Chapter XIII: Section III: Monkish Employments

Manual labour was strongly recommended by Benedict, and, from the first establishment of his order, the monks engaged themselves in tilling the soil. It is difficult to form an idea of the deplorable state of agriculture in Europe, for some centuries after the invasion of the barbarians upon the south. The change which has since been wrought in the appearance of towns, in the state of trade, and in the general character of political and social institutions, is scarcely greater than the change which has been produced in the aspect of nature. Many an immense tract of country now smiling with cornfields, meadows, gardens, and vineyards, was, in the middle ages, a miserable morass, or a straggling forest, haunted by the wolf, and unvisited by man. In the first attempts to transform the desert into "a fruitful field," we find the monks most active. In the early charters granted to monasteries, frequent mention is made of extensive districts, uncultivated and barren, made over to them as their property, which, by their labour, they turned to profitable account. Wild and inaccessible forests were cleared for the site of a new convent; and the monkish historian, as he recorded the fact, exclaimed, "How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy tabernacles, O Israel! In the place where dragons lay shall there be reeds and rushes." Some of the most pleasing parts of the monastic annals are those in which an account is given of the change produced in the face of the country, by the enclosure of land around the monastery. There is some interest felt in looking on the following picture:--"The place," says the biographer of Eligius, in describing an abbey which he built, "the place is so fertile and so pleasant, that when any person walks there among the orchards of fruit, and the gardens of flowers, he is ready to burst forth into the exclamation, 'How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy tabernacles, O Israel! like shady woods, like cedars near the waters, and as gardens by the river'--of such, Solomon says, 'the habitations of the just are blessed.' .... It is surrounded by an enclosure, not of stone, but consisting of a foss and bridge, about a mile and a quarter in circuit; on one side guarded by a beautiful river, from which there rises a lofty hill, crowned with wood, and rocks towering to a great height. The inner space is filled with fruit-bearing trees of various kinds, where the mind is cheered, and may fancy itself surrounded by the delightful scenes of Paradise."[1]

The buildings which rose in these cultivated spots, were the work of monks. They were the architects and masons of the day; and whatever signs of strength or beauty might be displayed in the structure of the convent, the cathedral, or the church, was the fruit of their labour, or their genius. For example, two distinguished monks in England, Bennet and Wilfred, are described by our historians as being possessed of much architectural skill. The churches of Weremouth and Jarrow were erected by the former; the cathedral of York was repaired and beautified, and that of Ripon entirely built by the latter. We are told that the masonry was nicely polished, that rows of columns supported the roof, and that porticoes adorned each of the principal entrances. The monastery of Hexham was the last and most admired of his works. "The height and length of the walls, the beautiful polish of the stones, the number of the columns and porticoes, and the spiral windings which led to the top of each tower, have exercised the descriptive powers of Eddius, who, after two journeys to the apostolic see, boldly pronounced that there existed not on this side the Alps a church to be compared with that of Hexham."[2] When reading such descriptions, we must remember that they belong to an age of comparative ignorance and barbarism, and that, therefore, the buildings so much extolled would probably excite but little, if any, admiration now; yet, doubtless, they did evince some buddings of that architectural taste which was afterwards developed in great perfection. It may not be uninteresting to add a notice or two of the Saxon method of building. The foundations of Medhamsted were laid with stones, each of which was drawn by eight yoke of oxen. Those of Croyland were composed of piles of oak, and alder between, which were compressed with great quantities of dry earth. At Ramsey the stones for the foundation were beaten down with rammers; a windlass was employed to raise the stones to the top of the wall. The ceilings were generally framed with oak. Vaulted roofs of stone forming a triumph of architectural skill which they rarely attempted, and which they were unable perfectly to accomplish; and it should be stated, that it was only in rare instances, and in particular situations, that buildings were of stone at all--wood was commonly employed.

Allusion has already been made to the decorations of the monasteries and churches, and to the works of art employed in religious ceremonies; there were further proofs of monkish skill.

An ingenious work of art, intended to represent the solar system, was possessed by the monks of Croyland, and destroyed by the fire which consumed the abbey, in 1091. It was a table composed of different metals. The planet Saturn was of copper, Jupiter of gold, Mars of iron, Mercury of amber, Venus of tin, the Moon of silver, and the solar orb of brass. It is described by the monkish chronicler, Ingulf, as charming the eyes, and instructing the mind, by its precious materials, its brilliant colours, and its exquisite workmanship. This scientific instrument, however, was not the work of the monks themselves, but a present to the abbot of Croyland, by the king of France. Yet it seems that similar tables were not uncommon in England; and these, no doubt, were the handyworks of the monastic brethren, who alone understood scientific matters. Another proof of mechanical skill, not so well known, is to be found in an anecdote of St. Bernard and his friends. Weakened by his austerities, he retired to his cell, where he could not be persuaded to have a fire, but there were some who were more solicitous than himself to promote his comfort, and they contrived to introduce hot air into the apartment, through the stone floor under his bed.[3] There was a touch of good feeling, as well as of skilful contrivance, exhibited by these friends of the old abbot; whence it appears, that warming rooms by hot air is no modern invention, and that the reverence felt for genius and piety, and a desire to promote the comfort of those we love, are not peculiar to any age or country. Further light is thrown upon monkish employments in a letter written by Peter the Venerable, a friend and correspondent of the above-mentioned St. Bernard. After exhorting his friends to study and write, he says, "If, however, from its injuring your sight, or from its wearisome sameness, you cannot, or will not be content, with one manual employment, make a variety of other handy works. Make combs for combing and cleaning the heads of the brethren; with skilful hand and well-instructed foot, turn needle-cases; hollow out vessels for wine, such as they call _justitiœ_, or others like them, or try to put them together. And if there are any marshy places near, weave mats (an ancient monastic employment) on which you may always, or frequently sleep, may bedew with daily, or frequent tears, and wear out with frequent genuflexion before God; or, as St. Jerome says, weave little baskets with flags, or make them of wicker. Filling up all the time of your blessed life with these and similar works of holy purpose, you will leave no room for your adversaries to intrude into your heart, or into your cell, but that when God has filled all with his virtues, there shall be no room for the devil, none for sloth, none for the other vices."[4] They were truly odd employments which the abbot prescribed; yet, it is to be feared, that many of the brotherhood were far from being always so well employed; certainly, the latter part of the advice is very good, and, though written by a man in the dark ages, is not unworthy of consideration in these enlightened times.

There was, in many monasteries, a room specially devoted to employment of the highest value. This was the _scriptorium_, or writing-room. After the twelfth century, small cells, only capable of accommodating a single person, were used by the monastic scribes; but, at an earlier period, one large apartment was appropriated to their use.

"Meanwhile, along the cloister's painted side
The monks, each bending low upon his book,
With head on hand reclined, their studies plied,
Forbid to parley, or in front to look;
Lengthways their regulated seats they took.
The strutting prior gazed, with pompous mien,
And wakeful tongue prepared with prompt rebuke;
If monk asleep in sheltering hood were seen,
He wary often peep'd beneath that russet screen.

"Hard by, against the window's adverse light,
Where desks were wont in length of row to stand,
The gown'd artificers inclined to write,
The pen of silver glisten'd in their hand;
Some on their fingers rhyming Latin scann'd,
Some textile gold from halls unwinding drew,
And on strain'd velvet stately portraits plann'd;
Here arms, there faces shone, in embryo view,
At last to glittering life the total figures grew."

The last stanza describes the business carried on in the scriptorium, and may help the reader, the next time he visits the ruins of an old monastery, and sees among the mouldering remains, the traces of such an apartment, to picture to himself the scene which enlivened that spot when the abbey walls, now covered with moss, appeared in all their stately pride. Deep silence, as the above description indicates, was observed by the monks, when carrying on their studies and their writing; and, to prevent its being broken, they were required to adopt a whimsical system of communication with each other respecting anything they wanted. "Of course there was a sign for a book. For a book, in general, they were to extend their hand, and move it, as if turning over the leaf of a book. The general sign being made, another was added to distinguish the sort of book wanted; and there were distinct signs for the Missal, the Gospels, the Epistolary, the Psalter, the Rule, and so on; but to distinguish a book written by a heathen, the monk was to scratch his ear like a dog."[5]

From catalogues of monastic libraries preserved in D'Achery's Spicelegium, it may be concluded that it was considered a large collection, when an abbey possessed from two to three hundred volumes. The rich abbey of Centule had such a collection, in the ninth century.[6] The mention of a library like this will give to some readers the idea of books having been more common in the dark ages than they had supposed; for there can be no doubt that the scarcity of books, at that period, has been somewhat exaggerated; but still, even a library of this extent, in a wealthy abbey, does not say much in proof of a large multiplication of manuscripts, and of great diligence on the part of monastic transcribers. The process of copying was, as every one must admit, tedious and expensive; but the Romans, the Egyptians, and the Saracens, had to contend with the same difficulties, yet their libraries were some of them prodigiously large. Seven hundred thousand volumes, it was calculated, were in the famous library of Alexandria: but that was beyond all parallel. The library of Pergamus, however, amounted to 200,000 volumes. Doubtless, many of the books of the ancients were small, for Ovid speaks of his fifteen books of Metamorphoses as forming an equal number of volumes;[7] yet, allowing for this, some of the libraries of antiquity must have been very extensive. Nor were very considerable libraries at all uncommon, in the houses of men of literary taste, before the fall of Rome. The libraries of the Saracens were also extremely large. That of the Fatimites consisted of 100,000 manuscripts; and that of the Ommiades, in Spain, amounted to 600,000. It would be unfair to place large public libraries, or the private collections of princes, in comparison with the library of a monastery; but still, when we see how the difficulty of multiplying books by the pen has been overcome in many instances, and when we look at the vast numbers of persons in Europe, during so many centuries, devoted to the monastic profession, their literary labours do not appear to have been very great.

Instances of the high prices given for books in the middle ages have been often quoted. Mabillon relates that the countess of Anjou paid to the bishop of Halberstadt, for a copy of the Homilies of Haimon, two hundred sheep, a modius of wheat, and the same of rye and millet, beside four pounds in money, and some marten skins.[8] It would be very unreasonable to take an instance like this as a sample of the value of mere manuscripts at that time. Volumes were often most splendidly illuminated and adorned, and this was probably one of the most costly kind. For instance, in the catalogue of books in the library of Centule, already referred to, we find mention made of an illuminated volume of the Gospels, bound in plates of gold and silver, and richly adorned with precious stones.[9] Facts, of the order just cited, are not to be deemed so much proofs of the scarcity of books, as of the extreme value of certain volumes, arising from the precious materials of which they were composed, and the labour bestowed upon illuminating and adorning them. Still, books plainly written, and without ornament, must have been far from numerous, and therefore very valuable; as is evident from the catalogues of monastic libraries, which were almost the only collections having any pretension to that name.

It will not be uninteresting to the reader to be informed what were the kinds of books which these libraries contained. In the abbey of Centule, we find Homer, Cicero, Josephus, Pliny, Socrates, Sozomen, Theodoret, Philo, Eusebius, Origen, Augustin, Jerome, Gregory, Isidore, Hilary, Chrysostom, Cassiodorus, Fulgentius, Bede, beside several authors of lesser note, together with a number of service books. After enumerating these works, the writer of the chronicle speaks of them as the aliment of celestial life, feeding the soul with sweetness, so that, in Centule, the saying was fulfilled, "Love the study of books, and you will not love the practice of vice."[10]

Few of the classical writers are found in these catalogues; for, in general, during the former part of the middle ages, no attention was paid to the study of them, even by those who made pretensions to literary taste and acquirements, though a few writers may be found, even at that period, who discover some acquaintance with them; but, at a subsequent era, a taste for classical studies revived, and, after the eleventh century, a large number of transcripts from classic authors were made by the monks of the Benedictine order. Yet, as we are indebted to the western monasteries for the preservation of the Latin classics, it is quite plain that there must have been throughout the middle ages, in some or other of them, enough of value set upon these works to induce the monks to copy them.

But the most interesting part of the catalogue is, that which relates to the Scriptures. At the commencement of the list of books we find, "One entire Bible, containing seventy-two books, in one volume; also, a Bible divided into fourteen volumes;" and then the Commentaries of Jerome on many of the books of Scripture. In other catalogues, also, parts of the Bible, and even the whole of it, may be found included. A whole copy of the Scriptures, however, was rare, but detached portions of the sacred volume were much less so. In a list of monastic treasures, belonging to the abbey of Fontenelle, the following item occurs. "The four Evangelists, on purple vellum, which Augesius (the abbot) ordered to be written in the Roman letter, of which he completed Matthew, Luke, and John, but death coming, (_interveniente morte ejusdem_,) the rest remained imperfect." There is something touching in this simple record of the abbot's purpose thus cut off by the stroke of mortality, reminding us all of the possibility of our being taken away in the midst of plans more characteristic of modern times, but which, nevertheless, may be not so worthy of our spiritual and immortal nature.

Of course it will be understood that the Bibles, and parts of Bibles found in the monasteries of the west, were not written in the original languages, but were copies of the Latin version. To the Greek monasteries we owe the preservation of Grecian literature. The convents, which covered, with picturesque beauty, the sides of Mount Athos, were the chief scenes of these learned labours. Not only were the manuscripts of the Iliad of Homer copied within sight of the very sea once traversed by the black and hollow ships which he describes, but the epistles of Paul were also transcribed on the shores of the same waters, over which he sailed on his errands of Divine mercy.

The multiplying of manuscripts and the collecting of books, whether sacred or profane, during these times of ignorance, were owing no doubt to the taste for learning which was cherished by a few, who had influence sufficient to engage others in the manual departments of literary occupation. Such men as Bede, Alcuin, and Raban Maurus, were enthusiastic lovers of books, and would do everything in their power to imbue others with the same feeling. They are distinguished names, shining out as stars of peculiar brilliancy during that season of gloom; but there were other men, whose names are preserved only in the obscure records of monasteries, long since dissolved, who seem to have been most diligent students. An amusing instance of a love for reading, occurs in the records of the abbey of St. Benignus, in the eleventh century. "The abbot Halinard," says the writer, "was so fond of reading that, even on a journey, he often carried a little book in his hand, and refreshed his mind by perusing it on horseback."[11] An abbot riding on horseback, with a book in his hand, would certainly be no fitting type of the generality of ecclesiastics at that time; all the more honour, then, to him and others like-minded, for their strong literary predilections. They were persons who finely exemplified "the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties," and we, in the present day, may derive, from their simple histories, a stimulus to renewed ardour and perseverance in the cultivation of the mind: for if they, with all their disadvantages, thus laboured to furnish themselves with knowledge, how much more ought we, in these times, to do so, when the means of literary acquisition are so widely diffused.

The benevolence of the church has been already noticed. In monasteries especially was this virtue displayed. If we are to believe what is said in the Chronicle of the Abbey of Centule, the brotherhood there actually impoverished themselves, and brought the establishment into a very critical position by their extreme liberality and simple-heartedness; but admitting, as perhaps the reader will be inclined to do, that it is quite possible the generosity of the brethren is a trifle overrated, and that, even when some deduction is made from the statement, the case of Centule was not a common one; yet it must be confessed that there is sufficient evidence extant to induce a belief that benevolence was not an uncommon virtue in these fraternities. Peculiar kindness was shown in monasteries to travellers who sought their hospitality; and it was the injunction of Benedict to his followers, that they should prefer to render service to the poor brethren of Christ rather than to pay attention to the wealthy sons of this world. The _xenodochium_, or guest-house, within the precincts of each monastery, stood open to receive all visitors who came, as well as to yield support to a certain number of paupers; and though such an institution was liable to great abuse, and this system of relief altogether was open to objection, yet, doubtless, it supplied desirable assistance to many of the aged, the sick, and the weary--offered a useful place of sojourn to the traveller, who found no inns to go to, as in modern times, and proceeded from a kind and generous spirit, which appears peculiarly beautiful in those days of violence and semi-barbarism. But, in seasons of famine, which were not uncommon, the monks often displayed more than usual liberality. It is related of an abbot of St. Albans, in the eleventh century, that, in a time of great scarcity, he not only emptied his granaries, but parted with many of the valuables of the church to supply food for his starving neighbours; and that, when expostulated with, by some of his brethren, for parting with possessions consecrated to the service of God, he replied, that living temples were more valuable than material edifices, and that to support the former was more important than to decorate the latter.[12]

[1] D'Achery, Spic. tom. ii. 83.

[2] Lingard's Anglo-Saxons, vol. i. p. 201.

[3] Maitland's Dark Ages, p. 406.

[4] Quoted in Maitland's Dark Ages, p. 453.

[5] Maitland's Dark Ages, p. 403. Du Cange, Glossary, voce _Signum_.

[6] "The volumes," says the chronicler, "amount to 256, but some of these volumes contains several manuscripts, so that if we were to number these separately they would exceed 500."--_D'Achery, Spic._ ii. 311.

[7] Ovid. i. 29.

[8] Benedict An., lib. lxi., No. 6.

[9] D'Achery, Spic. tom. ii. p. 306.

[10] D'Achery, Spic. vol. ii.

[11] D'Achery, Spic., tom. ii. p. 392.

[12] Matt. Paris, Lingard's Anglo-Saxon Antiq. vol. i. p. 214.