Produced by Cameron Coulter
_THE PLAYS OF ROSWITHA_ TRANSLATED BY CHRISTOPHER ST. JOHN
Transcriber’s Note
These transcriptions are also available on a GitHub repository, where
they are available as markdown-formatted text files. If you want to
remix this text, the GitHub repository would probably be the best place
to build off from:
https://github.com/cncoulter/Transcription_The-Plays-of-Roswitha
Copyright
_The Plays of Roswitha_
Translated by Christopher St. John
London: Chatto & Windus, 1923
Contents
1. Translator’s Note
2. Introduction by His Eminence Cardinal Gasquet
3. Critical Preface by Christopher St. John
4. The Prefaces of Roswitha
5. Gallicanus
6. Dulcitius
7. Callimachus
8. Abraham
9. Paphnutius
10. Sapientia
11. Note on the Acting of the Plays
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE
The works consulted include the following:
- _Hrotsvithae Opera_: Edited by Paul Winterfeld.
- _Hrotsvithae Opera_: Edited by H. L. Schurzfleisch.
- _Hrotsvithae Opera_: Edited by Conrad Celtes (Nurnberg, 1 501).
- _Patrologiae Cursus Completus_: J. P. Migne (vol. 137).
- _Abraham_: Translated into French by C. Cuzin, with critical
preface.
- _Theatre de Roswitha_: Charles Magnin.
- _Origines du theatre Moderne_: Charles Magnin.
- _Antiquitates Gandersheimensis_: Leuckfeld.
- _Six Medieval Women_: Alice Kemp Welch.
I am much indebted to Dame Laurentia McLachlan, O.S.B., Superioress of
Stanbrook Abbey, and to the Reverend Paul Bonnet of Lyons University,
for assistance in the work of translation.
—Christopher St. John
INTRODUCTION
By His Eminence Cardinal Gasquet
Whatever may be thought of the precise merits of these six short dramas,
now translated into English for the first time,[1] it will be conceded
that a collection of plays bearing the date of the 10th century,
authenticated as the work of a woman, and a nun, is a remarkable
phenomenon, interesting to students of monasticism and of the drama
alike.
At one time, it is interesting to note, it was suggested that the author
of these dramas was an Englishwoman. In fact, the English scholar,
Laurence Humfrey, who first introduced them to notice in this country,
endeavoured to prove that Roswitha was no other than St. Hilda of
Northumbria. His theory cannot, of course, be maintained; but the very
anxiety shown to identify this talented poetess and dramatist as a
native of this country is evidence of the high estimation in which her
compositions were held in the 16th century, the time when Laurence
Humfrey, an exile from England for his religion, learnt to know them in
Germany. It is now an established fact that the plays are the work of a
Benedictine nun of Gandersheim, in Saxony, and their merits certainly
justify her biographer’s exclamation: “Rara avis in Saxonia visa est.”
It used to be assumed that between the 6th and the 12th century all
dramatic representations ceased, but each of these centuries when
patiently searched has yielded some dramatic texts. The feudal period,
reckoned the most barbarous, and Germania, set down then, as later in
history, as the least civilized of countries, have produced the most
considerable and least imperfect of these texts in the plays of
Hrotsuitha, or Roswitha, a nun of the Order of St. Benedict, who spent
her religious life in the Convent of Gandersheim.
There is a marked difference between her plays and such dramas as _The
Mystery of the Wise and Foolish Virgins_, which is little more than an
amplification of the sequence of the liturgy. We find here an author
familiar not only with the Scriptures, the works of the Fathers of the
Church, of the agiographers, and of the Christian philosophers, but with
Plautus, Terence, Horace, Virgil, and Ovid—an author who, on her own
confession, took the theatre of Terence as her model.
The Abbey of Gandersheim, where these plays were written, was founded
about the year 850 by Ludolph, Duke of Saxony, at the request of his
wife Oda, a Frankish princess. Although these were what men call “the
dark ages,” the darkness was comparative. The Saxon court at this time
was enlightened, and the Abbeys of Saxony, notably that of Corbei, were
centres of learning and civilization. Gandersheim was one of the “free
abbeys,” that is to say its Abbess held it direct from the King. Her
rights of overlordship extended for many miles; she had her own law
courts, and sent her men-at-arms into the field. In fact, she enjoyed
the usual privileges and undertook the usual responsibilities of a
feudal baron, and as such had the right to a seat in the Imperial Diet.
Coins are extant, struck by the Abbesses of Gandersheim, whose portraits
they bear.
During the 10th and 11th centuries these Abbesses were drawn chiefly
from the royal house of Saxony, which had been raised to the dignity of
the Imperial throne of Germania. Leuckfeld, in his voluminous history of
Gandersheim, quotes a contemporary chronicler who praises the royal nuns
for keeping all luxury and state out of the life of the community, and
for observing the Rule of St. Benedict strictly. “They were forbidden,”
says the chronicler, “to eat away from the common table at the appointed
times, except in case of sickness. They slept together, and came
together to celebrate the canonical hours. And they set to work together
whenever work had to be done.” The Abbess who ruled the community in
Roswitha’s time was Gerberg, or Gerberga, a niece of the Emperor Otho I.
Gerberg was a good classical scholar, and Roswitha tells us, in one of
the introductory prefaces with which, fortunately for posterity, her
works are freely sprinkled, how much she owed to the tuition of this
Abbess, “younger in years than I, but far older in learning.”
It is from such sentences as this that we are able to gain a little
information about Roswitha’s life. Her mention of certain historical
events and personages proves that she was born after the year 912 and
before the year 940 (the known date of Gerberg’s birth). She seems to
have entered the religious life at Gandersheim when she was about
twenty-three years old. She tells us nothing about her antecedents, but
as Gandersheim was an exclusive house we may assume that she was of
gentle birth. What education or experience of the world she had had
before she became a nun is a matter of guesswork.
Roswitha wrote in Latin, the only language used in the 10th century in
the West for literary composition. Conrad Celtes, the well-known
humanist, discovered the manuscript, the writing of which cannot be
earlier than the 9th, or later than the 10th century, in the library of
the Benedictine monastery of St. Emmeran, Ratisbon, in the last days of
the 15th century. In the year 1501 it was printed. This first edition
has an interesting frontispiece representing the nun poet and dramatist
presenting her works to the Emperor Otho II, in the presence of her
Abbess Gerberg, who wears the crown of a “Fürstabtin.” This and the
other plates illustrating incidents in the plays have been attributed to
both Dürer and Cranach, but they are not signed. Another edition, that
of Schurzfleisch, in nearly all respects a reprint of the first, was
issued in 1707, augmented with biographical and philological notes. The
text given in the Latin Patrology (Migne, Tomus 137) is taken from the
Schurzfleisch edition. More valuable to the student is Magnin’s edition.
The French commentator collated the Celtes and Schurzfleisch texts with
the original manuscript, which in 1803 had been moved from St. Emmeran
to the Munich library, and found one or two readings preferable to those
of Celtes. Magnin also restored some stage directions omitted by Celtes,
one of which, in the eighth scene of _Callimachus_, affords, as the
English translator notes, valuable evidence that the play was acted, or
at least intended for representation.
The original manuscript is divided into three parts. The first contains
eight poems or metrical legends of the Saints in which reliable
authorities are carefully followed, much skill being shown, however, in
the arrangement of the material and in the handling of the “leonine
hexameter.” The second part consists of the six plays here given in
English; the third, of a long unfinished poem called “Panegyric of the
Othos.” Celtes changed the order, which is to be regretted, as it is
obviously chronological. Roswitha’s preface to Part III shows more
confidence than the preface to the plays, and very much more than the
diffident preface to the poems. One of these poems, Passio Sancti
Pelagii,” once enjoyed a very high reputation, and is often quoted by
Spanish and Portuguese agiographers. The Bollandists print it entire in
the _Acta Sanctorum_. It has another interest in that Roswitha tells us
that she obtained her facts from a witness of the saint’s martyrdom.
Although Roswitha claims Terence as her master in the art of
play-writing, it cannot be said that she imitates him closely. When
_Paphnutius_ was acted in London in 1914 the dramatic critic of _The
Times_ was justified from one point of view in asserting that Roswitha’s
style is “not in the least Terentian.” For one thing she is quite
indifferent to the “unities,” and transports us from place to place with
bewildering abruptness. Her relation to Terence, as she herself insists,
is one of moral contrasts rather than of literary parallels. The
“situation” in Terence’s comedies almost invariably turns on the frailty
of women; in Roswitha’s plays as invariably on their heroic adherence to
chastity. Although considerable variety is shown in the treatment of
each story, the motive is always the same—to glorify uncompromising
fidelity to the vow of virginity. This nun dramatist deals courageously,
but, it must be added, delicately, when it is remembered that she lived
in an age when even the best educated were neither fastidious nor
restrained in manners or conversation, with the temptations which her
characters overcome. The preface to her plays shows that it was not
without some qualms of conscience that she wrote of things “which should
not even be named among us.” But the purity of her intentions, which was
obviously recognized by her religious superiors, should induce the most
prudish reader to refrain from charges of impropriety. With all their
shortcomings, Roswitha’s works have a claim to an eminent place in
medieval literature, and do honour to her sex, to the age in which she
lived, and to the vocation which she followed.
THE PLAYS OF ROSWITHA[2]
By Christopher St. John
This translation of the six plays of Roswitha (there are really seven,
for the two parts of _Gallicanus_ practically constitute two separate
dramas) was begun in the year 1912 and completed in 1914. The lively
interest provoked by the stage performance of one of the translations
(that of the play _Paphnutius_) by the Pioneer Players in January 1914
led me to think that the publication of the whole theatre of Roswitha in
English would be welcomed by all students of the drama. Unfortunately,
the war delayed publication, and the manuscript was entirely destroyed
by a fire at the publisher’s premises in Dublin during the Irish
insurrection of Easter 1916.
The work of collating the various Latin texts of Roswitha’s plays and
producing a translation which should preserve some of the naive
simplicity of the original had been a difficult one, and to begin it all
over again was a heart-breaking task. The consciousness that the
interest in Roswitha provoked by the performance of _Paphnutius_ had
waned did not alleviate the heaviness of spirit in which the work of
replacing the burned manuscript was undertaken.
Those readers who are unable or unwilling to compare the translations
with the original should be warned that Roswitha’s dialogue is
characterized by a simplicity and conciseness hardly attainable in any
tongue but Latin. The difficulty of finding equivalents for the terse
phrases employed tempts the translator to “write them up.” Although I
have aimed at producing a readable translation for lovers of the drama
in all its forms rather than an exact paraphrase for scholars, I have
tried to resist this temptation at the risk of making the dialogue seem
at times almost ludicrously bald. Except in a few cases where the use of
“thou” seemed dramatically fit, “tu” has been rendered by “you.”
Roswitha’s style is colloquial, and the constant employment of the
singular pronoun would misrepresent its character. The Latin is not
obsolete, and it would surely be a mistake to translate it into an
obsolete vernacular. Although the author’s syntax is decadent, and there
is a tendency to make every sentence analytical, her use of words is
classical, and her Latin in this respect superior to the scholastic
Latin of the Middle Ages. The only principle observed in my translation
has been the general one laid down by Edward Fitzgerald: “The live dog
is to be preferred to the dead lion—in translation at any rate,” and if
this has involved a loss of dignity, I hope there may be some
compensating gain in ease and force.[3] In regard to the names of the
characters in the plays, when there were well-known English equivalents
such as “Hadrian” and “Constantine” I have not hesitated to use them,
but when there were none I have given the Latin names. There is a good
precedent for this inconsistency. We speak of “Rome” and “Venice,” but
we do not try to Anglicize Perugia or Assisi.
The plays are all founded on well-known legends, which Roswitha follows
very closely as regards the facts. But she shows great originality in
her use of the facts and in her development of characters often merely
indicated in the legends. Three of the plays, _Gallicanus_, _Dulcitius_,
and _Sapientia_, deal with the conflict between infant Christianity and
Paganism, martyrdoms under the Emperors Hadrian, Diocletian, and Julian
the Apostate being the chief incidents. _Gallicanus_, which comes first
in the manuscript, shows considerable skill in dramatic construction.
Incident follows rapidly on incident. The scene lies alternately in Rome
and on the battlefield, yet the action is kept quite clear. The story is
easily followed, although Roswitha, like all good dramatists, eschews
narrative. Gallicanus, one of the Emperor Constantine’s generals, claims
the hand of the Emperor’s daughter as a reward for undertaking a
dangerous campaign against the Scythians. The Emperor knows that
Constance has taken a solemn vow of chastity, but he dares not offend
Gallicanus by a refusal, on account of the value of his military
services. So he temporizes, and consults Constance, who shows great
shrewdness in dealing with the situation. She sends her almoners, John
and Paul, to accompany Gallicanus on the Scythian expedition, in the
hope that they will convert him to Christianity before he returns to
marry her. The stratagem succeeds. Gallicanus, saved from defeat at a
critical moment in the battle by the intervention of a heavenly host,
becomes a Christian, and on his return to Rome shows respect for
Constance’s resolution to remain in the virgin state, and renounces her.
But he admits that the renunciation is bitter—Roswitha often shows such
touches of sympathy with natural human desires—and we are made to feel
that, although the dramatist was in no doubt that the life of chastity,
poverty, and obedience is the highest life, she understood how hard it
is for those who embrace it to believe that the yoke will be easy and
the burden light.
The second play, _Dulcitius_, is poorly constructed and, as a whole,
less interesting than any of the plays. Yet it has some features which
repay close study. It is the only play of Roswitha’s obviously designed
to provoke laughter, and if the level of the opening scenes had been
maintained would be a very droll religious farce. Here we have the usual
tale of martyrdom interspersed with incidents of buffoonery. The
conventional cruel and bloody executioners are replaced by comic
soldiers and a comic governor. Unfortunately, the farcical vein is
suddenly abandoned, perhaps because Roswitha’s Abbess thought such
fooling undignified in a nun! There must be some explanation of the
sudden disappearance of the comic character of Dulcitius from the play.
However, even as it stands _Dulcitius_ is worth a great deal, since it
affords the best proof we have that Roswitha’s plays were written for
representation. There is indirect proof in the fact that we know that
plays were acted at Gandersheim, as at other monasteries, on great
occasions, but here is direct evidence. All the fun of _Dulcitius_ lies
in the action. No dramatist who had not in mind the effect on
_spectators_ could have conceived the scene in which the foolish
governor, black as a sweep from his amorous encounter with the kitchen
pots and pans which he mistakes for young women, is chased away from the
palace gates, asking the while if there is anything amiss with his fine
and handsome appearance. Stage directions, or _didascalia_, are very
rarely found in old dramatic texts, but when Magnin compared Roswitha’s
original text[4] with the first printed edition he found several which
had been omitted by Celtes.
_Callimachus_, _Abraham_, and _Paphnutius_ precede _Sapientia_ in the
manuscript, but as the last belongs by reason of its subject to the same
group as _Gallicanus_ and _Dulcitius_, it is more convenient to discuss
it next. It is the best constructed of the “martyrdom” plays, and is
singled out for special praise by most of the Roswitha commentators. The
final scene in which Sapientia, having buried the bodies of her martyred
children outside Rome, lifts up her soul in an ecstatic prayer for death
is described by Magnin as “a ray of Sophocles shining through a
Christian mind.” Many, however, may find the repetition in the
long-drawn-out “torture” scenes monotonous, and the impertinence of
Sapientia’s daughters to their imperial persecutor as trying as the real
thing must have been. These slips of girls defy “law and order” in the
person of the Emperor Hadrian much as in our own day youthful
suffragettes used to defy British magistrates. Probably this is in
accordance with truth. Roswitha was separated from the days of the first
Christians by a shorter space of time than that which separates us from
her, and she based her narrative poem about the martyrdom of Saint
Pelagius on an account given her by an eye-witness. While modern authors
(with the exception of Mr. Bernard Shaw, whose Christian martyrs in
_Androcles and the Lion_ bear a resemblance to Roswitha’s) love to dwell
on the dignity of the early converts to Christianity, Roswitha conveys
the impression that the dignity was mingled with impudence.
In _Callimachus_, _Abraham_, and _Paphnutius_, Roswitha sets out to
describe the war between the flesh and the spirit, and the long penance
which must be done by those who have allowed the flesh to triumph. It is
not enough for them to be converted and to realise their crime against
the infinite beauty and goodness of God. They are called on to take
practical measures to cleanse themselves. _Callimachus_ is the first of
these plays, and by no means the best, although it timidly sounds a note
of passion, rare, if it exists at all, in medieval literature. Some
commentators have laboured to establish a resemblance between
_Callimachus_ and _Romeo and Juliet_, and there are curious parallels.
In both you see a sepulchre, a woman’s open grave, and the shroud lifted
by the desperate hand of a lover. In both two men come to this tragic
scene, bowed down by grief, yet able to control it —in _Romeo and
Juliet_, Capulet and Friar Lawrence, in _Callimachus_, the husband of
the dead woman and the Apostle John. It would be idle to strain the
parallels too far. They might not strike the attention at all if
_Callimachus_ did not possess a touch of the spirit of _Romeo and
Juliet_. It is this which makes the play seem to belong to a later
period than the others, and gives it a different character. The
passionate language employed, the romance of the story, the colour of
the earlier scenes are extraordinary when we remember that the play was
written in the 10th century. Haltingly, and apparently without any
conscious intention, Roswitha describes the kind of love of which
Terence her model knew nothing —that feverish desire absorbing the
senses and the soul, which leads to sin or madness or self-slaughter. As
if frightened by her own daring (or did the Abbess intervene, as we
guess she intervened in _Dulcitius_!), Roswitha spoils the play as a
play by a lengthy and tedious final scene in which St. John appears to
more advantage as a theologian than as a man.
_Abraham_ and _Paphnutius_ show Roswitha at her best as a dramatist. In
both plays the scenes are well knit, the characterization deft and sure,
and the dialogue admirably expressive. The opening scenes of _Abraham_
reveal that power to suggest character and situation without wordy
explanations which is essential in drama. We know at once, although we
are not told, that Mary, mere child as she is, is not made of stern
stuff, and that her vocation is doubtful. Her replies to the two holy
hermits are all that they should be superficially, but through them
penetrates a materialism antagonistic to their mystical exaltation.
Equally rich in the quality of suggestion is the scene in the house of
ill-fame which Abraham visits to rescue his niece from her evil life.
She does not recognize him at first, but melancholy seizes her at the
supper which it is her duty to enliven by her gaiety. There is the
beauty which never ages and appeals to all nations in all times in the
following scene, when the hermit, throwing off his worldly disguise,
shows his hair grown white through vigils and fasts, and his tonsure,
the badge of his thorn-crowned Master, and in words more compassionate
than upbraiding moves his lost child to contrition. It is indeed amazing
that so true and touching a scene, dealing with a subject which has led
later dramatists into false sentiment, coarseness, or mere preaching,
should have been written nearly a thousand years ago by an obscure nun
in a convent in Lower Saxony.
Perhaps nothing in _Paphnutius_ is on quite the same level of
achievement, but a play is not made by a single scene, and _Paphnutius_
as a whole is better than _Abraham_ as a whole. Few will question that
it is Roswitha’s masterpiece. It is very creditable to her that,
although the stones of the two plays are similar, she should have shown
such variety in the treatment of them. When we compare them we find
hardly any repetition. It is interesting to notice that it is not Mary,
brought up to the religious life from which she lapses and to which she
turns again, who becomes a saint, but Thais, whose life from childhood
has been spent in “dangerous delights.” There is a spice of irony in the
fact that the penitence of Thais, who had not had Mary’s opportunities,
is represented by the dramatist as being on a much higher spiritual
plane. With true insight Roswitha makes Paphnutius treat his penitent
with far more severity than the hermit Abraham treats Mary. Yet the
angelic love of Paphnutius for Thais, thanks to the dramatist’s power of
suggestion, penetrates through his austerity, although he never
manifests it until the moment when he is assured through the vision of
Paul, St. Anthony’s disciple, that the repentance of the sinner has
caused that joy in heaven which exceeds all the joy that can be given by
the righteous. _Paphnutius_ alone among Roswitha’s plays has stood the
test of stage representation in modern times,[5] and come through it
triumphantly, although the miraculous swiftness of Thais’s conversion
was considered most “unnatural” by the critics who witnessed the
performance.
Roswitha, it must be remembered, believed in miracles. The average
Englishman is sceptical. As Mr. Chesterton has pointed out, he will not
swear to the possibility of a thing he has not seen, although he is
quite ready to swear to the impossibility of a thing he has seen. In the
foreword which Mr. Chesterton wrote for the programme of the first
performance of _Paphnutius_ he compared Roswitha’s treatment of the
story of Thais’s conversion with Anatole France’s in his well-known
novel “Thais.” “This very strong and moving play (_Paphnutius_) was
written by a person about as different from the author of ‘Thais’ as
could be capable of wearing the human form, a devout woman, vowed to a
restricted life, and writing in the light of a Latin that was gradually
going out like a shortening candle. … It is inevitable that such
darkness should breed dangerous and even savage things, and that even
religion should become almost as fierce as its enemies. … This nun of
the Dark Ages wrote without any of that modern comfort and culture which
ought, at the very least, to make men kind. When M. Anatole France was
the author of ‘Silvestre Bonnard’ it did make him kind. But about
Paphnutius and Thais, the harsh ascetic of the hardest times of the 10th
century is far kinder than he. In the ‘Thais’ of the great French
romancer the whole point is that Thais repents but that Paphnutius
relapses. The nun saves both souls. Anatole France loses one of them.
That is modern universalism.”
I hope that the publication of these plays in the English language will
confirm Roswitha’s right to a high place in medieval literature, and a
place also among the few writers of plays which have more than a
transitory interest. Perhaps a certain predilection for medieval art is
necessary before we can love her wholeheartedly. I do not imagine that
those who see no beauty in the primitive art of Cimabue, Giotto, Sana di
Pietro, or Lorenzetti will admire the work of a primitive dramatist. But
others who find sincere simplicity, as opposed to affected simplicity, a
charm in itself, will take Roswitha to their hearts and will have no
difficulty in recognizing her merits. In addition to the six plays I
have translated the five prefaces printed in Roswitha’s complete works,
in the hope that the “strong voice of Gandersheim,” speaking directly to
the reader, may win a fresh interest for the plays, and give some idea
of the character and attainments of the remarkable woman who wrote them.
THE PREFACES OF ROSWITHA
Preface to the Plays of Hrotswitha, German Religious and Virgin of the Saxon Race
There are many Catholics, and we cannot entirely acquit ourselves of the
charge, who, attracted by the polished elegance of the style of pagan
writers, prefer their works to the holy scriptures. There are others
who, although they are deeply attached to the sacred writings and have
no liking for most pagan productions, make an exception in favour of the
works of Terence, and, fascinated by the charm of the manner, risk being
corrupted by the wickedness of the matter. Wherefore I, the strong voice
of Gandersheim, have not hesitated to imitate in my writings a poet
whose works are so widely read, my object being to glorify, within the
limits of my poor talent, the laudable chastity of Christian virgins in
that self-same form of composition which has been used to describe the
shameless acts of licentious women. One thing has all the same
embarrassed me and often brought a blush to my cheek. It is that I have
been compelled through the nature of this work to apply my mind and my
pen to depicting the dreadful frenzy of those possessed by unlawful
love, and the insidious sweetness of passion—things which should not
even be named among us. Yet if from modesty I had refrained from
treating these subjects I should not have been able to attain my
object—to glorify the innocent to the best of my ability. For the more
seductive the blandishments of lovers the more wonderful the divine
succour and the greater the merit of those who resist, especially when
it is fragile woman who is victorious and strong man who is routed with
confusion.
I have no doubt that many will say that my poor work is much inferior to
that of the author whom I have taken as my model, that it is on a much
humbler scale, and indeed altogether different.
Well, I do not deny this. None can justly accuse me of wishing to place
myself on a level with those who by the sublimity of their genius have
so far outstripped me. No, I am not so arrogant as to compare myself
even with the least among the scholars of the ancient world. I strive
only, although my power is not equal to my desire, to use what talent I
have for the glory of Him Who gave it me. Nor is my self-love so great
that I would, to avoid criticism, abstain from proclaiming wherever
possible the virtue of Christ working in His saints. If this pious
devotion gives satisfaction I shall rejoice; it it does not, either on
account of my own worthlessness or of the faults of my unpolished style,
I shall still be glad that I made the effort.
In the humbler works of my salad days I gathered up my poor researches
in heroic strophes, but here I have sifted them into a series of
dramatic scenes and avoided through omission the pernicious
voluptuousness of pagan writers.
Epistle of the Same to the Learned Patrons of this Book
To you, learned and virtuous men, who do not envy the success of others,
but on the contrary rejoice in it as becomes the truly great,
Hrotswitha, poor humble sinner, sends wishes for your health in this
life and your joy in eternity.
I cannot praise you enough for your humility, or pay an adequate tribute
to your kindness and affection. To think that you, who have been
nurtured in the most profound philosophical studies and have attained
knowledge in perfection, should have deigned to approve the humble work
of an obscure woman! You have, however, not praised me but the Giver of
the grace which works in me, by sending me your paternal congratulations
and admitting that I possess some little knowledge of those arts the
subtleties of which exceed the grasp of my woman’s mind. Until I showed
my work to you I had not dared to let anyone see it except my intimate
companions. I came near abandoning this form of writing altogether, for
if there were few to whom I could submit my compositions at all there
were fewer still who could point out what needed correction and
encourage me to go on. But now, reassured by your verdict (is it not
said that the testimony of three witnesses is “equivalent to the
truth”?), I feel that I have enough confidence to apply myself to
writing, if God grants me the power, and that I need not fear the
criticism of the learned whoever they may be. Still, I am torn by
conflicting feelings. I rejoice from the depths of my soul that the God
through Whose grace alone I am what I am should be praised in me, but I
am afraid of being thought greater than I am. I know that it is as wrong
to deny a divine gift as to pretend falsely that we have received it. So
I will not deny that through the grace of the Creator I have acquired
some knowledge of the arts. He has given me the ability to learn—I am a
teachable creature—yet of myself I should know nothing. He has given me
a perspicacious mind, but one that lies fallow and idle when it is not
cultivated. That my natural gifts might not be made void by negligence I
have been at pains, whenever I have been able to pick up some threads
and scraps torn from the old mantle of philosophy, to weave them into
the stuff of my own book, in the hope that my lowly ignorant effort may
gain more acceptance through the introduction of something of a nobler
strain, and that the Creator of genius may be the more honoured since it
is generally believed that a woman’s intelligence is slower. Such has
been my motive in writing, the sole reason for the sweat and fatigue
which my labours have cost me. At least I do not pretend to have
knowledge where I am ignorant. On the contrary, my best claim to
indulgence is that I know how much I do not know.
Impelled by your kindly interest and your express wish I come, bowing
low like a reed, to submit this little work to your judgment. I wrote it
indeed with that idea in my mind, although doubt as to its merits has
made me withhold it until now. I hope you will revise it with the same
careful attention that you would give to a work of your own, and that
when you have succeeded in bringing it up to the proper standard you
will return it to me, that I may learn what are its worst faults.
Roswitha’s Preface to her Poetical Works
_(The Life Story of the Blessed Virgin, The Fall and Conversion of
Theophilus, The Martyrdom of Saint Agnes, Poems concerning the First
Cenobites at Gandersheim, The Acts of Otho I, etc., etc.)_
I offer this little book, which has not much to recommend it in the way
of beauty, although it has been compiled with a good deal of care, for
the criticism of all those learned people who do not take pleasure in a
writer’s faults but are anxious to amend them. I am well aware that in
my first works I made many mistakes not only in prosody but in literary
composition, and there must be much to criticise in this book. By
acknowledging my shortcomings beforehand I hope I am entitled to ready
indulgence as well as to careful correction of my mistakes. To the
objection that may be raised that I have borrowed parts of this work
from authorities which some condemn as apocryphal, I would answer that I
have erred through ignorance, not through presumption. When I started,
timidly enough, on the work of composition I did not know that the
authenticity of my material had been questioned. On discovering this to
be the case I decided not to discard it, because it often happens that
what is reputed false turns out to be true. In these circumstances I
shall need as much assistance in defending this little work as in
improving it. It must be remembered that when I began it I was far from
possessing the necessary qualifications, being young both in years and
learning. Up to the present I have not submitted the work to any experts
much as I needed their advice, for fear that the roughness of the style
would make them discourage me to such an extent that I might give up
writing altogether. Unknown to all round me, I have toiled in secret,
often destroying what seemed to me to be ill written, and rewriting it.
I have tried to the best of my ability to improvise on phrases collected
from sacred writings in the precincts of our convent at Gandersheim. I
was trained first by our most learned and gentle novice-mistress
Rikkarda and others. Later, I owed much to the kind favour and
encouragement of a royal personage, Gerberga, under whose abbatial rule
I am now living. She, though younger in years than I, was, as might be
expected of the niece of an Emperor, far older in learning, and she had
the kindness to make me familiar with the works of some of those authors
in whose writings she had been instructed by learned men. Although
prosody may seem a hard and difficult art for a woman to master, I,
without any assistance but that given by the merciful grace of Heaven
(in which I have trusted, rather than in my own strength), have
attempted in this book to sing in dactyls. I was eager that the talent
given me by Heaven should not grow rusty from neglect, and remain silent
in my heart from apathy, but under the hammer of assiduous devotion
should sound a chord of divine praise. If I have achieved nothing else,
this alone should make my work of some value. Wherefore, reader,
whosoever you may be, I beg you, if you think it right before God, to
help me by not sparing censure of such pages as are poor and lack the
skill of a master. If, on the contrary, you find some that stand the
test of criticism, give the credit to God, ascribing all defects to my
shortcomings. Do this in an indulgent rather than in a censorious
spirit, for the critic forfeits the right to be severe when the writer
acknowledges defects with humility.
To Gerberg
Illustrious Abbess, venerated no less for uprightness and honesty than
for the high distinction of a royal and noble race, Roswitha of
Gandersheim, the last of the least of those fighting under your
ladyship’s rule, desires to give you all that a servant owes her
mistress.
O my Lady, bright with the varied jewels of spiritual wisdom, your
maternal kindness will not let you hesitate to read what, as you know,
was written at your command! It was you who gave me the task of
chronicling in verse the deeds of the Emperor, and you know that it was
impossible to collect them together from hearsay. You can imagine the
difficulties which my ignorance put in my way while I was toiling over
this work. There were things of which I could not find any written
record, nor could I elicit information by word of mouth which seemed
sufficiently reliable. I was like a person in a strange land wandering
without a guide through a forest where the path is concealed by dense
snow. In vain he tries to follow the directions of those who have shown
the way. He wanders from the path, now by chance strikes it again, until
at last, penetrating the thickness of the wood, he reaches a place where
he may take a long-desired rest, and sitting down there, does not
proceed further until someone overtakes him, or he discovers the
footprints of one who has gone before. Even so have I, obeying the
command to undertake a complete chronicle of great deeds, gone on my
way, trembling, hesitating, and vacillating, so great was the difficulty
of finding a path in the forest of these royal achievements.
And now, worn out by the journey, I am holding my peace and resting in a
suitable place. I do not propose to go further without better guidance.
If I could be inspired by the eloquent words of learned folk (either
already set down or to be set down in the future) I might perhaps find a
means of glozing my uncouth workmanship. At present I am defenceless at
every point, because I am not supported by any authority. I also fear I
shall be accused of temerity in presuming to describe in my humble
uncultured way matters which ought to be set forth with all the ceremony
of great learning. Yet if my work is examined by those who know how to
weigh things fairly, I shall be more easily pardoned on account of my
sex and my inferior knowledge, especially as I did not undertake it of
my own will but at your command. Why should I fear the judgment of
others, since if there are mistakes I should fall only under your
censure, and why should I not escape reproof seeing that I was anxious
to keep silence? I should deserve blame if I sought to withhold my work.
In any case I leave the decision to you and your friend, Archbishop
William, to whom you have thought fit to show these unpolished lines.
Roswitha’s Preface to the Complete Works
I found all the material I have used in this book in various ancient
works by authors of reputation, with the exception of the story of the
martyrdom of St. Pelagius, which has been told here in verse. The
details of this were supplied to me by an inhabitant of the town where
the Saint was put to death. This truthful stranger assured me that he
had not only seen Pelagius, whom he described as the most beautiful of
men, face to face, but had been a witness of his end. If anything has
crept into my other compositions, the accuracy of which can be
challenged, it is not my fault, unless it be a fault to have reproduced
the statements of unreliable authorities.
GALLICANUS
Argument
The conversion of Gallicanus, Commander-in-Chief. On the eve of his
departure for a campaign against the Scythians, Gallicanus is betrothed
to the Emperor Constantine’s daughter, Constance, a consecrated virgin.
When threatened with defeat in battle, Gallicanus is converted by John
and Paul, Grand Almoners to Constance. He is immediately baptized and
takes a vow of celibacy.
Later he is exiled by order of Julian the Apostate, and receives the
crown of martyrdom. John and Paul are put to death by the same prince
and buried secretly in their own house. Not long after, the son of their
executioner becomes possessed by a devil. He is cured after confessing
the crime committed by his father. He bears witness to the merits of the
martyrs, and is baptized, together with his father.
Characters in Part I
- THE EMPEROR CONSTANTINE.
- GALLICANUS.
- CONSTANCE _(Daughter of Constantine)_.
- ARTEMIA _(Daughter of Gallicanus)_.
- ATTICA _(Daughter of Gallicanus)_.
- JOHN _(Grand Almoner to Constance)_.
- PAUL _(Grand Almoner to Constance)_.
- LORDS OF THE COURT.
- BRADAN _(King of the Scythians)_.
- TRIBUNES.
- ROMAN SOLDIERS.
- SCYTHIAN SOLDIERS.
- HELENA _(Mother of Constantine)_.
Characters in Part II
- JULIAN _(The Apostate)_.
- GALLICANUS.
- TERENTIANUS.
- JOHN.
- PAUL.
- CONSULS.
- CHRISTIANS.
- SOLDIERS.
Gallicanus—Part I
Scene I
CONSTANTINE. Gallicanus, this tries my patience. You have delayed the
offensive against the Scythians too long. The only nation which boldly
resists our power and refuses to make peace with Rome! You know well
enough that you were chosen because of your energy in your country’s
service.
GALLICANUS. Most noble Constantine, I have served you hand and foot,
ungrudgingly, devotedly, and have always striven to repay your trust in
me with deeds. I have never shirked any task.
CONSTANTINE. Is there any need to remind me? As if your great services
were not always in mind! I spoke, not to reproach you, but to urge you
to act quickly.
GALLICANUS. I will set out at once.
CONSTANTINE. I am rejoiced to hear it.
GALLICANUS. I am ready to obey your orders if it costs me my life.
CONSTANTINE. Your zeal pleases me. I appreciate your devotion.
GALLICANUS. As both are immense should they not be rewarded on the same
scale?
CONSTANTINE. That is only fair.
GALLICANUS. It is easier for a man to undertake a difficult enterprise
when he is sustained by the knowledge that his reward is sure.
CONSTANTINE. Naturally.
GALLICANUS. I beg you then to promise me now my prize for this dangerous
undertaking. In hard and strenuous fighting, when it seems as if I must
be defeated, the thought of this reward will give me new strength.
CONSTANTINE. The reward deemed by the Senate the most glorious a man can
desire has never been withheld from you, and never shall be. You enjoy
the freedom of my court, and the highest honour among those who surround
me.
GALLICANUS. I know, but I am not thinking of that.
CONSTANTINE. If you have other ambitions, you must tell me.
GALLICANUS. I have.
CONSTANTINE. What are they?
GALLICANUS. Dare I tell you?
CONSTANTINE. Of course!
GALLICANUS. You will be angry.
CONSTANTINE. Not at all!
GALLICANUS. You are sure?
CONSTANTINE. Quite sure.
GALLICANUS. We shall see. I say you will be indignant.
CONSTANTINE. Your fears are groundless. Come! Speak!
GALLICANUS. Since you command me, I will. I love Constance. I love your
daughter.
CONSTANTINE. That is well. You do right to love the daughter of your
sovereign. Your love honours her.
GALLICANUS. You say this to cut me short.
CONSTANTINE. Not so.
GALLICANUS. I wish to marry her. Will you give your consent?
CONSTANTINE. He asks no small thing, my lords. This is an honour of
which none of you have ever dreamed.
GALLICANUS. Alas! I foresaw this. He scorns me. _(To the Lords)_
Intercede for me, I implore you.
THE LORDS. Most illustrious Emperor, we beg you to be generous. Remember
his services, and do not turn a deaf ear to his request.
CONSTANTINE. I have not done so, but it is my duty first to make sure
that my daughter consents.
THE LORDS. That is only reasonable.
CONSTANTINE. I will go to her, and, if such is your wish, Gallicanus, I
will lay the project before her.
GALLICANUS. It is my wish.
Scene II
CONSTANCE. Our Lord the Emperor approaches. He looks strangely grave and
sad. What can it mean?
CONSTANTINE. Constance, my child, come nearer. I wish to speak to you.
CONSTANCE. I am here, my lord. Command me.
CONSTANTINE. I am in great distress of mind. My heart is heavy.
CONSTANCE. As you came in I saw that you were sad, and without knowing
the reason I was troubled.
CONSTANTINE. It is on your account.
CONSTANCE. On my account?
CONSTANTINE. Yes.
CONSTANCE. You frighten me. What is it, my lord?
CONSTANTINE. The fear of grieving you ties my tongue.
CONSTANCE. You will grieve me more by keeping silence.
CONSTANTINE. Gallicanus, my General, whose victories have won him the
first place among the princes of my realm—Gallicanus, whose sword is
necessary for the defence of the Empire—Gallicanus—
CONSTANCE. What of him?
CONSTANTINE. He wants to make you his wife.
CONSTANCE. Me?
CONSTANTINE. Yes.
CONSTANCE. I would rather die.
CONSTANTINE. I knew that would be your answer.
CONSTANCE. It cannot surprise you, as it was with your consent and
approval that I consecrated myself to God.
CONSTANTINE. I have not forgotten.
CONSTANCE. I will keep my vow inviolate. Nothing can ever force me to
break it.
CONSTANTINE. I know you are right, and the greater my difficulty. For
if, as is my duty as your father, I permit you to be faithful to your
vow, as a sovereign I shall suffer for it. Yet were I to oppose your
resolution—which God forbid!—I should deserve eternal punishment.
CONSTANCE. If I despaired of divine help I should be more wretched than
you.
CONSTANTINE. That is true.
CONSTANCE. But a heart which trusts in God’s goodness is armed against
sorrow.
CONSTANTINE. You speak well, my Constance.
CONSTANCE. My lord, if you will deign to listen to my advice, I can show
you how to escape this double danger.
CONSTANTINE. Oh, that you could!
CONSTANCE. You must pretend that you are willing to grant Gallicanus
what he asks when the war has been won. Make him believe that I agree.
Persuade him to leave with me during his absence at the war his two
daughters, Attica and Anemia, as pledges of the bond of love which is to
unite us. Tell him that in return I will send with him on his expedition
my two Almoners, John and Paul.
CONSTANTINE. And if he should return victorious? What then?
CONSTANCE. We must pray the Father of us all that he will change his
mind.
CONSTANTINE. My daughter, my daughter! Your sweet words have softened
the harshness of your father’s grief! Henceforth I will not give way to
anxiety.
CONSTANCE. There is no need.
CONSTANTINE. I will return to Gallicanus and satisfy him with this
promise.
CONSTANCE. Go in peace, my lord.
Scene III
GALLICANUS. O princes, I die of impatience to learn what has come of
this long conference between our august sovereign and his daughter.
THE LORDS. He promised to plead your cause.
GALLICANUS. Oh, that his arguments may prevail!
THE LORDS. Maybe they will.
GALLICANUS. Peace! Silence all of you! The Emperor comes. His face is
not anxious as when he left us, but serene and glad.
THE LORDS. A good omen!
GALLICANUS. It is said that the face is the mirror of the soul. If this
be true, the calm joy in his reflects a kindly mood.
THE LORDS. We trust so.
Scene IV
CONSTANTINE. Gallicanus!
GALLICANUS. What did he say?
THE LORDS. Forward, forward. He is asking for you.
GALLICANUS. Now the good gods help me!
CONSTANTINE. Gallicanus, set out for the war with an easy mind. On your
return you shall receive the reward you covet.
GALLICANUS. This is not a jest?
CONSTANTINE. How can you ask?
GALLICANUS. I should be happy indeed if I could know one thing.
CONSTANTINE. What may that be?
GALLICANUS. Her answer.
CONSTANTINE. My daughter’s answer?
GALLICANUS. Yes. What did she say?
CONSTANTINE. It is unreasonable to expect a young maid to answer in so
many words. Events will prove that she consents.
GALLICANUS. If I could be assured of that, I should trouble little about
the manner of her answer.
CONSTANTINE. You want proof?
GALLICANUS. I hunger for it.
CONSTANTINE. Then listen. She has given orders that her Almoners, John
and Paul, shall stay with you until the day of your nuptials.
GALLICANUS. And her reason?
CONSTANTINE. That by constant intercourse with them you may learn to
know how she lives—her habits and her tastes.
GALLICANUS. An excellent plan, and one that pleases me beyond measure.
CONSTANTINE. She would like you in return to allow your two young
daughters to live with her for the same period. She thinks she can learn
from them how to please you.
GALLICANUS. Oh, joy, joy! All things are falling out as I wished.
CONSTANTINE. Send for your daughters without delay.
GALLICANUS. Are my soldiers still there? Come, fellows, hasten! Run to
my daughters and bring them to their sovereign’s presence.
Scene V
SOLDIERS. Most noble Constance, the illustrious daughters of Gallicanus
are here. They are beautiful, wise and virtuous, and in every way worthy
of your friendship.
CONSTANCE. They are welcome. _(They are introduced with ceremony.)_[6] O
Christ, lover of virginity and fount of chastity! Thou Who through the
intercession of Thy holy martyr Agnes hast preserved my body from stain
and my mind from pagan errors! Thou Who hast shown me as an example Thy
Mother’s virgin bed where Thou didst manifest Thyself true God! Thou Who
before time began wast born of God the Father, and in the fullness of
time wast born again true man, of a mother’s womb—I implore Thee, true
Wisdom, co-eternal with the Father, the Creator, Upholder and Governor
of the Universe, to grant my prayer! May Gallicanus, who seeks to gain
the love which I can give only to Thee, be turned from his unlawful
purpose. Take his daughters to Thyself, and pour the sweetness of Thy
love into their hearts that they may despise all carnal bonds, and be
admitted to the blessed company of virgins who are consecrated to Thee!
ARTEMIA. Hail, most noble Constance! Imperial highness, hail!
CONSTANCE. Greeting, my sisters, Artemia and Attica. Stand up, stand up!
No, do not kneel. Salute me rather with a loving kiss.
ARTEMIA. We come joyfully to offer you our homage, lady. We are ready to
serve you with our whole hearts, and we seek no reward but your love.
CONSTANCE. We have one Lord Who is in heaven. He alone should be served
like that. We owe Him a love and fidelity which must be shown not only
with whole hearts but with whole bodies. That is if we would enter His
kingdom with the virgin’s palm.
ARTEMIA. We do not question this. You will find us eager to obey you in
all things, but never so eager as when you exhort us to confess our
faith and keep our vow of purity.
CONSTANCE. That is a good answer, and one worthy of a noble mind. I see
that through divine grace you already have the faith.
ARTEMIA. How could we poor idolators have any good thought if light had
not been given us from above?
CONSTANCE. The strength of your faith makes me hope that Gallicanus too
will believe some day.
ARTEMIA. He has only to be taught. Then he must believe.
CONSTANCE. Send for John and Paul.
Scene VI
JOHN. You sent for us, Highness. We are here.
CONSTANCE. Go at once to Gallicanus and attach yourselves to his person.
Instruct him little by little in the mysteries of our faith. Perhaps God
means to make us the instruments of winning him to His service.
PAUL. God give us success! We shall do all we can.
Scene VII
GALLICANUS. You are welcome, John—and you, Paul. I have awaited your
coming with impatience.
JOHN. As soon as we received our lady’s commands we hastened at once to
put ourselves at your service.
GALLICANUS. Your offer to serve me gives me a pleasure that nothing else
could give.
PAUL. That is natural, for, as the saying goes, “The friends of our
friends are our friends.”
GALLICANUS. A true saying.
JOHN. The love our lady bears you assures us of your goodwill.
GALLICANUS. You can rely on it. Come, tribunes and centurions, assemble
the troops. Soldiers in my command, I present to you John and Paul, for
whose arrival our departure has been delayed.
TRIBUNES. Lead us on. _(The tribunes gather round Gallicanus.)_[7]
GALLICANUS. We must first go to the Capitol, and visit the temples to
propitiate the gods with the customary sacrifices. That is the way to
obtain success for our arms.
TRIBUNES. That is certain.
JOHN. Let us withdraw for a time.
PAUL. We cannot do otherwise.
Scene VIII
JOHN. The General is leaving the temple. Let us mount our horses and
ride to meet him.
PAUL. This moment.
GALLICANUS. I noticed you were not with us. Where have you been?
JOHN. We were seeing to our baggage. We have sent it on ahead that we
may ride with you unencumbered.
GALLICANUS. Well planned!
Scene IX
GALLICANUS. By Jupiter, tribunes, I see the legions of an immense army
advancing! The diversity of their arms is enough to make the stoutest
heart tremble.
TRIBUNES. By Hercules, the enemy!
GALLICANUS. Let us resist with courage, and show them we are men!
TRIBUNES. It is useless to attempt resistance to such a host.
GALLICANUS. What, then, do you propose?
TRIBUNES. Surrender.
GALLICANUS. Apollo forbid!
TRIBUNES. By Pollux, we must surrender! See, we are surrounded on every
side—we are being mown down—we perish!
GALLICANUS. Ye gods! What will happen if the tribunes refuse to obey me,
and surrender?
JOHN. Promise you will become a Christian, and you will conquer.
GALLICANUS. I swear! And I will keep my vow.
ONE OF THE ENEMY. Woe to us, King Bradan! Fortune, who but now promised
us victory, was mocking us. Our men are weakening, their strength is
exhausted—they have lost heart and are giving up the struggle.
BRADAN. I am uncertain what to do. A strange faintheartedness has seized
me also. There is but one course—we must surrender.
THE ENEMY. There is nothing else to do.
BRADAN. Gallicanus, do not destroy us! Be merciful! Spare our lives and
do with us what you will.
GALLICANUS. Have no fear. There is no need to tremble. Give me hostages,
acknowledge yourselves tributaries of the Emperor, and you shall live
happy under a Roman peace.
BRADAN. You have only to name the number and rank of the hostages, and
the tribute to be exacted.
GALLICANUS. Soldiers, lay down arms. Slay no one, wound no one, but
embrace as friends these men whom you had to fight as enemies of the
Empire.
JOHN. How much more powerful is one fervent prayer than all the pride of
man!
GALLICANUS. That is true indeed.
PAUL. What mighty succour God in His mercy sends to those who humbly
trust in Him!
GALLICANUS. I have had good proof of it.
JOHN. But the promise made when the storm was raging must be kept now it
is calm.
GALLICANUS. I agree. It is my wish to be baptized as soon as possible,
and to devote the rest of my life to the service of God.
PAUL. You are right.
Scene X
GALLICANUS. Look! That vast crowd of citizens has gathered to see our
entry into Rome! See how they flock to acclaim us, bearing according to
custom the symbols of victory!
JOHN. It is only natural.
GALLICANUS. Yet the glorious victory was not won by my valour nor by the
help of their gods.
JOHN. No, assuredly; the glory belongs to the one true God.
GALLICANUS. That being so, we must pass the temples without going in.
JOHN. A wise decision.
GALLICANUS. And instead make a humble confession of faith in the Church
of the Apostles.
PAUL. O happy man! And most happy thought! In this you show yourself a
true Christian.
Scene XI
CONSTANTINE. I am greatly astonished, soldiers, that Gallicanus should
be so long in presenting himself before his sovereign.
SOLDIERS. The moment he arrived in Rome he went to the Church of Saint
Peter, and, prostrating himself on the ground, gave thanks to the
Almighty for giving him the victory.
CONSTANTINE. Gallicanus?
SOLDIERS. It is true.
CONSTANTINE. Impossible!
SOLDIERS. Here he comes. You can ask him yourself.
Scene XII
CONSTANTINE. Welcome, Gallicanus! I have awaited your arrival with
impatience. I long to hear from your own lips how the battle went and
how it ended.
GALLICANUS. I will tell you the whole story.
CONSTANTINE. Wait a moment, for even the battle is of small importance
compared with the one thing which I want most to hear.
GALLICANUS. What may that be?
CONSTANTINE. On your departure for the war you visited the temple of the
gods; on your return you went to the Church of the Apostles. Why?
GALLICANUS. You ask that?
CONSTANTINE. Have I not told you, man, that I wish to know above all
things!
GALLICANUS. I will explain.
CONSTANTINE. Proceed, I beg you.
GALLICANUS. Most Sacred Emperor, I confess I visited the temples on my
departure, as you have said, and humbly sought the help of gods and
demons.
CONSTANTINE. According to the old Roman custom.
GALLICANUS. To my thinking, a bad custom.
CONSTANTINE. I am of the same mind.
GALLICANUS. Then the tribunes arrived with their legions and we began
our march.
CONSTANTINE. You set out from Rome with great pomp.
GALLICANUS. We pushed on, met the enemy, engaged them, and were
defeated.
CONSTANTINE. Romans defeated!
GALLICANUS. Routed.
CONSTANTINE. When was such a disaster ever known in our history!
GALLICANUS. Once again I offered those hideous sacrifices, but what god
came to my help? The fury of the enemy redoubled, and great numbers of
my men were slain.
CONSTANTINE. I am amazed.
GALLICANUS. It was then that the tribunes, disregarding my orders, began
to surrender.
CONSTANTINE. To the enemy?
GALLICANUS. To the enemy.
CONSTANTINE. And what did you do?
GALLICANUS. What could I do but take to flight?
CONSTANTINE. Impossible!
GALLICANUS. It is true.
CONSTANTINE. What anguish for a man of your courage!
GALLICANUS. The sharpest.
CONSTANTINE. And how did you escape?
GALLICANUS. My faithful companions, John and Paul, advised me to make a
vow to the Creator.
CONSTANTINE. Good advice.
GALLICANUS. I found it so. Hardly had I opened my lips to make the vow
than I received help from heaven.
CONSTANTINE. How?
GALLICANUS. A young man of immense stature appeared before me carrying a
cross on his shoulder. He bade me follow him sword in hand.
CONSTANTINE. This young man, whoever he was, was sent from heaven.
GALLICANUS. So it proved. At the same moment I saw at my side some
soldiers whose faces were strange to me. They promised me their help.
CONSTANTINE. The host of Heaven!
GALLICANUS. I am sure of it. Following in the steps of my guide, I
advanced fearlessly into the midst of the enemy until I came face to
face with their King, by name Bradan. Suddenly overcome by the strangest
terror he threw himself at my feet, surrendered with his whole army, and
promised to pay tribute in perpetuity to the ruler of the Roman world.
CONSTANTINE. Now praise be to Him Who gave us this victory. Those who
put their trust in Him will never be confounded.
GALLICANUS. My experience witnesses to it.
CONSTANTINE. And now I should like to know what became of the
treacherous tribunes?
GALLICANUS. They hastened to implore my forgiveness.
CONSTANTINE. And you showed them mercy?
GALLICANUS. I show mercy to men who had abandoned me in the hour of
peril and surrendered to the enemy against my orders! No, assuredly!
CONSTANTINE. What did you do?
GALLICANUS. I offered to pardon them on one condition.
CONSTANTINE. What condition?
GALLICANUS. I told them that those who consented to become Christians
would be allowed to retain their rank, and might even receive fresh
honours, but that those who refused would not be pardoned, and would be
degraded.
CONSTANTINE. A fair proposition, and honourable to the leader who made
it.
GALLICANUS. For my own part, purified in the waters of baptism, I have
surrendered myself completely to the will of God. I am ready to renounce
even your daughter, whom I love more than anything in the world. I wish
to abstain from marriage that I may devote myself wholly to the service
of the Virgin’s Son.
CONSTANTINE. Come near, nearer yet, and let me fold you in my arms! Now,
Gallicanus, the time has come for me to tell you what up to now I have
been obliged to keep secret.
GALLICANUS. What is it?
CONSTANTINE. My daughter, and your own two also, have chosen the same
holy path which you yourself wish to follow.
GALLICANUS. I rejoice to hear it.
CONSTANTINE. Their desire to keep their vow of virginity is so ardent
that neither entreaties nor threats can alter their resolution.
GALLICANUS. God help them to persevere!
CONSTANTINE. Come, let us go to their apartments.
GALLICANUS. Lead on. I will follow.
CONSTANTINE. They are coming here. Look, they hasten to greet us, and my
glorious mother, noble Helena, is with them. They all weep for joy.
Scene XIII
GALLICANUS. Be at peace, most holy virgins. Persevere in the fear of
God, and preserve untouched the treasure of your virginity. Then you
will be worthy of the embraces of the eternal King.
CONSTANCE. We shall keep our vows with more joy now we know that you are
on our side.
GALLICANUS. Have no fear that I shall put any obstacle in your way. Far
from it! I consent gladly, and desire nothing better than to see you
fulfil your vow, my Constance, you, for whom I was eager to risk life
itself.
CONSTANCE. I see the hand of the Most High in this change in you.
GALLICANUS. If I had not changed, and for the better, I could never have
consented to renounce you.
CONSTANCE. The Lover of virginal purity and the Author of all good
resolutions made you renounce me because He had already claimed me for
His own. May He Who has separated us in the body on earth unite us in
the joys of eternity.
GALLICANUS. So be it! So be it!
CONSTANTINE. And now, since we are united in the bond of Christ’s love,
you shall live with us in our palace, and be treated with as much honour
as though you were our own son.
GALLICANUS. What temptation is to be feared more than the lust of the
eyes?
CONSTANTINE. None, I know.
GALLICANUS. Then is it right that I should see her too often? As you
know, I love her more than my own kin, more than my life, more than my
soul!
CONSTANTINE. You must do what you think best.
GALLICANUS. Thanks to our Lord Christ and to my labours, your army was
never so strong as now. Give me leave, then, to transfer my service to
that Emperor through Whose power I have returned victorious, and to Whom
I owe any success I have won in life.
CONSTANTINE. To Him be praise and glory. All creatures should serve Him.
GALLICANUS. Above all those whom He has generously helped in time of
need.
CONSTANTINE. That is true.
GALLICANUS. I am giving to my daughters the portion of my property which
is theirs by right. Another I am devoting to the support of pilgrims.
With the remainder I propose to enrich my slaves—whom I have freed—and
to relieve the poor.
CONSTANTINE. You are disposing of your wealth wisely, and you will be
rewarded.
GALLICANUS. As for me, I long to go to Ostia and become the disciple of
the holy man, Hilarion. In his brotherhood I hope to spend the rest of
my life praising God and helping the poor.
CONSTANTINE. May the Divine Being to Whom all things are possible bring
your plans to a happy issue! May you always do the will of Him Who lives
and reigns in the Unity of the Trinity, and at last attain eternal joy!
GALLICANUS. Amen.
Gallicanus—Part II
Scene I
JULIAN. The cause of the unrest in our Empire is clear enough. These
Christians enjoy too much liberty. Their claim that they obey laws made
in the time of Constantine is false.
CONSULS. It would be a disgrace to tolerate it.
JULIAN. I do not intend to tolerate it.
CONSULS. Those words are worthy of you.
JULIAN. Soldiers, arm yourselves and strip the Christians of all they
possess. Remind them of these words of their Christ:—“He who does not
renounce all that he possesses for my sake cannot be my disciple.”
SOLDIERS. We will carry out your orders instantly.
Scene II
CONSULS. The soldiers have returned.
JULIAN. Is all well?
SOLDIERS. Well indeed.
JULIAN. Why have you returned so soon?
SOLDIERS. We will tell you. We had planned to seize Gallicanus’s castle
and occupy it in your name. But no sooner did one of us set foot on the
threshold than he was straightway stricken with leprosy or madness.
JULIAN. Return and force Gallicanus to quit the realm or sacrifice to
the gods.
Scene III
GALLICANUS. Do not waste your breath, fellows. Your advice is useless. I
hold all that exists beneath the sun as nothing compared with eternal
life. Banished for Christ’s sake, I shall retire to Alexandria, where I
hope to win the martyr’s crown.
Scene IV
SOLDIERS. Gallicanus, exiled by your orders, fled to Alexandria. He was
arrested in that city by the Governor, Ratianus, and has perished by the
sword.
JULIAN. That is well.
SOLDIERS. But John and Paul still defy you.
JULIAN. What are they doing?
SOLDIERS. Travelling up and down the country giving away the fortune
Constance left them.
JULIAN. Bring them before me.
SOLDIERS. They are here.
Scene V
JULIAN. John and Paul, from the cradle you have been attached to the
Emperor’s household. You served my predecessor.
JOHN. That is so.
JULIAN. Then what could be more fitting than that you should serve me
also in this palace where you were brought up?
PAUL. We will not serve you.
JULIAN. You refuse?
JOHN. We have said it.
JULIAN. Do you deny that I am Augustus?
PAUL. No, but we say you are Augustus with a difference.
JULIAN. How do I differ from my predecessors?
JOHN. In your religion and your virtue.
JULIAN. What do you mean?
PAUL. We mean that those most famous and glorious princes, Constantine,
Constantius and Constance, whom we served, were very Christian rulers
who were zealous in the service of God.
JULIAN. I know, but in this I do not choose to follow their example.
PAUL. You follow worse examples. They frequented the churches and,
laying their diadems on the ground, adored Jesus Christ on their knees.
JULIAN. And you think that I should imitate them?
JOHN. You are not made of the same stuff.
PAUL. By doing homage to the Creator they elevated the Imperial
dignity—yes, they transfigured it with the splendour of their virtue and
their holy lives. So they deserved the success which crowned their
enterprises.
JULIAN. As I do.
JOHN. In a very different way, for the divine grace was with them.
JULIAN. Absurd! Once I too was fool enough to believe in these
meaningless practices. I was a priest of your Church.
JOHN. Do you hear, Paul? How do you like this priest?
PAUL. Very well—as the devil’s chaplain.
JULIAN. But when I found that there was nothing to be gained from it, I
turned to the worship of the true Roman gods, thanks to whom I have been
raised to the highest pinnacle of power.
JOHN. You cut us short with this boast to avoid hearing the righteous
praised.
JULIAN. What is it to me?
PAUL. Nothing; but we would add something which does concern you. When
the world was no longer worthy of those princes, they were summoned to
the choir of angels, and this unhappy realm fell under your power.
JULIAN. Why unhappy?
JOHN. Because of the character of its ruler.
PAUL. Have you not renounced the true religion and adopted the
superstitions of idolatry? Because of this we have shunned you and your
court.
JULIAN. You show yourselves greatly wanting in the respect due to me,
yet I am ready to pardon your presumption and raise you to the highest
office in my palace.
JOHN. You waste your breath, apostate! We shall yield neither to
blandishments nor threats.
JULIAN. I will give you ten days’ grace, in the hope that you will come
to your senses and repent. If you do, you will regain our Imperial
favour. If not, I shall do what I have to do. You shall not make a mock
of me.
PAUL. What you have to do, do now, for you can never make us return
either to your court, your service, or your gods.
JULIAN. You are dismissed. Leave me, but heed my warning.
JOHN. We willingly accept the respite you have granted us, but only that
we may spend the time consecrating all our faculties to heaven, and
commending ourselves to God in prayer and fasting.
PAUL. This is all we have to do now.
Scene VI
JULIAN. Go, Terentianus. Take with you a few trusted soldiers and compel
John and Paul to sacrifice to Jupiter. If they persist in their refusal,
let them be put to death, not publicly, but with the greatest possible
secrecy, since they once held office in this palace.
Scene VII
TERENTIANUS. Paul and John, the Emperor Julian, my master, of his
clemency sends you this gold statue of Jupiter, and commands you to burn
incense before it. Refuse, and you will be put to death.
JOHN. Since Julian is your master, live at peace with him, and enjoy his
favour. But we have no master except our Lord Jesus Christ, for Whose
love we ardently desire to die that we may the more quickly taste the
joys of eternity.
TERENTIANUS. Soldiers, why do you delay? Draw your swords and strike
these traitors to the gods and to their Emperor. When they have breathed
their last bury them secretly in this house and remove every trace of
blood.
SOLDIERS. And if questions are asked, what are we to say?
TERENTIANUS. Say they have been banished.
JOHN. To Thee, O Christ, Who reigneth with the Father and the Holy
Ghost, one God, we raise our voices in this dreadful hour! In death as
in life we praise Thee.
PAUL. O Christ, receive our souls, which for Thy sake are being driven
from this dwelling of clay!
Scene VIII
TERENTIANUS. Christians, Christians, what ails my son?
CHRISTIANS. He grinds his teeth, foams at the mouth, and rolls his eyes
like a madman. He is sure possessed by a devil.
TERENTIANUS. Woe to his father! Where was he stricken?
CHRISTIANS. Before the tomb of the martyrs John and Paul. He writhes on
the ground, and cries out that they are the cause of his torments.
TERENTIANUS. Mine the fault! Mine the crime! It was at my command that
the wretched boy laid his impious hands on those holy martyrs.
CHRISTIANS. Since you were the partner of his guilt, it is right that
you should share his sufferings.
TERENTIANUS. I did but obey the wicked commands of my master, the
Emperor Julian.
CHRISTIANS. He himself has been struck down by the divine wrath.
TERENTIANUS. I know, and am the more terrified. I see that no enemy of
those servants of God can escape punishment.
CHRISTIANS. You are right there.
TERENTIANUS. What if in expiation of my crime I threw myself on my knees
before the holy tombs?
CHRISTIANS. You would win pardon if you were first cleansed by baptism.
Scene IX
TERENTIANUS. Glorious witnesses of Christ, John and Paul, follow the
example and commandment of your Master, and pray for your persecutors.
Have compassion on the anguish of a father who fears to lose his child!
Have pity on the sufferings of the son! Succour us both, and grant that,
purified in the waters of baptism, we may persevere in the faith.
CHRISTIANS. Dry your tears, Terentianus. Here is balm for your anguish.
Look! Your son has recovered his health and his reason through the
intercession of the martyrs.
TERENTIANUS. Praise to the Eternal King Who covers His servants with
such glory! Not only do their souls rejoice in heaven, but in the depths
of the sepulchre their lifeless bones work astounding miracles,
testifying to their sanctity and to the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ
Who liveth and reigneth!
DULCITIUS
Argument
The martyrdom of the holy virgins Agape, Chionia, and Irena. The
Governor Dulcitius seeks them out in the silence of the night with
criminal intent, but hardly has he entered their dwelling than he
becomes the victim of a delusion, under which he mistakes for the
objects of his passion the saucepans and frying-pans in the kitchen.
These he embraces and covers with kisses until his face and clothes are
black with soot and dirt. Later, by order of Diocletian, he hands the
maidens over to the care of Sisinnius, who is charged with their
punishment. Sisinnius in his turn is made the sport of the most strange
delusions, but at length succeeds in getting Agape and Chionia burnt,
and Irena shot to death with arrows.
Characters
- THE EMPEROR DIOCLETIAN.
- AGAPE.
- CHIONIA.
- IRENA.
- DULCITIUS _(Governor of Thessalonica)_.
- SOLDIERS.
- SISINNIUS.
- WIFE TO DULCITIUS.
- _Ushers of the Imperial Palace._
- _Ladies-in-Waiting on the Wife of Dulcitius._
Dulcitius
Scene I
DIOCLETIAN. The pure and famous race to which you belong and your own
rare beauty make it fitting that you should be wedded to the highest in
our court. Thus we decree, making the condition that you first promise
to deny your Christ and sacrifice to the gods.
AGAPE. We beg you not to concern yourself about us, and it is useless to
make preparations for our marriage. Nothing can make us deny that Name
which all should confess, or let our purity be stained.
DIOCLETIAN. What does this madness mean?
AGAPE. What sign of madness do you see in us?
DIOCLETIAN. It is clear enough.
AGAPE. In what way are we mad?
DIOCLETIAN. Is it not madness to give up practising an ancient religion
and run after this silly new Christian superstition?
AGAPE. You are bold to slander the majesty of Almighty God. It is
dangerous.
DIOCLETIAN. Dangerous? To whom?
AGAPE. To you, and to the state you rule.
DIOCLETIAN. The girl raves. Take her away.
CHIONIA. My sister does not rave. She is right.
DIOCLETIAN. This maenad seems even more violent than the other! Remove
her also from our presence, and we will question the third.
IRENA. You will find her as rebellious and as determined to resist.
DIOCLETIAN. Irena, you are the youngest in years. Show yourself the
oldest in dignity.
IRENA. Pray tell me how.
DIOCLETIAN. Bow your head to the gods, and set an example to your
sisters. It may rebuke and save them.
IRENA. Let those who wish to provoke the wrath of the Most High
prostrate themselves before idols! I will not dishonour this head which
has been anointed with heavenly oil by abasing it at the feet of images.
DIOCLETIAN. The worship of the gods does not bring dishonour to those
who practise it, but, on the contrary, the greatest honour.
IRENA. What could be more shameful baseness, what baser shame, than to
venerate slaves as if they were lords?
DIOCLETIAN. I do not ask you to worship slaves, but the gods of princes
and the rulers of the earth.
IRENA. A god who can be bought cheap in the market-place, what is he but
a slave?
DIOCLETIAN. Enough of this presumptuous chatter. The rack shall put an
end to it!
IRENA. That is what we desire. We ask nothing better than to suffer the
most cruel tortures for the love of Christ.
DIOCLETIAN. Let these obstinate women who dare to defy our authority be
laden with chains and thrown into a dungeon. Let them be examined by
Governor Dulcitius.