This first section of the book, therefore, is made up of accounts of apparitions of the dead written by monks and churchmen from the sixth to the thirteenth centuries. It can be argued that in these stories are to be found details and embellishments which indicate that, beneath the ecclesiastical gloss, an older narrative pattern was operating. In Gregory the Great’s accounts of imploring spirits beside the clear waters of the public baths can be found perhaps an echo of pre-Christian classical beliefs. Thietmar of Merseburg’s story of the vengeful dead killing a priest in a ruined church might have come from a Scandinavian saga about marauding revenants. Rodulfus Glaber’s description of an army of wraiths moving across the Burgundian landscape has a resonance of the Wild Hunt folktales of the Germanic people (stories which, as we shall see in Part Two, were perhaps to surface later in twelfth-century accounts of Hellequin’s Hunt and the retinue of King Herla). Above all, in the fundamental narrative motif of many of these monastic ghost stories, where the apparition of a dead person implores the help of the living in order to mitigate and lessen its suffering in the afterlife, there is a strong resemblance to the classical belief in the importance of appropriate ceremonial conduct by the living which might ease the passage of the departed: suffrage endowments or funerary rites – if these are omitted, the dead spirits will remain unappeased, and their ghosts will walk.
* * *
1. St Augustine, ‘De Cura pro Mortuis Gerenda’ (‘On the care to be taken when dealing with the dead’); Patrologiae Cursus Completus, Series Latina, ed. J.-P. Migne, XL, col. 607.
2. For a summary of St Augustine’s views on the illusory nature of visions of the dead, see C. Lecouteux, Fantômes et Revenants au Moyen Age, Paris 1996, pp. 53–4.
3. See J. Le Goff, La Naissance du Purgatoire, Paris 1981.
4. See J.-C. Schmitt, Ghosts in the Middle Ages: The Living and the Dead in Medieval Society, Chicago 1998, pp. 71–8.
The ‘Dialogues’ of Gregory the Great
The Dialogi of Gregory the Great, who was Pope from 590 to 604, was one of the most influential works of the early Middle Ages. It was written in the form of an instructive conversation with a junior colleague, and its purpose seems to have been to collect tales about the lives of the early saints which would be of benefit to the literate clergy. They were urged to emulate the moral examples it contained and to use them for the general edification of the faithful. Book IV of the work, however, is concerned less with the saints’ lives than with the souls of ordinary Christians, and it is in this book that two early examples are to be found which describe apparitions of the deceased to the living. The two stories are significant, and probably influential in terms of the later development of the Miracula strand of medieval ghost story, in that they are not hagiographic accounts of saintly episodes but stories which use the extraordinary – the appearance after their death of ordinary people – to uphold and exemplify theological or moral points which the writer wishes to emphasise. In the first story, the spirit of Paschasius the Deacon explains that he is being required to labour after death at the public baths so as to purge the minor sin of his support for a schismatic candidate for the papacy. In the second story the spirit of a former administrator of the public baths explains why it continues to frequent (in effect, to ‘haunt’, albeit in a non-threatening fashion) a place familiar to it in life. The common motif of the public baths as the scene to which the spirits of the Christian dead are attached might well be an extension of the belief in the classical world that sources of fresh water were numinous places, frequented by minor deities.
The Spirit of Paschasius the Deacon
Book IV, Chap. XL
When I was younger, and still lived a secular life, I heard from the older people about Paschasius, a deacon of the Roman church (whose sound and eloquent books of the Holy Ghost are still available to us). They said that he was a man who led a remarkably holy life. He was a marvellous giver of alms, a lover of the poor, and he did not hold himself in any high regard. During the heated dispute which, because of the emulation among the clergy, broke out between Symachus and Lawrence, Paschasius the Deacon supported Lawrence in his desire to be bishop of Rome; and although this candidate was afterwards ruled out by common consent, nevertheless Paschasius continued in his former opinion until his dying day. In other words, he persisted in loving and preferring him whom the Church, by the judgment of bishops, refused for her governor.
A long time afterwards, Germanus, the bishop of Capua, went on the advice of his physicians to the public baths to recover his health. Entering the baths, he found Paschasius standing in the hot waters as though ready to do him service and attend upon him. Although Germanus was greatly afraid, he demanded what so worthy a man was doing in that place. Paschasius replied: ‘The only reason I am appointed to this place of punishment is that I took part with Lawrence against Symmachus. Therefore I implore you to pray unto the Lord for me. You will know that your prayers have been heard, if, when you come back, I am no longer here.’
Upon this, the holy man Germanus began to offer devout prayers as requested. And after a few days he went again to the same baths, and found that Paschasius was no longer there. Seeing that his fault proceeded not from malice but from ignorance, it is likely that after death he was swiftly purged of his sin. And we must also assume that the plentiful alms which he bestowed in this life obtained favour at God’s hands, so that he might then deserve pardon, when he could work nothing at all for himself …
The Bathkeeper
Book IV, Chap. LV
Bishop Felix passed on a story which was told to him by a virtuous priest who died two years ago, who before his death was pastor of the church of St John in the place called Tauriana. The priest told him that he often used to go and wash his body in a certain place where there were hot waters. On one occasion he met there a man whom he did not know who was ready to do him service – that is, to help him pull off his shoes, hold his clothes, and to attend upon him in all dutiful manner.
And when he had done this a number of times, the priest began to wonder how he might show his gratitude for such service by taking a present to the man. So he took with him two eucharistic loaves, and when he arrived he found the man waiting, and accepted his help as usual. When he had washed himself, put on his clothes, and was ready to depart, the priest offered the holy reward which he had brought, desiring the man to take in all goodwill the present which he had charitably brought. But then with a sad countenance the man said to the priest: ‘Why did you give me these, father? This is holy bread, and I cannot eat it. For I, whom you see here, was once the overseer of these baths, and am now after my death appointed for my sins to this place. But if you wish to please me, offer this bread unto Almighty God, and be an intercessor for my sins. And by this shall you know that your prayers have been heard, if when you come again you find me not here.’ And as he was speaking, he suddenly vanished; so that, although he had previously seemed to be a man, he showed by his manner of departure that he was a spirit.
All the following week the good priest prayed fervently for him, and daily offered up the holy sacrifice which the man had requested. Afterwards, returning to the baths, he found that he was no longer there. From this we can see what great profit the souls of the deceased receive by the sacrifice of the holy oblation, seeing the spirits of those that are dead desire it of the living, and even give certain tokens to let us understand how in this way they have received absolution …
Source: Adapted from translations in The Dialogues of St Gregory, ed. and trans. E.G. Gardner, London 1911, pp. 234–5 and 248–50.
Bede’s ‘Ecclesiastical History of the English People’
The Venerable Bede (672/3–735), a monk at the monastery of Jarrow in Northumbria, finished his Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum in 731. It was concerned with the development of Christianity in England from the arrival of the missionary St Augustine in Kent in 597 to Bede’s own day. The work was widely read all over Europe, and its general
approach, by which it recounted the story of a people in parallel with the ecclesiastical events which bore upon their social and ethnic history, was emulated by later chroniclers and historians. The work contains only a few accounts of apparitions of the dead to the living, and these tend to follow the hagiographic model of earlier saints’ lives, whereby the spirits of the dead are emissaries from heaven, sent to convey the divine will to the living. Thus, in the first of the stories which follow, the nun Tortgith, whom Bede describes as having suffered from sickness for many years, has a vision which she links with the death of her abbess Ethelberga. When, three years later, Tortgith is herself close to death, Ethelberga appears to her, and the spirit of the dead abbess and the dying nun negotiate the exact timing of Tortgith’s release from her painful existence. In the second story, the spirit of the dead monk Boisil takes a keen interest in the itinerary of a missionary expedition, insisting through an intermediary that the preacher Egbert should go to ‘the monasteries of Columba’ in Ireland rather than to Germany. Perhaps significantly, the returning spirits in both stories are presented as having been, during their lifetime, the administrative superiors of those to whom they appear.
The Visions of Tortgith
Book IV, Chap. IX
Going out of her chamber one night, just at the first dawn of the day, Tortgith plainly saw as it were a human body, which was brighter than the sun, wrapped up in a sheet and lifted up on high, being taken out of the house in which the sisters used to reside. Then looking earnestly to see what it was that drew the glorious body which she beheld, she perceived it was drawn up as though by cords brighter than gold, until, entering into the open heavens, it could no longer be seen by her. Reflecting on this vision, she had no doubt that one of the community would soon die, and her soul would be lifted up to heaven by her good works as though by golden cords. Which accordingly happened, for a few days afterwards the beloved of God, Ethelberga, mother of the community, was delivered out of the prison of the flesh; and her life is known to have been such that no person who knew her should question whether the heavenly kingdom was open to her, when she departed from this world …
… Three years after the death of this lady, Tortgith was so far spent with the distemper that her bones would scarcely hang together; and at last, when the time of her dissolution was at hand, she not only lost the use of her other limbs, but also of her tongue. Having continued in this state for three days and nights, she was suddenly relieved by a spiritual vision, and opening her mouth and eyes, she looked up to heaven and spoke directly to the vision which she saw: ‘Your coming is very acceptable to me, and you are welcome!’ Then she was silent for a while, as though waiting for the answer of the person she saw and spoke to. Then she said: ‘I am not at all pleased with this.’ Then after another pause she said again: ‘If it cannot be today, I beg the delay may not be long.’ And again holding her peace for a short while, she concluded: ‘If it is positively decreed, and the resolution cannot be altered, I beg that it may be deferred no longer than this next night.’ When she was asked by those about her to whom she talked, she said: ‘To my most dear mother Ethelberga.’ By which they understood that Ethelberga had come to acquaint Tortgith that the time of her departure was at hand. And indeed, after a day and night she was delivered from the bonds and infirmity of the flesh, and entered into the joys of eternal salvation …
The Mission to Germany
Book V, Chap. IX
When all things were provided for the voyage, there came to Egbert one morning one of the brethren, who had formerly been disciple and minister in Britain to the beloved priest of God Boisil, when the latter was superior of the monastery of Melrose. This brother told him the vision which he had seen that night. ‘When after the morning hymns, I lay down on my bed, and had fallen asleep, my former master and loving tutor Boisil appeared to me and asked whether I knew him. I said: “I do. You are Boisil.” He answered: “I have come to bring Egbert a message from our Lord and Saviour, which nevertheless must be delivered to him by you. Tell him that he cannot perform the journey he has undertaken; for it is the will of God that he should rather go to instruct the monasteries of Columba …’’ ’
… Egbert, having heard the vision, ordered the brother not to mention it to anyone else, in case it should happen to be an illusion. However, when he thought more deeply about it, he apprehended that it was real; but even so he would not desist from preparing for his voyage to instruct those nations. A few days afterwards, the brother came to him again, saying that Boisil had that night again appeared to him after matins, and said: ‘Why did you pass on my message to Egbert in such a half-hearted manner? Go now and tell him that, whether he likes it or not, he shall go to Columba’s monasteries, because they do not plough a straight furrow, and he is to bring them back to the right way.’ Hearing this, Egbert again commanded the brother not to reveal it to any person. Though now assured of the vision, he nevertheless attempted to undertake his intended voyage with the brethren. When they had put aboard all that was required for so long a voyage, and had waited some days for a fair wind, there arose one night such a sudden and violent storm that the ship was run aground and part of what had been put aboard was spoiled. However, all that belonged to Egbert and his companions was saved. Then he said to himself: ‘This tempest has happened on my account,’ and he laid aside the undertaking and stayed at home …
Source: Adapted from translations in Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, ed. and trans. J.A. Giles, London 1903, pp. 187–8 and 248–9. An edition of the Ecclesiastical History, ed. and trans. J. Mclure and R. Collins, was published by the Oxford University Press in 1994.
The Chronicle of Thietmar of Merseburg
The Saxon bishop Thietmar of Merseburg (975–1018) was one of the principal historians of the Holy Roman Empire. His Chronicon was written between 1009 and 1018, and Book I, from which the following extracts are taken, gives an account of the expansion of Germanic power into the Slav lands of Mecklenburg and Pomerania, providing a frontier history as it records the ebb and flow of the possession of these territories under Christian and non-Christian rule. As a frontier churchman, Thietmar was concerned to refute what he maintained was the Slav belief that ‘everything finishes at the point of mortal death’, and to uphold and prove Christian belief in the existence of life after death. The stories that follow have as their core feature a notion of the spirits of the deceased forming a kind of parallel society to the living, even if in the defence of their territory the dead do not always behave in the spiritually uplifting manner of spirits in some other accounts of Miracula. The burning to death of the hapless priest of Deventer in the second story is the obvious example, and this account of the cruel behaviour of the deceased may have been influenced by ideas of the vengeful dead persisting from pre-Christian Germanic and Scandinavian society (see Part Three). The stories also have a strong millennial undercurrent, reflecting perhaps the readiness of Thietmar’s generation, whose lives bridged the tenth and eleventh centuries (and who therefore had to brace themselves for the approach of the year 1000) to accord significance to such perturbations of the natural order as the gathering of ghostly spirits or an outbreak of unearthly sounds to indicate the imminence of death.
The Ghostly Gatherings
Book I, Chap. VII
So that none of the faithful in Christ should doubt the future resurrection of the dead, but should eagerly desire the joys of blessed immortality, I will recount what I have discovered happened in the town of Walsleben after it was rebuilt following its destruction by the Slavs. The priest of the church was in the habit of going at dawn to sing matins in the church, but one day, passing the cemetery, he saw a great multitude offering prayers at the entrance to the holy chapel. Standing his ground, he prepared himself by making the sign of the holy cross, and then made his way apprehensively through the crowd. But then a woman whom he recognised, who had just departed this life, came forward and asked him what he wanted. When she had
been informed by him why he had come, she told him they had prepared everything and made ready for his imminent departure from life. According to the story as told locally, this prediction was shortly afterwards fulfilled by the priest’s death.
Indeed, during my own time of residence at Magdeburg, according to what I have been told by reliable witnesses, the custodians in the merchants’ church saw and heard happenings which were consistent with what I have already recorded. Standing some way from the cemetery one evening they saw lights placed upon the candelabra and at the same time heard two male voices singing the invitatory and morning lauds in the usual fashion. When they went to investigate, however, they heard and saw nothing at all …
The Domain of the Dead
Book I, Chap. VII
After I was told of this occurrence, I related it to my niece Brigid, the abbess of the monastery of Saint Laurent, who at the time was ill in bed. She was not at all surprised, and went on to tell me the following story about Bishop Baudry, who at one time was in charge of the see of Utrecht. The bishop arranged for the church at Deventer to be renovated and re-consecrated after its destruction [by the Slavs], and a priest was placed in charge. Early one morning the priest saw dead people inside the church celebrating mass and heard them singing psalms. When he told Bishop Baudry what had happened, he was ordered to sleep inside the church; whereupon the next night the priest, and even the bed on which he was resting, were thrown out of the church by the dead people. Thoroughly shaken, the priest went back to the bishop, who ordered him to equip himself with holy relics and sprinkle holy water around. On no account was he to leave the church which was in his charge. Obedient but fearful, the priest lay awake inside the church the next night until the dead, coming at the usual time, lifted him up and placed him on the altar. Then they killed him by kindling a fire and holding his body in the flames and embers. When the bishop heard this, he ordered that a penitential fast should be held for three days to obtain succour for the priest’s soul.
Medieval Ghost Stories Page 2