Abbot Peter the Venerable of Cluny (r. 1122–1156) was one of the most formidable monastic leaders of the twelfth century. He defended the interests of European Christendom by composing treatises against the truth claims of Jews, Muslims, and heretical Christians. An authoritative power broker active at the highest levels of secular and religious society, Peter wrote hundreds of letters to kings and nobles, popes and bishops. As abbot, his influence extended to the dozens of monastic foundations across Europe that looked to the abbey of Cluny for inspiration and oversight. In the 1140s, Peter composed a treatise entitled Two Books Concerning Miracles, in which he recorded many instances in his time when God intervened in the affairs of humankind by working wonders for people to behold. Among these miracles, Peter related numerous ghost stories, in which tormented souls haunted the abbey of Cluny to beseech the brethren for the relief that only monastic prayer could provide.
These tales of the restless dead served several purposes for Peter the Venerable. Monastic ghost stories demonstrated clearly that his Cluniac brethren were powerful intercessors for the souls of departed Christians, even those of wicked individuals who had grown rich by preying on the resources of the abbey. But the abbot of Cluny was also writing against the teachings of a heretical Christian group known as the Petrobrusians. Among other false beliefs, these heretics had denied that monastic prayer for the dead had any efficacy to relieve the suffering of sinful souls. Peter’s ghost stories, verified by the most trustworthy witnesses, proved wrong the rival claims of the Petrobrusians, while at the same time promoting the abbey of Cluny as the most important center of intercessory prayer in all of Christendom.
Concerning those events which happened in and around Cluny.
With the help of the Lord, let us now turn from those topics we have already discussed, which pertain to the reverence of the divine sacraments and to the sincerity of confession and to other topics no less useful in so much as they apply to the edification of morals. First, I will explain, as best I can, about visions or revelations of the dead, which I have been able to learn about from different sources. In fact, these visions are said to happen frequently, especially in our day and age. For many men who are worthy in faith affirm that apparitions of the dead appear to the living and often tell them many things that have proven to be true. I believe that the telling of such events would be worthwhile to my readers, especially to those who despise the present life out of their love for the life to come and struggle to attain to it through correct faith and pious works. For it is a huge relief for them, and in these wretched times to which they submit with groans day by day it is a great consolation when they hear a story about the fatherland, from which they are banished on this pilgrimage and to which with sighs they long to return, that arouses their faith and hope more and more.
I have heard many stories concerning such events from many people. I have not retained any order of time in telling their stories because I was not able to remember it clearly from the words of those who told me or I did not care to retain it, even if I could. For what use is there to know such a thing, whether it happened before or after, so long as it corresponds truly with what took place? It is much more important to inquire into the events of the times, rather than the times of events. Indeed it seems to me fitting that we begin with local stories before proceeding to those from farther away, and for this reason let us start right away with events that we have heard to have taken place in and around the abbey of Cluny.
Cluny is the most renowned abbey in almost the entire world with respect to Christian worship, the severity of discipline, the number of monks, and the observance of every aspect of the monastic way of life; it is a unique and open refuge for sinners, through which many penalties have been lifted from the dead and a great many riches have been stored up in the heavenly kingdoms. There innumerable multitudes of men, casting from their shoulders the heavy burdens of the world, have submitted their necks to the sweet yoke of Christ. There people of every profession, authority, and rank have transformed a haughty and excessive life in the world into the humble and poor life of monks. There the venerable fathers of those churches, fleeing the hardships of ecclesiastical administration, have chosen to live a safer and more serene life, preferring to be on the bottom rather than on the top. There the tireless and unyielding struggle against spiritual wickedness earns palms of victory on a daily basis for the soldiers of Christ. As the inhabitants of this place cast down their flesh continuously in spiritual combat, it is true according to the apostle: “to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”2
From here the balsam of spiritual virtues has poured forth, the entire house of the world has been filled with the scent of the ointment, while the ardor of monastic life, which had barely cooled in this time, grew hot by the example and zeal of these men. Gaul, Germany, even Britain across the sea bears witness to this; Spain, Italy, and all of Europe acknowledge this as well: they are teeming with monasteries, among which some have been newly founded and others rebuilt from an ancient state of disrepair. There the community of monks, arrayed by God in their ranks like heavenly troops, along with other training exercises in holy virtues, apply themselves in this manner to divine praises day and night, so that it is possible to understand that this utterance by the prophet also applies to them: “Blessed are those who dwell in the house of God; Lord, they will praise you forever and ever.”3 But why do I recount some parts of the world, when their reputation reaches from our place in the utmost west all the way to the east and it does not escape notice in any corner of the Christian world? For this is the vineyard, these are the branches, which are truly the vines belonging to Christ, and pruned by the farmer, their father, they bear a great deal of fruit, according to the message of the Gospel. Concerning this vine, it is written in the Psalms: “It stretched forth its branches all the way to the sea and its shoots to the river.”4 It is understood that although this was written concerning the synagogue of the Jews taken out of Egypt and especially concerning our church in the present day, even so nothing prevents us from understanding that it concerns this Cluniac church as well, which is by no means a lowly limb in the vineyard as a whole.
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Concerning the wondrous apparition of Stephen, who was called “the White.”
It has been freeing to digress here for a little while, but since this subject does not pertain directly to our purpose, and it is not possible to explain in writing so much material briefly and while hastening on to other topics, it is necessary to put this subject on hold at present so that we may proceed as we promised to the benefits gained from the revelations of the dead.
In the first place, what I am about to say was told to me by certain individuals whose testimony I am compelled to believe as readily as my own. For their way of life and conduct demands that I place faith without a shadow of a doubt no less in what I see with my own eyes than what I hear from them. These men told me the following story. There was at Cluny a monk called Bernard Savinelle, concerning whom they say that sometimes in certain circumstances he behaved in a frivolous manner, but once he was corrected he learned the habit of regular discipline. After he had suffered the disgrace of words as well as the disgrace of blows, he bore his correction with the utmost patience and after his chastisement he displayed a mild demeanor as he hastened to whatever task was at hand.
One night while the brethren were celebrating the night vigils with praises to God, Bernard left the choir where he was singing with the others and headed to the dormitory. While he was climbing the stairs, suddenly Stephen, who is commonly called “the White,” formerly abbot of the monastery of Saint Egidius, who had died a few days before, blocked his way. Bernard did not recognize him at first sight; believing him to be someone else, he hastened toward the dormitory. But the ghost of the dead man that had appeared broke the silence with words, saying, “Where are you going? Stay and hear what I am about to say to you.” Bernard was truly stunned but also angry that this monk was breaking the rule by speaking at night and in an improper place and he expressed these words using sign language.5 But when that dead abbot, who had returned with the intention of speaking rather than remaining silent, kept on talking, Bernard was compelled by his rebellious actions to stop making signs and asked him who he was and what he wanted. The abbot said, “I am called Stephen, abbot of Saint Egidius, a sinner in many ways both before my abbacy and thereafter. For these sins I now suffer harsh penalties, from which I can be freed more quickly through the inexpressible mercy of God if someone assists me. Therefore, I pray to you that moved by my plea you might beseech the lord abbot and all of the brethren to pour forth prayers before almighty God for my freedom and to do everything that they can to release me from such great evils.” When Bernard responded that he would indeed do what the ghost asked, but feared that no one would believe his story, the dead man who was speaking added, “So that no one can have any doubt concerning the things that you will tell them, know that eight days from now you will depart from this life. After you have foretold the time of your death to them, once it has taken place your demise will prove that you spoke the truth.” Once he said this, he immediately vanished before the monk’s eyes.
And then Bernard returned from the dormitory to the church. Understandably he was greatly troubled by the news of his impending death and passed the night in contemplation of it. At dawn, he revealed what had happened to him first to the prior, then to the venerable and holy father Hugh, and finally to the great and revered community of the brethren. Afterward the story reached the ears of everyone, but as it is human nature almost always to discern different things from the same event, indeed a few believed him, but many more maintained that he was making it all up. Even so, everyone waited upon the death of this man, which the brother had announced as the judgment by which they would be free from every doubt. And behold on the very next day the one who reported this vision was struck by illness; deteriorating slowly, he neared the end of his life. Even to his last breath, he affirmed resolutely everything he had said. Within the predicted eight days, he came to a good end and thus by his death he proved that he had been a messenger of truth.
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Concerning a similar apparition of Bernard, who was called “le Gros.”
Similar to the miracle of Stephen the White, in fact almost exactly the same, was a miracle concerning Bernard le Gros, which I heard from those witnesses we mentioned above. Bernard was a man famous for his noble background and his power in this world. He owned fortifications near to the monastery of Cluny and he inflicted many evils upon this place and other neighboring churches. Then he changed his heart and decided to put an end to his evil deeds. He approached the venerable father Hugh [abbot of Cluny from 1049 to 1109] and made it known that he wished to make a pilgrimage to Rome to pray for his sins. If it was permitted for him to return, he promised that he would renounce the world and become a monk of Cluny. He reached the city of Rome, where in the presence of the glorious bodies of the highest apostles and martyrs he atoned for the crimes of his previous life with prayers and, when he had run out of alms, by whatever satisfaction he could. After he had spent forty days in this manner in the city, which is the customary amount of time given to a sinner to perform penance, he departed from Rome. On his way home, he went as far as Sutri. While he was tarrying in that city, which is quite close to Rome, a sickness that he had contracted earlier grew worse and he died. There he was cared for respectfully and buried by his traveling companions, as is permitted only while one is on pilgrimage.
A few years later, the steward of a certain villa under the jurisdiction of Cluny was making his way in the middle of the day through a forest near to the castle of Uxelles. Bernard himself had recently built this castle, from which his plunderers would ride out to seize everything they could far and wide. As I was saying, while he was making his way, the steward suddenly encountered the very same Bernard. When he saw this man sitting on a mule and dressed in new fox fur and remembered that he was dead, the steward was terrified. Then, when he calmed down, he asked if the ghost was the person he seemed to be and why he had returned. He received the following response, “You should know that I am Bernard, once the lord of this region. Everyone who resides nearby knows that I committed many evil deeds during my time, for which I am now suffering most terribly in turn. But what tortures me above all else is the construction of that castle over there, which, as you are well aware, was recently built at my command. Even though I seem to have escaped eternal damnation because near the end of my life I did penance for my evil deeds, I still need a great deal of help to free my soul. For this reason, I have been permitted to return to implore the mercy of the abbot of Cluny. I have followed his entourage for quite some time and yesterday when he spent the night at Anse I was there among his followers. I ask that you go to him now and pray earnestly that he might have mercy upon me.” And when the steward to whom the ghost was speaking asked him why he was wearing a fox-fur cloak, Bernard responded, “I bought this cloak when it was new and on the very same day that I wore it for the first time, I gave it away to a beggar. Just as it was new when I gave it, thus it always remains new and it provides an inexpressible comfort to me in my torment.”
With these words, the apparition of Bernard disappeared and the steward hastened to fulfill what he had agreed to do. He went to the blessed abbot, to whom he had been sent, and told him everything that had happened down to the last detail. Full of the spirit of charity, the abbot listened to the dead man’s request with a kind disposition and devoted many offerings and many masses as help for the soul of one struggling under the eternal judgment. It is worthwhile to believe that through these works Bernard would be freed from his hardships and find the rest of the faithful according to divine direction. For there would be no reason that this ghost, concealed in the hidden folds of the judgments of God, would be permitted to appear among the living to seek its freedom if nothing useful might result from its return. Indeed, it seems as though it would have been sent forth for no purpose unless some result followed from its journey. Moreover, the ghost would not have sought aid from the sacraments nor from the performance of holy works if he had known that these things would have been no use to him. Since he asked to be assisted by these means and these works were efficacious in providing relief for him, Bernard demonstrated that he was worthy of their help.
As for the steward to whom the apparition had first appeared, the holy abbot predicted that his death was near. For often when manifestations of the dead appear in our day in this manner, the story goes that whoever spoke to the deceased finds themselves dead not long thereafter. Motivated by his fear of the ghost and by the warning of the holy abbot, the steward immediately renounced the world and became a monk. A few days later, his life came to an end.