The monk who was chosen by the Benedictines of St. Denis to succeed Adam was one of the most remarkable characters of that curious age. Scholar, soldier, and politician, he had an enormous influence on the life of France during the early decades of the twelfth century. Nature intended him for a minister and a great soldier: chance made him a monk; worldly brothers made him an abbot, and St. Bernard completed the anomaly by ‘converting’ him in 1127. At the time we are speaking of he was the more active and prominent of two men whom Bernard called ‘the two calamities of the Church of France.’ He was born of poor parents, near one of the priories or dependencies of St. Denis. His talent was noticed by the monks, and his ‘vocation’ followed as a matter of course. He was studying in the monastic school when King Philip brought his son Louis to St. Denis, and the abbot sent for him, and made him companion to the royal pupil. He thus obtained a strong influence over the less gifted prince, and when Louis came to the throne in 1108, Suger became the first royal councillor. Being only a deacon in orders, there was nothing to prevent him heading the troops, directing a campaign, or giving his whole time to the affairs of the kingdom. He had proved so useful a minister that, when some of the monks of St. Denis came in great trepidation to tell the king they had chosen him for abbot, they were angrily thrust into prison. Suger himself was in Rome at the time, discharging a mission from the king, and he tells us, in his autobiography, of the perplexity the dilemma caused him. However, before he reached France, the king had concluded that an abbot could be as useful as a prior in an accommodating age. In the sequel, St. Denis became more royal, and less abbatial than ever—until 1127. St. Bernard complained that it seemed to have become the ‘war office’ and the ‘ministry of justice’ of the kingdom.
Abélard now seems to have been taken in hand by a more astute admirer, Burchard, Bishop of Meaux. They went to Paris together, and apparently did a little successful diplomacy before the arrival and consecration of Suger. The newly created abbot (he had been ordained priest the day before his consecration) refused to undo the sentence of his predecessor. He was bound by the decision of the abbey, he said; in other words, there was still a strong vindictive feeling against Abélard in the abbey, which it was not politic to ignore. It is quite impossible that Suger himself took the matter seriously.
But before Suger’s arrival Abélard and his companions had made friends at court. Whether through his pupils, many of whom were nobles, or through his family, is unknown, but Abélard for the second time found influence at court when ecclesiastical favour was denied. One of the leading councillors was Étienne de Garlande, the royal seneschal, and means were found to interest him in the case of the unfortunate monk. We have already seen that Stephen had ecclesiastical ambition in his earlier years, and had become a deacon and a canon of Étampes. But when his patron, King Philip, submitted to the Church and to a better ideal of life, Stephen concluded that the path to ecclesiastical dignities would be less smooth and easy for the ‘illiterate and unchaste,’ and he turned to secular ambition. At the time of the events we are reviewing he and Suger were the virtual rulers of France; from the ecclesiastical point of view he was the man whom St. Bernard associated with Suger as ‘a calamity of the Church.’
‘Through the mediation of certain friends’ Abélard had enlisted the interest of this powerful personage, and the court was soon known to favour his suit. There are many speculations as to the motive of the king and his councillors in intervening in the monastic quarrel. Recent German historians see in the incident an illustration of a profound policy on the part of the royal council. They think the king was then endeavouring to strengthen his authority by patronising the common people in opposition to the tyrannical and troublesome nobility. Following out a parallel policy with regard to the Church, whose nobles were equally tyrannical and troublesome, Stephen and Suger would naturally befriend the lower clergy in opposition to the prelates. Hence the royal intervention on behalf of the monk of St. Denis is associated with the intervention on the side of the peasantry a few years before.
The theory is ingenious, but hardly necessary. Abélard says that the court interfered because it did not desire any change in the free life of the royal abbey, and consequently preferred to keep him out of it. That is also ingenious, and complimentary to Abélard. But it is not a little doubtful whether anybody credited him with the smallest influence at St. Denis. We shall probably not be far from the truth if we suppose a court intrigue on the monk’s behalf which his friends did not think it necessary to communicate fully to him. Geoffrey of Chartres and other friends of his were French nobles. Many of his pupils had that golden key which would at any time give access to Étienne de Garlande.
In any case Stephen and Suger had a private discussion of the matter, and the two politicians soon found a way out of the difficulty. Abélard received an order to appear before the king and his council. The comedy—though it was no comedy for Abélard—probably took place at St. Denis. Louis the Fat presided, in robes of solemn purple, with ermine border. Étienne de Garlande and the other councillors glittered at his side. Abbot Suger and his council were there to defend the ‘honour’ of the abbey; and Brother Peter, worn with anxiety and suffering, came to make a plea for liberty. Louis bids the abbot declare what solution of the difficulty his chapter has discovered. Suger gravely explains that the honour of their abbey does not permit them to allow the fugitive monk to join any other monastery. So much to save the face of the abbey. Yet there is a middle course possible, the abbot graciously continues: Brother Peter may be permitted to live a regular life in the character of a hermit. Brother Peter expresses his satisfaction at the decision—it was precisely the arrangement he desired—and departs from the abbey with his friends, a free man once more, never again, he thinks, to fall into the power of monk or prelate.
CHAPTER IX
BACK TO CHAMPAGNE
The scene of the next act in Abélard’s dramatic career is a bright, restful valley in the heart of Champagne. It is the summer of 1122, and the limpid Arduzon rolls through enchantingly in its course towards the Seine. In the meadow beside it are two huts and a small oratory, rudely fashioned from the branches of trees and reeds from the river, and daubed over with mud. No other sign of human presence can be seen. Abélard and one companion are the only human beings to be found for miles. And even all thought of the cities of men and the sordid passions they shelter is arrested by the great forests of oak and beech which hem in the narrow horizon and guard the restfulness of the valley.