died in 1102, almost as soon as he had reached the army of the crusaders. On his death-bed the sweet song of the Cistercian choir rung in his ears, and he desired that his body should not lie in a foreign land, but should be carried across sea and land to be buried at Citeaux. So his followers obeyed his dying request, and brought his remains back to Burgundy. In dying he gave the last proof of affection for the brethren of Citeaux, by wishing to be buried among them. He might have been buried beneath the walls of many a cathedral or abbey church, better befitting the high and puissant duke of Burgundy, but he chose to lie where his faithful monks would watch around his body, and say a prayer for his soul as they passed his tomb. Times were indeed changed with the old wood of Citeaux, which had a few years before been the habitation of wild beasts ; and now the funeral procession of a prince might be seen moving through it; and it was a strange meeting, that of the banners and coronet, and the armour of the deceased duke, with the white habit of the monks, who had renounced the world and its honours. They had given up pomp and grandeur, and now one of the highest princes in Christendom was come to lie down at their feet, that they by their intervention might assist his soul before the tribunal of Christ. Truly many men would wish to live in a king's court, but most would rather in death be with the monks. It is not known in what part of the first Church of Citeaux Duke Odo was buried ; indeed it is doubtful whether his body did not lie in the cemetery among the monks. In the magnificent Church afterwards built at Citeaux, his tomb was under the porch of the Church, in a place called the Chapel of the Dukes, where his two sons were buried with him.

To be the burial-place of the princes of the earth was not, however, enough for Citeaux; and however regular and admirable was his abbey, yet Alberic had one care which pressed upon his soul. It seemed as if the very existence of the convent was likely to pass away with the present generation, for no novices arrived to fill up the ranks of those who died. If matters did not mend, Citeaux would return again to its former possessors, wolves and wild-boars. Alberic's patience was sorely tried; it was not only that their name would perish from the earth, which would be but a light evil, but the failure of Citeaux would be a proof to the world that the monks of Molesme were right, and that St. Benedict's rule could not now be observed to the letter. It was too much for mortal man to bear, it might be said ; and God had shown His disapproval of this over-strictness, by depriving the monastery of spiritual children. They passed many a long day in expectation of an increase of numbers, but the monks who joined them were far too few to give hope of the ultimate continuance of the monastery. Alberic however persevered, feeling sure that at all events it was God's will that he should continue in his present position, and he left the future in God's hands. Stephen and he had seen worse days than this, when they were compelled to leave Molesme, and to betake themselves to the solitude of Hauz, and it might please God to reward them with the sight of an increase of their spiritual children before they died. Alberic certainly did die long before Citeaux became what it afterwards was ; but our Lord is said to have given him a supernatural intimation that his order would one day flourish beyond his expectations. The vision is mentioned by no contemporary writer, but we give it, because nothing can be said against the truth of it, in itself, and because it contains some remarkable circumstances. Considering the influence that Citeaux afterwards had upon the fortune of the Church, there is no improbability in the supposition that our blessed Lord might, in his condescension, be pleased to console the abbot, when his courage was flagging, by extraordinary

It is said, that one day, the community was surprised by the entrance of a clerk, who offered himself as a novice. The porch of the monastery at which the new-comer knocked was not an inviting one; it was not an imposing archway with a large gate, with bolts and bars; it was a poor door of wicker work, at which hung a huge iron knocker, at the sound of which a porter appeared with his usual salutation of Deo gratias, as if he would say, Thanks be to God that He has sent us a stranger to feed and entertain. This time, however, the new-comer seemed to be no stranger; he seemed to recognize the porter, though the monk could not recollect ever to have seen him before. When brought to the abbot, he appeared to know him also, as well as the prior Stephen, and all the brethren. At length he solved the mystery, by relating his history. He was a clerk, who, when a student of the schools of Lyons, saw in a vision a valley, stretched at the foot of a mountain, and on the mountain was a city of surpassing beauty, on which none could gaze without joy, as its radiant towers crowned the eminence on which it was built. The beholder felt a strange and irresistible desire to enter its gates and dwell there. Around the base of the mountain, however, was a broad river, the waters of which flowed about it, and were too deep for the traveller to ford. As he roamed about in quest of a place where he might cross it, he saw upon the bank, twelve or fourteen poor men washing their garments in the stream. Amongst them was one clad in a white garment of dazzling brightness, and his countenance and form were very different from the rest; he went about helping the poor men to wash the spots off their clothes; when he had helped one, he went to help another. The clerk went up to this august person and said, “What men are ye?” And he answered, “ These poor men are doing penance, and washing themselves from their sins; I am the Son of God, Jesus Christ, without whose aid neither they nor any one else can do good. This beautiful city which thou seest is Paradise, where I dwell; he who has washed his clothes white, that is, done penance for his sins, shall enter into it. Thou thyself hast been searching long enough for the way to enter into it, but there is no other way, but this one, which leads to it.” After these words the sleeper awoke, and pondered over the vision. Soon after he returned home from the schools, and related to the bishop of Châlons, with whom he was intimate, what he had seen in sleep. The . bishop advised him to quit the world for the cloister, and above others recommended the new monastery at Citeaux. Thither the clerk went, and he found everything unpromising enough; the place was barren and desolate, and the brethren dwelling “with the wild beasts.” The gate of the monastery did not look a whit more inviting, but what was his astonishment when he saw the porter who answered to the sound of the rude knocker; he immediately saw that he was one of the men whom he had seen washing their clothes white in the stream. On seeing the abbot and the other brethren, he observed the same thing, and he at once fell on his knees at the feet of Alberic, and begged to be received as a novice. He afterwards became a good monk, and succeeded Stephen as prior.

CHAPTER IX.

THE DEATH OF ALBERIC.

From the time of the admission of this monk, which took place in the year 1104, there is a great gap in the Cistercian annals. The greater portion of those chapters in the greater and smaller Exordium of Citeaux which relate to the abbacy of Alberic have been lost; and nothing more is heard of Stephen till the year 1109, when Alberic died. The Exordium simply mentions his death in the following few words, "Now the man of Gody Alberic, after having exercised himself in the school of Christ by the discipline of the rule, for nine years and a half, departed to the Lord, a man glorious in faith and virtue, and therefore to be blessed by God in life everlasting for his merit.” He died on the 26th of January. St. Alberic has been canonized by the veneration of the faithful, and many miracles are said to have taken place at his tomb. Certainly, if any one deserved well of the Church, it was St. Alberic. The regulations which he passed into laws may be called the first statutes of the order, and they first gave

to Citeaux a tangible form by which it was distinguished from other monasteries. He worked on in faith, without seeing the fruits of his labours, and he was called away from it when the infant community was in great perplexity. It seemed dying away as its members successively died, and bade fair not to outlast its first generation. His death was therefore a most painful trial to Stephen, who was