VIII.

THE TIMES OF ALBERIC.

 

The customs of Citeaux have been thus minutely contrasted with the customs of other places, that the reader might know with whom he had to do, what Cistercians were, and why they were not Cluniacs, or Carthusians, or simply Benedictines, though they so strictly professed St. Benedict's rule. They are not an order yet, but only a monastery, and that a very poor one; it was left to Stephen afterwards to constitute them an order; they were not even yet Cistercians, but only the poor brethren of New Minster in the wood of Citeaux, and we have called them Cistercians by anticipation. Alberic's rules were very well kept by his brethren; so that the fervor of the monastery began to be noised abroad.

Their old patron, the Duke of Burgundy, was astonished at them; while some other monks put themselves in the way of receiving the alms of the faithful, these brethren hid themselves from the world. It seemed wonderful how they could subsist in such a damp, out-of-the-way hole as that in which they had seated themselves. Nothing was heard of them, except that day and night went their bells, first the bells for matins, then the great bell tolling out for the lay brethren to get up, and all day long for the hours, and for vespers in the evening, and compline at night-fall.

Nobody knew how they lived, except that their white habits were seen in the fields, as they worked; and yet they asked for nothing. There they were, a wonderful fact in the way of all irreligion and wickedness, men, whose faith was not an abstraction, but who evidently believed that Christ had come down from heaven to die, since such was their love for Him, that they chose to be like Him in all things, even in suffering. And there was the prior Stephen, leading them out to work with his sweet smiling face, notwithstanding all this suffering. His spirit had continued unbroken through all his trials, and well might he now be joyful in the Lord, since God had so blessed him in them; he had borne the cross when it entered into his soul, and he now tasted the joy which it always brings with it. Truly “wisdom is justified of her children”, and so thought Odo of Burgundy, for he loved the poor monks, and the forest of Citeaux, and he built him near the abbey a lodge, which in after times was still called the palace even in its ruins. At most of the principal festivals he would come there with his court; he would not celebrate them in the cathedral of Chalons, or in the monastery of St. Benignus of Dijon, but he loved better the brethren of the new monastery, for they sang the praises of God so sweetly, and with such joy, that his heart was touched, and caught fire at their devotion. He found, in the same year as Alberic made the above rules, an opportunity of assisting the monks. 

  It will be remembered, that only a portion of Citeaux had been given by the Viscount of Beaune; the rest had been given them by Odo of Burgundy, who agreed to pay the lord of Beaune twenty solidi a year for the hire of the land. The collectors of the revenues of the lord of Beaune, however, found it a much easier matter to get the money from the monks, who would bear patiently to be oppressed, than from the people of the duke of Burgundy. They therefore applied to the monastery for the twenty shillings, instead of applying to the treasury of the duke. The monks paid the demand in silence, though they could ill afford it out of the poor returns which their lands yielded. At length, Odo heard of the exaction, and determined to free them from it for ever, by assigning a portion of his own ground to the lord of Beaune, out of the produce of which he was to help himself to his twenty shillings; and the viscount, in return, freed the monks for ever from all claims which he himself, or his heirs, might have upon them. This was indeed the last service which the good duke rendered them, for he set out for the Holy Land that very year in which he conferred this benefit on the monastery.

Jerusalem had not long been taken by the crusaders, and Christendom was now arming in support of Godfrey's new kingdom, which was hemmed in on all sides by infidels. The crusaders had obtained possession of the holy sepulchre; but as if to show that the keeping of this precious treasure depended on the good behaviour of Christians, God never permitted them to hold it by a firm tenure. Its honoured guardians had to defend it at the point of the sword; the harness was hardly ever off their back, and no crown could be less easy than that of Jerusalem. Odo of Burgundy never reached the Holy Land, he died in 1102, almost as soon as he had reached the army of the crusaders. On his death-bed the sweet song of the Cistercian choir rung in his ears, and he desired that his body should not lie in a foreign land, but should be carried across sea and land to be buried at Citeaux. So his followers obeyed his dying request, and brought his remains back to Burgundy. In dying he gave the last proof of affection for the brethren of Citeaux, by wishing to be buried among them. He might have been buried beneath the walls of many a cathedral or abbey church, better befitting the high and puissant duke of Burgundy, but he chose to lie where his faithful monks would watch around his body, and say a prayer for his soul as they passed his tomb.

Times were indeed changed with the old wood of Citeaux, which had a few years before been the habitation of wild beasts; and now the funeral procession of a prince might be seen moving through it; and it was a strange meeting, that of the banners and coronet, and the armour of the deceased duke, with the white habit of the monks, who had renounced the world and its honors. They had given up pomp and grandeur, and now one of the highest princes in Christendom was come to lie down at their feet, that they by their intervention might assist his soul before the tribunal of Christ. Truly many men would wish to live in a king's court, but most would rather in death be with the monks. It is not known in what part of the first Church of Citeaux Duke Odo was buried; indeed it is doubtful whether his body did not lie in the cemetery among the monks. In the magnificent Church afterwards built at Citeaux, his tomb was under the porch of the Church, in a place called the Chapel of the Dukes, where his two sons were buried with him.

To be the burial-place of the princes of the earth was not, however, enough for Citeaux; and however regular and admirable was his abbey, yet Alberic had one care which pressed upon his soul. It seemed as if the very existence of the convent was likely to pass away with the present generation, for no novices arrived to fill up the ranks of those who died. If matters did not mend, Citeaux would return again to its former possessors, wolves and wild-boars. Alberic's patience was sorely tried; it was not only that their name would perish from the earth, which would be but a light evil, but the failure of Citeaux would be a proof to the world that the monks of Molesme were right, and that St. Benedict's rule could not now be observed to the letter. It was too much for mortal man to bear, it might be said; and God had shown His disapproval of this over-strictness, by depriving the monastery of spiritual children.

They passed many a long day in expectation of an increase of numbers, but the monks who joined them were far too few to give hope of the ultimate continuance of the monastery. Alberic however persevered, feeling sure that at all events it was God's will that he should continue in his present position, and he left the future in God's hands. Stephen and he had seen worse days than this, when they were compelled to leave Molesme, and to betake themselves to the solitude of Hauz, and it might please God to reward them with the sight of an increase of their spiritual children before they died. Alberic certainly did die long before Citeaux became what it afterwards was; but our Lord is said to have given him a supernatural intimation that his order would one day flourish beyond his expectations. The vision is mentioned by no contemporary writer, but we give it, because nothing can be said against the truth of it, in itself, and because it contains some remarkable circum­stances. Considering the influence that Citeaux afterwards had upon the fortune of the Church, there is no improbability in the supposition that our blessed Lord might, in his condescension, be pleased to console the abbot, when his courage was nagging, by extraordinary means.

It is said, that one day, the community was surprised by the entrance of a clerk, who offered himself as a novice. The porch of the monastery at which the new-comer knocked was not an inviting one; it was not an imposing archway with a large gate, with bolts and bars; it was a poor door of wicker work, at which hung a huge iron knocker, at the sound of which a porter appeared with his usual salutation of Deo gratias, as if he would say, Thanks be to God that He has sent us a stranger to feed and entertain. This time, however, the new-comer seemed to be no stranger; he seemed to recognize the porter, though the monk could not recollect ever to have seen him before. When brought to the abbot, he appeared to know him also, as well as the prior Stephen, and all the brethren. At length he solved the mystery, by relating his history. He was a clerk, who, when a student of the schools of Lyons, saw in a vision a valley, stretched at the foot of a mountain, and on the mountain was a city of surpassing beauty, on which none could gaze without joy, as its radiant towers crowned the eminence on which it was built. The beholder felt a strange and irresistible desire to enter its gates and dwell there. Around the base of the mountain, however, was a broad river, the waters of which flowed about it, and were too deep for the traveller to ford. As he roamed about in quest of a place where he might cross it, he saw upon the bank, twelve or fourteen poor men washing their garments in the stream. Amongst them was one clad in a white garment of dazzling brightness, and his countenance and form were very different from the rest; he went about helping the poor men to wash the spots off their clothes; when he had helped one, he went to help another.

The clerk went up to this august person and said, "What men are you?" And he answered, "These poor men are doing penance, and washing themselves from their sins; I am the Son of God, Jesus Christ, without whose aid neither they nor anyone else can do good. This beautiful city which you see is Paradise, where I dwell; he who has washed his clothes white, that is, done penance for his sins, shall enter into it. You yourself hast been searching long enough for the way to enter into it, but there is no other way, but this one, which leads to it."

After these words the sleeper awoke, and pondered over the vision. Soon after he returned home from the schools, and related to the bishop of Chalons, with whom he was intimate, what he had seen in sleep. The bishop advised him to quit the world for the cloister, and above others recommended the new monastery at Citeaux. Thither the clerk went, and he found everything unpromising enough; the place was barren and desolate, and the brethren dwelling "with the wild beasts:" The gate of the monastery did not look a whit more inviting, but what was his astonishment when he saw the porter who answered to the sound of the rude knocker; he immediately saw that he was one of the men whom he had seen washing their clothes white in the stream. On seeing the abbot and the other brethren, he observed the same thing, and he at once fell on his knees at the feet of Alberic, and begged to be received as a novice. He afterwards became a good monk, and succeeded Stephen as prior.

 

THE DEATH OF ALBERIC.