To Robert, His Nephew j
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[i] To Robert, His Nephew (About the Year
1 19) Robert of Chatillon was the son of Otho of Chdtillon and, probably, Diana, the younger daughter of Robert of Montbard.
He would thus be Bernard's first cousin although, because of the great disparity in their ages, he "was always known as his nephew.
When he was still a child his parents promised him to Cluny.
But later, when old enough to act on his own account, he joined the Cistercians, attracted, no doubt, by the fame of his kinsman.
After some delay owing to his extreme youth, Robert was admitted into the novitiate at Citeaux and, after the regular year of probation, made his vows as a Cistercian monk.
Whether he was professed at Citeaux and then followed St.
Bernard to Clairvaux, or whether he went with Bernard when he made the foundation, is not certain. But he was not long at Clairvaux before he began to find the austerities irksome and to compare the life there with the easier ways of Cluny. To support his unsettled state came the insidious doubt as to whether he was not bound to Cluny by the promise of his parents.
This is one of the most characteristic of Bernard's letters and it is interesting from an historical point of view as the fast shot fired in the great controversy between the congregation of Cluny and the Cistercian reform.
It is also interesting for the circumstances under which it was written.
The monk William, Bernard's secretary at this time, tells us that while
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Bernard was dictating in a secluded corner out of doors, where he could not be overheard, heavy rain began to fall. But tvhen he tried to protect the letter Bernard told him to write on for it was God's work and yet, although rain fell all round, the letter remained dry 'in imbre sine imbre\ LONG enough, perhaps too long, have I waited, dearest Robert, for the Lord that he might deign to touch your soul and mine through yours, moving you to salutary regrets for your error and me to joy for your deliverance.
But seeing myself still disappointed of my hope, I can no longer hide my sorrow, restrain my anxiety, or dissemble my grief. And so, against all the laws of justice, I who have been wounded am forced to recall him who wounded me; who have been spurned, him who spurned me; who have been smitten, him who struck the blow.
In short I must cast myself at the feet of him who should cast himself at mine.
Sorrow is not careful to count the cost: is not ashamed; does not nicely weigh the pros and cons; is not fearful for its dignity; respects no rules; it cares only that it has what it would be without, or lacks what it would have.
'But', you will say, 'I have hurt no one, spurned no one.
Rather have I, spurned and repeatedly hurt, sought only to fly my oppressor.
Who can I have hurt, if I have only avoided being hurt?
Is it not wiser to yield to the persecutor than to resist him?
To avoid him who strikes than to strike back?'
Quite so; I agree.
I am not writing to dispute with you, but to remove the grounds for dispute. To fly persecution implies no fault in him who flees but in him who persecutes.
I do not deny this.
I shall overlook the past.
I shall not ask why or how the present state of affairs came about.
I shall forget old injuries.
To act otherwise were better calculated to open than to heal wounds.
I am concerned with what lies closer to my heart.
Unhappy man that I am who have not you by me, who cannot see you, who am obliged to live without you for
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whom to die would be to live, and to live without whom is no better than death!
So I do not ask why you left me, I only grieve that you do not return; I do not blame your going away, I only blame your not coming back.
Only come and there will be peace; return and there will be satisfaction.
Return, I say, return, and I shall sing in my heart, 'My brother who was dead has come to life again; was lost and is found'.
2. No doubt it may have been my fault that you left.
I was too severe with a sensitive youth, I was too hard on a tender stripling. Hence your grumbles against me
(as I remember) while you were here; hence your ceaseless complaints about me even now that I am absent. The fault of this will not be laid at your door. I might, perhaps, excuse myself by saying that only in this way could the passions of youth have been curbed and that, at first, a strict way of life must be hard on a raw youth. I could quote Scripture to support me saying, 'Smite thy son with a rod and thou shalt deliver his soul from hell', and 'It is where he loves that the Lord bestows correction', and 'The wounds of a friend are better than the deceitful kisses of an enemy'. It may have been my fault that you left, as I have said. We will not let arguments about who is to blame delay correction of what is blameworthy. But it will surely begin to be your fault as well if you do not spare me now that I am sorry, if you do not forgive me now that I acknowledge myself to blame because, although
I have been unwise in my treatment of you, I was certainly not malicious. And if you in future distrust my wisdom, you must know that I am not the same man I was, because I do not think you are what you used to be. Having changed yourself, you will find me changed too. You may now embrace me without hesitation as a companion whom you used to fear as a master. And so if you left through my fault, as you believe and I do not deny, or through your own fault, as many believe but I do not affirm, or, as I think more prdbable, through the fault of both of us, from now on you alone will be to blame if you do not return. If you
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would be free of all blame in the matter you must return. If you acknowledge your share of the blame, I forgive you. But you too must forgive me what I acknowledge as my share. Else if you acknowledge your share and at the same time dissemb e it you will be too lenient with yourself, or if you refuse to forgive me even when I declare myself ready to make satisfaction, you will be too hard on me.
If you still refuse to come back you must seek another pretext to quiet your conscience because there will no longer be anything to fear from me. You need not fear that in future you will have any reason to fear me because even while you are not with me I have cast myself with my whole heart at your feet, moved thereto with all my affection.
I humble myself before you, I assure you of my love: can you still be afraid? Be bold and come where humility beckons you and love draws you.
Forearmed by my assurances, approach without fear. Now that I am become gentle, return to me from whom you fled when fierce. My severity frightened you away; let my tenderness draw you back. See, my son, how I long to lead you now not any more in the spirit of slavery to govern you in fear, but in the spirit of adoption whereby we cry 'Abba, Father'; you who have been the cause of so much grief to me, I shall lead not with threats but with encouragements, not by menacing but by entreating. Perhaps anyone else would try another method. And indeed who would not rather insist on your guilt and inspire you with fear; face you with your vow and propose judgement.
Who else_would not scold your disobedience and be angry at your desertion, that you should have left the coarse habit for softj^imejOLi^a.fare of roots for delicacies, in fine poverty for riches. But I know your heart. I know that you can be lead more easily by love than driven by fear. And what need is there to goad you again who have not kicked against the goad, why make you more fearful who are already timid enough, abase you more who are by nature bashful, you who are schooled by your own reason, whose own conscience is a rod, and whose natural
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f n shyness is a discipline. And if it seems wonderful to anyone! that a shy and timid boy should dare to desert both his vow and his monastery against the will of his brethren, the authority of his superior, the injunctions of the rule, let him wonder also that the sanctity of David was defrauded, the wisdom of Solomon deceived, the strength of Samson destroyed. What wonder if the Evil One should have been able to deceive a youth in a place of horror and a great wilderness who could deceive the first man when he was in the paradise of Eden. And this youth was not deceived by physical beauty like the old men of Babylon, nor by money like Giezi, nor by ambition like Julian the Apostate, but he was duped by sanctity, misled by religion, allured by the authority of age. Do you ask how?~7 4.
First there came a certain Grand Prior sent by the chief of all the priors himself. Outwardly he came in sheep's clothing, but within he was a ravening wolf. Alas! The shepherds were deceived by his semblance to a sheep and admitted him alone into the fold. The smallest sheep in the fold did not fly from this wolf, he too was deceived and thought he was a sheep. What happened then? This wolf in sheep's clothing fascinated, allured, and flattered. He preached a new Gospel. He commended feasting and condemned fasting. He called voluntary poverty wretched and poured scorn upon fasts, vigils, silence, and manual labour. On the other hand he called sloth contemplation, gluttony, talkativeness, curiosity and all intemperance he commended as discretion. 'When', he asked, 'was God pleased with our sufferings; where do the Scriptures say that we should kill ourselves; what sort of religion is it to dig the soil, clear forests, and cart muck? ' Does not Truth itself say, 'It is mercy that wins favour with me and not sacrifice'; and 'I do not wish for the death of a sinner but rather that he should turn from his ways and live'; and 'Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy'? Why did God make food if we may not eat it? Why did he give us bodies if we may not look after them? In fact
'Whose friend is he, that is his own enemy, and leaves his own
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cheer untasted? ' What healthy and sane man has ever hated his own flesh?
5. By such sophistries the too credulous boy was talked round, led astray and led off by his deceiver. He was brought to Cluny and trimmed, shaved, and washed. He was taken out of his rough, threadbare, and soiled habit, and clothed with a neat and new one. Then with what honour, triumph, and respect was he received into the community! He was favoured beyond his contemporaries; a sinner in the desires of his heart, he was praised as if he were a conquering hero returned from battle.
He was set up on high and, although a mere youth, was allocated to a position above many who were his seniors. He was befriended, flattered, and congratulated by the whole fraternity.
Everyone made merry over him as though they were victors dividing the booty. O good Jesu, what a lot of trouble was taken for the ruin of one poor little soul! Who would be so hardhearted as not to soften at the sight of it! Whose soul, be it never so detached, would not be troubled by it! And who in the midst of all this would care to consult his conscience? And how could anyone amidst such vanities recognize the truth and achieve humility?
In the meantime representations were made at Rome. The authority of the Holy See was cajoled. And to make sure that the Pope would not refuse his assent, it was suggested to him that this youth while still a child had been oblated at Cluny by 1 There was no one present to refute this nor was it his parents.
1. An oblate was a young child formally offered to a monastery by his parents.
St. Benedict lays down the conditions under which the offering must be made in the 59th chapter of his Rule.
The hand of the child is to be wrapped in the altar cloth together with the petition of the parents.
If the parents are rich they can offer land for the support of the child and retain, if they wish, the income of it for their lifetime.
Poor parents simply offered their child without any gifts. But whether rich or poor the child might not under any circumstances receive anything or have the prospect of receiving anything either from the parents or from a third person. The child thus formally offered became a member of the Community and might not return to the world.
The dangers of this system were fully realized. Two successive popes,
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I 3 anticipated that there would be. Judgement was pronounced on the case in the absence of the judged. Those who had done the injury were upheld, the plaintiffs lost their suit, the defendant was absolved without making satisfaction. And this far too indulgent sentence of absolution was confirmed by a cruel ordinance whereby the hesitating and doubtful youth was confirmed in an ill-advised stability and security. The gist of the rescript, the sum of the judgement, the whole significance of the suit was nothing more than that the robbers could keep their spoils and that those who lost thereby must keep silent. And withal a soul for whom Christ died must be lost to please Cluny.
So another profession is made, what will not be kept is vowed, what will not be performed is proposed: and since the first sin has been made void, in the second transgression is doubled, and sinning there is sin beyond measure.
7. But he will come, he will come who will judge again the misjudgements of men, who will confute what has been unlawfully vowed, who will execute judgement for them that suffer wrong, who will judge the poor with justice and reprove with equity on behalf of the meek of the earth. He will surely come who has warned us by the Prophet in the psalm, 'When I shall choose a time, I will judge righteousness'. What will he do about unjust judgements who will judge even righteousness?
It will come, I say, the day of judgement will come and then a clean heart will avail more than crafty words, and a good conscience more than a full purse. He will then be judge who can neither deceive nor be deceived by words and who cannot be bribed by Clement III and Celestine III, granted a general permission for all oblates to return to the world if they wished.
Guigo, Prior of the Chartreuse, forbade in his statutes the reception of oblates because of the dangers involved by the system.
St. Bernard contends in this letter that Robert was only promised and not formally oblated to Cluny. And in any case, he maintains, a vow made by parents on behalf of their child before he was old enough to know anything about it, could not weigh against a vow, especially for a higher perfection, made by the child when he was old enough to be responsible for his own actions.
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gifts. To your judgement seat, Lord Jesu, I appeal; I reserve my defence for your court. To you I commit my suit, Lord God of Sabaoth, who judges justly and searches the reins and the heart, who can neither deceive nor be deceived. You know who they are that seek their own ends and who they are that seek your glory. You know with what agony of heart
I waited upon the youth in his trials, how I beat upon your loving ears with my prayers for him, how for his anxieties, troubles, and vexations, I was on fire, and torn, and afflicted. And now,
I fear, it has all been in vain.
I believe that, so far as I know, for a youth already hot-blooded and insolent enough such foments were of little use to the body and such trials of glory of little avail to the mind.
And so, Lord Jesu, be you my arbiter, let my judgement come forth from your countenance.
8. Let them see and judge which has the most force: the vow a father makes on behalf of his son, or the vow a son makes on his own behalf, especially when it is a vow of something better.
Let your servant and our law-giver, Benedict, judge which is the more in order: a vow made for a child when it is too young to know anything about it, or the vow he afterwards makes for himself when he realizes and understands what he is doing, when he is of an age to speak for himself. However, there is no doubt that the boy was only promised to Cluny without any formal oblation, for the petition prescribed by the Rule was not made by his parents, nor was his hand bound in the altar cloth, and the 1 They point out the land which, offering made before witnesses. they say, was made with the child and for him. But if they received him with the land how was it they kept the land and not the child? Can it be that they prized the land more than the <djild?Jf he had^been "oblate d what was he doing in the world?
A nursling of God, why was he exposed to the maw of the wolf?
You yourself, Robert, are a witness that you entered our Order from the world and not from Cluny. You implored to be admitted, you begged and besought, but, much against your will, i. See note, p. 12.
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your entrance was put off for two years on account of your tender age. When this time had been allowed patiently to pass and without evasion, at last with prayers and (as you will remember) with many tears you besought the long awaited mercy, and were granted the admission you had sought for so long. You were tried in all patience for a year according to the Rule, living perseveringly and without complaint. After the year had passed you, of your own free will, made your profession and then, for the first time, you put off the attire of the world and were clothed in the habit of Religion.
9. You foolish boy! Who has bewitched you to break the vows which adorned your lips? Will you not be justified or condemned out of your own mouth? Why then are you so anxious about the vow your parents made and yet so regardless of your own? It is out of your own mouth and not out of the mouth of your parents that you will be judged. Of your own vow, not of theirs, will you be called to render an account. Why does anyone try to bamboozle you with an Apostolic absolution, you whose own conscience is bound by a divine sentence, 'No one putting their hand to the plough and looking back is fit for the kingdom of God'? Would they persuade you that you have not looked back who say to you, 'Well done!' My son, if sinners
' shall entice you, consent not to them. Believe not every spirit.
Be at peace with many, but let one in a thousand be your counsellor. Gird yourself, cast off your seducers, shut your ears to flatterers, search your own heart, for you know yourself best.
Listen to your conscience, examine your intentions, consider the facts. Let your conscience tell you why you left your monastery, your brethren, your own place, and myself who am related to you by blood, but even more closely by spirit. If you left so as to lead a harder, higher, and more perfect life, fear not, you have not looked back, rather you can glory with the Apostle, saying, 'Forgetting what I have left behind, intent on what lies
T '. But if it be otherwise, be ahead, I press on with the goal in view not high minded but fearful because (you must pardon my say-
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ing this) whatever you permit yourself in food, unnecessary clothes, idle words, vain and curious travel in excess of what you promised when you were with us, is without any doubt to look back, to equivocate, to apostatize.
10. And I have said this, my son, not to put you to shame, but to help you as a loving father because if you have many masters in Christ, yet you have few fathers. For, if you will allow me to say so, I begot you in Religion by word and by example.
I nourished you with milk when, while yet a child, it was all you could take. And I would have given you bread if you had waited until you grew up. But alas! how soon and how early were you weaned. Now I fear that all I had cherished with kindness, strengthened with encouragement, confirmed with prayers, is even now fading and wasting away. Sadly I weep, not for my lost labour, but for the unhappy state of my lost child. Do you prefer that another should rejoice in you who has not laboured for you? My case is the same as that of the harlot Solomon judged, whose child was stealthily taken by another who had overlain and killed her own. You too were taken from my side, cut from me. My heart cannot forget you, half of it went with you, and what remains cannot but suffer.
11. But our friends who have tried to do this thing, whose sword has pierced my side, whose teeth are spears and arrows and whose tongue is a sharp sword, for what advantage of yours have they done it, for what necessity? If I have in any way offended them (and I am not conscious of having done so) they have certainly paid me back in full.
I would not wonder if I have received more than my share of retaliation, if indeed they have suffered anything like what I suffer now from them. It is not a bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh that they have taken, but it is the joy out of my heart, the fruit of my spirit, the crown of my hopes, and (so it seems to me) the half of my soul. Why have they done this thing? Perhaps they were sorry for you?
Perhaps they feared that because I was like a blind man leading the blind, we would both fall into the ditch. So they took you
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under their leadership. Hard necessity! Grievous charity! So careful of your good that it must strike at mine. Is it not possible that you should be saved except at my cost? Ah! would that these men might save you apart from me. Would that if I die you, at least, may live! But how can this be? Does sanation rest rather^ri_so£t-rakrient and high living than in frugal fare and moderate clothing?
If warm and comfortable furs, if fine and precious cloth, if long sleeves and ample hoods, if dainty coverlets and soft woollen shirts make a saint, why do
I delay and not follow you at once? But these thin^ar^comit)TOfoTTfreweak, not the arms of fighting men. They who wear soft raiment are in kings' houses. Wine and white bread, honey-wine and pittances, benefit the body not the soul. The soul is not fattened out of frying pans! Many monks in Egypt served God for a long time without fish. Pepper, ginger, cummin, sage, and all the thousand other spices may please the palate, but they inflame lust. And would you make my safety depend on such things? Will you spend your youth safely among them? Salt with hunger is seasoning enough for a man living soberly and wisely. If we eat before we are hungry, then we must concoct mixtures with more and more I know not what far-fetched flavours to arouse our greed and stimulate our flagging appetites.
12/ But what, you say, is to be done if one cannot live otherwise? Good.
I know you are not strong, that you would now find it difficult to support a harder way of life. But what if you
» * can act so as to make yourself able to do so? I will tell you how C ? it could be done. Arouse yourself,_gird_^pur loins, put aside v idleness, grasp the nettle, and do some hard work. If you act
^ £ s " thus yoiTwill soon frrioT that you only need to eat what will satisfy your hunger, not what will make your mouth water.
Hard_gxercise will restore the flavour to food that idleness has taken away. Much that you would refuse to eat when you had nothing to do, you will be glad of after hard work. Idleness makes one dainty, hard work makes one hungry. It is wonder- > ful how work can make food taste sweet which idleness finds
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insipid. Vegetables, beans, roots, and bread and water may be poor fare for one living at his ease, but hard work soon makes them taste delicious. You have become unaccustomed to our clothes and now you dread them as too cold in winter and too hot in summer. But have you not read, 'They that fear the frost, the snow shall fall upon them'? You fear our vigils, fasts, and manual labour, but they seem nothing to anyone who considers the flames of hell. The thought of the outer darkness will soon reconcile anyone to wild solitudes. Silence does not displease when it is considered how we shall have to give an account of every idle word. With the picture before our eyes of that weeping and gnashing of teeth the difference between a rush mat and a feather bed seems small enough. If we spend well all the night enjoined by the Rule in psalmody, it will be a hard bed on which we cannot sleep. If we labour with our hands as much during the day as we are professed to do, rough indeed will be the fare we cannot eat.
1 3.
Arise, soldier of Christ, I say arise! Shake off the dust and return to the battle. You will fight more valiantly after your flight, and you will conquer more gloriously. There are many soldiers of Christ who have begun valiantly, stood their ground well, and finished by conquering, but few who have returned to the battle after they had fled, thrown themselves once more into the thick of the danger from which they had escaped, and put to flight the foe from whom they had run. A thing is the more precious for being rare, so I rejoice that you can be one of those who are the more glorious for being so scarce. But if you are still fearful, I ask you why you should be afraid where there is no cause for fear, instead of where you have every reason to tremble. Do you think that because you have forsaken the front line the enemy has forsaken you? Far from it. He will follow you in flight more readily than he would fight you when striking back. He attacks you more willingly from behind than he would strive with you face to face. Can you sleep unarmed without anxiety in the morning hours when it was at that time
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iq that Christ rose from the dead? Do you not know that unarmed you are both more fearful and less to be feared? A multitude of armed men surround the house, and can you still sleep? Already they are scaling the ramparts, swarming over the barriers, pouring in at the rear. Would you be safer alone or with others?
Naked in bed or armed in camp? Get up, arm yourself, and fly to your fellow soldiers whom you have forsaken by running away. Let the fear that drove you away also bring you back. Is it the weight and discomfort of arms that you shun, feeble soldier? r Believe me when an enemy is at hand and darts begin flying a shield seems none too heavy, ond a helmet and corselet are not noticed. Everything seems hard at first to someone coming suddenly from darkness into light, from leisure to labour. But when you have got away from your former habits you will soon get used to the labour. Practice soon makes perfect. What seemed difficult at first presently becomes quite easy. Even the bravest soldiers are apt to tremble when they first hear the bugle summon to battle, but after they have closed with the enemy hope of victory and fear of defeat soon inspires courage. Surrounded by a company of single-hearted brethren, what have you to fear? What have you to fear at whose side angels stand and whom Christ leads into battle encouraging his friends with the words, 'Fear not, I have overcome the world'. If Christ is with us, who is against us? You can fight with confidence where you are sure of victory. With Christ and for Christ victory is certain. Not wounds, nor falls, nor bruises, nor (were it possible) can a thousand deaths rob us of victory, if only we do not forsake the fight. Only by desertion can we be defeated. We can lose the victory by flight but not by death. Happy are you if you die in battle for after death you will be crowned. But woe to you if by forsaking the battle, you forfeit at once both the victory and the crown. May Christ save you from this, dear son, for at the last judgement you will incur a greater penalty on account of this letter of mine if, when you have read it, you do not take its lesson to heart.