Thietmar, bishop of Merseburg (r. 1009–1018) was a well-informed churchman who moved in the upper circles of society in the Ottonian empire of northern Europe. A powerful man who owed his ecclesiastical office to the patronage of Emperor Henry II, Thietmar composed a sprawling history of the political elites of his time: kings and bishops and the family intrigues that bound them together. But he also had a keen interest in the supernatural. At the beginning of his Chronicle, Thietmar related several anecdotes about the restless dead. Unlike the ghost stories told by contemporary monks at Cluny and elsewhere, the bishop’s tales had more than a hint of malice. This should not surprise us, for the town of Walsleben, where one of these events allegedly took place, had been the scene of terrible violence a century before, when pagan Slavs slaughtered the Christian inhabitants of the place. The ghosts of these Christians lingered in a local church, where they observed the rites owed to God like their living counterparts. But pagans haunted this landscape as well. In the commercial center of Deventer, a priest who interrupted a ceremony performed by heathen ghosts was burned alive and reduced to ash upon the altar in a manner similar to the immolation rituals performed by the pagan Slavs who once lived there.
I will relate certain events that were verified to have happened in Walsleben [in modern Brandenburg, Germany], a city that had been rebuilt after its destruction, so that no Christian may have any doubts concerning the future resurrection of the dead, but rather may proceed with all haste through their desire of holy things to the joys of blessed immortality. The priest of the church there was accustomed to sing matins in the darkness of the early morning.2 But when he came to the cemetery, he saw therein a great multitude of people bearing offerings to a priest who was standing before the doors of the church. At first, he paused, and then, protecting himself with the sign of the cross, he fearfully walked among them, none of whom he recognized. When he entered the church, a woman who had recently died and was well known to him asked what he wanted. Once she had learned from him why he had come, the woman proclaimed that they had already looked after all of those things and that he did not have long to live. Afterward, he told this to his neighbors and it proved to be true.
During my time in Magdeburg—just as I have heard it from trustworthy witnesses, for I was a resident of the city at that time—the guards, who were keeping watch one night in the church of the merchants, saw and heard things similar to the episode I have just reported, and led the dignitaries of the city to that place. While these dignitaries were standing at a distance from the cemetery, they saw lights burning in candleholders and they heard two men singing the invitatory and all the morning prayers in order.3 When they approached, however, they perceived nothing at all. On the next day, when I related this story to my niece Brigida, who directed the convent of St. Lawrence like a shepherd and was then suffering from an illness of the body, she was not surprised at all and straightaway told me this tale by way of a response, “In the time of Bishop Baldric, who had governed the holy see of Utrecht for more than eighty years, the prelate renewed and consecrated a church in a place called Deventer that had been destroyed by the passage of time and commended it to one of his priests. One day, in the early morning, as the priest made his way there, he saw the dead making offerings in the church and in the cemetery, and he heard them singing. As soon as he related this to the bishop, he was ordered to sleep in the church. But on the following night, he was thrown out by the dead along with the bed, on which he was resting. Alarmed by this treatment, he lamented the situation in the presence of the bishop, who ordered him to persist in guarding his church, once he had been marked by the relics of the saints and sprinkled with holy water. Obedient to his lord’s command, he tried once more to sleep in the church, but fear’s persistent sting kept him awake. And behold, arriving at the accustomed hour, the dead lifted him up, placed him in front of the altar, and burned his body until only fine ashes remained. When the bishop heard this, he was moved in the spirit of penance to order a three-day fast in the hope that he might help both himself and the souls of the dead. I could say much more concerning all of these matters, my son, if my infirmity did not hinder me. As the day is conceded to the living, so the night is the dominion of the dead.” As Saint Paul warns, it is not fitting for a mortal to know more than is beneficial to moderation.4