One night on my way back from the infirmary, I halted before entering the enclosure. I had to do something, or I might not get a good night’s sleep again. I turned and ran to the workshop, fresh snow crunching under my feet. I opened the gate and paused momentarily, struck by the beauty of the winter landscape before me. The light that shone through the workshop window cast an orange glow on the pristine whiteness of the herb beds, and large snowflakes were falling slowly through the air, spreading a veil of calm over the world. The quietude was so profound that I felt a jolt of energy opening my mind to a greater insight. I was happy! I enjoyed Brother Wigbert’s favor, I had this plot of fertile Rhenish land sleeping under the snow until warmer days, and I was determined to make the most of it.
Frost biting at my toes spurred me on, and I pushed the door open, inhaling the aroma of the sweet posset Wigbert made at Christmastime, a delicious mix of ale, eggs, milk, and spices. He turned from the stove, surprised to see me at that hour, but before he could say anything, the question tumbled from my mouth. “Brother Wigbert, will you ask Father Abbot to let me use the library?”
9
January 1118
Brother Wigbert and Abbot Kuno had a private supper each month, and I was so anxious on the night of their first such meeting in the year 1118 that I knew I would not be able to sleep. It was already dark when we left the workshop, the infirmarian heading to the abbot’s house and I returning to the convent. The January sky was clear and speckled with sharp winter stars, bright and cold, and for a moment I considered following behind to see if I could listen at the door. Then I chastised myself for such thoughts and headed for the enclosure, Brother Wigbert’s promise to relate the conversation to me serving as my consolation. A promise, I need not add, that he kept faithfully.
Brother Wigbert always looked forward to those meetings, especially on long winter evenings when the abbot’s large hearth burned brightly, and the food, prepared separately from the refectory fare, was of the highest quality.
That night was no different. The joint of beef was succulent and seasoned to perfection, and the spiced wine undiluted. At first the conversation revolved around the renovations of the abbey treasury which were to commence in the spring, then the infirmarian wiped his mouth and sat back. “There is something I need to tell you, Father.” After Kuno motioned him to continue, he told him of my work in the infirmary and my interest in healing, although he omitted the part about the wise woman and my considerable knowledge of herbs. “She has a natural talent and learns quickly,” he added. “I think perhaps we should find a way to foster this gift, especially since I am getting older and nobody has shown an interest in replacing me.”
“But what are you saying, Brother?” The abbot looked surprised. “That we should train her as a physician?”
“No, but she could learn basic theories from the books we have in the library, and I could give her further practical instruction. That would ensure continuity when I am gone until the abbey secures a new physician.”
“I have never heard of a woman practicing medicine.” Kuno shook his head.
“What I am talking about,” the infirmarian clarified, “are practical skills fortified with some of the theory found in Galen and Hippocrates.”
“But can she read?”
“She knows basic Latin and reads the Bible with the anchoresses.” In fact, I had been working my way through de Urinis since November and was more than half way through it. “Perhaps she could join the monastery school—”
“The school?” The abbot’s eyebrows arched in astonishment. “But it is for boys!”
“I don’t see why we could not make an exception; it would only be for a little while until she hones her skills.”
But Kuno shook his head vigorously. “We cannot do that. Educating girls is unnecessary, and it is not what we do. Imagine the archbishop’s reaction if he found out.”
“The archbishop has just been freed from prison,” Wigbert pointed out. “I think he has more important matters to attend to.”
“That may be, but the Mainz canons are a meddlesome bunch, and they would not fail to lodge a complaint.”
The infirmarian knew it was true; the episcopal bureaucracy was notorious for being a nuisance, and it was best not to attract their attention. “I suppose I could give her additional instruction in Latin,” he offered. “Would you then allow her access to the library?”
The abbot shook his head again, and this time it was clear that it was not just the canons he was concerned about but his fellow monks who might be scandalized. Wigbert could easily imagine Prior Helenger haranguing against it in Chapter.
“You know as well as I do that it will not work.” Kuno considered his friend through narrowed eyelids. “You seem to have a high opinion of Hildegard’s intellect, but even if her Latin improves, what makes you think she can understand medical theories?”
Brother Wigbert knew that I could. “I have spent a great deal of time with her; she is bright and methodical, and grasps connections between facts faster than most people. I do not have to explain anything twice. That is why I have no doubt that under proper guidance, she can benefit from these texts.” Then he added, musingly, “She tends not to accept answers as givens but wants to try for herself how things work. It is most unusual.”
“So you are saying she is a skeptic?” The abbot picked up on it immediately. “What if she comes to question Church doctrines one day?”
“I have not seen anything that would suggest that,” the infirmarian hastened to reassure him.
“She questions scientific facts but never our faith?”
Wigbert thought a while before speaking. This was as
