Martin Luther: A Study of Reformation (Google Books)

Eisleben, he exclaimed, “Living was I thy plague, and dying will I be thy death, O pope l’”

married twice, indeed, I believe. Roderic had been made vice-chancellor, with twelve thousand crowns a year, by his uncle, Pope Calixtus III., an audacious bit of Spanish nepotism, which earned for Roderic the everlasting grudge of the Italian first families. But he cared very little about their grudges, as little as he did about the scorching public reprimand addressed him by Pope Pius II. for his too public indulgence of his taste for female society in Siena. He was cardinal now, well up on the ladder of indefectibility. He had been very influential in getting Pius made pope; and Pius had proved his gratitude, even if decency did compel the reprimand. He was influential, too, in getting Sixtus IV. made pope; and, for this, he received the rich abbey of Subiaco. Meantime, he was busy buying up votes against his own time ; and, when Innocent VIII. died, in 1492, he had secured a sufficient number to create him pope. Five cardinals alone are recorded as incorruptible. The simoniacal character of the election is indisputable. Cardinal Sforza was made vice-chancellor of the Church; Cardinal Orsino was bought with Borgia’s palace in Rome; Cardinal Colonna with the abbey of Subiaco; the Cardinal of St. Angelo with the bishopric of Porto and a cellar full of wine; the Cardinal of Parma received the city of Nepi; a monk of Venice, who had obtained the cardinalate, sold his vote for five thousand ducats, and so on. These statements rest upon the manifestly candid record of Burcardus, Borgia’s master of ceremonies; and they have never been impèached. Surely, not a promising beginning for an indefectible papal career. Of the crimes alleged against the saint while in office, and against his children, Caesar and Lucretia, it is impossible to say anything here; and the matters are too notorious to need discussion. Of Caesar, —Cardinal Caesar, made cardinal at eighteen, who once despatched six bulls successively in the amphitheatre (for the old amenities of the empire were now restored at Rome), and once pursued his father’s favorite secretary to his arms, and there butchered him, of Caesar, Pope Borgia said, “The duke is really a good fellow : it is only a pity that he cannot endure to be offended.” It is not too much to say that the pontificate of Alexander “rivalled the worst periods of the Roman Empire in debauchery, venality, and murder.” The pope “made everything subordinate to the purpose of raising his bastard children above the heads of the oldest princely houses of Italy.” Spiritual offices and privileges of every kind were sold

with an unblushing effrontery which eclipsed the auctions of the Praetorian Guards, and the estates of mysteriously murdered cardinals were successively pounced upon by the emissaries of the Vatican. Yet the Church looked on and laughed. When Luther was at Rome, he heard priests and monks telling as good jokes the scandalous stories of the Borgias. Every one knows the story of Pope Borgia’s tragical end,- the story of the supper given to the ten cardinals in the villa, and the fatal exchange of the poisoned flask. The tale is probably a myth, but a myth almost always has very deep foundations. Pope Borgia died, duly provided with all the needful sacraments of the . Church ; and his swollen body, wrapped in an old carpet, was forced, with blows and jeers, amid the brawls of priests and soldiers, into a narrow coffin, and flung into an obscure vault. Then, the holy cardinals have another holy conclave, and the infallible Roman Church proceeds to crown itself anew. This Pope Borgia was the crown of the head of Holy Church all through Martin Luther’s youth. This man was “the undisputed bestower of kingdoms and the ultimate tribunal of appeal for Christian nations.” To this man, Spain and Portugal had to resort for the adjustment of their claims to the New World, discovered during his pontificate; and, “by tracing a line upon a map, he disposed of three-fourths of the human race.” Never did a pope exert his prerogative with greater grandeur than this monstrous sinner; yet no one knew so well as he what a sham the papacy had already become, and how weak it really was. “The pope,” said Luther, late in life, “is not God’s image, but his ape. … Oh, such histories ought diligently to be written, to the end posterity may know upon what grounds popedom was erected and founded : namely, upon grounds of lies and fables. If I were younger, I would write a chronicle of the popes.” Again, “I would fain the papist confutation might appear to the world; for I would set upon that old torn and tattered skin, and so baste it that the stitches thereof should fly about. But they shun the light.” This Pope Borgia, I have said, was the crown of the head. I do not propose to ask you to follow me down to the sole of the foot. Europe was overrun with clerical vermin, and groaned with the weight of convents. The churches were asylums for criminals, the monasteries the resort of dissolute youth. “In the cloister,” said Luther, “rule the seven deadly sins,— covetousness, lasciviousness, uncleanliness, hate, envy, idleness, and the loathing of the service of God.” Priests made use of their exemption from tolls to open taverns to sell beer, and defended themselves against assault with excommunication and interdict. Whole villages disappeared and districts became waste, through the incessant augmentation of ecclesiastical property. The inordinate number of holidays paralyzed industry. Ordination was granted in the most reckless manner, and the constitution of the clergy was an offence to public morals. A multitude of ceremonies and rules were attributed to the mere desire to make money. The situation of priests living in a state of concubinage and burthened with illegitimate children, often tormented in conscience, afraid that in performing the sacrifice of the mass they committed a deadly sin, excited mingled pity and contempt. Most of those who embraced the monastic profession had no other idea than that of leading a life of self-indulgence without labor. The people saw that the clergy took from every class and station only what was agreeable, and avoided what was laborious or painful. “If a man wishes to enjoy himself for once,” said an old proverb, “let him kill a fat fowl; if for a year, let him take a wife; but, if he would live joyously all the days of his life, let him turn priest.” This corruption is reflected in all the literature of the time, which was all satirical. The common characteristic of such works as the Eulenspiegel and Reineke Fuchs, full of things which a modern audience would hardly bear, is hostility to the Church of Rome. We find it keen and relentless in the satires of Ulrich von Hutten. “Three things are banished from Rome,” says Hutten, “simplicity, temperance, and piety; three things are desired at Rome, short masses, old gold, and a merry life; three things uphold Rome, the authority of the pope, the bones of the saints, and the pardon shop; three things they don’t like to hear of, -a general council, the reformation of the clergy, and that the Germans are getting wiser.” Again, he says, “You may live from plunder, commit murder and sacrilege, break the laws as you will ; your talk may be shameful, your actions criminal; you may revel in lust, and deny God in heaven, but, if you do but bring money to Rome, you are a most respectable person.” “

The Living Age, Volume 160 (Google Books)

From The Nineteenth Centurv. DAILY LIFE IN A MEDIEVAL MONASTERY.

It may be assumed as a fact which scarcely requires to be more than stated that there are few subjects which the great mass of Englishmen are so curiously ignorant of as the history of monasticism, of the constitution of the various orders, of the fortunes of any single religious house, or the discipline to which its members were, in theory at least, compelled to submit. The assumption being granted, it may naturally be asked, How is such ignorance to be accounted for? It is due to more causes than one, but chiefly and primarily to the vastness of the subject itself.

When the monasteries were suppressed by Henry VIII. there was an utter obliteration of an order of things which had existed in our island certainly for more than a thousand years, and how much longer it is impossible to say. The names of religious houses which are known to have existed before the Norman Conquest count by hundreds; the names of men and women who presided over such houses during the centuries preceding that event count by thousands. Some of these religious orders had passed through the strangest vicissitudes; they had been pillaged again and again; they had been burnt by Danish marauders; their inmates driven out into the wilderness or ruthlessly put to the sword; their lands given over to the spoiler or gone out of cultivation; their very existence in some cases almost forgotten; yet they had revived again and again from their ashes. When William the Conqueror came among us, and that awful rule of his began, there was scarcely a county in England and Wales in which one or more religious houses were not to be found, and during his reign of twenty-one years about thirty new monasteries of one sort or another were added to those already existing.

To begin with, the very word monastery is a misnomer: the word is a Greek word, and means the dwelling-place of a solitary person, living in seclusion. But, misnomer though it be, the employment of j a resting-place for their bones. When I

the word in a sense so widely different from that which it first bore, until it got to designate the dwelling-place of a corporate body, among whom no solitude was allowed and privacy was almost impossible, is of itself very significant as indicating the stages through which the original idea of monasticism passed.

It was natural enough, when society was in a condition of profound disorganization, and sensuality and violence were in the ascendant, that men and women of gentle nature should become convinced that the higher life could only be lived in lonely retirement, far from the sound of human voices and the contact of human creatures, whose very nearness almost implies sin. But what a vast step from this to that other conviction which the developed form of monasticism expresses, when experience has convinced the devout searcher after God that no great work can be done in improving the world, or raising the tone of society, or in battling with our own weaknesses and vices, except by earnest, resolute, and disciplined co-operation! It is when we draw together that we are strong, and strongest when we are laboring shoulder to shoulder for some common object, and that no mean and sordid one; it is then that we best find deliverance from our self-deception and most inveterate delusions, whilst living in the light of others’ eyes, and subjected to the influence and control of a healthy and well-instructed public opinion.

In the thirteenth century (and I shall as much as possible confine myself to the limits of that period), a monastery meant what we now understand it to mean —viz. the abode of a society of men or women who lived together in common — who were supposed to partake of common meals; to sleep together in the common dormitory; to attend certain services together in the common church; to transact certain business or pursue certain employments in the sight and hearing of each other in the common cloister; and, when the end came, to be laid side by side in the common graveyard, where in theory none but members of the order could find

say ” societies of men and women” I am again reminded that the other term, “convent,” has somehow got to be used commonly in a mistaken sense. People use the word as if it signified a religious house tenanted exclusively by women. The truth is that a convent is nothing more than a Latin name for an association of persons who have come together with a 1 view to live for a common object and to submit to certain rules in the conduct of their daily lives. The monastery was the common dwelling-place: the convent was the society of persons inhabiting it; and the ordinary formula used when a body of monks or nuns execute any corporate act — such as buying or selling land — by any legal instrument is, “The Prior and Convent of the Monastery of the Holy Trinity at Norwich;” “the Abbot and Convent of the Monastery of St. Peter’s, Westminster;” “the Abbess and Convent of the Monastery of St. Mary and St. Bernard at Lacock,” and so on.

Bearing in mind, then, that the term convent has to do with a corporation of men or women united into an organized society, and that the term monastery can strictly be applied only to the buildings — the domus — in which that society had its home, it will be well at starting that we should endeavor to gain some notion of the general plan of these buildings first, and when we have done that, that we should proceed to deal with the constitution of the society itself and the daily routine of conventual life.

A monastery in theory, then, was, as it was called, a religious house. It was supposed to be the home of people whose jives were passed in the worship of God, and in taking care of their own souls, and making themselves fit for a better world than this hereafter. As for this world, it was lying in wickedness; if men remained in this wicked world they would most certainly become contaminated by all its pollutions; the only chance of ever attaining to holiness lay in a man’s turning his back upon the world and running away from it. It was no part of a monk’s duty to reform the world; all he had to do was to look after himself, and to save himself from the wrath to come. It is

hardly overstating the case if I say that a monastery was not intended to be a benevolent institution; and if a great religious house became, as it almost inevitably did become, the centre of civilization and refinement, from which radiated light and warmth and incalculable blessings far and wide, these results flowed naturally from that growth and development which the original founders had never looked forward to or could have foreseen, but it was never contemplatsd as an end to be aimed at in the beginning. Being a home for religious men, whose main business was to spend their days and nights in worshipping God, the first requisite, the first and foremost, the sine qua nan was, that there should be a church.

On the church of a monastery, as a rule, no amount of money spent, no amount of lavish ornament or splendor of decoration, was grudged. Sculpture and painting, jewels and gold, gorgeous hangings, and stained glass that the moderns vainly attempt to imitate, the purple and fine linen of the priestly vestments, embroidery that to this hour remains unapproachable in its delicacy of finish and in the perfect harmony of colors — all these were to be found in almost incredible profusion in our monastic churches. You hear some people work themselves into a frenzy against the idolatrous worship of our forefathers; but to a monk of a great monastery his church was his one idol — to possess a church that should surpass all others in magnificence, and which could boast of some special unique glory — that seemed to a monk something worth living for. The holy rood at Bromholm, the holy thorn at Glastonbury, were possessions that brought world-wide renown to the monasteries in which they were found, and gave a lustre to the churches in which they were deposited; and the intense esprit de corps, the passionate loyalty, of a monk to his monastery is a sentiment which we in our time find it so extremely difficult to understand that we can hardly bring ourselves to believe that it could exist and did exist without some subtle intermixture of crafty selfishness as its ruling force and motive.

Tbe church of a monastery was the heart of the place. It was not that the church was built for the monastery, but the monastery existed for the church; there were hundreds and thousands of churches without monasteries, but there could be no monastery without a church. The monks were always at work on the church, always spending money upon it, always adding to it, always “restoring” it; it was always needing repair. We are in the habit of saying, ” Those old monks knew how to build; look at their work — see how it stands!” But we are very much mistaken if we suppose that in the twelfth or the thirteenth or the fourteenth century there was no bad building. On the contrary, nothing is more common in the monastic annals than the notices of how this and that tower fell down, and how this and that choir was falling into ruins, and how this or that abbot got into debt by his mania for building. There was an everlasting tinkering going on at the church; and the surest token that a monastery was in a bad way was if its church was in a shabby condition.

The church was, almost invariably, built in the form of a cross, facing east and west, the long limb of the cross being called the nave, the cross limbs being called the transepts, and the shorter limb, or head of the cross, being called the choir. The choir, as a rule, was occupied exclusively by the monks or nuns of the monastery. The servants, workpeople, and casual visitors who came to worship were not admitted into the choir; they were supposed to be present only on sufferance. The church was built for the use of the monks; it was their private place of worship.

Almost as essential to the idea of a monastery as the church was the cloister or great quadrangle, inclosed on all sides by the high walls of the monastic buildings. Its usual position was on the south of the church, to gain as much of the sun’s rays as possible, and to insure protection from the northerly and easterly winds in the bttter season. All round this quadrangle ran a covered arcade, whose roof, leaning against the high walls, was supported on the inner side by an open trellis work in stone — often exhibit

ing great beauty of design and workmanship— through which light and air was admitted into the arcade.* The open space not roofed in was called the garth, and was sometimes a plain grass-plat and sometimes was planted with shrubs, a fountain of running water being often found in the centre, which afforded a pleasant object for the eye to rest on. The cloister was really the living-place of the monks. Here they pursued their daily avocations, here they taught their school, they transacted their business, they spent their time and pursued their studies, always in society, co-operating and consulting, and, as a rule, knowing no privacy. “But a monk always lived in a cell!” I think you will be inclined to object. The sooner you get rid of that delusion the better. Until Henry II. founded the Carthusian Abbey of Witham, in 1178, there was no such thing known in England as a monk’s cell, as we understand the term. It was a peculiarity of the Carthusian order, and when it was first introduced it was regarded as a startling novelty for any privacy or anything approaching solitude to be tolerated in a monastery. The Carthusian system never found much favor in England. The Carthusians never had more than nine houses, all told; the discipline was too rigid, the rule too severe, the loneliness too dreadful for our tastes and for our climate. In the thirteenth century, if I mistake not, there were only two monasteries in England in which monks or nuns could boast of having any privacy, any little corner of their own to turn into, any place where they could enjoy the luxury of retirement, any private study such as every boy nowadays, in a school of any pretension, expects to have provided for himself, and without which we assume that nobody could read and write for an hour.

• In other words the thirteenth-century monk passed far the greater portion of his time in the open air, except that there was a roof over his head. As time went on, and monks became more self-indulgent, they Jid not by any means like the draughts and exposure in the cloister, and the old-fashioned open arcades were glazed, and the old open walks were turned into «.plendid lounges, comfortable and luxurious, such as the glorious cloisters of Gloucester could be made into, at a small outlay, at the present day.

The cloister arcade was said to have four walks. The south walk ran along the south wall of the nave, the north walk was bounded by the refectory or great dining hall, the east walk extended along the south transept, and where the transept ended there usually came a narrow passage called a slype, passing between the end of the transept and the chapterhouse, which may be described as the council-chamber of the convent. Beyond the chapter-house, and abutting partly upon the east wall of the cloister, but extending far beyond it till, in some cases, it made with the refectory a block of buildings in the form of a T, ran the dormitory or common sleeping-place for the fraternity. The dormitory was always approached by steps, for it was invariably constructed over a range of vaulted chambers, which served for various purposes; one of these chambers was set apart for the reception of those monks who had been subjected to the monthly bleedings which all were supposed to require, and which all were compelled to submit to, that so by a mechanical process, if in no other way, the flesh might be subdued. The beds of the monks were arranged along the walls of the dormitory, at regular intervals: and in some monasteries a wainscot partition separated the sleepers from each other, thus making for each a little cubicle, with a low door leading into it. The broad passage, running from end to end, between the sleeping-places in the dormitory was strewn with rushes ; and at the end opposite to the flight of stairs were the latrines or washing-places, which were open to the air, and under which was always a sewer that could be flushed by a watercourse hard by.

In the dormitory and the latrines lights were kept burning through the night; a provision necessary, if for no other reason, because the services in the church at night-time had to be kept up and attended bv the whole house. In going from the dormitory to the church the monks always passed undercover — sometimes by going through the cloister, sometimes by passing straight into the transept.

We have been round three sides of the cloister: on the north the church; on the east the chapter-house and dormitory; on the south the refectory. There remain the buildings abutting on the west wall. In the arrangement of these no strict rule was observed. But generally the western buildings were dedicated to the cellarer’s hall with cellars under it, the pitanciar’s and kitchener’s offices, or chequers as they

were called, and a guest-chamber for the reception of distinguished strangers and for the duties of hospitality, to which great importance was attached.

These were the main buildings, the essential buildings of a monastery great or small. Where a monastery was rich enough to indulge in luxuries of ” modern improvements and all the best appliances,” there was hardly any limit to the architectural freaks that might be indulged in. There were the infirmary and the hospital; the calefactory or warming apparatus, the recreation hall and the winter hall, the locutorium and the common hall, and I know not what besides. You observe I have as yet said nothing about the library. I must remind you that in the thirteenth century the number of books in the world was, to say the least, small. A library of five hundred volumes would, in those days, have been considered an important collection, and, after making all due allowances for ridiculous exaggerations which have been made by ill-informed writers on the subject, it may safely be said that nobody in the thirteenth century — at any rate in England — would have erected a large and lofty building as a receptacle for books, simply because nobody could have contemplated the possibility of filling it. Here and there amongst the larger and more important monasteries there were undoubtedly collections of books, the custody of which was intrusted to an accredited officer; but the time had not yet come for making libraries well stored with such priceless treasures as Leland, the antiquary, saw at Glastonbury, just before that magnificent foundation was given as a prey to the spoilers. A library, in any such sense as we now understand the term, was not only no essential part of a monastery in those days, but it may almost be said to have been a rarity.

But if the thirteenth-century monastery possessed necessarily no great readingroom, the scriptorium, or writing-room, was almost an essential adjunct. In the absence of the printing-press, the demand for skilled writers and copyists throughout the country was enormous. In the scriptorium all the business, now transacted by half-a-dozen agents and their clerks, was carried on. The land of the country in those days was subdivided to an extent that it is now almost impossible for us to realize, and the tenure under which the small patches of arable or meadow land were held was sometimes very complex and intricate. The small patches were perpetually changing hands, being
bought or sold, settled upon trustees, or let out for a term of years, and every transaction would be registered in the books of the monastery interested, while the number of conveyances, leases, and enfeofments made out in the course of the year was incalculable. In such an abbey as that of Bury St. Edmunds a small army of writers must have been constantly employed in the business department of the scriptorium alone. Obviously it became a great writing-school, where the copyists consciously or unconsciously wrote according to the prevailing fashion of the place ; and there have been, and there are experts who could tell you whether this or that document was or was not written in this or that monastic scriptorium. Paper was very little used, and the vellum and parchment required constituted a heavy item of expense. Add to this the production of school-books and all materials used for carrying on the education work, the constant replacement of church service books which the perpetual thumbing and fingering would subject to immense wear and tear, the great demand lor music which, however simple, required to be written out large and conspicuous, in order to be read with ease, and you get a rather serious list of the charges upon the stationery department of a great abbey. But though by far the greater portion of work done in the scriptorium was mere office work, the educational department, if 1 may so term it, being subsidiary, it must not be forgotten that the literary and historical department also was represented in the scriptorium of every great monastery. In the thirteenth century men never kept diaries or journals of their own daily lives, but monasteries did. In theory, every religious house recorded its own annals, or kept a chronicle of great events that were happening in Church and State. Where a monastery had kept its chronicle going for a long time, it got to be regarded almost as a sacred book, and was treated with great veneration: it lay in a conspicuous place in the scriptorium, and was under the care of an officer who alone was permitted to make entries in it. When any great piece of news was brought to the monastery that seemed worth putting on record, the person giving the information wrote out his version of the story on a loose piece of parchment, and slipped his communication into the book of annals for the authorized compiler to make use of in any way that seemed best to him, after due examination of evidence. This was the

rule in all monastic houses. Unfortunately, however, as it is with the journals or diaries of men and women of the nineteenth century, so it was with the journals and diaries of monks of the thirteenth, they evidently were kept by fits and starts; and before the fourteenth century was half out, the practice of keeping up these diaries in all but the larger monasteries had come to an end.

Before passing on from the library and scriptorium, on which a great deal more might easily be said, it is necessary that one caution should be given; I know not how the notion originated or how it has taken such hold of the minds of ninetynine out of a hundred, that the monks as a class were students or scholars or men of learning; but, as far as the English monasteries of the thirteenth century are concerned, I am sure that it is altogether erroneous. If we except some few of the larger and nobler monasteries, which from first to last seem always to have been centres of culture, enlightenment, and progress, the monks were no more learned than the nuns. As a class, students, scholars, and teachers they were not. When King John died, in 1216, a little learning went a long way, and whatever the Norman Conquest did for England (and it did a great deal), it certainly was not an event calculated to increase the love of study, or likely to make men bookish pundits.

I should only confuse my readers if I dwelt more at length upon the buildings of a monastery. It is enough for the present that we should understand clearly that the essential buildings were (1) the church, (2) <he cloister, (3) the dormitory, (4) the refectory, (5) the chapter-house. In these five buildings the life of the convent was carried on. Having said thus much we will pass on to the corporation itself — that which strictly was called the convent; and for convenience and distinctness it will be as well if we use that word convent in the more accurate sense, and employ it only as signifying the corporate body of persons occupying those buildings of which I have been speaking, and which in their aggregate were called a monastery.

Once more I think it necessary to start with a caution. Not only do 1 propose to take no account here of that large class of conventuals which comprehended the mendicant orders, or friars as they are called, but 1 must needs pass by with little or no notice the various orders of regular canons — i.e. canons living under a rule. The friars came into England first in 1220. During the thirteenth century they were, so to speak, upon their trial; but from the first the monks and the friars were almost essentially opposed in the ideal of their daily lives ; the monk’s ideal was that he must live to save his own soul: the friar’s ideal was that he must live to save the soul of others. So with the very numerous houses of canons regular up and down the land. They and the monks did not love one another, and when I speak of monks and their houses it will be advisable to exclude from our consideration the friars on the one hand and the canons on the other, and, in fact, to limit ourselves to that view of conventual life which the great English monasteries under the rule of St. Benedict afford.

At the time of the Norman Conquest it may be said that all English monks were professedly under one and the same rule — the famous Benedictine rule. The rule of a monastery was the constitution or code of laws, which regulated the discipline of the house, and the rule of St. Benedict dates back as far as the sixth century, though it was not introduced into England for more than a hundred years after it had been adopted elsewhere. Four hundred years is a very long time for any constitution or code of law to last unchanged, and though the English monasteries professedly were living according to the Benedictine rule during all the Saxon and the Danish times, yet there is too much reason to believe that if St. Benedict could have risen from the dead in the days of Edward the Confessor and made a visitation of many an English house, he would have been rather astonished to be told that the monks were living according to his rule.

About one hundred and fifty years before the Conquest, a great reformation had been attempted of the French monasteries, which it was said had fallen into a state of great decay so far as discipline and fervor were concerned, and a revision of the old rule had been found necessary, the reformers breaking away from the old Benedictines and subjecting themselves to a new and improved rule. These first reformers were called Cluniac monks, from the great Abbey of Clugni, in Burgundy, in which the new order of things had begun. The first English house of reformed or Cluniac monks was founded at Lewes, in Sussex, eleven years after the Conquest, by Gundrada, a step-daughter of William the Conqueror, and her

husband, William, Earl of Warrene and Surrey. The Cluniacs were at first famous for the simplicity of their lives and the strictness of their discipline, but as time went on they became too rich and so too luxurious, and at last they too needed reforming, and a new reformer arose. In this case the real moving spirit of reformation was an Englishman, one Stephen Harding, probably a Dorsetshire man, who was brought up at the Benedictine monastery of Sherborne, but in the course of events chosen abbot of the Monastery of Citeaux, where St. Bernard became his ardent disciple, and where the two enthusiasts, working cordially together, brought about that second reform of the Benedictines which resulted in the founding of the great Cistercian order.

Thus, without looking too minutely into the matter, we find that when the thirteenth century opens, or, if you will, when Henry III. came to the throne, in 1216, there were three great orders of monks in England — the old Benedictines, who had held houses and lands for centuries; the Cluniacs, who were the reformed Benedictines; and the Cistercians, who may be styled the reformed Cluniacs. But inasmuch as the architectural and other reforms among the Cistercians were many and peculiar, it will again be advisable to pass by these peculiarities for the present without remark.

The constitution of every convent, great or small, was monarchical. The head of the house was almost an absolute sovereign, and was called the abbot. His dominions often extended, even in England, over a very wide tract of country, and sometimes over several minor monasteries which were called cells. Thus the abbot of St. Alban’s had under himself the cell of Tynemouth in Northumberland and two others in Norfolk — viz., Binham and Wymondham, the latter of which eventually became an independent abbey — and the heads of these cells or subject houses were called priors. An abbey was. a monastery which was independent. A priory was a monastery which in theory or in fact was subject to an abbey. All the Cluniac monasteries in England were thus said to be alien priories, because they were mere cells of the great Abbey of Clugni in France, to which each priory paid heavy tribute; while the priors were almost always foreigners, and always appointed by the abbot of Clugni, and responsible to him much in the same way as a pacha is to his suzerain the sultan. On the other hand, the Cistercian houses were all abbeys, and their abbots sovereigns in alliance or confederation with one another, and exercising over their several convents supreme jurisdiction, though recognizing the abbot of Citeaux as their over-lord. The abbot not only had a separate residence within the monastery and lived apart from his monks, but he had his separate estate for the maintenance of his dignity, and to bear the very heavy expenses which that dignity necessitated, and he had the patronage of every office in the convent. The officers were numerous. The first of them was the prior, who was the abbot’s prime minister and head of the executive and the abbot’s representative in his absence. Under him was the sub-prior, sometimes a third prior, and then a number of functionaries, to whom, as in the case of the abbot, separate estates were assigned out of which they were bound to provide for certain charges which they were called upon to meet as best they could, and a complicated system of finance provided for the surplus of one office being applied when necessary for the deficiency of another.

In the great Abbey of Evesham a very elaborate constitution was drawn up and agreed to in the year 1214, after a long dispute between the abbot and convent which had lasted for several years, and this scheme has come down to us.

From it we find that certain officers (obedientiaries was their technical name) were charged with providing certain articles out of the revenue of the office. The prior, to whom no mean share of the revenues was assigned, had to provide the Earchment that might be required for usiness purposes or for legal instruments and all other materials for the scriptorium, except ink. The manciple was to provide all wine and mead, the keeping up the stock of earthenware cups, jugs, basins, and other vessels, together with the lamps and oil. The precentor had to find all the ink used, and all color required for illumination, the materials for book-binding, and the keeping the organ in repair. To the chamberlain were assigned certain revenues for providing all the clothing of the monks, it being stipulated that the abbot’s dress was not to be paid for out of the fund. In the same way certain small tithes were apportioned for buying basins, jugs, and towels for the guests’ chamber; while all rents levied from the various tenants paid not in money, but in kind — as, e.g., capons, eggs, salmon, eels,

herrings, etc. — were to be passed to the account of the kitchener. Every monk bearing office was bound to present his accounts for audit at regular intervals, and the rolls on which these accounts were inscribed exist in very large numbers, and may still be consulted by those who are able to read them.

It looks as if it were the policy of the Benedictines to give as many monks as possible some special duty and responsibility— to give each, in fact, a personal interest in the prosperity of the house to which he belonged — and the vacancies occurring from time to time in the various offices gave everybody something to look forward to. There was room for ambition, and, I am bound to add, room for a good deal of petty scheming, on the one hand, and truckling to the abbot, on the other; but it all went towards relieving the monotony of the life in the cloister — a monotony which has been very much overstated by those who have never studied the subject. To begin with, it does not follow that what would be very dull to us would be dull and insipid to the men of the thirteenth century. Before a man offered himself for admission to a monastery, he must have had a taste for a quiet life, and in many instances he had grown tired of the bustle, the struggle, and all the anxious wear of the work-day world. He wanted to be rid of bothers, in fact; he was pretty sure to have had a fair education, and he was presumably a religious man, with a taste for religious exercises; sometimes, and not unfrequently, he was a disappointed man, who had been left wifeless and childless ; sometimes, too, he was one whose career had been cut short suddenly by some accident which incapacitated him for active exertion and made him long only for repose and obscurity. Moreover, in those distant times the instinct of devotion was incomparably stronger than it is now, and people found a real and intense delight in the services of the sanctuary, to say nothing of their entire belief in the spiritual advantages to be derived from taking part in those services. Add to this that a monk had to pass through rather a long training before he was regularly admitted to full membership. He had to submit to a term of probation, during which he was subject to a somewhat rigorous ordeal. A novice had the pride taken out of him in a very effectual way during his novitiate — he was pretty much in the position of afag at a great school nowadays, and by the time that he had passed through his novitiate he was usually very well broken in, and in harmony with the spirit of the place in which he found himself. It was something to have a higher place assigned him at last in the church and the dormitory, to have some petty office given him, and to have a chance of being promoted byandby. There was Brother So-and-So, who was getting infirm, and he could not do the pitanciar’s work much longer; the precentor was getting as hoarse as a raven, and the sacrist was gouty, or the cellarer was showing signs of breaking up. Nay, the prior’s cough gave unmistakable signs of his lungs being wrong, and if he were to drop off, which we should of course all of us deplore — there would be a general move up, it might be; unless, indeed. Father Abbot should promote his chaplain over the heads of all of us — for such things have been!

But, when we come to look a little closer, we find that the monotony of monastic life was almost confined to the frequent services in the church. There were six services every day, of one kind or another, at which the whole convent was supposed to be present, and one service at midnight. The lay brethren among the Cistercians, and the servants engaged in field labor, were excused attendance at the nocturnal service, and those officials of the convent whose business required them to be absent from the precincts were also excused. Indeed, it would have been simply impossible for the whole brotherhood to assemble at all these services; there would have been a dead-lock in twenty-four hours if the attempt had ever been made in any of the large monasteries, where the inmates sometimes counted by hundreds, who all expected their meals punctually, and for whom even the simplest cookery necessitated that fires should be kept up, the porridge boiled, the beer drawn, and the bread baked. Hence, they whose hands were full and their engagements many really had no time to put in an appearance at church seven times in twenty-four hours. While, on the other hand, the monk out of office, with nothing particular to do, was all the better for having his time broken up; going to church kept him out of mischief, and singing of psalms saved him from idle talk, and if it did him no good certainly did him very little harm.

The ordinary life of the monastery began at six o’clock in the morning, and when the small beil, called the skilla, rang, all rose, washed themselves at the latrines, put on their day habit, and then presented

themselves at the matin mass. Miriam, or breakfast, followed, and that over, the convent assembled in chapter for consultation. After chapter the officials dispersed: the kitchener to arrange for the meals, and not unfrequentlv to provide hospitality for distinguished guests and their retinue; the precentor to drill his choir-boys, to tune the organ, to look after the music, or to arrange for some procession in the church, or some extraordinary function : the infirmarer to take his rounds in the hospital ; the cellarer to inspect the brewhouse and bakeries; and each or all of these officers might find it necessary to go far afield in looking after some bailiff or tenant who could not safely be left alone. At Evesham the sacristan, the chamberlain, and the infirmarer were allowed forage and the keep of one horse. Meanwhile in the cloister all was stir and movement without noise. In the west alley the schoolmaster was teaching his little pupils the rudiments of Latin, or it might be the elements of singing; in the south alley, where the light was best, a monk with a taste for art was trying his hand at illuminating a MS. or rubricating the initial letters ; while on the other side, in the north alley, some were painfully getting by heart the psalms, or practising meditation—alone in a crowd. Within the retirement of that cloister, fenced all round, as I have said, with the high walls and the great buildings, there the monks were working, there the real conventual life was going on ; but outside the cloister, though yet within the precincts, it is difficult for us now to realize what a vast hive of industry a great monastery in some of the lonely and thinly populated parts of England was. Everything that was eaten or drunk or worn, almost everything that was made or used in a monastery, was produced upon the spot. The grain grew on their own land; the corn was ground in their own mill; their clothes were made from the wool of their own sheep; they had their own tailors and shoemakers, and carpenters and blacksmiths, almost within call; they kept their own bees; they grew their own garden stuff and their own fruit; I suspect they knew more of fish-culture than, until very lately, we moderns could boast of knowing; nay, they had their own vineyards and made their own wine. The commissariat of a large abbey must have required administrative ability of a very high order, and the cost of hospitality was enormous. No traveller, whatever his degree, was refused food and shelter, and every monastery was a vast hotel, where nobody need pay more than he chose for his board and lodging. The mere keeping the accounts must have employed no small number of clerks, for the minuteness with which every transaction was recorded almost passes belief. Those rolls I spoke of, the sacrist’s, cellarer’s, and so on, were, it must be remembered, periodical balance-sheets handed in at audit day. They deal, not only with pence and halfpence, but with farthings and half-farthings, and were compiled from the tablets or small account-books posted up from day to day and hour to hour. They give the price of every nail hammered into a wall, and rarely omit the cost of the parchment on which the roll itself is written. The men must have been very busy, or, if you prefer it, very fussy — certainly they could not have been idle to have kept their accounts in this painfully minute manner, even to the fraction of a farthing.

In the natural course of events, as a monastery grew in wealth and importance, there was one element of interest which added great zest to the conventual life, in the quarrels that were sure to arise.

First and foremost, the most desirable person to quarrel with was a bishop. In its original idea, a monastery was not necessarily an ecclesiastical institution. It was not necessary that an abbot should be an ecclesiastic, and not essentially necessary that any one of his monks should be in holy orders. Long before the thirteenth century, however, a monk was almost invariably ordained, and being an ordained person, and having his local habitation in a bishop’s diocese, it was only natural that the bishop should claim jurisdiction over him and over the church in which he and the fraternity ministered j but to allow a power of visitation to any one outside the close corporation of the convent was fraught with infinite peril to the community. Confessing their faults one to another, and asking pardon of the lord abbot or his representative, the prior, was one thing; but to have a querulous or inquisitive or even hostile bishop coming and intruding into their secrets, blurting them out to the world and actually pronouncing sentence upon them — that seemed to the monks an absolutely intolerable and shocking condition of affairs. Hence it seemed supremely desirable to a convent to get for itself, by fair means or foul — and I am afraid the means were not always fair means, as we should consider them — the exemption of

their house from episcopal visitation or control. I believe that the earliest instance of such an exemption being granted in England was that of the Conqueror’s Abbey of Battle. The precedent was a bad one, and led to all sorts of attempts by other houses to procure for themselves the like privilege. Such attempts were stoutly resisted by the bishops, who foresaw the evils that would inevitably follow, and which, in fact, did follow; and, of course, bishop and abbey went to law. Going to law in this case meant usually, first, a certain amount of preliminary litigation before the Archbishop of Canterbury; but sooner or later it was sure to end in an appeal to the pope’s court, or, as the phrase was, an appeal to Rome.

Without wishing for a moment to defend or excuse a state of things which was always vexatious, and at last became intolerable, it is impossible to deny that a great deal of nonsense has been talked and written about these appeals. Almost exactly the same state of things exists in the present day both in civil and ecclesiastical matters. Parsee merchants fall to loggerheads in Bombay or Calcutta, and bring their disputes before the courts in India; one side feels aggrieved by the sentence, and straightway he removes the case to a court of appeal in London. Or some heretical person in Asia or Africa or somewhere else gets into hot water with an orthodox society for the promotion of religious persecution, and sooner or later the archbishop is appealed to, and the ecclesiastical lawyers have a most delightful time of it. It all costs a great deal of money nowadays, and leading advocates on this side or that are actually so extortionate that they will not do anything for nothing, and insist on receiving the most exorbitant fees. So it was in the old days. The final court of appeal in all matters ecclesiastical was before the pope at Rome or Avignon, and the proctors and doctors, and all the canonists and officials, actually required to be paid for their work.

When a monastery was in for a great fight with a bishop, it was a serious matter for both parties. But it was much more serious for the bishop than for the convent. The bishop had always his state to keep up and his many houses to maintain, and his establishment was enormously costly. His margin for law expenses was small; and I suspect that a bishop in England during the thirteenth century who had no private fortune outside of his mere episcopal revenues would
have been likely sooner or later to find himself in serious difficulties. On the other hand, in a great monastery all sorts of expedients could be resorted to in order to effect a salutary retrenchment — as when the monks of St. Albans agreed to give up the use of wine for fifteen years, and actually did so, that they might be able to rebuild their refectory and dormitory in the days of John the twenty-first abbot. Moreover, inasmuch as a corporation never dies, the convent could raise very heavy sums on the security of its estates, and take its own time to repay the loans. A bishop could not pledge his episcopal estates beyond his own lifetime, and the result was that, in the days when life assurance was unknown, a bishop who had to raise money for a costly lawsuit would have to pay a rate of interest which would make our blood run cold if we had to pay it, or our hearts leap for joy if we could get it in these days of two and three per cent. The bishop was always at a disadvantage in these appeal cases; he stood to lose everything, and he stood to win nothing at all except the satisfaction of his conscience that he was struggling for principle and right. And thus it came to pass that the monks enjoyed this kind of warfare, and rarely shrank from engaging in it. Indeed, an appeal to Rome meant sending a deputation from the convent to watch the case as.it was going on, and there was all the delight of a foreign tour and a sight of the world — a trip, in fact, to the Continent at the expense of the establishment. But when there was no appeal case going on — and they were too expensive an amusement to be indulged in often — there was always a good deal of exciting litigation to keep up the interest of the convent, and to give them something to think about and gossip about nearer home. We have the best authority — the authority of the great pope Innocent III. — for believing that Englishmen in the thirteenth century were extremely fond of beer; but there was something else that they were even fonder of, and that was law. Monastic history is almost made up of the stories of this everlasting litigation; nothing was too trifling to be made into an occasion for a lawsuit. Some neighboring landowner had committed a trespass or withheld a tithe pig. Some audacious townsman had claimed the right of catching eels in a pond. Some brawling knight pretended he was in some sense patron of a cell, and demanded a trumpery allowance of bread and ale, or an equivalent. As we

read about these things we exclaim, “Why in the world did they make such a fuss about a trifle?” Not so thought the monks. They knew well enough what the thin end of the wedge meant, and, being in a far better position than we are to judge of the significance and importance of many a casus belli which now seems but trivial, they never dreamed of giving an inch for the other side to take an ell. So they went to law, and enjoyed it amazingly! Sometimes, however, there were disputes which were not to be settled peaceably; and then came what university men in the old days used to know as a ” town and gown row.”

Let it be remembered that a Benedictine monastery, in the early times, was invariably set down in a lonely wilderness. As time went on, and the monks brought the swamp into cultivation, and wealth flowed in, and the monastery became a centre of culture, there would be sure to gather round the walls a number of hangers-on, who gradually grew into a community, the tendency of which was to assert itself, and to become less and less dependent upon the abbey for support. These towns (for they became such; were, as a rule, built on the abbey land, and paid dues to the monastery. Of course, on the one side, there was an inclination to raise the dues; on the other, a desire to repudiate them altogether. Hence bad blood was sure to arise between the monks and the townsmen, and sooner or later serious conflicts between the servants of the monasteries and the people outside. Thus in 1223 there was a serious collision between the Londoners and the Westminster monks, the mob rushed into the monastery, and the abbot escaped their violence with difficulty by slipping out at a back door and getting into a boat on the Thames. On another occasion there was a very serious fray between the citizens of Norwich and the priory there, in 1272, when the prior slew one man with his own hands, and many lives were lost. At a later time there was a similar disturbance at Bury St. Edmunds, and in the year 1314 the great abbey of St. Albans was kept in a state of siege for more than ten days by the townsmen, who were driven to frenzy by not being allowed to grind their own corn in their own handmills, but compelled to get it ground by the abbey millers, and, of course, pay the fee.

Thirty years later, again, that man of sin, Sir Philip de Lymbury, lifttd up his heel’against the Abbey of St. Alban’s, and actually laid hands upon brother John Moote, the cellarer; and on Monday, being market day at Luton in Beds, did actually clap the said cellarer in the pillory, and kept him there, exposed to the jeers and contempt of the rude populace, who, we may be sure, were in ecstasies at this precursor of Mr. Pickwick in the pound. But the holy martyr St. Alban was not likely to let such an outrage pass; and when the rollicking knight came to the abbey to make it up, and was for presenting a peace-offering at the shrine, lo, the knightly nose began to bleed profusely, and, to the consternation of the beholders, the offering could not be made, and Sir Philip had to retire, holding his nose, and shortly after he died — and, adds the chronicler, was speedily forgotten, he and his.

Such milling of the peace and quiet of conventual life was, there is reason to believe, not uncommon. But inside the cloister itself there was not always a holy calm. When the abbot died there came all the canvassing and excitement of a contested election, and sometimes a convent might be turned for years into a house divided against itself, the two parties among the monks fighting like cat and dog. Nor did it at all follow because the convent had elected their abbot or prior unanimously that therefore the election was allowed by the king, to whom the elect was presented.* King John kept monasteries without any abbot for years, sequestrating the estates in the mean time, and leaving the monks to make the best of it. Sometimes an abbot was forced upon a monastery in spite of the convent, as in the case of Abbot Roger Norreys at Evesham, in 1191 — a man whom the monks not only detested because of his gross mismanagement, but whom they denounced as actually immoral. Sometimes, too, the misconduct of a prior was so abominable that it could not be borne, and then came the very difficult and very delicate business of getting him deposed: a process which was by no means easily managed, as appeared in the instance of Simon Pumice, prior of Worcester, in 1319, and in many another case.

Such hopes and fears and provocations as these all contributed to relieve the monotony which it has been too readily assumed was the characteristic of the cloister life. The monks had a world of their

* See a notable instance in Carlyle’a Past and Present .

own within the precincts, but they were not so shut in but that their relations with the greater world outside were very real. Moreover, that confinement to the monastery itself, which was necessarily very greatly relaxed in the case of the officers or obedientiaries, as they were called, was almost as easily relaxed if one of the brethren could manage to get the right side of the abbot or prior. When Archbishop Peckham was holding his visitations in 1282 he more than once remarks with asperity upon a monk farming a manor of his convent, and declares that the practice must stop. The outlying manors must have somebody to look after them, it was assumed, and if one of the brethren was willing to undertake the management for the convent, why should he not? Nor, again, must we suppose that the monks were debarred all amusements. On August 29, 1283, there was a great wrestling-match at Hockliffe, in Beds, and a huge concourse of people of all sorts were there to see the fun. The roughs and the “fancy” were present in great force, and somehow it came to pass that a free fight ensued. I am sorry to say that the canons of Dunstable were largely represented upon the occasion. We are left to infer that the representatives were chiefly the servants of the canons, but I am afraid that some at least of their masters were there too. In the fight one Simon Mustard, who appears to have been something like a professional prize-fighter, “a bully exceeding fierce,” says the annalist, got killed; but thereon ensued much inquiry and much litigation, and Dunstable and its ” religious ” had to suffer vexations not a few. In fairness it should be remembered that these Dunstable people were not monks but canons — regular or irregular — and those canons, we all know, would do anything. We protest against being confounded with canons!

The amusements of monks were more innocent. The garden was always a great place of resort, and gardening a favorite pastime. We may be sure there was much lamentation and grumbling at St. Alban’s when Abbot John de Maryns forbade any monk, who from infirmity could only be carried on a litter, from entering the garden at all. Poor old fellows! had their bearers been disorderly and trodden upon the flower-beds? Bowls was the favorite and a very common diversion among them; but in the opinion of Archbishop Peckham, as appears by his letters, there were other diversions of a far more reprehensible character. Actually at the small priory of Coxford, in Norfolk, the prior and his canons were wholly given over to chess-playing. It was dreadful! In other monasteries the monks actually hunted ; not only the abbots, but the common domestic monks! Nay, such things were to be found as monks keeping dogs, or even birds, in the cloister. Peckham denounces these breaches of decorum as grave offences, which were not to be passed over and not to be allowed. What! a black monk stalking along with a bullpup at his heels, and a jackdaw, worse than the jackdaw of Rheims, using bad words in the garth, and showing an evil example to the chorister boys, with his head on one side!

But, after all, it must be confessed that the greatest of all delights to the thirteenth-century monks was eating and drinking. “Sir, I like my dinner!” said Dr. Johnson, and I don’t think any one thought the worse of him for his honest outspokenness. The dinner in a great abbey was clearly a very important event in the day — I will not say it was the important event, but it was a iiery important one. It must strike anyone who knows much of the literature of this age that the weak point in the monastic life of the thirteenth century was the gormandizing. It was exactly as, I am told, it is on board ship on a long voyage, where people have little or nothing to do, they are always looking forward to the next meal, and the sound of the dinner-bell is the most exciting sound that greets the ear in the twenty-four hours. And so with the monks in a great monastery which had grown rich, and in point of fact had more money than it knew what to do with: the dinner was the event of the day. It is not that we hear much of drunkenness, for we really hear very little of it, and where it is spoken of it is always with reprobation. Nor is it that we hear of anything like the loathsome and disgusting gluttony of the Romans of the empire, but eating and drinking, and especially eating, are always cropping up; one is perpetually being reminded of them in one way or another, and it is significant that when the Cistercian revival began, one of the chief reforms aimed at was the rigorous simplification of the meals and the curtailing the luxury of the refectory. But the monks were not the only people in those times who had a high appreciation of good cheer. When a man of high degree took up his quarters in a monastery he by no means wished to be put off with salt-fish

and-toast-and-water cheer. Richard de Marisco, one of King John’s profligate councillors, who was eventually foisted into the see of Durham, gave the Abbey of St. Alban’s the tithes of Eglingham, in Northumberland, to help them to make their ale better — “taking compassion upon the weakness of the convent’s drink,” as the chronicler tells us. The small beer of St. Alban’s, it seems, was not as much improved as was to be desired, notwithstanding this appropriation of Church property, for twice after this the abbey had the same delicate hint given to it that its brewing was not up to the mark, when the rectory of Norton, in Hertfordshire, and two-thirds of the tithes of Hartburn, in Northumberland, were given to the monastery that no excuse might remain for the bad quality of the malt liquor.

And here let me remark in passing that another widespread delusion needs to be removed from the popular mind with regard to the relations between the monks and the clergy. We have again and again heard people say, ” Wonderfully devoted men, those monks! Look at the churches all over the land! If it had not been for the monks how could all the village churches have been built? The monks built them all!” Monks build parish churches! Why, the monks were the greatest church-robbers that the world has ever known; they were always robbing the country parsons, and the town parsons, too, for that matter. Every vicarage in England represents a spoliation of the church, whose rectorial tithes had been appropriated by a religious house, the parson being left with the vicarial tithes, and often not even with them, but thrown for his daily bread upon the voluntary offerings of his parishioners. The monks build churches! I could not from my own knowledge bring forward a single instance in all the history of England of a monastery contributing a shilling of money or a load of stone for the repair, let alone the erection of any parish church in the land. So far from it, they pulled down the churches when they had a chance, and they were always on the look-out to steal the rectory houses and substitute for them any cheap-and-nasty vicarage unless the bishop kept a sharp look-out upon them and came to the help of his clergy. Of all the sins that the monks had to answer for, this greedy grasping at Church property, this shameless robbery of the seculars, was beyond compare the most inexcusable and the most mischievous. To the credit of the Cistercians it must be told that they at first set themselves against the wholesale pillage of the parochial clergy. I am not prepared to say they were true to their first principles — no corporate society ever was, and least of all a religious corporation — but at starting the Cistercians were decidedly opposed to the alienating of tithes and appropriating them to the endowment of their abbeys, and this was probably one among other causes why the Cistercians prospered so wonderfully as they did during the first hundred years or so after their first coming here; people believed that the new order was not going to live by robbing parsons, as the older orders had done without remorse. The swindler always thinks his victim a fool, and the victim never forgives the smarter man who has taken him in. Accordingly the monks always pretended to think scorn of the clergy, and when the monasteries fell the clergy were the very last people to lament their fall.

And this brings us to the question of the moral condition of the monasteries. Professor Stubbs has called the thirteenth century “the golden age of English Churchmanship.” Subject to correction from that greatest of England’s great historians — and subject to correction too from others, who, standing in a rank below his unapproachable eminence, are yet very much my superiors in their knowledge of this subject—I venture to express my belief that the thirteenth century was also the golden age of English monachism. Certainly we know much more about the monasteries and their inner life during this period than at any other time. The materials ready to our hand are very voluminous, and the evidence accessible to the inquirer is very various. I do not believe that any man of common fairness and candor who should give some years to the careful study of those materials and that evidence could rise from his examination with any other impression than that, as a body, the monks of the thirteenth century were better than their age. Vicious and profligate, drunken and unchaste, as a class, they certainly were not. Of course there were scandalous brethren. Here and there — but rarely, very rarely — there was a wicked abbot or prior. Of course there were instances of abominations on which one cannot dwell; of course there are stories which are bad to read; stories which find their way into the chronicles because they were strange or startling; but these stories are always told with hor

ror, and commented upon with severity and scorn. Excuse for wickedness or any palliation of it you simply never find.

On the other hand, the intense espritde corps of a convent of monks went beyond anything that we can now realize, and led to grave sins against truth and honesty. The forgeries of charters, bulls, and legal instruments of all kinds for the glorification of a monastery by its members was at least condoned only too frequently. It can hardly be doubted that the scriptorium of many a religious house must have been turned to very discreditable uses by unscrupulous and clever scribes, with the connivance if not with the actual knowledge of the convent, for such things were not done in a corner. If the forgeries succeeded—and that they often did succeed we know — the monastery got all the advantage of the rascality; no inquiry was made, and it was tacitly assumed that where so much was gained, and the pride of ” our house ” was gratified, the end justified the means.

There remains one question which may suggest itself to our minds as it has often suggested itself to others. From what class or classes in society were the monks for the most part taken? This is one of the most difficult questions to answer. The late Dr. Maitland, who perhaps knew more, and had read more, about monks and monasteries than any Englishman of his time, professed himself unable to answer it; and my friend Dr. Luard — whose labors in this field of research have gained for him a European reputation, and whose wonderful industry, carefulness, and profound knowledge qualify him to speak with authority on such a point, if anyone might pronounce upon it — hesitates to give a decided opinion. The impression that is left upon my own mind is, that the thirteenth-century monk, as a rule, was drawn from the gentry class, as distinguished from the aristocracy on the one hand, or the artisans on the other — in fact, mutatis mutandis, that the representatives of the monks of the thirteenth century were the fellows of colleges of the nineteenth before the recent alteration of university and college statutes came into force. An ignorant monk was certainly a rarity, an absolutely unlettered or uneducated one was an impossibility, and an abbot or prior who could not talk and write Latin with facility, who could not preach with tolerable fluency on occasion, and hold his own as a debater and man of business, would have found himself sooner or later in a very ridiculous and very uncomfortable position, from which he might be glad to escape by resignation.

Three centuries after the time we have been considering, the religious houses were suppressed — to use that euphonious term which has become universally accepted— only after they had existed in these islands in one form or another for at least a thousand years. Century after century monasteries continued to spring up, and there never was much difficulty in finding devout people who were ready to befriend a new order, to endow it with lands, and to give it a fair start. In other words, there was always a demand for new monasteries, and the first sure sign that that demand had been met, and more than met, was when the supply of monks began to fall short, and when, as was the case before the end of the fifteenth century, the religious houses could not fill up their full complement of brethren. Is it conceivable that this constant demand could have gone on, if the common sense of the nation had not been profoundly convinced, and continuously convinced, that the religious orders gave back some great equivalent for all the immense surrenders of wealth which generation after generation of Englishmen had made—some equivalent for all the vast stream of benefactions which flowed on from age to age so strongly that kings and statesmen had to interfere and check, if it might be, the dangerous prodigality of lavish benefactors? What that equivalent was, what the real work of the monasteries was, what great functions they discharged in the body politic, what the nation at large gained by their continuance and lost by their fall — these are questions which on this occasion I am not concerned with, and with which I scrupulously forbear from dealing. But there are moments when a great horror comes upon some men’s minds, and a vision of a lonely and childless old age rises before them in the gloom of a dreary twilight, or when the mists of autumn hide the sunbeams, and they think, ” If desolation were to come upon our homes, where could we hide the stricken head and broken heart?” To that question — a morbid question if you will—1 have never found an answer. The answer was possible once, but it was in an age which has passed away.

Yes, that age has passed away forever. History repeats itself, it is true, but history will not bear mimicry. In every melody that wakes the echoes there is repetition of this note and that, the same

single sound is heard again and again; but the glorious intertwinings of the several parts, the subtle fingers and merry peals of laughter that “flash along the chords and go,” the wail of the minor, as if crying for the theme that has vanished and yet will reappear — “like armies whispering where great echoes be”—these things are not mere repetition; they are messages from the Eternal Father to the sons of men, reminding them that the world moves on. Merely to ape the past, and to attempt to reproduce in the nineteenth century the tree that had taken a millennium to grow into its maturity in the thirteenth and was rudely cut down root and branch in the sixteenth, is about as wise as it would be to try and make us sing the Hallelujah Chorus in unison! Let the dead bury their dead. Meanwhile the successors of the thirteenth-century monasteries are rising up around us each after their kind; Pall Mall swarms with them, hardly less splendid than their progenitors, certainly not less luxurious. Our modern monks look out of the windows of the Carlton and the Athenaeum with no suspicion that they are at all like the monks of old. Nor are they. They lack the old faith, the old loyalty to their order, and with the old picturesqueness something else that we can less afford to miss — the old enthusiasm. We look back upon the men of the thirteenth century with much complacency. A supercilious glance at the past seems to give the moderns an excellent opinion of themselves. But suppose the men of the thirteenth century could turn the tables upon us, and, from their point of view, pass their judgment upon the daily life of the conventuals of St. James’s, who are, after all, only survivals, but just conceivably not quite survivals of the fittest; would the monks of old find all things quite up to the highest ideal? or would they hide their heads in shame and confusion of face compelled to acknowledge that the new was in all things so much better than the old? Augustus Jessop.

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But the further prosecution hereof (where the footsteps are almost outworn with time) we leave to more expert antiquaries; who will tell you, that alderman in that age was equal to our modern “earl,” who with bishops was of the same valuation; also, that comes in that age sounded as much as “duke” in ours, archbishops going along with them in all considerable equipage.

11,12. Dunstans first coming into Favour at the Court, A.D. 933; banished thence on Suspicion of Magic. A.D. 935.

Now began St. Dunstan to appear in court, born at Glastonbury, of noble parentage,—as almost what saint in this age was not honourably extracted ?—nephew both to Elphegus bishop of Winchester and Athelm archbishop of Canterbury, yea, kinsman remote to king Athelstan himself; and being thus highly related, he could not miss of preferment. His eminencies were painting and graving, (two qualities disposing him to be very useful for saint-worshipping, either for pictures or images,) an excellent musician, (preaching in those days could not be heard for singing in churches,) and an admirable worker in brass and iron. These accomplishments commended him at court to be acceptable to company; and for some time he continued with the king in great reputation.

But it is given to that bowl which lies next to the mark, to have most take aim to remove it. Eminency occasions envy, which made Dunstan’s enemies endeavour to depress him. He is accused to the king for a magician, and upon that account banished the court. It was brought as evidence against him, that he made his harp not only to have motion, but make music of itself; which no white art could perform.

“St. Dunstan’s harp fast by the wall
Upon a pin did hang-a:
The harp itself, with ly and all,
Untoucht by hand did twang-a.”

For our part, let Dunstan’s harp hang there still on a double suspicion twisted together: First. Whether this story thereof were true or false: Secondly. If true, whether done by magic or miracle. Sure I am, as good a harper and a better saint than Dunstan was, hath no such miracle reported of him, even David himself; who with his harp praised God, pleased men, frighted devils, 1 Sam. xvi. 23; yet took pains with his own right hand to play, Psalm cxxxvii. 5, not lazily commanding music by miracle to be made on his instrument.

13, 14. He retires unto his Cell-prison at Glastonbury, A.D. 937; takes a Devil by the Nose, A. D. 938.

Banished from court, Dunstan returns to Glastonbury, and there falls a-puffing and blowing in his forge. Here he made himself a cell, or rather a little-ease, being but four foot long, two and a half broad, (enough to cripple his joints with the cramp, who could not lie along therein,) whilst the height thereof was according to the stature of a man. Wisely and virtuously he would not confine himself upwards, that the scantness of the earthly dimensions in his cell (breadth and length) might be enlarged in the height thereof, and liberty left for the ascending of his meditations. But it matters not how little the prison be, if a man, with Dunstan, be his own gaoler, to go in and out at pleasure. Leave we him at the furnace in smithery-work, (excelling “Alexander the coppersmith” therein,) whilst we find such monks as wrote his Life at another forge, whence they coined many impudent miracles, pretended done by Dunstan, and this among the rest:—

Dunstan was in his vocation making some iron trinkets, when a Proteus-devil appeared unto him, changing into shapes, but fixing himself at last into the form of a fair woman. Strange, that satan (so subtile in making his temptations most taking) should prefer this form; belike, shrewdly guessing at Dunstan’s temper, that a fair woman might work upon him, and Vulcan might love a Venus. Dunstan, perceiving it, plucked his tongs glowing-hot out of the fire, and with them kept him (or her, shall I say ?) there a long time by the nose roaring and bellowing; till at last he broke loose, by what accident it is not told unto us.

15. This false Miracle canvassed. I have better employment than to spend precious time in confuting such follies; but give me leave to admire at these new arms against satan. “Take the shield of faith,” saith the apostle, “wherewith ye may quench all the fiery darts of the wicked,” Ephes. vi. 16. Dunstan found a new way by himself, with fiery tongs to do the deed. But let us a little examine this miracle. The devil himself, we know, is a spirit, and so impassible of material fire. Now, if it were a real body he assumed, the snake could slip off his skin at pleasure, and not be tied to it, much less tormented with it. Besides, did Dunstan willingly or unwillingly let the devil go? If willingly, mercy to so malicious an enemy, incapable of being amended, was cruelty to himself; if unwillingly, was it Dunstan’s fire or his faith that failed him, that he could hold out against him no longer? But away with all suspicions and queries! None need to doubt of the truth thereof, finding it in a sign painted in Fleet-street near Temple-bar.

16. Aelfgine, Dunstarfs bountiful Friend. During Dunstan’s abode in his cell, he had, to his great comfort and contentment, the company of a good lady, Aelfgine by name, living fast by. No preacher but Dunstan would please her, being so ravished with his society that she would needs build a little cell for herself hard by him. In process of time this lady died, and by her last will left Christ to be the heir, and Dunstan the executor, of her estate. Enabled with the accession thereof, joined to his paternal possessions, which were very great, and now fallen into his hands, Dunstan erected the abbey of Glastonbury, and became himself first abbot thereof.* He built also and endowed many other monasteries, filling them with Benedictine monks, who began now to swarm in England, more than maggots in a hot May, so incredible was their increase.

17. Re-called to Court, and re-banished thence. 1 Edmund. A.D. 939, 940.

After the death of king Athelstan, Dunstan was recalled to court in the reign of king Edmund, Athelstan’s brother, and flourished for a time in great favour. But who would build on the brittle bottom of princes’ love? Soon after he falls into the king’s disfavour; the old crime, of being a magician, (and a wanton with women to boot,) being laid to his charge. Surely, Dunstan, by looking on his own furnace, might learn thence, there was no smoke but some fire: either he was dishonest or undiscreet, which gave the ground-work to their general suspicion. Hereupon he is rebanished the court, and returned to his desired cell at Glastonbury; but within three days was solemnly brought back again to court, if the ensuing story may be believed.

18,19. King EdmunaVs miraculous Deliverance. Fie for shame,

lying Monk!King Edmund was in an eager pursuit of a buck, on the top of a steep rock, whence no descent but destruction. Down falls the deer, and dogs after him, and are dashed to pieces. The king follows in full speed on an unruly horse, which he could not rein, and is on the brink of the brink of the precipice. Yet his prayers prove swifter than his horse; he but ran, whilst they did fly to heaven. He is sensible of his sin in banishing Dunstan, confesseth it with sorrow, vows amendment, promiseth to restore and prefer him. Instantly the horse stops in his full career, and his rider is wonderfully preserved.

* The following clause was added in the text:—” a title till his time unknown in England.” But, in the ” Appeal of injured Innocence,” (p. 351,) Fuller says, ” I request such as have my ‘Church History’ to delete these words; for I profess I know not by what casualty these words crept into my book, contrary to my intent.”—Edit.

Thus far a strong faith may believe of the story; but it must be a wild one which gives credit to the remainder. Cervus et canes reviviscunt* saith the impudent monk, “The deer and dogs revive again.” I remember not in scripture that God ever revived a brute beast; partly, because such mean subjects are beneath the majesty of a miracle; and partly, because, as the apostle saith, Brute beasts are “made to be taken and destroyed,” 2 Peter ii. 12. Well then might the monk have knocked off, when he had done well in saving the man and horse; and might have left the dogs and deer to have remained dead on the place; the deer especially, were it but to make venison-pasties, to feast the courtiers at the solemnizing of their lord and master’s so miraculous deliverance.

20—24. King Edred a high Patron of Dunstan. (1 Edred. A.D. 946.) But King Edwin his professed Enemy; (1 Edwin, A.D. 954;) who, though wronged by the Monks, was a worthy Prince. He banisheth Dunstan, and dieth heart-broken with Grief. A.D. 956.

Dunstan, returning to court, was in higher favour than ever before. Nor was his interest any whit abated by the untimely death of King Edmund, (slain by one Leoff, a thief,) seeing his brother Edred, succeeding to the crown, continued and increased his kindness to him. Under him Dunstan was the “do-all” at court, being the king’s treasurer, chancellor, counsellor, confessor,—all things. Bishoprics were bountifully proffered him, pick and choose where he please; but none were honoured with his acceptance: whether because he accounted himself too high for the place, and would not stoop to the employment; or because he esteemed the place too high for him, unable conscientiously to discharge it in the midst of so many avocations. Meantime monasteries were every where erected, (king Edred devoutly resigning all his treasure to Dunstans disposal,) secular priests being thrust out of their convents, and monks substituted in their rooms.

* Roff. Histor., Matt. West., Johannes Capgrave, Osberms.

But, after Edred’s death, the case was altered with Dunstan, falling into disgrace with king Edwin his successor. This king, on his coronation-day, was said to be incestuously embracing both mother and daughter; when Dunstan, boldly coming into his bed-chamber, after bitter reproofs, stoutly fetched him thence, and brought him forth into the company of his noblemen. A heroic act, if true, done with a John-Baptist spirit; and no wonder if Herod and Herodias, I mean, this incestuous king and his concubines, were highly offended with Dunstan for the same.

But good men and grave authors give no belief herein, conceiving king Edwin (how bad soever charactered by the monks, his malicious enemies) to have been a worthy prince. In witness whereof they produce the words of Henry Huntingdon,* a learned man, but no monk, thus describing him: Edwin non illaudabiliter regni infulam tenuit. Et rursus: Edwin rex, anno regni sui quinto, cum inprincipio regnum ejus decentissime floreret, prospera et Iwtabunda exordia mors immatura pemipit.

“Edwin was not undeserving of praise in managing the sceptre of this land.” And again: “King Edwin, in the fifth year of his reign, when his kingdom began at first most decently to flourish, had his prosperous and pleasant beginnings broken off with untimely death.”

This testimony considered, makes many men think better of king Edwin, and worse of Dunstan, as guilty of some uncivil intrusion into the king’s chamber, for which he justly incurred his royal displeasure.

Hereupon Dunstan is banished by king Edwin, not as before from England to England, from the court to his cell at Glastonbury; but is utterly expelled the kingdom, and flieth into Flanders; where his friends say that his fame prepared his welcome, and the governor of Ghent most solemnly entertained him. Meantime, all the monks in England of Dunstan,s plantation were rooted up, and secular priests set in their places. But soon after happened many commotions in England, especially in Mercia and Northumberland. The monks which write the story of these rebellions conceive it unfit to impart to posterity the cause thereof; which makes wise men to suspect, that Dunstan, (who could blow coals elsewhere as well as in his furnace,) though at distance, virtually (or rather viciously) present had a finger, yea, a hand therein. Heart-broken with these rebellions, king Edwin died in the flower of his age.

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William de Tracy, Hugh de Morville, and Richard Brito, who immediately communicated their thoughts to each other. They instantly bound themselves by an oath to revenge their king’s quarrel; and, secretly retiring from court, took shipping at different ports, and met the next day at the castle of Saltwoode, within six miles of Canterbury. . Some menacing expressions which they had dropped, and their sudden departure, gave the king reason to suspect their design. He therefore sent messengers to overtake and forbid them, in his name, to commit any violence; but these orders arrived too late to prevent their fatal purpose. The conspirators, being joined by some assistants at the place of their meeting, proceeded to Canterbury with all the haste their bloody intentions required. Advancing directly to Becket’s house, and entering his apartment, they reproached him very fiercely for the rashness and the insolence of his conduct; as if they had been willing to enjoy his terrors before they destroyed him. Becket, however, was not in the least terrified ; but vindicated his actions with that zeal and resolution, which nothing probably but the consciousness of his innocence could inspire. The conspirators felt the force of his replies; and were particularly enraged at a charge of ingratitude, which he objected to three of them, who had been formerly retained in his service. During this altercation, the time approached for Becket to assist at vespers, whither he went unguarded, the conspirators following, and preparing for their attempt. As soon as he had reached the altar, where it is just to think he aspired at the glory of martyrdom, they all fell upon him; and when they had cloven his head with repeated blows, he dropped down dead before the altar of St. Benedict, which was besmeared with his blood and brains. The circumstances of the murder, the place where it was perpetrated, and the fortitude with which the prelate o himself to his fate, made a surprising impression on the people. No sooner was his death known than they rushed into the church to see the body, and, dipping their hands in his blood, crossed themselves with it as with that of a saint. The clergy, whose interest it was to have Becket considered as a saint, and many of whom were perhaps sincere in their belief, considering the times we treat of, did all that lay in their power to magnify his sanctity, to extol the merits of his martyrdom, and to hold him out as the fittest object of the veneration of the people. Their endeavours soon prevailed. Innumerable were the miracles said to be wrought at his tomb; for when the people are brought to see a miracle, they generally find or make one. It was not sufficient that his shrine had the power of restoring dead men to life; it restored also cows, dogs, and horses. It was reported, and believed, that he rose from his coffin before he was buried, to light the tapers designed for his funeral : nor was he remiss, when the funeral ceremony was over, in stretching forth his hands to give his benediction to the people. Thus Becket became a saint; and the king was strongly suspected of procuring his assassination. Nothing could exceed the king’s consternation upon receiving the h

first news of this prelate’s catastrophe. He was instantly sensible that the murder would be ultimately imputed to him. He was apprised that his death would effect what his opposition could not do, and would procure those advantages to the church which it had been the study of his whole reign to refuse. These considerations gave him the most unfeigned concern. He shut himself up in darkness, refusing even the attendance of his domestics. He even rejected, during three days, all nourishment. The courtiers, dreading the effects of his regret, were at last obliged to break into his solitude, in ords to persuade him to be reconciled to a measure that he could not redress. The “. soon after, being made sensible of the king’s innocence, granted him his pardon; but upon condition that he would make every future submission, and perform every injunction that the holy see should require. All things being thus adjusted, the assassins who had murdered Becket retired in safety to the enjoyment of their former dignities and honours; and the king, in order to divert the minds of the people to a different object, undertook an expedition against Ireland. Ireland was at that time nearly in the same situation in which England had been after the first invasion of the Saxons. Its inhabitants had been early converted to Christianity; and, for three or four centuries after, possessed a very large proportion of the learning of the times: being undisturbed by foreign invasions, and perhaps too poor to invite the rapacity of conquerors, they enjoyed a peaceful life, which they gave up to piety, and such learning as was then thought necessary to promote it. Of their learning, their arts, their piety, and even their polished manners, too many monuments remain to this day for us to make the least doubt concerning them ; but it is equally true, that in time they fell from these advantages: and their degenerate posterity, at the period we are now speaking of, were involved in the darkest barbarity. This may be imputed to the frequent invasions which they suffered from the Danes and Norwegians, who overran the whole country, and every where spread their ravages, and confirmed their authority. The natives, kept in the strictest bondage, grew every day more ignorant and brutal; and when at last they rose upon their conquerors, and totally expelled them from the island, they wanted instructers to restore them to their former attainments. Henceforward they long continued in the most deplorable state of barbarism. The towns that had been formerly built were suffered to fall into ruin ; the inhabitants exercised pasture in the open country, and sought protection from danger by retiring into their forests and bogs. Almost all sense of religion was extinguished; the petty princes exercised continual outrages upon each other’s territories; and strength alone was able to procure redress. At the time when Henry first planned the invasion of the island, it was divided into five small kingdoms, namely, Leinster, Meath, Munster, Ulster, and Connaught. As it had been usual for one or other of the five kings to take the lead in their wars, he was denominated monarch of the island, and possessed a power resembling that of the early Saxon monarchs in England. Roderic O’Connor, king of Connaught, then enjoyed this dignity, and Dermot M“Morrogh was king of Leinster.

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Jo. Linc. elect, C. S.; Geo. London.; La. * Winton. ; * Jo. Roffens. ; Guil. Menevens. * elect; Valen. Exon. elect; Henr. Hobart, Jo. * Doddridge, H. Marten, Ny. Stewarde.” The Archbishop governed by this advice, and applying to the king, his majesty directed a Commission to the bishop of Lincoln, lord keeper, to the bishops of London, Winchester, Norwich, Coventry, and Litchfield, to the bishop of Bath and Wells, Ely and Chichester, imło.” them or any six of them, of which the ishops of Lincoln, London, Winchester and Norwich were to be of the quorum, to dispense with any irregularity, in case the late accident had drawn any such blemish or imputation upon the Archbishop. By this Instrument the canons, in case there was need, were over-ruled and dispensed with, the force of Abbot’s character is revived, and he is fully restored to the exercises of his function. This is a wonderful relief from the crown; and supposes a patriarchal at least, if not a papal authority vested in the king. The Record lays the death of the Keeper upon his own rashness and want of care, makes the homicide perfectly casual, that the Archbishop was in no degree to blame for the misfortune: and that this requesting his majesty for a dispensation was only ad cautelam ea superabundanti. And that the reader may better remark how far the dispensation reaches, he may please to observe, that irregularity lays the sacerdotal powers as it were asleep, forfeits all preserments, and makes the person incapable of any for the future. To return: Besides the favourable report of the Archbishop’s case in the commission, there was a learned Apology’t drawn up for him. The author proves hunting for health allowed clergymen. This point he makes good from several authorities, and disables some objections from the canon law. From hence he advances to prove that casual homicide sticks no blemish,

* Heylin, in his life of Laud, ascribes the inclination of bishop Andrews (between whom and Abbot there had been some disgust) towards the protection of Abbot, to two motives, 1st, an unwillingness too rigidly to coustrue the canons, lest afterwards a rigid construction of those canons might hurt himself or his brethren. £d, An apprehension that if Abbot should be deprived Williams would succeed him, who Andrews thought would make a dangerous head of the church. Pn other respects all the ree that Andrews was no friend to Abbot. Of sir Henry Martin, Heylin says that he had received his offices and preferments from Abbot, and so was bound by gratitude to maintain his cause. He farther observes that it required not the gift of prophecy to foretel that Williams would be a dangerous head to the church. He was in 1641 the contriver of the injudicious and mischievous protestation of the bishops, and of their secession from parliaunent.

t This Apology and the Answer to it are inserted at the end of this Case,

nor incurs any irregularity, where the person committing it was engaged in no unlawful business or recreation, and took all necessary precaution to guard against accidents. That all this might be fairly pleaded in behalf of the Archbishop, is not only taken for granted in the Dispensation, but farther made out by this Apologist.” For the purpose, he takes notice that the canon de clerico venatore, cited in the Decretum against the Archbishop, has a mark of censure and unauthentickness put upon it by Gratian : he brings the gloss for evidence, that whereas this canon is cited out of the 4th Council of Orleans, there is no such thing there to be found. Thirdly, the pretended canon is levelled only against clamosa venatio, but quieta or modesta is allowed by the canonists. Now this latter was the recreation in which the misfortune happened at Bramzil, as may be seen in the dispensing instrument. The Apologist reimforces “. argument by observing that by 35 H. 8. cap. 16, no canon is in force in England, which clashes with the laws and statutes of this realm or the prerogative royal; and that the canon urged against Abbot is of this nature. For by Charta de Foresta, archbishops and bishops have express liberty to hunt; and that from 13 R. 2, cap. 13, it follows by necessary implication, that a clergyman who has 10l. per annum or upwards, may keep greyhounds or hounds to hunt. And to mention nothing farther from him, he argues, that Lindwood who was very well skilled in the English ecclesiastical constitutions, condemns only the excesses of hunting in clergymen, and the undue application of that liberty, but does no where pronounce it as absolutely unlawful for their profession: After this he gives several instances of bishops who have used this diversion without censure or inputation. And, lastly, the famous sir Edward Coke, upon the question being put to him by sir Henr Saville, Whether a bishop may hunt in a # by the laws of the realm ? answered affirmatively in these words: “He may hunt by the laws of ‘the realm, by this very token, that there is an ‘old law, that a bishop when dying is to leave “his pack of dogs (called muta canum, i. e. muit ‘de chienst) to the king’s free use and disposal.” To this Apology there is an Answer returned, as it is said by sir Henry Spelman, but this discourse looks strained, and discovers something of a prosecuting humour, and I cannot help saying it falls short of that strength and candour customary to this learned gentleman, and therefore, being a posthumous work, I would willingly believe some part of it at least was the work of another hand. But, notwithstanding the Archbishop’s recreation, and his precaution against misfortune, was defensible, yet his being excused the forms of

* Lord Coke 3 Inst. cap. 73. p. 309. All canons against the laws or customs of the realm are void and of mone effect.

t See Acc. Sd. Inst. 308, 339; and the very law, and not brought to a trial for this casual homicide, was something remarkable. His being thus screened from customary prosecution, is, I suppose, owing to the protection of the Dispensation above mentioned.

! ancient authorities there cited,

AN APOLOGY for Archbishop Abbott; touching the Death of Peter Hawkins the Keeper, wounded in the Park at Bramsil, July 24, 1621. 1. It is certain that in ford conscientiar, this case may not only deservedly produce a fear and trembling in him who was the accidental cause thereof; but may justly make the tallest cedar in Lebanon to shake, in recounting with his inward man, what sin it is that hath provoked God to permit such a rare and unusual action to fall out by his hand: which maketh him, for the time, to be fabula vulgi, and giveth opportunity to the enemies of religion of all kinds, to rejoice, to speak their pleasure, to fill their books and libels, within the realm, and perhaps, beyond the seas. And that, concerning his calling as well as his person, not only for the present, but also in future ages; beside grief to his friends, and some scandal to the weak, who do not rightly apprehend things, but raise questions which few men can resolve. To all which may be added, the interpretation of it by his majesty, graciously or otherwise ; and the forfeiture, that in rigorous construction of law may be put upon him, although held for no great delinquent; besides the providing for a widow and four fatherless children. All which may pierce a heart that is not senseless; and day and night yield him matter enough of troubled meditations. 2. And yet, lest he that intended no ill (much less to that person, a poor man and a stranger to him) should be swallowed up with sorrow ; he is not devoid of some comfort, as that consensus facit peccatum, and voluntas facil reatum ; and where those concur not, misdemeanours are properly contra nullum decalogi pracceptum. And that when God, speaking of such casual death (Exod. 21. 13.) useth these words, “If a man lie not in wait, “but God deliver him (the slain man) into his ‘hands;’ divines collect thereupon, that it is not humanum but a Deo, which no man’s providence can absolutely prevent. For what God will have done, shall be; and no creature may dare to set him to school in what manner, or by what person he will have it performed. And Deuteronom. xix. 6, 10. God putting the case of the man slain by the iron of his neighbour’s ax slipping off, appointeth cities of refuge, lest he should be slain also; who (as he saith) was not worthy of death ; and again, that innorius sanguis, innocent blood be not shed in the land. Where we may collect, that such cases are foreseen and ordered by God himself; and that no calling, no not that of the priest, is free from that which God will have accomplished; since he must communem hominum subire sortem. Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto, And, Quod cuique contingere potest,

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cuivis potest ; although of all others, the priest should be most wary, what he attempt and how. . 3. There is no text in the Old Testament which directly distinguisheth the priest from other men, in case of blood ; but there are examples (which may not be applved to evil, for that were to pervert them) resolviug one scruple which is made. As Moses was no priest, yet he gave down the law; and he consecrated Aaron the high-priest, notwithstanding the time was that he had killed the Ægyptian. The Levites slew 3000 of the Israelites, after the idolatry with the golden calf. Phineas, who was afterwards the high-priest, slew the Israelitish man with the Midianitish woman, and was blessed by God for it. , Samuel hewed Agag to pieces. Jehoiada the priest commanded Athaliah the usurper to be slain. The Machabees fought for their country: and so took away the lives of many a man. Paul was consenting to the death of Stephen. Peter, although rebuked for it, cut off the ear of Malchus. Josephus the Jew, of the seed of the priests, was captain over Judah, and fought divers times. Out of all which, I do only make this collection; that the priest’s restraint from blood, is not erjure divino, but erjure positivo; Pontificio scil. vel Canonico, or Ecclesiastico, as we call it; out of caution, for purity and decency, and good congruity for so holy a calling, which cometh so near God, and attendeth at his altar. 4. See then in the ecclesiastical law, what grace is afforded to him, who against his will, hath casually been the death of another. There is in the decretals, a title De Homicidio Voluntario vel Casuali: concerning the latter of which, there be many rescripts; which demonstrateth, that in human life such things do frequently fall out. In these, there are five chapters, Cap. Lator: Cap. Dilectis filiis; Cap. Ex Litteris : Cap. Ex Litteris tuæ : Cap. Johannes: where the Rubrick is, “Homicidium “casuale non imputaturei quinon fuit in culpa:’ and “Homicidium casuale non imputatur ei * qui dedit operam reilicitae, nec fuit in culpa.” And there the decision is evermore, that there is no irregularity “in promovendo,” or “in pro“moto ad sacros ordines.’ . This is the more to be noted, because it is not the interpreters, but the body of the law. And the gloss thereupon hath; “ Nota, quod ‘homicidium casu commissum, culpa non prae“cedente non est imputandum.’ And, ‘Sibi “imputari non debet, quia fortuitos casus, qui “praevideri non possunt, non prævidit.’ And, * De casu fortuito nullus tenetur, cum praevideri ‘non possit.’ And upon this the stream of the Canonists do run, as by a multitude of books may be shewed: with whom our Bracton, a great civilian and common lawyer too; “Homi“cidium casuale non imputatur.’ 5. The two heads whereto the law looketh, freeing a man from blame, and expressly from irregularity, are; that the person by whom the action is performed, do not dare operam rei illicita, and that he use diligence of his part that no hurt be committed. Azorius the Jesuite saith, ‘ Irregularitas, cum ob delictum ‘constituitur, non nisi ex lethali peccato con‘trahitur: nisi ex homicidio fiat quis irregularis, ‘eo quod det operan rei vetite et interdictae; ‘nam tunc quamvis homicidium casu sequatur, “ob culpam nostrain levem vel levissimam, * multorum est opinio irregularitatem contrabi.” And Ivo in his canons, some hundreds of years before him; ‘Si quo fratres in sylva arbores ‘succiderint, et appropinquante casura unius “arboris, frater fratri dixerit Cave, et ille “fugiens, in pressuram arboris inciderit, ac ‘mortuus fuerit, vivens frater innocens de san“guine germani dijudicatur.’ Now, the case at Bramsil, is within the compass of these two conditions. For the party agent, was about no unlawful work : for what he did, was in the day, in the presence of forty or fifty persons, the lord Zouch, who was owner of the park, not only standing by, but inviting to hunt and shoot; and all persons in the field were called upon to stand far off, partly for avoiding harm, and partly lest they should disturb the game; and all in the field performed what was desired. And this course did the lord archbishop use to take, when or wheresoever he did shoot; as all persons at any time present can witness: never any man being more solicitous than he evermore was. And the morning when the deed was done, the keeper was twice warned to stay behind, and not to run forward; but he carelessly did otherwise, when he that shot could take no notice of his galloping in before the bow; as may be seen by the verdict of the coroner’s inquest. 6. This case at Bramsil is so favourable; that the strictest writers of these times, directly conclude, that if a clergy-man committing casuale homicidium be about a forbidden and interdicted act, yet he is not irregular, if the interdicted act be not therefore forbidden, because it may draw on homicide. And theretopon, inasmuch as hunting is forbidden in a clergy-man, not in respect of danger of life, but for decency, that he should not spend his time in exercises which may hinder him from the study fit for his calling, or for other such reasons ; irregularity followeth not thereupon. And to this purpose, writeth at large Soto, Covarruvias, and Suarez, who are great canonists and schoolmen. And if this be true, (as out of great reason it may be so held) how much further is the present case in question from irregularitie. 7. But some go directly to the point, and say, that the lord archbishop did navare operan rei illicitat, because he was on hunting; for that was interdicted to a bishop by the canon De Clerico Venatore; and so by a consequent he must needs be irregular. To which objection, see how many clear and true answers there be. As first that the canon being taken out of the decrees, is by Gratian himself branded to be palea, no better than chaff. Secondly, it is cited out of the fourth council

of Orleans; and there is no such thing to be found, as the gloss well observeth. Thirdly, it forbiddeth hunting cum canibus aut uccipitribus; and none of these were at Branasil. And if you will enforce it by Comparison or proportion, the rule of the law is, “ Favores ‘sunt ampliandi, odia resiringenda :’ where mark, when hunting with dogs or hawks is lorbidden, it is not for fear of foil. for there is no such danger in either of them. Fourthly, the canon forbiddeth hunting voluptatis causa, but not recreation is or valetudinis gratw, which the books say is permitted etian epuiscopo. Fifthly, the canon hath, “Si saepius detentus fuerit,’ if he make a life or occupation of it; which the world knoweth, is not the archbishop’s case, but a little one time in the year, directed so by his physician, to avoid two diseases, whereunto he is subject, the stone and the gout. Sixthly, it is clamosa venatio against which the canon speaketh, not quieta or modesta, which the canonists allow ; and this whereof the question ariseth, was most silent and quiet; saving that this accident, by the keeper’s unadvised running in, hath afterwards made a noise over all the country. 8. These exceptions, as they naturally and without any enforcing, give answer to this objection of the canon ; so there is another thing that may stop the mouth of all gainsayers; if any reason will content them. And that is, that by the stat. of Hen. 8, 35. ca. 16, no canon is in force in England, which was not in use before that time, or is not contrary or derogatory to the laws or statutes of this realin, nor to the prerogatives of the royal crown : of which nature this is. For in Charta de Foresta, archbishops and bishops by name have liberty to hunt: and 13 . 2, cap. 13, a clergy-man who hath 10t. by the year, may keep grey-hounds to hunt. And Linwood, who lived soon after that time, and understood the ecclesiastical constitutions and the laws of England very well, in treating of hunting, speaketh against clergy-men using that exercise uniawfully ; as in places o or forbidden; but hath not one word against hunting simply. And the arch-bishop of Canterbury had formerly more than twenty parks and chases of his own, to use at his pleasure ; and now by charter hath freewarren in all his lands. And by ancient record, the bishop of Rochester, at his death, was to render to the arch-bishop of Canterbury his kennel of hounds as a mortuary, whereof (as I am credibly informed) the law taketh notice for the king sede vacante, under the maine of muta canum and mulctura. To this may be added, the perpetuated use of hunting by bishops in their parks, continued to this day without scruple or question. As that most reverend man the lord arch-bishop Whitgyfte used in Isartlebury-park while he lived at Worcester; in Ford-park in Kent; in the park of the lord Cobham, near Canterbury; where by the favour of that lord, he killed twenty bucks in one journey; using hounds, grey-hounds, or his bow, at his pleasure, al

though he never shot well. credibly reported of the lord arch-bishop Sandes. And it is most true, that the deans and chapter of Winchester use it as they please

mal, whose bounds were long famous throughout all England; and yet he was by profession a canonist ; and knew well what induced irregularity. I will add two things more, which directly appertain to the arch-bishop of Canterbury. The one is the famous record, that at the coronation of queen Eleanor, wife to Hen. 3. the earl of Arundel (who was by his place cupbearer for that day) was enforced to serve by a deputy, because he was excommunicated by the archbishop, for taking up his hounds coming into the earl’s grounds to hunt; where the archbishop pleaded and alledged that it was lawful for him to hunt within any forest of England, whensoever he would. The other, is that which is written of archbishop Cranmer, in bis life; where I will cite the very words: * Peruniseratei pater aucupium, venationem, ‘equitationem, &c. Quibus quidem, cum jain “archiepiscopus relaxare animum et abducere ‘se a rebus gravioribus vellet, ita utebatur, ut ‘in famulatu suo non fuerit quisquam qui in “generosum equum salire ac tractare elegantius, aut aves ferasque aucupio aut venatione * insequi commodius intelligentiusque potuisset: “sa-pe etiam, etsi oculis infirmis esset, arcum * tendens, sagitta percussit feram.’ Out of all which, and many more records and cases that are to be shewed, the conclusion is clear, that howsoever the canon may touch bishops and clergymen beyond the seas, it meddleth not with the bishops of England, who by favour of princes and the state have baronies annext to their sees. So that it doth arise out of true collection from these heads, that there is no danger of irregularity in the lord archbishop’s case, either toward himself or other inen. His majesty’s princely grace giveth an end to all ; and this he inost humbly craveth. For other things, God being appeased (as he hopeth that he is) he dreadeth not the tongue or pen of any enemy: among whom, the popes and cardinals have wilfully committed many poisonings, murthers, and outragious acts; and yet they must believe that they are the head and chiefest members of the church.

An ANSWER to the foregoing Apology for Archbishop Abbot; By Sir Henry Spelman, kt.

Touch ING the first, second, and third sections : It may be that the priests in the old law, whose ministry was altogether in blood, were not prohibited but that upon just occasion they might shed even the blood of maan as well as of beasts; and put on an armour as well as an ephod. For the tabernacle was covered with red skins, to signify “cruentum seculum, cru* entum ministerium :’ and Moses, whose hands were dipt in blood, was not forbidden to be the chief founder thereof. But when the temple

WOL. II,

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came to be built, which was the image of the church of Christ, then the hands of David, though they had fought the battles of God, yet.

– – because they were seasoned with blood, they in their franchise. To say nothing of Dr. Ren

might not lay one stone in that foundation. Therefore, when the old law and this bloody priesthood were grown to an end, and going out of the world, and that the priests of the gospel were entering in their room into the world; our Saviour commanded Peter to put up his sword; for now, ‘arma horrentia Mars ‘tis rejicienda ;’ and ‘stola candida induenda ‘ fuit.’ Though then some priests in the old law and many thousand Levites were martialmen, yet for many hundred years in the time of the gospel, I read not of any : insomuch, that the succeeding ages desiring a martial saint, were driven to suppose St. George. Whether therefore these laws of the church, which at this day prohibit clergymen to meddle with matters of blood, be merely erjure positivo, or er divino mirto, I leave it to the determination of the reve, end divines. 4. Concerning the cases alledged out of the decretals : it is true that the rubrick is, “Ho‘micidium casuale non imputatur ei qui non ‘ fuit in culpa;’ and “Homicidium casuale non ‘inputatur ei qui dedit operaun rei licitae, nec “fuit in culpa.’ And so likewise, is that alledged out of the gloss thereupon, and out of Bracton. But let us parallel the case in these with thein, which are as followeth. A and P two clerks sporting together, A by chance threw P down, who having a knife by his side, the same happened to wound A that he died. Pope Alexander 3, commanded the bishop of Exeter in this case to admit P to holy orders; for sporting was hawsul. . . A sickly chaplain being gotten upon an unruly horse, and he checking him with bridle and spur to stay him, the horse brake his bridle, cast his master, and running over a woman coming by, killed a child in her arms. This chaplain was admitted to holy orders, for that neither in will nor act he coininitted homicide, but also did a lawful act. One being to unlade a cart of hay, looked round about to see if any were near, and seeing none, threw a stack off the cart, and having unladed it, a hoy was aster found dead with a little stripe in his face. This priest after canonical purgation was admitted to his place. A monk helping to take a bell down out of a steeple, casually thrust down a piece of timber, which bruised a boy to death. The monk is judged not uncapable of further ecclesiastical preferment, tor that the business was necessary, and the place not sor orduary resort. A priest tolling a bell to prayers, tae same fell and killed a boy. The bishop is cominanded to suffer the priest to execute his function, for ‘Nihil pot it imputari, si casus oinnes for‘tuitos now praevidit.’ Though there be many points in all these cases, and more in some than others, to excuse the parties agent; yet will I meddle only with those two which are most eminent, and offered 4 F

1171, STATE TRIALS, 19 JAMrs I. 1621.-Proceedings against Zilp. Abbot, [1173

by the Apologist; that is, animus or intentio innocua ; and actio legitima. Touching the intent, none is so impious as to imagine that his lordship intended to hurt any man : yet is there this difference between his intent and theirs in the cases alledged : they intended to hurt neither man nor beast, he, though not to hurt a man, yet to kill a beast : they, “nihil savum “aut non legitimum :’ he, “legitimum quiddam ‘sed tamen savun.” For there is a kind of cruelty in the slaughter of every thing; and therefore in the old law, Lev. 17, 13, ‘ Ile that * takeh any beast or fowl by hunting that may ‘ be caten; shall pour out the blood thereof, ‘ and cover it with dust;’ that the cruelty appear not, as I take it. And in our law, those that were exercised in slaughter of beasts, were not received to be triers of the life of a man. Much is to be said out of histories to this purpose. But to come to the point whereon all dependeth, Whether the action his lordship was now about, be lawful or not? The places of Azorius and Ivo are truly cited ; and I doubt them not to be law : that is, to this effect, “”I hat it “worketh no irregularity, where, in a lawful “action a clerk killeth a man casually, having ‘ first used all diligence to prevent it.’ And it appeareth that his lordship did this so carefully, that all were continually called upon, not only to stand of, but so far off as sheweth his lordship to be very unskilful in the use of his bow; and may therefore touch him in discretion for meddling with so dangerous an engine in so great an assembly; and consequently produce irregularity even by the words of Azorius alledged to excuse him, though the action be lawful : “main tunc quamvis homicidium casu ‘sequatur, ob culptum nostram leven vel levis‘simatn, multorum est opinio irregularitatem • contrahi.’ But not to fall from the tree by reaching at a twig; we will rest upon the chief station in the case, the nature of the action; which though it be fin bidden, yet according to Soto, Covarruvias and Suarez, as it is alledged, induceth not irregularity when homicide follows thereon, if it be not therefore forbidden, because it may draw on homicide: concluding, that though hunting be forbidden to a clergyman, yet for that it is not forbidden in respect of danger of life, but for decency, &c. Irregularity followeth not thereupon. As for Covariuvias and Suarez, I have them not ; but Soto is not hap. lily alledged. Por though he incline to that opinion, with Cajetan, yet he taketh a distinction that woundeth the ca-e in question; and that is, “Venatione, quae armis et telis fit, pro“fecto fiet clericus irregularis :’ and this fail, th out to be now the case. For this hunting was performed with a cross-bow, a deadly and a dangerous weapon, that hath been the occasion of many bloody misfortunes. But in a former passage, Soto also saith, that Cajetan and Sylvester and “ Doctores juris canonici universa‘lem regulam, astruunt, quot onnis qui dat **Peran tei illicito, quanducunquc exilla da

Gratian’s time.

‘tione sequatur homicidium, fiat irregularis.’ And Azpilcu ta Navarrors saith, that Cajetan in the other place, and by consequence Sotus, is to be understood with a limitation, as meaning, Venationem passerum et perdicum ad ‘ancupis cantum, vel accipitris, sine armis in ‘provincis—non venationem ursorum, apro• rum, et cervorum, quae armis exercetur.’ Enchirid. cap. 27, sect. 237. Wherein, the distinction he taketh, making a main difference between renationem ludicrum and remation on martian, concludeth plainly, the case in hand to have wrought irregularity. , And the Apologist finding no sure ground in this assertion, buildeth no otherwise upon it, than “if it be “true as out of great reason’ he saith “it may ‘ be so held :’ and passeth from it to his chiefest. place of refuge, shewing that the canon that makes hunting to be actio illicita doth no way touch his lordship. First, for that upon the matter there is no such cauon : insomuch as Gratian himself, that collected the canons, brandeth this to be palea and no better than chaff. It is true, he brandeth it with the term palea, and was a worthy man; but noted generally to have mistaken many things, and some extremely. But if that be the meaning of the word, his error seemeth very perspicuous, as finding this canon ascribed to the council of Orleans and not finding it there, he presently branded it, palea. But the canonists have many other opinions of it, as to signify rā oraxals, antiqua; or of réxis, rursuu. John Andrea, Imota, Alexandrimus and Jason, famous professors, think this title to be put over the heads of many canons, to signify they were added by Protopalea a cardinal, since And experience excludeth the first interpretation of the word, for that the canons so entituled are very many, and not rejected as spurii or paled. Besides, Burchard bishop of Wormes, who lived long before Grätian, hath this very canon in his second book, cap. 213, and there ascribed, as it onght, to the council of Meldis ; as also by Ivo, part. 6, cap 283. If then it be any where in the councils, it sufficeth; though the collector mistook the place, which is easily done: as even the evangelist Matthew, ca. 27, 9, citeth a place out of the prophet Jeremy, which is not found there, but in Zachariah. It is apparent also that many copies of councils are unperfect, and want some of the true canons, as neglected or not finished by the notary. But if need be, this canon hath further warrant, even from the times almost of the primitive church. For in Concil. Agathensi, of 35 bishops in An. 435, ca. 55, it is said, ‘Sa“ cerdotes et Levitae canibus ad venandum et “accipitribus non utantur.” And in Concil. Epaunensi, of 70 bishops, in an 492. ‘Ut ‘episcopi venatores non sint, nec accipitres ‘alant.” The Capitularies also of Ludovicus imp, taking notice of it, about the year 820, prohibiteth priests, ‘ut venationes ferarum “vel avium minime sectentur.” Addit. 3, ca. 43. So that we have no reason to account this

canon either suppositilium or palcam ; but rather to be, as it is indeed, raxair, antiquum, or er antiquis. According to which sense, the canons of like nature in the laws of the Wisigoths or Western-Goths are in every passage intutuled by the very Latin word, not use Greek, antiqua. And Justinian himself seemeth to have had this distinction in his eye, when he called his later constitutions Niagar, i. e. novellas, that so they might be marked from those of old, which Cedrinus in Justinian’s life calleth ro, Taxals, votes, leges antiquas. His second objection is, I hat it is cited out of the fourth council of Orleans, and it is not there. This we have already answered, and shewed where it is. Thirdly, he saith it forbiddeth hunting cum eanibois et accipitrubus, and none of these were there. It is strange, a keeper should go about to strike a deer, and not have his line-hound to draw after him. But the canon goeth further, “Canes ad venanduin, aut accipitres, aut ‘hujusmodi res habere non licet.’ Where.” hu“Jusmodi res,’ seemeth to contain all instruments used in hunting. – o Fourthly, voluptatis causa ; not recreationis or valetudins, which the books say is permitted elulu episcopo. What his books say, I know not ; but my book saith thus: “Dic bre‘viter, quod venari causa voluptatis est mortale ‘peccatum, et in laico; sed venari causa ne– “cessitatis vel indigentia corporis non est mor“tale peccatum ; in clerico tamen potius pro‘hibetur.’ But he adjoineth, “In venatione, ‘potius delectatio quam actus attenditur.” Atho. in Othob. fol. 114, b. Neither is there here any mention of recreatio, unless do lectatio and it be all one, as commonly we use it, and then forbidden. Besides, what action or recreation belonging to health is there, in letting off a cross-bow ; wherein neither head, hand, nor foot, no, not the pinbiest member of the body, the eye, stirreth all that while. Fifthly, the canon hath, “Si sapius detentus * fuerit,’ ‘if he usake a life or occupation of it, ‘which his lordship did not.’ Burchard saith detectus, and with more reason: and I suppose his lordship useth it very temperately : yet tile apologist in his fifth sectiou insinuateth, that his lordship doth it often. Sixthly, whereas he saith that the canon speaketh against clamosa venatio, not quieta or modesta; Ifind no such word or distinction in the canon; yet is there no doubt, that if the deer be not killed out of li ind; but in recovering him, there must be both clamor and venutio. Thus he counteth the mouth of the canon to be stopt. Yet because it is good to inake sure work with so dangerous an object, now he setteth law upon law, the common against the canon or at least the statute, which indeed hath cracked a great sort of canons. “That by the “statute of Henry 8, 35, ca. 16. No canon is ‘in force in England, which was not in use, or “ is contrary or derogatory to the laws or sta“tutes of this realm, or to the prerogatives of • the royal crown.” Of which sort (he saith)

this is one, and gives his reasons: for in Charta de Foresta arch-bishops and bishops by name have liberty to hunt: and 13 Ric. 2, ca. 15. “A clergy-man who hath 10l. by the year, may “keep grey-hounds to hunt.” The name of Charta de Foresta (and also of hunting,) is, ‘Claro lachrinable nonen.’ For the first broach that ever was made into the freedom of clergy-men, and which gave passale to all that followed, rose frou the occasion of clergy-ineus hunting in forests: which I leury 2, greatly discontented with, never lessed, till by assent of the pope’s legate Liugo Petrolconis, he obtained a law in the 21st year of his reign, A. D. 1157, to convent them therefore before secular judges, and there to punish them. But to our purpose: There is no contradiction (as I take it, between the canon de Clerico Venatore, and Charta or Statutulu de Foresta. The canon doth say, they shall isot hunt; and the statute doth not say they shall. The words of the statute, ca. 17, are thus: “Au arch-bishop, ‘bishop, earl, or baron coming to us upon our ‘command and passing through our forest,’ “Liceat ei capere unan bestian vel duas, per “visuun forestarii, si praesens fuerit; son autein, ‘ faciat cornare, ne videatur furtuin face re.” Here is no word of hunting; but that they may take a deer; and this they will say cannot be but either with dogs or engine, and so consequently by hunting. But the very words of Charta de Foresta seem to shew, that it was not meant, the bishop should be an huntsman, for that it admitteth him not to have so much skill in hunting as to wind an horn, though that by no law or canon be forbidden to him. Aud therefore saith not corniat is se, but faciat cornture, let him cause an horn to be blown, &c. I conceive the meaning to be, that the bishops and barons shall each of them take as they may : the barons by hunting (if they will) in their own persons; the bishops as they may, by the hands of their officers and servants. It is a common phrase in all old Charters, that the bishops shall have Sač and Soc, Toll and Team, &c. i. e. cognisance of plea, suit of court, toll, and such other customs; soall we intend, that he must take these in his own person? No; it was not Henry 3d’s meaning, when he granted the charter of the forest, to break the laws of the church : for at the same time in Magna Charta, ca. 1, he granteth, that the church shall have ‘Omnia jura sua in“tegra et libertates suas illaesas;’ which could not possibly be, it by his charter he changed the canons of the church, cspecially in matters of doctrine and conscience : as, when the church teachett, that a clerk may not be a huntsman, for him to say that he shall be. Doubtless, if he would, the clergy would not then accept it. In the person of a bishop there be three distinct faculties; his spiritual function, wherein he is a bishop ; his legal ability, wherein he is a lay-man and hath liberty to contract, &c. and his temporal dignity, wherein he is a baron and pecr of the realm, and participateth their priviledges. I could put cases wherein every of these may be seen severed from the other; but 1 should then wander from my matter. Only, I present them, thus anatomized, that it may appear what portion the church had in them, what the cominon-wealth, and what the king; that so it may also the better appear how the laws both of the church and kingdom are to be applyed unto them respectively. When therefore the king granted temporal lands unto them; though they took them as lay-barons, and in their temporal capacity, yet might they not otherwise use them than might stand witu their spiritual function : no more than when he granted ecclesiastical possessions to a lay-man, the grantee might otherwise use them than as a lay-man. For example; it was a common thing in old time, that the king granted churches to lay-men, by the name of Ecclesian de Dale and Ecclesiam de Sale; yet it was never intended that the grantee, though he had the churches to order and dispose, should (contrary to his vocation) meddle with the divine service, but present his clerk only. So in like manner, when the king granted to clergymen, chaces, parks, and warrens; it was not intended that, contrary to the rules of their profession and laws of the church, they should or might become hunters and foresters. My long stay upon this point, is a preparative to an answer to the next, which is the statute of Ric. 2, being in the negative, ‘That no “priest nor other clerk, not advanced to 10/. a * year, shall have or keep any greyhound, nor * other dog to hunt; nor they shall not use “ferrets, haves, nets, hare-pipes, nor cords, nor * other engines, for to take and destroy deer, “hares, nor conics, &c. upon pain of one year’s “imprisonment.’ . The statute, I say, is in the negative, and saith that none under 10!, a year shall keep; but saith not in the affirmative, that it shall be lawful for them that have 101. a year to keep, &c. I should therefore think, that this statute doth not discharge a priest, having 101. a year using hunting, against the canon-law; no inore that, the statute of Usury, forbidding a man to take above 10′. Ioan for an 100l., giveth him liberty to take that 10. or doh discharge him against the canons of Ustry. Touching his inference, that Linwood speaketh not one word against hunting simply by clergy-men, but against their using it in places restrained; it is true, for the text of the canon led him no further; being only 1)e Cle“rico, de transgressione Foresta, aut parciali, cujus diffumato, and made to no other intent than to aggravate the censure of the ecclesiastical law, which before was not sharp enough against offenders in that kind. But Johannes de Athon, as great a canonist and somewhat elder, whom Linwood often citeth and resieth upon as one well understanding the eclesiastical constitutions and the laws of England, hath apparently condemned it in the place by me re. cited. Yet is it to be noted, that neither Athon *or Linwood intended to gloss upon all the

constitutions of the church of England; but Athon only upon those of Otho and Othobon; and Linwood, beginning where Athon left, upon those ofson arch-bishop of Canterbury and his successors. There are therefore a great number of canons and constitutions of the church of England, which neither of these canonists have either meddled with or so much as touched : as also there be many statutes in force, which are no where mentioned in any of the abridgements. But Jo. de Burgo (another English canonist and chancellor of Cainbridge, who wrote in Richard 20’s time) taketh notice of this canon, and that hunting was thereby forbidden to our clergy-men, as appeareth in his Pupilla Oculi, part. 7… ca. 10, m.

To go on. The Apology saith, “That the “arch-bishop of Canterbury had formerly more than twenty parks and chases, to use at his “pleasure, and by charter hath free-warren in ‘ all his lands.’

Habuisse, lugubre: it seemeth the wisdom of the latter times, the more pity, dissented from the former; yet did not the former approve that bishops “. use them at their pleasure, but as the laws and canons of the church permitted. For as they had many parks and warrens; so had they many castles and fortresses, and might for their safety dwell in them : but as they might not be soldiers in the one, so might they not be huntsmen in the other. In like sort, the abbot and monks of St. Alban’s (as Mat. Paris reporteth the case, in an. 1240, ! 205.) had free-warren at St. Alban’s, &c.

y grant of the kings, and recovered damages against many that entered into the same and hunted ; for the having of it was lawful, as appeareth in the Clementines Tit. de Statu Monast. § Porro à Venatoribus. But it is there expressly forbidden, that either they should bunt in it themselves, or be present when others do “hunt, or that they should keep, “Canes venaticos aut infra monasteria seu do‘mus quas inhabitant, auteorun clausuras, pa. * 207.” Radulphus de Diceto in am. 1189, saith, that the bishops of that time affected to get into their hands “Comitatus, vice-comitatus, “vel castellarias;’ Counties, sheriffwicks, and constable-ships of castles; but shall we think they either did or might use them in their own persons, as with banners displayed to lead forth the soldiers of their county, or with sword and target to defend the walls of their castles, or with a white wand to collect the king’s revenues, &c. It is true, that Walter bishop of Durham, having bought the county of Northumberland of William the conqueror, would needs sit himself in the county-court; but he paid dearly for it; for his country-men furiously slew him, even sitting there. Matt. Paris in an. 1075. So Hugh bishop of Coventry exercised the sheriff’s place, but was excommunicate for it, as ‘contra dignitatem episc.’ and so acknowledged his error. Dicet. in an 1190.

But every one will say, it was a common thing in old time for bishops to be judges in se

cular courts. I confess it; and think it godly and lawful as it was used at the first. For the bishop and the earl sat together in the county court: the bishop as chancellor, to deliver Dei rectum and populum docere; the earl as secular judge, to deliver rectum seculi and populum coercere; as is manifest by the laws of king Edgar and others. But when the bishops began to supply both places, and to be meer judges of secular courts, then were they prohiLited by many canons. And therefore Roger bishop of Salisbury being importuned by the king to be his justice; would by no means accept it, till he had obtained dispensation, not only from his metropolitan the archbishop of Canterbury, but from the pope himself, as Dicetus affirmeth in an. 1190, and no doubt but others of wisdom did the like. In those things therefore that bishops did against canons, we must take no example so follow them : for though their public actions be manifest, yet their dispensations and matter of excuse is for the most part secret. Neither doth every thing done against a canon produce irregularity, if some criminous mischance follow not thereon.

For the record that relateth that the bishop of Rochester was at his death to render to the archbishop of Canterbury his kennel of hounds as a mortuary, and that the law takes notice of it for the king sede vacante, under the name of muta canum and mulcture : I must (as they say in the law) demand Oyer of the record; we shall otherwise spend many words in vain. But that dogs should be given for a mortuary is against all likelihood. For a mortuary, is as an offering given (by him that dieth) unto the church, in recompence of his tithes forgotten; and it is a plain text, Deuter. xxviii. 18. “Non * offeres inercedem prostibuli, nec pretium canis “in domo Domini.’ But if there be no other word to signify a kennel of hounds, than muta canum and mulctura, the exposition may be doubtful, though it come somewhat near it. Freder. 2. emp. in the prologue to his second book de Venatione, speaking of an hawks-mue, saith, Donicula qua dictur muta; following the Italian vulgar, which corneth a mutando, because the hawk doth there change her coat. And for the affinitv between dogs and hawks, it may be zarazzarixás transferred to a dog-kennel; and whether to the hounds themselves or no, it is not much matterial. For, no doubt, they that may have parks and warrens, may have dogs and hounds for hunting: but every body that may have hounds may not use them themselves, as appeareth by that which I said before out of the Clementines, and by the opinion of justice Brudnel, with the rest of the judges, 12 Hen. 8, fol. 5, where it is said, a man may keep hounds notwithstanding the statute of 13 R. 2, but he must not hunt; as he may keep apparel of cloth of gold, notwithstanding the statute of apparel, but he must not wear it. Besides, religious persons in ancient times were driven to have dog-kennels for the king’s hounds: for Rad. Niger in an. . . . . . . saith, that king Henry 9, “Abbates, hypodromoset canum custodes fecit.’

After all this, his lordship is defended with

the perpetual use of hunting by bishops in their parks; and by the particular examples of some eminent men his predecessors, and others. This point of use and example I have in a manner auswered before; speaking, as it fell in my way, of bishops being secular judges. One line serveth to level at them both : yet for further and more perspicuous resolution of the matter, see both the example and the use censured in the decret. 34. distinct. ca. 1. by pope Nicholas, ad Albinum archiepisc. alias Aluinum. “Quemadmodum relatione fidelium nostris au‘ribus intimatum est, quod Lanfredus episcopus, “qui et juvenis esse dicitur, venationi sit dedi‘tus; quod vitium plurimos etiam de clericali ‘ catalogo, genere duntaxat Germanos et Gal“los irreverenter implicat, verum iste (si ita est ‘ut audiwimus) merito juvenis dicitur, qui ju‘venilihus desideriis occupatus, nulla gravitate “constringitur.’ Et infra: ‘Nam (ut Beatus dicit “Hieronymus) Venatoren nunquain legimus “sanctum.” Then blaming him also for being too familiar with his daughter, he saith, “Opor“tet ergo fratermitatem tuam synodale cum epis* copis et suffraganeis tuis convocate concilium, ‘et hunc salutaribus colloquiis episcopun con“venire, atque illi pastorali authoritate praeci‘pere quatenus ab omnium bestiarum vel vo“lucrum venatione penites alienus existal :’ or (in short) to excommunicate him. o Here he sheweth hunting to be used both by a bishop and by a multitude of clerks, (plurimos.) But neither the person and dignity of the one, nor the multitude nor frequent use in the other, maketh the pope to abstain from condemning it. Howbeit, they whose example the Apologist alledgeth, little respected (as I think) the whole volume of canons. Touching the record of the earl of Arundel’s excommunication for taking up the archbishop of Canterbury’s bounds coming into the earl’s grounds to hunt; and the archbishop’s pleading That it was lawful for him to hunt in any forest of England whensoever he would, we must (as we before said) pray Oyer of the record; for parols font plea, and their certainty appears not here, nor what became of the issue: which, though it fell out to be found for the archbishop, yet perhaps it discharged him not against the canon. And well might he he as bold with the canon, as he was with the law. For it is directly against the law both of England and France, to excommunicate a peer of the realin without the king’s assent: and therefore Henry 3 was sore offeuded with the archbishop for this excommunication: (and the bishops of London and Norwich were called in question for the like in Henry the second’s time: as Matthew Paris reporteth, p. 99.) But because his case sways the cause to the ground; I must dwell a little the longer upon it, to shew what became of it. The truth is, it was ended by comprise in the chapel at Slyndon upon Friday after the circumcision of our Lord, 1258, that is, 43 Hen. 3, in this manner: “quod idem archiepiscopus ‘et successores sui semel in quolibet anno et “non plus, cum transierint per dictam forestain “(i. e. de Arundel) cum una lesia de sex lepo* raris sine aliis canibus et sine arcu habeant ‘unum cursum in eundo et alium in redeundo ; “ita quod si capiant unan feram, illam habe‘ bunt; si nihil capiant in illo cursu, nihil habe“bunt. Sivero capitant plus quam unam feram, “archiepiscopi qui pro tempore fuerint, habeant * qílam elegerint, et residuum habeant dictus & §. Johannes ethacredes ejus,’ &c. Then is it further awarded, that the said earl, his heirs, and assigns, shall yearly for ever pay unto the said archbishop and his successors, 13 bucks and 13 docs, (cap’as de fermysun as the record saith) at times there appointed. And then followeth this close, which make th all plain ; ‘Et “actum est expresse inter partes de praccepto ‘et ordinatione dictorum arbitratorum, quod “dictae partes procurabunt confirmationem do* mini papae et domini legis super praesenticon* firmatione.’ By this record it appeareth, that neither the earl could make this grant without licence from the king, (for that all forests are the king’s, and no subject can have them otherwise than in custody) nor the archbishop could safely use the privilege of hunting without dispensation from the pope ; and though I yet find not where the one was obtained from the pope, yet I find where the other was granted from the king; and namely from Edward the first in the 2nd year of his reign; where all the award and composition beforesaid, is (by way of inspeximus) recited and confirmed. But the composition for the bucks and does, was after in Edward the third’s time released by the archbishop Simon Islip, having taken for the same 240 marks; as witness Antiqq. Britann. ca. 55. And it scemeth further by this record, that the archbishops of Canterbury had not at that time dispensation from the pope, to hunt where they listed in any forest of England; for then should he not have needed special dispensation in this case. But howsoever the dispensation or confirmation was hereupon obtained; it is apparent that it stretched no further than to hunt with grey-hounds; for the bow is expressly forbidden and excepted. It may be, some will extend the word confirmation, to be uneant of some right of hunting, which the arch-bishop (upon this arbitrement) was to disinherit his church of: which I leave to the judgment of lawyers. For it may contain both; though I never saw any precedent of the popes in that kind for so small a matter: but of the other kind, we have before made mention of one to ltoger bishop of Salisbury, and a multitude of others are to be produced. Again, if they have a dispensation for hunting, yet it hath some limitation either for the place or the manner; which his lordship (if he justify under that) must shew particularly. To come now at last to the last point of the Apology, drawn from the particular example of arch-bishop Cranmer; who, in the description of his life (Britannicarum Antiqq. ca. 68.) is set forth to hunt, shoot, and ride a great or stirring horse with notable activity, even when he was

arch-bishop, and in the words recited by the apologist. But these be exercises of war, not of religion; fit for barons not for bishops; who in ancient time, following the example of our Saviour and his apostles, walked on foot, as appeareth by Bede, Eccl. Hist. I. 3. ca. 14. and lib 4. ca. 3. and beginning to ride, used here in England mares, as Bede also witnesseth, lib. 2. ca. 13. in other places mules, not horses; for * Bellum hac armenta minantur, as not ouly the poet saith, but as the scripture also, Prov. 21. ult. “Equus paratur ad diem belli.’ And such belike, did this arch-bishop Cranmer luount upon and manage, as the word simply, “ut in fainulatu suo non fuerit quisquam qui in ‘generosum equum salire, ac tractare elegantius ‘-potuisset.’ Besides the shooting here mentioned seemeth not to be the long-bowe, which stirreth the body and is profitable to health, but that deadly engine (which imagineth mischief as a law) the cross-bowe, whose force a man cannot mitigate as in other weapons, and is properly numbered amongst the instruments of war; and therefore by a multitude of canons prohibited to clergy-men, so that they may not use them “pro justitia exercenda’ (as appeareth by the constit. of Othob. Tit.) de Clericis “arala portan.’ nor ‘equitantes per loca peri‘culosa,’ as it is in the gloss upon the decret. of Gratian p. 992, where the text is, “Clerici “arina portantes et usurarii excommunicentur.” But I have gone the length of my tedder, I mean as far as the Apology leadeth me; and therefore now * mamum de tabula. The case of this reverend and most worthy person deserveth great commiseration and tender handling : for who can prevent such unexpected casualties? Yet may the consequence prove so mischievous both to himself and those that are to receive their consecration from him, as of necessity it must be carefully looked into and provided for. Let me remember an ancient precedent, even in one of his own predecessors, Stigand, archbishop of Canterbury in the time of the conquest, who, because he had not canonically received his consecration, but from the hands of pope Benedict (who stood excommunicate …! sacris interdictus) was not only deprived himself by authority of a council, but also the bishops and abbots which had taken their consecration from him. Therefore the bishops of Wells and Hereford fore-seeing that evil; to make all clear, fetch their consecration at Rome from pope Nicholas: Vitabant enim (saith Flor. Wigorn. in an. 1070.) “a Stigando “qui tunc Archiepiscopatui Doroberniae presi‘debat, ordinari : quia noverant illum non Ca“nonice Pallium suscepisse.’ It is good to follow the counsel of Gratian in the like matter: * Consultius est in hujusmodi dubio abstinere “quam celebrare, ca. 24, 1716. But because we are fallen into a case, wherein perhaps some extraordinary consecration may be required; let me also relate a strange cousecration used in the entrance of the reign of Henry 1, an. 1100. where Eadmere a monk of . Canterbury being elected by the clergy and

people of Scotland to be bishop of St. Andrews, with the great good liking of king Alexander and the mobility. Yet by reason of some discontentiments the same king had conceived against the arch-bishop of York, within whose province Scotland then was, he would by no means agree that Eadmere should take bis consecration from that arch-bishop ; and after Inuch consultation how then it might otherwise be performed, it was at last agreed, that the staff of the bishoprick should be solemnly laid upon the altar, and that Eadmere taking it from thence, should receive it as delivered him from God himself: which accordingly was done. This calleth to my mind another of like nature, somewhat more ancient : where Wulstan, the good bishop of Worcester, both resigned his bishoprick by laying the staff thereof upon the shrine of St. Edward the confessor (by the agreement of a council holden under Lanfranc) and in like manner received the same again from thence, in the presence of king William, the arch-bishop Lanfranc, and many others; not without sone miracle, as Matthew Paris vriteth it in an. 1095. These as rétieya.

And thus, in this matter of shooting, If I have done as the proverb saith, shot like a gentleman, that is fair, though far off, it sufficeth. I humbly crave pardon.

Demorests’ Monthly Magazine, Volume 14 (Again)

Mme. Demorest’s Portfoliº
ºf Fashions.
This popular periodical for sug
gestion and reference is issued on
or about the 1st of March for the
Spring and Summer of 1878, and
strongly recommended to dress
makers and ladies generally,
is containing an inexhaustible
supply of ideas for the making
and remodeling of dresses and
lomain of the family wardrobe.
Models being represented through
his medium enlarged in size, with
double views wherever necessary,
and every detail faithfully and
ºccurately represented, there is
ºtheslightest difficulty in decid
ing upon styles suitable for differ.
ent purposes, while it also enables
adies to judge by comparison.
which will suit old designs they
intend to make over, as well as the
ºw materials they have to make
up.
A systematic reference to the
“Portfolio,” which only costs fif
ºn cents, saves dollars, which
night otherwise be expended in
The purchase of unsuitable pat
Terns, besides furnishing sugges
ions which can be multiplied into
ºn almost infinite variety of useful
styles in dress and trimming.
Orders must be sent early so as
to be filled promptly, as the de
mand increases enormously with
ºvery fresh issue.
– – — – — – –
–~~~ —
and elevated taste at home.
arments throughout the entire

—> -T->{‘sº
– Y- º
AL Q:§§[AUiº
2 sº
— –

“What tº Wear,” for the
Spring of 1878.
|
OUR “What to Wear” is now so
well known, that we need do little
more than call the attention of our
readers to the fact of its appear
ance. Its practical use has made
its one hundred thousand subscri
bers its one hundred thousand
friends, and not one of them but
will bear witness of its value as an
ever-welcome guide in the thou
sand details of selecting, buying,
making, and performing various
other needful offices, which fall to
the share of housekeeper, wife,
and mother. –
What to wear, what to get, how
to make it, and what to do with
the materials on hand, are perpet
ually recurring questions in the
household, and these the “What to
Wear” of Mme. Demogest seeks to
answer. The cost is so trifling,
that it is not missed ; while the
service it performs is never end
ing. Every merchant, milliner,
dressmaker, and lady of taste,
wants this book of instruction on
dress in all its departments.
——-
Review ºf Fashions.
THE fashions of the past season
have been remarkable for beauty,
variety, and picturesque effect.
There is now almost nothing that
is arbitrary about fashions in dress.
A lady can wear any material, or
any combination of materials, pro
vided it is in good taste, and
– º –
ANES g|EºNgº Nº.
SPECIALITE OF FASHIONS.
We invite the attention of ladies particularly to the original and special character of the Designs and Styles in Dress furnished in this Magazine. In this department it has always been acknowledged unrivaled. Unlike other Magazines, it does not merely copy. It obtains the fullest intelli. gence from advanced sources abroad, and unites to these high artistic ability, and a thorough knowledge of what is required by our more refined Besides, its instructions are not confined to mere descriptions of elaborate and special toilets, but embrace important information for dealers, and valuable hints to mothers, dressmakers, and ladies generally, who wish to preserve economy in their cardrobes, dress becomingly, and keep themselves informed of the changes in the Fashions and the specialties required in the eatercise of good taste.
adapted to her purpose. The old
notion that silken fabrics alone
were suitable for dressy wear has
been quite exploded by actual ex
periment. Softwool holds the light
and shade, and forms itself into
becoming drapery much better
than silk, and is therefore more
graceful and more becoming, while
it can be made as costly as need
be in costumes, by associating it
with rich figured silk, or emboss
ed velvet, or both, and adding
fringes and trimmings ad libitum.
Many ladies have, however,
taken advantage of this diversity
in fashion to arrange very inex
pensive, yet very stylish costumes,
in ivory shades—pale blue, pink,
and rose of fine woolen cashmere,
debege, or English barege, associ
ated with folds of soft silk, damas
sée, or embossed velvet, or both.
Cashmeres and debeges in light colors are particularly affected
for dressy in-door wear, afternoon
teas, or lunches; and are always cut
in the princess style, so that they
are saved from the appearance of
a wrapper, only by the cut of the
neck and the arrangement of the
trimming. –
Cascades of lace or fringe with
ribbon bows are fashionable forms
of decoration, extending entirely
down the front and back, when
the skirt is cut whole, but usually
there is a plaited train inserted at
the back, and in this case the cen
tral trimming stops at that point,
while, perhaps, the front will be
arranged as a basque, with a
deep square vest, and the lower part laid in side plaits or arranged
in bouilloneós, divided with cords
or pipings, or gatherings of narrow
lace.
CENTENNIAL A WA R D OVER A LL COMPETITORS.
The great merit of this variety of fabric is in the fact that styles
can be adapted to many degrees
of fortune. The richer combina
tions, too, have their own advan
tages. Some of the most beautiful
and expensive-looking toilets of
the present season have been com
posed of rich dresses laid away, and now brought out to be cut over and combined with new bro.
caded silk, striped satin, or other
of the rich figured fabrics in
Vogue.
It is not at all desirable that every
one should be confined to economy,
or the use of cheap materials. The
development of art, and all the
higher industries, depends on the
ability of the rich to pay their
cost. In olden times, the Church
was the patron of skillful industry.
The first attempt made to engrave
precious stones was for the deco
ration of the robes of the high
priest, and the whole art of em
broidery and the working of lace
had its foundation in the enrich
ing of priestly vestments and altar
ornamentation.
In Protestant countries, the
Church has no longer any oppor
tunity for display of this kind, and
the encouragement of industrial
arts has therefore fallen directly
into the hands of those who have abundant means to gratify their
taste and love of the beautiful.
It is an evidence of progress,
when the rich are willing to spend
their money in the finest results
of hand labor and artistic skill,
instead of in that which repre
sents mere wealth in bulk. The
richly engraved gems, therefore,
which are now so fashionable,
the exquisite blending of colors,



º
l54 LIHEMCOFESTY’S MONTHLY MAG-AZINE. IMarch,
in silk and chenille embroideries,
the introduction of fine embroi
dery in colors, into delicate lace,
are all indicative of progress in
civilization, and that growth in
art which is reflected in the
beautiful interiors of many dwell.
ings, and in the wonderful skill
bestowed upon the cutting of
modern intaglios, the enameling,
the painting of jewelry, and other
ways in which exquisite handi
work finds occupation and recom
pense.
It is rather early to speak of
spring styles, but not too early
for those who live in a warmer
climate, and who find themselves
during the latter part of February,
or early in March, surrounded by
the growing grass and the bud
ding trees. For the benefit of these,
we will mention two new styles
of costume, both of which are
suitable for spring materials.
One consists of a trimmed or
double skirt, and plaited yoked
waist, belted in. The other is a
Princess, with a small demi-train,
accompanied by a somewhat long
and close-cut jacket. The first of
these is best composed of cashmere
or plain wool bege, trimmed with
silk. The second looks extremely
well in the new mottled or fine
diagonal all-wool serges, also trim
med with silk, in the darker shade
of the color. Fringes, or other
hanging trimmings, with the ex
ception of loops of ribbon, are no
longer used for such dresses.
They are strict combinations of
silk and wool, with trimming
very often consisting of numerous
pipings of the silk, with loops
of silk or ribbon hanging between,
or outlining the bodice or basque.
Flounces are used upon the skirt,
gathered or plaited as preferred ;
or the front, to the knee, may con
sist of a side-plaited tablier, the
back being finished with narrow
ruffles knife-plaited, and put on
with a heading.
A very pretty dress of this kind,
for business purposes, is made of
brown mottled serge, cut strictly
walking length, and accompanied
by a jacket, which is cut away
slightly from the front so as to
show the pretty basque trimming.
This is an excellent model for a
shopping or a business dress.
For the piqués and cambrics,
which begin to make their appear
ance, the plaited yoke basque and
Princess styles are the most suit
able, and as these are likely to
continue in vogue all summer,
there need be no difficulty in
making up summer wardrobes in
advance of the regular season.
Models for the Month.
AMONG the recent designs which
will be likely to hold a permanent
place, so long as the present re
stricted styles of dress shall con
tinue, is the polonaise, which we
illustrate under the name of the
“Seraphine’—2466. It is a very
graceful and well-fitting model,
adapted to bourette, the richer
brocades, or equally for the fig
ured basket-cloth, the new Jas
pers, or the pretty mottled serges
and wool debege, which are al
ways among the standard spring
fabrics. It may be trimmed with
velvet and silk, or with silk alone,
or with satin, according to the
fabric of which it is composed. It
requires less than eight yards of
material, twenty-four inches wide,
exclusive of the trimmings, and
may therefore be made up as in
expensively as one could desire.
The overskirt known as the
“Lisetta”—1211—is a charming
design, very simple yet very dis
tinguished, and extremely well
adapted to plain rich silk, or soft
woolen materials, trimmed with
velvet and embroidered galloons.
The revers at the side are fasteri
ed back with simulated button
holes, made with silk piping upon
satin or velvet, and the buttons
are of the new onyx, with metal
rims, which show to so much ad vantage upon the rich dark shades
of silk or woolen fabric. Six
yards of material, twenty-four
inches wide, will make an over
skirt of this description entirely
of the same fabric; but one yard
and an eighth would be necessary
for the revers, if it is required of
a different fabric. It may be re
marked, however, that the revers
can be omitted altogether if de
sired. –
A suitable basque for spring
woolen materials, particularly for
mottled serge, debege, and the
like, is the “Cuirass” — 2637.
This is plain, but well fitting,
with upright … seams and collar
composed of plaitings of silk. In
stead of plaitings these may be
outlined in flat bands, or pipings,
if desired; or the ruffles may be
turned the other way and made
upright. Detail of this kind is
always a matter of taste, and may
be arranged to suit individual
preference.
We give three out-door gar
ments, two of which are adapted
to spring or suit materials. The
“Garde-Française” coat—1030–
is the most dressy of these, and
particularly suitable for those who
can indulge in the variety in cos
tumes, or are not beyond the age
for a little coquetry. It is par
ticularly adapted for a dark shade
of bourette cloth, with faille trim
ming and vest, and frosted gilt
buttons. It will be observed, that
the buttons upon the vest and
coat are small, and that the style
depends for its somewhat striking
effect altogether upon the cut and
finish. The material, therefore,
of the coat should be handsome ;
the ground color dark ; the linings
of the fronts, at least, all silk;
the same as the facing for the col
lar, cuffs, pockets, and lappels. It
should be worn with a skirt, trim
med in front very high, and the
back somewhat like that of the
“Seraphine’’ polonaise. The
amount of material required is
very small—four yards and a half
for the entire garment, or three
and a quarter for the jacket, and
one yard and a quarter for the
vest, facing, etc.
The “Geraldine ” — 1026 — is
simpler in its effect, but very
stylish. The buttoning of the side
forms upon the back outlines the
figure very gracefully, while the
vest, in front, may be omitted,
and the revers retained at pleas
ure.
The “Ottilie’’ Paletot—1031–
may be used as a design for an in
dependent garment, or as an ac
companiment to a suit in spring
materials. Its style particularly
adapts it to traveling dresses and
costumes intended for service.
The finishing should be a binding
of silk, or galloon, and buttons of
stained vegetable ivory, or smoked
mother-of-pearl.
• O e
Hunting Costumes.
Now that the English hunt is
being naturalized in America,
hunting costumes will become
matters of general interest to ladies
who ride on horseback, as well as
those who take part in the sport.
The usual hunting-dress for
English ladies is a habit composed
of the usual long, plain skirt and
basque, made of very dark navy
blue, or hunting-green cloth, faced
with light-blue or with green silk
of the same shade as the green of
the cloth. The buttons are small,
and usually of frosted gilt. A
small standing collar incloses one
of linen, and both are fastened by
a little gold pin, from which de
pend the square ends of a white
lace tie.
The hat is high, and trimmed
with a gauze veil, and an Ulster
with “Carrick “cape is strapped
to the saddle to be used as a wrap,
when riding to cover, which is
always done in an open dog-cart.
—e-e-e—
Niceties of Fashion.
A VERY graceful and pretty
addition to winter toilet is the
quilted cape of pink, scarlet, blue,
or lavender silk bound with nar
row white fur or with swans
down, and intended to take the
place of what are called break
fast-shawls.
To these, as to health, there is
no real objection, for dining-rooms
are often chilly, but to the swans
down-lined peignoirs now being
introduced, and of which the entire
waist is filled with the down, there
is a very decided one. They keep
the chest and lungs even of a
delicate and chilly person entirely
too warm, causing a certain amount
of weakening perspiration about
the back and breast, which, when
another garment, even quite warm,
is substituted for the peignoir,
results inevitably in giving cold.
It is by precautions against any
chill in the atmosphere so extreme
as these that robust persons be
come delicate ones. The peignoirs
are handsome in themselves, being
of a light kind of silk resembling
Japanese and lined with light
yellow or cream-colored Florentine
silk. The sleeves at the wrists
and the neck are bound with
Swans-down.
The profuse use of swans-down
as trimming for many light ar
ticles, such as in London are called
boudoir-slips, and of which the
form is very varied—some being
short, some long—is not open to
the objection of being too warm,
though it is to that of giving bulk
to a figure however light. The
very becoming effect of the swans
down against the skin is an offset
to this, and it is disregarded for
the sake of the complexion.
A boudoir-slip of rose-colored
taffetas has a border of swans-down
and is lined and laid back with
“baby-blue.” Below the swans
down on the skirt is fluted muslin
making the garment reach to the
floor, while the still deeper under
skirt of white muslin protects the
down and flutings. The slip is
of the Watteau shape, and the
front being open exposes a tablier
of white quilted silk which is set
over the muslin skirt, and to which
the down on the slip makes a
border. Pink shoes, high heeled
with silver and with a border of
down accompany this toilette.
LIN EN AND SMYRNA. LACE COLLAR.
PLAIN LINEN
tround point Fichtſ
COLLAR.
CUFE”.
MECHLIN LACE COLLAR.
JAPANESE EMBROID- – –
ERED CUFF. JAPANESE EMBROIDERED COLLAR.
POINT DE VENISE CUFF.
º
– º
POINT DE VENISE COLLAR.
º
:
DEMO Er. EST’S MONTHLY MLA G-AZINE.
Opera Caps.
AN opera cap is an innovation.
Indeed, to call it a cap, from which
appellation it might be argued that
it resembles what we have been in
the habit of calling a cap, is ab
surd. For what resemblance does
a somewhat large bow of gauze or
tulle, much puffed out, to be sure,
and flanked by a jeweled ornament
and a feather—marabout or ostrich
powdered with gold—bear to a cap?
Yet this puff, this cloud, held by
a jewel and winged by a feather,
looking much as though a beauti
ful butterfly had somehow found
its way to a tiny bank of snow,
is, forsooth, a cap
Your opera cap must suit your
toilette. It may be of blue, yel
low, rose-colored, or white gauze,
and the hue of your feather suit
ing. Your jewel may be any or
nament you fancy, if of proper
shape, and the ensemble of gauze,
feather, and jewel constitutes the
cap. Resting among the myriad
finger-puffs and curls this airy
structure is exquisitely becoming,
there being nothing serious or cap
like about it. It is, in point of
fact, the travestie of a cap.
One of the ladies accompanying
the Duchess of Magenta to the
representation of “Ernani,” wore
an opera cap which consisted of a
single puff of gauze fastened by a
jeweled butterfly and winged with
marabout.
———
Embroidered Fichus.
VERY new fichus are mere strips of white gauze, beautifully em
broidered in variegated colors, out
lined to the shape of the neck, the
ends descending upon the breast,
and bordered with a double row of
fine old lace.
Another pretty little decoration
for the neck consists simply of a
handkerchief of very sheer and
delicate linen cambric, shaped and
doubled, and edged with Valen
ciennes or duchesse lace. This
handkerchief is brought close up
upon the neck, fastened up against
the throat with a gold pin, and the
two ends fastened upon the breast
with a second pin, instead of hang
ing loose.

Where to Buy.
OUR readers who desire to pur
chase patterns near by will please
refer to our revised list of Dem
orest’s 1500 Pattern Agencies
printed on the back of the full size
Pattern sheet in the present num
ber. Call for catalogue.
ºlº.º.º.º.º.º.º.o.º.º.
|
Trimmings.
OF frillings for the spring trade
the only noticeable novelties are
those of J. & J. Cash; these em
brace a large variety of new and
tasteful patterns, ranging from
the plain edge to twelve differ
ent designs in lace edges which are firmly woven into the fabric.
The “Wild-flowers” pattern has
in addition to the pretty lace
edge, from two to five stripes
|
clothing, and make also dainty
rufflings for pillowcases, or shams,
or false sheets ; while the colored
frillings will be found most suita
ble to use on children’s as well as
ladies’ percale, cambric, or piqué
dresses, either matching or con
trasting with the goods. The col
ors are recommended to wash and
mends them to additional favor.
The neatness and compactness
with which they are put up for
sale renders them especially at
running across it, not unlike the
tape-bordered handkerchiefs; the
“American stripe” is like the
latter, except that the edge is plain
selvedge. The “Telegraph” pat
tern has two stripes of dotted
lines and plain edge, while the
“Coventry,” “Britannia,” “Broad.
tractive, and we predict for them
a large demand. They range in
width from three-eighths of an
inch up to three inches in the
white, both plain and lace-finish
ed; and from seven-eighths of an inch to three inches in colors.
These latter may be gathered or
way,” and “Victoria ” brands put on plain, the white margin
maintain their high standard of ex forming a facing.
º
º
ºuſ
cellence. As colors are coming so
strongly into vogue as trimming for
ladies’ and children’s white cloth
ing, the newest designs of Cash fril
lings have colored patterns woven
into the fabric, and these embrace
some eight or ten different styles of
figure; some are cardinal, others
blue and cardinal, or blue and yel
low, pink, sky blue, navy blue,
brown and yellow; these colors are
combined to produce the pattern,
or each color used separately pre
sents meat designs of Grecian and
Arabesque effects. As each edge
is completely finished with a strong
selvedge, and a strong drawing
string is woven through the upper
edge, these frillings, both in white
and colors, are most desirable for
trimming ladies’ and children’s

N
T
Ladies’ Street Carments.
Fig. 1–The “Garde-Française”
coat–No. 1030—made in bronze.
brown bourette woolen goods, with
velvet trimmings to match a cos
tume in the same goods. Price of
pattern, twenty-five cents each
size.
Fig. 2. —A back view of the
“Garde-Française” coat, made in
the same goods as on Fig. 1. For
price of pattern see description on
Fig. 1.
FIG. 3.-The “Ottilie” paletot–
No. 1031—made in black armure
silk, trimmed with engraved pearl
buttons and ostrich feather trim
ming. The illustration of the back
is given elsewhere. Price of pat
term, thirty cents each size.
wear without fading, which com- |
Greek Circlets.
THE most beautiful ornament
for the hair which has appeared
this season, both here and abroad, is the Greek band or circlet.
The most superb of these triple
bands are of gold, set with dia.
monds, rubies, or pearls. An ex
quisitely beautiful set has stars of
turquoise; another, stars of garnet.
But, apart from those which are
jewels, the circlets are worn in
the shape of velvet bands, either black, cardinal red, or yellow.
with jet stars, circles, studdings.
leaves, or pear-shaped beads, and
also white ribbon bands with gold,
silver, or white jet set in like
studs upon the ribbon.
A very handsome set of Greek
bands is in tortoise-shell, bound on
both edges with gold. This shape
rests upon the head in a way
which admits of drawing small ringlets through the three sec
tions. This advantageously dis
plays the grape tendril-like coif.
fure now in vogue. In fair hair, Greek bands of jet have a fine
effect. Another set is of white
enamel with coral beads forming
flowers. This style of ornament,
though costly, is very durable,
and suits reception as well as ball
dress.
–——
Fashionable Bracelets.
SLENDER bracelets are preferred
to wide bands. They are very
narrow bands, with a sort of brooch
in the back, showing a flower in
pearls, turquoises, or other stones,
or else a pendant locket; or the
back represents buckles, or a key.
or some peculiar device. The new
est bangles consist of a chain, with
pencil attached for making memo. randa; they are called shopping
bracelets.
— –
EACH mail brings us a host of
highly complimentary notices from
the press; we give the following
as an illustration –
A WoRk of ART-In spite of
all competition, D.E.M. o. R. E. ST’s
MonTEILY still holds its high posi
tion as one of the best of its kind
published in the world. It is real
ly a work of art, and in point of
typographical beauty, as well as
intrinsic excellence, it stands un
rivalled. The entire single num
ber covers sixty pages, and to
gether makes the largest in the country. We congratulate the
publishers that it has such an im
mense circulation, and can cheer.
fully say that we believe it fully
merited.—
Loomis’s Musical Monthly.

The Medical Times and Register, Volume 5 (Google Books)

715 and 717 Market St’., Philadelphia, and25 Band St., New York.

SATURDAY, MARCH 20, 1875.

EDITORIAL.

PHILANTHROPY RUN MAD.

‘”THE active and virulent assaults in London upon vivisection and those who practise it have already been alluded to in these columns; but the cool impudence of a recent act of the Royal Society for the Protection of Animals seems to us to exceed anything that we have seen or read of for a long time. It must be remembered that this Society has already taken the ground that vivisection is criminal, and that all performers of it ought to be as vigorously prosecuted as those who starve or drive to death cattle or horses, or who in Hogarthian methods put to shame and suffering the smaller domestic animals. Having taken this position, the Society now sends a circular to all the medical societies, medical schools, hospitals, etc., of Great Britain, stating, “It has been alleged that experiments upon animals are practised under the care or patronage of these various schools, societies, etc.,” and asking that “a committee of the Society for their protection may be present as mute spectators on the occasion alluded to when operations on living animals are appointed to be performed at your institution, in order that we may report the proceedings of them.” We are sorry to have to state that some of the medical societies have returned respectful though negative answers to these petitions. It would have been better not to notice them.

London is not the only place where ultra, bigoted

philanthropists exist: we have the same class in this community. Long ago our own society in the female branch embarrassed vivisection in this city by preventing the use of the condemned dogs of the pound. Of course, by this senseless procedure they did not stop scientific investigations, but only made them more troublesome and expensive, and thereby really increased the probabilities of cruelty being practised: when a dog costs five dollars instead of fifty cents, there is evidently a constant temptation to make the single animal go as far as possible.

The moral of the famous answer of Sir Astley Cooper to the Committee of the House of Parliament, “If you do not allow us the bodies of convicts and paupers, we will take those of members of Parliament,” is perfectly applicable to the present case. The reputed action of the chief of the Paris police in the case of Magendie was a much wiser one than that of our ladies of wealth. The story, as we have heard it, is that one of Magendie’s dogs having escaped in a very severely wounded condition went home to his master, who happened to hold the office aforesaid. The next day every policeman was on the qui vive to discover who had dared to commit the dastardly outrage, and by-and-by the crime was traced to the luckless vivisector. He, however, so explained the matter to the chief of the police, and was so successful in undoing what he had done, that not only was the dog restored to health, but his master was converted into an ally, so that ever afterwards the city pound was open to Magendie.

Scientific investigation has continued to go on in the face of papal bulls and religious persecution unto the shedding of blood; much less shall it be stopped by any band of sentimental philanthropist’s, who bear to the real lover of his kind about the same relation that an old childless woman hugging her lapdog does to the mother with the babe in her arms.

The less of useful work any one has to do in the world, the more time is left for making trouble; and the false assertions of Mr. Bergh and his kindred may in this country—where public opinion is so powerful —make a great deal of trouble, if we do not take care to put the real facts of the case before the people. It has been with great pleasure, therefore, that we have recently read very just editorials and articles upon the subject in the Nation and other of our leading popular journals and papers. Much, of course, can be done in the way of influencing public opinion by means of the press; but even more can be accomplished by every physician making, by personal efforts, the little circle that looks up to him understand the merits of the case. The little brochure of Prof. Dalton* is an excellent one to loan to friends and patients; but the following condensed statement from the British Medical Journal will be perhaps more useful for the refreshment of the memory of the physician himself.