Woman under Monasticism

The next play is ‘Dulcetius, or the sufferings of the maidens Agape, Chionia and Irene500.’ It dramatises a story which was familiar in western Europe from an early date; Ealdhelm mentions it in his poem on Virginity. Its popularity is no doubt due to the juxtaposition of entirely divergent elements, the pathos of martyrdom being in close company with scenes of broad humour.

During the persecutions under Diocletian three youthful sisters are brought before the emperor, who thus addresses the eldest:

‘Diocletian. The noble stock from which you spring and your extreme beauty demand that you should be connected with our court through marriage with high officials. This we incline to vouchsafe you if you agree to disown Christ and offer sacrifice to our most ancient gods.

Agape. O spare yourself this trouble, do not think of giving us in marriage. Nought can compel us to disown the name of Christ, or to debase our purity of heart.

Diocletian. What is the object of this madness?

Agape. What sign of madness do you see in us?

Diocletian. A great and obvious one.

Agape. In what?

Diocletian. In this, that casting from yourselves the observance of the ancient faith, you follow this new foolish Christian teaching.

Agape. Blasphemer, fear the power of God Almighty, threatening danger…

Diocletian. To whom?

Agape. To you and to the realm you govern.

Diocletian. The girl is crazy, let her be removed.’

He then interviews the other two, but with similar results; threats are of no avail and the girls are handed over to the general Dulcetius to be summarily dealt with. Dulcetius, however, is so powerfully impressed by their beauty, that he orders them to be placed in a chamber beyond the kitchen, hoping to take advantage of their helplessness and induce them to gratify his passion. He repairs at night to the chamber in spite of the warning of his soldiers, when a spell falls on him, he misses the room, and his reason so utterly forsakes him that he proceeds to fondle and caress the pots and pans which he seizes upon in his excitement. The girls are watching him from the next room through a chink in the wall and make merry over his madness.

‘Agape. What is he about?

Hirena. Why, the fool is out of his mind, he fancies he has got hold of us.

Agape. What is he doing?

Hirena. Now he presses the kettle to his heart, now he clasps the pots and pans and presses his lips to them.

Chionia. How ludicrous!

Hirena. His face, his hands, his clothes are all black and sooty; the soot which clings to him makes him look like an Ethiopian.

Agape. Very fitting that he should be so in body, since the devil has possession of his mind.

Hirena. Look, he is going. Let us wait to see what the soldiers who are waiting outside will do when they see him.’

The soldiers fail to recognise their leader, they take to their heels. Dulcetius repairs to the palace, where the gatekeeper scoffs at his appearance and refuses him admittance, in spite of his insisting on his identity and speaking of himself as dressed in splendid attire. At last his wife who has heard of his madness comes forth to meet him. The spell is broken and he discovers that he has been the laughing-stock of the maidens. He then orders them to be exposed naked in the market-place as a punishment. But a divine power causes their garments to cling to them, while Dulcetius falls so fast asleep that it is impossible to rouse him. The Emperor Diocletian therefore entrusts the accomplishment of the maidens’ martyrdom to Sisinnius. Two of the girls are cast into the flames, but their souls pass away to heaven while their bodies remain without apparent hurt. The third sister is threatened with shameful treatment, but before it is carried out she is miraculously borne away to a hill-top. At first the soldiers attempt in vain to approach her, but at last they succeed in killing her with arrows. The youthful, girlish traits which appear in both the mirth and the sorrow of the three sisters are well developed, and form a vivid contrast to the unrelieved brutality of Dulcetius and Sisinnius.

Quite a different range of ideas is brought before the reader in the next play, ‘Calimachus,’ which is Hrotsvith’s nearest approach to a love tragedy501. She took its subject from an apocryphal account of the apostles, but as Ebert remarks she handles her material with considerable freedom502. The opening scene shows her power of immediately presenting a situation. The scene is laid in the house of Andronicus, a wealthy Ephesian. The youth Calimachus and his friends enter.

‘Calimachus. A few words with you, friends!

Friends. We will converse with thee as long as thou pleasest.

Calimachus. If you do not mind, we will converse apart.

Friends. Thou biddest, we comply.

Calimachus. Let us repair to a secluded spot, that we may not be interrupted in our converse.’

They go and Calimachus explains how a heavy misfortune has befallen him; they urge him to unbosom himself. He confesses he is in love with a most beauteous, most adorable being, it is a woman, the wife of Andronicus; what shall he do to secure her favour? His friends declare his passion hopeless, Drusiana is a Christian and has moreover taken the vow of chastity; ‘I ask for help, you give me despair,’ Calimachus exclaims. In the next scene he confronts Drusiana and declares his passion. Drusiana repudiates his advances but she is intimidated by his threats, and gives utterance to her fears in a monologue in which she declares that she would rather die than yield to him. Sudden death cuts her down; and the apostle John is called in by her husband and undertakes to give her Christian burial. But the youth Calimachus is not cured of his passion. At the instigation of his companion, Fortunatus, he goes with him by night to the vault where she lies and would embrace the corpse, but a serpent of terrible aspect surprises the two young men and kills them. In the following scene the apostle is leading Andronicus to the vault: when they enter they come upon the serpent lying by the side of the youths. The apostle then explains to Andronicus what has happened and gives proof of his great power by awakening Calimachus from the dead. The young man confesses his evil intentions and explains how he came there at the suggestion of his companion. The apostle then recalls Drusiana to life, and she begs that Fortunatus also may be restored, but the apostle refuses on account of the man’s wickedness. Drusiana herself then intercedes in his behalf and prays to God for his restoration. Her wish is fulfilled, Fortunatus comes back to life, but he declares he would sooner have died than have seen Drusiana happy and his friend a convert to Christianity. The wounds which the serpent had inflicted at once begin to swell, and he expires before their eyes, and the apostle explains that his jealousy has sent him to hell. A great deal of action is crowded into this play and we are abruptly carried on from scene to scene. It closes with some pious reflections on the part of the apostle.

There is considerable diversity of opinion among modern writers on the merits of the dramas we have discussed hitherto, but all concur in praise of the play called ‘Abraham,’ which dramatises the oft repeated story of a woman who yields to temptation and is reclaimed from her wicked ways. The interest in this play never flags and the scenes are worked out with a breadth of conception which gives the impression of assured strength503.

Hrotsvith took the subject of this drama from an account, written in the 6th century by Ephrem, of the life of his friend, the hermit Abraham. The story was written originally in Greek and is preserved in that language; the translation into Latin used by Hrotsvith is lost504. The plot of the drama is as follows:

The devout hermit Abraham consults his friend the hermit Ephrem as to what he shall do with his niece, Maria, who is left to his care, and together they decide that she shall come and live in a cell near her uncle. Abraham throughout speaks directly and to the point, while Ephrem’s talk is full of mystic allusions. He talks to the maiden of the beauties of the religious vocation and assures her that her name, Maria, signifies ‘star of the sea,’ and that she is therefore intended for great things. The maiden is surprised at his words and naïvely remarks that it would be a great thing ‘to equal the lustre of the stars.’ She comes to dwell in a cell close to that of the two hermits, but after a time she is enticed away and disappears from the sight of her uncle, who is deeply grieved at her loss. For several years he hears nothing from her; at last a friend comes and tells him that the girl has been seen in the city, and is there living in a house of ill fame. The old man at once decides to go forth to seek his niece and to reclaim her. He dons shoes, a traveller’s dress and a large hat, and takes with him money, since that only can give him access to her. The scene then shifts from the sylvan solitude to the house where Maria is living. Abraham arrives and is received by the tavern-keeper, whom he asks for a night’s lodging, offering him his ‘solidus’ and requesting to see the woman the fame of whose beauty has spread. This scene and the one that follows bring the situation before the reader admirably. Abraham is served with a meal and Maria enters, at sight of whose levity he scarce represses his tears. She entertains him, and he feigns a gaiety corresponding to hers, the tavern-keeper being present. Of a sudden she is overcome by the thought of the past, but he keeps up his assumed character. At last supper is over, and they retire into the adjoining chamber. The moment for disclosure has come, and Hrotsvith is seen at her best.

‘Abraham. Close fast the door, that no one enter and disturb us.

Maria. Be not concerned, I have done so; no one will find it easy to get in.

Abraham. The time has come; away, deceitful clothes, that I may be recognised. Oh, my adopted daughter, joy of my soul, Maria, dost thou not know the aged man who was to thee a parent, who vowed thee to the heavenly king?

Maria. Oh woe is me! It is my father, my teacher Abraham, who speaks.

Abraham. What then has come to thee, my daughter?

Maria. Ah, wretchedness!

Abraham. Who was it that deceived thee? Who allured thee?

Maria. He who was the undoing of our first parents.

Abraham. Where is the noble life thou once wast wont to lead?

Maria. Lost, lost for ever!

Abraham. Where is thy virgin modesty, thy wondrous self-restraint?

Maria. Gone from me altogether.

Abraham. If thou dost not return to thine own self, what reward in the life to come canst thou expect for fasting, prayer, and watching, since fallen as from heaven’s heights thou now art sunk in hellish depths?

Maria. Woe, woe is me!

Abraham. Why didst thou thus deceive me? why turn from me? Why didst thou not make known to me thy wretchedness, that I and my beloved Ephrem might work for thy repentance?

Maria. Once fallen into sinfulness, I dared not face you who are holy.

Abraham. But is there any one entirely faultless, except the Virgin’s Son?

Maria. Nay, no one.

Abraham. ’Tis human to be frail, but to persist in wickedness is of the devil. Not he who falls of a sudden is condemned, but he who, having fallen, does not strive forthwith to rise again.

Maria. Woe unto me, wretch that I am!

Abraham. Why dost thou sink? why lie upon the ground? Arise and ponder what I am saying.

Maria. Fear casts me down, I cannot bear the weight of thy paternal admonition.

Abraham. Dwell only on my love and thrust aside thy fear.

Maria. I cannot.

Abraham. Think, was it not for thee I left my little hermitage, and so far set aside the rule by which I lived that I, an aged hermit, became a visitor to wantonness, and keeping silence as to my intent spoke words in jest that I might not be recognised? Why then with head bent low gaze on the ground? Why hesitate to give answer to my questions?

Maria. The accusations of my conscience bear me down, I dare not raise my eyes to heaven, nor enter into converse with thee.

Abraham. Be not afraid, my daughter, do not despair; rise from this depth of misery and fix thy mind on trust in God.

Maria. My sins in their excess have brought me to depths of desperation.

Abraham. I know thy sins are great, but greater than aught else is Heaven’s power of grace. Put by thy grief and do not hesitate to spend the time vouchsafed to thee in living in repentance; divine grace overflows, and overflowing washes out the horrors of wrong-doing.

Maria. If I could entertain the hope of grace I should not be found wanting in repentance.

Abraham. Think of the weariness that I have suffered for thee; leave this unprofitable despair, nought in this world is so misleading. He who despairs of God’s willingness to have compassion, ’tis he who sins hopelessly; for as a spark struck from a stone can never set aflame the ocean, so the bitterness of sin must ever fail to rouse sweet and divine compassion.

Maria. I know the power of grace divine, and yet the thought of how I have failed fills me with dread; I never can sufficiently atone.

Abraham. Thy feeble trust in Him is a reproach to me! But come, return with me to where we lived, and there resume the life which thou didst leave.

Maria. I would not disobey thee; if it be thy bidding, readily I yield.

Abraham. Now I see my daughter such as I would have her; I hope still to hold thee dearest among all.

Maria. I own a little wealth in gold and clothing; I abide by thy decision what shall be done with it.

Abraham. What came to thee in evil, with evil cast it from thee.

Maria. I think it might be given to the poor; or offered at the holy altars.

Abraham. I doubt if wealth acquired in wickedness is acceptable to God.

Maria. Besides this there is nothing of which the thought need trouble us.

Abraham. The dawn is breaking, the daylight shining, let us now depart.

Maria. Lead thou the way, dear father, a good shepherd to the sheep that went astray. As thou leadest, so I follow, guided by thy footsteps!

Abraham. Nay, I shall walk, my horse shall bear thee, for this stony road might cut thy tender feet.

Maria. Oh, that I ever left thee! Can I ever thank thee enough that, not by intimidation and fear, but by gentle persuasion alone, unworthy though I am, thou hast led me to repentance?

Abraham. Nought do I ask of thee but this, be now devoted to God for the remainder of thy life.

Maria. Readily I promise, earnestly will I persevere, and though the power fail me, my will shall never fail.

Abraham. It is agreed then – as ardently as before to vanity, be thou now devoted to the will divine.

Maria. Thy merits be my surety that the divine will shall be accomplished.

Abraham. Now let us hasten our departure.

Maria. Yea, hasten; for I loathe to tarry here.’

They return to the hermitage together, and Maria resumes her former mode of life in hope of redeeming the past. The drama closes with a scene between Abraham and Ephrem, who discourse on the beneficent change which familiar surroundings are already working in Maria; the angels sing rejoicing at the conversion of the sinner, says Abraham; and Ephrem adds that the repentance of the iniquitous causes greater joy in heaven than the perseverance of the just.

This play, currently known as ‘Abraham,’ but which would be more fitly named ‘Maria,’ marks the climax of Hrotsvith’s power. In form it preserves the simple directness of the classic model, in conception it embodies the moral ideals of Christian teaching.

The last two plays of Hrotsvith are chiefly of historical interest for the learned disquisitions they contain; their dramatic value is comparatively small, and many of the scenes are in a way repetitions of scenes in other plays. In ‘Paphnutius’ we again have the story of a penitent woman, the hetaira Thais, who lived in the 6th century, but whose conversion has little of the interest which attaches to that of Maria. In ‘Sapientia’ we have a succession of scenes of martyrdom which recall those of the play ‘Dulcetius.’ The Lady Sapientia and her three daughters Fides, Spes and Caritas are put to death by order of the Emperor Hadrian, but the horrors of the situation are relieved by no minor incidents. The learned disquisitions in these plays are however extremely curious because they show on the one hand what store Hrotsvith set on learning, and on the other they give an idea of the method of study pursued at Gandersheim in those days.

The play ‘Paphnutius505’ opens with passages which Hrotsvith probably adapted from two works of Boëthius: ‘On the teaching of Aristotle,’ and ‘On the study of music506.’ The philosopher Paphnutius dilates to his assembled pupils on man as the microcosm (minor mundus) who reflects in himself the world, which is the macrocosm (major mundus), and then explains that there is antagonism in the world, which is striving for concord in accordance with the rules of harmony. He explains how a similar antagonism exists in man and is represented by body and soul, which can also be brought into agreement. These thoughts, he says, have been suggested to him by the life of the hetaira Thais whose body and soul are ever at variance. Paphnutius further enlarges on the higher course of study known as the ‘quadrivium’ which includes arithmetic, geometry, music and astronomy507, and discourses about music and the influence of harmony. His pupils, however, object to being taken along such devious paths and having such knotty questions propounded to them, and at last they quote Scripture in defence of their ignorance, saying that God has chosen the foolish that he may confound the wise. This rouses indignation in Paphnutius, who declares that ‘he who advocates falsehood, be he a fool or a learned man, deserves to be confounded by God.’ And he further utters words which are not devoid of a deeper significance: ‘It is not the knowledge that man can grasp which is offensive to God, but the conceit of the learned.’

The learned disquisitions of the play ‘Sapientia’ are presented in a form still less attractive508. The Lady Sapientia, who speaks of herself as one of noble stock, and as the descendant of Greek princes, dilates on the relative value of numbers509 to the emperor Hadrian till he tires of it and commands her to be gone.

It is sometimes alleged that these two later plays were the productions of earlier years, and that the nun added them to her other more finished productions in order to equal the number of the plays of Terence. However this may be, they were probably the two plays which she submitted to the criticism of three outside but now unknown patrons with a letter in which she states that she has taken threads and pieces from the garment of philosophy to add to the worth of her work. We render this letter in full, since it throws an interesting light on what Hrotsvith thought of her own powers. If it brought advice which led to the composition of the other plays, we must commend the judgment of those who counselled her. But it is just possible that the approval which was accorded to the legends was denied to the plays, – the absence of the name of the abbess Gerberg in connection with them is remarkable, – and that, after writing a number of dramas which found no appreciation, Hrotsvith was moved to compose ‘Paphnutius’ and ‘Sapientia,’ introducing learned disquisitions in hope of giving them a more solid value.

The letter runs as follows:

‘To you, learned men510, who abide in wisdom and are unenvious of another’s progress and well-disposed towards him as befits the truly learned, I, Hrotsvith, though I am unlearned and lacking in thoroughness, address myself; I wish you health and unbroken prosperity. I cannot sufficiently admire your great condescension, and sufficiently thank you for the help of your liberal generosity and for your kindness towards me; you, who have been trained in the study of philosophy and have perfected yourselves in the pursuit of knowledge, have held my writings, those of a lowly woman, worthy of admiration, and have praised with brotherly affection the power which works in me. You have declared that there is in me a certain knowledge of that learning (scientiam artium) the essence of which is beyond my woman’s understanding. Till now I have dared to show my rude productions only to a few of my nearest friends, and my work along these lines would probably have ceased, for there were few who understood my intentions, and fewer who could point out to me in what I had failed, and who urged me to persevere. But now that threefold approval comes to me from you I take confidence and feel strengthened by your encouragement to devote my energies to work where God permits, and to submit this work to the criticism of those who are learned. And yet I am divided between joy and fear, which contend within me; for in my heart I rejoice, praising God through whose grace alone I have become what I am; and yet I am fearful of appearing greater than I am, being perplexed by two things both of which are wrong, namely the neglect of talents vouchsafed to one by God, and the pretence to talents one has not. I cannot deny that through the help of the Creator I have acquired some amount of knowledge, for I am a creature capable of learning, but I acknowledge there is ignorance in me. For I am divinely gifted with abilities, but were it not for the untiring zeal of my teachers, they would have remained undeveloped and unused through my want of energy (pigritia). Lest this gift of God in me should be wasted through neglect I have sought to pluck threads and pieces from the garments of philosophy, and have introduced them into my afore-mentioned work (praefato opusculo), so that my own moderate knowledge may be enhanced by the addition of their greater worth, and God, who grants power, may be praised by so much the more as a woman’s power is held to be inferior. This is the object of my writing, this alone the purpose of my exertions, for I do not conceal from myself that I am ignorant, and had it depended on myself alone, I should know nothing. But as you urge me on by the possibility of your approval and by your request proffered to me in writing, I now submit to your criticism this little work which I wrote with the intention of sending it to you but which I have hitherto kept concealed on account of its demerits, hoping you will study it with the intention of improving it as though it were your own work. And when you have altered it to a correct standard, send it back to me so that I may profit by your teaching in those points in which I may have largely failed.’

The productions of Hrotsvith in the domain of contemporary history consist of a poem on the emperor Otto the Great, and a history of the monastery of Gandersheim. The history of Otto is thought to have been over sixteen hundred lines in length511, but only a fragment of about nine hundred lines is preserved. The nun received the materials for this history chiefly if not exclusively by word of mouth from the abbess Gerberg, whose family feeling it seems to reflect in various particulars, for among other distinctive traits, the quarrel between the father of Gerberg and his brother the emperor is passed over; it is rather a history of the members of the ruling family than a description of contemporary events512. This detracts from its historic, though hardly from its poetical value, which is considerable. Some of the episodes, such as that of the imprisonment and flight of Queen Adelheid in Italy, are admirably told. Adelheid was the widow of the king of the Langobards, and was afterwards married to Otto I. Her flight and imprisonment in Italy previous to her second marriage are unrecorded except by Hrotsvith.