There can be few men who have had a larger impact on civilisation with almost no fanfare than the great St Bernard of Clairvaux: a Doctor of the Church who is venerated not only by Catholics, Anglicans and Lutherans but was even loved by reformers such as Calvin. Bernard was a co-founder of the Knights Templar, a fundamental element of Christendom’s great defensive crusades; he was a major leader in the reform of the Benedictines which led to the foundation of the Cistercian order, and suggestive evidence indicates he may have had a hand in the spread of Gothic architecture.
Under Bernard’s guidance, the Cistercians at the monastery of Cîteaux, just south of Dijon in the Côte-d’Or, rapidly became a formidable force of learning and culture throughout Europe, spreading special devotion to Our Lady.
This great Marian charism flowed from the deep bridal mysticism of the Song of Solomon, to which Bernard dedicated himself and which became a hallmark of the Cistercian tradition with successive generations of countless silent monks meditating over the mysteries of love between man and the divine.
As part of the monks’ labour, the Cistercians turned to winemaking very early on. At Cîteaux – located in the heart of Burgundy – the early brethren began cultivating what we now know as the Chardonnay grape. It is no coincidence that these pious mystics of divine love would eventually develop one of the most romantic French wines beloved worldwide by connoisseurs.
Through the practices of lectio divina these spiritual athletes planted the words of Solomon, King of Wisdom, deep in their hearts. Passages relating to “the best wine” (Song 7:9) became the guiding words of Scripture which turned the hands of these giants of wine cultivation.
It was with this in mind that I managed to get my hands on the rare and highly sought-after Puligny-Montrachet of the Château de Cîteaux. No longer tended by the monks thanks to the French Revolution, I hoped this bottle would still contain the divine genius of those who shaped and cultivated its terroir whilst selectively breeding the early Chardonnay grapes.
Once the cork was out I was met by a delightful, light golden liquid. On the nose there were hints of lemon, apples and peaches, and I pictured the delight of the simple Cistercian who would have also taken in these smells after a long day of work and prayer: the last scents of a fading mirror of Eden. Joined across time, I relished the mouth-feel as further fruit – mango and apricot – elevated the experience further.
It was a fine wine indeed; those flavours were joined by vanilla and hints of butter while the deeper tones of the oak begin to emerge. Further Solomonic mysticism came to me on my second sip as the subtle layers of honey rose to the tongue: “Your lips, my bride, drip sweetness like the honeycomb; honey and milk are under your tongue” (Song 4:11). My imaginary companion monk, distant in time but made present by the legacy of his hands, would have known these verses by heart – in his heart – and I am left with a deep longing for the integration of my spiritual life and the work of my hands.
The Song of Solomon, perhaps the most sensual account of the divine love between God and his bride, the Church, stands as a great rebuke to the dry legalism and cold heartedness that so much religion has become. The love poetry and affective reasoning at the heart of this supreme text of bridal mysticism was once at the very heart of our Christian faith.
The work of the great Cistercian mystics infuses Western civilisation, even if its façade is tarnished. But because culture is deeper than soil, all one must do to rediscover it is leave behind one’s materialistic spectacles.
This extraordinary bottle – a 2017 vintage – and perhaps the best white wine I have ever had, is a reminder that one must not forget that the drinking of wine is among the greatest spiritual allegories, and that one should raise a toast to St Bernard of Clairvaux and his Cistercian sons whenever one discovers a great Chardonnay.
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