PROPHECY AND PHILANTHROPY.
‘Pauper homo magnam stultitiam habet quando vestimenta sua scissa
sunt, semper in alium aspiciens, considerans quem colorem vestimentum
illius habeat, nec suum a sorde abluit.’ _Hildegard._
§ 1. St Hildegard of Bingen[672] and St Elisabeth of Schönau[673].
From the peaceful pursuits of mediaeval nuns we turn to some of the women
who were interested in the problems of the day, and whose minds were
agitated by current difficulties which they sought to solve in their own
way. In Germany in the early Middle Ages the struggle between Pope and
Emperor, and the interference in temporal matters of prelates in their
character as dependents of the Pope, gave rise to a prolonged struggle.
Much criticism, reflection and speculative energy were brought to bear on
the relations between monarchical and ecclesiastical power, on the duties
of the ministers of the Church, and on the Pope’s efficiency in
controlling them. It is at least curious to find among the voices that are
raised in criticism and protest, those of two nuns, who in consideration
of the services they have rendered to the faith are estimated as saints.
The present chapter proposes to deal in outline with the writings of St
Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1178) and of St Elisabeth of Schönau (c.
1129-1165). These two women differed somewhat in their points of view, but
they were equally zealous in supporting the Pope’s authority, and were
equally inspired by the belief that the Church could and should maintain
a lofty and universal standing and act as a regenerator to society. The
exhortations of these women were very popular, and in the year 1158, when
they were in the full exercise of their power, the annalist wrote, ‘in
these days God made manifest His power through the frail sex, in the two
maidens Hildegard and Elisabeth, whom He filled with a prophetic spirit,
making many kinds of visions apparent to them through His messages, which
are to be seen in writing[674].’
The attitude of these women and the tone of their writings were the direct
outcome of contemporary events. They were deeply moved by the instability
of social conditions and shared the belief of other great reformers of the
age, that what was needed to remedy social evils was a livelier faith in
the truths of religion and a higher standard of morality in conduct.
The 12th century is the age when national feeling in the different
countries of Europe first asserted itself strongly, and when consciousness
of solidarity within made possible the apprehension of ideas which lie
beyond the pale of immediate personal and national advantage. The
conception of knighthood, hitherto determined only by land ownership and
loyalty to a lord, was given a new interpretation, and the order of
Knights Templars was founded, which held knighthood to be based upon
devotion to the cause of religion and loyalty to the Saviour. Similarly
love of war, which till then had expended itself in self-protective and
aggressive warfare, was turned into a new channel, and the thought of the
Crusade roused peoples of different nationalities to fight side by side,
inspired by a common cause and actuated by a common interest. The
authority of the Pope as a temporal ruler had reached its climax, and
there were threatening signs of its decline, but when this power, like the
conception of knighthood, received the new interpretation, its importance
had never been more distinctly emphasized.
The Popes who ruled between 900 and 1000 had been absorbed by party
squabbles in Rome and had done little to raise the dignity of their office
in other lands. But a change had come through Hildebrand, who nominally
served, but practically ruled, five Popes before he himself sat in the
chair of St Peter as Gregory VII (1073-1085). Owing to his influence the
papal power rapidly increased and took a universal colouring, for, by
identifying himself with all the wider and higher interests of humanity,
the Pope succeeded in winning for himself the recognition of his supreme
authority in matters both spiritual and temporal. There was something
grand and inspiring in this conception of the Pope as the universal
peace-maker, and of Rome as the central and supreme court of appeal of the
civilized world, but it could not last. In proportion as national life in
the different countries struggled into being, this overlordship of the
Pope was felt to weigh heavily and to hamper development, and criticisms
arose concerning his right to interfere in matters that did not appertain
directly to the Church. At the time we are speaking of--the second half of
the 12th century--there were indications of a distinction drawn between
‘sacerdotium’ and ‘imperium,’ between priestly and imperial status
considered as the rightful basis of power, with a consequent loss of
prestige to the Church. The position of the Papacy was moreover seriously
affected by continued schism. As a check to this loss of prestige, those
who were in favour of papal supremacy urged that the Church must be
strengthened in its members, and they sought an increase of influence in a
reform of the life of the clergy generally.
It has been mentioned above how from the 10th century onwards a direct
connection had grown up between the Pope and the monastic centres, and how
the founders of new religious orders had by a like direct connection
secured a safeguard against wilful interference with their prerogatives by
prince and prelate. Outside Italy it was in the monastery that the Pope
throughout the 12th century found his chief advocates, that his spiritual
supremacy was most earnestly emphasized, and that the belief was fostered
that through his influence a re-organization of society could be obtained.
In this connection no figure of the age is more remarkable than that of
Bernard of Clairvaux[675] († 1153), ‘the simple monk, clad in plain
clothes, weakened by fasting,’ whose power is felt in religious and lay
circles alike. The secret of Bernard’s influence lay in the fact that he
was in one direction the mouthpiece of the ideal aspirations of his
age--he emphasized the spiritual side of religion and insisted on the
great social and moral advantages to be obtained by accepting spiritual
direction as a guide in practical matters. By doing so he at once
increased the reverence felt for religion and gave it a practical value.
His very success commands admiration, repellent as his narrowness appears
in some particulars. It is true that he diminished schism by persuading
King Louis VI of France to recognise Pope Innocent II (1130-43), that he
won over the German Emperor Lothar († 1137) to the same course; it is true
that he founded the order of the Knights Templars, gave a new impulse to
the order of Citeaux, and preached the Crusade; but it was he who declared
the writings of Abelard († 1142) false, and who had Arnold of Brescia
expelled from Paris on the charge of heresy.
Socially and politically speaking the state of affairs in the German
Empire during the first half of the 12th century had taken a deplorable
turn through the choice of Konrad († 1152) as emperor. His vacillating
policy left party hatred rampant between the rival houses of Welf (Guelph)
and Hohenstaufen. On the slightest provocation this hatred broke out in
warfare; it was checking all possibility of material progress and
prosperity when the thought of a crusade offered a welcome diversion to
these turbulent elements. For the first crusade few recruits had been
drawn from any districts except the northern provinces of France, but the
second assumed very different proportions. As early as 1145 Pope Eugenius
was granting indulgences to those who joined it, while Bernard took up the
idea and preached it with great success all along the Rhine. Disastrous as
the undertaking itself proved to those who took part in it, its immediate
effects on the countries from which the crusaders were drawn were most
beneficial. After speaking of the terrible contentions which for years had
set the ruling powers in Poland, Saxony and Bohemia at strife, Bishop Otto
III of Freising († 1158) continues in this strain: ‘Suddenly, through the
counsel of the Most High, a speedy change was effected; and in a short
time the turmoils of war were quieted, the whole earth seemed restored to
peace, and unnumbered bands from France and from Germany received the
Cross and departed to fight against its enemies.’
When these crusaders had been sped on their way--a motley crowd in which
figured emperor and king, adventurous knight, venturesome woman, and
vagrants of every kind and of both sexes--Pope Eugenius, whose position at
Rome was insecure and who had been staying at Clairvaux with Bernard,
journeyed to Trier at the request of the archbishop to meet in council the
prelates of the neighbouring districts. Among them was Heinrich,
archbishop of Mainz (1142-53), who together with Wibald, abbot of Corvei,
had been appointed representative of the emperor during his absence. It
was on this occasion that some of Hildegard’s writings were first
submitted to the Pope, probably at the request of Archbishop Heinrich.
Judging from what Hildegard says herself, Heinrich and the church at Mainz
had accepted her writings, saying that ‘they had come through God and
through that power of prophecy by which the prophets had anciently
written[676].’
These writings were exhortations to faith and piety set forth in the form
of revelations. Hildegard had been at work on them for the past six years,
and they form the first part of the book ‘Scivias’ (that is ‘Sci vias,’
Know the ways[677]), as it now lies before us. The life of Hildegard,
written shortly after her death, tells us that Bernard ‘with the consent
of others urged the Pope that he should not suffer so obvious a light to
be obscured by silence, but should confirm it by authority[678].’
The time was ripe for the kind of literature which comes under the heading
of prophecies. At the time of the Second Crusade leaflets containing one
of the so-called Sibylline prophecies had had a wide circulation and had
greatly inflamed men’s minds as to coming events[679]. Simultaneously with
Hildegard the abbot Giovanni Gioachimo († after 1215) foretold coming
events, so that later writers often cited Hildegard and Joachim side by
side. There was something earnest and yet undefined, something fiery and
suggestive in these writings, which appealed to the restless imagination
of the age, for they were largely founded on the Apocalypse, and like the
Apocalypse admitted of many interpretations. Their very vagueness repels
the exact thinker, but attracts the mind that is conscious of quickened
sensibilities and roused emotions, without being able to guide them into
practical channels.
Bernard of Clairvaux unhesitatingly accepted the divine origin of
Hildegard’s writings, and in a letter to her, which seems to have been
written while the Pope’s decision was pending, he addressed her in most
respectful terms[680]: ‘They tell us that you understand the secrets of
heaven and grasp that which is above human ken through the help of the
Holy Spirit,’ he wrote among other things. ‘Therefore we beg and entreat
you to remember us before God and also those who are joined to us in
spiritual union. For the spirit in you joining itself unto God, we
believe that you can in great measure help and sustain us.’
Hildegard--with a mixture of self-assurance, and eagerness to justify that
assurance, which is thoroughly characteristic of her--replied to Bernard
in ecstatic terms[681], praised him for having preached the Cross and
spoke of him as the eagle who gazes into the sun.
The correspondence[682] of Hildegard is voluminous, for from the time when
her writings first gained approval from the Pope, many lay princes and
dignitaries of the Church, bishops and abbots, abbesses and nuns, wrote to
her, generally asking for her good opinion or for advice, but sometimes
propounding questions of speculative interest, to which Hildegard in reply
sent sometimes a few sentences, sometimes a long disquisition. It is
largely owing to this correspondence that the fame of the abbess has
spread beyond the confines of Germany. Linde, one of the few modern
students who has treated of Hildegard, enumerates many manuscript copies
of these letters which are preserved in the libraries of German cities, in
Paris, London and Oxford. The genuineness of the letters has been
questioned on the ground that all those addressed to Hildegard are
curiously alike, but Linde, after examining a number of manuscript copies,
came to the conclusion that the letters were genuine[683]. In their
present arrangement the letters do not stand in chronological order but
according to the rank of the correspondents, so that those written by
Popes to Hildegard with their replies stand first, then come those written
by archbishops, bishops, emperors, and so on. With few exceptions there is
only one letter from each correspondent, an arrangement which suggests the
work of a scribe, who for the sake of uniformity may in some instances
have selected from or summarized his material. The letters printed by
Migne are a hundred and forty-five in number, but Linde refers to a few
more in his list with the remark that parts of the correspondence exist
separately and are sometimes cited as separate works[684].
These letters of Hildegard’s, as well as her other writings, contain many
references to herself; she never fails to inform us of the circumstances
which led her to begin a work. She tells us that she was middle-aged when
she first wrote an account of her visions, but that she had been subject
to these visions from her earliest childhood, and that the mental agonies
she went through before she sought relief in writing were ever present to
her mind.
Moreover we are in possession of an account of her life written between
1181 and 1191, of which the first part is by Godefrid, who introduces
extracts from the book ‘Scivias.’ The second and third parts are by
Theodor, who uses an autobiography of Hildegard of which we have no other
mention. It appears from the Acts of Inquisition of the year 1233 which
were drafted to establish Hildegard’s claim to canonization, that both
these monks had stayed with Hildegard.
Summarizing the contents of these different accounts and the information
which the voluminous writings of the abbess supply, we gather that
Hildegard, at the time when the Pope’s attention was first drawn to her,
was between forty and fifty years of age; that she was a daughter of one
of the landed gentry, and that she had been given into the care of the
nuns of Disibodenberg at the age of seven and had made profession at
fourteen. Disibodenberg[685], situated on the river Nahe, was a monastery
of some importance and has preserved annals extending from 831 to 1200
which contain useful contributions to contemporary history. The house was
under the rule of an abbot, but a convent of nuns had been lately added to
it when Hildegard came there; this convent was under the rule of the
‘magistra’ Jutta, sister of Meginhard, Count of Sponheim. From Jutta
Hildegard received her training, which included a knowledge of books of
devotion, scripture and music. Apparently she could not write German[686],
and in Latin her acquaintance with grammatical inflection and construction
was limited[687], so that when she began to write she availed herself of
the help of a monk and afterwards of that of some nuns of her convent who
helped her to polish (limare) her sentences.
During the years she spent at Disibodenberg she seems to have been devoted
to nursing[688], and the consecration of a chapel in the infirmary about
this time leaves us to infer that there were in this monastery special
conveniences for the sick[689]. In the year 1136 she succeeded Jutta as
lady superior, and at once formed the plan of leaving Disibodenberg and
settling some distance away on the Rupertsberg near Bingen on the Rhine,
in a convent foundation of her own. But at first Kuno († 1155), abbot of
Disibodenberg, opposed her going and cast doubts on the vision in which
she declared she was divinely directed to do so[690], while many who did
not belong to the monastery, and among them the parents of girls who had
been given into her care, disapproved of their daughters being taken to a
distant and desolate neighbourhood[691]. But Hildegard persisted, for the
accommodation at the monastery was insufficient for herself and her
numerous pupils, and besides as abbess at the Rupertsberg she would have a
very different standing. She fell ill, and then, chiefly through the
intercession of friends outside who made grants of land and helped her
towards the erection of new buildings, the abbot was brought to agree to
her wishes. Among others Heinrich, archbishop of Mainz, advocated her
going, and about the year 1147 she removed to the new settlement with
eighteen young women. We have a description of the influence she exerted
over these girls, her spiritual daughters, when they were still at
Disibodenberg. In the new home Hildegard adopted the rule of St Benedict,
but she met with opposition, for some of the young women objected to the
greater restrictions put upon them by the new rule, and the abbess needed
the help and support of the better and wiser ones amongst them to overcome
the difficulty. After the labour of moving Hildegard fell ill and lay
prostrate for several years, till she was strengthened and restored by
visions of the work that still lay before her.
The Acts of Inquisition tell us that there was accommodation on the
Rupertsberg for fifty professed nuns (dominae), seven poor women and two
priests[692], but the independence of the nunnery was not easily secured
and Hildegard repeatedly travelled to Disibodenberg to settle matters. The
men’s convent continued to supply priests to the women on the Rupertsberg,
but as late as 1170 difficulties occurred in regard to their appointment,
and we find Hildegard writing to Pope Alexander begging him to admonish
the abbot of Disibodenberg in her behalf[693].
A considerable portion of ‘Scivias’ was written before Hildegard removed
to the Rupertsberg. She has described in the introduction to the book how
she was led to write it[694].
‘It was in my forty-third year, when I was trembling in fearful
anticipation of a celestial vision, that I beheld a great brightness
through which a voice from heaven addressed me: “O fragile child of earth,
ash of ashes, dust of dust, express and write that which thou seest and
hearest. Thou art timid, timid in speech, artless in explaining, unlearned
in writing, but express and write not according to art but according to
natural ability, not under the guidance of human composition but under the
guidance of that which thou seest and hearest in God’s heaven above; what
thus thou hearest proclaim, like a listener who understanding the words of
his teacher, as this teacher wills and indicates, so gives expression to
his words according to the power of his speech. Thus thou, O child of
earth, proclaim what thou seest and hearest, and put it in writing, not as
thou or others will it, but as He wills who knows, sees and disposes of
all in the depths of His mysteries.” Again I heard a voice from heaven,
saying: “Speak these wonderful things, write them in thy unlearned way,
proclaim them.” And it happened in the year 1141 of Christ’s incarnation,
when I was forty-two years and seven months old, that a fiery light of
great brilliancy streaming down from heaven entirely flooded my brain, my
heart and my breast, like a flame that flickers not but gives glowing
warmth, as the sun warms that on which he sheds his rays. Then of a sudden
I had the power of explaining Scripture, that is the Psalter, the Gospels
and the other Catholic books both of the Old and of the New Testament
(Psalterium, Evangeliorum et aliorum catholicorum tam Veteris quam Novi
Testamenti volumina), though I did not understand the inflections of
words, their division into syllables, their cases and tenses. I had been
conscious from earliest girlhood of a power of insight, and visions of
hidden and wonderful things, ever since the age of five years, then and
ever since. But I did not mention it save to a few religious persons who
followed the like observances with myself; I kept it hidden by silence
until God in His grace willed to have it made manifest.’
In this strain she tells how her visions came to her, not when she was
asleep or when she was dreaming or in any way excited, but in the most
serious of moods. They had for years perturbed her, and she had shrunk
from putting them into writing, when a sudden illness came upon her and
made her alter her mind. Then in her own words, ‘a noble high-born girl
and the man whom I had secretly sought and consulted, were witnesses to
how I set my hand to the task’--that is to the composition of ‘Scivias.’
It would lead us too far to give a summary of the contents of this
extraordinary book; it is divided into three parts, the first containing
the account of six, the second of seven, and the third of thirteen
visions, all of which seem to have taken place in the following way.
Hildegard is confronted by a bright light, which radiates over some
wonderful piece of imagery, a mountain, an abyss, some beast, man, or
building, or part of the firmament, which, with the figures that throng
around, she minutely describes, and then she gives an explanation of the
allegorical meaning of this picture vouchsafed to her from God in heaven.
The real and the unreal alike supply material for these visions, which
show great powers of imagination; in their allegorical application they
dwell upon the Creed, the Scriptures, the Incarnation, the Trinity, and
life hereafter, and other questions of doctrinal and theological interest.
The descriptions are highly coloured throughout, but their application is
often very obscure. A translation of the opening passages of one of the
visions, which turns on the protection afforded to the faithful against
the wiles of the devil, will give some idea of the character of their
imagery[695].
‘Then I saw a shining light, wide and high as a mountain, which spreading
upwards flashed into many tongues of fire (linguas). And outside it stood
a number of men clad in white, in front of whom, like a veil, transparent
crystal extended from their breasts downwards to their feet. But before
this band, in their pathway, lay a dragon (vermis) of huge size and
length, of such terrible and threatening aspect as cannot be expressed. On
his left was as it were a market-place where the riches of this world lay
heaped, wealth delightful to the eye, where buying and selling went on;
some people passed by this place in a great hurry without buying, while
others drew near slowly and stayed to buy and sell. The dragon was black
and hairy, and covered with venomous excrescences, of which five kinds
extended from his head over his body to his feet in the shape of rings;
one was green, one white, one red, one yellow, one black, and all were
equally charged with deadly venom. His head was broken, causing his left
jaw to hang down. His eyes were red and flashed fire; his ears were round
and furred; his nostrils and mouth were those of a dragon (vipera), he had
the hands of a man, the feet of a dragon, and below a short horrible tail.
And his neck, hands and feet were bound by a chain and this chain was
fixed to the abyss, and held him so fast that he could not move away to
suit his wicked will. From his mouth poured forth four streams of flame,
of which one rose aloft, a second spread towards the children of this
world, a third towards the company of just men, the last towards the
abyss. The flames which rose aloft threatened those who aspired to heaven,
who move in three ranks, one touching the sky, the other betwixt heaven
and earth, the third close to earth, and all were crying, “We are striving
to reach heaven.” But some of them, although touched by the flames, fell
not, others barely kept their footing, yet others falling again to earth,
gathered themselves up and went forth anew.--The flames which spread
towards the children of this world reached some and burnt them to utter
blackness, of others they took hold, turning them hither and thither; yet
others burst away, and striving towards those who were nearing heaven
shouted out aloud: “Ye faithful ones, give us help!” But some remained as
though spell-bound.--The flames which ran to the company of the just
covered some with blackness; the company of the just moved in six ranks,
and those whom the cruel flames wounded not were tainted by the poison of
the dragon which issued from the green, white, red, yellow, and black
parts of its body.--The flames which sought the abyss carried various
punishments to those who had not been cleansed by baptism, who ignored the
true faith and worshipped Satan instead of God. And I further saw arrows
pouring from the dragon’s mouth, black smoke issuing from his body,
steaming liquid bubbling from his sides, and excretions going out from the
lower part of his body, like to frogs that are disastrous to man, and
which bring infection to many. And a black mist with foul odour going
forth contaminated all.
‘But lo and behold the men shining in brilliancy advanced towards this
dragon to fight and vex it, whom it could harm neither by fire nor by
poison. And I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me: “God, who disposes
all in wisdom, summons His faithful band to the glory of their heritage;
the old deceiver lies in wait and tries his evil powers, but he is
overcome, his presumption is defeated; they attain their heavenly
heritage, and he suffers eternal disgrace. Therefore dost thou behold a
shining light, wide and high as a mountain, flashing upwards into many
tongues of fire, which is the justice of God, as it glows in the faith of
believers, setting forth the breadth of His holiness, the height of His
glory, by which glory are declared the wondrous powers of the divine
Spirit.”’
All the visions of the first two parts of the book are written in this
vague indefinite strain, but in the third Hildegard, conscious of the
evils that had come upon the Church through the schism in the Papacy,
became more outspoken in her views, and enlarged on the true faith being
shaken, on Holy Scripture being disregarded, and on the great works of
learned men being neglected. She says definitely that there can be no life
where the head is severed from the limbs; and such, in her estimation, is
the condition of the Church while schism continues. In common with a
current view, she expected that things would go from bad to worse till the
coming of Antichrist, whose appearance and influence she describes in
eloquent and impressive imagery[696]. The apprehensive tone of these
descriptions is in agreement with the growing consciousness of wickedness
and personal responsibility, which assumed such proportions during the
latter half of the 12th century, and made the minds of many prepared for
the altruistic doctrines spread abroad by the orders of friars.
The last vision of the book ‘Scivias’ lays stress upon the final
revolution and reconciliation which will follow the reign of Antichrist
and the times of trouble, and in this vision occur passages in dialogue,
cast into dramatic form and called a symphony (symphonia), which rank
among the finest productions of their kind[697]. The subject of this
improvised drama is ‘the Progress of the Soul on her way to heaven.’ It
opens with a lament of those Souls who are still confined in the body,
whereupon one Faithful Soul (Fidelis anima), who is set free, raises her
voice in supplication, calling on the Virtues or Divine Powers (Virtutes)
for assistance. They respond and promise help, when Divine Knowledge
(Scientia Dei) raises her voice and adds to the consciousness of
helplessness in the Faithful Soul, who is now importuned on one side by
Pride or the Devil (Diabolus) and on the other by Humility (Humilitas),
both of whom are striving to gain possession of her. But the Virtues urge
her to hold by Humility and the Devil is put to flight, whereupon the
Virtues guide the Faithful Soul upwards to Heaven where she is finally
received by Victory (Victoria). The whole ends with a hymn in praise of
Christ which is sung by the Virtues.
It is probable that only the first and second parts of the work ‘Scivias’
were laid before the Pope in 1146. He wrote to Hildegard as abbess of the
Rupertsberg, and the letter is short and curt[698]. He refers to her
wonderful powers and then continues: ‘We congratulate ourselves in this
grace of God, and we congratulate thee, but we would have thee reminded
that God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace to the lowly. Take good
care of this grace which is within thee in order that what thou art
spiritually (in spiritu) urged to proclaim, thou mayest proclaim with
caution.’ And he adds words to the effect that he confirms the settlement
she has founded.
The whole of the lengthy reply[699] which Hildegard sent to this letter
was written in an admonitory tone, for she considered herself the chosen
mouthpiece of God though characterizing herself as a poor lowly woman.
‘The light stays with me and glows in my soul as it has done since my
childhood,’ she says to the Pope, ‘therefore I send thee these words, a
true admonition from God.’ A mass of imagery follows, powerful and direct,
but not always clear in its application.
In one place she writes: ‘A jewel lies on the road, a bear comes, and
deeming it beautiful puts out his paw and would treasure it in his bosom’
(the bear is the German Emperor)[700]. ‘But suddenly an eagle snatches the
jewel, wraps it in the covering of his wings and bears it upwards to the
royal palace’ (the eagle represents the Pope, the palace the kingdom of
Christ). ‘The jewel gives out much light before the king, so that he
rejoices and out of love of the jewel gives to the eagle golden shoes’
(the insignia of papal authority), ‘and praises him for his goodness. Now
do thou, who art sitting in the place of Christ in care of the Church,
choose the better part; be as the eagle overcoming the bear, that with the
souls entrusted to thee thou mayest decorate the palace of the Church; so
that with golden shoes thou mayest rise aloft and be removed from thine
enemies.’
Other images follow. It is told how the valleys overtop the hills and then
the hills overtop the valleys, with the obvious application that no order
is maintained in the Church, since the lower clergy presume upon and the
higher abuse their powers; each one neglecting to do his duty, and class
being envious of class. ‘The poor man is very foolish who, when he knows
that his garment is soiled, looks at others and reflects on the appearance
of their clothes, instead of washing and cleaning his own.... Therefore,
do thou, great shepherd called upon to follow Christ, supply a light to
the hills, a rod to the valleys. Give to the teachers precepts, bring unto
the lowly discipline.’ And further, ‘Make all things pure and have thine
eyes everywhere.’
After settling near Bingen Hildegard completed the book ‘Scivias’ and then
engaged on the compilation of two books on medicine, one of which has
never been published[701]. The other is usually called ‘Physica’; its
amplified title runs, ‘On the nature of man, of the various elements and
of various creatures and plants, and on the way in which they are useful
to man[702].’ This book, of which the printing press issued several
editions in the 16th century, has been characterised by the scientist
Virchow as an early ‘materia medica, curiously complete considering the
age to which it belongs[703].’ Haeser, in his history of medicine, also
points out the importance of the work, saying that ‘it contains
descriptions of the medicinal properties of the best-known animals, plants
and minerals, together with directions how to improve accepted remedies
against illness in man and beast[704].’ He considers that the book has an
historical value because it is an independent German treatise based
chiefly on popular experience, for no writer except Isidor of Seville (†
636) is made use of in it. In this connection it has been further
commented on by Jessen[705].
The book consists of a collection of terse bits of description, of
sensible advice, and of old-world superstitions. It is so arranged that a
description is given first of plants (230 in number), and then of elements
(14), trees (60), stones (26), fishes (37), birds (72), animals (43), and
lastly of metals (8). The German term for each object is given and its
health-giving or obnoxious properties are mentioned. Thus the description
of the mulberry tree is followed by the information that a decoction of
its leaves forms an efficacious remedy in cases of skin disease, and after
the description of prunes comes the information that they are good for a
dry cough. When treating of the pig Hildegard states that pork is
indigestible and should be avoided in cases of sickness. While some
descriptions are excellent and obviously based on direct observation, as
for example that of the properties of soda, others are entirely
fabulous, such as that of the unicorn. We get the savour of primitive
leechcraft in the statements that carrying about a dead frog is good for
the gout, that drinking water out of a cypress bowl rids one of devils and
fantasies, and that eating raven’s flesh should be avoided since it
encourages thieving propensities. In regard to diagnosis of disease
Hildegard’s ideas are necessarily vague. The illnesses referred to are
chiefly indigestion, fevers, coughs, delusions and leprosy. Several kinds
of leprosy are distinguished, and the chief remedies prescribed are baths
in decoctions of leaves and other less savoury preparations.
In the light of information such as is contained in this book, the
wonderful cures which Hildegard and many other early saints are said to
have effected take a new meaning. It is generally allowed that the fame of
monasteries as curative centres is founded on a basis of fact which
consists in their healthy situation, abundance of pure water, and regular
diet. But evidently there is more than this. When we look through the
‘Physica,’ compiled under Hildegard’s direction if not directly by her, we
feel that, if we could only see behind the veil of the miraculous through
which all religious writers persist in looking at the alleviation of
physical and mental suffering, we should be brought face to face with much
judicious treatment and with the application of a considerable amount of
medicinal knowledge.
During the early part of her stay on the Rupertsberg Hildegard also wrote
a book of Latin texts for hymns (before 1153) which are accompanied by
musical notation[706],--certain ‘Expositions of the Gospels’ (before 1157)
for the use of her nuns, which have not been printed[707],--an explanation
‘of the rule of St Benedict[708],’--and another ‘of the symbol of St
Athanasius[709].’ In the opening sentences of this last work she describes
the difficulties she had to contend with in founding the nunnery, and
admonishes the nuns to guard against division and discord when she is no
more. Another work entitled ‘Vitae meritorum,’ consisting of moral
admonitions, was written between 1158 and 1162, but has not been
printed[710]. A series of questions was forwarded to her by Guibert of
Gembloux and was the occasion of a lengthy reply, sent to him in the form
of a letter[711]. Hildegard also either invented or perpetuated in writing
a glossary of words of a secret language, each term accompanied by its
equivalent in Latin or in German, sometimes in both. Scholars look upon
this work as containing words invented by members of the convent to be
used in the presence of strangers for the purpose of secret
communication[712].
These writings give proof of Hildegard’s active interest in her convent,
though at the same time she remained keenly alive to events outside. The
choice of Friedrich Barbarossa (1152-1190) as successor to Konrad proved
favourable in many respects to German lands, but the position of the
Papacy was further jeopardised when Friedrich fell out with Pope Hadrian
(1154-59). After the death of this Pope Friedrich did not support his
legitimate successor Alexander III (1159-81), but the successive
Antipopes, Victor IV († 1164), Paschalis III († 1168) and Calixtus III
(resigned 1178). The cities of northern Italy tried to secure autonomy,
and plotted against the Emperor. Again and again their rebellion obliged
him to cross the Alps and devote himself to their subjection, while
several of his powerful German prelates at home, by no means convinced of
the rightfulness of his cause, sided with Pope Alexander, some secretly,
some openly, against the Antipope and the Emperor. Hildegard joined this
party and charged the Emperor with being partly responsible for the
continued schism and for the diminished authority of the Church. With
these views she wrote a letter full of adulation to Eberhard, archbishop
of Salzburg (1147-1164), who adhered to Alexander[713], and sent dark
forebodings of impending disaster to Arnold, archbishop of Mainz
(1153-1160[714]). It would lead too far to dwell upon the numerous letters
written during these years by the abbess who, believing herself to possess
a miraculous insight into things, wrote sometimes in a threatening,
sometimes in an admonitory, and sometimes in an encouraging strain. The
outside world generally, including many clever and cultivated men, held
her to be divinely enlightened. Arnold II, archbishop of Cöln (1151-1156),
wrote to entreat her to send him her writings whatever their state[715].
The abbot of Elwangen wrote saying that she could ‘speak of the present,
uncover the past, and foresee the future[716],’ and the provost and clergy
of Trier wrote to consult her in their trouble, and declared her ‘filled
by the Holy Ghost and acquainted with things which are hidden from mankind
generally[717].’
Many powerful prelates, abbots and abbesses sought confirmation of their
views or advice in tribulation from the learned abbess. Her fame spread
beyond the confines of Germany, for we find the patriarch of Jerusalem
addressing a letter to her, in which he said that he was living in sad
straits and begged for her prayers, and Hildegard, evidently influenced by
his exalted position, urging him to remain steadfast and assuring him that
while his faith is firm he need not despair[718].
Among the letters which refer to convent matters we note one addressed to
Heinrich, the archbishop of Mainz. In early days he had supported
Hildegard, but at a later date he advocated against her wish the promotion
of one of her nuns to the post of abbess in another convent, thus drawing
on himself Hildegard’s scorn and anger. The nun was Hiltrud of Sponheim,
who had helped Hildegard to put ‘Scivias’ into writing and whose loss was
a serious matter to her. She vented her anger by attacking the bishop and
threatening him with ruin. ‘The rod you raise is not raised in the
interest of God,’ she wrote to him[719], and ended her letter with these
words: ‘your days are numbered, remember how Nebuchadnezzar fell and lost
his crown. Many others who presumed that they would attain to heaven have
likewise fallen.’ In point of fact Heinrich was soon afterwards charged
with wasting the goods of the Church, was deposed and died in exile.
Another nun, who had also helped Hildegard with her writing and left her
against her wish, was Richardis, sister of Hartwich, bishop of Bremen
(1148-1168). The correspondence includes a letter from Hartwich to
Hildegard, telling her that his sister died shortly after accepting her
post as abbess, that she always regretted having left Hildegard and would
have returned to her if she had lived. Hildegard in reply speaks warmly of
the virtues of Richardis, and says that she finds comfort in the thought
that God has removed her from the vanities of this world[720].
Abbesses of many convents, convinced of Hildegard’s being divinely
inspired, wrote to her for advice concerning personal matters. Thus the
abbess of Altwick near Utrecht asked if she were justified in resigning
her post and becoming a recluse, and Hildegard in reply urged her not to
yield to temptation but to remain in charge of her flock[721]. The abbess
Sophie of Kizzingen had the same wish but was likewise advised to
persevere in her vocation[722]. Among numerous other letters from the
superiors of convents there is one from the abbess Adelheid of Gandersheim
(† 1184) who had been educated by Hildegard and who wrote begging for news
and saying that she was shortly coming on a visit[723].
Among the letters bearing on Hildegard’s religious attitude is one
addressed to Philip von Heinsberg, an earnest adherent of Pope Alexander.
He afterwards became archbishop of Cöln, and Hildegard wrote warning him
of the dangers to be apprehended from a sect of heretics, doubtless the
so-called Cathari, of whom more later[724]. This sect were at the time in
possession of a well-planned organization in the Rhine districts, and
aroused serious apprehension in religious circles. The archbishop of Cöln,
Reinald von Dassel (1159-1167), disputed with them; Ekbert, a monk of
Schönau to whom we shall return, directly attacked their doctrines, and in
1163 a number of them were burnt to death at Cöln. It is interesting to
note what fears they inspired and how their doctrines were interpreted. In
the eyes of Hildegard there is no doubt as to their being altogether evil.
The situation of the Rupertsberg near the Rhine, the highway of
communication in those days, kept Hildegard in touch with the outside
world. She received many visitors and took frequent journeys. We hear of
her going to Cöln, Trier, Würzburg, Bamberg and to many monasteries in the
neighbourhood, but the story that she went as far as Paris and Tours is
unfounded--the result of a misinterpreted passage in the account of her
life[725]. Personal acquaintance with Hildegard seems only to have
confirmed the belief in her superior abilities and her direct converse
with the Godhead--a curious illustration of the credulity of the age, with
its craving for signs and wonders.
Her clear-sightedness and consciousness of prophetic power increased with
age, and there is the strongest evidence of them in her last important
work, which bears the title of ‘The Book of Divine doings[726].’ It was
written between 1163 and 1170, ‘when the apostolic see was most seriously
oppressed,’ and for imaginativeness, breadth of knowledge and power of
generalization ranks highest among Hildegard’s works.
The leading idea of this book is to establish parallels, sometimes between
things divine and human, sometimes between the physical and the spiritual
world, sometimes between the facts of the Biblical narrative and their
allegorical meaning, with a view to glorifying God in His works. It
contains vivid bits of description, valuable glimpses of contemporary
scientific knowledge, and occasional brilliant similes, but the
conceptions among which it moves are so entirely those of a past age that
it is often difficult to grasp their import.
Thus in the first vision there is the description of the creation of man
in the image and the likeness of God, which is supposed to account for the
complexity of the human being. In another vision the heavenly spheres are
set forth according to the accepted astronomical theory, and their
movements within each other and mutual interdependence are described. In
each of these spheres resides a spiritual influence, such as divine grace,
good works, or repentance, and as the heavenly spheres influence each
other, so these spiritual influences control and determine the nature of
man. Many of the parallels are extremely curious, such as those between
things physical and physiological, in which the external influences of
wind, weather and the constellations are treated in connection with the
humours of the human body. For the humours in the human body are so
disposed that their undue pressure on heart, lungs or liver upsets the
balance of the constitution and produces stomachic disorders, fevers,
pleurisy, leprosy, etc., thus showing that these illnesses are indirectly
the outcome of physical surroundings.
The learned abbess also draws parallels between the configuration of the
surface of the earth with its heights and depths, and human nature with
its heights of virtue and depths of vice[727]. Forced as some of these
comparisons appear to modern ideas, the language in which they are given
shows considerable appreciation of phenomena in nature. Hildegard
amplifies her book by disquisitions on passages in Job, the Psalms, St
John, and the Apocalypse, which bear on the relation of light to life, of
the spirit to the word, and of mental to physical darkness. The moments
of the Creation are explained in their allegorical application, and give
rise to comparisons such as this[728]: that the firmament of faith, like
the firmament of nature, is illumined by two kinds of light; the greater
light, like that of day, comes through prelates and spiritual teachers,
the lesser light, like that of night, through kings and secular princes.
In another passage man is likened to the soul and woman to the body, for
the soul is of heaven and the body of earth, and their combination makes
human life possible[729]. The wickedness which preceded the Flood, the
falling away from the true faith, and the manner in which God chastised
man by means of water and fire, are described in very impressive language,
and together with a description of the Plagues of Egypt, lead up to the
last vision, which enlarges on the evils of the time and on coming events.
Here again as in ‘Scivias’ we have a description of impending changes, of
threatening disaster, and of the results of the coming of Antichrist; it
is perhaps as emphatic in the way of prophecy as anything that has ever
been written. Contemporaries were powerfully impressed by this part of the
book; even to later ages it appeared truly remarkable. Again and again in
times of trouble and difficulty men have gone to it and found
corroboration of the changes which were taking place around them. The
reader can judge for himself how men’s minds at the time of the
Reformation were likely to be affected by the perusal of passages such as
those which follow, in which the collapse of the German Empire--that is
the Roman Empire of the German nation--and the Papacy, and their falling
asunder had been described three hundred years before by the abbess of the
Rupertsberg[730].
‘In the days to come the Emperors of the Roman See, forfeiting the power
by which they had up to that time firmly upheld the Roman Empire, will
become feeble in all their glory, so that the empire that has been given
into their hands by divine power will gradually become enfeebled and fail,
until they themselves, becoming sordid, feeble, servile and criminal in
their practices, will be altogether useless, and yet they will claim to be
respected by the people; but being indifferent to the people’s welfare,
they cannot be respected or held high. Then the kings and princes of the
various peoples, who before were subject to the Roman Empire, will cut
themselves off from it and refuse to be ruled by it. And thus the Roman
Empire will sink to decay. For each clan and each people will set up a
king unto themselves whom they will respect, alleging that the greatness
of the Roman Empire was previously more an encumbrance to them than an
advantage. But after the Imperial sceptre in this way has been divided,
never to be restored, then the dignity of the Apostolic See (infula) will
be impaired also. For neither princes nor other men, of the religious or
the lay orders, will uphold any religion in the name of the Apostolic See,
and they will violate the dignity of that name. They will appoint unto
themselves other teachers and archbishops under some other name in the
various districts, so that the Apostolic See (apostolicus), impaired in
its standing through collapse of its dignity, will barely maintain its
hold on Rome and on a few adjoining districts. This will come about partly
through the irruptions of war, partly through the common consent and unity
of religious and lay folk, who will demand of each secular prince that he
fortify and rule his kingdom and his people, and of whatever archbishop or
other spiritual teacher who is appointed that he exert discipline over
those who are subject to him, lest they again experience the evils which
by divine decree they experienced once before.’
Various interpretations have in the course of time been given to
Hildegard’s prophecies, and a number of pamphlets, some consisting of
amplified passages of her works, some entirely spurious, have circulated
under her name. In the 13th century she was held to have indicated the
threatened downfall of the Dominican friars[731], and even in England in
the ‘Creed of Piers Ploughman’ we are called to ‘hearken to
Hildegard[732].’ At the time of the Reformation the attention genuine
passages from her writings attracted was very considerable, and again in
the 17th century they were interpreted as foretelling the downfall of the
Jesuits[733]. Even in the course of the present century, passages taken
from Hildegard’s writings have been explained as foretelling the revolt of
Belgium[734].
Hildegard lived to the advanced age of eighty-two. Her last writings,
which were purely legendary, were a life of St Rupert, the patron saint
of her nunnery[735], and a life of St Disibodus, patron saint of the
monastery she had left[736]. As for Disibodus Wattenbach says that ‘there
is no mention of him previous to the 12th century[737].’ Indeed Grimm has
explained the name ‘Disiboden’ as a height hallowed to holy women (idisi),
in which case, if an early Christian dwelt there at all, he must have
taken his name from the height. In 1178 Hildegard passed away after a
short illness, and soon after her death an enquiry was instituted with a
view to her official canonization. In spite of renewed efforts this was
not accomplished, but her name was placed on the Roman Martyrology and she
is reckoned among the accepted saints of the Church[738].
Surely it is curious that no attempt has hitherto been made to submit the
writings and influence of Hildegard to a detailed critical examination.
The few accounts which tell of her, such as that of Schmelzeis[739], are
dictated solely by the wish to show how divine grace was made manifest in
her. The reprint of her chief works and a descriptive account of the
extant manuscript copies of her writings, and of genuine and
supposititious works[740], have now brought the material for such an
enquiry within reach of the student, and made it possible to obtain an
analysis of the aims and character of a woman whose influence and
popularity were far-reaching, and on whom later ages in recognition of her
powers have bestowed the epithet of the ‘Sibyl of the Rhine[741].’
It remains to cast a glance at the writings of Elisabeth, the nun at
Schönau, who contemporaneously with Hildegard was held to be divinely
inspired, and who, ‘while Hildegard acted as adviser to Emperor and Pope,
in humbler wise influenced the clergy and the people[742].’ In later ages
the names of Hildegard and Elisabeth were frequently coupled together, and
their efforts to rouse the representatives of the Church to greater
consciousness of their responsibilities were looked upon as a proof of
God’s wish to restore the supreme influence of the Church. The nun
Elisabeth dwelt in the women’s convent which was attached to the
Benedictine monastery of Schönau in the diocese of Trier. She went there
in 1141 at a youthful age, and in 1157 she became lady superior
(magistra). Her brother Ekbert († 1184) while a canon at Bonn frequently
visited her, and it was through her persuasion that he finally became a
monk at Schönau. He was a writer of some importance, well known for his
exhortations against the heretic Cathari; he had been educated with
Reinald von Dassel, afterwards archbishop of Cöln, and with him adhered to
the cause of the Emperor and the Antipope Victor. Elisabeth was inspired
by similar political sympathies. For unlike Hildegard, who was an ardent
supporter of Pope Alexander, Elisabeth was favourably inclined towards his
opponent Pope Victor--a preference which laid her open to calumny.
The ‘Visions’ of Elisabeth came to her between 1152 and 1160, and we are
told that they were sent her in the first place for her own comfort,
direction and enlightenment. They are grouped together in three books, but
there is a later work entitled ‘On the ways of God,’ which is sometimes
referred to as a fourth book of the visions[743]. She also wrote
‘Revelations on the holy band of Virgins at Cöln.’ Her collected works
fill the smaller half of a moderately sized volume.
It is supposed that Elisabeth was helped by her fellow-nuns to put the
visions of the first books into writing, and that her brother Ekbert
assisted in their circulation. The manuscript from which they were
published contains an introduction by Ekbert written after he had become
abbot at Schönau (1167), in which he says he has collected (conscripsi)
these writings and other things that have reference to them, and that he
has translated into Latin what happened to be in German[744].
The first book of the ‘Visions’ contains short accounts of how on certain
festal days during religious service Elisabeth, who was delicate and apt
to get excited at the mention of certain saints, asserts she saw them
before her bodily. It is described how she was liable at any time to fall
into trances, in which she lost consciousness of what happened around her.
In the second and third books the accounts of the visions are fuller and
more elaborate; they contain interesting bits of imagery and symbolism,
and give us occasional glimpses of the daily life in the convent. It is
curious to note how the fancied visions of the nun were in various
particulars accepted by her contemporaries as manifestations of the divine
will. The party in the Church, who were desirous of establishing the
‘Assumption of the Virgin’ as a recognised festival, greeted Elisabeth’s
vision of this incident[745] with enthusiasm. Other festivals of the
Church, for example that of Corpus Christi, owed their general acceptance
to inspired visions of nuns. For the emotional yearning of the age found
relief in representations of religious ideas, and the Church readily
ministered to the desire by elaborating the cult of relics and
saint-worship.
It is thought that Elisabeth’s book ‘On the ways of God[746]’ was written
after she became acquainted with the ‘Scivias’ of Hildegard, and her title
looks like an imitation[747]. This work consists also of visions, but
these are given in the form of admonitions (sermones) addressed to
different classes of society; the work is wonderfully complete in plan and
execution. In simple and direct language men are urged to mend their ways,
and to listen to the admonitions which the Angel of the Lord has
vouchsafed to them through the mouth of the nun.
In this book Elisabeth sees the summit of a lofty mountain, on which
stands a man whose face is luminous, whose eyes shine like stars and from
whose mouth goes forth a sword. She sees three paths leading up this hill;
one is blue, another green, and the third purple. The blue path indicates
the use of contemplation, the green of action, and the purple of
martyrdom. But afterwards other paths appear which also lead up the hill
towards heaven: these are the paths of married people (conjugatorum), of
celibates (continentium), of prelates (prelatorum), of widows
(viduatorum), of hermits (heremitarum), of young people (adolescentum et
juvenum) and of children (infantum).
‘I was resting on my bed but not asleep,’ says Elisabeth, speaking of
those who have chosen a life of contemplation[748], ‘when the Angel
(spiritus) of the Lord visited me of a sudden and inspired me to speak as
follows: “Give heed, you, who have renounced worldly pleasures and who
have chosen to follow in the footsteps of Him who has summoned you into
His beauteous light and who Himself calls you His chosen sons, appointing
you to the end of time to judge the tribes of Israel. Consider among
yourselves in what way you should live in humility, obedience, love, and
without murmuring, without disparagement, jealousy and pride, and take
heed that you keep yourselves from other vices! Love one another, that
your Father in heaven be not blasphemed in you and be not roused to anger
at your leaving your path, the path of contemplation!” Then the Angel
(angelus) of the Lord followed up his utterances by saying: “If there be
among you wranglings, quarrels, disparagements, complaints, anger, hatred
and jealousy, spiritual pride (extollencia oculorum), desire for
advancement, boasting, ribaldry, gluttony, laziness, incontinence,
idleness and such like, in all of which you walk on, sons of this world,
what place do you give to divine contemplation?” And again he spoke and
said: “This exhortation of God is addressed to you who have chosen to
serve God whether in the clerical or in the monastic profession. You have
chosen the best part, but take heed lest it slip from you. Studiously
avoid the sinfulness of those who outwardly bear the semblance of
religion, but shame its worth by their actions. With their lips they
honour God; by their ways they blaspheme Him. Some of them strive for
knowledge of the law, but they know not how to apply it. They turn their
back on truth, and yet they boast of moving in the path of contemplation.
They make the law of God and their advocacy of it serve their pride,
avarice and desires, and from those who dwell in Jesus Christ they boldly
snatch wealth and honours, and cherish their foulness. The sanctuary of
God, and places to be hallowed by angels, they visit with pride and
pollution, and raise the adorable treasures of Christ’s sacrament in
irreverent ministration with impure hearts. They jeer at him who rebukes
them and sadden him with contempt and persecution. Those among them who
are less wicked, are yet hateful before the Lord. For they walk about with
the semblance of humility, but their hearts are far removed from it. They
multiply words, but of what use are these when in their hearts they oppose
God, neglect brotherly love, envy and disparage others, and wrangle about
position? They profess contempt of the world, but worship that which is of
the world, strut about boldly, and yield to every gust of their desires.
They have cast aside the customs of their fathers; they engage in the
business of this world and fill the Church with wranglings. Thus religion
suffers contempt, and faith is divided. But why should I enlarge on such
doings, saith the Lord? A shout is raised against them, but they listen
not and repudiate my voice of admonition in contempt....”’
And it is not only those of the religious profession whom the nun
admonishes. The address to married people[749] is especially interesting,
not only on account of her conception of the mutual obligations of husband
and wife, claiming obedience from the wife and respect for his wife’s
feelings from the husband, but because she vehemently attacks women’s love
of dress and men’s love of indulgence. The Angel of God informs Elisabeth
that now-a-days men in large numbers degrade their desires to the level of
women’s folly, and are foolish enough to adapt themselves to women’s
stupidity. ‘The love of dress, which thou dost hate and despise in the
women of the world who come to thee, has grown apace on earth, and has
become a madness, and brings down the wrath of God. They delight in
walking about, their steps hampered by the mass of their garments, and
they try to wear out to no profit what the poor sorely need. O
wretchedness, O blindness!’
It is in the course of this exhortation that Elisabeth consults the Angel
about the heretic Cathari[750], who she states are said to reject marriage
while teaching at the same time that only those marriages are valid where
both parties have preserved their virginity. The Angel cannot deny that
such marriages are most acceptable to God, but declares that they are
rare. Yet he announces that the leaders of that sect are of Satan. ‘Then,’
the nun continues, ‘I said, “Lord, what and of what kind is their faith?”
He answered: “Their faith is contemptible, their works are worse.” And I
said: “Yet they have the appearance of just men and are praised as men of
good works.” “Truly,” he replied, “they put on an appearance of just and
innocent living, through which they attract and convert many, and yet
inwardly they are full of the worst madness.”’ Considering that nothing is
known of these early dissenters except what their opponents have
preserved, these remarks are interesting as showing that though Hildegard
treated the Cathari with unhesitating contempt Elisabeth was perplexed
about them.
Another exhortation addressed to the ministers of the Church is eloquent
in its attacks on the overbearing conduct of the clergy, and on the way
they neglect their flocks. Widows are then admonished to cultivate peace
of mind and to reflect only on spiritual joys, and hermits are urged not
to carry their self-denying practices to extremes, since immoderate
fasting is productive of no good results. The book seems originally to
have ended here, for the last two exhortations are evidently the result of
an afterthought. In the first of these young people are recommended to
cultivate seriousness of mind, and the second treats of young children,
but only in a vague way, for their parents are said to be chiefly
responsible for their behaviour. The book ends with a paragraph to the
effect that the angel appeared and addressed the bishops of Trier, Cöln
and Mainz telling them to amend their ways and accept the contents of the
book. ‘Read them, and hearken to their divine admonitions,’ it says[751],
‘and receive them with an equable mind. Do not think they be the
fabrications of a woman, for they are not; they have come through God, the
Almighty Father, who is the source and origin of all goodness.’
It must have been some time after she had begun to write visions that
Elisabeth wrote the following letter to Hildegard. It is preserved in the
third book of her visions, and also in the correspondence of Hildegard,
together with the reply sent to it[752].
‘What you said had been revealed to you concerning me, I now write to
confirm; a cloud of distrust has come over my mind owing to the foolish
sayings of some people who are ever talking of me; they are not true. The
talk of the people I can easily bear, but not of those who wear clerical
garb, they bitterly oppress my spirit. For goaded on, at whose instigation
I know not, they ridicule the grace of God that is within me, and do not
hesitate rashly to condemn what they do not understand. I hear that
certain letters written in their spirit are circulating under my name.
They accuse me of having prophesied concerning the Day of Judgment, which
I surely never have presumed to do, as knowledge of its advent is denied
to mortal man.’ She goes on to explain how the angel of God had repeatedly
appeared to her, saying that the time for contrition and repentance had
come, and how she had spoken of this to others. But now a letter is
circulated, full of threats against the abbot. In her distress she begs
that Hildegard will accept this explanation, offer prayers in her behalf
and write her some words of consolation.
In her reply to this letter Hildegard admits Elisabeth’s power of
prophecy. She also is a trumpet through which the blasts of divine
admonition become audible. Another letter addressed to Hildegard by
Elisabeth shows that they remained in communication[753], though their
different church and political sympathies naturally precluded a closer
connection.
The last book Elisabeth wrote added greatly to her fame. It consists of
‘Revelations on the holy band of virgins of Cöln[754],’ the companions and
fellow-martyrs of St Ursula, the origin of which legend is shrouded in
some obscurity[755]. The story current in Elisabeth’s time in various
versions states that in the 3rd century Ursula, a British princess, went
on pilgrimage to Rome with 11,000 virgin companions, and that on their
journey homewards these virgins together with many followers were murdered
at Cöln, either by the Huns or some other heathen tribes. The name Ursula,
however, does not occur in any of the ancient martyrologies, and therefore
may be a latter-day addition to the story, while the extraordinary number
of her companions is held to have originated through misreading an
inscription which refers to eleven martyred virgins (XI M. V.). History
speaks of virgin martyrs at Cöln at an early date.
In 1156 a quantity of bones were found in an ancient cemetery outside
Cöln, and this led to the revival of the story, which now assumed gigantic
proportions. The relics of one of the virgins named Cordula were brought
to Schönau by Ekbert. Elisabeth’s imagination was roused, the progress of
St Ursula, various incidents of her journey and the character of many of
her companions, were made manifest to her in a series of visions by St
Verena, also one of the band, who repeatedly appeared to Elisabeth and
divinely enlightened her on various points in dispute. With the help of
this saint Elisabeth felt enabled to explain how Pope Cyriacus (otherwise
unknown to history) came to be of the party; how it was that archbishops,
cardinals and a king of England accompanied these women, and what caused
one of the band to bury, with some of the dead, tablets inscribed with
their names, which tablets had come to light at Cöln. The whole account,
which Elisabeth promulgated in good faith, and which her contemporaries
had no hesitation in accepting as genuine, forms a most interesting
example of mediaeval religious romance. It teems with chronological and
historical impossibilities: apart from these it bears the stamp of
truthfulness. It is pure romance, but it is romance set forth in a spirit
of conviction and with a circumstantiality of detail thoroughly convincing
to the uncritical mind.
Throughout the Rhine district these visions were greeted with acclamation.
They were welcome for two reasons; they increased the interest and traffic
in the relics at Cöln, and they fell in with current traditions and
encouraged the revived local worship of the three women-saints. The names
of these were now connected with that of St Ursula[756], and the legend of
St Ursula became the centre of many floating traditions, and has
proportionately attracted the attention of the hagiologist and the
folk-lore student. Eleven thousand became the accepted number of Ursula’s
followers and the compilers of the _Acta Sanctorum_ have actually
succeeded in making out a list containing over seven hundred names[757].
In literature the version of the legend as told by Elisabeth was accepted
in preference to earlier versions, and became popular not only in Germany,
but also in England and France, especially in Normandy. In England both
the legend and the visions were known as early as 1181 through Roger, a
monk of the Cistercian abbey at Forde in Devonshire. It is thought that he
came into personal contact with Elisabeth at Schönau, and references are
sometimes made to him as the compiler of the ‘Visions’ and as the author
of the legend of the band of 11,000 virgins[758].
Elisabeth died in 1164 at the early age of thirty-six, and her brother
Ekbert, who was staying with her at the time, wrote a full account of the
last days of her life to three nuns of the convent of St Thomas at
Andernach[759]. In this letter he describes Elisabeth’s thoughtful care
and tenderness to her companions on her deathbed, and says that she was
more than a sister to him and that his grief is proportionally greater.
Like Hildegard Elisabeth has never been officially canonized, but her name
also was inscribed in the Roman Martyrology compiled by Gregory VIII, by
which she became a recognised saint of the Church[760].
A later age witnessed other notable nuns who were divinely inspired and
who were acknowledged to be so by their contemporaries, but, as we shall
see later, their communings with God and the saints were chiefly directed
to intensifying mystic and devotional feelings in themselves. They have
neither the hold on outside events nor the wide outlook which give such a
deep interest to the writings of St Hildegard of Bingen and St Elisabeth
of Schönau.
§ 2. Women-Saints connected with Charity and Philanthropy.
The last section showed how earnestly the religious teachers of the 12th
century advocated a stricter practice of the precepts of religion. The
practical outcome of this advocacy was an increased consciousness among
those of the upper and authoritative classes of society of the needs and
sufferings of humbler folk, and an extraordinary development of pity and
tenderness for suffering generally. It can be noticed that everywhere
there sprang into life the desire to help those who were in distress, and
to cultivate that love and sympathy which is indifferent to rank, degree
and antecedents, and especially so with regard to the diseased, despised
and shunned.
The representative figures of this movement during the 13th century are St
Francis of Assisi († 1226) and St Elisabeth of Thüringen († 1231), whose
fame will abide wherever the precepts of Christianity in the direction of
unselfishness and charitable zeal are cherished. The tendency to renounce
all worldly possessions, which was a feature of the 13th century,
culminated in them, and their example was followed by many men and women
who on account of their altruistic sympathies are numbered among the
saints. Since the practical outcome of their efforts carries in itself the
beginnings of our modern charitable institutions of hospital, almshouse
and infirmary, their work is well worth a somewhat detailed account, but
such an account must necessarily be preceded by a few general remarks on
the development of charitable zeal in the course of history.
From the earliest period Christian teachers had championed the cause of
the poor and afflicted, and had upheld the sanctity of human life as such,
whether in the aged, the crippled, or the unborn. Moreover the Church
throughout ministered to poverty by almsgiving, and looked upon the
destitute as having a special claim on her care. At two distinct periods
in history these self-imposed duties were specially requisite--at the
breaking up of the Roman Empire, and at the collapse of the feudal
system. For under the Roman social system slavery had been a safeguard
against vagrancy, but when slavery was discontinued the class of homeless
outcasts became numerous. And again under the feudal system men belonged
to the soil they were born on, but in proportion as serfdom ceased,
beggars, and especially the diseased, increased to a great extent. In both
instances efforts to stay the consequent evils to society were made by all
professing Christians, but the attitudes of the 5th and the 12th centuries
have distinct points of difference which it is well to bear in mind.
Glancing back along the vistas of time to the 5th century we find Severin
bishop of Noricum († 482) instituting a regular and far-reaching system of
charitable relief which has been described by his disciple Eugippius[761].
In connection with Magnericus of Trier († 596), the famous opposer of
idolatrous practices, the newly-developed virtues of this period are thus
summed up by his biographer, the monk Eberwein († 1047)[762]: ‘With him
(Magnericus) the hungry found bread, the traveller found shelter, the
naked found clothing, the weary found rest, and the stranger found
hopefulness.’ We see that the efforts of these men were directed to
ministering to poverty but not to disease, for the prevalent attitude of
Christian society towards disease continued for some centuries strongly
self-preservative. The poor were fed, but the diseased were shunned,
especially those who were visibly disfigured, and who included the vast
class of those who from the 11th century were currently spoken of as
lepers (leprosi).
The homogeneity of the disease _lepra_ in this application has been called
into question, and it has been shown that the ‘lepers’ of the Middle Ages
included those suffering from cutaneous eruption brought on by St
Anthony’s fire, from gangrene of the limbs, such as comes through
protracted use of bread containing rye spurred or diseased with ergot, and
from other diseases which produce visible disfigurement. Scant provision
was made for such people during early Christian ages, and lepers were
numbered among social outcasts, not from fear of contagion--that was a
comparatively late idea--but simply from a wish on the part of society to
be spared a sorry sight. The diseased member of a family was a visible
burden to his relations, and finding himself despised and shunned by his
associates he took refuge with outlaws, who herded together and lived in
a state of filth, misery and moral degradation terrible to recall.
It is in the treatment of these unfortunate people that the 12th century
witnessed a revolution. The efforts of a few large-souled individuals
overcame the general disgust felt towards disease, the restraints of a
more barbarous age were broken through, the way to deal with the evil was
pointed out, and gradually its mitigation was accomplished. The task these
people set themselves, as so often happens in the course of social reform,
absorbed them so entirely that they thought no sacrifice too great when it
was a question of carrying out their ideas. It seems therefore rather
gratuitous on the part of the modern scientist to say that a ‘halo of
morbid exaggeration surrounded the idea of leprosy in the mediaeval
religious mind. We live in a time of saner and better proportioned
sentiment,’ etc.[763] In point of fact an evil is removed only by putting
it for a time into strong relief, when it comes to be rightly dealt with
and so is gradually checked. In early Christian times nothing was done for
diseased people and lepers, but in the 12th and 13th centuries first
individuals, then the masses, became interested in them. It mattered
little that vagrants of the worst kind felt encouraged to call themselves
lepers because as such they could excite more pity, could gain admission
into hospitals, or were allowed to solicit alms under royal patronage. The
movement once set going in the right direction steadily did its work: and
the class of lepers so prominent in the 11th and 12th centuries were
rapidly disappearing by the end of the 13th[764].
From the earliest period monasteries and church centres offered some
alleviation for the sick and distressed, but their resources were at first
intended for the relief of those who belonged to the settlement. The
peaceful pursuits and regular occupations of the monk naturally prolonged
his term of life, and as Christianity set great store by a peaceful and
happy death, when feebleness and sickness crept on the member of a convent
he was relieved from his duties and tended in an outhouse by a brother
told off for the purpose. The guest-house of the settlement, called
_hospitalis_, generally stood near this outhouse for the sick, but
sometimes it was identical with it, and the pilgrims and travellers who
were ill were nursed with the convent inmates. While these combined houses
for guests and invalids, attached to convents, were numerous from the
first, the foundation of shelters intended primarily for strangers took
place comparatively late. Among them must be numbered the shelters
designated as hospitals (hospitales), founded in outlying districts for
the reception of pilgrims (pro susceptione peregrinorum) such as the Pope
urged Karl the Great († 814) to keep up in the Alps[765]. Pilgrims were
always an object of solicitude to the Church, and it was in their interest
that the earliest independent road-side shelters and hospitals in cities
were founded. These shelters and hospitals often consisted of no more than
the protection of a roof, and the proctor, or brothers and sisters who
voluntarily took charge of the house, secured the needful sustenance for
themselves and those seeking their aid by going about begging.
The impulse to found these rests or hospitals naturally emanated from
Rome, from a very early date the site of pilgrimages, but a new impulse
was given to the movement by the foundation of two important guest-houses
at Jerusalem in the 11th century, when that city also was a frequent
resort of pilgrims. Of these two guest-houses or hospitals[766], one was
intended for men and placed under the management of men, the other was for
women and placed under the management of women. They were arranged
according to an elaborate system which is interesting in many ways. The
men were divided into three classes--the knights who looked after the
interests of the house, the priests who attended to the sick, and the
lay-brothers who assisted in the same work. The knights formed themselves
into the religious order of St John, from the name of the church near
which their headquarters lay. Similarly the women’s house, which was near
the chapel of St Mary Magdalen, consisted of ladies, nuns and lay
servants. The fact that St John and St Mary Magdalen were so often adopted
as patron saints of similar houses elsewhere was due to the chance
connection of these saints with the hospitals at Jerusalem.
Looking after pilgrims and nursing the sick constituted the chief work of
the order at Jerusalem, but after the conquest of that city in 1187, when
the knights removed to Malta and the ladies to Spain, the care of those
not belonging to their body ceased to hold the foremost place. But the
existence of the hospitals at Jerusalem and the attention they had
attracted in the different countries of Europe, where grants of land had
been made for their support, indirectly stimulated efforts in favour of
the foundation of similar shelters or hospitals.
The first idea of independent hospitals came into England from Rome, when
Archbishop Lanfranc († 1089), a native of Italy, founded two hospitals in
the true sense of the word, one inside, one outside Canterbury. The one
situated inside the city walls is described by the historian Eadmer (†
1124) in the following terms[767]. ‘He divided it into two parts; men who
were sick in various ways inhabited the one, women the other part. He gave
to them clothes of his own and daily sustenance; and ordered that there
should be servants and masters who were to take care they should want
nothing; the men had no access to the women, nor the women to the men.’ A
chapel was built on the other side of the way and given into the care of
canons, who were to attend to the spiritual needs of the sick and to see
to their burial after death.
The other hospital founded by Lanfranc was at Herbaltown, in the woods of
Blean, a mile away from Canterbury; it was for those who were afflicted
with scrofula (regia valetudine fluentibus), and who at a later date, in
the confirming charter of Henry II, are styled lepers (leprosi)[768].
These accounts of Lanfranc’s foundations are especially interesting as
they give us some of the earliest well-authenticated indications of a
changed attitude towards lepers, and anticipate the efforts made in their
behalf in the 12th century by the founders of the orders of combined
canons and nuns, and in the 13th century by a number of women who on this
account are numbered among the saints. These women, as we shall see, not
only felt interested in these unfortunate beings but unhesitatingly tended
them with their own hands. They knew nothing of the disgust usually felt
towards wretchedness and poverty, and found their life’s happiness in
vanquishing sordidness and filth. In the eyes of some of their
contemporaries they were chiefly bent on seeking sorry sights and coveting
painful experiences, but, apart from the appreciation they found among
those to whom they directly ministered, others were generous enough to
recognise the heroism of their efforts.
Among these women must be numbered Matilda († 1118) the wife of Henry I
of England, the daughter of St Margaret and the sister of St David of
Scotland, whose education and marriage have been discussed above in
connection with Romsey. Highly as Matilda was esteemed by her
contemporaries, she has never been accepted as a saint, and no day is
given to her in the Calendar. This omission is perhaps due to the fact
that she left her nunnery against the wishes of some of the clergy,
perhaps owing to her husband’s quarrels with the Pope, for Matilda was
beloved by high and low and early writers are unanimous in praise of her.
Map speaks of her as the holy queen Matilda (sanctae Matildis
reginae)[769].
This estimate is based on the fact that Matilda was so moved by pity
towards lepers that she overcame the repugnance commonly felt towards
them. A well-authenticated story is told of how her brother David, coming
into her apartment, found it full of lepers. She proceeded to lay aside
her robe and with a towel girt about her washed and dried their feet and
then kissed them, and when her brother objected she replied that in
kissing the feet of lepers she was kissing the feet of the Eternal King.
Ailred of Rievaux recounts the story, which he had from David, who
repeatedly spoke of it to him[770].
This generous disposition is borne out by the fact that soon after her
marriage Matilda founded the hospital of St Giles in the East for the
maintenance of forty lepers, a chaplain, a clerk and a messenger[771]. It
was commonly known for a long time afterwards as the hospital of Matilda.
It was founded in 1101, and Matthew Paris saw it a hundred and fifty years
later and made a sketch of it which is still extant[772]. With the
exception of the house founded by Lanfranc in Herbaltown, the inmates of
which were not styled lepers at the time, the hospital of St Giles, the
foundation of ‘good Queen Maud,’ was the first institution of its kind in
England and for a long time remained quite the most important.
But we must study the records of foreign countries to find the majority of
those women who were actively beneficent to the sick, and who for this
reason are officially accepted as saints. Probably leprosy, or the
diseases collected under this designation, showed greater virulence on the
Continent than they ever did in England, and the miseries of those who
were repulsively disfigured were extreme, when in the first half of the
13th century a small group of women personally related to each other took
pity on them. The field of their labours was in Central and South Germany
and the adjoining countries, which were at that time brought under German
influence.
All the women who were actuated by this new philanthropic spirit were
members, either by birth or marriage, of the powerful and influential
family of the Counts of Andechs and Meran[773]. The scientist Virchow has
remarked that this family, which was once most prosperous and widely
spread, practically extinguished itself through its extreme ascetic
tendencies[774]. Its men joined the Crusades, and any who returned
dedicated their sons to the celibacy of the bishopric and their daughters
to that of the cloister; and in this way the family ceased to exist after
a few generations.
Whence the first impulse towards charitable deeds came to them we know
not, but we find them sometimes taking the initiative in philanthropic
enterprises, and sometimes uniting their efforts to those of others who
were working on similar lines to their own. Some members of the family
acted as patrons to the Cistercian order,--others invited and encouraged
the settlement of the Teutonic or Red Cross Knights in their lands. Others
again were strongly attracted by the teachings of the Dominican and
Franciscan friars, who were very influential in the first half of the 13th
century. Various tendencies were represented in the different countries of
Europe by the followers of St Francis of Assisi. This divergence arose
partly because the rule of life promulgated in 1209 was supplanted by
another in 1221, and partly from the varied interests of each country. In
South Germany it was the influence of the Franciscans which primarily
encouraged charitable zeal and self-denial.
Hedwig, daughter of Count Berthold, of the family of Andechs and Meran,
first claims our attention on account of her charitable deeds. She married
Heinrich the Bearded († 1238), first duke of Silesia, Poland and Croatia.
These districts were occupied by people of the Slav race, and it was at
this time that they were first brought into contact with German influence
and civilization. Christianity had been introduced in the 12th century,
but there were very few churches, and the conditions of life were
unsettled and insecure owing to the continued feuds of the barons.
Heinrich checked internal dissensions with a high hand; he was zealous in
introducing German law and in encouraging German immigration, and in this
way gave solidarity to this part of the Empire. His marriage with the
daughter of a family which was among the wealthiest and most influential
in South Germany is a proof of his German sympathies.
Hedwig is the recognised patron saint of Silesia. Grünhagen says[775]: ‘If
we call to mind how far the numerous churches and charitable foundations
which are referred to the Duchess Hedwig influenced civilization at that
period, how the monks and nuns whom Hedwig summoned spread German culture
in these districts; if we further remember how powerfully at that time the
example of unselfish piety and sympathy, emanating from the throne, took
hold of the mind of the people; we shall be obliged to accept as well
founded the veneration Hedwig generally enjoyed, although we may not feel
attracted by the traits of exaggerated asceticism insisted on by her
legend.’
Hedwig[776] was born in 1174 and sent for her education to Kizzingen, an
ancient convent foundation situated in Franken on property belonging to
her family. In 1186, when not yet thirteen, she was taken from the convent
to be married. She brought with her into Silesia a dower of thirty
thousand marks, which was forthwith devoted to religious and charitable
purposes, for Hedwig appears throughout to have been filled by the belief,
which she shared with her husband, that religious settlements and colonies
were alone capable of introducing culture and establishing civilization in
the land.
The monastic orders had only recently gained a foothold in these
districts. In 1139 a band of Benedictine monks had settled near Breslau,
the centre of the country, and in 1175 at the instigation of Boleslaus,
the father of Hedwig’s husband, some Cistercians had come to Leubus. These
Cistercians were now helpful in constructing a nunnery at Trebnitz near
Breslau, which Hedwig founded soon after her marriage. She summoned
thither nuns from the Cistercian nunnery at Bamberg, where her sister
Mathilde, afterwards abbess of Kizzingen, was being educated, and
entrusted the rule of the new convent to Pietrussa († 1214), a nun from
the convent of Kizzingen. The abbess and convent of Trebnitz are mentioned
as early as 1202. The house was intended to promote education among girls
of both noble and lowly parentage, and among them was Agnes, daughter of
the king of Bohemia, of whom we shall hear more. It soon numbered a
hundred inmates, and at the time when Hedwig’s life was written, that is
towards the close of the 13th century, it contained a hundred and twenty
women.
This life of Hedwig, written some time after her death, emphasizes the
ascetic habits which she embraced, and in agreement with later
descriptions and pictures represents her as an emaciated person worn thin
by self-denial and fasting. On the other hand the representation of her on
her sarcophagus, which is of an earlier date, represents her as a
vigorous, massive and comely woman[777]. The account of her life shows
that she advocated new ideas throughout. ‘By marrying,’ it says, ‘she
followed her parents’ will rather than her own, as is clearly manifest
from what followed, for she checked herself by self-restraint. Bound by
the sacrament she was determined to live her married life as the apostle
has taught, keeping his precepts of marriage worthily. She hoped to secure
eternal life by giving birth to children, yet she wished also to please
God by chastity, and with her husband’s consent practised self-restraint.
Whenever she was aware that the duties of motherhood were beginning, she
avoided her husband’s proximity, and firmly denied herself all intercourse
until the time of her confinement. She did so from the time of first
becoming a mother, that is at the age of thirteen years and thirteen
weeks, and under like circumstances ever behaved in the same way. When she
had become the mother of three sons, Boleslaus, Konrad, and Heinrich, and
of three daughters, Agnes, Sophie, and Gertrud, she altogether embraced a
life of chastity. The like observation of chastity in marriage which
Mother Church has sanctioned she pressed upon every one she could.’ Her
conduct appears to have had her husband’s sanction. Heinrich’s sympathies
are apparent in his granting property to the Cistercians for a monastery
called after him Heinrichsau, in founding an important hospital in Breslau
dedicated to the Holy Ghost, and in making a foundation for canons at
Neumarkt, where he erected an important leper hospital[778]. During one
of the wars which he engaged in, he was taken prisoner by the heathen
Prussians, and the story is told how his wife, indifferent to every
danger, went to him and procured his release.
It was in connection with the lepers who were sheltered at Neumarkt that
Hedwig’s conduct appeared especially wonderful to her contemporaries. Her
biographer tells us that she had taken into her special care the leprous
women who lived there, ‘so that she sent them money, food and game
(ferinas) several times a week, and gave them liberally clothes and other
necessaries of life, taking care of them as though they had been her own
daughters. With wonderful tenderness she attended upon those who were
afflicted with bodily ills, and her affections melted towards the poor and
infirm, whom she tended with great love and helpfulness.’
A series of paintings in miniature were executed at an early date which
set forth the work of the pious Hedwig and of which a copy made in 1353 is
extant[779]. It forms a valuable monument of early painting, and in
archaeological interest compares favourably with the work of Herrad. In
these pictures we repeatedly see Hedwig in the company of the Trebnitz
nuns. In one picture she leads the nuns into the convent, in another she
shows them the church, and in a third she waits on them. They are
represented as surrounding her in her trials and at her death, and as
laying her in her tomb. In these pictures the nuns wear grey or blue gowns
and a black headdress, no wimples (which are worn by lay women), and they
do not seem to share the same dwelling, but to inhabit separate small huts
which are pictured standing side by side round the church. Hedwig herself
wears simple clothing but no convent garb. In these pictures a legendary
reading is given to some incidents of her life. For example she is
represented as surrounded in her hours of tribulation by hairy and
grotesque demons.
A large number of these pictures show Hedwig’s charitable zeal. There is
one in which she is depicted urging upon her husband the cause of the
poor; again she makes the gift of a house to them; she washes and kisses
the feet of lepers; she feeds the sick, who are seen lying in bed; she
gives food to the poor; she ministers to a prisoner; and she distributes
gifts among pilgrims. Men who are in the stocks and doomed to death also
rouse her pity; and she insists on feeding the poor with her own hands
before she can be persuaded to sit down to meals. In these pictures we
note the scarred and blotched appearance of those who are designated as
lepers, the wretched appearance of the poor, and the curiously low type of
countenance of all the beggars.
In her family relations Hedwig was most unfortunate, and one can but hope
that her charitable zeal brought her solace or that the different basis on
which family life then rested made her feel the sad fate of her relations
less acutely than she would otherwise have done. Her sister Agnes married
Philippe Auguste, king of France (1180-1223), but she was repudiated in
consequence of the Pope’s attack on the validity of her marriage, and died
in misery in 1201. Her other sister Gertrud, who was the mother of St
Elisabeth of Thüringen, married Bela III of Hungary, and was assassinated
in 1214. Hedwig’s daughter Gertrud was betrothed to Otto von Wittelsbach,
who in consequence of political intrigues was tempted to murder Philip,
king of Swabia, in 1208. Heinrich and Ekbert, Hedwig’s two brothers, were
accused of being his accomplices, and the consequence was that Heinrich
saw his castle destroyed and lived for years in banishment, and Ekbert,
who was bishop of Bamberg (1203-37), was obliged to fly, though he was
afterwards reinstated in his see. When Otto the king-murderer was dead,
Gertrud, his prospective bride, entered the nunnery at Trebnitz, where she
afterwards succeeded Pietrussa as abbess.
In the year 1216, however, Hedwig had the joy of seeing her son Heinrich,
who reigned conjointly with his father, married to Anna, a princess of
Bohemia, whose tendencies were quite in accordance with her own. Indeed
Anna’s zeal was carried yet a step farther in the direction of
self-imposed lowliness and humility, she readily submitted to bodily
chastisement. She has no place among the saints, but we are in possession
of an early account of her[780] which speaks in great praise of her
charitable deeds. Conjointly with her husband Anna made several religious
foundations, and greeted the Dominican and Franciscan friars as brothers
in the Lord. Inmates of the nunnery of the order of St Francis, which she
had founded at Breslau, spoke with enthusiasm of her goodness and charity.
She too nursed the leprous with her own hands, distributed food among the
poor, and was to ‘forlorn children and orphans a protector and a mother.’
History has preserved an account of the courageous manner in which she
opposed the Tartars, at whose invasion of Breslau, she, her mother-in-law
Hedwig, and Gertrud, the abbess of Trebnitz, fled to Crossen. Anna’s
husband was killed by the enemy and his head was set on a stake outside
the town to induce her to surrender, but in vain. After the defeat of the
Tartars the women returned to Breslau, where they found their nunnery
utterly deserted. The nuns had fled, and years passed before the
settlement regained its standing--Hedwig bestowed her property Schawoine
on it in the hope that this would help it to recover.
Hedwig spent the last years of her life in close connection with Trebnitz.
She died in 1243 and as early as 1267 was canonized by Pope Clement IV.
Her daughter-in-law, Anna, lived to a great age, and to the end of her
days remained interested in her convent and charitable foundations. In
1253 she founded a hospital at Kreuzberg on the model of one previously
founded by her cousin St Elisabeth. This hospital and the one founded at
Neumarkt by Hedwig are still in existence, but the nunneries founded by
these women have long since passed away.
The movement Hedwig had inaugurated in Silesia forthwith made itself felt
in wider circles, and we find the princess Agnes of Bohemia, Anna’s
sister, who had lived for several years at Trebnitz, advocating after her
return to Prague practices similar to those with which she had come into
contact in Silesia. Agnes also is a saint of the Church[781], and her fame
rests on her charitable works and on her indifference to position and
possessions in comparison with the relief of suffering humanity. She is
moreover a virgin saint. For she was to have married the emperor Friedrich
II († 1250) against her wish, when her father opportunely died, leaving
her free to remain single. She then devoted her patrimony, which was
considerable, to founding a nunnery at Prague together with an important
hospital.
Agnes was supported at home by her brother, the king of Bohemia, and by
the bishop of Prague. Pope Gregory IX († 1241) wrote to her praising her
resolution to remain unmarried, and Clara, the friend of St Francis, wrote
to her from Assisi to encourage her in her devotions. Clara’s letters are
extant, and afford an interesting glimpse of the aims which these women
set before them. In one letter Clara praises Agnes for refusing marriage
with the ‘Caesar,’ and advises her rather to follow blessed poverty and
devote herself to the mortification of the flesh. Again she addresses
Agnes as a second Rachel, admonishing her to turn her thoughts to
eternity, and likening her to the holy St Agnes with the blessed
lamb[782].
The Bohemian princess was further encouraged in her aims by the gift of a
prayer-book, a veil, a platter and a drinking-cup which Clara had used.
The accounts we have of Agnes, consisting of a longer and a shorter record
lately printed from MSS. preserved at Prague, give a full description of
the willing humility this holy woman practised in the convent and of the
tenderness she showed towards the sick.
‘There you might see her,’ says the longer account[783], ‘the daughter of
Premislaus III, king of Bohemia, lighting with her own hands the fire for
the sisters; the sister of Wenceslaus IV, king of Bohemia, cleaning out
the dirty rooms; the intended spouse of the emperor Friedrich II
perspiring in the kitchen like any lowly maid. And while she did so, not
by angry expression or stern face did she resent it; filled with joy she
worked as a servant of Christ and proved it to those who saw her by the
sweet expression she wore. She behaved in this way not only to those who
were healthy, but she gladly extended her kindness to those who were ill;
she spread soft beds for them, she carefully removed all that could
distress eyes and nose, she prepared food with her own hands, and cooked
it that it might be served to taste, with untiring energy, that the sick
might be freed from ill, pains diminish, illness yield and health return.
Such were her occupations inside the convent (parthenon), but she was not
confined by walls. Throughout Prague her doings were apparent.’ We find
her visiting women who were sick or in trouble, and collecting, mending
and washing the garments of lepers with her own hands.
Agnes lived till 1282 and is accepted as a saint, but has never been
officially canonized. The hospital she founded at Prague is still in
existence.
The fame of these women, great and abiding as it is in the countries they
lived in, has not penetrated much beyond the districts which knew them
during their lifetime. It is different with another woman-saint of the
period who, within the span of a short life, acquired such fame that she
ranks among the holy followers of Christianity who are the possession of
all countries and of all ages. St Elisabeth, landgravine of Thüringen, a
princess of Hungary, combined in a rare degree those qualities of love,
devotion, and unselfish zeal which make Christian virtue in one aspect so
attractive. The tendencies of those among whom her lot was cast and her
own sad personal experiences throw her loveable qualities into even
greater relief. All the qualities in Matilda, Hedwig, Anna, and Agnes
which made them beloved and venerated appear to meet in Elisabeth. A
loving wife, a pious mother, a faithful widow, the comforter of the sick
and the protector of the poor, she stands on the threshold of a new era,
indifferent to the prejudices of her age, regardless of its derogatory
criticism, intent only on carrying into effect the promptings dictated by
a keener sense of sympathy with suffering and a closer appreciation of the
needs of others than her contemporaries could generally grasp. No
woman-saint has attained a fame at all to be compared with hers. It has
been computed that before the middle of this century over a hundred
versions of her story were in existence, a number which has since been
more than doubled. Of these accounts some are in Latin, others in French,
English, Italian and Hungarian, the mass of them being of course in
German. Many painters, and among them some of the greatest Italian
masters, Botticelli, Fra Angelico, Orcagna, Memmi and Taddeo Gaddi, have
been eager to depict incidents of her life or to introduce her into their
pictures[784].
The bulk of the literature which celebrates the name and fame of Elisabeth
has scant importance from the historical point of view, which seeks a
reasonable basis for her fame. For most versions of her story were
dictated more by the wish to dwell on her piety than to encourage
discerning appreciation of her character. Among the legendary accounts
composed in her praise there is a poetical version of her life in
mediaeval German, which extends over four thousand five hundred lines and
contains much that is attractive[785]. There is also in existence a modern
German prose version of her story which has considerable charm[786]. But
the climax of beauty of legendary narrative is reached in her case by the
account of her life written in French in the middle of this century by
Montalembert[787]. It is widely read in unadorned and in sumptuous
editions in the French original and in its German translation. On the
other hand its exuberance of religious colouring and legendary character
have called forth an account based solely on contemporary records, which,
drawn with a firm hand in clear outline, gives a picture of Elisabeth’s
life less fantastic, it is true, but more discerning and more truly
beautiful[788]. In the light of this work it becomes possible to fit the
form of Elisabeth to the background of her age, and, by thus placing her,
to appreciate to some extent her great and lasting importance. In a
history of the development of philanthropic endeavour and charitable work
no woman’s figure more fitly represents the beauty of unselfish devotion.
Born at Presburg in Hungary in 1207, Elisabeth was related both to St
Hedwig of Silesia and to St Agnes of Bohemia. For her father King Andreas
II of Hungary († 1235) was uncle to Agnes, while her mother Gertrud was
sister to Hedwig, so that Elisabeth was cousin to one saint and niece to
the other. Her mother Gertrud, like Hedwig in Silesia, had become the
centre of a small German party in Hungary, with which their two brothers
Count Heinrich of Andechs and Bishop Ekbert of Bamberg sought refuge after
the murder of the king of Swabia referred to above. After several years
Bishop Ekbert was enabled to return to his see chiefly owing to the
influence exerted in his behalf by Hermann, landgrave of Thüringen; it was
no doubt owing to this connection that his niece, the princess Elisabeth,
at that time a child of four, was betrothed to the son of the landgrave.
This took place some time in the year 1211, and she was carried from
Hungary to the Wartburg in Thüringen, there to receive her education.
At this period the customs at the court of Hungary were comparatively
speaking uncivilized, and struggles were frequent. In 1214 Gertrud,
Elisabeth’s mother, was assassinated, a victim of the revolt of the
Hungarians against German ascendency. Thüringen and the Wartburg on the
contrary were the seat of the greatest refinement of which the age of
romance in German lands proved capable. Landgrave Hermann, a prince of
uncertain politics, but a zealous patron of art, had drawn thither the
lyric poets of the age, whose brilliant assemblies and contests in the
eyes of posterity are surrounded with the halo of a tournament in song.
But the temper of this gay throng had apparently no charm for the
Hungarian girl, who was chiefly conscious of the levity and laxity which
characterized it; conscious too that this outward brilliancy could not
compensate for the hollowness which lurked beneath. A serious girl, though
lively at times, she did not win general favour, least of all that of the
landgravine Sophie, her prospective mother-in-law. When the news came of
reverses at the Hungarian court, Sophie would have broken off the match
and sent Elisabeth home or would have placed her in a nunnery. But at this
juncture the attraction which Ludwig, the betrothed of Elisabeth, felt
towards her asserted itself. He was conscious of a decided preference for
the girl, and so he informed the noble knight Vargila, who had conducted
Elisabeth from Presburg and who all along remained the staunch advocate of
her interests.
Young Ludwig of Thüringen, a gentle and loveable character, of strict
political integrity, is regarded as a saint on account of his numerous
religious foundations and his tragic end. His chaplain has left an account
of his life which throws much light on his relations to Elisabeth. He was
left heir to his father’s dominions in 1216, was declared of age by the
emperor Friedrich II, and, in spite of the advice of his courtiers and
against his mother’s wish, clung to Elisabeth and married her in 1221, he
being twenty and she fourteen years old at the time.
The happy married relations of the youthful pair are established beyond a
doubt. Incidents are told and points insisted on by kinsfolk and friends
which prove affection and tenderness on both sides, and directly
contradict the statements of interested religious writers of a later date
who maintain that life in a convent would have been more to Elisabeth’s
taste. On the contrary, whatever thoughts Elisabeth may have had
afterwards on the superiority of a life of sacrifice to a life of domestic
happiness, during these years she appears as the devoted wife and loving
mother who combines the fulfilment of domestic duties with charitable
zeal. There is a story told of her that she used to leave the Wartburg,
her babe in her arms, and descend into the town of Eisenach, where she
would visit the poor and the sick. Her dress on these occasions would be
of a simple woollen material, and on her return she would take it off and
have it given to some poor person. We hear that she frequently travelled
about with her husband, and that she was sorely grieved at being separated
from him when, on the summons of the emperor, he went to Italy. It was
during his absence there in the spring of 1226 that the famine occurred
during which Elisabeth distributed food with so lavish a hand that the
granaries of the castle were emptied and she herself was severely censured
by the court party, which had no sympathy with her philanthropy. The
number of those whom she fed is sometimes quoted as three hundred,
sometimes as nine hundred. The number may be exaggerated, but this much is
certain, that Elisabeth’s conduct attracted attention beyond her immediate
neighbourhood. She had also opened at Eisenach a hospital or infirmary for
twenty-four sick people, whom she partly tended herself. Writers of a
later date tell us that at the suggestion of Cardinal Ugolino, afterwards
Pope Gregory IX, St Francis of Assisi, hearing of Elisabeth’s charitable
work, sent her his old cloak as a sign of appreciation; but the story
needs corroborative evidence.
When Ludwig returned from Italy his courtiers were loud in their
complaints of his spendthrift wife, but he listened to them with
good-humoured indifference. ‘Let her continue giving to the poor if God so
wills it,’ he said, ‘if but the Wartburg and the Neuburg remain to us.’ He
evidently appreciated and shared her philanthropic zeal; for he founded a
shelter (xenodochium) for the poor, the weak and the infirm at
Reinhardsbrunn, assisted his wife in founding a hospital at Gotha, and
encouraged brothers of the nursing order of St Lazarus to settle in that
part of the country[789]. The interest Elisabeth felt in social outcasts
evidently touched a sympathetic chord in his kindly nature, even when this
interest was carried to an extreme, the meaning and social fitness of
which it is not easy to appreciate. For example, the story is told that
Elisabeth when staying at Neuburg tended a leper with her own hands and
had him placed on her husband’s bed, an action which greatly shocked
Sophie, her mother-in-law. The legend-writer of later date,--not satisfied
with the strong impulsiveness of feeling which alone renders such an
action possible and even under certain conditions raises it above
criticism, and at the same time unable to grasp the reasonableness of
Sophie’s point of view,--tells us that the leper suddenly assumed the form
of Christ, a miracle by which her doubts were confounded.
In 1227 Ludwig, in answer to a summons from the emperor, took the cross
and left for Italy, never to return. His biographer says that having
received the cross he kept it in his pocket instead of displaying it on
his coat, for fear of distressing his wife, who was about to give birth to
their third child. But Elisabeth came across it by chance and was bowed
down by grief at the thought of losing him. Together with others she
started him and his followers on their journey, and travelled on with him
yet another day’s journey to delay the dreaded moment of separation. On
her return to the Wartburg she devoted herself to her charitable work with
increased zeal, and her inclination to self-denial became more accentuated
owing to contact with members of the Franciscan order.
The attempt of the Franciscan friars to gain a foothold in Germany had at
first been frustrated. Ekbert, bishop of Bamberg, Elisabeth’s uncle, was
the first to give them a gracious reception. From Bamberg they spread into
the adjoining districts, and Elisabeth’s favour enabled them to build a
chapel at Eisenach. Konrad, one of these friars, had been nominated
inquisitor by Pope Innocent III, and coming to Eisenach in 1226 soon won
the affections of Ludwig and Elisabeth. At a later date Konrad of Marburg
drew popular hatred on himself by his extreme rigour and anti-heretical
teaching, and suffered a violent death (1233). But in earlier years he had
gained much sympathy by preaching the views of St Francis on the
renunciation of worldly goods and on practising unlimited charity[790].
When Ludwig departed to the south, he entrusted Konrad with considerable
authority, which he turned to account by strengthening the ascendency he
had gained over Elisabeth. She accepted him as her guide in all things,
and upheld his views that to levy taxes is an evil and that each person
should earn the food he requires by the work of his own hands. To carry
this into practice she refused to accept any tribute and tried to earn
money herself. Within a short time, however, came the news that Ludwig had
died in Italy from a fever before setting sail for the East. The news came
to Elisabeth as an overpowering shock. ‘Dead!’ she exclaimed, ‘dead! so
henceforth to me is the world and all things pleasant it contains.’ Trials
now came thick upon her. Her husband’s brother, Hermann, with a usurper’s
determination, seized Ludwig’s possessions and expelled Elisabeth, whom he
had always looked upon with disapproval. She was forced to fly from the
Wartburg with her children, and in the depth of a severe winter she paced
the streets of Eisenach, seeking refuge with those she had formerly
befriended, but no one dared to harbour her. At last her aunt Mathilde,
abbess of Kizzingen, sent for her and for her two faithful waiting-women,
perhaps for the children also. Elisabeth would gladly have accepted a
permanent home in the convent, but her uncle Ekbert interfered. He
appointed a more suitable dwelling-place--and urged upon her the
desirableness of a second marriage. Elisabeth refused, and we hardly need
the assurance of the legend-writer that it was because she had taken the
vow of chastity, considering how recently her husband had died. However in
the meantime the band of Ludwig’s followers returned home bringing with
them their leader’s corpse, and a rapid change of affairs took place in
the Wartburg. Hermann the usurper was forced to yield, Elisabeth was
reinstated in her rights, and was fetched back to the castle by the noble
Vargila. But her stay there was not of long duration. Her position was
intolerable, and she felt that nothing could bring her solace short of the
renunciation of all prerogatives of station and wealth. She would have
become a recluse had not the Franciscan friar Konrad prevented this excess
of humility. As it was she went to the Franciscan chapel at Eisenach,
publicly renounced the world and its claims, and removed to Marburg in
Hessen where she would be near Konrad and devote herself to a life of
sacrifice. She refused to live in the castle, and with the two
waiting-women, who throughout remained faithful to her, dwelt in a hut on
the hillside, devoting all her property to constructing a hospital in the
town, where she spent most of her time waiting on the sick and infirm.
Her conduct at Marburg filled the people with amazement as it had done at
Eisenach, and numbers pressed thither to see her and to be tended by her.
Considering that she only spent about two years there, the impression she
made must have been extraordinary, for the undying memory of her fame
continues to this day among the people. We hear a good deal of the
asceticism she practised under Konrad’s guidance during these last years
of her life; how she submitted to bodily chastisement, how she admitted
that her own children were not dearer to her than those of others, how she
expressed regret at ever having been married, and how she suffered her
faithful waiting-women, who like herself had adopted the grey dress of the
order of St Francis, to be removed out of her sight. She died in 1231 at
the early age of twenty-four. In accordance with the general wish she was
canonized within a few years of her death by Pope Gregory IX in 1235.
Immediately after her death hospitals constructed on the plan of that at
Marburg and acknowledging St Elisabeth as their patron saint sprang up in
many cities. With all these facts before us we cannot deny to her the
achievement of lasting social importance. To this day hospitals in Germany
founded both under Catholic and Protestant auspices are often dedicated to
her.
The loving tribute of a later age has perpetuated her fame in many ways.
It has struck medals in her memory, has surmounted fountains by her
statue, and has reared to her memory the minster of Marburg, one of the
finest monuments of German mediaeval architecture. In spite of the ravages
of time and the robberies perpetrated during warfare her sarcophagus there
remains a wondrous achievement of the art of the goldsmith. It is still an
object of pious admiration and devout pilgrimage, both to the faithful
believer and to the appreciative student of history and art.
Our age has witnessed a great spread of philanthropic interest and
charitable zeal among women of the educated classes; a wave of feeling,
similar to that which swept over mankind in the 13th century, bears down
all other considerations when there are outcasts to be rescued and
suffering to be alleviated. Nursing the sick has become a distinct and a
respected profession; the administration of charity, an education in
itself, is absorbing some of the best energies of the community, and women
who seek to rescue suffering humanity are at last enabled to do so by the
guiding hand of science. Certainly circumstances have changed. We live no
longer in an age when the leper need display his sores to arouse pity, nor
where almsgiving _per se_ has a social value. And yet now as then the
success of charitable work depends on unselfish devotion and goodness of
heart in the individual, and it is in this sense that the charitable work
of the women-saints of the past retains its meaning. It is not by
imitating their deeds that a later age walks worthily in their footsteps
and pays them the tribute of reverence, but by accepting and furthering
the spirit in which these deeds were done.