It must strike any one 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.
Pages:
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156