Chapter XIII: The Nun in Medieval Literature (2)

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 passage, 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 harassed 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_ (Anchoresses' Rule). The book was originally written for the use of three anchoresses, 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 anchoresses 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 anchoresses 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, anchoresses at Tarrant; but though the Latin translation was doubtless due to Simon of Ghent, there is no evidence that the original anchoresses lived at Tarrant; and the most recent research seeks to identify them with Emma, Gunilda and Cristina, who were anchoresses 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 anchoresses and not professed nuns; the essence of their life was solitude, whereas nuns were essentially members of a community. But the moment an anchoress 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 illustrate 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 Ass 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 anchoress 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 illustrated 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 passion, but (as the above passage 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 assistance (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 passage 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 illustrated throughout by a profusion of metaphors and homely illustrations drawn from the author's own observation of the busy world outside the anchorage. Moreover it contains passages 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 anchoresses. 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 God, 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 God'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 godliness, 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 anchoresses 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 anchoress that
is a buyer and a seller selleth her soul to the chapman of hell. 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 coarser 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 anchoresses 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 God, or else I shall have ill
employed much of my time. God 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 Masses of Our Lady_ as used by the sisters. The first treatise is profusely illustrated 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 Alcock, 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 assist them in a godly 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 Cokaygne_[1616], which French wit begat in the thirteenth century upon English seriousness[1617]. _The Land of Cokaygne_ 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 Cokaygne [_coquina_, kitchen]. No land under heaven is like it for goodness. Paradise may be merry and bright, but Cokaygne is fairer; for what is there in Paradise but grass 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 Cokaygne there is plenty of meat and drink of the best, with no need to labour for it; in Cokaygne 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, God 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 mass, he says, the glass windows turn into bright crystal to give them more light, and when the mass is ended and the books are laid away again, the crystal turns back again into glass:

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

Of him is hope, God is wot,
To be soon father abbot!

But whoever will come to this delectable country must first serve a hard penance; seven years must he wade in swines' muck up to the chin ere he win there. Fair and courteous lordings, good luck to you in the test!

More of a fairy tale than a satire, this jovial and good humoured poem was immensely popular in the middle ages. Another thirteenth century lampoon on the monastic orders, written in French in the reign of Edward I, is less well known, possibly because its satire, while still essentially gay, is more obvious than that of _The Land of Cokaygne_. The poem is known as _L'Ordre de Bel-Eyse_[1618]. The author has had the happy idea (not however a new one)[1619] of combining all the characteristic vices of the different orders into one glorious Order of Fair Ease, to which belong many a gentleman and many a fair lady, but no ribald nor peasant. From the Order of Sempringham it borrows one custom, that of having brothers and sisters together, but while at Sempringham there must be between them ("a thing which displeases many") ditches and high walls, in the Order of Fair Ease there must be no wall and no watchword to prevent the brethren from visiting the sisters at their pleasure; their intimacy must be separated by nothing, says this precursor of Rabelais, not by linen nor wool, nor even by their skins! And all who enter the order must feast well and in company, thrice a day and oftener. From the canons of Beverley they have taken the custom of drinking well at their meat and long afterwards (the pun is on _bever_, to drink), from the Hospitallers that of going clad in long robes and elegant shoes, riding upon great palfreys that amble well. From the Canons they borrow the habit of eating meat, but whereas the canons eat it thrice a week these brethren are bound to eat it daily. From the Black Monks (as from the canons of Beverley) they take their heavy drinking, and if a brother be visited by a friend who shall know how to carouse in the evening, he shall sleep late in the morning (for the sake of his eyesight), till the evil fumes have issued from his head. From the secular Canons ("who willingly serve the ladies") they have taken a rule which is more needful than any other to solace the brethren--that each brother must make love to a sister before and after matins; a point which is elaborated with cheerful indecency, under the guise of borrowing from the Grey Monks their manner of saying prayers. From the Carthusians they take the custom of shutting each monk up in his cell to repose himself, with fair plants on his window-ledge for his solace, and his sister between his arms. The Friars Minor are founded in poverty, which they seek by lodging ever with the chief baron, or knight, or churchman of the countryside, where they can have their full; and so must the brethren of Fair Ease do likewise. The Preachers go preaching in shoes and if they are footsore they ride at ease on horseback; but the brethren of Fair Ease are vowed always to ride, and always they must preach within doors and after they have dined. This is our Order of Fair Ease; he who breaks it shall be chastised and he who makes good use of it shall be raised to the dignity of abbot or prior to hold it in honour, for thus do the Augustine canons, who know so many devices. Now ends our Order, which agrees with all good orders, and may it please many all too well![1620]

The inventors of these two imaginary orders were not serious or embittered moralists. Cokaygne lies upon the bonny road to Elfland; and Bel Eyse is a coarser, stupider Abbey of Theleme[1621], whose inmates lack that instinct for honour and noble liberty which makes Gargantua's "Fais ce que vouldras" an ideal as well as a satire. As a rule the medieval satirists of monasticism deal in grave admonitions, or in violent reproaches. But one contemporary poem, hailing this time from France, may be added to the two English works in which the frailties of nuns are treated in a jesting spirit. This is a piece by the famous trouvere Jean de Conde entitled _La messe des oisiaus et li plais des chanonesses et des grises nonains_[1622]. The poem begins with an account of a mass sung in due form by all the birds and followed by a feast presided over by the goddess Venus. After this unwieldy introduction comes the main theme, which consists of a lawsuit brought by the nobly born canonesses against the grey Cistercian nuns, for the judgment of Venus. A canoness speaks first on behalf of her order, attended by several gentlemen and knights, who are proud to claim her acquaintance:

"Queen," she says, "Deign to hear us and to receive us favourably, for
we have ever been thy faithful subjects and we shall continue ever to
serve thee with ardour. For long noblemen held it glorious to have our
love; the honour cost them nothing and was celebrated by round-tables,
feasts and tourneys. But now the grey nuns are stealing our lovers
from us. They are easy mistresses, exacting neither many attentions
nor long service and sometimes men are base enough to prefer them to
us. We demand justice. Punish their insolence, that henceforward they
may not raise their eyes to those who were created for us and for whom
we alone are made."

Venus then bids a grey nun speak and the grey nun's words are dry and to the point:

Has not nature made us too for love? are not there among us many who
are as fair, as young, as attractive and as loving as they. Do not
doubt it. True their dress is finer than ours, but in affairs of the
heart we serve as well as they. They say we steal their lovers. In
truth it is they who by their pride and haughtiness drive those lovers
away; we do but reconquer them by courtesy and gentleness. We do not
seek them in love; but we have pleased them and they return to us.
And, if they are to be believed, that studied elegance, which must be
costly, has sometimes offered them a love less pure and disinterested
than that which they find with us.

This last charge pricks the canonesses and their faces grow scarlet with rage:

What? do these serving girls add insult to injury? Do they dare to
claim to be as good lovers as we, who have ever had the usage and
maintenance of love? Their bodies, clad in wool, are not of such
lordship as to be compared to ours and grave shame were it if a man
knew not how to choose the highest. Bold and foolish grey-robes, great
ill have you done. Without your importunities and officious advances
no great lord or knight or man of honour would think of you. This is
your secret and to the shame of love it is spoken, for you degrade
thus the joys which he would have true lovers long desire in vain. You
have your monks and lay brothers; love them, give them heavy alms and
share your pittances with them: you are welcome to them for our part.
But as to gentlemen, leave them to us, who are gentlewomen.

The grey nun replies quietly that her cause is too good to be weakened by insults, which can only offend the assembly and the respect due to the goddess, and that love considers neither birth nor wealth:

Our grey robes of Citeaux are not as fine as your vair-lined mantles
and rich adornments; but in such things we do not wish to compare
ourselves with you. It is in the heart and in love that we claim to be
as good as you.

There follows a hum of discussion in the assembly, some taking one side and some the other, but most favouring the grey nuns. Then Venus rises to give judgment and makes a long speech on the theme that all are equal in her eyes:

"White-robed canonesses," she concludes, "I have always held your
services dear. Your grace, your elegance, your fine manners will
always bring you lovers; keep them, but do not drive from my court
these modest nuns, who serve me with so much constancy and whose
hearts burn for me the more ardently, owing to the constraint under
which they live. You are finer and know better, perhaps, how to
entertain; but sometimes the labourer's humble hackney goes further
than the palfrey of the knight. It lies with yourselves alone to keep
your lovers. Imitate your rivals and be gentle and gracious as they
are and you will not have to fear for the fidelity of a single lord."

Obviously hitherto the poem has had none of the characteristics of a moral piece. The _debat_ was a common literary device, the law court presided over by Venus a favourite literary theme. Jean de Conde is merely concerned to amuse the court of Hainault with a polished poem cast in this familiar mould, just as at other times he might regale it with the _fabliau_ of _Les Braies au Prestre_ or the _dit_ of _La Nonnette_. Any satirical value which the poem has is due simply to the implication in his choice of parties to the suit; that is to say it is no more a satire than are the numerous _fabliaux_, which have for their subject the peccadillos of the Church. But the trouvere, even an aristocrat of the confraternity, such as Jean, who would have held in utter scorn the mere buffoon at the street corner, was never able to forget that he plied a dangerous trade, a "trop perilous mester." He was continually aware of the necessity to put himself right with Heaven, lest haply Aucassin spoke truth and to hell went the harpers and singers; for the Church's condemnation of his tribe was unequivocal. Therefore at the end of Venus' speech Jean de Conde abruptly tacks on a most untimely moral, which gives a sudden seriousness to his poem. He will sit in the seat of the moralists. So he interprets the whole debate according to a theological and moral allegory, even going so far as to compare the strife between the canonesses and the grey nuns with the resentment of the first workers against those who came last, in the parable of the Vineyard! He concludes with a bitter reproach against moral disorders among the nuns, accusing them of paying service to Venus to their damnation, and bidding "canonesses, canons, priests, monks, nuns and all folk of their sort" to give up the evil love of the world, which passes away like a dream, and to cling to the love of God which endureth for ever. A strange point of view; but one which would strike no sense of incongruity in an audience accustomed to the moralisation of the _Gesta Romanorum_ and of many another profane story, forced to do pious service as an _exemplum_. It is the spirit which built cathedrals and filled them with grotesques.

Jean de Conde was not really a moralist, even in the sense in which the authors of _The Land of Cokaygne_ and _The Order of Fair Ease_ deserve the name. But there were a number of genuine moralists in the last three centuries of the middle ages, who shook sober heads over the misdeeds of nuns[1623]. In two thirteenth century French "Bibles," by Guiot de Provins and the Seigneur de Berze respectively[1624], their chastity is impugned and the author of _Les Lamentations de Matheolus_ (c. 1290) goes to the root of the matter and attributes their immorality to the ease with which they are able to wander about outside their convents. They are continually inventing stories, he says, in order to escape for a moment from the cloister; their father, mother, cousin, sister, brother is ill; so they receive _conge_ to wander about where they will--"par le pais s'en vont esbattre." Moreover he has hard words for the rapacity of nuns in love; distrust them, he warns, for they pluck and shear their lovers worse than thieves or than Breton pirates; you must be always giving, giving, giving with those ladies--it is the usage of their convent; you have to reward the messenger and the mistress, the chambermaid, the matron and the companion[1625]. The mention of the companion shows that the precaution of sending the nuns out in twos was not always successful, and Gui de Mori (writing about the same time) has the same tale to tell; the nun's lover has to give to two at least, to her and to her companion; and since nuns have plenty of spare time, they are fond of feeding love by the exchange of messages, which mean more _douceurs_ from the purse of the luckless gallant[1626].

The most interesting of all French moralists who deal with nuns is, however, Gilles li Muisis, Abbot of the Benedictine monastery of St Martin of Tournai, who began about 1350 to write a "Register" of his thoughts upon contemporary life and morality, one section of which concerns "Les maintiens des nonnains"[1627]. Like Matheolus, Gilles li Muisis considers that the root of all evils is the ease with which nuns are able to leave their convents:

"Of old," he says, "the nun was approved by God and man, when she kept
her cloister and wandered little in the world; but now I see them go
out often, whereat I am greatly displeased, for if this thing were
stopped many scandals would cease and it were greatly to the profit of
their souls."

He represents the "tres doulces nonnains" as behaving "like ladies"; they keep open house for visitors; and the young men go in more easily than the old and guilty love is born. They exchange messages and letters with their lovers; moreover they very often take _conge_ without any other reason than the desire to meet these young men, and the sight of nuns upon every road sets men's tongues chattering. They ought to sit at home, spinning and sewing and mending their wimples: instead they hurry from stall to stall, spending their money on fine cloths and collars. The Pope would do well if he enclosed them. The young nuns are the worst of all; they are forever pestering their abbesses for leave to go out; they will have all their elders at their will, cellaress, treasuress, subprioress. Everything is topsy-turvy now and all are in the same rank, those who are lettered and those who are not; the young desire to have a finger in every pie. Even their vow of poverty these nuns will not keep. They will have incomes of their own and if they have none they grumble until they obtain one somehow: "It is for this reason," they say, "that we desire the money--our houses are growing poor and everywhere we grow weak." But it is not so, for they want it in order to be able to go out more often. "I recognise," says Gilles, "and it is true, that nuns have many duties to fulfil, for there is great resort of guests to their houses, and if it were possible without harm to diminish these expenses, one might do something to help them." But it is necessary to remember that the ownership of private property is a sin; canon law condemns it, and if there is a rule permitting these private incomes I have never met it. Moreover one sees every day the evil results of such possessions.

What is the result of this laxity of morals, of this continual wandering of nuns in the world? Secular folk everywhere talk about them and miscall them:

"Religious ladies," says Gilles, "if you often heard what people say
about many of you, the hearts of good nuns would be dismayed, for the
world has but a poor opinion of you. And why? because men see the nuns
wandering so often; see them packing up all these goods in their carts
and going up and down the hills and dales. It is not you alone who are
slandered; everywhere it is the same; the folk of holy church are held
in little respect and men complain because they have so many
possessions and such fat endowments. But be assured, all of you, when
you go along the highways, that people look and see how well you are
shod and how daintily you are clad; and they hurl evil words against
you. 'Look at those nuns, who are more like fairies. They are attired
even better than other women. They go about the roads, so that men may
gaze upon them; what they covet is to be well stared at. God! well
they know how to entertain men. They have left their cloisters and are
going to enjoy themselves. Better were it for them if they prayed for
people, instead of going to chatter with their friends.'"

Even those who keep company with these nuns are at the same time disturbed and a little dismayed by their behaviour. "Such men go about with them and have their will of them; but pay them behind their backs with fierce slanders...." So the worthy abbot continues, and every word that he says is borne out by the unimpeachable evidence of the visitation reports. His long lament is the most interesting of all moral works which have the behaviour of nuns as their subject and it would be possible to annotate almost every verse with a visitation _compertum_ or injunction.

Serious writers in condemnation of nuns were not lacking in England as well as in France in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, when, as Gilles li Muisis complained, "les gens de Saint-Eglise petits sont deportees." Langland's pungent satire on the convent where Wrath was Potager has already been quoted[1628]. Gower, for whom the world was still more out of joint, has a long passage concerning nuns in that portentous monument of dulness, the _Vox Clamantis_, and draws a pessimistic picture of their weakness and the readiness with which they yield to temptation[1629]. Like monks, he says, the nuns are bound to chastity, but since they are by nature more frail than man, they must not be punished as severely as men if they break their vows; for the foot of woman cannot stand or step firmly like the foot of man and she has none of those virtues of learning, understanding, constancy and moral excellence, with which the more admirable sex is endowed:

Nec scola, nec sensus, constancia nullaque virtus
Sicut habent homines, in muliere vigent!

He proceeds to illustrate the moral superiority of the male by the statement that nuns are often led astray by priests, who enter their convents as confessors or visitors, and under guise of a reforming visitation make the frail women worse than they were before. "I should hold this a most damnable crime," says Gower, "were it not that--really, woman falls so easily!"

Hoc genus incesti dampnabile grande putarem
Sit nisi quod mulier de leuitate cadit[1630].

After further reflections in this strain, he bursts into a long panegyric of virginity and then passes on to attack the manners of the friars.

Far more interesting than Gower's conventional moralising is a poem entitled _Why I can't be a Nun_, and written early in the fifteenth century[1631]. The favourite device of a ghostly abbey, peopled by personified qualities, is here employed, but the inmates of the convent are chiefly vices and such virtues as have a place among the nuns are treated with scant respect by their companions. The poem is unfortunately incomplete and begins abruptly in the middle of a sentence, but the gist of the missing introduction is clear enough. The author represents herself as a young girl named Katherine, whose desire to become a professed nun has been opposed by her father. The father charges a number of messengers to visit all the nunneries of England and the poem opens with the departure of these messengers, full of zeal to accomplish their task, and their return with the news that the nuns were ready to do his will. Whereupon her father told Katherine that she could not be a nun, and merely laughing at her protests, went his way. Then she mourned and was sad and thought that fortune was against her; and one May morning, when her sorrow was more than she could bear, she walked in a fair garden, where she was wont to go daily to watch the flowers and the birds with their bright feathers, singing and making merry on the green bough; and going into an arbour, she set herself upon her knees and prayed to God to help her in her distress.

At last she fell asleep in the garden and in her sleep a fair lady came to her and called her by her name and bade her awake and be comforted. This lady was called Experience and told Katherine that she had come to take pity on her and teach her, saying:

Kateryne, thys day schalt thow see
An howse of wommen reguler,
And diligent loke that thow be,
And note ryght welle what şou seest there.

Then they went through a green meadow till they came to a beautiful building and entered boldly by the gates; and it was a house of nuns, "of dyuers orderys bothe old and yong," but not well governed, after the rule of sober living, for self-will reigned there and caused discord and debate:

And what in that place I saw
That to religion schulde not long,
Peradventure ghe wolde desyre to know,
And who was dwellyng hem among.
Sum what counseyle kepe I schalle,
And so I was tawght whan I was yong,
To here and se, and sey not all.

Then follows an enumeration of the inmates of the convent:

But there was a lady, that hyght dame pride;
In grete reputacion they her toke
And pore dame mekenes sate be syde
To her vnnethys ony wolde loke,
But alle as who sethe I her forsoke,
And set not by her nether most ne lest;
Dame ypocryte loke vpon a boke
And bete her selfe vpon the brest.
On every syde than lokede vp I
And fast I cast myne ye abowte;
Yf I cowde se, beholde or aspy,
I wolde have sene dame deuowte.
And sche was but wyth few of that rowght;
For dame slowthe and dame veyne glory
By vyolens had put her owte;
And than in my hert I was fulle sory.
But dame envy was there dwellyng
The whyche can sethe stryfe in every state.
And a nother lady was there wonnyng
That hyght dame love vnordynate,
In that place bothe erly and late
Dame lust, dame wantowne, and dame nyce,
They ware so there enhabyted, I wate,
That few token hede to goddys servyse.
Dame chastyte, I dare welle say,
In that couent had lytylle chere,
But oft in poynt to go her way,
Sche was so lytelle beloved there;
But sum her loved in hert fulle dere,
And there weren that dyd not so,
And sum set no thyng by her,
But ghafe her gode leue for to go....
And in that place fulle besyly
I walked whyle I myght enduer,
And saw how dame enevy
In every corner had grete cure;
Sche bare the keyes of many a dore.
And than experience to me came,
And seyde, kateryne, I the ensuer,
Thys lady ys but seldom fro home.
Than dame pacience and dame charyte
In that nunry fulle sore I sowght;
I wolde fayne have wyst where they had be,
For in that couent were they nowght;
But an owte chamber for hem was wrowght,
And there they dweldyn wyth-owtyn stryfe,
And many gode women to them sowght
And were fulle wylfulle of her lyfe.

There was also another lady, Dame Disobedience, and says Katherine:

Of all the faults that Experience showed me, this lack of obedience
grieved me most, so that I might no longer abide for shame, for I saw
that they had obedience in no reverence and that few or none took
heed of her; and I sped at great speed out of the gates, to escape
from that convent so full of sin.

Then Katherine and the Lady Experience sat down upon the grass, where they could behold the place, and they began to talk:

And than I prayed experience for to have wyst
Why sche schewed me thys nunery,
Sche seyde "now we bene here in rest,
I thenk for to tellen the why,
Thy furst desyre and thyne entent
Was to bene a nune professede,
And for thy fader wolde not consent,
Thyne hert wyth mornyng was sore oppressede,
And thow wyst not what to do was best;
And I seyde, I wolde cese thy grevaunce,
And now for the most part in every cost
I have schewed the nunnes gouernawnce.
For as thou seest wythin yonder walle
Suche bene the nunnes in euery warde,
As for the most part, I say not alle,
God forbede, for than hyt were harde,
For sum bene devowte, holy and towarde,
And holden the ryght way to blysse;
And sum bene feble, lewde and frowarde,
Now god amend what ys amys!
And now keteryne, I have alle do
For thy comfort that longeth to me,
And now let vs aryse and go
Vn-to the herber there I come to the.

There Experience departed and Katherine awakened from her dream, determined never to be a nun, unless the faults that she had seen were amended.

Then follows a long exhortation to the nuns. They are adjured (by the well-worn example of Dinah) not to wander from their convents, and are reminded that the habit does not make the nun:

Yowre barbe, your wympplle and your vayle,
Yowre mantelle and yowre devowte clothyng,
Maketh men wythowten fayle
To wene ghe be holy in levyng.
And so hyt ys an holy thyng
To bene in habyte reguler;
Than, as by owtewarde array in semyng,
Beth so wythin, my ladyes dere.
A fayre garland of yve grene
Whyche hangeth at a tavern dore,
Hyt ys a false token as I wene,
But yf there by wyne gode and sewer;
Ryght so but ghe your vyes forbere,
And alle lewde custom be broken,
So god me spede, I yow ensewer
Ellys yowre habyte ys no trew token.

The poem ends as abruptly as it began with a catalogue of holy women, whose lives are worthy of imitation, St Clare, St Edith, St Scolastica and St Bridget, "that weren professed in nunnes habyte," and a bevy of English saints, St Audrey, St Frideswide, St Withburg, St Mildred, St Sexburg and St Ermenild. Whether or not the author really was a woman, the poem seems to show some knowledge of monastic life; and a certain sincerity and rugged directness render it more impressive than Gower's long-winded accusations.

There remain to be considered two satires which were written on the very eve of the Reformation and perhaps have a particular significance by reason of the cataclysm, which was so soon to effect what all the denunciations of the moralists had failed to do. These are the dialogues on "The Virgin averse to Matrimony" and "The Penitent Virgin" in Erasmus' _Colloquies_ (c. 1526) and a morality (which has already been mentioned) by the Scottish poet Sir David Lyndesay, entitled _Ane Pleasant Satyre of the Thrie Estaits, in commendatioun of vertew and vituperatioun of vyce_ (c. 1535). Erasmus' dialogues are (as might be expected) strongly anti-monastic and the two which concern nuns are intended to attack those "kidnappers" as he calls them:

that by their allurements draw young men and maids into monasteries,
contrary to the minds of their parents, making a handle either of
their simplicity or superstition, persuading them there is no hope of
salvation out of a monastery.

The dialogue entitled "The Virgin averse to Matrimony"[1632] takes place between Eubulus and a seventeen-year old girl, Katherine, who like that other Katherine, the heroine of _Why I can't be a Nun_, has set her heart upon entering a convent, but has encountered the opposition of her parents:

"What was it," asks Eubulus, "that gave the first rise to this fatal
resolution?" "Formerly," replies Katherine, "when I was a little
girl, they carried me into one of these cloisters of virgins, carried
me all about it and shewed me the whole college. I was mightily taken
with the virgins, they looked so charmingly pretty, just like angels;
the chapels were so neat and smelt so sweet, the gardens looked so
delicately well-ordered, that, in short, which way soever I turned my
eye everything seemed delightful. And then I had the prettiest
discourse with the nuns; and I found two or three that had been my
play-fellows when I was a child and I have a strange passion for that
sort of life ever since."

Eubulus argues with the girl. She can live as purely in her father's house as in a nunnery; more purely indeed--and he makes a grave indictment against the morality of nuns[1633]. Moreover she has no right to run contrary to the wishes of her parents and to exchange their authority for that of a fictitious father and a strange mother: