d not live
in the same house with them for in one of his letters he laments the
fact. His letters and verses addressed to the two women throw a strong
light on the friendship, and real affection which existed among the
three friends. He says that he will work day and night for Rhadagund,
draw the water, tend the vines and the garden, cook, wash dishes,
anything, rather than that she should do the heavy and menial work of
the house. He begs the abbess Agnes to talk often of him with the
sisters that he may feel more really that she is his mother. He sends
gifts of flowers for their sanctuary, and baskets which he has plaited;
and with a basket of violets he sends the following charming verses.[12]
(I give a translation which must necessarily be inadequate.)

"If the season had yielded me white lilies, according to its wont, or
red roses with sweet smelling savour, I had plucked them from the
countryside, or from the turf of my little garden, and had sent them,
small gifts for great ladies! But since I lack the first, I e'en pay the
second, for he presents roses in the eyes of love, who offers only
violets. Yet, these violets I send are, among perfumed herbs, of noble
stock, and with equal grace breathe in their royal purple, while
fragrance with beauty vies to steep their petals. May you, likewise,
both have each charm that these possess, and may the perfume of your
future reward be a glory that blooms everlastingly."

The nuns of Ste. Croix, too, seem not to have been lacking in
generosity. Fortunatus frequently thanks them for gifts of eggs, fruit,
milk, etc.; and on one occasion he receives more dishes than one servant
could carry. He must have stood in some official relation to Rhadagund,
for such freedom of intercourse to be possible; and if his verses
sometimes suggest the courtier rather than the monk, it must be
remembered that they are the work of a poet who had first been a friend
of princes and was among the most fashionable men of letters of his day
in Ravenna; and that they are addressed to a woman who was, after all, a
queen.

In 587 Rhadagund died and Bishop Gregory of Tours tells how greatly she
was mourned by the whole community, and how some 200 women crowded round
her bier, bewailing their loss. One of them, the nun Baudonivia, several
years afterwards, cannot, she says, even speak of the death of Rhadagund
without being choked with sobs.[13]

It will be seen from these examples, that in all probab