Panegyric in praise of Peter the Venerable

Celebrate and rejoice happy Cluniacs

for another Hugh in mores was given to you.

Hugh was noble and born of high-born parents;

The ancestry of Peter’s forefathers also renders him preeminent.

Hugh, outshines with Lyonnaise nobility

all whom Gaul worshiped and venerated.

The powerful dukes of the people of Auvergne,

–born of the line of Latin kings – begat Peter.

In the keenness of mind, he is the equal of ancient masters

None will be his equal in our time

In prose he is a new Cicero, in verse a new Virgil

He debates like Aristotle or Socrates;

In praise, he rivals the early scholars and he outdistances those following,

Who instructed us with their sacred discourse.

Scarcely did Augustine discern more subtle meanings,

Scarcely was Jerome able to teach him anything,

Gregory did not surpass him one iota in clear and open speaking,

Nor does Ambrose outdo him in rhetoric.

Of his tremendous gifts, I will say what I think with few words,

Lest I be to you, reader, rustic or excessive.

Musician, astronomer, arithmetician, geometrician

Grammarian, rhetor and dialectician he is.

But now, I fear to give way to the matter at hand,

Now that I wish to recount his most excellent manners.

I ask, what should I relate first? Give aid, Muses,

Teach me verses worthy of so great a man.

Rarely is a dignity of morescombined with easy genius,

and these two are not often found together.

Thence I am so astonished, that even in his youthful years

Peter, the shining beacon of young men, manifested both.

An eager youth rightly recites praise for him

Because our praise properly becomes respect for him

[P1] A singular light is given to the world by the eternal father [stopped checking]

by which the heavenly kingdoms seek to lead the earth-born

Simplicity and prudence co-reigned in him

Continual sobriety and modesty.

The greatest companion of virtues always cleaved to him,

Inwardly and outwardly he always preserved it.

The tongue can not recount how universally he served discretion

And how well suited he was to every office.

It does not help to fill this work with more words:

What is brief and good, this is pleasing to the poet.

[P2] When, Peter, another will praise your acts better

He will be another Virgil, another Homer.

[P3] Gentle, peaceful, clement, suitably friendly,

No one is able to say how good you may prove to be.

May long-lived old age provide us a place, therefore,

And not alone may it wish to preserve the sacred regimen.

Come, youths, strong in the strength of the soul!

Public responsibility becomes you, holy people.

He is him who incites you to the highest honours

Which a sober life gave to him in youth.

O Cluny, the Auvergne soil sent him to you,

From which our Gaul never took anything greater

Happy that it merited to produce such fruit:

this land yielded fathers for many Churches

It is always accustomed to be the mother of famous men:

The magnificent Odilo was given to you from there,

Also the student of sweet Julian sprouted from there

Who well presided over the Touraine church

The Auvergnese fields of Sidonius[1]nourished your writings

And you were the restorer of the ancient tongue[P4] .

When he came a second time, to restore peace to the monasteries

Tell me, Muses, what it is that Aquitaine celebrates so?

And today is unable to disguise its pleasure?

And why do you, who have been want to mourn not long ago

Now sing joyful songs with a happy face?

In that time barely past, it helped to weep

And to swell ceaseless tears with further tears.

For that pious man left behind only those [tears] for us,

He, who, under God the Father, was my every hope.

Perhaps rumour whispered to you of his coming?

Would that be the happy occasion of your gladness?

But I cannot believe such a spurious portent

Which rarely or never is accustomed to speak the truth.

But what did I hear? He is now reported to be close:

Piety carries him. Shed the chains of error!

Rejoice Poitiers! since now your walls shine bright

And You, the noble church[2]of the suburban neighbourhood,

Though you hold schismatic and seditious folk,

If you seek peace, Peter –your peace– is near.

You draw your swords in vain, men of Saint-Jean-d’Angely,

Your every struggle will be useless.

You do not know, wretched men, against whom you raise battle spears.

It is him whom none is able to vanquish in battle.

Do you wish to know by what arms our duke is vanquished?

Deliver yourself to him, quickly he will be overcome.

Believe me, I ask, believe me, I ask, my companions

And subject your stiff necks to the pious Father.

He comes in peace, do not repel his amity.

He wishes a second time to reconcile your transgressions.

Hence be mindful of diplomacy and piety.

Which he also showed to your fugitive brothers.

Hence be mindful of the spiritual instruction,

Which he granted with a skillful tongue so many times.

At that time, the double joys of a sacred feast shined forth

When so great an angel was a guest among us.

There was none among us during that same time

On whom his grace was not bestowed.

Ardent piety contended in the holy chest

Either by giving goods to the good, or things to be pitied to the guilty

What praises to you, highest God, what vow might I repay

whom it pleased to relieve my sadness.

Now that tears are put to flight, the long sighs are quieted

Peter is present, our great salvation returned!

You send him again to the people of Aquitaine, Good King

Since you desire that he bring peace to your Church

Help your servant, always victorious King,

So that rejoicing, he may bring to you a twofold profit.

He manifoldly pleased you, who was your standard bearer,

And produced civil order among your troops,

Who instructed us, who taught that in our contest

We are able to conquer the Ethiopians with our sacred arts[3]

Therefore keep watch over him for us for a long time

Who draws so many people to your kingdom.

O Lightbearer, glittering with heavenly light on earth

Bring to bear, I ask, your pious hands to my words

Receive the words of your poet with accustomed piety

And read the insignificant verses of your littlest Peter.

O greatest Peter, it is I, Peter, your littlest monk,

Who offers these insignificant writing in praise of you.

The first time you came, noble Duke

Was when the people of Aquitaine held a parade.

You were hardly known to me, but whispers

Spread the rays of your light here.

And certainly so bright a light was not able to be hidden

Which God himself fashioned so high above.

The whole world shone everywhere with your light

And across the entire globe traveled the celebrated sound

Of your righteousness; then, our mind was freed for you

And seeing you was the greatest passion for me.

When the happy rumour suddenly resounds all around

And then the imminent Father is reported to have arrived

We immediately hasten, happily we all process

Both sexes rejoice in meeting you.

Straightaway, the sacred temple resounds with new praises

Nor did any lay person lack a voice.

We eagerly hastened to see your hallowed looks,

And everyone of us longed to see you first

O cheerful countenance, not sterner by any dignity

How pious, beautiful, shining, commanding you were!

Your beautiful eyes proclaimed your royal origin,

And a bashful modesty painted your face,

Your clothing, the gait of your humble body –these witnesses declared that you considered the world nothing.

Why do I linger? You, a new pastor, enter within the walls

And entering, you offer a holy kiss to your flock

That day stretched endlessly for me, someone so happy to listen:

How much grace was in your pious speech!

While your eloquence has been greatly praised by us

Who is able to repeat it with sufficient praise?

I heard it, I confess, but it is unnarrateable

I heard a tongue exceptional among leaders

Powerful sermon! I do not dare to write anything about you

Lest I weaken the pen so seriously that it break the work.

In your presence, Cicero, that king of the Latin tongue,

Would be mute, if perchance he should wish to say something.

You vanquish Socrates, You render Plato speechless

You make all rhetors tremble in fear.

I was struck dumb, I confess, by such sweetness of words,

You, beginning to speak with me as described,

In public opinion you garnered nothing fit to so great a shepherd

Your voice is so much more, I see, than how it sings

O how wonderfully marvellous is the virtue and grace of this King

Who enriches his servants with great honour!

For he is whatsoever is considered saintly or honourable

And whatsoever of a good prince ought to be:

Nobility, virtue, wisdom, expressive speech

Are here, no grace is absent from this man

Then your love attracted me more and more

And soon I was seized altogether by your love

In you, O Light of men, posture, voice, countenance,

bearing, and all action was full of grace,

If you had deigned to remain in the claustral fashion

The monkish image would frighten the fickle

If someone wanted a private audience,

Your words would repel every sadness.

If, with stiffness put aside, words were being enjoyed

They would always come as a holy joke from a serious initiate

And the sweetness of the Father was not absent in the gravity of the monk

And the gravity of the monk was not without elegance.

There was such discretion in his punishing of sins

Who else can be remembered so well, so worthily?

When you settle matters, piety so tempers anger

That the sinner seeks to be punished by you

Rebels alone are struck with a harsher rod –

If anyone might dare to be so under your command.

Is it true what I say? If I spoke with a thousand tongues

My pen would not be able to report everything.

Nor then was it able, though it attempted it,

Presenting such a mediocre gift to such a great man.

For so great a fervor of pious love was in me

–speaking to me – that I produced these words:

What do you do, unhappy one, and why does your muse grow silent?

And did disbelief of your father creep into your pious self?

Believe me, he is pious, he will not spurn anyone

Who dedicated himself willingly to his service

Will so great a love lack its own reward?

Or will your very labour be hollow?

Thus reminded, I expected

And I wanted more of piety than I took from piety

A fullness of piety supports this little song:

It supports the meagre oath of your servant.

What might I return to you, light of the world, in exchange for

The gift of our page being in your hands

The blessed eyes read the insignificant words,

O how joyful was that day for me!

Each year I will celebrate that day,

When you yourself became my father and my lord.

But quickly, alas, my joys had an end

The time of my happiness was brief

He left without me, without whom it was a living death for me

The pious pastor left, with me remaining.

O My great salvation! Why did you desert me thusly?

And why did I merit to lose you so suddenly?

Why did I not complete that journey, or even take the first step?

Why was I not either servant or footman?

And why did he not hang the burden around our neck

So that I might be able to be a servant to your servants?

Certainly, no hardship hindered my path

The length of the path outlasted our miserable feet.

Excessively unhappy and not worthy of such an honour

I became empty, losing hope.

And yet when departing, you offered these final words:

Which I still cherish as a solemn pledge, as from a father,

“Peter, Stop your crying. I leave but soon I will receive you,

Soon you will be Ours.”

Alas! I have already spent these many years in tears

And I have not seen the promised sweetness of the father

Since then I have lived every day in tears,

And since then my mind has not been without sadness.

Although some, baring their souls, may have appeared,

I should remind you of our words, which you said to me.

Be mindful, therefore, of me, I beg, O sweetest of things

Let the paternal care provide for my tears.

Let piety be watchful, in which you always overflow

And whose workings every shipwrecked man discerns.

What burning desire I might harbour, if you want it too,

Is nothing other than to be yours henceforth.

I pledge to surrender myself to you in perpetual servitude:

I wish always to have you as father under Christ

Render Peter to Peter, the littlest to the greatest, highest Peter

Thusly Peter might be your very own pious key-bearer.

Thus in you, the wisdom of the great Odo grows:

Thus you yourself seek to restore the path of the Order

The bright life of Majolus thusly shines again in you

You offer thusly much profit from your flock for the Lord

In you, Odilo, and the great Hugh reflourishes

A twofold spirit of them both, Peter, are in you!

In praise of his Triumph won at Rome against Pons and the Pontians, who struggled to drive out a mindful Peter from the abbatial dignity.

Now, Peter, new triumphs are celebrated everywhere for you

Now, on account of you, enemies lie underfoot

Now, most excellent father, since you returned the victor from the city

The perfidious tongues of the Pontians are silenced

The impudent mouths of dogs quell their rabid barkings

With their senses lost, the evil hearts were astounded

The impious did thinkthat it possible to end this way [did the impious think?)

When they vomited out harsh threats from their diseased mouth

While applauding themselves for regaining a like master

They gave free rein to various crimes

Truly, no cunning of man is able to pervert

The eternal judgement of the highest judge.

Hail the so most powerful victor of great contests

Hail He, for whom Christ was the sword and spear

You succeeded, beloved of God, and in vain

An impious rage laid bare the men in your injury

Behold, whether you want to or not, wicked people, rebel crowds,

All Cluny trembles at your command.

Behold, whether you want to or not, you will grasp the royal scepter

And you will be the commanding Victor

What will you do, wicked men? What do you turn over in your stupid hearts

What will you say? Surely you are able to stop nothing!

Truly Peter is present, Peter the abbot of Cluny

Peter, the death of vice and the end of yours

Your desire will feel much from his unforgiving arms,

Criminal People! you will not escape his hands!

Under his reign, nothing of pride is able to reign!

Under his leadership, now no path lies open to criminal behaviour

Though you may suffer, though you may desire this not at all

He, the Magnificent Victor, now maintains his laws!

Enemies of God, you were willing and unable,

But God, as he wanted so is he able to do.

You preferred to reject goodness with a dejected soul

Christ did not wish this, but he offered to you the ability

To Him alone do we rightly offer gifts of praise

And thanks alone for the marvelous victories of our duke

Christ made him who was snatched from so powerful a scourge

Take up the sceptre high above the people

Therefore we applaud, Venerable Shepherd, your triumphs.

We render also the highest oath owed to God.

And so He tests His servants by means of many dangers

And so, the enemy rages against the one who cast them out

And so, the good Author gave being to evil in the order of things

So that the unrighteous perish and pious profit from this.

For the iniquitous man lives for the just, the just man for the iniquitious

As the sacred words of the ancient fathers teach.

Indeed, our republic seems a little injured

But many profits arises from this injury to us.

For this business happens in a miraculous manner, whereby

Impiety thinks that it harms, but in fact much good is done

No perfection of youth is lacking in you, Saint!

Already you were able to be the equal to your fathers

He remains grounded, lest the light hide behind the cloud

But he spreads his rays over the whole orb.

So far, the Ocean had grown familiar with you and

Gaul alone shared the knowledge of your virtues.

And while it applauds that it begat so great a patron on its own

with distinguished origins made powerful,

A new cause of a new triumph is divinely arisen.

whereby, the Roman Empire now favours you

And the same sacred court regarding your men with wonder

Calls for the reins of the whole world to be guided.

What Latin cities, which shores of the Rhine,

Or what people of Pannonia might I call nearer kingdoms?

Already has your glory penetrated the barbarian borders

and the unbeaten Gethes (Geats?) praise the finished battles.

And he whom is first proven by the fire of battle

One part of the world had made for itself as a leader:

Now, after celestial might has divinely routed the enemy,

The whole world desires to see this triumph.

We reap great gains, since the source of this schism

– That perfidious serpent – entirely collapses

And even though the snake tries to raise up his slippery head

He is broken and in dying, he vomits out black poison.

The black serpents perish on account of their savage tricks

And not for long does this monster remain alive in Rome

But quickly shortening its savage neck with a double-edged sword

[St.?] Peter defends Peter from his enemy.

No longer are they able to conceal

The terrifying features of the wolf under the fleece of noble sheep.

All of this, which was revealed by having piety,

Is recognized as the impious deception of a sacrilegious mind

The fertile shore of Po River had safely fostered

And also harmed the Italian soil when it had withdrawn

In his first judgement of the sacred senate,

Alas! He had wrongly driven him into nearby exile.

The Hermit sought to abandon his woods

And once more sought to enjoy the office he had given up.

How many people would this iniquitous rage have destroyed

If Rome had not given speedy aid to us!

How many troops would have fallen to the devilish spear!

How much ruin would befall the poor and unlearned!

A Rumour had arisen in the West,

That one of the many prophets had unexpectedly arrived.

And a mistake of the commoners had made a new schism.

While the milling peasantry thought one man another God.

They called this one a new Moses, or a Daniel, or a John:

And another man Elijah, or Solomon.

Another person reports that he encircles his arms with fragile irons

And thereby endures a new kind of martyrdom;

Another says, “I reject entirely all earthly food”

But is not yet able to consume a heavenly meal.

Others extoll helping at the altar with naked feet

And keeping at ceaseless prayer.

But he who played tricks by the greatest phantasm,

Shouted in the middle of the town square words such as these:

“Take haste, you lazybones, and search for the holy man

Take haste, for behold, a second Martin is present.

With Cluny rejected, it pleased him that he himself might seek God in sandy places across the Tyrrhenian sea.

But then returning to demand back his former oath

He brings forth many battle standards under angelic command.

Perhaps, the very prior [the original?]Martin lived again in the world

Who by his will alone, dissipated all evil.

But who is able either to remember or sufficiently dispel as ridiculous

The many false fantasies of mad commoners?

O how often, Elect of God, did we fear everything

as much as what true love aroused.

In case the Roman gravity would not favour the light trifles

The slippery magician distorted sober hearts.

And would that he not also attempt to ensnare the learned Brutuses, and the rigid Catonians with multiple deceipts

Indeed it is sad to say, but that great Girard [bishop of Angoulême]

Alas! He was able to be taken in by such cunning.

What hope could have existed if that holy senate

And the entire Romulean city favoured him?

But God, far away, diverts this from the exceptional city

Which had under it all the peoples of the whole world!

Never did sacred faith experience injury there

By whose faith, that great scepter bearer sat

Whose walls – founded on purple blood

Neither savage winters, nor ferocious wars could terrify.

Paul its counterpart also guards the walls

And together they hold the imperial dignity.

No schism of any error is able to harm

A city committed to heaven by such princes

To you, Fathers and greatest friends of the [Jove the] Thunderer.

It is fitting to repeat the wishes of song and praise.

For this very victory parade recognizes you in particular

Whose fight was as your soldier.

He is that good knight whom you wanted

To be the principal leader of the courtly order.

Under your eagle standards he had discharged his youthful years,

And finished his days in virtue.

Often had he vanquished the savage enemy with his sacred arms,

Often the polluted Goths were laid low by his sword

More often, the Ethiopians drifting through an icy night,

Or often Moabites did he destroy.

Many time from the kings of the Assyrians,

Did he obtain clear evidence of victory by his strong hand.

And finally, no fear of war could trouble him,

Nor could any barbarism affect him.

He certainly came to know your experiences, Fathers,

In the creation of things, nothing remained hidden.

Certainly you saw something to be in this youth

For which reason he was able to be a Father to his fathers.

I do not know how he shone out so brightly to you at that age,

At which the highest office deservedly was appropriate.

And not in vain was one taken from so legion the ranks

Who ruled civil justice like the Caesars.

Capitoline senators, to whom the Creator of the world himself

Gave the reins of ruling the Roman Empire,

Were not, I believe, without heavenly counsel

Insofar as, with the civil status almost faltering,

when the venerable court considered

the mystery of your will concerning the choosing of a leader.

It is as if he alone is believed worthy of the royal office

among so many thousands of candidates,

to whom it is permitted to open and close the aethereal gates

and to discern all the mysteries of God.

It is granted to you to know what was the virtue of his followers

and how great was the influence of his service.

Therefore, to your eyes, by which no hidden affair passes unseen,

Peter –both pious duke and father, was pleasing in this fashion.

For he is truly happy and should be adorned with every honour,

who is able to be good in your judgement.

He is happy, who is thought to be stronger

and more worthy of high command than all others.

Thence, without doubt, it was made clear long ago to me,

that this man does not lack any gift of virtue.

And unlike those of meagre blood we frequently see

laying claim to what the veins deny in them.

Truly he had something, to whom by paternal law

an unbreakable love of religion and honesty belongs.

His forefathers and grandfathers proved that they had these,

He had these qualities, both parents always fostered.

Surely previously emerged the brightest glory of the Arvergne

and light of this fatherland, and its pride,

Saint Maurice[4], whom –killed- our Aquitaine still mourns, with whom the grace and complete power of a people

may have been buried, had not his noble line continued

in which he shines out as if poured from one vessel to another,

The lesser to none, an image of the ancestral virtue.

Wipe away your tears therefore, Aquitaine. What you mourned

To have perished in a –strictly speaking– mortal man,

His sacred progeny render to you in profit many times over.

Not easily may you divert those born of the beautiful spouse.

Whosoever were outstanding in morals or in wealth

The older Maurice made heirs and still now

he, as a whole, is seen to live in the brothers of Odo/Otto

At any time, the same piety and a similar virtue of the Father

Shines out with miraculous splendour in his seven relics:

Among them, however, You, Our Lord and Illustrious Shepherd,

Glowing glittering red, are like the day star with all others,

outshining the bright constellations with the radiance of your descent

Hail the happy mother, to whom the Virgin Mary granted

To beget such offspring: You, in the period of our times,

Bring forth the greatest light of the western lands.

And while you outdo other happy mothers in their fertile buds

You also merited to excel against the eminent Peter,

whom that pious parent and serene leader of men,

commanded, on account of her nature, to ascend to the highest offices

So that by fighting well for the paternal laws, he would subdue

all Antiochean men in the whirlwind of wars,

And renew the time of the Machabees in our age.

But you greats, who commanded the kingdom of Olympus

You fathers, I saw, to whom my muse returns,

with the verses at an end, which I completed in your praise,

I beseach that you be assistants of my vows.

Now, therefore, chief among you, doorkeeper of kind heaven, who, so that your Cluniac knight might command the scepter,

You cast the lowly tyrant from the sacred seat,

Through your footprints once made in flowing seas,

Through the monuments of faith, and through the laws handed down by you, through Latium and your Rome, through those keys

Which are able open or lock the gates of heaven as you wish

And through the sacred love, for which thusly it is dear to you

That he alone of all people might be sufficient

Who became the duke and prince of your fortresses:

I beg, I entreat, I ask, I importune, I beseach, I pray:

St. Peter , make sure that Peter has remembered his Peter

You also, Paul, the priest, who salvific teaching

Founded the Church of Christ throughout the world

You, the chosen vessel, the heavenly herald, the highest messenger

We ask that the breaths of our vow is heard

At once both lords and Fathers, help me, I ask,

So that the pious, the exceptional, the gentlest and benign man

When travelling the length and width of the lands of his vast empire:

the cities, the castles, the fortresses, villages

with the senate of noble aristocrats accompanying him

Deem it fit to visit our province.

And, everything which the Great Ocean and the banks of the Loire enclose the people of these lands with a twofold barrier,

he will grant

And with the crowds of people gathering everywhere

Every prior will hastens to see those faces

Which makes depressed minds laugh again,

Which are able to rid a man of unhappy worries;

Then to me, long after the departure of great men,

Hiding among the many commoners of the unlearned public

It is fit that you extend your sacred right hand in your accustomed way.

Save me, I say, come near and be speedy.

I will not hesitate one moment to turn the promises into actions.

When he sailed across to the Isle of Aix.

When it is pleasing, pious pastor, to see the brothers of Aix

The elements themselves offer subservience to you.

The whole sky was covered by southerly rains,

but the storms went away, terrified when it saw your sail.

Waves did not grow swollen from the savage northerlies;

As soon as he reached them, wind and current fled.

While a dark cloud covered the heavens with a deep gloom,

As you made way, fair weather completed surrounded your craft

O holy and happy man, to whom so freely obeys

Whatever the highest virtue of God creates in the world!

May you, illustrious man, now deign to be mindful of your servant,

Take me now, I beg, for the fulfillment of my pledges.

Make it that I be able to see your Cluniacs with you!

Let there be honour and virtue and long life to you.

[1]Gaius Sollius Apollinaris Sidonius (430-480 A.D.)? Gallo-Roman poet, bishop of the chief town of the Auvergne region of Gaul.

[2]Montierneuf.

[3]Contra Sarracenos? A later revision?

[4]Peter the Venerable = Peter Maurice de Montboissier/ father = Maurice

[P1]self-reference, and justification

[P2]brevity topos

[P3]self-praise

[P4]PV as claim to Classical Latinity