Proving Woman (39 page)

Leading off with the dramatic claim that Elisabeth bears the stigmata of Christ, and an account of how they appeared, Philip
then proceeds to render an exceptionally detailed report of her spiritual practices—including her multiple raptures, her painstaking
reenactment of the passion, her behavior during mass—all of which were coordinated with the various canonical hours. He returns
to the question of the stigmata, providing the support of other eyewitnesses from his clerical entourage:

I judge it also should here be inserted that I and my companions, abbots and monks, in the middle of the night and at certain
other hours saw blood going out of her eyes and staining the linen clothing in which she was dressed with the drops flowing
from there. Like-wise, while we were watching, considerable blood gushed through the wounds in her hands and feet. Likewise
also from her side on Friday at noon through an opening in her clothes made around her nipple we saw blood flowing out that
was not entirely red and that was mixed with water. And the wool vestment that stuck to her flesh was stained with the same
blood.
²⁶

Blood also ran out from her nails, which Philip interprets as symbolizing the painful binding of Christ’s arms and hands.

Philip’s inquiries were facilitated by Elisabeth’s confessor, William, abbot of the Benedictine monastery of Saint-Trond and
to whom she was consigned by the local bishop. (William also happened to be one of Elisabeth’s relatives.) He is described
as “a venerable and religious man, of holy and honest life, of clear and integral reputation and great authority. . . . And
thus this venerable father . . . remained always with us throughout these things and acted as our pedagogue and faithful and
sure interpreter of the words of the virgin.”
²⁷
William is, of course, useful in attesting to Elisabeth’s exemplary confessional practice, and, as with the Beguine mystics,
this attention to confession is manifested in her uncanny power of compelling individuals with secret sins to confess—an ability
that she practices repeatedly among Philip’s entourage.
²⁸
But William also provides important testimony to past marvels. For example, on Good Friday of the previous year, the bloody
marks from the crown of thorns circled her head like a garland.
²⁹
Philip could himself attest to her abstemiousness since one of his companions from Clairvaux had the opportunity of feeding
Elisabeth with spoonfuls of milk. She would take only three mouthfuls, and these with difficulty. The same is true of the
watered wine she was offered: “with good conscience Idare to say that a dove drinks more from a stream or well than that virgin
from a cup.”
³⁰

If Berengar of Saint-Affrique’s example demonstrates how a hostile inquisition could be turned into a process of canonization
after Clare’s death, Philip of Clairvaux’s account demonstrates how an inquest could become something of a hagiography while
the individual was still alive. Indeed, perhaps the safest way to write something resembling a saint’s vita of a living subject
is to disguise it as an inquest of sorts. Philip’s conclusion is an avid testimonial to how the different manifestations of
Elisabeth’s spirituality serve to vindicate the entire faith, and it is unmistakably hagiographical in nature.

Our virgin, whose whole life is a miracle, rather whose whole self is a miracle, as appears from the things written above,
symbolizes and explains not only the crucified Christ in her body but also the mystical body of Christ, that is, the church.
For behold she represents in the distinction of the hours the rites of the universal Church divinely instituted . . . ; in
her stigmata and punishment she adds to the faith of the passion; in jubilation and joy, of the resurrection after punishment;
in her raptures, the ascension; in her modesty and revelations and spiritual life, the mission of the Holy Spirit.
³¹

The way in which Elisabeth’s piety is invoked is an extremely fulsome example of how the piety of the women of Li[egrave]ge
was typically deployed to affirm various orthodox truths. And yet this inquest-turned-vita should also be adduced as evidence
for a pattern that becomes ever more insistent, and assumes a darker meaning, as the Middle Ages progress: the time for woman
as an important proof of orthodoxy is drawing to a close; the growing insistence that a woman prove her orthodoxy, and the
mechanisms for undertaking this proof, are not far behind.

But Philip’s inquest served to vindicate Elisabeth. Had a Franciscan headed the inquiry, however, he would almost certainly
have come up with a very different judgment. Jealous of what they perceived as their founder’s special prerogative, the Franciscans
were hostile to all rival claims of the stigmata. In fact, Elisabeth, though not mentioned by name, was clearly a target for
the Franciscan Gilbert of Tournai, who wrote the treatise
Collection of the Scandals of the Church
for the party assembled at the Council of Lyons in 1271. Gilbert bitterly critiques the various ranks of the church, methodically
beginning with the secular clergy before turning his attention to the various contemporary religious orders. His subsequent
treatment of different lay estates ends with a contemptuous characterization of the Beguines. It is in this context that we
encounter Elisabeth, even though there is no evidence actually linking her with the Beguine movement. Gilbert’s discussion
of her claims not only concludes the chapter on the Beguines but also provides a skeptical close to the entire treatise: “There
is one among the wretched little women [
mulierculas
] of this sort, and the public rumor [
fama
] already arose that she is signed with the stigmata of Christ. But if this is true, it should not be fostered in hidden places,
but this should be known openly; if it is not true, the hypocrisy and pretense should be confounded.”
³²
Vauchez believes that Philip finished his inquest-cum-vita only in 1270, several years after the encounter he describes.
³³
Either Gilbert was unaware of Philip’s recent testimonial or, if aware, dismissed it as insufficiently rigorous. But Elisabeth’s
reputation doubtless remained controversial. In 1276, Philip III consulted a Beguine prophetess, identified by some historians
as Elisabeth, to learn whether or not his beloved second wife, Mary of Brabant, was indeed responsible for poisoning his son.
The chronicler relating the incident, however, referred to the Beguine as a
pseudoprophetissa
.
³⁴

The contours of the inquest are still more pronounced in the 1421 examination of Lydwine of Schiedam, whose reputation for
holiness was grounded almost entirely in the wretched condition of her disintegrating body.
³⁵
Conducted under the auspices of the local authorities—including the bailiff, mayor, burgomasters, sheriffs, and town councillors—the
inquiry was primarily intended to ascertain and describe Lydwine’s physical state. The document relates in detail how her
rotting body was infested with maggots, which had to be diverted by a poultice of flour and honey so that they would not torture
Lydwine beyond her endurance. She was further perforated by three huge holes: “each is fully as big as the inner hollow or
bottom of a common bowl and they are black like pitch, as it appeared to those looking within and gazing. . . . All these
things are proved and through experience are found thus.”
³⁶
Blood would periodically gush from the various orifices of her face. To move Lydwine was both difficult and dangerous: she
had to be lifted in thick woolen bandages; otherwise her whole body would have fallen to pieces. She was forced to sleep on
a bed of straw, since she would most certainly have stuck to any other surface. For the seven years leading up to the inquiry,
Lydwine had remained immobile, altogether impossible to move and wracked by a fever that would recur every three days with
sweats and chills. All of these horrors and more Lydwine endured with great fortitude and patience, perpetually deprived of
sleep and eating practically nothing. No doctor is mentioned as having accompanied these officials. Yet it is entirely possible
that this was not deemed necessary, as no trained eye was required to appreciate Lydwine’s miserable condition.
³⁷

Apart from the desire to gather precise information, it is not exactly clear what spirit motivated the above inquest.Were
the townspeople simply attempting to put some ugly rumors to rest, or were they already attempting to vindicate inchoate claims
of sanctity? But whether or not Lydwine’s lay examiners approached in the spirit of skepticism, they departed in the spirit
of piety. Their findings were written up as an open letter addressed to all the faithful, who were to be edified through Lyd-wine’s
perseverance, and the letter was then officially sealed with the town seal. The public nature of the document and its scrupulous
attention to a detailed description of Lydwine’s physical infirmities bears certain similarities to the notarized report drawn
up in the presence of the
podesta`
describing the instruments discovered in Clare of Montefalco’s heart. The examination conducted on Lydwine was destined to
become a major source for her subsequent hagiographer, which was also true in the case of Clare.

But Clare’s examination was essentially a postmortem: its purpose was to establish the presence of miraculous images wrought
on a cadaver as a prologue to the wider process, which would introduce the conventional ways in which her body showed life
in death. In contrast, Lydwine’s inquest was intended to ascertain unmistakable signs of death and decomposition in a person
who was still living. Moreover, the very fact that such an inquiry was visited on a living person in certain ways brings it
into alignment with the circumstances surrounding the inquisition against heresy, as does its purpose. For if Lydwine’s examiners
hoped to establish proofs that she hovered somewhere between life and death, the inquisitors into heresy sought to establish
proofs that would successfully move a living person into the amorphous zone between two deaths, to await the action of the
secular arm.

The cases of Elisabeth of Spalbeek and Lydwine of Schiedam, two dramatic demonstrations of female somatism, also suggest ways
in which the new evidentiary criteria for proof of sanctity were responsible for the ever increasing spiral of physicality
that characterized the spirituality of late medieval women, or at least the way in which their spirituality was ultimately
represented.
³⁸
Indeed, neither Clare nor Lydwine, pious women that they were, would have had much of a case for sanctity without their respective
somatic claims.

The zeal for documentary evidence in support of the claims of a living saint in all probability peaked in early modern Italy
when various holy women became figureheads for ruling Italian families. In particular, Ercole d’Este, duke of Ferrara, went
to a great deal of trouble and expense to smuggle the holy stigmatic Lucia of Narni (d. 1544) from her native Viterbo and
establish her in a religious foundation in his city.
³⁹
He was thus prepared to take decisive measures to ensure that her claims to sanctity were both known and honored. To this
end, he wrote a short treatise that contained an extraordinary repertoire of eyewitness testimonies, sworn statements, and
official seals. For his own part, Ercole claims, “Truly we saw and touched the stigmata not once but many times: and in the
presence of many—both physicians and other men of excellence and preeminence in every respect; we touched them and caused
them to be stroked [
palpari
]. . . . Therefore we brought these things forward to be revealed to all; and let them believe what things we heard, saw,
touched, and firmly hold. And let them know that we have neither said nor affirmed anything about which we are not able [to
furnish] proof [
probationem
].”
⁴⁰
Ercole’s testimony is authenticated with his ducal seal. But the labors of this Ercole were undertaken at least partially
in response to the rumors that he may have been responsible for fabricating evidence, charges to which he himself makes reference.
Thus in order to ensure the probity of his own name, as well as the reputation of Sister Lucia, he further solicits the sworn
statements of various ecclesiastical and secular rulers (all of them appropriately authenticated) to echo almost verbatim
his testimony and denounce such rumors.
⁴¹

Somatic proofs of sanctity were attended by an incumbent literalism that would leave no metaphor untapped. Thus in the early
thirteenth century, Elisabeth of Hungary would say she had no need of crosses or icons since she carried the crucifixion in
her heart, a remark made in a spirit similar to Paul’s profession that he carried the signs of the passion on his body (Gal.
6.17).
⁴²
Less than a century later, Clare ofMontefalco’s parallel claim, made repeatedly during her lifetime, was interpreted literally.Moreover,
the nuns’ literalism was rewarded, since Christ had indeed inscribed his passion on Clare’s body. The process through which
the word becomes flesh, whereby women progressively become, in the words of Michel de Certeau, “living Bibles,” certainly
may have been the work of God.
⁴³
Yet his work corresponded to the increasing pressures for proof required by the new evidentiary standards adopted in the High
Middle Ages.

THE FRAUD AND HER SISTERS

In order to gain more fully the confidence of the heretics,

Master Rudolph used to put on a rapt expression, and pretend that he had been caught up to heaven in the spirit, and in their
conventicles afterwards would relate to

them what he said he had seen.

(Caesarius of Heisterbach)
⁴⁴

He transfigured himself into an angel with the aid of certain gewgaws. . . . When she saw this pure white object advancing
towards her, the woman fell upon her knees before it. The Angel gave her