Fictive Orders and Feminine Religious Identities, 1200-1600 9780198807698, 0198807694

Table of contents :
Cover
Fictive Orders and Feminine Religious Identities, 1200–1600
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Contents
List of Abbreviations
Introduction
AIMS AND STRUCTURE
1: Penitents and the Institutionalization of Penitential Life in the Thirteenth Century
REGULATION AND REGULARIZATION: THE CREATION OF TERTIARY AND QUASI-RELIGIOUS ORDERS
THE CREATION OF NEW ORDERS: THE CLARISSANS
REGULARIZATION AND INSTITUTIONALIZATION: THE ‘FOUNDATION’ OF A PENITENTIAL ORDER?
CONCLUSION
2: After Supra montem: The ‘Spread’ of an Order?
REARRANGING THE CANONICAL LANDSCAPE
ALTERNATIVE SOLUTIONS
THE APPEARANCE OF CHANGE
ORTHODOXY AND HERESY
ECONOMIC INFLUENCES AND DIFFICULTIES
CONCLUSION
3: The Western Schism, Observant Reform, and Institutionalization
TERTIARIES AND THE WESTERN SCHISM
OBSERVANT REFORM
MONTEGIOVE
FRANCISCAN OBSERVANTS AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE
CLARISSAN REFORM
OBSERVANT REFORM AND DOMINICAN CURA
REGULARIZED DOMINICAN TERTIARIES
TERTIARIES, CONTROVERSIES, AND DOMINICAN OBSERVANTS
TERTIARIES AND THE AUGUSTINIAN OBSERVANCE
TERTIARIES, ORDER, AND IDENTITY
4: Creating a Textual Identity? Pastoralia and Models of Tertiary Life
ACTIVE SPIRITUALITY: RHETORIC AND MODELS
TERTIARIES, IDENTITY MARKERS, AND ORDERED IDENTITY
CONCLUSION
5: Order and Identity in Women’s Communities
COLLABORATION AND SPIRITUAL CARE
EDUCATION IN WOMEN’S COMMUNITIES
AUTHORITY AND MYSTICAL KNOWLEDGE
ORDER IDENTITY
CONCLUSION
6: Unification and Regularization in the Sixteenth-Century Spiritual Climate
THE FIFTH LATERAN COUNCIL AND THE RULE OF LEO X
NON-FRANCISCAN WOMEN RELIGIOUS AND REGULARIZATION
THE COUNCIL OF TRENT AND ITS SIGNIFICANCE FOR FEMALE COMMUNITIES
THE URSULINES
MARY WARD (1585–1645)
NEW OPPORTUNITIES, NEW DIRECTIONS
Epilogue
TERMINOLOGY AND PLURALITY OF RELIGIOUS LIFE
TERTIARIES AND ‘MODERN’ RELIGIOUS LIFE
Bibliography
MANUSCRIPT SOURCES
PRINTED PRIMARY SOURCES
SECONDARY SOURCES
Index

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FICTIVE ORDERS AND FEMININE RELIGIOUS I D E N T I T I E S , 1200 – 1600

Fictive Orders and Feminine Religious Identities, 1200–1600 ALISON MORE

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1 Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP, United Kingdom Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries © Alison More 2018 The moral rights of the author have been asserted First Edition published in 2018 Impression: 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Control Number: 2017932099 ISBN 978–0–19–880769–8 Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials contained in any third party website referenced in this work.

To Margaret and John More, with love.

Acknowledgements This book began as a series of unanswered questions, historiographical contradictions, and fragmentary evidence. In writing it, I was faced with the task of recovering the voices of many individuals whose very existence was problematic and who were conspicuously absent from the historical record. This complex process was helped immeasurably by the advice, insights, and wisdom of my family, friends, and colleagues. I am honoured and privileged to acknowledge their contributions. I owe a considerable debt of gratitude to my early teachers, Joseph Goering, Isabelle Cochelin, and Julian Dent, who fed my curiosity and instructed me in the historian’s craft. Monica Sandor later introduced me to the complexities of beguine life and its records. Monica and Isabelle have continued to offer support, advice, and inspiration throughout this project. Reginald Thomas Foster taught me to love the Latin language. Carolyn Muessig was an extraordinary doctoral supervisor who embodied the perfect balance of criticism and encouragement and continues to be a valued colleague. Each of these individuals went beyond what was expected of a teacher and I was very fortunate to learn from them. I am even more fortunate in that I continue to work with them and am able to count them as friends. For this project, I am particularly grateful to my friend and mentor Bert Roest. Questioning established categories and categorization is far from a popular endeavour. Bert’s careful criticism, inspiration, and patience helped me to bring this project to life. Much of the early research for this book was carried out through a grant from the Nederlandse Organisatie voor Wetenschappelijk Onderzoek at Radboud Universiteit in Nijmegen. My work on this project allowed me to access many Dutch archival collections, and to work closely with Bert, as well as Peter Raedts, Pietro Delcorno, and Anne Huijbers. I was able to develop my findings and piece the fragments into a historical narrative during my time as a Research Fellow in the Women’s Studies in Religion Program at Harvard Divinity School. Under the insightful guidance of Ann Braude, I had the opportunity to discuss my research with scholars from numerous disciplines and who worked in various religious traditions. I found my historical practices and methodologies continually challenged in ways that allowed me to write a book that was more comprehensive and nuanced than might otherwise have been the case. Ann and my fellow associates, particularly Anila Daulatzai and Jennifer Leath, asked methodological and content-driven questions that made me rethink much of my material. I am also grateful to Tracy Wall for her assistance at this time. In the wider community at both Harvard and Radboud, I had the opportunity to work with scholars whose research changed historical views and paradigms. Beverly Mayne Kienzle generously shared her insights on gender and the religious life. Kevin Madigan met with me to discuss issues and questions relating to the study of medieval religion. Bill Stoneman helped me with all things related to manuscripts. All of these scholars impressed me with their cheer and generosity.

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Acknowledgements

Nicholas Watson challenged me to think about the binaries between sacred and secular, and continually re-affirmed the importance of my work. At Radboud, I had the opportunity to work closely with Marit Monteiro, who helped me become familiar with the writings of early modern women. I also had many discussions with Anneke Mulder-Bakker, who challenged me to rethink my ideas regarding the categories of lay and religious. Working as a medievalist would never have been possible without the early support of scholars who have become friends. As well as the teachers and mentors I named earlier, I am grateful to George Ferzoco, who reminded me of the human side to my subjects; Eliana Corbari, whose passion for all things medieval has been an inspiration; Catherine Mooney, who showed me the importance of understanding the implications of this field of study and the importance of story to the modern world; and to Maria Pia Alberzoni for her support, friendship, and passion for manuscripts. I have also had the privilege of working with Bill Aird, Mike Blastic, David Flood, Patricia Stoop, and Phyllis Roberts, whose support, insights, and scholarship have shaped my thinking over the years and who have, in different ways, contributed to the story told here. I am also grateful for the support of Kerry Dunn, David Kaufman, Jennifer Kolpacoff Deane, Earl Roberts, Jelger Bakker, Hannah Weaver, Edward Kienzle, and Marie Paul Willem. I am also indebted to the community at the Centre for Medieval and Early Modern Studies at the University of Kent and my colleagues at the University of St. Michael’s College in the University of Toronto. I am grateful to my students, particularly those who participated in my research seminars on forms of religious life for women at Harvard Divinity School, the University of Edinburgh, Radboud University, and the School of Franciscan Studies at St. Bonaventure University. I also gained many insights from discussions with women religious, including members of the Congregation of the Sisters of St. Felix, the Begijnhof in Breda, the Benedictine Sisters in Bruges, and the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary. I have also benefited from using wonderful libraries and am grateful for the assistance of librarians and archivists, particularly Ann Kelders and her colleagues at the Royal Library of Belgium in Brussels. In the final stages, I am grateful for the support of Hollie Thomas and Stephanie Ireland at Oxford University Press. I could not have written this book without support from my friends, especially Shaun Murphy and Esther Oh. I am also grateful to my family: Andrew More, Catherine Murphy, Louise More, Gabriel, Audrey, Simon Burgess, Geraldine King, and Michael Hensley King. My dear feline companions Mardi and Thursday provided cuddles, comfort, and moments of occasional hilarity. Robert Hensley-King has read and discussed various incarnations of this project and offered his own nuanced insights into issues of gender, problems of sources, and the difficulties of storytelling. Without his insights and support, this would have been a very different book. The greatest debt of all is to my parents, Margaret and John More. As well as encouraging me in my questions, adventures, and thirst for knowledge, they showed me unconditional love and support. This work is dedicated to them with love and gratitude.

Contents List of Abbreviations

Introduction Aims and Structure 1. Penitents and the Institutionalization of Penitential Life in the Thirteenth Century Regulation and Regularization: The Creation of Tertiary and Quasi-Religious Orders The Creation of New Orders: The Clarissans Regularization and Institutionalization: The ‘Foundation’ of a Penitential Order? Conclusion

xi 1 8 17 25 32 35 39

2. After Supra montem: The ‘Spread’ of an Order? Rearranging the Canonical Landscape Alternative Solutions The Appearance of Change Orthodoxy and Heresy Economic Influences and Difficulties Conclusion

41 45 50 52 55 60 62

3. The Western Schism, Observant Reform, and Institutionalization Tertiaries and the Western Schism Observant Reform Montegiove Franciscan Observants and Institutional Change Clarissan Reform Observant Reform and Dominican Cura Regularized Dominican Tertiaries Tertiaries, Controversies, and Dominican Observants Tertiaries and the Augustinian Observance Tertiaries, Order, and Identity

63 63 65 68 69 73 74 77 79 84 85

4. Creating a Textual Identity? Pastoralia and Models of Tertiary Life Active Spirituality: Rhetoric and Models Tertiaries, Identity Markers, and Ordered Identity Conclusion

87 88 98 108

5. Order and Identity in Women’s Communities Collaboration and Spiritual Care Education in Women’s Communities

109 110 116

x

Contents Authority and Mystical Knowledge Order Identity Conclusion

6. Unification and Regularization in the Sixteenth-Century Spiritual Climate The Fifth Lateran Council and the Rule of Leo X Non-Franciscan Women Religious and Regularization The Council of Trent and its Significance for Female Communities The Ursulines Mary Ward (1585–1645) New Opportunities, New Directions Epilogue Terminology and Plurality of Religious Life Tertiaries and ‘Modern’ Religious Life Bibliography Index

121 128 132 135 135 141 146 148 153 154 157 160 162 165 199

List of Abbreviations AASS

Acta Sanctorum Bollandiana (Société des Bollandistes 1643–1940) Annales minorum Annales minorum seu trium ordinum a S. Francisco institutorum, ed. Lucas Wadding, third edition, 32 vols (Florence: College of St Bonaventure, 1931–64) Bullarium franciscanum Bullarium franciscanum romanorum pontificum constitutiones, epistolas, ac diplomata continens tribus ordinibus minorum, clarissarum, et poenitentium a seraphico patriarcha sancto Francisco institutis concessa, John Sbaralea, 7. Vols. (Rome: Typis Sacrae Congregationis de Propaganda Fide, 1759–1768) Bullarium franciscanum, n.s. Bullarium nova series, ed. Ulricus Hüntemann and Cesare Censi, 4 vols. (Florence and Rome: College of St Bonaventure, 1929–1990). Corpus inquisitionis Paul Frédéricq, Corpus inquisitionis haereticae pravitatis Neerlandicae (Ghent: Vuylsteke, 1889) Dossier Gilles G. Meersseman, Dossier de l’ordre de la pénitence au XIIIe siècle (Fribourg: Editions Universitaires, 1961; second edition, Fribourg, 1972) KBR Brussel/Bruxelles, Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België/ Bibliothèque Royale de Belgique Libellus Die Vita der heiligen Elisabeth des Dietrich von Apolda, ed. Monika Rener, Veröffentlichungen der Historischen Kommission für Hessen 53 (Marburg: Elwert, 1993) LMC Legenda de vita et miraculis Beatae Margaritae de Cortona, ed. Fortunato Iozzelli, Bibliotheca Franciscana Ascetica Medii Aevi, 13 (Rome: College of St Bonaventure, 1997) VCM Thomas de Cantimpré, ‘De Sancta Christina Mirabili Virgine Vita’, AASS, July, 5: 637–60 Vita of Margaret Johannes of Magdeburg, The Vita of Margaret the Lame, a Thirteenth-Century German Recluse Mystic by Friar Johannes O. P. of Magdeburg, trans. Gertrud Jaron Lewis (Toronto: Peregrina, 2001) VMO Jacques de Vitry, ‘De b. Maria Oigniacensi in Namurcensi Belgii Diocesii’, AASS, June, 4: 630–84 VJH Hugh de Floreffe, ‘De b. Ivetta, sive Ivtta, Vidua Reclusa, Hui in Belgio’, AASS, Jan., 1 863–87

Introduction The fifteenth-century Dutch holy woman Alijt Bake (†1455) described her role as that of a spider, saying: ‘the spider spins a web in order to catch flies, but runs the risk of yielding no results. In the same way, I find ways of catching souls for the Lord, but do not know where my efforts will lead.’1 This metaphor, like Alijt’s way of life, did not fit into the established social and ecclesiastical categories of her day. Alijt was not part of a traditional religious order, but belonged to the Devotio moderna reform movement: a group that had originally sought religious perfection in the secular world.2 Although she lived in community and was dedicated to seeking holiness, her path was not monastic and did not have a traditional community structure. Instead, she consciously created a liminal space where there was no clear path to perfection.3 Nor was Alijt unique. For centuries, pious laywomen had lived devotional expressions that differed from institutional religious life to varying degrees. As aspects of their identity are unclear, the story of these women is somewhat difficult to tell. They remained a part of the secular world and did not renounce society in the 1 Quoted in Wybren Scheepsma, ‘De trechter en de Spin. Metaforen voor mystiek leiderschap van Alijt Bake’, Ons geestelijk erf 69 (1995): 222–34. For a general discussion of Alijt, see Anne WinstonAllen, Convent Chronicles: Women Writing about Women and Reform in the Late Middle Ages (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2004), pp. 114–15, 228–30; Anne Bollmann, ‘ “Being a Woman on my Own”: Alijt Bake (1415–1455) as Reformer of the Inner Self ’, in Anneke MulderBakker, ed., Seeing and Knowing: Women’s Learning in Medieval Europe, 1200–1550 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004), pp. 67–96; Anne Bollmann, ‘The Influence of the Devotio Moderna in Northern Germany’, in Elizabeth Andersen, Henrike Lähnemann, and Anne Simon, eds, A Companion to Mysticism and Devotion in Northern Germany During the Late Middle Ages (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), pp. 231–60; Wybren Scheepsma, Medieval Religious Women in the Low Countries: The ‘Modern Devotion’, the Canonesses of Windesheim, and Their Writings (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2004), pp. 197–226. The majority of Alijt’s writings are edited by Bernhard Spaapen in various editions of Ons geestelijk erf: Alijt Bake, ‘De vier kruiswegen van Alijt Bake’, Ons geestelijk erf 40 (1966): 5–64; Alijt Bake, ‘De autobiografie van Alijt Bake’, Ons geestelijk erf, 41 (1967): 209–301, 321–62; Alijt Bake, ‘De Kloosteronderrichtingen van Alijt Bake’, Ons geestelijk erf 43 (1968): 11–32 and (1969): 270–304. Other works are edited by Wybren Scheepsma: Alijt Bake, ‘Van de Memorie der passien ons heren’, Ons geestelijk erf 68 (1994): 106–28. John Van Engen has translated her ‘Four Ways of the Cross’ into English: Alijt Bake, ‘Four Ways of the Cross’, in Rik van Nieuwenhove, Rob Faesen, and Helen Rolfson, eds, Late Medieval Mysticism of the Low Countries (New York: Paulist Press, 2008), pp. 176–202. 2 For a discussion of the Devotio moderna movement, see John Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers of the Common Life: The Devotio Moderna and the World of the Later Middle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008). 3 The congregation of Windesheim, to which Alijt belonged, was the more monastic branch of the movement. For Windesheim, see Scheepsma, Medieval Religious Women; Bollmann, ‘The Influence of the Devotio Moderna’, 247.

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manner of traditional monastics. They were not regarded as ‘nuns’ (moniales) by Church (canon) law; however, they cannot be called wholly lay.4 Their unique state caused the Franciscan Guibert of Tournai (†1288) to lament, ‘there are among us women whom we have no idea what to call, ordinary women or nuns, because they live neither in the world nor out of it’.5 Women who transcended established forms of institutional religious life had existed for centuries. From the thirteenth century onwards such women became more prevalent and began to live in community. As a result, men such as Guibert and his counterparts who were charged with providing their spiritual care (cura) struggled to find a rubric that would both explain the existence of these women and place them in a recognizable category under canon law.6 The available sources detailing the women’s way of life are fragmentary and difficult to interpret. However, those that exist raise interesting questions and call for a re-examination of the modern understanding of historical gender roles and the relationship between the categories of ‘secular’ and ‘religious’ in the pre-modern world.7 Pre-modern women 4 These women are discussed in Simone Roisin, L’hagiographie cistercienne dans la diocèse de Liège au XIIIe siècle (Louvain: Bibliothèque de l’Université, 1947). More recently, scholars such as Koen Goudriaan, Florence Koorn, Michel Lauwers, Ernest McDonnell, Anneke Mulder-Bakker, Walter Simons, Hildo van Engen, and John Van Engen have written excellent studies on individual groups. See Koen Goudriaan, ‘Beguines and the Devotio Moderna at the Turn of the Fifteenth Century’, in Letha Böhringer, Jennifer Kolpacoff Deane, and Hildo van Engen, eds, Labels and Libels: Naming Beguines in Northern Medieval Europe (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), pp. 187–217; Florence Koorn, Begijnhoven in Holland en Zeeland gedurende de middeleeuwen (Assen: Von Gorcum, 1981); Michel Lauwers and Walter Simons, Béguins et Béguines à Tournai au Bas Moyen Âge: Les communautés béguinales à Tournai du XIIIe siècle (Louvain-la-Neuve: Université Catholique de Louvain, 1988); Ernest McDonnell, Beguines and Beghards in Medieval Culture with Special Emphasis on the Belgian Scene (New York: Octagon Books, 1969); Anneke Mulder-Bakker, Lives of the Anchoresses: The Rise of the Urban Recluse in Medieval Europe, trans. Myra Heerspink Scholz (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005); Walter Simons, Cities of Ladies: Beguine Communities in the Medieval Low Countries 1200–1565 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001); John Van Engen, ‘Multiple Options: The World of the Fifteenth-Century Church’, Church History 77 (2008): 257–84; Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers; Hildo van Engen, De derde orde van Sint Franciscus in het middeleeuwse bisdom Utrecht (Hilversum: Verloren, 2006). Their efforts have both revealed much about individual movements, and raised questions about the place of these new religious movements in society and in the later medieval Church. Despite Elizabeth Makowski’s careful and nuanced work on canon law and ‘quasi’-religious, the idea of these women as new religious orders persists. See Elizabeth Makowski, ‘A Pernicious Sort of  Woman’: Quasi-Religious Women in the Later Middle Ages ( Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2005). For studies of the many complexities surrounding the beguine movement, see the essays in Böhringer et al., eds, Labels and Libels. Tanya Stabler Miller has done comparative work on the French beguines ( Tanya Stabler Miller, The Beguines of Medieval Paris: Gender, Patronage, and Spiritual Authority (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2014)). Alison Weber’s edited collection, Devout Laywomen in Early Modern Europe (London: Routledge, 2016), includes global studies of groups of devout laywomen in the early modern world. 5 ‘Et apud nos mulieres aliae, de quibus nescimus, utrum debeamus eas vel saeculares vel moniales appellare, partim enim utuntur ritu saeculari, partim etiam regulari.’ (Guibert of Tournai, ‘Collectio de scandalis ecclesiae’, ed. Aubertus Stroick, Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 24 (1931): 33–62, at 58.) 6 On the spiritual care required for women (cura mulierum), see Anna Benvenuti Papi, ‘Le religiosae mulieres tra cura animarum, cura monialium e direzione spirituale’, in Giovanni Filoramo and Sofia Boesch Gajano, eds, Storia della direzione spirituale 2: L’età medievale (Brescia: Morcelliana, 2010), pp. 373–86. 7 In her influential work, The Creation of Patriarchy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), Gerda Lerner argued that shifting historical perspectives created a very different view of women in Western

Introduction

3

religious have often been regarded as invisible, passive, and obedient. Their ways of life are generally thought to have developed within the parameters of traditional Church structures. Scholars such as Caroline Walker Bynum, John Coakley, Eliana Corbari, Fiona Griffiths, Bert Roest, Beverly Kienzle, Catherine Mooney, Carolyn Muessig, Anneke Mulder-Bakker, Walter Simons, and Anne Winston-Allen have drawn attention to the significant theological and social contributions that women made to their societies.8 Despite their careful work, the women they study are generally looked upon as exceptional—which is certainly not the case. Moreover, these women (or their later sisters) are often thought to have become nuns (or quasi-nuns) following the advice of clerics responsible for their spiritual care. Understanding the rich and dynamic role that women played in all sectors of society during the later middle ages, requires re-evaluation of this picture. In order to understand the liminal state in which these women existed, it is necessary to say a few words about the divisions between the religious and secular spheres. In the modern world, the work of Charles Taylor has inspired numerous theological, sociological, and anthropological studies on this topic; however, his thoughts on the historical connections between the two are problematic.9 As Taylor rightly points out, modern interpretations of the relationship between the religious and secular have limited historical relevance. He argues, ‘if we go back a few centuries, we see that God was present […] in a whole host of social practices […] and at all levels of society’.10 This observation is certainly accurate for the high and later middle ages. However, the prevalent role of medieval popular devotion and the dynamic culture of lay piety that existed in later medieval Europe should not be understood to mean that the religious and secular worlds were inextricably history. In her later work, Creating a Feminist Consciousness (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), Lerner pointed out the indirect influences that women have exerted on Western social and intellectual traditions. Her arguments have been widely recognized as influential on American women’s history. Although there are limitations in her medieval arguments, her observations regarding the indirect influences of women are applicable to the social and intellectual world of the later medieval and early modern period. Moreover, her work on categories of difference raises pertinent questions regarding the ways in which ideas of pre-modern gender are constructed and performed. Her arguments with regards to categories such as ‘race’, or ‘class’, are equally true for categories such as ‘secular’ and ‘religious’. See Gerda Lerner, Why History Matters: Life and Thought (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 146–98. 8 Caroline Walker Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987); Eliana Corbari, Vernacular Theology. Dominican Sermons and Audience in Late Medieval Italy (Berlin: De Gruyter 2013); Beverly Mayne Kienzle, Hildegard of Bingen’s Gospel Homilies: Speaking New Mysteries (Turnhout: Brepols, 2009); Catherine M. Mooney, ed., Gendered Voices: Medieval Saints and their Interpreters (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999); Carolyn Muessig, ‘Communities of Discourse: Religious Authority and the Role of Holy Women in the Later Middle Ages’, in Anneke Mulder-Bakker, ed., Women and Experience in Later Medieval Writing (New York: Palgrave, 2009), pp. 65–82; Mulder-Bakker, Lives of the Anchoresses; Simons, Cities of Ladies; Winston-Allen, Convent Chronicles; John Coakley, Women, Men, and Spiritual Power: Female Saints and their Male Collaborators (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006). Cf. Fiona Griffiths and Julie Hotchin, eds, Partners in Spirit: Women, Men, and Religious Life in Germany 1100–1500 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014). 9 For an overview, see the essays in Carlos Colorado and Justin Klassen, eds, Aspiring to Fullness in a Secular Age: Essays on Religion and Theology in the Work of Charles Taylor (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2014). 10 Charles Taylor, A Secular Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), pp. 1–2.

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intertwined. If anything, the boundaries between the two—though different to our modern world—were even more rigid. Instead of a description of beliefs or practices, the term ‘religious’ had a more precise meaning. The distinctions between ‘lay’ and ‘religious’ were not based on piety or belief, but canon law. Canonically approved ‘religious’ were clerics or members of approved religious orders. After the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215, this was (officially) limited to groups that adopted either the Rule of St Augustine or the Rule of St Benedict.11 As John Van Engen points out, ‘Those who formally separated from society by taking vows had claimed for centuries to represent religion in its perfection. Hence, the professed were said to enter “religion” and be “the religious,” a wordplay retained in most Continental languages.’12 It is significant that from the twelfth through sixteenth centuries (extending into the ‘long middle ages’), there was considerable overlap between the structures that facilitated social cohesion and those that existed to orient life towards a relationship with the divine.13 As André Vauchez has demonstrated, the Christian West experienced something of a re-conversion at the end of the first millennium.14 After this time, laymen and women sought opportunities to participate more fully in their own salvation and to move towards a more direct union with the divine. In this milieu, forms of devotion that incorporated the secular world should be seen as a logical development rather than an anomaly. Both men and women sought perfection in the world; however, the social and secular forms of devotion that emerged were more problematic for women than their male contemporaries. In particular, the lay piety performed by men was often incorporated into guilds, confraternities, or other structures that were seen as having a distinct secular role.15 In contrast, there was no acceptable outlet for women to carry out public devotion. Those who admired the activities of socially engaged women often used the rhetoric of religion to portray their way of life in a manner 11 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, ed. Norman Tanner (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1990), p. 242. Cf. Makowski, ‘A Pernicious Sort of Woman’, xxviii. 12 John Van Engen, ‘Illicit Religion: The Care of Friar Matthew Grabow, O.P.’, in Ruth Mazo Karras, Joel Kaye, and E. Ann Matter, eds, Law and the Illicit in Medieval Europe (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), pp. 103–16, at 103–4. Cf. W. A. Stanton, De societatibus, sive virorum sive mulierum in communi viventium sine votis (Halifax: Apud custodiam librariam maioris seminarii a sanctissimo corde B.M.V., 1936). 13 For the problems of periodization, see the essays in Lawrence Besserman, ed., The Challenge of  Periodization: Old Paradigms and New Perspectives (New York: Garland Publishing Inc., 1996). Carolyn Walker Bynum’s Christian Materiality is an example of how moving beyond binaries allows new insights on medieval religious history: see Caroline Walker Bynum, Christian Materiality: An Essay on Religion in Late Medieval Europe (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2011). 14 André Vauchez, La spiritualité du moyen âge occidental (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1975). 15 For the pious activities of guilds, see the essays in Nicholas Terpstra, Adriano Prosperi, and Stefania Pastore, eds, Faith’s Boundaries: Laity and Clergy in Medieval Confraternities (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012); Nicholas Terpstra, Lay Confraternities and Civic Religion in Renaissance Bologna (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). For an examination of the laybrotherhood as a form of devotion available to those seeking a religious life in the world, see Alison More, ‘Neither in the World not of It: Affectivity, Corporeality and Cistercian Conversi in Thirteenth-Century Liège’, Studies in Spirituality 23 (2013): 61–79.

Introduction

5

that was acceptable to the institutional Church. As a result, their supporters created a number of texts praising devout laywomen or emphasizing a fictive association between the women and a religious order. Men (such as beghards or bizzochi), who lived between categories, did not have the same need for textual support. As a result, many ‘quasi-religious’ men have disappeared from the historical record.16 Conversely, as this book illustrates, the women’s story is told through a complex and contradictory narrative of institutionalization that limits modern understanding of the role of later medieval and early modern lay piety. As they were neither wholly ‘lay’, nor legally ‘religious’, there was no language to discuss their way of life. When describing women who lived devout lives outside of ecclesiastical structures, the popular preacher and bishop of Acre, Jacques de Vitry (†1240) uses the phrase ‘mulieres quae vulgariter dicuntur beghinae’ (‘women who are commonly called beguines’).17 The term ‘beguine’ was a generic and descriptive term rather than a clearly defined state. There was certainly never a canonical ordo begghinarum, although this is implied in both historical sources from the mid-thirteenth century onwards and in much modern scholarship.18 While beguine houses were often subject to rules or regulations, those that did not become affiliated with tertiary orders retained a considerable degree of autonomy well into the sixteenth century. The terms ‘beguine-like’ or ‘beguine-ish’ women that were popular in early German scholarship are problematic as they suggest that there was a definite ‘beguine’ state to which these women could be compared.19 At the same time, the disparity among houses of beguines renders studies identifying stages in the development of beguine life of limited use.20 Jacques also recognized that while these women were ‘commonly’ called beguines, the use of this term was far from exclusive. In his second sermon to virgins, Jacques recounts that women who were known as ‘beguines’ in Flanders and Brabant were also known by other names: in France they were known as ‘papelardae’; in Lombardy, ‘humiliatae’; ‘bizoke’ (bizzoche) in other parts of Italy; and ‘coquennunne’ 16 There has been very little scholarly exploration of beghards. These men are treated in McDonnell, Beguines and Beghards, 247–77. They are also discussed in Walter Simons, ‘The Lives of Beghards’, in Miri Rubin, ed., Medieval Christianity in Practice (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009), pp. 238–45. 17 Cf. Simons, Cities of Ladies, 35–6. 18 For problems regarding the names of beguines, see the essays in Böhringer et al., eds, Labels and Libels. 19 Karl Bücher, Die Frauenfrage im Mittelalter, 2nd edn (Tübingen: H. Laupp, 1910); Joseph Greven, Die Anfänge der Beginen: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Volksfrömmigkeit und des Ordenwesens im Hochmittelalter (Münster in Westfalen: Aschendorff, 1912). Cf. Jennifer Kolpacoff Deane, ‘From Case Studies to Comparative Models: Würzburg Beguines and the Vienne Decrees’, in Böhringer et al., eds, Labels and Libels, 61. 20 In his 1918 study, Lodewijk J. M. Philippen has identified four distinct stages of development in beguine life; see De Begijnhoven, oorsprong, geschiedenis, inrichting (Antwerp: Veritas, 1918). Other models of this movement’s development have been put forward by Florence Koorn (Koorn, Begijnhoven in Holland). This has been criticized by Simons, Cities of Ladies, 169, n. 7. For a thorough discussion of the historiography surrounding the various models, see Deane, ‘“Beguines” Reconsidered: Historiographical Problems and New Directions’, Monastic Matrix, Commentaria 3461 (August 2008). http://monasticmatrix.org/commentaria/article.php?textId=3461 (accessed 3 December 2014).

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Fictive Orders and Feminine Religious Identities

in the German lands.21 They were also referred to more generally by terms such as ‘penitents’.22 From the later thirteenth century onwards, such women were also called ‘tertiaries’ and frequently discussed as members of Franciscan, Augustinian, or Dominican ‘third orders’. Women living comparable forms of devotion in other areas were known as ‘anchorites’ or ‘recluses’.23 None of these labels appears to have been favoured by the women themselves. When considering these women as a group, the Dominican Johannes Nider (†1438) used the phrase ‘laywomen who lived as religious in the secular world’.24 He went on to delineate types of women whose devotional practices placed them in this category. Modern scholars have also tried to find a term that could be used to describe these pious laywomen.25 Following the lead of Kaspar Elm, a number of scholars have used the term ‘semi-religious’ to convey the idea of a middle state: not recognizably religious, but also not wholly lay and secular.26 While the term ‘semi-religious’ conveys the idea of transcending conventional categories of ‘secular’ and ‘religious’, it implies that the men and women who chose to live an institutionally liminal life did so in a uniform manner with recognized rules, obligations, and privileges. That was certainly not the case. Instead, they transcended traditional categories, as well as the limitations of time and geographic location. Medieval canon lawyers often resorted to comparative terms. As Elizabeth Makowski points out, canon lawyers often used terms such as ‘not merely laity’ [non mere laice], and ‘not truly religious’ [non sunt veri religiosi] when referring to these women.27 Makowski uses the more comparative term ‘quasi-religious’, arguing that ‘To be quasi-religious means to exist outside, but not too far outside, an 21 Jacques de Vitry, Secundus sermo ad virgines, trans. Carolyn Muessig, The Faces of Women in the Sermons of Jacques de Vitry (Toronto: Peregrina Press, 1999), pp. 89, 140–1, nn. 218–20. 22 Jacques de Vitry, Letter 1, in Lettres de Jacques de Vitry, 1160/1170–1240, évêque de Saint-Jean d’Acre, ed. R. B. C. Huygens (Leiden: Brill, 1960), pp. 71-8. Cf. Catherine M. Mooney, ‘The “Lesser Sisters” in Jacques de Vitry’s 1216 Letter’, Franciscan Studies 69 (2011): 1–29. 23 The similarities between the devotional practices of women known as ‘anchorites’ and those known by names such as ‘beguines’ or ‘penitents’ has long been acknowledged, but remains relatively unexplored. In particular, scholars have often adopted a geographic focus, which has allowed these parallels to go unrecognized. In 1975, Henry Mayr-Harting drew attention to the similarities between anchorites in the British Isles and beguines in the Low Countries. (Henry Mayr-Harting, ‘Functions of a Twelfth-Century Recluse’, History 60 (1975): 337–52.) Brenda Bolton later commented on the need for a study exploring the parallel between the two groups. (Brenda Bolton, ‘Some Thirteenth-Century Women in the Low Countries: A Special Case?’ Nederlands archief voor kerkgeschiedenis 61 (1981): 7–29. Cf. Liz Herbert McAvoy, ed., Anchoritic Traditions of Medieval Europe (Woodbridge and Rochester: The Boydell Press, 2010)) 24 John Van Engen, ‘Friar Johannes Nyder on Laypeople Living as Religious in the World’, in Franz J. Felten and Nikolas Jaspert, eds, Vita Religiosa im Mittelalter: Festschrift für Kaspar Elm zum 70. Geburtstag (Berlin: Dunckner & Humbolt 1999), pp. 583–5. 25 The persistence of difficulties in terminology is discussed in Alison Weber, ‘Devout Laywomen in the Early Modern World: The Historiographic Challenge’, in Weber, ed., Devout Laywomen, pp. 1–28. 26 Kaspar Elm, ‘Vita regularis sine regula: Bedeutung, Rechtsstellung und Selbstverständnis des mittelalterlichen und frühneuzeitlichen Semireligiosentums’, in František Šmahel, ed., Häresie und vorzeitige Reformation im Spätmittelalter (Munich: R. Oldenbourg, 1998), pp. 239–73. 27 Makowski, ‘A Pernicious Sort of Woman’, xxx.

Introduction

7

institutionalized and legally recognized model for religious life.’28 This definition provides a rubric for understanding these women as a legal group. However, as it still implies that they should be looked at through the lens of religious rhetoric, it becomes less useful as one moves from canon law to their lived roles in society. Much modern scholarship on these women has focused on what they are not: not nuns, not laywomen, not religious as defined by canon law, or not monastics.29 While this negative language has been criticized, the fact that their lives must be discussed using rhetoric of ‘unsaying’ sheds important light on the lives of these women.30 In particular, it is important that group identity is defined by a rejection of the dominant ecclesiastical structures and sanctioned gender roles.31 By their willingness to step outside of established paradigms, these women wove a tapestry of devotion that conformed more closely to changing social needs than the obedient, contemplative models of sanctity offered by the institutional Church. Their new forms of lived devotion did not have canonically recognized rules or regulae, and can thus be discussed as ‘extra-regular’ or even ‘irregular’ in a very technical sense. Their extra-regular way of life reached out to the poor, the destitute, lepers, and those outside of society. The problem of terminology points to a larger issue: why is it important to classify these women as something other than pious members of the laity? Indeed, the lay and secular expressions of devotion that developed in the thirteenth century seem ideally suited to men and women living in the secular world. Nevertheless, women who sought perfection in the world were increasingly steered in the directions that resembled established religious communities. Groups of pious laywomen soon adopted superiors, recognized rules, and put in place community structures that were indistinguishable from those of canonically recognized nuns. To explain these women who lived without male authority and practised active charity, those responsible for their cura used a fictive narrative of ‘third’ branches of established orders for men and women living in the world.32 However, close examination reveals that this had little historical basis.33 To create the illusion of institutionalized ‘tertiary’ nuns, the socially based (or ‘lay’ and ‘secular’) aspects 28 Ibid. 29 Carol Neel, ‘Origins of the Beguines’, Signs 14 (1989): 321–41, at 323. Cf. Deane, ‘ “Beguines” Reconsidered’. 30 Cf. Sean L. Field, ‘On Being a Beguine in France, c. 1300’, in Böhringer et al., eds, Labels and Libels, 117–33. 31 Ann Braude makes a similar observation for women’s involvement in American religious communities. See Ann Braude, ‘Women’s History Is American Religious History’, in Thomas Tweed, ed., Retelling American Religious History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), pp. 87–107. I am particularly grateful to Ann for discussions about terminology, gender, and religion. 32 Cf. Martina Wehrli-Johns, ‘L’osservanza dei Domenicani e il movimento penitenziale laico. Studi sulla “regola di Munio” e sul Terz’ordine domenicano in Italia e Germania’, in Kaspar Elm and Giorgio Chittolini, eds, Ordini religiosi e società politica in Italia e Germania nei secoli XIV e XV (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2001), pp. 287–371; Maiju Lehmijoki-Gardner, ‘Writing Religious Rules as an Interactive Process: Dominican Penitent Women and the Making of their “Regula”’, Speculum 79 (2004): 660–87; Alison More, ‘Institutionalizing Penitential Life in Later Medieval Europe’, Church History 83 (2014): 297–323. 33 Cf. Alison More, ‘Institutionalization of Disorder: The Franciscan Third Order and Canonical Change in the Sixteenth Century’, Franciscan Studies 71 (2013): 147–62.

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of these women’s stories have been consciously excised from the historical record. Clerics (particularly those connected with the Observant Reform movement who wished to restore the Church to its ‘original’ pristine state), constructed fictive institutional identities for these women from isolated references in chronicles, hagiography, and liturgical sources.34 As is discussed later in this study, the Observant version of events cast the saintly laywoman Elisabeth of Thuringia (†1231) as a Franciscan tertiary and Catherine of Siena (†1380) as a Dominican. Although both women had close and relevant connections with the orders, the respective ‘tertiary’ groups were established after both women had died.35 In the same way, numerous communities were given fictive foundation myths, often connected with their coming into the spiritual ambit of the Observant reformers. Through the creation of fictive histories and institutional structures, these women ceased to be regarded as lay, and were instead written into the ecclesiastical landscape. In this way the reformers succeeded in protecting the women under their care from accusations of heterodoxy or heresy, but at the same time silenced their voices and consigned the rich climate of later medieval and early modern lay piety into historical obscurity. A I M S A N D S T RU C T U R E The research for this book was far from straightforward. Hearing the voices and understanding the existence of these women involve a process of detangling canonical and fictive knots. The women themselves left very few sources, and those that exist are often difficult to interpret. As is described in detail later, the written sources concerning the women—whether by detractors or admirers— often present a distorted picture. This book began as an attempt to reconcile the source discrepancies and understand the role of women who lived religious life 34 Franciscan Observants promoted their tertiary order through creating a fictive canon of saintly members. This is detailed in Chiara Mercuri’s important study, Santità e propaganda: Il terz’ordine francescano nell’agiografia osservante, Bibliotheca Seraphico-Capuccina 59 (Rome: Istituto storico dei Cappuccini, 1999). For similar practices in other orders, see Alison More, ‘Dynamics of Regulation, Innovation, and Invention’, in James D. Mixson and Bert Roest, eds, Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages and Beyond (Leiden: Brill, 2015), pp. 85–110. On the Observant movement, see the essays in James D. Mixson and Bert Roest, eds, Observant Reform in the Later Middle Ages and Beyond. 35 For the documents generally thought to have been connected with the so-called Franciscan tertiary order, see Margaret Carney, Jean François Godet-Calogeras, and Suzanne M. Kush, eds, History of the Third Order Regular Rule: A Source Book (St. Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute Publications, 2008). They are also discussed in Robert Stewart, ‘De illis qui faciunt penitentiam’: The Rule of the Secular Franciscan Order (Rome: Istituto historico dei Cappuccini, 1991) and Gabriele Andreozzi, Il Terzo ordine regolare di San Francesco nella sua storia e nelle sue leggi (Rome: Editrice Franciscanum, 1993). The same medieval documents are included in G. G. Meersseman’s survey of penitential life, but have no exclusive association with any particular order. See G. G. Meersseman, Dossier de l’ordre de la pénitence au XIIIe siècle (Fribourg: Editions Universitaires, 1961; second edition, Fribourg, 1982). For the documents connected with Dominican penitents, see the essays and documents in Maiju Lehmijoki-Gardner, E. Ann Matter, and Daniel Bornstein, eds, Dominican Penitent Women (New Jersey: Paulist Press, 2005). The mythology attached to both orders is explored in More, ‘Dynamics’, and in Chapters 2 and 3 of this book.

Introduction

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outside of official ecclesiastical structures. Both researching and writing this book involved alternation between historiographical criticism and source analysis. In the process it became clear that neither the official histories nor the prescriptive source material revealed the whole story. Instead, much of the pastoralia and the few laywomen’s writings that exist indicate openness to creative expressions of spirituality that evolved to meet the changing social world of their day. Finding a way of discussing extra-regular women is more than simply examining the development of new orders or devotional expressions. Looking at the labels attached to women’s groups allows a surprisingly clear glimpse of the ways that religious rhetoric was used to transform controversial movements or devotional expressions into something more closely resembling conventional canonical categories. While the appearance of legitimacy (arguably) gave the women some claim to certain privileges, it also had the effect of removing their active devotion from secular society, and placing it in the realms of religious life. As such, women’s service became a form of spiritual imitatio Christi rather than a desire to make a difference in the world. Hagiographers often focused on the spiritual significance of the actions of these women rather than their impact on the social world. For example, although there is every indication that Elisabeth of Thuringia was active in caring for lepers, many of her later hagiographers devote more attention to an instance in which she drank the water used to bathe lepers’ wounds than to the practical effects of her work.36 In this way, the form of care that Elisabeth (and many of her contemporaries) provided is transferred from the physical to the spiritual realm. Likewise, the hagiographers of other women often exaggerated their asceticism to such an extent that modern scholars often consider any act of devotion that deviated from normal limits to be merely a hagiographic topos. In other instances, hagiographers and chroniclers consciously rewrote history to be more in keeping with canonical ideals. The Italian Clare of Assisi (†1253) directly challenged papal authority and advocated obedience to the gospel over obedience to Church authorities. Instead of being remembered for these acts, she was transformed into the contemplative and obedient ‘little plant’ [plantula] of Francis of Assisi (†1226), the founder of the Franciscan order.37 Catherine of Siena demanded that Pope Gregory XI (†1378) return from Avignon to Rome. She is remembered today as the embodiment of Dominican ideals.38 Similarly, instead of being known for their dynamic and engaged piety, extra-regular communities of women are thought of as pious, humble, devout, and obedient to clerical authority. 36 On Elisabeth, see Ottó Gecser, The Feast and the Pulpit: Preachers, Sermons and the Cult of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, 1235–ca. 1500 (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 2012). 37 It is important to point out that the word plantula was also used to mean a daughterhouse or dependent monastic foundation. See Charles Du Cange, Glossarium mediae et infimae Latinitatis (Paris: 1883–1887), s.v. ‘Plantula’, vi, c. 355. Cf. Alison More, ‘“Gracious Women Seeking Glory”: Clare of Assisi and Elizabeth of Hungary in Franciscan Sermons’, in Timothy Johnson, ed., Franciscans and Preaching: Every Miracle from the Beginning of the World Came About through Words (Leiden: Brill, 2012), pp. 209–30. 38 For a thorough examination of the tradition and mythology surrounding Catherine of Siena, see the essays in Carolyn Muessig, George Ferzoco, and Beverly Mayne Kienzle eds, https://www. forgottenbooks.com/.../JahrbuchderKKHeraldischenGesellschaftAdler1895, A Companion to Catherine of Siena (Leiden: Brill, 2012).

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Fictive Orders and Feminine Religious Identities

Countless examples of this ‘monasticization’ of women and communities can be seen from the later middle ages onwards.39 Although the legal terminology and justifications given for the existence of women who occupied a liminal space between the secular and religious spheres changed drastically over time, issues such as clerical control, female authority, fears of sexual immorality, and suspicions of heresy affected these women for centuries. As is discussed in this book, these criticisms touched women including the so-called mulieres religiosae [‘religious women’] from thirteenth-century Liège; several communities known as ‘beguines’ in the Low Countries and Germany;40 the Italian Clare of Rimini (†1346) who preached the gospel of Christ while living in the world;41 the French Marguerite of Valenciennes (Marguerite Porete, †1310), who was condemned for heresy;42 and communities of women in Southern France and Italy which were connected with the controversial heterodox group known as the Franciscan Spirituals.43 Moreover, women such as the aforementioned Alijt Bake and her German contemporary, the visionary reformer Magdalena Beutlerin (†1458), were accused of feigning mystical experiences and suspected of promoting heterodox

39 See Jennifer Kolpacoff Deane, ‘Elastic Institutions: Beguine Communities in Early Modern Germany’, in Weber, ed., Devout Laywomen, 175–95. The aforementioned examples of Clare of  Assisi and Catherine of Siena are discussed in more detail in Chapter  3. As is discussed in Chapter  6, the same solutions were adopted in the early modern world for groups such as the Ursulines and the English Ladies. Moreover, it still affects religious women in the modern world. When writing about the role of Catholic nuns in America, Kathleen Cummings observes that ‘women’s historians in general are reluctant to see that women could also have power within a patriarchal structure like the Catholic Church’. (Kathleen Sprows Cummings, New Women of the Old Faith: Gender and American Catholic Identity in the Progressive Era (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2009), p. 4.) There are several examples where women’s voices have been rewritten or women’s stories have been adapted to conform to established Church models. Dorothy Day, the twentieth-century American laywoman involved with the Catholic Workers movement, was subject to the same for her radical socialist ideology and controversial early life. For a study on the politics of gender and sanctity in relation to Dorothy Day, see Meaghan O’Keefe, ‘Sainthood as Rebuke: The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops’ Strategic Canonization of Dorothy Day’, Journal of Contemporary Rhetoric 3 (2013): 1–16. In the twenty-first century, American nuns found themselves investigated by the Vatican after suspicions that they had engaged in unorthodox practices and espoused ‘radically feminist’ doctrine. See Ryan P. Murphy, ‘Promises Unfulfilled: American Religious Sisters and Gender Inequality in the Post Vatican II Catholic Church’, Social Compass 61 (2014): 594–610. 40 For examples from the Low Countries (including the mulieres sanctae), see the discussion in Simons, Cities of Ladies, 118–37. This issue is also discussed in Chapter 1 of this book. 41 For Clare of Rimini, see Jacques Dalarun, Lapsus linguae: la légende de Claire de Rimini (Biblioteca di Medioevo Latino vol. 6) (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 1994). Cf. Jacques Dalarun, ‘Gospel in Action: The Life of Clare of Rimini’, Franciscan Studies 64 (2006): 179–215. 42 For a comprehensive study on Marguerite, see Sean Field, The Beguine, the Angel, and the Inquisitor: The Trials of Marguerite Porete (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012). Cf.  Beverly Mayne Kienzle and Travis Stevens, ‘Words, Deeds, and the Hagiography of Italian Women Penitents’, in Sally J. Cornelison, Nirit Ben-Aryeh Debby, and Peter F. Howard, eds, Mendicant Cultures in the Medieval and Early Modern World: Word, Deed, and Image (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016), pp. 107–42. My thanks to Beverly Kienzle for sharing a pre-publication version of this work. 43 For an overview, see Louisa Burnham, So Great a Light, So Great a Smoke (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2008); David Burr, The Spiritual Franciscans: From Protest to Persecution in the Century after Saint Francis (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2001), pp. 315–46.

Introduction

11

beliefs.44 Controversies connected with female leadership, unauthorized preaching, and suspicions of heresy continued to plague women in religious life. The 1621 bull that suppressed the secular institute founded by Mary Ward to teach Catholic doctrine complained that these women ‘went freely everywhere without submitting to the laws of enclosure [clausura] under the pretext of working for the salvation of souls’.45 Mary herself was accused of heresy and even witchcraft for preaching publicly. Countless other examples from the later medieval through the modern world can be added to this list.46 In response, many who cared for the physical and spiritual well-being of these women endeavoured to protect them from controversy. To accomplish this, they wrote vitae, sermons, and other texts that emphasized that these women lived in a manner that conformed to feminine ideals of holiness. Instead of their dynamic social activism, these women have been memorialized for their contributions to the Church. In most cases, the official hagiography chooses to ignore the controversies associated with them and to focus instead on the aspects of their lives that are in keeping with Catholic orthodoxy. Given that the significant social and intellectual contributions that pre-modern women made to the climate of their day are not a part of their image in modern culture, the continued work of recovering their voices is valuable. Careful historical examination suggests that misperceptions of medieval and early modern women are more than a matter of simple textual misinterpretation. My analysis of documentation relating to women who lived as religious in the secular world revealed a conscious (if inconsistent) programme by which pious laywomen were given more traditional religious identities. Perhaps more importantly, religious rhetoric has continued to play a part in the conscious effacement of women’s voices. As is explored in the first chapter, the changing spiritual climate of the thirteenth century inspired laymen and women to seek new ways of living a devout life without withdrawing to a monastery.47 They had no formal rule, and did not constitute 44 Both Alijt and Magdalena were able to educate their sisters and reform their communities in part due to their visionary authority. Alijt Bake’s thoughts and struggles are recorded in more detail in Chapter 5. Her German contemporary became known for her theological works and commitment to reform, but still became an object of ridicule for her visionary experiences. See Karen Greenspan, Erklärung des Vaterunsers: A Critical Edition of a 15th-Century Mystical Treatise by Magdalena Beutler of  Freiburg, PhD diss. (University of Massachusetts, 1984), 105–298. Cf. Winston-Allen, Convent Chronicles, 223–8. 45 Analecta juris pontificii (Rome: Librairie de la propagande, 1885), cols 2022–3. 46 The eighteenth-century Capuchin nun Veronica Giuliani was subject to scrutiny and suspicion for her unorthodox devotional practices. Cf. Massimo Lollini, ‘Scrittura obbediente e mistica tridentina’, Annali d’Italianistica 13 (1995): 351–69. Communities of Catholic women in the nineteenth century were frequently subject to accusations of heresy, sexual immorality, and even infanticide. A popular and influential record of these accusations was The Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk. This short text purported to be the memoir of a woman who has witnessed ritualized infanticide and sexual slavery in a convent in nineteenth-century Canada. Although this text was largely fabrications and anti-Catholic propaganda, it influenced perceptions of Catholic women in the social world throughout the next century. See William S. Cossen, ‘Monk in the Middle: The Awful Disclosures of the Hotel Dieu Nunnery and the Making of Catholic Identity’, American Catholic Studies 125 (2014): 25–45. 47 Anneke Mulder-Bakker, ‘Devoted Holiness in the Lay World’, in Judith M. Bennett and Ruth Mazo Karras, eds, The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Women and Gender (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), pp. 464–79; Alison More and Anneke Mulder-Bakker, ‘Domus Sanctae Marthae’, in

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Fictive Orders and Feminine Religious Identities

canonical orders. Throughout Italy, groups named penitents, humiliate, Poor Catholics, or bizzoche lived very similar forms of life.48 In the German lands, Elisabeth of Thuringia, the widow of the landgrave Louis of Thuringia (†1227), devoted herself to a life of service as a ‘sister in the world’ [soror in mundo].49 In the diocese of Liège, individuals such as Marie d’Oignies (†1213), her husband John, and Juette of Huy (†1228) served lepers.50 In Poland, Queen Cunegunda (†1292) lived a life of charity.51 Laymen and women also came to pursue vocations of active charity, generally associated with service and healing, in Scotland and England.52 Communities of laywomen and men who lived in a manner that appeared compatible with religious life emerged in the German lands, the Low Countries, Spain, and Hungary.53 The ‘beatae’ and ‘beati’ who lived in such communities occupied a liminal position. They fulfilled the biblical directive of remaining in the world, but were far from worldly.

Alison Beach and Isabelle Cochelin, eds, A Cambridge Companion to the Western Monastic Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, forthcoming). 48 Dossier. For groups specific to Italy, see Anna Benvenuti Papi, ‘Cellanae et reclusae dans l’Italie médiéval. Modèles sociaux et comportements religieux’, in Isabelle Heullant-Donat, Julie Claustre, and Elisabeth Lusset, eds, Enfermements: le cloître et la prison (VIe–XVIIIe siècle). Actes du colloque international organisé par le Centre d’études et de recherche en histoire culturelle de l’Université de Reims Champagne-Ardenne et l’association Renaissance de l’abbaye de Clairvaux. Troyes–Bar-sur-Aube–Clairvaux, 2009 (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2011), pp. 249–60; Anna Benvenuti Papi, ‘In castro poenitentiae’: Santità e società femminile nell’Italia medievale (Rome: Herder, 1990). 49 A. Huyskens, Quellenstudien zur Geschichte der hl. Elisabeth Landgräfin von Thüringen—Der sogenannte Libellus de dictis quattuor ancillarium s. Elisabeth confectus (Marburg: Elwert, 1908). 50 Jacques de Vitry, ‘De b. Maria Oigniacensi in Namurcensi Belgii Diocesii’, AASS, June, 4: 630–84 (hereafter referred to as VMO); Hugh de Floreffe, ‘De b. Ivetta, sive Ivtta, Vidua Reclusa, Hui in Belgio’, AASS, Jan., 1: 863–87 (hereafter referred to as VJH). 51 ‘Compendium vitae, virtutum ac miraculorum necnon actorum in causa canonizationis beatae Cunegundis seu Kinga monialis professae ex Ordine S. Clarae’, AASS, July, 5: 661–783. Cf. Aleksandra Witkowska, ‘Kinga (sainte), Kunegunda, Cunegunde’, in Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie ecclésiastiques (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 2004–2007), vol. 29, pp. 106–8. 52 Susan Murray, ‘The Sisterlands of Aberdour’, International Review of Scottish Studies 31 (2006): 52–68; Kimm Curran, ‘Religious Women in their Communities in Late Medieval Scotland’, PhD diss., University of Glasgow, 2006; Derek Hall, ‘ “Unto Yone Hospitall at the Tounis End”: The Scottish Medieval Hospital’, Tayside and Fife Archaeological Journal 12 (2006): 89–106. Ian Cowan and David Easson include a list of Scottish hospitals, which identifies the religious affiliations of several houses (Ian Cowan and David Easson, Medieval Religious Houses, Scotland (London and New York: Longman, 1976), pp. 162–200. Cf. The essays in Herbert McAvoy, ed., Anchoritic Traditions of Medieval Europe. 53 Low Countries: Simons, Cities of Ladies. Germany: Eva Gertrud Neumann, Rheinisches Beginenund Begardenwesen: Ein Mainzer Beitrag zur religiösen Bewegung am Rhein in Mainzer Abhandlungen zur mittleren und neueren Geschichte vol 4 (Meisenheim-am-Glan: Hain, 1960); Frank-Michael Reichstein, ‘Das Beginenwesen in Deutschland. Studien und Katalog’, in Wissenschaftliche Schriftenreihe Geschichte (Berlin: Dr Köster, 2001); Jörg Voigt, Beginen im Spätmittelalter. Frauenfrömmigkeit in Thüringen und im Reich (Köln: Böhlau, 2012). Spain: Elizabeth A. Lehfeldt, Religious Women in Golden Age Spain: The Permeable Cloister (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005). Hungary: Marie-Luce Chénerie, ‘Les béguines et l’idéalisation des vertus féminines dans le Roman de messire Charles de Hongrie’, in L. Aubailly et al., eds, ‘Et c’est la fin pour quoy sommes ensemble’: Hommage à Jean Dufournet (Paris: Champion, 1993), pp. 349–55; Cameron M. Sutt, ‘Uxores, ancillae and dominae: Women in Thirteenth-Century Hungary in the Register of Várad’, Journal of Medieval History 36 (2010): 142–55. Cf. Herbert McAvoy, ed., Anchoritic Traditions of Medieval Europe.

Introduction

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Phenomena ranging from the rise of cities to the so-called Frauenfrage have been used to explain the growth and emergence of such groups.54 However, lay and unofficial communities had been part of the ecclesiastical landscape for centuries. In the early middle ages these had been isolated examples.55 From the thirteenth century onwards, their lives began to form patterns, and clear models of lay spirituality can be identified. As Daniel Bornstein writes, ‘laypeople self-consciously adopted penitential practices that had long been the special preserve of the monastic orders, took upon themselves the obligation to live chastely and act charitably, and claimed for themselves a religious identity that remained distinctively lay’.56 Those who lived according to these new models received support from sympathetic Church officials who endeavoured to help them find devotional expressions proper to the lay world. However, more commonly Churchmen encouraged models that resembled traditional forms of religious life.57 In particular, they encouraged women to take on the characteristics of religious orders and promoted these new ‘tertiary’ orders with saintly founders and fictive histories. This approach became more prevalent in response to canonical changes such as the effects of the Council of Vienne (1311) and the Clementine decrees (1317). The discussion in Chapters 2 and 3 details the ways in which tertiary groups were created and promoted throughout Western Europe (with a particular focus on the Low Countries) in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Drawing primarily on material connected with the most prevalent (and successful) fictive order, that of Franciscan tertiaries, it questions the relationship between religious rules and religious identity and demands that the intersections between secular and religious spheres be re-examined. Members of the Observance from all orders used a consistent pattern of manipulating historical and hagiographic fragments to create fictive histories that demonstrated the longstanding association of groups of pious laywomen with their orders. Given the Observant emphasis on writing, it is no surprise that this image of feminine sanctity dominates medieval and early modern sources, and has significantly influenced modern perceptions. In particular, they were largely responsible for the fact that pious medieval laywomen are not often considered as part of a culture of lay piety with fluid boundaries, but as a new type of nun.

54 Frauenfrage translates literally as ‘women question’ and refers to the uneven ratio between marriageable men and women in the high and later middle ages. In 1910, Karl Bücher noted the gender disparity, and speculated that it may have been related to the growth in women’s religious movements in this period (Bücher, Die Frauenfrage). This is discussed in Martha Howell, Suzanne Wemple, and Denise Kaiser, ‘A Documented Presence: Medieval Women in Germanic Historiography’, in Susan Mosher Stuard, ed., Women in Medieval History and Historiography (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1987), pp. 101–31. Cf. Lauwers and Simons, Béguins et Béguines. 55 Anna M. Silvas, Macrina the Younger, Philosopher of God (Turnhout: Brepols, 2008), pp. 2–9; Kim Bowes, Private Worship, Public Values, and Religious Change in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008); Martin Heinzelmann and Joseph-Claude Poulin, Les Vies anciennes de sainte Geneviève de Paris (Paris: Champion, 1986). 56 Daniel E. Bornstein, ‘Relics, Ascetics, Living Saints’, in Daniel E. Bornstein, ed., A People’s History of Christianity, vol. 4: Medieval Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2009). 57 More, ‘Institutionalizing Penitential Life’, 297–323.

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The issues surrounding these women are underpinned by the fact that there was no official language for discussing non-canonical groups. The ‘semi-religious’ form of life had no official status in canon law. While certain groups adopted the appearance of traditional female monastics (moniales), this was not necessarily accompanied by a change in canonical status. They were often given privileges reserved for those designated as religious (religiosi/-ae) or ‘ecclesiastical persons’ under canon law (such as being permitted to receive sacraments during times of  interdict or exemption from certain taxes). However, canonists continued to disagree on their precise legal status and they were never universally accepted as canonical religious.58 Despite the source difficulties, the writings of both medieval women and those directly responsible for their cura allow several sideways glimpses into non-traditional religious life, which show that the devotional practices in lay religious communities were more innovative and versatile than prescriptive documents might suggest. Instead of conforming to the official ideals, women remained open to a variety of expressions of religious life in the world. Clerics directly responsible for their spiritual care recognized this, and presented the women with a rich array of models of holiness in sermons, treatises, and hagiography. Chapter 4 examines the ways in which identity was developed in pastoralia (or texts of spiritual guidance and instruction) from women’s houses. Chapter  5 concentrates on the conspicuous absence of order identity in the writings of women. Chapter 6 deals with the further institutionalization of extra-regular women in the early modern world. In doing so, it draws attention to the fact that later medieval regularization and monasticization had little effect. Church officials still saw themselves confronted with many groups that did not conform to established canonical categories. Like their contemporaries in the fourteenth century, sixteenthcentury Churchmen were intent on steering extra-regular women towards their ideals of traditional feminine religious life. In particular, this chapter examines the effects of the new tertiary rules (particularly the 1521 rule of Leo X and the rules approved by Paul III), the institutionalization of beguines in the Low Countries, and the creation of new institutes. Despite the new instruments of regularization, women continued to occupy a liminal and dynamic space outside of institutional structures. The sources on which this book relies are typical of many of the difficulties associated with examining pre-modern women religious. The materials that have been used to piece together their story include sermons, images, treatises, rules, customaries, fragments from convent chronicles, and rapiaria (or books of personal reflection). The texts discussed are both geographically and temporally dispersed; however, they are all related (in various ways) to the communities discussed. Place names follow local usage, with the exception of those that have a standard English translation: hence, ‘Ghent’ is used rather than ‘Gent’ or ‘Gand’and ‘Bruges’ rather than ‘Brugge’. In general, personal names have been anglicized, except when the 58 Makowski, ‘A Pernicious Sort of Woman’, 28–31, 55.

Introduction

15

originals are common in English language scholarship. Hence, Clare of Assisi rather than Chiara d’Assisi, but Jacques de Vitry. This book examines extra-regular and non-monastic women from the early thirteenth through sixteenth centuries. It touches upon the social contributions of these women and the ways that fictive histories have influenced their voices. Of course, there are still voices missing from the tale, and numerous other lay and female communities must still be investigated closely. By writing their tale, I hope to explain the origins of this form of life, its intricate connections with popes, bishops, and religious orders, and the ways in which it was transformed. My goal is to unravel enduring myths concerning the ‘religious’ aspects of these women’s lives, and shift the focus back to the dynamic nature of medieval lay piety. I also deal with how Observant reformers influenced both the shape of these women’s lives and the ways they are remembered. Understanding the individual strands of fictive histories provides a context for hearing the voices of women who have been silenced by them. The picture that begins to emerge is not the image of the pious, humble, and obedient nun that dominates ideas of pre-modern religious life, but something more spirited and socially conscious. The women do not appear concerned with how they can cultivate religious identities so much as with how they can make a difference in society. In her treatise Four Ways of the Cross, Alijt Bake provides a detailed account of the ways in which a human soul can—and must— imitate Christ. She talks about the sufferings inherent in human relationships and in service to others. While recognizably devout and pious, Alijt does not seem to care for institutional religion, and offers the scathing observation, ‘God does not wear a blue veil.’ For Alijt and the other women in this book, it was not a religious habit but a devout life that enabled one to advance towards perfection.

1 Penitents and the Institutionalization of Penitential Life in the Thirteenth Century Any visitor to Belgium or the Netherlands is immediately struck by the remnants of convents and beguinages (begijnhoven) in both major cities and small towns. Their number and location suggests that the women who inhabited them held a prominent role in public life. However, despite leaving numerous visible changes to the urban landscape, much of the story concerning women known variously as beguines, tertiaries, recluses, and anchoresses remains to be told. Scholars have generally treated them as newer versions of established religious orders. It is true that these women sought contemplation and wished to dedicate themselves to the Lord, yet they were much more than simply traditional nuns (moniales or female monastics) who had adapted to changing times.1 Before it is possible to appreciate the rich contributions that these women have made to the worlds of Western Christendom, it is necessary both to understand the historical context from which they emerged, and the religious rhetoric that eventually removed them from history. For centuries, pious laywomen throughout Europe found ways of living the gospel message without leaving the secular world. From the early thirteenth century onwards, their lives began to form patterns, and clear models of lay spirituality can be identified.2 Pious laywomen worked with lepers, preached the gospel, admonished sinners, and served the poor. Those who practised this via activa were, at times, criticized, but they also received support from sympathetic Church officials. The discussion throughout this book both demonstrates the role that laywomen played in the spiritual climate of the later middle ages, and begins to outline the process by which they came to be seen as ‘lay monastics’ rather than pious members of the laity. In the late thirteenth century, the Franciscan Guibert of Tournai (†1288) expressed consternation over the proper way to refer to these women.3 Indeed, throughout Europe, women sought lives of perfection while remaining in the secular world. 1 For studies of beguine communities, see n. 4 in the introduction to this book. For an archival survey of material relating to women known as beguines, see Pascal Majérus, Ces femmes qu’on dit béguines . . . guide des béguinages de Belgique bibliographie et sources d’archives (Brussels: Archives générales du Royaume, 1997). 2 Daniel E. Bornstein, ‘Relics, Ascetics, Living Saints’, in Daniel E. Bornstein, ed., A People’s History of Christianity, vol. 4: Medieval Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2009), p. 102. 3 Cf. ‘Introduction’, n. 5.

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Their service to the Lord was active and based on the social needs of their day. As such, it was not the separation from society or the contemplative obedience associated with religious life, but a dynamic answer to the changing social and spiritual needs of Western Europe. Influential Churchmen, including Jacques de Vitry (†1240) the popular preacher and later bishop of Acre, recorded the vitae of saintly laywomen. These women are referred to by a variety of names including ‘beguines’ and ‘mulieres sanctae’.4 Modern scholars often view the vitae of these women as textual witnesses to developing forms of lay and feminine devotional expression.5 These women were not regarded as ‘nuns’ by Church (canon) law; however, they cannot be called wholly lay. Their decision to live a religious life in the world was innovative, yet their devotional practices—particularly charity, concern for the dead, and devotion to the Eucharist—were entirely in keeping with the mores of the high middle ages.6 Jacques himself was fully aware that the devotional expressions lived by these women were not unique to Northern Europe. In his second sermon to virgins he points out that a woman who lived in this way was known as ‘a beguina in Flanders and Brabant, a papelarda in France, a humiliata in Lombardy, a bizoke in Italy, and a coquenune in Teutonia’.7 On another occasion, Jacques referred to a group of sorores minores who lived in Assisi.8 Throughout Europe, communities of pious women were part of the secular world. Jacques recognized the important social and spiritual roles these women held. However, he was also aware that their status as ‘quasi’-religious could easily be misunderstood. While studying at the University of 4 Women from the diocese of Liège include: Marie d’Oignies, Juette of Huy/Hoei (†1227), Lutgard of Aywières/Tongres (†1246), Juliana of Mont-Cornillon (†1256), Ida of Nivelles/La Ramée (†1231), Alice of Schaerbeek (†1250), Christina of Sint-Truiden/St Trond (†1224), Ida of Leeuw (†1260), Beatrice of Nazareth (†1268), and Margaret of Ieper/Ypres (†1237). Italian examples include Rose of Viterbo (†1251), Umiliana of Cerchi (†1256), Zita of Lucca (†1272), Elena Enselmini (†1242), Benvenuta Boiani (†1292), Margaret of Cortona (†1297). French examples include Douceline of Digne (†1274). The most familiar German example is Elisabeth of Thuringia (†1231). In Poland, Queen Cunegunda (†1292) served the poor. Many of these women are discussed in Alastair Minnis and Rosalynn Voaden, eds, Medieval Holy Women in the Christian Tradition c.1100–c.1500 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010). For a discussion of patterns of life and the associated problems in terminology, see the essays in Leta Böhringer, Jennifer Kolpacoff Deane, and Hildo van Engen, eds, Labels and Libels: Naming Beguines in Northern Europe (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014). 5 There is some question as to whether these themes represented the reality of women’s religious experience or the ideal their hagiographers held for holy women (Michel Lauwers, ‘L’expérience béguinale et récit hagiographique: à propos de la Vita Mariae Oigniacensis de Jacques de Vitry’, Journal des savants 11 (1989): 61–103). 6 For the women and their social context, see Walter Simons, Cities of Ladies: Beguine Communities in the Medieval Low Countries, 1200–1565 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001). On their devotional practices, see Simone Roisin, L’hagiographie cistercienne dans le diocèse de Liège au XIIIe siècle (Louvain: Bibliothèque de l’Université, 1947); and the essays in Juliette Dor, Lesley Johnson, and Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, eds, Medieval Women: Texts and Contexts, 2, New Trends in Feminine Spirituality: The Holy Women of Liège and Their Impact (Turnhout: Brepols, 1999); Jacques Le Goff, The Birth of Purgatory, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981); Miri Rubin, Corpus Christi: The Eucharist in Late Medieval Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). 7 Jacques de Vitry, Secundus sermo ad virgines, trans. Carolyn Muessig, in The Faces of Women in the Sermons of Jacques de Vitry (Toronto: Peregrina Press, 1999),pp. 89, 140–1, nn. 218–20. 8 Catherine M. Mooney, ‘The “Lesser Sisters”, in Jacques de Vitry’s 1216 Letter’, Franciscan Studies 69 (2011): 1–29.

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Paris, Jacques (as well as his contemporary Hugolino of Ostia, who is discussed later) had worked with Peter the Chanter (†1197).9 Although Peter is not recognized for his influence on women religious, he observed that pious women were often falsely accused of immodesty or heretical tendencies for rejecting the advances of lecherous clerics.10 Throughout the thirteenth century, the women discussed here faced ongoing accusations. The fact that beguine communities refused to accept enclosure was sometimes construed as a desire to mix with secular men. In some cases the accusations of sexual immorality had gone even further: for example the Benedictine Walter of Coincy (†1236) accused the beguines and beghards of ‘unnatural’ coupling.11 Other controversies over non-monastic religious women focused on the nature of their vows. A number of canonists perceived the informal promises made when joining an informal community as distinct from the solemn vows professed by nuns to the bishop.12 As these were made to either their confessor or to a beguine mistress (Magistra or Marthe), they did not carry the same legal weight as solemn vows made to a bishop. Around the mid-thirteenth century, the Franciscan canonist Henricus of Merseburg († post 1276) wrote: There are two sorts of vows: a solemn vow (votum solempne) and a simple vow (votum simplex). A simple vow is similar to what is said when a person, compelled by nothing, says in his heart: ‘I vow to be continent’ or ‘I wish to be a monk.’ In this way, he is under an obligation, not to the Church, but to God. One who breaks [a simple vow] does not sin in a mortal manner, as is the case with one who breaks a solemn vow.13

Henricus’s distinction confuses simple and private vows, and is not precisely correct. Unlike ‘private vows’, ‘simple vows’ were made publicly, received by a recognized superior, and signified a change of life. However, these vows did not have to be made before a priest or bishop, and could—theoretically—be dispensed from.14 Nevertheless, Henricus’s opinion on the nature of vows continued to be influential into the fourteenth century. 9 Cf. Philippe Buc, ‘Vox clamantis in deserto? Pierre le Chantre et la prédication laïque’, Revue Mabillon 65 (1993): 5–47. Cf. John W. Baldwin, Masters, Princes, and Merchants: The Social Views of Peter the Chanter and His Circle (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970), pp. 36–9; Spencer E. Young, Scholarly Community at the University of Paris (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), p. 77; Monica Sandor, ‘The Popular Preaching of Jacques de Vitry’ (diss., University of Toronto, 1993), pp. 77–9. Cf. Simons, Cities of Ladies, pp. 38–47, 170–80. 10 ‘Imo etiam quaedam matronae honestae nolentes consentire libidini sacerdotum genitorum ab eis, in libro mortis scriptae sunt et accusatae ut Catharae . . .’ Peter the Chanter, ‘Verbum abbreviatum’, Patrologia cursus completus, series latina, ed. J. P. Migne, 221 vols. (Paris, 1841–1864), volume 205, col. 230. 11 For sexual criticisms, see Simons, Cities of Ladies, 124–7. Although lesbian activity was not a common criticism of the beguines, it was not unheard of. As late as 1457, a beguine from Mechelen was subject to this accusation. Cf. Simons, Cities of Ladies, 215, n. 27. 12 Lars-Arne Dannenberg, Das Recht der Religiosen in der Kanonistik des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts (Münster: LIT, 2007), pp. 154–67. 13 ‘Item voti sunt due: votum simplex et votum solempne. Votum simplex est, qui similiter emittitur nulla adhibita solempnitate ut cum dicit in corde: voveo continentam, volo esse monachus. Et istud obligat apud deum non apud ecclesiam et transgressor huius voti non mortaliter peccat et sicut transgressor voti Solempnis’; Henricus of Merseburg, Summa ad X 3.34, quoted in Dannenberg, Das Recht, 155. 14 Cf. Dannenberg, Das Recht, 155–7.

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In addition to vows, the lack of prescriptive regulation in the early houses became problematic. As is illustrated by an examination of beguine statutes, this resulted in legislative changes throughout the thirteenth century. Early houses of non-monastic women (often, but not always known as beguines) generally had foundation charters that were explicit about ideals for guiding the lives of their members. The informal nature of these communities—particularly their lack of enclosure and frequent interaction with the secular world—led to criticisms. Churchmen involved in the cura of female communities took steps to protect the women: first by promoting models of sanctity that were compatible with this ‘new’ devotion, and later by encouraging non-monastic women to adopt traditional signs of religious life. The aforementioned Jacques de Vitry interacted with, and admired, a number of women living this new form of religious life. While studying with Peter the Chanter, he would certainly have become aware of the difficulties these women faced.15 In an attempt to offer them some protection, he recorded the religious behaviour of Liégeoise holy women in hagiographic vitae. He also promoted their way of life through his sermons. Jacques’ assistance to these women took more practical forms as well. In 1216, he journeyed to Rome and gained approval for the lifestyle of the Liégeoise mulieres sanctae. Jacques had intended to place his petition before Pope Innocent III (r. 1198–1216), who was known to be sympathetic to the new movements of the thirteenth century, but arrived in Rome after his death.16 His successor, Honorius III (r. 1216–1227), was less flexible, but still aware of both the difficulties faced by these women and their increasingly important role in the Church. In his 1218 letter, Litteris tuae nobis, Honorius confirmed that houses of women (mulieres) or virgins (virgines) were to be given a place in the Church and provided with pastoral care.17 It is important to note that Jacques’ efforts were not directed at creating a new form of life, but at gaining approval for one that already existed. In 1216, Jacques recorded the life and religious behaviour of the Liégeoise laywoman Marie d’Oignies. Using hagiographic rhetoric, he praised Marie as a new model for the Church; however, his praise for innovation was interspersed with traditional hagiographic topoi.18 According to Jacques’ vita Mariae, Marie had longed to become a Cistercian nun, but her parents arranged for her to be married.19 Marie immediately told her new husband John that she had taken a vow of 15 Sandor, ‘The Popular Preaching’, 77–9. 16 See Kate Crawford Galea, ‘Unhappy Choices: Factors that Contributed to the Decline and Condemnation of the Beguines’, Vox Benedictina 10 (1993): 53–73. Cf. Simons, Cities of Ladies, 48. 17 Honorius III, Litterae tuae nobis, 1218, in Bullarium franciscanum 1:1–2. 18 Brenda Bolton, ‘Vitae Matrum: A Further Aspect of the Frauenfrage’, in Derek Baker, ed., Medieval Women (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1978), p. 254. In the prologue to the Life of Marie d’Oignies, Jacques de Vitry compares these women to the desert fathers. VMO, 630–84. 19 VMO, c. 1. For the Cistercian associations of Marie, see Simone Roisin, ‘L’Efflorescence cistercienne et le courant féminin de piété au XIIIe siècle’, Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 39 (1943): 342–78. Cf. Joseph Greven, Die Anfänge der Beginen: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Volksfrömmigkeit und des Ordenwesens im Hochmittelalter (Münster in Westphalia: Aschendorff, 1912), pp. 53–110; Ernest McDonnell, Beguines and Beghards in Medieval Culture with Special Emphasis on the Belgian Scene (New York: Octagon Books, 1969), pp. 20–39.

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chastity. His reaction to this news is not recorded. However, the young couple immediately dedicated their lives to serving lepers in a nearby hospital.20 Jacques’ portrayal of Marie was traditional, but still embodied the new spiritual currents of the period: she was married yet chaste; active yet contemplative; in the world but not of it.21 Most importantly, she devised a way of living the gospel life that differed considerably from the options presented by the established Church. Moreover, Jacques noted in the prologue to the vita Mariae that her way of life was common to women living in the diocese of Liège. He writes: You saw many holy virgins in the lily garden of the Lord and you rejoiced. You saw crowds of them in different places where they scorned carnal enticements for Christ, despised the riches of the world for love of the heavenly kingdom, clung to their heavenly Bridegroom in poverty and humility and earned a sparse meal with their hands. Although their families abounded in great riches, they preferred to endure distress and poverty rather than enjoy riches that had been wrongly acquired.22

Jacques wrote the vita Mariae, in part, to illustrate a modern saint. The vita Mariae now exists in over 26 manuscript copies, and was translated into French, English, Dutch, Norse, Italian, and Swedish.23 Both the manuscript circulation and the rendition of the text into several vernacular languages supports Jacques’ conviction that women who sought religious perfection in the secular world existed throughout Europe. While the number of texts might seem relatively unimpressive when compared with the vitae of important Churchmen such as Bernard of Clairvaux (†1153) or Francis of Assisi, it exceeds expectations for a text concerning a laywoman with no official affiliations. As Jacques had emphasized, Marie was not unique. The vitae of Marie’s Liégeoise contemporaries such as Juette of Huy and Lutgard of Aywières depict these women serving lepers. Juette’s story is recorded in a vita by her confessor Hugh de Floreffe before 1239.24 In Hugh’s version of events, Juette had wanted to dedicate herself to a life of chastity. Nevertheless, her parents arranged for her to marry at the age of 13. Following her husband’s death, Juette dedicated herself to a life of service 20 Johannes Molanus, Natales sanctorum Belgii (Duaci: Typis Viduae Petr. Borremans, 1616), p. 6. 21 Michael Lauwers, ‘L’institution et le genre. À propos de l’accès des femmes au sacré dans l’Occident’, Clio, Histoire, Femmes et Sociétés 2 (1995): 279–317. 22 ‘Vidisti enim (& gavisus es) in hortis liliorum Domini multas sanctarum Virginum in diversis locis catervas, quae spretis pro Christo carnalibus illecebris, contemptis etiam amore regni caelestis hujus mundi divitiis, in paupertate & humilitate Sponso caelesti adhaerentes, labore manuum tenuem victum quaerebant, licet parentes earum multis divitiis abundarent. Ipsae tamen obliviscentes populum suum & domum patris sui, malebant angustias & paupertatem sustinere, quam male acquisitis divitiis abundare, vel inter pomposos seculares cum periculo remanere’ (prologue to VMO, 547). 23 Studies of the manuscript tradition for all the mulieres sanctae are still incomplete. For an excellent study of the Life of Marie d’Oignies, see Suzan Folkerts, Voorbeeld op schrift. De overlevering en toe-eigening van de vita van Christina Mirabilis in de late middeleeuwen (Hilversum: Verloren, 2012); Suzan Folkerts, ‘The Manuscript Tradition of the Vita Mariae Oigniacensis in the Later Middle Ages’, in Anneke Mulder-Bakker, ed., Mary of Oignies, Mother of Salvation (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), pp. 221–41. Margot King generously donated microfilms of these manuscripts and the vitae of the other Liégeoise mulieres religiosae to the library at the University of Bristol. 24 Hugh de Floreffe, ‘De b. Ivetta, sive Ivtta, Vidua Reclusa, Hui in Belgio’, AASS, Jan., 1: 863–87 (hereafter VJH).

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and piety. Her decision to serve lepers was, in Hugh’s account, a type of penance for her sins. Hugh later recounts that at the end of her life, Juette became a recluse and developed her ties to the Cistercian order.25 Jacques’ Dominican contemporary, Thomas de Cantimpré, wrote the vitae of three saintly laywomen: Christina of Sint Truiden, Margaret of Ypres, and Lutgard of Aywières.26 Thomas appears to have been dedicated to promoting lay piety and providing basic theological education. His vitae of Christina and (to a lesser extent) Lutgard emphasize their devotion to earning redemption for the souls in purgatory—a central aspect of Thomas’s own religiosity.27 The vita Christinae begins with a depiction of its subject’s death and miraculous resurrection during her funeral mass. Upon rising from the dead, Christina informs her sisters and neighbours that she was ‘given back [her] life for the improvement of humanity’.28 To accomplish her mission, Christina undertook acts that were both intended to make satisfaction for the sins of others and to demonstrate the painful consequences of sin. The remainder of her vita contains heart-wrenching descriptions of Christina’s physical torments as she immersed herself in icy waters, crawled into fiery ovens, and inflicted all manner of pain on herself in an effort to aid the souls in purgatory. The devotion to redeeming sinners can also be seen in the vitae of other women from that period. Alice of Schaerbeek, the Cistercian laysister who suffered from leprosy, offered her own physical torments to mitigate their purgatorial punishment in the afterlife.29 Ida of Louvain did the same with her illness, which appears to have been epilepsy. These texts circulated widely, and are preserved in manuscripts dating from the thirteenth through fifteenth centuries.30

25 It is important to note that living as a recluse did not mean that Juette ceased to be active in the world. Instead, women known as recluses and anchoresses generally lived in urban centres and played an important role as counsellors or advisers. On the variety of lifestyles that are referred to by these terms, see the essays in Liz Herbert McAvoy, ed., Anchoritic Traditions of Medieval Europe (Woodbridge and Rochester: The Boydell Press, 2010). Cf. Paulette L’Hermitte-Leclercq, ‘Recluses’, in The Cambridge Companion to the Western Monastic Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, forthcoming). 26 Thomas de Cantimpré, ‘De Sancta Christina Mirabili Virgine Vita’, AASS, July, 5: 637–60 (hereafter referred to as VCM); Thomas de Cantimpré, Vita Margaretae de Ypris, ed. G. G. Meersseman, in ‘Les frères prêcheurs et le mouvement dévot en Flandre au XIIIe siècle’, Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 18 (1948): 106–30; Thomas de Cantimpré, ‘De S. Lutgarde Virgine, Sanctimoniali Ordinis Cisterciensis, Aquiriae in Brabantia’, AASS, June, 3: 231–63. For the manuscript tradition of the vita Christinae, see Folkerts, Voorbeeld op schrift. 27 Robert Sweetman. ‘Christine of St. Trond’s Preaching Apostolate: Thomas de Cantimpré’s Hagiographical Method Revisited’, in Margot King, ed., On Pilgrimage (Toronto: Peregrina Press, 1994), pp. 415–23. 28 ‘. . . ad correctionem hominum redonata sum vitae’, VCM I: 8. 29 ‘De b. Aleyde Scharembeka, Sanctimoniali ordinis Cisterciensis, camerae iuxta Bruxellam’, AASS, June, 2: 477–81, c. 2, par. 9, 479. 30 ‘De b. Aleyde’, 2: 477–81; ‘De Vener. Ida Lovaniensi, Ord. Cisterc. In Brabantia prope Mechlinam’, AASS, Apr., 2: 155–89; ‘De b. Iuliana Virgine, Priorissa Montis-Cornelii apud Leodium, Promotrice Festi Corporis Christi’, AASS, Apr., 1: 443–76. For the manuscript circulation of these texts, see ‘Index analytique des Catalogues de manuscrites publiés par les Bollandistes’, http: //bhlms. fltr.ucl.ac.be.

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Nor was this phenomenon confined to the Low Countries. Italian penitents were also engaged in acts of social service and active devotion. Umiliana of Cerchi (†1246) engaged in acts of charity and service. Umiliana gave away food and possessions secretly while married, and later openly as a young widow. On occasion, she would even invite the poor to eat with her in her home.31 As is discussed later, Margaret of Cortona (†1297) ran a small hospital community.32 Like Alice of Schaerbeek, Benvenuta Boiani (†1292) was afflicted with an illness, and dedicated her suffering to the glory of God and salvation of souls.33 At the same time, penitent women were engaged in acts of public instruction. Rose of Viterbo (†1252) taught groups of men and women and spoke openly against heresy.34 Like their contemporaries in Northern Europe, these women also presented expressions of a lived spirituality that was both centred on and focused in the secular world. Sermons and hagiographic texts from throughout Europe related the tale of the saintly laywoman Elisabeth of Thuringia, which documented and recorded a lay spirituality focused on improving the secular world.35 Elisabeth was perceived as having a particular affinity to lepers. Although there are many versions of Elisabeth’s biography and several interpretations of her life, the basic facts are usually consistent.36 The daughter of King Andrew of Hungary and the cousin of Emperor Frederick II, Elisabeth was expected to further her family’s political connections through marriage. She had the blessing of marrying Louis, landgrave of Thuringia, whom she loved, and who supported her works of charity.37 After Louis’ death, his relatives drove Elisabeth and her three surviving children from the castle. Instead of returning to her family, Elisabeth chose to spend her later

31 For information regarding Vito da Cortona’s life of Umiliana of Cerchi, see G. G. Sbaraglia, Supplementum et castigatio ad Scriptores Trium Ordinum s. Francisci (Rome: A. Nardecchia, 1936), vol. 3, p. 162; and Lucas Wadding, Scriptores Ordinis Minorum (Rome: A. Nardecchia, 1906), p. 22. 32 Giunta Bevegnati, Legenda de vita et miraculis Beatae Margaritae de Cortona, ed. Fortunato Iozzelli, Bibliotheca Franciscana Ascetica Medii Aevi, 13 (Rome: College of St Bonaventure, 1997). (hereafter referred to as LMC) 33 ‘De b. Benvenuta Bojanis virgine et sorore tertii ordinis S. Dominici’, in AASS, Oct., 13, 145–85. 34 ‘De sancta Rosa virgine tertii ordinis s. Francisci Viterbii in Italia’, in AASS, Sept., 2, 414–74. 35 Patricia Giangrosso, Four Franciscan Saints’ Lives: German Texts from Codex Sangallensis 589, Stuttgarter Arbeiten zur Germanistik 186 (Stuttgart: H.D. Heinz, 1987); Werner Williams-Krapp, Geistliche Literatur des späten Mittelalters (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), pp. 219–20; Folkerts, Voorbeeld op schrift; Rosalynn Voaden, ‘The Company She Keeps: Mechtild of Hackeborn in Late-Medieval Devotional Compilations’, in Rosalynn Voaden, ed., Prophets Abroad: The Reception of Continental Holy Women in Late Medieval England (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1996), pp. 51–69. For excellent studies exploring all aspects of the promotion of Elisabeth’s cult, see Christa Bertelsmeier-Kierst, ed., Elisabeth von Thüringen und die neue Frömmigkeit in Europa (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2008). 36 Dominant versions include: A. Huyskens, Quellenstudien zur Geschichte der hl. Elisabeth Landgräfin von Thüringen—Der sogenannte Libellus de dictis quattuor ancillarium s. Elisabeth confectus (Marburg: Elwert, 1908); and Dietrich of Apolda, Die Vita der heiligen Elisabeth des Dietrich von Apolda, ed. Monika Rener, Veröffentlichungen der Historischen Kommission für Hessen 53 (Marburg: Elwert, 1993) (hereafter referred to as Libellus). For a discussion of the various vitae of Elisabeth, see Ottó Gecser, ‘Lives of St. Elisabeth: Their Re-writings and Diffusion in the Thirteenth Century’, Analecta Bolandiana (2009): 49–107. 37 From the majority of sources, it appears that Louis and Elisabeth enjoyed a loving relationship. Cf. Gábor Klaniczay, Holy Rulers and Blessed Princesses: Dynastic Cults in Central Medieval Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 369–70.

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life in poverty and service as a soror in mundo, that is, a laywoman seeking religious perfection in the secular world. Due to the extra-regular expression of her vocation, she had no official ties to any religious order.38 The testimony of her handmaids reveals that whenever Elisabeth encountered lepers, ‘she sat next to them, consoling them and exhorting them to patience’.39 This same charity had been part of Elisabeth’s spirituality during her days in the palace. However, most other vitae and sermons about Elisabeth emphasize miracles and grotesque asceticism over tales of service. Texts frequently depict Elisabeth drinking the water a leper had used to wash, and often emphasize the sweet taste of their scabs that had come loose while bathing.40 Other accounts include miraculous events confirming divine approval for her acts. One frequently occurring tale recounts an incident in which the saint is overcome with sympathy for a leper and places him in her marriage bed. Elisabeth’s husband is alerted to the presence of a stranger, but when he approaches his bed, he sees only Christ.41 As Maiju Lehmijoki-Gardner has noted, this is a common device used to reinforce the modesty of Italian holy women (particularly those associated with the Dominican order), who might otherwise be subject to accusations of immorality due to close contact with male lepers.42 Again, the service that it appears Elisabeth was committed to is recounted in a stylized manner, which places emphasis on service to the divine rather than active charity. In the late thirteenth century, Guibert of Tournai (†1283) gave a sermon on Elisabeth that used the theme ‘Quesivit lanam et linum et operata est consilio manuum suarum.’43 Despite Guibert’s opposition to laywomen who appeared to be living as nuns (moniales), he seems to have supported pious women who did not live in newer quasi- or irregular religious communities. In his sermon on Elisabeth, Guibert emphasized that she was a queen who disdained neither manual labour nor servitude. He used the image of a woven garment as a model for his description of Elisabeth’s prayer, contemplation, penitence, and dedication to poverty. He related this to the familiar images of Elisabeth’s concern for lepers.44 Portrayals of Elisabeth as a devout laywoman were common throughout the thirteenth century. 38 Elisabeth’s earliest vitae were written by Cistercians and Dominicans. As Ottó Gecser points out, Elisabeth’s connections with the Franciscan order were not emphasized until much later, and then probably for political reasons. Cf. Ottó Gecser, The Feast and the Pulpit: Preachers, Sermons and the Cult of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, 1235–ca. 1500 (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 2012), pp. 8–9. Cf. Maria Pia Alberzoni, ‘Elizabeth of Hungary: Mother of the Friars Minor’, Greyfriars (2011): 213–36. 39 Huyskens, Quellenstudien, 121. 40 Gecser, The Feast and the Pulpit, Appendix 1, sermons L-II, p. 266. 41 Dietrich of Apolda, Die Vita, bk. 2, ch. 7, 40–1. 42 Maiju Lehmijoki-Gardner, Worldly Saints: Social Interaction of Dominican Penitent Women in Italy, 1200–1500 (Helsinki: Suomen Historiallinen Seura, 1999), passim. 43 This text is edited in Gecser, The Feast and the Pulpit, 326–9. 44 ‘. . . habuit multos puerulos pauperes, quibus bene providit, tam benigne et dulciter se circa ipsos habens, ut eam omnes matrem appellarent et circa eam intrantem domum se collocarent ad eam currendo. Inter quos scabiosos, infirmos, debiles et magis sordidos et deformatos specialius dilexit, capita eorum manibus attrectans et in sinu suo locans’, Libellus, 28–9. Cf. Alison More, ‘Gracious Women Seeking Glory: Clare of Assisi and Elizabeth of Hungary in Franciscan Sermons’, in Timothy

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Various Latin and vernacular vitae, as well as visual representations of Elisabeth, were often associated with houses of non-monastic women.45 In particular, preachers praised Elisabeth’s active lifestyle and experience of family life. Irregular or nonmonastic women represented a rather complex group that could include virgins, widows, married women whose husbands had entered religion, and penitent prostitutes.46 Records of beguinages indicate that this life was chosen by women from varying social classes, and who had very different levels of education. A cleric addressing such a group was faced with the difficult task of finding material that would appeal to this group of diverse women and prove an effective catalyst for the message that he wished to convey. Elisabeth was a popular and obvious model. While these texts were written in close temporal proximity to the women’s lives, and almost certainly have some historical basis, it is important to keep in mind that they are mediated through a clerical gaze. The women depicted performed acts of service and were committed to a socially inspired devotion. Nevertheless, the hagiographical accounts make it seem as though the women endured the hardship of remaining in the secular world out of love for God, and longed to live traditional religious lives. This desire to distance pious women from active charity also occurred institutionally. From the later thirteenth century onwards, communities of nonmonastic women were often urged to adopt the external signs of religious life: specifically religious rules, confessors, and an affiliation with a recognized religious order. As is discussed in later chapters, this eventually resulted in their communities becoming virtually indistinguishable from those of traditional religious women (at least for outsiders). Although these communities seldom formed links with each other, the outward uniformity between houses that adopted similar rules soon created the illusion of a unified order. R E G U L AT I O N A N D R E G U L A R I Z AT I O N : T H E C R E AT I O N O F T E RT I A RY A N D Q U A S I - R E L I G I O U S O R D E R S Early communities tended to be informal and often lacked a recognizable institutional structure. Honorius’s recognition of households of pious women with Litterae tuae nobis in 1218 had insisted on clerical guidance, but made no other demands. Many of these households were small (consisting of 2–3 women) and there was no urgent need for formal rules. Consequently, statutes and regulations for beguines or non-monastic women were neither ubiquitous nor prescriptive at the beginning of the thirteenth century. Documents such as donation charters often asked the community to live according to particular ideals (such as chastity and charity) but J. Johnson, ed., Every Miracle from the Beginning of the World Came About through Words (Leiden: Brill, 2012), pp. 209–30. 45 The ‘kloosterlijst’ compiled by the NWO project sponsored by Koen Goudriaan includes Dutch examples; http: //www2.let.vu.nl/oz/kloosterlijst/kform.php (accessed 8 February 2017). 46 Cf. Nicole Bériou, ‘La prédication au béguinage de Paris pendant l’année liturgique 1272–1273’, Recherches Augustiniennes 13 (1978): 105–229. On the social composition of beguine communities, see Simons, Cities of Ladies, 91–117.

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did not typically prescribe particular community structures, habits, or liturgical norms.47 Larger communities were regulated, but did not follow anything resembling a canonical rule. In his Dossier de l’ordre de la pénitence, Gilles Meersseman includes a number of early regulatory documents from penitential groups, including Innocent III’s 1201 bull that approved the Humiliati, documents pertaining to the penitents of Lombardy, and those associated with the Poor Catholics.48 It is important to recognize that these documents regulated purely practical matters such as clothing, the ownership of property, and liturgical obligations, and adopting them did not confer a changed canonical status. The men and women in these communities were not recognized members of religious orders; however, their lifestyle could not be described as wholly lay. Jacques de Vitry described the earliest communities as ‘hospices of piety, houses of  honesty, workshops of holiness, […] refuges of the poor, sustenance to the wretched, consolation to those in mourning, refectories for the hungry, comfort and relief for those who are ill’.49 He went on to say that ‘they lived communally according to the Rule of St Augustine without property and obedient to one superior’.50 Nor was Jacques alone in his opinion, as it would seem that men and women in these communities led extra-regular lifestyles based on an increasingly monastic model.51 The same phenomenon was common throughout Europe.52 Anne Lester has drawn attention to close ties between leprosaria and a number of communities of 47 Majérus, Ces femmes qu’on dit béguines, 2: 449–558. 48 ‘Propositum des humiliés’ (Dossier, 276–82); ‘Premier propositum des pauvres Lombards’ (Dossier, 284–6); ‘Propositum des pénitents dirigés par les pauvres catholiques’ (Dossier, 286–8); ‘Deuxième propositum des pauvres Lombards’ (Dossier, 288–9). Cf. Augustine Thompson, Cities of God: The Religion of the Italian Communes (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2005), pp. 70–80. 49 ‘. . . sunt hospitalia pietatis et domus honestatis, officine sanctitatis, conuentus decoris et religionis, refugia pauperum, auxilium miserorum, consolationes lugentium, refectio esurientium suavitatis et mitigatio infirmorum’, cited in Jacques de Vitry, Historia occidentalis, ed. J. F. Hinnebusch (Fribourg: The University Press, 1972), pp. 150–1. 50 ‘Vivunt autem secundum sancti Augustini regulam absque proprio et in communi sub unius maioris obedientia’, cited in Jacques de Vitry, Historia occidentalis, 147. Cf. Simons, Cities of Ladies, 189–90, n. 90. 51 Cf. Françoise Beriac, ‘Les fraternités de lépreux et lépreuses’, in Kaspar Elm and Michel Parisse, eds, Doppelklöster und andere formen der Symbiose männlicher und weiblicher Religiosen im Mittelalter (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1992), pp. 203–11. Cf. Isabelle Cochelin, ‘Evolution de la sainteté laïque: L’exemple de Juette de Huy (1158–1228)’, Le Moyen Âge 95 (1989): 397–417. 52 See Jennifer Stemmle, ‘From Cure to Care: Indignation, Assistance and Leprosy in the High Middle Ages’, in Ann M. Scott, ed., Experiences of Charity 1250–1650 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2015), pp. 43–62. For further discussion, see the essays in Barbara S. Bowers, ed., The Medieval Hospital and Medical Practice (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002). Cf. Katherine Park, ‘Healing the Poor: Hospitals and Medical Assistance in Renaissance Florence’, in Jonathan Barry and Colin Jones, eds, Medicine and Charity before the Welfare State (London: Routledge, 1991), pp. 26–45; Katherine Park, ‘Medicine and Society in Medieval Europe, 500–1500’, in Andrew Wear, ed., Medicine in Society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 59–90; James W. Brodman, ‘Unequal in Charity? Women and Hospitals in Medieval Catalonia’, Women in Medieval Catalonia, A Special Issue of Medieval Encounters: Jewish, Christian and Muslim Culture in Confluence and Dialogue 12: 1 (2006): 26–36; Carole Rawcliffe, ‘ “On the Threshold of Eternity”: Care for the Sick in East Anglian Monasteries’, in Christopher Harper-Bill, Carole Rawcliffe, and Richard G. Wilson, eds, East Anglia’s History: Studies in Honour of Norman Scarfe (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2002), pp. 41–72.

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what became known as Cistercian women in Northern France and throughout the Low Countries.53 Derek Hall has identified at least 178 hospitals founded in Scotland between 1178 and 1540.54 By the mid-thirteenth century, Matthew Paris estimated that there were at least 19,000 leper hospitals in Latin Christendom, many of which were run by beguine or beguine-like personnel.55 Franciscan mythology holds that the Franciscan third order emerged from this milieu.56 The standard narrative—which dominates modern scholarship—relates that Francis of Assisi inspired many laymen and women. It claims that to facilitate religious life in the world, Francis wrote his Letter to the Faithful and his Admonitions. Official histories recount that this later inspired the Franciscan Cardinal Protector Hugolino of Ostia to write the Memoriale propositi in 1221.57 This document was  confirmed in 1228, shortly after Hugolino ascended the papal throne as Gregory IX (r. 1227–1241).58 Finally, Pope Nicholas IV issued a new rule for the order in 1289. The official version of history recounts that the third order spread rapidly after this time. 53 Anne E. Lester, ‘Cares Beyond the Walls: Cistercian Nuns and the Care of Lepers in Twelfthand Thirteenth-Century Northern France’, in Emilia Jamroziak and Janet Burton, eds, Religious and Laity in Western Europe 1000–1400: Interaction, Negotiation, and Power (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), pp. 197–224. 54 Derek Hall, ‘“Unto Yone Hospitall at the Tounis End”: The Scottish Medieval Hospital’, Tayside and Fife Archaeological Journal 12 (2006), pp. 89–106. Despite criticisms of the criteria Hall used for identifying hospital communities, the fact that several existed is beyond doubt. Ian Cowan and David Easson include a list of Scottish hospitals that identifies the religious affiliations of several houses. See Ian Cowan and David Easson, Medieval Religious Houses, Scotland (London and New York: Longman, 1976), pp. 162–200. A charter from St Andrews in the twelfth century mentions a pilgrim hospital being tended to by elderly women ‘who did give little or no return in devotion or virtue’ (cited in David Ditchburn, ‘“Saints at the Door Don’t Make Miracles”? The Contrasting Fortunes of Scottish Pilgrimage, c.1450–1550’, in Julian Goodare and Alasdair A. MacDonald, eds, Sixteenth-Century Scotland: Essays in Honour of Michael Lynch (Leiden: Brill, 2008), p. 69; cf. p. 69, n. 3). 55 Catherine Peyroux, ‘The Leper’s Kiss’, in Sharon Farmer and Barbara H. Rosenwein, eds, Monks and Nuns, Saints and Outcasts: Religion in Medieval Society (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2000), pp. 172–88, esp. 175, n. 12. Cf. Isabelle Cochelin, ‘Bourgeoisie et léproseries de la principauté de Liège, fin XIIe- début XIIIe siècles’, Sources, travaux historiques 13 (1988): 15–18. 56 For the documents generally included in this construction, see Margaret Carney, Jean François Godet-Calogeras, and Suzanne M. Kush, eds, History of the Third Order Regular Rule: A Source Book (St. Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute Publications, 2008). The same medieval documents are included in Meersseman’s edition of statutes dealing with penitential life, but have no exclusive association with any particular order. See Dossier. Cf. Lezlie Knox, ‘Poor Clares’, in Margaret Schauss, ed., Women and Gender in Medieval Europe: An Encyclopedia (New York: Routledge, 2006), pp. 656–8, at 658; Robert Stewart, ‘De illis qui faciunt penitentiam’: The Rule of the Secular Franciscan Order (Rome: Istituto historico dei Cappuccini, 1991), pp. 188–99; Mariano D’Alatri, ‘Genesi della regola di Niccolò IV: aspetti storici’, in Lino Temperini and Raffaele Pazzelli, eds, La ‘Supra Montem’ di Niccolò IV (1289): Genesi e diffusione di una regola (Rome: Analecta terz’ordine regolare, 1988), pp. 93–107. Bernard Schlager offers a more critical reading of this evidence: see Bernard Schlager, ‘Foundresses of the Franciscan Life: Umiliana Cerchi and Margaret of Cortona’, Viator 29 (1998): 141–66. 57 For example, the Vita prima sancti Francisci by Thomas of Celano (1228) recounts extreme diversity among Francis’s followers. See Thomas of Celano, ‘Vita prima sancti Francisci’, in Enrico Menestò, ed., Fontes Franciscani (Assisi: Edizioni Porziuncola, 1995), pp. 273–424. 58 Cf. D’Alatri, ‘Genesi della regola di Niccolò IV’, 93–107; Raffaele Pazzelli, St. Francis and the Third Order (Chicago: Franciscan Herald Press, 1989), pp. 128–37.

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As is discussed in more detail in Chapter 2, this version of events is not strictly accurate.59 Although Francis certainly attracted many lay followers, there is no evidence that he founded a canonical order of laymen and women.60 Despite his many Franciscan connections, Hugolino did not write the Memoriale exclusively for those under the cura of the friars minor, but at the request of secular penitents in Northern Italy. The Memoriale was not a rule (in the canonical sense), but a set of prescriptive regulations. It was a collection that, as Augustine Thompson points out, was largely ‘borrowed from legal formularies and canon law sources’.61 It later served as the basis for penitential statutes including, as is discussed later, the so-called Franciscan tertiary rule of 1289 and the statutes written by the Dominican Master General Munio of Zamora (†1300).62 As pope after 1227, Gregory IX (Hugolino) continued to interact with communities of women who did not meet the traditional definition of moniales.63 In  1228, a community of penitential women in the Germanic regions came to Gregory’s attention. These women belonged to the Reuerinnen, or the (noncanonical) ‘order’ of Mary Magdalene. The Reuerinnen, or ‘remorseful ones’, were thought to have much to be sorrowful for, as the majority of these women (at least in the initial days of the community) were prostitutes who had repented of their former life.64 The cult of the Magdalene was popular in the thirteenth century, and penitential communities that adopted her as their patron emerged throughout Europe. In this regard, the Germanic order of Mary Magdalene was not unique.65 However, its internal cohesion and clear process of regularization make it an interesting case study in institutionalization. In 1227, Gregory issued the bull Religiosam vitam eligentibus, which decreed that the Reuerinnen should follow the Rule of St Benedict, together with Cistercian 59 For a discussion, see Alison More, ‘Institutionalizing Penitential Life in Later Medieval and Early Modern Europe: Third Orders, Rules and Canonical Legitimacy’, Church History (2014): 296–322. 60 Ingrid Peterson points out, ‘The early followers of Francis’s way of penance did not join an organization as members or take vows; they simply lived according to Francis’s exhortation to do penance.’ Ingrid Peterson, ‘The Third Order of Francis’, in Michael J. P. Robson, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Francis of Assisi (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), pp. 193–207. Lehmijoki-Gardner has pointed out that an identical situation existed for the early penitents who were connected with the associated order of preachers but not canonically a part of the Dominican order until 1405. Cf. Maiju Lehmijoki-Gardner, ‘Writing Religious Rules as an Interactive Process: Dominican Penitent Women and the Making of Their “Regula”’, Speculum 79 (2004): 660–87. 61 Thompson, Cities of God, 78. 62 Cf. Martina Wehrli-Johns, ‘L’osservanza dei Domenicani e il movimento penitenziale laico. Studi sulla “regola di Munio” e sul terz’ordine domenicano in Italia e Germania’, in Kaspar Elm and Giorgio Chittolini, eds, Ordini religiosi e società politica in Italia e Germania nei secoli XIV e XV (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2001), pp. 287–330. 63 Cf. James A. Brundage, Medieval Canon Law (Routledge: London and New York, 2013), p. 215. 64 André Simon, L’ordre des pénitentes de sainte-Marie Madeleine en Allemagne au XIII siècle (Fribourg: Librairie de l’oeuvre de Saint-Paul, 1918); Nigel F. Palmer, ‘Die Münchner Perikopenhandschrift Cgm 157 une die Handschriftenproduktion des Straßburger Reuerinnenklosters im späten 15. Jahrhundert’, in Barbara Fleith and René Wetze, eds, Kulturtopographie des Deutschsprachigen Südwestens im Späteren Mittelalter: Studien und Texte (Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 2009), pp. 263–300. 65 Simon, ‘L’ordre’, 5–11. Cf. Katherine Ludwig Jansen, The Making of the Magdalen: Preaching and Popular Devotion in the Later Middle Ages (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2000).

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customs. This is a near parallel with the situation involving the women who came to be known as the Poor Clares, who are discussed later in this chapter. Certain communities that belonged to this group lived a quasi-religious lifestyle and supported themselves by begging for alms.66 However, as the irregular life became increasingly criticized, the women were encouraged to adopt more signs of belonging to established religious orders. In 1232, the 1227 bull was superseded by Exurgentes de pulvere filiae Sion, which required these women to accept the Rule of St Augustine with the customs of Dominican nuns of San Sisto.67 While this is often mistakenly thought to be the beginnings of the Dominican third order, it is important to point out that the Reuerinnen neither became canonical members of an order, nor took on a legal religious status.68 However, many communities of Reuerinnen formed ties with the friar preachers after this time.69 Like Jacques de Vitry, Gregory was not interested in securing canonical recognition for communities of penitents. The semi-official regulation that Gregory provided for the Reuerinnen did not constitute a change in canonical or legal status. Nevertheless, for outsiders, the women who belonged to the Order of Mary Magdalene soon became indistinguishable from nuns in appearance and lifestyle. Moreover, they were under papal protection and arguably entitled to the rights and privileges enjoyed by moniales. It appears that Gregory felt that additional protections or admonitory guidelines were necessary for these women. As will become evident in the later discussion of his dealings with the developing community of women who surrounded Clare of Assisi, Hugolino was extremely familiar with canonical norms and could easily have chosen to impose them on penitential communities if he had felt it necessary.70 In 1233, Gregory’s efforts at regularization were turned towards the beguines with the bull Gloriam virginalem.71 Although his predecessor (Honorius III) had granted beguine communities permission to pursue vocations of active service, Gregory’s canonical mind needed something more than evidence of popular 66 For the bull, see Simon, ‘L’ordre’, 24. For a discussion of communities that this affected, see Guido Caraboni, ‘Zur Datierung der Interpolationen in den Institutiones Sancti Sixti de Urbe. Die normative und institutionelle Entwicklung der sorores penitentes der Heiligen Maria Magdalena in Alamannia im 13. Jahrhundert’, in Gert Melville and Anne Müeller, eds, Regula Sancti Augustini. Normative Grundlage differenter Verbände im Mittelalter (Paring: Augustiner Chorherren, 2002), pp.  389–418; Anna Sauerbrey, De Straßburg Klöster im 16. Jahrhundert: Eine Untersuchung unter besonder Berücksichtigung der Geschlechtergeschichte (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), pp. 584–5; Georg Link, Klosterbuch der Diöcese Würzburg (Würzburg: J. Staudinger, 1873–76), p. 585. 67 Maria Pia Alberzoni, ‘Jordan of Saxony and the Monastery of St. Agnese in Bologna’, Franciscan Studies 68 (2010): 1–19. 68 The often-cited work of Joanne McNamara draws this conclusion. Cf. Joanne McNamara, Sisters in Arms: Catholic Nuns through Two Millennia of Christianity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), pp. 314–15. 69 Certain houses of the Reuerinnen joined the order in the fourteenth century. However, other houses either remained penitential communities, or became part of the Clarissan Order. See Palmer, ‘Die Müncher’, 271–2. As is discussed later in this book, the efforts towards a canonical Dominican third order would not occur until the end of the fourteenth century. 70 Cf. Bert Roest, Order and Disorder: The Poor Clares between Foundation and Reform (Leiden: Brill, 2013), pp. 11–36. 71 Ed. August Potthast, Regesta pontificum romanorum inde ab a. post Christum natum MCXCVIII ad A. MCCCIV (Berlin: Decker, 1873) 1: 89/9218.

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approval and reputable witnesses to piety. Gloriam virginalem approved the beguines’ right to live in community, but only if they lived within the enclosure enclosure and lived a suitably religious life (in his view, one modelled on the Virgin Mary). Gregory’s Gloriam virginalem did not create an order; however, it arguably changed beguine life from an unofficial state to a legitimate, if non-canonical, status in the Church: a recognized form of ‘quasi-religious’ life. At the same time, it created two tiers of beguine life: the ‘good’ beguines who accepted enclosure and the ‘bad’ beguines who insisted upon living an active life. Five years after its promulgation, the foundational documents of a beguinage in Cantimpré near Cambrai explicitly mention the bull as a reason for the community’s foundation. Within the same time period, houses of enclosed beguines were founded at Louvain/Leuven, Ghent, and Namur.72 Though still not officially canonical, parts of the beguine movement had begun to resemble a beguine order. These informal regulations should not be equated with a prescriptive and formal rule. In the Sint-Truiden beguinage of St Agnes, for example, it was not necessary for a new beguine to make a vow when entering the beguinage in the first half of the thirteenth century. There was no form of profession, and all that was necessary for entering a community was moving into the beguinage and adopting the habit. According to the seventeenth-century compiler of beguine history Joseph Ryckel, the informality at St Agnes was typical of beguinages until around the middle of the thirteenth century. Later, the most common formula for the vow made by beguines to the confessor was as follows: ‘I, [name], give my word to you, Father and to the mistresses [of this house] that I will live in obedience and chastity in the court both now and in the future.’73 Later rules were more prescriptive. A later thirteenth- or fourteenth-century rule from Ghent stipulated that the beguines were required to attend daily mass (during a time when this was uncommon for lay persons), and were required to receive the Eucharist on major feasts (while in accordance with their lay, or non-canonically recognized, status, they would have been required to receive the sacrament once annually).74 Moreover, they were not permitted to leave the house on feast days unless the grand mistress felt it necessary. Strict enclosure was not demanded, but interaction with the outside world was among many aspects of beguine life that became more regulated.75 The Ghent Rule also required certain 72 Simons, Cities of Ladies, 48–9. 73 ‘Ego [nomen] . . . promitto tibi D. Parochiano, et Magistrabus nunc existentibus et futuris, obedientiam et castitatem tandiu ac in Curia habitabo.’ (Joseph Ryckel, Vita S. Beggae (Louvain: Typis Corn. Coenestenii, 1631), p. 429.) 74 No date is known for the first rule of this beguinage (no. 23, in Jean Béthune, Cartulaire du béguinage de Sainte-Elisabeth à Gand (Bruges: A. de Zuttere, 1883), pp. 17–22). Jordanus Piet de Pue says it is from 21 May 1269, but does not provide evidence. ( Jordanus Piet de Pue, Geschiedenis groot begijnhof St Elisabeth Ghent en St Amandsberg (Leuven: N.P., 1984), p. 13, n. 5.) The earliest extant version is in two fourteenth-century copies. Béthune prints the whole text of a fourteenth-century copy that was contemporary with the reformed statutes of 1353 issued by Louis de Mâle, Count of Flanders. These were granted by Louis de Mâle upon request of Jan van Oudenaarde (†1316), prior of the Dominicans in Ghent. The Ghent rule is cited in M-J Ollivier, ‘Le grand béguinage de Gand’, L’Année dominicaine (1902): 12–17, 64–70, 120–7, 145–51, 205–16 (here 68–70). 75 Cited in Ollivier, ‘Le grand béguinage de Gand’, 68, 76, 82.

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prayers, such as vigils on feasts connected with the Virgin, and daily recitation of the prayers in her honour.76 As was typical of beguine houses, the rule required devotions be carried out on behalf of the souls in purgatory.77 Despite the fact that regulations in many houses became increasingly prescriptive, the relative autonomy of individual houses resulted in diverse forms of spirituality. Walter Simons states that each beguine house remained a virtual ‘island of difference’.78 As beguine communities grew larger, they were forced to develop structures of organization. Those who wished to regulate the beguines or who felt, in some way, responsible for their care found that the regulatory structures that existed for houses of moniales, or traditional convents, provided an ideal model. Instead of the informal structure of women living as equals, beguine convents (whatever their size) were encouraged to nominate an official leader.79 Urban IV (r. 1261–1264) had spent his early career in Liège as Jacques Pantaléon, the archdeacon of Campine. In this role, Urban had written a rule that Robert of Thourotte, bishop of Liège between 1240 and 1246, promoted for beguines in the last year of his reign. In the years between the implementation of this rule in Liège and Urban’s ascent to the papal throne in 1261, the beguines of Liège do not appear to have lived in a manner that was any more uniform or ‘monastic’ than their sisters elsewhere in Europe.80 However, the early implementation of a rule that had episcopal approval set the Liégeoise beguines apart: despite its ambiguities and apparent inconsistencies, this rule laid out the obligations and official parameters of the relationship between the beguines and the diocese. To ensure that the beguines of Liège remained above suspicion, Urban issued a letter confirming that the life lived by the beguines of Liège was approved, and that beguine communities in this diocese now enjoyed pontifical protection.81 After ascending the papal throne, Urban demanded that the beguines of Cologne follow the 1246 rule, creating the illusion of a unified order of beguines throughout Europe.82 The 1246 rule gave the beguines some protection and seemed to confer diocesan (or pontifical in the case of Cologne) recognition on the beguines; however, 76 The prayers included the Little Hours of the Virgin, or series of prayers referred to as ‘rosaries’, although the question of what exactly is meant by ‘rosary’ is unclear. See Anne Winston-Allen, Stories of the Rose: The Making of the Rosary in the Middle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997). 77 Cited in Ollivier, ‘Le grand béguinage de Gand’, 65, 74, 82. 78 Walter Simons, ‘Islands of Differences’, in Luc Devoldere et al., eds, Low Countries (Rekkem: Flemish Netherlands Foundation, 2004), pp. 205–13. 79 ‘. . . just as merchants, cloth manufacturers, bakers, brewers, fullers, weavers, and other crafts of all kinds ought to choose and establish masters, captains or heads for their corporations, so for three beguines or more who live together in one house there shall be a mistress’; translation quoted in McDonnell, Beguines and Beghards, 127. 80 Cf. Jennifer Kolpacoff Deane, ‘Beguines Reconsidered: Historiographical Problems and New Directions’. http: //monasticmatrix.osu.edu/commentaria/beguines-reconsidered-historiographicalproblems-and-new-directions (accessed 8 February 2017). 81 Urban IV, ‘Papa collegia begginarum & reclusarum diocesis Leodiensis in suam protectionem suscipit, anno 1261. aut 1262’, in Aubertus Miraeus and Johannes Franciscus Foppens, eds, Opera diplomatica et historica (Louvain: Typis Aegidii Denique, 1723–48), 1: 429, cap. cxviii. 82 Urban IV, ‘Pontificis alterum diploma in favorem Beghinarum Leodiensium, datum anno 1261, aut 1262’, in Aubertus Miraeus and Johannes Franciscus Foppens, eds, Opera diplomatica et historica (Louvain: Typis Aegidii Denique, 1723–48), vol. 1, p. 430, cap. CXIX.

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it did not create a canonical order and there was still considerable difference among the forms of life observed in individual houses. Although the 1246 rule advised enclosure, this was neither emphasized nor widely observed. While beguine communities now appeared to resemble a beguine order, the external signs of monasticization that they had adopted were not sufficient to silence the voices of their detractors. At around the same time, other groups that sought the official approval conferred by a religious rule generally adopted the Rule of St Augustine. This has led to considerable confusion in the sources, as many women who chose this path are often later (mistakenly) regarded as ‘becoming Augustinian tertiaries’, whether or not they were connected to the Augustinian friars.83 In other cases, communities that adopted this rule continued to be known as beguines and regarded as wholly separate entities.84 For example, in 1245, Innocent IV addressed a letter to the brothers and sisters at the hospital of Notre Dame in Lille, indicating his approval of their choice of the Rule of St Augustine (which—as Jacques de Vitry recorded in his Historia occidentalis—was common for hospital sisters). The women who served in this hospital continued to have associations with the Dominicans and to be discussed as ‘beguines’ over the next two centuries.85 By the mid-thirteenth century, a significant number of women’s non-monastic communities existed throughout Europe. The growing number of groups that adopted approved (if sometimes non-canonical) rules or received episcopal protection indicates that the need for some system of regulation was generally acknowledged. However, it appears that this regularization was largely informal: it affected dioceses rather than the universal Church and did not grant canonical religious status to quasi-religious women. If one compares this with the process of regularization and attempts to create a legal order identity that occurred in connection with the group commonly known as the Poor Clares, one sees a very different picture. T H E C R E AT I O N O F N E W O R D E R S : T H E C L A R I S S A N S Despite their prevalence, non-monastic or quasi-religious groups were not the only way that women could participate in the changing spiritual climate of the thirteenth century. The formation of the Order of St Clare was contemporary with many of 83 Cf. Koen Goudriaan, ‘De observantie der conversinnen van Sint-Augustinus’, in Hildo van Engen and Gerrit Verhoeven, eds, Monastiek observantisme en Moderne Devotie in de Noordelijke Nederlanden (Hilversum: Verloren, 2008), pp. 167–212. 84 The conflation of religious rules with order identity is a more general mistake. Following the Fourth Lateran Council, communities were given the choice between the Rule of St Augustine and the Rule of St Benedict. Choosing one or the other rule did not signify any affiliation with the order. Clare of Assisi is a case in point: her original profession was made on the Rule of St Benedict, although she had no Benedictine ties. On the Clarissan orders, see Roest, Order and Disorder. Cf. Lezlie Knox, Creating Clare of Assisi: Female Franciscan Identities in Later Medieval Italy (Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2008), pp. 135–6. 85 The letter of 26 September 1245 is now in the Archives of Lille. Cf. Inventaire analytique et chronologique des archives Hospitalières de la ville de Lille (Lille: Lefebvre-Ducrocq, 1871), 5, no. 46.

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the developments that affected their non-monastic sisters. As scholars such as Maria Pia Alberzoni, Lezlie Knox, Catherine Mooney, and Bert Roest have demonstrated, the foundation of the Clarissan order is shrouded in myth and involved numerous canonical complexities.86 While both Francis and Clare of Assisi have been discussed as the ‘founder’ of the Order of St Clare, closer examination reveals that both options are hagiographic embellishments. Instead of the legacy of Francis and Clare, the so-called Order of St Clare appears to have been shaped by the acts of popes from Gregory IX through Urban IV. Moreover, as Roest demonstrates, the rapid spread of this order throughout Europe had more to do with social and ecclesiastical needs than attraction to the somewhat nebulous idea of ‘Franciscan spirituality’. In order to clarify the ways in which the institutionalization of this order differs from penitential groups, beguines, and tertiaries, a brief summary is necessary. Chiara di Faverone, or Clare of Assisi, was born around 1194 to the noble Offreduccio family.87 In keeping with the customs of the minor nobility, or maiores of Assisi, Clare was well educated and brought up in a pious manner. As was also typical, Clare and the female members of her household regularly distributed alms to the poor.88 Clare’s concern for, and empathy with, the needy was perfectly in keeping with the spiritual climate of her day.89 Significantly for Clare’s story, it was shared by the young Francis of Assisi (Francesco di Bernardone), who was becoming known throughout the region for his love of poverty. Around 1212, Clare left her family and endeavoured to join Francis in his mendicant vocation. While a spirituality of wandering, serving, and begging was radical for men, it was almost completely unacceptable (at least in central Italy) for a woman to adopt such a lifestyle. Francis accepted Clare’s profession to religious life, but brought her briefly to the Benedictine community of San Paolo delle Abbadesse.90 She later spent time in a hermitage on Monte Subasio, before receiving permission to install herself in 86 Maria Pia Alberzoni, ‘Sorores Minores e autorità ecclesiastica fino al pontificato di Urbano IV’, in Giancarlo Andenna and Benedetto Vetere, eds, Chiara e la diffusione delle clarisse del secolo XIII (Galatina: Congedo, 1998), pp. 165–94; Roest, Order and Disorder. Cf. Knox, Creating Clare of Assisi; Catherine M. Mooney, Regulating Female Penitents: Clare of Assisi and the Thirteenth-Century Church (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016). 87 Clare’s first Legenda is often attributed to Thomas of Celano. However, this is questioned. See Stefano Brufani, ‘Le “legendae” agiografiche di Chiara d’Assisi del secolo XIII’, in Enrico Menestò, ed., Chiara di Assisi (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 1993), pp. 327–40. For an edition of the Legenda, see Ernesto Caroli, ed., Fonti Francescani. Scritte e biografie di san Francesco d’Assisi, chroniche e altre testimonianze al primo secolo francescano. Scritti e biografie di santa Chiara d’Assisi (Padua: EFR, 1980/1988); Enrico Menestò and Stefano Brufani, eds, Fontes Francescani (Assisi: Porzioncola, 1995); G. Boccali, ed., Legenda latina sanctae Clarae virginis assisiensis, trans. M. Bigaroni (Perugia: Porzioncola, 2001). 88 Roest, Order and Disorder, 11–15. 89 Marco Bartoli, ‘Chiara d’Assisi, donna del secolo XIII’, in Pasquale Corsi and Ferdinando L. Maggiore, eds, Chiara d’Assisi e il movimento clariano in Puglia (Trani: Messaggi, 1996), pp. 15–32, at 28. 90 For a discussion of the monastery, see Marino Bigaroni, ‘I monasteri benedettini femminili di S. Paolo delle Abbadesse, di S. Apolinare in Assisi e S. Maria di Paradiso prima del Concilio di Trento’, in Francesco Santucci, ed., Aspetti di vita benedettina nella storia di Assisi, Atti Accademia Properziana del Subiaso, ser. 6, n. 5 (Assisi: Accademia Properziana del Subasio, 1981), pp. 171–231.

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the house of San Damiano.91 Here, Clare and her companions were placed under  the care of the Cardinal Protector of the Franciscans, Hugolino of Ostia (Gregory IX after 1227). Hugolino took the responsibility for caring for Clare and her sisters seriously and endeavoured to ensure that their chosen form of life received official approval. To this end, he mandated that the sisters profess the Rule of St Benedict.92 In 1219, Hugolino supplemented this with a forma vitae that was followed both by Clare’s community at San Damiano and in communities connected with the movement.93 As the women had no official Franciscan rule, the precise obligations that the friars had towards the Damianites remained a source of controversy. In 1247, Innocent IV wrote a new rule that stressed the connection of these women to the Franciscan order, but it was not widely adopted.94 In 1253, Clare wrote her own rule, or forma vitae, which she claimed was based on a rule that Francis had given her.95 In 1263, one decade after Clare’s rule, Urban IV attempted to bring order to these women and solve the tensions between the friars and sisters. His solution was to replace the myriad rules associated with the Damianites with one written by Alexander IV in 1259. Drawing on Clare’s growing popularity, he promoted this as a new rule for the Order of St Clare, rather than the Order of San Damiano.96 The legend and portrayal of Clare was to  become intrinsically connected to the identity of this order. The importance of Clare’s connection with Francis and her own rule were later to become central elements of the fictive Clarissan identity promoted by the Observant Reform movement.97 The significance of Urban’s foundation of the Order of St Clare in 1263 should thus not be underestimated. While the early regulation of the penitents, Reuerinnen, and Damianites shows that the pastoral and institutional needs of the three groups were thought to be different, Urban’s imposition of a rule and a regular identity on a ‘new’ order of nuns was consistent with the spirit of institutionalization that 91 Roest, Order and Disorder, 13–16. 92 Cf. Bullarium franciscanum, 1: 3–5. 93 This text is discussed as both a rule and a set of constitutions based on the Rule of St Benedict. The actual nature of the text is far from clear; while it offers some innovations in religious life, it depends heavily on Benedict’s rule. 94 For the rule, see Bullarium franciscanum, 1: 476–83. It is discussed in Roest, Order and Disorder, 48–50 and Lezlie Knox, ‘Audacious Nuns: Institutionalizing the Franciscan Order of Saint Clare’, Church History 69 (2000): 41–62. 95 In Chapter  6 of her rule, Clare cites from a text that she had been given by Francis saying ‘Attendens autem beatus pater quod nullam paupertatem, laborem, tribulationem, vilitatem et contemptum saeculi timeremus, immo pro magnis deliciis haberemus, pietate motus scripsit nobis formam vivendi in hunc modum.’ (‘Mindful that we had no fear of poverty, labour, distress, shame, or contempt for the world, but regarded such things as great delights, our blessed father was moved by compassion and wrote a form of life for us as follows.’) In Fontes franciscani, p. 2299. Clare’s rule, or Forma vitae eventually gained papal approval, but only for use in the community of San Damiano. It was not until the later influence of Observant reformers that it came to be important both for the Clarissan order and for other women who received spiritual care from Observant Franciscans. See Roest, Order and Disorder, 25. Cf. Nirit Ben-Aryeh Debby, The Cult of St Clare of Assisi in Early Modern Italy (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2014). 96 Bullarium franciscanum, 2: 477–86; Annales minorum, 4: 507–15. 97 Knox, Creating Clare of Assisi, passim.

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became increasingly prevalent in the thirteenth century. As was the case with the Clares, Urban placed additional regulations on other communities of non-monastic religious women that were aimed at establishing uniformity. The legislation that was instituted for non-monastic religious women in the second half of the thirteenth century simply created the illusion that women such as the beguines or penitents belonged to new religious orders. R E G U L A R I Z AT I O N A N D I N S T I T U T I O N A L I Z AT I O N : T H E ‘ F O U N D AT I O N ’ O F A P E N I T E N T I A L O R D E R ? As we have seen, in 1247 Innocent IV issued a new rule for the women connected with Clare of Assisi. At the same time, he demanded that beguine communities in the diocese of Cologne follow the 1246 Liégeoise beguine rule.98 In a further effort to regularize non-monastic women, Innocent endeavoured to connect unaffiliated penitents (or at least those without a rule recognized at the diocesan level) with established religious orders. In particular, he mandated that the non-monastic female communities in Lombardy and Florence be placed under the exclusive supervision of Franciscan confessors.99 Although welcomed by some, Innocent’s decision to tie the penitents to the Franciscan friars resulted in such an outrage that by 1260 penitents were again able to choose confessors more freely.100 Around the same time, the ecclesiastical connections of individual holy women also came to be seen as important. Shortly after 1246, the Franciscan Vito of Cortona recorded a vita of the Italian holy woman Umiliana of Cerchi.101 Vito wrote that she was not suited for traditional religious life. For this reason, the Lord sent her the founders of religious orders, who aided her in creating a way of life that was true to her desire to dedicate herself to the Lord and the spirit of the early friars.102 Although she had a Franciscan confessor and numerous ties to the friars, even Vito’s text relates that Umiliana’s chosen path of a pious laywoman living in the world did not conform to any recognized model. His admiration for her non-traditional choices suggests pastoral openness rather than a desire to promote a tertiary order. Pressure for communities of non-monastic women to claim ties with a recognized order continued throughout the second half of the thirteenth century. This was, in 98 Urban IV, ‘Pontificis alterum Diploma’, 1: 430, cap. CXIX. 99 Dossier, 22, p. 57 and # 25, pp. 58–9. Cf. D’Alatri, ‘Genesi della regola’, 99. 100 Dossier, 9. Cf. ibid., 65–7. 101 Vitus Cortonensis, ‘Vita beatae Humilianae de Cerchis’, in AASS, May, 4: 385–400. For information on other editions of Umiliana’s vita, see Anne M. Schuchman, ‘Politics and Prophecy in the Life of Umiliana dei Cerchi’, Floreligium 17 (2000): 101–14 (especially at 111, n. 2); Anne M. Schuchman, ‘The Lives of Umiliana de’ Cerchi: Representations of Female Sainthood in ThirteenthCentury Florence’, Essays in Medieval Studies 14 (1997): 15–28. Cf. Anna Benvenuti-Papi, ‘In castro poenitentiae’: Santità e società femminile nell’Italia medievale (Rome: Herder, 1990), pp. 59–98, 171–203. 102 For the close ties between Umiliana and the Franciscans, see Schlager, ‘Foundresses of the Franciscan Life’, 147–54.

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part, due to an increasing distrust over the ‘confusion’ that emerging religious groups caused within the Church. However, this concern was not entirely new. In 1215, the Fourth Lateran Council had already tried to limit the chaos caused by the growing number of new religious movements by decreeing that no new religious rules should be written. Although the Council’s prohibition inspired some new orders to create pious fictions about saintly founders or earlier oral papal approval, its practical effects were minimal and did nothing to stop the creation of new orders.103 More significantly, the decree did nothing to limit the proliferation of quasi-religious and penitential movements. In 1274, the Second Council of Lyons noted that new orders had continued to be created despite the 1215 decree, and that many of these groups continued to cause problems for the universal Church.104 The Council not only renewed the prohibition of the Fourth Lateran Council, but also attempted to suppress all orders that had been founded without papal approval in the years between 1215 and 1274.105 Nevertheless, non-monastic women continued to play a prominent role in society. In Italy and parts of the Low Countries, Northern France, and the Rhineland, such communities represented a sizable percentage of the population.106 The active and charitable work that these women carried out was becoming increasingly vital, and often received support from secular rulers and city magistrates— particularly in the Southern Low Countries. At the same time, these women continued to receive support from prominent officials within the Church. In the later thirteenth century, the Franciscan pope, Nicholas IV (r. 1288–1292), was among their supporters. In order to help these women, Nicholas attempted both to confer official ecclesiastical status on this way of life and bring it closer to the Franciscan order. In 1289, Nicholas issued the bull Supra montem that set out a rule for the ‘order of penitents’, which it claimed had been founded by Francis. After describing the order as the ‘path of salvation’, Nicholas wrote: And for that reason the glorious confessor of Christ, Bl. Francis, the founder (institutor) of this order, showing the way to ascend to the Lord both in word and example, instructed his own children (filii) in the sincerity of his own faith, and he wanted them also to acknowledge it themselves, to hold it constantly, and to fulfil it similarly with

103 A number of orders including the Order of St Clare (1262), the Order of Friars Minor (1221), and the Order of Minoresses initiated by Isabelle of France (1259) were founded after the council. For Clare, see Knox, Creating Clare of Assisi; for Isabelle, see Sean Field, Isabelle of France: Capetian Sanctity and Franciscan Identity in the Thirteenth Century (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2006). 104 ‘A general council by a considered prohibition averted the excessive diversity of religious orders, lest it might lead to confusion. Afterwards, however, not only has the troublesome desire of petitioners extorted their multiplication, but also the presumptuous rashness of some has produced an almost unlimited crowd of diverse orders, especially mendicant, which have not yet merited the beginnings of approval.’ Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, 1: 326. 105 ‘We therefore renew the constitution, and severely prohibit that anyone found henceforth a new order or form of religious life, or assume its habit. We perpetually forbid absolutely all the forms of religious life and the mendicant orders founded after the said council which have not merited confirmation of the Apostolic See, and we suppress them in so far as they have spread.’ Ibid. 106 For a discussion of numbers of beguines, see Simons, Cities of Ladies, 55.

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work, so that walking soberly by means of its path, they may, after the workhouse of the present life, merit to grab hold of eternal beatitude.107

However, when considered in its historical context, it would seem that the Franciscan Nicholas probably had an agenda other than honouring his founder. The new rule can be seen as a direct response to the legislation of the Second Council of Lyons.108 By making Francis of Assisi the founder of an order for laymen and women living in the world and recognizing its ‘rule’, Nicholas placed this order securely before the Second Council of Lyons, and arguably before the Fourth Lateran Council.109 Nicholas’s reading of the canonical climate seems to have been accurate. The changes that occurred in the later thirteenth and early fourteenth century forced groups of non-monastic religious women to adopt external signs of religious life, and most particularly religious rules. The less formal diocesan legislation, such as was common in beguine communities from the mid-thirteenth century, did not have the weight of universal Church approval, and the only official rules now available to penitents were the ‘Franciscan’ tertiary rule of 1289, the Benedictine Rule, and the Rule of St Augustine. The Rule of St Benedict was explicitly designed for a monastic community and was far from conducive to women living a penitential lifestyle. On the other hand, the 1289 rule and the many versions of the Rule of St Augustine were easily adapted to a variety of forms of religious life, and spread rapidly. The 1289 rule found in Supra montem is often claimed as the ‘definitive’ or ‘authoritative’ rule for the Franciscan third order in the later medieval and early modern period.110 This bull required penitents to profess before friars and to accept their authority. It also gave the newly designated tertiaries certain guidelines for living and provided some semblance of order governance. More importantly, as they had received their rule from the pope, it gave them a claim to having official ecclesiastical standing. Undoubtedly it ensured that certain canonists regarded members of the ‘Franciscan third order’ quite differently than the beguines or unaffiliated penitents that they closely resembled. To medieval Churchmen, professing the 1289 rule was a clear marker of regular identity. Nevertheless, regarding 107 ‘Ideoque gloriosus Christi Confessor b. Franciscus huius ordinis institutor, viam ascendendi ad dominum verbo pariter et exemplo demonstrans, in ipsius sinceritate fidei suos filios erudivit, eosque illam profiteri, constanter tenere firmiter et opere voluit adimplere, ut per eius seminatam salubriter incedentes, mererentur post vite praesentis erastulum, eternae beatitudinis effici possessores’ (Dossier, 75). 108 Cf. William J. Short, ‘The Rule and Life of the Friars Minor’, in The Cambridge Companion to Francis of Assisi (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), pp. 50–67. 109 The Fourth Lateran Council had attempted to limit new religious rules in the early thirteenth century. Francis and the early Franciscans did not have a papally approved rule until 1221, almost six years after the Council’s prohibition. However, the myth that allowed the order an exemption from the Council’s decree was that Francis had been given oral permission for his way of life in 1209 by Innocent III. Arguably, the same would be true for the Franciscan third order, if Nicholas’s preface was taken at face value. 110 Ingrid Peterson, ‘The Third Order Tradition of the Evangelical Life: A Prophetic Witness to the Whole of the Gospel’, Franciscan Studies 64 (2006): 435–72, at 448; Stewart, ‘De illis qui faciunt penitentiam’, 202; Pazzelli, St. Francis and the Third Order, 128–37.

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it as foundational or Franciscan is problematic. In particular, this text neither obliged the friars to take part in the lives of the penitents, nor attempted to link the two ‘orders’ canonically. Despite not placing any obligations on the friars, it advised that penitents should seek direction from them. Unlike the women associated with the various Clarissan orders, many of these penitents had no historical or mythical ties with the Franciscan friars and made no effort to cultivate new ones.111 At the same time, it did not change their canonical status: while ‘regularized’ and accepted by many canonists, those who followed the 1289 rule were not universally regarded legally as ecclesiastical persons.112 As was to become increasingly problematic in the fourteenth century, the rule of 1289 did not demand a full commitment to a life of enclosure and separation from the world. In many cases, communities that followed the 1289 rule could own property and have some say in who was responsible for their spiritual cura. Most importantly, they were not required to be enclosed (and hence could continue forms of active charity and some types of commercial activity). However, as they had adopted some of the external signs of canonically recognized religious, canonists generally supported their right to live a kind of non-canonical but ‘quasi’religious existence. Elizabeth Makowski points out that the ways in which canonists approached this status can be ascertained by examining medieval case law, and she  gives a number of examples in which canonists confirmed and supported the  liminal position of these women.113 She cites the example of an Umbrian tertiary who left a sizeable sum of money to the Franciscan friars in her will. As a laywoman, this tertiary would not have been permitted to carry out this action without permission from her nearest male relative; as a religious, the property would not have been hers to leave. However, the canonists who examined this case concluded that the Umbrian tertiary did not fit either category, and was free to leave her property to the friars. It would appear that the status of ‘tertiary’ could be distinct when expedient.114 Many welcomed the appearance of official religious life that the 1289 tertiary rule implied, and a number of formerly unaffiliated penitents or women who were known as beguines chose to adopt it as a direct result of this recognition.115 In accordance with the demands of the 1289 rule, these penitents professed simple vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience publicly. These women then became known as sorores tertii ordinis, or Franciscan tertiaries, and were granted many privileges 111 Even with the various Clarissan orders, the historical situation in this regard was more complex and tension-ridden than many Franciscan scholars have been willing to acknowledge over the centuries. For the complexities surrounding the relationship between the Damianites/Minoresses/Clarissans and the friars until the early fourteenth century, see Roest, Order and Disorder and Knox, ‘Audacious Nuns’. 112 Elizabeth Makowski, ‘A Pernicious Sort of Woman’: Quasi-Religious Women and Canon Lawyers in the Later Middle Ages (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 2005), pp. 51–67. 113 Elizabeth Makowski, Canon Law and Cloistered Women: Periculoso and Its Commentators, 1298–1545 (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America, 1997). 114 Makowski, ‘A Pernicious Sort of Woman’, 51–67. 115 Bert Roest, ‘Female Preaching in the Late Medieval Franciscan Tradition’, Franciscan Studies 62 (2004): 119–54, at 135.

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normally only given to canonically recognized religious.116 However, there is no indication that all groups that adhered to the so-called Franciscan rule were either unified into a canonical order or even had connections to the Franciscans.117 Despite Nicholas’s efforts, the ‘order’ of penitents was not universally welcomed into the Franciscan family. After numerous and bitter struggles over their responsibilities to the women now known as the Order of St Clare, many friars were reluctant to assume responsibility for unenclosed and controversial lay women.118 The longstanding nature of Franciscan concerns is indicated by a semi-official document entitled ‘Why the friars ought not to promote the order of penitents’, which had already begun to circulate by 1268.119 Once attributed to Bonaventure, this document indicates that the friars were aware of the dangers inherent in caring for penitents, particularly unenclosed women who were not bound by any canonical rule and not required to take solemn vows.120 Due to the obvious temptations that friars might experience from regular contact with women, many felt that the reputation of the order would be damaged.121 These difficulties are conspicuously absent from traditional Franciscan scholarship, which recounts that the 1289 rule spread widely from the later thirteenth century onwards. Although professing the 1289 rule came to be seen as a mark of Franciscan identity, women who did so were neither officially part of the order nor canonically regarded as religious. Nevertheless, their founding myth has influenced, and continues to affect, the way they are understood. C O N C LU S I O N The rich and vibrant spiritual climate of the early thirteenth century saw the development of a number of new expressions of religious life, predominantly characterized by a desire to live the gospel life while remaining in the world. Throughout 116 In particular, controversy surrounded the issue of whether the penitents were permitted to receive the sacraments during times of interdict. Although this privilege had been conferred on penitents without a papally sanctioned rule in 1324, John XXII forbade friars from providing the same services to members of the third order under pain of excommunication. See Makowski, ‘A Pernicious Sort of Woman’, 28–31, 55. 117 For example, the communities that comprised the Chapter of Utrecht followed the 1289 rule, but explicitly distanced themselves from the friars minor. Instead, they were almost all under the supervision of the Devotio Moderna movement; see Hildo van Engen, De derde orde van Sint Franciscus in het middeleeuwse bisdom Utrecht. Middeleeuwse studies en bronnen, XCV (Hilversum: Verloren, 2006), p. 62. 118 Knox, ‘Audacious Nuns’, 41–62; Roest, Order and Disorder, 31–2. 119 Dossier, 123–5. Cf. Stewart, ‘De illis qui faciunt penitentiam’, 202–4. 120 This situation mirrors the ongoing conflicts within the Franciscan family with regards to the cura monialium, or provision for the spiritual needs, of the Clarissan sisters (or so-called ‘second order’). Knox, ‘Audacious Nuns’, 41–62. 121 ‘Si aliqua ipsarum de aliqua crimine infamaretur fornicationis vel adulterii, statim qui nos forte non diligeret divulgarent istud in nostram infamiam, dicentes: ecce sorores nudipedissae parvulos nudipedes procreant eis; sed a quo illos concipiunt, nisi ab eis qui toto die occupantur cum ipsis?’ Bonaventure, ‘Justification par s. Bonaventure de la réserve des Mineurs envers les Pénitents (1266–68)’, in Dossier, 124.

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Europe, groups of laymen and women ran almshouses, cared for lepers and practised other forms of active charity. From the middle of the thirteenth century onwards, the number of such women and the fact that they did not fit traditional categories were seen as increasingly controversial. In response, those responsible for the spiritual care of such groups encouraged them to adopt many external signs of religious life. The appearance of orthodoxy allowed quasi-religious or non-monastic women to continue their controversial active vocations. As we will see in Chapter 2, female saints and communities of non-monastic women still did not fit comfortably into the ecclesiastical landscape, and Churchmen who were uncomfortable with the irregular and extra-regular lifestyles of these women instituted more rigorous constraints on their way of life.

2 After Supra montem The ‘Spread’ of an Order? Not long after the promulgation of Supra montem, the Franciscan Giunta Bevegnati recorded the Legenda of the Italian holy woman Margaret of Cortona.1 Margaret was born in 1247 in the town of Laviano to a relatively poor family. In her early adolescence, Margaret’s mother died and her father remarried. At this time, Margaret left her family home and became the concubine of an unnamed wealthy man (often identified as ‘Arsenio’) from the nearby Montepulciano. Despite their illegitimate state, the couple appear to have been happy and were together for nine years. During this time Margaret gave birth to a son. Arsenio’s sudden and unexpected death changed Margaret’s world completely. As a concubine, Margaret found herself without inheritance and cast out of the home she and Arsenio had shared. She was later refused shelter in her father’s home. She then fled to the nearby town of Cortona, where she began a life of service and earned recognition for helping the poor and infirm. Traditional Franciscan histories relate that the third order spread widely after 1289 as the rule Nicholas approved in 1289 provided non-monastic groups—particularly groups of women—with an approved place in the ecclesiastical landscape. To Giunta, both Margaret’s life and expression of holiness made her the ideal model for the newly approved Franciscan third order. To make this clear to his readers, Giunta records a vision in which Christ spoke to Margaret, saying: ‘You [Margaret] are the third light given to the order of my blessed Francis. The first light [Francis] is in the order of the Friars Minor. The second is the blessed Clare in the order of the sisters. The third in the order of penitents is you.’2 Throughout the vita, Giunta emphasizes Margaret’s admiration for the friars, and desire to live in a manner that was exemplified by Francis of Assisi. Giunta’s Legenda was probably begun shortly before Margaret’s death in 1297, and finished before 1308. Throughout her Legenda, Giunta both promotes the association to penitents (by emphasizing how influential Franciscans could be on 1 Giunta Bevegnati, Legenda de vita et miraculis Beatae Margaritae de Cortona (hereafter LMC), ed. Fortunato Iozzelli, Bibliotheca Franciscana Ascetica Medii Aevi, 13 (Rome: College of St Bonaventure, 1997). Cf. Anna Benvenuti Papi, ‘In castro poenitentiae’: Santità e società femminile nell’Italia medievale (Rome: Herder, 1990), pp. 143–4. 2 ‘. . . quia tu es tertia lux in ordine dilecti mei Francisci concessa: nam in ordine fratrum minorum ipse est prima lux, in ordine monialium beata Clara secunda, et tu in ordine penitentium tertia’ (LMC, c. 10, par. 9, 439). Cf. Benvenuti Papi, ‘In castro poenitentiae’, 143–4.

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the life of an individual soul); and to Franciscans (by stressing how a penitent, particularly a saintly woman like Margaret, could promote the popular reputation of their order). Margaret’s near contemporary Angela of Foligno (†1309) has also come to be regarded as playing an important role in the Franciscan third order. Self-identifying only as ‘Lella’, Angela has remained a figure of mystery in Franciscan circles. Any details of her life are taken from a text known as her Memoriale.3 Angela was said to have dictated this text to her confessor, a man identified in a single manuscript as ‘Brother A’.4 The details of her spiritual journey that she shared with Brother A recount a mystagogical journey towards the divine as well as a rich Trinitarian theology.5 She did not claim these thoughts as her own, insisting that she was simply an instrument for God to speak. Although she straddled the boundaries between the lay and secular spheres, Angela is regarded as both a tertiary and a theologian. From her writings, it appears that Angela was married and from a fairly prominent family. Around 1285, she experienced a dramatic conversion: she reports that Francis of Assisi appeared to her in a vision, assuring her that ‘[she was] the only one born of him’. While she was certainly close to the Franciscans, it is not clear that she formally entered an order. Although the timing of her conversion meant that she was more likely than Margaret to have professed the 1289 rule, as is discussed later, the use of this rule did not necessarily indicate membership in the Franciscan order. As was the case with the mulieres religiosae in Northern Europe, a number of Italian holy women lived lives of devotion within the secular world. Women such as Margaret, Angela, and Umiliana of Cerchi adopted and adapted a dynamic spirituality of service that was focused on the secular world. Instead of being remembered for their visionary innovation, these women are almost unilaterally regarded as members of the Franciscan tertiary order. While all three women had some Franciscan connection, it was neither formal nor exclusive. Each woman retained her lay status and continued to live in the secular world. There are many problems with the idea that these holy women formed a single order. If we return to Margaret of Cortona, we can see that although her Legenda 3 Jacques Dalarun, ‘Angèle de Foligno a-t-elle existé?’, in Alla signorina: Mélanges offerts à Noëlle de La Blanchardière (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1995), pp. 59–97. As Cristina Mazzoni has pointed out, her history is often regarded as more substantial than textual evidence should allow. This is partially because the speculative dates in a 1925 article have often been regarded as historical facts. Cristina Mazzoni, ‘Angela of Foligno’, in Alastair Minnis and Rosalynn Voaden, eds, Medieval Holy Women in the Christian Tradition (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), pp. 581–600, at 581. Cf. M. J. Ferré, ‘Les principales dates de la vie d’Angèle de Foligno’, Revue d’histoire franciscaine 2 (1925): 31–4. For Angela’s writings, see Angela of Foligno, Complete Works, trans. Paul Lachance (New York: Paulist Press, 1993). 4 On the question of authorship, see Catherine M. Mooney, ‘The Authorial Role of Brother A. in the Composition of Angela of Foligno’s Revelations’, in E. Ann Matter and John Coakley, eds, Creative Women in Medieval and Early Modern Italy: A Religious and Artistic Renaissance (Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1994), pp. 34–63. 5 Cf. Diane Tomkinson, ‘In the Midst of the Trinity: Angela of Foligno’s Trinitarian Theology of Communion’, unpublished PhD thesis (Fordham University, NY, 2004).

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explicitly states that she was clothed in the habit of Franciscan penitents, it situates this event in 1277, twelve years before the formal recognition of what came to be known as the Franciscan penitential rule.6 Although Margaret’s vita insists that she maintained close ties with the Franciscans, it never indicates any desire to live either in accordance with the precepts of the Memoriale propositi, or, in the last decade of her life, the 1289 rule.7 Moreover, the few extant depictions of Margaret of Cortona show her in the black-and-white chequered habit of a secular penitent with no formal ties to any religious order.8 Also, details concerning Margaret’s secular affiliations (particularly her later secular confessor) are conspicuously absent from this text.9 Nevertheless, traditional Franciscan history rarely questions either Margaret’s Franciscan associations or the existence of a Franciscan third order in the thirteenth century. Penitents with informal ties to the Franciscan order are generally thought to have been regularized by the 1289 rule, which is regarded as having made them part of the official framework of the Church. This is compounded by Nicholas’s 1290 bull Unigenitus, which explicitly required Franciscan leadership of tertiary communities.10 After this time, Franciscan historians recount that the third order spread quickly throughout Europe, and women with Franciscan associations are commonly discussed as Franciscan tertiaries.11 At first glance, the evidence seems to support this picture. The beguines of Nieuwpoort adopted the 1289 rule in the early fourteenth century, as did communities in Dordrecht, Diest, and several other cities in the Low Countries.12 As Koen Goudriaan points out, a number of 6 LMC, ch. 1, par. 1. Cf. Mariano d’Alatri, ‘I penitenti nella Leggenda di Margherita da Cortona’, in Raffaele Pazzelli and Lino Temperini, eds, Prime manifestazioni di vita comunitaria maschile e femminile nel movimento francescano della penitenza (1215–1447). Proceedings of the Conference of Franciscan Studies, 30 June–2 July 1982 (Rome: Commissione Storica Internazionale T.O.R., 1982), p. 69. For evidence that Margaret lived as a secular penitent, see Joanna Cannon, ‘“Fama Laudabilis Beate Sororis Margherite”: Art in the Service of the Cult of Margherita’, in Joanna Cannon and André Vauchez, eds, Margherita of Cortona and the Lorenzetti: Sienese Art and the Cult of a Holy Woman in Medieval Tuscany (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1999), pp. 159–220, at 201–4. For a discussion of the influence of Margaret’s secular spiritual director towards the end of her life, see Margaret Harvey Doyno, ‘“A Particular Light of Understanding”: Margaret of Cortona, The Franciscans, and a Cortonese Cleric’, in Rachel Fulton and Bruce W. Holsinger, eds, History in the Comic Mode: Medieval Communities and the Matter of Person (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), pp. 60–80. 7 The same is true for other women who are discussed as members of the ‘Franciscan Third Order’. See Catherine M. Mooney, ‘Nuns, Tertiaries, and Quasi-Religious: The Religious Identities of Late Medieval Italian Holy Women’, Medieval Feminist Forum 42 (2006): 68–92, at 76–8. 8 Folkert J. Bakker, Bedelorden en begijnen in de stad Groningen tot 1594 (Maastricht: Van Gorcum, 1988), p. 158. 9 Doyno, ‘“A Particular Light of Understanding”’, 60–80. 10 Nicholas attempted to require that Franciscans explicitly be in charge of the cura of penitents in 1290, but this does not appear to have had any impact whatsoever. See Nicholas IV, ‘Unigenitus’, in Bullarium franciscanum, 4: 167. 11 Chiara Mercuri discusses the emergence and spread of ‘tertiary’ saints in detail. See Chiara Mercuri, Santità e propaganda: Il terz’ordine francescano nell’agiografia osservante, Bibliotheca SeraphicoCapuccina 59 (Rome: Istituto storico dei Cappuccini, 1999). 12 A document by the Count of Holland Willem III (1304–1337) took the Dordrecht beguines under his protection in 1326: ‘want een deel jonckvrouwen des hoefs der beggynen in Dordrecht hebben aengenomen een orde die gheheeten is orde der penitencie [. . .] waer by dat wy dezen jonckvrouwen ende alle andere die tote hem in dieser voirseyder ordine comen in Dordrecht, ende die

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convents founded as beguinages at the beginning of the fourteenth century had adopted the 1289 rule by its end. In all, over 150 female houses in the Low Countries had made this change by the first quarter of the fifteenth century.13 Moreover, a number of houses were founded with this rule in the fourteenthcentury Low Countries, including: Opbrussel (Brussels-St. Gilles), in 1343;14 the monastery of Den Bosch (Duchy of Brabant);15 Liège around 1345/49;16 and Echternach (Luxembourg) in 1346).17 These communities are often discussed in modern scholarship as belonging to the ‘Third Order of St Francis’.18 However, when examining the communities and individuals involved in this so-called spread, evidence of a definitive Franciscan connection is conspicuously absent. Moreover, there is no evidence that such a link was desired by either party. Not only did the penitents fail to cultivate ties with the friars, but the friars also seem neither to have encouraged the growth of a penitential order, nor flocked to the task of providing spiritual care for penitents.19 While it is indisputable that the rule spread, it is difficult to equate this with the spread of an order. Rather than a text that brought unity to a third branch of the Franciscan family, it seems that 1289 rule was a convenient instrument of regularization that was expected to confer the appearance of orthodoxy on women’s communities. In particular, it facilitated this without demanding that communities make major changes in their way of life. Each house that adopted this rule maintained its own independence. There were no guidelines for electing or regulating superiors, or regarding how the 1289 rule should be interpreted. At a more basic level, there was no formal communication between houses of this ‘order’, no general chapters, and no common habit or other distinguishing characteristics. There was no legal connection between those who followed the 1289 rule and the andere joncfrouwen die beggynen waren ende noch in desen voersz. hove wonen [. . .] nemen in onse bescermenese’. See Den Haag, NA, archief Graven van Holland, inv. nr. 289, f. 40v; inv. Nr. 290, f. 49r-v (edited in Frans Van Mieris, Groot Charterboek der graaven van Holland, van Zeeland en heeren van Vriesland (Leiden: P. van der Eyk, 1753–1756), vol. 2, p. 392). For Diest, see Johan Poukens, ed., Inventaris van kloosterarchivalia in het Aartsbisschoppelijk archief te Mechelen (Brussels: Algemeen Rijksarchief, 2010), vol. 1. The third order sisters (or Grey Sisters of St Annadal) in Diest came from Germany at the request of the city magistrates of Diest in 1348. Cf. F. J. E. Raymaekers, Het kerkelijk en liefdadig Diest (Leuven: Karel Peeters, 1870), p. 483; A. Ampe, ‘Eschius’, in Marcel Viller, Ferdinand Cavallera, and Joseph de Guibert, eds, Dictionnaire de spiritualité ascetique et mystique, vol. 4 (Paris: G. Beauchesne, 1960), pp. 1060–6. 13 John Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers of the Common Life: The Devotio Moderna and the World of the Later Middle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), p. 121; Hildo van Engen, De derde orde van Sint Franciscus in het middeleeuwse bisdom Utrecht. Middeleeuwse studies en bronnen, XCV (Hilversum: Verloren, 2006), p. 119. 14 Detailed references can be found in Bert Roest, Order and Disorder. The Poor Clares between Foundation and Reform (Leiden: Brill, 2013), pp. 143–4. For official papal permission, see Bullarium franciscanum 6: 143. 15 Annales minorum, 8: 31–2, 426. See Roest, Order and Disorder, 143–4 for additional references. 16 Annales minorum, 7: 384, 673. Cf. Roest, Order and Disorder, 144. 17 Annales minorum, 11: 196; Bullarium franciscanum, 6: 356. Cf. Roest, Order and Disorder, 144. 18 Cf. Peterson, ‘The Third Order’, 200–1. For an examination of non-Franciscan communities adopting this rule, see van Engen, De derde orde, passim. 19 Cf. Alison More, ‘Institutionalizing Penitential Life in Later Medieval and Early Modern Europe: Third Orders, Rules and Canonical Legitimacy’, Church History (2014): 297–323.

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friars minor. Any links that did emerge were purely informal. Most importantly, this rule did not confer a changed canonical status. It is quite likely that Nicholas’s rule as set forth in Supra montem would simply have been another set of informal statutes had it not been for a number of subsequent canonical developments that are discussed later in this chapter. REARRANGING THE CANONICAL LANDSCAPE Nicholas’s sympathy towards tertiary groups and desire to create an ordered status was complicated by the efforts of his successor, Celestine V (r. 1294). Nicholas died in 1292, and political tensions made electing a successor difficult.20 In 1294, Peter of Morrone was chosen pope, and took the name Celestine V. Celestine’s vita praises his regular quasi-monastic practices, such as observing the divine office, which continued after his election to the papal throne in 1294.21 During his time in office, Celestine granted privileges to various monastic and extra-regular congregations including the Poor Hermits (later Celestinians) and the Spiritual Franciscans. Celestine was succeeded by the more canonically minded Boniface VIII (r. 1294–1303). Boniface wished to stop the spread of quasi-religious movements that had gained momentum during Celestine’s papacy. As David Burr points out, Boniface’s writings from this period describe his misgivings regarding various forms of quasi-religious life, particularly the conflation of the religious and secular spheres.22 It is no surprise, therefore, that he attempted to ensure that some semblance of order was restored. In direct opposition to Celestine, Boniface wished to remove all privileges that had been granted to the Franciscan Spirituals and those under their cura, which had a direct effect on communities of women known as either tertiaries or beguines in Italy and the South of France. At the same time, Boniface wanted to continue the process of monasticizing female communities that had been prevalent throughout the thirteenth century. Overall, he hoped to restore unity to what was being perceived as an increasingly disordered Church. Policing the multiple forms of non-monastic life that existed at the end of the thirteenth century was no small task. As well as the various difficulties caused by groups favoured by Celestine, Boniface was forced to deal with the ongoing problems caused by quasi-religious women. Less than a decade after Nicholas had bestowed quasi-official recognition on the sorores tertii ordinis Sancti Francisci, 20 Cf. George Ferzoco, ‘Celestine V’, in C. Kleinhenz, ed., Medieval Italy: An Encyclopedia (New York: Routledge, 2004), pp. 202–3. Sources related to Celestine’s life (notably his Legenda) are included in Franz X. Seppelt, ed., Monumenta Coelestiniana, Quellen zur Geschichte des Papstes Coelestin V (Paderborn: F. Schöningh, 1921). Cf. Daniel Waley, Medieval Orvieto: The Political History of an Italian City-State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1952), pp. 59–65. 21 Monumenta Coelestiniana, 209–331. 22 David Burr, The Spiritual Franciscans: From Protest to Persecution in the Century after Saint Francis (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2001), pp. 71–2. Cf. David Burr, Olivi and Franciscan Poverty: The Origins of the Usus Pauper Controversy (Philadelphia: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1989), pp. 119–23.

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Boniface VIII called it into question with the decretal Periculoso, in 1298. Specifically, Periculoso re-emphasized that all official religious women should be enclosed. It states: Desiring to provide for the perilous and detestable state of certain nuns (quarundam monialium), who, having slackened the reins of decency and having shamelessly cast aside the modesty of their religious state (monachali) and of their sex, sometimes go about outside their monasteries in the dwellings of secular persons, and frequently admit suspected persons within the same monasteries, to the grave offence of him to whom they have, of their own will, vowed their innocence, to the disgrace of religion and to the scandal of very many persons; we by the present constitution, which shall be irrevocably valid, decree with healthful intent that all and sundry nuns, present and future, to whatever religious community or order (cuiuscunque religionis sint vel ordinis) they belong and in whatever part of the world, shall henceforth remain perpetually enclosed within their monasteries so that none of these women tacitly or expressly professed in religion (nulli earum religionem tacite vel expresse professae sit) shall henceforth have or be able to have the power of going out of those monasteries for any reason.23

Though ostensibly aimed only at legally recognized nuns (moniales), the fact that Periculoso uses the ambiguous term ‘quarundam monialium’ suggests that it was also intended for quasi-religious women. This same impression is given by the phrases ‘cuiuscunque religionis sint vel ordinis’ and ‘nulli earum religionem tacite vel expresse professae sit’, which relate directly to the ongoing controversies about the nature of vows. As was discussed in Chapter 1, canonists who supported the ecclesiastical status of non-monastic women had insisted that the vows they professed—although simple—should be binding, so that no return to a ‘lay’ state was possible.24 The  vow of enclosure both strengthened the argument that these women were wholly separate from the world, and ensured their conformity with norms held for monastic women.25 Rather than simply a reaction to what seemed to be the increasing ecclesiastical involvement in non-monastic communities, the issue of enclosure appears to have been a longstanding concern for Boniface.26 Before ascending the papal throne, Boniface (then Benedict Gaetani) had worked closely with Cardinal Ottobuono, the papal legate to Britain. Ottobuono was a great advocate of the enclosure of 23 Boniface VIII, ‘Periculoso’, in Aemilius Richter and Emile Friedberg, eds, Corpus iuris canonici (Lipsiae: Tauchnitz, 1839), 1: c. 119. Cf. Elizabeth Makowski, Canon Law and Cloistered Women: Periculoso and its Commentators, 1298–1545 (Washington DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1997); James Brundage and Elizabeth Makowski, ‘Enclosure of Nuns: the Decretal Periculoso and its Commentators’, Journal of Medieval History 20 (1994): 143–55. 24 The controversies over vows are discussed at more length in Chapter 1 of this book. Cf. LarsArne Dannenberg, Das Recht der Religiösen in der Kanonistik des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts (Münster: LIT, 2007), pp. 154–67. 25 Cf. Brundage and Makowski, ‘Enclosure of Nuns’; Sylvie Duval, ‘Mulieres religiosae and Sorores clausae: The Dominican Observance Movement and the Diffusion of Strict Enclosure in Italy from the Thirteenth to the Sixteenth Century’, in Veerle Fraeters and Imke De Gier, eds, Mulieres religiosae, Shaping Female Spiritual Authority in the Medieval and Early Modern Periods (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), pp. 193–218. 26 Brundage and Makowski, ‘Enclosure of Nuns’, 143–55.

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women. In a 1268 document entitled Quod moniales certa loca non exeant, Ottobuono promoted enclosure as a means of helping nuns to ‘preserve their innocence of mind and body by staying perpetually in their monastery’.27 The spiritual climate following Celestine’s resignation convinced Boniface of the necessity of such actions, and compelled him to begin anew. Periculoso was issued less than a decade after Supra montem (1289) had appeared to legitimize the status of certain female penitents who sought lives of religious perfection while remaining in the secular world.28 While Periculoso did not state that women who followed the 1289 rule were exempt from the requirement of enclosure, the fact that it never explicitly condemned penitents was often interpreted in this way.29 The seemingly obvious implication of this was that female members of the Franciscan order of penitents were not canonically recognized as religious. Nevertheless, the proximity of Supra montem (1289) and Periculoso (1298) led many to believe that communities of the so-called third order were entitled to official recognition without being bound by the obligation of clausura.30 Certain canonists discussed members of this order as being ‘religious’ in some matters’ but ‘laywomen’ in others.31 In both the Northern and Southern Low Countries, communities of women that adhered to this rule and were nominally part of the ‘third order’ continued to live active lives without adopting full enclosure. These active vocations were not to go unchallenged. Early conciliar decrees of the fourteenth century questioned whether female communities that acted in this way should still be considered legal (canonical) religious. In 1309, the mandatory enclosure of Periculoso was reaffirmed in Apostolica sedis, but was still perceived as being somewhat open to interpretation.32 Several canonists continued to assume that women who followed the 1289 rule (and were regarded as members of a ‘third order’) were exempt from Periculoso’s demands—after all, these women were ‘sorores tertii ordinis’ and explicitly not ‘moniales’ of any type. Those responsible for the cura of non-monastic communities often encouraged the women in their care to profess the 1289 rule because of the apparent legitimacy it conferred. While many communities adopted the 1289 rule, it appears to have been for reasons other than an increase in the popularity of Franciscan spirituality. In addition to the perceived dangers relating to contact with the secular world, quasi-religious women were increasingly suspected of heresy. The associations between groups of non-monastic women, Franciscan Spirituals, and the so-called Heresy of the Free Spirit were increasingly perceived as problematic. In 1311, they were explicitly addressed by the Council of Vienne. The conciliar decree Ad nostrum condemned several errors attributed to beguines, and referred to them as ‘pernicious 27 Elizabeth Makowski gives a detailed summary. See Makowski, Canon Law, 38. 28 For an extended discussion of Supra montem, see Chapter 1. 29 Cf. Elizabeth Makowski, ‘A Pernicious Sort of Woman’: Quasi-Religious Women and Canon Lawyers in the Later Middle Ages (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 2005), pp. 53–5. 30 Makowski, ‘A Pernicious Sort of Woman’, 99–100. 31 Ibid., 51–68. 32 Text for the passage dealing with enclosure in Corpus iuris canonici, 2: cc. 1054–5.

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women’ who were involved in ‘detestable’ practices.33 The detestable specifics are unnamed, yet this is generally interpreted as being related to the Heresy of the Free Spirit, with which beguines were often associated.34 Moreover, Ad nostrum contains what appears to be a list of the condemned articuli that led to the condemnation of Marguerite Porete, who is discussed later in this chapter.35 A second decree from Vienne, Cum de quibusdam, appears to be a direct contradiction to Ad nostrum, and absolved pious women with the words: We do not intend to prevent those pious women who live honourably in their hospices, with or without a vow of chastity, from doing penance and serving the Lord with the spirit of humility. They will be allowed to do that, following the Lord who inspired them.36

Instead of being contradictory, a nuanced analysis by Jacqueline Tarrant indicates that the statements were intended for different groups, and the condemnation was directed only towards beguines with problematic associations.37 However, the Council did not establish guidelines for distinguishing the ‘pious women’ from their unruly and potentially heretical sisters.38 More importantly, the carefully nuanced distinctions that Tarrant attributes to the Council (and to Clement in particular) seem to have been lost on influential fourteenth-century canonists. In 1317, John XXII issued the Constitutiones Clementinae, the last medieval collection of canon law to be promulgated by a pope. It contained roughly 106 decretals, including the condemnations of beguines from the Council of Vienne. As part of this collection, the condemnations circulated widely and were commented 33 Elizabeth Makowski raises questions about the precise dating and authorship of this bull. See Makowski, ‘A Pernicious Sort of Woman’, 23–50, esp. 24–5. 34 This association can be traced to Herbert Grundmann (see Herbert Grundmann, Religiöse Bewegungen im Mittelalter (Berlin: Dr Emil Ebering, 1935), pp. 524–55). Despite lack of evidence, it still remains prevalent in modern scholarship. Cf. Irmgard Kampmann, ‘Eckharts Predigten und die Verurteilung der freigeistigen Beginen und Begarden’, Meister-Eckhart-Jahrbuch 2 (2008): 119–40. Moreover, despite the widespread belief that the Heresy of the Free Spirit was a Northern phenomenon, recent research by Travis Stevens and Beverly Kienzle has found evidence of its existence in thirteenthcentury Italy, connected with Clare of Montefalco. See Beverly Mayne Kienzle and Travis Stevens, ‘Words, Deeds, and the Hagiography of Italian Women Penitents’, in Sally J. Cornelison, Nirit Ben-Aryeh Debby, and Peter F. Howard, eds, Mendicant Cultures in the Medieval and Early Modern World: Word, Deed, and Image (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016), pp. 107–42. 35 Romana Guarnieri draws attention to the many similarities between Ad nostrum and the decree that condemned Marguerite. See Romana Guarnieri, ‘II Movimento del Libero Spirito’, Archivio italiano per la storia della Pietà 4 (1965): 351–708. Although Marguerite is often discussed as a ‘beguine’, I use the term ‘laywoman’ here as both the precise meaning of the term ‘beguine’ and Marguerite’s relationship with the beguines of Hainault are unclear. Cf. Sean Field, The Beguine, the Angel and the Inquisitor: The Trials of Marguerite Porete (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012), pp. 27–38; Walter Simons, Cities of Ladies: Beguine Communities in the Medieval Low Countries, 1200–1565 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001), pp. 132–7; Elizabeth A. R. Brown, ‘Marguerite Porete, John Baconthorpe, and the Chronicles of Saint-Denis’, Medieval Studies 75 (2013): 307–44. 36 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, ed. and trans. Norman Tanner (London: Sheed and Ward, 1999), 1: 374. 37 Jacqueline Tarrant, ‘The Clementine Decrees on the Beguines: Conciliar and Papal Versions’, Archivum Historiae Pontificae 12 (1974): 300–8. 38 Kate Crawford Galea, ‘Unhappy Choices: Factors that Contributed to the Decline and Condemnation of the Beguines’, Vox Benedictina 10 (1993): 53–73.

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on regularly. Fourteenth-century commentaries often condemn the ‘beguine status’, although it never existed in canon law.39 A particularly influential commentary by Johannes Andreae affirmed that the word ‘beguine’ was understood as referring to any laywoman who lived something resembling a religious life, without the structures traditionally attached to monasticism.40 At the end of 1317, John XXII issued another problematic decree, the Sancta Romana, which was aimed at eliminating female groups associated with the Franciscan Spirituals. It seems that John was suspicious of non-monastic women known as bizzoche in the Italian peninsula and Southern France. Mario Sensi points out that his suspicion came from the (well-founded) belief that numerous bizzoche (and their male counterparts) in these regions were associated to varying degrees with the Franciscan Spirituals, who were subject to increasing persecution.41 Less than a year later, in what seems a restatement of Vienne’s decree, John’s decretals repeated the condemnation of heretical beguines, but stipulated that this did not apply to all non-monastic religious. Instead, women who were pious and obedient to Church authority should be permitted to continue in their chosen path.42 However, as these were not generally the women who were the subject of episcopal or curial legislation, his affirmation did little to assure Churchmen of the piety of non-monastic female communities, and various groups were banned in France, Basel, and throughout the German lands in the next century.43 Moreover, its provisions condemned practices common to a number of non-traditional religious groups, such as electing their own superiors, forming communities, and wearing a religious habit.44 Rather than his support in 1318, John’s condemnation in the earlier Sancta Romana was to influence the fate of penitent women throughout the later middle ages. The fact that there was no single canonical category to discuss ‘beguines’ or ‘religious women who were not moniales’ proved insurmountable. Instead of portraying the diversity among beguine communities and supporting those women who lived a pious lifestyle, Vienne’s decrees made all communities of non-monastic women look equally suspect. Moreover, influential canonists repeatedly interpreted the word ‘beguine’ in a general sense.45 This meant that all female non-monastic communities or groups of laywomen who could not easily claim an ‘official’ identity or affiliation with an established order were at risk of being thought heretical or, at least, heterodox.

39 Cf. Makowski, ‘A Pernicious Sort of Woman’. 40 Cf. Ibid., 1–51. 41 Mario Sensi, Storie di bizzoche tra Umbria e Marche (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1995). 42 John XXII, ‘Ratio recta’, in Corpus iuris canonici, 2: 1279. 43 For a ban in France in 1365, see W. A. Olyslager, 750 jaar begijnen te Antwerpen (Antwerp: Kapellen Pelckmans, 1985), 32. 44 John XXII, ‘Extravagantes’, 3.8.2, in Corpus iuris canonici, 2: 1277–8. Cf. Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers, 39. 45 Cf. Jennifer Kolpacoff Deane, ‘From Case Studies to Comparative Models: Würzburg Beguines and the Vienne Decrees’, in Letha Böhringer, Jennifer Kolpacoff Deane, and Hildo van Engen, eds, Labels and Libels: Naming Beguines in Northern Medieval Europe (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), pp. 53–82.

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In an attempt to bring order to this confusion, John issued a bull Etsi apostolicae in 1319, which explicitly granted members of the third order of penitents (or continent ones) of St Francis [Tertium ordinem poenitentium seu continentium S. Francisci] exemption from Vienne’s decretals.46 Given the confusion surrounding extra-regular women and the increasing emphasis on order in the Church after Vienne, it is no surprise that many communities of non-monastic women adopted the 1289 rule. Again, this was motivated not so much by an attraction to Franciscan spirituality, as by a desire to protect themselves and their way of life. A LT E R N AT I V E S O LU T I O N S The 1289 rule did not require Franciscan involvement. Many communities followed this rule but maintained independence from the order. However, even the perceived Franciscan connections were sometimes problematic. In particular, Nicholas’s insistence that the 1289 rule was intended for a group that Francis had founded aroused the ire of penitential groups with ties to the Augustinian or Dominican orders.47 The Dominican or Augustinian supporters of these women claimed—with some degree of accuracy—that Nicholas IV had fabricated the idea that Francis of Assisi had founded a penitential order which had maintained ties with the Franciscan friars since the early thirteenth century.48 These attacks were to become somewhat ironic when—as is discussed later—the Dominicans (specifically Dominican Observants) wrote fictive histories for their own ‘order of penance’ in the later fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.49 The Dominican Master General, Munio of Zamora, assisted communities in Northern and Central Italy with making suitable adjustments to their lifestyle that would allow them to be perceived as religious, while refusing even the nominal association with the Franciscans that was implied by the 1289 rule.50 Munio arranged for the penitents of Orvieto to be formally under the cura of a local Dominican prior and to wear a recognizably Dominican habit. This did not necessarily mean 46 John XXII, ‘Etsi apostolicae’ in Bullarium franciscanum, 5: 163–4, no. 354. Cf. Paul Frédéricq, Corpus inquisitionis haereticae pravitatis Neerlandicae (Ghent: Vuylsteke, 1889), no. 174, pp. 169–70. 47 Augustine Thompson, Cities of God: The Religion of the Italian Communes, 1125–1325 (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2005), p. 78. Koen Goudriaan points out that many communities of beguines continued to be founded explicitly as independent communities. See Koen Goudriaan, ‘Beguines and the Devotio Moderna at the Turn of the Fifteenth Century’, in Böhringer et al., eds, Labels and Libels, 187–217. 48 More, ‘Institutionalizing’, 297–323. 49 Cf. Martina Wehrli-Johns, ‘L’osservanza dei Domenicani e il movimento penitenziale laico. Studi sulla “regola di Munio” e sul terz’ordine domenicano in Italia e Germania’, in Kaspar Elm and Giorgio Chittolini, eds, Ordini religiosi e società politica in Italia e Germania nei secoli XIV e XV (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2001), pp. 287–330; Alison More, ‘Dynamics of Regulation, Innovation, and Invention’, in James D. Mixson and Bert Roest, eds, Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages and Beyond (Leiden: Brill, 2015), pp. 85–110. 50 Wehrli-Johns, ‘L’osservanza’; Maiju Lehmijoki-Gardner, ‘Writing Religious Rules as an Interactive Process: Dominican Penitent Women and the Making of Their “Regula”’, Speculum 79 (2004): 660–87.

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that the Dominicans were exclusively responsible for the spiritual care of these women or that the women themselves had become part of the Dominican order; however, it permitted the women to keep their distance from the so-called Franciscan third order. At their request, Munio wrote statutes for these women, which later Dominican mythology would claim were the earliest ‘rule’ for the ‘Dominican third order’. However, the work of scholars such as Martina WehrliJohns and Maiju Lehmijoki-Gardner has revealed a different picture, which is not dissimilar to the Franciscan story.51 Munio’s statutes aside, women who received spiritual care from the Dominicans generally followed the Augustinian rule and are often discussed as ‘Augustinian tertiaries’.52 As a result, it is often difficult to distinguish them from tertiaries with closer ties to the Augustinian friars. Throughout the middle ages, variations on the Augustinian rule were observed by communities with very little connection to one another and no shared sense of order identity. They had adopted a rule to claim a legitimate status in the Church, and they had chosen the Augustinian rule in part because it was conducive to a wide variety of religious lifestyles.53 The problem of fictive history that affected Franciscan and Dominican tertiaries was also relevant to a number of groups (of both men and women) who followed the Augustinian rule. Neither the rule of 1289 nor the Rule of St Augustine should be seen as an 51 See Wehrli-Johns, ‘L’osservanza’; Lehmijoki-Gardner, ‘Writing Religious Rules’, 660–87. For documents associated with Dominican penitents, see Daniel Bornstein, Maiju Lehmijoki-Gardner, E. Ann Matter, and Gabriella Zarri, eds, Dominican Penitent Women (New Jersey: Paulist Press, 2005). 52 Koen Goudriaan, ‘De observantie der conversinnen van Sint-Augustinus’, in Hildo van Engen and Gerrit Verhoeven, eds, Monastiek observantisme en moderne devotie in de Noordelijke Nederlanden (Hilversum: Verloren 2008), pp. 167–211; Nigel F. Palmer, ‘Die Münchner Perikopenhandschrift Cgm 157 und die Handschriftenproduktion des Straßburger Reuerinnenklosters im späten 15. Jahrhundert’, in Barbara Fleith and René Wetze, eds, Kulturtopographie des Deutschsprachigen Südwestens im Späteren Mittelalter: Studien und Texte (Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 2009), pp.  271–2. For Augustinian identity more generally, see Achim Wesjohann, Mendikantische Gründungserzählungen im 13. und 14. Jahrhundert (Berlin and Munster: LIT, 2012), pp. 503–671; Eric L. Saak, High Way to Heaven: The Augustinian Platform between Reform and Reformation, 1292– 1524 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), pp. 1–14, 684–735. 53 The careful and nuanced scholarship of Achim Wesjohann expounds upon the role of Jordanus of Quedlinburg in bringing together the various strands of Augustinian identity. See Wesjohann, Mendikantische Gründungserzählungen, 605–40. Cf. Saak, High Way, 235–344; Eric L. Saak, Creating Augustine: Augustine and Augustinianism in the Later Middle Ages (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), pp. 208–18. The rule itself has a somewhat complex history. Traditional order mythology holds that the Rule of St Augustine was written around 400 for a lay monastery in Hippo and was feminized in the same period for a community governed by Augustine’s sister. The earliest textual witness to such a document comes from Italy during the seventh century. The manuscript in question does contain material from Augustine’s writings (referred to by scholars including Luc Verheijen as the Praeceptum). The ‘feminized’ versions of this text that are found from the tenth century onwards often combine the Praeceptum with excerpts from various other writings on monastic life, including the Rule of Isidore of Seville, the Rule of the Master and the Rule of St Benedict. There does not seem to have been a single and definitive version of the Augustinian rule that was observed by all ‘Augustinian’ communities. Moreover, communities of men and women affiliated with orders such as the Dominicans observed a version of the Rule of St Augustine without claiming any affiliation with the Augustinians. For the rule, see ‘Letter 211’, in Luc Verheijen, La Règle de Saint Augustin (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1967), 1: 49–66 (Zurich Ms.) and 105–7. Commentary and contextualization can be found in Conrad Leyser, ‘Augustine and the Latin West, 430–ca. 900’, in Mark Vessy, ed., A Companion to Augustine (Oxford: Blackwell, 2012), pp. 450–64, at 460–2.

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intrinsic marker of identity. Instead, adopting the external signs of traditional religious orders was an appropriate response to the changing spiritual and canonical climate of Western Europe during the later middle ages. Communities of beguines or those responsible for their care in the dioceses of Liège, Utrecht, and Cologne instituted other changes that would make them appear to conform to the established norms of religious life. Most commonly, those women who did not adopt the 1289 rule demonstrated their orthodoxy through taking vows of enclosure. The Grand Beguinage in Brussels was enclosed in 1317 and St Catherine’s in Mechelen was enclosed in 1319.54 That same year, John XXII extended his protection to enclosed beguines in Brabant.55 In other cases, bishops insisted on the orthodoxy of beguines who were under their spiritual care—even if they remained active and unenclosed. In 1323, John of Diest, the new bishop of Utrecht, wrote a letter seemingly in response to the legislation from 1311, which affirmed that the beguines in his diocese were above suspicion.56 Similar letters were issued in Liège in 1322, and in Utrecht in 1343, 1364, and 1380.57 In 1324, the bishop of Cambrai wrote that the beguines of Herentals ‘were living in an honest and praiseworthy manner: they regularly and devoutly frequented Churches; they were reverent and obedient towards those who provided their spiritual care, and do not engage in any way with arguments or sermons of the nature of the Trinity or the Divine Essence’.58 However, this did not seem to be a sufficient guarantee of their orthodoxy and they adopted the practice of enclosure by 1363.59 THE APPEARANCE OF CHANGE While newly monasticized women could interact with the secular world, the visual separation, usually achieved by uniformity in religious habit, became increasingly important. In 1318, Frederik van Sierck, Bishop of Utrecht (†1322), issued an edict in which he complained that beguines and tertiaries were often difficult to distinguish from one another. He claimed that as there was very little difference between the two groups in relation to status or habit, there was considerable confusion among both clergy and laity about how they should be treated.60 The bishop 54 Corpus inquisitionis, 1: n. 180, 178–81. 55 Olyslager, 750 jaar begijnen, 33. 56 Unpublished Regesten, Utrecht, 1.778 (cited in Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers, 330, n. 175). 57 Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers, 40; cf. Ibid.., 330, n. 176. 58 ‘. . . honeste et laudabiliter atque vivunt, devote frequentant ecclesias, prelatis suis reverenter obedient et quod se disputationibus et predicationibus de summa Trinitate ac divina essentia non involvunt nec involvuntur’. J. R. Verellen, ‘De oudste, breed-uitegewerkte begijnenregel. De statuten van het begijnhof van Herentals 1461–1489’, Bijdragen tot de Geschiedenis: bijzonderlijk van het oud Hertogdom Brabant, series 3 (1951); 3: 122–31, 3: 177–87 (here #20, 3: 180–1). 59 ‘Herentals, Stadsarchief, Oud Begijnhof, charte 24’, published in Verellen, ‘De oudste’, 190–1. Cf. Pascal Majérus, Ces femmes qu’on dit béguines . . . guide des béguinages de Belgique bibliographie et sources d’archives (Brussels: Archives générales du Royaume, 1997), pp. 381–4. 60 ‘. . . maxime quia inter hujusmodi beghinas et sorores nec in statu nec habitu unquam ulla hactenus differentia apparebat [. . .] tam in clero quam in populo magnus sit error non sine confusione gravi et scandalo suscitatus’ (Corpus inquisitionis, 2: #45, pp. 75–7).

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endeavoured to solve this problem by using his edict to expound upon certain statements in the 1289 rule, and to make the so-called sisters of the third order more visibly distinct from the pernicious and condemned beguines. In particular, Frederik attempted to regulate the physical appearance of tertiaries without mentioning or enforcing enclosure. To Frederik, following the guidelines for the appearance of Franciscan tertiaries in the third chapter of Supra montem would be enough to distinguish tertiaries from beguines. His edict reads: ‘Their habits shall be thus: the sisters will be clad in a cloak, by which we understand mantle of humble cloth of the type that is worn by the friars minor [. . .] The satchel and shoes should not be decorated with silken thread. They should not carry other things, and should avoid vanity.’61 The guidelines were neither terribly strict nor explicit, but imposed visible markers of identity on groups of women. Frederik’s emphasis on simple dress over distinctive clothing is not entirely surprising. During the first half of the thirteenth century, there was little or no consistency in the habitual dress adopted by penitents or penitential groups. Early penitential documents speak of penitents being clad in a cilicium, or hair shirt. In practice, cilicia varied considerably, and the word generally appears to refer simply to unpretentious clothing.62 What few beguine statutes exist for the early to midthirteenth century seldom mention clothing. The 1246 rule for beguines forbade them to wear silk and recommended that they dress simply. The vitae of other non-monastic women also place little emphasis on habitual dress. The vita of Umiliana of Cerchi (who generally wore a black robe and white veil) makes it clear that Umiliana’s commitment to penitence and service of others was a clearer sign of her love of God than the monastic habits of women in convents.63 This same emphasis on simple dress as opposed to a distinctive habit can be seen in Northern Europe. Even the vitae of the much-studied Liégeoise mulieres religiosae make little mention of the clothing worn by the various beatae while they carried out their active service. Instead, Thomas de Cantimpré’s description of Margaret of Ypres is typical in that it praises simplicity in dress over wearing recognizable colours or 61 ‘Habitus autem talis erit, videlicet, quod sorores induentur clamide, quam intelligimus juxta modum clamidis, qua Minores fratres desuper uti solent, de humili panno [. . .]. Ligaturis sericis non utentur, palles duntaxat agninas, bursas et corrigias de corio absque serico et non alias deportabunt, vitando cunctas seculi vanitates’ (Corpus inquisitionis, 2:76). Cf. Supra montem: ‘Fratres insuper ipsius fraternitatis, de humili panno in retio et colore, non prorsus albo vel nigro, communiter vestiantur, nisi fuerit ad tempus in pretio per visitatores de consilio ministri ob causam legitimam et apertam, cum aliquo despensatum. Chlamydes quoquoe ac pelles, absque scollaturis, scissas vel integras, affibulatas tamen, vel patulas, ut congruit honestati, clausasque manicas fratres habeant supradicti. Sorores etiam chlamyde induantur, et tunica de huiusmodi humili panno factis, vel saltem cum chlamyde habeant guarnellum, seu placentinum, coloris albi vel nigri; aut paludellum amplum de canabo, sive lino, absque ulla crispatura consutum. Circa humilitatem vero panni et pellitones sororum ipsarum, iusta conditionem cuiuslibet earundum, ac loci consuetundinem poterit dispensari. Bindis et ligaturis sericis non utantur, pelles dumtaxat agninas, bursas de corio et corrigias, simpliciter absque serico ullo factas et non alias, tam fratres habeant, quam sorores, depositis caeteris (iuxta B. Petri Apostolorum Principis salubre consilium) vanis huius saeculi ornamentis’ (cited in Gilles G. Meersseman, Dossier de l’ordre de la pénitence au XIIIe siècle (Fribourg: Éditions Universitaires, 1961; second edition, 1982). 62 Gilles G. Meersseman, Ordo fraternitatis. Confraternite e pietà dei laici nel medioevo (Rome: Herder, 1977), vol. 3, p. 449. Cf. Thompson, Cities of God, 84. 63 Vito of Cortona, ‘Vita beatae Humilianae de Cerchis’, AASS, May, 4: 385–400 (here c. II, par. 10–12, p. 389).

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patterns. He writes, ‘She wore an ugly, humble habit and rejected new clothes. She would always say, “I am only a poor little woman for whom old and worn clothes are sufficient.”’ Jacques de Vitry tells us that Marie d’Oignies wore a rough cord beneath her clothing, but does not dwell on the clothing itself.64 In some cases, hagiographers emphasize that their subjects adopted more traditionally religious dress near the end of their life. For instance, after she had ceased to serve lepers and begun to live as a recluse, Juette of Huy began to wear a Cistercian habit.65 This situation had changed significantly by the end of the thirteenth century. Although there was not a single penitential habit, it had become common for penitents to give witness to their informal affiliation with an order through the colour of their habit: black for the Dominican penitents and grey for their Franciscan contemporaries.66 This did not signify formal membership in the order; yet it had become a common way of illustrating spiritual ties and was often seen as an external sign that women had a recognized confessor and lived an orthodox religious life. At the same time, many penitents continued without a formal order affiliation, and some also expressed this through their dress, for example unaffiliated penitents in much of Italy generally wore a chequered habit.67 By the end of the thirteenth century most beguine communities had developed visible means of setting themselves apart both from the secular community and from other groups of religious women (though this became increasingly unnecessary because of official emphasis on enclosure).68 In some instances, beguines working outside the beguinage were required to wear different colours than enclosed beguines.69 Furthermore, the same statutes added that women who were banished from the beguine community or who left in disgrace were not permitted to wear certain colours.70 Frederik’s desire to ensure that non-monastic religious women wore a recognizable habit was part of a wider fourteenth-century trend towards the regularization of beguines. Early beguine rules had not been onerous documents and typically contained statements designed to ensure that the lives led by these women had a recognizable religious character.71 Adopting a distinctive and traditionally monastic appearance as well as following recognized rules ensured that certain groups of pious laywomen were regarded as part of the orthodox religious world. 64 ‘Et quia potestatem proprii corporis aperte non habebat, chordam asperrimam, qua vehementer stringebatur, sub camisia clam portabat’, VMO c. 2, par. 12, 639. 65 ‘Annis aliquibus ante obitum suum ex consuetudine Cisterciensis ordinis (cuius ordinationi se devouerat) habere tunicam ad carnem acquievit’; Hugh de Floreffe, ‘De b. Ivetta’, preface, par. 2. 66 Thompson, Cities of God, 82–3. For the significance of clothing in the case of an individual penitent, see Cannon, ‘Fama Laudabilis’. The colour of habit was also important in the case of the Dominican Giovanna of Orvieto; see Lehmijoki-Gardner, ‘Writing Religious Rules’, 667. For the changing role of the habit during the high and later middle ages, see Peter von Moos, ‘Le Vêtement identificateur. L’habit fait-il ou ne fait-il pas le moine?’ in Thalia Brero and Francesco Santi, eds, Le corps et sa parure (Florence: Galluzzo, 2007), pp. 41–4. 67 Cf. n. 9 in this chapter. 68 Cf. Galea, ‘Unhappy Choices’, 509. 69 Rule of St Omer, 127; Aubert le Mire, Opera diplomatica, ed. Joannes Foppens (Brussels: Petrum Foppens, 1723–48), 4: 253–4. 70 Hector Nimal, Les béguinages, origine, développement, règlement de Robert de Langres, organisation intérieure—influence (Nivelles: Lanneau, 1908), p. 79. 71 Ghent rule cited in J-M. Olivier, OP, ‘Le béguinage de Gand’, L’Année dominicaine (1902), pp. 68, 76, 82.

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O RT H O D OX Y A N D H E R E S Y As a consequence of the Council of Vienne, beguine heresy was feared in the fourteenth century. The apparent contradiction between the vehement condemnation in Ad nostrum and the mitigating words of Cum de quibusdam is easily explained by the possibility that the two decrees were aimed at different groups of women.72 Modern scholars often assume that clear distinction existed between ‘heretical’ beguines of the South and their homonymous sisters from Northern Europe.73 Again, we return to a central difficulty in the study of non-monastic or quasireligious women: there is no definitive rubric under which they can be discussed, no clear terminology, no hierarchy within beguine houses, and no guidelines for determining whether or not a community was orthodox. Adopting the appearance of traditional religious did not necessarily absolve women or communities of suspicion. In Southern Europe ties between the beguines and the Franciscan Spirituals were becoming increasingly controversial and problematic.74 Criticisms of women who had no ties with official religious orders were more common in Northern Europe. In 1328, the beguines of Ghent, Bruges (Brugge), Damme, and Aardenburg were suspected of heresy and sexual sins. They were only exonerated after serious investigation.75 Again, the concern with sexual immorality (which in the case of Bruges involved an accusation of brothel keeping) can be linked to the growing emphasis on claustration and the perceived ‘dangers’ that could befall unenclosed women.76 The other heretical ideas stemmed, in part, from the longstanding concerns about beguines spreading errors or heretical beliefs through providing religious instruction. In the thirteenth century, the Franciscan Lamprecht of Regensburg (†1250) had already lamented that ‘an art has risen up [. . .] among women in Brabant and Bavaria. Lord God, what kind of an art is this when an old crone understands better than a learned man?’77 In 1274, Guibert of Tournai’s Collectio de scandalis ecclesiae complained of ‘women called beguines [who] interpreted the mysteries of scripture and translated them in the common vernacular, although the best experts in scripture can scarcely understand them’. Instead of encountering them through proper theological education or waiting to hear them in liturgy, these women ‘read these texts in common without proper respect in their convents and workshops or even in public places’. In Guibert’s opinion, these books should

72 Tarrant, ‘The Clementine Decrees’, 300–8. 73 Louisa Burnham, So Great a Light, So Great a Smoke: The Beguin Heretics of Languedoc (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2008). 74 Burr, Spiritual Franciscans; Burnham, So Great a Light. 75 Corpus inquisitionis, 1: 178–80. 76 J. Marechal, ‘Konventen van arme begijnen in Brugge 1302–1374’, in Album Antoon Viaene. Aangeboden ter gelegenheid van zijn zeventigste verjaardag (1970): 257–64, at 257. 77 ‘diu kunst ist bi unsern tagen / in Brabant und in Baierlanded / unter wiben uf gestanden / Herre Got, waz kunst is daz / daz sich ein alt wip baz / verstet dan witzige man?’ (quoted in Bernard McGinn, The Flowering of Mysticism, vol. 3 of The Presence of God: A History of Western Christian Mysticism (New York: Crossroad, 1991), pp. 174 and 406).

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be destroyed so that ‘the speech of things divine no longer be stained by common vulgar utterance’.78 Education and literacy were not, in themselves, controversial. The activity of women teaching or providing spiritual texts for other women was widespread and not particularly controversial: after all, as scholars such as Bert Roest, Patricia Stoop, and Anne Winston-Allen have shown, female scribes were far from passive and often played a significant role in interpreting texts that became important in communities.79 Individual beatae and communities of non-religious women were involved in education throughout Northern Europe during the later middle ages. In the thirteenth century, a beguine known as ‘Sapientia’ had instructed Juliana of Mont Cornillon in Latin letters;80 and the vita of Arnulfus of Villers (†1228) recounts that the saintly laybrother advised a recluse to continue to instruct a cleric in letters despite the fact that she had begun to feel desire for him.81 In the fourteenth century, teaching took place at the beguinages in ’s-Hertogenbosch;82 the sisters of Jericho in Brussels used records of sermons delivered by their confessors for teaching;83 and the beguines of Mechelen appear to have kept records of sermon texts and explanations for teaching purposes.84 Moreover, a number of houses of women, such as the communities in Brussels and Maastricht, had active  scriptoria which earned money for the communities by copying and disseminating texts.85 Certain Churchmen (such as the aforementioned Guibert) felt that such material could easily be misinterpreted. The concerns were even more pronounced regarding texts authored (rather than copied) by women. A text that has been 78 Guibert of Tournai. Collectio de scandalis ecclesiae, ed. Aubertus Stroick. Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 24 (1931): 62. Cf. Autbertus Stoick, ‘Verfasser und Quellen der Collectio de Scandalis Ecclesiae’, Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 23 (1930): 3–41, 273–99, 433–66; Simons, Cities of Ladies, 125–6, and 215, n. 28. 79 Patricia Stoop, Schrijven in commissie. De zusters uit het Brusselse klooster Jericho en de preken van hun biechtvaders ca. 1456–1510 (Hilversum: Verloren, 2013); Roest, Order and Disorder, 283–346; Anne Winston-Allen, Stories of the Rose: The Making of the Rosary in the Middle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997). Cf. The essays in Fiona Griffiths and Julie Hotchin, eds, Partners in Spirit: Women, Men, and Religious Life in Germany, 1100–1500 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014); Wybren Scheepsma, Medieval Religious Women in the Low Countries: The ‘Modern Devotion’, The Canonesses of Windesheim, and Their Writings, trans. David Johnson (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2004), pp. 96–293; Patricia Stoop, ‘Sermon-Writing Women: Fifteenth-Century Vernacular Sermons from the Augustinian Convent of Jericho in Brussels’, Journal of Medieval Religious Cultures 38 (2012): 211–32; Thom Mertens, ‘Ghostwriting Sisters: The Preservation of Dutch Sermons of Father Confessors in the Fifteenth and Early Sixteenth Century’, in Anneke Mulder-Bakker, ed., Seeing and  Knowing: Women and Learning in Medieval Europe 1200–1600 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004), pp. 121–41. 80 Simons, Cities of Ladies, 42. 81 Goswin of Bossut, ‘De b. Arnulfo monacho, ordinis cisterc. Villarii in Brabantia’, AASS, June, 5: 623–4. 82 L. Van de Meerendonk, Tussen reformatie en contrareformatie (Tilburg: Stichting Zuidelijk Historisch Contact, 1967), p. 30. 83 Cf. Stoop, Schrijven in commissie. 84 Brussel/Bruxelles, Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België/Bibliothèque Royale de Belgique (hereafter KBB) MS II 2934 is discussed at length in Chapter 5. 85 Jan Deschamps, ‘Handschriften uit het Sint-Agnesklooster te Maaseik’, Overdruk uit het Album Dr. M. Bussels (Tongeren: George Michiels, 1967), pp. 167–94.

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particularly noted as controversial is the Mirror of Simple Souls (Mirouer des simples âmes). This work is generally thought to have been written by Marguerite, a laywoman from Hainaut who is commonly called ‘Marguerite Porete’. Marguerite is often described as a beguine, although the precise meaning of the word is unclear. Little is known about her life, and what few details exist are gleaned from her writings or her trial. The diverse imagery in her writings and tremendous access to a variety of literary and theological sources suggest that Marguerite came from the upper echelons of society. Between 1296 and 1306, Guy of Collemezzo, bishop of Cambrai, condemned and burned the Mirror at Valenciennes.86 Marguerite was warned to cease writing and teaching.87 However, convinced of her orthodoxy, Marguerite gave copies of her work to prominent clerics, some of whom seem to have written letters of approbation in the book’s favour.88 In 1310, Marguerite was condemned and executed as a heretic based, in part, on testimony from Franciscan theologians who were eager to distance themselves from any link with the beguines with whom Marguerite was often associated.89 After her death, the Mirror continued to enjoy an anonymous but substantial circulation throughout Europe. In many cases both readers and authorities perceived it as completely orthodox. This was not only the case with the original Old French, but also German, Latin, and Italian translations.90 Moreover, a close reading of the Mirror suggests that its theological content does not differ substantially from other vernacular theological treatises that were popular at the time. The Mirror continued to circulate throughout Europe, generally under the names of male clerics including Jan van Ruusbroec, indicating that the issues of gender and orthodoxy are extremely complex. Rather than being one of the ‘pernicious and heretical’ beguines condemned at Vienne, it would be more correct to view Marguerite as a victim of circumstance.

86 Field, The Beguine, 5–6. 87 As mentioned earlier in this chapter, the author of this text was unknown for many years, but identified as Marguerite Porete in 1946 by Romana Guarnieri. See n. 36 in this chapter. 88 Three letters offering mild support of the book can be found appended to the text. These are from John of Querayn, François de Villiers and Godfrey of Fontaines. Cf. Michael G. Sargent, ‘Marguerite Porete’, in Alastair Minnis and Rosalynn Voaden, eds, Medieval Holy Women in the Christian Tradition (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), p. 300. 89 The anonymous ‘continuator’ of Guillaume de Nangis’s Chronicle refers to Marguerite as ‘une beguine clergesse nom[m]ee Margarite Poree’. For other texts that refer to Marguerite in this way, see Ursula Peters, Religiöse Erfahrung als literarisches Faktum: zur Vorgeschichte und Genese frauenmystischer Texte des 13. und 14. Jahrhunderts (Tübingen: M. Niemeyer, 1988), p. 71, n. 55. For a translation of texts that refer to Marguerite in this way, see Field, ‘Appendix B’ to The Beguine, 233–8. Moreover, the text in the anti-beguine decree, Cum de quibusdam, closely resembles Marguerite’s writings; see Field, The Beguine, 196–9. Cf. Sargent, ‘Marguerite Porete’, 291–309. For a discussion of the problems with this identification, see Brown, ‘Marguerite Porete, John of Baconthorpe’; Elizabeth A. R. Brown, ‘Jean Gerson, Marguerite Porete and Romana Guarnieri: The Evidence Reconsidered’, Revue d’historie ecclésiastique 108 (2013): 693–734. 90 Marlene Cré, ‘The Mirror of Simple Souls in Middle English Revisited: The Translator and the Compiler’, in Sean Field, Robert Lerner, and Sylvain Piron, eds, Marguerite Porete et le miroir des simples âmes, Perspectives historiques, philosophiques et littéraires (Paris: J. Vrin, 2013), pp. 249–63.

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The Mirror seems to have appealed to women, and copies were owned by nonmonastic communities.91 In Ghent, the Beguinage of Our Lady ‘Ter Hooie’ includes a manuscript entitled ‘eenen bouc hoe haar een siele naect sal hauden an  Gode, ende hi es ghescreven in vransine’ (‘a book about how a soul shall hold itself naked to God and that is written on parchment’). This text was included in a list of books donated by Elisabeth de Grutere around the time of her death in 1499 or 1500.92 It was more than simply writing a book that caused Marguerite to be condemned. As Sean Field demonstrates, the trials of Marguerite touched on issues as diverse as heresy, apocalypticism, and political controversy. Though her writings, arguably, have heretical tendencies, these are very tenuous and much disputed. Instead, as Field’s analysis shows, the issues raised at her trial were often more closely connected with establishing (male) authority than with doctrine.93 The spiritual climate of the later thirteenth and fourteenth century increasingly viewed women who deviated from the norms of typical religious practice with suspicion. Another woman who fell under suspicion of heresy was ‘Blommardina’ (or ‘Pseudo-Hadewych’). In his Necrologium viridis vallis, Henricus Pomerius (†1454) recounts that Blommardina was a ‘promulgatrix famosa’, credited with spreading heretical ideals. In particular, Pomerius recounts that she advocated the Heresy of the Free Spirit and of carnal love (which she called ‘seraphic’) and that she deceived many with her teaching.94 The precise identity of Pomerius’s Blommardina is unknown. A likely candidate is Heilwig Blomaerts, who hailed from the diocese of Cambrai. Although she may have lived at the appropriate time, Heilwig does not appear to have held particularly controversial beliefs, but attracted negative attention for her business acumen and mystical reputation.95 Little is known about her life, yet it appears that her family was wealthy. When Hedwig, the head of the beguinage at Meerbeek, was no longer able to fulfil her charitable obligations in 1305, Heilwig took over.96 Under Heilwig’s leadership, the Meerbeek beguinage became a small but thriving centre that was famed for its charitable and mystical activity, and eventually became the Hospital of St Gudule. Moreover, archival 91 However, as Amy Hollywood has pointed out, the Mirour does not contain the affective, lyrical and somatic spirituality often associated with non-monastic religious women; see Amy Hollywood, The Soul as Virgin Wife: Mechthild of Magdeburg, Marguerite Porete, and Meister Eckhart (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame, 1995). 92 The book list itself is in the Archives of the Beguinage of Our Lady ‘Ter Hooie’, Winnepennick Collection, unnumbered paper register, fols 2r–v. It was published by Albert Derolez in Corpus catalogorum Belgii: The Medieval Booklists of the Southern Low Countries (Brussels: Paleis der Academiën, 1999), 3: 28 item 5. 93 Field, The Beguine. 94 ‘Extitit hujus haeresis promulgatrix famosa quaedam mulier Blommardina nomine, quae tanquam novae doctrinae inventrix Bruxellis cathedram meruit argenteam, ex qua execranda dogmata de spiritu libertatis et amore venereo, quem ipsa seraphicum appellabat, docens pluribus circumveniet’ (Corpus inquisitionis, 1: n. 190). 95 For a summary of scholarship on the identity of Blommardina, see Loet Swart, ‘Overview of Ruusbroec Research’, in John Arblaster, ed., A Companion to John of Ruusbroec (Leiden: Brill, 2014), pp. 303–38, at 306. 96 See Geert Warner, Ruusbroec: Literature and Mysticism in the Fourteenth Century (Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 67–80. Cf. Guarnieri, ‘Il movimento’, 438, n. 10. Cf. Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers, 33.

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material reflects that Heilwig had a close and amicable relationship with many members of the clergy in Brussels. While Heilwig’s activities appear to have been both orthodox and useful, Pomerius made it seem that this was an elaborate deceit. He relates that the founder of his community and spiritual teacher Jan van Ruusbroec (†1381) was one of the few who could see through her charade.97 On one level, Ruusbroec seems unlikely to have condemned quasi-religious women. Like both Marguerite and Heilwig, Ruusbroec was from the diocese of Cambrai and was fully immersed in the world of quasi-religious life. Ruusbroec’s mother became a beguine in Brussels. Ruusbroec himself lived in a small community of canons who were tired of the clerical milieu in Brussels and wanted to live a more ‘authentic’ religious life based on the gospel rather than the political structures of the Church.98 They were soon joined by a number of lay followers, or ‘friends of God’, and approached by individuals such as Geert Groote and Johannes Tauler (†1361) for spiritual advice.99 Due to increasing controversy, they agreed to live under the Augustinian rule, and established a provostry. Ruusbroec provided spiritual guidance to both lay and religious men and women, and does not seem to have objected to the vocation of active charity. A number of his works, including letters and the treatises The Seven Locks (Vanden Seven Sloten) and The Seven Rungs (Vanden Seven Trappen), were addressed to Margaret of Meerbeek, and indirectly to the Clares from the convent of Opbrussel where she was cantor.100 In particular, Ruusbroec gave advice to Margaret on overcoming spiritual malaise, or apathy, as well as instruction on the sacraments and community living. Although little is known about Margaret herself, she is often described as Ruusbroec’s spiritual daughter, and Helen Rolfson speculates that she may have been an associate of Ruusbroec’s penitential community.101 At the same time, Margaret was also a member of a recognized religious community of Clares, and therefore her orthodoxy could not easily be called into question. As Ruusbroec was closely involved with men and women on the margins of religious life, his condemnation of Heilwig’s way of life makes little sense. However, Ruusbroec’s last treatise, the Book of the Twelve Beguines, allows remarkably clear 97 An excerpt is included in Frédéricq, Corpus inquisitionis, 1: n. 189, 185–6. 98 Helen Rolfson, ‘The Low Countries, the Beguines and John Ruusbroec’, in Julia A. Lamm, ed., The Wiley-Blackwell Companion to Christian Mysticism (Hoboken: John Wiley and Sons, 2012), pp. 329–39. 99 Around the age of eleven, Ruusbroec went to live with his uncle Jan Hinckaert (†1355) who was a canon at the collegiate of St Gudule in Brussels. Around 1337, the two were joined by another canon, Vrank van Coudenberg (†1386). The three longed to escape the constraints of clerical life. In 1343, they left Brussels for Groenendaal, where they founded a spiritual community. 100 J. Huijben, ‘Ruusbroec’s vriendenkring’, in D. A. Stracke, ed., Jan van Ruusbroec. Leven en werken (Mechelen: Het Kompas, 1931), pp. 114–25; Roest, Order and Disorder, 143, esp. n. 267; Marie-Jeanne Juvyns, Le couvent des Riches Claires à Bruxelles 1343–1585 (Mechelen: SintFranciskusdrukkerij, 1967); Heribert Roggen, De Clarissenorde in de Nederlanden (Sint Truiden: Instituut voor Franciscaanse Geschiedenis, 1995), pp. 82–93. Helen Rolfson draws attention to the fact that a large percentage of Ruusbroec’s works were intended for Margaret. Helen Rolfson, ‘Ruusbroec and the Franciscan Tradition’, Fourteenth-Century English Mystics Newsletter 8: 4 (1982): 163–73, at 164. 101 Rolfson, ‘Ruusbroec and the Franciscan Tradition’, 165.

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insights into the way his thought about such women developed.102 In the first chapter of the book, Ruusbroec presents the twelve beguines, each speaking in her own voice. The women speak of their love for the divine bridegroom, and some lament that finding appropriate expression for their devotion is difficult. He then interjects with his own voice, and analyses the various problems associated with the non-monastic devotional expressions. The overall conclusions reached by Ruusbroec is that beguine life was originally pure and based on orthodox love for God, but that it had become corrupt and plagued by heretical associations—based in part on the beguines’ stubborn refusal to accept the guidance of male confessors. While he greatly admired beguine writers such as Hadewijch of Brabant, he encouraged his own spiritual daughter to develop her path within a traditional religious community.103 An examination of the tales of pious laywomen such as Marguerite Porete and Blommardina shows just how thin the boundaries between orthodoxy and heresy were. Rather than simply a matter of interpreting doctrine, these women’s narratives touched upon issues of gender, obedience, and clerical control. Those who existed outside of the structures connected with the institutional Church found themselves increasingly subject to pressure to conform. E C O N O M I C I N F LU E N C E S A N D D I F F I C U LT I E S It is easy to interpret developments in the institutionalization of quasi-religious or  non-monastic women as simply a matter of Church control. However, the growing size of such communities also led to other problems in the wider secular community.104 In the dioceses of Mechelen and Liège, there were over two hundred non-monastic communities, and in the diocese of Cologne over four hundred. The individual communities were seldom large, and those who lived in them rarely took permanent vows. Cities such as Mechelen typically also contained several ‘convents’, which were nothing more than houses for three to five women. Unlike nuns, communities of non-monastic women had neither extended networks of ‘order’ communities to provide for their material and spiritual needs, nor the institutional freedom from certain taxes or obligations commonly associated with nuns.105 Consequently, non-monastic women remained in the world, owned property, were subject to various tariffs, and played a role in community affairs. In most areas, they were heavily involved in the cloth trade. Many beguines maintained close relations with (other) merchants and workers, or established their own 102 Jan van Ruusbroec, Vanden XII Beginen, ed. M. Kors (Turnhout: Brepols, 2000). For problems with this text and its transmission, see Guido de Baere, ‘Een groep zondaars in Ruusbroecs XII beginen door Surius gered’, Ons geestelijk erf 82 (2011): 204–19. 103 Cf. Saskia Murk-Jansen, ‘Hadewijch’, in Alastair Minnis and Rosalynn Voaden, eds, Medieval Holy Women in the Christian Tradition (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), pp. 663–85. 104 For size and significance, see Simons, Cities of Ladies, 304–13. 105 In many cases, their liminal status caused economic conflict with the local guilds. See Simons, Cities of Ladies, 115–16.

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commercial networks, which grew and developed in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.106 As these communities increased in number, their economic influence became increasingly significant and problematic. In particular, non-monastic women frequently found themselves in conflict with powerful secular groups (commonly guilds) over economic issues. When entering a beguine community, a woman did not typically take a vow of poverty and, in many cases, was not required to renounce her property. However, their land would be put to communal use while they lived as beguines. In this way, wealthy members of the community provided for the financial needs of their less affluent sisters. In many cases, communities retained ownership of the property of beguines who returned to the world. The 1286 rule of the beguinage at Mechelen stated that the beguinage could receive the income from rents outside the community to contribute to the care of beguines who were not able to provide for themselves financially.107 The statutes at Bruges stipulated that if a beguine left the community she could not take her house with her.108 Living in a community that was perceived by many as religious helped beguines to circumvent guild regulations, and in so doing, to gain prominent roles in commerce, particularly in the cloth industry.109 Because of the economic success of various beguinages, trade guilds came to resent their activities. This was already evident in the thirteenth century. In 1287, the synod of Liège limited the privileges to women who lived in the beguinage and earned less than a certain amount of money, and beguines were forbidden to engage in any business yielding more than ten marks.110 In Diest beguines were forbidden to weave more than five whole pieces of cloth.111 In some cases, women were (again) accused of immoral activities.112 Most of the surviving evidence concerning complaints against beguines dates from the fifteenth century, when many beguinages were still in existence, notwithstanding ongoing ecclesiastical pressures. Hence, in 1469, 1470, and 1480 the guild of silk spinners at Cologne demanded that any person who gave work to the beguines be expelled from its ranks.113 Although communities of non-monastic women or even pious laywomen were often an accepted and important part of the economic climate, the growing size and influence of beguine communities often caused difficulty. Their status between 106 Simons, Cities of Ladies, 85–7; Cf. Tanya Stabler Miller, The Beguines of Medieval Paris: Gender, Patronage and Spiritual Authority (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2014). 107 Quoted in Mary Suydam, ‘Beguine Textuality: Sacred Performances’, in Mary Suydam and Joanna Ziegler, eds, Performance and Transformation (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1999), pp. 169– 210, at 198, n. 9. 108 Monica Sandor, ‘Apostolic Freedom and Clerical Repression: The Case of Lay Women’s Communities in the Low Countries’, The Vital Nexus 1: 4 (1994): 85. 109 On guilds in the Low Countries, see Simons, Cities of Ladies, 115–16. 110 Joseph Avril, ed., Les statuts synodaux de Jean de Flandre, évêque de Liège (16 février 1288) (Liège: Bulletin de la Société d’art et d’histoire du diocèse de Liège, 1996), p. 193. Also cited in Nimal, Les béguinages, p. 69. 111 Ernest McDonnell, Beguines and Beghards in Medieval Culture with Special Emphasis on the Belgian Scene (New York: Octagon Books, 1969), 273. 112 Marechal, ‘Konventen van arme begijnen in Brugge’, 257. 113 McDonnell, Beguines and Beghards, 273.

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secular and religious meant that there was no obvious process for regulation. Despite the best efforts of Churchmen to monasticize and regularize this way of life, non-monastic women still occupied a liminal—and troubling—place in the ecclesiastical landscape. C O N C LU S I O N Despite attempts to regulate groups of non-monastic women in the later thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the controversies that surrounded persisted.114 As is explored in Chapter 3, ways in which communities of non-monastic women were portrayed changed considerably in the later fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In the thirteenth century, expressions of the via media had been praised as ‘new’ or ‘dynamic’;115 from the fourteenth century onwards, emphasis was placed on a return to ideals rather than innovation. Of course, new forms of life continued to appear, and irregular or semi-regular forms of religious expression continued to play a role in society. Given the diversity of religious women and the complexities in unravelling the threads of their institutional connections, it is no surprise that misconceptions concerning the identities of houses of religious women persist in modern scholarship. The simple invocation of a rule associated with a particular saintly founder was enough to create the appearance of a new identity, but the process of ensuring a change in how a community regarded itself was far more complex.

114 Susan E. Dinan, Women and Poor Relief in Seventeenth-Century France: The Early History of the Daughters of Charity (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), pp. 17–22; More ‘Dynamics of Regulation’, pp. 85–110. 115 VMO, prologue 8.

3 The Western Schism, Observant Reform, and Institutionalization The Clementine decrees and the declarations of the Council of Vienne made the name ‘beguine’ problematic; however, communities of women who engaged with the secular world continued to flourish throughout fourteenth-century Europe. While canon law still regarded these communities as laywomen, the regularizing efforts of those responsible for their cura meant that they were now often enclosed, wore recognizable habits, and professed approved religious rules.1 As a result, many communities of women had become virtually indistinguishable from traditional female monastics. Nevertheless, given the relatively high numbers of women attracted to such communities and the prominent social roles that they often held, simply adopting the appearance of traditional monasticism was not sufficient for avoiding controversy and more substantive changes needed to take place. This chapter explores the changes in the status and role of penitential communities from the end of the fourteenth century onwards. As with much of the religious landscape at this time, this change was to be affected by both the Observant Reform movement and the Western Schism. T E RT I A R I E S A N D T H E W E S T E R N S C H I S M From 1378–1418, a schism divided Western Christendom. Although the pope was still recognized as head of the Church, there was no clarity on who, precisely, that might be. From 1378–1407, there were separate papal curia in Rome and Avignon—each with its own court and complementary support of governments and saints.2 In 1407, an attempt by the Council of Pisa to resolve the question of a surplus pope had the unintended consequence of proclaiming yet a third contender, Alexander V. In 1410, he was succeeded by John XXIII, who ‘reigned’ in Pisa until the schism was resolved by the Council of Constance and the election of Martin V in 1415. The question of allegiance to a particular pope was often decided by geography or political alliances rather than canonical arguments. Of the

1 Alison More, ‘Dynamics of Regulation, Innovation, and Invention’, in James D. Mixson and Bert Roest, eds, Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages and Beyond (Leiden: Brill, 2015), pp. 85–110. 2 See Hélène Millet, L’Église du Grand Schisme 1378–1417 (Paris: Picard, 2009).

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three men claiming to be pope, the Pisan Alexander and later John had the widest base of support throughout Europe.3 At first glance, John appears to be an unlikely candidate for making lasting and  necessary canonical changes. Born to a noble family from Naples, John (or Baldassare Cossa as he was then known) spent his early life as a sailor. According to his enemies, this was little more than an opportunity for him to make his fortune through piracy. Cossa later studied law at the University of Bologna, and his administrative talents, military prowess, and moral degeneracy attracted official attention. In particular, he was noted for his reputation for earning money through unscrupulous practices and indulging his voracious appetite for sexual adventure.4 Despite the colourful tales of Baldassare’s misadventures, he appears to have had some concern for bringing order to Christendom after his ‘election’ in 1410.5 As John XXIII, he issued a series of statutes to the houses living very different ways of life but claiming to belong to the third order in Flanders.6 His 1413 bull, Personas vacantes, both required tertiary communities to observe the so-called Franciscan rule of 1289, and added statutes regulating community life. Specifically, this bull demanded that the sisters profess vows of obedience, poverty, and chastity. It did not insist that the sisters observe clausura (something growing increasingly popular in Southern Europe), but instead allowed them to continue active lives of service. Although they could work outside the community, they were required to distinguish themselves from their lay counterparts by wearing a scapular and grey tunic, which resulted in them becoming known as the ‘Grey Sisters’. In 1414, John confirmed that those who followed the statutes set out in Personas vacantes were officially ecclesiastical persons.7 Although John’s tertiaries are referred to as members of the ‘Third Order of St Francis’ or the ‘Grey Franciscan Sisters’, the links between this group and the friars are—if anything—even more precarious than those set out by Supra montem. John’s statutes make it clear that members of the third order were to have their own general chapters (separate for the brothers and sisters) and individual communities were to remain independent. These statutes were adapted by a variety of autonomous groups, largely in France and Flanders, who continued to be referred to as 3 For a discussion, see Philip Daileader, ‘Local Experiences of the Great Western Schism’, in Joëlle Rollo-Koster and Tom Izbicki, eds, A Companion to the Great Western Schism, 1378–1417 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), pp. 89–121. The Pisan popes were recognized by England, France (excluding some principalities in the South), most of the Empire (although not by Emperor Rupert himself ), and by nine important Germanic archbishops. See Howard Kaminsky, ‘The Great Schism’, in Michael Jones, ed., The New Cambridge Medieval History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 696. 4 Eustace J. Kitts, Pope John the Twenty-Third and Master John Hus of Bohemia (London: Constable, 1910), 1–14. There is very little recent work on John XXIII. For an overview, see Hélène Millet, ‘John XXIII (c. 1360–1419)’, in André Vauchez, Barrie Dobson, and Michael Lapidge, eds, Encyclopedia of the Middle Ages (London–Chicago: James Clark & Co., 2001), vol. 1, p. 771. Cf. Millet, L’Église du Grand Schisme, 113–15. 5 As well as regularizing the tertiaries, John was concerned with refuting the errors of John Wycliff and Jan Hus. Cf. Kitts, John the Twenty-Third, 52–74. 6 ‘. . . in partibus Flandriae, et praesertim in Episcopatu Morinen, ac in locis, scilicet Furnis, Novoportu, Ipris, Paupringis, Dixmunde, et Bergis’. John XXIII, Personas vacantes, in Annales minorum 9, no. 535; 18: 653–4. 7 Bullarium franciscanum 7: 475–6.

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sisters of the third order. The Personas vacantes statutes were confirmed by the postschismatic popes Martin V (in 1430) and Eugenius IV (in 1436), and continued to be observed by congregations of sisters founded into the nineteenth century.8 In Flanders and Northern France, many communities that followed the 1289 rule and the constitutions in John XXIII’s bull worked in hospitals and had separate statutes approved in 1483.9 These new statutes brought more uniformity to their group but did not re-affirm the Franciscan connection. The confusion between Franciscan tertiaries and Grey Sisters brought increased confusion to the issue of identity in houses of pious laywomen. Despite their independence, many communities maintained informal ties with Franciscan friars or venerated saints—particularly Elisabeth of Thuringia—who has come to be identified with the Franciscan third order. The official approbation and apparent sanction of an expression of the vita activa ensured that the Grey Sisters continued to play a vital and vibrant role in the European spiritual climate into the modern age. O B S E RVA N T R E F O R M A very different process of regularization was occurring within religious orders in the later fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The Observant Reform movement had swept through Western Europe from about 1378 onwards. As the name suggests, Observant Reform (observantia or observantia regulae) originated from a desire to return to stricter observation of religious rules and a (largely imaginary) period before corruption had entered the Church. In religious orders, it was often interpreted as a desire to return to the original ideals of their founder.10 The Observant movement had neither a precise impetus nor a dynamic founder. Its spread throughout Europe did not follow a coherent pattern. Instead, some communities affiliated with the Observance chose to reform themselves while others had reforms imposed from outside, by religious or secular leaders.11 Certain orders, such as the Franciscans, established separate Observant branches, while others, including the 8 Martin confirmed these statutes in Ex apostolicae sedis providentia (Bullarium franciscanum, vol. 7, n. 1891, 736). Eugenius added his approval with Ad apostolicae dignitatis apicem (Bullarium franciscanum, n.s. 1: n. 264, p. 121). The same statutes were named as influencing the regulations followed by later groups such as the Grey Sisters founded by Marguerite d’Youville. See John Watts, A Canticle of Love: The Story of the Franciscan Sisters of the Immaculate Conception (Edinburgh: John Donald, 2006), p. 24. 9 See Henri Lemaître, ed., ‘Statuts des religieuses du tiers ordre franciscain, dites soeurs grises hospitalières’, Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 4 (1911): 713–31. 10 Bert Roest, ‘Observant Reform in Religious Orders’, in Miri Rubin, ed., The Cambridge History of Christianity, vol. 4, Christianity in Western Europe, c. 1100–c. 1500 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), pp. 446–57, at 446. 11 Roest, ‘Observant Reform’, 446–7. Cf. Dieter Mertens, ‘Reformkonzilien und Ordensreform im 15. Jahrhundert’, in Kaspar Elm, ed., Reformbemühungen und Observanzbestrebungen im spätmittelalterlichen Ordenswesen (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1989), pp. 431–57; James D. Mixson, ‘Religious Life and Observant Reform in the Fifteenth Century’, History Compass 11: 3 (2013): 201–14; James D. Mixson, ‘Religious Life and Religious Orders’, in Robert N. Swanson, ed., Routledge Handbook of Medieval Western Christianity, c. 1100–1530 (New York: Routledge, 2015), pp. 45–57; Kathryne Beebe, ‘The Observant Reform in the Later Middle Ages’, in Bernice M. Kaczynski

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Dominicans and Augustinians, simply contained Observant factions or congregations. Those attracted to this movement were unified by a desire to restore order to the Church, even though they could harbour competing visions of the necessary measures to accomplish this. Reformers worked towards Christianization of society as a whole. As well as their work of (re)establishing fidelity to the original ideals of the founders of religious orders, this involved attempts to regularize pious lay associations, particularly households of non-monastic women, who, in many cases, had reformed agenda of their own.12 In addition to fiery rhetoric, reformers created a version of the past through texts, histories, and images. Under Observant influence, a more systematic programme of identity creation replaced the somewhat haphazard adoption of religious rules by non-monastic groups.13 Observant reformers repeatedly stressed links between their orders and tertiary groups, lobbied for the ‘religious’ status of women under their spiritual care to be recognized in Church law, and endeavoured to create an institutional framework for tertiaries.14 At the same time, they compiled comprehensive fictive histories from liturgical fragments and passing references in hagiography, which linked ‘tertiary’ groups and charismatic female penitential figures to friars.15 Observant historical chronicles depict these groups as obedient, desiring enclosure, and connected to established religious orders.16 Again, recorded histories and historical reality are very different. In particular, the issue of enclosure remained contentious. The biography of the Observant Franciscan Bernardino da Feltre (†1494) complains of unenclosed female penitents: In this group there are many women from the third order. These women refuse to stay enclosed in any place, and go wherever they please; however they pray the minor liturgical office in bare feet. Not wishing to assume the spiritual care of these women, the friars said they had two choices: either to be enclosed in a monastery or to remain in their own homes where they would be controlled by their fathers.17 and Thomas Sullivan, eds, The Oxford Handbook of Christian Monasticism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, forthcoming). 12 Cf. Bert Roest, Franciscan Literature of Religious Instruction before the Council of Trent (Leiden: Brill, 2004), pp. 79–100, 202–3. For women’s involvement, see Anne Winston-Allen, Convent Chronicles: Women Writing about Women and Reform in the Late Middle Ages (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2004); Bert Roest, Order and Disorder. The Poor Clares between Foundation and Reform (Leiden: Brill, 2013), pp. 176–210. 13 See Roest, ‘Observant Reform’, 446–57. Cf. More, ‘“New” Orders’; Eric L. Saak, High Way to Heaven: The Augustinian Platform between Reform and Reformation, 1292–1524 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), pp. 722–35. 14 Roest, ‘Observant Reform’, 455. 15 For a discussion of this in relation to the lives of saints, see Chiara Mercuri, Santità e propaganda: Il terz’ordine francescano nell’agiografia osservante, Bibliotheca Seraphico-Capuccina 59 (Rome: Istituto storico dei Cappuccini, 1999). 16 Cf. More, ‘“New” Orders’; Martina Wehrli-Johns, ‘L’osservanza dei Domenicani e il movimento penitenziale laico. Studi sulla “regola di Munio” e sul Terz’ordine domenicano in Italia e Germania’, in Kaspar Elm and Giorgio Chittolini, eds, Ordini religiosi e società politica in Italia e Germania nei secoli XIV e XV (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2001), pp. 287–330. 17 ‘in quelle bande sono molte donne del Terzo Ordine, le quali senza star ristrette in luogo alcuno, vanno dove vogliono, però dicono l’ufficio piccolo scalcie: li frati non vollero cura di queste donne, ma dicevano che facesser l’una de duoi, o si restringessero in un monastero, et harebbero in tal occasione

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At the same time, as is discussed below, there were several non-Observant (or even non-Franciscan) groups who followed the 1289 rule and were referred to as part of the third order. Franciscan Observants did not create the myth of a Franciscan third order, yet the existence of such a narrative proved useful in the construction of a fictive past. Perhaps one of the best records of this is John of Capistrano’s Defensorium tertii ordinis written in 1440. This text defended the status of particular tertiaries and acknowledged them as full members of the Franciscan family.18 However, Capistrano’s defence made it clear that the order’s acceptance did not extend to any extra-regular community (or even those communities that professed the 1289 rule), but only to those tertiary communities that were enclosed, took public vows, and had ties with the Franciscan order. Capistrano’s writings show that he was aware of the difficulties connected with the Franciscan tertiary order. He acknowledges that the 1289 rule was widely used by non-tertiaries, and that there were dangers attached to blurring the divide between ecclesiastical and secular persons.19 However, he points out that the calendar of the saints included many members of the laity and that new orders had been created in a variety of ways throughout Christian history.20 Moreover, he includes a list of 39 saintly laymen and women who made contributions to the Franciscan order.21 The overall conclusion of the treatise is that the case for accepting the tertiaries as full members of the Franciscan family outweighs any possible objections. Both Capistrano’s Defensorium and his sermons spread widely throughout Europe. As well as being familiar with tertiaries near his native Perugia, Capistrano later travelled widely on preaching tours in Poland and the German Empire between 1451 and 1454.22 At this time, writings, sermons, and general spiritual guidance by Capistrano and his contemporaries are credited with spreading the idea of an Observant and regular third order. The sermons of Franciscan Observant preachers such as Jan Brugman (†1473), Hendrik Herp (†1477), and Hendrik van Santen (†1493) contain repeated references to ‘our order’ or ‘our blessed father Francis’.23 The identity and affiliation instituted through such methods was unofficial; however, it is clear that Observant reformers throughout Europe promoted the ideal of a shared order identity. While the Observants never achieved their goal of creating a unified and enclosed order cura di loro, o si stino in casa di loro padri, et in governo de’suoi’. Bernardino Guslino, La vita del beato Bernardino da Feltre, ed. Ippolita Checcoli (Bologna: Compositori, 2008), p. 116. 18 John of Capistrano, Defensorium tertium ordinis (Venice: n.p., 1580). 19 Capistrano, Defensorium, 1–3. 20 Capistran Defensorium, 3–5. 21 Mariano of Florence. ‘Trattato del terz’ordine o vero ‘libro come Santo Francesco istituì et ordinò et tertio ordine de frati et sore di penitentia et della dignità et perfectione o vero sanctità sua’, ed. Massimo D. Papi. Analecta TOR (1985), c. 24, 481–96. Cf. Mercuri, Santità, 71–82. 22 Ottó Gecser, ‘Preaching and Publicness: St. John of Capistrano and the Making of his Charisma North of the Alps’, in Katherine Jansen and Miri Rubin, eds, Charisma and Religious Authority: Jewish, Christian, and Muslim Preaching, 1200–1500 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), pp. 145–59. Cf. Bullarium franciscanum, n.s. vol. 1, no. 1658. 23 Antwerp, Ruusbroecgenootschap, MS neerlandicum, 14, ff. 107v–111v. Cf. F. Hendrickx, ‘De Middelnederlandse handschriften van het Ruusbroecgenootschap te Antwerpen. Eerste deel’, in E. Cockx-Indestege and F. Hendrickx, eds, Miscellanea Neerlandica. Opstellen voor Dr. Jan Deschamps ter gelegenheid van zijn zeventigste verjaardag, 3 vols (Leuven: Peeters 1987), vol. 1, pp. 63–5.

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of Franciscan tertiary women, their efforts yielded some significant results, particularly regarding communities around Montegiove, which presents an interesting case study in the institutionalization of the third order. M O N T E G I OV E The community of Sant’Anna in Montegiove was founded in the late fourteenth century. While it has entered the historical record as an enclosed tertiary house, there is little documentary evidence for this. What few sources exist suggests that the women of Montegiove initially held active roles in the secular world; however, these activities are conspicuously absent from later official histories. The texts that recount the official history of the community include the vita of its foundress, Angelina, by Ludovico Jacobilli in 1627, and the sixteenth-century chronicles of Mariano of Florence (†1523) and Mark of Lisbon (†1591).24 Each text agrees that Angelina was instrumental in Sant’Anna’s foundation and became renowned as a powerful symbol of tertiary life. However, when examined closely, there is reason to question the story told in these records. In particular, there is little agreement on historical details such as Angelina’s date of birth or of Sant’Anna’s foundation, and significant events in the community’s development are conspicuously absent. Moreover, there is archival evidence of a significant conflict between the community and the Observant reformers over the issue of enclosure. While it appears to have been a prolonged and important conflict, it is barely given a passing mention in the Observant version of events.25 The house of Sant’Anna in Montegiove appears to have been founded by the Observant Franciscan Paoluccio Trinci in 1388. The community was placed under the direction of Angelina, a pious widow and relative of Paoluccio, in 1397 and its members were active in the secular world.26 Through the intervention of Boniface IX, Sant’Anna was granted an exemption from Sancta Romana, the 1317 decree that limited the foundation of semi-religious houses.27 This privilege, combined with the influence of the women in Sant’Anna, soon caused other houses to request affiliation, which created a quasi-official network of ‘third order houses’. In 1403, Boniface IX issued another bull (Provenit ex vestre devotionis affectu) in support of Angelina’s communities.28 In 1428, Martin V issued the bull Sacrae religionis, 24 Ludovico Jacobilli, Vita della beata Angelina da Corbara Contessa di Civitella (Foligno: Appresso agostino alterij, 1627); Mariano of Florence, ‘Compendium Chronicarum Fratrum Minorum’, Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 3 (1910): 98–107; Mark of Lisbon, Delle croniche de’ Frati Minori del serafico padre s. Francesco (Venice: Erasmo Viotti, 1591). 25 Mariano of Florence, Il, 490–2. 26 Roest, Order and Disorder, 177–8. 27 Mario Sensi, ‘I Monasteri e bizzocaggi dell’osservanza Franciscana nel XV secolo a Foligno’, in Aleksander Horowski, ed., All’Ombra della Chiara Luce (Rome: Instituto storico dei Cappuccini, 2005), pp. 87–175. 28 Mario Sensi, ‘Documenti per la beata Angelina da Montegiove’, in Biografie antiche della beata Angelina da Montegiove. Documenti per la storia del monastero di S. Anna di Foligno e del’terz’Ordine

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which granted official ecclesiastical status to communities connected with Sant’Anna. At the same time it decreed that each house was to have its own ministra, and that these women would be responsible for electing their own minister general.29 Unsurprisingly, Angelina was elected to this position. Instead of lauding her success, however, the Observants became increasingly convinced that a strong unenclosed tertiary community was not necessarily in their best interests. In particular, they were concerned about Angelina’s public role, authority, and the respect she commanded from both religious and secular officials.30 To curtail this, Franciscans (both Observants and Conventuals) worked to ensure that all tertiary houses be enclosed. During the Franciscan general chapter of 1430, Angelina was removed from office and the friars attempted to find ways of ensuring that her successors were subject to official control.31 Angelina is still acknowledged as an important figure in the history of the Franciscan tertiary order; however, she has not entered the historical record as a ministra of an active independent federation, but as a solitary figure who embodied Observant ideals. In the official account taken from sixteenth- and seventeenthcentury Observant writings, Angelina founded the house of Sant’Anna, which followed a form of life that combined penitential principles with the more traditional ideals of contemplation and enclosure. These texts also relate that the ideals of Sant’Anna were so attractive that other communities of women followed its example and adopted voluntary enclosure. Eventually, Sant’Anna came to function as the virtual motherhouse for a network of enclosed and Observant tertiary communities.32 There is no mention that any aspect of this process was difficult or controversial. As is explored in the epilogue to this book, Mariano was among the later Observants who recorded order histories that have resulted in many scholars believing their fictive pasts to be historical reality. F R A N C I S C A N O B S E RVA N T S A N D INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE In addition to independent federations such as the Montegiove group or the Grey Sisters, there was a concerted effort on behalf of the Franciscan Observants both to Regolare di s. Francesco. Atti del Convegno di studi Franciscani. Foligno. 22–24 settembre (Rome, 1984), pp. 171–2. 29 Bullarium franciscanum, vol. 7, n. 1826, 706–7. 30 On the conflicts, see Roest, Order and Disorder, 178–9; Mario Sensi, Storie di bizzoche tra Umbria e Marche (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1995). 31 Cf. Sensi, Storie di bizzoche, 349–59; Anna Filannino, ‘La B. Angelina dei Conti di Marsciano e le sue fondazione’, in Raffaele Pazzelli and Mario Sensi, eds, Prime manifestazioni di vita comunitaria maschile e femminile nel movimento francescano della penitenza (Rome, 1982), pp. 451–7; La beata Angelina da Montegiove e il movimento del terz’ordine regolare francescano femminile, ed. Raffaele Pazzelli and Mario Sensi (Rome, 1984). 32 Roest, Order and Disorder, 177–9. Angelina is even spoken of as the ‘foundress’ of some communities that identify with the modern Franciscan third order. For this perspective, see Roberta McKelvie, Retrieving a Living Tradition: Angelina of Montegiove (St. Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute Publications, 1997).

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institutionalize the behaviour of the women under their cura and to ensure that their efforts were recognized in canon law. Although written in response to the Montegiove network, the 1428 bull Sacrae religionis was widely interpreted as giving official status to any women who called themselves Franciscan, wore a recognizably Franciscan habit, or was under the care of the friars.33 In 1430, this interpretation was approved by the Franciscan Chapter General. In 1447, Nicholas V issued the bull Ordinis tui, which re-affirmed the monastic status of the Franciscan third order.34 This new formal status did not apply to all communities that followed the 1289 rule, but simply those that adopted enclosure, took vows, and cultivated ties with the Franciscan Observants. However, instead of creating a unified order, federations that retained their own unique characteristics developed in different regions. In Nijmegen, the arrival of the Observant friars led to the monasticization of several houses of non-monastic women. Under the influence of Observants within the Franciscan order, communities that had been founded as beguinages adopted the 1289 rule and Observant cura, but continued to work outside the convent. In this case, the regularization that occurred was simply creating fictive links with an established order. Luke Wadding’s Annales minorum recounts that in 1447 ‘a number of women from the beguinage known as the Groesteckshoff, which had existed for years in Nijmegen, […] professed vows of the third order of St Francis’.35 Around 1380, Rudolf van Watselaer and his wife had founded a beguinage on the Hessenberg hill outside the city walls of Nijmegen, which adopted the so-called Rule of St Francis shortly before 1450, and is now discussed as a house of Franciscan tertiaries.36 The same occurred with a number of other houses throughout the Northern Low Countries during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.37 These

33 Martin V, ‘Sacrae religionis’, Bullarium franciscanum, 7, pp. 715–16. 34 Eugenius IV, ‘Ordinis tui’, Bullarium franciscanum, n.s. vol. 1, 1045, 524–6. 35 The full passage reads: ‘Noviomagi, Colonien. diocesis ante annos certum inchoatum erat Beguinagium Groesteckshoff vulgariter nuncupatum, in quo puellae et honestatae feminae in caritate et unitate pacis Deo pariter famulabantur. Hoc anno die Martis prima mensis Julii, septem quae adhuc supererant, jurarunt in vota Tertii Ordinis sancti Francisci in manibus Jacobi Brenter Guardiani Conventus Vallis Josaphat praedicti oppidi Noviomagensis, dimiseruntque propria quae possidebant et praebendas quae ad vitam vendebantur. Has ad participationem omnium charismatum et bonorum spiritualium quae fiunt in Ordine Minorum et Clarissarum, specialibus litteris admisit anno sequenti frater Zegerus Vicarius Generalis Ultramontanus.’ (Annales minorum, 17, 179.) 36 ‘nog vindt men in een ouden brief van 1380 […] dat Rudolphus […] en zijne huisvrouw an de Bagijnen op den Hessenberg hebben gegeven eene open plaats onder de muren der stad gelegen’ (‘now people can see from an old letter from 1380 […] Rudolph […] and his wife gave an open space under the walls of the city [of Nijmegen] on the Hessenberg to the beguines’). Quoted in Guus Pikkemaat, Geschiedenis van Noviomagus (Nijmegen: Dekker van de Vegt, 1988), 68. The changing Franciscan associations of this house after the mid-fifteenth century are discussed in more detail in Chapter 4. 37 Examples of non-monastic women who became increasingly monastic under the care of the Observant friars in the mid-fifteenth century include: Aardenburg (Tertiaries), Arnhem (Tertiaries), Hulst (Beguines), and Enheid in Nijmegen (Tertiaries). For a complete list and bibliographic references, see Koen Goudriaan’s ‘kloosterlijst’, http://www2.let.vu.nl/oz/kloosterlijst/kform.php. Cf. Bert Roest, ‘De Clarissen in de Noordelijke Nederlanden’ in Hildo van Engen and Gerrit Verhoeven, eds, Monastiek observantisme en Moderne Devotie in de Noordelijke Nederlanden (Hilversum: Verlorun, 2005), pp. 43–68.

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women certainly interacted with the friars, but did not develop exclusive or official ties with them. Observant regularization also occurred in other parts of Europe. In 1486, Innocent VIII granted a small community of women in Aberdour the right to live as nuns (moniales) of the third order of St Francis.38 The community had run a hospital, which Innocent recognized as a manner of living consistent with that of other houses nominally associated with this order (particularly in France and Flanders). Although the hospital in Aberdour and related houses in Scotland from that moment onwards seem to have had close links with the local Observant Reform movement, they were very different from the monasticized Italian tertiaries described by Capistrano and approved by Ordinis tui in 1447.39 Instead, Aberdour appears to have been a house of Grey Sisters, who had been granted ecclesiastical recognition by Personas vacantes and were free to live active lives.40 These women were closely connected to the Low Countries, particularly Veere, and had links with the Observants. However, their closest relationship appears to have been with the Augustinian community at Inchcolm, and they do not appear to have been concerned about Franciscan order identity. The various federations and groups of tertiaries associated with the friars indicate that from this time, it is possible to speak about ‘tertiary orders’ (or, better, ‘tertiary conglomerates’) within the Franciscan family. However, these still had very little connection to the historical Francis and very little semblance of uniformity. Even among houses with a clear connection to the Franciscan order, it is evident that at this juncture there were a number of approved and regulated tertiary groups instead of one clear order. In particular, the official recognition given by Ordinis tui proposed a very different form of life than that approved by Personas vacantes. Nevertheless, groups living according to both models continued to be known as houses of the third order, and enjoyed the protections and privileges connected with ecclesiastical status. Ambiguities associated with the 1289 rule continued to exist. Facing their own controversies about regularization, a number of groups connected with the Devotio moderna adopted the 1289 rule at this time. These groups—which John Van Engen calls ‘order-like units’—had no connection with the Franciscan friars and adopted the rule simply to alleviate some of the controversies regarding religious identity in

38 ‘… quod si sorores dicti tertii ordinis introducerentur in regno Scotie in quo usque tunc non fuerunt exinde mulieribus dicti Regni et sub regularisbus institutis eiusdem tertii ordinis divinis vacare possint beneplacitis, suarumque animarum saluti consulendi occasio et comoditas tribueretur.’ (Innocent VIII, ‘Iudicibus, ut hospitale prope villam de Abordour …’, no. DCCCLXXXIV in A. Theiner, ed., Vetera monumenta Hibernorum et Scotorum (Rome: n.p., 1864), pp. 501–3.) 39 Cf. P. Ferdinand and M. Delorme, ‘Olivier Maillard et le tiers-order régulier en Écosse (14881496)’, Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 8 (1915): 353–7. For the pastoral endeavours of the Observant movement in Scotland, see Alison More, ‘Tertiaries and the Scottish Observance: St Martha’s Hospital in Aberdour and the Institutionalisation of the Franciscan Third Order’, Scottish Historical Review (2015): 121–39. 40 Ferdinand and Delorme, ‘Olivier Maillard’, 353, n. 1. Cf. Christina Strauch, ‘Royal Connections: The Scottish Observants and the House of Stewart’, Innes Review 58: 2 (2007): 156–72.

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their own communities.41 This is particularly clear in the case of the Chapter of Utrecht, a Dutch network of both male and female houses affiliated with the Devotio moderna formed in 1399. On the advice of Wermboud of Utrecht (†1413) and William Hendriks of Amersfoort (†1413), and with the cooperation of Aleyd Clute, they accepted the 1289 rule.42 Nevertheless, they explicitly distanced themselves from the Franciscan order.43 While the majority of communities following the 1289 rule were autonomous, the Chapter of Utrecht held regular visitations. In 1401, Boniface IX gave official papal approval to the Chapter and their statutes in his bull Hiis qui divini cultus, which were closely based on the constitutions for the community of Windesheim.44 At the same time, Boniface granted the new tertiaries the privilege of keeping portable altars in their homes.45 However, this was for the Chapter alone, and not for other tertiary communities in the Utrecht diocese unaffiliated with it.46 A similar Chapter formed in Cologne in around 1420. In this case, Pope Martin V requested that Diedrik Van Meurs, the archbishop of Cologne, place communities in his diocese under a rule to limit the proliferation of heresies. This resulted in the creation of the Chapter of Cologne, which adopted the 1289 rule. This federation eventually included five houses of men and twenty-six houses of women. A third federation developed in Liège around 1435, and was known as the Chapter of Zepperen.47 The non-Franciscan affiliations of these Chapters and congregations are conspicuously absent from most documents relating to the history of the Franciscan third order. Such groups often meant that the ambiguities connected with order identity persisted. A fifteenth-century community of extra-regular women in Groningen was referred to as ‘beguines of the third order rule of St Francis’ (‘beghina de tertia regula sancti Francisci’).48 Mariëngaarde in Monnickendam, which had adopted the rule in 1403, and the community of Maria of Nazareth, which was described as ‘sisters of the order of penitence of St Francis’ (‘zusteren in der oirde van penitencien sente Franciscus’) were founded with the 1289 rule although they did not have

41 John Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers of the Common Life: The Devotio Moderna and the World of the Later Middle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), 121–3. 42 Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers, 121. 43 For a nuanced discussion of this group, see Hildo van Engen, De derde orde van Sint Franciscus in het middeleeuwse bisdom Utrecht. Middeleeuwse studies en bronnen, XCV (Hilversum: Verloren, 2006), p. 62; Folkert J. Bakker, Bedelorden en begijnen in de stad Groningen tot 1594 (Maastricht: Van Gorcum, 1988), pp. 158–60. Cf. Ingrid Peterson, ‘The Third Order of Francis’, in Michael J. P. Robson, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Francis of Assisi (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), pp. 193–207. 44 van Engen, De derde orde, 33–44, 111–58. The community of Windesheim was part of the Devotio moderna movement, which was critical of Franciscan communities that did not adopt Observant Reform. 45 Bakker, Bedelorden en begijnen, 158. 46 Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers, 121. 47 These groups are discussed further in van Engen, De derde orde, 339–49. Cf. Gabriele Andreozzi, ed., Il Terzo ordine regolare di San Francesco nella sua storia e nelle sue lege (Rome: Editrice Franciscanum, 1993–94), vol. 2, pp. 503–62. 48 Bakker, Bedelorden en begijnen, 160.

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any affiliation with the Franciscan order.49 In Italy, the monastery of Sant’Agnese in Perugia ‘went from being a twelfth-century community of lay penitents, to a fourteenth-century monastery of Poor Clares’.50 Similarly, in Germany, there was considerable overlap between beguine communities and communities that were identified as belonging to the Franciscan third order in the later middle ages.51 While the Franciscan Observants did not invent the myth of a third order, they assembled fragments concerning penitents associated with the early friars into a semi-cohesive historical picture. The monastic status that was granted in 1447 was  hailed as confirmation of an existing state, rather than a new innovation. The  characteristics of reform, categorization, and the desire for a coherent and cohesive history had produced—what appeared to be—a more or less unified Franciscan third order. However, this tertiary order did not completely replace the disorganization that had preceded it; instead, it simply added another thread to the rich tapestry of new forms of religious life. This was not unique to the Franciscans. Instead, the same process of regularization or monasticization of groups of pious laywomen and stricter guidelines for nuns was also common to other contemporary Observant orders.52 CLARISSAN REFORM As well as creating new orders of women, Franciscan Observant reformers endeavoured to reform the existing Franciscan family. To this end, Clare of Assisi was held up as a model of ideal feminine Franciscan virtue. Both art and spiritual treatises associated with female houses—whether Clarissan or ‘tertiary’—came to feature the virgin of Assisi. Reformers who interacted with tertiary houses often stated that their characteristic poverty and commitment to living the gospel made them Clare’s direct spiritual heirs and encouraged them to identify both with the Clarissan orders and the figure of Clare.53 However, as is discussed in more detail in Chapter 4, the picture of the Observant Clare is one that she might have had some difficulty in recognizing. Clare’s Forma vitae and other writings demonstrate her belief that fidelity to the gospel message was more important than obedience to ecclesiastical structures or even the pope; however, Observant writings on Clare do not even allude to these aspects of her legacy. Instead, Clare was held up as a model of humility, obedience, and ideal monastic piety for all women connected to the Franciscan family.54 49 van Engen, De derde orde; Sabrina Corbellini, ‘Een oude spiegel voor nieuwe maagden’, Ons geestelijk erf 80 (2009): 171-98, at 182. 50 Katherine Gill, ‘Scandala: Controversies Concerning Clausura and Women’s Religious Communities in Late Medieval Italy’, in Scott Waugh and Peter Diehl, eds, Christendom and Its Discontents (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 177–203. 51 Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers, 38–43. 52 Cf. More, ‘Dynamics’, 85–110. 53 Cf. Roest, Order and Disorder, 176–89, 304–11. 54 For a discussion of Clare in early modern sermons, see Nirit Ben-Aryeh Debby, ‘St. Clare Expelling the Saracens from Assisi: The Story of a Religious Confrontation, in Word and Image’, Sixteenth Century Journal 43 (2012): 643–65.

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The  idea of a religious rule written by a model of Franciscan feminine ideals was attractive to reformers; however, Clare’s rule, or Forma vitae, was simply not prescriptive enough to function as a rule for a single and united religious order. While the use of Clare’s rule soon became a standard feature in Observant Clarissan houses, it was regularly supplemented with external statutes or commentaries. John of Capistrano, the virtual architect of the Observant Franciscan third order, also commented on Clare’s rule. Unsurprisingly, to Capistrano the key to a perfect understanding of Clare’s rule was found in what was lacking in the text itself: an emphasis on obedience. As with the female tertiaries, those responsible for the cura of Clarissan houses maintained that adopting Clare’s rule was a return to tradition rather than an innovation.55 Observant Reform among the Clarissans primarily spread through the writings of Colette of Corbie (†1447).56 While little is known about her early life, Colette was exposed to a variety of forms of religious life, and had lived as a ‘beguine’, a conversa at a monastery of minoresses, and a recluse before being granted permission to reform the Clarissan order. In 1442, Capistrano was sent to France where he met with Colette. Traditional hagiography recounts that he asked her to soften her vision of reform and was met with refusal. Whatever the truth of this, it is important that Colette did not accept the structures of the reformers, wrote her own statutes, and maintained some degree of independence. Clare’s Forma vitae provided the basis for Colette’s vision.57 She advocated a return to the ideals of her holy mother, and spread the ideals of Clarissan reform through France and the Southern Low Countries with her own Colettine settlements. Moreover, Colette’s influence as a reformer went beyond her own communities. Her Constitutions were adopted by some existing Clarissan monasteries outside the Colettine fold, as well as by tertiary communities. The resulting confusion between Clarissans and tertiary groups suggest that the fictive boundaries of identity established by reformers seem to have been more fluid than is suggested in Observant writings. O B S E RVA N T R E F O R M A N D D O M I N I C A N C U R A The Dominicans, Augustinians, and other clerics were also involved in the spiritual cura of tertiaries, yet they were conspicuously absent from the process of official regularization until the very late fourteenth century. As the previous two chapters have made clear, from the late thirteenth century onwards, the so-called Franciscan rule of 1289 had played a central role in creating the illusion that certain nonmonastic groups had begun to adhere to canonical or monastic norms. The Dominican Observant desire for canonical order combined with the growth of the 55 Cf. More, ‘Dynamics’, 90–2. 56 These are edited in La Règle de l’ordre de Sainte Claire, avec les statuts de la réforme de sainte Colette (Bruge, 1892). Cf. Élisabeth Lopez, Culture et sainteté: Colette de Corbie, 1381–1447 (Saint-Étienne: 1994), pp. 203–51. 57 Lezlie Knox, Creating Clare of Assisi: Female Franciscan Identities in Later Medieval Italy (Leiden: Brill, 2008), p. 133.

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cult of the laywoman Catherine of Siena (†1380) were to cause this to change drastically in the later fourteenth century. Official Dominican history relates that her commitment to the Dominican ideals inspired Catherine of Siena (or Caterina di Benicasa) to dedicate herself to the Lord while remaining in the ‘cloister of the world’. To make this desire a reality, she joined the Dominican order of penance around 1363.58 Support for this version of events can be seen repeatedly in both later medieval Dominican texts and modern scholarship; however, it does not stand up to historical scrutiny. Instead, close investigation of the Dominican third order reveals a process of fictive identity creation strikingly similar to what had taken place with the Franciscans. Catherine was a lay penitent from a family of middling social status.59 Most of what is known about her life comes from hagiographic sources, particularly the Legenda maior by Raymond of Capua.60 Raymond was Catherine’s confessor and a great admirer of her spirituality; he was also the Dominican master general who was largely responsible for instigating the Observant movement in the Dominican order. Raymond’s portrayal of Catherine emphasizes a combined fidelity to Observant ideals and dedication to innovation in the service of the gospel.61 However, at times, even Raymond admits that Catherine’s religious expression was anything but traditional, and writes that Catherine ‘found a desert within her own home, and her solitude in the midst of people’.62 Moreover, as her familial connections, reputation for sanctity, and position in society ensured that supporting Catherine was politically expedient, it was not long before she developed a network of both male and female followers that was not dissimilar to other semi-religious expressions of religious life.63 Raymond claimed that Catherine formally entered a group that he calls ‘the order of penitents’ in 1363.64 While Catherine was almost certainly influenced by the Sienese penitents, or mantellate, she did not become an official member of any such group until after her father’s death in 1368, when she had already established

58 On early penitents associated with the Dominican order, see Maiju Lehmijoki-Gardner, Worldly Saints: Social Interaction of Dominican Penitent Women in Italy, 1200–1500 (Helsinki: Suomen Historiallinen Seura, 1999), pp. 41–54. 59 For an overview of Catherine’s life, see Eugenio Dupré Theseider, ‘Caterina da Siena’, in Dizionario biografico degli Italiani (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1979), vol. 22, pp. 361–79. Cf. F. Thomas Luongo, The Saintly Politics of Catherine of Siena (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2006), pp. 29–30. 60 Raymond of Capua, ‘Vita S. Catharina senensis’, AASS, April, 3: 851–978. On the tradition surrounding this text, see Silvia Nocentini, ‘The Legenda maior of Catherine of Siena’, in Carolyn Muessig, George Ferzoco, and Beverly Mayne Kienzle, eds, A Companion to Catherine of Siena (Leiden: Brill, 2012), pp. 339–57. 61 Cf. Ann Astell, ‘Heroic Virtue in Blessed Raymond of Capua’s “Life of Catherine of Siena”’, Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 42 (2012): 35–57. 62 Raymond of Capua, Vita s. Catharina, I, 5, 83, 873F–874A. ‘Invenit ista desertum intra propriam domum, et solitudinem in medio populo.’ 63 Cf. Luongo, Saintly Politics, 34; F. Thomas Luongo, ‘Cloistering Catherine: Religious Identity in Raymond of Capua’s “Legenda maior” of Catherine of Siena’, Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History, n.s. 3 (2006): 25–69. 64 Luongo, ‘Cloistering Catherine’, 25–69.

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a following and a reputation for holiness.65 It should also be noted that the term ‘order of penitents’ did not have any real meaning for the Dominicans before the fifteenth century.66 At the same time, Raymond engaged in further efforts to provide evidence for Catherine’s official connections with his order. As Dominican master general, Raymond assigned Thomas of Siena (Thomas Caffarini, †1434) the task of promoting Catherine’s cult and fabricating institutional links between Dominican penitents and friars.67 In addition to advancing Catherine’s cult through preaching and hagiography, Thomas wrote a history of beatae, whom he explicitly (and retroactively) enrolled in the Dominican third order.68 Thomas’s beatae included virgins, widows, and saintly wives—all of whom managed to find ways of living a life dedicated to the gospel while remaining in the world. Thomas used women such as Giovanna of Orvieto (†1306), Margherita of Città di Castello (†1320), and Maria of Venice (†1399) to illustrate that ‘Dominican beatae’ had an established history and played an important part in society.69 Although Dominic himself had interacted with non-monastic women, including Diana d’Andalò (†1236) and converted Cathar heretics, there is certainly no evidence that he founded a female penitential order. His friars continued the tradition of interacting with women, but do not seem to have advocated founding an official order of penitents.70 As is discussed earlier, the Dominican Master General, Munio of Zamora, issued statutes for various penitential communities in Italy during the late thirteenth century. Moreover, Dominicans were involved in the pastoral care of the Reuerinnen and various groups of beguines in Bruges, throughout the German Empire, France, the Low Countries, and Spain in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Although it is true that the women hailed as early members of the order were generally acknowledged for living holy lives, there is no evidence that they had any official affiliation with the Dominican order. For instance, Zita of Lucca (†1242) was not a Dominican, but simply a lay penitent from Lucca who was often associated with the biblical Martha in the fourteenth and fifteenth 65 Luongo, Saintly Politics, 34–40. 66 Maiju Lehmijoki-Gardner, ‘Writing Religious Rules as an Interactive Process: Dominican Penitent Women and the Making of Their “Regula”’, Speculum 79 (2004): 676–83. Cf. Luongo, Saintly Politics, 34. 67 See Thomas of Siena, ‘Historia disciplinae regularis instauratae in coenobiis Venetis ordinis Praedicatorum’, in Flaminius Cornelius, ed., Ecclesiae Venetae antiquis monumentis, vol. 7 (Venice: n.p., 1749), pp. 167–234; Fernanda Sorelli, ‘La production hagiographique du dominicain Tommaso Caffarini: exemples de sainteté, sens et visées d’une propagande’, in André Vauchez, ed., Faire Croire: Modalités de la diffusion et de la réception des messages religieux du XIIe au XVe siècle (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1981), pp. 189–200; Anne Huijbers, ‘“Observance” as Paradigm in Mendicant and Monastic Order Chronicles’, in James D. Mixson and Bert Roest, eds, Observant Reform in the Later Middle Ages and Beyond (Leiden: Brill, 2015), pp. 111–43. 68 See Thomas of Siena Tractatus de ordine FF. de paenitentia S. Dominici de F. Tommasi da Siena, ed. M. H. Laurent (Florence: n.p., 1938). Cf. F. Thomas Luongo, ‘The Historical Reception of Catherine of Siena’, in A Companion to Catherine of Siena, pp. 23–46; Carolyn Muessig, ‘Catherine of Siena in Late Medieval Sermons’, in A Companion to Catherine of Siena, 203–26. 69 Lehmijoki-Gardner, ‘Writing Religious Rules’, 678–9. 70 Maiju Lehmijoki-Gardner has explored both saints associated with the Dominicans (Worldly Saints) and the process of regularization (‘Writing Religious Rules’). Martina Wehrli-Johns has also explored this process of regularization (‘L’osservanza’).

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centuries.71 Similarly, Benvenuta Boiani (†1292) was a laywoman (or pinzochera) who lived most of her life in her parents’ home. Although she had a Dominican confessor and was associated with the local Dominican nuns, she is neither described as a Dominican penitent, nor thought to have been clothed in any recognizably Dominican habit, at least not before the changing iconographical representations of her in the fifteenth century.72 Thomas drew predominantly on ‘local’ Italian saints (possibly familiar to those involved in promoting Catherine’s canonization) rather than non-monastic groups in Northern Europe (such as the beguines of Bruges) who were associated with the Dominican friars. As he was interested in fabricating an order from prominent and locally recognizable models of sanctity rather than cataloguing the entirety of the Dominican penitential movement, this is far from surprising.73 Both Catherine’s cult and the idea of Thomas’s order spread rapidly—particularly in areas where Observant Reform was strong. Thomas wanted to emphasize the orthodoxy of these non-monastic women, and more importantly to underline their links with the Dominican order. In this way, Thomas ensured the saintly heritage and the ‘continuity’ of the Dominican Order of Penitents. His actions also provided the historic basis for the order being confirmed with the bull Sedis apostolicae in 1405.74 Unlike Supra montem, Sedis apostolicae officially incorporated penitents associated with the Dominicans into the Dominican order and granted them a canonical status. R E G U L A R I Z E D D O M I N I C A N T E RT I A R I E S Although Catherine of Siena had lived in the world, Dominican penitential communities throughout Europe were increasingly enclosed from the fifteenth century onwards.75 At this time there was a gradual move from small numbers of women in largely urban settings to more regulated forms of communal life.76 Long before 71 ‘De S. Zita virgine Luccae in Italia’, in AASS, April, 3: 502–32. Cf. Raffaella Sarti, ‘Legenden von der heiligen Zita und Dienstbotengeschichte’, L’Homme 18 (2007): 11–32. 72 ‘De Benvenuta de Bojanis virgine et sorore tertii ordinis S Dominici’, in AASS, Oct., 13: 202–7. Cf. Lehmijoki-Gardner, Worldly Saints, 43–4. 73 Sorelli, ‘La production hagiographique’, 189–200. 74 Gilles G. Meersseman, Dossier de l’ordre de la pénitence au XIIIe siècle (Fribourg: Editions Universitaires, 1961; second edition, 1982), pp. 143–56; cf. Lehmijoki-Gardner, ‘Writing Religious Rules’, 682. 75 Cf. Sylvie Duval, ‘Mulieres religiosae and Sorores clausae: The Dominican Observance Movement and the Diffusion of Strict Enclosure in Italy from the Thirteenth to the Sixteenth Century’, in Veerle Fraeters and Imke De Gier, eds, Mulieres religiosae, Shaping Female Spiritual Authority in the Medieval and Early Modern Periods (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), pp. 193–218. 76 Cf. Gabriella Zarri, ‘Colomba da Rieti e i movimenti religiosi femminili del suo tempo’, in Giovanna Casagrande and Enrico Menestò, eds, Una santa, una città. La beata Colomba da Rieti. Atti del convegno storico nel V centenario della venuta a Perugia di Colomba da Rieti, Perugia 10-11-12 novembre 1989 (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 1991), pp. 89–108; Gabriella Zarri, ‘Ecclesiastical Institutions and Religious Life in the Observant Century’, in James D. Mixson and Bert Roest, eds, Observant Reform in the Later Middle Ages and Beyond (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 23–59.

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the Council of Trent (1545–63) made enclosure mandatory, efforts were made by both the women themselves and those responsible for their spiritual care to adopt this practice. The reformer Girolamo Savonarola (†1498) attempted to insist that the tertiary community of Santa Lucia in Florence observe enclosure.77 His female followers and the later women he inspired appear to have accepted his position: Colomba Guadagnoli of Rieti (†1501) attempted to limit contact between the women in her community and the secular world;78 Lucia Brocadelli da Narni (†1544) struggled to have her house accept perpetual enclosure.79 Dominican tertiary communities throughout Italy and in parts of the German Empire chose to adopt enclosure. In most cases, such communities followed the Augustinian rule (rather than the ‘Dominican’ tertiary rule of 1405), and accepted the constitutions from the house of Dominican nuns at San Sisto.80 Nevertheless, the institutionalization of a Dominican penitential order did not result in any more uniformity than existed among those groups following the so-called Franciscan rule of 1289. The complexities of Dominican attitudes towards quasireligious are reflected in the Formicarium, written around 1436 by the Observant Dominican Johannes Nider (†1438). While Nider’s apparent misogyny makes it easy to dismiss his portrayals of women, it must be kept in mind that Nider includes tales of devout and virtuous laywomen amidst his litany of complaints against reprehensible malificiae.81 Readers of the Formicarium are introduced to the saintly Adelheyid, who followed a quasi-monastic regime on her family’s farm from the age of seven, and later founded a community of virgins.82 The text also tells of Adelheyd and Catherine, the sisters of the Observant reformer Johannes Mulberg (†1414), who lived their entire lives as virgins.83 Another unnamed woman founded a community and became the spiritual mother of many virgins.84 In Nider’s experience, these forms of devotion flourished in cities, and he praised Nuremberg for being home to many holy women who lived outside monasteries. Instead of fleeing the world and embracing the enclosure of a monastic community, these saintly virgins remained part of society and often found work in the textile industry. Though it seems that certain women, such as Mulberg’s sisters, must have had unofficial ties with the Dominican Observance, Nider does not consider this worth emphasizing. Nider’s Formicarium insists that the Adelhey(i)ds and their saintly female contemporaries 77 Tamar Herzig, Savonarola’s Women: Visions and Reforms in Renaissance Italy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), p. 44. 78 Cf. Herzig, Savonarola’s Women, 87–9. 79 Ibid. 80 Cf. Maria Pia Alberzoni, ‘Jordan of Saxony and the Monastery of St. Agnese in Bologna’, Franciscan Studies 68 (2010): 1–19. 81 John Van Engen, ‘Friar Johannes Nyder on Laypeople Living as Religious in the World’, in F. J. Felten and N. Jaspert, eds, Vita Religiosa im Mittelalter: Festschrift für Kaspar Elm zum 70. Geburtstag (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1999), pp. 583–5. Cf. Dyan Elliott, The Bride of Christ Goes to Hell: Metaphor and Embodiment in the Lives of Pious Women (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2012), pp. 256–65. 82 Johannes Nider, Formicarium (Douai: Balthazaris Belleri, 1602), 1.12, 92–4. 83 Nider, Formicarium, 2.1, 99–100. Cf. Sabine von Heusinger, Johannes Mulberg OP (†1414), Ein Leben in Spannungsfeld von Dominikanerobservanz und Beginenstreit (Berlin: Akademie, 2000), p. 6. 84 Nider, Formicarium, 1. 12, 93.

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remained chaste, but does not mention other ideals of religious life such as enclosure or contemplation. Notwithstanding his acerbic criticism of beguines, Nider could clearly be very accepting of non-cloistered forms of female quasi-religious life, which, from our modern vantage point, resemble beguines quite closely. Rather than simply rationalizing their behaviour, it appears that he attempted to place the women in the framework that he could understand. Nider’s earlier treatise on the religious life of laypeople, De secularium religionibus (1433–34), had already attempted to move beyond the traditional debates as to whether expressions of non-monastic religious life could be considered to approximate the religious state.85 Nider’s treatise defending what he termed ‘laypeople living as religious in the world’ was explicitly based on legal and historical rather than theological reasoning.86 Otherwise, his approach and arguments are similar to those used by Capistrano when defending the status of the Franciscan tertiaries. Like Capistrano, Nider used examples from scripture and the vitae of saints of the early Church to show that the phenomenon of lay people who lived as religious was steeped in tradition and had been beneficial to the Church. T E RT I A R I E S , C O N T ROV E R S I E S , A N D D O M I N I C A N O B S E RVA N T S Despite Nider’s acceptance, other Dominicans criticized non-monastic women. In particular, Mulberg took great exception to the beguines living in Basel. Like many who were part of the so-called voluntary poverty movement in the high and later middle ages, the beguines of Basel supported themselves by begging for alms. In what might be a criticism of the Franciscan friars who were closely associated with the beguines, Mulberg and some of his contemporaries felt that this robbed those who were ‘legitimately’ poor of a means of support. He therefore accused the beguines of illegal begging.87 In 1405, Mulberg preached a sermon against the beguines. The sermon itself is now lost, but it formed the basis for his treatise Contra beguinas et beghardos, which attacked the beguine practice of ‘voluntary’ poverty.88 To Mulberg, the beguine way of life was incompatible with the divinely ordained (and—in his mind—theologically necessary) categories of ‘lay’ and ‘religious’.89 In particular, it allowed laymen and women to profess a feigned 85 Van Engen, ‘Friar Johannes’, 583–613. 86 This translation of the title is used by Van Engen, who discusses the implications of its wording (Van Engen, ‘Friar Johannes’, 585). The legal implications are discussed in the same article (ibid., 583–613). 87 Von Heusinger, Johannes Mulberg OP (†1414), 39–90; Cf. Johannes Mulberg, ‘Tractatus contra Beginas et Beghardos’, in Sabine Von Heusinger, Johannes Mulberg OP (†1414), Ein Leben in Spannungsfeld von Dominikanerobservanz und Beginenstreit (Berlin: Akademie, 2000), pp. 99–115. 88 Mulberg, ‘Tractatus’, 114. Cf. Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers, 42; Alexander Patschovsky, ‘Beginen, Begarden und Terziaren im 14 und 15. Jahrhunderts. Das Beispiel des Basler Beginenstreits (1400/04–1411)’, in Karl Rudolf Schnith and Roland Pauler, eds, Festschrift für Eduard Hlawitschka zum 65 (Kallmünz: Lassleben, 1993), pp. 403–18, at 407. 89 Mulberg, ‘Tractatus’, 166–71.

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form of holiness—different from all recognized categories—while neglecting their obligations towards manual labour. Mulberg’s animosity towards the beguines and their economic practices soon resulted in their expulsion from the city. The vehemence with which Mulberg attacked the beguines and beghards of his city is echoed in his distrust of the Franciscan third order.90 As with the beguines, Mulberg criticizes the so-called tertiaries for claiming a religious status when they were clearly members of the laity. To support this, Mulberg cites John XXII’s words in the Extravagantes decretals and the interpretations of the Clementine constitutions by Johannes Andrea (†1348) and Johannes de Lignano (†1383).91 His attacks point out that the so-called tertiaries were not required to take three vows, they were allowed to marry, and their rites of profession were feigned ceremonies.92 Mulberg did not simply ask for these groups to be disbanded, but was adamant that they were already under sentence of excommunication as a result of the Clementine decrees.93 However, Mulberg’s condemnation may not have been as direct as it first appears. It is important to keep in mind that he had two sisters who are praised by his Dominican colleague Nider for their virtuous life: almost like religious, but part of the secular world. Moreover, it is interesting to note that the groups named in his condemnation—beguines, beghards, penitents of the third order, and swestriones (poor sisters)—all had links with the Franciscan order in Basel, and quite possibly came from the lower echelons of society.94 Alternatively, by attacking these groups, and more particularly the practice of voluntary poverty or ‘illegal’ begging, it is entirely possible that Mulberg (a Dominican) was choosing to attack the Franciscan order. Mulberg was not popular (even among his confreres) and was banished from Basel in 1414. However, his positions against non-monastic groups did not vanish 90 Ibid., 168–72. 91 Ibid., 165, 171–2 (John XXII), 150, 158–9, 160, 161, 164, 168, 169 (Johannes Andrea), 169, 170, 171 (Johannes de Lignano). 92 ‘Item Iohannes Andree in Clementinis, De religiosis domibus, “cum de quibusdam”; in Glossa vocat regulam istam quemdam modum vivendi, in quo non promittuntur tria vota substancialia; et per consequens sunt layci’ (Mulberg, ‘Tractatus’, 168). 93 ‘Viri et mulieres, sub tercia regula degentes, statum, habitum et vivendi modum Beghardorum vel Beginarum tenentes, non obstante regulam eadem sunt reprobati et per censuram late sentencie a sancta ecclesia repulsi. Istud corollarium primo probatur per omnia argumenta et media excommunicationem Beghardorum et Beginarum probancia, quia ut dictum est layci sunt. Et in hac parte suffragatur eis regula, in aliquo cum talis habitus, status et vivendi modus. In regula ipsis non sit concessus sicut etiam manifeste clamat dominus Iohannes XXII in Extravagante “Ecclesia sancta romana” ubi notat reprobatum statum, habitum et ritum Beghardorum et Beginarum talem licenciam racione regule sibi usurpantes, quorum excusacionem frivolam affirmat sic dicens: Nonnulli etiam asserentes se esse de tercio ordine sancti Francisci penitencium vocato, predictum statum et ritum eorum sub velamine talis nominis satagunt palliare, cum tamen in regula ipsius eius ordinis talis vivendi ritus nullatenus sit concessus. Hec ille. ‘Item, Iohannes de Lignano allegans predictam, scilicet quomodo sub velamine nominis tercie regule satagunt suos errors palliare. Super Clementina, “Cum de quibusdam” dicit sic: Hic – scilicet a sentencia excommunicationis – ibidem late non excluduntur sorores de tercia regula, que fuit approbata per dominum Nycolaum IV ut manifestat dominus Iohannes XXII per suas patentes litteras.’ (Mulberg, Tractatus, 171). 94 Patschovsky, ‘Beginen, Begarden und Terziaren’, 409–10.

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with him.95 Another famed, virulent, and influential attack on non-monastic groups claiming ‘tertiary’ status came from the Dominican Matthew Grabow, from the convent of Wismar in Saxony. In 1410, Matthew became lector at the Dominican house in Groningen (subject to the bishop of Utrecht).96 Matthew strongly disapproved of groups who (in his opinion) fraudulently claimed some form of religious status. Matthew penned a short treatise or Libellus condemning tertiary orders according to scholastic methods (tantum scolastice inquirendo procedere). Rather than focusing on isolated incidents of immoral or dishonest nonmonastic women, or even accusing these groups of being in violation of anti-beguine legislation, Matthew presented theological arguments against the very morality of third orders. Focusing on the distinct states of ‘lay’ and ‘religious’, he claimed that no one could fulfil the counsels of obedience, poverty, and chastity in a sincere manner outside of a recognized religious order.97 Moreover, he argued that attempting to do so constituted a mortal sin, in that it prevented an individual from fulfilling secular obligations including raising a family and contributing to society in a material way. It is important to keep in mind that Matthew would have been familiar with the arguments presented at Basel against beguines or other non-monastics participating in begging, which he deemed detrimental to the social order.98 A chronicle from Zwolle describes Matthew as preaching against the ‘tertiary’ estate.99 This sermon is now lost, but it is entirely conceivable that, like Mulberg’s sermon, it included many of the ideas found in Matthew’s Libellus. In response, the canon Henry Loder, who had previously been affiliated with the Devotio moderna, accused Matthew of ‘blasphemy’ and eventually brought a case against him to the episcopal court at Utrecht, where the tertiary way of life was judged to be valid.100 However, Matthew felt so strongly about his views on third orders that he took his case to the Council of Constance (1414–18), where he presented general theological objections to the tertiaries, followed by twenty-five theses condemning their expressions of religious life. It was not until after the council that Matthew received a response to his complaint. His views had not only been examined by the participants in the council, but also by Pierre d’Ailly, Jean Gerson, Johannes Nider, and

95 Cf. Alexander Patschovsky, ‘Straßburger Beginenverfolgungen im 14. Jahrhundert’, Deutches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters 30 (1974): 56–125 and 126–98. 96 For a full account of Matthew’s activities and the associated controversy, see John Van Engen, ‘Illicit Religion: The Case of Friar Matthew Grabow O.P.’, in Ruth Mazo Karras, Joel Kaye, and E. Ann Matter, eds, Law and the Illicit in Medieval Society (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), pp. 103–16. 97 Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers, 213–15. Cf. van Engen, De derde orde, 114. 98 For a discussion of the concept of voluntary poverty and its influence in the secular world, see Michael Bailey’s discussion of Johannes Nider’s De paupertate perfecta secularium. According to Bailey, more work needs to be done on this text. Michael D. Bailey, Battling Demons: Witchcraft, Heresy and Reform in the Later Middle Ages (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003), pp. 69–71, 152, 171, n. 12. Cf. Van Engen, ‘Illicit Religion’, 114, n. 54, 272, n. 54. 99 Jacobus Traiecti, Narratio de domus clericorum in Zwollis, ed. M. Schoengen (Amsterdam: J. Müller, 1908), pp. 105–6. Cf. Van Engen, ‘Illicit Religion’, 108, n. 28. 100 Van Engen, ‘Illicit Religion’, 107–11; Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers, 212–24.

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others whose names are now lost.101 The response Matthew received cited the example of early Church community, which included numerous lay saints. The council later condemned Matthew as a heretic for levelling false accusations against good people. Instead of accepting the judgement, Matthew refused to recant and died in prison.102 The Council of Constance is an interesting example of those outside of mendicant orders arguing for the validity of quasi-religious women, without insisting on an order affiliation. Much of the scholarship surrounding Jean Gerson has focused, somewhat unfairly, on his efforts to curtail feminine mysticism.103 While his famed criticisms of Marguerite Porete, Birgitta of Sweden, and Ermine of Reims indicate that this is not entirely unjustified, a closer examination reveals that Gerson’s attitude to lay religion and non-monastic women is far more complex than simple misogyny.104 Although Gerson was suspicious about certain beguines, the group that aroused his ire appears to have been those who linked themselves with the socalled Heresy of the Free Spirit, rather than non-monastic religious women in general.105 Overall, Gerson seems to have been open to the possibility of genuine mystical experience being available to all, particularly to women.106 As Daniel Hobbins has pointed out, Gerson looked favourably on women such as Agnes of Auxerre and even the controversial Joan of Arc. Moreover, his writings indicate that he read and thought highly of the writings of the mystic often associated with

101 Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers, 215–18. 102 Van Engen, ‘Illicit Religion’, 107–11. 103 For a discussion about Gerson’s campaign against female mystics, see Dyan Elliott, Proving Woman: Female Spirituality and Inquisitional Culture in the Later Middle Ages (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004), pp. 276–84. For Gerson on lay forms of religious life, see Daniel B. Hobbins, ‘Gerson on Lay Devotion’, in Brian Patrick McGuire, ed., A Companion to Jean Gerson (Leiden: Brill, 2006), pp. 41–78. 104 Although he dismisses the antinomian writings of Marguerite of Valenciennes (better known as Marguerite Porete), he seems impressed by her book, which he calls ‘amazingly subtle’. See John Arblaster and Rob Faesen, ‘Mysticism in the Low Countries before Ruusbroec’, in John Arblaster and Rob Faesen, eds, A Companion to John of Ruusbroec (Leiden: Brill, 2014), pp. 5–46, at 40–6. Cf. Hobbins, ‘Gerson on Lay Devotion’, 41–78. On Ermine of Reims, see Renate Blumenfeld-Kosinski, The Strange Case of Ermine de Reims: A Medieval Woman between Demons and Saints (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015), esp. pp. 144–50. 105 ‘Sciatur status beginarum et aliarum inconventiculis viventium quia erga tales reperiuntur aliquando doctrinae et superstitionis pestifera’; Jean Gerson, Oeuvres Complètes, ed. Palémon Glorieux (Paris: Desclée, 1960), vol. 6, no. 267, p. 111. The nihilistic mysticism and antinomianism condemned repeatedly by Gerson, and on which much of his discussion of ‘medicalizing’ visions is based, appears to have been associated with ‘beguines’ or ‘turpulins’ in France. Gerson’s comments do not appear to have been directed towards all non-monastic religious women. Cf. Catherine Brown, Pastor and Laity in the Theology of Jean Gerson (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987), pp. 202–3. On the problems associated with the Heresy of the Free Spirit, see Robert Lerner, The Heresy of the Free Spirit in the Later Middle Ages (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972). For a discussion of this heresy and its associations with the Italian penitent Clare of Montefalco, see Beverly Mayne Kienzle and Travis Stevens. ‘Words, Deeds, and the Hagiography of Italian Women Penitents’, in Sally J. Cornelison, Nirit Ben-Aryeh Debby, and Peter F. Howard, eds, Mendicant Cultures in the Medieval and Early Modern World: Word, Deed, and Image (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016), pp. 107–42. 106 Cf. Hobbins, ‘Gerson on Lay Devotion’; Anderson, ‘Gerson’s Stance on Women’, in McGuire, ed., A Companion to Jean Gerson, 293–317.

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the Franciscan tertiary movement, Angela of Foligno.107 He initially accepted the revelations of Ermine of Reims as valid (though he later writes of having been ‘almost seduced by her words’).108 Gerson’s distrust appears to have been focused on unauthenticated mystical experience rather than the quasi-religious. His response to the complaint raised by Matthew Grabow regarding the necessity of vows was similar to a point raised by  Capistrano: the Virgin Mary, the disciples and the apostles had never taken religious vows, but had shown themselves quite capable of achieving religious perfection. On a more personal level, Gerson advised his biological sisters to devote themselves to their heavenly bridegroom, but not to enter traditional religious life. Gerson wrote his Petit traite enhortant a prendre l’estat de virginité plus que de mariage (more commonly known as Discours de l’excellence de la virginité) shortly after his oldest sister, Marion, was widowed.109 He advised Marion, along with his other sisters, to live with their parents and form a devout community. His seven instructions to his sisters advised them to adopt simple dress, recite the hours and other prayers, maintain sobriety in food and drink, attend confession weekly and communion as often as possible, maintain support for one another, avoid contact with men, and learn to read French so that he might exchange spiritual letters with them.110 Rather than religious ideals, Gerson’s advice to his sisters may have been motivated by the difficulties of providing the necessary dowries for five women to enter religious life while caring for aging parents. However, it may also have been a reaction to the corruption that he encountered in many communities of religious women. As Gerson’s sisters remained in their family home, there was no immediate question of whether or not they constituted a ‘legal’ religious community. Following the death of their mother in 1401, Gerson’s advice became more prescriptive: he repeated his claim that the sisters change nothing about their lives without consulting him and asked that one sister take the position of a prioress.111 In this way, he seemed to have helped create an unaffiliated and unofficial female quasi-monastic community. Much discussion relating to Gerson has focused on the fact that his later writings to his sisters refer to them as ‘his sisters in Christ’, opening up the

107 Hobbins, ‘Gerson on Lay Devotion’, 64. On Angela, see Jacques Dalarun, ‘Angèle de Foligno a-t-elle existé?’, in Alla signorina: Mélanges offerts à Noëlle de La Blanchardière (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1995), pp. 59–97. 108 Renate Blumenfeld-Kosinski, ‘The Strange Case of Ermine de Reims (c. 1347–1396): A Medieval Woman between Demons and Saints’, Speculum 85 (2010): 321–56. Cf. Françoise Bonney, ‘Jugement de Gerson sur deux expériences de la vie mystique de son époque: Les visions d’Ermine et Jeanne d’Arc’, in Actes du 95e congrès national des sociétés savants Reims 1970, 2 (Paris, 1974), pp. 87–95; and Dyan Elliott, ‘Seeing Double: John Gerson, the Discernment of Spirits, and Joan of Arc’, American Historical Review 107 (2002): 26–54. 109 This work is edited in E. Vansteenberghe, ‘Quelques Écrits de Jean Gerson IV: Trois Règlements de vie de Gerson pour ses soeurs’, Revue des Sciences Religieuses XIV (1934): 205–311 (for introductory material, see 191–204). Cf. Brian Patrick McGuire, ‘Late Medieval Care and Control of Women: Jean Gerson and his Sisters’, Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 92 (1997): 5–36. 110 These are edited as ‘Sept enseignements’, in Vansteenberghe, ‘Quelques Écrits’, 205–11. 111 McGuire, ‘Late Medieval Care’, 5–37.

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possibility that his guidance may have been intended for women other than his blood relatives. T E RT I A R I E S A N D T H E AU G U S T I N I A N O B S E RVA N C E As was the case with their Franciscan and Dominican counterparts, the situation of so-called Augustinian tertiaries changed significantly from the late fourteenth century onwards with the advent of Observant Reform. In 1399, Boniface IX’s bull Ad perpetuam rei memoriam gave virgins, matrons, and widows the right to become members of an Augustinian order of tertiaries with an approved rule.112 As with other tertiary orders, this was not presented as the creation of a new form of life, but as approval for one that already existed. The bull explicitly included recognition that women who were called mantellatae or pinzochere and associated with the Augustinians were to be regarded as part of this order, which it dedicated to Augustine’s mother Monica.113 Although mention is made of an ‘Augustinian habit’, no specifics are given. In the same way, there are no requirements for rules, general chapters, or receiving cura from a particular order. As is the case for other tertiary orders, the particular criteria for membership and practices required of members were less important than the legal existence of a particular state. The institutionalization of Augustinian tertiaries continued throughout the fifteenth century. In 1431, Fra Cesario Orsini was appointed rector of the third order of St Augustine, although it is clear that this did not mean that he was involved with all houses of non-monastic women and monasticized tertiaries who followed the Augustinian rule.114 Instead, variations and independent communities continued to exist and do not appear to have been particularly problematic. Augustinian writers generally recognized that the status of religiosi was more determined by lifestyle than canonical norms. Jordanus of Quedlinburg supported the creation of a semi-religious status for lay people who lived as religious in the world. In particular, Quedlinburg pointed out that the vita perfecta was lived by both those who could be termed religiosi because of their vows, and those, predominantly groups of women, who lived it simply because of their way of life. To Quedlinburg, the beguines represented a particular example of a group that should be recognized as equal to monastics. Unlike his contemporaries, Quedlinburg did not feel obliged to delineate precise obligations for those he referred to as Semireligiosentum. Instead, his writings, particularly his sermons and the Liber vitas fratrum, gave examples that illustrated the path to spiritual perfection.115 Possibly 112 Laurentius Orsacchi da Empoli, Bullarium ordinis eremitarum Sancti Augustini (Rome: Rev. Camerae Apostolicae, 1628), p. 54. The rule was edited in 1479. 113 Boniface IX, ‘Ad perpetuam rei memoriam’, in Bullarium ordinis eremitarum S. Augustini, 53–4. 114 Ian Holgate, ‘The Cult of Saint Monica in Quattrocento Italy: Her Place in Augustinian Iconography, Devotion and Legend’, Papers of the British School in Rome 71 (2003): 181–206 (esp. 192–4). 115 Achim Wesjohann, Mendikantische Gründungserzählungen im 13. und 14. Jahrhundert (Berlin and Munster: LIT, 2012), pp. 558–60.

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because of his unconditional acceptance of controversial and non-monastic communities, Quedlinburg’s writings were particularly popular among tertiary houses—affiliated with all orders—throughout Europe. In particular, his texts are associated with the Chapter of Syon and the Devotio moderna. The programme of creating an Augustinian identity was not nearly as comprehensive as what took place among the Franciscan or Dominican Observants. Augustinian tertiary communities regularly owned spiritual treatises associated with other orders or even honoured models of Dominican, Cistercian, or Franciscan feminine holiness. While the identity of new movements attached to the Augustinians seems more difficult to investigate than their contemporary orders, the dynamics of reform appear to have been the same: Augustinian reformers praised and advocated a return to the pristine ideals of their mythical ‘founder’ Augustine of Hippo. T E RT I A R I E S , O R D E R , A N D I D E N T I T Y The divergent reactions to individual cases of controversy suggest that there was no singular solution to questions of non-traditional religious life.116 Many of these difficulties still stemmed from the fact that there was still no comprehensive or authoritative rubric under which non-traditional forms of religious life could be discussed. Increased regulation was often misunderstood, which contributed still further to a growing climate of suspicion. Johannes Mulberg objected to specific practices, namely what he perceived as illegal begging, rather than non-monastic life. Matthew Grabow, on the contrary, not only objected to specific practices, but also felt that the entire concept of a ‘via media’ was theologically problematic. John of Capistrano wanted tertiaries to conform more closely to a monastic model, and he wanted to restrict Franciscan Observant spiritual oversight to female tertiary houses that adopted enclosure. Jean Gerson was suspicious of certain beguines, but quite supportive of other women who lived non-traditional and non-monastic forms of life while remaining in the world, without seeking an affiliation with any order. From the fifteenth century onwards, many groups of extra-regular women (particularly beguines and penitents) were brought into the ambit of Europe’s main mendicant orders. Many of these groups had already adopted some external signs of religious life or order affiliation (such as a canonical rule or recognizable habit) and had been virtually indistinguishable from religious (even though the level of enclosure could vary). To the reformers, creating the framework for these women to identify as ‘religious’ was simply giving official approval to a truth that was already universally acknowledged. Nevertheless, it must be kept in mind that 116 Hobbins draws attention to a 1413 query, in which Gerson is approached for his opinion on the question of whether lay people sin when they include the Pater noster among their prayers to the saints. Gerson initially responded that he did not wish to commit his opinion to writing, and would prefer to discuss the case. Hobbins, ‘Gerson on Lay Devotion’, 41–2. Cf. E. Vansteenberghe, ‘Gerson à Bruges’, Revue des Sciences Religieuses 13 (1933): 165–85.

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this approval never applied to all extra-regular women, but simply those groups that met specific criteria set out by the Observants. Throughout Europe, unaffiliated groups of beguines, penitents, and laywomen living in their own homes continued to exist. While unravelling the strands of identity that surround each community is all but impossible, it is important to recognize that this is equally true for recognized and canonical religious communities.117 The institutional changes that had occurred in the early fifteenth century and the bulls that granted official monastic status to the Augustinians, Dominicans, and Franciscans, had provided the framework for many communities of non-monastic women to be recognized as legal monastics. Nevertheless, it had neither transformed these pious laywomen into legally recognized nuns, nor given them a clear order identity. To facilitate this, reformers engaged in a process of what might be termed ‘indoctrination’, or creation of a religious order identity, which is explored in Chapter 4. As  will become evident, these identities are less coherent than has traditionally been thought. 117 For example, see Roest, Order and Disorder; Wesjohann, Mendikantische Gründungserzählungen.

4 Creating a Textual Identity? Pastoralia and Models of Tertiary Life As has been made clear in the first three chapters, the institutional framework for distinct order identities had been established by the early fifteenth century. Each group is regarded as a cohesive whole with a continuous shared history and ideology. At the same time, each is often thought to have a unique symbolic language that includes clear identity markers such as rules, the veneration of particular saints, or symbols.1 However, the concept of identity—or perception of self—cannot be equated with the simple emergence of institutions, symbols, or legislative frameworks. Instead, the formation of identity is an interactive process woven together from numerous ways of perceiving difference and sameness, and from the ways these are enacted in the social world.2 The women whose story we have been following lived diverse forms of spirituality that were in keeping with the changing secular world of the later middle ages. However, they have entered the historical record as new forms of traditional religious life. As this chapter shows, many men who provided for the spiritual care of houses of women recognized their unique vocation, and offered pastoralia that accommodated their diverse spiritual needs. The diversity of models and emphasis on active forms of devotion suggest that the secular aspects of a quasi-religious vocation were recognized as important to both the women’s identities and their spiritual growth. While the pastoralia in women’s houses often shows an awareness of (and even affection for) models of sanctity or devotional practices associated with a particular order, it is far from the exclusive and unchangeable model that is suggested in normative (prescriptive and canonical) sources regarding women’s religious communities. The writings of female community leaders or men who are directly responsible for the spiritual care of women consistently show greater concern for spiritual growth and  personal advancement than to conforming to the ideals of any particular 1 On signs that are interpreted as evidence of identity, see Lynn Meskell, ‘Archaeologies of Identity’, in Timothy Insoll, ed., Archaeology of Identities: A Reader (London: Routledge, 2007), pp. 23–43. For problems, see Alison More, ‘Religious Order and Textual Identity: The Case of Franciscan Tertiary Women’, in Nuns’ Literacies: The Antwerp Dialogue (Leiden: Brill, 2017), pp. 69–79. For the benefits of a nuanced and multi-layered reading of identity markers, see Anna Welch, Liturgy, Books and Franciscan Identity in Medieval Umbria (Leiden: Brill, 2015). 2 Judith Butler, Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits of Sex (New York and London: Routledge, 1993), pp. 4–5; Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (London and New York: Routledge, 1990), p. 15.

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order. Instead of achieving this ideal through a coherent and cohesive programme of order identity creation, these individuals both provided and drew upon a plethora of saintly models, most of which reflected the liminal character quasireligious devotion. A C T I V E S P I R I T U A L I T Y: R H E TO R I C A N D M O D E L S The spirituality of women who sought religious perfection in the secular world was often a dynamic response to emerging social needs, and is difficult to describe comprehensively or definitively. Nevertheless, preachers and clerics involved in the cura of tertiary communities (particularly those who were never enclosed) recognized the need for diverse and active models on which these women could base their spirituality. Observant reformers from all orders were active in the cura of communities of non-monastic women. Instead of rigidly adhering to their goal of (re-)creating order in the Church, many of these men endeavoured to provide women with models of holiness and pastoral advice that was suited to their worldly vocation. The reformer Jan Brugman (†1473) was close to communities of women, and familiar with a vibrant culture of lay piety. A somewhat enigmatic character, Brugman had a healthy appreciation for what he described as ‘heavenly pleasures’ such as fine wine, but scorned the slovenly living of clergy and laity alike.3 During his travels between 1458 and 1463, Brugman earned the reputation of a  popular preacher.4 He chose to stay with female communities while on his preaching trips, and most of what is left of Brugman’s sermons is the work of copyists in these communities. The Ruusbroecgenootschap contains a collection of sermons that probably dates from the first quarter of the sixteenth century.5 Five of the twenty-five sermons included in this text are explicitly attributed to Brugman.6 These texts show an attempt to understand the situation in which pious laywomen women found themselves. In particular, they include various references to the women being ‘ridiculed’ in the wider community for their habits. They are addressed to ‘my dearest virgins’ (‘mijn lieve meechden’), ‘chosen virgins’ (‘uutvercoren meechden’) and simply 3 Jelle Bosma, ‘Preaching in the Low Countries, 1450–1650’, in Larissa Taylor, ed., Preachers and People in the Reformations and Early Modern Period (Leiden: Brill, 2001), pp. 327–58, at 334. 4 See F. A. H. van den Hombergh, Leven en werk van Jan Brugman, O.F.M. Met een uitgave van twee van zijn tractaten, Teksten en Documenten, VI (Groningen: J. B. Wolters, 1967); Nico Lettinck, Praten als Brugman: de wereld van een Nederlandse volksprediker aan het einde van de Middeleeuwen (Hilversum: Verloren, 1999), passim. Cf. Thom Mertens, ‘The Sermons of Johannes Brugman, OFM (†1473): Preservation and Form’, in Roger Andersson, ed., Constructing the Medieval Sermon (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), pp. 253–74, at 255. 5 Antwerp, Ruusbroecgenootschap, MS neerlandicum, 14. 6 F. Hendrickx, ‘De Middelnederlandse handschriften van het Ruusbroecgenootschap te Antwerpen. Eerste deel’, in E. Cockx-Indestege and F. Hendrickx, eds, Miscellanea Neerlandica. Opstellen voor Dr. Jan Deschamps ter gelegenheid van zijn zeventigste verjaardag (Leuven: Peeters, 1987), t. I, 63–5. Cf. Mertens, ‘The Sermons of Johannes’, 266–7.

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‘sisters’ (‘zusteren’).7 Brugman’s focus appears to be edifying the sisters using imagery connected to their experience, such as working with textiles or living in the world.8 Brugman’s other writings suggest that he placed considerable value on the penitential life in the world. He did this not only through his sermons, which show openness to various models of spirituality, but also through hagiography.9 While a legenda and a sermon are ostensibly very different genres, as George Ferzoco points out, they are closely related.10 Both are a peculiar amalgam of popular and learned themes: that is, they are typically written by Churchmen with some education to appeal to a popular audience. Brugman’s vita of the laywoman Lidwina of Schiedam emphasizes both the difficulties and rewards of a penitential life.11 Lidwina was born to a family of middling social status in 1380. Her parents had once been wealthy but had suffered financially. Lidwina, the fourth of eight children, was born rather unexpectedly on Palm Sunday, and given a name which meant ‘great patience’ or ‘suffering’.12 After a relatively normal childhood, Lidwina’s name revealed itself as being exceptionally appropriate. When she was about fourteen, Lidwina and her friends had spent the day skating. On this occasion, Lidwina fell. Instead of healing, 7 Mertens, ‘Sermons of Johannes’, 266–7. 8 ‘Want ghi weet wael dat men niet wael drie haspel in enen sack gedoen en kan, mer tien of twintich-werf alsoe voel wollen ister guet in te doen. Want haspel ende haspel en overdraecht niet, mer daer wat wollen in den sack is, daer mach men den haspel toedoen.’ (‘Because you know very well that one cannot put three spools together in one sack, but you can very well put ten or twenty times as much wool in it. Because a spool does not match with a spool, but when there is some wool in the sack, you can add a spool to it.’) Jan Brugman, Verspreide sermoenen, ed. A van Dijk (Antwerp, De Nederlandse Boekhandel, 1948), pp. 5–22 (p. 18, ll. 380–83). Also, ‘Mer die sommige die kiesen liever den lichsten arbeyt, als te spinnen ende dat vlas uut te trecken, mer si sijn swaer aen den swaersten arbeyt te bringhen, als backen, ende brouwen ende te weven, ende spoelen’ (‘But some like to choose the lightest labour, like spinning and pulling out flax, but it is difficult to bring them to heavy labour like baking, brewing, weaving and spooling’). Jan Brugman, Onuitgegeven sermoenen van Jan Brugman, OFM (Tielt: Lannoo, 1948), pp. 183–94 (p. 190, ll. 215–18). These translations are taken from Mertens, ‘The Sermons of Johannes’, 268. 9 Johannes Brugman, ‘Sermoen over de drie tafelen’, in Willem Moll, ed., Johannes Brugman en het godsdienstig leven onzer vaderen in de vijfteende eeuw (Amsterdam: Portielje, 1854), 1. pp. 221–38. 10 Ferzoco points out that studies such as René Aigrain’s monumental work on hagiography devote minimal space to sermones de sanctis, although sermons were influential in both promoting the cult of a particular saint and charting its developments over time. George Ferzoco, ‘Sermon Literature Concerning Late Medieval Saints’, in Beverly Mayne Kienzle et al., eds, Models of Holiness in Medieval Sermons, Textes et Études du Moyen Age 5 (Louvain-la-Neuve: Fédération Internationale d’Études Médiévales, 1996), pp. 103–25. 11 ‘De s. Lidwige sive Lidwina virgine schidami in hollandia, Prior vita’, AASS, April, 2: 270–302. 12 ‘. . . nomenque illi cogruentissimum Lydwina vel Lydwya imponitur. Quod quidem nomen apud Germanos latae patientiae significationem complecti dignoscitur: Lyden, quippe Teutonice sustinentiæ vocabulum est; Wy, vero latitudinis notam praefert. Non autem quis id actum frustra ut tale renata sortiretur nomen: quoniam, ut rei postmodum eventus demonstravit, quae desunt passionum Christi suo in corpore, tamquam filia gloriosa omnipotentis Patris, multifariam multisque modis, pro subsidio vivorum pariter & suffragio defunctorum, flagella toleravit. Nimirum quae tempore recitatae Passionis Palmarum die nascitur; quae tanta facilitate praeter morem solitum in partu matri formidulae divinitus conceditur, quae tot tantisque in regione mortalium castigationibus pro multorum adminiculo fidelium eligitur; ipsa congruum nominationis barbaricae vocabulum, diffusae ac universalis patientiae significativum, merito sortitur.’ (‘Lidwina, Vita posterior’, prologue, AASS, April 2: 303, par. 4). Cf. Gary Andrecht, ed. ‘Lidwina’, in Encyclopedia of Disability (New York: Sage Publications, 2005).

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her wounds began to swell and fester. The resulting putrefaction bred worms that multiplied as her wounds expanded and developed various growths.13 Not surprisingly, Lidwina soon stopped eating. Brugman explicitly links Lidwina’s pains to the sufferings of Christ contained in the Passion Gospel for Palm Sunday. For Brugman, Lidwina was predestined to live a life of literal imitatio Christi, which, in his text, took the form of purgative and redemptive suffering. His Lidwina was constructed as a model of love, suffering, self-giving, and ultimately redemption. In the later middle ages, Lidwina had a popular cult that extended through most of Northern Europe, and was the subject of at least five saintly biographies.14 There is neither a critical edition nor a complete catalogue of manuscripts of her vitae, but copies can currently be found in Scotland, Austria, Belgium, and Germany.15 Brugman wrote his vita of Lidwina around 1456—after he had developed his ideas about reform and was confident that he would have an audience for them. The Observant Reform movement took hold in the Low Countries sometime in the 1440s. Brugman himself did not adopt the Observant position until at least 1445, and did not begin to make his name as a popular preacher until the 1450s. Lidwina has been discussed as both a member of the Devotio moderna and a Franciscan tertiary.16 While none of Lidwina’s vitae give evidence that she was connected in any way with the Franciscan order, her persona became linked to Franciscan spirituality. A community of pious laywomen in Schiedam who had adopted the 1289 rule chose Lidwina as their patroness. As is discussed earlier, this rule is often regarded as a clear marker of membership in the Franciscan third order. Lidwina’s penitential spirituality, popularity, and perceived connections with the so-called ‘third order’, often led to parallels being drawn between Lidwina and Francis of Assisi. Another saint who was widely regarded as an exemplary model of sanctity in the secular world was Elisabeth of Thuringia, whose fictive Franciscan associations are discussed in Chapter 1. To Observants, particularly those dealing with active communities in Northern Europe, Elisabeth presented a perfect model for tertiary spirituality. She was widely associated with non-monastic women throughout Europe, and became patron of many communities of tertiaries, beguines, and penitents. As discussed earlier, Elisabeth became increasingly associated with the Franciscan family from the late thirteenth century onwards and became part of the canon of 13 For a discussion of Lidwina’s wounds, see Alison More, ‘Reading the Wormy Corpus: Ambiguity and Discernment in the Lives of Medieval Saints’, in Brenda Gardenour and Misha Tadd, eds, Parasites, Worms, and the Human Body in Religion and Culture (New York: Peter Lang, 2012), pp. 81–94. 14 The earliest of these appears to have been recorded by Jan Gerlac, a relative of Lidwina and sacristan at a nearby religious house. The author of the second is unknown, but it has been discussed as a first life written by Brugman. Other texts were recorded by Thomas à Kempis and Hugh of Brielis and an anonymous author. 15 Edinburgh, NL Codex 18.2.3; Vienna, ÖNB, Series N 12709, 1r–35v; KBR MS 03391–03393, 237v–242r; Cologne, HA GB Octav. 003, 76r–158v; Cologne, HA GB Quant 214, 068v–124v; Trier SB 1143, 193r–207v; Paris BNF Lat 10875, 1–17r. 16 Koen Goudriaan, ‘Het leven van Liduina en de modern devotie’, Jaarboek voor Middeleeuwse Geschiedenis 6 (2003): 161–236.

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saints who had fictive connections with the third order.17 In Observant re-telling, Elisabeth’s charity was inspired by Francis of Assisi. Like the Poverello, Elisabeth had great compassion for the poor, to whom she wished to give her possessions. This regularly included food from her family kitchen. Several versions of her tale relate that on one occasion Elisabeth had stolen food hidden in her cloak, and was confronted about her theft. When asked to open the cloak, it was seen to contain not food, but roses.18 The rose quickly became a symbol of Elisabeth’s charity, and occurred in art and sermons associated with her.19 Observants such as the Hungarian Franciscan Pelbartus of Temesvár (†1504), and his contemporary Oswald of Laskó (†1511), wrote sermons in Elisabeth’s honour.20 Pelbartus’s sermon collections, particularly the Pomerii de sanctis and Stellarium coronae beatae Mariae virginis, circulated widely, and, were owned by a number of communities of women. Oswald’s sermon collections, the Biga salutis and the Gemma fidei, were also widely known throughout Europe. Pelbartus’s Elisabeth-sermons seem ideal for diverse groups of unenclosed laywomen representing variations in social class and life experience. In particular, it is significant that these texts describe her married life in detail, which undoubtedly included exempla that would have been very familiar to a number of women in this audience.21 Marital imagery aside, Pelbartus’s sermons portray Elisabeth as a member of the Franciscan third order, saying: ‘she entered the third order of St Francis to live in chastity, obedience, and poverty’ (‘ordinis tertii sancti Francisci intravit ad vivendum in castitate, oboedientia et paupertate’) and ‘she chose the poorest life of the third order of St Francis’ (‘pauperimam vitam ordinis sancti Francisci elegit’).22 Pelbartus’s first Elisabeth-sermon drew upon a vita of Elisabeth by an anonymous Franciscan in the thirteenth century (c. 1250). This text portrayed Elisabeth as a female counterpart to Francis—particularly in her service to the poor—saying, ‘. . . he [Francis] was their father, she [Elisabeth] was their mother. He protected them as their father; she nourished them as their mother’.23 Oswald drew upon the same sources as Pelbartus, but goes further when emphasizing Elisabeth’s charity towards lepers and connection with the Franciscans.24 17 Elisabeth of Thuringia has been discussed at some length in Chapter 1. 18 Early legends of Elisabeth recount that the figure who disapproved of her charitable activities was her father, the king. Later accounts (which perhaps wished to distance Elisabeth from her happily married life) recounted that the objections were raised by her husband, Louis. In either case, the rose came to be seen as a symbol of Elisabeth’s charity, and is often depicted in portraits of Elisabeth. 19 Cf. Ottó Gecser, The Feast and the Pulpit: Preachers, Sermons and the Cult of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, 1235–ca. 1500 (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 2012), pp. 120–2. 20 Gecser, The Feast and the Pulpit, 113–15. 21 Nicole Bériou, ‘La prédication au béguinage de Paris pendant l’année liturgique 1272–1273’, Recherches Augustiniennes 13 (1978): 105–229. 22 Pelbartus of Temesvár, ‘Mulier gratiosa inveniet gloriam’, 2: 266–7 (see also 267–70). 23 ‘Ille fratrum pater erat, ista mater eorum, ut dicebat. Ille custodiebat eos ut pater, ista nutriebat eos ut mater.’ Cited in Gecser, The Feast and the Pulpit, 20, n. 73. 24 Gecser, The Feast and the Pulpit, Appendix 1, sermons L-II, p. 266; Pelbartus of Temesvár, Pomerium sermonum de sanctis (Hagenau: Heinrich Gran, 1499), sermon 96, §. L (without foliation): ‘religionem ordinis tertii sancti Francisci intravit’; sermon 97, §. I: ‘pauperrimam vitam elegit ordinis tertii sancti Francisci’; sermon 98, §. A: ‘religiose vivendo in ordine tertio Francisci’.

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Elisabeth’s spirituality combined a response to a social need with a dynamic openness to spiritual expressions that pushed the boundaries of traditional order identity. This made her the ideal model for a tertiary community—regardless of order affiliation. Elisabeth is often regarded as a Franciscan tertiary, and was certainly loved by communities of women known as Franciscans. However, her spirituality also appealed to beguines and women associated with other orders. The Dominican nuns of St Catherine’s community in Nuremberg owned a copy of a sermon that the Dominican Observant Johannes Herholt wrote for the feast of Elisabeth.25 Herholt—like Oswald—uses the image of Elisabeth bathing a leper and drinking the water once she had completed her task, which was in keeping with the reforming asceticism Herholt wished to bring to his nuns. Similarly, the Observant Dominican Johannes Nider had composed a sermon in honour of Elisabeth in 1428, presumably for the same convent. In this text, he described the ‘seven lawful states for devout laywomen’ and used Elisabeth a model to demonstrate each.26 Nider’s Elisabeth-sermon shows the same flexibility that characterized the devout virgins portrayed in his Formicarium that was discussed in Chapter 3. To Nider, it was acceptable for a devout woman to live in the world as a virgin, wife, or widow. Elisabeth could be seen as a model for all three, as she had longed to remain chaste (and had indeed done so in her early life) but obediently accepted her husband, borne children, and remained faithful to his memory after death. Nider felt that a devout woman could devote herself to active service (such as Elisabeth’s work with lepers), to contemplation (signified by Elisabeth’s prayers), or to a religious community (such as the hospital that Elisabeth had founded in Marburg).27 Despite the differences between these various expressions of piety, Nider considered them acceptable ways of serving the Lord. Moreover, he asserts that Elisabeth’s conformity to Christ was shown in that she had been led into heaven by an angel at the moment of her death. At no point in this sermon does Nider mention Elisabeth belonging to a religious order. Instead, it would appear that Nider’s Elisabeth was considered to embody the prevailing ethos of female communities: spiritual service where it was needed in the world. Perhaps more importantly, the fact that Nider promoted this version of Elisabeth’s devotion shows that he recognized the value of active charity and considered it a praiseworthy expression of feminine devotion. Other models of saintly life that were promoted amongst communities of non-monastic women included biblical examples who were not connected to any religious order and lived in the secular world. In particular, Martha and Mary (commonly conflated with the Magdalene) featured in writings of those who 25 Gecser, The Feast and the Pulpit, 137–8, 250–1. 26 Johannes Nider, ‘Inter devotas feminas septem sunt liciti status’, Sermo XXXVI in Sermones de tempore et de sanctis cum quadragesimali ([Cologne]: Conrad Winters, 1480), pp. 703–8. 27 Cf. Petra Weigel, ‘Das Elisabeth-Hospital und das Franziskanerkloster St. Elisabeth unterhalb der Wartburg im Lichte der schriftlichen Überlieferung’, Wartburg-Jahrbuch Ser. NF, 16 (2007): 174–97; James W. Brodman, ‘Religion and Discipline in the Hospitals of Thirteenth-Century France’, in Barbara S. Bowers, ed., The Medieval Hospital and Medical Practice (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), pp. 123–32.

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provided spiritual care for communities of women.28 Instead of dramatic acts of service, these women—particularly Martha—were used to illustrate the gentle ways spirituality could influence ordinary life. As is discussed later in this chapter, certain Observants promoted the ideals of enclosure, obedience, and contemplation; however, others were open to presenting models of feminine holiness that were more in keeping with the active and outwardly focused spirituality practised by many houses of women. The story of Martha and Mary can be found in two places in the gospels. The more familiar account is of Martha offering hospitality to Jesus, while Mary listens at his feet (Lk 10, 38–40). The second tale is of Lazarus, the brother of Martha and Mary, being resurrected from the dead (John 12, 1–8). These tales were expanded upon in sermons and popular devotional texts. Both sisters were popular models for communities of women in the later middle ages: Martha as a model of religious perfection in the world; Mary as a model of true penitence. Often, women were praised for embodying both virtues. For instance, Jan Brugman repeatedly praises Lidwina of Schiedam for outwardly ministering to Christ’s needs like Martha, while inwardly embracing Mary’s contemplation.29 A sermon by Meister Eckhart that circulated widely in women’s communities throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries portrayed Martha as a woman who lived in the world, but was far from worldly. In Eckhart’s words, ‘dear Martha lived with concerns, but was without concern herself ’.30 The ‘concerns’ that Eckhart spoke of in his aforementioned sermon were not the dragons and lepers often associated with Martha’s legend, but simply the ordinary matter of running a household. Indeed, Martha’s vocation of seeking perfection in the secular world was often associated with later medieval female communities.31 From the fourteenth century onwards, the female leaders of beguine communities were often given the title of ‘Martha’ (‘Martje’). Those responsible for the spiritual care of female communities, including Pelbartus, as well as the Dominicans Vincent Ferrer and Johannes Tauler, and numerous anonymous preachers repeatedly praised Martha as a model of religious perfection in the secular world, particularly for the hospitality she showed to Christ.32 28 See Giles Constable, Three Studies in Medieval Religious and Social Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); Katherine Ludwig Jansen, The Making of the Magdalen: Preaching and Popular Devotion in the Later Middle Ages (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000); Alison More and Anneke Mulder-Bakker, ‘“Domus Sanctae Marthae”: Devoted Holiness in the Lay World’, in Alison Beach and Isabelle Cochelin, eds, Cambridge Companion to the Medieval Monastic Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, forthcoming). 29 Johannes Brugman, ‘Lidwigis sive Lidwina, Virgo, Schidami in Hollandia: Vita Posterior’, AASS, Apr. 2, prologue, para. 9, p. 304; part II, chapter 3, par. 89; part III, chapter 4, para. 342. 30 Sermo 86, trans. Bernard McGinn, Meister Eckhart. Teacher and Preacher (Paulist Press, 1986), p. 338. 31 More and Mulder-Bakker, ‘Domus Sanctae Marthae’; Brian Stock, ‘Activity, Contemplation, Work and Leisure between the 11th and 13th Century’, in Brian Vickers, ed., Arbeit, Musse, Meditation. Studies in the vita activa and vita contemplativa (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1991), pp. 87–108; François-Olivier Touati, ‘Les groupes de laïcs dans les hôpitaux et les léproseries au Moyen Age’, in Les mouvances laïques des ordres religieux (Saint-Étienne: Saint-Étienne Press, 1987), pp. 137–62. 32 Hospitality remained an integral part of Martha’s cult. One spectacular example is the fifteenthcentury Umbrian fresco of Martha in her kitchen in the refectory of Santa Anna (a house of monasticized

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As well as her hospitality, Martha was praised for the influence of her example on those she encountered, especially her sister Mary. For instance, a Middle Dutch biography, Van sunte Maria Magdalena Bekeringhe, shows Martha’s influence in bringing about her sister’s famed conversion.33 Mary’s conversion was widely praised in Observant sermons. However, rather than the traditional emphasis on Mary’s perfect contrition and Christ’s mercy, Observant preachers often used her dramatic moment of sorrow to berate penitents who they felt were insincere. In particular, Hendrik Herp promoted the Magdalene as being different from penitents of his own age, who made confession when they were ‘troubled in conscience, compelled by fear, or persuaded by shame’, and quickly returned to their sinful ways.34 The sincere repentance of the Magdalene and the selflessness of Martha appear to have been characteristics that Observants felt was necessary for pursuing religious perfection in the world. Observant preachers also made much of other biblical women who had attained heights of virtue as virgins, wives, and widows, specifically Esther and Judith.35 Franciscan tertiaries). This fresco depicts Martha stirring a cooking pot as she prepares food for Christ and the apostles. Cf. Dominique Rigaux, ‘The Franciscan tertiaries at the convent of Sant’Anna at Foligno’, Gesta, 31.2 (1992): 92–8 (p. 97) Nor was this iconography limited to Italy: one fifteenthcentury German manuscript shows Martha baking bread (Wien Österreich, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, cod. 485, f. 31v). A second manuscript portrays Martha serving while a curiously tiny and colourless Mary sits at Christ’s feet. Comparable images can be found in manuscripts from throughout Northern Europe, many of which can be connected with communities of non-monastic women. See Den Haag, MMW, 10 A 12, f. 191r; MMW, 10 A 16, f. 202r; Isabella Breviary, London, BL Add. Ms. 18851 (1497). Martha’s hospitality was praised in sermons by Pelbartus of Temesvár (Pomerium de sanctis), Johannes Tauler, and Vincent Ferrer. It is also seen in an anonymous Middle Dutch sermon (Gent, Universiteitsbibliotheek, HS 902, Sermoenen Gepredikt in het klooster Jericho te Brussel, ff. 201v–207). 33 This text exists in at least seven Middle Low German and Dutch and three Latin versions. See C.  G. N. De Vooys, ‘De legende “Van Sunte Maria Magdalena Bekeringhe,” ’ Tijdschrift voor Nederlandse Taal- en Letterkunde 24 (1905): 16–44; H. Hansel, Die Maria-Magdalena Legende: Eine Quellenuntersuchung (Greifswald: H. Dallameyer, 1937). Giles Constable did not mention this legend in his foundational study ‘The Interpretation of Mary and Martha’, in Constable, Three Studies, 1–141. 34 ‘Non sic penitentes nostri temporis [qui, conscientia stimulante, timore cogente vel certe verecundia suadente, accesuri tandem ad confessionis] lavacrum et sanandorum antidotum serpentino [more poculum vitae suscepturi] venenum peccatorum deposuisse videntur [quod tamen iterum protinus infelicius ingurgigant]’ (ser de festo, col. 3). Hendrik Herp, Sermo, 3. Quoted in Lionel Rousselot, ‘Sub alis Domini: La Madeline dans la prédication du franciscain Henri Herp’, in Sophie CassagnesBrouquet, Amaury Chauou, Daniel Pichot, and Lionel Rousselot, eds, Religion et mentalités au Moyen Âge: Mélanges en l’honneur d’Hervé Martin (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2003), pp. 305–13, at 307, n. 14. 35 The reasons for Observant attraction to Judith are obvious. In the later middle ages and early modern period, the figure of Judith came to represent integrity, courage and constancy in virtue in the face of corruption. Girolamo Savonarola’s sermons on Ezekiel attack the corruption rampant in the Church, declaring it to have become a ‘harlot’ whose confidence in her beauty has led to her corruption. Amidst his attacks, Savonarola includes a list of those whom God aided as a reward for their faith and a reminder of his merciful forgiveness. His list is primarily Jewish patriarchs such as Moses, Samuel, and David, but at the end includes Judith and Esther, whom he describes as ‘virtuous’, ‘unwavering believers’, and ‘divinely-empowered saviours of their people’. See Herp, ‘Sermo I’, De processu, p. 92; Girolamo Savonarola, Prediche sopra Ezekiele, ed. Roberto Ridolfi, 2 vols (Rome: Angelo Belardetti, 1955), II, 8. Cf. The Sword of Judith: Judith Studies Across Disciplines, pp. 320–1; Alison More, ‘Gracious Women Seeking Glory: Clare of Assisi and Elizabeth of Hungary in Franciscan Sermons’, in Timothy J. Johnson, ed., Every Miracle from the Beginning of the World Came About Through Words (Leiden: Brill, 2012), pp. 217–18.

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Observants such as Hendrik Herp, Hendrik van Santen, and Olivier Maillard (†1502) also produced pastoralia aimed at women’s communities.36 Like the preachers discussed above, their sermons and treatises emphasized edification through a variety of models, some of which stressed a balance of active and contemplative spirituality. The Franciscan Observant Hendrik Herp, for example, was widely recognized for his affective spirituality and popular appeal, particularly to houses of religious women.37 He received significant attention for his mystical writings, significantly the Theologia mystica and Spieghel der Volcomenheit (translated into Latin as Directorium contemplativorum).38 Herp’s mystical reputation increased among the Observants. Like his famed Spieghel, sermons such as those in his collection De processu humani profectus describe the process by which an individual soul could achieve union with God.39 These sermons were explicitly addressed to female religious communities and addressed ways of achieving perfection within the strictures of religious life. As a whole, this cycle describes the process through which the soul of a religious becomes united with God.40 Hendrik Herp’s successor in Mechelen, Hendrik van Santen also appears to have interacted regularly with non-monastic women and to have taken a specific interest in helping their spiritual development.41 In particular, Hendrik wrote a number of  Collacien or ‘Lesepredigten’, which were collected spiritual readings aimed at an audience of female religious or pious members of the laity. These texts address matters such as prayer and inner contemplation, but show an openness to the active life insofar as they deal with matters such as charity towards the poor, which would suggest that he did not expect his audience to consist entirely of enclosed women. Like his confreres, Hendrik van Santen portrayed women reaching out to Christ’s poor, and advocated tending to the infirm, comforting the poor, and even teaching the illiterate.42

36 On Hendrik Herp, see Bert Roest, Franciscan Literature of Religious Instruction before the Council of Trent (Leiden: Brill, 2004), p. 78; Anna Dlabačová, ‘Hendrik Herp: observant en mysticus: De “Spieghel der volcomenheit” (ca. 1455/1460) in nieuw perspectief ’, Queeste 15 (2008): 142–67. For influences on Herp’s spirituality, see Anna Dlabačová, ‘Tauler, Herp and the Changing Layers of Mobility and Reception in the Low Countries (c. 1460–1560)’, Ons geestelijk erf 84 (2013): 120–52. For Herp’s works, see Georgette Épiney-Burgard, ‘Henri Herp: de la dévotion moderne à l’Observance franciscaine’, Publications du Centre Européen d’Études Bourguignonnes (XIV–XVI s.) 29 (1989): 89–110, at 89–90. On Hendrik van Santen, see Roest, Franciscan Literature, 81–2. On Maillard, see Roest, Franciscan Literature, 95–6, n. 249. Cf. Johaneke Uphoff, ‘The Nun Made Word: Expressions of Religious Identity of the Poor Clares in Nuremberg’, MA diss., Radboud University, Nijmegen, 2013. 37 Épiney-Burgard, ‘Henri Herp’, 89. Cf. Roest, Franciscan Literature, 79–80. 38 Herp’s Spieghel der Volcomenheit was originally written for a ‘spiritual daughter’ (Deventer Athenaei 57; Den Haag KB 128 G 18 (133 F 5); Düsseldorf Landesbibl. C 24). Cf. Benjamin De Troeyer, Bio-Bibliographia Franciscana neerlandica Saeculi XVI (Nieuwkoop: B. de Graaf, 1969) 2: 212–44; Benjamin De Troeyer, Bio-Bibliographia Franciscana Neerlandica, ante Saeculum XVI (Nieuwkoop: B. de Graaf, 1974), 1: 108–23 and 2: 76–82. 39 Roest, Franciscan Literature, 80, n. 207. Cf. Georgette Épiney-Burgard, ed., Henri Herp: De Processu Humani Profectus (Wiesbaden: F. Steiner, 1982). 40 Épiney-Burgard, De Processu, 85. 41 Roest, Franciscan Literature, 81–2. 42 A. Ampe, ‘Naar aanleiding van Hendrik van Santen’s Collaciën’, Ons geestelijk erf 49 (1975): 366–80; A. Ampe, ‘Nog eens Hendrik van Santen’s Collaciën’, Ons geestelijk erf 50 (1976): 207–12. Cf. Roest, Franciscan Literature, 82, 82 n. 211.

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Olivier Maillard made several preaching tours in France, Germany, and the Low Countries. Numerous vernacular and Latin copies of his sermons exist throughout Europe, including his Sermones de sanctis for the entire year, and his sermons on vices and virtues. Among his duties, Maillard was particularly noted for his concern for religious women. His Ansprachen, written for the Poor Clares of Nuremberg, contain passages of spiritual advice and instruction. Specifically, he urged the sisters to be vigilant against demonic deceptions and to behave in a manner befitting a bride of Christ.43 Maillard recognized the importance of the sisters’ activities in the community and the need for protecting their way of life. Moreover, as an Observant Franciscan, Maillard would have been familiar with the many layers of controversy surrounding women who claimed membership in the Franciscan third order. As well as instructing the sisters in Germany, Maillard played a significant role in the regularization of the hospital sisters in Aberdour, who are discussed briefly in Chapter 3. His writings are also found in the Low Countries.44 As well as texts authored by reformers, women under Observant care were encouraged to read instructional texts that had no specific association with any order. The twelfth-century didactic text Speculum virginum was particularly common.45 Both Latin and vernacular versions of the Speculum circulated throughout Europe. As Sabrina Corbellini has pointed out, copies were often found in houses of women following the so-called rule of the third order in the fourteenth century as well as women connected with the Devotio moderna.46 The text offered strict guidelines on the ideal forms of religious life for women, on matters such as claustration and contemplation.47 However, it neither had a specific affiliation with a religious order, nor contained models or discussions of spiritual practices often regarded as markers of order identity. Even texts that advocated the traditional religious ideals of contemplation and separation from the world were not always order specific. Hendrik Herp’s Duodecim mortificationes was written as a guide for sisters preparing themselves for mystical union.48 Despite Herp’s reputation for mystical ecstasy, his severe views on the 43 Roest, Franciscan Literature, 95–6, n. 249. Cf. Johaneke Uphoff, ‘The Nun Made Word’. 44 Alison More, ‘Tertiaries and the Scottish Observance: St Martha’s Hospital in Aberdour and the Institutionalisation of the Franciscan Third Order’, Scottish Historical Review 94 (2015): 121–39. 45 Copies of the Speculum virginum were owned by many tertiaries communities. For a fuller discussion, see Sabrina Corbellini, ‘Een oude spiegel voor nieuwe maagden. Het gebruik van het “Speculum virginum” in gemeenschappen van tertiarissen’, Ons geestelijk erf 80 (2009): 171–98. Libraries of ‘tertiary’ houses also included the works of the thirteenth-century Franciscan novice master David of Augsburg, which had been appropriated by fifteenth-century Franciscan Observants. Cf. The entry ‘Speculum virginum’, nd. und mndl., in Handschriftencensus http://www.handschriftencensus.de/werke/2473. For a discussion of the text itself, see the essays in Constant Mews, ed., Listen Daughter: The Speculum Virginum and the Formation of Religious Women in the Middle Ages (New York: Palgrave, 2001). 46 Copies of this text were owned by tertiaries’ communities in Delft, Nijmegen, Weesp, Utrecht, Berlin, and Sint-Truiden. See Corbellini, ‘Een oude spiegel’, 171–98. Cf. Urban Küsters, ‘The Second Blossoming of a Text: the “Spighel der Maechden” and the Modern Devotion’, in Constant Mews, ed., Listen Daughter: The Speculum Virginum and the Formation of Religious Women in the Middle Ages (New York: Palgrave, 2001), pp. 245–61. 47 Cf. The essays in Mews, Listen Daughter. 48 Duodecim Mortificationes (Köln, Stadtsarchiv W. 13 ff. 5r–21r).

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forms of behaviour appropriate to religious women suggest that he believed God’s mercy could only be earned at a high price. For instance, the Duodecim mortificationes advocates renouncing not only physical possessions, but also familial love, and curiosity.49 To Herp, those who adhered to this programme were the ‘true voluntary poor’ and worthy of being united with Christ. This text circulated widely both in Latin and in various vernacular translations until the eighteenth century. It was widely used by women with a variety of order affiliations and it later provided the basis for statutes for groups such as beguines in sixteenth-century Mechelen.50 Other texts were more focused on edification than on moralizing. The Observant Franciscan Jan de Wael (Johannes Gallicus, †1510) put forward a comprehensive programme for the intellectual formation of the community of St Agnesklooster in Amersfoort, which followed the so-called third rule of St Francis from 1399. Jan’s programme, known as the Informieringheboeck der jongen (or Manual for the Young Ones), included a comprehensive list of books to be read by the sisters.51 The texts Jan advised the sisters to read included the Profectus religiosorum by the Franciscan David of Augsburg, the Liber de spiritualibus ascensibus by Gerard Zerbolt of Zutphen from the Devotio moderna movement, as well as a number of spiritual classics by Bonaventure and Jean Gerson. To Jan, the convent was to serve an educational as well as a spiritual function for the women who lived there. In order for these women to serve as witnesses to God’s love, it was necessary for them to be able to engage—to some degree—in theological discussion. It should be noted that Jan’s educational programme was not limited to the St Agnesklooster, but also used in the St Agathaconvent community in Delft. Jan was concerned with giving the women under his care a solid and diverse theological education. Similar works are included in compilations used by houses of women in England, Germany, and Italy, both those connected to the Observant movement and those that remained independent and were known as ‘beguines’ or ‘secular penitents’. The Silesian beguine Margaretha Pictrix told of how she had used a text often called the Palm of Contemplation to ‘make her soul more perfect than God 49 The twelve mortifications are listed as: ‘I Omnium affectuum erga res temporalium; II Omnium affectuum propriae quaesitionis in agendo quaelibet opera virtuosa & in dimittendo mala; III Omnium affectuum propriae sensualitatis; IV Omnium afectuum amoris sensualis, naturalis, & acquisiti; V Omnium afectuum erga cogitationes & imagines rerum creaturarum; VI Omnis curae, quae non est de justa necessitate, propter spiritualem utilitatem, vel propter obedientiam; VII Omnis amaritudinis cordis; VIII Omnium affectuum vanae gloriae & propriae complacentiae, honoris mundane & superbiae; IX Omnium affectuum oblectationum internarum spiritualium vel sensualium; X Omnis scrupulositatis cordis; XI Omnis inquietudinis & impatientiae cordis in omni exteriori adversitate; XII Omnis propriae voluntatis in totali voluntaria resignatione ad omnem internam derelictionem sufferendam propter amorem Dei.’ The chapters themselves advise renouncing worldly possessions, desire for beauty, appetite for food and drink, and ‘natural’ loves such as love of family. 50 Most copies are no longer accessible, but the text itself was written in Dutch and translated into Latin, French and English. It circulated widely in seventeenth-century England, thanks to the writings of the Benedictine Augustine Baker, and was owned by a community of Poor Clares in Durham. Its use among sixteenth-century beguine communities is discussed in more detail in Chapter  6 of this book. 51 See Sabrina Corbellini, ‘The “Manual for the Young Ones” by Jan de Wael (1510): Pastoral Care for Religious Women in the Low Countries’, in Ronald Stansbury, ed., A Companion to Pastoral Care in the Late Middle Ages (Leiden: Brill, 2010), pp. 389–411.

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had intended’.52 Margaretha’s desire was probably not what the compiler of the Palm had in mind; however, its existence and her aims affirm both that women had opportunities to become active in their spiritual advancement, and that the instruments available to them were often not connected with order identity. Bert Roest has surveyed details of Franciscan literature of religious instruction including sermons, catechetical literature, rules, preaching manuals, and treatises. In much of the literature he analyses, the emphasis seems to be on edification and Christianization, rather than advocating a specifically Franciscan identity.53 Many of these preachers interacted with communities of religious women and took care to ensure that their sermons addressed aspects of these women’s lives, including care for lepers and the poor.54 As such, it appears that they valued spiritual growth over ensuring that communities of women adhered to the norms set out in works such as Capistrano’s Defensorium. T E RT I A R I E S , I D E N T I T Y M A R K E R S , AND ORDERED IDENTITY While the primary focus appears to have been on edifying communities of women and supporting them in their chosen spirituality, Observant writings—particularly sermons and vitae—often show a distinct preference for saints and symbols associated with a particular religious order. As is made clear in the previous chapter, Observant influence resulted in a dramatic increase in the number of tertiary houses that claimed affiliation with an official order. For houses connected with the Observance, the spread of the 1289 rule often appears to have been accompanied by some attempts to instil an order identity. The Nijmegen community of the Hessenberg shows an interesting case of incorporating elements of order identity.55 As discussed in Chapter 3, this house (also known as Sint-Petersberg) had adopted the so-called Rule of St Francis shortly before 1450.56 Their library reflects that the sisters certainly came to identify with aspects of Franciscan identity. A text copied by Sister Foels Hoeymans, which is now in the Nijmegen Municipal Archives, contains the following note: ‘Likewise, this book was written in the year of our Lord 1504 on the vigil of Epiphany. Say an Ave Maria for Sister Foels Hoeymans who wrote this book lovingly and for God’s glory.’57 52 Wybren Scheepsma, The Limburg Sermons: Preaching in the Medieval Low Countries at the Turn of the Fourteenth Century (Leiden: Brill, 2008), p. 142. 53 Roest, Franciscan Literature, passim. 54 For a discussion of active charity in sermons, see Anne E. Lester, ‘Cares Beyond the Walls: Cistercian Nuns and the Care of Lepers in Twelfth- and Thirteenth-Century Northern France’, in Emilia Jamroziak and Janet Burton, eds, Religious and Laity in Western Europe 1000–1400: Interaction, Negotiation, and Power (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), pp. 197–224. 55 This community is introduced in Chapter 3. 56 Guus Pikkemaat, Geschiedenis van Noviomagus (Nijmegen: Dekker van de Vegt, 1988), p. 68. 57 ‘Item dijt boeck is vol schreven int jaer ons heren vijftien hondert ende vier opten heiligen derthien avont. Een ave maria voer suster foels hoeymans die dit boeck uut mynnen ende om gods wil greschreven heft.’ Nijmegen, het Regionaal Archeif, inv. num, 29, fol. 342v.

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An insertion by a second hand in the leaf of the book states: ‘Likewise, this book belongs to the sisters of the Rule of St Francis on the Hessenberg, otherwise known as Sint-Petersberg.’58 Similar inscriptions attesting to the Franciscan identity of the convent can be found in manuscripts and printed books owned by the sisters.59 More importantly, at around the same time, the library began to acquire a number of printed texts explicitly relating to Franciscan spirituality, including various vernacular lives of Francis, Dutch translations of the Franciscan Speculum perfectionis and Francis’s Admonitions, as well as various tales of the miracles of Anthony of Padua, and a rhyming Latin vita of Francis.60 Later additions to the library include the Latin Pomerii sermones de sanctis written by Pelbartus of Temesvár. The Pomerii collection was extremely popular, and at least twelve editions were printed before 1520.61 While not exclusively Franciscan, it has a decided emphasis on Franciscan identity. As is mentioned above, the laywoman, Elisabeth of Thuringia is re-cast as a Franciscan. At the same time, it dedicates six sermons to Francis of Assisi, one of which has been hailed as a virtual prototype for Franciscan identity.62 Closely following Bonaventure’s Legenda maior s. Francisci, Pelbartus re-affirms the idea of Francis as an alter Christus, emphasizing his stigmata as both a reminder of Christ’s triumph over death and a sign to strengthen the faith of the whole Church. His sermons not only convey Francis’s life story and sanctity, but also his importance as a saint for the spiritual climate of his day. The same collection includes sermons on Bonaventure, whom Pelbartus refers to as the heir of Francis and Louis IX of France (†1270), who is portrayed as both entering the Franciscan Order and embodying its spirituality.63 It would appear that Pelbartus’s Pomerii endeavoured to create a shared sense of order identity. As was common among Observants, Pelbartus’s sermon on Clare of Assisi stresses her link with Francis and their mutual desire to repair Christ’s Church. Preachers routinely invoked Clare in sermons from the later fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In particular, Clare became an ideal example of poverty, and of adapting Francis’s vision to women’s religious life. Reformers lauded Clare as a model for all women connected to the Franciscan family: Clarissan nuns and tertiary sisters

58 ‘Item did boeck hoert te nymegen opten hessen berch anders geheiten sancte peters berch den susteren vander regelen sancte Franciscus.’ Nijmegen, het Regionaal Archief, inv. num, 29, inserted leaf. 59 Cf. A. J. Geurts and Peter Nissen, Middeleeuwse hanschriften en oude drukken uit het Gemeentearchief Nijmegen (Nijmegen: Gemeentarchief, 1984), p. 10, n. 1. 60 Information for this archive can be found in the digital study room (Digitale Studiezaal) of the regional archives of Nijmegen (http://studiezaal.nijmegen.nl; accessed 20 November 2014). The relevant collection is online under ‘W. J. Meeuwissen and H. G. M. de Heiden, Catalogus van de Collectie Codices van het Gemeentearchief Nijmegen’. 61 Pelbartus of Temesvár, Sermones pomerii de sanctis, 2 vols (Augsburg: n.p., 1502). For a discussion of its popularity and early editions, see Roest, Franciscan Literature, p. 99, n. 257. 62 Zoltán Kosztolnyik, ‘Some Hungarian Theologians in the Late Renaissance’, Church History 57 (1988): 5–18. 63 Pelbartus of Temesvár, ‘De sancto Bonaventura’, in Sermones Pomerii de sanctis, II, p. 175; Pelbartus of Temesvár, ‘De sancto Ludovico ordinis minorum’, in Sermones Pomerii de sanctis, II, pp. 209–10.

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alike.64 The result was, as Bert Roest has pointed out, that dedication to or veneration of Clare of Assisi cannot be regarded as a clear marker of order identity.65 Much has been made of the ‘rediscovery’ of Clare during the period of Observant Reform. However, in hagiography and sermons, it would appear that Clare was not so much ‘rediscovered’ as ‘reinvented’.66 New vitae of Clare (often purporting to be merely re-translations of the 1255 Legenda) were connected with the Observant Reform movement.67 In his survey of the manuscripts containing Clare’s Latin vita, Giovanni Boccali notes that the text circulated extensively in the fourteenth century. Although the centre of Clare’s cult was certainly Italy, manuscript evidence suggests that the fame of her sanctity had spread throughout Europe.68 From the 1380s onwards, or the period of Observant Reform, the vita was frequently translated into vernacular languages including Italian, German, Dutch, and French.69 A Middle Dutch text, now in Sint-Truiden, purporting to be a translation of Thomas of Celano’s Legenda sanctae Clarae illustrates some of the changes that took place.70 In particular, this leven reveals an obvious Observant agenda. A passage towards the end of the text reads as follows: After some time, however, the original maternal admonitions about discipline were neglected in some houses. Thus apathy infused by the devil filled some hearts. However, God’s mercy would not allow the glow of the first heat to be completely extinguished. Therefore, the Lord has put two new lights—as the sun and moon—in 64 For a discussion of Clare in early modern sermons, see Nirit Ben-Aryeh Debby, ‘St. Clare Expelling the Saracens from Assisi: The Story of a Religious Confrontation, in Word and Image’, Sixteenth Century Journal 43 (2012): 643–65. On Cherubin, see Roest, Franciscan Literature, 529–30. 65 Bert Roest, Order and Disorder. The Poor Clares between Foundation and Reform (Leiden: Brill, 2013), pp. 75–7. 66 For a bibliography and analysis, see Lezlie Knox, Creating Clare of Assisi: Female Franciscan Identities in Later Medieval Italy (Leiden: Brill, 2008). 67 Giovanni Boccali, ‘Tradizione Manoscritta delle Legende di Santa Chiara di Assisi’, in Clara Claris Praeclara: L’esperienza cristiana e la memoria di Chiara d’Assisi in occasione del 750e anniversario della morte (Assisi: Edizioni Porziuncola, 2004), pp. 419–500. 68 Boccali, ‘Tradizione Manoscritta’, 419–500. Cf. Giovanni Boccali, ed., Legende minores latine, sancte Clare virginis Assisiensis, testi latini con traduzione italiano (Assisi: Porziuncola, 2010), pp. 161–85. The same is true of liturgical texts; see Giovanni Boccali, ed., Cum hymnis et canticis: Gaudeat mater Ecclesia in festo sanctae Clarae virginis assisiensis (Assisi: Porziuncola, 2010), pp. 35–70. 69 Boccali, ‘Tradizione Manoscritta’, 475–500. At least one Klara-Buch also included three sermons on Clare of Assisi. Kurt Ruh, ‘Das “St. Klara-Buch”’, Wissenschaft und Weisheit 46 (1983): 192–206; H. M. Weiler, St. Clara –Vita. Textkritische Edition und Wortschatzunterschung (PhD diss., Innsbruck, 1972). 70 Sint-Truiden, Bibliotheek van het Instituut voor Franciscaanse Geschiedenis, Cod. 51, ff. 1–40, ed. Ludo Jongen, Het Leven van de zalige maghet Sinte Clara (Megen, 1998). Cf. Ludo Jongen, ‘Like a Pharmacy with Fragrant Herbs. The Legenda sanctae Clarae virginis in Middle Dutch’, Collectanea Franciscana 65 (1995): 225–45. Clare’s earliest vita or legenda was commissioned by the papacy shortly after her canonization. The author of this text is uncertain, but is often thought to be Thomas of Celano. Marco Guida’s study, Una leggenda in cerca d’autore: la vita di santa Chiara d’Assisi (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 2010), puts forward a substantive case for Thomas being the author of this text. However, his arguments are largely based on stylistic similarities between this text and Thomas’s other writings. Cf. Stefano Brufani, ‘Le “legendae” agiografiche di Chiara d’Assisi del secolo XIII’, in Enrico Menestò, ed., Chiara di Assisi (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 1993), pp. 327–30.

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the world, namely the holy Bernardino and the blessed virgin Colette. Thanks to their concern and vision, convents were reformed far and wide; moreover new ones were established.71

Despite some uncertainty regarding the authorship and dating of the early life of Clare, it is generally assumed to have been written around 1255. The references to the Italian Franciscan Bernardino of Siena (†1444) and the French Colette of Corbie (†1447) were obviously later additions. Moreover, both Bernardino and Colette, whom the passage claims were returning the Clarissan order to the state originally envisioned by Clare, were important figures in the implementation of Observant Reform in Clarissan houses.72 A second copy of the leven is found in a 1560 manuscript, which is now in the collection of the Royal Library in Brussels.73 This manuscript seems to have had no Franciscan associations; it was owned by a community of Augustinian women.74 Although it is certainly not a copy of the version in Sint-Truiden, the copyist of the Brussels leven appears to have been familiar with that text.75 Like the Sint-Truiden version, this text portrays Clare’s vocation as a direct consequence of her interaction with Francis. In particular, Francis is depicted as having received Clare into religious life, which he describes as cloistered and living in poverty.76 Curiously, both versions of the leven state that Clare entered San Damiano under the rule of St Benedict. Neither mentions a rule given by Francis, and neither makes any mention of her own forma vitae. This suggests that the scribe or author was writing a text for women who were familiar with at least the basics of Clare’s tale and the norms of religious life. The reconstructed image of Clare in the Observant leven was primarily disseminated through preaching. Bernardino of Siena was one of the early ‘leading lights’ of the Observant movement in Italy and his writings circulated widely throughout Europe. Originally from the prominent Albizechi family in Massa Marittima, he was orphaned at a young age. Following his parents’ deaths, Bernardino was sent to live with his older cousin Tobia (described as a Franciscan tertiary), and pious aunt Diana (described as an Augustinian tertiary), who died six years later. In 1403, he joined the Observant branch of the Franciscan Order, and was soon given 71 ‘In welcken al esset dat in sommighen—overmits outheit der tijden—ofghehaelt wort die eerste moederlijcke vermaninghen der disciplinen, soe dat in sommige herten—overmits des duvels ingeven— lauheit in gewassen is, nochtans soe en woude die god\lijckegoedertierenheit niet ghehenghen dat die brant alsulcker eerster hitten al heel uut gedaen soude worden. Want die Heere hevet die twee nyewe lichten inder warelt gemaect als die sonne ende die maen. Dat sijn die heilighe Bernardinus ende die salighe maget Coleta, overmits welcker sorchvoldiger voersienicheit wijt ende breet die cloesteren vermaect sijn ende oec van nyeus gefondeert.’ Quoted in Jongen, ‘Like a Pharmacy’, 222. 72 On Colettine reform, see Roest, Order and Disorder, 169–75. Cf. Elisabeth Lopez, Culture et sainteté, Colette de Corbie (1381–1447), CERCOR, Travaux et Recherches (Université de Saint-Etienne: CERCOR, 1994). 73 KBR MS 21875. The text ‘Het leven van die heijlighe maghet sinte Clara’ is found on 16v–44v. 74 KBR MS 21875, 61v contains a reference to ‘our holy father Augustine’. 75 Many of the same instances occur, but are in a very different order. The text is shorter, and there is no mention of either Bernardino or Colette. 76 KBR MS 21875, 22v, 25r (25r–26r contains a discussion of the privilege of poverty).

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the task of preaching. Bernardino’s sermons attacked all aspects of what he perceived as social vices and sought, like a true Observant, to restore order.77 Bernardino undertook a campaign to reform female houses associated with the Franciscans in Italy from 1420 onwards.78 He held very strict views regarding the ideal female religious life. In 1425, his sermons in Assisi and Perugia were particularly vehement on the need for enclosure. He referred to the 1298 decretal Periculoso, which had stipulated that full enclosure was a requirement for the religious life, and then went on to criticize unenclosed female houses, calling them ‘loca porca et facinoribus plena’ (‘pigsties filled with crimes’).79 Drawing on the ‘angelic’ examples of Clare of Assisi and the community of women at San Damiano, Bernardino encouraged women to return to the ‘original’ ideals of the order.80 In his interaction with female communities, Bernardino was committed to spreading enclosure, obedience, and contemplation. His sermons were translated into a number of vernacular languages, and manuscript copies can be found throughout Europe. Alongside his moralizing rhetoric, Bernardino promoted saintly role models for his female audiences. In particular, he praised the virtues of Clare of Assisi. Bernardino’s Clare was a model of humility and obedience. At the same time, he illustrated that her light and strength made her suitable to be leader of a female community.81 Bernardino’s disciples John of Capistrano and Cherubin of Spoleto (†1484), and other Observants from throughout Europe also praised Clare’s virtues.82 In 1445, John of Capistrano wrote a commentary on Clare’s rule from 1253, which he promoted in the women’s houses under his care. Like Bernardino, he focused on both Clare’s link with Francis and her fidelity to the original vision of the Franciscan movement. However, Capistrano’s Clare also took on characteristics compatible with the Observant programme of challenging enemies of the

77 On the influence of Bernardino and other early Observants, see Bert Roest, ‘Franciscan preaching in Germany and the Low Countries ca. 1450–1550’, in Maria Giuseppina Muzzarelli, ed., From Words to Deeds: The Effectiveness of Preaching in the Later Middle Ages (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), pp. 185–208. Cf. Pietro Delcorno, ‘In the Mirror of the Prodigal Son: The Pastoral Uses of a Biblical Narrative (c. 1200–1550)’, unpublished PhD thesis (Radboud University, Nijmegen, 2016). 78 These were predominantly described as Clarissan communities, but as Bert Roest and Lezlie Knox have shown, there was considerable overlap between Clarissans and female tertiaries associated with the Franciscan Observants. Cf. Franco Mormando, The Preacher’s Demons: Bernardino da Siena and the Social Underworld of Early Renaissance Italy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999); Cynthia Louise Polecritti, Preaching Peace in Renaissance Italy: San Bernardino and His Audience (Washington DC: Catholic University Press, 2000). 79 See Nirit Ben-Aryeh Debby, The Cult of St Clare in Early Modern Italy (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2014), 70–1; Debby, ‘St Clare Expelling the Saracens from Assisi: The Story of a Religious Confrontation, in Word and Image,’ Sixteenth Century Journal 43 (2012): 643–65; Debby, ‘St Clare of Assisi’: Charity and Miracles in Early Modern Italy,’ Franciscan Studies 71 (2013): 237–62. 80 Dionisio Pacetti, ‘La predicazione di S. Bernardino a Perugia e ad Assisi nel 1425’, Collectanea Franciscana 9 (1938): 494–520. 81 Bernardino of Siena, ‘Pro sancta Clara’, in appendix to Pacetti, ‘La predicazione di S. Bernardino’, 13–14. For a discussion of Clare in early modern sermons, see Debby, ‘St. Clare Expelling the Saracens’. On Cherubin, see Roest, Franciscan Literature, 529–30. 82 Alison More, ‘Franciscan Feminine Virtue: The Changing Portrayal of Clare of Assisi in Sermons’, in Eleonora Lombardo, ed., Models of Virtue (Padova: Centro Studi Antoniani, 2016), pp. 75–90.

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Church—particularly in his crusading sermons.83 Nor was this unusual, as the image of Clare defending Assisi against the Saracens by holding up the Eucharist remained popular throughout late medieval and early modern Europe.84 A German version of a sermon attributed to Capistrano, Fünf Wunder der heiligen Klara, circulated throughout Northern Europe.85 This text emphasizes Clare’s bond with Francis (to whom she looked as a model) and her commitment to serving the poor as a form of imitatio Christi; however, the sermon stresses that this was expressed through spiritual rather than literal service. In this way, Clare is portrayed as an enclosed contemplative and her dedication to her ideals is emphasized. This text also suggests the lingering influence of the Franciscan Bertrand de la Turre (†1332), as he had written of Clare as a rose that was spiritually nourished by the  Franciscan friars.86 At the same time, other Franciscan Observants such as Cherubin of Spoleto and the aforementioned Pelbartus of Temesvár, whose sermons were owned by a number of ‘tertiary’ houses, praised Clare as a model of humility, obedience, and ideal monastic piety for all women connected to the Franciscan family. For those associated with the Franciscan order, Clare of Assisi was a prevalent and popular model. Textual and visual representations of Clare spread widely among houses of women associated with the friars.87 Increasingly, reformers depicted Clare as Francis’s ‘plantula’, the faithful embodiment of his ideals in the world.88 The fact that she and her sisters were inspired and nourished by the early friars was increasingly presented as a model situation for the ideal pastoral relationship between tertiaries and Observants. Many reformers who interacted with tertiary houses often stated that the characteristic poverty and commitment to living the gospel shown by the tertiaries made them Clare’s direct spiritual heirs, and encouraged them to identify with the early women now known as the ‘Poor Clares’.89 Others recognized the liminal or non-monastic aspects of the religious behaviour of these women and encouraged them to identify with female saints that were thought to have lived as religious without leaving the secular world. 83 On Capistrano and his reforming activities, see Roest, Franciscan Literature, 64–7, 187–90. Cf.  Remo L. Guidi, L’azione riformatrice di Giovanni da Capestrano nel contesto del Quattrocento (Florence: Olschki, 2008). 84 Cf. Debby, ‘St. Clare Expelling the Saracens’, 643–65. 85 Prague, National Library, Cod. XVI.D.16, ff. 171v–173r. On John of Capistrano and his reforming activities, see Roest, Franciscan Literature, 64–7, 187–90. 86 Prague, National Library, Cod. XVI.D.16, ff. 171v–172v. Cf. Patrick Nold, ‘Poverty, History and Liturgy in a Sermon Work of Bertrand de la Tour’, in Franciscans and Preaching, 175–206. A copy of this sermon (listed as anonymous) is contained in Cambridge, Jesus College, Q.A. 13. 87 Boccali, ‘Tradizione Manoscritta’, 419–500; Debby, ‘St. Clare Expelling the Saracens’, 643–65; Debby, ‘Charity and Miracles’, 237–62; More, ‘Gracious Women’, 211–13; More, ‘Franciscan Feminine Virtue’. 88 As mentioned briefly in the introduction to this book, the word ‘plantula’ could mean a monastic foundation as well as simply the diminutive of ‘plant’ (as it was often used in relation to Clare in Observant texts). See Charles Du Cange, Glossarium mediae et infimae Latinitatis (Paris: n.p., 1883–1887), s.v. ‘Plantula’, vi, c. 355. 89 Roest, Order and Disorder, 75–7. Roest’s work also shows the many problems inherent in the term ‘Poor Clares’, which is popularly used to refer to the myriad orders associated with Clare of Assisi from the thirteenth century onwards.

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Other saints were also used as markers of identity, particularly Catherine of Siena for the Dominicans, and Monica of Antioch for the Augustinians. Like Clare, Catherine was often praised as a model for newly monasticized tertiaries connected with the Dominican friars. As has been shown, Catherine had no historical link with Dominic, and only informal ties to the order he founded. Nevertheless, the saintly laywoman from Siena soon came to be presented as the embodiment of Dominican Observant ideals.90 Catherine’s legenda was written by Raymond of Capua, the man who designed, promoted, and implemented a programme of Observant Reform. Throughout the text, Raymond makes it clear that Catherine inspired much of his reform programme. His legenda presents Catherine’s spirituality as the perfect balance of  worldly concern and spiritual contemplation: although she was active in her ‘cloister of the world’, she always turned her sights towards her heavenly father. More importantly, in Raymond’s version of events, Catherine saw Christ as her true and sole teacher, and maintained utmost fidelity to the gospel. As was evident through her advice to the pope to return to Rome during the Avignon schism, it seemed that Catherine could see beyond earthly authority and recognize the importance of fidelity to the gospel message.91 Catherine was also a popular and important patroness for houses of Observant women who had some connection to the Dominican orders. As with Clare’s Middle Dutch leven, Catherine’s German biography, Ein geistlicher Rosengarten (A Spiritual Rose Garden), circulated widely throughout Northern Europe.92 Thomas Brakmann has shown that while the Rosengarten presents many of the same elements the Latin original, it pays more attention to Catherine’s daily life, and emphasizes her as a model for the behaviour of ordinary Christians.93 The distribution of this text throughout Europe (primarily throughout the Dominican world) was intrinsically connected to the efforts to spread Catherine’s

90 This text was widely disseminated, particularly in reformed houses connected with the order. Cf. Werner Williams-Krapp‚ ‘Kultpflege und literarische Überlieferung. Zur deutschen Hagiographie der Dominikaner im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert’, in André Schnyder, Claudia Bartholomy-Teusch, Barbara Fleith, and René Wetzel, eds, Ist mir getroumet mîn leben? Festschrift für Karl-Ernst Geith zum 65. Geburtstag (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1998), pp. 147–73, at 159–65; Sylvia Nocentini, ‘The Legenda maior of Catherine of Siena’, in Carolyn Muessig, George Ferzoco, and Beverly Mayne Kienzle, eds, A Companion to Catherine of Siena (Leiden: Brill, 2012), pp. 339–57. 91 Cf. Blake Beattie, ‘Catherine of Siena and the Papacy’, in A Companion to Catherine of Siena, pp. 73–98. 92 Altenburg (NÖ), Stiftsbibl., Cod. AB 15 B 16; Augsburg, Universitätsbibl., Cod. III.1.4° 11; Berlin, Staatl. Museen—Kupferstichkabinett, Cod. 78 A 14; KBR, MS 8507–09; Schloß Erpernburg (bei Büren), Archiv der Freiherrn von und zu Brenken, Cod. 87; Karlsruhe, Landesbibl., Cod. Lichtenthal 82; München, Staatsbibl., Cgm 214; München, Staatsbibl., Cgm 755; New York, The Morgan Libr., MS B.8; Nürnberg, Stadtbibl., Cod. Cent. IV, 14; Paris, Bibl. Nationale, Ms. allem. 34; Prague, National Library, Fonds Břevnov 186; Scheyern, Bibl. des Benediktinerstifts, Ms. 48 Straßburg, National- und Universitätsbibl., Ms. 2743 (früher L germ. 640.4°). Cf. Karin Schneider, Deutsche mittelalterliche Handschriften der Universitätsbibliothek Augsburg. Die Signaturengruppen Cod. I.3 und Cod. III.1 (Wiesbaden: O. Harrassowitz, 1988), p. 278f. 93 Thomas Brakmann, Ein Geistlicher Rosengarten: Die Vita der heiligen Katharina von siena zwischen Ordensreform und Laienfrömmigkeit im 15. Jahrhundert (Brussels: Peter Lang, 2011).

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cult.94 Thomas of Siena notes that Raymond sent him the legend, which he kept in a Venetian house before forwarding it to the nuns of San Domenico in Pisa.95 Sylvia Nocentini has identified two major centres from which Catherine’s legenda was produced: one connected with Thomas of Siena and the other with the Carthusian Stefano Maconi.96 Like Clare’s leven, this text was often included in composite manuscripts alongside documents such as Ruusbroec’s advice to his spiritual daughter, Margaret of Meerbeek. The steady production dropped dramatically following Catherine’s canonization in 1461.97 Nevertheless, the manuscripts were still owned by communities throughout Europe. As is the case with Clare, preachers portray Catherine in a way that is perfectly in keeping with a specific Observant agenda. To reformers, it was more important to be faithful to the gospel message than to be obedient to ecclesiastical institutes that they perceived as corrupt. Catherine’s holiness did not conform to the dominant model of feminine piety that was humble, obedient, and enclosed. Instead of  diminishing the importance of some of her controversial activities (such as preaching and involvement in politics), preachers who extolled Catherine’s virtues incorporated them into their depictions of her sanctity. Significantly, they inspired the Observant Augustinian William Flete (second half of the fourteenth century) to praise her, saying, ‘in her letters and writings, in her knowledge and teaching, she was not Paul but a Paula: a teacher of teachers, a pastor of pastors, an abyss of wisdom—the high-sounding flute was revealed to her—and untiring preacher of truth’.98 While Catherine herself had lived in the world, her legenda emphasized that this was done out of necessity. The reader is left with the idea that Catherine was drawn to the contemplative life. According to the Observants who promoted her cult, she recognized the corruption in the Church and sacrificed her  life to restoring order. The fact that the lay Catherine’s fame as a ‘Dominican tertiary’ persists in modern scholarship is testament to both the scale and significance of Observant involvement in her cult.

94 As Sylvia Nocentini has shown, the Legenda was copied at least 55 times between 1395 and 1450; ‘The Legenda maior’, 346. 95 Thomas of Siena, ‘Historia disciplinae regularis instauratae in coenobiis Venetis ordinis Praedicatorum’, in Flaminius Cornelius, ed., Ecclesiae Venetae antiquis monumentis 7 (1749): 167–234, at 183. Cf. Fernanda Sorelli, ‘La production hagiographique du dominicain Tommaso Caffarini: exemples de sainteté, sens et visées d’une propagande’, in André Vauchez, ed., Faire Croire: Modalités de la diffusion et de la réception des messages religieux du XIIe au XVe siècle (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1981), pp. 189–200; Sylvia Nocentini, ‘Lo “scriptorium” di Tommaso Caffarini a Venezia’, Hagiographica 12 (2005): 79–144. 96 Nocentini, ‘The Legenda major’, 332–6. 97 Cf. Sorelli, ‘La production hagiographique’, 189–200; Nocentini, ‘Lo “scriptorium” di Tommaso’, 79–144. 98 ‘In litteris suis sive scriptis, in scientia et doctrina non Paulus sed una Paula fuit: doctrix doctorum, pastor pastorum, abyssus sapientiae, sibi revelata est fistula altisona, predicatrix veritatis infatigabilis.’ (Benedict Hackett, William Flete, OSA and Catherine of Siena: Masters of Fourteenth Century Spirituality (Villanova, PA: Augustinian Press, 1992) p. 195. The same text can be found in Robin Fawtier, ‘Catheriniana’, Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire 34 (1914), 51.) Cf. Carolyn Muessig, ‘Catherine of Siena in Late Medieval Sermons’, in Carolyn Muessig, George Ferzoco, and Beverly Mayne Kienzle, eds, A Companion to Catherine of Siena (Leiden: Brill, 2012), pp. 203–26.

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Augustinian Observants also promoted their female tertiary order with the example of a saint. Like Clare for Franciscan women and Catherine for their Dominican counterparts, Monica of Antioch, the mother of Augustine, became an  important marker of identity for Augustinian women in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.99 In early Christian history, most of what was known about Monica came from the Confessions of her son. From the late fourteenth century, this began to change and versions of her biography began to circulate in Latin and  several vernacular languages.100 As is discussed below, she also featured regularly in art and sermons at this time. In 1430, Monica’s body was brought from Ostia to Rome. On this occasion, Martin V delivered a sermon written by Andrea Biglia.101 Biglia presented Monica as a spiritual mother of the order, one to whom both Observant and non-Observant factions could relate. In later sermons preached to Augustinian audiences, particularly houses of women under the Augustinian cura, Monica became a model for the ideal Christian life. Several Augustinian tractates began to use Monica as a model of piety. Maffeo Vegio, a humanist often thought to have Augustinian connections, used Monica to demonstrate different types of ideal behaviour in at least eight works. For tertiaries, Vegio emphasized Monica’s life as a pious widow; for laywomen, his treatise on childrearing promoted Monica as the ideal example of Christian motherhood.102 In other cases, houses of women owned copies of the life of St Monica. A manuscript now in Leiden was copied by the canonesses of St Agnes in Arnhem, and contains both a copy of the leven of Monica, and other texts of spiritual instruction, including Jan van Ruusbroec’s letter to Margaret of Meerbeek and translations of Catherine of Alexandria’s Legenda.103 Perhaps more significantly, versions of a letter purportedly written by Augustine to ‘nuns’ who followed the Augustinian rule began to circulate.104 Instead of Monica’s excessive piety and frustrating attachment to her son that can be seen in the Confessions, this letter expounds on Monica’s virtuous life. Beginning with 99 Ian Holgate, ‘Santa Monica, Venice and the Vivarini’, in Louise Bordua and Anne Dunlop, eds, Art and the Augustinian Order in Early Renaissance Italy (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 163–82. 100 Fifteenth-century Latin vitae include: KBR MS 00846–00857 164r–169v (1401–1500); Paris BNF lat. 05338 28r–37v (1401–1500); Vat. Lat 03601 2r–20v (1401–1500) metric life; Rome, Angelic Codex 1208 13–41v (1401–1500) metric life. Fifteenth-century Dutch texts include Leiden UB LTK 1211 18r–82v; Leiden UB MS BPC 2692, ff. 275–77 (owned by canonesses of St Agnes in Arnhem); London BL Add 20034, ff. 116v–118r (owned by convent of St Ursula in Delft); KBR MS IV 4; Vienna, ÖNB 15418, ff. 71r–73v. More Middle Dutch and German lives are listed by Werner Williams-Krapp, Die deutschen und niederländischen Legendare des Mittelalters: Studien zu ihrer Überlieferungs-, Text- und Wirkungsgeschichte (Tübingen: M. Niemeyer, 1986), p. 444. A number of fifteenth-century breviaries include prayers to Monica (Den Haag KB MS 133 E 8), KB MS 133 E 8) or give particular attention to her feast (Weert, Gemeentemuseum MS CMW 17). 101 F. Meredith Gill, ‘“Remember me at the altar of the Lord”: Saint Monica’s Gift to Rome’, in J. C. Schnaubelt and F. Van Fleteren, eds, Collectanea Augustiniana, Augustine in Iconography: History and Legends (New York: Lang, 1999), pp. 550–1. 102 Vegio frequently used Monica as a model of the ideal mother. Cf. Vincent J. Horkan, Educational Theories and Principles of Maffeo Vegio (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1953), p. 8; Margaret King, ‘The School of Infancy’, in Konrad Eisenbichler and Nicholas Tepestra, eds, The Renaissance in the Streets, Schools and Studies (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), pp. 52–3, n. 40. 103 Leiden UB MS BPC 2692, ff. 275–77 (Life of Monica) ff. 139–42. 104 Erpernburg SchlB 9 44v–47v (1426–75); Münster UB 22 185–86 (1459).

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her pious childhood in which she favoured prayers over childish games, the letter details her marital virtue, her chaste widowhood, and most importantly her kindness to the poor, orphans, and the dying. Instead of a biography, this letter promoted a model of sanctity for the holy laywoman or holy widow, and became the basis for rules, treatises, and sermons that circulated throughout Europe in the fifteenth century.105 A manuscript now in the collection of the Royal Library in Brussels includes the leven of ‘Sinte Monicha’ to whom it refers as ‘the mother of our holy father Augustine’.106 As is typical of the later medieval hagiographic tradition, Monica was portrayed as being born into a noble family and as pious from her youth. Although she was Christian and desired to dedicate her virginity to Christ, filial duty demanded that she marry the pagan Patrocolus. The leven contains few details of her early life, and primarily focuses on her importance in the life of her son and her influence on his conversion. By drawing a direct link between Monica’s influence and Augustine’s spirituality, the leven emphasizes her importance to the Augustinian family. One of the many ‘new’ legends associated with Monica became the source for what came to be seen as the Augustinian tertiary habit. The leven recounts a vision in which the Virgin Mary appeared to Monica and instructed her in the proper manner of conduct after the death of her husband. In this same vision, the Virgin reminded Monica to remain veiled, and gave her a belt, which Monica later gave to Augustine after his baptism.107 The fact that this belt was worn by both mother and son meant that it became a model for both male and female habits associated with the Augustinian family. The mandatory veil often led to the diverse groups of women associated with the Augustinian family being referred to as ‘mantellatae’.108 Artistic representations portraying the veiled Monica wearing the Augustinian belt became extremely common in the fifteenth century, though other aspects of the dress of women known as ‘Augustinian’ varied.109 At the same time, Monica was frequently depicted as the mother or protectress of tertiaries in art, and featured prominently in the writings associated with tertiary houses.110 105 Erik Saak notes that this sermon was first included with the Sermones ad fratres in eremo in a fifteenth-century manuscript (Berlin, StB theo. Lat. qu. 45). Cf. Eric L. Saak, Creating Augustine: Augustine and Augustinianism in the Later Middle Ages (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), pp.  91, 95, 99. It is also included in Augustinus, Sermones ad hermitas (Strassburg: Johann Prüss, before 1478), 102–103v; Augustinus, Sermones sancti Augustini ad hermitas (Paris: Petit, 1503), 108r–110r, as well a fifteenth-century manuscript from Strasbourg and sixteenth-century manuscript from Paris that are now in the Bodleian (see Alan Coates, A Catalogue of Books Printed in the Fifteenth Century now in the Bodleian Library (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), pp. 336–7), as well as others from Italy and Spain. 106 KBR MS 21875, f. 66v. 107 Sally Anne Hickson, Women, Art and Architectural Patronage in Renaissance Mantua: Matrons, Mystics, and Monasteries (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2012), pp. 37–9. 108 This term technically means one covered in a mantel. It was widely used to refer to various groups of quasi-religious women. See Anna Benvenuti-Papi, ‘Mantellates’, in André Vauchez, ed., Encyclopedia of the Middle Ages (Cambridge: James Clarke & Co. 2002). 109 Hickson, Women, Art & Architectural Patronage, 37–9. 110 Holgate, ‘Santa Monica’, 175–8.

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Traditional understanding of group identity is largely based on a normative conception of culture, or on the idea that people within certain groups tend to share a set of ideals and beliefs that are continuously reinforced in a similar manner. While this provides a convincing and useful metanarrative, when dealing with a network of disparate communities that have been given a single name, the story is more complex. By the fifteenth century, women had the option of embracing an institutional identity which was supported by prescriptive texts as well as Observant prescriptive documents. While images of beguines and tertiaries as ‘new nuns’ dominate modern histories, looking at pastoralia that emerged from the milieu of women’s communities reveals that this designation was neither prevalent nor mandatory. Images of socially engaged and active laywomen are found alongside images of a contemplative Clare, Catherine, or Monica. In many cases, it seems that communities of women acknowledged or even venerated both. Instead of the monolithic cohesive shared history and values that traditional histories have led us to expect, it appears that female communities recognized and were presented with diverse models of devotion. The persistence of multiple identities among communities of non-monastic women serves as an indication that changes at a canonical level did not necessarily reflect the reality of these communities.

5 Order and Identity in Women’s Communities The introduction to this book opened with words from the epilogue to Alijt Bake’s spiritual autobiography Mijn beghin ende voortganck. Alijt Bake describes her role as that of a spider, saying: ‘The spider spins a web in order to catch flies, but runs the risk of yielding no results. In the same way, I find ways of catching souls for the Lord, but do not know where my efforts will lead.’1 Alijt was committed to the education and edification of women under her care. In this regard, she was not exceptional. Women’s writings and other texts associated with women’s houses show that women were active in educating women under their care and shaping the identities of their communities.2 Although there are relatively few surviving female-authored writings, and those that exist are geographically and chronologically dispersed, the manuscript (and later printed) circulation of texts and translations makes considering them as a group logical.3 The picture that emerges from an analysis of these texts allows a sideways glimpse into the inner workings of a quasi-religious community. Instead of the narratives of institutionalization found in order chronicles and official histories, it would appear that the theological vision of these women showed a remarkable and energetic openness to diverse paths towards holiness. Rather than being ‘Franciscans’, ‘Dominicans’, or ‘Augustinians’, 1 Quoted in Wybren Scheepsma, ed., ‘De trechter en de spin. Metaforen voor mystiek leiderschap van Alijt Bake’, Ons geestelijk erf 69 (1995): 222–34. 2 Cf. Anne Winston-Allen, Convent Chronicles: Women Writing about Women and Reform in the Late Middle Ages (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2004); Patricia Stoop, Schrijven in commissie. De zusters uit het Brusselse klooster Jericho en de preken van hun biechtvaders ca. 1456–1510 (Hilversum: Verloren, 2013). 3 The writings associated with many religious women circulated widely. Many manuscripts containing the vitae of the so-called mulieres religiosae from thirteenth-century Liège continued to circulate into the fifteenth century in both Latin and vernacular translation. Cf. Suzan Folkerts, ‘The Manuscript Tradition of the Vita Mariae Oigniacensis in the Later Middle Ages’, in Anneke Mulder-Bakker, ed., Mary of Oignies, Mother of Salvation (Leiden: Brill, 2006), pp. 221–41; Suzan Folkerts, Voorbeeld op schrift. De overlevering en toe-eigening van de ‘vita’ van Christina Mirabilis in de late middeleeuwen (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2012). The writings of Catherine of Bologna were translated into French, Spanish, and Portuguese, and continued to be recopied as late as the sixteenth century. Biographies of Clare of Assisi and Catherine of Siena circulated throughout Northern Europe. Catherine’s own writings were frequently edited and copied. Texts associated with Birgitta of Sweden were frequently translated into various vernacular languages. (Cf. Andersen, ‘Birgitta of Sweden’, 205–30.) Although these women came from different places, it is likely that they would have known of one another. Cf. Nancy Bradley Warren, The Embodied Word: Female Spiritualities, Contested Orthodoxies and English Religious Cultures, 1350–1700 (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2010), pp. 19–59. For other examples, see Karl Stooker and Theo Verbeij, Collecties op Orde: Middelnederlandse handschriften uit kloosters en semi-religieuze gemeenschappen in de Nederlanden (Leuven: Peeters, 1997).

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these women appear to have been simply women who sought a direct relationship with the divine that was consistent with their circumstances and open to changing communal needs. This chapter explores the contributions that female religious leaders made to education in their communities. It devotes particular attention to themes that were important to women and issues of authority. C O L L A B O R AT I O N A N D S P I R I T U A L C A R E Non-monastic or quasi-religious communities were open to diverse models of religious life. The model of contemplative, enclosed, and obedient tertiaries who embraced the Franciscan charism seems to have been as much a product of Observant imagination as the idea of a pristine age of Christianity. Although the Observant conception of Franciscan tertiaries still dominates modern thought, it is quite clear that this is not supported by historical evidence.4 The available women’s writings are filled with creativity, energy, and awareness of contemporary theological debates, but do not generally discuss order identity in a way that would be recognizable to reformers. Moreover, as is evident from the earlier discussion of pastoralia connected to women’s communities, men who had frequent and direct contact with these women were supportive of their spiritual views.5 The primary way in which men provided religious instruction to women under their care was through preaching. Male clerics preached sermons that conveyed messages aimed at instructing women in particular aspects of spirituality or theology.6 Women were officially banned from preaching, yet they influenced the content of sermons and were active in compiling sermon collections. These were often read aloud in women’s communities for instruction or edification.7 Female community leaders frequently worked with sympathetic preachers to create programmes of education or even spiritual formation. In some cases, female community leaders invited particular preachers to address their communities, or even requested sermons on specific topics. The evidence of this is fragmentary, but found frequently enough to suggest that this was a common occurrence throughout Europe in both traditional convents and other religious communities. Given the sincere desire that many Observant preachers showed for the education and edification of women’s communities, it is no surprise to find that they often collaborated with female community leaders who shared their views. This was as beneficial to the men as to the women, as the female community leaders 4 For a discussion of the Observant role in the construction of orders, see Alison More, ‘Dynamics of Regulation, Innovation, and Invention’, in Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages and Beyond, pp. 85–110. 5 This was discussed in detail in Chapter 4 of this book. 6 Claire Waters, Angels and Earthly Creatures: Preaching, Performance, and Gender in the Later Middle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), pp. 2–8. 7 Women also found numerous other methods of public exhortation. For a discussion, see the essays in Beverly Mayne Kienzle and Pamela Walker, eds, Women Preachers and Prophets through Two Millennia of Christianity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998).

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were both more aware of the composition of their communities and of particular theological points or behavioural issues that needed to be addressed.8 Sermons were important to the community of Galilea in Ghent where Alijt Bake was prioress. The oldest manuscript containing texts by Alijt includes a compilation of sermons. Though once ascribed to Johannes Tauler (whom Alijt greatly admired), these texts are largely an arrangement of the works of Meister Eckhart with additional texts by Jordanus of Quedlinburg.9 In addition, the same manuscript includes five short texts that are generally called ‘monastic reflections’ written by Alijt.10 Closer consideration of these ‘reflections’ indicates that they are quite simply short discourses, which express both admiration for the preachers and  disagreement with certain points presented.11 Although they are not called ‘sermons’, it is quite likely that they were read in her community. As is discussed later, an analysis of Alijt’s specific thoughts shows that they had definite implications for the ways she wanted her sisters to think about religious identity, religious order, and models of religious life. An examination of the available material from houses of quasi-religious women in the later middle ages shows that these women were frequently literate and engaged in intellectual debate. Patricia Stoop’s painstaking research on female scribes has drawn attention to at least 240 Middle Dutch sermons that were copied or recorded by female scribes in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Stoop differentiates between ‘redactors’ (women who recorded the words of their confessors), and ‘editors’ (who arranged and copied sermons).12 Until recently, the role of convent scribes has received remarkably little attention. Though not often discussed in mainstream scholarship and seldom listed as an official position in convent records, most women’s religious houses included female scribes who copied texts in both Latin and the vernacular.13 One particularly common practice among women who are known to have recorded sermons was that of re-preaching. Convent chronicles often relate tales of 8 On the social composition of beguine communities, see Walter Simons, Cities of Ladies: Beguine Communities in the Medieval Low Countries, 1200–1565 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001), pp. 91–117. 9 KBR, MS 643–44, 114r–154v (Johannes Tauler and Meister Eckhart), 154v–159r (Jordanus of Quedlinburg). Cf. Jan Deschamps and H. Mulder, Inventaris van de Middelnederlandse handschriften van de Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België (Brussels: Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België, 1998), 2–7. As Joni de Mol has made clear, an examination of the manuscript as a whole presents a very clear image of Alijt’s views on the spiritual life. See Joni de Mol, ‘Een vreemde eend in de bijt? De teksten van Johannes Tauler, Jordanus van Quedlinburg en Alijt Bake in hs. Brussel, KB, 643-44’, Ons geestelijk erf 84 (2013): 99–119. 10 Cf. Wybren Scheepsma. Medieval Religious Women in the Low Countries: The ‘Modern Devotion’, The Canonesses of Windesheim, and Their Writings, trans. David Johnson (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2004), pp. 197–226. 11 KBR MS 643–44, ff. 159r–198v. 12 Patricia Stoop, ‘Nuns’ Literacy in Sixteenth-Century Convent Sermons from the Cistercian Abbey of Ter Kameren’, in Virginia Blanton, Veronica O’Mara, and Patricia Stoop, eds, Nuns’ Literacies in Medieval Europe: The Hull Dialogue (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), pp. 293–312, at 293–5. Cf. Winston-Allen, Convent Chronicles. 13 Cynthia Cyrus, The Scribes for Women’s Convents in Late Medieval Germany (Toronto: The University of Toronto Press, 2009), passim. For monastic records, see pp. 31 and 230, n. 24.

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scribes who were given the gift of miraculous memory and could repeat (or reproduce) the words of a sermon exactly as it had been delivered. A certain preacher who visited the community of Jericho was upset by the claim that a nun could have recorded his words accurately. However, when presented with the sermon text, the preacher was astonished, and claimed that it reflected his delivery more closely than his own notes.14 The topos of miraculous memory was often invoked in the vitae or sermons concerning saints. In one instance that was often repeated, Robert of Sorbon described an occasion on which St Monica (the mother of Augustine) heard Ambrose preach. Upon her return home, she recited his words verbatim for her son.15 An Italian version of the life of Mary Magdalene by Domenico Cavalca relates that while Martha was ill, her nurse Martilla attended Jesus’s sermons. When Martilla returned, she recounted the Saviour’s precise words to Martha.16 However, ‘re-preaching’ was neither always nor necessarily miraculous. As Mary Carruthers has demonstrated, the cultural significance of memory in the middle ages was radically different from today.17 It was not uncommon for sermons to be structured around a number of mnemonic devices. Many of these incorporated texts (such as saints’ lives, biblical or para-biblical literature) which would have been familiar to women who lived a quasi-religious life. A sermon by Brugman gives some indication of how this may have occurred: Just like good people, when they hear something good in the collation: every one of them tries to remember something. And when they come together, everyone recounts a good thing that has been heard. Just like Ruth and her mother made a cake together of the ears that they had gleaned and together they were happy (Ruth 2) so do good people rejoice when they come together and everyone shares good things that had been heard.18

14 ‘Ick weete niet hoe het moghelijck is dat met eens te hooren soo wel te treffen. Het sijn mijne eijghen woorden, ghelijck oft ick die op dat pampier ghesponghen hadden.’ (Quoted in Patricia Stoop, ‘The Writing Sisters of Jericho: Authors or Copyists?’, in Roger Andersson, ed., Constructing the Medieval Sermon (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), pp. 275–308.) 15 Cited in Nicole Bériou, ‘The Right of Women to Give Religious Instruction in the Thirteenth Century’, in Beverly Mayne Kienzle and Pamela Walker, eds, Women Preachers and Prophets through Two Millennia of Christianity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), pp. 134–45 (at 139). 16 Domenico Cavalca, ‘Vita di S. Maria Maddalena’, in Bartolomeo Sorio’, ed., Vite de’ santi padri (Trieste: Lloyd Austriaco, 1858), p. 331. Cf. Eliana Corbari, Vernacular Theology: Dominican Sermons and Audience in Late Medieval Italy (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013), pp. 128–33. I would like to thank Eliana Corbari for drawing my attention to this text. 17 Mary Carruthers, The Book of Memory. A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). 18 ‘Gelick als guede menschen wanneer sij wat guets hoeren in colacien, soe pijnt hem een yegelick wat te onthalden. Ende wanneer sij dan bij-een sijn, soe seget een yegelick wat hij guets gehoort hevet. Gelick als Ruth ende oer moeder te samen een koeck macten vanden (266) aren die sij gelesen hadden, ende waren vrolick te samen, alsoe verblijden hem quede menschen te samen als een yegelick seget, wat hi guets gehoert hevet.’ Cited in Thom Mertens, ‘The Sermons of Johannes Brugman, OFM (†1473): Preservation and Form’, in Roger Andersson, ed., Constructing the Medieval Sermon (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), pp. 265–6.

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In this way, records of sermons could be pieced together and become part of a community’s textual identity.19 In religious and quasi-religious communities, sermons were often read in the refectory and community members often recounted excerpts from sermons they had heard in small memory-books known as rapiaria. The frequency with which the phenomenon of re-preaching occurs in texts connected with women’s communities suggests that it had some real-world cognate. Moreover, sermon accounts associated with female houses typically include markers of orality: a manuscript from the beguinage in Mechelen repeatedly includes the phrase, ‘we have heard’ (wij hebben gehoord ), or variations thereof, indicating that it was, at least in theory, a record of an oral event.20 The Brussels community of the Monasterium Rose Beate Marie Plantata in Jericho was an important centre of sermon production. In 1459, Maria van Pee, a canoness from that community, recorded sermons delivered by her confessor Jan Storm (†1488).21 She claims to have copied them from memory, and laments that she was unable to capture the sermons verbatim in its entirety, but because of her ‘dull-wittedness’ (plompheit) could only retain the ‘bare sense’ (bloeten sin).22 It would seem that the sermons were originally recorded for her personal use, but Maria later made them available to the community for education and spiritual edification.23 Maria went on to copy over seventy-seven of Storm’s sermons.24 The  sisters Elizabeth van Poylc and Barbara Cuyermans copied the sermons of Dominican and Franciscan preachers who visited the convent. An additional forty-four of Storm’s sermons were recorded by Janne Colijns, who, as Stoop has pointed out, compiled and re-copied sermons rather than recording them from memory. The result of this has been a large surviving collection of manuscripts associated with a women’s convent from this area, which has only begun to receive scholarly attention. These sermons address a wide array of pastoral issues, but do not seem to have been particularly concerned with order identity.25

19 On the subject of textual identity, see Alison More, ‘Religious Order and Textual Identity: The  Case of Franciscan Tertiary Women’, in Nuns’ Literacies: The Antwerp Dialogue (Leiden: Brill, 2017), pp. 69-79. 20 KBR MS II 2934. This is discussed at more length later in the present chapter. 21 Cf. Stoop, Schrijven in commissie, 85–90, 190–216. 22 ‘Maer dat ic uuten gronde mijns herten beclage, es dat ic soe plomp van begripe ben dat ic alle die scoene redenen ende auctorijteyten der heilegen welke hi in sinen sermoenen alligeerde, niet en heb connen van woerde te woerde onthouden om te scriven soe hi se schoen uutleide. Maer alleen soe heb ic den bloeten sin daer af ghepijnt te onthouden soe ic naest conste.’ (fol. 3v) [‘But what I do lament from the bottom of my heart is that I am so dull in my wits that all the beautiful reasonings, and the authorities of the saints that he adduced in his sermons, I have not been able to retain word for word so as to write them down as he explained them so beautifully. But I only tried to retain the bare sense of them as best I could.’] (Transcription and translation found in Patricia Stoop, ‘SermonWriting Women: Fifteenth-Century Vernacular Sermons from the Augustinian Convent of Jericho in Brussels’, Journal of Medieval Religious Cultures 38 (2012): 218–19.) 23 Cf. Stoop, ‘Sermon-Writing Women’, 219. 24 These are recorded in KBR MS 4367–68. 25 As is discussed later in this chapter, the community of Jericho is particularly interesting for a discussion on order identity as it had been founded through the merger of two communities with different order identities. See Stoop, ‘Sermon-Writing Women’, 211–12.

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Similar scribal activity took place in other convents throughout the Low Countries. A sister Liesbeth from the house of Diepenveen copied eight collections of sermons preached by Johannes Brinckerink.26 Texts were copied in houses such as Leliendaal near Mechelen, Meerbeek near Brussels, Galilea in Ghent, Facons in Antwerp, and Jerusalem in Utrecht. A female convent in Maaseik had an active scriptorium that was responsible for copying at least 156 texts in Dutch and Latin.27 Similar libraries exist for other houses of women in the Low Countries, including convents in Arnhem, Diepenveen, Soeterbeek, Limburg, and various houses of the canonesses of Windesheim.28 More significantly, as is discussed in more detail below, there is ample evidence that, in addition to recording these sermons, female scribes (such as Alijt) were instrumental in adapting them to meet the needs and to reflect the changing identities of their communities.29 A manuscript in Brussels offers some insight into the sermons preached at the beguinage in Mechelen.30 A passage near the opening of this manuscript reads: ‘The venerable lord master, Willem vanden Brande, our parish priest from the large beguinage in Mechelen, preached concerning the following points and psalms’ (‘Dese navolghende puntten en sallemen heeft ghepreecht den eerwerdighe heer meester Willem vanden Brande onsen Prochijaen vant groot Beghijnhof tot Mechelen’).31 The ‘puntten’ in question seem to include liturgical directions, translations of texts from the hours, and exegesis or explanations of the prayers and psalms. The same manuscript contains a compilation of excerpts from sermons preached at the convent. A note at the beginning of the Mechelen manuscript indicates that it was owned by Josinkens Goewaerts, a woman who lived in the beguinage, but makes no statement about her role in producing the manuscript. The scribe frequently uses the first person plural when discussing the texts; the source for many of the sermons (‘sermoenen’) is what ‘we heard’ (‘wij hebben gehoord’) or what ‘we learned’ (‘wij gheleert hoe dat . . . ’);32 the texts are frequently referred to as ‘our lessons’ (‘onser leerighen’).33 Select passages of sermons were included and expounded upon; however, entire sermons are rare. As the scribes who recorded the sermons were obviously present when they were preached in the beguinage, it seems that a  member of the beguine community recorded this text. The frequent use of first-person plural pronouns suggests that this was produced communally. The manuscript is large, 661 folia, meaning that it was unlikely to have been a personal rapiarium, and was possibly used as a text for instruction. 26 Cf. Scheepsma, Medieval Religious Women, 130–1. 27 Jan Deschamps, ‘Handschriften uit het Sint-Agnesklooster te Maaseik’, in Overdruk uit het Album Dr. M. Bussels (Tongeren: George Michiels, 1967), pp. 167–9. 28 Stooker and Verbeij, Collecties op Orde; Maria Sherwood-Smith and Patricia Stoop, Repertorium van Middelnederlanse preken in hanschriften tot en met 1550 (Leuven: Peeters, 2003). 29 As Johanneke Uphoff has demonstrated, it is also possible to use the Nuremberg library as a  record of the sisters’ identity. See Johanneke Uphoff, ‘The Nun Made Word: Expressions of Religious  Identity of the Poor Clares in Nuremberg’ (unpublished MA diss., Radboud University, Nijmegen, 2013). 30 KBR MS II 2934. 31 KBR MS II 2934, f. 1. 32 KBR MS II 2934, ff. 4r, 11r, 28r, 39v, 115v, 184v, 230v, 659r. 33 KBR MS II 2934, ff. 3v, 29r, 243r, 563r, 649v, 653v.

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Although the Mechelen manuscript dates from the sixteenth century, it is consistent with the references to preaching, learning, and community in fifteenthcentury women’s communities, particularly in that preachers from a variety of orders addressed the sisters and the women recorded parts of their sermons. While they have been studied most extensively in the Low Countries, it would appear that similar practices were occurring throughout Europe.34 In the same way, many other abbesses or female leaders of communities invited specific preachers to address their communities. In some cases, they even requested that certain issues be addressed or that sermons be focused on a particular theme. In informal communities this seems to have been connected to areas of theological interest or moral necessity. In a small ascetic-domestic household of the German widow Gertrude of Ortenberg (†1335) and her companion Heilike of Staufenberg, preachers and members of local quasi-religious groups were invited to participate in theological discussions.35 Gertrude had seen her widowhood as an opportunity to take control of her own life. She had previously made the acquaintance of poor sisters (arme swestern) in Offenburg, and she now chose to live that form of life. Similarly, the beguines from Mechelen often invited preachers to return when they had been particularly pleased with their performance.36 The preaching practices occurring in houses of non-monastic women mirrored common practice in more traditional houses. The German Clarissan Ursula Haider is one example. In 1431, Ursula made her profession in the monastery of Valduna. She later became abbess there, and transformed it into an Observant community by 1460. Around 1480, she was sent to reform the unenclosed penitential community of Villingen, which may have had ties with the Franciscans. Together with a small party of nuns, Ursula not only reformed Villingen, but also transformed it into a thriving literary centre to which she regularly invited Observant Franciscan preachers. In particular, the Observant Franciscan Johannes Pauli delivered at least 28 sermons at Villingen between 1493 and 1494.37 The Villingen chronicle relates that Haider encouraged women in her convent to copy sermons as a means of providing instruction in both theology and grammar.38 Similar scribal activities were carried out in several houses of Clarissan and Dominican women throughout 34 For a discussion relating to Italy, see Corbari, Vernacular Theology. For other countries, see the volumes connected to the network: Blanton et al., The Hull Dialogue; Virginia Blanton, Veronica O’Mara, and Patricia Stoop, eds, Nuns’ Literacies in Medieval Europe: The Kansas City Dialogue (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015). 35 The biography was only discovered in the 1980s, and has not yet appeared in a modern edition. For further references, see Anneke Mulder-Bakker, ‘Fromme Frauen in Straßburg und Meister Eckhart: Gertrud von Ortenberg und Heilke von Staufenberg’, Meister-Eckhart-Jahrbuch (2014): 55–74. Mulder-Bakker, Freimut Löser and Michael Hopf are preparing a study of the Leven and its meaning, as well as an English translation of the Life of Gertrude. 36 Cf. Nicole Bériou, ‘La prédication au béguinage de Paris pendant l’année liturgique 1272–1273’, Recherches Augustiniennes 13 (1978): 105–229. 37 Bert Roest, Order and Disorder. The Poor Clares between Foundation and Reform (Leiden: Brill, 2013), pp. 290–1. Cf. Cyrus, The Scribes for Women’s Convents, 69, 184, 205; Robert G. Warnock, ed., Die Predigten Johannes Paulis (Munich: Beck, 1970). 38 Juliana Ernst, Die Chronik des Bickenklosters zu Villingen, ed. Karl Jordan Glatz (Tubingen: Fues, 1881).

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Europe.39 In some cases (such as the Italian Clarissan Battista Alfani) scribes invoked a particular order identity.40 However, this does not appear to have been a primary concern in houses of women known as tertiaries. The existence of women such as Alijt, Ursula, and Battista challenges the prevalent myths of feminine passivity, illiteracy, and lack of theological engagement. Moreover, the content of their writings provides a glimpse of issues that were of interest to medieval women, including education and community life. The influences of women on preachers and the centrality of women’s contributions to the ostensibly clerical genre of the convent sermon have been largely overlooked. E D U C AT I O N I N WO M E N ’ S C O M M U N I T I E S Although Alijt had resolved to dedicate herself to religious life from her youth, she was uncertain about which form this dedication would take. Her earliest spiritual friends followed a variety of paths, demonstrating to the young Alijt that it was possible to combine the via activa and the via contemplativa. True to the spirit of her day, Alijt longed to return to an earlier, more authentic, form of religious life that involved a personal connection with the divine. For a time, Alijt was attracted to Bethlehem, the reformed Colettine house in Ghent. However, after reading works attributed to Rulman Merswin (†1382)—particularly The Book of Nine Rocks (one of his short treatises on the spiritual life)—she was attracted to the Friends of God movement and desired to live a life of holiness within the secular world.41 In this context, Alijt’s visions helped her to reinvigorate the convent of Galilea, where she lived as a sister of the common life. Although very young and inexperienced, Alijt soon became involved in community leadership and quickly advanced in rank. At this time, she advocated for her sisters to be permitted to form their own identities, and worked to ensure that they had the tools to do so (a goal she expressed using the metaphor  of the spider).42 Perhaps influenced by the writings of Merswin, Alijt authored a number of short, spiritual treatises designed to guide the readers (in Alijt’s case, her sisters) along the path of spiritual progress. Like Merswin, Alijt combines vivid metaphors, numbered lists of virtues, and stories drawn from daily life to present a rich tapestry of exempla, drawn from sermons, hagiography, and mystical writings that her ‘spiritual children’ could use as the basis for their behaviour.43 39 For a discussion about the activities of female scribes, see Stoop, Schrijven, passim; Winston-Allen, Convent Chronicles, passim. 40 Lezlie Knox, Creating Clare of Assisi: Female Franciscan Identities in Later Medieval Italy (Leiden: Brill, 2008), pp. 172–84; Roest, Order and Disorder, 323–25. 41 Rulman Merswin, Das buch von neun felsen (Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 1859). On problems relating to Merswin’s authorship, see James M. Clark, The Great German Mystics: Eckhart, Tauler and Suso (London: Blackwell, 1949; reprint New York: Courier Dover Publications, 2013), pp. 75–97. 42 Quoted in Scheepsma, ‘De trechter’, 222–34. 43 Cf. Scheepsma, Medieval Religious Women, 210–93.

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Alijt Bake’s autobiography states that the female leaders of the communities she had encountered as a young woman held official responsibility for education; it also makes it clear that this task was not always adequately fulfilled. She writes: And I saw the paths that they were following and that they taught me, which were so many levels below me. Then I saw how they showed me the way when I asked them to. And to speak in terms of a metaphor: it was as if I was up in the loft of the church in order to climb into the tower and had asked those standing down below, ‘How can I get to the tower?’ And as if they had answered then, ‘Come down here to us, we’ll go get some ladders and tie them together and place them here against the outside of the church and climb up that way.’44

Nor was Alijt particularly unique in her concern for the education of women under her care. Instead, women (mainly female community leaders) took an active role in providing programmes of instruction and edification throughout later medieval Europe.45 In this way, the leaders—to use Alijt’s image—took on the role of the spider and created spiritual and intellectual webs. The words of these preachers or excerpts of instructive texts were recorded by sisters. In some instances, abbesses such as Ursula Haider encouraged this as part of a more comprehensive programme of education. In others, sisters who worked in the scriptoria or who recorded texts for personal use had more autonomy. The record of these words became a kind of communal textual identity. Although the sisters clearly had an interest in developing a religious identity, the insistence on membership in religious

44 ‘Ende ick sach die weeghen die sij wandelen ende die sij mij leerden, die wel soo veel graden onder mij waeren. Dan soo sach ick hoe sij mij den wech wijsden, als ick hun daer near vrachde. Ende recht near dese ghelijkenisse te speeken: Of [op] dat ick “op het” verheemsel van der kercken gheweest hadde om boven inden torre te clemmen, end hadde hun ghewraecht van verren, aen die die hier beneden stonden: “Waer sal ick op den torre comen?” Ende sij dan gheseijdt hadden: “Compt hier beneden bij ons, wij sullen gaen halen leeren, ende binden die leeren d’een aen dandere, ende legghense hier buijten op die kercke, ende clemmen asoo dearin.” ’ (This text is edited by Bernhard Spaapen, ‘De autobiografie van Alijt Bake’ Ons geestelijk erf 41 (1967): 209–301, 321–62. Hereafter this text is referred to as ‘Bake, De Autobiografie’.) The translation is taken from Anne Bollmann, ‘ “Being a Woman on my Own”: Alijt Bake (1415–1455) as Reformer of the Inner Self ’, in Anneke Mulder-Bakker, ed., Seeing and Knowing: Women’s Learning in Medieval Europe, 1200–1550 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004), pp. 67–94, at 67. 45 There are also a number of instances of women being instrumental in the education of men: A copy of a sixteenth-century will from a priest from Esse recounts the valuable role a beguine named Maijke played in his early education. In gratitude for Maijke’s gift, this priest left a bequest to the beguinages of St Elizabeth in Ghent to facilitate the education of poor children. This, together with the wealth of unexplored information in beguine archives and chronicles, shows that beguines continued to hold an active and prominent role in the early medieval spiritual climate (Jean Béthune, Cartulaire du béguinage de Sainte-Elisabeth à Gand (Bruges: A. de Zuttere, 1883), no. 251, 208. Cf. Simons, Cities of Ladies, 139–40). Perhaps the most familiar example of this is Colette of Corbie. In order to provide the required care for the spiritual needs of the sisters, Colette enlisted the help of her confessor, Henri de Baume, to recruit and instruct friars who adhered to the Observant programme of reform. By revising Colette’s statutes and adding sections on spiritual care, Henri detailed the ways in which these friars (known as the Coletans) were to minister to the Colettine nuns. See Henricus de Balma, Statuta Fr. Henrici de Balma, primi Vicarii Colettinorum Monasteriis s. Colettae inservientium, ed. H. Lippens, Sacris Erudiri 1 (1948): 261–76. Cf. Bert Roest, Franciscan Literature of Religious Instruction Before the Council of Trent (Leiden: Brill, 2004), pp. 156–7 (esp. 157, n. 117).

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orders that is seen in Observant chronicles is conspicuously absent from texts written by the leaders of extra-regular female religious communities.46 In cases where ideals were advanced in a sermon that were not compatible with the ethos of a particular community, female leaders were not shy about putting forward their own vision. At times, Alijt Bake disagreed with various points in the sermons of Jordanus of Quedlinburg. In particular, Jordanus spoke of three groups that accompanied Jesus on his entry to Jerusalem: the teachers and scribes, the lay followers, and his disciples. According to Jordanus, monks and religious should identify with the third group, as they were committed to the spiritually advanced state of contemplation. In one of her commentaries, identified as ‘Louteringsnacht van de actie’ (‘The Purifying Night of Action’), Alijt nuanced this argument, saying that while religious were, indeed, close to Jesus, those who practised active reform were closest to Christ as they followed his mandate of spreading the Christian message.47 Alijt proceeded to identify a number of saints who were known for their lives of action, including Mary Magdalene, John the Baptist, and Nicholas of Myra. She also names three ‘seers’ who had progressed through contemplation to reach the perfection of the active life, namely Mechthild, Margaret the Lame, and Catherine of Siena (‘Machtilidis, Magriete de lame, and Katrien van Senis’).48 At first glance, it may seem curious that Alijt limited herself to these three women when many prominent models of active devotion are referred to in her writings. In particular, she frequently mentions the quintessential model of active devotion, Francis of Assisi. Moreover, Alijt was devoted to Colette of Corbie, who travelled widely in the service of reform.49 Alijt’s community of Galilea in Ghent also owned copies of texts purported to be written by Birgitta of Sweden, who also travelled extensively and was involved in both secular and religious institutions.50 However, the three ‘seers’ that she mentioned lived lives that were similar those of the Windesheim community in important ways: all three women chose to live outside of the traditional structures of religious life, all three had some association with the education of women, and all three were steered towards a more conventional path towards the end of their lives. The name ‘Mechthild’ probably refers to Mechthild of Magdeburg (†c. 1282), the celebrated author of Das fließende Licht der Gottheit (The Flowing Light of the Godhead). Although Das fließende Licht is written in the first person and describes ‘personal revelations’, it tells us surprisingly little about Mechthild’s historical life. Close reading reveals that Mechthild came from a relatively influential family in Southern Germany. She appears to have made a conscious choice to follow a religious path without entering a traditional convent and is commonly known as a ‘beguine’. However, at the end of her life this option was no longer practical and

46 The concept of textual identity is discussed in more detail in More, ‘Religious Order and Textual Identity’. 47 Cf. Scheepsma, Medieval Religious Women, 211–13. 48 KBR MS 643–44, f. 160 r. 49 Scheepsma, Medieval Religious Women, 203. 50 Stooker and Verbeij, Collecties, 2: 156–8, nn. 458–63. Cf. Brigit Morris, St. Birgitta of Sweden (Suffolk: Boydell and Brewer, 1999).

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Mechthild entered the Cistercian convent of Helfta.51 Mechthild worked on Das fließende Licht throughout her life. When she was old, frail, and blind, she completed it with the assistance of the Helfta nuns. Although her writings display suitable humility in turning down requests to teach, she was recognized as being able to do so. Vernacular and Latin editions of her book circulated widely after her death and were often promoted as a tool for convent education. Mechthild remained highly regarded as a spiritual and educational authority in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.52 Manuscripts of the original German and Latin translations of her book could be found throughout Europe.53 Margaret the Lame, or Margareta ‘Contracta’ (†c. 1250), was a recluse from Liège.54 Her short vita focuses on her suffering, rejection, and poverty. At one point, her hagiographer recounts that Christ spoke to her saying, ‘Be assured that no one will ever come to you who is like you in awareness and suffering.’55 During her childhood, Margaret suffered the ridicule of her neighbours, pain from her disability, and beatings from her mother.56 However, these tribulations were so great a joy to Margaret that she did not want to leave the world lest her sufferings cease. As well as her physical pain, Margaret experienced spiritual and psychological torments regarding her worthiness before Christ and her relationship with the divine. Margaret remained a part of the world and provided spiritual counsel and instruction to men and women.57 Like Mechthild, she was pressured to enter a traditional convent (in her case of Dominican sisters) near the end of her life.58 Margaret’s vita had another dimension: an interest in education and teaching. It contains numerous indications of her literacy and theological engagement. Moreover, her hagiographer relates that Margaret was given theological instruction by the Virgin Mary. Specifically, he wrote that shortly after Margaret became a recluse, the Blessed Virgin ‘intervened on behalf of this poor little woman, exposed her to 51 Cf. Sara S. Poor, Mechthild of Magdeburg and Her Book: Gender and the Making of Textual Authority (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004). 52 Cf. Poor, Mechthild of Magdeburg, 138–72. 53 The Handschriftencensus database lists 19 manuscripts of Mechthild’s work: http://www.handschriftencensus.de/werke/1179. 54 Johannes of Magdeburg, Die Vita der Margareta contracta, einer Magdeburger Rekluse des 13. Jahrhunderts, ed. Paul Gerhard Schmidt (Leipzig: Benno, 1992). For an English translation and commentary, see Johannes of Magdeburg, The Vita of Margaret the Lame, a Thirteenth-Century German Recluse Mystic by Friar Johannes O. P. of Magdeburg (hereafter Vita of Margaret), trans. Gertrud Jaron Lewis (Toronto: Tilman, 2001). Cf. Anneke Mulder-Bakker, ‘Lame Margaret of Magdeburg: The Social Function of the Medieval Recluse’, Journal of Medieval History 22 (1996): 155–69; Gabriela Signori, ‘Anchorites in German-Speaking Regions’, in Liz Herbert McAvoy, ed., Anchoritic Traditions of Medieval Europe (Woodbridge and Rochester: The Boydell Press, 2010), pp. 54–5. 55 Vita of Margaret, 56. 56 Vita of Margaret, 13–14. 57 It is important to keep in mind that the recluse was an urban figure who was frequently consulted on various aspects of both secular and spiritual life. See Paulette L’Hermitte-Leclercq, ‘Le reclus dans la ville au bas Moyen Âge’, Journal des savants (1988): 219–62; Paulette L’Hermitte-Leclercq, ‘Recluses’, in Cambridge Companion to the Western Monastic Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, forthcoming); Anneke Mulder-Bakker, Lives of the Anchoresses: The Rise of the Urban Recluse in Medieval Europe, trans. Myra Heerspink Scholz (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005). 58 Vita of Margaret, 111–12.

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learning and deigned to become her instructor and teacher of the truth’ (doctrix veritatis).59 Throughout the vita, there are indications that Margaret was literate, and interested in providing those around her with basic theological instruction. The few scholarly explorations of Margaret’s vita have pointed out that it is the only evidence of her existence. Nevertheless, it is also important to note that this text exists in at least twelve manuscript copies. As well as the original Latin, it was translated into German and Middle Dutch. Moreover, Margaret was a familiar figure in the Southern Low Countries, and at least two manuscripts originate from this region.60 Margaret’s hagiographer Johannes of Magdeburg stated explicitly that her religious behaviour was similar to the holy women of Brabant.61 A manuscript originating from the Liégeois Cistercian monastery of Villers contains Margaret’s vita next to the vita of the wildly ascetic Cistercian conversus Arnulfus.62 Another manuscript, from the convent of La Cambre (Ter Kameren) in Brussels, includes Margaret’s vita among the vitae of well-known Liégeoise holy women who were also known for their suffering, such as Christina of Sint-Truiden or Alice of Schaerbeek, and saints such as Elisabeth of Thuringia and Mary Magdalene who were popular throughout Europe for their lives of active service.63 Margaret’s vita is also included in a manuscript with Mechthild’s Das fließende Licht that originated in the Augustinian house of Böddeken. Moreover, at least one copy of the Middle Dutch leven originated from a house of tertiaries in Maaseik, which was associated with the Devotio moderna movement.64 It is easy to recognize both Mechthild and Margaret as women who lived non-traditional religious vocations and to understand the appeal they might have held for Alijt. It is important to keep in mind that the same is true of Catherine of Siena. Despite Observant insistence on her membership in the Dominican order, as has been discussed earlier, the historical reality was somewhat different. Instead of joining a religious community, Catherine spent the early part of her life as a pious woman in her family home. Here, as a sermon recorded by Elisabeth van Poylc in Mechelen recounts, she struggled to reconcile the expectations attached to being a good daughter and sister with her desire to serve her heavenly bridegroom.65 Moreover, despite the best efforts of Raymond of Capua and Thomas Caffarini, even a cursory glance at Catherine’s Legenda shows that she did not fit 59 Vita of Margaret, 15. Cf. Lewis, ‘Margareta the Lame’, 133–43; Mulder-Bakker, ‘Lame Margaret’, 164–5. 60 Signori, ‘Anchorites in German-Speaking Regions’, 54, nn. 80–1. 61 Cf. Die vita der Margareta, 92–3. 62 Berlin, Staatsbibliothek Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Theol. lat. quart. 195, ff. 1r–39v (vita Arnulfi), ff. 41r–82v (vita Margaritae). For an account of Arnulfus, see Brian Patrick McGuire, ‘Self-Denial and Self-Assertion in Arnulf of Villers’, Cistercian Studies Quarterly 28 (1993): 241–59. 63 KBR MS 08609–08620, ff. 1v–25r (varia de Maria Magdalenna), ff. 25v–45v and 45v–58r (Elisabeth), 127v–137r (Christina), 138r–145v (Alice). For a discussion of the mulieres religiosae of Liège, see the essays in Juliette Dor, Lesley Johnson, and Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, eds, Medieval Women: Texts and Contexts, 2, New Trends in Feminine Spirituality: The Holy Women of Liège and Their Impact (Turnhout: Brepols, 1999). 64 Den Haag KB 73 H 11, 230–247v. 65 Gent, Universiteitsbibliotheek, 902, preek 35, ff. 201v–207v (at 204v). My thanks to Patricia Stoop for drawing this to my attention.

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the conventional model of Observant feminine piety. As the work of John Coakley, Catherine Mooney, and Karen Scott has shown, Raymond’s portrayal of Catherine differs considerably from her own writings.66 It is also significant that Catherine preached publicly and wrote letters to condemned prisoners and political figures. Moreover, Catherine was widely credited with being instrumental in persuading Pope Gregory XI to return to Rome from Avignon. Sermons in Catherine’s honour praise her public actions and her erudition. None of the three women that Alijt invoked was unknown to the reformers. Catherine of Siena was a popular model for Observant Reform, but one that was to be admired and not imitated.67 Manuscript copies of Mechthild’s writings circulated widely and were often promoted as an instrument of reform. Margaret’s suffering is paralleled in Jan Brugman’s extraordinary portrayal of the pains endured by Lidwina of Schiedam.68 Although Alijt’s choice of models did not differ from Observant pastoralia, her emphasis should be noted. Instead of just extolling these women as recipients of grace or pain, Alijt draws attention to their active apostolates. In the case of all three women, this had an association with teaching, and all three pursued vocations that differed somewhat from traditional monastic life. AU T H O R I T Y A N D M Y S T I C A L K N OW L E D G E Contrary to what a cursory reading of many writings associated with later medieval holy women suggests, female community leaders appear to have taken their responsibility to educate their sisters seriously. Having a programme of education does not seem to have been controversial; however, women who were acknowledged as intellectually gifted were seen as stepping outside of traditional roles. In many cases, this transgression was explained with recourse to the supernatural. Like scribal talent, women’s proficiency in Latin or theological knowledge was often regarded as a gift from God. In particular, despite widespread evidence of women’s literacy, knowledge of Latin was often thought to be exceptional. Often when a woman was proficient in Latin (or even merely literate) this had to be explained by a miraculous intervention. The twelfth-century Elisabeth of Spalbeek read the 66 John Coakley, Women, Men, and Spiritual Power: Female Saints and their Male Collaborators (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), pp. 70–92; Catherine M. Mooney, ‘Wondrous Words: Catherine of Siena’s Miraculous Reading and Writing According to the Early Sources’, in Jeffrey Hamburger and Gabriela Signori, eds, Catherine of Siena: The Creation of a Cult (Turnhout: Brepols 2013), pp. 263–90; Karen Scott, ‘Mystical Death, Bodily Death: Catherine of Siena and Raymond of Capua on the Mystic’s Encounter with God’, in Catherine M. Mooney, ed., Gendered Voices: Medieval Saints and Their Interpreters (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999), pp. 136–67. 67 Sylvie Duval, ‘Mulieres religiosae and Sorores clausae: The Dominican Observance Movement and the Diffusion of Strict Enclosure in Italy from the Thirteenth to the Sixteenth Century’, in Veerle Fraeters and Imke De Gier, eds, Mulieres religiosae, Shaping Female Spiritual Authority in the Medieval and Early Modern Periods (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), pp. 193–218. 68 See the discussion in Chapter 4 of this book. Cf. Alison More, ‘Reading the Wormy Corpus: Ambiguity and Discernment in the Lives of Medieval Saints’, in Brenda Gardenour and Misha Tadd,  eds, Parasites, Worms, and the Human Body in Religion and Culture (New York: Peter Lang, 2012), pp. 81–94.

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psalter from childhood, and later lived in a community that recited the (Latin) Divine Office regularly.69 Catherine of Siena and Clare of Montefalco were from a  social position and background that would have ensured exposure to popular Latin texts such as saints’ lives. The same is true of countless other examples.70 One might argue that for a woman who was exposed to Latin on a daily basis, understanding the language without formal training was more logical than miraculous. At the same time, women’s writings often contain passages that, at first glance, are easy to dismiss as anti-intellectual. When describing her own journey, Alijt writes: I have never studied any other book than the loving open heart of our beloved Jesus Christ or of his mother Mary, nor did I ultimately seek consolation or advice from anyone else but God, for his advice served me best on my path to ultimate salvation.71

The writings of women from the thirteenth through the fifteenth century contain similar imagery regarding learning from the ‘book of experience’ or through ‘miraculous infused knowledge’ rather than through formal study or participating in informal discussions.72 As a result, modern scholars often depict women who engaged in theological discourse as exceptional. Despite her apparent dismissal of books, Alijt’s writings show that she was familiar with theologians such as Augustine, Meister Eckhart, Johannes Tauler, Jordanus of Quedlinburg, Bernard of Clairvaux, and Jan van Ruusbroec. Moreover, she was not afraid to engage with their ideas. However, she did not feel that being familiar with ideas was a sufficient way of achieving true knowledge. Instead, she shared a belief with Johannes Tauler that this could only happen inwardly. She writes: I know of only one master of divinity who teaches this, the devout Tauler; he says more about this than I had previously seen done in any treatise. And yet, he does not explain how one is to arrive at this state, for that was impossible for him to express with the written word. But he knew intimately the ways in which it is properly and truly constituted.73 69 See Philip of Clairvaux’s account, ‘Vita Elisabeth sanctimonialis in Erkenrode, Ordinis Cisterciensis’, in Catalogus codicum hagiographicum bibliothecae regiae bruxellensis (Brussels: Polleunsis, Ceuterick and de Smet, 1886), vol. 1, pp. 362–78. 70 On miraculous literacy, see Christine F. Cooper-Rompato, The Gift of Tongues: Women’s Xenoglossia in the Later Middle Ages (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2011), pp. 58–102. 71 ‘Ick en studierde nye ander boec dan minnende open herte ons liefs heren Jhesu Cristi of synre liever moeder Marien, noch nye en ginc ick om troost raet tot yemany eyndelick dan tot Gode, want die raet diende mi best totter hoechster salicheit’ (Alijt Bake, ‘Van de Memorie der passien ons heren’, ed. Wybren Scheepsma, Ons geestelijk erf 68 (1994), 118; hereafter, ‘Bake, Memorie’). For translation and discussion, see Scheepsma, Medieval Religious Women, 202. 72 For a discussion of saintly women from Northern Europe learning from the ‘Book of Experience’, see the essays in Liz Herbert McAvoy and Anneke Mulder-Bakker, eds, Women and Experience in Later Medieval Writing: Reading the Book of Life (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009). 73 ‘Och, alleen ken ic een meester inder godheit die daer of leert, die devote Thauler, die gaet hem naere dan ie ye hoerde in enigen scriften. Nochtans en verclaert hi niet hoemen daer toe coemt, want dat was hem onmogelic mit woerden der letteren te verclaren. Mer hi wist die wegen alre naest daert properlic en eygentlic in staet’ (Bake, ‘Memorie’, 140–4). Translation taken from Scheepsma, Medieval Religious Women, 206.

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Alijt’s teachings were far from universally popular. The fact that she encouraged women under her care to listen to ‘inner teaching’ (inspreken) instead of reaching out to clerics charged with their spiritual care was seen as problematic. The Chapter of Windesheim felt it was important that women limit themselves to external expressions of piety that were sanctioned by a confessor rather than inward mystical guidance. After all, an ‘inner voice’ or ‘locution’ was considered a form of visionary experience. As such, it was far from trustworthy.74 Although Alijt was familiar with orthodox writings on discernment and careful to point out that she was on her guard against deception, her trust in mysticism combined with her somewhat antinomian disregard for traditional structures of authority eventually placed her at the centre of controversy. Her Letter from Exile (Brief uit de ballingschap) describes how she was forced from her community. Alijt was deeply committed to the idea of reform, and saw her writings as a way of providing her sisters with spiritual guidance. The particular reformed agenda that she put forward was successful; however, her authority was far from popular with those who interacted with her community. In 1455, Alijt was removed from office, and a provision was added to the Windesheim statutes that: No nun or sister, whatever her status, may copy books that contain either philosophical teachings or revelations, whether these originated in her own mind or that of her sisters, on penalty of imprisonment. If any should be discovered in the future, it is the responsibility of all to ensure they are immediately burned as soon as they are seen or heard. Nor should any dare to translate them from Latin to Dutch.75

As Alijt’s experiences and the earlier discussion of Marguerite Porete show, claims of divine visions or inward revelations were not universally well-received. The boundaries between divine visions and demonic deceptions were remarkably thin, and the markers and signs of sanctity could easily be recast as signs of possession.76 Following the condemnation of Meister Eckhart, a number of his disciples, including Henry Suso and Johannes Tauler, wrote treatises on the signs of a truly spiritual person. Some time before 1343, Jan van Ruusbroec’s work, Die geestelike brulocht

74 The passive voice of the Latin video –ere can be translated ‘it was seen’ or ‘it seemed’. It is freqently used to describe mystical experiences including inner knowing or hearing inward voices (Lewis and Short, s. v. video –ere, p. 1988, col. C, p. 1989, col. A-B). On visions, see Augustine, The Literal Meaning of Genesis in Introduction to the Philosophy of Saint Augustine, ed. John A. Mourant (Pennsylvania: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1964), pp. 174–7. Cf. Jean-Claude Schmitt, ‘La culture de l’imago’, Annales: Economie, Histoire, Sciences Sociales 1 (1996): 3–36. On the dangers of spiritual discernment, see Nancy Caciola, Discerning Spirits: Divine and Demonic Possession in the Middle Ages (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2003). 75 ‘Nulla monialis aut soror cuiuscunque status fuerit conscribat aliquos libros, doctrinas philosophicas aut revelationes continentes per se interpositamve personam ex sua propria mente vel aliarum sororum compostas sub poena carceris si qui inposterum reperti fuerint praecipitur omnibus quod statim illi ad quorum conspectum vel aures pervenent eos igni tradere curent, similiter nec aliquem transferre praesumant de latino in theutonicum.’ Sape van der Woude, ed., Acta Capituli Windeshemense Acta van de kapittelvergaderingen der Congregatie van Windesheim (’s-Gravenhage, Nijhoff, 1953), p. 53. 76 Barbara Newman, ‘Possessed by the Spirit: Devout Women, Demoniacs, and the Apostolic Life in the Thirteenth Century’, Speculum 73 (1998): 733–70.

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(The Spiritual Espousals) focused on discernment between orthodoxy and heresy.77 Around 1380, the Paris theologian Pierre d’Ailly wrote two texts on the discernment of spirits.78 While asserting that there was no rational way to judge between all cases of divine and demonic visions, Pierre maintains that cases could be solved on an individual basis, and that scripture remained a powerful weapon for distinguishing between the two. A similar work by Pierre’s contemporary, the theologian Henry of Langestein, around 1383, maintained that it was possible to discern between the two by the outcome of a visionary experience. Jean Gerson wrote his influential treatise De distictione verum visionum a falsis around 1401, in which he criticized a woman of Arras for excessive fasting and fantastic visions, as well as Marguerite Porete (whom he calls Marie of Valenciennes) for wilfully persisting in her misinterpretation of Augustine.79 These texts circulated widely throughout Europe in the fifteenth century. Another text known as the Letter on the Deception of Devilish Apparitions (Sendbrief vom Betrug teuflischer Erscheinungen) also appeared to address the issue of discerning true from false visions.80 The author of this Letter condemned many of the popular signs of female piety, such as visions of the Virgin, suckling from Christ’s wounds, playing with the infant Jesus, or Eucharistic ecstasy—all of which have been discussed as typical signs of feminine piety.81 While these treatises were seldom overtly misogynistic, the direct condemnation of phenomena connected with feminine visionary authority suggests that they had a regulatory function. To this end, Nancy Caciola argues that Pierre d’Ailly’s attacks on hypocrites who view themselves as saints ‘because of the incautious praise of others’ is likely to be an attack on Catherine of Siena and Birgitta of Sweden. In Caciola’s analysis, these two women conform closely to the typology he layed out.82 Both Caciola and Dyan Elliot have observed a similar hostility towards Birgitta of Sweden in the writings of Jean Gerson.83 In many cases, it was not immediately obvious whether a woman was inspired by the Holy Spirit, or deceived by demons.84 In some cases, 77 Jan van Ruusbroec, Die geestelike brulocht, ed. J. Alaerts, trans. H. Rolfson (Turnhout: Brepols, 1988). 78 Wendy Love Anderson discusses the disagreement regarding the dating of these treatises, which she says should be properly referred to as De falsis prophetis (1385) and De arte cognoscendi falsos prophetas (1380). See Wendy Love Anderson, The Discernment of Spirits: Assessing Visions and Visionaries in the late Middle Ages (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), pp. 172–3. 79 Anderson, Discernment, 196–7; Cf. Caciola, Discerning Spirits, 289–313. 80 Horst Brunner and Werner Williams-Krapp, eds, Forschungen zur deutschen Literatur des Spätmittelalters. Festschrift für Johannes Janota (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer, Imprint von de Gruyter, 2003), pp. 167–89. Cf. Rabia Gregory, ‘Thinking of their Sisters: Authority and Authorship in Late Medieval Women’s Religious Communities’, The Journal of Medieval Religious Cultures 40 (2014): 75–100. 81 Caroline Walker Bynum, ‘ “ . . . And Woman His Humanity:” Female Imagery in the Religious Writing of the Later Middle Ages’, in Caroline Walker Bynum, Stevan Harrell, and Paula Richman, eds, Gender and Religion: On the Complexity of Symbols (Boston: Beacon Press, 1986), pp. 257–88, at 257. 82 Caciola, Discerning, 288–9. 83 Ibid.; Dyan Elliott, ‘Seeing Double: Jean Gerson, the Discernment of Spirits, and Joan of Arc’, The American Historical Review 107 (2002): 241–65. 84 Barbara Newman explores this in relation to Christina of Sint-Truiden (also known as Christina Mirabilis or Christina of Saint-Trond). Cf. Newman, ‘Possessed by the Spirit’, 733–70.

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women with a reputation for learning, sanctity, and even reform, could be condemned by mistrust of their mystical or visionary experiences. Certainly the women were familiar with texts from this genre—when recounting the distrust that other sisters felt towards her mystical inclinations during her novitiate, Alijt Bake laments, ‘I might have been or become one of the false spirits Ruusbroec writes about.’85 As well as discerning demonic deceptions, quasi-religious women appear to have been concerned with alerting their sisters to the dangers of evil and sin. A text from the house of Facons written by Jacomijne Costers had this aim. Around 1489, Jacomijne contracted the plague. After a miraculous recovery, she composed a text called Visioen en exempel which detailed the visions she had seen during her illness. It would appear that the ravages of the plague were the least of Jacomijne’s torments, for she speaks of a devil trying to drag her to hell. She is spared eternal damnation through the intervention of the Virgin and St John the Evangelist. Instead, Jacomijne finds an angel to lead her through Purgatory so that she can warn her sisters of the consequences of a sinful life.86 To accompany her dire purgatorial admonitions, Jacomijne wrote treatises on the holy sacrament of the Eucharist and on the three religious vows. Avoiding the dangers presented by sin and deception was also a characteristic concern of the writings of a number of women from throughout Europe. The Italian Caterina Vigri or Catherine of Bologna wrote the treatise ‘Seven Spiritual Weapons’ [Sette armi spirituali], which records both the torments that she endured at the hands of demons, and the ways in which she was able to discern the truth.87 Catherine cautions her sisters about the despair associated with demonic deception, and counsels them to find strength in prayer and scripture. After Catherine’s death, she became a model of piety when a nun in her community, Illuminata Bembo, recorded her exemplary life in the ‘Mirror of Illumination’ [Specchio di Illuminazione].88 Similarly, leaders of female religious communities wrote a number of treatises designed to illustrate the steps of spiritual progression, or to shed light on understanding certain forms of devotion. This was certainly the case for Alijt Bake’s ‘Four Ways of the Cross’ [De vier kruiswegen]. This text begins, ‘These are the four ways of the Cross that each person who wishes to follow the Lord Jesus Christ in spirit should enter upon in order to be crucified with him in spirit.’ The text continues with a vivid exploration of the mystical journey, centred on the words 85 ‘Dat ick emmer een van die bedroghen gheesten sijn soude oft werden daer heer Jan Ruisbroeck af schrift’ (Bake, ‘De Autobiografie’, 118, lines 54–5). 86 Winston-Allen, Convent Chronicles, 181–2. Cf. Scheepsma, Medieval Religious Women, 171–88. The texts of Jacomijne’s experiences are recorded in a manuscript that is now in Vienna (Wien, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. Ser. n. 12827). It has been edited by Geertruida de Moor in her dissertation, ‘Twee vrouwen van de Devotio Moderna. De geschriften en de invloed van Jacomijne Costers en Mechtild van Rieviren’ (PhD diss., Catholic University of America, 2011), 73–316. 87 Catherine of Bologna, Le sette armi spirituali, ed. Antonella degli’Innocenti (Tavernuzze-Florence: SISMEL, 2000), VII, 43. 88 Illuminata Bembo, Specchio di illuminazione, ed. Silvia Mostaccio (Florence: Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2001).

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‘laten’, ‘liden’, and ‘minnen’, or ‘to relinquish’, ‘to suffer’, and ‘to love’.89 The result is a poignant text that draws on her mystical understanding of Christ’s Passion as well as her own earthly sufferings. Catherine of Bologna’s ‘The Twelve Gardens’ [I dodici giardini] was written as a letter presenting advice on the spiritual life, with recourse to biblical examples.90 Catherine also wrote a text known as the ‘Fifteen Grades of Perfection’ [Quindici gradi della perfezione], which detailed the spiritual journey, and was modelled on Bonaventure’s De triplici via. Although these texts were primarily intended for use within particular communities and generally were not controversial, women in positions of leadership sometimes attracted ridicule. Magdalena Beutlerin, a Poor Clare from Kenzingen, is a case in point. Although a highly respected spiritual writer and advocate of Observant Reform, Magdalena is generally discussed in both Observant writings and modern scholarship as a ‘pseudo-mystic’ or a fraud. Instead of through her own writings, her voice has entered the historical record through the writings of male Observants who derided both her role and her authority. The Dominican Observant Johannes Nider was particularly dismissive of Magdalena.91 His ire was inflamed by an instance in 1431 when Magdalena had predicted her own death. The sisters in her convent made elaborate preparations, including commissioning an elaborately painted sarcophagus, and local dignitaries were invited to attend. On the day in question, with all the sisters standing around the choir, Sister Magdalena came and inclined her head on the lap of a certain sister. She immediately showed that she was rapt in ecstasy (whether truly or feigned) and thus lay sufficiently immobile for some time. When certain women doubted whether she was dead or alive, the doctor checked her pulse publicly and announced that she was alive. Nevertheless, she sent forth a certain voice [. . .] saying ‘To the sarcophagus.’92

When one considers the portrayal of a woman whom a medical doctor had just pronounced to be living demanding to be taken to her sarcophagus, scepticism seems the only plausible reaction. Moreover, the fact that she was alive eight years after prophesying her death appeared to undermine any credibility she may have had.93 89 For a fuller discussion of Alijt’s spirituality, see Wybren Scheepsma, ‘Mysticism and Modern Devotion: Alijt Bake’s (1415–1455) Lessons in the Mystical Way of Living’, in Hein Blommestijn, Charles Caspers, and Rijcklof Hofman, eds, Spirituality Renewed: Studies on Significant Representatives of the Modern Devotion (Louvain: Peeters, 2003), pp. 157–92. 90 Catherine of Bologna, I dodici giardini di perfezione, ed. Gilberto Sgarbi (Bologna: Sintesi, 1996); Catherine of Bologna, I dodici giardini. L’esodo al femminile, ed. Gilberto Aquini and Mariafiamma Maddalena Faberi (Bologna: Inchiostri Ass., 1999). 91 See Karen Greenspan, Erklärung des Vaterunsers: A Critical Edition of a 15th-Century Mystical Treatise by Magdalena Beutler of Freiburg (PhD diss., University of Massachusetts, 1984), 105–298. Cf. Winston-Allen, Convent Chronicles, 223–8. 92 ‘ . . . venit soror Magdalena, caput suum in gremium cuiusdam sororis inclinavit, extemplo satis se raptam in extasi vere vel ficte ostendit, & ita satis immobilis aliquandiu iacuit. Cumque quaedam ambigerent an mortua foret, vel viva, medicus publice pulsum eius tangens vitam adesse dixit. Tandem vocem [. . .] emisit dicens Ad sarcophagum’ (Johannes Nider, Formicarium (Douai: Balthazaris Belleri, 1602), 3.8, 121). 93 Until the recent work of scholars such as Kate Greenspan and Dyan Elliott, Magdalena has been almost unilaterally discussed as a ‘pseudo-mystic’ whose ‘dubious’ and ‘questionable’ visionary experiences were verging on the pathological. See Wilhelm Schleussner, ‘Magdalena von Freiburg.

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Nevertheless, Nider’s ridicule does not appear to have affected Magdalena’s standing in her own community. In addition to her personal appeal, Magdalena was successful as a spiritual writer. Her meditations on the Lord’s Prayer (Erklärung des Vaterunsers), circulated widely.94 This text drew heavily on the ideals of imitatio Christi, encouraging the reader to adopt Christ as a model as well as a mediator. Although, as Kate Greenspan has argued, this was consistent with Franciscan spirituality, it is important to point out that it did not have an exclusive Franciscan association.95 Instead, Magdalena’s writings emphasized the importance of relations among the three persons of the Trinity and relationships Christ formed while on earth. Her focus on the human Christ was not significantly different from that of her Dutch contemporary, Alijt Bake. To women such as Magdalena, Alijt, Catherine, and their contemporaries, spiritual guidance seems to have been more important than conformity to the ideals of any particular order. Instead of ensuring that their communities conformed to expectations laid out by reformers such as John of Capistrano or emphasized by Bernardino of Siena, these women sought to present their sisters with models that would help them on their spiritual journeys. As Catherine Cooper-Rompato has noted, the same is often true of pious women who receive the gift of xenoglossia, or miraculous understanding of languages.96 Whereas men who were given the gift of miraculous speech were frequently able to speak and understand languages to engage in their duty of preaching, women who were given this gift more frequently used it to provide spiritual advice or counsel to their communities or the wider community.

Eine pseudomystische Erscheinung des späteren Mittelalters, 1407–1458’, Der Katholik 87 (1907): 15–18, 201. See also Martina Backes, ‘Zur literarischen Genese frauenmystischer Viten und Visionstexte am Beispiel des Freiburger “Magdalenenbuches”’, in Beate Keller, Ludger Lieb, and Peter Strohschneider, eds, Literarische Kommunikation und soziale Interaktion: Studien zur Institutionalität mittelalterlicher Literatur (Bern: Lang, 2001), pp. 251–60. However, as Dyan Elliott points out, the idea of mystical death was a recognized and common feature of feminine somatic devotion. Dyan Elliott, Proving Woman: Female Spirituality and Inquisitional Culture in the Later Middle Ages (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004), pp. 180–232; for Magdalena in particular, see 197–202. Cf. Greenspan, Erklärung, 69–82. In the vitae of female saints from the thirteenth century onward, apparent bodily death was often thought to serve as a physical sign that the woman in question was no longer wholly part of earthly society. Thomas de Cantimpré’s Vita of Christina of SintTruiden begins by depicting its subject’s untimely death and dramatic ‘resurrection’ during her funeral mass. The remainder of the text is devoted to descriptions of Christina’s extreme ascetic practices, such as immersing herself in fire or icy water, and hanging herself between two thieves. Christina’s somewhat unusual piety has led to convictions—both medieval and modern—that she was possessed or insane. Nevertheless, it would appear that Thomas’s detailed depiction of her behaviour had a distinct purpose. As Robert Sweetman argues, Christina’s earthly torments serve to illustrate the doctrine of Purgatory, which was both newly popular and particularly central to Thomas’s theological vision. Robert Sweetman, ‘Christine of St. Trond’s Preaching Apostolate: Thomas de Cantimpré’s Hagiographical Method Revisited’, in Margot King, ed., On Pilgrimage (Toronto: Peregrina Press, 1994), pp. 415–23. 94 Another of her works Die goldene Litanei (The Golden Litany), exists in at least 93 manuscript copies and two printed editions. Cf. Gregory, ‘Thinking of their Sisters’, 75–100, at 76–7. 95 Cf. Greenspan, Erklärung, 56–8. 96 Cooper-Rompato, The Gift of Tongues, 16.

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As discussed earlier, Alijt Bake was initially uncertain about the precise path her vocation should take. When describing her entry to religious life, Alijt writes: Ah, then this new way of blessedness which I preach and teach was revealed to me for the first time, when I was transported from myself into God, with knowledge and love, but after that he had established in me through acquiescence and suffering, the path I have been walking since that time [. . .] for just as Sister Colette was a mother of our order in the reformation of the holy religion, I should also be a mother of our order in the reformation of the inner life . . . 97

Despite having made a conscious choice not to become a Colettine, Alijt Bake still sees Colette as an important spiritual model. It would seem that Alijt is not using the word ‘order’ [oorder] in a legal sense, but simply to refer to an identifiable group. Despite the best efforts of men such as John of Capistrano, Alijt did not perceive the Observant orders to be exclusive. Texts owned or compiled by other female community leaders show a similar freedom from the rigid boundaries of order identity. The aforementioned Brussels community of Monasterium Rose Beate Marie Plantata in Jericho presents an interesting case study in order identity. Rather than being a new foundation in 1456, this house was created by merging two communities: St Catherine’s convent of Victorine Sisters and the Augustinian convent of Onze Lieve Vrouw Ter Cluysen (Our Lady of the Hermitage) in Braine-l’Alleud.98 Most textual evidence points to the convent having developed along Augustinian lines: it followed the Augustinian rule; had regular (but not exclusive) interaction with Augustinian friars, and two collections of sermons delivered by Jan Storm at the convent contain sermons in honour of St Augustine (‘Van onsen glorioser vader sinte Augustine’).99 However, one of the sermon collections contains a section commonly known as  ‘Catheriniana’, which comprises mainly texts pertaining to Katherine of Alexandria—a saint who was popular with female communities from all orders and often linked with education.100 However, the last text in this manuscript is a Middle Dutch version of the Life of Elisabeth of Thuringia.101 Unlike the version of her biography by Conrad of Marburg, this text concentrates on Elisabeth’s worldly service. At the beginning of this text, the copyist includes a small miniature, which shows Elisabeth with a crown and halo, wearing a Franciscan habit, 97 ‘Och, daer soo openbaerde mij eerst desen nieuwen wech der salicheijt die ick predicken ende leeren, daer ick doen in overghesedt was van mij selven in Godt, met kennissen end met minnen, maer daernaer soo moeste “hij” in mij ghevest worden met lateen ende met lijden, daer ick sient dien tijt in ghewandelt hebbe [. . .] want also Suster Colette een moeder was van haren oorder in die reformatie der heiligher religion, also soude ick oock sijn een moeder van onser oorder in reformation des inwendighen levens . . . ’ (Bake, De Autobiografie, 244–6). 98 Stoop, ‘Sermon-Writing Women’, 211–12. 99 KBR MS 4367–68, ff. 217v–236r (four sermons); KBR MS II 298, ff. 284v–283. 100 David D’Avray, ‘Katharine of Alexandria and Mass Communication in Germany: Woman as Intellectual’, in Nicole Bériou, ed., Modern Questions about Medieval Sermons: Essays on Marriage, Death, History, and Sanctity (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 1994), pp. 401–8. 101 Leven van Elizabeth, KBR MS 4367–68, f. 172r (prologue 171r-v)

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engaging in acts of charity.102 Similarly, Franciscan iconography or friars in recognizably Franciscan habits appear in connection with other texts in this allegedly Augustinian manuscript. The same compilation includes numerous female saints who are not associated with particular orders, such as Apollonia, Tecla, or Ontcommer (Wilgefortis)—all of whom were commonly associated with communities of non-monastic women.103 Many female scribes recorded and collected a number of texts that indicate flexible ideas regarding order identity. To an extent, this reflected the flexible transformation of communities and their change of formal order allegiances over time. A manuscript now in the collection of the Royal Library in Brussels is a case  in point.104 This manuscript dates from the later fifteenth century, and is commonly thought to have originated in a house of Augustinian tertiaries from Flanders.105 Both Augustinian and Franciscan identity markers can be seen in this text, but it does not appear that its owners or compiler viewed these as being entirely separate from each other. Its Augustinian associations are generally assumed from the fact that it contains a number of references to ‘our holy father St Augustine’ [ons heylighe vaders Sint Augustinus,] including the saint’s life [heilighe leven] with the title ‘The legend of our holy father St Augustine’ (‘Sint Augustinus ons heylighe vaders legende’).106 The same text also contains a Middle Dutch life of Monica, which emphasizes her fittingness as a model for religious women. Again, this seems to point towards an Augustinian identity.107 Despite the identity markers that indicate an Augustinian association, as discussed in Chapter 4, the same manuscript also contains a Dutch translation of the Life of Clare of Assisi. The inclusion of Clare in litanies or compilations is often interpreted as an indication that the community in question had some association with the Franciscan order, which does not appear to have been the case here.108 The scribe makes no attempt either to compare Clare to Monica or to draw attention to aspects of her sanctity that differ from the practices of the community that owned this text. Both Monica and Clare were regarded as saintly models associated with particular order identities; the fact that both are 102 Leven van Elizabeth, KBR MS 4367–68, f. 172r. 103 According to legend, Wilgefortis was a Portuguese princess who was crucified for her refusal to marry. She is discussed at length later in this chapter. 104 KBR MS 21875. 105 J. Van den Gheyn dates the manuscript to the fifteenth century (J. Van den Gheyn, Catalogue des manuscrites de la Bibliothèque royale de Belgique (Brussels: H. Lambertin, 1905), 5: 374, no. 3394). The text ‘Hier vervolcht Sint Augustinus, ons heylighte vaders, legende, na het inhoudt ent vervolch van het cleyn geprint boexken’ (f. 86r) places this date firmly at the end of the fifteenth century. Its Flemish provenance is indicated by linguistic variations commonly associated with Flanders or Leuven; see J. Gessler, ‘Une version inédite de la légende de sainte Wilgefortis ou Ontcommer’, Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 31: 1 (1935): 96, n. 2. 106 References to Augustine as ‘ons heilighe vaders’ are found on: KBR MS 21875 61v (alternative numbering 63v). The eleventh heiligeleven in this text, the ‘Sint Augustinus ons heylighe vaders legende’ can be found on folios 82r–98v. 107 See the earlier discussion in Chapter 4 of this book. 108 KBR MS 21875. The text ‘Het leven van die heijlighe maghet sinte Clara’ is found on 16v–44v (alternative numbering 18v–46r).

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found in the same manuscript shows that the women did not view various ordered models of sanctity as exclusive.109 Similarly, convent manuscripts often included a number of saints with no explicit connection to a religious order. A popular model in Northern European houses was Ontcommer or Wilgefortis.110 According to legend she was the daughter of a Portuguese pagan lord who had converted to Christianity. After her conversion, Wilgefortis vowed to model her life on the Mother of God and to remain a virgin. However, her father had other ideas and arranged for Wilgefortis to marry the King of Sicily. Wilgefortis refused to be wed. Her father, angered by her refusal, had her imprisoned and tortured. From a position of complete despair, Wilgefortis prayed that she might be permitted to keep her vow to Christ. The next morning, she awoke to find herself blessed (or cursed) with a beard. In his fury, Wilgefortis’s father had her crucified so that she might achieve her wish of conforming to Christ in every way. Images of Wilgefortis generally depict her death by crucifixion. A fifteenth-century image from the Stevenskerk in Nijmegen is typical (Figure 5.1). The elements of a cross and halo are familiar, yet the central bearded ‘Christ’ figure is depicted with the obviously feminine gendered attributes of a tiny waist, full breasts, and women’s clothing. The figure is at once masculine and feminine. The juxtaposition between the familiar sacred imagery of the cross and halo, and the taboo of a woman occupying traditionally male space, renders the image tantalizingly liminal. While it has obvious social and theological overtones, it is not immediately apparent how it can be interpreted. What is obvious is that it does not conform to the standard images of holiness. The image in the Stevenskerk was in the town centre in Nijmegen. This city was home to a number of communities of beguines, tertiaries, and other quasi-religious women from the early fourteenth century onwards.111 Like Wilgefortis, these women endeavoured to live lives of holiness, but did not easily fit into conventional categories. Her devotion to chastity, combined with her willingness to model herself on the Blessed Virgin, ensured that she became a familiar and popular model of feminine holiness. The names by which she is known identify her variously as a  ‘courageous woman’ (virgo fortis or ‘Wilgefortis’), ‘liberated one’ (‘Liberata’), or one who frees others from suffering (‘Ontkommer’). The cult of Wilgefortis spread from the fourteenth century onwards. In particular, Wilgefortis became extremely popular with houses of non-monastic religious women in the Low Countries in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The Royal Library in Brussels owns at least seven manuscripts associated with houses of women known as tertiaries that detail the life of Wilgefortis. Wilgefortis is generally portrayed bearded and crucified (either by nails or rope). Similar depictions occur throughout Northern Europe: There are late medieval statues of her in the Royal Museums 109 The same tendency to conflate saints associated with a number of orders can be seen in beguine psalters. A beguine psalter in the British library has a number of Franciscan saints although the community only had informal connections to this order. See London, BL, Add. 21114, ff. 10v, 79v. 110 For a full discussion of Wilgefortis’s legend, see Ilse E. Friesen, The Female Crucifix: Images of St. Wilgefortis since the Middle Ages (Waterloo, ON: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2001). 111 Cf. Guus Pikkemaat, Geschiedenis van Noviomagus (Nijmegen: Dekker van de Vegt, 1988).

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Figure 5.1. Wilgefortis (also known as Ontcommer), wall painting, mid-fifteenth century, Sint-Stevenskerk, Nijmegen, the Netherlands. Photo: Robert Hensley-King

of Fine Arts and of Art and History in Brussels. She is depicted in frescoes in the Sint-Pieterskerk near Anderlecht and in the Sint-Baaf Cathedral in Ghent. Her cult was also popular through England, France, and the Low Countries.112 Other images and textual fragments associated with communities of non-monastic women also more closely reflect their liminal position than the carefully crafted order identities portrayed in order chronicles or shown in modern scholarship. Images of female saints who do not conform to expected categories or familiar saints carrying out unfamiliar acts occur repeatedly in such houses. As is the case for the pastoralia discussed earlier, one particularly popular model was Martha.113 Numerous vernacular lives of Martha were associated with houses of women such as beguines, tertiaries, and penitents. These same houses often owned texts with 112 Richard Marks, ‘The Dean and the Bearded Lady: Aspects of the Cult of St Wilgefortis/ Uncumber in England’, in Julian M Luxford and Michael A. Michael, eds, Tributes to Nigel Morgan: Contexts of Medieval Art (London: Harvey Miller, 2010), pp. 349–63. 113 Cf. Alison More and Anneke Mulder-Bakker, ‘“Domus Sanctae Marthae”: Devoted Holiness in the Lay World’, in Alison Beach and Isabelle Cochelin, eds, The Cambridge Companion to the Medieval Monastic Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, forthcoming).

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pictorial and textual representations of Martha performing household activities. One spectacular example is the fifteenth-century Umbrian fresco of Martha in her kitchen in the refectory of Santa Anna (a house of monasticized Franciscan tertiaries in Foligno).114 This fresco depicts Martha stirring a cooking pot as she prepares food for Christ and the apostles. Nor was this iconography limited to Italy: one fifteenth-century German manuscript shows Martha baking bread; a second manuscript portrays Martha serving while a curiously tiny and colourless Mary sits at Christ’s feet.115 Comparable images can be found in manuscripts from throughout Northern Europe, many of which can be connected with communities of nonmonastic women.116 Other female models, including Elisabeth of Thuringia, Cecilia, Tecla, Ursula and her eleven thousand companions, Mary Magdalene, and Gertrude are also connected to houses of religious women. Mechthild of Magdeburg described Elisabeth as ‘a messenger whom [God] sent to wretched women living in castles . . . [and said that] many a lady followed her example’.117 Gertrude was shown repeatedly in art connected with houses of women. Popular male figures included John the Evangelist, Michael, Francis of Assisi, and Nicolas of Lyra, who was famed for his scriptural commentaries. In some cases, houses affiliated with a religious order seemed to have a particular attraction towards its saints; however, that generally does not appear to be exclusive. Instead of a coherent and cohesive order identity, both the models of sanctity associated with women’s communities and the theological lessons in treatises associated with women’s communities more closely reflect an institutional limbo. It seems clear that women and those closely connected with women’s communities shared Alijt Bake’s desire for spiritual advancement more than the Observant ideals of creating distinct orders. Like Alijt, it appears that communities of women saw themselves as religious, but identified both with traditional models of holiness (both male and female) and those that either had secular interests or were outside of conventional models of sanctity. While some embraced a particular order identity, the boundaries are much more fluid than most modern scholarship would suggest. C O N C LU S I O N By 1430, the Augustinians, Dominicans, and Franciscans had clearly identifiable tertiary groups with a precise canonical status. Reformers wrote official histories of these groups that were more reflective of ideals than of the constantly shifting and 114 Cf. Dominique Rigaux, ‘The Franciscan Tertiaries at the Convent of Sant’Anna at Foligno’, Gesta 31 (1992): 97. 115 Wien, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, cod. 485, f. 31v. 116 For example, Den Haag, MMW, 10 A 12, f. 191r; KB 76, F2, f. 275r; MMW, 10 A 16, f. 202r; Isabella Breviary, London, BL, Add. 18851 (1497). 117 Mechthild of Magdeburg, Mechthild of Magdeburg, The Flowing Light of the Godhead, trans. Frank Tobin (New York: Paulist Press, 1998), p. 215. Even thirteenth-century legendaria from England include Lives of Elisabeth; see Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Saints’ Lives and Women’s Literary Culture. Virginity and its Authorizations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 145–6.

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somewhat volatile historical reality. The passivity, obedience, and order affiliations of these women are almost unquestioningly accepted in modern scholarship. Scholars often rely on the semi-formal system of identity markers (including particular forms of devotion and veneration of individual saints) discussed in the previous chapter to discern which particular Observant group later medieval religious women ‘belonged’ to. However, the system of identity markers seems to reflect ‘ideal’ identities that reformers wanted communities to develop, and is far from useful as a tool for historians. Instead of revealing something essential about women’s communities, external—or ascribed—identity markers often reflect the ways in which they were perceived, or the ideals that were held regarding them.118 As the work of Judith Butler demonstrates, categories of identity are both complex and inherently unstable. The process by which they are constructed or changed involves what Butler terms ‘re-signification’ and ‘re-articulation’.119 Observant reformers carried out the process of providing the signifiers and creating a rhetorical identity, but those directly responsible for the spiritual care of women religious seem to have been more concerned with facilitating education, edification, and spiritual growth than with adhering to a set of ideals or to an artificial order identity. Instead of recognizing saintly models associated with their official identity or models approved by the men responsible for their cura, women were instrumental in forming their own identities. The very fact that women such as Alijt Bake, Ursula Haider, Catherine of Bologna, Magdalena Beutlerin, and their contemporaries from throughout Europe engaged (albeit in a limited way) with the theological and spiritual ideals advanced by those responsible for their cura already raises questions about women’s passivity, particularly in the intellectual spheres. The writings, sermons, and exercises that these women composed for the education of sisters under their care seem focused on individual growth rather than on the cultivation of communal identity. In traditional scholarship, religious women have been perceived as passive recipients of male spiritual cura who accepted the programme of increasing institutionalization and definitive order identity in the period after the Council of Vienne in 1311. The normative sources—often chronicles, treatises outlining ideal behaviour, sermons, or interpretations of canon law—repeat the ‘fact’ of women’s silence so often that it is seldom questioned. However, close examination of medieval narrative and even pastoral sources reveals that women participated in many of the activities they were ‘officially’ excluded from and that their influence in the religious and intellectual spheres is more significant than is often imagined.

118 Cf. Lynn Meskell, ‘ Archaeologies of Identity’, in Timothy Insoll, ed., Archaeology of Identities: A Reader (London: Routledge, 2007), pp. 23–43. 119 Cf. Judith Butler, Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits of Sex (New York and London: Routledge, 1993), pp. 4–5; Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (London and New York: Routledge, 1990), p. 15.

6 Unification and Regularization in the Sixteenth-Century Spiritual Climate Among the many spiritual changes in sixteenth-century Europe, many scholars have recognized the beginning of a new era in feminine devotion within the Catholic tradition.1 The influential work of Gabriella Zarri points to the growth of open monasteries in Italy and the emergence of groups such as the Ursulines as the beginnings of an institutional ‘third state’ between religious and secular spheres.2 By consciously emphasizing their liminality, women were able to make vital and vibrant contributions to their spiritual and social worlds. However, rather than an innovation, this was a continuation of a tradition. Like the earlier beguines and tertiaries, these women managed to live in the world without being wholly worldly. Moreover, while their work was prolific and often recognized as useful, sixteenth-century women who lived a vita mixta still faced the same criticisms and pressures to conform to imaginary traditional ideals as their earlier sisters. Following a pattern that readers will now find familiar, these women underwent a process of monasticization and regularization. Like earlier groups, pious sixteenthcentury women—tertiaries, beguines, Ursulines, and Mary Ward sisters—were increasingly directed to adopt the lifestyle of traditional religious orders. T H E F I F T H L AT E R A N C O U N C I L A N D T H E RU L E O F L E O X Among the many reforms addressed by Leo X was another attempt to bring order to the groups known as ‘Franciscan tertiaries’. Franciscan mythology hails this 1 The many implications of the Protestant Reformation for the roles of women in religious life are a separate story. Quasi-religious groups (particularly the klopjes of the Low Countries) interacted with Reformers and adherents of reformed faiths; cf. Marit Monteiro, Geestelijke maagden: Leven tussen klooster en wereld in Noord Nederland gedurende de zeventiende eeuw (Hilversum: Verloren, 1996). In much of Europe, reformed women took on social roles; cf. Margo Todd, The Culture of Protestantism in Early Modern Scotland (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2002). For an overview of women in reformed movements, see Mary Wiesner-Hanks, ‘Protestant Movements’ in Allyson M. Poska, Jane Couchman, and Katherine A. McIver, eds, The Ashgate Research Companion to Women and Gender in Early Modern Europe (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2013), pp. 129–48. 2 Gabriella Zarri, ‘Il terzo stato’, in Silvana Seidel Menchi, Anne Jacobson Schutte, and Thomas Kuehn, eds, Tempi e spazi di vita femminile tra medioevo ed età moderna (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1999), pp. 311–34; Gabriella Zarri, ‘Female Sanctity, 1500–1660’, in R. Po-Chia Hsia, ed., Reform and Expansion 1500–1660 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp. 180–200.

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as successful and holds that unity was finally (and definitively) restored to the third order in 1521 when Pope Leo X promulgated a new rule in his bull Inter cetera.3 However, once again, close examination of historical records reveals a very different picture. Instead of a uniform third order, groups of non-monastic women generally discussed as ‘Franciscan tertiaries’ were no more organized at this time than at any other point in history.4 Women who belonged to groups such as the Chapter of Utrecht or the Chapter of Zepperen still followed the 1289 rule, but neither maintained Franciscan connections nor adhered to the demands that popes or the Franciscan Chapter General placed on tertiaries under their obedience.5 Leo’s 1521 rule was issued in response to a number of calls to reform. In 1513, two Camaldolese monks, Paolo Giustiniani and Vincenzo Quirini, wrote the Libellus ad Leonem X. Among other topics, the Libellus re-asserted the need for greater distinctions to be made between the religious and the laity: a problem that had plagued ‘third orders’ since at least the thirteenth century.6 In 1517, the eleventh session of the Fifth Lateran Council acknowledged members of third orders as part of the Church, and affirmed their right to live as they chose. However, the same council was adamant that there was a discernable difference between quasi-religious movements that retained their lay character and groups that conformed to the requirements of religious life, including following a rule, having a superior, and wearing a habit. When discussing the right of ‘tertiary’ communities to receive the sacraments during times of interdict, it concluded: To avoid the cheapening of ecclesiastical censures, and sentences of interdict being regarded as of little importance, members of the said third orders are in no way to be admitted to hear divine services in the churches of their orders during a period of  interdict […]. But those living in an official group, or dwelling with enclosure, and women who are leading a life of virginity, celibacy or chaste widowhood under an

3 Robert Stewart, ‘De illis qui faciunt penitentiam’: The Rule of the Secular Franciscan Order (Rome: Istituto historico dei Cappuccini, 1991), p. 211; Regis Armstrong and Ingrid Peterson, The Franciscan Tradition (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2010), p. xii; Ingrid Peterson, ‘The Third Order of Francis’, in Michael J. P. Robson, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Francis of Assisi (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), p. 204. 4 In the modern world, there are still many groups associated with the Franciscan third order that have no official connection with one another. Following the Second Vatican Council’s directive that religious congregations should return to their ‘original charism’ (or original purpose), a number of groups have begun to look reflectively at the foundation and evolution of their orders. Canonically distinct congregations such as the Congregation of Saint Felix of Cantalice and the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary are active throughout the world and have created unique places for themselves in the modern Church. See Suzanne M. Kush, CSSF, ‘The Capuchin influence on the founding spirituality of the Sisters of St. Felix of Cantalice’ (MA thesis, St. Bonaventure University, 2006). 5 Cf. Alison More and Anneke Mulder-Bakker, ‘ “Domus Sanctae Marthae”: Devoted Holiness in the Lay World’, in Alison Beach and Isabelle Cochelin, eds, The Cambridge Companion to the Medieval Monastic Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, forthcoming); Alison More, ‘Institutionalizing Penitential Life in Later Medieval and Early Modern Europe: Third Orders, Rules and Canonical Legitimacy’, Church History (2014): 297–323. 6 The text can be found in Johanne Benedicto Mittarelli and Anselmo Costadoni, Annales camaldulenses ordinis sancti Benedicti (Venice: Jo. Baptistam Pasquali, 1773), 9: cc. 612–719. For a discussion of the Libellus, see Ludovico Viallet, ‘Social Control, Regular Observance and Identity of a Religious Order: A Franciscan Interpretation of the Libellus ad Leonem’, Franciscan Studies 71 (2013): 33–51.

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expressed vow and with a habit, ought to enjoy the privileges of the order of which they are tertiaries.7

If the Churchmen present at the council had scrutinized the history of tertiary movements, they would have noted that their attempts to make this distinction were not new. The ‘official groups’ were likely those who had formed ties with members of the Observant Reform movement. These included both groups that had been granted canonical status as affiliates of the Augustinian (1399), Dominican (1405), or Franciscan (1428, 1447) orders, and others, like the Grey Sisters, which had been granted independent legal status. Needless to say, many of the ‘quasireligious’ groups who had not been granted the status of legal ecclesiastical persons by this legislation were committed to chastity, professed vows, and wore habits.8 As with earlier reformers, Leo attempted to resolve the situation by steering quasireligious women towards a more monastic expression of religious life. In the 1521 bull Inter cetera, Leo placed obligations on ‘Franciscan tertiaries’ that ensured they would meet most of the conditions for acceptance as ‘religious’ defined by the Fifth Lateran Council.9 In this bull, Leo explained that a new rule for the third order was essential. His justification for this was quite simple: Over time and with the guidance of the same Holy Spirit, it was not only married couples and those who lived in the world for whom the third rule was handed down by Francis, but also choirs of innumerable virgins who took the three essential vows, and also some who, with our permission, took the vow of enclosure and constructed monasteries, which brought much fruit and learning to the Church militant, who have bowed their necks to the yoke of the aforementioned third order.10

While Leo was correct that there was considerable diversity among those who followed the so-called rule of the Franciscan third order, he failed to mention that this was not a recent development.11 Nicholas IV’s 1289 rule had requested that ‘any who wish to observe [the form of life set out for the third order] must first be subjected to a diligent examination regarding the Catholic faith and their obedience to the Catholic Church’.12 However, it gave no explicit guidelines as to how this was to occur or who was to ensure that it had taken place. As Leo observed, 7 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, 2: 648. This session took place in 1516, and was presided over by Leo X. The council itself lasted from 1512–17. Cf. Alison More, ‘Institutionalization of Disorder: The Franciscan Third Order and Canonical Change in the Sixteenth Century’, Franciscan Studies 71 (2013): 147–62. 8 For a brief survey of these communities, see Craig Harline, ‘Actives and Contemplatives: The Female Religious of the Low Countries before and after Trent’, The Catholic Historical Review 81 (1995): 541–67. Cf. Henri Lemaître, ed., ‘Statuts des religieuses du tiers ordre franciscain, dites soeurs grises hospitalières’, Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 4 (1911). 9 Leo X, ‘Inter cetera’, in Annales minorum, 13, 147–9. 10 ‘Verum, quia temporis decursu, spirante illo Spiritu sancto, non solum viri conjugati, mundique hujus incolae, pro quibus a beato Francisco praefata Tertia Regula edita fuerat, verum etiam innumerarum virginum chori tribus essentialibus, et a quibusdam etiam clausurae nostra auctoritate assumptis votis, constructisque Monasteriis quamplurimis, non sine militantis Ecclesiae fructu multiplici et aedificatione, praefato Tertii Ordinis jugo sua colla subdiderunt.’ (Leo X, ‘Inter cetera’, 147). 11 Cf. More, ‘Institutionalization of Disorder’. 12 ‘Si qui voluerint hanc vitam observare, et illos ad eam observandam assimi contigerit, ante assumptionem seu receptionem ipsorum de fide catholica et obedientia erga praefatam Ecclesiam diligenti

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although Nicholas had stated that this rule was for penitents in the world, it was soon adopted by diverse communities. While presented as a revision of the 1289 rule, the rule Leo issued was of a different character. The 1289 rule contained practical provisions for dealing with conflict, socializing, and dressing while in the world. The 1521 rule contained a very specific set of instructions about how members of this order were to behave within an established community, such as observing silence at specific communal hours.13 The new rule contained fewer chapters than the thirteenth-century text it professed to replace, but stricter guidelines for tertiaries. Rather than Nicholas’s vague requirement of non-specific ‘Franciscan supervision’, Leo’s rule included several provisions determining how officials were to be elected and the specific names by which they were to be known. Most importantly, it explicitly required that all communities be supervised by Franciscans.14 It was quite clear that those chosen for leadership would govern a religious community. However, the monasticization went beyond simply adopting external signs of orthodoxy. As had long been the case with monastic communities, those aspiring to join the third order were now obliged to observe a period of one year living in community before being accepted.15 At the end of this pseudo-novitiate, prospective members would publicly profess three vows: obedience, poverty, and chastity.16 Leo’s rule aimed to solve several immediate problems facing tertiary (particularly female tertiary) communities at the beginning of the sixteenth century; however, its success was somewhat limited. Evidence for the dissemination of the 1521 rule has not been adequately studied, yet preliminary findings do not point to its rapid spread. Nicholas’s 1289 rule appears in most printed handbooks of groups who led varied forms of life but were associated with the third order from the sixteenth through the nineteenth centuries; the 1521 rule is seldom found.17 In some cases, it is far from surprising that the 1521 rule was not observed. For instance, Hildo van Engen asserts that there was not a single copy in the diocese of Utrecht.18 There, the majority of communities that followed the 1289 rule and are generally discussed as tertiaries were actually members of the Chapter of Utrecht, and linked to examinationi subdantur’ (in Gilles G. Meersseman, Dossier de l’ordre de la pénitence au XIIIe siècle (Fribourg: Editions Universitaires, 1961; second edition, 1982), p. 128). 13 Leo X, ‘Inter cetera’, c. 6, 148–9. 14 ‘Ministri et Matres obedient per omnia, quae ad praesentem regulam spectant, provincialibus Ministris Ordinis Minorum beati Francisci et Visitatoribus deputatis ab ipsis ministris quamdiu in dictis officiis fuerint. Quo vero ad alia official intra domum servabunt statute sua’ (Leo X, ‘Inter cetera’, c. 5, 148). 15 ‘Fratres et sorores postquam per unum integrum annum habitum probationis detulerint’ (Leo X, ‘Inter cetera’, c. 2, 147). 16 ‘. . . ubi a Praelatis requisitus fuerit, vivendo in obedientia, sine proprio, et in castitate’ (Leo X, ‘Inter cetera’ c. 2, 148). 17 Other examples from elsewhere in Europe include: Regola del Terzo Ordine di S. Francesco. Con le Cerimonie, che si usano nel vestire i fratelli, et le sorelle. Nouamente corr. & ristampata (Venice: Heredi di Manchio Sessa, 1584); Seraphicae legislationis textus originales (Ad Claras Aquas: Padri Editori di Quaracchi, 1897). 18 Hildo van Engen, De derde orde van Sint Franciscus in het middeleeuwse bisdom Utrecht. Middeleeuwse Studies en Bronnen, XCV (Hilversum: Verloren, 2006), p. 32.

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the Devotio moderna rather than the Franciscans. As they had no affiliation with the Franciscans, they certainly would not have welcomed a rule that would require them to accept Franciscan authority. It is important to note that even without the 1521 rule, tertiaries in Utrecht also became more monasticized. While retaining their own statutes, a number of women’s communities of the Chapter made it mandatory for their members to profess vows of chastity and enclosure.19 There was no link explicitly drawn between these new vows and the rule of 1521. The timing of both developments points to an increased tendency towards monasticization in the spiritual climate rather than in a single order. Leo died in 1521 shortly after the rule was issued. The general reforming trends of the sixteenth century resulted in a number of new rules and new orders. Because the Council of Trent did not re-affirm the ban on new forms of religious life that had been repeated since the thirteenth century, new orders were now founded without the historical revisionism that was common (and necessary) earlier.20 More importantly, new non-monastic orders were free to write their own rules, or to adopt rules written specifically for them. New orders such as the Jesuits, the Order of St Camillus, the Theatines, or the Barnabites made no claim to having an association with established religious orders.21 Women’s communities such as the Ursulines and English Ladies, which are discussed later in this chapter, faced a different set of problems.22 As well as the creation of new forms of quasi-religious life, legislation connected with monasticized tertiary movements (particularly those connected with the Franciscan order) continued to develop. Leo’s rule quickly proved to be unsuitable for groups claiming either membership in a third order or the status of moniales. Leo had endeavoured to ensure that the 1521 rule could be used by enclosed women; however, it did not require claustration.23 His avoidance of the issue of enclosure may have been due to a desire for a single rule that could be used by all male and female houses of the third order, and both by houses that were permitted to live an ‘active’ life of ministry and by ‘contemplative’ communities that lived more monastically. Even before the 1563 legislation demanding that moniales be enclosed, those responsible for the spiritual care of women’s communities had already encouraged them to move in this direction. 19 van Engen, De derde orde, 33. 20 Cf. Karen Stöber, ‘Self-Representation of Medieval Religious Communities in Their Writing of History’, in Anne Müller and Karen Stöber, eds, Self-Representation of Medieval Religious Communities (Berlin: LIT Verlag, 2007), p. 370. 21 John Patrick Donnelly, SJ, ‘New Religious Orders for Men’, in R. Po-Chia Hsia, ed., The Cambridge History of Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 162–79. Cf. Robert Bireley, The Refashioning of Catholicism 1450–1700: A Re-Assessment (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1999), pp. 25–44. 22 Elizabeth Rapley, The Dévotes: Women and Church in Seventeenth-Century France (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1990). Cf. Zarri, ‘Female Sanctity’, 180–200; Johannes A. Mol, ‘The Hospitaller Sisters in Frisia’, in Anthony Luttrell and Helen J. Nicholson, eds, Hospitaller Women in the Middle Ages (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), pp. 179–208; Querciolo Mazzonis, ‘The Company of St. Ursula in Counter-Reformation Italy’, in Alison Weber, ed., Devout Laywomen in the Early Modern World (London: Routledge, 2016), pp. 48–68. 23 Cf. More, ‘Institutionalization of Disorder’.

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At the same time, new rules were written that acknowledged and accommodated the diverse forms of life associated with tertiaries. In Spain and Portugal tertiary communities lived by rules confirmed by Paul III in 1547.24 Their author, the new Portuguese minister for the Ultramontane Franciscan Observants, Andreas Insulanus or Alvares (1547–53), noted the plurality that existed in the so-called third order and the difference in requirements for the religious life of men and women. His rule included separate sections for tertiary friars,25 nuns,26 and laypeople.27 Paul III’s confirmation of these rules clearly stated that there were three parts to this ‘order of penitence’, and was intended to accommodate this diversity.28 Both the rule for tertiary friars and the rule for tertiary nuns showed signs of the same monasticization that can be seen in Leo’s rule. The form of profession for the second rule, or rule for the nuns in the order of penitents, required the novice to vow obedience, chastity, poverty, and enclosure in the hands of the minister general. It also required her to live an enclosed life according to the state of a nun in the order of penitence that was confirmed by Paul III.29 The fact that tertiary nuns were explicitly obliged to profess, ‘according to the rule for nuns [moniales], according to the state of the order of penance’ (secundum regulam monialium secundi status sacri Ordinis de Poenitentia), differentiated them from the numerous other groups claiming to belong to some tertiary order. It made it clear that these women were professing as moniales; this removed some of the remaining criticisms of female tertiary groups that professed the rule of either 1289 or 1521. The friars who belonged to this new third order were required to make similarly detailed vows. However, the monastic requirements are conspicuously absent from the rule set out for the third group, or laity. The third rule of Andreas Insulanus virtually re-states the requirements of Nicholas’s 1289 rule—lay members of the ‘third order’ had to be free from suspicion of heresy and be of good character.30 An additional requirement was that this was to be verified by a period of observation. Once accepted, members of this lay order were required to wear a habit of a similar colour to that of the friars, and to carry out specific devotional practices such as attending mass and fasting on days of obligation. The secular elements of the rule for this third group are apparent in its discussion of marriage. The third rule of Andreas permitted married people to enter, but demanded that they live chastely 24 Paul III, ‘Ad fructus uberes’, in Annales minorum, 18: 437–46. Cf. Gabriele Andreozzi, ed., Il Terzo ordine regolare di San Francesco nella sua storia e nelle sue lege (Rome: Editrice Franciscanum, 1993–94), vol. 2, pp. 452–3. 25 Paul III, ‘Ad fructus uberes’, 437–46. 26 Ibid., 447–55. 27 Ibid., 455–9. 28 Ibid., 436. 29 ‘Promittendo in manibus Ministri Generalis vel gerentis ejus vices vitam istam semper & Regulam observare, dicendo hoc modo: Ego Soror N voveo & promitto Deo & beata Mariae Virgini, & beato Francisco & omnibus Sanctis & tibi Pater, toto tempore vitae meae servare Regulam Monialium secundi status sacri Ordinis de Poenitentia, per Dominum Papam Paulum III confirmatam & approbatam vivendo in obedientia, sine proprio, & in castitate in Monasterio ubi promittunt votum clausurae, addant Moniales in Professione & sub clausura, & illico qui eam recipit, eidem respondeat Ego ex parte Dei & ipsius forma ordinationis, si haec observaveris promitto tibi vitam aeternam, juxta illud, quod dicit Dominus in sancto Evangelio, centuplum accipietis, & vitam aeternam possidebitis’ (ibid., 448). Cf. ‘Supra Montem,’ in Bullarium franciscanum 4: 94. 30 Paul III, ‘Ad fructus uberes’, 455–6.

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with their spouse.31 Perhaps most importantly, the third group is explicitly referred to as being a ‘third state’ (‘tertium statum’). Its members were clearly not canonically religious, did not (necessarily) live in community, and were not enclosed. As their lay state was clearly identified, the third branch of the third order would not have been affected by canonical legislation targeting communities of unenclosed women who lacked clerical supervision. Unlike the rule of 1521, this new triad of rules from 1547 was not solely devoted to monastic life: while its first two parts were for canonically recognized religious, its third section was specifically designed for men and women living in the world. In this way, it surmounted one of the major controversies surrounding penitential life and succeeded in regulating the liminal state of laymen and women who lived as religious in the world. Because of its clarity and because it was written by a Franciscan minister general, this triple rule of 1547 quickly became popular in communities that were connected with the Franciscans, particularly in Spain and Portugal.32 Perhaps more importantly, it met the ‘penitential’ ideal of a quasireligious form of life for men and women living in the world. The creation of three ‘states’ within the third order officially recognized the status of laypeople who lived in a devout manner without leaving the secular world. This innovation was to have a significant effect in other parts of Europe. In 1568, Pius V allowed one official exception to the Council of Trent’s prohibition of groups of women living an unenclosed life. Specifically, Pius distinguished the ‘sorores tertii ordinis’ from ‘moniales tertii ordinis’. He confirmed that these ‘sorores’ were permitted to continue in their way of life provided that they accept spiritual care and direction from the Observant friars. This appears to have been intended only for groups that followed the 1547 rule (or the ‘third state of the third order’) and not groups that professed the 1289 rule. However, Observant friars who were responsible for tertiary groups in Northern Europe (particularly those created by the Pisan John XXIII with his 1413 bull Personas vacantes) argued that this exception also applied to the women under their care. As a result, a variety of independent groups, mainly those active in health care or charitable activity, continued to exist. Any connections that groups such as the Grey Sisters or Hospital Sisters of St Elisabeth may have had with the Observant friars do not appear to have lasted. However, the  appearance of legitimacy seems to have been sufficient for legitimate status in the sixteenth-century spiritual climate. N O N - F R A N C I S C A N WO M E N R E L I G I O U S A N D R E G U L A R I Z AT I O N Nor was the situation appreciably different for tertiary groups affiliated with other religious orders. Dominican use of the Augustinian rule resulted in continued 31 Ibid., 455. 32 Cf. Bert Roest, Franciscan Literature of Religious Instruction before the Council of Trent (Leiden: Brill, 2004), pp. 203–4.

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confusion between the two groups. Moreover, despite the existence of some tertiary federations, many women and female communities known by this label remained autonomous and had no connection to either other tertiary houses or any religious order. There were significant differences in tertiary life: some ‘tertiaries’ wore recognizable habits, others did not; some took vows, others promises; some were enclosed, others developed a spirituality around active service.33 The open communities that had been common among beguines spread widely in Italy during the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. As Maiju Lehmijoki-Gardner has explored, women such as Colomba of Rieti (†1501), Stefana Quinzani (†1530), and Lucia Brocadelli of Narni (†1544) founded open houses and lived lives of active devotion.34 At the same time, a number of women who are discussed as Dominican tertiaries still lived in enclosed communities. There was no less variation among tertiaries affiliated with the Augustinians. In the fifteenth century, Christina of Spoleto (†1458), Elena of Udine (†1458), and Veronica Binasco (†1497) lived lives of charity, while Catherine of Bologna (†1463), and Rita of Cascia (†1457) observed enclosure. Open communities appear to have been common in the sixteenth century, but some houses, such as that of Arcangela Panigarola (†1525) observed enclosure.35 As was discussed earlier, texts owned by Augustinian communities from the Low Countries and Germanic regions show remarkable openness to different forms of spirituality. By the seventeenth century, there appears to have been a greater semblance of order;36 however, certain Augustinian women and communities of women continued to incorporate diverse elements in their spirituality. 33 For studies of these communities in Italy, see Anna Esposito, ‘St. Francesca and the Female Religious Communities of Rome’, trans. M. J. Schneider, in Daniel Bornstein and Roberto Rusconi, eds, Women and Religion in Medieval and Renaissance Italy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), pp. 197–218; Katherine Gill, ‘Open Monasteries for Women in Late Medieval and Early Modern Italy: Two Roman Examples’, in Craig Monson, ed., The Crannied Wall Women, Religion, and the Arts in Early Modern Europe (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press 1992), pp. 15–47; Ian Holgate, ‘The Cult of Saint Monica in Quattrocento Italy: Her Place in Augustinian Iconography, Devotion and Legend’, Papers of the British School at Rome 71 (2003): 181–206; Maiju LehmijokiGardner, Worldly Saints: Social Interaction of Dominican Penitent Women in Italy, 1200–1500 (Helsinki: Suomen Historiallinen Seura, 1999); Zarri, ‘Il terzo stato’, 311–34; Gabriella Zarri, ‘La santità femminile a Brescia: percorsi e figure’, in Ennio Ferraglio, ed., Aspirazioni e devozioni: Brescia nel Cinquecento tra preghiera e eresia (Milan: Electa, 2006), pp. 72–85. 34 Sebastino Bontempi, ‘De B. Colomba Reatina Virgo tertii ordinis sancti domenici’, in AASS, May 5: 319–94; ‘Leggenda volgare de la beata Stefana Quinzani’, in Paolo Guerrini, ‘La prima “leggenda volgare” de la beata Stefana Quinzani d’Orzinuovi secondo il codice Vaticano-Urbinate latino 1755’, Memorie storiche della diocesi di Brescia 1930, 89–186. Cf. Lehmijoki-Gardner, Worldly Saints, 146–56. An extensive discussion of Lucia Brocadelli can be found in Tamar Herzig, Savonarola’s Women: Visions and Reforms in Renaissance Italy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), passim. On Colomba of Rieti, see Herzig, Savonarola’s Women, 39–65. 35 On Christine and Elena, see Lehmijoki-Gardner, Worldly Saints, 40. A more extensive discussion of Elena can be found in Alison Knowles Frazier, Possible Lives: Authors and Saints in Renaissance Italy (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005), pp. 221–68. For Arcangela, see Herzig, Savonarola’s Women, 157–70. On Catherine of Bologna see the contributions in Claudio Leonardi, ed., Caterina Vigri. La santa e la città, Atti del Convegno Bologna, 13–15 Novembre 2002 (Florence: SISMEL—Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2004). 36 Cf. Holgate, ‘Santa Monica’, 174–5. Cf. Roberta Guarnieri, ‘Pinzochere’, Dizionario degli Istituti di Perfezione, 10 vols [Rome 1974–2003], vol. 6 (1980), cols 1721–49.

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The sixteenth-century trend towards monasticization also affected many groups of laywomen who had no order affiliation. In particular, communities of non-monastic women who were still known as beguines had—to some degree—managed to escape many of the proclamations and decrees aimed at tertiaries. As we have seen in previous chapters, the condemnation of beguines by Council of Vienne (1311) did not mean the end of the movement. Koen Goudriaan has shown that despite the many communities which adopted Franciscan or Augustinian ‘tertiary’ rules in Vienne’s wake, new foundations continued to be established as beguinages in the Low Countries well into the fifteenth century.37 In 1465, Pope Paul II recognized the privileges and property of the Groot Begijnhof in Leuven.38 In the later fifteenth and first half of the sixteenth century, the Groot Begijnhof of St Catherine in Mechelen was home to between 1,500 and 1,900 women.39 The beguine movement is often hailed as the epitome of the vita mixta. However, these later beguines were subject to their own trajectory of monasticization and reform. Nicolaas van Essche or Esschius (†1578), pastor of the beguinage in Diest after 1538, instituted one such programme.40 As the vita by his disciple Johannes Lumnius (†1589) makes clear, Esschius was a dedicated reformer. He was a member of the Devotio moderna movement, which, like the Observants, desired the edification of the faithful and a return to the purity of the early Christian tradition. At Diest, Esschius instigated a reform programme (based, in part, on Hendrik Herp’s Duodecim mortificationes), which directed the beguines towards a spirituality of renunciation. In particular, Esschius drew upon Herp’s guidelines for the sister preparing herself for mystical union and his support for both asceticism and poverty.41 37 Koen Goudriaan, ‘Beguines and the Devotio Moderna at the Turn of the Fifteenth Century’, in Letha Böhringer, Jennifer Kolpacoff Deane, and Hildo van Engen, eds, Labels and Libels: Naming Beguines in Northern Medieval Europe (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), pp. 187–217. Beguinages that were founded at this time include Sint-Pieters-Leeuw (1327), Lens-Saint-Remy (1340), and Saucy (first half of the fifteenth century). Other houses, including Beguinage en Bergue, Beguinage de la Chappelle, Beguinage des Machurées (1383) were first mentioned at this time. See Pascal Majérus, Ces femmes qu’on dit béguines . . . Guide des béguinages de Belgique Bibliographie et sources d’archives (Brussels: Archives générales du Royaume, 1997), passim. 38 Majérus, Ces femmes, 843. 39 Walter Simons, Cities of Ladies: Beguine Communities in the Medieval Low Countries, 1200–1565 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001), p. 55. 40 Michel Van der Eycken, ‘Nicolaas van Essche en de hervorming van het Diestse Begijnhof ’, Arca Lovaniensis 5 (1976): 277–97. 41 Duodecim Mortificationes (Köln, Stadtsarchiv W. 13 ff. 5r–21r). The twelve mortifications are listed as: ‘I Omnium affectuum erga res temporalium; II Omnium affectuum propriae quaesitionis in agendo quaelibet opera virtuosa & in dimittendo mala; III Omnium affectuum propriae sensualitatis; IV Omnium afectuum amoris sensualis, naturalis, & acquisiti; V Omnium afectuum erga cogitationes & imagines rerum creaturarum; VI Omnis curae, quae non est de justa necessitate, propter spiritualem utilitatem, vel propter obedientiam; VII Omnis amaritudinis cordis; VIII Omnium affectuum vanae gloriae & propriae complacentiae, honoris mundane & superbiae; IX Omnium affectuum oblectationum internarum spiritualium vel sensualium; X Omnis scrupulositatis cordis; XI Omnis inquietudinis & impatientiae cordis in omni exteriori adversitate; XII Omnis propriae voluntatis in totali voluntaria resignatione ad omnem internam derelictionem sufferendam propter amorem Dei.’ The chapters themselves advise renouncing worldly possessions, desire for beauty, appetite for food and drink, and ‘natural’ loves such as love of family.

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Esschius’s reform programme instituted theological and spiritual reforms, primarily concerning the beguines’ role in secular society. Prior to Esschius’s involvement, the community at Diest had been active in various businesses (notably spinning). Esschius sought to increase the separation between beguines and the world by limiting both their commercial activities and interaction with secular society. In particular, Esschius asked that the beguines of Diest close the public roads that ran through their community.42 He also mandated that they wear a grey habit to distinguish themselves from laywomen. At the same time, he redesigned the parish church of St Catherine according to a model that encouraged the beguines to separate themselves from the local lay people who came to worship there. Esschius’s reforms resulted in a number of formal complaints by both the beguines and citizens, but these were quickly dismissed by Church authorities. In 1553, Esschius codified his reforms as ‘Cleyn Statuten’, which in the course of time were taken up by a number of beguine communities in the Low Countries.43 Esschius himself was later buried at the beguinage of St Catherine. Esschius’s statutes were a response to the climate of regularization that plagued sixteenth-century quasi-religious women. A number of other communities in the Southern Low Countries underwent reforms independently and were given new statutes. A cartulary from Dendermonde contains statutes of the beguinage issued by Robrecht van Croÿ, bishop of Cambrai, in 1551.44 In other instances, the existing statutes of beguinages were reissued or confirmed to emphasize their conformity with the direction favoured by secular officials. For instance, in 1531, Charles V reconfirmed the statutes from St Elisabeth in Ghent, which had existed since at least the fourteenth century.45 The beguinage in Antwerp had several new sets of statutes issued in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries.46 In many cases, former students and admirers of Esschius were responsible for the later governance of beguinages: Johannes Fredericus Lumnius was entrusted with the cura of Antwerp in 1562, Jerome Swinnen (†1603) with that of Leuven and Aarschot, Wilhelm Michiels (†1609) and Johannes Beyharts (†1617) with that of Tongeren.47 At a 42 These are printed in Lodewijk Jozef Maria Philippen, De Begijnhoven, Oorsprong, Geschiedenis, Inrichting (Antwerp: Veritas, 1918), pp. 382–90. They are discussed at length in van der Eycken, ‘Nicolaas van Essche’, 276–97. 43 Nadine Tomsin, Béguines et béguinages Liégeoise: une réalité méconnue et oubliée (Liège: Éditions Lecture et liberté 1984), p. 92. 44 Jan Broeckaert, ed., Cartularium van het Begijnhof van Dendermonde. Voorafgegaan van eene historische schets dezes gestichts (Dendermonde: Snelpersdruk Aug. De Schepper-Philips, 1902), no. CIV. 45 For these statutes, see Jean Béthune, Cartulaire du béguinage de Sainte-Elisabeth à Gand (Bruges: A. de Zuttere, 1883), no. 341, 237–39. For the first rule of the beguinage, see Béthune, Cartulaire, no. 23, 17–22. The precise date of this rule is not known, but a Dutch version is thought to have existed as early as 1269 (see Jordanus Piet de Pue, Geschiedenis Groot Begijnhof St Elisabeth Ghent en St Amandsberg (Leuven: N.P., 1984), 13, n. 5). A surviving fourteenth-century rule is also printed in  Béthune: the reformed statutes of 1353 issued by Louis de Mâle, Count of Flanders (Béthune, no. 130, 89–92). These were reconfirmed in 1531 by Charles V, and later by Philip III on 27 Nov. 1623. 46 Dutch statutes of the infirmary mistress from 1590 exist for the beguinage of Antwerp. These are printed in Philippen, De begijnhoven, 403–6. Cf. ibid, 380–1 and 397–400. 47 Cf. Lodewijk Jozef Maria Philippen, ‘Begijnhoven en spiritualiteit’, Ons geestelijk erf 3 (1929): 183–4. Cf. F. J. E. Raymaekers, Het kerkelijk en liefdadig Diest (Leuven: Karel Peeters, 1870), p. 483;

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practical (if not canonical) level, beguines and beguinages had become a familiar and easily recognizable part of city life and the spiritual climate of the Low Countries.48 However, those responsible for the spiritual care of the beguines felt the need for regularizing these women, and directed their efforts to creating a coherent and unifying history of the beguine order, rather than creating links with mendicant or Cistercian groups. To achieve the goal of creating an ordo begghinarum, those responsible for beguine cura drew upon the cult of St Begga, who came to be widely promoted as the saintly foundress of the beguines.49 Begga herself led a life that included both traditional religious experience and time in the secular world. She was born near the beginning of the seventh century to Pepin the Elder, and was the sister of Gertrude of Nivelles. Begga married Ansegilius of Metz and was widowed at a young age. Following his death, she made a pilgrimage to Rome. When she returned, she founded a monastery for women in Andenne where she lived the remainder of her life as abbess.50 Begga’s tale had very little to do with the lifestyle of the beguines; however, her name and longstanding affinity with the beguine movement later secured her position as a symbol of a unified beguine order. Numerous visual representations of Begga were created for beguinages in the sixteenth century. Moreover, her legend was also incorporated into liturgy and sermons for beguine communities.51 The prevalence of the association between Begga and the beguines persisted. Around 1631, Joseph de Ryckel (†1642), visitator to two beguinages in Leuven, wrote a lengthy vita of St Begga.52 This vita circulated widely and was later updated by a Dutch text, which included tales of Begga and her associates preaching to women in the Low Countries.53 In both texts, Begga’s importance and ongoing influence is apparent. A saintly founder confers a certain degree of respectability on any group, and the figure of Begga served to convey the idea that the beguines had a common history and recognizable institutional identity. More importantly, this ensured that the beguines were seen as an established part of the spiritual culture in the Low Countries. A. Ampe, ‘Eschius’, in Marcel Viller, Ferdinand Cavallera, and Joseph de Guibert, eds, Dictionnaire de Spiritualité Ascetique et Mystique, vol. 4 (Paris: G. Beauchesne, 1960), pp. 1060–6. 48 The same appears to have been true in the German lands. As Kristen Christensen points out, those responsible for promoting the writings of Maria van Hout insisted that she had taken vows and  was pious, but never identified her with a particular religious order. See Kristen Christensen, ‘The Gender of Epistemology in Confessional Europe: The Reception of Maria van Hout’s Ways of Knowing’, in Anneke Mulder-Bakker, ed., Seeing and Knowing: Women and learning in Medieval Europe 1200–1600 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004), pp. 97–120. 49 Stefaan Grieten, ‘Een heilige verbeeld. Iconografie en ideologische recuperatie van de heilige Begga’, Jaarboek van het Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten Antwerpen (1994): 89–183. 50 Cf. Simons, Cities of Ladies, 142–3. 51 Pieter Mannaerts, ‘ “O Fundatrix Begginarum”: St. Begga and her Office in Early Modern Beguine Scholarship and Musical Sources’, in Alicia C. Montoya, Sophie van Romburgh, and Wim van Anrooij, eds, Early Modern Medievalisms (Leiden: Brill, 2010), pp. 219-48. 52 Joseph Ryckel, Vita S. Beggae (Louvain: Typis Corn. Coenestenii, 1631). Cf. Simons, Cities of Ladies, 140. 53 Het Leven van de seer edele doorluchtigste en H. Begga, Hertoginne van Brabant, Stigteresse der Begijnen (Antwerp: By de weduwe van Petrus Jacob, 1712).

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The emphasis on order that characterized official attitudes towards groups of women was an integral part of the sixteenth-century spiritual climate. As had been the case for Observant reformers, sixteenth-century Churchmen longed to return to a pristine age in which the Church was unmarred by corruption. Their ways of  accomplishing this, however, were slightly different. In particular, the earlier resistance to theological innovation had not lasted. The Council of Trent accepted the creation of new orders and new religious congregations as a necessary development in view of the perceived dangers of Protestantism. These new orders and congregations were considered important actors in a reinvigorated Catholic Church. However, in this new Church, roles for women were still conspicuously absent.54 In 1563, the twenty-fifth session of Trent renewed the 1298 demand that religious women be enclosed. The relevant passage reads: Renewing the constitution of Boniface VIII which begins Periculoso, the holy council commands all bishops, calling the divine justice to witness and under threat of eternal damnation, to ensure that the enclosure of nuns in all monasteries subject to them by ordinary authority and in others by the authority of the Apostolic See, should be diligently restored where it has been violated and preserved most carefully where it has remained intact; they should coerce any who are disobedient and refractory by ecclesiastical censures and other penalties, setting aside any form of appeal and calling in the help of the secular arm if need be.55

While the Council seemed to agree that enclosure was necessary for moniales, there were a number of dissenting voices regarding whether this should also apply to non-monastic groups such as penitents and tertiaries. Certain bishops argued that many so-called tertiary groups had professed simple (rather than solemn) vows, or had no tradition of enclosure. 56 At the same time, officials from major religious orders including the Augustinians, Franciscans, Dominicans, and Carmelites argued that it was improper to expect tertiaries to observe something they had not promised 54 Cf. Raymond Creytens, ‘La Riforma del Monasteri Femminile dopo i Decreti Tridentini’, in Il Concilio de Trento e la Riforma Tridentina (Rome: Herder, 1963), vol. 1, pp. 62–77; Elia Novi Chavarria, ‘Les rituels de vêture à Naples à l’époque baroque’, in Bernard Dompnier, ed., Les cérémonies extraordinaires du catholicisme baroque (Presses Univ. Blaise Pascal, 2009), p. 352. 55 ‘Bonifatii VIII constitutionem quae incipit Periculoso renovans sancta synodus universis episcopis sub obtestatione divini iudicii et interminatione maledictionis aeternae praecipit ut in omnibus monasteriis sibi subiectis ordinaria in aliis vero sedis apostolicae auctoritate clausuram sanctimonialium ubi violata fuerit diligenter restitui et ubi inviolata est conservari maxime procurent inobedientes atque contradictores per censuras ecclesiasticas alias que poenas quacumque appellatione postposita compescentes invocato etiam ad hoc si opus fuerit auxilio brachii saecularis.’ Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils 2: 777–8. The translation cited here is from Elizabeth Makowski, Canon Law and Cloistered Women: Periculoso and its Commentators, 1298–1545 (Washington DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1997), p. 128. 56 Creytens includes several examples of bishops and religious leaders who argued that tertiary groups should be permitted to live in ‘open monasteries’ as they had either never observed enclosure, or lived under simple (rather than solemn) vows. Creytens, ‘La Riforma’, 49–57.

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when entering religious life.57 Other voices argued that Boniface’s 1298 decretal Periculoso had made enclosure an essential feature of religious life for all women. Although Trent’s decrees on religious women had undoubtedly been intended to bring order, the ambiguity that had persisted for over 250 years still remained. In 1566, the confusion caused by this ongoing ambiguity was brought to the attention of the newly elected Pius V. Largely at the instigation of the influential proponent of reform, Charles Borromeo, Pius issued a decree regarding the enclosure of religious women during the first year of his papacy.58 Pius’s bull Circa pastoralis was explicit in his claim that the need for enclosure applied to all communities of women—whether the vows were expressed tacitly or explicitly, whatever name they went by, and regardless of what their own rules said about enclosure.59 Nevertheless, communities of extra-regular women continued to exist in new forms. Whatever Pius’s intent, Circa pastoralis does not appear to have resolved the problem. He addressed this issue again in 1569, as did his successor Gregory XIII, in 1572. As was the case for beguines after the Council of Vienne in the fourteenth century, Pius’s bull placed non-monastic female communities in a difficult situation. Despite the acknowledged need for active communities and secular support for work such as teaching or ministering to the poor, these women were clearly no 57 From the Augustinians: ‘Procurator ordinis D. Augustini.—Nullus potest cogi ad id quod est consilii. Clausura non est de substantialibus trium votorum, exemplum Religiosorum quibus non est indicta clausura.—Nullus debet obligari ad plura et arctiora quam regula ordinaverit, et beatus Augustinus in Epist. 109 non precipit. clausuram etc.—Aliquae moniales habent privilegium Pauli III ut possint vivere in observantia absque clausura. Ergo ex vi decreti non precipitur omnibus clausura etc.—Videretur expedire ut non exirent. Sed censet non licere eas cogere’ (Concilio t. 21 f.  373, cited in Creytens, ‘La Riforma’, 57). From the Franciscans: ‘Procurator ordinis Sancti Francisci.—Quod constitutio Bonifatii non fuit ab omnibus approbata. Ideo illae tantum moniales quae profitentur clausuram cogantur etc., aliae vero non; quia subditi extra promissum non debent cogi, ut ait B. Bemardus. Hortentur tamen omnes etc.’ (Concilio t. 2.1 f. 373, cited in Creytens, ‘La Riforma’, 57–8). 58 Creytens, ‘La Riforma’, 65–6. For Borromeo’s influence in other areas of Europe, see Marc Venard, ‘The Influence of Carlo Borromeo on the Church of France’, in John M. Headley and John Tomaro, eds, San Carlo Borromeo: Catholic Reform and Ecclesiastical. Politics in the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century (Toronto and London: Associated University Presses, 1988), pp. 208–27; John Headley, ‘Borromean Reform in the Empire? La strada rigorosa of Giovanni Francesco Bonomi’, in John M. Headley and John Tomaro, eds, San Carlo Borromeo: Catholic Reform and Ecclesiastical. Politics in the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century (Toronto and London: Associated University Presses, 1988), pp. 229–47. As well as doctrinal efforts, Borromeo’s influence extended to ‘instructional’ art and preaching. Cf. Frédéric Conrad, Loyola’s Greater Narrative (Berlin: Peter Lang, 2008), pp. 76–7. 59 ‘Universas et singulas moniales, tacite vel expresse religionem professae, etiam si conversae aut quocumque alio nomine appellentur, etiam si ex institutis vel fundationibus earum regulae ad clausuram non teneantur, nec unquam in earum monasteriis seu domibus, etiam ab immemorabili tempore, ea servata non fuerit, sub perpetua in suis monasteriis seu domibus debere de coetero permanere clausura, iuxta formam dictae Constitutionis Bonifacii Papae VIII praedecessoris nostri, quae incipit: Periculoso, in sacro concilio Tridentino approbatam, et innovamus in omnibus et per omnia, ac illam districte observare mandamus’ (in Sebastian Franco, H. Fory, and Henrico Dalmazzo, eds, Bullarium diplomatum et privilegiorum sanctorum romanorum Pontificum Taurensis (Rome: Augustae Taurinorum, 1862), 7: 448). Cf. Marie Amélie Le Bourgeois, Les Ursulines d’Anne de Xainctonge (1606) (Saint-Étienne: Éditions Universitaires, 2003), pp. 103–38, at 106–13. Nicole Bériou and Bernard Dompnier see the reforms of Trent as part of the same impetus towards the appearance of more traditional monasticism. (Bériou and Dompnier, ‘Preface’, in Frédéric Meyer and Ludovic Viallet, eds, Identités franciscaines à l’âge des réformes (Clermont-Ferrand: Presses de l’université Blaise Pascal, 2005), p. 15). Cf. Creytens, ‘La Riforma’, 62–77.

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longer supported by official Church structures. However, the women were not easily discouraged. Instead of internalizing the Church’s rhetoric, they—like their earlier sisters—found ways of circumventing it. In the years that immediately followed Trent and the statements of Pius V, women and those responsible for their spiritual care began to distance themselves from official religious life and reclaim their earlier identities as communities of pious laywomen. Instead of adopting rules with canonical weight or pontifical approval, which would have forced them to adopt enclosure, women formed pious and active groups such as the Dévots, Ursulines, and the English Ladies (also known as the Mary Ward sisters, and later as the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary).60 Other examples include a number of confraternities and the klopjes or ‘spiritual virgins’ of the Netherlands, who often interacted with men and women from both the Catholic and reformed traditions.61 Although the women and those responsible for their spiritual care emphasized the lay status of these women, their work—often in schools, hospitals, or poorhouses— was virtually indistinguishable from the activities that had been performed by earlier tertiary or beguine communities. Insistence on their secular status arguably exempted these women from canonical obligations such as enclosure. Those responsible for the spiritual care of these women were aware of the importance of this canonical distinction, and often forbade them to identify themselves as religious. At the same time, they advised them to choose to be regulated by documents known as ‘regulations’ or ‘statutes’ rather than as ‘rules’. The different ways in which religious life in the sixteenth century changed for women can be seen by examining two orders that were founded at this time: the Ursulines (which had begun as the Company of St Ursula) and the English Ladies. THE URSULINES Like the earlier beguine, tertiary, and penitent movements, the Company of St Ursula emerged as a feminine expression of spirituality that was ideally suited to its social and spiritual climate.62 As Gabriella Zarri has pointed out, Brescia had a long history of devotional innovation, particularly in regards to forms of religious life for women.63 Despite the growing dissatisfaction with Church corruption, 60 Le Bourgeois, Les Ursulines, 114–38; Cf. Susan E. Dinan, Women and Poor Relief in SeventeenthCentury France: The Early History of the Daughters of Charity (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), pp. 17–22. 61 See the work of Marit Monteiro on communities of ‘spiritual virgins’ (or klopjes): Monteiro, Geestelijke maagden; Marit Monteiro, ‘Power in Piety: Inspiration, Ambition and Strategies of Spiritual Virgins in the Northern Netherlands during the Seventeenth Century’, in Laurence Lux-Sterritt and Carmen Mangion, eds, Gender, Catholicism and Spirituality: Women and the Roman Catholic Church in Britain and Europe, 1200–1900 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), pp. 115–30. 62 Gabriella Zarri has argued that it was the first movement to do this in her article, ‘Il terzo stato’. While, as Zarri makes clear, it embraced the unique social and spiritual climate of Northern Italy in the sixteenth century, as this book has shown, it was more of a development than innovation. Cf. Zarri, ‘Il terzo stato’,311–34. On charitable institutions in Brescia, see Sergio Onger, La città dolente: povertà e assistenza a Brescia durante la Restaurazione (Milan: Franco Angeli, 1993). 63 Zarri, ‘La santità femminile’, 72–85.

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many women in Brescia sought to incorporate devotional practices in their lives.64 The women who became known as the Ursulines grew out of this milieu. This group began as an informal confraternity dedicated to works of service and piety, and retained its lay character up until the death of its foundress, Angela Merici, in 1547. However, like the earlier movements, the Ursulines were quickly subjected to a programme of unsystematic regularization that soon transformed them into a conventional religious order in the years immediately following the Council of Trent. St Ursula was a logical patroness for a female confraternity. Though her history is shrouded in legend, Ursula was a powerful symbol for lay and female leadership in the Church.65 A Breton princess, Ursula desired to dedicate her virginity to the Lord. Nevertheless, she agreed to marry an Anglian prince, often called Aetherius, on two conditions: the first, that he convert to Christianity; the second, that she be permitted to take a three-year pilgrimage with a company of virgins. It was this pilgrimage that eventually led to Ursula’s martyrdom in Cologne. Her martyrdom was not an unforeseen tragedy. Instead, Ursula experienced a vision in which an angel warned her of what would transpire. Undaunted, Ursula and her companions continued their pilgrimage. As news spread of their mission and its inevitable unhappy end, the women were joined by others including (the mythical) Pope Cyriacus and Ursula’s newly baptized betrothed, Aetherius. Throughout the later middle ages and early modern period, the sacrifice of Ursula and her companions was seen as a powerful witness to the Christian message. Ursula herself was seen as a powerful leader and the captain of an army of martyrs. The early history of Ursula’s cult can be pieced together only from archaeological fragments and details in liturgical books. The ‘discovery’ of her relics near Cologne in 1106 gave her cult a new impetus. Around that time, Elisabeth of Schönau (†1164), a Benedictine nun, recorded a vision revealing missing details of Ursula’s story (including the name of her betrothed). The details recorded in Elisabeth’s Revelationes quickly became standard parts of Ursula’s legenda. Jacobus de Voragine later included her tale in his popular Golden Legend.66 The story spread widely in later medieval and early modern Europe. Her life was lauded in art, including a picture in San Clemente, where the Ursuline foundress, Angela Merici (†1540), prayed regularly. From the fourteenth century onwards, Ursula became increasingly popular 64 Charmarie Blaisdell points out that there were around 3,000 women in various religious houses in sixteenth-century Brescia. There were also confraternities of both men and women who worked in hospitals and poor relief. Charmarie J. Blaisdell, ‘Angela Merici and the Ursulines’, in Richard L. DeMolen, ed., Religious Orders of the Catholic Reformation: In Honor of John C. Olin on His SeventyFifth Birthday (New York: Fordham University Press, 1994), pp. 99–128, at 110. Cf. Zarri, ‘La santità femminile’. On corruption in the Brescian Church, see Blaisdell, ‘Angela’, 103–4; Antonio Cistellini, ‘La vita religiosa nei seculi XV e XVI’, in Giovanni Treccani degli Alfieri, ed., Storia di Brescia 2, La dominazione Veneta (1426–1575) (Brescia: Morcelliana 1962). 65 The earliest evidence of Ursula’s cult is a fifth-century inscription in Cologne. Although a princess and her virginal companions appear to have been venerated, details such as the name of the leader and the number of virgins varied significantly until the thirteenth century. Cf. Scott B. Montgomery, St. Ursula and the Eleven Thousand Virgins of Cologne: Relics, Reliquaries and the Visual Culture of Group Sanctity in Late Medieval Europe (Oxford and Berlin: Peter Lang, 2012), pp. 1–18. 66 Montgomery, St. Ursula, 21–3.

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in Italy and a number of Italian editions of the Golden Legend enhanced accounts of Ursula’s leadership and public speech.67 By the fifteenth century, Ursula had become patroness of numerous lay confraternities throughout Europe.68 The women now known as Ursulines were originally one of these confraternities. Their foundress, Angela Merici, was born in Desenzano at the end of the fifteenth century.69 By every account, Angela was pious from her youth, and regularly read and imitated the stories of the saints. Orphaned in her early adolescence, she moved from her native Desenzano to Salò. Here, Angela established links with the Observant Franciscans and gained a reputation for acts of piety. Although she is often referred to as a ‘Franciscan tertiary’, as has been made clear throughout this study, it is difficult to determine exactly what that meant. However, throughout Italy from the fifteenth century onwards, female tertiaries associated with the Franciscans were steered towards regularization. Angela’s situation suggests that the earlier informal practices of pious association with the order while remaining in the secular world persisted.70 Around 1516, Angela travelled to Brescia to console the widowed Caterina Patengola. At this time, Brescia was home to a number of pious charitable associations, or luoghi di pietà, and Angela became familiar with groups such as the Compagnia del Divino Amore and the Compagnia della Ss Trinità, that managed hospitals for the incurabili. At the same time, Angela became involved with the Conservatorio delle Convertite della Carità, which worked to teach and assist young girls and penitent prostitutes.71 Her commitment to public charity led Angela to surround herself with a company of like-minded women from various social backgrounds. In 1535, these women became known as the Company of St Ursula. Members lived a life similar to that of the earlier beguines or bizzoche: that is, they lived in their familial homes or other private dwellings and carried out works of charity or piety. The Company was governed by a rule that Angela was reported to have dictated to Gabriele Cozzano, her confessor and first chancellor of the Company. This was supplemented by spiritual advice in her Testamento and Ricordi.72 Like Nicholas IV’s 1289 rule, Angela’s Regola contained guidelines 67 For a discussion of the imagery surrounding Angela and the Ursulines, see Gabriella Zarri, ‘Orsola e Caterina. Il matrimonio delle vergini nel secolo XVI’, Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa 29 (1993): 527–54; Francesco Zambrini, Collezione di leggende inedite, scritte nel buon secolo della lingua Toscana, 2 vols (Bologna, 1855), vol. 1, pp. 177–212; Cf. Kelley Harness, Echoes of Women’s Voices: Music, Art, and Female Patronage in Early Modern Florence (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 80–101. 68 Montgomery, St. Ursula, 43–57. 69 For documents relating to Angela’s life, see Luciana Mariani, Elisa Tarolli, and Marie Seynaeve, Angela Merici: Contributo per una biografia (Milan: Ancora, 1986); Teresa Ledochowska, OSU, Angela Merici and the Company of St. Ursula According to the Historical Documents, trans. Mary Teresa Neylan (Milan: Ancora, 1968). 70 For a discussion of Angela’s Franciscan links, see Mariani et al., Angela Merici, 97–101. 71 Zarri, ‘La santità’, 81; Blaisdell, ‘Angela’, 103–6. Onger, La città dolente, 215–18. 72 The earliest edition of the rule dates from 1569. Although often regarded as Angela’s original text, it reflects the circumstances of the period immediately after her death. See Mariani et al., Angela Merici, 370–6. Printed editions of these three documents are included in Mariani et al., Angela Merici, (Regola) 491–506, (Testamento) 512–17, (Ricordi) 507–12.

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detailing appropriate social comportment for those living a life that brought together the seemingly divergent paths of the cloister and the world.73 During Angela’s life, her company flourished. By the time she died in 1540, her Company of St Ursula had 150 members from varied walks of life. Angela’s death resulted in a period of instability among the Ursulines. Like the earlier beguines, the Ursulines were criticized for their contact with the secular world, lack of a canonically approved rule, and apparent reluctance to accept clerical authority. The heightened criticisms led to some disagreement within the community about how it ought to be governed. While Gabriele Cozzano and the influential company member Ginevra Luzzago advocated maintaining the status quo, Angela’s chosen successor, Lucrezia Lodrone, endeavoured to steer the company towards traditional religious life.74 Both sides had significant institutional support: the bishop of Brescia supported Cozzano and Luzzago; in 1546, Pope Paul III gave official approval to Lodrone’s reforms with the bull Regimini universalis ecclesiae.75 Neither approval was considered definitive, and the schism continued until 1559. The reasons for the end of the schism among the Ursulines are unclear. In 1559, Bianca Porcelaga, a compromise leader who combined elements of reform and tradition was elected. Bianca’s influence, combined with the implementation of much of Trent’s programme of reform, ensured that the Ursuline way of life adopted the structures of traditional religious orders. This was also due to the influence of Charles Borromeo, the bishop of Milan. In 1567, Borromeo brought the Ursulines to Milan where they earned favour by teaching in Schools of Christian Doctrine.76 He wrote a new rule for Ursuline communities, which demanded changes in the Ursuline lifestyle that were only marginally compatible with Angela’s vision.77 Angela had advocated for her sisters to hold some degree of autonomy. In contrast, Borromeo’s reforms required that the Ursulines be supervised by male clerics and adopt a communal lifestyle. Moreover, he instituted more prescriptive regulations to replace Angela’s Regola and gathered the women into communities.78 Whereas Angela’s text had encouraged the sisters to heed the inner guidance of the Holy Spirit, Borromeo advocated obedience to the institutional hierarchy. Some communities adopted the Rule of St Augustine, and others even mandated enclosure. Although practices still varied widely between communities, most women known as Ursulines took on the appearance of traditional nuns (moniales) in the later sixteenth century. The regularization and monasticization of the Ursulines allowed 73 Blaisdell, ‘Angela’, 107–9. 74 Blaisdell, ‘Angela’, 112–16. Cf. Dinan, Women and Poor Relief, 28. 75 Paul III, ‘Regimini universalis ecclesiae’, quoted in Angela Merici, II, 369–73. For a discussion of the controversy, see Blaisdell, ‘Angela’, 112–16; Querciolo Mazzonis, Spirituality, Gender, and the Self in Renaissance Italy: Angela Merici and the Company of St Ursula (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2007), pp. 198–9. 76 On the schools, see Paul F. Grendler, ‘The Schools of Christian Doctrine in Sixteenth-Century Italy’, Church History 53 (1984): 319–31. 77 Susan Dinan, ‘Spheres of Female Religious Expression’, in Susan Dinan and Debra Meyers, eds, Women and Religion in Old and New Worlds (New York: Routledge, 2001), pp. 76–7. 78 Rapley, The Dévotes, 50.

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them to spread widely.79 In 1574, a community had been established at Avignon. By 1576, it had become the official duty of bishops to found a Company of St Ursula in their dioceses. In 1612, Pope Paul V recognized the congregation as an order of cloistered nuns. By the seventeenth century, it had spread to northern cities such as Paris (1606), Huy (1637), and Cologne (1639).80 Ursuline communities also spread quickly throughout France. Here, however, forms of life varied tremendously between Ursuline communities.81 For instance, in Dijon, the Ursuline Anne de Xainctonge (†1602) continued to lead an unenclosed life, saying, ‘it was God alone that made me know that I did not have to make myself invisible to glorify him, and that I could be his without burying myself behind grilles of a cloister’.82 In consultation with her Jesuit confessors, Anne ‘founded’ a network of houses dedicated to a life resembling that of the original Ursulines. These women (now known as the Sisters of St Ursula and the Blessed Virgin) were not given the same official status as the Merici Ursulines until 1628.83 As we have seen throughout this book, it was not uncommon for groups perceived as cohesive orders to be comprised of loosely affiliated houses without a  common rule or superior. While Anne’s community resisted enclosure, other communities specifically requested it as they felt it was in keeping with the spiritual climate and afforded them additional freedoms from criticism. In France, Ursuline documents show a definite commitment to education.84 By 1700, there were over 320 Ursuline communities focused on education. In Paris, the Ursulines even took a fourth religious vow: educating girls. By making their commitment to education an intrinsic part of their profession, the sisters ensured that their vow of obedience could never be used to require them to abandon this duty.85 In Italy, there was more variation in lifestyle and commitments. Houses in Milan resembled traditional religious communities, but houses in Parma and Piacenza had separate histories, and no connection to the burgeoning order.86 Many Italian Ursuline communities continued to work in all manner of charitable activities including education, and ministry to the poor and infirm, while others adopted enclosure. The diversity amongst Ursuline communities became even more pronounced when certain 79 Mazzonis, ‘The Company of St. Ursula’, 48–68. 80 Barbara Diefendorf, From Penitence to Charity: Pious Women and the Catholic Reformation in Paris (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), pp. 124–30. 81 Cf. Marie Élizabeth Henneau, ‘Missionnaires aux frontières du protestantisme’, in Raymond Brodeur, ed., Femme mystique et missionnaire Marie Guyart de l’Incarnation Tours 1599–Québec 1642. Actes du colloque organisé par le Centre d’études Marie-de-l’Incarnation sous les auspices du Centre interuniversitaire d’études québécoises qui s’est tenu à Loretteville, Québec, du 22 au 25 septembre 1999 (Québec: Presses Université Laval, 2001), pp. 37–53. Rapley, The Dévotes, 54–60. 82 Cited in Rapley, The Dévotes, 177. 83 Le Bourgeois, Les Ursulines, 128. 84 Règles et constitutions de l’institut et compagnie des religieuses de Sainte Ursule (Bordeaux: G. de la Court, 1683); Catherine de Jesus Ranquet, Coutumier ou directoire pour les religieuses de Saincte Ursule (Grenoble: Chez Pierre Verdier, 1645). 85 Règlements des religieuses Ursulines de la congregation de Paris (Paris: Chez Louis Josse, 1705), 5–6. 86 Angelo Turchini, Sotto l’occhio del padre: società confessionale e istruzione primaria nello Stato di Milano (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1996). Danielle Culpepper, ‘“Our Particular Cloister”: Ursulines and Female Education in Seventeenth-Century Parma and Piacenza’, Sixteenth Century Journal 36 (2005): 1026–9.

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Ursuline women headed for the New World. Specifically, Marie de l’Incarnation and Madeleine de la Peltrie headed for New France (now Québec, Canada), and Marie Tranchepain and her companions founded an Ursuline school in New Orleans (Louisiana, USA).87 Again, by moving beyond traditional religious boundaries, women who desired both to serve God and make a difference in their world had found a way of doing so. M A RY WA R D ( 1 5 8 5 – 1 6 4 5 ) Mary Ward’s story also illustrates the trajectory of difficulties and institutionalization faced by emerging religious communities in the post-Tridentine period.88 Raised in a recusant household in the North of England, Ward had been aware of the need for Catholic reform from a very young age.89 Her eventual goal was to return to her native land and provide education for the Catholic community. It comes as no surprise that she was drawn to the society of Jesuits. Initially directed to life in a community of Clares in St Omer (French Flanders), Ward felt called to take a direct approach to fighting the difficulties caused by the Protestant Reformation. Her writings recount that while considering her path, Ward heard a calling to ‘take of the same society’ (that is, undertake the same tasks and be guided by the same vision) as her Jesuit confessor. She founded a society of women, known as the ‘English Ladies’, who openly imitated Jesuit organizational structures and spirituality. This group spread quickly, establishing houses throughout continental Europe: Liège (1616), Cologne (1620), Rome (1622), Munich (1627), and Prague (1628). These women were associated with the Society of Jesus and were even pejoratively known as the ‘galloping Jesuitesses’; however, they never claimed to belong to that order.90

87 Emily Clark, Masterless Mistresses: The New Orleans Ursulines and the Development of a New World Society, 1727–1834 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007); Timothy G. Pearson, Becoming Holy in Early Canada (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s Press, 2014). 88 Laurence Lux-Sterritt, Redefining Female Religious Life: French Ursulines and English Ladies in Seventeenth-Century Catholicism (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005); Laurence Lux-Sterritt, ‘Mary Ward’s English Institute and Prescribed Female Roles in the Early Modern Church’, in Laurence Lux-Sterritt and Carmen Mangion, eds, Gender, Catholicism and Spirituality: Women and the Roman Catholic Church in Britain and Europe, 1200–1900 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 83–4; Laurence Lux-Sterritt, ‘Mary Ward et sa Compagnie de Jésus au féminin dans l’Angleterre de la Contre-Réforme’, Revue de l’historie des religions 225 (2008): 393–414; Lisa McClain, ‘On a Mission: Priests, Jesuits, “Jesuitesses,” and Catholic Missionary Efforts in Tudor-Stuart England’, The Catholic Historical Review 101 (2015): 437–62; Ulrike Strasser, State of Virginity: Gender, Religion, and Politics in an Early Modern State (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2007), pp. 149–72; Pamela Ellis, ‘ “They Are But Women”: Mary Ward, 1585–1645’, in Sylvia Brown, ed., Women, Gender and Radical Religion in Early Modern Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 243–64. Cf. Rapley, The Dévotes, 28–34. 89 For a discussion of Mary’s recusant family, see Ellis, ‘They Are But Women’, 243–4. 90 Mary Ward’s vision instructing her to ‘take of the same society’ continues: ‘. . . so understood that we were to take the same both in matter and manner excepting that which God by diversity of sex has prohibited’. This is recorded in a letter to Mgr Albergati. See ‘Mary Ward to Nuncio Antonio Mgr Albergati, May/June 1611’, quoted in M. C. E. Chambers, Life of Mary Ward, 1585–1645 (London: Burns and Oates, 1882–1885) vol. 1, pp. 283–4. Cf. Ellis, ‘They Are But Women’, 251–5.

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Despite Ward’s orthodoxy and devotion to the Church, she found herself being attacked with the weapons of misogyny and allegations that she must observe clausura, adopt a recognized rule and stop speaking in public.91 This opposition to Mary’s project was expressed fully in Urban VIII’s 1631 bull Pastoralis romani pontificis, which claimed that the way of life led by Mary and her sisters was ‘most unsuited to their weak sex and character, to female modesty and particularly to maidenly reserve’.92 Ward faced charges of heresy, particularly for unauthorized preaching. Mary’s claim of visionary direction even led to accusations of witchcraft. In 1631, Mary was condemned by the papacy, and even imprisoned in a Poor Clare convent in Munich.93 After 1631, houses of sisters throughout Europe found themselves stripped of both possessions and status. However, due largely to the efforts of the Jesuit Adam Contzen, the Institute sisters in Munich obtained an official exemption from the bull of condemnation.94 This community embraced destitute sisters from throughout Europe. Ward herself returned to England in 1639.95 One of her companions, Frances Bedinfeld, established a new secular apostolate, which continued the work of the Institute. This ‘new’ active apostolate for women was approved in 1703, but with Ward’s name being deliberately omitted from all official documents.96 Mary Ward was not acknowledged as the foundress of this group until 1909.97 N E W O P P O RT U N I T I E S , N E W D I R E C T I O N S Despite Ward’s difficulties, it is important to keep in mind that the spiritual climate following Trent was largely open to new forms of religious life. While women were  institutionally and officially excluded from this programme, they came to develop ways of contributing to the spread of Catholic doctrine.98 As Elizabeth Rapley points out, participation in the necessary work of Christian re-education (particularly in the face of the threat of Protestantism) allowed considerable freedom to French women. The Jesuit-inspired Filles de Notre Dame were dedicated to educating Catholic girls. In 1607, they gained official recognition as a teaching order.99 91 Cf. Lux-Sterritt, ‘Mary Ward’, 83–5. Immolata Wetter, Under the Shadow of the Inquisition, trans. M. B. Ganne and M. P. Harris (Oxford: Way Books, 2006), pp. 54–64. Cf. Chambers, Mary Ward, 2: 64. 92 Urban VIII, ‘Pastoralis Romani Pontificis’, in Magnum bullarium romani pontificis, new edition, ed. L. Cherubini (Luxembourg: Gosse, 1742), 4: 180–2. For an English translation, see Wetter, Under the Shadow, appendix, 213–14. 93 Cf. Lux-Sterritt, ‘An Analysis on the Controversy Caused by Mary Ward’s Institute in the 1620s’, Recusant History 25 (2001): 636–47. 94 Strasser, State of Virginity, 160–1. Cf. Chambers, Life, 2, 363. 95 Strasser, State of Virginity, 161. 96 McClain, ‘On a Mission’, 462. For the process of institutionalization, see Wetter, Mary Ward. 97 Lux-Sterritt, ‘Mary Ward’s English Institute’, 94. 98 Rapley, The Dévotes; Diefendorf, From Penitence to Charity. 99 Rapley, The Dévotes, 74–112.

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Another influential group, the Daughters of Charity, interpreted their mission more broadly than simply providing education.100 In 1623, Louise de Marillac wrote, ‘On the Feast of Pentecost, I was advised that I should remain with my husband and that a time would come when I would be in a position to make vows of poverty, chastity and obedience and that I would be in a small community where others would do the same.’101 After her husband’s death, Louise remained committed to her vow and engaged in acts of service—particularly serving the poor in the local villages. While her letters indicate that she encountered some opposition, she was generally careful to work with the local parish priest, and found that her efforts were appreciated. In 1633, Louise worked with Vincent de Paul to found the Daughters of Charity. While remaining faithful daughters of the Church and obeying (at least the letter of ) Trent’s regulations, women who joined this society were able to lead active lives as nurses, teachers, and missionaries. While the Daughters of Charity began as wholly lay and secular, they quickly came to adopt a religious rule (inspired by the spiritual exercises of the Jesuits) and other characteristics of religious communities. The Daughters were not unique. As Rapley’s work demonstrates, numerous new secular institutes were created during the later sixteenth and seventeenth centuries—in her words, ‘causing nuns to appear where there had previously been no nuns’.102 However, as has been shown throughout this book, these ‘new’ forms of service were simply part of the secular and outwardly focused feminine vocation of service. In many ways, the monastic rhetoric that came to be associated with groups of laywomen allowed them to make significant contributions to Western society. Their ‘religious’ status allowed them to enter the realms of education and public service that had been forbidden to women. However, the same rhetoric has distorted modern understanding of the contributions women (and the laity in general) made to the pre-modern Church. In particular, the resulting picture of an  ordered Church with passive, obedient, and unquestioning women has had considerable implications for modern perceptions of women religious and the history of religious orders. Moreover, this fictive, orderly world is now generally thought of as ‘traditional’. Too often, ‘tradition’ is seen as synonymous with ‘how women should behave’. Moreover, the creation of fictive monastic histories has obscured the many ways in which the religious and secular spheres intersected and overlapped. The chaotic world of quasi-religious that had been a vibrant part of the spiritual climate of Western Europe in the thirteenth century remained, in many ways, just as elusive three hundred years later. Communities of men and women continued to bridge the gap between the secular and religious worlds, and to live lives of evangelical piety and active charity while devoting themselves to the Lord. The ambitious Observant programme of creating a distinct canonical status for this way of life was 100 Dinan, Women and Poor Relief, 1–61. 101 Louise de Marillac, Écrits spirituels, ed. Elisabeth Charpy (Paris: Filles de la Charité 1983), p. 1. 102 Rapley, The Dévotes, 28.

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inevitably doomed to fail. Despite limited success in achieving canonical recognition for particular houses in the fifteenth century, Observant leaders never succeeded in  bringing all houses of tertiaries, penitents, and beguines in line with their order-centred vision. Instead of longing for a monastic identity, the continued liminal stance of these groups can be seen as their own distinct form of identity: one that remains both elusive and ineffable despite being continually affected by canonical change.

Epilogue The story of irregular and extra-regular women has unfolded in this book. It is by no means a simple tale, and it is one that is conspicuously absent from the dominant historical narratives. Despite the growing body of studies on individual groups, particularly the beguines, examining them exclusively in isolation makes it is easy to miss the larger issues of gender, power, and authority that have affected women religious throughout history.1 These women transcended the binary categories of ‘secular’ and ‘religious’. In doing so, they shaped a place for themselves in their social and spiritual worlds. The traditional picture of later medieval quasi-religious women emphasizes obedience, contemplation, and enclosure. This image of women religious dominates both pre-modern texts and modern scholarship; however, as this study has shown, it is problematic. Instead of striving to be like traditional moniales, women who were known as beguines, penitents, tertiaries, and members of secular institutes transcended normative roles dictated by religion and gender. They formed pious communities in, and focused on, the secular world. However, the obedient, contemplative, and institutionalized ideal persists. Modern scholars do not discuss medieval or early modern women who lived non-traditional religious expressions as innovators, but rather as exceptions to the norm, or even simply literary constructs. By the mid-sixteenth century, there were a number of different institutional options for women who wished to live a religious life without leaving the secular world. These included new institutes and secular orders, official expressions of tertiary life, and Reformed doctrinal communities. However, the existence of many devotional options did not deter Franciscan or Dominican Observants from promoting the myth of unified tertiary groups that had been part of their orders from the very beginning. This myth was reinforced in liturgy, the veneration of saints, and fictive histories found in order chronicles dating from the sixteenth through the nineteenth century. The Franciscan Observant chronicler Mariano of Florence (†1523) wrote a number of texts that straddle the boundaries of fact and fiction. Much of the ‘history’ of Franciscan tertiaries can be traced to Mariano’s Trattato sul Terz’ordine francescano and his Fasciculus chronicarum ordinis minorum divisus in 5 libros 1 Ann Braude has drawn attention to the difficulties caused by gendered assumptions and dominant narrative fictions in relation to the study of women and religion in American history. See Ann Braude, ‘Women’s History Is American Religious History’, in Thomas Tweed, ed., Retelling American Religious History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), pp. 87–107.

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(composed between 1503–18).2 Here, Mariano claims that Francis of Assisi founded the Franciscan third order and inspired its ‘first rule’ (the Memoriale propositi). Both myths are still recounted as fact in popular and scholarly Franciscan writings.3 Mariano also depicts Francis personally receiving the vows of men and women who wanted to ‘leave the world’ and enter the ‘order of penitence’ in 1221. Moreover, he relates that Nicholas IV’s 1289 bull gave official approval to this group.4 Mariano’s Trattato develops the myth in other ways. For example, his text includes a book of Franciscan ‘tertiary’ saints including Elisabeth of Thuringia, Margaret of Cortona, Umiliana of Cerchi, Louis IX of France, Rose of Viterbo, and Angela of Foligno.5 These individuals had certainly lived lives of holiness in the secular world: Elisabeth, Louis, and Margaret served the poor; Rose and Umiliana preached through example; Angela lived a life of devout contemplation.6 In all, Mariano’s catalogue of close to thirty saints ranges from thirteenth-century Thuringia to fifteenth-century Italy.7 To Mariano, these were all examples of ideal Franciscan poverty and service. His list includes kings and merchants as well as enclosed nuns and practitioners of very different forms of devotion. There seems to be no unifying principle of geography, form of spirituality, or even time period. While their spirituality was compatible with the Franciscan order, there is no indication that these men or women had any formal ties with the Franciscans. While influential, Mariano was not particularly unique. Instead, as Chiara Mercuri has shown, Observant catalogues of fictive third order saints circled widely from the later fourteenth century onwards.8 As well as Mariano’s chronicles, the earlier De conformitate by Bartholomew of Pisa (†1401) circulated widely. Though less detailed than Mariano’s text, Bartholomew also posthumously enrolled a 2 A large part of this work is now lost; however it appears to have been extremely influential, and is referred to in later works, including the writings of Mark of Lisbon (†1591) and Luke Wadding (†1657). Moreover, Mariano claims to have summarized the important points of his Fasciculus in his 1521 Compendium chronicarum fratrum minorum. What remains of the work has been edited; see Mariano of Florence, ‘Compendium Chronicarum,’ 711. 3 Robert Stewart, ‘De illis qui faciunt penitentiam’: The Rule of the Secular Franciscan Order (Rome: Istituto historico dei Cappuccini, 1991), pp. 54–80; Ingrid Peterson, ‘The Third Order of Francis’, in Michael J. P. Robson, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Francis of Assisi (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), pp. 193–207; Ingrid Peterson, ‘The Third Order Tradition of the Evangelical Life: A Prophetic Witness to the Whole of the Gospel’, Franciscan Studies 64 (2006): 435–72; Adrian House, Francis of Assisi: A Revolutionary Life (New York: Paulist Press, 2003). Documents thought to be associated with these groups are edited in Margaret Carney, Jean François Godet-Calogeras, and Suzanne M. Kush, eds, History of the Third Order Regular Rule: A Source Book (St. Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute Publications, 2008). 4 Mariano of Florence, Il Trattato del terz’ordine o vero ‘Libro com Sant Francesco istituì et ordinò el tertio ordine de frati et sore di penitentia et della dignità et perfectione o vero sanctità sua’ di Mariano da Firenze, ed. Massimo D. Papi, Analecta TOR 18 (1985): 257–588, here c. 3, 349. 5 Mariano of Florence, Il Trattato, 257–588. Cf. A. vanden Wijngaert, ‘De Tertio Ordine S. Francisci iuxta Marianum Florentinium’, Archivum Francescanum Historicum 13 (1920): 3–77 and 14 (1921): 3–35. Cf. Chiara Mercuri, Santità e propaganda: Il terz’ordine francescano nell’agiografia osservante, Bibliotheca Seraphico-Capuccina 59 (Rome: Istituto storico dei Cappuccini, 1999), p. 26. 6 Jacques Dalarun, La Sainte et la Cité: Micheline da Pesaro (†1356) tertiaire fraciscaine (Rome: L’École française de Rome, 1992). 7 Mariano of Florence, Il Trattato, c. 24, 481–96; Mercuri, Santità e propaganda. 8 Mercuri, Santità e propaganda.

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number of laymen and women in the Franciscan third order. Another familiar example is Bernardino Busti’s (†1513) Rosarium sermons, which both detail lay spiritual life and include a list of the men and women detailed in the Trattato.9 Moreover, the examples of these men and women were regularly included in manuals of religious instruction used by new members of penitential communities.10 Perhaps the most influential example is the seventeenth-century Irish Observant Luke Wadding (†1657). Born in 1588 in Waterford, Ireland, Wadding became a Franciscan friar in Portugal in 1607 and was later sent to Rome. In Rome, Wadding endeavoured to write a history of the Franciscan order between its foundation and the age in which he lived. He was assisted in this work by the minister general, who ordered all houses to send their relevant historical material to Rome for Wadding’s project. Between 1625 and 1654, the first eight volumes of Wadding’s monumental Annales minorum were completed.11 The many volumes of the Annales recount the history of the Franciscan order as a unified group made up of three complementary parts. When discussing ‘tertiary’ houses, it does not include details of their complex evolution or multiple identities. Instead, it generally asserts that they were ‘founded’ in the year that they professed the so-called Franciscan tertiary rule of 1289. For example, the communities of Groesteckshof and the Hessenberg in Nijmegen, which are discussed in Chapter 4 as having been founded as beguinages in the late fourteenth century, are recorded in the Annales as explicitly being founded as Franciscan tertiary convents in the fifteenth century.12 Wadding’s historical mythology is still relied upon in many official Franciscan histories. As well as being a prominent and prolific chronicler, Wadding was an important figure in promoting Observant education in the sixteenth century. Through the efforts of Wadding and his contemporaries, the Observant college of 9 ‘De imitatione Christi per assumptionem status tertii ordinis’, in Studia, originem, provectum atque complementum Tertii Ordinis de Poenitentia S. Francisci concernentia, ed. A. de Sillis (Naples: n.p., 1621), pp. 68–85. Cf. Bert Roest, Franciscan Literature of Religious Instruction Before the Council of Trent (Leiden: Brill, 2004), p. 202. 10 Francesco Costa, ‘Rituali e manuali come guida alla santità terziaria secoli XIII–XVI’, in Lino Temperini, ed., Santi e santità nel movimento penitenziale francescano dal duecento al cinquecento (Rome: Analecta TOR, 1998), pp. 207–45. 11 Lucas Wadding, ed., Annales minorum seu trium ordinum a S. Francisco institutorum, third edition, 32 vols (Florence: College of St Bonaventure, 1931–64). 12 The Annales minorum recounts, ‘Noviomagi, Colonien. diocesis ante annos certum inchoatum erat Beguinagium Groesteckshoff vulgariter nuncupatum, in quo puellae et honestatae feminae in caritate et unitate pacis Deo pariter famulabantur. Hoc anno die Martis prima mensis Julii, septem quae adhuc supererant, jurarunt in vota Tertii Ordinis sancti Francisci in manibus Jacobi Brenter Guardiani Conventus Vallis Josaphat praedicti oppidi Noviomagensis […]’; ‘[This house] had begun as a beguinage (commonly known as Groesteckshoff) a number of years previously. Here, girls and honest women lived in charity and the unity of peace. On the first Tuesday of the month of July in this year, the remaining seven women professed the vows of the Third Order of St Francis in the hands of Jacob Brenter, Guardian of the Convent Vallis Josaphat in the aforementioned town of Nijmegen […]’ (Annales minorum, 13: 179). Examples of non-monastic women who became increasingly monastic under the care of the Observant friars in the mid-fifteenth century include: Aardenburg (Tertiaries), Arnhem (Tertiaries), and Hulst (Beguines). For a complete list and bibliographic references, see Koen Goudriaan’s ‘kloosterlijst’ (2008) (http://www2.let.vu.nl/oz/kloosterlijst/kform.php) (accessed 18 February 2017).

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St Isidore in Rome became a prominent centre of Observant learning—undoubtedly promoting a version of the past that was consistent with Observant ideals.13 Nor were fictive histories unique to the Franciscans. As mentioned in Chapter 4, the Dominican Thomas of Siena wrote histories, hagiographic vitae, and sermons that promoted a fictive Dominican order of penitence. His chronicles such as the Tractatus de ordine ff. de paenitentia s. Domenici and the Historia disciplinae regularis both detail the history of the order and situate it within the Dominican tradition. At the same time, his sermons praised laywomen such as Zita of Lucca (†1271). Although she was never posthumously enrolled in the order, she was recognized as living in a manner that was typical of a Dominican penitent. Moreover, the fact that she had a Dominican hagiographer was considered sufficient to include her as a saintly associate of the order. Later texts such as the writings of Johannes Meyer (†1485) were not interested in promoting the history of the order so much as the spread of reform.14 In particular, when trying to reform the community of St Catherine in Nuremberg, Meyer experienced a resistance to enclosure and reform that bordered on violence.15 Not surprisingly, when the convent was successfully reformed in 1428, he recounts that the sisters saw the error of their earlier ways. In Meyer’s history, these women not only accepted reform, but also became advocates for the spiritual benefits that it conferred. His writings were later used as instruments or examples of reform in communities of Dominican Observant women.16 The importance of fictive order histories is re-affirmed by the use of this practice among non-traditional groups. As Chapter 6 illustrates, those responsible for the cura of groups such as the beguines constructed their own fictive order histories from hagiographic, literary, and liturgical fragments. Nor was this limited to the medieval world. Following the histories of early modern groups such as the klopjes, Ursulines, or the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary indicates the persistence of mythology that presented a more institutionally acceptable version of their history and charism. T E R M I N O L O G Y A N D P LU R A L I T Y O F R E L I G I O U S L I F E As mentioned in the introduction to this book, the thirteenth-century preacher Guibert of Tournai had lamented, ‘there are among us women whom we have no 13 Cf. Bert Roest, Franciscan Learning, Preaching and Mission c. 1220–1650: Cum scientia sit donum Dei, armatura ad defendendam sanctam Fidem catholicam . . . (Leiden: Brill, 2014), p. 184. 14 See Johannes Meyer, Das Buch der Reformacio Predigerordens, ed. Benedictus Maria Reichart (Leipzig, 1909), vol. III, p. 14. Cited in Anne Winston-Allen, Convent Chronicles: Women Writing about Women and Reform in the Late Middle Ages (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2004), p. 130. 15 Meyer, Das Buch, IV: 5, 12–13. 16 Cynthia Cyrus, The Scribes for Women’s Convents in Late Medieval Germany (Toronto: The University of Toronto Press, 2009), pp. 58–9.

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idea what to call […] because they live neither in the world nor out of it’.17 Despite over two hundred years of discussion and legislation, the situation was no clearer by the mid-sixteenth century. Laywomen still sought lives of religious perfection while remaining in the world. There was still no official rubric under which they could be discussed and they were still known by a variety of names. As tertiary groups became increasingly monasticized, the distinction between ‘nuns’ (moniales) and ‘sisters’ (sorores) was frequently invoked. As with Paul III’s rules for the third order, nuns were recognized as female monastics, took solemn vows, and were generally enclosed. Sisters, on the other hand, lived lives of active charity and took simple vows. However, there was still considerable confusion between the two groups, which has lasted into the modern age. The word ‘tertiary’ still had no clear meaning. As the tale of the eighteenth-century Dominican Chicaba/Sor Teresa (†1748) illustrates, the ambiguities connected to  the term persisted.18 Teresa’s journey towards the religious life is far from straightforward. According to her hagiographer, Juan Carlos Miguel de Paniagua, Chicaba was the youngest daughter of an African king and had been captured as a slave about the age of nine.19 When arriving in Spain, she was sold to the Marchioness of Mancera, whose husband was the protector of the Mexican nun Sor Juana de la Cruz. For the next twenty years, Chicaba lived as almost a member of the household. When the Marchioness died in 1703, her will freed Chicaba and also granted her substantial inheritance, provided that she enter religious life. Despite her wealth, Chicaba’s race meant that she did not find a warm welcome in religious houses and faced numerous rejections. Finally, in 1704, Chicaba made her profession as Sor Teresa in the Dominican tertiary convent of Mary Magdalene in Salamanca. Despite the convent’s membership in the canonical Dominican third order, Sor Teresa was explicitly required to make vows as a tertiary. Her role as ‘a tertiary to tertiaries’ meant that she held a position of service within the convent.20 It was only her reputation for sanctity and growing cult following that allowed Teresa to move beyond a subservient role. In the 1917 code of canon law, nuns and sisters are still described as distinct states.21 However, given that both groups now include women who are dedicated to active charity, the distinction between the two appears largely academic and is 17 Guibert of Tournai. Collectio de scandalis ecclesiae, ed. Aubertus Stroick. Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 24 (1931): 33–62, at 58. 18 Sue E. Houchins and Baltasar Fra-Molinero, eds, ‘The Slave’s Life of Sister Chicaba, c. 1676–1748: An As-Told-To-Slave Narrative’, in Kathryn Joy McKnight and Leo Garofalo, eds, Afro-Latino Voices: Narratives from the Early Modern Ibero-Atlantic World (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 2003), pp. 214–41. This contains a partial edition and translation of her Vida, 222–41. 19 Juan Carlos Miguel de Paniagua, Compendio de la Vida Ejemplar de la Venerable Madre Sor Teresa Juliana de Santo Domingo (Salamanca: n.p., 1752). Other details of her life are recorded in a poem, La Mina Baja del Oro. See Houchins and Fra-Molinero, eds, ‘The Slave’s Life of Sister Chicaba, c. 1676–1748: An As-Told-To-Slave Narrative’, p. 241, n. 2. 20 Juan Carlos Miguel de Paniagua, Compendio, c. 21, in Houchins and Fra-Molinero, eds, ‘The Slave’s Life’, 232–3. 21 The 1917 Code of Canon Law includes a definition of nun (Canon 488 §7).

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not repeated in the 1983 code. This is compounded by the fact that nuns are addressed by the honorific title ‘sister’ or its equivalent in many modern languages.22 Moreover, as was the case in the pre-modern Church, there are numerous groups of men and women who are clearly neither traditional religious nor wholly members of the laity. New monastic communities and lay ecclesial groups such as Communione e liberatione, Focolare, the Christian Life Community, the NeoCatechumenate, or Opus Dei are dedicated to lives of service while remaining in the secular world.23 As was the case for their earlier brothers and sisters, members of these movements live very different spiritual expressions: there is little uniformity with regards to vows, communal life, doctrinal emphasis, or the terms used to describe them.24 Their members carry on the tradition of liminality: blurring boundaries between the secular and religious life. Their position in the modern spiritual climate is unclear, and they continue to attract a mixture of admiration and controversy from the institutional Church. T E RT I A R I E S A N D ‘ M O D E R N ’ R E L I G I O U S L I F E Unravelling the many layers of canonical complexity and pious fiction has continued to have significant implications for women religious in the modern world. In the 1965 decree Perfectae caritatis, the Second Vatican Council called for a renewal of religious life by encouraging members of religious orders to return to ‘the vision of  their founders’.25 Congregations who followed this directive often found something different than what they had expected.26 In particular, women’s groups and women’s congregations often discovered that their foundresses had a socially oriented vision of their mission that had been obscured through the creation of fictive histories and identities. Following the directives of the Second Vatican Council allowed many women to become familiar with the social and secular aspects of their history. For some women’s communities, awareness of their history 22 Mary Henold points out that these terms are even used inconsistently by women religious. For instance, the ‘National Coalition of American Nuns’ is comprised of both groups. Mary J. Henold, Catholic and Feminist: the Surprising History of the American Catholic Feminist Movement (North Carolina: University of North Carolina Press, 2012), pp. 7–8. 23 For an overview of these groups, see Brendan Leahy, Ecclesial Movements and Communities: Origins, Significance and Issues (Hyde Park: New City Press, 2011). Cf. Hans Urs von Balthasar, ‘Lay Movements in the Church,’ trans. Brian McNeil and D.C. Schindler, in The Laity and the Life of the Counsels: The Church’s Mission in the World (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2003), pp. 252–82; Michael A. Hayes, New Religious Movements in the Catholic Church (New York: Burns & Oates, 2006). For new monastic communities, see Stefania Palminsano, New Monastic Communities: The (Re)invention of Tradition (London: Routledge, 2016), pp. 7–30. 24 Leahy, Ecclesial Movements, 14–24. 25 Paul VI, Perfectae caritatis (28 October 1965). www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_ vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_decree_19651028_perfectae-caritatis_en.html (accessed 22 June 2016). 26 Mark Massa has detailed the conflict between the Immaculate Heart of Mary nuns and the archbishop of Los Angeles that resulted from their endeavours to follow the conciliar decrees. See Mark Massa, The American Catholic Revolution (Oxford and New York; Oxford University Press, 2010), pp. 75–102.

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could result in a complete re-vision of their historical religious vocation and relationship with male and clerical authority.27 For instance, Sr Suzanne Kush, OSF explored the history of the congregation known as the ‘Felician Sisters’ or the ‘Congregation of St Felix of Cantalice’, part of the modern Franciscan third order. This group traces its origin to the vocation of a saintly Polish woman, Sophia Camille Truszkowska (later Mother [Mary] Angela †1889). Mother Angela had been moved by the tremendous poverty that she saw around her, and brought together a like-minded group of women who wanted to dedicate themselves to the Lord and improve the world.28 Her confessor, the Capuchin Honorat Kozminski, influenced her to profess the Franciscan third order rule, and became influential in laying the foundations for the Felician order. For the Felicians and many other congregations founded in the nineteenth century, following the directive of the Second Vatican Council was far from straightforward. Franciscan mythology dictated that Francis of Assisi founded the third order. Mother Angela Truszkowska held the original pious vision for the new Felician community. Honorat Kozminski laid the canonical framework for the order and shaped its way of life.29 Understandably, the concepts of ‘foundation’, ‘history’, and ‘identity’ became complicated. This was as true for communities of nursing or teaching sisters founded in the nineteenth century as it had been for the earlier beguines, penitents, and tertiaries.30 In all cases, the stories of these women were transformed from dynamic social engagement into conventional narratives of institutionalized piety. As the findings of this study make clear, rather than supporting the new forms of life that these women created, Churchmen who were responsible for their spiritual care encouraged these women to adopt the external appearance of traditional religious, and crafted ‘religious’ identities for them. The Churchmen recorded and disseminated these new identities, thus ensuring that the women’s earlier irregular existence would be forgotten. While the fictive monasticized histories have influenced the modern understanding of medieval and early modern women, it is important to 27 Massa, The American Catholic, 75–102. On women’s communities and Vatican II more generally, see Mary Luke Tobin, ‘Women in the Church since Vatican II’, America (17 April 1999): 22–8. Suzanne Kush, OSF has explored the same phenomenon in the case of the Felician Sisters. Suzanne M. Kush, ‘The Capuchin Influence on the Founding Spirituality of the Sisters of St. Felix of Cantalice’ (MA thesis, St. Bonaventure University, 2006). Cf. Louise O’Reilly, The Impact of Vatican II on Women Religious: A Case Study of the Union of Irish Presentation Sisters (Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2013); Joan Chittister, The Way We Were: A Story of Conversion and Renewal (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2005); Sandra Schneiders, Prophets in Their Own Country: Women Religious Bearing Witness to the Gospel in a Troubled Church (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2011). 28 Mary Tullia Doman, The Spirit of the Foundress of the Felician Sisters in Light of Vatican Council II (Detroit: Gow-Press, 1967). On the Bernardine communities that originated from the same milieu, see Roberta McKelvie, Retrieving a Living Tradition: Angelina of Montegiove (St. Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute Publications, 1997). 29 For details of their correspondence, see Mary Angela Truszkowska, Selected Writings: Letters to Father Honorat Kozminski, 2 vols (New York: Catholic Book Publishing), vol. II, p. 16. 30 Siobhan Nelson has explored the role of a fictional past in communities of ‘Franciscan’ nursing sisters founded in the nineteenth century (Siobhan Nelson, Say Little, Do Much: Nursing Nuns and Hospitals in the Nineteenth Century (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001), pp. 129–33). Cf. Kush, The Capuchin Influence, pp. 79–85.

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keep in mind that they did little to diminish the roles the same women held in their social and spiritual worlds. Alijt Bake, the first woman mentioned in this book, wrote a spiritual treatise, The Four Ways of the Cross (De vier kruiswegen). This work presents a vivid picture of both the ways her sisters were called to imitate Christ, and the trials that they could expect to face in the process. Instead of recounting the rhetoric of obedience and contemplation or extolling the benefits of a particular order, Alijt offers a picture of service, charity, and mystical union with the divine. Her writings provide a remarkably clear glimpse of the practices in medieval communities of pious women who occupied a liminal position between the religious and secular spheres. Alijt’s way of life did not fit traditional paradigms, but as has been shown, she was neither unique nor exclusively a product of her time. Throughout history, pious laywomen have been involved in education, healthcare, and poor relief. This was true for both the thirteenth-century Low Countries and the early modern New World.31 While many official histories and hagiographies acknowledge the significant contributions of these women, their work is generally perceived as secondary to their piety. Close examination of the historical record emphasizes that instead of striving to be like traditional moniales, women who were known as beguines, penitents, tertiaries, and members of early modern institutes were open to expressions of lay piety focused on the secular world. The similarities between these groups of women transcended geographic and temporal boundaries. This study has not endeavoured to give an in-depth look at any one group, but to question the context in which these women are generally discussed. By highlighting the development of irregular and extra-regular communities and the threads of monasticization that wove their way around pious women, this book has highlighted the arbitrary definitions of ‘lay’ and ‘religious’, and drawn attention to the dynamic culture of feminine lay piety that persisted from the later middle ages onwards. At the same time, it has also revealed that such groups have never been wholly welcomed in the institutional Church. Instead, the historical record reveals a disturbing pattern of innovation, institutionalization, and invisibility. By unravelling the fictive identities that were created to obscure these women’s voices, it is my hope that it will become possible for their stories to be told.

31 Elizabeth Rapley, The Dévotes: Women and Church in Seventeenth-Century France (Montreal and Buffalo: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1990); Elizabeth Rapley, The Lord as Their Portion: The Story of the Religious Orders and How They Shaped Our World (London: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing, 2011).

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Index abbesses 115–17 preaching, and 115, 117 Aberdour 71, 96 Adelheyid 78 Adelheyd and Catherine (sisters of Mulberg) 78 Ad nostrum (decree) 47–8, 55 Alexander IV (Pope) 34 Alexander V (Pisan Pope) 63–4 Alice of Schaarbeek 18 n. 4, 22–3, 120 Alijt Bake 1, 10–11, 15, 109, 111, 114, 116–18, 120–1, 123, 125–8, 133, 164 Angela of Foligno 42, 83, 158 Angela Merici (see also Ursulines) 149–51 Angela (Mary Angela) Truskowska 163 Angelina of Montegiove 68–9 Anne de Xainctonge 152 Arnulfus of Villers 56, 120 Augustinian ambiguous identities 128–30 Inchcolm 71 Observants 66, 74, 84–6, 105, 106 tertiaries 32, 50–2, 78, 84–5, 101, 104, 106–7, 128–9, 137, 141–3 Bartholomew of Pisa 158 Basel 49, 79–81 Begga 145 beghards (see quasi-religious) beguinages (begijnhoven) Basel 79–81 Bruges 55, 61, 76, 77 Den Bosch (‘s-Hertogenbosch) 44, 56 Dendemonde 144 Diest 43, 44 n. 12, 61, 143–4 Dordrecht 43 Echternach 44 Ghent 30–1, 55, 58, 117 n. 45, 144 Herentals 52 Jericho (Rose Beate Marie) 56, 112–13, 128 Liège 44, 52 Mechelen 19 n. 11, 52, 56, 60–1, 97, 113–15, 120, 143 Nieuwpoort 43 Nijmegen (Hessenberg) 70, 98–9, 159 Opbrussel (Bruxelles-St Giles) 44 St Agnes in Sint Truiden 30 beguines (see quasi-religious) Benvenuta Boiani 18 n. 4, 23, 77 Bernard of Clairvaux 21, 122 Bernardino Busti 159 Bernardino da Feltre 66–7 Bernardino of Siena 101–2, 127

Beutlerin, Magdalena 10–11, 11 n. 44, 126–7, 133 Bianca Porcalega 151 Birgitta of Sweden 82, 109 n. 3, 118, 124 bizzoche (see quasi-religious) Blommardina (Pseudo-Hadewych) 58, 60 Bonaventure 39, 97, 99, 126 Boniface VIII (Pope) 45–7, 146–7 Boniface IX (Pope) 68, 72, 84 Brugman, Jan 67, 88–90, 93, 112, 121 bulls, papal (see individual bulls) Butler, Judith 133 Cambrai 30, 52, 57, 58, 59, 144 canonists (see individual canonists) Capistrano, John (see John of Capistrano) Cathars (see heresy) Catherine of Bologna (Caterina Vigri) 125–7, 133, 142 Catherine of Siena 8–10, 75–8, 104–6, 108, 118, 120–2, 124 Celestine V (Pope) 45, 47 Chapter of Cologne 72 Chapter of Utrecht 39 n. 117, 72, 136, 138–9 Chapter of Zepperen 72, 136 Charles Borromeo 147, 151 Chiara di Favarone (see Clare of Assisi) Chicaba (Sor Teresa) 161 Christina of Sint-Truiden 18 n. 4, 22, 120, 124 n. 84, 127 n. 93 Cistercian 20, 22, 24 n. 38, 27–8, 54, 85, 119–20, 145 Clare of Assisi 9, 33–5, 41 as a model 73, 99 in sermons 99–106 Clare of Montefalco 122 Clare of Rimini 10 Clarissan Orders 28–9, 32 Benedictine elements 34 Confusion with tertiaries 72–3, 100 Damianites (Order of San Damiano) 34 Poor Clares 34–5, 39, 59, 73 Observant Poor Clares 73–4, 96, 99–104 Clausura (see enclosure) Clement V (Pope) 48 Clementine constitutions 13, 48, 63, 80 Clothing cilicium 53 colour 53–4, 140 habit 15, 26, 30, 36 n. 105, 43–4, 49, 50, 52–4, 63, 70, 77, 80 n. 93, 84–5, 88, 107, 128–9, 136–7, 140, 142, 144

200

Index

Colette of Corbie 74, 101, 117–18, 117 n. 45, 128 Cologne beguines 31, 31, 35, 60, 69 Chapter of (see Chapter of Cologne) Mary Ward and 153 St Ursula and 149, 152 Colomba Guadagnoli of Rieti 77–8, 142 Council of Constance (Cf. Western Schism) 63, 81–2 Council of Lyons (Second, 1274) 36–7 Council of Trent 78, 139, 141, 146–8, 149, 151, 154–5 Council of Vienne 13, 47–50, 55, 57, 63, 133, 143, 147 Cum de quibusdam (decree) 48, 55, 57 n. 89, 80 n. 92 cura mulierum 2, 7, 14, 20, 28, 38, 39 n. 120, 45, 47, 63, 66 n. 17, 70, 74, 84, 88, 106, 133, 144–5, 160 Devotio moderna 1, 39 n. 117, 71–2, 81, 85, 90, 97, 120, 139, 143 Diana d’Andolo 76 Dominicans Friars Care of beguines 32, 92 models of holiness (Cf. Catharine of Siena) 104 Nuns 29, 119 Observant Reform and 50, 74–84 Tertiaries 6, 8 n. 35, 50–1, 54, 74–9, 92, 142, 160, 161 Catherine of Siena, as 105, 120 Confusion with nuns 28–9 Controversies over 79–81 Status, and 161–2 Statutes 28–9, 51 Eckhardt 122–3 sermons 93, 111 Elisabeth of Hungary (see Elisabeth of Thuringia) Elisabeth of Spaalbeek 121 Elisabeth of Thuringia 8–9, 12, 18 n. 4, 23–5, 65, 90–2, 99, 120, 128, 132, 158 Elm, Kaspar 6 Enclosure 11, 19–20, 30, 32, 38, 46–7, 52–4, 64, 66, 68–70, 78–9, 85, 93, 102, 136–7, 139, 140, 142, 146–8, 151–2, 154, 157, 160 Ermine de Reims 82–3 Esther 94 Eucharist 18, 30, 103, 124, 126 Florence 35 Santa Lucia 78 Foels Hoeymans 98 Francis of Assisi 9, 21, 27, 33, 37, 41–2, 50, 90–1, 99, 118

connections to the third order 37, 50, 90–1, 158, 163 model of devotion 99, 118, 132 Franciscan friars, cura of non-monastic women (not tertiaries) 35–6 nuns (see Clarissan orders) Observant movement 65–8 third order (Franciscan order of penitents) 6, 13, 27–8, 36 ambiguous status 37, 38–9, 41–4, 47, 50–1, 64–5, 67–8, 72, 80–3, 90–2, 96, 98, 127 Capistrano, and 67–74, 79, 85, 98 distinctive appearance 53–4 Franciscanisation 98–100, 127–30 Grey Sisters 64–5, 69, 71, 141 Observant reform, and 65–8, 69–71, 85 Rule of 1289 (Cf. Supra Montem, under ‘Rules’) 36–8, 43, 47, 50 Rule of 1521 (Cf. Rule of Leo X, under Rules) 135–41 Sorores minores 18 Sorores tertii ordinis 45, 47, 71, 141 Franciscan Spirituals 10, 45, 47, 49, 55 Frauenfrage 13 Frederik van Sierck (Bishop of Utrecht) 52–4 Friends of God 59, 116 Galilea (Ghent convent) 111, 114, 116 Giunta Bevegnati 41 Gloriam virginalem 29–30 Golden Legend 149–50 Goudrian, Koen 43–4, 143 Gregory IX (Pope, formerly Hugolino of Ostia) 27–30, 33–4 Gregory XI 9, 121 Guibert of Tournai 2, 17, 24, 55–6 Guy of Collemezzo 57 Hadewijch of Brabant 60 Heilwig Blomaerts (Blommardina) 58–9 Hendrik Herp 67, 94–7, 143 Hendrik van Santen 67, 95 Henricus of Merseberg 19 Henricus Pomerius 58–9 Henry Suso 123 Heresy 8, 23 Cathar 19 n. 10, 76 Discernment of 124–5 Free Spirit 47–8, 58, 82 women, and 10–11, 47–8, 55–60, 124–5 Hessenberg (see ‘Nijmegen’ under beguinages) Honorius III (Pope) 20, 25, 29 hospitals 21–3, 26–7, 32, 58, 65, 71, 92, 96, 141, 148–50 Hugh of Floreffe 21–2 Hugolino of Ostia (Cf. Gregory IX) 19, 27–9, 34

Index Ida of Louvain 18 n. 4, 22 Identity 7, 13, 32, 49 Identity markers 34, 37, 52–3, 62, 87, 98–107, 129, 133 Order identity 32, 34, 39, 49, 51–2, 65, 66–8, 71–2, 74, 75, 85, 85–6, 87–8, 92, 96, 98–107, 109–34 Imitatio Christi 9, 90, 103, 127 Innocent III (Pope) 20, 26, 37 n. 109 Innocent IV (Pope) 32, 34, 35 Innocent VIII (Pope) 71 Jacques de Vitry 5–6, 15, 18–22, 26, 29, 32, 54 Jacques Pantaléon 31 Jan de Wael 97 Jan van Ruusbroec 57, 59–60, 105–6, 122–5 Book of the Twelve Beguines 59–60 Discernment 59–60, 124–5 Jean Gerson 81–5, 97, 124 Jesuit 139, 152–5 Johannes Andreae 49, 80 Johannes de Lignano 80 Johannes Herholt 92 Johannes Lumnius 143–4 Johannes Meyer 160 Johannes Mulberg 78–80, 85 Johannes Nider 6, 78–80, 81, 92, 126 Johannes Pauli 115 Johannes Tauler 59, 93, 111, 122–3 John XXII (Pope) 39 n. 116, 48–50, 52, 80 John XXIII (Pisan Pope) 63–5, 141 John of Capistrano 67, 71, 74, 79, 83, 85, 98, 102–3, 127–8 Defensorium tertii ordinis 67, 98 Jordanus of Quedlinberg 51 n. 53, 84–5, 111, 118, 122 Juliana of Mont Cornillon 18 n. 4, 58 Juette of Huy 12, 18 n. 4, 21–2, 54 klopjes (see quasi-religious) Kozminski, Honorat 163 Lamprecht of Regensburg 55 Lateran Council fourth, 1215 4, 32 n. 84, 36–7 fifth 1512–17 135–7 Lay brothers (conversi) 4 n. 15, 169 lepers 7, 9, 12, 17, 21–2, 23–7, 40, 54, 91, 92, 93, 98 Leo X (pope) 14, 135–40 Lidwina of Schiedam 89–90, 93, 121 Liège 10, 12, 21, 31, 44, 52, 60 Chapter of Zepperen, and 72, 119, 153 synod of 61 Literacy 56, 116, 119, 121, 122 n. 70 Litterae tuae nobis 20, 25 Lombardy 5, 18, 26, 35 Louis of Thuringia 12, 23, 91 n. 18

201

Louise de Marillac 155 Lucia Brocadeli da Narni 78, 142 Lutgard of Aywières 18 n. 4, 21–2 Madeline de la Petrie 153 Makowski, Elizabeth 2 n. 4, 6–7, 38 Manuscript circulation Mirror of Simple Souls 58 Vita Elisabethae 128–9 Vita Clarae 100–5, 129 Vita Lidwinae 90 Vita Mariae 21, 21 n. 23 Vitae Margaritae (contracta) 120 Vita Monicae 106–7, 129 vitae of the mulieres sanctae 22, 22 n. 30 imagery 94 n. 32, 132 Wilgefortis 130–1 inscriptions 98–9 Mechthild 119, 121 sermons 114–15 writings of Alijt Bake 111–13 Margaret of Cortona 18 n. 4, 23, 41–3, 158 Margaret of Meerbeek 59, 105–6 Margaret of Ypres 22, 53 Margaret the Lame 118–21 Margaretha Pictrix 97–8 Marguerite of Valenciennes (see Porete, Marguerite) Maria van Pee 113 Mariano of Florence 68–9, 157–9 Marie d’Oignies 12, 18 n. 4, 20–1, 54 Marie de l’Incarnation 153 Marie Tranchepain 153 Mark of Lisbon 68, 158 n. 2 Martha 76, 92–4, 112, 131–2 Marthe (title) 19 Mary Magdalene 28, 92–4, 112, 118, 120, 132, 161 (explanation of the Magdalene as Martha’s sister, 92) Mary, Virgin 30, 83, 107, 119, 122, 124–5 Matthew Grabow 81–3, 85 Mechthild of Magdeburg 118–20, 132 Meersseman, Gilles 8, 12, 26, 27, 35, 37, 39, 53, 77 Memoriale propositi 27–8, 42–3, 158 moniales (canonical status) 2, 14, 17, 24, 28–9, 31, 46–7, 71, 139, 140–1, 146–7, 151, 157 Monica (mother of Augustine) 84, 104, 106–8 Montegiove 68–70 Mooney, Catherine 3, 33, 121 Mulberg, Johannes (see Johannes Mulberg) Munio of Zamora 28, 50–1, 76 Mysticism 10, 58, 82–3, 95–7, 116, 121–7, 164 Nicholas IV (Pope) 27, 36–8, 39, 41–3, 45, 50, 137–8, 140, 150, 158 Nicholas V (Pope) 70

202

Index

Nicholaas van Essche (Esschius) 143–4 Nider, Johannes (see Johannes Nider) Observant reform movement Augustinian Reform (see Augustinians) Dominican Reform (see Dominicans) Franciscan Reform (see Franciscans) historical writings 13, 68–9, 157–60 Observant reform 8, 63–7, 140–1 Preaching and pastoralia 67–8, 88, 90–8, 99, 100–5, 106, 126 Poor Clares and (Cf Clarissan orders) 34 Reform of tertiaries 15, 68–74, 85–6, 88, 90, 120, 126 Olivier Maillard 95–6 Oswald of Laskó 91–2 pastoralia 9, 14, 87–108, 110, 121, 131 Paul II (Pope) 143 Paul III (Pope) 14, 140, 151, 161 Paul V (Pope) 152 Pelbartus of Temeswar 91–4, 99, 103 Penitents (see quasi-religious) Periculoso (decree) 46–8, 102, 146–7 Personas vacantes (decree) 64–5, 71 Peter the Chanter 19–20 Pierre d’Ailly 81, 124 Pisan Popes (see individual popes) Pius V (Pope) 141, 147–8 Porete, Marguerite 10, 48, 57–60, 82, 123–4 Mirror of Simple Souls 57–8 prostitutes 25, 28, 150 purgatory 22, 31, 125, 127 n. 93 quasi-religious movements beghards 5, 19, 79–80 beguines (see separate entry. Cf. Cities where individual beguinages were located) 5, 14, 17–18, 19, 20, 25, 29, 30–3, 35, 37–8, 43, 45, 47–9, 50–5, 56–60, 86, 135, 142, 158–60 Begga, and 145 confusion with third orders 72–3, 91–2 controversy, and 78–9, 79–82, 85, 143 economic activity of 61–3 education, and 56–7 heresy, and 47–9, 55–7 houses 60 rules, and (see ‘beguine regulatory material’, under ‘Rules’) vows 61 bizzoche 5, 12, 49, 150 Celestinians 45 klopjes 135 n. 1, 148, 160 Mantellatae 84, 87, 107 names 5–7, 10, 17–18, 20, 25 Penitents 6, 12, 17–40, 41–4, 47, 50, 53–4, 66, 73, 75–7, 80, 85–6, 90, 94, 97, 131, 138, 140, 146, 156 pinzochere 77, 84 Poor Hermits (see ‘Celestinians’) Tertiaries (see entries under individual orders)

rapiaria 14, 113–14 Ratio recta 49 Reuerinnen (also known as the Order of Mary Magdalene) 28–9, 34–5, 76 Robert of Thourotte (bishop of Liège, Cf. Rules) 31 Roest, Bert 3, 33, 56, 98, 100 Rose of Viterbo 18 n. 4, 23, 158 Roses prayer 31 n. 76 symbol of sanctity 91, 103–4 Rudolf van Watselar 70 Rules 6–7, 11, 13, 25, 29, 36–7, 63 Beguine regulatory material 5, 25, 54–5, 61 Antwerp 144 Cleyn statuten 144 Ghent rule 30–1, 54 n. 71 Liège Rule (Rule of 1246) 31–2, 53 Daughters of Charity 155 Dominican tertiary rule (1405) 78 Esschius and Regularization 143–5 Forma vitae (Clare of Assisi) 34, 73–4, 101–2 Forma vitae (Hugolino of Ostia, 1219) 34 Memoriale propositi (as a rule) 158 Rule of Angela Merici 150, 150 n. 72, 151 Rule of Borromeo 151 Rule of Innocent IV (1247) 35 Rule of St Augustine 4, 26, 29, 32, 37, 51, 59 Dominican tertiaries, and 78, 141–2 Augustinian tertiaries, and 84, 106–7, 143 Ursulines, and 151 Rule of St Benedict 4, 28, 34, 37 Clare of Assisi, and 101 Rule of the Franciscan Third Order (1289 rule, Supra montem) 27–8, 37–9, 41–53, 67, 70–3, 90, 96–9, 137–9, 141, 143, 150, 163 Grey Sisters, and 64–5 Rule of Leo X (1521) 14, 135–40, 141 Rules and identity 13, 37 Rules of Andreas Insulanus (confirmed by Paul III) 14, 140–5, 161 Sancta Romana 49, 68 San Sisto 29, 78 Santen, Hendrik van (see Hendrik van Santen) Savonarola, Girolamo 78, 94 n. 35 Second Vatican Council 10 n. 39, 136 n. 4, 162–3 Sermons 11, 14 Against beguines (Mulberg) 79–81 Brugman, Jan 88–9 Concerning Elizabeth of Thuringia 23–5 Instruction in 52, 56, 110–11, 116, 133 Jacques de Vitry 5–6, 18, 20 Johannes Nider 93

Index Meister Eckhart 93 Observant reformers 67, 94–5 Pelbartus of Temeswar 91–2, 99 Recording of 110–16, 120, 128 Simons, Walter 3, 31 Sorores tertii ordinis (see quasi-religious) Supra montem 36–8, 41, 45, 47–9, 53, 64, 77 Tauler, Johannes (see Johannes Tauler) Third Order (see individual orders) Thomas Caffarini (Thomas of Siena) 76–7, 105, 132, 160 Thomas de Cantimpré 22, 53, 127 n. 93 Umilana of Cerchi 18 n. 4, 23, 35, 42, 53, 158 Urban IV (Pope) 31–5 Urban VIII (Pope) 154 Ursula (St) 132, 148–50 Ursula Haider 115–17, 133 Ursulines 135, 139, 148–53 Utrecht 52, 72, 81, 114, 138–9 van Engen, Hildo 138 Van Engen, John 4, 71

203

Villers 120 Vincent de Paul 155 visions 41–2, 107, 116, 123–5, 149, 153–4 accusations, and 10, 123–5 authority, and 116, 123, 153–4 discernment, and 123–5 Vows 4, 19–20, 38–9, 46, 60, 64, 67, 70, 80, 83–4, 125, 137–40, 146–7, 155, 158, 161–2 controversy, and 46, 52, 82 distinctions (solemn and simple) 19–20, 29, 83, 146–7, 161 enclosure, and 46–52 status, and 84, 137–40, 142 Wadding, Luke 70, 158 n. 2, 158–60 Ward, Mary 11, 135, 148, 153–4 Western Schism Council of Constance 63 Wilgefortis 129–31 Willem vanden Brande 114 Zarri, Gabriella 135, 148 Zita of Lucca 18 n. 4, 76, 77 n. 71, 160