to between Abelard and St. Bernard, and which ended so abortively, was
described by Abelard's disciple Berenger in a letter somewhat satirically.
He describes Bernard as a mere idol of the crowd--gifted with a plentiful
flow of words, but destitute of liberal culture and of solid
abilities--one who, by the solemnity of his manner, imposed the merest
truisms on his followers as if they were profound oracles. He ridicules
Bernard's reputation as a worker of miracles; hints that his proceedings
against Abelard were prompted by a spirit of bigotry, jealousy, and
vindictiveness, rendered more odious by his professions of sanctity and
charity. Of the opinions imputed to his master, he maintains that some
were never held by Abelard, and the rest, if rightly interpreted, were
true and Catholic. The book of Abelard, he says, had been brought up for
consideration at Sens when the bishops had dined, and it was then read
amidst jests and laughter while the wine was doing its work in their
brains. Any expression above the reach of their understanding excited
their rage and curses against Abelard. As the reading went on, one after
another succumbed to sleep, and when the question was put to them they
answered without being able to articulate a word. The council reported
their condemnation of Abelard's doctrines, and requested Abelard to be
interdicted from teaching. Bernard also used his influence with the Pope,
who, without even calling on Abelard for explanations, ordered him to be
shut up in a monastery; and it was there that the abbot of Cluny offered
an asylum, in which Abelard ended his days.
ABELARD'S LAST DAYS IN CLUNY (A.D. 1142).
After Abelard died a monk in Cluny, the lord abbot of Cluny gave this
account of him to Heloïse: "I write of that servant and true philosopher
of Christ, Master Peter, whom the Divine dispensation sent to Cluny in the
last days of his life. A long letter would not unfold the humility and
devotion of his conversation while among us. 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 so sparing in his food,
in his drink, in all that related to his body, as in his dress; and he so
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 confessed philosophical, learned, or Divine things.
A man simple and upright, fearing God and eschewing evil--in this
conversation for a time he consecrated his life to God. In the exercise of
all holy works, the advent of the Divine visitor found him, not sleeping,
as it does many, but on the watch. When his end came, how faithfully he
commended his body and soul to Him here and in eternity, the religious
brethren are witnesses, and the whole congregation of that monastery. Thus
Master Peter finished his days."
THE ORDER OF CARTHUSIANS (A.D. 1084).
The popular legend as to the origin of the order of Carthusians is, that
about 1084 one Bruno, a native of Cologne, and master of the cathedral
school of Rheims, was anxious to escape from a domineering archbishop,
whose favourite saying was, "The archbishopric of Rheims would be a fine
thing, if one had not to sing masses for it." Bruno one day, being in
Paris, witnessed the funeral procession of a very pious and learned
doctor, and while on its way to the grave the corpse raised itself from
the bier and exclaimed, "By God's righteous judgment I am judged." This so
horrified the company that the ceremony was postponed to next day. But
next day the same thing happened, and again on a third day, the mournful
tone of the dead man shocking every listener. Bruno was so overcome with a
sense of the vanity of all earthly things that he resolved to retire into
some solitude. A bishop of Grenoble advised him to choose the rocky woods
of Chartreuse, and to that place he and six companions retired. They wore
goatskins, and lived on the most meagre fare. They spoke only on Sundays
and festivals, and underwent a weekly flagellation. But by their rules no
one was to impose any extraordinary austerity on himself without the leave
of the prior. The community at first consisted of hermits and coenobites.
They contrived soon to acquire a good library, and they excelled in
transcribing and literary labours. After six years Bruno was invited by
the Pope to Rome; but he grew weary of city life, and founded a second
Chartreuse. The order of Carthusians gradually flourished; but their rule
was too rigid for females; their habits were less prone to luxury than
those of other orders. Yet the convents in the seventeenth century were
said to be reduced to five.
THE ORDER OF THE CISTERCIANS (A.D. 1098).
About 1098, one Robert, the son of a noble in Champagne, having entered a
monastery, and finding the rule too lax for his tastes, went, with twenty
companions, to Cistercium or Citeaux, a lonely wood near Dijon, where they
settled and built a monastery. The third abbot was Stephen Harding, an
Englishman, who framed the rules of their order. Their dress was white;
they were to avoid pomp and luxury and refuse all gifts. From September to
Easter they were to eat only one meal daily. The monks were to give
themselves to spiritual employments, and instead of slaves they hired
servants to assist in labour. The white dress, being a novelty in France,
gave offence and caused rivalry to other orders, who wore black, the white
being deemed a badge of overweening self-righteousness. The order of
Citeaux acquired great celebrity by producing St. Bernard, its most famous
member. The mode of government resembled the aristocratic rather than the
monarchical, the affiliated monasteries joining in the election of abbot.
One remarkable feature of the rule was the holding of an annual general
chapter, at which every abbot of the order was imperatively required to
attend. This meeting helped to keep the branch societies in harmony. The
order spread very rapidly, and in 1151 was said to consist of five hundred
monasteries. Until the rise of the mendicant orders, the Cistercians were
the most popular of the orders, and grew rich.
ST. BERNARD AS A YOUNG MONK (A.D. 1100).
St. Bernard, perhaps the most influential of all monks, was born in 1071,
had great beauty of person, charming manner, and a facile eloquence, which
gave him an early ascendency. The monastery at Citeaux, near Dijon, had
been founded fifteen years, when, at the age of twenty-two, he felt a
yearning to join the company. One Stephen Harding, an Englishman, was the
abbot, and kept the whole of St. Bernard's rule literally. They had one
meal a day, and never tasted meat, fish, grease, or eggs, and even milk
only rarely. When Bernard entered, a scarcity bordering on famine was felt
there. The rule of the house then was as follows: At two in the morning
the great bell was rung, and the monks rose 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. After
short private prayer they began matins, which lasted two hours. The next
service was lauds, at the first glimmer of dawn. During the interval the
monk's time was his own. He went to the cloister, and employed the time in
reading, writing, or meditation. He then devoted himself to various
religious exercises till nine, and next went forth to work in the fields.
At two they dined; at nightfall they assembled to vespers; and at six or
eight, according to the season, finished the day with complin, and passed
at once to the dormitory. Bernard took to these austerities with great
enthusiasm. He used to say that whatever knowledge he had of the
Scriptures he had acquired chiefly in the woods and fields, and that the
beeches and oaks had been his best teachers in the Word of God. He said
cities to him were like a prison, and solitude was a paradise.
ST. BERNARD AS ABBOT.
St. Bernard, the son of a noble in Burgundy, as already stated, soon
displayed a genius for self-mortification as a Cistercian monk. He was so
self-concentred that, when he had walked a whole day on the banks of
Lausanne Lake, he never noticed that there was any lake at all. Once he
borrowed a horse for a journey, but never noticed what sort of bridle it
had. He had such a reputation for learning and piety that many potentates
referred their differences to him, and Bolingbroke said that the cell of
Bernard was a scene of as much intrigue as the court of the Emperor. He
said of Abelard that he knew everything that is in heaven and earth but
himself. Bernard died at sixty-three, and was buried at Clairvaux in 1153.
He said many men know many things--measure the heavens, count the stars,
dive into the secrets of Nature--but know not themselves.
ST BERNARD'S MIRACLES.
The biographers and chroniclers ascribe abundant miracles to St. Bernard.
A boy with an ulcer in his foot begged the holy man to touch and bless
him, and the sign of the cross was made and the lame was healed. Once a
knight had been suffering from a quartan fever for eighteen months, and
used to foam at the mouth and lie unconscious; but Bernard cured him
instantly with a piece of consecrated bread. Young Walter of Montmirail,
when three months old, was brought by his mother to be blessed; the
conscious child clutched at Bernard's hand and kissed it. Once an
incredible number of flies filled the church at Foigny at the time of its
dedication, and their noise and buzzing were an intolerable nuisance; but
the saint merely said, "I excommunicate them," and next morning they were
all dead, and had to be shovelled out with spades. On another occasion, as
Bernard was returning from Chalons, the wind and rain and cold were
fierce, and one of the company by some accident lost his horse, which
scampered away over the plain. Bernard said, "Let us pray," and they were
scarcely able to finish the Lord's Prayer before the horse came back tame
and mild, stood before Bernard, and was restored to its owner.
THE MONK BERNARD AND HIS FASHIONABLE SISTER.
St. Bernard had at an early age converted his brothers and made monks of
them; but he had a sister, Humbeline, who showed no enthusiasm for a
nunnery. She married a man of rank and affluence, and did her part in the
gay world. One day she thought she would like to go and visit her brothers
in the monastery, and with great pomp and retinue she drove to the gates
of Clairvaux and asked to see Bernard. But he, "detesting and execrating
her as a net of the devil to catch souls," refused to go out and meet her.
Her brother Andrew, whom she encountered at the gate, also treated her
with harshness, and observed with unbecoming contempt upon her fine
apparel. She burst into tears at this coldness, and at last exclaimed,
"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 conversation of godly men. If my
brother despises my body, let not a servant of 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 her saintly mother: to renounce the
luxuries and vanities of the world, to lay aside her fine clothes, and to
become a nun inwardly even if she could not assume the outward appearance.
The sister went home, thought over all this, and ended by coming round to
Bernard's views. She astonished her friends and neighbours by the sudden
change in her ways of life. Her fastings, prayers, and vigils showed that
she also had a turn for the monastic life. She got permission from her
husband and retired to the convent of Juilly, where she emulated his
austere devotion, and became worthy of such a brother as Bernard.
ST. BERNARD AND HIS RIVAL, PETER THE VENERABLE.
A rivalry sprang up between the monks of Cluny and those of Citeaux, the
white dress of the latter causing much bitterness to those in black.
Bernard of Clairvaux was the champion of the Cistercians, and Peter of the
Cluniacs. Bernard blamed the Cluniacs for their luxury and secular habits.
He said many of the monks, though young and vigorous, pretended sickness,
that they might be allowed to eat flesh. Those who abstained from flesh
indulged their palate without stint in exquisite cookery; while, in order
to provoke the appetite, they drank largely of the strongest and most
fragrant wines, which were often rendered more stimulating by spices. At
table, instead of grave silence, light worldly gossip, jests, and idle
laughter prevailed. The Cluniacs had coverlets of fur or of rich and
variegated materials for their beds. They dressed themselves in the
costliest furs, silk, and cloth, fit for robes of princes. Even the stuff
for a cowl was chosen with feminine and fastidious care. This excessive
care for the body betokened a want of mental culture. Even the mode of
worship and magnificence of the churches were excessive in splendour. The
churches were elaborately adorned and the poor were neglected. There were
pictures and monstrous and grotesque carvings in the walls, wholly
unsuited to sacred worship and apt to distract the mind. The chandeliers
and candlesticks were of gold and silver and set with jewels; the
pavements were inlaid with figures of saints and angels, whose character
was thereby degraded. The golden shrines containing relics seemed only to
flatter the wealthy and allure them into opening their purse-strings.
These abbots travelled at home with a pomp and retinue of sixty horses,
only suited to distant undertakings of great pith and moment. All these
unseemly practices cried aloud for redress.
PETER THE VENERABLE REPLIES TO BERNARD.
Peter the Venerable replied to St. Bernard and defended the Cluniacs. He
retorts that the white dress of the Cistercians was too significant of
pride, while the black dress of Cluny was better suited to the grave and
sad. The severity of the Cistercian discipline was excessive, and only
drove monks out of the order. The use of furs and materials for dress and
bedding and the relaxation of fastings were properly made to suit the
diversities of climate. Moreover, as coats of skins were given to Adam and
Eve, not for pride, but for shame, the use of furs might well serve to
remind us that we were exiles from our heavenly country. If the Cluniacs
had lands, they were at least more indulgent to their tenants; if they had
serfs, this was because these could not be separated from the lands. If
the Cluniacs had castles, these were generally turned into houses of
prayer; if they had tolls, they were reminded that St. Matthew came from
the class of toll-collectors; if they had tithes, they at least had
forsaken all earthly possessions before entering the order, and gave an
ample equivalent in the prayers and tears and alms which the monks used
for the benefit of the public. It was not necessary for the monks to work
at manual labour when they had ample employment in spiritual concerns and
priestly exercises. The washing of feet on receiving pilgrims and
strangers always involved a great waste of time. Though the Cluniacs were
blamed for having no bishops, this was sufficiently explained from their
being under the Bishop of Rome.
THE SCHOOLMEN AND DOCTORS OF THE MIDDLE AGES.
The subtle and ingenious schoolmen and doctors of the Middle Ages were too
often only "madly vain of dubious lore." One doctor of Paris, named Simon
Churnai, having acquired great fame in 1202 by his defence of the doctrine
of the Trinity, was so conceited as to say, "Oh, poor Jesus! how greatly
have I confirmed and exalted Your position! If I had chosen to attack it,
I could have destroyed it by much stronger reasons and objections!" Peter
Lombard, friend of St. Bernard, and author of the popular work entitled
"The Sentences," ventured to discuss such problems as the following: When
the angels were made, and how; whether they be all equal in essence,
wisdom, and freewill; whether they were created perfect and happy, or the
reverse; whether the demons differ in rank among themselves; whether they
all live in hell, or out of it; whether the good angels can sin, or the
bad act virtuously; whether they have bodies; and whether every person has
or has not a good angel to preserve him and a bad one to destroy him. The
most famous of the doctors had their favourite adjectives, as in the
following list:--
The irrefragable doctor Alexander Hales 1230.
The angelical doctor Thomas Aquinas 1256.
The seraphic doctor Bonaventura 1260.
The wonderful doctor Roger Bacon 1240.
The most profound doctor Ægidius de Columna 1280.
The most subtle doctor John Duns Scotus 1304.
The most resolute doctor Durand 1300.
The invincible doctor W. Occham 1320.
The perspicuous doctor Walter Burley 1320.
The most enlightened doctor Raymond Lully 1300.
THE DEATHBED OF AN ABBOT (A.D. 1137).
Warin, abbot of St. Evroult, after serving God under the monastic rule for
forty-three years, one day in June 1137 was observed to sing Mass with
great devotion in the morning, when they buried the corpse of a soldier.
In the course of the day he took to his bed, and lay dangerously ill for
five days, during which the sick man heard Mass daily, and said an office
which he had regularly performed himself for the thirty years of his
priesthood. Seeing now that he was going the way of all flesh, he
earnestly sought the _viaticum_ for the great journey, and prepared to
present himself to the Most High King of Sabaoth by confessing his sins
with tears in his eyes, earnest and constant prayer, the holy unction, and
the life-giving participation of the Lord's body. At last, strengthened
with these great aids, he departed on June 21st; and having performed all
that belonged to a faithful champion of Christ, and commended himself and
his spiritual sons to the Lord God, fell asleep in the fifteenth day of
his government. The sorrowing brethren all joined in paying the last
offices to their lamented father, and he was buried in the chapter by the
side of the tomb of Abbot Osbern. A white stone was placed over his grave;
and, adds Orderic, "for the love I bore to my old and dear associate, and
afterwards my spiritual father, I composed an epitaph to be engraved upon
it."
ECSTATIC VISIONS OF SISTER HILDEGARD (A.D. 1147).
When Pope Eugenius was visiting Albero, Archbishop of Treves, in 1147,
with whom he remained three months, he was consulted and asked for an
opinion as to the prophecies of Hildegard, head of a monastic sisterhood
at St. Disibod's, in the diocese of Mentz. Hildegard, born in 1098, had
from her childhood been subject to fits of ecstasy, during which it was
said that, though ignorant of Latin, she uttered oracles in that
language, and these were eagerly heard, recorded, and circulated. With
the power of prophecy she was credited with the power of working miracles.
She came to be consulted on all manner of subjects by emperors, kings, and
popes. Her tone in addressing the highest personage was like that of a
true prophetess--one of pronounced superiority. She denounced the
corruptness of the monks and clergy with a vigour which delighted their
enemies. Even St. Bernard, when in Germany, became interested in the
position of Hildegard, and it was at his instance that the Pope examined
the subject, and gave her his approval and sanctioned a design she
entertained of building a convent in a spot on St. Rupert's Hill, near
Bingen, which had been revealed to her in a vision. Another ecstatic
visionary about the same period was Elizabeth of Schonau, who used in her
trances to utter oracles in Latin, and to relate her interviews with
angels and the Queen of Heaven; and both Hildegard and she attained the
honour of saintship. A little later, about 1190, Joachim, a Calabrian,
though not a prophet, attained the dignity of a seer, and was consulted by
popes and princes.
THE SAFEST WAY OF TRAVELLING TO ROME (A.D. 1172).
Abbot Sampson of Edmundsbury used to relate this: "In my earlier days as a
monk I journeyed to Rome on the business of this convent, and I passed
through Italy at that time when all clerks bearing letters of our lord the
Pope Alexander were taken, and some were imprisoned, and some hanged, and
some with nose and lips cut off were sent back to the Pope to his shame
and confusion. I, however, pretended to be a Scotchman; and putting on the
garb of a Scotchman, I often shook my staff in the manner they use that
weapon, which they call a pike, at those that mocked me, uttering fierce
language after the manner of the Scotch. To those who met and questioned
me as to who I was, I answered nothing but 'Ride, Rome, turn Canterbury.'
This I did to conceal myself and my errand, and that I should get to Rome
safer under the guise of a Scotchman. Having obtained letters from the
Pope even as I wished, on my return I passed by a certain castle, and was
taking my way from the city, and behold the officers thereof came about
me, laying hold upon me and saying, 'This vagabond, who makes himself out
to be a Scotchman, is either a spy or bears letters from the false Pope
Alexander.' And while they examined my ragged clothes, my leggings, my
breeches, and even the old shoes which I carried over my shoulders, after
the fashion of the Scotch, I thrust my hand into the little wallet which
I carried, wherein was contained the writing of our lord the Pope, close
by a little mug I had for drinking. And the Lord God and St. Edmund
permitting, I drew out that writing, together with the mug, so that,
extending my arm aloft, I kept the writ underneath the mug. They could see
the mug plainly enough, but they did not notice the writ; and so I got
clean out of their hands in the name of the Lord. Whatever money I had
about me, they took away; therefore I was obliged to beg from door to
door, being at no danger until I arrived in England."
PORTRAIT OF ABBOT SAMPSON OF ST. EDMUNDSBURY (A.D. 1182).
Sampson, abbot of Edmundsbury (Bury St. Edmunds), was thus sketched by his
faithful chronicler Jocelyn of Brakeland: "The Abbot Sampson was of middle
stature, nearly bald, having a face neither round nor yet long, a
prominent nose, thick lips, clear and very piercing eyes, ears of the
quickest hearing, lofty eyebrows and often shaved, and he soon became
hoarse from a brief exposure to cold. On the day of his election he was
forty-seven years old, and had been a monk seventeen years, having a few
grey hairs in a reddish beard, with a few grey in a black head of hair,
which somewhat curled, but within fourteen years after his election it all
became white as snow; a man remarkably temperate, never slothful, well
able and willing to ride or walk, till old age gained upon him and
moderated such inclination; who on hearing the news of the cross being
captive, and the loss of Jerusalem, began to use under-garments of
horsehair, and a horsehair shirt, and to abstain from flesh and flesh
meats; nevertheless, he desired that meats should be placed before him
while at the table for the increase of the alms-dish. Sweet milk, honey,
and suchlike things he ate with greater appetite than other food. He
abhorred liars, drunkards, and chatterers; for virtue ever is consistent
with itself and rejects contraries. He also much condemned persons given
to murmur at their meat and drink, and particularly monks who were
dissatisfied therewith, himself adhering to the uniform course he had
practised when a monk. He had likewise the good quality, that he never
changed the dish you set before him. Once when I, then a novice, happened
to serve in the refectory, it came into my head to ascertain if this were
true, and I thought I would place before him a mess which would have
displeased any other but him. Yet he never noticed it. An eloquent man
both in French and Latin, but intent more on the substance of what he said
than on the manner of saying it."
MONKS OF ST. EDMUNDSBURY REBUILDING THEIR ALTAR.
One night Abbot Sampson of St. Edmundsbury dreamt that St. Edmund
complained to him that his altar required rebuilding, and that the shrine
or _loculus_, in which the saint lay buried, must be transferred. Sampson
took care to carry out this monition, and Jocelyn the chronicler relates
the imposing ceremony thus: "The festival of St. Edmund now approaching,
the marble blocks are polished, and all things are in readiness for
lifting of the shrine to its new place. A fast of three days was held by
all the people, and the abbot appointed the time and way for the work.
Coming therefore that night to matins, we found the great shrine raised
upon the altar, but empty, covered all over with white doeskin leather,
fixed to the wood with silver nails. Praises being sung, we all proceeded
with our disciplines. These finished, the abbot and some others with him
are clothed in their albs, and approaching reverently set about uncovering
the _loculus_. There was an outer cloth of linen inwrapping the _loculus_,
and all within this was a cloth of silk, and then another linen cloth, and
then a third; and so at last the _loculus_ was uncovered and seen resting
on a little tray of wood, that the bottom of it might not be injured by
the stone. Over the breast of the martyr there lay fixed to the surface of
the _loculus_ a golden angel about the length of a human foot, holding in
one hand a golden sword and in the other a banner. Lifting the _loculus_
and body therefrom, they carried it to the altar, and I reached out my
sinful hand to help in carrying, though the abbot had commanded that none
should approach except called. And the _loculus_ was placed in the shrine,
and the shrine for the present closed. We all thought that the abbot would
show the _loculus_ to the people, and bring out the sacred body again at a
certain period of the festival. But in this we were wofully mistaken. Our
lord the abbot spoke privily with the sacristan and Walter, the doctor,
and order was taken that twelve of the brethren should be appointed
against midnight who were strong to carry the shrine. I, alas! was not of
the twelve. The abbot then said that it was among his prayers to look once
upon the body of his patron, and that he wished the sacristan and doctor
to be with him. The convent, therefore, being all asleep, these twelve,
clothed in their albs, with the abbot, assembled at the altar; and when
the lid was unfastened, all except the two forenamed associates were
ordered to withdraw. The abbot and they two were alone privileged to look
in. The head lay united to the body, a little raised with a small pillow.
But the abbot looking close, found now a silk cloth veiling the whole
body, and then a linen cloth of wondrous whiteness, and upon the head was
spread a small linen cloth, and then another small and most fine silk
cloth, as if it were the veil of a nun. These coverings being lifted off,
they found now the sacred body all wrapt in linen, and so at length the
lineaments of the same appeared. But here the abbot stopped, saying he
durst not proceed further or look at the sacred flesh naked. Taking the
head between his hands, he thus spake, groaning, 'Glorious master, holy
Edmund, blessed be the hour when thou wert born. Glorious martyr, turn it
not to my perdition that I have so dared to touch thee, miserable and
sinful that I am; thou knowest my devoted love and my secret thought.' And
proceeding, he touched the eyes and the nose, which was very massive and
prominent, and then he touched the breast and arms; and raising the left
arm, he touched the fingers, and placed his own fingers between the sacred
fingers. And proceeding, he found the feet standing stiff up, like the
feet of a man dead yesterday; and he touched the toes and counted them.
And now it was agreed that the other brethren should be called forward to
see the miracles, and accordingly those ten now advanced, and along with
them six others, who had stolen in without the abbot's assent; and all
these saw the sacred body, but Thurstan was the only one of them who put
forth his hand and touched the saint's knees and feet. And that there
might be abundance of witnesses, one of our brethren, John of Dice,
sitting on the roof of the church with the servants of the vestry, and
looking through, clearly saw all these things. The body was then lifted to
its place in the shrine, and the panels of the _loculus_ refixed. When we
assembled to sing matins, and understood what had been done, grief took
hold of all that had not seen these things, each saying to himself, 'Alas!
I was misled.' Matins over, the abbot called the convent to the great
altar, and briefly recounting the matter, explained that it had not been
in his power, nor was it permissible or fit to invite us all to the sight
of such things. At hearing of which we all wept, and with tears sang _Te
Deum laudamus_, and hastened to toll the bells in the choir."
AN ABBOT HARASSED WITH THE CARES OF HIS HIGH OFFICE (A.D. 1182).
When Sampson was abbot of St. Edmundsbury, Jocelyn, his chronicler,
writes: "On one occasion I said, 'My lord, I heard thee this night wakeful
and sighing heavily, contrary to thy usual wont;' and he answered, 'No
wonder: thou art partaker of my good things--in meat and drink, in riding
abroad, and suchlike; but you have little need to care concerning the
conduct of the house and household of the saints and arduous businesses of
the pastoral cares, which harass me and make my spirit to groan and be
heavy.' Whereto I, lifting up my hands to Heaven, made answer, 'From such
anxiety, almighty and most merciful Lord, deliver me!' I have heard the
abbot say that, if he could have been as he was before he became a monk,
and could have had five or six marks of rent wherewith he could have been
supported in the schools, he never would have been monk or abbot. On
another occasion, he said with an oath that, if he could have foreseen
what and how great a charge it had been to govern the abbey, he would have
been master of the almonry and keeper of the books, rather than abbot and
lord. And yet who will credit this? Scarcely myself, and not even myself,
unless from being constantly with him by day and night for six years I had
had the opportunity of becoming fully conversant with the worthiness of
his life and the rule of his wisdom."
THE MONKS ANNOYED AT THE VISIT OF THE POPE'S LEGATE.
The worthy chronicler of St. Edmundsbury, Jocelyn, thus relates the
sensation caused in his convent: "In 1176 there came intelligence to Hugh,
the abbot, that Richard, the Archbishop of Canterbury, purposed coming to
make a visitation of our church, by virtue of his authority as legate; and
thereupon the abbot, after consultation, sent to Rome and sought a
privilege of exemption from the power of the aforesaid legate. On the
messenger's return from Rome, there was not the means of discharging what
he had promised to our lord the Pope and the cardinals, unless indeed,
under the special circumstances of the case, the cross which was over the
high altar, the Virgin Mary, and the St. John, which Stigund, the
archbishop, had adorned with a vast quantity of gold and silver, and had
given to St. Edmund, could be made use of for this purpose. There were
certain of our convent who, being on terms of intimacy with the abbot,
said that the shrine of St. Edmund itself ought to be stripped, as the
means of obtaining such privileges, these persons not considering the
great peril that would ensue from obtaining ever so valuable a privilege
by such means as this, for there would be no means of calling to account
any abbot who might waste the possessions of the Church and despoil the
convent."
DEATHBED OF A REPENTANT PRINCESS IN 1199.
Joanna, daughter of Henry II. of England, and a favourite sister of
Richard Coeur-de-Lion, and, like him, fond of the clang of trumpets and
the martial music of armies, went to Syria, encouraging the Crusaders, and
afterwards married Earl Raimond of Toulouse. She died at the age of
thirty-four; and though neglectful of the monks in her busy days, she
repented and wished she had joined the nuns. A monk thus describes her
deathbed: "Trusting to the truth and mercy of the Most High, who will give
a penny to him who works only at the eleventh hour, as well as to those
who have laboured from the first, she greatly desired to assume a
religious habit, and commanded the prioress of Fontevraud to be summoned
by letters and messengers; but when distance delayed her coming, feeling
her end approaching, she said to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who was
then present, 'My good lord, father, have pity on me, and fulfil my
earnest desire; furnish my body with the arms of religion to fight my
adversary, that my spirit may be restored more pure and free to its
Creator; for I know and believe that, if I might be joined in body to the
order of Fontevraud, I should escape eternal punishment.' But the
archbishop, trembling, said that this could not be lawfully done without
her husband's consent; but when he saw her constancy and the Spirit of God
speaking in her, moved by pity and conquered by her prayers, he with his
own hand consecrated and gave her the sacred veil, her mother and the
abbot of Tarpigny with other monks being present, and offered her to God
and the order of Fontevraud. She now, rejoicing and unmindful of her
pangs, declared she saw in a vision the glorious Mother of God; and as the
abbot told us, she cast her veil at the enemy, saying, 'I am a sister and
a nun of Fontevraud: thus strengthened, I fear thee not.'" The royal nun
died very soon, and was buried in the monastery.
A MONK STEALING ST. ANTONY'S PSALM BOOK (A.D. 1200).
It is related by Ribadeneira, in his Life of St. Antony of Padua, that a
certain Franciscan novice, throwing off his habit, ran away from the
monastery in which the saint lived, and took away with him a psalm book
written with St. Antony's own hand and explained with marginal notes,
which the saint often used when he privately expounded the Scriptures to
the friars. As soon as St. Antony perceived his book to be stolen, he fell
down on his knees and earnestly entreated God to restore him his book
again. In the meantime, the apostate thief having his book with him, as he
prepared to swim over the river, met the devil, who with a drawn sword in
his hand commanded him to go back again immediately, and restore to St.
Antony the book he had stolen from him, threatening to kill him in case of
noncompliance. The devil gave his order with so dreadful an aspect, that
the thief, being astonished, returned immediately to the monastery,
restored the saint his book, and continued in a religious course ever
after. Hence it became a saying, that St. Antony is implored to restore
lost goods.
A MONK FOR A KING (A.D. 1226).
St. Louis, King of France, in 1226, had been bred up a monk by a
strong-minded and austere mother, Queen Blanche. The young King took
naturally to all the austerities. He wore coarse sackcloth next his skin,
ate fruit once a year, never laughed or changed his raiment on Fridays. In
his girdle he wore an ivory case of iron chain scourges, and every Friday
locked his door on himself and his confessor, who then used these
incitements to piety over his bleeding shoulders. He would walk with bare
feet to distant churches; or sometimes, to disguise his devotion, wore
sandals without soles. He constantly washed the feet of beggars. He
invited the poor and sick to his table. He not only gave alms but even a
brotherly kiss to lepers. He heard Masses twice or thrice a day. As he
rode, his chaplain chanted or recited the offices. When challenged for
these constantly repeated exercises, he would say, "If I spent twice as
much time in dice and hawking, should I be so rebuked?" A woman, one day
as he sat in court, exclaimed, "Fie! you are not King of France; you are
only a king of friars, of priests, and of clerks. It is a great pity you
ever were King of France; you should be turned out of your kingship." He
would not allow his officers to chastise this free speech, but answered,
"Too true! It has pleased the Lord to make me king; it had been well if it
had been some one who had better ruled the realm." And he ordered some
money to be given to the woman. The King was altogether ignorant of polite
letters. He read only his Latin Bible and the Fathers. He loved everybody
except Jews, heretics, and infidels. He once thought of abdicating and
becoming a real monk. He joined the Crusades because he knew God would
fight His own battles. His expedition took three years to complete, and it
was a disastrous failure. He was defeated and made a prisoner, but he bore
it all like a monk, and his people ransomed him.
ST. ELIZABETH OF HUNGARY (A.D. 1231).
Elizabeth, daughter of a King of Hungary, and who died in 1231, was
destined from a baby to be married to Ludwig, a son of the Landgrave of
Thuringia, and the two as children were rocked to sleep in the same
cradle. When she was fifteen they were married, and she developed a strong
instinct to help the poor and sick, and always kept up a place of refuge
for them. Five years after her marriage an inquisitor named Conrad became
her confessor, and being of a brutal and malignant disposition, became so
arrogant and domineering that her life was made miserable by his dictation
and arbitrary orders. His cruel treatment of many so-called heretics
ultimately roused the spirit of some nobles, who waylaid him; and when the
miserable wretch begged his life, they told him he should meet with the
same mercy he had shown to others, and cut him down. Ludwig went to join
the Crusaders, and he afterwards died abroad; and during his absence his
brothers dispossessed Elizabeth and turned her adrift with her three
children, and for a time she had scarcely the means to live except on
charity. Her former subjects were also afraid to shelter her, and she had
often to spin for a livelihood. Amid all her own troubles she did not
cease to help the poor; and when some friends came to her assistance with
funds, it was always her first thought to give away all her means and even
her clothes in charity. Her father at last hearing of her misfortunes,
offered her a home; but she refused to leave the place where her husband
had lived. Conrad, her confessor, brutally thwarted her in all her
charitable schemes. At last her health gave way, and she lay on her
deathbed. A little bird perched on her window-sill and sang so cheerfully
that she could not choose but to sing also. She soon, however, sank, at
the age of twenty-four, and her body was richly enshrined in the church
dedicated to her at Marburg, where her relics were prized and attracted
many pilgrims. It was after her death that the brutal Conrad was murdered.
She is the patron saint of all charities.
A SICK NUN CAUSING A PANIC AMONG THE SARACENS (A.D. 1253).
St. Clara, who flourished in 1253, was a devout follower of St. Francis of
Assisi, and though highly born gave her life up to exercises of
self-mortification. In her nunnery of San Damiano it happened once that
the Saracens were about to attack the city of Assisi, and she was on a bed
of sickness, when roused by the cries of the sisterhood. She caused
herself to be borne to the point of danger, preceded by the Host. She
flung herself before the sacred symbol and said, "My God, suffer not these
feeble ones to fall a prey to barbarians without pity. I cannot protect
them. I place them in Thy hands." She thought she heard an answer, "I will
preserve them." She further entreated, "Lord, have mercy on this city,
which has sustained us with its alms." Again she felt sensible that she
heard the words, "It shall not suffer. Be of good courage." It was noticed
that a sudden panic then fell on the Saracens. They had already climbed
the walls; they jumped down outside, withdrew their ladders, and deserted
Assisi, leaving it unhurt. Everybody then said it was St. Clara's doing;
the holy nun had saved them.
MORBID FANCIES OF ST. NICOLAS, THE STARVED MONK (A.D. 1305).
St. Nicolas of Tolentino, who died in 1305, was in his youth so impressed
by a sermon on self-mortification that he resolved to embrace a religious
life. He showed great aptitude for fasting, even at the growing age of
fifteen, and the superior of the monastery warned him against carrying it
too far and wearing himself to a skeleton; for, after all, the torture of
the body was not necessary to salvation. But Nicolas hesitated; and going
to church, he fell into a trance and saw a vision, which told him to
remain at Tolentino. He had great delight in the spiritual exercises of
Mass. At the altar his face shone with rapture and tears streamed from his
eyes. He became a fervid preacher, but he also took so little food that
his mind was a prey to thick-coming fancies. The cats racing over the
tiles of his cottage and squalling in the night, and the rats gnawing
pieces of mortar and scampering behind the wainscot, seemed to him to be
an army of fiends let loose and envious of his prayers. Through his open
window one night a great bat upset his candle, but he blew the
extinguished candle so long that it rekindled, and this was deemed by all
the neighbours quite a miraculous revival. The devil one day was said to
have beaten him with a club at cockcrow, but went off without the stick,
and this is still preserved as a trophy in the convent. Nicolas was ill
from exhaustion, and was ordered some meat. But when a roasted partridge,
hot and steaming with rich gravy, was brought to him, he looked with
horror, as if he was asked to commit a mortal sin. With folded hands and
tearful eyes he implored his superior to excuse him; and when he received
consent not to touch the tempting bird, he made the sign of the cross over
it. All at once the bird, shocked at his indifference, rose in the dish,
collected its scattered materials, resumed its feathers, and flew out of
the window with a whir. One day an old lady baked Nicolas some nice
loaves, which he ate, and got well. In memory of the wonderful event
little loaves are baked and blessed and given to the sick to this day on
the feast of St. Nicolas of Tolentino.
THE MONASTERIES OF MOUNT ATHOS.
The peninsula of Mount Athos is about forty miles long and four miles
wide, and abounds in ridges and valleys of the finest scenery of rock and
wood, with twenty monasteries situated on the best spots. These are either
hermit villages or convents of the ordinary kind; but they enjoy an
organisation under what is called a Holy Synod, consisting of
representatives, though before 1500 the supreme government was intrusted
to a single governor or first man. Mount Athos, at the seaward end, rises
seven thousand feet high. Every part of the promontory is covered with
vegetation, and its position in the waters keeps the forests fresh and
green when all the neighbouring mainlands are burnt up by the summer and
autumnal heats. The origin of the monasteries is lost in the early ages,
and for at least a thousand years the hermits have been known to occupy
these places. Most of these monasteries possess ancient manuscripts and
relics of the early saints. Nearly every convent on Athos possesses a
portion of the true cross. Among the relics distributed are found a piece
of the Blessed Virgin, which is a narrow strip of some red material sewn
with gold thread and ornamented with pearls; the gifts of the three kings,
gold, incense, and myrrh; a drop of the blood of St. John the Baptist;
part of the skull of St. Bartholomew; a hand and a foot of St. Mary
Magdalene; the left hand of St. Anne; part of the head of St. Stephen
Protomartyr; relics of St. Andrew and St. Luke; a piece of our Lord's
coat; the jaw of St. Stephen; the head of St. James the Less; three of our
Lord's hairs; a leg of St. Simon Stylites. No instrumental music of any
kind is permitted in the Eastern Church; but sometimes a sort of voice
accompaniment of one note, like the drone of a bagpipe, keeps up a low
murmuring sound whilst the other voices are engaged upon the tune.
THE MONKS OF LA TRAPPE (A.D. 1122).
The convent of La Trappe had been founded in 1122, but about the year 1663
the monks had dwindled to seven. De Rancé, who had been many years a
wealthy prodigal and sensualist, entered La Trappe, which had an evil
repute for loose living. He became abbot and began reforms; and though
threatened with assassination, he introduced a system of rigorous
self-denial and asceticism worthy of the hermits of the Thebaid. By
degrees his numbers increased. The monks, though living in the same house,
were strangers to each other. Each one followed to the choir, the garden,
or the refectory the feet that were moving before him, but he never raised
his eyes to discover to whom the feet belonged. There were some who passed
the entire year of their novitiate without lifting up their eyes, and who,
after that long period, could not tell how the ceiling of their cells was
constructed, or whether they had any ceilings at all. There is mention
made of one whose whole anxiety was for an only brother whom he left
leading a scandalous and disorderly life in the world. This monk never
passed a day without shedding tears and praying for the grace of
repentance to that lost brother. On his dying-bed he had one request to
make to his abbot, which was, that there might be a continuance of his
prayers for this brother. De Rancé retired for a moment, and returned with
one of the most useful and valued members of the brotherhood. When the
cowl which concealed his features was removed, the dying monk recognised
the lost brother for whom he had so often wept and prayed. De Rancé was a
valued friend of Bossuet, the greatest orator of his age, and received his
visits. During the last six years of his life he sat in an easy-chair
almost without changing his position. He died in 1700, and was deemed the
first anchorite of his time.
THE CERTOSA MONASTERY AT PAVIA (A.D. 1396).
The Certosa of Pavia is the most splendid monastery in the world, and is
called the monastery of the Blessed Virgin of Grace. It was founded in
1396 by the first Duke of Milan, as an atonement for guilt and to relieve
his conscience of the murder of his uncle and brother-in-law. On the
general suppression of convents it became a national monument. The
architect was Bernardo da Venezia, and he so contrived the building that
from whatever side it was viewed the perspective lines were admirably
disposed. Sculptures and paintings in profusion decorate the interior.
Rich bronze gates divide the nave of the chapel from the transept. The
most rare and costly materials were used in the structure, and the
bas-reliefs are exquisite. There are many fine pictures of saints, setting
forth various legends in sacred art.
ST. CATHERINE OF SIENA, NUN (A.D. 1347).
St. Catherine was born at Siena in 1347. She was of great beauty and had a
genius for virginity; and though her parents wished her, at the age of
twelve, to engage herself in marriage, she resisted, and thereby brought
on herself systematic tyranny and insult. At the age of fifteen she began
to live on herbs, to wear haircloth, and an iron girdle armed with spikes.
At eighteen she entered a nunnery and underwent with zeal a series of
mortifications. She devoted herself to nursing the infected and to
delivering exhortations, so that people flocked to see and hear her. When
the furious factions of Guelphs and Ghibellines raged, and the Pope sent
an army to subdue Florence, the inhabitants implored her to mediate, and
she went, attended with great pomp of ambassadors, to the Pope, on whom
she made a great impression. She was then looked up to as a sort of
ambassadress in many critical State affairs, and attained high honour in
all her undertakings. She had ecstasies and wonderful visions, and was
deemed of sublime virtue and self-denial. She died in Rome, aged
thirty-three, and was buried there, her skull being taken to the Dominican
church at Siena, and she was canonised in 1461. Next to Mary Magdalene she
is the most popular of all the female saints; and owing to her great
learning and to her refuting the philosophers of Paganism, she is deemed a
Christian Minerva. In one of her ecstasies she said the Virgin appeared to
her and introduced the Saviour, who put a ring on her finger. One legend
says a wheel with spikes was used to put her to death, but fire came from
heaven and broke the wheel in pieces and killed the executioners. The
saint and her wheel were painted by many of the great painters, and so was
her marriage to the Saviour.
THE MONKS OF LUCCA AND THEIR DEMON PREACHER (A.D. 1320).
In the fourteenth century the Franciscan monks of Lucca found that,
however industrious they were in begging, the inhabitants had gradually
ceased to contribute alms to the money-box, and they were on the point of
starvation. The richest man of the place drove them from his gate and
called them idle vagabonds, who wanted to live at their neighbours'
expense. The courage of the friars drooped; they saw their tables laid out
daily for dinner, but not a morsel of bread. They thought of selling the
silver vessels or leaving the locality. The abbot felt or feigned
patience, courage, and resignation, and counselled them to trust in the
Lord; but in their inmost hearts they all felt despair, and the devil
triumphed at their approaching ruin. At this desperate juncture the
Archangel Michael descended and caught an emissary of the devil as he was
gloating over his prey, and condemned that emissary to do service to the
monks, in spite of his evil nature. The devil gnashed his teeth and swore
he would do nothing for the brood of St. Francis, his arch-foe. But
Michael told the fiend that he had nothing to do but obey. So the fiend,
sorely against his will, assumed the guise of a friar of higher degree,
got into conversation with the abbot, and hearing of the drooping fortunes
of the house, said he would compel the public to serve them and restore
their comfort. The abbot looked again and again at this mysterious friend,
whose bearing and confident airs made a profound impression, and asked his
name, which the visitor said was "_Obligatus_." So Obligatus entered the
monastery, set to work, harangued the people in byways and comers, and his
extraordinary eloquence soon worked an immediate change in the situation.
The people were spellbound, and poured their contributions into the
alms-boxes. The fame of the unwilling preacher filled all the country
round, so that the monastery flourished and became too small, and then he
prevailed on the people to build a second house. A rich man of the place
fell sick unto death and sent for the eloquent friar, but at last he died
impenitent; and this event greatly rejoiced the disguised saint, for
Obligatus felt the devil within him so strong that he broke out into
raptures. The secret of the demon friar was then disclosed. He tore off
his friar's habit, declared that his truce with St. Francis was ended,
that he had done his work, and Francis had conquered. The friar then
vanished disgusted and enraged, and was never more heard of. But the
monastery flourished ever after.
THOMAS À KEMPIS AND THE BROTHERS OF COMMON LIFE (A.D. 1450).
Thomas à Kempis, the author of the "Imitatio Christi," an inspired
handbook of all that is best in monkish life, was born in 1380 at Kempen,
in the diocese of Cologne. At the age of thirteen he went and joined the
Brothers of Common Life, a small company or cloister founded by Gerard
Groot and Florentius at Deventer, and seven years later he entered the
convent of St. Agnes at Zwolle, where he filled several offices, and died
in 1471, aged ninety. His book was first printed in 1471, and soon became
the delight of all the best monks, as truly representing their higher
life. Father Lamennais said of this book that "there is something
celestial in its simplicity. One would almost imagine it was written by
one of those pure spirits who have seen God face to face, who had come
expressly to explain His ways and to reveal His secrets. One is profoundly
moved at this aspect of that soft light which nourishes the soul and
fortifies and animates without troubling it." Mr. Kettlewell also well
says, "It shows how the life of a Christian in ordinary circumstances may
be made lovely by the cultivation of the spiritual life; how a lowly life
may become sublime and heavenly." In appearance Thomas had a broad
forehead and thoughtful face and bright eyes. The Brothers of Common Life
were employed not only in writing out Scripture, which was to them a great
means of support, but in manual labour of a homely kind. Thomas in his
studious hours contrived to extract the sweetness out of all the best
writings of those who lived before him. Thomas's idea of a cloister is
quoted by Mr. Kettlewell, his biographer, and gives this charming picture:
"A well-founded cloister, separated from the tumult of the world, adorned
with many brethren and with sacred books, is acceptable to God and to His
saints. Such a place, it is piously believed, is pleasing to all that love
God and take a delight in hearing the things of God; because the cloister
is the castle of the Supreme King, and the palace of the Celestial
Emperor, prepared for the dwelling of religious persons where they may
faithfully serve God. For this is none other, as we read and sing, than
the house of God in which to pray, the court of God to offer praise, the
choir of God to sing unto Him, the altar of God whereon to celebrate, the
gate of God whereby to enter heaven, the ladder of God to rise above the
clouds. As a noble city is preserved with walls and gates and bars, so
also is the monastery of the religious with many devout brethren, with
sacred books, and with learned men. It is decorated with gems and precious
stones to the praise of God and to the honour of all his saints, who now
rejoice in heaven with Him, because they followed in the footsteps of His
passion on earth."
ST. PETER OF ALCANTARA, THE SELF-CONCENTRATED MONK (A.D. 1530).
At Estremadura, in Spain, St. Peter, a law student and son of the
governor, born in 1499, early embraced the religious life, and was eager
to crucify the flesh with its affections. He never lifted his eyes from
the ground, and could not tell whether his cell had a ceiling or bare
rafters. He had charge of the refectory for six months, and allowed his
brethren to go without apples and pomegranates because he would not lift
his eyes to see whether there were any ripe for table. He did not know by
sight one of the friars who had lived for years with him in the same
house. He lay in a small cell not long enough to stretch his body in at
full length. He wore only one garment, and that was a serge habit made
like a short cloak with tight leggings. When it was torn he carefully
removed the tattered portion underneath, lest he should be in the
enjoyment of the double cloth. One day he was visited by a stranger, and
Peter had been washing his only garment, and while it was drying in the
sun he was of course not presentable to company. In his devotions he
roared and howled so loudly that strangers thought he was insane, though
the devout described him as only struggling manfully with the devil. To
hear one of these performances was said to be far more impressive than any
sermon of his contemporaries. One hot day, going to visit a nobleman, he
dismounted from his ass and fell asleep, and the ass took the opportunity
of trespassing and eating up the vegetables in a poor woman's garden. On
seeing the mischief done, she tugged at Peter's cloak, which caused him to
fall over and cut his head on a stone. The nobleman coming up at this
point, was about to slay the woman for this rudeness, but Peter interceded
for her, and begged his lordship rather to pay for the damage done by the
ass, and this was done. Peter lived for forty-seven years in a perpetual
penance, and was highly esteemed for the spirit he showed in so trampling
the world under his feet. He had the look of a gnarled root of oak, rugged
and eccentric, yet when he opened his mouth he was most affable and showed
an excellent understanding. He died preaching to and admonishing the
friars.
THE ECSTATIC VISIONS OF ST. THERESA (A.D. 1550).
St. Theresa astounded all her contemporaries with her numerous visions and
high-flown devotional works. She was thought in her youth to be too much
given to gossip; and when grown up, her confessors were told so many
wonderful things that they plainly assured her these were mere delusions
of the devil. She thus related one of these visions: "One day, when our
Lord was communing with me, I gazed at His great beauty, and the sweetness
with which He uttered His words with His most lovely and Divine mouth,
sometimes also with sternness. I had a great desire to observe the colour
of His eyes, and their shape and size, that I might give a description of
them; but I have never been able to behold them, nor have I succeeded in
gaining my point, as the vision has usually faded. And though sometimes I
see He looks at me with compassion, yet the sight is so overpowering that
the soul is not able to endure it, but remains in so high a rapture that,
in order to enjoy Him the more completely, this beautiful apparition
disappears altogether. When I am in trouble, He has shown me His wounds as
He hung on the cross or was in the garden. One day, as I was holding the
cross in my hand which was at the end of my rosary, He took it into His
hand, and when He returned it to me it consisted of four great stones
incomparably more precious than diamonds," etc., etc. St. Theresa founded
no less than sixteen convents in Spain, and she died at the age of
sixty-seven, in 1582, in an ecstasy such as she had so often had during
her lifetime; and the nuns who attended on her said they saw our Lord
waiting at the foot of her bed with saints to carry her to realms of
bliss. She had joined with her nuns in the penitential psalms and litany,
and she then lay in a trance for her last fourteen hours in the posture in
which the blessed Magdalene is commonly drawn by painters, holding a
crucifix firmly in her hands, so that the nuns could not remove it till
after her death. They all noticed her lips moving and a glow of heavenly
hope on her face. Her body was so sacred that parts of it were dispersed
throughout the Christian world.
THE EMPEROR MONK ENTERS A MONASTERY (A.D. 1557).
The Emperor Charles V. having for twenty years looked forward to the step
he was now taking, took leave of many of his old servants, and on February
2nd, 1537, was placed in his litter, and with a company of fifty-two
retainers, besides his household of sixty, crossing the leafless forest,
halted at the gates of Yuste, the Jeromite convent in Estremadura in
Spain. There the bells were ringing a peal of welcome, and the prior was
waiting to receive his imperial guest, who, on alighting, was placed in a
chair and carried to the door of the church. At the threshold he was met
by the whole brotherhood in procession, chanting the _Te Deum_ to the
music of the organ. The altars and the aisle were brilliantly lighted up
with tapers and decked with their richest frontals, hangings, and plate.
Borne through the pomp to the steps of the high altar, Charles knelt down
and returned thanks to God for the happy termination of his journey, and
joined in the vesper service of the feast of St. Blas. This ended, the
prior stepped forward with a congratulatory speech, in which, to the
scandal of the courtiers, he addressed the Emperor as "your paternity,"
until some friar with more presence of mind and regard to the situation
whispered that the proper style was "your majesty." The orator next
presented his Jeromites to their new brother, each kissing his hand and
receiving a fraternal embrace. Some of the friars bestowed on his gouty
fingers so cordial a squeeze that the pain compelled him to withdraw the
hand and say, "Pray, don't, father; it hurts me." During this ceremony the
retiring halberdiers who had escorted their master to the journey's close
stood round with tears and lamentations as they took leave and felt their
occupation gone. Sounds of mourning at the final parting were heard as the
Emperor was conducted to an inspection of the convent, and then to supper,
and then to a repose which had so long been the dream of his life.
THE EMPEROR MONK'S DRESS AND FURNITURE.
The Emperor monk's dress was always black and very old. He had an old
arm-chair with wheels and cushions. Some of the apartments had some rich
tapestry wrought with figures, landscapes, and flowers. His usual black
dress was such another as that painted by Titian in the fine portrait
wherein the Emperor sits before us, pale, thoughtful, and dignified, in
the Belvidere palace at Vienna. He still had an old cap to save his best
velvet one in case of a shower. He had a few rings and bracelets, medals
and buttons, collars and badges, some crucifixes of gold and silver,
various charms (such as the bezoar-stone against the plague, and gold
rings from England against cramp), a morsel of the true cross and other
relics, three or four pocket watches, and several dozen pairs of
spectacles. He had a few well-chosen pictures worthy of the patron and
friend of Titian, a composition on the subject of the Trinity, and three
pictures of Our Lady by that great master. He had three cased miniatures
of the Empress painted in her youthful beauty, also some family portraits
of near relatives. Over the high altar of the convent and in sight of his
own bed he had placed that celebrated composition called the Glory of
Titian, a picture of the Last Judgment, in which Charles, his wife, and
their royal children were represented in the master's grandest style as
conducted by angels into life eternal. Also another masterpiece of the
great Venetian--St. Jerome praying in his cavern with a sweet landscape in
the distance--was an altar-piece in the Emperor's private oratory.
THE EMPEROR MONK'S APARTMENTS.
The Emperor's house or palace, as the friars loved to call it, in Yuste
was such as many a country notary would call comfortable. It had a simple
front of two storeys to the garden and the noontide sun. Each of the
eight rooms had an ample fireplace, such as a chilly invalid of Flemish
habits required. Charles inhabited the upper rooms, and slept in one which
had a window commanding the high altar. From the window on the opposite
side of the corridor, where his cabinet stood, the eye ranged over a
cluster of rounded knolls, clad in walnut and chestnut, in which the
mountain died gently away into the broad bosom of the Vera. A summer-house
peered above the mulberry tops at the lower end of the garden, and a
hermitage of Our Lady of Solitude about a mile distant hung upon a rocky
height which rose like an isle out of the sea of forest. Immediately below
the windows the garden sloped gently to the Vera, shaded here and there
with the massive foliage of the fig, or the feathery boughs of the almond,
and breathing perfume from tall orange trees, cuttings of which some of
the friars in after-days tried in vain to keep alive at the bleak
Escurial. The garden was easily reached from the western porch or gallery
by an inclined path, which had been constructed to save the gouty monarch
the pain and fatigue of going up and down stairs. This porch, which was
much more spacious than the eastern, was his favourite seat when filled
with the warmth of the declining day. A short alley of cypress led from
the parterre to the principal gate of the garden, and beyond was the
luxuriant forest, and close in the foreground a magnificent walnut tree.
THE EMPEROR MONK'S DETESTATION OF HERETICS.
While the Emperor monk was at Yuste, he retained all his fiery zeal
against heretics, and notice of any successful capture of an impious
Lutheran was welcome news when forwarded to him. He always in his letters
entreated his daughter, the Princess Regent, to lose no time and spare no
pains to uproot the new and dangerous doctrines. He used to say to his
confessor, "Father, if anything could drag me from this retreat, it would
be to aid in chastising these heretics. I have written to the Inquisition
to burn them all, for none of them will ever become true Catholics or are
worthy to live." He would have their crime treated in a short and summary
manner, like sedition or rebellion. The King, his son (he said), had
executed sharp and speedy justice upon many heretics, and even upon
bishops in England. Upon news arriving about any hunt after heretics, he
used to converse with his confessor and the prior on a subject that lay so
near his heart. He told them that, in looking back on the early religious
troubles of his reign, it was ever his regret that he did not put Luther
to death when he had him in his power. He had spared him, he said, on
account of his pledged word, but he now saw that he greatly erred in
preferring the obligation of a promise to the higher duty of avenging upon
that arch-heretic his offences against God. Had Luther been removed the
plague might have been stayed. He had some consolation, however, in
recollecting how steadily he had refused to hear the points at issue
between the Church and the schismatics argued in his presence.
THE EMPEROR MONK'S INTEREST IN CLOCKMAKING.
The Emperor Charles, while a monk, often visited in spare hours the
workshop of Torriano, who had long been at work on an elaborate
astronomical timepiece, which was to tell the month and year and the
movements of the planets. He had revolved the plan for twenty years, and
the making of it actually occupied three and a half years. Of wheels it
contained eighteen hundred; the material of the case was gilt bronze, and
round. The clock was two feet in diameter, rather less in height, and with
a tapering top, ending in a tower containing the bell and hammer. The
Emperor helped the inscription by adding to the name of Torriano "The
Prince of Clockmakers," and caused his own portrait to be engraved on the
back. Torriano also made for the Emperor a smaller clock in a crystal
case, which allowed the whole working of the machinery to be seen. The
same artist constructed a self-acting mill, which, though small enough to
be concealed in a friar's sleeve, could grind two pecks of corn in a day;
also the figure of a lady who danced on the table to the sound of her own
tambourine. Other puppets were attributed to the artist: minute men and
horses, which fought, pranced, and blew tiny trumpets; and birds which
flew about the room, as if alive,--toys which at first scared the prior
and his monks out of their wits, and made them think the artificer a
wizard. Besides these sedentary amusements, the Emperor had also his pet
birds, his wolf-hounds, and even sometimes was unmonkish enough to stroll
to the forest with his gun, and pop at the wood-pigeons on the chestnut
trees.
THE EMPEROR MONK'S CONFESSOR.
Regla, the son of a poor Aragonese peasant, and who was taken into the
convent of St. Yuste at the age of thirty-six, and became a devoted son
and rigid disciplinarian, was selected by the Emperor Charles V. as his
confessor. The recipient of so great an honour felt unworthy to take
charge of His Majesty's conscience. But Charles told him to take courage,
adding, "I have had five learned divines, who have been busy with my
conscience for three years past in Flanders, and all with which you will
have to concern yourself will be my life in Yuste." The meek confessor
soon gained the good opinion of the Emperor, and obtained the great boon
of being allowed to be seated in the royal presence--an act of
condescension which greatly scandalised the loyal Quixada, the major-domo,
who regarded it as an indignity that a poor friar should be placed on a
level with his august sovereign. The monk felt the awkwardness--for it was
the practice to keep up the same high state at Yuste in the Emperor's
presence--and he fell on his knees and besought the Emperor to allow him
to stand in his presence; "for when any one enters the room," said the
friar, "it makes me feel like a criminal on the scaffold dressed in his
_san benito_." "Be in no trouble about that," said Charles to him: "you
are my father confessor; I am glad that people should find you sitting
when they come into the room, and it does not displease me that you should
change countenance sometimes at being found so." After the confessor
assisted Charles in his morning devotions, the latter usually went and
watched Torriano, the mechanician, who was always busy with some
mechanical invention and with improving the watches and clocks which so
interested the Emperor.
THE EMPEROR MONK'S CHOIR.
At the convent of Yuste the Emperor Charles had with him a little organ
with a silver case and of exquisite tone, which had long been kept at the
Escurial, and which was also the companion of his journeys and the solace
of his evenings when encamped before Tunis. The choir at Yuste, in order
to gratify the Emperor's love of music, had been reinforced with fifteen
friars, chosen from different monasteries for their fine voices and skill
in the art. The Emperor took a lively interest in the management of the
choir and organ, and from the window of his bedroom his voice might often
be heard accompanying the chant of the friars. His ear never failed to
detect a false note and the mouth from which it came. A singing-master
from Plasencia, being one day in the church, ventured to join in the
service, but he had not sung many bars when orders came down from the
palace to keep silence. Guerrero, a "chapel-master" of Seville, having
composed and presented to the Emperor a book of masses and motets, one of
the former was selected for performance at Yuste. When it was ended, the
imperial critic remarked to his confessor which were the stolen passages
skilfully appropriated from the best masters and their works and names.
NOT A MONK AT DINNER-TIME.
The Emperor Charles V., though all his life looking forward to being a
monk, did not understand a monkish dinner. After a year's sojourn in
Yuste, his physician considered His Majesty well enough to leave off his
sarsaparilla and liquorice water. Then, as usual, Charles ate voraciously.
His dinner began with a large dish of cherries or strawberries, smothered
in cream and sugar; then came a highly-seasoned pasty; and next the
principal dish of the repast, which was frequently a ham, or some
preparation of rashers--the Emperor being very fond of the bacon products
of Estremadura. "His Majesty," said the doctor, "will not hear of changing
his diet or mode of living, trusting too much to the force of habit, and
forgetting the consequences to bodies like his, full of bad humours." His
hands occasionally troubled him, and his fingers were sometimes ulcerated.
But his chief complaint was of the heat and itching in his legs at night,
which he endeavoured to relieve by sleeping with them uncovered--a measure
whereby temporary ease was purchased at the expense of a chill which crept
into the upper part of his body, in spite of blankets and eiderdown
quilts. Then came threatenings of gout, attempts to cure by cold bathing,
perpetual itching, and other symptoms, which gradually enfeebled him. It
was said that His Majesty's cook was driven out of his wits to invent new
dishes for table, and that he believed there was nothing left but to serve
up a fricassée of watches.
THE EMPEROR MONK CELEBRATES HIS OWN FUNERAL.
The Emperor used, when any of his friends died, to do honour to their
memory by causing their obsequies to be performed by the friars, and each
on a different day. At last he asked his confessor whether he might not
now perform his own funeral, and so do for himself what would soon have to
be done for him by others. "Would it not be good for my soul?" asked the
Emperor. And the monk replied that certainly it would, for pious works
done during life were far more efficacious than when they were postponed
till after death. Preparations were therefore at once set on foot. A
catafalque was erected, and next day the celebrated service was actually
performed. The high altar, the catafalque, and the whole church shone with
a blaze of wax lights; the friars were all in their places at the altars
and in the choir, and the household of the Emperor attended in deep
mourning. The pious monarch himself (says his biographer) was there,
attired in sable weeds and bearing a taper to see himself interred and to
celebrate his own obsequies. While they were singing the solemn mass for
the dead, he came forward and gave his taper into the hands of the
officiating priest, in token of his desire to yield his soul into the
hands of his Maker. High above, over the kneeling throng, the gorgeous
vestments, the flowers, the curling incense, and the glittering altar, the
same idea shone forth on that splendid canvas whereon Titian had pictured
Charles kneeling on the threshold of the heavenly mansions prepared for
the blessed. The funeral rites ended, the Emperor dined, but he ate
little; and feeling a violent pain in his head, he lay down, and next day
he told his confessor that the funeral of the day before had done him
good. He died six weeks later.
FUNERAL SERMON ON THE EMPEROR MONK.
When the Emperor Charles V. died, a monk at Yuste, his chamberlain said of
him that he was the greatest man that ever lived, or ever would live, in
the world. In his last moments he said, "The time is come; bring me the
candle and the crucifix." These cherished relics he had long kept for this
supreme hour, and he died with his eyes fixed on the crucifix. His body
was embalmed and laid in a coffin in front of the high altar. The eloquent
preacher Villalva preached a funeral sermon so impassioned, that the
hearers declared that it made their flesh creep and their hair stand on
end. Sixteen years later messengers went to remove the body to the
mausoleum at the Escurial. The monks bewailed the loss of so precious a
deposit, and one of them took occasion to preach an affecting sermon, in
which he thus apostrophised the dead monarch: "Although you are but a
lifeless corpse, the garment of the spirit which has long enjoyed, as we
believe, the glory of God, we thank your Cæsarean majesty for the grace
which you have bestowed on Yuste and on our order. In a year and eight
months passed in this solitude we are well assured that you have gained
more renown than in the whole of your long reign. History, indeed, will
never forget your great achievements, but in the end of your life you
surpassed them all. Grief for losing you, who so loved us, chokes my
utterance; for I know that when you are gone, although we who are now
alive are your devoted servants and chaplains, a time will come when even
in this place your memory will be regarded no more than if you had never
dwelt within our walls." This last allusion was prophetic; for in 1849,
when Mr. Stirling visited Yuste, he found it in ruins, and all save the
great walnut tree told only of mouldering decay. O'Campo, the chronicler
of the Emperor Charles V., had undertaken to write his history; but having
begun at Noah's flood was, after forty years' labour, surprised by death
while narrating the exploits of the Scipios, B.C. 183.