Women We Should Know and Honor: Clotilda, Bertha, and Balthild: Three Women of the Early Medieval Church

Wonderful, thank you. Well, it is our privilege today to have Kevin Hoffman with us to leaven

this series by throwing in some seeds from the early Middle Ages. And even though I have

heard of these women, you could torture me on the rack and I probably couldn't supply

a whole lot. So I am very much looking forward to this. Kevin is a fifth year, you'd think

sixth year given all the knowledge he has, but fifth year PhD student here in history.

And he with his wife has been part of the fellows program too at Rivendell. So glad to have him

here. You will very much enjoy this as I will. We're going to tag team today. So Kevin's going

to begin and cover three women, and then I will bring up the caboose with another profile

or two, depending upon our time. But please, Kevin, take your time and come on and inform

us about some women we should know. Good morning. So last week we were in the world of the Roman

Empire in late antiquity, a world which for all its drawbacks was a more civilized world than the

world which we will be exploring this morning. The world I'm speaking of is the early Middle Ages.

Not only that, we are looking at the earliest of the early Middle Ages. Often called the Dark Ages,

I hope to shine a couple of spotlights on some women whose names are almost certainly unfamiliar

to most of you, perhaps with the exception of John. If there are times where John has to make

heroic leaps and bounds from one source to another to string together a story we can follow, imagine

how some parts of the early Middle Ages make one want to throw their hands up in despair at our lost

and confusing sources. This world is also strange and foreign to us. It has been said that the past is a

foreign country. They do things differently there. Because of our unfamiliarity and the poor survival

of our sources, I will perhaps spend a bit more time on context than in previous weeks. But you might say,

why, if the Dark Ages are so dark, ought we to study them? Well, this period seems to me to be a good one

to investigate for three reasons. First, history is cool and it's my area of research, so you're kind of

stuck with me talking about it. Better get used to it. Second, this period is not well known and is

helpful to explore all the periods of the church. Because the church of the past is the heritage of

the church present. Third, we are in the church formerly known as St. Bonifaces, about whom I would

be happy to talk at some point, but that's for a different discussion. He has a wonderful letter that

he wrote about being a missionary in pagan lands of Europe, essentially saying, it's cold, rainy, dark.

Please send books. He, like these women I am going to talk about, were early medieval Christians.

But to make sense of the world of barbarians, we will need to briefly explore the end of the mighty

Roman Empire. Just before 300, the Roman Empire was split down the middle into two main administrative

regions. Each with two emperors. Right here is the split. Although these divisions were often ignored,

on the whole, the system lasted until the end of the western half of the empire. Due to a series of

civil wars, great power competition to the east, barbarian incursions, plague, climate change, and

collapsing central authority, the western half of the Roman Empire broke apart, while the eastern half

managed to stick around until the 15th century. And finally, by 476, there was no emperor in the west.

There were, however, lots of barbarians in what was Roman territory. Now, I think we have an image in

our mind of barbarians. They probably look a bit like this. They have become quite popular in, well,

pop culture. This is from a recent video game, actually. Big hairy men dressed in dirty furs,

smelling of stale sweat and beer, worshipping pagan gods. Well, some of that might be true. But this

doesn't capture one thing. The barbarians wanted to be Roman. In fact, the office of the commander of all

the Roman armies was often held by a Romanized barbarian. Look at this image. So this guy actually is a

Romanized barbarian. He's the head of all the Roman armies in the end of the fourth century, and he is the

picture of late antique Roman general. Part of that's because the Romans had begun adopting barbarian

styles. He's wearing pants. And partially, the barbarians have adopted a lot of Roman-ness.

But back to barbarians. A major difference between the Romans and these barbarians was their faith.

When the fourth century began, Christianity was not a legal religion. In a little over a decade,

it was a tolerated religion. And by the late fourth century, Christianity was the only legal religion

within the empire. The barbarians, however, were not Christians. When they arrived in contact with

the Romans, they were, without exception, pagan. Once they reached the borders of the empire, they often

converted to Arianism rather than Orthodox Christianity. Now, when I say the name Arian, I don't want you

thinking 1930s and 40s Germany in racial politics. This Arianism doesn't imply anything about race.

It is named after a man called Arius. For those not up on their fourth century church controversies,

Arians believed that the son was created, not begotten. In other words, Christ isn't God in the

same way the father is. This was a major controversy of the fourth century. And now we recognize this as

problematic, as did the church of the period. But if that weren't enough, the issue went deeper than

heresy. Deeper than heresy? How is that possible? Well, Arianism had become not only the religion of

these barbarians, but also a cultural marker. Once religion passes into culture, it becomes almost

impossible to disentangle. To these barbarians, their Arianism was bound up with their German-ness,

and vice versa. They couldn't abandon their German-ness, so too they couldn't abandon their

Arianism. And this is where our story begins. You see where it was divided? That's actually the last

bit of the Western Roman Empire. He dies in exile. We begin our story in what is modern France.

While Southern Europe was ruled mostly by Arian tribes, so these were Arians, these were Arians,

these were Arians, these were Arians, some of these were Arians, these were Arians. Everybody except

these guys and these guys, who were pagans, were Arians. Orthodox Christianity was not a barbarian

religion at this time. The Franks arrive in the north of France over the Rhine River. That's right over

here.

We don't really know much about their early history, but their kings claim to be descended from a sea

monster. I take this to mean he was a pirate, but make of it what you will.

When the Franks enter onto the scene, they had not yet abandoned their old gods, and when they came

into the Roman Empire, they arrived in a world of mainly Christians. Perhaps it is understandable,

but the Romans living in France didn't feel overly inclined to evangelize to the angry-looking,

long-haired kings of the Franks. Remember, hairy barbarians. The Franks began to expand all

throughout France, destroying little kingdom after little kingdom. This doesn't even capture the

number of little, little kingdoms and petty kings that existed at this time.

And eventually, the Franks had expanded to most of France.

But rather than destroy the little kingdom of the Burgundians, the king, Clovis, married a Burgundian

princess named Clotilda. This marriage dramatically altered the course of European history, for you see,

Clotilda was an Orthodox Christian. And by Orthodox, I mean mainly here that she was not an Arian.

As with most individuals in the pre-modern world, we aren't quite sure when Clotilda was born.

Given that she was born at her father's new capital, where he took up residence in 473,

we can guess that she was born sometime after that. So let's say around 474.

Likewise, it isn't really clear how or when she became a Christian. Perhaps it was part of her

father's submission to the dying Roman Empire in 475, two years before the last Roman Emperor was

kicked out. We don't entirely know. What we do know is that in the late 480s and early 490s,

the Burgundian kingdom descended into a civil war between four brothers, and Clotilda's father was

killed by one of his brothers in 493. She fled to a different brother of her father's. A little

confusing, I recognize. Clovis, the king of the Franks, took advantage of the civil war.

In marrying Clotilda in 493, he joined in on this civil war. Clovis thus became a major power player

in the former territories of the Western Roman Empire. But unknown to him, or at least not

understood by him, there was an ongoing war for his soul. Clotilda vigorously sought the conversion

of her husband. Soon after their marriage, their first son was born, and Clovis, perhaps surprisingly,

allowed his son to be baptized into the Catholic faith. Sadly, the son fell ill and passed away soon

afterwards. Clovis, perhaps understandably, blamed Clotilda's god. But he allowed her to have their

second son baptized. Clearly, the conviction of Clotilda was such that it was persuasive to a barbarian

king. And a little grace from God could help her, please. But an intense moment of our story, this

son, the second, also fell ill. But he recovered. The future kings of the Franks would be raised in

their mother's faith, rather than that of their father. But Clotilda was unable to reach her husband

yet. The warrior king continued pushing southwards, doing his warrior thing. In either 496 or 507,

depending on which battle it was, Clovis found himself in a difficult military situation,

and the battle was going poorly. Our historian from the period says that he called on God,

the God of his wife, when the battle was going poorly. And after winning the battle,

he was baptized. Perhaps he was looking for support from the Catholic clergy that still were around in

France. Or perhaps he was hoping that the Eastern Romans

might come and help them against the other barbarian tribes.

Maybe it was actually a true change of heart. We don't know. But this meant that the Frankish

leadership moved from paganism straight to Orthodox Christianity, unlike all the others that went to

Arianism first. We do know that Clovis had Arian family members. And he certainly had pagan family

members. But he didn't turn to them. The faith of Clotilda was his closest tether to Catholicism.

This not only meant that the Franks had Christian leadership, but it made it acceptable to be a

Christian at all levels of society. One king becoming a Christian among many wouldn't have been

significant on its own. But as it happens, the Franks became the most powerful kingdom in Europe,

thereby assuring Christian Orthodoxy would supplant Arianism across all of Europe.

The church hierarchy soon would not be looking east to the Roman Empire, but to France to protect

them from the Arian barbarians. All of this goes back to Clotilda. Moving forward from this point,

it would be Catholic Orthodoxy which spread to the new barbarians. This brings us to our second woman.

Bertha was a Frankish princess, and we know even less about her than we did about, well, Clotilda.

She was the great-granddaughter of Clovis and Clotilda, who was engaged to be married to a barbarian

king from England. Now, in the end of the 6th century, there were somewhere between

seven and ten kingdoms in England, Anglo-Saxon kingdoms in England. That's ignoring all the

British, that is, Celtic-speaking kingdoms. It may come as a bit of a surprise, but it is really hard

to find good maps of places we aren't quite sure of the borders of for a time we aren't entirely certain

of from about 1,500 years ago. The man that Bertha was engaged to was Ethelbert. Great name. Let's bring it back.

The King of Kent down here, right next to France, about as close as you can get.

Now, we don't have any lifetime depictions of him or her. However, this one's pretty close. This is a

depiction of him from, I think, the 8th or 9th century, so a couple hundred years off, but that's as close as we can get sometimes.

However, we do have some depictions or things of lifetime contemporaries. So, I study coins mainly, and this is a wonderful coin.

This is not Ethelbert, but his son, Eadbald, another wonderful name. The Anglo-Saxons could name them.

So, see the legend above his head? Yes, those are, in fact, letters.

Aud, Wald, Re.

Eadbald. Kind of close.

On the next slide,

we see the next-door neighbor to Kent,

the Kingdom of East Anglia.

If you saw the recent movie, The Dig, about the excavation of the Sutton Hoo ship,

this is what the site looked like.

And this is the reconstruction of the helmet found there,

in the boat burial.

Just looking at the helmet and the type of burial,

it's clear that if we are in a Christian world,

it is a Christian world which is very attached to its pagan past.

But in all likelihood,

England was almost entirely pagan.

I think we should be reminding ourselves here

of the hairy barbarian image.

This is perhaps a little surprising,

that England was pagan,

not that barbarians are hairy.

England was part of the Roman Empire,

but when the Roman military left the island in 409,

there were definitely still Christians there.

I'll tell you a story you might know.

There was a British boy,

who was born a little before the Romans left.

He was picked up by slavers and sold in Ireland.

Slavery will be a recurrent theme in this talk,

so keep that in mind.

This boy would escape and find freedom

before going back to Ireland

and becoming their patron saint.

Yes, I am talking of St. Patrick.

The world of Celtic Christianity was alive at this time,

but the Anglo-Saxons seem not to have noticed.

Just like with the Romans in France,

the British were none too keen to evangelize

to their axe-wielding, fur-wearing,

Thor-worshipping barbarian neighbors.

In the coming century,

once Christianity became firmly ensconced in Ireland,

they began sending missionaries to England.

A country which had never been part of the Roman Empire

became Christian before the rest of those regions

that had been a part of the Roman Empire.

But I digress.

Enter Bertha.

You remember the legacy of faith that Clotilda left to her sons?

Bertha was a Christian,

and she insisted that if she were to marry this pagan king,

that she be allowed to worship her god.

Sorry.

That she be allowed to worship her god.

She brought her chaplain with her,

a bishop, Lüthard.

There we go.

Isn't he handsome?

We can see his name right here.

Well, if you can't make Lüthard,

however that's spelled,

out of this word soup,

I can't really blame you.

Yeah.

That's an L.

Looks like an X.

E.

Only has two arms.

U-D-A-R-U-S.

Lüthard.

Oh, there's a D here.

Düs.

E-P-S.

Bishop.

So, yeah.

This isn't a very literate world.

In fact, it's a very, very illiterate world.

But anyways.

Bertha made sure that she had a chapel

in which to worship,

right in Canterbury,

the capital of Kent.

Although, again,

the stubborn husband

refused to acknowledge

his wife was correct.

And it would take another

historical happenstance

for him to be converted.

Over 1,000 miles away in Rome,

Pope Gregory the Great

noticed two boys

being sold as slaves.

It is reported that

when he asked where they were from,

he was told they were Angli.

Angles, English.

His response was,

Non sunt Angli, said Angli.

They aren't Angles.

They're angels.

Presumably, Gregory

wasn't very familiar

with those with blonde hair.

Or perhaps they had

particularly nice voices.

In any case,

it spurred the Pope

to send a mission

to these angels in the north.

Remember,

hairy barbarians.

Gregory sent for a couple of monks

to be apostles to the English.

Augustine of Canterbury,

not his more famous namesake,

who was from North Africa.

This Augustine

led the mission to England.

When they arrived,

you can guess

which kingdom

they set up in.

Yep,

they arrived in Kent

and set up their new church

right next to Bertha's Chapel,

which is the oldest

continuous place

of Christian worship

in England.

Now, I don't doubt

that God could have orchestrated

a favorable reception

even among the pagans.

But surely,

Queen Bertha's faith

made her husband

more naturally inclined

to accept these foreign leave,

that he would have viewed

these foreigners

as representatives

of a foreign power.

Now, it is usually

Gregory the Great

and Augustine

who get credit

for the conversion

of the English,

and on one level,

they do deserve

considerable credit.

But the English

had a bad habit

of civil wars

and one kingdom

taking over another

and missionaries

getting kicked out

repeatedly,

sometimes the same one.

The church

had a beachhead

in England

with Bertha,

and it wasn't going

to be pushed back

across the channel.

Then again,

that doesn't mean

that England

didn't start sending

their own missionaries,

like Boniface,

for whom this church

used to be named.

But some of those missionaries

weren't sent to France

with the intention

of preaching.

With the intention

of preaching,

some of them

arrived in,

like St. Patrick,

as slaves.

A woman named

Baltild arrived

in France

as a slave.

Now,

I said I would

come back to this,

and here seems

like a good place

to do so.

Slavery was common

in the ancient

and medieval worlds.

While it was certainly

the case that the economy

of the early Middle Ages

was not slave-based,

like the ancient world,

at some times

and in some regions,

there were a considerable

number of slaves.

Some have argued

that the slavery

was the basis

of the early medieval economy,

with the barbarian kings

selling what they had

lots of,

people,

in exchange for what

they had none of,

gold,

to North Africa,

the Eastern Roman Empire,

and the Middle East.

Slavery in the ancient world

didn't have the same

racial connotation

it has today.

Typically,

most were prisoners of war

from the next-door

little kingdom.

Another category of slave

were those who were

temporarily,

usually,

sold themselves

into slavery

to receive protection

or to pay off a debt

or a bit of both.

So what was

Baltild's status?

There seems to be

some debate.

The earliest sources

we have

don't mention

her status at all.

But about a century

after her death,

it was said that

she was aristocratic

or royal.

We can't be certain,

but I think there are

good indications

that she was actually

low-born.

Born around 626,

she was sold

into the house

of the most powerful man

in one of the

Frankish kingdoms

after the king.

At some point,

he,

the second most powerful man,

wanted to marry her.

But apparently,

he had competition.

So did the king.

One might immediately

suspect,

aha,

proof that she was royal.

Why else would a king

want to marry her

except to solidify

an alliance?

And there are

other things

that might

indicate that

she was royal.

there you go.

This is a

seal matrix.

So the part

that's inserted

into wax

to create

the image.

These are actually

concave.

So this would have

been pressed into that.

But this was actually

found in England,

not in France.

And again,

this is more literate

than some,

although the A

is in fact upside down,

as is the L,

B,

A,

L,

D,

Balde,

Hildes.

Baldehild.

But the Frankish kings

are a bit odd.

No fewer than

three kings

and perhaps

four married slaves

who then rose

to be queen.

And sometimes,

after the king's death,

ruled in their own name.

A source

about a hundred years

after these events

describes the king

as descending to insanity

before his death

at the age of only 18.

It is possible

that he was considered

unstable

and was thus married

off to a slave.

This happened

in the Frankish world

that feeble-minded kings

were often married

to slaves.

Perhaps they were seen

to be able

to control the king

sufficiently

for the second

most powerful person

to be able

to actually do

the real running

of the country.

But this,

the fact that he dies

or that he descends

into insanity

before he's dying

might imply

that she was just

a run-of-the-mill slave

with no aristocratic background.

With the death

of her husband

and her sons

in minority,

she took sole rulership

of the kingdom

as regent

on behalf of her son.

She had a powerful coalition

backing her,

including the man

who purchased her

and a bishop

named Eligius.

So,

I thought this was

kind of cool.

E-L-I-G-I-L-E-G

of Eligius.

And here's a modern one.

He is a saint,

he is a bishop,

and he was also

the king's monnier

for a period.

That's pretty rare

that we actually know

who the monniers are.

They usually aren't bishops.

He's lowborn.

He's not an aristocrat.

This coalition

that she established

actually was fairly successful.

She had a very successful regency.

And her son

eventually ascended

to the throne,

a success

in times

where assassination

was the norm.

during her time

as regent,

she sent missionaries

to Germany,

fought simony,

the buying or selling

of church offices

in the church,

and founded numerous monasteries

for the preservation

of knowledge.

One scholar

has contended

that she was

the last competent monarch

of the dynasty

that began with Clovis

in the 470s.

This is 130 years later,

the last competent monarch

of this dynasty.

Her husband

is sometimes thought of

as the first of the,

they're called

the Roi Fainel,

meaning the do-nothing kings,

which seems

particularly harsh.

But if that is all

she had done,

been a successful regent,

she would have been

really interesting.

In the 19th century,

jumping many centuries here,

in the Luxembourg gardens

in Paris,

a series of 20 sculptures

of the Queens of France

were commissioned.

Among these,

20,

Baltild is represented.

Why her?

Well,

she might be considered

an abolitionist.

It is perhaps

no coincidence

that the promulgation

of a new decree

ending slavery

in the French colonies

where it remained.

It had already been removed

in some of the colonies

and then added back

during the Napoleonic period.

A promulgation

of a new decree

ending slavery

in the French colonies

where it remained

was from the same year

as the statue.

France had actually been

at the leading end

of abolition

in the modern era,

but also

in the pre-modern.

Baltild made huge reforms

in France,

including making

the purchasing

of slaves illegal.

Much in the way

that the Atlantic slave trade

was made illegal

before the extirpation

of slavery

within the boundaries

of the U.S.,

Baltild could not go

so far as to free slaves

within France.

Her position

was far too precarious

for something

so wide-sweeping.

She promulgated

a law

that made slaves

free upon arrival

in France.

This would be reiterated

in 1315

by a subsequent

French king.

Could her experience

of being a slave

have led to this result?

I think so.

But let's tie up

the story

I've been telling today

in a nice,

neat bow.

Returning to the map

we began with,

maps are great,

we follow the story

of a Burgundian princess.

Here we are.

A Burgundian princess

named Clotilde

who married

the Frankish king.

Brought him

not only to Christ,

but kept the kingdom

of France away

from denying

the divinity of Christ.

That legacy of faith

left by Clotilde

was picked up

by her great-granddaughter,

Bertha,

who married

an English king.

From over here.

Insisting that she

be allowed

to practice her faith

in the pagan land

of England.

When missionaries

were sent from Rome

to England,

they found a home

in this little kingdom

of Kent.

And from there,

Christianity would spread

throughout England.

Decades later,

an English slave

would be sold

into France.

She would become queen

and would begin

the long fight

to extirpate slavery

from Christendom.

Perhaps we don't have

all the details

of the lives

of these women,

but their impact

is clear.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Any questions?

Comments?

Kevin, is there

any evidence

that the abolition

of the slave trade,

I guess purchasing slaves,

do we notice

any sort of effect?

did it,

or is it just,

is it just in,

in legislation

or we're aware

of that

or is there

a way to trace

or pick up

any effects

of this?

So,

on the extirpation

of slavery,

did it have

an impact?

Actually,

the Merovingian period,

so that's the period

in Frankish history

we're looking at,

is at a low point

for finds

of slave shackles.

So,

archaeologically speaking,

in the late antique period,

slave shackles

are found

all across Europe

in the ruins

of Roman-style villas

all over.

In the Merovingian period,

it's at an all-time low

that it drops precipitously.

Now,

I don't remember

exactly when the dating

of it dropping is,

but it is in this period.

And subsequently,

after the Merovingian period,

when the second

most powerful people,

the mayors of the palace,

as they were called,

they rise up

and create their own dynasty,

kicking out the do-nothing kings,

they actually re-institute slavery

and you start finding

slave shackles again

on the periphery

of the kingdom,

but not within

the heartlands of France.

So,

we do see impacts.

Now,

to what extent

is it just,

they just had

the Scandinavians

sell the slaves,

let them pass through,

they weren't keeping

the slaves,

but picking up

some tolls?

Well,

we don't entirely know,

but

there seems to be

an impact,

at least archaeologically speaking.

Yeah.

John,

would you like to...

Yes, yes.

All right,

thank you.

One thing

was absolutely

certain.

She would not

be staying in India.

And she was not

going to become

a missionary.

Never.

India was altogether

too hot,

too dusty,

too overcrowded,

with most

of its seething

masses dirty

or destitute,

leprous

or lice-ridden.

Besides,

a missionary bungalow

was no place

for a blossoming

young lady

fresh out of college.

There she is.

With dreams

of balls

and bows,

dresses

and dances,

and eventual

marriage to a millionaire.

neither

would the expectation

generated by

the Scudder family

tradition

sway her.

What if

her grandfather,

John,

was America's

first foreign

medical missionary?

What if

all his sons

had followed

in his footsteps?

What if

all the other

grandchildren

were planning

on doing the same?

not

Ida Scudder.

She

would not

be forced

into the family

mold.

She had only

returned to India

to nurse

her ailing mother

back to health.

Then

it would be back

to the good life

in America.

That much

was certain.

Or so

she was quite

sure

until

all suddenly

changed

that one

terrible

night.

She was up

late

in her bungalow

when her

reading was

interrupted

by a knock.

It was a

high-class

Brahmin.

Amal,

I desperately

need your help.

My wife,

a young girl

of 14,

is dying

in childbirth.

Oh,

exclaimed

Ida

in swift

sympathy.

It's my

father you

want.

He's the

doctor.

He's right

next door.

I'll take

you to him.

What?

exclaimed

the Brahmin

in haughty

outrage.

Permit

a man

to look

upon my

wife.

It is

better

that she

should die.

Ida

was aghast.

There's

nothing you

can do,

explained

her father.

It's the

custom.

It would

violate

his caste

law.

Shaking,

she returned

to her

book.

Then,

again,

footsteps

sounded on

the veranda,

this time

a Mohammedan.

Salaam,

madam,

may Allah

give you

peace.

if you

could help

me.

It is

my wife.

The child

will not

come.

I am

afraid she

is dying.

Ida

gasped.

My father

will help.

He's...

Madam,

the voice

was apologetic

but firm.

You don't

understand our

ways.

Only men

of the

immediate

family

enter a

Muslim

woman's

room.

It is

you,

a woman

whose

help I

seek,

not a

man's.

But I

can't

help,

sputtered

Ida.

I'm not

even a

nurse.

Then my

wife must

die,

returned the

Muslim in

stalled

resignation.

It is

the will

of Allah.

Ida

was left

with her

book but

could not

read.

She lay

awake on

her bed.

It was

then the

third

knock

came.

To her

horror,

another

with the

same

plea.

He too

had a

young wife

dying in

labor.

Would I

to come?

Don't you

understand?

There is

nothing I

can do.

I could

not sleep

that night.

It was

too terrible,

Ida

later recalled.

Here

were three

young girls

dying

because

there was

no woman

to help

them.

I spent

the night

in anguish

and prayer.

I think

that it

was the

first time

I ever

met God

face to

face.

with the

first light

came the

beating of

the tom

toms,

the death

message.

For all

three girls

had died

that night.

Ida

remained in

a room

wrestling

with God.

When she

finally emerged,

she found

her father

and mother

and resolutely

announced,

I'm going

to America

to study

to be a

doctor

so I

can come

back here

and help

the women

of India.

And that's

just what

she did.

Cornell

Medical

College

had just

opened its

doors to

women.

and Ida

was among

the first

of its

graduating

class,

the class

of 1899.

The Cornell

Quarterly

tells us

that when

the women

entered the

class or

the operating

theater,

the men

students would

stamp their

feet and

blow kisses.

I suppose

some things

never change.

And that

was not

the only

thing that

the men

did to

harry

the poor

women.

Ida

received

a

marriage

proposal

just

before

she had

to take

her final

round of

exams.

She passed

the exams

and she

passed on

the proposal.

As for

her residency,

she determined

to fulfill it

under her

father.

Who better

to prepare

her for

the peculiar

challenges

India would

afford?

One week

away from

sailing,

it was

suggested

she ought

to raise

$8,000

to build

a women's

hospital

in India.

Not a

lot of

time,

but she

threw herself

into the

task,

calling on

anyone she

could think

of.

But

dollars

came in

at a

trickle,

an ounce

of water

to quench

an elephant's

thirst,

as she put

it.

Hopes

were pinned

on one

final interview

where Ida

poured out

her heart

and told

of that

terrible

night

of the

three

knocks.

Yet no

commitment

came,

and it

seemed there

would be no

women's

hospital.

But,

by chance,

there sat

in an

adjacent

room a

man who

overheard

Ida's

plea.

Much

moved,

the man

came forward.

Name

the hospital

in memory

of my

beloved

wife,

Mary

Tabor

Schell,

said the

stranger,

and handed

her a

check for

$10,000.

Ida

had her

hospital,

but there

was one

more thing

she would

not leave

for India

without.

A woman

evangelist

who could

labor with

her to

bring

gospel to

the women

within the

dark,

secluding

walls.

November

22nd,

1899,

Ida set

sail.

With her

was her

girlhood

friend,

Annie

Hancock,

to labor

at her

side as

an evangelist.

It was

a challenging

start.

Her

father,

from whom

she expected

to receive

her residency,

died just

months after

her return.

Her first

patient,

so far

gone by

the time

she was

summoned,

died,

as did

the next.

Scarcely a

good commendation

for her medical

skills for the

locals.

But finally,

after a

successful

conjunctivitis

case,

her miraculous

healing powers

were proclaimed.

and the

veranda of

her 8-by-10-foot

room,

which served

as her

dispensary,

was thronged

from dawn

to dusk.

One day,

a mother

came in,

too terrified

to hold

her diseased

baby.

Ida called

upon Salome,

the cook.

Salome

appeared,

sporting

spotless

hands and

a smile

of unmistakable

eagerness.

See,

Missy?

Scrubbed

with soap.

Don't have

to tell

Salome.

She held

the baby

firmly,

but gently.

Then,

while Ida

attended to

the mother,

Salome

turned to

the next

patient.

Parvati

wishes more

medicine for

her baby's

sore eyes.

Shall I

give her

some of

this?

Pointing to

the bottle

of boric

acid solution.

Why,

yes,

Salome,

but how

did you

know?

I know.

I have

been watching

Missy.

Ida's

eyes lit

up.

Yes,

of course,

I will

start a

nursing school

and Salome

will be

the first

pupil.

And so

it was.

There's

an old

photo of

the first

nurses she

had in

her school.

Am I

right in

front of

this?

This is

being seen

at all.

Okay,

okay.

Don't want

you to

miss the

pictures.

But soon,

Dr.

Ida had

set her

sights

higher.

If she

could train

nurses,

why not

doctors?

The inspiration

met with

incredulity

all around.

Indian

women

become

doctors

and compete

against men

from India's

seven medical

schools?

girls?

But you

scarcely had

to be

sexist to

think the

situation

implausible.

With Dr.

Ida, the

sole

instructor

at a

school

that possessed

only two

books,

one

microscope

and one

skeleton?

There she

goes,

training them.

But Ida

was

indomitable.

She didn't

cut her

clinics,

there she

is,

some of

her

clinics,

or her

roadside

peripatetic

dispensary.

She'd have

this ox

cart,

well here

it is,

this ox

cart that

would go

around into

the countryside

where she

would bring

her medical

expertise and

aid to

the locals.

So kind

of a

traveling

dispensary.

that she

is there.

She's

the one

in her

clear medical

garb of

the time.

No,

she continued

all those

things,

but added

teaching the

entire medical

school curriculum

to her

14 lambs,

as she

called them.

Widespread

prediction was

that not

one of her

girls,

would pass

their board

exams.

As the

results were

announced,

stress

mounted,

for 80%

of the

men across

India had

failed.

The women's

scores were

revealed last.

Every one

of them

had passed,

and several

of them

in the top

rank,

placing Ida's

Women's

Medical College

at the

head of

all the

medical

schools

of India.

There are

some of the

first women

graduates.

Teaching the

girls is

no headache

in comparison

to feeding

them,

joked

Ida.

For with

Christian,

Hindu,

and

Mohammedan

students,

many with

caste or

religious

culinary

obligations,

there was

no simple

ladling out

of the

same pot

of stew.

Finally,

she divided

them into

three menu

groups,

vegetarians,

meatarians,

and

agarians,

she called

them.

A great

day of

rejoicing

was the

long-awaited

opening of

the Mary

Tabor

Shell

Memorial

Hospital.

There it

is.

Although,

the new

white iron

beds,

as you can

see,

were objects

of terror

as well

as wonder

to the first

patients.

Accustomed

to sleeping

on mats

at floor

level,

the frightened

occupants

felt as if

they were

being placed

on dangerously

high shelves.

Ida would

regularly

discover

patients

wrapped

carefully

in their

sheets

lying

under

the bed

instead

of on

them.

Well,

if only

all the

trials

were that

trivial.

Keeping

the hospital

funded

and supplied

proved a

Herculean

task,

especially

in the

years coinciding

with the

two world

wars and

the depression.

Thankfully,

Ida found a

Scotch

administrator,

literally from

Scotland,

but also Scotch,

who could

stretch a

rupee to

Rangoon,

and the

hospital never

had to

close its

doors.

Neither

were these

years always

free from

political

turbulence.

Once,

during a

tense time

of martial

law,

Ida,

in order

to visit

a critically

ill

Mohammedan

patient,

donned a

disguise and

countervened

the curfew.

Another

experience she

would never

forget involved

delivering a

wealthy young

Muslim woman

of a

beautifully

formed,

but

precariously

delicate

baby girl.

Day and

night,

Ida

wrestled

to keep

the infant

alive,

and did

not rest

till she

was sure

the tiny

life was

out of

danger.

But the

family regarded

the might

with glum

disfavor,

not only

for her

gender,

but her

birth,

they said,

had occurred

on an

inauspicious

day.

Ida was

confident,

however,

that given

little time,

the child

would win

their hearts.

Sometime

later,

while about

other things,

Ida suddenly

felt a

strong impulse

to check

on the

baby.

She flew

through the

hospital to

S-ward.

All was

quiet behind

the screen

concealing

the bed.

Too

quiet.

Pulling

aside

the

curtain,

she saw

a pillow

being pressed

hard against

the surface

of the bed.

Snatching it

away,

there was

the baby,

already blue

in the face,

only moments

short of

being smothered.

How could

you?

Born on

unlucky

day,

will of

Allah she

die?

You don't

want her

to die,

you take

her.

All right,

said Ida,

I will.

And she

named the

girl

Mary Tabor

after the

hospital,

the first

of what

would become

a great

number of

unwanted

daughters,

Ida took

under wing.

Never

married,

she had

children

galore.

It was

not just

love her

patients received,

it was

Christian

love.

And

according to

her earnest

prayer,

none would

linger long

without learning

something of

it.

Once a

Muslim woman

recovering from

a sudden

attack of

acute

malarial

mania

seized

Ida's

hand.

Tell me

why you

did not

lose your

temper with

me when

I was

quite out

of my

mind.

Before

Ida could

answer,

a Hindu

woman in

the next

bed responded,

don't you

know why?

That's what

their god

is like.

Long

suffering

and slow

to

anger.

Well,

on her

88th

birthday,

Cornell

University

Medical

College

conferred

upon its

first woman

graduate

its highest

honor,

the award

of distinction.

The usual

requirement of

receiving the

award in

person was

kindly waived,

for Dr.

Ida was

loathe to

leave her

beloved

hospital,

a hospital

so much

more now

than even

she could

ever have

imagined that

night of

the three

knocks.

beds.

The one

bed for

healing

in her

father's

mission

bungalow

had now

become

more than

1,000

beds.

The first

class of

14 lambs

had swelled

to

900

each year.

the staff

of two,

herself and

a cook

turned nurse

Salome,

had multiplied

to include

380

doctors,

400

nurses,

and 270

paramedical

workers,

serving

nearly

2,500

patients

in a

single

day.

Okay.

I wonder

what we

might

undertake

that is

worthy of

our life

investment.

Have we

heard any

knocks

in the

night

which might

serve as