Then the pious cenobites understood that they must adopt, henceforth, the white dress, as symbol of her—that flawless lily-of-the-valley—whose servants they were, and towards whose unspotted purity they were ever to strive.[99]
In after years, when the black monks reproached the Cistercians with wearing a garment fit only for a time of joy, whilst the monastic state was one of penitence, the white monks would answer, that the religious life was not only one of penitence, but was like that of the angels, and therefore they wore white garments to show the spiritual joy of their hearts.[100] The Cistercian habit bore about it another touch of grace, derived from long and holy association. In the black scapular, worn over the white tunic, broad about the shoulders, then falling in a narrow strip to the feet, they saw the form of the Lord's cross, and thus they loved to bear it about with them, even in their sleep.[101] And notwithstanding their coarser bread, hard beds, and clothing no better than that of the peasantry, there was ever a cheerfulness about the Cistercians that comes always to him whose heart beats in sympathy with the warm heart of mother nature, whose work lay where their days were passed, not in towns, but in sequestered valleys and lonely uplands, among fruitful vineyard, meadow, and cornfield.
After a while, upon Citeaux, too, in its turn, came evil days, when one by one the monks fell away and died, until Stephen began to doubt whether the austerities of his rule were not above human strength, and to fear that God had willed the destruction of the new community. One day, when he, with his brothers, was seated at the bed-side of a dying priest, he told the sufferer of his fear, and ordered him, in Christ's Name, to return from among the dead, and reveal to him God's Will concerning the future of the Abbey.
The monk promised to do so, in so far as might be permitted him. Then he died.
Some days after the passing of that brother, Stephen, at work in the fields, gave the signal for rest. Withdrawing himself from the others, he knelt down to pray, when the dead monk, ashine with heavenly light, and seeming rather to float above the ground than to be standing upon it, appeared to him.
"Father," said he, "The Lord Christ has sent me to tell you that your way of life is good in His sight, and that the desolation and sterility of Citeaux are about to pass away. Soon your children will be saying to you, 'Make room for us; the abode is too narrow; enlarge its boundaries.' Multitudes of men will come to range themselves beneath your crook, and among them shall be many learned ones, and many a lord. Your disciples, in number as bees when they swarm, shall go hence to found new abbeys in far off lands."
Not long after this vision, one evening, in the year 1113, whilst Stephen and the remnant of his little flock were imploring God to fulfil His promises, a band of thirty persons, under the guidance of a young man, was slowly traversing the forest towards the abbey. Soon the sound of the iron knocker, clanging upon the gate, summoned the porter, whose bell announced the arrival of strangers. The new-comers entered, prostrated themselves at the feet of Stephen, and begged to be admitted into the number of his monks. They were a notable company; young lords, noble in feature and deportment, from among the greatest houses in Burgundy; older men who had shone in the councils of princes, and had worn, hitherto, only the furred mantle, or the steel hauberk, now to be exchanged for the lowly cowl of St. Benedict.
"At the head of the troops was a young man of about twenty-three years of age, of exceeding beauty. He was rather tall of stature, his neck long and delicate, his whole frame very thin like that of a man in weak health. His hair was of a light colour, and his complexion fair; but with all its pallor, there was a virgin bloom spread over the thin skin of his cheek; an angelic purity and a dove-like simplicity shone forth from his eye, which showed at once the serene chastity of his soul."[102] Such, in aspect, was Bernard, the young saint, who, before many years had passed, was to be the dominant force in the policies of western Europe.