Proving Woman (11 page)

The life of Margaret of Ypres relied on the testimony of her confessor, the Dominican Friar Zeger, for its information. Its
main focus is on the hierarchical relationship between a confessor and his penitent, emphasizing the benefits of submitting
to the discipline of the confessional relationship. 32 In so doing, it serves as an implicit refutation of the heretical contention
that confession to God alone suffices. Indeed, Margaret’s religious vocation is directly indebted to the general mandate to
confess, beginning with a timely meeting with her future confessor and spiritual director in the course of a general call
to confession in the parish church of Lille.
³³
Looking at the many women waiting to confess, Friar Zeger immediately recognized Margaret as a “vessel of election” (Acts
9.15) and besought her to reject secular life, advice that she instantly took to heart.
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Considering the pivotal role that confession and a meeting with her confessor played in Margaret’s spiritual life, it is not
surprising to learn that she shared in Mary of Oignies’s commendable, if occasionally exasperating, confessional scrupulosity.
Although, like Mary, Margaret had never actually committed a mortal sin, she nonetheless “always accounted herself the worst
and most wicked sinner as if she had committed an infinite number of mortal sins.” Margaret’s extravagant grief over her sense
of sinfulness was to some extent assuaged by the reassurance of Christ’s forgiveness through a vision of the Virgin Mary.
³⁵
And yet Margaret was forever backsliding into the depths of scrupulous terror over largely imaginary sins. For instance, once
while suspended in spiritual ecstasy Margaret had necessarily been prevented from observing the appropriate canonical hours.
Manifesting the most excessive grief, she immediately sought out her confessor who, observing his distraught penitent, became,
in turn, excessively alarmed. Zeger’s alarm soon gave way to extreme annoyance, however, when he learned the true reason for
her distress: “ ‘Leave! . . . Get out of my sight, O most miserable woman! You have made me shake and have left me almost
senseless from anguish.’ ”
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Margaret weathered rebuffs such as these, continuing to look to Friar Zeger for reassurance, and suffering torments when he
was out of town and unavailable to allay her scruples.
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The spirituality of many of the Beguine mystics was indebted to the kind of Bernardine nuptial imagery associated with Cistercian
circles. Thus Mary of Oignies and Lutgard of Aywie`res, for example, are frequently referred to as Christ’s spouse. Margaret
of Ypres’s relationship with her confessor, however, introduces a different dimension to nuptial allegory. At the time of
her conversion, Margaret was recalled from the brink of carnal love at the behest of Friar Zeger, who could be construed as
something of a stand-in for the celestial spouse, Christ. Not only does Margaret’s subordination to Zeger closely parallel
the prescribed submission of the wife, but it is accompanied by a similar transfer of affect. As a result of the very intensity
of Margaret’s relationship with Friar Zeger, a scruple of a different order naturally began to assert itself. Margaret recognized
that she loved her spiritual father “more than anybody or anything she had in the world,” but began to worry that this might
impede her relation with Christ—especially since “mutual love and frequent conversation between a man and a woman seem suspicious
to our superiors.” Fortunately, Christ reassured her that she had nothing to fear from her intimacy with Friar Zeger.
³⁸
In view of Margaret’s divinely endorsed dependency, her exemplary piety was often expressed in terms of obedience to her confessor,
a virtue that vied with her raptures and revelations as proof of her sanctity. This level of obedience is represented as transcending
death. Thus Zeger sends an ailing woman to Margaret’s grave with the following message: “ ‘Go and tell my daughter who has
just died that she should obey me as she did when she was alive, and that she should ask the Lord to cure you.’ ”
³⁹

While the life of Margaret emphasizes the fruits that the penitent might reap through due submission to the confessor, the
life of Lutgard emphasizes the spiritual rewards that would accrue to the clerics who were fortunate enough to sponsor such
holy women, effecting the quid pro quo exchange between confessor and female penitent described so lucidly in the work of
John Coakley.
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Lutgard, a nun in the Cistercian community of Aywie`res, fulfilled a symbolic function for Thomas similar to the one that
Mary of Oignies fulfilled for James of Vitry. Both clerics perceived their respective holy women as their spiritual mothers.
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But the two relationships were hardly commensurate in degree of intimacy, since Thomas was neither Lutgard’s confessor nor
her closest clerical confidant. This role was reserved for a certain Bernard, another member of the Dominican order, whom
Thomas tells us was also papal penitentiary and confessor to the pope—a fact that furthers the case for the papacy’s ongoing
interest in the women of this area. It was to Bernard that Lutgard “revealed all these secrets of her heart.” And it was to
Bernard that Thomas turned for many details of Lutgard’s life.
⁴²

Yet Bernard does not seem to have furnished much information concerning the circumstances of Lutgard’s no doubt exemplary
confessional life, or if he did, Thomas is showing uncharacteristic reserve. Instead, Lutgard is deployed as a resource for
resolving the difficulties that surround the sacrament of penance. Thomas himself was a particular beneficiary of Lutgard’s
abilities in this area. As a young man, before he had left the Augustinian Canons to enter the Dominican order, Thomas reports
that he was prematurely assigned a position in the episcopal penitentiary to hear confessions. The kinds of sins he was required
to hear were the source of considerable consternation and temptation, a problem frequently addressed in confessors’ manuals.
When Thomas revealed the source of his agitation, Lutgard listened sympathetically before withdrawing into prayer. Thus fortified,
she urged Thomas to return to his pastoral responsibilities, assuring him that “ ‘Christ will be present to you as protector
and teacher and He will powerfully snatch you from the attacks of the enemy in the hearing of Confession and will add a greater
grace to make up for the defect of knowledge which you fear.’ ” From that time onward, Thomas was rendered miraculously unmoved,
even when compelled to listen to the most unclean sins. This blessed imperviousness was not limited to confession, moreover,
but remained with him at all times.
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Lutgard distinguished herself as penitential troubleshooter for other members of the clergy as well.
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Perhaps it was in recognition of parallel instances of pastoral solicitude that the onetime master general of the Dominicans
Jordan of Saxony made Lutgard mother and nourisher of the entire order.
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It is no exaggeration to say that in the course of the hagiographical writings of James of Vitry and Thomas of Cantimpré,
a new kind of saint begins to emerge—one whose sanctity not only is revealed in but even develops through her evolving relation
with her confessor, thus infusing the ancient concept of confessor saint with something of a double entendre. The appearance
of the new confessor saint was contingent upon the new role of the confessor.

THE NEW MARTYRS FOR NEW TIMES: THE CULT OF THE LIVING DEAD

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints. O Lord, for I am thy servant: I am thy servant. (Ps. 115.15–16)

O Lord, for I am thy servant
: They call themselves
servants
and children of the church because there is no place for true sacrifice outside the catholic church, lest a heretic imagine
that his martyrdom is pleasing to God.

(
Glossa ordinaria
for Ps. 115.16)
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The confessional protocol that James and Thomas established in the course of their writings was preliminary to a much larger
penitential program. Both writers strove to affirm certain contentions about the afterlife that were denied by Cathars and
Waldensians alike. In particular, the existence of purgatory and the ability of the living to ameliorate the condition of
the dead were at issue. Heretical incredulity applied pressure on both sides of the orthodox equation: if the living were
powerless to affect the lot of the dead, the saints (who orthodoxy maintained were already admitted to God’s presence) were
likewise powerless to work miracles on behalf of the living. Thus skepticism about the efficacy of prayers to the saints as
well as about the cult of relics naturally ensued.
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The lives of these women would serve as vigorous refutations of heretical disaffection, boldly mapping the perilous paths
of communication between the differnt registers available to souls. In so doing, female spirituality simultaneously upheld
the orthodox position on the afterlife and defended the prerogatives of divine justice.

But the first stage of this struggle was to reclaim the rhetoric of martyrdom for orthodoxy. The heretical rejection of the
cult of the saints did not undercut the potent cultural capital implicit in suffering persecution for one’s faith.
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The Albigensian Crusade of 1208 was followed up by a series of systematic military and inquisitional campaigns.
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Naturally the victims of these attacks would construct their own losses in terms of martyrdom. 50 Thus when Dominican inquisitor
Stephen of Bourbon (d. 1261) is instructing his reader on how to recognize heretics, the first thing he mentions is their
“usurpation of what is not owed to them.” In addition to their appropriation of preaching and teaching of sacred doctrine,
a potentially more serious transgression ensues:

They would affirm that they were the blessed poor, as well as the meek and martyrs, suffering tribulation, and that the clerics
persecuted them from jealousy, just as formerly the prophets of Jews [were persecuted], and the scribes and Pharisees persecuted
the Lord and his disciples; and they, as they say, are the ones concerning whom the Lord says, “Behold I send to you prophets,
and wise men, and scribes: and some of them you will put to death” (Matt. 13.34).
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Similarly,William of Newburgh (d. 1201) reports how the early Cathars, attempting to enter England and brutally rebuffed,
appropriated the teaching “Blessed are they that suffer persecution for justice’s sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven”
(Matt. 5.10).
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It did not help the orthodox case, moreover, that many of the clergy had themselves begun to associate a willingness for martyrdom
with heresy. Ralph of Coggeshall recounts how a young woman burned for heresy astonished onlookers by her silent endurance
on the pyre “like a martyr of Christ.” He hastens to add that “people of this wicked sect choose to die rather than be converted
from error; but they have nothing in common with the constancy and steadfastness of martyrs for Christ, since it is piety
which brings contempt for death to the latter, to the former it is hardness of heart.”
⁵³
Likewise, when Raymond du Fauga, Fulk’s successor as bishop of Toulouse, visited the bedside of a dying Cathar believer in
the hope of exposing her heresy, it was her expressed willingness for martyrdom that allegedly gave her away.
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Naturally, there was a different standard among religious, particularly inquisitors, where a readiness for martyrdom was not
considered suspect. According to William Pelhisson (d. ca. 1268), the prior of his community reported joyfully that four of
them were assured martyrdom if they were prepared to undertake a particularly dangerous mission. When the friars were asked
to express their readiness through prostration, the entire community allegedly prostrated themselves. Neither William, one
of the chosen, nor his three companions were martyred, however.
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The laity, who were inclined to credit martyrdom to anyone who suffered an unjust death, were deeply moved by the courageous
deaths of many heretics.
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Orthodox authorities did what they could to offset the specter of the heretical martyr. There were, after all, a number of
inquisitors put to death by heretics who would undoubtedly qualify for the palm of martyrdom.
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Why not promote them? The answer is simple: the church did its best to advance their cults, but to no avail. Thus the relics
of Peter of Castro (d. 1208), a kind of protoinquisitor whose murder in Languedoc provided impetus for the Albigensian Crusade,
failed to work miracles—a failure that Innocent III attributed to the incredulity of the local populace.
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The Dominican order were similarly foiled in their attempts to promote the cult of inquisitor Martin Donadieu (d. 1299)—a
failure similarly blamed on the unworthiness of the people of Carcassonne. 59 The handful of inquisitors and their staff who
were massacred in 1242 at Avignonet, an episode that met with rejoicing amid the heretically sympathetic countryside, failed
to stimulate a process of canonization. 60 The single instance of an inquisitor’s achieving the official status of martyr
was the case of Peter of Verona (d. 1252), known as “Peter Martyr,” a Dominican inquisitor who was killed by heretics outside
the city of Como in Lombardy.
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And yet it is surely significant that Peter became an inquisitor only late in life and was better known to the public for
his charity, virtues, and public debates with heretics. In fact, it was these aspects of his life alone that were emphasized
by the clerics who preached on behalf of his sanctity, probably hoping to obscure Peter’s inquisitional affiliation.
⁶²
And it is especially suggestive that not only was the church very slow to prosecute Peter’s known assassins, but one was even
converted to the Dominican order and eventually honored as a saint unofficially63—factors that betray a degree of ambivalence,
to say the least. In addition to all these qualifications, the singularity of Peter’s elevation should again be underscored.
The numerous inquisitors who met similar fates at the hands of their heretical adversaries over several hundred years received
no parallel recognition from the papacy. In fact, as AndréVauchez has noted, the category of martyr would become moribund
by the end of the Middle Ages.
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