had been prior for several years, and the house was at the height of its reputation. Students flocked to it from all quarters, and the great men of Normandy lavished gifts upon it. Anselm threw himself heartily into the work of the place. The severity of his studies and the austerities of the monastic rule were almost more than the delicate frame could bear; but he was persuaded that the moral discipline was good for his soul, and his desire to become a monk increased in strength. But if he became a monk, whither was he to go? If to Clugny, he thought his learning would be thrown away, owing to the excessive strictness of the rule. If he remained at Bec, he thought it would be so completely overshadowed by that of Lanfranc as to be of little use. Meanwhile, by the death of his father, he became the heir of the family property. Three courses then presented themselves for selection. Should he settle at Bec, or become a hermit, or return to his native valley and administer his patrimony for the benefit of the poor? He took counsel with Lanfranc. Lanfranc advised him to consult Maurilius, archbishop of Rouen, and accompanied him on a visit to that prelate. Maurilius decided in favour of the monastic life, and so in 1060 Anselm took the cowl and remained at Bec. Three years afterwards Lanfranc was made abbot of the new house of St. Stephen at Caen, founded by Duke William. Anselm succeeded him at Bec in the office of prior. He held this post for fifteen years, 1063–78. Then Herlwin, founder and abbot, died, and for fifteen years more Anselm governed the house as abbot, 1078–93.
It was during this period of thirty years that his powers developed themselves to the full. If Lanfranc was a man of great talent, Anselm was a man of lofty genius. Both morally and intellectually his character was of a finer type. He had not only more tenderness, more breadth of sympathy, and more transparent simplicity of purpose, but far profounder and more original powers of thought. Having an absolute and unshakeable faith in Holy Scripture, he did not shrink from applying to it the full force of his reason, and therefore he was enabled, in the words of his biographer Eadmer (Vita, i. 9), to penetrate and unravel some of the most intricate and, before his time, unsolved questions touching the nature of God and of our faith. The whole day between the hours of prayer was often consumed in giving advice orally or by letter to persons, many of them of high rank, who consulted him on questions of faith or conduct; and the greater part of the night was spent either in correcting the books of the monastery (which up to that time Eadmer says were the most ill-written in the world), or in meditation and devotional exercises. He did not shrink even from the drudgery of instructing boys in the rudiments of grammar, although he owned (Epist. i. 55) that he found this an irksome task. But the work in which he most delighted and excelled was that of moulding the minds and characters of young men. For this he was eminently fitted by his affectionate sweetness and sympathy which won their hearts, by his deep piety and powerful intellect, by his acuteness in discerning character, and his practical wisdom in suggesting rules for moral conduct. He compared the age of youth to wax fitly tempered for the seal. If the wax be too hard or too soft, it will not take a clear impression. Youth, being between the two, was an apt compound of softness and hardness, which could receive lasting impressions and be turned to any shape. Similar good sense in the education of the young is manifested in his advice to an abbot who complained of the difficulty of teaching the boys brought up in his monastery. They were incorrigibly perverse, the abbot said, and although beaten continually day and night they only grew worse. ‘Beat them, do you?’ said Anselm; ‘and pray what kind of creatures are they when they are grown up?’ ‘Dull and brutal,’ was the reply. ‘You are verily unfortunate,’ said Anselm, ‘if you only succeed in turning men into beasts.’ ‘But what can we do then?’ rejoined the abbot; ‘we constrain them in every possible way, but all to no purpose.’ ‘Constrain them, my lord abbot! If you planted a young shoot in your garden, and then confined it on all sides, so that it could not put forth its branches, would it not turn out a strange misshapen thing when at last you set it free, and all from your own fault? So these children have been planted in the garden of the church to grow and bear fruit for God. But you cramp them so excessively with threats and punishments that they contract all manner of evil tempers, and doggedly resent all correction.’ After more plain speaking of this kind the abbot, with a sigh, confessed that his method of education had been all wrong, and promised to try and amend it (Eadmer, Vita, i. 29–31).
Anselm's own tact in dealing with the young was illustrated by his management of a youthful monk named Osbern. Osbern was clever, but headstrong, and set himself up as the leader of a small faction which resented the appointment of Anselm as prior. Anselm first softened him by forbearance and small indulgences. Having thus gained his affection, he gradually withdrew the in-
