Gisel's Quest for Freedom

PASSAU, A FEW DAYS EARLIER

Gisel stepped out of the cloister into the herb garden. The garden was just large enough for an oak tree planted in the middle to spread its branches. The leaves of the tree had taken on the light green color of spring and rustled softly in the wind. Above, the rising sun tinted the clouds in a rich orange-red. Within the walls of the cloister with its narrow, tall arched windows, sixteen small beds were laid out in a four-by-four grid. Each of the sixteen squares grew different herbs like sage, comfrey, and fennel, emitting an intense aroma. Fist-sized stones bordered the beds, and a grid of gravel paths ran between them. A blackbird hopped across the damp grass under the oak, pecking for a worm.

Gisel knelt in front of a bed. Among the leaves of the irises, with their long, violet-green buds, silver dewdrops on a spiderweb glistened in the first rays of the sun. A fresh breeze brushed over Gisel's cheeks, gently playing with the ribbons of her bonnet.

As she scratched in the soil with her fingers, a black beetle scurried away. Gisel hummed quietly to herself.

"Springtime banishes sorrow,

Joy is spread wide

Over hill and dale and green meadows,

At the edge little flowers,

Large and small, newly appear,

White, red, yellow, and the blue ones too."

The brief moments of sunrise belonged to Gisel, here in the garden, alone. She checked everything, weeded, collected pests, and cut the herbs that would later be used for cooking. In doing so, she felt a sense of freedom in this peaceful paradise amid the noisy, smelly, gray city of Passau, whose skyline rose behind the walls of Niedernburg Monastery. Gisel took a deep breath to draw strength.

She spent most of her days in the dimly lit, musty, and dusty rooms of the monastery. She made the beds of the ten nuns, emptied their chamber pots, cleaned beets and white carrots, plucked chickens, cleared the dishes from the tables, and swept the floor with a broom. The Benedictine nuns tasked her with everything they didn't want to do themselves. And as the last remaining serf, she had to obey and do what the sisters commanded. So went her life, day in, day out, as long as she could remember, at least fifteen of her roughly twenty-three years. And yet, there were fewer and fewer serfs in the city, as free servants flocked to Passau, dissolving the old dependencies.

Usually, in the later hours of the day, just before Vespers, Sister Hildegard inspected the herb garden with Gisel, trimmed the plants, or instructed Gisel on what to do the next morning. In doing so, the nun imparted all her knowledge about herbs to her. Not for nothing had the sister chosen the name of her role model, Hildegard of Bingen, a Benedictine whose incredible knowledge of plants and diseases had lasted for the past century and a half. The energetic expression of an intelligent woman was on Sister Hildegard's face.

The garden and the talks about herbs were the only pleasant diversion in the dreary everyday life. Gisel absorbed every single word of the sister.

Lovingly, Gisel plucked wilted leaves from the irises. She had planted the flowers under Sister Hildegard's instruction in autumn. Now, they would not be long until blooming.

"Gertrude benefits the gardener fine, when she comes with sunshine," Gisel repeated the wisdom Sister Hildegard had taught her the day before. A red curl escaped under her bonnet and fell forward.

"Gisel! Gisel! Where is that dreadful girl hiding!"

Gisel startled at the shrill voice of Sister Elisabeth, the dean.

An old, gaunt woman in monastic garb stood leaning against a stone pillar of the cloister, staring over at Gisel.

The dragon! For Heaven's sake! Gisel had completely forgotten she was supposed to report to the dean at dawn! The bishop was coming to visit, and the whole house was in an uproar!