Chapter II: Part 2

In the close we must try to forget the present day. When we go to Canterbury to see the Cathedral, when that is practically all in all to us, we must endeavour to call back the past, to put back the “horologe of time,” to remember that this fine pile was once the busy centre of a great monastic community, of whose buildings there are many interesting remnants, stone records crumbling away. St Augustine, who founded this powerful monastery, was a Benedictine. The rules were severe, enjoining silence, work, and divine worship. The monastery flourished, and when Lanfranc was appointed archbishop by the Conqueror, its fortunes received a great impetus from the ambitious prelate. It was not only the church that showed the marks of his strong hand but the monastic buildings also, which he surrounded with a great wall. He added to the riches of the community and to the number of the monks, whom he endeavoured to bring back to strict obedience to their rule; he encouraged learning and literary work; he placed the governance of the monastery in the hands of a prior instead of the archbishop, as heretofore. The monastery, as the years went by, grew more powerful, more rich, more proud, achieving much work of splendid usefulness, some of no use at all. And then came Henry VIII. The buildings inside the monastery walls were numerous--the church, the chapter-house, the cloisters, the dormitories, the buttery, the kitchen, the dining-hall, the infirmary, store-houses and bakeries, stables, houses of entertainment for guests of high and low degree--a beehive of industrious monks. What remains of it all? But little; the memory of a greatness gone for ever--a few buildings, some ruins. These are the picturesque ruins of the infirmary adjoining the east end of the Cathedral, portions of its hall and of the chapel attached to its east end, so that the sick might not be deprived of the solace of the service of God. There is a lovely view of the Cathedral through the fine archway that still stands. Passing westward we come to the Dark Entry, which, turning to the right, takes us to Green Court: it is a dark, gruesome passage, meet for the habitation of the ghost whose history has been sung by Ingoldsby; but it is

beautiful also. Close by is the Baptistry, as the Lavatory Tower is now miscalled, which nestles snugly against the Cathedral, whence was distributed the supply of water to the various buildings. Green Court is worthy a visit for its own picturesque sake, but above all because it contains one of the most delightful specimens of Norman architecture, the magnificent staircase leading up to the King’s School; there are those who say that the Normans built splendidly, but not beautifully, to whom this one work is sufficient answer. Of the chapter-house, what can we say save that the hand of the restorer has been laid heavily upon it?--translator-traitor we have been told; we may say with almost equal truth, restorer-destroyer. And then we may go into the cloisters, which next after the church was the centre of monastic life. The present cloister is chiefly the work of Prior Chillenden, but traces of many periods are to be found--Norman, Early English and Perpendicular. Do not hurry here; it is a place in which to loiter, examining its many beauties, watching the Cathedral the while; as the white clouds sail behind the great tower, or as the storm darkens the day. The lightning flashes, the thunder rolls and mutters, and as the mirk grows deeper and deeper, as though night were upon us--what do we hear? The echoes from long ago of the cries of terror-stricken men, the imperious tones of a haughty priest, the shouts and clamour of armed men. We have travelled back to the dark night of December 29, in the year 1170, the night of Becket’s murder. There have been penned many accounts of this tragedy, but we shall not do ill to follow closely that handed down to us from the clerk Edward Grim, who stood stoutly by his master almost to the end, stood by him till severely hurt himself.[3]

The four murderers, Fitzurse, Moreville, Tracy, and le Bret, arriving in Canterbury on the afternoon of this fatal Tuesday, acted in a curiously hesitating manner, due either to nervousness or to want of any settled plan. After an interview with Becket of which the accounts vary considerably, the murderers retired to arm themselves. But they quickly returned with swords and axes, only to find all entrance barred. But they were not to be baulked, and, guided by Robert de Broc, the custodian of

the palace during Becket’s long exile, the knights forced their way in through a window. Terror-stricken at the noise, the servants and almost all of the clerks fled like sheep before hungry wolves. Those with the archbishop in his chamber besought him to fly, to seek safety in the church where vespers were being sung; but he strenuously refused, unmoved by either arguments or prayers. Then the monks took courage to act, and half dragging, half pushing, half carrying, forced him to fly. But the door leading into the cloister had some days previous been barred up; yet when one of the monks laid his hand upon the bar it yielded to him, coming out of the socket as “though fastened by nothing stronger than glue.” The cross was carried before by the clerk, Henry of Auxerre; and beside Grim there were with him his faithful friend John of Salisbury, his chaplain William Fitzstephen and a few monks. They were now in the cloister and dragged the still unwilling man along the north wall and so on to the chapter house. “What means this, sirs? What is your fear?” he continued asking them, as he angrily resisted their importunity. At last they reached the door opening into the church from the south-east corner of the cloister. As they passed through, the knights were heard following at full speed; and, on the other hand, the monks who had been singing the vespers, broke off, hastening to meet him, glorifying God because they saw him living and unharmed. So almost in the dark they must have stood, for it was late of a winter afternoon. The monks made to bar the door, but Becket bade them forbear, bidding them not to make “into a tower the house of prayer.” The murderers pushed in, with swords unsheathed, shouting, “Where is Thomas Becket, traitor to King and realm?” Receiving no reply, they called again, “Where is the archbishop?” Whereon he advanced to meet them from the steps to which he had been carried by the retreating crowd of monks, and answered, “Here I am, no traitor to the King, but a priest. What do you seek of me?” He turned aside to the right, under a pillar, on one hand the altar of the Virgin and on the other that of St Benedict. The knights followed him, bidding him restore those whom he had excommunicated, only to be met with blank refusal. They attacked him, endeavouring to drag him outside the church; but they could not move him from the pillar. Then one of the knights, to whom Becket spoke roughly as he shook him off, raised

his sword to strike, and the archbishop, bending his neck as though for prayer, and raising his hands, prepared for the martyrdom which he seems almost to have sought. The knight struck, shearing away the top of the skull, and with the same blow almost cutting off the arm of Edward Grim, who was supporting him. Another blow and another, then Becket fell on his knees, saying in a low voice, “For the name of Jesus and for the protection of the Church I am prepared to die.” Then Bret struck at him, wounding him severely: struck with such violence that he not only shivered his sword against the pavement, but also cut the crown from off the martyr’s head so that the blood, whitening from the brain and the brain reddening from the blood, “empurpled the face with the whiteness as of the lily and redness as of the rose, the colours of the Church as Virgin and Mother.” Another of the murderers placed his foot on the neck of the prostrate man, and with his sword’s point scattered the brains and blood about the pavement, calling out, “Let us go hence! This fellow will not rise again any more.” As the murderers fled out into the thick mirk of the night; as the monks cowered in terror in the black darkness of the silent Cathedral; as the crowds surged anxiously in the narrow streets of the city; as the dead archbishop lay there upon the blood-stained pavement, a few trembling but faithful friends near by,--there burst forth a tempestuous storm of rain and thunder. Then the silence of night and of fear. By-and-by the monks plucked up courage to approach the spot where lay the dead archbishop; turning the body they saw that the face was peaceful, no trace of terror or of wrath, he looked as one sleeping. After binding up the frightful wound in the head, they carried the body through the choir and laid it on a bier before the high altar. There in the dim light of the candles the monks mourned the fallen man, listening to Robert of Merton, who told them that Becket had lived a saint as he had died a martyr, showing them the monk’s habit beneath the dead man’s garments and the hair shirt next the skin. Then the monks broke out in praises of the man they had sometimes misjudged, knelt, kissed the hands and feet of the corpse, crying “_Saint_ Thomas.”

The body was first laid to rest in the crypt, until the translation in 1220. In 1173 Becket was canonised, December 29th being the feast of St Thomas of Canterbury. To this tomb in the crypt came Henry II. to do penance for his own

sin and his servants’, in the darkest hour of his reign. Barefoot and fasting he came; with rods he was beaten by bishops, abbots and monks; in the crypt he passed the hours of night; so his sin was washed away.

The bones of the martyr brought greater prosperity to the monastery and church than ever it had known, and as their fortunes rose, so those of their rival St Augustine’s declined. In 1220 the martyr’s remains were translated from the crypt to the new chapel of the Trinity which had arisen from the ashes of the old one burnt down in 1174--moved thither with splendid pomp and ceremony, and laid in a glorious shrine. The feast of the Translation of St Thomas of Canterbury was commemorated for over three hundred years, until by Henry VIII. it was suppressed. To this shrine, glowing with gold and gems, journeyed pilgrims from every quarter of the world; before it they knelt, and were cured of their ills of the flesh and of the spirit; to it they made their offerings, many of great price, such as the magnificent carbuncle, “the Regale of France,” which, when Louis VII. was reluctant to part with it, flew from out the ring upon the King’s finger and stuck fast to the wall of the shrine.

Here is a description of the shrine by a Venetian who saw it about the year 1500:--“The tomb of St Thomas the Martyr, Archbishop of Canterbury, exceeds all belief. Notwithstanding its great size, it is wholly covered with plates of pure gold; yet the gold is scarcely seen because it is covered with various precious stones, as sapphires, balasses, diamonds, rubies, and emeralds; and wherever the eye turns something more beautiful than the rest is observed. Nor, in addition to these natural beauties, is the skill of art wanting, for in the midst of the gold are the most beautiful sculptured gems both small and large, as well such as are in relief, as agates, onyxes, cornelians, and cameos; and some cameos are of such size, that I am afraid to name it; but everything is far surpassed by a ruby, not longer than a thumb-nail, which is fixed to the right of the altar.[4] The church is somewhat dark, and particularly in the spot where the shrine is placed, and when we went to see it the sun was near setting, and the weather was cloudy; nevertheless I saw that ruby as if I had it in my hand.”

Hither came Richard Cœur de Lion from his Austrian prison, Henry V. from Agincourt, and--strange irony of fate--Henry VIII. and the Emperor Charles V. Then came the storm of the Reformation; by the King’s order the treasures of the shrine were carried off to the royal treasury, and the Regale adorned the thumb of the royal humbug. Of the shrine nothing remains now, nothing but a memory. A memory, only a memory; but no one can realise what mediævalism was, how powerful superstition was, or the place in English and Continental history that Canterbury held for those three hundred years, to whom this memory is not present as he stands where once stood the shrine of St Thomas of Canterbury. We are very far removed from those days, but if we would understand them aright, we must here endeavour to probe the spirit which brought weary pilgrims to this holy shrine, some of them to scoff, but the majority in faith. Nor is it seemly to jeer at that superstition--to those whom it guided it was light in darkness; and maybe we have some superstitions of our own to-day, the folly of which will remain for future generations to point out. So from this darkness of mediævalism let us pass out into the daylight, not foolishly thinking that we have seen all or half all that there is to see, but content if we have drunk in somewhat of the beauty and solemnity of this great church.

CANTERBURY PILGRIMS

When seeking for the bright, sweet English daylight, who better could be our guide than Geoffrey Chaucer?

We have outlined briefly the story of the shrine, and of the resort to it of pilgrims high and low; but in order to paint effectively and to call up a true picture of mediæval Canterbury, let us betake ourselves back through the centuries and set out from Southwark on an April morning, adding our humble selves to that immortal band of Canterbury Pilgrims, who whiled away the tedium of the journey with jest and story. Let Chaucer limn the day for us:--

“Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open eye,--
So priketh hem Nature in hir corages,--
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seeken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunturbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were to seeke.”

They formed a company of nine-and-twenty, and in fellowship we’ll go toward Canterbury, with a right merry cheer. This is our route--

“Lo, Depeford, and it is half wey pryme.
Lo, Grenewych, ther many a shrewe is inne”;

then--

“Lo, Rouchestre stant heer faste by!”

and so along our pilgrims’ way through the pleasant country of Kent until we reach

“A litel toun,
Which that y-cleped is Bobbe-up-and-doun,
Under the Blee in Caunterbury weye”;

maybe Harbledown, where we will loiter anon. And so to close sight of the Angel Steeple and of the hospitable red roofs nestling round the church, wherein stands the shrine we have set forth to see. Then down the steep way into the city, perchance to the music of Canterbury bells. We have arrived toward dusk, and naturally we shall at once seek out our lodging for the night, as did Chaucer’s company--

“When all this fresh feleship were com to Cantirbury.”[5]

Alack, we cannot lay our heads under the same roof as did they--

“They took their in and loggit them at mydmorowe, I trowe,
Atte Cheker of the Hope that many a man doth knowe.”

There is little room for doubt but that this inn, the “Chequers of the Hope,” occupied the west corner of the angle formed by the High Street and Mercery Lane, hard by the old Butter Market and Christchurch Gate. Of the original building only fragments remain, for fire was only too busy here in the year 1865. Here was the dormitory of the Hundred Beds, the Pantry, the Buttery, the Dining Room, and the beautiful garden with its herbs and flowers, to all of which the writer of the “Supplementary Tale” makes reference. In olden days Canterbury might almost have been described

as a city of churches, religious houses, and hostelries and other accommodations for pilgrims--that was the atmosphere of mediæval Canterbury. On the opposite side of High Street to the “Chequers” was a lodging for pilgrims erected by Prior Chillenden in the fifteenth century, which was for long years after the Reformation an ordinary inn for travellers.

Pilgrims came throughout the year in companies large and small, but the throng and press was tremendous at the festival of the Martyrdom on December 29, and in summer for the festival of the Translation on July 7, which also was the first day of Canterbury Fair. Larger still the crowds in the years of jubilee, 1270, 1320, 1370, 1420, 1470, and 1520, when on each fiftieth anniversary of the Translation the feast lasted for two weeks and indulgences were granted to all pilgrims.

Beside the inns, there was plenty other accommodation for pilgrims of all degrees, in the hospitals and convents, and, above all, in the Priory of Christ Church.

The city fathers, too, took their share in the festivals, among other entertainments providing a pageant of the Martyrdom; and here follow a few quaint extracts from an account of the expenditure one year upon the same: “Paid to carpenters hewing and squaring of timber for the pageant, 8d. For making St Thomas’s cart, with a pair of wheels, 5s. 8d. Paid a carpenter and his fellows making of the pageant, by four days, taking between them, by the day, finding themselves, 14d., 4s. 8d.... For 114 feet of board, bought for flooring the same pageant, 2s. 8d.... For nails, 7½d. For tallow for the wheels, 1d. For ale spent 1d. To four men to help to carry the pageant, 8d.... For gunpowder, bought at Sandwich, 3s. 4d.... For linen cloth for St Thomas’s garment, 6d. For a dozen and a half of tin silver, 9d. For glue and pack-thread, 3d.... To John a Kent for the hire of a sword, 4d. And for washing of an albe and an amys, 2d.”

Our pilgrims, who seem to have arrived fairly early in day,

“Ordeyned their dyner wisely, or they to church went,”

and then went along Mercery Lane, under the great gateway--as we all still may go--and then broke upon their view a sight different in many ways, yet in many the same as now meets the eye. Dean Stanley has described it well for us: “The pilgrims would stream into the Precincts. The outside aspect of the Cathedral can be imagined without much difficulty. A wide cemetery, which, with its numerous gravestones, such as that on the south side of Peterborough Cathedral, occupied the vacant space still called the Churchyard, divided from the garden beyond by the old Norman arch since removed to a more convenient spot. In the cemetery were interred such pilgrims as died during their stay in Canterbury. The external aspect of the Cathedral itself, with the exception of the numerous statues which then filled its now vacant niches, must have been much what it is now. Not so its interior. Bright colours on the roof, on the windows, on the monuments; hangings suspended from the rods which may still be seen running from pillar to pillar; chapels, and altars, and chantries intercepting the view, where now all is clear, must have rendered it so different, that at first we should hardly recognise it to be the same building.”

Returning to our friends:--

“Whan they wer al y-loggit, as skill wold and reson,
Everich aftir his degre, to chirch then was seson
To pas and to wend, to make their offringis,
Righte as their devocioune was, of silver broch and ryngis.
Then at the chirch dorr the curtesy gan to ryse,
Tyl the knyght, of gentilnes that knewe right well the guyse,
Put forth the prelatis, the parson and his fere.
A monk, that took the spryngill with a manly chere,
And did as the manere is, moilid all thir patis,
Everich after othir, righte as they wer of statis.”

After they had been thus sprinkled with the holy water--

“The knyght went with his compers to the holy shryne,
To do that they wer com for, and aftir for to dyne,
The pardoner and the miller, and othir lewde sotes,”

waiting behind, gaping at the beautiful stained glass which then filled the windows of the nave, and wildly guessing at their subjects--

“‘Pese!’ quod the hoost of Southwork, ‘let stond the wyndow glassid,
Goith up and doith your offerynge, ye semith half amasid.’

* * * * *

Then passid they forth boystly, goggling with their hedis,
Knelid adown tofore the shrine, and hertlich their bedis
They preyd to seint Thomas, in such wyse as the couth;
And sith the holy relikes ech man with his mowith
Kissid, as a goodly monk the names told and taught.”

We can follow in their footsteps, presuming them to have taken the more natural and probably more usual way, going first to the transept of the Martyrdom, over an entrance to which was inscribed--

“Est sacer intra locus venerabilis atque beatus
Præsul uti Sanctus Thomas est martyrisatus.”

Neither could the pilgrims then nor we now see practically anything of what met the eye on the fatal day itself; nor shall we--as did they--kneel before the wooden altar the while the guardian of it shows to us the precious relics kept there. _But_--if we wish to understand the spirit of the multitude in those days, we must forget ourselves for the nonce, and become as little children of great faith.

Then we pass on down into the crypt under the choir and Trinity Chapel, whose darkness is broken by the light of many lamps. Here, if we are but common folk, we shall be shown only a part of the skull of the saint, to which we may put our lips; his shirt and hair-cloth drawers, which formed one of his chief claims to saintliness--for dirtiness was akin to godliness in those times. If, however, we are folk of high degree, the glowing treasures of the chapel of Our Lady Undercroft will be opened to us.

Then up into the choir, where in coffers of gold and silver and ivory there are hundreds of relics, and, as we have seen--

“...the holy relikes ech man with his mowith
Kissid, as a goodly monk the names told and taught.”

Of what kind these relics were we have already made note.

In St Andrew’s Tower were exhibited to the privileged the pastoral staff of the saint, the cloak and the blood-stained kerchief, even rags and shreds upon which he had wiped his nose and mopped his brow. We do not wish to be irreverent; there are certain relics of pious and saintly men which all can treat with respect if not with adoration; but relic worship ran mad and was too often reduced to absurdity, sometimes of a positively disgusting character.

Onward to the shrine of the saint, first visiting Becket’s Crown--the Corona--where we would be shown the portion of the saint’s skull which was shorn off by the murderer’s sword.

Then to the shrine itself, where lay the holy body, enclosed in splendour which has been described on another page.

The shrine was shown, maybe for the last time, in August 1538, to a Madame de Montreuil, as described in a letter to Cromwell: “....so by ten of the cloc, she ... went to the church, where I showed her Sainte Thomas’s shrine, and all such things worthy of sight, at which she was not little marveilled of the great riches thereof, saing to be innumerable; and that if she had not seen it, all the men in the wourlde would never a made her to belyve it. Thus ever looking and viewing more than an oure as well the shryne as Sainct Thomas’s hed, being at both sett cushions to knyle, and the Priour opening Saint Thomas’s hed, _saing_ to her three times, ‘This is Sainct Thomas’ hed,’ and offered her to kysse it, but she nother knyled nor would kysse it, but still viewing the riches thereof.”[6]

So for six jubilees continued this throng to come from all the lands of Europe to this shrine in this English city; the shrine of a saint of whom no saintly deed has been recorded.

Then came the downfall, which Hasted has plainly described: “As this saint was stripped of the name, honour, and adoration which had for so great a length of time been paid to him; so was this church, most probably a principal allurement to the dead, robbed of all the riches, the jewels of inestimable value, and the vast quantities of gold and silver, with which this shrine was splendidly and gloriously adorned: his relics and bones were likewise taken away, and so destroyed and disposed of, that what became of them could not be known, least they might fall into such hands as might still honour them with veneration.”

With this adoration of the shrine the great end of the pilgrimage was attained, and our company departed “dyner-ward"--

“And sith they drowgh to dyner-ward, as it drew to noon.
Then, as manere and custom is, signes there they bought;
Fa men of contré shuld know whom they had sought,
Eche man set his silver in such thing as they likid.”

“Signes,” among which were small lead bottles, containing water mingled with the blood of the martyr; and leaden brooches, upon which were a representation of the head of the saint, and the words _Caput Thomæ_. So when the pilgrims scattered abroad over the countries from which they had come, both on their journey homeward and on their return, men might know that they had been on a pilgrimage to the shrine of St Thomas of Canterbury; as Erasmus describes them--coming from this and other shrines--“covered with scallop shells, stuck all over with leaden and tin figures, adorned with straw necklaces and a bracelet of serpents’ eggs”; also, with scrip and staff, which their priests have blessed for them before they set out on what often was a long and perilous journey. Here is the prayer asking for blessing upon the scrip and staff--“O Lord Jesu Christ, who of Thy unspeakable mercy, at the

bidding of the Father, and by the co-operation of the Holy Spirit, wast willing to come down from heaven, and to seek the sheep that was lost by the deceit of the Evil One, and to carry him back on Thine own shoulders to the flock of the Heavenly hand; and didst command the sons of Mother Church by prayer to ask, by holy living to seek, and by knocking to persevere; that so they may the more speedily find the reward of saving life; we humbly beseech Thee that Thou wouldest be pleased to bless this scrip and staff, that whosoever for love of Thy Name, shall seek to bear the same by his side, to hang it at his neck, or to carry it in his hands, and so on his pilgrimage to seek the aid of the saints, with the accompaniment of humble prayer, being protected by the guardianship of Thy right hand, may be found worthy to attain unto the joy of the everlasting vision; through Thee, O Saviour of the World, who, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, liveth and reigneth, ever our God, world without end.” And when the scrip and staff were given by the priest to the pilgrim, he said: “Take this scrip to be worn as the badge and habit of thy pilgrimage; and this staff to be thy strength and stay in the toil and travail of thy pilgrimage, that thou mayest be able to overcome all the hosts of the Evil One, and to reach in safety the shrine of the Blessed St Thomas of Canterbury, and the shrines of other saints whither thou desirest to go; and having dutifully completed thy course, mayest come again to thine own people with thanksgiving.”

Let not us of these later days take upon us to jest at these “men of old,” who “with gladness” set forth upon this pilgrimage. There were sinners and humbugs among them, as there have been and are every time and everywhere; but among them, also, men of humble and contrite hearts. May we not hope that their prayer has been granted, and that the pilgrimage of life brought them at the last “unto the joy of the everlasting vision”?

THE RELIGIOUS

It is impossible to see into the future, all but impossible to see clearly into the past; the past, as the future, often decks itself in colours to which it has no claim. The chief impression on the minds of most of us when we look back to mediæval days, is that they were picturesque if somewhat uncomfortable. But both ways we usually fall short of the fact; they were most picturesque, most uncomfortable. We have seen how once upon a time the Cathedral, now so decorously grey, blazed with purple and fine linen; so too was it with all life; the very streets now so sober-minded were then a veritable kaleidoscope; all life was highly coloured, save that of the cloister. In those times in the good city of Canterbury it must have been as difficult when one took his walk abroad to avoid the sight of a hospital or of a holy house as to-day to escape from the clangour of church bells.

If we would understand rightly the Canterbury of Becket and Cranmer, we must remember that the rulers of the land were then the King and his nobles and the clergy, the men of arms and the men of peace; there was then no vast and powerful middle class. It is scarcely doubtful that had Augustine not set up his tabernacle in Canterbury that the city would have played but a small part on the stage of English history; she owes her honour and renown to the men of peace who made her their capital in England.

Canterbury never became more than a fairly large country town, yet we find that within her bounds were no fewer than eleven religious houses. With two we are already friendly, the two Benedictine establishments--the abbey of St Augustine and the priory of Christ Church. To the latter were attached the cells of St Martin at Dover and Canterbury College, Oxford. There were also the Austin Canons’ priory of St Gregory; houses belonging to the Dominicans, Franciscans, and Austin Friars; St Sepulchre, St Mildred’s; and various hospitals, including St John Baptist’s, the Poor Priests’, St Lawrence’s for lepers, and Eastbridge Hospital. It will help us to travel back if we gain some outline and idea, at any rate, of the “religious” life of those times.

It was thought by many then, as by many now, that a “regular” life, led under strict rule, with self-denial and in retirement from the world, helped men and women to attain nearer to the example of Christ than could otherwise be hoped. The rule of St Benedict was by no means so ascetic as those of some of the other orders. It was introduced into England by Augustine in 597. Then--dealing only with those whom once we should have met often in Canterbury--there were the Dominicans, or Black Friars, so called on account of the black cloak and hood which they wore over their white tunic when they went out of the bounds of their houses; they were a preaching brotherhood, their work in life being to convert the heathen and the heretical; they crossed over to this island in 1221. The Franciscans, or Grey Friars, also called Minorites, in their humility holding themselves the least of all the orders. The Augustinian, Austin, or Black Canons, a monastic order, whose first foundation in this country was at Holy Trinity, Aldgate. The Austin Friars, the shadow of whose presence lingers familiarly in London ears, were ranked as “mendicants.”

Though there were considerable differences between the different “rules,” the life and occupations of monks of different orders were, on the whole, not dissimilar. So let us turn back again to the priory of Christ Church and endeavour to restore in our mind’s eye some of the monastic buildings that centred round the Cathedral, and the ways and manners and aims of those who dwelt therein. Once for all let us abandon the too common idea that the “religious” led an existence of laziness, and frequently of over-indulgence in the good things of the world from which to so great an extent they had taken a vow of abstinence.

Of the church we have already written sufficient. The building of next importance was always the cloisters, which usually stood to the south of the church, so securing a shelter from cold winds--necessary, indeed, in our climate. Here let us turn aside for a moment; recall, such of us as can do so, Magdalen College, Oxford, with its chapel, cloisters, hall, and buttery, then we can conjure up at once a general idea of a great monastic establishment. Returning to Canterbury, we find the cloisters nestling on the north side of the church, so situate on account of pressing reasons of space. After the church, after _opus dei_, the life of a monk may be said to have centred in the cloister. Here the novices and junior monks “learned their lessons,” which were many and arduous; here the elders put those lessons into daily practice. It cannot have been a sybaritic life; far from it. Then the refectory, or frater, which at Canterbury ran along the north side of the cloisters--and here again we may well recall one of the old college halls, or that beautiful hall of the Middle Temple; the dim beams of the great roof, the dark wainscotting, the screen at the lower end, the daïs at the upper, the long tables running lengthwise; and--what we do not, luckily, see now--the floor strewn with rushes, only too seldom changed. Opening off the cloisters, generally on the east side, the chapter house. The dormitories at Canterbury were situated in the angle formed by the frater and the chapter house. Other buildings of importance were the infirmary,

the prior’s lodging, the almonry, and ample accommodation for the entertaining of guests.

So that we may not gain too rosy a view of monastic hospitality, let us turn to an account of it given by one of the ungodly, Denys of Burgundy, who had no such stomach for monkish entertainment as had his comrade Gerard. This was his indictment: “Great gate, little gate, so many steps and then a gloomy cloister. Here the dortour; there the great cold refectory, where you must sit mumchance, or at least inaudible.... ‘And then,’ said he, ‘nobody is a man here, but all are slaves--and of what? of a peevish, tinkling bell that never sleeps. An ’twere a trumpet now, aye sounding alarums, ’twouldn’t freeze a man’s heart so. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, and you must sit to meat with maybe no stomach for food. Ere your meat settles in your stomach, tinkle, tinkle, and ye must to church with maybe no stomach for devotion; I am not a hog at prayers, for one. Tinkle, tinkle, and now you must to bed with your eyes open. Well, by then you have contrived to shut them, some uneasy imp of darkness has got to the bellrope, and tinkle, tinkle, it behoves you say a prayer in the dark, whether you know one or not. If they heard the sort of prayers I mutter when they break my rest with their tinkle! Well, you drop off again and get about an eyeful of sleep; lo, it is tinkle, tinkle, for matins.’”

Caricature sometimes tells the truth more understandably than history or realism, and these facetiæ of Denys convey a fairly accurate idea of part of a monk’s life. From midnight to midnight it was lived by rule and rote, full of worship, full of work. But it will become us and entertain us to take a more serious view of the hospitality exercised by a great convent. The Guest House, or Hostry, was an important and integral part almost of every monastery. It was the especial duty of one of the senior monks to look to it that everything was ready for the guests who might come. The building devoted to the duties of hospitality were at Canterbury of very considerable size, a hundred and fifty feet long by forty broad, consisting of a main hall, out of which opened small sleeping apartments resembling cubicles. The abbot himself would receive and entertain guests of high degree; merchants and others doing business with the house would be taken charge of by the cellarer. The following passage, quoted by Abbot Gasquet from the _Rites of Durham_, is interesting: “There was a famous house of hospitality, called the Guest Hall, within the Abbey garth of Durham, on the west side, towards the water, the Terrar of the house being master thereof, as are appointed to give entertainment to all states, both noble, gentle, and whatsoever degree that came thither as strangers, their entertainment not being inferior to any place in England, both for the goodness of their diet, the sweet and dainty furniture of their lodgings, and generally all things necessary for travellers. And, withal, this entertainment continuing, (the monks) not willing or commanding any man to depart, upon his honest and good behaviour. This hall is a goodly brave place, much like unto the body of a church, with very fair pillars supporting it on either side, and in the midst of the hall a most large range for the fire. The chambers and lodgings belonging to it were sweetly kept, and so richly furnished that they were not unpleasant to lie in, especially one chamber called the ‘King’s chamber,’ deserving that name, in that the King himself might very well have lain in it, for the princely linen thereof.... The Prior (whose hospitality was such as that there needed no guest-hall, but that they (the Convent) were desirous to abound in all liberal and free almsgiving) did keep a most honourable house and very noble entertainment, being attended upon both with gentlemen and yeomen, of the best in the country, as the honourable service of his house deserved no less. The benevolence thereof, with relief and alms of the whole Convent, was always open and free, not only to the poor of the city of Durham, but to all the poor people of the country besides.”

Guests might remain some two days or nights, as a rule, special permission having to be obtained for any longer period.

Yet another quotation, this time from the _Memoirs of the Life of Mr John Inglesant_, wherein he narrates the visit to the Priory of Westacre in Wiltshire of Richard Inglesant, on an errand from the Earl of Essex and on business for the burly King Henry. The Priory was a small house and set in the country, but the impression his first night there made upon him will serve to carry us back along the corridors of time: “In the middle of the summer afternoon he crossed the brow of the hilly common, and saw the roofs of the Priory beneath him surrounded by its woods. The country all about lay peaceful in the soft, mellow sunlight.... The house stood with a little walled court in front of it, and a gate-house; and consisted of three buildings--a chapel, a large hall, and another building containing the Prior’s parlour and other rooms on the ground floor, and a long gallery or dormitory above, out of which opened other chambers; the kitchens and stables were near the latter building, on the right side of the court. The Prior received Inglesant with deference, and took him over the house and gardens, pointing out the well-stocked fish-ponds and other conveniences, with no apparent wish of concealing anything.... He supped with the Prior in hall, with the rest of the household, and retired with him to the parlour afterwards, where cakes and spiced wine were served to them, and they remained long together.... At last Inglesant betook himself to rest in the guest-chamber, a room hung with arras, opening from the gallery where the monks slept.... The Prior’s care had ordered a fire of wood on the great hearth that lighted up the carved bed and the hunting scene upon the walls. He lay long and could not sleep. All night long, at intervals, came the sound of chanting along the great hall and up the stairs into the dormitory, as the monks sung the service of matins, lauds, and prime.”

Yes, it was a busy, pious life that was led in a well-ordered monastery; the service of God and of man combined to leave few idle moments, and the true religions, we are told, combined “with monastic simplicity an angelic good humour.” As men vary outside, so do they within monastic walls: some saints, some sinners; some dour, some sweet; some patient, some hot-blooded. They were human, those old monks, though somehow to-day we are apt to look upon them as either too entirely other-worldly, or too entirely this-worldly.

Before quitting them it will not be unamusing, or, indeed, without instruction, to quote a few passages from Fuller’s _The Church-history of Britain from the Birth of Jesus Christ until the Year M.DC.XLVIII._, in which that worthy writer tells us of “Some generall Conformities observed in all Convents,” dealing with “the rule of the antient Benedictines.”

“_Let Monks_ (after the example of _David_) _praise God seven times a day_.

“1. _At Cock-crowing_: Because the Psalmist saith, _At midnight will I praise the Lord_: and most conceive that Christ rose from the dead about that time.

“2. _Matutines_: at the _first hour_, or _six of the clock_, when the Jewish morning sacrifice was offered. And at what time Christ’s resurrection was by the Angels first notified to the women.

“3. At the _third hour_, or _nine of the clock before none_: when, according to _S. Marke_, Christ was condemned, and scourged by _Pilate_.

“4. At the _sixt hour_, or _twelve of the clock at high noon_: when Christ was crucified and darknesse over all the earth.

“5. At the _ninth hour_, or _three of the clock in the afternoon_: when Christ gave up the ghost, and, which was an hour of publick prayer in the Temple, and privately in his closet with _Cornelius_.

“6. Vespers: at the _twelfth hour_, or _six a clock in the afternoon_: when the evening sacrifice was offered in the Temple, and when Christ is supposed taken down from the Crosse.

“7. At _seven of the clock at night_ (or the first hour beginning the nocturnall twelve): when Christ’s agonie in the garden was conceived began.

“The first of those was performed at two of the clock in the morning: when the Monks (who went to bed at eight at night) had slept six hours, which were judged sufficient for nature.”

Further, we read:--

“Let every Monk have two Coats, and two Cowles, etc.”

“Let every Monk have his Table-book, Knife, Needle, and Handkerchief.”

“Let the Bed of every Monk have a Mat, Blanket, Rugge, and Pillow.”

We may part from them with the words of Hasted in our ears; of the Reformation and of the destruction of Becket’s shrine, he says: “This great change could not but seem strange to the people who had still veneration for their reputed saint; and the violence offered to his shrine could not but fill their hearts with inward regret, and private murmurings; but their discontent did not break out into open rebellion here, as it did on some like occasion in different places in the kingdom. To quiet the people, therefore, and to convince them of the propriety, and even necessity, of these changes, the monks were in general cried out against, as given to every shameful and abominable vice; and reports were industriously spread abroad, that the monasteries were receptacles of the worst of people.... The greater monasteries were, for the most part, well governed, and lived under the strictest discipline; ... they promoted learning, they educated youth, and dispensed charity with a liberal hand to all around them.... The Prior, who at the time of the dissolution had presided over this convent for three-and-twenty years, was a learned, grave, and religious man, and his predecessors had been such for a length of time before. The convent was a society of grave persons; the aged were diligent to train up the novices both in the rules of their institution, and in gravity and sobriety.... All their revenues and gains were expended, either in alms and hospitality, or in the stately and magnificent building of their church.... Their time was for the most part spent in exercises of fasting, penance, and devout meditations, and in attending the divine offices in the church.”

The lives of nuns in convents of women were to all intents and purposes practically the same as those led by monks, so we will visit for a few minutes--in spirit--the nunnery of St Sepulchre, which stood near the old Riding-gate. It was founded by St Anselm about the year 1100 for Benedictine nuns, whose lives were passed very much in accordance with those of their brother monks. Hasted tells us that Prior Walter, of Christ Church, gave to the nunnery “as much wood as one horse, going twice a day, could fetch thence, where the wood reeves should appoint"--namely, from the wood of Blean, beyond Harbledown; “but there being much uncertainty in this grant, the nuns, in 1270, releasing it, procured in lien and by way of exchange for it a certain portion of the above-mentioned wood to be assigned and made over to them; which wood retains from these nuns the name of Minchen Wood at this time.” And further on he says discreetly, “Time and indulgence of superiors bringing their corruptions, nuns became in process of time not such recluses as their order required.” So in 1305 steps were taken by Archbishop Winchelsea to keep them more straitly. It was here that the Holy Maid of Kent, “the great impostor of her time, was a veiled nun and votaress.”

The story of Elizabeth Barton, more generally known as the Holy Maid of Kent, throws not a few curious lights upon the beliefs and manners of the sixteenth century. She was born in or about the year 1506, and when about nineteen years old was living in the service of Thomas Cobb, who was steward to an estate of Archbishop Warham at Aldington, which lies four miles south-east of Ashford, commanding an extensive prospect over Romney Marsh. The living here, St Martin’s, was presented by Warham to Erasmus in 1511, but he held it for only a few months.

She was afflicted with some form of nervous complaint, which exhibited itself in the form of trances or fits; for days together she would lie half conscious, giving vent to wondrous sayings, telling of events in other places of which apparently she could have no knowledge, and holding forth in marvellous words in the rebuke of sin. It can scarce be wondered at that the ignorant and superstitious neighbours were amazed and that they began to talk of her, some saying that she was inspired of the Holy Spirit, others that a devil possessed her. Her master consulted the village priest, Richard Masters, and together they watched the girl, coming to the conclusion that it was a good and not an evil spirit that was speaking through the mouth of the Maid. The affair was brought to the notice of the archbishop by the priest, and a gracious message of encouragement was sent to the girl. But as the months passed by her illness left her, and she missed the notoriety which she had gained, although she was still held in pious reverence by friends and neighbours. She was unable to resist the temptation to feign a continuance of her trances and inspired utterances.

Her renown spread abroad and Warham decided that the matter should be inquired into, sending down two monks of Christ Church, Edward Bocking and William Hadley. Bocking is believed to have been educated at Canterbury College, Oxford, now Christ Church, and to have been warden there. He left there for Christ Church, Canterbury, probably in 1526, the fatal year in which he was despatched upon this mission of inquiry. We know not what manner of man he was, save for these dealings of his with the Maid; could we gain the details of his story, it would add another and striking chapter to the history of villainy. He saw in Elizabeth a tool, which would be useful to him if he could but temper it. He instructed her in the Catholic legendary lore, and taught her to argue with and to refute heretics. Strype includes Masters in the plot, as thus: “And to serve himself of this woman and her fits, for his own benefit, he, with one Dr Bocking, a monk of Canterbury, directed her to say in one of her trances, that she should never be well till she visited the image of Our Lady in a certain chapel in the said Masters’ parish, called the chapel in Court-at-Street; and that Our Lady had appeared to her, and told her so; and that if she came on a certain day thither, she should be restored to health by miracle. This story, and the day of her resort unto the chapel, was studiously given out by the said parson and monk; so that at the appointed day there met two thousand persons to see this maid, and the miracle to be wrought on her. Thither at the set time she came, and there, before them all, disfigured herself, and pretended her ecstasies.... In her trance in this chapel she gave out, that Our Lady bade her become a nun, and that Dr Bocking should be her ghostly father.” Also the “spirit” moved her further: “It spake also many things for the confirmation of pilgrimages and trentals, hearing of masses and confessions, and many other such things.” “And one Thwaites, a gentleman, wrote a great book of her feigned miracles, for a copy to the printer, to be printed off,” which was called _A Miraculous Work of late done at Court-of-Strete in Kent, published to the Devoute People of this Tyme for their Spiritual Consolation_. Soon after this exhibition she was admitted to the priory of St Sepulchre at Canterbury, and became known as the Nun of Kent. She was wise enough to stifle rivalry, for “there was one Hellen, a maid dwelling about Totnam, that had visions and trances also. She came to this holy Maid and told her of them. But she assured her (it may be because she had a mind to have the sole glory of such visions herself) that hers were but delusions of the Devil; and advised her from henceforth not to entertain them, but to cast them out of her mind.” Other monks assisted Bocking in the deception.

“Archbishop Warham having a roll of many sayings which she spake in her pretended trances, some whereof were in very rude rhymes, sent them up to the King; which, however revered by others, he made but light of, and showed them to More, bidding him show his thoughts thereof. Which after he had perused, he told the King, that in good faith (for that oath he used) he found nothing in them that he could either esteem or regard: for a simple woman, in his mind, of her own wit might have spoken them.”