Because his aspect was acute and penetrating, with a Cato-like countenance, rarely smiling, it was said that he inclined to severity rather than kindness. In receiving amerciaments for any forfeiture, it was said that "Mercy rejoices against judgment"; for as it seemed to many, when it became an affair of receiving money, he seldom remitted what by law he was ent.i.tled to take.

In like manner as he advanced in wisdom, so did he advance in thoughtful care, in respect of keeping and acquiring property, and in creditably regulating his expenses. But even here many backbiters took their ground, saying that he resorted to the sacristy at his own pleasure, sparing his own purse, letting his corn lie by for a dear season, and taking to his manors in other sort than his predecessors did, charging the cellarer with the entertainment of those guests he himself was bound to receive; so that by this craft it might be said that the abbot was careful and well stocked at the end of the year; while, on the other hand, the convent and officials were to be accounted careless and improvident. In reply to these back-bitings, I used to observe, that if he took anything from the sacrist, he turned it to the good account of the church, and this none of these slanderers could deny. And in good truth, greater and more numerous works were carried out by the help of the offerings to the sacristy within fifteen years after his election than in the forty years before it.

To the other objections, that the abbot was fond of betaking himself to his manors, I was wont to answer, and did excuse him, saying, "The reason is because the abbot is more in spirits and in good humour elsewhere than at home." And this was true enough, whether it were by reason of the frequency of suitors who came about him, or from the tale-bearers, wherefore it frequently happened that by the appearance of severity in his face he lost much favour and grace in the eyes of his guests, notwithstanding they fared well in eating and drinking. I noticed this, and took an opportunity, when I was with him in private, to say, "There are two things in which I am much surprised at you."

When he had inquired what these things might be, "One is that in spite of your position you still encourage the doctrine of the school of Melun, which says that from a false premiss no conclusion can follow, and other idle sayings."

To which, when he had said his say, I added, "The other indeed is, that when you are at home you do not exhibit the same gracious demeanour you do when elsewhere, nor do you mix in society with those brethren who have a strong regard for you, and have chosen you for their lord; but contrariwise, you seldom a.s.sociate with them, nor do you, as they say, make yourself on sociable terms with them." Hearing this, he changed countenance, and hanging down his head, said, "You are a simpleton, and speak foolishly; you ought to know what Solomon says--'Hast thou many daughters: show not thyself cheerful toward them.'" I indeed held my peace from thenceforth, setting a watch on my mouth.

On another occasion I said, "My lord, I heard you this night after matins wakeful and sighing heavily, contrary to your usual wont." He answered, "No wonder; you are partaker of my good things, in meat and drink, in riding abroad, and such like, but you have little need to care concerning the conduct of the house and household of the saints, and arduous business of the pastoral care which hara.s.ses me and makes my spirit to groan and be heavy." Whereto I, lifting up my hands to heaven, made answer, "From such anxiety, almighty and most merciful Lord, deliver me!"

I have heard the abbot say, that if he could have been as he was before he became a monk, and could have had five or six marks of income wherewith he could have been supported in the schools, he never would have been monk or abbot. On another occasion he said with an oath, that if he could have foreseen what and how great a charge it had been to govern the abbey, he would rather than abbot and lord have been master of the almonry, and keeper of the books, for this office he said he had ever desired above all others. Yet who would credit this? Scarcely myself; and not even myself, except that being constantly with him by day and night for six years, I had had the opportunity of becoming fully conversant with the worthiness of his life and the wisdom of his rule.

He once related to me, that when he was a child of nine years old, he dreamed that he was standing before the gates of the cemetery of the church of St. Edmund, and that the devil, with outspread arms, would have seized him, had not St. Edmund, standing by, taken him in his arms; whereupon he screamed whilst dreaming in his sleep, "St. Edmund, save me!" and thus calling upon him whose name he had never heard, he awoke. His mother was alarmed at such an outcry, but having heard the dream, took him to St. Edmund for the purpose of praying there; and when they had come to the gate of the cemetery he said, "See, mother, this is the place, this is the very same gate which I saw in my dream when the devil was about to seize me"; and he knew the place as well, to use his own words, as if he had seen it before with his natural eyes. The abbot himself interpreted this dream thus: By the devil were signified the pleasures of this mortal state, which would fain have drawn him away; but St. Edmund threw his arms around him when he made him a monk.

Once when he was told that certain of the convent grumbled at some act of his, he said to me as I sat by him, "Good G.o.d! there is need enough that I should remember that dream wherein it was dreamed of me, before I was made abbot, that I was to rage among them as a wolf. True it is that above all earthly things I dread lest the convent behave in such a way that I shall be compelled so to rage. But even so it is, when they say or do anything against my will, I bring to mind that dream of theirs, and although I do rage in my own soul, growling and gnashing my teeth in secret, I do violence to myself lest I should actually rage in word or deed," and "My hidden grief chokes me and my heart surges within me."

Although by nature he was quick to wrath, and easily kindled to anger, yet with a great struggle he mostly restrained his temper in view of the dignity he held. Concerning which he sometimes used to boast, "This and that I saw, this and that I heard, yet I held my peace." The abbot once said, seated in chapter, certain words by which he seemed to eagerly desire the good-will of the monastery. "I do not wish," he said, "that any one should come to me to accuse another, unless he is willing to say the same openly. If any one does otherwise, I will publicly proclaim the name of the accuser. I wish also that every cloister monk shall have free access to me, that he may speak to me, whenever he chooses, concerning all things necessary to him." This he said, because our leaders in the days of Abbot Hugh, wishing that nothing should be done in the monastery except through them, had decreed that no cloister monk should speak with the abbot unless he had first told the abbot's chaplain what he wished to speak about.

On a certain day he made an order in chapter, that every one who had a seal of his own should give it up to him, and so it was accordingly done, and there were found three-and-thirty seals. He himself explained the reason of this order, forbidding that any official should incur any debt above twenty shillings without the a.s.sent of the prior and convent, as had been the custom heretofore. To the prior and to the sacrist, indeed, he returned their seals, but kept the rest himself.

At another time he ordered to be delivered up to him all the keys of the chests, cupboards, and hanapers, strictly enjoining that thenceforth none presume to have a chest or anything locked up, unless by special permission, or otherwise possess anything beyond what the rule allows. Notwithstanding this he gave general licence to every one of us to have money to the amount of two shillings, if so much happened to have been given to us by way of charity; so that it might be expended upon poor relations, or for purposes of piety.

On another occasion the abbot said, that he was desirous of adhering to our ancient custom respecting the entertainment of guests; that is, when the abbot is at home, he is to receive all guests of whatsoever condition they may be, except religious and priests of secular habit, and except their men who present themselves at the gate of the court in the name of their masters; but if the abbot be not at home, then all guests of whatsoever condition are to be received by the cellarer up to thirteen horses. But if a layman or clerk shall come with more than thirteen horses, they shall be entertained by the servants of the abbot, either within the court-lodge, or without, at the expense of the abbot. All religious men, even bishops if they happen to be monks, are to be charged upon the cellary and at the expense of the convent, unless the abbot will do any one special honour, and entertain him in his own hall at his own expense.

CHAPTER VI

SAMSON'S PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS

The abbot Samson was of middle stature, nearly bald, having a face neither round nor yet long, a prominent nose, thick lips, clear and very piercing eyes, ears of the nicest sense of hearing, arched eyebrows, often shaved; and he soon became hoa.r.s.e from a short exposure to cold. On the day of his election he was forty and seven years old, and had been a monk seventeen years. He had then a few grey hairs in a reddish beard, and a very few in a black and somewhat curly head of hair. But within fourteen years after his election it became as white as snow.

He was a man remarkably temperate, never slothful, of strong const.i.tution, and willing to ride or walk till old age gained upon him and moderated such inclination. On hearing the news of the Cross being taken, and the loss of Jerusalem, he began to use under garments of horsehair and a horsehair shirt, and to abstain from flesh and flesh meats. Nevertheless, he desired that meats should be placed before him at table for the increase of the alms dish. Sweet milk, honey and such like sweet things he ate with greater appet.i.te than other food.

He abhorred liars, drunkards and talkative folk; for virtue ever is consistent with itself and rejects contraries. He also much condemned persons given to murmur at their meat or drink, and particularly monks who were dissatisfied therewith, himself adhering to the uniform course he had practised when a monk. He had likewise this virtue in himself, that he never changed the mess set before him.

Once when I, then a novice, happened to be serving in the refectory, I wished to prove if this were true, and I thought I would place before him a mess which would have displeased any other than him, in a very black and broken dish. But when he looked at it, he was as one that saw it not. Some delay took place, and I felt sorry that I had so done; and s.n.a.t.c.hing away the dish, I changed the mess and the dish for a better, and brought it to him; but this subst.i.tution he took in ill part, and was angry with me for it.

An eloquent man was he, both in French and Latin, but intent more on the substance and method of what was to be said than on the style of words. He could read English books most admirably, and was wont to preach to the people in English, but in the dialect of Norfolk, where he was born and bred; and so he caused a pulpit to be set up in the church for the ease of the hearers, and for the ornament of the church. The abbot also seemed to prefer an active life to one of contemplation, and rather commended good officials than good monks. He very seldom approved of any one on account of his literary acquirements, unless he also possessed sufficient knowledge of secular matters; and whenever he chanced to hear that any prelate had resigned his pastoral care and become an anchorite, he did not praise him for it. He never applauded men of too compliant a disposition, saying, "He who endeavours to please all, ought to please none."

In the first year of his being abbot, he appeared to hate all flatterers, and especially among the monks; but in process of time it seemed that he heard them more readily, and was more familiar with them. It once happened that a certain brother of ours, skilled in this art, had bent the knee before him, and under the pretence of giving advice, had poured the oil of flattery into his ears. I, standing apart, smiled. The brother having departed, I was called and asked why I had smiled. I answered, "The world is full of flatterers." And the abbot replied, "My son, it is long that I have known flatterers; I cannot, therefore, avoid hearing them. There are many things to be pa.s.sed over and taken no notice of, if the peace of the convent is to be preserved. I will hear what they have to say, but they shall not deceive me if I can help it, as they did my predecessor, who trusted so unadvisedly to their counsel that for a long time before his death he had nothing for himself or his household to eat, unless it were obtained on trust from creditors; nor was there anything to be distributed among the poor on the day of his burial, unless it were the fifty shillings which were received from Richard the farmer, of Palgrave, which very fifty shillings the same Richard on another occasion had to pay to the King's bailiffs, who demanded the entire farm-rent for the King's use." With this saying I was comforted. His study, indeed, was to have a well-regulated house, and enough wherewith to keep his household, so managing that the usual allowance for a week, which his predecessor could not make last for five days, sufficed him for eight, nine or even ten days, if so be that he was at his manors without any extraordinary arrival of guests. Every week, indeed, he audited the expenses of the house, not by deputy, but in his own person, which his predecessor had never been wont to do.

For the first seven years he had only four courses in his house, afterwards only three, except presents and game from his parks, or fish from his ponds. And if at any time he retained any one in his house at the request of a great man, or of a particular friend, or messengers, or minstrels, or any person of that description, by taking the opportunity of going beyond sea or travelling afar off, he prudently disenc.u.mbered himself of such hangers-on.

The monks with whom the abbot had been the most intimate, and whom he liked best before he became abbot, he seldom promoted to offices merely for old acquaintance' sake, unless they were fit persons.

Wherefore certain of our brethren who had been favourable to his election as abbot, said that he cared less for those who had liked him before he became abbot than was proper, and particularly that those were most favoured by him who both openly and in secret had spoken evil of him, nay, had even publicly called him, in the hearing of many, a pa.s.sionate unsociable man, a proud fellow, and Norfolk barrator. But on the other hand, as after he had received the abbacy he exhibited no indiscreet partiality for his old friends, so he refrained from showing anything like hatred or dislike to many others according to their deserts, returning frequently good for evil, and doing good to them that persecuted him.

He had this way also, which I have never observed in any other man, that he had an affectionate regard for many to whom he seldom or never showed a countenance of love; according to the common proverb which says, "Where love is, there is the regard of love." And another thing I wondered at in him was, that he knowingly suffered loss in his temporal matters from his own servants, and confessed that he winked at them; but this I believe to have been the reason, that he might watch a convenient opportunity when the matter could be advisedly remedied, or that by pa.s.sing over these matters without notice, he might avoid a greater loss.

He loved his kinsmen indifferently, but not less tenderly than others, for he had not, or a.s.sumed not to have, any relative within the third degree. I have heard him state that he had relations who were n.o.ble and gentle, whom he never would in any wise recognize as relations; for, as he said, they would be more a burden than an honour to him, if they should happen to find out their relationship. But he always acknowledged those as kinsmen who had treated him as such when he was a poor monk. Some of these relations (that is, those whom he found useful and suitable) he appointed to various offices in his own house, others he made keepers of manors. But those whom he found unworthy, he irrevocably dismissed from his presence.

A certain man of lowly station, who had managed his patrimony faithfully, and had served him devotedly in his youth, he looked upon as his dearest kinsman, and gave to his son, who was a clerk, the first church that fell vacant after he came to the charge of the abbey, and also advanced all the other sons of this man.

He invited to him a certain chaplain who had maintained him in the schools of Paris by the sale of holy water, and bestowed upon him an ecclesiastical benefice sufficient for his maintenance by way of vicarage. He granted to a certain servant of his predecessor food and clothing all the days of his life, he being the very man who put the fetters upon him at his lord's command when he was cast into prison.

To the son of Elias, the cupbearer of Hugh the abbot, when he came to do homage for his father's land, he said, in full court, "I have for these seven years deferred taking your homage for the land which the abbot Hugh gave your father, because that gift was to the damage of the manor of Elmswell. Now I am overcome when I call to my mind what your father did for me when I was in fetters, for he sent to me a portion of the very wine whereof his lord had been drinking, and bade me be strong in G.o.d." To Master Walter, the son of Master William of Diss, suing at his grace for the vicarage of the church of Chevington, he replied, "Your father was master of the schools, and at the time when I was a poor clerk he granted me freely and in charity an entrance to his school, and the means of learning; now I, for the sake of G.o.d, do grant you what you ask."

He addressed two knights of Risby, William and Norman, at the time when they were adjudged to be in his mercy, publicly in this wise: "When I was a cloister monk, sent to Durham upon business of our church, and thence returning through Risby, being benighted, I sought a night's lodging from Norman, and I received a blank refusal; but going to the house of William, and seeking shelter, I was honourably entertained by him. Now, therefore, those twenty shillings, which are 'the mercy,' I will without mercy exact from Norman; but contrariwise, to William I give thanks, and the amerciament of twenty shillings that is due from him I do with pleasure remit."

A certain young girl, seeking her food from door to door, complained to the abbot that one of the sons of Richard, the son of Drogo, had forced her; and at length, by the suggestion of the abbot, for the sake of peace, she took one mark in satisfaction. The abbot, moreover, took from the same Richard four marks for licence to agree; but all those five marks he ordered forthwith to be given to a certain chapman, upon the condition that he should take this poor woman to wife.

In the town of St. Edmund, the abbot purchased stone houses, and a.s.signed them for the use of the schools, so that thereby the poor clerks should be for ever free from house-rent, towards payment whereof all the scholars, whether rich or poor, were compelled twice in the year to subscribe a penny or a halfpenny.

The recovery of the manor of Mildenhall for one thousand and one hundred marks of silver, and the expulsion of the Jews from the town of St. Edmund, and the founding of the new hospital at Babwell, are proofs of great virtue.

The lord abbot sought from the King letters enjoining that the Jews should be driven away from the town of St. Edmund, he stating that whatsoever is within the town of St. Edmund, or within the banlieue thereof, of right belongs to St. Edmund: therefore the Jews ought to become the men of St. Edmund, otherwise they should be expelled from the town. Licence was accordingly given that he might put them forth, saving, nevertheless, that they had all their chattels and the value of their houses and lands. And when they were expelled, and with an armed force conducted to divers towns, the abbot gave order that all those that from henceforth should harbour or entertain Jews in the town of St. Edmund should be solemnly excommunicated in every church and at every altar. Howbeit it was afterwards conceded by the King's justices that if the Jews should come to the great pleas of the abbot to demand their debts from their debtors, on such occasion they might for two days and two nights lodge within the town, and on the third day be permitted to depart freely.

The abbot offered King Richard five hundred marks for the manor of Mildenhall, stating that the manor was worthy sixty and ten pounds by the year, and for so much had been recorded in the great roll of Winchester. And when he had conceived hopes of success in his application, the matter rested till the morrow. In the meanwhile there came a certain person to the King, telling him that this manor was well worth yearly a hundred pounds. On the morrow, therefore, when the abbot urged his suit, the King said, "It is of no avail my lord abbot, what you ask me; you shall either give a thousand marks, or you shall not have the manor." And whereas the Queen Eleanor, according to the custom of the realm, ought to have one hundred marks where the King receives a thousand, she took of us a great gold cup of the value of a hundred marks, and gave us back the same cup for the soul of her lord, King Henry, who first gave the same cup to St. Edmund. On another occasion, when the treasure of our church was carried to London for the ransom of King Richard, the same Queen redeemed that cup for one hundred marks, and restored it to us, taking in return our charter from us as an evidence of our most solemn promise, that we should never again alienate that cup from our church upon any occasion whatever.

Now, when all this money, which was got together with great difficulty, had been paid, the abbot held a chapter, and said he ought to have some portion of the great advantage derivable from so valuable a manor. And the convent answered that it was just, and "Let it be according to your wish." The abbot replied that he could well claim the half part as his own right, demonstrating that he had paid towards this purchase more than four hundred marks, with much inconvenience to himself. But he said that he would be content with a certain allotment of that manor called Icklingham, which was most freely granted him by the convent. When the abbot heard this, he said, "And I do accept this part of the land to my own use, but not that I intend to keep the same in my own hand, or that I shall give it to my relations, but for the good of my soul and for all your souls in common, I give the same to the new hospital at Babwell, for the relief of the poor, and the maintenance of hospitality." As he said, so it was done, and afterwards confirmed by the King's Charter.

These and all other like things worthy to be written down and lauded for ever did the abbot Samson. But he said he had done nothing, unless he could have our church dedicated in his lifetime; which done, he said he wished to die. For the solemnization of this act, he said he was ready to pay two thousand marks of silver, so that the King should be present, and the affair be completed with the reverence it demanded.

The abbot was informed that the church of Woolpit was vacant, Walter of Coutances being chosen to the bishopric of Lincoln. He presently convened the prior and great part of the convent, and taking up his story thus began: "You well know what trouble I had in respect of the church of Woolpit; and in order that it should be obtained for your exclusive use I journeyed to Rome at your instance, in the time of the schism between Pope Alexander and Octavian. I pa.s.sed through Italy at that time when all clerks bearing letters of our lord the Pope Alexander were taken. Some were imprisoned, some hanged, and some, with nose and lips cut off, sent forward to the pope, to his shame and confusion. I, however, pretended to be Scotch; and putting on the garb of a Scotchman, and the gesture of one, I often brandished my staff, in the way they use that weapon called a gaveloc, at those who mocked me, using threatening language, after the manner of the Scotch. To those that met and questioned me as to who I was, I answered nothing, but, 'Ride ride Rome, turne Cantwereberei.' This did I to conceal myself and my errand, and that I should get to Rome safer in the guise of a Scotchman.

"Having obtained letters from the pope, even as I wished, on my return I pa.s.sed by a certain castle, as my way led me from the city; and behold the officers thereof came about me, laying hold upon me, and saying, 'This vagabond who makes himself out to be a Scotchman is either a spy or bears letters from the false pope Alexander.' And while they examined my ragged clothes, and my boots, and my breeches, and even the old shoes which I carried over my shoulders, after the fashion of the Scotch, I thrust my hand into the little wallet which I carried, wherein was contained the letter of our lord the pope, placed under a little cup I had for drinking. The Lord G.o.d and St. Edmund so permitting, I drew out both the letter and the cup together, so that extending my arm aloft, I held the letter underneath the cup. They could see the cup plain enough, but they did not see the letter; and so I got clear out of their hands, in the name of the Lord. Whatever money I had about me they took away; therefore I had to beg from door to door, without any payment, until I arrived in England.

"But hearing that this church had been given to Geoffrey Ridel, my soul was heavy, because I had laboured in vain. Coming, therefore, home, I crept under the shrine of St. Edmund, fearing lest the abbot should seize and imprison me, although I deserved no punishment; nor was there a monk who durst speak to me, or a layman who durst bring me food except by stealth. At last, upon consideration, the abbot sent me to Acre in exile, and there I remained a long time.

"These and innumerable other things have I endured on account of this church of Woolpit, but, blessed be G.o.d, who works all things together, behold! this very church, for which I have borne so many sufferings is given into my hand, and now I have the power of presenting it to whomsoever I will, because it is vacant. And now I restore it to the convent, and I a.s.sign to its exclusive use, the ancient custom or pension of ten marks, which you have lost for upwards of sixty years.

I had much rather have given it to you entire, could I have done so; but I know that the Bishop of Norwich might gainsay this; or even if he did grant it, he would make it an occasion to claim to himself such subjection and obedience from you as it is not advisable or expedient you should acknowledge. Therefore let us do that which by law we may; that is, put a clerk in as vicar, who shall account to the bishop for the spiritualities, and to yourselves for ten marks. I propose, if you all agree, that this vicarage be given to some kinsman of Roger de Hengham, a monk, and one of your brethren who was joined with me in that expedition to Rome, and was exposed to the same perils as myself, and in respect of the very same matter."

This said, we all rose and gave thanks; and Hugh, a clerk, brother of the said Roger, was nominated to the aforesaid church, saving to us our pension of ten marks.

CHAPTER VII

THE ABBOT AS PEER OF PARLIAMENT

In that manor of the monks of Canterbury which is called Eleigh, and is within the hundred of the abbot, a case of homicide occurred; but the men of the archbishop would not permit that those manslayers should stand their trial in the court of St. Edmund. Thereupon the abbot made his plaint to King Henry, stating that Baldwin the archbishop was claiming for himself the liberties of our church, under authority of a new charter, which the King had given to the church of Canterbury after the death of St. Thomas. The King hereupon made answer, that he had never made any grant in derogation of the rights of our church, nor did he wish to take away from St. Edmund anything that had ever belonged to him.

On this intelligence, the abbot said to his most intimate advisers, "It is the better counsel that the archbishop should have to complain of me than I of the archbishop. I will put myself in seisin of this liberty, and afterwards will defend myself thereupon by the help of St. Edmund, whose right our charters testify it to be." Therefore suddenly and at daybreak, by the a.s.sistance of Robert of c.o.c.kfield, there were dispatched about fourscore men to the town of Eleigh, who took by surprise those three manslayers, and led them bound to St.