Born at Fouilloy, Hugo received an education from Benedictines before becoming a religious himself--probably Benedictine. He began at the priory of St.-Laurent-au-Bois while still young, later becoming founding prior of St.-Nicholas-de-Regny in 1332 and eventually returning to St.-Laurent as prior in 1152. There he died, and little else is known of his life.
Though biographical information is sparse, we have a number of his writings. Though often overshadowed--or absorbed--by his co-named contemporary, Hugo of St. Victor (1096-1141), some still read his works. Like Hugo of St. Victor and his student Richard of St. Victor (d. 1173), Hugo of Fouilloy wrote mystical theology, particularly focusing on mystical allegories. His most well-known work is De avibus (On Birds) which is both a bestiary and a collection of moral and mystical treatises about each bird. Along with the De medicina animae (Of the Medicine of the Soul), he is also known for De claustro animae (Of the Cloister of the Soul), from which the following selection is taken. The work describes the soul using the allegory of a monastery and its various parts. This selection--Book III, Ch. VII--is on the soul's allegory to manual labor (the labora of the Benedictine ora et labora). It immediately follows the chapter on the monastic practice of "chapter," when monks gather to hear readings of saints' lives and a sermon from their superior, receive their tasks for the day, and correct their faults. Since the word for "soul" in the main ancient Christian languages--Latin and Greek-- is feminine, I have referred to the soul as "she" throughout this translation, in keeping with common practice for this style of text.
After the chapter, the brethren are wont to depart for manual labor: so, after the quiet of contemplation, the soul departs to the labor providing for bodily need. She departs from contemplation, who enjoyed celestial delectation. She departs, and descends, where, and how? She departs from celestial contemplation to meditation on the Scriptures, and, making a stay there, she hears the present life’s misery, the future’s beatitude, indeed, she considers the prize of the just, and she awaits the punishment of the damned. Then, drawn by the love of prizes and touched by the fear of punishments, she descends to the memory of his own offenses. Who, then, knows his own fault, more quickly ignores another’s, and, therefore, after the memory of offenses, she descends to compassion for neighbors, then, truly, she progresses to perform their care. And this can be demonstrated, in similitude, when someone departs from the bridal chamber into the house, from the house into the porch, from the porch into the village, from the village into the field. She departs, indeed, from celestial contemplation to the meditation on the Scriptures, as if from the bridal chamber into the house; from the meditation of the Scriptures to the memory of offenses, as if from the house into the porch; from the memory of offenses to the compassion for neighbors, as if from the porch into the village; from the compassion for neighbors to performing their care, as if from the village into the field. In contemplation, therefore, there is quiet, in the rest, labor. In the meditation of the Scriptures we labor, fearing lest we lose the prizes of the just; in the memory of offenses, laboring, we weep, lest we be with the damned. In compassion for neighbors, indeed, is the labor of work. In the first we are warned, in the second we are taught, in the third we are moved, in the fourth we are rewarded. The Scripture warns what we ought to do; it teaches the memory of offense, so that we be penitent; we are moved by compassion, so that we love; we truly merit a good work, so that that with which we succor others would succor us.
Then the soul departs into the garden, so that she would see the gardener, namely, Christ, Who plants the grass of virtues. And she departs to moisten the herbs, that is, to deplore the fragility of the flesh with tears. But, as the sun shines clearer after a rain: so Christ, after the irrigation of tears, appears more benign, extending the rays of His knowledge and illuminating the heart with the word of consolation. Mary Magdalene departed to the sepulcher as if into the garden, so that she would plant and irrigate; she found Him Who gives increase, and she heard: Woman, what do you cry? Whom do you seek? (Jn 20:15). Behold, after the rain of compunction, the clarity of consolation irradiates. And she, having heard what He sought, thinking that He was the gardener, said: Lord, if you took Him away, tell me where you placed Him, and I will take Him (Jn 20:15). Mary despaired of the fruit of labor, since she doubted the truth of the resurrection. Whence it is said that she turned around (cf. Jn 20:14). She turned back, who fell down in the Lord’s face through doubt. Mary planted through love, but of the fruit of the resurrection she doubted, because of the resurrection’s delay. But when she knew Christ, she gathered fruit. For what does the seed of corruption profit, what the flower of nativity, what the maturity of passion, except that the fruit of the hope of the resurrection follows?
The soul departs again, so that she would dig around the fig-tree, so that what was sterile would bear fruit (cf. Lk 13:6-9), so that she would send forth a basket of dung, that is, so that she would return the festering memory of sin. And she enters into the vineyard, so that she would dig around it, so that she would prune the twigs, that is, the growths of superfluity, so that what is luxurious in palms, would redound in fruits. Whence in the Canticle of Canticles: Come, my beloved, let us depart into the field, let us linger in the villas, let us raise a hand to the vines; let us see, indeed, if the vine flourishes, if the flowers bring forth fruit (Sgs 7:11-12). Let us depart, he says, into the field. The soul departs from contemplation to circumspection of herself, she departs from care of herself to performing the care of the neighbor, so that she would console the pusillanimous, correct the restless, so that she would make into a field of virtues what was before brambles and thorns. Let us linger, he says, in the villas, that is, among those who are villains, that is, rude and tardy in perceiving the evidence of the curia of Christ. For some are cloistered or curial, but some are villains, that is, unordained, who do not seek the edification of the mind, but the filling of the belly: they are amazed at earthly things, they know earthly things. Among these it is necessary that we make a stay, for doctrine, for discipline. Let us raise a hand to the vines. For they who want to prune the twigs of the vines, that is, the superfluities of souls, ought to raise a hand, that is, not in laziness, but they ought to precede in example and work. Let us see if the vine flourishes, if the flowers bring forth fruit, that is, let us make ourselves see, if the soul flourishes in good thoughts, if she produces the fruit of good works.
What? Is she not to be quieted among works? Therefore, the soul says: As an apple among the trees of the forests, so is my beloved among sons. Under the shadow of him whom I desired, I sat (Sgs 2:3). Three things are to be considered in the apple, namely, a free shadow, a good fruit, a sweet smell. For Christ gives the shadow of precepts, which defends us from the heat of vices, so that the sun not burn by day, nor the moon by night (Ps 121:6). It has fruit among the leaves, that is, good work among words. For it is written of it: it does what it teaches (cf. Acts 21:23). And the smell of this fruit is sweet, that is, the fame of good work. Therefore, under the shadow, which she desires, the soul sits, who wants to be quiet. But sometimes she sits upon hay, sometimes upon a stool, sometimes upon a bench, sometimes upon a chair. Upon hay she sits, when she subjects the flesh; upon a stool, when she subjects the world. Whence the blessed Jerome: “Great,” he says, “is the exultation of the soul, to have the world under her feet."[1] And when she sits upon a bench, she chooses a new place, so to hear: Friend, ascend higher (Lk 14:10), that she not, with blushing, descend and hear: Give this one a place (Lk 14:9). Who follows humility, is called above; but who chooses pride, descends below. They sit upon the chair, not of justice, but of pestilence, of whom it is said: What they say, do, but what they do, do not do (Mt 23:3).
After the quiet of rest, the soul arises again to labor, so that she would gather grapes from the vineyards of Engeddi (Sgs 1:14), not from the vineyard of the Sodomites; from the vineyard of Soreq, not from the suburbs of Gomorra: so that she would wear bundles of myrrh between her breasts, so that she would receive grain-ears in the field of Boaz, which escaped the hands of the reapers (cf. Ruth 2:2). From the vineyards of Engeddi, and from the vineyards of Soreq, the soul gathers grapes, when the fruit requires penitence or the prizes of choice. Engeddi is interpreted the font of the kid; Soreq, elect. The kids which descend into this font ascend as new lambs. For in the font of compunction the filths of the flesh are washed away, the odor of the kid is washed away, that is, the lust for sin, the petulance of a kid, that is, carnal luxury. From the vineyards of Engeddi, there is good wine, from the vineyards of Soreq, the best wine; with that one the beloved is inebriated, with this one the most beloved. That is mixed water, this is pure. That one is disturbed by natural lees, that is, carnal lusts; but this one is not disturbed by any temporal tribulation. That one retains the old taste of the vase, that is, the memory of sin; this one is redolent of cleanness, that is, the sweetness of the purified heart. Therefore, the wine from the vineyards of Engeddi, and from the vineyard of Soreq, is made of pigment and honey, the wine from the vineyard of the Sodomites, and from the suburbs of Gomorra, of venom and gall. For the gall of dragons is their wine, and the unhealthy venom of asps (Dt 32:33). Gomorra is interpreted, dryness; Sodom, sterility. For those who are remote from the font of compunction, who are not moistened by the rain of preaching, who are not suffused with the sprinkling of celestial dew, that is, the subtlety of contemplation, what wonder if they be dry or sterile?
For moisture generates fecundity, dryness, sterility; but she bears bundles of myrrh between her breasts, who, compassionate in heart and expending manual labor, provides for the necessities of her neighbors. She bears bundles of myrrh, who puts to sleep the flesh’s lust through affliction, namely, fasting, vigil, labor. She bears bundles of myrrh between her breasts, who, suffering together, keeps the stoning of Stephan, the fire of Laurence, the cross of Peter, the death of Christ in heart (that is, between the breasts). Whence in the Canticle: Like a bundle of myrrh is my beloved to me, he will dwell between my breasts (Sgs 1:12). Between the breasts of the spouse, like a bundle of myrrh, the beloved dwells, when, in someone’s heart, Christ’s passion is renewed with bitterness, through memory. Truly in the field of Boaz, the grain-ears which evaded the reapers’ hands, she gathers (Ruth 2:2), who diligently seeks intact sentences from great doctors. Like Ruth the Moabitess, the soul, namely, the sinner, following her daughter-in-law, comes to Judea, the land of confession. There, in the field of Boaz, following behind the backs of the reapers, that she not err from doctrine, their grain-ears, that is, sentences, she gathers, which the law commands to remain as the food of widows, orphans, and strangers. Then, beating her harvest with a stick, that is, subtle discretion, she finds three measures, which are the triple intellect [2] according to the measure of the donation of Christ. From these, therefore, we are sustained in the time of famine, so that our soul may live.
Footnotes: [1] St. Jerome, Against Jovinian II.11 (PL 23:301A): “Great is exultation of the soul, when it is content with little, to have the world under its feet, and to change all its power, dishes, and pleasures, for which riches are sold, into vile foods, and to compensate with a ruder tunic.”
[2] I am uncertain which “triple intellect” Hugo is referring to here. There are multiple different schemes of a tripartite intellect; a possible one Hugo may be using is divine intellect, sensual intellect, and rational intellect, though this is only a guess.
Source: Patrologiae Cursus Completus...Series Secunda, ed. J.-P. Migne, Tomus CLXXVI (Paris: J.-P. Migne, 1854), 1094D-1097C. [PL 176:1094D-1097C]