DIVINITY SCHOOL
TROWBRIDGE LIBRARY

THE LIFE AND TIMES

ST. BERNARD.

THE

LIFE AND TIMES

SAINT BERNARD,
ABBOT OF CLAIRVAUX.

A.D. 1091—1153.

JAMES COTTER MORISON, M.A,,
LINCOLN COLLEGE. OXFORD,

MACMILLAN AND CO.
1884,

CrG> -Bin Xvn o <-

CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR,
BREAD STREET HILL.

THOMAS CARLYLE

JMame is iftfcbkatrir

(BY PERMISSION!

WITH DEEP REVERENCE AND GRATITUDE.

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 HI.
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. PAGE
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 VIIL
Quarrel with the Bishop of Paris — Apology — Cluny — Extracts . . 1 14
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 Schism— 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  iji
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.
_,. PAGE
Third Journey to Italy— End of the Schism— Letters home— Dispute
with Peter of Cluny concerning the Election of a Bishop of
L™&<*  2Q9
CHAPTER V.
De,ath of St. Bernard's Brother, Gerard— Funeral Sermon on the.
Death of Gerard— Visit of St. Maklchy to Clairvaux .... 225

BOOK III.
CHAPTER I.
Letter ot William of St. Thierry to Saint Bernard and the Bishop of
Charfres— AlarniJabc.,ut1the, Heresies of Peter Abelard .... 253
CHAPTER II.
Life of Peter Abelard up to the Council of Sens, A.D. 1140 . . . 25S
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 Vermandois 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 III.
The Second Crusade  379
CHAPTER IV.
Acts of Saint Bernard during the Progress of the Crusade— Trial and
Condemnation ofGilbertde 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

ST. BERNARD.

BOOK 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 C6te 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. [&Z5.\
Tesselin, a knight, vassal and friend of the Duke of Burgundy.
Tesselin had the surname of Sorus, 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
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*S6l9. It was desecrated at the familiaris et intimus erat; nee ali-
Revolution, and used as a smithy. quando fuit 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, vac. 'Duellum,'
lebat Tesselinus quidam, cogno- for a long and interesting article.
mento Sorus ; quo nomine, vulgarl The combatants were obliged to
lingua subrufos et pene flavos ap- swear that they would use no magic
pellare solemus. Erat autem vir iste arts against each other. Consuet.
genere nobilis, possessionibus dives, Norman, part ii. cap. 2 : " Primo
suavis moribus, amator pauperum jurabit defensor quod nee per se,
maximus, summus pietatis cultor, et nee per alium, in campo sorcerias
incredlbilem habens justitiae zelum. fecit aportare, quae ei possint et
Denique, et mirari solebat, quod debeant juvare, et partae adversae
multis onerosum esse videret servare nocere." Lex Rothar. 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 maleficia pertinent super se
Dei. . . . Nunquam armis usus est, habere, nee alias similes res, nisi
nisi aut pro defensione terrae pro- tantum arma sua quae conveniunt."
priae, aut cum domino suo duce, They fought with uncovered heads
scilicet, Burgundiae, ¦cui plurimum and feet: "Quantum voluerint de

»-D- io»iJ ST. BERNARD'S MOTHER. 3
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
Tesselin's wife was a fitting partner for such a man — earnest,
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 autem vir venerabilis Tesselinus
capita atque pedes permaneant enu- timoris Dei, et judiciorum divino-
dati." Plebeians were obliged to rum," &c. — ST. Bern. Op. vol. ii.
have their hair cropped above the col. 1282.
ears before they were allowed to I use Mabillon's 2d edition of
fight : " Et chascun doit estre roin- Saint Bernard's Works, 1690, in
gnez par dessus les oreilles." A two vols. fol. The Abbe Migne's
champion in his own cause, if con- reprint is also extremely convenient,
quered, suffered only a fine or impri- and has the numbers of the columns
sonment ; in the cause of another, as they stand in Mabillon's edition
he suffered mutilation : " Pugil con- inserted in the text ; so that the
ductitius, si victus fuerit, pugno vel reference is good for either Migne
pede privabitur." or Mabillon. As regards Tesselin's
1 " Cum, quodam tempore, vir character for gentleness, it would
memoratus, diversis emergentibus seem to have been a recognised trait
causis (sicut inter saeculares fre- of the ideal knight. Thus Chaucer, —
quenter contingere solet), cum quo- „ ^ th h that he was worthy he was
dam sibi adversante, multo mfenon WyS)
genere, et substantiae minoris, mono- And of his port as meke as is a mayde.
machia firmaverat decertare ; adest He never yit no v.loiiye ne sayde
- c ' . . In al his lyf unto no maner wight.
statuta dies et praehxa certammi. He wasa verray perfight gentilknight."
Convenitur utrimque. Recordatus Canterbury Tales, Prologue,
II 2

4 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c25.\
the Lord as soon as they were born. Piety and humbleness oi
mind 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.
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

1 " Erat ea tempestate, pro gene- traduntur venum, . . . dat quidquid
rali defectione frugum, etiam apud habere videtur, non pro sua sed pro
ditiores magna penuria, . . . diversae taxatione ementis, ne Dei posterior
plur'imorum copiae deferuntur in aggrediatur viam." — Guibertus
medium, et quae chara videbantur Novigensis, Gesta Dei per Francos,
dum nullus movetur hominum, com- lib. ii. cap. 3. '
motis nd hoc iter omnibus viii pretio

An lm] THE FIRST CRUSADE. $
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 and hope. " Christ had thundered
through the ears of all minds," 1 and the only fear was that of
being the last on the road. An odd and yet touching sight
, was afforded by the conduct of many of the ignorant poor.
Harnessing their oxen to their farm carts, they placed therein
their goods and little ones, and started in all simplicity for the
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, 15th 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
1 " Per omnium pene animorum tulos, 'dum obviam habent castella
aures Christus intonuit." — Ibid. vel urbes, si haec esset Jerusalem ad
2 "Videres . . . et ipsos infan- quam tenderent rogitare?" — Ibid.

6 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [S^.i
blood of the Saracens up to the knees of their horses." 1 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
' These words are in a letter 2 "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.1105] DEATH OF ALITH. 7
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
i " Cum vero chorus psallentium 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 tuarn libera earn Domine, . . . mansit." — St. Bern. Op. vol. ii.
elevata manu, signans se signaculo col. 1283.

8 LIFE AND. TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cZZS
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 andveneration, 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 mpnk. These fond
credulities of an unscientific age are little tolerated in our time.
Yet we may accept the legend as conveying or veiling 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.
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1284.

££;£$] CHOICE OF A CAREER.

CHAPTER II.

(A.D. 1 1 10. AETAT. 19.)
CHOICE OF A CAREER. — TEMPTATIONS FROM LOVE OF LITERATURE. —
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 1 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 and Gerard are knights,
and what are they even now doing 1 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, eleganti cor- dalium mores dissimiles et amicitiae
pore, grata facie prseeminens, sua- procellosae, similem sibi facere ges-
vissimis ornatus moribus, acceptabili tientes. " — St. Bern. Op. vol. ii.
pollens eloquio, magnae spei adoles- col. 1065.
cens praedicabatur. . . . Obsidebant

to LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. ' [cSii
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.
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 real
1 " Ce n'est guere qu'a dater du 2 The following, in reference to a
XIII6 siecle, " says M. Viollet le Due, certain class of temptations, and the
" que l'pn donna aux cloches des di- way he subdued them, is character-
mensions considerables. Les cloches istic : — " Stagno quippe gelidarum
donnees par Rodolphe abbe de St. aquarum collo tenus insiliens, tarn-
Frond, au commencement du XII8 diu inibi permansit, donee,' pene
siecle pour l'eglise de son monastere exsanguis factus, a carnalis 'concu-
pesaient depuis 200 jusqu'a 3,000 piscentiae calore totus refriguit." 
livres." — Did. de P Architecture, St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1065.
vol. iii. 'Cloche.'

j£JOl] ¦ TEMPTA TIONS OF LITER A TURE. 1 1
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 ; et amore scien- it must have been somewhere near
tiae saecularis, saeculo arctius impli- the year 1108. " Guillelmus melioris
care. Qua nimirum suggestione, vitae cupidus, ad cellam veterem in
sicut fateri solet, propemodum re- suburbium Parisiorum, ubi erat aedi-
tardati fuerant gressus ejus. Sed cula quaedam Sancti Victoris, cum
matris sanctae memoria importune discipulis aliquot migravit, anno
animo ejus instabat, ita ut saepius 1 108." — Gallia Christiana, torn. ix.
sibi occurrentem sibi viderevideretur, He became Bishop of Chalons in

conquerentem quia non ad ejusmodi 1 113 ; so that his defeat and Abe-
nugacitatem tam tenere educaverat, lard's victory ' '
non in hac spe erudierat eum. " — St. near St. Berna:
Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1066. eighteenth year.

12 LIFE. AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [£i
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 intellectual 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, killing
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.
Presently 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.

i£ii"i] CONVERSIONS. 13
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." From that hour his purpose of entering the monastic
life never faltered.
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 uncle, " a worthy man and
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- turn est propositum cordis ejus." —
geret, in obsidione castri quod Gran- St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1066.
ceium dicitur, cum duce Burgundiae 2 " Primo fratres aggreditur . . .
constitutes, coepit in hujusmodi cogi- deinde cognatos, et socios, et amicos,
tatione vehementius anxiari. Inven- de quibuscunque poterat esse spes
taque in itinere medio ecclesia qua- conversionis. . . . Guido primoge-
dam, divertit, et ingressus oravit cum nitus fratrum, conjugio jam alligatus
multo imbre lacrymarum, expandens erat, vir magnus, et prae aliis jam in
manus in coelum, et effundens sicut saeculo radicatus. Hie primo pau-
aquam cor suum ante conspectum lulum liaesitans, sed continuo rem
Domini Dei sui- »aigitur die firma- perpendens et recogitans, conversioni

14 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cSJi
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
broth "j.
Tue 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, obstinato 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
instituei-et agere rusticanam."— St. intellectum dabit auditui. ' " — Ibid.
Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1066. vol. ii. col. 1067.
1 " Secundus natus post Guido-

££lrU2i] 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
into a church, and, as they entered, this verse was being read,
" 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 i
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, in the year
1 "Coepit novum induere homi- 2 "Erat enim eis Castellioni do-
nem, et cum quibus de litteris sae- mus una propria et communis om-
culi,seudesaeculoipsoageresolebat, nium. . . '. Ipsi vero quasi mensibus
de seriis et conversione tractare ; sex post primum propositum in sae-
ostendens gaudia mundi fugitiva, culari habitu stabant, . . . dum quo-
vitae miserias, celerem mortem, vi- rundam negotia per id temporis ex-
tam post mortem, seu in bonis, seu pediebantur." — Ibid. vol. ii. col^
in malis, perpetuam fore." — St. 1069.
Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1068.

16 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [Sn
a.d. 1 1 13, Bernard being then twenty-two years old, he and
his companions knocked at the gate, and disappeared within
the walls, of Citeaux.
Citeaux had been founded fifteen years before, and had had
a chequered existence of good and evil fortune, the adverse, on
the whole, preponderating.1 In the first curiosity and interest
excited by Robert of Molerne 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 great
as the object of a religious house ; he thought it might even
defeat the object of a religious house. He made it understood,
then, that neither duke nor any other grandee should ever hold
his court at Citeaux for the future. Stephen Harding — for
that was our abbot's name, an Englishman, originally from
Sherborne, in Dorsetshire — and his monks were quite free now
from noisy interruptions from knights and courtiers, or trouble
some visitors of any kind ; but the danger was that they would
be left alone altogether ; that their small community, gradually
thinned by death, would at last pass out of the world quite
unnoticed, and never cause to spread that grand scheme of
monastic reform which Abbot Stephen has got matured, if he
had but the monks to do it. For these monks at Citeaux,
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
1 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.

aL?It.™] THE BENEDICtlNE 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.
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
novices. It was usual when any one wished to become a monk at
Citeaux to make him wait for four days before he was taken
to the Chapter in presence of the assembled convent.2 After
this, on entering, he prostrated himself before the lectern, and
was 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 order would be, which he did very
et defectione mentis versamur qui accurately.
arctam et angustam viam, quam in 2 " Monachus quis fieri volens,
regula nobis beatissimus pater noster facta petitione, non nisi post quatuor
Benedictus proposuit, utcunque in- dies ducatur in capitulum ; qui dum
gressi sumus. Sed utrum haec nos- adductus fuerit prosternat se ante
tra conversatio Deo placeat necne analogium. Interrogatus ab abbate,
non satis nobis constat." — Exor- quid quaerat, respondeat, ' Misericor-
aium Magnum Dist. 1, cap. 16. diam Dei etvestram.' . . . Tertiovere
This is part of an address by St. die ducatur in cellam novitiorum ;
Stephen to a dying monk, who et abhinc annus incipiatur proba-
was requested to come and tell tionis." — Usus Ord. Cist, pars iv
him after death what the fate of the cap. 103. C

1 8 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [<£?ii
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
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
i 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-
. . . videns non videbat, audieris non pus magis se perdere conqueri solet,
audiebat; nihil sapiebat gustanti, quam quo dormit, idoneam satis

&£;"»] 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 ; and by this ingenious device_
escaped the evil he had before experienced.1 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, quomodoapud 2 "Quantum enim ad vigilias,
Deum mortui dormientes." — Guil- vigiliarum ei modus est non totam
LELMUS, St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. noctem ducere insomnem." — GuiL-
1071. LELMUS,, St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col.
1 " Sed et alii venerunt visitare 1071.
eum. . . . Et cum ad eos duceretur 3 " Sic accedit ad sumendum
accepit stupas, et misit sub capucio cibum quasi ad tormentum, . . . cor-
in aures suas, ita ut hoc artificio rupto stomacho crudum continuo per
'. . . fuit cum eis per totam horam os solet rejicere quod ingeritur. . . .
C 2

20 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c^ii
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 subjects of intellectual
meditation. In the world of thought, Theology reigned with-

Si quid autem residuum est, ipsum 2 " Experto crede : aliquid amp-
cst 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 montes stillant dulcedinem, et
Ubi vero vires deficiebant, . . . colles fluunt lac et mel, et valles
laborcm tmmilitate compensabat." abundant frumento?" — St. Bern..
— Ibid. col. 1072. Epist. 106.

a™"!] < 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 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 Qdo 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, intus veto 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. [J^li
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 God.1
i " Quidquid in Scripturis valet, in hoc nullos aliquando se magistros
quidquid in eis spiritualiter sentit, habuissenisiquercoset fagosjocoillo
maxime in silvis et in agris meditando suogratioso inter amicos dicere solet."
et orando se confitetur accepisse, et — St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1072.

£££%] PROFESSION. 33

CHAPTER III.
(A.D. 1 1 14. 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 was
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. [c££m
self before the sick, if there were any. Towards the end of
the psalm, the abbot, bearing his crosier, approached the
novice and made him rise. A cowl was blessed and sprinkled
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, just
turned four and twenty, to be the head of the new community
1 Usus Ord. Cist. cap. 103.

a£"m] HE FOUNDS 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 Berriard'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 Deus in cor abbatis juventutis, turn pro corporis infirmi-
Stephani ad aedificandam domum tate, et minori usu exterioris oc-
Clarae-Vallis mittere fratres ejus. cupationis." — St. Bern. Op. vol. ii.
Quibus abeuntibus ipsum 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 tam in religione bate qui loco Christi eis praeponitur,
quam in saeculo viris, et timen- ad novam abbatiam fundandam emit-
t'ibus ei turn pro tenerioris aetate tuntur. Crux enim dominicam ha-

26 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cSTJi
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 lacrymas omnium mona- — Acta Sand. torn. iv. August, die
chorum, et solas voces cantantium 20, § 5.
resonantes inter singultus . . . nee

ah«. m] FIRST MONASTER Y AT CLAIR VA UX. 2 7
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 both light and
air ; sometimes too easily, as, through its imperfect joining,
wind, rain, heat, and cold, found a ready entrance. Such waa
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 refectorium nullo lapide stra-
de Maris Stella (Wettingen), in May, tum, nudam terram sanctissimis illis
1667, paid a, visit to Citeaux (to pedibus calcandam praebebat, . . .
attend the general Chapter), and has paucis et palmo non majoribus
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 . . .
eo ex Cistercio missi propriis ma-' stramini . . . aut aridis arborum
nibus fabricarunt. Uno tecto tem- foliis . . . loco plumarum uteban-
plum et habitatio monachorum ope- tur. " — Ibid.
ritur; una etiam contignatio come- 2 Ibid. cap. 67.

28 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cl£!m
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 their 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 1 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, abbati suo conquesti . . . demum convertit se ad oratio-
sunt, quod pro nimia paupertate nem, quo facto, audivit vocem de
discedere cogerentur. . . . Abbas coelo dicentem sibi coram omnibus
blande et leniter consolans eos, Dei ' Surge, Bemarde, exaudita est oratio
timorem et amorem, spem quoque tua.' " — J. Eremita, St. Bern. Op.
vitae- eternae et remunerationis di- vol. ii. col. 1286.

a^m] 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. 1 St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1285.

30 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cSTin
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, iuvenis
sumpto secum Elboldone monacho exesi corporis et moribundi habitu
quodam Cisterciensi. Intravit, ergo, quoque despicabilis, subs'equentc

i£ii"3 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-

monacho seniore, et magnitudine et launensis." — St. Bern. Op. vol. ii.
robore corporis eleganti, aliis ridehti- col. 1076.
bus, aliis irridentibus, aliis rem sicut l " Contigit autem . . . ut ali-
erat interpretando venerantibus. . . . quando temperius solito surgeret ad
Ut propria esset domus episcopi vigilias . . . egressus foras, et loca
Clara- Vallis ; Claraevallensium vero vicina circumiens, orabat Deum, ut
efficeretur non sola domus episcopi, acceptum haberet obsequium suum
sed et per ipsum tota civitas Cata- et fratrum suorum." — Ibid. col. 1073.

32 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cS?n,
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.
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 call God to witness, a feeling of veneration came oyer me as
1 " Modico vero post tempore suae modum aliquam corpori suo
transacto, cum eousque infirmitas curam pateretur impendi . . . pro-
abbatis ingravesceret, ut jam non- fectus episcopus ad Capitulum Cis-
nisi mors ejus, aut omni morte gravior terciense ibi coram pauculis abba-
vita speraretur, ab episcopo visitatus tibus qui convenerant . . . toto
est. Cumque viso eo episcopus se corpore in terram prostratus, petiit
non. solum vitae-ejus, sed et sanitatis et obtinuit ut tantum anno uno in
spem habere diceret, si consilio ejus obedientiam sibi traderetur." — St.
acquiescens, secundum infirmitatis Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1076.

i££is\ VISITED 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 givers
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
of taste seemed altered or even dead, so that he could scarcely
discern anything. For he is known 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, and
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 ,-- D

34 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cSTni
"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 of Clairvaux. The passage tfans-
with William of St. Thierry again. lated in the text is from the 7th
He was one of Bernard's most de- chapter of his little book entitled
voted friends. The biography we Vita Prima, cap. 7. — St. Bern. Op.
have by him of Bernard was never vol. ii. col. 1076, 1077.
finished ; as he died before the Abbot

£££u!] LETTER OF PETER DE ROYA. 35
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
silver plate, and not unwholesomely as far as the fare was
concerned. But, while I gathered with my bodily hand those
sweet delicacies, with the hand of the heart, from' the' same
silver platters, I was collecting a very different food.- And you,
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
the wirie, nor the cups were to blame. But in me, a potter's
vessel,1 lurked seeds from which within I felt the sharp sting
of a rising crop of thorns." This all ends in his going to
Clairvaux. " Although- the monastery is situated in a valley, it has its
foundation on the holy hills, whose gates the Lord loveth more
thari all the dwellings of Jacob. Glorious things are spoken
of it, because the glorious and wonderful God therein worketh
great rnarvels. There the' insane recover their reason ; and,
although- their" Outward man is worn away, inwardly they are
born again. There the proud are humbled, the rich are made
poor, and ftie 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
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 riot oh the way ; others
D 2

36 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cS^m
ascending, who so rule their souls that their bodies hereafter
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 ;
'mt now, by God's grace, all acceptation of persons being dead
among them, the gieater 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

a^atVst] LETTER OF PETER DE ROYA. 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
present. My desire is that I may deserve to be joined with
these poor in Christ. In the meantime I undergo my probation,
and, by the grace of God, I am being established in their rule
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
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
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
1 Epist Bern. 492; Op. vol. i. col. 393.

38 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c*°°"'v

CHAPTER IV.
(A.D. IIl8. AETAT. 27.)
FOUNDATION OF 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.

t^,1""] PROGRESS OF MONASTICISM. 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 1 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."^Regvla St. Benedkti, 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. [<£Efiv
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.8 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 1 1 19. Les Abbayes Cisterci- ville, p. 148.
ennes etaient alors au nombre de 2 Charta Charitatls, cap. i.
treize. D'abord les cinq abbayes- 3 " Omnes abbates de nostra ordine
meres, Citeaux et Laferte, Pontigny, singulis annis ad generale Capitulum
Clairvaux,Morimond;ensuitePrully, Cisterciense, omni postposita oc'ca-
Trois Fontaines, la Cour-Dieu, Bon- sione, convenient, illis exceptis quos
nevaux, Bouras, Cadouin, Fontenoy, corporis infirmitas retinuerit." — Ibid.
Mazan." — Etudes sur les Abbayes cap. iii.
Cisterciennes au XII0 et au XUI

aha™] 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, lord 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, Clairvaux, 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 quatuor 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
§ g. curet, admoneant . . . virum inutilem
"Si forte, quod absit, abbates ab officio suo deponant." — -Ibid.
nostri ordinis matrem nostram Cis- cap. v. § 27.
terciensem ecclesiam in sancto pro-

42 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cSSVv
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 rigour. 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
jand 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 n 16. 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
more than he could bear. He was not without hopes of
deliverance. Hjs 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

A&J'y]. 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. [oUfrt
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 in 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

i^ii™] ' 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
armed brethren will protect you, when angels will fight by
you, when the commander, Christ, will go before you, animating
His own to victory, and saying, ' Be of good cheer, I have over
come the world ? ' 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

1 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
lt was coming beforehand :," Exiit luit. Cui venerabilis abbas, — Opua

46 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cIaT/v
" 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 ? So 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
arid 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 tam grande
scribebatur grandis epistola, et char- miraculum ab ipsius ore, qui scripsit
tam omnino non.tetigit imber. Ex- earn ifi pltivia sine pluvia." — St.
tat adhuc epistola ; et- ego ipse pri- Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1277.

i&r11*] 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.' Youri 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 iii
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. [cSiv
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 from 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.

a^t'IS] SERMONS ON 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' " x
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.
K

50 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c£Efiv
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 stomachi
santest thing about these homilies. per os ejus indigestae cruditatis
" Scribere me aliquid et devotio eruptio aliis inciperet esse molestior,
jubet, et prohibet occupatio. Verum- 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 tantiUum suae procurato et effosso in terra
otii quod vel mihi de somno fraudans receptaculo doloris illius, sic ali-
in noctibus intercipere sinor, non quandiu, prout potuit, necessitatem
sinam otiosum." — Sanct. Bern. Op. illam transegit. At ubi ne hoc quidem
vol. i. col. 732. It is probable that permisit intolcrantia rei, tunc demum
this " corporalis molestia" 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 hut 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 3

52 ' LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [oSTiv
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 upon 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

i^S] 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. - Ibid. vol. i. col. 737.

54 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [dUfiv
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 an 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.

A.D. H22"
Aktat

S] WILLIAM OF ST. THIERRY.

55

CHAPTER V.
(A.D. 1122. AETAT. 31.)
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
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
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.1 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
toWilliam, 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

56 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [SSv
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 Clairvaux ; 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 drew 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- tunc, ignoro) profectus sum statim
cepta vel oblata facultate sen apud illuc, quamvis cum nimio labore ac
eum moriendi, seu aliquandiu cum. dolore." — St. Bern. Op. vol. ii.
eo vivendi (quorum quid maluerim col. 1085.

will] WILLIAM OP ST. THIERRY. 55
to make arrangements for returning home, which, when he
heard of, he at once forbade, and prohibited all hope or
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 meat ; 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
all 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 prder.' ' Rest still, then,' he replied,
' 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 a;
1 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 go't 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. . . .' David
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

AD. 11
Aetat,

SJ WILLIAM HEALED B Y 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?" 2
This letter was certainly not open to the charge of excessive
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.
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 unnatural, 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
are your laws of nature ? I know them not. Miracle is the
law of God." The meri of that time believed that the air
swarmed with angels ; or, if not with angels, then with devils.
i St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 87-8.

60 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. gv
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 whom 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

tfli1®] 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
to pick his way in the midst of them ; on either side of his
1 " Unde plerumque ita monachos claustra et ecclesias peragrantes,
in somnis inquietant, ut horis somno multis aliquando terroribus appe-
congraentibus amissis, cum vigilare tebant, ita ut in eorum aliquos
debent dor.miant, et sic sanctarum visibiliter irruerent, et ad terram
vigiliarum lucra amittant. Harum verberando prosternerent." — Petrus
inquietudinum multorum multoties Venerabilis, De Miraculis, lib. i. cap.
querelas accepi, quorum alii oper- 17. — The ludicrous is overcome by
toria sua noctibus dum dormirent the pathetic in the sentence " aliis
subrepta sibi atque longius pro- quiescentibus," &c. These sorrow-
jecta a daemonibus, dicebant ; alii ful, sincere, anxious men, wandering
subripere volentibus violenter eadem about their cloisters and churches in
tegmina se extorsisse, nonnulli dum the silent night, to make " holy thefts
in remotioribus naturae satisfacerent, of prayer," getting troubled and
eos sibi derisorie astitisse affirmabant. " knocked down " by the fiend and
Praeterea quosdam nocturnis horis, his demons, form quite a melancholy
aliis quiescentibus, sancta orationum picture.
furta quaerentes, et eadam causa

62 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [<£Xv
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,
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.

i^i'sO MIRACLES. 63
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 Guido, is worthy of attention. We are told their
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." x
1 " Nee tamen in more carnalium, mansuetissimum nihilque contradi-
in gloriam elevabantur humanam, centem, frequenter usque ad lacrymas
sed juvenili ejus aetati, et novae improperiis et opprobriis affligentes.
adhuc conversation!, spirituaii solli- . . . Signatus autem, statim con-
citudine metuebant. . . . Neque valuit, et post paucissimos dies re-
enim parcebant - verbis durioribus gressi per idem oppidum, sanum et
exagitantes teneram verecundiam incolumem invenerunt. Caeterum
ejus, calumniantes etiam bene gesta, saepe dictus beati viri frater ne ipso
signa omnia annihilantes,ethominem quidem poterat compesci miraculo,

64 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [££. v
'•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, I 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.'" 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
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
quominus increparet eum, et prae- i St. Bernard, Opera, vol. ii. col.
sumptionis argueret, quodacquieverit 1087.
tangere hominem."— St. Bern. Op. Ibid. vol. ii. col. 1138.
vol. ii. cui. 1081.

£Z™] MIRACLES. 6.5
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
Chilons, 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,' 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.
F

66 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [£v
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. ii. col. 1088.

abtat. 34 J GUIGO. 67

CHAPTER VI.
(A.D. 1 125. 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 Bruno, 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 monasterio, nisi aut apostolicae sedis
repeatedly gave utterance. " Cum legato, aut certe proprio vocante
sciam mihi consilium .esse et pro- episcopo." — St. Bernard. Epist.
positum, nunquam (si causa duntaxat xlviii. See also Epist. xvii. vol.. i.
nostri ordinis non fuerit) exire de col. 35. F 2

68 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [d£?vi
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
was 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 tho 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 cum in reliquis silentio pressit aemulator virtutis
omnibus aedificarentur, unum 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.
tabilis insidebat, minus neglecta,. 2 Ibid. vol. ii. col. 11 18.
minus praeferens paupertatem. Nee

iSwiiG 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. [cS^vi
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 v/ill 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
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. 1202.

lSatsIJ CORRESPONDENCE. 71
The principal means by which, at this time, Bernard's power
and importance were felt, was his 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
to these penalties, put out his eyes. This occurred at Bar-sur-
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. [cS?vi
satisfying justice, as the count did. He wrote him a letter, in
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 not 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
state him by an act of grace.1
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
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 £
restraining influence had been at work among their patricians
and oligarchs.
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 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
opinion that the mutilation referred de Jubainville (in his useful " Hist
to in Epist. 39 (" In manu Barrensis des Dues et Comtes de Champagne,"
propositi dudum facto duello, qui vol. ii. p. 297, now in course oi
victus fuit, statim ex vestra jussione publication at Paris) considers this
oculos amisit ") relates to the Hum- une erreur evidente." I have
bert of the other two epistles. And adopted Mabillon's view.

15It.™] DUTY OF KEEPING TO ONE'S 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 — (1) "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 fusus 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 cohabitatione non tutias ejus." — St. Bern. Op. vol. i. ;
immeiito timetur ab his qui, diu jam Epist. 79.

74 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cSSfvi
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 be the 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
i "Sed qua ratione curam tibi tardavi. . . . Praeterea per totam
creditam animarum exponere debeas, seriem literarum attolens me supra
omnino non video." — St. Bern. me, multum de me laudabilia inter-
Epist. 82. _ misces ; quorum quia ipse mihi
2 Ibid. Epist. 86. conscius non sum, et tuae haec
s". . . . propter latoris mopiam benevolentiae ascribo, et ignosco
tardavi mittere, quod scribere non ignorantiae. " — Ibid. Epist. 87.

££3] 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 7nuch. 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
i " Amicam repetens disciplinam, day, there can be no one who in his
de magistro fieri denuo discipulus secret mind has not often felt more or
non erubuisti . . . qui se sibi ma- less vividly how sweet it is to obey,
gistrum constituit, stulto se dis- when he can have the rare privilege
cipulum subdit . . . ego de me of consigning the burdensome re-
expertus sum quod dico ; et facilius sponsibility of his general self-
imperare et securius possum praeesse conduct to wise and trustworthy
multis aliis, quam soli mihi." It is guidance ; and probably the sense
odd to find Auguste Comte agreeing of this is strongest in those who are
almost literally with Saint Bernard, the best fitted to command."— Post-
in a view not very popular just now. tive Philosophy of Auguste Comte,
" However excessive may be the de- Martineau's Translation, vol. ii.
sire of command in our revolutionary p. 148.

76 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cSvi
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
leisure} 1 St. Bern. .£/);&. 87. "Sapienliam scribae in tempore vacuitatis " EV
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 —Ecclesiasticus xxxviii 24
Vulgate, which are — " Sapientia

a££II] OBTAINED BY HUMILIATION. 77
" 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, 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
is, 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. . . . I 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 spirituals fa-
ferat religionis emolumentum, cum bricae fundamentum."
humilitas, ad quam utique ducit

78 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cS^vi
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
1 1 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 coenobite existence. They show that, in spite of the
most cultivated development of an ecstatic enthusiasm, 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
yoiir 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 ;
] St. Bern. Epist. 87. primum redditae sunt) perlegere
2 "Vix quippe illas tuas inter potui." — Ibid. Epist. 88.
prandendum (nam ilia hora mihi

IkIt'I] 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
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
that I object to that. ... I beg that you will not think it too
much trouble to seek an opportunity to go to him, and not to
allow any one either to read or copy the said opuscule, until he
and you have overlooked the whole of it, and have compared
and corrected together what requires correction ; 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,
or only to a few, or to here and there one, or to none at all.
And that little preface, too, whether it is fitting— or if another

80 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [dSTvi
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 ; 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. me illud pro certo credere debere
2 "Audito quod respondit, non putavi." — Ibid. Epist. 56.

A. D.' 11 27
ACTAT. 36

ij FEUDAL TIMES. 8i

CHAPTER VII.
(a.d. 1127. aetat. 36.)
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.
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, 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
G

82 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. LoSSfvii
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 ; in 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 ; 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
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 necessary
of life was under a merciless tax. When the lord gave his

A.D. 1127"]
Ajstat. 36 J

FEUDAL OPPRESSION.

83

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 ; 1
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, devail finare, comme on
disait alors une certaine somme au
seigneur. S'il se mariait, il devait
faire un present au seigneur arm
d'obtemr 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 politique du Moyen Age,
par Louis Cibrario, trad, par Wo-
lowsky, torn. i. p. 38. Paris, 1859.
2 " Le paysan etait ordinaire-
ment trop pauvre pour avoir dans sa
chaumiere un pressoir et un four.
Lc 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 bientot 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 meuhier
du seigneur. A Marnes . . . quancV
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 ouvriires en France,
Levasseur, vol. i. p. 165. Paris,
1859.
G 2

84 ' LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cl™f

vu

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 et galantises, la dame du ch&tcau
manifestait encore dans les peages preshite. Le pelerin chantait une
qu'on exigeait a chaque pont, a romance. Le Maure jetait en l'air
chaque chateau. II est souvent fait son turban, et comptait cinq sous
mention du denier que le passant trebuchants a la porte du chateau
payait pour chaque difformite ou Le Juif devait mettre ses chausses
defectuosite qu'on decouvrait sur son sur la tete, et reciter un pater dans
corps. Les histrions, les baladins, le jargon du pays."  Economie
et menestrels devaient dans le peage politique de Moyen Age, par Louis
de Provence faire jeux, exercices Cibrario, trad, par Wolowsky, p. 40.

iSJ:m\ LOUIS VI. ATTACKS THE NOBLES. 85
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
¦til 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 tuta est a praesulibus, ut presbyteri
adultus, illustris et animosus regni comitarentur regi ad obsidionem vel
paterni defensor, ecclesiarum utili- pugnam cum vexillis et parochianis
tatibus providebat, aratorum, labora- omnibus." — Ordericus Vitalis,
torum, et pauperum (quod diu inso- lib. xi. cap. 34, vol. iv. p. 285, ed.
litum fuerat) quieti studebat." — Provosti. .. See especially D'Acherii
Sugerii Vita Ludovici Crassi, cap. Spicilegium, vol. iii. p. 481, a most
i. col 1258, ed. Migne. "Ludovicus curious charter of Louis VI., in
ad comprimendam tyrannidem prae- which " confirmat privilegium quo
donum et seditiosorum auxilium to- servi Carnotensis ecclesiae habent in
tam per Galliam deposcere coactus omni foro sseculari liberam potesta-
est episcoporum. Tunc ergo com- tem testi-ficandi."
munitas in Francia popularis sta-

86 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [oSEvu
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, tempore messis, pro consuetudine,
torn. iii. p. 276. asportaret. Lignaria sua bis aut
2 " Monarvilla . . . quae sub jugo ter in anno carrucarum villae dispen-
castri Merevillae conculcata non dio aggregaret, porcorum, agnorum,
minus quam Sarracenorum depres- anserum, gallinarum, importabiles
sione, mendicabat : cum ejusdem cas- quasque molestias, pro consuetudine
tri dominus quotiescunque vellet, in tolleret." — Sugerius, De rebus in
eadem hospitium cum quibuscumque administratione sua gestis, cap. xi.
vellet, raperet, rusticorum bona pleno col. 1218, ed. Migne.
ore devoraret, talliam et annonam

ahm.'sbJ 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,
and this, too, at the expense and trouble of the servants of
St. Denis ; whilst his exactions in the way of pigs, kmbs,
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
pitiable case. He, a man of noble industry, full of piety,
and an illustrious defender of the churches, promised to help
us, and made an oath that that wicked man should never
again destroy the goods of the Church."2
1 " Tauriacus igitur famosa Beati deinde dapifero suo, deinde prae-
Dionysii villa, caput quidem aliarum, posito suo, rusticorum vectigalibus
et propria et specialis sedes Beati ad castrum deferri cogeret."— Suge-
Dionysii, peregrinis et mercatoribus Rius, De rebus in administration
seu quibuscumque viatoribus ali- sua gestis, cap. xii.
menta cibariorum in media strata, 2 " Qui ut vir erat nobihssimae
lassis etiam quietem quiete minis- industrial plenus pietate, ecclesi-
trans, intolerabilibus dominorum arum illustris defensor, auxilian spo-
praefati castri Puteoli angariis usque pondit ; et quod ecclesias et ecclesi-
adeo miserabiliter premebalur ut . . . arum bona deinceps destrui a prae-
iam colonis pene destituta langueret fato nequam nullo niodo pateretur,
. . . annonam et talliam sibi primum, jurejurando firmavit. —Ibid.

88 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [oSTvu
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, and 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
' "Terram . . . usque Carnotum Crossi, cap. xviii. col. 1289, ed.
depopulans rapinis et incendiis ex- Migne.
ponebat." — Sugerii Vita Ludovici

a "i"!*] 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 breach
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 burnt2
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 excommunicati et omnino diabolici."— Sugerii Vita
Lud. Grossi. 2 Ibii

qo LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. |c*a£v

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
ot 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
_ i " Eudes, Comte de Corbeil, yint prit 1' engagement de ne point re"tablir
a mounr. 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
sonmer a Chateau Landon etait son Corbeil. "—Hist, des Comtes de Cham-
neveu et son hentier. . . . Hugues pagne, par d'Arbois de Jubainville,
obtint du roi la hberte et la resti- vol. ii. p. 202.
tution du chateau du Puiset, mais il

t^fs] 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
exertions. 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 vesperum declinante, cum quia hostes
breviori Tauriacum dirigimur; hoc nostras tota die impugnantes ex-
unum multo et frequenti intuitu a pugnare non valereut, 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 viUae irruentes ; quia
quae capta munitione illico igne quibus innueramus in propugnaculis
hoste solveretur. Et quia hostes nostrates portam citissime Domino
totam viciniam rapiendo, devastando annuente intravimus." — Suger. Vita
occupabant, neminem occurrentium Ludov. Gross, cap. xx.
donis etiam aut promissis nobiscum

92 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c££Vn
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, n 27.
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 France, 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 her
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
1 Suger. Vita Ludov. Gross.

L™1.^ 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 IIL, 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, Hacket, was castellan of Bruges ;
another, Bertolf, was provost of the Chapter of the same place.
But a reverse was at hand.
1 " Antiquo et comitibus terrae of the chroniclers. "Walter was
nostrae statutum, et hactenus quasi Canon of De Terouane ; Galbert
pro lege observatum est, ut quan- a notary of Bruges. The little
tacunque inter quoslibet homines works are to be found both in the
<*uerra emergeret, nemo in Flandria Acta Sanctorum Martii, torn. i. die
quidquam praedari, vel aliquem 2, p. 152, and also in Migne, Patro-
capere aut exspoliare praesumeret. " logia, torn, clxvi. col. 874.
 Gualterus, De Vita et Martyrio 2 Erembaldus drowned his master.
B. Caroli Boni, pars v. — This is the " Facto quoque noctis silentio, dum
first of those two most remarkable castellanus ad mingendum in ora
narratives which we possess con- stetisset navis, ille Erembaldus retro
cerning the murder of Charles the accurrens, longe a navi projectum
Good. They resemble, for their dominiun in profundum torrentis
graphic portraiture of events, the aquosi praecipitavit." — Galbert,
vividness of Eroissart or Herodotus cap. xv.
rather than the usual blank dullness .

94 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c""™ vii
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.

ZS£m\ 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 tbat great wars and death would be the con
sequence."1 1 " Captata, cum in Franciam operabantur, et jussit ferramenta
forte perrexisset, comitis absentia eorum, scilicet secures, illuc deferri,
(omnibus enim iniquitatis operariis quibus detruncarent turrem et po-
semper gravis erat, et quasi career maria et domos inimicorum suorum.
quidam intolerabilis ejus praesentia) . . . Cumque in nocte rediissent
copiosam congregant et validam mi- nepotes ejus cum quingentis militi-
litum manum . . . quosdam suspen- bus armigeris et peditibus infinitis,
dunt ; plerosque in ferro trucidant. " induxit eos in claustrum et fratrum
— Walter, cap. xix. Galbert, as refectorium, in quo refecit universos
usual, adds several further details : . . . et super hoc laetus et gloriosus
..." ipse praepositus descendit ad erat. " — Galbert, cap. ii.
carpentarios qui in claustro fratrum

96 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c£E!vii
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 rustici comitem in hoc omnium convenit sententia,
venisse apud Ipram, ad quern ... ut comes ipse partes lllas prae-
usque ad ducentos transierunt, pedi- sentialiter visitaret, et quae gesta
busque ipsius eonvoluti, obsecrantes fuerant, visu et auditu certius ex-
paternum et consuetum ab eo aux- ploraret." — Walter, cap. xx.
ilium. " — Galbert, cap. ii. "Tandem

A.D. 1127
ALT! AT.

] PROMPT JUSTICE. 97

smoking ruins, 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 drunk 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
1 " At illi consilium dederunt ut mum restituere Burchardo se debere
sine dilatione domum Burchardi in- promisit. In loco tamen in quo
cendio destrueret, eo quod rapinam domus combusta est, jurabat, se
in rusticos comitis exercuisset. . . . comitatum obtinente, amplius Bur-
Descendit super hoc consultus consul, chardum nullam possessionem ob-
et incendit domum et funditus man- tenturum, eo quod usque tunc juxta
sionem ejus destruxit." — Galbert, Thancmarum manens, nunquam nisi
cap. ii. " Munitionem ipsius Bur- lites et seditiones in hostes et in cives
chardi . . . evertit, et funditus de- cum rapina et caede ageret. Qui
struxit, ac deinde . . . Brugas eadem vero intercessores fuere partim con-
die, heu ! nunquam reversurus, per- scii traditionis, non multum super
rexit." — Walter, cap. xxi. reconciliandis vexabant comitem, et
2 " Postquam comes coenaverat, quando propinatum ibant ministri,
ascenderunt coram eo intercessores rogabant comitem ut de vino meliore
ex parte praepositi. ... At consul afferri juberet. Quod cum ebibis-
... si lites et rapinas postponere sent, sicut potores solent, rogabant
deinceps voluissent, meliorem do semel sibi propinari et abundanter H

98 , LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cSTvn
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 their 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, ut posteriore licentia et ultima aderant, donee accepta licentia
a consule accepta quasi dormitum ultima, ipsi abiissent." — Galbert,
abirent : et jussu comitis abundanter cap. ii.
propinatum est omnibus illis qui i Ibid. cap. iii.

a^It1.1!]' 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
1 " 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 Burehardus 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 soUicitudine laborabat, mente I content myself from this point
quidem' confusa et turbata, ita ut with a general reference to them.
muttiplici rerum meditatione pul- BohhAND, Ada Sand. Martii, torn. i.
satus, modo in altera Cubans latere, die 2, p. 152, and Migne, Patrologia,
modo residens in stratu totus langui- torn, clxvi..
dus sibi ipsi videretur." — Galbert. H 2

ioo LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [chTVii
turned round, as the murderer wished, and exposed his un
covered head to the full sweep of the heavy sword aheady
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.

*°AT.'si] MORE MURDERS IN THE CHURCH. io,
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 begged 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.
The 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.

102 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [0££ Vii
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
Frumold 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

abai'Sb] 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 will 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. [cSfvn
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 whc 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 7 th 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 Triend. He forthwith advanced on
the murderers, who had shut themselves up in the castle of
Bruges. " Our citizens rejoiced in their hearts when they

a^at.'ss] SIEGE OF THE 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
dence." But the citizens of Bruges, however much they might
approve of an offer to punish the count's assassins, were not
disposed to allow an armed knight and his company to enter
their town without some understanding. They sent, therefore,
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 Bruges 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,

106 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cSTvn
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 18th 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

A.D. 11-2

Am«.5iJ 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,
and immediately the surging multitude rushed in, "some to
fight, some to plunder whatever they could find, others to enter
the church, and carry off the body of Count Charles to Ghent."
The traitors in the castle were still ignorant that the 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

108 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [taSSvn
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 it ; 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,
aixows, javelins, were showered down upon the assailants, till

$£i}}fe] LOUIS VI. APPEARS ON THE SCENE. 109
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. [ol^vn
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 clironicler'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 Guido'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 Guido'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 owned 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 I
from hellish wickedness to Christian piety and resignation not i
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

UFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. ft

Book J

the gibbet, and kissed the rope, which he placed round his
own neck, and, begging the people to pray God for him, he
cheerfully met his fata
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, where 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

i^AT.36j TRAITORS THROWN FROM THE TOWER. 113
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.

114 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST, BERNARD. [c

Boon. I

CHAPTER VIII.
(a.d. i 127. 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 collision. 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 which 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

A.D. 1127
AlffEAX,

,;]3|7] 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
tions — bishops who thought of the temporalities, abbots who
devoted to the revenues of their abbeys more attention than
they gave to their 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
VI., 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
1 2

116 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cxviii
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 tam epi- mei parentes et amici regi et reginae,
scopos quam in episcopis justitia? vineas meas exstirpari jubentibus,
persequitur zelum. '— St. Bern. decern 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, susurratione, peractum est." — In
nee pro damnis quae mihi et hospiti- Mobil, 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.

iSl^lfO 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

ll8 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. |ci£!vm
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 ! " 1
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." "
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 St. Thierry."
i St. Bern. Epist. 45. tempore non minime laesum." —
2 Tristes vidimus, tristes et loqui- Ibid. Epist. 46.
inur : honorem ecclesiae Honorii

mS^m] a bbe y of CL UNY. 1 1 9
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 IL, two successors not unworthy
of him, were also Cluniac monks. Cluny became itself almost
a small kingdom, and its abbot an elective king. He coinod
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 twjdfth 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 quinquaginta baccones divisi sunt."
quod contigit hoc ipso anno ; illi, — Udalricus, Antiquiores Consue-
qui pauperes recensuerint, testati tudines 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. [oSJJviii
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 IL, 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 Cluny 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 l'Abbaye de Cluny, par M. P. Lorain, p. 80. Paris, 1845.

tiS^Se] PONTIUS, ABBOT OF CLUNY. 121
year 11 19, 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.
dem silentio facto, Cluniacensis s Hist, de l'Abbaye de Cluny.
abbas cum grandi conventu mona- Lorain.
chorum surrexit, brevique responso

122 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [e^roi
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
1 "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 cuncta
dine ; ipsis quoque mulieribus irruen- consumit." — Petrus Ven. DeMira-
tibus, claustrum ingressus est. . . . cutis, Ub. ii. cap. xii.

a£t.w] PONTIUS DEPOSED. ' 123
Rome. Honorius IL, the successor of Calixtus IL, 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. 1
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 their 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. [oh2°viji
grandeur of Cluny with the primitive poverty of Citeaux ; it
was an occasion to humble rather contemptuous rivals, and to
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,
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 I
have been a guest in houses of that order ; and may the Lord
return such kindness to His servants as they have shown
me in illness, and may He repay them for the honour beyond
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 exhort
any one to leave them and come to us ? Have I not
rather done the reverse — checked many who wished to
1 In the letters to Ogerius, quoted treatise itself, from which the above
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.

15l"le] BERNARD'S 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
devotion?" 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 OF ST. BERNARD. LcSTvhi
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
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
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

i£S\ MONASTIC LUXURY. 127
liberality, talkativeness affability, silly laughter a happy wit;
pomp and luxury in horses and clothing respectability ; 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, now 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. [oSJrai
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
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.
They 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 ?"

ISS] , 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 ; 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 lives should have been the way
of life to us, by 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 lie not when I say,
K

[30 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [a£?v?n
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 can 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
impossible to wash one's hands in, and drink from, the same
vessel ? Will 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. ii. v. 69.

A^fe] LUXURY OF THE CLUNIACS. 131
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
of 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 corona, 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. . .
The 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. [CbS°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,
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
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 quam in codicibus, totumque diem
legentibus fratribus! quid facit ilia occupare singula ista mirando, quam
ridicula monstruositas, mira quaedam in lege Dei meditando. Proh Deo !
deformis formositas, ac formosa de- si non pudet ineptiarum, cur vel non
formitas? Quidibiimmundaesimiae? piget expensarum?"
quid feri leones ? quid monstruosi ' The more I have examined the
centauri ? quid semihomines ? quid subject, the more dangerous have I
maculosae tigrides ? quid milites found it to dogmatize respecting the
pugnantes? quid venatores tubici- character of the art which is likely
nantes ? Videas sub uno capite at a given period to be most useful
multa corpora, et rursus in uno cor- to the cause of religion. One great
pore capita multa. Cemitur hinc in fact first meets me. ... I never met
quadrupede cauda serpentis; illinc in with a Christian whose heart was
pisce caput quadrupedis. Ibi bestia thoroughly set upon the world to
praefert equum, capram trahens retro come, and, 'so far as human judgment
dimidiam ; hie cornutum animal could pronounce, perfect and right
equum gestat posterius. Tam multa before God, who cared about art
denique tamque mira diversarum at all." — Stones of Venice, vol. ii.
formarum ubique varietas apparet, ut p. 103.
atiagis . legere libeat in marmoribus " ' May the devil fly away with the

A.D. 11271
Ajjtat. 36 J

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, Cistercian mediaeval monks,
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. [SSh

CHAPTER IX.
(A.D. II2&. 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-dozen
years preceding the death of Pope Honorius, in 1 130, 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 ycu
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

i£;£P] 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 : —
" (1) 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 I
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 naughty person
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. [eSi
his fingers z1 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. vi. 12, 13.

tSi"™] DEGREES OF HUMILITY AND 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, he 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
1 See the matchless scene in the "°™'!£°" fr6re' je suis un m6chant' u"
third act of Moliere's "Tartuffe,'' Tj^SSheureux pScheur, tout plein d'in-
where Tartuffe conceals his half-dis- iquite,
covered guilt by a deceitful confes- Le plus grand scelerat qui jamais ait tth.
sion of general wickedness :- ^SuresT' de ™ *" **' g

138 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c2?ix
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 Troyes 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, how shall I put it on 2
I have washed my feet, how shall I defile them i ' 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, Mas, que ce qu'on
dures; pense.
* * * * * Tout le monde me prend pour un homme
Non, non ; vous vous laissez tromper a de bien ;
l'apparence : Mais la verite pure est que je ne vaux rien.
Le Tartitffe, Act iii. Scene 6,

i&if] 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
an 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. [ofS'rx
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 Provencals, with their various wares, costumes, and lan
guages, went by or near the ascetics at Clairvaux, who, most
likely, regarded them 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 14th 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 xiii. siecle." —

a^t.'s-H 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 wayj^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 11 13. And in the
year n 18 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 rev£tu du sceau des foires ; 1'interet
the Theobalds extended beyond ne peut s'elever a plus de quinze
their domain. " Garin fils de Salo, pour cent par an — c'est a dire, a deux
Vicomte de Sens, devalise des chan- et demi par foire. [There was an in-
geurs de Vezelay sur le chemin du terval of forty days between each of
roi entre Sens et Bray. Le Comte the six fairs. ] Les gardes veillent
de Champagne ecrit a l'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. lis vont meme
stood even in those turbulent times. jusqu'a interdire 1' entree de l'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

r42 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [Ch"kix
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, oi
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 tum." — St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 541.

1*?;"$] 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 reivard
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,

144 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cZTix
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
unpunished among them. Draughts and dice they detest.
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.'
They never dress gaily, and wash but seldom. Shaggy by
reason of their uncombed hair, they are also begrimed with
dust, and swarthy from the weight of their armour and the heat
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™";] 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. ^41).

BOOK II.

L 2

BOOK II.

CHAPTER I.
(A.D. II30. 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 often 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 tunc 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 pontifiee susciperetur. " —
Petro Leonis, tribus cardinalibus Henrici Lucensis Episcopi Epist.
djaconis, Gregorio scilicet Angeli, ad Magdeburgensem Archiepiscopum ;
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. [gJS.7
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 IL, 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, quem credebant jam tulisset." — Hen. Luc. Epist.
mortuum, se ad fenestram populo 2 . . . " Congregatis quos' potue-
ostendisset, cum fratrum et propin- runt, proh dolor 1 cum episcopo
' quorum, ac muneribus et obsequiis Portuensi, rubea cappa ilium vestie-
conductorum turba ministrorum, runt." — Ibid.
praeco Antichristi, supra quod di-

L™-™] D'EA TH OF HONORIUS II. 1 5 1
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 j
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 2 " Cluniacenses, ut ejus adven-
and chroniclers knew more than tum cognoverunt, sexaginta equos
those on the spot. The bishops and seu mulos cum omni apparatu con-
cardinals of Innocent's party, who gruo papae et cardinalibus clericis
thought it a duty to blacken the destinaverunt, et usque ad suam bas-
character of Anacletus, say simply ilicam favorabiliter conduxerunt. " —
that he plundered the churches. Ordericus Vitalis, lib. xiii. cap.
Arnold, of Bonnevaux, in the diocese 11, ed. Prevost.
of Chartres, tells us, " cum calices 3 " The pride of Burgundy was
frangere, et crucifixos aureos mem- the great Abbey church of Cluny,
bratim dividere, ipsi profani Chris- which, with its narthex or ante-
tiani vel timerent, vel erubescerent ; church, measured 580 feet in length,
Judaeos aiunt esse quaesitos, qui or considerably more than any other
sacra vasa et imagines Deo di- church erected in France in any age.
catas audacter comminuerent. " — Its nave was throughout 37 feet 6
St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1092. inches in width, and it had double

152 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [aSZ,}]
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
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."1 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 Etampes, 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 1 793, and termi-
internal area covered by it was nating in 181 1. 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 l'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- * "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. summopere impugnet, contrariumque
detAbbayedeCluny, parM. Lorain, sibi cum fautoribus suis feraliter ana-
P- 69- thematizet." — Ordericus Vitalis,
The destruction under the Re- lib. xiii. cap. 11.
public and the Empire of the glorious

a«k"m] ELECTION OF INNOCENT II. 153
manner," by the king and the chief bishops. He confessed
afterwards that he went in fear and trembling. On the road,
nowever, 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 I
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 clear that Innocent calumniam habuit, sed per Chris-
owed his warm welcome from the tianissimum Lotharium nuper falsi
French clergy to his supposed moral calumniatores in suo sunt mendacio
Superiority over Anacletus. Even deprehensi." — Epist. 127.
Bernard is forced to admit that Suger says plainly that at the
Innocent's election was a little Council of Etampes the question
hurried and indecorous. of the regularity of election was
" Nam etsi quid • minus forte secondary to that of the personal
solemniter, minusve ordinabiliter character of the two popes.
processit in ea [i.e. the election of " Rex . . . concilium archiepisco-
Innocent] quae praecessit, ut hostes porum, episcoporum, abbatum, et
unitatis contendunt ; numquid tamen religiosorum virorum Stampis con-
praesumi altera debuit, nisi sane vocat, et eorum consilio magis de
priore prius discussa ratione, cassata persona quam de electione inve=ti-
judicio?" — Epist. 1 26, vol. i. col. 134. gans (fit enim saepe ut Romanorum
Of Anacletus. he says, " Si vera tumultuantium quibuscunque moles-
sunt quae ubique divulgat opinio, tiis Ecclesiae electio minus ordinarie
nee unius dignus est viculi potestate. fieri valeat) ejus assensum electioni
. . . Domini papae Innocentii et consilio virorum praebet, et deinceps
innocens vita, et integra fama, et manu tenere promittit." — Sugerius,
electio canonica praedicatur. Priora Ludovici Vita.
duo nee hostes diffitentur; tertium

154 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [^"T
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
i " Quid times ? ait. Times pec istud mihi relinque, in me sit hoc
catum incurrere, si obedias Inno- peccatum." — St. Bern. Op. vol. ii.
centio? Cogita " inquit " quomodo col. 1094.
de aliis peccatis tuis respondeas Deoj

t™™] INNOCENT II. AND THE EMPEROR. 155
met a man by whose fame, misfortunes, and errors all Europe
had for many years been amused or scandalized, viz. Petei
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
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
pendent pope might do.1 This, doubtless, was what the unam-
1 " Et honorifice quidem sus- pericula Romana ecclesia vindicarat.
ceptus est [papa], sed velociter ob- Ad quod verbum expavere et ex-
nubilata est ilia serenitas. Siqui- palluere Romani, gravius sese apud
dem importune idem rex institit, Leodium arbitrati periculum offen-
tempus habere se reputans oppor- disse, quam declinaverint Romae.
tunum, episcoporum sibi restitui Nee consilium suppetebat, donee
investituras, quas ab ejus praede- murum se opposuit abbas sanctus."
cessore imperatore Henrico per —St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1094.
maximos quidem labores et multa

Boob II

156 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. LS.i1
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 oh 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. >3uger and h;s
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.11S1

IS11 .40 1

RECEPTION OF INNOCENT II.

iS7

proceeding in front, two abreast, oi 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 dilegua par civiliti a
Hugues, chaplain " de ce seigneur,
l'office de souffleter le Juif; Hugues
s'en acquitta si rudement, qu'il fit
sauter d'un coup de poing les yeux et
la cervette du patient. " — Histoire de
France, par Henri Martin, tom. iii.
p. 53. The Jews were always being
accused of insulting and mutilating
the Host, and the most preposterous
fables were propagated and believed
tp 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 gof
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,

158 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [eS.T
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 marvelled 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 Romanis 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 multum 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 Ludov. Gros.
Romanus quod cuperet." — St. Bern. a " Deinde praefatus Papa toto
Op. 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 Romanos
times. Suger, as usual, speaks out officiales cum multis clientibus secum
plainly. Referring to Pope Paschal's habuit, et de redditibus apostolicae
progress in France in the year 1 107, sedis in Italia nihil adipisci potuit."
he says of his coming to St. Denis : - — Ordericus Vitalis, lib. xiii
" Qui gloriose et satis episcopaliter cap. 1 1,

i££S] 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 the
middle of October, 113T. 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 suum
floridus et amoenus puer, Philippus, nobilissimum puerum silice conster-
bonorum spes timorque malorum, natum, mole ponderis sui conculca-
cum quadam die per civitatis Pari- tum contrivit." — Sugerius, Viti
siensis suburbium equitaret, obvio Lud. Gros.
porco diabolico offensus equus, gra-

160 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.

$£J™] 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
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 visiteu
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. [cSS.1
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 : —

JSii^] 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,
1 St. Bern. Epist. 13S.
M a

1 64 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. \jSt"
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, and
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 of
Rome is clement, but she is powerful. Do not abuse her
clemency, lest you be crushed by her power. The plenitude
of authority over all the churches of the world, by a singular
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 ;
but it may be doubted whether the flames of party spirit and
tneological 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.

i?£W\ the ANTIPOPE ANACLETUS. 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 welcorne with an incredible reverence
the man of God. They kissed his 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 their 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 theii
1 St Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1096.

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. Op. vol. ii. col. 1 102.
duco, hoc propensius praedico, quod

Z£££\ PROSPERITY OF CLAIRVAUX. 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. 1 102.

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 virum Dei, sitas exigebat." — St. Bern. Op,
cujus conversatio in coelis erat, ali- vol. ii. col. 1 103.

toArU«J ERECTION OF NEW BUILDINGS. i6g
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 spiril
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. [c£LVI
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 conrulere suf-
et viri inclyti, et negotiatores terrae, fragia." — St. Bern. Op. vol. ii.
et hilari animo, sine exactore, ultro col. 1 104.

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 IL, 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. [rSSfi
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
1 " Profanas ei imponentes manus, erunt quam contaminaverunt. " 
exsecr bile caput ejus non tam unx- St. Bern. op. vol. ii. col. 1105.

££t. « j 7° URNE v INT0 AQUITAINE. 1 7 3
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 of
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
Parthenay. Bernard and Geoffrey dwelt on the division of
the Church, and continuance of the schism. They said that,
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.
i St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. lectulo cubante marito. " — Ibid.
not. Bernard relieved her by lending her
2 " Erat autem in regione ilia his pastoral staff to place in the bed.
misera mulier, quae a quodam petu- The demon threatened awfulrevenge
lante diabolo vexabatur. . . . Abute- when Bernard should be gone, bul
batur ergo ea, etiam in eodem he was utterly defeated.

174 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [_c££.ii
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 ? " 1 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 altera quem jam lestium, terrestrium, et infernorum.
tecum habuimus convenlu servorum Adest judex tuus, in cujus manus
Dei ante te. adunata multitudo, 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. Op. vol. ii. col. 1107.
queris. Adest judex tuus, in cujus

aS'™u\ 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. [g£g
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.

i££*\ firstsermononthecantict.es. 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." J
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
1 In Psal. Qui habitat, Sermo X., St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 856.
N

178 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [<&£?. ii
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

l£"u] 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 their 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

r Book II

1 80 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. \SSS.n
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 Into Krlo-eus fanciful argument by the Vulgate
noo-nov (from the time of the crea- which has "a creatura mundi."
'.ion). — See Alford and Jowett, in

tSJ.™] 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
' 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

y82 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. . [<££!il
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 my 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 dear 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 He

LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [,

Book II

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, takenfrom 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 ; 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

££'J}u] • SIXTH SERMON. 1 85
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 of 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

186 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [ESS"
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 Things [i.e. the mode and the result] pertaining to
Human 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,

i%£*\ FLE VENTH SERMON. T 8 7
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 a 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.' 1 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.

188 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. \cSSS\
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
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

t»?AT.1Si] ELEVENTH SERMON. j.89
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

I go LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. . [g^
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. 0 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

i^JS] ELEVENTH SERMON. 191
indeed free of charge, but with no labour or effort to my
Maker.' ' He spake the word and 1 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.

192 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c^Sm

CHAPTER III.
(A.D. 1 136. 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

1JL11*] MEDIAEVAL AND 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
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 j
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
begetting excess, according to the law of reaction. Asceticism
is not needed nor appreciated now, because daily life offers no
o

194 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cS?m
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
the abbey half knowing, half dreading, their fate, retired from
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 Gregoriai)
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 reflections 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 which
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 ; 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 de l'Abbaye de Mori- tum. Lugendbus autem sociis, et
mond, par I'Abbe Dubois, p. 61. familia tota, ac si mortuum ilium
Paris, 1852. cernerent, ejulante, prae caeteris An-
s " Quod [i.e. 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. O 2

196 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cSSia
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 hke 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 altera 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

a£*tU«] 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- j
tinction in Europe, seem to have thought that Bernard's time, j
attention, and influence were, or ought to be, at their disposal, i
Bishops in England, the Queen of Jerusalem, the Kings of j
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 tarius.
treated by Innocent, and his history 2 Pullen 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

1 98 -LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [gS!iu
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 Roman 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
zeal and acquirements to the cause of his more renowned " Sentences."
of letters, but even assisted it largely

££a£«] LETTER TO POPE INNOCENT II. 199
when they ought to have found retribution. Your friends
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
Toul. 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. [cSSni
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 such
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
1 St. Bern. Epist. 178.

a££%] 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 of his 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." 1
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
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, *". 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
1 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 1 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. [oSni
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,
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
hroad, strong, and good man? Here is "culture" in the
Jhighest 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
unwieldy from his excessive 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. [c?™rK ft,
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 ir.
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 tam 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 Lud.
2 " Cum autem de die in diem Gross.

i£ll}%\ CONFESSION AND DEATH OF LOOIS 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
of this holy Trinity, namely the only-begotten, consubstantial,
1 " Ubi etiam aurum et argentum mentis usque camisiam pepercit." —
et vasa concupiscibilia et pallia et Suger, Vita. The affectionate
palliatas culcitras, et omne mobile detail with which household pro-
quod possidebat, et quo ei servie- perty is often dwelt on must strike
batur, ecclesiis et pauperibus et the reader, even in the quotations
egenis, pro amore Dei, distribuens, already given in this work.
nee chlamydibus, nee regiis indu-

208 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. fc^ni

Lcaip. in

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. 1 137. 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 IL, though supported by the
most powerful potentates of Europe, was still at Pisa, an exile
from his see. Anacletus IL, 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 Rainaldus, 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
F

210 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [oSiv
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
U137 Bernard, accompanied by his brother Gerard, set out for
1 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, and 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 Bernard in safety to his destination.2
Innocent had left Pisa, so Bernard followed him to Viterbo.
Here brother Gerard fell 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
1 " Laborabant Campania et Apu- declinaverat, et Senioreto abbate de
lia sub Anacleto, Rogerio Siculo medio facto, substitufcum Rainaldum
non solum favente, sed eo velut sibi praefecerat." — Manricus ad
pietatis quaesito t tulo (is homi- annum 1137, apud S. Bernardi
num mos est) ecclesiae terras sacri- Acta, § xxiv.
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 pontifices wanting in dignity as this is. Even
prodierunt, tunc a vero pontifiee in the concoction of spurious miracles
deficiens, Rogerii metu an amore a progressive decline may be noticed
quis definiat ? ad Anacletum proterve in the Roman Church.

aSaJMo] BERNARD'S POLICY IN ROME. 2 1 1
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 " Expecta, inquam, Domine us- 4 " Aiebat autem se dissensionis
que ad reditum. Restitutum amicis hujus, quae jamdiu induruerat, velle
tollejameum,sivis,etnoncausabor." scire originem : et cognita veritate,
— Sermo in'Cantica, 26. aut corrigere errorem, aut sancire
2 " Nee in curribus, nee in equis sententiam. Mittebat autem in dolo,
spem ponens, sed colloquia quorum- quia audierat Petrum Pisanum elo-
dam suscipiens, sciscitatur quae sit quentissimum esse, et in legum et
eorum facultas, qui fautorum animi. canonum scientia nulli secundum ;
.... Intelligit ex secretis clerum putabatque si eloquentiae ejus in
qui cum Petro erat, de statu suo publico consistorio audientia prae-
sollicitum, scire quidem peccatum, beretur, declamationibus rhetoricis
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." — St. Bern.
vol. ii. col. 1 109. Op. vol. ii. col. 1109.
• Ibid. P 2

212 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c^iv
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

*££5] 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. 1
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 i
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 you 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 woula
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. ii, col. 11 10.

214 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [$£! \\
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 cf
1 St. Bern. Epist 143. sumus in hoc corpore, peregrina-
2 " Est commune exsilium ipsum- mura Domino." — St. Bern. Epist.
que molestum satis, quod quamdiu 144.

a51tU«] LETTER TO THE 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 they 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 those 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. l
" 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 sepeliant ; hoc prorsus si inveni gra-
oculi patris quahscunque, qui non tiam in oculis tuis, precibus et roe-
sum dignus vocari pater, claudantur litis eorumdem fratrum meorum
manibus filiorum, utextremavideant, obtinere toto affectu dcsidero.
exitum consolentur, spiritum suis Verumtamen non mea voluntas sed
desideriis levent ad consortium si tua fiat. Nee mihi vivere volo nee
•dignum judicas beatorum, cum pau- mori. " — St. Bern. Epist. 144.
perum corporibus pauperis corpus

216 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. |c££fv
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.
,1 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 fo 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,
impressing 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.' Sd numerous are
my sorrows and afflictions, that I am often weary of life. I
speak as a man, owing to my weakness. I wish robe 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
•' St. Bern. Epist J45.

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 Ohicus
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 or
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 sixtli
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 164th.

£>?*"«] 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, and 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
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 Arcta
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. Lc^iv
which at least showed his disinclination for a contest with
Bernard, whether from conscious guilt, as the Abbot declares, or
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.

a^"2 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 the 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 VIL, 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.
i 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.

AniiSJ 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 trom 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 love 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. L<££iv-
dost thou want, 0' 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 maybe
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.' " l
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. ii3s. aetat. 47.)'
death of Bernard's brother gerard — funeral sermon on the
death of gerard — visit of st. malachy to clairvaux.
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 i1 — 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- sequentibus abbatem post crucem et
terciensis. Nomasticon Cisterciense, lumen in absconsa et aquam bene-
Paris, 1664. Pars iv. cap. 94, 95. dictam  Sacrista vero pergens
Also Migne's Patrologia, tom. clxvi. in ordine suo ferat oleum et stupas
col. 1471. vel pannum ad detergendum unctu-
2 "... . procedant eo ordine ram  Et sic unctionis impleat
quo stant in choro, sacerdotibus officium." — toe. cit.

226 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [^.Tv
Christ which we bring to thee. Dost thou believe that in it
are our salvation, resurrection, and life ?" x 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 water.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, discedant,
frater, corpus Domini nostri Jesu relinquentes ibi crucem et aquam
Christi quod tibi deferimus ; credis benedictam." — Ibid. See also
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-1 drawn up by the General Chapter."
super sagum, supposito prius cinere London: Richardson and Son, 18^4.
in modum crucis et aliqua mattavel Book viii. cap. 5.
straminis aliquanto  Dicta

a i> use

,™$] 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 oi' 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
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 not 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
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 1353.
0 2

228 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [525. y
sojourned in a strange land.' 1 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 comes 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
diis 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

i£"$] SERMON ON THE DEATH 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, whithei
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
done 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

a5i"S]' SERMON ON THE' DEATH OF GERARD. 231
the unfruitful tree — the axe and the ,fire. Hating, therefore,
the labours of my hands, thou hast removed from me the
friend through Vhose 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 ; 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. [JS."
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 of
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 infirmitiesy
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. 1K'8'
A MAT. -\'l

']' 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. \$IZl.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 stern in the chastening of his body — who more rapt or
more sublime in contemplation — who more subtle in dis
course? How 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 — what 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

a1™"«] SERMON ON 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.
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. [<g!£v
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°a"«] 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
dear 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 Thv hands I

aS^It] 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, ' 0
my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom ! ' and, behold, a

2,40 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [J££ V
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, not 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 ; Thou 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 art judged. When last
year we were at Viterbo, on the business of the Church,

liDIi «] VISIT OF ST. MALACHY. 241
Gerard fell sick ; and as his illness increased, and his 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 Malachy's
R

242 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [5£f.v
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 not
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-
bernia de populo barbaro, ibi edu- ruit ille : accurrere omnes, putantes
catus, ibi litteras edoctus est. Cae- aut percussum ad mortem aut mor-
terum de natali barbarie traxit nihil, tuum. Et tunica quidem scissa a
non magis quam de sale materno summo usque deorsum ; homo veto
pisces maris." — Op. St. Bern. illaesus inventus est : tam 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 barbarie ;
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-

i££%] ST MALACHY'S 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 ran 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 die* 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. — Op. iri haereditaria successione. Nee
St. Bern. vol. i. col. 666. enim patiebantur episcopari nisi qui
1 "Verum mos pessimus ¦ inoleve- essent de tribu et familia sua. Nee
rat quorumdam diabolica ambitione parum processerat exsecranda suc-
R 2

244 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 1 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- elevatisres,r>>brr&ravitadpominum.
tudine Christiana, sa?va 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 tonitrua et horribiies spiritus
ab ipso Christianitatis initio) sine procellarum diem ultimuin minitan-
ordine, sine ratione mutabantur et tur, vicinamque elementa intentant
multiplicabantur episcopi pro libitu omnia mortem." — Op. St. Bern.
rnetropolitani, ita ut unus episco- vol. i. col. 669. Bernard here enters
paius uno non esset contentus, sed into competition — it can hardly be
smguiae pene ecclesiae singulos ha- unconsciously — with Virgil : Mn. i.
berent episcopos." — Op. St. Bern. 81-92.
vol. i. col. 667.

a£;™] ST. malachy SUBDUES HIS ENEMIES. 245
whirlwind overwhelmed only those who had prepared works
of darkness. The prince and all who favoured the impious
intruder and schismatic were killed by the lightning, and were
partners in death as they had been in crime. On the day
after the half-charred, putrid bodies were discovered dispersed
about, some even sticking in the branches of trees, just as the
wind had blown them. As for Malachy and his friends, though
quite close to this devastation, they suffered no hurt whatever.
" In this event," continues Bernard, "we have a recent instance
of the truth of that saying, ' The prayer of the humble pierceth
the clouds ;' indeed it is a modern example of the old miracles
which covered Egypt with darkness, while in Israel it remained
light. As the Scripture saith, ' All the children of Israel had
light in their dwellings.' It brings to my mind also the history
of Elijah, who, at one time, brought clouds and rain from the
ends of the earth ; at another, invoked fire from heaven on the
blasphemers. In a similar manner God was glorified in his
servant Malachy."1
After this signal proof of his sanctity and fitness for the archi-
episcopal office, Malachy found no opposition to his entrance
into Armagh. A man who really can confute and destroy
his enemies with fire from heaven by simply "holding up
his hands," is not one whom others will oppose on trivial
grounds. Still it would appear that the electric fluid was not
always equally at his command ; for Nigellus, the intruder, the
schismatic, the ens'* of all the grief and mischief, by some un
accountable means contrived to escape the lightning, and get
away unhurt. And, worse still, he had carried away with him
certain priceless relics which were of more importance to him
1 " Et ut scias, lector, quod oratio die inventa sunt corpora semiusta
Malachiae coneusserit elementa, so- et putrida, haerentia ramis arborum,
Ios intercepit tempestas qui quaere- ubi quemque spiritus elevans allisis-
bant animam ejus ;' solos turbo tene- set." — Op. St. Bern. vol. i.
brosus involvit qui paraverant opera col. 669.
tenebrarum. . . . Quorum sequenti

246 LIbE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [BX/v
than the city of Armagh itself. They consisted of a text of the
Gospels which had belonged to St. Patrick, and a pastoral staff,
covered with gold and adorned with the most costly jewels,
which was called Jesus' staff, because the belief was, that the
Lord Himself had held it in His hands, and even had made it
Nothing could exceed the veneration with which these treasures
were regarded, and to such a degree was the feeling about
them carried, that whoever had them in his possession was
thought to be really and legally Archbishop of Armagh. This
incident rouses Bernard's intense disgust. He liked saints
and their relics as much as any one, in moderation, but this
childish devotion to a book and stick provokes him almost to
the use of intemperate language. He calls the people who
could be so deceived " stupid" and " foolish," and Nigellus a
vagabond, another Satan going to and fro in the earth, and
walking up and down in it. It was certainly enough to ruffle
even a saintly temper. Nigellus was safe away, beyond the
reach of either thunder or lightning, showing off his relics,
which procured for him the most honourable reception wher
ever he went. In fact, he was still considered archbishop, and
Malachy an intruder, who had thus reaped but a barren victory
.after all. He had the town, but his rival kept the office.1
Still Malachy bore up manfully against this and other trials.
He rushed unarmed among his enemies, and quelled them by
his bold innocency when they were just prepared to strike
1 " Porro Nigellus videns sibi im- habere visus fuerit, ipsum habeat
minere fugam, tulit secum insignia episcopum populus stultus et insi-
quaedam sedis illius, textum scilicet piens. Ibat homo gyrovagus, et
Evangeliorum qui fuit beati Patricii, alter Satanas circuibat terram et
baculumque aura tectum, et gemmis perambulabat earn, insignia sacra
pretiosissimis adornatum, quem no- circumferens ; quae ubique osten.
minant baculum Jesu, eo quod ipse tans, ubique eorum gratia recepta-
Dominus, ut fert opinio, eum suis batur, concilians sibi per haec ani-
manibus tenuerit, atque formaverit. mos omnium, et a'Malachia quosaue
.... Nempe notissima sunt cele- potuissit avertens. "— Op. St. Bern.
berrimaque in populis atque in ea vol. i. col. 669.
reverentia apud omnes, ut qui ilia

tSiiffiJ ST. MALACHY TRAVELS TO ROME. 247
him. He introduced order and propriety in the city, of
Armagh, — not, however, without constant risk to his life.
He was now no longer openly attacked; but neither time
nor place secured him from the danger of assassination. A
body-guard of armed men was appointed to protect him day
and night ; " but he trusted more in the Lord."
Nigellus, however, was a source of anxiety to him. That
unprincipled person had still got in his possession those power
ful relics, by which he seduced many, persuading them that he
ought to be considered primate. But Malachy had acquired
an ascendancy among the population which his adversary
found it impossible to withstand. He presently submitted
himself, and restored the relics to their rightful owner.
And now Malachy thought he would go abroad — would go to
Rome, and ask the Pope to give him the pallium. He crossed
the Channel, and went to York. There he met one Wallen,
" at that time the prior of regular canons at Kirkham, but now
a monk and the father of monks of our order in the Monastery
of Mailros." Wallen noticed that, although Malachy had
several companions, he had but few horses for them ; so he
offered them his own, if they would accept it. " I would," said
he, " give it with far greater pleasure if it were a better one, and
not quite so rough."1 "I, on the contrary," said Malachy,
" receive him the more willingly the worse you speak of him.
Nothing can be bad to me which is given with such rare
good feeling." Then to his own people, " Saddle him for me ;
he will be comfortable enough, and will last a long while.''
He then got on, and truly at first found him rough enough. But

1 " Obtulit ei suum [equum], quo " Quidam vocem ab Teutonico
ipse vehebatur, hoc solum dolere se Ross, equus, deducunt, non impro-
inquiens, quod esset runcinus dure babili conjectura. Nam nostri olim
portans."  Op. St. Bern. vol. i. Rous, pro Roncin, dicebant." — Du-
col. 673. CANGE, sub voce Runcinus.
" He rode upon a rowncy as he could.*1
Chaucer.

248 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [<&£."
afterwards a wonderful change came over him, and he became
the most soft and easy-going palfrey conceivable, lasting longer
than his new master. He was still good when Malachy died.
But one of the strangest facts about him has yet to be told,
viz. that from nearly black he became white, and in a short
time few could be compared to him for whiteness.
Malachy then proceeded on his way to Clairvaux. Touching
his visit there Bernard enthusiastically says, " To me also in
this life was it given to see this man ; in his look and word I
was restored, and rejoiced as in all manner of riches. And,
sinner as I was, I found grace in his sight from that time forth
even to his death. For he deigned to turn aside to visit Clair
vaux ; and when he saw the brethren he was pricked to the
heart, and they were not a little edified by his presence and
discourse. Thus accepting the place and ourselves, and be
coming very dear unto us, he bade us farewell, and, departing,
crossed over the Alps."
At that time Innocent IL, of happy memory, was Pope. He
received Malachy kindly, and politely condoled with him on
the length of his journey. And first of all, with many tears,
the Bishop begged a favour which was very near his heart, viz.
that by the permission and blessing of his Holiness he might
be allowed to live and die at Clairvaux. Innocent thought
proper to refuse this request. Malachy then spent a month in
Rome, examining and frequenting the holy places for the sake
of prayer. When he was about to depart, the Pope made him
legate for the whole of Ireland. Malachy then besought the
Pope to confirm the constitution of the new metropolitan see
which Celsus had established, and to grant the use of the
pallium both to that and to Armagh. The confirmation asked
for was granted at once. " As regards the pallium," said the
Pope, " that is a more solemn matter. You must summon a
general council of the bishops, clergy, and chief men of the
country ; and then, on the wish and approbation of all, you

iL?!™] ST. MALACHY DEPARTS FROM ROME. 249
will send honourable persons to ask for the pallium, and it
shall be given to you." Then taking the mitre from his own
head he placed it on Malachy's. Pie gave him also the stole
and maniple which he himself was in the habit of using. And
so, with the kiss of peace and his blessing, he sent him off on
his long journey.
At this point we bid farewell to Malachy for a time. His
remaining adventures will be told in his second visit to Clair
vaux, nine years after this date.

BOOK III.

BOOK III.

CHAPTER I.
(A.D. 1 1 39. AETAT. 48.)
LETTER OF WILLIAM OF ST. THIERRY TO BERNARD AND THE BISHOP
OF CHARTRES — ALARM ABOUT THE HERESIES OF PETER ABELARD.
Towards the end of the year 1139 Bernard and Geoffrey,
Bishop of Chartres, received the following letter from William
of St. Thierry :—
" I am confounded before you, my lords and fathers, when I,
a person of no consideration, am compelled to address you on
a subject of great and general importance, through your silence
and that of others to whom it belonged to speak. For seeing,
as I do, that faith which is the hope of all dangerously and
greviously injured, no man gainsaying or resisting — the faith
which Christ consecrated by the shedding of His blood, for
which apostles and martyrs have fought even unto death,
which holy doctors, by their severe and manifold labours,
have transmitted to these wretched times sound, complete, and
incorrupt — I wither and pine away, and for very anxiety of
heart and sorrow of spirit I am driven to speak in defence
of that, for which, if it were necessary and fitting, I would lay
down my life. Nor is the danger concerning minor points
only, but threatens faith in the Blessed Trinity, in the person
of the Mediator, in the Holy Spirit, in the grace of God, in

254 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cS"1
the mystery of our common Redemption. Peter Abelard is.
again teaching novelties, again writing about them. His books
pass the seas, cross the Alps ; his new notions and dogmas
about the faith are carried through kingdom and province ;
they are preached before many and- as freely defended, in
somuch that they are reported even to have influence at the
court of Rome. I tell you it is with danger to the Church,
no less than to yourselves, that you keep , silence. We seem
to reckon it a small matter, that that faith is corrupted for
which we have denied ourselves to ourselves : lest we should
offend men, we do not fear to offend God. I tell you this
evil has grown, and is growing, and, if it De not stopped,
will become a serpent for which a charmer will scarce be found.
The reason I speak thus you shall now hear.
" I lately fell by accident upon one of the works of that
person, which bore the title,' "The Theology of Peter Abelard;''
— I acknowledge I was struck, and felt a curiosity to read the
book. There were two treatises containing almost the same
things, except that one embraced a little more than the other.
I have marked those passages which moved me to anger, and
have annexed my reasons for being incensed. And I have
sent the whole to you. You must judge whether I have .
been in the right or not' Being vehemently disconcerted by
innovations of expression in matters of faith, by new dis
coveries of unheard-of senses, and having no one near me to
refer to, I have chosen you, before all others, whom I could
call to the defence of God's cause and that of the whole
Latin Church. For that man fears and dreads you. Shut your
eyes, and whom will he carejfor ? And if he can say what he
does say now, what will he not say when he fears no one?
Most of our great masters of ecclesiastical learning being
dead, this domestic enemy, rushing in upon the deserted
commonwealth of the Church, has assumed to himself a very
singular office in her : doing in the Holy Scriptures what

»£\l™] LETTER OF WILLIAM OF ST. THIERRY. 255
he was wont to do in dialectics — that is, palming off his
own discoveries, his annual crop of novelties. He, forsooth,
is a critic of the faith, not a disciple ; a reformer, not a
learner. " Here are the positions maintained in his work, which I
have thought fit to bring under your notice : — (1) That he
defines faith as being the estimation of things not seen. (2)
That the names of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, according to
him, are improperly applied to God, and that this is a descrip
tion of the fulness of the Highest Good. (3) That the Father
is full Power, the Son a certain Power, the Holy Spirit no
Power. (4) Of the Holy Spirit, that He is not of the substance
of the Father and of the Son, as the Son is of the substance of
the Father. (5) That the Holy Spirit is the soul of the world.
(6) That by free will, without the assistance of grace, we can
will and act rightly. (7) That Christ did not take flesh and
suffer, that He might deliver us from subjection to Satan. (8)
That Christ, God and man, is not the third person in the
Trinity.1 (9) That, in the Sacrament of the Altar, the form of
the former substance remains in the air. (10) That diabolical
suggestions are made to men through physic. (11) That from
Adam we do not contract the fault of original sin, but its
punishment. (12) That there is no sin, except in consenting
unto sin, and in the contempt of God. (13) That sin is not
committed by concupiscence and delectation and ignorance,
and what is thus committed is not sin, but nature.
" These few points, collected from his works, I judged expe
dient first to show you, in order to stimulate you, and to excuse
myself lest I should appear excited without a reason. I shall
amplify what I now send, caring little if I offend you in speech,
if I do not in doctrine. God is witness that I loved him, and
wished to love him ; but in such a cause as this no one shall
1 " Quod Christus, Deus et homo, non est tertia persona in Trinitate."

256 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. ["c^,1?
ever be either my friend or neighbour. Nor can this evil be
rectified by private warning and reproof,' he himself having
made it so public. There are, as I hear, other works of his,
of which the names are Sic etjwn, Scito te ipsum, of which I
fear the monstrous names only too well indicate the monstrous
doctrines. But, as it is said, they fear the light, and even when
sought for they cannot be found."1
Bernard at once replied that he highly approved of what
William had done ; that as for going deeply into so difficult a
question, he could not do so yet, not before Easter (i.e. of
1 140); and that he would be exceedingly glad to have some
earnest consultation with William on the subject, if they could
meet. Meanwhile Lent, in which they now are, is the season
for prayer. Bernard, confesses ingenuously that he has, how
ever, as yet no knowledge of the matter, though we cannot
suppose that the name of so notorious a person as Abelard
was unknown to him. For more than a quarter of a century
before this date, Europe had been ringing with his fame, or
even his infamy, it might be in Bernard's eyes. His meaning,
therefore, is, that the special details of Abelard's heresy were
strange to him ; and it is quite consonant with the Abbot of
Clairvaux's character, to suppose that he would not readily
travel out of his way to seek such, if some practical object
did not bring them before him. That object had now arrived
and in a form which, of all others, was most calculated to rouse
the whole force of energy within him, viz. the welfare of
the Church and the Christian, faith. Abelard's delinquencies
were soon mastered, and the voice of the most admired and
authoritative man in Europe was calling on Pope, Bishops,
and Cardinals, to stay the progress of a second Arius and
Nestorius. But this great duel between two such lofty men, who stand
out like mountain peaks above the plain of their contem-
1 Op. St. Bern. vol. i. col. 302 ; Epist. 326.,

££J.«] IMPENDING CONFLICT WITH ABELARD. 257
poraries, representing, as it does, the shock and conflict of two
great currents of human thought, requires for its adequate
delineation that a sketch of the life and fortunes of Abelard up
to this time be here inserted. Leaving Bernard, therefore,
occupied with his Lenten observances, we advert to Master
Peter, as he was then called.

2S8

LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD.

TBook III
I. Chap. II

CHAPTER II.

LIFE OF PETER ABELARD UP TO THE COUNCIL OF SENS, A.D. II40.

A.D. IO79.
Master Peter, surnamed Abelard,1 was at this time sixty-one
years old — Bernard's senior, therefore, by twelve years. His
career had been a strange union of the extremes of good and
evil fortune ; no man of his day had been so admired, loved,
execrated, and condemned.2
Abelard began his adventurous life early, for he left his
father's roof in Brittany, in search of "fame and name," when

1 " Petrus qui Abaelardus, a
plerisque Bajolardus dicitur ....
cui simul amicto et indignanti per
jocum Magister Firricul ait : quid
canis plenus nisi lardum Baiare
consuevit? Baiare autem linguere
est. Exinde Bajolardus appellari
cepit. Quod nomen, tanquam ex
defectu quodam, cum abdicaret, sub
litteratura non dissimili Habelar-
dum se nominari fecit, quasi qui
haberet artium apud se summam
et adipem." — Ducange, sub voce
Baiare. 2 Historia Calamitatum, Epist. i.
Op. Abelard, 4to. Paris, 1616.
Also Migne's Patrologia, tom. 178.
This letter, written by Abelard him
self, is by far the most important
extant authority for the facts of his
life. But while its interest as a
piece of autobiography has been

generally admitted, it is not too
much to say that its real character
and meaning have as often been mis
understood. It is the great arsenal
whence the enemies of Abelard have
drawn their means of attacking him.
The confessions in it have been pa
raded as conclusive against the man
who could make such concerning
himself. But these are not the re
luctant admissions of a depraved
man, but the exaggerated self-accu
sations of a broken-hearted one. It
would be as fair to take the " Con
fessions" of St. Augustine or the
" Grace Abounding " of Bunyan as
unqualified sources of biography, as
to found a life of Abelard entirely
on the rhetorical and melancholy re
cital which he wrote in the evening
of his chequered life.

a.d. noo] ABELARD'S YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 259
about twenty years old. His family were noble, and lords of
the Castle of Le Pallet, near Nantes, both at this period and
probably for many generations after this. The names of his
father and mother were Berengarius and Lucia. His father,
though a knight, had also a knowledge and love of literature,
which he was anxious to impart to his son. Rarely have a
parent's wishes found such welcome from a child. The young
Peter had no sooner tasted the delights of knowledge, than
all other pursuits appeared worthless and insipid to him. He
relinquished his birthright as eldest son ; he discarded all
thought dTtHe profession of arms and knighthood ; he devoted
himself with an undivided mind to study and philosophy. It
is supposed he came to Paris about the close of the eleventh
century.1 The only living branch of knowledge then existing—/, e.
unconnected with Theology — was Dialectics, and for Dialectics
Abelard had the same spontaneous, victorious aptitude that
Pascal had for geometry, and Mozart for music. Natural
acuteness and suppleness of mind, coupled with a bold aggres
sive spirit, now qualified him to contend for the foremost rank
among scholastic disputants. It was not long before he tested
his powers. His adversary was a man whom we have met
before in a very different occupation from what we find him
engaged in now. William of Champeaux as yet did not know
Bernard — did not know or expect anything of the bishopric of1
Chalons. At this date he was only Archdeacon of Paris, and
Lecturer on Logic in the cloister of Notre Dame. Abelard, who
at first was his pupil, soon became his rival, and before long
his vanquisher. The point in discussion was the question of
Universals. William of Champeaux was a realist of the most
decided type. Abelard pressed him so hard that he was
1 Vie d'Abilard, par M. Charles nearly exhausted the subject of
de Remusat, vol. i. p. 8. This lu- Abelard's history and philosophy.
minous and thoughtful work has S 2

2,6o LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [S. u
compelled to abandon, or at least greatly modify, thejyiews he
hadTaughTfor years. From this defeat his reputation never
recovered ; and Abelard, although he had made many enemies
by his haughtiness and success, could walk the schools without
a rival.1 But before he had got so far, he_had been compelled to
leave Paris twice — the first time in consequence of impaired
health, caused by the overwork and excitement of his ambitious
career ; the second time he returned to Brittany to bid farewell
to his "dear mother Lucia," who, following her husband's
example, was preparing to adopt a monastic life.2
Up to this time Abelard had confined his attention to the
human sciences of the Trivium, — that is, Grammar, Rhetoric,
and Dialectics. In an evil hour for his peace, if not for his
fame, he was seized with a desire to become master of Theo
logy. For this purpose he repaired to Laon, where the" aged
Anselm lectured on Holy Writ. " I betook myself to the old
man," says Abelard, " who had a great name, rather through
use and routine than from genius or knowledge. He was that
sort of man that if any one went to him, being uncertain, he
returned more uncertain still. He was wonderful to hear, but
at once failed if you questioned him. He had an extra
ordinary flow of words, but was void of reason _and_.cQn-
temptible in sense. When he lit a fire, he filled his house with
smoke, he did not illuminate it with light."3 With these. iar
1 The little I have to say on Abe- him back to Brittany.' All that
lard as a philosopher I reserve to Abelard has told is contained in
the next chapter ; but as regards the these words: — "Dum vero haec
philosophical merits of this discus- agerentur, charissiiria mihi mater
sion with William of Champeaux, Lucia repatriare me compulit. Quae,
the reader is referred to " Ouvrages videlicet post conversionem Beren-
inedits d' Abelard," Paris, 1836, ed. garii patris mei ad professionem mo-
Cousin, intro. p. cxvi., and Remusat, nasticam, idem facere disponebat." —
vol. i. p. 19. Hist. Calamitatum.
2 Dean Milman . (Lat. Christ. , a " Cum ignem accenderet, domum
vol. iii. p. 360) unaccountably says suam fumo implebat, non luce illus-
that "a domestic affliction, the trabat." — Ibid.
death of his beloved mother, sent

a.d. un] ABELARD VICTOR IN THE SCHOOLS. 261
from reverential feelings he listened to Anselm : with what
result may easily be imagined. " I did not long remain idle
under his shade," says Abelard. He ceased to attend the
lectures. The favourite pupils of the teacher resented this
as an insult to their master, and before long Anselm was
prejudiced by them against him.
It occurred that on a certain day, when the students were
joking among themselves, one of them, with a sinister motive,
asked him what he thought of the divinity lectures? He,
who as yet had studied nothing but natural sciences, replied
that nothing could be more profitable than the reading and
study of the Scriptures, in which we learn how to save our
souls ; but that, for his part, he could not sufficiently wonder
how to educated men the text of the sacred writers, together
with their glosses, were not enough for their comprehension, or
that they should require any further master. This remark was
received with general scorn and derision, and he was asked
whether he could or dared attempt such a thing himself. In
that age of authority and tradition, the very supposition that
any one should think for himself appeared absurd. Abelard
was always willing, and even anxious^ to think for himself:
hence the constant collision he was coming into with his age.
He said he should like nothing better than to make the experi
ment they defied him to attempt. With scoffs and ridicule
they accepted the offer, and agreed that he should expound
the obscure prophecy of Ezekiel. He said he was quite ready
to begin on the following day. This last proposition appeared
to sober them; they seemed to feel that it might be possible
to carry a joke too far. They begged that in so grave a matter
he would proceed cautiously, and give more time to a study of
which he was, as yet, ignorant. Abelard's pride and vanity
were roused at this remark, and he replied that it was not his
custom to do things from painful practice, but from spon
taneous genius ; and added, that if they did not come when he

262 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [g^ii
wished them, they might stay away, and he should take no
further notice of them. To the first lecture very few came.
They regarded it as preposterous that any one could_p_retend
to understand the Scriptures without more preliminary study.1
Yet those who were present were so delighted, that they urged
him to turn his lecture into a commentary. This was the
commencement of his ill-starred theological career. Before
long he was as open a rival to Anselm as he had been to
William of Champeaux, and had excited the enmity, not only
of the old professor, but also of his most influential pupils.
He was forced to leave Laon.
He returned to Paris. And now commenced the one short
period of brilliant fame, the clear interval of unalloyed pros
perity and gratified ambition, which he was destined to know
in life. Paris was already the most renowned school in
Europe. Students from England, Germany, Italy, and Southern
Gaul flocked to imbibe the scholastic and theological lore
which it afforded them. This crowd of learners was now
startled by the appearance of a teacher among them who, for
power to kindle enthusiasm, and make men rejoice that they
were permitted to be his disciples, had not been equalled since
the days of the Athenian sages. No pale pedant or emaciated
bookworm was he. Noble by birth and haughty in carriage,
gifted with vast powers and fully conscious of them, singularly
handsome, and enhancing this advantage by a costly and
scrupulous attention to dress^ Abelard taught, with vigorous,
daring originality, almost the whole sum of human science then
known or cared for : that is, he taught philosophy as it was
then understood, and he taught theology. He was admired,
followed, waylaid, obstructed by passionate adherents, and by
many who were not adherents. His success was complete ;
1 " Et primae quidem lectioni adhuc quasi penitus sacrae lectionis
nostrae pauci tunc interfuere, quod expertem, id tam propere aggredi."
ridiculum omnibus videretur, me — Hist. Calam,

a.d. ins] ABELARD MEETS WITH HELOISE.

263

his rivals were silenced; he grew rich; his head was nearly
turned.1 But now came a great change upon Abelard. Up to this
time his books and his studies, his ambition and his efforts
to gratify it, had entirely absorbed his thoughts and energies.
But the pinnacle was reached, the pressure was removed, his
efforts were relaxed. The strong impulses which had been
hitherto directed to a single end were now let loose to wander
as they pleased. His victory was too much for him. The
sleeping volcano of his adult passions burst forth, Pleasure,
sensual and animal, was a novelty and a marvel to him : he
became suddenly conscious of a fierce, fiery thirst for it. He
drank deeply, wildly. He then grew fastidious and particular.
He required some delicacy of romance, some flavour of
emotion, to remove the crudity of his lust. He seduced
Heloise.2

1 M. de Remusat has given an
imaginative picture of Abelard at
this period which is not necessarily
untruthful, although it is without
historical evidence of its truth. " On
voyait souvent passer un homme
au front large, au regard vif et fier,
a la demarche noble, dont la beaute
conservait encore l'eclat de la jeu-
nesse, en prenant les traits plus mar
ques et les couleurs plus brunes de la
pleine virilite. Son costume grave
etpourtant soigne," &c, vol.i. p. 43.
One sentence of Heloise is as graphic
as anything : " Quis, te rogo, in pub
licum procedentem conspicere non
festinabat, ac discedentem collo
erecto, oculis directis non insectaba-
tur." — Epist. , ii., Quae est Heloissae
ad Petrum deprecatoria.
2 There are two assertions here
which require proof : 1. That Abe
lard ever led a licentious life at all,
considering his assertion to the con
trary, " Quia igitur scortorum im-
munditiam semper abhorrebam."

(Hist. Calam.) 2. That this period
of incdntinence must have preceded
his connexion with Heloise, and was
not contemporary with it. As re
gards the first point, Abelard's state
ment is more than counterbalanced
by the explicit account of his ir
regularities sent to him in a letter
by Fulk, Prior of Deuil : " Haec
corporis particula quam omnipoten-
tis Dei judicio et beneficio perdidisti,
quantum tibi nocuerat ac nocere
quamdiu permansit, non desistebat,
melius tuarum diminutio rerum quam
mea possit monstrare oratio, docet.
Quidquid .... acquirere poteras in
voraginem fornicariae consumptionis
demergere non cessabas. Avara me-
retricum rapacitas cuncta tibi rapu-
erat . . . qui nihil, ut dicitur, praeter
pannos ex tanto quaestu habebas."
— Ab. Op. p. 219. It is difficult to
suppose that these assertions are en
tirely without foundation. Abelard's
conduct, at the commencement, to
Heloise was in no wise that of a

264 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [S2.iV
It is not probable that the depth of soul and mind of this
wonderful woman were all seen by him when he first planned
and perpetrated this enormity. / She was the niece of a canon
of Paris named Fulbert, It is supposed that Abelard was also
a canon at this time. He might thus have facilities of access
and intimacy from an early period of her life. Heloise was
not beautiful,1 but her intellectual and literary pre-eminence
were truly marvellous in that agev Her name was already
famous throughout the kingdom for her unequalled powers and
cultivation of mind. The story is well known. Abelard got
himself received into her uncle's house as her tutor. > He was
thus thrown into the closest relations with perhaps the only
woman then in the world who could thoroughly appreciate and
do justice to his own vast powers of mind. He corrupted and
defiled her ; but the most burning passion and devotion that
ever swelled under woman's breast were already kindled to-
\ wards him. Abelard, the doctor, the world-famed scholar and
' philosopher, in the pride of manhood and renown, sought the
1 young girl's heart. She fell willingly, knowingly, self-abasingly
at his feet, and never wished to rise again. Through long
years of shame, sorrow, and remorse, the unutterable ecstasy
of those days of sin never faded from her memory, as she

novice in gallantry, but rather such less distinguished for her surpassing
as might be expected from a har- beauty than for her wonderful talents
dened offender. Still — to go on to and knowledge." Abelard's words
the second point — I do not think he are very different : " Quae cum per
was ever base enough to lead the life faciem non esset infima per abundan-
above described after he had become tiam litterarum erat suprema. " M.
acquainted with his future wife. de Remusat and Mr. G. H. Lewes
Even if he had had the inclination, (Hist, of Philosophy, p. 295) both
the various agitating vicissitudes of say more of her personal charms
his courtship and marriage would than their authority warrants. Bayle
not have allowed him the requisite had to complain of the same assump-
leisure. tion in his day, and he exposed it
1 It is strange that modem histo- with his usual acuteness. After
rians persist in seeing more beauty quoting the words of Abelard just
in Heloise than Abelard himself did. given, he says, " Est ce ainsi qu'on
Dean Milman says she "was no parle d'une fille parfaitement belle?"

a.d. ins] HELOISE. ESCAPES INTO BRITTANY. 265
walked through life with ever-reverted glances on the glory of
her girlish love.
Abelard's genius drooped and withered under this storm of
passion. The delights of intellect and the treasures of know
ledge, for which he had hitherto lived, grew black and
tarnished to the fevered vision of his distempered mind. His
books, his philosophy, his lectures, his pupils, were neglected.
He spoke to his admiring audience of disciples as before, but
with only a fraction of his soul. The rest was with Heloise.
This could not last. His scholars saw the change, and
mourned over it. All Paris saw it. The last person who saw it
was the most interested to see it. At last the uncle Fulbert
saw it, and the lovers were separated. They soon met again,
and contrived a plan for Heloise to escape. One night, during
Fulbert's absence, Abelard gained access to the house, and
carried off his mistress. He sent her into Brittany, where she
remained under the care of his sister Dionysia. She there
gave birth to a son, whom she named Astrolabius.1
Meanwhile her lover, in Paris, was left exposed to the
passionate resentment of Fulbert. Abelard says he became
almost mad with rage. Nothing but fear prevented his revenge
from taking the form of personal violence on Abelard's person,
who, however, declares he kept himself prepared not only to
resist, but even to assail, his foe, if he deemed it advisable. In
time, prudence, contrition, or less worthy motives, induced
him to offer terms of reconciliation to Fulbert. He freely
acknowledged the enormity of his crime, and showed his
1 " Quadam itaque nocte avunculo en religieuse, et la conduisit en Bre-
ejus absente, sicut nos condixeramus, tagne chez sa sceur " (Essai His-
earn de domo avunculi furtim sustuli, torique sur Abe'lard et Heloise, p. 27) ;
et in patriam meam sine mora trans- statements which Abelard's words in
misi ; ubi apud sororem meam tam- no wise bear out. Dean Milman
diu conversata est donee pareret has fallen into the same error (Lat.
masculum quem Astrolabium nomi- Christ., vol. iii. p. 363), perhaps
navit." — Hist. Calam. Madame through reliance on Mdme. Guizot.
Guizot says, " II 1'eiileva dfguisie

266 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [*£J™
readiness to atone for it in any way Fulbert might choose ;
he was willing even to marry Heloise on the condition that
the marriage should ' be kept secret.1 Fulbert accepted, or
appeared to accept, the satisfaction, and Abelard went into
Brittany to fetch his bride.
There is a tradition that in that portion of the wild and
rugged Armorica which is tempered and softened by the
wooded banks of the Maine and Loire the lovers passed a
short season of dreamy, absorbing happiness. But a difficulty
of the most unexpected kind now arose. Heloise would not
: hear of Abelard's scheme of marriage. She declared that such
a wrong should never be done to the world and the Church
through her — that Abelard, who was created for all mankind,
•should not be sacrificed by bondage to a single woman. She
drew arguments from antiquity, sacred and profane, to enforce
her opposition. Even their love would suffer from the chains
of wedlock, and no longer be the free passion of two unfettered
souls. As his mistress, his arnica, she would be happier in
herself, and less burdensome to him, than if she were his
wife. What if they could meet but rarely ? Time and absence
would only add to the intensity of their delight, when the
wished-for moments came.2 Abelard refused to be convinced.
i Abelard's words are, " Atque been. Fulbert saw this, and acted
ut amplius eum mitigarem supra accordingly.
quam sperare poterat, obtuli me ei 2 Heloise's arguments against
¦ satisfacere, earn scilicet quam cor- marriage with Abelard might afford
ruperammihimatrimoniocopulando: material for a small dissertation.
dummodo id secreto fieret, nefamae The ground she takes up is not a
deirimentum incurrerem. Assensit little remarkable. The marriage is
ille," etc. — Hist. Calamitat. Fulbert represented not as illegal or sinful, I
was evidently playing with Abelard, but as disgraceful and lowering to
as the latter afterwards saw. What herself as well as to him. " Quae- I
he offered as a reparation— a secret rebat etiam quam de me gloriam
marriage— was no reparation if the habitura esset ; cum me ingloriosum
secresy was preserved. From the efnceret, etseet me pariter humiliaret.
very nature of the case it was .... -Detestabatur vehementer hoc
necessary that the satisfaction should matrimonium quod mihi per omnia
be as public as the scandal had probrosum esset atque onerosum."—

a.d. 1117] ABELARD AND HELOISE ARE MARRIED. 267
When Heloise saw the firmness of his resolution, she yielded,
but added, with the darkest misgivings : " Nothing more re
mains for us, but that a misery as great as the love which pre
ceded it consummate the ruin of us both." "Wherein," says
Abelard, "the entire world has recognised that she was not
wanting in the spirit of prophecy."
They returned, therefore, to Paris, the little Astrolabius being
left in the care of Dionysia. " After a few days, we passed the

Hist. Calam. Abelard by no means
i considered wedlock entirely for--
\ bidden to churchmen. " Utrum
clerici matrimonium contrahere pos-
sint quaeri solet. Sacerdotes qui non
fecerunt, possunt. Si vero aliquis
in ecclesia, quae votum suscepit,
fuerit, qui non votum fecerit, potest
ducere, sed in ecclesia ilia officium
non exe'rcebit, quod est parochiam
non tenebit. " — Epitome Theolog.
Christ, cap. 31. But although the
marriage of priests may not have
been as yet strictly illegal, it is
certain that both they and their
wives were regarded most unfavour
ably. The following is part of a
long address which a renowned
prince and saint of the Church
thought himself justified in making
to the concubines of clerics. " In-
terea et vos alloquor, O lepores
clericorum, pulpamenta diaboli, pro-
jectio paradisi, virus mentium,gladius
animarum, aconita bibentium, toxica
convivarum, materia peccandi, oc-
casio pereundi. Vos, inquam, allo
quor gynecaea hostis antiqui, upu-
pae, ululae, noctuae, lupae, sangui-
sugae. . . . Venite itaque, audite me,
scorta, prostibula, savia, volutabra
porcorum pinguium : cubilia spiri-
tuum immundorum, nymphae, sire-
nae, lamiae, dianae," etc. etc. — St.
Petri Damiani Opusc. , xviii. , contra
I clericos intemperantes. The notion
these men had of holy matrimony

is partly shown in these words of
the same writer : — " Ah scelus !
Manus quae deputatae fuerant ad
ordinandas in coelestis mensae fer-
culo vitales epulas angelorum, trac-
tare non metuunt obscoenitates et
spurca contagia mulieram. Ii qui
inter ilia terribilia sacramenta choris
admiscentur angelicis mox tanquam
de coelo ruentes ad foemineae foedi-
tatis relabuntur amplexus, et velut
sues immundae coenosis vermigenae
luxuriae volutabris immerguntur. " —
Ibid. Absurd bombast as all this
is, yet coming from such a quarter,
from a man whose party had won a
great victory in the Church shortly
before, it is not without significance ;
it shows what a woman who married ;
a churchman was possibly exposed to. »
So far from ' ' his career of advance
ment in the Church" being the main
point of her objections, it is not
dwelt upon at all. — See Lat. Christ.
vol. iii. p. 363. The only words in
which the Church is alluded to are
these : "Quaerebat: — Heloisa . . .
quantas ab ea mundus poenas exi-
gere deberet, si tantam ei lucer-
nam auferret, quantae maledictiones,
quanta damna ecclesiae, quantae phi-
losophorum lacrymae, hoc matrimo
nium essent secuturae." The rest
of her objections, which fill two
quarto pages, refer to considerations
of a totally different kind.

268 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [gZ..1]]
night in a certain church, celebrating in prayer and secresy the
vigils of our marriage. At early dawn, in the presence of her
uncle and a few common friends, we were united with the
nuptial blessing."
But Fulbert broke his promise, and divulged the marriage.
Whereupon Heloise vehemently denied it. Her uncle heaped
upon her reproaches and contempt. Abelard, mortified and
angry, removed her from his house, and placed her in the con
vent of Argenteuil, where she had been educated at a former
period. She took the dress but not the vows of a nun. The
distance from Paris is but a few miles. A few miles are but a
small impediment to the meeting of ardent lovers. The swift
feet of passion often carried Abelard to Argenteuil. His nun-
wife, we may be quite sure, received him with no religious
austerity or placid calmness of manner. She, in whose breast
the fire of love burnt clear and radiant through years of
fasting, vigils, solitude, and separation, would know how to
welcome her worshipped lord when he came to the convent
gate. The nuns of Argenteuil had not a reputation for
excessive severity, and the married lovers availed themselves
fully of the freedom afforded them by the hospitable con
vent. Abelard's passion and vainglory had now reached a
point at which prudence and sobriety are utterly forgotten.
But the fall was at hand, a mighty Nemesis was about to
overtake him.
The revengeful nature of Fulbert had never really forgiven
the wrong which had been done him by Abelard. Of late,
circumstances had tended to kindle afresh all the fury of his
resentment. Heloise's retreat to Argenteuil he interpreted
as a deeply-laid scheme to rid Abelard of all encumbrance
that might arise from his secret marriage. He invented, or
accepted, a horrible and grotesque mode of revenge. In the
dead of night he and others burst in upon the sleeping
husband of his niece, and inflicted by an atrocious mutilation

l7]

FULBERT 'S REVENGE.

269

the utmost that could be devised by a barbarian's imagi
nation.1 When the light of morning returned to the wretched man, it
found the whole city agitated and confounded at the crime of
the preceding night. The bishop, the canons, the clerics,
above all the women2 and students, were loud and vehement.
in their expression of indignation. Abelard lay in agony of
mind and body, which all the condolences of friends and
sympathisers only intensified. This sudden fall in mid-career
utterly crushed him. So bright and victorious yesterday, so
mean, miserable, and despised to-day. In the deepest gloom
and confusion he sought a refuge in the abbey of St. Denis,
while Heloise became a nun in reality as well as in appearance
at Argenteuil.3

1 Two of his assailants were
captured, of whom one was his own
faithless servant — and "oculis et
genitalibus privati sunt." — ¦ Hist.
Calam. p. 17.
2 Abelard has not mentioned the
fact of the women's lamentations.
Fulk, Prior of Deuil, relates it in the
letter already quoted. " Quid singu-
.larum feminarum referam planctum,
quae sic, hoc audito, lacrymis more
foemineo ora rigarunt propter te
militem suum, quem amiserant, ac si
singulae virum suum aut amicum
sorte belli reperissent extinctum." —
Ab. Op. Epist. xvi. p. 221.
3 It appears that in the first
instance he was highly dissatisfied
with the efforts made to punish his
enemies, and even thought of going
to Rome for the purpose of bringing
his griefs before the Pope. Fulk, of
Deuil, strongly urged him not to go
on a useless errand: "You have
not money," he says, "and what
can you hope to do at Rome without
money ?" " Quotquot enim nostris
temporibus ad illam sedem sine pon-
dere pecuniae accesserunt, perdita

causa, confusi et reprobi abscesse-
rnnt. " Every student of history who
has felt under obligations to M. I'Abbe
Migne for his cheap and portable
editions of the Medieval writers
must be filled with disgust to find
that a long passage of Fulk's letter
— containing the last quotation and
several facts — has been excised on
the pretence that it would cause
scandal to " Catholic ears." Such
folly is surprising in a man of learning.
Does he suppose the corruption of
the court of Rome at this period is a
rare secret, which Fulk's letter would
reveal to the world ? He had better
begin then by expurgating St. Ber
nard's works, and. no longer allow
the crushing charges in the "De
Consideratione" to pervert the public
mind. I cannot think that the faith
of modern Romanists is so fragile
that it is liable to injury from the
words of Romanists written seven
hundred years ago. This is the note
in which M. I'Abbe Migne shows us
how he views his duty as an editor : —
"Pergit Fulco Abaelardum, quin
Roman petat iis rationum momentis

270 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c£J.nii
He found the monks of St. Denis worldly and dissolute, and
told them so in very plain terms, and before long he had made
himself " odious and burdensome beyond measure to every
one."1- Pleased as they had been at first to have him as one
of their monks, they now openly rejoiced when, through the
importunity of Abelard's scholars, who wished him to renew
his teaching, a pretext for getting rid of him was offered. He
removed to the priory of Maisoncelle, and before long had
gathered round him such a concourse of hearers, that neither
food nor shelter could be procured for the.thronging multitude.
He still held out that double attraction to the more ardent
minds of his day which had received such applause at Paris,
viz. Dialectics and Divinity. His divinity was what would now
be called a philosophy of religion. It was not a soul-moving
call to repentance and sacrifice, but a scientific examination
and corroboration of the grounds of belief. " It happened
that I first of all applied myself to discuss the basis of our
faith, by the aid of analogies drawn from human reason, and
composed a treatise on the 'Divine Trinity and Unity' for my
pupils, who wanted and asked for human and philosophical
reasons, and such as could be understood as well as spoken.
They said that the pronouncing of words which the intellect
could not follow was useless, nor was it possible for anything
to be believed unless first understood. It was ridiculous for a
man to preach to others that which neither he himself nor they
could intellectually grasp."2 Those were solemn and signifi-
absterrere quae non sine maximo the monks of St. Denis would be
scandalo catholicae aures exciperent, willingly denied, were they not sup-
siquidem Romanam curiam talibus ported by St. Bernard's authority. —
lacessitinjuriisqualeshaeretici, iramo Epist. 78.
impiissimi nostrae aetatis homines 2 "Accidit autem mihi ut ad
usurpare consueverant. Hunc igitur ipsum fidei nostrae fundamentum
locum ut sanctae ecclesiae, ita lee- humanae rationis similitudinibus
toribus nostris molestissimum, ex- disserendum primo me applicarem,
pungere non dubitavimus." — Patro- et quemdam Theologiae tractatum
logia, tom. clxxviii. col. 375. de Unitate et Trinitate divina
1 Abelard's accusations against scholaribus nostris componerem, qui

a.d.1119] AWAKENMENT OF THOUGHT. 271
cant words at the beginning of the twelfth century. The deep
sleep of ages, which fell on the intellect of Europe with the
fall of Rome, is apparently passing away. Through this long
period, during which the human mind has lain still in the
similitude of death, occasional starts and turns, signs that the
giant was not dead, but sleeping, have not been entirely want
ing. There have been Gotteschalc and Scotus Erigena, Beren-
garius and Roscelinus. The light of free reason had appeared
in scattered stars more than once during these six hundred
years. But the sacred fire could not spread then. It was
soon and easily extinguished by a little violence to the original
kindler of it. But now a change is preparing ; " words which
the mind cannot follow" are pronounced useless. Numbers
of men, young men, are asking for " human and philosophical
reasons," declaring they wish to understand as well as to
believe. These poor scholars, following their Abelard into
desolate places, are the unconscious parents of a good deal.
Meanwhile, his enemies were on the watch. William of
Champeaux and Anselm of Laon had left successors who
were only too willing to carry on the rivalry against Abelard
which had been waged by their masters. . And now this work
on the Trinity exposed him to their attacks in a way they had
hardly hoped for. A gathering, "which they called a council, \
was got together at Soissons;" the papal legate Conan pre
sided ; and Abelard was summoned to appear. He and a few
faithful disciples narrowly escaped stoning by the ignorant
populace, who had been led to believe that he maintained
there were three Gods. But, even so, Abelard had friends.
He preached to the people, and expounded his views, and his
humanas et philosophicas rationes posse aliquid nisi primitus intellec-
requirebant, et plus quae intelligi tum, et ridiculosum esse ahquem aliis
quam quae dici possent efflagitabant ; praedicare quod nee ipse nee illi quos
- dicentes quidem verborum super- doceret intellectu capere possent" —
fluam esse prolationem, quam intel- Ab. Op. p. 20.
ligentia non sequeretur, nee credi

' 272 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c™.Ti
enemies trembled lest his great name, influence, and powers
might be too much for them. They were careful to avoid a
discussion in which they knew well who would fare best, they
or the greatest disputant in Europe.' They at last prevailed
upon the legate to condemn the book without further inquiry.
" On being called, I presented myself before the council, and,
without any discussion or examination, they compelled me to
burn it with my own hand. And so it was burnt amid general
silence. One of my adversaries, in an undertone, murmured
that he had found it asserted in that book that God the Father
alone was Almighty. The legate said he could hardly believe
it ; even in a child such error was incredible, seeing that the
common faith holds and professes ' three Almighties.'" Here
upon a certain Terricus, a professor in the schools, burst out
laughing, and, quoting St. Athanasius, whispered : " And yet not
three Almighties, but one Almighty." His bishop reproved
him for his rude behaviour, but Terricus boldly continued, say
ing in the words of Daniel : " Are ye such fools, ye sons of
Israel, that without examination or knowledge of the truth ye
have condemned a daughter of Israel ? Return again to the
place of judgment : for they have borne false witness against
her." Archbishop Rodolph, of Rheims, came to the rescue
of the zealous but incautious legate, and, slightly changing the
words, said : " Truly, my lord, the Father is Almighty, the Son
Almighty, and the Holy Ghost Almighty. And now," he went
on to say, "it were good if that brother" — pointing to Abelard
— " were to explain his faith before us all, so that it may be
approved, condemned, or corrected, as may be necessary."
When he arose to expound his faith in his own words, his
judges said there was no necessity for anything beyond his
recital of the Athanasian creed, " a thing which any boy could
do." To complete his humiliation by a practical sarcasm, tney
piaced a copy of the creed before him, hinting thereby that
the document was doubtless new to him, and that he could not

A.D.ii2i[ ABELARD RETURNS TO ST. DENIS. 273
be expected to know it without. " I read amid sobs and sighs
and tears, as well as I could," and then, " like a convicted
criminal, I was given over to the Abbot of St. Medard, to be
kept in close custody at his monastery." x
Abelard declared that the mental anguish he felt at this con
demnation far outweighed the physical pain he had endured in
Paris. The excess of his grief drove him into impatience, even
into profanity. In the words of St. Anthony, he exclaimed :
"Good Jesus ! where wast Thou then?" His former punish
ment he acknowledged had been partly due to his own fault,
but the conduct which had led to this disgrace had been purely
meritorious. However, this misery also became lighter in
time. The abbot and monks of St. Medard were kind to him,
although the prior occasionally lectured him with some severity.
He, by degrees, grew more gentle and submissive. He got to
dread the convent whip, and generally improved. He was
then restored to his own monastery of St. Denis.2
He soon again aroused the hatred of his brother monks. It
occurred to him to doubt, from the perusal of Bede, whether
St. Dionysius the Areopagite really was the founder of their
abbey, and patron saint of the kingdom. There was some
thing revolting at that day in a monk's seeking to degrade the
character of a saint to whom his convent was dedicated. They
rebuked him, they threatened him they would tell the king,
whose very crown was injured by him, they whipped him for
such a horrible opinion. Abelard was in despair. His enemies
1 I have very much condensed lance in argument, even with Abelard
Abelard's graphic and sarcastic ac- himself. " Mittebantur illuc indocti
count of the council, which can be ut erudirentur, dissoluti ut corri-
read in the Hist. Calam. pp. 20 — 24. gerentur, cervicosi ut domarentur."
2 St. Medard appears at this — Dom Bouquet, tom. xiv. p. 445.
time to have become a sort of It was after a dispute with Gosvinus
general penitentiary under the that Abelard " pavefactus rhinoceros
superintendence of the vigorous ille quietius dies illas transigedat,
Gosvinus, who did not hesitate, patientior disciplinae, timidiorflagel-
when occasion offered, to break a lorum." — Ibid.

274 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c££."i
and his troubles pursued him like his shadow. He fled away
by night from St. Denis into the lands of Count Theobald, the
old friend of Bernard. His persecutor, the Abbot Adam, pre^
sently died, and the liberal and statesmanlike Suger, who suc
ceeded him, gave Abelard free permission to seek any refuge
he liked, provided he did not become the subject of any other
monastery. Abelard was now past forty. He had tried many modes of
life, and none had succeeded with him. In utter disgust and
abhorrence of men and their ways, he plunged into the deepest
solitude, and became a hermit on the banks of the Ardusson,
not far from Troyes. He built an oratory of reeds and stubble.
But men like Abelard can no more live without society than a
flame without oxygen gas. His eager admirers soon knew of
his retreat, soon sought for him, and found him ; and we are
nowhere told that he sent them empty away. Before long he
had again peopled the wilderness. They rebuilt his church
for him, which he dedicated to the Paraclete. This also nearly
involved him in fresh disaster. It was regarded as a dangerous
innovation to dedicate a church to one Person of the Trinity,
except that Person was Christ. Custom had ruled that to the
entire Trinity or to the Son alone could a dedication be made.
He was thus again the centre of admiration and animosity.
Gloom and distrust settled on his mind. Like Rousseau,
whom he resembled in many ways, he fancied he was perse
cuted by men who scarcely knew of his existence. He was
quite convinced at this period that Bernard was a strenuous
enemy of his, which is not far short of impossible. He at last
meditated a flight from Christian countries altogether, and
taking up his abode with the infidels. He would pay them
tribute, he thought, and obtain peace and quietness among the
enemies of Christ. He says he expected to meet with good
treatment from them, as they would regard him, by reason of
the charge of heresy, as offering probable hopes of conversion

979
a.b. 1125] HE BECOMES ABBOT OF ST. GILDAS. 2y£
to their faith. These reflections show that he must have carried
this thought almost to the verge of a determination.1
In this condition of irritation and anxiety he passes some
years in the flat, dreary country of Champagne. At last a
deliverance seemed to be brought to him. On the bleak and
savage coasts of Brittany, on a promontory to the south of
Vannes, there was a monastery called St Gildas de Rhuys.
The shore is covered with large masses of pointed granite
rocks ; the surrounding country is full of sombre and mar
vellous monuments of Druidical architecture or worship. To
be the abbot of this lonely convent Abelard was now invited.
He accepted the offer, and at once undertook his new charge.
Painful, even insupportable, must have been his life near
Troyes, to cause him to look on such a change as a happy
one. Amid a semi-barbarous race, whose language was unin
telligible to him, without friends, without sympathy, the care
worn Abelard assumed the command of a poor monastery of
dissolute, unscrupulous monks. He could hear the melancholy
plash of the Atlantic waves; the cold ocean stretched out
beyond, and seemed to say that he could fly no more, that
here he must rest and suffer.2 Night and day he was tor
mented by the wickedness of his new subjects. They were
shameless. They kept concubines in the abbey, and lived
surrounded by their illegitimate offspring. He found the lands
of the monastery were completely in the power of a neighbour
ing petty tyrant, and the monks expected their abbot to furnish
1 "Saepe autem (Deus scit) in was bom not many miles distant]. . .
tantam lapsus sum desperationem, ut sic ego ab uno periculo in aliud sci-
Christianorum finibus excessis, ad enter me contuli ibique ad horrisoni
gentes transire disponerem, atque undas oceani cum fugam mihi ulte-
ibi quiete sub quacunque tributi rius terrae postremitas non praeberet,
pactione inter inimicos Christi Chris- saepe in orationibus meis illud revol-
tiane vivere." — Hist. Calam. p. 33. vebam 'A finibus terrae adte clamavi
2 "Terra quippe barbara, et dum anxiaretur cor meum.'" — Hist.
terrae lingua mihi incognita erat [a Calam. p. 34.
strange assertion, considering he
T 2

?j6 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNaRI>. [££""!
them with the means for their self-indulgence. This constant
falling from one misery to a greater plunged him into a gloom
which cannot be described. His whole life seemed a failure,
and he felt that he had lived in vain.
During all this period of persecution and misfortune, the
convent; gates of Argenteuil have shut from our view the wife
and nun, Heloise. The agony and dreary misery undergone
by that fiery nature are not recorded for us. Stem, stoical
fortitude, rather than Christian resignation, supported the wife
of Abelard. The undaunted woman who, when beset by re
monstrating friends on taking the veil, marched towards the
altar, chanting the words of the Roman matron, —
" O maxime conjux !
O thalamis indigne meis ! Hoc juris habebat
In tantum Fortuna caput ? Cur impia nupsi
Si miserum factura fui ? Nunc accipe poenas
Sed quas sponte luam,"1 —
was far removed from the pale, bloodless abnegation of per
sonality which then was expected from "a sister in Christ."
Whether she ever approached that ideal will be seen in the
sequel. Meanwhile she was at this moment a houseless wan
derer, having been, with the other nuns, driven out of her
retreat at Argenteuil by the enterprising Suger, who had dis
covered that by virtue of old charters the convent belonged to
the Abbey of St. Denis.2 Heloise had risen to the dignity of
prioress ; so that it is probable that her intellectual and adminis-
1 LUCAN, Phars. b. viii. v. 94. an investigation. The justice of his
2 When Suger was a young cause, he says, and the enormity of
novice at St. Denis, he employed his the nuns' lives, caused the Pope to
leisure in examining the old charters decide the matter in his favour :
by which the monastery held its " Tam pro nostra justitia, quam pro
lands. One which he discovered enormitate monacharum ibidem male
clearly established the right of St viventium, eumdem nobis locum cum
Denis to the convent of Argenteuil. appendiciis suis, ut reformaretur ibi
When he became abbot, and a man religionis ordo, restituit." — SuGE-
of importance, he determined to try rius, De rebus in admin, sua gcstis,
and make good his claims. He sent cap. 3.
his proofs to Rome, and begged for

A.D.im] HELOISE RETIRES TO THE PARACLETE. ill
' trative powers had outweighed her deficiency of religious
fervour. It must have taken some time before the remote
Abelard in his lonely exile could hear of the misfortune. When
he did, he appears to have acted with a decision not usual
with him. It at once occurred to him that the deserted Para
clete could now be inhabited again. He hastened into Cham
pagne. He invited his wife, and those of her nuns who still
followed her, to occupy his old hermitage. He made a formal
and legal concession to them of the oratory and all that
thereto pertained. He prevailed on Atto, Bishop of Troyes,
to confirm the donation. Misfortune had rendered him
cautious and suspicious. To entirely preclude any subsequent
cavil or machination of his enemies,i he determined to get a
papal letter to corroborate his deed.i It will be remembered
that Innocent II. made a lengthened sojourn in the north of
France at the commencement of his pontificate. The most
illustrious lords, both spiritual and temporal, gathered around
him in his progress. At Morigni, a Benedictine monastery
near Etampes, he stayed two days. There, surrounded by car
dinals and bishops, he consecrated the high altar of the abbey
church. In that company was Abelard. Shortly afterwards,
the Pope published a bull which threatened excommunication
against all who molested in any way " his dear daughters in
Christ, Heloise the Prioress, and the other sisters in the Oratory
of the Holy Trinity [i.e. the Paraclete], in the district of Troyes."1
At the period when Innocent was at Morigni Bernard never
left his side : therefore he and Abelard must have met here,
probably for the first time. Abelard had been convinced that
part of his misfortunes was due to the enmity of the Abbot of
Clairvaux. Thus, besides the natural repulsion of two such
antipathetic minds, the notion of wrong would be present in
one of them, to add to the discord. It is quite presumable,
i Innocent's letter to Heloise is 28th, 1131. — Gall. Christ, xii.; Ln-
dated from Auxerre, November strumenta, p. 259.

2?£ LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [S2,1/,1
also, that the little Bernard knew of Abelard was to his dis
advantage. Such a loud-sounding career as his had been must
have penetrated even a Cistercian seclusion ; and Bernard was
now in the world. His old friend and adviser, William of
Champeaux, ten years ago, in some of those mutual visits at
Chalons or Clairvaux, would not be indisposed, perhaps, to
remember some disparaging anecdotes of his former vanquisher.
This meeting, therefore, was not, in all likelihood, a pleasant one.
We know of another instance in which their minds met,
even if they did not meet in the flesh. It arose in the fol
lowing manner. The Paraclete was not very distant from
Clairvaux ; and on one occasion Bernard presented himself
at Heloise's convent. He was received with ail the homage
the nuns could show to so distinguished a guest. He preached
to them, and attended the office of vespers in their chapel.
He was not a little astonished to observe, that in the Lord's
Prayer a change was introduced, at variance with the custom
of the Latin churches. They followed the version of St.
Matthew throughout ; instead of taking from St. Luke the
simple expression of " daily bread," they retained the text of
the first Evangelist, and said " super-substantial bread." Ber
nard remarked to Heloise that the innovation appeared to
him unnecessary. She gave as her authority the Abbot of
St. Gildas. It does not appear that Bernard took any
further steps in the matter; he probably felt he had done
enough, and that it was no business of his to supervise
Heloise's devotions. Not so thought Abelard, when he heard
of the remark made. He at once wrote a long argumenta
tive letter to Bernard to maintain his point. He seems to
exult in the opportunity of breaking a lance with him. This
retiring, subtle enemy, as he supposes him, has at last laid
himself open to a few dexterous thrusts. He begins with
such excessive civility as to suggest the thought of irony
far more than genuine good-will. He says that Heloise and

. a. d. 1133] ABELARD'S LETTER TO BERNARD. 279
her nuns had long wished to see Bernard, and that now
he had visited them they felt comforted by his exhortations,
not as if he were a man, but an angel. He then proceeds
to show, with considerable force, why St. Matthew should
be followed exclusively, in preference to an isolated deference
to Luke. As he goes on he waxes warmer; he grows sar
castic. At last, like an old hunter hearing the hounds again,
the disputant in him gets the mastery, and he breaks away
into fierce invective. He forgets he is an abbot, writing to
an abbot ; he sees only an adversary, whom he is determined
to knock down. After quoting St. Gregory, to show that he
was right from authority as well as from reason, and claim
ing a certain licence of selection among the customs of the
Christian churches, he says : —
" You Cistercians, indeed, are so vehement in your adher
ence to such a course, that you keep it and defend it against
the practice of all the churches. You, forsooth, novel up
starts, and not a little proud of your novelty, have decided on
celebrating the Holy Office in a way opposed to the ancient,
universal, and long-continued custom whether of monks or
clerks. And yet you do not expect to be blamed if this
novelty or singularity of yours differs from antiquity, so long
as you consider it consonant with reason and the tenor of the
Rule ; neither do you care for the wonder and objections of
others, provided you follow what you think are your reasons.1
1 " Vos quippe quasi noviter, quantacunque admiratione super hoc
exorti, ac de novitate plurimum gau- alii moveantur, ac murmurent dum-
dentes, praeter consuetudinem om- modo yestrae, quam putatis, rationi
nemtamclericorumtammonachorum pareatis." — Ab. Op., ed. Cousin,
longe ante habitam, et nunc quoque tom. i. p. 622. I have quoted this
permanentem, novis quibusdam de- passage as M. Cousin, following all
cretis aliter apud vos divinum offi- the editions, prints it. But I thmk
cium instituistis agi ; nee tamen there can be little doubt that a
inde vos accusandoscensetis. Si haec change of punctuation is required.
vestra novitas aut singularitas ab I have translated as if it ran, JNec
antiquitate recedat aliorum, quam tamen inde vos accusandos censetis,
rationi plurimum et tenori regulae si haec vestra novitas, &c.
creditis concordare : nee cura tis

28o LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c£J/n
By your leave, I will mention one or two points : you have
rejected the common hymns, and introduced others unheard
of by us, unknown to the churches, and inferior also. Thus,
throughout the year, at the vigils, whether of holidays or
festivals, you are contented with one and the same hymn,
whereas the Church, according to the diversity of festivals
and holidays, uses different hymns and psalms, and whatever
else pertains to these, as common sense dictates. Hence
those who hear you, whether at Christmas, Easter, or Pente
cost, singing always the same hymn, — i.e. ' Aeterne rerum con-
ditor,' — are filled with the utmost astonishment, and moved less
to admiration than derision. Those prayers which follow the
supplication and the Lord's Prayer in every church, and the
sitffragia sanctorum, you have entirely prohibited, as if the
world were not in need of your prayers, nor you of the inter
cession of the saints."
Such a string of sarcasms at the end of an epistle could
leave Bernard in little doubt as to the worth of the civilities at
the commencement.
In the meantime matters were hastening to a crisis at St.
Gildas. Abelard strove in vain to bring the refractory monks
to a sense of duty, or even decency. They neither loved nor
feared him. At last they came to a determination of getting
rid of him by any means, however infamous. They tried to
poison him in his food and drink ; and when he showed caution
and suspicion, they did not hesitate to pollute the cup of the
Holy Eucharist by a similar attempt. They then corrupted
his servant to assist them in their plans. They seized
the opportunity of a visit he paid to his brother to make
another attempt at poisoning. By mere accident Abelard
refused the treacherous dish, but a monk who attended him
ate of it and died,' while the base hireling revealed his con
scious guilt by immediate flight. To these dangers within was
added constant peril from the maraudeis without. And as if

A.D.ii3„] ABELARD LEAVES ST. GILD AS. sSl
Fortune knew no limit to her enmity, he, about this time, had
a severe fall from his horse, and broke his windpipe, he says,
which caused him a long and debilitating illness. It cannot
be wondered at, for he was past fifty years of age.1
He again resolved to try the effect of a change. Under the
safeguard of a powerful chieftain of the country, he succeeded
in making good his escape, the animosity of the monks leading
him to fear a violent death at their hands. Whither he bent
his steps on leaving St. Gildas we are not informed, for that
extraordinary narrative, the " Historia Calamitatum," which
has up to this point furnished us with facts, terminates here.
Written in the form of a letter to a friend, it forms one of the
most curious of autobiographies. Not the least interesting
fact connected with it is, that it shortly afterwards fell into
the hands of Heloise. It is extremely probable that even
when he made arrangements for her occupation of the Para
clete Abelard did not come into personal relations with his
wife. They each travelled their respective roads of trial and
humiliation, and the smothered flame of their love had not
been fed by meeting or letter. Since that harsh and terrible
separation which had been caused by Fulbert's vengeance the
two seared hearts had dwelt apart. The wife's external lot
had indeed been less bitter than her husband's ; Heloise had
in a measure prospered at the Paraclete. Abelard considered
that she and her nuns had thriven more during one year " in
worldly goods" than he should have done in a hundred. But
"worldly goods" can little soothe a bleeding heart like that of
Heloise ; they will rather give it warmth to bleed more freely.
And now the sharpest pain a noble mind can know came upon
her, While she had been comparatively peaceful and pro
tected, he, she learns, has still been buffeted amid storms and
i " Dum autem in his laborarem Domini vehementer collisit, colli
periculis, forte me die quadam, de videlicet mei canalem confringens."
nostra lapsum equitatura, manus — Hist. Cal.

282 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. R^V"
perils. The long, mournful recital of their common misfor
tunes, and of those which he had endured alone, was by some
chance thrown in her way. How the tomb of the past was
re-opened for her as she read, how the demure abbess became
again the impassioned mistress, how the last fifteen years of
sorrow and solitude dropped away like a vesture, and the days
when Abelard sang to her and wooed her rushed over her
again, may be conjectured by the letter which she wrote to
him immediately after : —
" To her lord, nay, her father ; to her husband, nay, her
brother ; from his handmaid, nay, daughter ; from his wife>
nay, sister; to Abelard from Heloise."
She begins very quietly to say how his narrative, full of gall
and wormwood, had touched her. No one, she thinks, could
read it with dry eyes. She implores him in the name of Christ
to inform herself and her nuns, who are Christ's handmaids
and his, of his good or evil fortune, in order that " we who
alone remain to thee may be partakers of thy joy or grief."
He has discharged his duty to his friend by writing to him ;
he owes a greater debt to them who are not to be called
friends, but frieiidliest, not companions, but daughters, or any
other Sweeter and holier name that can be thought of. " For,"
she continues, in words that seem saturated with love and
fondness, " of *this very place, after God, thou art the sole
founder ; the sole constructor of this oratory ; this congrega
tion is owing solely to thee. Thou hast built nothing on
another man's foundation ; all that is here is of thy creation.
This solitude, abandoned to wild beasts or robbers, had not a
trace of house or human habitation. In a den of thieves, in a
beast's lair, where God was not wont to be even named, thou
hast erected a holy tabernacle, and dedicated a temple to the
Holy Spirit. For this work thou hast had no help from kings
or princes, in order that all that was done might be ascribed •
to thee. Thy clerks or scholars, coming hither in rival crowds

A.D.11M] HELOISE'S LETTER TQ ABELARD. 283
to thy teaching, supplied all necessities. Thine, therefore,
truly thine, is this young plantation." 1
She then reproaches him for not writing to her or visiting
her. " Thou knowest, dearest one, all know, how much I
lost in thee. But the greater the grief, the more need of con
solation, not from another, but from thyself; so that all my
sorrow and all my joy may be alike owing to thee. Thou
alone canst make me sad ; thou alone canst cheer ; thou alone
canst console*. Thou owest me this, who have so obeyed all
thy words that I would not offend thee in anything, that at thy
command I could lose my life. At thy order I became a nun,
to show thee thou wert the sole possessor of my body as of
my mind. Never — God knoweth — did I desire aught in thee
but thyself; thee, not what was thine, I loved ; I did not hope
for the bonds of wedlock or marriage dower ; not my wishes
or pleasures, but thine, did I study to fulfil ; and if the name
of wife appears holier and more valid, the title of mistress has
ever sounded sweeter to my ears. I call God to witness that
if Augustus, the ruler of the world, had offered to honour me
with marriage, and to endow me with the universe for ever as
a gift, it were far more precious and noble in my sight to be
called thy harlot than his empress."2
She again recurs to his neglect as a proof that he had
never truly loved her ; that lust, not love, had bound him to
her; "therefore, what he desired having ceased, his kindness
had vanished with it." " This is not so much my opinion,
dearest one, as the common thought of all. Would that I
alone believed thus, and that thy love found others to vindicate
it, by whom my grief could be allayed ! Would I could forge
excuses to myself, which by relieving thee would cover my own
vileness ! Listen to what I ask ; it is little and easy to thee.
1 Ab. Op. Epist. ii. p. 41. imperatrix." — Ab. Op. Epist. ii.
2 " Charius mihi etidignius vide- p. 45.
retur tua dici meretrix quam illius

284 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [gE^ii
Seeing that I am robbed of thy presence, present to me ' by
words — in which thou art rich — the sweetness of thy image.
I believe I have deserved much of thee, I who have fulfilled
all for thee, and now especially have persevered in obedience.
Not religious devotion, but thy behest, subjected my tender
youth to the asperity of monastic life. How vain is my toil
if I earn nothing from thee. As if mindful of Lot's wife,
thou arrayedst me in a nun's clothes and devotedst me to
God before thou tookest vows thyself. For my mind was
not mine but thine, and now most of all it is with thee or it
is nowhere. Now, in the name of Him to whom thou hast
offered thyself, restore to me in some measure thy presence,
by writing to me some consolation, that I may be refreshed
and be more ready for my religious duties. When in days
gone by thou soughtest me for worldly pleasures, thy letters
were frequent, and, through many a verse of thine, Heloise's
name was in every mouth. The streets, the houses, echoed
of me. Thou provokedst me to lust; wilt thou not urge me
to God? Weigh, I beg, what thou owest me; give ear to
what I ask. With an abrupt ending I close a long letter.
Farewell, only one."
Abelard answers in the language of a man to whom all here
below has become cold and colourless. He says he has not
written, because he did not think she could need it. Divine
grace had ministered all things necessary unto her; she who
could teach and strengthen others, was hardly in want of
exhortation and instruction from him. Yet quite free from
that false humility which only waits to be importuned enough,
he says if she will tell him in what she requires his advice, he
will write back as the Lord shall direct him. " But thanks be
to God, who, filling your hearts with solicitude for my perils,
has made you sharers of my affliction, so that by the help of
your prayers the Divine pity may protect me, and quickly crush
1 Ab. Op. Epist. iii. p. 49.

a.d.1135] HELOISE'S SECOND LETTER. 285
Satan under our feet. For this reason, my sister, once dear to
me in the world, now dearest in Christ, I have sent thee the
Psalter which thou askedst of me. Mayest thou over it offer up
a perpetual sacrifice of prayer to God for my great and numerous
, sins and frequent dangers." After establishing at some length
the efficacy of the prayers of holy women, his sad heart re
turns to his approaching end. " If the Lord should deliver me
into the hands of my enemies, — that is, if prevailing they should
slay me, — or if by any other mischance when far from you I
should enter the way of all flesh, I beseech you to convey my
body, wherever it may lie buried or exposed, to your cemetery
for interment, where our daughters and sisters in Christ, seeing
my tomb, may be the oftener led to pour forth for me their
prayers unto the Lord. Ye are anxious about my bodily
dangers now ; be not less anxious for my soul's welfare then.
Show by your attention to the dead how great was your love to
the living, — that is, by the special and peculiar intercession of
your prayers. Farewell."1
To which Heloise replies: — "With no little wonder have
we received thy letter, in which thou addest to the desolation
of those whom thou oughtest to console, and tears which thou
shouldest dry thou makest to flow again. For which of us
could hear without weeping that which thou hast placed at the
end of thy epistle ? — ' If the Lord should give me over into the
hands of my enemies,' &c. O, dearly beloved ! how couldest
thou harbour such a thought? how couldest thou endure
to write it? May God never so far forget His handmaids
as to allow them to survive thee, never burden us with a
life which were more grievous than any death. Thou
askest, only one ! that whatever chance may terminate thy
life, absent from us, we would carry thy body to be buried in
our cemetery, in order that, ever mindful of thee, we may
give thee a larger measure of our prayers, But how dost
1 Ab. Op. Epist. iii. p. 49.

286 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [gS.™
thou think that thy memory can pass away from us ? Or how
could that time be fit for prayer when perturbation of mind will
leave nothing at rest ? when the soul will lose all sense of
reason, and the tongue all power of speech ? when the unsound
mind, rather angry than peaceful towards God, will rather
irritate Him with complaints than propitiate Him with prayer?
Tears, not prayers, will be alone left to us wretched ones,
and we shall need rather to hasten after thee than to bury
thee, and thus share thy tomb rather than place thee in it.
The mention of thy death is a sort of death to us. Spare us, I
beseech thee, spare thy only one, and use no longer words by
which, as by swords of death, thou piercest through our souls!"
Then follows a marvellous and untranslateable passage, in
which she reveals the " black and grained spots " of her
soul.1 She goes on : " They call me chaste who have not
discovered I am a hypocrite. They transfer purity of body
to the mind. I may have merit in the sight of men, I have
none before God. I am thought religious at a time when
hypocrisy is no small part of religion, when he is extolled
who does not offend the judgment of men. And, perchance, it
is in a measure laudable and well-pleasing to God, to give an
example of outward works, with whatever intention, to avoid
scandal to the Church, that the name of God be not blas
phemed among the heathen, and the profession of religion be
not despised by carnal men. But it is vain to eschew evil,
or to do good, if it be not done for the love of God. As for
me, I have ever feared offending thee rather than God ; thee
I strive to please rather than Him. My pretence deceived
, 1 Mr. Lewes approvingly quotes lard nor Heloise, indeed, had any
" Madame Guizot, ' ' who excellently scruple in their allusions on the score
indicates the distinction between his of decency. But that the husband
[i.e. Abelard's] sensual descriptions should be blamed in comparison with
and the chaster though more passion- his wife is what I cannot understand
ate language of Heloise. ' Elle rap- with Heloise's second and third
pelle mais ne detaille point. '"—Hist. letters before me. — See especially
of Philosophy, p. 297. Neither Abe- pp. 59—79 of Duchesne's edition.

a.d. use] CONVENTUAL RULES FOR HELOISE. 287
thee,, as it did many, for a long time ; my hypocrisy thou
tookest for religion. Rather fear for me than trust in me,
that I may have the help of thy solicitude. I would not
that thou shouldest exhort me to victory, to the battle, saying,
' Strength is made perfect in weakness,' and ' He is not crowned
except he strive lawfully.' I seek not the crown of victory ; it
is enough for me if I avoid destruction. In whatever corner
of heaven God may place me, it will suffice for me. To use
the words of St. Jerome, ' I acknowledge my weakness ; I will
not fight for the hope of victory, lest I at last lose victory
itself.' "
So felt and wrote this extraordinary woman. But she was
speaking a language which Abelard had forgotten. From his
measured and methodical replies she saw her ardour could not
be returned ; she strove to follow and imitate him in this as in
all else. She asked for an account of the origin of nuns and
convents ; she begged he would, write a rule for them, such as
would suit and be specially adapted to women. He complied
with the gentle request. The directions he gives are lengthy,
and by no means indulgent. After the whirlwind of passion
which has hitherto enveloped them, the transition is strange
to such quiet, matter-of-fact advice as the following : — " Let the
ornaments of the church be such as are necessary, not super
fluous ; neat rather than costly. It should contain nothing made
of gold or silver, except one silver chalice, or more if they be
required. Let no ornament be of silk, except the stoles or
phanons. Let there be no graven images ; only a wooden
cross may be placed over the altar, on which, if it be wished
that an image of the Saviour be painted, it is not forbidden.
But the altar may know no other images. Let the convent be
content with two bells. A vase of holy water should be placed
at the entrance of the church outside, that the sisters, entering
of a morning or going out after compline, may be sanctified by
it. None of the nuns may be absent at the canonical hours,

288 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [g£?."i
but as soon as the bell is rung, everything else being laid aside,
let them hasten to the Holy Office, yet all in a modest gait
withal. On entering the church, let them say who can : ' I will
go into Thy house, I will worship at Thy holy temple.' Let no
thing be read or sung, except it be taken from authentic Scrip
ture, especially from the Old and New Testaments. In the
middle of the night they must rise, according to the prophetic
institution, to the nightly vigils ; wherefore they should go to
bed so early that weak nature may be able to bear these
vigils  On leaving the dormitory, they must wash ; and
having taken their books, let them sit in the cloister reading or
singing until the bell is rung for prime. After prime, let them
go to the chapter, and all then sitting down, the martyrology is
to be read, the month being given out beforehand. Afterwards,
there should either be a sermon to edify, or else a portion of
the Rule read or explained. Then if aught needs correction or
arrangement, it should be done."1
Their love dies, or rather is transfigured, at last in a prayer.
A white, heavenly light falls on their faces, vanquishing the red
flames of lust in which they once had moved. At the conclu
sion of a long and eloquent letter, in which Abelard exhorts
her to patience and resignation, he says : " I hasten to compose
and send to thee a prayer, which ye (the nuns) may repeat,
supplicating the Lord for me."
THE PRAYER OF HELOISE.
" O God, who from the first commencement of human
beings, by the formation of woman out of the man's side, hast
sanctioned in an especial way the sacrament of marriage ; who,
through Thy birth from the espoused Mary, and Thy beginning
of miracles, hast adorned it with immense honour, and who for
merly didst grant it to me as a remedy for my incontinence ;
i Ab. Op. 159.

a.d.iiso] PRAYER OF HELOISE. 289
despise not, I beseech Thee, the prayers of Thy handmaid,
prayers which for my own sins, and those of my beloved one,
in the sight of Thy majesty I humbly pour forth. Forgive, O
Most Clement ! forgive, O Clemency itself ! our sins, great as
they are ; and may the multitude of our offences experience
the immensity of Thy ineffable mercy. Punish the guilty now,
that Thou mayest spare them hereafter. Punish them for an
hour, that Thou mayest spare them for eternity. Lift up ovei
Thy servants the rod of correction, not the sword of wrath.
Afflict the body, that Thou mayest save the soul. Cleanse,
avenge not ; be gentle, rather than just ; a merciful Father,
rather than an austere Lord. Prove us, O Lord, and try us, as
the prophet asked for himself (Ps. xxvi. 2). As if he said;
' Examine the strength there is, and suit the burden of tempta
tion to it.' Even as the blessed Paul promises to Thy faithful
people, saying : ' God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be
tempted above that ye are able, but will, with the temptation,
also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it'
Thou hast joined us, O Lord, and hast set us apart when it
pleased Thee, and as it pleased Thee. Now, O Lord, that
which Thou hast begun in mercy, do Thou in mercy perfect,
and those whom Thou hast severed in the world join for ever
unto Thyself in heaven. O Lord, our hope, our portion, our
expectation, our consolation, who art blessed for ever. Amen.
Farewell in Christ, thou spouse of Christ ; in Christ fare
well, in Christ live ! Amen."

2 90 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cB™Jm

CHAPTER III.
A.D. 1 139,
THEOLOGY OF ABELARD — HIS VIEWS ON THE TRINITY.
A full account of Abelard's philosophy, and his position as
a thinker in the history of the human mind, would require
more space than can be spared in a " life of St. Bernard."
All that is attempted in this chapter is, by a few extracts from
his " illustrious work," as he calls it, his Introductio ad Theolo-
giam,1 to give some notion of the views and method which
excited against him the powerful ones of his day, and caused
the greater part of his life to be passed in sorrow and
calamity. It was this Introductio which led to his condemnation at the
Council of Soissons. It was the same work that alarmed Wil
liam of St. Thierry, who, by quotations from it, induced Bernard
to declare himself the opponent of Abelard. This work shared
in the anathemas pronounced against his writings at Sens. It
was in reference to it that he himself said, that the outrage he
had endured from Fulbert did not compare, for the pain it
caused him, with the public burning of his book. It is thus
evident that both Abelard and his contemporaries agreed in
considering it one of the most important of his productions,
and we shall probably not greatly err if we follow them in this
respect, and regard it as a representative specimen of his
religious philosophy, or rather, perhaps, his philosophy of
1 Abelardi Opera, p. 1046. — Ed. Duchesne, Paris, 1616.

A.D.1139] INTRODUCTIO AD THEOLOGIAM. 291
religion. He thus speaks in anticipatory defence of his
method as applied to the doctrine of the Trinity : —
" But faith in the Holy Trinity we hold to be the foundation,',
so to speak, of every good, so that the origin of all excellence
is derived from the very knowledge of God's nature. Whoever,
therefore, shall succeed in sapping this foundation, leaveth
nothing profitable to us in that superstructure which is to be
erected upon it. For which reason we have taken care to
raise against so great a danger a buckler, both of authority
and argument, in firm reliance upon Him who comforteth His
people, saying, 'When ye stand before kings and rulers, take no
thought,' &c. (Matt. x. 12). In whose aid, verily, the stripling
David trusting, slew with his own sword the boastful giant Go
liath. Therefore we also turn the sword of human reasoning,
with which both philosophers and heretics assail us, against
themselves ; and with the help of God will demolish both their
might and the force of their arguments, so that they may be
the less arrogant in attacking the simplicity of believers, when
they have once been confuted on such points as these (on
which they consider their objections beyond refutation), as e.g.
touching the diversity of persons in one wholly indivisible and
purely Divine substance, and concerning the generation of the
Word, or the procession of the Holy Spirit. Indeed we do
not even ourselves undertake to teach the very truth of all
this, it being a task to which we do not believe either ourselves
or any other man to be adequate ; yet can we at any rate
advance that which is probable, agreeable to human reason,
and not opposed to religious belief, against those who vaunt
themselves in opposing every creed by human rationalism,
who pay no regard to any but such mundane arguments as
they are acquainted with, and find many supporters from the
fact that the majority of mankind are animal, but very few
spiritual. For us, however, it is sufficient to overthrow the
strength of our most powerful adversaries by any means what-
u 2

2 92 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [S.ni
ever, especially as we are unable to do so in any other way
than by bringing against them arguments with which their own
arts have rendered them familiar. For far from us be the
belief that God, who Himself sometimes useth evil for a good
end, hath not ordained all arts, which indeed are His gifts, for
His own glorification, notwithstanding their evil application by
the perverse."
In opposition to the narrow bigotry which denounced all
knowledge not connected with religion, he says : —
" Perhaps, however, you will say that the reading not only
of the poets, but even of such works as those which relate to
the liberal arts, should be forbidden to Christians, inasmuch as
the holy Jerome, in his epistle to Eustochius, declares that he
was severely chastened and scourged by the Lord for reading
the books of the philosophers. But so, forsooth, it is not right
that a Christian should even study grammar, without whose
lessons neither the pages of Holy Writ, nor any other writing,
are intelligible ; or rhetoric, which marks the elegancies of
every kind of oratory with which Holy Scripture everywhere
abounds, insomuch that its beauties cannot be clearly discerned
without they are duly pointed out. Why therefore, ' you will
ask, was the above-named teacher so grievously chastised for
perusing the works of Cicero, that he was compelled, under
declaration of an oath, to abstain entirely from the reading of any
secular books whatsoever ? Because, verily, he was aiming not
at any improvement, but was merely gratifying himself with
the writer's eloquence, to the neglect of his study of the Holy
Scripture ; being, as he himself said, revolted at its unculti
vated style. But I am of opinion that no scientific reading is
improper for any religious person, unless by this an obstacle
be presented to his improvement in graver matters ; as we
know is the case with regard to other literature, where, for
instance, trifling points are either discontinued, or even
altogether passed over, for those which are of more importance.

a. d. nag] INTRODUCTIO AD THEOLOGIAM. 293
Provided, then, that the teaching be not erroneous, the lan
guage not impure, and there is some advantage in scientific
knowledge, who deserves blame for speaking of or teaching
such things, unless it be for the reason given above, — namely,
for the neglect or contempt of some higher good? For no one
can call any science evil, even though it be itself concerning
evil, which an upright man requires ; not indeed that he may
work evil, but that he may be on his guard against evil pre
pared for himself ; which, according to Boethius, he cannot
escape unless he be forewarned. Thus the mere knowledge
of the existence of falsehood and adultery is not a crime, but
the committal of the acts themselves is ; for the knowledge
of such things is commendable, but their practice most base ;
and guilt consists not in the knowledge of a sin, but in its
commission. But if any knowledge were sinful, then were it
sinful to know certain things. So then God, who knoweth
all things, could not be held guiltless of sin. For in Him
alone is the fulness of all knowledge, whose gift all knowledge
is. For knowledge is the comprehension of everything that
exists ; and in these He clearly discerns the truth, to whom
those things which do not exist are revealed, even as though
they were actually present. Hence, in the enumeration of the
gifts of the Spirit, He is styled 'the Spirit of knowledge'
[Isa. xi. 2]. But as the very knowledge of evil is a good in so
far as it is necessary for the avoidance of evil, so it is plain
that the power of being evil is a good, as a test of merit. For,
if we were unable to commit sin, our merit in not sinning
would be none ; and to him who doth not enjoy free will no
reward can be due for the performance of acts from which he
cannot escape. But on the contrary, as saith the prophet, 'Who
might offend, and hath not offended ; or done evil, and
hath not done it ; his goods shall be established ' [Eccl.
xxxi. 10, n]. Hence, therefore, it is clear that no knowledge
or power is evil, however evilly it may be employed, since it is

294 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. g™!l[
God who bestows all knowledge and ordains all power. He
it was who, speaking of the power of the unjust Pilate against
Himself, said, ' Thou couldest have no power at all against
Me, except it were given thee from above.'
" True science, therefore, we approve, but are opposed to
those who abuse it by their fallacies ; for they, as Tully bears
witness, err in no slight degree who blame science on account
of the wickedness of mankind. Thus, in his Rhetoric, when
he is treating of the disparagement of arguments, he says,
amongst other things, ' No part of an argument will be suited
to that purpose for which it is intended, if fault be found on
account of human wickedness, as if any one should object to
learning in the abstract, on account of the vices of one learned
man.' But I suppose that none who are well versed in Holy
Scripture are ignorant that spiritual men have progressed' in
sacred learning more from the real study of science than from
the merits of religion. Thus Paul, although his merits as an.
apostle do not appear superior to those of Peter, nor those of
Augustine as a confessor to those of Martin, yet each of these
exhibited greater graces in his teaching, after his conversion, in
proportion as he possessed a more 'extensive knowledge of
literature before it. Whence I conclude that the study of
secular literature also is specially recommended by the Divine
direction, not only on account of its inherent uses, but because
it would seem unlike one of His gifts if He should employ it
so as to serve no useful end. We, however, do not forget the
saying of the Apostle, that 'knowledge puffeth up,' i.e. it
begets arrogance. But this very circumstance proves that it is
a good, inasmuch as it draws him who is guilty of arrogance to
his own destruction ; for as there are some good things which
never issue forth but from evil, so again there are some evils
which trace their origin to a good source. Thus repentance, or
reparation and amendment, albeit they are good in themselves
yet are they so intimately associated with some evil committed

A.D.H139] INTRODUCTIO AD THEOLOGIAM. 295
that they must of necessity be produced by it. Contrariwise,
envy and arrogance, exceeding evil though they be, yet owe
their existence to good. No one, for instance, .suffers from
his envy of another unless it be for his- goods,' and no one
becomes puffed up with pride except for those goods which he
is conscious of possessing. Whence, also, that Lucifer who is
' the son of the morning' was so much the more given to pride
in proportion as he excelled the other angelic spirits in, the
brightness of his wisdom or knowledge. And yet it is not
correct to designate that wisdom or knowledge concerning the
nature of things which he received from God as evil; but he
made an evil use of it through his pride. So, too, when any
one is conceited on account of his philosophy or learning, we
should not lay the fault upon the science itself, because of the
vice which is united to it, but we should weigh each thing
according to its own merit, lest, mayhap, by our want of dis
cernment we should become liable to that curse pronounced
by the prophet, ' Woe unto them that call evil good, and good
evil;, that put darkness for light, and light for darkness' [Isa.
v. 20].
" Let thus much suffice to be said against those who, when
we bring forward facts or probabilities founded upon philo
sophical teachings, so as the more clearly to demonstrate what
we wish to prove, endeavour to find consolation for their own
ignorance by raising an outcry against us; as if the very
nature of things formed by God seemed opposed to holy faith
and divine reasoning : whereas, in truth, the greatest knowledge
of that nature, as it is derived from God, the philosophers
themselves have obtained from Him. As when holy teachers
trace mysteries and allegories to the very natures of animals,
or something else, they enunciate them in almost the very words
of the philosophers ; saying, indeed, that this is the nature of
such and such a thing, using precisely the same terms as the
writers upon physical science have done. But God is so far

296 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [o2S!iii
pleased with this act, that He frequently prefers to be repre
sented by the natural attributes of things which He has Him
self created, to being expressed by our words, which we have
ourselves moulded or invented ; so that He takes a greater
pleasure in the actual analogy between things, than He does in
the fitness of our language ; and Scripture, for the adornment
of its style, chooses words taken from the very nature of things
according to some analogy, in preference to restricting itself to
the mere forms of ordinary speech. Let no one, therefore,
presume to blame me, if, in order to demonstate my propo
sitions, I shall employ either my own images or those of the
philosophers, with the intent of displaying more readily those
objects which I have in view."
The following arguments, prodigious in their originality in
Abelard's age, are not entirely wanting in appositeness even in
the present : —
"How far, therefore, are they worthy of attention who
assert that faith is not to be built up or defended by reasoning ?
especially when holy men themselves, in reasoning concerning
matters of faith, are accustomed to confute or check their
opponents by many arguments founded upon example or
analogy. For if, in persuading a person to accept anything as
an article of belief, there is to be no discussion or reasoning as
to whether it ought to be believed upon such and such an
account or not, what remains but that we should give out
assent to those who teach falsehood equally with those who
teach truth, and put forward that defence of the heretic Faustus
by which he endeavours to protect himself from the attacks of
the faithful, and to confute them by the words of the prophet
and their own expressed opinion ? Otherwise, as we have also
noticed above, the faith of any people, however false, cannot
be refuted, although it may have arrived at such a pitch of
blindness as to confess some idol or another to be the creator
both of heaven and earth. But any one who accepts this as a

ad. 1135 j .INTRODUCTIO AD THEOLOGIAM. 297
truth, immediately we begin to press him upon this point (as
the martyrs were wont to do in old times when they reproved
the heathen for their idolatry), will be able to answer, that
even according to our own admission we cannot reason upon
matters of faith, and that, therefore, we have no right to attack
others upon a matter with regard to which we think that we
ought to be ourselves unassailed."
Not less noticeable is the following : —
" Now very many persons, on the other hand, seek to con
sole themselves for their ignorance, when they are endeavouring
to inculcate those points of faith which they are not even able
to discuss in intelligible terms, by recommending that exceed
ing zealous faith which believes before it comprehends what is
said, before it can perceive what the matter in hand really is,
and whether it should be acknowledged as worthy of acqui
escence, or discussed before it is received. But they assert
this chiefly in topics connected with the nature of the Deity,
and the divisibility of the Holy Trinity, which they declare can
never be thoroughly understood in this life ; but they say that
the very understanding of this is itself eternal life, according to
that word of truth which says, ' And this is life eternal, that
they might know Thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ,
whom Thou hast sent' (John xvii. 3). And again, 'I will
manifest Myself to him' (John xiv. 21). But, surely, to under
stand or believe is one thing; to know or make manifest
another. Faith, therefore, is defined as the evidence of things
not seen ; experience as the knowledge of existing things by
the presence of the very things themselves. Between these
two St. Gregory distinguishes in his Sixth Homily on the
GOspels, book ii., when he says : ' It is manifest, because faith
is the evidence of such things as cannot be seen ; ' for those
things which are seen are known, not believed. Also the word
' intellect ' is properly applied as concerning those things which
are invisible ; for there is a distinction between the natures of

298 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c£?ih
things intellectual and things visible. Whoever, therefore,
supposes that topics connected with the Trinity cannot be
understood even in this life, is lapsing into that false doctrine
of Montanus, the heretic, which Jerome condemns in the pre
face to his Commentaries upon Isaiah, where he says, ' Nor,
in truth, as Montanus dreams, did the prophets speak in an
ecstasy,' as men who did not understand what they were utter
ing, and as those who, when they learned from others, were
ignorant of what they themselves were saying ; but according
to the words of Solomon in the Proverbs : ' The wise man
understandeth what he speaketh, and in his lips he will carry
knowledge,' and ' they know what they say.' Again, ' How
wisely have the prophets likened those to brute beasts who
understand not that they utter !' Hence, also, this observation
of Origen, who in his exposition of these words of St. Paul,
' according to the revelation of the mystery which was kept
secret since the world began' (Rom. xvi. 25), remarks, 'But it
will be asked whether I say this was so kept secret that abso
lutely no one knew it, not even the prophets who foretold it ? '
To me, in truth, it appears highly ridiculous to assert that the
prophets so wrote about the Holy Sacraments that they did not
understand their own words, whereas Scripture says, ' the wise
man understandeth that which proceedeth out of his mouth,
and carrieth knowledge in his lips.' But if they had not underv
stood that which they uttered with their own mouths, then had
they not been wise men. Whence if it be folly to assert that
the prophets were not wise, it results that they must have
understood what they advanced."
The following passage contains the analogy to the Trinity
which he suggested, by which perhaps he incensed his
opponents more than by anything else he ever wrote : —
" But the means by which the philosophers will be able to
trace out and discover this distinction of persons in one Divine
essence, by analogy of some earthly substance and its inherent

a.d. use] INTRODUCTIO AD THEOLOGIAM. 299
qualities, will, I think, be easily exemplified by those things
which, as they say, consist of matter and form, or something
analogous to matter and form ; as, for the sake of illustration,
brass is a substance in which, when a man works and fashions
the likeness of a royal personage, he makes a royal seal, the
impression of which is taken upon wax for sealing letters when
ever there is occasion to do so. Now there is in such a seal
the brass, which is the matter of which it is made, and the
very figure of the royal personage, which is its form : and the
seal itself is said from these two things to consist of matter and
form, and by the conjunction of these two in itself it is com-
« pleted and made perfect. So, then, a seal is nothing more than
brass fashioned to such and such a form. Therefore, the brass
itself, which is the matter of the brazen seal, and the seal itself,
of which that brass is the matter, are essentially one and the
same thing ; yet the brass and the seal are so distinct in their
properties, that the property of the brass is one, the property of
the brazen seal another ; and though they are essentially the
same thing, yet the brazen seal is made of the brass, not the
brass of the brazen seal, and the brass is the matter of the
brazen seal, not the seal of the brass. Neither by any
possibility can brass be its own matter, although it be the
matter of the seal, from the very fact that it is brass ; for brass
is not made up of brass, as the seal is made of brass ; and
although that which is made up of the matter is made of the
matter itself, yet by no means is the matter made into the
material part of that seal, nor is the matter made into material
part But when the seal is once made from the brass, it is of
the nature of a seal (sigillabile), — that is, fit to be used for seal
ing, although it may not yet have been actually used for that
purpose. But when it happens that it is really employed for
impressing the wax, then immediately in the one substance of
the brass there are three distinct properties, — viz. the brass
itself, its fitness for sealing, and its act of sealing. Which

3-oo LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cS^'Si
qualities stand thus in relation one to the other, that that
which is capable of sealing — in other words, the seal — is made
of the brass ; and that which performs the act of sealing is
conjointly made out of the brass and that which is capable
of sealing, together. And so that which was at first made of
brass, at length arrives at this, that it is brass which is capable
of sealing ; then, afterwards, it is brass which is capable of seal
ing that it should be employed for the act of sealing. Since,
then, its essence is the same, whether as mere brass, as brass
which is capable of, or as brass which is employed for, the act
of sealing, which are three distinct properties, these three
properties are conjoined one with another in such a manner
that the seal derives its power of sealing both from the brass,
and from the brass which is capable of producing an im
pression. And if all these observations are applied in their
fitting proportions to the doctrine of the Divine Trinity, it
is easy for us, from the very arguments employed by the
philosophers, to confute those false philosophers who oppose
us. For just as the brazen seal is made of the brass, and in a
certain way is born of it, so the Son has His being from the
very substance of the Father, and is thus said to be born of
Him. For, as we proved in what we have said above, Divine
Power is set forth by the name of the Father, just as Divine
Wisdom is expressed by that of the Son. But Divine Wisdom
is, if I may so say, a certain power of God Himself, of such a
kind, as that by it He can guard Himself against all deceit and
falsity, and through it can distinguish so correctly, and dis
criminate so acutely, that it is impossible that He should be
mistaken or misled in anything."
The above extracts are sufficient for the purpose already
mentioned, — namely, of giving a sample of the views and
doctrines which Bernard felt it his duty to denounce and
oppose.

CHAPTER IV.
(a.d. i 140. aetat. 49.)
the council of sens — last days of abelard.
Such in brief outline had been the history and doctrines of
the man with whom Bernard was to be brought into conflict.
A shock between them was in the nature of things. They
looked at the shield from opposite sides. Reconciliation, or
attempts at it, however desirable, could only be superficial and
unsatisfactory. That efforts towards an understanding were
made by Bernard we are expressly told. After his Lenten
fasts and mortifications were over, he fulfilled his promise to
William of St. Thierry, and made himself better acquainted
with Abelard's " unwonted novelties in the faith." Whereupon
"he met him and admonished him secretly." Hopes were
entertained by Bernard's friends and followers that a pacific
settlement of the difficulties would take place.1 Abelard, they
said, was so won by Bernard's modest and rational behaviour,
that he promised a general correction of his erroneous views at
Bernard's discretion. This, in all probability, was rather what
they wished, than what they had reason to suppose did take
place. Abelard, who regarded Bernard as a mere sciolist in
philosophy, doubtless kept silence while the latter was urging
l .... " Secreta ilium admoni- arbitrium correcturum se promit-
tione conyenit. Cum quo etiam tam teret universa." — St. Bern. Op.
modeste tamque rationabiliter egit, vol. ii. col. 1 1 22.
ut ille quoque compunctus ad ipsius

302 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [g^.iv
what he considered irrefragable arguments, and this silence was
interpreted to mean submission. In any case, the conference
led to no good result ; possibly, by causing disappointment, it
exacerbated the opponents.
. The time, indeed, was one of growth and ferment, and every
[sign in the heavens proclaimed change and strife. Bernard
observed these portents before they struck the vulgar senses.
He well knew what Abelard, with his " human and philosophic
reasons," was about to lead to. His quick ear caught the
distant thunder-roll of free inquiry, and a horror of great dark
ness fell upon him. He well knew what a bolt that remote
but advancing cloud bore in its bosom for the Church and the
Faith. The stag does not fear the hound, the dove does not
dread the falcon, more intensely and instinctively, than the
dogmatist fears and dreads the free philosophical inquirer.
That at this period, in France, in Italy, and in Germany, a
bold spirit of inquiry was abroad, Bernard could not allow
himself to doubt. He had proofs in many parts of Europe of
what Abelard's doctrines would lead to, if they could not be
checked. In the south of France, ever since the beginning of the
twelfth century, a vigorous and encroaching heresy was propa
gated by Peter de Bruis, from whom his followers were called
Petrobrusians.1 Their doctrines went to the complete sub
version of the Church's authority, (i) They were strongly
opposed to infant baptism, saying that you could wash a
young child's skin, but you could not cleanse his mind at that
early age.2 (2) They objected to the building and using of
1 "Petri Venerabilis Epistola 2 "Otiosum igitur et vanum
sive Tractates adversus Petrobrusia- est, quando eo tempore homines aqua
nos Haereticos." Praefatio, col. 722. perfunditis, quo carnem quidem
— Ed. Migne. This highly inter- eorum a sordibus humano pro more
esting tract of Peter is the chief abluere, sed animam a peccatis
source of our knowledge concerning minime mundare potestis." — Petri
these curious heretics. Ven. Tract, col. 729.— Ed. Migne.

A.D. 1140
AfrrAT.

I1*] THE PETROBRUSIA.NS 303

churches, declaring that God could hear us whether we prayed
in a tavern or a church, in a market-place or in a temple,
before an altar or before a stall. (3) They maintained that
crosses, instead of being held in reverence, should be de
stroyed and cast away ; that the instrument by which Christ
had suffered such agonies ought not to be made an object of
veneration, but of execration. (4) They denied the Real
Presence in the Eucharist. (5) Prayers and masses for the
dead they utterly ridiculed, and said that God was insulted
by church singing. As He took pleasure only in holy affec
tions, shrill voices and musical strains could neither win nor
appease Him.1
These doctrines the Petrobrusians did not regard from a
purel) theoretical point of view, but were careful to reduce to
practice when occasion offered. In one instance recorded
they carried out their notions respecting crosses in a very
horrible manner. Having collected, on a certain Good Friday,
a vast number of them, they made a bonfire of the same ; and
not content with this insult to dominant opinions, they pro
ceeded to roast meat at their sacrilegious fire, ate of it them
selves, and gave it to the people whom they had invited to
witness their doings.2 With reference to the mass, they
openly said, " Be careful, O ye people, and believe not the
bishops and priests who lead you astray, for, as in many other
things, so also in the office of the altar they deceive you —
where they mendaciously pretend that they make Christ's
1 " Additis, irrideri Deum can- trae fidei tollere attentastis. Quod
ticis ecclesiasticis, quoniam qui solis tunc factum est, quando ad in-
sanctis affectibus delectatur, nee auditam Divinitatis contumeliam,
altis vocibus advocari, nee musicis magno de crucibus aggere instructo,
modulis potest mulceri." — Petri ignem immisistis, pyram fecistis,
Venerabilis Tractatus, col. 763. carnes coxistis, ipso passionis Domi-
2 ' ' Praevenistis scelestis operi- nicae die Paschalem Dominicam
bus celeritatem verborum, et pro- praecedente, invitatis publice ad
fundis in religionem odiis, quod vel talem esum populis, comedistis." —
cogitare scelus fuerat, insigne nos- Ibid. col. 771.

3C4 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [oS: '"
body, and give it to you for the salvation of your souls. They
lie plainly, for the body of Christ was made once by Christ
Himself, at the supper before the passion; and on that
occasion only was it given to the disciples. From that time
it has neither been made by, nor given to, any one."1 It is
not surprising that such teaching should have aroused the
utmost resentment among the clergy and the orthodox faithful ;
and after twenty years of impunity, Peter paid for his temerity
by being burnt at St. Gilles, in Provence.
Nevertheless hi? sect grew, and, under the leadership of one
Henry, a Cluniac monk, spread into the northern provinces
of France.2 The reception this sectary met with at the town
of Le Mans has been handed down, and is highly curious.
Both "matrons and lads" flocked to hear him, and declared
that they had never fallen in with such a man before, that he
cOuld bring even a heart of stone to repentance.3 When he
was about to enter the town on Ash Wednesday of the year
1116 — profanely imitating the Saviour, it was said — he sent
two of his disciples before him. These the people welcomed
as though they had been angels. Bishop Hildebert, either
through ignorance or approval of Henry's principles, received
him in a friendly manner, and, as he was on the point of
leaving for Rome himself, charged his archdeacons to grant
him free licence to enter the town and preach to the people
when he chose. Henry availed himself of the privilege with
such success, that not only the people, but even numbers of
the clergy, became his followers." i A strong feeling of hatred
1 Petri Venerabilis Tractatus, col. lapideum facile ad compunctionem
787. posset provocari." — Acta Episc.
2. For the history of Henry we Cenomannensium, apud Mabillonii
are forced to rely on his bitter Vetera Analecta, p. 315. Paris, 1723.
enemies — the writer of the Acta 4 . . . . " Plerique clericorum ex-
Episcoporum Cenomannensium (pub- caecati, plebeculae declamationibus
lished in Mabillon's Vetera Analecta) alimenta ministrabant, tribunal prae-
for the beginning of his career, and parantes, unde concionator ille turbas
St. Bernard for the latter part. alloqueretur obsequentium sibi popu-
3 .... " Cujus affatu cor etiam lorum." — Ibid. p. 316.

£'»;"$[ THE HENRICIANS. 305
was excited against the rest of the clergy who opposed him.
The people, not content with refusing all social intercourse
with them (they would not even buy of, nor sell anything to,
the priests), at last began to threaten their lives and property,
and would have stoned or gibbeted them, but for the protection
of the feudal lords of the neighbourhood.1
The clergy, thus driven forth, drew up a solemn remon
strance, which they caused to be sent to Henry. It was read
to him by a priest who bore the rude name of Willus Qui-non-
bibit-aquam, " William Who-drinks-no-water." William, who
appeared under an escort lent him by the Count, was enabled
to speak plainly to Henry, and gladly embraced the oppor
tunity. He said that the clergy had all been deceived by
him ; that he was a wolf in sheep's clothing ; that he had
given them the kiss of Judas ; and ended by declaring if he
should again presume to " emit poison from his execrable
gaping jaws," they would at once excommunicate him. Henry
took no notice of the threat, and daily extended his influence
with the people, insomuch that they appeared to have no
will but his, and were willing to lay down all they possessed
at his feet.2
1 " Qua haeresi plebs in clerum plius aurum, argentum, possessiones,
versa est in furorem, adeo quod sponsalia, cum uxore sumeret ; nee
famulis eorum minarentur cruciatus, illi dotem conferret ; sed nudus nu-
nec iis aliquid vendere, vel ab eis dam, debilis aegrotam, pauper du-
emere voluissent. . . . Praeterea non ceret egenam ; nee curaret sive caste
tantum aedes eorum obruere, et bona seu inceste connubium sortirentur."
dissipare, sed illos lapidare aut affi- It cannot surprise us that these sin-
gere patibulo decreverant, nisi prin- gular marriages did not tum out
ceps et optimates ejus, cognita illo- well. " Juvenes enim qui nequam
rum nequitia, ausibus suis vi potius ejus consilio uxoresacceperant, parvo
quam ratione. . . resisterent. "— Acta temporis' dilapso curriculo, aut fame
Episc. Cenomannensium, p. 316. aut stupfO compulsi mulierum ad
8 He had most decided views con- alias partes transvolabant. Yet
cerning the relations of the sexes, during all this period, " ex jussu
female chastity, etc  "Dogmatiza- tamen illius, plebis actio pendebat
bat novum dogma, quod feminae universa, et affectus. Tanta auri,
quae minus caste vixefant, coram tanta argenti affluentia, si vellet, re-
omnibus vestes suas cum crinibus dundaret, ut opes omnium solus
nudae comburerent ; nee quilibet am- videretur possidere. "—Ibid. X

306 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. £&£?. iv
In time, Bishop Hildebert returned from Rome; and, on
entering his own cathedral town, offered to bless his people.
To his infinite astonishment they received him with revilings,
saying, " We don't want you or your blessing. Bless the clay ;
sanctify the mud. We have a father, we have a priest, an
advocate, who excels you in authority, virtue, and knowledge.
Your priests are opposed to him ; they fear he will expose
their vices with his prophetic spirit. But they shall quickly
suffer retribution who have dared to forbid the saint of God
to continue his celestial preaching." 1 The good bishop, how
ever, persevered, and by degrees recovered his authority. He
had a conference with Henry, in which, it is said, the latter
betrayed the grossest ignorance of Scripture and ecclesiastical
rites. Hildebert at last persuaded him to leave them ; but, in
spite of all that he or his priests could do, the memory of the
itinerant preacher could never be quite obliterated from the
minds and hearts of his flock.2
But these obscure provincial schismatics had been of late
quite thrown into the shade by a young Italian, Arnold of
I Brescia, whose exploits in Lombardy had brought new troubles
\ upon Innocent IL, at the very hour of his triumphs over
Anacletus. Arnold was a more formidable enemy than either
Peter or Henry, for this reason, that while he denounced the
hierarchy in the most vehement language, no erroneous doc
trine could be laid to his charge. His own mode of life also,
and personal austerity, extorted reluctant admission from his
1 ". . . ejus signaculum et pon- haec omnia sine dilatione in eorum
tificalem respuentes benedictionem. capita redundabunt, qui sancto Dei
Nolumus inquiunt scientiam viarum vocem coelestis praedlcationis, nes-
tuarum,nolumus benedictionem ; coe- cimus qua confisi audacia, interdicere
num benedic, coenum sanctifica ; nos praesumpserunt. " — Acta Episc. Ce-
habemus patrem, habemus pontifi- nomannensium,^. 317.
cem, habemus advocatum, qui te ex- 2 " Eos enim Henricus sic sibi
cedit auctoritate, excedit honestate, illexerat, quod vix adhuc memoria
excedit scientia. Huic clerici iniqui, illius et dilectio a cordibus eorum
clerici tui adversantur, etc. etc.; sed deleri valeat vel depelli." — Ibid.

!£«»] HERETICAL TENDENCIES OF THE AGE. 307
most bitter opponents. He raised such a commotion in North
Italy, that Pope Innocent procured his banishment from the
peninsula at the second council of the Lateran. Passing into
France for a time, he subsequently settled at Zurich, where he
enjoyed the protection, and even friendship, of the Cardinal
Guido, afterwards Pope Celestine II. Bernard became aware
of the fact, and was filled with alarm by it. He wrote a
remonstrating letter to Guido, and begged him not to harbour
such a declared schismatic.1
While these popular preachers of rebellion against the
Church were spreading their views among the multitude,
in the cells and schools of the lettered few a more subtle
spirit of disaffection was gaining ground. The learned
Gilbert de la Porree, Bishop of Poitiers, was already known
to hold opinions on the Trinity which verged on Tritheism.
Abelard had, shortly after this, the opportunity of giving him
a significant warning of the results of his views. To conclude
this short sketch of the heretical tendencies of the age, it is
evident that Abelard's scholars developed or exaggerated their
master's teaching in a manner that could not fail to cause
alarm and animosity.
Thus in a letter written to Abelard by one Gautier de
Mortagne, we read, " Certain of your disciples, while proudly
extolling, far and near, your wisdom and subtlety, as they
deserve, declare, among other things, that you have so
thoroughly explored the profound mysteries of the Trinity,
that you understand perfectly and completely how three
persons can exist in one Divine essence, and how the unity
of essence is compatible with the plurality of persons. They
say, besides, that you are wont to discuss and impart to others
how the Son was begotten of the Father, and how the Holy
Spirit proceeds from both." 2 And this statement of a neutral
1 St. Bern. Epist. 195, 196.
2 Apud D'Acherii Spicilegium, vol. iii. p. 524.
X 2

308 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [SSJ.iv
is confirmed by Bernard himself, who testifies to the popularity
and influence of Abelard's doctrines and disciples. "We
have fallen upon evil times. Masters we have with itching
ears. The scholars shun the truth, and turn them to fables.
In France we have a monk without rule, a prelate without
care, an abbot without discipline ; we have Peter Abelard dis
puting with boys, conversing with women  He does
not approach alone, as did Moses, towards the darkness in
which God was, but advances attended by a crowd of his
disciples. In the streets and thoroughfares the Catholic faith
is discussed. Men dispute over the childbearing of the Virgin,
the sacrament of the altar, the incomprehensible mystery of
the Trinity."1
The beginnings of a great change were there ; the human
mind had again begun to move. Slowly, almost imperceptibly,
like the gentle uprising of a vast continent from the ocean,
the questioning intellect again rose up, approached problems,
and tried to solve them.
Now, in Bernard's view, the intellect, if not carefully watched
and guided, was not a friend, but a foe, to man's welfare ; not
a pole-star to lead him, but an ignis fatuus to deceive him.
To resist its questions and doubts was part of a good man's
duty. They were carnal and devilish, even as lust and con
cupiscence were carnal and devilish. Truth had been given
to man, once and for ever, in the teaching of the Church.
No conclusions of his mind could add to its certainty ; none
could diminish it. It was there, accessible and intelligible
i " per v;cos et plateas de fide these discussions  Ask a man,
catholica disputatur, de partu Vir- 'How many oboli?' he answers by
ginis, de Sacramento altaris,deincom- dogmatizing on generated and un-
prehensibili sanctae Trinitatis mys- generated being. Inquire the price
terio." — St. Bern. Epist. 332. This of bread,and you are told, ' The Son
reminds one of what, according to is subordinate to the Father.' Ask
Canon Stanley, occurred at the if the bath is ready, and you are told,
Council of Nicsea. " Every corner, ' The Son arose out of nothing."' —
every alley, of the city was full of Eastern Church, p. 86.

a«a"S] BERNARD'S HOSTILITY TO ABELARD. 309
to all — absolute, complete, and final. To receive it, wholly,
unreservedly, and reverentially, ensured eternal life ; to reject
one jot or one tittle of it ensured eternal damnation. It had
overarched man's life for hundreds of years now, capacious
and durable as the great vault of heaven. The Omnipotence
which had revealed the one, had created the other. And
now was a small human philosopher to advance with his
reasons and questions in opposition to it? Were immortal
souls, for whom Christ died, to be stolen from the Church
and God by a profane heretic who had great powers of argu
ment and speaking? Was Satan to be assisted in his hostility'
to man's salvation by their perverse minds, as well as by their
rebellious passions ? From his training, his character, his
position, Bernard could not avoid thinking thus of Abelard
and his philosophy.
The Abbot of Clairvaux, therefore, arose in all his vehement
energy and resentment to stay the progress of this great plague.
He scattered broadcast over Europe his fiery appeals to Pope,
cardinals, princes, and bishops, to assist in repressing this
Arius, Pelagius, and Nestorius in one. But Abelard was not
as friendless now as he had been twenty years before, or at
least his friends were in a better position to help him. It is
with a cry almost of anguish that Bernard confesses that
Abelard has admirers and adherents even among the cardinals
of the papal court1 The two chiefs were watching each other,
and the ranks of their followers, as they closed for battle.
War had begun, but was not yet openly declared. Abelard
remembered the Council of Soissons, and resolved to antici
pate rather than await the attack. He sought Henri le
Sanglier (Henry the Wild Boar), that Archbishop of Sens
1 " Ad haec gloriatur, se infe- clusisse, et in tutelam sui erroris as-
cisse curiam Romanam novitatis suae sumit eos a quibus judicari debet et
veneno ; manibus et sinibus Roma- damnari." — St. Bern. Epist. 331.
norum libros et sententias suas in-

310 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c££iv
whom Bernard had so recently scolded for his " hateful
cruelty." 1 Henry was about to preside over a numerous
synod, at which the holiest relics of his province were to be
exposed to the veneration of the faithful. Abelard demanded
to be heard publicly before the assembly. He insisted on
being confronted with his accuser. He was prepared, he said,
to answer all objections raised against his teaching. The arch
bishop, nothing loath perhaps to place his stern rebuker in a
difficult position, acceded to the request, and summoned
Bernard to attend the council.
Abelard, full of hope and exultation, gathered his friends
and scholars around him. He published it far and wide that
he was going to meet, in fierce logical combat, the great Abbot
of Clairvaux.
Nothing in modern life can give an adequate idea of the
interest and excitement such an announcement would produce.
The two foremost men of the day in their respective walks,
representing most divergent and even hostile principles of
thought and action, were to encounter each other in the lists of
controversy, with all the ardour of knights at a tourney. They
and their partisans divided Europe between them. But would
the contest take place ? The challenger had thrown down his
glove, but would it be taken up ? It is not known as 'yet.
Bernard, it is rumoured, hesitates. It is not only a rumour,
but a fact. He not only hesitates, but refuses. " When all fly
before his face, he selects me, the least, for single combat. 2 I
refused," says the Abbot of Clairvaux, " because I was but
a child, and he a man of war from his youth."8 But Ber
nard's friends made him feel that this inaction could not be
allowed. They represented to him how "all men had prepared
1 See ante, p. 225. vocem, vocavit multos, congregavit
2 "Cum omnes fugiant a facie complices."- St. Bern. Epist. 189.
ejus, me omnium minimum expetit s " Abnui quia puer sum, et ille
ad singulare certamen  Ille vir bellator ab adolescentia. " — Ibid.
nihilo minus, immo eo amplius levavit

il™ "$] THE CO UNCIL OF SENS. 3 1 1
for the spectacle, as it were. They fear lest his absence should
cause scandal to the people, and make grow the horns of the
adversary." At last Bernard yielded, but with tears and
heaviness. Not that he dreaded aught for himself; but how
was that Church, that faith, for which he was ready to die, to
be defended before such an adversary ? Ill, as he always was,
worn and weary, as he at this moment was, he girded up his
loins to the trial, to his duty. Probably never crusader
marched against overpowering infidels, never knight entered
on a single combat, with more trust in God and less in man
or himself than did Bernard when he left Clairvaux to be
present at Sens. Without preparation or study ; reflecting
only on the promise, " Take no thought how or what ye
shall speak, for it shall be given you in that same hour what
ye shall speak," he set forth, and was at Sens on the appointed
day.1 The original object of the meeting at Sens was a ceremony
of unrivalled popular interest in the Middle Ages, viz. the
exhibition of sacred relics to the eyes and adoration of the
multitude. This occasion was intended to be exceptionally.
solemn. King Louis VII. was to be present ; Count Theo
bald was to be present ; and a crowd of bishops, abbots, and
grandees from the northern parts of France were to assemble
with them. Abelard came with a troop of disciples ; Ber
nard came with two or three monks, as it behoved a Cister
cian abbot to travel. At Sens, as at Soissons, Abelard and
his pupils were in the midst of enemies. Bernard was not
so much amid friends as worshippers. The one addressed
1 " Disseminavit ubique, se mihi timebant ne de nostra absentia et
die statuto apud Seno'nas responsu- scandalum populo, et comua cres-
rum. Exiit sermo ad omnes, et non cerent adversario. . . . Occurri ad
potuit me latere. . . . Cedens tamen locum et diem, imparatus quidem et
(licet vix, ita ut flerem) consilio ami- immunitus, nisi quod fllud mente
eorum, qui videntes quomodo se volvebam, ' Nolite praemeditari, '
quasi adspectaculum omnes pararent, &c." — St. Bern. Epist. 189.

312 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [JwVv
the reason of the few; the other inflamed the hearts and
passions of all classes. Upon one had fallen the irre
movable mortal blight of supposed heresy and unbelief.
Abelard, in the thoughts of many assembled at Sens, poi
soned the air where he lived ; held familiar converse with
the demons ; deliberately had turned from heaven, and
marched towards hell. Under Bernard's coarse woollen
cowl the seraph's wings were half-supposed to lie concealed.
Nature's forces felt and welcomed his approach. A child of
light, a man of God, he was now again to face the fiend and
worst him.
The first day of the council was taken up with the inspec
tion and adoration of the sacred relics.1 The question of
Abelard's heresies was brought before it the Second day.
The king, surrounded by his feudal lords, and the Arch
bishop of Sens (Henry the Wild Boar), in the midst of his
suffragans, met in solemn conclave in the Church of St.
Stephen. Abelard entered, and walked up between the
ranks of monks, priests, bishops, and warriors on each side
of him. His eye caught that of Gilbert de la Porree, and,
as he passed him, he whispered the significant line —
" Nam tua res agitur paries cum proximus ardet."
He moved on through the hostile crowd. He stopped in
the centre of the building, and found himself opposite
Bernard. In a pulpit, which was in existence up to the time of
the French Revolution, stood Bernard, holding before him
the incriminated work of Abelard. He read, or caused to
be read, the passages he had marked for reproof, explana
tion, or condemnation. But the lecture had hardly begun,
iwhen, to the speechless astonishment of all, Abelard rose up
1 Abelard, par Charles de R^musat, vol. i. p. 205.

a°a™] THE COUNCIL OF SENS. 313
said he refused to hear more, or answer any questions ; he
appealed to Rome : and at once left the assembly.1
A cause for this extraordinary conduct has been variously
and unsuccessfully assigned. Bernard's friends declared that,
when the heretic should have found his mind clearest and
strongest, sudden darkness, confusion, and paralysis fell upon
him, which deprived him of speech. A more probable suppo
sition is, that Abelard saw his hopes of a victorious disputation
utterly frustrated by the temper of his audience and the con
ditions of his public defence. He could not hope to win over
that unsympathising crowd, on whom his subtlety would be
lost, and his eloquence wasted. The votes of his philosophic
friends, however precious in his eyes, would be completely
swamped in the multitude of his unscrupulous adversaries.
Those ranks of hostile faces quenched enthusiasm. Whereas
an appeal to Rome, now intensely welcome to the growing
despotism of the papacy, would cause delay and difficulty to
his opponents, and allow time for his interest at Rome to have
effect. And it is quite certain that the manoeuvre partly suc
ceeded. The assembly at Sens was in no small perplexity as
to the course to be pursued. Rome was the more jealous of
her pretensions in such cases, that their legitimacy was as yet
unsettled. 2 Pope Innocent owed so much to Bernard, that he
could hardly fail to dislike him ; and indeed, very shortly after
these events, he did break off friendly relations with him.
To this extent, therefore, Abelard succeeded, that he checked
1 " Dominus abbas (Bernardus) the minutes of the council, as drawn
O-imlibrum Theologiae magistri Petri up by the French bishops and sent
proferret in medium et quae adnota- to Pope Innocent.
verat absurda, imo haeretica plane 2 " A new jurisprudence had es-
capitula de libro eodem proponeret, tablished in the Latin Church the
ut ea magister Petrus vel a se scripta right and practice of appeals ; and
negaret ; vel si sua fateretur, aut from the north and west bishops and
probaret, aut corigeret ; visus dif- abbots were invited, or summoned,
fidere magister Petrus Abaelardus et to solicit, to complain, to accuse, or
subterfugere, respondere noluit." — to justify, before the threshhold of
St. Bern. Epist. 337. This is from the Apostles."— Gibbon, ch. lxix.

314 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [S.iv
his enemies in mid career, and caused them to pause. But
the ruling spirit which presided there was not apt to renounce
a deliberately chosen course of action. The person of the
heretic was suffered to go free, in deference to the Holy See ;
his heresies and perverse opinions were condemned : they were
read and re-read in "public audience, and were proven to be
not only false, but plainly heretical, both by most evident
reasons, and also by testimonies from Augustine and others of
the Fathers, brought forward by the Abbot of Clairvaux. And
because," the bishops continue, in their letter to the Pope,
"because they draw many into most pernicious and damnable
error, we unanimously beg, most beloved lord, with earnest
prayers, that you will mark them with perpetual condemnation,
and visit all who defend them with condign punishment.1
Such is the history of the proceedings at Sens, as related in
Bernard's Epistles, and in the Compte Rendu of the bishops to
Rome. A very different picture is presented by the sufferers
from ecclesiastical censure, by Abelard's party, as made known
to us by his friend and admirer, Berengarius of Poitiers. It
is like passing over several centuries at once, to read his
account after that of his antagonists. Soon after his master's
condemnation, he wrote what he called an "Apology for
Abelard," addressed it to Bernard, and made no effort to
conceal his estimate of the actors and proceedings at
Sens : —
"The renown of your fame, O Bernard, causes copies of
your writings to be spread abroad everywhere. It is no marvel
that they are placed upon the stage of popularity, seeing that,
whatever they are, they are approved by the great ones of the
present day. People wonder to see in you, a man ignorant
of the liberal arts, such fertility of eloquence ; so that your
productions have covered the surface of the earth. To such
persons the answer is, that ' Great are the works of the Lord.'
1 St. Bern. Epist. 337.

!£>«!«] THE APOLOGY OF BERENGARIUS. 315
But there is no reason why they should wonder ; indeed the
wonder would be greater if you lacked flowing words. For we
hear that from your earliest youth you composed comic songs
and polished verses. Do you not remember how you strove to
surpass your brothers in rhythmical contests, and in subtlety of
invention ? And was it not especially painful to you to meet
with any one who could answer you with impudence equal
to your own ?"1
This strain of sneering invective he carries to a considerable
length : —
" Happy did we deem these modern times in being lit up by
such a brilliant star, and we considered that a world doomed to
perdition was supported only by your merits. We believed
that on the words of your mouth depended the mercy of
Heaven, the temperature of the air, the fertility of the earth,
and the blessing of the fruits thereof. We thought the very
devils roared at your commands, and we gloried in our fortune
in having such a patron.
" Now, alas ! what was hidden is revealed ; you have
awakened the sting of the sleeping snake. Neglecting every
thing else, you have placed Peter Abelard as a target for your
arrows, on whom you might vomit forth the poison of your
wrath. By your collection of bishops at Sens you pronounced
him a heretic, you cut him off from his mother the Church.
Whilst he was walking in the way of Christ, like a murderer
rushing from an ambush, you have despoiled him of the seam
less coat ; you harangued the people, bidding them pray to
God for him, while in private you took means to get him
proscribed by the Christian world 
" After dinner Peter's book was brought in, and somebody
was told to read it in a loud voice. The fellow, full of hatred
to Peter, watered by the vine — not of Him who said ' I am the
true vine,' but of that which cast the patriarch naked on the
1 Berengarii Scholastici Apologeticus.

316 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [;

BliOK III
Chap IV

ground — bellowed out louder than he was asked to do. Pre
sently you saw the pontiffs insult him (i.e. Peter), applaud with
their feet, laugh, and play the fool, so that any one might see
they were paying their vows not to Christ, but to Bacchus.
Then the cups were saluted, the goblets filled, the wine praised,
the episcopal throats moistened. Horace's recommendation, —
" Nunc est bibendum nunc pede libera,
Pulsanda tellus,' —
was executed from memory. But their potations of the sleepy
fluid had already drowned the hearts of the pontiffs. When,
during the reading, anything subtle or divine, but unusual to
pontifical ears, was heard, they were all of them cut to the
heart, and gnashed their teeth at Peter ; and these moles,
judging a philosopher, exclaimed, ' Shall we suffer this wretch
to live?' Wagging their heads, as did the Jews, they said, 'Ah !
behold him who destroyeth the temple of God.' So did the
blind judge words of light ; so did drunkards condemn a sober
man ; so did eloquent wine-cups attack the organ of the
Trinity  These great philosophers had filled with wine
their barrels of throats. The fumes of it had so invaded
their brains, that the eyes of all were drooping from sleep.
Still the reader droned on ; the assembly snored. One rested
on his elbow, another procured a cushion, a third took his
nap with his head upon his knees. So when the reader came
upon some thorn-bush in Peter's field, he exclaimed to the deaf
ears of the bishops, 'Damnatis ?' (do you damn this ?) Hardly
awake at the last syllable, in a drowsy voice, and with hang
ing heads>, they muttered ' Damnamus.' Others, however,
roused by the noise of the damners, decapitated the word,
and said . . . ' namus.' "
But although Bernard had not scrupled to employ authority
to crush errors at which he was horrified, yet his mind was too
powerful and noble to rest contented with a victory due to

t£'t?£] BERNARD'S TRACT AGAINST ABELARD. , 317
authority alone. He prepared a succinct but highly- wrought
treatise against the errors of Abelard. In the form of a letter
to Pope Innocent, he discussed " not all his errors, but such as
could not be passed over ;" and whatever may be thought of
the tone of this tract, whatever may be thought of the exalted
Bernard striking at the downfallen Abelard, there can be but
one opinion as to the commanding powers which passed from
action to speculation, from ruling men to refuting opinions, with
out pause or difficulty. Bernard's arguments are triumphant,
from his own point of view ; but the differences between ;
him and Abelard were of a kind which no argument can ever
really remove. It is Abelard's method more than his results, j
his tone more than his opinions, which alarms Bernard.
" It is not wonderful if a man who cares not what his words
may mean should rush in upon the hidden things of faith, and
thus profanely invade and despoil the concealed treasures of
devotion, seeing that he has no feeling either of piety or alle
giance to the faith. At the very commencement of his ' Theo
logy,' or rather Fool-ology, he defines faith as being opinion.
As if any one might think or say what pleased him concerning
it ; or as if the sacraments of our faith, instead of reposing on
certain truth, depended without certitude on wandering and
various opinion, and rested not upon most undoubted truth.
If the faith is unstable, is not our hope in vain ? Therefore
the martyrs were foolish to endure such torments for an uncer
tainty ; for the sake of a doubtful reward, to pass through a
painful death into everlasting exile. But God forbid that we
should think as he does, that there is anything in our faith or
hope which hangs on a doubtful opinion. Rather let us hold
that the whole of it is grounded on certain, solid truth,
preached divinely by oracles and miracles, established and
consecrated by the childbirth of the Virgin, by the blood of
the Redeemer, by the glory of the resurrection. These testi
monies have been made too credible for us to doubt them ;

318 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cS.iV
and if they fail in any way, ' the Spirit beareth witness with
our spirit, that we are the children of God.' How then can
any one dare to call faith opinion, except it be one who hath
not yet received that Spirit, or ignores or disbelieves the
Gospel ? ' I know,' exclaims the Apostle, ' whom I have
believed, and I am certain ;' and you whisper to me, ' Faith is
opinion.' You gabble on, and pretend that to be doubtful than
which nothing can be more certain. Differently indeed writes
St. Augustine : ' Faith,' he says, ' dwelleth in a man's heart,
not by guessing and thinking, but by certain knowledge, con
science bearing witness.' God forbid, therefore, that Christian
faith should have these limits ! These ideas and opinions
belong to the Academics, who doubt of all things and know
nothing. Therefore I walk safely, following the Apostle of the
Gentiles ; and I know I shall not be confounded. His defini
tion of faith, I confess, pleases me : ' Faith is the substance of
things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.' ' The
substance of things hoped for,' he says, not the phantasies of
empty conjectures. You hear, ' the substance.' You may not
think or dispute on the faith as you please ; you may not
wander here and there, through the wastes of opinion, the
by-ways of error. By the name ' substance' something certain
and fixed is placed before you ; you are enclosed within
certain boundaries, you are restrained within unchanging
limits. For faith is not an opinion, but a certitude." 1
,- Bernard was right— a religion is a certitude. An explained
f or defended religion has half ceased to be one. In Bernard's
devout, loving eyes, a man who could step forward as patron
of Christianity, as upholder and protector of the Cross, was as
impious as Uzzah, and deserved his fate. To render Chris
tianity reasonable, to examine, anatomize, and then approve of
the " mysteries of the faith,'' seemed to him only less horrible
i "Non est enim fides aestimatio ribus Abaelardi. — St. Bern. Op.
sed certitudo." — Tradalus de Erro- vol. i. col. 649.

*£;"$] ABELARD RETIRES TO CLUNY. 319
than to deny them. They were to be adored amid silent ecsta
sies, to be brooded over by the unruffled soul, till the outer
world was lost in their brightness. But the very thought of
sitting in judgment on them, of recommending their acceptance
in consequence, was revolting, beyond words to Bernard. For
with him faith was " not an opinion, but a certitude."
In the meantime, Peter's appeal to the Pope had been
unnoticed. He proceeded towards Rome with the intention
of personally pressing his claim to more equitable judgment.
In his double character as a traveller and a monk, he rested
at religious houses along his route. In time he came to
Burgundy, and put up at Cluny.
From Cluny's abbot, the wise, gentle, and loving namesake
of Abelard, he received the welcome of an unutterably guile
less and sympathetic heart. Nothing could exacerbate that
meekest of men ; nothing could sour that affectionate nature ;
nothing alienate that model of Christian charity. Peter's
heresies were as horrible to him as to any one. Nothing could
exceed his zeal for religion. His leisure was devoted to the
literary defence of Christianity ; his life to the practical exem
plification of it. But all the commandments he thought sub
ordinate to that " new one," " love one another." So when
the downcast, sorrowful Abelard came his way, he saw only
the suffering brother ; the bold heretic was forgotten. He
wrote thus to the Pope : —
" Master Peter, well known, I believe, to your wisdom, as he
lately came from France, passed through Cluny. I asked him
whither he was going ; he answered that being oppressed by
the attacks of certain persons who had branded him with the
name of heretic, which he detested, he had appealed to Rome,
and was going thither for protection. I praised his design,
and advised him to seek a refuge known and open to all.
Presently came the Abbot of Citeaux, who discussed, both with
me and Peter, means of reconciliation between him and the

320 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [SSS.™
Abbot of Clairvaux, who indeed was the' cause of his making
his appeal. I also strove to bring about this reconciliation,
and exhorted him to seek Bernard, in company with the Abbot
of Citeaux. I added that, if he had written or said anything
offensive to Catholic ears, following Bernard's advice, and that
of other good and wise men, he should remove and expunge
it from his books. And so it was done. He went and
returned, and told us how, through the mediation of the Abbot
of Citeaux, he had met Bernard, and the old animosities had
been removed in peace. In the meanwhile, urged by me, or
rather, as I think, inspired by God, renouncing the tumult of
schools and lectures, he has chosen for himself a lasting
dwelling-place in your Cluny. I have assented to his wish,
thinking it suitable to his age, his weakness, and his piety,
while his knowledge, with which you are not quite unacquainted,
would be of the greatest use to numbers of our brethren ; and
if your permission were obtained, I with joy should give him
leave to remain with us, who are yours in all things. I, who
am devoted to you, the whole convent of Cluny, which is most
devoted to you, he himself, by and through us, beseech that
you will permit him to finish the remaining days of his life and
old age (which perchance are not many) in this your Cluny ;
and that he may not be expelled, at the importunity of any,
from that house which, like a sparrow — from that nest which,
like a dove, he rejoices to have found." 1
j And so the turbulent, audacious Abelard became a humble
'monk at Cluny. His kind friend the Abbot was right ; his
days were not to be many more, but they were not the least
happy or profitable of his life. The Abbess Heloise one day
received a letter, of which this was the conclusion, written to
her by the lord of Cluny : —
"I write of that servant and true philosopher of Christ,
Master Peter, whom the Divine dispensation sent to Cluny in
1 Petri Venerabilis Epist., lib. iv. Epist 4.

a™"?] ABELARD'S LAST DAYS. 321
the last days of his life. A long letter would not unfold the
humility and devotion of his conversation while among us, and
the witness Cluny would bear to it. If I mistake not, I never
remember to have seen one so humble in manners and habit.
When at my order he took a high place in our large company,
he always appeared the least' of all by the meanness of his
attire. In the processions, when he, with the others, preceded
me, I wondered, nay, I was well-nigh confounded, to see so
famous a man able so to despise and abase himself. He was
as sparing in his food, in his drink, in all that related to his
body, as in his dress ; and he condemned, both in himself and
others, both by word and deed, I do not say superfluities, but all
, save the merest necessaries. He read continually, he prayed
frequently; he was silent always, unless the conversation of
the monks, or a public discourse in the convent, addressed
to them, urged him to speak. What more shall I say ? His
mind, his tongue, his work, always meditated, taught, or con
fessed philosophical, learned, or Divine things. A man simple
and upright, fearing God, and eschewing evil, in this conversa
tion for a time he consecrated his life to God. Having
become more afflicted than usual by his bodily infirmities, I
sent him to Chalons, because of the softness of its climate, in
which it excels all other parts of our Burgundy. I had selected
a place convenient for him, near the city indeed, but separated
from it by the river Saone. There, as far as his malady would
permit, returning to his old studies, he applied himself to his
books, and, as is read of the great Gregory, he suffered not a
moment to pass in which he did not either pray, read, write, or
dictate. In the exercise of these holy works, the advent of
the Divine Visitor found him not sleeping, as it does many,
but on the watch. His disease grew worse, and in a short
time he was in extremity. Then how holily, how devoutly, in
what a Catholic spirit, he made confession first of his faith,
then of his sins ; with what heart's desire he received the food
y

322 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [£S.iv
for his journey, and pledge' of eternal life — the body of the
Lord Redeemer ; how faithfully he commended his body and
soul to Him, here and in eternity, — the religious brothers are
witness, and the whole congregation of that monastery. Thus
Master Peter finished his days, and he who, for his knowledge,
was famed throughout the world, in the discipleship of Him
who said ' Learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in heart,'
persevered in meekness and humility, and, as we may believe,
passed to the Lord. And you, my venerable and very dear
sister, be you ever mindful of your husband in the Lord, that
husband to whom you were knit first by the bond of earthly
love, afterwards by the stronger and better one of Divine
charity, with whom and under whom you served the Lord.
May God in your stead comfort him in His bosom ; comfort
him as another you, and guard him, till through grace he is
restored to you at the coming of the Lord, with the shout of
the archangel and the trump of God descending from the
heavens." x 1 Petri Ven., lib. iv. Epist. 21.

Note on St. Bernard's Sister Humbeline.
I have been guilty of an omission with regard to Bernard's sister
Humbeline, which I would repair here, as she died about this time.
Humbeline had not shared the religious fervour of her brothers, when
at Bernard's instance they devoted themselves to a monastic life. She was
married, and unwilling to renounce the rank and affluence in which she
was placed by her husband. One day she was moved to visit her cloistered
kinsmen, and appeared with the pomp and retinue of a feudal lady at the
gates of Clairvaux. She had especially come to see Bernard, but "he,
detesting and execrating her as a net of the devil to catch souls," sternly
refused to go out to meet her. Her brother Andrew, whom she encountered
at the gate, treated her with equal harshness, and used very strong and
unbecoming language concerning her fine apparel, — " cum a fratre sua
Andrea quem ad portam invenerat monasterii ob vestium apparatum stercus
involulum argueretur." Bursting into tears at such coldness from her
brothers, she meekly said, "And what if I am a sinner? it is for such that
Christ died. It is because I am one that I need the advice and conver
sation of good men. If my brother despises my body, let not a servant of

aL?a"S] HUMBELINE, BERNARD'S SISTER. 323
the Lord despise my soul. Let him come and command ; I am ready to
obey." This speech brought out Bernard, who ordered her to imitate their
mother's life ; to renounce the luxuries and vanities of the world even
while living in the world ; to lay aside her fine clothes ; and to become a
nun inwardly, even if she could not be one in outward appearance. She
returned home and literally obeyed his words. During two years she
astonished her neighbours by her sudden and extraordinary change of life.
Her fastings, prayers, and vigils were truly monastic. At the end of the
above-named time her husband, wearied or enraptured with her religious
practices, gave her full liberty to do as she pleased. She immediately
retired to the convent of Juilly, where she passed the remainder of her
life in a devotion austere enough to be considered worthy of a sister of
St. Bernard.
It may be proper to state that Chifflet considers her death to have taken
place in, or before, the year 1136. (S. Bemardi Illustre Genus Assertum,
p. 156.) Manriquez and Mabillon adopt the date of 1141.

324 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [g£J [

CHAPTER V.
(A.D. 1 142. AETAT. 51.)
BERNARD AS A MONK AND RULER OF MONKS — SERMON ON THE
PASSION.
To us, looking back on Bernard through a vista of seven
centuries, he appears as one of the great active minds of his
age — commanding kings, compelling nations, influencing and
directing the men and things among which he lived; — in a
word, one of the statesmen of history. And in truth he was
all this. The twelfth century would have had another aspect
if he had never lived. But it must not be forgotten that
'this external, mundane activity was an accident, an appendix,
as it were, to his true career, to the career which he had chosen
for himself. The central impulse of his being, the spring
head from which flowed the manifold streams of his public
acts, had no necessary connexion with the outer world of
men and events. He was, by intention and inclination, a
prayerful monk, doubtful and anxious about the state of his
soul, striving to work out his salvation with fear and trembling
here on earth. The highest good he knew of, the ideal of
Christian faith as he had been taught it — this was what in
flamed his heart, nerved his will, and braced his energies of
mind and body to the extremest tension. To him and to
his contemporaries this ideal was realized in the life of a
pious monk. And a pious monk it was his desire above all
things to be. That he failed to obtain the perfection at which
he aimed, no one would have been more ready to acknow-

i£li"l] BERNARD AS A MONK. 325
ledge than himself: but that he also succeeded better than
most, is proved by the almost concurrent testimony of his
own and after ages. As a monk, therefore, he is to be judged
in the first place ; as an abbot, a ruler, and teacher of monks,
in the second place.
It is difficult to judge of such a man, placed as we are
with respect to him. He is quite below our ordinary intel
lectual horizon, and only by a considerable ascension can
he be seen at all. What was considered wise in his day is
accounted foolish in ours. What was thought true in his
time is regarded as absurd now. Our planet has gone seven
hundred times, and more round the sun since he was on it ;
some billions of human beings have lived their lives through
and died here in the interval ; and it would be strange in
deed if the human mind had remained unchanged amid ever-
changing nature. Changes indeed have come and gone since
then. Systems and philosophies have arisen and gathered
broad populations under their dominion, and seemed so large,
so complete, so true, that men have thought, as they had
thought endless times before, that the goal was reached, the
problem solved ; that to them at last was the light given
which would show and teach them all things ; so different were
they from their " unenlightened ancestors," who had no such
golden rule. Alas ! the hour of hope and triumph was short.
The systems and philosophies were found as mortal as the men
who made them. They, too, waxed old and shrunk, and from
being (apparently) complete and true, became incomplete and
false ; till at last men would have them no more, and cast
them aside as lumber, useless or obstructive. For behold, a
new light is mounting in the eastern sky, rosy with the dawn of
another hope. Again, it must be repeated that Bernard is far
off. Not only his system and philosophy, but half a dozen
other systems and philosophies, which have supplanted his and
each other, have been cast aside as valueless since he lived.

326 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. loS.1"
To see through them is hard. It is not looking through the
pure unrefracting ether, as we do at the stars.; but looking
across the fogs and vapours of deep valleys and populous
plains, which at times make observation difficult, or even
impossible. It must be attempted, nevertheless.
To judge of Bernard, therefore, as a monk and abbot : we
have not many means of attaining to such judgment prefer
able to his sermons. He spoke his heart in them, if he did
anywhere. He spoke what he considered the purest truth
attainable to him or to any human being. He spoke, in his
conviction, the most momentous truth known to him, which
neither he nor his hearers could ever lay too much to heart.
It was for this truth that he and his monks, his church even,
existed. Clairvaux and Cluny, clergy regular and secular,
were but engines for its dissemination, and might, or rather
certainly would, pass away; but the Truth would remain.
Another of his sermons will therefore be given here, spoken
for different objects, to different hearers, from a different point
of view, compared with certain modern discourses which go
by the same name. Odd, almost grotesque, it and those
already given will doubtless appear to the modern reader. It
is not long ago that many a grand old Gothic cathedral was
ridiculed, even despised, for its quaint gargoyles and portals.
Without meaning to institute a rigorous comparison between
Bernard's sermons and Gothic architecture, we may be allowed
to say, that some of the antique solemnity and massiveness of
twelfth-century aisles and choirs will also be found in the
words which once awakened their religious echoes.
ON THE PASSION OF OUR LORD.1
" i. Watch with your mind, brethren, that the mysteries of
this season may not pass away without profit. The blessing
1 I am happy to acknowledge collection of St. Bernard's sermons,
my obligations to the Rev. W. B. of which this is one. Mr. Flower
Flower, B. A., who has translated a has, on the whole, shown judg-

1°at"i] SERMON ON THE PASSION. 327
is plentiful ; offer yourselves clean receptacles ; show forth
devout souls, watchful senses, sober affections, and chaste
consciences for the gift of such graces. In good truth, not
only does that special conversation which ye have professed
admonish you of care in this matter, but it is the observance of
the universal Church, whose sons ye are. For all Christians,
in observance of these seven sacred days, cultivate holiness,
show forth modesty, follow after humility, put on gravity,
either according to or beyond what is usual, that they may in
some sort seem to suffer with Christ's suffering. For who is so
irreligious as not to be sorrowful ? who so proud, as not to be
humbled? who so wrathful, as not to forgive? who so luxurious,
as not to abstain? who so sensual, as not to restrain himself?
who so wicked, as not to repent during these days? And
rightly so. For the Passion of the Lord is here, this very day,
shaking the earth, rending the rocks, and opening the tombs.
Near also is his Resurrection, in which you will celebrate a
festival to the Lord Most High, entering with alacrity and
eagerness of will into the most glorious deeds which He has
wrought. Nothing better could be done in the world than
that which was done by the Lord on these days. Nothing
more useful or better could be recommended to the world than
that it should, by perpetual ordinance, celebrate year by year
the memorial thereof with longing of soul, and show forth the
memory of His abundant sweetness. But both were on our
behalf; because in both is the fruit of our salvation, and in
both the life of our soul. Marvellous is that passion of Thine,
O Lord Jesus, which has removed all our suffering, made pro
pitiation for our iniquities, and is found effectual for every one
of our plagues. For what is there tending to death that is not
destroyed by Thy death ?
ment and taste in the execution of scrupulous regard for accuracy, and
his by no means inviting labour of that I have felt compelled, in several
translation. But I must, neverthe- cases, to correct his work.
less, add that he has not shown »

328 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cS/v
" 2. In this Passion then, my brethren, we must especially
consider three things — the work, the manner, and the cause ;
for in the work, indeed, patience is commended unto us, in the
manner humility, and in-th® -cause charity. But unparalleled
was that patience, since, when sinners made long furrows in
His back ; when He was so stretched out on the cross that His
bones could be numbered ; when that most powerful Defence,
which guardeth Israel, was everywhere wounded ; when His
hands and feet were pierced ; — He was led as a lamb to the
slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearer, so He opened
not His* mouth ; not complaining against His Father, by
whom He was sent ; nor against mankind, for whom He
paid what He had not taken ; nor yet, in a word, against His
own peculiar people, from whom He received so great evils in
return for so signal benefits. Some are punished for their sins,
and bear it with humility ; yet this is set down to them as
a proof of patience ; others are beaten, not so much to be
cleansed, as to be tried and crowned, and their greater patience
is approved and commended. How shall it not be considered
greatest in Christ, who, in the midst of His inheritance, was
punished like a thief by a most cruel death, by those to whom
He had especially come as a Saviour, though void of all sin,
whether actual or inherited, having indeed nothing in which
sin could grow? Doubtless He it was in whom dwelt all the
fulness of the Godhead — not in shadow, but bodily ; in whom
God is reconciling the world unto Himself— not figuratively,
but substantially ; who, in a word, is full of grace and truth —
not co-operatively, but personally; that so He may accomplish
His own work — 'His strange work,' Isaiah says (xxviii. 21) —
because it was His work which His Father had given Him to
do, and a strange work that such a One should endure such
things. Thou hast then an example of patience in the work.
" 3. For if thou carefully considerest the manner, thou wilt
discover that He was not only gentle, but humble of heart :

i££u[ SERMON ON THE PASSION. 329
for in humility His judgment was taken away, since He
answered not a word to so great blasphemies and the many
false charges which were made against Him. ' We saw Him,'
it is written, and there 'was no beauty in Him' (Isa. liii. 2) ;
not comely in appearance beyond the sons of men, but the
reproach of men, and as it were leprous ; the lowest of His
race ; clearly a Man of sorrows, stricken and- humbled by
God, so that there was no beauty nor comeliness in Him.
0 lowest and highest ! O humble and exalted One ! O
reproach of men and glory of angels ! None more exalted,
none more humble than He ! In fine, He was defiled by
spittings, assailed to the full with revilings, condemned to a
most ignominious death, and numbered with transgressors.
And will that humility merit nothing which reaches such limits,
or rather is beyond all limit? As His patience was singular,
so His humility was admirable, and both without example.
" 4. Yet the cause gloriously recommends both : and that is
love. For, on account of the great love wherewith Christ
loved us, neither the Father spared the Son, nor the Son
Himself, to redeem His servants. Great indeed was it, for it
exceeds all measures, passes all limits, clearly outstripping
all. ' Greater love,' He saith, ' hath no man than this, that a
man lay down his life for his friends' (John xv. 13). Thou,
O Lord, hadst greater still, laying it down even for thine
enemies. For whilst we were yet enemies, we were reconciled
to Thee and Thy Father, by Thy death. What other love can
be, has been, or' will be like Thine ? Scarcely for a righteous
man will one die ; Thou sufferedst for the unjust, dying for
our sins, for Thou earnest to justify sinners freely, to make
slaves brethren, captives co-heirs, and exiles kings. And
nothing surely so clearly sets forth alike this patience and
humility, as that He gave up His soul to death, and bare the
sins of many, entreating even for transgressors that they might
not perish. A faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation !

330 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [aS.'v
For He was offered because He willed. He not only willed
and was offered, but it was because He willed. He alone had
the power of laying down His own soul ; none took it from
Him ; He voluntarily offered it. When He had received the
vinegar He said, ' It is finished.' Nothing remains to be
fulfilled : now there is nothing for which I have to wait. And
bowing His head, being made obedient unto death, He gave up
the ghost. Who could so easily fall asleep, on willing it?
Death is indeed a great weakness; but thus to die is matchless
power. For the weakness of God is stronger than men. The
madness of man may lay wicked hands upon himself and kill
himself; but this is not to lay down one's life : it is rather to
destroy it by forcible means, than to lay it down at pleasure.
Thou, wicked Judas, hadst a wretched power, not of laying
down thy life, but of hanging thyself : and thy wicked spirit
went out, not given by thee, but pulled by the rope ; not sent
forth by thee, but lost. He alone gave up His soul unto death,
who alone returned by His own power to life : He alone had
power to lay it down, who also possessed the full power to
take it up again, having the power of life and death.
" 5. Worthy, then, is love so inestimable, humility so won
derful, patience so insuperable ; worthy clearly is this so holy,
unpolluted, and acceptable a victim. Worthy is the Lamb
who was slain to receive power, to accomplish that which He
came to effect, to take away the sins of the world. But I say
that the sin which prevailed upon the earth was threefold. Do
you understand me to mean the lust of the flesh, the lust of
the eyes, and the pride of life ? — a threefold cord, which is not
easily broken : therefore many draw, yea are drawn by, this cord
of vanity. But that former threefold cord has deservedly greater
power among the elect. For how could not the remembrance
of His patience repress all pleasure? How should not the
recollection of His humility utterly extinguish the pride of
life ? for that love is beyond question worthy, the thoughts of

iS'JUfi SERMON ON THE PASSION. 331
which can so fill the mind, and claim the whole soul to itself,
that it completely destroys the sin of curiosity. Powerful,
therefore, against these is the Passion of the Saviour.
" 6. But I have been thinking of explaining how the power
of the Cj2ssJjl_ots_out_a_ threefold sin of another kind ; and
this perhaps you may hear with great advantage. The first I
would call original, the second personal, and the third indi
vidual. Original sin, indeed, is_that ., greatest one which we
derive fror^ThTjfjrsT Adam, in whom we have all sinned, for
whom we all die. The greatest clearly, in that it seizes not
only upon the whole human race, but upon every individual
thereof, so that there is none, not even one, that can escape.
It extends from the first man unto the last, and the poison is
dispersed from the sole of the foot to the crown of the head.
But in another way, also, it is diffused over the whole of life ;
from the day, I mean, on which his own mother conceived any
one, to that on which the common mother receives him. Else
whence that heavy yoke which is upon all, and the whole of
the sons of Adam, and that from the day of his coming forth
from his mother's womb, until the day of his burial into the
mother of all? We are conceived in sin, cherished in dark
ness, and brought forth in pain. Before our birth we burden
hapless mothers ; during it we rend them in a fearful manner :
and it is marvellous we also ourselves are not likewise mangled.
The first cry we utter is one of lamentation, and rightly so ; for we
have entered the valley of pain, so that the saying of holy Job
is thoroughly applicable to us : ' Man that is born of a woman
hath* but a short time to live, and is full of trouble' (Job
xiv. 1). Not words, but stripes, have taught us the truth of
this statement. ' Man,' he says, ' born of a woman ;' nothing
is more abject. And lest, perchance, he should be soothed by
those delights of sense which he derives from outward objects,
he is fearfully reminded at his very entrance into the world of
his departure, by the words, 'hath but a short time to live.'

332 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. RSJ.1"
And that he may not regard the brief space of time which
there is between his entrance and departure at his own dis
posal, it is added, 'he is full of trouble'— full of miseries
many and manifold, both of the body and the heart ; miseries
when he is asleep, and when awake ; misery wheresoever he
turneth himself. Even He also, who was born of a virgin,
nay, made of a woman — but blessed among women— who
says to His mother, ' Woman, behold thy son,' lived only for
a little while ; and yet, in that brief space of time, was full
of many miseries, aimed at by plots, questioned with insults,
attacked by injuries, racked by punishments, and harassed by
reproaches. " 7. And canst thou doubt the sufficiency of His obedience,
which absolved every one who was under the curse of the first
offence. Truly not as the offence, so is also the gift. For sin
came from one sin for condemnation, but grace for justification
from many sins. And grievous beyond question was that
original sin which infected, not only the person, but the nature
itself. Yet every one's personal _sin is Jhe„ .more., grievous,
when, the reins~EemgJet_loose, we ..giye_ up on every ,hai}d our
members as servants^to unrighteousness, being enchained, not
only by another's, but our own sin also. But most grievous
was that especial one which was comrnitted against the Lord
oFGlory, when wicked men unjustly killed the Just Man, and
wretched homicides, or rather (if any one may so speak)
Deicides. laid their accursed hands upon the very Son of God.
What connexion is there between the two preceding and the
third? At this the whole of this world's frame paled and
trembled, and all things were well-nigh resolved into primeval
chaos. Let us suppose that one of the nobles of a kingdom
had laid waste the king's lands in a hostile inroad ; let us
suppose another, who, being a guest and counsellor of the
king, strangled, with traitorous hands, the latter's only son ;
would not the first be held innocent and free from blame in

t^in] SERMON ON THE PASSION. 333
respect of the second ? So stands all sin in relation to this
sin, viz. Christ's crucifixion ; and yet this sin He took upon
Himself, that He who made Himself to be sin might condemn
sin by means of sin. For through this all sin, personal as well
as original, was destroyed, and even this very special one was
removed by Himself.
"8. I take my argument from the greatest sin, as the two
lesser are removed. It is this. He bore the sins of many,
and' prayed for the transgressors that they might not perish :
' Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.' Thy
irrevocable word, O Lord, goeth forth, and will not return
without effect unto Thee, but will accomplish that for which
Thou hast sent it. See now the works of the Lord, what wonders
He hath done upon the earth ! He was beaten with rods,
crowned with thorns, bruised with staves, fastened to a cross,
loaded with reproaches ; and yet, unmindful of all these evils,
he says, ' Forgive them.' Hence the many sufferings of His
body, hence the mercy of His heart, hence the pangs, hence
the compassion, hence the oil of gladness, hence the drops of
blood running down to the ground. Many are the mercies of
the Lord, and many His sufferings. Will the sufferings surpass
the mercies, or the latter be greater than the former? Let
Thy mercies of old time prevail, O Lord, and let wisdom over
come malice. For great is their sin ; but is not Thy mercy
greater, O Lord ? It is greatly so in every way. Is not evil
returned for good, saith He, because they have digged a pit
for My soul? Plainly they dug a pit to catch impatience,
furnishing many and the greatest possible causes for anger.
But what is this pit of theirs compared with the depth of Thy
kindness? Repaying evil for good, they digged a pit: but
charity is not easily provoked, suffereth long ; rushes not into
a pit, and heaps up good for evil given instead. God forbid
that flies about to die should do away with the sweetness of
the ointment which flows from Thy body, because there is

fBooK III

334 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [£££
mercy in Thy breast, and plenteous redemption with Thee.
The miseries, the blasphemies, and insults which a wicked
and perverse generation heaps on Thee, are but as flies about
to die.
" 9. But what didst Thou do ? In the very uplifting of Thy
hands, when the morning sacrifice was now being changed
into the evening offering — on the very strength, I say, of that
incense which ascended into the heavens, covered the earth,
and bestrewed even hell itself, worthy to be heard for Thy
reverence, Thou criedst, ' Father, forgive them, for they know
not what they do.' Oh, how ready art Thou to pardon ! Oh,
how great is the multitude of Thy mercy, O Lord ! Oh, how
different are Thy thoughts to our thoughts ! Oh, how strong
is Thy pity even over the wicked! A marvellous thing ! He
cries, ' Forgive them,' and the Jews, ' Crucify Him ! ' His
words are soft as oil, and theirs be very spears. Oh, patient
charity, and compassionate also ! ' Charity suffereth long,' —
this is enough ; ' charity is kind ' is more than sufficient. ' Be
not overcome of evil ' is abundant charity, but ' overcome evil
with good' is superabundant; for it was not the patience
alone, but the goodness of God that led the Jews unto repent
ance, because bountiful charity loves, and loves ardently, those
with whom it bears. Patient charity puts off, waits, bears with
the offender ; but kind charity draws, allures, would have him
converted from the error of his way, and, in short, covers a
multitude of sins. O Jews ! ye are stones, but ye strike a
softer stone, from which resounds the ring of mercy, and the
oil of charity bursts forth ! How wilt Thou, O Lord, over-
flood with the torrent of Thy bliss those who long for Thee,
when Thou thus pourest out the oil of Thy mercy upon those
who are crucifying Thee !
" 10. It is evident, then, that this Passion is most effectual
for the destruction of every kind of" sin." JBut who knows if
it has been given to me? It has been given to me because

A^li'si] SERMON ON THE PASSION. 335
it could not be given to another. Could it to an angel?
but he needed it not. Could it to the devil ? but he riseth
rKSt again. In a word, being made not in the likeness of
angels, much less of devils, but in. the likeness of men, and
found in fashion as man, He emptied Himself, and took upon
Him the form of a servant. He was a Son, and was made
as "aTservant He took upon Him not only, the form of a
servant, that He might obey, but of a wicked servant, that He
might be beaten ; and the servant of sin, to pay the penalty,
though there was no sin in Him. In the likeness, He says, of
men, not of a man ; because the first man was created neither
in the flesh of sin, nor in the likeness thereof; for Christ
plunged Himself deeply into the universal misery of man,
that the subtle eye of the devil might not discover the great
mystery of godliness ; and, therefore, He was found in fashion,
yea in every fashion, as a man ; and, as far as nature was con
cerned, there was nothing particular about him. For He was
crucified, because He was so found. But He revealed Him
self unto few, that there might be some who would believe ;
but He was hidden from the rest, because, had they known,
they never would have crucified the Lord of Glory. He
added ignorance also to their particular sin, that He might,
with some semblance of justice, be able to pardon the igno
rant. "n. But that old Adam who fled from the face of God left
us two things as an inheritance, viz. labour and pain ; labour
in work, pain in suffering. He himself knew not this in
Paradise, which he had received to till and keep ; to till it
with pleasure, and to keep it carefully for himself and his
children. Christ the Lord endured labour and pain to deliver
them (i.e. men) into His hands, or, rather, Himself into
theirs, when fixed in the lowest depths, and the waters entered
even into His soul. ' Look upon My lowliness and labour,' He
says unto the Father, 'because I am poor, and in misery

336 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cS.1"
from My youth up.' He toiled persistently, His hands were
wearied in labours. ' Oh, all ye that pass by, behold and see
if there be any sorrow like unto My sorrow, which is done unto
Me' (Lam. i. 12). 'Surely He hath borne our griefs, and
carried our sorrows ' (Isa. liii. 4) ; a Man of sorrows, poor and
afflicted, tempted in all points, yet without sin. He exhibited
in His life passive action, and in His death endured active
passion, while He wrought in the midst of the earth. Hence
forth, as long as I live, I will bear in mind those labours which
He endured in preaching ; His weariness in journeying to and
fro, His temptations in fasting, His vigils in prayer, and His
tears of compassion. I will remember also His pains,' the
reproaches, spittings, blows, revilings, nails, and the like,
which passed in great abundance through and over Him.
Boldness, therefore, and resemblance are profitable to me, if
there be also imitation, so that I follow His footsteps ; for
otherwise that righteous blood which was poured out upon the
earth will be required of me, and I shall not be free from that
singular wickedness of the Jews : since I should prove un
grateful to so great charity, do despite to the Spirit of grace,
regard the blood of the testament as an unholy thing, and tread
under foot the Son of God.
" 1 2. There are many who endure labour and pain, but it is
of necessity, not of choice; and these are not conformed to
the image of God. Others bear them of their own free will,
yet neither have they part or lot in this discourse. The
luxurious man keeps awake the whole night long, not only
patiently, but willingly, to fulfil his pleasure ; the bandit,
clothed in mail, watches to seize upon his prey ; the thief
watches to break into another man's house : but all these, and
the like of them, are far removed from the labour and pain of
which the Lord takes account. But men of good will, who in
a Christian spirit have exchanged riches for poverty, or even
despised them when not had, as if they had them, leaving all

a'^SJ SERMON ON THE PASSION. 337
for Him, even as He also left all for them, follow Him whither
soever He goeth. And imitation of such a character as this, is
in my opinion the most powerful argument that the Passion of
the Saviour, and His likeness to humanity, tend to my utmost
advantage. For here is the relish, here the fruit of labour
and pain.
" 13. See, then, how gloriously that Majesty has dealt with
thee. As regards all things which are in heaven, and under
the heaven, He spake, and they were created. What is easier
than a word ? But was it with a word only that He restored
thee whom He had created. When He was seen for thirty
and three years upon the earth, and conversed with men,
He met with slanderers against His acts, and evil speakers'
against His words, and had not where to lay His head.
Why this ? Because the Word had descended from its own
subtlety, and received a coarser clothing; for it was made
flesh, and therefore used a grosser and harsher form. But as
thought clothes itself with a voice without any diminution of
itself either before or after the voice, so the Son assumed
flesh without any commixture or diminution either before
or after His incarnation. He was invisible with the Father ;
but here our hands have handled the Word of Life, and we
have seen with our eyes that which was from the beginning.
But this Word, because He had united to Himself spotless
flesh and a most holy soul, freely governed the actions of
His body, both because He was wisdom and righteousness,
and had no law in His members warring against the law of
His mind. My words are neither wisdom nor righteousness,
but yet capable of both, which may be contained in them or
not ; more easily perhaps the latter. For it is far easier for
us to obey the faults of our flesh than to regulate its actions
and passions, since every age from youth upward is prone
to evil, and eagerly follows after its own pleasures, in the
z

338 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [oSS.™
midst of stripes and swords, and even with the risk of death
itself. " 14. Happy he whose thought (this is my saying) directs
all his actions according to righteousness, so that his intention
may be good and his acts right. Happy he who governs his
passions for righteousness' sake, so that whatever he suffers he
may suffer on account of the Son of God ; so that murmur
ing be taken away from his heart, and thanksgiving and the
voice of praise be in his mouth. He who has so uplifted
himself, takes up his bed and walks into his own house. The
bed is our body, in which we formerly lay languid, obeying
our desires and lusts ; but now we carry it when we are
obliged to obey the Spirit : and we carry our dead, since the
body is dead because of sin. , We walk, however, but run
not ; for the corruptible body presseth down the soul, and the
earthy tabernacle weigheth down the mind that museth upon
many things' (Wisd. ix. 15). We also walk to our own house.
To what house ? To the mother of all, because their dwelling-
places shall endure for ever ; or, rather, to that our house
which we have of God, not made with hands, eternal in the
'heavens. When we who walk under this load shall have
laid it down, how shall we run, how shall we fly, think you ?
Clearly upon the wings of the wind. Our Lord Jesus Christ
has embraced us through our labour and pain ; . let us also
embrace Him with corresponding returns on account of His
righteousness, and according to His righteousness ; by direct
ing our deeds according to His righteousness, and enduring
suffering on account of His righteousness. Let us say also,
with the Bride, 'I held Him, and would not. let Him go'
(Cant. iii. 4). Let us say also, with the patriarch, ' I will not
let Thee go except Thou bless me' (Gen. xxxii. 26). For what
now remaineth but blessing ? what after embrace but a kiss ?
If I thus cleave unto God, how should I not now cry out, 'Let
Him kiss me with the kisses of His mouth' (Cant. i. 2). Feed

S;"si] SERMON ON THE PASSION. 339

Altat.

us meanwhile, Lord, with the bread of tears, and give us tears
to drink in measure until Thou lead us to a good measure, full
and heaped up, which Thou shalt pour into our bosoms, who
art in the bosom of the Father, above all, God 'blessed for
evermore. Amen." x

1 St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 884. " In Feria quarta Hebdomadae
Sanctae Sermo."

Z2

340 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [K.vi

CHAPTER VI.
(A.D. 1 142. AETAT. 51.)
THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION— LOUIS VII. AND THE ARCHBISHOP OF
BOURGES — THE COUNT OF VERMANDOIS EXCOMMUNICATED — WAK
BETWEEN LOUIS VII. AND COUNT THEOBALD OF CHAMPAGNE- -BURN
ING OF VITRY— DEATH OF POPE INNOCENT II.
It must have been nearly at the same time that he was
denouncing Abelard for his sceptical inquiries into matters of
belief, that Bernard wrote his celebrated letter to the canons
of the church of Lyons, to reprove them for just the opposite
vice, namely, a tendency to add without necessity to the
mysteries already generally held. The church of Lyons had
seen fit to celebrate a new festival — that of the Immaculate
Conception of the Virgin. Bernard addressed the canons in a
long letter on the subject, which is a temperate but vigorous
j remonstrance against their proceedings.1
1 In DecemDer> '854, the Pope 2te Abth., p. 471, where a good col-
pronounced the dogmatic decree lection of quotations will be found.
of the " Immaculate Conception of The difficulty caused by St Ber-
Mary," by which that was made a nard's and St. Thomas's condemna-
dogma of faith, which St. Bernard, tion of the doctrine is got over by the
St. Thomas, St. Bonaventura, and aid of a subtle distinction between
other great theologians of the ( 1 ) the active and (2) the passive con-
twelfth and thirteenth centuries, had ception : the transmission of the body
expressly condemned ; as Gieseler being the first, and the infusion of
says : "Die Lehre von der un- the soul the second. Concerning
befleckten Empfangniss wurde von St. Bernard Bishop Ullathorne says :
Keinem bedeutenden Theologen " Yet it is evident, from the tenor of
dieses Jahrhunderts angenommen." his language, that he had no idea in
— Gieseler's Kirchengesch. 2r. Bd. his mind beyond that of active concep-

21ll

THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION.

341

In the intervals of quiet which Bernard now occasionally
obtained, he vainly laid plans and indulged in hopes of

tion." — (Exposition,1^. 141. London,
1855. ) The great point is not to allow
even a moment between her animatio
in utero and her sanctification. " But,
after a moment of sin, she is cleansed
and sanctified, say certain objectors.
But if we grant to sin and the devil
but that one moment, we give up
everything, and abandon her stain
less honour." — (Ibid. pp. 89, 90.) It
is this small but penetrating wedge
which has made a breach in the doc
trine of the great St. Thomas. "It
is hard to say that St. Thomas did
not require an instant at least after
the animation of Mary before her
sanctification." — (Ibid. p. 143.) The
following extract from a letter of
the celebrated Petrus Cellensis to
an English monk of St. Alban's is
curious on many grounds. The
English monk, named Nicholas, had
written in favour of the Immaculate
Conception, and this was the reply
he received from his correspondent,
Peter :—
[vi. 23.] Petrus S. Remigii
Nicholao Monacho S. Albani. —
.... "Aggredior igitur phantas-
mata tua, lenocinantia quidem pul-
chritudinis specie, sed titubantia sta-
bilis fundamenti egestate. . . . Nee
indignetur Anglica levitas, si ea soli-
dior sit Gallica maturitas. Insula
enim est circumfusa aqua, unde hujus
elementi propria qualitate ejusincolae
non immerito afficiuntur, et nimia
mobilitate in tenuissimas et subfiles
phantasias frequenter transferuntur,,
somnia sua visionibus comparantes,
ne dicam praeferentes. Et quae culpa
naturae, si talis est natura terrae?
Certe expertus sum somniatores
plus esse Anglicos quam Gallos. Ce
rebrum namque humidius fumositate
stomachi citius involvitur, et quas-

libet imagines in seipso depingit,
quae ab animali virtute utcunque
spirituaii deferuntur, et ex occupa
tion omnium, tam naturalium quam
animalium seu spiritualium virtutum,
infra judicii veritatem confinguntur,
ut phanlasmata seu somnia appel-
lentur. Non sic cavernosa, non sic
aquatica Gallia, ubi sunt montes lapi-
dei, ubiferrum nascitur, ubi terra suo
pondere gravatur. Quid ergo ? non
cito a suo sensu moventur, et veritatis
auctoritatibus tenacius innituntur."
— (Lib. ii. Epistola clxxi.) The tables
have been strangely turned since.
Nicholas, in answer, wrote thus
[the anecdote concerning Bernard is
not without interest, as showing the
sentiment entertained towards him
twenty years after his death] : —
[ix. 9. ] Nicolaus Monachus S.
Albani Petro Abbati S. Remegii. —
"Ego autem . . . sic veneror beatum
confessorem Bernardum, ut laudem
et amem ejus sanctitatem, qui nee
amem nee laudem ejus praesump-
tionem in Matris Domini concep-
tionem. Et ne putes me magis per-
tinaci quam bona conscientia dicere
quae dico ; audi quid ab ipsis Cis-
terciensibus vera religione praeditis,
et Virginem in veritate diligentibus, '
acceperim de S. Bernardo, quorum no--
mina abscondo sub modio,ne odiosos
faciam fatrum suorum collegio. In
Clarevallensi collegio quidam con-
versus bene religiosus in visu noctis
vidit abbatem Bernardum niveis in-
dutum vestibus, quasi ad mamillam
pectoris furvam habere maculam.
Quem ex admiratione tristior allo-
quens: Quid est, inquit, Pater quod
nigram in te maculam video? et
ille : Quia de Dominicae nostrae
conceptione scripsi non scribenda,
signum purgationis meae maculam

342 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [K.vi
/ recovering that monastic peace and seclusion which had been
his chief inducements to become a monk. The circle of his
political and ecclesiastical relations was European. He had
become a centre, around which the affairs and men of the
Church had grown accustomed to revolve. While he lived,
directly or indirectly he was destined to be brought into con
nexion with every matter of above average importance which
occurred in Europe. Thus Master Peter's errors had hardly
been condemned, the few remaining "years of his old age"
had not yet run out, when Bernard's rest was again destroyed
by a series of vexatious circumstances.
Alberic, Archbishop of Bourges, died in the year 1141.
The chapter was divided about the election of a new
Metropolitan, part of it voting for one Cadurcus, who also
enjoyed the favour of the French king, Louis VIL, part of it
supporting Pierre de la Chatre, who was nephew of the
Roman Chancellor Haimeric, and was supposed, with good
reason, to have the countenance of the Pope.1 Innocent's
troubles had not humbled and chastened his mind ; on the
contrary, in the brief interval between the extinction of the
schism and his death, during which he wielded the whole
power of the papacy, he often appeared overbearing and un
scrupulous. In this instance he threw the whole of his influ
ence into the scale of his chancellor's creature. Without
deigning to inquire about the wishes or feelings of the French
in pectore porto. Frater visa con- terciensis capituli discretio depre-
ventui innotuit, et aliquis fratrum in henderet eum velle suum errorem
scriptum redegit. Relatum est in damnari et virgineae conceptionis
generali Cisterciensi Capitulo et de gloriam praedicari. Igitur si ego
communi consilio scriptum periit publico, quod ipse, ut credo publicari
inr.endio. Maluitque Abbatum urn- voluit, hoc non est ejus famam ex-
versitas Virginis periclitari gloriam tenuare, vel gloriam evacuare, sed
quam S. Bernardi opinionem  ejus voluntatem super delicti sui
Et certe, ut credo, ea ratione sane- poenitentia exprimere."  Lib. ii.
tus in propria persona viro simplici Epistola clxxii.
et de talibus nil scienti apparuit, et i Gesta Innocentii II. Papae ap.
culpam suam innotuit, ut totius Cis- D. Bouquet, xv. p. 359.

akat"i] THE ARCHBISHOP OF BOURGES. 343
king, he consecrated Pierre de la Chatre Archbishop of
Bourges, and deposed his rival Cadurcus from every ecclesias
tical office. Louis VII. was very wroth, and swore a solemn
oath that Pierre should never enter any of his dominions.
Innocent, with equal haughtiness, replied, " We must teach
this boy-king a lesson, lest he should get confirmed in these
bad habits," and proceeded to carry out his laudable design
by excommunicating the son of his own faithful benefactor,,
Louis VI. He went further, and prohibited all celebration of
holy rites in any town, village, or castle into which the king
mjght enter, and during the whole period of his sojourn in it. ]
Louis VII. was in no wise less hostile to Pierre de la Chatre
for this measure on the part of the Pope. He resolutely
prevented the Archbishop from entering his see. But church
men had lately acquired in Theobald, Count of Champagne, a
champion whose power to help them was only equalled by his
willingness to exert it. He at once received and welcomed
Pierre into his territories, who, from this safe retreat, adminis
tered the affairs of his province unmolested by the French
king. 2
Louis, who was never slow to anger, was deeply incensed.
There had been a cause of coldness between him and Theo
bald before this, in consequence of the latter having refused
to accompany him in an expedition against the Count of
Toulouse. And now a third cause of animosity was to be
added, far graver and more irritating than either of the pre
ceding. Queen Eleanor, the wife of Louis VIL, had a sister named
.1 "Sic per triennium persona Campaniae Theobaldus recepit in
Regis interdicto subjacuit: in quam- terra sua. . . . Indignatus ob hoc
cunque civitatem, castellum vel vi- Rex concitavit omnes fere proceres
cum intrabat, celebratio divinorum suos, ut una cum eo guerram infe-
suspendebatur." — Radulfus de Di- rent Comiti Theobaldo." — Ex Ap-
ceto, ap. D. Bouquet, xiii. p. 183. pendice Roberti de Monte ad Sigeber-
2 " Rex vero . . . Archiepiscopum tum, ap. D. Bouquet, xiii. p. 735.
exclusit redeuntem, sed eum comes

344 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [K.vi
Petronilla. Louis himself had a cousin named Ralph Of Ver-
mandois, and these two became deeply enamoured of each
other. But an obstacle was opposed to their happiness by the
fact that Ralph was already married, and married to a niece of
Count Theobald, named Eleanor. But Ralph, Petronilla, the
king, and the queen, all determined that this encumbrance
should be removed. So they applied to the Bishops of Noyon,
Laon, and Senlis, and induced them to dissolve the marriage
of Ralph and Eleanor, on the ground of affinity ; whereupon
Petronilla hastened to the arms of the impatient Ralph, all
difficulties, it was supposed, having been removed.
It was now Theobald's turn to be indignant. When he
heard of the treatment to which his niece had been subjected,
he made an application to the Pope, to have the matter
investigated. The Pope sent his legate, the Cardinal Ives,
who held a council at Lagny, at which it was declared that
Ralph and Eleanor were still legally married, and that the
union with Petronilla was an adulterous connexion. The
Cardinal then excommunicated Ralph and Petronilla, at the
same time laying the count's territory of Vermandois under
an interdict. The three bishops who had assisted him in
his matrimonial schemes were suspended from ecclesiastical
functions. 1
• Louis zealously espoused his cousin's quarrel with Count
Theobald and the Pope, of whose conduct to himself he
thought he had such ample reason to complain. His ambi
tious queen, the haughty Eleanor, was also quite ready to keep
alive his animosity, if it had been disposed to flag, as the posi-
1 " Radulphus Viromandorum Laudunensem Bartholomaeum, No-
comes uxorem suam dimittit, et viomensem Simonem, et Petrum Sil-
sororem Reginae Petronillam ducit : vanectensem, qui divortium illud
propter quod.instantiaComltisTheo- fecerant, suspendit." — Ex alterius
baldi, mittitur Romanae sedis Ivo Roberti appendice ad Sigebertum,
Legatus, qui et Radulphum Comi- ap. D. Bouquet, xiii. p. 331.
tem excommunicavit et Episcopos

i^n] LOUIS VII. AND THE POPE. 345
tion of her sister, now branded as a concubine, was extremely
painful to her. Both she and the king felt that Theobald was
their most important enemy, not only because he was a great
feudal lord, with power and territories of almost royal extent,
but because of his intimate connexion with churchmen, and
especially with Bernard, through whom he Was known to possess
no small influence at the court of Rome : " Leave me and my
business alone,'' said Louis to him, " and occupy yourself with
your estates, which are surely large enough to keep you em
ployed." In the year 1142 Louis VIL, at the head of a power.
ful army, boldly invaded the country of his hostile vassal, and
laid siege to the town and castle of Vitry. The resistance was
feeble. The king's people set fire to the houses, which were of
wood, and a great conflagration ensued. Numbers of the be
sieged took refuge in a church, but the flames soon enveloped
that also, and thirteen hundred persons were burnt alive. 1
Although this event afflicted Louis even to the shedding of
teats, yet he paused not in his career of conquest2 Theobald
was not prepared for so much prompt vigour in the young king,
and 'was unable to make an effectual stand against the inva
ders. The whole country was given up to destruction and
pillage. Some people said it served Theobald right for think
ing only of monks and nuns instead of knights and cross-
bowmen.3 At an assembly of his friends, at which Bernard
1 " Denique cum multo comi- cum cum Rex Ludovicus VI. cepisset,
tatu aggressus castrum ejus quod igne admoto ecclesia incensa est, et
Vitreiacum dicitur, oppidanos et in ea mille trecentae animae diversi
milites sibi resistentes aut cepit aut sexus et aetatis sunt igne consump-
occidit. tae. "—(.£* Hist. Francorum, ap.
" Oppido succenso,in tantum ignis D. Bouquet, xii. p. 116.) It will be
excrevit, ut etiam castrum quod in noticed there is a slight discrepancy
eo erat valde munitum cum multo in the accounts. I have chosen the
inhabitantium periculo concremarit. lesser number.
In hoc praelio vel incendio capti, 2 " Super quo Rex Ludovicus
caesi, aut concremati ad mille quin- misericordia motus plorasse dicitur."
gentos sunt aestimati. " — (Ex auc- — Ibid.
tore Gemblacensi, ap. D. Bouquet, 3 " Usque adeo de ejus evasione
xiii. p. 272.) "Cujus castrum Vitria- desperaretur, ut publice quoque jam

346 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [K.vl
was present, the most melancholy views as to the future were
expressed. A bishop- said, " The Count Theobald is fallen
into the hands of the king ; we cannot save him now."
" Stay," said another bishop, " there is one who can deliver
him." "Who is that?" "God, to whom all things are
possible." " Doubtless,'' said the other, " if He showed forth
His might, if He seized His sceptre, and struck right and left ;
but up to this time He has done none of these things." Theo
bald's external dangers were aggravated by domestic treason ;
old friends and allies forsook him in his hour of need. After
the long prosperity of his manhood, he was being deserted as
useless and helpless in his old age.1
These misfortunes of Theobald were the cause of deep grief
and anxiety to Bernard. People came and asked him what
the issue of it all was to be ; wanted to know what God had
revealed to him on the subject. His kinsman, the Bishop of
Langres, frequently made these inquiries. He replied, that
nothing but tribulation on tribulation was manifested to him.
Theobald he comforted by pointing out the uses of affliction,
and by dwelling on the trials to which the saints of old were
exposed. Theobald at once, to show that his faith faltered not,
sent for two magnificent gold vases, a legacy of his uncle,
Henry I., caused the precious stones to be knocked out, and
the metal to be sold, the proceeds of which he devoted to the
construction of monastic buildings.2
Nevertheless, Theobald's enemies had one design more at
heart even than humbling him, to effect which was indeed
their principal object in humbling him, and that was the
removal of the excommunication which still weighed on Ralph
insultaretur religioni, pietati detra- Theobaldus: non est qui possit eum
haretur, eleemosynis derogaretur. eruere." — Ibid.
Monachi et conversi inutiles ejus 2 " Aurum confringi praecepit ut
milites et balistarii dicebantur." — venderetur et de pretio .... taber-
St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1134. nacula fundarentur. " — Ibid. vol. ii.
1 "In manu Regis est comes col. 1 116.

$£l?£] DUPLLCLTY OF BERNARD. 347
and Petronilla. For this purpose, they pressed him more hotly
than ever, and at last reduced him to such extremity, that he
was ready to sue for peace on almost any terms. Their con
ditions were, that he should bind himself by oath to intercede
for them at the Roman court, and procure a raising of the
interdict which they lay under. No questions were to be
asked or answered concerning the cause of the ecclesiastical
censure, viz. the illicit connexion of Ralph and Petronilla.
The latter may possibly have thought that to remove the
punishment was to remove the crime also. Theobald, and his
clerical advisers, saw here an opening for a little artful diplo
macy. They knew very well that Ralph and his concubine did
not intend to separate ; but they knew also that if the king's
troops were withdrawn, and time for preparations gained,
matters would wear a different aspect in another campaign.
Bernard wrote to the Pope, developing the scheme. He made
no pretence of concealing its craftiness and duplicity. "Count
Theobald," he says, " took the oath at the request and advice
of several faithful and wise persons. They told him that the
raising of the interdict could easily be obtained from you,
without injury to the Church ; for. it is in your power to renew
it, and immoveably establish it ; and thus cunning may be met
by cunning, and peace be obtained, while he who glories in
malice, and is powerful in iniquity, will derive no advantage."1
1 "Ut non penitus desolaretur fidelium sapientiumque virorum. Di-
terra .... compulsus est ille devo- cebant namque id a vobis facile et
tissimus filius vester [i.e. Theobal- absque laesione ecclesiae impetrari,
dus] et ecclesiasticae libertatis ama- dum in manu vestra sit eamdem de-
tor et defensor, sub jurejurando pro- nuo sententiam, quae justa data fuit,
mittere quatenus sententiam excom- incontinenti statuere et irretracta-
municationis, a legato vestro bonae biliter confirmare : quatenus et ars
memoriae magistro Ivone datam in arte deludatur, et pax proinde obti-
terram et' personam adulteri tyranni, neatur: et qui gloriatur in malitia,
qui caput et auctor exstitit horum et potens est in iniquitate, nihil inde
omnium malorum et dolorum, atque lucretur."— (St. Bern. Epist. 217.)
in ipsam adulteram, faceret amoveri ; It is absurd to argue, as M. D'Ar-
quod sane tamen praefatus princeps bois de Jubainville does, that this
fecit prece et consilio nonnullorum is not a confession of intended du-

34S LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [SS. vi
The Pope approved of the plan and withdrew the interdict.
The king, conformably to the treaty, recalled his troops, and
restored to Theobald the town of Vitry, which he had taken
from him. He had scarcely done so, when his eyes were
opened to the clever deception which had been practised on
him. Ralph and Petronilla being still amorous and contu
macious, were again threatened with excommunication, and a
frenzy of indignation seized their royal relatives in conse
quence.1 Louis VII. wrote to Bernard to tell him that, if the
sentence were pronounced, he should at once invade Count
Theobald's territories. In fact, he had found in the Count of
Champagne a means of causing intense vexation to the Church.
Theobald made energetic preparations for defence, and Bernard
strained to the utmost his immense authority to prevent the
king from breaking the recent truce. Still the latter was
determined to show the churchmen that he could annoy them,
although they might excommunicate him. He despatched his
brother Robert to lay waste the church and diocese of Rheims.
Robert installed himself in the archiepiscopal palace, with his
knights, archers, and crossbowmen, and the country round was
given up to their rapacity. Louis kept both the sees of Paris
and Chalons deprived of the presence of their bishops, and
gave the ecclesiastics generally reason to regret their intention
of slighting him.2
plicity on the part of Bernard and which was soon after done, as the
the clerical party. The terms which weaker party clearly foresaw.
the king and Ralph offered were, i " Illusus est," ait, "comes Ra-
that they would withdrawtheir forces dulphus, et iterum relegatus est." —
from Theobald's territory, if he St. Bern. Epist. 222.
would make their peace with the 2 "Commisit Rex germano suo
Pope. Ralph was excommunicated, Roberto vices episcopi  Re-
not as an assailant of Theobald in mensem invadit atque in terra sanc-
the field, but as a sinner, living in torum iniqua gerit, non clericis, non
adultery with a concubine. If the monachis, non sanctimonialibus par-
crime existed still — which it did — it cens .... terras fructiferas et villas
was wrong to raise the interdict: if it populosas, ita in ore gladii devas-
had been condoned, as a condition tavit, ut pene in solitudinem rede*
of peace, it was wrong to renew it, gerit universas." — Ibid. 224.

a^m] PEACE CONCLUDED. . 349
In time the king grew tired of being excommunicated. He
was willing to come to an agreement, and even to receive the
Archbishop of Bourges ; but the queen was still obdurate on
the point of her sister's marriage. On one occasion she and
Bernard met at the Abbey of St. Denis. He had come to
settle terms of peace with her husband, but his efforts were
baffled by the queen, who opposed all solution which did not
recognise the marriage between Ralph and Petronilla. Bernard
told her she ought to exert her influence over the king to better
purpose than for the promotion of discord. Presently she
complained to him on the subject of her barrenness, and
begged he would pray for her. " If you," he replied, " will
do as I shall advise, I will ask this of the Lord for you.''
She promised to acquiesce, and in the course of a year a child
was born to the king and queen.1 This difficulty of the
queen's opposition being removed, Bernard was able to carry
to a favourable issue his schemes of pacification. Ralph was
still excommunicated, and remained so till the death of his
wife, some years after. But the king and the royal dominions
were to be freed from all ecclesiastical censure. Ambassadors
were despatched to Rome to request officially the raising of
the interdict. They met with a gracious reception from
Coelestine IL, for Innocent had died, and been succeeded
by the Cardinal Guido di Castello, the friend of Arnold of
Brescia. The Pope, in the midst of a large assembly of his
councillors, rose up, and, turning in the direction of the
1 "Erat autem vir sanctus apud quod postulas, Dominum exorabo.
Regem pro quadam pace labo- Annuit ilia, et pacis non tardavit
rans, et Regina in contrarium nite- effectus. Qua reformata, praedictus
batur. Cumque earn moneret de- Rex, nam verbum ei Regina sugges-
sistere coeptis, et Regi suggerere serat, a Viro Dei promissum humi-
meliora, inter loquendum ilia coepit liter exigebat. Hoc autem tam cele-
conqueri super sterilitate sua, humi- riter est impletum, ut circa idem
liter rogans, ut sibi partum obtineret tempus anno altero eadem Regina
a Deo. At ille: 'Sifeceris,' inquit, pepererit."-ST. Bern, Op. vol. u.
' qUod moneo, ego quoque pro verbo col. 1 137.

35° LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [SSJ-.vi
kingdom of France, gave his blessing ; and the interdict had
ceased.1
/' The friendly intercourse which had so long subsisted be
tween Bernard and Innocent had given way, before the Pope's
' death, to coldness, or even anger, on the part of his Holiness.
Cardinal Ives — he who had lately held the Council of Lagny,
and excommunicated the Count of Vermandois and Petronilla
— had on his death-bed appointed Bernard and two other
abbots his executors, and charged them to make a distribution
of a certain portion of his goods to the poor. The two abbots
came to Clairvaux to settle the matter with Bernard ; but he
was absent on business of the Church, and they, deeming
further delay objectionable, proceeded to carry out the wishes
of their deceased friend. They did so in a manner which gave
great offence to Innocent, who, however, at once laid all the
blame on Bernard, whom he appears to have accused of un
justifiable presumption for his conduct in the matter. Bernard
humbly and sorrowfully replied, that he could not be guilty, as
the Pope supposed, inasmuch as he had done nothing; that
he was absent on the Pope's business when the abbots came
to Clairvaux; that they had done whatever had been done,
and their warranty for it was the written testament of the
departed cardinal. Innocent, it seems, had thought that he
was entitled to the money which had been distributed to the
poor, and at the same time believed that, whether Bernard
appeared in the business or not, the " two abbots " would never
have moved in it without his authority and sanction.
But it is evident that Innocent had no difficulty in finding
grounds of quarrel with Bernard, so prejudiced had he grown
i "Ad hunc [ie. Papam] Rex benigneassurgeret.manuqueelevata,
noster legatos pro pace ineunda mi- signum benedictionis contra regio-
sit, quam ita dulcissima impetra- nem hanc faciens, ipsam a senten-
tione obtinuerunt, ut in conspectu tia interdictionis absolveret."  Ex
illorum, multorumque nobilium, quo- Chronica Mauriniaccnsi, ap. D. Bou-
rum frequentia Roma fremere solet, QUET, xii. p. 87.

££;"$] INNOCENT ESTRANGED FROM BERNARD. 351
against his old friend and benefactor. In the same letter in
which Bernard repels the charge concerning the cardinal's
property, he says he is sorry to hear that the Pope has had
too many of his letters. It is a fault, however, which can be
easily rectified, and shall be, as far as he is concerned. To
give proof of his good intentions, he says that the dangers
and difficulties which he foresees for the Church he has spoken
of in letters to the bishops near the Pope's person, and not,
as he had been wont to do, to the Pope himself.1
1 St. Bern. Epist. 218.

Note on the contested Election to the Archbishopric
of York.
Dean Milman, in his history of Latin Christianity, vol. iii. p. 397, writes
as follows : — " The Abbot of Clairvaux was involved in a disputed election
to the Archbishopric of York. The narrow corporate spirit of his order
betrayed him into great and crying injustice to William, the elected prelate
of that see. The rival of the Englishman, another William, once a Cluniac,
was a Cistercian ; and Bernard scruples not to heap on one of the most
pious of men accusations of ambition — of worse than ambition — to condemn
him to everlasting perdition. l The obsequious Pope, no doubt under the
same party influence, or quailing under the admonitions of Bernard, which
rise into menace, issued his sentence of deposition against William. England,
true to that independence which she had still asserted under her Norman
sovereigns, refused obedience. King Stephen even prohibited his bishops
from attending the Pope's summons to a council at Rheims ; the Archbishop
of Canterbury was obliged to cross the sea clandestinely in a small boat.
-William eventually triumphed over all opposition, obtained peaceable
possession of the see, died in the odour of sanctity, and has his place in the
sacred calendar."2
(1) " Epist. 241. ' Ssevit frustrata ambitio : imo desperata furit. . . . Clamat contra
eorum capita sanguis sanctorum de terra.' " " St. William showed no enmity, sought no
revenge against his most inveterate enemies, who had prepossessed Eugenius III. against
him by the blackest calumnies." — Butler, Lives of Saints.
(2) "June 8th. S. William. Was Bernard imposed upon, or the author of these
calumnies ? It is a dark page in his life."
This statement is open to several objections. ( I. ) The " elected prelate "
was not an Englishman, but a Norman, being nephew of King Stephen.
(2.) His rival was not " another William, " but a Henry— Henry Murduch, to
whom Bernard directed his 106th Epist. (see ante, p. 20). He was, accord
ing to Mabillon, a professor in England before he became a monk at Clair
vaux. I find no grounds for supposing he had ever been a Cluniac before

352, LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cT,.™
becoming a Cistercian. Bernard made him Abbot of Vauclair, and subse
quently of Fountains, in Yorkshire. (3. ) It was not an obsequious Pope,
i.e. Eugenius, but a very haughty one, who first thought fit to condemn the
election of William to the see of York. Innocent II. pronounced against
it, and that at a time when he was nearly, or quite, estranged from Bernard,
and more inclined to thwart than oblige him, namely, during the last years
of his pontificate. (4. ) There was ample ground in the manner of William's
election for rigid churchmen to oppose it. It was confidently asserted that
when the Chapter were on the point of choosing a new archbishop, King
Stephen sent a message by the Earl of York ordering them to elect his
nephew. " Comes Eboracensis in Capitulo Eboracensi praecepit ex ore
regis, hunc Willielmum elegi." (Acta Sanctorum die Odava Junii, vol. ii.
p. 138. ) Simony was regarded by the austere Cistercians in the most odious
fight, and, rightly or wrongly, a number of the clergy of England considered
William as lying open to the charge. Walter, Archdeacon of London, set
out to meet King Stephen and expostulate with him on the subject ; but
the Earl of York frustrated this intention by capturing him, and holding
him prisoner in the Castle of Biham. Richard, Abbot of Fountains ; Cuth-
bert, Prior of Giseborne ; Wallevus, Prior of Kirkham ; and several others,
declared that William had obtained the see of York by paying for it ;
and Robert, Prior of Hexham, actually resigned his priory, and went
abroad, rather than live under a simoniacal archbishop. The dispute was
referred to Rome, and Innocent pronounced against William ; but, undei
the protection of his uncles, namely, the King of England and the Bishop
of Winchester' — the celebrated Henry de Blois, who was legate here —
William was thrust upon the see of York, and appears to have enjoyed
a tolerably peaceful possession for about two years. When, however, a
Cistercian Pope ascended the papal throne in the person of Eugenius III. ,
it cannot be wondered that Bernard became active in endeavouring to
remove what he considered a scandalous outrage on the rights of the
Church. He wrote according to' his wont several fiery letters to his
disciple the Pope, and succeeded in getting William put aside, and his
friend Henry Murduch elected in his place. This enraged the partisans of
William to such an extent that they attacked the Abbey of Fountains in
great force, broke open the doors, plundered the premises, and then burned
them to the ground. " Veniunt Fontes in manu armata, et effractis foribus
ingrediuntur sanctuarium cum superbia, irruunt per officinas, diripiunt
spolia, et non invento quem quaerebant abbate, sancta ilia edificia, grandi
labore constructs, subjectis ignibus redigunt in favillam." (Monasticon
Anglicanum, p. 747. London, 1682.) I have little doubt that there was
abundant party spirit on both sides, and that William was far from deserving
all the reproaches cast upon him by his enemies ; but I think also that I
, have made it clear that Bernard's conduct was not so indefensible as Dean
Milman is inclined to think, and that it can scarcely, with justice, be called
" a dark page in his life."

BOOK IV.

A A

BOOK IV
CHAPTER I.
(A.D. 1 145. AETAT. 54.)
CONDITION OF SYRIA AND THE EAST UP TO THE MIDDLE OF THE
TWELFTH CENTURY.
While the nations of Western Europe were thus slowly rising ;
out of barbarism, under the double discipline of Feudalism I
and Latin Christianity, great and stirring events had now for
some time broken in upon the primeval apathy of the East. '
A new and aggressive religion had appeared. In an ever-
spreading wave of fanaticism and conquest, it had submerged
great part of Asia, and, running along the shores of the
Mediterranean, dashed itself into spray, which had fallen
partly even on Southern Europe. This rival and enemy of
Christianity, although its junior by five centuries, had boldly
attacked the followers of the Cross, and borne them down
with its barbaric vigour, even in lands once hallowed by the
presence of the Lord and His Apostles. At last the fanaticism'
of the East had provoked the fanaticism of the West, and the
First Crusade had been the answer of Europe and Christianity
to the insolent defiance of Islam. But at this period of our
history, the fifty-fifth year of Bernard's life, nearly half a
century had elapsed since the shout of Dieu le veut ! from the
warriors at Clermont had rolled and re-echoed throughout the
aa 2

356 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD, [*g£jl
West. The heroes of the First Crusade had nearly all de
parted. Godfrey, and Tancred, and Baldwin were sleeping in
Eastern graves. But the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem had, on
the whole, progressed rather than declined during the first
thirty years of the twelfth century. The two Baldwins had
consolidated the conquests of their kinsman ; and the other
territories, viz. the principality of Antioch, the counties of
Tripoli and Edessa, were in the possession of bold and able
men, who were not likely to allow the Turks any permanent
advantage over the Christian name.
One of the most important causes of the successes of the
Franks in their daring enterprise of conquering the Holy
/Land had been the disunion and anarchy of their Moslem
[ enemies.1 The whole Mohammedan world was then, as it had
been for centuries, the scene of an internecine civil strife.
The great house of Seljuk, which, under the first rulers, had
towered loftily over all past and actual rivals, was now
crumbling to the same ruin which had befallen its prede
cessors.2 The loose imitation of a feudal system, which the
Turks established after their conquests, extended the boun
daries of their empire at the expense of its vigour and
durability. At the cheap sacrifice of a nominal allegiance to
the Sultan every bold scion of his own house, every adven
turous spirit in his wide dominions, might push his conquests
and devastation in any direction he pleased. But these rapid
i "II est certain, cependant, que of Seljuk see Gibbon, chap. Ivii.,
siles Seljoucides avaient fait quelques and the elaborate but ill-written
efforts; s'ils avaient rassemble toutes " Histoire des Huns," vol. ii. , by Des
les troupes de la Perse; si le fa- Guignes, Paris, 1750. But for a
meux Sulthan Sandgiar, le hero du lively picture of Syria at the epoch
Musulmanisme et Mohammed, eus- of the Crusades consult the fourth
sent conduit eux-mSmes ces troupes volume of Michaud's " Bibliotheque
dans la Palestine, jamais les Francs des Croisades," where the narra-
n'y auraient fait d'etablissements. " tives of the Eastern annalists are
— Des Guignes, Hist, des Huns, made to elucidate or correct the
vol. ii. p. 236. chronicles of the West.
2 For the history of the house

ik?«S] THE CRUSADERS IN PALESTINE. 357
and tempestuous onslaughts were as destructive and as tran
sitory as the whirlwind they resembled. The conqueror's
companions had hardly aided him to make his conquest before
they thought it time to imitate his example. They soon
became his equals or rivals, and a murderous civil war
generally followed to ascertain if they should not be his
masters. Had not such discord enfeebled the Turks, the
Crusaders would have had but little prospect of subduing or
holding principalities in Syria. The Frankish empire, how
ever, was slowly expanding both in length and breadth, and
the vanquished Moslems could only wonder at their deser
tion by God and the Prophet.
But, in time, prosperity and adversity produced their usual \
effects both on Christians and Mohammedans. The former j
became careless and disunited, the latter grew vigilant and co- ;
operative. The great feudal lords, who had made themselves '
Crusaders, were quite willing to do and suffer much for the
cause of the Cross ; — they would expose their northern con
stitutions to the Syrian sun, and wait and toil for opportunities
for slaughtering Paynims without a murmur ; they would pray,
and fast too, like good Christian knights, and prostrate them
selves on the ground till their hands and knees grew callous in
the process1 — all this they would do, and feel they were only
"unprofitable servants." But there was one form of self-
indulgence, one direction in which the old Adam would break \
out, which they found it impossible to withstand, and that was |
the ineffable luxury of private wars. They were numerous,
they were neighbours, and how could they do otherwise than
fight? And, consequently, private wars were nearly as frequent;
and a great deal more injurious in Palestine than they were ih
France. The Count of Edessa and the Prince of Antioch
1 Baldwin II. , says William of ita ut callos in manibus haberet et
Tyre (lib: xii. cap. 4), was "feligiosus genibus, pro afflictionis et genuflex-
et timens Deum: in orationibus jugis, ionis frequentia."

358 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c£L?f
were as hostile to each other as the Counts of Chartres and
Vermandois. To the evil results which necessarily flowed
from this source was now added a new one, viz. that as the
older and abler Crusaders were removed by death, they were
succeeded in their hereditary fiefs by heirs to their possessions,
but by no means to their capacity and determination. We
shall soon see how a notable misfortune befell the Christian
cause by this means.
For the Turks were growing resolved to make a vigorous
effort to restore their, fallen fortunes. Suppressing their
domestic rivalries and contests, they decided to elect a leader
whose known courage and ability would give them some hope
of vanquishing their enemies. " God," says an Arab writer,
" had similar intentions. He was determined to raise up
against the Christians a man able to punish them for their
attempts, and visit them with condign vengeance. He was
anxious to blast the demons of the Cross, as He had blasted
the rebellious angels, and utterly crush and annihilate them."1
The important point was, that the Emirate of Mossul should
be in the hands of a man of energy and skill. On the death
of the Emir Masoud, his brother, a young child of tender
years, was his natural, but, under the circumstances, not a
desirable, successor. Deputies, however, were sent to Bagdad
to demand of the Sultan the usual investiture for the boy.
Whereupon the politic Nasur-eddin induced them to change
the nature of their petition entirely, and to speak to the
Grand Vizier in these terms : " Thou knowest that Mesopo
tamia and Syria are a prey to the devastations of the Franks.
Since the death of Borsaki the boldness of the Christian
knows no limit. Our present ruler is but a child, whereas we
want a man of discretion, and an able warrior. We inform
thee of the state of matters, that no harm may happen to
Islam ; for it is we who should be culpable in the eyes of God,
i Michaud, " Bibliotheque des Croisades," vol. iv. p. 60.

!£"£] RISE OF ZENGHIS. 359
and incur the reproaches of the Sultan." The Vizier having
reported these words to the SuJtan, the latter asked who was
the Emir who, in the general opinion, was most able to defend
the Mussulmans. The deputies replied Zenghis, the son of
Ascansar. The Sultan approved of the choice, and appointed
Zenghis Emir of Mossul.
Zenghis, the hope of Islam, and afterwards the terror of the
Christians, had had a long apprenticeship in the school of
adversity and hard-learnt experience. The son of a favourite
of Malek Shah, he had been left a helpless orphan on his
father's decapitation. He found friends, however, among
. Ascansar's servants and adherents, and, in the ceaseless civil
contests which then raged, he soon mastered the art of war as
then practised in Syria. The conviction that he was the only
man capable of resisting the Christians grew among his
countrymen without intermission, till they had the satisfaction
of seeing their hero installed as ruler of Mesopotamia.1
He did not wait long before he made his power felt. Not
far from Aleppo, which was still subject to the Mohammedans,
was a castle, named Athareb, garrisoned by Franks. These
latter were a source of great annoyance to their neighbours
of Aleppo, and the enterprising Zenghis thought it would
be advisable to dislodge them. He laid siege to Athareb.
Young Bohemond IL, Prince of Antioch, immediately took
1 The Orientals set no bounds never forgave. He mutilated and
to their admiration of Zenghis's crucified one of his emirs for gal-
character and prowess. There can lantry. Discipline he maintained
be little doubt that he was a man with an iron hand. One of his
of most keen perception, and most officers, on entering a town, took
rapid performance — a born leader of possession of a Jew's house, and
men. He lived on familiar terms turned the owner into the street.
with his officers, and promoted, or It was winter. Zenghis, in order to
disgraced them, having regard solely give his troops a lesson, made them
to their merits. He was particu- evacuate the place, and pitch their
larly watchful over the honour of tents amid the mud and water of
women, especially the wives of his the open country.— Michaud, Bib.
soldiers. An insult to them he des Croisades, vol. iv. p. 78, et seq.

360 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [¦&.'!
the field in force, with the view of defeating his desigp.
Zenghis at once raised the siege, and giving battle to Bohe-
mond, killed him, and utterly routed his troops. He then
resumed his attack on Athareb, which he stormed and reduced
to a heap of ruins. This so alarmed the men of Antioch,
that they sent urgent requests for help to the King of Jeru
salem. At this point an incident occurred which was highly
significant of the demoralization which had seized the Franks
in Palestine. Alice, the wife of the slain Bohemond, and
daughter of King Baldwin IL, on hearing of his defeat and
death, at once revolved plans of independent sovereignty for
'herself, and determined to secure, if possible, the alliance of
her husband's conqueror. With this object she sent to the
triumphant Turk, " by the agency of a certain friend of hers,''
a present of a perfectly white palfrey, with shoes and bit-
ornaments made of silver, and a snow-white housing of silk.1.
But the king, who had hastened to respond to the appeal he
had received from Antioch, on his road thither, met this
"certain friend" of his daughter convoying her remarkable
palfrey. The unlucky wight, being made to confess his
character and errand, was put to death by the king's orders.
Baldwin then used more haste than before to reach Antioch,
when, behold, his own daughter refused him admission, and
prepared to offer a stout resistance if he attempted to force
one. Faithful old servants, however, of the king, within
Antioch, were not disposed to yield implicit obedience to an
imperious woman, and Baldwin was soon admitted, in spite
1 William of Tyre says that tem et praedicto nobili viro, per
Alice was "nequam agitata spiritu," quemdam familiarem suum, palefre-
which is manifest enough. Her ob- dum albissimum, argento ferratum,
ject was to exclude her little daugh- freno et caeteris argenteis phaleris
ter from the principality of Antioch, redimitum, exameto coopertum albis-
to which the latter was heiress since simo, ut in omnibus candor niveus
Bohemond's death. As regards her consonaret." — (Lib. xiv. cap. 27.)
present to Zenghis, these are the Exametum = pannus holosericus.
archbishop's words : " Miserat au- Vide Du Cange.

a£;"h| peril of edessa. 36i
of his daughter's opposition. He punished her by restricting
her authority to the cities of Gabala and Laodicea.
Zenghis's boldness and success encouraged other Turkish
chiefs to make an aggressive war against the Franks. The '
Sultan Masoud, of Iconium, attacked a fortress belonging to
the veteran Joscelyn de Courtnay, Count of Edessa.1 Joscelyn
was lying prostrate on his couch at the time, in consequence
of injuries he had received shortly before. As he was be
sieging a castle near Aleppo, he incautiously approached too .
near a tower which he had ordered to be undermined. The
tower fell, and buried him beneath its ruins. Whether the
probability that, in consequence of this accident, he would
not encounter so renowned a champion of the Cross as
Joscelyn, had any effect in determining the Sultan to make '
the attempt he was now upon, cannot be ascertained, but the
supposition is not unlikely. The old Crusader received the news
of the inroad as he lay on his sick-bed at Edessa. Unable
himself to grapple with the enemy, he commanded his son to
hasten to the rescue with all the troops he could collect. But
young Joscelyn had little of his father's spirit — he demurred.
1 Joscelyn had had a wide expe- win — the excellent, gentle Baldwin ¦
rience of life, and the changefulness — ordered his cousin to be seized
of fortune, during his long career and tortured till he had yielded up
as a Crusader. He and his cousin all he possessed. — (Lib. ix. cap. 22.)
Baldwin du Bourg were taken pri- But this little incident produced
soners by the Turks, and kept cap- no lasting coldness between them.
tive for five years. — ( Will, of Tyre, Shortly after, Joscelyn was the first
lib. ix. cap. 8. ) After they had re- to vote for Baldwin's election to the
covered their liberty, Baldwin, who throne. — (Lib. xii. cap. 3.) Baldwin
was then Count of Edessa, had rea- and Joscelyn were soon again fellow-
sou to think that Joscelyn had shown taptives among the Turks; but when
an ungra.teful disposition. So he thelatterwas free again, he performed
sent for Joscelyn, and said to him, a great feat of arms, for he attacked
" What do you possess which I did and slew with his own hand Balac,
not give to you?" "Nothing," an- the most valiant and able emir the
swered Joscelyn. "Then why are Turks had,before the rise of Zetighis.
you so unmindful of my benefits? — (Lib. xiii. cap. II.) He succeeded
You shall restore all I have ever his cousin Baldwin in the county of
given to you." Whereupon Bald- Edessa.

362 LIFE. AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [^.7
The Sultan, he said, was too powerful to be successfully
attacked with the forces at their disposal. In a word, he
objected to going at all. With bitter feelings of mortification
and sorrow, the failing warrior listened to the degenerate
youth. Ordering all his followers to be ready to march, he
caused a litter to be made, and himself placed in it ; and
thus, the weakness of his body showing more distinctly the
strength of his soul, he was carried at the head of his soldiers
to meet the Turks. But such was the terror inspired by his
name, that Masoud never waited to receive the attack of the
dying Courtnay, but hastily raised the siege, and gat him into
his own country. Joscelyn, when he heard that the enemy had
fled, ordered his litter to be placed on the ground ; then, lifting
his eyes to heaven, he thanked God for the mercy He had
showed him in his last moments ; that, although he was almost
passing through the portals of death, he was still fonnidable
to the enemies of the Christian faith : and so, surrounded by
his knights and men-at-arms, under the broad sky, he expired.
And now the important frontier stronghold of Edessa was
in the hands of the young coward who had refused to attack
an enemy who fled at the sound of his father's name. He
soon did all that lay in his power to fulfil the evil promise he
had already made. Edessa, he found, was a distasteful resi
dence to him. Its proximity to the enemy on the borders
disturbed his repose. The armed tumult of the fortress he
could not endure. So he forsook the castle and town which
his father and predecessors had bravely conquered, and fled,
and betook himself to a luxurious retreat on the banks of the
Euphrates, named Turbessel, where he gave free rein to his
inclination' for debauchery ; and thus Edessa was left to the
care of mercenaries and a mongrel population of traders and
artisans. This state of matters was not likely to escape the notice of
such a chief as Zenghis. He doubtless would have assumed

£"«"£] SIEGE OF EDESSA. 363
the offensive at an earlier period than he did, but for the
civil commotions which again were raging among his country
men. Twelve years of, idleness and impunity were granted to
Joscelyn, in which to repent of his wickedness. At last
Zenghis, who had long had his eye on Joscelyn, felt he was
strong enough to commence an attack. He laid siege to
Edessa with a force of chosen warriors. He invested the
town on every side, so as to cut off all relief from the
besieged, if any were sent. He erected seven battering-rams
to demolish the walls. He undermined the towers, and was
met by the countermines of the garrison. The inhabitants,
even the women and monks, showed the greatest courage,
serving the soldiers with stones and other missiles, and also
bringing them food and water. But Zenghis's archers sent
such constant showers of arrows into the town, that the
defenders had scarcely any rest by day or night.
At last two of the towers were so undermined that they
tottered to their fall. They were supported by powerful beams,
while the men worked under them ; and the application of a
little fire would now complete their ruin. Zenghis offered
terms to the inhabitants if they would capitulate. They
rejected his proposals with scorn, being convinced that help
would soon come, either from the count or the king. Joscelyn,
as terrified after the event as he had been apathetic before it,
could do nothing but run about imploring help. In the mean
while, on the twenty-eighth day after the commencement of
the siege, Edessa was being stormed. The fall of the towers
opened a breach a hundred cubits wide, through which poured
an excited throng of ferocious Turks, shouting their battle-cry,
" God is great ! God is great !" For three days the carnage
and devastation continued. But the prudent Zenghis saw the
advantages which Edessa offered as a fortification ; he caused
the walls to be repaired, and ordered his officers -to treat the
inhabitants with mercy and justice.

364 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [BchL.TiV
This was the last important achievement which Zenghis
accomplished.1 Two years after the capture of Edessa, he was
assassinated while he slept, by some of his own Mamelukes.2
Count Joscelyn thought that the valiant Emir's death would
be a good opportunity to recover Edessa. He succeeded in
gaining admission with his troops into the town, by the aid of
the Armenian Christians, of whom it contained great numbers.
The garrison, finding resistance hopeless, retreated to the
citadel, for Joscelyn used his unexpected victory with savage
ferocity, and gave no quarter to any enemies he met with.
But within six days vengeance was at hand : Noureddin, the
second and worthy son of Zenghis, appeared before the town
with ten thousand men. Joscelyn's head and heart failed him
at the sight of their scimitars. Plans of defence were hastily
proposed, and as readily abandoned; confusion and fear dis
tracted the Christian councils, while the Turks were pursuing
their one object with unflinching earnestness. At last despair
seized Joscelyn and his companions, and they resolved to
evacuate the town as quickly as they could. But now it-
occurred that many more were anxious to get out than had
lately come in. The Armenians, conscious of their complicity
in the recapture of Edessa, had as much reason to fear the
Turks as Joscelyn and his knights. They therefore, with their
wives and children, determined to attempt to join in the flight.
At the darkest period of the night the gates were quietly
opened, and the mixed throng of warriors, old men, women,
and infants, noiselessly stole forth. The imprisoned garrison
now came out from their citadel, and giving the alarm to their
allies outside, vigorously attacked the fugitives in their rear.
The vanguard was also attacked with all the force of the
1 For the siege and capture of delight in a venomous pun. They
Edessa see Will, of Tyre, lib. xvi. called him Sanguineus : —
cap. 4, and " Bibliotheque des Croi- ,,_
,.j„ >¦ ,,-1 ;,, Quam bonus eventus ! lit sanguine san-
saaes, vol. iv. _ guinolentus,
2 The Latins expressed their Vir homicida, reus, nomine Sanguineus.

££a"m] capture of edessa. 365
Turkish army, and driven backwards through the gateway into
the town. The carnage was appalling. The Christian knights,
perceiving that their only hope lay in the courage of despair,
clove their way through the opposing squadrons of Turks, and
got into the open country. But the crowd of women, old
men, and children, who still filled the narrow streets and
avenues of the city, offered nothing but a yielding mass of
helpless humanity to the sabres of the Turks and the hoofs of
their horses. Very few escaped, or were able to follow the
Christian army in its retreat towards the Euphrates. The
triumphant Noureddin pressed closely on the retiring force,
and his light cavalry cut them to pieces in their disorderly
flight. Then Joscelyn ran for his life, and saved it in the
fortress of Samosata. The rest of the people, casting aside all
impediment and baggage, dispersed themselves in the directions
which severally appeared to them the safest. And thus was
Edessa lost a second time to the Christians. We must now
turn our observation to the effect these events had on the
public mind of Western Europe.

366 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. \\

Book. XV

CHAPTER II.
(a.d. 1145. aetat. 54.)
the second crusade preached by bernard.
[The fall of Edessa was regarded as a calamity throughout
Christian Europe. The conquest had seemed so complete,
that men's minds were quite unprepared for the doleful tidings.
In the Middle Ages, whenever the Crusaders were worsted by
the Moslem, they attributed it to their own sins. They were
undoubtedly cruel and wicked enough to make their contrition
acceptable at any time. But the alternation of atrocious
crimes with tearful repentance loses interest and pathos when
too often repeated. Louis VII. was now about to enact the
repentance, having committed the crime some three years
before, at the burning of Vitry. He felt that the cruelty of
burning above a thousand Christians could only be expiated
by slaughtering several thousand infidels. He celebrated
Christmas at Bourges with more than usual splendour. A
large concourse of nobles, both lay and ecclesiastical, was
present, and the king made known his wish to visit the Holy
Land. Godfrey, Bishop of Langres, who had just returned
from thence, made an affecting speech touching the melancholy
capture of Edessa, and the sufferings and insults to which the
Christians were exposed at the hands of the Turks'. He
| urged the king and his court to hasten to the deliverance of
their brethren in the East. Louis VII. was so wrought upon

££«.«] LOUIS VII. TURNS CRUSADER. 367
that he at once sent to invoke Bernard's counsel and assistance.
Bernard replied that in a matter of such gravity he could hot
undertake to advise without the wishes of the Holy See being
known. The king sent to Rome to learn the mind of the new
Pope, Eugenius IIL, — a Cistercian monk of the filiation of
Clairvaux, — and also he appointed a general meeting at Vezelai
for the following Easter. The Pope returned a long letter of
exhortation to the good work, and delegated to his spiritual
father, Bernard, the office of preaching the Second Crusade.1 ,
Fifty-five years of age, and old for his years, was Bernard
at this period. The last fifteen years had been full of heavy
labour and gnawing care. Eight years of worry about thej
schism, three journeys to Italy, the controversy with Abelard,
the recent vexations arising from the quarrel between Count
Theobald and the king, and, finally, " that which cometh daily, i
the care of all the churches," had well-nigh broken down . the
feeble body, in spite of the strong spirit which supported it.
In the year 1143 he had written to Peter of Cluny: "I do
not intend to leave Clairvaux, except for the meeting of the
chapter at Citeaux once a year. Here, supported and con
soled by your prayers and good offices during the few days
now left me to fight in, I am waiting till the change do come.
May God not take away your prayers, nor withdraw His mercy
from me. My strength is gone. I have the valid reason for
staying at home, that I cannot now run about as I was once
wont to do."2 And to the Pope he says : " If any suggestion
be made to you of adding to my present labours, I would
1 The two principal authorities " S. Bemardi illustre genus asser-
forthe Second Crusadeare — (1) Odo tum ;" (2) and the anonymous nar-
de Diogilo, or Odo of Deuil, a monk rative invol.iv., p. 390, of Duchesne's
of St. Denis, who was chaplain to " Historiae Francorum Scriptores."
Louis VII., accompanied him on the 2 " Hie, fultus orationibus ves-
expedition, and wrote a graphic tris, et benedictionibus consolatus,
account of it in seven short books, paucis diebus quibus nunc milito,
published by the Jesuit Chifflet, at expecto donee veniat immutatio
Dijon, 1660, in his collection named mea." — St. Bern. Epist. 228.

368 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [gS.n
have you know that my strength is not equal to those which
devolve on me already. My intention of not leaving the
monastery, I believe, is not a secret to you."1 Thus Bernard
thought to prepare himself peace and rest before he lay down
for the rest of the grave, when France and the Pope declare
he shall preach to them, and "run about" for them, and go
through more labour generally than he had ever done in all
his previous life. Easter came, and multitudes flocked to
Vezelai at the united bidding of the Pope and king. The
town could not contain the ever-gathering throng. On the
declivity of the hill which overlooks the plain of Vezelai
the people were assembled. The king and the knights were
there, the beautiful and haughty Eleanor was there, the
crowd of poor hard-worked peasants was there, each grade
by its dress and bearing showing to what class of society it
belonged. But now nobles and courtiers, even the young
king and his queen, have ceased to be the centre to which all
eyes are turned, for Bernard of Clairvaux has come. Pale and
attenuated to a degree which seemed almost supernatural, his
contemporaries discovered something in the mere glance of his
eyes which filled them with wonder and awe. That he was
kept alive at all appeared to them a perpetual miracle; but
when the light from that thin, calm face fell upon them, when
the voice flew from those firm lips, and words of love, aspira
tion, and sublime self-sacrifice reached their ears, they were no
longer masters of themselves or their feelings.2 This occurred
whenever Bernard preached to great numbers, and the meeting
at Vezelai was not an exception. At the top of the hill a
1 "Propositum meum monas- eremi squalore et jejuniis ac pal-
terium non egrediendi, credo non lore confectus, et in quamdam spiri-
laterevos." — St. Bern. Epist. 245, tualis formae tenuitatem redactus,
2 The testimony of Wibald,' Abbot prius persuadet visus quam auditus.
of Stavelo, to Bernard's eloquence, . . . Quem si videas, doceris; siau-
and to the force which was in his dias, instrueris ; si sequare, perfice-
bodily presence, is worth record- ris." — Wibaldi Stabulensis Ep. 147.
ing : — "Siquidem vir ille bonus longo Martene, Ampl. Collect, ii. 153.

L?at.m] SPEECH OF LOUIS VII. 369
machine of wood had been erected, and on this platform
Bernard, attended by the king, appeared. Raised thus high
above the crowd, he could be seen, if not heard, from all
parts of the vast concourse. He spoke : the mere sound
of his voice was grateful to the loving admiration which
surrounded him. Presently rose a murmur from the sea
of faces, which rapidly swelled into a shout of " Crosses,
crosses ; " and Bernard began to scatter broadcast among
the people the large sheaf of them which had been brought
for that purpose. They were soon exhausted. He was
obliged to tear up his monk's cowl to satisfy the demand.1
He did nothing else but make crosses as long as he remained
in the town.
The spiritual mind of Europe had spoken through Bernard.
The military mind was now to speak through Louis VII.
Addressing the people, he said:— "Great were our disgrace
if the Philistine should insult the son of David ; if a devilish
nation should possess that which the chosen people of God
once had as their own ; if dead dogs should scoff at living
courage, and revile those Franks whose valour has made
them free, even when in chains; which never, in whatsoever
straits it might be placed, could endure an insult; which has
ever borne prompt succour to friends, and ceased not to
pursue enemies, even after death. Let us not suffer this our
valour to melt away, but by a courageous assistance relieve
the friends of God and of ourselves, that is, the Christians
beyond the seas, while, by a severe punishment, we overthrow
our ignoble enemies, who are not even worthy to be Called
men. Let us away, then, O valiant knights, let us check
these worshippers of idols. Let us visit those places which
we know were of old trodden by the feet of the God-man, in
1 Odo de Diogilo, lib. i. cap. i. coactus est vestes suas in cruces
. . . . " Coeperunt undique concla- scindere et seminare. In hoc labo-
mando cruces, cruces expetere. . . . ravit quamdiu fuit in villa. "
B B

370 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. Tj£2.^
which He suffered death, and which were thought worthy of
His corporeal presence. God will rise up with us, His enemies
shall be scattered, and they who hate Him shall fly from before
our face. They shall all be confounded, I say, they shall be
turned back who hate Sion, if we bear ourselves like men, and
our trust in God do not fail. Know that a great devotion to
this war is come upon me ; wherefore I pray earnestly that
you will study to give strength to my resolution by your
company and assistance." So spake the brave but rather dull
and confused young king of France on this great occasion.1
At Vezelai it was determined that preparations for the
Crusade should be made during a' whole year. Another
meeting was also convened at Chartres, which distinguished
itself by electing Bernard commander-in-chief of the Cru
saders' army. He almost cries aloud, in a letter to the Pope,
as in wonder where the popular excitement would stop. He
superfluously demonstrates his ignorance of war, his unsuita-
bleness for the task. The Pope had not much difficulty in
accepting a refusal which every man of sense among the Cru
saders must have approved. The more befitting office of
I preaching the Crusade in Germany and north-eastern France
; was deputed to Bernard.'2
The weakness and exhaustion of which he had complained
were soon forgotten, when work, which he felt it was his duty
to do, came before him. He left Clairvaux with the known
design of arousing the enthusiasm of the multitude for the
Crusade, and wherever he appeared the usual bonds of society
seemed loosed, and all moved round him as around a new
centre of life. What remained of the summer of the year
1 146 he spent in France. Towards the autumn he began to
enter on the less known field of Germany. The German
nation had, up to this period, taken a much less active part
1 Ex Chronico Mauriniacensi, apud Dom. Bouquet, xii. p. 88.
2 St. Bern. Epist. 236.

a££w] ST. BERNARD PREACHES IN GERMANY. 371
in the Crusades than the French, and it was believed that the j
emperor Conrad III. was strongly opposed to the present
expedition. Bernard therefore prepared for a great effort.
Friburg, Basle, Constance, Spires, Cologne, Frankfort, May-
ence, and numerous other towns of north-western Germany,
were visited and preached in by him. A daily repetition took j
place of the same phenomena — Bernard's appearance in a
district ; the simultaneous rush and tumult of the whole 1
population to see and hear him ; and then the assumption \
of the cross by the greater portion of the able-bodied male|
inhabitants. Bernard himself says that scarcely one man was
left to seven women.1 At Frankfort Bernard nearly lost his
life. The crowd so beset him that he was in danger of being
suffocated. Conrad for a time did his best to keep off the
press, but it was more than he could do. At last, laying aside
his cloak, he gripped Bernard in his brawny arms, and, hoisting
him over his shoulders, carried him away in safety.2
But if we are to believe the testimony of eye-witnesses — ten
eye-witnesses — there was that in Bernard's progress through
the Rhine country which might well excite the intensest curi-
1 "Vacuantur urbes et castella, sanctum in proprias ulnas suscipiens,,
et pene jam non rnveniunt quem ap- de basilica exportarit." — St. Bern.
prehendant septem mulieres virum Op^ vol. ii. col.. 1142. The Jew,
unum, adeo ubique viduae vivis re- Joseph Ben Weir, assigns Spires as
manent viris." (St. Bern. Epist. the scene of Bernard's danger. —
247.) Gibbon, who is ever care- Wilken, Geschichte der Kreuzziigel,
ful to pollute his notes with any Band iii. Beylagen, p. 7.
filthiness he can find in his authori- I am justified in attributing great
ties, seems almost angry with St. strength to Conrad. When he was
Bernard for giving him but little in the Holy Land he chopped a
opportunity to indulge his peculiar Turk in two. " Nam percussit eum
taste. He contrives, however, -to inter collum et sinistrum humerum
°xtra'ct an indecent pun out of the ictu mirabili ; ita quod ensis secuit
above passage. (Decline and Fall, totum pectus cum humeris, et de-
cap W.) scendit obliquando usque ad latus
2 . . . " tantus erat concursus, ut dextrum, taliter quod pars dextrior
praedi'ctus rex cum aliquando popu- abscisso penitus cum capite, cecidit
lum comprimentem coercere non super terram. " — G'esta Ludovici Re-
posset, deposita chlamide, virum gis, apud Duchesne, vol. iv. p. 393.
B B 2

372 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [g™. Yi
osity and admiration. His journey, we are told, was marked
H H by a constant exhibition of miraculous power — a power not
obscurely or furtively displayed, but of daily recurrence before
large multitudes. Herman, Bishop of Constance, and nine
others, kept a diary of what they saw with their own eyes :1
" Many miracles from this time shone forth, which, if we
should pass over, the very stones would proclaim.'' Thirty-six
miraculous cures in one day would seem to have been the
largest stretch of supernatural power which Bernard permitted
to himself. The halt, the blind, the deaf, and the dumb, were
brought from all parts to be touched by Bernard. The patient
was presented to him, whereupon he made the sign of the
cross over the part affected, and the cure was perfect. , The
church bells sent forth a merry peal, and a chorus of voices
was heard singing, " Christ have mercy on us, ' Kyrie eleison ;'
all the saints help us."2 Indeed, this chanting was well under
stood to mean, by those too far off to see, that Bernard had
just performed a miracle.3 At Cambray, we read : " In the
church of St. John, after the mass, a boy, deaf and dumb from
his mother's womb, received his hearing, and spake, and the
people wondered. He had sat down beside me deaf and
dumb ; and, having been presented to Bernard, in the selfsame
hour he both spoke and heard. The joyful excitement was
scarcely over before a lame old man was raised up, and walked.
But now a miracle occurred which, beyond all others, filled us
1 The diary to which reference saw with their own eyes the miracles
is made is one of the most curious recorded. A very scanty spicilegium
documents I have met with. Mira- has been given above. — See St. Bern.
cles occur so much as a matter of Op. vol. ii. col. 1 165, et seq.
course in mediaeval literature, that 2 Wilken, Band iii. p. 67.
one hardly notices them. But this 3 " Multa ibidem facta arbitror
account would seem to have been quae non vidimus. Saepe enim can-
drawn up with the express purpose tantem audivimus populum, et nemo
of avoiding cavil and of attract- ex nobis irrumpere potuit ut videret
ing notice. The number and cha- quid ageretur." — St. Bern. Op.
racter of the witnesses are given, vol. ii. col. 1 1 73.
and they solemnly assert that they

I.D. 115111

aetaT.'S] ST. BERNARD'S MIRACLES. 373
with astonishment. A boy blind from his birth, whose eyes
were covered with a white substance — if indeed those could
be called eyes in which there was neither colour, nor use, nor
even so much as the usual cavity of an eye — this boy received
his sight from the imposition of Bernard's hand. We ascer
tained the fact by numerous proofs, hardly believing our senses,
that in such eyes as his any sight could reside.'' In the same
place a woman who had a withered hand was healed.1 " In
the town of Rosnay they brought to him in a waggon a man
ill and feeble, for whom nothing seemed to remain but the
grave. Before a number of the citizens and soldiers Bernard
placed his hands upon him, and immediately he walked with
out difficulty ; to the astonishment of all, he followed, on foot,
the vehicle in which he had just before been carried."
" On another day we came to Molesme, which is a monastery
from which formerly our fathers went forth who founded the
order of Citeaux. It was on Wednesday, and they received
the man of God with great devotion. When Bernard was
seated in the guest-house, a certain man, blind with one eye,
came in, and, falling on his knees, begged his mercy. Bernard
made the sign of the cross with his holy fingers, and touched
the blind eye, and immediately it received sight, and the man
returned thanks to God. About an hour afterwards, as it was
getting dusk, the holy man went out to lay hands on the sick
who were waiting before the doors. The first who was cured
was a boy blind with the right eye, who on shutting the left
eye, with which alone he had seen previously, discerned all
things clearly, and told at once what anything was which we
showed to him. And again, at the same place, a little girl who
had a weakness in the feet, and had been lame from her birth,
was healed by the imposition of hands ; and her mother
bounded for joy, that now for the first time she saw her child
standing and walking."2
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1184. "- Ibid. col. 1185-89.

374 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cS/ii
Such is the record left by men who had probably as great
a horror of mendacity as any who have lived before or after
them. They thought they saw even as they have told us ;
they really saw what their fervid uncritical minds suggested
to them. Deeply true is it that " the eye sees only what the
eye brings means of seeing;" but scarcely less so is this, that
the eye sees much which exists nowhere but in itself.
| Far greater, in modern estimation at least, was the miracle
'of Christian love and fortitude which Bernard wrought at this
Jtime in favour of the persecuted Jews. That unfortunate
jrace was now entering the darkest period in its long, dreary
history of trial and sorrow. Before the Crusades, though often
treated with cruelty, and always with contempt, the_ Jews__of
Western Europe had frequently known long intervals of com
parative peace and happiness. The illustrious Charlemagne
had openly shown himself their protector; and his son Louis
imitated him in this respect. But, simultaneously with the
growth of the new ideas of fighting and slaughtering the
infidels abroad, hatred was developed against the Jews at
home. They were miscreants as bad or worse than the
Saracens, they were as rich, and far easier to kill — all excellent
reasons for slaying them. At the commencement of the First
Crusade they were so fiercely persecuted that they stabbed
their own children, while their women jumped into the river.
And now, on the preaching of this Second Crusade, the same
tragedies seemed about to be repeated. A monk named Rodolph
travelled through the towns on the banks, of the Rhine, and by
the most stimulating harangues inflamed the people to the
highest pitch against the Jews. The massacres soon followed.
Rodolph, emboldened and delighted by his success, waxed ever
Jmore violent. The Jews of those parts were like to be.exter-
iminated. Presently these events reached Bernard's knowledge.1
1 How strong was the feeling by the virulence displayed against
against the Jews is best shown them by the gentlest of men, viz.

Am"S] ' HIS DEFENCE OF THE JEWS. 375
His soul at once blazed into one flame of Divine wrath, as |
usually happened with him when he witnessed anything which '
he considered deeply unjust or wicked. He despatched mes- 1
sengers with letters to the various communities among whom
Rodolph was preaching. He argued and demonstrated from
Holy Writ that the Jews were not doomed to be slain for their
crimes, but to be dispersed. To the Archbishop of Mayence
he wrote a most impassioned letter in condemnation of Ro
dolph. In it occur some golden sentences, which, if they alone,
of all he said and wrote, had descended to us, would proclaim
Bernard a great man. " Does not the Church," he inquires,
" triumph more fully over the Jews by convincing or convert
ing them from day to day, than if she, once and for ever, were
to slay them all with the edge of the sword ? Is that prayer
of the Church appointed in vain which is offered up for the
perfidious Jews from the rising of the sun to the going down
of the same, praying that the Lord God will take away the veil
from their hearts, that they may be lifted up from their dark
ness to the light of truth ? For if the Church did not hope
Peter of Cluny. It is with sorrow He goes on to say that they never
one sees that amiable nature excited live by agriculture or any honest
into such language as this. After handicraft, but chiefly by receiving
saying that the lives of the Jews stolen goods ; and of these the silver
should be spared, in order that they utensils and ornaments of the Church
might be exposed to greater cruelty were the most lucrative. This insult,
and insult, he proceeds thus : — "Sic he considers, is felt very keenly by
de damnatis damnandisque Judaeis, Christ Himself. " Sentit plane in
ab ipso passionis mortisque Christi his quae non sentiunt sibi sacratis
tempore, justissima Dei severitas vasis, Judaicas adhuc contumelias
facit, et usque ad ipsius mundi Christus ; quia, ut saepe a veracibus
terminum factura est  Non viris audivi, eis usibus coelestia ilia
inquam ut occidantur admoneo, sed vasa ad ejusdem Christi nostrum-
ut congruente nequitiae suae modo que dedecus nefandi.illi applicant,
puniantur exhortor. Et quis con- quod horrendum est cogitare et
gruentior ad puniendos illos impios detestandum dicere." He concludes
modus, quam ille quo et damnatur with a general advice to plunder
iniquitas et adjuvatur charitas? them effectually. " Reservetur eis
Quid justius quam ut his, quae frau- vita, auferatur pecunia."— Petri
dulenter lucrati sunt, destituantur." Ven. Epist. lib. iv. Epist. 36.

376 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNAKD. [cX.n
that those which doubt will- one day believe, it would be vain
and superfluous to pray for them ; but, on the contrary, she
piously believes that the Lord is gracious towards him who
returns good for evil, and love for hatred. Is it not written,
' See that thou slay them not' ? and again, ' When the fulness
of the Gentiles be come in, then shall Israel be saved' ? Thy
doctrine, O Rodolph ! is not of thee, but of thy father, who
sent thee. Nevertheless, it suffices thee if thou art like unto
thy master ; for he was a murderer from the beginning ; he is
a liar, and the father of it."1
But this was not an occasion on which Bernard felt inclined
to trust to letters, however vigorous and convincing : he deter
mined to withstand the truculent monk face to face. He met
with him at Mayence, enjoying the tumultuous and vehement
admiration of the people. Bernard summoned him into his
presence and rebuked him for conduct so unbecoming in a
monk, and in time produced such an effect on him that he
persuaded him to depart home to his monastery. But the
people of Mayence were not so easily dealt with. They were
indignant at Bernard's treatment of their favourite. They
threatened to rise in rebellion for him. Thus here was Ber
nard, usually surrounded by an almost adoring crowd, facing
an infuriated mob of angry fanatics. How he bore himself
when the waves of popular passion rose high against him is
not described for us. One fact alone is transmitted to us,
that the people did not rebel, that the fury of the men of
1 St. Bem. Epist. 363. The have survived." There is a transla-
Jews were quite sensible of what tion from the Hebrew in the third
they owed to Bernard. The most vol. of Wilken's "Kreuzziige." Vol-
honourable tribute of respect he per- taire and Gibbon display the " philo-
haps ever received is from a Jewish sophy" of which they were so proud
contemporary, who narrates the per- by tracing Bernard's opposition to
seditions his people underwent in Rodolph to a principle of rivalry. —
Germany. "Had not the tender See Essdi sur les Mceurs, chap. 55;
mercy of the Lord," he says, "sent Decline and Fall, chap. 59.
that priest (Bernard), none would

ZHiZtsi CONRAD HI. JOINS THE CRUSADE. 377
Mayence was hushed into calm submission when met by the
holiness of the Abbot of Clairvaux.1
Bernard had also a good deal of trouble with the Emperor
Conrad IIL, who could not be induced to promise that he
would join the Crusade. Indeed, so strong did the Emperor's
resolution to stay at home appear, that at one time Bernard
gave up all hopes of converting him. He was on the point
of returning home from Frankfort, when Herman, Bishop ot
Constance, came and implored him to meet the Emperor at
Spires during the approaching Christmas, and make one more
effort to convince him of his error. Bernard went and argued
a long time without effect ; he could only get the Emperor to
say that he would give an answer on the following day. Ber
nard proceeded to celebrate mass, when " the Divine Spirit
began to stimulate him, so that he declared — no one having
asked him — that it were better not to pass the day without a
sermon." He spoke, and towards the end of his discourse
turning to the Emperor, he addressed him with all freedom,
not as an emperor, but as a man. He pictured forth the future
judgment of man before the tribunal, and Christ commanding
and saying to him, " What is there, O man, which I ought to
have done for thee, and have not done ?" And then, dwelling
on the height and pomp of royalty, he enumerated the Emperor's
riches, his councillors, his manly strength of mind and body.
Presently the Emperor bur'st into tears, and exclaimed : " I
acknowledge the gifts of the Divine favour; neither for the
future shall I be found ungrateful to God's mercy. I am pre
pared to serve Him, seeing that I am thus admonished of
Him." A shout from the crowd greeted the Emperor's words.
Bernard, from the high altar, invested him with the cross, and
1 "Tandem ad hoc eum, ut sub titatis consideratione revocaretur,
promissa obedientia in coenobium etiam seditionem mo vere volente." —
suum transiret, induxit, populo gra- Otto Frisingensis, De Gestis Fre-
viter indignante, et nisi ipsius sane- derici, apud Muratori, vol. vi.

37-8 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [q£.h
gave him the standard which he was to bear when he marched
at the head of the Crusaders.1
Thus the chivalry of Europe, commanded by a king and an
emperor, was ready to advance towards the Holy Land. The
Second Crusade had, in fact, begun.
1 St Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1172-73.

CHAPTER III.
(A.D. 1 147. AETAT. 56.)
THE SECOND CRUSADE.
The Abbot Suger had been from the commencement, and was
still, opposed to the king's project of going to the Holy Land.
He combated his sovereign's design with calm pertinacity.
But he discovered before long that he was striving to stem a
torrent. Not only had he to withstand the impetuous zeal of
Bernard ; he discovered that he was exasperating the king and
the people equally against him to no purpose : he therefore
desisted. It was now necessary to take measures with regard
to the government of the kingdom during Louis VII.'s absence.
An assembly of notables had been convened at Etampes for
this and other purposes. On the third day of their sitting
Bernard made a speech to them ; and, invoking the assistance
of the Holy Spirit, they proceeded to the question of a regency.
When they were agreed, Bernard came forth and said, " Behold,
here are two swords : it is enough ;" at the same time pointing
to Suger and the Count of Nevers. This choice, which con
fided the ecclesiastical and civil government of the country to
two able men, gave general satisfaction, which, however, was
as soon destroyed by the count's declaration that he intended
to become a Carthusian monk, an intention which he soon
afterwards carried out. Thus disappointed, the assembly saw
no other course than to invest Suger with the sole regency of
the kingdom. His remonstrances were not listened to; his

380 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. |_c££.hi
refusal was overruled by the Pope's command to obey. As
subordinate ministers, however, Samson, Archbishop of Rheims,
and Ralph, Count of Vermandois, were appointed to assist
him. The Pope also granted him full power to excommunicate
all who should oppose his authority. Thus was Suger made
great and powerful against his will.1
In the meanwhile Eugenius III. had come to Paris, and he
and the king together celebrated Easter in the church of St.
Denis, with the honour which became the occasion. Louis,
we are also told, did a " laudable thing, which few could
imitate; indeed, perhaps, none of his rank." In the first place,
he visited all the religious of Paris, and sallying forth, he
proceeded to the hospital for lepers. With them he stayed
a long time, having only two witnesses with him ; the multitude
of his courtiers was excluded. While he was thus engaged,
his mother and queen, and numberless others, hastened to
St. Denis, and when he presently followed them, he found the
Pope, the abbot, and the monks, all assembled. Prostrating
himself on the ground, he adored his patron saint ; and the
Pope and the abbot, opening a little golden door, drew forth
a silver case, that the king might see and kiss him whom his
soul loved — namely, the relics of the martyr — " and thereby
be rendered more sprightly. Then taking the standard from
the altar,2 and having received the pilgrim's scrip with a bless
ing from the Supreme Pontiff, he withdrew from the multitude
1 " Eunt igitur ad consilium, et Lud. VII. Regis, apud Duchesne,
post aliquantulam moram, cum quod vol. iv. p. 398. "As Counts of
erat melius elegissent, sanctus abbas Vexin, the kings of France weic
praecedens revertentes, sic ait : vassals and advocates of the mon-
Eccegladii duohic: satis est." — Odo astery of St. Denis. The saint's
de Diogilo, de Lud. VII. Itinere, peculiar banner, which they received
lib. i. from the abbot, was of a square form,
2 Gaufridus de Ranconio is men- and a red or flaming colour. The
tioned, " Qui gerebat Regis bane- oriflamme appeared at the head of
riam, quam praecedebat, prout moris the French armies from the twelfth
est, vexillum beati Dionysii, quod to the sixteenth century." — GIBBON,
Gallice dicitur Oriflambe." — Gesta chap. lix. note.

i^ra] preparations FOR THE CRUSADE. 381
to the dormitory of the monks. The crush and numbers of
the. people did not admit of delay; his wife and mother also
were anxious to leave, for, what with, weeping and the heat, they
were ready to faint. On that day, with a few select friends, he
dined in the refectory with the monks ; and having kissed them
all, he afterwards retired, followed by their prayers and tears."1
Queen Eleanor had resolved to accompany her husband to
the East. Her example did not remain without effect, and.
several ladies took the cross, arming themselves with the lance
and sword. Men who were able to go, and remained at home,
were regarded with contempt. Distaffs, from scornful acquaint
ances, were sent to them as presents.2
The Emperor Conrad and the King of France agreed to
keep their armies at a considerable distance from each other.
They feared, with more forethought than Crusaders usually
exhibited, lest their undisciplined hosts should fall to quarrel
ling, or even to blows, if they marched in proximity. Conrad,
therefore, started first, getting away from Ratisbon at Easter ;
1 " Deinde sumpto vexillo de- St. Willelmi, abbatis Roschildensis
super altari, et pera et benedictione in Dania, apud Duchesne, vol. iv.
a summo pontifiee, in dormitorium p. 421.) The King and the Pope
monachorum multitudini se subducit. punished the indignity by substi-
Non enim patiebantur moras op- tuting those monks, " quos nigros vo-
pressio populorum, et mater et uxor, cant," in the place of the pugnacious
quae inter lacrymas et calorem pene canons; who, however, were allowed
spiritum exhalabant." — Odo de Dio- to retain their prebends as long
gilo, lib. i. as they lived, "erant enim inter
During the Pope's visit to Paris eos non pauci nobileset litterati." —
on this occasion a great scandal Ibid. '
took place in the following manner: 2 Michaud, vol. ii. Also Hist.
— " Voluit Pontifex in ecclesia de France, par Henri Martin. " La
beatae Genovefae mysteria divina presence de la Reine Eleonore, des
peragere, quia Apostolica dicebatur. Comtesses de Toulouse et de Flan-
Ubi eo ventum est, orta est contentio dre, de la bru du Ccmte de Cham-
inter Sunimi Pontificis et hujus pagne, de beaucoup d'autres belles
ecclesiae canonicorumministros,adeo dames et de nombreux troubadours
ut ad pugnos res processent, et non et trouveres, donnait a l'expedition
solum Pontificis ministri sed etiam une physionomie toute differente de
ipse rex Ludovicus, qui illos compes- l'aspect de la premiere croisade." — >
cere voluit, a canonicorum illorum Vol. iii. p. 435.
famulis verberatus 'sit." (Ex vita

382 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [gSJ.ni
Louis delayed till Pentecost. After entering the imperial terri
tory, he was received at Verdun and Metz with the most
cordial hospitality. He then moved on to Worms, and after
that to Ratisbon, where he crossed the Danube, and also
shipped a number of his soldiers and a quantity of heavy
baggage. Here, also, he was met by the ambassadors of the
Greek Emperor, Manuel. These representatives of an old
civilization struck the rude Franks and Teutons very much.
After they had saluted the king, they awaited his reply in stand
ing posture. On being told to sit down, they did so, on
benches which they had brought with them for the purpose.
The servile obedience which they showed to their masters
attracted the notice of the Latins. " They wear no cloaks.
Their garments are of silk, short, and closed up all round ; the
sleeves are tight: and they walk in the manner of boxers.1 The
clothes of the poor are of the same cut, but differ in material
from those of the rich." As regards the message brought by the
Greeks, it aroused a mixed feeling of surprise and contempt in
Louis and his followers. The fulsome flattery which it con
tained would, in their opinion, have disgraced, not an emperor
only, but even a mountebank. Louis listened to the extrava
gant compliments till he blushed, but had no conception of
their motive or meaning. Godfrey, Bishop of Langres, Ber
nard's kinsman, presently grew indignant, and, coming to the
rescue of his modest sovereign, he said to the envoys, " Be so
good, brothers, as not to rehearse quite so often the glory, the
majesty, the wisdom, and religion of the king. He knows
himself, and we also know him well ; therefore please explain
your meaning with more clearness and promptitude." At last
the ambassadors ventured to deliver their message. It con-
1 " Non habent amictus, sed semper incedunt. Pauperes etiam,
vestibus sericis curtisque et clausis excepto pretio, similiter se coap-
undique divites induuntur, strictis- tant." — Odo de Diogilo, lib. ii.
que manicis expediti, more pugilum

!£;"«!] THE CRUSADERS IN BULGARIA. 383
tained two requests : the first, that the king should refrain from
capturing any towns that belonged to the Greek empire ; the
second, that if the Crusaders should take any cities from the
Turks which had formerly belonged to the empire, such cities
should be restored to their original owner, namely, the Emperor
Manuel. The first demand was reasonable, and at once
acceded to ; concerning the latter an unanimous opinion does
not seem to have been come to by Louis and his councillors.
A convention on the part of the French to respect the rights and
property of the Greeks was then made ; the latter, in return,
undertaking to furnish adequate supplies to the army, and a
suitable rate of exchange. The remaining difficulties were
reserved to be settled at a meeting of the two sovereigns.
The Crusaders then pursued a peaceful and uneventful pro
gress through Hungary, and entered Bulgaria, the territory of
the Greek Emperor. Up to this time they had experienced a
friendly reception from the countries they had passed through ;
but now they noticed a great change. The Greeks shut them
selves up in their towns, and when the French wished to obtain
provisions, these were lowered down to them from the tops of
the walls by ropes.1 The insufficiency and delay of this mode
of supply irritated the impatient Franks to the last degree, and,
in a short time, they betook them to plundering. The conduct
of the Greeks was partly excused and explained by the treat
ment they had received from the previous body of German
Crusaders who had passed through their country shortly before.
They had taken to plundering from the first, without any pre
liminary attempt at traffic. The French discovered that they
had even burned the suburbs of Philippopolis. The Germans,
on reaching that place, had been met in a friendly manner, and
had dispersed themselves in the taverns to enjoy a carouse.
Presently a juggler came forth to amuse these strange guests.
1 " Graeci autem suas civitates et funibus venalia submittebant. " —
castella observabant, et per murum Odo de Diogilo, lib. iii.

384 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c^.m
To their overwhelming horror and astonishment, he drew from
his bosom a charmed snake, which, after the performance of
various tricks, he placed in a cup on the ground. The Teu
tonic mind, slow to apprehend, but in no wise slow to wrath,
kindled into fury at the sight, seized the poor conjuror and cut
him in pieces. Their impression was, that the Greeks meant
to poison them all. The governor of the place, perceiving
the tumult, hastily sallied forth unarmed to allay it. The
Germans saw his cavalcade, but were too angry and too tipsy
to see that he was defenceless. Thinking that their recent
crime was going to be avenged, they rushed upon him and his
escort and drove them back into the town. Whereupon the
Greeks seized their bows, and, in their turn, became the assail
ants, and put the Germans to flight. But the latter presently
returning in superior force, burned nearly all the suburbs
without the walls.1
And this was not the only outrage of which the German
Crusaders were guilty in their intercourse with the Greeks.
On reaching Constantinople they committed an act of bar
barism which might well make' the inhabitants regard all
western Christians with horror. Near the city walls was a
spacious inclosure, in which nature and art had done their
utmost to rival and assist each other. Aqueducts and artificial
ponds, and caves and grottoes, among which every variety of
game ran or flew, contributed to make this noble park the
pride and delight of Constantinople. Into this fairy scene
Conrad and his Germans ruthlessly rushed, and destroyed
everything which was within their power. The Greeks and
1 " Ubi cum tabernis insedissent .... Alemanni quasi viso prodigio
Alemanni, maloauspicio adfuit jocu- illico cum furore consurgunt, mi-
lator, qui licet eorum linguam igno- mum rapiunt, et in frustra discer-
raret, tamen sedit, symbolum dedit, punt." — Lib. iii. Odo of DeuiL who
bibit, et post longam ingurgita- gives thisstory,seemshimself tohave
tionem, serpentcm quem praecan- had a sincere hatred of the Germans :
tatum in sinu habebat, extrahit, et "Nostris etiam erant importabiles
scypho terrae imposito superponit. Alemanni."

Awiiw] THE SECOND CRUSADE. 385
their emperor looked on from the walls, coming no doubt to
t'ery decided conclusions respecting Crusaders and their ways.'
But Manuel was too much of an Oriental to manifest the
resentment which burned within him. He asked for an inter-'
view with Conrad. Conrad refused to go into the town, and
Manuel refused to go out of it. And so matters rested till
Louis VIL, who was coming behind as fast as he could, sent
messages to his imperial brother to wait for him on the western
side of the Arm of St. George, in order that they might arrange
joint plans of action. But Conrad paid as little regard to the
wishes of an ally as he did to the honour and property of a
neutral. He had obtained from Manuel — doubtless without
the least difficulty- — a guide to direct, or rather to mislead, him
in Asia Minor : and he at once crossed the Straits. Seventy
thousand horsemen clad in armour, besides numbers of foot-
soldiers and light cavalry, are said to have passed over.
- By this time the French king and his host were n earing',
Constantinople. He also experienced the perfidy of the
Greeks, but appears on the whole to have acted with more
caution and discretion than his colleague the Emperor. While
making the greatest show of cordiality and deference, the
Greeks plundered and attacked the French whenever they had
an opportunity. They promised with the most solemn oaths
whatever was asked of them, never taking a thought about
performance. It was their opinion that perjury committed for
the " Holy Empire " was in no wise criminal.2 Their various
forms of obeisance and respect filled the Franks with disgust,
especially the stooping or kneeling posture of body, and even
1 "Erat ante urbem murorum omnia destruens, Graecorum delicias
ambitus spatiosus et speciosus, ipsis intuentibus suis usibus rapuit."
multimodam venationem includens, — Odo de Diogilo, lib. iii.
conductus etiam aquarum et stanna 2 " Generalis est eorum enim
continens  In hunc, ut verum sententia, non imputari perjunum,
fatear, deliciarurh locum, Alemannus quod sit propter sacrum impenum. "
Imperator irrupit, et undique pene — Ibid. C C

386 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [S. iii
total prostration on the ground. Their abject fear when weak,
and truculence when strong, were also noticed. To all these
not illegitimate grounds of dislike was added the incurable one
of difference of creed. If the Latin priests celebrated a mass
in one of their chapels, the Greeks were careful afterwards to
purify and wash the altar, as though it had been polluted. If
a Latin wished to marry a Greek, they rebaptized him before
marriage. Their other heresies, concerning the procession of
the Holy Spirit and their mode of performing mass, did not
escape the notice of the Catholic French. The impression
was general among them that the Greeks could not be con
sidered Christians, that slaying them was no crime, and
plundering them was quite an innocent proceeding. But the
chiefs of the army were too wise to indulge either the rapacity
, or bigotry of their followers.
As Louis VII. approached Constantinople the nobles,
j priests, and people came forth in a grand procession to greet
| him. They begged that the king would pay a visit to their
emperor. Louis, pitying the terror in which he saw them,
entered Manuel's palace with a few attendants. The Emperor
received him with imperial magnificence under the porch, and,
after the kiss of salutation, conducted him to an inner apart
ment. There they conversed by means of an interpreter. To
judge by the manners of the Emperor, the pleasing smile on
his countenance, and the polite and engaging expressions he
addressed to Louis VIL, nothing could exceed the cordiality
of his heart : but, as an eye-witness says, such an inference
could not be considered infallible. When this first meeting
was over, the King was taken by an escort of nobles to the
palace which had been provided for his reception.
The city of Constantinople filled the Crusaders with admira
tion and wonder. Its extent, wealth, and luxury surpassed
their wildest dreams. But they evidently felt it was a very
wicked place, and, as they might not plunder it, they had not

!£;"£] THE SECOND CRUSADE. 387
much wish to stay.1 The King of France, accompanied by the
Emperor, visited the objects and places of interest or sanctity.
Then, overpowered by entreaties, he was induced to sit down
to a magnificent repast which had been prepared for him. The
French knights almost trembled when they saw their king sit
ting surrounded by the treacherous Greeks. However it was
not Manuel's design to irritate those ferocious warriors,, while it
was still in their power to avenge themselves. Louis departed
without harm or hindrance. Indeed, in his simplicity, he seems
to have thought that Manuel had treated him very well. He
severely punished those of his followers who committed depre
dations on Greek property, and cut off, in consequence, the
ears, hands, and feet of a great number of his followers. But,
even with such exemplary punishments hefore them, they could
hardly be restrained from burning houses and olive groves.2
But the Greeks were growing anxious that the French should
follow the Germans across the Bosphorus. They would have
been more anxious even than they were, if they had known of
the debates which were going on in the Frankish camp ; for
one party, headed by Godfrey, Bishop of Langres, openly
advised the capture of Constantinople, as a prudent and
advisable preliminary step. This counsel was opposed, on the
ground that they had left their homes to fight infidels and not
to slay Christians. The discussion was still pending when
Greek astuteness got the better of barbarian valour. They
announced to the French that Conrad had had a battle with
the Turks, and slain fourteen thousand of them, with little or
no loss to himself;3 that he had reached Iconium, from which
1 "Quoniam autem in hac urbe 2 "Faciebateis rex aures, manus,
vivitur sine jure, quae tot quasi do- et pedes saepius detnincare, nee sic
minos habet quot divites, et pene poterat eorum vesaniam refrenare."
tot fures quot pauperes, ibi sceleratus — Ibid. Cutting off hands and feet
quisque nee metum habet nee vere- was a favourite punishment in the
eundiarn, ubi scelus nee lege vindi- Middle Ages.
catur, nee luce venit in palam_" — 3 " Rumoribus Alemannorum
Odo de Diogilo, lib. iv. nostras aid' transitum concitabant.
C C 2

388 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [K.iTi
the people had fled on his approach, and that he had written
to ask Manuel to come and take possession of his conquests,
as he was bent on hastening forward. The French fell into
the trap without a moment's hesitation. They complained to
their king of his delay. When they thought of the booty and
the glory which the Germans were acquiring, they were stung
with envy and impatience. Louis, pressed by the Greeks and
his own followers, consented to cross, though not without
misgivings, for all his forces had not arrived. With suspicious
alacrity Manuel provided the requisite transports, and the
French were soon ferried over.
They had not been long on the other side, when an incident
occurred which caused further delay and trouble to "the French
monarch. A fleet of boats followed them, to supply the army
with the necessaries or superfluities which they were able or
willing to purchase. The shore was lined with gay and
attractive booths, presenting many an object of interest and
astonishment to the rude Franks. One day a " certain
Fleming," walking about among these treasures, was seized
with an impulse he could not restrain to lay violent hands
on them. Shouting out " Haro, haro I " he made a sudden
onslaught, and carried off a rich booty of stolen goods. His
example and its reward spread with swift contagion among his
fellows, and before long a general attack was made on the stalls
of the Greek merchants.1 These hastened to their boats as
Primo retulerunt Turcos copiosum Haro, a word of Norman origin.
exercitum congi egasse, et Alemannos ' ' Rolloni primo Neustriae Duci ad-
de illis sine danino suorum quatuor- scribitur. . . Quod si quispiam inveni-
decim millia peremisse." — Odo de retur vel homicida vel incendiarius
Diogilo, lib. iv. . . statim clamore sublato, indigenae
1 "Igitur, una die Flandrensis ac vicini in eum irruerent, captum-
quidam dignus flagris et flamma, que judici exhiberent. Erat autem
cernens immensas divitias et im- clamor iste : Ha Raoul ; qui ab iis pri-
moderatacupiditatecaecatus, clamat, mum edebatur; .... tanquam Rol-
to-o.^aro/rapiensquodcupivit; . . . lonis Ducis auxilium implorantibus. "
in prospectu civitatis illico suspensus — Ducange, sub voce Haro.
est." — Ibid.

avJ?%] THE SECOND CRUSADE. 389
well as they could, carrying off what remained of their pro
perty — and not only their own property, but also a number
of Louis's subjects, who were on board at the time buying
provisions, — to Constantinople. Louis was very wroth when
the facts were made known to him. He made a- strict
inquiry for the criminal, and the latter being surrendered to
him by the Count of Flanders, he caused the too audacious
depredator to be hanged within sight of the city. He
threatened a like punishment to all who did not restore what
they had taken. The merchants were summoned to claim their
own, and whatever any swore he had lost was at once given
up to him. Many asked for more than they had any title to ;
but Louis rather chose to make good the deficiency out of his
own means than give the Greeks any reason to complain of
the conduct of his army.
Having thus done justice himself, he proceeded to demand
as much of others. His men were still detained in Constanti
nople, where they had been robbed and beaten. He therefore
despatched Arnulph, Bishop of Louvain, and his chancellor at
once to the palace ; but they could not get an audience of the
Emperor. They passed the day in his spacious halls, without
notice or any civility being shown to them. In place of food,
they had to satisfy themselves with looking at pictures, and during
the night, instead of beds, they were forced to be content with
the marble pavement.1 In the morning, when the Emperor
had risen, they were admitted into his presence, but found his
manners mightily changed from the unctuous politeness he had
exhibited shortly before. After much difficulty, they procured
the release of their countrymen, without their property, which
was not to be extracted from the hands of the Greek thieves.
1 " Mo die fuit alter alteri pro Manuel an idol : " Sed loqui cum
solatio, intuitus picturarum pro cibo, idolo nequiverunt." He never men-
et instanti nocte marmoreum pavi- tions the Emperor's name, declaring
mentum pro culcitra vel lecto."— from the first he would not, "as it
Odo de Diogilo, lib. iv. Odo calls was not written in the book of Ufe,"

39° LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [S.m
The bishop and his colleague then hastened back, anxious, if
possible, to avoid the honour of a third day's fast in the
Emperor's gorgeous but inhospitable palace.
Manuel then caused further delay to the French by means
of protracted negotiations concerning two points. The first
was a demand that a female cousin of Louis VIL, who was in
the suite of Queen Eleanor, should be given in mariage to one
of Manuel's nephews. The second was a request for the
homage of the French barons. By way of return, he promised
Louis to furnish him with guides and supplies. Count Robert
of Dreux, the brother of the king, soon showed what he
thought of Manuel's conditions, by carrying off his cousin from
the camp, and starting with a few followers for Nicomedia.
The question of homage still remained to be decided. The
Bishop of Langres again raised his warning voice, declaring
that the perfidy of the Greeks was daily becoming more mani
fest. " Let us place honour above convenience," he said; " let
us obtain by our own valour what he promises to our apparent
cupidity and weakness.'' But the advocates of a more tempe
rate course prevailed. They said there was no disgrace in the
act .of homage : it was a thing they were quite accustomed to
do, when in their own country, to one another, and now, con
sidering the price set upon it, altogether a most advisable step.
" None of us know the roads or the country ; we cannot do
without guides. Besides, our expedition is against the Pagans ;
let us leave Christians in peace."
Louis was losing all patience with the Emperor and his
delays. He gave orders to the army to march. This brought
Manuel to a rapid decision. He named a castle for a confer
ence, but, with a suspicious caution which well revealed his
character, he provided for his own safety, in case of treachery,
by the facilities it offered for escape by sea. Louis, mad
with ambition to follow and emulate the German Emperor,
would not delay the march of his army, but returned to meet

1™"$] THE SECOND CRUSADE. 391
Manuel with a select company of knights and soldiers. It was
not without a pang that he did homage to Manuel : " still he
preferred subduing the stiff pride of his mind to throwing any
difficulty or delay in the way of God's service." So they came
to terms ; Conrad's imaginary successes no doubt contributing
to despatch. Louis promised to respect the Emperor's rights ;
the French barons acknowledged him as their suzerain. On
the other side, it was promised that two Greek nobles should
accompany the army, to act at once as guides and commissa
riat officers. The two sovereigns then parted, Manuel return
ing to Constantinople, while Louis hastened after his army.
He almost immediately afterwards learnt that the Germans had
been cut to pieces, and that Conrad had barely escaped with
his life.
On leaving the shores of the Bosphorus, Conrad, trusting
implicitly to the guides furnished him by the Emperor of
Constantinople, had pushed on rapidly, as he supposed, in
the direction of Iconium. His Greek deceivers, with specious
candour, warned him of a desert he was about to cross, and
advised that a supply of provisions calculated to last the army
eight days should be laid in. The Germans plunged into
Turkish territory, doubting nothing, marched forward for eight
days, and came to the end of their supplies. Conrad called
his guides before him, and pointed out to them the fact that
the army had nothing to eat, and was still apparently far from
Iconium. They had little difficulty in beguiling the simple
German with plausible excuses, andi promised faithfully that
within three days he should reach the capital of the Sultan.
On the following morning it was discovered that the Greeks
had fled during the night. The Germans were without food in
a desert country. The surrounding mountains swarmed with
Turks.1 1 The disaster which overtook Odo of Deuil and William of Tyre
Conrad's army is described both by (lib. xvi. cap. 21, 22). The latter

392 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [JgS.ih
' The Crusading host, famished, exhausted, and overwhelmed
with disappointment, knew not which way to turn. Some
advised an advance, some a retreat. The onslaught of the
Turks stopped further discussion. Lightly armed with the bow
and scimitar, their nimble cavalry swooped down on the
ponderous knights, like eagles on a flock of sheep. They
, poured volleys of arrows into the cumbrous mass, killing and
disabling their enemies without receiving a blow themselves.
When the Christians offered to attack them, they broke and
disappeared like a morning mist. When the Germans returned
to their disheartened camp, they found themselves again in a
circle of turbaned adversaries. The Emperor was struck by
two arrows ; his soldiers fell around him by thousands ; the rout
was pitiable and complete. After some fearful days of wander
ing flight, he succeeded in reaching Nicsea. About one-tenth
only of his fine army was ever seen again. 1
Louis was plunged in grief when the sad news at last was
known. To Conrad's messages asking for help he lent a
willing ear. He despatched the Constable Ives de Niella to
his assistance. The constable found the Emperor and his
followers in the last stage of misery and despair. They con
fessed that but for this timely succour the hand of death had
been upon them. When the two princes met, they fell on each
other's necks and wept aloud. 2 Conrad ingenuously acknow
ledged his errors and his piercing remorse for them. Louis
comforted him as best he could, appointed a guard of noble
knights to attend upon him, and declared that he and Conrad
should for the future live under the same tent.
Conrad's failure to penetrate the interior of the country
author gives as a reason with the sentes fuerunt, decima pars evasit."
Greeks for wishing the destruction — William of Tyre, lib. xvi. cap. 22.
of the German army, that they re- 2 " Amplexantur igitur alter alte-
sented Conrad's assumption of the rum, et infigunt oscula quae rora-
title of Emperor of the Romans. bant lacrymae pietatis." — Odo de
1 " Vix ut asserunt, qui prae- Diogilo, lib. v.

a£a"£] THE SECOND CRUSADE. y^
determined the French to follow the. coast-line of ^Eolia and
Ionia. Their progress, though slow, was not distinguished by
misadventures, except the constantly recurring one of short
rations. They passed by Pergamus and Smyrna, and then
came to Ephesus. Here the German Emperor, still suffering
from his wounds, left them, and retired to Constantinople, to
recover his health and spirits. The French passed Christmas
Day in the rich valley of Decervion ; and while engaged in
the practices of devotion, for the first time were molested by
the Turks. A prompt resistance dispersed their assailants,
"the firstfruits of whose heads they joyfully gathered." But a
heavy fall of rain and snow, which swelled the rivers and
whitened the mountain tops, caused Louis to use additional
speed. Forsaking the coast, he determined to make a bold
attempt to reach the port of Attalia. With this object he pro
vided himself with the requisite stores, and set out in the direc
tion of Laodicea. Presently he came to the river Maeander,
and found the opposite banks lined with Turks. For two
days the hostile armies marched along the stream, in full view
of each other. Then, when he was about to ford the river, he
was suddenly attacked in the rear, while the Turkish archers
disputed his passage in front. But the French knights were
equal to the emergency. Henry, son of Count Theobald of
Champagne, Thierry, Count of Flanders, who had succeeded
Charles the Good,1 and William, Count of Macon, plunged
at once into the stream, amid the showers of arrows which
the Turks poured on them. The flood was strong, the banks
steep, the enemy numerous and bold. But the stalwart arms
of the Western warriors were too heavy for the light and active
Orientals. They broke and fled. In the meanwhile Louis had
hastened to protect his rear, where he had also routed his
enemies. The victory was so complete, that the Christians
saw in it something of a miraculous character. They had lost
1 See ante, p. 113.

394 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cS.in
only one horseman, who was drowned in crossing the river.
On the third day following they reached Laodicea.
After a short rest, they began their long journey to Attalia.
The intricate defiles of the Phrygian mountains had to be
passed, and both in front and rear they knew that they were
surrounded by hostile Turks and Greeks, the latter having
become more open in their enmity as the Latins grew weaker.
On the second day of their march they came to a pass by
which they hoped to emerge from the valley in which they
were. Geoffrey de Rancogne and Amadeus of Savoy, uncle
of King Louis, were sent forward to secure the summit of the
mountain, while the main body of the army began slowly to
ascend. Geoffrey and Amadeus unfortunately either misunder
stood or disobeyed their orders ; for, instead of taking pos
session of the summit of the pass, they pushed onward till
they had descended on the other side, where they pitched
their tents. The steep and rocky side of the mountain was
now gradually getting covered with the squadrons of the
Crusaders. The peaks above them seemed lost in the clouds,
while a boiling torrent roared beneath. The long array of
knights and men-at-arms and pack-horses and pilgrims was
spread over the vast slope, when the Turks rushed down upon
them. A scene of awful confusion followed. The pack-
horses slid and fell over the slippery rocks, and, rolling with
increasing velocity down the mountain sides, hurled men and
animals into the abyss below. Large stones, also, loosened
by the plunging of horses, caused by their swift descent much
mischief. On the French, in the midst of these difficulties
and dangers, was poured a well-directed shower of arrows :
the Turks (and Greeks also it is said), from a convenient
neighbouring eminence, threw their deadly volleys with undis
turbed precision. The rolling masses of men, horses, and
baggage, which shot over the precipice into the chasm under
neath, threatened almost to fill it up.

A D. 1148'
A /.TAT. 57

] THE SECOND CRUSADE. 395

The success of the infidels emboldened them to a nearer
attack. Leaving their safe elevation, they rushed in upon the
bewildered Christians, and slaughtered them like sheep. An
effort was now made to retreat by descending the hill they had
with such peril just gone up ; but the steepness, their numbers,
and the absence of all order, made this attempt only add to
the confusion. Louis, who, though he was incompetent as a
general, was at all times a most brave knight, performed
prodigies of valour. The French chivalry imitated their king,
although placed in a disadvantageous, nay, almost ludicrous,
position. Seated on their cumbrous war-horses, and armed
with their long lances, they were as helpless and nearly as
motionless as ships on dry land. The horses dared scarcely
move at all, much less go at the pace which would make a
lance-thrust of any avail. Grim and mortified they sat,
reduced to occasionally prodding those of their adversaries
whom they could reach.1 The King, separated from his
escort, was attacked alone by the victorious Mussulmans.
Unhorsed and surrounded, either his capture or his death
seemed imminent. With great presence of mind and vigour
he succeeded in climbing, by means of the roots of a tree, to
the summit of a rock, where he turned upon his adversaries.
While those nearest strove to take him, those who were at a
distance made him a mark for their arrows. But his stout
corselet kept out the missiles, while he buried his heavy sword,
at every stroke, deep in some Turk's vitals, chopping their
hands and heads off all round him.2 Fortunately for him,

1 " Ibi enim equus non poterat, 2 " In hoc rex parvulum sed glo-
non dicam currere, sed vix stare, et riosum perdidit comitatum, regalem
tardior impetus debilitabat ictum in vero retinens animum, agilis et viri-
vulnere. Vibrabant nostri hastas in lis per radices cujusdam arboris,
lubrico suis viribus, non equorum, et quam saluti ejus Deus providerat,
illi sagittabant de tuto, innitentes ascendit scopulum. Post quem popu-
scopulis arborum vel saxorum." — lus hostium, ut eum caperet, ascen-
Odo de Diogilo, lib. vi. debat : turba remotior eum ibidem

.396 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cCiii
they did not know who he was; so, getting "convinced that
his capture was difficult, and having given as much time to it
as they deemed expedient, they forsook him, in order to collect
their plunder before nightfall."
When the King got back to the main body of the army, he
had no need to explain what had happened. Coming alone,
exhausted, and splashed with blood, his knights saw at a
glance that his escort had been cut to pieces, and that he
had escaped by his own prowess. With silent grief they
mourned over their lost comrades. They burned with desire
to avenge them ; but the enemy had retired to the fastnesses
of his own mountains, quite out of reach. Few slept that
night. Some in anxious watchfulness expected a friend whom
they were never destined to see again ; others experienced all
the ecstasy of joy in the return of one for whom they had lost
all hope.
But sorrow for the dead was soon replaced by anger against
the living ; for Geoffrey and Amadeus, whose culpable negli
gence had contributed not a little to the disaster, had over
heard the clamour of the battle, and retraced their steps,
reaching their comrades when the conflict was over. The
opinion was general that they deserved to be hanged ; and
doubtless it would have gone hard with Geoffrey had he not
had the king's uncle as fellow-culprit. But when the morning
dawned, and revealed the opposite hill-sides crowded with
Turks, the imperative necessity of taking active measures to
save the remainder of the army dispelled all feelings either of
anger or sorrow. The way in which the Crusaders set about
this object was most remarkable; and the remedies proposed
and carried out in the discipline and ordering of the army
discover a state of things which not only easily accounts for
sagittabat. Sed Deo volente sub scopulum, lnultorum manibus et
lorica tutatus est a sagittis, cruen- capitibus amputatis." — Odo le Dio-
toque gladio ne capi posset, defendit gilo, lib. vi.

A.D. Jl
Aetai .

$] THE SECOND CRUSADE. 397

their disasters, but makes it astonishing that they could ever
have had successes. First of all, it was agreed that they
shoukl keep together, and that, when attacked, they should
not run away. A solemn promise of mutual help was given
and taken by all. Secondly, it was agreed that they should
appoint officers; and thirdly, that they should obey them.
For this purpose a leader was elected, of whom we hear only
on this occasion, named Gilbert, to whom the chief command
was entrusted. He chose for himself his lieutenants, to each
of whom he assigned fifty subalterns. With this staff to see
to the execution of his orders, he proceeded to make them
understand that they must keep their ranks ; that a man
belonging to the front must not be found in the rear; and
that those in charge of the flanks were to avoid confusion by
keeping to their own division as much as possible. "Those
whom nature or misfortune had made foot-soldiers were placed
in the rear, armed with bows to reply to the archery of the
Turks." These and other wise measures were taken by
Gilbert, and the immediate result was that they repelled their
enemies with comparative ease— in one instance beat them
soundly ; and in time, though suffering grievously from short
provisions, reached Attalia without further misadventure.
Attalia was garrisoned by Greeks, to the regret and mis
fortune of the Crusaders. Provisions were doled out to the
famishing host by the morsel, for which they were made , to
pay the most exorbitant sums. Those who still had horses
sold them readily for bread ; but this resource was open to few,
as the greater part of the horses had died of starvation and
been eaten on the road. And now was added to their actual
sufferings the discomfort of incessant rain, from which they
had no protection, their strong and large tents having been
lost in their painful wanderings. The King expressed a desire
to move on ; his barons said they were quite willing to do so,
but also they declared that they must communicate a project

398 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. ($¦£ ft,
to him which had just occurred to them. From Attalia to
Antioch they were told the distance was forty days' journey,
through a country crowded with enemies, and intersected by
rapid rivers. From Attalia to Antioch by sea they learnt that
they could go in three days : they merely stated the fact, as it
was their intention to abide by whatever the King decided on.
Louis replied that no honourable man should want for any
thing while he had it to give him ; but at the same time, if
any refused to bear patiently with him those privations which
necessity imposed on them, of such he confessed he had a
bad opinion. " Rather," he said, " let us collect all our
fighting men together, and travel over the road which our
fathers trod before us, winning for themselves at once earthly
fame and heavenly glory. But the sick and helpless multitude
which has all along impeded us, and been a burden to us,
shall here take ship and depart." The barons answered :
" We do not wish to depreciate the actions of our ancestors,
but they had an easier task than we have had. As soon as
they had crossed the Bosphorus they attained their object.
They met the Turks, and were kept in good spirits by the
excitement of war, and became rich from the plunder of
captured camps and cities. Instead of Turks, we had to deal
with fraudulent Greeks, whom, unfortunately for ourselves,
we spared as Christians, and among these, in idleness and
vexatious delays, we have spent nearly all our substance.
Some have been so foolish or so reduced as to sell even their
arms. What your Majesty says is very noble, but, for the
-easons we allege, it is not safe." And the barons gave him
to understand that he should go by sea, and that they would
not go by land.
The Greeks exacted four silver marks a head for every pas
senger to Antioch. The King made a vain effort to procure
ships for the helpless crowd of diseased cripples who still lay
in the stony plain round Attalia ; but under the circumstances

a^"w] ™e second crusade.

399

he could hardly himself have hoped to fucceed. Even the
barons, who had been so anxious to go by sea, began to
despair of obtaining the transport promised them by the
Greeks. For the poor pilgrims who could not pay enormous
sums there was no alternative but the land journey. So Louis
agreed to pay down five hundred marks, on condition that the
Greeks conducted the pilgrims safely as far as Tarsus, the
nearest town of the Christian principality of Antioch, and
that the sick and helpless should be taken into Attalia, there
cared for till they recovered, and then be sent on by sea after
the others.
The Greeks readily took the money, and immediately the
King was gone they informed the Turks of the helpless con
dition of the pilgrims. The Count of Flanders and the Sire
de Bourbon had been induced to remain in charge of the poor
wretches, who now, without money, clothes, or weapons, were
expected to march for forty days through a hostile country.
The escort promised by the Greeks existed only in the imagi
nation of the credulous Louis. They would hardly suffer the
Christians to come for shelter into their town, to which the
Turks had free access when they chose. The Count of
Flanders and the Sire de Bourbon were not heroes enough to
endure this. They procured a ship and sailed for Antioch,
leaving their countrymen to their awful and now very visible
fate. The low wall under which they crowded offered no
shelter from the Turkish archers, who, posted at convenient
places, shot them down at their ease. In the meantime the
Greeks crushed hale, and sick, and putrefying corpses into a
narrow and filthy space, and quietly waited for the result.
A body of three or four thousand preferred death by the
scimitars of the Turks to a lingering suffocation by mephitic
gases. They sallied forth, and attempting to cross a river,
were repulsed and cut to pieces by the Turks. But, marvellous
ix> relate, such was the scene of wretchedness presented by

400 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [S. in
their camp, that even the fierce Moslem heart was touched
with pity; they nursed the wounded, and fed the sick and
starving. This mercy of the Turks gives one a feeling of
awe. How unutterable must have been that woe which could
pierce down to the humanity of a Turk, through his love for
Islam, through his duty and delight in the slaughter of the
unbelievers. The Greeks made slaves of such of the pilgrims
as were strong and serviceable. The contrast between the
Christians and Pagans of the East was so great that numbers
of the pilgrims embraced the Mohammedan faith.1
The horrible scene at Attalia virtually closed the Second
Crusade. The French king, indeed, and a few courtiers had
proceeded to Antioch, and from thence to Jerusalem ; but
much more in the character of humble pilgrims than bold
Crusaders. Louis gave himself up to devotion with a zeal
more becoming to a monk than to the sovereign of a large
kingdom which suffered grievously from his absence. Suger
wrote to him imploring him to return. " The disturbers of
the country have returned," he writes — meaning the barons —
" and you, who ought to defend, remain as it were captive
abroad." The good abbot had reason to complain. While
the king was wasting both the blood and treasure of his
kingdom in the East, Suger was administrating the affairs of
the country out of the revenues of his own abbey.
i The conclusion of Odo's narra- specie of the Christians to distribute
tive is written with all the marks it among the poor of the French
of intense anguish. The generosity army. Quidam Turcorum a suis
of the Turks reached to an almost sociis nostras monetas emebanty et
incredible degree. They actually inter pauperes plena manu divide-
bought up among themselves the bant."

CHAPTER IV.
(A.D. II47. AETAT. 56.)
ACTS OF ST. 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.
The various friends and disciples of Bernard who have left us
narratives of his life, or of parts of it, appear always especially
anxious to impress on their readers the singular humility and
gentleness of his character. They seem to fear lest the great,
Bernard of the world's stage, the dictator to popes and kings,
will keep out of sight the meek and affectionate father and
friend with whom they loved to be. " He often used to tell
us," says his secretary Godfrey, "that when he was in the
midst of honours and flattering attentions, whether from
multitudes or the great, he seemed to himself to have borrowed
the personality of another man ; he could think of himself
as absent, and all that was going on before him as a sort of
dream. But when he was conversing with the simpler among
his monks, then he rejoiced to find himself again, and feel, as
it were, in his own person." For the innate modesty which
appeared in his youth adhered to him till the day of his death,
of which here is a singular proof : — In spite of his marvellous
gift of eloquence, and the triumphs which had attended it, he
often declared that "he never lifted up his voice in any
company, however humble, without a feeling of awe and fear
D D

402 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [c^iv
coming over him. He would by far have preferred ' being
silent, had he not been urged to speak by the pricks of his
conscience, the fear of God, and brotherly love."1
Utter fearlessness, coupled with deep humility — truly a very
admirable combination, which will never want for influence
while human nature remains what it is. " He seemed to fear
no man, and yet to reverence all." He rarely reproved any if
he could avoid it, preferring the way of advice and entreaty.
Many were surprised to notice that a rough and insolent
answer would as readily cause him to pause or interrupt his
objurgation as a modest and humble one, so that some said
he attacked those who fled, but yielded to aggressors. But the
reply he made to this is not unworthy of notice. He said that
conversations in which modesty appeared in both interlocutors
were pleasant; where it appeared in only one, they were useful;
where it appeared in neither, they were pernicious.2
Bernard's humility could bear rude tests, as the following
anecdote shows : — A certain regular clerk one day came to
Clairvaux, and asked with some importunity to be admitted as
a monk. The abbot exhorted him to return to his church,
and refused to receive him. "Why then," said the clerk,
" have you in your books given such praises to a perfect life,
if you refuse your help to one who wishes to lead it?" and,
working himself up to a great passion, he continued : " If I
had those books here, I would tear them in pieces." Bernard
quietly answered: "I do' not think you will find it anywhere
asserted in my writings that you could not be perfect in your
own cloister. If I remember rightly, I have everywhere in
my books advised a change of manners, not a change of
abode." Upon this the clerk rushed at him, and hit him a
i " Denique, sicut nobis saepius potius reputabat absentem velut
fatebatur, inter summos quosque somnium quoddam suspicatus. "—
honores et favores populorum et St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1126.
sublimium personarum, alterum sibi 2 Ibid. col. 1 127.
mutuatus hominem videbatur, seque

i~£l"%] . BERNARDS HUMILITY. 403
violent blow on the cheek, causing a severe bruise.1 Those
present were ready to seize the culprit with some degree of
roughness. But Bernard restrained them, and forbade any one
to touch him. He merely gave orders that he should be
safely and carefully led out, and that no hurt should be done
him. The poor wretch, overcome by Bernard's gentleness,
was taken away trembling with horror and amazement.
Such blows as these to his outward man Bernard could bear
without much effort. The pain they inflicted did not pene
trate very deep. Much sharper was the pang which at this
date shot through his heart and mind, owing to renewed
reports of heresy. Heresy again, and evermore heresy. How
vexatious and horrible that men will not believe aright ! No
sooner have we stamped out their infernal sparks in one place
than they appear in another. Peter of Bruis, Abelard, Arnold
of Brescia, heretics from Cologne, heretics from Italy, had all,
in one way or another, been answered, or vexed, or hunted out.
Still, such is the depravity of the human heart, more are ready
to follow in their evil ways. From Perigeux the most
shocking accounts are received. A monk named Pontius has
succeeded in seducing from Catholic verity nobles, clerks,
priests, monks, and even nuns. His views seem to have
coincided with those of Henry the Cluniac (of whom it is
probable he was a disciple), and consisted of the usual rejection
of the Church's doctrine on the Eucharist,2 and the adoration of
crosses, coupled with vows of extreme poverty. Pontius and
his followers were believed to work miracles by the assistance

1 " Turn vero impetum faciens, dicunt sed fragmentum panis. Mis-
homo velut insanus in eum, percussit sam si quis cantaverit seductionis
maxillam ejus idque tam graviter ut causa, nee canonem dicit nee com-
succederet statim rubor ictui, tumor munionem percipit, sed hostiam
rubori." — St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. juxta, aut retro altare, aut in mis-
col. 1 127. salem projicit." — Heriberti Epistola,
2 " Missam pro nihilo ducunt apud Mabillon, Vetera Analecta,
neque communionem percipi debere p. 483. D D 2

404 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD, [gEi.nr
of their patron the devil. It was said that nothing could bind
them, for Satan always came to their rescue. Even when
loaded with chains and stowed carefully in a wine-butt turned
bottom upwards, and well watched by a strong guard, however
secure overnight they might be, in the morning they were
found to have evaporated, as it were, and were not seen till
they chose to show themselves again. They had the very
remarkable and enviable power of putting a drop of wine
into an empty bottle one day, and of finding it full of wine
on the day following.1 But their impiety was horrible ; and to
show their contempt for the Host, they were apt to throw it
about, sometimes behind the altar, or by the side of it, some
times stuffing it in a missal. Yet they rather courted than
shunned danger and death, and seemed to seek for those who
would torture them, and put an end to their lives.
To these sinister reports, coming from Perigeux, was added
the still graver intelligence that the heretic Henry, who had
been driven from Le Mans, had succeeded in alienating whole
districts of the south-west of France from the teaching of the
Church. In his course southwards, he had passed through
and infected Poitiers and Bordeaux ; and now in Languedoc
his success with all classes was such that the churches were
deserted, the clergy despised, the sacraments neglected, or,
rather, carefully avoided. Alberic, Bishop of Ostia, and
legate in those parts, saw, with helpless despondency, the
population forsaking him and his church. The people would
take no notice of him. When he celebrated mass at Alby, he
could hardly get thirty persons to attend it. There was no
help but to send for Bernard.2
i " Faciunt quoque multa signa. niuntur. . . . Vas vini vacuum, ex
Nam sicubi ferreis catenis, vel com- suo vino parumper immisso, in cras-
pedibus vincti, missi fuerint in ton- tino plenum invenitur." — Heriberti
nam vinariam, ita ut fundus sursum Epistola, apud MABILLON, Vetera
vertatur, et custodes fortissimi ad- Analecta, p. 483.
hibeantur, in crastino non inve- 2 " Cum signa pulsarent ad popu-

I™1™] MORE HERETICS. 405
It cannot cause surprise that Bernard hesitated. He could
hardly have recovered from the fatigues of preaching the
Crusade, when this request to undertake a journey of several
hundred miles was made. His health and strength were daily
failing more and more. One of the wishes nearest his heart
was to die surrounded by his brethren in Christ, his carissimi
Claraevallenses. In so long and so exhausting a journey
many chances might occur which would find him a grave in
a distant land. He did hesitate ; but not for long. Attended
by his secretary Godfrey, he set out for Languedoc. All
Clairvaux was in a state of alarm and anxiety about him,
knowing his weakness and the distance he was going.
In time Godfrey wrote a letter to his friends at Clairvaux,
giving an account of how it fared with him and Bernard in
this expedition. As they approached Poitiers, he says, " The
Lord Abbot" became weaker, and felt the fatigue very much.
Still he would not give up his point after once undertaking it.
From Poitiers he proceeded to Bordeaux, and performed
several miracles. To one man who had had a fever for seven
years he gave some water to drink which he had blessed.
The man had no sooner drunk it than he experienced a.
sensation, he said, as if a vessel full of water had been dashed
over his head. The fever had entirely vanished.1
At Toulouse and Perigeux his reception was enthusiastic.
The heretics fled out of the towns as fast as he approached
them. Bernard made the people swear that they would not
harbour them any more. The promise was readily made.
Henry had disappeared, but was searched for with such rigour
that he was presently captured and delivered bound in chains
lum convocandum ad missarum est ei ac si projiceretur super caput
solemnia celebranda, vix convenere plenum vas aquae, et ex ea hora con-
triginta." — Epistola Gatifridi; St. valuit a febre, qua per septem annos
Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1 194. laboraverat."— St. Bern. Op. vol. ii.
1 " Ibidem burgensis ouidam bibit col. 1 193.
aquam ab eo benedictam, et visum

406 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD- LSS.'iv
to his bishop. Bernard's miracles astonished everybody, him
self included. Godfrey gives the following instance of his
abbot's supernatural power, of which he was himself eye
witness. " At Toulouse, in the church of St. Saturninus, in
which we were lodged, was a certain regular canon named
John. John had kept his bed for seven months, and was so
reduced that his death was expected daily. His legs were so
shrunken that they were scarcely larger than a child's arms.
He was quite unable to rise to satisfy the wants of nature.
At last his brother canons refused to tolerate his presence any
longer among them, and thrust him out into the neighbouring
village. When the poor creature heard of Bernard's proximity,
he implored to be taken to him. Six men, therefore, carrying
him as he lay in bed, brought him into a room close to that in
which we were lodged. The abbot heard him confess his sins,
and listened to his entreaties to be restored to health. Bernard
mentally prayed to God : ' Behold, O Lord, they seek for a
sign, and our words avail nothing, unless they be confirmed
with signs following.' He then blessed him and left the
chamber, and so did we all. In that very hour the sick man
arose from his couch, and, running after Bernard, kissed his
feet with a devotion which cannot be imagined by any one
who did not see it. One of the canons, meeting him, nearly
fainted with fright, thinking he saw his ghost. John and the
brethren then retired to the church and sang a Te Deum." 2
Indeed, immediately after this miracle, Bernard, we are told,
became quite uneasy on the subject of his own extraordinary
powers. He said : " I can't think what these miracles mean,
or why God has thought fit to work them through such a one
as I. I do not remember to have read, even in Scripture, of
anything more' wonderful. Signs and wonders have been
1 Godfrey has given two accounts in his Life of St. Bernaid. — St.
of this miracle ; one in the letter Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1 124.
written home to Clairvaux, the other

aL?It3£J BERNARD'S MIRACLES. 407
wrought by holy men and by deceivers. I feel conscious
neither of holiness nor deceit. I know I have not those
saintly merits which are illustrated by miracles. I trust, how
ever, that I do not belong to the number of those who do
wonderful things in the name of God, and yet are unknown of
the Lord." At last he thought he had hit upon an explanation.
It was this. That God in these cases has regard, not to the
sanctity of one, but to the salvation of many. Miracles are
not wrought for the good of him through whom they are
wrought, but for the good of those who see them or hear of
them. They are not meant to show the worker of them as
more holy than others, but to stimulate others to a more
active love of holiness. " These miracles, therefore, have
nothing to do with me ; for I know that they are owing rather
to the extent of my fame than to my excellency of life. They
are not meant to honour me, but to admonish others."
Godfrey, who informs us of these difficulties of his master,
considers that such a view of them is scarcely less miraculous
than the miracles themselves.1
Truly miracles had need to abound amid such a harvest of
heresies. Henry and his followers having been disposed of, it
is now Gilbert de la Porre'e who stands in need of confutation.
Gilbert de la Porre'e, Bishop of Poitiers, by common consent
was one of the most learned and subtle theologians of the age.
He was a Realist in Philosophy ; and, considering that Realism
had usually been regarded as orthodox, and that the opposite
of Realism, namely Nominalism, had been more than once
condemned by the Church as heretical, he may have presumed
to hope that the keen scent of theological suspicion would
discover nothing objectionable in his teaching. If he had
any such hope, it was disappointed. His archdeacons, Calo
and Arnold (Qui non ridet " who does not laugh") publicly
denounced his views on the Trinity as savouring of heresy.
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1125.

408 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [%£.'&
This was in the year 1147. Full of truth and vigour they
hastened into Italy and proclaimed their bishop's errors before
Pope Eugenius III. The Pope replied that he intended
shortly to go into France himself, and commanded them to
have all things ready for examination before a council he
would preside over at Paris on the following Easter. The
zealous archdeacons then went to Clairvaux, and succeeded
in inducing Bernard to adopt their cause. The council at
Paris did not proceed very far in the matter. In fact the
aggressors did not appear quite prepared for the conflict.
The Pope ordered Gilbert to appear before him at Rheims,
in the Lent following; at the same time requesting him to
send to him the incriminated work, as he meant to have it
carefully examined. He also advised Gilbert to be prepared
to give most explicit answers to all that might be objected
to him.1
Eugenius having got Gilbert's book, had too much business
or too little learning to master it, or controvert it himself;
he therefore sent it to Godeschalc, then Abbot of Mont St.
Elige, to make a searching examination of it. Godeschalc
read and marked those passages which appeared inconsistent
with Catholic doctrine, and appended a schedule of Patristic
authorities which overturned Gilbert's heretical views. But,
although Godeschalc could thus supply the learning and
acuteness required to confute Gilbert, he was so deficient in the
gift of ready eloquence, that he was quite unfit to attack an
1 A luminous account of Gilbert place Otto was with Conrad in the
de la Porree's views as a philosopher Holy Land, while Godfrey was on
will be found in M. Haureau's work the spot, I have not hesitated, as a
nn "La Philosophie Scolastique," general rule, to prefer the latter.
vol. i. chap. 11. As regards his Otto's chronicle, which has not been
condemnation before the Council of often printed, is to be found in the
Rheims 'two authorities are extant: sixth volume of Muratori's "Scrip-
one is Otto, Bishop of Frisingen, tores Rerum Italicarum ; " Godfrey's
in his history of Frederic I. ; the account in St. Bern. Op. vol. ii.
other is by the monk Godfrey. In- col. 1319.
asmuch as when these events took

*£:"£] GILBERT DE LA PORREE. 409
adversary or defend a cause before a council. No one
couid doubt that for that purpose Bernard was the man. And
so it was arranged. Bernard studied his brief, and the council
gathered together at Rheims, both accuser and accused mar
shalling their adherents in great force.
Gilbert appeared, attended by a number of his clerks,
carrying piles of ponderous volumes in support of his views ;
whereas the other side came with a single sheet, containing
a few authorities in the form of extracts. The contrast
attracted notice and comment ; and Gilbert's friends said
that Bernard brought only garbled evidence, while they
adduced whole works, in which the context and its bearing
on the points at issue could be clearly seen.1 Thus forti
fied with his voluminous authorities, Gilbert wearied and
bewildered the council by the interminable reading of long
quotations from the Fathers, being careful to add, ever and
anon, that his own views were identical with them. At last
the Pope became very impatient, and said, " You speak a
good deal, brother Gilbert, and cause a number of things to be
read, which, perhaps, we do not understand. Now I would
wish to know of you, quite in a simple manner, whether you
believe that that highest Essence, in which you acknowledge
the three persons to be one God — whether you believe that
itself to be God?" Bernard addressed him in much the same
manner. " This scandal has had its origin in this one fact,
that many are of opinion that you believe and teach that the
Divine essence, or nature, or divinity, or wisdom, or goodness,
or magnitude, is not God, but the form by which God is.
If you believe this, acknowledge it openly, or else deny it."
1 " Ingredientibus vero nobis cepta calumniabantur fautores illius
consistorium, prima die cum magno- hominis, quod decurtata testimonia
rum voluminum corpora per clericos proferremus, cum ille codices integros
suosPictaviensisfecissetafferrhetnos exhiberet." — Epist. Gaufridi; St.
paucas auctoritates Ecclesiae in sola Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1320.
schedula haberemus ; occasione ac-

410 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [gE.Tv
Gilbert, fatigued and confused by the long discussion, answered
rather hastily, " I do not. The form of God, the divinity by
which God is, is not itself God." "Behold," said Bernard,
" we have what we wanted. Let that confession be taken down
in writing." Pen and ink were then handed to Gilbert, who,
while in the act of writing, said to Bernard, " You also write
down that divinity is God." "Write it," replied Bernard,
" with a pen of iron, and with the point of a diamond, nay,
grave it in the flinty rock, that the Divine essence, nature, form,
deity, goodness, wisdom, virtue, power, magnitude, truly is
God."1 This terminated the first sitting; and immediately
after the council rose Gilbert busied himself in an active can
vass among the cardinals. Several were known to be friendly
towards him, and he spent the remainder of the day, and even
part of the night, in soliciting their good offices.2
Bernard's secretary Godfrey, on the other hand, proceeded
to the library of the church of Rheims, and diligently examined
the writings of the Fathers. St. Augustine, he discovered,
used expressions almost identical with those which Bernard had
just employed. On the day following Godfrey and Bernard
appeared with such an array of tomes as quite struck a tremor
into their adversaries, who were not prepared for so great a
display of learning.3 The investigation proceeded, and three
more erroneous doctrines were entered against Gilbert First,
1 Dean Milman writes, "The quod superfuit illius diei spatium,
Bishop of Poitiers, instead of cum nocte sequenti, amicos suos ex
shrinking from his own words in a cardinalibus, quos habuit non paucos,
discussion before the Pope, who was circuit." — Otto Frisingensis, lib. i.
nowat Paris,exclaimed, 'Write them cap. 56. The Cardinals seem to have
down with a pen of adamant'" (Lat. been very prone to heresy in these
Christ, vol. iii. p. 397). In attributing times. It will be remembered that
these words erroneously to Gilbert, among them Abelard reckoned his
the dean deprives Bernard of ahighly chief supporters.
characteristic speech. It is also wrong 3 "Sequenti die codices tantos
to suppose they were uttered at Paris; attulimus ad disputationem, ut ob-
the incident occurred at Rheims. stupescerent fautores Episcopi. " —
2 "Sic in haec verba conventus St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1321.
ea die dimittitur. Episcopus totum

A D. 114S'
Aeta'j'. 57

] COUNCIL OF RHEIMS. 411

for maintaining that neither one God, nor any one thing, was
three persons, although three persons were one God ; secondly,
that properties of persons and a multitude of eternal things
had truly existed for ever without beginning, none of which,
however, were God, or were from God ; thirdly, that it was not
, the Divine nature which assumed the human, but the person
of the Son, who took our nature upon Him. When these points
had been made clear, the council broke up, the cardinals saying
at the same time, " We have heard the evidence, and we will,
in the next place, consider what judgment we shall pass upon
it." This announcement caused great anxiety. It was evident
that Gilbert's friends meant to protect him if they could, and
to dissolve the council without a decision at all. The French
clergy, headed by Bernard, were not to be baulked in that way.
Ten archbishops and a multitude of bishops and inferior
clergy assembled in Bernard's lodging, and agreed to draw up
a document of the most unflinching orthodoxy. They first of
all set forth Gilbert's heresies, and to these they opposed their
own Catholic verity, using the greatest care and deliberation
in all they put down. Suger of St. Denis and two bishops
were commissioned to present the document to the Pope and
cardinals, stating, at the same time, " Out of reverence to your
Holiness, we have endured speeches by no means worthy of
acceptation, until we heard that it was your intention to pass
judgment upon them. We now offer to you ourselves and our
confession, that you may be able to decide, on the showing,
not of one, but of both parties. You hold that man's written
confession ; it is proper that you should have ours also. He,
however, gave in his, coupled with the condition that he would
correct it, if you found it objectionable. We utterly exclude
and repudiate any such condition, and would have you know
that this is our belief, and in it we will remain, determined to alter
nothing whatever." The Pope replied at once, that the Roman
Church would never think of dissenting from the confession

412 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cSAv
which they had made, and that, although some of the cardinals
appeared to stand by Gilbert, it was the man, not the doctrine,
they were willing to befriend. The council then reassembled
in the " noble palace which is called Thau." The Bishop of
Poitiers was questioned on the various points on which his
orthodoxy had been denied, and recanted each successively,
saying, " If you believe differently, so do I. If you say diffe
rently, so do I. If you write differently, so do I." The Pope
then condemned his doctrines, and forbade any one to read or
transcribe his book unless the Roman Church had previously
expurgated it. Poor Gilbert added, " I will correct it according
to your good will and pleasure." " Not to you," said the Pope,
" will this office of correction be entrusted." 1
A melancholy scene, sure enough. Over what dykes and
ramparts has the current of human thought to force its way.
Strange that men should prefer their stagnating ponds to the
bracing stream of life and progress. Strange that they should
account it a sin to slay the body, and hold it a virtue to slay
the mind and the thoughts of the mind.
The cardinals, we are told, were highly incensed at the part
played by Bernard and the French clergy. They made an
indignant remonstrance with the Pope. " You ought to
know," they said to him, " that considering you were elevated
by us, on whom the fabric of the universal Church revolves, as
it were, upon a hinge, from a private station to be the Father
of .all, you now belong, not so much to yourself, as to us. You
ought not to allow private friendships to interfere with public
ones, but to consult the common welfare of all ; and both by
position and duty you owe an especial care and regard to the
Roman Curia. But what has that abbot of yours been doing,
and, with him, the whole Gallican Church? With what a front
has she dared to erect herself against the supremacy of the see
of Rome ? That see is the only one which shutteth and no
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1322.

*£;"$] GILBERT CONDEMNED. 413
man openeth, which openeth and no man shutteth. And
yet, behold, these Gauls, despising us even to our faces, have
presumed, without consulting us, to write down their faith on
those points which have been recently discussed, as if thereby
putting their hands to a final and abiding sentence. We
request that you will speedily rise up against this bold inno
vation, and punish, at no distant date, this contumacy of
theirs." l Eugenius gave a meek answer, and sent for Bernard
to know what to do. Bernard declared that neither himself,
nor their lordships the bishops, had defined anything on the
mooted points ; but that, because the Bishop of Poitiers had
asked that his (Bernard's) belief should be taken down, he had
been unwilling to appear alone in a confession of faith, but,
supported by the authority and witness of the bishops, he had
in a simple manner set forth his creed. This quieted the
cardinals, who, however, declared that the confession of the
French bishops should not be regarded as an authorized creed
of the Church.
But although these conflicts with, and condemnation of,
heretics had come so frequently on Bernard of late, as it
seemed to him, in the plain path of his duty, yet to a mind
such as his they could not fail to be the cause of pain and
sadness. However unavoidable or imperatively necessary the
public denunciation and confusion of false teachers might be
for the welfare of the Church, it was still a sore and difficult
duty, wrenching the mind from its peaceful haunts, interruptive
of pensive meditation or fervent prayer, and dipping one's
daily bread in the waters of strife. It must have been there
fore a matter of no ordinary joy to Bernard that, in the autumn
of this contentious year 1148, his old friend Malachy again
made his way to Clairvaux.2 He had been absent nine
1 Otto Frisingensis, lib. i. cap. 57. Clairvaux is taken up entirely with
2 Bernard's account of Malachy the miracles and impossibilities which
on his return home from his visit to his friend performed. I do not think

414 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. fc1^
years — years which had been well filled, in his case as well as
Bernard's, with hard work and fierce opposition, but with a fair
share of triumph over it all in the end. He was again intend
ing to go to Rome, on the same errand as had led him there
before, namely, to solicit of the Pope the use of the pallium.
Bernard's delight at seeing him again was unbounded. "Though
he came from the west, he was truly the dayspring from on
high which visited us. What an addition was that radiating
sun to our Clairvaux ! What a bright holiday shone upon us
when he arrived ! How quickly did I, though trembling and
weak, spring forward to meet him ! how I hastened to embrace
him ! With what joy in my countenance and in my heart
did I lead thee, my father, into my mother's house, into the
chamber of her who bore me ! What days of festivity did I
pass in thy company ; but, alas ! how few." For Malachy had
indeed been only four or five days' with his friend when he was
seized with fever.
A deep grief settled on Clairvaux when the fact was
known, and a universal emulation to help or relieve the
sufferer urged the monks to try every form of remedy. But
in vain. He grew steadily worse, and it was quite certain
that his hour had come. When the monks whom he had
brought with him said he must not despair, that no signs of
death were apparent in him, he replied, " Malachy is this
year destined to leave the body. Beloved, the day draweth
nigh which, as ye well know, I have ever hoped would be the
day of my departure. I know in whom I have put my trust
I shall not be robbed of the remainder of my desire, seeing
there is a page of non - mythical the first period Bernard had received
matter in the latter portion of the authentic material from Malachy
narrative, i.e. from cap. 16 to the himself in conversation. For the
end, cap. 31. The first part, though second it is improbable that he had
full of marvels, has here and there anything of the kind, Malachy, as
the appearance at least of firm histo- it will be immediately seen, dying
rical foundation. The difference may, soon after he reached Clairvaux on
perhaps, be explained thus : that for his second visit.

a&t1*] ST. MALACHY RETURNS TO CLAIRVAUX. 415
that I already have obtained a part. He who in His mercy
has led me to the place which I sought, will not deny me the
last end I have wished for. As regards this poor body, here
will it find a resting-place. As concerns my soul, the Lord
will provide, who saves those who place their hope in Him."
Malachy begged that he might receive the sacrament of
Extreme Unction. He would not allow the brethren to ascend
to the cell in which he lay, but came down to them, and,
having received the viaticum, he returned to his bed. None
could believe he was dying. " His countenance was not pale
nor shriveled, nor his forehead wrinkled, nor his eyes sunken,
nor his nose sharp, nor his mouth drawn, nor his teeth
decayed, nor his neck slender, nor his shoulders bent, nor
his flesh wasted on the rest of his body. Such grace was in
his body, such glory in his face, as even the hand of death
could not wipe away." 1
On the Feast of All Saints he was visibly dying. Towards
evening he called the monks to his bedside, and, looking up at
them, he said, " Greatly have I desired to eat this passover
with you. Thanks be to God, I have had my desire." Then
placing his hands on each one, and giving his blessing to all,
he bade them go to rest, as his hour had not yet come.
They went, and returned towards midnight. Several abbots
who were staying at Clairvaux were present. " With psalms
and hymns and spiritual songs we followed our friend on his
homeward journey. In the fifty-fourth year of his age, in the
place and at the time he had foretold and chosen, Bishop
Malachy, taken by angels from out of our hands, happily fell
asleep in the Lord. Truly he fell asleep. All eyes were fixed
upon him, yet none could say when the spirit left him. When
he was dead, he was thought to be alive ; while yet alive, he
was supposed to be dead. The same brightness and serenity
were ever visible. Death seemed to have no power over them,
1 De Vita S. Malachiae, cap. 31.

41 6 . LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [5Z.iv
nay, it seemed to increase them. He was not changed, but
we.1 Marvellously and suddenly the sobs and grief were
hushed. Sorrow was changed into joy, song banished lamen
tation. Faith had triumphed."
" And, indeed, wherefore should we bewail Malachy above
measure, as if his death were not precious, as if it were not
rather sleep than death, as if the port of death were not the
portal of life? Malachy, our friend, sleepeth; and shall I weep?
If the Lord has given sleep to His beloved one, and such a
sleep, in which was the inheritance of God, the reward of the
son, the fruit of the womb ; which of these tells me to weep?
Shall I bewail him who has escaped from tears? He rejoices,
he triumphs, he enters into the joy of his Lord ; and shall I
make lamentation over him ? "
" All things being prepared in the church of the Holy
Mary, the Mother of God, in which he had been well pleased,
Malachy was committed to the tomb, in the year of the incarna
tion 1 148. Thine, O Jesus, is the treasure which is entrusted to
us. We keep it to be restored to Thee when Thou shalt think
meet to ask it. We pray only that, he may not go forth from
hence without his companions, but that he who was our guest
may be also our leader, to reign with Thee and him for ever
and ever. Amen." 2
1 " Et quidem omnium oculi fixi in " Our very hopes belied our fears,
eum; nemo tamen, qui quando exivit, Our fears our hopes belied;
- ' i HA- ^ • We thought her dying when she slept,
advertere potuisset. Mortuus vivere, And sleeping when she died."
et vivens mortuus putabatur." — De T. Hood.
Vita S. Malachite. 2 St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 689.

CHAPTER V.
(A.t>. 1 149. AETAT. 58.)
THE LAST YEARS OF ST. BERNARD — THE BOOK OF CONSIDERATION —
TREACHERY OF HIS SECRETARY NICHOLAS — ILLNESS AND DEATH.
Bernard had hardly turned from the grave in which he had
laid his friend, St. Malachy, when the utter and hopeless failure
of the Crusade became known in Western Europe. Rumours
of misfortune had doubtless been moving about; but only
when the crestfallen and vanquished Louis, attended by a few
dispirited followers, entered his kingdom, as it were, by stealth,
was the full extent of the calamity appreciated. Grief and
lamentation possessed the land; and astonishment that God
should put true believers to such confusion was not wanting.
But presently the popular humiliation began to cast about for
an individual victim on whom the responsibility of failure could
be thrown, and thus a vent be afforded to the vague discontent
and indignation which were oppressing every heart ; and soon,
from the broad population of Europe, a murmur of wrath and
reproach was heard, which, rising in every swelling volume, at
last broke into articulate utterance, and thundered out the
name " Bernard " with every mark of anger and resentment.
It was so : Bernard was accused and reviled as the author
of the calamities which had overtaken the Crusade. Why did
he preach it ? Why did he prophesy success ? Why did he
work miracles to make men join it, if this was to be the result ?
Bernard had never thought much of the praise or the blame of
men, or else here would have been a sharp trial for him ; after
thirty years of eulogy and incense, to be thus held up as a
subject of scorn and hatred. Fortunately for him, public opinion
E E

Book IV

418 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. Lc££V
had not been the object of his solicitude. He had his own
sorrows about the Crusade, and high and deep they were.
The fact that men vilified and despised his name, which they
formerly loved, was a small and unimportant matter, and did
not require much notice in such a time of trial.
A year passed, and Bernard addressed a few words to Pope
Eugenius, which he meant to be regarded in the light of an
apology. " We have fallen on evil days," he writes, " in which the
Lord, provoked by our sins, has judged the world before its
time, with justice,- indeed, but forgetful of His wonted mercy.
He hath not spared this people, nor hath He had regard unto
His own name. Do not the Gentiles say, Where is now their
God ? And who can wonder ? The sons of the Church, and
men named Christians, have been overthrown in the desert,
slain with the sword, or destroyed by famine. How con
founded are the feet of those who bring good tidings, who
publish peace ! We said ' peace,' and there is no peace. We
promised good things, and behold disorder. As though we
had been guilty of rashness or levity in that undertaking !
And yet with no uncertainty did I run that course, but at your
command, or rather at the command of God, through you.
The judgments of the Lord are righteous, as each of us knows ;
but this one is an abyss so deep, that I dare to pronounce him
blessed whosoever is not scandalized in it."
He then seeks in the history of the Israelites for precedents
bearing on the case in point. The misfortunes of the Hebrews,
even under the leadership of such a prophet as Moses, are
shown to be peculiarly apposite. " The sad and unhoped-for
event cannot be imputed to Moses. He did all things as the
Lord bade him, nay, with the Lord working with him, and
confirming his work, with signs following. But that people,
you will say, was stiff-necked, for ever contending against God,
and against His servant Moses. Truly they were unbelieving
and rebellious. But what are these men ? Ask themselves."

,at.m] BERNARD AND EUGENIUS III.

A D. US 419

Again, " Benjamin sinned ; and the other tribes gird them
selves to vengeance, not without the command of God ; the
Lord Himself gave them a leader. Yet how terrible is He in
His doings towards the children of men ! The avengers of sin
fled before sinners, the many before the few. They return to
the Lord. At His bidding they go forth again, and are again
scattered. How, think you, would these Crusaders deal with
me, if, at my exhortation, they again went up, and again were
driven back? And yet the Israelites, taking no account of
their first and second discomfiture, went forth a third time, and
were conquerors. But I may be answered, ' How do we know
that this word cometh from the Lord? What signs showest
thou, that we should believe thee ? ' It is not for me to reply to
this saying; my modesty must be spared. Do thou answer for me
and for thyself, according to what thou hast seen and heard." x
It was during this dark and troubled time that Bernard con
ceived the plan of, and began to execute, the largest literary
work he ever undertook, viz. the five books De Consideration,
addressed to his disciple, Eugenius III. His manner and
sentiments with regard to his pupil, after his elevation to the
papal chair, are curious to notice. At first he was vehemently
afraid lest the cardinals had made a mistake in electing him.
" May God forgive you, but what have you done ? " he wrote
to them : " you have drawn into the world again a man who
was buried ; you have plunged into crowds and cares a man
who had fled from both." 2 And to Eugenius he wrote in a
similar strain. In a long letter, in which respect, affection, and
fatherly counsel are strangely mingled, he warns the new Pope
to beware of the dangers to which such an elevation had ex
posed him. But, as time wore on, Bernard found that Eugenius
was likely to make a very fair Pope, as popes went. He also
took, as he said, a special interest in the son he had begotten.
He was always ready to help his pupil Avith his advice and vast
1 DeConsideratione, lib. ii.cap. 1. 2 Epist. 237. St. Bern. Op. vol. i.
— St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 416. col. 232.

420 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. R5£. y
experience. Some people, indeed, said that it was not Bernard
of Pisa but Bernard of Clairvaux who was pope.1 Such a
reproach was nearly sure to be made, in consequence of the
relation in which Bernard and Eugenius had once stood to
each other. But candid history will scarcely assert that the
Abbot of Clairvaux's influence became greater when his dis
ciple mounted the papal throne than it had been during the
pontificates of Innocent, Celestine, and Lucius.
But although Eugenius appeared to be discharging his papal
duties with zeal and discretion, Bernard thought there was no
small error and confusion as to what those duties really were.
The Pope, he observes, is occupied from morning to night in
hearing lawsuits; "and would that the day were sufficient to
the evil thereof! But the nights are not exempt. Sleep
enough is hardly granted to exhausted nature, when you must
be up again to hear quarrels and disputes." Eugenius, he says,
can scarcely ever get an hour to himself; and when is he to
pray, when to teach the people, when to edify the Church,
if he is to be always disputing or hearing others dispute ?
Rome, whether the capital of the Pagan or the Christian
world, continues as ever to be the centre to which " all things
atrocious and shameful" find their way.2 "The ambitious, the
grasping, the simoniacal, the sacrilegious, the adulterous, the
incestuous, and all such like monsters of humanity, flock to
Rome, in order either to obtain or to keep ecclesiastical honours
at the hands of the Pope." To consume all his time in settling
the disputes of this crowd of petitioners, Bernard says, is
unworthy of the exalted position of a Pope. A sudden and
complete change he does not recommend. But he should cer
tainly begin by degrees to introduce a better order of things.
" Causes must be heard, doubtless, but let it be in a becoming
manner. For the present fashion is plainly execrable, and one
1 "Aiunt non vos esse Papam, atrocia aut pudenda confluunt cele-
sed me." — Epirt. 239. branturque." — Tacit. Ann. lib. xv.
*".... quo cuncta undique cap. 44.

A«?i"S] THE BOOK " OF CONSIDERATION." 421
which is unbecoming, I do not say to the Church, but even to
the market-place. I indeed wonder how your religious ears can
endure the pleadings of the advocates and the clash of words,
which lead rather to the perversion than to the discovery of the
truth. Correct this evil custom, cut off the tongues which talk
vanity, shut the deceitful mouths. These advocates are they
who have taught their tongues to speak lies, being eloquent
against justice, and learned in the service of falsehood. They
destroy the simplicity of truth, they obstruct the paths of
justice. Nothing with such facility makes truth manifest as
a short and unperverted narrative. I would wish you, there
fore, to decide on those causes which must come before you
carefully, yet briefly withal, resolutely avoiding vexatious delays.
Let the cause of the widow, the cause of the poor, of him who
hath not wherewith to give, come before you. The rest you
can leave to the decision of others ; indeed, many are not
worthy even to be heard. But such is the impudence of some,
that when their whole case bears on its very face the marks of
ambition and intrigue, they yet do not blush to demand an
audience. In a word, the whole Church is full of ambitious
men, and has no more ground to be horrified at their schemes
and plots than has a den of thieves at the spoils of wayfarers."1
This was not the first time that Bernard had lifted up his
voice against the evils which an excessive centralization was
bringing on the papacy. Several years before he had told
Pope Innocent what he thought on the subject, and pointed
out the injury which thence resulted to the Church. Priest
and churchman as he was in every fibre of him, he could not
endure corruption, incapacity, or injustice, even when they
borrowed the robes of the sanctuary for their protection. He
had no notion of making things smooth and pleasant. If a
bishop or a legate misbehaved himself, he denounced him,
and filled the world with tumult till he had brought him to
1 De Consideratione, lib. i. cap. 10.

422 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. IcZTv.v
better ways.1 He did not feel bound to defend, deny, or
extenuate notorious and manifest delinquencies, because they
happened to be committed by a clerical brother. He did
not think that evil and its consequences were removed by
simply denying that they existed. He did not think that
suppressing the symptoms on the surface was the proper
method to cure the disease below. On the contrary — and in
this respect he only resembles most of his illustrious con
temporaries — he believed in outspoken honesty, as perhaps
the sharpest but also the most efficacious remedy in all cases
which affected the real health and excellence of the Church.
In other words, neither he nor his contemporaries were banded
together to defend a system per fas et nefas regardless of their
implements. Doubtless he would not allow any tampering
with " Catholic verity," or permit any fundamental changes
in Church discipline. But the fact that a man pretended to
hold " Catholic verity," or was an ardent supporter of Church
discipline, was not enough to make Bernard think him perfect
in spite of grievous faults or even vices, in spite of narrow-
mindedness, licentiousness, and cruelty. Partisans were not
so scarce or so precious to him that he could not afford to be
particular in his choice of them. He called himself a Catholic,
and had some right to the title. In spite of sects in Normandy
and Languedoc, in spite of Abelard and Gilbert, he could feel
that the intellect and heart of the world was not against him,
but with him. Plis nature was not curdled by fear and hatred
of great masses of mankind. His soul was not withered by
the thought that the majority of his species regarded him as
an impostor and enemy, and a lie incarnate. Hence he felt
no necessity for concealment, artifice, or deceit, in reference
to clerical abuses. Hence he wrote those highly interesting
1 "Pertransiit legatus vester de sisse ; spolia ecclesiarum asportasse ;
gente in gentem, et de regno ad formosulos pueros in ecclesiasticis
populum alterum, foeda et horrida honoribus, ubi potuit, promovisse ;
vestigia apud nos ubique relinquens. ubi non potuit, voluisse." — St.Bern.
.... Turpia fertur ubique commi- Epist. 290.

££;"!£] THE CORRUPTIONS OF ROME. 423
passages in the De Consider atione, on the subject of appeals
to Rome, which will be quoted here.1
That the papal supremacy in the Middle Ages conferred
great benefits on Europe is a position which few will now be
inclined to call in question. As a counterpoise to the brute
force of feudalism, its services can with difficulty either be
valued or overvalued. To grant, or rather maintain, so much
does not preclude us from the further statement that the papacy
had hardly reached its acme of beneficence before it began to
be injurious to the world. Like the despotism of the Caesars,
the despotism of the Popes first relieved its subjects from
intolerable evils, and then inflicted on them evils as great or
greater. An unflinching centralization was gradually established,
by which all independent life and energy were withdrawn from
the members, and condensed at Rome. The episcopal office
was lowered and weakened, both in reality and in public
estimation, by the swarms of legates who were spread over
Europe. These ecclesiastical proconsuls were chiefly employed
to observe and to combat all attempts at local self-government
in the provinces over which they were appointed. By their
close connexion with the Holy See they towered high above
the national bishops in influence and authority. If they were
able and upright, they only added to the prestige and power of
Rome; if they were rapacious and incompetent, they only
humbled to a greater degree the local clergy, who bore their
exactions as they best could ; for an appeal against the Pope's
legate was not a measure from which much could, be hoped.
As these pretensions increased, the pecuniary needs of Rome
increased in a similar or greater ratio. The belief throughout
the West was universal that any cause could be made to
triumph at Rome, if well supported by money. As the popes
wanted money very much indeed, and appeals to Rome con-
1 On the subject of papal en- where an admirable collection of
croachments consult Gieseler's contemporary complaints will be
"Lehrbuch," 2Bd. 2te.Abth-p.236; found.

424 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [gEJ. 7
tributed a great deal of money, it was their policy to stimulate
and foster the tendency to appeal to the utmost of their power.
The party which appealed had already secured the favour of the
Roman court. Wealthy culprits were naturally ready to hasten
before a tribunal where gold was more potent than innocence.
The revenues of the papacy were vastly increased ; externally, the
monarchy of the popes rose in grander proportions of majesty
and power. But the seeds of the foulest corruption were planted
at the base of the mighty fabric, and grew with little interrup
tion till the great catastrophe in the sixteenth century.
Bernard only saw the beginnings of these evils, But he saw
enough to make him give forth " no uncertain sound " with
regard to them. " It appears to me," he says, " that appeals
may become a great evil, if they are not managed with the
greatest care. Appeals come to you from all the world. This
is a testimony to your supremacy. But if you be wise, you
will not rejoice in the supremacy, but in its usefulness. Would
that appeals to you were as profitable as they are inevitable !
Would that, when the oppressed cry out, the oppressor were
made to feel it, and that the wicked could not wax proud over
the suffering of the poor ! What can be more fitting than that the
invocation of your name should afford relief to the oppressed,
and, at the same time, offer no refuge to the crafty? What,
on the other hand, can be more perverse, more alien from the
right, than that the evil-doer should rejoice, while the sufferer
wearies himself in vain ? Are you without compassion for the
injured man, the measure of whose injuries is filled up by the
labour of a journey to Rome, and the expenses attending it ?
And will the author and cause of these calamities to his neigh
bour escape your indignation ? Arouse you, man of God ; when
such things happen, let your pity and your wrath be stirred.
The unchangeable law of equity, and, if I mistake not, of
appeals also, prescribes this rule to you, namely, that an illicit
appeal shall neither profit the appellant, nor injure. his adver
sary. Why, indeed, should a man be vexed and wearied by

££;"!£] APPEALS TO ROME. 425
appeals for nothing ? Nay, how just were it that he should
suffer himself who sought to injure his neighbour. An unjust
appeal is itself an injustice, and when it is attended with
impunity, it becomes the incentive to many other unjust
appeals. Every appeal is unjust which is not caused by a
denial of justice elsewhere. You may appeal, if you are
injured, not in order that you may injure. The right of appeal
is not intended to be a shelter for the guilty, but a refuge for the
innocent. How many have we known who, under the pro
tection of an appeal, have enjoyed an impunity of crime as
long as they lived. What shall we call this but making that
a patronage of guilt which ought to be an object of especial
terror to guilty persons? For how long will you neglect or
refuse to notice the murmurs of the whole world ? How long
will you slumber ? When will you awake to this confusion and
abuse of the right of appeal ? Appeals are made against law
and right, against custom and order. The good are appealed
against by the bad, in order that they may not do good ;
and they refrain, fearing your voice of thunder. Bishops are
appealed against, that they may not presume to dissolve or
prohibit unlawful marriages, or punish or restrain in any way
either rapine, theft, or sacrilege. They are appealed against that
they may not depose or repel unworthy or infamous persons
from the sacred offices. What remedy will you find for this
disease? Now you will ask, perhaps, ' Why do not those who
are thus unjustly treated come before me, display their inno
cence, and expose the guilt of their adversaries ? ' I will repeat
what they are in the habit of replying : ' We will not be vexed
for nothing. At the Roman court are men who readily favour
appellants, and encourage appeals. As we must yield, it is
better to yield here than at Rome ; cheaper to lose our cause
at home, than after a tedious journey across the Alps.' "l
Bernard mentions a curious instance as an example of the
extreme to which appeals were carried. A certain couple at
1 St. Bern. Op, vol. i. col. 428. De Consideratione, lib. iii. cap, 2.

426 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [cS.v
Paris had been publicly betrothed. The wedding-day came,
all things were ready, numerous guests were invited, when,
behold, a man who coveted his neighbour's wife suddenly
comes forward with an unexpected appeal, declaring that the
bride had been previously betrothed to him, that she was his
wife by right. The bridegroom was struck dumb, the rest were
confounded, the priest dare not proceed further, all their pre
parations were thrown away. Every one went home, and had
his supper by himself; the lovers were kept from the nuptial
chamber till a message could be sent to and received from Rome.1
He then draws the Pope's attention to another grievance, if
indeed it be another and not the same. " I speak of the
murmur and complaint of the churches. They declare that
they are being mutilated and dismembered. None, or very
few, are there who do not suffer from, or gravely fear, the
wounds I speak of. You ask, ' And which are they ? ' I will
tell you. Abbots are withdrawn from the authority of the
bishops, bishops from that of archbishops, and the latter
from that of patriarchs or primates. By doing this, you prove
that you have a plenitude of authority, but scarcely of justice.
You act thus, because you are able to do so ; but whether you
ought to do so admits of question. You are appointed to
preserve to others their grade and rank, not to envy them for
possessing these. Is it not unbecoming in you to have no law
but your own will, and, because there is no tribunal before
which you can be called, therefore to exert your power and
despise reason? Are you greater than your Lord, who said,
' I came not to do Mine own will ' ? What is more unworthy of
you than that, while possessing the whole, you should not be
content with the whole, unless you be busy in making your
own certain small portions of a universe which is committed to
your charge ? I wish you would call to mind Nathan's parable
of the man who, having exceeding many flocks and herds of his
own, desired the little ewe lamb of the poor man. Remember
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 428. De Consideratione, lib. iii. cap. 2.

a£a™] ROME DENOUNCED BY BERNARD. 427
the deed, or rather crime, of Ahab, who was lord of all, and
yet lusted after another's vineyard. May God preserve you
from hearing the words which he heard : ' Thou hast killed, and
also taken possession.' " 1
These passages have not only the merit of singular earnest
ness and force ; they show also the lofty character of Bernard's
mind, and the far-reaching glance of his intellectual vision.
His mind almost seems to pierce through the gloom of four
centuries of the future, and to anticipate Luther's denunciations
against the sins of the papacy. Indeed, to any who can look
below the surface, to any who can see through the varying
costume which each successive age throws over the deeper
characteristics of human nature, there will appear much in the
Abbot of Clairvaux to remind them of the great Saxon reformer.
The same vehemence, not to say hastiness, of temper, the same
fearless disregard of consequences in denouncing falsehood
and sin, the same dauntless courage, the same real humility and
gentleness under all their divine wrath. This similarity becomes
almost startling if we compare the language in which they both
speak of Rome and its inhabitants. ' The Catholic abbot evi
dently remembered his visits to the metropolis of Christianity
with feelings differing but little from those which the founder of
Protestantism experienced there twelve generations afterwards.2
" Whom can you mention," asks Bernard, " in that vast city,
who received you as Pope without the intervention of reward
or the hope of it ? Then especially your courtiers aimed at
authority when they made vows of servitude. They pretend
to be faithful, that they may the more conveniently injure
those who trust them. For the future you will have no plan
or determination from which they will consider you have a right
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 428. I was not, after all, doing injustice
De Consideratione, lib. iii. cap. 2. to the Pope. As it is, I am quite
3 "I would not," said Luther, satisfied on that point." — Miche-
" for a hundred thousand florins have let's Life of Luther, trans, by W.
missed seeing Rome. I should have Hazlitt, p. 17.
always felt an uneasy doubt whether

428 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [=£*. v
to exclude them, no secret into which they will not thrust
themselves; and if your porter were to cause only a little
delay to any one of them at your doorway, I would not like
to be in that porter's place. And now judge from my descrip
tion whether I do not know something of their manners. In
the first place, they are cunning to do evil, but how to do
good they are ignorant. They are hateful to heaven and
earth, on both of which they have laid violent hands ; impious
they are towards God, bold with regard to holy things, seditious
and envious among themselves, cruel towards strangers, who,
loving no man, are loved of none ; and as their pretension is
to be feared by all, they inevitably fear all. They cannot
endure subjection, yet are they incapable of ruling; faithless
to their superiors, intolerable to their inferiors. They are
shameless in asking favours, truculent in refusing them ; impor
tunate to receive, restless till they do receive, ungrateful when
they have done so. They have taught their tongues to speak
great things, but they do very little. They are great promisers,
but scanty performers, most subtle flatterers and most biting
detractors, natural dissemblers and most malicious traitors."
" Among such men you, their pastor, move about covered
with gold and gorgeous apparel : what do the sheep get of it ?
If I might speak out, they are demons, rather than sheep,
which graze in these pastures. The zeal of churchmen now
is never warmed, but for the preservation of their dignity.
Regard is now paid only to rank and honour ; no notice, or
very little, is taken of sanctity. Humility is so despised at
the Roman court, that you will more readily find men really
humble than willing to appear so. The fear of the Lord is
regarded as simpleness, not to say as folly. A thoughtful man,
and careful of his conscience, they declare to be a hypocrite.
A lover of peace and retirement they pronounce to be a
useless person."1
1 St. Bern. Op. vol. i. col. 436-37. The book "Of Consideration," widely
De Consideratione, lib. iv. cap. 2. discursive, not to say desultory, is

ILVSJj THE TREACHERY OF SECRETARY NICHOLAS. 429
Such was the impression left on Bernard's mind by what he
had seen at the threshold of the Apostles.
Another incident also occurred about this time, to add to
the vexation which the failure of the Crusade had caused him.
Among his secretaries was one named Nicholas. Nicholas
had been a monk at Montiramey, but, by dint of perseverance
and importunity, had succeeded in exchanging his monastery
for Clairvaux. He was young, accomplished, and endowed
with peculiarly winning manners. He was justly valued for
his abilities by his new friends, the Cistercians, and a large
portion of their vast correspondence devolved on him. Indeed,
he rather ungraciously complained, in a letter to an old friend,
that he was overworked in his new position. " While they,"
that is, his brethren at Clairvaux, " enjoy leisure for prayer and
devotion, I am plying my pen. From morning to night I do
nothing else." He had a scriptorium assigned to him, in
which clerks, under his direction, worked and copied books
and letters. He was on terms of intimacy with most of the
distinguished men of his day in France, Peter of Cluny and
Peter de la Celle being among his most valued acquaintances.1
Two years before his death Bernard discovered that his
trusted and clever secretary had been guilty of the grossest
treachery and duplicity towards him. As no doubt of his
not confined solely to the treat- cerning the things which are around
ment of such public questions as one ; (4) concerning those things
those indicated by the above quota- which are above one. The moral
tions. It would seem that the reflections scattered through the
original plan of the book had been treatise, and the advice given to
something far more esoteric and Eugenius, are marked by Bernard's
didactic. But while composing it, usual sagacity and knowledge of
Bernard seems to have been led human nature, but contain nothing
away by the vehemence of his feel- sufficiently characteristic or .excel-
ings from his more peculiar topic " of lent to detain us here.
consideration," to speak of the evils 1 The reader will find in Mabil-
which he foresaw were coming on Ion's preface to the third tome of
the Church. Consideration proper he St. Bernard's works (vol. i. col. 712J
divided under four heads : (1) Con- a succinct and clear account of
cerning oneself ; (2) concerning the Nicholas and his doings.
things which are under one ; (3) con-

430 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [K
fidelity was entertained, he had possession of Bernard's seal ;
and of this advantage he had availed himself for the purpose
of writing a number of letters to persons of every descrip
tion, not only without his abbot's knowledge, but for objects
which were most repugnant to Bernard's real wishes. He had
even had the audacity to send some of his forgeries to Pope
Eugenius III. When his misconduct became known, he fled
from Clairvaux to England, and found a refuge, it was said, in
the monastery of St. Alban's. The annoyance caused to
Bernard by this incident was very great. He found that his
name and authority had been repeatedly used to recommend
men and causes often most unworthy of his patronage. He called
this period of his life " the season of calamities ;" not without
reason, in comparison with the earlier period of his career.
For, besides these external trials, the state of his health was
daily growing more precarious and distressing. His weakness
of stomach was such that he could take no solid food. Even
liquids gave him pain. Sleep had left him ; his legs and feet
were enormously swollen ; his debility was extreme ; yet not
even for a moment did his unconquerable mind yield to his
bodily suffering. He took the same interest in public matters
— in the least equally with the greatest; as the following
instances will show.
As Bernard lay on his bed of sickness at Clairvaux, the
Archbishop of Treves came to him, in great tribulation about
the state of affairs in his diocese. A ferocious and horrible.
contest had been and was still raging between the burghers of
the town of Metz and the nobles of the country : the former
had supposed that they were strong enough to withstand their
knightly oppressors, and had ventured on a conflict, in which
the citizens were cut to pieces. Exasperated by their defeat,
they resolved, if possible, to wipe it out by a more successful
effort, and made immense preparations for another struggle.
The nobles, on their side, did the same; and an extermina
ting contest seemed about to devastate the country, when the

a^gi] BERNARD'S LAST PUBLIC ACTS. 431
Archbishop, utterly helpless by himself, thought he would do
what nearly every one in Europe had been doing for a quarter of
a century, namely, go to Bernard. As his friend and biographer,
Godfrey, says : " Whenever a great necessity called him forth,
his mind conquered all his bodily infirmities, he was endowed
with strength, and, to the astonishment of all who saw him, he
could surpass even robust men in his endurance of fatigue."1
This despotic power of the spirit over the flesh he was destined
to exert once more, and for the last time. He went with his
friend the Archbishop to the banks of the Moselle, which
were lined with the contending factions. The noble warriors
would listen to no compromise or terms of arrangement.
Elated with their recent triumph, they refused to hearken even
to Bernard's exhortations. Indeed, they suddenly broke up
their camp, and hastily rethed, taking no further notice of
Bernard ; and this from no want of respect for him, but from
a fear lest he should influence them and their followers even ,
against their will ; so they determined to avoid such dangerous
proximity. Bernard told his friends to be of good cheer, that
all would soon be well, in spite of these difficulties. And the
reason of his confidence was this: "During the night," he
said, " I had a vision, and thought I was celebrating a solemn
mass. Just before the conclusion of the first prayer, I re
membered that the Gloria in excelsis ought to have preceded
it; commencing, therefore, the canticle which I had omitted,
I sang it to the end with you." This was the ground of
Bernard's hope. That same night, after midnight, a message
came from the hostile nobles professing repentance, and
offering terms of peace. A few days afterwards a complete
reconciliation took place between them and their adversaries.2
In almost ludicrous contrast with this grand effort of charity
i " Quod quidem saepius erga tibus qui videbant eum, et robustos
eumprovidentiadivinadisposuit . . . homines in tolerantia superare."—
ut quoties eum grandis aliquaneces- St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1152
sitas evocaret, vincente omnia ammo, 2 Ibid.
vires corporis non decessent, miran-

4^2 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [^.'v
and zeal does it appear when he is seen writing to the Count
of Champagne about some pigs which had been put under
Bernard's care by the Abbot of Chatillon, and stolen by the
people of Simon de Belfort, a vassal of the count. " I had
much rather that they had stolen my pigs," says Bernard; " and
I require them at your hands." 1
Again, when his old friend and patron Theobald asked him
to procure ecclesiastical preferment for his fourth son, who was
still an infant, Bernard firmly but courteously refused. " I -
consider," he said, "that ecclesiastical honours are only due to
those who can and will, by God's help, worthily fill them.
For either you or me to procure such for your little son by
means of our prayers, I consider, would be an act of injustice
in you, and of imprudence in me. If this appears a hard
saying to you, and you are still bent on carrying out your
intention, you must be so good as to excuse me. I doubt
not but that your other friends will be able to obtain what you
wish. Truly I wish well in all respects to our little William ;
but God above all things : that is the reason why I am un
willing he should have aught against God's law, lest, by so
doing, he may not have God Himself. Whenever anything
occurs which he may lawfully have, I will show I am his
friend ; and if my assistance is required, I will not refuse it.
But I need not be at great pains to defend before a just
man an act of justice. Be so good as to excuse me to your
countess, using the arguments which I have put in this letter
to you. Farewell !"2
The interesting and pathetic letter which he wrote to his
uncle Andrew here follows. It must have been among the
last he ever wrote.
" Your last letter found me confined to my bed; yet I received
it with longing hands, read it and re-read it with delight. But
1 "... . ecce ministeriales Si- vobis ut nostras proprios rapuissent. "
monis, homines de Belfort ; abstule- — St. Bern. Epist. 279.
runt porcos eorum. 'Maluissem dico 2 Ibid.

A.D. 1],
Aeiat. 61

P BERNARD'S LAST LETTER. 433

with still greater delight should I have seen you yourself. I per
ceive your wish to see me. I also notice your fears of danger
for the land which the Lord honoured with His presence,
for the city which He dedicated with His blood. Woe, woe
to our princes ! They have done no good in the Holy Land.
In their own country, to which they so hastily returned, they
exercise an incredible amount of wickedness. Powerful are
they to do evil, but how to do good they know not. We trust,
however, that the Lord will not drive back His people, nor
desert His inheritance. You do well in comparing yourself to
an ant. For what else are we inhabitants of earth and sons
of men but ants, exhausting ourselves upon vain and useless
objects ? What return hath a man for all the lahour with which
he laboureth under the sun ? Let us therefore rise above the
siin, and let our conversation be in the heavens, our minds
preceding whither our bodies will hereafter follow. There, my
Andrew, will be found the fruit of your labour, there your reward.
You fight under the sun, but for One who sitteth above the
sun. Our warfare is here, our wages are from above.
"You would like to see me, you say, and that with me it
rests whether your wish shall be gratified or not. You also
wait for my command on this point. And what shall I say to
you ? I wish you to come, and yet I fear your coming, alter
nately wishing and not wishing. I do not know which to
choose. On the one hand, I should like to gratify your desire,
and my own, of meeting. On the other hand, ought I not to
defer to the general opinion that you are so necessary to the
Holy Land that no little danger would attend your absence
from it ? Therefore what to say I do not know. Yet I hope
to see you before I die. You yourself are better placed for
judging whether you can leave Palestine without evil result.
And it might happen that your coming would be attended with
good effects. It is possible that, with God's assistance, some
might be found who would accompany you back to the succour,
of the Church of God, since you are known and beloved of all
f w

434 LIFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [gSJ.1?
men. One thing I would add : if you mean to come, come
quickly, lest you come presently and find me not. For I am
ready to be offered, and consider that my stay is short upon the
earth. Would that, before I depart, I might be refreshed by
your sweet presence, if it be God's will ! I have written to the
Queen, as you wished, and rejoice in the good report you give
of her. I salute all your brethren of the Temple, and those of the
Hospital also through you. I salute through you all the saints
with whom you are able conveniently to speak, commending
myself to their prayers. Be my deputy with regard to them.
Our Gerard, I hear, who for a season dwelt in our house, is
made a bishop. Him also I salute with the deepest affection."1
There was little left, of a truth, to attach Bernard very much
to the earth in these last days. To say nothing of the bright
radiance of the hope which for him shone through the portals
of the tomb, the world had darkened more and more as he had
advanced in years. And now his old friends and worthy com
peers were dying, and preceding him to those realms beyond
the sun he spoke of to his uncle Andrew. First the good
Suger died. He had been rather strangely occupied of late.
He had been actually preparing out of his own funds a Crusade
to the East, which he meant to lead. Opposed as he had been
to the Second Crusade, its utter failure had filled him with
sorrow and indignation. He tried to get the French bishops to
join him, but having " tasted their timidity and cowardice," he
determined to carry out the expedition by himself. He said
nothing about his design, but the magnitude of his preparations
betrayed him. He made, through the Knights of the Temple,
remittances to Jerusalem, to meet the necessary expense of
such an undertaking. He was seventy years of age, yet he was
fully resolved to go. 2
But it was not to be. A slight fever set in and confined him
i St. Bern. Epist. 288. l'Abbaye de Saint Denis." Pans,
2 Vita Sugerii auctore Guillelmo, 1709. Migne, Patrologia, torn. 186,
apud Dom. Felibien. "Hist, de col. 1 193.

a£a"£] SUGER 'S DEATH. 435
to his bed. His strength soon failed, and he perceived that his
scheme was not destined to be carried out by himself. Sup
ported by the hands of his monks, he addressed the assembled
convent in words of solemn exhortation, and, falling down at
their feet, he implored their forgiveness for any wrong he might
have done to any of them. He confessed himself with assiduity
to his friends the Bishops of Soissons, of Noyon, and of Senlis,
and received the Eucharist for fifteen days without interruption.
When Bernard heard of his condition, he wrote him a letter of
tender sympathy. " That peace awaits you which passes all
understanding. Much indeed, dearest friend, do I desire to see
you before you depart, that the blessing of a dying man may rest
on me. I dare not promise that I will come, but I will do my
best to visit you. I have loved you from the beginning, and
will do so for ever. I say it boldly, I cannot be separated for
eternity from one I have so loved. He does not perish for me ;
he goes before. Only be mindful of me when you have arrived
at that place whither you are gone before, that it may be
granted to me to follow you swiftly, and to be with you again.
Never think that your sweet memory can fade from my mind,
although, alas ! your presence is withdrawn from me. Yet is
God able to grant you to our prayers, and preserve you to our
necessities; and of this we need not entirely despair."1
These last words indicate that the above letter was written
before Suger's illness, which extended over a period of four
months, had put on a hopeless character. Towards Christmas
of the year 1150 he became rapidly worse. He prayed
earnestly that his death might not happen till the festival was
over, lest days of rejoicing should be turned into days of
mourning through his decease. And it was piously thought
that his petition was heard, for he survived till the 12th of
January, when he died as he was repeating the Lord's Prayer.
Just a year after Suger's death occurred that of Count
1 St Bern. Epist. 266.

436 UFE AND TIMES OF ST. BERNARD. [J!™™
Theobald of Champagne, Bernard's lifelong friend and bene
factor, in January, 1152.
Another year passed, and Pope Eugenius, Bernard's disciple,
fell asleep, in July, 1153.
Bernard had no wish to remain behind these beloved friends.
When, in accordance with his beautiful faith, he attributed a
slight recovery to the prayers of his sorrowing monks, he said
to them : " Why do you thus detain a miserable man ? You are
the stronger, you prevail against me. Spare me, spare me, and
let me depart." The unwearied activity of mind which had"
hitherto distinguished him gradually faded away ; the marvel
lous brain, which had grasped and influenced more or less every
question and event in Europe for a whole generation, fell by
degrees into peaceful repose. Public affairs ceased to interest
him. When his cousin, the Bishop of Langres, came to him
about some business, he found he could not attract Bernard's
attention. " Marvel not," said the expiring saint ; "I am
already no longer of this world." 1
The weeping multitude of his friends, in the delirium of
grief, implored him not to leave them — to have pity on them,
and to stay with them. The last earthly struggle he ever knew
had commenced in Bernard's soul. Things temporal and things
eternal, his earthly and his heavenly home, the love of God and
the love of man, contended with him. But for a moment.
Raising up his " dove-like eyes," he said he wished that God's
will might be done.2 
It was, for he was dead.
1 "Ne mireris," inquit ; "ego coelum porrigens .... testabatur
enim jam non sum de hoc mundo." coarctatum se e duobus, et quid eli-
— St. Bern. Op. vol. ii. col. 1 1 54. geret ignorantem, et divinae totum
2 " Tunc vero flens ipse cum tribuere arbitrio pietatis." — Ibid
flentibus, et columbinos oculos in col. 1155.

INDEX.

INDEX.

Abelard, Peter, his disputation with
William of Champeaux, II ; po
pularity of his lectures, 12 ; his
meeting with Bernard at Morigny,
155 ; William of St. Thierry's
letter to Bernard on his heresy,
253 ; Bernard aroused against
him, 256 ; sketch of his life to
this time, 258 ; his defeat of
William of Champeaux, 259 ;
studies theology under Anselm,
260 ; his success in the schools
of Paris, 262 ; connexion with
Heloise, 263 ; effects of this upon
him, 265 ; his marriage to Heloise,
267 ; Fulbert's atrocious revenge
on him, 268 ; retires to the Abbey
of St. Denis, 269 ; renews his
teaching, 270 ; account of his
divinity, ib. ; is summoned to .
the Council of Soissons, 271 ; his
condemnation there, 272 ; anguish
at this, 273 ; his hermit life near
Troyes, 274 ; becomes Abbot of
St. Gildas, 275 ; supposed first
meeting with Bernard, 277 ; their
antagonism, ib. ; his letter to
Bernard, 278 ; dangers tp his life
at St. Gildas, 280 ; escapes from
thence, 281 ; his curious autobio
graphy, ib. ; letter to him from
Heloise, 283 ; his reply, 284 ;
Heloise's second letfer, 285 ; his
conventual rules for Hejoise, 287 ;
the prayer he composed for her,
288 ; extracts from his Introductio
ad Theologiam, 290 y commence
ment of his conflict wjth Bernard,

301 ; challenges Bernard to meet
him at Sens, 310; their meeting
there, 312 ; he appeals to Rome,
ib. ; causes assigned for this, 313;
his opinions condemned at Sens,
314 ; apology for him by Beren-
garius of Poitiers, ib. ; Bernard's
treatise against his errors, 317 ;
his retirement to Cluny and re
conciliation to Bernard, 319 ;
account of his last days in a
letter from Peter the Venerable
¦ to Heloise, 320.
Alberic, Bishop of Ostia, sends for
Bernard to oppose the heresies of
the south-west of France, 404.
Alice, wife of Bohemond, treachery
of, 360.
Alith, mother of Bernard, 3 ; cha
racter of, 4 ; her death, 7 ; burial
at Dijon, 8.
Anacletus II., title assumed by
Peter Leonis as pope, 150 ; drives
Innocent II. from Rome, 151 ;
his strength at Rome, 163 ;
Roger of Sicily's powerful sup
port of him, ib. ; acknowledged
by William of Aquitaine, 171 ;
Bernard causes William to abjure
him, 1 74 ; cost of Roger's sup
port of him, 209 ; Monte Casino
declares in his favour, ib. ; Ber
nard's reply against him to Peter
of Pisa, 212 ; his death and the
end of the schism, 213.
Andrew, joins his brother Bernard in
the monastic life, 13 ; his harsh
ness to his sister Humbeline, 322.

44°

INDEX.

Andrew, Bernard's uncle ; Bernard's
letter to him in the Holy Land,
432- . ,
Andrew of Pans, his conversion by
Bernard, 195.
Annunciation, the, Bernard's ser
mons on, 49.
Anselm, Abelard's account of, 260.
Arnold of Brescia, his denunciations
of the hierarchy, 306 ; Bernard's
action against him, 307.
Asceticism, its usefulness in the
Middle Ages, 193.
Astrolabius, son of Abelard and
Heloise, 265.
¦Athareb, castle of, the siege of, by
Zenghis, 359.
Attalia, perils of the French Cru
saders' journey to, 394 ; their
arrival at, 395 ; Greek treachery
at, 395.
Balderannus, castellan of Bruges,
murder of, 93.
Baldwin II. , King of Jerusalem, at
Antioch, 360.
Bartholomew joins his brother Ber
nard in the monastic life, 13.
Benedictine rule, the, 16, 38.
Berengarius of Poitiers, his apology
for Abelard, 314.
Bernard, St., his birth and parent
age, 1 ; proficiency at school, 6 ;
death of his mother, 7 ; his choice
of a career, 9 ; temptations of
literature to him, 1 1 ; decides on
a monastic life, 13 ; converts his
brothers and friends, ib. ; effect
of his preaching, 15 ; enters the
monastery of Citeaux, 16; begins
his probation, 18 ; his austerities,
ib. ; love of nature; 23 ; makes
his profession, ib. ; departs from
Citeaux to found a new com
munity, 25 ; founds Clairvaux, 26 ;
consecrated Abbot of Clairvaux,
30; his serious illness, 31 ; taken
charge of by William of Cham
peaux, ib. ; his recovery and
commencement of literary and
ecclesiastical activity, 42 ; letter

to his kinsman Robert, 43 ; letter
to Fulk, 46 ; sermons on the
Annunciation, 49 ; his miraculous
cure of William of St. Thierry, 57,
59 ; miraculous powers attributed
to him, 62 ; examples of some of
these, 63 ; anecdotes of his visit
to La Grande Chartreuse, 67 ;
and to Paris, 68 ; his seclusion at
Clairvaux, 70 ; large correspon
dence, 71 ; his book on the
praises of the Virgin, 79 ; letters
to Pope Honorius respecting Louis '
VI. 115, 118; his 'Apology to
William of St. Thierry,' 124 — 132;
earlier compositions, 134; 'Little
Book on Humility,1 135 ; letter to
Matthew the legate, 138 ; goes
to the Council of Troyes, 139 ;
his exhortation to the Knights
Templars, 142 ; at the Council of
Etampes decides in favour of
Innocent II. 153 ; convinces
Henry I. 154; becomes chief
adviser of Innocent II. 155 ; re
duces the Emperor Lotharius to
submission to Innocent II. 156 ;
accompanies Innocent II. to Italy,
162 ; his letter to Henry I. 163 ;
his agitation in favour of Innocent,
164 ; reception at Milan, 165 ;
reception on his return to Clair
vaux, ib. ; reflections upon this,
167 ; consents to the change of
site and enlargement of Clairvaux,
169 ; his proceedings in Aquitaine
in favour of Innocent II. 173 —
176 ; his sermons in the audi
torium of Clairvaux, 176 ; sermons
on the Canticles, 178 — 191 ; his
remarkable conversions, 195 ; ex
tensive correspondence, 197 ; letter
of reproof to Innocent II. 198 ;
extracts from his other letters,
200 — 205 ; his third journey to
Italy on the papal schism, 210 ;
his miracle over Satan on the
Alps, ib. ; his policy in Rome
against Anacletus, 211 ; reply to
Peter of Pisa, 212 ; his success
and the end of the schism, 213 ;

INDEX.

441

letters to the monks of Citeaux,
213; to the Abbots in Chapter
there, 216 ; his acts respecting the
election of a Bishop of Langres,
218 — 224 ; his funeral sermon for
his brother Gerald, 227 ; his
opinion of St. Malachy, 248 ;
letter to him from William of
St. Thierry on Abelard's heresies,
253 ; is roused against Abelard,
256 ; his first meeting with him,
277 ; their antagonism, ib. ; his
visit to Heloise's convent, 278 ;
letterto, from Abelard, 279 ; com
mencement of his conflict with
Abelard, 301 ; his views of the
intellect, 308 ; hostility to Abe
lard's philosophy, 309 ; challenge
from Abelard to meet him at
Sens, 310 ; refuses at first, ib. ;
then accepts, 311 ; their meeting,
312 ; he causes the condemnation
of Abelard, 314; Berengarius's
invectives against him, 315 ; his
tract against Abelard, 317 ; their
reconciliation, 320 ; account of
his sister Humbeline, 322 ; exa
mination of him as a monk, 324 ;
his sermon on the Passion, 326 ;
remonstrance against the Im
maculate Conception, 340 ; his
sympathy with Count Theobald's
troubles, 346 ; his craft in Theo
bald's favour, 347 ; meeting with
Queen Eleanor of France, ib. ; pro
motes peace between Louis VII.
and the Church, 349 ; his es
trangement from Innocent II. 350 ;
conduct in a disputed election for
an Archbishop of York, 351 ;
appointed to preach the Second
Crusade, 367 ; his desire for rest
and peace, ib. ; effect of his
eloquence at Vezelai, 368 ; at
Chartres, 370 ; at Frankfort, 371 ;
his numerous miracles in Germany,
372 ; his noble defence of the
Jews, 375 ; converts Conrad III.
to join the Crusade, 377 ; testi
mony of his friends to his humility
and gentleness, 401 ; anecdote of

this, 402 ; sets out to preach
against heresy in the south-west of
France, 405 ; his reception and
success, ib. ; his miracles there,
406 ; his uneasiness on the sub
ject of his supernatural powers,
ib. ; his acts against Gilbert de
la Porree at the Council of Rheims,
409 ; second visit of St. Malachy
to him, 413; is vilified on the
failure of the Second Crusade, 417;
his apology to Pope Eugenius,
418 ; his great work De Considera-
tione, 419 ; views on papal su
premacy in this, 421 ; treachery
of his secretary Nicholas, 429 ;
precarious state of his health,
43° > goes on <t mission of peace
to Metz, 431 ; letters to Count
Theobald and his uncle, 432 ; his
last letter to Suger, 435 ; deaths
of old friends, 436 ; last days and
death, ib.
Bertolf, provost of the Chapter of
Bruges, 93 ; scornful reply of,
94; assists an attack on the
Thancmars, ib.; his action in
the murder of Charles the Good,
97 — 100 ; his capture and dread
ful death, 109.
Bertrand, founder of the Abbey of
La Ferte, 24.
Bohemond II. Prince of Antioch,
his defeat by Zenghis, 359 ; trea
chery of his wife, 360.
Bordeaux, the heresy of Henry at,
404 ; Bernard's miracles there,
4°5-
Bourges, dissensions on the election
of an Archbishop of, 342.
Bruges, murder of Charles the Good
in the church of St. Donatian
at, 99 ; disputes with Ghent for
the possession of his body, 102 —
109.
Bulgaria, the Crusaders in, 383.
Burchard, nephew of Bertolf, his
castle fired, 96 ; plan of revenge
on Charles the Good, 98 ; his
part in the murder of Charles the
Good, 99; and of Walter of.

442

INDEX.

Locres, ioo ; his ferocity, 107 ;
capture and death, m.
Burgundy, Duke of, chooses Citeaux
for his burial-place, 6.
Calixtus II. , Pope, his privileges to
Cluny, 120.
Canticles, the, Bernard's sermons
on, 178 — 191.
Cardinals, their proneness to heresy
in the twelfth century, 410 ; their
sympathy with Gilbert at the
Council of Rheims, 411.
Celestine II., friend of Arnold of
Brescia, 307 ; elected pope, 349.
Champagne, the fairs of, 140.
Charles the Good of Flanders, the
prompt justice of, 96 ; chronicle
of his murder, 97 — 100 ; the
punishment of the murderers,
104— 113.
Charter of Charity, the, 40.
Chartreuse, La Grande, Bernard's
visit to, 67.
'Chatillon, Bernard at school at,
6; retires thither with his fol
lowers, 15.
Church, the, of the Middle Ages, its
benign influence, 114.
Churches, Bernard on the architec
ture and costly adornment of, 130.
Cistercian rule, the, 18; beneficial
, effects of, 49.
Cistercians, the, their unfriendliness
with the Cluniacs, 123, 222, 223 ;
Bernard's strictures on, 125 ; In
nocent II. 's favours to, 162 ; their
death-bed ceremonies, 225 ; Abe
lard's sarcasms upon, 279.
Citeaux, Abbey of, the burial-place
of the Duke of Burgundy, 6 ;
Bernard and his followers enter
there, 16 ; account of it and its
rules, ib. ; growth of, and its
numerous offshoots, 24 ; Bernard's
departure from, 25.
Citeaux, Order of, founded by St.
Stephen Harding, 39 ; its rules,
&c. 40.
Clairvaux, Bernard's first monastery
at, 26 ; the sufferings of the monks

at, 28; brighter prospects for, 29 ;
William of St. Thierry's descrip
tion of, 33 ; Peter de Roya's
account of, 34 ; Innocent II. at,
158 ; Bernard's return to, 165 ;
prosperity of, 1 66 ; the site changed
and larger buildings erected, 168 ;
St. Malachy's first visit to, 241 ;
his second visit, 413 ; his death
there, 415.
Cluniacs, the, great privileges con
ferred on, 120; their extortion
and outrages, 121 ; unfriendliness
towards, of Bernard and the Cis
tercians, 123, 222, 223; Bernard
on their luxury, 1 26; on their
pride of dress, 129; on the archi
tecture and ornamentation of their
churches, 130 ; their jealousy of
Innocent II. 's favours to the Cis
tercians, 162.
Cluny, Abbey of, Bernard's wrath
against, 43 ; its history and great
influence, 119; reception of Inno
cent II. at, 151 ; account of the
great abbey church of, ib. ; Abe
lard retires to, 319.
Conan, the papal legate, at the
Council of Soissons, 271. >
Conrad III., his rescue of Bernard,
371 ; Bernard converts him to join
the Second Crusade, 377 ; starts
from Ratisbon, 381 ; his conduct
at Constantinople, 384 ; deception
of, bythe Greeks, 391 ; destruction
of his army by the Turks, 392 ;
retires from the Crusade, 393.
Conspirators, the, against Charles
the Good, 98; punishment of,
109— 113.
Constantinople, outrage of the Ger
man Crusaders at, 384 ; Louis
VII.'s entry into, 386; various
contentions at, 387 — 391.
Conversions of knights to monkery,
T94.
Crusade, the First, 4.
Crusade, the Second, undertaken by
Louis VII. 366 ; Bernard ap
pointed to preach it, 367 ; the
meeting at Vezelai to promote it,

INDEX.

443

368 ; narrative of, 379 — 400 ; its
disastrous end, 400 ; grief in
Europe at its failure, 417.
Crusaders, the, in the Holy Land,
private wars amongst, 357.
Dedda or Duva, the guilty wife of
Balderannus,. 93.
Dijon, Bernard's mother, Alith,
buried at, 8.
Edessa, the siege and capture of, by
Zenghis, 363 ; attempt to recapture
it, 364 ; its failure, 365 ; effect of
this on Europe, 366.
Eleanor, Queen of France, her meet
ing with Bernard, 349 ; joins the
Second Crusade, 381.
Erembaldus drowns Balderannus of
Bruges, 93.
Etampes, the Council of, convened by
Louis VI. 152 ; pronounces Inno
cent II. legitimate pope, 153.
Eugenius III., Pope, advises the
Second Crusade, 367; his visit
to Paris to promote it, 380 ; his
proceedings against Gilbert de la
Porree, 408 ; Bernard's apology
'to, respecting the Second Crusade,
418 ; Bernard dedicates his work
De Consideration to him, 419 ;
his death, 436.
Fairs, their importance in the Middle
Ages, 139.
Feudal aristocracy, the, power of, 82.
Fine Arts, opinions on their inutility,
I3I-
Flanders, state of, in the twelfth cen
tury, 92.
Foigny, Bernard's miracle with the
flies there, 65.
Fontaines, the castle of, Bernard's
birthplace, I.
Fulbert, uncle of Heloise, 264 ; his
'resentment against Abelard, 265 ;
his horrible revenge, 268.
Fulk, his apostacy, and Bernard's
letter to him, 46.

Galberic, uncle of Bernard, fears of,
respecting Bernard's miraculous
powers, 63.
Geoffrey, Bernard's secretary, his
narratives of Bernard's miracles,
64.
Geoffrey, Bishop of Chartres, Ber-
nard'sapplicationto, 72 ; Bernard's
letter to, 80 ; joins Bernard against
William of Aquitaine, 172 ; letter
to, from William of St. Thierry, on
Abelard's heresies, 253.
Gerannus, Archbishop of Dijon, begs
the body of Alith, 7.
Gerard, Bernard's knightly brother,
9 ; difficulty of converting him to
a monk, 14 • follows Bernard, 15 ;
his mission to William of St.
Thierry, 56 ; becomes cellarer of
Clairvaux, 167 ; accompanies Ber
nard to Italy, 210 ; his serious
illness there and recovery, ib. ; his
last illness and death, 225 ; Ber
nard's funeral sermon for him,
227.
Germans, outrages of, against the
Greeks in the Second Crusade,
383.
Germany, effect of Bernard's preach
ing the Second Crusade in, 371 ;
his numerous miracles there, 372.
Ghent and Bruges, dispute between,
for the body of Charles the Good,
102 — 109.
Gilbert de la Porree, Bishop of Poi
tiers, the heretical tendencies of,
307 ; his meeting with Abelard at
Sens, 312; his learning and heresy,
407 ; action of Pope Eugenius
against him, 408 ; proceedings at
the Council of Rheims, 409 ; his
recantation, 412.
Godeschalc, Abbot, examiner of Gil
bert de la Porree's heresies, 408.
Godfrey, Bernard's secretary, his
account of Bernard's miracles in
the south of France, 405 ; his help
to Bernard against Gilbert de la
Porree, 410.
Godfrey, Prior of Clairvaux, 167,
168 ; elected Bishop of Langres

444

INDEX.

by Bernard's influence, 224 ; urges
Louis VII. to a Crusade, 366 ; his
, remonstrance to the Greek envoys,
382 ; advice at Constantinople, 387,
390 ; his last visit to Bernard, 436.
Greeks, their embassy to Louis VII.
382 ; outrages of Crusaders on,
383 ; their perfidy to the Crusaders,
385, 391 ; their treachery to the
French army at Attalia, 393.
Guibert, monk of Clairvaux, Ber
nard's instruction to, 28.
Guido, Bernard's eldest brother, a
knight, 9 ; difficulties of his con
version, 13 ; his wife retires to a
convent, and he follows Bernard,
14 ; his fears of Bernard's mira
culous powers, 63.
Guido, Prior of La Grande Char
treuse, Bernard's visit to, 67.
Hacket, castellan of Bruges, 93.
Harding, Stephen, Abbot of Citeaux;
see Stephen.
Heloise, her meeting with Abelard,
264 ; escapes into Brittany, 265 ;
her ideas against marriage with
Abelard, 266; her marriage, 267;
life at Argenteuil, 268 ; becomes
a nun there, 269 ; is driven from
thence, 276 ; made Prioress of
the Oratory of the Paraclete, 277 ;
visit of Bernard to, 278 ; life at
the Paraclete, 281 ; her letter to
Abelard, 282 ; Abelard's reply,
284 ; her second letter, 285 ; the
prayer composed for her by Abe
lard, 288 ; letter to, from Peter
the Venerable, with an account of
the last days of Abelard, 320.
Henry 'le Sanglier,' Archbishop of
Sens, his disagreement with Louis
VI. 115 ; Bernard's letter of re
proof to, 200; summons Bernard
to meet Abelard, 310.
Henry I. of England, his meeting with
Bernard, 154; Bernard's Jetter to,
in favour of Innocent II. 163.
Henry, Prince of France, becomes
a monk at Clairvaux, 195.
Henry, the Cluniac, the heretical

preaching and doctrines of, 304 ;
his success in the south-west of
France, 404; Bernard occasions
his overthrow, 405.
Herman, Bishop of Constance, his
diary of Bernard's miracles, 372.
Honorius II., Pope, Bernard's letters
to, 115, 118; death of, 149; the
schism resulting from this, ijjo.
Hugh of Macon, founder of Pon
tigny, 24.
Hugo de Paganis, founder of the
Knights Templars, 141; hisfriend-
ship for Bernard, 142.
Hugo of Puiset, exactions and ty
ranny of, 86 ; his castle taken by
the king, 88 ; recovers his liberty,
90 ; his property confiscated, 92.
Humbeline, Bernard's sister, note
upon, 322.
Humbert, Bernard's correspondence
on his behalf, 71.

Immaculate Conception, the, Ber
nard's remonstrance against, 340 ;
Petrus Cellensis on, 341.
Innocent II. , his election to the pope
dom, 150 ; Anacletus II. elected
rival pope, ib. ; is driven by Ana
cletus from Rome, 151 ; his re
ception at Cluny, ib. ; the Council
of Etampes decides in his favour,
153 ; recognised by Louis VI.
and Henry I. 154 ; his reception
by the Emperor Lotharius, 155 ;
his Easter at St. Denis, 156 ;
reception at Clairvaux, 158 ; at
the Council of Rheims, 159 ;
returns to Rome, 163 ; his with
drawal to Pisa, 164, 209 ; Ber
nard's letter of reproof to, 198 ;
death of Anacletus, and end of
the schism, 213 ; his favours to
St. Malachy, 248 ; his bull in
favour of Heloise, 277 ; overbear
ing character of, 342 ; his disputes
with Louis VII. 343 ; his death,
349 ; estrangement from Bernard,
.35°-
Irish, the, Bernard's opinion of, 241 ;

INDEX.

445

St. Malachy's labours amongst, *
242.
Isaac, his part in the conspiracy
against Charles the Good, 98—
101 ; capture and death, III.
Ives, Cardinal, at the Council of
Lagny, 344 ; trouble of Bernard
as his executor, 350.
Jerusalem taken by Godfrey, 5.
Jews, the, persecution of, in the
Middle Ages, 157, 374 ; Ber
nard's earnest defence of them,
375-
Josceiyn de Courtnay, Count of
Edessa, 361 ; his energy and
death, 362.
Joscelyn de Courtnay (son), cow
ardice of, 361 — 363; his attempt
to recover Edessa, 364.
Knights Templars, founding of the
Order of, 141 ; Bernard's exhor
tation to, 142.
La Ferte, Abbey of, an offshoot of
Citeaux, 24.
Lagny, the Council of, 344.
Langres, Bernard's proceedings re
specting a Bishop of, 218 — 224;
Peter of Cluny s letter on the
same subject, 221.
Lotharius, the Emperor, his meeting
with Innocent II. 155 ; submits
to him as pope, 156.
Louis VI. his unenviable position
as king, 82 ; attacks the nobles,
85 ; storms the castle of Le Pui
set, 88 — 91 ; his proceedings on
the death of Charles the Good,
109 ; disputes with churchmen,
115; letter to, from St. Stephen
of Citeaux, 116; convenes the
Council of Etampes, 152 ; greets
Innocent II. as pope, 154;
Innocent's address to him at the
Council of Rheims, 159 ; melan
choly condition of his old age,
205 ; his preparations for his last
end, 206; confession and death,
207.

Louis VII., his disputes with In
nocent II. on the election of an
Archbishop ' of Bourges, 342 ;
with Theobald of Champagne on
the same, 343 ; invades Theo
bald's dominions, 345 ; his an
tagonism to the Church, 348 ;
reconciled by Bernard, 349 ; un
dertakes the Second Crusade, 366 ;
his speech at Vezelai, 369 ; his
religious exercise previous to the
Second Crusade, 380 ; his setting
forth, 382 ; embassy of the Qreeks
to him, ib. ; his entry into Con
stantinople, 386 ; Manuel the
Greek Emperor's subtle conduct
to, 387 — 391 ; perils and disasters
of, in Asia Minor, 393 ; his
danger from an attack of the
Turks, 395 ; the defection of his
barons, 397 ; proceeds to Jeru
salem as a pilgrim, 400 ; his
return to France, 417.
Lucia, the mother of Abelard, 260.
Mseander, the, Crusaders' victory
on the banks of, 393.
Malachy, St., his visit to Clairvaux,
241 ; his labours in Ireland, 242 ;
miracle in favour of his accession
to Armagh, 244 ; his triumph
over Nigellus, 245 ; Bernard's
opinion of him, 248 ; Innocenc
II. 's appreciation cf him, ib. ; his
second visit to Clairvaux, 413 ;
his illness aud death there, 414.
Manuel, Emperor of the Greeks,
his embassy to the Crusaders,
385 ; perfidy to Conrad, ib. ;
duplicity of his conduct to Louis
VII. 3S6-391.
Marriage of priests, opinions of
Abelard and St. Peter Damian
on, 267.
Matthew the legate, Bernard's letter
to, 138.
Mayence, Bernard's conduct at,. 376.
Meglinger, Joseph, his account of the
first monastery of Clairvaux, 27.
Metz, Bernard's visit to, to promote
peace, 431.

446

INDEX.

Miracles, belief in, in the Middle
Ages> 59 ! examples of some at
tributed to Bernard, 62 ; Ber
nard's uneasiness at his power of
working them, 406.
Mohammedan empire, the dissen
sions of, 356 ; its efforts at restora
tion, 358.
Mohammedanism, the spread of, an
the Holy Land and Europe, 355.
Monasteries, their immunity from
episcopal domination, 39 ; the
inner life of, as revealed in Ber
nard's letters, 78 ; Bernard on the
abuses and luxuries of, 127.
Monkery, opposition of modern
thought to, 192 ; its useful work
in the Middle Ages, 193 ; curious
conversions of knights to, 194.
Monte Casino, the monastery of,
declares for Anacletus, 209.
Nicholas, Bernard's secretary, the
treachery of, 429.
Nigellus intrudes into the arch
bishopric of Armagh, 244 ; Mala
chy's triumph over him, 245 ; he
carries off valuable relics, 246 ;
Malachy gets them restored, 247.
Norbert, St., Bernard's letter about,
80.
Noureddin, his success at the siege
of Edessa, 364.
Ogerius, Bernard's correspondence
with, 73 ; Bernard submits his
' Apology ' to him, 124.
Papal supremacy, Bernard's views
regarding, 421 ; benefit of, in the
Middle Ages, 423.
Paris, anecdote of Bernard's visit
to, 68.
Passion, the,- of our Lord, Bernard's
sermon on, 326.
Perigeux, the heresy of Pontius at,
403 ; Bernard overthrows it, 405.
Peter Damian, St., on the marriage
of priests, 267.
Peter de Bruis, heretical doctrines
of, 302.

Peter de Roya, his account ot
Clairvaux, 34.
Peter Leonis, deceit of, 149, 150 ;
elected pope in opposition to
Innocent II. 150 ; see Anacletus.
Peter of Pisa, his defence of Ana
cletus as pope, 211 ; overcome by
Bernard, 213.
Peter the Venerable, Abbot of Cluny,
restores Bernard's kinsman to
Clairvaux, 46 ; his remarks on
the interference of devils, 60;
elected Abbot of Cluny, 122 ; his
complaints of the favours granted
to the Cistercians, 162 ; his letter
to Bernard on the election of a
Bishop of Langres, 222 ; receives
Abelard at Cluny, 319 ; his letter
to the pope on Abelard's behalf,
ib. ; letter to Heloise on the last
days of Abelard, 320 ; his bitter
ness against the Jews, 374.
Petronilla, sister of Eleanor of
France, her unlawful marriage,
343 ; the excommunication of,
344-
Petrus Cellensis on the Immaculate
Conception, 341.
Pierre de la Chartre, dispute re
specting his election as Arch
bishop of Bourges, 342.
Poitiers, the heresy of Henry at,
404.
Pontigny, the monastery of, an off
shoot of Citeaux, 24.
Pontius, Abbot of Cluny, 46 ; his
arrogance and extortion, 120 ;
resignation and retirement to the
Holy Land, 121 ; his invasion of
Cluny, and sacrilege there, 122 ;
his deposition, 123.
Pontius, the heresy of, at Perigeux,
403-
Pride, Bernard on the degrees of,
»35-
Profession, the ceremony of, at
Citeaux, 23.
Puiset, Le, exactions of the lords
of, 86 ; the castle of, taken by
storm, 88 ; engagement at, 91 ;
the castle destroyed, 92.

INDEX

447

Pullen, Robert, Bernard's letter
about, 197 j his learning, &c. ib.
Ralph of Vermandois, his unlawful
marriage with Petronilla, 344 ;
his excommunication, ib.
Rheims, Councils of, 159 — 161,
409.
Robert, kinsman of Bernard, 42 ;
deserts Clairvaux for Cluny, 43 ;
Bernard's letter to, ib. ; restitution
of, by the Cluniacs, 46, 123.
Robert of MolSme, Abbot of Ci
teaux, 16.
Rodolph, Archbishop of Rheims,
at the Council of Soissons, 272.
Rodolph, the monk, his virulence
against the Jews, 374 ; subdued
by Bernard, 376.
Roger of Sicily, his support of
Anacletus as pope, 163 ; his en
croachments on Church lands,
209, 213.
St. Gildas de Rhuys, Abelard be
comes Abbot of, 275 ; the shame
less lives of monks there, ib. ;
Abelard escapes from, 281.
St. Medard, Abbey of, Abelard at,
273' „ •
Satan, Bernards victory over, on
the Alps, 210.
Sens, Council of, meeting of Abelard
and Bernard at, 311.
' Sermons, their general resemblance,
176; Bernard's, in the auditorium
of Clairvaux, 177-
Single combat at Ypres, ill.
Soissons, Council of, Abelard's con
demnation at, 272.
Spirits, Bernard's sermon on the
four orders of, 178.
Stephen, Bishop of Paris, his dis
agreement with Louis VI. 115.
Stephen Harding, St., Abbot of
Citeaux, his character, 16, 24;
chooses Bernard to found an off
shoot of Citeaux, 24 ; founds the
Order of Citeaux, 39 ; his letter
to Louis VI. 116.
Suger, Abbot of St. Denis, his

character of Louis VI. 85 ; his
account of the exactions of Hugo
of Puiset, 86 ; his stratagem, 90 ;
meeting with Innocent II. 153,
156 ; account of Louis VI.'s last
days, 206; his liberal conduct to
Abelard, 274 ; made Regent dur
ing the Second Crusade, 379 ; his
preparations for a Crusade, 434 ;
Bernard's last letter to him, 435 ;
his death, ib.
Syria, condition of, to the middle of
the twelfth century, 355 ; perils
and disasters in, of the Second
Crusade, 393.
Terricus at the Council of Soissons,
272.
Tesselin, father of Bernard, charac
ter of, 2.
Thancmar family, attack on, in
Flanders, 95; murder of, at
Bruges, 100.
Theobald, Count of Blois and
Chartres, his quarrel with Hugo of
Puiset, 88 ; quarrels with Louis
VI. 89, 90 ; subsequent change
of character, 169 ; continued dis
putes with Louis Vi. 205.
Theobald, Count of Champagne,
Bernards correspondence with,
72 ; his encouragement of fairs,
140 ; his disputes with Louis VII.
343 ; the invasion of his terri
tories, and defeat by Louis, 343 —
345 ; supported by Bernard, 346 ;
Bernard declines to give church
preferment to his infant son, 432 ;
his death, 436.
Thierry of Alsace, Count of Flanders,
"3-
Toulouse, Bernard's miracle at, 406.
Treves, Archbishop of, Bernard's
letters about, 198, 200; secures
Bernard's services at Metz, 430.
Trinity, the Holy, Abelard's doctrine;
of, 291, 307.
Troyes, account of, and its fairs,
139 ; meeting of the Council of,
140.
Turks, their success against Conrad,

448 INDEX.

392 ; harassing attacks of, on the
French Crusaders, 393 ; the pity
of, at the Crusaders' wretched
ness, 400.
Ultramontanism, Bernard's protes
tation against, 198, 421.
Vassals, the oppression of, by feudal
lords, 82.
Vezelai, Bernard preaches the Second
Crusade at, 368 ; speech of Louis
VII. at, 369.,
Vitry, the burning of, by Louis VII.
345 ; expiates this by a Crusade,
366.
Walter of Locres, murder of, 100.
Walter of Montmirail, infant devo
tion of, to Bernard, 64.
William, Archbishop of York, the
dispute respecting his election,
35 '¦
William of Aquitaine favours Ana
cletus as pope, 171 ; his humiliation
by Bernard, 174.
William of Champeaux, his disputa
tion with Abelard, 1 1 ; consecrates
Bernard Abbot of Clairvaux, 30 ;
takes charge of him in illness, 3 1 ;
his defeat by Abelard, 259.

William of St. Thierry, his account
of his visit to Bernard, 32 ; devoted
friendship for Bernard, 55 ; visits
him at Clairvaux, 56 ; miraculously
cured by Bernard, 57 > Bernard
advises against his giving up his
abbey, 74 ; Bernard submits his
'Apology ' to him, 124 ; his letter
to Bernard on the heresies of
Abelard, 253.
William the Bastard of Ypres,
treachery of, 109 — m.
William the Norman, Count of
Flanders, 112; his death, 113.
Wormwood, Valley of, the site of the
Abbey of Clairvaux, 26.
York, Bernard's conduct on the elec
tion of an Archbishop of, 351.
Ypres, effect at, of the news of the
murder of Charles the Good, 101,;
revenge of the men of, upon
Bertolf, 109 ; single combat at,
III.

Zenghis, the rise of, 359 ; besieges
the Christians at Athareb, ib. ;
his success, 360 ; besieges Edessa,
362 ; captures it, 363 ; his assas
sination, 364.

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