But I held his gaze.
3
Abbey of St. Disibod, November 1115
Much later, in a letter she wrote me, my mother described those events I was not privy to on the following day. After breakfast, my parents and the abbot had a private meeting. Prior Helenger was also in attendance, standing behind Kuno’s chair with his head bowed and arms folded inside the sleeves of his robe.
My mother complimented the abbot on the simple yet satisfying fare in the refectory.
“In recent years we have received generous gifts of legacy that include fertile lands along the rivers, and we were blessed with a good harvest this year,” he informed them proudly.
“I am pleased to hear that.” My father cleared his throat. Under pressure from my mother, he had come with a petition regarding the terms of my enclosure. It made him nervous, for he was instinctively deferential toward religious authority. Now he shifted from one leg to the other, struggling to find the right entry point to his business. “The abbey’s reputation has grown greatly thanks to your wise management, and I am certain your successes will continue to attract generous benefactors.”
The abbot inclined his head, visibly flattered. “And pious novices.”
“Indeed.” My father nodded. “The one I can vouch for—my own daughter—is endowed with exceptional gifts of spirit, and we are honored that she will be joining Sister Jutta and the other women who have elected to lead most holy lives as anchorites.”
At Bemersheim, Count Stephan had spoken proudly of Jutta’s ascetic inclinations, which seemed only to have deepened at St. Disibod. Anchorites were the most devout men and women of God, who chose to live in complete seclusion. They had food and water brought to them and refuse taken away, and that was usually the extent of their interaction with the world. My mother was not sure if I would find such a life to my liking. In the weeks since the count’s visit, she had worked tirelessly to persuade her husband to negotiate a delayed novitiate for me, to which he had finally, if begrudgingly, consented.
Now, standing beside him, she despaired of his meandering.
“We are pleased also,” the abbot assured him graciously.
“Father Abbot,” my father resumed, prompted by a discreet nudge. “Hildegard is only eleven years old.”
Kuno lifted his abundant eyebrows.
“We would ask that her novitiate be delayed until she is sixteen years of age, so she can take her vows at eighteen.”
My mother thought she had heard a gasp from Prior Helenger, who raised his head for the first time.
“Our custom dictates that child oblates begin their novitiate at fourteen,” the abbot protested.
“A custom is not an abiding rule.” My father sounded almost apologetic. It had been my mother’s idea to write to the learned monks at Lorsch to find out exactly what Regula Benedicti said about the maximum age and duration of a novitiate. It said nothing. “We request that an exception be made because of Hildegard’s age. It would be of great benefit if she were given more time to prepare for the consecrated life, so her vows might be all the more pleasing to God.”
“The Rule may not prescribe exactly when the novitiate should start”— the pleased look faded from Kuno’s face— “but as abbot, I have discretion in the matter, and I see no reason to break with our tradition, especially as your daughter has already turned ten, the minimum age of acceptance into a monastic community set by the Tenth Council of Toledo.”
The prior nodded in haughty approval, and my mother turned to my father expectantly. But his face only said, I have tried. There is nothing more I can do.
She made the decision in an instant. “With your permission, Father Abbot, as her parents, it is our wish that Hildegard should reach the age of reason before making such a commitment.” Then she added, more forcefully, “We have come here on the recommendation of Count Stephan von Sponheim, who holds this abbey in high esteem. However, we can easily secure a place for our daughter at St. Eucharius, Hirschau, or the new Laach priory that is fast developing a great reputation.”
The prior’s expression froze in shocked disbelief, but the abbot’s face betrayed a shadow of worry that was enough for my mother to realize he needed my dowry.
A moment of tense silence followed as Kuno struggled with the decision. Abbeys preferred short oblatures because during that time the candidate could still change his or her mind and withdraw, rare though it was, and take their dowry with them. Once the novitiate began, a departure meant forfeiting the dowry. “I will grant your request,” he said finally.
“Father Abbot, are you sure?” the prior’s voice was almost a hiss. “Hildegard belongs to the Church; why should she be given a choice? She is but a girl-child—”
“I made my decision, Brother Prior.” He cut him off with a gesture.
Helenger’s lips twisted as if he had swallowed something bitter, but he fell silent.
“Can this provision be added to the dedication letter?” my father asked.
The abbot motioned to a scribe who had been sitting by the window and instructed him to add the relevant clause. The monk returned to his desk, and soon the document was ready for the seal and signatures.
These steps completed, my father laid a heavy leather purse on the abbot’s desk. Monastic endowments took various forms; lands, quarries, or mines were commonly deeded to the religious house by parents or guardians. Others chose to pay money. The golden bezants in my father’s purse were his reward for service in the Holy Land, and he was proud of it, for he considered freeing Jerusalem from the Saracen to have been his duty as a Christian. And now this treasure would uphold his family’s standing and support the monks’ holy work.
“We are honored that you have chosen our house as your daughter’s spiritual refuge, and we will do everything in our power to ensure that her service bears fruit.” Abbot Kuno rolled up the
