CHAPTER V.

CONVENTS IN SAXON LANDS BETWEEN A.D. 800-1000.

‘Nec scientia scibilis Deum offendit, sed injustitia scientis.’

_Hrotsvith._

§ 1. Women’s Convents in Saxony.

Some account has been given in the preceding chapters of the form which

monastic settlements of women took among the Franks and the Anglo-Saxons

during the first centuries after the acceptance of Christianity. Features

similar to those which appear in France and England characterised the

first period of monastic development among the continental Saxons, the

last branch of the German race to accept Christianity as a nation. Here

also we find highborn and influential women as abbesses at the head of

establishments which were important centres of contemporary culture.

The convent in Saxon lands, as elsewhere, was a place of residence and a

training school for women of the ruling classes. Girls came there to be

educated, and either considered the convent as their permanent home or

left it to be married; the widow frequently returned to it later in life.

But some of the Saxon settlements of women gained an additional importance

in the 10th and 11th centuries owing to their close connection with the

political affairs and interests of the time. The abbess was frequently a

member of the royal or imperial family. In one case she was appointed as

the guardian of the Emperor, in another she became representative of the

Emperor during his absence in Italy.

The story of the spread of monastic life into Saxony is closely connected

with the history of the conquest of the country and the subsequent growth

of national independence. The Saxons occupied the districts of northern

Germany, Westphalia, Eastphalia and Engern, of which Westphalia bordered

on lands occupied by the Franks. Between the 6th and the 9th centuries the

Franks had sometimes fought against the Saxons and had sometimes made

common cause with them against their mutual enemies the people of

Thüringen. But the Saxons were warlike and ferocious, insensible to the

influence of Christianity, and ready at any moment to begin hostilities.

They became more and more dreaded by the Franks, who looked upon them as

dangerous neighbours, and who attacked them whenever opportunity offered.

Karl the Great († 814), king of the Franks, and Roman Emperor of the

German nation, received the war against the Saxons as part of his

heritage, but repeated inroads into Saxony and a cruelty bordering on

vindictiveness were needed before he could speak of the conquest of the

Saxons as an accomplished fact. In 785, after a prolonged struggle,

Widukind, the Saxon leader in whom the spirit of Arminius lived, was

finally defeated; and he and his followers accepted Christianity as part

of their subjection.

The Frankish Emperor and the Church now united in extending a uniform

system of government over the lands of the Saxons. The count (_graf_ or

_comes_) was made responsible for the maintenance of peace in the separate

district (_gau_ or _pagus_) entrusted to him, and bishoprics were founded

as dependencies of the ancient archiepiscopal sees of Cöln and Mainz. At

the same time colonies of monks migrated into the conquered districts from

the west and south. Their settlements developed rapidly, owing to the

favour which monastic life found with the newly converted Saxons.

The subjection of the Saxons was not however of long duration. The

supremacy of the Western Empire culminated under the rule of Karl the

Great; the union under one rule of many peoples who were in different

stages of civilization was only possible at all through the rare

combination of commanding qualities in this emperor; at his death the

empire at once began to crumble away. This brought a returning sense of

self-confidence to those peoples on whom the yoke of subjection had been

forcibly thrust. Fifty years after Karl’s death a warlike chief of the old

type was established among the Saxons as duke (_herzog_ or _dux_); a

hundred years later and a Saxon duke was chosen king of the Germans by the

united votes of Frankish and Saxon nobles. The supreme authority now

passed from the Franks to the Saxons; a change which the Saxon historian

of the 10th century associated with the transference of the relics of St

Vitus from France to Saxon soil[439]. The present age seeks the

explanation of the removal of the centre of authority in less romantic

causes, and finds it in the altogether extraordinary aptitude which the

Saxons showed for assimilating new elements of civilization, and for

appropriating or remodelling to their own use institutions of rule and

government into which they breathed a spirit peculiarly their own.

The history of the attainment to political supremacy by the Saxons helps

us to understand the spirit which animated the Church and monastic

institutions of the time. The bishoprics which Frankish overlordship had

established were soon in the hands of men who were Saxons by birth, and a

similar appropriation took place in regard to monastic settlements.

Corvei, a religious colony founded on Saxon soil by monks from La Corbie

in northern France, a lifetime after the conversion numbered Saxon nobles

among its inmates. Settlements of women were also founded and rapidly

gained importance, especially in the eastern districts where they rivalled

the episcopal sees in wealth and influence.

A reason for the favour with which monastic life was regarded during the

period of political subjection lay in the practical advantages which these

settlements offered. The nobleman who turned monk was freed from the

obligations thrust upon him by the new régime; he was exempt from fighting

under the standard of his conqueror, and the property which he bestowed on

the religious settlement was in a way withdrawn from the enemy. But when

the people regained their independence the popularity of the convent still

remained. For the Saxons were quick in realizing the advantages of a close

union between religion and the state, and the most powerful and

progressive families of the land vied with each other in founding and

endowing religious settlements.

The political interest of the period centres in the career of Liudolf, who

was styled duke by his people, but count by the Emperor. Liudolf rapidly

rose to greatness and became the progenitor of a family which has given

Germany many remarkable men and her first line of kings. His son Otto (†

912) was renowned like his father for personal valour, and success in

every way favoured the undertakings of his grandson Heinrich the Fowler (†

936), first king of the Saxon line. Heinrich became the favourite hero of

the national poet on account of the triumphs he gained over the Slavs and

Magyars, who at this time threatened the lands occupied by Germans at

every point between the Baltic and the Adriatic. Again Heinrich’s

successes were reflected in those of his son Otto I († 973), surnamed the

Great, who added the lustre of imperial dignity to his father’s firmly

established kingship. Emulating the fame of Karl the Great, Otto was

crowned emperor by the Pope in Rome. During the reign of his son, Otto II

(† 982), and of his grandson, Otto III († 1002), the Saxon court remained

the meeting-place of representatives of the civilized world. It was there

that envoys were received from England and Italy, and it was from thence

that messengers were sent out to Constantinople and Cordova. The elective

crown of the German Empire remained hereditary in the Saxon dynasty for

over a hundred years, and it is with this period that the Germans

associate the first development of their national life on national

soil.[440]

At this time the kingdoms founded in other parts of Europe by peoples of

the German race were much enfeebled. During the 9th and 10th centuries the

Frankish princes were wanting in that unity of purpose which alone could

prevent the appropriation of fruitful tracts of their territory by the

vikings. In England a period of returning difficulties had followed the

reign of King Aelfraed, so brilliant in many ways. The personal valour of

his children, the intrepid Lady Aethelflaed († 918) and King Eadward (†

925) her brother, had not stayed the social changes which prepared the way

for the rule of the Dane. It is in Saxony only that we find the

concentration and consolidation of power which make the advance and

attitude of a nation conspicuous in history. The sword was here wielded to

good purpose and likewise the pen. The bishoprics of Hildesheim,

Halberstadt, and Magdeburg had become centres of artistic activity, and

the monastery of Corvei rivalled the time-honoured settlements of St

Gallen and Fulda in intellectual importance. The Saxon historian Widukind

(† after 973) was at work in Corvei in the 10th century; this author is

for Saxon history what Gregory is for Frankish and Bede for Anglo-Saxon

history. Monasteries for women, especially those of Herford, Gandersheim,

and Quedlinburg, had rapidly developed and exerted a social and

intellectual influence such as has rarely fallen to the lot of women’s

religious settlements in the course of history.

The first religious house for women of which we have definite information

is Herford, which was situated close to Corvei in Westphalia and had

originally been founded as a dependency of it. Two small settlements for

women existed at an early period in Eastphalia, but our knowledge of them

is slight. The story is told that the heathen Saxon Hessi, having been

defeated by Karl the Great in 775, went to live in the monastery of Fulda,

and left his daughter Gisela in possession of his property, which she

devoted to founding two little monasteries (monasteriola) for her

daughters. This information is preserved in an account of Liutberg, a

Saxon girl of noble parentage who was brought up in one of these little

monasteries, but afterwards left it, as she preferred to dwell as a

recluse in a neighbouring cell. Here she was visited by Theotgrim, bishop

of Halberstadt († 840), and by the writer to whom we owe our account of

her[441]. Wendhausen, one of the little monasteries spoken of in this

account, was in existence a century later, for an attempt was then made to

transfer its inmates to Quedlinburg. The fame of Liutberg’s virtues was

great during her lifetime but apparently did not secure her recognition as

a saint. The cell in which she had lived was afterwards granted to

Quedlinburg by charter (958).

We have abundant information about Herford, the dependency of Corvei. In

838 a certain Tetta was abbess, who came from Soissons and regulated the

settlement at Herford on the plan of the house she had left[442]. The

Saxon element asserted itself here also. In 854 the abbess was Addila, who

was of Saxon parentage and probably the widow of a Saxon nobleman. Again

in 858 we hear of another abbess, Hadewy, probably the niece of Warin, who

was abbot of Corvei and a relation of Duke Liudolf. During her rule the

relics of the woman-saint Pusinna were sent to Herford by the Saxon

nobleman Kobbo as a gift to his sister the abbess Hadewy. The Saxons had

no traditions or relics of early Christians who had lived among them, and

so they were obliged to import relics to form a centre for their worship.

King and bishop alike set an extraordinary value on relics and paid

exorbitant prices for them. So great an importance was attached to the

arrival of the relics of Pusinna at Herford that a contemporary monk wrote

a detailed account of the event[443]. But it is characteristic of the

author’s disposition that he tells us nothing of the life and the works

of Pusinna, who but for this account is unknown to history.

A side-light is thrown on the material prosperity and the national

sympathies of the settlements of Corvei and Herford in 889. Egilmar,

bishop of Osnabrück (885-906), lodged a complaint with the Pope,

contending that these settlements, besides appropriating other rights,

drew so many tithes from his diocese that his income was reduced to a

quarter of what it should be. But Egilmar got scant reward for his pains,

no doubt because those in authority at Corvei and Herford were family

connections of Duke Liudolf, whom it was felt dangerous to cross. For the

Saxon duke had gained in influence as the Franks relaxed their hold on

Saxon affairs, and while he nominally remained a dependent, pressure from

outside was not brought to bear on him. In refusing to interfere in

Egilmar’s behalf, which would have involved his coming into conflict with

Liudolf, the Pope was acting in accordance with the policy which the

Franks pursued in Saxon lands[444].

At an early date the abbey of Herford was renowned as an educational

centre, and it long maintained its reputation. Hathumod, a daughter of

Duke Liudolf, was educated there previous to becoming abbess at

Gandersheim, as we shall see later on. A hundred years later Queen

Mathilde († 968) of the race of the warrior Widukind, and wife of Heinrich

the Fowler, was brought up at Herford, her grandmother being abbess at the

time.

The foundation of Gandersheim in Eastphalia followed upon that of Herford.

Gandersheim was founded by Duke Liudolf and remained the favourite

settlement of the women of his family; we shall return to it later on. Two

other important abbeys ruled by women in connection with royalty were

Essen and Quedlinburg. Essen was founded by Altfrid, bishop of Hildesheim

(847-874), a Saxon by birth[445], and Quedlinburg at the instigation of

Queen Mathilde, who as mentioned above had been educated at Herford. For

centuries the abbess of Quedlinburg remained a person of marked

importance, in her influence both on politics and on matters social and

literary. Essen and Quedlinburg afterwards became centres of art industry;

all these early monastic foundations maintained their importance down to

the time of the Reformation.

The favour found by these institutions is explained when we come to

consider the uncertainty of the times and the changeful political events

which accompanied the growth of Saxon independence. The age, judged by a

later standard, may well be called an age of violence. For the country was

in the hands of a number of overlords who were frequently at war together,

and who dwelt in isolated castles in a thickly wooded district in which

only a patch here and there had been brought under cultivation.

The monotony of life in the castles or burghs of this period can hardly be

exaggerated. Means of communication were few and occasions for it were

rare. When the master and his men were absent, engaged in some private

broil, or else summoned by the arrière-ban to attend the duke or the king,

weeks and months would go by without a reminder of the existence of the

world outside; weeks and months when the arrival of a traveller offered

the one welcome diversion. The young nobleman followed his father to camp

and to court, where he tasted of the experiences of life; the young

noblewoman stayed at home, cut off from intercourse with those of her age

and standing, and from every possibility of widening her mental horizon.

It is with the daughters of these families that the religious house first

found favour. Settlements such as Herford, Gandersheim, Essen, and

Quedlinburg offered the companionship of equals, and gave a domestic and

intellectual training which was the best of its kind. Later ages were wont

to look upon the standard of education attained at Gandersheim and

Quedlinburg as exemplary. The word college (collegium), which early

writers often apply to these settlements in its modern sense of a learning

and a teaching body, aptly designates their character. For the religious

settlement was an endowed college where girls were received to be trained,

and where women who wished to devote themselves to learning and the arts

permanently resided.

The age at which girls were received in these settlements can be

determined by inference only; some were given into their care as children,

others joined them later in life. Probably here as elsewhere girls came at

about the age of seven, and remained till the age of fourteen, when they

left if marriage was to be their destiny. The responsibilities of married

and of unmarried life were undertaken at this period by persons of extreme

youth. Hathumod was made abbess of Gandersheim when she was between twelve

and thirteen years of age; and Mathilde, as abbess of Quedlinburg, at the

age of twelve received her dying grandmother’s injunctions together with

valuable documents[446], but in her case the chronicler notes that she had

developed early[447].

It remains an open question at what period in history the inmates of these

settlements took vows. Fritsch, who has written a detailed history of the

abbey of Quedlinburg, holds that its inmates never took a permanent vow,

since not a single case of the defection of a nun is on record[448], but

this view is disproved by accounts of consecrations during the early

period in other houses. Luther at the time of the Reformation noted that

the nuns of Quedlinburg were bound by no vow[449]. Probably the inmates

took vows at first, and the custom afterwards lapsed. Harenberg, to whom

we owe many learned dissertations on Gandersheim, says that the women

there lived at first according to the rule of St Benedict; but after the

12th century became Austin canonesses[450]. Engelhausen, a writer of the

15th century, speaking of the inmates of Saxon houses generally, says that

they lived as Austin canonesses[451]. Early writers in speaking of the

inmates of Saxon convents use the familiar terms nuns (sanctimoniales) and

virgins (virgines); the term canoness (canonissa), which designates a

woman who took residence without a permanent vow, came into general use

only at a later date[452]. It seems simplest therefore throughout to

retain the familiar term nun when speaking of the inmates of Saxon

settlements, though it must be understood with a reservation, for we are

not certain of the exact meaning of the word at different periods.

Engelhausen, the writer referred to above, adds that abbeys for women in

Saxony were founded ‘in order to help the noblemen who fought for the

faith of Christ and were killed by the heathens; so that their daughters

might not be reduced to begging (mendicare) but might live in these

monasteries (monasteria), and when they had attained a marriageable age,

might leave to be married.’

The range of subjects taught in the Saxon nunnery was wide. It included

the study of religious as well as of classical writers. Spinning, weaving,

and embroidery were also taught and practised. We shall see later on that

the nuns assembled at Quedlinburg wove large and elaborate hangings.

Reference is also made to the study of law, and it is said that Gerberg

II, abbess at Gandersheim († 1001), instructed her niece Sophie in convent

discipline and in common law. An early chronicle in the vernacular says

that the princess Sophie, a woman of determined character, so mastered

these subjects that she was able to enter into disputation with learned

men and successfully opposed them[453].

Where the inmate of a convent was consecrated to the office of nun, this

was done by the bishop of the diocese; but a curious story is told in

connection with the consecration of the above-named princess Sophie[454].

Sophie was the daughter of the emperor Otto II, and had been educated at

Gandersheim, but she refused to be consecrated by the bishop of

Hildesheim, who usually performed this office at the convent, and declared

that she must have the archbishop of Mainz, whose dignity was more in

keeping with her station. The compromise that both prelates should assist

at the consecration was at last agreed upon. But Sophie was not satisfied.

She left Gandersheim for the court of her brother, and only returned at

the death of the abbess, whom she succeeded. Endless quarrels occurred

during the term of her rule. On one occasion she allowed her nieces,

Sophie and Ida, who were consecrated nuns, to depart on a visit to her

friend the archbishop of Mainz, but when they sent word from Mainz that

they did not intend to return to Gandersheim, she applied to her old enemy

the bishop of Hildesheim, and forced him to interfere with the archbishop

and bring back her nuns. They returned, but only for a time, for they were

appointed abbesses at other convents.

It is interesting to note how large a number of princesses of the ruling

dynasty were unmarried, and remained in convents. Five daughters of Duke

Liudolf spent their lives at Gandersheim, of whom only one as far as we

know had been betrothed. At a later period Mathilde, the only daughter of

Otto I, was from her cradle upwards appointed to become abbess of

Quedlinburg; and her cousin Gerberg, daughter of Heinrich, duke of the

Bavarians († 955), was abbess of Gandersheim. In the next generation

Mathilde, daughter of Prince Liudolf († 957), was abbess at Essen (†

1011), and her two cousins, Adelheid and Sophie, the daughters of Otto

II, embraced the religious profession at the wish, it is said, of their

mother. Adelheid was abbess at Quedlinburg (999-1040), and Sophie, the

princess alluded to above, was abbess at Gandersheim (1001-1039). When

Sophie died her sister Adelheid planned to unite in herself the rule of

both houses, but death put a stop to her ambition[455]. The princess

Mathilde, another daughter of Otto II, had married Ezo, son of the

Palgrave of Lothringen, to whom she bore seven daughters; six of these

embraced convent life and in course of time attained to the rank of

abbess[456].

These details are not without significance. They suggest that it was

probably for the interest of the royal family that its princesses should

remain in the convent in preference to contracting matrimonial alliances

which might involve their relatives in political difficulties. On the

other hand they suggest that life in these settlements must have been

congenial in more ways than one.

As abbess of one of the royal houses the princess certainly held a place

of authority second to that of no woman in the land. To gather together a

few items of this power: she held the abbey of the king and from the king,

which precluded a dependent relation on lords spiritual or temporal, and

made her abbey what is termed a free abbey (_freies reichstift_). Her

rights of overlordship sometimes extended over many miles, and the

property of Gandersheim is described as enormous[457].

As holding the place of a feudal lord the abbess had the right of ban; she

issued the summons when war had been declared and sent her contingent of

armed knights into the field; and she also issued the summons to attend in

her courts, where judgment was given by her proctor (_vogt_). In short she

had the duties and privileges of a baron who held his property of the

king, and as such she was summoned to the Imperial Diet (_reichstag_). She

may have attended in person during early times, the fact appears

doubtful; but in the 16th century she was only represented there[458].

Similar rights and privileges devolved on those abbesses in England who

were baronesses in title of the land they held. But these abbesses never

secured some of the rights enjoyed by their sisters in Saxony, for example

the right of striking coin which the abbess of Quedlinburg secured under

Otto I[459]. Coins also are extant which were struck by abbesses of

Gandersheim, whose portraits they bear[460].

In addition to these advantages of position, the abbesses of the chief

Saxon houses in the 10th and 11th centuries were in direct contact with

the court and with politics. During the minority of Otto III, who was

three years old when his father died in Italy (983), his mother Adelheid

together with his aunt Mathilde, abbess of Quedlinburg, practically ruled

the empire. Later when this emperor went to Italy for a prolonged stay in

997 the management of affairs was given to the abbess Mathilde, who is

praised for the determined measures she took to oppose the invading Wends.

In 999 she summoned a diet at Dornberg on her own authority[461].

The so-called free abbeys were under the obligation of entertaining the

king and his retinue in return for privileges granted to them, and as the

king had no fixed place of residence he stayed at his various palaces

(palatia) in turn, and usually spent holiday time at one of the religious

centres. Frequent royal visits to Quedlinburg are on record; the court was

also entertained at Gandersheim. These visits brought a store of political

information to the abbess of which she made use in her own way. Thus

Mathilde, abbess of Quedlinburg, is thought to have supplied the annalist

of Quedlinburg with the information which gives his chronicle its special

value, and she was so far interested in the history of her own time that

Widukind forwarded his history of the Saxons to her book by book for

approval[462]. The abbess Gerberg of Gandersheim was similarly in contact

with politics. As we shall see she supplied the nun Hrotsvith with the

materials for writing the history of Otto the Great.

§ 2. Early History of Gandersheim[463].

From these general remarks we turn to the foundation and early history of

Gandersheim, one of the earliest and wealthiest of Saxon houses, which

claims our attention as the home of the nun Hrotsvith. It was situated on

low-lying ground near the river Ganda in Eastphalia and was surrounded by

the wooded heights of the Harz mountains. It owed its foundation to

Liudolf himself, the great Saxon duke and the progenitor of the royal

house of Saxony. At the close of a successful political career, Liudolf

was persuaded by his wife Oda to devote some of his wealth and his

influence to founding a settlement for women in Eastphalia, where his

property chiefly lay.

Oda was partly of Frankish origin, which may account for her seeking the

aggrandisement of her family in a religious foundation at a time when

there were very few in Saxon lands. It is noteworthy that this foundation

was to be for women and that all the daughters of Liudolf and Oda went to

live there. Information about the early history of Gandersheim is

abundant. There are extant a life of Hathumod, its first abbess, which was

written by her friend the monk Agius († 874), and an elegy on her death in

which Agius tries to comfort her nuns for the loss they have sustained;

both these compositions are written in a very attractive style[464]. A

century later the nun Hrotsvith was busy at Gandersheim describing the

early history of the settlement in a poem in which she celebrates both it

and the family of its founder[465]. In many ways this is the most

beautiful and finished of the nun’s compositions; a work which reflects

credit alike on her powers as a poetess, and on the settlement with which

her name and fame are indissolubly linked.

From these accounts we gather that Oda’s mother, Ada, had already had a

vision of the future greatness of her family. Hrotsvith tells how St John

the Baptist appeared to her clad in a garment made of camel’s hair of

bright yellow, his lovely face of shining whiteness, with a small beard

and black hair. In giving these details of the saint’s appearance the nun

was doubtless describing a picture she had before her at Gandersheim.

It was in 852 that a plan was formed for transferring a small congregation

of women, who had been living at Brunshausen, to some property on the

river Ganda. A suitable site had to be sought and a fitting centre of

worship provided. Liudolf and Oda undertook a journey to Rome and

submitted their scheme to Pope Sergius II (844-847), begging him for a

gift of relics. They received from him the bodies of the saints Anastasius

and Innocentius, which they carried back with them to Saxony.

On the night before All Saints’ Day a swineherd in Liudolf’s employ had a

vision of lights falling from heaven and hanging in the air, which was

interpreted as a heavenly indication of the site of the settlement. A

clearance was accordingly made in the densely wooded district and a chapel

was built.

It was at this time that Hathumod, the eldest daughter of Liudolf, was

living in Herford. From childhood her bent had been serious, and her

friend Agius tells us that ‘of her own free will she desired to be

admitted to serious studies to which others are driven even by

force[466].’ She left her father’s residence for Herford, where she was so

happy that in after years she often longed to be back there. In 852 at the

age of twelve she was taken away to Gandersheim to preside over the new

settlement. This settlement was to be an improvement on existing

institutions of the kind, for Agius tells us that its members were not

allowed to have separate cells or to keep servants. They slept in

tenements (villula) in the neighbourhood till their ‘spiritual mother’ was

able to provide them with a suitable dwelling. Curious side-lights are

thrown on other religious institutions by the following remarks of Agius

on the nuns of Hathumod’s convent: ‘They shared everything,’ he says[467];

‘their clothes were alike, neither too rich nor too poor, nor entirely of

wool. The sisters were not allowed to dine out with relatives and friends,

or to converse with them without leave. They were not allowed like other

nuns (sanctimoniales) to leave the monastery to stay with relatives or

visit dependent estates (possessiones subjectae). And they were forbidden

to eat except at the common table at the appointed times except in cases

of sickness. At the same hour and in the same place they partook of the

same kind of food. They slept together and came together to celebrate the

canonical hours (ad canonicos cursus orandi). And they set to work

together whenever work had to be done.’

Agius draws a beautiful picture of the gentleness and dignified bearing of

Hathumod, who was at once strong and sensitive. She was always greatly

cheered by signs of goodness in others, and she was as much grieved by an

offence of a member of the community as if she had committed it herself.

Agius tells us that she was slow in making friends but that she clung

faithfully through life to those she had made.

Her literary acquirements were considerable. ‘No one could have shown

greater quickness of perception, or a stronger power of understanding in

listening to or in expounding the scriptures,’ he says[468], and the

scriptures always remained her favourite reading.

It is difficult to form an idea of the standard of life in these religious

settlements. The age was rough and barbarous in many ways, but the

surroundings of the Saxon dukes did not lack a certain splendour, and

traces of it would no doubt be found in the homes they made for their

daughters. In these early accounts nothing transpires about their

possessions in books and furniture, but it is incidentally mentioned that

the abbess Hathumod owned a crystal vessel in the form of a dove, which

contained relics and hung suspended by her bedside[469].

The plan was formed to build a stone church for Gandersheim, an unusual

and difficult undertaking. No suitable stone, however, could be found till

one day, as Hathumod was praying in the chapel, she was divinely moved to

walk forth and follow a dove which was awaiting her outside. The bird led

the way to a spot where the underwood was removed and masses of stone

which could be successfully dealt with were laid bare. ‘It is the spot

barren through its huge masses of stone, as we know it now-a-days,’

Hrotsvith the nun wrote a hundred years later[470].

The densely-wooded character of the neighbourhood is frequently referred

to by early and later writers. Lingering superstitions peopled the forest

with heathen fantasies, with ‘fauns and spirits,’ as Hrotsvith designates

them. The settlement lay in the midst of the forest and was at all times

difficult of access, but especially so in winter when the ground was

covered with snow. In the introduction to her history of Otto the Great

Hrotsvith likens her perplexity and fear in entering on so vast a subject

to the state of mind of one who has to cross the forest in mid winter, a

simile doubtless suggested by the surroundings of the convent[471]. Her

feelings, she says, were those of ‘someone who is ignorant of the vast

expanse of the forest which lies before him, all the paths of which are

hidden by a thick covering of snow; he is guided by no one and keeps true

to his direction only by noticing the marks pointed out to him; sometimes

he goes astray, unexpectedly he again strikes the right path, and having

penetrated half way through the dense interlacing trees and brushwood he

longs for rest and stops and would proceed no farther, were he not

overtaken by some one, or unexpectedly guided by the footprints of those

who have gone before.’

Neither Liudolf the founder of Gandersheim nor his daughter Hathumod lived

to see the stone church completed. He died in 866, and the abbess in 874

at the age of thirty-two. She was surrounded by her nuns, among whom were

several of her sisters, and her mother Oda, who had also come to live at

Gandersheim. The monk Agius, who was a frequent visitor at the home, was

often with her during her last illness, and after her death he composed an

elegy in dialogue to comfort the nuns under the loss they had sustained.

This poem is full of sweetness and delicacy of feeling, and is said to

have been written on the model of the eclogues of Virgil. Alternate verses

are put into the mouths of the nuns and of Agius; they describe their

sorrow, and he dwells on the thoughts which might be a consolation to

them. It opens in this strain:

‘Sad were the words we exchanged, I and those holy and worthy sisters who

watched the dying moments of the sainted abbess Hathumod. I had been asked

to address them, but somehow their recent grief made it impossible for

them to listen to me, for they were bowed down by sorrow. The thoughts

which I then expressed I have now put into verse and have added somewhat

to them. For they (the sisters) asked me to address them in writing, since

it would comfort them to have before their eyes, and to dwell upon, the

words which I then spoke in sadness. Yielding to their wish and

entreaties, I have attempted to express the thoughts which follow. Thou, O

reader, understand that I am conversing with them, and follow us if thou

wilt in our lament.’

He then directly addresses the nuns and continues: ‘Certainly we should

weep for one who died before her time in the bloom of youth. Yet grief

also has its limits; your sorrowful weeping should be within bounds. ’Tis

natural you should be unhappy, still reason commands moderation in all

things, and I therefore entreat you, O beloved and holy sisters, to stay

your weeping and your tears. Spare your energies, spare your eyesight

which you are wearing out by excess of grief. “Moderation in all things”

has been said wisely and has been said well, and God Himself commands that

it should be so.’ The nuns make reply in the following words: ‘What you

put before us is certainly true. We know full well that God forbids

excess, but our grief seems not excessive, for it falls so far short of

what her merit claims. We can never put into words the wealth of goodness

which we have lost in her. She was as a sister to us, as a mother, as a

teacher, this our abbess under whose guidance we lived. We who were her

handmaids and so far beneath her shared her life as her equals; for one

will guided us, our wishes were the same, our pursuits alike. Shall we not

grieve and weep and lament from our hearts for her who made our joy and

was our glory, and in whom we have lost our happiness? There can be no

excess of tears, of weeping and of grief, for in them only we find solace

now that we shall never more behold her sweet face.’ Agius replies: ‘I

doubt not that your grief is well founded, or that your tears rightly

flow. But weeping will not undo you altogether, for the body has powers of

endurance; you must bear this great anguish, for it has come to you

through the will of God. Believe me, you are not alone in this grief, I

too am oppressed by it, I too am suffering, and I cannot sufficiently

express to you how much I also have lost in her. You know full well how

great was her love for me, and how she cherished me while she lived. You

know how anxious she was to see me when she fell ill, with what gladness

she received me, and how she spoke to me on her deathbed. The words she

spoke at the last were truly elevating, and ever and anon she uttered my

name.’ Agius tries to comfort himself with dwelling on Hathumod’s

gentleness and sweetness, and urges the nuns as they loved their abbess in

the flesh now to continue loving her in the spirit. This alone, he says,

will help the work to grow and increase which she began and loved. ‘To

dwell on grief,’ he says, ‘brings weeping and weakness; to dwell on love

cheers and brings strength. The spirit of your abbess is still among you,

it was that which you most loved in her, and it is that which you have not

lost.’

There is a curiously modern ring in much that the monk urges. His poem

sets forth how the nuns at last took heart, and requested Agius to visit

them again and help them with his advice, which he promised to do.

On her deathbed Hathumod in talking to Agius compared her monastery to a

plant of delicate growth and deplored that no royal charter sanctioning

its privileges had as yet been obtained[472]. This charter and further

privileges were secured to the settlement during the abbacy of Gerberg I

(874-897), sister and successor of Hathumod, a woman of determined

character and full of enthusiasm for the settlement. She was betrothed at

one time to a certain Bernhard, against whose will she came to live at

Gandersheim, and refused to leave it. He had been summoned to war, and

departed declaring that she should not remain in the convent after his

return. But opportunely for her wishes he was killed and she remained at

Gandersheim. She ruled as abbess more than twenty years and advanced the

interests of the settlement in many ways. The stone church which had been

begun during Hathumod’s rule was completed during that of Gerberg and was

consecrated in 881, on All Saints’ Day. The bishop of Hildesheim

officiated at the ceremony of consecration, many visitors came to assist,

and the assembled nuns for the first time took part in the singing of

divine service.

The abbess Gerberg was succeeded by her sister Christine, who ruled from

897 to 919. Köpke, one of the chief modern historians of this period,

considers that these three sisters, Hathumod, Gerberg and Christine,

abbesses of Gandersheim, were among the most zealous advocates of culture

and civilizing influences in Saxony during the 9th century[473]. The

settlement became a centre of interest to the whole ducal family. After

the death of Liudolf his widow Oda, who is said to have attained the age

of one hundred and seven years, dwelt there altogether. She outlived her

son, Duke Otto, who died in 912 and was buried at Gandersheim, and it is

said that she lived to hear of the birth of her great-grandson Otto (913),

who was destined to become king and emperor.

After the death of the abbess Christine the settlement of Gandersheim

drifts for a time into the background; Quedlinburg, founded by Heinrich I

at the instigation of his wife Mathilde, takes its place in ducal and

royal favour. Scant notices are preserved of the abbesses who ruled

during the first half of the 10th century. We hear of the abbess Hrotsvith

(† 927) that she was distinguished like her namesake of later date for

literary acquirements[474], and that she wrote treatises on logic and

rhetoric which are lost. And ‘what is more,’ says an early writer[475],

‘she forced the devil to return a bond signed with blood by which a youth

had pledged away his soul.’

Her writings may have perished in the fire which ravaged the settlement

without permanently interfering with its prosperity during the rule of

Gerberg II (959-1001). Contemporary writers concur in praise of the

learning, the powers of management and the educational influence of this

princess, who was the daughter of Heinrich, duke of the Bavarians († 955).

Heinrich for many years was the enemy and rival of his brother Otto I; and

the final reconciliation and lasting friendship between these princes

formed an important episode in the history of the time. We do not know

what prompted Gerberg to embrace convent life; perhaps she became a nun at

the wish of her father. She was appointed abbess at the age of nineteen

when her father was dead and her mother Judith was ruling in Bavaria in

the interests of her young son. Gerberg ruled at Gandersheim for forty-two

years; she has a special claim on our interest because she was the friend,

teacher, and patron of the nun Hrotsvith.

§ 3. The Nun Hrotsvith and her Writings[476].

The nun Hrotsvith occupies a unique position in monastic life and among

unmarried women generally. ‘This fruitful poetic talent,’ says the writer

Ebert, ‘which lacks not the inspiration and the courage of genius to enter

upon new ground, evinces how the Saxon element was chosen to guide the

German nation in the domain of art.’ The literary work of Hrotsvith can be

grouped under three headings. To the first belongs the writing of metrical

legends which were intended for the perusal and the edification of inmates

of convents; to the second, the composition of seven dramas written in the

style of Terence; and to the third, the writing of contemporary history

in metrical form. Each kind of work has merits of its own and deserves

attention. But while Hrotsvith as a legend writer ranks with other writers

of the age, and as a historical writer is classed by the modern historian

Giesebrecht with Widukind and Ruotger, as a writer of Latin drama she

stands entirely alone. We have no other dramatic compositions except hers

between the comedies of classic times and the miracle plays, which at

first consisted only of a few scenes with bald dialogue.

It can be gathered from Hrotsvith’s writings that she was born about the

year 932; and the fact of her entering a nunnery is proof of her gentle

birth. It is uncertain when she came to Gandersheim, probably at a very

early age. She owed her education there partly to Rikkardis, to whom she

refers in her writings, but chiefly to the abbess Gerberg, who, she says,

was somewhat younger than herself.

Judging from Hrotsvith’s writings she worked diligently and soon attracted

attention beyond the limits of her convent. The following facts in regard

to time are of importance. The first of her two sets of legends was put

together and dedicated to Gerberg as abbess, that is after the year 959;

she wrote and submitted part if not the whole of her history of Otto the

Great to Wilhelm, archbishop of Mainz, before the year 968, in which the

prelate died. How the composition of her dramas is related in point of

time to that of the legends and the historical poems cannot be definitely

decided; probably the dramas were written in the middle period of

Hrotsvith’s life. For the legends bear marks of being the outcome of early

effort, while the historical poems, especially the one which tells of the

early history of Gandersheim, were written in the full consciousness of

power. We do not know the date of Hrotsvith’s death; an early chronicle

says that she wrote a history of the three Emperors Otto, in which case

she must have lived till 1002, that being the year of Otto III’s death.

But the annalist to whom we owe this remark may have been misinformed;

only a part of the history of the first emperor is extant, and we cannot

argue from any references in her other works that she wrote a continuation

of it[477]. The nun and her writings soon ceased to attract attention, and

there are few references to her in any writings for nearly five hundred

years. At the beginning of the 16th century, however, the humanist Conrad

Celtes came across a copy of her dramas, which seemed to him so remarkable

that he had them printed. And since then they have repeatedly been

published, and excellent translations have been made of them into German

and French[478].

In the introduction to her plays Hrotsvith appeals to the judgment of

powerful patrons, but she does not give their names; in her history, as

mentioned above, she asks for criticism from Wilhelm, archbishop of Mainz,

who was the illegitimate son of Otto I, and a leading prelate of the time.

This exhausts what we know of friends outside the convent; probably the

abbess Gerberg was the chief critic throughout and had more influence on

her than any other. It was she who introduced Hrotsvith to the works,

classical and other, which she had herself studied under learned men, and

she was always ready to encourage her able pupil and supply her with

materials to work upon.

The library at Gandersheim, to which Hrotsvith had access, contained the

writings of a number of classical and theological authors. Among the

classical writers with whom the nun is thought to have been directly

acquainted were Virgil, Lucan, Horace, Ovid, Terence, and perhaps Plautus;

among the Christian writers Prudentius, Sedulius, Fortunatus, Marianus

Capella, and Boethius[479]. Ebert, who has analysed the sources from which

Hrotsvith drew the subject matter of her legends and dramas, considers

that at this time Greek authors were read at Gandersheim in Latin

translations only. Another writer, arguing from the fact that the nun

frequently uses words of Greek origin, considers that she had some

knowledge of Greek[480]. This latter opinion has little in its favour.

However we know that Greek teachers were summoned from Constantinople to

instruct Hedwig, Gerberg’s sister, who was to have married the Emperor

Constantine. The match fell through, but the Saxon royal family aimed

steadily at securing an alliance with the court of Constantinople, and

ultimately attained this object by the marriage of Otto II to the Greek

princess Theofanu (971).

After Hrotsvith had mastered the contents of the library at Gandersheim

she was moved to try her hand at writing Latin verse; she cast into

metrical form the account of the birth and life of the Virgin Mary

contained in a gospel which in some manuscripts is ascribed to St James,

the brother of Christ[481]. The story is well told, and the incidents

described follow each other naturally; the poem exceeds nine hundred lines

in length. She supplements the original text with some amplifications of a

descriptive nature and a panegyric on Christ, with which she closes the

poem.

The diffidence Hrotsvith felt at first in writing is described in the

introduction which she prefixed to the complete collection of her

legendary poems and addressed to a wider public[482].

‘Unknown to others and secretly, so to speak, I worked by myself’; she

says, ‘sometimes I composed, sometimes I destroyed what I had written to

the best of my abilities and yet badly; I dealt with material taken from

writings with which I became acquainted within the precincts of our

monastery of Gandersheim through the help of our learned and kindly

teacher Rikkardis, afterwards through that of others who taught in her

place, and finally through that of the high-born abbess Gerberg, under

whom I am living at present, who is younger than I am in years but more

advanced in learning as befits one of royal lineage, and who has

introduced me to various authors whom she has herself studied with the

help of learned men. Writing verse appears a difficult and arduous task

especially for one of my sex, but trusting to the help of divine grace

more than to my own powers, I have fitted the stories of this book to

dactylic measures as best I could, for fear that the abilities that have

been implanted in me should be dulled and wasted by neglect; for I prefer

that these abilities should in some way ring the divine praises in support

of devotion; the result may not be in proportion to the trouble taken and

yet it may be to the profit of some.’

The nun is filled with the consciousness that her undertaking is no mean

one. ‘Full well I know,’ she says, addressing the Virgin, ‘that the task

of proclaiming thy merits exceeds my feeble strength, for the whole world

could not celebrate worthily that which is a theme of praise among the

angels.’ The poem on the life of the Virgin is written in leonine

hexameters, that is with rhymes at the middle and the end of the line.

This form of verse was sometimes used at that period, and Hrotsvith

especially in her later historical poems handled it with considerable

skill.

Hrotsvith afterwards added to the account of the Virgin a poem of a

hundred and fifty lines on the Ascension of Christ[483]. In this, as she

tells us, she adapted an account written by John the Bishop, which had

been translated from Greek into Latin.

This poem also is simple and dignified, and gives proof of considerable

power of expression on the part of the nun. Her vocabulary however has

certain peculiarities, for she is fond of diminutives, a tendency which in

the eyes of her editor is peculiarly feminine[484].

The poem on the Ascension closes with the following characteristic lines:

‘Whoever reads this let him exclaim in a forbearing spirit: Holy King,

spare and have mercy on the suppliant Hrotsvith and suffer that she who

here has been celebrating thy glorious deeds may persevere further in holy

song on things divine!’

The next subject which engrossed the nun’s attention was the history of

Gongolf[485], a huntsman and warrior of Burgundy, who lived in the time of

King Pipin. He was credited with performing wonders such as calling up a

fountain; he was a pious Christian and was put to a cruel death by his

faithless wife and her lover. This poem is over five hundred lines in

length and contains some fine descriptive passages. The version of the

story Hrotsvith made use of being lost, we cannot tell how far she drew

upon her own powers of narrative[486].

But the next legend she wrote left full scope for originality of

treatment. It describes the experiences and martyrdom of Pelagius, a youth

who had been recently (925) put to death by the Saracens at Cordova in

Spain; the event, as she herself informs us, had been described to

Hrotsvith by an eye-witness. The story opens with an enthusiastic

description of the beauties of Cordova. Pelagius, the son of a king of

Galicia, persuaded his father to leave him as hostage with the Caliph. But

the Caliph, enamoured by the youth’s physical beauty, persecuted him with

attentions, and meeting with contempt ordered him to be cast down from the

city walls. The young man remained unharmed, and was then beheaded and his

head and body thrown into the river. Fishermen picked them up and carried

them to a monastery, where their identity was ascertained by casting the

head in the fire, which left it untouched. The head and body were then

given solemn burial.

The next legend has repeatedly been commented on as the earliest account

in verse of a pact with the devil and as a precursor of the many versions

of the legend of Faust[488]. The ‘Lapse and conversion of Theophilus[489]’

may have had special attractions for Hrotsvith since the incident of the

devil forced to return his bond was connected, as mentioned above, with

her namesake Hrotsvith, abbess of Gandersheim. The story of Theophilus

which Hrotsvith expanded and put into verse had recently been translated

from Greek into Latin, as Ebert has shown. The story runs as follows.

Theophilus, nephew of a bishop of Cilesia (of uncertain date), had been

educated in the seven liberal arts, but he held himself unworthy of

succeeding his uncle, and considered the office of ‘vice-domus’ more

suited to his powers. His popularity however drew on him the hatred of the

newly appointed bishop, who robbed him of his post. Thirsting for revenge

the young man went for advice to a certain Hebrew, ‘who by magic art

turned away many of the faithful,’ and who led him at night through the

town to a dark place ‘full of phantasms that stood in white clothes

holding torches in their hands’ (line 99). Their demon king was at first

indignant that a Christian claimed his assistance and jeered at the

Christians’ ways, but at last he promised to help Theophilus on condition

that he should sign an agreement by which he pledged himself to be one of

the ghastly crew to all eternity. The young man agreed to the condition,

and on his return home was favourably received by the bishop and

reinstated in his dignity. But his peace of mind had deserted him; again

and again he was seized by qualms of conscience and affrighted by

agonising visions of eternal suffering which he forcibly describes in a

monologue. At last he sought to escape from his contract by praying to the

Virgin Queen of heaven in her temple, and for forty days consecutively

prayed to her to intercede in his favour with God. The Virgin at last

appeared to him, told him that he was free and handed him the fatal

document. On a festal day he confessed his wrong-doing before all the

people and burnt the parchment in their presence. In the very act of doing

so he appeared as a changed man before their eyes and was instantly

overtaken by death.

To this legend Hrotsvith attached a little prayer of eight lines which is

a grace for use at meals. This prayer is in no way connected with the

legend, and its presence here indicates that the legends were originally

intended to be read aloud during meals in the refectory, and the reading

to be closed with a prayer.

Having written so far Hrotsvith collected her legendary poems together

with the poem on the Virgin and dedicated them in the form of a little

book to her teacher, the abbess Gerberg. Evidently the stories attracted

attention beyond the limits of the convent, and Hrotsvith was encouraged

to continue in the path she had chosen. Accordingly she wrote a second set

of legends, in composing which she was mindful of a wider public and that

not exclusively of her own sex. For in the opening lines of the first of

these legends which treats of the conversion of Proterius by Basilius,

bishop of Caesarea, she begs that those who peruse this story ‘will not on

account of her sex despise the woman who draws these strains from a

fragile reed[490].’

The story of this conversion, like that of Theophilus, treats of a pact

with the evil one, but with a difference. For in the one story the man

signs away his soul to regain his position, in the other he subscribes the

fatal bond for the purpose of securing the hand of the bishop’s daughter.

The bishop however intercedes with God in his behalf and regains his

liberty for him. The poem is neither so complete nor so striking as that

of Theophilus.

Two more legends are grouped with it. One of them describes the Passion of

Dionysius[491], who suffered martyrdom at Paris, and who at an early date

was held identical with Dionysius the Areopagite. The hand of this saint

had been given as a relic to King Heinrich the Fowler, and had been

deposited by him at Quedlinburg--an incident which made the saint’s name

familiar in Saxon lands.

The passion of Dionysius is described according to a prose account written

by Hilduin († 814), but Hrotsvith abbreviated and altered it[492]. She

describes how Dionysius witnessed an eclipse of the sun at Memphis at the

time when Christ was put to death, how he returned to Athens and there

waited to hear something of the new god. The apostle Paul arrived and

preached, and Dionysius followed him to Rome. From Rome he was despatched

into Gaul to preach the new faith, and while there he was first cast into

the flames which did not burn him, and then thrown before wild beasts

which refused to touch him. He was finally beheaded during the

persecutions under Diocletian. In this poem there is an especially fine

passage in which we hear how Dionysius after being beheaded rose to life

and took up his head, which he carried away down the hill to the spot

where he wished to be buried,--a story similar to that told of many

saints.

The last legend which Hrotsvith wrote treats of the Passion of St Agnes, a

virgin saint of Rome, whose fortitude in tribulation and stedfast

adherence to Christianity and to the vow she had taken made her story

especially suitable for a convent of nuns[493]. The story has often been

put into writing from the 4th century downwards; Hrotsvith took her

account from that ascribed to Ambrosius († 397), which she followed

closely. She prefaces it with an address to maidens vowed to God, who are

exhorted to remain steadfast in their purpose. Like most of these

legendary tales it is between four and five hundred lines in length.

Throughout her legends Hrotsvith, as she herself says in a few remarks

which stand at the conclusion of the legends, was bent on keeping close to

the original accounts from which she worked. ‘I have taken the material

for this book, like that for the one preceding it, from ancient books

compiled by authentic authors (certis nominibus), the story of Pelagius

alone is excepted.... If mistakes have crept into my accounts, it is not

because I have intentionally erred but because I have unwittingly copied

mistakes made by others[494].’

Ebert, commenting on the spirit of the legends generally, remarks on the

masterly way in which the nun has dealt with her material, on her skill in

supplying gaps left by earlier writers, on her deft handling of rhyme and

rhythm, on the right feeling which guides her throughout her work, and on

the completeness of each of her legends as a whole[495].

The lines in which the second set of legends are dedicated to Gerberg bear

witness to the pleasure Hrotsvith derived from her work. ‘To thee, lady

Gerberg,’ she says, ‘I dedicate these stories, adding new to earlier ones,

as a sinner who deserves benevolent indulgence. Rejoicing I sing to the

accompaniment with dactylic measures; do not despise them because they

are bad, but praise in your gentle heart the workings of God[496].’

Having so far worked along accepted lines and achieved success therein,

the nun of Gandersheim was moved to strike out a new path. Conscious of

her powers and conscious of a need of her time, filled with admiration for

the dramatic powers of classical writers while disapproving of their

tendencies, she set to work to compose a series of plays on the model of

Terence, in which she dramatised incidents and experiences calculated to

have an elevating influence on her fellow-nuns.

How she came to write plays at all and what determined her in the choice

of her subject, she has described in passages which are worth quoting in

full. They show that she was not wanting either in spirit or in

determination, and that her conviction that the classical form of drama

was without equal strengthened her in her resolve to make use of that form

as the vehicle for stories of an altogether different tenor. The interest

of the plays of Terence invariably turns on the seduction of women and

exposure of the frailty of the sex; the nun of Gandersheim determined to

set forth woman’s stedfast adherence to a vow once taken and her firm

resistance to temptation. Whatever may be thought of these compositions,

the merit of originality can hardly be denied to them. They were intended

for perusal only, but there is nothing in the dialogue or mechanism that

makes a dramatic representation of them impossible.

‘There are many Christians,’ says the nun[497], ‘from whom we cannot claim

to be excepted, who because of the charm of finished diction prefer

heathen literature with its hollowness to our religious books; there are

others who hold by the scripture and despise what is heathen, and yet

eagerly peruse the poetic creations of Terence; while delighting in his

flow of language, they are all polluted by the godless contents of his

works. Therefore I “the well known mouthpiece of Gandersheim” have not

hesitated in taking this poet’s style as a model, and while others honour

him by perusing his dramas, I have attempted, in the very way in which he

treats of unchaste love among evil women, to celebrate according to my

ability the praiseworthy chasteness of godlike maidens.

‘In doing so, I have often hesitated with a blush on my cheeks through

modesty, because the nature of the work obliged me to concentrate my

attention on and apply my mind to the wicked passion of illicit love and

to the tempting talk of the amorous, against which we at other times close

our ears. But if I had hesitated on account of my blushes I could not have

carried out my purpose, or have set forth the praise of innocence to the

fulness of my ability. For in proportion as the blandishments of lovers

are enticing, so much greater is the glory of our helper in heaven, so

much more glorious the triumph of those who prevail, especially where

woman’s weakness triumphs and man’s shameless strength is made to succumb.

Certainly some will allege that my language is much inferior, much poorer,

and very unlike that of him whom I try to imitate. It is so, I agree with

them. And yet I refuse to be reproached on this account as though I had

meant to class myself with those who in their knowledge are so far above

my insufficiency. I am not even so boastful as to class myself with the

least of their pupils; all I am bent on is, however insufficiently, to

turn the power of mind given to me to the use of Him who gave it. I am not

so far enamoured of myself that I should cease from fear of criticism to

proclaim the power of Christ which works in the saints in whatever way He

grants it. If anyone is pleased with my work I shall rejoice, but if on

account of my unpolished language it pleases no one, what I have done yet

remains a satisfaction to myself, for while in other writings I have

worked, however insufficiently, only in heroic strophe (heroico strophio),

here I have combined this with dramatic form, while avoiding the dangerous

allurements of the heathen.’

Those passages in which Hrotsvith speaks of her modest hesitation are

especially worthy of notice and will not fail to appeal to those women

now-a-days, who, hoping to gain a clearer insight into the difficulties

with which their sex has to contend, feel it needful to face facts from

which their sensibilities naturally shrink. They will appreciate the

conflicting feelings with which the nun of Gandersheim, well-nigh a

thousand years ago, entered upon her task, and admire the spirit in which

she met her difficulties and the courage with which she carried out her

purpose, in spite of her consciousness of shortcomings and derogatory

criticism.

As she points out, the keynote of her dramas one and all is to insist on

the beauties of a steadfast adherence to chastity as opposed to the frenzy

and the vagaries of passion. In doing so she is giving expression to the

ideas of contemporary Christian teaching, which saw in passion, not the

inborn force that can be applied to good or evil purpose, not the storage

of strength which works for social advantage or disadvantage, but simply a

tendency in human nature which manifests itself in lack of self-restraint,

and the disturbing element which interferes with the attainment of

calmness and candour.

As Hudson, one of the few English writers who has treated of this nun and

her writings[498], remarks: ‘It is on the literary side alone that

Hrotsvitha belongs to the classic school. The spirit and essence of her

work belong entirely to the middle ages; for beneath the rigid garb of a

dead language beats the warm heart of a new era. Everything in her plays

that is not formal but essential, everything that is original and

individual, belongs wholly to the christianised Germany of the 10th

century. Everywhere we can trace the influence of the atmosphere in which

she lived; every thought and every motive is coloured by the spiritual

conditions of her time. The keynote of all her works is the conflict of

Christianity with paganism; and it is worthy of remark that in

Hrotsvitha’s hands Christianity is throughout represented by the purity

and gentleness of woman while paganism is embodied in what she describes

as ‘the vigour of men (virile robur).’

For the nun does not disparage marriage, far from it; nor does she

inculcate a doctrine of general celibacy. It is not a question with her of

giving up a lesser joy for a greater, but simply of the way to remain true

to the higher standard, which in accordance with the teaching of her age

she identified with a life of chastity. Her position may appear untenable;

confusion of thought is a reproach which a later age readily casts on an

earlier. But underneath what may seem unreasonable there is the aspiration

for self-control. It is this aspiration which gives a wide and an abiding

interest to her plays. For she is not hampered by narrowness of thought or

by pettiness of spirit. Her horizon is limited, we grant; but she fills it

entirely and she fills it well.

Passing from these generalities to the plays themselves, we find ourselves

in a variety of surroundings and in contact with a wide range of

personalities. The transition period from heathendom to Christianity

supplies in most cases the mental and moral conflicts round which centres

the interest of these plays.

The plays are six in number, and the one that stands first is divided into

two separate parts. Their character varies considerably. There is the

heroic, the romantic, the comic and the unrelieved tragic element, and

the two plays that stand last contain long disquisitions on scholastic

learning. A short analysis of their contents will give the reader an idea

of the manner in which Hrotsvith makes her conceptions and her purpose

evident.

‘Gallicanus,’ the play that stands first[499], is in some ways the most

striking of all. A complex theme is ably dealt with and the incidents

follow each other rapidly; the scene lies alternately in Rome and on the

battle-field. The Emperor Constantine is bent on opposing the incursions

of the Scythians, and his general Gallicanus claims the hand of the

emperor’s daughter Constantia as a reward for undertaking so dangerous an

expedition. Constantia is a convert to Christianity, Gallicanus is a

heathen. In an interview with her father the girl declares she will sooner

die than be united to a heathen, but with a mixture of shrewdness and

confidence in her faith she agrees to marry him on his return on condition

that the Christians John and Paul shall accompany him on his expedition,

and that his daughters shall meanwhile be given into her keeping. The

manner in which she receives the girls is at once proud and dignified.

‘Welcome my sisters, Attica and Artemia,’ she exclaims; ‘stand, do not

kneel, rather greet me with a kiss of affection.’ There is no development

of character in the course of the play, for Hrotsvith is chiefly bent on

depicting states of mind under given conditions. The characters in

themselves are forcibly drawn: witness the emperor’s affection for his

daughter, the general’s strength and determination, Constantia’s dignified

bearing and the gentleness of the Christian teachers. The sequel of events

bears out Constantia’s anticipations. The daughters of Gallicanus are

easily swayed in favour of Christianity and their father is converted. For

Gallicanus is hard pressed by the Scythians on the battle-field and

despairs of success, when the Christian teachers urge him to call upon

their God for help. He does so, overcomes the Scythians and takes their

leader Bradan prisoner. In recognition of his victory he is rewarded by a

triumphal entry into Rome. But he is now a convert to Christianity; he

describes to the emperor how Christ Himself and the heavenly host fought

on his side, and he approaches Constantia and his daughters and thus

addresses them: ‘I greet you, holy maidens; abide in the fear of God and

keep inviolate your virgin crown that the eternal King may receive you in

His embrace.’ Constantia replies: ‘We serve Him the more readily if thou

dost not oppose us.’ Gallicanus: ‘I would not discourage, prevent or

thwart your wishes, I respect them, so far that I would not now constrain

thee, beloved Constantia, whom I have secured at the risk of my life.’ But

he admits that his resolve costs him much, and he decides to seek solace

in solitude for his grief at having lost so great a prize.

The sequel to this play is short, and describes the martyrdom of the

Christian teachers, John and Paul, who had accompanied Gallicanus on his

expedition. Gallicanus is no more, the Emperor Constantius is dead, and

Julian the Apostate reigns in his stead and cruelly persecutes the

Christians. No woman appears in this part of the play. We first witness

the martyrdom of the Christians who are put to death by Terentian, one of

the emperor’s generals. Terentian’s son is then seized by a terrible

illness, and his unhappy father goes to the grave of the martyrs, where he

becomes a convert to Christianity and prays for their intercession with

God in behalf of his son. His prayer finds fulfilment and the boy is

restored to health. Hrotsvith took this story from the Acts and the

Passion of the saints John and Paul, but, as Ebert has shown, the

development is entirely her own[500]. Though working on the model of

Terence the nun is quite indifferent to unities of time and place, and

sacrifices everything to the exigencies of the plot, so that the

transition from scene to scene is often sudden and abrupt.

The next play is ‘Dulcetius, or the sufferings of the maidens Agape,

Chionia and Irene[501].’ It dramatises a story which was familiar in

western Europe from an early date; Ealdhelm mentions it in his poem on

Virginity. Its popularity is no doubt due to the juxtaposition of entirely

divergent elements, the pathos of martyrdom being in close company with

scenes of broad humour.

During the persecutions under Diocletian three youthful sisters are

brought before the emperor, who thus addresses the eldest:

‘_Diocletian._ The noble stock from which you spring and your extreme

beauty demand that you should be connected with our court through marriage

with high officials. This we incline to vouchsafe you if you agree to

disown Christ and offer sacrifice to our most ancient gods.

_Agape._ O spare yourself this trouble, do not think of giving us in

marriage. Nought can compel us to disown the name of Christ, or to debase

our purity of heart.

_Diocletian._ What is the object of this madness?

_Agape._ What sign of madness do you see in us?

_Diocletian._ A great and obvious one.

_Agape._ In what?

_Diocletian._ In this, that casting from yourselves the observance of the

ancient faith, you follow this new foolish Christian teaching.

_Agape._ Blasphemer, fear the power of God Almighty, threatening

danger....

_Diocletian._ To whom?

_Agape._ To you and to the realm you govern.

_Diocletian._ The girl is crazy, let her be removed.’

He then interviews the other two, but with similar results; threats are of

no avail and the girls are handed over to the general Dulcetius to be

summarily dealt with. Dulcetius, however, is so powerfully impressed by

their beauty, that he orders them to be placed in a chamber beyond the

kitchen, hoping to take advantage of their helplessness and induce them to

gratify his passion. He repairs at night to the chamber in spite of the

warning of his soldiers, when a spell falls on him, he misses the room,

and his reason so utterly forsakes him that he proceeds to fondle and

caress the pots and pans which he seizes upon in his excitement. The girls

are watching him from the next room through a chink in the wall and make

merry over his madness.

‘_Agape._ What is he about?

_Hirena._ Why, the fool is out of his mind, he fancies he has got hold of

us.

_Agape._ What is he doing?

_Hirena._ Now he presses the kettle to his heart, now he clasps the pots

and pans and presses his lips to them.

_Chionia._ How ludicrous!

_Hirena._ His face, his hands, his clothes are all black and sooty; the

soot which clings to him makes him look like an Ethiopian.

_Agape._ Very fitting that he should be so in body, since the devil has

possession of his mind.

_Hirena._ Look, he is going. Let us wait to see what the soldiers who are

waiting outside will do when they see him.’

The soldiers fail to recognise their leader, they take to their heels.

Dulcetius repairs to the palace, where the gatekeeper scoffs at his

appearance and refuses him admittance, in spite of his insisting on his

identity and speaking of himself as dressed in splendid attire. At last

his wife who has heard of his madness comes forth to meet him. The spell

is broken and he discovers that he has been the laughing-stock of the

maidens. He then orders them to be exposed naked in the market-place as a

punishment. But a divine power causes their garments to cling to them,

while Dulcetius falls so fast asleep that it is impossible to rouse him.

The Emperor Diocletian therefore entrusts the accomplishment of the

maidens’ martyrdom to Sisinnius. Two of the girls are cast into the

flames, but their souls pass away to heaven while their bodies remain

without apparent hurt. The third sister is threatened with shameful

treatment, but before it is carried out she is miraculously borne away to

a hill-top. At first the soldiers attempt in vain to approach her, but at

last they succeed in killing her with arrows. The youthful, girlish traits

which appear in both the mirth and the sorrow of the three sisters are

well developed, and form a vivid contrast to the unrelieved brutality of

Dulcetius and Sisinnius.

Quite a different range of ideas is brought before the reader in the next

play, ‘Calimachus,’ which is Hrotsvith’s nearest approach to a love

tragedy[502]. She took its subject from an apocryphal account of the

apostles, but as Ebert remarks she handles her material with considerable

freedom[503]. The opening scene shows her power of immediately presenting

a situation. The scene is laid in the house of Andronicus, a wealthy

Ephesian. The youth Calimachus and his friends enter.

‘_Calimachus._ A few words with you, friends!

_Friends._ We will converse with thee as long as thou pleasest.

_Calimachus._ If you do not mind, we will converse apart.

_Friends._ Thou biddest, we comply.

_Calimachus._ Let us repair to a secluded spot, that we may not be

interrupted in our converse.’

They go and Calimachus explains how a heavy misfortune has befallen him;

they urge him to unbosom himself. He confesses he is in love with a most

beauteous, most adorable being, it is a woman, the wife of Andronicus;

what shall he do to secure her favour? His friends declare his passion

hopeless, Drusiana is a Christian and has moreover taken the vow of

chastity; ‘I ask for help, you give me despair,’ Calimachus exclaims. In

the next scene he confronts Drusiana and declares his passion. Drusiana

repudiates his advances but she is intimidated by his threats, and gives

utterance to her fears in a monologue in which she declares that she would

rather die than yield to him. Sudden death cuts her down; and the apostle

John is called in by her husband and undertakes to give her Christian

burial. But the youth Calimachus is not cured of his passion. At the

instigation of his companion, Fortunatus, he goes with him by night to the

vault where she lies and would embrace the corpse, but a serpent of

terrible aspect surprises the two young men and kills them. In the

following scene the apostle is leading Andronicus to the vault: when they

enter they come upon the serpent lying by the side of the youths. The

apostle then explains to Andronicus what has happened and gives proof of

his great power by awakening Calimachus from the dead. The young man

confesses his evil intentions and explains how he came there at the

suggestion of his companion. The apostle then recalls Drusiana to life,

and she begs that Fortunatus also may be restored, but the apostle refuses

on account of the man’s wickedness. Drusiana herself then intercedes in

his behalf and prays to God for his restoration. Her wish is fulfilled,

Fortunatus comes back to life, but he declares he would sooner have died

than have seen Drusiana happy and his friend a convert to Christianity.

The wounds which the serpent had inflicted at once begin to swell, and he

expires before their eyes, and the apostle explains that his jealousy has

sent him to hell. A great deal of action is crowded into this play and we

are abruptly carried on from scene to scene. It closes with some pious

reflections on the part of the apostle.

There is considerable diversity of opinion among modern writers on the

merits of the dramas we have discussed hitherto, but all concur in praise

of the play called ‘Abraham,’ which dramatises the oft repeated story of a

woman who yields to temptation and is reclaimed from her wicked ways. The

interest in this play never flags and the scenes are worked out with a

breadth of conception which gives the impression of assured strength[504].

Hrotsvith took the subject of this drama from an account, written in the

6th century by Ephrem, of the life of his friend, the hermit Abraham. The

story was written originally in Greek and is preserved in that language;

the translation into Latin used by Hrotsvith is lost[505]. The plot of the

drama is as follows:

The devout hermit Abraham consults his friend the hermit Ephrem as to what

he shall do with his niece, Maria, who is left to his care, and together

they decide that she shall come and live in a cell near her uncle. Abraham

throughout speaks directly and to the point, while Ephrem’s talk is full

of mystic allusions. He talks to the maiden of the beauties of the

religious vocation and assures her that her name, Maria, signifies ‘star

of the sea,’ and that she is therefore intended for great things. The

maiden is surprised at his words and naïvely remarks that it would be a

great thing ‘to equal the lustre of the stars.’ She comes to dwell in a

cell close to that of the two hermits, but after a time she is enticed

away and disappears from the sight of her uncle, who is deeply grieved at

her loss. For several years he hears nothing from her; at last a friend

comes and tells him that the girl has been seen in the city, and is there

living in a house of ill fame. The old man at once decides to go forth to

seek his niece and to reclaim her. He dons shoes, a traveller’s dress and

a large hat, and takes with him money, since that only can give him access

to her. The scene then shifts from the sylvan solitude to the house where

Maria is living. Abraham arrives and is received by the tavern-keeper,

whom he asks for a night’s lodging, offering him his ‘solidus’ and

requesting to see the woman the fame of whose beauty has spread. This

scene and the one that follows bring the situation before the reader

admirably. Abraham is served with a meal and Maria enters, at sight of

whose levity he scarce represses his tears. She entertains him, and he

feigns a gaiety corresponding to hers, the tavern-keeper being present. Of

a sudden she is overcome by the thought of the past, but he keeps up his

assumed character. At last supper is over, and they retire into the

adjoining chamber. The moment for disclosure has come, and Hrotsvith is

seen at her best.

‘_Abraham._ Close fast the door, that no one enter and disturb us.

_Maria._ Be not concerned, I have done so; no one will find it easy to get

in.

_Abraham._ The time has come; away, deceitful clothes, that I may be

recognised. Oh, my adopted daughter, joy of my soul, Maria, dost thou not

know the aged man who was to thee a parent, who vowed thee to the heavenly

king?

_Maria._ Oh woe is me! It is my father, my teacher Abraham, who speaks.

_Abraham._ What then has come to thee, my daughter?

_Maria._ Ah, wretchedness!

_Abraham._ Who was it that deceived thee? Who allured thee?

_Maria._ He who was the undoing of our first parents.

_Abraham._ Where is the noble life thou once wast wont to lead?

_Maria._ Lost, lost for ever!

_Abraham._ Where is thy virgin modesty, thy wondrous self-restraint?

_Maria._ Gone from me altogether.

_Abraham._ If thou dost not return to thine own self, what reward in the

life to come canst thou expect for fasting, prayer, and watching, since

fallen as from heaven’s heights thou now art sunk in hellish depths?

_Maria._ Woe, woe is me!

_Abraham._ Why didst thou thus deceive me? why turn from me? Why didst

thou not make known to me thy wretchedness, that I and my beloved Ephrem

might work for thy repentance?

_Maria._ Once fallen into sinfulness, I dared not face you who are holy.

_Abraham._ But is there any one entirely faultless, except the Virgin’s

Son?

_Maria._ Nay, no one.

_Abraham._ ’Tis human to be frail, but to persist in wickedness is of the

devil. Not he who falls of a sudden is condemned, but he who, having

fallen, does not strive forthwith to rise again.

_Maria._ Woe unto me, wretch that I am!

(_She sinks to the ground._)

_Abraham._ Why dost thou sink? why lie upon the ground? Arise and ponder

what I am saying.

_Maria._ Fear casts me down, I cannot bear the weight of thy paternal

admonition.

_Abraham._ Dwell only on my love and thrust aside thy fear.

_Maria._ I cannot.

_Abraham._ Think, was it not for thee I left my little hermitage, and so

far set aside the rule by which I lived that I, an aged hermit, became a

visitor to wantonness, and keeping silence as to my intent spoke words in

jest that I might not be recognised? Why then with head bent low gaze on

the ground? Why hesitate to give answer to my questions?

_Maria._ The accusations of my conscience bear me down, I dare not raise

my eyes to heaven, nor enter into converse with thee.

_Abraham._ Be not afraid, my daughter, do not despair; rise from this

depth of misery and fix thy mind on trust in God.

_Maria._ My sins in their excess have brought me to depths of desperation.

_Abraham._ I know thy sins are great, but greater than aught else is

Heaven’s power of grace. Put by thy grief and do not hesitate to spend the

time vouchsafed to thee in living in repentance; divine grace overflows,

and overflowing washes out the horrors of wrong-doing.

_Maria._ If I could entertain the hope of grace I should not be found

wanting in repentance.

_Abraham._ Think of the weariness that I have suffered for thee; leave

this unprofitable despair, nought in this world is so misleading. He who

despairs of God’s willingness to have compassion, ’tis he who sins

hopelessly; for as a spark struck from a stone can never set aflame the

ocean, so the bitterness of sin must ever fail to rouse sweet and divine

compassion.

_Maria._ I know the power of grace divine, and yet the thought of how I

have failed fills me with dread; I never can sufficiently atone.

_Abraham._ Thy feeble trust in Him is a reproach to me! But come, return

with me to where we lived, and there resume the life which thou didst

leave.

_Maria._ I would not disobey thee; if it be thy bidding, readily I yield.

_Abraham._ Now I see my daughter such as I would have her; I hope still to

hold thee dearest among all.

_Maria._ I own a little wealth in gold and clothing; I abide by thy

decision what shall be done with it.

_Abraham._ What came to thee in evil, with evil cast it from thee.

_Maria._ I think it might be given to the poor; or offered at the holy

altars.

_Abraham._ I doubt if wealth acquired in wickedness is acceptable to God.

_Maria._ Besides this there is nothing of which the thought need trouble

us.

_Abraham._ The dawn is breaking, the daylight shining, let us now depart.

_Maria._ Lead thou the way, dear father, a good shepherd to the sheep that

went astray. As thou leadest, so I follow, guided by thy footsteps!

_Abraham._ Nay, I shall walk, my horse shall bear thee, for this stony

road might cut thy tender feet.

_Maria._ Oh, that I ever left thee! Can I ever thank thee enough that, not

by intimidation and fear, but by gentle persuasion alone, unworthy though

I am, thou hast led me to repentance?

_Abraham._ Nought do I ask of thee but this, be now devoted to God for the

remainder of thy life.

_Maria._ Readily I promise, earnestly will I persevere, and though the

power fail me, my will shall never fail.

_Abraham._ It is agreed then--as ardently as before to vanity, be thou now

devoted to the will divine.

_Maria._ Thy merits be my surety that the divine will shall be

accomplished.

_Abraham._ Now let us hasten our departure.

_Maria._ Yea, hasten; for I loathe to tarry here.’

They return to the hermitage together, and Maria resumes her former mode

of life in hope of redeeming the past. The drama closes with a scene

between Abraham and Ephrem, who discourse on the beneficent change which

familiar surroundings are already working in Maria; the angels sing

rejoicing at the conversion of the sinner, says Abraham; and Ephrem adds

that the repentance of the iniquitous causes greater joy in heaven than

the perseverance of the just.

This play, currently known as ‘Abraham,’ but which would be more fitly

named ‘Maria,’ marks the climax of Hrotsvith’s power. In form it preserves

the simple directness of the classic model, in conception it embodies the

moral ideals of Christian teaching.

The last two plays of Hrotsvith are chiefly of historical interest for the

learned disquisitions they contain; their dramatic value is comparatively

small, and many of the scenes are in a way repetitions of scenes in other

plays. In ‘Paphnutius’ we again have the story of a penitent woman, the

hetaira Thais, who lived in the 6th century, but whose conversion has

little of the interest which attaches to that of Maria. In ‘Sapientia’ we

have a succession of scenes of martyrdom which recall those of the play

‘Dulcetius.’ The Lady Sapientia and her three daughters Fides, Spes and

Caritas are put to death by order of the Emperor Hadrian, but the horrors

of the situation are relieved by no minor incidents. The learned

disquisitions in these plays are however extremely curious because they

show on the one hand what store Hrotsvith set on learning, and on the

other they give an idea of the method of study pursued at Gandersheim in

those days.

The play ‘Paphnutius[506]’ opens with passages which Hrotsvith probably

adapted from two works of Boëthius: ‘On the teaching of Aristotle,’ and

‘On the study of music[507].’ The philosopher Paphnutius dilates to his

assembled pupils on man as the microcosm (minor mundus) who reflects in

himself the world, which is the macrocosm (major mundus), and then

explains that there is antagonism in the world, which is striving for

concord in accordance with the rules of harmony. He explains how a similar

antagonism exists in man and is represented by body and soul, which can

also be brought into agreement. These thoughts, he says, have been

suggested to him by the life of the hetaira Thais whose body and soul are

ever at variance. Paphnutius further enlarges on the higher course of

study known as the ‘quadrivium’ which includes arithmetic, geometry, music

and astronomy[508], and discourses about music and the influence of

harmony. His pupils, however, object to being taken along such devious

paths and having such knotty questions propounded to them, and at last

they quote Scripture in defence of their ignorance, saying that God has

chosen the foolish that he may confound the wise. This rouses indignation

in Paphnutius, who declares that ‘he who advocates falsehood, be he a fool

or a learned man, deserves to be confounded by God.’ And he further utters

words which are not devoid of a deeper significance: ‘It is not the

knowledge that man can grasp which is offensive to God, but the conceit of

the learned.’

The learned disquisitions of the play ‘Sapientia’ are presented in a form

still less attractive[509]. The Lady Sapientia, who speaks of herself as

one of noble stock, and as the descendant of Greek princes, dilates on the

relative value of numbers[510] to the emperor Hadrian till he tires of it

and commands her to be gone.

It is sometimes alleged that these two later plays were the productions of

earlier years, and that the nun added them to her other more finished

productions in order to equal the number of the plays of Terence. However

this may be, they were probably the two plays which she submitted to the

criticism of three outside but now unknown patrons with a letter in which

she states that she has taken threads and pieces from the garment of

philosophy to add to the worth of her work. We render this letter in full,

since it throws an interesting light on what Hrotsvith thought of her own

powers. If it brought advice which led to the composition of the other

plays, we must commend the judgment of those who counselled her. But it is

just possible that the approval which was accorded to the legends was

denied to the plays,--the absence of the name of the abbess Gerberg in

connection with them is remarkable,--and that, after writing a number of

dramas which found no appreciation, Hrotsvith was moved to compose

‘Paphnutius’ and ‘Sapientia,’ introducing learned disquisitions in hope of

giving them a more solid value.

The letter runs as follows:

‘To you, learned men[511], who abide in wisdom and are unenvious of

another’s progress and well-disposed towards him as befits the truly

learned, I, Hrotsvith, though I am unlearned and lacking in thoroughness,

address myself; I wish you health and unbroken prosperity. I cannot

sufficiently admire your great condescension, and sufficiently thank you

for the help of your liberal generosity and for your kindness towards me;

you, who have been trained in the study of philosophy and have perfected

yourselves in the pursuit of knowledge, have held my writings, those of a

lowly woman, worthy of admiration, and have praised with brotherly

affection the power which works in me. You have declared that there is in

me a certain knowledge of that learning (scientiam artium) the essence of

which is beyond my woman’s understanding. Till now I have dared to show my

rude productions only to a few of my nearest friends, and my work along

these lines would probably have ceased, for there were few who understood

my intentions, and fewer who could point out to me in what I had failed,

and who urged me to persevere. But now that threefold approval comes to me

from you I take confidence and feel strengthened by your encouragement to

devote my energies to work where God permits, and to submit this work to

the criticism of those who are learned. And yet I am divided between joy

and fear, which contend within me; for in my heart I rejoice, praising

God through whose grace alone I have become what I am; and yet I am

fearful of appearing greater than I am, being perplexed by two things both

of which are wrong, namely the neglect of talents vouchsafed to one by

God, and the pretence to talents one has not. I cannot deny that through

the help of the Creator I have acquired some amount of knowledge, for I am

a creature capable of learning, but I acknowledge there is ignorance in

me. For I am divinely gifted with abilities, but were it not for the

untiring zeal of my teachers, they would have remained undeveloped and

unused through my want of energy (pigritia). Lest this gift of God in me

should be wasted through neglect I have sought to pluck threads and pieces

from the garments of philosophy, and have introduced them into my

afore-mentioned work (praefato opusculo), so that my own moderate

knowledge may be enhanced by the addition of their greater worth, and God,

who grants power, may be praised by so much the more as a woman’s power is

held to be inferior. This is the object of my writing, this alone the

purpose of my exertions, for I do not conceal from myself that I am

ignorant, and had it depended on myself alone, I should know nothing. But

as you urge me on by the possibility of your approval and by your request

proffered to me in writing, I now submit to your criticism this little

work which I wrote with the intention of sending it to you but which I

have hitherto kept concealed on account of its demerits, hoping you will

study it with the intention of improving it as though it were your own

work. And when you have altered it to a correct standard, send it back to

me so that I may profit by your teaching in those points in which I may

have largely failed.’

The productions of Hrotsvith in the domain of contemporary history consist

of a poem on the emperor Otto the Great, and a history of the monastery of

Gandersheim. The history of Otto is thought to have been over sixteen

hundred lines in length[512], but only a fragment of about nine hundred

lines is preserved. The nun received the materials for this history

chiefly if not exclusively by word of mouth from the abbess Gerberg, whose

family feeling it seems to reflect in various particulars, for among other

distinctive traits, the quarrel between the father of Gerberg and his

brother the emperor is passed over; it is rather a history of the members

of the ruling family than a description of contemporary events[513]. This

detracts from its historic, though hardly from its poetical value, which

is considerable. Some of the episodes, such as that of the imprisonment

and flight of Queen Adelheid in Italy, are admirably told. Adelheid was

the widow of the king of the Langobards, and was afterwards married to

Otto I. Her flight and imprisonment in Italy previous to her second

marriage are unrecorded except by Hrotsvith.

The last work of the nun was probably that on the foundation and early

history of Gandersheim, in which, as in the history of Otto, Hrotsvith

enlarges more on persons than on events, and gives a detailed account of

Duke Liudolf, his wife and daughters. Many details referred to above, in

our chapter on the early history of the settlement, are taken from this

account, which is in many ways the most finished and beautiful of

Hrotsvith’s compositions.

The interest in Hrotsvith’s writings lay dormant for several centuries. It

was revived at the close of the 15th century when the learned abbot

Tritheim wrote of her, and the poet Celtes caused her dramas to appear in

print. During the last thirty years many writers have treated of her, an

appreciative and attractive account of her was written by Köpke[514], and

different views have been expressed as to her merits as a poet, a

dramatist and a historian[515]. Whatever place be ultimately assigned to

Hrotsvith, the reader of her writings cannot fail to be attracted by her

modesty, her perseverance, her loftiness of thought, and the directness of

purpose which underlies all her work. She stands nearly alone in Saxony,

and by her very solitariness increases our respect for her powers, and for

the system of education which made the development of these powers

possible.