Proving Woman (38 page)

²⁰⁰
Paolini and Orioli,
Acta
, Benichaxa Martinus testifying against Paulus Trintinellus, 1:48; Bonigrinus of Verona, 1:13–14; Julianus Saglimbene testifying
against Honebene of Mantua, 1:46. On local hostility to the inquisitors, see Paolini,
L
’
Eresia a Bologna
, 1:29–32; Lansing,
Power
and Purity
, pp. 151–57.

²⁰¹
Paolini and Orioli,
Acta
, Corbicincus, son of the former Benevenutus de Gaglano, 1:60–61. Also see Gui’s description of the Waldensians, who are likewise
characterized as denying that anyone has the right to judge or put anyone to death (
Practica
5.3, p. 246; trans.
WE
, p. 389). In a similar vein, Petrus Maurinus of Montaillou considered that anyone denouncing heretics was committing a sin
against the Holy Spirit, for which there was no redemption (Duvernoy, ed.,
Registre
, 3:232–33). Cf. parallel denials of all judgments, including the final judgment (chap. 2, pp. 76–77, above).

²⁰²
Paolini and Orioli,
Acta
, Meglore, daughter of Julianus cap. Sancti Dominici, no. 26, p. 54.

²⁰³
Ibid., Phylippa, daughter of Dom. Castelanus de Buschittis, 1:253; Father Coradinus of Parma of the Carmelites, reporting
the words of Ser Paulus, 1:59. A number of other witnesses testify to Paulus’s remarks. See, for example, Dom. Paulus Trintinellus,
1:56.

²⁰⁴
Ibid., Jacobina, wife of the late Bertolus cap. Sancti Thome de Merchato, 1:211; a different Jacobina, daughter of Iohannes
de Ricolfis, 1:211; also see Domina Lucia, wife of Andrea de Bondinata, 1:214; Margarita, wife of Bonicasa cap. Sancti Thome
de Merchato, 1:212; Domina Benevenuta, wife of Boniacobus cap. Sancti Benedicti, 1:225; Domina Bexe, daughter of the late
Ugolinus Canbonus, 1:225; Phylippa, daughter of Dom. Castelanus de Buschittis, 1:253; Mandina, daughter of Gandulfus de Gisso,
1:290; cf. Domina Diana, daughter of the late Albertus de Schalamis, 1:193; Sr. Borgha, daughter of the late Dom. Hettolus
cap. Sancti Damiani, 1:149; Domina Impereria, wife of the late Dom. Michaelis cap. Sancte Marie, 1:177; Benevenuta, daughter
of Florius cap. Sancti Martinus de Apoxa, 1:181–82; Domina Garda, wife of Ugolinus Buvalellus, 1:210; Domina Cexaria, wife
of Michaelis Acarius, 1:210; Domina Marina, wife of the late Bonifacius Canestrarius, 1:210; Iacobina, wife of the late Bertolus
cap. Sancti Thome de Merchato, 1:211; Thomaxina, wife of Magister Petrus cap. Sancti Gilii, 1:226; Cicilia, daughter of Dom.
Iacobus Berardus, 1:258. Clearly women were particularly outraged at these exhumations and burnings. The above witnesses were
Cathar sympathizers, but this view of the inquisitors’ greed was common. See, for example, the testimony of an adherent to
the Pseudo-Apostles (i.e., followers of Dolcino), Sr. Lacarina, daughter of Jacobinus de Pede de Plumatio (2:525). She also
refers to a certain Gilia, widow of Iohannes Savius, who spent considerable money on a bribe in order to avoid being cited
(2:527).

²⁰⁵
This rumor was abetted by the local Franciscans, to whom Andreas immediately appealed for help when the inquisitors appeared.
Brother Daniel even supplied them with documentation sustain the claim that both inquisitors had been suspended by the pope
(
Processi . . . Guglielma
, Beltramus de Ferno, pp. 204–8). Lea points out that the helpful friar had been called before one of the inquisitors some
twenty years previously and was probably acting on a personal vendetta (Lea,
Inquisition
, 3:99). The inquisitors were also interested in learning who was spreading this rumor (see, for example,
Processi . . . Guglielma
, Jacobus de Ferno, p. 68).

²⁰⁶
The process for the trial is extant. See Alan Friedlander’s edition,
Processus Bernardi Delitiosi:
The Trial of Fr. Bernard D
è
licieux, 3 September
–
8 December 1319
(Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1996); Gui,
De fundatione
, p. 204. Also see Friedlander,
The Hammer of
the Inquisitors
, pp. 258 ff.

²⁰⁷
See Paolini and Orioli,
Acta
, Iacobus, rector of S. Thomas de Merchato, 1:37–40. Iacobus pleaded ignorance, claiming he thought Rosaflora was reconciled
with the church, probably because he was the means of her reconciliation. Note, however, that a confessor’s testimony cannot
clear a person of the charge of heresy (see chap. 1, pp. 21, 26, 36, above). Iacobus had to oversee the task of exhuming and
burning her remains “with his own hands, by his own labor, and at his own expense.” Iacobus, moreover, was excommunicated
and suspended from office (1:298–99). This sentence was, however, lifted (2:597–98). Paolini notes that the local clergy’s
solidarity with the laity was typical (1:37 n. 1). Rosaflora’s husband, Bonigrinus of Verona, had initially denied all charges
of heresy, until he was shown the confession he had made in 1283. Then he admitted to his Cathar beliefs—actually shouting
them at the inquisitor at one point. He refused to recant, an act that the inquisitors desired even of condemned heretics,
instead maintaining that he wished to persist until death (1:11–12, 16). Both Domina Diana, daughter of the late Albertus
de Schalamis (1:239, 193), and Domina Contessa, daughter of Dom. Phylippus, were further outraged that when Bonigrinus asked
for the sacrament on his deathbed, it was denied him (1:182–83). On the religious beliefs of Bonigrinus, see Lansing,
Power and Purity
, pp. 88–92.

²⁰⁸
The documents for the trial of Marguerite and Guiard are edited by Paul Verdeyen, “Le proc[egrave]s d’inquisition contre
Marguerite Porete et Guiard de Cressonessart (1309–1310),”
Revue
d
’
histoire eccl
è
siastique
81 (1986): 47–94; see esp. pp. 62–63, 65–67. Also see Robert Lerner, “The ‘Angel of Philadelphia’ in the Reign of Philip the
Fair: The Case of Guiard of Cressonessart,” in
Order and Innovation in the Middle Ages: Essays in Honor of Joseph R. Strayer
, ed. W. Jordan and T. Ruiz (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1972), pp. 343–64, and idem, “Ecstatic Dissent,”
Speculum
67 (1992): 56–57.

²⁰⁹
See Friedlander,
The Hammer of the Inquisitors
, pp. 235–37.

²¹⁰
Gui,
Practica
3.20, pp. 111–17. Cf. the general form for those obstructing the office of the inquisition (1.37, pp. 31–32).

²¹¹
On Conrad, see chap. 3, pp. 97–100, above; on the end of Robert’s career, see chap. 2, n. 94, above; chap. 5, p. 229, below.

²¹²
I will be examining the testimonies of the eight Beguins who were interrogated at Clermont-l’He è rault and Lod[egrave]ve
between 1319 and 1322, and the twelve Beguins who were interrogated at Narbonne before 1325. These testimonies have been preserved
in the Doat Collection (Paris: Biblioth[egrave]que Nationale), vol. 28, fols. 11v–27r; and 114r–36r. For an overview of the
schism among the Franciscans that divided the order into two camps, the Conventuals and the Spirituals, and the subsequent
persecution of the latter, see Malcolm Lambert,
Medieval Heresy: Popular
Movements from the Gregorian Reform to the Reformation
, 2d ed. (Oxford: Blackwell, 1992), pp. 205–14. Also see Gui’s very detailed description of their beliefs and recommendations
on how to interrogate them in
Practica
5.4, pp. 264–87. On their commemoration of Peter John Olivi’s death, see n. 169, above. Lerner cites the Spiritual Franciscans
as an important precedent for the use of spiritual illumination to resist church discipline (“Ecstatic Dissent,” pp. 53–55).

²¹³
Given,
Inquisition and Medieval Society
, pp. 76–78; cf. Lambert,
Medieval Heresy
, pp. 210–11.

²¹⁴
Manenta, wife of Bernardus Arnaud of Lod[egrave]ve, Doat, vol. 28, fol. 14r.

²¹⁵
Bernardus Malaura of Lod[egrave]ve, Doat, vol. 28, fols. 17r, 18r.

²¹⁶
Bernardus Pirotas of Lod[egrave]ve, Doat, vol. 28, fol. 25v.

²¹⁷
Bernardus Sabri of Olargues, Doat, vol. 28, fol. 123r.

²¹⁸
Berengarius Jaoule of Lod[egrave]ve, Doat, vol. 28, fol. 19r.

²¹⁹
David of Augsburg’s
Tractatus
claims that the collection of bones is an infallible way to discern heretics (col. 1787). Also see his derisive account of
how bones were discovered in the coffer of a certain woman, a vile kitchen maid (
focaria
), whom they were about to release as innocent (col. 1788). This is one of the many reasons that the authorities were usually
careful to ensure that no potential “relics” remained at the site of execution. Thus a papal formulary contains an entry concerning
individuals preserving bits of wood from the executions. See H. C. Lea, ed.,
A Formulary of the Papal Penitentiary in the Thirteenth Century
(Philadelphia: Lea Bros., 1892), no. 42, p. 60.

²²⁰
Berengaria, wife of Guillermus of Narbonne, Doat, vol. 28, fol. 122r.

²²¹
Galharda, wife of master Bernardus Sabri of Olargues, Doat, vol. 28, fols. 125v–26r. Her doubtful tone was due to the influence
of a certain religious who attempted to unseat her belief.

²²²
Bernardus Durban of Lod[egrave]ve, Doat, vol. 28, fols. 12r–v.

²²³
Raymondus Durban of Clermont, Doat, vol. 28, fols. 26r–v. He too was present at the execution. Cf. the case of Petrus Egleysa
of Narbonne, described as a child cleric of fourteen (
clericus
puer
), who was imprisoned for defending his brother Johannes, as well as other members of his family who were burned as heretics.
When he refused to take an oath before the inquisitors, he was imprisoned for several days until he changed his mind (Doat,
vol. 28, fols. 117r–18r).

²²⁴
Martinus of Sanctus Antonius, alias Alegre of Clermont, Doat, vol. 28, fols. 16r–v.

²²⁵
Bernard Pirotas, Doat, vol. 28, fols. 22r–v.

²²⁶
Martinus of Sanctus Antonius, alias Alegre of Clermont, Doat, vol. 28, fols. 16r–v.

²²⁷
Berangarius Rocha of Clermont, Doat, vol. 28, fol. 14v.

²²⁸
Eymeric,
Directorium
pt. 3, p. 294.

²²⁹
Jacoba Amorosia, wife of Amorosus Loreti of Lode`ve, Doat, vol. 28, fol. 13v.

²³⁰
Bernardus Malaura, butcher of Lod[egrave]ve, Doat, vol. 28, fol. 18r.

²³¹
Berengarius Jaoule, merchant from Lod[egrave]ve, Doat, vol. 28, fol. 20v.

²³²
Philippus von Limborch,
Historia inquisitionis cui subiungitur Liber sententiarum inquisitionis
Tholosonae
(Amsterdam: Henricus Wetstenium, 1692), pp. 384–85; see Given’s account,
Inquisition and Medieval Society
, pp. 95–96. Like many other Beguins, Petrus was also an avid follower of Olivi. Cf. the testimony of Petrus Hospitalis (Limborch,
Historia inquisitionis
, pp. 386–92).

²³³
Ibid., pp. 385–86.

²³⁴
Given seems to accept Gui’s judgment regarding Petrus’s mental instability (
Inquisition and
Medieval Society
, pp. 95–96).

²³⁵
Gui,
Practica
5.4.7, p. 279. On negative views regarding the inquisitors, including the perception of them as heretics, see Paolini, “Gli
ordini mendicanti,” pp. 704–9.

Chapter Five

Between Two Deaths: The Living Mystic

When, therefore, it is asked whether [Francis] is of greater merit because he has the stigmata rather than the

crown of the martyr, Isay that if there were to be a comparison

with respect to the person, Iso believe that [the stigmata]

were a greater sign of merit and prerogative than

if he had had martyrdom. . . . for [martyrdom] is common to many, but [the stigmata] to none.

(Anonymous)

Iunderstood that St. John had endured such great sorrow

over the passion of Christ and over the sorrows of

the mother of Christ that Iwas convinced, and still am, that

he is more than a martyr.

(Angela of Foligno, d. 1309)

“Mother Iam dead.” And the other, pierced through, answered: “Woe is me, daughter, what are you

The Virgin answered: “Mother, Iam entirely dead.” saying?”

(Giacomo Scalza,
The Life of Vanna

d’Orvieto
, d. 1306)
¹

THE DEAD HERETIC had gained the field as the martyr, something that ecclesiastical authorities seemed to acknowledge by tacitly
ceding this ground. The passing of the orthodox martyr corresponded to the rise of the living saint—an individual who made
the expression “dead to the world” vibrate with new meaning. Indeed, the fact that the anonymous Franciscan quoted above will
actually argue the superiority of the stigmata over physical martyrdom demonstrates just how successfully orthodoxy had negotiated
this transition. Angela of Foligno’s parallel reasoning demonstrates her quick assimilation of the martyr’s demotion.

Both James of Vitry and Thomas of Cantimpré, two of the clerical masterminds in redirecting orthodox conceptions of martyrdom,
had laid claim to the indeterminate gray zone between two deaths on behalf of their holy clients. But such claims were voiced
only after the individuals in question were dead. Proving that a living person had already entered that middle place in between
was a delicate, and even hazardous, task. It was dangerous, and potentially heretical, to venerate someone as a saint while
that person was still alive.
²
This stark fact brings the possible obstacles confronted by the promoters of a living saint immediately into sharp focus.
Moreover, papal canonization had established a new evidentiary standard that required careful planning on the part of a holy
client’s sponsors, and this planning generally had to begin long before the putative saint’s death. Evidence of a virtuous
life needed to be chronicled, miracles during his or her lifetime needed to be witnessed by others and duly recorded, revelations
needed to be transcribed, and the individual’s
fama
as holy needed to be carefully disseminated. If the center of a putative cult was not a self-abnegating princess (like Elisabeth
of Hungary), a saintly crusading king (like Louis IX, d. 1270), an angelic pope (like Celestine V), or a pious bishop (like
Thomas of Cantilupe, d. 1282), but simply a lowly layperson who had no access to automatic visibility by virtue of his or
her estate, the promotion would be infinitely more difficult.
³

The inquisitional procedure would perform a critical function in providing these proofs, even though, for a number of reasons,
this role is not always as apparent as might be expected. A saint’s confessor was usually the chief purveyor of proof on behalf
of his holy client’s sanctity. As the Middle Ages progressed, the confessor’s role as promoter of the “cult” of a putative
living saint would come under heavy fire from powerful ecclesiastics like John Gerson. The wise confessor would trim his behavior
accordingly. Even the extremely partial John of Marienwerder wished to conceal the fact that he was recording Dorothea’s revelations,
given what this activity implied, and was thus angry when she unintentionally leaked news of their furtive transcriptions
to an outsider.
⁴
For a confessor to institute a formal inquest with a view to proving his living penitent’s claims to sanctity would be decidedly
counterproductive. There was also the question of sophistication. In the early thirteenth century,
inquisitio
was the most advanced of the various proof-generating methods available. With the exception of Italy, where Roman law was
in use by secular authorities from the late twelfth century, the dissemination of inquisitional methods beyond advanced clerical
circles was uneven.
⁵
The more sophisticated a promoter was, the more inclined to collect evidence against an imaginary inquisitional grid. Thus
even if the methods of gathering evidence were informal, the promoter would still aspire to a level of proof that could withstand
the rigors of the future process of canonization.

The somatic nature of female spirituality meant that the requisite proofs of holiness were often of a physical nature. Since
a holy person frequently received revelations in the course of a rapture, special care was taken to secure satisfying proofs
of this condition. Rapture was generally considered to be an out-of-body experience that resulted from contact with the divine.
The prototypical rapture was experienced by Saint Paul, who had described how he was snatched up to third heaven, although
it was unclear to him whether or not he had experienced an actual physical elevation in the course of this experience (2 Cor.
12.2–4). Women were believed to have a particular propensity to rapture—premised on the fragility, and hence susceptibility,
of the female body.
⁶
If the confessor could furnish evidence that the rapture was genuine, this was an important step toward establishing that
the woman in question was in communication with the divine.

The fact that Paul did not rule out the possibility of physical elevation meant that rapture was potentially bristling with
dramatic proofs—at a minimum entailing a complete suspension of the senses, but even allowing for the occasional levitation.
According to Thomas of Cantimpré, the entire community of nuns looked on as Lutgard of Aywi[egrave]res was “elevated two cubits
from the earth into the air.”
⁷
A Dominican confrere had additionally told Thomas of a certain holy woman who could not be confined by cloisters, locks, or
chains. When she was moved by the spirit, she was just like an arrow shot from the bow of a powerful archer and she soared
like a bird.
⁸
Lydwine of Schiedam (d. 1433) was also reputed to have been physically raptured to various places—most spectacularly to the
Holy Land.
⁹
When Christina Mirabilis prayed “and the divine grace of contemplation descended upon her, all her limbs were gathered together
into a ball as if they were hot wax” and she curled up like a hedgehog; when in rapture Christina would “roll and whirl like
a hoop,” while a “wondrous harmony sounded between her throat and breast.”
¹⁰
Elsewhere, Thomas describes how a certain woman in Brabant would be “seized in spirit” whenever there was discussion of eternal
joy: her face would become incandescent, her eyes would close, and she would emit the most beautiful involuntary song, again
between her throat and breast.
¹¹
The enrapt Vanna of Orvieto, burning with divine love, would sweat so profusely that she could not wear clothes; she became
so still and deathlike that flies settled on her half-open eyes, but she did not blink. Sometimes she would be elevated many
cubits above the ground.
¹²
Once when she descended from the mountain of contemplation, her face was fiery red “from the furnace of divine fire.”
¹³

But such descriptions, impressive as they were, did little to establish the objective reality of a given mystic’s condition,
even with the hearsay corroboration of partisan witnesses. A holy woman’s supporters needed to assemble more substantive proofs,
preferably from witnesses who allegedly had been skeptical of the holy person’s claims and were subsequently converted. The
life of Margaret of Cortona (d. 1297) attempts to provide just such proofs. Margaret’s dramatic raptures constituted an unforgettable
spectacle. On one occasion she was permitted to experience Christ’s passion during an ecstasy—a performance that drew every
parishioner to the church of Saint Francis to watch as she gnashed her teeth and lost color, heat, pulse, and the power of
her senses.
¹⁴
The local community of Franciscans, suspicious of such high jinks, took advantage of one of her raptures to throw her body
around—presumably testing her degree of alienation from her senses.
¹⁵
Similarly, in the life of Christine of Stommeln (d. 1312), a certain Father Albrandino was disappointed and suspected fraud
when the woman’s body was insufficiently rigid in the early stages of rapture. But he was chastened when he returned later
and found her body hard, and totally contrite when she emerged from the rapture and he saw the stigmatic image of the cross
on her palms. He did figurative penance for his earlier disbelief: his hand, holding hers, was trapped against the wall when
she suddenly returned to her rapture.
¹⁶
Occasionally the forthcoming proofs were exceptionally cruel. Upon the orders of Charles of Anjou, the immobile Douceline
(d. 1274) was jabbed with nails and chisels, and even had molten lead poured over her feet.
¹⁷
Caroline Walker Bynum has indicated the extent to which women’s identification with the broken body of the suffering Christ
was implicated in their intense eucharistic devotion. This analogy is extended and deepened by the above proofs, since the
women—poked, prodded, and even tortured to prove their integrity—to some extent mirror the kind of abuse visited on the host,
Christ’s sacramental body, in tales of host desecration.
¹⁸

Sometimes outer agents were unavailable or limited in just what they were prepared to test, and confessors were forced to
show their hands by conducting their own experiments on their holy charges. John Matteotti, confessor to Frances of Rome (d.
1440), used the leverage of “holy obedience” to vindicate the authenticity of her enrapt state. Not only did he make Frances
speak about her experience in the course of her raptures, as anomalous as speech acts in this state must be, but he also obliged
the enrapt saint to stand, sit, and walk on command.
¹⁹
Occasionally, John even dared to make public such demonstrations of Frances’s visionary obedience. For example, once when
she was in ecstasy, John ordered her to adore the sacrament, which was at that moment being consecrated in the adjoining chapel.
Much to the amazement of bystanders, she instantly obeyed, though never departing from her ecstasy.
²⁰

But we know from the process of canonization that John also staged less dignified and sometimes rather brutal experiments.
On a number of occasions, wishing to probe and demonstrate the extent of his holy charge’s ecstatic passivity, John told her
spiritual daughter Rita “to torture her harshly.” Rita used all the force she could muster in an effort to separate Frances’s
hands, which were habitually joined when she was in this state. Frances remained like marble until John ordered her to move.
In another instance, John requested that several of the sisters poke Frances in the face, still eliciting no response.
²¹
John, ever the obliging impresario, even invited the bishop to touch Frances while she was in ecstasy. The bishop refused,
however, thinking himself unworthy.
²²
Although insensible in the ecstasy proper, Frances does mention in the course of one of her conversant raptures that she often
felt the ill-effects of these experiments after the fact.
²³
Saint Paul confirms the possibility of such delayed reactions when he appears in a vision and proclaims that the enrapt individual
“can suffer torments and feel nothing.”
²⁴

The preceding proofs are, or are made to appear, spontaneous. When more formal proofs are provided, the means by which they
were acquired often follow the general contours of an inquest. As might be expected, the authorities undertaking an inquiry
into miraculous claims made on behalf of a person still living were sometimes hostile, but almost always wary. This is not
necessarily a bad thing from the point of view of the promoters of a given cult, provided that one succeeded in convincing
the skeptic of the reality of the subject’s claims. One could capitalize on the familiar trajectory by which a skeptical investigator
becomes an avid convert, as occurred in the course of Berengar of Saint-Affrique’s investigation of the circumstances surrounding
the revelation of Clare of Montefalco’s heart. Even so, the reality of the persecutor turned devotee—a compelling topos from
the time of Saint Paul—needs to be regarded with caution, precisely because of its blatant propagandistic potential.

Abbot Philip of Clairvaux’s observation of Elisabeth of Spalbeek professes to be an instance of just such a change in attitude.
Philip first learned of Elisabeth’s Christological marvels in 1267, when conducting a visitation of Cistercian houses in the
area. Although any spiritual irregularities among the laity would be, theoretically, the terrain of the bishop of Li[egrave]ge,
Elisabeth lived very near the Cistercian community of nuns at Herkenrode, and it is probably there that Philip first learned
of her claims. No doubt her reputation had created quite a stir among the nuns. So one can well imagine why Philip took it
upon himself to investigate, especially considering the close interaction between the Cistercians and the religiously inclined
women of the area, which dates back to the twelfth century. “Not believing these reports, I went and saw with my own eyes
and proved [
probavi
] that not even half of the things had been related to me. Indeed I wished to see the things heard and to scrutinize [
scrutari
] the things seen: to reveal the things scrutinized and confess the honorable thing Iconsidered.”
²⁵