Another new monastic order, the Cistercian, expanded rapidly. The first
Cistercian house was Cîteaux (in Latin, Cistercium), founded in 1098 by Robert of
Molesme (c.1027/1028–1111) and a few other monks seeking a more austere way of
life. Austerity they found—and also success. With the arrival of Saint Bernard
(c.1090–1153), who came to Cîteaux in 1112 along with about thirty friends and
relatives, the original center sprouted a small congregation of houses in Burgundy.
(Bernard became abbot of one of them, Clairvaux.) The order grew, often by
reforming and incorporating existing monasteries. By the mid-twelfth century there
were more than 300 monasteries—many in France, but some as well in Italy,
Germany, England, Austria, and Spain—following what they took to be the customs
of Cîteaux. By the end of the twelfth century, the Cistercians were an order: their
member houses adhered to the decisions of a General Chapter; their liturgical
practices and internal organization were standardized. Many nuns, too, as eager as
monks to live the life of simplicity and poverty that the Apostles had endured and
enjoyed, adopted Cîteaux’s customs; some convents later became members of the
order.
Although the Cistercians claimed the Benedictine Rule as the foundation of their
customs, they elaborated a style of life and an aesthetic all their own, largely
governed by the goal of simplicity. They even rejected the conceit of dyeing their
robes—hence their nickname, the “white monks.” White, too, were their houses.
Despite regional variations and considerable latitude in interpreting the meaning of
“simplicity,” Cistercian buildings had a different feel than the great Romanesque
churches and Benedictine monasteries of black monks. Foursquare and regular,
Cistercian churches and other buildings conformed to a fairly standard plan, typified
by a monastery like Fountains (see Figure 5.3 on p. 191). The churches tended to be
small, made of smooth-cut, undecorated stone. Wall and vault paintings were
eschewed, and any sculpture was modest at best. Indeed, Saint Bernard wrote a
scathing attack on Romanesque sculpture in which, ironically, he admitted its
sensuous allure:
But what can justify that array of grotesques in the cloister where the
brothers do their reading?... What place have obscene monkeys, savage
lions, unnatural centaurs, manticores, striped tigers, battling knights or
hunters sounding their horns? You can see a head with many bodies and
a multi-bodied head.... With such a bewildering array of shapes and
forms on show, one would sooner read the sculptures than the books.^12
