At the signal for matins, the monks would descend to the cloister, and there wash their hands and faces, and comb themselves, returning to the choir before the last stroke of the bell. There, whether they were sitting or standing, the feet must be in line, and neither the long sleeves, nor the skirt of the frock, must touch the ground.
With the addition of regular hours for reading and study, such, in short, was the life led by the Clunisian monk, from the day of his entry, until the tolling of bells, and the coming of the brothers with cross, candles, and incense, announced that one more devotee had gone to receive—let us hope—the reward of a life of self-sacrifice.
One might be pardoned for supposing that an existence such as this we have outlined, would have been austere enough to satisfy even the most rigorous ascetics of the time. But it was not so. To old Pierre Damien, for example, when he rested awhile at Cluny, to nurse in good company his aged back, scarred by the strokes of iron rods, the rule seemed almost voluptuous. He spoke about it to Abbot Hugh.
"If you could abstain for two days more in the week from using fat in your victuals, you, who are so perfect in other points, would, in the matter of mortification, be in no way behind the anchorites."
The wary Abbot replied with a smile:—
"Before attempting, well-beloved father, to augment our merits by augmenting our abstinence, try yourself to bear, for eight days, the burden of our rule; and then judge whether we can add aught to our austerities."
The brave old ascetic accepted the challenge, and at the end of eight days decided that things might well remain as they were.[87] The rule of Cluny was more severe than his own.