rebellion, the discipliners shall not cease till the abbess charged them to cease’. From Syon, too, we have a table of signs for both the sisters and brothers (who lived in separate establishments) which indicates that the rules of silence were enforced. But when the rules multiplied, spirit tended to fly out of the cloister: medieval man was superbly gifted at imposing rules on himself and then defeating their purpose. Giraldus Cambrensis noted, c. 1180, that the Canterbury monks were 'so profuse in their gesticulations of fingers and hands and arms, and in the whisperings whereby they avoided open speech, wherein all showed a most unedifying levity and license’, that they looked like 'a company of actors and buffoons'. He thought it would have been better ‘to speak modestly in plain human speech than to use such a dumb garrulity of frivolous signs and hissings'. This is but a tiny example of the contempt which familiarity with the sacred inevitably breeds, and which is inseparable from the religious life. But the root causes of the monastic failure went deeper, and were economic and social. In northern and central Europe, where the Benedictines were strongest and wealthiest, and where the monks' economic role was most important, they were fully integrated into the tenurial system. The abbot was, and had to behave as, a pillar of feudal society. The big abbeys were nearly always on royal progress-routes, and had to entertain the kings and their courts; later, parliaments or estates-general. Abbots nearly always came from the higher social classes. By the twelfth century they already had their separate establishments, staff and buildings (especially kitchen), from which they dispensed large-scale hospitality to the rich. They were, in fact, in charge of something which was a combination of a luxury hotel and a cultural centre. Of course this role was not, initially, of their choosing. But use by governments of Benedictine abbeys (especially royal foundations) for state purposes goes back to a very early date. Nor did the reformed papacy make any attempt to change the system; on the contrary, the papacy developed its own forms of exploitation, chiefly’ by forcing the abbots-elect to come to Rome for confirmation. Thomas of Walsingham complains of ‘horrible expenses’, ‘lavish presents' and ‘greasing the palm of the examiners' - that is, papal officials who scrutinized the abbot's credentials. Many detailed lists of curial exactions survive. The new Abbot of St Albans in 1302, John IV, paid 'to the Lord Pope, for a private visitation, 3,000 florins, or 1,250 marks sterling; for a public visitation 1,008 marks sterling. . . , item, by the hand of Corsini in the matter of obtaining the bulls, and for writing the bulls for the first time, 63 gros tournois; to Master Blondino, who corrected the annulled letter, 2 florins; to the scribe, for the second time, 60 gros tournoi; to Master P., that they might be sooner enregistered, 4 gros tournois: for three supplicatory letters, 65 gros tournois; to the clerks who sealed the bulls, 12 florins and 2 gros tournois. . . .' and so on. The total came to over £1,700; and just over seven years later John died, and his successor had to produce another £1,000, plus the first-fruits. In due course, 8t Albans took out an insurance-policy with Rome, paying twenty marks a year instead; and in the fifteenth century they composed with a capital sum. However, the exactions of Rome did not prevent newly elected heads of houses from celebrating themselves. All the higher clergy (especially bishops) had monstrous installation feasts in the later Middle Ages. When the Prior of Canterbury was installed in 1309, there were 6,000 guests, who consumed 53 quarters of wheat, 58 of malt, 11 tons of wine, 36 oxen, 100 hogs, 200 piglets, 200 sheep, 1,000 geese, 7/93 capons, hens and pullets, 24 swans, 600 rabbits, 16 shields of brawn, 9,600 eggs and so on, at a cost of £287. From the twelfth century abbots were under fire for living like great territorial magnates. In particular, critics objected to their hunting, which was, above any other activity, the hallmark of upper-class status and behavior. At the Fourth Lateran Council, in Canon 15, Innocent III laid down: 'We forbid hunting to the whole Clergy. Therefore let them not presume to keep hounds or hawks.' This injunction, often repeated, was totally ineffective. Abbots argued that, if they had to entertain the great, they had to keep up the hunting. William Clown, Augustinian abbot of Leicester, was Edward III'S favorite hunting companion (and the model for Chaucer's sporting monk); Edward visited him once a year in what is now the Quron country where he ran @ SUNGTAUVE Pack Of greyhounds for harrying. When criticized, Clown replied that he owed it to his FI