Twelfth Century

BY WILLIAM C. PRIME

Little is known concerning the monk Bernard, sometimes called Bernard of Morlay and sometimes Bernard of Cluny.  The former name is probably derived from the place of his origin, the latter from the fact that in the introduction to his poem ‘De Contemptu Mundi’ he describes himself as a brother of the monks of Cluny.  He lived in the twelfth century, a period of much learning in the church; and that he was himself a man of broad scholarship and brilliant abilities, the Latin poem, his only surviving work, abundantly testifies.

This poem, divided into three books, consists in all of about three thousand lines.  It is introduced by a short address in prose to Father Peter, the abbot of the monastery, in which the author describes the peculiar operations of his mind in undertaking and accomplishing his marvelous poem.  He believes and asserts, “not arrogantly, but in all humility and therefore boldly,” that he had divine aid.  “Unless the spirit of wisdom and understanding had been with me and filled me, I had never been able to construct so long a work in such a difficult metre.”

This metre is peculiar.  In technical terms each line consists of three parts:  the first part including two dactyls, the second part two dactyls, the third part one dactyl and one trochee.  The final trochee, a long and a short syllable, rhymes with the following or preceding line.  There is also a rhyme, in each line, of the second dactyl with the fourth.  This will be made plain to the ordinary reader by quoting the first two lines of the poem, divided into feet:—­

     Hora no | vissima | tempora | pessima | sunt, vigi | lemus;
     Ecce mi | naciter | imminet | arbiter | ille su | premus.

The adoption of such a metre would seem to be a clog on flexibility and force of expression.  But in this poem it is not so.  The author rejoices in absolute freedom of diction.  The rhythm and rhyme alike lend themselves to the uses, now of bitter satire and revilings, now of overpowering hope and exultant joy.

The title scarcely gives an idea of the subject-matter of the poem.  The old Benedictine, living for the time in his cell, had nevertheless known the world of his day, had lived in it and been of it.  To him it seemed an evil world, full of crimes, of moils, of deceits, of abominations; the Church seemed corrupt, venal, shameless, and Rome the centre and the soul of this accursed world.  Pondering on these conditions, the monk turned his weary gaze toward the celestial country, the country of purity and peace, and to the King on his throne, the centre and source of eternal beatitude.  The contrast, on which he dwelt for a long time, filled him on the one hand with burning indignation, on the other with entrancing visions and longings.