THE LIFE AND TIMES
ST. BERNARD.
THE "
LIFE AND TIMES
SAINT BERNARD
ABBOT OF CLAIRVAUX
A.D. 10911153.
BY
TAMES CQTTER MORISON, M.A.
II
LINCOLN COLLEGE, OXFORD
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
IQO I
All rights feseived
RICHARD CLAV AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BUNGAY.
(First Edition pitbtished elsewhere?)
Second Edition, Crown 8vo, published by Macmillan and Co., 1868 ; Reprinted
1877, 1883, 1889, 1894, 1901.
TO
THOMAS CARLYLE
THIS
is bebicateb
(BY PERMISSION)
WITH 'DEEP REVERENCE AND GRATITUDE.
209014
CONTENTS.
BOOK I.
CHAPTER I. '
PAGE
Saint Bernard's Birth Parents The First Crusade Death of Alith,
his Mother ... I
CHAPTER II.
Choice of a Career Temptations from Love of Literature Triumph
of Faith Conversions Citeaux : its Origin Saint Bernard's
Austerities , 9
CHAPTER III.
Growth of Citeaux Foundation of Clairvaux Illness of Saint
Bernard William of Champeaux William of St. Thierry Peter
de Roya 23
CHAPTER IV.
Foundation of the Order of Citeaux The Charter of Charity The
Commencement of Saint Bernard's Correspondence Letters to
Robert To Fulk Sermons on the Annunciation 38
CHAPTER V.
Saint Bernard's Friend, William of Thierry His Illness cured miracu-
lously by Saint Bernard Miracles in the Middle Ages Several
Examples 55
viii CONTENTS.
CHAPTER VI.
'"5
PACK vi
Visits to Paris To La Grande Chartreuse Inner Life of the Monas-
teries .... 67
CHAPTER VII.
Secular Episode Louis VI. and his Baronial Wars Siege of the
Castle Le Puiset Flanders The Murder of Charles the Good
Siege of the Castle of Bruges Flight and Execution of the
Provost Surrender of the Murderers Their horrible Deaths . . 81
CHAPTER VIII.
Quarrel with the Bishop of Paris Apology Cluny Extracts . . 114
CHAPTER IX.
Literary Compositions The Tractate on Humility and Pride The
Council of Troyes Illness The Fairs of Champagne The
Knights Templars Saint Bernard's Address to them .... 134
BOOK II.
CHAPTER I..
Death of Pope Honorius II. The Schisni Innocent II. and Ana-
cletus II. Progress of Innocent through France Cluny Clair-
vaux Council at Rheims Enlargement of the Monastery at
Clairvaux 149
CHAPTER II.
William, Count of Aquitaine, still favours Anacletus Saint Ber-
nard's Triumph over him Sermons on the Canticles 171
CHAPTER III.
Converts at Clairvaux Freedom of Speech in the Middle Ages
Letters to Pope Innocent II. and others Death of Louis VI. . . 192
CONTENTS. ix
CHAPTER IV.
PAGB
Third Journey to Italy End of the Schism Letters home Dispute
with Peter of Cluny concerning the Election of a Bishop of
Langres 209
CHAPTER V,
Death of St. Bernard's Brother, Gerard Funeral Sermon on the
Death of Gerard Visit of St. Ma] achy to Clairvaux .... 225
BOOK III.
CHAPTER I.
Letter of William of St. Thierry to Saint Bernard and the Bishop of
Chartres Alarm about the Heresies of Peter Abelard .... 253
CHAPTER II.
Life of Peter Abelard up to the Council of Sens, A.D. 1140 . . 258
CHAPTER III.
Theology of Abelard His Views on the Trinity 290
CHAPTER IV
The Council of Sens Last Days of Abelard 301
CHAPTER V.
Saint Bernard as a Monk and Ruler of Monks Sermon on the
Passion 324
CHAPTER VI.
The Immaculate Conception Louis VII. and the Archbishop of
Bourges The Count of Vennandois excommunicated War be-
tween Louis VII. and Count Theobald of Champagne Burning ,
of Vitry Death of Pope Innocent II. . . ' 340
x CONTENTS.
BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Condition of Syria and the East up to the middle of the Twelfth
Century 355
CHAPTER II.
The Second Crusade preached by Saint Bernard 366
CHAPTER HI.
The Second Crusade 379
CHAPTER IV.
Acts of Saint Bernard during the Progress of the Crusade Trial and
Condemnation of Gilbert de la Porree Second Visit of St. Malachy
to Clairvaux His Death there 401
CHAPTER V.
The last Years of Saint Bernard The Book of .Consideration
Treachery of his Secretary Nicholas Illness and Death . . . . 417
BOOK I.
THE LIFE AND TIMES
OF
ST. BERNARD.
BOOK I.
i._
CHAPTER I.
SAINT BERNARD'S BIRTH PARENTS THE FIRST CRUSADE DEATH OF
ALITH, HIS MOTHER.
SAINT BERNARD was born A.D. 1091, and died A.D. 1153.
His life thus almost coincides with the central portion of the
Middle Ages. He witnessed also what may be regarded as
especially mediaeval events. He saw the First and the Second
Crusades ; he saw the rising liberties of the communes ; the
beginnings of scholasticism under Abelard were contemporary
with him. A large Church reformation, and the noblest period
of growth and influence that monasticism was destined to
know, were social facts with which he was not only coeval,
but on which he has left the deepest marks of his action
and genius.
Saint Bernard was a Burgundian. Not far from Dijon, in
full view of the range of the Cote d'Or hills, was a feudal
castle, situate on a small eminence which went by the name
of Fontaines. 1 This castle belonged to Saint Bernard's father,
1 An old round archway is still (on the same site, and using portions
shown at Fontaines as a relic of of the old walls) a church for the
Tesselin's castle. Louis XIII. built Reformed congregation of Feuillants
2 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
Tesselin, a knight, vassal and friend of the Duke of Burgundy.
Tesselin had the surname of Sorus t which meant, in the vulgar
dialect, reddish, almost yellow-haired. He was rich. He
followed his suzerain in his wars, and it is said that when he
did so, victory always attended the arms of the duke.
But Tesselin was not simply a fighting baron ; he belonged
to a class of men who were not so rare in the Middle Ages as
we are apt to suppose men who united the piety of monks
to the valour of crusaders. Of Tesselin we read that his
manners were gentle, that he was a great lover of the poor,
/of ardent piety, and that he had an incredible zeal for justice.
/He used to wonder that men found it difficult to be just; or
I that fear or covetousness should make them forsake the justice
of God. 1 He was a most brave knight; but he never took
up arms except for the defence of his own land, or in company
with his lord of Burgundy. On one occasion he was drawn
into a quarrel, and a single combat was arranged between him
and his adversary. 2 The day and place of meeting were fixed
in 1619. It was desecrated at the familiaris et intimus erat ; nee all-
Revolution, and used as a smithy. quando fait cum eo in bello quin
The chapel was restored by Louis victoria ei proveniret." ST. BERN.
Philippe. Op. vol. ii. col. 1275.
1 "Inter quos [proceres] excel- 2 See Ducange, voc. 'Duellum,'
lebat Tesselinus quidam, cogno- for a long and interesting article,
mento Sorus ; quo nomine, vulgari The combatants were obliged to
lingua subrufos et pene flavos ap- swear .that they would use no magic
pefiare solemus. Erat autemviriste arts against each other. Consuei.
genere nobilis, possessionibus dives, Norman, part ii. cap. 2 : " Primo
suavis moribus, amator pauperum jurabit defensbr quod 'nee per se,
maximus, summus pietatis cultor, et nee per alium, in campo sorcerias
incredibilem habens justitiae zelum. fecit aportare, quae ei possint et
Denique, et mirari splebat, quod debeant juvare, et partae adversae
multis onerosum esse videret servare nocere." Lex Rotkar. cap. 371 :
justitiam ; et maxime, adversus quos "Nullus campio praesumat quando
amplius movebatur, quod aut timore ad pugnam contra alium vadit, herbas
aut cupiditate desererent justitiam quae ad malencia pertinent super se
DeL . . . Nunquam annis usus est, habere, nee alias similes res, nisi
nisi aut pro defensione terrae pro- tantum anna sua quae conveniunt"
priae, aut cum domino suo duce, They fought with uncovered heads
scilicet, Burgundiae, cui plurimum and feet: "Quantum voluerint de
. 109l]
ST. BERNARD'S MOTHER.
the enemies appeared. Tesselin was by far the stronger man,
and his victory would have brought him no little advantage.
His courage was undoubted. But the feeling that all this was
radically wrong overpowered every other. Divine exhortations
to charity and peace, divine condemnations of violence and
strife, crowded on his mind. He determined to be "reconciled
to his adversary." He offered terms which he knew would be
accepted. He relinquished the point in dispute. In that stern
time, when force was generally law, a man must have been very
sure both of his courage and piety to act thus. Gentle yet |
brave, modest yet strong and rich, such a man was Saint"'
Bernard's father. 1 ' i
Tesselin's wife was a fitting partner for such a man earnest J
loving, and devout. Her name was Alith. She was a great
favourite 'with the monkish historians of her illustrious son, and
they have left a portraiture of her, pale ,and shadowy indeed,
yet presenting a conceivable image. She bore Tesselin seven
children, six sons and a daughter. Her boys she offered to
corio et lineo induant, dummodo
capita atque pedes permaneant enu-
dati." Plebeians were obliged to
have their hair cropped above the
ears before they were allowed to
fight : " Et chascun doit estre roin-
gnez par dessus les oreilles." A
champion in his own cause, if con-
quered, suifered only a fine or impri-
sonment; in the cause of another,
he suffered mutilation : " Pugil con-
ductitius, si victus fuerit, pugno vel
pede privabitur."
1 " Cum, quodam tempore, vir
memoratus, diversis emergentibus
causis (sicut inter saeculares fre-
quenter contingere solet), cum quo-
dam sibi adversante, multo inferiori
genere, etsubstantiaeminoris, mono-
machia firmaverat decertare ; adest
statuta dies et praefixa certamini.
Convenitur utrimque. Recordatus
autem -vir venerabilis Tesselinus
timoris Dei, et judiciorum divino-
rum," &c. ST. BERN. Op. voL ii.
col. 1282.
I use Mabillon's 2d edition of
Saint Bernard's Works, 1690, in
two vols. fol. The Abbe Migne's
reprint is also extremely convenient,
and has the numbers of the columns
as they stand in Mabillon's edition
inserted in the text; so that the
reference is good for either Migne
or Mabillon. As regards Tessehn's
character for gentleness, it would
seem to have been a recognised trait
of the ideal knight Thus Chaucer,
"And though that he was worthy he was
And of his port as meke as is a mayde.
He never yit no vilonye ne sayde
In al his lyf unto no maner wight.
He was a verray perfight gentil knight"
Canterbury Tales, Prologue.
2
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
("BOOK x
LCHAP. i
/the Lord as soon as they were born. Piety and humbleness 01
\nind distinguished her even more than her husband. Charity,
too, of the most practical kind she exercised in her neighbour-
hood. She sought out the poor in their squalor and misery,
attended to and relieved their sick, cleansed their cups and
vessels with her own hands. The latter years of her life were
passed in devotions and austerities, which were monastic in all
but the name. By scantiness of food, by simplicity of dress,
by the avoidance of worldly pleasures, by fasting, prayer, and
vigils, she strove after that ideal of self-sacrifice and holiness,
which was alone attractive and beautiful in that age.
Such were the parents of Saint Bernard of his mind and
character no less than his bodily frame.
A One of the earliest remembrances in Bernard's life must
have been the First Crusade. In the year 1095 Peter the
Hermit was going about Europe on his mule. In November
of that year Pope Urban II. made his speech at Clermont, and
all Christendom was in a ferment of preparation for the Holy
War. Every class and station shared in the general enthu-
siasm. That year had been one of scarcity, so that even the
rich endured privations. 1 Suddenly so great was the emigration,
that the sellers of provisions became more numerous than the
buyers, and unusual cheapness ensued. Men passed rapidly
from apathy or hostility towards the movement, to vehement
and practical advocacy of it ; and accompanied those whom
just before they had laughed at or opposed. The " way of
God," as it was called, seemed the only thing or enterprise
which could rouse sympathy and interest. A strange scene
i " Erat ea tempestate, pro gene-
ral! defectione frugum, etiam apud
ditiores magna penuria, . . . diversae
plurimorum copiae deferuntur in
medium, et quae chara videbantur
dura nullus movetur hominum, com-
motis ad hoc iter omnibus vili pretio
traduntur venum, . . . dat quidquid
habere videtur, non pro sua sed pro
taxatione ementis, ne Dei posterior
aggrediatur viam." GUIBERTUS
NOVIGENSIS, Gesta Dei per Francos,
lib. ii. cap. 3.
,VD. 95j THE FIRST CRUSADE. 5
must have been this pilgrimage of nations. From all parts, of
Christian Europe they came in troops : the Scotch made their
appearance in rough cloaks; others arrived, no one knew
whence, who spoke an unintelligible dialect, but conveyed
their meaning and purpose by placing their fingers in the form
of a cross. Men, says a contemporary, sold their lands for a
less sum than at other times they could have been induced to
take even to ransom themselves from a most horrible captivity.
Any means were adopted to get away. From the powerful
baron with his retainers down to the subdued and humble serf,
all had a common tendency arid hope. " Christ had thundered
through the ears of all minds," * and the only fear was that iof
[being the last on the road. An odd and yet touching sight
r was afforded by the conduct of many of the .ignorant poor.
Harnessing their oxen to their farm carts, they placed therein
rcheir goods and little ones, and started in all simplicity for the
I Holy City. Bad were the roads then, and long the journey,
'even from province to province. Slowly moving and creaking
over marsh and moor, as town or castle rose in sight, the
children would ask, " Is that the Jerusalem we are going to ?" 2
This grand procession of the Crusade went thus gradually
by, to disappear at last beyond the seas. For four years came
back tidings of disasters, of successes, of the terrible siege of
Antioch, of the perished thousands on the plains of Asia
Minor, .till at last it was told how, after toils and dangers
beyond belief, Godfrey, on Friday, isth July, 1099, at three
in the afternoon, had stepped from his wooden tower on to
the walls of Jerusalem ; and how the steel host of Crusaders,
reduced from a mob of half a million to a few thousand
seasoned soldiers, had gratified their piety and revenge by a
week's massacre of the infidels, till " our people had the vile
Per omnium pene aniinorum tulos, r dum obviam habent castella
aU o e S ^ ristus intonuit." Ibid. vel urbes, si haec esset Jewsalem ad
Videres . . . et ipsos infan- quam tenderent rogitare ?" Ibid.
6 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. \,c\
blood of the Saracens up to the knees of their horses." \ But
Europe was again ready to send forth another wave of armed
men to overwhelm the East, and in the first year of the twelfth
century a multitude of five hundred thousand departed for the
Holy Land. The Duke of Burgundy was one of the chief
leaders. He never returned alive. One of his last wishes
was that his bones might rest in the cemetery of some poor
monks recently settled at Citeaux, a few miles distant from
Dijon. He had befriended these monks, and often prayed ^
in their humble oratory, and even built himself a residence /
in their neighbourhood. His body was brought home and
placed where he had desired it to be. The great feudal lord
had chosen the poor, well-nigh wretched Citeaux, before the
sumptuous and wealthy abbeys of his dominions. A vassal
so near the duke as Tesselin was could hardly have escaped
some connexion with the rites and offices of his suzerain's
burial ; and, if so, it is probable that the topic would not be
unnoticed or untalked ' of around the hearth at Fontaines.
The good Alith, who offered her sons to the Lord, would
easily draw a moral from these facts the great Crusader
going forth with his armies in full panoply, returning coffined
and still to the cemetery at Citeaux. In any case, Bernard's
| earliest years were passed in scenes and emotions among the
^most vivid the human race has known.
/ When he was old enough, the little Bernard went to school'
/at Chatillon, a place with which his father had family rela-
tions. He soon fulfilled his mother's hopes by his proficiency.
Studious and retiring, he loved to be alone, and was "mar-
vellously cogitative," 2 we are told. Another account, perhaps
not less authentic, describes him as zealous and ambitious of
1 These words are in a letter ~ "Mire cogitativus?' (St Bern,
written to the pope and bishops by Op. vol. ii. col. 1063.) It will be
Godfrey and other Crusaders. (See seen further on how Bernard's lite-
Michaud's Hist, of the Crusades, rary tastes were made a matter of
book iv.) reproach to him by his adversaries. :
A.D.U06] DEATH OF ALITti. )
literary fame, and as carrying on a vigorous rivalry with his
fellows in verses and repartees.
Saint Bernard was passing from boyhood to youth when his\
mother died. It was her custom on the festival of Saint
Ambrose (the patron saint of the church at Fontaines), to
assemble a number of clergy in her house, and " to the glory
of God, the Blessed Virgin, and the above-mentioned saint,
solemnly to refresh them with food and wine on that day." A
few days before the anniversary, which was the last she was
destined to see, it was revealed to her that she would die on
the festival. On the vigil of the feast she was taken ill with
fever. The next day, after the celebration of mass, she asked
most humbly that the Body of the Lord might be brought to
her, and received the sacrament of Extreme Unction. She
then bade her friends proceed to their entertainment as usual.
But while they were at meat she sent for her eldest son Guido,
and requested him, as soon as the feast was over, to bring the
guests to her bedside. They assembled around her, and she
told them that her death was near. They immediately began
to chant a litany, supplicating God for her soul. She joined
in with them, and sang devoutly till her very last breath.
When the chorus of voices toned forth the words, "Deliver
her, O Lord, by thy Cross and Passion/' in the act of making
the sign of the cross, her life and psalm of praise ceased
together, and, after her breath had fled, her hand remained
erect and fixed as she had elevated it to perform her last act
of faith. 1
When the report of her death was noised abroad, Gerannus,
Abbot of Saint Benignus of Dijon, came to Fontaines and
begged the body of Alith, "regarding her remains as a most
1 " Cum vero chorus psallentittm sanctae crucis, in pace reddidit spi-
jam pervenisset ad illam litaniae sup- ritum. Manus sicut erat erecta ad
plicationem, Per Passionem et Cru- indicandum signum crucis sic re-
cem tuam libera earn Domine, . . . mansit." ST. BERN. Op. vol. ii.
elevata m'ann, signans se signaculo col. 1283.
8 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
precious treasure." His request was granted out of deference to
his worth, and forthwith he himself, and several with him, carried
back to Dijon on their own shoulders the " holy body." On
their way they were met by a large concourse of people bearing
crosses and tapers, who, with great joy and veneration, accom-
panied them to the church of the blessed martyr, Benignus,
where the pious mother of Bernard was buried. " The said
abbot also caused six images to be made and placed upon her
tomb, in memory of her six sons, where they may be seen to
this day." 1
We are told how she was wont to appear to her sons after
her death, how she exhorted Bernard to persevere in the good
work he had begun when he became a monk. These fond
credulities of an unscientific age are little tolerated in our time.
Yet we may accept the legend as conveying or veilmg*a known
fact of human nature, and acknowledge that the tomb gives a
robe. of beauty unseen in the sunlight, and that the words of
the departed acquire a strange reverberating echo from the
vaults wherein they sleep.
i St. Bern. Op. voL'ii. coL 1284.
A.D.mo-1 ' CHOICE OF A CAREER.
ACTJIT. 19J
CHAPTER II.
(A. P. 1 1 10. AETAT. 19.)
CHOICE OF A CAREER. TEMPTATIONS FROM LOVE OF
TRIUMPH OF FAITH. CONVERSIONS. CITEAUX : ITS ORIGIN. SAINT
BERNARD'S AUSTERITIES.
AFTER his mother's death, Bernard was left free to choose his
own occupation in life. 1 There is no reason to disbelieve the
testimony borne to his great beauty of person, while his charm
of manner, and the power of his facile eloquence, rest upon the
concurrent testimony of contemporary history. But what shall
his calling be ? After all, there is no great choice. A. gentle-
man and a knight has a well-defined career before him, and all
know what it is. Father Tesselin is a knight, and even he
cannot keep clear of single combats, and following my lord of
Burgundy to his wars. Brothers Guido an.d Gerard are knights,
and what are they even now doing ? besieging the castle of
Grancy with the new lord of Burgundy, Hugh II, surnamed the
Pacific, son of him who lies buried at Citeaux. So is every-
body slaying or being slain, blockading or being blockaded,
attacking or being attacked. It is a fierce world. The
thoughtful and refined natures have little hesitation in quitting
1 " Ex hoc, suo jam more, suo autem benignum juvenis animum so-
jure victitare incipiens, elegant! cor- dalium mores dissimiles et amicitiae
pore, grata facie pneeminens, sua- procellosae, similem sibi facere ges-
^vissimis ornatus moribus, acceptabili tientes." ST. BERN. Op. vol. it
pollens eloquio, magnae spei adoles- col. 1065.
; cens praedicabatur. . . . Obsidebant
IO
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
TBooKl
LCHAP. II
it. Dukes and princes, peasants and paupers, are ready to
leave their luxury or their misery, and to seek a haven of
shelter where, during this short life, they may say their prayers,
and lie down for the long sleep in peace.
And such a haven was then open, and inviting to all. Be-
tween the clash of arms and the din of wars, comes a silvery
peal of convent bells. 1 In the deep, hushed winter's night, the
chorus-song of matins is heard in measured cadence, and the
last chant of compline goes forth as the summer sun approaches
the horizon. There, in the thick woods, sleeps the monastery,
from whence these voices and bell-tones are heard.
Calm and holy it looks, casting long rays of light into the
dark air, as the " 'lated traveller " hastens to its welcome shelter.
For a young, ardent spirit, entering the world, the choice
practically was between a life of strife, violence, wickedness,
of ignoble or ferocious joys and sorrows ; or of sober, self-
denying labour and solitude, with a solemn strain in the heart,
lightening and prospering the work of the hands.
f Bernard had now made trial of a secular life for some years,
(when, as his friend and biographer says, " he began to meditate
flight." 2 But whither? There were abbeys and priories all
round him at Fontaines, at the doors of any of which he would
have been welcome. But this new establishment at Citeaux
must surely be the very one of all others where what he seeks
for is to be found. The monks are austere, devout, and can
( hardly keep alive for poverty. These men must be in-jreal
1 " Ce.n'est guere qu'a (later du
XIIT 6 siecle," says M. ViolletleDuc,
" que Ton donna aux cloches des di-
mensions considerables. Les cloches
donnees par Rodolphe abbe de St.
Frond, au commencement du XII e
siecle pom- Peglise de son monastere
pesaient depuis 200 jusqu'a 3,000
livres." Diet, de V Architecture,
vol. iii. 'Cloche.'
2 The following, in reference to a^
certain class of temptations, and the
way he subdued them, is character-
istic : " Stagno quippe gelidarum
aquarum collo tenus insiliens, tam-
diu inibi permansit, donee, pene
exsanguis factus, a carnalis concu-
piscentiae calore totus refriguit."
ST. BERN. Op. voL ii. col. 1065.
\ TEMPTATIONS OF LITERATURE. II
earnest, and have gone there for what he so longs. To Citeaux
it shall be.
But here a great and. unexpected obstacle arose. When his
friends and brothers knew of his intention they strongly
opposed it, and with such well-chosen reasons that Bernard
himself acknowledged they almost succeeded. They, doubt-
less, had no hopes of making a knight of him he was too
delicate and fragile for that so they strove to rouse an
ambition of another kind, more engrossing, more lasting, and
more insidious than any military glory could gratify in that
age. If he would not be a fighter let him be a disputer, 1 let]
him study this new and surprising philosophy which is bringing'
such renown to its votaries. At this time, William of Cham-
peaux, the great Paris doctor, is celebrated throughout France
for his admirable Dialectics ; and now, behold ! a young rival,
once his disciple, has challenged him, and these two are having
as eager and ferocious a tournament as any mailed knights
could exhibit. The new and audacious champion, who has
entered the lists with the old veteran, is a young logician-errant
from near Nantes in Brittany, named Master Peter Abelard,
who has fought his way up to Paris in many an encounter,
and is now going to carry off his crowning victory amidst the
plaudits of assembled Europe. 2 There was much in such a
prospect to tempt an ardent, intellectual youth, whose mind,
1 " Omnimodis agere coeperunt, 2 When this great battle came
ut animum ejus ad _studium possent off, I have not seen mentioned, but
divertere literarum j et amore scien- it must have been somewhere near
tiae saecularis, saeculo arctius impli- the year 1108. " Guillelmus melioris
I care. Qua nimirum suggestione, vitae cupidus, ad cellam veterem in
isicut fateri solet, propemodum re- suburbium Parisiorum, ubi erat aedi-
Itardati fuerant gressus ejus. Sed cula quaedam Sancti Victoris, cum
Imatris sanctae memoria importune discipulis aliquot migravit, anno
lanimo ejus instabat, ita ut saepius 1108." Gallia Christiana, torn. be.
sibioccurrentemsibividerevideretur, He became Bishop of Chalons in
Iconquerentem quia non ad ejusmodi 1113 ; so that his defeat and Abe-
inugacitatem tarn tenere educaverat, lard's victory would come very
Inon inhacspe erudierateum." ST. near St. Bernard's seventeenth or
I BERN. Op. vol. ii. col. 1066. eighteenth year.
12 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
however religious, had not yet received from habit and reflec-
tion a decided bias. Bernard acknowledges that his spiritual
progress was almost stayed by this snare. To what extent he
yielded we do not know. Such an impetuous character would
not be likely to bring lukewarmness to studies so popular
and so exciting. At such a time, too, of intellectuajl activity
following a long apathy, the novelty of study and the attraction
of knowledge are intense, even violent. Crowds, amounting
to thousands, crossed high mountains and broad seas, and
/endured every inconvenience of life, to enjoy the privilege of
hearing Abelard lecture. Men long debarred from the tree of
knowledge, hardly knowing that there is such a tree, when
first they see its golden fruit, " pleasant to the eyes and to be
desired to make one wise," are inflamed with a passion for
mental food, which more instructed generations can hardly
appreciate. Now, that is exactly what would have sufficed to
alarm so sensitive a conscience as Bernard's. When he felt
the impulse himself, or saw it in others, the third chapter of
Genesis would be at once present to his mind. While still
undecided as to his ultimate course, he was proceeding to join
his brothers, who with the Duke of Burgundy were at. their
usual occupation of besieging a castle. He, doubtless, felt he
had fallen from the high resolves and aspirations of his early
youth. The life of holiness and prayer, which had seemed to
open before him under his mother's example and. conversation,
had faded away now, and although he was not a' knight, kilting
and plundering, he was still in the world and of the world,
loving knowledge and its human rewards. Self-reproach and
shame at this spiritual retrogression filled his mind with
heaviness and grief. In this mood he rode along over the
bare moor or through the tangled forest, thoughtful and sad.
%esently he came to a church. But by this time the dark
cloud of doubt and wavering had broken and vanished before
the rising sun of Faith. On his knees in 'that wayside church,
A..0. 11121
AEIAT. 21J
CONVERSIONS.
and in a torrent of tears, "he lifted his hands to Heaven,
and poured forth his heart like water, in the presence of his
Lord." 1 From that hour his purpose of entering the monastic
life never faltered, ^p
The instinct which leads us to eagerly impart to others a
spiritual truth which has taken strong hold of ourselves; the
impulse to preach, to exhort, to labour, to convert, subject
though it be to fearful perversions, is yet one of the most
beautiful in our nature. A sympathetic, vigorous character,
like Bernard's, was sure to feel it strongly ; and when, at this\
time, he determined to induce his brothers and friends to]
follow him into the cloister, he completely succeeded. He at
once displayed that commanding personal ascendancy, that
overpowering influence of spirit, which hardly met with a
defeat during his whole life. His jincle, " a worthy man and J
powerful in the world," lord of the castle of Touillon, yielded
at once. Bartholomew and Andrew, both his juniors, made]
but small resistance to their brother's earnest appeal. But the
eldest, Guido, who was married and had children, and who,
through his position and his age, was firmly settled in the
world, presented a conquest of far greater difficulty. At first
and it cannot, surprise one we are told, Guido hesitated at
the proposition to leave his wife and daughters and enter a
monastery. Then he agreed to do so if his wife would give
her consent. 2 . Bernard, "conceiving a livelier hope of the
1 " Cum aliquando ad fratres per-
geret, in obsidione castri quod Gran-
ceium dicitur, cum duce Burgundiae
constitutes, coepitinmijusmodi cogi-
tatione vehementius anxiari. Inven-
taque in itinere medio ecclesia qua-
darn, divertit, et ingressus oravit cum
multo imbre lacrymarum, expandens
manus in coelum, et effundens sicut
aquam cor suum ante conspectum
.Domini Dei sui : ea igitur die firma-
tum est propositum cordis ejus."
ST. BERN. Op. vol. ii. col. 1066.
2 " Primo fratres aggreditur . . .
deinde cognates, et socios, et amicos,
de quibuscunque poterat esse spes
conversionis. . . . Guido primoge-
nitus fratrum, coujugio jam alligatus
erat, vir magnus, et prae aliis jam in
saeculo radicatus. Hie primo pau-
lulum haesitans, sed continue rem
perpendenset recogitans, conversioni
14 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
mercy of God, announced to him " as a fact likely to dispel
his hesitation "that his wife would either die or consent to
the separation." Even this did not persuade the young wife
to regard the matter in a proper light, and she still refused.
Guido, between the brother he feared and the wife he loved,
was in sad perplexity. Might he not try a middle course
give up the wickedness of the world, its soldiering and jousting,
take to a peasant's life, and support himself and wife by his
own labour? No small concession for a gentleman and a
knight to make. But it would not do. Bernard had. left the
disobedient to the fate he had foretold to them, and was active
in all directions collecting his spiritual recruits. And now
came the woe he had announced. " Guido's wife was chastened
by a heavy infirmity," but her eyes were opened at the same
time, and " she saw how hard it was to kick against the
pricks." She sent for Bernard, implored his forgiveness, and
was the first to ask for a religious separation. She went
into a convent near Dijon, and Guido was free to follow his
brother.
The second in age after Guido was Gerard. He, too, was
a bold knight, and inclined to take a worldly, compassionate
view of Bernard's enthusiasm. 1 " Ah ! " said the young preacher,
" I know that tribulation alone will give thee understanding,"
and, placing his finger on his brother's side, " the day will
come, ay, and quickly come, when a lance shall pierce thee
here, and make a way to thy heart for that counsel of salvation
which thou now despisest. And thou shalt fear greatly, but
consensit, si tamen conjux annueret : nem Gerardus erat, miles strenuus \
. . . Demum cum omnimodis ilia re- ... ut mos est saecularis sapientiae,
nueret, vir ejus magnanimus, ... levitatem reputans, obstinate animo
virile concilium, Domino inspirante, salubre concilium et fratris monita
concepit; ut abjiciens quidquid ha- repellebat. Turn Bernardus fide jam
bere videbatur in saeculo, vitam igneus, * Scio, inquit, sola vexatio
institueret agere rusticanam." ST. intellectum dabit auditui."'-^-JSi3r~ ' '<
BEEN. Op. vol. ii. col. 1066. vol. ii. coL 1067. / i
1 "Secundus natus post Guido- \
] EFFECT OF BERNARD'S PREACHING. 15
shalt in no wise perish." A few days after, Gerard was sur-
rounded and overthrown by enemies, and carried off captive,
with a spear in his side. "I turn monk," he exclaimed,
" monk of Citeaux ! " a vow which, on recovering his liberty,
he hastened to fulfil.
Soon after, Bernard and his converts were assembled together
in a common spirit of devotion, and presently they entered I
into a church, and, as they entered, this verse was being read, I
" God is faithful, and He that hath begun a good work in you
the same will perform it unto the day of Jesus Christ." From ;
this time he gave himself up more unreservedly to preaching;
he began to put on "the new man;" and to those whom either
literature or worldly concerns brought into relation with him,
to speak of serious matters and conversion of heart ; showing
that the world's joys were fleeting, and life full of misery ; that
death was imminent, and after death, in weal or woe, would
be life eternal. 1 The effect of his preaching was, that " mothers
hid their sons, wives their husbands, companions their friends,"
lest they should be led away captive by that persuasive elo-
quence. At last, having assembled a company of about thirty
chosen spirits, he retired with them into seclusion at Chatillon,
where for a space of about six months they devoted themselves
to self-preparation for the great change that was at hand.
Their remaining worldly business was soberly and definitely
disposed of, leave was now taken of friends, and a semi-
monastic life begun during this retreat. 2
At last, when all arrangements were completed, hi the year ^
1 "Coepit novum induere homi- 2 "Erat enim eis Castellioni do-
em, et cum quibus de litteris sae- mas una propria et communis om-
culi,seudesaeculoipsoageresolebat, nium. . . . Ipsi vero quasi mensibus
seriis et conversione tractate ; sex post primum propositum in sae-
ostendens gaudia mvmdi fugitiva, culari habitu stabant^ . . . dum quo-
vitae miserias, celerem mortem, vi- rundam negotia per id temporis ex-
tern post mortem, seu in bonis, seu pediebantur." Ibid. vol. ii. coL
in malis, perpetuam fore." ST. 1069.
BERN. Of. vol. ii. col. 1068.
16 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
.D. 1113, Bernard being then twenty-two years old, he and
liis companions knocked at the gate, and disappeared within
the walls, of Citeaux.
,/ Citeaux had been founded fifteen years before, and had had
la chequered existence of good and evil fortune, the adverse, on
I the whole, preponderating. 1 In the first curiosity and interest
' excited by Robert of Mol&ne and his few monks, the patron-
age of the great Duke of Burgundy had been extended to
them, and, as has been seen, he had desired that his remains
should repose in the humble cemetery of these austere monks.
His son Hugh, also, was well disposed to Citeaux, and
frequently attended the abbey-church on great .festivals. But
the Abbot of Citeaux at this time was a very remarkable man,
and did not regard the condescending patronage of the gre f at
as the object of a religious house ; he thought it might even j
defeat the object of a religious house. He made it understood,
then, that neither duke nor any other grandee should ever hole
his court at Citeaux for the future. Stephen Harding-
that was our abbot's name, an Englishman, originally fr
Sherborne, in Dorsetshire and his monks were quite free nov
from noisy interruptions from knights and courtiers, or. troublel
some visitors of any kind ; but the danger was that they woulc]
be left alone altogether ; that their small community, gradual!
thinned by death, would at last pass out of the world quit
unnoticed, and never cause to spread that grand scheme o
monastic reform which Abbot Stephen has got matured, if he v !j
had but the monks to do it. For these monks at Citeaux r .
though very wonderful, do not tempt one to join. They
actually keep the whole of St. Benedict's rule literally, not
conventionally and with large allowances, as is usual in the
i In reference to the early his- J. H. Newman. I make a general
tory of Citeaux, nothing can surpass reference to that beautiful little '
the account given in the "Life of volume with regard to the small
Stephen," in the series published amount I have to say about Citeaux.
under the superintendence of Rev.
I"M] THE BENEDICTINE RULE. . 17
strictest houses. They eat but one meal a day, and have risen
twelve hours from their hard couches, and sung psalms, and
worked in the fields before they get even that. They never .
taste meat, fish, grease, or eggs^and even milk only rarely. 1
Their dress consists of three garments, and those of the
coarsest wool. Their church shows no attempt towards
picturesque beauty, but, on the contrary, in all things aims at
the austerest simplicity. It is not wonderful if, even in that
age of monkish enthusiasm, St. Stephen, and St. Alberic before
him, had had to wait doubtfully anxious as to whether what
they were attempting would prove a noble reform or a pitiable .
failure. 1 And, now, to their voluntary privations was added a
scarcity bordering upon famine. This left them only a too
easy prey to an epidemic, and all hope of Citeaux seemed at
an end. It was just at this juncture that Bernard and his
[friends presented themselves, and begged to be admitted as
.ovices.
It was usual when any one "wished to become a monk at
Citeaux to make him wait for four days before he was taken
the Chapter in presence of the assembled convent. 2 After
is, on entering, he prostrated himself before the lectern, and
ivas asked by the abbot what he wanted. He replied, " God's
mercy and yours." The abbot bade him rise, and expounded
to him the severity of the rule, and inquired of his intention
1 "Vides ... in quanto taedio
defectione mentis versamur qui
retain et angustam viam, quam in
ula nobis beatissimus pater noster
pnedictus proposuit, utcunque in-
" si sumus. Sed utram haec nos-
conversatio Deo placeat necne
satis nobis constat." Exor-
' Magnum Dist. i, cap. 1 6.
is part of an address by St.
Ihen to a dying monk, who
v- requested to come and tell
. after death what the fate of the
order would be, which he did very
accurately.
2 " Monachus quis fieri volens,
facta petitione, non nisi post quatuor
dies ducatur in capitulum ; qui dttm
adductus fuerit prosternat se ante -
analogium. Interrogaf us ab abbate,
quid quaerat, respondeat, ' Misericor-
diam Dei etvestram.' . . . Tertiovere
die ducatur in cellam novitiorunv;
et abhinc annus incipiatur proba-
tionis." Usiis Ord. Cist, pars iv.
cap. 103.
1 8 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
again, and if he answered he wished to keep it all, the abbot
said, " May God who hath begun a good work in thee Himself
accomplish it" This ceremony was repeated three days, and
after the third he passed from the guest-house to the cells of
the novices, and then at once began his year of probation.
The following was the ordinary routine in the Cistercian
monasteries in Bernard's time : At two in the morning the
I great bell was rung, and the monks immediately arose and
hastened from their dormitory, along the dark cloisters, in
solemn silence to the church. A single small lamp, suspended
from the roof, gave a glimmering light, just sufficient to show
them their way through the plain, unornamented building.
After short private prayer they began matins, which took them
about two hours. The next service lauds did not, com-
mence till the first glimmer of dawn was in the sky, and thus,
in winter at least, a considerable interval occurred, during
which the monk's time was his own. He went to the cloister
and employed it in reading, writing, or meditation, according
to his inclination. He then devoted himself to various reli-
gious exercises till nine, when he went forth to work in the
fields. At two he dined, at nightfall assembled to vespers, and
at six, or eight, according to the season, finished the day with
compline, and passed at once to the dormitory. 1
Bernard found these practices and austerities inadequate to
satisfy his zeal and spirit of self-mortification. He determined
to subdue not only the desires of the flesh, which arise through
the senses, but even those senses themselves. His days were
passed in ecstatic contemplation, so that seeing he saw not,
and hearing he heard not ; he scarcely retained any taste, and
hardly perceived " anything by any sense of his body." 2 Time
1 Usus Ordinis Cisterciensis, pars vix aliquid sensu aliquo corporis
iii. sentiebat." ST. BERN. Op. vol. ii.
2 "Totus absorptus in spiritum, col. 1242. . . . "Nullum enim tem-
. . . vtdens non videbat, audiens non pus magis se perdere conquer! solet,
audiebat; nib.il sapiebat gustanti, quam quo dormit, idoneam satis
1 HIS AUSTERITIES. 19
given to sleep he regarded as lost, and was wont to compare
sleep and death, holding that sleepers may be regarded as
dead among men, even as the dead are asleep before God.
The visits of those of his friends who were still in the world
were a great source of disquiet to him. Their conversation
brought back thoughts and feelings connected with that evil
world which he had determined to leave for ever. After their
departure, on one occasion, he went to attend the office of
nones, and as usual lifted his mind to prayer, but immediately
found that God's grace and favour were not vouchsafed as
before. That idle talk was evidently the cause. But the next
time his importunate friends came he was prepared ; by care-
fully stopping his ears with little wads of flax, and burying his
head deep in his cowl, though exposed for an hour to their
conversation, he heard nothing, and even spoke nothing except
a few words to edification j and by this ingenious device
escaped the evil he had before experienced^ The same
austerity marked all his actions. As regards vigils, his rule
was not to pass the whole night sleepless. 2 For food he had
lost all desire, the thought of it seemed to give him pain, and
nothing but the fear of fainting ever induced him to take any.
A weakness of stomach, caused or increased by these severities,
now attacked him to such a degree that he could scarcely
retain any aliment, and what he did digest seemed rather to
defer death than sustain life. 3 Still his dauntless spirit never
reputans comparationem mortis et et nihil audivit." J. EREMITA, St.
somni ; ut sic dormientes videantur Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1285.
mortui apud homines, quomodo apud 2 "Quantum enim ad vigilias,
Deuni mortui dormientes." Gun,- vigiliarum ei modus est non totam
LELMUS, St.- Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. nocteln ducere insomnem." GUIL-
1071. LELMUS, St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col.
\&\" Sed et alii venerunt visitare 1071.
eiini. . . . Et cum ad eos duceretiir 3 " Sic accedit ad sumendum
accepit stupas, et misit sub capucio cibum quasi ad tormentum, ... cor-
in attres suas, ita ut hoc artificio rupto stomacho crudum continue per
. . . fuit cum eis per totam horam os solet rejicere quod ingeritur. . , .
C a
20 . LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
yielded. When from bodily weakness he could not join in the
hard manual labour of the monks, he betook himself to "other
and more menial offices, that he might supply by humility his
deficiency in labour." But if only his inexperience stood in
the way of his imitating his brethren, he at once sought some
employment equally arduous, and devoted himself " to digging,
or hewing wood, and carrying it on his shoulders." And thus
did Bernard apply himself to the observance of the very letter
of his rule of life. 1
But, even according to his own showing in after life, there
was another influence to which he owed more than to all his
austerities, and that was his love of, and communion with,
Nature. His ardent imagination, which gave a mystic and
manifold meaning to outward facts, his love for peace and
meditation, his truly Christian and jubilant heart, which ever
gave thanks for all things, all contributed to give him this
fond delight in Nature, and made him say to a friend and
pupil, " Trust to one who has had experience. You will find
something far greater in the woods than you will in books-
Stones and trees will teach you that which you will never learn
from masters. Think you not you can suck honey from the
rock, and oil from the flinty rock? Do not the mountains
drop sweetness, the hills run with milk and honey, and the
valleys stand thick with corn?" 2 In fact, Theology and
external Nature were Bernard's only sxibjects of intellectual
meditation. In the world of thought, Theology reigned with-
Si quid autem residuum est, ipsum * " Experto crede : aliquid amp-
est alimentum corporis ejus quale- lius invenies in silvis quam in libris.
cunque non tarn ad vitam sustentan- Ligna et lapides docebunt te quod a
dam quam ad differendam mortem." magistris audire non possis. An non
ST. BERN. Op. vol. ii. col. 1071. putas posse te sugere mel de petra,
1 "Fodiendo seu ligna caedendo oleumque de saxo durissimo? An
propriis humeris deportando. . . . non monies stillant dulcedinem, et
Ubi vero vires, deficiebant, . . . colles fluunt lac et mel, et valles
laborer liumilitate compensabat." abundant frumento ? " ST. BERN.
Ibid. col. 1072. -ffjist. 106.
HIS LOVE OF NATURE. 21
out a rival. Religion filled every mind which thought at all.
It had no competitor for men's attention. Those vast fields
of knowledge, rich with golden harvests through the labour of
generations of thinkers, which are now seen from every day
and action of modern life, were far removed from the man of
the twelfth century. The great past civilization *of Greece and
Rome was to him little more than a blank, across which moved
the shadows of great names. A dim religious light prevailed
in the world of thought, as well as in the solemn cathedral
aisles. 1 But of all the states of mind suited 1 to enjoy and
delight in external nature, the religious and emotional, un-
chilled by systematic, scientific thought, is perhaps the most
calculated. One can conjecture the procession of burning
thoughts, the rapture of ecstatic, admiring love, which would
command Bernard's mind when he entered the gloomy forest,
or watched the sailing clouds, or gazed at the setting sun
filling the west with liquid fire. No cold abstractions came
between him and those marvels. He thought of no " theories,"
" causes," or " effects ; " and " laws " and " phenomena," in
1 The study of any writings not ligion" contains passages, which St.
of Christian authorship had up to Odo might have cordially praised,
this period been neither practised Homer he thinks a most injurious
nor recommended. The following author. " Who can tell how much
anecdote of St. Odo of Cluny well that passion for war may have been
illustrates the prevalent feeling : reinforced by the enthusiastic ad-
" Cum Virgilii voluisset legere car- miration with which young men read
mina, ostensum fuit ei per visum vas Homer ? As to the far greater
quoddam, deforis quidem pulcherri- number of readers, it were vain to
mum, intusvero plenum serpentibus, wish that pure Christian sentiment
a quibus se subito circumvallari con- might be sufficiently recollected and
spicit ; et evigilans, serpentes doctri- loved, to accompany the study, and
nam poetarum, vas Virgilium intel- constantly prevent the injurious im-
lexit." Vita St. Odonis, 'Annales pression, of the works of pagan
Ordinis St. Benedicti,' Saec. V. genius. A few maxims of Christianity
John Foster, the essayist, would will but feebly oppose the influence,
doubtless not have felt himself The spirit-of Homer will vanquish as
flattered at any resemblance he irresistibly as Achilles vanquished."
might bear to a Middle Age Saint. (Let. 5.) St. Odo was even more
Yet his essay on the "Aversion of - moderate than this in his disapproval
Men of Taste to Evangelical Re- of the " doctrina poetarum."
22
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
r
[CHAP. II
their modern sense, never crossed his mind. This glorious
phantasmagoria of creation, what was it ? The result of a
word from God. This overwhelming and inconceivable
beauty of river, and tree, and mountain ; it was all to vanish
one day; but they had been pronounced "very good," and
prophet, psalmist, and patriarch had rejoiced in their loveli-
ness. It is true that these gorgeous heavens are to pass away
like a " scroll when it is rolled together," and a fervent heat
shall dissolve this green earth and its products; but Nature
is not less lovely for being fellow-mortal with man is rather
endowed with the grace of a friend with whom we know our
sojourn is brief, and that we shall see his face no more. And
thus Bernard glanced from Nature to his Bible, and from his
Bible to Nature, the one helping him to understand the other.
He was accustomed to say that whatever knowledge he had of
the Scriptures, he had acquired chiefly in the woods and fields;
and that beeches and oaks had ever been his best teachers in
the Word of GocQ)
f Quidquid in Scripluris valet,* in hoc nullos aliquando se magistros
id in eis spiritualiter sentit, habuissenisiquercosetfagosjocoillo.
iflaxime in silvis et in agris meditando suogratiosointeramicos diceresolet."
et orando se confitetur accepisse, et ST. BERN. Op. vol. ii. col. 1072.
PROFESSION. 23
CHAPTER III.
(A.D. 1114. AETAT. 23.)
GROWTH OF CITEAUX FOUNDATION OF CLAIRVAUX ILLNESS OF BER-
NARD WILLIAM OF CHAMPEAUX WILLIAM OF ST. THIERRY PETER
DE ROYA.
A. YEAR after he had entered Citeaux, Bernard's noviciate
over, and he solemnly made his profession. This ceremony
was a very important business, and was surrounded with all
that could impart to it awe and majesty. The novice was
called into the chapter, and, before the assembly, made disposal
of any worldly goods he might possess. His head was shorn,
and the hair burnt by the sacristan in a piscina used for this
purpose. Going to the steps of the presbytery, he then read
the form of profession, made over it the sign of the cross,
and, inclining his body, approached the altar. He placed the
profession on the right-hand side of -it, which he kissed, again
bent his body, and retired to the steps. The abbot, standing
on the same side of the altar, removed from it the parchment,
while the novice on his hands and knees implored pardon,
repeating three times the words, " Receive me, O Lord." The
whole convent answered with " Gloria Patri," and the cantor
began the psalm, " Have mercy on me, O God," which was
sung through by the two choirs alternately. The novice then
" humbled himself at the abbot's feet," and afterwards did the
same before the prior, and successively before all the religious
present, even going into the retro-chorus and prostrating him-
24
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
I" BOOK I
L.CHAP. HI
self before the sick, if there were any. Towards the end pftl
the psalm, the abbot, bearing his crosier, approached th*
novice and made him rise. A cowl was blessed and sprinkletf |
with holy water, and the abbot, removing from the novice his
secular garments, replaced them with the monastic dress. The
Credo was said,, and the novice had become a monk, and took
his place in the choir. 1
The arrival of Saint Bernard and his thirty companions
proved a turning-point in the history of Citeaux. The monastery
grew in fame, both through the praise of its friends and the
detraction of its enemies. Out of the numbers which curiosity
attracted to view, perhaps to criticise, the new order, many
remained as monks who had come as scoffers. The small
monastery had soon more inmates than it could conveniently
hold. A colony of monks was dispatched, under the guidance
of an aged brother named Bertrand, to found the Abbey of
La Ferte. Stephen selected the name " Firmitas" "endurance"
or " strength " as symbolical of the career he and his monks
had had, and of the fair fruit which in due time was sure to
come of perseverance. Hugh of Macon in a short time was
the leader of another band, who established a house at Pon-
tigny. And already, in the year A.D. 1115, that is, two years
after the arrival of the thirty novices, it was necessary to look
out for the means of founding another offshoot of the now
prolific Citeaux.
Stephen, notwithstanding his religious enthusiasm, always
displayed a most practical and penetrating mind, quite worthy
of his English origin. Of all qualities requisite in a ruler, a
ready and deep perception of character is one of the most
important : of this power the Abbot of Citeaux often gave
proof; but he never exercised it with more effect than when
he selected out of all before him the young Bernard, jiist
turned four and twenty, to be the head of the new community
1 Usus Ord. Cist. cap. 103.
G IIE POUNDS CLAIRVAUX. 25
The choice gave surprise in the abbey, and to ordinary-
observers there was little to recommend it An abbot, like a
bishop, needed to be something else besides being a merely
good man. He was required to be a man of energy, experience,
and personal influence. On him depended much of the
welfare, and even safety, of those under him. He was often
brought into rude, even hostile, collision with the secular
power around him. In every case, years and a matured
character would appear all but indispensable for the arduous
task of founding a monastery. The accumulated experience
of Alberic and Stephen together had only been sufficient to
accomplish it in the case of Citeaux. Such reflections naturally
arose on the occasion of Bernard's selection. 1
Twelve monks and their young abbot representing our
Lord and His apostles were assembled in the church. Stephen
placed a cross in Bernard's hands, who solemnly, at the head
of his small band, walked forth from Citeaux. The monks
who were to remain accompanied them. to the abbey gates, for
Bernard's powerful and assimilating nature had won all hearts,
and the day of his departure was a sad one in Citeaux. Till
they reached the limit of their own land they walked so closely
together that it was not easy to say which were going and
which were to remain ; but the gateway revealed the emigrants.
A Cistercian monk might not leave his own grounds on any
pretext without permission. Bernard, cross in hand, passed
over the prescribed boundary, and his allotted troop were
severed from their late companions. 2
1 " Misit Dens in cor abbatis juventutis, turn pro corporis infirmi-
Stephani ad aedificandam domum tate, et minor! usu exterioris oc-
Clarae-Vallis mittere fratres ejus. cupationis." ST. BERN. Op. vol. ii.
Quibus abeuntibtis ipsuni etiam dom- col. 1073.
num Bernardum praefecit abbatem, 2 " Duodecim monachi loco xii.
mirantibus sane illis, tanquam ma- Apostolorum cum tertiodecimo ab-
turis et strenuis tarn in religione bate qui loco Christi eis praeponitur,
quam in saeculo viris, et timen- ad novam abbatiam fundandam emit-
tibus ei turn pro tenerioris aetate tuntur. Crux enini dominicam ha-
26 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
Bernard struck away to the northward. For a distance of
nearly ninety miles he kept this course, passing up by the
source of the Seine, by Chatillon, of school-day memories, till
he arrived at La Ferte, about equally distant between Troyes
and Chaumont, in the diocese of Langres, and situated on the
river Aube. About four miles beyond La Ferte was a deep
valley opening to the east: thick umbrageous forests gave it
a character of gloom and wildness ; but a gushing stream of
limpid water, which ran through it, was sufficient to redeem
every disadvantage. In June, A.D. 1115, Bernard took up his
abode in the valley of Wormwood, as it was called, and began
to look for means of shelter and sustenance against the
approaching winter. The rude fabric which he and his monks
raised with their own hands, was long preserved by the pious
veneration of the Cistercians. It consisted of a building
covered by a single roof, under which, chapel, dormitory, and
refectory, were all included. Neither stone nor wood hid the
bare earth, which served for floor. Windows, scarcely wider
than a man's hand, admitted a feeble light. In this room the
monks took their frugal meals of herbs and water. Immediately
above the refectory was the sleeping apartment. It was
reached by a ladder, and was, in truth, a sort of loft. Here
were the monks' beds, which were peculiar. They were made
in the form of boxes, or bins of wooden planks, long and wide
enough for a man to lie down in. A small space, hewn out
with an axe, allowed room for the sleeper to get in or out.
The inside was strewn with chaff, or dried leaves, which,
bens imaginem, a patre abbate datur decerneres remansuros a discedenti-
ei in manus, quern de oratorio cum bus, quoadusque ad portam domus
eadem cruce exeuntem duodecim ad illos stantes a progredientibus cunc-
hoc ordinati sequuntur, quasi Chris- tatio ipsa divisit. Haec Bernardo
turn Apostoli. . . . Videres cum jam atque sociis abeuntibus, devota qui-
essent recessuri, in profundo silentio dem sed tristis facies Cistercii. fuit."
cadentes, Jacrymas omnium mona- Acta Sanct. torn. iv. August, die
chorum,"'et^Bolas voces cantantium 20, 5.
resonantes inter singultus . . . nee
A.D. nisi FIRST MONASTER Y AT CLAIR VA UX. 2 7
AEM.T. ZJ - '
with the wood-work, seem to have been the only covering
permitted. 1
At the summit of the stair or ladder, was the abbot's cell.
It was of most scanty dimensions, and these were further
reduced by the loss of one corner, through which access was
gained to the apartment from below. A framework of boards
was placed over the flight of steps, in such a manner that they
were made to answer the purpose of a bed. Two rough-hewn
logs of wood were his pillows. The roof was low and slanting,
to such a degree that it was impossible to sit upright near the
wall. It was also the sole means of obtaining bioth light and
air; sometimes too easily, as, through its imperfect joining,
wind, rain, heat, and cold, found a ready entrance. Such was
the commencement of Clairvaux. 1
The monks had thus got a house over their heads ; but they
had very little else. They had left Citeaux in June. Their
journey had probably occupied them a fortnight ; their clearing,
preparations, and building, perhaps two months ; and thus they
would be near September, when this portion of their labour was
accomplished. Autumn and winter were approaching, and they
1 Joseph Meglinger, a German dendi et dormiendi loca separat.
religious, of the monastery St. Maria Infra refectoriitm nullo lapide stra-
de Maris Stella (Wettingen), in May, turn, nudam terrain sanctissimis illis
1667, paid a visit to Citeaux (to pedibus calcandam praebebat, . . .
attend the general Chapter), and has paucis et palmo non majoribua
left a very curious account of what fenestris illud illuminantibus."
he saw there. He also proceeded MEGLINGERI, Iter. cap. 66.
on to Clairvaux, and, in a pleasant " Hinc per scalam ascenditur ad
familiar way, tells us of the state in dormitorium, idem in longum latum-
which he found the venerable relic que occupans spatium cum refec-
of the -great abbot, viz. the first torio; in quo adhuc aliquot lecti-
monastery at Clairvaux, which Ber- sternia supersunt, ex quatuor asseri-
nard had himself helped to build. bus compacta; longa ad hominis pro-
" Ad antiquum monasterium per- ceritatem et dimidia parte minus
venimus. Id Bernardus ac socii cum lata ; humili cistae ferme similia . . .
ep ex Cistercio missi propriis ma- stramini . . . aut aridis arborum
nibus fabricarunt. Uno tecto tern- foliis . . . loco pluraarum uteban-
plum et habitatio monachonun ope- tur." Ibid,
ritur; una etiam contignatio come- a Ibid. cap. 67.
28 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
had no store laid by. Their food during the summer had been
a compound of leaves, intermixed with coarse grain. Beech-
nuts and roots were to be their main support during the winter.
And now to the privations of insufficient food was added the
wearing out of their shoes and clothes. Their necessities
grew with the severity of the season, till at last even salt failed
them ; and presently Bernard heard murmurs. He argued and
exhorted ; he spoke to them of the fear and love of God, and
strove to rouse their drooping spirits by dwelling on the hopes
of eternal life and Divine recompense. Their sufferings made
them deaf and indifferent to their abbot's words. They would
not remain in this valley of bitterness, they would return to
Citeaux. Bernard, seeing they had lost then- trust in God,
reproved them no more, but himself sought in earnest prayer
for release from their difficulties. Presently a voice from Heaven
said, " Arise, Bernard, thy prayer is granted thee." Upon
which the monks said, " What didst thou ask of the Lord ? "
" Wait, and ye shall see, ye of little faith," was the reply ; and
presently came a stranger, who gave the abbot ten livres. 1
On another occasion he said to Brother Guibert, " Guibert,
saddle the ass, go to the fair, and buy us salt." Guibert
answered, " Where is the money ? " " Believe me," said
Bernard, " I know not the time when I had gold or silver.
He is above who holds my wallet and my treasures in His
hands." " If I go forth empty, .so shall I return." " Fear not,
my son, go in peace. He who holds our treasures will be
with thee in the way, and will grant thee all those things for
which I send thee." Guibert received his abbot's benediction
i "Coacti vero fame, frigore, et vinae, quantum potuit, insinuavit;
aliis indigentiis, abbatisuo conquesti . . . demum convertit se ad oratio-
sunt, quod pro nimia paupertate nem, quo facto, audivit vocem de
discedere cogerentur. . . . Abbas coelo dkentem sibi coram omnibus
blande et leniter consolans eos, Dei ' Surge, Bernarde, exaudita est oratio
timorem et amorem, spem quoque tua.'" J. EREMITA, St. Bern. Op.
vitae eternae et remunerationis di- vol. ii. col. 1286.
BETTER TIMES FOR CLAIRVAUX. 29
and obeyed, though still more than doubtful of the use of his
errand. He proceeded on the ass the solitary animal in the
possession of the community to the castle of Risnellum,
where the fair was. As he approached his destination, he met
a priest. "Whence comest thou, brother, and whither art
thou bound?" He told his questioner the object of his
expedition, and drew a sad picture of the misery and suffering
to which he and all the monks under Bernard were reduced.
The tale so wrought upon the priest that he took him to his
own house, gave him half a bushel of salt, and fifty solidi or
more. Guibert soon hastened back to Clairvaux, and told
Bernard all that had occurred to him. " I tell thee, my son,"
said Bernard, " that no one thing is so necessary to a Christian
as faith. Have faith, therefore, and it will be well with thee
all the days of thy life." 1
From that day forth, we are told, Guibert and the other
monks held the words of Bernard in greater reverence than
they had done before : a result which might well arise not,
indeed, from apocryphal miraculous power attributed to him,
but from the native vigour and grandeur of his character,
which the trials they had just passed through had distinctly
brought out Though the weakest in body, he had shown he
possessed the stoutest heart ; and men found it more profit-
able and more agreeable to obey than to oppose him.
After this crisis was over, a bright prospect opened on
Clairvaux. Indeed, it would seem that a new monastery was
in a measure bound o win its way to public fame, by first of
all nearly getting extinguished by cold and hunger. Moleme
had done so ; Citeaux had done so ; and now Clairvaux had
followed these examples. The curiosity, first, then the
sympathy of the neighbourhood were attracted, and Clairvaux
was soon placed beyond the reach of those trials by which it
won its first renown.
i St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1285,
30 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
In the mean time Bernard had been solemnly consecrated
Abbot of Clairvaux. His diocesan, the Bishop of Langres,
being absent from his see, a substitute had to be found to
perform the ceremony. " The good fame of the venerable
Bishop of Chalons, that most renowned Master William of
Champeaux, was soon heard of, and it was determined to go
to him." Bernard therefore went to Chalons, taking with him
a monk named Elboldo, a man of large and powerful frame.
They entered the bishop's palace, and presented a striking,
almost grotesque, contrast; Bernard's attenuated body and
emaciated countenance, his homeliness, not to say raggedness
of dress, excited the mirth of the loungers and idlers about the
bishop's house. There was no small question as to which of
the two was abbot ; but the bishop, " a servant of God, was
the first to recognise the servant of God," and received him
accordingly. In their first conference, " Bernard's modesty
of speech showed William of Champeaux, better than any
eloquence could, the wisdom that was in him ; and the bishop
appreciated the worth of his guest." The experienced master
of the Paris schools, doubtless, soon -perceived that in the
threadbare, care-worn youth before him, a rare and ardent
spirit was concealed. He prevailed on Bernard to pay him a
short visit. Then, in the freedom of social conversation, the
monk's demureness was cast aside, and the old dialectician
could feel more distinctly the warmth of an enthusiasm which
Bernard veiled from ordinary eyes. The foundation of a deep
and lasting friendship was laid at this interview, and they
afterwards visited each other so frequently,, that Clairvaux
became a sort of bishop's palace, and Chalons became in a
measure another Clairvaux. William's friendship also made
many others enter upon friendly relations with Bernard. 1
i "Abiit autem Catalaunum, as- praedicti episcopi domum, juvenis
sumpto secum Elboldone monacho exesi corporis et moribund!, habitu
quodam Cisterciensi. Intravit, ergo, quoque despicabilis, subsequent
ILLNESS FROM OVERWORK. 31
But these labours, anxieties, and powerful emotions, which
his new duties had imposed upon him, in addition to his own
excessive austerities, had well-nigh brought Bernard to the
grave. The responsibility which rested on him, the love and
devotion he bore to his flock, the difficulties and dangers he
had passed through, all contributed to excite a restless, almost
feverish, energy of soul. After matins, in the deep dark night
he would wander forth alone, and pray to God with all his
strength that what he did, and what his brethren did, might be
pleasing in His sight. Then, while shutting his; eyes, still in
prayer, his over-wrought mind saw in vision the surrounding
country, even to the slopes of the neighbouring hills, filled
with an innumerable multitude of every rank and diversity of
condition, so that the valley could not contain them. 1 A
robust constitution .must have succumbed to such incessant
demands on the powers of life. Bernard's enfeebled frame
was failing fast, when his friend, the bishop, came to pay him
a visit. He found Clairvaux confused with grief at the con-
dition of its abbot. He was told there was no hope, that
either death, or a life that was worse than death, must be
expected for Bernard. William did not take quite so despond-
ing a view of the case. He said he had hopes not only of
Bernard's life, but even of his health, if he could be induced
to spare himself a little, and take rest. Yet he fully appre-
ciated the danger of his condition, more especially as he
found Bernard quite inflexible with regard to the required
change. William resorted to a stratagem which was as credit-
monaclio seniore, et magnitudine et launensis." St. BERN. Of. vol. ii.
robore corporis eleganti, aliis ridenti- col. 1076.
bus, aliis irridentibus, aliis rem sicut 1 " Contigit autem . . . lit ali-
erat interpretando venerantibus. . . . quando temperius solito sttrgeret ad
Ut propria esset domus episcopi vigilias . . . egressus foras, et loca
Clara- Vallis ; Claraevallensium vero vicina circumiens, orabat Deum, \\t
efficeretur non sola domns episcopi, acceptum haberet obsequium suiun
sed et per ipsum tota civitas Cata- et fratrum suorum." Ibid. col. 1073.
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
I BOOKI
(.CHAP. II]
able to his subtlety, as its motive was to his heart. He
started off at once for Citeaux. He found the Chapter
assembled, and entering, prostrated himself bishop as he was
before Stephen and the abbots around him. William
begged, and obtained leave, to direct and manage Bernard for
one year only. So provided, he hastened back to Clairvaux,
and now found its abbot as obedient as he had before been
unyielding. He caused a small cottage to be built outside the
monastery walls ; in this he ordered Bernard to dwell, at the
same time commanding that neither his food nor drink should
be regulated by the monastic rule, while all care and responsi-
bility as regarded the abbey were removed from his mind, j
The good bishop probably hoped that he had taken measures
prompt and vigorous enough to ensure his object, and returned
to Chalons, from which he had been so long absent for his
friend's sake. 1
In the mean time Bernard continued to do as he was told.
The result of this passive obedience is related by an eye-
witness, his friend and biographer, William of St. Thierry.
William, in company with another abbot, had paid him a
visit, and gives this account of it : " I found him," says the
affectionate chronicler, "in his hut, . . . freed by the order
of the bishop and abbots from all care of the monastery,
whether external or internal, at leisure for himself and God,
and exulting, as it were, in the delights of Paradise. When I
entered that chamber, and beheld the place and its inhabitant, I
I call God to witness, a feeling of veneration came over me as
- 1 " Medico vero post tempore
cransacto, cum eousque infirmitas
abbatis ingravesceret, ut jam non-
nisi more ejus, aut omni morte gravior
vita speraretur, ab episcopo visitatus
est. Cumque viso eo episcopus se
non solum vitae ejus, sed et sanitatis
spem habere diceret, si consilio ejus
acquiescens, secundum infirmitatis
suae modum aliquam corpori suo
curam pateretur impendi . . . pro- 1
fectus episcopus ad Capitulum Cis-
terciense ibi coram pauculis abba- ,
tibus qui convenerant ... toto I
corpora in terram prostrate, petiit
et obtinuit ut tantum anno tmo i
obedientiam sibi traderetur."- ST|
BERN. Op. vol. ii. col. 1076.
\ VJSTTED BY WILLIAM OF ST. THIERRY. 33
if I had been approaching the altar of God. He, on his part,
received us with joy, and we then inquired how he did, and
how he liked his new mode of life. 'Excellent well/ he
replied,, in his own noble manner.; ' I who have hitherto ruled
over rational beings, by a great judgment of God am given
over to obey an irrational beast.' This he spoke concerning
an ignorant rustic, to whose care he had been entrusted, and
who boasted he would cure him of the infirmity he was suffering
from. As we sat at meat with him, I thought how carefully so
precious an invalid should be tended. Yet presently we saw
food .placed before him by the agency of this; doctor, which a
healthy man, driven on by the extremity of. hunger, would not
have eaten. We could hardly restrain ourselves from breaking
the rule of silence, and assailing that sacrilegious homicide
with angry reproaches. But he. to whom this was done took
it all with indifference, and. approved of. everything. His sense
I of taste seemed altered or even dead,, so that he could scarcely
discern anything. For he is Jcnown to have eaten raw blood
for many days, which, by mistake, had been .given . him for
.butter, and to have drunk oil, thinking it to be water,: arid
many similar mishaps occurred to him. Water alone, he said,
was pleasant to him, which, as he swallowed, it, cooled the
fever of his throat and mouth. .
" I tarried with him a few days, unworthy though I was, and
whichever way I turned my eyes I marvelled, and .thought I
saw a new heaven and a new earth, and the old pathways of
the Egyptian monks our fathers, with recent footsteps of the
men of our time left in them. The golden age seemed to have
revisited the world then at.Clairvaux. There you could see
men, who had been rich and honoured in the world, glorying
in the poverty of Christ." William continues, in a strain of
enthusiastic admiration, to give a description of Clairvaux as it
was at this time .
34
LIFE AND TIMES OP ST. BERNARD.
r Bceal
I CHAP. Ill
" At the first glance, as you entered Clairvaux by descending
the hill, you could see it was a temple of God ; and the still,
silent valley bespoke, in the modest simplicity of its buildings,
the unfeigned humility of Christ's poor. Moreover, in this
valley full of men, where no one was permitted to be idle,
where one and all were occupied with their allotted tasks, a
silence, deep as that of night, prevailed. The sounds of labour,
or the chants of the brethren in the choral service, were the
only exceptions. The order of this silence, and the fame that
went forth of it, struck such a reverence even into secular
persons that they dreaded breaking it I will not say by idle
or wicked conversation, but even by pertinent remarks. The
solitude, also, of the place between dense forests in a narrow
gorge of neighbouring hills in a certain sense recalled the
cave of our father Saint Benedict, so that while they strove to
imitate his life, they also had some similarity to him in their
habitation and loneliness." 1
Another description of Clairvaux, but referring to its effects
on the mind rather than its appearance to the eye, has come
down to us. It is in a letter to the Provost of Noyon, by a
young novice named Peter de Roya. A great deal of it is
occupied with the conventional phrases usually produced after
religious conversion. But presently come passages of real
human feeling and perception.
" Often whilst I was at Noyon, dear friend, in the bishop's
palace, and sat in the window, either alone or with you or with
others, I contemplated the order and beauty of that house a
beauty which was fresh yesterday, to grow old and withered
to-day and, while doing so, I secretly turned the glance of my
1 The reader will often meet
with William of St. Thierry again.
He was one of Bernard's most de-
voted friends. The biography we
have by him of Bernard was never
finished ; as he died before the Abbot
of Clairvaux. The passage trans-
lated in the text is from the 7th
chapter of his little book entitled
Vita Prima, cap. 7. ST. BERN. Of,
vol. ii. col. 1076, 1077.
A.D.1H8-1 LETTER OF PETR DE ROYA. 35
fTCAT* 27 *^ **
* 27 J
mind's eye to that most orderly house which is in the heavens,
whose glorious, indestructible, and ever new beauty passes
man's faculty to imagine. . . . For, as I sat at the table of
{ the bishop, our fellow-citizen and my host, I fed daintily off
|j. silver plate, and not unwholesomely as far as the fare was
u concerned. . But, while I gathered with my bodily hand those
| sweet delicacies, with the hand of the heart, from the same
^t silver platters, I was collecting a very different food. And you,
if my friend, although we sat near enough to each other, you did
not know that I was so employed. Do I, .therefore, blame
! those daily festive banquets or innocent plates and salvers ? do
I accuse the good wine, whose colour softly charmed the eye,
and whose flavour gave a sweet response in the palate ? do I-
^ accuse the silver goblets ? God forbid. Neither the food, nor
j the wine, nor the cups were to blame. But in me, a potter's
^vessel, lurked seeds from which within I felt the sharp sting
f a rising crop of thorns." This all ends in his going to
lairvaux.
" Although the monastery is situated in a valley, it has its
.. foundation on the holy hills, whose gates the Lord loveth more
than all the dwellings of Jacob. Glorious things are spoken
, , of it, because the glorious and wonderful God therein worketh
great marvels. There the insane recover their reason; and,
j although their outward man is worn away, inwardly they are
,' born again. There the proud are humbled, the rich are made
! poor, and the poor have the Gospel preached to them, and the
darkness of sinners is changed into light. A large multitude of
blessed poor from the ends of the earth have there assembled,
yet have they one heart and one mind ; justly, therefore, do all
who dwell there rejoice with no empty joy. They have the
certain hope of perennial joy of their ascension heavenward
lj^ already commenced. In Clairvaux they have found Jacob's
ladder, with angels upon it ; some descending, who so provide
for their bodies that they faint not on the way; others
r D 2
i
'\
36 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
ascending, who so rule their souls that their bodies hereaftei
may be glorified with them.
"For my part, the more attentively I watch them day by
day, the more do I believe that they are perfect followers of
Christ in all things. When they .pray and speak to God in
spirit and in truth, by their friendly and quiet speech to Him
as well as by their humbleness of demeanour, they are plainly
seen to be God's companions and friends. When, on the other
hand, they openly praise God with psalmody, how pure and
fervent are their minds, is shown by the posture of body in
holy fear and reverence ; while, by their careful pronunciation
and modulation of the psalms, is shown how sweet to their lips
are the words of God sweeter than honey to their mouths.
As I watch them, therefore, singing without fatigue, from before
midnight to the dawn of day, with only a brief interval, they
appear a little less than the angels, but much more than men.
... As regards their manual labour, so patiently and placidly^
with such quiet countenances, in such sweet and holy order do
they perform all things, that, although they exercise themselves
at many works, they never seem moved or burdened in any-
thing, whatever the labour may be. Whence it is manifest
that that Holy Spirit worketh in them who disposeth of all
things with sweetness, in whom they are refreshed, so that they
rest even in their toil. Many of them, I hear, are bishops and
earls, and many illustrious through their birth or knowledge j
but now, by God's grace, all acceptation of persons being dead
among them, the greater any one thought himself in the world,
the more in this flock does he regard himself as less than the
least. I see them in the garden with hoes, in the meadows
with forks or rakes, in the fields with scythes, in the forest with
axes. To judge from their outward appearance, their tools,
their bad and disordered clothes, they appear a race of fools,
without speech or sense. But a true thought in my mind tells
me that their life in Christ is hidden in the heavens. Among
<
^"if] LETTER OF PETER DE ROY A. 37
them I see Godfrey of Peronne, Raynald of Picardy, William
of St. Omer, Walter of Lisle, all of whom I knew formerly in
the old man, whereof I now see no trace, by God's favour.
I knew them proud and puffed up. I see them walking
humbly under the merciful hand of God.
" Such, my friend, is a brief account of Clairvaux. Greater
and better things remain untold ; but this must suffice for the
p present. My desire is that I may deserve to be joined with
I these poor in Christ. In the meantime I undergo my probation,
1 and, by the grace of God, I am being established in their rule
i' and life so that, until I be joined to them, I may learn to watch
,[ with them, and dream only in the Spirit. For the kingdom is
f promised to him who watches ; and he who sows in the Spirit
$.;-., shall of the Spirit reap everlasting life. May I, a partaker of it,
| behold you and the whole Church of Noyon, my mistress and
) :f mother, by the mercy of God, reigning and living with Christ
for ever. On the Sunday after Ascension Day, I shall, God
willing, assume the armour of our monastic profession. Fare-
well ! and think on your last days." 1
> * Epist. Bern. 492 ; Op. vol. i. col. 393.
38 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [J2SS*n
'k
I
CHAPTER IV.
(A. D. 1 1 18. AETAT. 27.)
FOUNDATION OK THE ORDER OF CITEAUX THE CHARTER OF CHARITY
THE COMMENCEMENT OF ST. BERNARD'S CORRESPONDENCE LETTERS
TO ROBERT TO FULK SERMONS ON THE ANNUNCIATION.
IT was said in the last chapter that William of Champeaux had
petitioned " Stephen Harding and the abbots around him at
Citeaux " to be entrusted with the care of Bernard for a twelve-
month. The expression refers to one of the most important
facts in the history of monasticism to one of the greatest and
wisest additions to the scheme of Saint Benedict ever made,
and such as almost entitles the English abbot of Citeaux to be
considered the second founder of ccenobitic life.
Saint Benedict's celebrated rule had reference solely to a
single religious house it might almost be said to a single
monk. It is a mixture of exhortation and command to lead
a life of self-mortification and prayer : " Hear, O son, the
Master's words, and incline the ear of thine heart. Accept
the counsel of a loving Father, and accomplish it thoroughly,
in order that thou mayest return to Him, through the labour
of obedience, whom thou forsookest in the wantonness of
disobedience. To thee are my words directed, whosoever
thou mayest be, who, renouncing thine own self-will, and
assuming the strong and splendid arms of submission, art
ready to fight for the Lord Christ, the true King." And this
immediate, personal tone of direction is rarely departed from.
] PROGRESS OF MOtfASTICISM. 39
Saint Benedict's ideal monastery is severed from the outer
world completely, and has no necessary relations even with
other monasteries.*
The result was that the position of monasteries in the Church
was, for a considerable time, -ill-defined and uncertain. Under
whose jurisdiction did their supervision in the last resort
reside ? During the seventh, eighth, and ninth centuries, when
the episcopate was ascendant in the Church, the bishops
assumed the right of controlling monasteries, and even of
deposing abbots. When the papacy rose into its vast authority,
the convents made strenuous efforts to get relieved from a
subjection which they found always irksome and sometimes
tyrannical, and sought and obtained of the head of the Church
immunities from episcopal dominion. Still the corruption
and disorders, which were far from unknown in monasteries,
rendered this one of the weakest sides of the institute. A few
years sometimes, through the succession of a weak or wicked
abbot to a wise and good one, were enough to witness the
fall of an old illustrious abbey from an elevated piety to a
degrading worldliness. The famous house of Cluny, as will
be presently seen, was a conspicuous example of such a fall. 2
Stephen Harding's experiences at Moleme or elsewhere had
shown to him the danger and malignity of this evil, and with
the genius of a statesman he had devised a remedy for it. He
conceived a plan of uniting in one compact whole all monas-
teries which sprang from the parent stock of Citeaux. A
1 " Ausculta, O fili, praecepta Guizot has developed the rise and
magistri, et inclina aurem cordis tui : progress of monasticism. He has
et admonitionem pii patris libenter adduced redundant proof of I.
excipe, et efficaciter comple ; ut ad The lay character and independence
eum per obedientiae laborem redeas, of the primitive monks. 2. Their
a quo per inobedientiae desidiam gradual entrance into the clerical
recesseras." Regula St. Benedicti, body. 3. Their humiliating sub-
Prolog, jection to the bishops. 4. Their
2 In two admirable lectures of slow emancipation, partly through
his " Histoire de la Civilisation en help from the^royal power, but prin-
France," vol. ii. lees, xiv.-xv. M. cipally from the papacy.
40 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. \ <?* 1 I
system of mutual supervision and control was the result. As
early as Bernard's illness, during his first year at Clairvaux, in
A.D. 1116, a few abbots were assembled around Stephen, when
William of Champeaux unexpectedly entered. Three years
afterwards a more encouraging prospect was before him. 1 His
Cistercians had so thriven that he was able to collect twelve
abbots under his presidency at Citeaux. These, as represen-
tatives of their abbeys, were to be united to one another, and
to their chief, by common hopes and common fears, by a
system in which mutual love, ambition, and envy should
combine to further one and the same end namely, the
spiritual welfare and independence of the order. The abbots
of the order of Citeaux were assumed to be and at this period
doubtless were animated by a pure zeal for religion and the
Church. But " if any which God forbid should attempt to
forsake the sacred observance of the holy rule," hope is
expressed that, " by care and solicitude, they may be able to
return to rectitude of life." 2
The general Chapter met every year in September, and
lasted five days. Every abbot of the order, whose monastery
was in France, Italy, or Germany, was bound to attend
annually. Illness alone was a valid excuse, and then even a
fit " messenger " must be sent to account for the absence of
his chief. 3 Abbots residing at a greater distance from Citeaux
than those above mentioned were held to a less frequent
attendance. Those from Spain every two years; those from
i " Le chapitre general fut fonde Sihle, par M. D'Arbois de Jubain-
en 1119. Les Abbayes Cisterci- ville, p. 148.
ennes etaient alors au nombre de 2 Charta Charitatis, cap. i.
treize. D'abord les cinq abbayes- 3 "Omnesabbatesdenostroordine
meres, Citeaux et Laferte, Pontigny, singulis annis ad generate Capitulum
Clairvaux, MorimondjensuitePrully, Cisterciense, omui postposita occa-
Trois Fontaines, la Cour-Dieu, Bon- sione, convenient, illis exceptis quos
nevaux, Bouras, Cadouin, Fontenoy, corporis infinnitas retinuerit." Ibid.
Mazan." Etudes SUK> les Abbayes cap. iii.
Cistercietines au xii e et au XIII R
CHARTER Of CHARITY, 41
Ireland, Scotland, Sicily, Portugal, every four years; those
from- Norway, every five years; and those from Syria and
Palestine, every seven years. 1
The Charter of Charity, which this Chapter definitely pro-
mulgated for the guidance of the Cistercian order, is a brief
but pregnant document In five short chapters it provides for
a system of government and mutual supervision of rulers and
ruled which quite justifies and explains the discipline, organi-
zation, and success which attended it while it was carried out.
The Abbot of Citeaux, Jord and master as he is of all so that
to whatever monastery he comes, the abbot of that monastery,
for the time being, abdicates his functions in his favour even
he is under the strict supervision of the four Abbots of La
Ferte, Pontigny, Ctairvaux, and Morimond. If he is remiss or
vicious, they are to admonish him four times of his errors, and
implore him to amend himself, or to see to the amendment of
others. If all this avails not, they are to call a Chapter of the
order and solemnly depose him. 2 On the other hand, the
Abbot of Citeaux, at least once a year, shall visit all the abbeys
which are of his filiation ; and each of them, again, shall over-
look the houses which have sprung from them. The great
object is to keep the rule in its entire purity, and carefully to
report and to suppress any the least deviation from it, either in
the letter or the spirit. " If any abbot shall be found too
lukewarm for the rule or too intent on worldly matters, or in
1 Etudes, par M. D'Arbois de posito languescere, et ab observatione
Jubainville, p. 150. regulae vel ordinis nostri exorbitare
2 " Domum autem Cisterciensem cognoverint, abbatem. ejusdem loci
simul per seipsos visitent qnatuor per quatuor primos abbates, scilicet
primi abbates, de Firmitate, de de Firmitate, de Pontiniaco, de Cla-
Pontigniaco, de Claravalle, de Mori- ravalle, de Morimundo, sub caetero-
mundo, die quam inter se constitu-. rum abbatum nomine, usque quater
erint." 'Charta Charitatis, cap. ii. ut corrigatur ipse, et alios corrigere
9. caret, admoneant . . . virum inutilem
"Si forte, quod absit, abbates ab officio suo deponant." Ibid,
nostri ordinis matrem nostxam Cis- cap. v. 27. ''
terciensem ecclesiam in sancto pro-
i
42 LIFE AND TIMES Of ST. BERNARD.
any way reprehensible," he shall be " accused publicly in the
Chapter shall ask for pardon, and undergo penance com-
mensurate with his fault." Thus the piety of good men, and
the interest of worldly men, were alike enlisted on the side
of regularity and rigoun A powerful corporate spirit was '
generated; width of view and largeness of sympathy were
encouraged by the frequent and well-attended debates at
Citeaux, which certainly, at this period, was an example of a -
self-governing community, or school for political experience,
nearly, if not quite, unique in the world.
In the meantime, Bernard, at Clairvaux, had recovered his (
health, and resumed his duties of abbot. He did more.
About the year 1119 he commenced that career of literary
and ecclesiastical activity that wide and impassioned corre- ^
spondence that series of marvellous sermons, which have won
for him the title of the Last of the Fathers. His first essays
the first strong but untutored efforts of his powerful intellect
are curious, as being his, rather than for merits of their own.
The vigour is abundant ; but it is not directed by judgment '
and skill. The extracts which follow from his two first Epistles,
and his Homilies on the Annunciation, are given, not for their
own excellence, but as standards to show how much they '
were afterwards surpassed.
Among the thirty converts who entered Citeaux, under the
leadership of Bernard, was a young kinsman named Robert. ;
From Citeaux, Robert followed his cousin to Clairvaux, and,
it is supposed, made his profession in the year 1116. The
youth had been touched with the enthusiasm around him, and
bound himself hastily to a mode of life, which before long he
was glad to abandon. The severe, unrelenting discipline was j
more than he could bear. He was not without hopes of '
deliverance. His parents, in his childhood, had promised him
to the monastery of Cluny; and Robert well knew the dif-
ference between the opulent and magnificent Cluny and the
LETTER TO HIS KINSMAN ROBERT. 43
poor austere Clairvaux. While he was in this state of mind
an emissary from Cluny arrived at Clairvaux. Robert fled.
This was a most painful incident to Bernard. It was a sort of
defeat in the midst of his success. For a monk to leave
Clairvaux above all, for that monk to be a relation of the
abbot was necessarily a most untoward occurrence. Bernard
wrote to the young deserter a long and curious epistle, in
which genuine feeling and rhetorical bombast alternately con-
tend for, and obtain the mastery. His wrath against Cluny,
and his tenderness for Robert, struggle for .'utterance, in
succeeding sentences, through four folio pages.
After taking full blame to himself for inadvertence in not
tempering with more care the severity of the rule to the
tenderness of Robert's age, he alludes to the artful temptations
which were held out to him from Cluny.
"A certain great prior was sent, outwardly having sheep's
clothing, but inwardly a ravening wolf. He attracted, he
enticed, he flattered, and this noble preacher of the Gospel
eulogised debauchery, condemned thrift, and voluntary poverty
he termed misery. Fastings, vigils, silence, and manual
labour he regarded as insanity, whereas idleness was with
him contemplation, gluttony, loquacity, and every sort of
indulgence was discretion. 'When,' he would say, 'is God
pleased with our sufferings ? where does the Scripture com
mand any one to kill himself? and what sort of religion is that
which consists in digging the ground, cutting timber, and
carting manure ? Wherefore did God create food, if we may
not eat of it? why did he give .us bodies, if we may not support
them? In fine, to whom will he be good who is evil to
himself? and what man in his right mind ever hated his own
flesh?'"
This passage shows Bernard well knew what could be, and
doubtless often was, said against his severe discipline. Indeed
he appears to take a pleasure in a sort of rhetorical exaggera
44 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
tion of what might be urged against him, as if too sure of .his
ground to be doubtful of the issue. He proceeds to say how
this " wolf of a prior " had succeeded, and carried off his
victim to Cluny; how Robert was clipped, shaven, and
washed; and his old rustic clothes were exchanged for new
handsome ones.
" What then, will you find salvation i-n splendour and
abundance of clothes and food, or in sobriety and frugality ?
If soft warm furs, fine and costly garments, long sleeves and
an ample hood, downy couch and dainty coverlet, make a
saint, why do I delay a moment ? why do I not follow you to
Cluny ? But these are comforts for the sick, not arms for the
men of war. Wine and the like, soup and fat things these
are. for the body, not for the mind ; not the soul, but the flesh,
is nourished by ragouts. Many brethren in Egypt served God
a 'long time without eating fish. Pepper, ginger, sage, and
cummin, and a thousand other spices, may indeed delight the.
palate, but they also light up the flames of lust ; and think
you youth can be passed in safety, surrounded by them ?
. . . . You fear our fasts, and vigils, and manual labour, but
if you dwell on eternal flames, these will seem matters of small
moment. The remembrance of outer darkness will banish all
fear of solitude. If you reflect that account is to be kept of
every idle word, silence will strike you as less appalling. That
eternal weeping and gnashing of teeth, if brought before the
mind's eye, will make a mattress or feather bed equally
indifferent. If you watch by night, and attend to the Psalms
as the rule directs you, that bed must be hard indeed in which
you will not placidly rest. If you work as much as you ought,
according to your vows, plain indeed must be the fare which
you do not readily relish.
" Arise, then, soldier of Christ, shake off the dust, and
return to battle whence you have fled ; show more courage
after this flight, in hopes of a more glorious triumph. Are you
T u i] LETTER TO HIS KINSMAN ROBERT. 45
' fearful? But why fearful when there is no cause for fear, and
yet bold where all is terrible? Because you have deserted
your ranks do you suppose you have escaped the enemy ?
Alas ! the enemy will pursue you more readily in flight than
he would resist you if you attacked him. Now you have laid
aside your arms, and, at the very hour in which Christ rose
from the dead, you are deep in morning slumber. An armed
multitude surrounds your house, and yet you sleep. They are
scaling .the walls ; they demolish the palisade ; they will soon
burst through the postern. Do you wish to be found by them
alone, or with others? naked in bed, or armed in the field?
| Up, seize your arms ; hasten to your comrades whom you
) forsook. At what do you tremble when the united band of
j armed brethren will protect you, when angels will fight by
I you, when the commander, Christ, will go before you, animating
His .own to victory, and sayingj ' Be of good cheer, I have over-
come the wbrld ? ' If Christ is for us, who can be against us?
You may well fight without fear when you are certain to be
conqueror. Safe indeed is warfare with, and for, Christ,
for though wounded, prostrate, trampled .on, killed, if possible,
a thousand times, yet, if you fly not, you shall in nowise lose
your victory. By flight alone you can lose it. Death will give
it you. Death will crown you. But woe be to you if you
lose, through flight, both crown and victory ! " 1 ;
Bernard's passionate appeals were in vain, at least for
the time. The "morning slumbers," the "ginger," and the
i Sanct. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. I, autem" (says Geoffrey)" extra monas-
epist. i. This letter was placed terii septa, ut dictaret secretius ; et
first, we are told by William of St. . Guillelmus, qui postea in Angliis
Thierry and the monk Geoffrey, on Rievallensem aedificavit abbatiam,
account of the miracle which at- quae dictabantur excipiens scribebat
tended the writing of it. Geoffrey in charta. Subito autem, inundante
intimates that Bernard not only ac- pluvia, timuit qui scribebat ; erant
cepted the authorship of the miracle enim sub dio." William adds fur-
when performed, but knew that ther detail : " Chartam reponere vo-
> it was coming beforehand : " Exiit luit. Cui venerabilis abbas, Opus
\
46 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
" pepper " had charms for young Robert, which he found not .
in spiritual things when they were dwelt on in so severe a
manner as at Clairvaux. He remained at Cluny for several
years, in fact, till the death of the abbot, Pontius. The latter's
successor, Peter the Venerable, restored the truant to Bernard.
Soon after this grief, Bernard had another of a similar kind.
It had not, indeed, the additional sting of arising from a
relation of his own ; but it was sufficiently mortifying to him
as a Cistercian monk. The facts, as far as we know them,
were these. A young man, of the name of Fulk, had made
vows as a regular canon. He had an uncle a dean. The
uncle was rich and old. He had long enjoyed Fulk's com-
pany ; but now, just when he wanted it most, he was deprived
of it by the young man's taking vows as a regular canon. To ^
whom he was to leave his garnered treasures was now a doubt
and trouble to him. He had land, and horses, and vessels of
gold and silver, and whose were they to be? S& Fulk was
induced to forsake his canons, and come back and live with his
uncle. But what a horrid apostasy was this ! Fulk, who had
renounced the world . and all that belonged to it who had
made vows of obedience, poverty, silence, and mortification, to
abandon all this, and merely at the temptations of an old uncle ,
and worldly riches. Bernard's whole nature was shocked.
He poured forth his sorrow, indignation, and reproof in a long
letter, from which follow a few extracts :
" I would say nothing of your uncle's crime if I could, in \
order to avoid, if possible, all useless offence. But I cannot
pass one by whom I have ever found, as far as in him lay, an ]
adversary of the Holy Spirit. He certainly strove to extin-
inquit Dei est ; fac quod facis. Res mam earn constitui in corpore epis-
mira ! Madebant vestes eorum, et tolarum, cum audissem tarn grande
scribebatur grandis epistola, et char- miraculum ab ipsius ore, qui scripsit
tarn omnino non tetigit imber. Ex- earn in pluvia sine pluvia." ST,
tat adhuc epistola ; et ego ipse pri- BERN. Op. vol. ii. col. 1277.
] LETTER TO FULK. 47
guish all fervour in me when a novice. But thanks be to God,
he prevailed not.
" But what shall I say of your uncle's malice, who withdrew
his nephews from Christ's warfare to take them with himself
to hell? Is it thus he is used to serve his friends? Those
whom Christ calls to abide for ever with Him your uncle
recalls, that they may burn for ever with him. I marvel that
Christ's wrath is not already kindled against him, and ready to
say, ' How often have I wished to gather your nephews even
as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and you
would not.' . . . Christ says, ' Suffer little children to come
unto Me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.' Your uncle
says, ' Suffer my nephews that they may* burn with me.' Christ
says, 'They are mine, and Me they ought to serve.' 'Nay,'
says your uncle, 'but they perish with me.' "
After a good deal more of similar declamatory exhortation,
he thus describes the uncle's feelings and reflections, on hear-
ing of Fulk having become a canon :
" Woe is me ! what do I hear ? how blighted are my hopes.
Is it right, lawful, just, or reasonable, that one whom I have
brought up from a child should now, when a man, be the profit
of others ? My hair is white ; alas ! I shall pass the remainder
of life in sorrow, now that the staff of my old age has for-
saken me. If my soul were demanded of me to-night, whose
would my hoarded treasures be? My garners are full and
plenteous, with all manner of store. My sheep bring forth
abundantly ; my oxen are strong ; but to whom will they
remain? My farms, meadows, houses, vessels of gold and
silver, for whom were they collected? I have obtained for
myself some of the richest and most lucrative preferments in
my diocese, and hoped to obtain more for Fulk. What shall
I do ? I will recall him if I can. But how ? The deed is
done ; the fact is known. Fulk is a regular canon. If he
return to the world he will be branded with infamy. But this
48 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
is more tolerable than to be without him. Honour must give
way to convenience : modesty to necessity. Even the lad's \
sense of shame had better suffer than my loneliness be
continued." . :
Bernard then gives the reasons why. Fulk cannot be saved
if he remains in his uncle's house :
" But how can any one hunger or thirst for Christ who is
daily filled with the husks of swine ? You cannot drink from
the cup of Christ and also from the cup of demons. The cup
of demons is pride ; the cup of demons is slander and envy ;
the cup of demons is rioting and drunkenness which things-,
when they shall have filled your mind and belly, will leave no
place in you for Christ. Wonder not at what I say. In your
uncle's house you cannot be drunk with the fulness of the
house of God. Christ deigns not to offer to the mind His
wine sweeter than honey when He sees debauchery hic-
cuping in its cups. When there is a curious diversity of food/
when the colour and variety of rich furniture feed both the eyes
and the stomach, then the heavenly bread leaves the mind to
fast These are they with whom you. associate, and
whose evil communications corrupt a youth's good manners.
" But how long will you hesitate to come forth frdm among
them? What do you do in a town, who had chosen a cloister?
That you rise to vigils; that you attend mass; that day and
night you are in the choir at the appointed hour is likely, is
commendable. By this means you do not get your prebend
for nothing. It is right that he who serves the altar should
live by the altar. It is permitted to you, if you serve the altar
well, that you should live by it. But not permitted that you
should luxuriate by it, nor, waxing proud through it, get golden
bridles for yourself, or embroidered saddles, or silver spurs,
or grey furs, trimmed with purple round the wrists and collar.
Whatever beyond necessary food and clothing you take and
retain from the altar is not yours--it is robbery, it is sacrilege.:
]. SERMONS Off THE ANNUNCIATION. 49
" What do you in the town, a delicate soldier, while your
fellows, whom you have deserted, are fighting and conquering?
They knock and are entering. They seize heaven and reign.
Whereas you, seated on your palfrey, clothed in purple and
fine linen, move about the streets and villages. These are
the baubles of peace, not the defences of war. Purple will
not repel lust, nor pride, nor avarice ; and, what is more,
and what you fear more, it prevents not fever, it saves not
from death. Where are the arms of battles ? where the shield
of faith? the helmet of salvation? the breastplate; of patience?
Why do you fear ? More are with us than against us. Seize
your weapons while the battle still lasts. Angels are present
and protecting. The Lord himself is there, the helper and
deliverer. Let us hasten to the help of our brethren, lest, if
they fight without us, they also conquer without us, and enter
without us; and at last, from the closed door within, it be
replied to our knocking, 'Verily, I say unto you, I know
you not.' " 1
Allowing all due margin for exaggeration, this letter shows
that a reformer like Bernard thought himself justified in
speaking of the secular clergy as contented with a low stan-
dard of morals and religion. Hildebrand's reformation had
done much. But in an age when communication was difficult,
and public opinion non-existent, it is probable that much of
the old apathy and worldliness which the great Pope had so
energetically combated, still remained in many an unobserved
corner. It was the vigilant and active supervision, and even
asceticism of the Cistercians, which made them such valuable
monitors and reformers throughout the by-ways of Europe.
It is probable, though not certain, that at or about this time
Bernard composed four homilies on the words of Saint Luke :
" The angel Gabriel was sent from God." They are supposed
to be among the first efforts of Bernard in this direction.
1 Sanct. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 8.
L
50 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
They are essays or pious discourses to be read rather than
sermons to be preached. They are curious in many ways.
The crudity, not to say horribleness, of some of the ideas;
the ambitious and gaudy rhetoric; the conspicuous absence
of high spiritual thought, make them interesting as evidence
of what Bernard was, as contrasted with what he became. It
is strange, and almost wonderful, that the same man who wrote
these stiff, essentially hard homilies, afterwards poured forth
the soft poetry of the Sermons on the Canticles.
In a short preface, 1 Bernard himself tells us their origin,
which was in one of those numerous illnesses which at this
period so afflicted him, and for the time prevented him from
discharging his usual duties among the monks. Still he had
much to do, most likely in the way of correspondence ; and
these homilies were written during the short intervals which
the indefatigable abbot was able to steal from sleep. He
thinks that if he does not neglect any duty which the brethren
have a right to expect of him, they have no cause of complaint
if he think proper to gratify his devotion by such a work ;
which was assuredly a humble way of putting it.
He chose for his subject the Annunciation. He treats it
with a minute external exactness, which is very curious to a
modern man. Every fact, and every possibility for supposing
1 This little preface is the plea- crebra ilia ex corruptione stomach!
santest thing about these homilies. per os ejus indigestae craditatis
"Scribere me aliquid et devotio eruptio aliis inriperet esse molestior,
jubet, et prohibet occupatio. Veram- maxime autem in choro psallentium,
tamen quia praepediente corporali non tamen illico collectas fratrum
molestia, fratrum ad praesens non deseruit; sed juxta locum stationis
valeo sectari conventum ; id tantillum suae procurato et effosso in terra
otii quod vel mihi de somno fraudans receptaculo doloris illius, sic all-
in noctibus intercipere sinor, non qtiandiu, prout potuit, necessitatem
sinamotiosum." SANCT.BEHN. Op. illam transegit. At tibi ne hoc quidem
vol. i col. 732. It is probable that permisit intolerantia rei, tune demum
this "corporalisaiolestia" is the same collectas deserere, et seorsum ha-
as that referred to in such graphic, bitare compulsus est." Ibid. vol.
but well-nigh horrible, terms, by ii. col. 1079.
William of St. Thierry. " Nam cum
SERMONS ON THE ANNUNCIATION. 51
a fact, is dwelt upon, and amplified, and turned, and drawn
out, till it is difficult to recognise where one is. " Why," he
begins by asking, " Why did the Evangelist mention so many
proper names in this place ? Do you suppose that any one of
them was put in superfluously? By no means. If a leaf falls
not from a tree, nor a sparrow to the ground, without the
Heavenly Father, can. I think a superfluous word fell from the
lips, of the holy Evangelist, especially in the sacred history of
the Word? I will not think so. They are full, indeed, of
supernal mysteries, and each runs over with heavenly sweet-
ness, if only they have a diligent observer, who knows how to
suck honey from the rock, and oil from the flinty rock."
This is his warrant for every imaginable microscopic exa-
mination of detail. As, for instance
" He (the Evangelist) says then, ' The angel Gabriel was sent
from God.' I do not think that this was one of the inferior
angels, who, for any cause, are used to carry frequent mes-
sages to earth. And this is manifest from his name, which,
being interpreted, means the ' strength of. God.' And also,
because it is not related that he was sent by any spirit better
than himself (as was customary), but by God himself. For this
reason, then, it is written 'from God.' Or. this, perhaps, was
the reason lest God should be thought to have revealed His
counsel to any of His blessed spirits before He did so to the
Virgin, excepting the archangel Gabriel, who was found among
his class to be of such excellence as to be worthy of this name
and this message. Nor does the name disagree with the mes-
sage. For who was more fit to announce Christ that is,
God's power than he who was honoured by a similar name ?
For what is strength but power? Neither is it unfitting or
incongruous for the Lord and the messenger to be called by
the same name ; as, although the appellation in both is the
same, this similarity has not the same cause. In one sense is
Christ the strength or power of God ; in a different sense is
E 2
52 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
the angel called by the same name. The angel only nomi-
nally ; Christ substantively."
A series of remarks about Nazareth comes next. The more
direct object of the discourse, viz. the praise of the Virgin
Mary, is thus treated :
" To that city, therefore, was the angel Gabriel sent by God.
To whom? To a virgin espoused to a man whose name was
Joseph. Who was this virgin so venerable that she deserved to
be saluted by an angel so humble that she was espoused to a
carpenter ? Beautiful is the union of virginity and humility ;
and very acceptable is that soul to God in which humility
commends virginity, and virginity adorns humility. . But what
veneration is due to her whose fecundity exalts her humility,
and whose maternity consecrates her virginity? You hear
she was a virgin; you hear she was humble. If you cannot
imitate the virginity of the humble, strive after the humility of
the Virgin. Virginity is a laudable virtue, but more necessary
is humility. One is of admonition, the other is of command.
To one you are invited ; to the other you are compelled. Of
one it is said, ' He that is able to receive it, let him receive
it ;' of the other it is said, ' Unless ye become as little chil-
dren, ye shall not 'enter into the kingdom of heaven.' One is
rewarded, the other is exacted. You may, in a word, be saved
without virginity. You cannot be saved without humility.
Humility may be pleasing even though it has lost its virginity ;
but without humility, I make bold to say, that even Mary's
virginity would not have been acceptable. ' Upon whom shall
my spirit rest except ^t : pon the humble and meek?' Upon the
humble, He says, not upon a virgin. If, therefore, Mary had
not been humble^ the Holy Spirit would not have rested on
her ; and if He had not rested on her, He would not have
impregnated her. For how could she have conceived of Him
without Him ? It is clear, then, that in order for her to con-
ceive of the Holy Spirit, as she herself says, 'He regarded
SERMONS ON THE ANNUNCIATION. 53
the lowliness of His handmaiden ' rather than her virginity ;
and if she pleased through virginity, she conceived through
humility. Whence it is plain that her humility was the cause
of her virginity being pleasing." 1 And so on to the end of
the homily this one key is struck without intermission.
In the second homily the same subject is continued. " She.
therefore, who was about to conceive and bring forth the Saint
of Saints, that she might be holy in body, received the gift of
virginity ; that she might be holy in mind, the gift of humility.
The royal Virgin, then, adorned with the jewels of these
virtues, and radiant with the double glory of her body, and
of her mind, known in heaven by her appearance and her
beauty, attracted the gaze of the citizens of heaven upon her,
so that she inclined the King's mind to desire her, and drew
down from above a heavenly messenger to her. What a con-
descension in God; what excellence in the Virgin ! Run ye
mothers, run ye daughters, run all who since Eve and through
Eve are born and bring forth in sorrow. Approach the Virgin's
nuptial couch ; enter if ye can the chaste bridal-chamber of
your sister. For behold, God sends to the Virgin ; the angel
is speaking to Mary. Place your ears to the wall; listen to
what he announces to her, if by any means ye may hear that
whereby ye may be comforted." 2
These are sufficient specimens of these homilies. Their
intrinsic worth does not need discussion. But they are curious,
and even valuable, as evidences of what effect a highly stimu-
lating, objective theology will have on a passionate mind when
unprotected by thought and knowledge of a non-religious cha-
racter. In Bernard's time the mythology which had gathered
round Christ's religion impelled and occupied, without rival or
restraint, the warmest temperaments and most active intellects
which rose at all above the level of feudal barbarism. The
facts, and the supposed facts, of this mythology were regarded
1 St. Bern. Op. voL i. col. 736. 2 Ibid. vol. i. col. 737.
54 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
as by far the most important in the history of the world. They
were dwelt upon as talismanic and miraculous, and symbolical
in themselves. Their moral meaning was forgotten in their
external character and influence. Although the age was so
credulous of spiritual, or rather supernatural, agencies, it was
essentially a most materialistic one in the groundwork of its
beliefs. Although the physical world was supposed to be inces-
santly invaded and subdued by the spiritual insomuch, as we
shall see presently, that miracles were considered the natural
course of events yet the spiritual was constantly apprehended
and interpreted in the most unspiritual manner. Moral good-
ness was thought to be imparted to physical objects. The
miraculous powers of a saint were transferred to his clothes,
or anything he had touched. Even sanctity itself was figured
as ah odour. Hence the events of the Gospel history were
examined like the bones of a martyr with awe-struck reve-
rence, doubtless, but with a mystical belief in the magical
import and efficacy of the letter and external fact, to the
frequent neglect of the spirit and the life. Nothing was
without meaning, nothing but what enclosed ' a hidden virtue
if it could be got at; hence tedious expositions such as the
above.
WILLIAM OF ST. THIERRY. 55
CHAPTER V.
(A.D. 1 122. AETAT. 31.)
1
BERNARD'S FRIEND, WILLIAM OF ST. THIERRY HIS ILLNESS CURED
MIRACULOUSLY BY BERNARD MIRACLES IN THE MIDDLE AGES
SEVERAL EXAMPLES.
BERNARD had few more devoted friends than William, abbot
of St. Thierry, who afterwards retired to become a monk of
Signy. It was he who visited Bernard when William of Cham-
peaux had placed the abbot of Clairvaux under the care of the
rustic doctor. It is to him we owe an interesting account of
Bernard's early life and education. He was a most humble,
^deeply pious, affectionate man, who looked up to his impe-
v tuous friend with feelings bordering on adoration. To be in
Bernard's society was his great delight, and he often wished to
be allowed to become a monk at Clairvaux ; but the austere
abbot would never permit it He was, for his time, an elegant
1 writer, and composed several treatises, of which one, his Epistle
to the Brethren of Montdieu, is remarkable for its thoughtful
yet practical views on monastic life. l In time he grew weary
of the cares of his abbey, and sought for solitude as a monk
at Signy, and it was there that he composed during Bernard's
life that valuable record which has furnished us with so many
1 That the " Epistola ad Fratres arguments which tend to prove that
de Monte Dei " ought to be ascribed it belongs by right to Guigo, fifth
to William, is Mabillon's opinion. At prior of the Carthusians, to whom
the same time it must be added that St. Bernard once paid a visit.
Dom Massuel has adduced facts and
i,
56 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
important facts. On one occasion he was very ill, and his friend
Bernard sent his brother Gerard to him to ask him to come to
Clairvaux ; at the same time promising, as an inducement,
that he should either soon get well or else die. William was
only too happy to go to Clairvauxj.it was an alternative of
joys, as he says, either of dying with Bernard near him, or else
of living some little time in his company ; and he declared he
could not tell which he would have preferred. 1 However,
it turned out that he got well. "Gracious God, what good
did not that illness, those feast days, that holiday, do for me !
For it happened that during the whole time of my sickness he
also was ill, and thus we two, laid up together, passed the
whole day in sweet converse concerning the soul's spiritual
physic, and the medicines which virtue affords against the
weakness of vice. He then discoursed to me upon the
Canticles as much as that stage of my infirmity allowed, but
only giving a moral exposition, and omitting the mysteries of
that scripture, as it was thus I wished it, and had demanded
of him. And whatever I heard day by day I wrote down,
lest it should escape me, as far as God permitted me and my
memory helped. I found that when he, with gentleness and
love, expounded to me, and communicated his opinions and
the results of his experience, and strove to teach my inexpe-
rience many things which can only be learnt from use and
practice, although I could not understand what was presented
to me, yet he made me better than usual comprehend what
was wanting to me to make me understand it.
" It happened that as the Sunday which is called Septua-
gesima 3rew near, on the Saturday night previous I had
improved in health so much that I could get out of bed alone,
and even go in and out of doors without assistance. I began
1 "Ego vero quasi divinitus ac- tune, ignoro) profectus sum statim
cepta vel oblata facultate seu apud illuc, quatnvis cum nimio labore ac
eum moriendi, seu aliquandiu cum dolore." ST. BERN. Op. voL ii.
eo vivendi (quorum quid maluerim col. 1085.
] WILLIAM OF ST. THIERRY. 57
to make arrangements for returning home, which, when he
heard of, he at once forbade, and prohibited all hope 01
attempt to return before Quinquagesima Sunday. I obeyed
readily, as both my inclination and debility led me to acquiesce.
Up to Septuagesima I had been eating nieat ; he had ordered
it, and it was necessary for me ; now I wished to leave it off,
and this also he disallowed. But I would not yield to him in
this, and neither his advice, request, nor command influenced
me, and so we parted on that. Saturday night he in silence to
compline, I to my bed. When, behold, my malady revived in
all its fury and strength, and seized me with such violence, and
air through the night with such malignity did it torture me,
above all my strength, above all my endurance, that, despairing
of life, I thought only to live till the morning, and, if it were
but once, to speak with the man of God. After this night of
misery I sent for him, and he came not with his usual coun-
tenance of pity, but rather of reproof. At last, smiling, he
said, ' Well, will you eat to-day ? ' But I had already attributed
my affliction to my previous disobedience, and answered,
' Whatever you choose to order.' * Rest still, then,' he replied,
f you will not die this time,' and went away ; and at once all
pain went with him, except that, exhausted by the night's
sufferings, I could scarcely rise from my bed the whole day.
But what manner of pain was that ? I never recollect anything
like it in my life. But the day after I was whole, and recovered
my strength, and a few days after, with the blessing and favour
of my good host, I returned to my own people." 1
In this reverential and affectionate tone does the good
William always speak of his friend. Bernard, on the other
hand, with his strong nature, often treated his gentle admirer
with a roughness which vigorous characters not rarely manifest
towards weaker brethren. He who was so full of thought and
action, perhaps was not far from feeling the loving William as
i St Bern. Op. voL ii. col. 1085-86.
58 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
somewhat troublesome at times. William once wrote to tell
Bernard that he was sure he did not fully return his affection
for him, and he got this in reply, it is hardly rash to suppose
that he never made the same complaint again :
" If no one knoweth the things which are in a man, except
the spirit of man which is in him ; if man seeth the face only,
but God searcheth the heart, I marvel nor can I marvel
enough by what means you could weigh and measure our
mutual love for each other, so as to express an opinion, not
only of your own, but also of your neighbour's heart. It is
an error of the human mind, not only to think good evil, and
evil good, or true false, and false true, but also to take things
certain for things doubtful, and things doubtful for things
certain. It is, perhaps, true what you say, that I love you less
than you do me ; but I am quite certain it cannot be certain
to you. How, then, can you affirm that with certainty of which
you are far from certain ? Wonderful ! Paul does not trust
himself to his own judgment; but says, ' I judge not mine own
self.' Peter bewails the presumption by which he deceived
himself, when speaking from himself, he said, 'Although I
should die with thee, yet will I not deny thee. . . . .' Davjd
confesses his own self-ignorance ; and praying, exclaims, ' Re- '
member not my offences.' But you, with I know not what
boldness not only concerning your own heart, but even
concerning mine openly declare, 'that loving more you are
cared for less.'
"And these, forsooth, are your words and I wish they
were not yours, for I do not know whether they are true. . . . ,
Whence, I ask whence do you know that I am loved by you
better than you are by me ? Is it from what you add in your
letter, that those who go from these parts in your direction do
not bring you from me any proof of love or friendship ? But
what proof or token of love do you expect from me ? Are you
vexed that I have never answered even one of your numerous/
] WILLIAM HEALED BY BERNARD. 59
letters? But how could I think that the scribblings of my
inexperience could ever delight the maturity of your wisdom ?
I remember who said, * Little children, let us not love in word,
neither in tongue, but in deed and in truth.' And when did
you ever need my assistance and it was not given to you?" 1
This letter was certainly not open to the charge of excessive
i tenderness, especially as it was an answer to several letters and
" kind messages on the part of William. However, the latter
was quite content to bear with the occasional warmth of the
impetuous abbot of Clairvaux. He never ceased' to regard him
with the fondest affection, and even to attribute to him super-
human qualities.
In the above narrative of his own illness and recovery, it is
evident that William ascribes much to Bernard's miraculous
power, as exerted on himself; but he does so in a much
greater degree, and with more outspoken emphasis, in other
parts of his biography. In this he only resembled all the
men of his own, and several ages, both before and after him.
Miracles, ghostly apparitions, divine and demoniac interference
with sublunary affairs, were matters which a man of the twelfth
century would less readily doubt of than of his own existence.
f To disbelieve in such would have been considered good prima
facie evidence of unsoundness of mind. The critical powers
then were never for a moment exerted on an alleged case of
miracle. If the matter could, by any interpretation, be brought
into some kind of connexion with heaven or hell, with moral
good or evil, it was assumed to be natural, not imnatural, that
*' miracles should occur. The modern definition of a miracle,
viz. a violation of the laws of nature, would have by no means
commanded Bernard's assent. He would have said, " What
r are your laws of nature ? I know them not. Miracle is the
law of God." The men of that time believed that the air
swarmed with angels j or, if not with angels, then with devils,
f j\ * St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 87-8.
fcl
60 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
They believed that fearful and perpetual strife was being waged
between the adverse hosts that armies of good and evil spirits ,
.were for ever on the wing that they encamped in invisible
companies to waylay and deceive, or to counsel and succour,
the sons of men. They believed they heard the laughter of
the fiends borne on the night gusts of the moaning wind,
and gradually retiring before the chorus-song of rejoicing
angels, swelling up on the morning air. They believed that
all evil thoughts were whispered in the ear by the emissaries
of the old enemy of man's soul, and that nothing but prayer,
faith, and the help of the blessed saints would avail to avert or
dispel them.
No expression of disgust or contempt is required now with
reference to such a stage of human belief. The great majority
of mankind have ever held opinions similar to or identical
with the above. The exception is to hold the reverse, and to
substitute for Miracle a reliance on Law. Intrinsically, then,
these groundless beliefs are nothing but silly tales, with little
merit of either variety or invention. But, regarded historically,
as stages in man's mental development, they assume quite a
philosophic importance. Even as fossil bones and shells to
a geologist become hieroglyphics significant of far-off revo-
lutions and convulsions of the planet, so to the historian the
great but extinct modes of thought which have appeared in
the intellectual world are really the most important of the
facts and events he has to record. When Peter of Cluny tells
us that " very often the devils disturb the monks during the
hours allotted to sleep, in order that they may feel sleepy
when they ought to be awake, and thus lose the advantage of
holy vigils that he had often heard such complaints from
many, of whofn some have had their bed-coverings pulled off
them while they slept, and carried to a great distance ; some,
after a struggle, had succeeded in wresting their coverings
from the demons ; while others, when in the act of satisfying v
A.D. 11281
ABTAT. 32J
MIRACLES.
61
the wants of nature, had seen the devils stand before them in
a mocking, ridiculing attitude;" 1 we can regard the whole
as an absurd fiction, if we choose, and in this light it is
uninteresting enough. But, if we remember and reflect who
the venerable Peter was how wise he was, how good he was,
and what a leader of thought he was in his day then the fact
that it was possible for such a man to hold such absurdities as
literally true, assumes a different aspect. The minds of men
of the twelfth century were in some sort the reverse of ours.
What we think or well know to be possible and feasible, men
of the Middle Ages would have regarded as the idlest dreaming.
What we know to be simply nonsense, they looked on as a
matter of indisputable truth. They were far removed from
being " ministers and interpreters of nature." They did not
worship the powers of nature as their pagan ancestors did, but
they had fully the same belief in the capriciousness of their
exercise ; they had the same anchorless insecurity as to what
the invisible world would next do to, and in, the visible world.
The men they saw, the trees, the houses, the green earth, the
forest, were alternately possessed and quarrelled over by the
unseen powers of good and evil. And poor, feeble man had
\ f to pick his way in the midst of them ; on either side of his
1 " Unde plerumque ita monachos
in somnis inquietant, ut horis somno
^ congruentibus amissis, cum vigilare
debent dormiant, et sic sanctarum
vigiliarum lucra amittant. Harum
inquietudinum multorum multoties
querelas accepi, quorum alii oper-
toria sna noctibus dum dormirent
subrepta sibi atque longius pro-
jevta a daemonibus, dicebant; alii
subripere volentibus violenter eadem
tegmina se extorsisse, nonnulli dum
in remotioribus naturae satisfacerent,
eos sibi derisorie astitisse affirmabant.
Praeterea quosdam nocturnis horis,
aliis quiescentibus, sancta orationum
,fp-ta quaerentes, et eadam causa
claustra et ecclesias peragrantes,
multis aliquando terroribus appe-
tebant, ita ut in eorum aliquos
visibiliter iiruerent, et ad terram
verberando prosternerent. " Petrus
Venerabilis, De Miraculis, lib. i. cap.
17. The ludicrous is overcome by
the pathetic in the sentence "aliis
quiescentibus," &c. These sorrow-
ful, sincere, anxious men, wandering
about their cloisters and churches in
the silent night, to make " holy thefts
of prayer," getting troubled and
" knocked down " by the fiend and
his demons, form quite a melancholy
picture.
62 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
path, at all hours of sleeping or waking, his mind and his
heart were the desired prize of one or the other. The
deliberately wicked man was given over for the time, in full
property to the fiend. The good, the deeply holy man, was
surrounded by choirs of angels ; and the devils were supposed
almost to howl at his approach. He was changed, he was
another creature to their believing eyes ; he was _ in direct
correspondence with God ; the breath of the Divine love had
robed him in beauty. Could there be any difficulty in thinking
that to such a one one on whom the smile" of the Eternal was
supposed to rest ; one whose thoughts moved, like the angels
in Jacob's dream, to and fro between earth and heaven ; one
whose future glory in the kingdom of the just was well assured
would it have been possible to doubt that to such a one the
forms and things of this miserable, accursed, earth would yield
a swift obedience as of servants to their lord? Could inert
matter, which even the very devils were able to work upon,
resist a holy man full of the Spirit of God? Must not the
earthly give way to the Heavenly? Must not Christ be the
conqueror of Satan ?
It was thus all but inevitable that a man in Bernard's position
should have miraculous powers attributed to him. They had
been attributed to hundreds before him, with far less warrant.
It could not be a matter of doubt that he was a man spiritually
endowed in a very extraordinary degree. By all the tests then,
in vogue, he was one of the most pious of men. Hence, as a *
necessary consequence, he must be supposed, sooner or later, t,
to work miracles.
The only witnesses to his miracles whom it is now interesting
to call, as evidence of the overpowering force of the popular /
belief, are his friends William of St. Thierry, Geoffrey his
secretary, and himself. His own claim to miraculous power
will be deferred to that portion of his life in which he made it, <
viz. just previous to the -preaching of the Second Crusade,
A.D. 11231
AsriT. S2J
MIRACLES.
But the narratives of the above-named biographers may as
well be dealt with now, as they refer, as far as can be judged,
to this part of his career.
And first, the reported conduct of his uncle Galderic, and
his brother Guide, is worthy of attention. We are told then-
only fear was that his miraculous power would have an injurious
effect on his character, so much so that " he appeared to have
received these two relations as two thorns in the flesh, lest
by the abundance of his graces he should be exalted above
measure. Neither did they spare his tender modesty, exciting
him with harsh words, deprecating his good deeds, making
nothing of his signs, and afflicting the meek and unresisting
one even to tears by their harshness and insults. Godfrey, the
venerable Bishop of Langres, who was a near relative of the
holy. man, a fellow-convert, and ever afterwards his inseparable
companion, used to say that on the occasion of the first miracle
which he ever saw him perform, the said Guido was present.
It happened as they were passing Chateau Landon, in the
territory of Sens, that a certain youth, having an ulcer in his
foot, begged, with many prayers, of Bernard to touch and bless
him. Bernard made the sign of the cross, and immediately
the lame was healed. A very few days after, as they returned
through the same place, they found him whole and well. Still
Guido could not be restrained, even by the miracle, from re-
buking him, and taxing him with presumption for having
consented to touch the lad, so anxious about him in the bond
of charity was his brother." l
1 " Nee tamen in more carnalium,
in gloriam elevabantur humanam,
sed juvenili ejus aetati, et novae
adhuc conversationi, spiritual! solli-
citudine metuebant. . . . Neque
enim parcebant verbis durioribus
exagitantes teneram verecundiam
ejus, calumniantes etiam bene gesta,
-igna omnia annihilantes,et hominem
mansuetissirnum nihilque contradi-
^centem, frequenter usque ad lacrymas
improperiis et opprobriis affligentes.
. . . Signatus autem, statim con-
valuit, et post paucissimos dies re-
gressi per idem oppidum, sanum et
incolumem invenerunt. Caeterum
saepe dictus beati viri frater ne ipso
quidem poterat compesci miraculo,
64 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
" All who knew Guido knew what gravity and truth were in
him. Once upon a time, when we" that is, William of St.
Thierry and Guido "happened to be together, conversing
upon such subjects, T was asking him questions, when he, in
his usual pleasant way with his friends, said, ' Of what I am
ignorant I do not speak; but one thing I know and have
experienced, viz. that many things are revealed to him in
prayer. 1 " And the unbelieving Guido then told William a
story which he thought conclusive to his brother's gift of
prophecy. 1
Geoffrey, the secretary, relates how " he saw in the district
of Meaux a knight offer the most heartfelt thanks to Bernard
for having cured him instantly with a piece of consecrated
bread. The knight had been suffering from a quartan fever j
for about eighteen months, and so violent were. the attacks,
that when they seized him he was like.a madman, and did not
recognise even his own mother. I have also heard Gerard, the
venerable Bishop of Limoges, bear witness how a young man
connected with himself was mortally wounded in the head :
and, as he lay foaming and unconscious, a small mouthful of
bread, blessed by the man of God, was placed between his
lips ; and within that very hour he arose healed. 2 "
" Many people knew the illustrious young Walter of Mont-
mirail, whose uncle became a monk at Clairvaux. When this
Walter was very young indeed, not above three months old,
his mother entertained Bernard as a guest. Full of thankful-
ness and exultation that she was worthy to have such a holy \~
man under her roof, she presented her infant to him to receive >
his blessing. Then, as was his wont, the man of God began
to speak of the salvation of souls to those around him ; while ?~
quorninus increparet eum, et prae- * St. Bernard, Opera, vol. ii. col. 'f
sumptionis argueret, quodacquieverit 1087.
tangere hominem." ST. BERN. Op. Ibid. vol. ii. col. 1138. y
vol. ii. col. 1081.
}] MIRACLES. 65
the mother, holding her child in her lap, sat at his feet. But,
as he spoke, he now and then stretched forth his hand, and
the infant strove to take hold of it. : When it had done this
several times, it was at last observed ; and, as they all mar-
velled, the child was allowed to clutch the hand as it wished.
Then, with the deepest reverence, holding it with both hands,
it lifted it to its mouth and kissed it. And this not once only,
but as often as it was allowed to repeat the act." 1
" I have known in even the smallest matters great things
have occurred through him. When he came to the dedication
of the Church of Foigny, it happened that an incredible mul-
titude of flies filled the place, and their noise and flying about
became an intolerable nuisance to those who entered. As no
remedy seemed at hand, the Saint said, ' I excommunicate
them ;' and in the morning they were all found dead. They
covered the whole pavement, and were shovelled out with
spades, and so the church was rid of them. This miracle was
so known and celebrated, that among the neighbours a large
concourse of whom had been present at the dedication the
cursing of the Foigny flies passed into a proverb." 2
" On another occasion, as Bernard was returning from
Chalons, the wind and the rain were a great impediment to
him and his company. Some of them, however, got in advance;
and they, owing to the intense cold, not paying much attention
to him, he followed almost alone. Now the horse of one of
the two who alone remained with him, by some accident, got
away, and ran about the open plain. They tried to catch him,
but in vain ; and the cold making any further delay for this
".purpose inexpedient, ' Let us pray, 1 said Bernard, and, kneeling
with the brother who remained with him" (the other being
after the horse, we suppose), " they were scarcely able to get
through the Lord's Prayer, when behold ! the horse in all tame-
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1084. 2 Ibid. vol. ii. col. 1083.
t
66 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
ness returned, stood before Bernard, and was restored to his
rider." 1
The above will be quite sufficient to give .an idea of what
Bernard's contemporaries thought of him. The constant recur-
rence of supposed miraculous events is so universal in the
Middle Ages that it was necessary to state, with some explicit-
ness, on what terms they would be treated here. It seems
best to give them in their natural simplicity and crudity, not
as true, but as significant. They are neither to be admired-
nor vituperated ; neither to be accepted with credulity nor
denied with fury. As belonging to the time, as much as feudal
castles and mail armour do, they must form part of a picture
of it. The intense convictions of men for several centuries
are at least as much the property of history as their outward
actions.
1 St Bern. Op. vol. iL col. 1088.
A.D. IMS!
AKTAT. 34j
GUIGO.
CHAPTER VI.
(A.D. 1125. AETAT. 34.)
VISITS TO PARIS TO LA GRANDE CHARTREUSE INNER .'LIFE OF THE
MONASTERIES.
IT was Bernard's often expressed wish and resolution not to
leave his monastery except at the command of his superiors. 1
The two journeys which about this time he made one to
Paris, the other to. La Grande Chartreuse therefore, were in
all likelihood in some way connected with monastic or other
business, of which no record has been preserved. For although
to both of these journeys an interesting anecdote is attached,
in reference to him, yet their main purpose is not alluded to.
The Carthusian Order was founded by Saint Bmno, in 1084.
The prior thereof, whom Bernard visited, was named Guigo
a man of most approved and conspicuous piety, and a friend
of the most devout persons of that age. He and Bernard had
been carrying on an epistolary interchange of pious sentiments
before this visit. Guigo and his monks were rejoiced to find
that the hopes raised in them by his letters were realized when
they met him in the flesh. But there was one drawback to
the general satisfaction, and it was this, that the saddle on
which Bernard had ridden to La Grande Chartreuse was, in
1 It was a sentiment to which he
repeatedly gave utterance. "Cum
sciam mihi consilium esse et pro-
positum, nunquam (si causa duntaxat
ordinis non fuerit) exire de
I
monasterio, nisi aut apostolicae sedis
legato, aut certe proprio vocante
episcopo." ST. BERNARD. Epist.
xlviii. See also Epist. xvii. vol. i.
col. 35-
68 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
the eyes of the Carthusians, far too magnificent and costly for
a genuine disciple of Saint Benedict : and Guigo, the prior,
was constrained to confess to one of the Cistercians, that he
was astonished and even pained at such a spectacle. The
criticism, in due time, reached Bernard's ears, who at once
inquired, in equal surprise, what those trappings were which
had given such offence; that as regarded himself he had, it
wai true, sat upon them all the way from Clairvaux to La
Grande Chartreuse, but had not, up to that very hour, noticed
them in the least. The fact was, that the horse and saddle
were not his own, but had been lent to him by his uncle, a
Cluniac monk, and their nature had not been perceived by
him during the whole journey. Guigo acknowledged his de-
light and pleasure at such an unexpected explanation; and
especially wondered at the depth of contemplation which had
hidden from Bernard, for several days, what he saw at the first
glance. 1
Less pleasing than the above anecdote is the other regarding
his absence of mind when travelling by the Lake of Geneva.
After having passed a whole day in riding along its shore, in
the evening when his companions were speaking about " the
Lake," he inquired, " what lake ?" to their no little surprise. 2
This is hardly consistent with what we have had, on William
of St. Thierry's authority, respecting his love of nature.
His appearance at Paris about this time is just as sudden
and unexpected as at La Grande Chartreuse, and survives only
by a single anecdote, unconnected with any previous or sub-
sequent event, still worth relating.
On his arrival in the little, thronged, dirty, ill-paved city,
1 " Caeterum dim in reliquis silentio pressit aemulator virtutis
omnibus aedificarentur, umim fuit quod mente conceperat : sed locutus
quod praedictum Priorem Carthusi- uni e fratribus, aliquatenus super hoc;
ensem aliquatenus movit ; stratura moveri sese confessus est et mirari."
videlicet animalis, cui idem vir vene- ST. BERN. Op. vol. ii. col. 1118.
rabilis insidebat, minus neglecta, 2 Ibid. vol. ii. col. 1118.
minus praeferens paupertatem. Nee
] CONVERTS TO MONASTICISM. 69
Bernard lodged with an archdeacon during his stay there, and,
it is presumable, was principally in the society of ecclesiastical
persons. They requested him to go into their schools, and
lecture to them. He at once dilated on the " true philosophy/'
on a contempt for the world, and a voluntary poverty assumed
for Christ's sake. This preaching did not have the effect
which usually attended his exhortations. Not one of the
clerks was converted. And it cannot be very surprising when
we consider the different order of discourse which they were
in the habit of hearing with extreme delight. The curious and
irritating scholastic puzzles which were then attracting natives
of every country in Europe to Paris, must have made a bad
preparation for Bernard, with his austere doctrine of worldly
renunciation. But Bernard was very sad about it. He returned
to the house of his friend, the archdeacon, and immediately
fell to praying. And as he prayed with great vehemence, he
was overcome by such a torrent of tears, accompanied by sobs
and groans, that he was heard outside. The archdeacon asked
one of his friends what could be the cause of such grief to
their guest. A monk named Rainald, who knew Bernard well,
replied, "That wonderful man, heated by the fire of charity,
and entirely absorbed in God, cares for nothing in this world
save only to recall the wandering to the ways of truth, and to
gain their souls to Christ ; and because he has just sown the
word of life in the schools, and has gathered no fruit in the
conversion of the clerks, he thinks God is angry with him.
Hence this storm of groans, and outpouring of tears ; where-
fore I firmly anticipate that a full harvest to-morrow will com-
pensate for to-day's sterility."
The next morning he preached again, and with a very dif-
ferent result ; for as soon as his sermon was over, several of
his hearers expressed their desire to become monks. He at
once determined to bring the results of his spiritual fishing to
Clairvuax. He accordingly set out from Paris and reached
70 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
St. Denis, where he passed the night. The next day, however,
when his friends expected he would continue his journey home-
wards, he said, " We must return to Paris, as there are still
some there who belong to us, whom it behoves us to add to
this, the Lord's fold, that there may be one fold and one
Shepherd." As they were re-entering Paris, they saw three
clerks at a distance, coming towards them ; and he said to his
friends, "God has helped us. Behold there are the clerks for
whom we returned." When these approached and recognised
Bernard, they rejoiced with a great joy, saying, "O most
blessed father, you have come to us who desired you much.
For it had been our intention to follow you, and we hardly
hoped to overtake you." " I knew it, beloved," he replied ;
" we will now go together, and by God's grace I will lead you
on your journey." They then proceeded onwards ; and per-
severed under the discipline of his rule all the remainder of
their lives. 1
But these wide excursions were quite the exception with
Bernard at this period. He over and over reiterates his deter-
mination not to leave the monastery except at the command
of superiors, or else for some inevitable cause; and the two
excursions just mentioned seem to have been the only infringe-
ments he made to this rule. At a later epoch of his life, when
he shared in or guided every important event that occurred in
the Church, he overran the greater part of Europe more than
once. But at this time, and for a few years after this, he was
still a secluded -monk, of a new and humble order. His in-
r fluence was, however, slowly spreading, and the commence-
ment was being laid of that authority and estimation which
enabled him to take the chief part in quelling a wide-spread
schism, in opposing a renowned and formidable heretic, and in
giving the strongest impulse to the Second Crusade.
1 "Exordium Magnum Cisterciense." Dist. ii. cap. xiii. ST. BERN. Op.
vol. ii. col. 1 202.
J CORRESPONDENCE. . 71
The principal means by which, at this time, Bernard's power
and importance were felt, was Ms vigorous and persevering
correspondence. He was the most indefatigable of letter-
writers. He writes to persons of all classes, on all subjects
from kings and princesses down to poor virgins on sub-
jects ranging from the most elevated and spiritual raptures
on the welfare of the soul, down to the stealing of pigs. Some
letters, especially the earlier ones, are sermons directed to
individuals, and by no means free from rhetorical exaggeration,
as two specimens quoted above sufficiently prove. . Others are
the most terse and business-like conceivable, going direct to
the point, with no verbiage ; and it is noticeable how, as years
and occupations increased on Bernard, the exuberance of
mediaeval grandiloquence was sensibly curtailed. And this
latter class of epistles is the most valuable portion of his
writings. They are a wide repertory of indubitable facts.
They are generally, almost invariably, written with a distinct
practical object in view either to answer a question, which
often leads to the giving of curious and valuable advice, or to
request the performance of some act of justice or mercy at the
hands of a feudal neighbour.
For instance, the great and puissant Lord of Champagne
to whom Bernard and his order will one day owe so much
was on one occasion guilty of a piece of ferocious cruelty, from
which even the best of the middle-age knights were never
quite free. One Humbert by name had been accused (falsely,
Bernard says), and condemned to prove his innocence by a
judicial combat. In this he failed; and his suzerain not only
confiscated his fief, and thus reduced his wife and children to
destitution, but also incarcerated him, and, as a small addition
I to these penalties, put out his eyes. This occurred at Bar-sur-
J Aube, and Bernard was probably better acquainted with the
-/ facts than Theobald, the Count of Champagne. Perhaps, also,
\ he did not think so highly of single combat, as a means of
72 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
satisfying justice, as the count did. He wrote him a letter, in t
which he pointed out, that whatever the crime of the man, his
guiltless wife and children ought not to be made to suffer.
Count Theobald took no notice of this letter, apparently.
Bernard applied to Geoffrey, bishop of Chartres, to get him to
use his influence with the count. He wrote himself in a much
sharper tone telling him, that if he had asked for gold or
silver, he did riot doubt but he would have received it ; that '
God could disinherit Theobald as easily, nay, far more easily,
than Theobald could Humbert, and concluded with a prayer,
that as he himself hoped to receive mercy from God, he would ]
not hesitate to show mercy to others. At last Bernard, by his |
importunity, brought the unwilling baron to examine the case
himself, and, when satisfied of Humbert's innocence, to rein- i
state him by an act of grace. 1 . j
In such cases as this and they are constant during the
best period of the Middle Ages there can be very little doubt
what was the part played by the spiritual power. It was the
tradition of a divine morality and superior culture coming into j
conflict with, and strong enough to withstand, a vigorous
barbarism. It is just possible to imagine what might have .
been the result to Greek and Roman civilization, if such a 3
restraining influence had been at work among their patricians
and oligarchs. . i
On another occasion the Abbot of Mount Cornelius consults \
him about a grave scandal which had occurred in his monastery,
through the incontinence of a certain brother. Bernard is ,
deeply shocked at the circumstance, and conjures the abbot, 1
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 50-1. this view is, at least, extremely pro-
Epist. 37 39. It is Mabillon's bable. But I see that M. d'Arbois f
opinion that the mutilation referred de Jubainville (in 'his useful " Hist. ,
to in Epist. 39 (" In manu Barrensis des Dues et Comtes de Champagne," f
propositi dudum facto duello, qui vol. ii. p. 297, now in course of j
victus fuit, statim ex vestra jussione publication at Paris) considers this f,
oculos amisit ") relates to the Hum- " une erreur evidente." I have f
bert of the other two epistles. . And adopted Mabillon's view. j
\ DUTY OF KEEPING TO ONES WORK. 73
by " that blood which was shed for souls, that the danger of
intimacy between men and women be not made light of." 1
As for the poor fallen 'brother, if he had spontaneously con-
fessed his sin, there might be hope that he would recover,
when he might have been allowed to remain in his monastery.
But, inasmuch as the foulness of his crime had come to light
through other means, the question was, what could be done
with him, as it was to be feared the evil example might spread
through the rest of the little flock. It would be well to rele-
gate him to a distant house, where a sharper discipline would
bring him to repentance, and whence in time he' might return.
Bernard will not offer to receive him in a Cistercian convent;
it might not suit the Praemonstrants, to which order he
belonged. If there is an absolute impossibility of getting him
disposed of anywhere else, then, of necessity, he must be
retained at home. But great care must be taken that all
opportunity of his repeating or propagating his turpitude be
entirely removed. Still this was a. particular instance of a
general evil. The fact was, that the mill where the lay
brethren were compelled to meet the society of women was
the cause of the mischief, and one of three courses must be
followed (i) "Either that no women be allowed to come
near the mill ; (2) or that the care of the mill be transferred to
non-monastic persons ; (3) or that the mill itself be entirely
given up."- All half measures or palliatives were useless.
Again, we find him writing long letters to one Ogerius, a
regular canon, who had resigned the pastoral care of others to
become a monk. Bernard had always a great objection to
any one relinquishing a post of trust and power where he
1 " Obsecramus per sanguinem diu in schola Dei contra diaboli
ilium qui pro animabus fiisus est, tentamenta .luctati, propria experi-
ne tanti emptarum parvipendatur entia edocti dicere possunt cum
periculum, quod maxime ex virorum Apostolo, non enim ignoramus as-
et feminarum cohabitatioue non tiitias ejns." ST. BERN. Op. vol. i. ;
immerito timetur ab his qui, diu jam Epist. 79.
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
c
CHAP. VI
might do good. Even a pilgrimage to the Holy Land lost all
its beauty in his eyes, if a distinct dereliction of an established
duty and sphere of usefulness must balthe price. Thus to the
Abbot of Saint John's, at Chartres, he says : " I am told you
intend to desert your country, and the religious house over
which God has placed you, in order to go to Jerusalem, to
devote yourself to God and live for yourself. It is, perhaps,
advantageous to one aiming at perfection to leave his country,
as it is said, 'Get thee out of thy country and from thy
kindred ; ' but I cannot at all see on what grounds you must
needs forsake the care of souls entrusted to you ; " 1 and in
this tone he always writes. Much against his advice, William
of St. Thierry gave up his abbey. " Never mind," he says,
"what you or I may wish you to do in this case, but what
God wishes, that is what it is important for us to get persuaded
of. Remain, therefore, where you are. Strive to benefit those
you are placed over ; neither hesitate to bear rule when you
can do good." 2 And his advice to Ogerius is in the same
strain. He begins by excusing himself for not writing sooner ;
indeed he had written long before, but the want of a carrier
had caused a great delay. Ogerius had evidently written
rather a flattering letter to Bernard and flattery was a thing
of which he was especially impatient. He always refuses it in
a half-angry, half-scoffing style. " Throughout your letter,"
he says, " you exalt me above myself, and mix a great deal of
praise withal. All this, as I am unconscious of deserving it,
I ascribe to your good nature, and forgive to your ignorance." 3
As regards the main topic of the letter, viz. the renunciation
1 "Sed qua ratione curam tibi
creditam animarum exponere debeas,
omnino non video." ST. BERN.
Epist. 82.
2 Ibid. Epist. 86.
s " .... propter latoris inopiam
tardavi roittere, quod scribere non
tardavi. . . . Praeterea per totam
seriem literarum attolens me supra
me, multum de me laudabilia inter-
misces ; quorum quia ipse mini
conscius non sum, et tuae haec
benevolentiae ascribo, et ignosco
ignorantiae." Ibid. Epist. 87.
A.D. 11261
ABTAT. 35j
HUMILITY.
75
of the superiorship, he says : " Is it not true that your own ease
was more pleasing to you than the welfare of others ? I am
glad you enjoy your calm of rest, so that you do not enjoy
it too much. Every good thing which pleases so much that we
love it, even when it is not expedient or lawful, ceases for that
cause to be good. One thing you have done which I can
unreservedly praise, viz. that when you put off authority over
others, you did not therefore wish to escape authority yourself;
you did not hesitate to seek a friendly discipline, to pass from
dominion to discipleship. You would not be your own
scholar. And rightly, for he who is his own disciple has a
fool for his master. What others feel I know not ; but with
myself I find from experience it is far easier to command
many than to rule myself. 1 .... I also praise you for
returning to your old monastery, instead of seeking a new one.
. . . And now, be simple among the brethren, devout
before God, subject to your superior, obedient to your elders,
kindly to your juniors, pleasing to the angels, useful in speech,
lowly in heart, gentle to all. Be careful lest, for having once
been placed in authority, you think yourself entitled to honour,
but rather show yourself more humble to all as one of a
number. And another danger may arise to you from this
quarter, of which I would wish to give you warning. We are
all of us so changeable, that what we wished for yesterday we
1 " Amicam repetens disciplinam,
de magistro fieri denuo discipulus
non erubuisti . . . qui se sibi ma-
gistrum constituit, stulto se dis-
cipulum subdit . . . ego de me
expertus sum quod dico ; et facilius
imperare et securius possum praeesse
multis aliis, quam soli niihl" It is
odd to find Auguste Comte agreeing
almost literally with Saint Bernard,
in a view not very popular just now.
" However excessive may be the de-
sire of command in our revolutionary
day, there can be no one who hi his
secret mind has not often felt more or
less vividly how sweet it is to obey,
when he can have the rare privilege
of consigning the burdensome re-
sponsibility of his general self-
conduct to wise and trustworthy
guidance ; and probably the sense
of this is strongest in those who are
the best fitted to command." Posi-
tive Philosophy of Augusts Comte,
Martineau's Translation, vol. ii.
p. 148.
7 6
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
\ BOOK I
L CHAP. VI
refuse to-day, and what we care not for to-day we shall desire
to-morrow. Now, if it should happen, through the devil's
suggestions, that a regret for your lost power assault your
mind, all that you have manfully despised you would then
childishly long for. What was so unpleasant before would be
invested with charms to you then : the height of place, the
care of the house, the despatch of business, the obedience of
the servants, your own liberty, your power over others, so that
you will almost repent of having left what it was painful to
keep. - If this most evil temptation seduces you even for an
hour, it will not be without grave injury to your soul."
There was no deficiency of clear practical advice here, and
it is not surprising that the giver of it should have been often
called upon for more. He concludes his letter in this odd
fashion :
"And now you have got all the wisdom of that most elegant
and eloquent doctor, of whom you have begged, from such a
distance, to be taught. Behold that expected and wished-for
wise saying which you have so long been anxious to hear!
Here is the sum of my learning. You have got it all. What
more do you want ? The fountain is dry, and do you seek for
water in the dry land ? Like the widow in the Gospel, all that
I had of my penury I have sent You need not be ashamed
or look downcast. You forced me to it. You asked for a
sermon, and you have got a sermon. I say you have got a
sermon, and one long enough too; only it is mute, full of
words, but" void of sense. How can I excuse it ? I could say
that labouring under a tertian fever, that full of the cares of
my office, I wrote this ; whereas it is written, write wisdom at
leisiire?-
1 ST.BERN. J 5)5w/.87."Sapientiam scribae in tempore vacuitatis." E.V.
scribe in otio." Saint Bernard quotes "The wisdom of a learned man
here, as he often does, from memory, cometh by opportunity of leisure."
and varies a little the words of the Ecclesiastiats xxxviii. 24.
Vulgate, which are " Sapjentia
] OBTA INED B Y HUMILTA TION. ^ ^
"But, let the will supply the place of the deed; and,
although it may be useless to you, it will help me to humility.
A fool, while he speaketh not, is reputed wise : so, if I had
been silent, I should have been called wise, but should not
have been so. Now, some will laugh at me as foolish, others
will deride, others will resent my presumption. But this will
be to my advantage, 5 seeing that humility, to which we are
led by humiliation, is the groundwork of all spiritual life. 1 If
you wish for humility, you must .not avoid humiliation. If you
cannot bear humiliation, you will never attain to, humility. It
therefore, good for me that my foolishness should be
known, and be put to confusion by the wise foolishness
which is often praised by the ignorant. . . . / will play and
be more vile : a good game, at which Michal is angry, but God
well pleased ; a good game, which is ridiculous to men, but
most beautiful to angels; a good game, I say, by which we
are a reproach to the rich and a contempt to the proud. For
what else but playing do we appear to be doing to secular
persons? What they seek after we avoid; what they avoid
we search after. We are like the mountebanks and jesters-,
who, turning upside down, with legs aloft and head below,
walk on their hands in an unnatural manner, and attract the
eyes of all men. This is no childish game taken from the
theatre, by feminine and filthy gestures and antics to provoke
sensual desires and represent disgusting actions ; but it is a
pleasant, honourable, grave, worthy game, which is able to
give delight to celestial witnesses. It was at this chaste and
devout game that he played who said, 'We are made a
spectacle to angels and men.' And.. at this game, in the
meantime, we will play, that we may be made sport of, con-
founded, humiliated, until He come who putteth down the
1 " Putasne parum hoc mihi con- humiliatio, totius sit spiritualis fa
ferat religionis emolumentum, cum bricae fundamentum."
ri: humilitas, ad quam utique ducit
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
r BOOKI
P. V
mighty from their seats, and exalteth the humble and meek.
May He fill us with joy, glorify us, and exalt us for ever." 1
This must have been one of the first letters with which
friend Ogerius was honoured by Bernard. Others which
followed display a far deeper and more considerate tone, and
evidently were dictated by an affectionate esteem. They are
curious, as showing the internal and unrestrained aspect of
monastic life ; the human element as distinct from the ascetic;
the portion of social and warm-blooded interests and feelings
which survived amid the fasts, vigils, and manifold mortifica-
tions of cosnobite existence. They show that, in spite of the
most cultivated development of an ecstatic enthusia'sm, mother
earth and her little cares and joys will never be quite for-
gotten. Friendly visits, interchange of books and opinions,
amicable criticisms and mutual advice, form a pleasant change
from the stately, formal, and even oppressive solemnity usual
to monastic literature.
On one occasion Bernard informs his friend that so busy is
he, that when he received his last letter, he could only find time
to read it while at dinner. 2 Another time -he tells him that
epistolary correspondence during Lent is very undesirable;
and adduces reasons which give an insight into literary com-
position in those days.
"I ask you, where are peace and quietness if I am writing,
and dictating, and despatching you letters ? But all this, you
say, can be done in silence. It is strange if this be really
your opinion. What a tumult invades the mind when in the
act of composition what a rushing multitude of words what
variety of language and diversity of expressions come upon
one, so that what occurs is often rejected, and what escapes
one is eagerly sought for. Now the harmony of the words ;
J . St. Bern. Epist. 87.
2 "Vix quippe illas tuas inter
prandendum (nam ilia hora mini
primum redditae sunt) perlegerc
potui." Ibid. Epist. 88.
A.D. 11271
AETAT. 36J
INTERCHANGE OF BOOKS.
79
now the clearness of the expression ; now the depth of the
doctrine ; now the ordering of the diction, and what shall
follow, and what shall precede, are subjects successively of
most intense study, besides many other things which the
learned take note of in matters of this sort. And do you
call this quiet, and regard it as silence, because the tongue
speaks not? .... As regards the book you ask for at the
present moment, I have not got it. For there is a certain
'friend of ours who has kept it a long time now, with the
same eagerness with which you desire it. Still, lest your
kind request should seem to be slighted by me, I send you
another book of mine which I have lately brought out, ' On
[the Praises of the Virgin ;' and inasmuch as I have not
[another copy, I beg you will return it as soon as you can,
[or, if you are likely to be coming this way tolerably soon, to
^bring it yourself."
Again he says, in reference to the same book most probably :
["The book you want I have asked for from the man to whom
[it is lent, but have not yet had it returned to me. You shall
I have it as soon as possible ; but, though you may see it and
read it, I do not allow you to copy it I did not give you
leave to copy the other one I lent you, although you did
so ; and* what you gained by it, it is yours to discover. I
[remark, also, that you sent it to the Abbot of St. Thierry not
L object to that. ... I beg that you will not think it too
mch trouble to seek an opportunity to go to him, and not to
illow any one either to read or copy the said opuscule, until he
id you have overlooked the whole of it, and have compared
fand corrected together what requires correction j so that in
'the mouth of two witnesses every word may be established.
[Then, in the last instance, I leave it to your joint opinion
whether it is advisable to publish it completely to the world,
pr only to a few, or to here and there one, or to none at all.
id that little preface, too, whether it is fitting or if another
So
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
c
CHAP. VI
more suitable can be found I leave to be determined by
you.
" I had all but forgotten to allude to the beginning of your
letter, in which you complain that I taxed you with falsehood.
I do not recollect ever having done so j but if I ever did, you
surely would not doubt but that it was in jest." 1
About this opuscule, which causes so much anxiety and
caution, we shall soon hear more, when the alternative of
giving it to the world is adopted. To conclude with a gentle
touch on Saint Norbert's little extravagances, sent in a letter to
Geoffrey, bishop of Chartres.
" What you ask of me touching Norbert^ viz. whether he be
going to Jerusalem, I cannot tell you. I saw him, and spoke
to him, a few days ago, and from that heavenly flute I mean
his mouth I heard many things ; but on this point nothing
at all. But when I spoke of Antichrist, and asked his opinion,
he declared that he knew most certainly that he (Antichrist)
would be manifested during the very generation which now is.
When I pressed him to give me the reasons for his certitude,
his answer was not of a kind to make me adopt his view as
undoubted truth. 2 He finished by saying that he should not
see death till he had witnessed a general persecution in the
Church."
So could men pass pleasant and thoughtful days, even amid
the turmoil and barbarism of the twelfth century.
1 St. Bern. Epist. 88.
2 "Audito quod respondit, non
me illud pro certo credere debere
putavi." Ibid. Epist. 56. ;
4.3.
FEUDAL TIMES.
CHAPTER VII.
(A.D. 1127. AETAT. 36.)
SF.CULAR EPISODE LOUIS VI. AND HIS BARONIAL WARS SIEGE OF THE
CASTLE LE PUISET FLANDERS THE MURDER OF CHARLES THE
GOOD SIEGE OF THE CASTLE OF BRUGES FLIGHT AND EXECUTION
OF THE PROVOST SURRENDER OF THE MURDERERS THEIR HORRIBLE
DEATHS.
SUCH is the mode of life and thinking which Bernard's
convent walls secure for him. Shut up within these he can
pray, fast, read, write, just as he pleases. His life is a con-
tinuity of endeavour, an even flow of thought and actions
regulated on principles. But all around him is a very different
world. Confusion t discord, aimless turmoil have got posses-
sion of it : cruelty, treachery, and selfishness are the motives
of most of the actors in it. They are perpetually tearing, and
worrying, and devouring each other. Destruction of men, and
man's work, and man's food is their usual occupation. They
have been at it for some centuries now, and it does not seem
at all likely to abate. It, doubtless, looked to spectators as
quite fixed and unalterable this feudal fighting, plundering,
and slaying. It is probable that if Bernard ever thought at all
on the subject, he regarded knights, villeins, tournaments, and
private wars as part of the nature of things. His reading told
him it had existed for five or six hundred years at least, under
circumstances but little different from those before his eyes.
It is very unlikely that he expected any great change pro-
bably any change at all comparable to what has taken place :
while the feudal castle, with its sombre keep, the savage
82 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
brigands who dwelt in it, the plundered merchants who shud-
dered at it, and the novices who came to the abbey gates to
avoid it all, appeared to him both the actual and the final and
permanent phase of human society.
About this time Bernard came into collision with the feudal
lord who enjoyed the title of the King of France. Though a
king, he had a far less enviable position than Bernard. He
did not fast much ; indeed, he was a prodigy of obesity. It is
probable he said his prayers only occasionally ; iri "short, made
no pretence of monastic austerity ; yet few monks of his day
led a harder, more painful life. Although he was called a
king, his nominal subjects were, many of them, far more
powerful than he. Even the small territory which was espe-
cially called the royal domain was always on the point of
being further reduced, and even extinguished, by the intrigues
and rebellions of the numerous little knights and barons who
held castles all over it. Even at the gates of Paris Burchard of
Montmorency was a source of great trouble to him. The lords
of Montcheri, the Trousssels, could cut him off entirely from
his good city of Orleans j and except when surrounded by a
strong force, he never attempted the passage thither from
Paris. His life was a long tournament, a succession of sieges, ,
forays, and general devastation. But there was this difference
between Louis VI. and his enemies that generally he was in *',
the right, and they were in the wrong; that he generally fought
for the good cause of justice and mercy, they for their own
selfish aggrandizement or plunder.
The growth and power of the feudal aristocracy had now
reached their height. In the greater part of Europe the inde-
pendence of the barons had produced a system of intolerable <4
oppression to their dependents. Exactions and personal ser-
vice of the most galling kind ground the plebeian vassal to^the ' '" ,
dust in poverty and misery. Almost every act and necessity
of life was under a merciless tax. When the lord ,gave his
A.D. 1127"]
AETAT. 3CJ
FEUDAL OPPRESSION.
Jl. daughter in marriage, the vassal paid something towards her
dower. When the lord was taken prisoner, the vassal paid his
ransom. When the young heir was made knight, the vassal
paid for it. If the poor creature himself wished to marry, he
must pay for it. 1 If he wished to grind his corn, he could
only do so at his lord's mill. The distance might be great,
yet he could go nowhere else under penalties. He had
perhaps to wait several days before his turn came. The
exactions and frauds of the lord's miller were very grievous ;
yet for all this oppression he must pay at the rate of one
bushel in fifteen on the amount ground. 2 When the corn
was at last turned into flour, the peasant might not bake it
into bread except in the lord's oven. The peasant was taxed ;
his wife, his children, his home, his land, were all taxed.
Besides this, there was the constant exaction of personal
service now to repair the castle and its outworks, now to
thrash corn, now to carry wine, or to mount guard at night,
1 " Lorsque que le seigneur
mariait sa fille, le vassal payait une
redevance ; lorsque qu'il etait fait
prisonnier, le vassal payait ; lorsque
son fils etait fait chevalier, le vassal
payait encore. Lorsqu'un paysan
mourait, le fils, pour pouvoir lui
succeder, devait finare, comme on
disait alors une certaine somme au
seigneur. S'il se mariait, il devait
faire un present au seigneur afin
d'obteuir son consentement, et il
devait se garder de choisir une
femme au dehors, c'est a dire, qui
ne fut pas serve du meme seigneur."
Economie folitique dti Moyen Age,
' ' par Louis Cibrario, trad, par Wo-
lowsky, torn. i. p. 38. Paris, 1859.
2 " Le paysan etait ordinaire-
lent trop pauvre pour avoir dans sa
'chaumiere un pressoir et un four.
Le seigneur se chargeait d'en faire
construire a ses frais pres de son
manoir, et tous les serfs avaient le
droit de venir, moyennant certaine
redevance. C'etait d'abord un bien-
fait ; ce fut bient&t une servitude.
II fallut que le cultivateur amenat
son grain, souvent de fort loin ; qu'il
attendit son tour pendant plusieurs
jours ; et que ne pouvant s'addresser
a d'autres, il subit patiemment les
fraudes et les vexations du meunier
du seigneur. A Marnes . . . quand
ils avaient inutilement attendu leur
tour au moulin banal pendant un
jour et une nuit," they might go
elsewhere we are told. But " dans
d'autres pays la coutume accordait
trente-six heures, et meme trois jours
au meunier, et dans quelques-uns
elle ne fixait rien a cet egard."
Hist, des Classes otivritres en France,
Levasseur, vol. i. p. 165. Paris,
1859.
G 2
8 4
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
BOOK I /
F. VII
or to shoe the horses. If the lord went into a village, food,
lodging, and stabling must be found for him. In some coun-
tries it was the peasant's business to keep his lordship's dogs.
In others the vassals must lend their horses, cows, and oxen to
their suzerain when he wanted them. They were also pro-
hibited from selling their wine as long as his remained unsold.
Every bridge and castle exacted a toll ; and, with a grotesque
tyranny, defects or deformities of body had to be paid for.
In Provence players and minstrels were forced to dance and
make merry before the lady of the castle : the pilgrim must
sing a song ; the Moor had to throw up his turban, and paid
five sous full weight ; the Jew was forced to put his stockings
on his head, and recite a Paternoster in the dialect of the
place. 1 Over and above all this came the perpetual devasta-
tion, plundering, and massacring caused by the baronial wars.
The lord stripped his vassals to make war on his enemies,
and his enemies stripped them still more to impoverish and
paralyse him.
Such was the position of the bulk of the population. The
feudal aristocracy was without any competent rival power to
restrain and balance it. The Church alone was at all able,
but only partially and on grand occasions, when all the re-
sources of the spiritual arsenal were called out against some
inveterate offender. After all, a sudden raid the cattle
carried off and the village fired was a more rapid argu-
ment, or, at least, far more practical and evident in its
i "La puissance seigneuriale se
manifestait encore dans les peages
qu'on exigeait a chaque pont, a
chaque chateau. II est souvent fait
mention du denier que le passant
payait pour chaque difformite ou
defectuosite qu'on decouvrait sur son
corps. Les histrions, les baladins,
et menestrels devaient dans le peage
de Provence faire jeux,- exercicas
et galantises, la dame du cfydteau
preslnte. Le pelerin chantait une
romance. Le Maure jetait en 1'air
son turban, et comptait cinq sous
trebuchants & la porte du chateau.
Le Juif devait mettre ses chausses
sur la. tete, et reciter un pater dans
le jargon du pays." Economic
politique de Moyen Age, par -Louis
Cibrario, trad, par Wolowsky, p. 40.
&.D.
ACTAT.
LOUIS VI. ATTACKS THE NOBLES.
effects, than the spiritual thunders of the Church. The
papacy, the Church in its entirety, made great and haughty
pretensions ; but in detail, in the hands of isolated abbots
and bishops, it must have often yielded to present and im-
mediate violence. Thus the serfs and the clergy were drawn
together by the feeling of a common weakness before a com-
mon enemy. And now, in France, in the centre of feudalism,
another ally is going to join them, viz. the royal power. " King
Louis VI.," says Suger, "took care of the interests of the
Church, and, what had been for long unknown, was anxious
for the peace of the labourers and of the poor." ' " Louis VI.,"
says Ordericus Vitalis, " claimed the assistance of the bishops
all over France, to help to repress the rebels and brigands.
Then the bishops instituted in France a ' popular community,'
in order that the priests might accompany the king to battles
and sieges, with their standards and all their parishioners." 1
He wanted all the assistance that clergy or serfs could
render him. The lords of the castles all round- him made
leagues among themselves, and even involved him in contests
with our powerful and politic Henry I. But the historical
significance of Louis VI. 's reign is in the gradual revival of
the influence and extent of the kingly power, which he fos-
tered and stimulated. The great barons began to recognise
him as something more than a mere phantom of authority;
1 " Ludovicus itaque . . . jam
adultus, illustris et animosus regni
paterni defensor, ecclesiarum utSi-
tatibus providebat, aratorum, labora-
torum, et pauperum (quod diu inso-
litum fuerat) quieti studebat"
SUGERU Vita Ludovici Crassi, cap.
'i. col 1258, ed. Migne. "Ludovicus
ad comprimendam tyrannidem prae-
donum et seditiosorum auxilium to-
wn per Galliam deposcere coactus
'est episcoporum. Tune ergo com-
munitas in Francia popularis sta-
tuta est a praesulibus, ut presbyteri
comitarentur regi ad obsidionem vel
pugnam cum vexillis et parochianis
omnibus." ORDERICUS VITALIS,
lib. xi. cap. 34, vol. iv. p. 285, ed.
Provost . . . See especially D'Acherii
Spicilegium, vol. iii. p. 481, a most
curious charter of Louis VI., in
which "confirmat privilegium quo
servi Carnotensis ecclesiae habent in
omni foro sceculari liberam potesta-
tern testrficandi."
86
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
r BOOK I
Lean-. Vll
and a growing respect for his office and person is manifested
during his whole life. A curious incident illustrates this. The
haughty and powerful counts of Anjou were, by right of inherit-
ance, the seneschals of the kings of France. But the degra-
dation of the monarchy had been such that they willingly
neglected an office which to their minds carried with it more
of ignominy than honour. Fulk V. formally reclaimed his
ancestral rights, and was reinstated in his privilege of placing,
on grand occasions, the dishes on the table of the king. 1
Two of Louis's military undertakings will be related as
examples of the rest. They show, with tolerable distinctness,
the various methods and results of the feudal wars, and the
natures of the men who conducted them.
The lords of the castle called Le Puiset, situated on the
frontiers of La Beauce and the Orleannais, had been for many
years the terror of their neighbours. The possessor, Hugo, at
this date (A.D. 1112), was in no wise more peaceable than his
ancestors. Suger, abbot of St. Denis, says he was much
worse, and that those whom his father chastised with whips
he chastised with scorpions. Perhaps Suger was prejudiced,
inasmuch as he suffered manifold and numerous injuries at
Hugo's hands. The village of Monarville, which belonged to
the Abbey of St. Denis, was plundered and oppressed by him
in a "manner which infidel Saracens could not have rivalled." 2
He would come with a number of others, and insist on being
entertained, and " with open mouth consume the property of
1 Henri Martin, Hist, de France,
torn. iii. p. 276.
2 " Monarvilla . . . quae sub jugo
castri Merevillae conculcata non
minus quam Sarracenonun depres-
sione, mendicabat : cum ejusdem cas-
tri dominus quotiescunque vellet, in
eadem hospitium cum quibuscumque
vellet, raperet, rusticorum bonapleno
ore devoraret, talliam et annonam
tempore messis, pro consuetudine,
asportaret Lignaria sua bis aut
ter in anno carrucarum villae dispen-
dio aggregaret, porcorum, agnorum,
anserum, gallinarum, importabiles
quasque molestias, pro consuetudine
tolleret." SUGERIUS, De rebus in
admintstratione sua gestis, cap. xi.
col. 1218, ed. Migne.
\ THE LORDS OF LE PUISET. 87
the farmers." In the time of harvest -he would carry off his
taille. Such was his want of humanity, that twice, and even
three times, in the year he would cut his wood and cart it,
t and this, too, at the expense and trouble of the servants of
St. Denis; whilst his exactions in the way of pigs, lambs,
geese, and fowls were simply insupportable. The property
was becoming a solitude under his multiform tyranny. The
famous village of Thoury, again, he treated in the same
way ; and to such a condition did he reduce it, that whereas
it formerly had afforded welcome food and lodgings to mer-
chants, foreigners, and all kinds of travellers, it; at last was
stripped of even its farm labourers. " If we (i.e. the monks of
St. Denis) tried to defend it, Hugo soon came and destroyed
everything; he carried off all he could, and levied a tax, first
for himself, secondly for his butler, thirdly for his steward. 1
This went on for two years, and as all the churches which had
land in those parts were equally oppressed, we all took counsel
to decide how it was possible to throw off this intolerable
tyranny. Ives, Bishop of Chartres, the Bishop of Orleans, the
Archbishop of Sens, besides several other abbots and our-
selves, went to King Louis, and with tears unfolded our
v pitiable case. He, a man of noble industry, full of piety,
and an illustrious defender of the churches, promised to help
:s, and made an oath that that wicked man should never
.gain destroy the goods of the Church." 2
1 " Tauriacus igitur famosa Beati deinde dapifero suo, deinde prae-
Honysii villa, caput quidem aliarum, posito suo, rusticorum vectigalibus
-t propria et specialis sedes Beati ad castrum defend cogeret" SUGE-
Dionysii, peregrinis et mercatoribus Rius, De rebus in administratione
Iseu quibuscumque viatoribus all- szea gestis, cap. xii.
| menta cibariorum in media strata, 2 " Qui ut vir erat nobilissimae
lassis etiam quietem quiete minis- industriae, plenus pietate, ecclesi-
trans, intolerabilibus dominorum arum illustris defensor, auxiliari spo-
1 praefati castri Puteoli angariis usque pondit ; et quod ecclesias et ecclesi-
adeo miserabiliter premebalur ut . . . arum bona deinceps destrui a prae-
jam colonis pene destituta langueret fato nequam nullo modo pateretur,
. . . annonam et talliam sibi primum, jurejurando firmavit." Ibid.
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
BOOK I
. Vll
In the meantime Hugo had involved himself in a quarrel
with Theobald, Count of Blois, and was wasting the lands of
the latter, up to the gates of Chartres, with fire and sword. 1
Young Theobald, in spite of his wide possessions, which
extended over Blois, Chartres, Sancerre, and Meaux, and the
vigorous race he sprang from (he was grandson of the Con-
queror of England), did not feel himself strong enough to
oppose Hugo single-handed, and did not dare to approach
the latter's castle of Le Puiset nearer than within eight or ten
miles. But now he came to King Louis, asking for the same
thing as the bishop and abbots had just asked for, with this
difference, that, as a great feudal lord, he could offer to the
king most valuable co-operation. The king summoned Hugo
to appear before him, as his suzerain, and to confront his
accusers, Theobald and the clergy, whom he had despoiled.
Of course he did not come, and immediately the king and the
count marched to assail the terrible Le Puiset. They led a
large army of horse and foot, arid at once commenced the
storming of the castle. The glittering of the armour and the
helmets, which seemed to strike fire under the repeated blows
the crushing and piercing of the shields the clouds of
arrows which rose from both sides formed a sight to fill the
spectator with wonder. Then, as the besiegers forced their
way through the outer gateway into the inner court, the
defenders poured such a hail of darts and missiles from
their towers and bastions that it was almost intolerable
even to the bravest, and they nearly succeeded in driving
out their assailants. But the king's troops made a des-
perate effort. . They filled some carts with their broken
.shields, and beams, and planks, and fragments of doors, and
all the dry wood they could collect, and smearing the whole
* "Terrain . . . usque Carnotum
depopulans rapinis et incendiis ex-
ponebat." SUGERII Vita Ludirvici
Grossi, cap. xviii. col. 1289, ed.
Migne.
] CASTLE OF LE PUISET TAKEN BY STORM. 89
with grease, they pushed them to the door of the keep, and
set them blazing. The defenders were excommunicate and
utterly devilish, 1 so that the plan of burning them alive was
highly desirable, if it could only be accomplished. In the
meantime Count Theobald was assaulting the castle from
the other side, which looked towards Chartres. He urged
his men to mount the steep incline and scale the palisade,
which was here the only obstacle. But as soon as they
reached the summit of the slope, they fell over and rolled
to the bottom, either badly wounded or killed. The cause
of this was, that knights mounted on swift horses were con-
stantly moving about on the upper works of the castle, and
as soon as any of the enemy made the attempt to reach
them they were sent tumbling into the ditch. Hugo and
his friends were getting the best of it, when a strange cir-
cumstance changed the face of matters. A bold priest who
was present, with no protection to his uncovered head, rapidly
ascended to the foot of the palisade, holding a plank before
him by way of shield. Here he placed himself out of reach
of the enemy's swords or missiles, by crouching beneath the
loopholes, and began loosening the stakes. When he found
he could do so without molestation, he beckoned to the others
to come and help him. A crowd, with axes and bars, now
followed the priest's example, and in a short time a breacK
was made. At the same moment the king's forces on the
opposite side had effected an entrance, and the Castle of
Puiset was taken. Hugo was sent off to a dungeon at Chateau
Landon; and the king ordered all the furniture of the castle
to be sold, and the castle itself to be burnt 2
But, while the ruins were still smoking, the allies had
quarrelled. Count Theobald, wishing to turn his success to
advantage, determined to erect a castle at a place called
1 "Erant enim excommuiiicati et omnino diabolicL" SUGERII Vita
Lttd. Grossi. 2 Ibid.
90 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
Allonnes. To do this without his suzerain's permission was a
breach of feudal law. Louis refused to allow the building to
continue. Theobald offered to settle the matter by a single
combat between a representative of himself and the king. The
duel does not appear to have ever taken place. A good deal
ol confused fighting between the king and the count followed,
generally to the detriment of the latter. But he gradually
succeeded in detaching several of Louis's most valuable allies
from him ; and seizing the occasion of his absence in Flanders,
the count, with his confederates, Henry I. and Hugo of Puiset
(who had recovered his liberty), prepared to strike a decisive
blow at his sovereign and recent ally.
Hugo had been released from his captivity at Chateau
Landon in the following manner : On the death of his uncle
Eudes, Count of Corbeil, Hugo was declared his heir. 1 He
consented to relinquish his new inheritance to the king in
return for his freedom and the restitution of the domain of
Le Puiset, with this condition, that the castle should not be
rebuilt without Louis's express consent. This engagement he
kept as long as it seemed expedient. But the king's absence
in Flanders promised to be a good opportunity for breaking
his word. Louis had left his good Suger behind him in a
stronghold at Thoury. Hugo thought the place might be
taken by a coup de main, if by any artifice Suger could be
induced to leave it. He accordingly came to the unsuspecting
ecclesiastic, and begged of him to use his great influence with
Louis to his (Hugo's) advantage. Suger fell into the snare laid
for him, and left Thoury to find the king. The cunning Louis
"
Eudes, Comte de Corbeil, vint prit 1' engagement de ne point retablir
a mourir. II ne laissait point d'en- les fortifications de ce chateau, et il
fants, Hugues du Puiset alors pri- fit au roi 1'abandon du Comte de
sonnier a Chateau Landon etait son Corbeil." Hist.des Comtes de Cham-
neveu et son heritier. . . . Hugues pagne, par d'Arbois de Jubainville,
obtint du roi la liberte et la resti- vol. ii. p. 202.
tution du chateau du Puiset, mais il .
\ STRATAGEM OF SUGER. 91
smiled bitterly at Suger's simplicity when he heard of his
errand, and, with much anger, bade him return and repair his
error. Suger, wise too late, hastened back, expecting to see
across the wide plain the smoking tower of his priory in the
distance. 1 . Towards nightfall he reached it, and found that
Hugo's soldiers and his own men had had a hard day's
fighting, and were now on both sides resting from their
exe'rtions. The soldier-prior deceived the enemy, who mistook
him for one of his own party. Suger made signals to his
friends in the castle, the door was opened, and a sudden dash
through the town not without danger brought him back to
the position he had so imprudently left.
Soon after a general and fierce engagement took place at Le
Puiset. Louis fought like a gladiator at the head of his men,
seeking a conflict with Count Theobald, who had declared his
wish for a personal contest. But presently the king fell into an
ambuscade which Randolph of Beaugency had prepared for
him ; he was utterly routed, and his army being dispersed in
all directions, fled in all haste to the protection of Thoury.
Here he collected his -scattered troops, and in a short time, on
the same battle-ground, met his enemies again, and with better
fortune : Count Theobald was wounded, and begged for a
truce and leave to retire to Chartres. "The king, who was
gentle and merciful beyond human belief," gave him per-
1 "Et dum ipse Stampensi via ducere poteramus. . . . Jam sole in
exercitum colligens, nos rectiori et vesperumdeclinante,cumquiahostes
breviori Tauriacum dirigimur; hoc nostros tota <die impugnantes ex-
unum multo et frequenti intuitu a pugnare non valerent, fatigati parum
longe assumentes, necdum occupatae substitissent^ nos ac si essemus de
munitionis argumentum, quod tris- eorum consortio, speculata oppor-
tega turris in eadem munitione longa tunitate, non sine magno periculo
planitie supereminens, apparebat, per medium villae irruentes ; quia
quae capta munitione iliico igne quibus innueramus in propugnaculis
hoste solveretur. Et quia hostes nostrates portam citissime Domino
totam viciniam rapiendo, devastando annuente intravimus." SUGER. Vita
occupabant, nevninem occurrentium Ludov. Gross, cap. xx.
donis etiam aut promissis nobiscurn
92 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
mission. As regards Hugo, the king entirely confiscated his
property, and demolished Le Puiset level with the ground. 1
The next incident in Louis's reign that will be adverted to
occurred at an interval of fifteen years from the last. It took
place in Flanders ; and perhaps no event since the capture of
Jerusalem made a more resounding echo in Europe. This
occurrence was the murder of Charles the Good, Count of
Flanders, in the Church of St. Donatian, at Bruges, on the 2d
of March, 1127.
The County of Flanders was in a very different state of
material prosperity from the rest of Europe. Ever since the
times of the illustrious Bras de Fer the inhabitants, through
either good fortune or their own merit, had been ruled by a
series of energetic and able princes. An industrious popula-
tion was developed in the self-governed towns, and the powers
of mind and body of the people at least were devoted to other
purposes than those of mutual destruction. A race of hardy
fishermen became in time the source of a widespread, opulent
commerce. The coasts of England, of Trance, and of distant
Spain, were well known to these intrepid mariners, so that
even the haughty Norman Conqueror of Britain was glad of
their assistance both in men and ships. But it was to hef
vigorous artisans, her weavers of woollen and linen cloths,
that Flanders owed her prosperity and power. These, in their
numbers and unanimity, formed a strong middle-class element,
and a valuable counterpoise to the feudal aristocracy around
them. The result was, that nowhere in Europe were life and
property so safe. "Whatever may be the case in other
countries, and whatever wars may there break out, from of
old with us in Flanders it has been established by our counts,
and is now observed as a law, that no one shall presume to
i Suger. Vita Ludov. Gross.
A.D. 11271
ABUT. 36J
FLANDERS IN THE TWELFTH CENTURY.
93
plunder or steal, or take another captive, or in any way despoil
him." 1
It happened that in the reign of Baldwin the Pious one
Balderannus was castellan of Bruges. He had a wife named
Dedda or Duva, who loved one of his knights (Erembaldus),
and hated her husband. At last the woman told her paramour
that he should hold her husband's place as castellan and vis-
count, if she ever became a widow. At this period war broke
out with the Emperor Henry III., and a military expedition
took the castellan and his knight Erembaldus to the banks of
the Scheldt. Boats on the river operated in concert with the
forces on shore. In one of the boats were the husband and
his betrayer. Night descended on the dreary waste .of mud
and water, and in the morning the chatellaine of Bruges was
a widow, as she had hoped to be. Erembaldus returned to
claim her hand, and to seize her husband's power and offices. 2
From this guilty couple sprang a family which soon came to
be reckoned among the most powerful in Flanders. They
were related by marriage with the rich and noble houses of
the country. One of them, Racket, was castellan of Bruges ;
another, Bertolf, was provost of the Chapter of the same place.
But a reverse was at hand.
i " Antique et comitibus terrae
nostrae statutum, et hactenus quasi
pro lege observatum est, ut quan-
tacunque inter quoslibet homines
guerra emergeret, nemo in Flandria
quidquam praedari, vel aliquem
capere aut exspoliare praesumeret."
GUALTERUS, De Vita et Martyrio
B. Caroli JBoni, pars v. This is the
first of those two most remarkable
narratives which we possess con-
cerning the murder of Charles the
Good. They resemble, for their
graphic portraiture of events, the
vividness of Froissart or Herodotus
rather than the usual blank dullness
of the chroniclers. Walter was
Canon of De Terouane ; Galbert
a notary of Bruges. The little
works are to be found both in the
Acta Sanctorum Martii, torn. i. die
2, p. 152, and also in Migne, Patro-
logia, torn, clxvi. col. 874.
2 Erembaldus drowned his master.
" Facto quoque noctis silentio, dum
castellanus ad mingendum in ora
stetisset navis, ille Erembaldus retro
accurrens, longe a navi projectum
clominum in profundum torrentis
aquosi praecipitavit." GALBERT,
cap. xv.
94 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
A niece of the provost's had married a gentleman, who,. on
challenging another to fight a duel, was told that the husband
of a serf was not fit to do battle with a. noble, and even by
the law of Flanders was considered ignoble himself. This
deadly insult aroused the united animosity of the provost's
kindred. An inquiry took place before Charles, .Count of
Flanders. The servile origin of this haughty family was a
point which had been already discussed, though their long
possession of power and wealth made the investigation diffi-
cult and obscure. But Charles in time succeeded in proving
to his own satisfaction at least that these rich and puis-
sant subjects, to whose aid he owed not a little when he
obtained the County of Flanders, were serfs by origin, and
belonged to himself. Bertolf scornfully replied, " Let him
inquire as much as he will, we are and always. will remain
free ; and there lives not the man upon earth who is able
to make us slaves." 1
It chanced that at this juncture Count Charles had occasion
to pass over into France for a short time. "His presence,
ever painful to the workers of iniquity, and even a sort of
intolerable prison to them," no longer acting as a check,
the provost and his nephews planned and executed a scheme
of genuine feudal barbarism, such as was happening daily
in neighbouring countries, but was comparatively rare in
Flanders. Bertolf and his relations had enemies named
Thancmar, who stood well with the count. Now that their
protector was absent, the nephews of the provost deter-
mined to attack them. The astute provost himself was
careful not to appear as partaker in their proceedings. He
1 There is a slight discrepancy court of justice, when he was told
between Walter and Galbert at this that a free man was not going to
point. The former says the pro- answer the interrogations of a serf.
vest's nephew received the insult . Walter, cap. xv. Galbert's state-
from his adversary in Count Charles's ment is followed in the text.
A.D. 11271
T. 3Gj
ATTACK ON THE THANCMARS.
95
even hypocritically lamented that such bloodshed and de-
struction should take place. Yet clandestinely he was
assisting his nephews to the utmost of his power. " He
himself went down to the carpenters who were working in
the choir of the brethren, and ordered their tools -that is,
their axes to be carried to the scene of action, that with
them the tower, the orchards, and the houses of their enemies
might be destroyed. He sent, also, from house to house in
the suburbs to collect more axes, which were at once taken
thither." So equipped by the aid of their relative, they (the
"nephews") soon accomplished their work of 'destruction on
the houses and lands of the Thancmars. They carried off
all the moveables, and what they could not carry off they
destroyed. Some of their enemies they hanged; but the
majority they killed with the sword. At last they returned
by night to Bruges, a troop of five hundred knights and a
numerous body of foot soldiers. The provost received them
with open arms. He took them into the cloister and refec-
tory of the brethren, and refreshed the whole of them with
a diverse assortment of victuals and drinks, " and was merry
and elated over it." Flanders was shocked and amazed at
such a spectacle. " From the beginning of the kingdom
rapine has never been permitted by any one of our counts,
for the reason that great wars and death would be the con-
sequence." 1
1 " Captata, cum in Franciam
forte perrexisset, comitis absentia
(omnibus enim iniquitatis operariis
semper gravis erat, et quasi career
quidam intolerabilis ejus praesentia)
copiosam congregant et validam mi-
Htum manum . . . quosdam suspen-
dunt; plerosque in ferro trucidant."
WALTER, cap. xix. Galbert, as
usual, adds several further details:
. . " ipse praepositus descendit ad
carpentarios qui in claustro fratrum
operabantur, et jussit ferramenta
eorum, scilicet secures, illuc deferri,
quibus detruncarent turrem et po-
maria et domos inimicorum suorum.
. . . Cumque in nocte rediissent
nepotes ejus cum quingentis militi-
bus armigeris et peditibus infinitis,
induxit eos in claustrum et fratrum
refectorium, in quo refecit universes
. . . et super hoc laetus et gloriosus
erat." GALBERT, cap. ii.
96 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD..
Presently Count Charles returned to Flanders, and stayed at
Ypres. The rustics and others who had suffered in the late
raid, to the number of two hundred, came to him under the
cover of night, and, falling at his feet, " implored his paternal
and accustomed aid." They begged that their goods, their"
cattle, and their silver might be .restored to them. When he
heard their complaints, he was deeply moved ; and calling
his councillors together, he asked them what stern justice
demanded as -a retribution for such a crime. Several declared
that it was not the first time the inhabitants of Bruges had
misbehaved themselves ; that they had suffered much both in
property and person at the hands of those haughty burghers.
But there was such a discrepancy of opinion as to the course
to be pursued, that no conclusion could be arrived at, save
this that the count should himself visit the scene of destruc-
tion, and, from personal inspection on the spot, estimate the
amount of punishment demanded by the wicked deed. 1
The next day the whole cavalcade went out to behold the
ruin and destruction which Bertolf's "five hundred knights
and numerous foot" had brought about. Charles gazed on
the prospect before him with tears in his eyes. The crime
was evident. What should be the penalty for it ? Well, the
provost's nephew has a castle, as his enemy Thancmar had.
There it stands, a terror and a torment to the country round,
full, probably even now, of ill-gotten plunder. "Let it be
fired," was a verdict which was soon pronounced by Charles's
advisers with prompt unanimity. As the afternoon sun of
the last day in February was nearing the horizon, the. Count
of Flanders and his company had turned their backs on the
i " Audierunt rustic! comitem in hoc omnium convenit sententfa,
venisse apud Ipram, ad quern ... ut comes ipse partes illas prae-
usque ad ducentos transierunt, pedi- sentialiter visitaret, et quae gesta
busque ipsius convoluti, pbsecrantes fuerant, visu et auditu certius ex-
paternum et consuetum ab eo aux- ploraret." WALTER, cap. xx,
ilium." GALBERT.cap. ii. "Tandem
A.D. 0127]
AEIAT. 36 J
PROMPT JUSTICE.
97
smoking rains, and were making their way to Bruges and to
supper. 1
Count Charles had finished his evening meal when emissaries
from the provost came, requesting an audience. They begged that
the count would be pleased to turn away his wrath and receive
Bertolf and his nephew Burchard into his favour again. The good
Charles replied that he was quite willing to act justly and merci-
fully by them, if they were ready at the same time to lay aside
their lawless practices. Nay, he promised to give Burchard
a better house than the one he had just lost. Another house,
but not in the same place ; not while he was Count of Flanders
should Burchard hold another property in that quarter. Not
again should he be neighbour of Thancmar, and disturb the
.public peace with his plunders and murders. The spokesmen
whom Bertolf had sent were partly cognisant of the intended
treason, and did not insist very much on the terms of recon-
ciliation; and when the servants were going to fill their cups,
they begged the count that he would order some better wine.
Having drank it, as usually happens with topers, they wanted
more, and asked for a parting bumper, after which they would
retire to bed. At Charles's order, all present had their cups
well filled, whereupon they took their leave and departed. 2
mum restituere Burchardo se debere
promisit. In loco tamen in quo
domus combusta est, jurabat, se
comitatum obtinente, amplius Bur-
chardum nullam possessionem ob-
tenturum, eo quod usque tune juxta
Thancmarum manens, minquam nisi
lites et seditiones in hostes et in cives
cum rapina et caede ageret. Qui
vero intercessores fuere partim con-
scii traditionis, non multum super
reconciliandis vexabant comitem, et
quando propinatum ibant ministri,
rogabant comitem ut de vino meliore
afierri juberet Quod cum ebibis-
sent, sicut potores solent, rogabant
$emel sibi propinari et abundanter
1 "At illi consilium dederunt ut
sine dilatione domum Burchardi in-
cendio destrueret, eo quod rapinam
in rusticos comitis exercuisset. . . .
Descendit super hoc consultus consul,
et incendit domum. et funditus man-
sionem ejus destruxit." GALBERT,
cap. ii. "Munitionem ipsius Bur-
chardi . . . evertit, et funditus de-
struxit, ac deinde . . . Brugas eadem
die, heu ! nunquam reversurus, per-
rexit." WALTER, cap. xxi.
2 "Postquam comes coenaverat,
j ascenderunt coram. eo intercessores
| ex parte praepositi. ... At consul
. . si lites et rapinas postponere
Ideinceps voluissent, meliorem do
H
98 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
When they returned and informed the provost and his
nephew that they had not succeeded in winning the count's
promise of favour or forgiveness, Bertolf and Burchard at
once proceeded to mature their plans for revenge. They shut
themselves in a room, the door of which the provost himself
guarded, and swore over their clasped hands mutual fidelity in
a scheme to slay the count The conspirators were six in
number, besides the provost, viz. his brother Guelricus, his
nephews Burchard and Robert, his relative Isaac, William of
Werwyck, and Ingrasnus of Esne. After an anxious debate,
each of them went to his own place. Isaac, when he got
home, made pretence of going to bed, but he only waited the
silence and obscurity of the night to remount his horse and
hasten back to the town which he had left shortly before.
On his way he called at Burchard's house, and assembling
those whom he wanted, they all proceeded to another house
belonging to a knight named Walter, where they carefully
extinguished all the fires, which they feared might betray
them and their doings. Thus, in the dark and cold of
a March night, did they complete then* plans for the count's
murder in the morning. They selected the men they
thought fit for the work, and promised them great rewards
if it was accomplished. To the knights they gave four marks,
to their attendants two. Isaac, having thus animated his
friends by example and advice, retired, and reached home a
little before dawn. 1
It was a foggy, dark morning, so that one could not see
farther than a spear's length off. Burchard took measures to
ascertain when the count would leave his house and enter the
church, as he was accustomed to do every morning. Charles had
adhuc,utposteriorelicentiaet ultima aderant, donee accepta licentia
a consule accepta quasi dormitum ultima, ipsi abiissent" GALBERT,
abirent : et jussu comitis abundanter cap. ii.
propinatum est omnibus Ulis (jui 1 Ibid. cap. iii.
[J MURDER OF CHARLES THE GOOD. 99
passed a disturbed night ; and his chaplains related that, when
he had retired to rest, an anxious wakefulness took possession
of. -him; that his mind appeared confused and agitated, and
that in his sleepless meditation he turned from side to side, sat
up in bed, then sank back, as if weary of himself. Towards morn-
ing he slept, and arose a little later than was his wont, washed,
and prepared himself for the day's work by his usual exercises
of charity and devotion. He never failed to begin the day by
the relief of the poor, which he did by giving them food with
his own hands, and never would allow the assistance of any
servants in this office, which he moreover performed bare-
foot. He had lately added to this custom another, of giving
to five poor persons every morning new clothes and shoes.
He then proceeded to the Church of St. Donatian, ascended
the tribune, and before an altar dedicated to the Mother of
God prostrated himself in prayer, and, with his book of hours
before him, proceeded to sing the seven penitential psalms. 1
He had got through the first three, and was singing the
fourth the fiftieth Psalm when Burchard, attended by his
six accomplices, suddenly came behind him, and pricked the
back of his neck with a dagger. The count immediately
i "Igitur cum dies obvenisset Walter says he "groaned" in bed
obscura valde et nebulosa, ita ut longer than usual, "cum gloriosus
hastae longitudine nullus a se dis- princeps paulo diutius solito in
cernere posset rem aliquam, clanculo stratu suo gemuisset," &c.
servos aliquot misit Burchardus in I have been profuse, perhaps re-
curtem comitis praecavere exitum dundant, in quotations from these
ejus ad ecclesiam. Surrexerat quidem two interesting narratives by Walter
comes multo mane, et distribuerat and Galbert. I trust that the
pauperibus, sicut consueverat. . . . above extracts will suffice to give
Sed sicut referebant capellani ejus, a notion of their picturesque power
nocte cum in lectum se compossu- and value. As all the remainder of
isset ad dormiendum, quadam vigi- this chapter rests on their authority,
lantiae sollicitudine laborabat, mente I content myself from this point
quidem confusa et turbata, ita ut with a general reference to them,
multiplici rerum meditatione pul- Bot.iJMD,ActaSani:f.Mart,toiii.i.
satus, modo in altero cubans latere, die 2, p. 152, andMigne, Fzirologia,
modo residens in stratu torus langui- torn, clxvi,
dus sibi ipsi videretur. "-~ GALBpRTr
H 3
100 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. .
turned round, as the murderer wished, and exposed his un-
covered head to the full sweep of the heavy sword already
raised to strike him. The blow descended, cleft his skull in
twain, and scattered his brains on the pavement of the church.
The ruthless assassins mangled and hacked at his lifeless
corpse, till they had chopped off his head and almost his
right arm.
Their chief object being thus attained, the murderers sought
for the remainder of their open or supposed enemies. They
caught Thancmar, dragged him down the steps by his heels,
and thought to have despatched him in the doorway of the
church, but he lived for some time after. His two sons,
Walter and Gilbert, when they heard of the count's death,
took horse and rode fast out of the town ; but the traitors were
after them, and before they had reached a place of safety,
succeeded in overtaking and slaughtering both. Burchard and
Isaac, with drawn and still bloody swords, rushed about the
cathedral, and amid loud cries and clashing of arms sought
under the benches and in the cupboards for Walter of Locres, a
great friend of the slain count, shouting out,-" Walter, Walter !"
In this search they came again on Thancmar, who still breathed,
though mortally wounded. This time they did not leave their
work unfinished. Before his death the priests of the church
had time to hear his confession and administer the last sacra-
ment to him. A woman also, a nun, was seen lying over the
dying man : it was the Abbess of Aurigny, to whom he gave
his ring to take to his wife in token of his death ; in token
also of farewell and love to her and his children, whose tragic
end he knew not of till he had passed beyond the grave.
Walter of Locres in the meanwhile was safely hidden in an
upper part of the church. A priest had covered him with his
cloak, and those who sought his life had not yet discovered
him. But the terrible suspense, the noise of their weapons,
and the shouting of his name, had quite confused his reason.
!] MORE MURDERS IN THE CHURCH. 101
He came out from his concealment, and at one desperate
bound precipitated himself into the body of the church in the
midst of his enemies "ran below the choir, calling with
piteous cries on God and the saints." Burchard and Isaac
pressed upon him closely, brandishing their gory swords. They
were tall and powerful men, with such expression of ferocity and
rage in their visages that no one could look on them without
terror. Burchard seized his victim by the hair of his head,
and, holding him at arm's length, prepared to deal him a mortal
blow. Here some priests came forward, and b.egged that he
at least might be killed outside the church. Burchard granted
their request, and the poor creature -was led forth. As he
walked to his doom, he cried, " God have mercy on me !" As
soon as he was in the churchyard, he was struck down with
swords and staves, and half buried under a shower of stones.
Some succeeded, however, in making good their escape.
Gervase, the count's chamberlain, fled on horseback to his
kinsfolk in Flanders. John, the count's body-servant, whom
he liked above all his other domestics, hastened all the morn-
ing through by-ways till he reached Ypres about midday.
iThe town was full of merchants from the surrounding country,
who had 'come to one of the fairs, which, under the protection
of the good count, could be safely held in the cathedral of
St. Peter. It was here that Count Charles had bought of the
Lombard traders for twenty-one marks his wonderful silver
goblet, which, through the skill of the artist, robbed the spec-
tators of the draught which it contained. Into this busy crowd
of buyers and sellers the scared and exhausted John suddenly
burst The news he brought had soon traversed the astonished
multitude. In a moment the bargaining and chaffering were
over, and the packing up of bales and the lading of beasts
occupied all the market-place. When ready, they started,
whether by day or by night, hastening every man to his own
country, and spreading far and wide the disgrace of Flanders.
T02 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
The news, it was thought, flew over the world with miraculous
celerity. The count was murdered on Wednesday morning,
and the event was known in London, we are told, by the sun-
rise of the second day ; and towards evening of the same day
the inhabitants of Laon, in the opposite direction, also knew
it. Galbert says he had these facts in the one case from
students of his town, who were at that time studying at Laon >
in the other, from merchants of Bruges who were on business
in London.
But a scene was occurring about the possession of the body
of the slaughtered count highly characteristic of the age. For
several hours after the deed the murderers were too busy, and
the rest too fearful, to take any notice of the mangled corpse,
which lay on the spot where it fell, undisturbed. The elder
Frinnold got leave of the provost to wrap it in a linen cloth,
and place it on a bier. But these attentions alarmed the
traitors extremely. They saw that the dead body of the count
was likely to be more dangerous to them than his living mind
had been. They saw an incipient saintship rising before them,
and away from them, into heaven. They saw the calm, sor-
rowful martyr's face burning into their very souls with the light
of its gentle eyes. And then the miracles, and the people
cured of "infirmities" at his tomb. The body must be got
away if possible. With this end a strong watch was placed
round and in the church, and a message sent to the abbot of
Ghent that he should come and fetch the body and bury it at
Ghent ; and another message, with a present of four hundred
marks, to friend Walter of Ulaerslo, adjuring him by the
fidelity he had sworn to the provost and his nephews, to come
at once to his assistance with all the force he had. But Walter
kept the money and did not come. The abbot of Ghent rode
all night, and appeared early on Thursday morning at the
castle gates, asking for the body which had been promised to
him. The inhabitants of Bruges were on the alert, and
] DISPUTE OVER THE BODY OF THE COUNT. 103
inferred no good omen from this early visit of the abbot ; and
it soon got reported that his object was, with help from the
traitors, to carry off the body secretly. And now the provost
held a council with his friends, to decide how it could be
managed. He had a bier made, such as could be carried on
horseback. This was brought to the church door. But the
people were more and more excited at the dread of losing the
martyr's bones. " Suffer not," they cried, " lord provost, the
body of our father and glorious martyr to be taken from us :
for if this be done, his castle and buildings wilj some day be
destroyed without mercy. But if he remain, our enemies will
have some pity on us when they attack this castle, and will not
utterly destroy this church, in which the body of the blessed
count is reverentially buried." On hearing these words and
clamours the provost and the abbot made haste. They were
about to remove the body from the bier in the church to the one
which was waiting at the door, when the canons of the church
ran up, and, violently replacing the body, asked the provost for
what reason he had ordered this ? Then, in presence of the
thronging crowd, one of the elders amongst them addressed
the provost : " My lord provost, if you had wished to act
justly in this matter, not without the consent and counsel of
the brethren, would you have surrendered so precious a martyr
such a ruler of the country such a treasure to our Church
whom the Divine mercy and providence have granted to us.
There is no reason why he should be taken away from us,
among whom chiefly he grew and lived, and among whom
he was betrayed for righteousness' sake. Indeed, if he be
removed, we fear for -the destruction of this stronghold and
this church. God will forgive us and be merciful to us, if we
have him to intercede for us. Without him God will, without
mercy, punish the sin committed among us." Hereupon the
provost and the rest kindled into anger, and ordered the body
at once to be carried off. Then the canons, with loud cries,
104 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
rushed to the church doors, saying that, as long as they lived,
the body should not go, that they would die sooner. They
seized for weapons the tables, benches, candlesticks, and even
sacred vessels, of the church, and fought valiantly. They rang
the bells to summon the citizens to their assistance, who came
in troops, well armed, and with drawn swords, standing round
the body, dared any one to touch it.
But the tumult, both in and outside the church, was stayed
presently in a remarkable manner. A poor, paralysed cripple,
whose legs had never supported him, and who crawled pain-
fully along by the help of a wooden frame, was in the midst
of the excited, almost ferocious, crowd. He had crept
under the bier, partly for devotion, and partly, perhaps, for
safety. Suddenly the sinews of his legs were loosed, and
limbs whose use he had never had before grew strong, and
he stood up. The miracle calmed all present. The provost
and his accomplices retired to the count's palace. The abbot
of Ghent went home again, "glad to have escaped." The
canons and the people were careful to avail themselves of the
opportunity to secure their martyr's bones. Masons and
labourers who could work quickly were sought for, and ordered
to build a tomb with the despatch the occasion demanded.
The day following it was ready. A mass for Charles's soul
was said, and Frumold scattered alms to the poor. " But his
tears fell faster than his halfpence." The body was carried to,
and enshrined in, the tribune where "he won the martyr's
palm."
" On the 7th of March God unsheathed the sword of divine
vengeance against the enemies of His Church, and moved the
heart of a certain knight named Gervasius to execute punish-
ment." Gervasius had been the count's chamberlain, and his
most attached and trusted friend. He forthwith advanced on
the murderers, who had shut themselves up in the castle of
Bruges. " Our citizens .rejoiced in their hearts when they
SIE&E OF TJfE CASTLE. 105
heard that God had begun to avenge so quickly, but publicly
they said nothing, on account of the traitors, who as yet went
backwards and forwards amongst them in security and confi-
jldence." But the citizens of Bruges, however much they might
J approve of an offer to punish the count's assassins, were not
I disposed to allow an armed knight and his company to enter
I their town without some understanding. They sent, therefore,
I privately to Gervasius, and made " agreement with regard to
mutual faith, amity, and security." They, moreover, swore to
aid in avenging the count, and on the following; day to admit
Gervasius and his army into their suburbs, and to receive them
" as brothers within their fortifications." The chronicler says
that the return of the delegates who concluded this alliance
was welcomed with more joy than he was able to express.
A regular siege now commenced. The men of Bniges were
soon joined by a large force or, rather, multitude which
came from Ghent. They came boasting " that they were men
renowned in battle, and possessed of warlike science, which
would demolish the besieged." They collected all "their
archers, and ingenious workers, and bold plunderers, and cut-
throats, and thieves, and fellows ready for all the crimes of
war, and loaded thirty waggons full of weapons for them."
They arrived horse and foot, hoping to acquire a large booty
if they reduced the castle. On reaching the gates of the town
they essayed to enter by force. But the whole body of the
citizens of Bruges resisted them ; and it nearly came to blows,
when the wiser on either side interfered, and determined con-
ditions of joint action. The men of Ghent, anxious to show
their superior skill, at once set about the manufacture of
ladders to scale the walls. These ladders were about sixty
feet in length, and twelve in breadth. They were furnished
on each side and in front with planking, to protect those on
them -from "the missiles of the besieged. On the top was
placed a second ladder, of the same length, but less broad,
lo6 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
so arranged, that when the larger one was erected against the
wall, this should fall over on the other side, and thus facilitate
.descent into the stronghold. On the i8th of March they
advanced to the attack. Stones and arrows flew in volleys
from both parties ; but those who brought up the ladders were
protected by shields and breastplates. Numbers followed to
look on, and see how the ladders could be placed against the
walls, as from their size, and the greenness of the wood they
were made of, their weight was enormous. Shouts and cheers
rent the air as they approached. But, in the meantime, some
bold and ardent young men got lighter ladders, " such as ten
men could carry," and determined to be quicker than the
others. One after another they ran up. But, as soon as they
reached the top, they were at once struck down by those
within, so that the small ladders were given up. Others, again,
strove to undermine the walls by means of mallets and iron
tools. But, although they demolished a good deal, they were
obliged to desist without accomplishing their purpose. Night
fell upon the combatants as the heavy ladders were placed in
position, amid showers of great stones, which caused much
mischief to the men of Ghent. " Whoever was struck by a
stone from above, however great might be his strength and
courage, was at once exposed to certain ruin. Prostrated and
crushed, he soon expired."
The partial success with which the besieged had repelled the
attack of the men of Ghent made them a little presumptuous
and careless. The watchmen deserted their posts on the walls,
and went to warm themselves at a fire in the count's house,
being driven in by a bitterly cold wind. The courtyard of the
castle was thus left unguarded. The men of Bruges saw this,
and promptly took advantage of it. They crept up, by the
help of small ladders, without noise or clamour, till a sufficient
number was collected, to begin the attack. They then detached
some of their body to the work of forcing the gates of the
] AN" ENTRANCE EFFECTED. 107
castle, against which the traitors had heaped quantities of mud
and stones. One gate they found without this obstruction,
and secured only by a strong lock. This they soon burst open,
I and immediately the surging multitude rushed in, "some to
fight, some to plunder whatever they could find, others to enter
f the church, and carry off the body of Count Charles to Ghent."
The traitors in the castle were still ignorant that die court-
yard was in possession of their enemies. The noise and
tumult soon revealed to them the loss they had sustained.
Some yielded at once; others, hoping for no quarter, flung
themselves from the walls, and were dashed to pieces; but
others, seizing their arms, stood at the doorways of the castle,
and prepared to offer a stout resistance. The invaders
attacked them with such vigour with swords and axes, that
they drove them, through the castle, to the passage which con-
nected it with the Church of St. Donatian, and along which
Charles had passed on the morning of his murder. In this
narrow passage, which was arched and built of stone, a fearful
conflict ensued. Fighting desperately, sword in hand, neither
party would retreat, but " remained as immovable as the
walls." The ferocious Burchard, driven to madness, fought
like a wild boar at bay. His strength was prodigious, and
with the murderous blows of his sword he felled his foes as
fast as they approached him. At last a rush forward cleared
the passage, and the traitors retired to the church. At this
point the citizens suspended the attack, and betook them-
selves to plunder, running through and about the castle of
the count, the house of the provost, the dormitory and cloister
of the monks. All who were in the attack did the same,
hoping to find the treasure of Charles, and to get the furniture
of the houses within the walls. In the castle they seized
pillows, carpets, linen, cups, kettles; also chains, iron bars,
handcuffs, fetters, thongs, collars in a word, every sort of
iron instrument applied to captives ; the iron doors of the
lo8 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
count's treasure-house, the leaden pipes which carried the
water from the roof. In the house of the provost they took
beds, lockers, chairs, clothes, vases, and all the other furniture.
In the cellars they found an " infinite quantity " of corn, meat,
wine, and beer. In the dormitory of the monks they came
upon such an abundance of rare and costly garments, that it
took them the remainder of the day, till nightfall, in journeys
backwards and forwards, to carry off their booty.
Meanwhile the traitors, driven into the church, fortified
themselves as they best could in the tower. They even ven-
tured to annoy the plunderers of the castle by casting great
stones down upon them as they moved about beneath with
their stolen goods. By this means they killed several. The
captors of the castle immediately directed their arrows against
the windows of the tower, so that not a head could peer out
of a window without a thousand arrows being at once shot
at itj and at last the tower, stuck all over with arrows,
presented a hairy appearance.
The alliance between the men of Bruges and the men of
Ghent was far from cordial. They were ever ready to quarrel
about the body of the count, and were once on the point of
coming to blows. The men of Ghent asserted that they had
a right to the body, as through their ladders and instruments
they had frightened the besieged, and made them fly from the <
castle. To which their . allies of Bruges replied that they,
forsooth, had done nothing with their machines, that they
had done nothing throughout the siege but plunder, and
cost a great deal to keep. Again the leaders interfered, and
calmed the tumult when it was getting dangerous.
. A combined attack was then made on the church. The
assailants burst open the door which looked towards the choir,
and drove the traitors from the nave up into the tribune. A
terrific and revolting struggle here took place. Stones,
arrows, javelins, were showered down upon the assailants, till
] LOUIS VI. APPEARS ON THE SCENE. 109
v
not only were numbers wounded and killed, but the whole
choir was full of stones, and the very pavement could no
longer be seen. Nothing of its sacred character was left to
the church, which resembled in its desecration the deformity
of a prison rather than a house of prayer.
At this juncture Louis VI. made his appearance. He sent
his greeting from Arras to the princes and barons of the siege,
promised them .his aid and approbation in avenging his
nephew, Count Charles, and concluded by saying, "I wish
and order you to appear before me without delay, and in
common council to elect a useful count, whom you shall agree
to consider your peer and a ruler over the land and its inhabi-
tants. For the country cannot long remain without a count, and
escape dangers greater even than those which now threaten it."
The election of a new count was a long and troublesome
business. While King Louis and his barons were getting
through it, news came that the provost Bertolf had been
captured at Ypres. He had escaped from Bruges some time
before, by the help of Walter, the butler, to whom he gave four
hundred marks, " trusting more in Walter than any man on
earth," who, nevertheless, took him to a desert place and there
left him. He afterwards fled to Fumes, where his wife was,
and again from thence, on the night of Good Friday, he con-
tinued his flight. Of his own accord he travelled barefoot, in
order to obtain pardon of God for his sins. When he was
taken, the soles of his feet were torn and lacerated from con-
tact with the stones. His sufferings must have been great, as
he had lived all his life in the utmost luxury, and dreaded, it
was said, the sting of a flea as if it were a javelin. William
the Bastard, of Ypres, was especially anxious to secure him,
and disclaim all cognisance of, or partnership in, his crime,
although no one doubted that William, on the count's murder,
not only had sent messages of approval and promises of
support, but had actually, . through the provost's nephews,
no LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
received five hundred pounds of English money out of
Charles's treasure. However, he now sought to prove, by
his readiness to punish and torture his accomplice, that he
had no connexion with him.
The clamour and tumult of the men of Ypres round the
wretched captive were, in the chronicler's opinion, without a
parallel. The whole neighbourhood assembled to see him,
dancing and shouting before and behind, pulling him with
ropes, first this way, then that. He had no garments on but
his breeches, and was exposed to a constant shower of mud
and stones. With motionless eyes and features he bore his
agony. Presently one of his persecutors, striking him on the
head with a stick, said, " Oh, proudest of men, why do you
disdain to speak to the princes and to us who have power to
slay you ? " He answered nothing. The market-place was by
this time reached, where he was to meet his death. He was
attached to a fork-shaped gibbet, having been denuded of
the scanty clothing that still remained to him. He hung
suspended from the instrument of torture by his neck and
wrists, by which means he underwent a gradual suffocation.
At the commencement he supported himself a little by resting
his toes on a part of the gibbet. This prolonged his misery,
to which the missiles and injuries he received from the crowd
added not a little. The treacherous William the Bastard, of
Ypres, approached, and hypocritically begged him to reveal his
accomplices, besides those in open rebellion. He answered,
" You know them as well as I do." William, maddened with
rage, told the people to recommence their tormentings. They
got fish-hooks and pulled bits of his flesh off with them, they
beat him with cudgels, they made holes in him with stakes.
They pushed his feet from the meagre support they had found,
and, twisting round his neck the entrails of a dog as his eyes
rolled in the last agonies of death, they held up a dog's face to
his, to show their opinion of him and his doings.
\ SINGLE COMBAT. in
It happened that on the very day on which the provost was
put to death a single combat had been appointed to come off
between a nephew of his (by marriage), named Guido, and a
knight named Herman. As soon, therefore, as the provost's
sufferings were over, the people flocked to the place of
encounter. At the first shock Guido unhorsed Herman, and
as often as the latter attempted to rise, thrust him down with
his lance. Presently, by a dexterous movement, Herman got
near enough to Guide's horse to strike his sword in his belly and
disembowel him. This brought down Guido, who then drew
his sword and met his enemy on more equal terms. They
fought long and stoutly, exchanging terrific blows, till fatigued
with the exertion and the weight of their armour, they cast
aside their shields and weapons, closed, and wrestled body to
body. Guido again got the best of it, and threw his adversary,
and fell upon him. Seated upon the prostrate knight, he
bruised and mangled his eyes and face with his iron gauntlets.
Herman seemed to endure this sullenly, and allowed Guido
to get confident of. victory. But at the same time he gently
slid his hands down to the lower end of Guide's corselet, and
seizing him by a tender part of the body, with one supreme,
intense effort cast him off. Guido, torn and ruptured in the
most shocking manner, fell powerless, and pwned himself
vanquished. The bastard, William, "who wished to do all
things for his own good fame in this war," ordered Guido to
be gibbeted beside the lifeless body of the provost.
In fact, the work of the count's avengers was nearly com-
pleted. Burchard and Isaac had both fled, and were now
both captured. The former lived through a day and night of
torture on the wheel. The latter, with that sudden transition
from hellish wickedness to Christian piety and resignation not
unusual in the Middle Ages, thanked his persecutors for the
pains they inflicted on so grievous a sinner. When he
reached the place where he was to be executed, he saluted
112 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
the gibbet, and kissed the rope, which he placed round his
own neck, and, begging the people to pray Go.d for him, he
cheerfully met his fate.
Those who were still shut up in the tower were also con-
vinced of the hopelessness of further resistance. They offered
to surrender and come out one by one through the window
which looked towards the provost's house. Such as were too
corpulent to come through that window let themselves down
by ropes from a larger one. They were thrust into a small
prison, \vhere they were so cramped that they could not all
sit down at one time. Three or four at least of their number
were obliged to keep standing. The darkness, heat, and the
stench half poisoned them. They hoped, as an extreme boon,
that they might be permitted to die in the same manner as the
common thieves.
King Louis and the new count, William the Norman, had
returned to Bruges from Oudenarde ; the first on the 4th of
May, the latter on the day following. William, as count-
regnant, took up his residence in Charles's palace, and dined
there. The king came to meet him ; but, as the house was
" full of people, and servants, and soldiers," the count
descended to him in the courtyard of the castle, "being
careful to have his doors locked meanwhile." They then
decided on the punishment which the imprisoned traitors
should receive. It was agreed that they should be cast down
from the high tower of the palace. The king and count sent
the executioners to the prison, who called forth, first of all,
Wilfric Knop, brother of the provost They told the prisoners,
with cruel mendacity, that the king was going to be very
merciful to them. On hearing this, they were all ready to
come forth. But only Wilfric at that time was led out. He
was taken through the interior of the castle up to the top of
the tower. There, fastening his hands behind his back, they
let him contemplate the prospect of death, and then over the
TRAITORS THROWN FROM THE TOWER. 113
t
parapet he was whirled, " having on nothing but his shirt and
breeches." Crushed and mangled, he soon expired, "pitied
by no one." The second whom they led forth was a knight
named Walter. His hands were tied in front, instead of
behind him, and they were just going to pitch him over, when
he begged so hard to be allowed to say one more prayer, that
they granted him a few minutes' grace. When he had done,
he was sent over after Wilfric. Another knight, named Eric,
in his fall came down upon a wooden flight of stairs, and
wrenched off one step, " which was fastened with five nails."
It was noticed that, though he had fallen from such a great
height, he yet sat up and made the sign of the cross. Some
women who saw him offered to go and tend him, but a soldier
from above sent a great stone down amongst them, and stopped
their interference. And so it went on till the whole number,
i.e. two dozen and four, were dashed to pieces.
William the Norman soon got into fierce discord with his
subjects, who, at last, openly rebelled, and elected young
Thierry of Alsace, cousin-german of Charles the Good, to be
their count. A disastrous period for Flanders of civil war and
irregular fighting then followed. "At last, on Saturday, July
27th, the Lord, in His providence, deigned to put an end to
our persecutions. At the siege of Alost the Count William,
as he was attacking the enemy, was thrown from his horse,
and, as he strove to rise and defend himself, a foot soldier ran
him through with a lance." The death of his Norman rival
left Thierry without a competitor : from this time he began a
long and prosperous reign of forty years.
1 1 4 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
CHAPTER VIII.
(A.D. 1127. AETAT. 36.)
QUARREL WITH THE BISHOP OF PARIS APOLOGY CLUNY EXTRACTS.
SUCH, in its harsh and repulsive reality, was the secular world
with which Bernard was now at frequent intervals to be brought
into c6llision. Near men like these, or differing only by greater
brutality and barbarism, his life was to be spent. The Church
he served had to do battle with this exuberant animalism, and
tame it, and drill it, by what means she could, into moderation
and reflection a huge and all but overwhelming task, which
tried the extreme energies of many a century of churchmen
and aspiring monks. In the great ages of the Church it was
no question of "priestly influence" exerted for worldly and
selfish interests. These came with the fall of the Church's
authority before the rising tide of modern thought and know-
ledge. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the leaders
of the ecclesiastical power had lost faith in spiritual wealth if
accompanied by earthly poverty; they believed rather in
broad lands and gold pieces. Hence the blindness which hid
from them the signs of the changes wliich were coming upon
the earth; and they imagined, in their presumptuous weak-
ness, to strike at thought and knowledge with their feeble
crosiers ; to excommunicate truth and reason, even as they
would a burglarious baron ; that is, they abdicated, and were
J BENIGN INFLUENCE OF THE CHURCH. 115
unfit for, their intellectual leadership. But it was not so when
Saint Bernard, when the great popes and bishops of the twelfth
and thirteenth centuries, stood forth the champions of law,
morality, and religion, against the anarchy and violence of
their times. Doubtless there were always some bad excep-
tionsbishops who thought of the temporalities, abbots who
devoted to the revenues of their abbeys more attention than
they gave to then: spiritual office as shepherds of souls; but
these men were the exception in the vigorous period of the
Church's development. It is as demonstrable as anything
historical can be, that the aspiring and noble characters of the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries found the Church not a
hindrance, but a help ; that the good and true generally were
welcomed and protected in it ; that in ages of cruelty, violence,
and injustice, men turned to their "mother," as they were glad
to call her, in loving hope, mostly fulfilled, of justice, mercy,
and forgiveness.
The slight dispute which about this time occurred between
Bernard or, rather, the Cistercian order and King Louis
V"!., is not a little obscure in itself, and only worthy of notice
as the first passage of Bernard from his monastic seclusion to
intercourse and conflict with that outer world which he had
long ago forsaken. It arose in this manner. Louis VI.,
whose whole life showed his .respect and sympathy for the
Church, for some cause but ill-defined, had a disagreement
with Stephen, Bishop of Paris, and, shortly after, with Henry,
Archbishop of Sens. Bernard would lead us to suppose that
his. enmity arose entirely from the religious conversions and
reformation which, taking place in these prelates about this
time, caused them to abandon the king's court, and to strive
after a life and conversation more worthy of Christian bishops
than they had hitherto displayed. "King Louis," says Bernard
to Pope Honorius, "persecutes not so much bishops, as the
zeal for justice, the observance of piety, and even the habit of
I a
Il6 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
religion which he finds in them." 1 This appears a strange
subject of quarrel for a sensible and worthy man, such as
certainly was Louis, to adopt. An anonymous letter from
some dependant of the Bishop of Paris to the latter points to
a more probable reason. The writer and the bishop have
evidently already suffered a good deal from the king's wrath.
He exhorts his superior to keep up his spirits, and to stand
firmly by the liberties and privileges of his see. He then tells
him what he in his own person has suffered for the bishop's
cause. " How the king and queen have plundered him, and
ordered his vines to be uprooted, and his friends and relations
have given them ten livres to refrain; and all this has been
done at the instigation of the dean and archdeacons nay,
through the nocturnal - tale-bearing of the . succentor G ." 2
This letter makes it probable that there were some venal
clerks about Louis, who advised him to take measures with
regard to the taxation of ecclesiastical persons, which the
Bishop of Paris thought himself justified or strong enough to
resist. However, the result was that he and the Archbishop
of Sens placed the kingdom under interdict, and fled to
Citeaux, to watch the effect of their measure.
Then came forth a voice from that asylum of poverty and
religion, which fell on the ears of men with a sudden and
strange emphasis of authority and power.
" To the illustrious King Louis Stephen, Abbot of Citeaux,
and the whole assembly of the abbots and brethren of Citeaux,
send health, safety, and peace in Christ Jesus.
1 " Rex Ludovicus non tarn epi- mei parentes et amici regi et reginae,
scopos quam in episcopis justitise vineas meas exstirpari jubentibus,
persequitur zelum." ST. BERN. decem libras dederunt, et hoc totum
Epist. 49. decani et archidiaconorum instiga-
2 " Sciatis autem me in omnibus tione, imo G succentoris nocturna
et per omnia vobiscum perseverare, siisurratione, peractum est." In
nee pro damnis quae mihi et hospiti- Mabil. notis ad St. Bern. Epist. 45 ;
bus meis pro vobis contigerunt, a also in D'Achery's Spicilegium, voL
proposito meo pedem retrahere ... iii. p. 491.
LETTER TO LOUIS VI. 117
" The King of heaven and earth has given you a kingdom
in this world, and will give one in that which is to come,
if you study to rule justly and wisely over what you have
already received. This is what we wish for you, what we
pray for you that you may reign faithfully below and happily
above. But wherefore do you now so rudely repel those
prayers of ours, which, if you remember, you once asked for
with so much humility? For with what confidence could we
now lift our hands to the Church's Spouse, whose bride you
have, as we think, so recklessly grieved without a cause?
Momentous charges are brought against you before the Bride-
groom, her Lord, when the Church finds you an enemy whom
she ought to have found a friend. Bethink you, whom do you
offend by this ? Not the Bishop of Paris, but the Lord of
Paradise, and that terrible One who cuts off the spirit of
princes. He it is who says to the bishops, * Whoso despiseth
you despiseth Me.'
" These things, and in this manner, we have been careful to
impart to you boldly, yet lovingly withal advising and urging
in the name of our mutual friendship and brotherhood, which
you condescended to join, but are now ready to seriously
wound that as soon as may be you desist from this evil. If
it should be otherwise if you should judge us worthy not to
be heard, but to be despised us, your brethren and friends,
who daily pray for you, your sins, and your kingdom then be
it known unto you that, mean as we are, we cannot be wanting
in our duty to God's Church, or that minister of it, the
venerable Bishop of Paris, our friend and father. He has
requested of us letters to the pope by right of his brotherhood
with us. But we have judged it fitting, first of all, to address
you by these presents, especially as. the said bishop offers to
abide by the decision of justice, if, as a preliminary, his
property be restored to him. Equity itself would seem to
demand this, as he has been unjustly deprived of it. In the
Il8 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
meantime we have deferred yielding to his request of writing
to the pope. If it please God to make you incline an ear to
our prayers, and to make your peace with the bishop, or rather
with God, we are prepared, for this end, to undergo any
fatigue, or to meet you wherever you .please to appoint. If it
is not as we hope, then we must listen to the demand, of our
friend, and obey the priest of God. Farewell ! " l
This vigorous epistle and the measures taken by the bishops
of the province of Sens had nearly induced Louis to restore
the stolen property, now the whole subject of dispute, when,
to the consternation of all, the king produced letters from
Pope Honorius, raising the interdict, and putting the militant
churchmen in a most painful, almost ludicrous, position before
the world. Bernard and Hugh of Pontigny wrote a short, but
very significant, letter to the pope, upon his conduct on this
occasion. " Great is the necessity which draws us from our
cloisters into the world. We testify that we have seen. We
have seen it, and speak it with sadness, that the honour of
the Church has received no slight wound in the time of
Honorius." 2
This bold pun, levelled at the supreme head of the Western
Church by the abbot of an obscure monastery but just founded,
showed men how little of a respecter of persons Bernard was,
and gave evidence of that stamp of character which was
destined before long to transfer the papacy virtually from
Rome to Clairvaux.
We now reach one of the memorable events in Bernard's
life, one by which he was emphatically marked off as a leader
and apostle in his generation, viz. his controversy with the
monks of Cluny, of which the chief monument survives in his
" Apology to the Abbot William of Sf. Thierry."
1 St. Bern. Epist. 45. tempore non' minima laesum."
2 Tristes vidimus, tristes et loqui- Ibid. Epist. 46.
mur : honorem ecclesiae Honorii
\ ABBEY OF CLUNY. 119
Pre-eminent in power, grandeur, and moral authority was
the great Burgundian Abbey of Cluny. Dating its foundation
as far back as the beginning of the tenth century, A.D. 909, it
had grown less in wealth and splendour, though these were
enormous, than in religious renown, as the foremost training
school of great churchmen in Europe. It had had for abbots
a series of illustrious men, several of whom the Church had
judged worthy of the extreme mark of respect in her power to
bestow canonization. Saint Odo, Saint Mayeul, Saint Odilo,
Saint Hugh, had raised the estate and reputation of Cluny to
the second rank among the monasteries of the' West. It had
given to the papacy one of the greatest governing minds which
ever adorned the pontifical or any throne the great Hilde-
brand. Urban II. and Paschal II., two successors not unworthy
of him, were also Cluniac monks. Cluny became itself almost
a small kingdom, and its abbot an elective king. He coined
money for the use of the broad territories which belonged to
him. He could summon a Chapter of three thousand monks ;
and, to show that his munificence was equal to his power, in :
one year seventeen thousand poor persons were relieved at the
gates of Cluny alone. 1 Distant potentates, such as our William
the Conqueror, besought Saint Hugh to take the religious
affairs of their realms entirely under his supervision.
At the commencement of the twelfth century Cluny's
influence and importance rose higher still. Several popes
successively tried to surpass each other in their favours and
liberalities to the great abbey. Louis VI. called it the
" noblest member of his kingdom." Rich and powerful from
its lands and dependencies, richer still from the great men it
1 ". . . ut non aliud dicam quam .quinqu^ginta baccones divisi svmt."
quod contigit hoc ipso anno ; illi, UDALRicus, Antiquiores Consiie-
qui pauperes recensuerint, testati tiidines Cluniacensis Monasterii, lib.
sunt septemdecim millia fuisse, iii. cap. xi. D'Achery's Spicilegium
quibus et in Christi nomine ducenti vol. i. p. 692!
120 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
had nurtured and given to the Church, Cluny was, after Rome,
the foremost place in Christendom.
But Cluny was destined to show, in an extreme form, some
of those evils incident to monastic rule which Saint Stephen's
wisdom effectually opposed in his general Chapter and Charta
Charitatis.
Pontius de Melgueil, sprung from a noble and opulent
family of Auvergne, and godson of Pope Paschal II. (himself
a Cluniac), was elected to be ruler of the great Abbey of
Cluny in the year 1109. The first years of his government
were not discreditable either to his character or office. He
had, besides his high rank and connexions, many graces of
manner and education which were quite becoming in an abbot
of Cluny. The exceptional favour with which it had become
a habit of the popes to treat Cluny was not likely to be
discontinued now that one of its monks had become pope,
and the godson of that pope was abbot of Cluny. Paschal II.
sent to his friend Pontius his own dalmatic. His successor,
Calixtus II., paid Cluny a visit, and was so satisfied with his
reception, that before leaving the abbey he determined to
find, if possible, an omission in the numerous privileges and
donations his predecessors had heaped on it, and to confer
further immunities on the favoured monastery.. He took his
own ring from his finger and placed it on that of Pontius, and
declared solemnly that for the future, always and everywhere,
the abbot of Chmy should exercise the functions of a Roman
cardinal. He asserted, more emphatically than ever, his free-
dom from episcopal jurisdiction, and granted this supreme
mark of confidence, of permitting the Cluniacs to celebrate
mass with closed doors, even when an interdict was weighing
on all the surrounding country. 1
But these honours and dignities seemed to have turned
Pontius's head. At the Council of Rheims, holden in the
1 Histoire de 1'Abbaye de Cluny, par M. P. Lorain, p. 80. Paris, 1845.
] PONTIUS, ABBOT OF CLUNY. 121
year 1119, the Archbishop of Lyons declared, on behalf of
his suffragans, that the conduct of the abbot of Cluny was
unendurable. The Bishop of Macon in particular, through
the mouth of his metropolitan, complained of the violation of
rights, of the injury and wrong he suffered in his churches
and his tithes, at the hand of Pontius. Numbers of others,
bishops, monks, and clerks, loudly re-echoed the charge, and
accused the Cluniacs of extortion and outrage. Still, even
then such was the authority and repute of Cluny, that Pontius
succeeded in quashing any further proceedings by a bold
denial of his alleged crimes, and a declaration that Cluny
was subject solely to the pope, who might, if he liked, take
the matter in hand. 1 Pontius, more intoxicated than ever by
this triumph, then disputed with the abbot of Monte Casino
for the monastic supremacy of Christendom. Such was his
pride that he scorned to take only the second place, and
wished to arrogate to himself the title of Abbot of Abbots,
generally accorded to the successors of Saint Benedict. In
this he failed, and was fain to satisfy his vanity with the
designation of Archabbot. But the waywardness, prodigality,
and luxury of Pontius had worked such scandal in the Church,
that on going to Rome he was induced, voluntarily or other-
wise, to resign his abbacy, and undertake a pilgrimage to
Jerusalem. He even took an oath that he would never return
from the Holy Land. 2
When Pontius was well away, the monks of Cluny elected
another abbot, who dying almost forthwith, they were again
called to choose a head ; and in this instance they selected the
1 Ordericus Vitalis, lib. xii. vol. iv. et modesta voce et tranquilla locu-
p. 385; ed. Le Prevost. Pontius tione querulosos impetitores corn-
treated his opponents, even when pressit. Cluniacensis ecclesia soli
represented by the Archbishop of Romanae ecclesiae subdita est," &c.
Lyons, with quiet disdain. "Tan- Loc. cit.
dera silentio facto, Cluniacensis 2 Hist, de 1'Abbaye de Cluny.
abbas cum grandi conventu mona- Lorain.
chorum surrexit, brevique responso
122 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
most known and illustrious of all the abbots of Cluny, Pierre
Maurice de Montboisier, also from the Auvergne country, one '
of the noblest and most genial natures to be met with in this
. or in any time. (A.D. 1122.) He is generally known as Peter
the Venerable.
Peter soon found that his large abbey had been made a very
poor one by mismanagement. Its resources were enormous,
and with economy and attention a more prosperous state of
things was returning, when, lo ! Pontius, at the head of an
armed force, invaded the abbey. He had grown tired of his
Eastern life, had forgotten his oath, had loitered in the
neighbourhood of Ravenna where he had established a small
monastery and from thence had stolen across to Cluny at an
opportune season of the Abbot Peter's absence. With a body
of partisans collected in his wanderings, he took possession.
Having forced open the gates, and seized all the valuables he
found, he compelled those of the monks who had not fled to
swear fidelity to him. He laid hands on the sacred things ; he
seized the golden crosses, tablets, candlesticks, censers, and
numerous other vessels of great weight. In fact, he spared
nothing in the devastation of what had once been his own
monastery. The gold and silver plate he melted down to
make money for the pay of his hirelings. He invited the
robbers and gentlemen of the neighbourhood to the war,
and laid all the country round under contribution sacking,
plundering, and destroying. This state of things lasted from
the beginning of Lent till the end of October. 1
At last the fame or infamy of these proceedings reached
i " Explorata absentia mea " Convertit statim manum ad sacra
Peter the Venerable is speaking . . . circumpositas monasterii villas
"fingens se Cluniacum nolle venire, et castra invadit, ac sibi barbarico
paulatim tamen appropinquabat . . . more religiosa loca subdere moliens,
cum promiscua armatorum multitu- ignibus et ferro quae potest cuncla
dine ; ipsis quoque mulieribus irruen- consumit." PETRUS VEN.
tibus, claustrum ingressus est. . . . cults, lib. ii. cap. xii.
s] PONTIUS DEPOSED.
Rome. Honorius II., the successor of Calixtus II., despatched
the legate Peter to pronounce a terrible anathema on Pontius
and the Pontians, as his partisans were called. Both sides
were then summoned to Rome, and Pontius, the "usurper, the
sacrilegious person, the schismatic, the excommunicate," was
deposed from all ecclesiastical honours and functions, and
ordered to restore not a very likely thing to be done all
that had been taken away unjustly from Cluny. And so at
length was this scandal extinguished.!
But the disgust, or the sorrow, which it caused wherever
the news of it came, was deep and lasting; and of all places
where the evil tidings could be carried, we may be sure in
none- would they be less welcome than at Clairvaux. Bernard
had no reason especially to love the Cluniacs. They had
seduced and detained his young cousin, Robert; they were
very sorry specimens of monks in his opinion, although very
powerful ecclesiastics. But Robert had been restored by this
time, and if they chose to break Saint Benedict's rule, it was no
concern of his. Still, a feeling the very reverse of friendly was
growing up between the two orders. While the Cistercians, by
their own conduct, showed that they considered the Cluniacs
to be lax, the latter. were apt to think the austerity of the new
monks was not free from affectation. The leaders on neither
side said anything, but the jealousy had been growing secretly
among then: followers, till at last William of St. Thierry wrote
to Bernard to say that it was time for him to speak out, that
the Cistercians were looked upon as the detractors of Cluny,
and that a scandal in the Church was the result. The evil as
well as the good emotions in Bernard were ready to respond
to this appeal. It was made just after the disgraceful scenes
lately enacted by Pontius. It came when laxity in observance
of the rule had produced its ultimate and most bitter fruit.
It was an unequalled opportunity, for contrasting the worldly
1 Petrus Ven. De Miraculis, lib..ii. cap. xii.
124 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
grandeur of Cluny with the primitive -poverty of Citeaux; i
was an occasion to humble rather contemptuous rivals, and
exalt long-tried friends, which might never come again.
That Bernard hesitated at the last is evident. He wrote his
Apology, as he called it, and sent it to William of St. Thierry
and Ogerius. He begged them to read it through, to correct
it, to examine it together, and then, after all, whether it should
be shown to few or many, or any or none, he left entirely to
their judgment. Their verdict was favourable, and about the
year A.D. 1127' this piece of vigorous controversy was sent
forth to the world. 1
" Who," he asks, " ever heard me publicly denouncing or
privately depreciating that order? Whom did I ever see
belonging to it without joy, or receive without honour, speak
to without reverence, admonish without humility? I have
said, and still say, it is a holy mode of life, honourable,* 1
adorned by chastity, distinguished by prudence, founded by
the fathers, pre-ordained by the Holy Ghost, not a little
profitable to the salvation of souls. Do I condemn or despise
that which I thus extol ? I can remember the times when l|
have been a guest in houses of that order ; and may the Lori
return such kindness to His servants as they have sho
me in illness, and may He repay them for the honour beyom
my deserts which they have offered to me. I commended
myself to their prayers; I was present at their collations often ^
concerning the Scriptures and the salvation of souls I have
held discourse with many, publicly in their Chapters, privately
in their cells. Did I ever, in any open or secret manner, try!
to dissuade any one from entering that order, or exhortj
any one to leave them and come . to us ? Have I
rather done the reverse checked many who wished to|
i In the letters to Ogerius, quoted treatise itself, from which the abov
in a former chapter, several allu- extracts are selected, is to be found)
sions to the Apology are made. The in St, Bern, Op. voL i. col. 526.
BERNARDS APOLOGY. 125
come, refused those who had come, and were knocking to
be admitted ? Did I not send back brother Nicholas to
St. Nicholas's; and two others belonging to you (William
of St. Thierry), were they not returned? Were there not,
besides these, two abbots, whose names I shall not mention,
but whom you know well (how intimate I was with them
is also known to you) : did they not wish to migrate to another
order, and was not my advice the cause of their not for-
saking their sees? Wherefore, then, am I supposed or said
to condemn the Order of Cluny, when I exhort my friends to
remain in its service, when I restore its fugitive monks, when
I ask for and receive its prayers for myself with such anxious
dev&tion?"
After dwelling on the advantage to the Church of a variety
of orders and forms of religious life, he proceeds to reprove
"' some of his own order for their hastiness in judging others."
Of such, he says, they are not of his order, although " they
may live in a regular monastic manner, who by their proud
speech and conduct make themselves sons of Babylon, that is,
of confusion, even of darkness, and of hell itself, where order
is not and eternal horror abides." But, replied the critical
Cistercians, ""how can they be said to keep the rule who wear
leathern garments; who, when in. good health, eat meat and
fat ; who allow themselves three and four dishes in the day,
which the rule forbids ? whereas manual labour, which it com-
mands, they neglect; and many things besides, at their dis-
cretion, they alter, add, or take away." This may be true; but .
what does the Word of God say, with which certainly the rule
of the holy Benedict will not clash ? " The kingdom of God
is within you." This is, not externally, in the food or clothing
of the body, but in the virtues of the inner man. " Thus," he
proceeds, his wrath against his own monks waxing hotter, "you
calumniate your brethren concerning corporeal observances,
and the greater things of the law, its spiritual ordinances, you
126 LIFE AND TIMES rip ST. BERNARD.
leave undone straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel.
Great is your error. Great care is taken that the body be
clothed according to'the rule, but the soul is not provided
with the heavenly vesture which the same rule prescribes. A
man without a tunic or a cowl would not be considered a
monk; are piety and humility less necessary? We in our
tunics and our pride have a horror of leathern garments, as if
humbleness in skins were not far preferable to pride in
tunics Again, with our bellies full of beans, and our
I minds of pride, we condemn those who are full of meat, as if
it were not better to eat a little fat on occasion than to be
gorged even to belching upon windy vegetables."
Passing on to the topic of manual labour, he says to his
Cistercians : " In that you subdue your bodies by much and
manifold labour, and by regular mortifications depress your
earthly frames, you do well. But your pride in this excellence
takes it all away. Who is the better, the humble man or the
tired man ? Who observes the rule most?"
Bernard then says that he hopes the above strictures on his
own monks will show he is not animated by any ill-will to the
Cluniacs. Still, the force of truth will not allow him to stop
here. He has fairly earned, by the blame he has given his
own side, a right to make a remark or two on the other.
" I can never believe that the holy fathers, when they tem-
pered the rule to suit the weak as well as the strong, ever
intended thereby to introduce the vanities the^Superfluities
which we now see in most monasteries. I am astonished to
see among monks such intemperance in eating, in drinking, in
clothes, in bed-covering, in horse-trappings, in buildings , inso-
much that where their indulgences are most carefully, extra-
I vagantly, voluptuously sought after, there the rule is said to be
best kept, there religion is said most to flourish. So economy
/ is now thought avarice, soberness austerity, silence sulkiness.
: On the other hand, laxity is called discretion, extravagance
MONASTIC LUXURY. 127
liberality, talkativeness affability, silly laughter a happy wit;
pomp and luxury in horses and clothing respectability 3 super-
fluous attention to the bedding is called cleanliness ; and when
we countenance each other in these little trifles, that forsooth
is charity."
He then specifies in greater detail some of the changes he
has here merely indicated generally. The excess of diet-
especially irritates him. At meals, he says, " No man asks
his neighbour for the heavenly bread. No man gives it.
There is no conversation concerning the Scriptures, none
concerning the salvation of souls ; but, small talk, laughter,
and idle words fill the air. At dinner the palate and ears
are equally tickled the one with dainties, the other with
gossip -and news, which together quite prevent all moderation
in feeding. In the meantime dish after dish is set on the .
table ; and, to make up for the small privation of meat, a
double supply is provided of well-grown fish. When you
have eaten enough of the first, if you taste the second
course, you will seem to yourself hardly to have touched the
former : such is the art of the cooks, that after four or
five dishes have been devoured, the first does not seem to
be in the way of the last, nor does satiety invade the appe-
tite. . . . Who could say, to speak of nothing else, in how
many forms eggs are cooked and worked up ? with what care
they are turned in and out, made hard or soft, or chopped
fine; now fried, now roasted, now stuffed; now they are
served mixed with other things, how by themselves! Even
the external appearance of the dishes is such that the eye,
as well as the taste, is charmed. And when even the
stomach complains that it is full, curiosity is still alive." A
Cluniac dinner must have been the opposite of an uninviting
repast, if only a portion of this is true.
So much for the eating ; the drinking is thus described :
"What shall I say about water drinking, when even wine and
128 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
water are despised ? We all of us, it appears, directly we
become monks, are afflicted with weak stomachs, and the
important advice of the Apostle to use wine we, in a praise-
v worthy manner, endeavour to follow; but, for some unex-
plained reason, the condition of a little is usually omitted.
And would that we were content with one wine. It is
shameful to relate, but it is more shameful to do. . . . You
may see, during one meal, a cup half full three or four times
carried backwards and forwards, in order that out of several
wines smelt rather than tasted, and not so much drunk as
sipped by a quick and accomplished judgment one, and the
most potent, may be selected. Have we not heard that in
some monasteries it is observed as a custom, on great festivals,
to mix the wines with honey, and to powder them with the
dust of spices ? Shall we say that this also is for our stomach's
sake and our often infirmities? I should say it was that a
greater quantity, and that more pleasantly, might be drunk.
But, with his veins swelling and throbbing in his head, under
the influence of wine, what can a man do on rising from table
except sleep ? And if you force a man thus gorged to rise to
vigils, you will get rather a sigh than a song from him.
" A ridiculous story which I have heard from several, and
which they declared they knew for certain, I cannot omit here.
^xThey say that strong, hearty young men are accustomed to
forsake conventual discipline and place themselves in the
infirmary, and there to regale themselves to their hearts' con-
tent on those viands which the rule allows to the utterly
prostrate and weak for the recovery of their strength. . . . In
</ order to distinguish between the sick and the healthy, the
former are made to carry sticks in their hands. A most
necessary arrangement : as neither pallor nor leanness dis-
figures their cheeks, the sustaining staff is required to indicate
that they are invalids. Shall we laugh or weep over such
absurdities ?" .
] SHORTCOMINGS OF THE MONKS. 129
The clothing is next dwelt upon. It seems that the monas-
teries contained a " dandiacal body," as more modern societies
have also done..
" Not only have we lost the spirit of the old monasteries,
but even its outward appearance. For this habit of ours,
which of old was the sign of humility, by the monks of our
day is turned into a source of pride. We can hardly find in a
whole province wherewithal we condescend to be clothed.
The monk and the knight cut their garments, the one his
cowl, the other his cloak, from the same piece. No secular
person, however great, whether king or emperor, would be
disgusted at our vestments if they were only cut and fitted to
his requirements. But, say you, religion is in the heart, not in
the garments. True: but you, when you. are about to buy
a cowl, rush over the towns, visit the markets, examine the
fairs, dive into the houses of the merchants, turn over all their
goods, undo their bundles of cloth, feel it with your fingers,
hold it to your eyes, or to the rays of the sun, and if anything
coarse or faded appears, you reject it. But if you are pleased
with any object of unusual beauty or brightness, you at once
buy it, whatever the price. I ask you, Does this come from
the heart, or your simplicity ?
" I wonder that our abbots allow these things, unless it
arises from the fact that no one is apt to blame any error with
confidence if he cannot trust in his own freedom from the
same j and it is a right human quality to forgive without much
anger those self-indulgences in others for which we ourselves
have the strongest inclination. How is the light of the world
overshadowed ! Those whose
oTlffeTtb uis^Ey the example they give of pride, become blind
leaders of the blind. What a specimen of humility is that, to
march with such pomp and retinue, to be surrounded with
such an escort of hairy men, so that one abbot has about
him people enough for two bishops. I Ue not when I say,
130 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
I have seen an abbot with sixty horses after him, and even
more. Would you not think, as you see them pass, that they
were not fathers of monasteries, but lords of castles not
shepherds of souls, but princes of provinces ? Then there is
the baggage, containing table-cloths, and cups and basins^ and
candlesticks, and well-filled wallets not with the coverlets,
but the ornaments of the beds. My lord abbot cart never go
more than four leagues from his home without taking all his
/ furniture with him, as if he were going to the wars, or about
to cross a desert where necessaries cannot be had. Is it quite
not your candle burn anywhere but in that gold
or silver candlestick of yours, which you carry with you ? Is
sleep impossible except upon a variegated mattress, or under a
foreign coverlet? Could not one servant harness the mule,
wait at dinner, and make the bed? If such a multitude of
men and horses is indispensable, why not at least carry with
us our necessaries, and thus avoid the severe burden we are to
our hosts?"
He thus finishes his invective, by an attack on the architec-
ture of the Cluniacs : " But these are small matters. I pass
on to greater ones, which seem less only because they are
more common. I will not speak of the immense height of
the churches, of their immoderate length, of their superfluous
breadth, costly polishing, and strange designs, which, while
they attract the eyes of the worshipper, hinder the soul's
devotion, and somehow remind me of the old Jewish ritual.
However, let all this pass ; we will suppose it is done, as
we are told, for the glory of God. But, a monk .myself, I
do ask other monks (the question and reproach were addressed
by a pagan to pagans), 1 ' Tell me, O ye professors of poverty,
what does gold do in a holy place ?' .The case of bishops and
monks is not the same. We know that they, as debtors to the
1 " Dicite, Pontifices, in sancto quid facit aurum ? "^-PERS. Sat. iL v. 69.
A^SJ LUXURY OF THE CLUNIACS.
wise and foolish, when they cannot rouse the sense of religion
in the carnal multitude by spiritual means, must do so by
ornaments that appeal to the senses. But among us, who
have gone out from among the people ; among us, who have
forsaken whatever things are fair and costly for Christ's sake ;
who have regarded all things beautiful to the eye, soft to the
ear, agreeable to the smell, sweet to the taste, pleasant to the
touch all things, in a word, which can gratify the body as
dross and dung, that we might gain Christ, of whom among
us, I ask, can devotion be excited by such means ?
" Or, to speak plainly, is it not avarice that is, the worship
f idols which does all this? from which we do not expect
spiritual fruit, but worldly benefit. .... So carefully is the
money laid out, that it returns multiplied many times. It is
spent that it may be increased, and plenty is born of profusion.
By the sight of wonderful and costly vanities men are prompted
to give, rather than to pray. Some beautiful picture of a saint
is exhibited and the brighter the colours the greater the holi-
ness attributed to it ; men run, eager to kiss ; they are invited
to give, and the beautiful is more admired than the sacred is
revered. In the churches are suspended, not eororuz, but wheels
studded with gems, and surrounded by lights, which are scarcely
brighter than the precious stones which are near them. Instead
of candlesticks, we behold great trees of brass, fashioned with
wonderful skill, and glittering as much through their jewels as
their lights. What do you suppose is the object of all this ?
The repentance of the contrite, or the admiration of the gazers ?
O vanity of vanities ! but not more vain than foolish. The
^church's walls are resplendent, but the poor are not there. . . .
'he curious find wherewith to amuse themselves ; the wretched
find no stay for them in their misery. Why, at least, do we not
reverence the images of the saints, with which the very pave-
ment we walk on is covered. Often an angel's mouth is spit
into, and the face of some saint trodden on by the passers-
K 2
132
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
r BOOK I
LL'HAP. VIII
by But if we cannot do without the images, why can
we not spare the brilliant colours ? What has all this to do
with monks, with professors of poverty, with men of spiritual
minds?
"Again, in the cloisters, what is the meaning of those
ridiculous monsters, of that deformed beauty, that beautiful
deformity, before the very eyes of the brethren when reading ?
What are disgusting monkeys there for (or satyrs ?), or ferocious
lions, or monstrous centaurs, or spotted tigers, or fighting
soldiers, or huntsmen sounding the bugle ? You may see there
one head with many bodies, or one body with numerous
heads. Here is a quadruped with a serpent's tail; there is'
a fish with a beast's head ; there a creature, in front a horse,
i behind a goat ; another has horns at one end, and a horse's
) tail at the other. In fact, such an endless variety of forms
j appears everywhere, that it is more pleasant to read in the
\ stonework than in books, and to spend the day in admiring
] these oddities than in meditating on the law of God. Good
/ God ! if we are not ashamed of these absurdities, why do we
not grieve at the cost of them?" 1
1 "Caeterum in claustris coram
legentibus fratribus; quid facit ilia
ridicula monstruositas, mira quaedam
deformis formositas, ac formosa de-
formitas? Quidibiimmundaesimiae?
quid feri leones? quid monstruosi
centauri? quid semihomines? quid
maculosae tigrides? quid mifites
pugnantes? quid venatores tubici-
nantes ? Videas sub uno capita
multa corpora, et rursus in uno cor-
pora capita multa. Cernitur hinc in
quadrupede cauda serpentis; illincin
pisce caput quadrupedis. Ibi bestia
praefert equum, capram trahens retro
dimidiam ; Me cornutum animal
equum gestat posterius. Tarn multa
denique tamque mira diversarum
formarum ubique varietas apparet, ut
magis legere libeat in marmoribus
quam in codicibus, totumque diem
occupare singula ista mirando, quam
in lege Dei meditando. Proh Deo !
si non pudet ineptiarum, cur vel non
piget expensarum?"
" The more I have examined the
subject, the more dangerous have I
found it to dogmatize respecting the
character of the art which is likely
at a given period to be most useful
to the cause of religion. One great
fact first meets me. ... I never met
with a Christian whose heart was
thoroughly set upon the world to
come, and, so far as human judgment
could pronounce, perfect and right
before God, who cared about art
at all." Stones of Venice, vol. ii.
p. 103.
" ' May the devil fly away with the
A.D. 11271
AETAT. 3Cj
INUTILITY OF THE FINE ARTS.
133
Fine Arts,' exclaimed confidentially
once, in my hearing, one of our most
distinguished public men; a senti-
ment that often recurs to me. I
perceive too well how true it is in
our case. A public man, intent on
any real business^ does, I suppose,
find the Fine Arts rather imaginary
. . . feels them to be a pretentious
nothingness ; a confused superfluity
and nuisance, purchased with cost;
what he, in brief language, de-
nominates a bore. " Latter - day
Pamphlets, "Jesuitism," p. 34. This
is not very remote from Saint Ber-
nard " Proh Deo ! si non pudet
ineptiarum, cur vel non piget expen-
sarum?" And does not the history
of religion bear witness to the same
thing? Early Christians, English
Puritans, Cistercianmediaevalmonks,
and modern reformers of an earnest
type, agree on one point, however
much they may differ on others,
viz. that people who are filled with
practical sincerity are apt to pass by
Art with indifference, or reject it
with anger. It is a fact not un-
deserving of notice in these days
134 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
CHAPTER IX.
(A.D. 1128. AETAT. 37.)
LITERARY COMPOSITIONS THE TRACTATE ON HUMILITY AND PRIDE
THE COUNCIL OF TROYES ILLNESS THE FAIRS OF CHAMPAGNE
THE KNIGHTS TEMPLARS BERNARD'S ADDRESS TO THEM.
IN spite of a certain degree of polemical warmth manifested
in this controversy with the monks of Cluny, the half-dpzen
years preceding the death of Pope Honorius, in 1130, were
the most peaceful and monastic which Bernard was destined
to know. Although the Cistercians felt, and Bernard also
must have felt, that their order contained no man who could
be compared with him for force of character and intellect ; yet
his growing ascendancy had not, up to this time, burdened him
with those unending responsibilities of fame and power, from
which he afterwards strove in vain to escape. During these
years he found leisure for literary composition, and was evi-
dently not devoid of a natural human pleasure and interest in
his effusions. While protesting that they are quite unworthy
of his friends' attention, he recapitulates the names and scope
of his writings with a coy bashfulness which does not mean to
be taken too literally. To Peter, cardinal deacon and legate,
he writes, " As regards those works of mine which you ask
for, they are few in number, and contain nothing which I
consider worthy to interest you. Still, as I would rather you
thought ill of my genius than of my desire- to oblige you,
please send a line by the bearer of this, to signify which of my
] LITERARY COMPOSITION. 135
writings you would like, and also whither I am to send them.
I make this request that I may be able to recover any that are
lent, which I will then forward to any place you name. But
that you may know what your choice is, .here is a list :
" (i) A little book on Humility.
" (2) Four Homilies on the Praises of the Virgin.
"(3) An Apology to a certain friend of mine, in which 1
have discoursed concerning the Cluniac and Cistercian obser-
vances of the Rule.
" (4) A few Letters to various friends.
" (5) Sermons ; which some of the brethren here have
taken down as I delivered them, and still keep by them.
" Would that I might venture to hope that my rustic produc-
tions may prove of the least service to you." 1
The " little, book on Humility " is placed first, and it is
probably the first thing of any importance which Bernard ever
wrote. The full title, as we have it, is " De Gradibus Humi-
litatis et Superbiae;" and, in truth, pride and humility are
equally discussed. Whether it be owing to the qualities of
the subject, or to Bernard's mode of treating it, or any other
cause, it is quite certain that he has succeeded in being far
more interesting when discoursing of the vice than of the
virtue. Some of the forms of pride, as shown in the monkish
life, are described not only forcibly, but with even a sly
humour and comic perception of character about them.
"The first degree of pride," says Bernard, "is curiosity;
and curiosity may be known by the following signs. If you
see a monk, of whom you had better hopes at one time, begin,
whether he be standing, or walking, or sitting, to cast his eyes
about, to hold his head up, and to keep his ears on the watch,
then you may recognise by these motions of the outward man
the change that has taken place within. A naiighty ferson
winketh with his eyes, speaketh with his feet, and teacheth with
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 37. Epist. xviii.
136 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
his fingers ,- 1 the unwonted movement of his body reveals the
new disease which has fallen on his soul." Nevertheless there
are two reasons for lifting the eyes to which no blame attaches,
viz. either to ask for help, or to give it. If, with due regard to
time and place, " you lift your eyes, through your own or your
brother's necessity, you are deserving of praise rather than
censure. If you do so for any other cause, I would say that
you imitate Dinah, Eve, nay, Satan himself, rather than Christ
and David."
The third degree of pride is " thoughtless mirth." " It is
characteristic of the proud to seek after joyful things and to
avoid sad ones. Now these are the signs by which you
may recognise in yourself or others this third step in pride.
A monk given up to this vice you will rarely or never see
groaning or weeping. You would suppose he had either
forgotten who he was, or else had been washed clean of his
sins. Buffoonery is in his gestures, hilarity in his face,
vanity in his gait. Ever eager for his joke, he is ready and
prompt to laugh. He cannot keep his countenance, he
cannot restrain his thoughtless mirth. Even as a bladder
blown out with wind, if squeezed, when pricked makes a
hissing noise as it collapses, and the air, rushing out, from
want of a free vent, gives divers sounds ; so, with the monk
who has filled his heart with vain and wanton thoughts, the
wind of vanity, by reason of the discipline of silence, not
finding another exit, is driven off in laughter through the
narrow passage of his jaws. Often in shame he hides his
face, closes his lips, and grinds his teeth ; he^ laughs in-
voluntarily, he giggles when he would not, and even when
he stops his mouth with his fists, he can still be heard
snorting through his nostrils."
The fifth degree of pride is " singularity." " A monk who
has reached it is more pleased with himself for one fast kept
1 Prov. vl 12, 13.
] DEGREES OF HUMILITY A NIH&PRIDE. 137
while others are dining, than for a week's abstinence in com-
pany with others. A little private prayer of his own he likes
better than the entire psalmody of a whole night. At dinner-
time he often casts his eyes about the table, so that if he see
any one eat less than himself he may lament his discomfiture,
and at once diminish his own portion, fearing more the loss of
glory than the pains ; of hunger. If he meet any one haggard
and cadaverous in an unusual degree, he has no peace, he
feels undone ; and as he cannot see his own face as it appears
to others, he looks at his hands and arms, he.feels his ribs, he
touches his shoulders and loins, and accordingly as he judges
his own emaciation to be satisfactory or not, he draws inferences
as regards the pallor of his cheeks. He keeps awake in bed,
he sleeps in the choir. While others are singing all night at
their vigils, he is dozing ; but, after the vigils, when the rest
have gone to repose in the cloisters, lie remains alone in the
church."
The ninth degree shows that even mediaeval monasteries
had their Tartuffes. " Some there are who, when chidden for
a manifest fault, knowing very well that, if they defend them-
selves, they will not be believed, take a more subtle line, and
answer artfully with a deceiving confession. ' The countenance
is cast down, the body is prostrated. If they can, they squeeze
out a few tears, their voice is broken with sighs, their words are
mingled with groans. A monk of this sort not only will not
excuse -himself, he will exaggerate the fault, he will add to it
something impossible or incredible, to make you doubt even
that which you think you are sure of : the absurdity of one
part of the confession throws uncertainty on all of it." *
1 See the -matchless scene in the "Oui, mon frere, je suis un mecnant, un
third act of" Moliere's "Tartuffe," v ^^ eux ^ w> tout plein d , m .
where Tartuffe conceals his half-dis- i qu ite,-
covered guilt by a deceitful confes- Le plus grand scelerat qui jamais ait ete.
sion of general wickedness : Chaque instant de ma vie est charge de
souulures ;
I3 UFE VZ> TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
And so at his leisure did Bernard draw these little por-
traits.
But the period of quiet and retirement for Bernard was
drawing to a close. Much against his will, he was becoming
indispensable to his contemporaries. The council that was
about to assemble at Troves in the commencement of the year
1128 was the means of bringing out this fact very clearly.
Bernard had promised the Legate Matthew, under whose presi-
dency the council was to meet, that he would be present.
Shortly before the meeting he fell ill so ill that he had no
hope of being able to attend. He wrote, therefore, the following
letter to excuse himself :
" To the Legate Matthew.
" My heart is ready to obey, but not my body. Burnt up
by the heat and exhausted by the sweats of a raging fever, my
weak flesh is unable to answer the call of my willing spirit.
I was anxious to come, but my desire has been frustrated by
the above-mentioned cause. Whether it be a sufficient one,
I leave those of my friends to judge who, taking no excuse,
are daily devising- plans to draw me, a monk involved in a
network of duty and obedience, from my cloister into cities.
And let them note that I have not artfully discovered this
impediment, but have painfully endured it. If. I were to
say to them, ' I 'have taken off my coat, hoiv shall I put it on ?
I have washed my feet, how shall I defile them ? ' they would
doubtless be offended. Now they must be offended, or recon-
ciled, with God's judgment, by which it happens that, though
I would, I cannot leave home.
Elle n'est qu'un amas de crimes et d'or- Je ne suis rien moins, helas, que ce qu'on
dures ; pense.
* * * * _ * * Tout le monde me prend pour un homme
Non, non ; vous vous lafssez tromper a de bien ;
1'apparence : Mais la verite pure est que je ne vaux rien.
Le Tartujfe, Act iii. Scene 6.
\ COUNCIL OF TROYES. 139
"But, they reply, the business is most important the
necessity is urgent. If so, they must seek some one who is
fit for great and important business. I do not think I know
that I am not such an one. Indeed, whether the matter be
large or small, I have nothing to do with it. I ask, Is it
difficult or easy, this affair with which you are so anxious to
burden me, and disturb my beloved silence ? If easy, it can
be done without me. If difficult, it cannot be done by me,
unless I am thought able to do what no one else can, and one
to whom impossibilities should be referred. If this be so, what
a.n error has God committed in my solitary case placing a
candle under a bushel, which could have given light upon
a candlestick; or, to speak more plainly, trying to make a
monk of me, and wishing to hide in His tabernacle, in the
days of evil-doers, a man who is necessary to the world, without
whom even bishops cannot get through their own business.
" And this is what my friends have brought about, that I am
now apparently speaking in a disturbed manner to a man, of
whom I always think with serenity and joy. But you know,
father, that I am not unduly moved, but ever ready to obey
your commands. I trust to your indulgence where you consider
it needed." 1
He went to the council nevertheless.
Troyes was a place of considerable importance in the twelfth
century. Under the government of the able Counts of Cham-
pagne it had become the seat of two annual fairs, which would
bear comparison with any in Europe. In the Middle Ages
fairs were a prominent, if not the sole, means of commercial
traffic on a large scale. The regular action of modern trade
was not needed, and would have been impossible in that wild
feudal time. The merchant was essentially a huckster, going
where he could, or found safest, paying his way cautiously,
hopeful of gain, but having more reason to fear loss. In time
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 38. Epist. xxi.
140 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
some baron wiser than his fellows in advance of his age in
this respect saw that more might be made by favouring
merchants than by plundering them : saw that one was an
accidental and precarious source of revenue, tending naturally
to destroy itself; that the other was of an accumulative and
perennial nature, quite worthy of care and attention. No
barons had perceived this fact more distinctly than the Counts
of Champagne ; and Count Theobald, the reigning count, saw
it as distinctly as any. His fairs had a reputation with the
commercial world of that day, which it was worth his^while not
to lose. Traders might expect good treatment who came to
his fairs, as far as he could give it; and he took pains to make
it a reality. Soldiers, and escorts of a proper strength, were
appointed to attend the caravans of merchants travelling
towards Troyes and the other towns of his dominions where
fairs were held, viz. Lagny and Provins. These escorts were
commanded by knights, who had received the charge as a fief,
and who also found, an interest in effectually performing their
duty. And so it came about that Champagne had six fairs in
the year, of which two took place at Troyes ; that troops of
Levantines, of Armenians, of Flemings, of Italians, of Germans
and Provengals, with their various wares, costumes, and lan-
guages, went by or near the ascetics at Clairvaux, who, most
likely, regarded -ihem all as worldly and profane persons.
However, it was in this busy,, commercial Troyes that the
council was appointed to meet. The buyers and sellers had
not long completed their bargains when the solemn and
emaciated monks and bishops made their entrance. The
second fair at Troyes began on All Souls' Day, the 2nd of
November, and the fathers of the council met on the i4th of
January. 1
1 See in the Bibliotheque de " La bourse pleine de Sens, ou ce
1' Amateur Champenois the historical qu'on apprenait aux foires de Troyes
notice prefixed to the fabliau called et de Champagne au xni. siecle."
!] THE KNIGHTS TEMPLARS. 141
The memory of the Council of Troyes survives solely in
consequence of the part it took in founding the Order of the
Knights Templars. The advantage of uniting piety and
prowess in the Eastern Wars had made itself felt. The two
strongest impulses which the age knew the impulse to fight,
and the impulse to fast and pray could not continue to
remain separated, since the Crusades had begun. At home
in Europe there was not much reason for uniting the two at
once ; the motive was, perhaps, the other way ; but out in
Palestine the plan of becoming knight and monk at the same
time must have appeared most natural. The .'Knights Hospi-
tallers had been incorporated in the year 1113. And in
year 1118 Hugo de Paganis and some others made vows, " like
regular canons, to live in chastity, obedience, and poverty, and,
for the remission of their sins, to keep the roads and passes
free of robbers and assailants, and to watch over the safety of
the pilgrims as much as they could." This was the origin of
the Knights Templars. But their institution did not thrive
immediately. In ten years' time their number had only
increased to nine. It is probable that Hugo thought a more
public recognition of his order in Europe might contribute to
its success. He addressed himself to Bernard, and his plan
received the solemn sanction of the Council of Troyes. It was
The power, or rather influence, of revetu du sceau des foires ; I'mteret"
the Theobalds extended beyond ne pent s'eleyer a plus de quinze
their domain. " Garin fils de Salo, pour cent par an c'est a dire, ideux
Vicomte de Sens, devalise des chan- et demi par foire. [There was an in-
geurs de Vezelay sur le cheniin du terval of forty days between each of
roi entre Sens et Bray. Le Comte the six fairs. ] Les gardes veiflent
de Champagne ecrit a 1'abbe de St. au remboursement des obligations et
Denis, et obtient prompte justice," poursuivent les debiteurs par leurs
p. 36. Credit was well under- nombreux sergents. Us vont meme
stood even in those turbulent times. jusqu'a interdire 1' entree de 1'eglise
" L'acheteur n'est pas oblige de aux chanoines qui ne font pas hon-
verser de beaux deniers au moment neur a leur billet, et ne craignent pas
de la livraison ; il peut contracter les distances pour atteindre les mau-
1'engagement de payer a la foire vais clients." Ibid. p. 41.
prochaine. Son engagement est
142 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
decreed that the Templars should wear white mantles. In
their monastic character they belonged to the order of Saint
Augustine. 1
Bernard's share in this matter does not appear to have
extended beyond a general furtherance and approbation of
the new order. The rule of the Templars, which it is often
said he drew up, was the work of a later period. But his
relations with Hugh, the first Grand Master of the Temple,
were of the most friendly nature ; and, at the latter's request,
he wrote a tractate in praise of the " new warfare," which is
highly characteristic both of the times and of Bernard himself.
His " Exhortation to the Knights of the Temple " was com-
posed probably four or five years after the Council of Troyes ;
but it is more convenient to consider it in this connexion than
in any other.
He begins by contrasting the secular with the monastic
warfare.
" You always run a risk, you worldly soldier, of either killing
your adversary's body, and your own soul in consequence, or
of being killed yourself, both body and soul. If, while wishing
to kill another, you are killed yourself, you die a homicide. If
you vanquish and kill your enemy, you live a homicide. But
what an astounding error,, what madness is it, oh, knights, to
fight at such cost and trouble for no wages except those of
death or sin ! You deck out your horses with silken trappings ;
you wear flaunting cloaks over your steel breastplates ; you
paint your shields, your spears, and your saddles; your spurs
and bridles shine with gold and silver and gems j and in this
gay pomp, with an amazing and incredible madness, you rush
upon death. Have you not found from experience that these
things are especially needed by a soldier, viz. that he be bold,
1 Mabillon has proved that the traces of a later authprship. See
rule of the Templars, commonly his " Admonitio in Opusculum Sex-
ascribed to Bernard, bears evident turn." ST. BERN. Op. ;vol. i. col. 541.
THE KHIGHTS TEMPLARS.
143
yet vigilant, as regards his own safety, quick in his movements,
and prompt to strike ? You, on the contrary, cultivate long
hair, which gets in your eyes ; your feet are entangled in the
folds of your flowing robes ; your delicate hands are buried in
your ample and spreading sleeves. In addition to all this,
your reasons for fighting are light and frivolous, viz. the
impulses of an irrational anger, or a desire of vain glory, or
the wish to obtain some earthly possession. Certainly, for
such causes as these it is not safe either to slay or to be
slain.
" But Christ's soldiers can fight in safety thei battles of their
Lord; fearing no sin from killing an enemy; dreading no
danger from their own death. Seeing that for Christ's sake
death must be suffered or inflicted, it brings with it no sin, but
rather earns much glory. In the one case Christ is benefited,
in the other Christ is gained Christ, who willingly accepts an
enemy's death for revenge, and, more willingly still, grants
Himself to the soldier for consolation. Christ's soldier can
securely kill, can more securely die : when he dies, it profits
him ; when he slays, it profits Christ. Not without just cause
is he girded with a sword. When he kills a malefactor, he is
not a slayer of men, but a slayer of evil, and plainly an avenger
of Christ against those who do amiss. But when he is killed,
he has not perished, he has reached his goal. The Christian
exults in the death of a pagan, because Christ is glorified. In
the death of the Christian the King's bountifulness is shown,
when the soldier is led forth to his reward. The just will
rejoice over the first, when he sees the punishment of the
wicked. Of the latter men will say, ' Verily there is a reward
for the righteous: doubtless there is a God that judgeth the
earth!"
Bernard reaches this point in his bloodthirsty enthusiasm
before he even remembers that he is a Christian pastor and
preacher of the Gospel of peace. He here makes a sudden halt,
140 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
some baron wiser than his fellows in advance of his age in
this respect saw that more might be made by favouring
merchants than by plundering them : saw that one was an
accidental and precarious source of revenue, tending naturally
to destroy itself; that the other was of an accumulative and
perennial nature, quite worthy of care and attention. No
barons had perceived this fact more distinctly than the Counts
of Champagne ; and Count Theobald, the reigning count, saw
it as distinctly as any. His fairs had a reputation s with the
commercial world of that day, which it was worth his while not
to lose. Traders might expect good treatment who came to
his fairs, as far as he could give it ; and he took pains to make
it a reality. Soldiers, and escorts of a proper strength, were
appointed to attend the caravans of merchants travelling
towards Troyes and the other towns of his dominions where
fairs were held, viz. Lagny and Provins. These escorts were
commanded by knights, who had received the charge as a fief,
and who also found an interest in effectually performing their
duty. And so it came about that Champagne had six fairs in
the year, of which two took place at Troyes j that troops of
Levantines, of Armenians, of Flemings, of Italians, of Germans
and Provengals, with their various wares, costumes, and lan-
guages, went by or near the ascetics at Clairvaux, who, most
likely, regarded J;hem all as worldly and profane persons.
However, it was in this busy,, commercial Troyes that the
council was appointed to meet. The buyers and sellers had
not long completed their bargains when the solemn and
emaciated monks and bishops made their entrance. The
second fair at Troyes began on All Souls' Day, the and of
November, and the fathers of the council met on the i4th of
January. 1
1 See in the Bibliotheque de " La bourse pleine de Sens, on ce
1' Amateur Champenois the historical qii'on apprenait aux foires de Troyes
notice prefixed to the fabliau called et de Champagne au XIII. siecle."
THE KNIGHTS TEMPLARS. 141
The memory of the Council of Troyes survives solely in
consequence of the part it took in founding the Order of the
Knights Templars. The advantage of uniting piety and
prowess in the Eastern Wars had made itself felt. The two
strongest impulses which the age knew the impulse to fight,
and the impulse to fast and pray could not continue to
remain separated, since the Crusades had begun. At home
in Europe there was not much reason for uniting the two at
once ; the motive was, perhaps, the other way ; but out in
Palestine the plan of becoming knight and monk at the same
time must have appeared most natural. The Knights Hospi-
tallers had been incorporated in the year 1113. And in t
year 1118 Hugo de Paganis and some others made vows, " like
regular canons, to live in chastity, obedience, and poverty, and,
for the remission of their sins, to keep the roads and passes
free of robbers and assailants, and to watch over the safety of
the pilgrims as much as they could." This was the origin of
the Knights Templars. But their institution did not thrive
immediately. In ten years' time their number had only
increased to nine. It is probable that Hugo thought a more
public recognition of his order in Europe might contribute to
its success. He addressed himself to Bernard, and his plan
received the solemn sanction of the Council of Troyes. It was
The power, or rather influence, of revetu du sceau des foires ; 1'interejf
the Theobalds extended beyond ne peut s' clever a. plus de quioze
their domain. " Garin fils de Salo, pour cent par an c'est a dire-jUfeux
Vicomte de Sens, devalise des chan- et demi par foire. [There w.as an in-
geurs de Vezelay sur le c/iemin du terval of forty days between each of
roi entre Sens et Bray. Le Comte the six fairs. ] Les gardes veiflent
de Champagne ecrit a 1'abbe de St. au remboursement des obligations et
Denis, et obtient prompte justice," poursuivent les debiteurs par leurs
p. 36. Credit was well under- nombreux sergents. Us vont meme
stood even in those turbulent times. jusqu'a interdire P entree de Peglise
" L'acheteur n'est pas oblige de aux chanoines qui ne font pas hon-
verser de beaux deniers au moment neur a leur billet, et ne craignent pas
de la livraison ; il peut contracter les distances pour atteindre les mau-
1' engagement de payer a la foire vais clients." Ibid. p. 41.
prochaine. Son engagement est
142 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [<j?iV
decreed that the Templars should wear white mantles. In
their monastic character they belonged to the order of Saint
Augustine. 1
Bernard's share in this matter does not appear to have
extended beyond a general furtherance and approbation of
the new order. The rule of the Templars, which it is often
said he drew up, was the work of a later period. But his
relations with Hugh, the first Grand Master of the Temple,
were of the most friendly nature ; and, at the latter's request,
he wrote a tractate in praise of the " new warfare," which is
highly characteristic both of the times and of Bernard himself.
His " Exhortation to the Knights of the Temple " was com-
posed probably four or five years after the Council of Troyes ;
but it is more convenient to consider it in this connexion than
in any other.
He begins by contrasting the secular with the monastic
warfare.
" You always run a risk, you worldly soldier, of either killing
your adversary's body, and your own soul in consequence, or
of being killed yourself, both body and soul. If, while wishing
to kill another, you are killed yourself, you die a homicide. If
you vanquish and kill your enemy, you live a homicide. But
what an astounding error,, what madness is it, oh, knights, to
fight at such cost and trouble for no wages except those of
death or sin ! You deck out your horses with silken trappings ;
you wear flaunting cloaks over your steel breastplates; you
paint your shields, your spears, and your saddles; your spurs
and bridles shine with gold and silver and gems; and in this
gay pomp, with an amazing and incredible madness, you rush
upon death. Have you not found from experience that these
things are especially needed by a soldier, viz. that he be bold,
1 Mabillon has proved that the traces of a later authorship. See
rule of the Templars, commonly his " Admonitio in Opusculum Sex-
ascribed to Bernard, bears evident turn." ST. BERN. Op. vol. i. col. 541.
] THE KNIGHTS TEMPLARS. 143
yet vigilant, as regards his own safety, quick in his movements,
and prompt to strike ? You, on the contrary, cultivate long
hair, which gets in your eyes ; your feet are entangled in the
folds of your flowing robes ; your delicate hands are buried in
your ample and spreading sleeves. In addition to all this,
your reasons for fighting are light and frivolous, viz. the
impulses of an irrational anger, or a desire of vain glory, or
the wish to obtain some earthly possession. Certainly, for
such causes as these it is not safe either to slay or to be
slain.
" But Christ's soldiers can fight in safety the battles of their
Lord; fearing no sin from killing an enemy; dreading no
danger from their own death. Seeing that for Christ's sake
death must be suffered or inflicted, it brings with it no sin, but
rather earns much glory. In the one case Christ is benefited,
in the other Christ is gained Christ, who willingly accepts an
enemy's death for revenge, and, more willingly still, grants
Himself to the soldier for consolation. Christ's soldier can
securely kill, can more securely die : when he dies, it profits
him ; when he slays, it profits Christ. Not without just cause
is he girded with a sword. When he kills a malefactor, he is
not a slayer of men, but a slayer of evil, and plainly an avenger
of Christ against those who do amiss. But when he is killed,
he has not perished, he has reached his goal. The Christian
exults in the death of a pagan, because Christ is glorified. In
the death of the Christian the King's bountifulness is shown,
when the soldier is led forth to his reward. The just will
rejoice over the first, when he sees the punishment of the
wicked. Of the latter men will say, ' Verily there is a reward
for the righteous : doubtless there is a God that fudgeth the
earth!"
Bernard reaches this point in his bloodthirsty enthusiasm
before he even remembers that he is a Christian pastor and
preacher of the Gospel of peace. He here makes a sudden halt,
144 LIFE AND TIMES Of ST. BERNARD.
then moves again, though gently and with greatly diminished
spirit.
" Not that even the pagans ought to be slain, if they could
by any other means be prevented from molesting and oppressing
the faithful. As it is, it is better that they should be killed
than that the rod of the wicked should rest upon the lot
of the righteous, lest the righteous put forth their hands unto
iniquity."
The Templars are thus described : . :
" Never is an idle word, or a useless deed, or immoderate
/'laughter, or a murmur, even if only whispered, allowed to go
I unpunished among them. Draughts and dice they detest.
f Hunting they hold in abomination ; and take no pleasure in
the absurd pastime of hawking. Soothsayers, jesters, and
; story-tellers, ribald songs and stage plays, they eschew as
. insane follies. They cut close their hair, knowing, as the
\ Apostle says, that ' it is a shame for a man to have long hair.'
I They never dress gaily, and wash but seldom. Shaggy by
I reason of their uncombed hair, they are also begrimed with
| dust, and swarthy from the weight of their armour and the heat
I of the sun."
Further on he has a few remarks which show that, after
all, those who remained at home had no reason to regret the
departure of the Crusaders.
" But the most joyful and salutary result to be perceived is,
that in such a multitude of men who flock to the East there
are few besides scoundrels, vagabonds, thieves, murderers,
perjurers, and adulterers, from whose emigration a double
good is observed to flow, the cause of a twofold joy. Indeed,
they give as much delight to those whom they leave as to
those whom they go to assist. Both rejoice, those whom
they defend and those whom they no longer oppress. Egypt
is glad at their departure ; yet Mount Zion and the daughters
of Judah shall be joyful over the succour they will bring : the
A.D. 11801
AETAT. 89 J
TRACT ON THE KNIGHTS.
145
one for losing its most cruel spoilers, the other at receiving its
most faithful defenders." 1
On the whole this exhortation must be set down as one of
Bernard's weakest compositions. It sprang much more from
his rhetorical imagination than from his deep and fervent soul.
He wrote it in the early morning of his influence and rising
fame. In after years, when sorrow, disappointment, and sick-
ness had subdued and saddened him, when the men and things
of this world had passed from a romantic dream to a painful
reality, it is at least probable that, if he had written anything at
all on the subject, it would have been in a different strain.
And now the time for his commencing his enlarged experience
is close at hand.
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 549.
BOOK II.
a
BOOK II.
CHAPTER I.
(A.D. 1130. AETAT. 39.)
DEATH OF POPE HONORIUS II. THE SCHISM INNOCENT II. AND ANA-
CLETUS II. PROGRESS OF INNOCENT THROUGH FRANCE CLUNY
CLAIRVAUX COUNCIL AT RHEIMS ENLARGEMENT OF THE MONAS-
TERY AT CLAIRVAUX.
POPE HONORIUS II. died February 14, 1130. As the factions
and party spirit of Rome had so oftea penetrated into the
Sacred College, and produced the most scandalous results, the
cardinals had agreed that the election of a new pope should
be confided to eight of their number, chosen with the express
object of avoiding confusion and disputes. 1 But although
William, Bishop of Praeneste, made them bind themselves
under pain of an anathema to respect this convention, although
the ambitious and intriguing Peter Leonis declared that he
fully adhered to it, and would rather be plunged in the depths
of the sea than be the cause of strife and bitterness, it 'became
1 " Convenientibus cardinalibus rium, qui tune in articulo mortis
in ecclesia St. Andreae Apostoli, positus erat, ab hac vita transire,"
statutum est ab eis, octo personis, persona quae ab eis communiter
duobus episcopis, G. Praenestino, et eligeretur, vel a parte sanioris
C. Sabinensi,. tribus cardinalibus consilii, ab omnibus pro domino et
presbyteris, P. Pisano, P. Rufo, et Romano pontifice susciperetur."
Petro Leonis, tribus cardinalibus HENRICI LUCENSIS EPISCOPI Epist.
diaconis, Gregorio scilicet Angeli, ad Magdeburgensem Archiepiscopitm ;
'\ Jonathae, Americo cancellario, elec- MANSI, Cone. xxi. 432 ; also in
' ' tionem pontificis committi, ita ut si MIGNE, Patrologia, torn, clxxix. coL
committeret dominum Papam Hono- 40.
150 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
evident that neither party intended to observe the conditions
longer than their apparent interest required. Peter Leonis
found that he had made a hasty bargain. Through his
wealth he was the grandson of a Jewish usurer he was at
the head of the strongest party in Rome and in the conclave,
' but in the committee just appointed his friends were in the
minority. He showed, even before the death of Honorius,
that he. did not mean to stand by the agreement. A report
was spread that the pope was no more. Peter appeared at
the head of a troop of friends and mercenaries, and, if the
dying pontiff had not been dragged to a window and shown
to the people, it is probable that he would even then have
made a bold attempt to mount the chair of St. Peter. 1 When
Honorius did die, those of the cardinals who were determined
that, whoever was pope, Peter Leonis should be excluded,
hastily assembled, and on the same evening proclaimed
Cardinal Gregory, of St. Angelo, supreme pontiff of the
Christian world, under the name of Innocent II. The party
of Peter forthwith went through the form of election with
their pope, dressed him in the proper pontificals, and declared
that he, under the title of Anacletus II., was the authentic
Vicar of Christ. 2
Rome now contained two armies of ferocious partisans, who
soon intermixed their spiritual threats and curses with worldly
devastation and bloodshed. Anacletus began the attack by
laying siege to the Church of St. Peter : bursting open the
doors, and making a forcible entrance into the sanctuary, he
carried off the gold crucifix, and all the treasure in gold and
1 " Quod nisi dominus Papa citur Deus, ante tempus se ex-
Honorius, quern credebant jam tulisset." HEN. Luc." Epist.
mortuum, se ad fenestram populo 2 . . . "Congregatis quos potue-
ostendisset, cum fratrum et propin- runt, proh dolor ! cum episcopo
quorum, ac muneribus et obsequiis Portuensi, rubea cappa ilium vestie-
conductorum turba ministrorum, runt.'' Ibid,
praeco Antichristi, supra quod di-
A.IX 11801
AtTAT. 39 J
DEATH OF HONOR IV S IL
silver and precious stones. He was so well satisfied with his
success, that he assailed and despoiled the churches of the
capital, one after another. 1 Through his ill-gotten gains he
bought over the powerful, while he constrained the weak to
take his side. Innocent II. was driven to great straits. His
friends, the family of Frangipani, could with difficulty pro-
tect his person. He determined to fly from the turbulent
city. Two galleys, containing himself and his few faithful
adherents, dropped down the Tiber, and landed him safely at
Pisa. Again taking ship, he sailed for St. Gilles, in Provence,
and began his journey into France.
Innocent's bold trust in the allegiance of the nations of^
Northern Europe was fully justified by the event. He received
at once a mark of respect from the Abbey of Cluny, which
augured well. Sixty horses and mules, with everything which
could be wanted by a pope in distress, were despatched to
meet him, and escort him to Cluny. 2 Inasmuch as Anacletus
had been a monk of Cluny, this recognition of the right of
Innocent produced a strong presumption in his favour. The
pope tarried eleven days at the great Burgundian abbey.
During this time he consecrated the new church, which had
been forty years building, and was the pride and wonder, not
of Cluny or Burgundy only, but of the Christian world. 3
1 As usual, the remote writers
and chroniclers knew more than
those on the spot. The bishops and
cardinals of Innocent's party, who
thought it a duty to blacken the
character of Anacletus, say simply
that he plundered the churches.
Arnold, of Bonnevaux, in the diocese
of Chartres, tells us, " cum calices
frangere, et crucifixes aureos mem-
bratim dividere, ipsi profani Chris-
tian! vel timerent, vel erubescerent ;
Judaeos aiunt esse quaesitos, qui
sacra vasa et imagines Deo di-
catas audacter comminuerent."
ST. BERN. Op. vol. ii. eol. 1092.
2 " Cluniacenses, ut ejus adven-
tum cognoverunt, sexaginta equos
seu mulos cum omni apparatu con-
gruo papae et cardinalibus clericis
destinaverunt, et usque ad suam bas-
ilicam favorabiliter conduxerunt."
ORDERICUS VIT^LIS, lib. xiii. cap.
II, ed. Prevost.
3 " The pride of Burgundy was
the great Abbey church of Cluny,
which, with its narthex. or ante-
church, measured 580 feet in length,
or considerably more than any other
church erected in France in any age.
Its nave was throughout 37 feet 6
inches in width, and it had double
152 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
Still the French bishops had not decided which pope they
would choose, and yet the necessity of a decision was daily
becoming more apparent. A papal schism in those days did
not mean a far-off, imaginary evil, which could be avoided
when convenient, but a very present and palpable inconve-
nience thrust into common life. " In most abbeys two abbots
arose ; in the bishoprics two prelates contended for the see, of
l/'which one adhered to Anacletus, the other favoured Innocent.
In a schism of this kind one has reason to fear, and yet a
difficulty to escape, being cursed, for each pope attacks his
adversary with all his might, and anathematizes him and his
partisans most fatally. Thus each being prevented from accom-
plishing his purpose seeks, by his imprecations, to enlist God
on his side against his rival." x To prevent, therefore, or miti-
gate, so formidable an evil, the ever-vigilant Louis VI., in con-
cert with his bishops, convened a council at Etarnpes, for the
purpose of fully discussing the respective claims of the hostile
popes. To this council Bernard was invited, "in a special
side aisles, making the total internal old abbey was the work of many
width 120 feet; and the whole years, beginning -in 1793, and termi-
internal area covered by it was nating in 1811. When the great
upwards of 70,000 feet. Nor do tower fell, it shook the whole neigh-
even these colossal dimensions con- bourhood : " On se souvient encore
vey an adequate idea of its magni- a Cluny de 1'effroyable bruit qui
ficence. The style throughout was secoua la ville a la chute de la plus
solid and grand, and it must have grande tour." Ibid. p. 278.
possessed a degree of massive magni- 1 "Nam in plerisque coenobiis
ficence which we so frequently miss duo abbates surrexerunt, et in epis-
among the more elegant beauties of copiis duo praesules de pontificatu
subsequent erections." FERGUS- certaverunt, quorum unus adhaerebat
SON'S Handbook of Architecture, p. Petro Anacleto, alter vero favebat
653. Gregorio Innocentio. In ejusmodi
"Sixty -eight massive columns schismate anathema formidandum
supported this wonderful fabric, into est, quod difficulter a quibusdam
which light was admitted by three praecaveri potest, dum unus alium
hundred narrow windows." Hist. summopereimpugnet,contrariumque
detAbbayedeChmy, par M. LORAIN, sibi cum fautoribus suis feraliter ana- \
p. 69. thematizet." ORDERICUS VITALIS,
The destruction under the Re- lib. xiii. cap. II.
public and the Empire of the glorious
A.D.11S01
AT. 39j
ELECTION OF INNOCENT 77.
153
manner," by the king and the chief bishops. He confessed
afterwards that he went in fear and trembling. On the road,
however, he had a vision, in which he saw a large church, with
the people all singing harmoniously in praise of God. This
raised his spirits. Fasting and prayer preceded the opening
of the council, which at once began its deliberations by unani
mously agreeing that a " business which concerned God should
be entrusted to the man of God," and that his judgment should
decide the -views of the assembly. He examined the whole
question of the double election ; the respective merits of the
competitors ; the life and character of the first elected ; and
when he opened his mouth, the Holy Ghost was supposed to
speak through it. Without hesitation or reserve he pronounced
Innocent the legitimate pope, and the only one whom they
could accept as such. Acclamations received this opinion, and
amid praises to God, and vows of obedience to Innocent, the
council broke up. 1
Louis VI. forthwith sent Suger to Cluny to greet his newly-
1 It is quite dear that Innocent
owed his warm welcome from the
French clergy to his supposed moral
superiority over Anacletus. Even
Bernard is forced to admit that
Innocent's election was a little
hurried and indecorous.
" Nam etsi quid minus forte
solemniter, minusve ordinabiliter
processit in ea \i.e. .the election of
Innocent] quae praecessit, ut hostes
unitatis contendunt ; numquid tamen
praesumi altera debuit, nisi sane
priore prius discussa ratione, cassata
judicio?" Efist. 126, vol. i. 001.134.
Of Anacletus he says, "Si vera
sunt quae ubique divulgat opinio,
nee unius dignus est viculi potestate.
. . . Domini papae Innocentii et
innocens vita, et integra fama, et
electio canonica praedicatur. Priora
duo nee hostes diffitentur; tertium
calumniam habuit, sed per Ghris-
tianissimum Lotharium nuper falsi
calumniatores in suo sunt mendacio
deprehensi." Epist. 127.
Suger says plainly that at the
Council of Etampes the question
of the regularity of election was
secondary to that of the personal
character of the two popes.
" Rex . . . concilium archiepisco-
porum, episcoporum, abbatum, et
religiosorum virorum Stampis con-
vocat, et eorum consilio magis de
persona quam de electione investi-
gans (fit enim saepe ut Romanorum
tumultuantium quibuscunque moles-
tiis Ecclesiae electio minus ordinarie
fieri valeat) ejus assensum electioni
consilio virorum praebet, et deinceps
manu tenere promittit." SUGERIUS,
Liidovici Vita.
154 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
recognised spiritual chief, and escort him on his way northward.
The pope came to Saint-Benoit-sur-Loire, and was there met
by the king, queen, and royal children. Louis bowed "his
often crowned head" as if before the sepulchre of St. Peter,
fell on the ground at the feet of the .pontiff, and promised
affection and devoted service both to him and to the Church
From thence the pope moved on to Chartres, where came also
the Norman Henry I. of England, with an immense retinue
of bishops and nobles. Henry was undecided as to which
pope would suit him best. His own clergy had a leaning
towards Anacletus ; that might be a reason for him to choose
Innocent. He hesitated. His own bishops had nearly per :
suaded him to acknowledge Anacletus, when Bernard appeared
before him. The two foremost men then in Europe were in
the presence of each other the wisest soldier-statesman of
his age, and the greatest monk out of all the cloisters of
Christendom. These two were thus brought for once face to
face the old knight and the young priest, the man of action
and the man of meditation ; there they were urging and dis-
puting. The enthusiast convinced the man of the world.
"Are you afraid," 1 said Bernard, "of incurring sin if you
acknowledge Innocent? Bethink you how to answer for
your other sins to God ; that one I will take and account for."
Henry yielded to the supremacy of Innocent.
Having thus received the friendship of the two western
sovereigns, Innocent determined to sound the disposition of
the German emperor. He accordingly left Chartres and pro-
ceeded to the monastery of Morigny, near Etampes. Here
the goodly company of pope, bishops, and cardinals, with the
chief of them all, Bernard, remained three days. Here they
1 " Quid times ? ait Times pec- istud mihi relinque, in me sit hoc
catum incurrere, si obedias Inno- peccatum." ST. BERN. Of. vol. ii.
centio ? Cogita " inquit " quomodo col. 1094.
de aliis peccatis tuis respondeas Deo;
A.D. HBP
AETAT. 39j
INNOCENT II. AND THE EMPEROR.
*55
met a man by whose fame, misfortunes, and errors all Europe
had for many years been amused or scandalized, viz. Peter
Abelard ; on whom the anathema of the Church had already
once fallen, and before long was to fall again, the second time
directed by one of the guests that night at Morigny the Abbot
of Clairvaux. They then proceeded to Liege ; and it was a
time of anxious deliberation in the councils of the pope, for
they were going to meet the owner of that imperial crown, of
which former possessors had wrought such trouble and injury
to the Church. But Lotharius had been the acknowledged
chief of the papal party before he was emperor, and this,
coupled with the mildness of his character, might permit hopes
of a cordial, or at least friendly, reception. Innocent discussed
his affairs in the presence of his cardinals as usual, but a secret
conference with his now inseparable adviser, Bernard, always
preceded any plan of definite action. Lotharius received the
pontiff with due honour, but, to the amazement of all, he
appeared to think that this was a good opportunity to renew
the question of investitures which had been settled eight years
before, between Henry V. and Calixtus II., at the Concordat
of Worms. There was something quite horrible in such a
suggestion at such a moment, when the schism had nearly
\t, paralyzed the papacy for. offensive war. In bidding for the
favour of a German emperor the rival popes would possibly
think less of the immunities of the Church at large, and more
of their own chance of being rulers of it, than a single inde-
L pendent pope might do. 1 This, doubtless, was what the unam-
1 " Et honorifice quidem sus-
ceptus est [papa], sed velociter ob-
nubilata est ilia serenitas. Siqui-
d^m importune idem rex institit,
^pus habere se reputans oppor-
fOam, tpiscoporum sibi restitui
irivestituras, quas ab ejus praede-
cessore imperatore Henrico per
maximos quidem lahores et multa
perkula Romana ecclesia vindicarat.
Ad quod verbum expavere et ex-
palluere Romani, gravius sese apud
Leodium arbitrati periculum offen-
disse, quam declinaverint Romae.
Nee consilium suppetebat, donee
murum se opposuit abbas sanctus."
ST. BERN. Op. vol. ii. col. 1094.
FBOOK II
156 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
bitious Lotharius dimly felt; and, had he had a little of the
spirit of his Franconian predecessors, Innocent, Bernard, and
Anacletus would, one and all of them, have passed some
anxious and sorrowful years. The Romans shuddered and
turned pale, and wished themselves in Rome again, where the
small and domestic dangers they knew well had not the vague
terror about them which was inspired in the barbarian north.
Again Bernard came to the rescue, and placed himself as a
wall of strength before the frightened Italians. He boldly
faced the emperor in his demands, and with great freedom of
speech reduced him to humble acquiescence in the claims of
Innocent. Lotharius, on foot, went through the crowd towards
the pope on his white palfrey. With one hand he took the
rein, in the other he held a wand a symbol of protection to
his acknowledged lord. When Innocent got down from his
horse, the emperor was there to assist him ; and thus, before
all men, in that age of forms and ceremonies, proclaimed his
submission. 1
Having succeeded in this important conference, the pope
returned towards St. Denis, where he purposed to pass the few
remaining days of Lent, and celebrate Easter. Suger and his
monks met him with a grand procession, chanting hymns of
jubilee over his happy return to them. Maunday Thursday
was observed in the Roman fashion, and a sumptuous dona-
tive, called a " Presbytery," was given to the clergy. But on
the Vigil of the most holy Resurrection, to show it due honour,
Innocent passed the night in prayer. At early dawn he and
his attendants proceeded to the Church of the Holy Martyrs
St. Denis and his companions and there they made prepara-
tions, as they do at Rome, and adorned themselves with many
wonderful ornaments. They placed on the pope's head the
phrygium, or helmet-shaped cap circled with gold, and led him
forth sitting on a white palfrey richly caparisoned. Then,
1 Sugerius, Vita Ludovici Grossi.
A.D. 11811
AETAT.40J
RECEPTION OF INNOCEN7 II.
157
proceeding in front, two abreast, oil horseback, they struck up a
joyous chant The barons and noble feudatories of the abbey,
acting as grooms, on foot attended the pontiff, and led his
horse by the rein. Some in advance cast money among the
thronging crowd to clear a way. But the king's road was
strewn with willows, and rich hangings were carried along the
side on a line of posts. Troops of knights and crowds of
people pressed to see the procession ; but, strangest of all,
even the wretched, persecuted Jews of Paris came forward, and
offered to the head man of their persecutors a copy of their
law covered by a veil. " May God Almighty take away the
veil which is on your hearts ! " was the reply of Innocent At
last he came to the Church of the Holy Martyrs, which glittered
with golden coronas and stones far more precious than gold.
Suger and the pope offered up a mass, and then the whole
company retired to the cloister to a magnificent feast 1
1 Sugerius, ibid. The history of
the Jews in the Middle Ages contains
perhaps the heaviest catalogue of
crimes which can be laid at the door of
men "calling themselves Christians."
One way of celebrating Easter was
this : " A Toulouse il fut etabli que
le Dimanche de Paque un Chretien
donnerait un soufflet a un Juif sous
la porche de la cathedrale. Adhemar
de Chabannais raconte qu'en 1018
le Vicomte de Rocheouart etant venu
faire ses Piques a Toulouse, le clerge
toulaisain cttttgua far civititt a
Hugues, chaplain de ce seigneur,
1'omce de souffleter le Juif; Hugues
en acquitta si rudement, qrfil fit
\ sauter d'un coup de poing les yeux et
la. cervelle du patient." Histoire de
\France, par HENRI MARTIN, torn. iii.
p. 53. The Jews were always being
accused of insulting and mutilating
the Host, and the most preposterous
fables were propagated and believed
to their injury in consequence. A
Jew in Paris, it is related, had re-
ceived in pledge a Christian woman's
best clothes. Easter was drawing
near, and the usurer refused .to give
up the articles unless the woman
promised to bring to him the Host,
which she was about to receive at
Holy Communion. Refusing at first,
she finally consented. The fact be-
came known that a Jew had got
possession of the consecrated bread ;
it was instantly spread abroad that
he had thrown it into a cauldron of
boiling water, and that, ever since,
the infant Jesus had been swimming
about on the surface, beneath which
nothing would cause Him to sink.
Crowds beset the Jew's house.
People pretended to have seen the
Inlant. The wretched Hebrews were
seized, and in abject fear confessed
all they were ordered. The supposed
culprit was condemned to be burnt
alive. The poor creature regretted
not having his thalmud with him,
1 58 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
Innocent visited many of the French towns after this, but
his sojourn at Clairvaux is the only one which will need notice
here. There he was met by a tattered flock " of Christ's poor,"
preceded by a cross, without noise or tumult. The pope and
bishops were moved to tears at the sight of so much austerity.
They marve'led at the self-restraint which made the monks
receive this unwonted visit in solemn silence. Every eye was
fixed on the ground, no prying curiosity watched and followed
the movements of the brilliant cavalcade : with closed lids, the
monks were seen of all, and saw no one. The plain unorna-
mented church, the simple bare walls of the monastery, offered
nothing to the Romans either to admire or wish for. 1 The
hard fare of the monks appeared more wonderful still. If by
chance a fish was to be had, it was placed before the pope
alone.
Innocent had consumed more than a year in his politic and
profitable visits to the French churches, when he began to
think of going southward. Indeed there was a danger, if he
stayed too long, that he would tire the hospitality of his hosts.
A pope with all his following of bishops and courtiers, especially
a pope cut off from his Italian revenues, was necessarily a
most expensive guest. 2 Before setting out, however, on his
thinking it would save him. They receptus, hoc unum memorabile et
brought him his thalmud, and burnt Romqjiis insolitum, et posteris, reli
both him and it together. See quit exemplum, quod nee aurum, nee
G. B. DEPPING'S interesting work, argentum, nee pretiosas monasterii
Les Juifs dans le Moyen Age, margeritas, quod nmltum timebatur,
p. 123, from which the above story non tantum non affectabat^ sed nee
is taken. respicere dignabatur." SUGERIUS,
1 " Nihil in ecclesia ilia vidit Vita Lttdov. Gros.
Romanus quodcuperet." ST. BERN. z " Deinde praefatus Papa toto
Oj>. vol. ii. col. 1094. The visit of illo anno Franciam peragravit, et im-
a pope seems to have been anything mensam gravedinem ecclesiis Galli-
but desirable or welcome in these arum ingessit, utpote qui Romanes
times. Suger, as usual, speaks out officiates cum multis clientibus secutn
plainly. Referring to Pope Paschal's habuit, et de redditibus apostolicae
progress in France in the year 1107, sedis in Italia nihil adipisci potuit."
he says of his coming to St. Denis : ORDERICUS VlTALls, lib. xiil
"Qui gloriose et satis episcopaliter cap. n.
] COUNCIL OF RHEIMS. 159
return south, it was arranged that a grand council should be
holden at Rheims ; Louis VI. wished it wished the pope to
consecrate his young son Louis, under circumstances of pecu-
liar Solemnity for the active and politic king of France was
at this moment bowed down with sorrow by a domestic be-
reavement. Shortly before, as his eldest son Philip, a "rosy-
cheeked, pleasant youth" of sixteen years, was riding in the
suburbs of Paris, a " diabolical pig" ran between his horse's
legs, and threw horse and rider heavily on the ground. Before
night the prince expired. 1 Louis was inconsolable from grief;
indeed, Suger and others of his friends feared he might sink
under the shock ; so they persuaded him to proceed to Rheims,
and preside at the consecration of his second son, Louis.
The council was well attended. Thirteen archbishops, two
hundred and sixty-three bishops, besides a large number of
abbots, clerks, and monks, assembled at Rheims towards th"
middle of October, 1131. The king entered followed by
Rudolf of Vermandois and a crowd of barons ascended the
dais where the pope sat, kissed his feet, and took his seat
beside him. Louis then made a prayer for his lost son, which
brought tears to the eyes of all present. Whereupon the pope,
turning towards the king, began thus :
" It behoves you, most excellent king, who rule over the
most noble nation of the Franks, to lift up your eyes to the
Majesty of that Highest King, by whom kings reign, and to
adore and submit to His will in all things. He governs all
things, for He created them ; and as He knows all things in
the universe of the world, He neither does nor permits any-
thing unjust, although injustice is often wrought. The good
1 " Regis enim Ludovici filius, vissime cecidit, sessoremque svmm
floridus et amoenus puer, Philippus, nobilissimum puerum silice conster-
bonorum spes timorque malorum, natum, mqle ponderis .! conculca-
cum quadam die per civitatis Pari- him contriyit." SUG-&IUS, Vita
siensis suburbium equitaret, obvip Lttd. Gros.
porco diabolico offensus equus, gra-
r6o LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
and merciful Lord is wont to console His faithful servants with
prosperity, and to instruct them through adversity. For as we
read in Holy Scripture, which is His letter from heaven directed
to us on earth by the Holy Spirit, He smiteth and healeth and
chasteneth every son He loveth. And. why? Lest man, who,
made in the image of God, through the transgression of sin
has fallen into the shadows of this mortal life, should mistake
for his country the land of his exile. For we are all strangers
and sojourners, as our fathers were; nor have we here an
abiding city, but we seek that which is to come. To that city
your child, full of purity and innocence, has departed. David,
the model and exemplar of kings, while his son lay sick wept
most bitterly, but when he was told that his child was dead, he
arose from the sackcloth and ashes, changed his garments,
washed his hands, and called his household to a feast. The
holy man knew how great would be his sin if he withstood the
Divine ordinances even in thought. Lay aside, therefore, this
sadness of mind. God, who has taken to Himself one of your
sons, has left you others to reign after you. To us strangers,
driven from our sees, you owed and you gave consolation.
You received us with honour, and loaded us with benefits. May
God repay you for it in that city of which glorious things are
spoken, in which life knows no death, eternity no failing, joy
no end."
The speech of Innocent appeared to have a soothing effect
on the wounded spirit of the French king. The pope, when
he had finished speaking, rose, and reciting the Lord's prayer
in an undertone, absolved the soul of the deceased youth.
Preparations were then made for the ceremony of consecration,
which was to take place on the morrow.
The sun rose on the morning of the solemnity with a splen-
dour which surpassed his wonted brightness. At the doorway
of the cathedral the king and his knights awaited the arrival
of the pope. When he came, they all entered the church.
INNOCENT FAVOURS THE CISTERCIANS. 161
The little prince was presented at the altar, and " consecrated
with the oil with which St. Remigius, who had received it from
an angel's hand, had anointed Clovis on his conversion. Louis
was so comforted through the performance of this rite, that he
returned home with his queen, his son, and his court, and
again gave his attention to the public business of his kingdom.
The Council of Rheims, moreover, passed the usual decrees,
which, from constant repetition, had settled almost into re-
ceived formulas. Simony is forbidden, as a matter of course.
Monks may not learn or practise either medicine or law.
" Neglecting the cure of souls, promising health for hateful
I, money, they make themselves healers of human bodies. The
unchaste eye is the forerunner of the unchaste heart, and re-
ligious men may not handle things which modesty is ashamed
even to mention." Tournaments are interdicted. " We entirely
forbid those detestable fairs or holidays at which knights are
wont to meet by agreement, and where, in order to show their
strength and bravery, they rashly encounter each other ; where
often arise death to their bodies and danger to their souls.
If any one should die at any of these meetings, although, if
he can ask for it, the last sacrament shall not be withheld from
him, still, he shall not receive ecclesiastical burial." The last
decree is a most animated Condemnation of incendiaries, who
would seem to have been not a small class of offenders. They
are to repair, to the best of their ability, the injury they have
done, and do a year's penance either in Spain or the Holy
Land. 1
Innocent, after the rising of the council, began his journey
towards the south without further delay. He again visited
Cluny. Whether the obligation he had been under to Peter
and the Cluniacs had faded from his mind through the more
1 What is known of the Council tenth volume of Labbe's Collectio
of Rheims besides the canons will Conciliorum. Paris: 1671.
.be found brought together in the
M
162 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
brilliant services of Bernard and the Cistercians, or that the
austere poverty of Clairvaux became more, distinct when con-
trasted with the sumptuous Cluny, it is not easy to say. But
it is certain that during this second sojourn at Cluny he granted
immunities and favours to the Cistercians, which incensed the
Cluniacs to the highest pitch. Even the gentle abbot of Cluny,
by nature the meekest of men, was forced to utter a cry of
complaint and injustice. In a letter directed to Abbot Stephen,
bearing date from Cluny, Feb. 18, 1132, Innocent, besides
confirming the Cistercian freedom with regard to episcopal
interference, proceeds to order their complete immunity from
tithes. " Let no one presume to ask or receive tithes of any
of the brethren of your congregation." This was a blow if
not a very severe one, still one to be felt at the revenues of
Cluny, the monks of which had taken their tithes of their
poorer brethren of Citeaux without scruple. "Your devoted
congregation," writes Peter to Innocent, "begs that your newly
adopted children shall not expel their elders from your fatherly
love." So great a resistance did Peter's subjects make to the
papal command, that the long favoured and indulged Cluny
had to be threatened with an interdict, to bring it to submission.
But the warm, deep heart of Peter could never harbour resent-
ment or enmity, whatever the provocation ; and not long after,
he was rejoicing and congratulating Bernard on the fact, that
not even the dispute concerning the tithes had been sufficient
to impair their friendship.
From this Innocent continued his journey into Italy, still
accompanied by the Abbot of Clairvaux. Bernard, entirely
convinced that the cause of Innocent was the cause of right,
justice, and religion, set no bounds to his passionate advocacy
of it. Kings, dukes, private persons, bishops, and monks, were
caressed or threatened in long discourses or laconic notes, to
induce them to acknowledge or assist the pope of Bernard.
This is a letter to the King of England, Henry I :
INNOCENT RETURNS TO ITALY. 163
" To Henry, the illustrious King of the English, Bernard, called
the Abbot of Clairvaux, wishes honour, safety, and peace.
" To wish to give you instruction, especially in those matters
which concern propriety of conduct, is what would occur only
to a very foolish person, or to one entirely unacquainted with
your character. A simple account is therefore all that is needed,
and this in few words, as many are superfluous to one who
apprehends all things with ease. We are then at the entrance
of the city ; Salvation is in the gates ; Justice is .with us. But
that is a. food not palatable to Roman soldiers. Therefore
by righteousness we appease God ; by warfare we terrify our
enemies. We are only deficient in every necessary. What
remains to be done, in order that you may complete the work
which you began by that magnificent and honourable reception
of our Lord Pope Innocent, you know best." 1
It appears that the crafty Norman did not find it convenient
to understand the hint which Bernard conveyed to him. He
sent no money by which " our Lord Pope Innocent" could be
relieved from his painful condition of indigence. The pope,
nevertheless, through the help of the Emperor Lotharius, suc-
ceeded in entering Rome. But Anacletus was still too strong
/for him in his own capital. Indeed, he also had been able to
attach to his cause one powerful adherent ; who, moreover, was
not too far off to give valuable assistance when it might be
needed. This was the Norman, Roger Duke of Sicily, who
saw distinctly that Innocent, favoured .and supported by two
kings and an emperor, would appreciate his adhesion much
less than Anacletus, who had hitherto depended on the Roman
populace and his own wealth only. Roger therefore professed
himself satisfied that Anacletus was the lawful pope, and Inno-
cent a schismatical usurper. This view of the claims of the
rival pontiffs required for its durability that Anacletus should,
* > St Bern. Epist. 138.
\
r6 4 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
in his turn, recognise 'Roger as King of Italy. Innocent felt
that it was wise to retire in time. The help of the German
emperor was distant and doubtful ; Roger was present and
unscrupulous. Pope Innocent therefore withdrew to Pisa, land
there remained till the termination of the schism. A compara-
tive calm came over Europe in consequence. Each portion of
Europe was satisfied with its own pope, and waited the time
when his rival should be removed.
But Bernard still kept up a vigorous agitation. To the
Pisans, among whom Innocent was residing, he wrote : " Pisa
is chosen to take the place of Rome, and, out of all the cities
of the earth, is selected for the dignity of the apostolic see.
O Pisans ! O Pisans ! the Lord has dealt liberally with you,
and we are made to rejoice." 1 To the Milanese, who were
showing signs of insubordination, he says : "The Church oi
Rome is clement, but she is powerful. Do not abuse hei
clemency, lest you be crushed by her power. The plenitude
of authority over all the churches of the world, by a singulai
prerogative, is given to the apostolic see. He, therefore, who
resists this authority, resists the ordinance of God. The pope
could, if he judged it fit, create new bishoprics where none
existed before. Of those which exist, he can either raise them
or degrade them, according to his good pleasure. He can
summon ecclesiastical persons, however high their rank, from
the ends of the earth to his presence not once, or twice, but
as often as he sees fit ; and he is easily able to punish disobe-
dience, if any think proper to withstand him." 2 In a word,
everybody had better display a becoming haste in obeying
Innocent. Bernard's zeal at this period was abundantly warm j
but it may be doubted whether the flames of party spirit and
i/ theological bitterness did not contribute much to its heat
His language is vehement, not to say violent : Anacletus is
1 St. Bern. Epist. 130. * Ibid. Epist. 131.
THE ANTIPOPE ANACLETVS. 165
Antichrist; he is the Beast of Prophecy; and his name, Leo,
is the occasion of many a venomous pun.
The Milanese at last received the right pope, and thus caused
great rejoicing. Bernard came to visit them. When his arrival
was expected, the whole population went out to meet him as
far as the seventh milestone. Nobles and common people, on
horse, on foot, as if they had been going to migrate from their
city, all proceeded to welcome with an incredible reverence
the man of God. They kissed bis feet, and eagerly sought to
pick even the hairs from his garments. Signs and wonders of
all kinds marked his sojourn in the city of St. Ambrose. 1
But Bernard began to feel that his absence from home could
not be prolonged without grave disadvantage both to himself
and his flock at Clairvaux. During the four years which had
elapsed since the death of Honorius II. he could only have
given them a few hasty visits, snatched from the turmoil of
business and travelling. It is supposed he returned at the
beginning of the year 1135. His long-expected advent was
the cause of the deepest joy to his friends and monks. And
not only to them. Such was the renown for superhuman holi-
ness which by this time had filled all Europe with his name,
that, wherever he passed, even the shepherds came from their
hills, and the rustics from then- fields, if it might only be to
behold him afar off, and implore his blessing. When they had
caught sight of him, they returned to their huts, conversing and
rejoicing with one another that they had seen the saint of God.
When he reached Langres, he was met by a company from
Clairvaux, who, with embraces and tears of gladness, led him
home. The whole convent was assembled to receive its abbot
the " beloved father," as a contemporary calls him. There
was no tumult, or weak, undisciplined demonstrativeness in
their joy, but a great gravity, through which shone the deep
glow of intense love. The measure and propriety of their
* St Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 10396.
1 66 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
words and actions were a proof that their efforts towards self-
subjection had not been fruitless. And they restrained, we are
told, their very affections, lest a reign of self-indulgence might
offend the "maturity of religion." During the abbot's long
absence the devil, it was noticed, had been able to effect little
or nothing. There were no discussions or disputes awaiting
Bernard's return ; no hatreds nursed up against the day of
reckoning and adjustment. Old and young, rich and poor, the
high and the low, the knight and the serf, were all living in
amity and Christian brotherhood. Bernard, we are told, was
moved to great humbleness by this proof of God's favour.
The fact that the work of his hands seemed to prosper filled
him with a certain reverential awe, not with vain-glory and self-
conceit. In fact, his humility generally strikes his biographer,
Arnold of Bonnevaux, as the most remarkable of his many
wonderful gifts. Some marvelled, he says, at Bernard's doc-
trine, others at his holy -life, others at his miracles. Although
Arnold admits all these to be worthy of the highest admiration,
for himself, he considers the humility Bernard ever manifested
to be the most wonderful of all. 1 "When he was a chosen
vessel, and announced the name of Christ before nations and
kings ; when the princes of this world bowed down to him, and
the bishops of all lands awaited his bidding ; when even the
holy see revered his advice, and made him a sort of general
legate for all the world ; when, greatest of all, his words and
actions were confirmed by miracles ; he was never puffed up,
but, in all humility, considered himself the minister, not the
author, of mighty works ; and when every one thought him the
greatest, in his own judgment he was the least. Whatsoever
i " Plurima in eum probabilia et cum esset vas electionis, etc. etc. . . .
laude digna concurrunt. Alii nam- nunquam excessit, nunquam supra
que doctrinam, alii mores, alii miran- se in mirabilibus ambulavit" ST.
tur miracula, .... hoc sublimius BERN. Of. vol. ii. col. 1102
duco, hoc propensius praedico, quod
PROSPERITY OF CLAIRVAVX. 167
he did, he ascribed to God. He said, and felt, that he could
neither wish nor perform any good thing without the inspiration
of God. 1
Bernard had left Clairvaux to the care of hands he could
well confide in during his long absence in Italy. His kinsman
Geoffrey was prior, and his brother Gerard cellarer. These
two took upon them the working routine of the monastery, and
did all in their power to increase the leisure of their abbot,
which they were well persuaded would not .be lost to the
interests of the Church. But, after all the turmoil and agi-
tation of the schism, Bernard wanted not leisure only, but
rest, reflection, and solitude. He retired to a little hut, or
bower, near the abbey, where he could write, think, and
dream. Melancholy, lingering, retrospective glances at by-
gone days were unknown to either Bernard or his age. Still it
is hardly possible that he can have fallen back on this repose
and seclusion without remembering the fact and circum-
stances now fifteen years past of his similar retreat once
before. What a change had those fifteen years been witnesses
of! He was then a young abbot of an unknown order; he
was now the acknowledged chief of the most active minds in
Europe. Over all those broad realms of France and Germany
he was respected and feared. Even the Britons, entirely
divided from the whole world, had lately been showing they
knew of him and revered him. And the changed life he had
recently led ! Years of solitude and patient endeavour after
holiness and peace followed by world-wide activity and com-
mand. And now a little haven of shelter again showed in the
midst of that tempestuous sea ; quiet hours, and loved faces,
and the sound of old voices, known from childhood, were to
be his again for a season. As he sat in his beautiful vale,
looking out on the landscape (still visible to us), he cannot have
1 St Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1102.
1 68 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
wanted material for thought, and even for meditation. But his
meditations were destined to be soon interrupted.
Godfrey the prior, and several others, had come to the con-
clusion that the buildings at Clairvaux were quite inadequate
to the daily growing requirements of the monastery. Regretful
as they were to disturb the reflections of the abbot; they felt
that an important step must be taken one way or another;
that they must, either enlarge Clairvaux, or else make it under-
stood they did not mean to admit any fresh members. Bernard
was in the heavens, says Arnold of Bonnevaux, and they com-
pelled him to come down and listen to their sublunary business.
They pointed out to him the narrowness "and inconvenience of
the existing site as quite unfit for the expanding necessities of
the order. 1 Numbers were coming, for whom there was really
no room; and even the abbey church soon would be insuf-
ficient to hold the monks alone, to say nothing of visitors.
They said that they had well considered the matter, and had
discovered lower down the valley an open plain, very con-
venient from the position of the river, and altogether roomy
enough for all the needs and probable .increase of the
monastery. There was space for fields, sheds, shrubberies,
and vineyards. And as for the neighbouring wood, if it
seemed to require some sort of fence, the abundance of stones
would render the construction of stone walls, where wanted, a
matter of ease. Bernard listened to these suggestions, and
replied that he did not agree . with them. " You see," he
observed, "that our present stone buildings have been erected
at great cost and labour. If we sacrifice .all this, worldly
people may have a bad opinion of us ; may say that we are
light and fickle; or else say that too much riches, which we
1 " Hie [Godfridus] ergo atque quando descendere compellebant,
alii plures viri providi et de com- et indicabant ei quae domus neces-
muni utilitate solliciti yirum Dei, sitas exigebat." ST. BERN. Op.
cujus conversatio in coelis erat, ah- vol. ii. coL 1103.
J ERECTION OF NEW BUILDINGS. 169
are far from possessing, have made us mad. Now you, good
friends, know well enough that we have not the money, and,
to use the words of the Gospel, ' He that intendeth to build a
tower, must sit down first and count the cost : otherwise it will
afterwards be said of him, This man began to build, but was
not able to finish.'" "True," they replied; "if the buildings
of the monastery were complete, and God were pleased not to
send any more sojourners to us, such an opinion might hold.
But now we see our flock increase daily, and they who come
must either be sent away, or a habitation in which to receive
them must be found. We cannot doubt that He who provides
dwellers will provide houses for them also. But God forbid
that, through fear of the expense, we run the risk of rejecting
what He sends us." Bernard was delighted with the faith they
showed, and in time gave his consent to their plan. Many
prayers were offered, and even some revelations were vouch-
safed as a preliminary encouragement. There was great re-
joicing at Clairvaux when the decision was generally known. 1
Theobald, Count of Chartres, soon heard of the scheme,
and at once gave a handsome contribution towards it, with the
promise of more. Theobald was not at this time the ambitious
war-loving knight he had been some years back, when he
fought with Louis VI. for the castle of Le Puiset. Fifteen
years before he sailed for England from the coasts of Nor-
mandy with his uncle, Henry I. In another ship which sailed
with them were Henry's two sons and Theobald's own sister,
Matilda of Blois. The ship was called " The White Ship."
It never reached England, and Theobald lost a sister, a
brother-in-law, and four first cousins in one day. He had
been a grave man ever since, very fond of monks and religious
persons, and had replaced his old taste for fighting by a spirit
of gentle Christian benevolence. He was exactly the friend
Bernard wanted now he was doubtful about " the cost of it"
1 St Bern. Op. vol. ii. coL 1103.
170 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [<."
The bishops of those parts also, and the men of renown,
and the merchants, joyfully, and without being pressed, gave
liberally to the work of God. 1 The resources . were *thus
abundant. Labourers were hired, and the monks themselves
fell vigorously to work. Some cut timber, others squared the
stones, others built the walls. The river was divided into a
number of channels, and these were led to the various mills.
The fullers and millers, the tanners and carpenters, and other
artificers erected the machines and fittings required in their
several trades, and the obedient water; brought by subter-
ranean pipes throughout the offices, afforded a plentiful and
gushing spring wherever it was wanted. At last, having ful-
filled its various duties, it retired to its original bed, and
swelled to its ancient size. The walls were completed with
unexpected celerity, enclosing the whole extent of the spacious
monastery. The abbey rose from the earth, and, as if ani-
mated by a spirit of life, the new church seemed to grow and
increase.
1 " Audierunt episcopi regionum, ad opus Dei copiosa contulere suf-
et viri inclyti, et negotiatores terrae, fragia." ST. 'BERN. Op. vol. ii.
et hilari animo, sine exactore, ultro col. 1104.
CHAPTER II.
(A.D. 1135. AETAT. 44.)
WILLIAM, COUNT OF AQUITAINE, STILL FAVOURS ANACLETUS
BERNARD'S TRIUMPH OVER HIM SERMONS ON THE CANTICLES.
BERNARD could hardly have begun to solace himself with the
hope of a little peace and retirement, when he was again called
away from Clairvaux to overcome and control the enemies of
the Church.
Innocent, in his progress through France, had not deemed
it necessary to visit the south-western provinces of that country.
The wide district which extends from the Loire to the Pyrenees,
in the more urgent circumstances of the Church at the com-
mencement of the schism, had been either forgotten or neg-
lected, as comparatively of less importance. But when, through
the vigorous efforts of Bernard and others, order and allegiance
to Innocent had been established in the north, the condition
of Aquitaine began to attract attention. The office of legate
in those parts had, during the pontificates of Calixtus II. and
Honorius II., been discharged by Gerard, Bishop of Angouleme.
On the death of the latter pope, Gerard wrote to Innocent in
terms of submission and allegiance, at the same time inti-
mating that he should expect his position as legate to be con-
firmed by the new pope. Gerard's administration had been
notorious for its corrupt and worldly character, and Innocent
refused to reinstate him. He at once transferrred his obedience
to Anacletus. He induced the weak Count of Poitiers,
172 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
William X., to share his views, and acknowledge Anacletus.
With the count's connivance, or even assistance, he drove from
his see William, Bishop of Poitiers, who favoured the cause of
Innocent. A new bishop was hastily thrust into the vacant
see "a man ambitious and noble, but of degenerate faith,"
which probably meant only that he was a mail-clad knight,
who was willing to be called bishop, and take the episcopal
revenues. The intruder had powerful family connexions, who
were brought over by this elevation of their relative to the
cause of Anacletus. He was consecrated with due formality,
though his " cursed head was not so much anointed as defiled
by the imposition of their profane hands." 1 The see of
Limoges also suffered in the same manner. Ramnulf, Abbot
of Dorat, was intruded upon it, " whom the Divine vengeance
was not long in overtaking." As he was riding one day along
an even road, he fell from his horse, " a single stone, placed
there for this very purpose," struck his head, fractured his
skull, and killed him.
Pope Innocent had made the learned and pious Geoffrey,
Bishop of Chartres, his legate in Aquitaine. Geoffrey, when
he heard of these proceedings, at once determined to "post-
pone all other business, and avert, if possible, the danger
which was threatening the Church." He and Bernard were
intimate friends. Like nearly all his contemporaries, he ap-
pears to have thought that the Abbot of Clairvaux could
accomplish what nobody else could. He begged, he intreated
him to be his companion and helper in the difficult enterprise,
in which both felt an equally vivid interest Bernard replied
that he was about to found a colony of monks in Brittany ; that
this would necessitate his going to Nantes ; but that when he
had done so in a satisfactory manner; he would be willing and
J " Profanas ei imponentes manus, erunt quam contaminaverunL"
exsecrabile caput ejus non tarn unx- ST. BERN. Op. vol. ii. col. 1105.
JOURNEY INTO AQUTTAINE. 173
able to proceed southward into Aquitaine. They started on
the journey together. 1
After Bernard had settled his new abbey, and relieved a lady
of the district from most distressing visits which she received
from a demon, 2 he and Geoffrey proceeded to the dominions
of the Count of Poitiers. They sent word that the Abbot oi
Clairvaux and the Bishop of Chartres had come to him on
business of the Church and that they wished much to discuss
with him a subject of great importance. He was persuaded
not to decline the proposed conference. They all met at
1 Parthenay. Bernard and Geoffrey dwelt on the division of
1 the Church, and continuance of the schism. They said that,
f' north of the Alps at least, Aquitaine alone remained a marked
spot of disunion and disobedience. They insisted on the
unity of the Church, and pointed out that whatever is outside
of the Church, as it were outside of the ark, by the judgment
(/of God, must of necessity perish. They bade him reflect on
the fate of Dathan and Abiram, whom the earth swallowed up
alive for the sin of schism; and showed him that God's ven-
geance on such crimes had never been wanting. The count
heard them very patiently, and replied that, as regarded the
acknowledging of Pope Innocent, he had no objection what-
ever ; they might be satisfied on that point. He was willing
to renounce Anacletus ; but as for the restitution of the bishops
whom he had expelled from their sees, he declared that nothing
in the world should induce him to receive them again. Their
cause might be good, and he gave his allegiance to it ; but the
men themselves were hateful to him. They had offended him
beyond forgiveness, and should never more be friends of his.
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. lectulo cubante marito." Ibid.
1 105. Bernard relieved her by lending hei
2 "Erat autem in regione ilia his pastoral staff to place in the bed.
misera mulier, quae a quodam petu- The demon threatened awful revenga
lante diabolo vexabatur. . . . Abute- when Bernard should be gone, bul
batur ergo ea, etiam in eodem he was utterly defeated.
174 LIFE AND TIMES OP ST. BERNARD.
As the count appeared likely to be firm in what he said,
Bernard broke off a discussion which was useless. He' and
those who might lawfully do so entered a church to celebrate
mass, leaving the count standing outside at the door, which,
as. an excommunicated person, he might not pass through.
Bernard went through the rite the overwhelming miracle, as it
was thought of consecrating the elements. Then rising into
an ecstasy of enthusiasm and command, he came forth with
flaming eyes and a countenance of fire, bearing the Host before
him. Not with soft words of supplication, but in loud tones of
anger and menace, he addressed the count. " We have be-
seeched you, and us you have despised : an assembled multi-
tude of God's servants have implored you, and them you have
despised. Behold the Virgin's Son, the Head and Lord of that
Church which you persecute, comes towards you. Your Judge
is here, at whose name every knee shall bow, whether in heaven,
on earth, or in hell. Your Judge is here, into whose hands your
soul will fall. Will you spurn Him also ; will you despise Him
as you have His servants ? " J A silence as of death reigned
over the assembled and terrified multitude, who, amid prayers
and tears, waited in expectation of a miracle from heaven. The
count, when he saw the awful zeal of Bernard, in whose hands
he verily believed at that moment was his Judge and Lord,
stiffened and paralyzed in every limb, fell insensible to the
ground. Raised up by his attendant knights, he could neither
speak nor see, and again fell with his face on the grass, foam-
ing at the mouth. Bernard came close to him, and pushing
the prostrate man with his foot, told him to stand up and hear
1 "Rogavimus te, et sprevisti nos. nomine omne genu curvatur coe-
Supplicavit tibi in altero quern jam lestium, terrestrium, et infernorum.
tecum habuimus convenlu servorum Adest judex tuus, in cujus manus
Dei ante te adunata multitude, et ilia anima tua deveniet Nunquid
contempsisti. Ecce ad te processit et ipsum spernes ? nunquid et ipsum
Filius Virginis qui est caput et sicut servos ejus contemnes?" ST.
Dominus Ecclesiae quam tu perse- BERN. Of. vol. ii. col. 1107.
queris. Adest judex tuus, in cujus .
HUMILIATION OF COUNT WILLIAM. 175
the judgment of God. " Here," he said, " is the Bishop of
Poitiers, whom you have driven from his church. Go and be
reconciled to him with the kiss of peace. Lead him back to
his see, whence you have expelled him. Give glory to God
instead of contumely, and throughout your dominions restore
that unity which has fled from it." The count heard, although
he neither dared nor was able to speak ; but he went at once
and received the bishop with a kiss ; and with the same
hand by which he had abjured him, he now led him back to
his church amidst general rejoicing. Soon he and Bernard
were in friendly converse, and the latter urged him for the
future to avoid such impious doings, lest at last he should tire
out God's patience by his misdeeds. 1
Such was the force of belief in the old times. The infinite,
the supernatural, can never be altogether excluded from men's
minds. Men think of them deeply and wisely, or meanly and
foolishly, according as their horizon is wide or narrow, their
vision far-reaching or weak ; but still they think of them. In
these rough, strong, mediaeval knights a fearful conflict was
ever going on. The ferocious appetites and instincts which
they inherited from their fathers who conquered Rome were
still, in scarcely diminished intensity, working in their own
breasts. But in the midst of these appetites and passions had
been dropped the leaven of the Christian creed. Part of that
creed (at least, as propounded by the Church) they could, and
did, thoroughly assimilate. The God of wrath and vengeance
was perfectly comprehensible to them ; they only forgot Him
in the moments of their own vengeance and wrath. These
moments often recurred in the lives of even the best of them ;
but the intervals of remission were as often filled with the
bitterest reaction and remorse. The dormant religious awe
would wake up in vengeful tyranny, and the fire of the Divine
anger seemed to run along the ground. Then came repentance
1 St Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1107.
176 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [525. n
in sackcloth and ashes ; then the agony of soul which brought
their stiff, iron-clad knees to the ground, or even their "faces
on the grass, foaming at the mouth." So they passed through
life, which for them was a narrow pathway, now skirting the
gates of hell, now rising towards the plains of heaven.
Meanwhile, Bernard was again at Clairvaux, striving to shut
out the world, and to be left with his own thoughts alone for a
season. For a season he succeeded, and the first twenty-six
sermons on the Canticles were the result.
In the " auditorium," or talking-room of the monastery
sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon
Bernard, surrounded by his white-cowled monks, delivered his
spiritual discourses a very solemn business to all concerned.
Sermons must always, in their essence, resemble that for ever
memorable one, addressed in the prison cell at Athens to a
party of mourning friends, concerning that " journey " which
the speaker was about to make. 1 Sooner or later the journey
has to be made by all, and those who best realize that fact
are ever the least reluctant to hear discourse, "sermo," in
reference to it. To Bernard's hearers, whose lives were one
long, painful toil and endeavour after holiness and peace, the
address from the father abbot who was believed to know
every incident of the Pilgrim's Progress they were attempting
to perform came as a sweet pause of rest and reflection in the
midst of the labour of the steep ascent. Bernard preached
often, oftener than was usual among the Cistercians. He
scarcely allowed a day to pass without saying some words to
his monks. For this he gives several good reasons. "If I
address you," he says, " more frequently than is customary in
our order, I do not do so from presumption, but at the
expressed wish of the venerable abbots, my brethren, who
order me to do that which they would not generally permit to
themselves ; for they know that a different system and other
i Plat Phaedon, cap. 5.
FIRST SERMON ON THE CANTICLES. 177
necessities are imposed on me. I should not, indeed, be
speaking to you now, if I could be working with you. That
would be perhaps more useful to you, and more acceptable to
me. But such labour is denied me for my sins, by the multi-
plied infirmity of this burdensome body of which ye are well
aware and also by the want of time. Please God that
speaking, and not doing, I may be worthy to be found, if
only the least, in the kingdom of heaven." *
The hour of the sermon varied, from early morning to
approaching sunset. When Bernard was at home and well
enough to preach, the assembly of grown, silent men would
noiselessly gather in the auditorium, whether from the night's
vigils and psalmody, or the day's labour .in the hot fields. A
strange company it must have been : the old, stooping monk,
whose mortifications were nearly over- the young beginner,
destined perhaps to pass half a century in painful self-denial
the lord of wide lands, and the peasant who had worked on
them one after another came in with soft glide and took their
places, waiting for the man whose thoughts and conversation
they verily believed came from another world. To them, in
the year 1135, Bernard thus spoke :
"Different things, my brethren, ought to be said to you,
from what are said to men yet in the world, or, at least, the
manner of saying them should be different. For he who
adheres to the apostle's rule, feeds the latter with milk, not
with meat. But the spiritual require a stronger fare, as the
same apostle teaches also by his example, when he says
'Which things also we speak, not in the words which man's
wisdom teacheth, but which the Holy Ghost teacheth ; com-
paring spiritual things with spiritual : ' and again ' Howbeit
we speak wisdom among them which are perfect,' such as I
firmly trust you are ; unless perchance you have for this long
i InPsal. Qui habitat, Sermo X., St. Bern. Op. voL i. col. 856.
N
178 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [SS5.
time devoted yourselves to heavenly studies, exercised your
senses, and meditated day and night on the law of God, in
vain. Open your mouths, therefore, not for milk, but for
bread. With Solomon there is bread, and that full beautiful
and savoury ; I mean the book which is entitled the Song of
Songs ; let it be brought forth and broken."
These are the words with which he begins the first sermon
of the series. Bernard's mystical views on a mystical book of
the Old Testament would probably have but feeble attractions
for modern readers. But his sermons on the Canticles are
extremely free and discursive, running off frequently into
long disquisitions and contemplations, which have little or no
connexion with the spiritual raptures of the Hebrew king.
Thus in the fifth sermon he discourses on spirits as follows :
SERMON
On the Four Orders of Spirits : that is, the Spirit of God,
of Angels, of Man, and of Beasts.
" Four kinds of spirits are known to you : the animal, our
own, the angelic, and the divine. To all of these a body
is necessary, either on account of itself, or on account of
another, or on account of both ; excepting that One to whom
every creature, whether corporeal or spiritual, justly con-
fesses and says, 'Thou art my God; Thou hast need of
none of my goods.' Now the first spirit, that is of animals,
it is plain, is in such need of a body, that it cannot even
exist without it ; for when the animal dies, that spirit ceases
at once both to vivify and to live. But we live after the
body; still to us no access to those things by which we
live, happily, is open, except through the body. He had
perceived this who said, 'The invisible things of God are
clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made ; '
for, indeed, those things that are made, that is bodily and
FIFTH SERMON ON THE CANTICLES. 179
visible things, except they be perceived by the instrumentality
of the body, come not within our knowledge. The spiritual
creature, 'therefore, which we are, must necessarily have a body,
without which it certainly will not gain that instruction which
is the only means whereby it may attain to those things by the
knowledge of which it is made blessed. If any one object to
me the case of regenerate little children, that leaving the body
without a knowledge of corporeal things, they are believed,
nevertheless, to pass to a blessed life, I answer briefly that
grace, not nature, confers this upon them. But for that, what
have I to do with God's miracles, I who am discussing things
natural ?
" Again, that celestial spirits have need of bodies is proved
by that true and plainly Divine sentence, ' Are they not all
ministering spirits, sent forth to minister unto them who shall be
heirs of salvation ? ' But how can they, without bodies, fulfil
their ministry, especially among those who have bodies ? In a
word, it belongs only to bodies to move about from one place
to another a thing which, by undoubted and known authority,
angels are shown frequently to do. And so it came to pass
that they were seen of the fathers, and entered in unto them,
and ate with them, and washed then: feet. Thus, both higher
and lower spirits require bodies of their own; but only in
order that they may render assistance, not receive it. For
the animal, through the debt it owes of service, affords help
only to needs arising from temporal and corporeal necessities ;
therefore the spirit which is in it passes away with time, and
dies with the body. The servant, indeed, abideth not in the
house for ever, although those who use him well apply all the
profit of this temporal servitude to the gaining of things
eternal. But the angel is careful and quick in the freedom
of the spirit to discharge his office of compassion, showing
himself to mortal men, his fellow-citizens and joint heirs of
heavenly bliss, a prompt and ready minister of good things to
N 2
l8o LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
come. Both the animal, then, that he may serve us from
obligation, and the angel that he may assist us from pity,
have need of their bodies in order to afford us help. For I
do not see how they themselves are benefited by them as
regards the gain of eternity. The irrational spirit, although it
lays hold of corporeal things by means of its body, yet is never
so far assisted by its body, that, through the corporeal and
sensible things which it perceives by it, it can progress and
attain to spiritual and intelligible things. Nevertheless, for the
attainment of these things, the animal, it is known, by its
corporeal and temporal obedience, helps those who, using this
world as though they used it not, transfer all use of temporal
things to the profit of things eternal.
" Moreover, the heavenly spirit, without help from the body,
or the perception of those things which are felt through the
body, simply by the vivacity and kinship of its nature to them,
is able to apprehend the highest things and penetrate the
deepest. Was not this the apostle's meaning when, after
saying, 'The invisible things of God are clearly seen, being
understood by the things that are made,' he adds immediately,
' by the creature of the world ' ? Surely because they are not
so by the creature of heaven. 1 For what the spirit, inhabitant
of earth, and clothed in flesh, strives painfully, and by slow
degrees, to attain, that the dweller in the heavens, by his
natural subtlety and sublimity, can swiftly and easily reach,
"without help from body or member, and uninstructed by the
perception of any corporeal thing. Why should such a spirit
search out spiritual meanings among bodies, while he can read
in the book of life without contradiction, and understand
without difficulty? Why, in the sweat of his brow, should
1 St. Paul had a very different loc. St. Bernard was misled into this
meaning when he wrote faro Krlffeus fanciful argument by the Vulgate,
it6ffp.ov (from the time of the crea- which has a creatura mundL"
tion). See Alford and Jowett, in
FIFTH SERMON ON THE CANTICLES. 181
he labour to thrash grain, make wine, press oil, who has
abundance of all ready to his hand? Who would beg his
food from door to door, having plenty in his own house?
Who would dig a well, and seek for veins of water in the
bowels of the earth, if a living spring of limpid waters
gushed up for him spontaneously? Therefore neither the
brutish nor the angelical spirit, in the acquirement of those
things which render a spiritual creature blessed, are helped
by their bodies : the first, from natural stolidity, not being
equal to it ; the latter, by his pre-eminence of exceeding glory,
not requiring it.
" But the spirit of man, which holds a certain mean between
the highest and the lowest places, must necessarily have a body
for both purposes, to help others and to be helped itself. For,
to say nothing of the other members of the body or of their
duties, how, I ask, could you instruct a hearer if you had
not a tongue, or comprehend without ears the words of an
instructor ?
" Hence it is clear that every created spirit, whether to help
or to be helped, has need of a body. What if some animals,
as far as the use of them is concerned, are found to be incon-
venient and ill suited to human needs ? They are good to
look at, if not to use ; more profitable to the hearts of those
who gaze on them than to the bodies of those who use them.
Although they be hurtful, although they be pernicious to human
safety in this world, still their bodies do not lack that which
worketh. together for good to those who, according to the
purpose, are called saints. For although they be not killed
for food, nor apt to render service, yet verily they exercise the
wit, agreeably to that benefit of common discipline which
presides over all methods of putting things in use, by which
4 the invisible things of God are clearly seen, being under-
stood by the things that are made.' For the devil and his
satellites, having always a malignant intention, are ever anxious
1 82 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
to work mischief; but God forbid they should succeed against
the followers of good, of whom it is said, 'And who is he
that will harm you if ye be followers of that which is good?'
Yea, rather they assist, though unwilling, and work together for
good to the good.
" On the other hand, whether the angelic bodies be natural
to the spirits themselves, as men's bodies are to them; whether
the animal bodies be, like men, immortal, although they are
not men ; whether they can change and alter their bodies in
form and appearance when they wish to appear, densifying
and solidifying them as they choose, naturally being of such
subtle and impalpable substance as to be imperceptible to our
senses, or whether, abiding in their simple spiritual state, they
put on bodily forms when they want them, casting them aside
again when they have served their purpose, suffering them to
dissolve into the material from which they the bodily forms
were taken ; these are points on which I would rather not
speak. The fathers appear to have held diverse opinions
respecting them. I do not see clearly which I ought to teach,
and confess I do not know. I, moreover, do not think that a
knowledge of these subtleties will assist you much in your
progress. But bear this in mind, that no spirit can by itself
reach unto our minds; that is, supposing it to have no assist-
ance from our body or its own. No spirit can so mix with,
and be poured into us, that we become in consequence either
learned or good. No angel, no soul, can comprehend me;
none can I comprehend in this manner. Even angels them-
selves do not thus seize each other's thoughts, i.e. without
bodily organs. This prerogative is reserved for the highest
and unbounded Spirit, who alone, when He imparts knowledge
either to angel or man, does not need that we should have
ears to hear, or that He should have a mouth to speak.
By Himself He is poured in ; by Himself He is made manifest.
Pure Himself, He is understood by the pure. He alone needs
FIFTH SERMON ON THE CANTICLES. 183
nothing ; alone sufficient to Himself and to all by His sole
omnipotent will.
" Yet He works things immense and numerous by means of
the subject creature, be it corporeal or spiritual : but as com-
manding, not as entreating. To give an example. He has at
this moment taken my tongue to do His work that is, to teach
you ; whereas He could doubtless have done it far more easily
and sweetly Himself. This, therefore, is condescension, not
indigence. In your progress He is seeking iny merit, not
assistance for Himself. This it behoves every man who
worketh good to become convinced of, lest he should glory in
himself of the Lord's goods, and not in the Lord. It is
possible for a bad man or a bad angel to do good unwil-
lingly ; and it is clear that the good which is done by such a
one is not done for him, seeing that no good can be of service
to one unwilling to work it. Therefore the dispensation alone
is entrusted to him. But, I know not how, we feel the good
done by an evil minister to be more grateful and pleasant ; and
that is the reason why God often does good to the just by
the medium of evil men, not that He needs their assistance in
doing good.
" As regards those beings which are void of sense or reason,
who can doubt that God needs them much less? but when
they concur in the performance of a good work, then it appears
how all things serve Him who can justly say, ' The world is
Mine, and the fulness thereof.' Assuredly, seeing that He
knows the means best adapted to ends, He does not in the
service of His creatures seek efficacy, but suitability. Sup-
posing, in the next place, that the greater part of the Divine
work Is carried on by means of corporeal agents, as, for
example, in the case of rain falling to quicken the seeds, or to
increase the crops, or to ripen the fruit, I would ask, what
need of a body has He to whom the universe of bodies in
heaven and earth yields an instant obedience? Clearly HP
184 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
would find a body of His own superfluous, to whom no body
is alien. But if I tried to embrace in the present sermon all
that occurs to me on this head, it would exceed its proper
limits and, may be, the strength of some ; therefore I reserve
for another occasion what remains unsaid on this."
The next sermon contains also some passages well worth
quoting. The following paragraphs, taken from the conclusion,
are all that can be given here :
"But I must not pass over in silence those spiritual feet of
God, which, in the first place, it behoves the penitent to kiss in
a spiritual manner. I well know your curiosity, which does
not willingly allow anything obscure to pass by it j nor indeed
is it a contemptible thing to know what are those feet which
the Scripture so frequently mentions in connexion with God.
Sometimes He is mentioned as standing on them, as ' We will
worship in the place where Thy feet have stood ;' sometimes
as walking, as 'I will dwell in them and will walk in them;'
sometimes even as running, as ' He rejoiceth as a strong man
to run a race.' If it appear right to the apostle to call the
head of Christ God, it appears to me as not unnatural to con-
sider His feet as representing man ; one of which I shall name
mercy, and the other judgment. Those two words are known
to you, and the Scripture makes mention of them in many
places.
On these two feet, fitly moving under one Divine head,
Christ, born of a woman, He who was invisible under the
law, then made Emmanuel [God with us], was seen on the
earth, and conversed with men. Of a truth, He even now
passes amongst us, relieving and healing those oppressed by
the devil ; but spiritually and invisibly. With these feet, I
say, He walks through devout minds, incessantly purifying and
searching the hearts and reins of the faithful.
" Happy is that mind in which the Lord Jesus has placed
SIXTH-SERMON. 185
both of these feet. You may recognise that mind by these
two signs, which it must necessarily bear as the marks of the
Divine footprints. These are hope and fear; the first repre-
senting the image of judgment, the other of mercy. Justly
doth the Lord take pleasure in them that fear Him, in those
that hope in His mercy ; seeing that fear is the beginning of
wisdom, of which also hope is the incease, and charity the
consummation. These things being so, in this first kiss which
is received at the feet is not a little fruit ; only be careful that
you are not robbed of either kiss. If you are pricked by the
pain of sin and the fear of judgment, you have pressed your
lips on the foot of judgment and truth. If you temper this
fear and pain by regarding the Divine goodness, and by the
hope of forgiveness, you may know that you have embraced
the foot of mercy. It profits not to kiss one without the
other, because the dwelling on judgment only casts you into
the abyss of desperation, while a deceitful trust in mercy
generates the worst kind of security.
" To me also, wretched one, it has been given sometimes
to sit beside the feet of the Lord Jesus, and with all devotion
to embrace first one, then the other, as far as His loving-kind-
ness condescended to permit me. But if ever, forgetful of
mercy, through the stings o'f conscience I have dwelt too long
on the thought of judgment, at once cast down with incredible
fear and confusion, enveloped in dark shadows of horror,
breathless from out of the deeps I cried, 'Who knoweth the
power of Thy wrath? and through fear of Thee who can
reckon Thy displeasure ?' If it has chanced that I have then
clung too closely to the foot of mercy, after forsaking the
other, such carelessness and indifference have come upon me,
that my prayers have grown cold, my work has been neglected,
my speech has been less cautious, my laughter more ready,
: and the whole state of both my outer and inner man less firm.
Learning then from experience, not judgment alone, nor mercy
l8b LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
alone, but mercy and judgment together, will I sing unto Thee,
O Lord : I will never forget those justifications ; they both
shall be my song in the house of my pilgrimage, until mercy
being exalted above judgment, then misery shall cease, and
my glory shall sing to Thee for ever, and not be silent"
A little while after this sermon, Bernard delivered others,
" On the Three Spiritual Ointments : that is to say, Contrition,
Devotion, and Compassion." The subject was pursued through
three sermons : the second is given here.
SERMON
On Two Tilings \i.e. the mode and the resulf\ pertaining to
Jfiiman Redemption.
" I said at the conclusion of my last sermon, and I do not
mind repeating it, that I wish all of you to be partakers of the
sacred anointing ; of that one, viz., in which a holy devotion
remembers the goodness of God with joy and thanksgiving.
For this it is good to do, both because it lightens the labours
of this present life, which become more tolerable to us whilst
we exult in praise of God ; and also because nothing so fitly
images in this world a certain condition of the celestial habita-
tions, as they who are swift to praise God. As the Scripture
saith, ' Blessed are they that dwell in Thy house, O Lord : they
will be alway praising Thee.' It is of this ointment especially
that I believe the prophet spake : ' Behold how good and
joyful a thing it is for brethren to dwell together in unity ! it is
like ointment upon the head.' This cannot refer to the former
ointment ; for that, although it be good, is not pleasant also,
because the remembrance of sins bringeth bitterness, not joy.
Nor do they who make it live together, when each one laments
and deplores his own particular sins. But those who are"
steadfast in thanksgiving behold and think of God alone, and
by this very fact live together in unity. What they do is good,
ELEVENTH SERMON. 187
for they most rightly give glory to Him whose it is ; and it is
pleasant also, for it gives them joy.
"Therefore I exhort you, my friends, to leave for a season
the painful and anxious remembrance of your ways, to strike
away into the softer parts of memory, and dwell on the loving-
kindness of God, that you who are confounded in yourselves
may recover by gazing on Him. I wish you to experience that
which the holy prophet advised, saying, Delight thou in the
Lord, and He shall give thee thy heart's desire.' Now grief
over sin is necessary, if it be not constant ; it must be broken
by the more joyful remembrance of the Divine goodness, lest
the heart grow hardened through sadness, and from despair
perish more exceedingly. Let us mix honey with our worm-
wood, in order that the wholesome bitter, tempered by the
added sweetness, may be swallowed, and give us health. Listen
how God softens the bitterness of , contrite heart, how He
recalls the faint-hearted from the pit of despair, how through
the honey of pleasant and faithful promises He consoles the
sorrowful and establishes the weak. He says by the prophet,
' I will bridle thy mouth with My praises, lest thou perish.' This
means, lest by the sight of thy wickedness thou be too much
cast down, and even like an unbridled horse thou rush head-
long and perish desperately. With the bridle, He says, of My
indulgence will I restrain thee, and will raise thee up with My
praises ; thou who art confounded with thine own evil shalt
breathe again in My good, and- shalt surely find My mercy
is greater than thy sin. If Cain had been so restrained, he
would never have said in despair, * My sin is too great for
me to be forgiven.' l God forbid ! God forbid ! for His loving-
kindness is greater than any iniquity. Wherefore the just man,
not throughout, but only in the beginning of his discourse is a
"self-accuser, while he is wont to close with the praises of God.
See, thus doeth the righteous man : ' I thought,' he says, ' on
1 Vulgate.
l88 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
my ways, and I turned my feet to Thy testimonies.' That is,
having found sorrow and misery in his own ways, he took
delight in the way of God's testimonies, as in all manner of
riches. Follow ye the example of the just ; if ye think of
yourselves in humility, think also of the Lord in His mercy and
goodness. Now this becomes, easy to the mind, if we preserve
a frequent, nay a constant, recollection of the Divine kindness.
Otherwise, how shall we obey the saying of the apostle, " In
everything give thanks," if those things for which . thanks are
due vanish from the mind ? I would not have you deserve
the reproach earned by the Jews, of whom it is declared that
they forgat His works, and the wonders that He had showed
them.
"But seeing that the . good which the kind and merciful
Lord ceases not to shower on mortals cannot all be remem-
bered by man for who can utter the mighty acts of the
Lord? who can show forth all His praise? let that which is
chief and greatest the work, namely, of our redemption
never fade from the memory of the redeemed. In this work
there are two points which in a special manner I will offer to
your attention, and this as briefly as may be, being mindful of
that saying, ' Give instruction to a wise man, and he will be
yet wiser.' These two things, then, are the manner and the
fruit, or result, of our redemption. Now the manner is the
emptying out or humbling of God ; the fruit thereof- is our
being filled with Him. To dwell on the last is a seed-plot of
holy hope ; to think of the former an incentive to the highest
love. Both are necessary to our progress, that hope without
love should not grow sordid, nor love wax cold, hoping for no j
return. '
" But indeed we expect such a return for our love as He
whom we love has promised us : ' Good measure, pressed
down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give .,
into your bosom.' That measure I hear will be without
] ELEVENTH SERMON. 189
measure. But I would fain know of what is that measure to
consist, or rather that immensity which is promised in return.
Eye hath not seen, O God, besides Thee, the things that Thou
hast prepared for them that love Thee. Tell us, then, Thou
who preparest, what Thou preparest. We believe, we trust,
it will be such as Thou dost promise. ' We shall be filled
with the good things of Thy house.' But which good things,
and of what kind ? Is it with corn, wine, and oil, with gold
and silver, or precious stones ? But these we see and know,
we see and despise them. That we seek which eye hath not
seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of
man to conceive. This pleases, this is sweet, this delights us
to inquire concerning it, whatever it may be. And they all
shall be taught of God; and He. will be all in all. As I
understand, the fulness which we expect from God will not
be except of God.
" But who can grasp the magnitude of delight comprehended
in that short word, God will be all in all ? Not to speak of
the body, I perceive three things in the soul reason, will,
memory ; and these three make up the soul. How much each
of these in this present world lacks of completion and perfect-
ness is felt by every one who walketh in the Spirit. Where-
fore is this, except because God is not yet all in all ? There-
fore it is that our reason falters in judgment, that our will is
feeble and distracted, that our memory confounds us by its
forgetfulness. We are subjected unwillingly to this threefold
weakness, but hope abides. For He who fills with good things
the desires of the soul, He himself will be to the reason the
fulness of light ; to the will the abundance of peace ; to the
memory the unbroken smoothness of eternity. O truth! O
charity ! O eternity ! O blessed and blessing trinity ! to thee
my miserable trinity miserably groans, while it is in exile from
thee. Departing from thee, in what errors, griefs, and fears is
it involved ! Alas, for what a trinity have we exchanged thee
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
away. My heart is disturbed, and hence my grief; my strength
has forsaken me, and hence my fear ; the light of my eyes is
not with me, and hence my error. O trinity of my soul ! what
a changed trinity dost thou show me in mine exile ?
" ' But why art thou cast down, O my soul ? and why art
thou disquieted within me? Hope thou in God, for I shall
yet praise Him' : that is, when error shall have left my mind,
sorrow my will, fears my memory, and serenity, sweetness, and
eternal peace shall have come in their stead. The first of these
things will be done by the God of truth, the second by the
God of charity, the third by the God of omnipotence, that God
may be all in all : the reason receiving light inextinguishable,
the will peace imperturbable, the memory cleaving to a foun-
tain which shall never fail. You may judge for yourselves
whether you would rightly assign the first to the Son, the second
to the Holy Ghost, and the last to the Father ; in such a man-
ner, however, that you take away nothing of any of them, either
from the Father, or the Son, or the Holy Ghost.
"As regards the manner of our redemption, which, if you
remember, we defined as the emptying out or humbling of God,
there are three points I commend to your notice. It was not a
simple or moderate humbling, but He humbled Himself even to
taking flesh, even to death, to death on the cross. Who can
measure the humility, gentleness, and condescension which
moved the Lord of Majesty to put on flesh, to be punished
with death, to be disgraced by the cross? But some one may
say, could not the Creator repair His work without that difficulty?
He could; but He chose to do it with His own injury, rather
than that the foulest and most odious vice of ingratitude should
again find its place in man. He took upon Him much fatigue,
that He might hold man His debtor to much love, and that the
difficulty of redemption might remind man of thanksgiving,
whom an easier condition had made less devout For what
was created and ungrateful man wont to say? ' I was made
Q ELE VENTH SERMON. 191
indeed free of charge, but with no labour or effort to my
Maker.' ' He spake the word and I was made, as all things
were.' ' Nothing is great, if it only costs a word.' Thus human
wickedness, attenuating the benefit of creation, found food for
ingratitude where it ought to have discovered a source of love,
and that to make an excuse for sin. But the mouth of the evil
speaker is stopped. It is clearer than daylight now, O man,
what an outlay He has made for you. From the Lord He
became a servant ; from rich He became poor ; from the Word,
flesh; from the Son of God, the Son of man. Remember-
now, that though you were made from nothing, you were not
redeemed for nothing. In six days He made all things, and
you among them ; but for thirty whole years He wrought at
your salvation in the midst of the earth. What did He not
endure in His labours ? Necessities of the flesh, temptations
of the enemy, did He not gather and heap all these on Him-
self by the ignominy of the cross, by the horror of His death ?
Not without necessity indeed. Thus, thus, Thou, Lord, shalt
save both man and beast. ' How excellent is Thy mercy, O
God.' Meditate on these things, dwell upon them. Draw
refreshment from these spices for your inward parts, long tor-
mented by the reek of your sins, that you may abound also in
these ointments, not less sweet than salutary. Still, do not
suppose that you yet possess those best of all which are
praised in the breast of the Spouse. These cannot be spoken
of now, the sermon must be finished. What has been said
concerning the other ointments, keep it in your memory, try
in your life; and concerning these which are to follow, help
me with your prayers, that it be given to me to speak some-
thing which shall be worthy of these delights of the Spouse,
and able to build up your souls to a love of the Bridegroom,
our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen." 1
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. i. coL 1294.
1 92 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
CHAPTER III.
(A.D. 1136. AETAT. 45.)
CONVERTS AT CLAIRVAUX FREEDOM OF SPEECH IN THE MIDDLE
AGES LETTERS TO POPE INNOCENT II. AND OTHERS DEATH OF
LOUIS VI.
IT was partly to hear such sermons as these that men came to
Clairvaux. The whole fact and its circumstances are difficult
to realize now. Far off, indeed, is the entire meaning and
motive of monkery from modern European thought. Self-
mortification has few practisers, or even admirers, at the
present day, when it is justly thought that, in a world so full of
work waiting to be done, a man can employ himself in a more
profitable manner than by diminishing his sleep and food,
singing all night and holding his tongue all day. The modern
man, as a' general rule, is occupied in a long, vigorous life-
struggle with external nature, subjecting and. compelling the
elements to yield a prompt obedience to his will. Thought, as
such, thought which does not at least promise to aid in this
great object, is not very favourably regarded; speculation
which leads to no very tangible result is rather impatiently dis-
missed, as being, probably, idleness with a fine name. There
can be little doubt of the fact, whatever inferences it may-
suffice to sustain, that the tendency of the modern mind is to
give a marked approval to the practical as opposed to the
speculative. But if the philosopher is warned of the existence
of this tendency if the thinker, whose views, though they be
MEDIAEVAL AXTD MODERN THOUGHT. 193
derided as chimerical to-day, may to-morrow make their weight
felt in trade and politics if these are reminded of the hurry
mankind have got into just now, what treatment may the monk
expect to receive ? In truth, the treatment he deserves, as a
useless loiterer, a relic of the old time, superfluous or ob-
structive in the new. The raft which served well down the
river is of small avail when we get to the ocean. The social
contrivances of the twelfth century are not a little out of place
in the nineteenth.
But this " conquest of nature," this " practical science," are
modern, and the Middle Ages had no suspicion of them
i . Dominion over nature, except it was miraculous, was not
dreamed of then. There was, indeed, much more urgent
work to do viz. acquiring dominion over man. It must be
remembered that although then men were called Christians,
their remove from the savage was of the shortest. Work was
not their pleasure, but their detestation ; not to make, but to
destroy, was their delight. Not self-control nor humanity were
their characteristics, but ferocity, lawlessness, and revenge.
To tame these fierce natures was a long and difficult task, and
no little debt of gratitude is owing to those who did it, what-
ever were the means they found it necessary to employ. Even
in those times men were born "who were a law unto them-
selves," men in whom the carnivorous instinct did not pre-
dominate; and these men gradually transferred the law and
harmony they found in their own minds and hearts into the
confused world around them. First of all they renounced the
world, as they said; they drew a sharp line of demarcation
between themselves and the outer darkness ; they lived apart,
' that is, they lived in monasteries ; they saw men's passions
consuming them like the flames of hell, they extinguished in
themselves the simplest instincts of human nature ; excess
*j begetting excess, according to the law of reaction. Asceticism
I is not needed nor appreciated now, because daily life offers no
194 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
revolting wickedness to recoil from. In the twelfth century it
was the only kind of protest which told- with sufficient force.
The era for work, as now understood, had not yet come. In
the higher, or perhaps highest, sense the work done by the
Bernards, the Brunos, and the Norberts, was as important as
the world has seen.
The way in which the small nucleus of law and order which
survived in the monasteries attracted to itself individuals from
the feudal confusion around is curious to .observe. These
. / man-slaying barons were drawn into the monastic life very
<) often as by a force they could not resist. They hovered near
1 1 the abbey half knowing, half dreading, their fate, retired from
t I it, and then returned, as a moth to a candle, with increased
/ haste. Many are the histories preserved of such "con-
versions;" of a party of knights riding to a tournament,
to a fair, and putting up over-night at the welcome and
opportune monastery. In the morning they leave, having
spent a quieter night than is usual with them ; by some of the
company the solemnity, order, and peace of the convent have
not been witnessed in vain ; the psalm-singing, the ceremonies,
and the music of the frequent bells, have sent strange emotions
of gentleness and awe into one or two, who perhaps noticed
some old' companion or enemy in arms now shouting Gregorian
chants instead of battle-cries. The barbarian, yet childishly
simple, mind is struck : first of all it believes intensely and
utterly believes that all those monks are going to heaven.
That point is certain ; whereas the barbarian mind is conscious
of no such certainty as regards itself; anticipates, perhaps with
good reason, the opposite of heaven. In the next place, the
monastery is as pleasant, taken altogether, as the castle ; the
choir is not worse than the camp, or it may be the dungeon.
Such refle'ctions often made, often interrupted, at last get a
permanent hold ; and a visit then to any monastery of which
the abbot, like Bernard, is a " fisher of men," suffices to con-
CONVERSIONS. 195
summate what they have begun. Thus, on one occasion,
fifteen young German nobles, on their way from the schools of
Paris, stopped for the night at Morimond In their company
was Otho, son of Leopold, Margrave of Austria. After being
received with the usual forms of monastic hospitality, they
retired to bed, but not to rest. The Abbot Walter, a worthy
disciple of Bernard, had made a deep impression on them; the
psalms the monks were singing when they arrived still rang in
their ears ; the bell which called the community to matins
summoned them also from their sleepless beds. They found
they had all had the same reflections and the same unrest ;
they sent for the Abbot Walter, and begged leave to become
his monks. 1
More remarkable still was the conversion of Henry of
France, son of Louis VI. Henry came one day to Clairvaux
to speak with Bernard on some secular business. Seeing the
monks assembled, he commended himself to their prayers.
Bernard said to him : " I trust in the Lord that you will not
die in the state in which you now are, but rather that you
will soon test by your own experience what these prayers wjhich
you have just asked for can effect for you." A little while
afterwards, on the very same day, Henry astounded the whole
convent by declaring his intention of becoming a monk. His
suite and companions were beyond measure astonished at so
sudden a change^: one especially, Andrew of Paris, surpassed
all the rest in his indignant disgust j he declared that Prince
Henry was drunk, that he was mad, and expressed his vexation
in language from which blasphemy was not excluded. 2 Henry
1 Histoire del'Abbaye de Mori- turn. Lugentibus autem sociis, et
mond, par 1'Abbe Dubois, p. 61. familia tota, ac si mortuum ilium
Paris, 1852. ^ cernerent, ejulante, prae caeteris An-
3 " Quod [/.& his conversion] dreas quidam Parisiensis Henricum
eodem postmodum .die non absque ebrium, Henricum vociferabatur in-
multorum. admiratione completum sanum, nee conviciis nee blasphemiis
est, et de tanti juvenis conversione parcens." ST. BERN. Op. voL ii.
coenobium omni exultatione reple- col. 1136;
02
196 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
was grieved to see the violence of his friend, and implored
Bernard to take steps to procure his conversion also. " Leave
him alone," said Bernard ; " his soul is bitter now : but be not
troubled over much about him, for he is certainly yours."
Andrew heard these words of the abbot as he was standing by,
and heard them with scorn, for he was of a most unspiritual
turn of mind. He thought within himself, " Now I know you
are a false prophet ; I know the word you have spoken will
never come to pass ; I will publish it everywhere, before the
king and his court, that your falsehood may be known to all."
Andrew, in after years, confessed that these were his reflections.
The next day he left, imprecating curses on a monastery in
which he had lost his master, and wishing that the valley and
all its inhabitants might be utterly destroyed. His departure
astonished and even pained those who had heard Bernard's
confident predictions ; they expected to see his boldness and
blasphemy receive an open and stunning confutation on the
spot. But God did not suffer "their little faith" to be tempted
long. During the very next night Andrew was quite conquered :
he seemed to be drawn and forced by the Spirit of God to
return to the abbey ; he could not wait for the dawn ; before
daybreak he arose and flew to Clairvaux. The monks likened
his conversion to that of St. Paul. 1 From which it may be
inferred that his zeal as an ascetic equalled his vehemence as
a soldier.
Peace, doubtless, and great calm there were within the gates
of Clairvaux, for many who sought them like Prince Henry ;
but they were for the monks far more than for the great abbot,
1 " Sed non; diu pusillanimitatem non potuit ; sed exsurgens ante dilu-
eorum et fidem modicam tentari pas- culum, velociterque rediens ad mo-
sus est Deus. Ilia tantum die pro- nasterium, alterum nobis Saulum vel
cedens et repellens quodammodo magis de Saulo altero Paulum alte-
gratiam Dei, nocte proxima victus rum exhibebat." ST. BERN. Op.
et quasi vinctus trahente se et vim vol. ii. col. 1136.
faciente Spiritu Dei, diem expectare
BERNARD'S VAST CORRESPONDENCE. 197
whose commanding personality had attracted them to a religious
life. Although Bernard might descant on the heavenly joys in
his sermons on the Canticles, and almost give his hearers a
foretaste of divine peace in his mellifluous eloquence, yet peace
and rest were never long to be his in this world ; he might
truly have said that on him rested the "care of all the
churches." And not only churchmen, but all persons of dis-
tinction in Europe, seem to have thought that Bernard's time,
attention, and influence were, or ought to be, at their disposal.
Bishops in England, the Queen of Jerusalem, the Kings of
France, Italy, and Britain-, abbots and ecclesiastics without
number, write to and receive letters from him. On a certain
occasion Theobald, Archbishop of Canterbury, was prevented
by a "tempest of wars" 1 from going- to Rome to answer an
unjust accusation : he prevailed on Bernard to excuse him to
the Pope. Robert, Bishop of London, suffered much from an
intruder into his see, who withheld from him certain lands and
pledges belonging to his church : a single hint from Bernard
placed the matter before the Pope, and doubtless had the
desired effect. When Robert Pullen, the distinguished English
scholastic, prolonged his stay at Paris according to Bernard's
advice, Robert's diocesan, the Bishop of' Rochester, was very
wroth, and even rude to the Abbot of Clairvaux. " You are
very hard upon me," writes the humble great man ; " but what
have I done amiss ? I thought his sojourn in Paris necessary
because of the sound learning which is in him, and I think so
still I beg and advise you to allow Master Robert to
dwell some time longer at Paris." 2 But it is in his corre-
1 Viz. the civil wars during King Pope in a letter which will be read
Stephen's reign, which might well in the next page. BISHOP GODWIN,
be called by St. Bernard a " tempest De Praesulibus Angliae Commen-
of wars." Theobald was unjustly taritis.
treated by Innocent, and his history 2 p u llen was a worthy represen-
amply justifies the complaints which tative of English learning at this
the Abbot of Clairvaux thought him- period, and one who has received
self called upon to address to the more justice from foreigners than
198 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
spondence with the Pope that his manly, vehement spirit is
best displayed. It is indeed, in a general way, a most notice-
able fact the freedom of speech and censure practised by the
great churchmen of the Middle Ages, as compared with the
dumb, unbroken submission of subsequent times. A prominent
bishop or abbot, in the good period, if he sees an abuse or an
injustice, never hesitates to denounce it with all his power, to
call all men to witness against it, and to do what he can to get
it removed. Even the mild and gentle Peter of Cluny does
not refrain from strong language to the Pope on occasion. As
for Bernard, he writes to Innocent in this manner :
" I speak boldly because I love faithfully ; nor is that love
sincere where any uncertainty keeps up suspicion. The com-
plaints of my Lord of Treves are not confined to him alone, but
are common to many others, and chiefly to those who have a
sincere affection for your person. There is but one voice
among our faithful bishops, which declares that justice is
vanishing from the Church ; that the power of the keys is
gone ; that episcopal authority is dwindling away ; that a bishop
can no longer redress wrongs, nor chastise iniquity, however
great, even in his own diocese ; and the blame of all this they lay
on you and the Ronlan Court. What they ordain aright, you
annul; what they justly abolish, that you re-establish. All the
worthless contentious fellows, whether from the people or the
clergy, or even monks expelled from their monasteries, run
off to you, and return boasting that they have found protection,
from his own countrymen. He left at his own personal expense. His
England during the civil wars just fame was wide-spread, and Inno-
mentioned, and had the honour of cent II. made him a cardinal being
Bernard's friendship. On returning the first Englishman, probably, who
to his native country he devoted attained to that dignity in the
himself to the restoration of learning, Church. Of his writings, the " Sen-
which had suffered severely during the tentiarum Libri Octo " are the most
recent troubles. At Oxford he not noteworthy. They probably sug-
only contributed the example of his gested to Peter Lombard the plan
Zealand acquirements to the cause of his more renowned "Sentences."
of letters, but even assisted it largely
] LETTER TO POPE INNOCENT II. 199
, when they ought to have found retribution. Your friends
C are confounded, the faithful are insulted, the bishops are
/ brought into contempt and disgrace ; and while their righteous
judgments are despised, your authority also is not a little
injured.
" Yet it is these men who care for your honour, who faith-
fully, but I fear unsuccessfully, labour for your peace and exalta-
tion.' Why do you diminish your own power ? The church of
St. Gengulfus, at Toul, deplores her desolation, nor is there any
one to comfort her. St. Paul, at Verdun, complains that he is
exposed to violence, the archbishop being no longer able to
defend him from the rudeness of the monks, who, as if forsooth
they were not bold enough without it, are encouraged by apo-
stolic support God's favour is not so won. For these
and similar things 'the anger of the Lord is not yet turned
away, but His arm is stretched out still,' and that rod spoken of
by Jeremiah, which watches over our sins. Of a truth, God is
angry .with schismatics ; but He is far from well pleased with
Catholics. The church at Metz, as you well know, is in great
jeopardy, through the dissension between the bishop and the
clerks. I suppose you know what it will please you to decide
on that subject ; but peace is not there, nor is there room to
hope it will be there for some time to come. It seems to me
that in all these cases the metropolitan, who knows all the
points in dispute, who is a faithful and esteemed servant of the
Church, can bring matters to a happy conclusion better than
anybody else. Otherwise you will have to see what is to be
done with those bishoprics, that is to say, those of Metz and
Tpul. For, to say the truth, they appear to be without bishops
now : would that they were also without tyrants as well. Many
wonder, many are scandalized, when such men as these bishops
are defended, supported, honoured, protected ; men whose
lives and morals are infamous to a pitch that would disgrace,
I do not say bishops, but any laymen you please. I am
200 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
ashamed to write this, nor ought you to have ever heard it.
Granted that, while no one accused them, they could not be
deposed, I ask, Ought those whom general rumour denounces
to be the special objects of favour and promotion from the
holy see ?
" I should fear the charge of presumption for writing this,
if I forgot to whom I was writing, or were myself unknown
to him. But I know your inborn gentleness : and the affection
I bear to you, which prompts me to this, is known to you. . . .
Again, to return to the Archbishop of Treves, that you may
know how to receive both his messenger and his message.
I declare to you that he holds a great place in that country,
is a firm and a faithful friend to you and the Church of God,
by no means a favourer of turbulent, evil-minded persons, of
whom he is often enough sorely tempted. Nor will he now lack
insult from the same quarter, if you pay no regard to him. I
wished in conclusion to commend the messenger who carries
this. But his own merits sufficiently do that, besides an especial
love and devotion to yourself, at least as I firmly believe;
otherwise I should never have made him the bearer of snch
intimate and familiar remarks." 1
The admirers of Ultramontanism may see, by this letter,
what one who yielded to none in devotion to religion thought
of the first encroachments of that gigantic centralization which
has ended by making popery and Catholicism interchangeable
terms. They may trace, if they choose, from this point, the
gradual suffocation of liberty under the Roman'despot, through
the unblushing venality of the great schism, the pagan profli-
gacy of the Borgias, the desperate Machiavellism of the six-
teenth century, even to the pitiful senility of the nineteenth.
Henry, Archbishop of Sens, also fell under the lash of
Bernard's anger : " I admit I have often interceded, in con-
sequence of your conduct, in favour of many persons, and I had
i St. Bern. Epist. 178.
I
VARIOUS LETTERS. 201
determined to do so no more, by reason of your hateful cruelty.
But charity prevails. I wish to retain your friends for you.
This you disdain. I should be glad to reconcile to you your
enemies. You will not suffer it. You are determined not to
have peace; you seek, you summon, your confusion, your
destruction, yea, your deposition. You multiply your accusers ;
you diminish your defenders. You excite against yourself old
dissensions that have been allayed. You provoke your adver
saries ; you offend your friends. Your own self-will is your law.
All you do is for your ambition, never from the fear of God.
Which of your enemies does not laugh ? Which of your friends
does not weep? How have you dared to despoil a man, I
do not say uncondemned, but not even accused ? How many
will be scandalized at this ? How many tongues will scoff?
How many hearts will swell with . anger ? Do you think that
justice has vanished from the whole world, even as it has from
your heart, that a man can thus be deprived ofhis archdeaconry ?
Do not, do not do this thing, which all will wonder
at, none will praise. I have written more clearly and boldly
than you may like to hear, but perhaps not unwisely for you,
if you are willing to mend." l
In striking contrast to these fiery effusions are those tokens
of love and tenderness which Bernard, from time to time, found
leisure to send to absent friends. Then the thunder-clouds
and lightnings have passed away from his mind, and a serene
deep heaven of affection is laid bare. Here is a good letter
to a man he had never seen :
Although your face is unknown to me, you are not. Fame
I has told me of you, nor is it a small or vulgar part of you which
I rejoice to possess through her means. For, to confess the
truth, most beloved brother, such is the picture formed of you
in my mind, that even though I be occupied with many things,
the serene thought of you will so lay hold of me and win me to
1 St. Bern. Epist. 182.
202 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
itself, that I willingly dwell upon it, and find a sweet rest
therein. But then the more I welcome you in mental vision,
the more I desire your bodily presence. But when will that
be ? This at least is certain, that if we meet not before, we
shall do so in the city of our God ; that is, if we have not
here an abiding city, but are seeking for that other one. There,
there shall we see face to face, and our 'hearts shall rejoice.
In the meantime, these things which I hear of you shall still
be my delight, and for the remainder, i. e. the sight of you in
the body, I shall hope and expect it in the day of the Lord,
that my joy may be full. Please to add, dearest father, to
those good things which are constantly coming to us from
you, your prayers for us, and those of your monks." x
In some editions this little drop of love and friendship is
directed to the Abbot of St. Alban's, in others to the Abbot
of St. Albin, in Anjou. One could wish it had been to the
English house that this little epistle was written. In that wild,
stormy time, across the broad countries and the rough seas,
under the influence of a truly " Catholic faith" in the good and
true, two separated human hearts shoot a bright, warm ray of
kindness across the dark.
This also to a young abbot, a disciple and friend, is cha-
racteristic and good :
" The letter you have sent is redolent of your love to me,
and has stirred up mine towards you. I cannot write an answer
such as I am moved to do. But I will not waste time on
excuses, seeing that I am writing to one who is wise. You
know the load I groan under, and my sighing is not hid from
you. And you, at least, will not estimate by the shortness of
a letter an affection which no words could ever declare. The
number and importunity of my occupations may indeed be a
cause that I write little, but never that I love little. One
action may interfere with, and even exclude, another, but it
i St. Bern. Epist. 204.
] LETTER TO BALDWIN. 203
can never prevent the flow of feeling. As a mother loves her
only son, even so did I love you, when you clave to my side,
and rejoiced my heart. And now I will love you when far
from me, lest I should appear to have loved my own comfort
in you, and not you yourself. You were indeed necessary to
me. And from this fact it may be plainly seen how sincerely
I love you. At .this very time, indeed, I should not have been
without you, if I had sought my own interest. But now you
see, forgetting my own advantage, I have not envied you your
gains, seeing I have so placed you that in time you may be
set over all the goods of your Lord.
"And now be careful to be found a wise and faithful
servant, and communicate the heavenly bread to your fellow-
servants without envy or idleness. Do not take up the vain
excuse of your rawness or inexperience, which you may imagine
or assume. For sterile modesty is never pleasing, nor that
humility laudable, which passes the bounds of reason. Attend
to your work ; drive out bashfulness by a sense of duty, and
act as a master. You are young, yet you are a debtor ; you
may know you were a debtor from the day you were bound.
Will youth be an excuse to a creditor for the loss of his profits ?
Does the usurer expect no interest at the beginning of his
loan ? But I am not sufficient for these things, say you. As
if your offering were not accepted from what you have, and
not from what you have not. Be prepared to answer for the
single talent committed to your charge, and take no thought
for the rest. ' If thou hast much, give plenteously ; if thou
hast little, do thy diligence gladly to give of that little.' For
[ he that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much. Give all,
as assuredly you shall pay to the uttermost farthing ; but of a
truth out of what you have, not out of what you have not.
"Take heed to give to your words the voice of power.
What is that, do you ask ? It is, that your works harmonize
with your words, or rather your words with your works ; that
204 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
you be careful to do before you teach. It is a most beautiful
and salutary order of things that you should first bear the
burden you place on others, and learn from yourself how men
should be ruled. Otherwise the wise man will mock you, as
that lazy one to whom it is labour to lift his hand to his
mouth. The Apostle also will reprove you, saying, ' Thou
which teachest another, teachest thou not thyself?' .... That
speech, also, which is full of life and power is an example of
work, as it makes easy what it speaks persuasively, while it
shows that can be done which it advises. Understand, there-
fore, to the quieting of your conscience, that- in these two
commandments, i.e. of precept and example, the whole of
your duty resides. You, however, if you be wise, will add yet
a third, namely a zeal for prayer, to complete that treble repe-
tition of the Gospel concerning feeding the sheep. You will
then know that no sacrament of that trinity is in any wise
broken by you, if you feed them by word, by example, and by
the fruit of holy prayers. Now abideth speech, example,
v prayer, these three ; but the greatest of these is prayer. For
although, as it has been said, the strength of speech is work,
yet prayer wins grace and efficacy for both work and speech.
" Alas' ! I am carried, I am torn away, I may not go on. Yet
one word more ; it is this : I entreat you to relieve me as soon
as may be from an anxious care, and to declare clearly what
. you mean by the wound you complain of, among other things,
' from one of whom you did not expect such a thing,' for that
has given me great concern." 1
Shall we not say that this, whether monk or not, .was a
broad, strong, and good man? Here is "culture" in the
highest sense. Monasticism, as practised by Bernard, was
temporary, caducous, and charged with germs of evil, which in
time overcame the good. But that it had a soul of goodness
is very manifest, or Bernard could not have grown up to the
1 St. Bern. Epist. 201.
ILLNESS OF LOUIS VI. 205
height he did under its shelter. The drill, the stoicism, the
order, the association, and the solitude, driven to an excess
of caricature by the old monks, yet still realized by them,
are too valuable to be lost for ever. We have not so much
good that we can afford to throw much away because it
is old.
In writing some hundreds of letters such as the above did
Bernard spend his leisure time at Clairvaux. He will soon
have to leave his fair valley again, though he can never do so
without a pang of regret. But Anacletus, at Rome, and Roger
of Sicily are still troublesome, and he must go to Italy again.
It seems understood that he alone can put things straight when
they go wrong.
But the melancholy condition of Louis VI. of France must
be noticed before Bernard starts on his journey across the
Alps.
In spite of all his campaigning and jousting, Louis had
grown so fat that he could hardly move about. He sorely
grieved over his lost activity, and gave vent to his feelings in
moral reflections such as these : " Alas, how miserable is the
lot of man, who rarely, or never, has knowledge and the ability
to carry it into effect at the same time. As a young man, I
was strong but ignorant ; as an old man, I am wise but weak.
Verily, if I had ever been strong, and, at the same time, wise,
most completely would I have conquered many kingdoms."
Still his fightings and disputes with the King of England
and Count Theobald continued as before. Exhausted and
i unwieldy from his ^<ccessive corpulence, and nearly confined to
[his bed by a wound in the leg, he nevertheless attacked Theo-
[bald with much of his old vigour. He burnt the town of
Bonneval, " except the cloister of the monks, which he pro-
tected." On another occasion he destroyed Chateau Renard,
sending a party of his men for the purpose, as he was too
unwell to go himself. But his last expedition was near at
206 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
,
hand, the last castle he was to burn was near being burned. 1
With a most noble army " he attacked the Chateau of Saint
Brisson on the Loire, to punish the rapacity of its owner in
plundering merchants." He " dissolved it by fire, and com-
pelled both the lord and the tower to capitulate."
The exertion he made on this occasion brought on an attack
of diarrhoea, to which he was not unfrequently subject. He
soon became greatly alarmed about himself, and reflected on
the state of his soul with much anxiety. He prayed and
confessed with earnestness. He had but one strong wish, and
that was to be carried to the shrine of St. Denis, and, before
the sacred relics, to lay aside all regal state, and replace it by
the frock and cowl of a Benedictine monk. His friend and
minister Suger, abbot as he was, was apt, in courts and camps,
occasionally to discard a good deal of his ecclesiastical cha-
racter. But in this instance his pride as a monk was roused
within him. After narrating the above facts concerning his
dying friend and king, he says with quite an air of triumph,
" Let the detractors of monastic poverty see from this how
not only archbishops, but even kings themselves, prefer to
things temporal the life eternal, and in all confidence fly to
the one shelter of the monastic rule."
Still Louis continued too ill to carry out his wish. His
doctors prescribed for him potions and powders so nauseous
and bitter, that scarcely would a hale, hearty man have been
able to endure them. 2 Still none of these evils ruffled the
evenness of his temper ; he was accessible, kind, and bene-
volent to all, as if he suffered no pain or inconvenience.
1 Suger is rather negligent of gravi diarrhoea turbaretur, motus
dates. Louis's illness and last expe- tantis et tarn molestis medicorum
dition, mentioned above, must have potionibus, diversorum et amarissi-
preceded his death by four or five morum pulverum susceptionibus ad
years; but from his biographer's restringendum infestabatur, ut nee
language it might be inferred that ipsi incolumes et virtuosi sustinere
he was not long ill. praevalerent " SUGER, Vita Lttd.
3 "Cum autem de die in diem Gross.
A.D. 11S71
AETAT. 46j
CONFESSION AND DEATH OF LOUIS VI.
207
Presently his disease grew suddenly worse, and, " scorning to
die suddenly or meanly," he summoned many bishops and
abbots and religious persons to his presence. Laying aside all
ceremony, through reverence of God and his holy angels, he
begged that he might confess himself at once, and be fortified
in his death with the viaticum of the Lord's body and blood.
While they were making their preparations, to the astonishment
of all, the king dressed himself, and proceeded forth from his
room to meet the Eucharist, of which he most devoutly
partook. Then, before a great assemblage of clergy and laity,
he abdicated his kingdom, confessed that he had reigned in
sin, and placed on the finger of his son Louis the ring of
investiture. He made him also swear that he would defend
the Church, the poor, and the orphan, give every one his due,
apprehend no one in his court, unless for the cause of actual
misdemeanour. He then made a grand distribution of all his
goods to the poor, his gold and silver and "desirable cups;"
his cloaks and cushions, and every movable he was possessed
of, he gave away, for the love of God, to the churches, the
poor, and the needy, not sparing his own clothes, even to his
shirt. 1 Being thus denuded of all earthly attractions, humbly
on his bended knees, before the body and blood of our Lord
Jesus Christ, he broke forth into this confession of the true and
Catholic faith, not as an illiterate layman might have been
expected to do, but more like a learned theologian.
" I Louis, a sinner, acknowledge one true God, the Father,
the Son, and the Holy Ghost. I confess that one person out
lof this holy Trinity, namely the only-begotten, consubstantial,
1 " Ubi etiam aurum et argentum
Pet vasa concupiscibilia et pallia et
palliatas culcitras, et omne mobile
jquod possidebat, et quo ei servie-
batur, ecclesiis et pauperibus et
egenis, pro amore Dei, distribuens,
nee chlamydibus, nee regiis indu-
mentis usque camiaam pepercit."
SUGER, Vita. The affectionate
detail with which household pro-
perty is often dwelt on must strike
the reader, even in the quotations
already given in this work.
208 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
co-eternal Son of God the Father, took flesh of the most holy
Virgin Mary, was crucified, dead, and buried ; that the third
day He arose again from the dead, ascended into heaven, and
sitteth on the right hand of the Father, to judge the quick and.
the dead at the great last judgment. And this Eucharist of His
most holy body I believe to be the same that He took in the
Virgin's womb, and which He gave to His disciples that they
might be bound and united to Him, and might dwell in Him.
This His most sacred blood I confess, with my heart and my
lips, and most firmly believe to be the same that flowed from
His side, while He hung upon the tree. And I hope that by
this most comfortable viaticum my soul in its departure will be
safe and invincibly protected from .every power of the air."
So spake Louis, and received the sacrament. He rallied
awhile after this, and, in spite of the heavenward direction of
his thoughts, took advantage of the respite to marry his son to
the rich heiress of Guienne, the young Eleanor, daughter of that
Count William whom Bernard had frightened so thoroughly
not long ago, and who was destined to play a notable, if not
honourable, part in English and French --history. But Louis
was soon ill at Paris of his old malady. This time there was
to be no reprieve ; he made haste to confess and communicate,
and desired forthwith to be carried to the shrine of St. Denis.
But it was too late ; he must die where he was. Ordering
a carpet to be placed upon the ground, and ashes to be
sprinkled thereon in the form of a cross, the failing king was
laid on this monastic death-bed, where he soon gave up the
ghost, in the act of making the sign of his faith.
CHAPTER IV.
(A.D. 1137. AETAT. 46.)
THIRD JOURNEY TO ITALY END OF THE SCHISM LETTERS HOME
DISPUTE WITH PETER OF CLUNY CONCERNING THE ELECTION OF A
BISHOP OF LANGRES.
IN the meanwhile the affairs of the, papacy had not improved ;
the schism existed still, a vexation and a scandal to the
orthodox believer. Innocent II., though supported by the
most powerful potentates of Europe, was still at Pisa, an exile
from his see. - Anacletus II., who had no protector but the ad-
venturous chief of the marauding invaders of Southern Italy,
was still supreme in the Eternal City. Of late matters had
taken a worse aspect than ever. Roger, who had a pope all to
himself, did not hesitate to make him of use ; and Anacletus
had to pay dearly for the aid which kept him at Rome. Roger
encroached on the Church's lands ; and when a Norman had
once encroached on lands, the probability was great against
his ever retiring from them. Presently came more sombre
news still. The monastery of Monte Casino, the head and
type of western monachism, declared for Anacletus, deposed
its abbot Senioretus, and thrust one Ramaldus, a creature of
the anti-pope, into his place. Unspeakably horrible must such
an event have appeared to northern and orthodox Europe.
That the abbot of abbots, the successor of the great Benedict,
the universal father of monks, should turn a schismatic and an
opponent of catholic unity, must have seemed a calamity, one
210 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
of those fiery trials which are destined to try the faith even of
the elect. 1 Clairvaux and Canticles and everything must be
left in such an extremity as this. In the spring of the year
1137 Bernard, accompanied by his brother Gerard, set out for
Italy. The devil, we are told, had a particular objection to
this journey. He foresaw and hated what was to come of it.
Therefore, when Bernard was passing through the Alps, the
demon broke the wheel of the carriage in which the abbot tra-
velled, in order to hinder him as much as possible, or even
pitch him over a precipice. The saint took a saintly and yet a
fearful vengeance on his enemy. Careless and contemptuous
of the intended injury, he ordered Satan himself to become a
wheel, arid replace the broken one. The fallen angel obeyed
the words of the holy man ; the carriage moved on as before -,
and the worsted and rotatory fiend, amid scorn and laughter,
carried Bernai" 1 in safety to his destination. 2
Innocent had left Pisa, so Bernard followed him to Viterbo.
Here brother Gerard feh. ill so ill that no hope seemed left.
Bernard himself tells us how the possible loss of his friend,
companion, and relation in a strange land almost overcame him.
He thought, too, of his dismal and solitary return home, when
Gerard's friends and they numbered all who knew him
would ask for his lost brother, and he should have to reply that
he was left in a distant country, he who, like all of them, ought |
i " Laborabant Campania et Apu- declinaverat, et Senioreto abbate de
lia sub Anacleto, Rogerio Siculo medio facto, substitutum Rainaldum
non solum favente, sed eo velut sibi praefecerat." Manricus ad
pietatis quaesito ttulo (is homi- annum 1137, apud S. Bernardi
num. mos est) ecclesiae terras sacri- Acta, xxiv. I
lege occupante. Quin etiam mag- 2 Manricus admits that this story
num illud praeclarumque occidui rests on tradition, rather than " ve-
monachatus caput, Casinus Mons, terum testimoniis."- A twelfth-cen-
Romanae ecclesiae pars non con- tury miracle would hardly be so
temnenda, unde tot veri ponrifices wanting in dignity as this is. Even
prodierunt, tune a vero pontifice in the concoction of spurious miracles
deficiens, Rogerii metu an amore a progressive decline may be noticed
quis definiat ? ad Anacletum prpterve in the Roman Church.
A.IJ. 11371
ABTAT.46J
BERNARD'S POLICY IN ROME.
211
to sleep in the cemetery at Clairvaux. With sobs and tears
Bernard prayed, "Wait, O Lord, until our return. When I
have restored him to his own, then shalt Thou have him if
Thou wilt, and I will not gainsay." 1 And Gerard recovered. .
Bernard now proceeded to Rome. The pope and his car-
dinals imparted their plans to him. He did not take much
notice of them ; he was not for employing force, or increasing
the anger of his opponents by a voluntary profession of hos-
tility ; he- felt his way in conversation, and by inquiries, and
tried to discover the number and zeal of Anacletus's party.
He found that a fear of losing everthing if they forsook him
was the chief cause that his clerical friends still adhered to
Anacletus. Some pretended their oaths of allegiance, others
. their relationship to him. 2 Bernard quietly undermined them
all, and before very long it was manifest to every one that
Anacletus was being rapidly deserted. 3
Roger of Sicily was still an opponent. With great show of
fairness he said he would hear each side defend its own cause,
i.e. Bernard for Innocent, while Peter of Pisa was to speak
for Anacletus. This Peter was a renowned rhetorician, full of
canon law and subtlety ; and the artful Roger expected that
his champion, in a public dialectic contest, would easily worst
and annihilate the good rustic abbot of the north. 4 Peter
1 " Expecla, inquam, Domine us-
que ad reditum. Restitutum. amicis
tolle jameum, si vis, etnon causabor."
Sermo in'Cantica., 26.
2 " Nee in curribus, nee in equis
spem ponens, sed colloquia quorum-
dam suscipiens, sciscitatur quae sit
eorum facultas, qui fautorum animi.
.... Intelligit ex secretis clerum
qui cum Petro erat, de statu suo
sollicitum, scire quidem peccatum,
4 "Aiebat autem se dissensionis
hujus, quae jamdiu induruerat, velle
scire originem : et cognita veritate,
aut corrigere errorem, aut sancire
sententiam. Mittebat autem in dolo,
quia audierat Petrum Pisanum elo-
quentissimum esse, et in legum et
canonum scientia nulli secundum ;
putabatque si eloquentiae ejus in
publico consistorio audientia prae-
beretur, declamationibus rhetorici?
sed non audere reverti simplicitatem abbatis posse obrui,
Caeteri juramento fidelitatis excusa- et silentium ei vi verborum et pon-
bant perfidiam." ST. BERN. Op. dererationumimponi."-~S.T,
vol. ii. col. 1109. Op. vol. ii. col. noo.
-
212 LTFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
started off on his rhetoric, his canons, and his legal quibbles, and
doubtless satisfied himself and his friends. It was now Ber-
nard's turn. He said : " I know, Peter, that you are a wise
and learned man, and would that a better cause and a more
honest business engaged your -attention, for it is my opinion
that no eloquence could withstand yours, if you had truth and
reason on your side. As for myself, a rustic, more used to the
hoe and the mattock than to public declamations, if it were
not that the faith required it, I should preserve the silence pre-
scribed by my rule. Now charity compels me to speak, seeing
that the Lord's vesture, which neither the heathen nor the Jew
presumed to rend, that vesture Peter, the son of Leo, protected
by King Roger, tears and divides. There is one faith, one
Lord, one baptism ; neither do we know two Lords, two faiths,
two baptisms. To begin from antiquity, there was but one ark
at the time of the Flood. In this ark eight souls were saved ;
all the rest, as many as were outside the ark, perished. No one
will deny that this ark was a type of the Church. Lately
another ark has been built ; and as there are now two, one must
be false, and must sink in the depths of the sea. If the ark
which Peter rules be of God, it follows that in which Innocent
is must perish. Therefore the Eastern Church will perish, and
the Western also. France, Germany, Spain, England, and the
barbarous countries, will perish in the waters. The monastic
orders of the Camaldoli, the Carthusians, the Cluniacs, the Cis-
tercians, the Premonstrants, and innumerable other congrega-
tions of servants and handmaidens of the Lord : it is inevitable
that they all go to the bottom of the sea. The bishops and
abbots and princes of the Church, with millstones fastened to
their necks, will plunge headlong in the depths of the sea.
Alone, out of all the lords of the earth, that Roger will enter
the ark of Peter, and while all the rest perish, he alone will be
saved. God forbid that the religion of the whole world should
perish, and that the ambition of Peter, whose life has been
END OF THE SCHISM. 213
such as is known to all, should obtain the kingdom of
heaven.-"
At these words the assembly could not contain themselves
any longer, and expressed their abomination of the character
and cause of Peter Leonis. Bernard took his late adversary in
the dispute by the hand, and raising him up said, " If you will
trust in me, we will enter a safe ark;" and he persuaded him
to go to Rome, and be reconciled to Innocent. l
Roger was not to be converted so. Those lands which he
had occupied in the neighbourhood of Beneventum and Monte
Casino, he knew very well, would have to be relinquished
along with Anacletus. However, the latter soon solved the
difficulty to the general satisfaction by dying. The phantom
anti-pope, Victor, who succeeded him for a few days, soon re-
nounced of his own accord the empty honour. And so ended
the schism. Bernard left Rome within five days after finishing
his work.
How he felt during these long wanderings may be seen by
these letters :
" Brother Bernard to the most dear brethren the monks of
Clairvaux, the lay brethren, and the novices : may they ever
rejoice in the Lord.
"Judge from yourselves what my sufferings are. If my
absence is painful to you, let no .one doubt that it is more
painful to me. For the loss ygti experience in my single
absence is not to be compared with mine, when I am deprived
of all of you. As; many as there are of you, so many cares do
I feel ; from each one I grieve to be separated ; for each do I
fear dangers. This double pang will not leave me, until I am
restored to my own bowels. I do not doubt that you feel the
same for me ; but I am only one. You have a single, I a multi-
plex, reason for sadness. And not only because I must live for
a time separated from you, without whom a kingdom would
i St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. mo.
214 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [<? rv
seem a bondage to me, is my mind troubled, but because I am
compelled to live in a way which utterly destroys my dearly
loved peace, and which indeed perhaps hardly agrees with my
monastic vows." x
This was written during his first absence. What follows he
wrote during the last journey, which has just been narrated.
It is addressed to the same :
"My soul is sad until I return, and will not be comforted till
I be with you. What consolation have I in an evil time, or in
the place of my pilgrimage ? Is it not you in the Lord ? The
sweet thought of you is indeed with me wherever I go. But
this makes me feel our separation the more. Alas for me, that
my sojourn is not only prolonged, but increased, and as it were
piled up. And, truly, according to the prophet, they who have
separated me from you, even though only in the body, 'have
added to the pain of my wounds.' The exile we share in
common, is sufficiently hard to bear of itself, that while we
dwell in this body, we are absent from the Lord. 2 Besides
this grief I have the special one, which almost makes me
impatient, that I am compelled to live without you. Long is
the trial, and tedious to remain so long subject to vanity which
occupieth all things, to be caged in the dismal prison of this
impure body, to be still tied by the chains of death and the
bonds, of sin, and for so long a time to be away from Christ.
Against these evils one resource alone is granted me, verily
from above, that instead of the face of glory, which is hidden
as yet, I am allowed in the meantime to behold the holy
temple of God, which temple ye are. From this temple the
passage seemed easy to that glorious one for which the
prophet sighed, when he said, 'One thing have I desired of the
Lord, that I will seek after; that I may dwell in the house of
1 St. Bern. Epist 143. sumus in hoc corpore, peregrina-
2 " Est commune exsifium ipsum- mur a Domino." ST. BERN. Epist.
que molestum sati, quod quamdiu 144.
A.D. 11871
AETAT. 46j
LETTER TO TtfE MONKS AT CLAIRVAUX. 215
the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the
Lord, and to enquire in His temple.'
"What am I saying? how often has that joy been taken
from me ? This is the third time, if I mistake not, that my
loved ones have been torn from me. My little ones are weaned
before their time ; those whom I have begotten in the Gospel
I am not suffered to bring up. I am obliged to forsake my
own business and look after other people's, and hardly know
which I feel most painful to leave the one, or to be involved
in the other. Is all my life, kind Jesus, destined to flow away
thus in sorrow, and my years in sighs ? It is better, Lord, for
me to die than to live, but not so unless it be among brothers,
friends, and my heart's darlings. It is sweeter, gentler, and
safer to die so surrounded. It is but just, Lord, that I should
be refreshed, before I depart and be no more. If it is
well pleasing to my Lord that the eyes of a father who is not
worthy to be called a father should be closed by the hands of
his children- that the)' should see his last moments, console
him in the hour of death, raise his spirit by their prayers, if
thou judgest it worthy, to the fellowship of the blessed, and
bury his poor body beside the bodies of poor men this, if I
have ever found favour in Thy sight, I wish to obtain through
the merits and prayers of tljose same brethren with an exceed-
ing great desire. Nevertheless, not my will, but thine, be
done ; I wish neither to live for myself nor to die for myself. J
" Yielding to the earnest entreaty of the Emperor, the com-
mand of the Pope, the prayers of the Church and the princes,
sorrowfully, reluctantly, weak and suffering as I am, and, to say
i "Si placet Domino meo, ut
oculi patris quaKscunque, qui non
sum dignus vocari pater, claudantur
manibus filiorum, utextrema videant,
exitum consolentur, spiritum suis
desideriis levent ad consortium si
dignum judicas beatorum, cum pau-
perum corporibus pauperis corpus
sepeliant ; hoc prorsus si inveni gra-
tiam in oculis tuis, precibus et me-
ritis eorumdem fratrum meorum
obtinere toto affectu desidero.
Verumtamen non mea voluntas sed
tua fiat. Nee mihi vivere volo nee
mori." ST. BERN. Epist. 144.
216 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
the truth, carrying about a pale and fearful image of death, I
am dragged off into Apulia. Pray for the peace of the Church ;
pray for my safety, that I may see you again, and live with you
and die with you ; and so live that ye may obtain your prayer.
I have dictated this letter in a short space of time, amid tears
and sobs, being very ill, as our dear brother Baldwin, who has
taken down my words, can bear witness. Pray for him also, as
for my only consolation, and one in whom my spirit hath
much rest. Pray for the Lord Pope, who has for me and all
of you a faithful affection ; pray for our lord the Chancellor,
who has been a mother to me, and for those who are with
him, viz. my Lords Luke and Chrysogonus, and Master Yvo,
who have shown themselves brothers to. me. Brothers Bruno
and Gerard, who are with me, salute you, and beg to be
remembered in your prayers,"
This is evidently the letter of a man who wishes, rather than
hopes, to see loved and absent faces before he dies.
Again, this absence in Italy not only caused the regret and
sorrow above depicted, but it also kept Bernard from attending
to his duties in the annual Chapter at Citeaux. The month of
September must pass by this year without seeing Bernard wend
his way to Citeaux. An abbot who, without legitimate excuse,
did not attend the General Chapter, lay under heavy pains and
penalties. Beside the infliction of penance by fasting, he was
forbidden to stand in his stall in church, and was prohibited
from celebrating mass, till forgiven by the Chapter. The
discipline at this time at Citeaux was vigorous and sound,
and all the renown and influence of Bernard did not dispense
him from a literal obedience to the rule of his order. While
therefore he is in Italy, balancing and righting the great ark
of the Church, he is compelled humbly to make his excuses
to his brother abbots in the following strain :
" To the Abbots assembled at Citeaux, In great weakness
of body and anxiety of mind, as God knows, I have dictated
]: LETTER TO THE ABBOTS OF CITEAUX. 217
this letter to you ; I, a miserable man, born unto trouble, but
still your brother. Would that that Spirit in which you are
now assembled would become an intercessor with you foi me,
impiessing on your minds the misfortunes I endure, and repre-
senting to your brotherly hearts a sad and supplicating image
of me, such as I really am. This I do not wish in order to
create in you a new feeling of mercy, for I know how you all
abound in that virtue ; but for this reason it is that I so pray,
that you may be able to realize in all its depth how great is my
need of pity. I am quite sure if it were so even as I wish,
forthwith tears from the treasure-house of pity would break
forth sobs, and sighs, and groans would so assail the heavens,
that God would hear, and relent towards me, and say, ' I have
restored thee to thy brethren; thou shalt not die among
strangers, but among thine own people.' So numerous are
my sorrows and afflictions, that I am often weary of life. I
speak as a man, owing to my weakness. I wish to be respited till
I return to you, that I die not except among you. For the
rest, brethren, make good your ways and your desires, holding
and establishing that which is right, honourable, and salutary;
above all things anxious to preserve the unity of the Spirit, in
the bond of peace, and the God of peace shall be with you." 1
With such feelings of longing regret and gentle hope did
Bernard revert in thought to the fair valley and its inhabitants.
He wishes rather than expects to see them all again. He
speaks in the languid tone of a man who has*just accomplished
a great work, which has called out all his energies. The stim-
ulus was gone, and immediately life was dull and empty to him.
For Bernard belonged to that class whom action ceaseless
and vehement refreshes and soothes ; not work, but idleness,
exhausts them. So when this long, irritating schism was at
last suppressed, and the spasm of effort had ceased, Bernard
1 St> Bern. Epist. 145.
218 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
was in low spirits ; he thought he should probably die. An
event soon occurred to restore him to his former vigour.
It happened that, while he was still at Rome, the Archbishop
of Lyons, Robert the Dean of Langres, and the Canon Olricus
also came thither : the latter in order to beg permission for
themselves and the Chapter of Langres to elect a bishop to
that see; for they had received an order from the Pope in no
wise to presume to do so without the advice of religious per-
sons. They tried to persuade Bernard to urge their suit with
the Pope. He replied, " God forbid that I should support your
request, unless I knew for certain that you intended to elect a
good and proper person." They answered that their intention
should be guided entirely by Bernard, that they would not do
anything which he did not advise, and gave a solemn promise
to that effect. But Bernard had by this time seen far too much
of the world, to trust implicitly to fair promises. He very
much doubted the sincerity of their promises. So the Arch-
bishop of Lyons came forward and added his word to theirs.
The Chancellor was brought in to witness the agreement, and
Bernard, not yet completely satisfied, sought the Pope, and made
him a party to the conditions. The fitness of a large number of
possible candidates was then discussed, and it was settled that
only two were eligible persons, either of whom would be a satis-
factory choice. The Pope ordained everything that Bernard
proposed, and the petitioners, apparently contented, gave their
assent. They then went off home, leaving the city a little before
Bernard. He made but small tarrying there, as on the sixth
day after the final submission of Anacletus's party to Innocent
he set out on his journey. 1
But as he was crossing the Alps, he heard that the day was
near at hand when " a man " was to be consecrated Bishop of
1 These facts, and those which tirely on Bernard's authority. The
follow, till we come to Peter of long letter in which they are laid
Cluny's counter-statement, rest en- before the Pope is the i64th.
] ELECTION OF A BISHOP OF LANGRES. 219
Langres. Of this " man " he had heard very bad reports,
so bad that he would not repeat what he had heard. However,
he was soon met by a number of religious persons, who had
come to meet and salute him, and these earnestly begged that
he would diverge from his road, go to Lyons, and prevent the
accomplishment of a " nefarious business." Bernard was
reluctant to lengthen his journey, as he was ill, a'nd wanted to
hasten home ; and in fact he did not entirely give credence to
the rumours in circulation. He thought it impossible that the
Archbishop could have forgotten his solemn , promise, and the
command of the Pope as well. However, he yielded to the
representations of his friends, and struck off to Lyons. There,
even as he had heard, so he saw. " A solemnity not joyful,
but melancholy, was being prepared." The Dean and the
greater part of the Canons were offering a vain resistance.
Bernard was amazed, What was he to do ? He conferred
with the Archbishop on these proceedings, none of which were
denied by that prelate, who shifted all the blame of them to
the son of the Duke of Burgundy. The latter having changed his
mind on the subject of the election, the Archbishop had feared
he would disturb the public peace if he were resisted. But now
that Bernard was arrived, he declared his willingness to be guided
solely by his will. " Nay," said Bernard, " not mine, but God's
will be done, which may perhaps be known in this wise.
Leave the matter to be decided by the council of religious
f persons which at your bidding have assembled here, or will
shortly do so. If, after the invocation of the Holy Spirit, you
are still inspired to continue the work you have begun, so do ;
if the contrary takes place, then obey the Apostle, who says,
* Lay hands suddenly on no man.' " This advice the Arch-
bishop seemed to accept. In the meanwhile " the man " who
was to have been consecrated came to Lyons. But instead of
going to the palace, he hid himself at an inn. He came on
Friday evening, and went away on Saturday morning a retreat
220 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. _
which" at least showed his disinclination for a contest with
Bernard, whether from conscious guilt, as the Abbot declares, 01
other motives, it is impossible to say.
Bernard appears at this position of affairs to have moved on
to Clairvaux, hoping for the best from his slippery Archbishop.
But " the man," who had hastened away from Lyons, went to
seek the king, and had actually obtained the investiture of the
temporalities of the see of Langres. Then the time and the
place of his consecration were suddenly changed, for all the-
promises to Bernard about taking the counsel of religious per
sons were forgotten when he had turned his back upon Lyons.
So great was the speed used, that when Bernard heard of the
resumption of the procedings, he had only four days in which
to enter his protest.
Such was the account of this transaction which Bernard,
in a long letter, laid before the Pope. This first letter was
rapidly followed up by others, his wrath and indignation wax-
ing even hotter ; indeed, during the whole course of his life
he never used more excited and unmeasured language than
he did in this matter. Two things are evident : (i) that his
appeal to Rome in the first instance was taken but little
notice of ; (2) that he was determined no one of whom he did
not completely approve should sit in the see of Langres. He
declares that " a multitude of saints will be put to confusion,
if this yoke be thrust on them; that they will bear it as they
would bear compulsion to bend the knee to Baal, or, in the
words of the prophet, to make a covenant with death, and
with hell to conclude an agreement." He says gold and silver
have prevented his appeal to law, reason, and equity from
being heard ; and asserts, at last, that if his opponents do not
desist from their wicked and audacious attempt,, his life will
end in sorrow, and his years in groaning. 1
-*'
1 St. Bern. Epist 166, 167.
l LETTER FROM PETER OF CLUNY. 221
After such a torrent of strong language and sentiments, it
is not a little surprising to find, in a letter of Peter of Cluny,
a simple and dispassionate narrative of what took place,
giving a totally different impression of the whole business.
Peter's letter is addressed to Bernard, and tells him how, as
he was lately coming from Poitou, he was met by the Canons
of the church of Langres, who told him that they, with the
consent of everybody who was concerned in the matter, had
canonically elected one of his monks to the bishopric. They
now only wanted and asked for Peter's sanction to the re-
moval of his monk. He hesitated for a time, he says, not
wishing to lose the services of ftie monk in question ; but at
last yielded to the importunity of the petitioners. They forth-
with" went to seek the king, whose court was then at Le Puy,
and begged and obtained his confirmation of the election.
The monk who had been chosen was seen and approved of by
Louis VII., who with his own hands solemnly invested him
with the regalia in the usual manner.
Matters had reached this stage when Peter heard that certain
persons belonging to Lyons had, by means of he knew not
what sort of rumours, aroused Bernard's opposition to the har-
monious agreement which all parties had come to. His first
wish was to have a conference with Bernard on the subject ;
but, as this was impossible, he wrote. He then says that he
does not wonder that evil reports should be displeasing to a
good man, but adds, with a slight sarcasm very rare with him,
that it should have been noticed that even as it was possible
for these reports to be true, so it was possible for them to be
false. And this point,, he thinks, i.e. their truth or falsehood,
ought to have been ascertained before they were denounced
publicly to the Pope. He reminds Bernard that this monk
was a monk of Cluny, and a son of the Abbot Peter, whom he
Bernard so loved. He reminds him that the persons who
had instilled these prejudices into his ear were such implacable
222 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD,
enemies of Cluny, that they could not restrain either their
tongues or their hands from sacrilege and violence against that
monastery. He adds, " Therefore it was unworthy of you or of
any good man to believe such manifest foes of ours, to give
credence to such declared enemies of Cluny." 1
Peter then goes on to say that, hearing these rumours, he
examined the inculpated monk himself; that he begged, he
advised, he adjured, him to tell the truth ; promising to keep
his secrets if he had any; that he Peter did not wish to
expose, but heal, the wounds of his soul. The monk replied
he was guiltless, that if he lied to his Abbot Peter, he should
lie unto God, and that he was ready to clear himself by oath
of the charges brought against him. 2
"I know very well," Peter continues, "from whom these
reports have sprung, and why and how they have been dis-
seminated. In the freedom of conversation I could have
explained the whole matter to you, and have clearly shown
what a black cloud of falsehood, rising from a pit of darkness,
has tried to obscure the bright surface of your mind ; and this
I will do when I can I beg you will not think I
thus defend my monk because I wish him to be made a bishop.
1 Petri Cluniacensis, Epist. lib. i., did not pretend to any knowledge of
Epist. 29. Nothing could be more " the man " in question, except at
just and more deserved than this secondhand. It is absurd to suppose,
rebuke. But the relations between as Bernard represents, that the bad
Peter and Bernard throughout their character of the monk was univer-
lives give rise to contrasts little sally notorious, and also to conceive
favourable to the latter. Peter that Peter could be ignorant of such
nearly always is gentle, conciliating, a fact. But Bernard rarely postponed
and careful not to give offence, even action for the sake of inquiry. The
when, as here, sorely provoked. "enemies of Cluny," to whom Peter
Bernard too often made return by alludes, had secured his partisanship,
harsh and even violent language and and he was troubled by no scruples
conduct. when once the ardour of battle came
2 This emphatic testimony of upon him. He doubtless thought
Peter bears hard upon Bernard. He that whatever might be the truth as
was far more calm, and he had far regarded the worth of a Cluniac
better means of knowing the truth, monk, a Cistercian monk was sure
than the Abbot of Clairvaux, who to be much better.
\ APPOINTMENT OF A BISHOP OF LANGRES. 223
It is no new thing for a Cluniac monk to be made a bishop.
Bishops, archbishops, patriarchs, and, what is above all,
supreme pontiffs of the Church, have been taken from Cluny.
And is it very improper that a wise and educated Cluniac
should now be elected to the bishopric of Langres? Do you
fear that, as a Cluniac, he will not love the Cistercians ? Dis-
card such a thought A monk will love monks. The Bishop
of Langres, if he has been a monk, will love Cistercians and
all monks, because he will know that iove is gain and hatred
loss. Neither will a monk of ours dare to differ from us,
when he sees us loving you."
This firm yet kindly letter seems to have had no effect on
Bernard. He had made up his mind, and nothing could make
him change it. . He now wrote to the " Bishops and Cardinals
of the Roman court." He reminds them, as he had reminded
the Pope, of his services to them how faithful he had been to
them " in the evil time," and how " the strength of his body
was nearly consumed in the cause." He says he does not
recall these facts in a boastful spirit, but simply because he
stands in need of a return of good offices. He says if he had
done what it was his duty to do, still he considered himself, in
the words of the Lord, an unprofitable servant. But did he
deserve stripes for doing his duty ? " Coming back from Italy
I found tribulation and trouble. I called on the name of the
Lord, and it availed not I appealed to you, and it availed
not. Indeed, the great ones of the earth are lifted up, the
Archbishop of Lyons and the Abbot of Cluny. They, trusting
in their goods, and boasting themselves in the multitude of
their riches, have drawn themselves nigh, and stood against
me. And not only against me, but against a number of the
servants of God, against you, against themselves, against God,
and against all justice and honour. And they have placed a
man over our heads, whom, O shame ! the good loathe, and the
wicked laugh to scorn." Then comes his peroration : " What
224 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
dost thou want, O Rome, mistress of the world, placed over
the universe as a wrathful avenger and a merciful judge ? Dost
thou wish that, while the wicked waxes proud, the poor may be
consumed^ and that 'poor' one, who for thy service, when he
had not gold to give, spared not his own blood? Does it
appear fitting to thee, to sit in peace thyself, and to be careless
of my affliction, to exclude from consolation thy companions
in sorrow? If I have found grace in your eyes, Bishops and
Cardinals of Rome, snatch one who is helpless from the hands
of a stronger than he, a poor man from those who despise him.
If not, then I shall labour and groan, and tears shall be my
bread day and night. But to you I will cite this verse, ' Whoso
withholdeth pity from his friend, hath forsaken the fear of the
Almighty.' And this, ' All my friends have departed from me.'
And this one also, ' My kinsmen stood afar off, and they also
that sought after my life laid snares for me.' " 1
The Pope/ the Cardinals, and the Bishops yielded. The
Archbishop of Lyons yielded ; the good Peter of Cluny
yielded. Bernard caused the Cluniac monk to be deposed
from his see, another election to be made, and a monk of
Clairvaux, a kinsman of his own, to be placed in his room.
His name was Godfrey ; he had been prior of Clairvaux during
Bernard's absence in Italy, and was one of those who on his
return urged and carried out the removal and enlargement of
the monastic buildings at Clairvaux.
1 St. Bern. Epist. 168.
CHAPTER V.
(A.D. 1138. AETAT. 47.)
DEATH OF BERNARD'S BROTHER GERARD FUNERAL SERMON ON THE
DEATH OF GERARD VISIT OF ST. MALACHY TO CLAIRVADX.
THIS very exciting business about the bishopric of Langres,
and its successful issue in Bernard's favour if such an issue
can be called successful were followed by an event well fitted
to sadden and sober him, if he needed such chastening. His
brother Gerard, who had been ill when they were in Italy the
year previous, had become ill again ; so ill that this was to be
the last time, for he was dying. It was the custom among the
Cistercians, when a monk was very ill, or approaching death,
to proceed thus : l The bell was rung, and the religious
hastened into the choir. They then went in procession to the
infirmary, the abbot first, followed by priests, who carried a
cross, a light in a lantern, and holy water. The sacristan was
in his place bearing the oil and a piece of flax or a towel, with
which to wipe it away. The rite of extreme unction was
then performed. 2 They all then left the sick man, went to the
church, and presently returned with a cross, a light, and holy
water, with which the patient was sprinkled. The priest then
said to him, "Behold, brother, the body of the Lord Jesus
1 Usus antiquiores ordinis Cis-
terciensis. Nomasticon Cisterciense,
Paris, 1664. Pars iv. cap. 94, 95.
Also Migne's Patrologia, torn, clxvi.
col. 1471.
2 " .... procedant eo ordtne
quo stant in choro, saperdotibus
seqnentibus abbatem post crucem et
lumen in absconsa et aquam bene-
dictam Sacrista vero pergens
in ordine suo ferat oleum et stupas
vel pannum ad detergendum unctu-
ram". .... Et sic unctionis impleat
officiuro." loc. cit.
226 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
Christ which we bring to thee. Dost thou believe that in it
are our salvation, resurrection, and life?" 1 On his answering,
" I believe," he was bidden to repeat the Confiteor. The priest
next administered the holy viaticum, saying, "The body of our
Lord Jesus Christ preserve thee unto everlasting life ;" and they
all left him. But when his end visibly drew near, he was
placed on the floor on a serge cloth, under which had been
spread some straw over a cross of ashes which had been
blessed. The bell was rung four times, and wherever the
community might be, they must hasten to the infirmary as
quickly as possible. They there knelt around the .sick brother
and answered the prayers recited by the celebrant. The seven
penitential Psalms were said, and, unless he was actually dying,
the monks again retired, leaving him a lighted candle, the
cross, and holy v/ater. 2
That all the proper forms and ceremonies were observed at
the death-bed of the brother of Bernard we cannot doubt.
When at last the lamp of life was extinguished, the funeral
service was performed by the bereaved abbot, who, however,
of all present appeared the least moved at the burial of the
dead. The grief of others broke forth in sobs and tears. The
infinite sorrow of Bernard made him only preternaturally calm.
He went through the routine of duty as usual,- and part of that
duty was his exposition of the Song of Songs, which he had
resumed since his return from Italy. At the appointed time
1 " Cum ad infirmum veniunt, itaque Litania, si adhuc vixerit, di-
qui fert aquam aspergat eum. canturseptemPsalmiPoenitentiales :
Sacerdos vero dicat ei, ' Ecce, quod si nondum obierit, discedanL,
frater, corpus Domini nostri Jesu relinquentes ibi crucem et aquam
Christi quod tibi deferimus ; credis benediclam." Ibid. See alsfc
hoc illud esse in quo est salus, vita, " Regulations of the Cistercian
et resurrectio nostra ? ' " loc. cit. Congregation of our Lady of La
2 " Cum aliquis morti penitus Trappe, Primitive Observance ;
appropinquaverit, ponaturad terram drawn up by the General Chapter.''
super sagum, supposito prius cinere London: Richardson and Son, 1854,
in modum crucis el aliqua matta vel Book viji. cap. 5.
aliquanto, ..... Dicta
] SERMON ON THE DEATH OF GERARD. 227
he ascended the pulpit, as he was wont, and began the
following
SERMON.
" As the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon?
SOL. SONG, i. 5- 1
"We must begin from this point, because it was here that
the preceding sermon was brought to a close. You are waiting
to hear what these words mean, and how they are connected
with the previous clause, since a comparison is made between
them. Perhaps both members of the comparison, viz. 'As
the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon/ refer only to
the first words, ' I am black.' It may be, however, that the
I simile is extended to both clauses, and each is compared with
each. The former sense is the more simple, the latter the
more obscure. Let us try both, beginning with the latter,
which seems the more difficult. There is no difficulty, how-
ever, in the first comparison, 'I am black as the tents of
Kedar,' but only in the last. For Kedar, which is interpreted
to mean 'darkness' or 'gloom,' may be compared with black-
ness justly enough; but the curtains of Solomon are not so
easily likened to beauty. Moreover, who does mot see that
'tents' fit harmoniously with the comparison? For what is
the meaning of ' tents,' except our bodies, in which we sojourn
for a time. Nor have we an abiding city, but we seek one to
come. In our bodies, as under tents, we carry on warfare.
Truly, we are violent to take the kingdom. Indeed, the
life of man here on earth is a warfare; and as long as
we do battle in this body, we are absent from the Lord, i.e.
from the light. For the Lord is light ; and so far as any
one is not in Him, so far he is in darkness, i.e. in Kedar.
Let each one then acknowledge the sorrowful exclamation as
his own : 'Woe is me that my sojourn is prolonged ! I have
dwelt with those who dwell in Kedar. My soul hath long
i St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 1353.
Q 2
228 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. SSJ. "
sojourned in a strange land.' l Therefore this habitation of the
body is not the mansion of the citizen, nor the house of the
native, "but either the soldier's tent or the traveller's inn. This
body, I say, is a tent, and a tent of Kedar, because, by its
interference, it prevents the soul from beholding the infinite
light, nor does it allow her to see the light at all, except
through a glass darkly, and not face to face.
" Do you not see whence blackness comes to the Church
whence a certain rust cleaves to even the fairest souls ?
Doubtless, it conies from the tents of Kedar, from the practice
of laborious warfare, from the long continuance of a painful
sojourn, from the straits of our grievous exile, from our
feeble cumbersome bodies ; for the corruptible body presseth
down the soul, and the earthy tabernacle weigheth down the
mind that museth upon many things. Therefore the souls'
desire to be loosed, that being freed from the body they may
fly into the embraces of Christ. Wherefore one of the miser-
able ones said, groaning : ' Oh, wretched man that I am, who
shall deliver me from the body of this death ! ' For a soul of
this kind knoweth that, while, in the tents of .Kedar, she cannot
be entirely free from spot or wrinkle, nor from some stains of
blackness, and wishes to go forth and to put them off. And
here we have the reason why the spouse calls herself black as
the tents of Kedar. But now, how is she beautiful as the
curtains of Solomon? Behind these" curtains I feel that an
indescribable holiness and sublimity are veiled, which I dare
not presume to touch, save at the command of Him who
shrouded and sealed the mystery. For I have read, He that
is a searcher of Majesty shall be overwhelmed with the glory.
I pass on therefore. It will devolve on you, meanwhile, to
obtain grace by your prayers, that we may the more readily,
1 In such cases as this, to trans- is really different. See Psalm cxix.
late the Vulgate is preferable to 5, 6, Vulgatae editionis.
inserting the English version, which
A.D.U381
AETAT. 47 J
SERMON ON THE DEA TH OF GERARD.
229
because more confidently, recur to a subject which needs
attentive minds ; and it may be that the pious knocker at the
door will discover what the bold explorer seeks in vain.
" But I must desist ; my grief and the calamity I have
suffered command it How long shall I dissemble ? how long
shall I conceal the fire which is within me, scorching my sor-
rowful breast and consuming my vitals? The more I repress
its flames, the more fiercely it burns and rages. What have I
to do with this canticle, who am steeped in bitterness ? The
sharpness of grief paralyses my will, and the indignation of the
Lord has drunk up my spirit. My very heart left me, when he
was taken away through whom my meditations in God were
made free. But I did violence to my mind, and have dissem-
bled until now, lest it should appear that faith was overcome
of feeling. While others wept, I, as ye may have observed,
followed his body to the grave with unmoistened eyes; I stood
by his tomb, and dropped no tear till the burial of the dead
was over. Clad in my priestly robes, I pronounced with my
lips the usual prayers \ with my own hands, in the wonted
manner, I cast the earthy mould- on the body of my beloved,
soon itself to be dissolved to earth. Those who watched me
wept, and wondered why I wept not also, for their pity was
less for him than for me for me who had lost him. Would
not even a heart of steel be moved, to see me the survivor of
Gerard? The loss was a general one, but it was not thought
of in comparison with my calamity. And I resisted my afflic-
tion with all the resources of faith which I could summon
striving even against myself not to be disturbed vainly by the
law of Nature, by the debt which all must pay, by the rule of
our condition here, by the command of the powerful One, by
the judgment of the Just, by the scourge of the Terrible, by
the will of the Lord. By means of such thoughts I overcame
myself for that time and afterwards, so as not to indulge in
much weeping, though sorely troubled and sorrowful. I could
230 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD:
not command my grief, though I could control my tears ! As
it is written, ' I was afflicted, and I kept silence.' But the sup-
pressed anguish struck deeper root within, and. has become
more bitter, as I perceive, from not being allowed a vent. I
own I am conquered. Let it go forth, as I cannot endure it
within. Let it go forth before the eyes of my children, who,
knowing my affliction, will bear more leniently with my com-
plaint, and give me a sweeter consolation.
" You know, my children,, the reasonableness of my sorrow
you know the lamentable wound I have received. You
appreciate what a friend has left me in this walk of life which I
have chosen how prompt to labour, how gentle in manner ]
Who was so necessary to me ? To whom was I equally dear ?
He was my brother by blood, but more than brother by
religion. Deplore my misfortune, I beseech you, who know
these things. I was weak in body, and he sustained me;
downcast in spirit, and he comforted me ; slow and negligent,
and he stimulated me; careless and forgetful, and he ad-
monished me. Whither hast thou been torn from me, whither
hast thou been carried from my arms, O thou man of one mind
with me, thou man after my own heart? We loved each other
in life : how are we separated in death ! O most bitter separa-
tion, which nothing could have accomplished but death ! For
when wouldest thou have deserted me in life? Truly, a
horrible divorce, altogether the work of death. Who would
not have had pity on the sweet bond of our mutual love but
death, the enemy of all sweetness ? Well has raging death
clone his work ; for, by taking one, he has stricken two. Is
not this death to me also? Yea, verily, more to me than to
Gerard to me to whom life is preserved far gloomier than any
death. I live that I may die living; and shall I call that life?
How much more merciful, O stern death, hadst thou deprived
me of the use, than of the fruit, of life. For life without fruit is
a more grievous death. Again, a double ruin is prepared for
SERMON ON THE DEATH OF GERARD. t$l
the unfruitful tree the axe and the fire. Hating, therefore,
the labours of my hands, thou hast removed from me the
friend through whose zeal chiefly they bore fruit, if they ever
did. Better would it have been for me, O Gerard ! to have
lost my life than thy presence, who wert the anxious instigator
of my studies in the Lord, my faithful helper, my careful
examiner. Why, I ask, have we loved, only to lose one
another ? Hard lot ! But I am to be pitied, not he ; for if
thou, dear brother, hast lost dear ones, they are replaced by
dearer still : but what consolation awaits wretched me, de-
prived of thee, my only comfort? Equally pleasing to both
was the companionship of our bodies by reason of the unison
of our minds j but the separation has wounded only me. The
joys of life were shared between us ; its sadness and gloom are
mine alone. God's wrathful displeasure goeth over me, and
His indignation lieth hard upon me. The delights we derived
from each other's society and conversation I only have lost,
whilst thou hast exchanged them for others, and in the
exchange great has been thy gain.
" In place of us, dearest brother, whom thou hast not with
thee to-day, what an exceeding multitude of joys and blessings
is thine ! Instead of me thou hast Christ ; nor canst thou feel
thy absence from thy brethren here, now that thou rejoicest in
choruses of angels. Nothing, therefore, can make thee deplore
the loss of our society, seeing that the Lord of majesty and the
hosts of heaven vouchsafe to thee their presence. But what
have I in thy stead? What would I not give to know what
thou now thinkest of thy Bernard, tottering amid cares and
afflictions, and bereaved of thee, the staff of my weakness ; if,
indeed, it be permitted to one who is plunged into the abyss of
light, and absorbed in the great ocean of eternal felicity, still to
think of the miserable inhabitants of the earth. It may be that
though thou knewest us in the flesh, thou knowest us no more ;
and since thou hast entered into the power of the Lord, thou
232 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
rememberest only His justice, forgetful of us. Moreover, he
that is joined unto the Lord is one spirit, and is entirely
changed into one holy feeling; neither can he think of or
wish for aught but God and the things which God thinks
and wishes, being full of God. But God is Love, and the
more closely a man is united to God, the fuller he is of love.
Further, God is without passions, but not without sympathy, for
His nature is always to have mercy and to spare. Therefore
thou must needs be merciful, since thou art joined to the
Merciful One, although misery now be far from thee. Thou
canst compassionate others, although thou sufferest not thyself.
Thy love is not weakened, but changed. Nor because thou
hast put on God hast thou laid aside all care for us, for
' He also careth for us.' Thou hast discarded thine infirmities,
but not thy affections. ' Charity never faileth :' thou wilt not
forget me at the last.
" I fancy I hear my brother saying to me, * Can a woman
forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion
on the son of her womb ? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not
forget thee.' Truly it were lamentable if he did. Thou
knowest, Gerard, where I am, where I lie, where thou leftest
me. No one is by, to stretch forth a hand to me. I look, as
I have been wont to do in every emergency, to Gerard, and
he is not there. Then do I groan as one that hath no help.
Whom shall I consult in doubtful matters ? To whom shall I
trust in trial and misfortune? Who will bear my burdens?
Who will protect me from harm ? Did not Gerard's eyes pre-
vent my steps? Alas, my cares and anxieties entered more
deeply into Gerard's breast than into my own, ravaged it more
freely, wrung it more acutely. His wise and gentle speech
saved me from secular conversation, and gave me to the silence
which I loved. The Lord had given him a learned tongue, so
that he knew when it was proper to speak. By the prudence of
his answers, and the grace given him from above, he so satisfied
A.D. 11381
A.CTAT. 4f J
SERMON ON THE DEATH OF GERARD.
233
both our own people and- strangers, that scarcely any one
needed me who had previously seen Gerard. He hastened to
meet the visitors, placing himself in the way lest they should
disturb my leisure. Such as he could not dispose of himself,
those he brought into me ; the rest he sent away. O diligent
man ! O faithful friend ! He humoured the feelings of his
friend, and was not wanting to the duties of charity. Who ever
! left him empty-handed ? If the applicant were rich, he got
counsel ; if poor, help. He who plunged himself in cares that
I might be spared them, did not seek his own advantage ; for
he expected, such was his humility, more profit from my leisure
than from his own. Yet sometimes he would ask to be dis-
charged, that he might yield his place to another who would
fulfil its duties better. But where was such an one to be
found? Nor did he remain in his office, as many do, kept
there by a feeling of pride and insolence, but solely from an
impulse of charity. He laboured indeed more abundantly than
all, and received less than any other; so that often when he
was serving out necessaries to others, he himself was lacking in
many things : for example, in food and raiment.
"When he felt his end was approaching, he exclaimed:
* Thou knowest, O God, that as far as I was concerned, I have
ever wished for peace and retirement to devote myself to Thee.
But I have been kept immersed in cares and outward activity
by fear of Thee, by the will of the community, by zeal to obey,
above all things by the love of him who is both my abbot
and my brother.' And this was true. I thank thee, my
brother, for the fruit if there be any of all my studies in the
Lord. To thee I owe it, if I have advanced myself, if I have
contributed to others' advancement. Thou wast oppressed
with business, while I, through thy means, sat enjoying my holi-
day, or spent my time more devoutly in the worship of God,
or more usefully in teaching my spiritual sons. How could I
fail to be peaceful within, when I knew that thou wast abroad
234 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.-
. V
acting the part of my right hand, the light of my eyes, my
heart, my tongue ? and truly an unwearied hand, a single eye,
a head of counsel, a tongue talking of judgment, even as it is
written, ' The mouth of the righteous speaketh wisdom, and his
tongue talketh of judgment.'
" But why do I dwell so long on his outward activity, as if
Gerard had been deficient in inward culture, and devoid of
spiritual gifts ? All those of a spiritual mind who knew him
know how redolent his words were of the Spirit. His com-
panions know how free his heart and mind were from fleshly
thoughts, and how they glowed with a spiritual fervour. Who
more strict than he in the preservation of discipline who
more stem in the chastening of his body who more rapt or
more sublime in contemplation who more subtle in dis-
course? HOAV often in discussion with him have I learnt
things I knew not before ; and I, who came to teach, have
gone away taught ! Nor is it wonderful that this should have
occurred to me, when even great and wise men testify that
the same thing has happened to themselves. He had not
a deep knowledge of literature, but he had that sense which
is the ground and origin of literature ; he had the illumina-
tion of the Spirit : and not only in the greatest things, but
also in the least, was he surpassing great. What to give
some examples \yhat did there exist in the matter of either
building, or lands, or gardens, or waters, or any one of the arts
of husbandry, which had escaped the sagacity of Gerard ? He
easily took the post of master among masons, smiths, gardeners,
shoemakers, and weavers ; and while all regarded him as wiser
than any, in his own eyes only he knew nothing. Would
that many albeit less wise than he were not more exposed
to the curse pronounced against those ' who are wise in their
own eyes.' I am speaking to men who know these things, who
know also more and greater things than these concerning him.
but I refrain from further allusion, for he is my flesh, my
Jt;"$] SERMOtf Otf THE DEATH OF GERARD. 235
brother. This I can safely add, that to me he was useful in all
things, and beyond every one else : he was useful in great
things and in small, in public and in private, at home and
abroad. It was fitting that I should depend for everything on
him who was everything to me. He left me but little besides
the name and honour of superintendent, for he did the work.
I was called abbot, but he monopolised the abbot's cares.
I Justly did my spirit repose on him, through whom I could
delight in the Lord, preach more freely, pray more confidently.
Through thee, O brother mine, have I enjoyed a quiet mind, a
grateful rest ; through thee my speech has had more power, my
prayer more unction, my reading has been more frequent, my
affection more fervent.
" Alas ! thou art gone, and with thee all these things as well.
With thee all my delights and joys have flown away. Already
cares rush down upon me, troubles assail me from either side,
difficulties from every quarter have found me alone. Now thou
art absent, I groan unassisted under my load; I must lay it
down or be crushed, since thy strong shoulders are withdrawn.
Will it be granted me to die soon after thee ? for I desire not
to die in thy stead, nor to rob thee of thy glory on high.
To survive thee is labour and grief. I shall, whilst I live, live
in bitterness. I shall live in sorrow ; and be this my consola-
tion, that I be stricken down with grieving. . I will not spare
myself, but will assist the chastening hand of the Lord ; for
the hand of the Lord hath touched me. Me it hath touched
and smitten, not him whom it hath called unto rest. I was
slain when he was cut off. For who could call him killed whom
the Lord has planted in life ? But the portals of life to him
were death to me ; and I would say that I died with that death,
not he who fell asleep in the Lord. Flow forth, ye tears, long
since ready to gush out ! flow forth, since he who would have
stayed your flow has been taken away ! Let the sluices of my
wretched heart be opened ! let the fountains of waters burst
236 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [o?. *
forth, if they, peradventure, suffice to wash out the stains of sin
by which I have deserved the anger of God ! When the Lord
shall be appeased toward me, then perhaps I may be worthy
to receive consolation, if only I cease not to grieve ; for they
who mourn, the same shall be comforted. Wherefore let every
holy man bear with me, and in the spirit of lenity, which is of
the Holy Spirit, endure my lamentation. Let my grief be esti-
mated by human affection, not by custom. We daily see the
dead mourning their dead ; their sorrow is great, but it availeth
nothing. We blame not the feeling, except it exceed just /
bounds, but the cause of it. The feeling is natural ; such dis-
turbance is the penalty of sin; the cause is vanity and wicked-
ness. For, if I mistake not, in such cases men deplore only
the injuries to their carnal glory, the trials of this transitory
life. Lamentable, pitiable, are they who lament thus. Do I
even so ? My feeling is the same, the cause is different, the
intention is dissimilar. No complaint have I concerning the
things of this world ; it is in matters which of a truth belong
to God that I deplore the loss of a faithful helpmate, a profit-
able counsellor. I weep for Gerard Gerard, my brother in
the flesh, but nearest of all in the spirit and scheme of life.
My soul clave to his, and identity of mind, not of blood,
made us one. The relationship by the flesh was not wanting,
but the fellowship of spirit, the harmony of mind, the agreement
of manners, did more to achieve our union. When we, there-
fore, were of one mind, one heart, the sword which pierced
through his soul pierced mine also, and, separating us, placed
one part in heaven and left the other in the mire of earth.
I am that wretched portion lying in the dust, with the best part
of me cut off; and it is said to me, 'Weep not.' My bowels
are torn out, and I am told, ' Feel not.' I feel, I feel, because
I have not the fortitude of stones, and my flesh is not brass.
Truly, I feel and grieve, and my grief is ever in my sight.
He who striketh cannot reproach me with hardness and insen.-
A ; 38] SERMON ON THE DEATH OF GERARD. 237
sibility, as He did those of whom He says, ' I have stricken
them, and they have not grieved.' I have confessed my emo-
tion, and denied it not. Does any one say it is carnal? I
deny not that it is human I deny not that I am a man.
If this sufficeth not, I deny not that it is carnal ; for I also
am carnal, sold to sin, made over to death, exposed to pains
and tribulations. I am not, I confess, insensible to punishment
I shudder at the thought of death, whether my own or of
those belonging to me. He was my Gerard, truly mine.
Was he not mine, who was my brother by, blood, my son by
profession, my father by his care for me, who was closest to
me in affection, concordant in spirit? and he has departed
from me. I feel it. I am wounded, yea, deeply wounded. '
"Forgive me, my children; nay, if children, sympathise
with your father's trial. Pity me, pity me, you, at least, my
friends, who surely know how severely I am chastened of
the Lord for my sins. He hath smitten me with the rod of
His indignation, justly for my misdeeds, heavily according to
my strength. Would any one say it was a light thing for me
to survive Gerard, except one who knew not what Gerard was
to me? I do not contradict the words of the Holy One. I
do not find fault with the judgment by which every man
receives according to his merits : he the crown which he had
won I the punishment I deserved. Because I feel the blow,
do I therefore dispute the sentence? One is human, the other
impious. It is human, it is inevitable, to yearn towards our
clear ones ; pleasantly when they are near, painfully when they
are away. Social converse, especially among friends, is no
idle thing ; and the intensity of their attachment may be mea-
sured by their horror of separation, by their grief when parted.
I grieve for thee, beloved Gerard, not because thou needest
pity, but because thou art taken away. And therefore, per-
haps, I should rather grieve for myself, who am drinking the
cup of bitterness. I only am to be pitied, for I only drink
238 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST BERNARD,'
it. Hence I alone endure what lovers are wont to endure
in common when they lose each other.
" God grant that I may not have lost thee,, but only have
sent thee before me ! God grant that at some future time,
even though remote, I may follow thee whithersoever thou art
gone ! For there is no doubt that thou art gone to those
whom, towards the middle of thy last night upon earth, thou
invitedst to join in praise, when, to the astonishment of all
present, with a voice and countenance of exultation, thou didst
break forth into that Psalm of David, 'Praise the Lord of
heaven, praise Him in the height' Already, my brother, the
dark midnight was becoming day to thee, and the night was
made bright as the day. That night was all brightness to
thee in thy heavenly joys. I was summoned to the miracle,
to see a man exulting in death, nay, heaping scorn upon death.
' O death, where is thy sting ? O grave, where is thy victory ? '
No longer is there a sting, but joyfulness. A man dies singing,
and sings dying. O mother of mourning, thou art pressed
into the service of gladness ! O enemy of glory, thou art
made a handmaid of glory ! thou gate of hell art" become an
entrance to the kingdom ! thou pitfall of perdition art turned
to a means of salvation ! and all this by a sinful man. And
justly too, for thou rashly hast usurped dominion over the
innocent and just ! Thou art dead, O death, and pierced by the
hook thou hast imprudently swallowed, which saith, in the
words of the prophet, ' O death, I will be thy death ! O hell,
I will be thy bite.' Pierced, I say, by that hook, to the faithful
who go through the midst of thee thou offerest a broad and
pleasant pathway into life. Gerard fears thee not, thou ghastly
form ! Gerard passes through thy jaws into his own country,
not only fearless, but singing songs of praise and rejoicing.
When, after the summons, I had reached his side, and he, with
a clear voice, in my hearing, had finished the last words of the
Psalm, looking up into heaven he said, 'Father, into Thy hands I
] SERMON ON THE DEATH OF GERARD. 239
commend my spirit ! ' and repeating the passage, he said again
and again, 'Father, Father!' \Then turning __ to me with a
brightening countenance, he said, * How gracious of God to be
the Father of men ! what a glory to men to be the sons of God,
to be the heirs of God ; for if children, then heirs ! ' Thus did
he sing for whom we mourn. He hath, I confess, almost turned
my grief into rejoicing. While I gaze on his glory, my own
misery almost vanishes away.
" But the sharp sting of sorrow recalls me to myself, and a
piercing anguish awakens me from that serene vision as from
a gentle slumber. I will not weep, then, but for myself, for
reason forbids us to weep for him. I think he would say now
to us, if occasion offered, 'Weep not for me, but weep for
yourselves.' David justly mourned over his parricidal son,
whom he, nevertheless, knew to be for ever shut in the womb
of death by the greatness of his sin. Justly did he likewise
mourn over Saul and Jonathan, for whom also no hope re-
mained after their death. They will indeed rise again, but not
unto life ; or only unto such a life, that alive in death they may
die the more wretchedly ; although with regard to Jonathan
our judgment may well hesitate, a little. I have not these
reasons for grief, but I have reasons ! I grieve over my own
wound, over the loss to this monastery, over the needs of the
poor, to whom Gerard was a father ! I mourn over the univer-
sal state of our order and the monastic profession, which, from
thy zeal and example, Gerard, drew no little support. . Lastly,
I mourn, if not over thee, yet on account of thee. Hence I
am greatly moved, because I love so vehemently ; and let no
one, to trouble me, assert that it is not right so to be affected,
when the gentle Samuel and the pious David gave vent to
their mourning ; the one over a- reprobate king, the other over
a parricidal son, and this without injury to their faith, not in
contempt of the judgment of Heaven. Holy David said, ' O
my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom ! ' and, behold, a
240 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
greater than Absalom is here. The Saviour also, when He
beheld the city of Jerusalem, and foresaw its approaching ruin,
'wept over it.' And shall not I feel my own desolation?
shall not I mourn my recent grevious wound ? He wept from
compassion; shall not I from suffering? And verily, at the
tomb of Lazarus, He neither rebuked the weepers nor forbade
them ; He even wept with those that wept. ' And Jesus wept,'
it is written. Those tears, truly, were evidence of His human
nature, riot signs of distrust. Soon after the dead came forth
at His word, lest His sorrow should appear to throw doubt
upon His faith.
" Neither is this our weeping a mark of unbelief, but rather
of our condition ; nor, because I groan when smitten, do I
arraign the striker. I appeal to His mercy. I would fain
appease His wrath. My words are charged with grief, but
not with murmuring. Have I not proclaimed the sentence
as full of justice, by which the one who deserved it was
punished, the other who merited it received a crown? And
I say the same still. The good and righteous Lord hath
done all things well ! I will sing to Thee, O Lord, of mercy
and judgment. Mercy which Thou showedst to Thy servant
Gerard shall sing. The judgment which we even now bear
shall sing also. Thou shalt be praised as good in one, as just
in the other. Does praise belong only to goodness ? There
is praise also for justice. 'Righteous art Thou, O Lord, and
upright are Thy judgments.' Thou gavest Gerard ; TJiou hast
taken him away. And if we mourn for his being taken, we
forget not that he was given; and we render thanks that we
deserved to have him, and wish not to lament him more- than
is expedient.
" I call to mind, O Lord, the covenant I made with Thee,
and the mercy Thou hadst on me, that Thou mayest be justified
in Thy saying, and clear when Thou arc judged. When last
year we were at Viterbo, on the business of the Church,
] VISIT OF ST. MALACHY. 241
Gerard fell sick and as his illness increased, and hi? calling
seemed at hand, I grieved to lose the companion of my wan-
derings, to leave him in a strange land, and not to restore
him to those who had entrusted him to my care, for he was
loved by all, and deserved to be loved. Then, turning myself
to prayer with tears and groans, 'Wait,' I said, 'O Lord, until
our return. After he has been restored to his friends, Thou
shalt take him if Thou wilt, and I will not complain.' Thou
heardest my prayer, O God. He. grew strong again. We
finished the work Thou gavest us to do ; ,we returned with
joy and gladness, bearing with us the sheaves of peace. And
then I nearly forgat my agreement, but Thou didst not. I am
ashamed of these sobs, which accuse me of prevarication.
What more can I say? Thou hast sought again what was
entrusted to us ; Thou hast received Thine own. These tears
put an end to my words. Do thou, O Lord, vouchsafe an
end and a measure to my tears."
Thus spoke the sorrowful Bernard on the death of his
brother: assuredly among funeral sermons one of the most
remarkable on record. Evidently the monk in those days did
not cease to be a man even a loving and impassioned man.
The year following this great affliction Bernard made the
acquaintance of a man whose fortunes and character excited
his interest, and ultimately his warm- affection. This was
Archbishop Malachy, Primate of Ireland, who, on his way to
Rome, put up at Clairvaux, and tarried there a while. Malachy
was a man whose apostolic zeal and sanctity might bear com-
parison with Bernard's own. Indeed, his long and heroic
struggle against the barbarism of his countrymen, if not beyond
the power of the Abbot of Clairvaux to imitate, was at least
such as circumstances- never allowed the latter to show he was
equal to. Bernard evidently regarded him with an admiration
mingled with wonder. He constantly refers to the " bar-
barians" from amidst whom he sprang, and places .JMalachy's
H
242
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
virtues in startling contrast with the social condition of his
nation. He speaks of the Irish as utter savages, much as a
modern philosopher might of Polynesian islanders. He clearly
felt that the Frenchmen, Germans, and Italians with whom he
came in contact were quite civilized compared with Malachy's
countrymen. 1 So much the stronger and more genuine were
his regard and reverence for his illustrious guest. Bernard
survived him by several years, and wrote his life, a curious
record both of the man and his nation ; one of the pleasantest
and most interesting of Bernard's works, in which, though never
thinking of it, he has put an image of his own beautiful and
ardent soul.
Malachy had reached only his thirtieth year when he was
consecrated Bishop of Connaught. His previous life had no't
been very remarkable, although of .course he had performed
several miracles. 2 But when he began to discharge the duties
of his sacred calling, " the man of God discovered that he had
not been appointed to rule over men, but over beasts. He
had never met with such so insolent in manners, so deadly in
their rites, so unbelieving in religion, so rebellious against
discipline, so filthy in their lives. They were Christians in
name, but pagans in reality. 3 They would not pay tithes, nor
1 " Malachias noster, ortus Hi- ille conatu impingere valuit. Cor-
hernia de populo barbaro, ibi edu- ruit ille : accurrere omnes, putantes
carus, ibi litteras edoctus est. Cae- aut percussum ad mortem aut mor-
terum de natali barbaric traxit nihil, tuum. Et tunica quidem scissa a
non magis quam de sale materno summo usque deorsum ; homo vero
pisces maris." Op. ST. BERN. iilaesus inventus est : tarn modice et
vol. i. col. 659. summatim perstricta cute, ut vix in
2 His commencement in this line superficie vestigium appareret."
was the miraculous escape of a man Ibid. col. 665.
whom he had accidentally felled with 3 " Nusquam adhuc tales expertus
an axe. " Quadam die cum in securi fuerat in quantacunque barbaric ;
ipse secaret, casu ex operariis unus, nusquam repererat sic protervos ad
illo vibrante in aera securim, locum mores, sic ferales ad ritus [does this
incaute occupavit quo ictus destina- point to any remains of Druidical
batur ; et cecidit super spinam dorsi sacrifices?], sic ad fidem impios, ad
ejus, tanto utique impetu quanto leges barbaros, cervicosos ad dis-
ST - MALACHVS LABOURS IN IRELAND. 243
give the ' first-fruits/ nor enter the bonds of wedlock, nor make
confession ; they would neither ask for nor perform penance.
There were very few priests ; but even those few were too
many, and had very little occupation. What was Malachy to
do ? He stood an, intrepid pastor in the midst of wolves, full
of arguments by which to turn the wolves into sheep. Some
he admonished publicly; some he rebuked privately; with
others he shed tears. He passed whole nights sleepless, ex-
tending his hands in prayer ; and when they would not come
to church, he rah after them through the streets, and searched
through the city whom he could win to Christ."
While Malachy was exhibiting such a worthy pattern of a
Christian bishop, it chanced that Archbishop Celsus fell sick.
Knowing that he was about to die, " he made as it were a testa-
ment," in which he appointed Malachy his successor, as he saw
no one more worthy to be Primate of Ireland. But among the
numerous vices of the Irish which Bernard holds up to repro-
bation was one which especially excited his indignation, viz.
their habit of regarding the episcopal office in the light of
hereditary property, which ought not to be suffered to go out of
the family. Any one who did not belong to the favoured clan
was not permitted to be made bishop ; and for several gene-
rations, extending over a period of two hundred years, this
iniquitous custom had prevailed. We may well believe Ber-
nard's assertion, that the worst results flowed from it Not
only did ecclesiastical discipline and religious purity suffer, but
relapses into paganism were not unknown. Among other evils
was the shameless creation of new bishoprics, according to the
pleasure of the metropolitan. They were multiplied to such
an extent, that nearly every church had a bishop of its own. 1
ciplinam, spurcos ad vitam. Chris- potentum, sedem sanctam obtentum
tiani nomine, re pagani," &c. Oj>. iri haereditaria successione. Nee
ST. BERN. vol. i. col. 666. enim patiebantur episcopari nisi qui
1 " Veram mos pessimus inoleve- essent de tribu et familia sua. Nee
rat quorumdam diabolica ambitione parum processerat exsecranda sue-
R 2
LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.
Celsus hoped that Malachy would put an end to these evils,
and therefore wished him to succeed himself as metropolitan.
But one Maurice by name, "of the wicked seed" who had
held the see for two hundred years, stepped in and kept out
Malachy. This lasted five years, when Maurice died, and
was succeeded by another of the same kin called Nigellus. 1
But Malachy had by this time won over a large portion of the
population, and one of the petty kings of the country, to his
side. These determined to install him in his see of Armagh.
The scheme was as determinedly opposed by the other party,
who resolved to attack the archbishop and his adherents when
they least expected it. Malachy became aware of the plot,
and entering a church which was close by, "lifted up his
hands, and prayed unto the Lord." And, behold, clouds and
thick darkness forthwith turned day into night. Lightning-
flashes and thunder-peals quickly followed, accompanied by
terrific blasts of wind. The last day, or rather night, seemed to
have arrived, and all the elements appeared to threaten death. 2
" Now that -you may know, reader," remarks Bernard, " that
Malachy's prayer did all this," take the following facts. The
storm destroyed those only who sought after his soul ; the dark
cessio, decursis jam in hac malitia * Bernard can seldom resist a
quasi generationibus quindecim. pun : " Nigellus quidam immo vere
[This must be a mistake: Bernard nigerrimus sedem praeripuit."
further on says that the custom had 2 " Res innotuit Malachiae, et in-
existed for two hundred years.] trans ecclesiam (erat enim prope)
.... inde ilia ubique, pro mansue- elevatismanibusoravitadDominum.
tudine Christiana, sseva subintro- Et ecce nubes et caligo, sed et tene-
ducta barbaries, imo paganismus brosa aqua in nubibus aeris, diem
quidam inductus sub nomine Chris- verterunt in noctem : fulgura quo-
tiano. Nam (quod inauditum est que et tonitma et horribiles spiritus
ab ipso Christianitatis initio) sine procellamm diem ultimum minitan-
ordine, sine ratione mutabantur et tur, vicinamque elemeuta int 
