ANST - FW: Musing on August 13th -- A Saintly Queen and Her Poet

[j'lynn yeates]

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From: Ellsworth Weaver [mailto:astroweaver at yahoo.com]
Sent: Monday, August 14, 2000 01:52
To: 2thpix at surfari.net
Subject: Musing on August 13th -- 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 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 on. 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,
J.  Ellsworth Weaver

SCA – Sir Balthazar of Endor
AS – Polyphemus Theognis
TRV – Sebastian Yeats


=====
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