| Let us go inside the abbey, and survey the
arrangements and order of the house, and in particular, let us note how the monks pass the
hours of the day. A pious and bounteous patron has done all in his power to exempt them
from every mundane anxiety, and leave them at liberty to devote their every minute and
their every thought to the performance of their spiritual duties. The lilies of the field
which "toil not neither do they spin," are not more free from care than are the
inhabitants of this little Eden. The primeval curse, which dooms man to eat his bread in
the sweat of his face, is here unknown. Lands, tenements, immunities, heritages of every
kind has David lavished upon them. Now comes the important question, as to what the men
for whom so much has been done do for others? What are the services rendered to the world
by those who possess such stores of wealth and such boundless leisure? This question we
shall be better able to answer when we have seen the interior of the abbey and its routine
of duties. The monastic day was
divided into seven times or periods. At each division the abbey bell was rung, the monks
were assembled, and the service appointed for the hour was duly performed. The first
division was PRIME, or six o’clock in the morning, the time being taken from the
abbey dial, for clocks had not yet been invented. The monks rose at this hour, and after
prayers said mass for the soul of the founder and benefactors. Breakfast of course
followed. This meal dispatched, it might happen that a "chapter" required to be
held. If a brother had transgressed the rules of the convent, or fallen into other fault,
his case was brought under the consideration of the chapter, and he was dealt with as his
offence was found to deserve. The discipline of the convent was very little spiritual. The
peccant monk might have to undergo a flogging. This chastisement was administered with
more or less severity. There was a rule, doubtless, regulating the number of stripes, but
their intensity as well as number has to be taken into account in estimating the pain of
the infliction; and seeing they were administered by sympathetic brethren who themselves
might one day be overtaken in a fault, we may safely conclude that those whose duty it was
to administer this discipline leaned to the side of leniency. Or the offender was arrayed
in an old sack, or he had to walk bare-foot in his drawers, or perambulate the precincts
of the convent carrying the lantern of penance. There was a touch of humour in this
discipline, bet we may doubt whether it did much to convince of sin, or aid in the
cultivation of holiness.
At nine O’clock of the forenoon came
TIERCE, which was marked by no special duty. The forenoon was spent by the fathers in the
occupation or amusement which was most congenial to the taste of each. Some betook them to
study, others to the copying of manuscripts, especially the writings of the fathers and
the legends of the saints, or the embellishing of missals. These last were executed with a
rare skill, an amazing accuracy, and a rich and brilliant beauty. Others of the fathers
have a taste for gardening, spent the hours in this delightful occupation.
At noon came SEXT. The monks,
throwing down book, and pen, and spade, crowded into the refectory, and sat down to
dinner. One and all dined at the same table. They ate in silence, while one of their
number read to them. The topics of conversation were not then numerous, and the members of
the brotherhood had many other opportunities of exchanging ideas, and the book at
meal-time was the more endurable inasmuch as no one was compelled to listen. The good
monks, engrossed in their dish, might even be altogether oblivious of what was being read.
The NONES were from two to three, when the
monks, having dined, walked in the garden or strolled outside the grounds of the abbey, or
chatted with the burghers of the Canongate, with whom they commonly lived in good
neighbourhood. At four O’clock, or it might be later, came Vespers. At seven all were
expected to be within doors to sing COMPLINE. After this supper was served, and this last
meal of the day ended, the fathers retired to their several dormitories and laid them down
on a straw or chaff mattress, beneath a single coverlet with a taper which burned in their
cells all night through. At midnight they were again summoned from their beds to mattins
and laud. These duly performed, they went back to their dormitories and slept till PRIME.
They then arose to go through the same routine. So passed the day, so passed all the days
of the year, and passed all the years of life. The conventual brotherhood, like a clock
wound up, went on day after day and year after year, striking prime, and tierce,
and sext, and compline, till death came and rang the great final compline,
and the poor monk fell into a deeper sleep and a profounder silence than even that of the
convent, from which, let us fondly hope, not a few awoke to sing mattins and laud
in the morning light of the eternal day.1
Let us enumerate the officers of the abbey,
with their several functions. Our description is not restricted to a particular abbey, it
applies to that whole class of institutions. An abbey was not much of a church, and though
coming under the category of a religious establishment, the spirit dominant in it was not
religious, but secular and worldly. It was a kingdom in miniature.
First came the abbot. He was the monarch of
the little kingdom. He exercised autocratic sway. He must obey the rule of the abbey: it
was his first duty, even as the first duty of the inmates was to obey the abbot. A high
and mighty lord was the abbot. His state and magnificence were regal. When he rode out all
must show him obeisance, and in order to this he was preceded by his chaplains carrying
the ensigns of his dignity. When he visited a church or a monastery the bells were rung,
the priests and monks came forth, and forming in procession, welcomed him with every mark
of honour and token of reverence. The mitred abbots took precedence of the others. In
virtue of the temporal barony attached to their office they sat in Parliament, road to
battle in a coat of mail, appeared on the hunting-field with a hawk on their wrist, or
went the circuit as judges. The abbot could bestow investiture of knighthood, and
sometimes he stood sponsor for the children of the blood royal.
After the abbot came the prior. He was in the
priory what the abbot was in the abbey, its head and chief. When the prior resided in the
abbey he was of course the subordinate of the abbot, his vice-gerent. In the absence of
the abbot he exercised his authority, which, of course, he demitted on the abbot's return.
The prior too was a very worshipful personage, and was waited on with every mark of
respect and reverence. He had horses and servants for his use, and when he showed himself
in public his train was nearly as imposing as that of the abbot, to whom he was held to be
not greatly inferior in wisdom and holiness. He had the power of imprisoning refractory
canons, though not of expelling them from the community. There was a prior for every ten
canons.
The functionary next in rank was the
precentor or chanter. This office could be filled only by a monk who had been educated in
the monastery from a child. He presided over the psalmody, an office of great importance,
seeing monastic worship consisted largely of choral services. The precentor was charged
with the care of other things besides the chants. He was keeper of the sacred robes; he
distributed to each the dress in which he was to appear at the public festivals, and when
the procession marched out he took his place at the head of it. He was, moreover,
custodier of the archives, in other words chief librarian, an office not very onerous in
those days.
Next came the cellarer. He was chief of the
commissariat of the abbey or priory. He was to see to the proper victualling of the
establishment, and mete out daily provision for the inmates. He must take care that there
was no scarcity in the abbey barn, and no stint or pinch at the refectory table. He must
permit no one to sit down to dinner till first the abbot and prior have taken their seats,
and when the repast has ended, he must collect the spoons and other vessels and carry them
to the kitchen, where they were to remain under his charge. He was to do special honour to
the abbot’s spoon, by carrying it in his right hand and the spoons of the canons in
his left.
Next came the Treasurer or bursar. He
collected the rents of the abbey estates, discharged the wages of the servants, and paid
all moneys due for work done for the abbey. The Sacristan was to uncover the altar after
the gospel, and carry a lantern before the priest as he went from the altar to the
lectern. He had the charge of the sacred vestments, bells, banners, cups, candles,
altar-cloths, and wafers for communion. He had the privilege of sleeping in the church,
which was allowed to no one else, without special permission from the abbot. Another
officer was the Almoner. Among other duties proper to his office, the almoner had to buy
cloth and shoes, and distribute them to widows and orphans at Christmas. He had to collect
the wine left at table after dinner, and bestow it in alms. The Cook presided in the
kitchen, with a staff of assistants. The office was never conferred on any but such as had
made the art their study. The Infirmarer, as his name imports, had charge of the sick,
taking care of their meals, and every day, after compline, sprinkling their beds with holy
water. He was to see that no one remained in bed on pretence of being ill when mattins and
laud were being sung, and before midnight he went round the wards of his infirmary,
lantern in hand, to ascertain who were really ill and who were only lazy. In cases of
sudden death he was empowered to hear confession and administer absolution. Next came the
Porter. He held a responsible trust, seeing the safety of the community depended on his
fidelity. A monk of middle age and of established character was commonly selected for this
post. He slept at the gate, and when the bell was rung for compline he locked the outer
doors and carried the keys to the abbot.
The Refectioner, as the name implies, had
charge of all that appertained to the refectory table—its cups, pots, dishes, towels;
he must see that all are clean. He was bound to provide fresh rushes five times a year
wherewith to strew the floor of the refectory, and also to deal out the wine to the monks
which was fetched from the abbot’s cellar. The Chamberlain had charge of the
apartments. He was responsible for the bedding, clothes, combs, and other necessaries of
the monks. He was "once a year to have the dormitory swept, and the straw of the beds
changed." "The monks were to go to the baths when he saw it necessary."2
Last of all came the Hospitaller. His duty was to receive the stranger pr the wayfaring
poor, and conduct them to the hospice of guest-chamber.
Such was the internal arrangement of the
abbey and priory. It was perfect. From its head, the abbot, who sat in solemn state in his
sumptuously furnished chamber, down to the porter and hospitaller, who waited at the gate
to receive the pilgrim, every one had his place and his work, and the establishment went
on with the steadiness and regularity of a skilfully constructed machine. Duly the abbey
bell was rung. Duly the monks come forth at its summons from their cells, with psalm and
chant. Duly the festivals of the church were observed. Duly candle was lighted on the tomb
of the founder and mass said for his soul. Duly the fathers sat down to dine and retired
to sleep. The order, the punctuality, and the obedience of the little community are
admirable; but we are tempted to say, "go forward, you but march in a circle."
You have chanted, meditated, and prayed long enough within the abbey walls, open the gates
and let all this pent-up devotion have vent in work undertaken in the outside world. Of
what use are all these pious acts and holy thoughts if they perish on the spot where they
had birth, and do not bear fruit for the well-being of men? The country which has made
over the best of its broad acres for your use, expects some such service at your hands,
and if it is not rendered there is no reason why the abbey should exist at all; for surely
the abbey is here for the country, and not the country for the abbey.
In closing the chapter we turn for a m moment
to the question, how far did the abbeys and monasteries contribute to the enlightenment of
their age and the progress of civilization? Some have landed these institutions as
inestimable, and bewailed their overthrow as an irreparable loss to the cause of knowledge
and religion. We have no wish to depreciate their services; on the contrary, we are
willing to estimate them at the very highest; still we are unable to see that the world
owes them much, or had any great cause to regret their extinction. We may admit that few
of their inmates, despite the inherent vitiousness of the system, were worthy persons;
that they were better informed than the majority of layme4n of their time; that some of
the showed equal diligence and skill in transcribing manuscripts and illuminating missals;
that they knew a little surgery, gave alms out of their abundance, and were always ready
with their welcome to the palmer, from whom, in return for the good cheer of the
monastery, they hoped to hear the news of the country from which he had come. We may also
grant that their estates and farms were better cultivated than the lands of their
neighbours, their richer capital and more numerous serfs enabling them to practice an
advanced husbandry. And we are delighted also to think that in the monastery there were a
few truly pious souls who had come to the knowledge and love of the Saviour from some page
of Augustine or some verse of the Bible, and who cherished the divine life in that
ungenial air, by drinking at secret springs, nor drinking alone, for sometimes they would
succeed in leading others to the same living waters; but when we have enumerated all this,
we have given the sum of all that monasteries did for their age.
On the other side, what, we ask, was their
religion? What power could it possibly have in expanding the understanding or purifying
the heart? It cannot be evident to all that it lay mainly in meats and drinks, in the
wearing of a certain habit, in the practice of fasts and penances, in the regular
performance of certain ceremonies, in the repetition of certain chants and prayers, in
burning tapers and singing masses. But where is the record of their labours in planting
schools, in instructing the young, in consoling the sick and dying, or in carrying the
light of Christianity to pagan lands. We possess the splendid record of the Church of
Columbia; we see her missionaries hastening across seas with the tidings of life to
nations sitting in darkness. But where have we such record of the Roman Church in
Scotland? So far from dispelling the night she permitted the darkness to grow deeper,
century after century, till Scotland, once the school of Europe, had become well-nigh as
barbarous a land as before its great apostle stepped upon its shore.
It is often pleaded that the monastic
institutions of Rome were the best arrangements for the public good which the age admitted
of. There is not a particle of truth or force in this plea. It is effectually rebutted by
the fact that at an earlier age, and in times still more unpropitious, it was found
possible to set up and keep working a class of institutions, of a far higher order both
intellectually and religiously. No age could be darker, and no country more barbarous than
was Scotland when Columba crossed the sea to plant it with schools of the evangelical
faith. The Columban institutions, instead of succumbing to the darkness around them,
grappled with it and conquered it. If the abbey had a particle of spiritual power in it
would have triumphed in like manner. The fact is, it never made the attempt. As the abbey
system developed the degeneracy of the age increased; the darkness thickened ; arts and
letters had risen with Iona, and they fell with Iona. The expert scribe and the cunning
artificer disappeared from Scotland. The refinement of past centuries had given place to
semi-barbarism; while the abbey, rich in broad acres, in holy chimes and rosy monks,
looked complacently down on a dying land which its grandeur mocked. In truth, the
"abbey" created the age, and what some make its defence is its strongest
condemnation. The Piety of the abbey was pantomime, its learning was dilletanteism, and
its civilization lacquered barbarism. In order to save the last vestiges of enlightenment
and religion it was found necessary at least to clear away the system altogether. It was
fit only for children and dotards, and if ever again the world shall fall back into dotage
it will restore the monastic system.
FOOTNOTES
1. See Monasticon, i. 8, 9, 10.
2.
Monasticon, i. 15. |
