:

Wear no iron, nor haircloth nor hedgehog skins and do not beat yourselves therewith, nor with a scourge of leather thongs nor leaded; and do not with holly nor with briars cause yourselves to bleed without leave of your confessor and do not, at one time, use too many flagellations[1606].

When he describes the sin of idle gossip, he breaks off with "Would to G.o.d, dear sisters, that all the others were as free as ye are of such folly"[1607]. Nothing could be more sensible than his regulations for their behaviour after the quarterly blood-letting:

When ye are let blood ye ought to do nothing that may be irksome to you for three days; but talk with your maidens and divert yourselves together with instructive tales. Ye may often do so when ye feel dispirited, or are grieved about some worldly matter, or sick. Thus wisely take care of yourselves when you are let blood and keep yourselves in such rest that long thereafter ye may labour the more vigorously in G.o.d's service and also when ye feel any sickness, for it is great folly, for the sake of one day, to lose ten or twelve.

He clearly has no belief in the theory of the medieval ascetic that filthiness is next to G.o.dliness, for he bids his dear sisters "wash yourselves wheresoever it is necessary, as often as ye please"[1608]. Some of the precepts in this section of the _Riwle_ are obviously more closely applicable to anch.o.r.esses than to nuns; for instance the instructions against hospitality and almsgiving. Others are equally suitable for both:

Of a man whom ye distrust, receive ye neither less nor more--not so much as a race of ginger.... Carry ye on no traffic. An anch.o.r.ess that is a buyer and a seller selleth her soul to the chapman of h.e.l.l. Do not take charge of other men's property in your house, nor of their cattle, nor their clothes, neither receive under your care the church vestments, nor the chalice, unless force compel you, or great fear, for oftentimes much harm has come from such caretaking. Let no man sleep within your walls.... Because no man seeth you, nor do ye see any man, ye may be well content with your clothes, be they white, be they black; only see they be plain and warm and well made--skins well tawed; and have as many do you need, for bed and also for back....

Have neither ring nor brooch, nor ornamented girdle, nor gloves, nor any such thing that is not proper for you to have. I am always the more gratified, the coa.r.s.er the works are that ye do. Make no purses to gain friends therewith, nor blodbendes of silk; but shape and sew and mend church vestments and poor people's clothes.... Ye shall not send, nor receive, nor write letters without leave. Ye shall have your hair cut four times a year to disburden your head; and be let blood as oft and oftener if it is necessary; but if anyone can dispense with this, I may well suffer it.[1609]

There follows a short account of the kind of servants who should attend upon the anch.o.r.esses and the way in which these must behave and be ruled; and then the author ends characteristically:

In this book read every day, when ye are at leisure--every day, less or more; for I hope that, if ye read it often, it will be very beneficial to you, through the grace of G.o.d, or else I shall have ill employed much of my time. G.o.d knows, it would be more agreeable to me to set out on a journey to Rome, than to begin to do it again.... As often as ye read anything in this book, greet the Lady with an Ave Mary for him who made this rule, and for him who wrote it and took pains about it. Moderate enough I am, who ask so little[1610].

And six centuries later, as we lay down this delightful little book, we cannot but agree that the claim is "moderate enough."

Other didactic works addressed to nuns may be considered more briefly, for the majority are purely devotional and throw little light upon the daily life of the nun. The largest and most important book in English is the _Myroure of Oure Ladye_, written for the Brigittine sisters of Syon Monastery at Isleworth by the famous theologian and chancellor of Oxford, Thomas Gascoigne (1403-58)[1611]. It consists of a devotional treatise on the divine service, followed by a translation and explanation of the _Hours and Ma.s.ses of Our Lady_ as used by the sisters. The first treatise is profusely ill.u.s.trated throughout by _exempla_ taken from Caesarius of Heisterbach and similar sources and makes lively reading. Speaking of attendance at divine service Gascoigne remarks:

They that have helthe and strengthe and ar nor lettyd by obedience, they ought to be full hasty and redy to come to this holy seruyce and lothe to be thense. They ought not to spare for eny slowth or dulnes of the body, ne yet though they fele some tyme a maner of payne in the stomacke or in the hed, for lacke of sleape or indygestyon.... For lyke as they that styrre up themselfe with a quycke and a feruent wyll thyderwarde ar holpe fourth and comforted by oure lordes good aungels; right so fendes take power ouer them that of slowthe kepe them thense, as ye may se by the example of a monke that was suffycyently stronge in body but he was slepy, and dul to ryse to mattyns. Often he was spoken to for to amende, and on a nyght he was callyd sharpely to aryse and come to the quyer. Then he was wrothe and rose up hastly and wente towarde the pryue dortour. And whan he came to the dore, there was redy a company of fendes comynge to hym warde, that cryed agenst hym wyth ferefull noyse and hasty, often saynge and cryyng: Take hym, take hym, gette hym, holde hym; And with thys the man was sodenly afrayde and turned agayne and ran to chyrche as fast as he myght, lyke a man halfe mad and out of hys wytte for dreade. And when he was come in to hys stalle, he stode a whyle trembelyng and pantyng, and sone after he fel doune to the grounde, and lay styll as dede a longe tyme without felyng or sturyng. Then he was borne to the farmery and after he was come agayne to hym self he tolde his bretherne what him eyled and from thense fourth he wolde be in the quyer wyth the fyrste. And so I trowe wolde other that ar now slowthefull, yf they were hastyd on the same wyse.

The prevalence of such stories shows how common was the misdemeanour against which they are directed. It may be noted that as preface to the second part of the _Myroure_ there stands an excellent little dissertation on the value and method of reading[1612]. It is unnecessary to deal further with the other didactic works in English intended for the use of nuns, since their interest is purely religious[1613].

Before leaving the subject of didactic treatises it is however necessary to mention one little English prose work, for though not addressed to nuns, it throws some light upon the organisation of a convent and in particular provides a very complete list of obedientiaries. This is the _Abbey of the Holy Ghost_, which was printed by Wynkyn de Worde in 1500 and has been erroneously attributed to various authors, including Richard Rolle of Hampole and John Alc.o.c.k, Bishop of Ely ([dagger] 1480)[1614]. The allegory of a ghostly abbey seems to have been popular in the middle ages.

It had already been used by the beguine Mechthild in the thirteenth century and it would be interesting to determine whether there is any direct connection between her treatise _Von einem geistlichen closter_ and the _Abbey of the Holy Ghost_. In her convent Charity is abbess, Meekness her chaplain, Peace prioress, Kindliness subprioress, Hope chantress, Wisdom schoolmistress, Bounty cellaress, Mercy chambress, Pity infirmaress, Dread portress and Obedience provost or priest[1615]. The English book is addressed to men and women who are unable to take regular vows in some monastic order, and the allegory is carried out in great detail.

The study of didactic literature addressed to nuns, in order to a.s.sist them in a G.o.dly way of life, leads to the consideration of another type of didactic literature, didactic however with an _arriere-pensee_, being concerned to point out and to condemn evils which had crept into monasteries. This is the work of the satirists and moralists, who castigated by scorn or by condemnation the irregularities of the different orders. Like didactic writers they describe an ideal, but an ideal which emerges only from their attack on the dark reality, like sparks of light which the blacksmith's hammer beats from iron. Occasionally they use the gay satire of the writer of fabliaux; their condemnation is an undercurrent beneath a lightly flowing stream, their moral is implicit, they poke fun at the erring monk or nun, rather than chastise them. It is so in that delicious poem, _The Land of c.o.kaygne_[1616], which French wit begat in the thirteenth century upon English seriousness[1617]. _The Land of c.o.kaygne_ is partly an attack on the luxury of monastic houses, and partly an ebullition of irresponsible gaiety and humour, which might just as well (one feels) have taken another form. The author has perhaps in his mind the idea of the imaginary abbey of the Virtues, which was so popular among serious writers, but he puts it to a very different use. Far in the sea by West Spain, he says, there is a land which is called c.o.kaygne [_coquina_, kitchen]. No land under heaven is like it for goodness.

Paradise may be merry and bright, but c.o.kaygne is fairer; for what is there in Paradise but gra.s.s and flower and green branches? though there be joy and great delight there, there is no meat but fruit, no hall or bower or bench, nothing but water to drink. But in c.o.kaygne there is plenty of meat and drink of the best, with no need to labour for it; in c.o.kaygne there is muckle joy and bliss and many a sweet sight, for it is always day there and always life; there is no anger, no animals, no insects

(N'is there fly, flea no louse, In cloth in town, bed, no house),

no vile worm or snail, no thunder, sleet, hail, rain or wind, no blindness. All is game and joy and glee there. There are great rivers of oil and milk and honey and wine--but as for water, it is used only for washing.

Then the satire becomes slightly more pointed:

There is a well-fair abbey, Of white monkes and of grey, There beth bowers, and halls: All of pasties beth the walls, Of flesh, of fish, and a rich meat, The likefullest that man may eat.

Flouren cakes beth the _shingles_ all [tiles Of church, cloister, bowers and hall.

The pinnes beth fat _puddings_ [sausages Rich meat to princes and kings.

All may have as much as they will of the food. There is also in the abbey a fair cloister, with crystal pillars, adorned with green jasper and red coral. In the meadow near by is a tree, most "likeful for to see."

The root is ginger and galingale, The scions beth all _sedwale_. [zedoary _Trie_ maces beth the flower, [choice The rind, _canel_ of sweet odour; [cinnamon The fruit _gilofre_ of good smack [cloves Of _cucubes_ there is no lack. [cubebs (a spice)

There are also red roses and lilies that never fade. There are in the abbey four springs of _treacle_ (i.e. any rich electuary), _halwei_ (healing water), balsam and spiced wine, ever running in full stream, and the bed of the stream is all made of precious stones, sapphire, pearl, carbuncle, emerald, beryl, onyx, topaz, amethyst, chrysolite, chalcedony and others. There also are many birds, throstle, thrush and nightingale, goldfinch and woodlark, which sing merrily day and night. Better still

... I do you mo to wit, The geese y-roasted on the spit, Flee to that abbey, G.o.d it wot, And _gredith_ "Geese all hot! all hot!" [cry Hi bringeth garlek, great plentee, The best y-dight that man may see.

The _leverokes_ that beth _couth_ [larks, well-known Lieth adown to manis mouth; Y-dight in stew full _swithe_ well, [quickly Powder'd with gingelofre and canell.

The writer, having set his monks in the midst of this abundance of good things, proceeds to describe their daily life. When they go to ma.s.s, he says, the gla.s.s windows turn into bright crystal to give them more light, and when the ma.s.s is ended and the books are laid away again, the crystal turns back again into gla.s.s:

The young monkes each day After meat goeth to play; N'is there hawk, no fowl so swift, Better fleeing by the lift, Than the monkes, high of mood, With their sleeves and their hood.

When the abbot seeth them flee, That he holds for much glee, Ac natheless, all there among, He biddeth them light to evesong.

And if the monks pursue for too long their airy gambols, he recalls them by means of an improvised drum, the nature of which is best not indicated to a more squeamish generation. Then the monks alight in a flock and so "wend meekly home to drink," in a fair procession.

So far the Paradise has been without an Eve. But the author will provide these jolly monks with companions worthy of their humour:

Another abbey is thereby, Forsooth a great fair nunnery: Up a river of sweet milk, Where is plenty great of silk.

When the summer's day is hot, The young nunnes taketh a boat, And doth them forth in that river, Both with oares and with steer.

When they beth far from the abbey They maketh them naked for to play, And lieth down into the brim, And doth them slily for to swim.

The young monks that _hi_ seeeth, [them They doth them up and forth they fleeeth, And cometh to the nuns anon.

And each monke him taketh one, And _snellich_ beareth forth their prey [quickly To the mochil grey abbey, And teacheth the nuns an orison With _jambleue_ up and down. [gambols

The monk that acquits him best among the ladies may have twelve wives in a year, if he will, and if he can outdo all his companions