THE

CHRISTIAN AMBASSADOR

ART. I.-ST. BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX.

The Life and Times of St. Bernard, Abbot of Clairvaux: A.D. 1091-1153. By JAMES C. MORISON, M.A. London: Chapman and Hall, 1863.

THE mass of story of this truly great man zre under

HE mass of intelligent readers not having access to the works

much obligation to Mr. Morison for the able and comprehensive resume of all the principal facts bearing upon the life of St. Bernard. It is only just to say, however, that the writer adds nothing to our real stock of information relating to his subject, but has industriously collected and arranged what was known before, though scattered through many tomes, Latin, French, and English. Nor is there much independent criticism in the book. The quotations are plentiful, and mainly tell the tale of this history themselves. Yet these quotations will be interesting to the generality of readers, as examples of the modes of expression, thought, and argument prevalent in the Middle Ages. On the whole, we should have preferred the quotations fused into the texture of the work. We are aware that this supposes the happy combination of a high order of gifts, enabling the writer to rise to the height of his subject, and kindling him into close sympathy with it. Here is a subject noble and grand enough to excite to its profoundest depths the soul of historian, philosopher, scholar, or divine.

The times of St. Bernard were the most eventful in mediæval history, and his influence in them was all-powerful, and save in an instance or two, beneficent. His figure is ever seen in the discussion and settlement of ecclesiastical, national, European, and world-wide questions and events. He was not born great, nor was greatness thrust upon him, but he nobly achieved greatness. He was the maker of popes, and the soul of the papacy; the monk par eminence, of whom Luther said, "Monk as he was, I love

N

him above all the rest." A simple abbot, yet mightier than emperors, kings, or popes, whom he made or unmade at will. He was the renowned champion of the truth; and if he did not always convince his opponents he never failed to silence them, and always "gave them a taste of his quality." He had a deep and inborn detestation of the

"Falsehood and fraud that shot up in every soil,
The product of all climes."

Sparing not a jot the common monastic corruptions and abuses of his times, he carried terror into the hearts of cowled and mitred dignitaries, and enforced the strictest rule upon all alike. He is one of the worthiest saints in the papal calendar, and was the last of the Fathers. If not the first dialectecian of his age, he was the first orator; and a vigorous and eloquent writer. No letters in the Middle Ages can compare with his for felicity of expression and illustration, for grasp of the subject dealt with, for ease and grace in style and manner, or fertility of invention. Certainly a figure so commanding deserves and demands attention, and Mr. Morison has done well to give us this able compend of information.

Bernard's father was a knightly and chivalrous, and for his age, a noble spirited man. He dwelt in a feudal castle in the neighbourhood of the ancient City of Dijon, in Burgundy, the birthplace of Bossuet, Rosseau, and other celebrities. This castle stood upon a small eminence, called Fontaines; and an old round archway is still shown as a relic of the building in which Bernard was born. In full view from the castle is the fine range of Cote d'or Hills, with their sylvan and fertile slopes. The Fontaines Castle was in the northern extremity of Burgundy, so that Tesselin, Bernard's father, was a vassal of the Duke of Burgundy; more than that, he was his intimate friend. He got the surname, Sorus, from the vernacular, which means red-haired. He was a man of war, and had often turned the tide of battle in favour of his suzerain, and had won many laurels in the field; but he combined with his distinguished qualities as a soldier, the attributes of a saint. In his manners he was gentle and loving, his works of piety were incessant, and his care for the poor amounted well-nigh to a passion. He was forgiving in spirit, which was illustrated in one instance, among many others, when involved in a quarrel which had to be decided, as the custom was, by single combat. The details were all arranged, and the duellists met on the field to fight; every one knew how the combat would end, for Tesselin was vastly the superior man in all respects, yet he would not fight,-overcome by his humane feelings, and let us hope, by divine charity and peace,but yielded in favour of his adversary. Only a very brave, pious,

and magnanimous man would have done that. He was worthy of the eulogy which Chaucer pronounces upon his knight. Like Geoffrey's knight, he had been in many wars :

"And though that he was worthy he was wise,

And of his port as meke as is a mayde.

He never yet no vilanie ne sayde

In alle his lif, unto a manere wight.

He was a veray perfect, gentil knight.”

Tesselin's wife, Alitte, was a meet companion for her lord. She was high-spirited, earnest, full of tenderness, and truly devout. We cannot record the virtues attributed to her by her monkish historians, but from the glitter of their fictions we obtain a ground of fact which warrants us in saying, that in general maternal excellence, religious zeal, strength of mind, practical charity, and sacrifice of self to the needs and welfare of others she was noted almost to a proverb. To understand the character of Bernard's parents, will help us in reading his life, and estimating his character. Much besides mere being did he inherit from his parents, much that helped to make him what he afterwards became.

One of the earliest memories of little Bernard would be the first Crusade, an event that excited all Christendom. He would be some four years old, being born in 1091, when that arch-fanatic, the hermit Peter, stirred the monarchs, nobles, and peoples of Europe with the wildest enthusiasm; which after Pope Urban's Clermont speech, resulted in the strange pilgrimage of nations to the East. From the furthest nooks and extremest islands of Europe came troops of enthusiasts, who, when they found their speech unintelligible indicated their mission by placing their fingers in the form of a cross. After strange adventures, untold scenes of suffering, and varying successes, came the exultant tidings that Godfrey had on that eventful Friday afternoon in July, 1099, leaped from his wooden tower on to the walls of Jerusalem, when

"The whirligig of time brought his revenge,"

For they slaughtered the "infidels" till "our people had the vile blood of the Saracens up to the knees of their horses." Chief among the Crusaders was Tesselin's liege lord, the Duke of Burgundy; he never returned alive, but his dying wish was that he might be interred in the graveyard of Citeaux Abbey, then recently founded. This abbey was only a few miles from Dijon, and the duke wished, on account of the reported sanctity of the monks, to sleep his last sleep among them. He had many sumptuous abbeys in his dominions, but they were passed by in favour of

this new establishment. An event so important would be sure to be a marked one in the Fontaines castle.

At the proper time he was sent to Chatillon, about forty-five miles from Dijon, to school. He was a boy studious, retiring, and "marvellously cogitative." In mingling among the boys at school he became ambitious of literary fame, and delighted in rivalling his school-fellows in verses, quips, and repartees. While he was yet at school he sustained that greatest of earthly losses, the loss of his mother, who died suddenly. She, as was her wont, gave a feast on the festival of St. Ambrose, the patron saint of Fontaines church; but on the vigil of the celebration she was seized with a mortal malady. She would not hear of the feast being interrupted; but towards evening it was evident she was dying. The monks, at her desire, gathered round the bed and chanted a litany, she joined them, and as they concluded with, "Deliver her, 0 Lord, by thy cross and passion," the psalm and her life ceased together. The old chroniclers relate with much gusto the pomp and ceremony of her funeral, and how she frequently appeared to Bernard after her death to urge him to carry out his purpose to become a monk.

Here, then, was this youth, handsome in person, fascinating and eloquent in address, casting about for a calling in life. mother's wish was for him to assume the cowl, but his brothers were all opposed to the holy calling. He might be a knight, as they were, as their father was. It was the age of chivalry, and this youth was chivalrous in his very soul; but still he shrank from its bloodiness and fierceness, for this much be-praised chivalry had a very dark side. Then, again, his health was not robust. He at length gave up all idea of the fighter's life; then his friends urged him to become a disputer in the schools. Let it not be forgotten that it was an age of some intellectual quickening. Long kept from the tree of knowledge, crowds flocked now to taste its fruits and dwell under its shade. The popular Paris doctor, William of Champeaux, was being confronted by a young and daring champion, Master Peter Abelard, who drove the veteran logician from the field amidst the plaudits of Europe. The ardent and intellectual Bernard was nearly becoming a scholastic disputant. In an unsettled state of mind he rode to join his brothers, who were fighting with and for their sovereign liege, in taking a castle. On the journey he reflected upon the oft-expressed desires of his mother, and how he had been carried away by the false glitter and glory of a soldier's, or a disputant's life. The saintliness of his mother's character affected him. Thus he pondered till he was filled with a sense of reproach, shame, and humiliation. Through thick, tangled forest, and over bleak moor he rode, pondering all these things in his mind, till he came to a church by the wayside, when he fell on

his knees, and with torrents of tears and strong supplications, dedicated himself to the immediate service of God. That resolve was final, and henceforth all doubts about his vocation were ended; he lived and died without a misgiving about the step he took in that wayside church.

The young convert's zeal knew no bounds, and he at once began to display that personal ascendancy and influence which so distinguished his after life, and which never brooked a check, much less a defeat. The first sphere of his operations was his own family. His uncle, the lord of Touillon castle, yielded, and became a monk, and so did Bartholomew and Andrew, his two younger brothers. His eldest brother, Guido, was married and had children. He, of course, hesitated; but was in a sad strait between the brother he feared and the wife he loved. He engaged so far to forswear the world that he would give up all wickedness, soldiering, and jousting; but this would not suffice.

"Ah,"

threatened or foretold a hard fate for them, and left them to seek other converts. Guido's wife was shortly seized with heavy affliction, when she sent for Bernard and implored his forgiveness, and gave up her husband, while she retired into a convent. Bernard had still more difficulty with his brother Gerard, the second son in the family. He was a bold and worthy knight, and rather pitied his younger brother's religious enthusiasm. exclaimed Bernard, "I know that tribulation will give thee understanding!" and putting his finger upon his brother's side said, "A lance shall pierce thee here, and make way for that salvation which thou now despisest." Shortly after this he was carried off the battle-field captive, with a spear in his side. "I turn monk, monk of Citeaux," he exclaimed; a vow which he hastened to perform as soon as he obtained his health and liberty. So persuasive was this youthful apostle's eloquence that mothers, wives, and lovers hid their dear ones lest they should be ensnared by his zeal and energy. He quickly gathered a band of between thirty and forty, and retired with them for six months into solitude to prepare themselves for entering a monastery. They ultimately became inmates of Citeaux. This famous monastery had been only established about fifteen years; few and evil had been its days, but its present abbot, a Dorsetshire monk, Stephen Harding, was bringing it into fame, wealth, and power. He was a stern ecclesiastic; he repulsed all mere patronage, whether from duke, noble, or knight; and was carrying out literally the rigid regime of St. Benedict. They ate but one meal per day, and had risen from their hard couches, and worked in the fields for twelve hours, before they got that. They never tasted meat, fish, grease, or eggs, and milk only rarely. They wore one dress of three coarse wool garments. Their buildings were plain to bareness. There