Life of Raingarde

Translation status: rough and incomplete

Introduction

This letter has received little attention from scholars – surprising given its unique perspective on Cluniac female monasticism, the relationship of Peter the Venerable and his mother, as well as the experience of religion within the Auvergnese aristocracy.

Summary

The letter opens as a letter of consolation to his brothers and speaks at length of Peter's own mourning upon hearing about the death of his mother Raingarde. It describes the commemoration of Raingarde at Marcigny – the monastic house where she had been a nun and senior for many years before her death. The letter then offers a more traditionally hagiographic narrative of Raingarde's early life, secret conversion while a wife, and eventual entry to Marcigny. It highlights the

Editions and Translations

Letters of Peter the Venerable (ep. 53, Constable, LPV I, p.153-73)[1]

Translation

[This translation is quick and dirty - done for one of my students (with all the short timelines that implies). Use with caution]

[Writing to his brothers]

After having searched and looking about in all directions with great care about to whom I most ought to communicate the secrets of my heart, upon discovering them, or insofar as that is possible – upon placing in their breast the deep affection which has come upon me for the last little while, it came to me that there was none others but you that I should better find; since the reason of my sadness is held in common with you and I and that yourselves were also in need of consolation. Listen to me carefully, I pray you. Compose your emotions and do not read with negligence that which I write to you about a person to whom you not only owed all affections, but to whom you owed your very existence. There is nothing which you might avoid to offer your soul wholly about the subject which it is about, since the providence of God wanted that you hold life from her about whom I will speak.

When I was returning from the Council of Pisa, and amidst the many inconveniences which we suffered during the trip, a messenger arrived who disrupted in a single stroke by his coming the solace which we attempted to attain for ourselves, as is usually done, from dangers which run after us, from what it pleased God to save our friends and from the positive outcome of our voyage. For this man arrived without saying a word in the midst of us all who were there who spoke together and catching sight of a somber visage among our joyful throng – a face which spoke its sadness. He approached me and while I did not think anything of it, he gave me mortuary letters. Moreover, since I had recognized him as to be a servant of the house and I knew where he was from, not thinking that he could bring me any bad news from there, I received this letter without understanding what is was. It was written by one of my friends and I began to read it while walking on, believing that I would find nothing but good tidings, but when, after the usual opening niceties, I hastened to get to the rest, I stopped so suddenly that it was as if I had run into the trunk of a tree; I was so thunder struck and rendered so mute that it was as if a stone had fallen on my head, and I left out such great moans that it was as if a blade [claw?] had pierced my body, when this letter – with its silent language – informed me of the sudden and unexpected departure from this world of my blessed Mother.

And so, feeling myself suffocated by the excess of my sadness and seeing the letter so completely soaked by my tears before I had a chance to read it, I roused myself up from this place where I could not remain further, to find another place more removed from everyone to mourn and cry freely. My affliction continued thereafter until I reached a point of excess that – no longer master of myself – I could not endure to be consoled by the so many great persons who found themselves present. Later, night arrived and calmed a bit by rest, my excessive sadness did what all other things were unable to do. The next morning, I approached the altar to commend this dear Soul to her divine Redeemer and through the sacrifice of this salutary Host, offering the sacrifice of an afflicted spirit, I begged for His divine clemency, so that by the greatness of his mercies, He would find her to be acceptable.

There were in our gathering many persons –venerable and eminent in their rank (the archbishops of Reims and Rouen, the bishops of Troyes, Constances and Seez, There were also abbots of great virtue, very capable priests and monks of great piety, as well as many others gathered from far flung places. We had all travelled together to the Council, and having not left their company, we also returned all together. Greatly touched by the condolences which they offer to me with many displays of affection; but more even than the respect which I had for them, whom I feared to trouble with the dark clouds of my sadness, the calm so soft and so pleasant which had previously delighted so many of these great men, I contained myself with a great effort, which, hiding my affliction in my heart, I made myself appear to all only tranquility on my face. This change that they saw in me, having also made them change their comportment in the belief that I had been consoled, they began to rejoice among themselves to see me happier, just as they had been afflicted beforehand to have seen me sad.

Having achieved this state of false happiness, those who remained with us on the road were received with full honours at Cluny (as I was obliged to oversee until they departed), then I made way with great haste to Marcigny, …

Peter the Venerable travels to the Monastery of Marcigny where his mother had died and rendered to her the final services.

When I arrived, I found this whole great and saintly gathering of servants of God in such an affliction at the death of my mother, that it seemed that we would have to bury them with her. She had passed twenty years of such a sort among the celestial gathering of these holy nuns that they witnessed so clearly by their sobs and their laments that they would almost prefer to die with her than to live after having lost her. The Church of the Blessed Virgin where I went immediately to make my prayers in accordance with the customs maintained in all places, and this funeral clamour responded with their sighs and laments. I had thought beforehand that I would be alone there as one who loved a mother so wonderful with a love of a son, but seeing their great affection I was obliged to attest that it seemed there was none there who was not her daughter. Their grief increased my own, and –not crying there as they did; they taught me that what I owed to her from God and from nature, they did out of a love of piety. Finally, this prayer mixed with so many tears was finished, I began, in accordance with custom, to render to my mother, as if she had not already died, all the responsibilities which I was obliged to render and which I had not been able to fulfill due to my absence.

But when I came to talk to all these holy women, it is impossible to portray fitly how they redoubled the testimony of their sadness. So that I do not say about this matter a thousand details which I am unable to remember, and which become too long to report, one among them wept to have lost her mother, another her daughter and another her sister, and another having lost her help and relief. They said that she was the consolation of the afflicted, the energy for the infirm, support for the weak, a refuge to the meek, and to describe her in a single work: the remedy to all the incommodities of others. They spoke not of the business of their monastery, but occupied themselves entirely to memorialize this servant of God

These feelings were not limited to this holy house, but rather resounded beyond the cloister in in all the neighbouring houses, where they same mourns could be heard. The meek about how she was always as generous as she had it in her power to be, saying tearfully that they had lost the entirety of their support of their life. The monasteries of Virgins in neighbouring lands who were in extreme necessity and to whom she often gave what she was able to remove from herself, mourned her life their mother. Even warriors and other laypeople to whom she had a responsibility to speak and assist, said they they never had found one more of Marcigny in Marcigny. Finally, everyone was filled with mourning; this monastery, as if covered in a black veil, gave fright to those who say it, and the holy virgins prayed ceaselessly exhorted God in general and in particular commended her soul which was so dear.

The next morning, having entered into Chapter, before I could open my mouth, they made anew to keep up on all sides the sighs and groans of mourning and I did not say a single word that they did not accompany with a bounty of tears. I completed then the prayers for the absolution of the soul of my mother, to which these holy daughters responded, “So be it”, with a mournful voice. I had no doubt that they would send her to eternal life. From there, I went to the church accompanied by all those who were present or who offering anew the holy sacrifice to God for her and drawing near me at her tomb, made prayers over her holy body, I gave to her solemn absolution. And then I asked of God with all my heart to let her soul rest in peace and to give her eternal life, the bereaved son that I was, and I took my leave of my holy Mother and left her only in bodily presence but not in spirit.

Reasons to show that it was licit to mourn the death of relatives and friends. And in what manner it should be done.

Having passed three days at Marcigny in the sadness which accompany these final responsibilities, coming at long last as if from death into life, I began to come back to my senses and resolved to leave from there to write to you all as if to my very dear brothers of our common mother. I chose you among thousands, knowing that you would be crying as freely as I, since you were not less subject and since I desired that those who were the sons of the same mother wept together about her death, […]. I did not want in any way that some unfortunate consoler would mix himself up in our tears, under pretext of these words of Saint Paul, We desire, my brothers, that you know that we should not suffer about those who rest in peace in a tomb[2 thes. 4]. For if one invokes this passage, I would respond to them that the Apostle did not intend it in this meaning and did not forbid absolutely to cry for the dead, but said with discretion in mind, Do not suffer in the manner which pagans do, such that there remains no hope after a death. And then, he does not speak about the faithful but the unfaithful who believed that the spirit died with the body; who said that after this life, we are unable to attend to justice and who deny the resurrection. These – they cry for the dead, because they have no hope that they might live again, and they cry that people who were so dear in their affections, they will never see again; this Saint Paul obliged to offer the rule to dry the tears which were contrary to the hope of Christianity, to ban from the heart of the faithful this sadness of unbelievers and to establish more powerfully the faith in the resurrection.

But our tears are not of this sort, since there was never a lack of hope for the future, but he compassion to which nature obliges us to repay. Our sadness was not of this sort, since it was not the lack of faith which produced it, but a true and mutual feeling which was prohibited by any law either human or divine. We see in Antiquity that the Just cried for their parents in this manner and that the greatest of the Patriarchs were touched by a similar sadness at the funerals of people who were closest to them. This is what Scripture speaks of about Isaac: He lead Rebecca into the house of Sara, his mother, and he loved here with such tenderness that it became such great sadness when he heard of her death. [Gen 24].

My dear brothers, who might be one who wishes to prevent us from being pained about the subject of the death of our so holy mother, when he could see such a great holy man to have been so afflicted by the death of his mother.

What might he say if the example of Joseph was brought up to him, this excellent son of such a great father, about whom Scripture said, that after Joseph had …

[and more examples about the licitness of mourning one’s parents…]

Reasons why we were driven to compose a life of holy Raingarde.

It is necessary to tell you what was the life so admirable of so excellent a women – though letting you know that I have nothing to tell you but the truth, and that a reading and that a discourse so agreeable assuages your sadness. My mother –wholly absent and entirely dead that she was – should become for us truly present by our discourse and this image of her virtues will represent her so innocently and will engave them so deeply in our souls, that neither might the veil of death which has unfurled across the earth hide such a bright light, nor could the shadows of the tomb ever remove her from either our memory or our hearts. The benefit which he can draw from so important a narration does not aloe me to remain silent, since if I keep silent about this which were so beneficial to sawy, it might seem that I envy such a great happiness. There must be nothing either in the specifics nor individual among those to whom not only charity, but also nature wanted all things to be in common.

I do not want to talk further in this discourse about her goodness nor of other advantages which look only to the glory of the world and in which many others have been raised above others. There have been few who have been elevated above her – but I speak here only of her piety for God, of her contempt of the world and of her love for things celestial and eternal. Passing of there rest of her life to get to that, since – while she was already in the flower of her life when she found herself engaged in marriage and in the world– she gravitated towards this which I want to speak about, as if a slave hoping for her liberty, a prisoner for her release, or an exile for her homeland; and with sadness of the soul unknown among men and known by God, she suffered with the pain of seeing herself bound in marriage.

And finally it happened that those, like her, who had no other desire than to become a citizen on this heavenly Jerusalem (to which she had longed ceaselessly to come to be, she received them with honor and extraordinary respect and leaving aside all other cares and responsibilities, she did not spend time thinking about her duties other than to them. She often received monks, she restrained the hermits who were passing through her lands to come stay. And generally all those were honoured by the habit or by a great reputation of piety, were brought by the force of her personality into her home, despite the resistance they might make. There was scarcely anyone who could pass by their lands without coming to see her and without staying with here for a few days, in order to fulfill her devotion to all who had a regard for the things of God.

And so, when she was with men of such a sanctity that it was know throughout the world, she cried in their presence and cast out deep sighs that she had not been freed from the obedience to her husband and thus was constrained to removed her self (un-subject herself) from temporal responsibilities: to take care of others and to neglect herself, to find herself wrapped in the embrace of temporal affairs but to lack the freedom to endeavour for the embraces of her soul, to embrace present things and despise future ones, and thus by such a quantity of sore joints (difficult responsibilities?) to amass a treasure heap of Wrath in preparation for the Lord’s Day of Wrath. In the same time that she made such comments, she would cast herself at the feed of these saints, as if another sinful Mary Magdalene, she would wash them with her tears and begged them to knock with such force on her behalf on the door of eternal mercy, which since she would never merit to have answered on her own, she would be with their prayers.

These holy intentions continued in her everyday without ever diminishing, until the celebrated Robert of Arbrisel came to see her and having delayed several days with her, she found herself impelled by an emotion so violent, that she resolved –without having said anything to her husband– that during her life (if her husband permitted) or after his death (if she survived him) she would make herself a nun at Fontrevaux. The fear of God that she had so strongly conceived in her heart confirmed her plan and to it, she joined a holy hope – just as in build a building, one adds one stone on top of another; and thus she awaited the end of God’s mercy.

Saint Raingarde reveals her plan to her husband and he resolves to leave the world, but her died before he might undertake to do so. The assistance she rendered to him at his death.

But in order that it not seem that she would enjoy so great a happiness alone and that thereby deprive her husband of that which she owed no less to him than to herself, she went to find him and revealed to him her secret and opened her heart, and represented to him the appalling evils of eternal death, and made him recognize how greatly the joys of eternal life were desirable; she prayed him to open his eyes to consider the world as nothing but vanity and deceit worthy of contempt and urged him to abandon it as soon as it was possible. At last, the woman having become the head of such an illustrious effort of persuasion, she touched so strongly the heart of her husband that he promised to her, that if God granted him the gift of life, he would renounce along with her all in time and that if one of them died before that happened, the one who survived would accomplish in the name of them both the vow which they had made together. He had not lived his life which come fear of God – he had a strong faith, namely: he assisted freely with the prayers of the church, he did not every miss going to the solemnities which were done every at the tombs of saints; he offered great alms, and it is unable to say how great was his joy to welcome so many guests who stayed with him from all directions.

This agreement was thus made between them but its execution was slowed by an infinity of obstacles which was in opposition to their piety. Finally, the unhappy day befell, when death seized her husband; she lived like a chaste dove who had lost her partner. If I wished to recount how greatly she was affected by this circumstance, the words would lack to me. If I tried to say how she endured this vast affliction with so much force of spirit, one would see my impotence. And if I attempted to represent the fidelity that she evinced for her husband –even after death, which is rare– I would come to aknowledge my weakness. Believe me, my brothers, I must stop from opening my mouth and when I think on that which there is still to speak about, and how it must be told, I am at the point of abandoning my endeavour. What might I thus do? My inability stops me, my love compels me, my subject stuns me, my love excites me. So great a weight oppresses me and nature presses me forward. But I judge that in this, one encounters a topic for which a simple rustic presentation is preferable to leaving the matter remain unsaid under an unjust silence. And thus I would prefer to speak as I can about this which one could not hide without committing a great fault.

During his illness, she never left his bedside and forgetting her very self, she did not think about anything other than his salvation. She burned with desire to gain salvation for him and since nothing could distract her from obtaining his salvation, she delivered his spirit from all its cares which could take up his body. She made his will in his presence, she wrapped up his legal affairs, she decided his heirs, she made the division of his lands and promptly gave order to all his affairs. Having thus made preparations for all contingencies, she began, as if the greatest doctor of the world –as I present and looking on– she exhorted him that having found himself delivered from all the cares of the world, he had nothing left but his soul, she exhorted that he search the depths of his conscience, that he confess his sins and give his belongings to the poor and to monasteries. She depicted for him that the judgment of God was terrible but that mercy was so powerful and that as long as he still lived, he must work for the salvation of his soul and to provide for the burial of his body.

Such cries and sighs were known all around. People raised their voices to the heavens. All their children surrounding them, their retainers made a huge crowd and many people of substance were present, all whom evinced the great sadness with the abundance of their tears. She alone in the midst of this crowd of tears continued to have dry eyes through her heroic constancy, judging it better to spend all her thought for the utility of he was about to die than to uselessly add her tears to those of this great crowd, who was afflicted by feelings more based in natural ties than in reason. Thus, when her dear husband had been fortified by confession, armed with the body of Christ and re-dressed in the habit of a monk, she with a joy and with a sadness all combined she saw him pass from her into the sky. Accompanied by an uncountable number of people, she bore his body to Selcine? where she placed him into the hand of the monks for his entombment as if a monk alongside his monks.

After having returned earth to earth, and having entrusted this body as a deposit that she had an obligation to offer, she turned all her attention to obtaining rest for his soul and compelled by the love that she bore him, she rushed to all quarters and travelled through different regions, she visited churchs, she passed form monastery to monastery, she disposed of her belongings through her generosity to the poor, and thus acquiring friends from these iniquitous riches (as it is said in accordance with the gospel) and having though that she commit a crime if one among them had not felt the effects of her charity; she prayed for her husband, she prayed for herself, asking God that he see fit to forgive some of her offenses and to remove the rest of her sins by allowing her to make a true conversion.

How Raingarde prepared to leave the world.

She then prepared everything necessary for her to make her retreat, but the world striving to throw new obstacles into her path to slow her, mocked her with a holy deception, thus giving her the desire of remaining. For many persons of substance and very many of her friends exhorted her to remarry and portrayed to her that she would easily find a great partner and better than she could ever think possible. She responded in these terms, “I take account of your counsel and I must remarry as soon as I can.” By this response, which hid her true plan, she mocked the devil and by a praiseworthy dissembling, she deceived him, as was fitting to the Prince of Deception. She worked with all strength in order to seize the prey from him whom he thought he was about to devour; since she hid in the depths of her heart the secret concerning her salvation, as one hides treasure out of fear of thieves, such that lying hidden from the whole world, it was safe against the whole world.

But given that she needed someone’s help, she confided her secret only to two persons, whose faithfulness and strength of spirit was so well known that she believed that anything could be confided to them. One was a layperson to whom she gave the responsibilities of arranging for everything necessary for making her retreat, and the other was a monk of proven virtue to whom she made known the depths of her conscience. They chose a day to make this ‘escape from Egypt’ and to free herself from her long established yoke and from the cruel servitude to the Pharoah. The hope for her coming liberty made it that the burdens which the Egyptians afflicted, seemed lighter to her and made it that they endured patiently the work of those labours of clay from which she would soon be delivered.

She waited until Easter day on which she, renouncing the leavening of evil and inquity, she was satisfied (filled up) with the leavening of truth and innocence. For how many ingenious deceptions had she made during this time, to see on her face the opposite of what she had in her soul. How many hopes had she given to the people of the world. And how much more joy had she made the appearance of to those than was typical for her. It seemed that she had been entirely devoted to the world and that she had no passion but for the pleasures of life, but she said to God in secret: “My Lord, all desires of my soul are revealed to your eyes and the sighs of my heart are not in any way hidden from you.”

And thus the day so hoped for approached, and her fervor was such that she never had a moment of rest. And finally the night which preceded the last day that she would remain in the world – O devotion without precursor – she went about among the shadows as if another Nicodemus in the tomb of his wife, without being seen by anyone except the nun? which I spoke of above, she cast herself on this tomb which her eyes, like two bright sources drowned in tears: she weeped in the presence of her Creator for her husband and she wept also for her own sins with an unequalled sadness. With much of the night having passed in this fashion and having exhausted her emotions and feelings with all her mourning, she confessed to herself in declaring everything (from the beginning) that she knew of the sins of her husband and by this link, of herself. This all continued until almost midnight, speaking as if with the mouth of the dead and as if by some transformation, the husband did his penitence in the person of his wife.

Having finished what I just described and having been so completely purified of her tasks, as if cleaning out the dregs of her sins, but since she still saw herself as guilty of all sorts of crimes, she begged this priest and vicar of Jesus Christ from whom she had discovered the wounds of her soul and learned to subject herself to the harsh law of salvific medicine and made to cloister herself at Marcigny as if in a prison to make penance for the rest of her life. For she had prefered this monastery to Fontrevaux (which I spoke about above) because the venerable Robert, to whose authority it (F) had been entirely committed, had passed from this life to a better one and because once having entered into a cloister she would not be able to leave, as was done with these nuns. Judging the world less than a mire, her sole vow was unbearable to her, and by the uplift of her soul (in no way prideful), but rather celestial, she began to despise as very vile all the things of the world. These reasons led her to choose Marcigny more than another house to reside in the house until her death, as if immoveable like an individual column holding up a holy edifice and where she had always made her tomb before her eyes she wept for herself as if already dead. On this she can hardly be reproached that she changed her destiny, since the growth of her piety was the reason of this change and it granted to ther the righ to choose the place where she might best unite herself with Jesus Christ.

Having thus received from this nun? the yoke of simple penitence that she had prepared for herself, she raised herself off the ground as much in body as in spirit and the shadows of the night covered her actions from the sight of men; after having said a final goodbye to her husband, she left his tomb to proceed to her own entombment.

Saint Raingarde makes herself a nun at the abbey of Marcigny

Thus, then being accompanied by a group of wise noblemen (so that it did not seem that she ignored worldly propriety), she left from Provence to pass into another region under the pretext of going to Cluny to commend her husband to the prayers of such holy monks. She arrived there with great devotion, and after having given what she considered proper according to their quality and needs, she departed diligently; and their best wishes travelled even faster than she, that she enter at last to Marcigny and then from there into Paradise.

She was received with an unparalleled joy of the monks and nuns, who, having not known her plan, rendered to her such great honours as if she was a person of such status who they thought would never come to see them. This hourse was at that time in very poor financial straights, especially since they had so little income as could be – it sufficed to feed a small number of nuns, when there were almost a hundred, and they received all comers at their own expense.

Gerard, about whom I spoke more fully in the first book of the On miraclesat that time was in charged with the care of this house under the authority of Lord Godefry of Semiur, and as he was a man who was continuously occupied by work of piety and other holy endeavours, he had, along with a few other persons of great virtue (to whom he was strongly bound), very earnestly begged God for further mercies that he might visit the house and provide for the needs of those who spend all their lives in God’s service. This holy man, having taken Jesus Christ to witness, who being at the altar one day saying the mass, he heard a voice which said to him, “You have obtained that which you requested.” And the following night he saw in a dream, a dove as white as snow who flew around him with such familiarity that it seemed to invite him to take hold of it. He did so, and presented it with joy to his superior named Hugh, who tore off the tips of its wings out of fear so that it could not fly after having been locked in a cage.

Those who heard him recount this dream, interpreted it to be about my mother and circumstances demonstrated that this interpretation was true, for the day came, when she enter into the monastery, where, after summoning the prioress and all the sisters and made also to come the gentlemen whom she had made accompany her in order to find herself in the midst of so unexpected an action. She spoke to them in the following manner:

“It has been so long that living in a typical fashion in this mortal world I now see myself having arrived at the cradle of old age; there is nothing under Heaven on which I have not cast my eyes, nor is there anything more beautiful to be offered to us which my curiosity has not wanted to know. I have experienced all that is the most pleasurable in the world –an abundance of riches, a great number of parents, a number of friends, the splendor of a noble birth, sensual delights, and the pride of a life full of pomp and glory have left me with nothing to desire. And thus I have nothing to look for henceforth among base and mortal things; I have possessed all that the earth might promise and all that it might offer. But, you see, I ask you, if this might be sufficient for me. It is true that I have experienced much, but it is also such that I have experienced it but for a moment: I had many great advantages, but these benefits have passed and I no longer have any part of them. I was once in the midst of delights, but there do not remain the least of them which please me. Thus, these things do not give solace to us at all and the more we think ourselves no longer thirsty, the more it leaves us starved by their enjoyments. Thus, other means to satiate our hunger must be found, to alleviate our hunger and to enrich our poverty. I feel myself compelled, in this fashion, by the unfaithful friendship of the world which cannot but deceive those who know to have placed in it their hope. And to not look afar for examples, I say, I beg you –you who are most faithful, the most intimate, and the most sincere friends of my husband, whom had obliged you to give arms, horses, silver and lands – what have you done for him in repayment since his death of the same things which had cost you nothing? To whom have you had recourse for his eternal rest? To what saint have you addressed yourselves? What monks have you tasked? And what almsgiving have you given?”

And since all revealed that nothing had been done about this, she continued thusly:

You are the teachers who instructed me and have taught me that which I must do or avoid. For how might I hope for that from you which you had refused to your lord and friend. And would it not be imprudent to entrust his faith to men after having seen how they act with those they consider the greatest friends. It is thus necessary that I work for myself without depending on another for the hope for my salvation, out of fear that in awaiting lazily a stranger’s assistance, by my failure I do not lose this assistance which I ought to expect from God. It is necessary that my body labours while it is alive and while my soul itself beseeches the aid of Jesus Christ from the fear that, if [my soul] passes into the other world before expected, there would not be anyone to pray for it [me] since I would be in my tomb.

And to finish in a few last words all the other things that I want to say about this, I want to reveal to you a secret hope that I have hidden until now, which is, that I would never go outside through the threshold of this door which you see, that the world would never see me outside the cloister of this monastery, and that I would never leave this sepulchre where I have chosen to entomb myself while I still live.

With these words, all her accompanying gentlemen rose up and as if surprised by a great sadness, they were rendered furious and they began to cry that they would destroy this house if they received her. Then they began to cry. Seeing this Raingarde began anew her speech:

Calm comes after the storm. Sun follows rain. And these tears which you shed will now be followed laughter and joy. Return, thus, to the world. And I, in your presence, I will now go to God.

Upon finishing these words, she entered with the nuns into the cloister, where with joy, she had her hair cut and with a change of habit, she was like a white dove enclosed by Lord Prior Hugh in this holy cage, just as in the vision which I spoke about above. And a holy woman added to the number of so many holy daughters.

The admirable virtues of Saint Raingarde, who is made the Cellaress of this monastery.

Finding herself thereby delivered from the furnace of Babylon and passing from the fire to a pleasant refreshment, she found herself having entered into the house of the Lord. She ran through the green paths of this Paradise; in the midst of these rich pastures, she drank without thirst from water of clear fountains, as if an ewe of the Lord, she grazed hungrily on these beautiful flowers. And wandering here and there in these rich meadows, she satiated her hunger that she had suffered from for so long. She amassed after a few months a great treasury of virtues and did not suffer to walk more slowly than others in the path of the commandments of God, but instead advanced with such an extreme speed that she quickly passed those who had begun on the path before her, and soon quickening her steps further, even surpassed the most senior nuns.

The first thing that she did was to subject herself through humility to all the others, considering herself as the last of the house and as the least servant, in especial accordance with what our Lord said, “She did not come to be served, but to serve.” And she made herself by this virtue so beloved by all her sisters that they sincerely loved her from the very depths of their heart. But how might I recount to what extent she was displeased to give offence to God, and how frequent were her confessions which she made every day, and the ceaseless regret that she evinced about this, thus that as far as we can consider, she was no less than the Ninivites (men of Nineveh?) in repenting their sins [Jonah 3:5], no less than David to recognize his sins, and no less than Mary Magdaleine in lamenting them.

She did not only progress during the first years of her conversion as happens with some, but also during the whole rest of his her life she devoted her body to work, her heart to penitence and her eyes to tears. Her tears served her bread day and night of the sort that she said often to her soul, “Why are you sad, my soul, and why do you trouble me?” And she added to console herself, “Place your hope in God, for I praise Him because he is my Lord and God.”

The Sisters testified that her tears and sighs sometimes reduced her to such a state that it seemed as if she was dead. She prostrated herself as a humble servant before her Redeemer and at other times when she prayed on her knees she was seized by such violent movements of devotion that she fell to earth without the power to stop herself, the fervour of her spirit being so great, that completely caught up in the contemplation of celestial things it seemed as if she had abandoned her body. She hid this, however, as much as she could, but being ceaselessly in the Church, she could not always be alone. She had declared such open warfare on her body with things old and young, that, adding more to those other austerities, she weakened her body so strongly that it was as if there was no flesh on her bones, but only skin covering her bones. When I came to Marcigny many years afterwards, she told me in particular and with strong good grace, in the freedom of speaking that a mother uses with her sons, the words had a double sense:

Thanks to God, I am delivered from the superfluities of the world, I have shed this old flesh which I had fed with the delights of the world, and I desire to dress myself anew with what I am able to render to God by my new labours.

She continuously sand the Psalms which she had learned before she entered into the religious life. She occupied herself with all her strength to instruct herself in spiritual matters, and through her advancement in all sorts of virtues, she raised her soul each day to the heavens.

But these good nuns, helped her pass from contemplation to action in applying herself to responsibilities of Martha and since she was very clever and intelligent, she was given the responsibility of the Cellaress of the monastery, for she “was not like the imprudent dove” that Scripture speaks of, “But instead was the dove who lingered along the streams, and who immersed herself in the milk of evangelical simplicity with the prudence of the serpent without having any malice [Matthew 10:16]. She had, in leaving Egypt, carried away the spoils of the Egyptians to redistribute them to his brothers, the Israelites, and to use them in the service of God in the desert during his pilgrimage in this life.

Of what sort Saint Raingarde conducted herself in her charge of the Cellarer.

With obedience obliging her, she was thus constrained with great regret from leaving outside the monastery to take care of that which was necessary for the care of her sisters. About this, I do not know how to fitly represent how she acquitted herself in fulfilling this office. She gave order with so much affection in all things, which it can be judged by the love she had for these nuns such that there was not one among them who was not a daughter and by the services which she rendered to them that she was the servant of each of them. She witness thereby the ardour of this charity which she had conceived such a long time before and this fire which she hid in her breast, finally she tried to cast forth these flames, but it was also necessary that she who had learned in silence to love God with all her heart should come to recognize by so many responsibilities that in accordance with what He ordains, she knew also to love the next life.

She had engraved, after a fashion, in her memory the name of all the sisters, which she had met there, as if in a book, when the needs of some of them obliged her to name them. She had written in her soul, all the corporeal discomforts of each and had vary carefully noted both their illnesses and their conditions, in order to be able, through this knowledge, to help all without misunderstanding. She knew which ones were of a good house and delicate, and in addition to this, the weaknesses and illnesses, the sex, the place and this manner of life all made it such that they all had need of many things; she endeavoured to take care of them all with great vigilance such that they did not lack for anything.

She outstripped all the others in performing menial tasks and, rejoicing to be the servant of the servants of God, she devoted herself to the most vile responsibilities. She took it into her head to learn to eat in different manners, ultimately to diversity the dishes and in her ignorance of similar things, she was contsined to learn to prepare meals. Acquitting herself suitably with so much care, she gave one a joint of meat, to another porridge, to one something salted, to another something mild. She prepared all the dishes herself, she served them herself and finally, in order to loos nothing of the reward that she was awaiting, she did not ever want to endure that someone would help diminish her work and its difficulty.

It was as if she had collected in heart the souls of all of these holy daughters and, knowing that which each loved the best, she satisfied their desires by her efforts. But since often the poverty of the house did not meet the riches of its charity and since, moreover, she could never make everyone content as she would hope to, she went to incredible pains to accomplish this. When thus someone requested many things which she could not give nor having them, she maintained, in accordance with the Rule, peace in her heart and evinced this in the sweetness of her speech, wchih made it impossible by this means that those whose spirit she enlivened by her responses so suitable and so full of affection, would return to her with discontentment. She excelled greatly in this virtue, as all the sister witnessed after her death, which during more than twenty years of having dwelled alongside her, no one had ever heard a single word that was even the slightest bit rude. Being always positive and always in good humour, not only did none ever see a somber expression on her face, but if she encountered someone whose soul sadness had filled with troubling thoughts, she dispersed these clouds by a calmness so sweet that appeared on her visage. Holy souls have this in common – that they are continually in a state of spiritual joy, given that they were jubilant in the presence of God and that this joy had as their object not worldly things, but rather focused on those things, as Saint Paul describes them, “Rejoice always in the Lord, for he repeats to your again, Rejoice!” What this Apostle repeats (not without use) as one should recognize it if they might wish to take especial attention, for just as evildoers make to be seen on their faces the shadows of their obscured hearts and, with the horror of their raving speech, speak in advance the language of that place where they will end up. Likewise, by their tranquility, which the purity of their conscience lends to their soul, and by the satisfaction which they feel from the hope of the happiness to come, they are unable to think or to say anything which does not witness their contentment and joy.

The excellent virtues of holy Raingarde and in particular about her charity towards the poor.

This was of what sort this servant of God was, who had learned from Jesus Christ to be “mild and humble of heart” and from the Prophet that “God loves the meek”, having worked with care to retain humility in her heart and sweetness in her speech and to serve the servants of her Master as a resourceful bee, just as is reported about saint Cecile. Moreover, even though she made herself obsequious to all, she never said anything nonetheless, too light-hearted or lacking in purpose; but rather projected such a temperament in her speech that she satisfied the whole world without departing the boundaries which were proscribed to her by the Rule. When she had been obliged to enter in to a discussion on certain matters which might arise, it is thus that we might learn the depths of her heart and soul, for, to speak in accordance with my conscience, she surpassed in her speech, and her gravity, and her sanctity all other people that I am able to remember, and one might believe in hearing her, that it was a bishop who spoke and not a woman. All her discussions were seasoned with the salt of a holy wisdom having nothing base and they anticipated only to Heaven, urging the rejection of the visible and the love of the invisibles, and then she dealt with something in particular and in secret, her entreaties would rarely remain dry for long, for the abundance of her tears quickly made known what was the spirit which animated her.

I remember that all the time which I travelled to Marcigny, she cried on her kneeds for her son just as she had done for his father; she confessed herself guilty, she requested absolution, she despised the evil of the world and hoped with burning desire to see Jesus Christ. Then she would lie prostrate on the ground until out of the respect which I owed to her, I compelled her to rise – she would not have gotten up otherwise, but rather remaining immobile she would begin anew to bemoan her sis as if she had never cried for them before. She sighed about the delay in Jesus returning to the world and requested from God by her vows, her prayers and by her sighs to see him. Moreover, when we spoke she addressed me as both father and son; she prayed that I might absolve in accordance with the power I had as Father and through her maternal affection, she instructed me as her son with a marvelous wisdom. And when time compelled us to go our own ways, she always finished with these words:

“Good bye, my son. I commend you to the Holy Spirit and to the Holy Virgin”.

This she had also said while she was still in the world and was so accustomed to do so, that in her holy speech, she named often few other than the Holy Spirit and the Holy Virgin, in whom she had great father, showing by it the they had been united and that they had never been divided.

But now I must return to my narrative. Indeed with all force, spirit and affection, she worked in the service of God and of these good nuns, and she never forgot to care for the guests and the poor, receiving the first honourably and making provision for the latter with great care for their needs, such that there did not lack to a single one of them the propriety she was obliged to offer them, nor did their lack anything necessary for them. Her affection stretched always toward the poor whose misery weighed heavily on the heart of this holy woman, thinking that it ought to be suitable to assist those who were oppressed by such a great proverty. And thus when there was anything extra under her management, she used it with devotion to help them; she often made alms, she made their habits (clothing) as much as she could, either buying them new clothes or giving them the used habits received from the sisters, distributing them, in accordance with the precept of the Gospels, to all who asked for them and without saying anything else, she gathered food and clothing from wherever she could and there were a few which she lightheartedly called her children, whom she fed everyday.

This soul wholly consecrated to God seemed by these acts of charity to take a breath and rest after so many labours that she otherwise endured and thinking to have finally found a place suitable for the Lord, and for locating the tabernacle of God and Jacob, for she believed to gather for their profit all that she dispersed to the poor, knowing that there was no gain more truthful than that more people esteem to be a diminuation of the goods of the person which gives.

What further might I say? This admirable mother of to her family took such care of all, that she seemed another Martha in her care for her sister and in the manner she took care of their needs; another Sara in the sight of those needing the services she rendered them and another Tabitha, in the sight of the poor due to the relief that she granted them. And thus this woman with exemplary virtue, renounced herself, carrying her cross and walking after Jesus Christ, hoping to live except for others …. She lived, as I said, for God, she lived for her next life, for God through her obedience and for the next life through her service, of the kind which she might say in accordance with the Apostle, “I live, not as myself, but rather it is Jesus Christ who lives in me.”

Moreoever, since it is very difficult to be able to remember her spirit, since it was burdened by many different thoughts and since the tears of her soul did not easily wash out the dust covering her from her terrestrial actions, one saw in her with admiration that she turned her soul with such force from exterior things to interior ones, that one would have judged that she would never be derailed from this path. A profound silence descended after her speech; the levity which courtliness demands quickled turned to a gravity entirely celestial in its nature and the circumstances which demanded she converse with the world, were followed by many tears. The sisters reported to me this with marvel about how her spirit could pass through so quickly such different matters. They said that the responsibilities of Martha did not diminish the tranquility of Mary, and that the rest of Mary did not detract from the obligations of Martha. She had, by her behaviour, won the souls of all the nuns and had engraved on their souls the love which she had for them, on account of which the unequalled love that she had for them, they called her the Mother of the Monastery.

About the difficulty of Peter the Venerable to speak about the death of his mother.

But, my soul, should you not cease to speak your words. Have you not tarried so long to say what needs to be said. I know that which you want to do. I understand that which makes you hesitate and I am not ignorant what you comprehend. You fear to continue to speak

[unfinished]

[1]Discussed rarely. Mary Martin McLaughlin, “Survivors and Surrogates: Children and Parents from the Ninth to the Thristeenth Centuries,” Carol Neel ed., Medieval Families: Perspectives on Marriage, Household, and Children(Medieval Academy of America, University of Toronto Press, 2004), p. 20- 124, here p. notes 160 -162, p. 104-105; reprinted from 1974 book, Llyod deMause, ed. The History of Childhood, (New York: Psychology Press, 1974; rpt. Lanham, Boulder, New York, Toronto: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 2006), 101-182.