THE MOTHER ABBEY
The loitering train, that, climbing, winds among the vine-clad slopes
of the Mâconnais, gave us our first glimpse of the vendangeurs
gathering the last of a scanty crop. Those blue shirts, moving
through the bronze-clad bushes, were our first intimation that the
Saône-et-Loire had escaped the utter ruin that the winds and rains of
a wintry summer had wrought among the vines of the Côte d'Or. But this
incident did not impress us as it might have done at another time or in
another place. Our thoughts were not with the wine-harvest; they were
ahead, busy with the memories the name of Cluny evokes.
To one who cares for what was best in the middle ages, no place in
France, no place in Europe, unless, perhaps, it be Citeaux, can
exercise an equal charm. But, as we shall see, though Citeaux rivalled,
and ultimately eclipsed Cluny in power, and, through the influence
of St. Bernard, outshone her, not in material splendour, but by the
dazzling whiteness of her purity, the historic interest of the site of
the Cistercian house, there, by the deserted woods and wind-ruffled
pools of the eastern plain, could not survive, in the minds of many,
the destruction of the ancient monastery. Cluny, the Mother Abbey of
Europe, the school of popes, holds first place, by right of birth, by
right of what she was, and is. For Cluny still stands. The little town
nestling upon the lower slopes of the valley, through which the Grosne
winds between her poplars, is not merely built upon the site of the
Abbey. It is the Abbey.
From the moment, when, on the way from the station, you see the ancient
towers raising, one by one, their hoary heads above the roofs, as
they have raised her past from oblivion, till, having climbed the
cobble-stoned street that winds upwards through the town, you look down
through the ruined gateway that once gave passage to kings and abbots,
from every street corner, from every church, and dwelling-house, Cluny
calls to you out of the past.
We did not hear her at first; and we were disappointed. The Grande
Rue, by which you enter the town from the east, is so narrow, that
it affords no glimpse of what lies on either hand; and it was with
unexpected suddenness, that, turning to the right, after a few minutes
of wandering, we stood before the Hotel de Bourgogne, and looked up
from the little, white building, at the great, grey, octagonal tower
and the wall of masonry, that, we knew, must be the last survival of
the Abbey Church itself. At that moment we were standing on the site of
the nave; but we did not know it. It takes time to orient oneself.
* * * * *
Following upon the Gallo-Roman and early Christian periods, centred in
the Autunois, the story of the rise of Cluny from humble beginnings to
her apothegm of spiritual and temporal power marks the second notable
period of Burgundian history. From this source, also, was to flow the
main stream of progress, religious and artistic, that culminated in
the mediæval triumphs of thirteenth-century European civilization. At
the time of the rise of Cluny, Burgundy, under the capetian dukes, was
already established as a vassal province of France, but the inwardness
of Burgundian history--of French history, indeed, in the 11th and 12th
centuries--will be understood only by those who realize that, until the
advent of the semi-royal dukes of the house of Valois, in 1364, the
controlling forces of the duchy are to be sought, not in Dijon, nor in
Auxerre, but here, in this the mother abbey of Western Europe.[68]
In the year 909, the veteran Duke William of Aquitaine, haunted by
the shades of the many warriors who had fallen in the service of his
ambition, or troubled by the whispers of conscience, or moved, perhaps,
by that not wholly disinterested piety which sometimes awakens with
the approach of death, decided to follow the course then usual in
such cases, and to found a monastery. For this purpose, he took into
his confidence his friend, Bernon, Abbot of Gigny, who, accompanied
by Hugues, Abbot of St. Martin at Autun, paid a visit to the Duke in
his villa of Cluny, and was bidden to search out a place meet for
the service of God. But the monk, gifted with a keen eye for all the
amenities of a monastic site, could find none more fitting than this
"in a spot withdrawn from all human society, so full of solitude, of
repose and of peace, that it seemed in some sort a picture (image) of
the heavenly solitude."[69] The Duke, however, stung by a last pang of
regret for the loss of his lovely valley, had objections to raise. The
spot was not suitable; for, all day long, the shouts of huntsmen and
the baying of hounds broke the silence of the neighbouring forest.
"Drive the dogs away," said Bernon, with a laugh, "and replace them
with monks; for you well know which shall stand you best before God,
the bay of the hounds, or the monks' prayers."
"Surely, Father," replied the Duke, "your advice is sound, and since
you give it unfeignedly, be it done, with Christ's aid, as thy goodness
bids me do."
In the year 909, the 11th year of Charles the Simple, the old Duke,
lest, at his last hour, he should deserve the reproach of having
thought only of the care of his body, and of the augmentation of
his earthly possessions, wrote in his will, as follows:--"I declare
that, for the love of God and of our Saviour, Jesus Christ, I give
and bequeath to the holy apostles, Peter and Paul, all that I possess
at Cluny ... without excepting anything dependent upon my domain of
Cluny (Villa), farms, oratories, slaves of both sexes, vines, meadows,
fields, water, water-courses, mills, rights of way, lands, cultivated
or uncultivated, without any reserve."[70]
[Illustration: ·NEAR CLUNY]
He gives this, he goes on to say, for the good of soul and body of
himself, his wife, his relatives, and dependents, "on condition that a
monastery shall be built at Cluny, in honour of the apostles, Peter and
Paul, and that there shall gather monks, living according to the rule
of St. Benedict[71] to hold and administer for ever the things given,
so that this house may become the true house of prayer, that it may be
filled for ever with faithful vows and pious supplications, that here
shall be desired and besought, with ardent wish and earnest longing,
the wonders of communion with Heaven, that prayers and supplications be
addressed without ceasing to God, both for me and for those persons of
whom I have already made mention."
Further:--"By God, in God and all His Saints, and under the fearful
menace of the last judgment, I beg, I beseech, that no secular prince,
nor count, nor bishop, nor the Pontiff himself of the Roman Church, do
invade the possessions of God's servants, nor sell nor diminish, nor
give in benefice to whomsoever it may be, anything to them belonging,
nor allow any head to be set over them against their will. And that
this prohibition may be more strongly binding upon the wicked and the
headstrong, I insist and I add, and I conjure you, Oh! Holy Apostles,
Peter and Paul, and Thou, Pontiff of the Pontiffs of the apostolic
seat, to cut off from communion with the Holy Church and from life
eternal, by the canonical authority thou has received of God, all
robbers, invaders, or sellers of that which I give, of my full
satisfaction and of my evident will."
Sometimes, reading the old Duke's powerful anathema, that tells us
more of the spirit of the time in which he lived than could any long
narration of facts, I wonder, as I think of the after history of Cluny,
whether that awful curse may not have alighted, or may not alight
hereafter, upon the souls of those who have violated the conditions of
its grant, or in blind fury have laid impious hands upon the hallowed
stones of its church.
Here, then, in the solitary valley of the Grosne, on the slope of a
hill forming one of a range which marks the northern extremity of the
Cevennes, was planted the tree whose branches were to over-shadow
Europe. The site was well chosen for the birthplace of such a destiny.
Occupying a middle position between Gothic and Latin influences, Cluny
could here best fulfil her mission, which, indeed, has been and is
still, in some sort, the mission of Burgundy, that of reconciling the
conflicting, and often bitterly antagonistic, elements of north and
south. Situated within a few kilometres of the Roman Road of Agrippa,
which, passing Clermain and St. Cécile, connected Lyons and Boulogne,
by way of Mâcon and Autun, the Abbey was also connected with Italy by
that magnificent waterway, the Saône and the Rhône. Travellers could
come by land or by river to Cluny.
In the early years of the monastery, few came. Faith had weakened
throughout all the land, and in many houses the monks of Gaul had
departed from the strict rule of St. Benedict. It was the mission of
Odon, the first of the long line of great and saintly abbotts, to be
a reformer of that rule, and, by the example of his holy life, to
augment the numbers, and increase the prosperity of the Abbey. From his
earliest years, while yet he was in the monastery of Balme, says his
chronicler, Jean de Salerne, his merits, becoming known throughout all
the district, were finding expression in the gracious legends of the
time. One of the best known was the miracle of the crumbs.
[Illustration: TOUR FABRI]
An article of the rule bade the monks gather carefully the crumbs of
bread from the table, and eat them before the end of the meal. When the
signal to rise had been given, it was forbidden to lift any more food
to the mouth. Odon, intent, one day, upon the lesson that was being
read aloud in the refectory, forgot the crumbs. Not daring either to
eat them, or to leave them on the table, he kept them in his hand,
while he and his companions left the refectory and went into the church
where grace was sung. At the conclusion of the ceremony, Odon threw
himself at the feet of the father, and asked forgiveness; but, when he
opened his hand to show him the crumbs, behold, to the astonishment of
the brothers, each crumb was a precious pearl! By the order of Bernon,
the stones were fastened to one of the ornaments of the church.[72]
Under such heavenly guidance, even the very beasts of the forest
ministered to the growing community. When Odon had completed the early
church, which Jean de Salerne modestly speaks of as an oratory and
chapel, replaced, a century later, by a larger one, the bishop came
to consecrate the building. Forgetting the poverty of the monks, he
brought with him such a lordly retinue of attendants and servants,
that the abbot was sorely troubled as to how his guests were to be
worthily received, and suitably fed. On the day of the ceremony, when
the grey dawn had driven westward the shadows of the night, a great
wild boar emerged from the neighbouring forest, and ran, at full
speed, to the monastery. The guardian of the church, who was busy
adorning the exterior porch, struck with terror at the sight, retreated
hastily, shut the door behind him, and drew the bolts. But the fierce
animal, fierce no longer, began to lick the door--leaving upon it
marks of white foam--and to tap gently with its hoof, as though to beg
admittance. But all who saw the beast, fled, until, weary with much
knocking, it lay down across the threshold. When the bishop and his
suite arrived, a cry of terror rose from the company. They aroused
the neighbours, who came, armed with sticks. But the boar, instead of
shewing fight, offered himself voluntarily to death, and his flesh,
prepared with all the art of the monastic cooks, satisfied the refined
tastes of the prelates.
Every day Cluny grew in grace, in wisdom, in numbers, in riches, in
influence, in power civil and spiritual. One after one, she founded
new monasteries, and reformed those already in existence, until, under
Odilon, in the beginning of the 11th century, a cluster of priories had
been built upon lands ceded to the abbey, and Cluny was attaining an
importance greater than any other order had acquired until that day. In
the plains, upon the summits of the hills, by the banks of river and
stream, in the depths of the forests, in the solitude of the valley,
even in remote and silent places, were springing up little communities
of monks, whose clocher, was, for the peasants, a symbol of charity, of
refuge, of God come down among men;[73] and every year, nobles, not a
few, gave lands in the neighbouring comtés to the Abbey of Cluny.
The great fervour with which the monastic revival was received, had
been due, in part, to the awful miseries of France during the 10th
century, and in part to an almost universal belief that the year
1000 A.D. would herald the second coming of Christ, and the end of
the world; but, by the time that year had passed without the advent
of any of the expected phenomena, the more clear-sighted, perceiving
the immense possibilities which the religious revival shadowed forth,
for the welfare of a people crushed beneath the harsh feudal laws of
the time, saw therein an additional inducement to encourage monastic
effort. Gratitude for preservation had also its effect. All omens were
propitious for the rise of Cluny to great glory.
In the year 1024, a lady of noble Burgundian family, knowing that the
hour was come in which she should give birth to a child, and following
the custom of the time, summoned a priest, who, by the sacrifice of the
mass, should assure her a happy delivery. At the moment when, while
consecrating the host, he was wrapt in fervent prayer, there appeared
to him, shaping itself upon the golden bottom of the cup, a child's
face radiant with a heavenly light. At the conclusion of the ceremony,
he hastened to tell the mother what he had seen, and, finding the child
already born, predicted that, God granting him life, the boy was chosen
out for a great destiny, and would surely be found worthy, one day,
to minister the cup in which his birth had been thus signalized. To
the great joy of the mother, that hope was gloriously fulfilled; for
the son born under such happy omens was Hugues, the greatest of the
great abbots of Cluny, he, under whom the abbey, and, indeed, the whole
church of Rome, was to establish an authority never before dreamed of
in Christendom.
Braving the anger of his father, Delmace, an ambitious and violent
Seigneur, who would fain have seen his son don the knight's armour
rather than the monk's cowl, Hugues, already ardently set upon a life
of piety, obtained admission to the monastery of St. Marcel de Chalon,
which he soon left, in order to place himself under the protection of
Odilon, the then abbott of Cluny. This new father of the young Hugues
was one of the best beloved of the abbotts of that monastery. Lacking
the austerity of his predecessor, Odon--the great reformer whose
energies had given new life to the Benedictine order--Saint Odilon,
this "dernier et le plus méprisable des frères de Cluny," as he styled
himself, though short and thin in person, was, at the same time, robust
and virile; a humble, grave, sympathetic, fatherly man, whose pale face
could flush with anger, and his gentle voice become terrible in rebuke
of wrong-doing; one whom the sins and sorrows of the living and the
dead[74] touched to the heart, as attested by the many healings with
which legend has credited his name.
Such was the man, already abbot for more than forty years, under whose
worthy protection young Hugues placed himself. The new-comer, elected
abbot on the death of Odilon in 1048, soon showed himself to be of yet
sterner stuff even than his predecessor. Humble as regards his personal
pretensions, kind and charitable to the poor and needy, he had,
nevertheless, an eye which could read in their faces the souls of men;
and he was fired with a holy ambition for the glory of the church.
[Illustration: Clunisian Ornament]
In bringing about the realization of these dreams, he found a worthy
ally in that Napoleon of the Church, Hildebrand (Gregory VII.), one of
the four monks, who, from a cell at Cluny, passed to the throne of St.
Peter.[75] We need not here deal at length with that long struggle--the
most significant event of the eleventh century--between the civil
and religious rules of Christendom, in which Gregory succeeded in
enforcing, if only for a time, the most tremendous and all-embracing
claims that the church has ever advanced; but I shall be excused for
recalling again that extraordinary scene enacted, in 1076, on the
castled summit of the craggy Apennine hills, the rock of Alba Canossa,
where the representative of temporal power, Henry IV., King of the
Germans, attired in a penitent's garb of coarse wool, waited barefoot,
through three bitter winter's days, in the courtyard of the castle,
upon the pleasure of God's vice-regent on earth. Hugh, then Abbot of
Cluny, was present at that scene; and it was largely owing to his
mediation, backed by the influence of the Countess Matilda, that Henry
was at last admitted to the royal presence.[76]
Remembering how brief was Gregory's pontificate--a span of ten
years--and his bitter last words at Palermo: "I have loved justice
and hated iniquity, therefore I die in exile," it may appear to
some readers that the triumph of this little, ill-shaped homuncio
was short-lived; but we have to remember that, as Bishop Mathew has
pointed out, his influence upon succeeding generations was greater than
upon his own, and that without Gregory VII. there would have been no
Innocent III. to become, in effect, "the king of kings, lord of lords,
the only ruler of princes" in all Christendom.
In many sublime and dramatic scenes, then being enacted throughout
Europe, Hugues was called upon to play the part of peacemaker, but in
none was his task more difficult than in that struggle between Gregory
and Henry, to whom he was equally bound by ties of close friendship.
That he remained on good, even on intimate terms, with both men,
is strong testimony to his integrity of character. More than once,
in later years, he allayed the storms that Gregory was raising; he
defended Henry IV. against the ingratitude of his son; and it is to
Hugues that we find the dethroned and fugitive emperor turning for
consolation and advice concerning that revolt.[77]
In such hands, at such a time, the glories of Cluny were safe. Nor
was the papacy unmindful of all it owed to the great abbey. Here is
Gregory's own eulogy of Cluny, delivered before the Council of Rome, in
1077. "Among all those situate beyond the hills, shines in the first
rank that of Cluny under the protection of the holy seat. Under its
holy abbots, it has reached so high a degree of honour and of religion,
that, by the fervour with which God is there served, it surpasses
undeniably all other monasteries, not excepting even the most ancient;
so that none other in this part of the Christian world may be compared
with it. To this day, all her abbots have been raised to the honour
of sainthood. Not one among them, not one of their monks, obedient
sons of the Romish Church, has fallen away nor bowed the knee to
Baal; but, faithful always to the dignity and liberty granted to them
by the Church from the foundation of the monastery, they have nobly
upheld its authority, and will submit to no other power than that of
St. Peter."[78] The privileges of Cluny became the ideal type for all
others, and Gregory always regarded a comparison with the Burgundian
abbey as a peculiar sign of favour, as in the case of St. Victor of
Marseilles, whose monks he wished to console for the loss of a beloved
abbot.
Not unnaturally, an institution so growing in grace, power, and
riches, was growing also in numbers. The new monks must be housed; God
must be honoured in, and by, a nobler Church. Nor was the Deity long in
making known His will.
One night, a monk of Cluny, sick and paralytic, was asleep in bed, when
he saw appear before him the Apostles, Peter and Paul, and Stephen, the
first Martyr. The monk asked them who they were, and what their will
might be. Then St. Peter spoke:--
"I am St. Peter, and these are St. Paul and St. Stephen. Rise, without
delay, brother, and bear our orders to Hugues, Abbot of this Church.
It pains us to see so many brothers gathered into so small a space,
and our wish is that the Abbot should build a greater. And let him not
consider the cost; we shall know how to provide all things necessary
for the work."
"I dare not take it upon me to bear your orders," replied the monk.
"For no heed would be given to my words."
"You have been chosen before all others," said St. Peter, "to transmit
our commands to Hugues, so that your miraculous healing may gain
credence for your message. If you obey faithfully, seven years shall be
added to your life, and if Hugues defers the execution of our will, the
sickness, upon leaving you, shall pass into his body."
So speaking, St. Peter proceeded to measure out with cords the length,
breadth, and height of the new building; then, showing the monk its
proportions, the style, the necessary ornament, and the nature of
the materials to be used, he counselled him to keep all these things
faithfully in his memory.
The monk, for whose funeral the bell-ringers were already awaiting the
summons, awakened with a start, ran, safe and sound, to the Abbot's
room, and told him the whole story. This midnight appearance of a man,
dying an hour ago, and now healed by a marvellous vision, greatly
astonished the good Abbot. Threatened with his brother's sickness,
if he postponed the commencement of the building, and encouraged,
moreover, by the heavenly aid promised to the enterprise, he believed,
obeyed, and, with God's help, raised, in twenty years, a temple that
was the glory of its age, and remained, for centuries, one of the
marvels of Western Europe.[79]
Tradition adds, that Hugues, not knowing exactly where to build the
Church, threw a hammer into the air, and chose the spot where it
fell for the site of his sanctuary. In after years, before the abbey
buildings were mutilated, the inhabitants would still show, near one
of them, an enormous stone that all the workmen and all their machines
were unable to lift. St. Hugues only, during the night, by Divine help,
could raise the huge mass, and place it in position; and ever after the
stone retained the imprint of the Holy Founder's hand.
Often the workmen, as they built the walls of the Church, would notice,
watching them unweariedly, working silently in their midst, but sharing
never in their repasts, a mysterious and wonderful figure. Some said
that he was an angel presiding over the erection of the House of God;
some said that he was none other than St. Hugues himself.
It was in 1095 that Pascal II., crossing Provence by way of Tarascon
and Avignon, arrived at Cluny, in the month of November, accompanied
by a large suite of cardinals, bishops, and priests. Everywhere he was
received with transports of joy; for no living man had yet seen the
Vicar of Christ in this part of the land of Burgundy. At the request
of Hugues, he had come to consecrate the great altar of the unfinished
basilica. This he did, and also superintended the consecration, by
attendant archbishops, of the other altars in the transept. In the
midst of these ceremonies, turning to the crowd of on-lookers who
had surrounded the building on all sides, Pascal reminded them of
the special privileges with which the monastery had been endowed, of
his own connection with it as monk under the same Abbot, who still,
by God's mercy, was alive and well in their midst; then, in the name
of God, and by the holy memories he had awakened, he implored all to
uphold and respect the sanctity of the new abbey-church.
[Illustration: LE BON DIEU
CLUNY]
It was not until 1131 that the great basilica, completed at last, was
consecrated by Innocent II., amid scenes similar to those that had
attended the visit of Urban II.
Whether the building was inspired of God, or was merely a successful
exercise of a fast-developing art, the new Cluny was not unworthy of
the great order for which it stood. Not only was it, with the exception
of St. Peter's at Rome, the largest Church in existence,[80] but it
remained also one of the most perfect examples of the Romanesque
architecture, and became the accepted model for many a later Burgundian
church and cathedral. The architect, according to Pignot, was a former
canon of Liège, named Etzebon; artist, orator, theologian, and author
of the life of St. Hugues. He appears to have had no difficulty in
acquiring the first necessity of his work, namely, funds. Kings,
nobles, and bishops vied with one another in their eagerness to make
offerings to the new Church; the neighbouring princes made handsome
donations, the pious of all classes brought gifts, offered voluntary
labour, or the loan of beasts of burden. The two lordliest givers were
Alonzo VI., King of Castille, and Henry I. of England, the former of
whom was deeply indebted to Hugues, whose influence with his kinsman,
Eudes, Duke of Burgundy, had often smoothed Alonzo's path. The Abbot,
in recognition "of the incessant benefits of this faithful friend,"
founded, on his behalf, almsgivings and special prayers throughout the
order, and every day served, at the chief table, as though the King
were present, a royal dinner, which was afterwards distributed among
the poor.
Meanwhile, as the gifts poured in, the building grew. From the great
double gates,[81] Roman in style, and imitated, probably, from the
Porte d'Arroux, at Autun, the land sloped downwards to the parvis,
from the midst of which rose a great stone cross. Thence flights of
balustraded steps, broken, at intervals, by terraced platforms, led
down to the porch, flanked on each side by square towers, the Tour
de la Justice, and Tour des Archives, each a hundred and forty feet
high, and crowned with a pyramidal flêche. This porch, ornamented with
statues of the saints and the Virgin, was surmounted, in the space
between the towers, by a great rose, thirty feet in diameter, with the
figure of a Benedictine monk above.
[Illustration: THE ABBEY OF CLUNY AS IT WAS AT THE BEGINNING OF THE
XIX^{TH} CENTURY·]
It opened into a magnificent church of five bays, one hundred and ten
feet long, and one hundred and eighteen feet high, the narthex of the
great basilica.[82] It was divided into a nave and two aisles, the
whole supported by enormous square pillars, their sides decorated with
fluted pilasters, which also helped to carry the pointed arches of the
bays. From the capitals of the pilasters, clusters of four shafts rose
to the level of a frieze, just above the tops of the arches, from which
other columns carried the high vault. A cornice supported on consoles
separated the clerestory from the triforium arcade of four round-headed
arches, enclosed in pairs under a larger arch. Cornices, friezes, and
capitals were decorated with flowers, birds, figures, and grotesque
animals in the Clunisian style. Many a pilgrim visitor, standing in
this great church, nearly as large as the Church of Notre Dame de
Dijon, believed himself to be in the basilica itself, never dreaming
that this was but the porch or ante-nave.
Many theories have been advanced as to the purpose of this narthex,
which became a usual feature of Clunisian construction, from about
the middle of the twelfth century. Some have suggested that it was
for overflow congregations from the new church, or that it served
for the servants of the Abbey, for the suites of noble visitors, for
the peasants from the neighbouring towns, or for criminals seeking
refuge, as they were wont to do, in the shadow of the porch. Others
have supposed, perhaps rightly, that it was used for the reconciliation
of the excommunicated, for rites of exorcism, or for the dispensation
of justice; but the most probable solution is that the narthex was
a temple, in which, at Easter and other seasons of the year, the
crowds of penitents and pilgrims--too numerous to be admitted into the
basilica, or to be left outside--might hear the Word of God at the very
threshold of, but not within, the building reserved for the monks. The
narthex was, in effect, a purgatory, a sojourning place between earth
and Heaven; the natural development of a custom which had arisen, for
the priest, by order of the bishop, to say mass as near as possible to
the gates of church, for the benefit of the penitents in the porch.
There existed, until the 18th century, on the left of the door of the
narthex, a stone table, which, perhaps, was formerly an altar, though
made use of, at that time, only by mothers and nurses, who believed
that they could hush their crying charges by depositing them thereon.
At the end of the vestibule was the original gate of the basilica,
of which the impost was the stone that St. Hugues had miraculously
raised. Twenty-three figures were carved upon it in relief, and in the
tympanum above was seated the Heavenly Father, as Teacher, His right
Hand raised in benediction, His left holding the Gospel. Beside Him the
four Evangelists listened to His words, and cloud-borne angels held the
medallions upon which were shown the Throne and Person of Christ.
The interior of the great basilica must have been of the most majestic
and impressive character, with its two transepts[83] and double row
of aisles on each side of the nave. The great pillars supporting the
central vault were seven and a half feet in diameter, with pilasters
on the side of the nave, and engaged columns on the other three sides,
meeting the aisle vaults. At the transept, the columns, together
with the pillars they surmounted, rising in unbroken lines, formed
the ribs of the vaulting. Above each bay was a triforium of two rows
of superposed, romanesque, round-headed, arcaded arches, in threes,
the lower row separated by pilasters, and the upper by colonnettes.
The arches of the bays and the transepts were pointed; a feature,
which, though quite usual in Burgundian work of the period, was more
or less accidental, and was necessitated, or rendered advisable, by
practical considerations, rather than by a deliberate departure from
an architectural style that was still of the purest Romanesque. The
capitals everywhere were ornamented with characteristic sculpture, of
extraordinary freedom and boldness, representing scriptural, and many
other subjects.
At the bottom of the nave, close to the entry of the choir, was placed,
in after years, the tomb of Pope Gélase, and two altars, which, with a
gate at the entrance, screened the monks from the eyes of the laymen.
Here, too, against the pillars of the nave, were four large, painted,
wooden statues, representing St. Hugues, holding the model of the
church in his right hand, St. Mayeul, St. Odon, and St. Odilon.
The choir occupied the space between the two transepts; the sanctuary
was carried on eight columns, three of which were of African marble,
and three of Pentelic Greek marble, veined with blue, which St. Hugues
brought from Italy by way of the Durance and the Rhône. The transept
had many lateral chapels, and the east end, which was in semi-circular
form, had five apsidal chapels, vaulted in half dome. A processional
ambulatory circled the sanctuary and the tomb of St. Hugues, in front
of which stood the great altar. Here, too, at opposite ends of the
ambulatory, were placed the tombs of the Abbot Pons, and of Pierre le
Vénérable. The vault of the apse was adorned with a fine painting,
of the end of the eleventh, or beginning of the twelfth century,
representing the Eternal Father borne upon clouds, one hand raised, and
the other placed upon the Apocalypse sealed with seven seals. At his
feet was the Lamb without Blemish, and about Him were winged figures of
man, the lion, the eagle, and the ox.
But, in spite of the realism of the sculpture and the painting,
in spite of the gorgeous tapestries, the golden candelabra, the
pearl-encrusted ornaments of every kind, which the noblest men and
women of the time, and of later times, showered upon Cluny, it is in
the sense of spacious dignity and majesty, rather than in the sense
of ostentation and magnificence, that we must interpret the words of
Hildebrand de Mans, when he said that, "If it were possible for the
inhabitants of the heavenly mansions to be happy in an abode fashioned
by the hand of man, Cluny would be the angels' walk (ambulatorium
angelorum)."
Nor was the church less noble without than within. From the circular
chapels lying about her transepts and her apse, along the collateral
and the double row of flying buttresses,[84] rising higher than the
narthex, the eye was lifted, stage after stage, high above her lofty
nave, to the mighty towers that rose to the sky, in witness, for ever,
one would have said, of Him whose Dwelling was not made with hands.
The conventual buildings were on the south side of the basilica. From
the principal south transept, a processional, and a smaller, door,
opened upon the great romanesque cloister, of which a fragment here and
there remains, built into the modern work. It was similar in style to
the other buildings of the period. Further south were the Lady Chapel
and the great refectory. Abutting on the great wall of the Abbey, by
the side of the Grosne, was a mill and a thirteenth century bake-house,
which still exist. Among the many other buildings, chapels, baths,
schools for the young, pharmacy, workshops, dormitories, and stables,
which are the necessary equipment of a great monastery, was a large
infirmary, with its own cloister and refectory--a small establishment
within the larger one. On the east side, extending to the fortified
wall that enclosed the whole monastery, were the gardens of the abbey.
Such, in its essential aspects, was the "ambulatorium angelorum."
How did its occupants live? What was the rule observed within those
walls? The rule, as kept in those early days, was stern and exacting.
The first of the regulations was silence, except at stated intervals.
In the church, in the dormitory, in the refectory, in the kitchen,
absolute silence, broken only by the summoning bell or by the chanting
of prayers. Like ghosts, the sandalled monks glided about the echoing
corridors; deaf mutes speaking by signs. The times for speech were
the mornings, after chapter, and evenings after sexte. A parlour was
reserved for the talkers, where, seated, book in hand, they might
converse on spiritual and other topics. Yet they were recommended
rather to remain in the cloister, and there meditate, read, pray, or
copy manuscripts. This was the hour, too, for drying their clothes in
the sun, for visiting the sick in the infirmary, for washing their
cups, or for sharpening their knives on the grindstone in the cloister.
Their daily food was limited to bread, vegetables, and fruits--meat
was given only to the sick--eggs, cheese, and fish were allowed only
occasionally, and nothing whatever might be eaten after complines.
At certain seasons, the use of fat for flavouring vegetables was
forbidden. If wine were permitted, on days of great solemnity, and
during exhausting fasts, it must be free from spirituous seasoning, and
from the spice that flatters the palates of the worldly. Still less was
it permitted to drink hypocras, or oriental or Italian liqueurs--the
"little wine" of the apostle was to suffice them. Only two repasts a
day were allowed, except to the young, or to those engaged in specially
hard work.
The monks might shave one another once in three weeks, chanting psalms
the while, and not until the days of decadence were they shaved by a
secular barber. "In bygone times," says the chronicler, "they were not
shaved, they were skinned."[85] They might not bathe often, lest the
habit should engender softness, and they did not usually indulge in
full ablution more than twice a year--before Christmas and Easter. Sick
monks, however, might bathe as often as they pleased.
The clothing allowed to the brothers consisted of a woollen shirt of
dark colour--one for the day, another for the night. Their garments
were rustic in form and substance; such as were worn by the peasants.
Over the tunic was a scapular, with a hood or capuchon attached, and
over all the frock was sometimes worn. Precious stuffs, silks, and
gay colours were forbidden; for it was unfitting, said the statutes,
that monks should be apparelled like brides for the nuptial chamber.
The strict rule of St. Benedict allowed no furs; but a concession was
made to the rigour of the Burgundian climate, and the monks might wear
sheep-skin or goat-skin cloaks in winter, and fur boots for sleeping
in, but no rich and costly skins from foreign lands--"For those who are
softly clothed dwell in kings' Palaces." No monk might eat or drink at
other than the regular hours; he might not go out at night, nor leave
the monastery without the abbot's permission. When on a journey, he
should receive only monastic hospitality, and, in any event, must never
accept wine or meat; nor might he eat outside the gates, unless it were
impossible for him to return home before sunset.
The vice of property was resisted to the utmost. Each monk received
from the Superior, in addition to his clothing, all necessary articles,
such as a handkerchief, a knife, a needle, a writing pencil and tablet.
Nothing was the monk's own; no brother possessed money; testaments were
forbidden; and those who violated the precepts were excommunicated, and
refused ecclesiastical burial.
Above all, the Clunisian monk must earn his bread with his hands. The
earth, whence his body came, and whither it should return, must support
him. This held good for long; but in later times, the monasteries
increased in size, manual labour naturally became specialized, and some
did little more than mend their clothes, wash their linen, clean and
grease their boots, and take their turn in the kitchen.
[Illustration: ·CLOCHER DE L'EAU BENITE
·CLUNY·]
"To speak truth," remarks Udalric, "the work which I saw done most
often was to free the beans of the leaves which retarded their growth,
to pluck the ill weeds from the garden, and sometimes to knead the
bread in the bake-house." Manual work, however, remained always part of
the strict rule. "Then will you be monks," said St. Benedict, "when you
live by the work of your hands, after the example of the holy preachers
of the monastic law." Bitter must it have been to Pierre le Vénérable,
the last of the great abbots, to have to write as he did of the growing
decadence:--"Idleness is the enemy of the soul: and do we not see the
greater part of the brothers ... both within and without the cloister,
in a state of absolute inactivity. How few are they who read, still
fewer they who write! Do not the greater number sleep, leaning against
the walls, or do they not waste their day from dawn to sunset in vain
and idle, or in what is yet worse, malicious conversation." But, in
the earlier years of Cluny, the rule was not easily broken, nor broken
with impunity. A continuous surveillance, day and night, was exercised
so regularly, by monks called "circateurs," that scarcely the least
fault could be committed unseen, and punishment, inflicted in grave
cases by the abbot himself, followed hard upon the offence. Sometimes
the delinquent was condemned to solitary confinement, or to stand,
all day long, at the door of the church; sometimes he was flogged, in
full chapter, by his brother monks, or, if the fault had been publicly
committed, the whipping was administered before all the people. It
was customary, also, to expose certain delinquents before the door of
the basilica, at the hour of mass, while one of the servants of the
abbey announced the cause of his penance to the worshippers as they
entered. The sinner was denied all participation in the solemnities and
in Christian communion; he was denied the kiss also. If he revolted
against his punishment, the outraged monks would drag him voluntarily
to a fearful dungeon, without door or window, into which he must
descend by a ladder.
And over all their day of toil, of silence, of fasting, and of prayer,
hung a shadow, dark as those that fell from the vaulted nave, or
lingered at sunset in the cool cloister galleries--the shadow of
ever-present death. When a brother died, each monk, with his own hand,
must sew stitches in the winding-sheet, whose clinging folds should
recall vividly to his spirit that all flesh is as grass, and that the
way of life is the way of death.
The monks' day was divided between work, prayer, and psalmody; the
latter sub-divided into the office and the mass, thus fulfilling
literally the words of the psalmist;[86] "Seven times in the day have
I celebrated Thy praises, and I rose in the middle of the night to
confess Thy Name."
The intervals for rest or sleep were short, and, during a part of the
year, the monks slept less than half the night. Udalric, the author of
the widely-circulated manual of the customs of Cluny, gives a vivid
picture of the discipline observed by the brothers during the "regular
hours," as they were called. At the first sound of the bell announcing
nocturnes, they sat up in bed, put on the frock without throwing
off the blankets, finished dressing without showing their legs, and
descended to the church. As it might well chance that one of them
would be overcome by sleep during the psalmody or prayer, a brother
was appointed to go the round of the choir, carrying a wooden lantern,
which he would hold under the eyes of any monk whom he believed to be
asleep. If he had made a mistake, and found that his brother was merely
wrapped in meditation, he would bow low before him by way of excusing
himself; if, on the contrary, the delinquent was really asleep, the
light would be held awhile, close to his eyes. This warning would be
repeated three times during the round, and if, at the third time, the
light did not awaken the sleeper, the lantern would be left at his
feet; and upon the somnolent monk, when he awoke, fell the duty of
doing the next round.
At the signal for matins, the monks would descend to the cloister, and
there wash their hands and faces, and comb themselves, returning to
the choir before the last stroke of the bell. There, whether they were
sitting or standing, the feet must be in line, and neither the long
sleeves, nor the skirt of the frock, must touch the ground.
With the addition of regular hours for reading and study, such, in
short, was the life led by the Clunisian monk, from the day of his
entry, until the tolling of bells, and the coming of the brothers with
cross, candles, and incense, announced that one more devotee had gone
to receive--let us hope--the reward of a life of self-sacrifice.
One might be pardoned for supposing that an existence such as this we
have outlined, would have been austere enough to satisfy even the most
rigorous ascetics of the time. But it was not so. To old Pierre Damien,
for example, when he rested awhile at Cluny, to nurse in good company
his aged back, scarred by the strokes of iron rods, the rule seemed
almost voluptuous. He spoke about it to Abbot Hugh.
"If you could abstain for two days more in the week from using fat in
your victuals, you, who are so perfect in other points, would, in the
matter of mortification, be in no way behind the anchorites."
[Illustration: RUINS OF THE ABBEY GATEWAY·-CLUNY·]
The wary Abbot replied with a smile:--
"Before attempting, well-beloved father, to augment our merits by
augmenting our abstinence, try yourself to bear, for eight days, the
burden of our rule; and then judge whether we can add aught to our
austerities."
The brave old ascetic accepted the challenge, and at the end of eight
days decided that things might well remain as they were.[87] The rule
of Cluny was more severe than his own.
Under the government of St. Hugues, grown old and gray, Cluny had
reached the summit of worldly power, and of moral influence; with him,
her best days passed. On the 29th April, 1109, the priests, loudly
lamenting, were gathered round the body of their dead saint. Clothed
in his sacerdotal robes, he lay, for three days, in the church, and a
great crowd of lords and ladies, of bourgeois, woodsmen, labourers from
field and vineyard, women and children, came to kiss his feet, and lift
his raiment to their lips. On the day before, Bernard de Varennes heard
Saint Denis the Areopagite announce to him, in a vision, that, if he
wished to see again, for the last time, his friend and abbot, Hugues of
Cluny, he must haste to the dying man. Bernard obeyed the summons, but,
on his arrival, fell sick and remained three days in a lethargy. When
he came to himself, he said to the monks around him, "Unhappy man that
I am. I had come to salute my abbot, and he is dead before the grace is
granted me. But what I might not see with the eyes of the body, I saw
with the eyes of the spirit. I saw the dwellers in Heaven descend among
men, and the Mother of God, brighter than the morning star, standing in
the midst of the monks around the death-bed of Seigneur Hugues. At the
moment of the passing of his soul, spirits, armed with arrows, flew to
seize upon it, but the Mother of Mercy, raising her hand, struck them
with terror, and put them to flight, as the wind scatters the autumn
leaves. Martin, the pearl of priests, Benedict the sun of abbots,
at the head of the heavenly cohorts, bore the soul of Hugues into a
fair and fertile vineyard, that there it might rest awhile. Hugues,
perceiving me in this place, addressed me thus: 'Eat, dear friend,
these bunches of white grapes, eat and rest with me awhile; not for
long am I here. When my feet are freed from the swelling and the dust
of a long earthly pilgrimage, I shall pass into the home that God hath
prepared for me throughout eternity. Recommend to Pons, my successor,
to treasure humility and innocence, to forget his own needs for those
of others, and to follow my example of monastic rule.'"
Pons did not follow Hugues' example of monastic rule. When his vanity,
weakness, and love of pomp had alienated a portion of his following, he
resigned his abbacy and retired. His successor, Hugues II. held office
only a few months, when the task of presiding over the destinies of
Cluny passed to Pierre le Vénérable, the last of the great abbots, a
name that already links us in memory with him whose destiny it was,
by a return to simplicity, as a source of strength, to rival, and,
for a time, to exceed the power of Cluny. I speak of St. Bernard, the
champion of the Cistercian order. We shall meet him again at Citeaux
and elsewhere.
It is probable that St. Hugues himself, by acquiring such great wealth
for the abbey, prepared its ultimate downfall. Be that as it may,
though the rhyming Burgundian proverb,
"En tous pays ou le vent vente
L'Abbaye le Cluny a rente,"
may not have been coined until a later century, it is certain that
Cluny was fast acquiring wealth, and succumbing to a luxury utterly
alien to the Spirit of Him Whose benediction was upon the poor and the
humble. It was natural that the order, following the fashion of the
age, should wish to house worthily the many priceless relics brought
back by pious, though too credulous, crusaders from the Holy Land, and
the members of the Clunisian school of art soon learned to vie with one
another in fashioning châsses for the miraculous rod with which Moses
brought forth water in the desert, or for the stone from Mount Sinai
on which he kneeled when he received from God the table of the law, or
for the alabaster vase from which Mary Magdalen anointed the Saviour's
Feet.[88]
As the treasures grew in number, the skill of the artificers, and their
passion for exercising it increased simultaneously, until, at last, the
story of the treasures of Cluny, in the monastic inventories, is like
a tale from the "Thousand and one Nights," told in gold and jewels.
When there were no more relics to work for, the monks turned to what
was next to hand, and soon, from the crosses, from the pastoral baton,
from the candelabra of gold and silver, of crystal and ivory, from the
draped altars, from the pontifical mitres, even, diamonds and rubies
flashed, opals sparkled with their changing rays, while, sometimes, a
softly-shining pearl dropped from the Abbot's sandal, as he stepped
into the blaze of light in which the great altar was bathed.
Not less gorgeous were the sacerdotal robes, woven always of the most
precious stuffs, and in the choicest colours, and worked, on body and
sleeves, with an infinite number of designs, lions and griffons, kings
and dragons, angels, eagles, leopards and serpents, crosses, arms,
lilies, and roses. All the rich and varied symbolism of the times shone
out from the robes of Cluny. Nor were the altars, statues, and tombs
less gorgeous. The magnificent châsse of St. Hugues was of precious
wood, entirely covered with silver, the reliefs representing, in gold,
the mysteries of the Life and Death of the Saviour. The pictures and
altar pieces were similarly treated. One of the statues of Mary was of
gold; she held in her hand a silver candle adorned with great pearls;
she was crowned with a golden crown; precious stones flashed upon her
brow. The Infant Christ was playing with a golden rattle, and wore,
upon His Baby head, a golden crown enriched with rubies and emeralds.
To such a Cluny there could only be one end. Her days, as a spiritual
force, were spent. Henceforth, to the religious world, she was to be
no more than a splendid memory; yet the soul of goodness that ever
lives and moves in things seemingly evil, had reserved wonderful uses
for the work that deft hands, otherwise idle, were still fashioning in
the cloisters of Cluny. Her lions, her lilies, her crosses in wrought
gold, her symbols in chased silver and in precious stones, had already
awakened the spirit of emulation in a thousand brooding minds. Who
shall tell the debt that Gothic art owes, that we, its inheritors,
shall ever owe to the decadence of the mother abbey.
When we come to talk of Bernard and Citeaux, we shall hear again of
Clunisian luxury; but we have not time, nor would it repay us, to
follow, through all its stages, the decline and fall of this Mother
Church of Europe, from its glorious position as "the light of the
world," to a mere asylum for feudalism--interesting to the student of
sociology, but no longer in touch with the great onward movements of
history. The last three centuries of the Abbey's existence make sad
reading. The envy and jealousy with which the monks were regarded on
all sides, made it hard for them successfully to cultivate and harvest
their enormous territories. Their rights and privileges, grown old and
almost forgotten, could scarcely be asserted and maintained, except by
threats and violence. The Revolution found the Benedictines in conflict
with the town, over pasturage and other rights in the woods of the
monastery; and, on July 29th, 1789, the abbey was threatened by a band
of armed peasants, who were repulsed only by the united efforts of
monks and townsmen.
On the 21st April, 1799, after considerable discussion, in which it
appears that the inhabitants of Cluny did their best, or at least
made an effort, to save the abbey, the buildings were sold to Citizen
Batonard, a merchant of Mâcon, for the sum of two million, fourteen
thousand francs.
In spite of the lively protests of the municipality, the new-comer at
once proceeded to play havoc with the church ornaments, a feat which
he followed up by making a new road, north and south, through the
precincts, cutting the church in two. Later, the Empire completed what
the Revolution had begun. In the summer of 1811, Cluny was shaken by a
series of terrific explosions. They were blasting, with 75 bombs, the
towers and sanctuary of the Abbey.[89]
[Illustration: Decoration; end of chapter V; A Jewelled Crucifix]
FOOTNOTES:
[68] _Note._--For the condition of France in the 10th century and the
causes that contributed to the Christian revival, see Chapter xi.
[69] Loraine's "Cluny," p. 19.
[70] "Histoire de l'Ordre de Cluny," Pignot; "Essai Historique sur
Cluny," Loraine. Duckett's "Cluny."
[71] For the principles of the Benedictine rule, see Chapter on Citeaux,
pp. 119, 120.
[72] Pignot's "Histoire de l'Ordre de Cluny," Tome i., pp. 97-8.
[73] Pignot. Tome i., p. 413.
[74] Odilon founded the "Fête des Trépassés."
[75] The three others were Urban II., Pascal II., and Urban V.
[76] "Life and Times of Hildebrand," p. 128, by Right Rev. A. H. Mathew,
D.D. Bishop Mathew describes Hildebrand's connection with Cluny as
a myth, probably originating in his visit to this monastery
during the pontificate of Leo X.; but Creighton, Milman, and other
historians have accepted Cluny's claims to Hildebrand. Whatever
the truth may be, certainly Hughes and Hildebrand were friends,
united by a common aim.
[77] P. Lorain. "Essai Historique sur l'Abbaye de Cluny," vol. II.,
pp. 99-100.
[78] Bull: Clun, p. 21. Quoted in Pignot's "Histoire de l'Ordre de
Cluny," Vol. ii., pp. 99-100.
[79] P. Lorain. "Essai Historique sur Cluny," pp. 72-73.
[80] Its total length was 555 feet, about the same as that of Winchester
Cathedral; that of St. Peter is about 560 feet.
[81] These gates still exist.
[82] This narthex did not form part of Hugues' Church. It was not added
until the time of Robert I., twentieth abbot of Cluny, in 1220--but
it is more convenient to deal with it here.
[83] Cluny is the only church in France with two transepts. English
examples, which are rare, include Salisbury and York. The purpose
of the second transept was probably to add to the architectural
beauty of the church, by opening up more vistas, and to provide
additional space for altars. See Bond's "Gothic Architecture in
England."
[84] Flying buttresses were added in the thirteenth century to prevent
the collapse of the nave walls.
[85] Lorain, p. 237-8. "Non rasura, sed potius excoratio." In view of
this statement, the accompanying psalm-singing is rendered the
more meritorious.
[86] Psalm cxviii., v.
[87] Pignot, Vol. II., pp. 62-67.
[88] The relics of Cluny included also, among many others, a veil,
hair and clothing of the Virgin; the palm which Christ carried on
His triumphal entry into Jerusalem; the vessel in which Jesus
changed water into wine at the marriage of Cana in Galilee;
portions of the true cross and the crown of thorns; two rings of
the iron chain which held St. Peter when the angel came to deliver
him from prison, etc., etc. See Lorain, p. 330.
[89] See "Cluny, la Ville et l'Abbaye," by A. Penjon, pp. 159-166.
[Illustration: Heading, chapter VI; Early Clunisian Ornament]