PROPHECY AND PHILANTHROPY.

§ 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.