'Beatrice'

[p. 123]

Beatrice

[p. 124]

 

Van dichten comt mi cleine bate.

 

Die liede raden mi dat ict late

 

Ende minen sin niet en vertare

 

Maer om die doghet van hare

 

Die moeder ende maghet es bleven,

 

Hebbic een scone mieracle op heven,

 

Die god sonder twivel toghede

 

Marien teren, diene soghede.

 

Ic wille beghinnen van ere nonnen

 

Een ghedichte, god moet mi onnen,

 

Dat ic die poente moet wel geraken

 

Ende een goet ende daer af maken,

 

Volcomelijc na der waerheide,

 

Als mi broeder Ghijsbrecht seide,

 

Een begheven willemijn;

 

Hi vant in die boeke sijn.

 

Hi was een out ghedaghet man.

 

Die nonne, daer ic af began,

 

Was hovesche ende subtijl van zeden;

 

Men vint ghene noch heden,

 

Die haer ghelijct, ic wane,

 

Van zeden ende van ghedane.

 

Dat ic prisede haer lede,

 

Sonderlinghe haer scoonhede,^*

 

Dats een dinc dat niet en dochte.

 

Ic wille u segghen, van wat ambochte

 

Si plach te wesen langhen tijt:

 

Int clooster daer si droech abijt,

 

Costersse was si daer,

 

Dat seggic u al over waer:

 

Sine was lat no traghe,

 

No bi nachte no bi daghe.

 

Si was snel te haren werke;

 

Si plach te ludene in die kerke;

* The original Dutch text of Beatrijs which is printed here, parallel with the English translation, is from Beatrijs. A Middle Dutch Legend, edited from the only existing manuscript in the Royal Library at The Hague by A.J. Barnouw (London, Oxford University Press, 1914).
The editor in his Preface to the text remarks: ‘The use of italics seemed... unavoidable in the case of manuscript oe, the e of which, for the reader's benefit, has been replaced throughout by o where ō, not ū is the sound intended’.

[p. 125]

Little profit comes to me from writing poetry, and people advise me to give it up and stop addling my brains. But to the honour of her who remains Mother and Virgin I have undertaken to write of a lovely miracle which God beyond doubt performed to the honour of Mary who suckled Him.

Now I will begin my poem, which is about a nun, and may God grant that I may teil the story properly and make a good end to it, agreeing perfectly with the truth, as Brother Gilbert told it to me, who was a pions Williamite friar. He had found it in his books, and he was a very old man.

This nun, of whom I began to tell you, was well-bred and intelligent: I do not think that one would find anyone today to equal her in breeding and manners. But it would not be seemly for me to extol her, and especially not to speak of her beauty; but I can tell you of the office which for a long time she bore. In the monastery in which she was professed, she was the sacristan, and I can truthfully teil you that she was never slow or lazy, night or day, but she was prompt in her work. She used to ring the church bell,

[p. 126]

 

Si ghereide tlicht ende ornament

 

Ende dede op staen alt covent.

 

 

 

Dese ioffrouwe en was niet sonder

 

Der minnen, die groot wonder

 

Pleecht te werken achter lande.

 

Bi wilen comter af scande,

 

Quale, toren, wedermoet;

 

Bi wilen bliscap ende goet.

 

Den wisen maect si ooc soo ries

 

Dat hi moet bliven int verlies,

 

Eest hem lieft ofte leet.

 

Si dwingt sulken, dat hine weet

 

Weder spreken ofte swighen,

 

Daer hi loon af waent ghecrighen.

 

Meneghe worpt si onder voet,

 

Die op staet, alst haer dunct goet.

 

Minne maect sulken milde,

 

Die liever sine ghiften hilde,

 

Dade hijt niet bider minnen rade.

 

Noch vintmen liede soo ghestade,

 

Wat si hebben, groot oft clene,

 

Dat hen die minne gheeft ghemene:

 

Welde, bliscap ende rouwe;

 

Selke minne hetic ghetrouwe.

 

In constu niet gheseggen als,

 

Hoe vele gheluux ende onghevals

 

Uter minnen beken ronnen.

 

Hier omme en darfmen niet veronnen

 

Der nonnen, dat si niet en conste ontgaen

 

Der minnen diese hilt ghevaen,

 

Want die duvel altoos begheert

 

Den mensche te becorne ende niet en cesseert

 

Dach ende nacht, spade ende vroe;

[p. 127]

she looked after the candles and altar furniture, and she wakened the whole convent.

This virgin did not lead a life without love, love which can perform so many miracles far and wide, love which brings sometimes shame, torment, sorrow, despair, sometimes joy and happiness. Love can make a wise man into such a fool that it brings him to ruin, whether he like it or not. Some love so constrains that they can neither keep silence nor speak, though speech could gain them their reward. When it pleases love, it tramples under foot those who stand upright. Some love makes generous who would withhold all their gifts were it not for the counsels of love. Some are made so steadfast by love that they will share with love whatever they have, much or little, riches, joys or sorrows; and that is what I call true love. I could not tell you of all the good fortune and all the ill which flows out of love's streams. And so we must not blame this nun, who was unable to escape from the love which held her captive; because the devil is always longing to tempt man, and he never stops, day and night, late and early,

[p. 128]

 

Hi doeter sine macht toe.

 

Met quaden listen, als hi wel conde,

 

Becordise met vleescheliker sonde,

 

Die nonne, dat si sterven waende.

 

Gode bat si ende vermaende,

 

Dat hise trooste dore sine ghenaden.

 

Si sprac: ‘ic ben soo verladen

 

Met starker minnen ende ghewont,

 

Dat weet hi, dient al es cont,

 

Die niet en es verholen,

 

Dat mi die crancheit sal doen dolen;

 

Ic moet leiden een ander leven;

 

Dit abijt moetic begheven.’

 

 

 

Nu hoort, hoeter na verghinc:

 

Si sende om den ionghelinc,

 

Daer si toe hadde grote lieve,

 

Ootmoedelijc met enen brieve,

 

Dat hi saen te hare quame,

 

Daer laghe ane sine vrame.

 

Die bode ghinc daer de ionghelinc was.

 

Hi nam den brief ende las,

 

Die hem sende sijn vriendinne.

 

Doe was hi blide in sinen sinne;

 

Hi haestem te comen daer.

 

Sint dat si out waren .XIJ. iaer,

 

Dwanc die minne des e twee,

 

Dat si dogheden menech wee.

 

 

 

Hi reet, soo hi ierst mochte,

 

Ten clooster, daer hise sochte.

 

Hi ghinc zitten voor tfensterkijn

 

Ende soude gheerne, mocht sijn,

 

Sijn lief spreken ende sien.

[p. 129]

and he does all that is in his power. With his evil cunning, which he well knew how to employ, he tempted the nun with sins of the flesh until she longed for death, and she prayed and entreated God to comfort her with His grace. She said: ‘I am so oppressed and wounded by my great love that He who knows all things, from whom nothing is hidden, knows that sickness will soon destroy me. I must lead a different life, and I must renounce this habit.’

Now listen to what happened next. She sent for the youth for whom she felt this great love, humbly asking him in a letter to come to her soon, and it would be to his profit. This message reached the young man, who took and read the letter which his mistress had sent him; and then he rejoiced greatly, and hastened to her, for, since they were twelve years old, love had so ruled these two that they had suffered many woes.

As soon as he could he rode to the cloister and sought her out. He sat down in front of the little window, and he longed, if it might be, to speake to his love and see her.

[p. 130]

 

Niet langhe en merde si na dien;

 

Si quam ende woudene vanden

 

Vor tfensterkijn, dat met yseren bandi

 

Dwers ende lanx was bevlochten.

 

Menech werven si versochten,

 

Daer hi sat buten ende si binnen,

 

Bevaen met alsoo starker minnen.

 

Si saten soo een langhe stonde,

 

Dat ict ghesegghen niet en conde,

 

Hoe dicke verwandelde hare blye.

 

‘Ay mi,’ seitsi, ‘aymie,

 

Vercoren liefm, i es soo wee,

 

Sprect ieghen mi een wort oft twee,

 

Dat mi therte conforteert!

 

Ic ben, die troost ane u begheert!

 

Der minnen strael stect mi int herte,

 

Dat ic doghe grote smerte.

 

In mach nemmermeer verhoghen,

 

Lief, ghi en hebbet uut ghetoghen!’

 

 

 

Hi antworde met sinne:

 

‘Ghi wet, wel lieve vriendinne,

 

Dat wi langhe hebben ghedragen

 

Minne al onsen daghen.

 

Wi en hadden nye soo vele rusten,

 

Dat wi ons eens ondercusten.

 

Vrouwe Vernis, die godinne,

 

Die dit brachte in onsen sinne,

 

Moete God onse here verdoemen,

 

Dat si twee soo scone bloemen

 

Doet vervaluen ende bederven.

 

Constic wel ane u verwerven,

 

Ende ghi dabijt wout nederleggen

 

Ende mi enen sekeren tijt seggen,

[p. 131]

She did not long delay after that, but came to discover him at the window, which was latticed with iron bars. They heaved many a deep sigh, as he sat outside and she inside, so imprisoned by their great love. So they sat for a long time, and I could not tell you how often their colour changed. ‘Ah me,’ she said, ‘my beloved, my one true love, I am so full of woe, speak a word or two to me to comfort my heart. I beg you for some consolation. Love's dart has so pierced my heart that I suffer great pain, and unless you can draw it out I shall never be happy again.’

He answered with these words: ‘You know, my own dear love, how long we have suffered the pains of love, and yet we have never had the consolation of exchanging one single kiss. God our Lord must surely condemn that goddess, Lady Venus, for making two such lovely flowers fade and die, when she brought this into our minds. If I could persuade you to abandon your habit and to appoint a time

[p. 132]

 

Hoe ic u ute mochte leiden,

 

Ic woude riden ende ghereiden

 

Goede cleder diere van wullen

 

Ende die met bonten doen vullen:

 

Mantel, roc ende sercoot.

 

In begheve u te ghere noot.

 

Met u willic mi aventueren

 

Lief, leet, tsuete metten sueren.

 

Nemt te pande mijn trouwe.’

 

‘Vercorne vrient,’ sprac die ioncfrouwe,

 

‘Die willic gherne van u ontfaen

 

Ende met u soo verre gaen,

 

Dat niemen en sal weten in dit covent

 

Werwaert dat wi sijn bewent.

 

Van tavont over .VIIJ. nachte

 

Comt ende nemt mijns wachte

 

Daer buten inden vergier,

 

Onder enen eglentier.

 

Wacht daer mijns, ic come uut

 

Ende wille wesen uwe bruut,

 

Te varen daer ghi begheert;

 

En si dat mi siecheit deert

 

Ocht saken, die mi sijn te swaer,

 

Ic come sekerlike daer,

 

Ende ic begheert van u sere,

 

Dat ghi daer comt, lieve ionchere.’

 

 

 

Dit gheloofde elc anderen.

 

Hi nam orlof ende ghinc wanderen

 

Daer sijn rosside ghesadelt stoet.

 

Hi satter op metter spoet

 

Ende reet wech sinen telt

 

Ter stat wert, over een velt.

 

Sijns lieves hi niet en vergat.

[p. 133]

when it would be safe to lead you out of here, then I would ride off and obtain fine woollen clothes and have them lined with fur, cloak and gown and jacket. I would not desert you in any need: I will risk with you whatever may be our lot, joy or sorrow, sweet or sour; and receive my promise as a gage.’ ‘My dearest love,’ the virgin said, ‘I am glad to accept your promise, and I shall go away with you so far that no one in this convent shall know what has become of us. Tomorrow week, at night, come here and wait for me outside in the orchard under the eglantine. Wait for me there; I shall escape and I will be your bride, to travel with you wherever you like. Unless sickness prevents me, or circumstances too strong for me, I shall certainly come, and I beg you to be there also, my dear lord.’

So either believed the other's promise, and he took his leave and went off to where his steed stood saddled. He mounted it in speed and galloped off across the land towards the town. He did not forget what he had promised his love,

[p. 134]

 

Sanders daghes ghinc hi in die stat;

 

Hi cochte blau ende scaerlaken,

 

Daer hi af dede maken

 

Mantele ende caproen groot

 

Ende roc ende sorcoot

 

Ende na recht ghevoedert wel.

 

Niemen en sach beter vel

 

Onder vrouwen cledere draghen.

 

Si prysdent alle diet saghen.

 

Messe, gordele ende almoniere

 

Cochti haer goet ende diere;

 

Huven, vingherline van goude

 

Ende chierheit menechfoude.

 

Om al die chierheit dede hi proeven,

 

Die eneger bruut soude behoeven.

 

Met hem nam hi .vc. pont

 

Ende voer in ere avonstont

 

Heymelike buten der stede.

 

Al dat scoonheide voerdi mede

 

Wel ghetorst op sijn paert

 

Ende voer alsoo ten cloostere waert,

 

Daer si seide, inden vergier,

 

Onder enen eglent

 

Hi ghinc sitten neder int cruut,

 

Tote zijn lief soude comen uut.

 

Van hem latic nu die tale

 

Ende segghe u vander scoonder smale.

 

Vore middernacht lude si mettine;

 

Die minne dede haer grote pine.

 

Als mettenen waren ghesongen

 

Beide van ouden ende van iongen

 

Die daer waren int covent,

 

Ende si weder waren ghewent

 

Opten dormter al ghemene,

[p. 135]

but he went each day into the town, and he bought blue and scarlet cloth, from which he had a cloak made with a hood, a gown and a jacket, and he had them well lined. No one ever saw finer furs among well-dressed women, and everyone who saw the clothes admired them. He bought for her at great expense a girdle, with scissors and a purse, caps, gold rings and many kinds of ornaments, and he provided all the finery which any bride could need. He took with him five hundred pounds, and one night secretly left the town, carrying all the finery with him, well packed on his horse, and he rode out to the convent, and there where she had said, in the orchard under an eglantine, he sat down on the grass, waiting for his love to come out. Now let me leave him, and continue my story about the lovely young woman. At midnight she rang for matins. Love gave her great sorrow, and when matins had been sung by both the old nuns and the young who were then in the convent, and they had all gone back together to the dormitory,

[p. 136]

 

Bleef si inden coor allene

 

Ende si sprac haer ghebede,

 

Alsi te voren dicke dede.

 

Si knielde voorden outaer

 

Ende sprac met groten vaer:

 

‘Maria, moeder, soete name,

 

Nu en mach minen lichame

 

Niet langher in dabijt gheduren.

 

Ghi kint wel in allen uren

 

Smenschen herte ende sijn wesen;

 

Ic hebbe ghevast ende ghelesen

 

Ende ghenomen discipline,

 

Hets al om niet dat ic pine;

 

Minne worpt mi onder voet,

 

Dat ic der werelt dienen moet.

 

Alsoo waerlike als ghi, here lieve,

 

Wort ghehanghen tusschen .ij. dieve

 

Ende aent cruce wort gherecket,

 

Ende ghi Lazaruse verwecket,

 

Daer hi lach inden grave doot,

 

Soe moetti kinnen minen noot

 

Ende mine mesdaet mi vergheven;

 

Ic moet in swaren sonden sneven.’

 

Na desen ghinc si uten core

 

Teenen beelde, daer si vore

 

Knielde ende sprac hare ghebede,

 

Daer Maria stout ter stede.

 

Si riep: ‘Maria!’ onversaghet,

 

‘Ic hebbe u nach ende dach geclaghet

 

Ontfermelike mijn vernoy

 

Ende mi en es niet te bat een hoy.

 

Ic werde mijns sins te male quijt,

 

Blivic langher in dit abijt!’

 

Die covel tooch si ute al daer

[p. 137]

she remained alone in the choir, saying her prayers as she had often done before. She knelt in front of the altar, and said with great anguish: ‘Mary, mother, sweet name, my body can no longer endure in this habit. You know well at all times what is in man's heart and what his life is. I have fasted and prayed and scourged myself, but I have tormented myself for nothing; love has conquered me, and I must serve the world. As truly as You, my dear Lord, were stretched and hanged upon the cross between two thieves, as truly as You called Lazarus when he lay dead in his grave, so may You know my need and forgive me my trespass, for I must fall into mortal sin.’ And with this she went out of the choir to where the image of Mary stood, and she knelt before it and prayed. Without fear she called out: ‘Mary, I have lamented day and night to you, asking for pity in my distress, and I am not a scrap better off for it. I shall go altogether out of my mind if I stay any longer in this habit.’ Then she took off all her habit

[p. 138]

 

Ende leidse op onser vrouwen outaer.

 

Doen dede si ute hare scoen.

 

Nu hoort, watsi sal doen!

 

Die slotele vander sacristiën

 

Hinc si voor dat heelde Mariën;

 

Ende ic segt u over waar,

 

Waer omme dat sise hinc al daer:

 

Ofmense te priemtide sochte,

 

Dat mense best daer vinden mochte.

 

Hets wel recht in alder tijt,

 

Wie vore Mariën beelde lijt,

 

Dat hi sijn oghen derwaert sla

 

Ende segge ‘ave’, eer hi ga,

 

‘Ave Maria’: daer omme si ghedinct,

 

Waer omme dat si die slotel daer hinc.

 

 

 

Nu ghinc si danen dorden noot

 

Met enen pels al bloot,

 

Daer si een dore wiste,

 

Die si ontsloot met liste,

 

Ende ghincker heymelijc uut,

 

Stillekine sonder gheluut.

 

Inden vergier quam si met vare.

 

Di iongelinc wart haers gheware;

 

Hi seide: ‘lief, en verveert u niet,

 

Hets u vrient dat ghi hier siet.’

 

Doen si beide te samen quamen,

 

Si begonste hare te scamen,

 

Om dat si in enen pels stoet,

 

Bloots hooft ende barvoet.

 

Doen seidi: ‘wel scone lichame,

 

U soo waren bat bequame

 

Scone ghewaden ende goede cleder

 

Hebter mi om niet te leder,

[p. 139]

and laid it upon our Lady's altar, and she took off her shoes. Now listen to what she did next: her sacristan's key she hung in front of Mary's image, and I will tell you why she hung it there. It was so that it would most easily be found when they looked for her at prime, for it is an ancient custom that whoever passes in front of Mary's image should lift tip his eyes to it and say an Ave, Maria before he goes, and that was why she thought of hanging the key there.

Then there was nothing else for her but to go, dressed only in her shift, to where she knew there was a door which she had the trick of opening, and so she stole out without making a sound and came timidly into the orchard. The young man saw her, and said: ‘Dear, do not be frightened; it is me, your love, whom you can see.’ As they met, she was filled with shame to be standing there in her shift, bareheaded and barefooted; and then he said, ‘Your lovely body deserves fine dresses and good clothing; and do not be angry with me on this account,

[p. 140]

 

Ic salse u gheven sciere.’

 

Doe ghinghen si onder den eglentiere

 

Ende alles, dies si behoeft,

 

Des gaf hi hare ghenoech.

 

Eli gaf haer cleder twee paer,

 

Blau waest dat si aen dede daer,

 

Wel ghescepen int ghevoech.

 

Vriendelike hi op haer loech.

 

Hi seide: ‘lief, dit hemelblau

 

Staet u bat dan dede dat grau.’

 

Twee cousen tooch si ane

 

Ende twee scoen cordewane

 

Die hare vele bat stonden

 

Dna scoen die waren ghebonden.

 

Hoot cleder van witter ziden

 

Gaf hi hare te dien tiden,

 

Die si op haer hooft hinc.

 

Doen cussese die ionghelinc

 

Vriendelike aen haren mont.

 

Hem dochte, daer si voor hem stont,

 

Dat die dach verclaerde.

 

Haestelike ghinc hi tsinen paerde,

 

Hi settese voor hem int ghereide.

 

Dus voren si henen beide,

 

Soe verre, dat began te daghen,

 

Dat si hen nyemen volghen en saghen.

 

Doen begant te lichtene int oost.

 

Si seide: ‘God, alder werelt troos,

 

Nu moeti ons bewaren,

 

Ic sie den dach verclaren.

 

Waric met u nietcomen uut,

 

Ic soude prime hebben gheluut,

 

Als ic wilen was ghewone

 

Inden clooster van religione.

[p. 141]

for I shall give you beautiful thing.’ So they went under the eglantine, and everything which she needed, he gave her in great plenty. He gave her two gowns, and it was the blue one which she put on then, well and fittingly made. He looked lovingly at her and said, ‘Dear, sky-blue suits you better than grey.’ She put on a pair of stockings, and a pair of fine shoes, which suited her better than her sandals. Then he gave her veils of white silk, with which she covered her head. Then the young man lovingly kissed her lips, and it seemed to him as she stood there before him that the day was breaking. Quickly he went to his horse, and set her in front of him in the saddle, and so they both rode so far that as it began to dawn they saw that no one was following them. When the east began to grow light, she said: ‘God, comfort of the whole world, guard us now. I see the day dawning, and had I not run away with you, I should have rung the bell for prime as I used to in our convent.

I think that I shall repent this journey, for there is little faith in the world, to which I have now confided myself: it is like those dishonest traders who sell rings made of base metal for gold.’

[p. 142]

 

Ic ducht mi die vaert sal rouwen:

 

Die werelt hout soo cleine trouwe,

 

Al hebbic mi ghekeert daeran;

 

Si slacht den losen coman,

 

Die vingherline van formine

 

Vercoopt voor guldine.’

 

 

 

‘Ay, wat segdi, suverlike,

 

Ocht ic u emmermeer beswike,

 

Soo moete mi God seinden!

 

Waer dat wi ons bewinden,

 

In scede van u te ghere noot,

 

Ons en scede die bitter doot!

 

Hoe mach u aen mi twien?

 

Ghi en hebt aen mi niet versien,

 

Dat ic u fel was ofte loos.

 

Sint dat ic u ierst vercoos,

 

En haddic niet in minen sinne

 

Ghedaen een keyserinne.

 

Op dat ic haers werdech ware,

 

Lief, en liete u niet om hare!

 

Des moghedi seker wesen.

 

Ik vore met ons ute ghelesen

 

.Vc. pont wit selverijn,

 

Daer seldi, lief, vrouwe af sijn.

 

Al varen wie in vremde lande,

 

Wine derven verteren ghene pande

 

Binnen desen seven iaren.’

 

Dus quamen si den telt ghevaren

 

Smorgens aen een foreest,

 

Daer die voghele hadden feest.

 

Si maecten soo groot ghescal,

 

Datment hoorde over al.

 

Elc sanc na der naturen sine.

[p. 143]

‘Ah, what are you saying, my lovely one? If ever I were to betray you, so may God destroy me! Wherever we may go, I shall not leave you under any circumstances, unless cruel death part us. How can you doubt me? You have never found me cruel or false to you, and since I first chose you, I would not have set my mind upon an empress, had I been worthy of her, nor would I have left you for her, my dear one. Of this you may be sure. I have taken care to bring with us five hundred pounds in pure silver, and of this you shall be the mistress, dear one. Even though we travel abroad, we shall not need to sell anything for the next seven years.’

So, as they galloped on, they came during the morning to a forest in which the birds were rejoicing. They made such a tumult that one could hear it everywhere, as each one sang according to its kind.

[p. 144]

 

Daer stonden scone bloemkine

 

Op dat groene velt ontploken,

 

Die scone waren ende suete roken.

 

Die locht was claer ende scone.

 

Daer stonden vele rechte bome,

 

Die ghelovert waren rike.

 

Die ionghelinc sach op die suverlike,

 

Daer hi ghestade minne toe droech.

 

Hi seide: ‘lief, waert u ghevoech,

 

Wi souden beeten ende bloemen lesen,

 

Het dunct mi hier scone wesen.

 

Laet ons spelen der minnen spel.’

 

‘Wat segdi’, sprac si, ‘dorper fel,

 

Soudic beeten op tfelt,

 

Ghelijc enen wive die wint ghelt

 

Dorperlijc met haren lichame,

 

Seker, soo haddic cleine scame!

 

Dit en ware u niet ghesciet,

 

Waerdi van dorpers aerde niet!

 

Ic mach mi bedinken onsochte.

 

Godsat hebdi diet sochte!

 

Swighet meer deser talen

 

Ende hoort die voghele inden dalen,

 

Hoe si singhen ende hem vervroyen.

 

Die tijt sal u te min vernoyen,

 

Alsic bi u ben al naect

 

Op een bedde wel ghemaect,

 

Soo doet al dat u ghenoecht

 

Ende dat uwer herten voeght.

 

Ic hebs in mijn herte toren,

 

Dat ghijt mi heden leit te voren.’

 

 

 

Hi seide: ‘lief en belghet u niet.

 

Het dede Venus, diet mi riet.

[p. 145]

Lovely flowers stood everywhere, blossoming upon the green field, beautiful to see and sweet to smell. The air was clear and bright, and many tall trees, richly leaved, stood there. The young man looked upon the beautiful young woman for whom he felt a constant love, and he said: ‘Beloved, if it would please you to dismount and gather some flowers, this seems to me to be a good place; and here let us play the game of love.’ She said,‘Why are you talking like a crude village lout? Do you expect me to dismount here, in the fields, like a peasant woman who earns money with her body? Indeed, I should have little modesty to do that. Such a thing would never have occurred to you if you were not yourself a peasant by nature. I may well repent what I have done. God's curse on you who wished for such a thing. Speak no more of such matters, and listen to how the birds in this valley sing and rejoice, and so the time will pass pleasantly for you. When I lie naked beside you in a well-made bed, then do everything that you please and which your heart longs for. But it is a grief in my heart that you have suggested this to me.’

He said: ‘Beloved, do not be angry. It was Venus who prompted me to this.’

[p. 146]

 

God geve mi scande ende plaghe,

 

Ochtic[s] u emmermeer ghewaghe.’

 

Si seide: ‘ic vergheeft u dan,

 

Ghi sijt mijn troost voor alle man

 

Die leven onder den trone.

 

Al levede Absolon die scone

 

Ende ic des wel seker ware

 

Met hem te levene .M. iare

 

In weelden ende in rusten,

 

Ic liets mi niet ghecusten.

 

Lief, ic hebbe u soo vercoren,

 

Men mocht mi dat niet legghen voren,

 

Dat ic uwes soude vergheten.

 

Waric in hemelrike gheseten

 

Ende ghi hier in ertrike,

 

Ic quame tot u sekerlike!

 

Ay God, latet onghewroken

 

Dat ic dullijc hebbe ghesproken!

 

Die minste bliscap in hemelrike

 

En es hier ghere vrouden ghelike;

 

Daer es die minste soo volmaect,

 

Datter zielen niet en smaect

 

Dan Gode te minnen sonder inde.

 

Al erdsche dinc es ellinde,

 

Si en dooghet niet een haer

 

Jeghen die minste die es daer.

 

Diere om pinen die sijn vroet,

 

Al eest dat ic dolen moet

 

Ende mi te groten sonden keren

 

Dore u, lieve scone ionchere.’

 

 

 

Dus hadden si tale ende wedertale.

 

Si reden berch ende dale.

 

In can u niet ghesegghen wel

[p. 147]

May God send me dreadful punishment if ever I dare to do such a thing again.’ She said: ‘Then I forgive you, for you are my comfort, above every man living under heaven. Even if the beautiful Absolom were alive, and I were sure of living with him for a thousand years, that would not compensate me for you. My dear one, I have loved you so dearly that no one could persuade me that I might ever forget you. Even if I were established in heaven, if you were here upon earth I should come to you without fail. Oh God, do not punish me for the folly I have spoken: there is no joy here to compare with the least of heaven's joys. The least joy there is so perfect that the soul asks for nothing than to love God everlastingly. Every earthly joy is exile, and not worth a straw compared with heaven's least joy, and those who long for such joys are wise. Yet I am forced to go astray and to choose a life of great sin for love of you, dear and lovely lord.’

So they rode over mountains and through valleys, conversing with one another, and I cannot well tell you

[p. 148]

 

Wat tusschen hen tween ghevel.

 

Si voren alsoo voort,

 

Tes si quanten in een poort,

 

Die scone stont in enen dale.

 

Daer soo bequaemt hem wale,

 

Dat siere bleven der iaren seven

 

Ende waren in verweenden leven

 

Met ghenuechten van lichamen,

 

Ende wonnen .ij. kinder tsamen.

 

Daer, na den seven iaren,

 

Alse die penninghen verteert waren,

 

Moesten si teren vanden pande,

 

Die si brachten uten lande.

 

Cleder, scoonheit ende paerde

 

Vercochten si te halver warde

 

Ende brochtent al over saen.

 

Doen en wisten si wat bestaen;

 

Si en conste ghenen roc spinenn,

 

Daer si met mochte winnen.

 

Die tijt wart inden lande diere

 

Van spisen, van wine ende ban viere

 

Ende van al datmen eten mochte.

 

Dies hem wart te moede onsochte;

 

Si waren hem liever vele doot,

 

Dan si hadden ghebeden broot.

 

Die aermoede maecte een ghesceet

 

Tusschen hem beiden, al waest hem leet.

 

Aenden man ghebrac dierste trouwe;

 

Hi lietse daer in groten rouwe

 

Ende voer te sinen lande weder.

 

Si en sachen met oghen nye zeder.

 

Daer bleven met hare ghinder

 

Twee uter maten scone kinder.

[p. 149]

all that was said between them. They travelled on until they came to a town, finely situated in a valley, which pleased them so well that they lived there for seven years, living a life of pleasure and bodily delights, and they had two children. But after seven years, when all their money was spent, they had to live by pledging what they had brought with them. Clothing, jewels and horses they sold for half their value, and soon they had used up that money. They did not know what to do. She could not spin and earn money that way. At that time prices were high in the region: food, wine, beer, everything needed for sustenance was dear. This was a great distress to them, for they would rather have died than have begged for bread. Poverty made division between them, much though it hurt them. It was the man who first broke faith. He left her there in great misery and returned to his own country. She never saw him again; and she remained behind there with her two children, who were very beautiful.

[p. 150]

 

Si sprac: ‘hets mi comen toe,

 

Dat ic duchte spade ende vroe;

 

Ic ben in vele doghens bleven.

 

Die ghene heeft mi begheven,

 

Daer ic mi trouwen to verliet.

 

Maria, vrouwe, oft ghi ghebiet,

 

Bidt vore mi ende mine .ij. ionghere.

 

Dat wi niet en sterven van hongere.

 

Wat salic doen, elendech wijf!

 

Ic moet beide, ziele ende lijf,

 

Bevlecken met sondeghen daden.

 

Maria, vrouwe, staet mi in staden!

 

Al constic enen roc spinnen,

 

In mochter niet met winnen

 

In tween weken een broot.

 

Ic moet gaen dorden noot

 

Buten der stat op tfelt

 

Ende winnen met minen lichame ghelt,

 

Daer ic met mach copen spise.

 

In mach in ghere wise

 

Mijn kinder niet begheven.‘

 

Dus ghinc si in een sondech leven.

 

Want men seit ons overwaer,

 

Dat si langhe seve iaer

 

Ghemene wijf ter werelt ghinc

 

Ende meneghe sonde ontfinc,

 

Dat haer was wel onbequame,

 

Die si dede metten lichame,

 

Daer si cleine ghenuechte hadde in;

 

Al dede sijt om een cranc ghewin,

 

Daersi haer kinder met onthelt.

 

Wat holpt al vertelt

 

Die scamelike sonden ende die zwaer,

 

Daer si in was .XIIIJ. iaer!

[p. 151]

Then she said: ‘Now what I feared, late and early, has come upon me. Here I am in great suffering, and he whom I put my trust in has deserted me. Mary, Lady, if it be your will, pray for me and my two children, that we do not die of hunger. What should I do, miserable woman? I have made my immortal soul and my days on earth foul with my sinful deeds. Mary, Lady, be my help! Even if I did know how to spin, I could not earn enough in two weeks to buy one loaf. Necessity forces me to go out of the town to the fields, and sell my body for money so that I can buy food. Under no circumstances can I abandon my children.’ So she embarked upon a sinful life, and they tell us that for the next seven years she lived as a common whore, and committed many sins. What she did with her body was a misery to her in which she took no pleasure. She only did it so as to scrape a bare living and to keep her children. What would be the profit of enumerating the great and horrible sins in which she lived for fourteen years?

[p. 152]

 

Maer emmer en lietsi achter niet,

 

Hadsi rouwe oft verdriet,

 

Sine las alle daghe met trouwen

 

Die seven ghetiden van onser vrouwen.

 

Die las si haer te loven ende teren,

 

Dat sise moeste hekeren

 

Uten sondeliken daden,

 

Daer si was met beladen

 

Bi ghetale .XIIIJ. iar;

 

Dat segghic u over waer.

 

Si was seven iaer metten man,

 

Die .ij. kindere an hare wan,

 

Diese liet in ellinde,

 

Daer si doghede groot meswinde.

 

Dierste .VIJ. iaer hebdi gehoort;

 

Verstaet hoe si levede voort.

 

 

 

Als die ·XIIIJ. iaer waren gedaen,

 

Sinde haer God int herte saen

 

Berouwennesse alsoo groot,

 

Dat si met euen swerde al bloot

 

Liever liete haer hoot af slaən,

 

Dan si meer sonden hadde ghecaen

 

Met haren lichame, alsi plach

 

Si weende nacht eede dach,

 

Dat haer oghen selden drogheded.

 

Si seids: ‘Maria, die Gode soghede,

 

Fonteyne boven alle wiven,

 

Laet mi inder noot niet bliven!

 

Vrouwe, ic neme u torconden,

 

Dat mi rouwen mine sonden

 

Ende sijn mi herde leet.

 

Der es soo vele, dat ic en weet

 

Waer icse dede ocht met wien.

[p. 153]

But always, however great her miseries might be, she never forgot to read each day with devotion the seven hours of our Lady, which she read to Mary's praise and honour, asking her to turn her away from the sinful deeds with which she had been oppressed for a full fourteen years. What I have told you is true: she lived seven years with the man who begot two children by her, and who left her in destitution through which she suffered great distress. You have been told of the first seven years, and you know how she lived after that.

When the fourteen years were over, God suddenly sent into her heart such great contrition that she would rather have suffered her head to bec ut off with a naked sword than go on committing carnal sins as she had done. She wept night and day, so that her eyes were seldom dry. She said: ‘Mary, who suckled God, you pure spring, beyond all women, let me not remain in need! Lady, I call you to witness my contrition for my sins and the sorrows of my heart. My sins are so many that I do not know where I committed them or with whom.

[p. 154]

 

Ay lacen! wat sal mijns ghescien!

 

Ic mach wel ieghen dordeel sorgen -

 

Doghen Gods zijn mi verborgen -,

 

Daer sonden selen bliken,

 

Beide van armen ende van riken,

 

Ende alle mesdaet sal sijn ghewroken,

 

Daer en si vore biechte af ghesproken

 

Ende penitencie ghedaen.

 

Dat wetic wel, sonder waen.

 

Des benic in groten vare.

 

Al droghic alle daghe een hare,

 

Ende crooper met van lande te lande

 

Over voete ende over hande

 

Wullen, barvoet, sonder scoen,

 

Nochtan en constic niet ghedoen,

 

Dat ic van sonden worde vri,

 

Maria, vrouwe, ghi en troost mi,

 

Fonteyne boven alle doghet!

 

Ghi hebt den meneghen verhoghet,

 

Alse wel Teophuluse sceen;

 

Hi was der quaetster sonderen een

 

Ende haddem den duvel op ghegeven,

 

Beide ziele ende leven,

 

Ende was worden sijn man;

 

Vrouwe, ghi verloosseten nochtan.

 

Al benic een besondech wijf

 

Ende een onghetroost keytijf,

 

In wat leven ic noy[t] was,

 

Vrouwe, ghedinct dat ic las

 

Tuwer eren een ghebede!

 

Toont aen mi u ootmoedechede!

 

Ic ben ene die es bedroevet

 

Ende uwer hulpen wel behoevet;

 

Dies maghic mi verhouden:

[p. 155]

Alas, what is to become of me! I may well dread that Day of Judgment, for God's mercy is hidden from me, and all sins will then be shown, both of the poor and of the rich, and every misdeed will be avenged unless it has before been revealed at confession, and penance performed. I know very well that this is true, and I am in great fear on account of it. Though I were to wear a hair shirt every day, though I were to go crawling from country to country on my hands and knees, clad in coarse clothes and barefooted, still I could not do enough to free myself from my sins. Mary, Lady, be my consolation, you pure spring, beyond all virtue! You have brought gladness to many, as appeared indeed through Theophilus, who was one of the worst of sinners, and had surrendered himself soul and body to the devil and had become his servant; yet, Lady, you did not abandon him. Though I am a sinful woman and an abandoned wretch, whatever kind of life I lived, still remember, Lady, that I used to say a prayer in honour of you. Look on me in clemency. I am an afflicted one, in great need of your help. I may make bold to ask this:

[p. 156]

 

En bleef hem nye onvergouden,

 

Die u gruete, maget vrië,

 

Alle daghe met ere ave marië.

 

Die u ghebet gherne lesen,

 

Sie mooghen wel seker wesen,

 

Dat hem daer af sal comen vrame.

 

Vrouwe, hets u soo wel bequame,

 

Uut vercorne Gods bruut.

 

U sone sinde u een saluut

 

Te Nazaret, daer hi u sochte,

 

Die u ene bootscap brochte,

 

Die nye van bode was ghehoort;

 

Daer omme sijn u die selve woort

 

Soo bequame sonder wanc,

 

Dat gilijs wet elken danc,

 

Die u gheerne daer mede quet.

 

Al waer hi in sonden belet,

 

Ghi souten te ghenaden bringhen

 

Ende voor uwen sone verdinghen.’

 

Dese bedinghe ende dese claghe

 

Dreef die sondersse alle daghe.

 

Si nam een kint in elke hant,

 

Ende ghincker met door tlant,

 

In armoede, van stede te steden,

 

Ende levede bider beden.

 

Soo langhe dolede si achter dlant,

 

Dat si den clooster weder vant,

 

Daer si hadde gheweest nonne,

 

Ende quam daer savons na der soune

 

In ere weduwen huus spade,

 

Daer si bat herberghe door ghenade,

 

Dat si daer snachts mochte bliven.

 

‘Ic mocht u qualijc verdriven,’

 

Sprac die weduwe, ‘met uwen kinderkinen.

[p. 157]

do not leave them unrewarded, the greetings I gave to you every day with an Ave, Maria. Those who say your prayer with devotion may be very sure that help will come to them from this. Lady, chosen bride of God, this is very pleasing to you. Your Son sent you a greeting to Nazareth, where He sought you, and brought you such a message as was never before heard of any messenger. Therefore the very words of that message are beyond doubt so pleasing to you that you are full of every gratitude to those who greet you with them. However bogged down in sin, you would bring them into grace and intercede for them before your Son.’ Daily this sinful woman offered up these petitions and lamentations.

She took a child in either hand, and with them she wandered through the country, in poverty, going from place to place and living by begging; and she wandered around the country until she came back to the monastery where she had been a nun; and late one evening, after sunset, she came to the house of a widow whom she asked for shelter out of kindness, if she might stay there the night. ‘I could hardly send you away with your little children,’ the widow said.

[p. 158]

 

Mi dunct dat si moede scinen.

 

Ruust u ende sit neder.

 

Ic sal u deilen weder

 

Dat mi verleent onse here

 

Door siere liever moeder ere.’

 

Dus bleef si met haren kinden

 

Ende soude gheerne ondervinden,

 

Hoet inden clooster stoede.

 

‘Segt mi,’ seitsi, ‘vrouwe goede,

 

Es dit covint van ioffrouwen?’

 

‘Jaet,’ seitsi, ‘bi miere trouwen.

 

Dat verweent es ende rike;

 

Men weet niewer sijns ghelike.

 

Die nonnen diere abijt in draghen,

 

In hoorde nye ghewaghen

 

Van hen gheen gherochten

 

Dies si blame hebben mochten.’

 

 

 

Die daer bi haren kinderen sat,

 

Si seide: ‘waer bi segdi dat?

 

Ic hoorde binnen deser weken

 

Soo vele van ere nonnen spreken;

 

Alsic verstoet in minen sinne,

 

Soo was si hier costerinne.

 

Diet mi seide hine looch niet:

 

Hets binnen .XIIIJ. iaren ghesciet,

 

Dat si uten clooster streec.

 

Men wiste noyt, waer si weec

 

Oft in wat lande si inde nam.’

 

Doen wert die weduwe gram

 

Ende seide: ‘ghi dunct mi reven!

 

Derre talen seldi begheven

 

Te segghene vander costerinnen

 

Oft ghi en blijft hier niet binnen!

[p. 159]

‘You seem to me to be tired. Sit down and rest. I will give you a share of what I have, and our Lord will repay me to the honour of His dear mother.’ So she stayed there with her children, and she dearly wanted to find out how things were in the monastery. ‘Teil me,’ she said, ‘good woman, is this a convent of virgins?’ ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘it is indeed, and a rich and splendid one. No one ever saw its like; and no one ever heard anyone dare to speak ill of the nuns who live there, so as to bring them into disrepute.’

The woman sitting there with her children said: ‘How can you say that? Only this week I heard such things said about a nun that I was astounded, and she was sacristan here. The person who told me was not lying. It is now fourteen years ago since she ran away from the monastery, and nobody knew where she fled to or in what country she ended.’ Then the widow became angry, and said: ‘I think you must be mad! Either you stop telling such stories about the sacristan, or you do not remain in this house!

[p. 160]

 

Si heeft hier costersse ghesijn

 

.XIIIJ. iaer den termijn,

 

Dat men haers noyt ghemessen conde

 

In alden tiden éne metten stonde,

 

Hen si dat si waer onghesont.

 

Hi ware erger dan een hont,

 

Diere af seide el dan goet;

 

Si draghet soo reynen moet,

 

Die eneghe nonne draghen mochte.

 

Die alle die cloosters dore sochte,

 

Die staen tusschen Elve ende der Geronde

 

Ic wane men niet vinden en conde

 

Neghene die gheesteliker leeft!’

 

 

 

Die alsoo langhe hadde ghesneeft

 

Dese tale dochte haer wesen wonder,

 

Ende seide: ‘vrouwe, maect mi conder.

 

Hoe hiet haer moeder ende vader?’

 

Doe noemesise beide gader.

 

Doen wiste si wel, dat si haer meende.

 

Ay God! hoe si snachs weende

 

Heymelike voor haer bedde!

 

Si seide: ‘ic en habbe ander wedde

 

Dan van herten groot berouwe.

 

Sijt in mijn hulpe, Maria, vrouwe!

 

Mijn sonden sijn mi soo leet,

 

Saghic enen hoven heet,

 

Die in groten gloyen stonde,

 

Dat die vlamme ghinghe uten monde,

 

Ic croper in met vlite,

 

Mochtic mier sonden werden quite.

 

Here, ghi hebt wanhope verwaten,

 

Daer op willic mi verlaten!

 

Ic ben, die altoos ghenade hoopt,

[p. 161]

She has been sacristan now these fourteen years, and in all that time sickness has never made her absent from her duties for as long as one mass. Anyone who said anything other than good of her would be madder than a dog. Her disposition is as pure as that of any nun. If you were to search in all the nunneries between the Elbe and the Gironde, I do not believe that you could find anyone living a more spiritual life!’

This story amazed the woman, who had for so long lived in sin, and she said: ‘Good woman, assure me about this. What were the names of her father and mother?’ Then the other named them both, and she knew well that it was she herself who was meant. Oh God, how she wept that night in secret beside her bed! She said: ‘My only possession is great contrition of heart. Mary, Lady, come to my help! My sins are so hateful to me that if I were to see a fiery furnace standing glowing with Barnes belching out, I would gladly crawl inside it if I could so be free of my sins. Lord, You have forbidden us to despair, and in that will I put my trust. Always I hope for Your grace,

[p. 162]

 

Al eest dat mi anxt noopt

 

Ende mi bringt in groten vare.

 

En was nye soo groten sondare,

 

Sint dat ghi op ertrike quaemt

 

Ende menschelike vorme naemt

 

Ende ghi aen den cruce wout sterven.

 

Sone lieti den sondare niet bederven;

 

Die met berouwenesse socht gnade,

 

Hi vantse, al quam hi spade,

 

Alst wel openbaer scheen

 

Den enen sondare vanden tween,

 

Die tuwer rechter siden hinc.

 

Dats ons een troostelijc dinc,

 

Dat ghine ontfinc[t] onbescouden.

 

Goet berou mach als ghewouden;

 

Dat maghic merken an desen.

 

Ghi seit: ‘vrient, du salt wesen

 

Met mi heden in mijn rike,

 

Dat segghic u ghewaerlike.’

 

Noch, here, waest openbare,

 

Dat Gisemast, die mordenare,

 

Ten lesten om ghenade bat.

 

Hi gaf u weder gout no scat,

 

Dan hem berouden sine sonden.

 

U ontfermecheit en es niet te gronden

 

Niet meer, dan men mach

 

Die zee uut sceppen op enen dach

 

Ende droghen al toten gronde.

 

Dus was nye soo grote sonde,

 

Vrouwe, u ghenaden en gaen boven.

 

Hoe soudic dan sijn verscoven

 

Van uwer ontfermecheit,

 

Ocht mi mijn sonden sijn soo leit!’

[p. 163]

even though I am dogged by fear and brought into great terror. There was never any sinner so great that You would abandon him to perdition, since You came upon earth and took human form and were willing to die upon the Cross. If such a sinner with repentance sought grace, he found it, however late he might seek for it, as it plainly was shown by that one of the two malefactors who hung at Your right hand. It is for us great consolation that You received him and forgave him. Perfect contrition is of great power, as I can see from this. You said: ‘Friend, truly I say to you that you will be with Me today in My kingdom.’ And it was plain, Lord, that Dismas, this murderer, asked for Your grace in the end. He offered You neither gold nor silver, only his repentance for his sins. We can no more measure Your mercy than we can in a single day shift and dry up the deep sea. Nor was there ever, Lady, sin so great that it exceeded your pity. How then should I be thrust out from your clemency, if my sins are so hateful to me?’

[p. 164]

 

Daer si lach in dit ghebede,

 

Quam een vaec in al haer lede

 

Ende si wart in lape sochte.

 

In enen vysioen haer dochte,

 

Hoe een stemme aan haer riep,

 

Daer si lach ende sliep:

 

‘Mensche, du heves soo langhe gecarmt,

 

Dat Maria dijns ontfarmt,

 

Want si heeft u verbeden.

 

Gaet inden clooster met haestecheden:

 

Ghi vint die doren open wide,

 

Daer ghi uut ginges ten selven tide

 

Met uwen lieve, den ionghelinc,

 

Die u inder noot af ghinc.

 

Al dijn abijt vinstu weder

 

Ligghen opten outaer neder;

 

Wile, covele ende scoen

 

Mooghedi coenlijc ane doen;

 

Des danct hooghelike Mariën:

 

Die slotele vander sacristiën,

 

Die ghi voor tbeelde hinct

 

Snachs, doen ghi uut ghinct,

 

Die heeft si soo doen bewaren,

 

Darmen binnen .XIIIJ. iaren

 

Uwes nye en ghemiste,

 

Soo dat yemen daer af wiste.

 

Maria es soo wel u vrient:

 

Si heeft altoos voor u ghedient

 

Min no meer na dijn ghelike.

 

Dat heeft de vrouwe van hemelrike,

 

Sonderse, door u ghedaen!

 

Si heet u inden clooster gaen.

 

Ghi en vint nyeman op u bedde.

 

Hets van Gode, dat ic u quedde!’

[p. 165]

So she lay prostrate at her prayers, until slumber overcame her whole body and she slept peacefully; and then it seemed to her as if in a vision a voice called to her as she lay asleep: ‘Woman, you have entreated for so long that Mary has had pity on you and interceded for you. Go at once to the monastery, and you will find the doors wide open at the same hour as you ran away with the young man your paramour, when you went off to a life of misery. You will find all your habit still laid out on the altar, your veil and cowl and shoes; have no fear but put them on, and say fervent thanks to Mary for this. And she has so taken care of the sacristan's key which you hung before her image on that night when you ran away that no one has missed you in fourteen years or knew what happened to you. Mary is such a friend to you that all this time she has done your office for you, just as you did it, neither less nor more. This is what the mistress of Heaven has done for you, a sinner! Now she orders you to go back to the monastery, where you will find no one sleeping in your bed. What I have told you is a message from God.’

[p. 166]

 

Na desen en waest niet lanc,

 

Dat si uut haren slape ontspranc.

 

Si seide: ‘God, gheweldechere,

 

En ghehinct den duvel nemmermere,

 

Dat hi mi bringhe in mere verdriet,

 

Dan mi nu es ghesciet!

 

Ochtic nu inden clooster ghinghe

 

Ende men mi over dieveghe vinghe,

 

Soo waric noch meer ghescent,

 

Dan doen ic ierst rumde covent.

 

Ic mane u, God die goede,

 

Dor uwen pretiosen bloede,

 

Dat uut uwer ziden liep,

 

Ocht die stemme, die aen mi riep,

 

Hier es comen te minen baten,

 

Dat sijs niet en moete laten,

 

Si en come anderwerf tot hare

 

Ende derde werven openbare,

 

Soo dat ic mach sonder waen

 

Weder in minen clooster gaen.

 

Ic wilre om benediën

 

Ende loven altoos Mariën!’

 

 

 

Sanders snachts, moghedi horen,

 

Quam haer een stemme te voren,

 

Die op haer riep ende seide:

 

‘Mensche, du maecs te langhe beide!

 

Ganc weder in dinen clooster,

 

God sal wesen dijn trooster.

 

Doet dat Maria u ontbiet!

 

Ic ben haer bode, en twivels niet.’

 

Nu heefsise anderwerf vernomen

 

Die stemme tote haer comen

 

Ende hietse inden clooster gaen;

[p. 167]

Soon after this she started up out of her sleep, and said: ‘God, almighty ruler, do not permit the devil to bring me into greater misery than I am in now. If I were to go back to the monastery now and they were to apprehend me as a thief, I should be in a worse state than when first I fled from the convent. I entreat you, my good God, by the Precious Blood which flowed from Your side, if the voice which called to me has come to me to help me, that You do not suffer it to be silent, but let it speak a second and a third time, clearly, so that I may go back to my monastery without fear; and in return I shall always bless and praise Mary.’

On the next night, you may hear, a voice sounded to her, calling for her and saying: ‘Woman, you are delaying too long! Go back to your monastery, and God will comfort you. Do as Mary commands you. I am her messenger; you need not doubt.’ So she understood once again the voice which spoke to her and commanded her to go into the monastery;

[p. 168]

 

Nochtan en dorst sijs niet bestaen.

 

Der derder nacht verbeyt si noch

 

Ende seide: ‘eest elfs ghedroch,

 

Dat mi comt te voren,

 

Soo maghic cortelike scoren

 

Des duvels ghewelt ende sine cracht

 

Ende ocht hire comt te nacht,

 

Here, soo maecten soo confuus,

 

Dat hi vare uten huus,

 

Dat hi mi niet en moete scaden.

 

Maria, nu staet mi in staden,

 

Die ene stemme ane mi sint,

 

Ende hiet mi gaen int covint;

 

Ic mane u, vrouwe, bi uwen kinde,

 

Dat ghise mi derdewerven wilt sinden.’

 

 

 

Doen waecte si den derden nacht.

 

Een stemme quam van gods cracht

 

Met enen over groten lichte

 

Ende seide: ‘hets bi onrechte,

 

Dat ghi niet en doet dat ic u hiet,

 

Want u Maria bi mi ontbiet.

 

Ghi moocht beiden te lanc.

 

Gaet inden clooster, sonder wanc,

 

Ghi vint die doren op ende wide ontdaen,

 

Daer ghi wilt, moghedi gaen.

 

U abijt vindi weder

 

Ligghende op ten outaer neder.’

 

Als die stemme dit hadde gheseit,

 

Mochte die zondersse die daer leit,

 

Die claerheit metten oghen wel sien;

 

Si seide: ‘nu en darf mi niet twien,

 

Dese stemme comt van Gode,

 

Ende es der maghet Mariën bode.

[p. 169]

but still she did not dare to do it. She waited for the third night, and said: ‘If it is the deceit of some evil spirit which manifests itself to me, then let me soon overcome the devil's power and cunning, and if he should appear again tonight, Lord, vanquish him so that he flee from the house, so that he cannot harm me. Mary, come to my help now: you who sent a voice to me, bidding me go to the monastery, I entreat you, Lady, by your Child that you send the voice to me a third time.’

Then on the third night she kept watch, and through the power of God a voice came, with a dazzling light, and said: ‘For shame that you have not done as I commanded you, as Mary bade you through me. You may delay too long. Go back to the monastery without fear, and you will find the doors opened wide, so that you can go wherever you choose. You will find your habit still laid out on the altar.’ When the voice had said this, the sinful woman, lying there, could clearly see the light; and she said: ‘I no longer dare doubt that this voice comes from God and is the messenger of the Virgin Mary.

[p. 170]

 

Dat wetic nu sonder hone.

 

Si comt met lichte soo scone:

 

Nu en willies niet laten,

 

Ic wille mi inden clooster maken,

 

Ic saelt ooc doen in goeder trouwen

 

Opten troost van onser vrouwen,

 

Ende wille mijn kinder beide gader

 

Bevelen Gode onsen Vader.

 

Hi salse wel bewaren.’

 

Doen tooch si ute al sonder sparen

 

Haer cleder, daer sise met decte

 

Heymelike, dat sise niet en wecte.

 

Si cussese beide aen haren mont.

 

Si seide: ‘kinder, blijft ghesont.

 

Op den troost van onser vrouwen

 

Latic u hier in goeder trouwen,

 

En hadde mi Maria niet verbeden,

 

Ic en hadde u niet begheven

 

Om al tgoet, dat Rome heeft binnen.’

 

Hoort, wes si sal beghinnen.

 

 

 

Nu gaet si met groten weene

 

Ten clooster waert, moeder eene.

 

Doen si quam inden vergiere,

 

Vant si die dore ontsloten sciere.

 

Si ghincker in sonder wanc:

 

‘Maria, hebbes danc,

 

Ic ben comen binnen mure;

 

God gheve mi goede aventure!’

 

Waer si quam, vant si die dore

 

Al wide open ieghen hore.

 

In die kerke si doe trac;

 

Heymelike si doe sprac:

 

‘God here, ic bidde u met vlite,

[p. 171]

Now I know that without any fear of deceit, because it comes accompanied by this lovely light. Now I shall no longer delay, but make my way to the monastery; and I shall do this in good faith, trusting to our Lady, and I shall commend my two children to God our Father, and He will take good care of them.’ Then she took off all her clothing, and quietly covered her children with it, so that they did not wake. She kissed them both on the lips, and she said: ‘Children, farewell. I leave you here in good faith, trusting in our Lady. Had Mary not ordered me to do this, I would not have forsaken you for all the wealth in Rome.’ Listen to what happened to her next.

This mother bereft of her children makes her way to the monastery weeping greatly, and when she entered the orchard she found the door wide open. She entered without fear, saying: ‘Mary, thanks be to you that I am inside the wall. God give me good speed!’ As she went on, she found all the doors wide open to greet her, and when she entered the church, she whispered: ‘Lord God, I greatly entreat You

[p. 172]

 

Hulpt mi weder im minen abite,

 

Dat ic over .XIIIJ. iaer

 

Liet ligghen op onser vrouwen outaer,

 

Snachs, doen ic danen stiet!’

 

Dit en es gheloghen niet,

 

Ic segt u sonder ghile:

 

Scone, covele ende wile

 

Vant si ter selver stede weder,

 

Daer sijt hadde gheleit neder.

 

Si treact an haestelike

 

Ende seide: ‘God van hemelrike

 

Ende Maria, maghet fijn,

 

Ghebenedijt moetti sijn!

 

Ghi sijt alre doghet bloeme!

 

In uwen reine magedoeme

 

Droeghedi een kint sonder wee,

 

Dat here sal bliven emmermee;

 

Ghi sijt een uut vercoren werde,

 

U kint maecte hemel ende erde.

 

Deze ghewelt comt u van Gode

 

Ende staet altoos tuwen ghebode.

 

Den here, die ons broeder

 

Moghedi ghebieden als moeder

 

Ende hi u heten lieve dochter.

 

Hier omme levic vele te sochter.

 

Wie aen u soect ghenade,

 

Hi vintse, al comt hi spade.

 

U hulpe die es al te groot;

 

Al hebbic vernoy ende noot,

 

Hets bi u ghewandelt soo,

 

Dat ic nu mach wesen vroo.

 

Met rechte maghic u benediën!’

 

Die slotele vander sacristiën

 

Sach si hanghen, in ware dine,

[p. 173]

to help me to regain my habit, which fourteen years ago I lying on our Lady's altar, on the night when I ran away from here!’ What I tell you is no lie or deception: shoes, cowl and veil she found in the very same place as she had once laid them down. Quickly she put them on, and said: ‘God of Heaven, and Mary, sweet Virgin, blessed may You be. Mary, flower of every virtue, in your pure virginity you bore a child with no pain, who shall be Lord for evermore; you are a treasure beyond price, for your Child created heaven and earth. This power comes to you from God, and is always ready at your command. That Lord who became our brother you can command as a mother, and He can call you His dear daughter. This is my consolation, for whoever asks compassion from you will find it, however late he comes. Your help is very great indeed, for whatever distress and need I was in, you have so transformed it that now I can rejoice and truly I may bless you.’ Her sacristan's key she saw hanging, truly,

[p. 174]

 

Vor Mariën, daer sise hinc.

 

Die slotele hinc si aen hare

 

Ende ghinc ten core, daersi clare

 

Lampten sach herren in allen hoeken.

 

Daer na ghinc si ten boeken

 

Ende leide elc op sine stde,

 

Alsi dicke te voren dede,

 

Ende si bat der maghet Mariën,

 

Dat sise van evele moeste vriën

 

Ende haer kinder, die si liet

 

Ter weduwen huus in zwaer verdriet.

 

Binnen dien was die nacht ghegaen,

 

Dat dorloy begonste te slaen,

 

Daermen middernacht bi kinde.

 

Si nam cloczeel biden inde

 

Ende luude metten so wel te tiden,

 

Dat sijt hoorden in allen ziden.

 

Die boven opten dormter laghen,

 

Die quam[en] alle sonder traghen

 

Vanden dormter ghemene.

 

Sine wisten hier af groot no clene.

 

Si bleef inden clooster haren tijt,

 

Sonder lach ter ende verwijt:

 

Maria hadde ghedient voor hare,

 

Ghelijc oft sijt selve ware.

 

Dus was die sonderse bekeert,

 

Maria te love, die men eert,

 

Der maghet van hemelrike,

 

Die altoos ghetrouwelike

 

Haren vrient staet in staden,

 

Alsi in node sijn verladen.

 

 

 

Dese ioffrouwe, daer ic af las,

 

Es nonne alsi te voren was.

[p. 175]

before Mary's image where she had hung it, and she went into the choir, where she saw bright lamps burning in every corner. Then she went for the books and laid each one in its place, as she often had done before, and she prayed the Virgin Mary that she might be made free of all evil, and her children also, whom she had left with a heavy heart at the widow's house. In the meantime, the night had advanced, so that the clock began to strike, to announce to men that it was midnight, and she grasped the end of the bell-rope and rang for office so well that they heard it everywhere, and those who were asleep upstairs in the dormitory all came down together without delay. No one, great or small, knew anything about this. So she was able to live her days in the monastery without scorn or reproof. Mary had served for her, just as if she were Beatrice herself; and in this way was this sinful woman converted, to the glory of Mary, to whom men pay honour, the Virgin of Heaven, who always faithfully comes to the aid of her friends when they are brought into distress.

So this young woman of whom I have been telling you became a nun again as she was before;

[p. 176]

 

Nu en willic vergheren niet

 

Haer twee kindere, die si liet

 

Ter weduwen huus in groter noot.

 

Si en hadden ghelt noch broot.

 

In can u niet vergronden,

 

Doen si haer moeder niet en vonden,

 

Wat groter rouwe datsi dreven.

 

Die weduwe ghincker sitten neven:

 

Si hadder op ontfermenisse.

 

Si seide: ‘ic wille toter abdisse

 

Gaen met desen .ij. kinden.

 

God sal hare int herte sinden,

 

Dat si hen goet sal doen.’

 

Si deden ane cleder ende scoen,

 

Si ghincker met in co vent;

 

Si seide: ‘vrouwe, nu bekent

 

Den noot van desen tween wesen:

 

Die moeder heefse met vresen

 

Te nacht in mijn huus g[h]elaten

 

Ende es ghegaen hare straten,

 

Ic en weet, west noch oost.

 

Dus sijn die kinder onghetroost.

 

Ic hulpe hen gheerne, wistic hoe.’

 

De abdisse spracker toe:

 

‘Houtse wel, ic saelt u lonen,

 

Dat ghijs u niet en selt becronen,

 

Na dat si u sijn ghelaten.

 

Men gheve hen der caritaten

 

Elcs daghes, om Gode.

 

Sint hier daghelijcs enen bode,

 

Die hen drincken hale ende eten.

 

Gheberst hen yet, laet mi weten.’

 

Die weduwe was vroo,

 

Dat haer comen was alsoo.

[p. 177]

nor will I forget to tell you what happened to her two children, whom she left behind her in great need in the widow's house, with neither money nor food. I cannot describe to you their sorrow when they could not find their mother. The widow went to sit beside them, and she was filled with pity for them, and she said: ‘I shall go to the abbess with these two children, and God will move her heart to be kind to them.’ She put on their clothes and shoes and went with them to the convent, and she said: ‘My lady, see now the destitution of these two poor creatures, terrified because their mother left them last night in my house. She has made off, I do not know whether to east or west, leaving the children desolate, and I should be glad to help them if I knew how.’ The abbess said to her: ‘Take good care of them and I shall reward you, so that you have no reason to regret that they have been left with you. Every day we shall give them our alms for the love of God. Send a messenger here daily to fetch food and drink for them, and if they need anything, let me know of it.’ The widow was glad that things had happened so,

[p. 178]

 

Si nam die kinder met hare

 

Ende hadder toe goede ware.

 

Die moeder, diese hadde ghesoghet

 

Ende pine daerom ghedooghet,

 

Haer was wel te moede,

 

Doen sise wiste in goeder hoede,

 

Haer kinder, die si begaf

 

In groter noot ende ghinc af.

 

Sine hadde vaer no hinder

 

Voort meer om hare kinder.

 

Si leide vort een heylech leven;

 

Menech suchten ende beven

 

Hadsi nacht ende dach,

 

Want haer die rouwe int herte lach

 

Van haren quaden sonden,

 

Di si niet en dorste vermonden

 

Ghenen mensche, no ontdecken,

 

Noo in dichten ooc vertrecken.

 

 

 

Hier na quam op enen dach

 

Een abt, diese te visenteerne plach

 

Eenwerven binnen den iare,

 

Om te vernemen oft daer ware

 

Enech lachterlike gherochte,

 

Daersi blame af hebben mochte[n].

 

Sdaghes als hire comen was,

 

Lach die sonderse ende las

 

Inden coor haer ghebet,

 

In groter twivelingen met.

 

Die duvel becorese metter scame,

 

Dat si haer sondelike blame

 

Vore den abt niet en soude bringhen.

 

Alsi lach inder bedinghen,

 

Sach si, hoe dat neven haer leet

[p. 179]

and she took the children away with her, and took good care of them. The mother who had suckled them and suffered great sorrow on their account was glad when she learned that they were being well looked after, these children of hers whom she had left in great need and abandoned. She had no further fear or anxieties about her children, and she led a holy life, often sobbing and trembling, both night and day, when her heart was visited by contrition for her wicked sins, which she did not dare to tell or reveal to anyone, or to put down in writing.

Then, upon a certain day, there came an abbot, who was accustomed to visit the monostery once a year, to inquire whether there were any reprehensible rumours for which they might be to blame. On the day of his arrival, this sinful woman was kneeling in the choir and saying her prayers in great doubt. The devil was tempting her not to reveal her sinful guilt to the abbot for fear of shame. As she knelt and pondered, she saw

[p. 180]

 

Een ionghelinc, met witten ghecleet

 

Hi droech in sinen arm al bloot

 

Een kint, dat dochte haer doot.

 

Die ionghelinc warp op ende neder

 

Enen appel ende vinken weder

 

Voor tkint, ende maccte spel.

 

Dit versach die nonne wel,

 

Daersi in haer ghebede lach.

 

Si seiden: ‘vrient, oft wesen mach,

 

Ende of ghi co men sijt van Gode,

 

Soo manie u bi sine ghebode,

 

Dat ghi mi segt ende niet en heelt,

 

Waerom ghi voor dat kint speelt

 

Metten sconen appel root,

 

Ende het leet in uwen arm doot?

 

U spel en helpt hem niet een haer.’

 

‘Seker, nonne, ghi segt waer:

 

En weet niet van minen spele

 

Weder luttel no vele,

 

Hets doot, en hoort no en siet.

 

Al des ghelike en weet God niet,

 

Dat ghi leest ende vast:

 

Dat en helpt u niet een bast;

 

Hets al verloren pine,

 

Dat ghi neemt discipline:

 

Ghi sijt in sonden soo versmoort,

 

Dat God u beden niet en hoort

 

Boven in sijn rike.

 

Ic rade u: haestelike

 

Gaet ten abt, uwen vader,

 

Ende verteelt hem algader

 

U sonden, al sonder lieghen.

 

Laet u den duvel niet bedrieghen.

 

Die abt sal u absolveren

[p. 181]

a young man dressed in white advancing towards her, and on his arm he carried a naked child, which seemed to her to be dead. The young man threw an apple up in front of the child and caught it again to amuse it. The nun, kneeling at prayer, saw this clearly, and she said: ‘Friend, if it may be that you have come from God, I admonish you by your obedience to Him that you tell me without concealment why you are playing with that fine red apple in front of the child, when it is lying dead on your arm? There is nothing you can do for it by playing with it.’ ‘Certainly, nun, what you say is true. The child does not know anything about my play: it is dead, and can neither hear nor see. And in just the same way, God does not know about your prayers and fastings, and they do not help you in the least, and all your pains are wasted when you scourge yourself, for you are so overwhelmed by sin that God up in His realm does not hear your prayers. I counsel you to go quickly to the abbot, your spiritual father, and tell him the whole of your sins without any lies. Do not let the devil hoodwink you.

[p. 182]

 

Vanden sonden, die u deren.

 

Eest, dat ghise niet wilt spreken,

 

God salse zwaerlike an u werken!’

 

Die ionghelinc ghinc ute haer oghen;

 

Hine wilde haer nemmeer vertoghen.

 

Dat hi seide, heeft si verstaen.

 

morghens ghinc si alsoo saen

 

Ten abt ende bat, dat hi hoorde

 

Haer biechte van worde te worde.

 

Die abt was vroet van sinne.

 

Hi seide: ‘dochter, lieve minne,

 

Des en willic laten niet,

 

Bepeinst u wel ende besiet

 

Volcomelijc van uwen sonden.’

 

Ende si ghinc ten selven stonden

 

Den heyleghen abt sitten neven

 

Ende ontdecten hem al haer leven,

 

Ende haer vite van beghinne:

 

Hoe si met ere dulre minne

 

Becort was soo uter maten,

 

Dat si moeste ligghen laten

 

Haer abijt met groten vare

 

Eens snachts op onser vrouwen outare,

 

Ende rumede den clooster met enen man,

 

Die twee kindere aen hare wan.

 

Al dat haer ye was ghesciet,

 

Dies ne liet si achter niet;

 

Wat si wiste in haer herte gront,

 

Maecte si den abt al cont.

 

Doen si ghebiecht hadde algader,

 

Sprac dabt, die heyleghe vader:

 

‘Dochter, ic sal u absolveren

 

Vanden sonden, die u deren,

 

Die ghi ji nu hebt ghelijt.

[p. 183]

If you do wish to speak now, God will take a heavy vengeance on you.’ The young man vanished from her sight, nor did he ever appear to her again, but she understood what he had said, and first thing in the morning she went to the abbot and begged him to hear her out while she made her confession. The abbot was a prudent man; and he said: ‘My dear daughter, let me hear you without delay. Reflect well and consider what have been all your sins.’ And straightway she went to sit near the holy abbot, and she told him her whole life and story from the beginning: how the madness of love tempted her so excessively that one night, in great fear, she had abandoned her habit upon the altar of our Lady, and had fled from the monastery with a man, who had begotten two children upon her. She did not conceal anything which had ever happened to her, and she told the abbot everything which was in the depths of her heart. When she had made a full confession, this holy old man the abbot said: ‘Daugter, I shall absolve you from the sins which have been afflicting you and which you have reavealed to me.

[p. 184]

 

Ghelooft ende ghebenedijt

 

Moet die moeder Gods wesen;’

 

Hi leide haer op thooft met desen

 

Die hant ende gaf haar perdoen.

 

Hi seide: ‘ic sal in een sermoen

 

U biechte openbare seggen

 

Ende die soo wiselike beleggen,

 

Dat ghi ende u kinder mede

 

Nemmermeer, te ghere stede,

 

Ghenen lachter en selt ghecrigen.

 

Het ware onrecht, soudement swigen,

 

Die scone miracle, die ons here

 

Dede door siere moeder ere.

 

Ic saelt orconden over al.

 

Ic hope, datter noch bi sal

 

Menech sondare bekeren

 

Ende onser liever vrouwen eren.

 

 

 

Hi deet verstaen den covende,

 

Eer hi thuus weder wende,

 

Hoe ere nonnen was ghesciet;

 

Maer sine wisten niet,

 

Wie sie was, het bleef verholen.

 

Die abt voer Gode volen.

 

Der nonnen kinder nam hi beide

 

Ende vorese in sijn gheleide.

 

Grau abijt dedi hen an

 

Ende si worden twee goede man.

 

Haer moeder hiet Beatrijs.

 

Loof God ende prijs

 

Ende Maria, die Gode soghede,

 

Ende dese scone miracle toghede!

 

Si halp haer uut alre noot.

 

Nu bidden wi alle, aleine ende groot,

[p. 185]

Praised and blessed be the Mother of God!’ With these words he laid his hand upon her head and gave her absolution; and he said: ‘I shall preach a sermon and reveal what you have told me in confession, but I shall disguise it so skilfully that neither you nor your children will ever suffer scorn. It would not be right to conceal in silence this fair miracle which our Lord has performed to the honour of His mother. I shall make it known everywhere, and I hope that it will serve to convert many sinners and to promote the honour of our blessed Lady.’

He made known to the convent before he returned home what had happened to one of their nuns, but none of them knew who she was, for that remained a secret. The abbot did as God commanded him, and took both the children of the nun into his protection. He clothed them both in the grey habit, and they became two good men. Their mother was called Beatrice. Praise and honour be to God, and to Mary, who suckled God and achieved this lovely miracle! She helped Beatrice in all her need, and now let us all, small and great,

[p. 186]

 

Die dese miracle horen lesen,

 

Dat Maria moet wesen

 

Ons vorsprake int soete dal,

 

Daer God die werelt doemen sal.

Amen.

[p. 187]

who listen to this miracle, pray that Mary be our intercessor in that fertile valley where God shall judge the world. Amen