Saint William of Aquitaine

The disorder of this vice paved the way for more execrable crimes, for he unleashed his rage against the sanctuary of God, striving, so to speak, to divide the tunic of Jesus Christ which the soldiers left whole, and to tear to pieces the Church, which is always one, without being able to be divided. The troubles of that time served his pernicious design well: after the death of Pope Honorius II, a dangerous schism arose in the Church. Peter of Leon, through the malice of some, unjustly usurped the Apostolic See and had himself named Anacletus, against Pope Innocent II, who was elected by all just and canonical means. Innocent's party had justice and equity on its side, and that of Anacletus had the violence and temerity of the lords; so much so that Innocent was forced to yield to force and take refuge in France. He assembled a council in the city of Etampes, through the vigilance and wisdom of Saint Bernard, wisdom authorized by the holiness of h saint Bernard Abbot of Clairvaux and spiritual master of Raoul. is life: the prelates declared that the election of Innocent was canonical, and that of Anacletus contrary to divine and human laws. To this conclusion, which was regarded as a judgment from heaven, submitted the King of France, Louis VI, called the Fat, the King of England, and with them almost all of Christendom. Only Gerard, Bishop of Angoulême, and the Duke of Aquitaine remained obstinate, and, protesting against the council, appealed to the antipope. Innocent gently remonstrated with them on the justice of his cause, and sent deputies to them to bring them back to their duty through the path of gentleness, but they took no account of it. That is why the true Pope, seeing that gentle remedies were of no avail, took up the sword of anathema and cut them off from the number of the faithful. The Duke was so irritated by this that he published an edict throughout his lands in favor of Anacletus, imposing very severe penalties on all those who refused to recognize him as pope; he banished the bishops who followed the party of Innocent, and seized their goods; and, with his own hand, as executor of justice in his own cause, he removed the Bishop of Poitiers, also named William, and surnamed Adelin, from his see, and drove him from the city.

To remedy these disorders and bring this Duke to reason, the Pope sent Saint Bernard with Josselin, or Gosselin, Bishop of Soissons, and gave them the status of legates in Guyenne. The Saint found the Duke very obstinate and very difficult to approach: which obliged him to withdraw to a monastery of his Order; but, after he had remained there for some time, the Duke visited him and spent seven hours in conversation with him, during which Saint Bernard spoke to him only of the uncertainty and brevity of this life, of the vanity of the world's grandeurs, of the punishment of the wicked, and of the reward of the good.

But the fruit was not yet ripe: the Duke listened neither to grace nor to reason; thus, far from profiting from the words of Saint Bernard, he became more embittered against him, protesting that if he did not leave this place, where he believed himself to be in safety, he would have him put to death. The holy abbot was touched by this bad mood of the Duke, and even more by his proceedings, because he was naming new bishops from his party, and placing them in the stead of those he had driven out; which made the successful outcome of the affair doubtful. The Pope, being warned of this, joined to the other legates Godefroi, Bishop of Chartres, and several other prelates famous for their doctrine and holiness. The Duke, having received the news, contrary to general expectation, set a day to meet at Parthenay, where, after several conferences, he consented to abandon Anaclet, to obey Innocent, provided that the bishops he had named were maintained in their sees, because, having annexed most of the ecclesiastical goods to his domain, he had no desire to restore what he had thus usurped.

As they despaired of gainin g anything fr saint Bernard Abbot of Clairvaux and spiritual master of Raoul. om him, Saint Bernard said that there was no need for so many parleys, but that it was necessary to have recourse to God, who takes pleasure in showing His power when human power is at an end. The whole assembly entered the church, except for the Duke and his partisans, because they were excommunicated; and Saint Bernard presented himself at the altar to offer to God the august sacrifice of His Son, for whose interests they were assembled, since the matter concerned the Church, His spouse. After the consecration, the holy abbot took the body of Jesus Christ on the paten, and, leaving the sanctuary, he advanced toward the door of the church with a face full of zeal, eyes sparkling with charity, and a tone of voice that inspired terror; and, holding thus in his hands this precious pledge of our redemption, he spoke to the Duke in this manner: "We have prayed to you and you have despised us; all these servants of God have besought you, and you have taken no account of them: behold the Son of the Virgin, the Head and the Lord of the Church that you persecute, who comes before you; behold your Judge, and your soul will soon pass through His hands; let us see if you will value Him, or if you will turn your back on Him as you did on us."

The Duke, unable to bear the brilliance of Saint Bernard's voice, and even less the presence of the living God, was seized with such terror that he fell to the ground, and, foaming like a madman, he could not say a single word; he was raised by his officers, but he fell back as many times, until Saint Bernard had touched him with his foot, and had commanded him to rise and to state his intentions aloud. At that moment, the hand of the Almighty wrought such a change in the hardened heart of William that, having rendered him from a child of rebellion a son of obedience, he promised, in the presence of the whole company, to renounce Anaclet, to recognize Innocent as the true and legitimate Pope, to restore the bishops to their sees, and to return their goods; as proof of his obedience, he gave the kiss of peace to the Bishop of Poitiers, and employed for his reinstatement the same hand that had served him to drive him from his palace. As for Anaclet, he was carried off some time later by a sudden death, as was also the wretched Gerard of Angoulême, who broke his neck falling from his horse.

The legation having finally had such a happy success, Saint Bernard returned to Clairvaux; and as the Duke, for having left the schism, had not entirely abandoned his debaucheries, he began to pray for his conversion, adding to his prayers those of the religious, and obtained from the mercy of God what he asked, for the Duke felt touched inwardly, and, remembering the remonstrances that Saint Bernard had made to him in that seven-hour interview, he became entirely different, and lost in a moment the desire for the liberties that had made him love life. His mind was occupied only with holy thoughts, and he often pronounced these words from the depths of his heart: "Enter not, O Lord, into judgment with your servant, for no man shall ever be justified in your sight."

William, thinking only of the salvation of his soul and the pardon of the offenses with which it was burdened, was informed that there was a hermit in a forest near Poitiers whose life was very exemplary; he resolved to go see him and take his counsel on what he had to do to repair the disorders of his past life. This holy personage, who was not instructed in his solitude of the news of the century, knew nothing of the change that had come over his lord; when he learned of his arrival, he imagined that after having persecuted the bishops of the cities, he had come to the desert to tyrannize the hermits; he rebuffed him at first and reproached him for his wicked life; but, after having seen the abundance of his tears and the protestations he made to amend himself, he opened the door to him and spoke to him for some time on the necessity of doing penance. As William desired to know the means, the hermit, not believing himself enlightened enough for that, sent him to another more learned and more capable than himself. The latter received him with charity, congratulating him on his conversion, and assuring him of the divine mercy, although it had been infinitely offended by all his impurities. Then he advised him to think no more of anything but heaven, to abandon his temporal states so as to lead only a crucified life.

This prince, for whom the whole Church had shed tears as for a lost child, and whom she had held in execution as the sworn enemy of her peace, returned resolved to this exemplary change, which caused so much joy to the angels and so much consolation to the faithful. He wished, nevertheless, to proceed without noise in this holy enterprise, so as not to be thwarted by his relatives or diverted by his kin, who, in similar circumstances, are not the least of enemies. He put his public and private affairs in order, and made his will, by which he left his two daughters under the protection of the King of France, destining his eldest, named Eleanor, to Prince Louis, son of the same king, and assigning to her as her marriage dowry Guyenne and Poitou. He also made many pious bequests to several monasteries, and distributed his finances to the poor; finally, he took his rings and jewels to make the same use of them. Having thus settled all things, he slipped away secretly from his court, and went to see that holy hermit again without being followed by anyone. Being met in this poor attire by some lords, they judged ill of him and his design, and gave him a thousand imprecations; but God, who penetrates into the depths of souls, filled him with a thousand blessings for this curse.

When he had arrived, the hermit spoke to him in this way: "You have not forgotten the crimes you have committed, how much blood you have shed, into what incests and what adulteries you have plunged yourself, how many murders and thefts have been committed under your name in all your states. God is merciful, it is true, and he holds out his arms to those who return to him; but the penance must be in proportion to the greatness and the multitude of the sins, and one must, without flattering oneself, strive to make satisfaction for them. It is much that after so many abominations God shows himself favorable to the sinner, and that he does not wish to refuse him his grace. Do not, therefore, find strange the penance that I wish to enjoin upon you; it is suitable to the quality of your offenses: to expiate all the crimes you have committed through the movements of your impurity, you will wear a hairshirt and you will fast for the rest of your days. For the thefts and brigandage of your soldiers, you will sell your jewels and give the money to the poor, without reserving for yourself anything other than divine Providence; and for the human blood that has been cruelly shed by your violence, there is in this desert an armorer who will make armor to the measure of your body; and instead of wearing it as before over your clothes, you will wear it against your flesh, covered only by a hairshirt."

This penitent, seized with extreme sorrow for the enormity of his sins, immediately stripped off his clothes, took a rough hairshirt, put the helmet on his head, donned the cuirass, and bound himself all around with ten chains. The armorer riveted the nails to which they were attached so skillfully that he could not remove them, and the hermit commanded him to go in this att ire to throw hi pape Eugène III Pope who transferred the relics of Saint Vannes in 1147. mself at the feet of Pope Eugene III (Innocent having died shortly before), in order to be absolved of his crimes and of his excommunication, which had not yet been lifted.

The horror of his sins and the fear of being overtaken by a sudden death weighed so heavily upon his heart that he went immediately to Pope Eugene, who was in Reims; and there, throwing himself at his feet, he asked him, with profound humility, to be absolved of all his crimes. Eugene, seeing him in this state, could not believe that this was the formidable Duke of Aquitaine, but rather an impudent man who was humbling himself in appearance to gain money. He rebuffed him at first and treated him very harshly; God inspired this severity in the head of the Church in order to better test the fidelity of his new servant. The Duke withdrew, beating his breast, crying for mercy, and publicly confessing his sins, his murders, his three-year incest, his disobedience, and his rebellion against the Church, but with such tears and sighs that all those present, instead of being scandalized, were edified. He presented himself a second time to the Pope, but His Holiness would not receive him until he was assured that he was truly in repentance, until he had heard his sobs, seen the tears that flowed from his eyes, and learned that his bed was the pavement and that he wore a cuirass nailed to his body—these marks of contrition not being easily found in a dissembling soul. Then the Pope addressed a brief to the Patriarch of Jerusalem, with the power to fully absolve this penitent from the excommunication of his crimes.

The Duke, more satisfied than if he had had his head crowned with all the crowns of the universe, departed immediately from Reims and set out for Italy; at the first seaport, having found a ship just in time, he embarked and arrived in a few days in Jerusalem; he then went to prostrate himself at t he feet o Jérusalem Holy city where the Cross was lost and subsequently recovered. f the Patriarch and presented to him, with an abundance of tears and sobs, the Pope's brief, begging him to be willing to absolve him. The Patriarch, seeing his great penance, the sorrow of his heart, the long journey he had made, the pleasures and honors he had left behind, and knowing that he was the Duke of Aquitaine, lifted the excommunication and gave him a general absolution for all his crimes. This prelate would have liked to keep him in his palace, because his father had once served the late Duke of Aquitaine; but this penitent prince thanked him with great humility, contenting himself with a hole in a wall that resembled a leper's hut: he remained there for nine years, with no other food than black bread and pure water. He had no other clothing than his cuirass; the hair shirt served as his shirt, the earth as his bed, a stone as his pillow, and the roof as his covering. His skin was flayed and his flesh all bruised because of the armor he never took off; but his fervor did not slacken in the midst of these austerities, and his spirit became even more vigorous. His eyes opened only to look at heaven; he beat his breast, wept continuously, and spent all his nights in prayer, saying to those who were surprised by it that the servant of God must pray without ceasing, occupy himself with good works, and eat and drink only by measure, even if it were only water. Finally, he was not ashamed to confess his sins publicly and to protest that the sun, since the creation of the ages, had not seen a sinner like him.

Meanwhile, his absence caused his household people distress: they searched for him everywhere, and having learned that he had taken the road to Jerusalem, they embarked immediately. Having found him in that poor hut, they could not at first resolve to speak to him because of the pitiful state in which they saw him; nevertheless, they finally did so and endeavored to persuade him to return and leave his rigorous austerities, representing to him that he would earn more at his court, where he would maintain his people in peace and make fine ordinances, than in this solitude, and that his rank obliged him to work for the public utility rather than for his own private interest. The Saint closed his ears to their words as to the hissing of a serpent, knowing well that they were showing the bait and hiding the sting, and that they were covering with a specious pretext the evident dangers to which the princes of the world are exposed, and from which they escape only with difficulty. They, therefore, seeing that they could not bring him back through gentleness nor win him over with their reasons, resolved to take him away by force; but this design having come to the knowledge of the Saint, he withdrew into the deserts; after having remained there for some months, he crossed the sea again to return to Italy and finally landed on the borders of the lordship of Lucca.

At that same time, the people of Lucca were at war against several of their neighbors; and when this new pilgrim arrived in their lands, they had for some days been laying siege to a castle which they could not master. Duke William, whose martial temperament was not yet extinguished, felt moved by an object so agreeable to his memory: having relaxed his austerities somewhat, he then abandoned them entirely, broke the chains with which he was girded, stripped off the armor that was as if glued to his body, and, taking the clothes that the occasion presented to him, he came to Lucca, addressed the leaders of the State, and, offering them his service for the war, he gave them his word to put into their power, within twenty-four hours, the castle they were besieging. O mortal resolutions, how light you are! O human constancy, how inconstant you are! To what does this penitent pay heed, and where does the heart of man turn when God abandons it? But Our Lord did not lead him this far to lose him, nor so that he might serve as a trophy for the demon.

The people of Lucca, judging by his stature and his bearing, but even more by his word, what he was in fact, accepted his offer and gave him command of the army. But, as he was preparing to execute what he had promised, and as he was taking up arms to set out on campaign at the head of the army, he became blind, and begged someone to give him a hand to walk, because he could no longer see. This happened in the presence of the captains, who did not know what to think of such a strange accident: but he recognized well that it was a blow from the powerful hand of God, and a guidance of His holy Providence, which wished to afflict him without losing him, and, by this bodily blindness, to restore to him the light of the soul. He prostrated himself publicly on the ground, and, all bathed in tears, he confessed his sin and resumed his first fervor. He left Lucca after having recovered his sight and embarked to return to Jerusalem, resolved to expiate the rest of his crimes. Being at sea, he was captured by pirates, from whom he suffered a thousand evils, and who, without doubt, would not have spared his life, because he was a Christian, if God had not taken him under His protection, and had not provided him the means to escape from their hands as soon as they had put him ashore. Seeing himself at liberty, he went back to sea to go to Galicia, to visit the relics of the apostle Saint James; after which he returned to Italy, and hid himself in the forest of Livania, which was but a retreat for wild animals and a lair for venomous reptiles. It was in this place that he began his penance again, resolved to continue it, despite all the attacks of the demons, who employed a thousand artifices to terrify him: the forest sometimes seemed to tremble at the horrible cries and frightful howls of these spirits of hell; but, by the favor of heaven, he was without fear in the midst of so many subjects of dread, and enjoyed, amidst these storms, a great tranquility, even provoking his enemies to combat. A demon appeared to him in the form of the duke, his father, and commanded him to leave the desert, assuring him that his crimes were forgiven, and that it was the will of God. William soon perceived this artifice, and protested that he would redouble his penance, since it caused them so much spite: he put into it an invincible courage and tormented his body so cruelly that it seemed either not to be his own, or to be made of bronze.

Once, the door of his cell was broken in under the effort of his enemies who wounded him in such a way that he remained as if dead, and he was in danger of his life, because the place being very solitary, there was no appearance of human help. But the most holy Virgin, whose favor he had implored during the combat, appeared to him, followed by two other saints, shining like a sun; and, gently touching his wounds, she restored his health and gave him a new courage to persevere in his resistance against the enemies of his salvation.

However, as the report of his holiness spread throughout the country, many came to him to place themselves under his guidance: this led him to undertake the restoration of the Order of Hermits, which had entirely fallen from regular observance. He ordained that those who were received into it would take a vow of obedience to a superior, would conduct themselves by his counsel, and would undertake nothing without him. God gave His blessing to this design; so that this Order spread into many provinces of France, Saxony, and Bohemia, and the Church received great service from it.

His actions preached only mortification, and his discourses revolved only around penance; he often said to his religious: "That many souls, who had formerly made profession of religion, were burning in hell and sighing for the hairshirt of Saint Jerome, for the tears of Arsenius, for the bed of Eulalius, for the nakedness of Saint Paul, for the food of Elisha, and for the harshest austerities; but that these desires were of no use to them, because they had not put them into execution during their lifetime."

He governed this community in peace for some time; but thereafter, he was tormented by his own disciples, divine Providence permitting it so that his life might be a continual martyrdom: he was even forced, by their calumnies, to leave the desert, from which he could not have been driven by all the evil spirits. He therefore withdrew to a mountain named Pérée, but he left it immediately because of the shepherds who brought their flocks there and disturbed his solitude. From there he descended into the town of Castiglione-Aretino, in Tuscany, where he miraculously healed his host's wife, and when he saw that the town, because of this healing, began to regard him and pay him much honor, he left by night and came to a valley, near Siena, called the Stable of Rhodes, otherwise Mala-Val. He remained alone in thi s desert Mala-Val Valley near Siena where the saint ended his life. until, feeling exhausted by old age and broken by so many austerities, he was compelled to take a servant, named Albert, to serve him in his necessities. He took care to instruct him in virtue, and the other, in return, went to fetch him something to live on. One day while they were in prayer, the lamp that lit them fell to the ground and went out, and all the oil was spilled; but everything was restored to its former state by the prayer of the Servant of God.

At the end of two years, he was struck by an illness whose outcome he predicted to the physician, assuring him that his remedies would be of no use to him, since the Holy Spirit had revealed to him the day and hour of his passing. To prepare for it, he wished to receive the holy Viaticum, in order to arm himself against the enemies of our salvation, who make their final efforts when men are on the point of leaving this world. His companion did not fail him in this extremity: he brought a priest, who brought him the body of Our Lord; he received it with testimonies of piety and composure, which drew tears from the eyes of those who were present. He predicted to Albert, who was saddened by their separation, that God would provide him with a faithful companion; and he had no sooner finished this speech than Regnault, a good, wise, and wealthy man, came to present himself to him and promised to abandon the world and spend the rest of his days in this desert. Finally, on the tenth day of February, in the year 1157, raising his hands on high to thank the divine Goodness for the graces he had received from it, he rendered his soul to his Creator. His body was buried in a small garden that he cultivated himself, and above his tomb was erected an oratory that Christians visit with much veneration, because of the graces they receive there from God through the merits of the Saint. But even if there were no other miracle than that of his conversion and his penance, is it not more than sufficient to make us admire the strength and recognize the excess of divine mercy, which does not appear less admirable in drawing man from his sin than His power appears infinite in drawing the world from the abysses of nothingness?

His life was written at great length by Bishop Thibault, and abridged by Surius, from whom we have borrowed it.

Historians today recognize several Williams, whose actions are not easy to distinguish. What Father Giry recounts relates primarily to William of Maleval and to William of Guyenne. His account is so interesting that we have not dared to change it. We shall only supplement it with several notices.

*Saint William* of Maleval, hermit.— His youth is unknown. He made the pilgrimage to Rome; Pope Eugene III sent him to Jerusalem for the expiation of his sins. He departed in 1145. In 1153, he became a hermit in Italy. In 1155, he entered the dreadful solitude of Maleval. He died in 1157. His life is recounted by Father Giry, as we have just seen, with the greatest detail.

The solitaries, his disciples, built a hermitage with a chapel over his tomb. Such was the origin of the Order of the Guillelmites, which Gregory IX place d under the rule of Sa Ordre des Guillelmites Religious order founded by the disciples of William of Maleval. int Benedict. This congregation has since been united with that of the Hermits of Saint Augustine. They wore a white habit like the Cistercians. The feast of Saint William was celebrated in Paris, in the church of the Blancs-Manteaux, which belonged to the Guillelmites from 1297 to 1618.

*Saint William*, founder of the Hermits of Monte Vergine, in the kingdom of Naples. This Saint is named on June 25 in the Roman Martyrology.

*William the Pious*, Count of Auvergne, founder of the famous abbey of Cluny, in Burgundy, a foundation that we have recounted in our volume IV, in the life of Saint Bernon. He was called Duke of Aquitaine because Auvergne was then part of Aquitaine. He was not Duke of Guyenne. But having religiously preserved for his ward Ebalus the succession of his father, Ranulf II, which included the Second Aquitaine and the County of Bordeaux, that is to say what has since been called Guyenne and the County of Poitou, he was the cause that Guyenne and Poitou subsequently became hereditary and belonged in their own right to the descendants of Ebalus.

*William*, last Duke of Guyenne.— Ebalus, who died in 963, had as his successor: William II, called *Tête-d'Étoupe* (died in 963); William III, who lived almost until the end of the century; William IV, surnamed *Fier-à-Bras* or *Iron-Arm* (1030); William V, called the *Great* (1036); William VI (1053); William VII (1086); William VIII, his son, father of William IX.

William IX, whom many qualify as William X, is the one whose life Father Giry recounts, confusing him with Saint William of Maleval. He came into the world in the year 1099, and succeeded his father in the year 1126. Many of the disorders of his father, with whom historians often confuse him, are attributed to him. He himself behaved very badly. He nevertheless set some limits to his debauchery by his marriage with Eleanor, sister of the Viscount of Châtellerault, by whom he had, in 1123, Eleanor, his heiress. After the death of this first wife, he took as his second wife Emma, daughter of the Viscount of Limoges, already the widow of the Lord of Cognac, who was taken from him in his absence by the son of the Count of Angoulême. Father Giry recounts the rest of his life. Only, those who do not wish to confuse this William with William of Maleval, instead of having him retire to Italy, say that he died on his pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.