study of scholastic philosophy, to metaphysics, to anything but a religious life. Dialectics was a study which just now had great attractions. In his early youth Bernard must have heard daily of the marvellous enthusiasm of the innumerable hordes of all nations, and of every class, which for four years obstinately flocked eastwards in the track of the mule of Peter the Hermit on the first Crusade. Now the disputer is taking for a time the place of the fighter, the dialectician the place of the crusader. Young Master Peter Abelard has just emerged from the Paris school as victor in an eager conflict with the great dialectician, the veteran William of Champeaux. Thousands are now flocking to hear Abelard. Bernard is urged. Why should he not also make for himself a name and a fame like that of Abelard? But, as his biographer tells us, "the memory of his holy mother" restrained him. He became, on the contrary, more and more attached to his plans of conventual life, and not only did he wish for freedom of action for himself, but he endeavored to gain over his warlike relatives to the same course. This apparently chimerical enterprise succeeded beyond even his expectations. Men whose usual occupation was besieging castles, or fighting in tournaments, to whom war constituted both work and play, might not be supposed inclined to lend a ready ear to Bernard's ardent advocacy of the cloister. We are surprised to find that his uncle Gaudry, Count of Touillon, a wealthy landed proprietor, and a warlike knight, yielded at once. Bernard persuaded, though with much difficulty, even his eldest brother, Guido, to separate himself from his wife and join him. Every one of his brothers, though at first averse, at length yielded to his powerful solicita tions. In A. D. 1113, Bernard, with about thirty others, whom he had induced to accompany him, entered the Cistercian convent of Citeaux, in the barren wilderness of the Saone. In making choice of this convent in preference to the wealthy and illustrious abbey of Clugni, he showed that extreme ascetic tendency which in his after life became more conspicuous. The rule of St. Benedict was observed with exceeding strictness at Citeaux. The monks there were in a chronic state of famine; they were allowed but one meal per diem; they were never permitted to taste beef, fish, or eggs; they had to rise at two o'clock in the morning, to pray for several hours before daylight, and they went out at nine o'clock to labor in the fields, where they remained during the day. Bernard was not daunted by these austerities, but rather aimed at exceeding them. He regarded time given to sleep as lost; he discountenanced all visits from friends; he felt no desire for food, and he occupied himself solely with the contemplation of God through nature and by silent meditation. In after years he was accustomed to say that "any knowledge of divine things, or any facility in explaining Holy Scripture which he possessed, had been obtained through meditation and prayer among the woods and in the fields, with naught but the beeches and the oaks for his masters." Two years after Bernard's entrance at Citeaux, the abbey of Clairvaux was founded in the Bishopric of Langres, on the Aube, through the beneficence of one of the knightly friends of Citeaux, and Bernard was chosen for the responsible position of abbot of the new monastery. He was consecrated abbot by William of Champeaux, the venerable bishop of Chalons, and his connection with him here paved the way to a lasting friendship and a mutual regard exceedingly warm and affectionate. Bernard's extremely ascetic life at Clairvaux must have proved fatal to him had it not been for the friendship of William, who obtained from the Cistercian chapter the care of his friend with regard to food and rest. Rest, however, was foreign to the nature of Bernard; and we find him soon after, though not actively engaged as many of his brother monks were, yet occupied with correspondence exceedingly voluminous and varied, giving advice and answering questions to people of all conditions, from popes to poor women, and on all subjects, from the most fundamental questions in theology to the discussion of, Who stole a certain pig? vent, when by an opposite course of con- Though he acknowledges of his own monks that "with our bellies full of beans, and our minds of pride, we condemn those who are full of meat, as if it were not better to eat a little fat on occasion than to be gorged even to belching upon windy vegetables," he is astonished to see among the monks of Cluny such intemperance in eating and in drinking; economy is now thought avarice, soberness austerity, silence sulkiness." "There is," he says, no conversation regarding the Scriptures-none concerning the salvation of souls, but small talk, laughter, and idle words fill the air. At dinner the palate and the ears are equally tickled; the one with dainties, the other with William of Thierry, a devoted friend of Bernard, we are told, was taken ill about this time, and he ascribed his subsequent recovery to the miraculous power of Bernard. In thus ascribing to the distinguished abbot miraculous powers, he did nothing unusual, for in those days miracles and all sorts of supernatural intervention with human affairs, induced by the prayers of holy men, were firmly believed in. Many stories are told of Bernard's miracles. It is narrated how a piece of bread consecrated by Bernard instantly cured a madman, and healed the mortal wound of a warrior. It is told that at the dedication of the church of Foigny, an immense multitude of flies greatly annoyed the audience. The saint wishing to get rid of them, pronounced against them the dreadful (?) sentence, "I excommunicate you," and next morn-gossip and the news, which together preing there could scarcely be found sufficient shovels to clear out the dead flies from the pavements of the church. Pontius, abbot of Cluny, for several years worked great mischief, not only in his monastery, but throughout the Church; however, having been induced to resign, the celebrated Peter the Venerable was elected in his stead. There had for some time been a silently increas-rious habits of many of the monastic esing jealousy growing up between the great rival monastic houses of Clairvaux and Cluny, and in the disordered state of affairs in the latter, Bernard was charged by its friends with envy, and endeavoring to detract from the just merits of their abbey. This gave to Bernard an opportunity of publishing his "Apology." In this document he defends himself against these charges, but instead of retracting anything he had said he makes severe and emphatic charges against the Cluniacs for their voluptuousness, love of display, and worldliness of temper. He shows that repeatedly he has refused to accept into his monastery those who had fled from Cluny, and how he had on many occasions aided that con vent all moderation in eating. . . . Who could say (to speak of nothing else) in how many forms eggs are cooked and worked up, with what care they are turned in and out, made hard or soft, or chopped fine, now fried, now roasted, now stuffed." We may be excused if we make quotations at some length from this "Apology," which is valuable as showing the luxu tablishments. With regard to their drinking habits, he says: "Directly we become monks we are afflicted with weak stomachs, and the important advice of the apostle to use wine, we in a praiseworthy manner attempt to follow, but for some unexplained reason the condition of a little is usually omitted. You may see during one meal a cup half full three or four times carried backwards and forwards, in order that out of several wines, by a quick and accomplished judgment, one and the most potent may be selected. Have we not heard that in some monasteries it is observed as a custom on great festivals to mix the wines with honey, and to powder them with the dust of spices? Shall we say that this also is for their stomach's sake and their often infirmities? I should say that a greater other for Anacletus. Louis the Sixth quantity, and that more pleasantly, might be drunk. But with his veins swelling and throbbing in his head, under the influence of wine, what can a man do on rising from the table except sleep? And if you force a man thus gorged to rise to vigils, you will get rather a sigh than a song from him." But to pass on, we will make random extracts from the list of offences against humility, with which he charges these luxurious monks of Cluny. "I speak truly when I say that I have seen an abbot with sixty horses after him, and even more. Would you not think as you see them pass that they were not fathers of monasteries, but lords of castles; not shepherds of souls, but princes of provinces?" He thus criticises the art in the monasteries: "What are disgusting monkeys there for, or ferocious lions, or horrible centaurs, or spotted tigers, or fighting soldiers, or huntsmen sounding the bugle? You may see there one head with many bodies, or one body with numerous heads. Here is a quadruped with a serpent's tail; there is a fish with a beast's head; there a creature, in front a horse, behind a goat; another has horns at one end, and a horse's tail at the other. In fact such an endless variety of forms appears everywhere, that it is more pleasant to read in the stonework than in books, and to spend the day in admiring these oddities than in meditating on the law of God." In 1130 there burst upon the religious world a ferocious battle, which spread over Europe not only threats and spiritual curses, but wide-spread desolation and bloodshed. On the death of Pope Honorius II., Peter Leonis, under the title of Anacletus II., obtained for himself, by the liberal use of a well-filled purse, the vacant chair. An opposing party proclaimed Cardinal Gregory supreme pontiff, under the name of Innocent II. Anacletus drove Innocent from Rome, and he was compelled to fly to Cluny. This papal schism affected the whole religious face of Europe, and in every bishopric and every monastery there were opposing parties, one for Innocent, the called a council at Etampes, to consider the growing evil. Bernard's attendance was specially desired. He came, and after careful examination of the respective claims of the competitors for Peter's chair, he unhesitatingly announced Innocent as the only lawful Pope. Louis the Sixth, and Henry the First of England, forthwith recognized Innocent as their spiritual sovereign, and Count William of Aquitaine was the only considerable lord who favored the claims of Anacletus. Bernard went to visit him, and not with supplication and entreaty, but with threats and denunciations caused him to yield. The count was terrified, paralyzed in every limb, and it was only when Bernard kicked the knight as he was lying on the ground at his feet, that he dared to ask for forgiveness. Bernard might have boasted if he had wished, that he was the most influential man in the whole of the European church. He had been referred to by kings and prelates as the arbiter in the most important dispute in his day, and to him was specially entrusted the purity of the papal chair. Humble even to excess, yet earnest and zealous; uniting persuasion and command with personal example, his fame kept ever rapidly growing, but he retired to Clairvaux, aiming at seclusion, striving to keep himself free from the quarrels and entanglements of the outer world. Here he now commenced his course of lectures on the Song of Solomon. Bernard preached often to the assembled monks. Almost every day, either before the early dawn, or after the hot day's work in the fields, the white-cowled Cistercians gathered to hear his discursive, contemplative sermons and disquisitions on the Song of Songs. These sermons are very fanciful, far-fetched, and so devoid of homiletical construction, that it puzzles the modern reader to see any connection between the text and the sermon. Yet this monastery attracted crowds of even the terrible barons and men-at-arms, all of whom listened patiently to the words of Bernard, and often most unexpectedly joined his order. There was a singular attractiveness in these men who renounced the world, recoiling from the prevalent and open wickedness spread all over the earth, stifling the consuming passions of their souls with ascetic practices, lives of devotion and earnest desire after God. The small beginnings of law and order, as well as the abstemious peaceful habits of the monks, the psalm-singing, the chiming of the bells, and the august ceremonials, exerted an influence where the most subtle reasonings would have failed. Here in the midst of his monks the great monk kept himself aloof from the world, having but little intercourse with it, save in the numerous letters which he ever kept writing. Some of these letters, especially those to the Pope, are sufficiently bold and fearless, for there was in him, and indeed in the men of his age, but little of the grovelling servility which in later times became more apparent in the adherents of the Romish church. In a letter to Innocent, his protegé, he uses strong words in condemnation of the growing papal abuses. What modern bishop would even today dare to write to the "Vicar of Christ" thus: "There is but one voice among our faithful bishops, and it declares that justice is vanishing from the Church; that the power of the keys is gone; that episcopal authority is dwindling away; that a bishop cannot longer redress wrongs, nor chastise iniquity, however great, even in his own diocese; and the blame of all this they lay on you and on the Roman court. What they ordain aright you annul, what they justly abolish, that you reëstablish. All the worthless contentious fellows, whether from the people or the clergy, or even monks expelled from their monasteries, run off to you, and return boasting that they have found protection when they ought to have found retribution. Your friends are confounded, the faithful are insulted, the bishops are brought into contempt and disgrace; and while their righteous judgments are despised, your authority also is not a little injured. . . . God's favor is not so won. For these and simi lar things, 'the anger of the Lord is not yet turned away, but his arm is stretched out still,' and that rod spoken of by Jeremiah which watches over our sins. Of a truth God is angry with schismatics, but he is far from well pleased with Catholics." Meanwhile, though the northern powers had unanimously, through the influence of Bernard, acknowledged Innocent as the only Pope, Anacletus the Second, having in the south the strong assistance of the new and warlike power of the Normans in Sicily, was enabled by the arms of Roger Guiscard to retain possession of Rome, and the nominal advantage conferred by his being seated on the papal chair. Innocent was compelled to make Pisa the seat of his government, and patiently await the course of events. But while Bernard is lecturing on Canticles history is being made. The news comes to Clairvaux that the monastery of Monte Casino, the great Benedictine head of western monasticism, had declared in favor of Anacletus, had deposed its abbot, and elected a new head, who now openly declared for the enemy of Bernard and the rival of Innocent. All plans of seclusion and of expoundirg Solomon must bend to the urgent necessity. In the spring of 1137 he set out for Italy, accompanied by his favorite brother, Gerard. We are told that the devil had special objections to this journey, and as the holy man was crossing the Alps, he caused his carriage-wheel to break just upon the edge of a precipice. Fortunately the saint was preserved, and he took vengeance upon the plotter by compelling Satan to become a wheel and serve instead of the broken one, and in this awkward position the humiliated and rotatory fiend conveyed him to Pisa, to Viterbo, and thence to Rome. is, however, a very poorly authenticated story, and by its frivolous nature shows that it is the invention of probably a much later age. As one of Bernard's recent biographers remarks, "a twelfth century miracle would hardly be so wanting in dignity as this is." Arrived at Rome, Bernard found that the steadfast adhe This shortly after solved by the timely death of Anacletus, and Innocent was allowed without opposition to take the papal chair. Shortly after his return home to Clairvaux, we find him preaching an eloquent funeral sermon over the grave of his favorite brother, Gerard. In 1139, (the year following,) he was visited by Malachy, of Ireland, a wonderful man, who so powerfully attracted the attention of Bernard, that upon his death he wrote an account of him and of his work among the Irish, whom the abbot of Clairvaux supposed to be utter savages. rence of the friends of Anacletus pro- of Innocent. All the difficulties were ceeded not so much from zeal as from despair of mercy if they should desert him. Bernard quietly influenced them all, so that it rapidly became apparent that the adherents of Anacletus were ready for desertion if a suitable opportunity were given. Roger the Norman was, however, still the patron of Anacletus, and with a plausible show of fairness he proposed that the advocate of each Pope should in his presence set forth their respective claims. He chose Peter of Pisa as the champion of Anacletus, hoping that he, being a renowned dialectician, would overwhelm with his rhetoric the monastery-bred Bernard. His irresistible rhetoric pleased and convinced his friends, who as yet had not heard the other side of the question. Bernard rose and said: "I know, Peter, that you are a wise and learned man, and would that a better cause, and a more honest business engaged your attention... Now charity compels me to speak, seeing that the Lord's vesture, which neither the heathen nor the Jew presumed to rend, that vesture, Peter, the son of Leo, protected by King Roger, tears and divides. "There is one Lord, one faith, one baptism; neither do we know two Lords, two faiths, two baptisms. To begin from antiquity, there was but one ark at the time of the flood. No one will deny that this ark was a type of the Church. Lately another ark has been built, and as there are now two, one must be false, and must sink to the depths of the sea. If the ark which Peter rules be of God, it follows that the one in which Innocent is must perish. Therefore, the Eastern Church will perish, and the Western also. France, Germany, Spain, England, and the barbarous countries will perish in the waters. "God forbid that the religion of the whole earth should perish, and that the ambition of Peter, whose life has been such as is known to all, should obtain the kingdom of heaven." The assembly was so deeply impressed with the arguments of Bernard, that they almost unanimously embraced the cause The early culture which had made Ireland conspicuous for many centuries previously had now almost disappeared, and the inhabitants were spoken of by Malachy as exceedingly irreligious, disobedient to discipline, and impure in their lives. They had even lost that freedom of thought which characterized them down to the tenth century, and we find even the superstitious Bernard laughing at their excess of veneration for St. Patrick's text of the Gospels, and a staff supposed to have been made by our Saviour, both of which were deposited in Armagh Cathedral. But there was now looming up in the near horizon the first of the two great events in Bernard's life which have, perhaps, beyond all others, given his name so prominent a place in mediæval history. Monasticism had been for centuries exerting a widespread influence over the whole mental and religious development of Europe. The very spirit of which we may consider Bernard as the highest and most notable representative, was revolutionary, although professing to be conservative. The conventual discipline was in its day, though mixed with many evils, a means of good, for it raised up a class of men who were made aware that there really were other pleasures than those of the body, and who were led by contemplation, reflection, and reasoning, to face the mental and religious problems whose discussion, though it might not eventuate in solution, must have enlarged and broadened the current of their thought. The name and the fame of |