teaching masters from the Studium on the river’s Left Bank. They lectured on Aristotle there, Alhazen, the wonderful thinking of ancient men. Petronilla loved to tease her wits with theirs, and Eleanor herself had recently made good use of that. These blackbirds came up before the King and immediately one began to declaim their case, without even waiting for Thierry.
“Sire! We are here to beg your protection!”
Intrigued by this boldness, Eleanor sat listening to the harsh langue d’oeil, untempered by any humility or indirection. From the other side of the room, Bernard was coming, his acolytes trailing after.
Thierry sprang forward into the gap between the King and the blackbird, who then turned and began to argue with him. The King said, “What is this?”
“Let them speak,” Eleanor said. “You see that Bernard means to hear it.”
Louis’s head swiveled, his eyes seeking the angular figure of the white monk, now drawing near the dais. Apparently Bernard gave him some sign of assent, because the King turned back toward Thierry then and said, in the high-edged voice he used when he tried to be commanding, “Let them come forward. What is your issue, fellow? Why do you come before your King?”
The master, a little hot from his disputation with Thierry, drew his attention from the knight, collected himself with a tug on his sleeves, and approached the King with his head thrown back.
“Sire, we have come to ask that you protect our students from the Provost of Paris. Yesterday as I stood before my class discoursing on the Analytics, a gang of his men burst in and hauled away some of my scholars, and there was much fighting and many fled away for fear. Yet he should have no power over us, since we are clerks, and we beg your intervention, for justice’s sake, as you are the King.”
Bernard spoke out, in his true commanding voice. “What is this but foolishness? You teach quarreling. You reap the very harvest that you sow. You let men espouse dangerous novelties and encourage them in disputation. Your students are arguers and doubters, when they should be humble believers, and corrupt in their thinking they are corrupt also in their deeds, and so the base policemen come for them like the common criminals they are.”
The white monk had drawn closer as he spoke and now stood nearer to the throne than the blackbird. To Louis he said, “Let the Provost clean out the Left Bank. It has been rotten from the beginning, when the unsteady Abelard first discoursed there. They still read there by the witchfire of his false brilliance.”
Eleanor said, “On the contrary, sir, you should protect them. Who will write your charters, who will keep your records, if not people who learn their letters in these schools?” She thought, also, the more part the King took, the stronger he was in it.
Thierry had drawn back out of the confrontation. The master from the Studium faced Bernard without awe. His voice carried clearly, as effortless as Bernard’s: a schooled voice, in an easy Latin clear and everyday as French. “With respect and honor to the holy Abbot of Clairvaux, may God exalt him, let him consider that God did not give men the faculty of reason, nor the whole great cosmos to explore, to stop us from wondering and learning. We feed our faith with understanding of the Creation. It was by books that Augustine himself found his way to God.”
Bernard did not face him, but spoke almost over his shoulder, his eyes heavy-lidded. “God gave you faith to discipline your reason, but like heedless cattle you break out of your proper pastures and go grazing on thorns.”
The master stood, unperturbed. “Yet the essence of a man is his free will, as Erigena has said. And among thorns often grow the finest flowers, so the flowers of thought among the thorns of disputation.”
Bernard was turning toward him, drawn unwillingly into the combat of words. His voice lashed out. “You tread on dangerous ground, brother.
“Sire! We are here to beg your protection!”
Intrigued by this boldness, Eleanor sat listening to the harsh langue d’oeil, untempered by any humility or indirection. From the other side of the room, Bernard was coming, his acolytes trailing after.
Thierry sprang forward into the gap between the King and the blackbird, who then turned and began to argue with him. The King said, “What is this?”
“Let them speak,” Eleanor said. “You see that Bernard means to hear it.”
Louis’s head swiveled, his eyes seeking the angular figure of the white monk, now drawing near the dais. Apparently Bernard gave him some sign of assent, because the King turned back toward Thierry then and said, in the high-edged voice he used when he tried to be commanding, “Let them come forward. What is your issue, fellow? Why do you come before your King?”
The master, a little hot from his disputation with Thierry, drew his attention from the knight, collected himself with a tug on his sleeves, and approached the King with his head thrown back.
“Sire, we have come to ask that you protect our students from the Provost of Paris. Yesterday as I stood before my class discoursing on the Analytics, a gang of his men burst in and hauled away some of my scholars, and there was much fighting and many fled away for fear. Yet he should have no power over us, since we are clerks, and we beg your intervention, for justice’s sake, as you are the King.”
Bernard spoke out, in his true commanding voice. “What is this but foolishness? You teach quarreling. You reap the very harvest that you sow. You let men espouse dangerous novelties and encourage them in disputation. Your students are arguers and doubters, when they should be humble believers, and corrupt in their thinking they are corrupt also in their deeds, and so the base policemen come for them like the common criminals they are.”
The white monk had drawn closer as he spoke and now stood nearer to the throne than the blackbird. To Louis he said, “Let the Provost clean out the Left Bank. It has been rotten from the beginning, when the unsteady Abelard first discoursed there. They still read there by the witchfire of his false brilliance.”
Eleanor said, “On the contrary, sir, you should protect them. Who will write your charters, who will keep your records, if not people who learn their letters in these schools?” She thought, also, the more part the King took, the stronger he was in it.
Thierry had drawn back out of the confrontation. The master from the Studium faced Bernard without awe. His voice carried clearly, as effortless as Bernard’s: a schooled voice, in an easy Latin clear and everyday as French. “With respect and honor to the holy Abbot of Clairvaux, may God exalt him, let him consider that God did not give men the faculty of reason, nor the whole great cosmos to explore, to stop us from wondering and learning. We feed our faith with understanding of the Creation. It was by books that Augustine himself found his way to God.”
Bernard did not face him, but spoke almost over his shoulder, his eyes heavy-lidded. “God gave you faith to discipline your reason, but like heedless cattle you break out of your proper pastures and go grazing on thorns.”
The master stood, unperturbed. “Yet the essence of a man is his free will, as Erigena has said. And among thorns often grow the finest flowers, so the flowers of thought among the thorns of disputation.”
Bernard was turning toward him, drawn unwillingly into the combat of words. His voice lashed out. “You tread on dangerous ground, brother.
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