Bernard comes from ber, fountain or well, and nardus, spikenard, which, as we read in the Gloss on the Canticles, is a lowly herb, and warming, and of sweet odour. .For Bernard was warm in his fervent love, lowly in his dealings with others, a fountain in the pouring forth of doctrine, a well in the depth of his knowledge, and of sweet odour in his good renown. His life was written by William, Abbot of Saint Thierry, and by Abbot Ernaldus of Bonneval.

Bernard was born in Burgundy, at the castle of Fontaines, of very noble and devout parents. His father was Tescelin, a doughty soldier unto the world, and no less devoted to God; his mother called Aleth. She bore seven children, six sons amd one daughter, and dedicated all the sons to be monks, and the daughter to be a nun. For as soon as she had given birth to a child, she offered it to God with her own hands. Nor would she allow her children to be suckled at the breasts of other women, but imparted to them, with the maternal milk, the nature of their mother's virtue. While they were growjng, and as long as they remained in her care, she bred them for the cloister rather than for the court, giving them coarse and common foods as if they were to be sent off to the desert at any hour. And while she still bore her third son, namely Bernard, in her womb, she had a dream, presaging the things to come, in which she saw a whelp, white in colour but reddish on the back, barking in her womb. When she recounted this dream to a certain man of God, he answered with prophetic words: 'Thou wilt be the mother of a very good little dog, which will be the guardian of the house of God, and will pursue its enemies with loud barking: for he will be a peerless preacher, and will cure many with the healing grace of his tongue.'

While Bernard was still a small boy, and was ailing with grave pains of the head, a woman came to him to ease his pain with her incantations; but crying out with exceeding wrath, he repulsed her and drove her off. Nor was the mercy of God wanting to the of the child, for he straightway arose and made known that he was freed of his ail.

In the holy night of the Nativity of Our Lord, the young Bernard was awaiting the office of the morning, and asked at hour of the night Christ was born. Then appeared to him the infant Jesus, as though born again from the womb of His mother before Bernard's eyes; wherefore, as long as he lived the saint held that this was the hour of Our Lord's birth. And from time, a deeper sense and ampler discourse were given him in all that regarded this mystery; whence, at a later time, among the earliest of his works, he wrote a remarkable little book in praise of the Mother and the Son, wherein he explained the Gospel lesson the angel Gabriel was sent from God.

The ancient Fnemy, seeing the boy's salutary resolution, at his determination to chastity, and spread many snares of temptation before him. Once when he had fixed his gaze on a certain woman for some little time, he suddenly blushed for himself, and, as a stern avenger of his own default, rose up and leapt into a frigid water, remaining there until he was almost bloodless wholly cooled of the heat of fleshly desire by the grace of God.

About the same time a certain girl, egged on by the Devil, slipped naked into his bed while he was asleep. When he aware of this, placidly and silently he left to her the part of the bed where he had lain, and, turning to the other side, fell asleep. The wretched creature contained herself for some time and waited, touched him and began to stroke him, and finally, when he remained unmoved, shameless though she was she blushed, and filled with a great horror and admiration, arose and fled. And again, when he was a guest in the house of a certain matron, she was inflamed with desire at the sight of his comeliness. He had a bed laid out in a chamber apart, and she rising up night, came to him impudently and without sound. When he saw her he at once cried out: 'Robbers, thieves!' At his cry the woman fled, the household arose, the lamp was lighted, the thief was sought; but when they could find no one, all returned to their beds and slept anew. Still the wretched woman could not rest, and again arising, sought Bernard's bed: but he once more cried out: 'Robbers, thieves!' Again the thief was hunted, but the only one who knew kept his own counsel. And after being repulsed a third time in the same manner, the wanton woman desisted, overcome at at last by fear and despair. The next day, when they had set out on their journey, Bernard's companions chid him, asking why he had dreamt of thieves so many times. And he said to them: 'In good sooth have I endured the wiles of a thief this night, for my hostess strove to despoil me of the treasure of chastity, which can never be recovered!'

Reflecting therefore that 'twas unsafe to make common dwelling with the Serpent, he began to give thought to fleeing from the world, and thenceforth formed the resolution to enter the Order of the Cistercians. When this became known to his brothers, they sought by every means to dissuade him from his plan; but the Lord bestowed such grace upon him that not only did he not forego his conversion, but garnered all his brothers and many others to God in the life of religion. Yet Gerard, one of his brothers and a mighty warrior, deemed his brother's words idle, and put off ill his warnings. Then, Bernard, already afire with faith, and wondrously spurred on by the zeal of brotherly love, said: 'I know, brother mine, that suffering alone will give thee understanding!' He then put his finger to Gerard's side, and said: 'The day will come, and speedily, when a lance will pierce thy side, and will open a way to thy heart for the counsel which thou rejectest!' A few days later Gerard received a lance-thrust in his flank at the place where Bernard had placed his finger, and was captured by his enemies and chained in close keeping. And when Bernard came to him and they were not permitted to speak together, he cried loudly: 'I know, my brother Gerard, that in a little time we shall go and enter a monastery!' That same night the gyves fell from his feet, the door opened of itself, and Gerard, overjoyed, made his escape; whereupon he made known to his brother that he had charged his resolve, and wished to become a monk.

In the year 1112 of the Incarnation of Our Lord, the fifteenth from the founding of the Cistercian house, Bernard, the servant of the Lord, who was then about twenty-two years of age, entered the Cistercian Order with more than thirty companions. When Bernard was quitting his father's house with his brothers, Guy, eldest, saw his youngest brother Nivard playing with other boys in the square, and said to him: 'Ho there, brother Nivard, now all land of our heritage belongs to thee!' But the child's answer was no means childish. 'So you would possess Heaven and leave naught but the earth! That is surely not a fair divsion!' Nivard therefore dwelt for some time longer with his father, and then followed after his brothers. Once Bernard had entered the Order, he was so wholly turned to God and absorbed in the spiritual life that he ceased to use senses of his body. He lived for a year in the cell of the novices and yet did not know that it had a vaulted roof. Although he went in and out of the chapel continually, he thought that there was one window in its front wall, whereas there were three. The abbot of the Cistercians then sent some of the brothers to build the house of Clairvaux, and appointed Bernard their abbot. There for a long time he lived in exceeding poverty, and many times made his meal from the leaves of the beech tree. The servant of God denied himself sleep to a degree that surpassed human powers, being wont to complain that no time was so wasted as time spent in sleeping; and he compared sleep to death, saying that as, in the sight of God, dead men were as those asleep, so in the sight of men, sleeping men were as the dead. Moreover, if he anyone snoring rather loudly, or saw someone lying in an unseemly posture, he could scarce bear it with equanimity, and protested that such an one slept in a carnal or worldly manner. He took no pleasure in eating, but went to take food as a torture, led solely by the fear of fainting. It was always his custom, eating, to examine how much he had eaten; and if perchance he, exceeded the usual measure even a little, he did not allow the fault go unpunished. He had so quelled the disorders of the appetite that for the most part he no longer discerned divers tastes. Once when oil was put before him by an error and he drank it, he was aware of it, and did not know it until someone marvelled that his lips had oil upon them. Another time raw blood was mistakenly offered to him in place of butter, and he is known to have thereof for several days. He used to say that he tasted water only because, when he drank it, it cooled his mouth and throat.

He declared that whatever he knew of the Scriptures, he had learned through meditation in the woods and fields; and among his friends he was wont to say that he had no teachers save oaks and beech trees. Again he admitted that sometimes, while he was at prayer and meditation, the whole of the Sacred Scripture had appeared to him, spread open and explained. In his commentary on the Canticles he relates that once, preparing to speak, he was storing up in his mind certain of the thoughts which the Spirit suggested to him - not that he lacked faith in the Spirit, but that he feared to trust too far: - and as he was about to speak, a voice came to him, saying: 'As long as thou keepest that thought in mind, no other shall be given thee!' In dress, poverty pleased him always, uncleanliness tiever, for he said that it was evidence of negligence, or of inward vainglory, or of a desire.to win the admiration of men. Often on his lips, and ever in his heart, was the proverb: 'Whosoever doth what others do not, all men wonder at him.' Hence for several years he wore a hair shirt, as long as he was able to keep it secret; but as soon as it was known to others, he put it off, and resumed the common usage. When he laughed, it was as though he had to force himself to laugh rather than to restrain his laughter, and needed a spur more than a curb.

He was wont to say that there were three kinds of patience, the first to bear insulting words, the second to bear damage to one's goods, and the third to bear bodily injury; and he showed that he possessed this threefold patience by the following examples. Once when lie had written a letter to a certain bishop, admonishing him in a friendly spirit, the bishop, mightily angered thereat, wrote a most bitter reply, which began with the words. 'Health to thee, and not the spirit of blasphemy,' as though he had written wjth malice and irreverence. To this Bernard made answer: 'I do not believe that I have the spirit of blasphemy, nor that I have spoken irreverently to anyone, nor wished so to speak, especially to a prince among my people.' Another time, an abbot sent him six hundred silver marks for the building of a monastey, but the whole sum was stolen by robbers in the way. When he learned of this, his, only word was: 'Blessed be God, Who has spared us this burden! And let us not think too harshly of the thieves, for man's natural greed drove them to this deed, and moreover, the size of the sum was a very great temptation to them.'

Again, a certain canon regular came to him, and besought h earnestly to receive him as a monk. Bernard was unwilling to his request, and prevailed with him to return to his church. At this the canon said: 'Wherefore then dost thou so highly commend practice of perfection in thy books, if thou forbiddest it to one who yearns for it? Would that I might lay hands on those books, I might tear them to shreds!' He replied: 'In no one of them thou read that thou couldst not be perfect in thy cloister; for in my books I have commended a betterment of morals, and not a change of place!' At this the canon was so enraged that he rushed at Bernard, and struck him so savagely on the cheek that redness and swelling ensued. Those present were about to set upon the author of the sacrilege, when the servant of God forbade them, calling out and adjuring them in the name of Christ, that no one was touch him or to do him aught of harm. To the novices who sought to enter his monastery he used to say: 'If you are urged on by a desire for the things that are within, leave your bodies outside, which you have brought from the world! Let only the spirit enter, for the flesh profiteth nothing!'

His father, who had been left alone in his house, came to monastery, and after some time, died there in the goodness of old age. His sister, however, took a husband, and was endangered by the riches and delights of the world. Once she came to monastery to visit her brothers, splendidly furnished and with haughty retinue; but Bernard shrank from her as from a snare of Devil, set to trap souls, and refused for a time to go out to see her. And seeing that none of her brothers came forth to meet her,

And that one of them, who was porter at the door, called her a bedizened dunghill, she burst into tears, and said: 'Albeit I am a sinner such as I Christ died! For it is because I feel the guilt of my sins that I seek the counsel and conversation of the good; and if my brother despises my flesh, let not the servant of God despise my soul! Let him come and command me, and whatsoever he commands I shall do!' Hearing this promise, Bernard went out to her with his brothers; and being unable to separate her from her spouse, he first enjoined her to abandon all worldly glory, and then holding up the example of their mother for her imitation, sent her away. And she was so suddenly converted thereby that in the midst of the world she led the life of an anchoress, and lived a stranger to all secular concerns. Finally she conquered her husband by force of entreaties, and, being freed from wedlock by the bishop, entered a nunnery.

Once, being fallen sick, the man of God seemed about to breathe his last; and at that moment, being rapt in ecstasy, he saw himself before the judgement seat of God, and Satan standing opposite, pelting him with him with malicious accusations. When he had come to the end of his charges, and the saint was to speak in his own defense, fearless and unperturbed he said: 'I avow that I am nothing worth, and unable to obtain the Kingdom of Heaven by my own merits. For the rest, my Lord has won Heaven by a twofold right, namely by inheritance from His Father, and by the merit of His Passion; where of He is content with the one, and gives me the other. Therefore, by His gift, I claim Heaven as my right, and shall not be confounded!' At these words the Enemy was overborne, the meeting came to an end, and Bernard returned to himself, So great were the abstinence, the labours, and the watchings wherewith he mortified his body, that he suffered feeble health almost always, and was scarce able to follow the conventual life. And once when he fell ill of a dire sickness, and the brethren were persevering in prayer for him, he felt himself restored somewhat, and said to the assembled brothers: 'Wherefore do ye cling to me, a miserable man? You are stronger than I and have prevailed over me; but spare me, I beg of you, spare me, and let me go!' The man of God was elected bishop by several cities, notably by Genoa and Milan; but, being unwilling either to give his consent or to refuse in an unseemly manner, he said that he was not master of himself, but was destined to the service of others. But his brethren, at his own admonition, had foreseen this, and were armed with the authority of the sovereign pontiff to prevent anyone from taking away him who was their joy. Once when he was visiting the Carthusian monks, and had given them much edification in all things, there was one matter which somewhat disturbed the prior of the monastery, namely that the saddle upon which Bernard rode was of good quality, and made little show of poverty. The prior mentioned this to one of the brothers, and he in turn to the saint, who was no less astonished asked what sort of saddle it might be; for he had ridden from Clairvaux to Chartreuse, yet knew not what kind of saddle he was using.
Another time he journeyed for a whole day beside the lake of Lausanne, yet did not see it, or did not see that he saw it. And when evening came, and his companions were talking of the lake, he asked where it was. Hearing this, they were filled with wonderment.

His lowliness of heart overcame the loftiness of his name, nor could the whole world exalt him as much as he alone humbled himself. He often said that when he was besieged with honors and favors by the people, it seemed to him that another man had his place, imagining, as it were, that he dreamt; but in the company of the simple brothers, he rejoiced to find himself again, and return to his own person, where he might enjoy the friendship of the humble. He was always found either at prayer or in contemplation, or busy with reading or writing, or edifying his brethren by his words. Once when he was preaching to the people, and all received, words with pious attention, a temptation crept into his soul, and he thought: 'Now in sooth thou preachest most fairly, and all gladly heed thy words, and hold thee learned and wise!' The man of God, feeling himself beset by such a thought, paused for a moment, and began to ponder whether he should continue or make an end: but instantly he was strengthened by the help of God, and silently said to the tempter: 'Not for thee did I begin, nor for will I desist!' And unperturbed, he continued his sermon to end. A certain monk, who in the world had been a profligate and a gamester, was tempted by the Devil, and made up his mind to return to his worldly pursuits. When Saint Bernard was unable dissuade him, he asked him how he would make a living. He answered: 'Well do I know how to play at dice, and shall make living thereby!' 'If I give thee an initial sum,' said Saint Bernard, 'wilt thou come back once a year and divide the profit with me?' When the monk heard this he was overjoyed , and willingly promised to do as Bernard had said. He therefore demanded twenty sols, and went off with them. But the man of God had done this that he might be able to recall the monk, and so it befell; for the monk went and lost his all, and came back to the door in confusion. Hearing that he was there, the man of God went forth to him with joyful mien, and held his scapular spread out to receive his share of the money. But the monk said: 'No profit have I made, father, but am stripped even of our capital: but take me back in its stead,
an ve will!' And gently Bernard answered: 'It is better so, that I should have thee back, than that I should lose both thee and the money!'

Once when Bernard was riding to a certain place, he chanced to speak sadly to a peasant about the heart's fickleness in prayer. The peasant straightway thought ill of him, and said that as for himself, he prayed with firm and steady heart. In order to convince him, and to curb his rashness, Bernard therefore said to him: 'Go apart a little, and with all the attention in thy power begin the Pater Noster; and if thou art able to finish it without any wayward thought or distraction, thou shalt have the beast upon which I am mounted! But promise me on thine honour that if thou think of aught else, thou wilt not hide it from me!' Gladdened at the thought that he had already won the beast, the peasant went off boldly, recollected himself, and began to recite the prayer: but he had scarce finished the half of it when a question stole into his heart, whether he should have the saddle with the beast. Perceiving this he hastened back to the saint, and told him whereof he had thought in the midst of his prayer; and thenceforth he weened not so bravely of himself. Brother Robert, a monk in his monastery and kin to him in the world, being easily misled, due to his youth, by the persuasions of certain men, had betaken himself to Cluny. The venerable father concealed his chagrin for some time, and then determined to recall him by letter. As he was dictating the letter in the open air, and a monk was taking it in writing, a shower of rain burst forth without warning; and the monk was about to roll up the paper, when Bernard said to him: 'Thou dost the work of God; fear not to go on writing!' He therefore wrote the letter in the midst of the rain, and no drop fell thereon; for the power of charity warded it off. An incredible multitude of flies once invaded a monastery which Bernard had built, and they vexed the monks sorely. The man of God then said: 'I excommunicate the flies!' And on the morrow they were found dead, every one. Bernard had been sent to Milan by the sovereign pontiff to reconcile the people of that city with the Church, and had already turned to Pavia, when a man brought his wife to him, she being possessed of the Devil. At once the demon, speaking through the poor woman's mouth, burst out in insults against the saint, and said: 'This cater of leeks and devourer of cabbages shall not drive me from my little fool of a woman!' But the man of God sent her to the church of Saint Syrus; yet Syrus, wishing to do honor to his guest, wrought no cure upon the woman, and she was led back to Saint Bernard. Then the Devil began to babble through the woman's mouth, and said: 'Not the little Syrus, nor the little Bernard, shall cast me out!' To this the servant of God replied: 'Neither Syrus nor Bernard shall cast thee out, but the Lord Jesus Christ!' And no sooner had he begun to pray than the evil spirit said: 'How gladly would I go out of this silly old woman, for I am sorely tormented in her! How gladly would I go out, but cannot, for great Master is unwilling!' 'Who is this great Master?' the saint asked. 'Jesus of Nazareth!' the demon responded. 'Hast thou ever seen Him?' the saint asked. 'Yes!' said the Devil. 'Where hast thou seen Him?' 'In glory!' 'Wert thou then in glory?' 'Yes!' 'How then art thou departed thence?' 'Many were we to fall with Lucifer!' All these things he spoke through the woman's mouth, in a gloomy voice, in the hearing of all. Then the saint said to him: 'And wouldst thou now return to glory?' But the spirit, with a harsh laugh, replied: 'It is too late for that!' Then, at the saint's prayer, the demon went out of the woman; but as the man of God had gone away, he again entered into her. Her husband therefore ran after the saint, and told him what had befallen. Bernard then ordered him to tie about her neck a paper whereon were written the words: 'In the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ I command thee, demon, dare no more to molest this woman!' This was done, and the Devil never again dared come near her. In Aquitaine there was a woman who was tormented by a wanton incubus, who abused her for six years, and set upon her with incredible lust. It chanced that the man of God came that way, the demon rudely warned the woman lest she go to him, saying it would avail her nothing, and that after the saint's departure, he who had been her lover, would thenceforth persecute her cruelly. But she went to Saint Bernard with all confidence, told him the tale of her woe, with loud sobbing and weeping. He said to her: 'Take this my staff and place it in thy bed; and then if he can do aught, let him do it!' When therefore she lay down in her bed with the staff beside her, the demon came thither forthwith, but could not do as he was wont, nor even draw near to the bed; but he threatened her again most harshly, saying that when the saint should be gone, he would wreak dire vengeance upon her. She related this to Bernard, who thereupon called the populace together, and bade them hold lighted candles in their hands: then together with all who were present, he excommunicated the demon, and forbade him to approach this or any other woman thereafter. And in this wise the woman was entirely freed of her possession.

When the saint went as a legate to the same province, in order to reconcile the duke of Aquitaine to the Church, the duke refused absolutely to be reconciled. Then the man of God went to the altar to celebrate the Mass, while the duke, as an excommunicate, stood without the doors. And when the saint had said the Pax Domini, he laid the Body of the Lord upon the paten, and taking It with him went outside the church, with fiery countenance and flaming eyes, and assailed the count with terrible words. 'We have besought thee,' he said, 'and thou hast spurned us! Behold now there comes to thee the Son of the Virgin, He Who is the Lord of the Church which thou persecutest! Here is thy Judge, in Whose name every knee shall bow! Here is thy Judge, into Whose hands that soul of thine shall fall! Wilt thou despise Him as thou hast despised his servants? Withstand Him if thou canst!' Straightway the duke was bathed in sweat, and trembled in all his members; and he fell at the saint's feet. Bernard then touched him with his shoe, and ordered him to rise and hear the sentence of God. And the duke arose all atremble, and thenceforth did all that the holy man commanded.

The saint went into the kingdom of Germany to bring peace out of some great dissension, and the archbishop of Mainz sent a certain venerable cleric to meet him. And when the clerk said that he had been sent by the lord archbishop, the man of God responded: ' 'Twas another Lord that sent thee!' Wondering at this, the clerk affirmed that none but the archbishop had sent him. But the servant of Christ persisted: 'Thou art mistaken, my son, thou art mistaken! A greater Lord sent thee, for 'twas Christ Himself!' Seeing the saint's meaning, the clerk said: 'Thinkest thou that I would become a monk? Far be it from me! The thought has not entered my heart!' And what then? In that very journey the clerk bade the world farewell, and took the monkish habit from the saint's hands.

At one time Bernard received a soldier of high rank into his Order and after this man had followed the saint for some time, he was beset with an exceeding grave temptation. Seeing him so sad, one of the brethren asked him the reason of his sorrow. And he answered: I know, I know well, that never again shall I be happy!' The said brother carried this word to the servant of God, who, in turn prayed the more earnestly for the soldier; and he who had so saddened by his temptations became more joyful and gay than the others, by so much as before he had been more woebegone. And when the aforesaid brother reprimanded him gently for the sorrowful words that he had spoken, the monk answered: ' What though I then said that I should never be happy again, now I say that nevermore shall I be sad!'

When Saint Malachy, the bishop of Ireland, whose virtuous Bernard had written, breathed forth his soul to Christ in his monastery, and the saint was offering for him the Host of salvation, revealed Malachy's glory to him, and inspired him to change the form of the Postcommunion, so that with joyous voice he sang: Deus, qui beatum Malachium sanctorum tuorum meritis coaequasti, tribue, quaesumus, ut qui pretiosoe mortis ejus festa agimus, vitae quoque imitemur exempla: which being put in English, means: 0 God, Who hast made the blessed Malachy equal to Thy saints merit, grant, we beseech Thee, that we who celebrate his feast day may also imitate the examples of his life. And when the cantor signified to him that he had erred, he said: 'I have not erred, know whereof I speak!' Whereupon he went and kissed the bishop's sacred remains.

At the coming on of Lent many scholars came to visit the saint and he exhorted them to put away their vanities and their wantonness, at least during the holy season; but they would in no wise agree. The saint then ordered wine to be poured for them, said: 'Drink of this wine of souls!' They drank, and were suddenlv changed, so that they who had denied even a little time to God, now gave Him their whole lifetime.

At length Saint Bernard, tranquilly making ready for death, to his brethren: 'Three things I leave for your observance, which I mind me that in my own life I have observed as best I might. I have sought to give scandal to no one, and if another fell, I tried to hide his fall; I ever trusted my own mind less than the mind of others; being wronged, I never sought vengeance on the wrongdoer. Thus I leave you these three: charity, humility, and patience: these be my testament!'

And finally, after he had wrought many miracles, and had built one hundred and sixty monasteries, and had compiled a great number of books and treatises, he came to the end of his days, being about sixty-three years of age, and fell asleep in the Lord, in the arms of his brethren, in the year 1153.

After his death he manifested his glory to many. He appeared to the abbot of a certain monastery, and invited him to follow him; and when the abbot came with him, the man of God said: 'Behold we are come to Mount Libanus, and thou shalt remain here, while I ascend thither!' Being asked for what reason he wished to ascend, he replied: 'I wish to learn!' Wondering the abbot said to him: 'What hast thou to learn, father, whom all hold second to none in knowledge?' He answered: 'Here there is no knowledge, and no acquaintance of the truth; but above there is the fulness of knowledge, above is the true cognizance of all truth!' and with these words he disappeared. The abbot therefore made note of the day, and then learned that Bernard had departed from the body at that time. Moreover, by His servant God has wrought other miracles almost without number.