APPENDIX I

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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 20d. 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 13s. 4d. 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 26s. 8d., her pudding wife, 2s. 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, 20d. to the Abbess’ gentlewoman, 16d. 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 20d. 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 1½d.,” 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 20d. and 6d. 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), 1½d., from All Hallows’ Day to Advent, 1¾d., from Advent to Childermas Day (Dec. 28), 1¼d., from Childermas Day to Ash Wednesday, 1¾d., and from Easter to Michaelmas, 1½d.; also an extra allowance of ½d. 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 2¾d. 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 1¾d. and the fourth part of ¼d.” 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 ½ 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 2d.”; 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 ½d., 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. 139d.

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. 42d.

*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 11s. for board for 22 weeks, at 6d. per week. By 11s. received from John Kele of Cambridge for 22 weeks, viz. 6d. per week. By £1 received from William Water of ... his son for 40 weeks, viz. 6d. per week. By 13s. received from Thomas Roch ... his son for 26 weeks, viz. 6d. per week. By 15s. received from Manfeld for the board of his son for 30 weeks, viz. 6d. per week. By £1 received from ... of Cambridge for the board of his daughter for 40 weeks, viz. 6d. per week. By 8s. from ... of Chesterton for the board of his son for 16 weeks. viz. 6d. per week. From ... Parker of Walden for the board of his son for 12 weeks. By 3s. received from ... the merchant for the board of his daughter for 6 weeks, viz. 6d. 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 20s. 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 xxiti, 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 xxiti 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 2s. 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 6d. a week for children and 1s. 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. 34d.)

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. 397d.)

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. 75d, 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. 83-83d.)

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. 39d.)

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 xxxti and sometyme xlti 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 33s. 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.
vAdela 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].


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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