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Medieval Sourcebook:
Guibert de Nogent (d.1124):
Autobiography
Contents
Introduction
Bibliography
INTRODUCTION
The Translation
This file contains the English translation by C.C. Swinton Bland
of , The Autobiography of Guibert, Abbot of Nogent-sous-Coucy,
(London: George Routledge: New York: E.P. Dutton, 1925). Readers
should note that Bland used as his underlying text the Latin edition
of Dom Luc D'Achery of 1651, and ignored a more modern 1907 edition
by Georges Bourtin. Bland also made a number of errors, and included
virtually no notes. In 1970 John Benton combined a psycho-historical
study of Guibert with a worked over version of Bland's translation,
and published it as Self and Society in Medieval France: The
Memoirs of Abbot Guibert of Nogent (1064-c.1125), (New York:
Harper Torchbooks, 1970: repr. Toronto: University of Toronto
Press/Medieval Academy of America, 1984). Recently there has
been both a new edition of the text, by Edmond-Rene Labande, and
a new English translation by Paul J. Archambault - A monk's
confession : the memoirs of Guibert of Nogent, (University
Park, Pa.: Pennsylvania State University Press, c1996)
This etext is of Bland's original 1925 translation, with a very
few obvious changes, made. It is entirely suitable for classroom
discussion. But for academic reference, students should be sure
to consult Labande's edition as well as Benton's and Archambault's
translations.
Changes made to Bland's text
- All references to "Ely" changes to "Fly"
- Book 2, Chap 5: "Rome" changed to "Rouen"
- Book 3, Chap 2, "of the Dominican houses"
changed to "of the houses of his desmesne"
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GUIBERT,
ABBOT OF NOGENTSOUSCOUCY
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
To Thy Majesty, O God, I acknowledge my endless wanderings from
Thy paths, my turning back so oft to the bosom of Thy eternal
mercy, prompted by Thee in spite of all. The wickedness I did
in childhood and in youth, I acknowledge, wickedness that yet
springs up in ripened age, my ingrained love of crookedness, that
in a body sluggish and worn yet lives on. Whenever I call to mind,
O Lord, my persistence in unclean things and in what manner Thou
didst vouchsafe remorse for the same, I am amazed at the long-suffering
of Thy compassion beyond all that man may conceive. If repentance
and a prayerful mind may not be, but by the entrance of Thy Spirit,
how dost Thou so graciously suffer these to creep into the hearts
of sinners and grant so much favour to those that turn away from
Thee, ay, even to those who provoke Thee to wrath? Thou knowest
Great Fatherhood, all too well, how stubbornly we set our hearts
against those who incur our anger and how hardly we are appeased
towards those that have often given us fierce words or looks.
But Thou art good, ay, goodness itself and the very fount of goodness.
And since Thine aid cometh to all in general, shalt Thou not have
power also to succour each single being? Why not? When the world
lay in ignorance of God, when it was wrapped in darkness and the
shadow of death, when, as night went on its course, a universal
silence prevailed, by whose merit, by whose cry could Thy Almighty
Word be summoned to come forth from Thy royal seat? But since
Thou, when all mankind gave no heed to Thee, couldst not even
then be turned from pity on them, no wonder that Thou shouldst
show Thy compassion on one single sinner, great sinner though
he be ! 'Tis not for me to say that by men severally Thy pity
is more easily won than by men in general, for in either case
there is no halting in Thy willingness, because with Thee than
willingness itself there can be nothing more willing. Since Thou
art the fountain, and since Thou owest to all what flows forth
from Thee, manifestly Thou dost not withhold from any, what belongs
to all.
Ever therefore sinning, and between sins, ever, returning to Thee,
fleeing from truth and traitor to it, when I turn back to goodness,
shall goodness destroy itself and, overcome by manifold offences,
shall it then become estranged? Is it not said of Thee that in
Thy wrath Thou will not withhold Thy mercy? The same psalmist
sings that this mercy shall abide both now and for ever. Thou
knowest that I do not sin because I see that Thou art merciful,
but I fearlessly avow that therefore art Thou called merciful,
because Thou dost offer pardon to all who seek for it. I do not
abuse Thy mercy whenever I am driven to sin by the necessity of
sinning; but impious indeed would be the abuse of it, if, because
return to Thee after sin is so easy, sin's waywardness should
ever give me joy. I sin, 'tis true; but when reason returns, I
repent that I have yielded to the lust of my heart when my soul,
with unwilling heaviness, sinks as on a dunghill for its bed.
But between times, after the sorrow each day of recovery from
a fall, what was I to do? Is it not far wiser to climb up in Thee,
for a time only, to take breath in Thee even for a moment, than
to forget all healing and to despair of grace? And what but despair
is it of set purpose to wallow in every sort of shame? For when
the spirit no longer strives with the flesh, the very substance
of the unhappy soul is squandered away on pleasure. It is as one
plunged in stormy waters, swallowed up by the abyss and driven
over the mouth of the pit to the heaping up of a reprobate mind.
While therefore, Holy God, my wits, recovering from the drunkenness
of my inner being, come back to Thee, although at other times
I go not forward, yet at least meanwhile I turn not away from
knowledge of myself. For how could I catch even a glimpse of Thee,
if my eyes were blind to see myself? Surely, if, as Jeremiah saith,
I am a man that hath seen my affliction, it follows that I should
shrewdly search for those things by which my want may be supplied.
And, contrariwise, if I understand not what is good, how shall
I know evil, much less forswear it? If I know not beauty, I shrink
not from foulness. Since therefore I am doubly resolved to seek
knowledge of Thee through knowledge of myself and enjoying that
not to fail in self-knowledge, it is a worthy act and singularly
for my soul's good that the darkness of my understanding should
be dispersed through these confessions with the searching rays
of Thy 1ight cast ofttimes upon it, by which being lastingly illuminated
it may for ever know itself.
CHAPTER II
The first thing therefore is to acknowledge to Thee the benefits
Thou hast conferred on me, that Thy servants, O God, who shall
read of them, may exactly weigh the cruelty of my ingratitude.
For hadst Thou bestowed on me only what Thou dost allot to other
men, wouldst Thou not have exceeded my utmost merit? Besides Thou
didst give me many things that redound to Thy praise, but not
to mine, and others still of which I must forbear to speak. For
if birth, wealth and comeliness of person, to mention no others,
are the gifts of Thy hand, O Lord, good men do not value them,
except when they are held under the rule of honour by their recipients,
or else they are regarded as utterly contemptible by reason of
the vice of changefulness that lieth in them. For what have I
to do with that which by outward show and unreality gives rise
only to lasciviousness or pride? These things are of such neutral
nature that according to the quality of the mind, so may they
be turned to good or evil and the very pliancy to which they are
subject, makes them suspect of inconstancy. Could no other reason
be found, this is enough, that no man hath by his own efforts
won birth or looks, and of these things in particular all that
he hath, was a gift to him.
Other things there be, in the getting of which man's effort may
do its part, such as wealth and talents, as Solomon testifies,
" When the iron is dull, he must put to the sharpening more
strength." Yet even that is confuted by the ready answer
that unless the light that lighteth every man that cometh into
the world, be shed on him, and unless Christ shall open to him
the doors of learning with the key of knowledge, without doubt
every teacher shall spend himself in vain on dull ears. Therefore
let every wise man be foolish to claim anything as his own but
sin.
But leaving these matters let us return to that with which we
began. I said, O Good and Holy One, that I thanked Thee for Thy
gifts. First and above all, therefore, I render thanks to Thee
for that Thou didst bestow on me a mother fair, yet chaste, modest
and most devout. Beautiful, indeed, I should in a worldly and
foolish fashion have called her, had I not austerely declared
beauty to be but an empty show. Still, as in the utterly poor
their fasting is seen to be of compulsion, since they have no
choice as to their food, and are therefore the less praiseworthy,
whereas the abstinence of rich men hath value according to their
abundance; so beauty, the more desirable it is, if it harden itself
against the temptations of lust, hath the higher title to praise
in every sort. If Sallustius Crispus had not thought beauty devoid
of morality worthy to be praised, he would never have said of
Aurelia Orestilla, " In whom good men never found aught to
praise except her beauty." If he declares her fairness by
exception to be praised by the good, but that in all else she
was foul, I confidently affirm on Sallust's behalf that this was
his meaning; as though he had said that she was deservedly approved
by God for nature's gift, although it was a thinly defiled by
added impurities. Therefore we praise beauty in an idol which
is justly proportioned and although, where faith is concerned,
an idol is called a thing of naught by the apostle, nor could
anything be imagined more profane, yet the true modelling of its
members is not unreasonably commended.
And certainly however fugitive beauty may be, which is liable
to change through the instability of the blood, yet within the
limits of a shadowy good, it cannot be denied to be good. For
if whatever has been eternally established by God, is beautiful,
then all that is temporarily fair, is, as it were, the reflection
of that eternal beauty, for " The invisible things of God
are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made,"
says the Apostle. Angels also appearing unto men have always presented
countenances of shining beauty. Hence, the wife of Manoah says,
" There came a man of God to me having the countenance of
an angel." Devils on the contrary, who, according to the
First Epistle of Saint Peter are reserved " in a mist of
darkness to the day of the great judgment," are wont to appear
with looks exceeding foul, save when they deceitfully transfigure
themselves into angels of light. And not unjustly so, seeing that
they have revolted from the splendour of their noble peers.
Furthermore the bodies of us, the elect, are said to be fashioned
like unto the brightness of the body of Christ, so that the vileness
that is contracted by accident or natural decay, is amended to
the pattern of the Son of God as transfigured on the Mount. If
therefore the inner models be fair and good in those who make
an outward show, especially when they do not depart from the rule
of these, for the same reason that they are beautiful, they are
also good. Why, Augustine himself, in his book, if I am not mistaken,
" Concerning Christian Doctrine," is known to have said,
" He who hath a beautiful body and an ugly soul, is more
to be pitied than if he had an ugly body too." If therefore
a faulty person is rightly a matter for pity, without any doubt
that is a good thing which can be spoiled by an admixture of deformity,
or improved by the flawlessness of its beauty.
Thanks to Thee therefore, O God, that Thou didst infuse her beauty
with virtue; for the seriousness of her manner was such as to
make evident her scorn for all vanity; her rare speech and her
tranquil features gave no encouragement to light looks. Thou knowest,
Almighty God, Thou didst put into herin earliest youth the fear
of Thy name and into her heart revolt against the allurements
of the flesh. Take note that hardly anywhere was she to be found
in the company of those who made much of themselves, and as she
was temperate herself, so was she sparing in blame of those who
were not, and when sometimes a scandalous tale was told by strangers
or those of her own household, she would turn away herself and
take no part in it and was as much annoyed by such whisperings
as if she had been slandered in her own person. God of Truth,
Thou knowest it is no private affection, such as one naturally
feels for a mother, that prompts me to speak of these things,
but the real facts are beyond my power to set forth; whereas the
rest of my race are in truth mere animals ignorant of God, or
brutal fighters and murderers, who, unless Thou shouldst with
the greatness of Thy wonted mercy pity them, must surely become
outcast from Thee. But a better opportunity will occur in this
work to speak of her. Let us now turn to my own life.
CHAPTER III
Of this woman most true, as I hope and believe, I was by Thy favour
born, the worst of all that she begat. In two senses was I her
last child, for whereas my brothers and sisters have passed away
in good hope of salvation, I alone am left in utter despair. Yet
whilst I still live in this evil world, there remaineth to me,
through her merit next to Jesus and His Mother and the Saints,
the hope of salvation that is open to all. Certainly I know, 'tis
wrong to disbelieve, that, as in the world she shewed me greater
love and brought me up in greater distinction (with a mother's
special affection for her lastborn) so surely does she now
in the presence of God not forget me. Full was she of God's fire
from her youth in Zion, unceasing in her tender care for me sleeping,
or awake. And now that she is dead, the wall of her flesh being
broken away, I know that in Jerusalem that furnace burns with
greater heat than words can express, the more that being filled
there with the Spirit of God, she is not ignorant of the miseries
in which I am entangled, and, happy though she be, bewails my
wanderings, when she sees my feet go astray from the path of goodness
marked out by her oftrepeated warnings.
O Father and Lord God, who didst give being to me so bad, in such
manner and measure as Thou knowest, from her so truly and really
good, Thou didst also grant me hope in her merit, that I should
not dare to claim, if I did not now for a little breathe again
in Thee after fear of my sins. Likewise Thou didst bring into
my wretched heart, perhaps not hope so much as the shadow of hope,
in that Thou didst vouchsafe to me birth, and rebirth also, on
that day highest of all days and bestbeloved by Christian
people. Almost the whole of Good Friday had my mother passed in
excessive pain of travail, (in what anguish, too, did she linger,
when I wandered from the way and followed slippery paths ! ) when
at last the eve of Easter dawned.
Racked, therefore, by pains longendured, and her tortures
increasing as her hour drew near, when she thought I had at last
in natural course come to the birth, instead I was returned within
the womb. By this time my father, friends and kinsfolk were crushed
with dismal sorrowing for both of us, for whilst the child was
hastening the death of the mother, and she her child's in denying
him deliverance, all had reason for compassion. It was a day on
which with the exception of the special anniversary service celebrated
at its own time the regular offices for the household were not
taking place. And so they ask counsel in their need and fly for
help to the altar of the Lady Mary, and to her (the only Virgin
to bear a child that ever was or would be) this vow was made and
in the place of an offering this gift laid upon the Gracious Lady's
altar, that should a male child come to the birth, he should be
given up to the service of God and of herself in the ministry,
but if one of weaker sex, she should be handed over to the corresponding
calling. At once was born a weak little being, almost an abortion,
and at that timely birth there was rejoicing only for my mother's
deliverance, the child being such a miserable object. In that
poor mite just born there was such a pitiful meagreness that he
had the corpselike look of one born out of due time; so
much so that reeds which grow exceedingly slender in those parts-that
being the middle of April-seemed thicker in comparison with my
little fingers. On that same day, when I was put into the Cleansing
water, a certain woman-as I was told in Joke when a boy and young
man-tossed me from hand to hand saying, " Can such a child
live, think you, whom nature by a mistake has made almost without
limbs, giving him something more like a line than a body? "
All these things, my Creator, were signs of the state in which
I seem now to live. Could reality in Thy service be found in me,
O Lord? No solidity, no firmness in Thee have I shewn. If to the
eye, work of mine has appeared good, many a time have crooked
motives made it slight. God of supreme love, I have said Thou
gavest me hope, or a faint copy of some little hope, out of the
promise of that joyous day on which I was born and reborn and
offered too to her who is Queen of all next to God. O Lord God,
do I not surmise with the reason Thou hast given me, that the
day of birth brings nothing better than the day of death to those
that live an unprofitable life? If it is true beyond dispute that
no merits can be prior to the day we are born, but can be to the
day of our death: if it should be our hap not to live in goodness,
then, I confess, famous days, whether for birth or death, can
do us no good.
For if it is true that He made me, and not I myself, and that
I did not fix the day, and had no right to the choice of it, its
bestowal on me by God affords me neither hope nor honour, unless
my life imitating the holiness of the day, justifies its promise.
Then certainly my birthday would be brightened by the joyous character
of the season, if the purpose of my life were controlled by virtue
sighing for integrity, and the glory of the man's entry into the
world would appear a favour granted to his merit, if his spirit
continuing in righteousness should glorify his end; Whether I
be named Peter or Paul, whether Remigius or Nicolaus, I shall
not profit, in the words of the poet, " by the name that
has been derived from great Iulus," unless I carefully copy
the examples of those whom Providence or chance has made my namesakes,
Behold, O God, how the swelling of my heart sinks down again,
how but a feather s weight is that which is magnified to a matter
for pride !
Also, O Lady of Earth and Heaven, next to Thine only Son, how
happy was the thought of those who placed me under bondage to
thee ! How happy, too, had been mine, if in later years I had
conformed my heart to that vow's resolve ! Behold, I confess that
I was given to be especially Thine own, nor do I deny that sacrilegiously
and knowingly thou wast robbed of me. Did I not rob thee of myself
when I preferred my stinking wilfulness to thy sweet odour? But
although many a time by such a cheat I stole myself away from
thee, yet to thee, and through thee to God the Father and Thine
only Son, did I more fearlessly return, when I contemplated that
offering, and when through my sins a thousand times recurring
I pined again, then out of thy neverfailing compassion security
was born again and I was encouraged to hope by the boon of thy
ancient mercy. But why that word " ancient "? So many
times have I known and daily do know, the constancy of thy mercy
so oft have I escaped from the prison of my fall, when thou didst
set me free, that on those old matters I would fain keep utter
silence, when such a wealth of freedom rules; and so often as
the repetition of sin begets in me a cruel hardening of the heart,
then my resort to thee, as by a natural instinct, softens it again:
and when, after looking on myself and thinking of my woes, I faint
almost in despair, whether I will or no I feel springing up in
my unhappy soul a certainty of recovery in thee. So close to my
thought it lieth that in whatsoever ills I be entangled, thou
canst not, if I dare to say it, be a defaulter in my need, and
on thee in particular shall I lay the due cause of my ruin, if
thou hast no regard for him in his perversity, who was taken straight
from the womb to thee, and if thou givest him no welcome when
he turns to thee again. Since clearly the power is Thine at will
and the authority of the Son is known to overflow to the mother,
from whom may I rather demand salvation than from thee, to whom,
as it were, I cry out, "I am Thine" by right of the
bondage that began at my birth? But of this at another time how
gladly will I reason with thee ! Let me touch upon other matters.
CHAPTER IV
Now after birth I had hardly learnt to cherish my rattle when
Thou, Gracious God, henceforth my Father, didst make me an orphan.
For when almost eight months had passed, the father of my flesh
died: for that great thanks to Thee, who didst cause that man
to depart in a Christian state, who would undoubtedly have endangered,
had he lived, the provision Thou hadst made for me. For because
my person, and a certain natural quickness for one of such tender
age, seemed to fit me for worldly pursuits, no one doubted that
when the proper time came for beginning my education he would
break the vow which he had made for me. O Gracious Disposer, for
the well-being of both didst Thou dispose that I should by no
means lose instruction in Thy discipline and that he should not
break his solemn promise for me.
And so with great care did the widow, truly Thine, bring me up,
and at last choose the day of the festival of the Blessed Gregory
for putting me to school. She had heard that that servant of Thine,
O Lord, had been eminent for his wonderful understanding and had
abounded in extraordinary wisdom Therefore she strove with bountiful
almsgiving to win the good word of Thy Confessor, that he to whom
Thou hadst granted understanding, might procure for me a zeal
for the pursuit of knowledge. Put, therefore, to my book, I had
learnt the alphabet, but hardly yet to join letters into syllables,
when my good mother, eager for my instruction, arranged to pass
me on to grammar.
There was a little before that time, and in a measure there is
still in my time, such a scarcity of grammarians that in the towns
hardly anyone, and in the cities very few, could be found, and
those who by good hap could be discovered, had but slight knowledge
and could not be compared with the itinerant clerks of these days.
And so the man in whose charge my mother decided to put me, had
begun to learn grammar late in life and was the more unskilled
in the art through having imbibed little of it when young. Yet
of such sobriety was he, that what he wanted in letters, he made
up for in honesty.
My mother, therefore, through chaplains conducting divine service
in her house, approached this teacher, who was in charge of the
education of a young cousin of mine, being a kinsman of his parents
and boarded in their house. He, taking into consideration the
woman's earnest request and favourably impressed by her honourable
and virtuous character, although afraid to give offence to those
kinsmen of mine, was in doubt whether to come into her house.
Whilst thus undecided, he was persuaded by the following vision:
At night when he was sleeping in his room, where I remember, the
whole of the teaching of our town was conducted, the figure of
a white-headed old man, of very dignified appearance, holding
me by the hand, seemed to lead me in by the door of the room.
Halting within hearing, whilst the other looked on, he pointed
out his bed to me and said, " Go to him, for he will love
you very much.'' And when he, loosing my hand, let me go, I ran
to the man and, as I kissed him again and again on the face, he
awoke and conceived such an affection for me, that putting aside
all hesitation, and shaking off all fear of my kinsfolk, on whom
not only he, but all that belonged to him, were dependent, he
agreed to go to my mother and live in her house.
Now that same boy, whom he had been educating so far, was handsome
and of good birth, but with a dislike for virtuous conduct and
unsteady under all instruction, a liar and a thief, as far as
his age would allow, so that under an ineffective guardianship
he was hardly ever in school, but could be found playing truant
almost every day in the vineyards. But my mother's friendly advances
being made to him at the moment when the man was tired of the
boy's childish folly, and the meaning of the vision fixing still
deeper in his heart what he already desired, he gave up his companionship
of the boy and left the noble family with whom he was living.
This, however, he would not have done with impunity, had not their
respect for my mother, as much as her power, protected him.
CHAPTER V
Placed under him I was taught with such purity and checked with
such honesty in the excesses which are wont to spring up in youth,
that I was kept well-guarded from the common wolves and never
allowed to leave his company, or to eat anywhere than at home,
or to accept gifts from anyone without his leave; in everything
I had to shew self-control in word, look or act, so that he seemed
to require of me the conduct of a monk rather than a clerk. For
whereas others of my age wandered everywhere at will and were
unchecked in the indulgence of such inclinations as were natural
to their age, I, hedged in with constant restraints, would sit
and look on in my clerical chasuble [l] at the troops of players
like a beast awaiting sacrifice.
Note: [1] Clericaliter
infulatus, -Infula in medieval Latin is used sometimes for
a mitre, sometimes for a chasuble. In classical Latin it is the
fillet with which the victim for sacrifice was adorned. There
is a play on the two meanings of the word. The sense obviously
requires the emendation of peritum to periturum.
Even on Sundays and Saints' Days I had to submit to the severity
of school exercises; on no day, and hardly at any time, was I
allowed to take holiday in fact, in every way and at all times
I was driven to study. But he, on the other hand, gave himself
up solely to my education, being allowed to have no other pupil.
And whilst he was working me so hard, and anyone looking on might
suppose my little mind was being exceedingly sharpened by such
driving, the hopes of all were being defeated. For he was utterly
unskilled in prose and verse composition. Meantime I was pelted
almost every day with a hail of blows and hard words, whilst he
was forcing me to learn what he could not teach.
With him in this fruitless struggle I passed nearly six years,
but got no reward worth the expenditure of time. Yet otherwise
in all that is supposed to count for good training in the behaviour
of a gentleman, he spared no effort for my improvement. Most faithfully
and lovingly did he steep me in all that was temperate and pure
and outwardly refined. But I clearly perceived that at my expense
he had no consideration and restraint in urging me on without
intermission and at much pains under show of teaching. For by
the strain of undue application, the natural powers of grown men,
as well as of boys, are blunted and the hotter the fire of their
mental activity in unremitting study, the sooner is the strength
of their understanding weakened and chilled by excess and its
energy turned to sloth.
It is necessary, therefore, to treat the mind with greater moderation
whilst it is still burdened with its bodily covering; for if there
is stillness in heaven for half an hour, so that even the gift
of contemplation cannot be unresting whilst it goes on, so, too,
the intellect, when wrestling with some problem, will not without
rest maintain what I may call its obstinacy. Hence we believe
that when the mind has been fixed exclusively on one subject,
we ought to give it relaxation from its intensity, so that after
dealing by alternation with different subjects we may return with
renewed energy, as after a holiday, to that one with which our
minds are most engaged. In short, let wearied nature at times
get refreshment by varying its work. Let us remember that God
has not made the world without variety, but in day and night,
spring and summer, winter and autumn, has delighted us by changes
in the seasons. Let everyone, therefore, who has the name of master,
see in what manner he may regulate the teaching of boys, and young
men too, for we consider that those who have the full rigour of
earnestness such as you see in older men, must be treated in the
same way.
Now the love that this man had for me was of a savage sort and
excessive severity was shewn by him his unjust floggings; and
yet the great care with Which he guarded me was evident in his
acts. Clearly I did not deserve to be beaten, for if he had had
the skill in teaching which he professed, it is certain that I
was, for a boy, well able to grasp anything that he taught correctly.
But because his elocution was by no means pleasing and what he
strove to express was not at all clear to himself, his talk rolled
ineffectively on and on in a commonplace, but by no means obvious,
circle, which could not be brought to any conclusion, much less
understood. For so uninstructed was he that he retained incorrectly
what he had, as I have said before, once badly learnt late in
life, and if he let anything slip out (incautiously, as it were),
he maintained and defended it with blows, regarding all his own
opinions as certainly true; but I think he would certainly have
been spared such folly . . . for before, says the same teacher,
a man's nature has absorbed knowledge, he may win greater praise
by keeping silence on that he knows not than by telling of what
he knows.
Whilst, then, he took cruel vengeance on me for not knowing what
he knew not himself, he ought certainly to have considered that
it was very wrong to demand from a weak little mind what he had
not put into it. For as the words of madmen can with difficulty,
or not at all, be understood by the sane, so the talk of those
who know not, but say that they know, and pass it on to others,
will be darkened the more by their own explanation. You will find
nothing more difficult than trying to discourse of what you do
not understand, which is bewildering to the teacher, but more
to the pupil, making both look like blockheads. This I say, O
my God, not to put a stigma on such a friend, but for every reader
to understand that we should not attempt to teach as a certainty
every assertion we make, and that we should not involve others
also in the mists of our own conjectures. For it has been my purpose,
in consideration of the poorness of my matter, to give it some
flavour by reasoning about things, that if the one deserves to
be reckoned of little value, the other may be regarded sometimes
as worth while.
CHAPTER VI
Although, therefore, he crushed me by such severity, yet in other
ways he made it quite plain that he loved me as well as he did
himself. With such watchful care did he devote himself to me,
with such foresight did he secure my welfare against the spite
of others and teach me on what authority I should be ware of the
dissolute manners of some who paid court to me, and so long did
he argue with my mother about the elaborate richness of my dress,
that he was regarded as exercising the guardianship not of a master,
but of a parent, and not over my body only, but my soul, too.
As for me, considering the dull sensibility of my age and my littleness,
great was the love I conceived for him in response, in spite of
the many weals with which he marked my tender skin so that not
through fear, as is common in those of my age but through a sort
of love deeply implanted in my heart, I obeyed him in utter forgetfulness
of his severity. Certainly this same master and my mother, when
they saw me paying to both alike due respect, tried by frequent
tests to see whether I should dare to prefer one or the other
on a definite issue.
At last, without any intention on the part of either, an opportunity
occurred for a test which left no room for doubt. Once I had been
beaten in school- the school being no other than the dininghall
in our house, for he had given up the charge of others to take
me alone, my mother having wisely required him to do this for
a higher emolument and a better position. When, therefore, at
a certain hour in the evening, my studies, such as they were,
had come to an end, I went to my mother's knees after a more severe
beating than I had deserved. And when she, as she was wont, began
to ask me repeatedly whether I had been whipped that day, I, not
to appear a telltale, entirely denied it. Then she, whether
I liked it or not, threw off the inner garment which they call
a vest or shirt and saw my little arms blackened and the skin
of my back everywhere puffed up with the cuts from the twigs.
And being grieved to the heart by the very savage punishment inflicted
on my tender body, troubled, agitated and weeping with sorrow,
she said: " You shall never become a clerk, nor any more
suffer so much to get learning." At that I, looking at her
with what reproach I could, replied: " If I had to die on
the spot, I would not give up learning my book and becoming a
clerk." Now she had promised that if I wished to become a
knight, when I reached the age for it, she would give me the arms
and equipment.
But when I had, with a good deal of scorn declined all these offers,
she, Thy servant, O Lord, accepted this rebuff so gladly, and
was made so cheerful by my scorn of her proposal, that she repeated
to my master the reply with which I had opposed her. Then both
rejoiced that I had such an eager longing to fulfil my father's
vow, whilst I, the more quickly to acquire learning, badly as
I was taught, did not shirk the church offices, nay, when the
hour tempted or there was need, I did not prefer even my meals
to such place and occasion. Then indeed it was so: but Thou, O
God, knowest how much I afterwards fell away from that zeal, how
reluctantly t went to divine services, hardly consenting even
when driven to them with blows. Clearly the impulses that constrained
me then, were not religious feelings begotten by thoughtfulness,
but only a child's eagerness. But after the bloom of youth was
gone through conception of wickedness within, rushing on to loss
of shame, then that older zeal entirely faded away. Although for
a brief space, my God, good resolve, nay, the semblance of good
resolve, seemed to shine forth, it was soon fated to die away
overshadowed by the storm clouds of evil imaginations.
CHAPTER VII
At length my mother tried by every means to get me into a church
living. Now the first opportunity for placing me was not only
badly, but abominably chosen. A brother of mine, a young knight
and a citizen of Clermont . . . situated between Compiègne
and Beauvais was waiting for the payment of money by the lord
of that town, either a gift or a feudal due. And when he deferred
payment, probably through want of ready money, by the advice of
some of my kinsmen it was suggested to him that he should give
me a canonry, called a prebend, in the church of that place, which,
contrary to canon law, was in his gift, and that he should then
cease to be troubled for the payment of his debt.
There was at that time a fresh attack being made by the Apostolic
See on married priests, followed by an outburst of rage against
them by the people who were zealous for the clergy, angrily demanding
that they should either be deprived of their benefices or should
cease to perform their priestly duties. Thereupon a certain nephew
of my father, a man conspicuous for his power and sagacity, but
so bestial in his debauchery that he had no respect for any woman's
conjugal ties, now violently inveighed against the clergy because
of this canon, as if exceptional purity of heart drove him to
horror of such practices. A layman himself, he refused to be bound
by a layman's laws, their very laxity making his abuse of them
more shameful The marriage net could not hold him; he never allowed
himself to be caught in its noose. Being everywhere in the worst
odour through such conduct, but protected by the rank which his
worldly power gave him, he was never prevented by the reproach
of his own unchastity from thundering persistently against the
holy orders.
Having found, therefore, a pretext by which I might profit at
the expense of a cloistered priest, he begged the lord of Castrum,
with whom, as his intimate friend, he had more than sufficient
influence, to summon me and invest me with that canonry on the
ground that the cleric was an absentee and utterly unsuitable
for the office. For contrary to all ecclesiastical law and right,
he was holding the Abbacy by permission of the Bishop, and not
being under rule himself, he demanded obedience to rule from those
who were. Because, therefore, at that time not only was cohabitation
with wives alleged against clergy of the first three orders and
those under rule, but also the purchase of ecclesiastical offices
that involved the care of souls, was regarded as an offence, not
to mention posts concerned with the internal business of the church,
both those who took the part of the cleric who had lost his prebend
and many as young as myself, began to raise whispers of simony
and excommunication, which had recently become more frequent.
Now married priest as he was, although he would not be separated
from his wife by the suspension of his office, at least he had
given up celebrating mass.
Because, therefore, he treated the divine mysteries as of less
importance than his own body, he u as rightly caught in that punishment
which he thought to escape by the renunciation of the Sacrifice.
And so, being stripped of his canonry, because there was no longer
anything to restrain him, he now began freely to celebrate mass,
whilst keeping his wife. Then a rumour grew that at this service
he was daily repeating the excommunication of my mother and her
family. My mother, always fearful in religious matters, dreading
the punishment of her sins and therefore the giving of offence,
thereupon surrendered the prebend which had been wickedly granted,
and in the expectation of some cleric's death, bargained with
the lord of the castle for another for me. This s out of the
fryingpan into the fire. For that something should be given
in anticipation of another's death is nothing else than a daily
incentive to murder
O Lord my God, thus was I at that time wickedly caught in these
hopes, and in no wise occupied with waiting for Thy gifts which
I had not yet learned to know. This woman, Thy servant, did not
yet understand the hope, the certainty, she ought to have of my
sustenance in Thee and had not learnt what benefits had already
been won for me from Thee. For because for a little, whilst still
in the world, she had thoughts that were of the world, no wonder
that those things which she had chosen to get for herself, she
sought to obtain for me, believing that I too would desire the
things of the world. But when, after perceiving the peril of her
own soul, she burdened the many secret places of her heart with
sorrow for her past life, then, as though she had said, "
That which I am unwilling to do for myself, I will not do for
another," she thought it the worst madness to practise for
others what she scorned for herself, and what she had ceased to
seek for herself, she conceived it a wicked thing to desire for
another, if he should be injured by it. Far different is the practice
of many, whom we see with a show of poverty casting away their
own advantages, but too eager to secure the advancement of others
not only of their own family, which is bad enough, but of those
unconnected with them, which is worse.
CHAPTER VIII
But I should like to go a little more deeply, whenever it occurs
to me in speaking of my own times, into the condition of religious
life and the conversions to it that I have seen; and therefore
I have taken this church . . . moreover, some other persons also
who happen to be examples of this change for good. There are in
writers copious allusions to the prevalence of the monastic way
of life in ancient times. For to say nothing of foreign parts,
it is known that under certain kings of France in various places
with different founders the rules of these institutions were practised;
and in some of them there gathered together such an enormous number
of men living a pious life that we wonder how the narrow accommodation
of these places could hold such crowds. Some of these indeed had
special influence through their congestion, several monasteries,
in which the zeal of the brotherhood fell away, being noted for
their huge size, as at one time was Luxeuil in Gaul, some, too,
in Neustria, now called Normandy. But because, as the poet truly
says, " To the highest it is denied to stand for long,"
and, as is still more true, when the world is misled by the reins
of iniquity, the love of a holy life grows cold, material prosperity
was also, after a time, lost by certain churches: hence when manual
labour also was held to be base, there ensued a scarcity of monks.
Therefore in our day in the oldest monasteries, numbers had thinned,
although they had an abundance of wealth given in ancient times
and they were satisfied with small congregations, in which very
few could be found who, through scorn of sin, had rejected the
world, but the churches were rather in the hands of those who
had been placed in them by the piety of their kinsmen early in
life. And these, having little to fear on account of their own
sins, as they imagined they had committed none, therefore lived
within the walls of the convents a life of slackened zeal. They
being allotted managements and outside duties in accordance with
the needs or wishes of the abbots, were eager enough themselves
to accept them but inexperienced in outside freedom from restraint
and had easy opportunities for wasting church monies: these being
accounted for as expended or as free gifts. And although there
was then little care for religion amongst them, yet out of their
very rarity monks became still more scarce.
CHAPTER IX
WHILST this was the state of things and hardly anyone of any consequence
joined them, a certain Count of the Castle of Breteuil, which
is situated between the borders of Amiens and Beauvais came forth
to arouse enthusiasm .in many others. He was in the prime of life,
a man of most pleasing refinement, noteworthy for the nobility
of his family and the power it exercised in other towns as well
as its own, through the remarkable splendour for which it was
conspicuous, and widely renowned for its riches. Set for some
time on a pinnacle of pride, at last the man came to his senses
and turned to reflect on the wretchedness of the life which he
had begun to live in the world. The miserable condition of his
soul being perceived, and that he was doing nothing else in the
world but destroying and being destroyed, polluting and being
polluted, he continually discussed from all sides with those of
his companions to whom he imparted his ardent desires, what manner
of life he should take up. Now his name was Everard and he was
wellknown everywhere as amongst the foremost men of France.
At last he carried out into actual practice the convictions of
his longcontinued meditations. Without telling those he
left behind, but in company with others whom he had induced by
his secret persuasions to form a brotherhood and adopt a religious
life, he fled to foreign parts to live where his name was utterly
unknown. There he employed himself in burning charcoal to pay
for his living by hawking it with his friends through the country
and the towns. In this way he imagined he had won the greatest
riches, the contemplation, that is, of the daughter of the king,
allglorious within. Now I will add another example, the
one followed by him.
Theobald, now universally called Saint and renowned for the number
of churches dedicated to him, was before that a young noble. In
the midst of his military training, conceiving a distaste for
arms, he fled, barefooted, from his friends, to take up
the occupation mentioned above, living in this for some time a
life of indigence to which he was unaccustomed. Inspired by his
example, I say, Everard had resolved to support himself in the
same humble occupation.
But because there are no good things, that do not at times give
occasion to some wickedness, when he was one day in a village
engaged on some business or other, behold there stood before him
a man in a scarlet cloak and silken hose [l] that had the soles
cut away in a damnable fashion, with hair effeminately parted
in front and sweeping the tops of his shoulders looking more like
a lover than a traveller. And when he, in his simplicity, asked
him who he was, the other. raising his eyebrows with a sidelong
look in a bold fashion, refrained from speaking, but he naturally
more curious at his hesitation to speak, pressed him for a reply,
and in the end the man, as if overcome by his persistency, at
last burst out, " I am E:verard of Breteuil, formerly Count,
who, as you know, was once a rich man in France, but going into
exile, I am now voluntarily doing penance for my sins." So
spoke the fine fellow and amazed his questioner at this sudden
assumption of the personality that he claimed for his own. Wondering,
therefore, at the impudence of so incredible a rascal, and scorning
all further talk with his own shadow, as one might call him, he
told the tale to his friends, saying, " Be it known unto
you, my friends, that this scheme of life may be profitable for
us, but to very many others it is fatal, because by what you have
heard from my lips you may guess what happens in many other cases.
If, therefore, we wish wholly to please God, we ought to avoid
what is a stumbling block to others and even offers an opportunity
for false pretence. Let us therefore go to some permanent abode,
where, abandoning the name of exile endured for God's sake, we
may deprive anyone of the temptation to personate us. After this
declaration they changed their plans, setting out for Marmonstier,
and there taking the habit of the holy order, they served God
continually.
Note [1] Tibialibus
sericis pedulum abscissiorne damnatis.-Guibert's rhetoric
is sometimes hard to construe exactly, even where there is no
confusion of text. Clerical disciplinarians fulminate all through
the Middle Ages against what they look upon as immoral novelties
of costume.
We have been told that this Theobald, whilst in the world, was
in his love for fine clothing unsurpassed by those richer than
himself and he was of such passionate character that it was no
easy matter for anyone even to accost him. But afterwards, when
he had become a monk, we have seen him shew such contempt for
his person, that the meanness of his apparel, the humility of
his looks and the emaciation of his limbs would have proclaimed
him, not a Count, but a country boor. And when he was sent through
cities and towns on the Abbot's business, he could never be induced
of his own accord to endure even once to set foot in the castles
which he had relinquished. What I have related above, he told
me himself, since he had a great regard for me when I was quite
young, admitted me amongst his bloodrelations, and gave
me very special tokens of his love and respect.
He had a very courtly habit of getting anyone whom he knew to
be an eminent scholar, to write something in prose or verse for
his amusement in a little book which he often carried about with
him for the purpose; so that while collecting the maxims of all
who had fame in particular studies, he might from these weigh
their several opinions. And although he had no capacity for such
things himself, yet he would undoubtedly soon apprehend from the
opinion of those to whom he showed his notes, who had expressed
himself most correctly. Enough now has been said of a man once
a noble and far more noble in the good end he made. He, I say,
amongst men of our time, shone most in the brilliant example of
his conversion.
CHAPTER X
BUT he who made Paul out of Stephen's prayer, spread this example
with happier and wider results through another more powerful person.
For Simon, the son of Count Ralph, enriched the religion of our
time by tile renown of a sudden conversion. How famous was the
power of this Ralph throughout France, the cities which he attacked,
the towns which he took and held with wonderful skill, many can
testify who survived him and have remembered his deeds. How great
he was, may also be gathered from the one fact that he married
the mother of King Philip after the death of her husband.
Now the young Simon, on the death of his father, succeeded him
as Count, but for a short time only. For the story goes that the
following was the cause of his late conversion. His father's remains
had been buried in a certain town which had become his by usurpation
rather than by inheritance. The son, haring this might injure
his father's soul, proposed to transfer them to the town which
was his by right; when he was disinterred previous to being taken
away and was seen naked by the son, he, looking on the wasted
body of him who had been his powerful and daring father, fell
to meditation on his wretched state. And then he began to despise
all the loftiness and the glory that smiled upon himself. And
so having conceived this desire, at last with fiery eagerness
he gave birth to it, and flying from his country and his friends,
passed over the borders of France into Burgundy to the holy Eugendus
in the district of Jura.
I have been told that he had been betrothed to a young girl of
high rank, who, hearing that her lover had renounced herself and
the world, and not enduring to be considered inferior to him,
joined the virgin bands that serve God, determined to remain a
virgin herself.
Some time after he had become a monk, he returned to France and
the purity of his conversation, with the humility of spirit evident
in his looks, inspired so many men and women of consequence that
dense crowds of both sexes gathered to escort him on his way,
and everywhere numbers were incited by the example of his fame
to a similar resolve, since a great swarm of men of knightly rank
was won over by this man's zeal.
CHAPTER XI
BUT because it was fitting that one of the learned should draw
after him a crowd of men in holy orders with the same desire,
not long ago there was a certain Brun in the city of Rheims, a
man of culture in the liberal arts, a teacher of the higher science,
who is supposed to have begotten his first impulse to a new life
from the following occasion. After the death of the renowned Archbishop
Gervase, one Manasseh thrust himself by simony into the rule of
that city. He was of noble birth, but had none at all of that
tranquillity of temper which is most becoming to a gentleman;
such pride had he conceived from the novelty of his position,
that he seemed to be aiming at the imperial pomp of foreign nations,
and even the excesses of such pomp. " Of foreign nations,"
I said, because in the French kings there has always been seen
a strong tendency to moderation, so that, although they may not
have known the saying of the wise Solomon, yet they carried it
out in practice. " They have made thee a Prince," says
he; " Be not uplifted, but be as one of them." Now as
he paid much attention to the military class and neglected the
clergy, he is reported to have said on one occasion, " The
Archbishopric of Rheims would be a good thing, if one had not
to sing mass because of it."
When, therefore, all good men were horrified at the at wickedness
and senseless conduct of this Archbishop, Brun, the bestreputed
man at that time in the churches of Gaul, with certain other noble
clerks of Rheims, left the city through hatred of the ill-famed
Archbishop Afterwards when he was more than once anathematised
by Hugh of Die, the Archbishop of Lyons and papal legate, and
when with his band of soldiers he endeavoured to squander the
treasures of the church, the nobles, clergy and citizens drove
him from his chair, which he had so evilly occupied. Sent into
perpetual exile, after joining the Emperor Henry at that time
an excommunicated man, and being himself excommunicated, he wandered
about here and there, and in the end died outside the Church.
Worthy of mention is something which befell in the city under
his wicked rule. Amongst the church furniture which he had shared
out with the soldiers, who had been the tools of his tyranny,
was a golden cup of considerable value for two reasons, because
it was one of great size and in it had been melted, as was said,
some tiny portions of the gold offered by the Magi to the Lord.
When, therefore, he was for distributing the cup, after it had
been cut up into pieces with pincers, amongst those to whom he
had given it, and no one was inclined to touch so sacred an object,
at last a wicked knight, who was as bad as the giver, dared to
lift it and even to grasp it with shameless contempt for the grandeur
of the Sacrament. Thereupon turning mad, he never spent the price
of his untoward presumption, but forthwith paid the penalty of
his rash greed.
But Brun, having left the city, determined also to renounce the
world, and shrinking from observation by his friends, went on
to the territory of Grenoble. There, on a high and dreadful cliff,
approached by a path very rarely used, under which there is a
deep gorge in a precipitous valley, he chose to dwell and drew
up the rules of that order by which his followers live to this
day.
And the church there is not far from the foot of the mountain,
in a little fold of its sloping side, and in it are thirteen monks
having a cloister quite suitable for common use, but not living
together in cloister fashion like other orders.
For they all have their own separate cells round the cloister
in which they work, sleep and eat. On Sunday they get their food
from the cellarer, that is bread and beans, the latter, their
only kind of relish, being cooked by each in his cell. Water they
have both for drinking and other purposes from a conduit, which
traverses all their cells and flows into each through certain
holes in the party walls. They have fish and cheese on Sundays
and the chief festivals; by fish I mean not what they buy, but
what they get by the charity of any good people.
Gold, silver, ornaments for the church they get from no one, having
none in the place but a silver cup. Moreover, they do not go into
the church at the usual hours, as we do, yet at fixed times. Mass,
if I am not mistaken, they hear on Sundays and the usual holy
days. They hardly ever speak in any place, for when it is necessary
to ask for anything, they do so by signs. Their wine, when they
drink it, is so diluted that it has no strength and scarcely any
taste, being very little better than ordinary water. Their dress
is a hair shirt and few other clothes. They are governed by a
Prior, the Bishop of Grenoble, a strict monk, discharging the
office of Abbot and Controller. Although they submit to every
kind of privation, they accumulate a very rich library. The less
their store of worldly goods, the more do they toil laboriously
for that meat which does not perish, but endures
So carefully, I say, do they guard their poverty, that this very
year the Count of Nevers, a most pious and powerful man, after
a visit prompted by his devoutness and their spreading reputation,
in which he earnestly warned them against worldly greed, returned
home, and then, remembering their poverty, whilst forgetting his
own admonitions, he sent them some silver vessels, that is, cups
and salvers of great value. But he found them by no means forgetful
of what he had said; for as soon as he had made known to them
his intentions, they gave him back his own words exactly repeated.
" We," said they, " have chosen to keep no money
given to us from outside either for our expenses or for church
furniture. And if it is spent on neither of these objects, to
what end should we accept it? "
And so, ashamed of his offering, which gave the lie to his advice,
the Count pretended not to see their rebuff and sent instead a
large quantity of ox hides and parchment, which he found out would
certainly be needed by them.
Now that place is called Chartreux, and in it the soil is very
little cultivated by them for corn. But with the fleeces of their
sheep, bred by them in great numbers, they are accustomed to buy
the produce they need. Moreover at the foot of that mountain there
are dwellings sheltering faithful laymen, more than twenty in
number, who live under their careful rule. These are so filled
with zeal for the life of meditation which they have adopted,
that they never give it up or grow lukewarm, however long their
arduous mode of living may last.
Leaving this place on some occasion or other, this wonderful Brun,
after impressing on them by word and deed the principles of which
we have spoken, departed either to Apulia or Calabria and there
instituted a similar manner of living. There dwelling in great
humility and setting in every way an example of piety that shone
all round, he was sought out by the Apostolic See for the honour
of a bishopric, but, when taken for it, fled. Fearing the world
and the loss of that enjoyment of God already savoured by him,
in putting from him such an honour, he refused not the spiritual
office, but the worldly rank.
These persons, I say, sowed the first seeds of the monastic life.
Forthwith flocks of adherents, men and women, people of all ranks
gathered to join them. What shall I say of their ages? When little
children of ten and eleven thought as old men and mortified their
flesh beyond the endurance of such tender years? In those conversions
there were the same results as in the martyrs of old time, a more
lively faith found in weak and tender bodies than in those who
had the vigour of maturity and the power of knowledge.
At a time, therefore, when nowhere but in the oldest monasteries
was there room for many of the monks, new structures were begun
everywhere, and as they flocked in from all sides, great store
of provision was used. And when the means did not exist for building
on a large scale, they arranged for the food and shelter of the
monks by twos or fours or as many as could be supported. Consequently
in manors and towns, cities and garrisons, and even in the very
woods and fields, there suddenly appeared swarms of monks spreading
in every direction and busily engaged, and places in which had
been lairs of wild beasts and caves of robbers became known as
sites of holy name and saintly habitations.
Therefore, with so many examples around them, the nobles became
eager to submit to voluntary poverty, and, scorning their possessions,
to give them up to the convents which they entered; and ever in
a pious kind of hunting they strove to capture others to do the
same. Moreover, the noble wives of well-known men forsook marriage,
and putting from their pious hearts the love of children, bestowed
therein their wealth, charging their support upon the churches.
But those men or women who could not wholly surrender their property,
supported those who had done so, by many a gift from their substance,
surrounding churches and altars with abundant and welcome offerings
and by such services striving, so far as they might, out of their
wealth to equal that manner of living, which they were not able
to copy by exact imitation.
And so it came to pass that at this time the convents made great
progress through the multitude of gifts and givers, and still
more by the wisdom of those who came to this resolve, and of those
who aided the inmates of the churches by caring for them in every
way; whereas now through the growing laxity of these times, each
day there seems to be a falling away from the flourishing state
of that age. For now, sorrowfully be it said, those gifts which
their parents made to holy places moved with love for such things,
the sons now withdraw entirely, or are for ever demanding fines
for their renewal, being utterly degenerate from the goodwill
of their sires.
CHAPTER XII
After these reasonings at length I return to Thee, my God, to
speak of the conversion of that good woman, my mother. She, when
hardly of marriageable age, was given to my father, a mere youth,
by provision of my grandfather. Though her face shewed much intelligence
and a natural and becoming gravity was to be seen in the nobility
of her features, yet at the very beginning of her childhood she
conceived a fear of God's name. For she had learnt to hate sin
not by experience, but by a kind of dread from on high, and (as
she often told me herself) this had so flooded her mind with the
terror of sudden death, that in later times she grieved because
she no longer felt in riper years the same stings of righteous
fear, as she had in her rude and ignorant youth.
Now it so happened that at the very beginning of that lawful union
conjugal intercourse was made ineffective through the bewitchments
of certain persons. For it was said that their marriage drew upon
them the envy of a stepmother, who, having nieces of great beauty
and nobility, was plotting to entangle one of them with my father.
Meeting with no success in her designs, she is said to have used
magical arts to prevent entirely the consummation of the marriage.
His wife's virginity thus remaining intact for three years, during
which he endured his great misfortune in silence, at last, driven
to it by his kinsfolk, my father was the first to reveal the facts.
Imagine how my kinsmen tried hard in every way to bring about
a divorce, and their constant pressure upon my father, young and
raw, to become a monk, although at that time there was little
talk of such orders. This, however, was not done for his soul's
good, but with the purpose of getting possession of his property.
But when their suggestion produced no effect,. they began to hound
the girl herself, far away as she was from her kinsfolk and harassed
by the violence of strangers, into voluntary flight out of sheer
exhaustion under their insults, and without waiting for divorce.
Meanwhile she endured all this, bearing with calmness the abuse
that was aimed at her, and, if out of this rose any strife, pretending
ignorance of it. Besides certain rich men perceiving that she
was not in fact a wife, began to assail the heart of the young
girl; but Thou, O Lord, the builder of inward chastity, didst
inspire her with purity stronger than her nature or her youth;
Thy grace it was that saved her from burning, though set in the
midst of flames, Thy doing that her weak soul was not hurt by
the poison of evil talk, and that when enticements from without
were added to those impulses common to our human nature, like
oil poured upon the flames, yet the young maiden's heart was always
under her control and never won from her by any allurements. Are
not such things Thy doing, Thine alone, O Lord, who, when she
was in the heat of youth and continually engaged in wifely duties,
yet for seven whole years didst keep her in such continency that,
in the words of a certain wise man, " even report dared not
speak lies about her "?
O God, Thou knowest how hard, how almost impossible it would be
for women of the present time to keep such chastity as this; whereas
there was in those days such modesty, that hardly ever was the
good name of a married woman smirched by ill report Ah ! how wretchedly
have modesty and honour in the state of maidenhood declined from
those times to these, and both the reality and the show of a mother's
guardianship shrunk to naught ! Therefore coarse mirth is all
that may be noted in their manners and naught but jesting heard,
with sly winks and ceaseless chatter. Wantonness shews in their
gait, only silliness in their behaviour. So much does the extravagance
of their dress depart from the old simplicity that in the enlargement
of their sleeves, the straitness of their skirts, the distortion
of their shoes of Cordovan leather with their curling toes, they
seem to proclaim that everywhere shame is a castaway A lack of
lovers to admire her is a woman's crown of woe. On her crowds
of thronging suitors rests her claim to nobility and courtly pride.
There was of old time, I call God to witness, greater modesty
in married men, who would have blushed to be seen in the company
of such women, than there is now in married women; and men by
such shameful conduct are emboldened in their amours abroad and
driven to haunt the marketplace and the public street.
To what end all this, Lord God, but that no one blushes for his
own levity and licentiousness, because he knows that all are tarred
with the same brush, and seeing himself in the same case as all
others, why, prithee, should he be ashamed of pursuits in which
he knows all others engage? But why do I say " ashamed "
when such men only feel shame if they are not conspicuous in their
example of lustfulness. nor is a man's private boastfulness about
the number of his loves or his choice of the beauty which he prefers,
any reproach to him, nor is he scorned for vaunting his love affairs.
Rather does his part in furthering the general corruption meet
with the approval of all. Listen to the cheers when, with the
inherent looseness of his unbridled passions, that deserve the
doom of eternal silence, he shamelessly bruits abroad what ought
to have been hidden in shame, what should have burdened his soul
with the guilt of ruined chastity and plunged him in the depths
of despair. In this and in like manner is this age corrupt and
corrupting, bespattering men with its evil imaginations, whilst
the filth thereof, spreading to others, goes on increasing without
end.
Holy God, scarcely any such thing was heard of in the time when
Thine handmaid was thus living; nay, shameful things were hidden
under the cloak of sacred modesty and things of honour had their
crown. In these seven years, O Lord, that virginity that Thou
didst in wondrous fashion prolong in her, was in agony under countless
wrongs, as frequently they threatened to dissolve her marriage
with my father and give her to another husband or to send her
away to the strange houses of my distant kin. She did indeed under
such churlishness suffer bitterly (at times), but yet against
the enticements of her own flesh and the temptations of all others,
she strove with wonderful self-control through Thy goodness, O
God.
I do not say, gracious Lord, by what virtue she did this, but
that the virtue was Thine alone. For how could that be virtue
that came of no conflict between body and spirit, no straining
after God, but from mere concern for outward honour and avoidance
of illfame. No doubt shamefacedness has its use, if for
naught else, to resist the approach of sin. Useful before sin
it may be, yet when sin is done, 'tis only blameworthy. For in
that it prostrates the soul with holy shame, holding it back from
the sinful deed, for the time it avails, until the fear of God
brings aid, seasoning with holy gall shame's lack of savour and
making that which was profitable for time that is in the world,
to have its use not for a moment but eternally. Such shamefacedness,
lauded of men yet is the more deadly through its obstinate resistance
after sinning to the healing of holy confession. The passionate
desire of my mother, Thy servant, O Lord God, was to do nothing
to hurt her worldly honour, yet in the words of Thy Gregory, which
she had never read or heard read, she remained not in that desire,
for afterwards she surrendered all desire into Thy sole keeping.
Therefore was it good for her at that time to be subject to worldly
shame.
When therefore that bewitchment by which the bond of natural and
lawful union was broken, had lasted seven years and more, it is
easy enough to believe that, as by juggling, the faculty of sight
may be deceived, so that out of nothing something may be produced
by conjurors, and out of certain things others, so reproductive
power and effort may be broken up by much less art; and indeed
it is now a common practice understood even by ignorant people.
When, therefore, that bewitchment was brought to naught with the
aid of a certain old woman, my mother submitted to the duties
of a wife as faithfully as she had kept her virginity when assailed
by so many reproaches. Happy as she was in all else, she laid
herself open to the chance, if not the certainty, of endless misery
when she, whose goodness was ever growing, begat a son never else
than wicked, worse sinner than myself. Yet Thou knowest, Almighty
One, with what purity and holiness in obedience to Thee was my
upbringing, what care of nurses in infancy, of masters and teachers
in boyhood, she gave me, with no lack even of fine clothes for
my little body, putting me on an honourable equality sons of princes
and nobles. And not only in mother, O Lord, didst Thou put this
love for me, but didst inspire with it other far richer persons,
so that rather through the affection they had for me than under
the obligations of kinship, they lavished on me careful tending
and nurture.
O God, Thou knowest what warnings, what prayers she daily poured
into my ears not to listen to corrupting words from anyone. She
taught me, as often as she had leisure from household cares, how
and for what I should pray to Thee. Thou alone knowest with what
pains she travailed that the sound beginning of a happy and honourable
childhood guarded by Thee, might not be ruined by an unsound heart.
Thou didst make it her desire that I should without ceasing burn
with zeal for Thee, that Thou to my outward comeliness might above
all add goodness and wisdom. And Gracious God, Gracious Lord,
if then she had foreknown under what heaps of filth I should blot
out the fair surface of Thy gifts bestowed by Thee at her prayer,
what would she have said? What would she have done? How hopeless
the lamentations she would have given forth ! How quickly would
she have come to torture of heart ! Thanks to Thee, sweet overruling
Disposer, " Who didst mould our hearts like wax." Verily
had her clear vision pierced the secret places of my heart, unworthy
of her pure gaze, I wonder if she would not there and then have
died.
CHAPTER XIII
THIS being said by way of anticipation, let us return to what
we left farther back. This woman, I say, whilst serving the world,
had, I have been told, such fear of God's name that in her obedience
to the Church, in almsgiving, in her offerings for masses, her
conduct was such as to win respect from all Full belief in my
story will, I know, be made difficult by a natural suspicion that
the partially of a son has exaggerated her virtues. If to praise
one's mother be thought a cautious disingenuous way of glorifying
one's self, I dare to call Thee to witness, O God, who knowest
her soul, in which Thou didst dwell, that I have truthfully asserted
her surpassing merit. And indeed, since it is clearer than daylight
that my life strayed from the paths of the good, that my pursuits
were ever a shame to the wise, of what avail to me will be the
greatness of my forebears when all their grandeur is abridged
by their wretched offspring? And I who by no control of will or
act make their great qualities live again, am riding posthaste
to infamy if I claim their glory for myself.
Now whilst the young girl was still living a married life, something
befell which gave no slight impulse to the amendment of her life.
The French in the time of King Henry were fighting with much bitterness
against the Normans and their Count William, who afterwards conquered
England and Scotland, and in that clash of the two nations it
was my father's fate to be taken prisoner. It was the custom of
this Count never to hold his prisoners to ransom, but to condemn
them to lifelong captivity. The news being brought to his wife
before I was born, though not much before, and therefore I do
not call her mother, she abstained from food and drink, and sleep
was still more impossible through her despairing anxiety, the
cause of this being not the amount of his ransom, but the impossibility
of his release.
In the dead of that night, as, full of deep anxiety, she lay in
her bed, since it is the habit of the Devil to invade souls weakened
with grief, suddenly whilst she lay awake, the Enemy himself rushed
upon her ,and by the burden of his oppression almost crushed the
life out of her. As she choked in agony of Spirit and lost all
use of her limbs, being unable to make a single sound, having
only her reason free, in utter silence she awaited aid from God
alone. Then behold, from the head of her bed, a spirit, no doubt
a good one, began to cry out in loud and kindly tones, "
Holy Mary, help her." And after some words which she fully
understood, keeping her senses, although so grievously harassed,
he broke out into angry rebuke. Thereupon he who lay upon her,
rose up, and the other met and seized him and in the strength
of God, with a great crash, overthrew him, so that the room shook
heavily with the shock of it and the maidservants, fast asleep,
were rudely awakened. Now when he had thus been driven out by
the power of God, that good spirit, who had called upon Mary and
routed the Devil, turning to her whom he had rescued, said, "
Take care to be a godly woman." But the attendants, alarmed
by the sudden uproar, rose to see how their mistress did and found
her halfdead, with bloodless face and all the strength of
her body beaten down; they questioned her about the noise and
thereupon were told the causes of it, and hardly were they able
by their presence and talk and by the lighting of a lamp to revive
her.
Those last words of her deliverer - nay, Thy words, Lord God,
through the mouth of Thy messenger - were stored up for ever in
my mother's memory and kept to be carried out with much effect,
when the opportunity came. Now after the death of my father, although
the beauty of her face and form remained undimmed, and I, scarce
half a year old, was enough cause for anxiety, she resolved to
continue in her widowhood. With what spirit she ruled herself,
what an example of modesty she set, may be gathered from the following
instance. When my kinsmen, eager for my father's privileges and
possessions, strove to take them by the exclusion of my mothers
they fixed a day for advancing their claims. The day came and
the nobles were in council prepared to act in despite of all justice.
My mother, being assured of their greedy intentions, had retired
to the church and was repeating her regular prayers before the
image of the crucified Lord. One of my father's kinsmen, having
the same views as the others and instructed by them, came to request
her presence to hear their decision, as they were waiting for
her. Whereupon she said, " I will do nothing in the matter
but in the presence of my Lord." "Whose lord? "
said he. Then, stretching out her hand towards the image of the
crucified Lord, she replied, " This is my Lord, this is the
advocate through whom I will plead." At that saying the man
reddened and, not being very subtle, put on a wry smile to hide
his evil intent and went off to tell his friends what he had heard.
And they too, being covered with confusion at such an answer,
and knowing they had no just occasion against her utter honesty,
ceased to trouble her.
Soon one of the chief men of that place and province, a nephew
of my father, as greedy as he was powerful, attacked the woman
in the following terms: " Since, mistress," said he,
" you have sufficient youth and beauty, it is meet that you
should marry, that your life in the world may be more pleasant
and the children of my uncle should be placed under my care to
be trustily brought up by me, his possessions finally coming into
my hands, as is right they should." "But," said
she, " you know that your uncle was of very noble descent,
and since God has taken him away, Hymen shall not repeat his rites
over me, unless a marriage with some much greater noble shall
offer." Now with craft did the woman speak of getting for
husband a greater noble, knowing that could hardly, if at all,
come to pass, so that, as he misliked talk of a higher noble,
she, who was wholly set against noble and mean alike, might forthwith
put an end to all hope of a second marriage. And he setting down
to overmuch pride her talk of a greater noble, she rejoined, "
Certainly a greater noble, or none at all." He perceiving
the resolution with which the lady spoke, desisted from his designs,
and never again required of her anything of the kind.
In much fear of God, then, and with like love of all her kin and,
most of all, the poor, this woman wisely ruled us and ours and
that loyalty which she had given her husband in his lifetime,
she kept unbroken and with double constancy to his spirit, with
no loosening of the ancient union of their bodies by substitution
of other flesh on his departure, almost every day striving to
relieve him by the offering of the life-bringing sacrifice. Friendly
to all the poor in general, to some in her abounding pity she
was generous and bountiful to the full extent of her means. The
sting of remembering her sins could not have been sharper if she
had been given up to all kinds of wickedness and if she had dreaded
the punishment of every ill deed that is done. In plainness of
living there was nothing that she could do, for her delicacy and
sumptuous rearing did not admit of a meagre diet. In other matters
no one knew what selfdenial she practised. With these eyes
I have seen and made certain by touch that whereas over all she
wore garments of rich material, next to her skin she was covered
with the roughest haircloth, which she wore not merely in
the daytime, but, what was a great hardship for a delicate body,
she even slept in it at night.
The night offices she hardly ever missed, being as regular at
the services attended by all God's people in holy seasons; in
such fashion that scarcely ever in her house was there rest from
the singing of God's praises by her chaplains, who were always
busy at their office.
So constantly was her dead husband's name on her lips, that in
prayer, in almsgiving, in the midst of ordinary business, she
continually spoke of him, because he was for ever in her mind.
For with love of whom the heart is full, to his name shapeth the
tongue in speech, whether it will or no.
CHAPTER XIV
BUT passing by these matters, in which she shewed her goodness,
but not her most admirable qualities, let us proceed with what
is left. About twelve years after my father's death, I am told,
during which the widow managed house and children under worldly
garb, she now made haste to bring to happy birth a resolve with
which she had long been in labour. Whilst therefore she still
pondered this purpose, discussing it with no one but my master
and teacher mentioned before, a certain devilpossessed dependent,
have been told, amongst ramblings on other matters, under the
devil's influence, shouted out these words " The priests
have placed a cross in her loins." Nothing indeed could have
been truer, although I did not then understand the meaning of
his riddle. For thereafter she submitted not to one but to many
crosses. Soon afterwards whilst her intention was still unknown
to any one but the person I have mentioned, a sort of steward
in her house, who himself a little later followed her in her conversion
by renunciation of the world, the following vision was seen by
her in a dream, to wit, she seemed to be marrying a man and celebrating
her nuptials much to the amazement of her children, friends and
kinsfolk. The next day when my mother went into the country for
a walk attended by my teacher, who was also her steward, she told
him of her vision. My mother was in no need of a skilled interpreter
in such matters. One look at my master's face and without speech
from him she knew that the vision pointed to the subject of many
conversations, even to her longing to be united with God. Hastening
on her plans therefore and overcome by the burning zeal within
her, she withdrew from all part in the society of the town.
At the time of this withdrawal she stayed at a certain manor belonging
to the Bishop Guy by his permission. This Guy was a man of courtly
manner and noble birth, in person wellfitted for the office
he held. He, after conferring notable benefits on the church of
Beauvais, such as laying the first stone of a church for regular
canons dedicated to St. Quintin was charged before Hugh, Archbishop
of Rheims with simony and other crimes by those who owed their
training and advancement to him. Because he did not appear when
summoned, judgment went against him by default, and being at Cluny
and afraid of the sentence pronounced, he retired into the monastery
there. As this man shewed a warm regard for my mother and her
family and most of all a special affection for myself, as one
who had received the blessing from him at every sacrament but
that of the priesthood, when asked by my mother's friends to allow
her to live for a while in his own house adjoining the church
of that place, he gladly consented. Now this manor, named Chaitaigneray
was about two miles distant from our town.
Whilst staying there she resolved to retire to the convent of
Fly. Having therefore built a little house near the church through
the agency of my master, at last she came forth from the place
where she was staying, and knowing that I should be utterly an
orphan with no one on whom to depend-for great as was my wealth
of kinsfolk and connections, yet there was none to give me the
loving care a little child needs at such an age, for with no lack
of food and clothing I suffered from the loss of all those precautions
for the helplessness of tender years that only a woman can provide-knowing
I say, that I should be exposed to such want of care, yet the
love and fear of God hardened her heart, but in her journey to
this convent having to pass through the town in which I was living,
the sight of the castle gave intolerable anguish to her lacerated
heart stung with the bitter remembrance of what she had left behind.
No wonder indeed if she felt, as it were, the very limbs of her
body torn from her, calling herself, no doubt, 'cruel and unnatural
mother,' ay, and hearing herself so called, for shutting out from
her heart a child so worthy of her love, and leaving me helpless
and unprotected, for not only my own people but others too shewed
great affection for me. And Thou, Good and Gracious God, didst
in Thy sweetness and love harden that heart, the tenderest in
all the world, that it might not be tender to her own soul's harm
Tenderness then was ruin of herself, had she, neglecting her God,
in worldly care for me put me before her own salvation. But her
love was strong as death, for the closer her love for Thee, the
greater her composure in breaking from those she loved before.
Coming therefore to that convent she found an old woman in the
habit of a nun, whom she compelled to live with her, having declared
she would submit to her discipline, as she had all the appearance
of great piety. " Compelled," I say, because she exerted
all her powers of persuasion, when she knew her character, to
get her companionship. And so she began gradually to copy the
severity of the older woman, to imitate her meagre diet, to choose
the plainest food, to give up the soft cushions in her bed, to
which she had been accustomed, to sleep in contentment on cornstraw
covered with a little linen sheet. And since she still had much
beauty and shewed no sign of age, she purposely strove to assume
the appearance of age with an old woman's wrinkles and bowed form.
Therefore her long flowing locks, which above all things make
a woman beautiful, were frequently cut short with the scissors,
her dress was black and unpleasing with its excessive width adorned
with countless patches, her cloak of natural colour and her shoes
pierced with many a hole past mending, since there was one within
her whom she tried to please with such mean apparel
Since, therefore, she had learnt the beginnings of goodness, by
confession, almost daily renewed, her mind was for ever occupied
in searching out her past deeds, what as a maiden of tender years,
what in her married life, what as a widow with a wider range of
activities she had done or thought or said, ever examining the
seat of reason and bringing what she found to the knowledge of
a priest and to God through him Then you might have seen the woman
praying with such sharp sighs, wearing herself with such anguish
of spirit that, as she worshipped, there was scarcely ever a pause
in the heartrending sobs that went with her entreaties. The seven
penitential psalms she had learnt under that aforesaid old woman,
not by sight, but by ear, and day and night did she turn them
over in her mind, chewing the cud of their relish, one might say,
so that never did that singer, chanting most sweetly, ever cease
from sighs and groans in Thy ear, O Lord. But whenever meeting
with people from outside disturbed the solitude which she loved
for all who were acquainted with her, especially men and
women of rank, took pleasure in conversing with her because of
her wondrous wit and modesty-on their departure, every untrue,
idle or careless word, that was spoken during their talk, begat
in her soul indescribable anguish until she reached the customary
waters of penitence or confession.
But whatsoever zeal, whatsoever anxiety she shewed in such matters,
she could win for her soul no confidence, no certainty of salvation
to stay her unceasing lamentations, her earnest and tearful questionings
whether she could ever earn pardon for her offences. Thou knowest,
O Lord, and I too am not ignorant, what sins were hers. How small
was their whole sum compared with those of others who neither
sorrow nor sigh. Thou knowest, O Lord, how hereby may be measured
the state of her soul, that never did I see her heart grow cold
in the fear of punishment and in her love for Thee.
CHAPTER XV
Why say more? Whilst she, as I have described, was thus divorcing
herself from the world, I was left deserted by mother, guide and
master For he who had so faithfully trained and taught me, fired
by my mother's example, love and counsel, betook himself to the
monastery of Fly. And I, now possessed of a baneful liberty, began
most immoderately to abuse my power, to laugh at churches, to
hate school, to love the company of my young lay cousins devoted
to knightly pursuits, and, whilst cursing the clerk's garb, to
promise remission of sins, to indulge in sleep in which formerly
I was allowed little relaxation, so that by unaccustomed excess
of it my body began to waste. Meantime the agitating news of my
doings fell on my mother's ears, and surmising from what she heard,
my immediate ruin, she was halfdead with fear. For the fine
clothing which I had in the church processions, provided by her
in the hope that I might be the more eager for the clerk's life,
I wore everywhere in wanton pursuits natural at my age, rivalling
the boldness of older youths, utterly careless and intemperate
Whilst therefore the looseness, ay, the madness of my behaviour
was all the worse, because I had lived before a strict and guarded
life, my mother, unable to endure what she heard, had recourse
to the Abbot and begged him and the brotherhood that my master
might be al lowed to resume my training. The Abbot, brought up
by my grandfather and under obligation for benefits received from
his house, gave me a ready welcome, when I went to him, and followed
up his kind reception with still kinder treatment thereafter.
I call Thee to witness, Holy God and Disposer, that from the moment
I entered the monastery church and so soon as I saw the monks
sitting there, at that sight a longing for the monk's life seized
me, which never grew cold, and my spirit had no rest until its
desire was fulfilled. And so living with them in the same cloister
and thinking on their whole existence and condition, as the flame
increases when fanned by the wind, so by contemplation of them
my soul yearning to be made like unto them, could not but be on
fire. Lastly I was urged by the Abbot of the place by entreaties
daily repeated to become a monk there, and although I passionately
desired so to do, yet could not my tongue be loosed by the prayer
of those who desired me to make such a promise and what would
be most difficult now that I am older, to be silent with a full
heart, yet boy as I was, that silence I kept without much difficulty.
At length I opened the matter to my mother, and she fearing the
instability of boyhood, tried by reasoning to dissuade me from
my purpose, which made me not a little sorry I had revealed my
intention; and when I also told my master, he opposed it still
more. Deeply annoyed at the opposition of both, I determined to
turn my mind elsewhere; and so I began to act as if I had never
had such a desire. Having put the matter off from the week of
Pentecost until Christmas day, and being both eager and anxious
to bring the matter to an end, I impatiently threw off my respect
for my mother and my fear of my master, and betaking myself to
the Abbot, who was eager for this to happen but had failed to
draw any promise from me, I cast myself at his feet, begging him
earnestly and with tears in such terms as a sinner would use,
to be received by him. He gladly granting my prayer provided the
necessary habit, as soon as he could, that is, on the next day,
and invested me with it, my mother in tears looking on afar off,
and ordered that alms should forthwith be offered that day.
Meanwhile my former master, not being able to teach me any longer
because of the strict rule of the brotherhood, at least took care
to urge me to search diligently those holy books which I was reading,
to study those less known by more learned men, to compose short
pieces of prose and verse, warning me to apply myself the more
closely because less care was being expended by others on my instruction.
And, O Lord, True Light, I well remember the inestimable bounty
Thou didst then bestow on me. For so soon as I had taken Thy habit
at Thy invitation, a cloud seemed to be removed from the face
of my understanding and that wherein I had wandered blindly and
in error, began to be apprehended by it. Besides I was suddenly
inspired with such love of learning that for this above all I
yearned and thought the day was lost on which I did not engage
in some such work. How often did they think me asleep and resting
my little body under the coverlet, when my mind was concentrated
on composition, or I was reading under a blanket, fearful of the
rebuke of the others.
And Thou, Holy Jesus, knowest with what motive I so acted, chiefly
to win glory, that greater honour in this present world might
be mine. My very friends wrought certain harm to me, for although
they gave me good advice, yet oft they plied me with talk of fame
and literary distinction and, through these, the winning of rank
and wealth. And so they put into my short sighted mind, hopes
worse than the egg of asps, and as I believed that all their promises
would quickly come to pass, they only mocked me with the vainest
expectations. For, whereas they spoke of things that might befall
in the fulness of age I was counting on their certain attainment
in youth or early manhood. They forsooth set before me the getting
of knowledge, which by Thy gift was daily growing up in me, with
the worldly advantages of birth and a handsome person, but they
remembered not Thy command that by such steps a man may not climb
to Thy altar, for thus is baseness wont to be revealed. For he
that climbeth by any other way, is a thief and a robber, which
is baseness.
But in these beginnings of mine under Thy inspiration, had its
wisdom been of another sort, my mind might have been prepared
for temptation; in truth my wisdom at that time was in a manner
only foolishness. Childish indeed as were my stirrings then to
joy or fear, would that I now so feared Thy judgments, O Lord,
so hated my great sins, as then I did those that were little,
or scarcely sins at all. I did indeed with much eagerness strive
to imitate those whom I saw weeping bitterly for their sins, and
whatever came of Thee, was dear to my sight and hearing. And I,
who now search the Scriptures to find matter for display and mere
words, and even store in my mind the illfamed works of pagan
writers to make mere babbling, in those days got from them tears
and cause for sorrow, and thought my reading vain, if I found
in it no matter for meditation, nothing leading to repentance,
so unwisely
But that old Foe, who by ages of experience has learnt exactly
how to deal with the varying conditions of heart and age, he,
I say, according to the measure of my little mind and body, conceived
for me new conflicts. For by presenting to my gaze in sleep many
visions of dead men, chiefly those whom I had seen or heard of
as slain with swords or by some such death, he so terrified my
spirit, when relaxed in sleep, by such sights that but for the
watchful protection of that master of mine, I could not be kept
in my bed, or from calling out, or even from losing my wits. And
although this trouble may seem childish and ridiculous to those
who have not felt it, by those who are oppressed by it, it is
regarded as a great calamity, so that fear itself, by most men
thought foolish, can by no reasoning, no counsel, be held in check,
and whereas the sufferer himself values not a straw that which
he suffers, the spirit, when once for a brief moment plunged in
sleep, cannot by its mastery shake off the horrid sights, nay,
his soul deeply disturbed by its terrors, dreads the return of
sleep itself. To this emotion crowds or solitude are the same,
the company of others being no defence against fear, whilst dwelling
alone makes it worse or leaves it as bad as before.
Far different, Lord God, was my condition then from my present
state; then certainly I lived in great fear of Thy law and in
unbounded loathing of all sin, and eagerly I drank in all that
could be said or heard or known from Thee. I know, Heavenly Father,
that by such aspirations of the child the devil was savagely enraged,
later, alas, to be appeased by the surrender of all my pious fervour.
Hence one night, when awake with wretched grief-in winter, I believe-I
was lying in my bed, seeming to be safer with a lamp close by
that gave a bright light, when suddenly and close by, from above,
I thought, there arose a shouting of many voices in the dead of
the night, and a voice without words, but full of woe. Thereupon,
dizzy with the shock, I was rapt from my senses and fell on sleep,
in which I thought I saw a dead man, who, some one cried out,
had been killed at the baths. Crying out with the terror of the
phantasy, I leapt from my bed, and looking round, as I leapt,
I saw the lamp extinguished and in the midst of a cloud of gathering
darkness fell on my eyes, a devil in his own shape standing near.
At that horrible sight I should have gone almost mad, had not
my master, who was usually on guard to control my terrors, adroitly
soothed my perturbed and wandering wits.
It was not unknown to me even in the tender years of childhood
that the desire for a right mind then burning in my heart, enraged
the devil in no small measure to stir up wretchedness in me. Gracious
God, what victories, what crown for victories should I have won
now, had I stood fast to the end in that struggle ! By many conclusions
drawn from tales I have heard, I find that devils are most fiercely
embittered against recent converts or those who continually aspire
to a godly life. Hence I remember that in the time of Guy, the
Bishop of Beauvais aforesaid, there was a certain young knight
in his household, for whom the Bishop had a special affection
above almost all his retainers. This man repenting with horror
of his vices, resolved at all costs to fly from contact with the
world. Whilst torn with anxious thought on his strange condition,
one night he was sleeping in the Bishop's dormitory and with him
were one Ivo, a native, I believe, of St. Quintin and a godfearing
man, another a distinguished scholar even more famous for his
eloquence, besides a monk of Cluny, who under the Abbot Hugh of
blessed memory, filled in that place the office of Prior, with
certain others of holy life and good birth, all sleeping there,
as well as the Bishop. And one of the nobles of a neighbouring
town, a very courtly and discreet man, lay awake whilst the rest
slept in the dead of the night. And as his thoughts wandered at
will and his eyes roved hither and thither, behold the figure
of a tall devil with a small head and a hunched back appeared
advancing, who looking at each of the beds in turn proceeded to
walk right round the room. And when the great Deceiver came to
the bed of the young man, whom I mentioned as being most beloved
by the Bishop, he halted and turning his gaze on the sleeper,
said: " This fellow with his uneasy mind troubles me more
than all the rest who sleep here." Saying that and directing
his steps to the door of the reredorter he entered therein.
Now he who was looking on, whilst noticing all this, was oppressed
with such a burden as made speech or movement impossible. But
when the Adversary went out, both faculties returned to him and
in the morning, on relating his vision to the wiser men and enquiring
with them into the condition and disposition of that young man,
he found that his heart was earnestly set on entering a holier
life. If therefore there is joy in heaven over one sinner that
is converted more than over the ninety and nine good men that
need no repentance, without doubt we may fully believe that the
enemies of the human race are vexed with the most bitter hatred
at the rescue of those who change for the better. And just as
I, who began so well, am in my later stages so desperately bad,
so he, after the devil's testimony to him, henceforward gradually
fell away and grew cold, returning to his worldly cares; yet one
may believe how painfully that sudden stirring of our good intentions
must sting the hearts of devils. And no wonder that the Devil
is grieved by the sudden though barren aspirations of any penitent,
when the shallow selfabasement of that wicked king Ahab
turned upon him the regard of God before the regard of men. Hence
the Lord of Elijah, if I am not mistaken, said, " Hast thou
not seen the abasement of Ahab before me? Because therefore he
has been abased because of me, I will not bring evil in his day."
CHAPTER XVI
Now with the gradual growth of my little body, as its carnal life
began to stir my itching heart with fleshly longings and lusts
according to its stature, my mind oft fell to remembering and
thinking on what and how great I might have been in the world,
in which my imaginings often travelled beyond the truth. These
thoughts, Gracious God, Thou didst reveal to Thy servant, my mother.
Whatsoever the state, healthy or diseased, to which my unstable
heart changed, thereafter there came to her in a vision by Thy
will, O God, an image of the same. But whereas dreams are said
to follow upon much care, and that is verily true, yet her cares
were not aroused by the heat of greed, but were created by a real
eagerness for inward holiness. Soon therefore when the troubling
vision was impressed on her pious mind, as she was very subtle
and clear sighted in the interpretation of such matters, soon,
I say, when she had perceived that this trouble was betokened
by her dream, she summoned me and in private questioned me how
and what I was doing. And since I was in such submission to her
that my will was one with hers, I readily confessed all those
things which I had heard as in a dream, into which my mind seemed
to relax and fall, and after her counsel concerning amendment,
I at once gave her my promise with true affection.
O my God, oft did she declare in dark sayings that state in which
I now am, and what she believed I had done or must do in that
earlier condition, that I now experience every day and see it
filling up the secret places of my heart. Nay, even my master
himself with the same ever-present anxiety, enlightened by Thee,
saw through many kinds of phantoms what was happening at the time
and what might come to pass in the future. By God's goodness therefore
in alarming, and again in comforting me, adversity and success
were foretold, so that whether I would or not, I refrained from
secret vice, because by Thy wonderworking so much was revealed
to those who loved me; and sometimes I rejoiced in the promise
of a better hope.
Now at a time when I was swayed by a spirit of sullenness by reason
of the envy which I endured from my superiors and equals, I was
eager with the aid of my kin to be transferred to other monasteries.
For some of our brotherhood, seeing me once far below them both
in age and learning, in ability and understanding, and afterwards
perceiving that I equalled them, or, if I may say so, altogether
surpassed them through His gift alone who is the key of all knowledge
instilling into my heart a hunger for learning, with such rage
did their wrathful wickedness blaze forth against me, that, wearied
with everlasting disputes and quarrels, I often regretted I had
ever seen or known letters. Certainly my work was so much upset
by them and so many brawls started, when occasion arose, about
those letters by their constant questions, that they seemed to
have this single object in view, to make me change my resolve
and to embarrass my understanding. But as, when oil is poured
on a fire, it bursts into a livelier flame with that which was
supposed to put it out, the more that, like an oven, the capacity
of my mind was overtaxed in such labours, the better it became,
rendered stronger by its own heat. The questions by which they
thought to crush me, gave exceeding keenness to my intelligence,
and the difficulty of their objections, through much pondering
to find answers and the turning over of various books, begat a
strengthening of my wits and ability in debate. And so, although
I was thus bitterly hated by them, yet Thou knowest, O Lord, how
little, if at all, I hated them, and when they could not, as they
wished, put any stigma upon me, they everywhere affirmed in disparagement
that I was too proud of my little learning.
Amid these annoyances that I took very hardly, although by difficulties
of this sort was begotten abundant good, yet my spirit grew weak,
languishing under the endless torture of its thoughts. With fearful
heart and failing powers of reason I began to consider what profit
there was in hardship and eagerly decided to seek retreat whither
my carnal weakness prompted me. When therefore I made my proposal
that I should leave the place, not so much with the kindly permission
of the Abbot, as at the suggestion and demand of my kinsfolk,
the assent of my mother also being given in the belief that I
was doing this from pious motives (for the place to which I wished
to retire, was considered very holy), the following vision appeared
to her to witness to the good and evil in me.
She thought she was in the church of that convent, that is, of
Fly, dedicated to the Blessed Virgin, and looking more closely
she saw it was naked and desolate, the monks too were not only
ragged and covered with wrappers huge beyond belief, but all alike
were shortened to a cubit in height like those called dwarfs.
But because, where the treasure is, there is the heart also, and
where the gaze is turned, there is love, after fixing a long look
on me, she saw that I stood no higher than the rest and was covered
with no better apparel. And as she was sorrowful at my plight
and that of the church, behold a woman of surpassing beauty and
majesty advanced through the midst of the church right up to the
altar, followed by one like a young girl and having all the appearance
of a respectful attendant upon her. Being very curious therefore
to know who the lady was, she was told she was the Lady of Chartres.
At once she interpreted this to mean the Mother of God, whose
name and relics there are venerated throughout almost all the
Latin world. Now going up to the altar she bent her knees in prayer;
and that too did the noble attendant behind her. Then rising and
stretching out her hand with much passion she said, " This
church I founded, how can I suffer it to be deserted? " Thereupon
the StandardBearer of Piety turning her tranquil gaze on
me and pointing with her shining hand said, " I have brought
him here and made him a monk, whom I will by no means suffer to
be taken hence." These words in like manner the attendant
repeated. No sooner had that powerful one spoken than in a moment
all that ruin and waste was changed and became anew what it had
been at first and the dwarf stature both of the rest and of myself
was by the power that attended her command amended and made normal.
After my mother looking into the future had given me an orderly
narrative of this dream, I receiving it with much remorse and
tears, so subdued the license of my wandering thoughts to the
meaning of that welcome vision, that no longer was I drawn by
a desire for another convent.
O Lady, Mother of Heaven, these and like commands after the horror
of my sins and my countless revolts from thy love and service,
gave me a handle for returning to thee, a song breaking forth
from my heart, that the wide bosom of thy mercies cannot be closed
against me even by mountains of ill deeds. . . . Ever shall I
remember too, Lady of Heaven, that when, as a boy, I was eager
to put on this habit, one night in a vision I was in a chapel
dedicated to thee and I thought I was carried from it by two devils.
And when they had taken me to the roof of the church, they fled
away and let me go uninjured within the walls of that church.
These things I oft recall, when I consider how little I amend,
and often as I repeat those sins, adding to them sins worse than
the very worst, with thee, most holy one, I take refuge to flee
from the peril of despair, but not in abuse of too much hope or
any hope at all.
For although I am ever sinning, compelled by my weakness, and
not through pride's wilfulness, yet I no wise lose hope of amendment.
Seven times indeed falleth the just man and riseth again If the
number seven here stands, as it usually does, for an infinitely
large number, then in however many ways a man falls by sin, if
he has but a resolve to rise again to righteousness, however much
his weak flesh trips him up, if he show but the grief of a penitent,
he doth in no wise lose the name of a righteous man. For to what
end do we cry aloud to God to bring us out of our distresses,
but that the corruption of our nature condemns us, whether we
will or no, to the service of sin? " I see it," says
he, " bringing me into captivity to the law of sin, which
is in my members, for the good that I would, I do not, but the
evil that I would not, that I do," There is therefore a deep
of certain evils, into which if a man come, then cometh contempt,
and yet over other deeps cry is made unto God and the petitioner
doubteth not that his voice is heard. There is indeed a scorn
of despair begotten by excess of sinning, in which there is no
standing, in which misery standeth not. There is lastly the deep
out of which Jeremiah was drawn by a rope of rags, and although
that be deep, yet farther on it hath bottom; for despite the loosening
of the understanding by much sinning, yet reason gives some little
check, that it be not swallowed up in the bottormless gulf never
to return to a knowledge of all its iniquity.
CHAPTER XVII
[Note: Bland omits this chapter heading; Benton restored it]
Meantime having steeped my mind unduly in the study of versemaking,
so as to put aside for such worthless vanities the serious things
of the divine pages, under guidance of my folly I went so far
as read the poems of Ovid and the Bucolics of Virgil and to aim
at the airs and graces of a love poem in a critical treatise and
in a series of letters. My mind therefore forgetting a proper
severity and abandoning the modesty of a monk's calling, was led
away by these enticements of a poisonous license, giving weight
only to this whether some courtly phrase could be referred to
some poet, with no thought how much the toil which I loved might
hurt the aims of our holy profession. By love of it I was doubly
taken captive, being snared by the wantonness of the sweet words
I found in the poets and those which I poured forth myself and
caught by immodest fleshly stirrings through thinking on these
things and the like.
For since my unstable mind, unaccustomed now to hard thinking,
spent itself on these trifles, no sound could come from my lips,
but that which my thought prompted.
Hence it came to pass that, from the boiling over of the madness
within me, I fell into certain obscene words and composed brief
writings, worthless and immodest, in fact bereft of all decency.
This having come to the knowledge of that master of mine, and
he being much grieved thereat, it chanced that he fell asleep
in the bitterness of his annoyance. And as he slept, there appeared
to him the following vision. An old man with shining white hair,
in fact that very one, I dare to say, who brought me to him at
the beginning and had promised his love for me in the future,
appeared to him and said with severity, " I wish you to give
account to me for the writings that have been composed; but the
hand which wrote them, is not his who wrote." When this had
been related by my master, he and I gave much the same interpretation
to the dream; for we sorrowed but with joy in Thy hope, O Lord,
seeing Thy displeasure in that fatherly rebuke, and from the meaning
of that vision taking some ground for trust that my frivolity
would undergo a change to greater piety. For whereas the hand
that wrote the letters, is said not to be his who wrote them,
it is without doubt meant that it would not continue in such shameful
doing. For it was mine and now is not, as it is written, "
Change the wicked and they shall not be," and that which
was mine in the practice of vice, when applied to the pursuit
of virtue, became of no effect in that unworthy use of it. And
yet Thou knowest, O Lord, and I confess, that at that time neither
by fear of Thee, by shame, nor by respect for that holy vision
was my life chastened. I put no check on that irreverence I had
within me, and refrained not from the vain jests of frivolous
writers. Hammering out these verses in secret and daring to show
them to no one, or at least only to a few like myself, yet I read
them out when I could, often inventing an author for them and
I was delighted when those which I thought it inconvenient to
acknowledge as mine, were praised by those who shared such studies,
but whereas their author gained no praise by them, he had to be
content with the enjoyment, or rather the shame of making them.
But these acts, O Father, in Thine own good time Thou didst punish;
for misfortune coming on me for such work, Thou didst fence in
my wandering soul with much affliction and hold me down by bodily
infirmity. Therefore did a sword pierce through even to my soul,
while trouble touched my understanding.
And so, when the punishment of sin had brought understanding to
my hearing, then at last the folly of useless study withered away,
yet since I could not endure to be idle, and was compelled, as
it were, to cast aside vain imaginings, with renewal of my spiritual
being I turned to more profitable exercises. I began therefore
all too late to pant for that knowledge that so oft had been instilled
in me by many good teachers, to busy myself, that is, with commentaries
on the Scriptures, frequently to study the works of Gregory, in
which are best to be found the keys to that art, and according
to the rules of ancient writers to treat the words of the prophets
and the Gospels in their allegorical, their moral and even their
mystical meaning. In this work I had to encourage me Anselm, the
Abbot of Bec, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, an Italian
from across the Alps the country of Augustus, a man of sublime
example and holiness of life. Whilst still holding office as Prior
in the aforesaid convent, he admitted me to his acquaintance and,
utter child as I was in knowledge as well as age, he readily offered
to teach me to manage the inner self, how to consult the laws
of reason in the government of the body. He both before and during
his abbacy, being a familiar visitor to the monastery welcomed
for his piety and his teaching, bestowed on me so assiduously
the benefits of his learning and with such ardour laboured at
this, that it seemed as if I alone was the reason for his frequent
visits.
He taught us then to divide the mind into three or four parts,
to treat the whole of the operations of this inner mystery under
sensation, will, reason and perception, showing that the first
two, regarded by most and by myself as one and free from definite
divisions, were not identical, which however can readily be shewn
to be the same as either of those coming third or fourth. And
after he had discussed certain chapters of the Gospels on this
principle and most clearly explained the difference between will
and sensation, which however it was plain he did not originates
but got from books at hand, which did not so explicitly deal with
these matters, I then began to imitate his methods in similar
commentaries, so far as I could and everywhere in the Scriptures
to examine carefully with all the energy of my mind anything that
was morally in agreement with those ideas.
Hence it came to pass that on a day when I travelled with my Abbot
to a certain convent in our province, I suggested to him as a
man of great piety, that on coming to the chapter meeting, he
should there preach a sermon; and he turned upon me what he was
asked to do, exhorting and ordering me to do it in his place.
Now the birth of Mary Magdalene is celebrated on that day. Therefore
taking the subject of my discourse from the Book of Wisdom, I
contented myself with that single word for the address that was
required. " Wisdom," that is, " overcometh malice,
reacheth from end to end and disposeth all things agreeably."
When I had explained this with such oratory as I could, and had
pleased my audience by the suitability of my language, the Prior
of the church, no mean student of sacred literature within the
limits of his understanding, in a friendly way asked me to write
something which he might use for the matter of a sermon. Since
therefore I knew that my Abbot would be annoyed by my writings,
I approached him with caution and begged him to give me permission
to please one whom he professed to love and as though I came straight
from the man himself, but did not care much about it. Supposing
therefore that I should write very briefly, he consented; then
having snatched his consent from his mouth, I began to work at
what I had in mind.
Now I had in mind to attempt a moral commentary on the beginning
of Genesis, that is the Six Days. To the Commentary I prefixed
a treatise of moderate length shewing how a sermon ought to be
composed I followed up this preface with a figurative exposition
at length of the six days with poor eloquence, but such as I was
capable of. But when my Abbot saw that I was commenting on a chapter
of that sacred history, he no longer took a reasonable view of
the matter and when he with much anger warned me to put an end
to these writings, I, seeing that such works only put thorns in
his eyes, avoided both his presence and that of any who might
report it to him, and completed my task in secret. For I made
no notes in my tablets for the composition and writing of this
or any other of my works, but committed them to the written page
without alteration, as I thought them out. In that Abbot's time
therefore my studies were carried on in complete secrecy. But
when he was gone, finding my opportunity when the pastoral office
was vacant, at last I attacked and quickly finished my work. This
was contained in ten books arranged according to the abovementioned
four activities of the inner man and I so carried out the moral
treatment in all of them that they went from beginning to end
with absolutely no change in the order of the passages. Whether
in this little work I helped any one, I know not, although I have
no doubt that some learned men were pleased with it; but this
is certain that I gained no little profit from it myself, insomuch
as it saved me from idleness, that servant of vice.
Meantime I wrote a little book in chapters on various passages
in the Gospels and the prophets, including some from the books
of Numbers, Joshua and Judges, the completion of which I am putting
off, because after finishing what I have in hand, I propose, if
I am still alive and God prompts me, to engage at times in similar
exercises In most of these I followed a figurative, in a few an
allegorical treatment in the same manner as in Genesis. Moreover,
in Genesis I gave my attention chiefly to morals, not that there
was wanting matter for thought on the allegorical side, had I
equally worked that out, but because in my opinion morals were
in these times more important than allegory, when faith by God's
help stands intact, but morals are universally debased by the
many forms of vice, and because it was neither within my power
nor my wish to enlarge my book to excessive length.
CHAPTER XVIII
Now my mother, pleased as was her wonder at my success in learning,
was much perturbed by her dread of the excesses of a dangerous
time of life. Hence how earnestly did she pray that I should imitate
herself. She to whom God had given such beauty, thought little
of that in her which won praise, as though she was not aware of
her comeliness, and cherished her widowhood as if she had loathed
the suffrances of a wife's duties. Yet Thou knowest, O Lord, what
loyalty, what love she rendered to her dead husband, how with
almost daily sacrifices, prayers and tears, and no scant almsgiving,
she strove without ceasing to release his soul, which she knew
to be in prison through his sins. Wherefore by the wonderful dispensation
of God it came about that her sensitive imagination saw in frequent
visions what pains he endured in his purgatory. Such visions,
one cannot doubt, proceed from God; for when no perverse carelessness
is caused by false assumptions of the beauty of life, but a stimulus
is given to prayer and almsgiving by the sight of suffering and
punishment, when the remedies of the divine office are clearly
demanded by the dead, ay, even by the angels, who care for the
faithful dead, it is proof enough that these things are of God,
because devils never seek the salvation of any man's soul. Therefore
was that good woman's anxious soul kindled again at these signs,
and inflamed by the intimation of his soul's torments, to constant
effort by intercession for her former husband.
Hence for instance one night, a Sunday after matins in the summer,
having gone to rest on her narrow bench, and beginning soon to
fall asleep, she thought her spirit left her body without losing
her senses. And being drawn, as it were, through a porch, at last
issuing from it, she began to come near to the edge of a pit.
When close to it, behold from the depths of that pit, people like
goblins leapt forth, their hair seeming to be all eaten up with
worms, trying to seize her with their hands and to drag her inside.
And, behold, from behind the frightened woman, who was terribly
distressed by their attack, there broke out a cry against them,
saying " Touch her not." And compelled by that cry they
leapt back into the pit. Now I omitted to say that as she passed
through the porch, her one prayer to God, as she knew she had
left her mortal being, was to be allowed to return to her body.
Being rescued therefore from the dwellers in the pit, and being
opposite to the edge thereof, she suddenly saw my father standing
by her appearing as he did when a youth, and when she looked hard
at him and piteously begged of him whether he were really Everard
(for that had been his name), he said he was not.
Now it is no wonder that a spirit should deny the name which he
had as a man; for a spirit should give no reply to spirit which
is inconsistent with his spiritual nature. Moreover, that spirits
should be known by names is too absurd to be believed; otherwise
in the next world recognition, except that of kinsfolk, would
be rare. Clearly it is not necessary for spirits to have names,
since all their vision, nay, their knowledge of vision is from
within. Since therefore, he denied that that was his name and
yet she was as certain that it was, she then asked him where he
was dwelling. And he gave her to understand that the street was
not far off where he lived. But having bared his arm and his side,
he shewed both of them so torn, so cut up with many wounds, that
a great shuddering thereat and disquiet of heart came on her,
as she looked. Moreover, there was there the figure of a little
child crying so bitterly that it troubled her much when she saw
it. And being moved by its cries, she said to him, " How,
Lord, can you endure the wailing of this child? " "
Whether I will or not," said he, " I endure it."
Now the crying of the child and the wounds on the arm and side
have this meaning When my father in his youth was separated from
lawful intercourse with my mother through the magic arts of certain
persons, some evil counsellors approached him in his youthful
innocence with wicked advice to try if intercourse with other
women was possible He like a young man took their advice, and
having wickedly had intercourse with some woman, begat a child,
which at once died before it was baptised. By the rending of his
sides is meant therefore the breaking of the marriage vow; by
the shrillness of those troublesome cries the ruin of the child's
soul thus wickedly begotten. Such, O Lord, O Inexhaustible Goodness,
was Thy retribution on the soul of the sinner, who yet was alive
through faith. But let us return to the orderly narrative of the
vision.
When she had asked him whether prayer, almsgiving or the mass
gave him any relief (for he was aware that she was frequently
offering this for him,) having replied that they did, he added,
" But amongst you there lives a certain Leodegardis."
mentioning that name, my mother thought, that she might ask the
woman, why he remembered her. Now the said Leodegardis was a woman
of very lowly spirit, who lived plainly and apart from the customs
of the world. Meantime, bringing her talk with my father to an
end, she looked towards the pit above which was a picture; and
in the picture she saw a certain knight Rainold, of no mean reputation
among his countrymen, who that very day, Sunday, as I have said,
was treacherously killed at Beauvais by his fellowChristians
after dinner. He therefore in that picture on bended knee and
stooping forward with puffing cheeks was raising a fire in a heap
of fuel. This vision was seen in the morning, whereas he perished
at midday, doomed to descend into those flames which he had kindled
by his deserts. She saw also in the said picture one who was helping,
but who died long afterwards, even my brother, taking a dreadful
oath by the sacrament of God's body and blood. By this nothing
else than this is meant, that by false swearing and by taking
in vain the holy name of God and His sacred mysteries, he earned
both his punishment and the place of his punishment.
She saw also in the course of the same vision that old woman,
who, I have said, lived with her at the beginning of her conversion,
a woman who was always mortifying her body with crosses only on
the outside, but, it was said, was not enough on her guard against
a hunger for vain glory. This woman she saw carried off by two
black spirits, her form a mere shadow. Moreover, while that old
woman was alive and they two dwelt together, once when they talked
of the state of their souls and the coming of death, they took
a mutual pledge that the one who died first, should, if it pleased
God, appear to the survivor and make known to her what was her
condition, good or bad. And this they confirmed by prayer, earnestly
beseeching God that after the death of either the other should
be allowed to discover by the revelation of some vision her happy
or unhappy state. The old woman too when about to die, had seen
herself in a vision deprived of her body and going with others
like her to a certain temple, and, as she went, she seemed to
be carrying a cross on her shoulders. Now coming to the temple
with that company, she was compelled to stay outside, the doors
being barred against her. Lastly she appeared to some one else
after her death in the midst of a great stench, giving her many
thanks, because by her prayers she had saved her from decay and
pain. Besides, whilst this woman was dying, at the foot of the
bed she saw standing a devil of horrid shape with eyes of dreadful
and monstrous size. But she adjured him by the holy sacrament
to flee in confusion from her and seek nothing of her, and by
that charge drove him off.
My mother therefore, drawing her conclusions about the cries of
the infant, of whose existence she had been aware, from the exact
way in which the vision agreed with the facts, when she put them
together, and from the urgent warning of the impending death of
the soldier soon afterwards, whom she had seen assigned to the
place of punishment below, and having no doubt about these things,
devoted herself wholly to bringing help to my father. And setting
like against like, she chose to take to herself a little child
only a few months old that had lost its parents. But the Devil
hating good intentions and likewise faithful actions, so harassed
my mother and her servants by the madness of the child's wailing
and crying at night, - although by day it was quite good, by turns
playing and sleeping,-that scarcely could anyone get sleep in
the same room. I have heard the hired nurses say that night after
night they could not stop shaking that child's rattle, so naughty
was he, not through his own fault, but made so by the devil within.
And a woman's craft failed entirely to drive him out. Excessively
harassed was the good woman, by no contrivance able amid those
shrill cries to relieve her aching brow, nor could any sleep steal
over her sorelytried and exhausted head, the frenzy of the
child goaded from within and the enemy's presence causing continual
disturbance. And although the nights were so passed by her, yet
never was she found sluggish in performance of the sacred offices
of the night. Since therefore, she knew that these troubles were
to purge away the sufferings of the man whom she had seen in the
vision, she gladly bore them, because she rightly thought that
by sharing his suffering herself she was lessening the pains of
that other sufferer. Yet never did she therefore shut the child
out of her house, never become less careful for him; nay, so much
the more did she choose to submit to any inconvenience rising
from it as she perceived that the devil had terribly broken forth
against her to weaken her resolve. For the more she happened to
feel the eagerness of the devil in the irritation of the child,
the more she was assured that his evil sway over the soul of her
husband was being countered.
CHAPTER XIX
Many other signs didst Thou shew, O Lord God, to Thy handmaid
and to that master whom Thou didst especially appoint over me,
some which might be set down to my boasting, if I were to write
them here in which there shone forth that good hope which even
now I wait for under Thy most gracious loving Mother, before whom
I was laid even from the womb; and some shewn to them, when I
was yet but a child have come true now in my ripening age. At
last the heat of my desire leapt into flame, and because Thou
hadst put into my heart the tinder of a little knowledge and hadst
bestowed on me a person well fitted for worldly success with moderately
good birth, it was evilly suggested by my own kin and by others
my friends, in this matter my bad friends, that it would be proper
for me to get advancement in this world by promotion to some office
But I know O Lord, that in Thy law Thou didst forbid ascent to
Thy altar by the steps of honour, for so, Thou didst teach, might
the baseness of a holy leader be revealed For those who have attained
to spiritual rule by prominence in external qualities, have the
more shameful fall on that account, because leaving the level
ground of their capacity they have tried to scale the heights
of glory above their heads. And whilst I was certainly eager for
promotion through the influence of my kinsfolk, my ears were often
gratified by rumours of success in attaining such heights; many
flattered me, wishing for their own ends to test my character,
that they might carry out their purpose of reporting it to those
who were wickedly jealous of me, or supposing that they would
please me by pretending to desire my advancement, and saying that
my advantage would be their gain too and therefore ever grasping
at a better position for themselves through my rise.
But I, as Thou knowest, my Creator, by Thy impulse alone recovered
from my folly, so as through fear of Thee to scorn seeking of
favours from any man or granting of conference or encouragement
to one who was working for this on my behalf, to secure what is
for Thee alone to give, an office in the church. And Thou knowest,
O Lord, that in this matter at least I desire nothing at all,
nor will ever desire, except, what I receive or shall receive
from Thee. For I will that in this Thou shouldst make me, as otherwise
Thou didst make me, and not I myself. Else would not Israel well
rejoice in Him that made him. My God, by what opposition, by what
envy was I then oppressed ! Hence was my mind secretly in turmoil
at the suggestions made to it from without in its efforts, as
it were, to escape temptation; but although that desire was hot
within me, yet was it not strong enough to pass my lips. Although
I was troubled, yet did I not speak. Thou knowest, Jesus, that
once when sin tripped me up, I told one who was working for this,
but not at my prompting, to do quickly what he was about. Thou
knowest, I say, how vexed I was that I had spoken thus. For however
often I may have wickedly fallen, I ever feared to be a buyer
or seller of doves. And certainly whereas there is one dove among
them, there are chairs, not one chair. For whatever division there
is in God and the Church, comes not from him who suffers thereby.
" That they may be one," he says, " even as we
are one." And, "There are differences of gifts, but
the same spirit dividing to each severally as he will," and
the following " The throne," not thrones, " is
for ever," and " Of the fruit of thy body will I set
upon My throne." What therefore is one with God, becomes
several through the aims of human perversity.
Considering these things and not being ignorant of the unity of
the head and the body, I had no wish to usurp in the body, because
whatever thrusts itself in from elsewhere, is certainly not in
agreement with the head and no one can doubt that the head knows
not what is not approved in the body. For those who will say,
" Have we not prophesied in Thy name and cast out devils?
" are especially apostate, as it were, and no fellowmembers,
and therefore, " I know you not," they hear said, as
if He said, " I know they are not in Mine, because they do
not live of Mine." Therefore a hope, sorry tho' it was, lightened
my scorn, and I prayed to Thee, O God, that if ever that should
come to pass which was being attempted in my behalf, it should
be by Thy doing, and I was vexed, because I heard through others
that this was being procured for me by my kinsfolk, whereas others
were chosen by the simple working of God and with no earthly influence
to get it for them. For my kinsmen looking out not so much for
me as for themselves in this business, did not deal with me at
all in the matter, being plainly unwilling to stir up my youthful
feelings over it. At last, God being unwilling that I should any
longer be deceived, inspired my supporters to go abroad for the
salvation of their souls, and it became necessary for the monks
of certain abbeys, who depended on them to secure my election,
to turn elsewhere.
God, I thank Thee that then my childish desires entirely withered
away and that it no longer pleased me to look for any earthly
dignity. Thou didst scourge me in that time, O Father, O God,
Chastener of my lusts and vanities, and didst bring me back to
Thy knowledge, binding me within, that my vagrant soul might escape
nowhere, but should yearn from its inmost being for humility alone
and sincerity of heart. Then first I began to try, O Lord, to
withdraw myself into that godly solitude of the mind with Thee,
in which Thou art wont to abide, to the Mother of the heavenly
kingdom, Mary, Mother of God, my only refuge in every need, and
to launch at her the embracing love of my inward fervour. And
so I heartily desired to be humble, I wholly dreaded higher rank
and the empty shadow of a great name in the world. Then by the
sweet savour of her close friendship did I further learn of her
what singleness of heart was, what its purity, what an unbending
resolve to be for ever poor. What shall I say, Lord, of the quick
passing of that paradise, its short surcease of care, the brief
uncertain taste of its delights ?¶
Hardly had I known this foretaste of happiness, hardly had Thy
Spirit, which had smitten me down to the earth, dwelt for a little
while in my enlightened reason, when, behold, as who should say,
" When you would, then would not I; now you will not and
mislike it, then be it so, whether you will or no," there
came to pass my election to office by certain men, distant and
unknown to me. But what a choice they made ! Truthfully should
I confess myself marked out from other men, since by Thy testimony,
O God, amongst all who were opposed to me, I was judged more vile,
ay, the worst of all. The little learning I had attained, had
made my electors blind or short-sighted. Gracious God, what would
they have said, had they seen my inner self What would they have
thought, had they known what sort of head over them I was ? Thou
knowest, who in Thy inscrutable wisdom didst ordain this, how
I disdain myself, how I loathe that amongst other men better and
more worthy of honour than myself I should be first instead of
last; for Thou knowest, who seest beforehand into the heart and
reins that I by no means coveted such honours and yet was unwilling
to be despised and shamefully rejected, and heartily I prayed
to Thee that I might be excused from this work, that I might not
take up a dreadful burden, which I feared beyond measure, and
that I might not in my weakness draw back from my refusal.
Thou wast not ignorant, my God, how vexed and displeased my mother
was at my election, that what seemed to others an honour, was
to her an intolerable sorrow, wishing that no such thing had fallen
to my lot, for therein she dreaded the trials of a yet ignorant
youth, chiefly because I was entirely unskilled in legal matters;
and no wonder, since I had never cared to study law, being then
devoted to letters only. Yet she and almost all that knew me well,
used to declare that I should not long be without promotion of
some kind. Thou only, O Lord, knowest with what inward sight she
spoke of the good and ill that would befall me, if I should be
advanced. All these I feel to-day; they are hidden neither from
me nor from others. By many visions, in which I and others figured,
she foresaw things that would happen long afterwards, some of
which I see are surely coming to pass or have already come, and
the rest I as certainly expect to befall; but about these I of
set purpose intend to say nothing.
O God, with what warnings did she urge me to keep worldly lusts
out of my heart I foretelling with certainty the ill chances of
adversity which I have suffered, bidding me always be on my guard
against the instability of youth, to bridle the mind wandering
through mazes of thought; so discussing these matters that she
might have been thought some eloquent bishop rather than the illiterate
woman she was. Now the monastery I was chosen to rule, is named
Nogent and is in the borders of the diocese of Laon, lying so
near that a small stream, sometimes stagnant, called the Ailette,
is the boundary between this province and that of Soissons; about
its antiquity we hope to treat in this book.
CHAPTER XX
BUT since, as I have said, we lived united in this church of Fly
under God as our father, and the patron age of the blessed Germer,
the founder of the place, let me hand down to future generations
some of the things I heard there or saw happen. When this church
was restored after its destruction by the Danes, a certain monk
there holding the office of Prior, named Sigger, a man of good
life, lay ill of a mortal sickness. He was, if I am not mistaken,
a brother of the old woman who was associated with my mother at
the beginning of her conversion. And as he lay there, the Devil
stood before him holding a book in his hands and saying, "
Take, read; Jupiter sends it to you." He being horrified
at hearing that accursed name, the Devil said further, "
Do you love your house? " I do, said he. And he replied,
" Know that it will lose all the severity of its rule and
after a time the brotherhood will be broken up." And the
monk confounding the speaker of these words with the rebuke he
deserved, the Enemy vanished from his presence, but the monk after
relating what he had seen, turned mad and had to be put under
restraint. Before he expired, however, he regained his wits and
making a good confession, so passed away. Since therefore we know
that the Devil is a liar and the father of lying, we believe that
he spoke out of his usual envy, else Heaven forbid that this should
come true. For the fortunes of the church afterwards improved
and are still doing so.
CHAPTER XXI
I saw in that place in our time a monk who had been a soldier,
a plain man, as was believed, and advanced in years, who had been
appointed by his Abbot to a certain hermitage of the church in
the village of Vexin, because he was a native of the place. He
with the consent of his Prior, resolved to repair the high road,
which had been broken up,. He carried out this work aided by the
gifts of the faithful, and when it was finished, he kept some
sums that were left over from the offerings. Meanwhile he was
seized with a mortal sickness and yet did not by any confession
reveal what he wickedly kept hidden. He was taken to the monastery
to which he belonged; he confessed neither to the Abbot nor to
the Prior, although terrible torments, no doubt the heralds of
death, were felt by him, but the sum of silver was entrusted by
him to a certain servant who attended the sick.
And so as the dead of night drew near, he lost all feeling of
pain and lay stretched as dead on the ground; we, summoned by
the beating of the wooden signal, went through the psalms, prayers
and all that can help those about to die. This being done, the
man with the hair shirt beneath him according to monastic custom,
was left there breathing, as it seemed, with difficulty at his
last gasp, none of us expecting him to live, but all prepared
for the last rites of the dead. Immediately on our departure he
recovered his breath; called for the Prior, the Abbot being absent;
told him of the theft he had committed and to whom he had entrusted
the stolen money. At once after telling this and receiving absolution
from the Prior, rattling in his throat came back and he breathed
his last. The Prior at that time was my master, whom I have often
mentioned. Behold the multitude of the Lord's mercies, because
we were not consumed, for to whomsoever he will, he giveth widest
freedom from narrow straits !
After the man had been taken from this world, the whole of the
enquiry about the money turned upon the servant. Now he had hidden
the sum in the straw of his child's cradle. But at night when
the child was put to bed, behold devils like little dogs leapt
upon it from the side and behind, beating on it here, there and
all round, sometimes nipping it and making it cry out and weep.
And being asked by both parents why it wept, it said it was being
eaten up by little dogs. Then the mother, who had been my mother's
maid and at one time her attendant, ran to her mistress, that
is my mother, and told her of the stolen money wickedly placed
in her charge and further of the child's danger of being torn
to pieces by the dogs. To her she said: " Be sure they are
devils, who are rejoicing over that devils' money, eager to get
it because they know it is their own." When the husband knew,
although he was unwilling and deeply vexed, I should imagine,
he gave up what was demanded under compulsion or entreaty or by
secret disposal of it and talked freely of the persecution of
the devils, which followed upon the theft. We have heard that
God hath mercy on whom He will, and we may gather from what follows
that whom He will, He hardeneth. O wonderful judgments of God
I he of whom we have told this tale, had passed his whole life
in knightly exercises and the foul company of harlots; but he
of whom I am about to speak, had been for some little time careless,
but nothing dishonourable had ever come to light about him. Clearly
this vice of avarice is the more harmful to monks as it is less
natural, so that scarcely any crime can be found in which the
devil ensnares men so often as that of pilfering.
CHAPTER XXII
Another of our monks in priest's orders, with whom no fault could
be found, except his great love of riding, had received two shillings
from a certain noble lady; soon afterwards he fell sick of dysentery
on a visit to St. Quintin's at Beauvais. When this was known at
Fly, by the order of the Abbot he was carried back to his own
church. At the time when he was eating well, but his food was
passing through him without doing him any good, it chanced that
his Abbot being about to go on a journey came to speak to him,
fearing he might die, whilst he was away. But he, at the moment
when the Abbot came, had yielded to the call of nature. And a
stool being set down for him because he could not walk, the Abbot
seeing him sitting thereon in a horribly disgusting state, after
they had stared at one another, was ashamed at meeting the man
in such circumstances so the wretched man was unable to make his
confession and indeed was unwilling to do so, or to be absolved
from his crime. The Abbot retired, and he rising from the stool
went to his bed to lie down, and there was strangled by the Devil,
as he lay on his back. You could see his chin and throat horribly
flattened on his breast as though pressed violently down. Unconfessed
therefore, unanointed and without telling of his accursed money
he died. And so when his body was stripped for washing, there
was found hanging from his shoulder under his armpits a purse.
When this was found, he who discovered it, dashing the purse on
the ground in a rage and beating his hands together, ran to the
monks and poured this extraordinary tale into their ears. Certainly
it was a thing unheard of for a brother to die in this fashion.
And so he sends after the Abbot, who had begun his dinner at a
certain house of his two miles beyond Beauvais. Now through another
messenger, who had reached him, the Abbot had already heard that
he was dead, but knew nothing and had said nothing about the money.
The messenger therefore coming on behalf of the brothers who had
sent him, consulted with the Abbot what ought to be done, whether
it was lawful for him to be buried with the others, since he had
so miserably broken the rule of having property in common binding
on the rest. And when the Abbot had taken counsel with wise persons,
he ordered his burial should take place out in the fields without
prayer and psalms, and that the money should be laid on his breast.
Yet private prayer did not fail to be offered by the brothers
and they were the more earnest in so doing, inasmuch as they knew
he needed it more. The sudden death of this man made the rest
more careful in the matter of private possessions. Let us further
hear how at other times they were chastised for other offences.
CHAPTER XXIII
Not more than a few weeks afterwards it was the vigil of the martyrs,
Gervase and Prothasius, when there was a little thunder and occasional
lightning with thick clouds and tempestuous winds. Now in the
morning when we rose, the summons for the first hour had just
sounded; we assembled in the church with unusual quickness and
after a very short prayer we had said, " O God, come to my
assistance "; but when we were about to begin what follows,
with thunderclap a bolt from heaven broke into the church
with the following results. The cock over the tower, the cross
and the staff were either shattered or burnt; the beam on which
these stood, was weakened, Then after halfburning and tearing
up the shingles fixed to them by nails, the bolt passed through
the western window of the tower. The image of the crucified Lord
standing beneath was broken, the head being shattered to pieces
and the right side pierced, but not scorched, whilst the right
arms both of the cross and of the figure were so burnt and maimed
that with the exception of the thumb no one could find a single
piece of the whole arm.
As therefore, when the shepherd is smitten, the sheep are scattered
abroad with blows and death, the bolt passing to the right through
the arch under which stood the stricken image, descended the stone
of the arch in a twoforked black furrow and entering the
choir struck dead in a moment two monks standing on either side
of the arch. Then sweeping to the left on one side it stripped
off the colouring from the surface of the stone not continuously,
but stepwise as if a stone had been rolled over it, and crushed
a monk standing there, although neither in the case of the two
others nor of this one, was there any mark of injury to be seen
on them, except that on the upturned eyes of the last one there
appeared a little dust fallen from the arch. This indeed was remarkable,
that the dead men remained sitting. But we, who, stupefied by
the shock of the bolt, were halfdead, fell headlong on one
another. Moreover, some of us who fell down, lost all feeling
in the body below the girdle; some were so hurt that, fearing
their death, we hastily anointed them with holy oil. Darting into
the breasts of some the flame burnt off the hair and scorched
the growth of hair under the armpits and boring through the soles
and sandals passed out by the extremities.
It is impossible to describe how with judgment the punishment
of heaven raged, by what bends and turns it ran about, what it
damaged, what it burned, what it broke. Nobody has heard anything
like it as happening in France in our generation. I saw, I call
God to witness, an hour after these things had happened, the image
of the Blessed Mother of God, which stood below the crucifix,
having such a disturbed look, so changed from her usual calm,
that she seemed quite another person. Not trusting my own eyes
I found out that the same thing had been noticed by others. When
we had recovered from the amazement which had fallen on us through
this event, after making confession, we began to reflect why we
had suffered for our sins beyond human expression, and being brought
by God face to face with ourselves, by looking into our consciences,
we discovered how justly we had been punished. Thereupon we saw
the face of the Holy Mother changed to a tranquil expression.
Verily the grief and the shame which for some time we felt, passes
all belief.
A few years later when the memory of this event had almost been
wiped out of our minds, God gave us another warning of the same
kind, except that no one was hurt. Now hard by the rising chimney
of a certain room a peacock had perched to rest at night, pressing
close to it when deep in sleep. It was the festival of St. James
the Apostle, also Sunday, when in the night the crash of heavy
thunder was heard and a bolt rushed into the chimney, ruining
every part of that room that projected, but the peacock sitting
on it remained undisturbed, a young monk sleeping below was not
even roused from sleep, but a servant was struck with the loss
of his wits and of the use of his limbs. According to the Blessed
Augustine Heaven does not idly strike mountains and things inanimate,
but to make us reflect that in striking at things that do not
sin, he signifies a great judgment on sinners, and he brings in
for example the nurse who strikes the ground with a stick to
stop the naughtiness of the child.
When relating the earlier misfortune, I omitted to speak of the
character of those who were killed. Two being novices had scarcely
completed eight months as monks. Of these, one under a grave outside
was inwardly not so good, the other under an appearance of levity
was within, as far as we could tell, not so bad a man. They the
day before they suffered, had clearly displayed the difference
in character of which I have spoken. On the morning of the event
when the one who was outwardly trifling, heard the sound of the
thunder, he began at once to say silly things and immediately
on entering the church was struck down by the lightning at which
he laughed. But the third called Robert, whose name in the world
was Columba because of his frank simplicity, a youth with his
beard just beginning to grow, known for his thorough honesty,
had been so active and wise in the church and the offices of the
brotherhood, that he did duty as some one's substitute almost
every day; moreover he had a good knowledge of grammar. He in
that morning hour that fostered his death, rising before me, contrary
to his wont, to sit in the cloister, told me he was suffering
from acute pain in the head and the rest of his body. Immediately
afterwards he saw the disturbance in the heavens from which he
soon died. See how before that destruction the two men's hearts
were uplifted, although in the judgment of God the sentence soon
to be passed was more severe for one of them, but in the case
of the third, depression of heart went before his glorification,
since no one doubted that a high place in heaven would be his.
For to some one it was presently shewn in a vision that these
three were going together to St. Peter at Rome, two in shadowy
outline that could hardly be seen, but the third clad in white
was hastening there in the full vigour of his wisdom and activity.
Some years afterwards when we had forgotten these things and were
become sluggish and careless, there came a third punishment; this
was after I had left the church. One morning, when there was stormy
weather, they had gone in procession to the great altar to sing
the litany-for they dared not remain in the choir where the first
bolt had fallen- when suddenly a flame from heaven rushed down,
and according to the testimony of those who saw it, descending
right upon the base of the altar filled it all round with a foul
stench like that of brimstone. There a monk in priest's orders
was blinded, and two boys who had their heads bowed towards the
pediment of the altar-one a converted Jew, but faithful at heart-were
caught up by this bolt without knowing it, carried some distance
and left with their feet towards the altar and their heads against
the wall of the choir. The chest behind the altar was broken in
places by the lightning entering it, and a chasuble which was
reckoned very costly, (although the best part of the church's
treasures, was there) was the only one damaged by a rent. There
is a remarkable reason for this.
The king of the English, a very lawless man and an enemy of the
Church, named Rufus, because he was red, whom God slew when hunting
by the arrow of his own favourite, particularly desired to have
this chasuble. Being unwilling to spend his own money he appointed
a monk to arrange the matter with the Abbot of the monastery called
Battle, sending word that he was to give fifteen marks to the
monk. But when the Abbot refused, the monastery was violently
plundered by the king and the Abbot was forced to redeem the plunder
for fifteen marks. With this money by a sacrilegious fraud the
chasuble was by sacrilegious men bought, and just as fraudulently
was it made, so that in the procuring of it, in the buying, as
in the making of it, it was wholly compacted of accursedness;
for when after this event it was taken to pieces and valued, it
proved not to be worth half the price. In its very making was
detected the cheating of the buyer. This therefore, whilst the
other ornaments were left uninjured, was justly condemned although
its trafficker escaped punishment.
Moreover before that happened the following vision appeared to
a monk who had an uneasy conscience. The image of the crucified
Lord seemed to descend from the cross, blood dripping from His
hands, side and feet. Going through the midst of the choir He
was heard to say, " Unless ye confess, ye will die."
When he awoke, he was in great fear, but before he confessed,
he underwent this danger with all the rest, but by his confession
proved the justice of the judgment. Because of the danger that
had fallen on them, on every anniversary there has been instituted
for ever a fast with almsgiving, a daily mass to the blessed Mary
in her chapel, besides a mass for the Birth of the Lord at the
altar of St. Michael every Sunday. But now let us hasten on to
other matters.
CHAPTER XXIV
In that year four months after the first disaster a certain monk
in priest's orders, once a secular chaplain in my mother's house,
a man outwardly religious, but at that time hopelessly given up
to monstrous vices from which he could be kept by no human care,
began quickly to grow feeble. And being unexpectedly brought near
death in two days, he began to cast fearful glances in all directions.
And when he was asked by those who knew his real character what
he saw, he replied, " The house full of savage men."
And when they perceived that those seen by him were none other
than devils threatening him, they began to urge him to make the
sign of the cross and to call with confidence on the Blessed Mother
of God. " I should have hope and confidence in her,"
said he, " if these barons did not press me hard." It
is remarkable that he called them barons, because in the Greek
language that means " heavy "; and oh, how very heavy
were they who had not been able by penitence or by invocation
to remove their burdens ! At last they asked what was his real
trouble. He replied that he felt as if a long sword, redhot
from the forge, was piercing through his heart and throat. Now
when the night was at its stillest, so that not even a breath
of wind was heard, the window casements in the house began to
be thrown back on the walls and to be shaken again and again by
a crowd of people entering. Two monks, whilst the rest in the
house were asleep, were watching him, and being sure that such
things did not proceed from what is good, were much perturbed.
Now the words we have mentioned were amongst the things he said.
Moreover, he was a man addicted to many shameful acts and therefore
such a life was closed by such an end.
In the cemetery of that church a burial was being prepared for
a dead monk, and he whose office it was could not remember whether
he had made a grave in that spot. He dug, therefore, and having
gone farther down, he found the plank which is usually placed
under the tomb, and that being removed he found the grave nearly
empty except for the hood commonly called the capuchon, with the
head placed inside it, and the sandals full of hay (which was
done at the time of the burial to make them fit better on the
feet) at the foot of the grave, but between these nothing at all.
When some had seen this and had reported it to us, we expressed
our wonder at the incomprehensible judgment of God; seeing these
things done with such secret and subtle meaning. In it there was
matter for wonder that the head was left there, but the body had
been conveyed away from its place whither God pleased. Something
similar to this I have heard from Manassis, the Archbishop of
pious memory, who made a most faithful end a few years later,
and in fuller detail from monks of the Blessed Remigius in the
city of Rheims. Artaldus a certain Archbishop of this state, had
been buried at the feet of the Blessed Remigius. A long time afterwards
being disinterred for the purpose of certain necessary changes
in the buildings, on his grave being opened, no body at all was
found and of his garments only a chasuble left, this having no
sign of decaying with the body, but remaining quite uninjured.
And certainly if his body had rotted away, the decay would have
affected the chasuble in particular. In these times we see what
is said in the writings of the Blessed Gregory of the strange
judgments passed by God on the dead bodies of the guilty, who
are known not to have deserved burial in holy ground.
In the convent of nuns established at Caen and built by Matilda,
Queen of England, the wife of William, one of the Norman Counts
(who had conquered the English), there was a certain nun who had
fallen into some foul sins and could not by any admonition be
induced to confess. In that obstinacy she was fated to die, having
said while dying, nothing to do her any good. And when one of
the sisters was sleeping one night in the cell where she had died,
she saw in her sleep great fires burning in the fireplace of the
house and the dead nun in the midst of it not only burning, but
being beaten by two wicked spirits on either side with two hammers.
And as she gazed at the dreadful torments of that wretched woman,
it seemed that a spark darted into her eye from the stroke of
a hammer. Then it chanced that she woke with the burning pain
of the spark that had settled in her eye. And so it came about
that what she had seen in the spirit, she suffered in the body
and the real evidence of the hurt agreed with the truth of the
vision.
CHAPTER XXV
There was a certain monk of Fly called Osmund, who had given much
to a monastery, while still a clerk, and in the end entered it
himself. He, after taking the habit, repented that good beginning
and was exceedingly vexed at what he had done. But being chastised
by God soon afterwards with bodily infirmity, he learnt and did
what was more for his good, and now kept his holy profession,
not because he must, but because he wished it. He being quicker
to anger than was right, and being appointed caretaker of the
church, expelled from it a poor man, who was importunately begging
him for alms, more harshly than he ought. This having happened
during the day, on the following night as he was going to open
the doors to ring the bell for the first service, behold the Devil
in the shape of the poor man whom he had harshly driven out the
day before, met him, and raising his stick attacked the monk,
as if to strike him. Now he had opened the doors in the screen
that separates the clergy from the people and was going on to
open the others through which the people enter, when suddenly,
although the doors of exit in the upper part of the church were
barred, from the middle of it leapt out the man threatening to
strike him. And he retreated in alarm, thinking that it was the
man whom he had driven out the day before, but at length recovered
himself, and bethinking him of the closed doors, at last perceived
it was the Devil, who by this sign rebuked him for what he had
done to the poor man.
In the winter as he was rising to satisfy the needs of nature,
being too lazy to put on the usual clothes, he clad himself in
his hood only, and staying there too long caught a deadly chill.
Not long after being brought near death by the swelling of the
extreme parts of his body, he was in greater dread than he should
have been, of the very mention of death. So crying " Ah,
me ! " without ceasing and with much sadness he came near
his last hour. Then the sacrament being taken, and by the grace
of God retained -for all other food was at once vomited up-he
was labouring to set free his spirit. Meantime, in the first hour
of the night, when the sacristan, a worthy man, had gone to bed,
behold, he hears in the brothers' cemetery hard by a countless
host of devils gathered together. With his mind active to perceive
all this, but his willpower too paralysed for speech or movement,
he sees them enter the church and passing before his bed rush
on between the choir and the altar and make their way to the dormitory
where the sick man lay. And he with his mind s eye seeing this
happen prayed to God in his spirit that he might be protected
from them, knowing well that this troop had assembled for the
man's death, and soon, as they reached the cell of him who was
in his death agony, the brothers in attendance on him beat the
board, as the custom is, to call together the other monks. Forthwith
whilst they are assembling the man's dissolution takes place.
Now I have related this not because I believe that he has gone
to the abode of the wicked, but to remind all men to reflect with
me that the prince of this world once came to the Son of God,
over whom he had no power. And if to him, how much more is it
certain that the rage of the Devil will in his eagerness swiftly
gather his forces against us, over whom he has so much.
I saw there a woman who, in her outrageous anger with her little
son, amongst other abuse which she hurled against the innocent
child, with blasphemous tongue even cursed his infant baptism.
Being instantly seized by a devil, she began to rave madly and
to do and say horrible things. After she had been brought to the
church and shown to the brothers, she was restored to her senses
by prayers and exorcism, thus learning by her torment not to curse
the Lord's sacraments.
I also saw there a girl possessed with a devil brought to the
memorial service of St. Germer, the Confessor. She having stayed
some days, was led one day by her parents to the altar. Whilst
sitting near it, she turned her head and saw the young monks standing
behind and said, " What beautiful young men, my God, but
there is one among them who ought never to have lived with them."
When we heard that, we wondered much what was meant by such words.
Very soon afterwards one of them fled and through his death during
his flight after having broken his vows, the wickedness of his
life was revealed.
CHAPTER XXVI
SINCE we have begun to speak of devils, we think it fitting to
add certain facts, which are a warning to avoid their incantations
and the counsels of those who have dealings with them. For they
admit no one to learn their magic except those whom they rob of
the honour of their Christianity by a horrible sacrilege. In a
certain famous monastery a monk had been brought up from childhood
and had attained to some knowledge of letters. Whilst living in
a cell attached to the church under the rule of his Abbot, he
fell ill of a disease, through which, to his sorrow, he had occasion
for talking with a Jew skilled in medicine. Gathering boldness
from their intimacy, they began to reveal their secrets to one
another. And so the monk, being curious about wicked arts and
aware that the Jew understood magic, pressed him hard. The Jew
consented and promised to be his mediator with the Devil. Time
and place for a meeting are fixed. At last he is brought by his
intermediary into the presence of the Devil; he asks through the
other to be admitted to a share in the teaching. That abominable
ruler says it can by no means be done, unless he denies his Christianity
and offers sacrifice to him. He asked what sacrifice. " That
which is pleasing in a man." " What is that? "
" You shall make a libation of your seed," said he;
" When you have poured that out to me, then you shall enjoy
the reward of your sacrifice." Oh, crime ! Oh, shameful act
! And he of whom this was demanded was a priest ! And this Thy
ancient enemy did, O Lord, to cast the dishonour of sacrilege
on Thy holy order and Thy Blessed Victim ! Be not silent; restrain
not Thy vengeance, Lord. What shall I say? How shall I say it?
The unhappy man did what was required of him, he whom Thou hadst
abandoned, Ah, would it had been in time ! And so with that horrible
libation he declares his renunciation of his faith. But let me
give one instance of the magic which he learnt by this accursed
bargain.
He was in the habit of having intercourse with a certain nun.
Moreover he lived in a cell with one monk as his companion, who
had outside duties to perform, whilst he remained at home with
leisure for his wickedness. One day, therefore, they were sitting
in the cell, when his companion returned from his business, and
when they saw him afar off, there was no escape open to the woman,
but her flight would bring her into the path of the returning
monk. And so this new sorcerer, seeing his woman companion in
a fright, said, " Go to meet the man as he comes, looking
neither to the right nor to the left, and fear nothing."
The woman trusted him and went. But he stood in the doorway and
with an incantation which he had learnt, turned her into a monstrous
dog. When she came near the returning monk, he said, ' Ha ! Whence
comes this great dog? " But she in much fear passed him by
and knew by these words under what shape she had escaped. Finally
the monk coming to the house kept asking whence a dog of that
size had come. " He belongs to that neighbour of ours,"
said he. " Have you not seen him before? " And so the
other was silent, guessing the truth. Living for a long time,
therefore, without God, in the end, thanks be to God, he was stricken
with a severe illness, and whether he would or not, had to confess
what he had done. The matter was referred to the judgment of wise
men and chiefly to Anselm, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury
and then Abbot of Bec. Chiefly through his advice that most filthy
profaner of the divine mysteries was cast out from administering
them. Thus compelled to give up celebrating them, yet nothing
could clear his mind of the belief that he would ere long be made
a bishop; whereas he died not a prelate, but an unfrocked priest
for evermore.
I will give another instance which had a similar beginning, but
a happier end. A certain clerk in the town of Beauvais lived by
the art of copying, one whom I knew myself, since he did work
at Fly and was engaged for this very book. Afterwards, when talking
with another sorcerer at the castle of Breteuil, he was told something
of this kind; " If it were made worth my while, I could teach
you something by which you might get gifts of money every day
without any help from man." He asks what he must do for it.
The sorcerer says he must propitiate the citizen of the lower
world, that is the Devil. " With what victim? " says
he. " With a cock," says the other; " but the egg
from which it was hatched must have been laid by the hen on Jupiter's
day in the month of March. After roasting this, take it, just
cooked, and with the spit still in it, and go to the nearest,
fishpond But whatever you hear, see, or feel there, do not dare
to call upon the Blessed Mary or any of the saints." "
I will do so," says he. Then a wondrous thing ! They come
to the place at night bringing the victim suitable for such a
god. As one called on the devil and his wicked pupil held the
cock, the devil in a whirlwind suddenly stood by them and seized
it. Then he who had been taken there, in his fright called upon
the Lady Mary. When the Devil heard the name of that powerful
Lady, he fled with his cock, being unable, however, to carry it
off, and it was found by some fishermen next day on an island
of the fishpond. O royal, sweet name, so dreaded in the wicked
regions ! Now the sorcerer was angry with the clerk for calling
on so great a one in such a matter. But the other was driven by
repentance to Lisiard, Archdeacon of Beauvais, my uncle, a man
learned in every branch, wise, courtly and wellknown. And
having confessed what he had done, he humbled himself, as Lisiard
ordered him, to penitence and prayer. Let these instances of what
I heard in the monastery, suffice. Next after speaking of the
manner of my election, in the beginning of another book I will
tell of the place itself to which I was translated, in what manner
it was founded and of what antiquity.
BOOK II
CHAPTER I
The place is called Nogent. As a dwelling for monks it is new,
but for secular purposes it has been inhabited from very ancient
times. Even if this opinion is unsupported by any written tradition,
it is sufficiently proved by the discovery of a number of tombs,
clearly foreign, and, we believe, not Christian, in their construction.
For around it and in the church itself there has accumulated from
old time a great quantity of tombs and the countless number of
corpses piled together is evidence of the great fame of a place
so sought out. But as the graves are arranged in an order not
usual with us, in a circle like a garland, many being placed round
the tomb of one and in these are found certain vessels, the reason
for which is unknown in Christian times, we cannot but believe
that they belonged to Pagans, or are ancient Christian tombs made
in the pagan fashion. Moreover, there are in the same church metrical
compositions. That these are authentic I should have little justification
for believing, were it not that my belief is considerably strengthened
by what I have observed in recent times. Now its history is narrated
in these writings as follows:
Before the assumption into heaven of the Incarnate Word, it is
said that there lived a certain king among the English, who anciently
were called Britons, and not English, which is a more recent name
taken from a part of the Saxons, who afterwards seized their land.
Now in this Britain, an island of the sea, lived this king, richly
endowed with poesy and science and besides, by a naturally good
disposition, given to works of mercy. And as he behaved generously
to the poor, not through regard for God, of whom he was ignorant,
but by the impulse of exceptionally humane feelings, in which
he abounded, it was fitting that to the working of a good heart
there should be added the gift of a clearer understanding. For
he began in elaborate reasonings with himself to examine what
fixed attributes he ought to expect in the many forms taken by
the gods. Wondering what unity in the government of heaven and
earth there could possibly be amongst those who in their marriages,
whilst they lasted, practised such undoubted unchastity and brawling,
and in whose earthly dominion was seen cruel hatred of one another,
sons of fathers and fathers of sons, even to usurpation of power,
driving out and killing one another, worse things being often
told of them than of mortals, he thought it extreme madness to
ascribe to them rule over the earth, much more over the heavens.
And who would hand over the disposal of things on high to those
whose miserable power could not control the smallest portions
of the earth without disgraceful deeds?
Whilst the man pondered these and like things, shutting out of
his heart the images of these vain gods, as he thought them, he
turned to the worship of one incomprehensible Being, who ought
to be adored under no form, who alone with single concord governs
all things, whose invisible things are understood by those that
are created. When, therefore, in the course of these profitable
reasonings, he still hesitated in some doubt, God, who declares
better things to those who wish well, sending a voice from heaven
to him, urged the man to go to Jerusalem, where he would hear
what ought to be believed about God; how the Son of God proceeding
from God lived among men for their sake and what He endured, why
He died, and whom He left as His vicars behind Him to set forth
His divine name, who, when he had gone there, would explain to
him these great mysteries. That is to say, he was to find the
Mother and all the Apostles.
This British king, therefore, giving up his possessions and his
kingdom, after this declaration of faith had been delivered to
him, determined to hasten to make trial of what he had learnt.
And so leaving his country and having prepared a fleet, he crossed
over the neighbouring sea, and passing through intervening lands
containing many towns and cities, he came to the borders of the
province of Laon. So in the country which we have called above
Nogent, he came to get hospitality. Now that place is under the
castle named Coucy, which was built to resist the invasion of
foreigners by the people of the country, who were very proud and
rich. The castle has no age at all. But the place of which we
are speaking, was at that time surrounded by woods full of wild
beasts, and by a river, the Ailette, mentioned above, of greater
value than size; for it surpasses other streams more famed in
its wealth of fishes, and it is not confined within the wanderings
of its channel, like other rivers, but spreads out into wide,
stagnant pools like fishponds. The slopes of the mountains that
rise on both sides are covered with vineyards, and the land being
suitable for Bacchus, or Ceres, is praised for its soil, which
produces all sorts of good crops, and its productive stream is
made agreeable by its pleasant meadows stretching far and wide.
There is an old tradition strongly vouched for, that there exists
in that place a very ancient temple, not dedicated to the name
or honour of any existent God, but consecrated to a woman not
yet born who should bear one both God and man. It was therefore
devoted to the future Mother of God yet to be born. No wise man
thinks this absurd, for since they worshipped an unknown god at
Athens, they were certainly aware that He would be born of a woman
like their ordinary gods, whose mothers they name. And if a shrine
was now dedicated to one who was to be born, His mother, like
those of the others, was not likely to be deprived of a similar
honour. What, therefore, is not to be discredited with regard
to the birth in one place, might also happen in the other to her
who was to bear a son. To this place, therefore, it chanced that
the British prince came, and thankful that he had reached so pleasant
a country, he arranged to rest himself and his followers there,
harassed as they were by the hardships of the journey, giving
the exhausted baggage animals eight days to recruit in the neighbouring
pastures.
Going on from here and covering great distances by land and sea,
at length he entered the walls of Jerusalem. The Saviour having
recently suffered, risen from the dead and ascended into heaven,
lastly the Holy Ghost being given, he found the city at variance
with opposing factions, some being angered at what had happened
and others rejoicing. Nor had he any difficulty in finding those
whom he sought, but the great publicity that was given to the
matter, made it easy to be directed to those who were spreading
the new law. For so far the usual imprisonment did not stop them,
nor did the fear of a rising of the Jews against them withhold
them from their testimony to the Lord, but they found it necessary
to keep in mind the great men among the nations, that the proof
of their position might strengthen the authority of their teaching.
Why waste words? Peter and the eleven were often found among the
people, the gathering of disciples attending them being now much
increased, with Mary, that mirror of all our faith and glory giving
her presence there and her testimony to the divine incarnation.
Addressing these, therefore, and the Virgin Mother, the British
prince, who was soon to offer firstfruits to God, thus set
forth the reason for his journey.
" You see me come, Fathers and Lords, from the remotest ends
of the earth to listen to you. I have till now ruled over the
Britons (in the right line of succession). Now observing hitherto
those ancient rites, which they through the ages of their error
have regarded with veneration, I have recently abandoned them
for these reasons. When I considered those whom the ages had honoured
by ascribing to them divine being, reasoning it out that they
were the worst of mortals and that after their monstrous abominations
they had paid the debt of nature, by reasonable conjectures I
discovered in the gods only men who had lived as heroes on earth,
exalted above others by reputation alone, and that they could
never have created the heavens and the earth and all that is therein,
who certainly waxed strong in this world out of the mildness of
sky and clime and the abundance of the earth. After reason, therefore,
had destroyed their divinity, at last I reached a settled conviction
that with these deprived of their divinity and sanction there
could be, and should be believed to exist, the one working and
rule of one God only, and that as from Him all things come, so
containing all things in Himself He rules universally. After my
mind had become fixed in the idea of one God, and temples with
their pretences had been rejected in scorn for ever, my heart
being as it were cleansed from the filth of idolatry, there shone
forth in it the purity of all true religion from on high. For
soon a voice from heaven bade me come here, where in the dispensation
of God the Son who has recently suffered, ye should deliver unto
me the truth of the only faith. I am promised that the truth of
the only faith is to be delivered to me by you. By this Mother,
therefore, of the Deity declared to me, whom I see present, and
by your voice, I conjure you to grant me the initiation into this
new birth." Hearing this, Peter and his rejoicing colleagues
under Mary, who shed glory on that heavenly assembly, gave praise
to the greatness of God and his human Son who had bestowed salvation
freely on all the world, before the interpreters of his grace
were yet scattered abroad, and had now so suddenly poured out
the declaration of his new bounty to the remotest west. When,
therefore, the rule of faith had been delivered to the man and
he had next been washed in the water of baptism, he received the
name of Quilius. Being further confirmed by the schooling of these
great teachers in the understanding of that sacrament which he
had received, when about to leave them and return to his own country,
he begged with faithful heart for the sacred pledges of relics,
that is to say, those of them which he had learnt had touched
the body of the Saviour. He begged, therefore, with pious devotion
for portions of the cords, by which he knew the Lord had been
fastened to the Cross, of the scourges with which wicked hands
had furrowed His blessed body, even of the very wood of the Cross
on which He had hung, of that garment of the Mother of God, in
which it is said she had brought forth the Lord, and of the clothing
of the Apostles.
These, placed in a small casket, he bore with him, and set about
returning. And after he had passed through the intervening countries,
he came to that part, in which on the way there, he had staved
to rest. Forthwith, being seized by a sudden illness and having
taken to his bed, there was revealed to him in a vision that in
that place he had come to the end of this present life. He was
also told that his body should rest in the same place as the relics
which he had received from the holy apostles at Jerusalem, which,
he was assured, were to be buried under the same turf. On awaking,
this warning of his death turned the man's thoughts from everything
else to this one subject and he busied himself with the last needs
of his dead body, in the hope of the glory soon to follow. And
so dying there and surrendering without loss to him that gave
it, that which had been entrusted to him, under the sod that was
the restingplace of his body, he gave that casket of relics
a place by his side. Long afterwards, by God's care, the box was
taken out and enclosed by some faithful persons in a costly shell
of gold of ancient workmanship, its visible evidence descending
to this age to afford fresh testimony to the truth of the old
story. Now that is believed to have been the origin of that church.
CHAPTER II
Aided by the growing strength of the Christian law, this church
which, in the earliest times, had good rule, became under the
name of the Mother of God a shining light to the world. Situated
in the aforementioned town of Coucy it was closely surrounded
by rich manors of great antiquity, and it became a venerated resort
for crowds from the neighbouring districts. It was said also that
whilst it was only a small place, it was frequently illumined
by light from heaven and honoured by miracles; rightly so indeed,
since it retained its humility, so rare a thing amongst men. Moreover,
the lordship of the castle itself, under flourishing chiefs, was
extended far and wide, and its nobles being endowed with much
wealth and generosity, determined on the advice of the devotees
of the place to hand it over to monks, induced by the fame of
the church, the renown of its sanctity being in good odour everywhere.
Since there was no expectation that the institution would grow
much larger, as there were not sufficient revenues in hand for
the support of much more than six monks, an attempt was made by
unskilful and uninstructed persons to extend or build anew parts
of the church. And since they had no architect or instructor of
any skill in the building, the work done was very defective. At
an age, therefore, when there was greater abundance than there
is now, their treasure chest became filled with the gifts of the
castle nobility, for these lords made it the first object of their
bounty, bestowing on it of their best and a similar preference
was shewn by others in their offerings. Then by the counsel of
the brotherhood and their patrons, very fitting measures were
taken to appoint as head of the convent, Henry, at that time Abbot
of the Blessed Remigius, for a long time presiding over the monastery
of Homblieres, a distinguished man indeed. He was famous neither
for learning nor birth, but his preeminent qualities in
the management of worldly business were equalled by the zeal of
his godly care for the maintenance of its internal discipline.
Presiding, therefore, over these three monasteries, from the abundance
of the two richer ones he supplied the needs of the third, which
was beginning to thrive. By the great liberality which he shewed
towards that church, he made a rich occasion of its consecration,
the church being dedicated by Helinandus, Bishop of Laon, a man
abounding in wealth which he used in the foundation of churches,
and very zealous in their adornment, and it was enriched by him
with many privileges and by others with exemption from dues and
splendid gifts.
But as this Abbot was of advanced age and had weak eyes, he devoted
himself to the richer ones which could easily be governed by his
own powers; the third, which could not be administered without
toilsome strain, he decided to relinquish. And when he was arranging
to entrust it to a nephew monk, and had invited the brothers in
the church to do this, he failed to get what he wanted, but the
choice (to the annoyance of the Abbot) fell on one who was then
a young man, named Godfrey, a native of those parts and formerly
a monk at le Mont St. Quintin, near Perona. When, therefore, he
saw that the votes of the electors were being given to another
man, he abandoned the place, which he had most worthily and with
indulgent generosity maintained, and made legal surrender of it
to him whom they had chosen.
After his election and advancement to the charge of that place,
as he behaved with great caution and the people and nobles alike
had both the will and the power to enrich the churches, much wealth
in lands and revenues subsequently poured into this one. For the
man knew how to adapt himself to the manners of the outside world,
being courteous and liberal in his dealings with others and in
the management of their legal business, in the details of which
he spent much care on their behalf. And in fact at the time of
which I spoke at the beginning of this book, men with a generous
desire to found monasteries bestowed on them lands and money,
spending their substance on such works more freely and gladly
than their sons favour us now with good words. Since, therefore,
in the monasteries lying around there was less zeal for religion
than there should have been, whereas he and his monks seemed to
be busy with such matters, as a tiny light in the midst of darkness,
so the times were such as to throw a favourable light on the governing
powers of the rulers and the obedient submission of the ruled,
when compared with the same in other institutions.
And so he forbade any simony in that church in act or thought
and debarring all purchase, admitted influence only, regarding
the fact or name of such disgraceful barter as an accursed thing.
And so since this man was considered shrewder than most of his
abbots in legal business and was therefore better known in towns
and cities, first there was talk of one of the richer abbacies
for him and later measures were taken to get him a bishopric.
At that time the Bishopric of Amiens had been vacant for nearly
two years. Now, he had himself put forward as candidate an archdeacon
of that city, whose election was desired by a certain party of
the clergy and people. Then his worldly shrewdness and the fact
that he was a monk, brought a demand for his own election, whilst
seeking it for another, and under Richard, formerly the Bishop
of Autil and now a legate of the Apostolic See in France at the
time, who had summoned a Council at Troyes, he was appointed Bishop
of Amiens and translated from Nogent.
There, at the height of his fame and success, in such general
esteem that even the prelates who ranked above him, regarded him
with special respect and, to be brief, everywhere venerated as
the mirror of all religion, he suddenly attained either his desire
or his dread, God knows which. But I have learnt that an inheritance
eagerly desired at the outset, in the end may prove no blessing.
His earlier career was attended with the usual plaudits and for
years his fame had been his herald, but now it seemed that the
bright flame of the man's splendour burned low and was even extinguished.
When on the first day of his reception in the city he used an
elevated place for a pulpit to address the people, he declared
that in like manner he would always scale the heights, since he
was unwilling that the words of the poet should ever be aptly
applied to his failure:
" The mountains are in labour - an absurd little mouse
shall be born."
These words, true prophecy of what would follow, sank into the
minds of all. For his reputation, beginning rapidly to decline
without any check to its decay, soon proved his performance to
be far lower than his promise. But let us say no more of that,
as I intend perhaps later....
CHAPTER III
Into the place which he left, filled by him with such capability
and fitness, where, had he been content with what he had, he might
have gone on living in the greatest happiness and independence,
to this, as I said above, it was my lot to be chosen. Whether
my election was against the will or by the suffrance of God, I
know not; this only I fearlessly declare that neither by influence
nor with my knowledge, nor through the power of my kinsfolk was
the office sought for me. But however well the matter went in
that respect, yet herein, that I was unknown to any of them and
they to me, perhaps it was not so fortunate or right, as the reader
of what follows, may think. For in coming to them I am not certain
myself that, being a stranger to them and they to me, we might
not have taken a dislike to one another for that very reason Some
people did think so. This in other circumstances has happened
and may happen, but that it did in this case is not a matter for
conjecture. Now no one can doubt that acquaintance with a man
and familiarity are wont to breed boldness, and boldness easily
breaks out into rashness. And certainly we are wont to shew greater
respect for those we do not know; still, when I entered upon that
office, they by no means hid from me their innermost feelings,
but by faithful confession so much did they reveal their hearts
and by revealing them become one with me, that I who thought I
had seen good monks elsewhere, had never known any to be compared
with them in this respect.
Thou knowest, most merciful God, that I began this work not in
the spirit of pride, but wishing to confess my wickedness, which
I would most plainly acknowledge did I not fear to corrupt the
minds of many of my readers by my horrible acts. I confess, I
say, my wickedness and much more rightly Thy mercy that answered
to the call not of my iniquity but of Thy grace within me. And
if I happen to speak of anyone, I will set forth his character
to shew Thy judgments and the final issues; for Thou knowest that
in these works that are Thine and dedicated to Thee, I do not
with pleasure utter words of defamation and hatred. Because, therefore,
I have taken in hand to tell the tale of my fortunes and misfortunes
for the help, it may be, of others, on the very day of my installation,
a monk with a good knowledge of the divine page, and curious,
I suppose, about my future, when they were preparing to meet me
in procession, purposely opened the Gospels on the altar, meaning
to take the first chapter that met his eye as an omen concerning
me.
Now the book had been written by hand, not in pages but columns.
In the middle, therefore, of the third column, his eye fixed on
the passage which ran as follows: " The light of thy body
is Thine eye." And so he tells the deacon who was to carry
the Gospel before me in the procession, after kissing the silver
image attached to the cover, to put his finger between the pages
at the place which he had marked and suddenly opening the volume
before me to note carefully where my look fell. He opened the
book, therefore, on the outside of which he had, according to
custom pressed his lips, and whilst he was guessing where my glance
would fall I looked neither at the beginning nor the end of the
page, but fixed my eyes steadily on that very verse. The monk
who had guessed that this would be so and had seen me unwittingly
do as he had expected, some days afterwards came and told me both
what he had done and how my prompting had been wonderfully in
harmony with his. O God, who lightest the lamp of all that believe
in Thee, Thou knowest how Thou didst bestow on me the light of
motive and how amid the troubles brought on me, my will towards
them is good. And although through my fault, as far as depends
on me, my heart is foul and wretched, yet Thou art not ignorant
how much my soul yearns for the well-being of those whom Thou
didst put under me. In such measure as I think on my evils, so
much am I cheered by the good that has smiled upon their works.
For I know that I have the freer access to the throne of Thy grace,
in so far as I have shewn myself gracious to the desires of men
of goodwill.
Being instituted, therefore, by them and brought before the assembled
chapter, I preached a sermon on that prophetic passage and as
it was the Sunday in Christmas week when Isaiah is read, I said:
" Isaiah the prophet said what you have just heard, ' A man
shall take hold of his brother of the house of his father, saying,
Thou hast clothing, be thou our ruler, and let this ruin be under
thy hand: And he shall answer: I am not a healer and in my house
there is neither bread nor clothing: make me not a ruler of the
people. For Jerusalem is ruined and Judah is fallen.' He is a
man who is not timid in the face of the Devil. He takes hold of
his brother, when he unites himself to one born of God. That one
ought also to be of the house of his father, because he who is
taken for the office of a pastor ought not to be found ignorant
of the mysteries of the house of God. For he who knoweth not the
sacraments of the church is unworthy of its administration, because,
that is, ' a scribe instructed in the kingdom of heaven,' ' faithful
' also in preserving its mysteries, ' prudent ' in expenditure,
cannot be ranked as a ' servant.' And how shall he preside over
the church, who knows not the church? Therefore let him be of
the house.
"What is meant by clothing but the fine dress of outward
works? Therefore let him be demanded for ruler, who hath clothes;
because ofttimes it befalls that he is sought for rule,
who by his gait, by word and deed, shows his self-control. It
is forbidden, too, that ruin should be under his hand, because
whatever hurt there may be among the ruled is discerned as coming
into the reckoning of the ruler. As if he were to say, ' Thou
seemest to be fair to the eye, yet see by what merit thou art
preeminent within . ' Knowing in particular that you must
hold up all from falling, and hence becoming more cautious, he
brings in this, ' I am not,' says he, ' a healer that I may have
power to resist the growing ruin of disease.' You are looking
at the outer garment, that which is not within the house, because
there is not the same dress of the mind as there is of the body.
Hence he confesses he is not a healer; for it is difficult to
penetrate to the causes and effects of any vice or virtue by the
keenness of the discernment. And this might be the result of poverty
because that there is not in the house the daily bread of him
who is today sought from God, the comfort of that divine refreshment
which is spiritually poured in, or the strengthening of that love
in the inner man, without which there is nowhere good rule.
"And so he lightly refuses to be made ruler, whose spirit
gives him no strength through inspiration from on high. ' For
Jerusalem is in ruins'; that is, the experience of inner peace
has perished. Also ' Judah has fallen'; that is, the confession
of sin after the loss of inward calm has broken down in utter
despair, the worst of all evils, and a good reason in itself for
refusing the office of pastor. For where the mind is disquieted
by the appearance of vices, the attack on it is passing foul,
nor does the mind when evilly blinded by these, forswear them
by confession and when it has no strength to rule itself, it is
rightly prevented by others, more rightly by itself, from ruling
over other men." Thus I spoke to them, now explaining, now
rather using exhortation, and again adducing Scripture to support
the argument.
CHAPTER IV
But since I have for some time said nothing about my mother, who
was far the best of all my earthly possessions, it is right that
I should briefly touch upon a good life's better end. Being now
come, as she herself admitted, to no little age, with the strength
of her spirit unbroken and, as her body became enfeebled, her
love of prayer never growing less, getting no sleep through the
weakness of her lungs, and yet with a voice wonderfully strong
repeating the name of Jesus Christ in the night, at last overcome
by disease, she took to her bed. Now I and my brother at that
time were staying at Nogent, two years, if I am not mistaken,
before that return to Fly, which I have mentioned above, an ill-considered
act indeed, but one which by the power of Him who uses our misfortunes
for good, turned to a much happier issue than could have been
believed; for God spared her weakness, that the heart which loved
God so well, might not undeservedly be hurt by the sword of that
ignominious return.
When she, therefore, was at the point of death and my master sat
weeping by her side, he said, " Behold, the sons of my lord
are gone and thou perhaps wilt be grieved and find it harder to
die in their absence." But she, giving him a reproachful
look, said, " Even if they had remained as before within
the neighbouring cloister, God knows I should have wished neither
these nor any other of my kin to be present at my death. There
is one however, whom I desire with all the strength of my soul;
may he alone be present ! " So she spake and that night,
at the hour when the sending of the angel Gabriel is sung and
celebrated she departed to that Lady of hers aforesaid, whom with
unbounded love she passionately desired, to be received, we believe,
with a glad welcome.
A few years before her death she conceived a strong desire to
take the sacred veil. When I tried to dissuade her, putting forward
as authority the passage where it is written, " Let no prelate
attempt to veil widows," saying that her most chaste life
would be sufficient without the external veil, as Anselm, too,
Abbot of Bec, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury in England,
had of old time forbidden, yet so much the more was she inflamed
and by no reasoning could be driven from her resolve. So she prevailed,
and when taking the veil in the presence of John, the Abbot of
that place, gave satisfactory reasons for this act, and in the
end she proved that in this matter she had received an impulse,
as follows:
She said that she had seen in a vision a lady of great beauty
and authority, having about her an abundance of ornaments, who
offered to her a costly dress, as though entrusting it to her
for safe keeping, like a deposit, to be repaid again at the proper
time. On hearing this tale we all without hesitation agreed, the
more because we knew her consecration was invited by signs from
heaven. This holy veil for nearly three years she faithfully guarded
to the best of her powers and carried it back to that Lady who
had entrusted it to her on the day when she joyously heard the
omen of the message of salvation. To the prayers of all
faithful people who read these words, I commend her who from her
own constant prayers certainly never excluded any of the faithful.
This then is what I have said of her, as in the presence of God,
with the true testimony of my heart, inventing, I say, not a single
thing. But because we have made a journey to the church of Fly,
it is right that we should stay a little while before retracing
our footsteps in the sands of Laon.
CHAPTER V
In the monastery there was a monk who was a Jew by birth. When
the beginning of the pilgrimage to Jerusalem began to be bruited
throughout the Latin world, he was thus rescued from his superstition.
On a certain day when the people of Rouen who had joined in that
expedition under the badge of the cross, began to complain to
one another, " We, after traversing great distances towards
the East, desire to attack the enemies of God there. But this
is wasted labour, since before our eyes there are Jews, of all
races the worst foes of God." Saying this and seizing their
weapons, they herded them into a certain church, driving them
in either by force or guile, and without discrimination of sex
or age put them to the sword, but allowed those who accepted Christianity
to escape slaughter During this massacre a certain nobleman, seeing
a little boy, rescued him and took him to his mother.
She was a lady of high worth, formerly the wife of the Count of
Eu. Eu is the castle on which looks the abbey of St. Michel by
the sea called Treport. This excellent woman, therefore, receiving
the child in a kindly way, asked him if he would like to come
under Christian law. And when he did not refuse, thinking that
otherwise he would certainly be put to death like his people,
they hastily made the necessary preparations for baptism and came
to the font. After the holy words had been said and he had received
the sacrament, when they came to the part where a candle is lighted
and the melted wax is dropped on the water, a drop of it was seen
to fall separately all by itself, taking the shape of a tiny cross
on the water so exactly in its minute substance that no human
hand could have so fashioned it with so little. This the Countess
told me herself, being a friend exceptionally wellknown
to me, always calling me son, and the priest too, both solemnly
protesting by God that the tale was true. I should have treated
the incident less seriously had I not seen without any doubt the
remarkable progress of the boy. Now the name of the countess was
Helisandis. Her son who rescued him and stood godfather to him,
was named William; therefore he gave his name to the boy who had
thus come to him.
When he was a little older, he was transferred from the Hebrew
language in which he had been first taught, to Latin with which
he soon became familiar. And being afraid he might be recovered
by his family (for they had long tried without success) and returned
to his earlier condition, he entered the monastery of Fly. Being
now given over to the monastic life, such love did he shew for
Christianity, with such keenness of mind did he drink in all divine
knowledge, with such calm did he endure all that was put upon
him by way of discipline, that the victory over his wicked nature
and his former turbulent spirit drew from all the greatest respect.
Now he had chosen as his secret guardian, whilst a boy, a teacher
of grammar, who being a very religious man, and considering that
a knowledge of our law was necessary to the youth, took pains
in teaching him which were well rewarded. For his naturally acute
intellect was so sharpened daily that among the distinguished
circle of men there, there was not one who was thought to shew
greater distinction of understanding. Able as he was in thought,
and therefore no envier or backbiter, his manners were always
cheerful and of special purity. To increase the strength of his
unbroken faith, I sent to him a little treatise, which about four
years before I had written against the Count of Soissons, a Judaizer
and a heretic, with which, I hear, he was so delighted that he
matched my work with a compilation on Reasons for the Faith. Therefore
the cross at his baptism seems to have been formed not by chance,
but by Providence, as a sign of the acceptance of our faith by
a man of Jewish race, which was most unusual at that time.
Another, a noble of Beauvais, advanced in years and worn out in
body, having-what is deadly for such men-a wife with more vigour
for married life, abandoned both his wife and the world, and professed
himself a monk here. By persistence in almost unceasing tears
and endless prayers, always present at the hearing of God's word,
he made himself respected by all of us. Being eager to keep the
rule strictly, and hearing at the chapter meeting that no one
was allowed to enter the cells of the cloistered infirm, where
he was living, he kept carefully in mind the order that had been
given. And behold, one morning as he lay half asleep with his
eyes closed, two devils in the shape of that religious sect vulgarly
called Deonandi, sat down on the bench which stood near the bed.
Awaking, the old man turned his eyes to the head of the bed and
wondered at its being occupied in such familiar fashion by strange
people. Now one who sat there had his head uncovered, a short
beard and red tonsured hair; his feet were bare as is usual in
wandering friars, with straw sticking between his toes, so he
said, as if he had been walking on straw. But the other was so
hidden behind the first that his features could not be made out,
but he had a habit reaching to his feet and on it a black hood.
And so, seeing these unknown persons in his presence, he accosted
them in great anger, " Since ye are laymen and strangers,
how can ye have the impudence to come at this hour into this place,
where no cloistered monk would dare to come without strong reason?
"
But the man replied: " I have heard, master, that there are
religious in this monastery and I came to learn their religion.
Prithee, be not angry." " The religion and the rule,"
said he, " are not learnt here, but if you wish to be taught,
go to those who are in the cloister. 1 here you will find the
vigour of its discipline and the rudiments of holiness. Away with
you hence, therefore ! for the place which even the monks may
not enter is much more surely closed against you."
And when the man was going to repeat what he had said, and to
stay all the same, he broke out on them in still more thundering
accents and compelled them to leave the cell. But when they came
to the door, they halted on the threshold, and looking back on
the old man, the one who was the leader in speaking, again said:
" I would rather you should drive me out, but certainly,
if you had been willing to keep me with you, there is one of your
people who is guilty of theft, and if he dared to deny it, I would
challenge him to battle and thereby bring you much profit."
When he heard this the old man laughed gently and said, "
Now we have certain proof from your talk, for whilst telling me
you came here for religion's sake, you admit you are a fighter.
Therefore for your lies you deserve neither to be heard nor to
be kept here." Furthermore the old man, much annoyed that
such men had been admitted into the house, rises and goes as far
as the porch, and finding there infirm brothers who lived with
him, hotly rebuked them for allowing such strange men to enter.
But they in wonder, and believing him to be raving, declared they
had seen no one. And when he told them who the men were, how they
had behaved and what they had said, fixing the time as well, then
he discovered from his own and their testimony that he had been
deceived by devils. For there are some devils intent on mockery
only, whilst others have some cruel intention and are hurtful,
of which we now give two cases as illustrations, although irrelevant
to our purpose.
CHAPTER VI
At the castle of Chauny, there was belonging to the household
of Guesclin, the lord of the castle, a certain servant, whose
duty it was to act as sentinel to guard the castle at night. He,
in the evening, when it was growing dark, being afraid he would
lose his supper, which was now due, and being on the other side
of the river shouted out for a boat to be brought by someone to
the further bank. And when no one paid any attention to him, getting
into a rage, the man said, " You devils, then, why do not
you take me across? " At once a devil appears saying "
Come aboard, I will take you." Thereupon the unhappy man
to his misfortune went aboard. Within an hour of taking him, the
devil brought him down in Italy in the outskirts of a township
called Subura with such goodwill that he broke his head. Now the
township is about a day's journey on this side of the city of
Rome and the man's lord on a visit to the home of the Apostles
had left the city the day before and stayed for the night at Subura.
He arose just before dawn as is usual with travellers in winter,
and coming with his people to the country of the township, heard
not far from the high road some one groaning. Search is made,
the man is found and recognised by his voice alone, because he
spoke the same language as his lord. Being asked how he came there,
he told them that he had been recently at Chauny, and how he had
been carried away by the devil and had fallen down there. The
lord being more than a little surprised, took the man to the nearest
township and paid money from his own purse for his hurt to be
tended and as provision for his return. From what he had suffered,
this man learnt and taught others that God and not devils must
be invoked to do anything.
There was also a man at St. Medard, performing the same office
in the abbey. Having passed a part of the night over the tower
gate on the side of the fishpond, springing rattles, singing out
and blowing on a horn, as watchmen do, at last he went down to
walk about on the edge of the fishpond. And as he stood there,
there appeared the forms of three women, one of whom said in his
hearing, " Let us enter into this man.' And another replied,
" He is poor and could not feed us very well. Then the third
said, " There is a clerk here called Hugo, gross and fat,
with an abundance of everything, who would easily support us,
it would be well to attack him."
On their vanishing into thin air, the man recovered his senses
and perceived that they were three of the common sorts of fevers
which with droll nicety despised him, as a poor man, and made
for him who would not quickly be drained dry of his flesh and
substance. Without waiting, therefore, for the morning, he goes
to the nearest monks he can find, and telling them what he had
seen and heard, asks to be taken to the said Hugo to see how he
was. He is taken, and Hugo is found in high fever. Hence it is
conjectured that such kinds of sickness are by the judgment of
God administered by devils. And so too the woman in the Gospel,
bent double for eighteen years, is said to have been bound by
Satan. Also he who suffered from epilepsy, that is, the falling
sickness, is said to have been dashed upon the ground by a foul
spirit, to groan and gnash with his teeth and to lose his senses,
which it is asserted, can only be cured with prayer and fasting.
Job also was assailed by the enmity of devils within and without,
that is, in body and substance.
Who can stop when he once begins a tale? Let me finally put in
writing a fourth case, which I can remember. A certain clerk,
who became a fearful warning for our times, lived at Rheims, a
fair scholar and with some skill in. painting. Becoming afraid
because of the many frivolities in which he had been engaged,
he was made a regular canon of Chalonssurmeme in the
church of All Saints. Living there for some time and losing every
day some of his first fervour, as the heat of his early emotion
grew cold, he abandoned the rule which he had accepted, returned
to Rheims and married a wife. After begetting of her several children,
he was stricken with a disease sent by God for his correction.
Yet before he was prostrate with this illness, he had the intention
of following the expedition to Jerusalem, which was at that time
wonderfully bruited.
And being very sick of a long illness, as his discomfort grew
worse, he returned to his senses, and addressing entreaties to
John, the Abbot of St. Nicasius at that time, begged him to come
to him, promising renunciation of the world and demanding to be
indued with the holy habit. This abbot being clear-sighted and
suspicious through experience of the man's lightness of character,
put him off, and whilst refusing to give him the habit which he
desired, yet had him carried, sick as he was, within the pale
of the monastery. He, feeling his disorder becoming worse, assails
the Abbot with repeated complaints and induces him against his
will to grant him the standing of a monk. Glad at getting his
wish for a very brief space he seemed to be unusually peaceful.
Then suddenly under some impulse from God summoning the Abbot
he said, " Bid your monks have close charge of me, Father;
for be assured that in a few days the manifest judgment of God
is coming upon me. You indeed and your monks will be much troubled
by me, but knowing it will not be for long, prithee, be not concerned."
Hearing this the Abbot ordered resolute and watchful men to be
chosen to watch him. Soon swarms of devils rushed upon him from
all quarters, tearing him and dragging him prostrate over the
floor and striving with mad violence to pluck from him his holy
habit, whilst he held on to the hood with his teeth and tied the
arms to prevent its being torn off. And after being in distress
with this dreadful misery and uttering pitiful cries, mostly at
night, but sometimes in the day, when they left him, he was allowed
to rest for a little while. Then he could be plainly questioned
how in that stormy business it went with him. Thereupon he spoke
much about the spirits of men he had known and whom they suggested
as being present, as though he saw them quite clearly.
A certain widow hearing about this, who was in fear for the peril
of her husband's soul and was not praying for him, consulted him
whether she might pray for her husband and whether he knew how
he fared. And he said, " Why not? Pray fearlessly for him;
for a little while ago he was here." Being delivered up to
these torments, therefore, for many days, at last he was restored
to peace. For although at times there seemed to be a pause in
his sufferings, yet presently there would burst forth from the
walls, the ground and every place crowds of demons, who would
rush on him to tear him asunder. At last after the evil spirits
had been driven off and when the mercy of God's judgment had been
granted to him, he called for the Abbot and thus spoke to him,
" See, Lord Abbot, God gives me acquittal of my sins: be
sure, therefore, that after this judgment my end will quickly
follow. Grant me therefore such absolution for my wrongdoing as
thou canst and anoint me with the sacred oil to crown its remission."
This the Abbot did quickly and with devotion; and he receiving
it lovingly and gratefully, having by punishment in this world
wiped away all stain of sin, passed free and joyful through death
and entered into life.
BOOK III
CHAPTER I
As I am now going to tell the story of the people of Laon, or
rather to put on the stage the tragedy of Laon, I must first trace
the source in my opinion of all the trouble to the wrongdoing
of the prelates. To their work, which went on far too long, we
must add, they say, what was done by Ascelin, also called Adalbero.
He, we find, was a native of Lotharingen, having much wealth in
goods and lands, who sold up everything and taking huge sums of
money to the see over which he presided, adorned his church with
exceedingly fine furniture and much increased the prosperity of
the church and the diocese, but marred all those benefits by his
surpassing wickedness. For what could be more wicked or a greater
disgrace to himself than the betrayal of his lord the king, an
innocent boy, to whom he had taken an oath of fealty, and his
diversion of the current of royal descent to the foreign line
of Charles the Great? This crime, like Judas, he committed on
the day of our Lord's Supper. In the overthrow of the reigning
monarch and his descendants, he certainly did not foresee at the
time the usefulness of the change, but only the fulfilment of
his wicked will on the innocent. Yet none the less on that account
did prosperity in temporal matters attend the city and the city's
ruler, God putting off the day of punishment.
CHAPTER II
Now Helinandus, a man of quite a poor family and humble origin,
no scholar and of mean person, through his acquaintance with Walter,
the old Count of Pontoise, from whose district he came, won the
favour of Edward, the King of England, whose wife had some sort
of connection with that count, and he became the king's chaplain
partly because he had some French culture. The English King often
made him his envoy to Henry, the French king. From that king,
who was very avaricious and given to selling bishoprics, by lavish
bribes in the form of presents, he obtained a promise that on
the death of any French bishop he should succeed to the pontifical
insignia, For in his position as chaplain to the king and queen,
abounding in wealth as England did at that time, he accumulated
huge mountains of money, and therefore when the said opportunity
of bribery favoured him, he gained the ear of King Henry. And
so it fell out: and being installed at Laon, as he knew he would
have no influence through respect for his birth or his learning,
he placed his hopes on his wealth, of which he had a great sufficiency
and which he had learnt to distribute with much tact, and on his
agreeable manners.
And so he gave himself up to the embellishment and building of
churches, and whilst seeming to do much for God's glory, he gave
indisputable proof that he was only seeking men's esteem and the
spread of his own fame by those good works. By such artfulness
did he get possession of the Archbishopric of Rheims, which he
obtained after its great revenues had been squandered for two
years under King Philip, a man most mercenary in what belonged
to God, and he then received word from the Lord Pope that anyone
having one wife could by no means take another. To some one asking
plainly the meaning of that, he said that if he could also become
Pope he would certainly not be secret about it.
Now whatever he was in himself in respect of self-seeking or any
other human passions, honour is certainly due to him for having
splendidly guarded the liberty of the Church and for his advancement
both of the See and the churches attached to it, through his generous
bounty. And it was right that wealth should flow in to him to
be expended on the embellishment of the houses of his desmesne.
CHAPTER III
AFTER him Enguerrand succeeded, who surpassed the aforesaid bishop
both in birth and learning, but in guarding the rights of the
Church he was very poor in comparison with the other. For certain
revenues of the bishop, of which royal violence had at one time
robbed that See, had been extracted from King Philip by Helinandus
himself with entreaties and gifts and their restoration had been
confirmed by the king's letters and seal; but this man on his
entry, to his own ruin, gave back everything to the king, and
during the rule of the three succeeding bishops they have been
lost to the church and perhaps will be for ever. Hence in my opinion
he has made parties to this simony all succeeding bishops, who
shall take up the office with such fear of the king as to shrink
from demanding restitution of that which he to his damnation gave
for being made bishop. For being bereft of all love for God he
made a mockery of privation, and the religious rules, openly indulging
in foolish prating and wanton talk, worse than any jester or dancer,
and in his day began to arise occasion for the destruction of
that city and its churches and the whole province, with issues
far from happy.
Now a certain man with the same surname, Enguerrand, that is,
of Boves, closely related to him, was very liberal, bountiful
and agreeable, treating the churches with very great respect and
munificence, those at least where he knew religion was observed,
but, on the other hand, so abandoned in his love of women, that
he kept all sorts, bondwomen and harlots, about him and hardly
did anything except at the dictation of their wantonness. Now
being most unlucky in his matrimonial fortunes and beginning to
stray amongst other men's wives, he secretly possessed himself
of the wife of his kinsman, the Count of Namur, and the woman
whom he had tempted in secret, he then united to himself openly
in marriage. This union, condemned by many an anathema and declared
accursed by the protests of councils, they would both have readily
renounced on the approach of shame, had not the relationship of
the husband and the craft of the woman's flatteries softened the
bishop. This gentleness so far encouraged their adulterous embraces,
as to give secret absolution for a tie that had been made in the
face of the world and publicly excommunicated. Oh, shame ! Surely
those to whom he falsely gave assurance of absolution never dared
to consider themselves absolved.
Meantime, since out of the serpent's root cometh forth a cockatrice,
evils, that is, by nursing, break forth into something worse,
who shall say with what slaughter the man robbed of his wife raged
against the county of Porcien? She was the daughter of Roger,
Count of Porcien, and his youngest child. He setting aside his
sons and daughters, begotten of a wife of much nobler birth, and
excluding them from inheritance as the firstborn on the demand
of the stepmother, married this daughter of a mother of mean birth
to the Rotheringian of Namur, that is, Count Godfrey, and with
her went to his own county. Now when her husband was engaged with
certain of his enemies in Lotharingia, his wife, by his orders,
stayed at Tournus, at the castle of Porcien. And when less attention
than her due was paid to her by her husband, whether she would
otherwise have shewn restraint, one cannot tell; but she would
never have fallen into such manifest and monstrous shame, had
there not been a gradual descent through hidden acts of wickedness,
especially as she had come to her present husband already pregnant
by intercourse with another. For the notoriety of her past lasciviousness
was such with all who knew her that we are ashamed to mention
or even to remember them.
Now this Godfrey was a young man of exceeding beauty, but Enguerrand
to whom she went was advanced in years. Therefore there began
to rage between the two such a mad war, that all of Enguerrand's
followers captured by the Lotharingian were either hanged on the
gallows or had their eyes put out or their feet cut off. That
is plainly apparent today to anyone visiting Porcien. I have certainly
heard from one who was present at such an execution, that about
twelve men taken in this war were raised to the gallows in one
day. For some of the foremost men in Porcien were agents in this
removal and principals too, who have therefore become infamous
in life and death. Thus Venus, untouched by the fires of Vulcan,
passed on to Mars; the heat of lust, that is, threw off the froth
of cruelty. Who can tell of the plunderings, the burnings that
broke out on all sides and the other things that such a storm
is wont to beget, so monstrous that they strike dumb those who
would relate them.
And so the Lord Bishop in his madness gave absolution to that
devilish union. Much that might be told of episcopal morals were
better left unsaid, but in him one fact stands out, that by no
realisation of his sin did he shew his penitence before God. At
last, affected by bodily weakness, and yet by that weakness no
more withdrawn from his folly, paralysis came upon him and so
suddenly was he wrapped in the shadow of death, that he was unable
to speak rationally, and confession, anointing and the sacrament
were forcibly thrust upon him by the care of others, nor was his
consent asked. And now when speech and sight were almost swimming
in death, Enguerrand came, whom he had bound to him by his wicked
absolution, and whom the clergy had shut out of the house as an
excommunicated man until the anointing was finished, and addressing
him with tears said, " Lord Bishop, see, here is Enguerrand
your kinsman." And he, although he had not been conscious
enough to ask to be confessed and anointed or to take the sacrament,
threw his arm round the man's neck and drew him forward to kiss
him. Thereat all were scandalised and afterwards nothing came
from his lips but the ravings of delirium until his last breath.
The very woman for whose love he had done that, often told this
publicly as an example that the evil which he had done in his
lifetime was also the goal of his career in death. Behold, thus
do the heavens reveal the iniquities of some, so that the earth
rises up against them and they displease those very persons whom
they seek to gratify by foul means.
CHAPTER IV
AFTER his death in this manner, when the bishopric had been vacant
for two years, at last we met together to choose a successor.
Amongst those present was the same Enguerrand, who, when the former
bishop was rejected by the king because of his frivolity, had
by his appeal to the king obtained his election. It was plain
that he was using every effort of his influence to obtain the
election of one who would be under his hand. One who had the favour
of the king and the clergy as a candidate, would not for that
reason dare to oppose his marriage. To the ruin, therefore, of
the city and of the whole province they chose a certain Gaudry,
recommended by the King of England, who by report was rich in
silver and gold.
Before this election, two archdeacons of the church had been chosen
for the chair by contending parties of supporters, namely Walter
and Ebal. But they were unseated by the decision of the Apostolic
See. For Walter had a]ways been more of a soldier than a clerk;
the other was incontinent with women. When these had been rejected,
a third bright light of the Church who wished to thrust himself
upon them, approached the court and, under colour of wishing to
plead for another, drew the recommendations of the priesthood
upon himself. Why do I go on? He bargains to give the king great
presents. Swollen with pride he grasps at the hope and promise
of wealth, but not wealth itself. Returning home he was expecting
his installation by the royal deputies on the following Sunday,
but behold, God (who puts snares before such men and casts them
down when they are uplifted), struck at the proud man with a deadly
disease, and, dying, he was placed in the church on the day when
he thought he would receive his installation from the clergy and
people. After he had been placed there, I have been told, wind
broke from the body and a great flood of evil stench pervaded
the place as far as the middle of the choir. But let me return
to the point where I digressed.
The aforesaid person being chosen by the clergy in a vain hope
of profit, by the efforts of Enguerrand in the first place with
the aid of the rest to their own harm, request for his election
is made by the King of England at the court contrary to canon
law. He, although by no means doubtful of the man's election,
because he had no title from any church and had been admitted
to no holy orders except those of a clerk, used his influence
to have him made a subdeacon and to procure him a canonry
in the church of Rouen, although up to this time he had lived
the life of a soldier only. When all, therefore, had given their
assent to his election, Master Anselm, the light of all France,
ay, of the whole Latin world in learning and serenity of character,
alone opposed it. He, on certain information, was aware of his
character, whereas we were unwillingly supporting a stranger.
There were some of us, it is true, who did not approve of him,
but amongst the others cowards who followed the lead of our powerful
rulers.
Being accepted, therefore, and coming in to the {city with empty
pomp, not long after he begged me to go with him to Rome. The
Abbot of St. Vincent, Adalberon, a native of Soissons, a good
scholar, with the Abbot of Remiremont, also not unlearned, and
myself, junior to them both in knowledge and years, he induced
to go with him, paying the expenses himself Setting out, therefore,
and arriving at Langres, we were informed that the Lord Pope Pascal
had just before left Rome and was drawing near to the borders
of that diocese. In that town we stayed eight days.
And when the Lord Pope had come to Dijon, the clergy of Laon,
a great number of whom the bishop elect had brought with him,
go out to meet the Pope and plead the cause of their elect before
him in the castle where he was staying. With many to tell him
the Pope was soon acquainted with the facts and promised to act
in accordance with the wishes of his petitioners. Now their plea
was that he had been duly elected, if the other charges made by
Anselm and conveyed to the ears of the Pope were withdrawn But
the Pope's palace advisers, discovering how wealthy the man was,
made themselves agreeable to him and flattered him. For it is
the way of the world to become pleasant on the mention of gold.
The Pope, therefore, being received into the city, dealt next
day with the matter of our choice. And after I had read before
him the report on the election in which more than enough was said
about his life and character, the Pope summoning us Abbots, who
were present, and certain priests of the church who had come with
the bishopelect, began to address us, taking for his subject
the report of the election brought to him. Now the assembly was
full of very distinguished persons, Italian bishops and our own,
besides cardinals, and other very learned men. The Pope then first
asked why we had chosen a stranger. As none of the priests made
any reply to that (for hardly any of them knew the rudiments of
Latin), he turned to the Abbots. Now I was sitting between the
other two. They remaining silent when addressed, began on either
side to urge me to speak, and I, my youth making me abashed, and
afraid to be branded with rashness in a place and matter of such
consequence was with difficulty induced to open my mouth. Now
the question was not debated in the mother tongue but in the language
of the learned. Therefore I said, with much blushing within and
without, what I thought fitting in reply to his question. In careful
phrases I expressed myself with moderate warmth and not deviating
very far from the truth, that we had not an intimate personal
knowledge of the man, but had accepted as true the testimony of
others who had spoken of him with goodwill. And when he had attempted
to weaken that statement by adducing the testimony of the Gospel,
" He who hath seen, hath given witness," and had raised
the objection, but not in very plain terms, that he had been elected
from the king's court, I, putting away all evasion, admitted that
I could not refute his words. With that he was much pleased. For
he was less learned than he should have been in his office. Then
when I saw that my indirect defence in reply to his first question
carried little weight, although I had much pleased him by it,
I passed on to the pressing need of the church and replied briefly
to the objection that his personal qualities were not suitable
for the bishopric.
Finally, he asked what orders he had, and I replied that he was
a subdeacon. Then he enquired in what church he had served,
whereat I hesitated, fearing to lie, but it was suggested by my
fellowabbots that it was in the church of Rouen. To this,
however, I added truly that it was recently. Lastly, he asked
whether he was of legitimate birth. He had clearly been told he
was a bastard. On that head, as I was more certain than on other
points and spoke without hesitation, the Pope said, " Do
you bring proof of this? " And I said, " On the other
points I am silent but on this I confidently affirm that he is
neither bastard nor baseborn." This objection the Pope,
as we have said, withdrew. But the reason why he raised these
points one after the other, was not to prevent his appointment,
but because Anselm, who had made the charges against him, was
present, so that what he had said privately, he might have the
opportunity to bring up before the man's face.
But the Master having seen more deeply into the corruption of
the palace party (I do not say of the Lord Pope), thought it a
difficult matter to wrest the club from the hand of Hercules;
therefore the great scholar, seeing the lords relying on the Lord
Pope and myself, if I may dare to say so in jest, omitted to give
any direct contradiction. And so the debate fell to the ground,
the bishopelect was brought forward, and the Pope's permission
for his appointment granted. The meeting therefore having broken
up and the Pope being gone, a group of cardinals approached me
with great warmth saying, " Your speech gave us much pleasure."
Which pleasure, Thou knowest, my Lord God, arose not so much from
the fineness of my speech as from the very good hope they had
of money, with which he had come stuffed. For both I and my fellowAbbot,
Adalbero of St. Vincent, were each of us carrying twenty pounds
of that money, with which perhaps the wide gape of their expectations
was filled, and for that reason they were glad to back him and
his backers.
Lastly, when they were gone, the Pope's chamberlain, Peter, a
monk of Cluny, who had made his acquaintance at Rouen, when the
King of England asked for his election, secretly accosted me with
these words, " Since the Lord Pope has accepted your recommendation
of the person you desire, and has graciously listened to you,
you should henceforth Suggest to your Bishopelect that he
obey the commands of the Lord Pope in all things and yield to
him in his diocese, so that, if need arise, he may willingly listen
to your requests, whether for him or for others." See the
honey smeared over the lip of the poisonous cup ! For what could
be better than to obey the admonitions of the Pope, what worse
than to be corruptly obsequious to men for the favours granted
by God? I was much horrified at being made the go-between in such
a business.
Now when he received the sacrament of the anointing at St. Rufin,
a gloomy omen was discovered in the Gospel of the day. For it
was this; " A sword hath pierced through her soul."
It is true, however, that at Langres after his acceptance by the
Pope, when he went to the altar of the Martyr Mammes with the
clergy singing the Te Deum in procession, on opening the
Gospels for divination and taking the first verse that met his
eye, he read, " Mother, behold thy son." Of this he
made a great display, shewing it round everywhere. In word and
in conduct he was wonderfully unstable, wonderfully light. He
took delight in talk about military affairs, dogs and hawks, which
he had learnt to do among the English. Hence on one occasion when
he had dedicated a church, and I with a young clerk of good disposition
was riding in attendance, he came on a countryman with a lance.
Snatching this up, with the mitre still on his head, which he
should have held sacred, and spurring on his horse, he couched
it as if to strike an opponent. To him we said, the clerk in plain,
but I in poetic fashion, " They agree not well and stay not
together, the mitre and the lance."
Meanwhile that great wealth of English money, of cups and vessels,
which had been wickedly gathered together, was quickly squandered.
I have certainly heard from Master Anselm, who had travelled with
him, when now Bishop, to revisit England, that when he came there,
so great complaints broke out for restitution of vessels here
and money there, wherever he turned, that it was plain to the
Master, that his much paraded riches had been stolen from others
or acquired by dishonest means.
CHAPTER V
About three years after his appointment he gave the following
sign, as it were, to his time. One of the nobles of the city was
the castellan of a nun's convent named Gerard, a man of great
energy. He, although of small stature and of lean frame, had so
lively a mind and tongue, such energy in the pursuit of war, that
he compelled the provinces of Soissons, Laon and Nijons, to fear
him and won the respect of most men. Although he was known far
and wide as one of sterling character, sometimes he made biting
jests in coarse language against those about him, but never against
people of good character. Hence he took upon himself both to speak
ill in private and to shew open displeasure against that Countess
of whom mention has been made before, acting very perversely in
so doing, because he was attacking Enguerrand, this woman's besieger,
who had with his great wealth advanced Gerard's fortunes. But
before taking a wife Gerard had himself been too intimate with
the woman of whom we are speaking. After he had been her lover
for some time, on his marriage he drew in the rein of his wanton
connection. Then the women too began to attack one another with
foul words. For they were mutually aware of one another's lightness
and the more they secretly knew of one another, the worse was
their abuse. The Countess was therefore enraged against the other
woman's husband, because she had been jilted by him and against
his wife because she knew that from her lips frequently fell insulting
remarks on herself, and being more venomous than any serpent,
her determination to ruin the man waxed greater every day.
But because God puts a stumbling block in the way of those who
would wilfully fall, an opportunity of destroying him suddenly
occurred in the outbreak of enmity between Gerard and the Bishop
Gaudry in consequence of offensive words used by Gerard about
the Bishop and his household, which the Bishop endured neither
patiently nor in silence. For having plotted with his friends
and almost all the nobles of the city for the death of Gerard,
after exchanging with them mutual oaths of assistance, to which
certain rich women were parties, he left the matter in the hands
of his fellowconspirators and went on a journey to the Apostolic
See, taken there by the basest designs, not to seek the Apostles,
Thou knowest, O God, but that he might by his absence protect
himself from any suspicion of complicity in such a crime. And
so setting out about Martinmas, he arrived at Rome and stayed
there until he learnt that the murder of his enemy had been carried
out, who was as much hated by the bad as he was beloved by the
good. Now the deed was done in the following manner:
On the sixth day of the Octave of the Epiphany, in the morning,
that is, whilst it was still twilight, he rose from his bed to
go to the principal church of the Blessed Virgin. And to one of
the conspirators who met him he told his dream of the night before,
which he said had stricken him with much fear. He vividly dreamed
that two bears were plucking the liver or the lungs from his body.
And, alas, he had had the misfortune to be kept from the sacrament
for the following reason: A certain monk living at Barisiacum
had undertaken the charge of two boys, who could only speak German,
to teach them the French language. Now Barisiacum, with the manors
pertaining to it, was in his jurisdiction. Seeing, therefore,
that the boys were of fine manners and knowing they were of no
mean birth, he seized them and held them to ransom. The mother
of the boys sent with the sum agreed upon a fur tunic made of
ermine and called a vest.
Dressed in this tunic then, and a purple cloak over it, he went
on horseback with some knights to the church. Entering he had
stopped before the image of the crucified Lord, his followers
dispersing here and there among the various altars to the Saints,
and the servants of the conspirators being on the lookout, when
word is sent to the Bishop in his palace t that Gerard of Crecy
(for he took his surname from the Castle of which he was lord)
had come down to the church to pray. Taking, therefore, swords
under their cloaks, Rorigo, brother of the Bishop (and others)
go through the crypt which runs round the apse to the place where
he was praying. Now he was stationed at the foot of a column,
called a pillar, there being several columns between in a line
from the screen to about the middle of the church. And whilst
the morning was still dark and there were few people to be seen
in the great church, they seized the man from behind as he prayed.
He was praying with the fastening of his cloak thrown behind and
his hands clasped on his breast. Seizing the cloak, therefore,
behind, one of them so fastened him in it that he could not easily
move his hands. Whilst he was thus held by the Bishop s steward,
the latter said, " You are taken." And he with his usual
boldness, turned his eye round on him (for he had one only) and
looking at him said, " Go away, you foul letcher ! But the
other said to Rorigo, " Strike ! " Who drawing his sword
with his left hand wounded him between the nose and brow. And
he, feeling himself wounded, said, " Take me where you will."
Then as they stabbed at him repeatedly and pressed him hard, he,
in desperate case, cried out, " Holy Mary, aid me ! "
Saying this, he fell in extreme suffering.
Now there were in that conspiracy with the Bishop himself two
archdeacons of the church, Walter and Guy. Guy was also the Treasurer,
having a house on the other side of the church. From this house
there soon rushed out two servants, who, coming hastily there,
took part in the murder. For by that sacrilegious compact it had
been resolved that should those of the bishop's palace dare to
help, they should quickly come forth from that house. When therefore
they had slashed his throat and his legs, besides giving him other
wounds, and he was groaning in the middle of the church in extreme
anguish, a few of the clergy who were then in the choir, and some
women who were going round to pray, murmuring against them and
half dead with fear, yet did not dare to make the least sound.
When the murder had been done, the two picked soldiers returned
to the Bishop's palace and with them were gathered the nobles
of the city, thus betraying their own betrayal; likewise also
the arch deacons assembled there. Then the king s Governor Ivo
by name, a very prudent man, having summoned the royal troops
and those of the Abbey of St. John whose guardian Gerard had been,
attacked the houses of the citizens who had been in the conspiracy
plundering and burning them and driving the men out of the city.
Now the archdeacons and the nobles followed the murderers of Gerard
everywhere, making a display of their fealty to the absent bishop.
CHAPTER VI
But the Bishop, remaining at Rome and pretending delight in the
presence of the Apostolic Lord, was listening with eager expectation
for some pleasing news to reach him from French parts. At last
the fulfilment of his wishes was announced and the Lord Pope became
aware that a great crime had been done in a great church. The
Bishop had an interview with the Pope and by flattering presents
shielded himself against suspicion of complicity. And so, more
pleased than ever, Gaudry returned home from the City. But since
the church, which had been outraged by a wicked act, needed purification,
having sent a message to Hubert, the Bishop of Senlis, who was
recently dismissed from his office for simony, he summoned him
to do that work. At the assembly of the clergy and people for
that purpose I was requested by Master Anselm, the Dean of the
church and by the Canons to preach on the subject of that calamity
to the people. The following was the general sense of that address:
" Save me, O God, for the waters are come in unto my soul.
I sink in deep mire and 1here is no standing. Evil indeed ye had
aforetime, but now the sword hath come even unto my soul. Ye are
sunk in deep mire, being fallen in reward of your sins into extreme
evil of utter despair.. And so amid such there is no standing;
because the honour and power is fallen of those to whom ye should
have recourse in peril, that is, your rulers and nobles. And though
your bodies were oft hard put to it by your hatreds of one another,
yet the soul was free of such, for that part in which remained
the desire of salvation, even the Church. rejoiced in its inward
well-being and its freedom from evil. The waters therefore and
the sword have come in unto the soul, tribulations and discords
penetrating and polluting the sanctity of the inner refuge. What
reverence have ye, ye who know not spiritual things, what reverence
think ye, for that place, when a man may not say his prayers there
in safety? Behold, God ' hath sent upon us the fierceness of his
wrath, indignation, wrath and trouble by sending evil angels among
you.' There is a wrath of indignation, wrath conceived out of
indignation. Indignation, as ye know, is less than wrath. Was
not God indignant with your sinful acts, when outside your city
ye often suffered plunderings, burnings and killings? Was He not
wrathful when strife from without was brought within the state
and civil discord began to be busy in our midst, when lords against
citizens, citizens against lords, were moved by mutual provocation;
when Abbot's men against Bishop's men, Bishop's men against Abbot's
men, were maddened with unnatural enmity? But because indignation
and wrath brought no amendment, at last on your mountains of hardness
He hurled tribulation. For it was no mere pollution of this or
that church with Christian blood, no raising of war some where
on a church by driving and killing fugitives, but malignant intent
conceived with criminal deliberation that butchered a man in prayer
before the image of Christ hanging on the Cross. And the church
was not, I say, this or that one, but the most flourishing of
all the churches of France, one whose fame has travelled far beyond
the Latin world. And who was the man? Was he not one admired for
his illustrious birth, whose feats of arms so remarkable in a
man of little stature but lofty soul, made him famous throughout
France? Therefore the place, the deed, the shame will everywhere
be bruited. If, then, in your souls, in your inmost hearts ye
are not troubled at this mournful event, if ye have no compunction
for the dishonour done to a sacred place, be assured that without
doubt God will find a way for the path of His wrath and will set
free to your utter destruction His hidden anger. And how think
ye will God in the end spare the life of beasts, that is, of your
bodies, when he spares not even your souls, when ye will not be
corrected. Since, then, divine vengeance with deadly advance step
by step comes on against us, be sure that unless ye shew yourselves
amended under God's scourge, ye will fall into a far worse state
through those civil strifes that are arising among you."
With such remarks and others did I, at the request of the clergy
and the wish of the people, declare that the murderers of that
noble man, their backers in the deed and their confederates, should
be excommunicated through the aforesaid bishop who was reconciling
the church, and not less those who had defended or harboured the
murderers. And when they had all been excommunicated, the church
was duly reconciled. Meanwhile the pronouncement of this anathema
was carried to the ears of the archdeacons and nobles, who had
separated themselves from the unanimous feeling of the city. On
me, therefore, because of the sermon which I preached and the
excommunication that was pronounced, turned all the great madness
of those who had been cut off from the church, especially of Walter,
the archdeacon. There was indeed terrible thundering to be heard,
but out of it, by God s will, came no bolt. In secret they were
against me, openly they shewed respect. Let me now return to the
matter I have left.
CHAPTER VI BIS
[Note: Bland has this chapter division: Benton omits it]
Armed with seals and the Apostolic rescripts the Lord Prelate
returned from Rome. But the king, after the murder of Gerard,
believing the Bishop to be a party to the crime, which under colour
of absence he sought to conceal, gave order that all the Bishop's
palace should be stripped of corn, wine and meat, and he at Rome
was aware of the plundering and the cause of it. And so letters
were sent to the King, who had determined that he should be kept
out of his Sec and had deprived him of his property, and other
letters were dispatched by him to his fellowbishops and
to the abbots of his own and their dioceses; but since between
Laon and Soissons we have said before the bridge of the Ailette
was the boundary, when he set foot on the first soil of his district,
those archdeacons and nobles whom we had excommunicated, hastened
to meet him. These he received with such loving kisses and embraces
that he did not deign to pay a visit to the church of The Blessed
Mary, which by God's will we serve, although that was the first
in his bishopric to which he came, whereas close by it he had
long talk with those whom alone he thought faithful to him. Going
thence he was entertained at Coucy with all his following.
When I knew this, since I had much feared such conduct on his
part, I refrained entirely from seeing or saluting him. But, after
three days, if I am not mistaken, letting the madness which he
inwardly felt against me seem outwardly to be lulled (for his
satellites had bitterly attacked me before him with regard to
the aforesaid events), he asked me to go to him. And when I had
presented myself there and had seen his house full of excommunicated
men and murderers, I was enraged, and he demanded that I should
not strive for his exclusion from the church, shewing me the Pope's
letters. I promised what help I could, falsely, as Thou knowest,
O God, and not from my heart. For I saw that he was actually a
partner in the crime with those whom his own church, had excommunicated,
since this Enguerrand was his abettor and that Countess, who the
day before Gerard was killed at the instigation of those two,
had sharpened their swords by her own tongue and rewarded the
murderers with her favour. As therefore he was shut out of the
city by the King's orders, with exceedingly rash boldness he threatened
to enter it; and what was hardly possible for a Caesar or for
an Augustus, he declared he would do by force of arms. And so
he collected a body of knights and spent large sums of what he
had accumulated by foul means, but without any actual profit,
as was usual with him. At length, after gaining nothing but ridicule
with so many auxiliaries, with the help of intermediaries he made
terms for himself and his accomplices in the murder of Gerard,
that is, the nobles of the city and both the archdeacons, with
Lewis, the King's son (since then king) by means of a huge bribe.
Having entered the city therefore and held a meeting at St. Nicholas
of the Wood, during mass, which he was celebrating there, he gave
out that he would excommunicate those who had confiscated the
property of those men, and had, when Gerard was killed, left the
city. When I heard him say this, whispering in the ear of a certain
abbot sitting next to me, I said, " Listen, further, to this
absurdity. He ought to have excommunicated those who polluted
his church with such a horrible crime, whereas he revenges himself
on those who inflicted a just vengeance on the murderers."
But the Bishop, afraid of all good consciences and seeing me muttering,
thought I was speaking of him and said, " What are you saying,
Lord Abbot? " Then Walter, the Archdeacon, putting himself
forward before leave to speak was given, said, " Go on, Lord
Bishop, with what you had begun. The Lord Abbot was speaking of
other things."
And so he excommunicated those who had harmed the troops of the
sacrilegious slaughterers, an act that was execrated by clergy
and people. Therefore for a long time the whole city and diocese
were embittered against the Bishop because he deferred so long
the excommunication of the murderers of Gerard. At last, seeing
himself suspected and almost cursed by everyone, he did excommunicate
the guilty men and their accomplices. But since he had promised
much money to these, who had befriended him and the assassins'
accessories at the Court, that is the king's satellites, and now
began to draw back from his promises, who shall say what taunts
he heard in public, while none of those who took his side in the
matter, dared to enter the king's court, until they had redeemed
their doomed heads with much silver and gold from the death threatening
them And yet he could not be accused by the church when it was
known that he was excused by the Apostolic See.
CHAPTER VII
Now after some time when he had set out for England to extract
money from the English king, whom he had served, and who had formerly
been his friend, the Archdeacons Walter and Guy, with the nobles
of the city, devised the following plan: Of old time such illfate
had settled upon that city that neither God nor any lord was feared
therein, but according to each man's power and lust the state
was involved in rapine and murder. For to begin with the source
of the plague, whenever it happened that the king came there,
he who ought to have exacted respect for himself with royal severity,
was himself first shamefully fined on his own property. When his
horses were led to the water morning or evening, his grooms were
beaten and the horses carried off. It was known that the very
clergy were held in such contempt, that neither their persons
nor their goods were spared, as it is written, " Like as
the people, so the priest." But what shall I say about the
baser people? No one of the countrymen came into the city, no
one except under the safest conduct approached it, who was not
thrown into prison and held to ransom, or was not, as opportunity
served, drawn without cause into a lawsuit.
As an example let me adduce one practice, which occurring amongst
barbarians or Scythians, men having no code of laws, would be
regarded as most iniquitous. When on the Saturday the country
populace from different parts came there to buy and sell, the
townfolk carried round as for sale, beans, barley or any kind
of corn in cup and platter or other kind of measure in the marketplace,
and when they had offered them for sale to the countrymen seeking
such things, the later having settled the price promised to buy.
" Follow me," said the seller, " to my house that
you may there see the rest of the corn which I am selling you,
and when you have seen it, may take it away." He followed,
but when he came to the bin, the honest seller, having raised
and held up the lid, would say, " Bend your head and shoulders
over the bin, that you may see that the bulk does not differ from
the sample which I shewed you in the marketplace." And when
the buyer getting up on the pediment of the bin leaned his belly
over it, the worthy seller standing behind lifted up his feet
and pushed the unwary man into the bin, and having put the lid
down on him as he fell, kept him in safe prison until he ransomed
himself. Such and like things were done in the city. No one was
safe going out at night. There remained for him nothing but plunder,
capture or murder.
The clergy with the archdeacons considering this, and the nobles
catching at pretexts for exacting money from the people, offer
them through agents the choice of making composition by paying
a sum to cover them. Now Commune is a new and a bad name of: an
arrangement for all the poorest classes to pay their usual due
of servitude to their lords once only in the year, and to make
good any breach of the laws they have committed by the payment
fixed by law, and to be entirely free from all other exactions
usually imposed on serfs. The people seizing on this opportunity
for freeing themselves gathered huge sums of money to fill the
gaping mouths of so many greedy men. And they, pleased with the
shower poured upon them, took oaths binding themselves in the
matter.
A pledge of mutual aid had been thus exchanged by the clergy and
nobles with the people, when the Bishop returned with much wealth
from England and being moved to anger against those responsible
for this innovation, for a long time kept away from the city.
But a quarrel full of honour and glory began between him and Walter,
the archdeacon, his accomplice. The Archdeacon made very unbecoming
remarks: about his Bishop on the subject of the death of Gerard.
Whether the Bishop had any talk on the matter with others I know
not, but this I do know that he complained to me about him saying,
" Lord Abbot, if it should so happen that Walter should start
any charges against me at any council, would you take it without
offence? Is it not he, who at the time when you left your fellowmonks
and went to Fly, openly flattered you, but secretly raised dissensions
against you, publicly taking your side, but privately stirring
me up against you? " With such speeches did he try to win
me to oppose that dangerous man, conscious of the weight of his
charges, fearful and suspicious of universal condemnation.
Saying therefore that he was moved with relentless wrath against
those who had taken that oath and the principals in the transaction,
in the end his loud-sounding words were suddenly quieted by the
offer of a great heap of silver and gold. Therefore he swore that
he would maintain the rights of the Commune according to the terms
duly drawn up at Noyon and SaintQuintin. The King too was
induced by a bribe from the people to confirm the same by oath.
O my God, who could say how many disputes arose when the gifts
of the people were accepted, how many after oath had been sworn
to reverse what they had agreed to, whilst they sought to bring
back the serfs who had been freed from the oppression of their
yoke, to their former state. At least there was implacable hate
by the Bishop and nobles against the citizens, and whereas he
has not the power to crush the freedom of the French, after the
fashion of Normandy and England, the pastor is weak and forgetful
of his sacred calling through his insatiable greed. Whenever one
of the people entered a court of law, where he was dependent not
on the justice of God, but on his ability to please his judges,
if I may say so, he was drained of his substance to the last penny.
Hence because the taking of gifts is wont to be attended by the
subversion of all justice, the coiners of the currency, knowing
that if they did wrong in their office, they could save themselves
by money bribes, corrupted the coinage with so much base metal
that through this very many were reduced to poverty. For as they
made coins of the cheapest bronze, which in a moment by certain
dishonest arts they made brighter than silver, (shame on them
!) fond men were deceived, and giving up their goods of great
or little value, got in exchange nothing but dross. And the patient
suffering of this by the Lord Bishop was well rewarded, and thus
not only within the province of Laon but in all directions the
ruin of many was hastened. And when he was deservedly powerless
to uphold the value of his own currency wickedly debased by himself,
he instituted pence of Amiens, also most debased, to be current
in the city for some time; but when he could by no means keep
that up, he struck an impression of his own time, on which he
had stamped a pastoral staff to represent himself. This was received
with such laughter and scorn, that it had less value than the
debased coinage.
Meantime since, on the issue of each of these new coins, proclamation
was made that no one should criticise the wretched impression,
there ensued frequent occasion for accusing the people of speaking
evil of the Bishop's ordinances, and hence exaction of all sorts
of heavy fines could be carried out. Moreover a certain monk of
the very worst reputation in every respect, named Theodorus of
Thorn, of which place he was a native, brought very large quantities
of silver from Flanders. Bringing all this down to the false standard
of the Laon mint, he scattered it all over the surrounding province.
By appealing to the greed of the rich with his hateful presents
and bringing in lies, perjury and want, he robbed his country
of truth, justice and wealth. No act of an enemy, no plunderings,
no burnings have hurt the province more ever since the Roman walls
contained the ancient mint of the city.
But since " Impiety long hidden does violence at times to
the show of honour artfully drawn over it, and things evident
cannot be concealed; as bright light pierces through glass, so
does it through the countenance," that which he did to Gerard
hiding his hand in it, he did to another Gerard some time afterwards
and gave manifest proof of his cruelty. It was an older Gerard,
perhaps a foreman over the countrymen who belonged to him; and
because he was more attached to Thomas, reputed son of Enguerrand,
of whom we have spoken before, the most wicked man we have known
in this generation, the Bishop regarded him as a general enemy.
Seizing him therefore and thrusting him into prison in the palace,
he had his eyes put out at night by the hands of his Negro servant.
By this deed he brought open shame upon himself and the old story
of what he had done to the first Gerard, was renewed, both clergy
and people being aware that the canon of Toledo, if I am not mistaken,
forbade the infliction of death or the passing of a sentence of
death or mutilation by bishops, priests and clergy and the very
rumour of such acts raised the anger of the King. Perhaps too,
it reached the ears of the Apostolic See; at least I know the
Pope suspended him from his office, and I believe, for no other
reason. But to make matters worse, during his suspension he dedicated
a church. Therefore he goes to Rome and by persuasive words the
Pope's anger is assuaged, and he is sent back to us with his authority
restored. And so, God seeing that pastors and flock were by act
and will partners in wickedness, could no longer restrain his
judgment and at last permitted the malice that had been conceived
to break out into open rage, which in its headlong mad career
was through the vengeance of God shattered by a dreadful fall.
Having therefore summoned the nobles and certain of the clergy
on the last day of Lent in the holy days of the Passion of our
Lord, he determined to urge the annulment of the Commune, to which
he had sworn, and had by bribes induced the King to swear, and
the day before the Passover, that is to say, on the day of the
Lord's Supper, he summoned the King to this pious duty and instructed
the King and all his people to break their oaths, in which snare
he had first placed his own neck, on the day, that is, on which
his predecessor, Ascelin, had betrayed his King as j aforesaid.
For on that day, when he should have performed that most glorious
of all a prelate's duties, the consecration of the oil and the
absolution of the people from their sins, he was not even seen
to enter the church. He was intriguing with the King's courtiers
for the annulment of the Commune and for the restoration by the
King of the laws of the city to their former state. But the citizens
fearing their overthrow, promised four hundred (perhaps more)
pounds to the King and his courtiers. In reply the Bishop begged
the nobles to go with him to interview the King. They promised
on their part seven hundred pounds, and King Louis, son of Philip,
of conspicuous person and a mighty warrior, hating sloth in business,
of dauntless courage in adversity, and in other respects a good
man, in this was not very just that he gave ear and attention
too much to worthless persons debased by greed. And this redounded
to his own great loss and blame and the ruin of many, which it
is certain took place here and elsewhere.
The King's craving for money being turned therefore, as I said,
to feed upon the larger promise, through his consent the oaths
of the Bishop and the nobles became void without any regard for
honour or the sacred season. That night because of the outbreak
of disorder caused by his most unjust blow, although the King
had a lodging elsewhere, he was afraid to sleep outside the Bishop's
palace. Very early in the morning the King departed and the Bishop
assured the nobles they need have no fear about the agreement
to pay so much money, knowing that he himself would pay whatever
they had promised. "And," said he, " if I do not
perform my promise, hand me over to the king's prison for ransom."
The compact of the Commune being broken, such rage, such amazement
seized the citizens that all the officials abandoned their duties
and the stalls of the, craftsmen and cobblers were closed and
nothing was exposed for sale by the innkeepers and hucksters,
who expected to have nothing left when the lords began plundering.
For at once the property of all was calculated by the Bishop and
nobles, and whatever any man was known to have given to arrange
the Commune, so much was demanded of him to procure its annulment.
These events took place on the day of the Passover, which is called
the preparation, and on the holy Sabbath when their minds were
being prepared to receive the body and blood of the Lord, they
were made ready for murders only here, for perjury there. Why
say more? All the efforts of the prelate and the nobles in these
days were reserved for fleecing their inferiors. But those inferiors
were no longer moved by mere anger, but goaded into a murderous
lust for the death of the Bishop and his ' accomplices and bound
themselves by oath to effect: their purpose. Now they say that
four hundred took I the oath. Such a mob could not be secret and
when it came to the ears of Anselm towards evening of the holy
Sabbath, he sent word to the Bishop, as he was retiring to rest,
not to go out to the early morning service, knowing that if he
did he must certainly be killed. But he, infatuated with excessive
pride said, " Fie, surely I shall not perish at the hands
of such." Yet notwithstanding his scornful words, he did
not dare to rise for matins or to enter the church The next day,
as he followed the clergy in procession, he ordered his household
people and all the soldiers coming behind him to carry short swords
under their garments. In this procession, when a little disorder,
as is likely in a crowd, began to arise one of the citizens coming
out of the crypt and thinking the time had come for the murder,
to which they were sworn, began to cry out in a loud voice as
a signal " Commune, Commune ! " over and over again.
And because it was a feast day, this was easily stopped, yet it
brought suspicion on the other party. And so, when the service
of the mass was over, the Bishop summoned a great number of countrymen
from the episcopal manors and manned the towers of the church
and gave orders that his palace should be guarded, although he
was almost as much hated by them, as they knew that the piles
of money, which he had promised the King, must be drained from
their own purses.
Now on the second day after Easter it is the custom for the clergy
to assemble at St. Vincent's. Since therefore the conspirators
had been anticipated the day before, they had decided to act on
this day, and would have done so, if they had seen that all the
nobles were with the Bishop. For they had found one of the nobles
in the suburb, a harmless man, who had recently married a young
cousin of mine, a woman of modest character. But they were unwilling
to attack him fearing to put others on their guard. Having therefore
reached the third day of Easter and feeling more secure the Bishop
allows those men to depart, whom he had put in the towers and
palace to protect him. On the fourth day I went to him, because
I had been plundered of my supply of corn and of some legs of
pork, called bacon, through his disorders. When interviewed by
me and requested to relieve the city of these great disturbances,
he replied, " What do ye think they can do by their riots?
If John, my moor, were to take by the nose the most powerful man
amongst them, he would not dare so much as to grunt. For just
now I have compelled them to renounce what they call their Commune
for so long as I live." I spoke, and then seeing the man
overcome with pride, I refrained from saying more. Yet before
I left the city, by reason of his instability we quarrelled with
mutual recriminations. But although he was warned by many of the
imminent peril, he took no notice of any one.
CHAPTER VIII
THE next day, that is, the fifth in Easter week, after midday,
as he was engaged in business with Archdeacon Walter about the
getting of money, behold there arose a disorderly noise throughout
the city, men shouting ' Commune ! ' and again through the middle
of the chapel of the Blessed Mary through that door by which the
murderers of Gerard had come and gone, there citizens now entered
the Bishop's court with swords, battle-axes, bows and hatchets,
and carrying clubs and spears, a very great company. As soon as
this sudden attack was discovered, the nobles rallied from all
sides to the Bishop, having sworn to give him aid against such
an onset, if it should occur. In this rally Guinimon, the chatelain,
an aged nobleman of handsome presence and guiltless character,
armed only with shield and spear, ran out through the church and
as he entered the Bishop's hall, was the first to fall, struck
on the back of the head with a battleaxe by a certain Rainbert,
who was his fellowcitizen. Immediately afterwards Regnier,
of whom I spoke before as married to my cousin, hurrying to enter
the palace, was struck from behind with a spear when trying to
enter by mounting on the pulpitum [l] of the Bishop's chapel,
and there falling headlong was at once consumed by the fire of
the palace from his waist downwards. Ado, the Vidame, quarrelsome,
but brave, separated from the rest and able to do little by himself
among so many, as he was striving to reach the Bishop's palace,
encountered the full force of the attack, but with spear and sword
made such a stand that in a moment he struck down two of those
who came on. Then mounting the diningtable in the hall,
wounded now in the knees and other parts of the body and at last
only supporting himself on his knees, whilst striking at his assailants
all round him, he kept them off for a long time, until, becoming
exhausted, he was struck through the body with a lance and after
a little was reduced to ashes by the fire in that house.
Note [1] The Latin word
here is "podium." Regnier is distinctly described
as struggling to mount some sort of steps or incline, and this
seems the most probable translation; the pulpitum was a screen
and loft separating choir from nave. [Benton calls it a "porch".]
Next the outrageous mob attacking the Bishop and howling before
the walls of his palace, he with some who were succouring him
fought them off by hurling of stones and shooting of arrows. For
he now, as at all times, shewed great spirit as a fighter; but
because he had wrongly and in vain taken up another sword, by
the sword he perished. Therefore being unable to stand against
the reckless assaults of the people, he put on the clothes of
one of his servants and flying to the vaults of the church hid
himself in a cask, shut up in which with the head fastened on
by a faithful follower he thought himself safely hidden. And as
they ran hither and thither demanding where, not the Bishop, but
the hangdog, was, they seized one of his pages, but through his
faithfulness could not get what they wanted. Laying hands on another,
they learn from the traitor's nod where to look for him. Entering
the vaults, therefore, and searching everywhere, at last they
found him in the following manner.
There was a pestilent fellow, a bondman of the church of the Blessed
Vincent, but for a long time an official and overseer of Enguerrand
of Coucy, who being set over the collection of tolls paid for
crossing the bridge called Soord, sometimes watched until there
were only a few travellers passing, and having robbed them of
all their property, in order that they might make no complaint
against him, threw them into the river with a weight round their
necks. How often he had done this, God only knows. The number
of the thefts and robberies being more than any one could count,
the unchecked wickedness of his heart, and one as might say, was
displayed also in the truculence of his looks. This man having
incurred the displeasure of Enguerrand, went over wholly to the
party of the Commune in Laon. He who had spared neither monk nor
clerk nor stranger, in fact no sex, was last of all to be the
slayer of a bishop. He the leader and instigator of this attack
searched most diligently for the Bishop, whom he hated more bitterly
than the rest.
And so, as they sought for him in every vessel, this fellow halted
in front of that cask, where the man was hiding, and having broken
in the head, asked again and again who was there. And he, hardly
able to move his frozen lips under his blows, said " A prisoner."
Now the Bishop was wont in mockery to call him Isengrin, I suppose,
because of his wolfish look, for so some people call wolves. The
wretch, therefore, says to the Bishop, " Is this my Lord
Isengrin stored away? " Renulf [1] therefore, sinner though
he was, yet the Lord's anointed, was dragged forth from the cask
by the hair, beaten with many blows and brought out into the open
air in the narrow lane of the clergy's cloister before the house
of the chaplain Godfrey. And as he piteously implored them, ready
to take oath that he would henceforth cease to be their Bishop,
that he would give them unlimited riches, that he would leave
the country, and as they with hardened hearts jeered at him, one
named Bernard and surnamed de Brueys, lifting his battleaxe
brutally dashed out the brains of that sacred, though sinner's,
head, and he slipping between the hands of those who held him,
was dead before he reached the ground stricken by another thwart
blow under the eyesockets and across the middle of the nose.
There brought to his end, his legs were cut off and many another
wound inflicted. But Thibaut seeing the ring on the finger of
the erstwhile prelate and not being able to draw it off, cut off
the dead man's finger and took it. And so stripped to his skin
he was thrown into a corner in front of his chaplain's house.
My God, who shall recount the mocking words that were thrown at
him by passersby, as he lay there, and with what clods and stones
and dirt his corpse was covered? But before I go on to other matters,
I must say that a certain act did much to bring about his end.
Two day, I think, before his death there was a meeting of the
chief of his clergy, because he had recently told the King when
staying in the city, that the clergy were not to be considered,
because they were almost all of them born king's serfs. When confronted
with his words, he denied them, speaking after this manner, "
May the Holy Communion, which I have just received at that altar"-stretching
out his right hand towards it-" turn to my ruin, and I call
down the sword of the Holy Spirit on my soul, if I spoke such
words to the King about you." When they heard this, some
were utterly confounded and swore (by the Sacrament) that they
heard him out of his own mouth tell the King that. Manifestly
the instability of his character and his false tongue brought
on him his ruin.
Note [1]: Renulfus, according
to the Latin, but obviously the bishop is meant.
CHAPTER IX
Meantime one part of the raging mob made their way to the house
of Raoul, who was the Bishop's servingman and had been one
of the friends of Gerard of Crecy, a man of small stature but
heroic spirit. He in breastplate and helmet and light harness
resolved to resist, but seeing the numbers too great and fearing
to be thrown into the fire, cast away his arms and exposed himself
unprotected to their mercy with his arms stretched out in the
shape of a cross. They with no thought of God cruelly butchered
him, as he lay prostrate. He himself before the murder of Gerard
in the church saw the following vision: He thought he was in the
church of the Blessed Mary and that there assembled men of wicked
disposition, who began to play foreign games and to exhibit to
some who sat round, strange sights . Whilst that went on, other
men from the house of Guy, the Treasurer, came forth bearing cups
in which was contained a drink of such foul odour that it was
intolerable for those who smelled it, and this was carried along
the rows of spectators. The meaning of this is clearer than daylight.
What a horrible and hateful sport of demons leapt forth there,
what monstrous stench of wickedness everywhere poured out of that
same house, is now manifest For the maddened populace first threw
brands into that house from which the fire leapt into the church
and lastly seized the Bishop's palace.
He had also another premonition of his coming fate. In a vision
his squire reported to him and said, " Lord, your horse in
the front parts is of great and unusual size, but its hinder parts
are very small, so that I have never seen the equal.'' For he
had been a man of great wealth and held in high esteem, all which
prosperity vas brought down to the meanness of that wretched death:
for the horse signifies the glory of this world.
And so chiefly through the sin of one man it came to pass that
a most famous church was brought to miserable ruin. From the house
of the Treasurer, who was also by simony the Archdeacon, the fire
was seen to spread into the church. This, in honour of the solemn
season, being nobly furnished all round with hangings and tapestries,
when the fire increased, a few of the coverings are supposed to
have been carried off stealthily rather than consumed in the flames;
some tapestries too, because the ropes from the pulleys could
not be worked by a few men, collapsed with the heat. The gilded
panels of the altar and the shrines of the relics were rescued
with the repa, as it is called, which projects above them. The
rest, I suppose, in a ring were destroyed by the flames; for one
of the higher clergy having shut himself in it and not daring
to come forth, lest he should encounter the wandering crowds,
and hearing the fire crackling all round him, ran to the Bishop's
chair and kicking at the glass over it broke through and so leapt
down.
The image of the crucified Lord splendidly covered with gold and
adorned with jewels and the vessel of lapis lazuli hanging before
the feet of the image melted and fell to the ground and was recovered
not without much loss of the gold. When, therefore, the church
and the palace were burning, marvellous to relate and by the inscrutable
judgment of heaven, either a brand or a burning coal flew on to
the nuns' convent and setting fire to the church of St. John reduced
it to ashes as well as that of the Blessed Mary called Profunda
and of St. Peter.
But the tale of how the wives of the nobles behaved at such a
crisis, is a pleasing one. The wife of Ado, the Vidame, seeing
her husband, when the rising began, joining the Bishop's party,
and believing it meant instant death, began to beg his pardon
for any wrong she had done him, clinging closely to him for some
time with cries of sorrow and giving him her last kisses as she
said, " Why do you leave me to the swords of the townspeople?
" He grasping the woman's right hand and holding his lance
told his steward (who happened to be amongst the first of the
traitors) to carry his shield behind him. He not only did not
carry his shield behind, but reviling him cut him down. No longer
then did he acknowledge him whose servant he was and on whom he
was waiting a little while before at dinner. His wife, therefore,
passing safely through the mobs was concealed in the house of
a certain doorkeeper of the Bishop, but when she saw the assault
and the firing of the building, she turned to fly just where chance
took her. And having fallen in the way of some of the women of
the town, she was seized by them beaten with their fists and stripped
of the costly clothes she was wearing and was scarcely able to
reach St. Vincent's clad in a nun's habit.
But my cousin, when her husband left her, not troubling about
the house furniture and only keeping a cloak for herself, with
manlike agility climbed the wall which surrounded the garden and
jumped down from it. Then taking refuge in the hovel of some poor
woman and perceiving after a little the flames increasing, she
rushed to the door which the old woman had barred, broke the bar
with a stone, and wrapping herself in the habit and veil, which
she had obtained from a kinswoman, in the belief that she could
be kept safe among the nuns, and then seeing the fire burning
hotly there, turned back on her tracks and fled to a house farther
off until the next day; then being sought for by her kinsfolk
she appeared and thereupon the anguish she had felt through the
fear of death was changed to more violent grief for her husband.
Some others, that is the wife and daughters of the castellan Guinimar
with many more hid themselves in mean places. But Walter the Archdeacon,
being with the Bishop and seeing the hall besieged, because he
knew he had always added oil to the flames, leapt out through
the window of the house into the gardens of the prelate and from
the wall which surrounded it, into the vineyards, then by unfrequented
ways with his head covered, betook himself to the Castle of Mons
Acutus. But when the citizens could not find him anywhere, they
said in jest that through fear of them he was keeping close to
the sewers. The wife, too, of Roger, the lord of Mons Acutus,
named Armengard, being that day in the city, as her husband was
castellan of the abbey after Gerard, with the wife of Ralph, the
serving man of the nuns, I believe, and in the garb of a nun reached
St. Vincent's by way of the valley of Bibracina. But the sixyear
old son of that Ralph was carried out by some one under a cloak
to save him, and was met by a hanger-on, who looked to see what
was under the cloak and thereupon cut his throat, as he lay in
the other's arms.
And so through the vineyards lying between two spurs of the mountain
the fugitive clergy and women passed that day and night, men having
no fear of the woman's dress, nor women of the men's. So rapid
too was the progress of the flames on either side, as the wind
drove them this way, that the monks feared everything they had
would be burnt. But the fear of those who had taken refuge there
was as great as if a sword threatened their throats. Guy, archdeacon
and treasurer, was fortunate in not being involved in the disaster.
He had gone before Easter to pray at the church of St. Mary at
Versailles. The murderers were especially annoyed at his absence.
After the Bishop therefore, and the chief of the nobles had been
slain, the assailants turned upon the houses of the survivors.
All night then they strove to break into the house of William,
son of Hadwin, who had not joined in the conspiracy of the citizens
to murder Gerard, but had gone in the morning to pray with the
man who was to be slain. And when they had pressed home the assault
on it here with firebrands and there with scalingladders,
tearing at the walls with axe and pike, and those within resisting
stoutly, at last he was driven to surrender and by the wonderful
judgment of God, although they hated him worse than the rest,
he was put in fetters safe and unharmed. The son of the castellan
was treated in the same way. Now there was in the house of William
a young man also named William the roommate of the Bishop,
who won much honour in that defence. He, w hen the house was taken
was questioned before that party of the citizens who had besieged
the house if he knew whether the Bishop had been slain or not,
and he replied that he did not know. For those who slew the Bishop
were a different party from those w ho had stormed the house.
And when on going round, they found the Bishop's corpse, they
asked the young man whether he could prove the body lying there
was his by any mark. Now the head and face had been so disfigured
by his many wounds that they could not be recognised. " Well,"
said he, " I remember when he was alive he frequently used
to say when talking about military matters, which to his sorrow
he much loved, that once in a mock fight he was attacking in sport
on horseback a certain soldier and by a stroke of that knight's
lance his collarbone was broken." And when they looked
they found the hard lump where the bone was joined.
Now Adalberon, the Abbot of St. Vincent, hearing that the Bishop
was slain, and wishing to go there, was thereupon plainly told
that if he ventured into the midst of the maddened mob, he would
quickly fall by a similar death. Those who were present at these
events, positively declare that day followed day so closely that
no signs of darkness preceded the fall of night. When I objected
that the brightness of the flames was the cause, they swore that
the fire was suppressed and burnt out in the day, as was true.
But the fire in the nuns' convent so got the upper hand as to
consume some of the bodies of the Saints.
CHAPTER X
Now on the morrow, as there was hardly any one who passed the
bishop's corpse without casting at him some insult or curse, but
no one thought of burying him, Master Anselm, who the day before,
on the outbreak of the rebellion, had entirely hidden himself,
poured out entreaties to the authors of the tragedy to allow the
man to be buried, if only because he had the name and rank of
a bishop; and they reluctantly consented. Because, therefore,
he had lain naked on the ground as though he had been a vile dog,
from the evening of the fifth day of Easter to the third hour
of the following day, at last the Master ordered him to be taken
up and with a salban thrown over him to be carried away to St.
Vincent's. One cannot describe the threats and abuse that were
showered upon those who cared for his burial or with how many
curses the dead man was pelted. Being carried to the church, he
had at his funeral none at all of the offices that are paid to
any Christian, much less a bishop. The earth being only half scraped
out to receive him, the body was so tightly packed in the tiny
coffin, that the breast and belly were crushed even to bursting.
With such evil men to lay him out in the manner shewn, the worse
handling by them of his wretched body, so far as they might, was
proved by those who were present, their testimony remaining to
this day. That day there was no divine service by the monks in
the church. Why do I say that day? Nay, for several days, fearful
for the safety of those who fled to them, they dreaded death for
them selves also.
Next the wife and daughters of Guinimon, a very noble family,
themselves placed the body of the castellan on a handcart and
drew it themselves. Behind him Rainer, the lower half of his body
being taken up somewhere, was placed between the two wheels over
the axle with the upper part of his hips still hissing hot from
the flames and was also brought in pitiable fashion by one of
his countrymen and a noble young girl, his kinswoman. Over these
two, kindly words were spoken, as is written in the book of Kings,
all welldisposed people mourning over their death, nor were
they in any way evil except in taking part with the murderers
of Gerard. Hence they were buried with much more compassion than
their bishop. Moreover, the remains of Ado, the Vidame, a very
few fragments found many days after the rebellion and fire, were
tied up in a small cloth and kept until the day on which Raoul,
Archbishop of Rheims came to reconcile the church. He, going to
St. Vincent's, celebrated a solemn mass there for the first time
on behalf of the bishop and his confederates many days after their
deaths. But Radulf, the seneschal, on the same day as the others,
was brought and buried by his old mother with his little son,
and the son was laid on the breast of his father.
Now the venerable and wise Archbishop after this better disposal
of some of the bodies of the dead having with much grief of their
kin and connections paid to all divine rites, preached a sermon
on that accursed Commune, by which contrary to justice and right,
serfs had violently withdrawn themselves from the claims of their
lords. " ' Servants,' saith the Apostle, ' be subject to
your masters with all fear. ' And let not servants impute hardness
and greed to their masters, let them still obey. ' Not only the
good and gentle, but also the froward.' In the original canons
they are distinctly banned who teach serfs to disobey their masters
for religion's sake or to fly anywhere, much less to resist. A
further proof of this is the fact that no one is admitted among
clerks or into holy orders or to be a monk, unless he is free
of servitude; moreover, when so admitted, he may by no means be
kept against the demands of his master." Many times he maintained
this principle in the king's court and at other times in various
assemblies. This we have said by way of anticipation; now let
us return to the orderly narrative.
CHAPTER XI
Now when the wicked citizens had duly weighed the enormity of
the crime done by them, they were consumed with dread, fearing
greatly the King's judgment, and hence when they ought to have
sought a cure for their hurt, they only added wound to wound.
For they decided to call in Thomas, the son of de Coucy, who had
the castle of Marne, to defend them against the King's attack.
He, it appears, attained power to ruin hosts of people by preying
from early youth on the poor, and pilgrims to Jerusalem. So 1mheardof
in our times was his cruelty, that men considered cruel seem more
merciful in killing cattle than he in murdering men. For he did
not merely kill them outright with the sword and for definite
offences, as is usual, but by butchery after horrible tortures.
For when he was compelling prisoners to ransom themselves, he
hung them up by their testicles, sometimes with his own hands,
and these often breaking away through the weight of the body,
there followed at once the breaking out of their vital parts.
Others were suspended by their thumbs or even their private parts
and were weighted with a stone placed on their shoulders, and
he himself walking below them, when he failed to extort what he
could not get by other means, beat them madly with cudgels until
they promised what satisfied him or perished under punishment.
No one can tell how many expired in his dungeons and chains by
starvation, disease and torture. But it is certain that two years
before, when he had gone to the mountains of Soissons to give
aid against some countrymen, three of these hid themselves in
a cave and coming to the entrance into the cave with his lance
he drove his weapon into the mouth of one of them with so hard
a thrust, that the iron of the lance breaking through the entrails
passed out by the anus. Why go on with instances that have no
end? The two left in it both perished by his hand. Again, one
of his prisoners being wounded could not march. He asked the man
why he did not go faster. He replied that he could not. "
Stop," said he, " I will make you hurry and be sorry
for it." Leaping down from his horse, he cut off both his
feet, and of that the man died. Of what use is it to recount these
horrors, when later there will be like occasion for mentioning
them? I will return to my matter.
This man long gave shelter to the murderers of Gerard, whilst
under excommunication, and long encouraged them, cherishing none
but the worst criminals, and to him is applicable rather than
to Catiline the saying of Sallust, " Out of mere delight
was he evil and cruel." To set the crown upon their wrong
doing, they turned to him with a request that he would come and
protect them against the King, and when at last he did so, they
admitted him into the city. After hearing their petition, he consulted
his friends what he should do, and was unanimously advised by
them that his strength was not sufficient to hold the city against
the King, counsel which he dared not make known for some time
to the madmen whilst in their city. Therefore, he told them to
come out into the open country where he would reveal to them his
intentions. When they had gone about two miles outside, he told
them this: " Since this city is the capital of the realm,
it cannot be held against the King by me. But if ye fear the royal
troops, follow me into my land and take me for your patron and
friend." At those words they were exceedingly dismayed. Maddened
therefore, with fear because of what they had done and thinking
the King was threatening their lives, a countless host of the
people fled with him. . Teudegold, to, the slayer of the bishop,
who, sword in hand, had searched the ceilings, the vaults and
the claustral recesses of the church of the Blessed Vincent to
find fugitives to kill, who displaying the episcopal ring on his
finger proved his right to be their head, he, with his accomplices
did not dare to return to the city and followed Thomas almost
in destitution. Moreover, Thomas had set free William, son of
Hadwin, and other persons in the city. But rumour with the speed
of Pegasus flying abroad, roused the men of the neighbouring country
as well as those of the towns with the tale that the city was
emptied of inhabitants. Then all the villagers rush upon the deserted
city and see the houses full of property and with no one to defend
them. Even wealthy people disguised themselves in mean dress,
for they were afraid to draw the eyes of the nobles upon themselves.
At that time the unlawful and incestuous wife of Enguerrand under
guise of continence covering her contempt for Enguerrand because
of his age and bulk, yet could not live without enjoyment of lovers.
Enamoured therefore, of a handsome youth and kept from all converse
with him by Enguerrand, she suddenly became so mad with lust for
the man that having summoned him to her side, she gave her little
daughter to him in marriage to cover their wicked intrigue and
made him the defender of her land against Thomas, for whom his
so-called father cherished an implacable hatred and whom she wished
to disinherit. He being at Coucy and threatening Thomas with enmity
by every means in his power, but having insufficient resources
to venture upon a difficult task, was befriended by fortune in
the following manner:
Now Enguerrand and Guy, as he was called, learning that Thomas
had left the city followed by the people, went to Laon and found
the houses filled with an abundance of everything, but without
inhabitants. Such plenty was there that if it had been carefully
guarded by the rulers to save it from waste by hangers-on and
thieves, all attempts to drive out that young man would have been
in vain, and he would have felt no want for the rest of his life.
Who should say, or saying would be believed, what money, what
clothing, what provisions of all kinds were found there? For when
the crowds of rustics and those in the outskirts, moreover, the
people of Montaign and Pierrepoint and La Fere too came there
before those of Coucy, wonderful to say, what did the first comers
find, what did they carry off, when our people arriving later
boasted that they had found everything in order and almost untouched
!
But what consideration or self-restraint could there be amongst
brutes and fools? The wine and corn they happened to find having
no value and because there were no means on the spot of carrying
them off, were wantonly and shockingly wasted. Then the proceeds
of their plundering began to give rise to quarrels and any booty
passed out of the hands of the weaker into the possession of the
stronger. Two, if they met a third, were certain to plunder him
So wretched was the state of the city. Those who had fled from
it, had pillaged and burnt the houses of the clergy and nobles,
whom they hated; but now the nobles remaining there lost all their
property and furnishings down to the bars and bolts.
Not a single monk then could enter the city in safety or go out
of it without being deprived of his horse or stripped of the clothes
on his body. Guilty and innocent alike had collected at St. Vincent's
with a great quantity of goods. What swords, Lord God, were drawn
over monks willing to surrender their lives as well as their property
! There, William, the son of Hadwin, forgetting the deliverance
granted him by God, allowed a countryman of his, to whom he had
just promised security for life and limb and had drawn him into
his power through trust in his promises, to be taken and condemned
by the servants of the nobles, Guinimar and Regnier, who had been
slain. For being fastened by his feet to the tail of a horse by
the son of that castellan, his brains were quickly dashed out
and he was then placed on the gallows. Now he was called Robert
and surnamed Manducans and was a rich and upright man. But the
steward of the Vidame mentioned above and called, I believe, Everard,
who slew his master on the very day he had eaten with him, the
servant his master, was exalted to great heights of arrogance
Others too were done to death in similar ways. It is an impossible
task to ravel out all that happened anywhere in the punishment
inflicted on monks and secular. But it should be known that on
the day after the slaughter, that is, on the sixth day, Thomas
came into the city and left on the Sabbath, and on Sunday, God
quickly sent punishment on them for their great crime.
These events took place in the year 1115 of the Incarnation of
our Lord, on the sixth day of Easter and the 30th of April. Assuredly
that Bishop was of unbounded levity, so that whatever foolish
and worldly thought he conceived, his tongue very readily gave
him absolution. Certainly I saw that cousin whom I have mentioned,
conducting herself when recently married with the greatest possible
modesty; but he in my hearing called her a coarse hoyden, because
she absented herself from the talk and sight of strangers, and
was far from forcing herself OI1 his notice like other women.
Certainly too, I had written a book on the Crusade to Jerusalem
which, he desiring to see it, was sent to him, but he was much
displeased with it, because he saw it was dedicated in the introduction
to my Lord, the Bishop Lisiard of Soissons. After that he would
deign to read no more, whereas he had valued my other works more
than I deserved. And although he was so successful in gathering
wealth, he quickly squandered the whole of it on useless causes.
But those evils came to early fruition in his times.
It should be known that evil flourished not in him alone, but
resulted from the great wickedness of others too, in fact of the
whole population. For in the whole of France there nowhere occurred
such crimes as amongst the people of Laon. A very little time
before these things happened, a certain priest whilst sitting
in his own house near the fire, was struck from behind and killed
by a servant with whom he had been too familiar. Taking up the
body he hid it in a more secret chamber, locking it up. And when
after some days, because of the disappearance of his master, people
asked the servant where he had gone, he lied to them, saying the
man had gone on business somewhere. And when, by reason of the
unusual stench, the body could no longer be kept in the house,
having collected his master's property and laid the body face
downwards on the ashes of the house fire and thrown down the shelf
hanging above, which they call the dryingshelf, that it
might be thought its fall had crushed him, he then fled away with
the goods.
The Deans also just before the first of the month used to transact
the business of the priests in their districts. And when a certain
Burgundian priest, very talkative and ready, had accused the priest
next to him of some trifling matter, the Dean fined him for the
offence only sixpence. He, being more than a little annoyed at
the fine, when the Burgundian returned home at night, the priest
who had lost the money, lay in wait for him. And he, climbing
the steps to his house with a lantern, was struck on the head
by the other from behind and died of the blow, intestate.
Another also a priest at Essey, catching a priest celebrating
mass before the altar, ordered his attendant to shoot him down
with an arrow. Although he did not die of the wound, yet the author
and cause of it was not guiltless of a crime of murder and a sacrilege
unheard of among Christians. Other such acts are related, done
at the same time and in the same parts.
There appeared also visions foreshowing the calamities I have
described. A man thought he saw a moonshaped ball fall over
Laon, which meant that a sudden rebellion would arise in the city.
Some one of our monks also saw before the knees of the crucifix
in the chapel of the Blessed Mary three great bars in order placed
opposite. Moreover, the place where Gerard perished, seemed to
be covered with blood. The crucifix signified someone high up
in the church, who was truly opposed by three bars, his poor entry
on office, his sin against Gerard and, lastly, against the people,
being the offences that brought about his end. That place in which
Gerard had perished was covered with blood in that the wickedness
done was wiped out by no punishment. Besides there were heard,
I have learnt from the monks of St. Vincent, certain noises, it
was supposed of malignant spirits, and there was the appearance
of flames in the air at night in the city. There was born also
some days before a boy who was double down to the buttocks, having
that is, two heads and right down to the loins two bodies, each
with its own arms: being double, therefore, above, it was single
below. After it was baptised, it lived three days. In short, many
portents we}e seen to occur, about which there was no doubt that
they foreboded the great disaster which ensued.
CHAPTER XII
After the storm had died away into a calm for a little while and
the church began to be restored by the zeal of the clergy, as
the wall, where Gerard was killed, seemed to be more weakened
by the violence of the fire than the rest, they built at great
cost some arches between the middle wall that had been most damaged
and the outer structure. And one night with the sound of a great
crash it was so shattered by a thunderbolt, that the arches joining
the wall were torn asunder and the wall partly inclined out of
the perpendicular had now to be pulled down from the foundations.
O wondrous judgment of God ! Why does Thy stern wrath, O Lord,
pass sentence on such things, when Thou didst allow a man standing
in prayer to Thee of some sort to be punished, if an unfeeling
wall under which that act was done, was not suffered to go unpunished?
Nor was Thy displeasure at such a wrong itself a wrong, O Lord.
Assuredly if my enemy lay at my knees to ask pardon and thus were
slain by his enemy before my feet, at such an insult put upon
me my wrath against the first would certainly be laid at rest.
Thus we men, and Thou the very fount of mercy, O God ! If Thou
dost crown those little children that in Herod's time were utterly
ignorant of Thee just because Thou didst cause their destruction,
must we believe Thou couldst harden Thy heart against him, sinner
and undeserving as he was, who was killed in contempt of Thy name?
Such is not Thy way, Infinite Goodness.
Meanwhile, in accordance with that custom, such as it is, of begging
for money, the feretories and relics of the Saints began to be
carried round. And so it came to pass that the Gracious Judge
who comforts with His pity here those whom He reproved there,
shewed many miracles where they went. Now there was a splendid
amulet that was carried with a casket of great note which contained
part of the shift of the Virgin Mother and of the sponge lifted
to the lips of the Saviour and of His Cross and, I believe some
of the hair of the Virgin Lady. It was made of gold and gems and
verses written on it in gold told of the wonders within. And so
in their second journey coming to the canton of Tours, they arrived
at the township of a certain robber called Buzencais and had speech
with the people, among other things, about the disaster to their
church. And when our clergy saw that the lord and the townspeople
were evillyminded on hearing their words, and coming out of the
castle intended to plunder us, one of us who was charged with
that duty, speaking from an elevation, although he had no belief
in his promises, said to the people standing near, " If there
is any infirm soul among you, let him come to these holy relics
and drinking the water which the relics have touched, he shall
forthwith be healed."
Then the lord and his men of the castle were glad, thinking they
must be caught for liars out of their own mouths and they bring
forward to him a youth twenty years old, who was deaf and dumb.
On that the danger and dismay of the clergy cannot be de-described.
But after earnest prayer, with deep sighs to the Lady of all,
and her only Son, the Lord Jesus, when he had drunk the holy water
and had been asked by the trembling priest some question or other,
he replied not with an answer to the question, but with a repetition
of the exact words which the priest had used. For never having
heard what was said to him, he was ignorant of any words but those
just used. Why waste words? In that poor town their hearts became
suddenly larger than their means. The lord of the town gave the
only horse he had, whilst the liberality of the rest almost went
beyond their powers. And so the men they had intended to betray,
these in fear of God their helper and with much weeping they sent
on their way, making over to them the youth who had been cured,
to guard the sacred relics. Him I saw in this our church of Nogent,
a man of dull intellect, awkward in speech and understanding,
who faithfully carried round that miracleworker and died
not long afterwards in the discharge of that duty.
In the city of Angers there was a woman who had married, when
a girl, and had kept the ring placed on her finger, whilst very
young, almost without ever taking it off. As years went on and
the girl grew to a fuller habit of body, the flesh rising up on
each side of the ring, had almost covered the metal and hence
she had given up all hope of getting it off her finger. Now when
the holy relics came there and she went with other women after
the sermon to make offerings, as she held out her hand to place
the money she had brought, on the relics, the ring cracked and
slipped from her hand amongst them. Beyond all description were
the offerings of money by the people and of rings and necklaces
by the women after they had seen and especially the women, how
the Virgin Mother had shewn such favour to that woman in what
she dared not ask herself. The canton of Tours had much joy at
this showering of the sweet odours of our Lady's merits, who is
common to all, but the people of Anjou always boasted that in
a special sense did the Mother of God belong to them.
At another place-I cannot exactly say in what town it happened,
but in the same diocese-the relics were taken by the clergy to
a certain honourable lady at her own urgent prayer, who had long
been in the grasp of a lasting and hopeless infirmity. And when
she had done adoration to the relics and had drunk the holy water
with which they had been washed, at once by Mary's healing she
was restored to health. And after she had done honour with due
offerings to God's sacred relics and their bearer had left the
threshold of her house, behold, a boy on a horse drawing a cart
behind, filled the middle of the narrow lane through which he
had to pass. To him the cleric said, " Halt, while the holy
relics pass by." And when the bearer had passed and the boy
began to urge his horse forward, he was unable to continue his
journey in any direction. And he who bore the relics, looking
back that way, said, " Go on, in the name of the Lord."
That said, horse and cart at once moved on. See what power Thou
dost grant in Mary and what respect she demands for herself !
In the third journey it befell that they came to the castle at
Nelle. Now Ralph, the lord of the castle, had in his house a deaf
and dumb youth, who, they say, had the art of divination, learnt
no doubt from devils, and whom, it is said, he much loved. Now
the relics were brought into the castle and honoured by the people
with quite moderate gifts. But the deaf and dumb man, who had
been informed by signs of the curing of the aforesaid deaf and
dumb, and had actually seen him, gave his shoes to a poor man
and, barefooted, with penitent heart, followed the relics
as far as the monastery of Lihons. And as he watched during the
day under the feretory, it happened to be the hour for dinner.
And so most of the clergy went to their meat and only a few remained
to guard the relics. These having gone for a short walk outside
the church, on returning, found the man stretched on the ground
in much distress, with blood and matter flowing from his mouth
and ears. The clergy, seeing this, told their companions who had
gone to dinner, urging them to come quickly to see the wonder.
Then coming to himself out of his fit, he was examined by the
clergy in some words or other to see if he could speak. ,O<uickly
he replied in the same words as he had heard his questioner use.
What praise without limit did they render to God on high, with
joy passing words ! And lastly they were compelled to return to
the town of Nelle, that the poor first offering might be amply
increased. And that was done to a wonderful degree. Here, too,
our Lady glorified herself, her Divine Son completing those gifts
of nature which thus far had been withheld.
CHAPTER XIII
After that they determined to journey to the parts overseas, and
having travelled down to the ocean straits and found certain wealthy
merchants with fleets for that voyage, they were carried across
with good fortune, as far as the weather was concerned. But behold,
they see the vessels of fierce pirates, whom they much feared,
coming on directly against them. And as they steered towards them
with oars sweeping the waters and their prow cutting through the
waves and were now scarcely a furlong off, the carriers of the
relics, being in great fear of the pirates, there rose in their
midst one of our priests, who, lifting on high the casket in which
the relics of the Queen of Heaven were kept, forbade their approach
in the name of the Son and of the Mother. At once at that command
the pirate craft fell astern driven off as speedily as they had
with eagerness approached. Then was there thanksgiving among the
delivered and much glorification, and the merchants with them
offered many gifts to the gracious Mary.
They had a fair voyage then to England, and when they were come
to Winchester, many miracles done therein brought renown. At Exeter
events not unlike these occurred and produced many gifts. Let
me pass over the ordinary healing of sickness and touch only on
exceptional cases. For we are not writing a Pyrrhic ode on them;
let them do that for themselves; nor what happened to each person,
but are culling outstanding examples. In almost all places they
were received with reverence, and according to the means of the
people, but when they came to a certain village, they were not
admitted by the priest within the church, nor by the people within
their dwellings. Two houses they found without inmates and in
one they bestowed themselves and their baggage, and fitted up
the other for the holy relics. And so, as that wicked people persisted
in their obstinacy against the holy things, on the morrow the
clergy left that place, and behold the sound of terrible thunder
was accompanied by lightning from the clouds, and this, falling
on their town, burnt everything to ashes. And, oh, wonderful distinction
made by God ! whereas those two houses were in the midst of those
that were burnt, they remained for a manifest testimony by God
that for their irreverence shewn towards the Mother of God, those
unhappy men had suffered from the burning. But that wicked one
who had inflamed the cruelty of the barbarians, when he ought
to have taught them, after collecting the furniture saved (to
his satisfaction) from the heavensent fire, carried it away
either to the river or the sea, intending to cross over. But there
all the property he had gathered together to take across was destroyed
on the spot by lightning. Thus these people of the country, being
uninstructed in understanding of the mysteries of God, were taught
by their own punishment.
They came to another town in which there was a great fervour of
offerings to the sacred relics both by reason of the fame and
certainty of the miracles and for many other reasons. A certain
Englishman standing in front of the church said to his companion,
" Let us go and drink." But the other said, " I
have not any money." " I," said the first, "
will get some." " How will you get it? " said he.
" I think," said the first, " from those clerics,
who by their lying and their tricks get so much money out of the
silly people. I will certainly manage in some way or other to
get out of them the cost of my drink." After saying that,
he entered the church and went to the consistory, in which the
relics were placed, and pretending he wished to shew his reverence
for them by kissing them, putting his mouth against them with
his lips open, he sucked up some coins that had been offered.
Then, going back to his companion, he said, " Come and let
us drink, for we have enough money now for our draught."
" How did you get it? " said he, " since you had
none before? " " I got it," he said, " by
carrying away in my cheek some of the money given to those cheats
in the church." " You have done ill," said the
other, " in taking that from the holy offerings." "
Silence," replied he, " and get along to the nearest
tavern. Why so much talk? " They drank the sun down into
the ocean. But when evening came on, he who had stolen the money
from the holy altar, mounting his horse, said he was going home.
And when he had reached a wood near, he made a noose and hanged
himself on a tree. There dying a miserable death, he paid the
penalty for his sacrilegious lips. Out of the many things which
the queenly Virgin did in England be it sufficient to have culled
these instances.
At Laon also, after they had returned from collecting money, I
have been told by a cleric of good character, who had the duty
of carting wood for the repair of the fabric of the church, that
in ascending the hill one of the oxen through weariness broke
down. The cleric, being much vexed with the ox and unable to get
another to put in its place, behold, suddenly an ox was seen running
up, as if purposely offering itself to help in the work. And when
he had with the others speedily drawn the cart right up to the
church, the cleric was very anxious to know to whom he should
return the strange ox. But as soon as the ox was unyoked, it did
not wait for anyone to lead it or to urge it forward, but returned
quickly to the place from which it came.
He who told me that, also related at the same time the following
story, namely, that on that day on which Gaudry the Bishop, after
arranging for the death of Gerard, set out on his journey to Rome,
this man (a deacon) was standing behind the priest at mass, when
suddenly, although the day was quite fine and no wind was blowing,
the gilded eagle standing on the chest which contains the feretories
of the saints, fell with a bound as if violently hurled. From
this event they made the following inference, that the chief part
of the place, that is, the Bishop was going to perish. But in
fact, I believe this event also foretold that the greatest city,
the most royal amongst all the cities of France, had fallen, ay,
and would, I suppose, fall still lower. For in that crisis of
the state which we have described, the King himself, of whose
avarice it came, did not once again visit it. Moreover, the King's
Governor, who was aware of the wickedness that was to be done,
having sent on his concubine and his children, left the city a
few hours before the rebellion broke out in it, and before he
had gone three or four miles, saw it blazing.
CHAPTER XIV
And so the Bishop, having died in this manner, they began to approach
the King for the election of another. Without any previous election
they were given the Dean of Orleans, because a certain Stephen
who had influence with the King and was unable to get a bishopric
himself, wanted the deanery, and so obtained the Bishopric for
the Dean and got the deanery himself. And when he was brought
to be consecrated, and they took divination about him, they came
on a blank page; as though it had been prophesied about him, "
I will prophesy nothing about him, since his acts will be almost
nothing." For a few months after he died. Yet he restored
some of the bishop's house. When he died, one was elected lawfully
against his will. Lawfully, I say, in this respect, that he took
office without paying for it, nor had he any wish to have dealings
in simony. And yet at his divination the chapter of the Gospel
sounded harsh, for this is what Gaudry got, " Know that a
sword shall pierce through thy soul." Be it known to God
what misfortune threatens him.
But before we pass on to other matters, we ought to say that Teudeguld,
the betrayer and slayer of the Bishop, two years after that slaughter,
was captured by Enguerrand and brought to the gallows. He was
taken in Lent just after he had eaten and drunken almost to vomiting
and had made a wicked vaunt before some that he was full of the
glory of God, sticking out his belly and stroking it with his
hand. And being taken and cast into prison he sought pardon neither
of God nor man and even when brought out for his punishment, said
nothing to anyone, dying with that insensibility towards God with
which he had lived. Now let me return to what I omitted.
Now Thomas, who in league with that hateful Commune, had protected
those wicked murderers first of Gerard and then of the Bishop,
his lord and kinsman, as his malice grew unspeakably worse, was
attacked with frequent anathemas by all the archbishops and bishops
throughout France, not only in councils, synods and royal courts,
but afterwards every Sunday in every parish and deanery. Moreover,
his stepmother, that woman evilly taken by Enguerrand, having
a nature more cruel than a wild shebear's, and seeing Thomas
become a sort of rival to herself, induced Enguerrand to forswear
all fatherly love towards him and even a father's name. And having
begun by her woman's cunning to keep him out of his rights and
to shew herself his open enemy, she then took in hand, in the
words of the comic poet, to drive him from folly into insanity.
Steeped, therefore, in worse wickedness from day to day, such
madness broke out in his soul that he regarded it as right and
lawful to treat men as beasts in his attacks on them. For because
he was unjustly disinherited by a woman, it was esteemed right
by him and his confederates to indulge in an orgy of slaughter.
Daily with ever new devices did that savage woman look for enemies
to set up for his ruin; he on the other hand never took holiday
from his unceasing pursuit of plunder, burning and slaughter against
her. In our generation we have never seen two persons anywhere
under whose single rule so many evils have arisen. For if he was
the fire, she might be called the oil.
Such, certainly, was the character of each that although they
were equally given up to lustful acts, yet none the less, nay,
even more, when opportunity offered, did they shew their cruelty.
For whereas no marriage ties bound him, he could not be kept by
a single wife from the rivalry of harlots and strange women. Why
say more? She daily drove him on by her plots, and he by the murder
of innocent men could not satisfy his rage, so much so that in
one day he put out the eyes of ten men, whose fate it was soon
to die; and so it came about that both being wearied they made
a momentary peace. But after a little the woman kindling again
the old troubles, they broke out again into mutual slaughters.
Now when the province of Laon was shaken with the quarrels of
these two, disaster by the judgment of God passed on to Amiens.
For after the fatal event of the destruction of Laon the people
of Amiens having won over the King by a bribe, formed a Commune,
which the Bishop ought under no compulsion whatever to have favoured,
and especially as no one pressed him to do so, and he was well
aware of the miserable end of his fellowbishop and of the
conflict of the unhappy citizens. Enguerrand therefore, the Count
of the city, seeing that by the conspiracy of the citizens the
ancient rights of his office were being destroyed, now with all
his might made an armed attack on the rebels. He was well supported
by Adam, sonamed, and the castle commanded by him. Being
repulsed therefore, by the citizens, he retired into the castle.
And they attacking the castle with unceasing assaults, called
upon Thomas as their loving lord to take the oath to the Commune,
in this way probably stirring up the son against the father; for
having a shameful mother, he was therefore void of love for his
father. And so Enguerrand thinking the innkeepers and butchers
despised him for the sluggishness of old age, summoned Thomas
and came to terms with him, even reconciling him to his stepmother
by taking any number of oaths to ingratiate the two with one another.
She, no doubt, was not inactive on her own behalf to exact from
him considerable treasure in return for the new peace.
At last, having exhausted the great riches that he had accumulated,
Thomas also promised help to Enguerrand against the citizens,
with whom the Bishop and the Count were contending. Thomas therefore,
and Adam, the Captain of the Tower began to be very active in
their attack on the Vidame and the citizens. And as they charged
the Bishop and the clergy with taking part with the citizens,
they very soon possessed themselves of church property. And in
one of his manors he set up a strong garrison by means of which
he wasted the rest with fire and sword. Having carried off from
one of them a very great number of prisoners and much money, the
remainder, a great assemblage of both sexes and all ages which
had fled there, he burnt in the church, which had been set on
fire. Now among the prisoners was one, a hermit, who had come
to the manor to buy bread, and being taken, was brought before
him. Now the feast of the Blessed Martin was close at hand, in
fact the next day. When he, therefore, with tears declared to
Thomas what his profession was, and why he had come there, begging
him to have pity on him through respect for St. Martin, if for
nothing else, he, drawing his sword from the sheath, drove it
through his breast and heart, saying, " Take that for St.
Martin's sake." Likewise they had thrust a leper into prison;
and a settlement of lepers in the province hearing of it besieged
the doors of the tyrant, crying out for their comrade to be restored
to them. But he threatened that if they did not go away he would
burn them alive. Fleeing in fright, when they had reached a safe
place and had gathered together from every quarter, they called
on God to avenge them and lifting up their voices, they all together
cursed him. But that same leper died in the prison where he was
punished.
A woman also who was with child, being put to hard labour in the
prison, died there. Some of the prisoners travelled too slowly
and he ordered the bones under their necks, called the collarbones,
to be pierced, and had cords inserted through the holes in five
or six of them, and so made them travel in terrible torture; and
after a little they died in captivity. Why prolong the story?
In that affair he slew with his own sword thirty persons. But
his stepmother, seeing the man putting himself in such peril,
and greedy for his destruction, sent word to the Vidame to keep
secret watch on Thomas's outgoings. Being caught in an ambush,
when going out on some expedition, Thomas was covered with wounds
and pierced through the thigh by the lance of a footman, but the
Vidame amongst other hurts being badly wounded in the knee had
to abandon the attempt, sorely against his will.
Now, before his church suffered such destruction, the Bishop on
a feast day was about to celebrate mass. But the priest before
him, apparently a religious, had unwittingly made the sacrament
of water alone, and after him the same thing happened to the Bishop.
And when he had tasted and found it was nothing but water, he
said, " Be sure, some great misfortune threatens this church
. " And this was also to be inferred from the misfortune
that occurred to the priest before this. When, therefore, he saw
that his presence was acceptable neither to his own clergy nor
to the people, because he could be of no use to anyone, taking
a certain monk of ours into his confidence, and without consulting
any of his own clergy or the people, he gave a bill of divorcement
from his see, as it were, and sent back his ring and sandals to
the Archbishop of Rheims, sending word that he would go into exile
and never thereafter be Bishop again anywhere. Thus becoming an
ex-prelate he went to Cluny, and there again acting as bishop
of his own accord, consecrated an altar. Leaving that place he
proceeded to Chartres, of which place something has been said
in the beginning of this work. There remaining outside the convent
in a cell, he kept with him six silver marks of his travelling
money. After two months, being recalled not by any of his people,
but by the Archbishop, he was not slow to return; he knew he would
find these marks useful for the purpose. The clergy and people,
however, did not give him a glad reception, for in his absence
they were busy choosing another bishop with considerable scorn
for himself. For he had started a disturbance which he could not
lay to rest.
Thomas, therefore, being taken to his own place and powerless
to do anything by reason of the aforesaid wound, as the son of
Adam, a very handsome youth had betrothed himself to his daughter,
Enguerrand's shameful concubine besides the injury already done
to Thomas prepares to turn her arms against Adam and his tower.
Now he so far had been faithfully supported against the citizens
by Enguerrand. But now the latter betrayed the King and beleaguered
the tower. And certainly Adam had taken the oath of fealty to
the King and had not been traitor to him, and the King had taken
him under his protection. Indescribable even by those who were
involved in its dangers, was the slaughter inflicted on the citizens
by those of the tower, not only before the siege, but still more
frequently afterwards. For there was nothing that could be done
by the townspeople, except to suffer. Now this in the beginning,
before the trouble had gone far, might easily have been settled
by Godfrey, the Bishop, as every one knew, had he not been afraid
of the Vidame, who always held him in the greatest contempt. He
was plainly of such a character as to respect no one and to do
no one a kindness who did not abuse him or do him an injury. The
man who tries to please a treacherous foe in fear of being bitten,
by the just judgment of heaven gets hurt by him and everyone else.
Now Thomas could not bring help to the tower, into which he had
sent his daughter and the most trustworthy of his soldiers. He
had done such evil deeds everywhere that archbishops and heads
of churches made complaint to the King saying that they would
not carry on the services of God in his realm, unless he took
vengeance on him. For at the time when the pestilent fellow was
backing the citizens against Enguerrand, Walter, about whom we
have spoken, who, with Guy his fellowarchdeacon, was the
only one left of the betrayers of Gerard, had gone about the middle
of Lent to see that worthy associate of Enguerrand, his own uterine
sister having himself forwarded that adulterous connection. When
Thomas found this out, sending a hasty message, he ordered Robert,
the worst of criminals, (for such servants he loved), to watch
for Walter returning from Amiens and to kill as many as he could.
And he looking out for them nowhere else than from the hill of
Laon itself over the hollow road where it descends from the hill,
made an onset on him with his men. Now Walter, having sent his
company on ahead, was following into the city riding on a mule.
Caught thus alone he was most cruelly cut to pieces by their swords.
After killing him they returned to Thomas with the mule, in merry
mood.
The King's ears therefore, being continually assailed with the
loud complaints of the churches on this and like matters, in Lent
of the following year after the slaying of the archdeacon, he
collected an army against Thomas and attacked the garrison which
he had set up in the manors of the abbey of St. John. But hardly
any hearty help was given by those of the knightly order, whose
numbers too, were small; but a very large force of lightarmed
troops joined him. Thomas hearing that these were being raised
against him, cursed his fate in being laid up utterly helpless
in bed. Warned by the King to destroy the adulterine castles,
he contemptuously refused and was loudly exultant when help was
offered to him by many of his kinsman. Then the Archbishop and
the Bishops, going up on high platforms, invited the mob to join,
and after admonishing and absolving them from their sins, ordered
them as an act of penitence in full assurance of the salvation
of their souls to attack the castle called Crecy; and they with
wonderful daring went up against it. Now the fortress was of unusual
strength, so that to many all their efforts seemed ridiculous.
In spite of a vigorous defence the King captured the first line,
gained a footing at the very gate of the castle and warned the
townspeople to surrender it to him. On their refusal, stretching
out his hand, he swore that he would not eat until it was taken.
For all that he drew back from the assault. On the morrow, however,
he returned and assaulted, although hardly any of the menatarms
were willing to take part. Having charged them with open mutiny
and called upon the infantry, he was himself the first to set
foot on the rampart and to fight his way inside. Quickly they
forced their way in, an immense quantity of victual was found,
the defenders taken and the town destroyed.
Not far from here was another town named Nogent. The keys of this
were given up to the King and the inhabitants fled. At Crecy some
of the prisoners were hanged on the gallows to terrify the defenders,
others put to death in other ways. Of the assailants I do not
know that any one perished but one manatarms. But
Thomas defended himself at Marne and having paid a money ransom
to the King and the royal party, and come to an agreement for
the damage done to the churches, gave himself up to peace and
the Commune. Thus the proudest and most wicked of men was now
punished through the act of the very poorest class, whom he had
often punished and scorned. I must not fail to mention that when
the King came to Laon, there was unseasonable weather through
the mildness of the air. Then the Archbishop said to them, "
Let us pray to God, if it is His will, that what we have proposed,
should be done, to give us a clear sky." No sooner was this
said than the weather became fair.
Now Godfrey the Bishop having returned from Chartres, began to
spread abroad something far different from what he had learnt
there. He appealed to the King then, and on a day that was famous
and venerated, preached a sermon more like one of Catiline's speeches
than one that proceeded from God inciting him and the people standing
by against the men of the Tower, promising the kingdom of heaven
to those who should die in the assault upon it. Next day in front
of the wall of the Castellio, as it is called great towers were
brought forward and soldiers placed in them. Those of the castle
had protected themselves with hides to prevent the taking of the
heart of their defence. But the Bishop had gone barefooted
to St. Aceolus, undeserving of a hearing in such a cause. Meantime,
the people of the castle allowed them to approach and to move
up the towers. But when they had brought these into action, Aleran,
who was most skilled in such work, opposed to them two catapults
which he had set up, and arranged at their posts eighty women
to hurl the stones placed in them. The soldiers inside also fought
in close combat with the assailants. And whilst they, with the
spirit of Achilles defended their ramparts, the women with equal
courage hurled stones from the catapults and shattered both of
the towers. And as the shower of missiles grew hotter, eighty,
it is said, being wounded, the King himself was hurt by a shaft
on his mailed breast. Of those, too, who were pierced with arrows,
only one was saved. This was related to me by Rothard, a cleric,
the nephew of the Bishop.
But the soldiers high up in the wooden towers, seeing themselves
overwhelmed, began to retreat, and at once the rest followed them.
Soon after they had been driven back, the defenders sallied out,
destroyed the towers and dragged the timbers inside, whilst from
some way off nearly three thousand looked on and did not dare
to attack, they who had been the first themselves to attack. Seeing
therefore, that the place was impregnable, the King retreated,
ordering it to be blockaded until the defenders should surrender
under the compulsion of famine. Until now the blockade goes on
and it cannot be said how many of the citizens alone perish almost
daily. But Adam encamped outside the outskirts of the city, presses
Enguerrand and the Vidame with constant hostilities. Hence if
tribulation could open the ears to understanding, they might know
that although Thomas was beaten, all cases are not equal, nor
are the judgments of God the same for all men so that a bishop
should be free to incite others to murder.
CHAPTER XV
Before we pass on to our next topic, since we are about to say
something about the people of Soissons, you must know that the
conduct of the people of Laon surpasses all the provinces of France
in its abomination. For besides their murder of priests, bishop
and archdeacon, quite recently a very wise woman of good birth,
the Abbess of St. John and a benefactor of the church, named Raisendis,
a native of Laon, was killed by her own serf and bore what she
suffered through her loyalty to the church. Even the church itself
could not keep them from sacrilege. We consider the following
worthy of notice, because the Queen of all did not leave the deed
unpunished. The vessels of the tableservice began to be
filched by those called the enrolled, who were specially entrusted
with keeping the church treasures but they threw back the blame
on the clerics, their masters. It is certain, however, that the
culprits were laymen. This is the first tale I have heard. Secondly
a certain Anselm, sprung from the common people of the city, an
uncouth rustic man, during the days of Christmas before matins
stole crosses, cup and all golden vessels. And after a time he
took a lump of the stolen gold to sell to a merchant of Soissons,
revealing the sacrilegious theft committed by him, but making
him swear he would not betray him. Meantime, however, the other
heard that those party to the theft were being excommunicated
throughout the parishes of Soissons. Knowing this, he went to
Laon and gave information to the clergy. Why say more? The thief
when examined, denied it. The other gave bail and challenged him
to a duel. No objection was raised. It was Sunday. The battle
began then, being hastened on by the cleric, and he who had charged
the other with theft was vanquished and fell. In this matter two
things are evident. Either he who broke his oath in giving information
of the theft, did not act rightly, or, what is much more certain,
he obeyed a law that was entirely wrong. For it is certain that
no canon agrees with this law of combat.
At last, Anselm, feeling safer after this victory, broke out into
a third sacrilege. With inexpressible daring he burst open the
treasurechest and carried off great quantities of gold and
jewels. After this theft, as the ordeal of the holy water was
now frequently practised, he was thrown into it with others of
the enrolled and was convicted by his floating at the top and
others too, who were parties to the first theft; and some were
brought to the gallows and others spared. He, when so treated,
promised to tell, but when set free, refused. Being a second time
carried to the gallows, he swore to reveal the facts. Again loosed,
he said, " Without a reward I will do nothing." "
You shall be hanged," they said. " And you will get
nothing by that," said he. Meantime, he cast endless abuse
at Nicholas, the castellan, son of Guinimar, a young man of note
by whom this was done. The Bishop and Master Anselm were consulted
what was to be done. " It is better," say they, "
that money should be given to him than that the whole of the gold
should be lost." Therefore, they agreed to pay him about
five hundred shillings. On that promise being made, he restored
the gold, much of which he had hidden in his vineyard. But he
had undertaken to leave the country and the Bishop had given him
three days' grace for doing so. Wishing to get away secretly in
this time, he examined beforehand all the roads leading out of
the city, and there appeared on one side of his house a vision
of great floods which entirely prevented all progress. The streams,
therefore, that had invisibly been sent against him, compelled
him to go back openly without stealing off with his gains. Returning,
he declared with many furious words that he would not go away,
and when the Bishop urged him, being driven out of his senses,
he began to mutter, saying that he knew something more which he
had refrained from revealing. When the Bishop learnt this through
the Vidame, he took the opportunity, as he had sworn he knew nothing
more, to deprive him of the money he had proposed to give him,
and threw him into prison. And he being put to the torture, confessed
he had in his possession some jewels of filigree work. Then taking
them to the place he shewed them in a linen cloth under a stone.
With all these he had also stolen some sacred caskets, which he
had kept for a long time, but was unable to sleep, because he
was seized with great horror at his sacrilege through the distraction
of his wicked mind by the saints. Therefore, he too was lifted
on high and sent to his fathers, who were certainly the devils.
CHAPTER XVI
MEANTIME, John, the Count of Soissons-to turn my pen now to what
I promised-was a skilful general, but a lover of peace, whose
only motive was his own profit. Now the wickedness of his father
and his grandfather was always exerted for the ruin of Mother
Church. Moreover, the mother of John among other wonderful exhibitions
of her power, caused the tongue of a deacon to be cut out of his
throat and his eyes to be put out. No doubt she was emboldened
to do this by the daring of a parricide for with the help of
a certain Jew she had poisoned her own brother through greed for
his earldom. Because of that the Jew was burnt and, as for herself,
the day before the beginning of Lent, after dining exceedingly
well, she was stricken with paralysis in the night in her first
sleep and lost the use of her tongue and all power in the rest
of her body; and what was worst of all, after that she had no
understanding of the things of God and lived henceforth the life
of a pig. Also by the judgment of God her tongue was almost cut
out in the attempt to cure her. So she remained from the beginning
of Lent to the octave of Easter, when she died. Now between her
and this John and the Bishop, her sons, there was not only quarrelling
but deadly hatred of a very real kind. For in this family there
was mutual hatred between succeeding generations. At any rate,
when she was carried to her grave and whilst she was being buried,
the Count related about her what has been recorded above, adding,
" Why should I waste money on her soul, when she was unwilling
to do it herself?'
In the end, the Count, to whom it might properly have been said,
" Thy father was an Amorite and thy mother a Hittite, "
not only became as bad as his parents, but did things much worse.
To such an extent did he practise the wicked infidelity of the
Jews and heretics that he did, what is for Jews the indubitable
test of the faithful, the utterance of blasphemy about the Saviour.
How evilly he set his mouth against heaven, may be understood
from that little work which I wrote against him at the request
of Bernard the Dean. And since such words may not be uttered by
a Christian's lips, and must cause pious ears to shudder with
detestation, we suppress them. Although he praised the Jews, by
the Jews he was regarded as a madman, and whilst approving of
their religion in word, he actually practised ours.
And it so happened that at Christmas and Easter and such times
he shewed such humility that we could hardly believe he was a
pervert. On the eve of Easter he had gone to watch in the church
and had suggested to a certain cleric that he should tell him
something about the mystery of those days. And when he had explained
how the Lord had suffered and how He rose again, the Count shrilly
laughing said, " What a fable, what windy talk ! " "
If you," said the other, " regard as wind and fable
what I have said, why are you watching here? " " I am
gladly waiting," said he, " for the beautiful women
who watch with you here." And certainly although he had a
young and beautiful wife, he scorned her and was so in love with
a wrinkled old woman that, whereas he had a bed in the house of
a certain Jew, he could never be restricted to a bed, but thrust
himself and that filthy person into any foul corner or at any
rate, some cupboard, in his raging lust. Again he ordered a certain
parasite, when the lamps had been put out to go and lie with his
own wife, pretending to be himself, that he might fasten on her
a charge of adultery. But she perceiving it was not the Count
through the difference in person (for the Count was disgustingly
scabby) she hardily repelled the rascal with all the strength
she had, aided by her tirewoman. Why say more? He made no exception
of nun and sister in his abuse of women, nor did he ever spare
them the rivalry of the holy brothers.
When the Virgin Mother, Queen of all, could no longer endure the
blasphemies of this corrupt man, as he was returning from a royal
expedition, on approaching the city, there appeared a great band
of his friends, the devils, and he coming home with his hair disordered
and out of his wits, repulsed his wife and lay with that old woman
and that night fell ill of a mortal disease. And when he began
to be in great pain, he consulted the aforesaid cleric, with whom
he had kept the watch, on an examination of his water. And he
in reply spoke of his death and reproached him for his lustful
acts, to which he replied, " Do you want me to pay up to
those letchers?"-meaning the priests. " Not one farthing.
I have learnt from many wiser persons than you, that all women
ought to be in common and that this sin is of no consequence."
Thus he spoke and all that he said or did afterwards, was in delirium.
For in trying to drive away his wife standing by him, with a kick,
he inflicted such a blow on a soldier as to knock him over. Therefore
the hands of the madman were bound, that he might not tear himself
and his people to pieces, until he became weak and the devils
wrested from him his soul that was the enemy of the Virgin Mother
and her Son.
CHAPTER XVII
But since we have mentioned the heretics whom this abominable
man loved, a certain man of the country, named Clement, lived
with his brother Everard at Bussy, the next manor to Soissons.
He, as was commonly reported, was one of the heads of the heresy.
About him that foul Count used to say he had found none wiser.
But the heresy is not one that openly defends its faith, but condemned
to everlasting whispers, spreads secretly. The following is said
to be the sum of it.
They acknowledge that the rule of the Son of the Virgin has no
reality.
They annul the baptism of young children not yet of an understanding
age under godfathers and godmothers.
Moreover, they speak of God's own Word which comes into being
by some rigmarole of talk or other.
They so abominate the mystery which is enacted on our altar that
they call the mouths of all the priests the mouth of hell.
And if they sometimes receive our sacrament to hide their heresy,
they so order their diet as to eat nothing more that day.
They do not separate their cemeteries from other land as being
sacred in comparison.
They condemn marriage and propagation by intercourse.
And certainly wherever they are scattered over the Latin world,
you may see men living with women without marriage and yet calling
them wives, but not keeping to one only, but they are known to
lie men with men and women with women.
They abstain from all food which is produced by sexual generation.
Conventictula faciunt in hypogeis aut penetralibus abditis,
sexus simul indifferens, qui candelis accensis cuidam mulierculae
sub obtutu omnium, retectis, it dicitur, natibus, procumbenti
eas a tergo offerunt, hisque mox extinctis chaos undecunque conclamant,
et cum ea quae ad manum venerit prima quisque coit.
Quod si inibi femina gravidetur, partu demum in idipsum reditur.
[Note: Bland kept the entire above passage in Latin: Benton
renders it as:
They have their meetings in underground vaults or unfrequented
cellars, without distinction of sex. After they have lighted candles
some loose women lies down for all to watch, and, so it is said,
uncovers her buttocks, and they present their candles at her from
behind and as soon as the candles are put out, they shouts "Chaos"
from all sides and everyone fornicates with whatever woman comes
first.
If a woman becomes pregnant there, after the delivery the infant
is taken back to the place ]
A great fire is lighted and a child passed from hand to hand,
as they sit in a circle round it, is thrown through the flames
until he is dead. Then he is reduced to ashes and the ashes made
into bread. To each person a portion is given as a sacrament,
and once that has been received, hardly any one gives up that
heresy.
If you review the heresies described by Augustine, you will find
this like none of them so much as that of the Manichaeans. This
which first originated among the more learned classes, reached
the country population in a debased form; they priding themselves
on keeping up the apostles' manner of life esteem only the reading
of their Acts.
Two of these heretics were brought under examination by the very
famous Lord Bishop of Soissons, and when they were charged by
the Bishop with forming congregations outside the church and were
said to be heretics by their neighbours, Clement replied, "
Have ye not read, masters, where it is written in the Gospel '
Beati eritis '? " For being illiterate he thought "
eritis " meant heretics. He believed also that they were
called " heretics " as being without doubt " heritors
" of God. When, therefore, they were examined about their
belief, they gave most Christian answers, but did not deny their
meetings. But as it is the way with such to deny charges and always
in secret to draw away the hearts of the dullwitted, they
were sentenced to the ordeal of exorcised water. And as it was
being got ready, the Bishop asked me to extract from them privately
their opinions, and I, proposing to them the subject of infant
baptism, they said, " He that believeth and hath been baptised,
shall be saved." And when I perceived that a fair saying
covered a good deal of wickedness, I asked what they thought of
those who are baptised in the faith of others. And they, "
In God's name do not expect us to search so deeply." And
enumerating the separate heads, " We believe all that you
mention . " Then remembering that verse to which the Priscillianists
formerly agreed, that is, " Do not betray oaths, perjuries,
secrets," (August. On Heresies.) I said to the Bishop,
" Since the witnesses are not present who heard them expressing
such opinions, bring them to the ordeal as determined; "
for there was a certain lady whose head Clement had turned. There
was also a deacon who had heard from the mouth of the man other
wicked statements.
And so the Bishop celebrated mass and from his hand they received
the sacrament in the following terms: " Let the body and
blood of the Lord try you this day." This done, that most
pious Bishop and the Archdeacon Peter, a man of great honesty,
who had scorned the promises they had made to escape the ordeal,
proceeded to the water. The Bishop with many tears recited the
litany and then pronounced the exorcism. After that they took
oath that they had never believed or taught anything contrary
to our faith. Clement being then thrown into the tun floated on
the top like a stick. This being seen the whole church was filled
with unbounded joy. So great an assembly of both sexes had the
fame of this brought together, such as no one present remembered
ever to have seen. The other confessed his error, but being impenitent,
was thrown into prison with his convicted brother. Two others
of the manor of Durmat, proved heretics, had come to look on and
were imprisoned with them.
Meanwhile, we went on to the council of Beauvais to consult with
the bishops what ought to be done. But in the interval the faithful
people fearing weakness on the part of the clergy, ran to the
prison, seized them and having lighted a fire under them outside
the city, burnt them both to ashes. To prevent the spreading of
their cancer, God's people shewed a righteous zeal against them.
CHAPTER XVIII
At Noyons there is a parish church dedicated to the Blessed Nicasius
by Alduin, a former bishop. The relics of Nicasius had been taken
there by the people of Rheims and for a long time had rested there,
I do not mean in the church, but in that city. About five years
before this therefore, notice being given that the approaching
festival of the martyr was to be duly honoured with a holiday,
that day a poor girl living alone with her mother dared to do
some needlework . Whilst she was adjusting the work that was to
be sewn, with her hands drawing the thread over her tongue and
lips in the usual way, the knot in the thread which was quite
large, pierced the tip of her tongue like a sharp object so that
it was impossible to draw it out. For if any one tried to pluck
it out, the wretched girl was tortured with excessive pain. And
so accompanied by a crowd of people the unlucky girl went with
her mother to the bishop's church to pray for the pity of the
Queen of martyrs, but not in spoken words; for with the thread
boring a hole in her tongue and hanging from it she could hardly
speak. Why more? The mob of people, after they had in tearful
commiseration looked upon the girl in her great and continuing
pain, returned to their homes. But she that day and the night
following persevering in prayer remained in the company of her
mother. Next day after assailing the Queen of heaven and earth
with heartfelt supplication, and as Ansellus, the priest,
the sacristan of the church, told me, the mother leading and the
daughter mumbling the responses, they had rehearsed the litany
with as much accuracy as if they had been learned, the daughter
advancing to the altar of the Virgin Mother, embraced it in tears;
and quickly the thread came loose in the midst of her kisses.
To the scene of so great a mercy the clergy and people flocked
in haste magnifying God and the Virgin Mother in unending praises,
since she had proved herself the Queen of Martyrs by avenging
herself on a crime committed against a martyr, and yet, when satisfaction
was given, allowing her wrath in the end to be assuaged. And not
a little was the fame of the martyr made manifest, who by punishment
of a poor humble woman made known how great an adversary he is
against the proud adverse to him. This was related to me in the
very church where it happened, and the thread of remarkable thickness
and the knot with the blood still on it were shewn to me by the
priest. Something like it occurred in our time on the day of the
Annunciation of the Blessed Mary and is known to have been recorded
by Rathodus, Bishop of the city.
In this very church of Nogent, in which by God's will we serve,
a knight had committed a robbery in carrying off, that is, cattle
belonging to the brothers, and coming to the castle of Calviacum
he had roasted one of the oxen to be eaten by himself and his
friends. At the first mouthful of the meat that he took, he was
stricken by the power of God and in the midst of chewing both
his eyes protruded from his face and his tongue from his mouth;
and thus condemned, the man in spite of himself had to restore
the rest of his booty.
Another was trying to get for his own fishing a part of the neighbouring
stream which is called the Ailette belonging of old to the brothers
of the abbey. And when one of the brothers, whilst fishing, was
driven away from that part of the river by the knight and the
church was on that account beset with repeated orders, the man
was stricken with paralysis in some of his limbs by the powerful
Mistress. But when he ascribed this to fortune and not to divine
vengeance, as he slept, the Holy Virgin stood by him and gave
him some blows in the face not without severity. And he thereupon
waking up and being brought to his senses by the blows, came barefoot
to me and begged pardon, shewed what anger the Blessed Mary had
directed against him and gave up his wrongful claims. This one
thing I learnt, that no one was at enmity with that church, without
sustaining certain damage, if he chose to persist in it.
At Compiègne, the king's officer was at enmity with the
church of the Blessed Mary, of the Blessed Cornelius and Cyprian.
And when the clergy meeting him in the middle of the marketplace,
in the name of the great Mistress and their great patrons forbade
his doing that, he, shewing no respect to the sacred names, confounded
the faces of his petitioners by his foul curses; but in the midst
of his speech as he sat on his horse, he was thrown and in a moment
found his breeches badly fouled beneath him by a looseness of
his bowels.
And as we have begun to speak of the reverence that should be
shewn to the saints, there is a town in that district of the bishopric
of Beauvais which is called St. Just. In this a rebellion being
stirred up, and all the dregs of the populace running riot with
the townsmen in outrageous insolence, the clergy of the holy boy
and martyr, Justus, brought out the relics in the feretory to
quiet the people. And a certain man nothing more than a hanger-on,
more ready than the rest, meeting them, irreverently and wickedly
aimed a blow at that most holy feretory. But sooner than one could
say it, he fell to the ground and like that one mentioned above
became putrid with the stinking efflux from his body.
In the same district of Beauvais on a certain manor a priest held
the cure of a church. And as a countryman pursued him with excessive
hatred, he so prevailed against him as to aim at his utter destruction.
Because therefore, he could not act openly, he prepared to murder
him by poisoning. Having, therefore, cut up a toad, he put it
in an earthen jar, in which he used to keep the wine for mass.
Now vessels are made for this purpose with a long narrow neck
and swelling belly. Coming therefore, to mass, the priest celebrated
the holy mysteries with the poisoned wine. And at the end of them
he began to fall into deadly swoons, to loathe his food and to
vomit up all he ate and drank and to waste away. After he had
taken to his bed for some time, he at last managed with difficulty
to rise and going to the church, he took the vessel which he knew
to be the cause of his sickness, and breaking the neck thereof
with a knife, poured out the liquid in it on to the pavement.
And, lo, there was to be seen a mass of spawn full of tadpoles.
Knowing IIOW that his inward parts were doomed to mortify and
whilst hopelessly awaiting the fate that threatened him, he received
from some one the following advice: " If," said he,
" you wish to cast out the deadly germs that have entered
into you, ask to have dust brought to you either from the grave
of Marcellus, Bishop of Paris, or from his altar, and if you swallow
that in water, you may be confident of your immediate recovery."
He at once made all haste to do this and swallowed the dust in
great gratitude to the saint. At once he vomited up lumps of
countless reptiles with all the poisonous stuff in which they
were embedded, his life was saved and his sickness utterly left
him. It is no wonder that Marcellus, now with God, can do this,
since he, when separated by the wall of his flesh had wrought
as great miracles on similar occasions.
CHAPTER XIX
THE events, unparallelled in our times, which I am about to relate,
were told to me by a religious and truly meekspirited monk,
whose name was Geoffrey. Formerly he had been a lord of the castle
of Sambre in Burgundy and because his life was known to be quite
in agreement with the story, I think it best to give it in his
words. Now this is how the story runs. There was a young man in
the upper part of the land adjoining his own who had tied himself
to a woman, not in conjugal, that is, lawful wedlock, but had
her as his paid mistress, as Solinus calls it, that is, in unlawful
union. At long last regaining his senses, he had in mind to go
on pilgrimage to St. James of Galicia. But into the dough of that
pious intention was introduced certain leaven. For carrying the
girdle of the woman with him he made evil use of it to remind
him of her and he was unrighteously distracted in his righteous
service. On the way, there fore, the Devil finding occasion to
attack the man appeared to him in the shape of St. James and said,
" Whither are you going? " " To St. James."
Said he. " It is not good for you to go there," said
the other, " I am that St. James to whom you are hastening,
but you are taking with you something which is an insult to my
majesty. For having hitherto wallowed in the mire of the worst
fornication, you now wish to appear a penitent, and you dare to
present yourself before me as though you were offering me the
fruit of a good beginning, although you are still girded with
the belt of that foul woman of yours. " The man flushed with
shame at the charge, and believing the other was in truth the
Apostle, he said, " I know, lord, that aforetime and even
now I have done very shamefully. Tell me, prithee, what counsel
you will give to one who throws himself on your clemency."
" If you wish," said he, " to bring forth worthy
fruit of repentance, according to the shame you have wrought,
cut off that member with which you have sinned, for God's sake
and mine, and afterwards take your very life, which has been so
ill, by cutting your throat." So he spake, and withdrawing
himself from sight left the man in a spirit very evil.
Going therefore, at night to his lodging, he hastened to obey
the Devil, not the Apostle, as he supposed, who had given him
that advice. And so, whilst his companions slept, he first cut
off that member, and afterwards plunged the knife in his throat.
Hearing the shriek of the dying man and the splash of the flowing
blood, his friends awoke and bringing a light saw what had happened
to the man. In short, they were grieved to see their friend come
by so dismal an end, unwitting what counsel he had taken of the
demon. Because, therefore, they were ignorant how that mischance
had befallen him, they did not therefore, refuse him their services
in burying him; and although in such circumstances it was not
the dead man's due, they had mass celebrated for their dead fellowtraveller's
benefit. When this had been faithfully offered up before God,
it pleased God to mend the wound in his throat and through his
Apostle to restore the dead man to life. Rising up therefore,
the man, to the unspeakable amazement of all at his revival, began
to speak. And so when those present enquired what was his intention
in killing himself, he owned to the appearance of the Devil in
the name of the Apostle. Asked what sentence he had received in
the spirit in punishment of self-murder, he said, " I was
brought before the throne in the presence of Our common Lady,
the mother of God, St. James the Apostle too being there. When
it was debated before God what was to be done with me and the
Blessed Apostle, mindful of my intention, sinner as I was and
corrupt hitherto, prayed to that Blessed one in my behalf, she
out of her sweet mouth pronounced my sentence, that I, poor wretch,
should be pardoned, for that the malice of the Devil had by evil
chance under holy guise brought about my ruin. And so it was that
for my amendment in this life and for a warning to these by God's
command I returned to life." Now the old man who told me
this, said he had the tale from one who had seen the man that
came back to life. For it was further reported that a plain and
distinct scar was left on his throat, which spread the miracle
abroad, and the member that had been cut off had a kind of aperture
for the passing of water.
There is also a tale often told, but whether committed to writing
at any time, I know not, that there was a certain man, who had
changed, I believe, a life in the world for the habit of a holy
monk and gone into a monastery, and therein taken the oath to
that profession. He observing there that the rule was kept with
less strictness than he approved, obtained leave of the Abbot
and betook himself to another monastery where the discipline was
better, and there he lived with the greatest possible devotion.
Some time afterwards he fell sick and died of that sickness. Passing
from the present world he became the subject of controversy of
opposing powers in
heaven. For whereas the powers against him alleged his breach
of his first profession, the argument of the spirits of light
relying on the testimony to his good deeds, was pleaded strenuously
on the other side. And so the case was carried for hearing to
Peter, the doorkeeper of heaven, and forthwith the dispute was
referred by him to God for decision.
And when it came before Him, the Lord said, " Go ye to Richard,
the Justiciar, and take his decision for sentence. " Now
this Richard was a man of very great power through his earthly
possessions, but much more powerful in his firm adherence to right
and justice. To Richard they go and state the case and sentence
is pronounced by Richard. " Whereas," said he, "
he is charged with breaking his vow, he is certainly adjudged
guilty of manifest false swearing, nor have the devils an unjust
case, although the very righteous conduct of the man is against
them; but my decision inspired by heaven, is that he must return
to the world to amend those faults." And so he, rising out
of death into the upper world, summoned the Abbot and told him
what he had seen, confessing publicly his fault in deserting them
and breaking his oath, and returned to his first monastery. Hence
let every one be assured, who may profess to remain true to God
anywhere under whatsoever name, that he should keep the promise
made to God and his saints, for he ought not to change his monastery,
unless he is forced to do wrong by those who have no right over
him.
Since it is sometimes useful to speak of the characters of dying
men, at Laon a certain man was devoted to the practice of usury
wherever he could whose end proves that he had led a life which
deserved destruction. For when near to death, he demanded interest
from a certain poor woman, who had paid her debt, and she after
begging him by his approaching end to remit the interest, which
he obstinately refused to do, she being in straits collected all
the agreed interest except one penny. And when she begged him
to remit that only, he swore he certainly would not. To be brief,
she sought for a penny which with the greatest difficulty she
managed to find and brought it to him, as in the last conflict
between flesh and spirit the death rattle was in his throat. And
he taking it in the moment of death, placed it in his mouth, as
though it had been the viaticum, and expiring under that protection
went to the Devil. Hence his body was deservedly buried in banishment
from holy ground.
I will add what happened to a man of similar character in Artois.
He had over a long time filled his money bags with illgotten
gains. At last after heaping up mountains of gold and silver he
came to his dying hour. And, lo, the Devil appeared in the guise
of a man driving a black ox before him. Standing by the bed of
the dying man, he said, " My lord sends you this ox,"
" Go," said he to his wife, " and prepare a meal
for the man who brought the ox, but take the beast inside and
have good care of him." So he spoke and at once expired.
Meantime, however, the man was sought for to have his dinner and
fodder was brought for the ox, but neither of them could be found.
All, therefore, wondered and were afraid at what had happened
and considered that no good could come of such gifts. When the
funeral was ready and the body placed on the bier, there was a
procession of the clergy to the house to perform the usual offices
to the dead. But the devils who were celebrating the last rites
for their servant, raised such a storm in the air on their coming
that a sudden whirlwind in fine weather almost blew in the front
of the house and lifted up part of the bier placed in the midst
of it. Enough be said of these devourers of the poor.
Let no one be surprised that wicked spirits have much power at
this time to mock or to hurt men, for no doubt they do these acts
as beasts and not in the name of the Lord. Hence in the district
of Vexin not many years ago we find it came to pass that some
of the nobles of a certain place were hunting somewhere in the
district. Having come, therefore, on a badger that fled to its
hole, or rather thinking they had done so, whereas in truth it
was the Devil, they catch him in a bag. Using all their might
to carry him away and finding him far heavier than is usual with
that beast, and night coming on, as they began to take him away,
lo, from a hill near rang out a voice through the midst of the
wood. " Hearken," it said, " Harken ye ! "
And very many voices from the other side shouting in reply, "
What is it? " the voice again cried, " They are carrying
off Cadux here." And perhaps he was deservedly called Cadux
as causing many to fall. Thereupon endless troops of demons from
all quarters rush out as though to rescue him so that the whole
wood seemed to be crowded with their hosts. Throwing down, therefore,
the Devil, no badger, which they were carrying and almost driven
out of their senses they fled; and reaching their homes in a short
time they were all dead.
In the same province a countryman having taken off his hose and
shoes at the edge of a stream on returning from work had sat down
on the Saturday evening to wash his extremities. Soon from the
bottom of the water in which he was washing, the Devil fastened
his feet together. The countryman finding himself caught, cried
out to his neighbours for help and was carried to his own house
by them, where these men of a rude class used every device to
break through the fetters. Struggling in a useless round of efforts,
all they try is unavailing. For the spiritual must be dealt with
by spiritual means. At length after long and useless striving
a stranger joined their company, rushed upon the fettered man
in the sight of all of them and in a moment set him free. This
being done he quickly departed before anyone could ask who he
was. Moreover, there is a plenty of tales told of demons who eagerly
seek to gain the love of women and even their embraces, and if
I were not ashamed to do so, I could say much on that head. There
are some too who are savage in inflicting wicked cruelty and some
who are content with mockery only. Now let me turn my pen to more
cheerful topics.
CHAPTER XX
IN England, the Most Blessed Martyr, King Edmund, both aforetime
and now, has been a great miracle worked. I say nothing of his
body of a colour divine and more than human and undecayed until
now, the growth of hair and nail on which as though it were a
living man, makes us wonder. But there is this to be said, that,
great miracle as he is, he suffers himself to be seen by no one.
A certain abbot of that church in our time wished to know for
himself whether the head that had been cut off at his martyrdom,
had been reunited to the body, as was commonly reported, and so
after fasting with his chaplain, he uncovered him and saw what
I before described, learning perilously by sight and touch that
the flesh had nowhere fallen in, and he had all the appearance
of a sleeper and one at the head and the other at the foot took
off what he wore and found the body firm; but soon afterwards
they were withered by a permanent palsy of both hands.
Still another wonderful tale. The monks in a monastery had reared
a little kid. This with the playfulness of its kind wandering
here and there about the buildings and even the church, by accident
broke its leg. Limping about slowly on three legs the best way
it could in its ramblings everywhere, it chanced to enter the
church and to make its way to the feretory of the martyr. At once
as with a brute's curiosity he came under it, his leg was made
whole. What will the good Martyr do when faithfully approached
on behalf of humankind, who thus shews his natural kindness,
or, I should better say, his royal benignity, in the case of a
beast?
St. Witon, in the city of Winchester has shewn himself potent
in wonders up to the present day. For not long ago a monk who
had dreadful ulcers on both hands so that in those members he
was worse than any leper, entirely lost the use of them. The saint
appearing to him in displeasure at his absence from the night
services through this and from the general offering of praise
inquired why he was absent. Thereupon he gave as his reason the
pain and festering of his hands. " Stretch out your hands."
said he. He did so and the saint grasped them both and drew off
like gloves the whole of the scabby skin and left it smoother
than the flesh of a child.
The arm of the Blessed Martyr Arnulf, was kept in the town from
which he sprang, and this having been brought into the place by
some one, the townspeople became doubtful about it and it was
thrown into a fire to test it, but immediately leapt out of it.
Some time elapsed and then a young cousin of mine, one of the
nobles of the castle was stricken with a very serious disease.
The arm of the Blessed Martyr being laid on him, the complaint
shifted its ground at the touch and settled in another part. And
when its virulence was driven off and the touch of the arm pressed
it hard, in the end after running up and down his face and limbs,
in the parts near the throat and shoulders, the whole force of
the disease found its way out there, the skin being a little raised
like a mouse's and gathering into a ball vanished without any
pain. Because of this every year on that day he gave a sumptuous
banquet to all the clergy present at the feast, as long as he
lived, and his descendants do not cease to do so to this very
day. And a lady of great skill in worldly matters, not the wife
of my ancestor, but a friend, covered the arm bone with rich gold
and jewels.
Guise is a fortress in this district of Laon, in which also the
arm of the Blessed Arnulf is said to be. Some thieves who had
plundered the church, wishing to steal this too and laying their
hands on it, it wrested itself from their grasp and could not
be taken anywhere. The thieves being caught with the rest of their
booty, confessed this at the time when they were to be carried
to the gallows. In the gold with which the arm is adorned, there
is a spot where no jewel can be fastened securely by any skill
of the gemsetter. For as soon as it was set, it became loose,
and when the workman was changed, both the workman and his work
were useless.
We are not unaware that the martyr Leodegarius was an eminent
miracleworker and a ready helper in need. For I, when still
very little, but clearly remembering this, was living with my
mother when at Easter I was violently ill of a quotidian fever.
Now close to the town there was a church dedicated to Sts. Leodegarius
and Machutus, where my mother in humble faith supplied an oil
lamp continually burning. When therefore, I turned against almost
every kind of food, summoning two clerics, her chaplain and my
schoolmaster, she ordered that I should be taken thither in their
care. In accordance with the bad practice of ancient custom that
church came under her control. The clerics coming there begged
that a bed should be made for her and me before the altar. And,
lo, in the middle of the night the ground inside the church began
to be beaten as it were with hammers and at times the locks of
the chests to be torn off with a loud noise and sometimes the
cracking of sticks to be heard above the chests. Now the clerics
awaking through the sound, began to be afraid that the fright
would make me worse. To be brief, although they muttered low,
yet I caught the words, but was only moderately afraid because
of their companionship and the comfort of the shining lamp. Thus
passing through the night I returned safely to my mother as if
I had suffered no inconvenience, and I who had turned from the
most delicious dishes, now was eager for ordinary food and just
as ready for a game of ball.
The King of England, William the elder, had a tower built in the
church of the mighty Denys (whose dimensions, had it been finished
and still standing would have been extremely great). This work
not being methodically constructed by the architects, each day
seemed more likely to bring about its own downfall. And as Ivo,
the Abbot at that time and the monks, were afraid that the fall
of the new work might cause the destruction of the older church
(for the altar of the Blessed Edmund and of some others were there)
the following vision presented itself to the Abbot in his anxiety.
He saw a lady of very comely form standing in the midst of the
church of the Blessed Denys, who was exorcising water in the manner
of a priest. And when the Abbot wondered at the dignity of the
woman, he noticed the unusual things which she was doing; for
after the blessing of the water, she sprinkled it here and there,
and after the sprinkling she made the sign of the cross all round,
wherever she had sprinkled. Suddenly the tower fell, but harmed
no part of the church in its fall. For she who is blessed among
woman, the fruit of whose womb is blessed, had protected it with
the blessing seen in the vision of the Abbot. Falling therefore,
it buried a man walking beneath. When it was discovered that the
man was buried under all the stones, out of pity they began to
remove the pile from him. At last when the mountains of stone
and rubble had been taken away, they come to him; and they find
him, wonderful to say, safe and cheerful, as if he had been sitting
at home. For the squared stones wedging them selves together in
a straight line made for him a little room. Although therefore,
he was kept there I do not know how many days, neither hunger,
fear nor a very offensive smell of mortar did the imprisoned man
any harm.
And now with a prayer to the most excellent Mary patron of heaven
and earth, with Denys lord of all France, let me bring
my book to an end.
Bibliography
[Adapted from Benson's Self and Society in Medieval France,
242-4]
Works by Guibert [ Approximate Chronological
Order]
De virginitate,
-ed. Migne, Patrologia latina, 156, cols. 579608.
Moralia in Genesim
-ed Migne PL, cols. 19338; contains Liber quo ordine
sermo fieri debeat, cols. 2132.
Epistola de buccella Judae data et de veritate Dominici corporis
-ed Migne PL, 156, cols. 527538.
Gesta Dei per Francos,
-ed. Migne PL 156, cols. 679-838.
-ed in Recueil des historiens des croisades. Historiens
occidentaux, IV (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1879), 115263.
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autres textes, (Turnholti : Brepols, 1996)
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of Guibert de Nogent's Gesta Dei per Francos, translated
and edited by Robert Levine. (Woodbridge, Suffolk, UK ; Rochester,
NY, USA : Boydell Press, 1997)
Tractatus de Incarnatione contra Judaeos
-ed. Migne PL 156, cols. 489528.
De vita sua sive monodiarum suaruns libri tres,
-ed. Migne, 156 cols. 837962.
-ed. Georges Bourgin as Guibert de Nogent: Histoire
de sa vie (1053-1124), Collection de textes pour servir
à l'étude et à l'enseignement de l'histoire.(Paris:
Alphonse Picard, 1907) .
-New ed. and French trans. Guibert of Nogent. Autobiographie.
Edmond-Rene Labande, ed. and trans. (Paris: Belles Lettres, 1981).
-English trans: C.C. Swinton Bland, The Autobiography of Guibert,
Abbot of Nogent-sous-Coucy, (London: George Routledge: New
York: E.P. Dutton, 1925)
-English trans. John Benton, Self and Society in Medieval France:
The Memoirs of Abbot Guibert of Nogent (1064-c.1125), (New
York: Harper Torchbooks, 1970: repr. Toronto: University of Toronto
Press/Medieval Academy of America, 1984). Benson's edition is
an emendation and correction, with added notes, of Bland's.
-English trans.: A monk's confession : the memoirs of Guibert
of Nogent / trans. Paul J. Archambault, (University Park,
Pa. : Pennsylvania State University Press, c1996)
Liber de laude Sanctae Mariae
-ed. Migne PL 156, cols. 537578.
Tropologiae in Osee, Jeremiam, et Amos
-ed. Migne PL 156, cols. 337 488.
Tropologiae in Abdiam, Jonam, Mic,heam, Zachariam, Joel, Nahum,
Habacac, et Sophoniam. The introductory letter is printed
by Jean Mabillon, Annales Ordinis S. Benedicti (Paris,
170339), VI, 639 [Lucca ed., VI, 592]. The complete work is in
Paris, Bibl. nat., ms. Iat. l 7282, fols. 4099v.
De pignoribus sanctorum
-ed. Migne PL 156 cols. 607680.
-ed Opera varia, ed. R. B. C. Huygens (Corpus Christianorum,
Continuatio Mediaeualis, 127; Turnholt: Brepols, 1993).
-Unpublished English translation: Louise Catherine Nash (Sr. Mary
Edwardine), Translation of De pignoribus sanctorum of Guibert
of Nogent with Notes and Comments, [Master's Thesis, University
of Washington, 1941]
-English translation of Book I, Thomas Head, in Medieval Hagiography: An Anthology,
ed. Thomas Head (Garland Press: New York, 1998).
Secondary Works
AMORY, FREDERIC. "The Confessional Superstructure of Guibert
de Nogent's Vita," Classica et Mèdiaevalia,
XXV (1964), 224-240.
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et Historique de Clermont de l'Oise, années 1933 37
(1938), pp. 28 35. Reprinted in Bulletin religieux du diocèse
de Beauvais, 1953, pp. 45354; 1954, pp. 31~34, as "Le neuvième centenaire de Guibert de Nogent."
DUNIÉRIL, ALFRED. "Les mémoires d'un moine
au XIIe siècle." Mémoires de l'Academie
des Sciences, Inscriptions ct Belles Lettres de Toulouse, 9th
ser.. VI (1891), 122.
----- "Les 'Gesta Dei per Francos' de Guibert
de Nogent," ibid., 9th ser., VII (1895). 161178
Ferguson, C.D. "Autobiography as therapy: Guibert of Nogent,
Peter Abelard and the making of medieval autobiography". Journal of Medieval & Renaissance Studies 13 (1983):
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(+1121) in der Eucharistielehre der Frühscholastik " Theologische Qzlartalschrift, CX (929). 66-84, 279305.
Guth, Klaus, Guibert von Nogent und die hochmittelalterliche
Kritik an der Reliquienverehrung, Studien und Mitteilungen
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21 (Ausgburg: Winfired, 1970)
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works. A travers l'histoire du moyen age (Paris: 1950),
pp. 277285.
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of Abbot Guibert of Nogent." Journal of Medieval History 2 (1976), 281-303.
Kruger Steven F., "Medieval Christian (Dis)identifications:
Muslims and Jews in Guibert of Nogent", http://www.georgetown.edu/labyrinth/conf/cs95/papers/kruger.html (1995)
-----"Medieval Christian (Dis)identifications: Muslims and
Jews in Guibert of Nogent Subjects", New Literary History 28.2, Spring 1997
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Mireux, Marie-Danielle "Guibert de Nogent et la critique
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------, Geschichte der Autobiographie, III, 2 (Frankfurt
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MOLLARD, AUGUSTE. "Interprétation d'un passage du
De Vita Sua de Guibert de Nogent et correction d'une expression
fautive," Le Moyen Age, XLII (1932), 3236.
-----, "L'imitation de Quintilien dans Guibert de Nogent," ibid., XLIV (1934), 8187.
MONOD, BERNARD. Le moine Guibert et son temps (Paris, 1905),
which contains the substance of his earlier articles on Guibert.
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Nogent on The Relics of the Saints," Studies in Church
History 12 (Oxford, 1975), pp. 95-111.
SMALLEY, BERYL. "William of Middleton and Guibert de Nogent," Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale,
XVI (1949), 281291.
Spence, Sarah, Texts and the Self in the Twelfth Century,
Cambridge Studies in Medieval Literature 30, (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1997)
Blurb: "This book analyzes key twelfth-century Latin
and vernacular texts that articulate a subjective autobiographical
stance. The reader is led into a complex maze of paths, through
intellectually daunting issues such as the relation of subject
to object, self to body, body to text and text to language. The
contention is that the self forged in medieval literature could
not have come into existence without the gap between Latinity
and the vernacular and the shift in perspective in the twelfth
century toward a visual and spatial orientation. Contents: 1.
Corpus, body, text (and self); 2. Writing out the body: Abbot
Suger, De administratione; 3. Text of the body: Guibert de Nogent,
De vita sua, Abelard, Historia calamitatum; 4. Text of the self:
Guilhem IX and Jaufre Rudel, Bernart de Vantadorn, Raimbaut d'Aurenga;
5. Writing in the vernacular: Marie de France, Lais; 6. Conclusion.
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