CHAPTER XIII

THE NUN IN MEDIEVAL LITERATURE

"Or dient et content et fablent." _Aucassin et Nicolette._

"La science," said a wise Frenchman, "atteint l'exactitude; il appartient à l'art seul de saisir la vérité." And another, "L'histoire vit de documents, mais les documents sont pareils aux lettres écrites avec les encres chimiques; ils veulent, pour livrer leur secret, qu'on les réchauffe, et les éclaire par transparence, à la flamme de la vie." The quotations are complementary, for what, after all, is literature but a form of life; the quintessence of many moods and experiences, the diffused flame concentrated and burning clearly in a polished lamp. The historian who wishes to reach beyond accuracy to truth must warm those invisible writings of his at the flame of literature, as well as at his own life. He must vitalise the visitation reports for himself (it is not difficult, they move and live almost without him); but he must make use also of the life of writers long since dead. There is hardly a branch of literature which has not its contribution for him. The story-teller has his tale, which holdeth children from play and old men from the chimney corner. The ballad-man has his own pithy judgment in the guise of an artless rhyme. The teacher has his admonitions, whence may be learnt what men conceived to be the nun's ideal and purpose in this cloistered life. The moralist has his satire, to show wherein she fell short of such lofty heights. And the poet himself will hold his mirror up to nature, that we may see after five hundred years what he saw with his searching eyes, when Madame Eglentyne rode to Canterbury, or when the nuns of Poissy feasted a cavalcade from court. The world was subject matter for all these, whether they wrote with a purpose or without one; there is life even in the crabbed elegiacs of Gower, grumbling his way through the _Vox Clamantis_; there is much life in the kindly counsels of the _Ancren Riwle_; there is God's plenty indeed in the stories and songs which the people told. It is the historian's business to call in these literary witnesses to supplement his documents. To the account-roll and the bishop's register must be added the song, the satire and the sermon. Alnwick's visitations, with the story of "Beatrix the Sacristan" behind them, have twice as much significance; Madame Eglentyne and Margaret Fairfax lend to each other a mutual illumination; little captured Clarice Stil needs Deschamps' Novice of Avernay by her side before her case can be well understood. It is of these composite portraits that truth is put together and history made.

An analysis of the classes of medieval literature in which there is mention of nuns shows from how wide a field the historian can draw. The most obvious of these classes is that which contains biographies and autobiographies of saints and famous women who were nuns. Such are the writings of the great trio who made famous the nunnery of Helfta in the thirteenth century, the béguine Mechthild of Magdeburg and the nuns Mechthild of Hackeborn and Gertrud the Great[1539]; the lives and writings of Luitgard of Tongres[1540], of St Clare[1541] and of St Agnes of Bohemia[1542]; the memoir and letters of Charitas Pirckheimer, Abbess of a Franciscan convent at Nuremberg, who was a sister of the humanist Wilibald Pirckheimer and herself a scholar of repute[1543]. The autobiographies of one or two nuns in the later sixteenth century (for instance St Theresa[1544] and Felice Rasponi[1545]) have a certain retrospective value; and the lives of the three béguine mystics, St Douceline[1546], St Lydwine of Schiedam[1547] and St Christina of Stommeln[1548] afford supplementary evidence, which is interesting as showing the similarities and dissimilarities between regular and secular orders. For present purposes, however, these works may be neglected. Their interest is always rather particular than general, since they deal with great individuals, and the information which they give as to the life of the average nun is conditioned always by the fact that a woman of genius will mould her surroundings to her own form, even in a convent. This is true of the medieval saints; while the careers of women such as Charitas Pirckheimer, Felice Rasponi and St Theresa owe much of their significance to the special circumstances of the time. An additional reason for neglecting biographies and autobiographies lies in the fact that the class is unrepresented in English literature belonging to this period. The short panegyric of Euphemia of Wherwell is the sole approach to a biography of an English nun which has survived, unless we are to count the description of Joan Wiggenhall's building activities. For some reason which it is impossible to explain, monasticism did not produce in England during the later middle ages any women of sanctity or genius who can compare with the great Anglo-Saxon abbesses[1549].

Outside the personal records of great individuals, our informants fall (as has already been suggested) into four classes: the people, with their songs and stories, the teachers, with their didactic works, the moralists, with their satires and complaints, and finally the men of letters, poets and "makers," for whom the nun is sometimes subject-matter. First, and perhaps most interesting of all, must come the people and the people's songs, for in the literature of the continent there exists a class of lyrics ("Klosterlieder," "Nonnenklagen," "Chansons de Nonnes") which is specially concerned with nuns[1550]. There is much to be learned about all manner of things from such popular poetry. So the people feel about life, and so (reacting upon them) it makes them feel. Songs crooned over the housework or shouted at the plough steal back into the singer's brain and subtly direct his conscious outlook; this was the wise man's meaning, who said that he cared not who made the laws of a nation if he might make its ballads. Now it is extremely significant that almost all the popular songs about nuns, the songs which

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones Do use to chant,

are upon one theme. They deal always with the nun unwillingly professed. It was the complaint of the cloistered love-birds which these knitters sang.

How can a bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing?

What, one may ask, is the reason for this unanimity of outlook? Why do the people see a nun only as a love-bird shut within a cage and beating its wings against the bars? Partly, no doubt, because such songs always "dally with the innocence of love"; the folk are capable of a deep melancholy, as of a gaiety which is light as thistledown; but Love is and was their lord and king, and so even the nun must be in love when they sing her. It may be, however, that there is a deeper meaning in the _chansons de nonnes_. The nunneries were aristocratic; the ideal of the religious life was out of the reach of women who lived among fields and beasts of the field. These spinsters and these knitters in the sun, who seem so gay and peaceful, we know what their lives were like:

Poure folke in cotes, Charged with children, and chef lordes rente, That thei with spynnynge may spare spenen hit in hous-hyre, Bothe in mylk and in mele to make with papelotes[1551];

carding and combing, clouting and washing, suffering much hunger and woe in winter time; no time to think, and hardly time to pray; but always time to sing. "The wo of those women that wonyeth in cotes" solaced itself in song; but when the echo of the convent bell came to the singer at her clouting, or to her husband, as he drove his plough over the convent acres, they recognised a peace which was founded upon their labours and which, though it could not exist without them, they could never share[1552]. If the songs which the slaves of Athens sang among themselves in the slave quarter at night had come down to us, they would surely have thrown a new light upon those grave philosophers, artists and statesmen, to whom the world owes almost all that it cherishes of wisdom and of beauty. Nor would the Athenians be less great because we knew the slaves. Even so it is no derogation to the monastic ideal to say that the common people, shut out of it, looked at it differently from the great churchmen, who praised it; and, unlike those of the Athenian slaves, their songs still live. The popular mind (these songs would seem to say) had little sympathy for that career in which the daughters of the people had no share. It is immaterial whether they looked upon it with the eye of the fox in the fable, declaring that the grapes were sour, or whether the lusty common sense of those living close to nature gave them a contempt for the bloodless ecstasies they could not understand. At all events the cloister mirrored in their songs is a prison and a grave:

Mariez-vous, les filles, Avec ces bons drilles, Et n'allez jà, les filles, Pourrir derrièr' les grilles[1553].

That was how the people and the nightingale envisaged it; and no mystic will be the less wise for pondering that brutal last line, the eternal revolt of common sense against asceticism.

All over western and southern Europe this theme was set to music, now with gaiety and insouciance, now with bitterness. The wandering clerk goes singing on his way:

Plangit nonna fletibus The nun is complaining, Inenarrabilibus, Her tears are down raining, Condolens gemitibus She sobbeth and sigheth, Dicens consocialibus: To her sisters she crieth: Heu misella! Misery me!

Nichil est deterius O what can be worse than this Tali vita, life that I dree, Cum enim sim petulans When naughty and lovelorn, Et lasciva. and wanton I be.

And he can tell the nun's desire

Pernoctando vigilo All the night long I unwillingly wake, Cum non vellem How gladly a lad in mine arms would I take. Iuvenem amplecterer Quam libenter![1554]

For those who know no Latin it is the same. "In this year," [1359] says a Limburg chronicle, "Men sang and piped this song":

Gott geb im ein verdorben jar God send to him a lean twelve months der mich macht zu einer nunnen Who in mine own despite, und mir den schwarzen mantel gab A sooty mantle put on me, der weissen rock darunten! All and a cassock white!

Soll ich ein nunn gewerden And if I must become a nun, dann wider meinen willen Let me but find a page, so will ich auch einem knaben jung And if he is fain to cure my pain seinen kummer stillen, His pain I will assuage.

Und stillt he mir den meinen nit His be the loss, then, if he fail daran mag he verliesen[1555]. To still my amorous rage.

In Italy at Carnival time in the fifteenth century the favourite songs tell of nuns who leave their convents for a lover[1556]. But above all the theme is found over and over again in French folk songs: "the note, I trowe, y maked was in Fraunce." Two little thirteenth century poems have survived to show how piquant an expression the French singers gave to it. In one of these the singer wanders out in the merry month of May, that time in which the "chanson populaire" is always set, in deep and unconscious memory of the old spring festivals, celebrated by women in the dawn of European civilisation. He goes plucking flowers, and out of a garden he hears a nun singing to herself:

ki nonne me fist Jesus lou maldie. je di trop envie vespres ne complies: j'amaisce trop muels moneir bone vie ke fust deduissans et amerousete.

Je sant les douls mals leis ma senturete. malois soit de deu ki me fist nonnete.

Elle s'escriait comceux esbaihie! e deus, ki m'ait mis en cest abaie! maix ieu en istrai per sainte Marie; ke ne vestirai cotte ne gonnette.

Je sant les douls mals leis ma senturete. malois soit de deu ki me fist nonnete.

Celui manderai a cui seux amie. k'il me vaigne querre en ceste abaie; s'irons a Parix moneir bone vie, car it est jolis et je seux jonete.

Je sant les douls mals leis ma senturete. malois soit de deu ki me fist nonnete.

quant ces amis ot la parolle oie, de joie tressaut, li cuers li fremie, et vint a la porte do celle abaie: si en gatait fors sa douce amiete.

Je sant les douls mals leis ma senturete. malois soit de deu ki me fist nonnete[1557].

"The curse of Jesus on him who made me a nun! All unwillingly say I vespers and compline; more fain were I to lead a happy life of gaiety and love. _I feel the delicious pangs beneath my bosom. The curse of God on him who made me be a nun!_ She cried, God's curse on him who put me in this abbey. But by our Lady I will flee away from it and never will I wear this gown and habit. _I feel, etc._ I will send for him whose love I am and bid him come seek me in this abbey. We will go to Paris and lead a gay life, for he is fair and I am young. _I feel, etc._ When her lover heard her words, he leapt for joy and his heart beat fast. He came to the gate of that abbey, and stole away his darling love. _I feel, etc._"

In the other song the setting is the same;

L'autrier un lundi matin m'an aloie ambaniant; s'antrai an un biau jardin, trovai nonette seant. ceste chansonette dixoit la nonette "longue demoree faites, frans moinnes loialz Se plus suis nonette, ains ke soit li vespres, je morai des jolis malz"[1558].

"Lately on a Monday morn as I went wandering, I entered into a fair garden and there I found a nun sitting. This was the song that the nun sang: 'Long dost thou tarry, frank, faithful monk. If I have to be a nun longer I shall die of the pains of love before vespers.'"

The end hardly ever varies. The nun is either taken away by a lover (as in the first of these songs), or finds occasion to meet one without leaving her house (as in the second); or else she runs away in the hope of finding one like the novice of Avernay in Deschamps' poem, who had learned nothing during her sojourn "fors un mot d'amourette," and who wanted to have a husband "si comme a Sebilette."

Adieu le moniage: Jamaiz n'y entreray. Adieu tout le mainage Et adieu Avernay! Bien voy l'aumosne est faitte: Trop tart me suy retraitte, Certes, ce poise my, Plus ne seray nonnette (Oez de la nonnette Comme a le cuer joly: S'ordre ne ly puet plere)[1559].

"Farewell nunhood, never shall I enter thy state. Farewell all the household and farewell Avernay! The alms are given, too late have I left the world. Of a truth this wearies me; I will be a nun no more. (Hear this tale of the nun, whose heart was gay and whose order could not please her)."

It is but rarely that the singer's sympathy is against the prisoned nun; and although one or two charming songs may be found which convey a warning, the moral sits all awry. A Gascon air (intended, like so many, to accompany a dance and having the favourite refrain "Va léger, légère, va légèrement") threatens an altogether inadequate punishment for a nun who enjoys the sweets of this world.

"Down in the meadow, there is a convent. In it a nun lies ill." "Tell me, little nun, for what do you hunger?" "For white apples and for a young lad." "Do not eat, little nun, they will bury you not in the church, nor even in the convent, but out in the graveyard with the poor people"[1560].

A Provençal song with a haunting air tells how the Devil carried off a nun who rebelled against her imprisonment:

Dedins Aix l'y a'no moungeto, Tant pourideto, Di que s'avie soun bel amic Sera la reino dou pays....

"In Aix there is a little nun, a wicked little nun; she says that with her handsome lover she will be queen of all the land. She weeps and weeps, that wicked little nun, and every day she grows thinner and thinner, because she may not put off her habit. But her father has sent her a message, a solemn message, that she cannot do as she would, that in the convent she must stay. The little nun has cursed her father, who made her leave her handsome lover and take the veil and habit. The little nun has cursed the trowel that made the church and the mason who built it and the men who worked for him. The little nun has cursed the priest who said mass and the acolytes who served him and the congregation who listened to him. The little nun has cursed the cloth which made the veil and the cord of St Francis and the vow of poverty. One day when she was all alone in her room, the devil appeared to her. 'Welcome, my love!' 'I am not your love whom you desire, my pretty. I am the devil, don't you see? I am come to rescue you from the convent.' 'You must first ask my father and also my mother and my friends and my kinsmen, to see if they will consent.' 'No, I will not ask your father, nor yet your mother, nor your friends nor your kinsmen. Now and at once we will go.' 'Farewell, my sister nuns, so little and young, do not do as I did, but praise God well in the convent.' The devil has taken the little nun, the wicked little nun; he has carried her high up into the sky and then he has hurled her down into hell, down, down into hell"[1561].

There is a moral here to be sure, but it is the moral of a fairy tale, not of a sermon. As to the many variants of the "Clericus et Nonna" theme in which sometimes the nun makes love to a clerk and is repulsed and sometimes the clerk makes love to a nun and is repulsed[1562] it is possible that the Church had a hand in them all. Wandering clerks and cloistered monks were capable of the most unabashed love-poetry; but sometimes they chose to set themselves right with heaven.

In England the theme of the nun unwillingly professed is not found in popular songs, such as abound in France, Italy and Germany. It received, however, a literary expression towards the close of the fourteenth century. In the pseudo-Chaucerian _Court of Love_ the lover sees among those who do sacrifice to the King and Queen of Love a wailing group of priests and hermits, friars and nuns:

This is the courte of lusty folke and gladde, And wel becometh hire abite and arraye; O why be som so sory and so sadde, Complaynyng thus in blak and white and graye? Freres they ben, and monkes, in gode faye: Alas for rewth! grete dole it is to sene, To se hem thus bewaile and sory bene.

Se howe thei crye and wryng here handes white, For thei so sone wente to religion! And eke the nonnes with vaile and wymple plight, Here thought is, thei ben in confusion. "Alas," thay sayn, "we fayne perfeccion, In clothes wide and lake oure libertie But all the synne mote on oure frendes be.

For, Venus wote, we wold as fayne do ye, That ben attired here and wel besene, Desiren man and love in oure degree Ferme and feithfull right as wolde the quene: Oure frendes wikke in tender youth and grene, Ayenst oure wille made us religious; That is the cause we morne and waylen thus."

* * * * *

And yet agaynewarde shryked every nonne, The pange of love so strayneth hem to cry: "Now woo the tyme" quod thay "that we be boune! This hatefull order nyse will done us dye! We sigh and sobbe and bleden inwardly Fretyng oure self with thought and hard complaynt, That ney for love we waxen wode and faynt"[1563].

A kindred poem, _The Temple of Glas_, by Lydgate (who seems himself to have become a monk of Bury at the age of fifteen) contains the same idea. Among the lovers in the Temple are some who make bitter complaint, youth wedded to age, or wedded without free choice, or shut in a convent:

And right anon I herd oþer crie With sobbing teris and with ful pitous soune, To fore þe goddes, bi lamentacioun, That were constrayned in hir tender youþe And in childhode, as it is ofte couþe, Y-entred were into religioun, Or þei hade yeris of discresioun, That al her life cannot but complein, In wide copis perfeccion to feine, Ful couertli to curen al hir smert, And shew þe contrarie outward of her hert. Thus saugh I wepen many a faire maide, That on hir freendis al þi wite þei liede[1564].

The same idea is also repeated in King James I of Scotland's poem, _The King's Quair_[1565], and later (with more resemblance to the continental songs) in the complaint of the wicked Prioress in Sir David Lyndesay's morality play, _Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estaits_ [c. 1535]:

I gif my freinds my malisoun That me compellit to be ane Nun, And wald nocht let me marie.

It was my freinds greadines That gart me be ane Priores: Now hartlie them I warie.

Howbeit that Nunnis sing nichts and dayis Thair hart waitis nocht quhat thair mouth sayis; The suith I ghow declair.

Makand ghow intimatioun, To Christis Congregatioun Nunnis ar nocht necessair.

Bot I sall do the best I can, And marie sum gude honest man, And brew gude aill and tun.

Mariage, be my opinioun, It is better Religioun As to be freir or Nun[1566].

The concentrated bitterness of _The Court of Love_ and the social satire of Lindesay are only a literary expression of the theme treated more lightheartedly in the popular _chansons de nonnes_. The songs are one side of the popular view of asceticism, the gay side. The serious side may be found in the famous story of _The Nun who Loved the World_:

Some time there was a nun that hight Beatrice, a passing fair woman, and she was sacristan of the kirk, and she had great devotion unto our Lady; and ofttimes men desired her to sin. So at last she consented unto a clerk to go away with him when compline was done, and ere she departed she went unto an altar of our Lady and said unto her; "Lady, as I have been devout unto thee, now I resign unto thee these keys, for I may no longer sustain the temptation of my flesh." And she laid the keys on the altar and went her ways unto the clerk. And when he had defouled her, within a few days he left her and went away; and she had nothing to live on and thought shame to gang home again unto her cloister and she fell to be a common woman. And when she had lived in that vice fifteen years, on a day she came unto the nunnery gate, and asked the porter if he knew ever a nun in that place that hight Beatrice, that was sacristan and keeper of the kirk. And he said he knew her on the best wise and said she was a worthy woman and a holy from when she was a little bairn, "and ever has kept her clean and in good name." And she understood not the words of this man and went her ways. And our Lady appeared unto her and said: "Behold, I have fulfilled thine office these fifteen years and therefore turn again now into thy place and be again in thine office as thou wast, and shrive thee and do thy penance, for there is no creature here that knows thy trespass, for I have ever been for thee in thy clothing and in thine habit." And anon she was in her habit and went in and shrove her and did her penance and told all that was happened unto her[1567].

This tale is interesting, because it is much more than a piece of naïve piety. The story of Beatrice is intimately connected with the _chansons de nonnes_; it is the serious, as they are the gay, expression of a whole philosophy of life. The songs are, indeed, purely materialistic and do not attempt (how should the spinsters and the knitters in the sun attempt it?) to give a philosophical justification for their attitude. The miracle is simple and seems on the surface to draw no moral, save that devotion to the Virgin will be rewarded. Nevertheless the philosophy and the moral are there; they are those of the most famous of all medieval songs, _Gaudeamus igitur, juvenes dum sumus_. The theme of the miracle and of the songs alike is the revolt against asceticism, the revolt of the body, which knows how short its beauty and its life, against the spirit which lives forever, and yet will not allow its poor yokefellow one little hour. The fact that the story of Beatrice takes the form of a Mary-miracle is itself significant. For the "Nos habebit humus" argument can be interpreted in two ways. On the one hand stands the human multitude, gathering rosebuds while it may, crying up and down the roads of the world to all who pass to rejoice today, for "ubi sunt qui ante nos in mundo fuere?" On the other hand stands the moralist, singing the same song:

Were beth they biforen us weren, Houndes ladden and hauekes beren, And hadden feld and wode, That riche _levedies_ in _hoere_ bour, [ladies, their That wereden gold in hoere tressour, With hoere _brightle_ rode?-- [complexion

--but drawing how different a moral,

_Dreghy_ here man, thenne, if thou wilt [endure A luitel _pine_, that me the _bit_ [pain, bid Withdrau thine _eyses_ ofte[1568]. [ease

Often for long stretches at a time the wandering clerks and the singers were willing to leave to the moralist this heaven which was to be won by despising earthly beauty; they were content to go to hell singing with Aucassin and Nicolete and all the kings of the world. But at other times they ached for heaven too and would not believe that they might win there only by the narrow path of righteousness. So they invented a philosophical justification for their way of life. The Church had forgotten the love which sat with publicans and sinners; the people rediscovered it, and attributed it not to the Son but to the Mother. At one blow they outwitted the moralist by inventing the cult of the Virgin Mary[1569]. In their hands this Mary worship became more than the worship of Christ's mother; it became almost a separate religion, a religion under which jongleurs and thieves, fighters and tournament-haunters and the great host of those who loved unwisely found a mercy often denied to them by the ecclesiastical hierarchy. The people created a Virgin to whom justice was nothing and law less than nothing, but to whom love of herself was all. "Imperatrix supernorum, supernatrix infernorum," hell was emptied under her rule and heaven became a new place, filled with her disreputable, faulty, human lovers. She was not only the familiar friend of the poor and humble, she was also the confidante of the lover, of all the Aucassins and Nicoletes of the world. It is not without significance that so great a stress was always laid upon her personal loveliness. Her cult became the expression of mankind's deep unconscious revolt against asceticism, their love of life, their passionate sense of "beauty that must die." The story of Beatrice has kept its undiminished attraction for the modern world largely because in it, more than in all the other Mary-miracles, life has triumphed and has been justified of heaven[1570]. Even the cold garb given to it by ecclesiastics such as Caesarius of Heisterbach cannot conceal its underlying idea that all love is akin, the most earthy to the most divine; the idea which Malory expressed many years later, when he wrote of Queen Guinevere "that while she lived she was a true lover and therefore she had a good end." The theme most familiar to us in the didactic literature of the middle ages is the theme of the soul "here in the body pent"; for the moralist has his deliberate purpose and sets down his idea more directly and with more point than do the story-teller and the singer, who have no aim but to say and speak and tell the tale. But when we have been moved by the theme of the soul, let us not fail also to recognise when we meet it--whether in the wandering scholar's _Gaudeamus_ or in the miracle of the nun who loved the world--the theme of the body, despised and maimed and always beautiful, crying out for its birthright. Even in the middle ages the Greeks had not lived in vain.

The miracle of Sister Beatrice leads to the consideration of another type of popular literature, which throws much light on convent life. Sometimes the people grow tired of singing to themselves; they want to be told stories, which they can repeat in the long evenings, when the sun goes down and the rushlight sends its wan uneven flicker over the floor. Even in the households of rich men story-telling round the fire is the favourite after-dinner occupation[1571]. These stories come from every conceivable source, from the East, from the Classics, from the Lives of the Fathers, from the Legends of the Saints, from the Miracles of the Virgin, from the accumulated experience of generations of story-tellers. At first their purpose is simply to amuse, and the jongleur can always get a hearing for his _fabliau_; from village green to town market, from the ale house to the manor and the castle hall he passes with his repertoire of grave, gay, edifying, ribald, coarse or delightful tales and when he has gone his enchanted audience repeats and passes on all that he has said[1572]. Then another professional story-teller begins to compete with the jongleur, a story-teller whose object is to point a moral rather than to adorn a tale. The Church, observing that attentive audience, adopts the practice. Preachers vie with jongleurs in illustrating their sermons by stories, "examples" they call them. Often they use the same tales; anything so that the congregation keep awake; and though the examples are sometimes very edifying, they are sometimes but ill-disguised buffoonery, and moralists cry out against the preacher, who instead of the Gospel passes off his own inventions, jests and gibes, so that the poor sheep return from pasture wind-fed[1573]. But the greatest preachers win many souls by a judicious use of stories[1574], and diligent clerks make huge collections of such _exempla_, wherein the least skilled sermon-maker may find an illustration apt to any text[1575]. Didactic writers and theologians also adopt the practice; they trust to example rather than to precept; their ponderous tomes are alive with anecdotes, but one half-pennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack[1576]. Then the literary men begin to seize upon the _fabliaux_ and _exempla_ for the purpose of their art; they borrow plots from this bottomless treasure-house; and so come the days of Boccaccio and _Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_ and the short story is made at last[1577]. They all, jongleurs, preachers, theologians and men of letters repeat each other, for a tale once told is everyone's property; the people repeat them; and so the stories circulate from lip to lip through the wide lands of Europe and down the echoing centuries. And since these tales deal with every subject under the sun (and with many marvels which the sun never looked upon), it is not surprising that several of them deal with nuns.

Across six centuries we can, with the aid of a sympathetic imagination, slip into the skins of these inquisitive and child-like folk, and hear some of the stories to which they lent such an absorbed attention. Let us

Forget six counties overhung with smoke, Forget the snorting steam and piston stroke, Forget the spreading of the hideous town; Think rather of the pack-horse on the down, And dream of London, small and white and clean, The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green.

Or rather, let us imagine not London but some other little English town, on just such an April morning as moved Chaucer and his fellow-voyagers to seek the holy blissful martyr by way of the Tabard Inn. Having sloughed the film of those six hundred years from off our eyes, we can see more clearly the shadowy forms of our fathers that begat us. We can see a motley crowd gathered in the market place, chiefly made up of women. There are girls, demure or wistful or laughing, fresh from their spinning wheels or from church; there are also bustling wives, in fine well-woven wimples and moist new shoes, arm in arm with their gossips. By craning a neck we may see that flighty minx Alison, the carpenter's wife, "long as a mast and upright as a bolt," casting about her with her bold black eyes and looking jealously at the miller's wife from across the brook, who is as pert as a pye and considers herself a lady. There is a good wife of beside Bath, with a red face and ten pounds' weight of kerchiefs on her head; a great traveller and a great talker she is--we can hear her chattering right across the square; it is a pity she is so deaf. There, under her own sign-board, is the inn-keeper's ill-tempered dame, who bullies her husband and ramps in his face if her neighbours do not bow low to her in church; and there is the new-made bride of yonder merchant with the forked beard--they say she is a shrew too. There is Rose the Regrater, who also weaves woollen cloth and cheats her spinsters. There is Dame Emma, who keeps the tavern by the river--our neighbour Glutton's wife would like to scratch out her eyes, for Glutton always has to be carried home from that inn. There also are Elinor, Joan and Margery, Margaret, Alice and Cecily, merry gossips, their hearts well cherished with muscadel. Mingled with these good wives of the town we see, as we look about us, other folk; portly burgesses, returning from a meeting of the borough court, full of wine and merchant law; a couple of friars, their tippets stuffed with knives and pins, and a fat monk, with a greyhound slinking at his heel; an ale-taster, reeling home from duties performed too well; a Fleming or two, ever on the lookout for snarls and sharp elbows from the true-born native craftsmen; several pretty supercilious ladies "with browen blissful under hood," squired by a gay young gentleman, embroidered all over with flowers; two giggling curly-haired clerks (Absolon and Nicholas must be their names) ogling the carpenter's wife and sniggering at their solemn faced companion--that youth there, with the threadbare courtepy and a book of Aristotle under his arm; a bailiff buying tar and salt for the home farm and selling his butter and eggs to the townsmen; numbers of beggars and idlers and children; and on the outskirts of the crowd little sister Joan from St Mary's Convent, who ought not to be out alone, but who cannot resist stopping to hear the sermon.

For we have all come running together in this year of our Lord 1380 to hear a sermon[1578]. We look upon sermons as an excellent opportunity "for to see and eek for to be seen"; in the same spirit, compact one-third of sociability, one-third of curiosity and one-third of piety, we always crowd

To vigilies and to processiouns, To preaching eek and to thise pilgrimages, To pleyes of miracles and mariages[1579].

There is the preacher under the stone market cross. He is bidding us shun the snares of the world; if we cannot shut ourselves up in a cloister (which is best), he says, we must make our hearts a cloister, where no wickedness will come. He will have to tell us a story soon, for we are restless folk and do not love to sit still on the cobbles at his feet, but with a story he can always hold us. Sure enough he has left his theme now and is giving us an example:

Jacobus de Vetriaco tells how some time there was a mighty prince that was founder of a nunnery that stood near hand him; and he coveted greatly a fair nun of the place to have her unto his leman. And not withstanding neither by prayer nor by gift he could overcome her; and at the last he took her away by strong force. And when men came to take her away, she was passing feared and asked them why they took her out of her abbey, more than her other sisters. And they answered her again and said, because she had so fair een. And anon as she heard this she was fain and she gart put out her een anon and laid them in a dish and brought them unto them and said: "Lo, here is the een that your master desires and bid him let me alone and lose neither his soul nor mine." And they went unto him therewith and told him and he let her alone; and by this mean she kept her chastity. And within three years after she had her een again, as well as ever had she, through grace of God[1580].

A shudder of horror and admiration runs through us, but the preacher continues with a second example:

"How different," he says, "Was this most chaste and wise virgin from that wretched nun who was sought by a noble knight, that he might seduce her, and her abbess hid her in a certain very secret place in the monastery. And when that knight had sought her in all the offices and corners of the monastery and could in no wise find her he grew at length weary and tired of the quest and turned to depart. But she, seeing that he had stopped looking for her, because he had been unable to find her, began to call 'Cuckoo!', as children are wont to cry when they are hidden and do not wish to be found. Whereupon the knight, hearing her, ran to the place, and having accomplished his will departed therefrom, deriding the miserable girl"[1581].

"See how evil are the ways of the world," says our preacher; "how much better to be simple and unworldly, like that nun of whom you may read in the book of the wise Caesarius which he wrote to instruct novices. I will tell you of her,"

In the diocese of Trèves is a certain convent of nuns named Lutzerath, wherein by ancient custom no girl is received, but at the age of seven years or less; which constitution hath grown up for the preservation of that simplicity of mind, which maketh the whole body to shine. There was lately in that monastery a maiden full-grown in body, but such a child in worldly matters that she scarce knew the difference twixt a secular person and a brute beast, since she had had no knowledge of secular folk before her conversion. One day a goat climbed upon the orchard wall, which when she saw, knowing not what it might be, she said to a sister that stood by her: "What is that?" The other, knowing her simplicity, answered in jest to her wondering question, "That is a woman of the world," adding, "when secular women grow old they sprout to horns and beards." She, believing it to be the truth, was glad to have learned something new[1582].

All this time the preacher has been illustrating his sermon with any story that came into his head. But he has been doing more; he has been describing for the information of posterity the raw material (so utterly different in different individuals), out of which the unchanging pattern of the nun had to be moulded. However we are not (for the moment) posterity; and we grow weary of this praise of austerity and simplicity. But, brother John, we say (interrupting) here are we, living in the world; you would not have us tear out our eyes when our husbands would be fondling us? You would not have us take our good Dame Alison for a goat, which is (heaven save us) but a brute beast and no Christian? and what if we cry cuckoo sometimes, we girls, for a lover? there are some we know that have married five husbands at the church door, and still think themselves right holy women, and make pilgrimages to St James beyond the sea, and will ever go first to the offering on Sunday. What have your nuns to do with us? Tell us rather what we young fresh folk may do to be saved; or how we good housewives should bear ourselves day by day. And that I will (says the preacher with some acerbity). Shame upon you, with your chattering tongues. You cannot even keep quiet at mass; and at home it is well known to me how ye pester your husbands, with your screeching and scolding, and how ye chatter all day to your gossips, not minding what lewd words ye speak. Remember therefore holy St Gregory's example of the nun who spake naughty words, which brother Robert of Brunne of the order of Sempringham found in the French book and set into fair English rhymes:

Seynt Gregori of a nunne tellys Þat ghede to helle for no þyng ellys But for she spake ever vyleyny Among her felaws al ahy. Þys nunnë was of dedys chaste, But þat she spake wurdys waste She madë many of here felawys Þenke on synnë for here sawys.

And then she died, and she was buried at the steps of the altar; and in the night the sacristan of the place was awakened by a great crying and weeping, and beheld fiends around that wretched nun, who burnt half her body and left the other half unscathed:

Seynt Gregorye seyþ þat hyt was synge Þat half here lyfë was nat dygne; for þoghe here dedys werë chaste, Here wurdys were al vyle and waste.

* * * * *

See how her tungge madë here slayn and foulë wurdys broghte here to payn[1583].

Mind therefore your tongues, and do not whisper so lightly among yourselves when you sit in the tavern (unknown to your husbands, fie upon you!), and stuff yourselves with capons and Spanish wine. Nay more, have a care that greed does not destroy you. _Gula_, he is one of the seven sins that be most deadly. Look to it lest you one day receive the devil into your bodies, with a mouthful of hot spices:

For the same blessed Gregory "telleth of a certain nun who omitted to make the sign of the cross when she was eating a lettuce, and the devil entered into her; and when he was ordered by a holy man to come forth he replied: 'What fault is it of mine and why do you rebuke me? I was sitting upon the lettuce and she did not cross herself and so ate me with it'"[1584]. How different, now, was the reward of that saintly nun of whom Caesarius telleth. For when "a pittance, to wit fried eggs, was being distributed by the cellaress to the whole convent, she was by some chance neglected. But indeed I deem not that it befel by chance, but rather by divine ordering, that the glory of God might be manifest in her. For she bore the deprivation most patiently, rejoicing in the neglect, and therefore, when she was returning thanks to God, that great Father-Abbot set before her an invisible pittance; whereof the unspeakable sweetness so filled her mouth, her throat and all her body, that never in her life had she felt aught like to it. This was bodily sweetness, but next God visited her mind and soul so copiously with spiritual sweetness ... that she desired to go without pittances for all the days of her life"[1585].

Thus our preacher might be supposed to speak, but all nun tales are not so edifying; the ribald jongleur was fond of them too. A good example of the nun theme used as a _conte gras_ is Boccaccio's famous tale of the abbess, who went in the dark to surprise one of her nuns with a lover; but having, when aroused, had with her in her own cell a priest (brought thither in a chest) she inadvertently put upon her head instead of her veil the priest's breeches. She called all her nuns, seized the guilty girl and came to the chapter house to reprimand her; and

"the girl happened to raise her eyes, when she saw what the abbess bore upon her head, and the laces of the breeches hanging down on each side of her neck, and being a little comforted with that, as she conjectured the fact, she said: "Please, madam, to button your coif, and then tell me what you would have." "What coif is it that you mean," replied she, "you wicked woman, you? Have you the assurance to laugh at me? Do you think jests will serve your turn in such an affair as this?" The lady said once more, "I beg, madam, that you would first button your coif and then speak as you please." Whereupon most of the sisterhood raised up their eyes to look at the abbess, and she herself put up her hand. The truth being thus made evident, the accused nun said, "The abbess is in fault likewise," which obliged the mother to change her manner of speech from that which she had begun, saying that it was impossible to resist the temptations that assail the flesh. Therefore she bade them, as heretofore, secretly to make the best possible use of their time"[1586].

Another famous tale of Boccaccio's concerns the young man who pretended to be dumb and was made gardener at a nunnery[1587].

In a different category from these stories sacred and profane are the didactic works, wherein churchmen set down the reasons for which a conventual life was to be preferred to all others, or the spirit in which such a life was to be lived. In this class fall poems and treatises in praise of virginity and books of devotion or admonition addressed to nuns. The former are fairly common in the middle ages[1588] and, since they throw little light on the actual life of a professed nun, need not be considered at great length. Among the most graceful are a series of little German songs, probably composed by clerks and generally classed with folk-songs, though they are as different as possible from the popular _Nonnenklagen_. The longest of these poems tells of a fair and noble lady who walked in a garden and cried out at the beauty of the flowers, vowing that could she but see the artist who created so much loveliness, she would thank him as he deserved. At that moment a youth entered the garden and greeted her courteously, answering her cry of surprise by saying that neither stone walls nor doors could withstand him, and that all the lovely flowers in the garden were his and he made them, for "I am called Jesus the flower-maker." Then the lady was stirred to the heart and cried: "O my dearest lord, with all my faith I love thee and I will ever be true to thee till my life ends." But "the youth withdrew himself and went his way to a convent which lay close by, and by reason of his great power he entered speedily into it." The lady did not linger, but fled after him to the convent and in great woe knocked upon the gates, crying, "Ye have shut him in who is mine only joy." Then the nuns in the convent bespake her wrathfully saying:

"Why dost thou lament so loudly? thou speakest foolishness. Our convent is locked and no man entered therein. If thou hast lost him, the loss is thine and thou must bear it." "Ye have let in the man to whom I am vowed. With mine own eyes I saw him pass through the gate. Ye have let in mine own dear lord. Were the whole world mine I would give it up ere I gave up him. Ye have let in the man to whom I am vowed and truly I say to you that I will have him again. I will keep the vow which I sware to him and never shall my deathless loyalty fail."

Then the maidens in the convent became wroth and they said:

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

The maidens in the convent deemed then that her words were of God and marvelled thereat:

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

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

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

And again:

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

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

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

Then, after an unquotable 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 béguine 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 _arrière-pensée_, 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 oarés 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 trouvère Jean de Condé 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 Cîteaux 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 _débat_ was a common literary device, the law court presided over by Venus a favourite literary theme. Jean de Condé 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 trouvère, 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 Condé 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 Condé 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 Berzé 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 _congé_ 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 "très 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 _congé_ 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 deportées." 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 þou 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:

"The matter in question here," he says, "is only the changing of a habit or of such a course of life, which in itself is neither good nor evil. And now consider but this one thing, how many valuable privileges you lose together with your liberty. Now, if you have a mind to read, pray or sing, you may go into your own chamber as much and as often as you please. When you have enough of retirement you may go to church, hear anthems, prayers and sermons and if you see any matron or virgin remarkable for piety, in whose company you may get good, if you see any man that is endowed with singular probity from whom you may learn what will make for your bettering, you may have their conversation; and you may choose that preacher that preaches Christ most purely. When once you come into a cloister all these things, which are the greatest assistance in the promotion of true piety, you lose at once." "But," says Katherine, "in the meantime I shall not be a nun." "What signifies the name?" replies Eubulus. "Consider the thing itself. They make their boast of obedience and will you not be praiseworthy in being obedient to your parents, your bishop and your pastor, whom God has commanded you to obey? Do you profess poverty? And may not you too, when all is in your parents' hands? Although the virgins of former times were in an especial manner commended by holy men for their liberality towards the poor; but they could never have given anything if they had possessed nothing. Nor will your charity be ever the less for living with your parents. And what is there more in a convent than these? A veil, a linen shift turned into a stole, and certain ceremonies, which of themselves signify nothing to the advancement of piety and make nobody more acceptable in the eyes of Christ, who only regards the purity of the mind." "Are you then against the main institution of a monastic life?" asks Katherine. "By no means," answers Eubulus. "But as I will not persuade anybody against it that is already engaged in this sort of life to endeavour to get out of it, so I would most undoubtedly caution all young women, especially those of generous tempers, not to precipitate themselves unadvisedly into that state from whence there is no getting out afterwards. And the rather because their charity is more in danger in a cloister than out of it; and beside that, you may do whatever is done there as well at home."

But Katherine remains unpersuaded.

In the next dialogue, called "The Penitent Virgin"[1634] Eubulus and Katherine meet again, and Katherine informs her friend how she has entered the nunnery, but has repented and gone home to her parents before being fully professed:

"How did you get your parents' consent at last?" asks Eubulus. "First by the restless solicitations of the monks and nuns and then by my own importunities and tears, my mother was at length brought over; but my father stood out stiffly still. But at last being plyed by several engines, he was prevailed upon to yield; but yet, rather like one that was forced than that consented. The matter was concluded in their cups, and they preached damnation to him, if he refused to let Christ have his spouse.... I was kept close at home for three days; but in the mean time there were always with me some women of the college that they call _convertites_, mightily encouraging me to persist in my holy resolution and watching me narrowly, lest any of my friends or kindred should come at me and make me alter my mind. In the meanwhile my habit was making ready, and the provision for the feast." "Did not your mind misgive you yet?" asks Eubolus. "No, not at all; and yet I was so horridly frightened that I had rather die ten times over than suffer the same again.... I had a most dreadful apparition." "Perhaps," remarks Eubulus slyly, "it was your evil genius that pushed you on to this." "I am fully persuaded it was an evil spirit," replies Katherine. "Tell me what shape it was in? Was it such as we use to paint with a crooked beak, long horns, harpies claws and swinging tail?" "You can make game of it," says poor Katherine, "but I had rather sink into the earth than see such another." "And were your women solicitresses with you then?" "No, nor I would not so much as open my lips of it to them, though they sifted me most particularly about it, when they found me almost dead with the surprise." "Shall I tell you what it was?" says Eubulus. "These women had certainly bewitched you, or conjured your brain out of your head rather[1635]. But did you persist in your resolution for all this?" "Yes, for they told me that many were thus troubled upon their first consecrating themselves to Christ; but if they got the better of the Devil that bout, he'd let them alone for ever after." "Well, what pomp were you carried out with?" "They put on all my finery, let down my hair and dressed me just as if it had been for my wedding.... I was carried from my father's house to the college by broad daylight and a world of people staring at me." "O these Scaramouches," interrupts Eubulus, "how they know how to wheedle the poor people!"

Katherine then tells him that she remained only twelve days in the nunnery, and after six changed her mind and besought her father and mother to take her away, which they eventually did. But what she saw that made her recant she refuses to tell Eubulus, though he announces himself well able to guess what it was. The dialogue ends on a significant note, "In the meanwhile you have been at a great charge." "Above four hundred crowns." "O these guttling nuptials!"[1636]

The racy dialogues of Erasmus illustrate the characteristic hostility of the new learning towards contemporary monastic orders, and embody the main charges which were customarily made against them, viz. the undue pressure brought to bear upon young people to take vows for which they were not necessarily suited, the avarice of the convents and the immorality of their inmates. Sir David Lyndesay's _Satyre of the Thrie Estaits_ dwells more specifically upon the latter accusation. In this lively castigation of the vices of the day, which was acted for nine hours before the court of King James V of Scotland at Cupar in 1535, Chastity comes upon the stage, lamenting that she has long been banished, unheeded and unfriended and that neither the temporal estate, nor the spiritual estate nor the Princes will befriend her. Diligence bids her seek refuge among the nuns, who are sworn to observe chastity, pointing to a Prioress of renown, sitting among the other spiritual lords. "I grant," says Chastity,

ghon Ladie hes vowit Chastitie For hir professioun; thairto sould accord. Scho maid that vow for ane Abesie, Bot nocht for Christ Jesus our Lord. Fra tyme that thay get thair vows, I stand for'd, Thay banische hir out of thair cumpanie: With Chastitie thay can mak na concord, Bot leids thair lyfis in Sensualitie. I sall obserue our counsall, gif I may. Cum on, and heir quhat ghon Ladie will say, My prudent, lustie, Ladie Priores, Remember how ghe did vow Chastitie. Madame, I pray ghow, of your gentilnes, That ghe wald pleis to haif of me pitie, And this ane nicht to gif me harberie: For this I mak ghow supplicacioun. Do ghe nocht sa, Madame, I dreid, perdie! It will be caus of depravatioun.

But the Prioress has given her allegiance to the notorious Lady Sensuality, who, serving Queen Venus, has corrupted the court of King Humanity and especially his clergy. "Pass hynd, Madame," she says,

Be Christ I ghe cum nocht heir: ghe are contrair to my cumplexioun ... Dame Sensuall hes geuin directioun ghow till exclude out of my cumpany.

Chastity then applies in vain to the Lords of Spirituality for shelter; an abbot jeers at her and a parson bids her

Pas hame amang the Nunnis and dwell, Quhilks ar of Chastitie the well. I traist thay will, with Buik and bell Ressaue ghow in thair Closter;

to which Chastity replies:

Sir, quhen I was the Nunnis amang, Out of thair dortour thay mee dang, And wold nocht let me bide se lang To say my Pater noster[1637].

At the end of the play the evil counsellors of King Humanity and corruptors of his Estates are punished by Sir Commonweal, with the assistance of Good Counsel and Correction. Correction, with his Scribe, examines the spiritual lords as to how they keep their vows, and thus interrogates the Prioress:

Quhat say ghe now, my Ladie Priores? How have ghe vsit ghour office, can ghe ges? Quhat was the caus ghe refusit harbrie To this young lustie Ladie Chastitie?

and the Prioress replies:

I wald have harborit hir, with gude intent; Bot my complexioun therto wald not assent. I do my office efter auld vse and wount: To ghour Parliament I will mak na mair count[1638].

The punishment of Flattery the Friar, the Prioress and the other prelates follows; and the Sergeants proceed to divest her of her habit, gaily adjuring her:

Cum on, my Ladie Priores. We sall leir ghow to dance-- And that within ane lytill space-- Ane new pavin of France

(_Heir sall thay spuilghe the Priores; and scho sall haue ane kirtill of silk under hir habite._)

Now, brother, be the Masse! Be my iudgement, I think This halie Priores Is turnit in ane _cowclink_[1639]. [courtesan

The Prioress then makes a lament, which has already been quoted, blaming her friends for making her a nun, and declaring that nuns are not necessary to Christ's congregation and would be better advised to marry. Finally the Acts of Parliament of King Correction and King Humanity, for the better regulation of the realm, are proclaimed; and these include a condemnation of nunneries:

Because men seis, plainlie, This wantoun Nunnis ar na way necessair Till Common-weill, not ghit to the glorie Of Christ's kirk, thocht thay be fat and fair. And als, that fragill ordour feminine Will nocht be missit in Christ's Religioun; Thair rents vsit till ane better fyne For Common-weill of all this Regioun[1640].

The date when these words were first proclaimed from a stage is significant; it was 1535, the year of the visitation of the monasteries in England. The confiscation of those rents was soon to be an accomplished fact; but it was a king rather than a commonweal that reaped the benefit.

There remains for consideration only one other class of literature which speaks of the nun. It is interesting to see the part which she plays in literature proper, outside popular songs and stories, or popular and didactic works written for purposes of edification. Considering the important part played by monastic institutions in the life of the upper classes it is perhaps surprising that the part played by the nun in secular literature is so small. But the explanation lies in the definitely romantic basis of the greater part of such literature, combined with the fact that it was aristocratic in origin and therefore inherited a respect for the nunneries, which prevented a romantic treatment of the nun, such as is found in the _chansons de nonnes_. Even so it is to be remarked that the treatment is romantic with a difference; the nun is willingly professed, pious, aloof, but it is because death or misfortune has put an end to lovers' joys; the type of nun who appears in this literature has retreated to a convent at the close of a life spent in the world. If the nun unwillingly professed has always been a favourite theme, so also has the broken-hearted wife or lover, hiding her sorrows in the silent cloister; from the twelfth to the nineteenth century she remains unchanging, from Belle Doette and Guinevere to the Lady Kirkpatrick:

To sweet Lincluden's holy cells Fu' dowie I'll repair: There peace wi' gentle patience dwells-- Nae deadly feuds are there. In tears I'll wither ilka charm, Like draps o' balefu' dew, And wail a beauty that could harm A knight sae brave and true[1641].

The anonymous twelfth century romance of Belle Doette contains some charming verses, describing her grief at her husband's death and her determination to enter a cloister:

Bèle Doette a pris son duel a faire: "Tant mari fustes, cuens Do, frans de bon aire! Por vostre amor vestirai je la haire, Ne sor mon cors n'avra pelice vaire. E or en ai dol. Por vos devenrai nonne en l'eglyse Saint Pol.

Por vos ferai une abbaie téle Quant iért li jors que la feste iért nomée Se nus i vient qui ait s'amor fausee Ja del mostier ne savera l'entree. E or en ai dol. Por vos devenrai nonne en l'eglyse Saint Pol.

Bèle Doette prist s'abaise a faire, Qui mout est grande et ades sera maire: Toz cels et celes vodra dedans atraire Qui por amor sévent peine et mal traire. E or en ai dol. Por vos devenrai nonne en l'eglyse Saint Pol"[1642].

Lovely Doette, she weeps a husband fair. "O count, my lord, frank wast thou, debonair! For thy dear love I'll wear a shirt of hair, Never again be clad in robe of vair. Great grief have I. Now in St Paul's a nun I'll live and die.

For thy dear love an abbey I will raise. And when therein first sounds the song of praise If one shall come who falsely love betrays Ne'er shall she find an entrance all her days. Great grief have I. Now in St Paul's a nun I'll live and die.

Lovely Doette, she makes her abbey so. Great now it is and greater still shall grow. And lovers all into that church shall go Who for love's sake know pain and bitter woe. Great grief have I. Now in St Paul's a nun I'll live and die."

To English readers the supreme representative of this type must always be Malory's Guinevere:

And when queen Guenever understood that king Arthur was slain, and all the noble knights, Sir Mordred and all the remnant, then the queen stole away and five ladies with her, and so she went to Almesbury, and there she let make herself a nun, and wore white clothes and black, and great penance she took, as ever did sinful lady in this land, and never creature could make her merry, but lived in fasting, prayers and alms-deeds, that all manner of people marvelled how virtuously she was changed. Now leave we queen Guenever in Almesbury a nun in white clothes and black, and there she was abbess and ruler as reason would.

There follows that incomparable chapter of parting, when Launcelot seeks his queen in her nunnery:

and then was queen Guenever ware of Sir Launcelot as he walked in the cloister, and when she saw him there she swooned thrice, that all the ladies and gentlewomen had work enough to hold the queen up. So when she might speak, she called ladies and gentlewomen to her, and said, Ye marvel, fair ladies, why I make this fare. Truly, she said, it is for the sight of yonder knight that yonder standeth: wherefore, I pray you all, call him to me. When Sir Launcelot was brought to her, then she said to all the ladies, Through this man and me hath all this war been wrought, and the death of the most noblest knights of the world; for through our love that we have loved together is my noble lord slain. Therefore, Sir Launcelot, wit thou well I am set in such a plight to get my soul's health; and yet I trust, through God's grace, that after my death to have a sight of the blessed face of Christ and at doomsday to sit at his right side, for as sinful as ever I was are saints in heaven. Therefore, Sir Launcelot, I require thee and beseech thee heartily, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, that thou never see me more in the visage; and I command thee on God's behalf that thou forsake my company and to thy kingdom thou turn again and keep well thy realm from war and wrack. For as well as I have loved thee, mine heart will not serve me to see thee; for through thee and me is the flower of kings and knights destroyed.

And so on, through the last parting, and the last kiss refused, and the lamentation "as they had been stung with spears," through the six long years of fasting and penance, till the day when Guinevere died and a vision bade Launcelot seek her corpse.

And when Sir Launcelot was come to Almesbury, within the nunnery, queen Guenever died but half an hour before. And the ladies told Sir Launcelot that queen Guenever told them all, or she passed, that Sir Launcelot had been priest near a twelvemonth--And hither he cometh as fast as he may to fetch my corpse; and beside my lord king Arthur he shall bury me. Wherefore the queen said in hearing of them all, I beseech Almighty God that I may never have power to see Sir Launcelot with my worldly eyes. And thus, said all the ladies, was ever her prayer these two days, till she was dead[1643].

This is a different romance from that of the gay _chansons de nonnes_, but it is romance all the same. There is little in common between Queen Guinevere and the lady who was loved and rescued by a king in the _Ancren Riwle_[1644].

One of the last--as it is one of the most graceful--pieces of courtly literature concerned with a convent is the delightful _Livre du dit de Poissy_, in which the French poetess Christine de Pisan tells of a journey, which she took in 1400, to visit her daughter, a nun at the famous convent of Poissy. This Dominican abbey, founded in 1304, was exceedingly rich and the special favourite of the kings of France, for it had been put under the protection of St Louis. The number of nuns, originally fixed at a hundred and twenty, soon rose to two hundred, and the aristocratic character of the house was very marked, for its inmates had to be of noble birth and to receive a special authorisation from the king before they could be admitted. At the time of Christine de Pisan's visit Marie de Bourbon, aunt of Charles VI, was prioress, and the convent also contained the nine year old Marie de France, his daughter (who took the veil at the age of five) and her cousin Catherine d'Harcourt. There were no nunneries so large and so rich in England at this late date; but Christine's description may serve to suggest what great houses like Shaftesbury and Romsey must have been like in the earlier days of their prime. Her account of the convent, with its fine buildings and gardens, its church, its rich lands and its gracious and dignified way of life forms a useful counterpoise to the bald and unidealised picture presented by the _comperta_ of visitations; for assuredly truth lies somewhere between the _comperta_, which deal solely with faults, and the poem, which deals solely with virtues.

Christine describes the brilliant cavalcade of lords and ladies riding in the spring morning through beautiful scenery, enlivening their journey with laughter and song and talk of love, until they came to the great abbey of Poissy. She describes their reception by the Prioress Marie de Bourbon and by the king's little daughter "joenne et tendre":

Par les degrez de pierre, que moult pris, En hault montames Ou bel hostel royal, que nous trouvames Moult bien pare, et en sa chambre entrames De grant beaulty.

The Prioress' lodging was evidently such as befitted a royal princess, even though she were a humble nun. Christine describes the manner of life of the nuns, how no man might enter the precincts to serve or see them, save a relative, and how they never left the convent and seldom saw strangers from the world:

Et de belles plusiers y a comme angelz. Si ne vestent chemises, et sus langes Gisent de nuis; n'ont pas coultes a franges Mais materas Qui sont couvers de biaulx tapis d'Arras Bien ordenées, mais ce n'est que baras, Car ils sont durs et emplis de bourras, Et la vestues Gisent de nuis celles dames rendues, Qui se lievent ou elles sont batues A matines; la leurs chambres tendues En dortouer Ont près a près, et en refectouer Disnent tout temps, ou a beau lavourer. Et en la court y a le parlouer Ou a trellices De fer doubles a fenestres coulices, Et la en droit les dames des offices A ceulz de hors parlent pour les complices Et necessaires Qu'il leur convient et fault en leurs affaires. Si ont prevosts, seigneuries et maires, Villes, Chastiaulx, rentes de plusieurs paires Moult bien assises; Et riches sont, ne nulles n'y sont mises Fors par congié de roy qui leurs franchises Leur doit garder et maintes autres guises A la en droit.

Christine then tells how the Prioress invited the party to "desjuner" and how in a fair room they were served with rich wines and meats, in vessels of gold, and were waited upon by the nuns. Then the nuns led them through the buildings and grounds of the convent, showing them all the beauties of this "paradise terestre." She gives an extremely minute and interesting picture of Poissy as it was in 1400, the vaulted cloister with its carven pillars, surrounding a square lawn with a tall pine in the middle; the spacious frater, with glass windows; the fine chapter house; the stream of fresh water carried in pipes through all the different buildings; the great storehouses, cellars, ovens and other offices; the large, airy dorter; and finally the magnificent church, with its tall pillars and vaulted roof, its hangings, images, paintings and ornaments of glittering gold. She tells of the services held there, when the nuns knelt within a screen in the nave and the townsfolk and visitors and priests outside it. She gives a detailed account of the clothes worn by the nuns; a woman she, and not to be content with Malory's simple "white clothes and black." Finally she describes the wide gardens and woods of the convent, surrounded by a high wall and full of fruit-trees and birds and deer and coneys, with two fishponds, well-stocked with fish. In the exploration of these delights the day passed quickly. The gay party retired at nightfall to a neighbouring inn and early the next day paid a farewell visit to the hospitable nuns, who gave them gifts of belts and purses embroidered by themselves:

Et reprendre De leurs joyaulx Il nous covint, non fermillez n'aniaulx Mais boursetes ouvrees a oysiaulx D'or et soies, ceintures et laz biaulx, Moult bien ouvrez, Qui autre part ne sont telz recouvrez.

Then lords and ladies took horse again and, debating of love, rode back to Paris[1645].

Against this courtly idyll of monastic life one more picture of a nun must be set as complement and as contrast. It is deservedly well known; but no study of the nun in medieval literature would be complete without quoting in full Chaucer's description of Madame Eglentyne, a masterpiece of humorous observation, sympathetic without being idealised, gently sarcastic without being bitter. It is a fitting note on which to close this book:

Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse, That of her smyling was ful simple and coy; Hir grettest ooth was but by seynt loy; And she was cleped madame Eglentyne. Ful wel she song the service divyne, Entuned in hir nose ful semely; And Frensh she spak ful faire and fetisly, After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe, For Frensh of Paris was to hir unknowe. At mete wel y-taught was she with-alle; She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle, Ne wette hir fingres in hir sauce depe. Wel coude she carie a morsel and wel kepe, That no drope ne fille up-on hir brest. In curteisye was set ful muche hir lest. Hir over lippe wyped she so clene, That in hir coppe was no ferthing sene Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte. Ful semely after hir mete she raughte, And sikerly she was of greet disport, And ful plesaunt and amiable of port, And peyned hir to countrefete chere Of court, and been estatlich of manere, And to be holden digne of reverence. But, for to speken of hir conscience, She was so charitable and so pitous, She wolde wepe, if that she sawe a mous Caught in a trap, if it were deed or bledde. Of smale houndes had she, that she fedde With rosted flesh, or milk and wastel-breed. But sore weep she if oon of hem were deed, Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte: And al was conscience and tendre herte. Ful semely hir wimpel pinched was; Hir nose tretys; hir eyen greye as glas; Hir mouth ful smal, and ther-to softe and reed; But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed; It was almost a spanne brood, I trowe; For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe. Ful fetis was hir cloke, as I was war. Of smal coral aboute hir arm she bar A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene; And ther-on heng a broche of gold ful shene, On which ther was first write a crouned A, And after, _Amor vincit omnia_[1646].

APPENDIX I

ADDITIONAL NOTES TO THE TEXT

NOTE A.

THE DAILY FARE OF BARKING ABBEY.

The _Charthe_ [charter] _longynge to the office of the Celeresse of the Monasterye of Barkinge_[1647] is one of the most interesting domestic documents which has survived from the middle ages. The _Ménagier de Paris_ gives a first rate account of the work of a housewife who has to provide for a private household. The _Charthe_ sets forth the duties of a housewife who has to feed a large institution. No bursar of a college or housekeeper of a school can fail to read it with a sympathetic smile. Like a good business woman the nameless cellaress, who drew it up for the guidance of her successors, sets out first of all the sources of revenue by which the charges of her office were supported. These are of three sorts: (1) the rents from thirteen rural manors, together with certain annual rents from the canons of St Paul's, the priory of St Bartholomew's and the lessees of various tenements in London, which were supposed to yield her a little over £95 per annum; (2) "the issues of the Larder," to wit all the ox skins, "inwards" of oxen, tallow coming from oxen and messes of beef, which she sells; and (3) "the foreyn receyte," to wit the money received for the sale of hay at any farm belonging to her office. These represent only her money revenues; but she also received the greater part of meat and dairy produce consumed by the convent from the home farm and from the demesnes of the manors appropriated to her. The _Charthe_ warns her to be certain of hiring pasture for her oxen at such times as it is needful, to see that her hay is duly mown and made and to keep all the buildings belonging to her office in repair, both those within the monastery and those at the outlying manors and farms.

The _Charthe_ throws some light upon the domestic staff employed in working the department. An important gentleman called the steward of the household had the general supervision of its business affairs; he kept an eye on the bailiffs and rent collectors of the cellaress's manors and presided at their courts. The cellaress solemnly presented him with a "reward" of 20_d._ every time that he returned with the pecuniary proceeds of justice, and on Christmas day. The management of the department was done by the head cellaress herself, with an under-cellaress to assist her and a clerk to keep her accounts and write her business letters, at a wage of 13_s._ 4_d._ The kitchen was in the special charge of a nun kitchener and the actual cooking was done by a "yeoman cook," a "groom cook" and a "pudding wife"[1648]; she paid her yeoman cook a wage of 26_s._ 8_d._, her pudding wife, 2_s._ a year and bought her groom cook a gown at Christmas. She wisely gave a Christmas box to each of the underlings, great and small, with whom she had to do, 20_d._ to the Abbess' gentlewoman, 16_d._ to every gentleman, "and to every yoman as it pleaseth her for to doo, and gromes in like case"; moreover it was her pleasant duty to hand to herself as cellaress and to her under-cellaress 20_d._ apiece.

The _Charthe_ gives exceedingly minute directions as to the conventual housekeeping. Barking Abbey was a large house, consisting at the time this document was drawn up of thirty-seven ladies. The Abbess dwelt in state in her own apartments, with a gentlewoman to wait upon her and a private kitchen, with its own staff, which was not under the control of the cellaress. The cellaress, however, sent in to the Abbess 4 lbs. of almonds and eight cakes called "russheaulx" in Lent, eight chickens at Shrovetide, one pottle of wine called Tyre[1649] on Maundy Thursday and a sugar loaf on Christmas Day; while the Abbess' kitchen had to provide the convent with "pittances" and "liveries" of pork, bacon, mutton or eggs on certain days of the year, as will appear hereafter. From the convent kitchen the cellaress had to purvey for: (1) the ladies of the convent, (2) the prioress, two cellaresses and kitchener, who receive a double allowance of almost all food given out, and (3) the priory.

The _Charthe_ sets forth exactly how much is to be delivered to each person, the separate allowances of meat being called "messes." It will be convenient to consider the stores to be provided under the five headings of: (1) meat, (2) grain, (3) butter and eggs, (4) fish and condiments for Advent and Lenten fare, and (5) pittances, or extra delicacies provided on certain days of the year. It is to be noted that the _Charthe_ deals for the most part with the special fare appropriate to special occasions. There is no mention of the daily allowance of bread and beer made on the premises; the only fish mentioned is salt fish for Lent; the only vegetables are dried peas and beans; the only fowls are for a special pittance on St Alburgh's day.

(1) _Meat._ The chief meat food of the convent, eaten three times a week (on Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday), except in Advent and Lent and on vigils, was beef. The cellaress had to purvey 22 "gud oxen" by the year for the convent. These oxen were fed on her own pastures, and, says the cellaress, "she shall slay but every fortnyght and yf sche be a good huswyff"; accordingly at the end of the first week, she must look and see if she has enough beef to last out the fortnight and if not she must buy what she needs in the market. It would seem that besides the beef provided by the cellaress from the convent kitchen the convent had an extra allowance of beef provided from some source not mentioned in the _Charthe_, or else that they did not always eat each week what was delivered to them. For the cellaress sets down as follows the entry which her clerk is to make in her book each week: on Saturday 20 Sept. (doubtless the day on which she was writing) she answers for four or five messes remaining in store of the week before, and of 63 messes of beef from an ox slain the same week, also of 80 messes of beef bought by her of the convent "of that they lefte behynd of ther lyvere, paying for every mess 1-1/2_d._," total 147 messes, whereof she delivers to each lady for the three meat days three messes and to the priory six messes. After beef the meat food most commonly eaten consisted in various forms of pig's flesh. At Martinmas the cellaress had to ask at the abbess' kitchen for a pittance of pork for each lady and also a livery of "sowsse"[1650], thus defined: "every lady to have three thynges, that is to sey, the cheke, the ere and the fote is a livery; the groyne and two fete ys anodyer leveray; soe a hoole hoggs sowsse shall serve three ladyes." At the same time she had to give them "of sowce of hyre owne provisione two thynges to every lady, so that a hoole hog sowce do serve four ladyes." She also had to provide pork from her own kitchin for two anniversary pittances (of which more anon) and she notes that every hog yields 20 messes. Moreover on Christmas Day she had to ask at the abbess' kitchen for "livery bacon" for the convent, four messes for each lady; a flitch was reckoned to provide ten messes. Of mutton the convent ate very little. Three times a year, between the feasts of the Assumption (Aug. 15) and of St Michael (Sept. 29), the abbess' kitchen had to provide "pittance mutton" for the ladies, a mess to each, "and every mutton yields twelve messes"; and twice a year on certain anniversaries the cellaress had to provide a similar allowance out of her own kitchen.

(2) _Grain._ Under this heading comes three quarters of malt, to be brewed into ale for the festal seasons of St Alburgh's[1651] (or Foundress') Day (Oct. 11) and Christmas; one quarter and seven bushels of wheat to be baked into bread or cakes for various pittances; two bushels of dried peas to be eaten in Lent and one bushel of dried beans "against Midsummer." The brewer and baker were paid a tip of 20_d._ and 6_d._ respectively, when they had to make the extra pittance beer and bread. The convent also had a livery of oatmeal from the cellaress, four dishes delivered once a month.

(3) _Butter and Eggs._ The cellaress had to provide the convent with butter at certain times, to every lady and double one "cobet," every dish containing three cobets. What was called "feast butter" was payable on St Alburgh's Day, Easter, Whitsunday and Trinity Sunday. What was called "storing butter" was payable five times a year, "to wit Advent and four times after Christmas." What was called "fortnight butter" was payable once for every fortnight lying between Trinity Sunday and Holy Rood Day (Sept. 14). The cellaress was also responsible for providing the convent with money to buy eggs ("ey silver"); each lady had weekly from Michaelmas (Sept. 29) to All Hallows' Day (Nov. 1), 1-1/2_d._, from All Hallows' Day to Advent, 1-3/4_d._, from Advent to Childermas Day (Dec. 28), 1-1/4_d._, from Childermas Day to Ash Wednesday, 1-3/4_d._, and from Easter to Michaelmas, 1-1/2_d._; also an extra allowance of 1/2_d._ on each vigil of the year, when no meat was eaten. Out of this "ey silver" the nuns had to purvey eggs for themselves as best they might; but the cellaress had to give the priory each week in the year 32 eggs or else 2-3/4_d._ in money, except in the four Advent weeks when she provided only 16 and in Lent, when none were due; for every vigil she gave them eight eggs, "or else 1-3/4_d._ and the fourth part of 1/4_d._" in money. At the five principal feasts of the year the abbess left her hall and dined in state in the frater, to wit on Easter Day, Whit Sunday, Assumption Day, St Alburgh's Day and Christmas Day; and on these occasions the cellaress had to ask the clerk of the abbess' kitchen for "supper eggs" for the convent, two for each lady.

(4) _Lenten Fare._ For Lent and Advent the cellaress had to provide the convent with their diet of fish, enlivened for their comfort with dried fruits and rice. She laid in two cades of red herring for Advent, a cade being 600 (counting six score to the 100).

For Lent she purveyed seven cades of red herring and three barrels (containing 1000 at six score to the hundred) of white herring. To every lady she gave four a day (i.e. in all 28 a week), and to the priory she gave four on every day except Sunday, when she gave them fish, and Friday, when they had figs and raisins. She also had to lay in 18 salt fish (nature unspecified), out of which she provided each lady with a mess and the priory with two messes every other week in Lent, each fish producing seven messes; in the alternate weeks they received salt salmon, of which she laid in fourteen or fifteen, each salmon yielding nine messes. To spice this Lenten fare she bought 1200 lbs. of almonds, three "peces" and 24 lbs. of figs, one "pece" of raisins, 28 lbs. of rice and 12 gallons of mustard. Each lady received 2 lbs. of almonds and 1/2 lb. of rice to last for the whole of Lent, and every week 1 lb. of figs and raisins.

(5) _Pittances_, or extra allowances of more delicate food, were due to the nuns on certain feasts of the Church and on the anniversaries of five benefactors, viz. Sir William Vicar, Dame Alys Merton, "dame Mawte the kynges daughter," dame Maud Loveland and William Dun. The pittances on the anniversaries of William Vicar and William Dun were of mutton; on each occasion the cellaress had to lay in three "carse" of mutton, and for William Dun's pittance she had to make sure also of 12 gallons of good ale. For the pittances of Dame Alice Merton and Maud the king's daughter (which fell in the winter) she had to purvey four bacon hogs, each hog producing 20 messes, also six _grecys_[1652], six _sowcys_ and six _inwardys_; also 100 eggs for "white puddings," together with bread, pepper and saffron for the same, and "marrow bones for white wortys"[1653]; also three gallons of good ale. Evidently the convent had a royal feast on those days and had good cause to remember their former abbesses. There are no details as to Dame Maud Loveland's pittance. Another red letter day was Foundress' Day (Oct. 11). On this occasion the abbess' kitchen had to provide each lady of the convent with half a goose, the two chantresses, as well as the four usual recipients, receiving doubles, and with a hen or a cock, the fratresses and the subprioress also receiving doubles. Moreover the cellaress had to give the ladies "frumenty"[1654], for which she laid in wheat and three gallons of milk.

On the feast of the Assumption of the Virgin (Aug. 15) each received half a goose. At Shrovetide the cellaress gave each lady "for their cripcis[1655] and for their crumkakers 2_d._"; she had also to purvey eight chickens for the abbess and "bonnes"[1656] for the convent and also four gallons of milk. On Shere or Maundy Thursday she had 12 "stub" eels and 60 "shaft" eels baked with wheat and 8 lbs. of rice; and she sent the abbess a bottle of Tyre and the convent two gallons of red wine; unglorified by a name. On Palm Sunday they had "russheaulx"[1657], for which she provided 21 lbs. of figs. These were little highly spiced pies (rather like mince pies), of which the chief ingredients were figs and flour, and besides providing them in kind on Palm Sunday the cellaress had to pay the ladies "Ruscheaw silver, by xvj times payable in the yere to every lady and doubill at eche time 1/2_d._, but it is paid nowe but at two times, that is to say at Ester and Michelmes." On Easter Eve they had three gallons of ale and one gallon of red wine. On St Andrew's Day and on every Sunday in Lent they had fish (doubtless fresh fish, as a welcome change from salted herrings).

NOTE B.

SCHOOL CHILDREN IN NUNNERIES.

The subject is of such interest from the point of view of educational as well as of monastic history, that I have thought it worth while to print in full all the references to convent education in England (c. 1250-1537), which I have been able to find. For the convenience of the reader I have translated references in Latin and Old French and have arranged the houses under counties. Doubtful references are marked with an asterisk.

BEDFORDSHIRE.

1. _Elstow._

Late 12th century. Bishop Hugh of Lincoln sent a little boy, Robert of Noyon, here. "He seemed to be about five years old, or a little older; and after a short space of time (the Bishop) sent him to Elstow to be taught his letters (_literis informandum_)." _Magna Vita S. Hugonis Episcopi Lincolniensis_ (Rolls Ser.), p. 146.

1359. Gynewell enjoins boarders to be sent away on pain of excommunication. "But boys up to the completion of their sixth year and girls up to the completion of their tenth year, ... we do not wish to be understood or included in the above (prohibition)." _Linc. Epis. Reg. Memo. Gynewell_, f. 139_d_.

1421-2. Flemyng enjoins "that henceforward you admit or allow to be admitted or received to lodge or stay within the limits of the cloister, no persons male or female, ... who are beyond the twelfth year of their age." _Linc. Visit._ I, p. 49.

c. 1432. Gray enjoins that all secular persons shall be removed from the cloister precincts, "... males to wit, who have passed their tenth year, or females who have passed their fourteenth." _Linc. Visit._ I, p. 53.

1442-3. "Dame Rose Waldegrave says that ... certain nuns do sometimes have with them in the quire in time of mass the boys whom they teach, and these do make a noise in quire during divine service." _Linc. Visit._ II, p. 90.

2. _Harrold._

1442-3. At Bishop Alnwick's visitation "Dame Alice Decun says that only two little girls of six or seven years do lie in the dorter." Another nun says the same. The Bishop forbids adult boarders, "ne childere ouere xj yere olde men and xij yere olde wymmen wythe owten specyalle leue of us or our successours bysshops of Lincolne fyest asked and had; ne that ye suffre ne seculere persones, wymmen ne childern, lyg by nyght in the dormytory." _Linc. Visit._ II, pp. 130-1.

BUCKINGHAMSHIRE.

3. _Burnham._

c. 1431-6. Gray enjoins "that henceforward no secular women who are past the fourteenth year of their age, and no males at all, be admitted in any wise to lie by night in the dorter or be suffered so to lie.... That you henceforth admit or suffer to be admitted and received to lodge in the said monastery no women after they have completed the fourteenth year of their age and no males after the eighth year of their age.... That you remove wholly from the said monastery all ... secular folk, male and female, who, being lodgers in the said monastery, have passed the ages aforesaid." _Linc. Visit._ I, p. 24.

1519. Atwater enjoins "that infants and small children be not admitted into the dorter of the nuns." _Linc. Epis. Reg. Visit. Atwater_, f. 42_d_.

*4. _Little Marlow._

c. 1530? Margaret Vernon, Prioress of Little Marlow and friend of Cromwell, was entrusted by him with the care of his little son Gregory. Several of her letters are preserved, but they are undated and it is difficult to gather from those which refer to Gregory Cromwell whether they were written before or after the dissolution of Little Marlow. There was in any case no question of her teaching the boy herself. He had with him a tutor, Mr Copland, and the Prioress writes to tell Cromwell that Mr Copland every morning gives Gregory and Nicholas Sadler, his schoolfellow, their Latin lesson, "which Nicholas doth bear away as well Gregory's lesson as his own, and maketh him perfect against his time of rendering, at which their Master is greatly comforted." Master Sadler also had with him a "little gentlewoman," whom Margaret wished permission to educate herself. In another letter she speaks of a proposed new tutor for Gregory and expresses anxiety that he should be one who would not object to her supervision. "Good master Cromwell, if it like you to call unto your remembrance, you have promised me that I should have the governance of your child till he be twelve years of age, and at that time I doubt not with God's grace but he shall speak for himself if any wrong be offered unto him, whereas yet he cannot but by my maintenance; and if he should have such a master which would disdain if I meddled, then it would be to me great unquietness, for I assure you if you sent hither a doctor of divinity yet will I play the smatterer, but always in his well doing to him he shall have his pleasure, and otherwise not." Wood, _Letters of Royal and Illustrious Ladies_, II, 57-9.

CAMBRIDGESHIRE.

5. _Swaffham Bulbeck._

1483. The following references to boarders in the account roll of the Prioress Margaret Ratclyff for 22 Edw. IV almost certainly indicate children. "By Richard Potecary of Cambridge 11_s._ for board for 22 weeks, at 6_d._ per week. By 11_s._ received from John Kele of Cambridge for 22 weeks, viz. 6_d._ per week. By £1 received from William Water of ... his son for 40 weeks, viz. 6_d._ per week. By 13_s._ received from Thomas Roch ... his son for 26 weeks, viz. 6_d._ per week. By 15_s._ received from Manfeld for the board of his son for 30 weeks, viz. 6_d._ per week. By £1 received from ... of Cambridge for the board of his daughter for 40 weeks, viz. 6_d._ per week. By 8_s._ from ... of Chesterton for the board of his son for 16 weeks. viz. 6_d._ per week. From ... Parker of Walden for the board of his son for 12 weeks. By 3_s._ received from ... the merchant for the board of his daughter for 6 weeks, viz. 6_d._ per week." Dugdale, _Mon._ IV, pp. 439-60.

*6. _St Radegund's, Cambridge._

1481-2. The account roll for 1481-2 contains the item "And she answers for 20_s._ received from Richard Woodcock for the commons of 2 daughters of the said Richard, as for [_blank_] weeks, at [_blank_] per week." Gray, _Priory of St Radegund's, Cambridge_, p. 176. This is probably a child, because I am inclined to think that payments so worded, as from a father for a son or daughter, usually refer to children. Unfortunately the nuns of this priory kept the details of their receipts from boarders on a separate sheet, and entered only the total, thus: "And by £1. 12. 1 received for the board or repast of divers gentlefolk, particulars of whose names are noted in the paper book of accounts displayed above this account." _Ib._ p. 163 (see also, p. 147). These separate papers are unluckily lost, so no details are available.

DERBYSHIRE.

*7. _King's Mead, Derby._

Dr J. C. Cox says "Evidence of this priory being used as a boarding school occurs in the private muniments of the Curzon, Fitzherbert and Gresley families." _V.C.H. Derby_, II, p. 44 (note 14). Without more exact reference it is impossible to say whether this is correct, because adult boarders are so often confused with schoolchildren.

DEVON.

8. _Cornworthy._

c. 1470. Petition from Thomasyn Dynham, Prioress of Cornworthy concerning two children at school in her house, whose fees have not been paid for five years. See description in text (above, p. 269).

ESSEX.

9. _Barking._

1433. Katherine de la Pole, Abbess of Barking, petitions Henry V, "for as much as she, afore this tyme hath bene demened and reuled, by th'advis of youre full discrete counsail, to take upon hir the charge, costes and expenses of Edmond ap Meredith ap Tydier and Jasper ap Meredith ap Tydier, being yit in her kepyng, for the which cause she was payed, fro the xxvii day of Juyll, the yere of youre full noble regne xv, unto the Satterday the last day of Feverer, the yere of your saide regne xvii, l livres: and after the saide last day of Feverer, youre saide bedewoman hath borne the charges as aboven unto this day and is behynde of the payement for the same charge ... the somme of lii livres xii sols," she asks for payment. Dugdale, _Mon._ I, 437 (note _m_), (quoted from Rymer, _Foedera_, X, p. 828).

1527. Sir John Stanley made his Will on June 20, 1527, and in 1528, after a solemn act of separation with his wife, entered a monastery. The will is largely concerned with provisions for the education of his son and heir, who was at that time three years old. He set aside the proceeds of a certain manor "whych is estemed to be of the yerly valewe of xl li., to the onely use and fyndynge of my said sonne and heyre apparaunte, tyll he comme and be of the full ayge of xxi{ti}, yeres; and I woll that my sayd sonne and heyr shalbe in the custodye and kepynge of the saide Abbes of Barckynge, tyll he accomplyshe and be of thayge of xij yeres and after the sayd ayge of xij yeres I woll that he shalbe in the custodye and guydynge of the sayd Abbot of Westmynster, tyll he come and be of hys full ayge of xxi{ti} yeres." The Abbess and Abbot were to have £15 yearly for the use of their houses in return for their pains and £20 yearly was to be paid them "to fynde my sayd sonne and heyre and hys servauntes, mete, drynke and wayges convenyent and all other thynges necessare un to theym, durynge and by all the tyme that he shalbe in the rule and guydynge of the sayd Abbesse and of the sayd Abbot." _Archaeol. Journ._ XXV (1868), pp. 81-2.

It should be noted that there is nothing to suggest that these boys were being taught by the nuns; they were young noblemen attached to a noblewoman's household to learn breeding.

HAMPSHIRE.

10. _St Mary's, Winchester._

1536. Henry VIII's commissioners, who visited the house 15th May, found here twenty-six "chyldren of lordys, knyghttes and gentylmen brought up yn the saym monastery." For the list of names (given in Dugdale, _Mon._ II, p. 457), see above p. 266.

11. _Romsey._

1311. Bishop Woodlock decreed "There shall not be in the dormitory with the nuns any children, either boys or girls, nor shall they be led by the nuns into the choir, while the divine office is celebrated." Liveing, _Records of Romsey Abbey_, p. 104.

*1387. William of Wykeham enjoins (in an injunction dealing with various manifestations of the _vitium proprietatis_) "Moreover let not the nuns henceforth presume to call their own rooms or pupils (_discipulas_), hitherto assigned to them or so assigned in future, on pretext of such assignation, which is rather to be deemed a matter of will than of necessity; nathless it is lawful for the abbess to assign such rooms and pupils according to merit as she thinks fit, etc., etc." But this more probably refers to young nuns or novices. The word _discipula_ is used in this sense in Alnwick's visitation of Gracedieu. (See above, p. 80.)

12. _Wherwell._

1284. Archbishop Peckham forbids boarders, adding "Let not virgins be admitted to the habit and veil (_induendae virgines et velandae_) before the completion of their fifteenth year and let not any boy be permitted to be educated with the nuns." _Reg. Epis. J. Peckham_, II, p. 653.

HEREFORDSHIRE.

13. _Lymbrook._

1422. Bishop Spofford writes: "Wee ordayne and charge you under payne of unobedyence that no suster hald nor receyfe ony surgyner, man or woman weddyd, other maydens of lawful age to be wedded, knave chyldren aboven eght yeer of age." _Reg. Thome Spofford_ (Cant. and York. Soc.), p. 82.

HERTFORDSHIRE.

14. _Flamstead._

1530. At the visitation of Longland one nun "reported that young girls were allowed to sleep in the dormitory.... The Prioress was enjoined ... to exclude children of both sexes from the dormitory." _V.C.H. Herts._ IV, p. 433.

15. _Sopwell._

*1446. In the Warden's Accounts of 1446 there is entered payment of 22/6 for Lady Anne Norbery, for the commons of her daughter, apparently a boarder here. (_Rentals and Surveys_, R. 294.) _V.C.H. Herts._ IV, p. 425 (note 41).

1537. At the time of the Dissolution two children were living in the priory. _Ib._ p. 425.

KENT.

16. _Dartford._

In 1527 was confirmed the concession made to sister Elizabeth Cresner by F. Antoninus de Ferraria, formerly vicar of Garsias de Lora, Master General of the Dominican order (1518-24), that she might receive any well born matrons, widows of good repute, to dwell perpetually in the monastery, with or without the habit, according to the custom of the monastery; and also that she might receive young ladies and give them a suitable training, according to the mode heretofore pursued. _Archaeol. Journ._ (1882) XXXIX, p. 178.

LEICESTERSHIRE.

17. _Gracedieu._

The following references to boarders occur in the Gracedieu accounts (_P.R.O. Minister's Accounts_, 1257/10).

1413-14. "Item received from William Roby for the board of his daughter on the Feast of the Holy Trinity vj s viij d. Item received from Robert Penell for the board of his daughter on the same day v s. Item received for the board of Cecily Nevell on St James' Day in part payment vj s viij d" (p. 7).

1414-15. "Item received from Giles Jurdon for the board of his daughter in Whitsun week vij s. Item received from Thomas Hinte for the food of a certain daughter of his, in part payment of liij s iiij d,--xl s. Item received for the board of Isabel Jurdon xj s, Alice Strelley xxij s, Alice Grey xiij s iiij d, Robert Drewe xxvj s iiij d, Philip Scargell xxxiij s vj d, Alice Smyth, iij s iiij d and Dame Joan Scargell iiij s--cxiij s ix d" (p. 79). There is a supplementary list for this year written on a loose sheet: "Item, first, received for the board of Isabel Jurdon for the half year, in part payment ix s. Item received for the board of Alice Strelley from the feast of the Finding of the Holy Cross to the feast of [St Peter] in Chains in the following year, vj s viij d. Item received for the board of Alice Gray from the feast of the Holy Trinity to the feast of the Purification of the blessed Virgin Mary xiij s iiij d. Item received for the board of Alice Strelley for ij quarters of the year and v weeks, at the Feast of St Gregory xv s iiij d. Item received for the board of the daughter of Robert Drowe for half a year, xxvj s viij d. Item received for the board of Philip Scargell, in part payment, from the feast of St John etc., paid for the quarter xxij s iiij d, whence at the Feast of Corpus Christi xxij s iiij d. Item received for the board of Isabel Jurdon at the feast of the Translation of St Thomas of Canterbury, in part payment--ij s. Item received for the board of Alice Smyth in part payment at vj s viij d for the quarter, iij s iiij d. Item received for the board of Dame Skargeyle for two weeks, ij s per week, iiij s. Item received for the board of Philyppe Skergell from the feast of St Laurence to the feast of St Michael, for the half quarter xj s ij d. Total, cxiij s x d."

1416-17. "Item received for the board of the daughter of William Rowby, as for the purchase of one ox--xiij s iiij d."

1417-18. "Item received for the board of Mary de Ecton on the feast of All Saints, in part payment of a larger sum, xxxiij s iiij d. Item received for the board of Joan Vilers on the Feast of St Andrew the Apostle vj s viij d. Item received for the board of Katerine Standych on the morrow of the Epiphany vj s viij d. Item received for the board of the daughters of Robert Nevell, knight, on the feast of St Hilary x s. Item received for the board of Joan Villars on the feast of St Hilary xx d. Item received for the board of Mary de Ecton on the Sunday next before the feast of St Valentine xx s. Item received from Joan Villers for her board on the second sunday of Lent vj s viij d. Item received from Katerine Standych in full payment of her board on Whitsunday x s. Item received for the board of the daughters of Robert Neuel on Good Friday x s. Item received from Mary Ecton for her board on the feast of the Purification of the B.V. then owing vj s. Item received from Joan Colyar in part payment of xx s owing for J. Dalby xij s" (p. 179).

These accounts obviously contain ordinary adult boarders as well as children. Moreover in some cases the visitors seem merely to have come for the great feasts and not to have stayed for any length of time, a practice which does not suggest schooling. Mr Coulton has analysed the accounts closely. He writes: "The records of four years give us, at the most liberal interpretation, only nineteen children, whose total sojourn amounted to 648 weeks; that is an average of three pupils all the year round and one extra for two or three months of the time." He adds: "I have, of course ruled out 'Dame Joan Scargill,' who paid 2_s._ a week, or four times the sum paid by a child, and Philip Scargill, who paid eighteen pence and was pretty evidently the Dame's husband; but I have included five others on p. 89, though they are distinctly labelled as _perhendinantes_, and the sums they pay would in any case have suggested boarders rather than schoolgirls. If these were omitted (and I note that Abbot Gasquet also interprets them as merely boarders), this would bring down the average of actual children to about two at any given time." (_Monastic Schools in the Middle Ages_, p. 27.) He infers the weekly rate of pay (where it can be inferred with any certainty) to be 6_d._ a week for children and 1_s._ or more for their elders. (_Ib._ p. 39.)

1440-1. At Bishop Alnwick's visitation the prioress deposed "that a male child of seven years sleeps in the dorter with the cellaress." Alnwick makes an injunction forbidding boarders, "save childerne, males the ix and females the xiij yere of age, whome we licencede yow to hafe for your relefe." _Linc. Visit._ II, pp. 119, 125.

18. _Langley._

1440. At Bishop Alnwick's visitation Dame Margaret Mountgomerey "says that secular children, female only, do lie of a night in the dorter." The Bishop forbids boarders "men, women ne childerne" without licence. _Linc. Visit._ II, pp. 175-6.

LINCOLNSHIRE.

19. _Heynings._

1347. Bishop Gynewell writes to Heynings: "Item we command you on your obedience that henceforth no secular female child who has passed the tenth year of her age and no male child, of whatever age he may be, be received to dwell among you; and that no child lie in your dorter with the ladies, nor anywhere else whereby the convent might be disturbed." (_Linc. Epis. Reg. Memo. Gynewell_, f. 34_d_.)

1387. Bishop Bokyngham writes: "Item, for the removal of all fleshly wantonness (_carnis pruritus quoscumque_), we will and ordain that secular children and especially males shall henceforth in no wise be permitted to sleep with the nuns, but let an honest place be set aside for them outside the cloister, if by our recent and special grace they should chance to be staying there." (_Linc. Epis. Reg. Memo. Bokyngham_, f. 397_d_.)

1442. Alnwick enjoins at his visitation and afterwards in his written injunctions "that fro this day forthe ye receyve no sudeiournauntes that passe a man x yere, a woman xiiij yere of age, wythowten specyalle leve of hus or our successours bysshops of Lincolne asked and had." (_Linc. Visit._ II, pp. 134-5.)

20. _Gokewell._

1440. At Alnwick's visitation the Prioress "says that they have no boarders above ten years of age of female and eight years of male sex." (_Linc. Visit._ II, p. 117.)

21. _Legbourne._

1440. Alnwick ordains "that fro hense forthe ye suffre no seculere persone, woman ne childe, lyg be night in the dormytorye." (_Alnwick's Visit._ MS. f. 68.)

22. _Nuncoton._

1531. Bishop Longland enjoins: "and that ye suffre nott eny men children to be brought upp, nor taught within your monastery, nor to resorte to eny of your susters, nouther to lye within your monastery, nor eny person young ne old to lye within your dorter, but oonly religious women." (_Archaeologia_, XLVII, p. 58.)

23. _Stixwould._

1440. At Alnwick's visitation: "Dame Alice Thornton says that young secular folk female, of eight or ten years old, do lie in the dorter, but in separate beds.... Also she says that, as she believes, there are males and females, about eighteen in number, who board with divers nuns, not passing fourteen or sixteen years in age.... Dame Maud Shirwode speaks of the children that lie in the dorter." Alnwick in his injunctions forbids seculars ("women ne childern") to lie in the dorter or to be received as boarders without licence. (_Alnwick's Visit._ MS. 75_d_, 76.)

MIDDLESEX.

24. _St Helen's, Bishopsgate (London)._

1298. The Prioress' account for 25-6 Edward I, contains the following items which probably refer to child boarders. "And by xx s received from Dionisia Miles for her daughter [_gap_] ... after the Nativity of St John the Baptist. And by one mark received for the niece of Robert Morton [?]." _P.R.O. Ministers' Accounts_, 1258/2.

1432. The injunctions sent by the Dean and Chapter of St Paul's to St Helen's contain the item: "Also we ordeyne and injoyne yow, prioresse and convent, that noo seculere be lokkyd with inne the boundes of the cloystere; ne no seculere persones come withinne aftyr the belle of complyne, except wymment servaunts and mayde childeryne lerners.... Also we ordeyne and injoine that nonne have ne receyve noo schuldrin wyth hem into the house forseyde, but yif that the profite of the comonys turne to the vayle of the same howse." (Dugdale, _Mon._ IV, pp. 553-4, wrongly dated 1439.)

*25. _Stratford "atte Bowe."_

1346. In the will of John Hamond, pepperer, occurs the legacy: "To his niece the daughter of Thomas Hamond, residing with the nuns of Stratford, he leaves a sum of money for her maintenance." (Sharpe, _Cal. of Wills ... in the Court of Hustings, London_, I, p. 516.) The girl _may_ have been a nun, but if so the legacy is curiously worded.

NORFOLK.

26. _Carrow._

In Rye, W., _Carrow Abbey_ (1889), pp. 49-52, is a list of boarders at Carrow, compiled by Norris from account rolls now lost. Some of these were almost certainly children; I should suggest that those described as "son of" or "daughter of" N. or M. are children. On these lists, see G. G. Coulton, _Mon. Schools in the Mid. Ages_ (Med. Studies, No. 10), p. 7.

27. _Thetford._

1532. At Nykke's visitation it was discovered that "John Jerves, gentleman, has a daughter being brought up (_nutritam_) in the priory and he pays nothing." (_Visit. of Dioc. of Norwich_, ed. Jessopp (Camden Soc.), p. 304.)

NORTHAMPTONSHIRE.

28. _Catesby._

1442. At Alnwick's visitation the Prioress, Margaret Wavere, deposed that "sister Agnes Allesley has six or seven young folk of both sexes that do lie in the dorter." Alnwick makes the usual injunction against boarders, "ouer thage of x yeere, if thei be men, wommene ouer thage of a xj yere." _Linc. Visit._ II, pp. 46, 51.

29. _St Michael's, Stamford._

1440. At Alnwick's first visitation the sacrist "says that the prioress has seven or eight children, some male, some female, of twelve years of age and less, to her board and to teach them." Alnwick forbids secular persons ("women ne childrene") to lie in the dorter and boarders ("yong ne olde") to be received without licence. (_Alnwick's Visit._ MS. ff. 83-83_d_.)

1442. At Alnwick's second visitation: "Dame Maud Multone says that little girls of seven or five years of age do lie in the dorter, contrary to my lord's injunction." (_Ib._ f. 39_d_.)

OXFORDSHIRE.

30. _Godstow._

1358. Bishop Gynewell writes: "Item we ordain that no lady of your said house shall have children, save only one or two females sojourning with them." (_Linc. Epis. Reg. Memo. Gynewell_, f. 100.)

1445. Bishop Alnwick forbids boarders to be received "but if ye hafe lefe of hus or our successours, bysshope of Lincolne, but if it be yong childerne, a man not ouere ix yere of age and a woman of xii yere of age." (_Linc. Visit._ II, p. 115.)

31. _Littlemore._

1445. The Prioress says that "the daughter of John fitz Aleyn, steward of the house, and Ingram Warland's daughter are boarders in the house and each of them pays fourpence a week." These are clearly children, for another boarder "sometime the serving woman of Robert fitz Elys" is mentioned and she pays eightpence a week. Alnwick makes the usual injunction forbidding boarders "ouere the age of a man of nyne yere ne woman of xij yere, ne noght thaym wythe owten specyalle lefe of vs or our successours." (_Linc. Visit._ II, pp. 217-8.)

STAFFORDSHIRE.

32. _Fairwell._

1367. Bishop Robert Stretton of Lichfield enjoined that "no nun was to keep with her for education more than one child, nor any male child over seven years of age and even that may not be done without the Bishop's leave. If any have more they are to be removed before the Feast of Purification next." (_Reg. Robert de Stretton_, II, p. 119.)

SOMERSET.

33. _Cannington._

1407. The will of Thomas Woth contains the following legacy: "To the Prioress of Canyngton 40 marks to provide (_inveniendum_) Elizabeth my daughter, if she shall happen to live to the age of ten years." He also leaves Elizabeth 11 marks as a marriage dowry. (_Somerset Medieval Wills_, ed. F. W. Weaver (Somerset Rec. Soc.), I, p. 28.)

SUFFOLK.

34. _Redlingfield._

1514. At Bishop Nykke's visitation Dame Grace Sampson deposed that "boys (_pueri_) sleep in the dorter and are harmful to the convent," and another nun said the same. The Bishop ordained "that boys shall not lie in the dorter." (_Visit. of Dioc. of Norwich_, ed. Jessopp (Camden Soc.), pp. 139-40.)

WARWICKSHIRE.

35. _Polesworth._

1537. Henry VIII's commissioners addressed a letter to Cromwell on behalf of this house, representing among other things "the repayre and resort that ys made to the gentylmens childern and studiounts that ther doo lif, to the nombre sometyme of xxx{ti} and sometyme xl{ti} and moo, that their be right vertuously brought upp." (Dugdale, _Mon._ II, p. 363.) The house at this time contained an abbess and twelve nuns.

YORKSHIRE.

36. _Arden._

1306. Archbishop Greenfield decreed that no girls or boarders were to be taken without special licence of the Archbishop. All girls staying in the house without authority were to be removed within eight days. (_V.C.H. Yorks._ III, p. 113.)

37. _Arthington._

1315. Archbishop Greenfield decreed that no boys or secular persons were to sleep in the dorter with the nuns.

1318. Archbishop Melton repeated the decree. (_V.C.H. Yorks._ III, p. 188.)

38. _Esholt._

1315. Archbishop Greenfield decreed that all women boarders over the age of twelve were to be removed within six days and no more taken without special licence.

1318. Archbishop Melton repeated the decree. (_V.C.H. Yorks._ III, p. 161.)

1537. Among the debts owing to the Priory at the Dissolution was one of 33_s._ from Walter Wood of Timble, in the parish of Otley, for his child's board for a year and a half, ended at Lent, 28 Hen. VIII. (_Yorks. Archaeol. Journ._ IX, p. 321, note 23.)

39. _Hampole._

1313. Archbishop Greenfield granted the convent licence to receive a young girl Agnes de Langthwayt as a boarder, at the instance "nobilis viri Ade de Everyngham."

1314. He issued a decree that no male children over five years of age should be permitted in the house, "as the Archbishop finds has been the practice." (_V.C.H. Yorks._ III, pp. 163-4.)

40. _Marrick._

1252. Archbishop Gray forbade any girl or woman to be taken as boarder or to be taught without special licence. (_V.C.H. Yorks._ III, p. 117.)

41. _Moxby._

1314. Archbishop Greenfield forbade boarders or girls over twelve to be taken without licence. (_V.C.H. Yorks._ III, p. 239.)

42. _Nunappleton._

1489. Archbishop Rotheram enjoined: "Item þat yee take noe perhendinauntes or sogerners into your place from hensforward, but if þei be children or ellis old persones, by which availe by liklyhod may growe to your place." (_V.C.H. Yorks._ III, 173, and Dugdale, _Mon._ V, p. 654).

43. _Nunburnholme._

1318. Archbishop Melton forbade persons of either sex over twelve years of age to be maintained as boarders. (_V.C.H. Yorks._ III, p. 119.)

44. _Nunkeeling._

1314. Archbishop Greenfield forbade boarders to be taken, or girls to be kept in the house after the age of twelve years. (_V.C.H. Yorks._ III, p. 120.)

*45. _Nunmonkton._

1429. Isabel Salvayn leaves "xiij s iiij d to be paid for Alice Thorp at Nunmunkton for her board." (_Test. Ebor._ I, p. 419.)

46. _Rosedale._

1315. Archbishop Greenfield decreed, under pain of the greater excommunication, that no nun was to cause a girl or boy to sleep under any consideration in the dorter, and if any nun broke this command, the Prioress, under pain of deposition, was to signify her name without delay to the Archbishop. (_V.C.H. Yorks._ III, p. 174.)

47. _St Clement's, York._

1310. Archbishop Greenfield forbade girls over twelve as boarders.

1317. Archbishop Melton forbade little girls, or males of any age, or secular women to sleep in the dorter with the nuns. (_V.C.H. Yorks._ III, p. 129.)

48. _Sinningthwaite._

1315. Archbishop Greenfield enjoined the Prioress and Subprioress not to permit boys or girls to eat flesh meat in Advent or Sexagesima, or during Lent eggs or cheese, in the refectory, contrary to the honesty of religion, but at those seasons when they ought to eat such things, they were to be assigned other places in which to eat them.

1319. Archbishop Melton forbade girls over twelve to be retained without special licence. (_V.C.H. Yorks._ III, p. 177.)

*49. _Swine._

1345. Peter del Hay of Spaldynton leaves in his will "to Joan my daughter residing (_manenti_) in Swyn vj s viij d." (_Test. Ebor._ I, p. 12.) This is probably a boarder in the convent, perhaps a child.

15th century. Thorold Rogers (_Six Centuries of Work and Wages_ (1909), p. 166), says: "During the course of the [fifteenth] century I find it was the practice of country gentlefolks to send their daughters for education to the nunneries, and to pay a certain sum for their board. A number of such persons are enumerated as living _en pension_ at the small nunnery of Swyn in Yorkshire. Only one roll of expenditure for this religious house survives in the Record Office, but it is quite sufficient to prove and illustrate the custom." I have been unable to trace this roll in the Record Office.

NOTE C.

NUNNERY DISPUTES.

Other instances of nunnery disputes may be quoted, among which Peckham's letter to the Holy Sepulchre, Canterbury, is a good example: "If there be any nun above you who is quarrelsome and sharp and is of custom unbearable towards her sisters, we order her to be separated from the communion of the convent according to the form of the rule, and to be kept in some solitary place (so that meanwhile no man or woman have conversation with or access to her) until she shall be brought back to humility of spirit and show herself amiable and devout to all. Therefore let there cease among you quarrels, altercations and sharp words, which stain and deform the splendours of monastic honour. And for such contumelious members who have to be separated as aforesaid we assign that dark room under the dorter, if you have none other more suitable"[1658]. The nuns of Wroxall in 1338 were warned to "cease from scoldings, reproofs and other evil words" and were particularly told not to speak "en reproce ne en vilenie" of a certain Dame Margaret de Acton, who had evidently been guilty of some serious fault, but had been duly corrected by the Visitor[1659]; and in the same year it was ordained at Sopwell that "if it happen that any one scold ... let her be placed in silence by all and do penance for three days"[1660]. At Heynings in 1392 Bokyngham ordered "that all the nuns treat their sisters affably, not with an austere but with a benignant countenance and with sisterly affection, nor visit them with railing and hurtful words in public, especially in the presence of laymen, nor threaten or scold them, on pain, etc"[1661]. At Elstow in 1421-2 there was an injunction against the formation of cliques, upon the need for which light is thrown by the _detecta_ at Alnwick's visitation of Gracedieu[1662], "That no nun make any secret cabals or say or imagine anything by way of insinuation or disparagement, whereby charity, unity or the comeliness of religion may be hindered or troubled in the convent"[1663].

The _detecta_ at visitations often give details as to the ill-temper or insubordination of individuals. At Wothorpe in 1323 Bishop Burghersh "ordered inquiry into certain irregularities within the priory, caused by the discords raised among the nuns by sister Joan de Bonnwyche"[1664]. At Littlemore one of the nuns deposed that Dame Agnes Marcham "is very quarrelsome and rebellious and will not do her work like the others"; it appears that the convent resented the fact that although she had worn the habit of profession for twelve years she was not expressly professed and refused to make public profession; she on her part asserted that "she does not mean to make express profession while she stays in that place, because of the ill-fame which is current thereabouts concerning that place and also because of the barrenness and poverty which in likelihood will betake the place on account of the slenderness of the place's revenues," and she proceeded to give details of the access to the priory of two scholars of Oxford and a parish chaplain[1665]. It is difficult to tell who was in the right; Littlemore certainly was a place of ill-repute and went from bad to worse, but Agnes Marcham had stayed there for half her lifetime (she had entered at the age of thirteen and was twenty-six or twenty-eight at the time of the visitation) and it looks as though she had really no intention of departing, but found the threat to do so useful[1666]. At Godstow in the same year it was sister Maud, a laywoman, who caused trouble; she was very rebellious against the abbess and rumour ran high in the convent that she had "obtained a bull from the apostolic see to the prejudice of the monastery and without the abbess's knowledge"[1667]. At Easebourne (1524) the subprioress Alice Hill said that three of the younger nuns were disobedient to her in the absence of the Prioress; but the three delinquents and another nun deposed that "Lady Alice Hill is too haughty and rigorous and cannot bear patiently with her sisters" and the Visitor apparently considered that the complaint was justified, for

afterwards Lady Alice Hill, subprioress, appeared and humbly submitted herself to correction, in the presence of the said prioress and co-sisters, upon what has been discovered against her in the visitation. Afterwards my lord enjoined her that from henceforth she should conduct herself well and religiously in all things towards the said prioress and nuns; and as to the other portion of her penance he adjourned it for a time. After doing which (he) enjoined all to be obedient to the Lady Prioress and in her absence to the said subprioress[1668].

The difficulty was perhaps the old one, that crabbed age and youth cannot live together. At Rusper, when the same Visitor came there, it was found that the four sisters were disturbed by the intrigues of an external visitor, for the nuns deposed "that a certain William Tychenor hath frequent access to the said priory and there sows discord between the prioress, sisters and other persons living there"[1669]; sometimes the lay servants of a house seem to have stirred up quarrels among their mistresses and in 1302 John of Pontoise ordered the nuns of Wherwell "to punish well secular persons, both sisters and others, whoever they may be, who reply improperly and impudently to the religious ladies, and especially those who sow quarrels and disputes among the ladies"[1670].

Injunctions as to the making of corrections usually had in view the prevention of ill feeling, by ensuring that such corrections should not be made in a harsh or unfair manner and should take place only in the chapter-house and not in the presence of strangers. It will be remembered that the wicked prioress of Catesby, Margaret Wavere, used to rebuke and reproach her nuns before secular folk, and treat them with great cruelty; her the Bishop charged

vnder payne of cursyng that moderly and benygnely ye trete your susters, specyally in correctyng thaire defautes, so that ye make your correcyones oonly in the chaptre hous of suche defautz and excesse as be open and in presence of your sustres[1671].

Bokyngham sent a long and detailed injunction on the subject to Elstow in 1387:

In making corrections the abbess, prioress, and others of superior rank shall so observe a moderate and modest temperance and an equitable reasonableness, that having laid aside all hatred and malice and excessive rigour, they shall in charitable zeal proceed to (deal with) the complaints, offences and faults reported to them and shall hear the accused parties, silencing or repelling their excuses, punishing, correcting and reforming their offences and excesses, grave and venial, without harshness or railing words and quarrels or abuse, according as the quality of the fault, the compunction of the delinquents and the repetition or frequency of the offence demand it. And when faults and offences have been punished and excesses corrected let them not reiterate fresh reproaches, but treat their fellow-nuns affably, not with an austere but with a benignant countenance, nor visit them with railing and insulting words in public, especially in the presence of laymen, nor scold them when they have committed excesses, but only in the chapter deal with all that concerns the discipline of regular observance[1672].

For an injunction to the nuns on obedience see Woodlock's injunction to Romsey in 1311:

Item, because they are unaware that amongst the vows of religion the vow of obedience is the greater, it is ordered that the younger ladies reverently obey the seniors and especially their presidents and if any rebels are found they shall be sharply rebuked in chapter before all and, the fault growing, the penalty of disobedience shall be increased[1673].

At Rosedale, where in 1306 the nuns had been warned not to quarrel, it was enacted nine years later that

any nun disobedient or rebellious in receiving correction was for each offence to receive a discipline from the president in chapter and say the seven penitential psalms with the litany, and if still rebellious the archbishop would impose a still more severe penance[1674].

It is to be feared that these quarrels sometimes got to blows. Besides the notorious instances of Margaret Wavere and Katherine Wells, the excommunication of three nuns of St Michael's, Stamford, for laying violent hands upon a novice may be quoted[1675]. Of another kind were the assaults of a certain nun of Romsey, who was excommunicated for attacking a vicar in church[1676], and of a Prioress of Rowney. It appears from the court rolls of Munden Furnivall (1370) that the latter "had been guilty of a hand to hand scuffle with a chaplain, called Alexander of Great Munden; each was fined for drawing blood from the other and the lady also for raising the hue and cry unjustly"[1677]. In both cases the nun was blamed, but it is perhaps permissible to quote in this connection an anecdote told by Thomas of Chantimpré:

When I was in Brussels, the great city of Brabant, there came to me a maiden of lowly birth, but comely, who besought me with many tears to have mercy upon her. When therefore I had bidden her tell me what ailed her, then she cried out amidst her sobs: "Alas, wretched that I am! for a certain priest would fain have ravished me by force, and he began to kiss me against my will; wherefore I smote him with the back of my hand, so that his nose bled; and for this, as the clergy now tell me, I must needs go to Rome." Then I, scarce withholding my laughter, yet speaking as in all seriousness, affrighted her as though she had committed a grievous sin; and at length, having made her swear that she would fulfil my bidding, I said, "I command thee, in virtue of thy solemn oath, that if this priest or any other shall attempt to do thee violence with kisses or embraces, then thou shalt smite him sore with thy clenched fist, even to the striking out, if possible, of his eye; and in this matter thou shalt spare no order of men, for it is as lawful for thee to strike in defence of thy chastity, as to fight for thy life." With which words I moved all that stood by, and the maiden herself, to vehement laughter and gladness[1678].

The list of faults given in the "Additions to the Rules" of Syon Abbey, contains several references to ill temper, though such references are, to be sure, no more proof that the faults were committed than are the model forms of self-examination ("Have I committed murder?") sometimes given to-day to children in preparation for the Communion service. Among "greuous defautes" are mentioned, "if any suster say any wordes of despyte, reprefe, schame or vylony to any suster or brother," "if any sowe dyscorde amonge the sustres and brethren," "if any be founde a preuy rouner or bakbyter." Among "more greuous defautes" are:

if any whan thei fal chydyng or stryuyng togyder, if the souereyne or priores, or any serche say thus--"_Sit nomen domini benedictum_" wyl not cese, knokkyng themselfe upon their brestes, answerynge and saynge mekely, and withe a softe spyryte "_Mea culpa_" ... and so utterly cese, if any manesche by chere or wordes to smyte another at any tyme, or for to auenge her own injurye, or els by ungodly wordes repreve another of her contre, or kynrede, or of any other sclaunderous fortune, or chaunse fallen at any tyme.

Among "most greuous defautes" are:

If any ley vyolente hande upon her souereyne or spituosly smyte or wounde her or elles make any profer to smyte be sygne or token leftying up her fest, stykke, staffe, stone, or any other wepen what ever it be, or else schofte, pusche, or sperne any suster from her withe armes or scholders, handes or fete, violently, in wrekyng of her oun wrethe[1679].

NOTE D.

GAY CLOTHES.

A council at London in 1200 had restrained the black nuns from wearing coloured headdresses[1680] but the standard English decree on the subject was that issued by the council of Oxford in 1222.

Since it is necessary that the female sex, so weak against the wiles of the ancient enemy, should be fortified by many remedies, we decree that nuns and other women dedicated to divine worship shall not wear a silken wimple, nor dare to carry silver or golden tiring-pins in their veil. Neither shall they, nor monks nor regular canons, wear belts of silk, or adorned with gold or silver, nor henceforth use burnet or any other unlawful cloth. Also let them measure their gown according to the dimension of their body, so that it does not exceed the length of the body, but let it suffice them to be clad, as beseems them, in a robe reaching to the ankles; and let none but a consecrated nun wear a ring and let her be content with one alone[1681].

Fifteen years later a synod declared:

Item, we forbid to monks, regular canons and nuns coloured garments or bed clothes, save those dyed black. And when they ride, let them use decent saddles and bridles and saddle-cloths[1682]. And nuns are not to use trained and pleated dresses, or any exceeding the length of the body, nor delicate or coloured furs; nor shall they presume to wear silver tiring-pins in their veil[1683].

These regulations were repeated almost word for word by William of Wykeham in his injunctions to Romsey and Wherwell in 1387[1684]. With them may be compared the rule as to dress in force at Syon Abbey in the fifteenth century:

whiche (clothes) in nowyse schal be ouer curyous, but playne and homly, witheoute weuynge of any straunge colours of silke, golde or syluer, hauynge al thynge of honeste and profyte, and nothyng of vanyte, after the rewle; ther knyves unpoynted and purses beyng double of lynnen clothe and not of sylke[1685].

The unsuccessful efforts of monastic Visitors to enforce these rules have been described; a few instances may be added here to show the directions in which the nuns erred. Peckham wrote to Godstow:

Concerning the garments of the nuns let the rule of St Benedict be carefully observed. For which reason we forbid them ever in future to wear cloth of burnet, nor gathered tunics nor to make themselves garments of an immoderate width with excessive pleats (_nec etiam birrorum immoderantia vestes sibi faciant latitudine fluctuantes_); with this nevertheless carefully observing what was aforetime ordained in such matters by the Council of Oxford[1686].

Buckingham's injunction to Elstow in 1387 gives some interesting details; he forbade the nuns to wear any other veil than that of profession, or to "adorn their countenances" by arranging it in a becoming fashion, spreading out the white veil, which was meant to be worn underneath:

(Ainsi qu'il est pour le monde et les cours Un art, un goût de modes et d'atours, Il est aussi des modes pour le voile; Il est un art de donner d'heureux tours[1687] À l'étamine, à la plus simple toile.)[1688]

They were not to wear gowns of black wide at the bottom, or turned back with fur at the wrists[1689], and they were in no wise to use "wide girdles or belts plaited (_spiratis_) or adorned with silver, nor wear these above their tunics open to the gaze of man"[1690]. Curious details are also given by Bishop Spofford, writing to the nuns of Lymbrook in 1437; their habit was to "be formed after relygyon in sydnesse and wydnesse, forbedyng long traynes in mantellys and kyrtellys and almaner of spaires and open semes in the same kyrtellys"[1691]. "Large collars, barred girdles and laced shoes" were forbidden at Swine in 1298[1692], red dresses and long supertunics "like secular women" at Wilberfoss in 1308[1693]; at Nunmonkton in 1397 (after Margaret Fairfax's fashionable clothes had been discovered) a general injunction was made to the nuns "not to use henceforth silken clothes, and especially silken veils, nor precious furs, nor rings on their fingers, nor tunics laced-up or fastened with brooches nor any robes, called in English 'gownes,' after the fashion of secular women"[1694]. These Northern houses were continually in need of admonition, sometimes their slashed tunics, sometimes their barred girdles, sometimes their shoes being condemned[1695]. Bishop Alnwick found silken veils at Langley, Studley and Rothwell[1696]; Bishop Fitzjames forbade silver and gilt pins and kirtles of fustian or worsted at Wix in 1509[1697]; and at Carrow in 1532 the subprioress complained that some of the nuns not only wore silk girdles, but had the impudence to commend the use thereof[1698].

Nor could nuns always resist the temptation to let their shorn hair grow again, e.g. at the visitation of Romsey by the commissary of the Prior of Canterbury in 1502, the cellaress deposed "that Mary Tystede and Agnes Harvey wore their hair long"[1699]. Eudes Rigaud had some difficulty in this matter with the frivolous nuns of his diocese of Rouen; at Villarceaux in 1249 he recorded: "They all wear their hair long to their chins," and at Montivilliers he had to condemn ringlets[1700]. One is reminded of the scene in _Jane Eyre_, where Mr Brocklehurst visits Lowood:

Suddenly his eye gave a blink, as if he had met something that either dazzled or shocked its pupil; turning, he said in more rapid accents than he had hitherto used: "Miss Temple, Miss Temple, what--_what_ is that girl with curled hair? Red hair, ma'am, curled--curled all over?" and extending his cane he pointed to the awful object, his hand shaking as he did so. "It is Julia Severn," replied Miss Temple, very quietly. "Julia Severn, ma'am! And why has she, or any other, curled hair? Why, in defiance of every precept and principle of this house, does she conform to the world so openly--here in an evangelical, charitable establishment--as to wear her hair a mass of curls?... Tell all the first form to rise up and direct their faces to the wall."... He scrutinised the reverse of these living medals some five minutes, then pronounced sentence. These words fell like the knell of doom: "All those top-knots must be cut off."

Or, as Eudes Rigaud expressed it some seven centuries earlier: "Quod comam non nutriatis ultra aures."

NOTE E.

CONVENT PETS IN LITERATURE.

It would be possible to compile a pretty anthology of convent pets, which have played a not undistinguished part in literature. The best known of all, perhaps, are Madame Eglentyne's little dogs, upon which Chaucer looked with a kindly unepiscopal eye:

Of smale houndes had she, that she fedde With rosted flesh, or milk and wastel-breed, But sore weep she if oon of hem were deed, Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte: And al was conscience and tendre herte[1701].

The tender-hearted Prioress risked a terrible fate by so pampering her dogs, if we are to believe the awful warning related by the knight of La Tour-Landry, to wean his daughters from similar habits:

Ther was a lady that had two litell doggis, and she loued hem so that she toke gret plesaunce in the sight and feding of hem. And she made euery day dresse and make for her disshes with soppes of mylke, and after gaue hem flesshe. But there was ones a frere that saide to her that it was not wel done that the dogges were fedde and made so fatte, and the pore pepill so lene and famished for hunger. And so the lady, for his saieing, was wrothe with hym, but she wolde not amende it. And after she happed she deied, and there fell a wonder meruailous sight, for there was seyn euer on her bedde ij litell blake dogges, and in her deyeng thei were about her mouthe and liked it, and whanne she was dede, there the dogges had lyked it was al blacke as cole, as a gentillwoman tolde me that sawe it and named me the lady[1702].

Poor Madame Eglentyne!

The anthologist would, however, have to go further back than Chaucer, into the eleventh century, and begin with that ill-fated donkey, which belonged to sister Alfrâd of Homburg, and which the wit of a nameless goliard and the devotion of the monks of St Augustine's, Canterbury, have preserved for undying fame[1703]:

Est unus locus There is a township Hôinburh dictus, (Men call it Homburg) in quo pascebat There 'twas that Alfrâd asinam Alfrâd Pastured her she-ass, viribus fortem Strong was the donkey, atque fidelem. Mighty and faithful.

Que dum in amplum And as it wandered exiret campum, Out to the meadow, vidit currentem It spied a greedy lupum voracem, Wolf that came running, caput abscondit, Head down and tail turned, caudam ostendit. Off the ass scampered.

Lupus occurrit: Up the wolf hurried, caudam momordit, Seized tail and bit it. asina bina Quickly the donkey levavit crura Lifted its hind legs, fecitque longum With the wolf bravely, cum lupo bellum. Long did it battle.

Cum defecisse Then when at last it vires sensisset, Felt its strength failing, protulit magnam Raised it a mighty plangendo vocem Noise of lamenting, vocansque suam Calling its mistress, moritur domnam. So died the donkey.

Audiens grandem Hearing the mighty asine vocem Voice of her donkey Alfrâd cucurrit, Alfrâd came running. "sorores," dixit, "Come, sisters" cried she "cito venite, "Sisters, come quickly, me adiuvate! Come now and help me!

Asinam caram My darling donkey misi ad erbam. Out to grass put I. illius magnum I hear a mighty audio planctum, Sound of complaining. spero cum sevo Sure with a cruel ut pugnet lupo." Wolf is it fighting!"

Clamor sororum Heard is her crying venit in claustrum, In the nuns' cloister, turbe virorum Men come and women, ac mulierum Crowding together, assunt, cruentum All that the bloody ut captent lupum. Wolf may be taken.

Adela namque Adela also, soror Alfrâde, sister of Alfrâd, Rîkilam querit, Rîkila seeketh, Agatham invenit, Agatha findeth, ibant ut fortem All go to vanquish sternerent hostem. The mighty foeman.

At ille ruptis But he tore open asine costis Sides of the donkey, sanguinis undam Flesh and blood gobbled carnemque totam All up together, simul voravit, Then helter-skeltered silvam intravit. Back to the forest.

Illud videntes And when they saw him cuncte sorores Wept all the sisters, crines scindebant, Tearing their tresses, pectus tundebant, Beating their bosoms, flentes insontem Weeping the guiltless asine mortem. Death of their donkey.

Denique parvum Long time a tiny portabat pullum; Foal it had carried. illum plorabat Sadly wept Alfrâd maxime Alfrâd, Thinking upon it, sperans exinde All her hopes ended prolem crevisse. Of rearing the offspring.

Adela mitis Adela gentle, Fritherûnque dulcis Fritherûn charming, venerunt ambe, Both came together, ut Alverâde That they might strengthen cor confirmarent Sad heart of Alfrâd, atque sanarent. Strengthen and heal it.

"Delinque mestas, "Leave now thy gloomy soror, querelas! Wailing, O sister! lupus amarum Wolf never heedeth non curat fletum: Thy bitter weeping. dominus aliam, The Lord will give thee dabit tibi asinam." Another donkey."

Exquisite ending! "The Lord will give thee another donkey." With what delighted applause must the unknown jongleur have been greeted by the monks or nobles, who first listened after dinner to this little masterpiece of humour.

All the convent pets who are famed in literature came by a coincidence to a bad end. Our anthologist would seize on two other hapless creatures, both of them birds, Philip Sparrow and the never-to-be-forgotten Vert-Vert. Philip Sparrow needs no introduction to English readers; Skelton was never in happier vein than when he sang the dirge of that pet of Joanna Scrope, boarder at Carrow Priory, dead at the claws of a "vylanous false cat." Space allows only a few lines of the long poem to be quoted here. It begins with the office for the dead, sung by the mourning mistress over her bird:

_Pla ce bo_, Who is there, who? _Di le xi_, Dame Margery; _Fa, re, my, my_, Wherefore and why, why? For the sowle of Philip Sparowe, That was late slayn at Carowe, Among the Nones Blake, For that swete soules sake, And for all sparowes soules, Set in our bederolles _Pater noster qui_, With an _Ave Mari_, And with the corner of a Crede The more shalbe your mede.

Whan I remembre agayn How mi Philyp was slayn, Neuer halfe the payne Was betwene you twayne, Pyramus and Thesbe, As than befell to me: I wept and I wayled, The tearys doune hayled; But nothynge it auayled To call Phylyp agayne, Whom Gyb our cat hath slayne.

* * * *

It was so prety a fole, It wold syt on a stole, And lerned after my scole For to kepe his cut, With, Phyllyp, kepe your cut! It had a veluet cap, And wold syt upon my lap, And seke after small wormes, And somtyme white bred crommes; And many tymes and ofte Betwene my brestes softe It wolde lye and rest; It was propre and prest. Somtyme he wolde gaspe Whan he sawe a waspe; A fly or a gnat, He wolde flye at that; And prytely he wold pant Whan he saw an ant; Lord, how he wolde pry After the butterfly! Lorde, how he wolde hop After the grassop! And whan I sayd, Phyp, Phyp, Than he wold lepe and skyp, And take me by the lyp. Alas, it wyll me slo, That Phillyp is gone me fro! _Si in i qui ta tes_, Alas, I was euyll at ease! _De pro fun dis cla ma vi_, Whan I sawe my sparowe dye!

* * * *

That vengeaunce I aske and crye, By way of exclamacyon, On all the hole nacyon Of cattes wyld and tame; God send them sorowe and shame! That cat specyally That slew so cruelly My lytell prety sparowe That I brought vp at Carowe ...[1704].

It is impossible for a cat-lover to leave the whole nation of cats under this terrific curse. Yet literature will supply no nunnery cat beside the unhappy Gyb and the uncharacterised cat of the _Ancren Riwle_. We must needs turn to the monks, and borrow the truer estimate of feline qualities made in the eighth century by an exiled Irish student, who sat over his books in a distant monastery of Carinthia, and wrote upon the margin of his copy of St Paul's Epistles this little poem on his white cat:

I and Pangur Bán, my cat, 'Tis a like task we are at; Hunting mice is his delight, Hunting words I sit all night.

Better far than praise of men 'Tis to sit with book and pen; Pangur bears me no ill-will, He, too, plies his simple skill.

'Tis a merry thing to see At our tasks how glad are we, When at home we sit and find Entertainment to our mind.

Oftentimes a mouse will stray In the hero Pangur's way; Oftentimes my keen thought set Takes a meaning in its net.

'Gainst the wall he sets his eye Full and fierce and sharp and sly; 'Gainst the wall of knowledge I All my little wisdom try.

When a mouse darts from its den, O! how glad is Pangur then; O! what gladness do I prove When I solve the doubts I love.

So in peace our task we ply, Pangur Bán, my cat, and I; In our arts we find our bliss, I have mine and he has his.

Practice every day has made Pangur perfect in his trade; I get wisdom day and night, Turning darkness into light[1705].

O cat! even at the cost of relevancy we have done thee honour.

Two little tragedies of the cloister are concerned with parrots--yet with what different birds and what different mistresses! In the twelfth century Nigel Wireker tells of an ill-bred and ill-fated parrot, kept in a nunnery, who told tales about the nuns and was poisoned by them for his pains:

Saepe mala Psittacus in thalamum domina redeunte puellas Prodit et illorum verba tacenda refert; Nescius ille loqui; sed nescius immo tacere Profert plus aequo Psittacus oris habens. Hinc avibus crebro miscente aconita puella Discat ut ante mori quam didicisse loqui; Sunt et aves aliae quae toto tempore vitae Religiosorum claustra beata colunt[1706].

Quite other was the fate of Vert-Vert, whose tragedy told with exquisite irony by Gresset in the eighteenth century deserves a place on every shelf and in every heart which holds _The Rape of the Lock_. Vert-Vert was a parrot who belonged to the nuns of Nevers, the most beautiful, most amiable, the most devout parrot in the world. The convent of Nevers spoiled Vert-Vert as no bird has ever been spoiled:

Pas n'est besoin, je pense, de décrire Les soins des soeurs, des nonnes, c'est tout dire; Et chaque mère, après son directeur, N'aimait rien tant. Même dans plus d'un coeur, Ainsi l'écrit un chroniqueur sincère, Souvent l'oiseau l'emporta sur le père. Il partageait, dans ce paisible lieu, Tous les sirops dont le cher père en Dieu, Grâce aux bienfaits des nonnettes sucrées, Réconfortait ses entrailles sacrées. Objet permis à leur oisif amour, Vert-Vert était l'âme de ce séjour.... Des bonnes soeurs égayant les travaux, Il béquetait et guimpes et bandeaux; Il n'était point d'agréable partie S'il n'y venait briller, caracoler, Papillonner, siffler, rossignoler; Il badinait, mais avec modestie; Avec cet air timide et tout prudent Qu'une novice a même en badinant.

He fed in the frater, and between meals the nuns' pockets were always full of bon-bons for his delectation. He slept in the dorter, and happy the nun whose cell he honoured with his presence; Vert-Vert always chose the young and pretty novices. Above all he was learned; he talked like a book, and all the nuns had taught him their chants and their prayers:

Il disait bien son Benedicite, Et _notre mère_, et _votre charité_; ... Il était là maintes filles savantes Qui mot pour mot portaient dans leurs cerveaux Tous les noëls anciens et nouveaux. Instruit, formé par leurs leçons fréquentes, Bientôt l'élève égala ses régentes; De leur ton même, adroit imitateur Il exprimait la pieuse lenteur, Les saints soupirs, les notes languissantes Du chant des soeurs, colombes gémissantes. Finalement Vert-Vert savait par coeur Tout ce que sait une mère de choeur.

Small wonder that the fame of this pious bird spread far and wide; small wonder that pilgrims came from all directions to the abbey parlour to hear him talk. But alas, it was this very fame which led to his undoing. The physical tragedy of Philip Sparrow, an unlearned bird of frivolous tastes, pales before the moral tragedy of Vert-Vert. One day his renown reached the ears of a distant convent of nuns at Nantes, many miles further down the river Loire; and they conceived a violent desire to see him:

Désir de fille est un feu qui dévore, Désir de nonne est cent fois pire encore.

They wrote to their fortunate sisters of Nevers, begging that Vert-Vert might be sent in a ship to visit them. Consternation at Nevers. The grand chapter was held; the younger nuns would have preferred death to parting with the darling parrot, but their elders judged it impolitic to refuse and to Nantes must Vert-Vert go for a fortnight. The parrot was placed on board a ship; but the ship

Portait aussi deux nymphes, trois dragons, Une nourrice, un moine, deux Gascons: Pour un enfant qui sort du monastère, C'était échoir en dignes compagnons.

At first Vert-Vert was confused and silent among the unseemly jests of the women and the Gascons and the oaths of the boatmen. But too soon his innocent heart was acquainted with evil; desiring always to please he repeated all that he heard; no evil word escaped him; by the end of his journey he had forgotten all that he had learned in the nunnery, but he had become a pretty companion for a boatload of sinners. Nantes was reached; Vert-Vert (all unwilling) was carried off to the convent, and the nuns came running to the parlour to hear the saintly bird. But horror upon horrors, nothing but oaths and blasphemies fell from Vert-Vert's beak. He apostrophised sister Saint-Augustin with "la peste te crève," and

Jurant, sacrant d'une voix dissolue, Faisant passer tout l'enfer en revue, Les B, les F, voltigeaient sur son bec. Les jeunes soeurs crurent qu'il parlait grec.

The scandalised nuns dispatched Vert-Vert home again without delay. His own convent received him in tears. Nine of the most venerable sisters debated his punishment; two were for his death; two for sending him back to the heathen land of his birth; but the votes of the other five decided his punishment:

On le condamne à deux mois d'abstinence, Trois de retraite et quatre de silence; Jardins, toilette, alcôve et biscuits, Pendant ce temps, lui seront interdits.

Moreover the ugliest lay sister, a veiled ape, an octogenarian skeleton, was made the guardian of poor Vert-Vert, who had always preferred the youngest and coyest of the novices. Little remains to be told. Vert-Vert, covered with shame and taught by misfortune, became penitent, forgot the dragoons and the monk, and showed himself once more "plus dévot qu'un chanoine." The happy nuns cut short his penance; the convent kept fête, the dorters were decked with flowers, all was song and tumult. But alas, Vert-Vert, passing too soon from a fasting diet to the sweets that were pressed upon him:

Bourré de sucre, et brûlé de liqueurs Vert-Vert, tombant sur un tas de dragées, En noir cyprès vit ses roses changées[1707].

Doubtless so godly an end consoled the nuns for his untimely death. Yet one hardly knows which to prefer, the regenerate or the unregenerate Vert-Vert. The appreciative reader, remembering the inspired volubility with which (after such short practice) he greeted the nuns of Nantes, is almost moved to regret the destruction of what one of Kipling's soldiers would call "a wonderful gift of language." There is an apposite passage in Jasper Mayne's comedy of _The City Match_ (1639), in which a lady describes the missionary efforts of her Puritan waiting-woman:

Yesterday I went To see a lady that has a parrot: my woman While I was in discourse converted the fowl, And now it can speak nought but Knox's works; _So there's a parrot lost_.

NOTE F.

THE MORAL STATE OF LITTLEMORE PRIORY IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

Littlemore Priory, near Oxford, in the early sixteenth century, was in such grave disorder that it may justly be described as one of the worst nunneries of which record has survived. Its state was, as usual, largely due to a particularly bad prioress, Katherine Wells. The following account of it is taken from the record of Bishop Atwater's visitations in 1517 and 1518, the first held by his commissary Edmund Horde, the second by the bishop in person[1708].

The _comperta_ are that the prioress had ordered the five nuns under her to say that all was well; she herself had an illegitimate daughter, and was still visited by the father of the child, Richard Hewes, a priest in Kent[1709]; that she took the "pannes, pottes, candilsticks, basynes, shetts, pelous, federe bedds etc." the property of the monastery, to provide a dowry for this daughter; that another of the nuns had, within the last year, an illegitimate child by a married man of Oxford; that the prioress was excessive in punishments and put the nuns in stocks when they rebuked her evil life; that almost all the jewels were pawned, and that there was neither food, clothing nor pay for the nuns; that one who thought of becoming a nun at Littlemore was so shocked by the evil life of the prioress that she went elsewhere. A few months afterwards the bishop summoned the prioress to appear before him, and after denying the charges brought against her, she finally admitted them; her daughter, she said, had died four years before, but she owned that she had granted some of the plate of the monastery to Richard Hewes. In her evidence she stated that though these things had been going on for eight years, no inquiry had been made, and, as it seems, no visitation of the house had been held; only, on one occasion, certain injunctions of a general kind had been sent her. As a punishment she was deposed from the post of prioress, but was allowed to perform the functions of the office for the present, provided that she did nothing without the advice of Mr Edmund Horde.

But some months later when the bishop himself made a visitation "to bring about some reformation," things were as scandalous as ever. The prioress complained that one of the nuns "played and romped (_luctando_)" with boys in the cloister and refused to be corrected. When she was put in the stocks, three other nuns broke the door and rescued her, and burnt the stocks; and when the prioress summoned aid from the neighbourhood, the four broke a window and escaped to friends, where they remained two or three weeks; that they laughed and played in church during mass, even at the elevation. The nuns complained that the prioress had punished them for speaking the truth at the last visitation; that she had put one in the stocks without any cause; that she had hit another "on the head with fists and feet, correcting her in an immoderate way," and that Richard Hewes had visited the priory within the last four months. From the evidence it is clear that the state of things was well known in Oxford, where each party seems to have had its adherents.

Several morals may be drawn from this lurid story. It shows how inadequate, in some cases, was the episcopal machinery for control and reform of religious houses. It shows that the "scandalous _comperta_" of Henry VIII's commissioners some sixteen years later were in no way untrue to type. It shows also that Wolsey was not entirely unjustified in his desire to dissolve the house and to use its revenues for educational purposes; he may have been no more disinterested than was his master later, but in the case of Littlemore at least it is difficult not to approve him.

NOTE G.

THE MORAL STATE OF THE YORKSHIRE NUNNERIES IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY.

It is possible to study in some detail the nunneries in the diocese of York during the first half of the fourteenth century, or roughly between the years 1280 and 1360. The Archbishops' Registers for most of the period have survived, and have either been printed or drawn upon very fully in the admirable accounts of monastic houses given in the _Victoria County History of Yorkshire_. As these accounts are not very widely known and as Yorkshire contained an unusual number of nunneries (twenty-seven) it is worth while to give some description of the state of these houses during a troubled period in their career.

Reasons have been suggested elsewhere for some of the disorder which prevailed among the monastic houses of the North. They were most of them both small and poor and, what is of greater significance, they lay in the border country, exposed to the forays of the Scots, and continually disturbed by English armies or raiders, riding north to take revenge. Life was not easy for nuns who might at any moment have to flee before a raid and whose lands were constantly being ravaged; they grew more and more miserably poor and as usual poverty seemed to go hand in hand with laxity. Moreover the conditions of life set its stamp upon the character of the ladies from whom convents were recruited. These Percies and Fairfaxes and Mowbrays and St Quintins schooled their hot blood with difficulty to obedience and chastity and the Yorkshire nunneries were apt to reflect the fierce passions of the Border, quick to love and quick to fight. There were no more quarrelsome nunneries in the kingdom, witness their election fights[1710], and none in which discipline was more lax. During these sixty years nineteen out of the twenty-seven houses came before the Archbishop of York's notice, at one time or another, in connection with cases of immorality and apostasy.

It is evident at once, from a study of the registers, that seven houses, i.e., Basedale, Keldholme, Kirklees and Swine of the Cistercian order, Arthington and Moxby of the Cluniac order and St Clement, York, of the Benedictine order were in a serious condition[1711]. At Basedale in 1307 the Prioress Joan de Percy was deprived for dilapidation of the goods of the house and perpetual and notorious misdeeds; whereupon she promptly left the nunnery, taking some of her partisans among the nuns with her. The Archbishop wrote to his official, bidding him warn them to return and not to go outside the cloister precincts and "in humility to take heed to the salutary monitions of their prioress"; but humility dwelt not in the breast of a Percy and in 1308 Joan was packed off to Sinningthwaite, "as she had been disobedient at Basedale." The troubles of the house were not ended; for the same year Agnes de Thormondby a nun, confessed that she had on three separate occasions allowed herself to be "deceived by the temptations of the flesh," a vivid commentary on the _régime_ of Joan Percy. In 1343 another well-born Prioress is in trouble at the house and the Archbishop issues a commission "to inquire into the truth of the articles urged against Katherine Mowbray and if her demerits required it to depose her, and the commission was repeated two years later, nothing apparently having been done"[1712].

The state of Keldholme was even worse. In 1287 Archbishop Romanus ordered the nuns to receive back an apostate, Maud de Tiverington. In 1299 a similar order was issued on behalf of Christiania de Styvelington. In 1308 began the violent election struggle over Emma of York and Joan of Pickering, which has already been described. In the course of the struggle four nuns were sent as rebels to other convents in 1308 and two in 1309, and from the nature of the penance imposed on the last two it would seem that they had been guilty of immorality. In 1318 Mary de Holm, who was one of the ejected rebels of 1308 and had been censured for disobedience to the new prioress in 1315, was sentenced to do penance "for the vice of incontinence committed by her with Sir William Lyly, chaplain"[1713]; and in 1321, Maud of Terrington (who may be the Maud of Tiverington who apostatised in 1287), was given a heavy penance for incontinence and apostasy[1714]. The history of the house during the stormy years from 1308 to 1321 shows how far from being a home of peace and good living a nunnery might be; and illustrates well the difficulty of reforming it while even one incorrigible rebel and sinner such as Mary de Holm dwelt there.

The state of Arthington was very similar. Here in 1303 Custance de Daneport of Pontefract had apostatised and was to be received back; trouble seems to have begun in that year, for the Prioress Agnes de Screvyn resigned. In 1307 a visitation revealed considerable disorder and Dionisia de Hevensdale and Ellen de Castleford were forbidden to go outside the convent precincts. In 1312 the subprioress and convent were ordered to render due obedience to the Prioress Isabella de Berghby, who was given Isabella Couvel as a coadjutress. Evidently she resented having to share her authority in temporal matters with another nun, for soon afterwards Isabella de Berghby and Margaret de Tang are said to have cast off their habits and left the convent. Eighteen months later a new prioress was appointed and the two runaways returned and did penance. In 1315 there is mention of quarrels among the nuns and in 1319 Margaret de Tang once more engaged the attention of the Archbishop and was sent to Nunkeeling and prescribed the usual penalty for immorality. In 1321 she was again in trouble; she had apostatised and committed grave misdemeanours; and was again sent back to her convent, to be imprisoned and if necessary chained there, until she showed signs of repentance. In 1349 Isabella de Berghby, in spite of her past apostasy, was once more elected Prioress[1715].

At Moxby, the other Cluniac house in the diocese, Archbishop Greenfield ordered the Prioress to receive back Sabina de Apelgarth, who had apostatised, but was returning in a state of penitence. Her penitence was of the usual type of these Yorkshire ladies and her reputation did not prevent her from rising to the high rank in the convent, for in 1318 Archbishop Melton ordered her to be removed from office and ordained that henceforward no one convicted of incontinence was to hold any office[1716]. In 1321 a penance was pronounced on Joan de Brotherton for having been twice in apostasy; but a note in the margin of the register where the penance is entered takes her history a stage further: "Memorandum quod dominus Walterus de Penbrige, stans cum domina regina, postea impregnavit eandem"[1717]. The next year a Scottish raid dispersed the nuns; Sabina de Apelgarth and Margaret de Neusom were sent to Nunmonkton; Alice de Barton, the Prioress, to Swine; Joan de Barton and Joan de Toucotes to Nunappleton; Agnes Ampleford and Agnes Jarkesmill to Nunkeeling; Joan de Brotherton and Joan Blaunkfront to Hampole[1718]. This disturbance did not improve their morals. In 1325 the Prioress Joan de Barton resigned, having been found guilty of incontinence with the inevitable chaplain. The nuns could find no better successor for her than Sabina de Apelgarth and in 1328 that lady was once more in difficulties; the Archbishop removed her "for certain reasons" and imposed the usual penance for immorality and Joan de Toucotes became Prioress in her stead. At the same time Joan Blaunkfront's penance was relaxed, so she too had apparently fallen; lovely and white-browed she must have been, from her name ("But sikerly she hadde a fair foreheed"), nor could she bear to hide her beauties beneath the hideous garb of a nun. Seventeen long years afterwards, when the forehead was growing wrinkled and the beauty fading, she wished to reconcile herself with the God whom she had flouted. She had powerful friends and could afford to petition the Pope himself, and in 1345 Clement VI gave orders for Joan Blankefrontes, nun of Moxby, who had left her order, to be reconciled to it[1719].

Kirklees, known to romance as the house where a wicked prioress bled Robin Hood to death, was in a deplorable state about the same time. In 1306 Archbishop Greenfield wrote to the house bidding them take back Alice Raggid, who, several times led astray by the temptations of the flesh, had left her convent for the world; in 1313 a similar order was made for Elizabeth de Hopton. The two nuns seem, however, to have been incorrigible, for in 1315 the Archbishop wrote to the Prioress saying that public rumour had reached his ears that some of the nuns of the house, and especially Elizabeth de Hopton, Alice "le Raggede" and Joan de Heton, were wont to admit both secular and religious men into the private parts of the house and to hold many suspicious conversations with them. He forbids these or any other nuns to admit or talk with any cleric or layman save in a public place and in the presence of the Prioress, subprioress or two other nuns; and he specially warns a certain Joan de Wakefeld to give up the private room, which she persists in inhabiting by herself. He refers also to the fact that these and other nuns were disobedient to the Prioress, "like rebels refusing to accept her discipline and punishment." On the same day he imposed a special penance on Joan de Heton for incontinence with Richard del Lathe and Sir Michael, "called Scot," a priest, and on the unhappy Alice Raggid for the same sin with William de Heton of Mirfield, possibly a relative of her fellow nun[1720]. Here again we have an incorrigible offender, guilty of apostasy and immorality off and on during ten years. Swine was not much better. In 1289 a nun of the great St Quintin family was in disgrace, probably (though not certainly) for immorality. In 1290 there was the usual trouble over a new Prioress and Elizabeth de Rue was sent to Nunburnholme under the charge of a brother of the house and a horseman, apparently for immorality as well as contumacy. At the same time another nun, Elizabeth Darrains, had part of her penance lightened; but in 1291 she was sent away to Wykeham Priory. In 1306 John, son of Thomas the Smith, of Swine, was charged with having seduced Alice Martel, a nun of the house, and in 1310 Elizabeth de Rue (whom we have seen was in trouble twenty years before) was said to have sinned with two monks from the Abbey of Meaux. The house had evidently not improved very much at a later date, for in 1358 Alice de Cawode had twice been out in apostasy[1721].

Even close to the city of York itself, the Benedictine house of St Clement's or Clementhorpe did not escape the prevalent decay of morals. In 1300 the Archbishop rehearses unsympathetically a romantic tale of how "late one evening certain men came to the priory gate, leading a saddled horse; here Cecily a nun, met them and, throwing off her nun's habit, put on another robe and rode off with them to Darlington, where Gregory de Thornton was waiting for her; and with him she lived for three years and more." In 1310 Greenfield mitigated a penance, of the kind usually imposed for immorality, upon another nun Joan de Saxton. In 1318 there is mention of Joan of Leeds, another apostate, and in 1324 the Prioress resigned after serious trouble in the house, details of which have not been preserved. In 1331 Isabella de Studley (who had been made a nun there by express permission of the primate in 1315) was found guilty of apostasy and fleshly sin, besides blasphemy and other misdeeds; she had apparently been sent to Yedingham for a penance some time before and was now allowed to return, with the warning that if she disobeyed, quarrelled or blasphemed any more she would be transferred permanently to another house[1722].

These houses were all clearly extremely immoral, but there is evidence of less extreme trouble in other houses in the same diocese. At Arden Joan de Punchardon had become a mother in 1306 and Clarice de Speton confessed herself guilty with the bailiff of Bulmershire in 1311[1723]. At Thicket Alice Darel of Wheldrake was an apostate in 1303 and in 1334 Joan de Crackenholme was said to have left her house several times[1724]. At Wilberfoss Agnes de Lutton was in trouble in 1312[1725]. At Esholt Beatrice de Haukesward left the house pregnant in 1303[1726]. At Hampole Isabella Folifayt was guilty in 1324, and Alice de Reygate in 1358[1727]. At Nunappleton Maud of Ripon apostatised in 1309 and in 1346 Katherine de Hugate, a nun, went away pregnant and a lay sister was said to have been several times in the same condition[1728]. At St Stephen's, Foukeholm, a nun Cecilia, who had run away with a chaplain, returned of her own accord in 1293 and another apostate, Elena de Angrom, returned in 1349[1729]. Agnes de Bedale, an apostate, was sent back in 1286; and in 1343 Margaret de Fenton, who left the house pregnant, had her penance mitigated "because she had only done so once," a startling commentary on the state of the Yorkshire houses[1730]. At Rosedale an apostate Isabella Dayvill was sent back to do penance in 1321[1731]. Of Nunmonkton there is little record during the first half of the century, but it was in a bad state at the end[1732]; at Wykeham also there seems to have been no case of apostasy in the fourteenth century, but in the fifteenth century the Prioress Isabella Wykeham was removed for serious immorality in 1444 and in 1450 two nuns had gone on an unlicensed pilgrimage to Rome, which had led to one of them living with a married man in London[1733].

NOTE H.

THE DISAPPEARANCE OR SUPPRESSION OF EIGHT NUNNERIES PRIOR TO 1535.

It seems clear that even before the Dissolution proper decay was manifest in some of the smaller nunneries; numbers were dwindling and morals were not always beyond suspicion. At all events in the forty years before Henry VIII's first act of dissolution, no less than eight nunneries[1734], all of which had at one time been reasonably flourishing, faded away or were dissolved. Something may, and indeed must, be allowed for the ulterior motives of those who desired the revenue of these houses; but it is impossible to suspect men like John Alcock, Bishop of Ely, John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, even Cardinal Wolsey, of being willing without any excuse to suppress helpless nunneries in order to endow their new collegiate foundations with the spoils. Some truth there must be in the allegations of ill behaviour brought against certain of these houses; and the reduction in numbers seems to point to a decay, more spontaneous than forced.

The first of the houses thus to be dissolved was St Radegund's, Cambridge, the accounts of which we have so often quoted. In 1496 John Alcock, Bishop of Ely, visited the house and found but two sisters left there; and he thereupon obtained letters patent from Henry VII to convert the nunnery into a college, founded (like the nunnery) in honour of the Virgin, St John the Evangelist and St Radegund, but called henceforward Jesus College. Some light is thrown by these letters patent on the condition of the convent in 1496. It is therein stated that the king,

as well by the report of the Bishop as by public fame, that the priory ... together with all its lands, tenements, rents, possessions and buildings, and moreover the properties, goods, jewels and other ecclesiastical ornaments anciently of piety and charity given and granted to the same house or priory, by the neglect, improvidence, extravagance and incontinence of the prioresses and women of the said house, _by reason of their proximity to the university of Cambridge_, have been dilapidated, destroyed, wasted, alienated, diminished, and subtracted; in consequence of which the nuns are reduced to such want and poverty that they are unable to maintain and support divine services, hospitality and other such works of mercy and piety, as by the primary foundation and ordinance of their founders are required; that they are reduced in number to two only, of whom one is elsewhere professed, the other is of ill-fame, and that they can in no way provide for their own sustenance and relief, insomuch as they are fain to abandon their house and leave it in a manner desolate[1735].

The next nunneries to disappear were Bromhale in Windsor Forest and Lillechurch or Higham in Kent. Their dissolution was begun in 1521 and completed in 1524, when their possessions were granted to St John's College, Cambridge, the foundation of which was then being carried out by John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, as executor of the Lady Margaret. Only three nuns were left in Bromhale and Wolsey directed the Bishop of Salisbury to "proceed against enormities, misgovernance and slanderous living, long time heretofore had, used and continued by the prioress and nuns"[1736]; but there is no further evidence as to the moral condition of the convent. The moral as well as the financial decay of Lillechurch is more certain, for the resignations of the three nuns who remained, together with the depositions of those who accused them of want of discipline, have survived. Their revenues were stated to be in great decay and divine service, hospitality and almsgiving had almost ceased. Moreover it was said that "the same priory was situated in a corner out of sight of the public and was much frequented by lewd persons, especially clerks, whereby the nuns there were notorious for the incontinence of their life," two of them having borne children to one Edward Sterope, vicar of Higham. Some witnesses were heard as to one of them, including a nurse who had taken charge of her baby and a former servant of the nunnery, who had been sent by the bishop to investigate the matter. "He entered the cloister of the aforesaid priory, where he saw the lady sitting and weeping and said to her 'Alas madam, howe happened this with you?' and she answered him, 'And [if] I had been happey [i.e. lucky] I myght a caused this thinge to have ben unknowen and hydden'"[1737].

The next nunneries to be suppressed were a group which went to enrich Cardinal Wolsey's foundations. The Cardinal's policy of dissolving small decayed houses in order to devote their revenues to collegiate foundations, especially to his new college at Oxford, was by no means generally approved and a passage in Skelton's bitterly hostile _Colin Clout_ refers particularly to the case of the nunneries:

And the selfe same game Begone ys nowe with shame Amongest the sely nonnes: My lady nowe she ronnes, Dame Sybly our abbesse, Dame Dorothe and lady Besse, Dame Sare our pryoresse, Out of theyr cloyster and quere With an heuy chere, Must cast vp theyr blacke vayles[1738].

The nunneries dissolved were Littlemore (1525), Wix (1525), Fairwell (1527), and St Mary de Pré, St Albans, of which all went to Cardinal College, except Fairwell, which went to Lichfield Cathedral. Of these Littlemore, under the evil prioress Katherine Wells, had been in a state of great disorder since 1517[1739], while Cardinal Morton's famous letter of 1490 showed that there was at least suspicion of immoral relations between the nuns of St Mary de Pré and the monks of St Albans[1740]. Of the other two nunneries little is known at this time, save that they were very small; there were four nuns at Wix. Another house, Davington in Kent, vanished only a few months before the act would have dissolved it; in 1535 it was found before the escheator of the county that no nuns were left in it[1741].

NOTE I.

CHANSONS DE NONNES.

The theme of the nun in popular poetry deserves a more detailed study than it has yet received, both on account of the innate grace of the _chansons de nonnes_ and on account of their persistence into modern times. The earliest examples (with the exception of the two old French poems quoted in the text) occur in German literature, always rich in folk song. With the song from the _Limburg Chronicle_ and the Latin _Plangit nonna fletibus_ should be compared the following amusing little poem:

Ich solt ein nonne werden ich hatt kein lust dazu ich ess nicht gerne gerste wach auch nicht gerne fru; gott geb dem kläffer unglück vil der mich armes mägdlein ins kloster haben wil!

Ins kloster, ins kloster da kom ich nicht hinein, da schneidt man mir die har ab, das bringt mir schwäre pein; gott geb dem kläffer unglück vil der mich armes mägdlein ins kloster haben wil!

Und wenn es komt um mitternacht das glöcklein das schlecht an, so hab ich armes mägdlein noch keinen schlaf getan; gott geb dem kläffer unglück vil der mich armes mägdlein ins kloster haben wil!

Und wenn ich vor die alten kom so sehn sie mich sauer an, so denk ich armes mägdlein hett ich ein jungen man und der mein stäter bule sei so war ich armes mägdlein des fasten und betens frei.

Ade, ade feins klösterlein, Ade, nu halt dich wol! ich weiss ein herz allerliebsten mein mein herz ist freuden vol; nach im stet all mein zuversicht, ins kloster kom ich nimmer nicht, ade, feins klösterlein![1742]

From the time of the Minnesingers comes a charming, plaintive little song, which rings its double refrain on the words "Lonely" and "O Love, what have I done?" It tells how the nun, behind a cold grating, thinks of her lover as she chants her psalter; and how her father and mother visit her and pray together, clad like gay peacocks, while she is shrouded in cord and cowl; and how

At even to my bed I go-- The bed in my cell is lonely. And then I think (God, where's the harm?) Would my true love were in my arm! O Love--what have I done?[1743]

A thirteenth century poem, hailing from Bavaria or Austria, strikes a more tragic note:

Alas for my young days, alas for my plaint. They would force me into a convent. Nevermore then shall I see the grass grow green and the green clover flowers, nevermore hear the little birds sing. Woe it is, and dead is my joy, for they would part me from my true love, and I die of sorrow. _Alas, alas for my grief, which I must bear in secret!_ Sisters, dear sisters, must we be parted from the world? Deepest woe it is, since I may never wear the bridal wreath and must make moan for my sins, when I would fain be in the world and would fain wear a bright wreath upon my hair, instead of the veil that the nuns wear. _Alas, alas for my grief, which I must bear in secret!_ I must take leave of the world, since the day of parting is come. I must look sourly upon all joy, upon dancing and leaping and good courage, birds singing and hawthorn blooming. If the little birds had my sorrow well might they sit silent in the woods and upon the green branches. _Alas, alas for my grief, which I must bear in silence_[1744].

A sixteenth century French song has something of the same serious tone, though it is more sophisticated and less poignant than the medieval German version:

Une jeune fillette de noble coeur gratieuse et honeste de grand valeur, contre son gré l'on a rendu nonette point ne le voloit estre par quoy vit en langueur.

One day after Compline she was sitting alone and lamenting her fate and she called on the Virgin to shorten her life, which she could endure no longer:

If I were married to my love, who has so desired me, whom I have so desired, all the night long he would hold me in his arms and would tell me all his thought and I would tell him mine. If I had believed my love and the sweet words he said to me, alack, alack, I should be wedded now. But since I must die in this place let me die soon. O poor heart, that must die a death so bitter! Fare you well, abbess of this convent, and all the nuns therein. Pray for me when I am dead, but never tell my thought to my true love. Fare you well, father and mother and all my kinsfolk; you made me a nun in this convent; in life I shall never have any joy; I live unhappy, in torment and in pain[1745].

Usually, however, the _chanson de nonne_ is more frivolous than this and all ends happily. A well defined group contains songs in the form of a round with a refrain, meant to be sung during a dance[1746]. One of the prettiest has a refrain rejecting the life of a nun for the best of reasons:

Derrière chez mon père Il est un bois taillis (Serai-je nonnette, oui ou non? Serai-je nonnette? je crois que non!)

Le rossignol y chante Et le jour et la nuit. Il chante pour les filles Qui n'ont pas d'ami, Il ne chante pas pour moi, J'en ai un, dieu mercy[1747].

Another (first found in a version belonging to the year 1602) has the dance-refrain:

Trépignez vous, trépignez, Trépignez vous comme moy,

and the words seem to trip of themselves:

Mon père n'a fille que moy-- Il a juré la sienne foy Que nonnette il fera de moy, Et non feray, pas ne voudray. J'amerois mieux mary avoir Qui me baisast la nuit trois fois. L'un au matin et l'autre au soir, L'autre a minuit, ce sont les trois[1748].

Another song of the same date has the refrain:

Je le diray, Je le diray, diray, ma mère, Ma Mère, je le diray,

and tells the same tale:

Mon père aussi ma mère Ont juré par leur foy Qu'ils me rendront nonnette Tout en despit de moy. La partie est mal faite Elle est faite sans moy. J'ay un amy en France Qui n'est pas loin de moy, Je le tiens par le doigt. La nuit quand je me couche Se met auprès de moy, M'apprend ma patenostre, Et aussi mon _ave_, Et encore autre chose Que je vous celeray. De peur que ne l'oublie Je le recorderay![1749]

The passage of years never diminished the popularity of these gay little songs; age could not wither them, and when nineteenth century scholars began to collect the folk songs sung in the provinces of France, they found many _chansons de nonnes_ still upon the lips of the people. In Poitou there is a round whose subject is still the old distaste of the girl for the convent:

Dans Paris l'on a fait faire Deux ou trois petits couvents. Mon père ainsi que ma mère Veulent me mettre dedans, (Point de couvent, je ne veux, ma mère, C'est un amant qu'il me faut vraiment.)

She begs her parents to wait another year; perhaps at the end of a year she will find a lover; and she will take him quickly enough:

Il vaut mieux conduire à vêpres Son mari et ses enfants, Que d'être dedans ces cloétres A faire les yeux dolents; A jeûner tout le carême, Les quatre-temps et l'avent; Et coucher dessus la dure Tout le restant de son temps. Serais-je plus heureuse Dans les bras de mon amant? Il me conterait ses peines, Ses peines et ses tourments. Je lui conterais les miennes, Ainsi passerait le temps[1750].

Another round from the same district sings the plaint of a girl whose younger sister has married before her; "lads are as fickle as a leaf upon the wind, girls are as true as silver and gold; but my younger sister is being married. I am dying of jealousy, for they are sending me into a convent":

Car moi, qui suis l'aînée On me met au couvent. Si ce malheur arrive J'mettrai feu dedans! (Vous qui menez la ronde, Menez-le rondement.)[1751]

Many folk-songs take the form of a dialogue between a mother and daughter, sometimes (as in two of the rounds quoted above) preserved only in the refrain. An old song taken down at Fontenay-le-Marmion contains a charmingly frivolous conversation. "Mother," says the daughter of fifteen, "I want a lover." "No, no, no, my child, none of that," says her mother, "you shall go to town to a convent and learn to read." "But tell me, mother, is it gay in a convent?":

"Dites-moi, ma mère, ah! dites-moi donc, Dedans ce couvent, comme s'y comporte-t-on? Porte-t-on des fontanges et des beaux habits, Va-t-on à la danse, prend-on ses plaisis?"

"Non, non, non, ma fille, point de tout cela; Une robe noire et elle vous servira, Une robe noire et un voile blanc; Te voilà, ma fille, à l'état du couvent."

"No, mother, to a convent I will not go; never will I leave the lad I love"; as she speaks her lover enters. "Fair one, will you keep your promise?" "I will keep all the promises I ever made to you, in my youth I will keep them; it is only my mother who does not wish it--but all the same, do not trouble yourself, for it shall be so. My father is very gentle when he sees me cry; I shall speak to him of love and I shall soon make him see that without any more delay I must have a lover"[1752]. In another of these dialogues the seventeen-year-old girl begs her mother to find her a husband. "You bold wicked girl," says the mother:

Effrontée, hélas! que vous êtes! Si je prends le manche à balai, Au couvent de la soeur Babet Je te mets pour la vie entière, Et à grands coups de martinet On apaisera votre caquet!

But "Mother," says the girl, "When you were my age, weren't you just the same? When love stole away your strength and your courage, didn't you love your sweetheart so well that they wanted to put you into a convent? don't you remember, mother, that you once told me that it was high time my dear father came forward, for you had more than one gallant?" The horrified mother interrupts her, "I see very well that you have a lover":

Mariez-vous, n'en parlons plus Je vais vous compter mille écus![1753]

Another group of songs (in narrative form and more _banal_ than the rounds and dialogues) deals with the escape from the convent. Among folk-songs collected in Velay and Forez there is one in which the girl is shut in a nunnery, whence her lover rescues her by the device of dressing himself as a gardener and getting employment in the abbess's garden[1754]; and another in which a soldier returns from the Flemish wars to find his mistress in a convent and takes her away with him in spite of the remonstrances of the abbess[1755]. In a version from Low Normandy (which probably goes back to the seventeenth century) the lover invokes the help of a chimney sweep, who goes to sweep the convent chimneys and pretends to be seized with a stomach-ache, so that the abbess hurries away for a medicine bottle and enables him to pass the young man's letter to his mistress; on a second visit the sweep carries the girl out in his sack, under the very nose of the reverend mother[1756]. An Italian version is less artificial:

In this city there is a little maid, a little maid in love. They wish to chastise her until she loves no more. Says her father to her mother: "In what manner shall we chastise her? Let us array her in grey linen and put her into a nunnery." In her chamber the fair maiden stood listening. "Ah, woe is me, for they would make me a nun!" Weeping she wrote a letter and when she had sealed it well, she gave it to her serving man, and bade him bear it to her lover. The gentle gallant read the letter and began to weep and sigh: "I had but one little love and now they would make her a nun!" He goes to the stable where his horses are and saddles the one he prizes most. "Arise, black steed, for thou art the strongest and fairest of all; for one short hour thou must fly like a swallow down by the sea." The gentle gallant mounts his horse and spurs forward at a gallop. He arrives just as his fair one is entering the nunnery. "Hearken to me, mother abbess, I have one little word to say." As he spake the word to the maiden, he slipped the ring on her finger. "Is there in this city no priest or no friar who will marry a maiden without her banns being called?" "Goodbye to you, Father, goodbye to you, Mother, goodbye to you all my kinsfolk. They thought to make me a nun, but with joy I am become a bride"[1757].

Another very ribald Italian folk-song of the fourteenth or fifteenth century is specially interesting because it is founded upon Boccaccio's famous tale of the Abbess and the breeches. It is somewhat different from the usual nun-song; less plaintive and more indecent, as befits its origin in a _conte gras_; it is a _fabliau_ rather than a song, but it is worth quoting:

Kyrie, kyrie, pregne son le monache! lo andai in un monastiero, a non mentir ma dir el vero, ov' eran done secrate: diezi n' eran tute inpiate, senza [dir de] la badesa, che la tiritera spesa faceva con un prete. Kyrie, etc.

Or udirete bel sermona: ciascuna in chiesa andone, lasciando il dileto che si posava in sul leto; per rifare la danza ciascuno aspetta l' amanza che diè retonare. Kyrie, etc.

Quando matutin sonava in chiesa nesuna andava, [poi] ch' eran acopiate qual con prete e qual con frate: con lui stava in oracione e ciascuno era garzone che le serviva bene. Kyrie, etc.

Sendo in chiesia tute andate, e tute erano impregnate, qual dal prete e qual dal frate, l' una e l' altra guata; ciascuna cred' esser velata lo capo di benda usata; avrino in capo brache. Kyrie, etc.

E l' una a l' altra guatando si vengon maravigliando; credean che fore celato, alor fu manifestato questo eale convenente: a la badessa incontenente ch' ognun godesse or dice. Kyrie, etc.

Or ne va, balata mia, va a quel monastiero, che vi si gode in fede mia e questo facto è vero; ciascuna non li par vero, e quale [è] la fanziulla ciascuna si trastulla col cul cantano kyrie. Kyrie, etc.[1758]

One characteristic form of the nun-theme has already been referred to in the text: the dialogue between the clerk and the nun, in which one prays the other for love and is refused. A terse version in which the nun is temptress exists in Latin and evidently enjoyed a certain popularity:

_Nonna._ Te mihi meque tibi genus, aetas et decor aequa[n]t: Cur non ergo sumus sic in amore pares? _Clericus._ Non hac ueste places aliis nec uestis ametur: Quae nigra sunt, fugio, candida semper amo. _N._ Si sim ueste nigra, niueam tamen aspice carnem: Quae nigra sunt, fugias, candida crura petas. _C._ Nupsisti Christo, quem non offendere fas est: Hoc uelum sponsam te notat esse Dei. _N._ Deponam uelum, deponam cetera quaeque: Ibit et ad lectum nuda puella tuum. _C._ Si uelo careas, tamen altera non potes esse: Vestibus ablatis non mea culpa minor. _N._ Culpa quidem, sed culpa leuis tamen ipsa fatetur Hoc fore peccatum, sed ueniale tamen. _C._ Uxorem uiolare uiri graue crimen habetur, Sed grauius sponsam te uiolare Dei. _N._ Cum non sit rectum uicini frangere lectum Plus reor esse reum zelotypare Deum[1759].

In the Cambridge Manuscript there is a famous dialogue, half-Latin and half-German, in which a clerk prays a nun to love him in springtime, while the birds sing in the trees, but she replies: "What care I for the nightingale? I am Christ's maid and his betrothed." Almost the whole of the dialogue, in spite of the nun's irreproachable attitude, has been deleted with black ink by the monks of St Augustine's, Canterbury, who were accustomed thus to censor matter which they considered unedifying; but modern scholars have been at infinite pains to reconstruct it[1760].

It is rare to find in popular songs the idea of the convent as a refuge for maidens crossed in love; but some pretty poems have this theme. In a sixteenth century song a girl prefers a convent, if she cannot have the man she loves best, but she wishes her lover could be with her there:

Puis que l'on ne m'at donne A celuy que j'aymois tant, avant la fin de l'annee quoy que facent mes parens, je me rendray capucine capucine en un couvent.

Si mon amis vient les feste a la grille regardant, je luy feray de la teste la reverence humblement come pauvre capucine; je n'oserois aultrement.

S'il se pouvait par fortune se couler secretement dedans ma chambre sur la brune, je lui dirois mon tourment que la pauvre capucine pour luy souffre en ce couvent.

Mon dieu, s'il se pouvoit faire que nous deux ensemblement fussions dans ung monastere pour y passer nostre temps, capucin et capucine nous vindrions tous deux content.

L'on me vera attissee d'ung beau voille de lin blanc; mais je seray bien coiffee dans le coeur tout aultrement, puis que l'on m'a capucine mise dedans ce couvent.

N'est ce pas une grand raige quand au gre de ses parens il faut prendre en mariaige ceulx qu'on n'ayme nullement? j'ameroy mieulx capucine estre mise en ce couvent[1761].

Somewhat similar is the song (first printed in 1640) of the fifteen year-old girl married to a husband of sixty:

M'irai-je rendre nonette Dans quelque joly couvent, Priant le dieu d'amourette Qu'il me donne allegement Ou que j'aye en mariage Celuy là que j'aime tant?[1762]

A round, with the refrain

Ah, ah, vive l'amour! Cela ne durera pas toujours,

goes with a delightful swing:

Ce matin je me suis levée Plus matin que ma tante; J'ai descendu dans mon jardin Cueillire la lavande. Je n'avais pas cueilli trois brins Que mon amant y rentre; Il m'a dit trois mots en latin: Marions nous ensemble. --Si mes parents le veul' bien, Pour moi je suis contente. Si mes parents ne le veul' pas Dans un couvent j'y rentre. Tous mes parents le veul' bien, Il n'y a que ma tante. Et si ma tante ne veut pas Dans un couvent je rentre. Je prierai Dieu pour mes parents Et le diable pour ma tante![1763]

In another song, with the refrain

Je ne m'y marieray jamais Je seray religieuse,

the girl laments her own coyness which has lost her her lover[1764]. Sometimes, on the other hand, it is the lover's falseness which drives her to enter a convent. In a song, which first occurs about 1555, the maiden laments "qu'amours sont faulses":

Je m'en iray rendre bigotte Avec les autres, Et porteray le noir aussi le gris (sont les couleurs de mon loyal amy) si porteray les blanches patenostres comme bigotte[1765].

In another very graceful little ditty the lover goes through the world in rain and wind, seeking his true love and finds her at last in a green valley:

Je luy ay dit "doucette, où vas tu maintenant? (m'amour)" "m'en vois rendre nonnette (helas) en un petit couvent.

Puis que d'aultre que moy vous estes amoureux. (m'amour) qui faict qu'en grand esmoy (helas) mon coeur soit langoureux.

Helas, toute vestue je seray de drap noir (m'amour) monstrant que despourveue (helas) je vis en desespoir"[1766].

Moreover the convent also plays its part in that numerous class of folk songs, which tells of the discomfiture of a too bold gallant by the wits of a girl. An early example occurs in 1542:

L'autrier, en revenant de tour Sus mon cheval qui va le trou, Par dessoubs la couldrette L'herbe y croit folyette.

Je m'en entray en ung couvent Pour prendre mes esbatemens. Par ung petit guinchet d'argent Je vis une nonnette, Vray Dieu, tant jolyette.

Dessoubz les drabs quand je la vys Blanche comme la fleur du lys, Je masseitys aupres du lit En lui disans: nonnette Serez vous ma miette?

Chevalier, troup me detenez, D'en faire a vostre voulente Si m'en laissez ung peu aller, Tant que je soye parée, Tost seray retournée.

Sire chevalier, rassemblez A l'ésperirer vous resemblez, Qui tient la proye enmy ses pieds Et puis la laisse enfuire Ainsi faictes vous, sire.

La nonnette si s'en alla A son abbesse racompta Là en ces bois a ung musart Qui d'amour m'a priée, Je luy suis eschappée.

Le chevallier il demeura Soulz la branche d'ung olivier Attendant la nonnette-- Encore y peust il estre![1767]

Folk-songs, like flowers, spring up--or perhaps are transplanted--in the same form in different lands and under different skies; they laugh at political divisions and are a living monument to the solidarity of Europe. Thus a song taken down from the lips of a Piedmontese _contadina_ in the nineteenth century is almost exactly the same as the sixteenth century French poem just quoted, even to such details as the olive and the fowler:

Gentil galant cassa'nt ël bosc, S'è riscuntrà-se'nt üna múnia, L'era tan bela, frësca e biunda. Gentil galant a j'à ben dit: --Setè-ve sì cun mi a l'umbreta, Mai pi viu sarì munigheta. --Gentil galant, spetei-me sì, Che vada pozè la tunicheta Poi turnrò con vui a l'umbreta-- A l'à spetà-la tre dì, tre nóit Sut a l'umbreta de l'oliva. E mai pi la múnia veniva. Gentil galant va al munastè, L'à pica la porta grandeta; J'e sortì la madre badessa. --Coza cerchei-vo, gentil galant? --Mi ma cerco na munigheta, Ch'a m'à promess d'avnì a l'umbreta. --J'avie la quaja dnans ai pè, V'la sì lassà-v-la vulè via. Cozi l'à faít la múnia zolia[1768].

Another version, still sung in many parts of France, is called _The Ferry Woman_. In this a girl ferrying a gentleman from court across a stream, promises him her love in return for two thousand pounds, but bids him wait till they land and can climb to the top room of a house. But when the gallant leaps ashore she pushes off her boat, taking the money with her and crying: "Galant, j't'ai passé la rivière:

Avec ton or et ton argent Je vais entrer dans un couvent, Dans un couvent de filles vertueuses Pour être un jour aussi religieuse!

"Si je passe par le couvent, J'irai mettre le feu dedans, Je brûlerai la tour et la tournière Pour mieux brûler la belle batelière"[1769].

Occasionally the references to nuns in folk-songs have even less significance. Thus one of the metamorphoses gone through by the girl, who (in a very common folk theme) assumes different shapes to elude her lover, is to become a nun:

"Si tu me suis encore Comme un amant Je me ferai nonne Dans un convent, Et jamais tu n'auras Mon coeur content."

"Si tu te fais nonne Dans un couvent Je me ferai Moine chantant Pour confesser la nonne Dans le couvent"[1770].

Again in _Le Canard Blanc_ occur the question and answer:

Que ferons nous de tant d'argent? Nous mettrons nos filles au couvent Et nos garçons au régiment. Si nos fill's ne veul' point d'couvent Nous les marierons richement[1771].

One very curious song deserves quotation, a Florentine carnival song of the time of Lorenzo the Magnificent, written by one Guglielmo called _Il Giuggiola_. It retails the woes of some poor "Lacresine" or "Lanclesine" who have come to Rome on a pilgrimage and been robbed of all their money on the way, and the ingenious suggestion has been made that "Lacresine" is a corruption of "Anglesine" and that the song is supposed to be sung by English nuns; certainly it is in broken Italian, such as foreigners would use:

Misericordia et caritate Alle pofer Lacresine Che l'argente pel chammine Tutt'a spese et consumate.

Del paese basse Magne, Dove assai fatiche afute Tutte noi pofer compagne Per ir Rome sian fenute. Ma per tanto esser piofute, Non pofer Lanclesine.

Nelle parte di Melane State noi mal governate, Che da ladri et gente strane Nostre robe star furate; Talche noi tutte bitate [Non mai più far tal chammine.] Pero pofer Lanclesine Buon messer dà caritate.

Queste pofer Nastasie Le fu tutte rotte stiene Talchè sue gran malattie Per vergognia sotto tiene. Così zoppe far conviene Con fatiche suo chammine Però pofer Lanclesine Buon messer dà caritate.

Chi è dijote San Branchatie Che star tant' in ciel potente, Per afer sue sancte gratie Voglia a noi donare argente, Che le pofer malcontente Pessin compier lor chammine, Però pofer Lanclesine Buon messer dà caritate[1772].

"Pity and charity for poor English ladies, who have spent and used up all their money on the road. From the land of low Germany, where we have had great difficulties, all we poor sisters are on our way to Rome, but because it has rained so hard, we have not been able to continue our road. _Therefore, good sirs, give alms to us poor English ladies._ In the district of Milan ill-used were we, for thieves and strangers stole all our goods; so buffetted were we, never again will we go on such a journey. _Therefore, good sirs, give alms to us poor English ladies._ Poor Anastasia was so knocked about, that in shame she hides her ill and must needs continue her road limping. _Therefore, good sirs, give alms to us poor English ladies._ Whoever is a devotee of St Pancras, who is so powerful in heaven, whoever wishes to have his grace, let him give us money, so that we poor miserable creatures may get to our journey's end; _therefore, good sirs, give alms to us poor English ladies_."

Sometimes the nun is found playing a part in the romantic ballad-literature of Europe. A Rhineland legend of the dance of death, interesting because it embodies the names and dates of the actors, has for its setting a convent; it is thus summarised by Countess Martinengo-Cesaresco[1773]:

In the fourteenth century Freiherr von Metternich placed his daughter Ida in a convent on the island of Oberwörth, in order to separate her from her lover, one Gerbert, to whom she was secretly betrothed. A year later the maiden lay sick in the nunnery, attended by an aged lay sister. "Alas!" she said "I die unwed though a betrothed wife." "Heaven forfend!" cried her companion, "then you would be doomed to dance the death-dance." The old sister went on to explain that betrothed maidens who die without having either married or taken religious vows, are condemned to dance on a grassless spot in the middle of the island, there being but one chance of escape, the coming of a lover, no matter whether the original betrothed or another, with whom the whole party dances round and round till he dies; then the youngest of the ghosts makes him her own and may henceforth rest in her grave. The old nun's gossip does not delay the hapless Ida's departure, and Gerbert, who hears of her illness on the shores of the Boden See, arrives at Coblenz only to have tidings of her death. He rows over to Oberwörth; it is midnight in midwinter. Under the moonlight dance the unwed brides, veiled and in flowing robes; Gerbert thinks he sees Ida among them. He joins the dance; fast and furious it becomes, to the sound of a wild unearthly music. At last the clock strikes and the ghosts vanish--only one, as it goes, seems to stoop and kiss the youth, who sinks to the ground. There the gardener finds him on the morrow, and in spite of all the care bestowed upon him by the sisterhood, he dies before sundown.

Another German ballad, taken down from oral recitation, at the beginning of the nineteenth century, opens with a good swing:

Stund ich auf hohen bergen Und sah ich über den Rhein Ein Schifflein sah ich fahren, Drei Ritter waren drein.

"I stood upon a high mountain and looked out over the Rhine, and I saw three knights come sailing in a little boat. The youngest was a lord's son, and fain would have wed me, young as he was. He drew a little golden ring from off his finger, "Take this, my fair, my lovely one, but do not wear it till I am dead." "What shall I do with the little ring, if I may not wear it?" "O say you found it out in the green grass." "O that would be a lie and evil. Far sooner would I say that the young lord was my husband." "O maiden, were you but wealthy, came you but of noble kin, were we but equals, gladly would I wed you." "Though I may not be rich yet am I not without honour, and my honour I will keep, until one who is my equal comes for me." "But if your equal never comes, what then?" "Then I will go into a convent and become a nun." There had not gone by a quarter of a year when the lord had an evil dream; it seemed to him that the love of his heart was gone into a convent. "Rise up, rise up, my trusty man, saddle horses for thee and me. We will ride over mountains and through valleys--the maid is worth all the world." And when they came to the convent, they knocked at the door of the tall house, "Come forth, my fair, my lovely one, come forth for but a minute." "Wherefore should I come forth? Short hair have I, my locks they have cut off--for a long year has passed." Despair filled the lord's heart; he sank upon a stone and wept glittering tears and could never be glad again. With her snow-white little hands she dug the lord a grave and the tears fell for him out of her brown eyes. And to all young men this happens who seek after great wealth. They set their love upon beautiful women; but beauty and riches go not always hand in hand"[1774].

It is a strange thing that in all the ballad and folk-song literature of England and Scotland there should be one and only one reference to a nun. But that reference is a profoundly interesting one, for it is to be found in the fine ballad of the _Death of Robin Hood_, which tells how the great outlaw came to his end through the treachery of the Prioress of Kirklees:

When Robin Hood and Little John _Down a-down, a-down, a-down_, Went o'er yon bank of broom Said Robin Hood to Little John, "We have shot for many a pound: _Hey down, a-down, a-down_.

"But I am not able to shoot one shot more, My broad arrows will not flee; But I have a cousin lives down below, Please God, she will bleed me."

"I will never eat nor drink," he said, "Nor meat will do me good, Till I have been to merry Kirkleys My veins for to let blood.

"The dame prior is my aunt's daughter, And nigh unto my kin; I know she wo'ld me no harm this day For all the world to win."

"That I rede not," said Little John, "Master, by th' assent of me, Without half a hundred of your best bowmen You take to go with yee."

"An thou be afear'd, thou Little John, At home I rede thee be." "An you be wrath, my deare mastèr You shall never hear more of me."

Now Robin is gone to merry Kirkleys And knocked upon the pin; Up then rose Dame Prioress And let good Robin in.

Then Robin gave to Dame Prioress Twenty pounds in gold, And bade her spend while that did last, She sho'ld have more when she wo'ld.

"Will you please to sit down, cousin Robin; And drink some beer with me?"-- "No, I will neither eat nor drink Till I am blooded by thee."

Down then came Dame Priorèss Down she came in that ilk, With a pair of blood-irons in her hand, Were wrappèd all in silk.

"Set a chafing dish to the fire," she said, "And strip thou up thy sleeve." --I hold him but an unwise man That will no warning 'leeve.

She laid the blood-irons to Robin's vein, Alack the more pitye! And pierc'd the vein, and let out the blood That full red was to see.

And first it bled the thick, thick blood, And afterwards the thin, And well then wist good Robin Hood Treason there was within.

And there she blooded bold Robin Hood While one drop of blood wou'd run; There did he bleed the livelong day, Until the next of morn.

Then Robin, locked in the room and too weak to escape by the casement, blew three weak blasts upon his horn, and Little John came hurrying to Kirklees and burst open two or three locks and so found his dying master. "A boon, a boon!" cried Little John:

"What is that boon," said Robin Hood "Little John, thou begs of me?"-- "It is to burn fair Kirkleys-hall And all their nunnerye."

"Now nay, now nay," quoth Robin Hood, "That boon I'll not grant thee; I never hurt woman in all my life, Nor men in their company."

"I never hurt maid in all my time, Nor at mine end shall it be; But give me my bent bow in my hand, And a broad arrow I'll let flee; And where this arrow is taken up There shall my grave digg'd be"[1775].

So died bold Robin Hood. The English boy nurtured on his country's ballads, has little cause to love the memory of the nun.

NOTE J.

THE THEME OF THE NUN IN LOVE IN MEDIEVAL POPULAR LITERATURE.

It may be of interest to note some further examples of the nun in love as a theme for medieval tales, and in particular: (1) other versions of the eloping nun theme, (2) the story of the abbess who was with child and was delivered by the Virgin, and (3) some other _contes gras_.

(1) Various versions of the eloping nun tale enjoyed popularity, though never as great popularity as was enjoyed by the story of Beatrice the Sacristan. An old French version in the form of a miracle play tells of a knight, who loved a nun and persuaded her to leave her convent with him; but she saluted the Virgin's image in passing and twice the image descended from its pedestal and barred her way when she tried to pass the door, until at last she ran by without saluting it and escaped with her lover. They married and had two children and lived happily together for several years. Then one day Our Lady came down from heaven to seek her faithless friend. She bade the nun return and the husband, hearing this, was moved in his heart and said "since for love of me thou didst leave thy convent, for love of thee I will leave the world and become a monk." Thus they departed together and their babies were left to cry for mother and father in vain[1776].

In another story the nun, trying to insert the key of the convent into the lock and make her escape, was prevented by some invisible object, which formed a barrier between her and the lock; she beat and pushed in vain and at last turned to go, and saw in her path, the Virgin with white hands bleeding. "Behold," said the Virgin, "it was I who withstood thee and see what thou hast done to me"[1777]. In another a nun, the sacristan of a convent, was tempted by a clerk and agreed to meet him after Compline. But when she was trying to pass through the door of the chapel, she saw Christ standing in the arch, with hands outspread, as though upon the cross. She ran to another doorway and to another and to another, but in each she found the crucifix. Then, coming to herself, she recognised her sin and flung herself before an image of the Virgin to ask pardon. The image turned away its face; then, as the trembling nun redoubled her entreaties, stretched out its arm and dealt her a buffet saying: "Foolish one, whither wouldst thou go? return to thy dorter." And so powerful was the Virgin's blow that the nun was knocked down thereby and lay unconscious upon the floor of the chapel until morning[1778]. In another version the nun falls asleep on the night upon which the elopement is fixed and has a vivid dream of the pains of hell, from which she is rescued by the Virgin, who exhorts her to chastity, so that she awakes and sends away her lover's messenger[1779]. In another the Virgin's image prevents the nun from going through one door, but she escapes by another and is seduced[1780]. A more rational version makes the nun strike her head so violently against the lintel of the door, by which she is trying to escape, that she is rendered unconscious and when she recovers her senses the temptation has gone from her and she returns to her bed[1781]. In another the nun packs her clothes into two bundles and passes them out of the window to her lover, climbing out after them herself; but thieves intercept her and her bundles and carry them off into a wood. The unhappy nun calls upon the Virgin for help and forthwith falls into a deep sleep, from which she awakes to find herself back in her dorter, with the bundles beside her[1782]. A rather different tale of the nun turned courtesan makes her return after many years to her convent, where by meditating upon the childhood of Christ she is reconverted[1783].

(2) Another theme, which is almost as widespread as that of the eloping nun, is that known as _l'abbesse grosse_. In this an abbess, who was famed for the strict discipline which she kept among her nuns, fell in love with her clerk and became his mistress, so that she soon knew herself to be with child:

Then it happened that she waxed great and drew near her time and her sisters the nuns perceived, and were passing fain thereof, because she was so strait unto them, that they might have a cause to accuse her in. And her accusers gart write unto the bishop and let him wit thereof and desired him to come unto their place and see her. So he granted and the day of him coming drew near. And this abbess, that was great with child, made mickle sorrow and wist never what she might do; and she had a privy chapel within her chamber, where she was wont daily as devoutly as she couth [knew how] to say Our Lady's matins. And she went in there and sparred the door unto her and fell devoutly on knees before the image of Our Lady and made her prayer unto her and wept sore for her sin and besought Our Lady for to help her and save her, that she were not shamed when the bishop came. So in her prayers she happened to fall on sleep, and Our Lady, as her thought, appeared unto her with two angels, and comforted her and said unto her in this manner of wise: "I have heard thy prayer and I have gotten of my son forgiveness of thy sin and deliverance of thy confusion." And anon she was delivered of her child and Our Lady charged these two angels to have it unto an hermit and charged him to bring it up unto it was seven years old; and they did as she commanded them; and anon Our Lady vanished away. And then this abbess wakened and felt herself delivered of her child and whole and sound.

In the sequel the bishop came to the house and could find no sign that the abbess was with child and was about to punish her accusers, when she told him the whole tale. He sent messengers to the hermit and there the child was found; and (in fairy tale phrase, for what are these but religious fairy tales), they all lived happy ever afterwards[1784].

(3) Ribald stories on the same theme are, naturally enough, common in medieval literature, which never spared the Church. A few of the more interesting may here be added to those quoted or referred to in the text. The _Cento Novelle Antiche_ contains a curious tale of a Countess and her maidens, who, having disgraced themselves with a porter, retired to hide their shame in a nunnery; the story continues thus:

They became nuns and built a convent that is called the Convent of Rimini. The fame of this convent spread and it became very wealthy. And this story is narrated as true, viz. they had a custom that when any cavaliers passed by that had rich armour the abbess and her attendants met them on the threshold and served them with all sorts of good fare and accompanied them to table and to bed. In the morning they provided them with water for washing and then gave them a needle and thread of silk for them to thread and if they could not accomplish this in three tries, she took from them all their armour and accoutrement and sent them away empty, but if they succeeded she allowed them to retain their possessions and gave them presents of jewellery, etc.[1785]

Francesco da Barberino in his book of deportment, _Del reggimento e costumi di donne_, has a tale of a convent in Spain, which Satan receives permission to tempt; accordingly his emissary Rasis sends into the house three young men, disguised as nuns, to whom all the nuns and the Abbess in turn succumb[1786]. In one Italian version of an extremely widespread theme, found among the _Novelle_ of Masuccio Guardata da Salerno (1442-1501), a Dominican friar deceives a devout and high-born nun. The story is thus summarised by A. C. Lee:

In one of her books of devotion were some pictures of saints, amongst others the third person of the Trinity; from the mouth of this figure he makes proceed the words in letters of gold, "Barbara, you will conceive of a holy man and give birth to the fifth evangelist." He acts as the holy man and on the lady becoming _enceinte_ he deserts her[1787].

Among medieval French stories may be mentioned those which occur in _Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_, a fifteenth century collection of tales, probably written by Antoine de la Sale in imitation of the _Cento Novelle_. No. XV, concerning the relations between two neighbouring houses of monks and nuns respectively, is too gross to be summarised; No. XXI is the story of the sick abbess, who was recommended by her physician to take a lover and out of respect for her all her nuns did the same; No. XLVI is one of the many tales of a Jacobin friar, who haunted a convent and obtained the favours of a nun[1788]. These are really prose fabliaux; and verse fabliaux on this theme are not wanting, for example Watriquet Brassenal's story of _The Three Canonesses of Cologne_[1789] and the most indecent fabliau of _The Three Ladies_[1790]. There is a rather delightful and merry little German poem called _Daz Maere von dem Sperwaere_, which is a version of the popular French fabliau of _The Crane_[1791]. In this thirteenth century poem a little nun, who has never seen the world, looks over her convent wall and sees a knight with a sparrow hawk; she begs for it and he says he will sell it her for "love," a thing of which she has never heard. He teaches her what it is and gives her the sparrow hawk. But the nun, her schoolmistress, is so angry with her, that she watches on the wall again and next time the knight passes, she makes him give her back her "love" and take the sparrow hawk again[1792].

English versions of these tales are extremely rare; for the English were always less adroit than the French and the Italians in the matter of _contes gras_. The nun theme occasionally appears, however, in the sixteenth century; Boccaccio's "breeches" story is in Thomas Twyne's _The Schoolmaster_ (1576)[1793] and the behaviour of nuns and "friars" at Swineshead Abbey forms a comic interlude in _The Troublesome Raigne of King John_ (1591), which was one of the sources used by Shakespeare in his more famous play. In Scene X of the old play Philip Falconbridge comes to Swineshead, with his soldiers, and bids a friar show him where the abbot's treasure is hid. They break open a chest and a nun is discovered inside it. The friar cries:

Oh, I am undone Fair Alice the nun Hath took up her rest In the Abbot's chest. _Santa benedicite_, Pardon my simplicity Fie, Alice, confession Will not salve this transgression.

Philip remarks:

What have we here? a holy nun? so keep me God in health, A smooth-faced nun, for aught I know, is all the abbot's wealth.

The nun begs for the life of the first friar and offers in exchange to show Philip a chest containing the hoard of an ancient nun. They pick the lock and discover a friar within. The first friar cries:

Friar Laurence, my lord; Now holy water help us: Some witch or some devil is sent to delude us: _Haud credo, Laurentius_, That thou shouldst be pen'd thus In the press of a nun: We are all undone, And brought to discredence, If thou be Friar Laurence.

Philip's comment is pertinent:

How goes this gear? the friar's chest fill'd with a sausen nun. The nun again locks friar up to keep him from the sun. Belike the press is purgatory, or penance passing grievous: The friar's chest a hell for nuns! How do these dolts deceive us? Is this the labour of their lives, to feed and live at ease? To revel so lasciviously as often as they please? I'll mend the fault, or fault my aim, if I do miss amending; 'Tis better burn the cloisters down than leave them for offending.

Eventually, Friar Laurence buys his freedom for a hundred pounds[1794].

In conclusion may be mentioned the entertaining little English _fabliau_, which was at one time attributed to Lydgate, called _The Tale of the Lady Prioress and her three Suitors_; this is not a _conte gras_, but recounts the adroit expedient, by which a prioress succeeded in ridding herself of her three wooers, a knight, a parson and a merchant[1795].

NOTE K.

NUNS IN THE _DIALOGUS MIRACULORUM_ OF CAESARIUS OF HEISTERBACH.

The _Dialogus Miraculorum_, written between 1220 and 1235 by Caesarius, Prior and Teacher of the Novices in the Cistercian Abbey of Heisterbach in the Siebengebirge, is one of the most entertaining books of the middle ages[1796]. Caesarius in a prologue describes how it came to be written and the plan upon which it is arranged, taking as his text a quotation from John vi. 12: "Gather up the fragments lest they perish":

Since I was wont to recite to the novices, as in duty bound, some of the miracles which have taken place in our time and daily are taking place in our order, several of them besought me most instantly to perpetuate the same in writing. For they said that it would be an irreparable disaster if these things should perish from forgetfulness which might be an edification to posterity. And since I was all unready to do so, now for lack of the Latin tongue, now by reason of the detraction of envious men, there came at length the command of my own abbot, to say naught of the advice of the abbot of Marienstatt, which it is not lawful for me to disobey. Mindful also of the aforesaid saying of the Saviour, while others break up whole loaves for the crowd (that is to say, expound difficult questions of the Scriptures or write the more signal deeds of modern days) I, collecting the falling crumbs, from lack not of good will but of scholarship, have filled with them twelve baskets. For I have divided the whole book into as many divisions. The first division tells of conversion, the second of contrition, the third of confession, the fourth of temptation, the fifth of demons, the sixth of the power of simplicity, the seventh of the blessed Virgin Mary, the eighth of divers visions, the ninth of the sacrament of the body and blood of Christ, the tenth of miracles, the eleventh of the dying, the twelfth of the pains and glories of the dead. Moreover in order that I might the more easily arrange the examples, I have introduced two persons in the manner of a dialogue, to wit a novice asking questions and a monk replying to them.... I have also inserted many things which took place outside the [Cistercian] order, because they were edifying, and like the rest had been told to me by religious men. God is my witness that I have not invented a single chapter in this dialogue. If anything therein perchance fell about otherwise than I have written it, the fault should rather be imputed to those who told it to me[1797].

It will be seen from this sketch that the book is really a collection of stories grouped round certain subjects which they are intended to illustrate and connected by a slender thread of dialogue. Such collections of _exempla_ are nearly always valuable, but the work of Caesarius is particularly so, because he does not confine himself to "stock" stories, but relates many with details of time and place, drawn from his own experience and from that of his friends. The book is full of local colour and gives an exceedingly vivid picture of lay and ecclesiastical life in medieval Germany. For our purpose it is interesting because it contains many _exempla_ concerning nuns, and any reader attracted by this particular class of didactic literature may be glad to add some more stories to those quoted in the text.

Caesarius has much to say of the devil, a very visible and audible and tangible devil and one who can be smelt with the nose. His tales of devil-haunted nuns display a side of convent life about which English records are in the main silent; but that they represent with fair accuracy the sufferings of some half-hysterical, half-mystical women cannot be doubted by anyone familiar with the lives of medieval saints and mystics, such as Mary of Oignies, Christina of Stommeln and Lydwine of Schiedam. He tells in his section on "Confession" of a nun Alice or Aleidis, who had led an ill life in the world, but had repented her when her lover, a priest, hanged himself, and had taken the veil at Langwaden in the diocese of Cologne:

Once when she was standing in the dorter and looking out of the window, she beheld a young man, nay rather a devil in the form of a young man, standing hard by a well, which was near the wall of the dorter; who in her sight set one foot upon the wooden frame which surrounded the well, and as it were flying with the other, conveyed himself to her in the window, and tried to seize her head with his extended hand; but she fell back stricken with terror and almost in a faint, and cried out and hearing her call, her sisters ran to her and placed her upon her bed. And when they had gone away again and she had recovered her breath and lay alone, the demon was once more with her, and began to tempt her with words of love, but she denied him, understanding him to be an evil spirit. Then he answered "Good Aleidis, do not say so, but consent to me, and I will cause you to have a husband, honest, worthy, noble and rich. Why do you torture yourself with hunger in this poor place, killing yourself before your time by vigils and many other discomforts? Return to the world and use those delights which God created for man; you shall want for nothing under my guidance." Then said she, "I grieve that I followed thee for so long; begone for I will not yield to thee."

Then the foul fiend blew with his nostrils and spattered her with a foul black pitch and vanished. Neither the sign of the cross, nor sprinkling with holy water, nor censing with incense prevailed against this particular demon; he would retreat for a time and return again as soon as Aleidis ceased to employ these weapons against him. She was in despair, when one day

One of the sisters, of maturer years and wisdom than the others, persuaded her when the demon tried to approach her to hurl the angelic salutation[1798] in a loud voice in his face; and when she had done so the devil, as though struck by a dart or driven by a whirlwind, fled away and from that hour never dared to approach her.

Another time the same Aleidis went to confession, hoping thus to rid herself forever of her tormentor:

And behold as she was hastening along the road, the devil stood in her path and said: "Aleidis, whither away so fast?" And she replied: "I go to confound myself and thee." Then said the devil: "Nay, Aleidis, do not so! Turn again!" And she replied: "Oft hast thou put me to confusion, now will I confound thee. I will not turn back." And when he could turn her back neither by blandishments nor by threats, he followed her to the place of confession flying in the air above her in the form of a kite; and as soon as she bent her knee before the Prior and opened her lips in confession, he vanished, crying and howling and was never seen or heard by her from that hour. Behold here ye have a manifest example of what virtue lieth in a pure confession. These things were told to me by the lord Hermann, Abbot of Marienstatt[1799].

In his section "De Daemonibus" Caesarius has a yet more startling collection of stories about devils. The trials of sister Euphemia are described as having been related to him by the nun herself, at the instance of her abbess:

When the aforesaid nun was a little maid in her father's house, the devil ofttimes appeared to her visibly in divers shapes, and in divers ways affrighted and saddened her tender age. And since she feared to be driven mad she expressed her wish to be converted[1800] into our order. One night the devil appeared to her in the form of a man and tried to dissuade her, saying: "Euphemia, do not be converted, but take a young and handsome husband and with him thou shalt taste the joys of the world. Thou shalt not want for rich garments and delicate meats. But if thou enter the order, thou wilt be forever poor and ragged, thou wilt suffer cold and thirst, nor will it ever be well with thee henceforth in this world." To which she replied: "How would it be with me if I should die amidst those delights, which thou dost promise me?" To these words the devil made no reply, but seizing the maid and carrying her to the window of the chamber wherein she was lying, he sought to throw her out. And when she said the angelic salutation the enemy let her go, saying, "If thou goest to the cloister, I will ever oppose thee. For hadst thou not in that hour called upon _that woman_ I should have slain thee." And having spoken thus, squeezing her tightly, he sprang out of the window in the shape of a great dog and was seen no more. Thus was the virgin delivered by invoking the Virgin Mother of God. How harassing the devil is to those who have been converted and in how many and divers ways he vexes and hinders them, the following account shall show. When the aforesaid maiden had been made a nun, one night as she lay in her bed and was wakeful, she saw around her many demons in the form of men. And one of them of an aspect most foul was standing at her head, two at her feet and the fourth opposite her. And he cried in a loud voice to the others: "Why are you standing still? Take her wholly up as she lies and come." And they replied: "We cannot. She has called upon _that woman_."... Now the same demon, after she had said the angelic salutation, seized the maiden by her right arm, and squeezed her so tightly as he dragged at it, that his grasp was followed by a swelling and the swelling by a bruise. Now when she had her left hand free, she in her great simplicity dared not make the sign of the cross therewith, deeming that a sign with the left hand would avail her nought. But now, driven by necessity, she signed herself with that hand, and put the demons to flight. Delivered from them she ran half fainting to the bed of a certain sister, and, breaking silence, told her what she had seen and suffered. Then, as I was informed by the lady Elizabeth of blessed memory, abbess of the same convent, the sisters laid her in her bed, and reading over her the beginning of the Gospel of St John, found her restored on the morrow. Now in the following year, in the dead of night when the same nun was lying awake on her couch, she saw at a distance the demons in the shape of two of the sisters who were most dear to her; and they said to her: "Sister Euphemia, arise, come with us to the cellar to draw beer for the convent." But she suspecting them, both on account of the lateness of the hour and of their breach of silence, began to tremble, and, burying her head in the bedclothes, replied nothing. Straightway one of the malignant spirits drew near and laying hold of her breast with his hand, squeezed it until the blood burst forth from her mouth and nose. Then the demons, taking the shape of dogs, leaped out of the window. When the sisters, rising for matins, beheld her worn out, as it were pale and bloodless, they inquired of her the reason by signs; and when they had learned it from her, they were much perturbed, both on account of the cruelty of the demons and of the distress of the virgin. Two years before this, when a new dorter had been made for the convent and the beds had been placed therein, the same nun saw a demon in the shape of a deformed and very aged mannikin, going round the whole dorter and touching each of the beds, as though to say: "I will take careful note of each place, for they shall not be without a visit from me"[1801].

The abbey of Hoven, which sheltered Euphemia, seems to have been subjected to a continual siege by devils; or perhaps, as the more materially-minded might suggest, Euphemia's malady was contagious. Sister Elizabeth of the same house had a short way with such gentry:

"In the same monastery," says Caesarius, "was a nun named Elizabeth, who was oftentimes haunted by the devil. One day she saw him in the dorter, and since she knew him, she boxed his ears. Then said he: 'Wherefore dost thou strike me so hardly?' and she replied: 'Because thou dost often disturb me,' to which the devil replied: 'Yesterday I disturbed thy sister the chantress far more, but she did not hit me.' Now she had been much agitated all day, from which it may be gathered that anger, rancour, impatience, and other vices of the sort are often sent by the devil. On another occasion when the same Elizabeth, very late for matins (owing, as afterwards appeared, to the machinations of the devil), was hurrying along to the belfry, bearing a lighted candle in her hand, just as she was about to enter the door of the chapel, she saw the devil in the shape of a man, dressed in a hooded tunic, standing in front of her. Thinking that some man had got in, she recoiled in alarm and fell down the dorter stairs, so that for some days she lay ill of the sudden fright as well as of the fall.... And when she was asked the cause of her fall and her scream and had expounded this vision, she added: 'If I had known that it was the devil and not a man, I would have given him a good cuff.' By that time, however, she had girded her loins with strength and strengthened her arm against the devil"[1802].

Not all the visions seen by these nuns of whom Caesarius writes were evil visions. He has several tales to tell of appearances of the Virgin Mary and of the saints. Besides the well-known story of Sister Beatrice and of the nun whose ears were boxed by the Virgin, the most charming Mary-miracle related by Caesarius tells of a nun who genuflected with such fervour to the blessed Mother that she strained her leg; and as she lay asleep in the infirmary, she saw before her the Virgin, bearing a pyx of ointment in her hand; and the Virgin anointed her knee with it, till the sweet odour brought the sisters running to find out the cause; but the nun held her peace and bade them leave her. Sleeping again, she found herself once more in the company of the Virgin, who led her into the orchard, and

placing her hand beneath the nun's chin, said to her, "Now do thou kneel down upon thy knee"; and when she had done so our Lady added: "Henceforth do thou bow thy knee thus, modestly and in a disciplined manner," showing her how. And she added: "Every day thou shouldst say to me the sequence 'Ave Dei Genitrix,' and at each verse thou shouldst bow thy knee. For I take great delight therein." And the nun, waking, looked upon her knee, to see whether aught had been accomplished in the vision, and in great surprise she saw that it was whole[1803].

Another pretty story tells how, when a certain sister was reading her psalter before a wooden statue of the Virgin and child, "the little boy suddenly came to her and as though he would know what she was reading, peeped into her book and went back again"[1804].

Sometimes it is not the Virgin or her Son but a patron saint who appears to a nun who holds him in veneration. Caesarius tells the following tale of a nun who specially venerated St John the Baptist:

More than all the saints she took delight in him. Nor did it suffice her to think upon him, to honour him with prayers and devotions, to declare his prerogatives to her sisters, but in order to perpetuate his memory she made verses concerning his annunciation and nativity and the joy of his parents. For she was learned and sought therefore to describe in verse anything which she had read concerning his sanctity. Moreover she exhorted and besought all secular persons with whom she spoke to call their children John or Zacharias, if they were boys, Elizabeth if they were girls. Now when she was about to die John a monk of the Cloister came to visit her, and knowing her affection towards St John, said: "My aunt, when you are dead, which mass would you have me say first for your soul, the mass for the dead or of St John the Baptist?" To which she without any hesitation replied: "Of St John, of St John!" And when she was at the point of death, having compassion upon the sister who was tending her, she said: "Go upstairs, sister, and rest for a little." When the sister had done so and was resting in a light sleep, she heard in her slumber a voice saying, "Why liest thou here? St John the Baptist is below with Sister Hildegunde"--for that was her name. Roused by this voice the sister, not waiting to put on her clothes, came down in her shift and found the nun already dead; and round her was so sweet a perfume that the sister doubted not that St John had been there, to accompany the soul of his beloved to the angelic host[1805].

Some of Caesarius' anecdotes show an amusing rivalry, if not among the company of heaven, at least among their votaries on earth. Two delightful stories may be quoted to show how deep-rooted is the competitive instinct, which, baulked in one direction by the prohibition of property, showed itself in hot disputes as to the rival merits of patron saints:

There were and I think still are, in Fraulautern in the diocese of Trèves, two nuns, of whom one took special delight in St John the Baptist and the other in St John the Evangelist. Whenever they met, they contended together concerning which was the greater, so that the mistress was scarce able to restrain them. The one declared the privileges of her beloved in the presence of all, the other set up against them the very real prerogatives of hers.

One night, however, before matins St John the Baptist appeared to his worshipper in her sleep and set forth a list of the virtues of the other St John, declaring that the latter was far greater than he, and bidding her the next morning call her sister before the mistress and seek her pardon for having so often annoyed her because of him. That morning after matins, however, St John the Evangelist also visited his champion in her sleep and after retailing all St John the Baptist's claims to superiority, assured her that the latter was far greater and gave her a similar order to ask pardon of her sister:

"On the morrow," says Caesarius, "they came separately to the mistress and revealed what they had seen. Then together prostrating themselves and asking pardon of each other as they had been bidden, they were reconciled by the mediation of their spiritual mother, who warned them that henceforth they should not contend about the merits of the saints, which are known to God alone"[1806].

In spite of this excellent moral, however, Caesarius has very clear ideas himself as to the respective merits of certain saints; and, if we are to believe him, even St John the Evangelist was sometimes guilty of a scandalous neglect of duty:

"It is not long ago," says he, "that a certain nun of the monastery of Rheindorf near Bonn, by name Elizabeth, went the way of all flesh. Now this monastery is of the rule of St Benedict the Abbot. But the said Elizabeth delighted specially in St John the Evangelist, lavishing on him all the honour she could. She had a sister in the flesh in the same monastery, who was called Aleidis. One night when the latter was sitting upon her bed after matins and saying the office of the dead for the soul of her sister, she heard a voice near her. And when she demanded who was there, the voice replied, 'I am Elizabeth, thy sister.' Then said she, 'How is it with thee, sister, and whence comest thou?' and it answered, 'Ill indeed has it been with me, but now it is well.' Aleidis asked, 'Did St John in whom thou didst so ardently delight avail thee aught?'--and it replied, 'Truly, naught. It was our holy father Benedict who stood by me. For he bent his knee on my behalf before God'"[1807].

St John the Evangelist, it will be perceived, suffered from the incalculable disadvantage of never having thought of founding a monastic order.

Caesarius narrates a great many other _exempla_ concerning nuns, but I have quoted the most characteristic. There never was a book so full of meat; and it is greatly to be regretted that no translation has as yet placed it within the reach of all who are interested, not only in medieval life but in the medieval point of view[1808].

APPENDIX II

VISITATION OF NUNNERIES IN THE DIOCESE OF ROUEN BY ARCHBISHOP EUDES RIGAUD, 1248-1269

For twenty-seven years in the thirteenth century the Archbishopric of Rouen was held by a man who was at once a scholar and a man of action, a great saint and a great reformer. Eudes Rigaud (Odo Rigaldi), "the Model of Good Life," as he was afterwards called, was among the most able and energetic churchmen produced by the middle ages. Salimbene, that gossiping friar of Parma to whom we owe perhaps the most entertaining chronicle of all the middle ages, describes him thus:

Now this Brother Rigaud was of our order [Franciscan] and one of the most learned men in the world. He had been doctor of theology in the convent [at Paris]: being a most excellent disputator and a most gracious preacher. He wrote a work on the Sentences; he was a friend of St Louis, King of France, who indeed laboured that he might be made Archbishop of Rouen. He loved well the Order of the Friars Preachers, as also his own of the Friars Minor and did them both much good; he was foul of face but gracious in mind and works, for he was holy and devout and ended his life well; may his soul, by God's mercy, rest in peace[1809].

This great scholar, with an admirable devotion to duty, renounced for ever the leisure of a man of books, and spent his life, from the moment that he became Archbishop, in a ceaseless peregrination of his diocese; and by a dispensation of providence (so the historian must think) he kept a diary. For twenty-one years (1248-1269) he moved about from parish to parish, from monastery to monastery, inquiring into the life and discipline of secular and of regular clergy alike, hearing complaints, giving injunctions, removing (though seldom) offenders, and making notes of the results of his visits, place by place and day by day, in his great _Regestrum Visitationum_[1810]. His diocese was in a bad state; and his discouragement sometimes found its way into the official record of his inquisitions. The few words which betray his feelings, together with the particularity and detail with which the visits are recorded, make the register of Eudes Rigaud a very human document.

It would be beyond the scope of this book to enter into any discussion of the general picture of the medieval church which it leaves upon the mind. But it is both useful and interesting to detach those parts of it which deal with the nunneries visited and reformed (with varying success) by the Archbishop. In the first place the records of his visitations, though not as complete as those of the visitations of the Lincoln diocese by Bishop Alnwick in the early fifteenth century, or of the diocese of Norwich by Bishops Goldwell and Nykke, during the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, or of the Sede Vacante visitations of the Winchester diocese by Dr Hede in 1502, are nevertheless a great deal more detailed than any series of English visitation records of an equally early date. The report of Walter Giffard's visitation of Swine in 1267-8, which comprises both the _comperta_ and the injunctions based upon them, is indeed fuller than any of Rigaud's notes, which contain only _comperta_ and _ad interim_ injunctions[1811]; but this is an isolated case. The only other thirteenth century documents at all comparable with those of Rigaud are Peckham's injunctions to Barking (1279), Godstow (1279 and 1284), Wherwell (1284) and Romsey (? 1284), and Wickwane's injunctions to Nunappleton (1281) and these are the final injunctions only, the _comperta_ upon which they were based having disappeared. There is, so far as it is possible to ascertain, no English register of the thirteenth century recording regular visitations of all the nunneries in a diocese over a period of years and the study of Rigaud's register is therefore of unique interest. In the second place it is of special interest to English readers because of the close connection which at one time existed between the religious houses of England and Normandy. Most of the alien priories in England were cells of Norman houses and several of the nunneries visited by Rigaud had possessions in England. Stour in Dorset was a cell of St Léger de Préaux, founded by Roger de Beaumont as early as William I's reign[1812]. Levenestre or Lyminster in Sussex was founded some time before 1178 as a cell of Almenèches probably by Roger de Montgomery Earl of Arundel, to whom the mother house owed its foundation and was apparently the only alien priory in England in which a community of nuns actually resided during the later middle ages.[1813] In 1255 Almenèches possessed twenty-five marks of annual rent in England[1814]. The great Abbaye aux Dames at Caen had two cells in England, Horstead in Norfolk (which afterwards became part of the endowment of King's College, Cambridge, and was founded in William II's reign[1815]) and Minchinhampton in Gloucestershire (afterwards cell of Syon)[1816]. In Rigaud's day this house had rents to the value of £160 sterling in England[1817] and at the visitation of 1256 the Abbess did not appear, because she was absent there[1818]. French moreover was still the language of daily speech in thirteenth century England, and there was constant intercourse between the two countries. It is not unreasonable to expect that we may learn something to our purpose by a comparison of French and English nunneries.

The Register includes visitations of fourteen religious houses of women[1819]. Seven of these were visited with great regularity during the twenty-one years covered by the Register; the Priory of St Saëns fourteen times, the abbey of Bival and the priory of St Aubin each thirteen times, the abbey of Montivilliers twelve times, the abbeys of Villarceaux and St Amand of Rouen each eleven times and the priory of Bondeville ten times. Of the others the abbeys of St Léger de Préaux and St Désir de Lisieux (both in the diocese of Lisieux) and St Sauveur of Evreux each received four visits and the abbeys of St Mary of Almenèches and the Holy Trinity of Caen three. Two other houses, St Paul by Rouen (a dependent cell of Montivilliers) and Ariete (a very poor and small Benedictine house), appear to have been visited only once. For the most part these nunneries were large houses, often having lay sisters and sometimes lay brothers attached to them. The Archbishop made very careful notes of the temporal affairs of each and generally entered in his Register the number of nuns and lay sisters and often also the number of secular maidservants in the employ of each house. The largest of all was the Abbaye aux Dames or Holy Trinity at Caen, "one of the great nunneries of Christendom"; in Rigaud's time its numbers ranged between sixty-five and eighty. St Sauveur of Evreux and Montivilliers both contained at least sixty nuns and the other houses were all comparatively large, with the exception of St Saëns, Villarceaux, St Aubin and Ariete. Even these, however, were large compared with some of the small nunneries in England.

The financial condition of many of these houses was very bad, and there is evidence both of the poverty and of the bad management which seem to have been characteristic of nunneries everywhere. The care with which Rigaud entered into his diary, at almost every visitation, the debts owed by a house and the condition of its stores, makes it possible to follow with some ease the financial progress of the nunneries from year to year. Some houses were evidently in a flourishing condition; the abbey at Caen was very rich and never in difficulties (its debts were suddenly assessed at the huge sum of £1700 in 1267 but at the previous visitations it had been stated that more was owed to the nuns than they owed). Montivilliers was also well managed and in a good condition; here again the debts due to it were larger than those which it owed, and on several occasions the Archbishop found a good round sum in the treasury, a plentiful supply of stores and some valuable plate, which the nuns had been rich enough to purchase recently. Similarly St Désir de Lisieux and St Léger de Préaux, though debts are mentioned, were evidently living well within their respective incomes of £500 and £700 (in rents). But the other houses display a lamentable list of debts growing heavier and heavier. In spite of St Amand's income of £1000 to £1200, its debts rose from £200 in 1248 to £900 in 1269. Almenèches, with an income of a little over £500, had debts to the amount of £500 in 1260. Bondeville obviously had a quite insufficient income (it was given as £93 in 1257); on three occasions its debts reached the sum of £140 and on two other occasions they were £200 and £250. St Saëns, St Aubin, Bival and Villarceaux (it is significant that these are the houses whose moral record was bad) were always in difficulties. Bival went steadily from bad to worse; its debts rose from £40 in 1251 to £60 in 1268 and in 1269 they had exactly doubled themselves (£120) since the previous visitation. The debts of St Saëns rose from £60 in 1250 to £100 in 1269; and in 1260 they stood at £350. At Villarceaux (the income of which was placed at £100 in 1249) the debts ranged between £30 in 1251 and £100 in 1264 and 1265. At St Aubin the actual sums of money owed by the nuns were small, ranging between £5 and £40 (except in 1257 when their debts were assessed at £1000, which is probably a mistake), but the house was evidently in grave financial straits. When even a wealthy house such as St Sauveur of Evreux could not keep out of debt (the amount owed by it varied from £200 to £600), one cannot wonder that smaller and poorer houses were deeply involved. Occasionally the diary throws some light on special causes of impoverishment; thus the nuns of St Amand were in debt to the large sum of £400 in 1254 and the reason given was "on account of a conduit (_aqueductum_), which they had to make again, because it was needed"[1820]; St Sauveur of Evreux was burdened with the payment of about £40 in pensions[1821]; and in 1263 the nuns of St Aubin complained that they owed some £20 "for a certain ferm (or payment) by which they held themselves to be greatly burdened"[1822].

Other evidence besides that of debts is not wanting to show that some of the houses were in great financial straits. The Archbishop constantly gave poverty as a reason for limiting the number of nuns, e.g. at St Aubin, Bival and Villarceaux[1823]. At Almenèches poverty was given as a reason for the imperfect observance of the rule[1824]. At St Saëns (1262) and at Villarceaux (1264) the roofs of the monastic buildings were in need of repair[1825]; in the latter year the roofs of the buildings at St Aubin were _male cooperte_ also and that of the nave of the church was so bad that the nuns could hardly stay there in rainy weather[1826]. Bondeville was so badly in need of repairs in 1257 that it was said that £80 would not suffice for the work[1827]. Sometimes the devices by which the nuns strove to gain a little ready money are noted down in Rigaud's diary. At Villarceaux in 1254 a book of homilies and some silken copes were in pledge to the Prior of Serqueu[1828]; at Bival in 1269 the old abbess had pledged a chalice which the new abbess was ordered to redeem[1829]; and at Bondeville in 1257 the nuns had pawned two chalices "for their needs"[1830]. When they tried to borrow money outright matters were even worse; at Villarceaux in 1266, Rigaud notes, "they owed £100, of which £20 was owed to the Jews and Caursini (_Catturcensibus_) of Mantes at usury"[1831]. Sometimes they were reduced to selling part of their property, as at St Saëns, where they sold a wood at Esquequeville[1832], and at Bondeville, where they parted with land to the value of £300[1833]. But they were apparently bad women of business, for at the latter house in 1257 the Archbishop complained that they had pledged a certain tithe for £75 for three years, whereas its real value was £40 per annum[1834]; and in 1256 it transpired that the nuns of Bival had given up the manor of Pierremains (without Rigaud's consent) to a certain Master William of the Fishponds (_de Vivariis_) for £50, while it was really worth £140[1835]. Perhaps the difficulty found by so many of the houses in collecting the debts due to them may be set down in part to the incompetence of the nuns. At St Amand, for instance, in 1262, as much as £377 7_s._ seems to have been owing to the nuns at a time when they themselves were £142 in debt, and at the next two visitations complaint was made of debts (described in 1264 as "bad" debts, _debitis male solubilibus_) owing to them[1836]. Other nunneries were from time to time owed large sums of money, religiously recorded by Rigaud in his diary. The case of St Saëns illustrates this difficulty particularly well; in 1261 the nuns had sold part of their wood at Esquequeville for £350 and had received £240 of the total sum owing to them; the next year the £110 left owing had swelled with interest to £160; in 1264 £40 was said to be owing on the same sale and £55 on a sale of fallen trees and wood (_de caablo_); but in 1267 the Archbishop noted, "A great sum of money is to come to them from the sale of woods," and in 1269 the amount still owing on the sale had risen with interest to £100, while £80 was owing to the nuns from another source[1837].

Another instance of the incompetence of the nuns was their laxity in the matter of keeping accounts, in which the Rouen nuns were in no way exceptional. At Caen, in 1250 Rigaud wrote:

They do not know how much they have in rents and they say that more is owed to them than they owe, neither do they know the state of the monastery; but the Abbess accounts in her chamber before several nuns annually elected for this purpose, and the account is announced in the chapter before them all; and they said that this was quite sufficient for them.

The Archbishop appears to have obtained a statement of their rents by some means and he contented himself with confirming the arrangement that the Abbess should account annually to certain nuns elected _ad hoc_[1838]. Certainly when the head of the house was competent there was no need for the convent to know the details of administration; but sometimes even the head was unable to inform Rigaud of those details. At Villarceaux in 1258 he wrote: "They did not know how much they owed and they were somewhat ignorant of the state of the house"[1839]; and in the following year the Prioress of St Saëns was found to be an incompetent administrator and was ordered to draw up an account, which two neighbouring priors were deputed to hear[1840]. At St Amand in 1262 the Abbess had not prepared a proper account, so that the Archbishop was unable to get full information as to the state of the house; he noted however that the nuns believed that more was owing to them than they owed, and he ordered the Abbess to inspect her papers and to certify him concerning the state of the house[1841]. On several other occasions he ordered her to account more often (on one of these it had transpired that she had not done so for three years) before the elder nuns, and to call in the Prioress, Subprioress or one of these _maiores_ to help her[1842]. At Villarceaux in 1253 the Prioress did not account and in 1254 a coadjutress was appointed to assist her[1843]. Sometimes Rigaud ordered the income of a house to be written down in rolls, or in books[1844]. Sometimes he provided for the more frequent rendering of accounts; twice or thrice yearly was the usual injunction, sometimes simply "more often," the minimum being once a year[1845]; occasionally a small account of current expenses was to be read monthly[1846]. Sometimes he ordered the accounts to be read before certain nuns elected _ad hoc_ (with the addition of the priest at Villarceaux in 1249), the elder nuns being often specified[1847]. At the same time, although nothing was to be done without the knowledge and consent of the convent, the nuns were not to interfere unduly in the management of temporal affairs, for the prioress of Bondeville was sentenced to receive one discipline before the assembled chapter, as a punishment for giving up the common seal to them, without the Archbishop's knowledge, "because of their clamour"[1848]. Nuns were notoriously bad financiers, but even where a male _custos_ had charge of their business the arrangement was not invariably satisfactory; and at Bondeville in 1261 Rigaud noted, "We removed Melchior the priest, who had managed the business of the convent for some time, for the reason that the convent had not full confidence in him and that he was odious to them." The house was heavily in debt, so that the mistrust of the nuns, if not their dislike, was clearly justified, and the Archbishop evidently decided not to replace Melchior by another man, for he ordered the Abbess to make one of the nuns treasuress to look after the expenditure of the house, receiving the income and administering it[1849].

Another matter about which Rigaud inquired and entered particulars in his diary was the amount of provisions in the granaries and storehouses of the nuns. Had they enough corn and oats to last till the next harvest? Had they a good supply of wine and cider to drink? The number of cases in which it is noted that the nuns had "_pauca estauramenta_," or not enough to last till the new year, points to a mixture of poverty and of bad management[1850]. The nuns of Bival in 1263 had few stores and no corn for sowing[1851]; those of St Saëns in 1250 had no wine or cider to drink nor corn to last till Whitsuntide[1852]; at St Aubin in 1259 the Archbishop noted comprehensively that they had no stores[1853]. Oats seem to have run short in a number of cases[1854], and sometimes wine[1855].

But occasionally Rigaud's diary contains even fuller information about the temporal affairs of a nunnery. It was his regular practice at Villarceaux (why at Villarceaux only it is impossible to say) to enumerate the live stock possessed by that impecunious house, horses, mares, foals, bullocks, cows, calves, sheep and pigs. And on two occasions the happy accident of a Prioress' resignation (always an occasion for the presentation of an account) has left us with complete inventories of the possessions and expenses of two houses, St Saëns in 1257 and Bondeville in the same year. The inventory of St Saëns runs as follows:

They owe £212. The king gave them Esquequeville with its appurtenances, which is worth £230 and 4 carucates of land worth £40, and thus they have in all rents to the value of £290 (_sic_). To the house of nuns of St Saëns there belong 245 acres of land in all and 7 acres of meadow, of which 115 acres in all are sown with wheat (_frumento_), corn (_blado_, probably rye), barley and other vegetables (_leguminibus_). They have in money rents £170. 2_s._ 8_d._; in corn rents 8 _modii_; in rents of oats 66 _minae_[1856]; in rents of capons 220; item in egg rents 1100 eggs[1857]; item they have in money rents, paid with the capons and the eggs, 27_s._ 6_d._ Item they have a mill at Esquequeville and a wood of which they do not know the size[1858] and the priest of the same place takes a tithe in the said mill. Item they have rights of pannage and stubble and multure (i.e. payment by their tenants for grinding at their mill) of which they know not the value. Item they have a mill at St Saëns of small value. Item they have 57 sheep, item 12 plough horses and one waggon (_quadrigam_); item they have 18 beasts, as well cows as oxen. Item they have only 2 _modii_ of corn for their food until harvest. They have nothing to drink. There is owing to them £26. 5_s._ 2_d._ The debts which they owe amount in all to £234. 3_s._ 3_d._[1859]

The inventory of Bondeville for the same year is equally interesting:

These are the goods and rents of the house of Bondeville: £93 _tournois_; of common corn 30 _modii_; in the grange of Heaus they believe that they have 7 _modii_ of common corn; in the abbey grange about one _modium_ of barley; in the other granges nothing. In the abbey there are 2 waggons (_quadrige_), with 6 horses and one riding horse, 6 cows and 14 calves. They have in the granges 264 sheep; item in the grange of Heaus 27 cows; item 30 little pigs; item three ploughs (_aratra_) in all, each for three beasts; item 4 little foals. These are the debts of the house, concerning which account has been rendered to the convent: £220 in money and 2 _modii_ of barley; [wages] to the household for the harvesting. Item they had no oats save for sowing time. They expend each month at least 68 _minae_ of corn; item they have in the cellar 6 barrels of wine and 2 of cider; item they do not think that the buildings can be repaired [at a less cost than] for £80 _tournois_; item after Easter they will be obliged to buy all the other foodstuffs for the house, save bread, peas and vegetables[1860].

Mention is sometimes made in Rigaud's register of dependent cells attached to some of the houses. St Paul by Rouen was thus attached to Montivilliers, Bourg-de-Saane to St Amand and Ste Austreberte to St Saëns. These cells were doubtless used partly as centres of administration for the more distant estates of the convent, partly as places of recreation or convalescence, where sick nuns could be sent for a change. For instance there were six nuns of Montivilliers at St Paul by Rouen in 1263 and it was noted that there ought to be four, but that two others were there because of illness; the nuns had a lay boarder staying with them and two servants; their income--as assessed for the tithe--was £140 and their debts amounted to £40; they complained that the king's foresters oppressed them by frequently dining at their expense and by unjustly molesting their servants in the forest, although they had usage (i.e. rights of hunting, gathering wood, etc.) there; the Archbishop had no fault to find with them except that they did not sing the service _cum nota_, because there were so few of them, and that they had only a single mass, the parochial mass, daily[1861]. It is evident that a close connection was supposed to be kept up between the mother house and the cell, for in 1260 the Abbess of Montivilliers had been ordered to visit them diligently[1862]; and in 1258 Rigaud noted, "Alice prioress of Saint Paul by Rouen was presented to us by the prioress of Montivilliers, she having been elected by the convent of the said place"[1863]. At his first visitation of St Amand in 1248 the Archbishop found that they had a single priory at Saane, where there are four nuns[1864]. In 1261 he ordered the Abbess to visit these nuns at Saane more often than had been her custom and at subsequent visitations he noted the number of nuns (varying from four to five) in residence there[1865]. Ste Austreberte, the daughter cell of St Saëns, was hardly more than a grange with a chapel attached. In 1254 Rigaud found that one nun was living there alone and ordered that another should be sent to join her; in 1257 there was still a single inmate, but in 1258 and 1259 the number had been raised to two[1866]. In 1260 the Archbishop decided to recall the inmates to St Saëns:

Because truly the place of St Austrebert is very slenderly endowed with rents, so that these two nuns cannot live there conveniently and decently, we ordered the prioress to call them back and forbade her henceforth to send any more thither, on account of the danger[1867].

But now complications arose. Evidently the dependent house had been used for the purpose of getting rid of a quarrelsome nun, for in 1261 Rigaud found that the Prioress had not obeyed his order to recall the two nuns, "because, as she says, Marie d'Eu (_de Augo_) one of these two, was a scold and she feared lest she should upset the whole convent if she returned"[1868]. The order was repeated and was apparently obeyed as far as the ill-tempered Marie was concerned (although there were still two nuns at Ste Austreberte in 1264[1869]), for in 1265 the Archbishop found the whole convent "living in discord and in disorder, especially the prioress and Marie d'Eu"[1870]; he would perhaps have done better to leave her where she was. An echo of her _régime_ at Ste Austreberte was heard in 1265, when Marie d'Eu was ordered to return the chalice of the chapel of Ste Austreberte as quickly as possible and to restore to the Prioress any charter or letters concerning the manor of Ste Austreberte, which she had received from the convent. At the same time the Prioress was ordered to provide the chapel there with a suitable server (_servitore_)[1871]. Mention of visits to the granges or farms of the convents sometimes occurs. At Bondeville in 1251 it was found that "the sisters drank in the granges"[1872] and in 1255 that a lay sister and a lay brother were living alone in a grange (perhaps in the grange of Heaus, mentioned in the inventory), whereupon the Archbishop ordered the sister to be withdrawn or else given a companion[1873]. In 1268 the Abbess of Bival was ordered to remove "a certain child," whom she was having brought up in the grange of Pierremans (which had been so improvidently let to William of the Fishponds twelve years before) and a penance was imposed upon her in 1269 because she had not obeyed the injunction[1874].

So far only the temporal affairs of these Rouen nunneries have been considered; there remains the more important question of their social, moral and spiritual condition. A clearer idea will be formed of the results of Eudes Rigaud's investigations, if the chief sources of complaint be classified under the following heads:

(1) Complaints of incompetence and irregular behaviour against the head of a house,

(2) General laxity in keeping the rule,

(3) The sin of property and the failure to live a communal life,

(4) Various attempts to make money by illicit means,

(5) Leave of absence and intercourse with seculars, both within and without the cloister precincts,

(6) Frivolous clothes and amusements, and

(7) Serious moral faults, such as drunkenness, quarrelsomeness and incontinence.

(1) Complaints of incompetence, laxity, self-indulgence or favouritism against the head of a house are common in visitation records. The charge of failure to render accounts has already been dealt with, but hardly less usual was the charge of failure to live a communal life. The abbess or prioress of a house had separate apartments and it was always a temptation to dine or to sleep alone, instead of keeping the frater and the dorter. Again the charges of favouritism on the one hand and of undue harshness on the other were very common. Rigaud's register provides examples of all these faults. At two visitations (1254 and 1257) the Archbishop remarked that the Abbess of St Léger de Préaux did not live a communal life in dorter and frater nor attend the chapter[1875]; the same charge was made against the Prioress of Villarceaux in 1253 and it was mentioned that she did not often get up to matins nor daily hear mass[1876]; and the Abbess of St Amand did not keep the frater, but ate in her own room and always had the same companions there, instead of calling the others for recreation[1877]. Not all prioresses were, like Chaucer's, "ful plesaunt and amiable of port." The Abbess of Montivilliers seems to have been a forbidding lady; in 1260 the Archbishop ordered her to minister pilches, cloth and other necessary things more carefully than had been her custom to the nuns, not forgetting their ginger "hot i' the mouth"[1878], and also to bear herself more courteously and affably towards their friends particularly in the matter of their admission (on visits); at the same time she was warned to be present in chapel more often and to live the communal life better[1879]. This warning apparently bore no fruit and in 1262 the Archbishop noted, "because she was slow to administer new pilches, headdresses and cloth and other things to the nuns for their needs, we ordered her to labour to minister better and more fitly to them in this matter and to be careful about it"; it was also remarked that she frequented the convent but little and was seldom present at chapter and frater; and she was ordered to render a general account once a year and to hear and receive the particular accounts of the obedientiaries. The next year her failure to frequent chapter, dorter and choir was again noted and some of the nuns still complained of her harshness, whereupon the Archbishop (apparently despairing of inducing her to look after them properly herself), ordered her to depute two or three nuns, "with whom the others could talk more familiarly and more boldly, to minister to their sisters small things for their needs, ginger and other things of the kind"; the quality of the wine was also to be improved. The difficulties, however, continued. In 1265 the Abbess was ordered to provide the nuns more carefully with pilches and in the following year she was again ordered

"prudently to cause the pilches and robes of the nuns to be repaired, so that she may provide them with such things more fitly than she is used and have more workpeople than she has been accustomed to do. For in this," adds the Archbishop, "we found a deficiency"[1879].

Rigaud had a great deal of difficulty with the Prioress of Bondeville. In 1251 there were many complaints against her; she exercised favouritism in the distribution of clothes and in the provision of food in the infirmary and she did not look after the sick; when in the infirmary she ate at a table by herself and she did not live a communal life; she wandered about a great deal outside the convent, even without the excuse of convent business, and when she went to Rouen she stayed there for three or four days; moreover she was quarrelsome and stirred up discord in the house "so that she could not have peace with the convent nor with anyone." The next year she resigned, probably as a result of these complaints and of the financial condition of the house, but in 1255 the register has an entry: "We found the Prioress quarrelsome and sharp of tongue, not knowing how to make corrections and also speaking ill of her sisters; we warned her to desist from these things"; so that her resignation had evidently not been accepted. In 1257 she made another attempt at resignation, and the occasion is interesting because it provides us not only with an inventory of Bondeville, but also with the sole complete list of inmates preserved among the Rouen nunneries[1880]. The Archbishop decided to take an inquisition in the convent as to whether the Prioress should or should not be removed; and the votes of the twenty-six nuns and three brothers of the house were taken upon oath. Of these nineteen were in favour of her removal and nine of her retention, while Brother Roger permitted himself to express the ambiguous opinion that "it would be evil for temporal affairs and good for spiritual affairs to remove the prioress" (_quod dampnum esset temporale et utilitas spiritualis removere priorissam_!)[1881]. It is not clear from the Register whether she was removed; Rigaud notes: "Item we received the resignation of Marie, late the prioress," but in 1261 there occurs a further entry: "Item the Prioress offered us her seal, begging us to absolve her from her office, but we, being unwilling to condescend to her in this matter, ordered her to exercise her office with greater zeal." In particular she was ordered "to frequent the convent at least by day (viz. chapter, frater and choir) better than she was wont and not to stand about talking in the cemetery or outside the house after Compline, as she had been in the habit of doing"[1882]. At Bival an abbess resigned in 1248, doubtless owing to the unsatisfactory moral conditions revealed at the visitation[1883]; there were no complaints against her successor until 1268 (though two cases of immorality occurred in the convent before that date); then, among minor injunctions concerning matters of administration, she was ordered to bear herself more kindly and courteously towards the nuns[1884].

(2) Besides injunctions dealing specially with the behaviour of the head of a house, the Archbishop was obliged to deal with breaches of the rule by the convent generally. Many of his regulations were concerned with the strictly religious duties of the nuns. Sometimes the church services were not being properly performed, as at St Amand, St Aubin, Villarceaux, St Saëns and Montivilliers. The most common defect was failure to sing these services with music (_cum nota_ or _ad notam_)[1885]; at St Saëns (a constant offender--Rigaud notes the fault at eight visitations) the nuns did not do so even on Sundays[1886]. Occasionally a specific excuse was given; the nuns of Villarceaux omitted the music on the days upon which they received the periodical bleeding considered necessary to the health of those who embraced the monastic life[1887]; at St Aubin in 1264 they complained that many of them were often ill[1888] and at St Saëns also (in 1257) they dwelt upon their infirmities[1889]. At St Paul's by Rouen they were too few in number to perform the service properly[1890]. The Archbishop contented himself at St Aubin (1251) with the injunction that they should sing at least in monotone--_saltem cum bassa nota_[1891]. Moreover even when the nuns did sing the services they occasionally did so carelessly. At St Amand the Archbishop made a significant injunction:

They sometimes sing the hours of the Blessed Virgin and the psalms of suffrage with too great haste and precipitation of words. We ordered them to sing in such a way that the side [of the choir] singing the first half of the verse should hear the end of the preceding verse and the side singing the second half should hear the beginning of the next verse[1892].

Evidently both sides of the choir came in too soon in their anxiety to hurry through the service--a clear case for Tuttivillus. At Montivilliers the fault lay in beginning too late and Rigaud ordered that better provision should be made for ringing a bell at the due hours, so that the service might be said without haste and finished while it was light (_de luce_)[1893]. At Villarceaux he ordered that all the nuns should at once assemble in the church when the bell rang, unless they were ill or had special leave of absence[1894]. Even at the great abbey of Caen the service was being said "_confuse et male_, one part in the choir and one outside"[1895]. At St Amand (1263), which evidently contained young and obstreperous--or perhaps only ignorant--members, it was ordered that the nuns should be equally divided in the choir, so that all the young ones might not be together[1896]. At St Saëns (1254) a nun served the mass with the priest; and at Bondeville (1263) the nuns had not the necessary priests and did not hear enough sermons[1897]. St Aubin apparently shared the parish priest; there were only fifteen parishioners (most of them doubtless dependents of the nunnery) and the priest dwelt with the nuns and was maintained at their expense; in 1257 the Archbishop ordered them to find a clerk to assist him[1898]. The nuns of St Paul's heard only one mass--that of the parish--daily[1899]. Sometimes deficiencies in the services may have been due to lack of books. At St Sauveur d'Evreux, in 1258, it was found that the nuns did not possess adequate books and they were ordered to procure some[1900]; at Villarceaux in 1257 they lacked two antiphonaries and in 1261 it was again noted that their books were insufficient and worn out[1901]. At Montivilliers the Archbishop in 1260 ordered the chantress to have an ordinal of the hours made at the Abbess' cost; this had not yet been done in 1262 and from Rigaud's injunction on this occasion it appears that the nuns were expected to write the book themselves, for the ordinal was "to be made by the chantress and by the more discreet nuns, i.e. by the older ones who knew and understood better the service of the order." At the same house reference was made three years later to a certain glossed psalter which had been bequeathed to it by a benefactor, and had been alienated without the knowledge of the convent; the Abbess was told to have it restored without delay and replied "that she could do so easily enough, because Master William de Beaumont had it"[1902].

Another common fault was negligence in the matter of confession and communion. Sometimes a house had a fixed rule as to the number of times the nuns had to confess and communicate. At Bival, for example, the nuns seem to have attended communion seven times a year, though they confessed more often[1903]. At Villarceaux they confessed and communicated six times a year[1904]. At St Aubin the Archbishop noted that they were bound to confess and to communicate seven times a year, but that they had sometimes been negligent in the matter; they gave an inadequate excuse, and Rigaud ordered them on no account to be absent from communion and warned the Prioress to consider any such absence without due cause as a serious fault[1905]. At St Léger de Préaux in 1249 he found that the nuns confessed and communicated only four times a year and ordered them to do so monthly[1906]. At Montivilliers[1907] and at Bondeville[1908] they were supposed to confess and to communicate monthly, but at the latter house he found them negligent in 1261, and ordered that the nun who did not communicate with the others or within the next two or three days was to be punished by abstention from wine and pottage for three days[1909]. The Archbishop's usual custom was to order monthly confession and communion[1910]. Sometimes there seems to have been some difficulty about getting a confessor; at Almenèches (where, in 1250, the nuns had no rule or term for confession or communion[1911]) it was found in 1260 that they were in the habit of confessing to passing friars when they wished to do so, and Rigaud ordered the Bishop to provide them with regular confessors, friars minor or others[1912]. At St Saëns in 1261 they had not had a confessor for a long time and were ordered to procure the Prior of Crissy[1913], but in 1265 the Archbishop still found that they did not go to confession as well as they should[1914]. At Ariete the nuns did not all confess to their own priest[1915].

Other minor faults were late rising[1916], breach of silence[1917] and laxity in causing novices to make their profession[1918]. At Villarceaux in 1249 only four out of the twenty-three nuns had been properly professed[1919]. The Archbishop ordered the vows to be taken when the novices reached the age of fourteen years[1920]; this was not to be done before[1921] and if any refused to do so at the appointed age they were to be sent back to the world[1922]; he also ordered in several cases that only the three vows of poverty, chastity and obedience should be taken[1923].

Another set of injunctions is concerned with the conduct of the frater, the infirmary and the chapter house. The Archbishop dealt with the observances of the frater from the point of view of the communal life, from that of the food eaten by the nuns and from that of almsgiving. The growing practice among the nuns of dining separately in their rooms or in little cliques, instead of keeping the frater, was a menace to a strictly communal life, and as such will be considered later, with other practices which tended in the same direction. Here it may be noted that already in the thirteenth century the regulations of the monastic rule as to diet were being contravened. Many convents were convicted of eating meat unnecessarily, _etiam sane_, "even when in good health"[1924], and it was becoming the custom--in Rigaud's diocese as elsewhere--to use the infirmary as a _misericord_, in which meat was eaten on certain days of the week, generally thrice a week[1925]. Sometimes even fast days were not regularly kept[1926]. Another breach of the rule frequently encountered by the Archbishop was inadequate almsgiving. The nuns were supposed to give alms regularly to the poor and in particular to give them the food which remained over from the convent meals; but in view of the poverty of some of the houses it is not surprising that the rule was sometimes unobserved. Very often the nuns, instead of collecting the fragments left over in frater and infirmary, each kept what remained of her own share and sold it or gave it away to people outside the convent. St Amand was a constant offender; in 1248 the Archbishop had occasion to forbid the unequal distribution of wine to the nuns "to one more and to another less," and he added that if any of them gave away any part of her measure of wine to anyone outside the house without licence she was to be punished by being deprived of wine the next day[1927]; in 1251 he enjoined that no nun was to put forth any of her food save in the way of alms[1928]; but some thirteen years later St Amand (doubtless on account of its poverty) was still remiss in the matter of almsgiving and Rigaud warned the nuns separately that it must not be diminished and that everything left over from meals must be given to the poor[1929]. At St Saëns it was discovered that the nuns had separate portions of bread allotted to them and that the fragments were never given in alms, because each either sold or gave away these fragments as she pleased[1930]. At Montivilliers almsgiving was diminished because the nuns gave away the remnants of the portions of bread, wine and other food to "serving maids and other acquaintances"[1931]; and at Villarceaux and Bival also it was necessary to warn the nuns not to give away or sell any of their clothes or food[1932]. The practice was the more reprehensible in the Archbishop's eyes in that it savoured of the private ownership of property. Rigaud made general orders for the increase of almsgiving and for the more careful collection of food after meals in the frater and in the infirmary[1933]. Sometimes the custom of a house prescribed special obligations; the Abbess of Montivilliers was required to give alms thrice a week and to entertain thirteen poor men daily[1934]. Sometimes the revenues of a special manor or rent were earmarked for the expenses of almsgiving; the recalcitrant St Amand was found to have abstracted the rents of a certain manor from the almoness and was ordered to restore them to their proper purpose[1935].

Other departments of the convent of which mention is made in Rigaud's Register are the infirmary and the chapter house. At Montivilliers the Archbishop, in 1262, ordered the infirmary to be repaired and the convent to be provided with physic[1936]; and at Bondeville, St Sauveur and St Amand he was obliged to order that sick nuns should be better looked after[1937]. There are some interesting notes about the meetings of the chapter in various houses. At several (Bondeville, St Saëns and Villarceaux) the Archbishop found that the chapter was seldom held[1938]. At others the duty incumbent upon the nuns to accuse or proclaim (_clamare_) each other's faults was imperfectly performed. There was a most natural reluctance on the part of the elder nuns to allow the indiscriminate criticism of their juniors and a tendency to keep the latter in their place by allowing them only to be accused and never to retaliate. At Caen (1250) the Archbishop found that none made the statutory accusations save certain nuns who were deputed to reveal the faults of the younger ones[1939] and at St Amand also only the elder nuns made accusations, and he ordered that all without exception should reveal what they saw amiss[1940]. At Montivilliers the same complaint that the nuns refrained from accusing each other was made[1941]. From one point of view this imperfect performance of their duty in chapter meant that the nuns were winking at each other's peccadilloes, and it was for the sake of discipline that the Archbishop insisted upon a more strict obedience to the rule. From another point of view the obligation certainly gave rise to much ill-feeling; the author of the _Ancren Riwle_ placed "Exposing faults" and "Backbiting" among the brood of seven, offspring of "the venomous serpent of hell, Envy"; for human nature would need to be very perfect if the accusations were always to be made in the spirit of sisterly admonition, "sweetly and affectionately," which the same treatise describes so eloquently a few pages later[1942]. It is significant that the Abbess of Montivilliers had to be warned in no way to molest one of her nuns, nor to conceive rancour against her on account of anything that she said in chapter[1943].

Finally the Archbishop sometimes found fault with the management of the secular servants and of the lay brothers and sisters attached to different houses. It was his custom to note the number of maidservants (_ancille_, _pedissece_) employed and to reprove the nuns if he thought that they were employing too many, or falling into the sin of property by keeping certain maids in the service of individual nuns, as they did at Almenèches in 1255[1944], at St Léger de Préaux in 1267[1945] and at St Sauveur in 1269; at the last house he noted:

The convent had three common maids and several special maids were kept at the cost of the house; so we ordered that there were henceforth to be no special maids, but that if necessary the number of common maids might be increased[1946].

At St Amand he twice ordered the removal of all superfluous servants, adding in 1267 that all were to be paid at a fixed rate out of the common funds[1947]. At St Aubin in 1265 he found two servants, one of whom was incontinent and of ill repute (little wonder, considering the evil morals of the nuns) and he ordered her instant expulsion[1948]. Of the lay sisters attached to some of the houses there is less mention; in 1259 Rigaud noted that two of those at Bondeville were of weak intellect (_fatue_)[1949]. There was sometimes trouble with the lay brothers; at Bondeville (1251) he made a list of corrections for them[1950] and in 1259 a certain brother Roger (doubtless the same whose dark saying about the Prioress has already been recorded) was announced to be disobedient and rebellious, and the injunction that he should obey the Prioress had to be repeated in 1268, nearly ten years later[1951]. There was occasionally also need for correction in the behaviour of the convent priest, for it is clear that an unsuitable chaplain might give great cause for scandal. The not very reputable houses of St Saëns and Bival both suffered in this way; in 1254 the Archbishop found that the priest of the former house was incontinent and ordered the nuns to find another[1952]; and in 1256, at Bival, he noted: "We removed the priest from this place on account of the scandal of the nuns and of the populace, though we found nothing which we could prove against him"[1953]. At St Aubin in 1261 the nuns were ordered not to drink with seculars in the priest's house[1954].

(3) The most frequent fault which Eudes Rigaud found in the nunneries under his care was the persistent hankering of the nuns after private property and their failure to live a communal life according to the rule. The possession of private property was a very common charge. The nuns had chests in which to keep such possessions as they were allowed and there was a perpetual struggle over the question as to whether or not they were to be allowed keys, with which to lock the boxes. The nuns of Montivilliers begged for keys in 1257 and the stern Rigaud refused[1955]; of this refusal they took not the smallest notice, and in 1262 the Register contains the injunction that keys were to be given up and that those who were unwilling to obey were to be severely punished; "for," added the Archbishop,

We understood that when the abbess asked them for their keys certain of them would not give the keys up for two or three days, until they should have gone through their things and taken away those which they did not want the Abbess to see, and so we ordered these nuns to be punished for disobedience and for the ownership of property[1956].

The injunction that the boxes should be inspected frequently was repeated at three subsequent visitations[1957]. It was the Archbishop's usual custom to order the Abbess or Prioress to look into the nuns' boxes often and unexpectedly in order to remove private property, and the injunction was repeated from year to year, which looks as though it were greatly honoured in the breach[1958]. Besides the injunction against closed boxes there was an oft-repeated injunction to the effect that, in accordance with the rule[1959], no nun was to have more than one set of garments; directly new clothes were given out the old ones were to be handed back (and given to the poor), so that no nun might rejoice in the semblance of a wardrobe[1960]. At St Amand in 1264 the Archbishop made the following note of his action:

Item we ordered them that when they received new pilches, shifts and any sort of new garments or foot-wear (_calciamentorum_), they were to give the old in alms, whereat they murmured somewhat to our displeasure, and we forbade the abbess to give them any new clothes until they had rendered up the old[1961].

It appears from an injunction given at St Sauveur in 1258[1962] that the nuns sometimes sold or gave away their old clothes as they did with the remains of their portions of food and drink; in both cases the sin of property was encouraged and almsgiving diminished. Rigaud made the most comprehensive injunction on these points at Villarceaux in 1249:

We warn you, all and sundry, that ye observe the communism which ought to be observed in religion in the matter of clothes, food and other like things, neither sell nor give away at your own will any of those things which belong to the common food or dress; and if ye shall have received anything from your friends, ye shall apply it to the use of the community and not each to your own use[1963].

In one case at least, that of Bival, the practice (which afterwards became common) of giving each of the nuns a separate allowance with which to buy her own clothes or food was already in force; the Abbess of Bival gave to each an annual sum of 12_s._ out of which to buy her clothes[1964]. At Montivilliers Rigaud ordered the nuns to be clothed in common[1965] and at St Aubin he made a special injunction that they were to use their scapularies in common[1966].

But the sin of property crept into convents in every direction and was most difficult of all to eradicate. At Almenèches in 1250 Rigaud noted: "All are _proprietarie_, owning saucepans, copper kettles and necklaces of their own"[1967]. At St Aubin in 1265 there is the entry:

Because divers of the nuns have divers cocks and hens and often quarrel over them, we ordered that all cocks and hens were to be nourished alike and to be kept in common and the eggs ministered equally among the nuns and fowls sometimes given to the sick to eat in the infirmary[1968].

But in vain; each nun clung to her own hen; still there continued the rivalry when eggs were counted, the jealousy over the possession of a good layer, the turmoil when some fickle fowl laid in the wrong nest. After all it was a _Nonnes Prest_ who described that immortal farmyard lorded over by Chantecler and his seven wives. Could the happy owner of "damoysele Pertelote," bearing herself so fair and companionable, be expected to give her up into cold communal ownership? Two years later the Archbishop remarked in his diary that nothing had been done about the poultry[1969]. Some nuns even had rents of their own, which they kept for their private use instead of adding the money to the common income of the priory. This was the case at Bondeville[1970] and at St Désir de Lisieux[1971]. At the latter Rigaud began by ordering these rents to be held in common, but in later years contented himself with an injunction that they should be retained only at the discretion of the Abbess. At St Saëns in 1250 it was noted: "They receive gifts and retain and expend them without licence"[1972]. Usually the injunction was that the nuns were to receive nothing from their friends without licence from the head of the house[1973]; the poverty of some convents made it impossible altogether to prohibit such gifts.

Closely connected with this sin of property was the failure to live a communal life. Already at this early date the practice of eating in separate chambers and of receiving separate allowances of food was becoming common. The most comprehensive indictment was made at Almenèches. In 1250 (the same year that Rigaud found them to be _proprietarie_, owning pots and pans) he noted:

They run up debts in the town and eat together and sit at table in cliques (_per societates_). To each money is given to provide herself with food. Many stay away from compline and from matins and they drink after compline[1974].

On this occasion the moral record of the convent was found to be peculiarly bad. In 1255 there was no further complaint of immorality but the nuns were as lax as ever in keeping the rule as to communal life:

They have chambers with partitions in the dorter. They have separate maids of their own, who do not serve the community[1975]. They do not eat out of the same dish but have divers dishes. Each had one loaf to herself and kept what was over; we ordered the abbess to give them bread without livery (i.e. in common) and to take back what was over. They do not live on the same pittance; in short they do not live in common[1976].

In 1260 it was the same story:

The frater was often left empty, to wit because they did not eat together therein, but they ate meat scattered in cliques by twos and by threes in their chambers (_due et due, tres et tres, sparsim et socialiter in cameris_). They had many chambers and five maid servants to boot.... Each of them had one loaf daily and retained what remained over. We ordered that the remnant should be given in alms and counselled them to eat and to live in common and to remove the chambers[1977].

At Montivilliers the order to dine together was repeated at almost every visitation; the nuns had separate dishes cooked for themselves in the kitchen and when they were in the infirmary "for recreation or for slight ailments" they used to eat separately in little companies (_per conventicula_)[1978]. At St Saëns[1979] and at St Léger de Préaux[1980] also the nuns had separate food allowances and ate in the infirmary; at Bival some of them had food prepared separately[1981], and at Villarceaux in 1266 the Archbishop made the following injunction:

We ordered her (the Abbess) to permit them to dine together twice a day according to their rule and to have a bell rung twice, to wit for dinner and for supper, so that they might come together at the sound into the frater, in a more seemly way than they have been wont. For they often ate separately in their chambers[1982].

At St Sauveur also Rigaud ordered all to dine together in the frater, and in the infirmary all nuns, except those actually in bed, were to use the same food at the same table[1983]. At Bondeville the nuns seem to have been in the habit of congregating, with the servants of the house, in a certain oven room, doubtless for the sake of the warmth; and the Archbishop several times forbade the practice on account of possible scandal[1984]. Private drinking parties sometimes occurred; at St Sauveur the nuns occasionally drank outside the frater or infirmary in their own chambers[1985] and at Almenèches they drank after Compline[1986].

(4) It has already been said that the nunneries were often reduced to great straits by poverty. As a result they invented a number of devices for obtaining ready money. Some of these devices seem to modern eyes harmless enough; but they were opposed by medieval Visitors because they brought the nunneries into too close contact with the world and were subversive of discipline. One of their devices has already been described. At St Saëns, Villarceaux, Bival and St Sauveur it is evident that the nuns were in the habit not merely of giving away but actually of selling the food and drink left over from meals and their old clothes to people outside the convent. At Bondeville Rigaud had, in 1251, to forbid them to sell their thread and their spindles[1987]. At many houses they were accustomed to knit or embroider silken purses, tassels, cushions or needle cases, either for sale or as gifts to their friends, and the Archbishop forbade them to do any silkwork except for church ornament[1988]. He was not remarkably successful, since he had to repeat the injunction eight times at St Amand, between 1254 and 1267. It is interesting to compare his attitude with the similar prohibition made to the anchoresses of the _Ancren Riwle_ early in the same century: "Make no purses to gain friends therewith, nor blodbendes of silk; but shape and sew and mend church vestments and poor people's clothes"[1989].

Another means of getting money was by taking schoolchildren as boarders and the general attitude of the Church towards this custom is strikingly illustrated in Eudes Rigaud's Register. The provincial council of Rouen in 1231, attempting to deal with the bad discipline in Benedictine nunneries, had promulgated a statute forbidding the reception of children to be educated, and the context shows that the practice was regarded solely in the light of an interference with convent discipline, by bringing the nuns into contact with the world:

On account of the scandals which rise out of the conversation of nuns, we ordain for black nuns that they shall receive nothing to be deposited with them in their houses by any persons; above all let them by no means permit the strong-boxes of clergy, or of the laity too, to be placed in their custody[1990]. Boys and girls who are accustomed to be brought up and taught there are immediately to be put away[1991].

In accordance with this statute and with the invariable custom of ecclesiastical authorities it was Eudes Rigaud's practice to order the expulsion of children wherever he found them, and the number of these prohibitions increased during the last years covered by his diary, which points to a firm determination to eradicate the fault, though it would also seem to imply a certain flouting of his authority by the nuns. In four cases (St Saëns, St Aubin, Bival and Villarceaux) the moral record of the houses concerned was so disgraceful that the Archbishop might well be thought to have been actuated by concern for the children growing up under such evil influences[1992]; but the fact that he took the same course at Bondeville, St Sauveur, St Amand and St Léger de Préaux, against which none but minor breaches of the rule were charged, shows that his policy was dictated by care for the nuns and not for their pupils. Bondeville was an obstinate offender. There in 1255 the Archbishop ordered the Prioress and Subprioress to remove their little nieces[1993] and a certain other girl[1994]; in 1257 he noted the presence of five ladies (_domicelle_) who had not been received as novices[1995]; and in 1261 he noted again that "Many secular girls were used to be placed there with their costs"[1996]. In the two last cases the Register--probably, as Mr Coulton suggests, by a clerical oversight--contains no injunction to remove the children; and in 1266 only one boarder, "a lady of Rouen, Laurentia called _quatuor Homines_" was ordered to be sent away, though the Archbishop explicitly stated that "Certain girls (_iuvencule_), daughters of burgesses of Rouen, were there as it were in charge [of the nuns], which displeased us"[1997]. There was, however, no ambiguity about his action in 1268 when he ordered a certain

Basiria, daughter of Amelina of Aulnay, who was there as a boarder, to be sent away and forbade the Prioress henceforth to keep any girl or girls there, except such as had been received as novices[1998].

But it was a difficult task to force the needy nuns, reduced already to pawning the very vessels of the altar, to give up this more certain and less sacrilegious method of adding to their income.

It is indeed a significant fact, as Mr Coulton has pointed out, that "the prohibitions are in inverse proportion to the temporal prosperity of the convent"[1999]. The wealthy Abbaye-aux-Dames at Caen had no need to take in school children. But Villarceaux, £50 in debt in 1249 and going steadily downhill, vainly struggling in the toils of Jews and Caursini, was the most frequent offender of all and resisted the most stubbornly Rigaud's attempts at reform. In 1257 he ordered the nuns to remove all the boys and girls who were in the house, except one girl who was going to be veiled[2000]. The next year they were threatened with severe punishment if they postponed any longer the ejection of the children "whom they are bringing up in their house against our inhibition"[2001]. Follows silence for the next three visitations; then, eight years later, "There were several girls there, as it were in the charge of certain nuns, which displeased us exceedingly and shortly afterwards we ordered the Prioress by our letters to remove all secular girls" within a certain date[2002]; and in 1268

We ordered, as we had done before, that the nuns should utterly put away all secular ladies or girls (_domicellas seu puellulas_), if any were there, and that they should suffer neither one nor more of such girls to remain there, except such as were to be made nuns[2003].

What of St Saëns, with bad morals, growing debts and a deficiency of cider? In 1260, "We ordered secular girls to be removed," with one favoured exception[2004]; in 1261, "They were keeping in the priory two ladies, to wit the daughter of the châtelain of Belencombre and the elder daughter of the lord of Mesnières (de Maneriis) whom we ordered to be sent away"[2005]. It is the same with St Aubin, with its bad morals and its tumble-down buildings[2006]; with Bival, immoral also, overcome with debts even to its own servants for their wages, and always short of stores; in 1252 the nuns had ten children there to be brought up (_pueros decem nutriendos_) and Rigaud ordered their removal[2007]. It is the same, too, with St Amand, where the debts increased from year to year and the nuns could not even get in the money due to them; in 1263 a certain daughter of Lady Aeliz de Synoz was found there and removed[2008]. At St Léger de Preaux (1249) secular girls were all to be sent away[2009]; and at St Sauveur d'Evreux all unveiled children (_infantes non velatas_) were immediately to be removed[2010], while some years later Rigaud made a general injunction there against receiving relatives of the nuns as boarders[2011]. A mysterious child was being brought up in a grange belonging to the Abbey of Bival at Pierremans, but why or whose we know not; was it a needy relative of the Abbess, or an indiscretion of sister Isabel or sister Florence, or merely an ordinary paying boarder? History is silent, but the Archbishop was sufficiently annoyed when his order to remove it in 1268 was still disregarded in the following year[2012].

The constant attempts of the nuns to add to their numbers were actuated by the same desire to obtain ready money, in the shape of a dowry; the Archbishop was more far-seeing and recognised that the immediate good would be out-balanced by the strain on their scanty revenues in the future; nor was he unmindful of the fact that the demand for a dowry was contrary to the rule. The heavy debts and the insufficiency of stores, which he found at convent after convent, certainly seem to indicate that their only hope lay in a rigid limitation of membership. Moreover overcrowding was certainly subversive of discipline and it looks as though Rigaud had, in some cases (e.g. at Villarceaux in 1249)[2013], been unwilling to permit new recruits to enter a house whose moral record was bad. This may explain in part his long struggle with St Saëns and with St Aubin, though here, as at Villarceaux, poverty was always the chief reason noted in his diary. At St Aubin the financial _arrière pensée_ is very clear. In 1251 Rigaud noted that nuns were received simoniacally; on this and on the four subsequent visitations the Prioress was forbidden to receive any girl as a nun without special licence, and girls received in contravention of this rule were not to be considered veiled or recognised as nuns[2014] (this was the usual form in which his prohibition was couched). Then in 1259 came another case of simony; in spite of the Archbishop's former inhibition the nuns had received and veiled a certain lady, the daughter of Sir Robert Mauvoisin (_Mali Vicini_), knight. Asked why they had done this they said that urgent necessity and poverty had forced them to it and that the father of the girl had given them an annual rent of 10_s._ with her; but they admitted that they had acted against the wish of the Prioress and without her consent. The Archbishop "seeing them to have acted with cupidity and with the vice of simony" soon afterwards ordered the girl to be removed, unveiled and sent back to her father's house and enjoined a penance upon the nuns[2015]; the prohibition to receive nuns without licence was repeated at subsequent visitations[2016]. There were similarly protracted struggles between the Archbishop and the nuns at St Saëns and at St Amand. At St Saëns, when he came to visit it in 1258, he found two little girls in residence and in spite of the prayers of the Prioress and some of the nuns that he would allow the children (_puellule_) to be received and veiled, he ordered them to be removed within a week[2017]. The next year, however, he found that the obstinate nuns had promised four girls, nieces of certain of the nuns, that they should be received if his consent could be obtained, whereupon the Archbishop in great irritation tore up the letters before the assembled chapter and once more repeated his prohibition[2018]. In 1260 he made an exception in favour of one girl[2019], and in 1261, when the nuns asked permission to veil five new inmates "in order that the divine service might be increased" (_ampliandum_), he ordered them to send the candidates or their relatives to him and promised to give the necessary licence if it seemed expedient[2020]. In 1262 and 1264[2021] the usual prohibition was repeated.

The nuns of St Amand persisted with equal obstinacy in admitting novices without licence. In 1254 and again in 1257 the Archbishop noted the presence of four girls who had been promised admission as soon as there was a vacancy[2022]. In 1263 he ordered one of them to be removed[2023]. In the next year he found that four ladies (_domicelle_) in secular habit had been received, one of them in spite of his inhibition; the Abbess was punished for disobedience and the girl was sent home[2024]. In 1267 seven girls were waiting to be veiled, but he seems to have made no objection[2025]. At Villarceaux in 1257 the niece of a neighbouring prior was found in the house, in secular dress; "and she in the chapter," says Rigaud, "throwing herself upon her knees, besought us to permit her to be received by them, because the Prioress and convent had promised to veil her"[2026]. Whether he acceded to her request is not known, but in the following year there was serious trouble, because the Prioress had raised the number of nuns above the statutory number of twenty, by receiving two girls against the bishop's order and the convent's will, one to be a nun and the other to be a lay sister. The Archbishop ordered their instant expulsion and specifically mentioned that his former prohibition had been dictated by a desire to do what was best for the convent, "since its resources hardly suffice for a small number of persons"[2027]. At Bondeville also a girl had been received without licence in 1266 and the Archbishop forbade her to be veiled[2028]. Sometimes it is clear that he had to protect the nuns, less against their own improvidence than against the enforced reception of nuns "dumped" upon them by powerful people outside their own ranks. The nuns of Villarceaux were forbidden to receive any lay sister or novice "even if the abbess of St Cyr send her"[2029]. At Bival, in 1254, where it is specifically stated that no more nuns are to be received without licence on account of the poverty of the house, he ordered no exception to be made even for two girls sent by the bishop and one by Sir William of Poissy[2030]; and at Montivilliers in 1266 he noted that in spite of his prohibition a girl had been placed there by the Legate[2031].

(5) A very common fault in these Rouen (and indeed in all) houses was the imperfect claustration of the nuns; seculars entered the precincts; nuns left them. There were constant injunctions that no secular or suspected persons were to enter the cloister precincts[2032] or to talk with the nuns anywhere save in the parlour[2033]. At Bival, however, a significant exception was made to the general prohibition; no one was to be introduced except those whom it would be a scandal to turn away[2034]--potential benefactors and other powerful folk, no doubt. It seems that the nuns were in the habit of dining and of eating meat with seculars (at Bival they absented themselves from Compline for this purpose)[2035], and the Archbishop forbade, time after time, the eating together of nuns and seculars[2036]. No secular person was to sleep in the house[2037]; and no nun was to converse with seculars, even in the parlour, without licence from the head of the house and without a suitable companion, such as the doorkeeper[2038]. These precautions seem to have been necessary, for one is left with the impression that secular visitors gained access without much difficulty to the cloister precincts; at Bival it was complained that brothers and relatives of the nuns and others, entered the house[2039]; and at Bondeville friends and relatives used to come into the cloister at will and talk with the nuns in the meadows and guest rooms of the house[2040]; at a later visitation the archbishop remarked that the house where guests were received was too close to the cloister and to the conventual buildings[2041]. The abuses to which such freedom of access might give rise are obvious. They appear in the case of St Aubin, morally the worst of all the houses; the state of that community at the visitations of 1254, 1256, 1257 and 1261 will be referred to later; in 1266 a certain miller was not to be allowed to frequent the house, as scandal had arisen through him, and the schoolmaster (_Rector scolarum_) of Beauvoir had "sometimes impudently frequented the said house or priory, from which evil rumours had arisen," and he was to be warned to desist[2042]; next year the same miller and two clerics (a rector and a clerk) were frequenting the house and causing scandal and the Archbishop forbade them to enter it[2043].

The wandering of nuns outside the precincts was even more dangerous, and it is significant that after the terrible revelations at Villarceaux in 1249 the Archbishop, in his injunctions, paid special attention to the entrance of seculars into the convent and to the conditions under which the nuns were wont to leave it. Rigaud strictly forbade any nun to go out without special licence from the head of the house and that licence was not to be given except for an adequate reason[2044]; "not quickly and easily but with difficulty and for an appointed time only"[2045], ran the injunction to the Abbess of St Amand. A term was always to be fixed by which the nun had to return and she was always to have a suitable companion allotted to her[2046]. This seems to have been a necessary precaution, for at St Saëns the nuns were found to stay away alone for fifteen days or more[2047]; it is perhaps not accidental that St Saëns was one of the immoral houses. At St Léger de Préaux, also, the nuns were in the habit of going out alone to the houses of relatives[2048]: "They go outside the abbey when they can and return when they will," says the Archbishop[2049]; in 1267 one of them was found to be alone with her mother at Argoulles, "which displeased us and we forbade the Abbess to give any nun permission to go out without company"[2050]. At Bondeville they used often to go to Rouen[2051]. Another precaution taken against the wandering of nuns in the world was the closing or careful guarding of the cloister doors; it was ordered at Bival in 1257 that a door opening on to the meadows, which was often unlocked, should be kept locked[2052]. The causes which took nuns outside the gates were many: sometimes they seem to have gone simply to take a walk; sometimes to visit relatives or to act as godmothers to the children of friends (a practice which was specifically forbidden at Montivilliers in 1257 and again in 1265)[2053]; sometimes on business to the granges of the convent; sometimes to work in the fields (three of the nuns of St Aubin were absent at the vintage (_in vindemiis_) when the Archbishop came in 1267)[2054]; sometimes to beg (at St Aubin in 1261 it was ordered that the younger nuns were not to be sent out to beg (_pro questu_)[2055] and two years later two nuns of this poverty-stricken house were absent in France, seeking alms)[2056]; sometimes for less reputable reasons. There is no more striking commentary on the writings of contemporary moralists like Matheolus and Gilles li Muisis than the Register of Eudes Rigaud[2057]; and the stress laid upon the ill results of allowing seculars to enter and nuns to leave the cloister, shows that the attempts of the medieval Church to impose strict claustration upon nuns, harsh as they seem to modern minds, were dictated by a real social necessity.

(6) Modern minds would also be inclined to consider as trifling offences the various cases of frivolous behaviour--games, gay clothes, pet animals--which the Archbishop entered from time to time in his diary. The custom of indulging in games on Innocents' Day, which prevailed in certain English nunneries, was fairly common in Rigaud's diocese. In 1249 he made the following injunction at Villarceaux:

Item we forbid you in future to indulge in your accustomed gaieties (_ne ludibria exerceatis consueta_) to wit, dressing yourselves up in secular clothes or leading dance-songs (_choreas_) among yourselves or with seculars[2058].

But the nuns clung to their rare amusements and in 1253 the Archbishop noted: "They sing ditties (_cantilenas_) on the Feast of Innocents"[2059]. At St Léger des Préaux in 1254 the diary has: "We forbade disorders (_inordinaciones_) on the Feast of Innocents"[2060] and at the Holy Trinity of Caen two years later: "The younger ones on the Feast of Innocents sing the scriptures with _farsa_; this we forbade"[2061]. Montivilliers was a serious offender and the Archbishop's note is learnedly technical over the different kinds of songs sung by the nuns:

Item on the Feasts of St John, St Stephen and the Innocents they use excessive frivolity (_nimia iocositate_) and scurrilous songs, to wit, farces (_farsis_), canticles (_conductis_) and motets (_motulis_); we ordered that they should bear themselves more fittingly and with greater devotion[2062].

The order seems to have borne fruit, for in 1262 he noted: "The frivolities which used to take place on Innocents' Day have been utterly given up, so they say"; and then, and again in 1265, he simply repeated the injunction that such things should cease[2063]. At St Amand in 1263 he ordered:

That the younger nuns are not to remain behind in the choir on the Feast of Innocents, as they have done in the past, singing the office and proses which belong to the day, the seniors having gone away and left the juniors there[2064].

But afterwards we hear no more of these sports among the nuns; so perhaps Rigaud succeeded in stamping them out. They were perhaps (if one may judge from the usual character of the Feast of Fools) more scurrilous and less innocently pretty than they sound; but it is difficult not to feel a little out of sympathy with the conscientious Archbishop[2065].

The keeping of pet animals here, as in England, was a common fault and one against which Rigaud's animadversions were singularly unsuccessful. The nuns of St Sauveur d'Evreux had small dogs, squirrels and birds, "and we ordered such things to be removed; they do not profit the rule"[2066]; but we had to repeat our injunction in 1258 and again in 1269[2067]. At St Léger des Préaux they had two small dogs and three squirrels[2068], and at the Holy Trinity of Caen they kept larks and little birds in cages, which were to be removed[2069]; but the cage birds were still there six years later[2070]. The most amusing case was at Villarceaux in 1268, where for once one of the nuns gave the Archbishop a piece of her mind. "Eustachia, late prioress" (we shall hear of her again), "had a certain bird, which she kept to the annoyance and displeasure of some of the more elderly nuns" (did it disturb their slumbers?) "For the which reason we ordered her to remove it; and she thereupon bespake us with little discretion or reverence, which greatly displeased us"[2071]. One may forgive the archbishop for this lapse in his sense of humour; he had had trouble with Eustachia before; it was just like her to keep a bird that squawked in the dorter.

Nor probably did Rigaud fare better than any other medieval visitor in his attempts to turn fashionable clothes out of the nunneries. The disreputable ladies of Villarceaux (1249) curled their hair and scented their veils with saffron, they had pilches of rabbit and hare and fox fur, they wore belts adorned with silver-work and steel-work[2072]. Those of Montivilliers (1265 and 1266) were nearly as luxurious, though their morals were unimpeachable; they also wore their hair in ringlets, had pilches of squirrel fur and of the costly "griz," and used girdles curiously adorned with ironwork; they ornamented their collars and cuffs with expensive cloth trimmings and possessed "excessively curious and precious knives, with carved and silvered handles"[2073]. The nuns of St Amand also used not only shifts and pilches, but also pillows and bedclothes soft with the fur of rabbit, hare, fox and cat[2074]; and the ornamented girdles of ironwork were found at St Aubin and at St Sauveur[2075]. The Archbishop strenuously forbade long hair and curls, belts of ironwork, saffron, rich cloth and the more costly kinds of fur. It is unlikely that he was successful. The world never called more seductively to medieval nuns than in contemporary fashions. The Church clung to the belief that the habit made the nun, but the souls of sister Jacqueline and sister Johanna, and sister Philippa and sister Marguerite expressed themselves appropriately in furs and saffron and, one fears, would not have been less frivolous in the regular garb of their order:

Il est bien vray que tourel, voille ou guymple Fort scapullaire ou autre habit de corps, Ne rend jamais homme ou femme plus simple, Mais rompt souvent l'union et accords Mectant divorce entre l'âme et le corps[2076].

(7) It is now necessary to consider the more serious faults, such as quarrelling, drunkenness or immorality, detected by Eudes Rigaud in his visitations, and to give a fuller account of those nunneries which were in a particularly evil state. The quarrels which were inseparable from convent life continually occupied his attention; and nine out of the twelve houses which he visited more than once were at one time or another disturbed by petty squabblings among the nuns. It is clear--as might be expected--that the discord was worse in those convents where discipline was loose, and where the behaviour of the nuns in other directions was open to grave censure. At the visitation of Villarceaux in 1249, for instance, Ermengarde of Gisors and Johanna of Auvilliers beat one another and the Archbishop was obliged to order the punishment of quarrels passing from words to blows[2077] (_de verbis ad verbera_--he was not above a mild ecclesiastical pun in the privacy of his diary)[2078]. At St Aubin (1254) Agnes of the Bridge (_de Ponte_) and Petronilla refused to speak to each other, and Agnes, "who is a fomenter of discord and a scold," was ordered to give up her rancour against Petronilla, on pain of being removed from the convent[2079]. At Bival in 1252 two sisters were described as rebellious[2080] and two years later the Register contains the following entry:

There are two sets of couples who refuse to speak to one another and we caused them to make peace with each other and to kiss and be friends (_quantum ad os, et deosculari ad invicem_), and we forbade that any mention should henceforth be made of the bone of contention between them, on pain of excommunication, which we have called down upon her who shall be the first to mention it, and we ordered the Abbess to keep us informed[2081].

At St Saëns a certain Johanna Martel--evidently a lady of substance with relatives in the neighbourhood--was said in 1259 to be rebellious, disobedient and given to wrangling with the Prioress[2082], and in 1265 the house was full of discord[2083]. At Almenèches (1250) there was a good deal of quarrelling in cloister and choir[2084].

Quarrels were common, however, in houses against which no grave moral disorders were ever charged. St Amand was perhaps the worst of these; there in 1258 the Archbishop ordered that each nun was to forget the injury and offence of the other, before she presumed to receive communion[2085]; but the discords continued and in 1262 he wrote:

Because we found there many heart-burnings and rancours among the nuns, we ordered the abbess and the confessor that they should reconcile those whom they knew to have fallen into this fault before, and that they should live in charity as far as they were able, punishing offenders by taking away their beer and pittances[2086].

But it was in vain, and after seven years Rigaud was still commanding the Abbess to labour to the best of her ability that the nuns should live in peace and concord[2087]. At Bondeville (1251 and 1255) it will be remembered that one of the charges against the Prioress was her quarrelsomeness[2088]; and in 1259 a certain Lucy was found to be a quarrelsome and ill-tempered person, disobedient to the Prioress and given to wrangling with her in the frater, whereupon the Archbishop enjoined a penance of silence upon her[2089]. At St Désir de Lisieux (1254) there were two or three nuns who would not speak to the rest[2090]; and even at the great Abbaye aux Dames at Caen Rigaud noted in 1267, "There was great contention among them and concerning this they had a case in the law-courts"[2091].

Quarrelsomeness was, however, a mild fault compared with the really bad immorality which prevailed in some of the houses. At three of them, St Aubin, St Saëns and Bival, this state of affairs continued from visitation to visitation; they were evidently hopelessly corrupt. At the two others (Villarceaux and Almenèches) there is mention of serious disorders only once and from the Archbishop's silence on later occasions it may be hoped that he succeeded in reforming the houses. One of these isolated cases was in many ways the most serious of all; Rigaud's note of his visitation of Villarceaux in 1249 reads more like a description of La Maison Tellier than that of a priory; except that the former was more discreet:

We visited the priory of Villarceaux. There are twenty-three nuns and three lay sisters. [Here follow several minor disorders.] Only four nuns there are fully professed, to wit Eustachia, Comitissa, Ermengarde and Petronilla. Many of them have pilches made from the fur of rabbits, hares and foxes. They eat flesh unnecessarily in the infirmary; they do not observe silence anywhere and they do not keep within the cloister. Johanna of "Aululari" once went out of the cloister and lived with someone, by whom she had a child; and she sometimes goes out of the cloister to see that child; item she is ill-famed (_infamata_) with a certain man called Gaillard. Isabella la Treiche is a fault finder, murmuring against the Prioress and others. The cellaress is ill-famed with a man called Philip of Villarceaux. The Prioress is too negligent and does not reprove, nor does she get up [for matins]. Johanna of Auvilliers goes outside the house alone with Gayllard and within the year she had a child by him. The cellaress is ill-famed with Philip of Villarceaux and with a certain priest of her own neighbourhood. Item the subprioress with Thomas the carter. Idonia her sister with Crispinatus. Item the prior of Gisors frequents the house for the sake of the said Idonia. Philippa of Rouen is ill-famed with the priest of Suentre, in the diocese of Chartres; Marguerita the treasuress with Richard de Geneville, clerk. Agnes of Fontenoy is ill-famed with the priest of Guerreville, of the diocese of Chartres. La Tooliere [? the chambress] is ill-famed with Sir Andrew de Monchy, knight. They all wear their hair long to their chins (_nutriunt comam usque ad mentum_) and scent their veils with saffron. Jacqueline came back pregnant from a certain chaplain, who was expelled from the house for this. Item Agnes de Montsec was ill-famed with the same. Ermengarde of Gisors and Johanna of Auvilliers beat each other. The Prioress is drunk almost any night ... she does not rise for matins nor eat in the frater nor correct faults[2092].

After these terrible revelations the Archbishop directed a letter of injunctions to the convent, which, contrary to his usual practice, was copied into his diary[2093]. These injunctions deal only with general breaches of the rule, which by loosening discipline would tend to give opportunities for the behaviour described in the _comperta_, and they contain no reference to specific cases of immorality. Thus he provides for the proper performance of divine service; for the maintenance of silence; for the simultaneous entry of the nuns into their dorter, the keys of which and of the cloister were to be carefully kept and a "Visitor" appointed to see that the rule was kept in these matters; he forbids secular or suspected persons to be entertained or lodged within the cloister, and nuns to be given permission to go outside without good reason and a companion, or to speak with any external person unlicensed and unaccompanied; he deals also with the frivolous garments, the sports on Innocents' Day and the quarrels which he had found; he forbids the reception of any more nuns without licence, orders the frequent rendering of accounts, warns them to live in common, and ends with an order to recite his letter at least once a month in the chapter. These injunctions seem strangely superficial in comparison with the _comperta_ which precede them; but a note entered in the Register, on the occasion of the next visitation of Villarceaux, would seem to suggest that the Archbishop had taken other steps to deal with the matter. It is there written: "Here are twenty nuns, but six of them were not present; for one of them left the house and married in the world and two are without the house, according to a previous mandate and ordinance of ours"[2094]. It is possible that the Archbishop had sent separate letters (not copied into his Register) dealing with the worst cases of immorality, and that he had sent two of the erring nuns to do penance in another house. At any rate there are no further complaints of immorality against Villarceaux, and perhaps prompt measures at the beginning of his career as visitor had stayed the nuns on their downward course.

It was on Rigaud's first visitation of Almenèches also that moral disorders were found. He went there in 1250 and found that the rule had been greatly relaxed. The nuns (who were among the most inveterate property owners recorded in the Register) used to run up debts in the town, doubtless with the money given to them for the purchase of their food. They did not live a communal life, they admitted seculars to talk with them in the cloister, they remained away from Matins and Compline, they had drinking parties after Compline, and they were always quarrelling. The result of this laxity showed in more serious faults. Sister Tiphaine was a drunkard (_ebriosa_); three other nuns, Hola, Aaliz the chantress and the late prioress had each had a child; and a fourth, Dionisia Dehatim, was ill-famed with a certain Master Nicholas de Bleve. In this case some of the disorder may have been due to the fact that the house was without an abbess, she having died shortly before[2095]. Here again it is impossible to tell what steps the Archbishop took to reform the house, but at his two subsequent visitations, although the nuns persisted in their refusal to live a communal life, there were no further notices of immorality.

One may hope that these were exceptional cases in the history of the houses concerned. But there was nothing exceptional about the bad behaviour of St Aubin and St Saëns and to a lesser degree of Bival. The Archbishop first visited the latter house in 1248 and found there "several nuns ill-famed of the vice of incontinence"; the abbess resigned, probably as a result of this discovery[2096]. No complaint of immorality was made at the next two visitations; then in 1254 the Archbishop noted that sister Isabella had had a child at Whitsuntide by a priest[2097]. At the next visitation (1256) he found that Florence had had a child recently and that the whole house had fallen into ill-repute because of this; Rigaud on this occasion ordered the removal of the convent priest, "on account of the scandal of the nuns and populace, though we found nothing that could be proved against him"[2098]. On the eight subsequent visitations there were no further charges of immorality.

St Aubin and St Saëns must be charged with persistent immorality, continuing over a long period of years. They seem indeed to have been little better than brothels. At St Aubin in 1254 Aeliz of Rouen was incontinent and had lately had a child by a priest[2099]. In 1256 she was in trouble again:

We unveiled Aeliz of Rouen and Eustachia of Etrepagny for a time, on account of their fornication. Item we sent Agnes of the Bridge (_de Ponte_) [the same whose quarrelsomeness had been reproved in 1254] to the lazar-house of Rouen, because she consented to Eustachia's sin and even procured it, as the rumour runs, _et quia dedit dicte Eustachie herbas bibere ut interficeretur puer conceptus in dicta Eustachia, secundum quod dicitur per famam_[2100]. We removed the Prioress from office. We postponed the infliction of a punishment upon Anastasia, the subprioress, for ill-fame of incontinence against her, until she should be made prioress there[2101].

Here at last we have definite information of the steps taken by Rigaud to deal with a bad case; two nuns were unveiled and sent to do penance among lepers and the prioress was deposed; but what a confession of weakness that Rigaud should propose to fill the place of the latter with a woman herself ill-famed of sin. The effect of his punishment upon the two nuns whom he had unveiled was, moreover, unfortunate, for they went from bad to worse. The next year Eustachia was in apostasy (_vagabunda_) and had been pregnant when she left the convent and the blame for it was set down to John, the chaplain of Fry. Aeliz of Rouen also was "in grave sin"[2102]. In 1261 the Archbishop came again. Aeliz had borne a child since his last visitation and she was said to have had three children in all; Beatrice of Beauvais had had a child at Blaacort and her lover was the Dean of St Quentin, of the Diocese of Beauvais. The Prioress informed Rigaud that these two had long been in serious fault and that they had undergone penance according to the rule[2103]. In 1263 Aeliz and Beatrice had run away ("led," Rigaud confided to his diary, "by the levity of their spirits and by the instigation of the devil") and he ordered them not to be readmitted without his special licence[2104]. The next year Beatrice was still wandering abroad and was said to have had several children[2105]. No more is heard of these erring sisters at the three subsequent visitations, but it is evident that the discipline of the house was still far from good, and the constant visits of a miller and of several other men (all clerics)[2106] had caused scandals in 1265 and again in 1267[2107]. In 1267 the Subprioress was punished for giving up her office at her own will[2108]; and in 1268 there is an ambiguous entry which leads one to suppose that Anastasia had never became prioress after all and that Eustachia (it may not be the same woman) was back again; on that occasion Anastasia "late subprioress" was punished because she gave up her office contrary to the will of the Prioress, while Eustachia and Margaret were punished because they would not undertake it, when commanded to do so[2109].

The case of St Saëns was hardly less serious; for the first six visitations there was no charge of immorality, though it is clear from the Archbishop's note in 1254 that the discipline of the house was lax and in particular that the nuns had leave of absence to stay away alone for as long as a fortnight at a time and that their priest was incontinent[2110]. In any case the visitation of 1259 showed a state of things so disgraceful, that it is difficult to believe that it could have arisen within the two years that had elapsed since the last visitation.

Some of them stayed away unduly long when they happened to go out with the licence of the Prioress. We ordered that such were to be given a shorter term by which to return. Johanna Martel was rebellious and disobedient and she wrangled with the Prioress and went out riding to see her relatives, wearing a mantle of burnet with sleeves; and she had a private messenger whom she used often to send to those relatives. Nicholaa had had a child in the same house on Maundy Thursday and its father was said to be Master Simon, the parson of St Saëns; the boy was baptized in the monastery and then sent to a certain sister of Nicholaa's. She lay in the monastery and underwent her churching with them; she was attended in childbed by two midwives from the village. Item another of the nuns had a child by the same Simon. The Prioress was held suspect with Richard of Maucomble; it was also said that she managed the goods and business of the house badly and that she concealed some of the rents and returns. The same Richard had lodged in the house together with the brother and parents of the Prioress and had often dined there[2111].

Five years later (in 1264) Petronilla of Dreux was ill-famed of incontinence with Ralph, the hayward (_messerius_) of the Priory, and also with a married man, and the Archbishop ordered the former to be removed from his office and not to be permitted to frequent the priory. The Prioress was ill-famed with a priest, and it was said that she often went to the manor of Esquequeville and elsewhere, where she entertained many guests and kept ill company (_ubi secum habebat multos convivas et inhonestam societatem ducebat_), for which Rigaud censured her and ordered her to improve. There was more scandal about Nicholaa (now called "of Rouen" and described as the chantress); it was apparently common talk in the village that she used to dine with her sister at Rouen, in the house of Master Simon, Rector of St Saëns, and rumour made a yet more serious charge against her[2112]. "But," says the Archbishop, "we could find nothing to prove concerning this in our visitation and the nuns said that the last charge was falsely and mendaciously imputed to her"[2113]. Nevertheless it is significant that Nicholaa's name should still, after five years, be connected with the Rector of St Saëns and with her complacent sister. In 1265 there was no mention of immorality, but the nuns were living together "in discord and disorder":

"Because indeed," wrote Rigaud, "we perceived them to be in a bad state, particularly as concerning certain observances of the rule, we sought eagerly how we might labour to reform them to a more honest and salutary condition, according to God and to their rule";

and he returned the next day to complete his measures for this reform[2114]. But in 1266-7 the cellaress Petronilla of Dreux was again very gravely ill-famed (_plurimum diffamata_) with Ralph, "a certain yeoman who served them in harvest time" and there can be no better proof that the Archbishop's injunctions often went unfulfilled, for he had ordered Ralph's expulsion in 1264[2115]. Nevertheless the rest of the house was in good order, so perhaps his eager labour had not been altogether in vain. In 1267, however, things were as bad as ever. The Prioress, Johanna of Morcent, was ill-famed with the same priest against whom she had been warned in 1264; Petronilla of Dreux was still "very gravely ill-famed with Ralph de Maintru, as she was before; and," says the Archbishop, with one of those personal touches which make his Register a real human document, "Agnes of Equetot and Johanna of Morainville we found to be liars and perjurers, when we demanded certain things of them on oath; wherefore we came away from the place, as it were impatient and sad ... (_Quasi impacientes et tristes_)"[2116]; it was indeed no wonder.

APPENDIX III

FIFTEENTH CENTURY SAXON VISITATIONS BY JOHANN BUSCH

Three accounts of medieval visitations stand out in general interest above all others, the thirteenth century Norman visitations of Eudes Rigaud, Archbishop of Rouen, described in his diary, the fifteenth century English visitations of Alnwick, Bishop of Lincoln, described in his Register[2117] and the almost contemporary German visitations of the Austin Canon and reformer Johann Busch, described in his _Liber de Reformatione Monasteriorum_. Busch's account is less formal and more literary than those of Rigaud and Alnwick; he sets out not to keep a journal, like the former, nor to record official documents, like the latter, but to look back in retrospect upon his work and to make for posterity a chronicle of the reforms connected with the congregation of Windesheim. For this reason, and because Busch was a remarkable man, his book will probably transcend the others in interest for the general reader; his account of the difficulties which he encountered is so vivid and at times so humourous, the sidelight thrown upon his own character shows him so admirable and yet so human.

Johann Busch was born in 1399 and in 1419 became a canon in the Austin monastery of Windesheim, a new foundation, famed for the strictness of its rule and already the head of a congregation of daughter houses. He has left an interesting account of the doubts and temptations which assailed him during his novitiate; they were the stormy dawn clouds of a day which was to become glorious in the annals of his order. During the next twenty years he held from time to time various posts in different houses of the reformed congregation; in 1431 he was attached to the nunnery of Bronopia, in 1436 he became Subprior of Wittenberg and in 1439 he went to Sülte, near Hildesheim, where he was made Prior in the following year. He had therefore had considerable experience of monastic houses and it was when he became Prior of Sülte that his great work as a reformer of monasteries began. He undertook it originally at the request of the Bishop and Chapter of Hildesheim, who were appalled at the decadence of monastic life in that diocese and anxious for the introduction of reforms on the model of Windesheim. His success in Hildesheim prompted Archbishop Günther of Magdeburg to invite him to carry the reforming movement into that diocese and in 1447 Busch became _praepositus_[2118] of the Neuwerk in Halle. This brought him to the notice of the Papal Legate Nicholas of Cues, who came to hold a provincial council in Magdeburg in 1451, and Nicholas, himself an ardent reformer, issued a general mandate empowering him to enter and reform the Austin monasteries of the provinces of Magdeburg, Mainz, Saxony and Thuringia. Unfortunately Busch now quarrelled with the Archbishop of Magdeburg and had to resign in 1454. He returned to Wittenberg and continued his campaign of reform, turning his attention specially to nunneries. Then, after a short sojourn at Windesheim he returned to Sülte in 1459, where he remained until his death in 1480. He left behind him two books, a _Chronicon Windeshemense_, and the _Liber de Reformatione Monasteriorum_, which between them give an invaluable account not only of the rise of Windesheim and of the reforming movement which emanated from it, but of the life and character of Busch himself[2119].