A Saintly Queen and Her Poet
Dear Folk,
August 13, 587 CE marks the death of a wonderful, saintly woman who was queen of the Franks, mentor to many, nurse to lepers. August 13 is St. Radegund, the Deaconess' Day.
What we call the Dark Ages – after the fall of Roman and before about 1000 CE – was a brutal and horrid time. What little civilization in Europe there was resided in the churches and monasteries. Certainly little could be found amongst the rulers.
Radegund was born about the year 518, a German princess, the daughter of Berthaire, a Thuringian king. Thuringia was ruled by a trio of bad dudes: her dad, and her uncles. One uncle, Hermenefred took it into his head to off her daddy Berthaire. Further, he enlisted the aid of King Clovis I of the Franks (you know, the French) to whack the other uncle. Hermenefred then ruled alone. You might think her bloody uncle would also do some wet work on his little niece (she was only 12 at the time) but Hermenefred seemed to want Radegund to marry his son, Hamalfred. Hey, they had been close as kids – kissing cousins. Ham was sort of her big brother.
Hermenefred was yucky and stupid. He crossed King Clovis. Clovis sent his two sons to make things right. Theuderic and Clothaire were goodfellas and they ran Hermenefred through the nearest chipper-shredder. His son Hamalfred took off east to look for work elsewhere. No harm, no foul.
Clothaire took a liking to this skinny German princess, all knees and big eyes. He threw her over his saddle and galloped back to France. He also grabbed her younger brother to make sure she had company. To give the guy his due, Clothaire took her to a place, Athies, where she could be educated and looked after. He waited six years until she was 18 before he pressed his suit (he only had one and it had wide lapels) for marriage.
Radegund probably had already been exposed to Christianity and had poured herself into prayer and devotions. She had learned "cultcha" (as my Carolingian friends would say) and was pretty darned royal looking, acting, and seeming. Fact is, she was a high maintenance babe. Clothaire did not care, he had waited and now it was wedding time. Radegund made a small attempt at escape but Clothaire took it well. They got married at Soissons.
Sounds idyllic? Sure he was a tad rough and rugged but she could change him. Not quite. You see, she was not his only wife. Frankish kings were allowed a harem. Radegund became wife two of six wives orbiting Clothaire. Okay, he also had a peevish streak in him evidenced by the fact he murdered two of his nephews, and just before he died set fire to a hut containing his son, his daughter-in-law, and their daughters.
Clothaire was king of the Franks and Radegund was his queen. She lived more like a nun than any queen you know. She snuck out money and food to the poor, she built a hospice for the sick and dying where she nursed and comforted them. She even became a vegetarian – vegan in fact. She was praying all the time. It was even more intense when hubby was away on kingly business: slaying and flaying. When Clothaire would ask, "Anybody seen the Queen?" The folks at court would tell him that she was out praying or whatever. Funny thing, most guys would have gotten a tad miffed about her being gone so much but Clothaire was a little in awe and superstitious of his fey wife. And of course, he had five other ladies to cavort with.
Radegund took advantage of Clothaire's respect by asking for lives of condemned criminals, tearing down of a pagan shrine, extra bandages for her hospital, the usual. This could have been a pretty good thing but Clothaire in a fit of indigestion whacked Radegund's brother. That tore it. Okay, she could take his sleeping around, his mocking her because she did not have kids, his making signs to ward off magick every time she came into the room, but brother whacking was right out.
Well, since there were no children and Radegund had signed a prenuptial, it seemed like a good time for a no-fault divorce. Radegund trucked up to Noyon where Medard was bishop. She told him that she was determined to become a nun. The bishop was a tad shakey on the issue since he had seen what Clothaire could do when riled. Radegund told him that either he make her a nun or God would blame him for what Clothaire would do to her. Thinking to avoid soiling his new tiles, Medard (later St. Medard) decided he feared God more than the king. Turns out he was right.
She retired to an estate of hers in Saix where she continued to minister to sick folks. She washed them, fed them, gave them clothes, wiped their mouths, gave them medicines. She loved doing it and she did it well. She loved helping those whom most avoided: lepers. She even kissed them.
Radegund moved to Poitiers and erected her convent, St. Mary's (later called Holy Cross). She had over 200 nuns who lived a strict and cloistered life. A poet who first came to visit after being cured of an eye ailment wrote the most about Radegund. His name was Fortunatus. He was allowed to dine with Radegund and her Abbess Agnes. He addressed many adoring poems to them both. Radegund was his spiritual mother, Agnes his spiritual sister. He was an okay guy and never hit on the nuns.
Clothaire made another attempt to get his wife back but the Bishop of Paris, St. Germanus, and Radegund's steadfastness turned him away. Fact is, Clothaire even apologized and promised his protection. Even his sons later protected the convent.
Radegund insisted that her nuns stay clean, work hard, learn to read and learn the holy books. She was an exemplar of a woman taking care of herself and others. Fortunatus told of how Radegund gloried in the most menial tasks. Latrines to leper sores were what she took care of. Radegund never forgot the welfare of the country. She would write to the kings, constantly at war, entreating them, unfortunately without much effect, to make and keep peace.
One thing she really did want and got was a piece of the True Cross. Emperor Justin II sent her a bit of it from Constantinople. With the gold encased, jewel encrusted relic came a letter telling of the death of her cousin Hamalfred. That truly upset Radegund. Fortunatus composed some great poems to mark the Cross' installation at the convent. He also recorded Radegund's tears.
Saints are supposed to have done miracles. The list of her cures is incredibly long. Not only were these things documented, they had folk's names attached. A year before her death, Radegund dreamed she saw a handsome young man richly clad. When he drew close and addressed her in affectionate terms, she took alarm and repulsed his attentions. He told her he was the heavenly Bridegroom she had loved so well and that she would be a priceless jewel in his crown.
As she lay ill on what proved to be her deathbed, she was insistent that Psalms should be sung. Or she would speak of the judgment and heaven, even at times when she seemed to be talking in her sleep.
On August 13, 587, the end came. The nuns could not even follow their beloved mother's body out of the convent. Weeping, they crowded on to the wall as the funeral cortege passed beneath, and sobs interrupted the Psalms and antiphons of the clerics. The nuns had laid her body, packed with spices, in the wooden coffin Radegund had prepared. But the lid was left open, to be closed by the diocesan when he celebrated the funeral Mass.
Fortunatus wrote no elegy. Words failed the formerly lighthearted poet. Abbess Agnes died two years later. Strangely enough, Fortunatus later left his wandering ways and was appointed bishop of Poitiers.
After Radegund died in 587 her cult became popular in France and in Britain. Jesus College in Cambridge was originally dedicated to St. Radegund.
What have we learned? It was good to be a Frankish king? Queens can be made of stronger stuff than you might think? Washing lepers is good for the soul? No one is too good to clean the bathroom? How about: even poets have a chance at heaven? That is my story and I am sticking to it.
If you feel like forwarding this silly poet's scribbling, do leave my name and sig attached.
May the Queen of Heaven grant us such queens on earth,
- Ellsworth Weaver
SCA – Sir Balthazar of Endor
AS – Polyphemus Theognis
TRV – Sebastian Yeats