A letter from Radegund of Thuringia (after 561?)

Translated letter:

The Thuringian War [The Fall of Thuringia] Oh, sad state of war, malevolent destiny That fells proud kingdoms in a sudden slide! The rooves that stood so long in happiness are broken To lie fallen beneath the vast charred ruin. The palace courts, where art once flouished Are vaulted now with sad, glowing ashes. Towers artfully gilded, then shone golden-red, Now drifting ashes blur the glitter to pallor. The captive maid given to a hostile lord, her power fell From the heights of glory to the lowest depths. (10) The entourage of servants, standing resplendent, her youthful peers Were dead in a day, besmirched with funeral ashes. The bright attendant halo of powerful ministers Now lie still without tomb or funeral service. The conquering flame belching, reddens the gold hair of her beloved While the milk-white woman lies on the ground. Alas, the corpses lie shamefully unburied on the field, An entire people, strewn in a common grave. Not Troy alone must mourn her ruins: The Thuringian land suffered equal slaughter. (20) The matron was rapt away, with streaming hair, bound fast Without even a sad farewell to the household gods. Nor could the captive press a kiss on the threshhold Nor cast one backward glance toward what was lost. A wife's naked feet trod in her husband's blood And the tender sister stepped over the fallen brother. The boy torn from his mother's embrace, his funeral plaint Hung on her lips, with all her tears unshed. So to lose the life of a child is not the heaviest lot, Gasping, the mother lost even her pious tears. (30) I, the barbarian woman, seek not to count these tears, Nor to keep afloat in the melancholy lake of all those drops. Each one had her own tears: I alone have them all, Anguish is private and public both to me. Fate was kind to those whom the enemy struck down. I, the sole survivor, must weep for them all. Not only must I mourn the near ones who died: I also grieve for those still blessed with life. My face often moistened, my eyes are blurred, My murmurs are secret but my care unstilled. (40) Eagerly, I seek for some greeting borne on the winds, But of all those near ones, no shade comes near me, He whose gentle looks once solaced me with love, Is now torn from my embrace by evil fortune. Ah, doesn't my care gnaw at you in your absence? Has bitter destruction taken your sweet love away? Oh Amalfred, remember how it wa in those first years, How I was your own Radegund then. An infant, how you cherished me then, Son of my father's brother, kindly kinsman. (50) What my dead father could have done, or my dead mother, What only a sister or brother could be, were you to me. With the press of a pious hand, sweet lingering kisses, Your tender speech soothed the little child. Then there was scarcely an hour that you did not come to me: Now ages limp along without a single word. How I writhed under the raging pain in my bosom, Trying to bring you back, kinsman, wherever you might be. Once, if father or mother or the cares of ruling held you, However you hurried to me, you were always too slow. 60) Fate was warning that I might lose you, dearest; For I call you: impatient love cannot wait so long. Then I was frantic when we did not share a house: If you went out of doors, I thought you had gone far away. Now the sun rises where you are and sets upon us; The Ocean Sea binds me; the Red Sea holds you. All the globe comes between us dear ones, The world divides those whom no space parted once. All that earth holds lies between our loving hearts, If the lands were broader, the road would stretch yet further. (70) But stay there, where the prayers of kindred may hold better things, More luck than Thuringian lands ever brought you. But while I am here, I suffer more cruelly under my burdens For that you send no single sign to me. The face I long for but do not see could be painted in a letter, A man's image borne from the place which holds him. Your strength might recall our ancestors, your praise our kin, As your father's blush plays prettily on your face. Kinsman, believe, you are not gone while a word remains: Send a speaking page to act as a brother to me. (80) Some have every gift while I lack even tears for solace, Oh cruel fate that the more I love, the less I have! If the law of piety makes others seek out their servants, Why, I ask, should those of my own blood abandone me? To save the home-bred slave, lords have often braved the Alps Where freezing snow has cemented the waters; The lover enters the shadowy cave in the broken rock Where no frost cools his burning ardor, Barefoot, with none to guide him, he runs And snatches his plunder from the forbidding hosts. (90) The edge of the enemy's sword wounds him in passing But he takes his desire, for love spares not itself. But I, listening every moment for you, Scarcely enjoy a moment with a carefree mind. If a breeze whispers, I ask what place holds you now, If the low clouds drift by, I ask for the place. Did warlike Persia or Byzantium choose you as leader Or the wealth of Alexander's royal city? Do you live in Jerusalem near the citadel Where Christ our God was born of a virgin mother? (100) No letter on the page reveals where you are Whereby my sorrow takes on heavier power. For should earth or sea send no sign to me, Then some swift-flying bird may bear a message! If the monastery's sacred cloister did not keep me back, I'd come unheralded to the region where you bide. Swift would I pass by ship through tempest-tossed waves Racing gladly through the gales on wintry water. For love of you, would I press more strongly through shifting tides; What sailors dread would never make me quake. (110) If the wave broke the keel in the perilous waters, I would still seek you rowing on the surface of the sea. If by unlucky chance, the planks refused to bear me, I would come to you exhausted from swimming. At sight of you, I would deny the journey's perils For that would sweetly take the sorrow from the wreck. Yes, if fate had ripped from me at last my doleful life, I would have you bear me to a sandy tomb. I would come to you a sightless corpse if your pious eyes Would turn at last to carry out my funeral rites. (120) Surely you, who spurn my living tears, would weep at my burial. Surely you, who deny me a word now, would make my plaint. Oh, kinsman, why do I shun memories and delay my lament? Oh deepest grief, why are you silent about my murdered brother? How could the innocent have fallen into the wicked ambush, Or was he ripped from the world by men of a hostile faith? Thinking of him in the grave, all my tears well up again, And I suffer again, and still speak tearfully. While longing for you, he is eager to seek out your face But his love is ungratified while mine thwarts it. (130) He who never gave me a hard word, took all hurt to himself, That he feared to give hurt has become the cause of sorrow. The youth was struck down while in his first downy beard, Nor did I, his absent sister, attend the dire funeral. I lost him and could not even close his pious eyes Nor lie across the corpse in final farewell, My hot tears could not warm his freezing bowels. I placed no kiss upon the dying flesh, No embrace in my misery. I could not hang weeping on his neck Nor sighing, warm the unlucky corpse in my bosom. (140) Life was denied; how should I snatch the fleeting breath From the mouth of the brother to the sister? I might have sent the fringes I made while he lived to his bier. Couldn't my love at least adorn the lifeless shell? Brother, I salute you, and stand accused of this impiety: You only died because of me and I gave you no sepulchre. Twice am I captive who only left my country once, Having endured again the enemy while my brother lay fallen. Then, father and mother, uncle and kindred, This grief recalls them whom I should mourn in the tomb. (150) After my brother's burial, no day passed without tears; He bore my joy away with him to the land of the shades. Oh, how can the sweet royal kindred end in such misery, The whole blood line from which he sprang? I should have endured this evil, not bring it to my lips at present Nor be soliciting your comfort for my wounds. Oh kindly kinsman, I beseech, send me a letter now, Sooth my raging fever with a friendly word. This care for you is likewise from me to your sisters Whom I recall with cousinly love in my heart. (160) I cannot embrace the limbs of the kin whom I love Nor, like a sister, kiss each eye greedily. If, as I hope, they remain alive, I ask you to salute them In greeting and send sweet kisses to me. I pray that you may commend me to the kings of the Franks Who piously honor me as a mother. Health-giving breath and long life to you And may your offices renew my well-being. Christ hear my prayer: may this page find out my loved ones And may a letter come back with sweet painted messages. (170) That my long delayed hopes after such suffering Will swiftly be fulfilled when your course is run.

Original letter:

De excidio Thoringiae Condicio belli tristis, sors invida rerum! quam subito lapsu regna superba cadunt! quae steterant longo felicia culmina tractu victa sub ingenti clade cremata iacent. aula palatino quae floruit antea cultu, hanc modo pro cameris maesta favilla tegit. ardua quae rutilo nituere ornata metallo, pallidus oppressit fulgida tecta cinis. missa sub hostili domino captiva potestas, decidit in humili gloria celsa loco. (10) stans aetate pari famulorum turba nitentum funereo sordet pulvere functa die. clara ministorum stipata corona [potentum] nulla sepulchra tenens mortis honore caret. flammivomum vincens rutilans in crinibus aurum strata solo recubat lacticolor amati. heu male texerunt inhumata cadavera campum, totaque sic uno gens iacet in tumulo. non iam sola suas lamentet Troia ruinas: pertulit et caedes terra Thoringa pares. (20) hinc rapitur laceris matrona revincta capillis, nec laribus potuit dicere triste vale. oscula non licuit captivo infigere posti nec sibi visuris ora referre locis. nuda maritalem calcavit planta cruorem blandaque transibat fratre iacente soror. raptus ab amplexu matris puer ore pependit, funereas planctu nec dedit ullus aquas. sorte gravi, minus est nati sic perdere vitam: perdidit et lacrimas mater anhela pias. (30) non aequare queo vel barbara femina fletum cunctaque guttarum maesta natare lacu. quisque suos habuit fletus, ego sola sed omnes: est mihi privatus publicus ille dolor. consuluit fortuna viris quos perculit hostis; ut flerem cunctis una superstes ago. nec solum extinctos cogor lugere propinquos: hos quoque, quos retinet vita benigna, fleo, saepe sub umecto conlidens lumina vultu; murmura clausa latent nec mea cura tacet. (40) specto libens, aliquam si nuntiet aura salutem, nullaque de cunctis umbra parentis adest. cuius in aspectu tenero solabar amore solvit ab amplexu sors inimica meo. an, quod in absenti te nec mea cura remordet, affectum dulcem cladis amara tulit? vel memor esto, tuis primaevis qualis ab annis, Hamalafrede, tibi tunc Radegundis eram, quantum me quondam dulcis dilexeris infans et de fratre patris nate, benigne parens. (50) quod pater extinctus poterat, quod mater haberi, quod soror aut frater tu mihi solus eras. prensa piis manibus heu blanda per oscula pendens mulcebar placido famine parva tuo. vix erat in spatium, quo te minus hora referret; saecula nunc fugiunt, nec tua verba fero. volvebam rabidas inliso in pectore curas, ceu revocareris, quando vel unde, parens. si pater aut genetrix aut regia cura tenebat, cum festinabas iam mihi tardus eras. (60) sors erat indicium, quia te cito, care, carerem; inportunus amor nescit habere diu. anxia vexabar, si non domus una tegebat, egrediente foris rebar abisse procul. vos quoque nunc Oriens et nos Occasus obumbrat, me maris Oceani, te tenet unda rubri, inter amatores totusque interiacet orbis: hos dirimit mundus quos loca nulla prius. quantum terra tenet tantum divisit amantem: si plus arva forent, longius isses iter. (70) esto tamen, quo vota tenent meliora parentum, prosperior quam te terra Thoringa dedit. hinc potius crucior validis onerata querellis, cur mihi nulla tui mittere signa velis. quem volo nec video, pinxisset epistula vultum, aut loca quem retrahunt ferret imago virum: qua virtute atavos repares, qua laude propinquos, ceu patre de pulchro ludit in ore rubor. crede, parens, si verba dares, non totus abesses: pagina missa loquens pars mihi fratris erat. (80) cuncti munus habent, ego nec solacia fletus. o facinus, quae dum plus amo, sumo minus! si famulos alii pietatis lege requirunt, cur, rogo, praeterear sanguine iuncta parens? ut redimat dominus vernam, saepe ipse per Alpes frigore concretas cum nive rumpit aquas; intrat in excisis umbrantia rupibus antra, ferventem affectum nulla pruina vetat, et duce cum nullo, pede nudo, currit amator atque suos praedae hoste vetante rapit. (90) adversas acies et per sua vulnera transit, quod cupit ut capiat nec sibi parcit amor. ast ego pro vobis momenta per omnia pendens vix curae spatio mente quiete fruor. quae loca te teneant, si sibilat aura, requiro, nubila si volitant pendula, posco locum: bellica Persidis seu te Byzantion optat ductor Alexandrae seu regis urbis opes? an Hierosolymae resides vicinus ab arce, quo est genitus Christus virgine matre deus? (100) hoc quoque nulla tuis patefecit littera chartis, ut magis hinc gravior sumeret arma dolor. quod si signa mihi nec terra nec aequora mittunt, prospera vel veniens nuntia ferret avis! sacra monasterii si me non claustra tenerent, inprovisa aderam qua regione sedes. prompta per undifragas transissem puppe procellas, flatibus hibernis laeta moverer aquis. fortior eductos pressissem pendula fluctus, et quod nauta timet non pavitasset amans. (110) imbribus infestis si solveret unda carinam, te peterem tabula remige vecta mari. sorte sub infausta si prendere ligna vetarer, ad te venissem lassa natante manu. cum te respicerem, peregrina pericla negassem, naufragii dulcia mox relevasses onus; aut mihi si querulam raperet sors ultima vitam, vel tumulum manibus ferret harena tuis. ante pios oculos issem sine luce cadaver, ut vel ad exequias commovere meas. (120) qui spernis vitae fletus, lacrimatus humares atque dares planctus qui modo verba negas. Quid fugio memorare, parens, quid differo luctus? de nece germani cur, dolor alte, taces, qualiter insidiis insons cecidisset iniquis oppositaque fide raptus ab orbe fuit? ei mihi, quae renovo fletus referendo sepultos atque iterum patior, dum lacrimanda loquor! ille tuos cupiens properat dum cernere vultus, nec suus impletur dum meus obstat amor. (130) dum dare dura mihi refugit, sibi vulnera fixit: laedere quod timuit, causa doloris adest. percutitur iuvenis tenera lanugine barbae, absens nec vidi funera dira soror. non solum amisi, sed nec pia lumina clausi nec superincumbens ultima verba dedi, frigida non calido tepefeci viscera fletu, oscula nec caro de moriente tuli, amplexu in misero neque collo flebilis haesi aut fovi infausto corpus anhela sinu. (140) vita negabatur: quin iam de fratre sorori debuit egrediens halitus ore rapi? quae feci vivo, misissem listra feretro: non licet extinctum vel meus ornet amor? impia, crede, tuae rea sum, germane, saluti; mors cui sola fui, nulla sepulchra dedi. quae semel excessi patriam, bis capta remansi atque iterum hostes fratre iacente tuli. tunc, pater ac genetrix et avunculus atque parentes, quos flerem in tumulo reddidit iste dolor. (150) non vacat ulla dies lacrimis post funera fratris, qui secum ad manes gaudia nostra tulit. sic miserae dulces consummavere parentes regius ac serie sanguis origo fuit? quae mala pertulerim neque praesens ore referrem, nec sic laesa tuo consulor alloquio. quaeso, serene parens, vel nunc tua pagina currat, mitiget ut validam lingua benigna luem. deque tui similis mihi cura sororibus haec est, quas consanguineo cordis amore colo. (160) nec licet amplecti quae diligo membra parentum, osculer aut avide lumen utrumque soror. si, velut opto, manent superis, rogo redde salutes proque meis votis oscula cara feras. ut me commendes Francorum regibus oro, qui me materna sic pietate colunt. tempore longaevo vitalibus utere flabris et mea de vestro vernet honore salus. Christe, fave votis: haec pagina cernat amantes dulcibus et redeat littera picta notis, (170) ut quam tarda spes cruciat per tempora longa, hanc celeri cursu vota secuta levent.

Historical context:

This poem was published among Fortunatus' poems, on the assumption that he had written it for and in the voice of his friend Radegund. Translators of the poem, JoAnn McNamara, Marcelle Thiebaux (The Writings of Medieval Women [New York: Garland, 1987]), accept Radegund's authorship, as do Charles Nisard, Fortunatus, Opera Poetica (Paris: Nisard, 1887) and Karen Cherewatuk, Dear Sister, Medieval Women and the Epistolary Genre, ed. Cherewatuk and Ulrike Wiethaus (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1993). Since Fortunatus himself speaks of the poems she has written and sent to him, and Gregory of Tours cites a letter written by her in his History of the Franks, 9.42, I see no reason to deny her authorship. The translation presented here is by JoAnn McNamara, with the generous permission of her publisher. I am particularly happy to include it here, as a way of acknowledging Prof. McNamara's contributions to the study of religious women during her life.

Printed source:

The Latin text is from Venanti Fortunati Opera Poetica, ed. Fridericus Leo (Berlin: Weidmann, 1881), Appendix Carminum, 271-75. The translation is from JoAnn McNamara, John Halborg, E. Gordon Whatley, in Sainted Women of the Dark Ages (Durham: Duke University Press, 1992), 65-70. The translation is reprinted with the generous permission of the press.

Date:

after 561?