AS it may interest my reader to know how monks pass their time, I give some account of the occupations of a day, not of every day, but one as a fair sample of most days in the year.
On all great festivals we rose at midnight, the sacristan went from door to door giving a sharp rap on each, and uttering the words "Deo gratias." We were each required to answer "Deo gratias," and rise instantly. The first bell rang, and within four minutes we all took our places in the choir. Matins occupied three hours. At its close we went in single file into the cloisters, where a few moments were spent in silent prayer; after which a subject for meditation was read by one of the fathers. We meditated kneeling and standing by turns for about an hour and a half.
As we only saw the fathers, or fully professed monks, at mass, I suppose they meditated in their cells. Mass was said daily by every father—these daily masses were a source of considerable profit and brought a large yearly income to the abbey. We were taught to look upon the mass as a sacrifice offered for the sins of the living and the dead. Great numbers are said or sung for the repose or deliverance from purgatory of the souls of the dead at a price agreed on with the priest. Many have as their only object the hope of gaining some temporal advantage, sometimes recovery from illness; at others, for the cure of a sick horse or cow, or the finding of a lost article. There are masses to the Holy Trinity, to the Holy Spirit, to the Virgin Marv, and a multitude of Romish saints.
I had a great reverence for the mass, as I was at the time a devout believer in the doctrine of transubstantiation, never for a moment doubting that any person must go to hell who dared to dispute or even question the truth of all the flesh, blood, and limbs of the Lord Jesus as Man being in each particle of the bread after a few Latin words have been said over it by the priest, also His human soul and His divinity. Such is the theology Rome binds on all. Mass commenced at the various altars at four in the morning, and we joined in spirit in what I then called its awful sacrifice.”
Meditation over, we rose, eyes downcast, cowl almost covering the face, head inclined a little, hands crossed on the breast, and walked in solemn order to our cells for half an hour's reading of "The Lives of the Saints" We were not allowed to select or even to ask for any book, our course of reading being always chosen for us. I had a decided taste for such books, and so for me this half hour always passed quickly and pleasantly.
We next said a Rosary, or devotion to the Virgin Mary, consisting of a hundred and fifty we Marias, fifteen Paternosters, and the Gloria, followed by a meditation on the principal incidents in the life of the Queen of heaven and Christ. Stranger as I then was to the gospel of the grace of God, I often found myself wondering why we prayed so much to Mary and so little to the Lord Jesus.
Lauds was sung at daybreak. At the close of this office a bell rung. It called us to the chapter house to receive a lecture on the rules of our order. Each monk has a small manuscript book written in Latin, containing about thirty rules copied from the Constitutions of the order. We were expected to commit these rules to memory. Every novice has also another book in which to enter any breach of rule in word, thought, or deed he may commit, as well as any fault he may notice in a brother. He must not speak to the offender but is bound to manifest him.”
The chapter house is octangular in shape; at each angle is a window of stained glass; along the sides are the carved stalls of the monks, at the end the abbot's throne, approached by seven steps is placed. The Litany of the Saints is sung by the whole community as they proceed from church to the chapter.
The abbot sat on his throne, the monks, with the exception of a few kneeling penitents, stood around. After a silence, lasting a few moments, the abbot would say, "Now let us talk about our holy order." And the chapterings would follow by the penitents making a public confession. I give one or two such from memory. A brother would stoop, kiss the floor, and say, “Holy father abbot, I acknowledge my fault in having neglected the custody of my eyes on one or two occasions, by forgetting to place my cowl in a proper position, for which fault holy obedience enjoins me to do penance.”
The abbot gave a reprimand and a penance more or less severe, probably the “Miserere” for the souls in purgatory, that is, the penitent still kneeling with arms outstretched in the form of a cross, repeated the fifty-first Psalm. The penance over, he again kissed the floor, then rose and went to his place in the stalls.
The second penitent would say, "Holy father abbot, I acknowledge my fault in having neglected several duties, and in scandalizing my brethren by my indolence.”
His penance was perhaps to drink the draft of humiliation, and would have to be performed by his rising from table after having dined; he then knelt before a brother to whom he presented his can to be filled. It was returned full, and he was required to drink its contents still kneeling.
Another pause, and one of the fathers would chapter a brother, calling him by name, his only reply being to leave his stall and walk to the center of the chapter house, where he was required to prostrate himself face downwards.
Again a pause, and the father would state what he had observed contrary to rule in the conduct of the prostrate brother. Other fathers would frequently bring other charges against him. After each charge he received a severe lecture from the abbot. Several monks were often compelled thus to submit to the ordeal of reproach.
At the close of the chapter we went to study. I, for one, would very gladly have gone to breakfast. It was certainly very tantalizing for tired, hungry men, even though they were monks, to pass the kitchen door and smell the delicious odors of beefsteaks, fried ham, &c., being made ready for breakfast. For whom were these dainties being prepared? For the sick fathers, we were told. And if we might judge from the crowded state of the infirmary most of the fathers were sick, and so took shelter under a special dispensation by which they "fared sumptuously every day.”
To eat meat in the refectory would have been to commit mortal sin, such sin, we were taught, as would exclude a soul from heaven, unless absolution be received by the penitent, who must promise never to repeat the act of disobedience.
We novices did not belong to the same privileged class, so as we could not go to breakfast we went to our studies.
Our course of study extended over several years, and comprised regular instruction in the Greek and Latin languages, elocution, history, sacred and profane, algebra, and the higher branches of arithmetic, composition in prose and verse, natural philosophy, metaphysics, and chemistry.
The course of theology occupied a period of five years. We had a large and valuable library, a studio for painting, a printing press, well supplied with type, &c., also a chemical laboratory, an observatory and various workshops.
Our studies were directed by the abbot. We were expected to prepare for the classes before dinner, as well as to write short sermons twice a week. At two minutes to eleven the bell sounded for Nones, at the close of this office we recited the Angelus of three sentences and three we Marias in memory of the Annunciation of the Virgin Mary. We then went to the refectory for our first meal, dinner. The refectory was a large hall capable of seating two hundred. It was very simply furnished; we sat at long tables, the superior in solitary state at a table somewhat raised at one end of the hall. Halfway down was a pulpit in which the reader stood during the meal, for it was according to rule that while the body was refreshed the soul should have its food. The first thing read was a brief account of the saint of the day, followed by a commendation of some saint of our order. The reader then proceeded with a book chosen by the abbot. The meal proceeds in silence, when the reader suddenly entones, "By order of holy obedience." In an instant eating and drinking are suspended, hands crossed, and all eyes turned to the abbot, who repeats the magic words, "By order of holy obedience," and I find myself the observed of all, as he continues:
“Brother Raphael is hereby required to ascend the pulpit and give the subject of his morning's meditation. He is also reprimanded for his sleepiness during meditation. He must remember what the rule requires of him. Holy obedience enjoins him to kiss the feet of all the monks when he has done so.”
The reader sat down, and I took his place, though with heightened color, and went through my appointed penance. Dinner proceeded as if nothing unusual had taken place.
Such reproofs were given either from the personal observation of the abbot, or from reports and information received from other members of the community. It may be a little out of place to give the story here, but while I am writing of penances, an incident that occurred as my novice year was drawing to a close comes so forcibly to my recollection that I will trespass upon the kindness of the reader by recording it.
I was met one morning in the cloisters by Father Francis, who handed me a dish very much cracked and so shaky, I felt sure it would fall to pieces in my hands, telling me to carry it at once to the cook. As enjoined by holy obedience, I did my best to comply with his instructions, but before I could reach the kitchen the dish was broken. What was to be done? At the next chapter I was among the penitents, kissing the floor and confessing my carelessness.
The abbot gave me a very severe reproof for thus destroying the property of the community, and appointed my penance. I was to make a necklace of the broken pieces, and after wearing it during the day, to receive, immediately after Compline, twenty strokes from the discipline while the monks chanted the "De Profundis" (Ps. 130) I knelt, stripped to the waist, at a low stool in the center of the choir and received the lashes on my quivering flesh.
Yet such was my blind folly and so great my desire to attain perfection by my penances and supposed good works, that I asked and received permission to administer an extra discipline.
During the whole of Lent the discipline was used, if I remember rightly, twice a week by each member of the community.
Now I must return to the refectory. Some reader may ask, What had you for dinner? Nothing very tempting to one accustomed to the wholesome variety of a well-spread English table, though I must own of such food as it was we had plenty. The first course was invariably soup maiger, with the exception of Good Friday, when we only broke our long fast by taking a little bread and water.
I have written soup maiger, and very poor and unsatisfying we found it. I, from the first, disliked it very much on account of its being so greasy. It is prepared in the following way. Look up your broken bread and chop some vegetables fine. While the water is boiling, you may toast the bread. When the water boils, stir in a quantity of olive oil, add the vegetable?, and break the bread into small pieces. Let all boil well together, and your soup maiger is ready to be served.
Second course: Fish; and had the fish been always fresh we might have had no reasonable ground for objection. Vegetables as much as we desired.
Third course: Pudding; boiled rice or sago, very dry and eaten without sugar or milk, followed by a small piece of cheese with an apple or pear by way of dessert.
Our daily allowance of bread was ten ounces, this we divided as well as we could between the mid-day and evening meals. In place of tea or coffee we were allowed a kind of light German wine, often so sour through long standing that we only drank it as a mortification.
Our rule forbade us to ask for anything at table. Once I remember having made a sign for the salt to be passed to me. I was reproved for having done so, and told such conduct was irregular. I might use salt if it were placed near me, but I must not ask for it by word or sign.
Dinner over, we stood while a long thanksgiving was repeated, then went into the church for a few moments, the object of this visit being to adore the blessed sacrament of the altar, in other words the consecrated bread always placed in a silver case, richly inlaid with gems on the high altar.
This visit over, we walked with downcast eyes to the recreation room, on entering we knelt down and commended ourselves to the protection of the Virgin.
An hour was allowed for recreation, we might sing songs, tell comic stories, or play games of chance. I think backgammon, cards, dice, chess, and drafts were among the favorites. I often wondered how the absorbing interests of cards and dice could be conducive to "holy living," but was told that I should find them very useful in curbing my temper and in giving me numerous opportunities to afflict and mortify a rebellious spirit. I had not been very long an inmate of the monastery before the recreation hour became the most trying part of the day.
Recreation over, the bell dismissed us to our cells, as to make up for the broken rest of the night, we were allowed an hour's sleep before Vespers.
After Vespers, on three afternoons in the week, to the workshops till six O'clock we were expected to occupy ourselves in learning some trade. The afternoons not so employed were spent in study.
Work and study over, we went to our cells to wash, and as soon as the bell sounded we said the Angelus and went to the Refectory. Our supper was a very light one, being only as much bread as we had been able to save from dinner, with some preserves and a little more sour wine.
Our subject for the morning meditation was given out, we then went to Compline, followed by a ceremony called Blessing. The abbot stood at the church door holding a relic in his right hand and a small napkin in the left. We were each allowed to kiss the relic and were well sprinkled with holy water by the prior. We then retired to our cells, as we did not undress we were soon in bed and asleep, tired out alike in body and mind.