<<

Religious Life between Jerusalem, the Desert, and the World

Studies in the History of Christian Traditions

General Editor

Robert J. Bast (Knoxville, Tennessee)

Editorial Board

Paul C.H. Lim (Nashville, Tennessee) Brad C. Pardue (Point Lookout, ) Eric Saak (Indianapolis) Christine Shepardson (Knoxville, Tennessee) Brian Tierney (Ithaca, New York) John Van Engen (Notre Dame, Indiana)

Founding Editor

Heiko A. Oberman†

VOLUME 180

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/shct

Religious Life between Jerusalem, the Desert, and the World

Selected Essays by Kaspar Elm

Translated by

James D. Mixson

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: Detail from Andrea di Bonaiuto (fl. 1346-1379). The Militant Church (Via Veritatis). Fresco from north wall (post-restoration 2003-2004), Spanish Chapel, , , . Photo Credit: Scala/Art Resource, NY.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Elm, Kaspar, 1929- [Essays. Selections. English] Religious life between Jerusalem, the desert, and the world : selected essays by Kaspar Elm / translated by James D. Mixson. pages cm. -- (Studies in the history of Christian traditions, ISSN 1573-5664 ; VOLUME 180) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-30777-3 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Europe--Religious life and customs. 2. Europe--Church history--600-1500. 3. Monastic and religious life--Europe--History--, 600-1500. I. Title.

BR735.E3813 2015 270.5--dc23

2015036686

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This book is printed on acid-free paper. Contents

Translator’s Preface vii

Introduction 1

1 Francis and Dominic: The Impact and Impetus of Two Founders of Religious Orders 28

2 Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri: Reflections on Fraternitas, Familia and Women’s Religious Life in the Circle of the Chapter of the Holy Sepulcher 55

3 Mendicants and Humanists in Florence in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries: The Problem of Justifying Humanistic Studies in the 111

4 Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders in the Late Middle Ages: Current Research and Research Agendas 138

5 Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher: A Contribution to the Origins and Early History of the Military Orders of Palestine 189

6 The Status of Women in Religious Life, Semi-Religious Life and Heresy in the Era of St. Elizabeth 220

7 John of Capistrano’s Preaching Tour North of the Alps (1451–1456) 255

8 Vita regularis sine regula. The Meaning, Legal Status and Self- Understanding of Late-Medieval and Early-Modern Semi-Religious Life 277

9 The “” and the New Piety between the Later Middle Ages and the Early Modern Era 317

Index 333

Translator’s Preface

The essays translated here are but one attempt to draw together the richness of Kaspar Elm’s decades of scholarly publication. They are chosen with an eye to capturing something of his tastes and interests, and the recurring themes that characterized his research. They are arranged chronologically, and they attempt to strike a balance across earlier and later work. Those who know that work best will recognize many crucial omissions, and will perhaps have made different choices. Such criticism is fair enough. These essays are by no means fully representative of the full range of Professor Elm’s work. They are only one collection that hopes to speak to some of the interests of the Anglophone audi- ence for which this volume is primarily intended. The translations themselves are based on the original publications of Professor Elm’s essays, and preserve the notes and bibliography largely in their original form, with only slight modi- fications to suit the conventions of Brill Academic Publishers. I am grateful to the Department of History and the College of Arts and Sciences of the University of Alabama for their support of my work on this translation, as well as to Robert Bast, Ivo Romein and the editorial staff at Brill for their patience and assistance in helping bring the project to conclusion. My thanks as well to John Van Engen, Robert Lerner and Bailey for their careful reading and criticism as I struggled with the many challenges of ­crafting a proper introduction, as well as to Valerie Roberts for her diligence and care in proofing the full manuscript. As ever, I am grateful to my wife for her faithful patience and companionship. And I am grateful above all to Veit and Susanna Elm for their support, insight, encouragement, and hospitality. I offer the fruits of these labors to their family and to their father, in honor of his inspiring scholarship. Introduction

For most of the twentieth century, the story of medieval religious life was writ- ten by and for those who lived it. , canons, and wrote about their own orders, as part of a larger church history focused on institutions and dogma. But that story, as even those with a passing interest in medieval religious history are aware, has long since been transformed. Medieval reli- gious life is now unthinkable apart from the context of the world beyond the cloister—the world of the nobility, kings and princes, of commerce, merchants, and cities, of lay piety and heresy. The story is also unthinkable apart from a comparative view that considers religious life across the boundaries of indi- vidual orders and institutions. And few medievalists of the later twentieth cen- tury have contributed more to these scholarly transformations than Kaspar Elm. Over the last half century his reflections, now a monumental corpus of books, essays and other publications, have explored how the life of the cloister, canonry and intersected with the world beyond, and how that story reflected the broader sweep of European history. Elm’s work was among the earliest to explore topics and themes that have been commonplace in Anglophone scholarship on medieval religious life over the last generation: the eremitical tradition that shaped what became the order of Augustinian Hermits; the piety and institutional traditions of religious life nurtured by the crusades; the connections between mendicant religious life and the cities; the history of lay women and men who were drawn to religious life’s ideals, and who appropriated its practices; the story of the reforms of the later middle ages that became known as the Observant movement. Until now, however, relatively few Anglophone scholars and students have had access to Elm’s work. The reasons are many, but four stand out. First, across Europe itself, a certain scholarly parochialism tended to fragment the broad vision Elm advocated. He drew from the work of religious life in , France, Italy, and alike, and authored both synthetic accounts and local studies that moved gracefully from Spain to Germany and the Low Countries to Italy. Yet most of his colleagues remained content, naturally enough, to work within their own national, local, or regional traditions, or within the traditions of particular orders or congregations. Second, the particu- lar status of Germany and German scholarship after 1945 worked against any broader influence. Few in France, England or Italy read or worked extensively with German scholarship, and among Anglo-American scholars in particular, the neglect of medieval Germany was even more pronounced. Anglophone scholars looked instead to England, France and Italy. And whether in Europe or

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2 Introduction

North America, to note a third reason, for almost everyone the story of medi- eval religious life simply ended around 1300. The later middle ages, still a youth- ful field of serious inquiry as late as the 1970s, remained a period of darkness and confusion. For most, the supposed “golden age” of the twelfth and thir- teenth centuries remained at the center. Finally, Elm’s own rigorous standards of thoroughness and nuance, and the complexity of the landscape he surveyed in his work, made any attempt at a single broad synthesis seem at best unwise, at worst impossible. As a result, apart from two volumes of collected essays, there is still no single major book that captures his five decades of scholarship. The present translation of several of Professor Elm’s most important essays offers itself as a modest remedy to this circumstance. Here for the first time in English is a collection of essays that presents his contributions to an Anglophone scholarly audience. The purpose of this introduction is not merely to offer a detailed summary of what the essays themselves make quite clear. Rather, it is to recover the originality of Elm’s scholarship in the context of his life and career, and to draw attention to the particular strengths of his contributions. These considerations will then allow some concluding remarks on the reception of Elm’s work, the critical issues these essays have engaged, and their continuing­ resonance for modern scholarship.

1 From Xanten to Berlin: Toward a Biographical Sketch

In the late nineteenth century the city of Xanten, nestled on bank of the Lower Rhine, welcomed an immigrant Catholic convert from the village of Elm in northern Hessia. His son, Kaspar-Josef, fought in the First World War in both France and Russia and then returned to Xanten to work as an apprentice in the local enamel industry. He would have five children from two marriages.1 The youngest son, grandson of the first immigrant, was another Kaspar. He was born on September 23, 1929. Xanten was old as Europe itself, its foundations reaching back to the earliest Roman colonies in the region.2 By the later nineteenth century it remained a

1 Elm’s first wife, the daughter of a socialist member of the Norwegian Reichstag, died in the Spanish Flu epidemic of 1918. I am grateful to the members of the Elm family for sharing family stories such as these for inclusion in this introduction. 2 The Roman settlement of Colonia Ulpia Traiana had emerged from the Roman garrisons established in the region after Caesar’s conquests. Along with its siblings Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium (Colonge) and Augusta Treverorum () it soon numbered among the

Introduction 3 proud, intimate, and learned community whose citizens were mostly rugged Catholic centrists. They lived in the shadow of the cathedral of St. Victor, often holding Prussians and Communists alike at a distance.3 One of their most prominent sons had been the Catholic and historian Johannes Jannsen (†1891). Born in 1829, Janssen earned his doctorate in 1853, and by the 1870s he had become one of the most widely read yet controversial figures of his gen- eration in Germany.4 Janssen was best known for his History of the German People from the End of the Middle Ages,5 a work that challenged, from a staunchly Catholic position, a powerful tradition of Prussian nationalist histo- riography. The end of the middle ages and the Reformation, so Jannsen, wit- nessed not the beginning of modernity, but the final destruction of Germany’s religious and cultural unity. Just as controversial was the work’s method. Jannsen argued his case not from high politics or church history, but rather from all that he could recover of the daily lives of ordinary folk—farmers, mer- chants, women and children, their customs of dress and dining, their religious belief and practice. Jannsen’s History became sensationally popular for a time, especially in Catholic circles. But Protestants attacked him fiercely as a Catholic apologist, and even later Catholic historians critiqued him on several fronts. Kaspar Elm himself eventually developed the most balanced assessment.6 As a Catholic apologist, Jannsen often strongly misread the religious complexity of the later middle ages. But he is still profitably seen as a product of the ­intellectual currents of the later nineteenth century, as a devout native of Xanten, and a scholar whose life and inspirations were deeply shaped by and

most important Roman colonies in the northwestern reaches of the Empire. The name of the city itself (ad Sanctos, Xanten) also bears witness to the traditions of it patron , Victor, and the Roman martyrs of the “Theban Legion.” For an accessible overview of Xanten see Studien zur Geschichte der Stadt Xanten: Festschrift zum 750jährigen Stadtiubiläum (: Rheinland-Verlag, 1978). For the longer history noted here see especially the essays of Precht, Hüneborn and Kastner. 3 For these contexts see Jürgen Rosen, “Xanten zwischen 1928 und dem Untergang der mittel- alterlich geprägten Stadt, Anfang 1945,” in Studien, 129–154, here 132. 4 The best access to Jannsen and his work, and the foundation of this account, is the work of Kaspar Elm himself: “Johannes Janssen der Geschichtsschreiber des deutschen Volkes (1829– 1891),” Xantener Vorträge zur Geschichte des Niederrheins 1 (1991), 189–209. The essay is also reprinted in Franz-Josef Heyen (ed.), Rheinische Lebensbilder 17 (1997), 121–140. 5 Johannes Janssen, Geschichte des deutschen Volkes seit dem Ausgang des Mittelalters (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1893). For the brief overview here (citing from the reprint edition) see Elm, “Johannes Janssen,” 124–126. 6 Elm, “Johannes Janssen,” especially 126–128.

4 Introduction reflected the cultural sensibilities of the urban commoners and Catholics of the Rhineland. The young Kaspar Elm’s early years in Xanten were steeped in those same sensibilities. But they also witnessed the rise of the ndsap.7 German Catholics and their bishops and were drawn to the Nazis for a variety of rea- sons—anxiety over moral decline during the Weimar years, nationalist and antisemitic resentments, careerism and expediency, as well as the older romanticism and localism that had inspired figures like Jannsen.8 In the com- ing years their positions became increasingly complex and ambivalent. All too many remained silent, or in various ways either fully embraced or became implicated in the horrors of Hitler’s regime. A small but courageous minority became vocal and visible critics. In between were many who could be at least passively skeptical, if not deeply suspicious of the fascists. Kaspar-Josef Elm, for his part, seems to have been among their number, and remained quietly resistant of what he saw as an unsustainable regime. He is said once to have quipped that the war Hitler sparked was over the moment it started. That war affected life in Xanten itself only indirectly, at least in the early years.9 It came first with the regular cadence of bomber missions that passed overhead on the way from England to the Ruhrgebiet, and as air combat over the steel yards of nearby Rheinhausen (with its many wayward bomber pay- loads) drove citizens into their basements by night. City administrators worked to support the war effort, helping especially to accommodate exiles from nearby towns laid low by allied bombs. But the realities of war crept closer day to day.10 By September of 1944 allied troops pressed on Neijmegen

7 To explore the complexity of the relationships between German Catholicism and National Socialism is beyond both my expertise and the scope of this introduction. But for some basic oritenation, among many other works, see Guenter Lewy, The and , 2nd ed. (Boulder, co: Da Capo, 2001); Kevin Spicer, Resisting the Third Reich: The Catholic Clergy in Hitler’s Berlin (DeKalb: Northern University Press, 2004) and Hitler’s Priests (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2008); Michael Phayer, The Catholic Church and the Holocaust, 1930–1965 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2000). 8 For a brief but nuanced account of these complexities see Spicer, Hitler’s Priests, 5–7. 9 Rosen, “Xanten,” 130–131 and 134–135. 10 For a brief overview of the war years see Heinz Bosch, “Xanten in der Strategie der Kriegführenden Mächte 1945,” in Studien (above n. 1), 187–192. My thanks to Dr. Charles Clark for orientation to the material, here drawn from P. Stacey, The Official History of the Canadian Army in the Second World War, Volume iii, The Victory Campaign: The Operations in North-West Europe, 1944–1945 (Ottawa: E. Cloutier, 1966), 516–520.

Introduction 5 and Arnhem. Schooling in Xanten was soon suspended, and most able-bodied youth were sent away—some to children’s camps in the countryside (klv camps), others to civil engineering details (Schanzdienst) in Holland.11 By the early months of 1945 the thunder of allied warplanes drew closer still, and from the first days of March the gods of war were at the doorstep of Xanten itself. As a part of Operation Blockbuster, sixty medium bombers attacked the city on March 1. Early on the morning of March 5, artillery fire rained down on the town as elements of the Canadian 2nd and 43rd Wessex divisions began their advance. The 2nd Fallschirmjäger Corps and the 116 Panzer division offered up a tenacious defense, inflicting hundreds of Allied casualties. But by March 8 the city was taken, and its population of a few thousand (by one count hardly half of what it had been before the war) evacuated. Within two weeks the Allies had mounted a massive airlift across the region. Churchill looked on as they crossed the Rhine, and later did so himself at Wesel on March 25, in theatrical style. As a family the Elms narrowly escaped the worst tragedies of the war. The two eldest sons were captured and imprisoned, one held in Siberia until 1953. The young Kaspar, for his part, worked hard and kept up a good spirit. Always first in his class and a dedicated altar boy, he was also something of a class clown. And though he was called to combat himself at age 15, it was the last hour; mother and son narrowly escaped to the east bank of the Rhine just as the city was being levelled. A scholar’s nascent talent with languages did prove useful enough for the occupying forces, however, and for a time Elm found himself working as a translator for a Canadian logistics regiment that employed German labor. With nothing left of Xanten, he was sent to a guest family in his mother’s home city of Rheine. There he attended the Gymnasium Dionysianum, and prepared for a university career. For a gifted young scholar from Xanten, Münster—another modest city, nurtured by the same Catholic culture of the German-Dutch borderlands that had shaped Janssen—must have seemed a natural choice. He enrolled at the Willhelms- Univeristy in 1950 (and while doing so first met his future wife, while they waited in the line for matriculation). He began a typical course of study in Latin, German and history, and completed the state examinations and period of internship required of aspiring professionals. But Elm had higher aca- demic ambitions, and soon began his doctoral work under the tutelage of Herbert Grundmann.

11 Rosen, “Xanten,” 153.

6 Introduction

For a scholar with Elm’s background and interests, it was an excellent choice. In Grundmann Elm encountered a scholar nearing the peak of his career.12 A student of Walter Goetz at Leipzig, Grundmann had labored in scholarly obscu- rity through the 1930s. With the advent of war he was eventually pressed into military service, wounded and taken prisoner by the British in 1944. The post- war years at Münster then finally brought a long period of stability and schol- arly productivity. By the time of Elm’s matriculation Grundmann had been there over ten years, as the leader of both his own department and the wider university community (especially the interdisciplinary group known as the Mondkreis, the “Moon Circle”). He was also finally receiving proper recognition for his Leipzig Habilitation, a series of interrelated essays on heresy, the mendi- cant orders, and women’s religious life. Published in 1935 as Religious Movements in the Middle Ages, the book at first attracted little attention. But in ways that will be outlined below, it soon resonated anew with a post-war generation of scholars and students, and it remains today a work whose arguments have become standard: the power of the Apostolic ideal and mendicancy in the twelfth century to inspire in ways that cut across institutional and social bound- aries; the power of the papacy to channel its forces, to legitimize, to polarize; the power of women to appropriate, shape and express apostolic ideals for themselves.13 Elm’s dissertation, a study of “The Origins of the Order of Augustinian Hermits in the Thirteenth Century,” was completed in 1957. It was never ­published, but a series of later articles made available its core contributions. They reveal how much Elm’s doctoral work reflected Grundmann’s interest in apostolic poverty, and in the role of the papacy in shaping it: through exhaustive

12 Robert Lerner’s introduction to Steven Rowan’s translation of Grundmann’s Religious Movements (n. 13) offers the best overview of Grundmann’s career, his work and its recep- tion. For the contexts touched on here see especially x–xii. Other accessible biographies of Grundmann by Kaspar Elm himself in Deutsche Biographische Enzyklopädie 4: 220 and by Arno Borst in Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters 26 (1970) 327–353. For the difficult and controversial issues surrounding Grundmann’s career in the Nazi era see also Anne Christine Nagel, “‘Mit dem Herzen, dem Willen und dem Verstand dabei’: Herbert Grundmann und der Nationalsozialismus,” in Hartmut Lehmann and Otto Gerhard Oexle (eds.), Nationalsozialismus in den Kulturwissenschaften. Bd. 1: Fächer, Milieus, Karrieren (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 2004), 593–618. 13 Herbert Grundmann, Religiöse Bewegungen im Mittelalter. Untersuchungen über die geschichtlichen Zusammenhänge zwischen der Ketzerei, den Bettelorden und der religiösen Frauenbewegung im 12. und 13. Jahrhundert und über die geschichtlichen Grundlagen der deutschen Mystik, 2nd ed. (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1961). English translation by Steven Rowan, Religious Movements in the Middle Ages (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995).

Introduction 7 study of the archives, Elm showed how what later became the order of “Augustinian Hermits” had been at its origins a confederation of independent eremitical groups, each of them—here the parallel with Grundmann’s insights—channeled by the papacy to meet the needs of preaching and pasto- ral care. In 1959 Grundmann departed for Munich to become the President of the Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Elm remained in Münster, and over the next years served as a scholarly research associate (Wissenschaftlicher Mitarbeiter). In 1962 he then gained a position as an Assistant in Freiburg, work- ing under the direction of Otto Herding. By 1964 Elm had attained the rank of Privatdozent and had begun to publish a series of strong articles based on the source work and themes addressed in his dissertation. He had also begun work on his Habilitation, a study of the “history and self-understanding” of the Order of the Holy Sepulcher. That project was complete by 1967. The timing was fortunate. The 1960s were a decade of remarkable growth and expansion for the German university system.14 They had seen the founding of an unprecedented number of new institutes, chairs, and mid-level positions, many of them at new “reform” universities dedicated to moving post-war Germany into a modern era.15 In this dynamic environment, Elm enjoyed the privilege of choosing between several calls to his first professorial position. He chose the University of Bielefeld, not least because of its cultural position. Bielefeld was an institution at the heart of all the changes that were to consume the historical profession in postwar Germany in the coming decades. And though Elm himself was not a party to the debates inspired by the Bielefeld School, he applied a simi- lar intellectual breadth and energy, and the university’s resources, to build momentum for his own field. He continued his record of strong publications (among them his inaugural lecture, discussed below) and worked hard to build up a substantial library collection on the middle ages and the medieval religious orders. The momentum he enjoyed at Bielefeld then positioned him for further advancement. By 1974 he had received the call to a position at the Free University of Berlin, where he remained until his retirement in 1998. Over those twenty five years Elm continued the hard work of a successful Ordinarius in the German university system. He established a research project

14 For the contexts discussed here see Hartmut Lehmann and James Van Horn Melton, Paths of Continuity: Central European Historiography from the 1930s to the 1950s (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), especially the introduction by James Van Horn Melton (1–18) and the essay by Winfred Schulze, “German Historiography from the 1930s to the 1950s,” (19–42) as well as the comment by Georg Iggers, (43–47). 15 Paths of Continuity, 3 n. 4. According to one count, between 1960 and 1975 chairs in history increased from 80 to 210, Dozent positions from 90 to 230 and positions for Assistenten from 50 to 380.

8 Introduction and a press series dedicated to the “comparative” study of religious life and religious orders in the middle ages; hosted conferences and built a massive library collection; lectured and led seminars and excursions; attracted and trained a generation of students who worked on a variety of topics within the field (“Ordens-Elm,” as insiders often called it) he had helped define. All of it was fuelled by Elm’s prodigious energy, graced by his collegial charm and sup- ported by the strength of the Free University—to say nothing of the Deutsche Mark, especially early on, in Cold-War Europe.16 Elm had no ambition to forge anything like a distinct “school.” But the end of his career he had trained two decades of students, and enjoyed the esteem of an international field of schol- ars from Europe and North America. Even in retirement, he continued to teach, to travel, to research and write. The result is a body of scholarship that is as remarkable as it is difficult to summarize. By one count Elm is the author (to include reprints and transla- tions) of some 255 publications, including 27 books.17 Many of these works became standard treatments on religious life, and many remain central to our discussions of medieval religion in both Europe and North America. Collectively they form a corpus worthy of careful reading and reflection. They also merit careful orientation into the scholarly lineage that shaped them, and the histo- riographical moment that made them possible.

2 Historiographical Legacies and Frames: Religious Life between Leipzig and Adenauer

The decades after 1945 were a time of innovation and expansion in the German academy. The work of Hans-Ulrich Wehler and others of the Bielefeld School had embraced social history and social science in ways that sought a

16 For a brief sketch of these years see the introductory remarks in Elm’s last Festscrhift: Franz J. Felten and Nikolas Jaspert (eds.), Vita Religiosa im Mittelalter: Festschrift für Kaspar Elm zum 70. Geburtstag (Berlin: Duncker and Humblot, 1999), here xiii–xiv. For an early overview of the vision and nature of Elm’s research program, see his summary “Vergleichende Ordensforschung. Ein Forschungsprojektschwerpunkt am Friedrich- Meinecke-Institut der Freien Universität Berlin,” Jahrbuch der historischen Forschung, (1979) 47–49. 17 See the lists of publications provided in the two Festschriften dedicated to Elm: Dieter Berg (ed.), Vitasfratrum, Saxonia Franciscana 5 (Werl: 1994) and Franz Felten and Nicholas Jaspert (eds.), Vita Religiosa im Mittelalter: Festschrift für Kaspar Elm Zum 70. Geburtstag (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1999). See also the comprehensive list provided by the web- site Regesta imperii (http://opac.regesta-imperii.de/lang_de).

Introduction 9

­self-conscious break with inherited traditions focused on politics and diplomacy. But an older generation of teachers had survived the war, and most—whatever their alignments or sympathies with National Socialism—had returned to their positions, to teaching and to training students. The older approaches and fields thus lived on, “stubbornly mired,” so one scholar has put it, “in a new-Rankean perspective.”18 Well into the 1950s and ‘60s history in Germany was still the story of nations, of politics and diplomacy. The one area of innovation that might have offered an alternative, the tradition of Volkgeschichte pioneered by Hermann Aubin and others, had become deeply compromised because of its complicity in Nazi aims. So too with the complex legacy of Otto Brunner, whose Land und Herrschaft drew on conservative, anti-liberal thought in the Weimar years to level a still powerful critique against conceptual­ anachronisms of the medieval “state” and “society” inherited from the nineteenth century.19 Herbert’s Grundmann’s brand of religious history, described as the “religious- historical branch of cultural history,” spoke at best indirectly, if at all, to these wider debates. But his scholarship represented another way in which much older historiographical traditions had survived. Grundmann’s lineage reached back to Karl Lamprecht, who had founded the “Institute for Cultural and Universal History” at Leipzig in 1909. Long before and quite independently of the celebrated Annales school in France, Lamprecht had embraced the study of food and clothing, of religion and everyday life. His aim was to integrate the social and the material with the spiritual and intellectual, to capture a kind of “total history” (Gesamtgeschichte).20 That kind of vision was contested from

18 Lehmann and Melton (eds.), Paths of Continuity, 6–7. 19 On the one hand Brunner’s approach—his emphasis on restoring the conceptual frame- works of a lost era, on working locally and regionally, toward a “total” history that inte- grated society, economy, politics, culture—resonated powerfully with (and perhaps in part inspired) what became the postwar tradition of the Annalistes. But his own interpre- tative model, with its language of Volk and Herrschaft, was all too resonant (even for Brunner himself, as he soon recognized) with Nazi slogans and ideology. The many subse- quent revisions and editions of his masterpiece have exorcised those demons only with difficulty. For these matters in more detail see the fine introduction to the English transla- tion of Brunner’s Land und Herrschaft by Howard Kaminsky: Land and Lordship: Structures of Governance in Medieval Austria (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1992). See also the essay by James Van Horn Melton in Paths of Continuity (n. 14). 20 Jerry Z. Muller, “‘Historical Social Science” and Political Myth: Hans Freyer (1887–1969) and the Genealogy of Social History in West Germany,” with a comment by Roger Chickering, in Paths of Continuity, 197–237, especially 232–235. For a more detailed analy- sis of Freyer see Muller’s The Other God That Failed: Hans Freyer and the Deradicalization of German Conservatism (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1987).

10 Introduction the start, and not only because it cut so decidedly against the grain of the minutiae of political and diplomatic history then dominant. Lamprecht also vigorously defended the idea that he could discern in the historical record uni- versal laws and stages of development. All of it was soon discredited, Lamprecht pushed aside. But the institute he founded in Leipzig lived on, and under the leadership of his heir Walter Goetz, it stood through the end of the Second World War (when allied bombs abruptly ended its existence) “as the only aca- demic institute in Germany dedicated to a broad, culturally oriented view of the human past.”21 Goetz eventually trained Herbert Grundmann in that spirit. Like his teacher, Grundmann embraced both rigorous source criticism and an instinct for broader synthesis—a combination in evidence across all of his work, from his study of Joachim of Fiore’s thought to the broad panorama of Religiöse Bewegungen im Mittelalter and beyond.22 And like his teacher, he embraced cultural history as the kind of “total history” that Lamprecht and Goetz had envisioned. But Grundmann also placed a distinct emphasis on the tradition he inherited. He was one of the few scholars of his generation open to taking religion seriously as a subject of inquiry. Nominally Protestant, Grundmann had no strong religious convictions himself. But he was convinced of the power of religious movements as a force in cultural history, one that cut across insti- tutional boundaries, and across the borders between church and society. His scholarship and leadership thus created a crucial space in the academy for secular scholars, those beyond the ranks of the orders themselves, to under- take serious work on medieval religious life. Kaspar Elm was one of a generation of post-war students who had begun to respond to that opportunity. But he did so in his own way, as one who remained rooted in the Catholic culture of his native Xanten, and of Germany’s Western borders with the Netherlands. His training in the Catholic Gymnasium in Rheine, and especially his stay in Pavia as a fellow of the Collegio Borromeo while working on his dissertation, remained foundational. Elm’s was an enlight- ened, self-consciously Catholic stance, one that embraced the richness of the long history of the church, but that avoided dogma or polemic. His was also a progressive view, one that sought to find its way to a middle ages that was something other than what figures like Jannsen had envisioned. In previous generations he might have been marginalized. But by the 1950s, the time had come when a scholar of Elm’s heritage and talents could begin to carve out a

21 Lerner, “Introduction,” xv–xvi and nn. 24–30. 22 Ibid.

Introduction 11 place in the traditional academy. In the age of Adenauer and the cdu,Catholic centrists were not only taking their place in politics.23 In the shadow of the Soviet Union, the 1950s saw an outpouring of Catholic scholarship that began to make its way into the mainstream of medieval history. Two examples can serve to illustrate the trend. In 1954 Theodore Schieffer, another Rhineland Catholic who had left for the University of Cologne, published what remains the authoritative biography of Boniface, a study that cast its prota­ gonist as the architect of the “Christian foundations of Europe.”24 Here, as in so many similar works, the story turns on how the institutional church in the middle ages served as the lattice-work that sustained Western Civilization. Two years later, in the same spirit, series of articles focused on the other end of the middle ages celebrated the life and death of the Italian Franciscan John of Capistrano. John had preached to tens of thousands across central Europe, and rallied an army of crusaders to drive the Ottomans from the walls of Belgrade in 1456. Five centuries later, Soviet tanks rolled in to to crush an uprising that had begun on Friar John’s feast day (October 23). Franciscan scholars, especially, but many others besides, now embraced John anew as the “Apostle of Europe.”25 More powerful still in shaping the historio- graphical moment was the early energy of all that would culminate in the . In the same years that Elm had begun his doctoral work, Chenu had begun both to involve himself, controversially, in the worker- priest movement in France, and to publish the early articles that explored the power of religious movements that cut across the boundaries between religious life, secular clergy and . Grundmann’s work too, had begun to receive renewed attention in the same years, and has never lost its appeal.26 In a time of unprecedented social and religious turmoil centered on reform, the ground

23 Key for context here, among many possibilities, are Maria D. Mitchell, The Origins of Christian Democracy: Politics and Confession in Modern Germany (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2012) and Mark Edward Ruff, “Strukturen und Mentalitäten des ‘katholischen Milieus’ in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland der fünfziger und frühen sechziger Jahre des 20. Jahrhunderts,” in Wilhelm Damberg and Antonius Liedhegener (eds.), Katholiken in den usa und Deutschland: Kirche, Gesellschaft und Politik (Münster: Aschendorff Verlag, 2006), 34–48. 24 Theodor Schieffer, Winfrid-Bonifatius und die christliche Grundlegung Europas (Freiburg: Herder, 1954). 25 See the collection of essays that appeared in Studi Francescani 53 (1956). See also the biog- raphy by Johannes Hofer, Johannes Capistran. Ein Leben im Kampf um die Reform der Kirche, 2 vols., 2nd ed. (-Heidelberg: Kerle, 1964). 26 See here the reflections of Lerner, “Introduction,” xxii and especially n. 42. See also Marie- Dominique Chenu, Nature, Man, and Society in the Twelfth Century. Essays on New

12 Introduction had been well prepared for new work on the vita religiosa in ways that spoke to a new generation. Elm’s early work not only reflected this distinct historiographical moment. It also reflected his training as a of Grundmann. Just as Grundmann had done in Religiöse Bewegungen, Elm explored how a seemingly stable his- tory of origins was in fact the result of a complex and uncertain process—in this case the competition, contest and coalescence of the many groups that eventually came together as the order of Augustinian Hermits.27 Here was another powerful example of how hindsight and institutional historio­ graphies had created the illusion of a stable institutional tradition where there had been none. The origins of the Augustinian Hermits, as Elm exhaustively showed, had been the product of a long and tortured process, of uncertainty, contest and failure. In the words of Hans Freyer (whose words from the Festschrift for Walter Goetz had provided the epigraph for Grundmann’s masterpiece) Elm returned the story of another religious movement to the “complex situation which prevailed when it was still in the course of being decided.” Elm helped make the story of the Augustinian Hermits “happen again.”28 Yet Elm’s particular topic, and the way he shaped it, also revealed the dis- tinctiveness of his own approach. In ways his teacher had not been, Elm was sympathetic to the institutionalized forms of religious life that the twelfth cen- tury’s apostolic movements eventually inspired. His was to be the study of the dynamism, of the failures and vulnerabilities, but also of the successes of reli- gious life’s institutions, and of the power of rule and order, house and congre- gation to both reflect and change later medieval society. Elm’s early publications reflect the further refinement of his talents and scholarly sensibility. His first essay, on the historiography surrounding the Augustinian Hermits, revealed a keen historiographical awareness and a talent for synthesis.29 Two years later, his book-length study (based on many of the core findings of his dissertation) told the story of the Williamites, an order that emerged from the legends surrounding the retired crusader and Tuscan hermit

Theological Perspectives in the Latin West, tr. Taylor and L.K. Little (: University of Chicago Press, 1968). 27 Kaspar Elm, “Die Anfänge des Ordens der Augustiner-Eremiten im 13. Jahrhundert” (Ph.D. dissertation, Münster, 1957). The thesis was unfortunately never published in its entirety. 28 Here the words are those of Rowan’s translation Religious Movements, p. 1. See also Lerner, “Introduction,” xviii. 29 Elm, “Neue Beiträge zur Geschichte des Augustiner-Eremitenordens im 13. und 14. Jahrhundert,” Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 42 (1960): 357–387.

Introduction 13

William of Malavalle.30 The work displayed not only the impressive grounding in the sources that had been the hallmark of Grundmann and Goetz. It also embraced the broad chronological framework of “Old Europe” that was to char- acterize so much of Elm’s later vision of the history of the orders: here the story of the Williamites moves far beyond its thirteenth century origins, into the fif- teenth century and ultimately all the way into the nineteenth.31 A series of essays in the journal Augustiniana then demonstrated Elm’s commitment to constructing a proper Bullarium and monasticon for the neglected histories he had uncovered, as well as his talent for unwinding the complex documentary problems such a project presented.32 Another series of articles in the journal Cîteaux addressed the misconceptions and myths that had long confused the Williamites’ institutional story with that of the .33 Again Elm’s dis- tinct combination of talents and sensibilities were on display—above all careful documentary spade work, combined with a sense of the histoire totale of the daily life of an order (allowing the inquiry to extend to questions of liturgy and dress) and an appreciation of the longer legacies of Catholic Europe. A final article then rounded out the early contributions drawn from the dissertation.34 In these early essays Elm had rescued a distinct Williamite story, an order shaped by a papacy’s need for mendicant orders that embraced the vita activa of preaching and pastoral care, and an order that preserved its distinct cus- toms, constitutions, dress and other traditions. The Williamites’ only failure was historiographical: They developed no tradition of their own to compete with the Cistercians and Augustinian Hermits, their origins became obscured, and their order largely forgotten. But even as these publications appeared, Elm had already moved on to Freiburg, and to the project that would result in his

30 Elm, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Wilhelmitenordens (Cologne: Böhlau, 1962). 31 Ibid., especially chapter seven. 32 Elm, “Die Bulle ‘Ea Quae Iudicio’ Clemens’ iv. 30.viii.1266: Vorgeschichte, Überlieferung, Text und Bedeutung,” Augustiniana 14 (1964): 500–522; 15 (1965): 54–67 and 493–520; 16 (1966): 95–145. The essays were published as a single volume (Louvain, 1966), and drew the attention of at least one Anglophone reviewer (E.C. Hall) in Speculum 42 (1967), 728–730. See also “Wilhelmiten in und Pommern,” Augustiniana 16 (1966): 88–94. 33 Elm, “Zisterzienser und Wilhelmiten. Ein Beitrag zur Wirkungsgeschichte der Zisterzienserkonstitutionen,” Cîteaux 15 (1964): 97–124, 177–202, 273–311. 34 Elm, “Italienische Eremitengemeinschaften des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts. Studien zur Vorgeschichte des Augustiner-Eremitenordens,” in L’Eremitismo in Occidente nei secoli xi e xii. Atti della seconda Settimana Internazionale di Studio, Mendola, 30 Agosto -6 Settembre 1962 (: 1965), 491–559. Reprinted in Vitasfratrum (above n. 17).

14 Introduction

Habilitation: a study of the Order of the Holy Sepulcher.35 The work itself was never published. But glimpses of its contribution and significance can be gath- ered from the series of many later publications that arose from the early work. By all accounts, the Habilitation was grounded in both a prodigious energy and an almost obsessive archival thoroughness, and in 1976 Elm published one small part of the fruit of those labors: an edition of several hundred of the most important documents for the history of the Order of the Holy Sepulcher from its Western European archives.36 The early publications noted here provided the foundations for a lifetime of rich and diverse scholarship. Much of it remained resonant with Grundmann’s vision and training—an emphasis on women’s piety and lay piety, and the dynamism of what Elm came to call the “semi-religious” life of beguines, tertia- ries and others, grounded in exhaustive and careful treatment of the sources and balanced with comparative and synthetic vision. Other publications cap- tured various aspects of Elm’s evolving scholarly interests: his interest in Francis and the ,37 as well as the Augustinian Hermits, is signal in this regard. It was a line of inquiry that reflected not only Grundmann’s lin- eage, but Elm’s life-long love attraction to Italy, nurtured ever since his days at the Collegio Borromeo. Similarly distinct was Elm’s emphasis on recovering the past of neglected orders (the Williamites only one among them), as was his interest in the institutional legacy of the religious life of crusaders. More prom- inent still was his emphasis on the Observant reformers, the New Devout and other pious figures in the landscape of the later middle ages, as well as Elm’s abiding interest in the power of the historiography of the orders to shape, to distort and to reinforce institutional life.38 Elm also remained true to his

35 Elm, Der Ordo SS. Sepulcri Dominici Hierosolimitani. Untersuchungen zu Geschichte und Selbstverständnis des Kapitels vom Hlg. Grab (Freiburg i. Br, 1967). 36 Elm, Quellen zur Geschichte des Ordens vom Hlg. Grab in Nordwesteuropa aus deutschen und Niederländischen Archiven (1191–1603), (Brusssels: Palais des Académies, 1976). 37 See especially in this regard “Von Görres bis Walter Goetz: Franziskus in der deutschen Geschichtsschreibung des 19. Jahrhunderts,” in L’immagine di Francesco nella Storiografia dall’Umanesimo all’Ottocento (Assisi: 1983), 343–83 (also reprinted in Vitasfratrum, n. 17). The essay is also a fine tribute to Elm’s own academic lineage. 38 Kaspar Elm, “Elias, Paulus von Theben und Augustinus als Ordensgründer: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichtsschreibung und der Geschichtsdeutung des Eremiten- und Bettelordens des 13. Jahrhunderts,” in Hans Patze (ed.), Geschichtsschreibung und Geschichtsbewusstsein im späten Mittelalter (: Thorbecke, 1987), 371–399. For an English translation see “, Paul of Thebes, and Augustine. Fundatores Ordinum. A Contribution to the Historical Self- understanding of Medieval Religious Orders,” Augustinian Heritage 36 (1990): 163–182. See also Elm’s “‘Augustinus Canonicus—Augustinus Eremita’. A Quattrocento Cause Célèbre,” in Timothy

Introduction 15

Rhineland Catholic heritage, as well as to the tradition of Landesgeschichte exemplified in the work of his mentor Otto Herding. Elm’s early essay on the Modern Devotion in the Weser region is exemplary here,39 as is his work on Norbert of Xanten. His insightful essays on Johannes Jannsen are notable in this regard, too, not least because of the affinities they reveal between two of Xanten’s most famous scholarly sons.40

3 Vita Religiosa: A Thematic Survey

Scholars have no single major treatment, no single volume to pull off the shelf that captures Kaspar Elm’s vision of religious life in the middle ages. Elm him- self might have said — and few would disagree — that the field he helped define (to say nothing of the archival landscape that supported it) was so vast and complex that to submit it to anything like a single-volume synthesis would be grossly unjust. Scholars are thus confronted instead with a kaleidoscope of articles, essays and books, none with any purchase on a single interpretation, but all centered on a series of mutually enriching and overlapping themes. The following discussion suggests four (among many others) for consideration: an emphasis on the comparative study of the orders, the study of religious life and the crusades, the study of religious women and “semi-religious” life, and the study of the Observant reforms of the later middle ages. The first essay translated here is significant not least because it was a young professor’s Antrittsvorlesung, or inaugural lecture, at the University of Bielefeld. It also signaled Elm’s early commitment to a comparative and contextualized history of religious life and its institutions.41 In it he offered a refined analysis of the lives and legacies of both Francis and Dominic. Against the grain of the deeply-rooted traditions that had separated these two founders and their orders from both one another and the society around them, Elm grounded their sto- ries in the specific contexts that shaped each: Francis among the lay penitents of Umbria and the call of the desert recovered from early ; Dominic

G. Verdon and John Henderson (eds.), Christianity and the Renaissance. Image and Religious Imagination in the Quattrocento (Syracuse, ny: Syracuse University Press, 1990), 83–107. 39 Kaspar Elm, “Die Devotio Moderna im Weserraum,” in Paul Mikat and Heinz Stoob (eds.), Kunst und Kultur im Weserraum: 800–1600. Ausstellung des Landes Nordrhein-Westfalen, Corvey 1966, vol. 1 (Münster: Aschendorff, 1966), 251–56. 40 See above, n. 2. 41 Elm, “Franziskus und Dominikus. Wirkungen und Antriebskräfte zweier Ordensstifter,” Saeculum 23 (1972): 127–47. Unless otherwise noted, all essays are reproduced here with the author’s permission.

16 Introduction among the rugged frontier nobility and stern priestly piety of Caleruega. The dual portrait explored and nuanced traditional polarities—between Francis the Pazzo and prophet, Dominic the and priest; between freedom of spirit and the bonds of institution; between heart and head. Elm emphasized how much each founder shared with the other. In fact it was precisely the com- plementary nature of the two figures and their orders that offered the most secure guide to the medieval church in a time of great crisis. Grundmann had emphasized the dynamism of the spirit as it had challenged the church and its institutions. Elm now began to emphasize the dynamism, across the orders, of what would become a successful institutional response. The comparative impulse signaled in Elm’s inaugural lecture was already years in the making. One of the first explicit mentions of the approach appears in the closing lines of an early article on the papal bulls that shaped the consti- tutional history of the Williamites. That story, he argued, was incomprehensi- ble without careful attention to how it was shaped within its relationships to other orders, and to the wider world. His essay was a case study in what he called the “comparative method”42 for approaching the orders, and his profes- sional advancement gave him the proper platform for pursuing that agenda. At Berlin in 1972/73, Reinhard Elze, Reinhard Scheider and others had already undertaken comparative projects focused on the Cistercians. Upon his arrival as Ordinarius in 1974, Elm expanded the enterprise to include every major reli- gious order, and to encompass the Observant reforms of the later middle ages.43 By 1980 his team had organized a formal research project, established a publication series, and sponsored a series of major conferences. Elm himself authored a number of his own essays that emphasized the comparative dimension,44 and over the next decades mentored a generation of students whose studies did the same.45

42 Elm, “Die Bulle,” (above, n. 31), 104 emphasizing the “ordensvergleichende Methode” and nn. 33–34. 43 Elm, “Vergleichende Ordensforschung. Ein Forschungsprojektschwerpunkt am Friedrich- Meinecke-Institut der Freien Universität Berlin,” Jahrbuch der Historischen Forschung, 1979, 47–49. 44 Representative are “Termineien und Hospize der westfälischen Augustiner-Eremitenklöster Osnabrück, Herford und Lippstadt,” Jahrbuch für Westfälische Kirchengeschichte 70 (1977): 11–49 and “Die Stellung des Zisterzienserordens in der Geschichte des Ordenswesens,” in Kaspar Elm, Peter Joerissen, and Hermann Josef Roth (eds.), Die Zisterzienser. Ordensleben zwischen Ideal und Wirklichkeit (Cologne: Rheinland-Verlag, 1980), 31–40. 45 To note only a few of the most prominent publications from this cohort: Bernhard Neidiger, Mendikanten zwischen Ordensideal und städtischer Realität: Untersuchungen zum wirtschaftlichen Verhalten der Bettelorden in Basel (Berlin: Duncker and Humblot,

Introduction 17

A commitment to the comparative study of the orders remained essen- tial to Elm’s work to the end of his career. Perhaps its most eloquent articu- lation appears in a late essay on the Williamites. In its concluding lines, Elm contrasted the traditional biological metaphors that had shaped the histori- ography of the orders with his own view. The history of the orders, he sug- gested was not one of “autonomous and autarkic communities that were founded, grew, flowered and died—communities, put another way, that ran through the course of a life cycle that is characteristic of plants, animals and people.” Rather, Elm suggested, the orders “clearly follow another set of gov- erning principles, something rather closer to metamorphosis. They do not stand in isolation, but are embedded in the larger contexts of the orders as a whole, which is itself in turn an integral part of religion and society generally.”46 These insights inform nearly every aspect of each of the essays translated here. A second key theme centers on the institutional and spiritual legacies of the crusades. The focus here was never on the traditional narrative of campaign and conquest, nor even on the familiar religious institutions—the Templars, Hospitalers and others—that they inspired. Elm sought instead to recover a lost history: the wider range of communities, broadly defined both socially and spiritually, whose emergence both intersected with and shaped the Latin Christian presence in Jerusalem and Palestine. Of the many essays and articles on this theme,47 two are translated here. The first is a treatment of the net- works of women and men who became affiliated with the prior and canons of

1981); Gerhard Rehm, Die Schwestern vom Gemeinsamen Leben im nordwestlichen Deutschland: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der Devotio Moderna und des weiblichen Religiosentums (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1985); Nikolas Jaspert, Stift und Stadt: Das Heiliggrabpriorat von Santa Anna und das Regularkanonikerstift Santa Eulàlia del Camp im mittelalterlichen Barcelona (1145–1423) (Berlin: Duncker and Humblot, 1996); Andreas Rüther, Bettelorden in Stadt und Land: Die Strassburger Mendikantenkonvente und das Elsass im Spätmittelalter (Berlin: Duncker and Humblot, 1997); Ralf Lützelschwab, Flectat cardinales ad velle suum?: Clemens vi. und sein Kardinalskolleg. Ein Beitrag zur kurialen Politik in der Mitte des 14. Jahrhunderts (Munich: Oldenbourg, 2007). 46 Elm, “Der Wilhelmitenorden: Eine Geistliche Gemeinschaft Zwischen Eremitenleben, Mönchtum und Mendikantenarmut,” in Elm, Vitasfratrum, 1994, 55–66, here 66. See also Elm’s essay “Cosa significa e a quale scopo si studia la storia degli ordini religiosi?,” Benedictina 49 (2002): 7–22. 47 All now thankfully collected in a single volume: Umbilicus mundi: Beiträge zur Geschichte Jerusalems, der Kreuzzüge, des Kapitels vom Hlg. Grab in Jerusalem und der Ritterorden (Sint-Kruis (Brugge), 1998).

18 Introduction the Holy Sepulcher.48 Elm’s exhaustive archival search recovered the story not of a religious order in the narrow sense, but of a broader fraternitas and familia whose members ranged from patrons and protectors to oblati, donati or traditi, lay brothers and conversi, as well as wider circle of laity who might live in pre- cincts or serve community in various capacities. Elm showed how all helped shape an institution that was “a full participant in the ongoing development of western religious life and its corporations.” In Palestine, and in Western Europe from Spain to , the houses of the Holy Sepulcher embodied all of the spiritual and material dimensions, the social and economic ties, the customs of prayer and provision, endowments and donations that were characteristic of so many religious and lay institutions generally. And theirs was an institu- tion that lived on, as Elm emphasized, long after the fall of Acre, all the way to the nineteenth century. A second essay on the “Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher”49 seeks a different angle on the military orders of Palestine, and explores another story of lost possibilities. The essay recovers the history of the Ordo Equestris S. Sepulcri and the Ordo Canonicorum S. Sepulcri. The former, shrouded in all manner of myth and misconception, had its most visible manifestation as a lay knightly association that was founded in the fourteenth century. The latter was simply the cathedral chapter of the . Elm clarifies the later-medieval story of the Ordo Equestris, but also traces its origins back to an extended com- munity of lay patrons, soldiers, clergy and others long associated with the Holy Sepulcher. At its origins the Ordo Equestris was nothing like the military order of the Templars. Rather, its fighting men, the milites S. Sepulcri, were but one cohort of a much broader community of “brothers and sisters” with various ties to the patriarch, the chapter, and one of the most sacred places in Jerusalem. The story, again, was not merely one of a formal institution, but of “the full range of forms of spiritual association that the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher… had shaped from Western traditions.” Elm’s careful detective work then solved one important mystery. At a crucial time leading up to the 1120s, the miles who were associated with the Sepulcher might have been turned into a more formal military order. But the patriarch’s vision and interests, in opposition to the papacy, were too short-sighted and local. By the 1130s the patriarch had been

48 “Fratres et Sorores SS. Sepulcri. Beiträge zu Fraternitas, Familie und Weiblichem Religiosentum im Umkreis des Kapitels vom Hlg. Grab,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 9 (1975): 287–333. Reproduced here with permission from Walter de Gruyter. 49 “Kanoniker und Ritter vom Heiligen Grab. Ein Beitrag zur Entstehung und Frühgeschichte der palästinensischen Ritterorden,” in Josef Fleckenstein and Manfred Hellmann (eds.), Die Geistlichen Ritterorden Europas (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1980), 141–169.

Introduction 19

“deprived, step-by-step, of the possibility of turning a knightly brotherhood… into a Militia S. Sepulcri.” Here again was the best of what Elm’s Habilitation had contributed to the field, and a story that was revealing, again, of so much that was to be characteristic of his work: deep archival work, a comparative vision, sensitivity to lost histories and failures, and to the distorting power of both myth and victorious historiographical traditions. Just has Innocent iii had channeled the energies of the Apostolic movement, the of the 1120s and 30s had harnessed crusading energies in ways that both elevated the Templars and Hospitalers, and also soon erased the early history of the Ordo Equestris. Elm had again recovered the “complex situation which prevailed” as the earliest moments of the crusading story, when it “was still in the course of being decided.” Here was another lost institutional story, the story of an ordo tam longe lateque dilatus, whose life and afterlife would echo to the end of early modernity. These essays on the Holy Sepulcher intersected, to note a third prominent theme, with Elm’s focus on women’s religious life. The emphasis, as in the early study of those drawn to the circles of the Holy Sepulcher, was on women’s reli- gious lives and experiences outside the bonds of formal profession, what Elm often called the “semi-religious” life (Semireligiosentum). Elm saw the story of St. Elizabeth of Hungary as exemplary in this regard, and in the essay translated here he used her story as a point of access.50 Elizabeth, Landgrave of Thuringia and a princess of Hungary, was married as a teenager and widowed soon after. Under the guidance of her confessor and spiritual advisor Conrad of Marburg, she developed an active life of charity and service, as a “sister in the world,” who lived “between religious life and the life of the laity.” Elm’s essay sought to place Elizabeth in broader context, to tell a story by now quite familiar: the story of women “who found themselves caught in a tension between a desire to shape their own lives and the constraints of their organizations,” and of women driven to religious work and to powerful religious expression “not from their own weakness or inconsistency, but from their desire for spiritual perfection.” Among their ranks, Elm traced an “astoundingly broad diversity” of life, one whose many concepts and fluid categories (swestriones, susteren, mulieres devotae, virgines continentes, mulieres poenitentes, sanctae, santarel- lae, beatae, pinzochere, beginae) suggested the permeable boundaries between cloister and world, heresy and orthodoxy. The dynamism, growth and relative equality these many groups represented, so Elm argued, slowly yielded to

50 “Die Stellung der Frau im Ordenswesen, Semireligiosentum und Häresie zur Zeit der Heiligen Elisabeth,” in Sankt Elisabeth. Fürstin, Dienerin, Heilige (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1981), 7–28.

20 Introduction

“claustration” and “domesticization,” to “subordination” and “limiting of apos- tolic activity.” Yet the “semi-religious” life remained vital, and that vitality could be explained not only through external factors like social change and economic renewal. Those were important, indeed crucial historical forces. But so too were the words of scripture and the power of the apostolic ideal, the “direct return to the Bible and to the history of early Christianity” that characterized so much of the twelfth century. In the age of Vatican ii, the story of the “semi- religious” was one of both great historical weight and contemporary resonance. “In virtually every Christian community,” Elm wrote, “theologians and believ- ers today battle through almost all of the same difficulties that 750 years ago confronted not only a saint like Elisabeth, but so many other men and women, within and beyond the cloister, on both sides of the boundaries between ortho- doxy and heresy.” Elm allowed his work to speak to both the scholarly legacy of his teacher Grundmann, and to the wider debates of his own day: “Holiness and perfection,” his last line noted tersely, “need not be tangled up with rebel- lion or heresy, still less a monopoly held by men.” A second seminal essay elaborated more fully, almost twenty years later, on the same set of questions and problems.51 Its starting point was a gesture to “the broad spectrum of connections between the secular and , as well as to connections between both clerical estates and the world of the laity.” Elm emphasized not only the variety and diversity of these forms of life, but also the growing appreciation for them, and the move to acknowledge their legitimacy. They were “no longer perceived as a marginal form of vita religiosa,” but rather “esteemed, among both laity and clergy alike, as the highest end of the pursuit of perfection.” Yet contemporaries faced the conceptual, legal and cultural challenge of just where and how to fit all of it into their inherited tradi- tions. From the twelfth century, Elm notes, canon lawyers spoke increasingly of a status medius, or a status religionis largo modo to describe the many “transi- tory” and “ambivalent” forms of religious association they saw around them. Many also found in Roman civil law the concept of societas as a useful frame- work. Popes, bishops and councils, for their part, engaged in a broad “politics of restriction,” demanding of any group that sought approval the demonstra- tion of “honesta vita, an embrace of humilitas, of recta intentio, of devotio, of simiplicitas and reverentia.” Meanwhile the “semi-religious” themselves,­ Elm points out, could draw on an “arsenal” of possibilities and precedents in their

51 “‘Vita Regularis Sine Regula’: Bedeutung, Rechtsstellung und Selbstverständnis des mit- telalterlichen und frühneuzeitlichen Semireligiosentums,” in František Šmahel and Elisabeth Müller-Luckner (eds.), Häresie und Vorzeitige Reformation im Spätmittelalter (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1998), 239–73. 239–73. Reproduced here with permission from Walter de Gruyter.

Introduction 21 effort to articulate their self-understanding: Elijah, Anthony and Paul of Thebes for those who embraced the eremitical life;52 Elizabeth of Hungary and Mary Magdalen for communities of religious women; the ideals and histories of the vita apostolica and the ecclesia primitiva for any number of groups, most nota- bly the New Devout. As in so many other essays, but here perhaps more com- pellingly than elsewhere, there is a rich sense of both historical meaning and contemporary resonance. Elm showed the importance of the history of “semi- religious” life not only for the debates surrounding the (pre-)Reformation, but also for nineteenth-century historians (especially those in search of “republi- can” ideals in the urban communities of the middle ages), for twentieth cen- tury historians of “Christianization,” and of the laity and church reform. And again he argued that the source of so many divergent interpretations of the vita regularis sine regula was found in scripture and tradition itself, and in a way of life that “had its roots in early Christianity.” Varieties of “semi-religious life” had “forever inspired critique and contradiction, as well as new beginnings and returns to origins, whenever inherited models and established institutions lost their power to convince, or lost their authority.” And for that reason, he noted, it “earned for itself special meaning not only in the late middle ages and the era of the Reformation and Counter-Reformation, but earlier and later ones as well, in times of transition and crisis.” A final theme deserving of emphasis, inseparable from each of the others considered thus far, is Elm’s frequent chronological focus on the later middle ages. In sharp contrast to a tradition that still today clings stubbornly to the “golden age” of twelfth and thirteenth century religious life, Elm’s work took seriously the period after 1300 as one not only of crisis or decline, but also of dynamism, creativity, reform and renewal. The interest was signaled early on, in the essay on the Modern Devotion in the Weser region noted above, in another early essay on the communities of Groβ- and Klein-Burlo near Münster,53 and in two of the essays translated here: Elm’s treatment of the mendicant religious life and humanism in late medieval Florence,54 and what

52 A subject Elm had written on before: See n. 38 above, and the English translation noted there. 53 Elm, “Die Münsterländischen Klöster Groß-Burlo und Klein-Burlo. Ihre Entstehung, Observanz und Stellung in der nordwesteuropäischen Reformbewegung des 15. Jahrhun­ derts,” Westfälische Forschungen 18 (1965): 23–42. 54 Elm, “Mendikanten und Humanisten im Florenz des Tre- und Quattrocento. Zum Problem der Legitimierung Humanistischer Studien in den Bettelorden,” in Otto Herding and Robert Stupperich (eds.), Die Humanisten in Ihrer Politischen und Sozialen Umwelt (Boppard: Boldt, 1976), 51–85. See also Elm’s “Monastische Reformen zwischen Humanismus und Reformation,” in Ernst Bruckmüller (ed.), 900 Jahre Benediktiner in Melk: Jubiläumsausstellung 1989 (Melk: Stift Melk, 1989), 59–111.

22 Introduction he called “decline and renewal” in the late-medieval orders.55 The latter essay, in many ways still the starting point for all investigations in the field, remains a masterpiece not least because of its breadth, and the depth of the literature cited in its notes. The essay is also a compelling example of Elm’s comparative, contextualized vision. The history of the orders after 1300, as he saw it, was “a subject not only of Church history but of history generally,” a story that involved and integrated the full range of historical sub-disciplines and national tradi- tions, and provided an almost unrivalled richness of sources and traditions of edition and publication. The challenge was how to break the orders’ histories free of their often inward-looking institutional historiographies, and how to integrate them into the broader sweep of late-medieval change. To that end, Elm proposed a variety of new approaches. With respect to the problem of “decline,” he noted, the institutional matrix of the orders (their number and location, the overall population of women and men in religious life, contempo- rary understandings of ideals and practices of poverty and more) had to be more fully integrated into all that had been learned to that time about the mas- sive changes of an era of commercial contraction, famine, plague, war and schism. With respect to reform and renewal, Elm confronted a similar range of complexities. He sought to recover not only the well-known histories of the Dominicans, Franciscans and , but also those of the lesser-known and forgotten or failed orders, all of them “fragments in a wider terra incognita.” He sought to link those fragmented histories to the stories of new foundations and new orders, and to economic renewal in town and countryside after the Black Death. And he sought to understand ways in which reform both reflected and shaped forces that originated beyond the cloister—in circles of laity and their charismatic leaders, both women and men; in the halls of city councils and the courts of territorial princes and kings; in the ranks of popes and cardi- nals, bishops and secular clergy. Elm and his colleagues and students soon put these insights to the test. A conference on late-medieval reform and the Observant movement, sponsored by the institute Elm had founded in Berlin, surveyed the stories and settings of Observant reform across the ranks of canons and monks and mendicants; grounded reform in local urban settings; established links between the Observant­ movement, the conciliar movement, and the Reformation.56 Thereafter, Elm’s

55 Elm, “Verfall und Erneuerung des Spätmittelalterlichen Ordenswesens,” in J. Fleckenstein (ed.), Untersuchungen zu Kloster und Stift (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1980), 167–97. 56 Its proceedings remain another crucial starting point for inquiries in the field: Elm, (ed.), Reformbemühungen und Observanzbestrebungen im spätmittelalterlichen Ordenswesen (Berlin: Duncker and Humblot, 1989).

Introduction 23 interest in the Observants and late-medieval reform produced a series of essays on late-medieval figures like John of Capistrano and the Franciscan Observants,57 and several essays on the Modern Devotion. Two of these are translated here. They resonate with all of the overarching themes traced thus far, and offer some of the best illustrations of Elm’s scholarly approach and accomplishments.58

4 Scholarly Reception and Critical Issues

Elm’s early work enjoyed a modest but respectable early reception in Germany. A brief notice in Deutsches Archiv in 1962 (written by Grundmann himself) praised Elm’s study of the Williamites for having essentially “rediscovered” a lost order, and noted that Elm’s “resourceful energy” had produced a “model study” of the paradoxical history of organized eremitic life.59 The volume also came to the attention of at least one reviewer in America.60 Over time, as momentum for the comparative study of the orders built around the institute and publication series Elm founded in Berlin, the field came in to its own. But its influence remained modest outside Germany, not least because of the fac- tors noted above: the tendency of scholars to focus their work on one region or order, and to look somewhere other than Germany and the later middle ages for their stories of religious life. North American medievalists, in particular, trained in the tradition of Strayer and Haskins, often remained focused on France and England before 1300.61

57 Elm, “Die Bedeutung Johannes Kapristans und der Franziskanerobservanz für die Kirche des 15. Jahrhunderts,” in Edith Pásztor and Lajos Pásztor (eds.), S. Giovanni da Capestrano nella chiesa e nella società del suo tempo. Atti del convegno storico internazionale Capestrano, L’Aquila 8–12 ottobre 1986 (L’Aquila: 1990), 373–390. See also “Tod, Todesbewältigung und Endzeit bei Bernhardin von Siena,” in Conciliarismo, stati nazion- ali, inizi dell’umanesimo: atti del xxv Convegno storico internazionale, Todi, 9–12 ottobre 1988 (Spoleto: Centro italiano di studi sull’alto Medioevo, 1990), 79–96. 58 “Johannes Kapestrans Predigtreise Diesseits der Alpen,” in Hartmut Boockmann, Bernd Moeller, and Karl Stackmann (eds.), Lebenslehren und Weltentwürfe im Übergang vom Mittelalter zur Neuzeit (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1989), 500–519. Also Published in K. Elm, Vitasfratrum, 321–337; “Die ‘Devotio Moderna’ und die Neue Frömmigkeit zwischen Spätmittelalter und Früher Neuzeit,” in Marek Derwich and Martial Staub (eds.), Die Neue Frömmigkeit in Europa im Spätmittelalter (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 2004), 15–29. 59 Deutsches Archiv 18:2 (1962): 596–597. The review laments only the absence of an index, maps and other resources that would have made the study’s findings more accessible. 60 See the review by E.C. Hall in Speculum 42 (1967): 728–730. 61 For an overview of these and other issues see the fine survey by Barbara Rosenwein, “Views from Afar: American Perspectives on Medieval Monasticism,” in Giancarlo Andenna (ed.), Dove va la storiographia monastica in Europa? (Milan: Vita e Pensiero

24 Introduction

Recent years have finally witnessed a discernible turn to Germany and to the later middle ages, especially in Anglophone circles, and opened the door for a proper reception of Elm’s contributions to the field. Robert Lerner and Caroline Bynum (both authors for whom the work of Elm’s teacher Grundmann was influential) led the way in the 1970s and 80s with work that both reflected and inspired a growing enthusiasm for Grundmann’s themes—apostolic pov- erty, Joachim and apocalyptic thought, heresy, women’s religious life and mys- ticism. The 1990s then witnessed an eruption of new work on these topics, ranging from Jeffrey Hamburger’s studies of the intersection of text, image and object with women’s religious life to the flood of studies on vernacular reli- gious literature produced in women’s houses.62 At first the older prejudice against institutional life remained strong—most scholarship was focused on the laity, on beguines and tertiaries, on heretics and others who lived suppos- edly on the margins of traditional religious life. But it helped build a bridge to Elm’s pioneering work. Several scholars have now authored a range of recent studies that have come to engage Elm directly. While maintaining a focus on women and “semi-religious” life, their work also suggests renewed interest in the institutional history of the orders. The Observant movement, in particular, is not only at the center of a series of monographs, but has become familiar enough to merit a handful of overviews in English.63

Università, 2001), 67–84. For the problematic status of medieval Germany in postwar scholarship see Edward Peters, “More Trouble With Henry: The Historiography of Medieval Germany in the Angloliterate World,” Central European History 28 (1995): 47–72 and Patrick Geary, Medieval Germany in America (Washington, D.C.: German Historical Institute, 1996). 62 Exemplary among Hamburger’s many studies are Crown and Veil: Female Monasticism from the Fifth to the Fifteenth Centuries (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008); The Visual and the Visionary. Art and Female Spirituality in Late-Medieval Germany (New York: Zone Books, 1998) and Nuns as Artists the Visual Culture of a Medieval Convent (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997). Representative of studies of vernacular religious lit- erature are Gertrud Jaron Lewis, By Women, for Women, About Women: The Sister-Books of Fourteenth-Century Germany (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1996) and, more recently, those of Nancy Bradley Warren: Spiritual Economies. Female Monasticism in Later Medieval England (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001); Women of God and Arms: Female Spirituality and Political Conflict, 1380–1600 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005) and now The Embodied Word: Female Spiritualities, Contested Orthodoxies, and English Religious Cultures, 1350–1700 (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2010). 63 Bert Roest, “Observant Reform in Religious Orders,” in Miri Rubin and Walter Simons (eds.), Christianity in Western Europe c. 1100-c. 1500 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 446–57; James D. Mixson, “Religious Life and Observant Reform in the Fifteenth Century,” History Compass 11:3 (2013): 201–214 and “Religious Life and Religious

Introduction 25

As the field Elm pioneered has become more accessible and well known, his own work has attracted relatively little direct criticism. But scholars have worked variously with, against or through the vision first articulated in the essays translated here. In Germany itself, the work of Gert Melville and his students, particularly through the “Research Center for the Comparative History of Religious Orders” and the series Vita regularis, stands out.64 This work has both built upon and modulated Elm’s early work. Like Elm’s, it is vig- orously comparative, and focused intentionally on the complex matrix (insti- tutional, social, economic, and cultural) that sustained religious life. But the work is also different in tone and emphasis. It is often more vigorously theo- retical, engaging Weber and other social scientists on questions of institution and charisma, identity, symbolism, self-representation and more.65 Moreover, the work of Melville and his colleagues does not engage as directly or as often

Orders,” in Robert N. Swanson (ed.), The Routledge Handbook of Medieval Christianity, 1050–1500 (New York: Routledge, 2015), 45–57. Kathryne Beebe, “The Observant Reform in the Later Middle Ages,” in Bernice M. Kaczynski and Thomas Sullivan (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of (Oxford: Oxford University Press, forthcoming). See also the essays in James Mixson and Bert Roest (eds.), A Companion to Observant Reform (Leiden: Brill, 2015). 64 See Melville’s overviews of the “Research Center for the Comparative History of Religious Orders (fovog)” and the Vita Regularis series in Revue Mabillon 20 (2009): 252–58 and 21 (2010): 255–265. See also the essay by Franz Felten, “Wozu Treiben Wir Vergleichende Ordensgeschichte?,” in Mittelalterliche Orden und Klöster im Vergleich. Methodische Ansätze und Perspektiven, 2007, 1–51. 65 Of the many titles that might be taken as representative in this regard, see Gert Melville, Institutionen und Geschichte (Cologne: Böhlau, 1992); Gert Melville and Jörg Oberste (eds.), Die Bettelorden im Aufbau: Beiträge zu Institutionalisierungsprozessen im mittelalterlichen Religiosentum (Münster: Lit, 1999); Giancarlo Andenna, Mirko Breitenstein, and Gert Melville (eds.), Charisma und religiöse Gemeinschaften im Mittelalter (Münster: Lit, 2005); Gert Melville and Anne Müller (eds.), Mittelalterliche Orden und Klöster im Vergleich (see n. 61); Franz J. Felten and Werner Rösener (eds.), Norm und Realität. Kontinuität und Wandel der Zisterzienser im Mittelalter (Berlin: Lit, 2009); Anne Müller and Karen Stöber (eds.), Self-Representation of Medieval Religious Communities: The British Isles in Context (Münster: Lit, 2010). See also two representative essays by Melville, “Knowledge of the Origins: Constructing Identity and Ordering Monastic Life in the Middle Ages,” in D.E. Luscombe et al. (eds.), Knowledge, Discipline and Power in the Middle Ages. Essays in Honour of Luscombe (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 41–62 and “System Rationality and the Dominican Success in the Middle Ages,” in Michael Robson and Jens Rö̈hrkasten (eds.), Franciscan Organisation in the Mendicant Context: Formal and Informal Structures of the Friars’ Lives and Ministry in the Middle Ages (Berlin: Lit, 2010), 377–88. Finally, see Franz J. Felten, Annette Kehnel, and Stefan Weinfurter (eds.), Institution und Charisma: Festschrift für Gert Melville (Cologne: Böhlau, 2009) as well as Melville’s collected essays in Frommer Eifer und Methodischer Betrieb. Beiträge zum Mittelalterlichen Mönchtum (Cologne: Böhlau, 2014).

26 Introduction either the world of the “semi-religious” beyond the cloister, or the history of Observant reform. Precisely those themes, however, have been of particular interest of late to North American scholars, who have offered their own appraisals of Elm’s posi- tions. John Van Engen, whose work on the Modern Devotion brought him most directly into contact with Elm’s scholarship, has confronted Elm’s concept of “semi-religious” life by pointing out just how sharp the legal and conceptual boundaries between cloister and world remained into the fifteenth century, and how hard it was for each new lay religious experiment to carve out a legal place for its way of life.66 Less directly, in ways that acknowledge yet also chal- lenge Elm’s vision of the later middle ages generally, a number of scholars have begun to expose the limits of “crisis” and “decline” as explanatory models for the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Without denying the severity of the impact of the Black Death, the Great Schism and other calamities, they have shown the variety, the multiplicity and unpredictability of an age that resists reduction to a narrative of decline and renewal.67 They have also moved to link the story of Observant reform with themes that were not always prominent in Elm’s accounts—the ties between Dominican Observant reform and witch- craft, women’s mysticism, heresy and inquisition, to note only example, have received a great deal of attention in recent years.68 For many Anglophone scholars of medieval religion, it must be acknowl- edged, the study of the religious orders in the later middle ages as Elm first framed it may have begun to show its age. So much of what interests us has come to be located outside the cloister, beyond the bounds of orthodoxy, and in dialogue with Judaism and Islam, in ways not reflected in Elm’s work. The move toward “alterity,” too, has darkened our view of religious life. The appeal

66 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: Duncker and Humblot, 1999), 583–615, especially 614–615. 67 Howard Kaminsky, “From Lateness to Waning to Crisis. The Burden of the Later Middle Ages,” Journal of Early Modern History 4 (2000): 85–125 and “The Problematics of ‘Heresy’ and ‘the Reformation,’” in František Šmahel (ed.), Häresie und Vorzeitige Reformation im Spätmittelalter (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1998), 1–22; John Van Engen, “Multiple Options: The World of the Fifteenth-Century Church,” Church History 77 (2008): 257–284. 68 Michael D. Bailey, Battling Demons. Witchcraft, Heresy and Reform in the Later Middle Ages (University Park, pa: Penn State University Press, 2003); Michael Tavuzzi, Renaissance Inquisitors. Dominican Inquisitors and Inquisitorial Districts in Northern Italy, 1474–1527 (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2007); Tamar Herzig, Savonarola’s Women: Visions and Reform in Renaissance Italy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008).

Introduction 27 of heresy,­ of the Dominicans’ “righteous persecution,” of questions of gender and piety or the predatory nature of church power—there is less of this in Elm’s work than may suit modern tastes. So too with questions of text, theory and method: there is nothing of the various theoretical “turns” of the last ­generation—linguistic, material, performative, spatial—that have become so prominent.69 Yet scholars have been increasingly drawn back to institutional settings, to intellectual history and what has been called the “cultural harvesting” of the schools, to the ways in which questions of gender and piety played out in frameworks of society and economy.70 Thus there remains much in Elm’s work that still merits careful attention. The essays presented here need not be merely admired as scholarly museum pieces. They can be read anew as a source of inspiration. Elm’s compulsion for finding the archive, the next charter, the next hidden gem of modern scholarship—these still make for model religious his- tory, relentlessly grounded in the particulars of Europe’s places, its landscapes and sources. Exemplary as well is the ability here to cast a broad vision and to craft a compelling narrative, to engage religious life across all of “Old Europe,” all in a way that strikes a certain tempered, humane balance. These qualities alone merit the inclusion of these essays alongside so many other English translations of seminal works on medieval religious life. With the translations presented here, students and scholars now have access to at least one English- language treatment that explores religious life in a way complementary to the work of Chenu, Grundmann, Leclercq, LeGoff and Vauchez. These essays are rooted in a different historiographical tradition. They move through different times, places and spaces. They sometimes cast a different, more institutional vision. But they speak in similar ways to the same rich past, and the same pos- sibilities for future scholarship on medieval religious life.

69 Christine Caldwell Ames, “Medieval Religious, Religions, Religion,” History Compass 10:4 (2012): 334–352; Paul Freedman and Gabrielle M. Spiegel, “Medievalisms Old and New: The Rediscovery of Alterity in North American Medieval Studies,” The American Historical Review 103 (1998): 677–704; Caroline Walker Bynum, Wonderful Blood. Theology and Practice in Late Medieval Northern Germany and Beyond (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007) and also her essay “Perspectives, Connections & Objects: What’s Happening in History Now?,” Daedalus 138, no. 1 (January 2009): 71–86. 70 Representative here are the considerations of John Van Engen, “The Future of Medieval Church History,” Church History 71 (2002): 492–522 and “Mutliple Options” (above, n. 66), each with further literature.

chapter 1 Francis and Dominic: The Impact and Impetus of Two Founders of Religious Orders*

To Otto Herding, with gratitude

In his second Vita, composed between 1244 and 1247, Thomas of Celano (the first biographer of St. Francis) reports that and Dominic of Caleruega encountered one another in the household of Cardinal Hugolino of Ostia (later Gregory ix), and that each sought to outdo the other in their expressions of deference and honor.1 Bartholomew of Trent and Gerard of Fracheto, biographers of St. Dominic writing in the middle of the thirteenth century, knew from an older miracle collection of an earlier meeting of the two founders, this one due not to the hospitality of a Cardinal, but to the Mother of God, who had appeared to Dominic in a vision.2 Francis and Dominic, united in brotherly love! The image deeply impressed contemporaries, as it did the fourteenth and fifteenth centu- ries. Later legends were not content with the two encounters noted here; they sought to make at least four further meetings seem credible, and four further adaptations of the themes outlined by Thomas of Celano and Bartholomew of Trent.3 The art of the Quattrocento (Dominico Ghirlandaio, , Andrea della Robia and Benozzo Gozzoli) saw in the dialogue of the two mendicant friars a welcome occasion to cast the old subjects­ of visitatio and sancta conversatio in a new light.4 And still today the liturgy calls to mind an image of brotherly union:

* This essay was delivered on February 2, 1968, as an inaugural lecture in Freiburg. It remains unchanged in style and content. Only the footnote apparatus has been updated with the most important literature appearing since 1968. Expansion of abbreviations is provided in the table at the end of the essay. 1 Thomas of Celano, Vita Secunda S. Francisci, in: Analecta Franciscana sive chronica aliaque varia documenta ad historiam fratrum minorum spectantia X (Quaracchi-Florence 1926–1941), 215. Cited in what follows as 2. Cel., with corresponding section numbers. 2 Bartholomaeus Tridentinus, Legenda Dominici confessoris, in: B. Altaner, Der hl. Dominikus. Untersuchungen und Texte. Breslauer Studien zur histor. Theologie 2 (Breslau, 1922), 233; Gerard of Fracheto, Vitae Fratrum Ordinis Praedicatorum, in: moph i (Rome, 1896ff.), 9ff. 3 B. Altaner, “Die Beziehungen des hl. Dominikus zum hl. Franziskus v. Assisi,” fs 9 (1922): 1–28. 4 Along with K. Künstle, Ikonographie der Heiligen (Freiburg i. Br., 1922), 252ff. and L. Réau, Iconographie de l’art chrétien iii (, 1958), 396, 523–524 see especially H. Thode, Franz von Assisi und die Anfänge der Kunst der Renaissance in Italien, 2nd ed. (Berlin, 1904), 179–181; V. Facchinetti, Iconografia Francescana (Milan, 1924); M. Villain, St-François et les peintres d’Assise (Paris, 1941);

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi 10.1163/9789004307780_003

Francis and Dominic 29 in the litany of All , after Anthony, Benedict and Bernard, it asks the heav- enly twins Francis and Dominic, as representatives of all holy monks and hermits, for their intercession. And, more impressively still than legend, fine art and lit- urgy, Dante gives expression to the intimate association between Francis and Dominic, between ordo minorum and ordo praedicatorum, in the eleventh and twelfth cantos of his Paradiso. sang the praises of Francis: “tutto seraphico in ardore,” while responded in praise of Dominic: “de che- rubica luce.”5 Francis and Dominic amid the choir of angels, the one “consumed with seraphic flame,” the other “shimmering with the light of the Cherubim.” The imagery is not Dante’s alone; rather it is an echo of a spiritualist reading of history that had from the middle of the thirteenth century cast both founders as heralds of a new era and prophets of a new, more pure and more spiritual church.6 It also echoes the prophetic scriptural reading of Joachim of Fiore (inspired by the pseudo-Joachite commentary on ), in which Francis and Dominic had been prefigured in and Esau, Elijah and , John and Paul.7 If we were to be pedantic, we could insist that the dramatized meeting of these holy legends, the melliflua conversatio of the two saints, rests on shaky foundations—little more than pious fiction and beautiful imagery. B. Altaner, after all, had by 1922 already proven that of six supposed meetings between Francis and Dominic, at most one of them (that which took place in the household of Cardinal Hugolino) could claim a certain credibility. Moreover, at least since the emer- gence of a modern scholarly tradition of research on the religious orders, it has been clear that the brotherly unity of the founders was asserted all the more strongly as the two orders competed with one another to attract the faithful, and as church politics and the struggles over the two orders’ various teachings drove them further and further apart.8 But nevertheless!­ Through all of the fourteenth

G. Kaftal, Saints in Italian Art. Iconography of the Saints in Tuscan Painting (Florence, 1952), 385ff.; idem, Iconography of the Saints in Central and South Italian Schools (Florence, 1965), 469ff. 5 Par. xi, 40, 41. E. Auerbach, “Franz von Assisi in der Komödie,” in: Neue Dantestudien (Istanbul, 1944); H. Needler, Saint Francis and in the Divine Comedy (Schriften und Vorträge des Petrarca-Instituts Köln 23, , 1969). 6 L. Cicchito, “L’escatologia di Dante e il Francescanesimo,” in: Miscellanea Franciscana 47 (1947), 217–231; Idem, “Il canto di Dante a San Domenico,” ibid. 48 (1948), 306–328. 7 Abbatis Joachim in Jeremiam prophetam interpretatio (Cologne, 1577), 59, 165, 122 et passim; E. Benz Ecclesia spiritualis. Kirchenidee und Geschichtstheologie der franziskanischen Reformation (Stuttgart, 1934), 67, 121, 182ff.; B. Topfer, Das kommende Reich des Friedens. Zür Entwicklung chiliastischer Zukunftshoffnungen im Hochmittelalter, Forschungen zur mittelal- terlichen Geschichte 11 (1964), 108ff.; M. Reeves, The Influence of Prophecy in the Later Middle Ages. A Study in Joachimism (Oxford, 1969), 145ff. 8 Altaner, op. cit. (n. 3), 8. Less scholarly: M. Faloci-Pullignani, “S. Francesco e S. Domenico,” Miscellanea Franciscana 9 (1902), 13ff.

30 chapter 1 and fifteenth centuries, contemporaries captured a certain truth whenever they brought Francis and Dominic together under one roof, praised them as the two wheels of the chariot on which the church fought its enemies, or saw them as two Atlases who held up the crumbling ruins of the Lateran on their shoulders.9 Thomas of Celano, Dante and the artists of the Quattrocento expressed with their imagery, expressed allegorice, that Francis and Dominic were more than saints in the ordinary sense—that they, in a much more historically relevant way, shaped the face of the church and of Christendom, and contributed to their preservation in a time of most grave danger. The conclusions of the older historiography essentially remain those of today.10 The consensus is that the founders of the two orders, guided by popes Innocent iii and Honorius iii and advised by cardinals like John of St Paul, Hugolino of Ostia and Steven of Fossanova, came to the aid of the church in one of its most threatening crises. They took up inherited protests, rooted in the Gospels and inspired by the reforming Gregorian papacy, against simony and a church hierarchy entangled in worldly power. They worked against a total break with the Orthodox church.11 They are also given credit for creating, through their orders, cadres that could counter the Cathar perfecti (who had just begun to meet with some success) above all because their way of life and teachings were better suited than persecution and crusade for putting a dual- istic counter-church in its place.12 Histories of philosophy and theology, for their part, confirm that the Dominicans especially, in their confrontation with

9 Par. xii, 36ff.; 2 Cel. 17; Bonaventura, Leg. Maior. iii, 10 and the literature cited in note 7. 10 J. Haller, Das Papstum. Idee und Wirklichkeit (Esslingen, 1962) iv, 49: “It is not too much to say that the papacy survived the storms of the thirteenth century thanks to the mendi- cants.” Similarly H. Grundmann, Religiöse Bewegungen im Mittelalter, 2nd ed. (Darmstadt, 1961) 156 et passim. 11 L. Zarncke, Der Anteil des Kardinals Ugolino an der Ausbildung der drei Orden des heiligen Franz, Beiträge zur Kulturgescgichte des Mittelalters und der Renaissance 42 (Leipzig and Berlin, 1930); B. Zöllig, “Kardinal Ugolino und der hl. Franziskus,” in: fs 20 (1933), 1–33, 21 (1934), 134–179; A. Matanić, “Papa Innocenzo iii di fronte a San Domenico e San Francesco,” Antonianum 35 (1960) 508–527; M. Maccarone, “Riforma e sviluppo della vita religiosa con Innozenzo iii,” Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia 16 (1962), 29ff.; V.J. Koudelka, “Notes pour servir à l’histoire de S. Dominique,” afp 35 (1965), 5–20; K.-V. Selge, “Franz von A. und die römische Kurie,” Zeitschr. f. Theol. u. Kirche 67 (1970), 129–161; Idem, “Franz v.A. und Hugolino v.O.,” San Francesco nella ricerca storica (cf.n. 55), 158–222. 12 A. Borst, Die Katharer, Schriften der Monumenta Germaniae Historica 12 (Munich, 1953) 13–27, 115–119; K. Esser, “Franziskus v. Assisi und die Katharer seiner Zeit,” afh 51 (1958) 225–264; Chr. Thouzellier, “La pauvreté arme contre l’Albigéism en 1206,” Revue de l’Histoire des Religions 151 (1957), 79–97, also in Hérésie et Hérétiques. Vaudois, cathares, Patarins, Albigeois, Storia et Letteratura 116 (Rome, 1969), 189–203.

Francis and Dominic 31

Aristotelian philosophy, Islamic theology and heretical dualism, helped refor- mulate the church’s teaching, and put it on a new foundation that would last for centuries.13 Other stories, too, have often been told: How the mendicants fought against the considerable resistance of the secular clergy to establish more adequate pastoral care for the urban populations of the later middle ages;14 how they helped guard religious women, who demanded full participa- tion in the religious culture of their day, from eccentric errors;15 how their ­missionary efforts pushed forward, already in the thirteenth century, into new

13 Alongisde general overviews like B. Geyer, “Die patristische und scholastische Philosophie,” in: Friedrich Überweg, Grundriß der Geschichte der Philosophie ii, 12th ed. (Tübingen, 1951), 381ff. and Ph. Böhner—E. Gilson, Christliche Philosophie von ihren Anfängen bis Nikolaus von Cues, 3rd ed. (Paderborn, 1954), 401ff., see E. Filthaut, Roland von Cremona O.P. und die Anfänge der Scholastik im Predigerorden. Ein Beitrag zur Geistesgeschichte­ der älteren Dominikaner (Vechta, 1936); H. Felder, Geschichte der wissenschaftlichen Studien im Franziskanerorden bis um die Mitte des 13. Jahrhunderts (Freiburg i. Br., 1904); B. Vogt, “Der Ursprung und die Entwicklung der Franziskanerschulen,” fs 9 (1922), 137–157; L. Meter, “Die Erforschung der mittelalterlichen deutschen Franzis­kanerschulen,” fs 18 (1931), 109–150; G. Bonafede, Il pensiero francescano nel secolo xiii (Palermo, 1952); A.M. Hamelin, “L’école franciscaine de ses débuts jusq’à l’Occamisme,” Analecta Mediaevalia Namurcensia 12 (Leuven-Montreal-Lille, 1961). 14 See among others P. Glorieux, “Prélats français contre religieux mendiants,” rhef 11 (1925), 309–331,417–495; P. Grafien, “Ordres mendiants et clergé séculier à la fin du XIIIe siècle,” ef 36 (1924), 499–518; H. Lippens, “Le droit nouveau des mendiants en conflit avec le droit coutumier du clergé séculier du concile de Vienne à celui de Trente,” af 47 (1954), 241–292; J. Le Goff, “Apostolat mendiant et fait urbain dans la France médiévale: L’implantation géographique et sociologique des ordres mendiants (XIIIe–XVe s.),” rhef 54 (1968), 69ff.; idem, “Ordres mendiants et urbanisation au Moyen Âge dans la France médiévale,” Annales E.S.C. 25 (1970), 924ff. 15 Above all: A. Mens, Oorsprong en betekenis van de Nederlandse begijnen- en begardenbewe- gung. Vergelijkende studie: XIIde–XIIIde eeuw, Universiteit te Leuven. Publicaties op het Gebied der Geschiedenis en der Philologie iii, 30 (Leuven, 1947); E.W. McDonnell, The Beguines and Beghards in Medieval Culture with Special Emphasis on the Belgian Scene (New Brunswick, N.J., 1954); G. Koch, Frauenfrage und Ketzertum im Mittelalter. Die Frauenbewegung im Rahmen des Katharismus und des Waldensertums und ihre sozialen Wurzeln (12.–14. Jh.) (Forschungen zur Mittelalterlichen Geschichte 9, Berlin, 1962); M. de Fontette, Les religieuses à l’age classique du droit canon. Recherches sur les structures iuridiques des branches féminines des ordres, Bibliothèque de la Société de l’Histoire Ecclésiastique de la France (Paris, 1967). On the female branches of the two orders see, among others: O. Decker, Die Stellung des Predigerordens zu den Dominikanerinnen (Vechta-Leipzig, 1935); J. Vesely, Il secondo Ordine de S. Domenico (Bologna, 1943); E. Wauer, Entstehung und Ausbreitung des Klarissenordens (Leipzig, 1906); Santa Chiara d’Assisi. Studi e Cronaca del vii. Centenario (Perugia, 1954).

32 chapter 1 realms—to the east into Asia, indeed to the Far East.16 And lastly, scholars of religion and folklore, of art history and literary studies can show how pro- foundly the mendicant orders shaped the religious landscape of the West.17 Indeed their spirit and their impact can be registered even in places where these are no longer discernible as a historical or religious phenomenon—in Manzonie, in Dostojewskii and Rilke, for example, to name only a few of the witnesses of the widespread impact of Franciscan spirituality alone.18

16 B. Altaner, Die Dominikanermissionen des 13. Jahrhunderts. Forschungen zur Geschichte der kirchlichen Unionen und der Mohammedaner- und Heidenmission des Mittelalters, Breslauer Studien zur historischen Theologie 3 (Habelschwerdt, 1924); G. Golubovich, Bibliotheca bio-bibliographica della Terra Santa e dell’ Oriente francescano I ff. (Quaracchi-Cairo, 1906ff.); J. Ghellinck, Les Franciscaines en Chine aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles, ambassadeures et missionaires (Leuven, 1927); L. Oliger, “Franciscan Pioneers amongst the Tartars,” in: The Catholic Historical­ Review 16 (1930); O. van der Vat, Die Anfänge der Franziskanermissionen und ihre Weiterentwicklung im Nahen Orient und in den mohammedanischen Ländern während des 13. Jh Missionswiss. Studien N.R. 6 (Werl, 1934); R. Loenertz, La Société des Frères Péré­grinants. Etudes sur L’Orient dominicain I. Diss. Hist. Fasc. vii (Rome, 1937); M. Roncaglia, St. Francis of Assisi and the Middle East, 3rd ed. (Cairo, 1954); C.W. Troll, “Die Chinamission in Mittelalter,” in: fs 48 (1966), 109–150, 49 (1967), 22–79. 17 Cf., among others, G. Orlando, Saint François d’ A. et son influence, religieuse, sociale, lit- teraire et artistique (Paris, 1885); A. Germain, L’influence de Saint François d’ A. sur la civili- sation et les artes (Paris, 1903); A. Goffin, Saint François d’ A. dans l’arts primitifs italiens (Brussels, 1909); A. Groeteken, Franz v.A. in der Poesie der Völker (Mönchengladbach, 1912); F. Imle, “Der Einfluß der franziskanischen Religiosität auf das deutsche Volk,” in: fs 13 (1926), 96–119; F. Van den Borne, “De cultuurhistorische betekenis van de H. Franciscus van A.,” in: Collectanea Franciscana Neerlandica I (1917), 45–85; E. Delaruelle, L’influence de S. François d’A. sur la piété populaire: Comitato Internazionale di Scienze Storiche. X Congresso Internazionale di Scienze Storiche. Roma 4–11 Settembre 1955. Relazioni iii: Storia del Medioevo (Florence, 1955), 449–466; Idem, “Saint Fr. D’A . et la piété populaire,” in: San Francesco nella ricerca storica (cf.n. 55) 127–155; L. Di Fonzo, “Francesco d’A.,” in: Bibliotheca Sanctorum V (Rome, 1964), 1145ff. 18 Cf. R. Schneider, Die Stunde des heiligen Franz v.A., 2nd ed. (Heidelberg, 1946), 27: “In truth Francis found his way to the heart of the people, and there prepared the kingdom of his Lord, where no one expected it.” Delaruelle, op. cit. (fn. 17), 466: “It is no exaggeration to say that the Franciscans contributed to giving the orient the shape it has today.” L. Salvatorelli, Movimento Francescano e Gioachimismo. La Storiografia Francescana Con­ termpranea. Comitato Internazionale di Scienze Storiche. X Congresso Incernazionale di Scienze Storiche, Roma, 4–11 Settembre 1955, Relazione iii: Storia del Medioevo (Florence, 1955), 475: “It would be no exaggeration to say that the Christian spirit, to the extent that it still survives in the world today, draws its strength in large part, after the Gospels, from the early Franciscans.”

Francis and Dominic 33

A more detailed account of the broader impact of the two founders in its entirety is impossible. It would know no bounds, and our current circumstance would in any case hardly allow it. Our interest here is thus concentrated on only one aspect of that broader impact, namely that which Francis and Dominic had within their own orders, and through them on the religious orders generally. This indirect route is perhaps the best way to recover the his- torical force of the two founders, and perhaps the best way to show that Bartholomew of Trent was not entirely correct when he declared in 1250 that Francis and Dominic were so similar ut idem velle et idem nolle esset utrique, “that they desired the same things and refused the same things.”19

*

“Francis of Assisi in his order”: On closer inspection the formulation is impre- cise, if not wrong. It presupposes that there is or was only one order of St. Francis. How different things look in reality! Across 700 years not one but many different communities have claimed to represent, alone and exclusively, the order of Francis of Assisi.20 When the saint died in 1226 there were already internal partisan struggles between the lax brothers surrounding Elias of Cortona and the zealots surrounding Brother Leo and Brother Giles.21 At the end of the thirteenth century the community22 that had coalesced around Bonaventure saw itself as distinct from the Caesarines, the Coelestines and the

19 Bartholmaeus Tridentinus, Legenda Dominici confessoris, in: Altaner, op. cit. (n. 2), 2. 20 Summary overviews: H. Holzapfel, Handbuch der Geschichte des Franziskanerordens (Freiburg i. Br., 1909); J. Pou y Marti, Conspectus trium ordinum religiosorum S. Francisci (Rome, 1929); Fr. De Sessevalle, Histoire générale de l’Ordre de S. François, 2 vols. (Paris, 1935–1937); R.M. Huber, A Documented History of the Franciscan Order (Milwaukee, 1944); A. Léon, Histoire de l’ordre des frères mineurs (Paris, 1954); “Frères mineurs: Fondation et reformes franciscaines,” in: Dictionnaire de Spiritualité ascétique et mystique 5 (Paris, 1964), cols. 1304ff. 21 Concerning the early divergences, read through the lens of later disputes and thus often distorted by sharp exaggerations, see among others: F. van den Borne, “Antonius en Elias. Hun betekenis voor de inwendige geschiedenis van de Minderbroedersorde,” in: Collectanea Franciscana Neerlandica 7 (1949); R.B. Brooke, Early Franciscan Government. Elias to Bonaventure, Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought, n.s. vii (Cambridge, 1959); S. Clasen, “Antonius and Elias in ihrer Bedeutung für die innere Geschichte des Franziskanerordens,” in: fs 12 (1964), 153ff. 22 M. Matani, “S. Bonaventura ‘Secondo Fondatore’ dell’ Ordine dei Fratri Minori,” in: sf 55 (1958) 306–317; H. Roggen, “Saint Bonaventura comme ‘Le Second Fondateur’ de l’Ordre des Frères Mineurs,” in: fs 49 (1967), 259–271.

34 chapter 1

Clares, who contested the claim to legitimate succession.23 At the same time, just as an elaborate basilica over the grave of the Poverello in Assisi neared its completion,24 in a fragmented Abruzzo and in a Provence infested with heresy there lived Spirituals and , who held fast to the belief that they were the only true sons of poor Francis, and that they, in their persecuted communi- ties, were the embodiment of the true church, the ecclesia spiritualis.25 And hardly had such extremism been defeated through the temporal and spiritual powers, hardly had the dust settled from so many debates over the ideal of poverty,26 when new eremitical communities began to gather in Umbria, Aragon and Catalonia, while France and Italy saw the emergence of new ­communities of Observants and Discalced Friars, Amadeans and Coletans, Caperolani and Fratres della Cappuciola—all seeking to guard true Franciscan observance from falsity and compromise.27 On May 29, 1517, in the Bull Ite et vos, Leo X recognized the largest of these groups, the Observants—the follow- ers of John della Valle, Gentile da Spoleto, Paolo Trinci, the brothers of Bernardino of Siena and John of Capistrano—as the true Ordo fratrum mino- rum, and unified them with the reform movements associated with Colette of Corbie, Amadeus of Silva and John of Guadalupe.28 Yet hardly had he done so when these groups, along with their longstanding adversaries the Conven­ tuals, were faced yet again with division and secession. In 1528 a wandering

23 L. von Aww, Angelo Clareno et les spirituels franiscains (Lausanne, 1952); A Frugoni, Celestiniana (Rome, 1954). 24 B. Kleinschmidt, Die Basilica San Francesco in Assisi, 3 vols. (Berlin, 1915–1927). 25 See the following summaries of a rich literature: R. Manselli, Spirituali e beghini in Provenza, Studi Storici 31–34 (Rome, 1959); G. Leff, Heresy in the Later Middle Ages. The Relation of Heterodoxy to Dissent c. 1250–1450 (, New York, 1967) I, 51–238. 26 See now M.D. Lambert, Franciscan Poverty, The Doctrine of the Absolute Poverty of Christ and the Apostles in the Franciscan Order 1210–1323 (, 1961); Y.M.-J. Congar, “Aspects ecclésiologiques de la querelle entre mendiants et séculiers dans la seconde motié du XIIIe siècle et le début du XIVe,” in: Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge 36 (1961), 34–151. 27 Along with the literature cited in n. 20 above: G. de Paris, “Les debuts de réforme des cordeliers en France,” in: ef 31 (1941) 415–439; M. Faloci-Pulignani, Il B. Paoluccio Trinci da Foligno e i minori osservanti (Foligno, 1921); S. Bernardino da Siena. Saggi e ricerche pub- blicati nel quinto centenario della morte (1444–1944), Pubbl. etc. dell’ Università Cattolica del S. Cuore N.S. vi (Milan, 1945); V. Añibarro, Introducción a los origines de la observancia en España. Las reformas en los siglos XIV y XV (Madrid, 1958); L. Brengio, L’osservanza fran- cescana in Italia nel secolo xiv (Rome, 1963); J. Hofer, Johannes Kapistran. Ein Leben im Kampf um die Reform der Kirche, Bibiliotheca Franciscana 1 (Rome-Heidelberg, 1964). 28 J. Meseguer Fernández, “La bula ‘Ite et vos’,” in: Archivo Ibero-Americano 18 (1958), 257–361; P. Sevesi, L’ordine dei fratri minori (Milan, 1958) I, 1ff.

Francis and Dominic 35

Franciscan preacher from the Marches, Matteo da Bascio, along with his com- panions Ludowico and Raffaele, received from Pope Clement vii license to lead an eremitical life outside the ranks of the Observance. Within a few years their experiment developed into an independent order, the Cappuchins.29 At the same time, under the leadership of Francis of Jesi and Bernard of Asti, Italian houses of the Recollects joined the congregation of the Reformati, whom Gregory xiii allowed to separate almost entirely from the Franciscan order that had been united in 1517.30 They soon spread from Italy, even beyond the Alps, and by the end of the sixteenth century they were joined in France and by the Recollects, who had grown from similar roots, from eremit- ical ritiro.31 At the same time, in Spain and Portugal, under Peter of Alcantara the old Discalced Friars (first established by John of Guadalupe) flowered anew and with the help of Gregory xiii. It became a virtually independent congrega- tion, and one that spread far beyond the Iberian Peninsula.32 There emerged new reform groups and new institutional wings of the old orders that, for all of their differences in observance and clothing, were united in one thing: each of them, pounding away on its own model of observantia strictissima, con- tested the claim of the Minorites to being the true Franciscan order. Hardly had each had won their independence before the old disputes emerged anew within each reforming group over way to live the Franciscan life, resulting in more schism and secession, and the formation of new groups and parties. Caught in a bewildering dialectic between unity and division, reform degenerated to Riformella.33 As the religious orders finally began to recover from the bloodletting of revolution and secularization in the nineteenth cen- tury, as the spirit of Romanticism gave religious life new inspiration, the old Franciscan diversity began to emerge again—this time much more peacefully. Around the order of Minorites that Leo xiii united in 1897, and around the still independent Conventuals and Cappuchins, in a way analogous to the ­fourteenth century, there gathered a range of third-order communities,

29 F. Cuthbert, The Capuchins. A Contribution to the History of the Counterreformation, 2 Vols. (London, 1928); Th. , Zür Entstehung des Kapuzinerordens. Quellenkritische Studien (Olten-Freiburg, 1940); M. de Pobladura, Historia generalis ordinis fratrum minorum capuccinorum (Rome, 1947–1951) I, 1ff. 30 In summary: C. Pohlmann, Kanzel und Ritiro (Werl, 1955); on their spread north of the Alps: B. Lins, Geschichte der bayr. Franziskanerprovinz, 3 vols. (Munich, 1926–1939). 31 Afiibarro, op. cit, (n. 27). 32 See, among others: P. Valugani, San Pietro d’Alcantara (Milan, 1954); “Estudios sobre S. Pedrode Alcántara en el iv centario de su muerte 1562–1962,” in: Archiva Ibero-Americano 22 (1962), 1–758. 33 Luigi di Roma, Vita del ven. servo di Dio Fr. Bonaventura da Barcellona (Quaracchi, 1901).

36 chapter 1

­congregations of men and women who, as they converted the unbeliever, cared for the sick and raised children, looked to Francis of Assisi as their father.34 Like many before and after him, Erasmus of Rotterdam saw nothing but folly in the rivalries between Observants and Conventuals, Discalced Friars and Reformati.35 And he would have been right, were it all only an argument over the cut and color of a habit, or the length and form of cowl and belt. It was that, too, but what truly caused so much unrest among the Franciscans through the centuries, what inspired so much struggle among them, was much more: the attempt, taken up anew time and again, to realize the intent of their founder, to realize the Franciscan ideal in all of its fullness. It was a goal that the Spirituals sought to reach through absolute poverty, the Amadeans through continual fasting, the Discalced through the habitus pau- per, the Observants and the first Cappuchins through ascetic renunciation of the world, the Reformati through stern penitential exercises. This process, in which one might see an analogy to the formation of confessional divisions within the world’s religions, is often seen as a process of organic growth. But it seems to me that it was instead a hard-fought process of selection, a strug- gle that the three branches of the order—the Observants, the Conventuals and the Cappuchins—have survived until the present day. The extremists on both the left and the right, in contrast, fell victim to the compulsion to sub- mit to church authority, and to the pressure to adapt to social reality and human nature. Set before the dramatic background of the history of the Franciscan order as it unfolds, the fate of the does in fact seem to be a story of organic growth that runs its course in peace and quiet.36 At the end of the fourteenth century a reform movement emerged within this order, too. Begun by and ,37 and advanced by figures like Conrad of Prussia, John Nider and John Dominici, by the end of the century­ it

34 Probably the most comprehensive overview in: D. Kapsner, Catholic Religious Orders, 2nd ed. (Collegeville, mn, 1957); on “spirituality”: H. Roggen, De Franciskaanse Lekenbeweging. Een historisch-pastorale Studie, 2 vols. (Mecheln, 1960). 35 Cf. also J. Beumer, “Erasmus von Rotterdam und seine Freunde aus dem Franziskanerorden,” in fs 51 (1969), 117–129. 36 A. Walz, Compendium historiae Ordinis Praedicatorum, 2nd ed. (Rome, 1858); W.A. Hinnebusch, The History of the Dominican Order. Origins and Growth to 1500, I (Staten Island, ny, 1966). 37 L. Zanini, Bibliografia analitica di S. Caterina da Siena 1901–1050. Miscellanea del Centro di Studi Medievali, Pubbl. Dell’Università del Sacro Cuore 58 (Milan, 1956); A.W. van Ree, “Raymond de Capoue, Eléments biographiques,” in: afp 33 (1963), 159–241.

Francis and Dominic 37 led to the emergence of Observant congregations and in the Empire, in the Netherlands, in , Lombardy and Tuscany.38 But unlike the Franciscans, the Dominicans never called for Observant reform in a way that seriously called the unity of the order into question, or that would have caused a true institutional and legal division between Conventuals and Observants. The Franciscans repeatedly pushed the boundaries of orthodoxy, and along with with Fraticelli and lay theoreticians of state power increased the number of the heresies.39 The Dominicans, in contrast, as apologists and inquisitors, instead concentrated their efforts on containing the doctrinal error and devi- ance of their day as much as possible.40 While the sons of St. Francis had again and again to ask themselves what the core of their spirituality might be, and how one was to understand the rule of their founder,41 the Preachers could turn to their constitutions, in which preaching and study were laid out ­programmatically as the main purpose of their community.42 While the Franciscans struggled under the weight of their fragmentary and demanding Rule,43 their Dominican brothers had recourse to constitutions that have

38 A. Barthelmé, La réforme dominicaine au XVe siècle en Alsace et dans l’ensemble de la prov- ince de Teutonie (Strassburg, 1931); V. Bertran de Heredia, Historia de la Reforma de la Prov. De España 1450–1550 (Rome, 1939); R. Creytens, “L’obligation des constitutions domin- caines d’après le bienheureux Jean Dominici,” in: afo 23 (1953), 195–235; A. de Meyer, La Congrégation de Hollande 1465–1515 (Lüttich, n.d.) 39 Along with the literature cited in n. 25 above, cf. on Ockham and the Franciscans at the court of Ludwig the Bavarian, among others, F. Hofmann, “Der Anteil der minoriten am Kampf Ludwigs des Bayern gegen Johann xxii. unter besonderer Berücksichtigung des Wilhelm von Ockham” (Diss. Münster, 1959); W. Kölmel, Wilhelm von Ockham und seine kirchenpolitischen Schriften (Essen, 1962); E.K. Brampton, “Ockham, Bonagratia and the Emperor Lewis iv,” in: Medium Aevum 31 (1962); J. Miethke, Ockhams Weg zur Sozia­ lphilosophie (Berlin, 1969). 40 Cf. among others A. Dondaine, “Le manuel de l’inquisiteur (1230–1330)” in: afp 17 (1947), 85–194; Th. Kaeppeli., “Une somme contre les héretiques,” in: afp 17 (1947), 320ff. 41 H. Sbaralea (ed.), Bullarium Franciscanum I (Rome, 1759), 68: the consciences of the brothers are weighed down by “difficultatibus quasi inextricabilibus.” 42 H. Denifle, “Die Constitutionen des Prediger-Ordens vom Jahre 1228,” in: alkm: 1 (1885), 165–227; L. Creytens, “Les Constitutions des freres Precheurs dans la redaction de S. Raymond de Peñafort,” in: afp 18 (1948), 5–68. On the establishment and development of the oldest Dominican constitutions: H. Thomas, De oudste constituties van de Dominicanen, Bibliothéque de la revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 42 (Leuven, 1965). 43 E. Wagner, Historia Constitutionum Generalium Ordinis Fratrum Minorum (Rome, 1954),12: “Ita in Regula nonobstante iuristarum collaboratione, fundamentalia desunt…Disciplina autem religiosa, in Regula dilineata, quandam amplitudinem et ambiguitatem in interpre- tatione non excludit.”

38 chapter 1 been called the most perfect example of what the middle ages produced “in the way of constitutions for monastic corporations.”44 Perfect in one respect, because they gave the brothers a balanced procedure for representation; per- fect in another, because they so layered and linked the general obligations of the order’s members—poverty and obedience, prayer and asceticism—that they not only did not hinder study and preaching as the ultimate aims of the order, but advanced them in a most efficient way. This almost perfect func- tionalism, a maturation of constitutions that brought not secession and strife over the order’s ideals, but rather embodied the best of recent developments in the laws governing religious orders—helped ensure that the Dominicans remained the head of a confederation, the head not of a group of religious orders, but of a constitutional family. In 1232 the Magdalens, who had been governed by Cistercian customs, adopted the original Dominican constitu- tions.45 In 1248, when the Croziers of the diocese of Lüttich sought from the curia a confirmation­ of their community, Innocent iv prescribed for them the regula fratrum praedicatorum.46 And when shortly thereafter the Fratres de Poenitentia Jesu Christi (which had its roots in Franciscan piety) and the Fratres de Poenitentia B.B. Martyrum (which had its roots above all in Bohemia) sought for themselves a legal foundation, they too adopted, almost word for word, the Dominican constitutions.47 But the influence did not stop there. In fact none of the thirteenth-century religious orders to emerge from the pov- erty movements of the day—the Augustinian Hermits, established in 1256

44 A. Hauck, Kirchengeschichte Deutschlands iv, 8th ed. (Berlin-Leipzig, 1954), 409; similarly: L. Moulin, “Les formes du gouvernement local et provincial dans les ordres religieux,” in: Revue internationale des sciences administratives 21 (1955), 57; H.P. Tunmore, “The Dominican Order and Parliament. An Unsolved Problem in the Story of Representation,” in: The Catholic Historical Review 26 (1941), 479–489. 45 A. Simon, L’Ordre des Pénitentes de Ste. Marie-Madeleine en Allemagne au XIIIe siècle (Freiburg i. Ü, 1918); F. Discry, “La règle des Pènitentes de Ste. Marie-Madeleine d’aprés le ms. de St.-Quirin de Huy,” in: Bulletin de la commission royale d’histoire 121 (1956), 85–145. 46 W. Sangers, “De oudste constituties der Kruisherenorde,” in: Miscellanea L. Van der Essen (Brussels, 1947). 47 R.W. Emery, “The Friars of the Sack,” in: Speculum 18 (1943), 323–334; G.M. Giacomozzi, “L’Ordine della Penitenza di Gesù Cristo. Contributo alla Storia della Spiritualità del Sec. xiii” in: Studi Storici dell’Ordine dei Servi di Maria 8 (1957–1958), 3–60, 10 (1960), 42–99, separately in: Scrinium Historiale 2 (Rome, 1962). On the “Fratres de Poenitentia B.B. Martyrum,” whose constitutions can be found, among others, in Codex I—A—26 of the State and University Library (Clementinum) of , there will be a fuller discussion forthcoming in zsrg.

Francis and Dominic 39 through the unification of a variety of Italian eremitical groups;48 the of Palestine;49 the Servites, formed from an association of seven Florentine merchants;50 the Pauline Hermits of Hungary51— none of these groups failed, in the establishment of their own constitutions, to orient them- selves according to the model provided by the Dominicans. Indeed even in the circles of monks and canons, and in orders associated with hospitals and with the freeing of captives, the Dominican constitutions proved founda- tional whenever one sought to reform or to improve established patterns of organization.52 To summarize, and to try to capture succinctly over seven hundred years of history for these two orders, let us allow ourselves—quite unhistorically— to overlook the fact that thousands of Franciscans lived a religious life grounded in discretio; and let us forget that in Dominicans like Fra Savonarola burned with a zeal for reform worthy of the Spirituals.53 To do so reveals something of an antithesis: here, among the Franciscans, an almost perma- nent call for reform, the ever-repeated attempt, in the tension between ere- mos and world, between pastoral care and individual salvation, to achieve an almost unattainable ideal; there, among the Dominicans, the orderliness of a

48 Constitutiones Ratisponenses o.e.s.a., ed. Venetus (Venice, 1508); cf. also: Georgi, “De constitutionibus F.F. Erem. S. Augustini duobus beatis viris Clemente Auximate et Augustino Novello emendatis,” in: Analecta Augustiniana 1 (1905–1906), 109–117; I. Aramburu Cendoya, Las primitivas Constituciones de los Agustinos (Ratisbonenses de año 1290). Introduccion, Texto y Adaptacion Romanceada para las Religiosas (Valladolid, 1966). 49 B. Zimmermann, “Antiquae Ordinis Constitutiones,” in: Monumenta historica Carmelitana I (Lerin, 1907); Melchior a S. Maria, “Carmelitarium regula et ordo decursu xiii saeculi,” in: Ephemerides Carmeliticae 2 (1948), 51–64. 50 P.M. Soulier, “Constitutiones antiquae F.F. Servorum S. Mariae a S. Philippo Benito anno circiter 1280 editae,” in: Monumenta Ordinis Servorum S. Mariae I (Brussels, 1897), 27ff.; A. Rossi, Manuale di Storia dell’ Ordine dei Servi di Maria (Rome, 1956), 355ff. 51 St. Świdziński, Constitutio Ordinis Sancti Pauli Primi eremitae iuxta textum ante annum 1643 conscriptum. Historia—Textus—Sententia (Trier, 1971). On an older version of the consituttions of the Paulines, unknown until now, see a forthcoming discussion in the zgo. 52 In summary: P. Mandonnet—R. Ladner, “L’ordre régulier et l’imitation des Apôtres,” in: P. Mandonnet, Saint Dominique. L’idee, l’homme et l’œvre ii (Paris, 1937), 241ff.; A Thomas, cited in n. 42 above, xiii. 53 J. Schnitzer, Savonarola im Streite mit seinem Orden und seinem Kloster (Munich, 1914); R. Ridolfi, Vita di Girolamo Savonarola, 2 vols., 2nd ed. (Rome, 1952); further literature in M. Ferrara, Bibliografia savonaroliana (Florence, 1958); D. Weinstein, Savonarola and Florence. Prophecy and Patriotism in the Renaissance (Princeton, 1970), 3–26.

40 chapter 1 constitution suited to the conditions of this world, the persistent effort to carry out clearly defined duties in the service of the church and for the salva- tion of souls. With these we are approaching something like a conclusion regarding the distinctive nature and the impact of each of these orders. We must now ask whether the oppositions within which we have sought to frame the histories of the Franciscans and Dominicans—between dynamism and stasis, between constant renewal and intentional development, between uto- pianism and pragmatism—reflect anything at all of the spirit, of the inten- tions and the original impulses of their founders, of Francis of Assisi and Dominic of Caleruega.

*

Who was he? What did he want? Why did others flock to him, of all people, by the thousands, learned and unlearned, noblemen and bondsmen, the righteous and the sinners? So Francis was asked, as the Little Flowers54 tell the tale, by one of his earliest disciples, Fra Masseo da Marignano. And for centuries a richly diverse crowd of devotees and scholars of Francis have asked themselves what he actually wanted, and what made him great.55 The answers have been many, but read alongside one another they make for something of a mirror of European intellectual history: the prophet, the witness of the true Gospel, the angel with the mark of the living God,56 the first modern man,57 the Protestant avant la lettre,58 the Italian genius,59 the advocate of the disenfranchised and

54 I Fioretti di S. Francesco, Biblioteca Universale Rizzoli 19–20, 6th ed. (Milan, 1949) 55 Overviews of the interpretations of Francis in broad outline: S. Classen, “Franz v.A. im Lichte der neueren historischen Forschung,” in: gwu 3 (1952), 137–154; L. Salvatorelli, “Movimento Francescano e Giochamismo. La Storiografia Francescana Contemporanea,” 403–448; F. van den Borne, “Het probleem van de Franciscus-biografie in het licht van de moderne historische kritiek,” in: Sint Franciscus 59 (1957), 163–239, 243–316; San Francesco nella ricerca storica degli ultimi ottanta anni, Convegni del Centro di Studi sulla Spiritualità Medievale ix, 13–16 Ottobre 1968 (Todi, 1971). 56 F. Russo, “S. Francesco e i Francescani nella letteratura profetica gioachimita,” in: Scritti Storichi Calabresi (Naples, 1957), 203–214, as well as the literature cited in n. 7. 57 H. Thode, Franz v.A. und die Anfänge der Kunst der Renaissance in Italien (Berlin, 1885). 58 K. Hase, Franz v.A. Ein Heiligenbild (Leipzig, 1856); on the foundations of this view in the work of Luther: E. Schäfer, Luther als Kirchenhistoriker (Gütersloh, 1897). 59 G. Cerri, Patriottismo di S. Francesco di Assisi (Navara, 1918); G.u.A. Fortini—J. Giordani, Il Patrono d’Italia (Rome, 1955); N. de Monte, Il Santo della Pace. Patrono primario d’Italia, 3rd ed. (S. Agata di Puglia, 1954).

Francis and Dominic 41 dispossessed,60 the tragically broken religious genius,61 the light-hearted trou- badour and divine minstrel,62 the friend of the animals and of peace63—an almost endless litany of all-too emphatic, all-too aphoristic epithets. Like almost all of our representations of Francis’ life, they rest on unstable ground: on saints’ lives, legends, chronicles and moral treatises, all of which, we have known at least since Ernst Benz, are more of an evangelical than an historical nature, that to read them is to read not so much history as Franciscan theology.64 What we can say after so many decades of debate over the sources for a history of Francis, and what remains reliable and secure after so many increasingly complex artic- ulations of the Quaestio Franciscana, is for all the evidence relatively little—so little that at times the search for the historical Francis seems to mirror the search for the historical Jesus.65 But if we are to take up Fra Masseo’s question anew, we

60 Cf. among others F. Glaser, Die franziaskanische Bewegung. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte sozi- aler Reformideen im Mittelalter, Münchener volkswirtschaftliche Studien 59 (Stuttgart- Berlin, 1903); L. Dubois, Saint Francis, Social Reformer (New York, 1906); A. Vitto, La missione sociale di San Francesco (Lucerne, 1926); F. Somogli, San Francesco d’Assisi, il Rinovatore (Rome, 1928); J. Meyer, Die sozialen Ideale des hl. Franziskus v.A. (Schwyz, 1943); S. Clasen, “Franziskus v.A. und die soziale Frage,” in: ww 15 (1952), 109–121. 61 P. Sabatier, Vie de St. François d’Assisi. Edition définitive (Paris, 1931); J. Joergensen, Der ­heilige Franz v.A. Eine Lebensbeschreibung (from the Danish, 2nd ed., Kempten, 1952); L. Salvatorelli, Vita di S. Francesco (Bari, 1926). 62 J.v. Görres, Der heilige Franziskus v.A., ein Troubadour, 2nd ed. (, 1879); H. Felder, Der Christusritter aus Assisi (Zürich-Altenstetten, 1941). 63 Cf., among others, V. Bontadini, “Il poverello d’Assisi apostolo della pace,” in: L’apostolato francescano (Rome, 1919); G. Menge, Der Friedensherold von Assisi (Paderborn, 1926); F. Bosio, Frate Franceseo Pacificatore (Rome, 1926); J.B. Hillegers, “De vrede bij franciscus,” in: Franc. Leven 51 (1968) 178–184. 64 Cf. n. 56. 65 An excellent overview of the sources can be found in S. Clasen, Legenda antiqua S. Francisci. Untersuchungen über die nachbonaventurianischen Franziskusquellen, Legenda trium socio- rum, Speculum perfectionis, Actus B. Francisci et sociorum eius und verwandtes Schrifttum, Studia et documenta Franciscana 5 (Leiden, 1967). The most recent discussion of the “Quaestio Franciscana”: J. Cambell, “Les écrits de saint François d’Assise davant la critique,” in: fs 36 (1954), 82–109, 205–264; K. Eßer, “Wege zur Lösung der Franziskanischen Frage,” in: ww 30 (1967), 238–244; Th. Desbonnets, “Recherches sur la généalogie des biographies primitives de Saint François,” in: afh 60 (1967), 273–316; F. Van den Borne, “Neues Licht nach 50 Jahren Quellenforschung,” in: ww 31 (1968), 108–223; O. Schmucki, “A Francisco Legendarum ad Franciscum Historicum. Questio franciscana et vita S. Francisci duplici opere illustratae,” in: Coll. Franc. 38 (1968), 373–392; J. Campbell, “Une tentative de résoudre la Question francis- caine,” in: Misc. Franc. 69 (1969), 187–201; S. Clasen, “Manipulierte Franziskus-Forschung?” in: ww 32 (1969), 218–246; E. Grau, “Die neue Bewertung der Schriften des Hl. Franziskus v.A. seit den letzten 80 Jahren,” in: San Francesco nella ricerca storica (cf. n. 55) 35–73.

42 chapter 1 must first of all do that which Joseph Lortz seemed to renounce, with his honor- ific title “the incomparable saint.”66 We must do what both a strongly source- critical scholarship on Francis and an enlightening tradition of Franciscan theology still does not do all that often.67 We must place Francis in the political, social and economic context of his time, in the Italian Dugento.68 Francis of Assisi renounced the world in 1206, all of twenty years old. Exivi de seculo, as he said in his Testament.69 Son of the wealthy cloth merchant Pietro Bernardone and a mother who was probably from Picardy and who may have been a noblewoman—Donna Pica—Francis thereby began his journey of scornful poverty, of humiliating penance and scandalous peculiarity.70 As a rich and congenial young man, he was the embodiment of jeunesse dorée, and as trovatore he had sought, with all the impatient zeal of a parvenu, to win for himself a poverty-inducing but richly prestigious nobilità. It was an astonish- ing turn away from a life whose beginnings promised such worldly success. And yet it was nothing unusual in the Dugento, no isolated case in Umbria, in Tuscany or in the Marches. To note an analogous case of conversion one need consider not only the merchant Waldo in Lyon.71 Almost unknown local saints—like the cloth merchant’s son Galganus of Chiusdino,72 like Albert of Montalceto, Rainer of Pisa73 and the Florentine founders of the order of the

66 J. Lortz, Der unvergleichliche Heilige. Gedanken um Franziskus v.A. (Düsseldorf, 1952). 67 Cf. the critique of the “isolating” patterns of inquiry prevalent in Franciscan research offered by S. Clasen, “Kritisches zur neueren Franziskusliteratur,” in: ww 23 (1950), 156. 68 So for example L. Hardick, “Franziskus, die Wende der Mittelalterlichen Frömmigkeit,” in: ww 13 (1950) 129–141; K. Eßer, “Die religiösen Bewegungen des Hochmittelalters und Franziskus v.A.,” in: Festgabe J. Lortz (Baden-Baden, 1958) ii, 287–315; G. de Paris, “Rapports de S.F. d’A. avec le mouvement spirituel du XIIe siècle,” in: ef 12 (1961) 129–142. 69 E. Boehmer, Analekten zur Geschichte des Francisus von Assisi, Sammlung ausgewählter kirchen- und dogmengeschichtlicher Quellenschriften nf 4, 3rd ed. (Tübingen, 1961), 24; K. Eßer, Das Testament des Hl.F.v.A. Eine Untersuchung über seine Echtheit und seine Bedeutung, Vorreformationsgeschichtliche Forschungen 15 (Münster, 1949). 70 L. Bracaloni, “Casa, casato e stemma di S. Francesco,” in: Coll. Franc. 3 (1933), 82ff.; A. Fortini, Nova Vita di San Francesco, 2nd ed. (Assisi, 1959) ii: Assisi al tempo del Santo; F. van den Borne, “Voornaamste feiten uit het leven van Franziskus in het licht van de histo- rische kritiek,” in: Sint Franciscus 3 (1959), 174ff. On Francis before his “conversion,” S. Clasen, “Franziskus, der Gottes Absicht noch nicht erkannte,” in: ww 27 (1964), 117–128. 71 On him see now K.-V. Selge, Die ersten Waldenser I: Untersuchung und Darstellung, Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte 37/I (Berlin, 1967). 72 R. Arbesmann, “The Three Earliest Vitae of St Galganus,” in: Didascaliae. Studies in Honor of Anselm M. Albareda (New York, 1961), 3–37. 73 K. Elm, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Wilhelmitenordens, Münstersche Forschungen 14 (Cologne-Graz, 1962).

Francis and Dominic 43

Servites74—all of these, too, show at least as clearly that the popolo grasso, merchants who were sometimes only two or three generations removed from their arrival in the city from the contado, found themselves facing a crisis of conscience. After their initial satisfaction with so much profit and commercial success, caught up in the rhythms of an ever more intensive monetary econ- omy, the Italian mercatores—as if judged under the laws of balances and cred- its—began to feel their salvation threatened. They saw their way of life in opposition to a Gospel that condemned their striving for profit as the worship of Mammon, and that dismissed their money, rights and properties as treasure consumed by rust and moths. Amid growing wealth, face to face with manifest poverty, they endured a crise de conscience.75 Compromise and adaptation are the usual ways to escape. But Francis would have nothing of either. He was utterly revolted by the sophisticated monetary economy of his day, even by its very coins.76 Instead of making careful plans, he sought out a way of life that cared not for the morrow—a roof over the head, bread on the table. Instead of seeking success he embraced boundless suffering, wholehearted charity, and solidarity with the least of creatures. He shocked the sensibilities of bourgeois manners—he was called Pazzo, the madman—through what seems to have been grotesque folly.77 As Francis explained in his Testament, none other than God had showed him this way of life.78 But when he says in the same text: “Dedit michi fratri Francisco incipere faciendi penitentiam,” he reveals one of the larger contexts in which he stood—the penitential movement whose entire scope was first made clear by G.G. Meersseman, after Müller and Mandonnet.79

74 A.M. Rossi, Codice mariano: la “Legenda de origine Ordinis Servorum Virginis Mariae” (Rome, 1951); idem, Manuale di Storia dell’Ordine dei Servi di Maria, 7ff.; R. Taucci, “I sette Santi nella vita religiosa e civile di Firenze,” in: Studi Storici o.s.m. 5 (1953), 199ff. 75 The social background is treated by H. Roggen, “Die Lebensform des hl. Franziskus in ihrem Verhältnis zur feudalen und bürgerlichen Gesellschaft Italiens,” in: fs 46 (1946), 1–54, 284–321, though its interpretation misses the mark. 76 L. Hardick, “Pecunia et denarii. Untersuchungen zum Geldverbot in den Regeln der Minderbrüder,” in fs 40 (1958), 193–217. 77 S. Clasen, “Die Armut als Beruf: Franziskus v.A.,” in: Miscellanea Medievalia 3 (Berlin, 1964), 86ff. 78 Boehmer (cited above, n. 69), 24ff. 79 K. Müller, Die Anfänge des Minoritenordens und der Bußbruderschaften (Freiburg i. Br. 1885); P. Mandonnet, Les regles et le gouvernement de l’Ordre de Poenitentia au siècle XIIIe (Paris 1902); idem, M.-H. Vicaire, “Les origines de l’Ordre de Poenitentia,” in: Sainte Dominique, vol. ii, 295ff.; G.G. Meersseman, Dossier de l’ordre de la pénitence au XIIIe siècle,­ Spicilegium Friburgense 7 (Freiburg i.Ü., 1961). With a more strongly theological inter­pretation: A. Senftle, Menschenbildung in franziskanischer Geistigkeit. Die Bedeutung der franziskanischen Poenitentialehre, Grundfragen der Pädagogik 8 (Freiburg i. Br., 1959); S. Verhey, “Das Leben der Buße nach Franz v.A.,” in: ww 22 (1959), 161ff.

44 chapter 1

Not only Francis, but thousands more like him began around the turn of the twelfth to the thirteenth century in Italy willingly to embrace a life of poverty and prayer, fasting and chastity, a way of life that in the early church had been imposed only on those who had committed grave sins. Soon after, he sent his followers into a hostile world without staff and shoes, with only one cloak and without any money for their journey, commanding them to preach the word of God in poverty, without a home, calling it vivere secundum formam sancti evangelii.79a And in doing so he took his place alongside the wandering preach- ers of France, the Arnoldists, the Humiliati and the , who saw in the imitation of a poor and homeless Christ the realization of the Gospel—as Herbert Grundmann and many after him have shown.80 Where stands the incomparable Francis in this landscape, in this broad movement that embraced apostolic poverty? Many answers have been given to that question.81 A simplis- tic answer might suggest that Francis both led the movement to its extreme and limited it at the same time. He led it to the extreme in that he and his fol- lowers were more homeless than even the wandering preachers, more poor than the Waldensians and more despised than the Arnoldists. Yet he also lim- ited the movement in that he offered to the hierarchy the obedience82 Waldo had denied, showed reverence to the same priesthood83 whose sins the reform- ers had defamed, revered the cross84 that the heretical wandering preacher Peter of Bruis had burned, praised85 sun and wind, fire and water as the work of God when Bogomil had taught his followers to denounce it all as the work of the evil one. To see Francis as penitent, as an orthodox embodiment of the

79a Boehmer, op. cit. (n. 69), 25. Cf. L. Gasutt, Die älteste franziskanische Lebensform (Graz, 1955). 80 H. Grundmann, Religiöse Bewegungen im Mittelalter (Repr. Hildesheim, 1961); in place of others: L. Spätling, “De Apostolis, Pseudoapostolis, Apostolinis. Dissertatio ad diversos vitae apostolicae conceptus saeculorum decursu elucidandos” (Munich, 1947). 81 See along with the literature cited in n. 68: K. Eßer, Anfänge und ursprüngliche Zielsetzung des Ordens der Minderbrüder, Studia et documenta Franciscana 4 (Leiden, 1966) 148–153. 82 K. Eßer, “Sancta Mater Ecclesia Romana. Die Kirchenfrömmigkeit des hl. F.v. A,” in: ww 24 (1961), 1–26. 83 S. Clasen, “Priesterliche Würde und Würdigkeit. Das Verhältnis des hl. Franziskus zum Priestertum der Kirche,” in: ww 20 (1957) 43–58. 84 K. Eßer, “Das Gebet des hl. Franziskus vor dem Kreuzbild in San Damiano,” in: fs 34 (1952) 1–11; O. Schmucki von Rieden, Das Leiden Christi im Leben des hl. F.v. A. Eine Quellenvergleichende Untersuchung im Lichte der zeitgenössischen Passionsfrömmigkeit (Rome, 1960). 85 See, among others: G. Getto, F. d’.A, e il Cantico di Fratre Sole, Università di Torino. Pubbl. della Fac. di Lett. e Fil. viii/2 (Turin, 1956); G. Sabatelli, “Studi recenti sul cantico di fratre Sole,” in: afh (1958), 3–24.

Francis and Dominic 45 evangelical poverty movement, as antagonist of the heretics is indeed to inte- grate him for the most part within the religious currents of his time—but not entirely. The Poverello and Pazzo, who abandoned the world by stripping naked and who died on the naked ground,86 the singing and dancing mystic,87 the castigating ascetic,88 the hermit who hid in caves and fields,89 the sleepless and tearful supplicant,90 the spirit-filled denouncer of scholarship,91 the obe- dient one, sitting in ashes with ashes on his head92—one looks in vain for a figure like this among the crowds of penitents, or among the Humiliati and the Waldensians. We must look elsewhere for the proper analogies; we must look for them in early monasticism: not in Pachomius or Basil, not in the Rule of Benedict and the monasticism it shaped, but in the Historia Lausiaca, in the Apopthegmata Patrum, among the Gyrovages and Circumcellians, the Remoboth and Sarabites—that is to say among the oldest forms of asceticism, among those not yet grounded in law and obedience, not yet fully integrated into society.93 Here, in the syncretic blend of early Egyptian and late Jewish, eastern and Hellenistic forms of piety, sacra nuditas and divine dementia, ascetic homelessness and prophetic reception of the spirit find a home. Here too is the home of anapausis and apotaxis, of unorganized adelphia and syn- edrion. Here emerged the norms and relationships, the practices and institu- tions that both older Franciscan scholarship and contemporaries alike have seen as typically Franciscan, as original creations of the Umbrian saint. The absolute surrender to God, the radical desire for salvation, the renunciation of convention—in short, the anxiety (characteristic not only of early Christian but also of other forms of monasticism beyond Christianity) of having to be pulled back in to the socially integrated, rule-bound vita religiosa of the high

86 2 Cel. 117, 214. 87 1 Cel. 73, 97; 2. Cel. 127. 88 2 Cel. 116–117. Boehmer, op. cit. (n. 69), 30. See also in this connection C. Andresen, “Asketische Forderung und Krankheit bei F.v.A.,” in: Theologische Literaturzeitung 79 (1954) 129–140. 89 1 Cel. 15, 71. Cf. O. Schmucki, “Secretum Solitudinis. De circumstantiis externis orandi penes S. Franciscum Assisiensem,” in: Coll. Franc. 39 (1969), 3–58. 90 2 Cel. 95, 115–117. 91 Boehmer, op. cit. (n. 69), 29. 92 2 Cel. 207. 93 K. Heussi, Der Ursprung des Mönchtums (Tübingen, 1936); S. Frank, AΓΓEΛIKOΣ BIOΣ. Begriffsanalytische und begriffsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zum “Engelgleichen Leben” im frühen Mönchtum, Beiträge zur Geschichte des alten Mönchtums und des Benediktinerordens 26 (Münster, 1964), esp. 18ff.; See also idem, “Vita apostolica. Ansätze zur apostolischen Lebensform in der alten Kirche,” in: Zeitschr. f. Kirchengesch. 82 (1971), 145–166, esp. 146–147.

46 chapter 1 middle ages, is the historical significance of Francis, of one who venerated not Benedict and Augustine, but the Angelos Michael, the ascetic Martin, and the spirit-filled prophets Elijah and Enoch.94 Francis as one who renewed the ascetic piety of early Christianity—this is not a typical framework for Franciscan scholarship. But the observation for- mulated here is not new. The iconographers of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries95 saw it already, as did Thomas of Celano, whose image of Francis is only understandable if one recognizes that he shapes the life of Francis, according to an ancient ascetic typology, as imitatio prophetarum, as a blood- less martyrdom, as a renewal of paradise, as bios angelicos.96 The incomparable Francis! Is he rightly seen as such, at least with regard to a renewal of ancient spirituality? We know of the eccentric mass-movement of the Flagellants and the Disciplinati, which spread in the thirteenth century from Perugia to all of Italy and beyond, to Alsace and Bohemia, in whose grim shredding of their own flesh the old practices of the seem to have come to life again. We know of the Great Hallelujah, which sparked such penitential enthu- siasm across northern Italy in 1233, and gripped the masses in a frenzy of peace and fraternity.97 Yet even this does not fully delineate the broader context in which Francis is to be seen as one who renewed early Christian ascetic life. Research undertaken in Tuscan and Umbrian archives has shown that around the time that Francis retreated to S. Damiano, numerous lay groups—in the Tuscan and Umbrian mountains, in the areas around Siena, Lucca and , around Viterbo, Spoleto and Perugia—had for years already begun their own experiments in living the vita eremitica and in the renewal of the life of the desert fathers.98 What Romuald and Nilus of Rossana had already sought in the

94 W. Lampen., “De S.P. Francisci cultu Angelorum et Sanctorum,” in: afh 20 (1927), 3–23. 95 See n. 4. 96 F. van den Borne, “Thomas van Celano als eerste biograaf an Franciscus,” in: Sint Franciscus 2 (1956), 183ff.; Cf. F. de Beer, La conversion de Saint François selon Thomas de Celano. Etude comparative des textes relatifs à la conversion en Vita I et Vita ii (Paris, 1963); S. Clasen, Legenda antiqua S. Francisci, 343–347; idem, “Vom Franziskus der Legende zum Franziskus der Geschichte,” in: ww 29 (1966), 15–29. 97 See here the contributions in: Il Movimento dei Disciplinati nel Settimo Centenario dal suo inizio (Perugia 1260). Covegno internazionale: Perugia, 25–28 Settembre 1960 (Spoleto, 1962). 98 K. Elm, “Italienische Eremitengemeinschaften des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts,” in: L’eremitismo in Occidente nei Secoli XI e XII. Pubbl. dell’Università Cattolica del Sacro Cruore. Miscellanea del Centro di Studi Medioevali IV (Milan, 1965) 491–550; C. Bandini, Monte Luco (Spoleto, 1922); R. Guerini, “Una Tebaide medioevale nella mistica in Umbria,” in: Latina gens 19 (1941), 227–231; B. van Luijk, Gli Eremiti Neri nel Dugento con particolare riguardo al territoriao Pisano e Toscano. Origine, Sviluppo ed Unione, Bibl. del Boll. Storico Pisano. Coll. Stor. 7 (Pisa, 1968).

Francis and Dominic 47 tenth century, what John Gualbert and sought a century later within the more specific context of monastic life, now William of Malavalle, Johannes Bonus and Giacomo de Colle Donico sought for themselves at the end of the twelfth century and the beginning of the thirteenth, as part of a broad lay movement: the attempt, that is, to overcome a “crisis of monasticism” that threatened to become a crisis for the church and for all of society, by returning to the older spirit of the monastic and eremitical life of early Christianity.99

*

Dominic came from a different world than Francis of Assisi. Caleruega, high over the Duero Valley, nine months in the winter wind, three months in the parching sun, has none of Umbria’s lyric, knows nothing of the festivals of wealthy youth, and did not struggle, at least to the degree of the rich commer- cial cities of Italy, with tensions between the generations. Its history is as rough and hard as its climate and its soil, and so were its people. In a no-man’s land between Islam and Christendom they settled themselves, under the protection of the lords of Guzmán, Aza and Villemayor, the conquerors of Toledo and the warrior companions of the kings of Castile. They lived in the spirit of the bor- derlands, a bulwark for the faith, whose purity they had seen from the eleventh century as safeguarded only in Rome and in obedience to the papacy. Lord Domingo de Guzmán, son of Juana d’Aza, belonged not to the shepherds and farmers of Caleruega, but to these circles, to the ricos hombres, the nobility who safeguarded the Reconquista.100 As the subprior of Osma in 1206, after he had the hard schooling of clerical formation behind him, Dominic took up confron- tation with heretics in Montpellier. But that did not mean that he abandoned his father’s world; it meant moving forward with the age-old struggle, albeit in a new arena, with different weapons.101 The new arena was Languedoc,102 from

99 J. Leclercq, “La crise du monachisme au XIe et XIIe siècles,” in: Bullettino dell’Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo 70 (1958), 19–41. 100 A. Pelaez, Cuna y abolengo de S. Domingo de Guzmán (Madrid, 1917); B. Kirsch–S. Roman, Pelerinages dominicaines (Paris-Lille, 1920); E. Martinez, Colección diplomatica del real convento de Sto Domingo de Caleruega (Vergera, 1931) 8–13; N.D. Carro, Caleruega. Cuna de Santo Domingo de Guzmán, 2 Vols. (Madrid, 1952–1955). 101 The most recent biographies of Dominic: M.-H. Vicaire, Saint Dominique de Calereuga d’après les documents du XIIIe siècle (Paris, 1955); idem, Histoire de saint Dominique, 2 vols. (Paris, 1957); in German Geschichte des heiligen Dominikus, 2 vols. (Freiburg i. Br., 1962ff). 102 Chr. Thouzellier, Catharisme et Valdéisme en Languedoc à la fin du XIIe et du début de XIIIe siècle (Paris, 1966); cf 2: Vaudois languedociens et Pauvres Catholiques (1967); cf 3:

48 chapter 1 the twelfth century the terra repromissionis of the heretical wandering preach- ers, the Cathars and Waldensians. It was in and Béziers, Narbonne and Carcassonne that the heretics, under the protection of commune and nobility, were able to attack orthodoxy with impunity and make a mockery of the catholic clergy.103 The new weapon was preaching, though not the kind steeped in hierarchical attitudes, as the Cistercian legates had only recently tried to preach, while surrounded by their enormous entourage.104 The new style of preaching was that of a barefoot and indigent community of priests, who wanted to make the purity of their teaching believable through their exemplary way of life, and to prove the evangelical character of the Ecclesia Romana through their own poverty and homelessness.105 Their brand of preaching, animated by the Gospels in both spirit and deed, was nothing entirely new. Anticipated by the likes of Martin of León and Joachim of Fiore, embodied in crusade preaching and in the mendicant rounds of the Templars and Hospitalers,106 the Sancta Praedicatio of Narbonne was a synthesis of older, often divergent experiences: the wandering apostolic preaching of a Vitalis of Savigny and Norbert of Xanten,107 the attacks on the Cathars of a Durandus of Huesca and Bernardus Primus,108 and not least the apostolic

Cathares en Languedoc (1968); E. Griffe, Les débuts de l’aventure Cathare en Languedoc, 1140–1190 (Paris, 1969). 103 Cf. among others: Y. Dossat, “La société méridonale à la veille de la croisade albegoise,” in: Revue historique et littéraire de Languedoc 1 (1944), 68–82; H. Vidal, Episcopatus et pouvoir épiscopal à la veille de la croisade albegoise (Montpellier, 1951); E. Delaruelle, “La ville de Toulouse vers 1200 d’après quelques travaux recents,” in cf 1 (1966), 107–121, as well as the literature cited in n. 104. 104 H. Maisonneuve, Etudes sur les origines de l’inquisition, L’Eglise et l’état au moyen âge vii, 2nd ed. (Paris, 1960); Y. Dossat, “Les débuts de l’inquisition à Montpellier et en Provence,” in: Bull. phil et hist du Comité des travaux historiques et scientifiques (1961), 561–579. 105 H.C. Lammerbond, Der Armutsgedanke des Hl. Dominikus und seines Ordens (Zwolle, 1926), 44–45; Chr. Thouzellier, “La pauvreté, arme contre l’abigéisme, en 1206,” in: Revue de l’histoire des religions 151 (1957), 79–92; W.A. Hinnebusch, “Poverty in the Order of the Preachers,” in: Catholic Historical Review 45 (1960), 436–456. 106 R. Ladner, “L’Ordo Praedicatorum avant l’Ordre des Prêcheurs,” in: P. Mandonnet, Saint Dominique (Paris, 1937) ii: 11–68, esp. 60–68. 107 J.v. Walter, Die ersten Wanderprediger Frankreichs I: Robert von Arbrissel, Studien zur Geschichte der Theologie und Kirche ix, 3 (Leipzig, 1903); idem, Die ersten Wanderprediger Frankreichs (Leipzig, 1906); E. Werner, Pauperes Christi. Studien zu sozial-religiösen Bewegungen im Zeitalter des Reformpapstums (Leipzig, 1956); J. Becquet, “Lérémitisme clérical et laïc dans l’ouest de at France,” in: L’Eremitismo in Occidente, 182–202. 108 A. Dondaine, “Durand de Huesca et la polémique anti-cathare,” in: afp 29 (1959), 228–267; Chr. Thouzellier, “Le ‘Liber Antiheresis’ de Durand de Huesca et le ‘Contra Hereticos’

Francis and Dominic 49

­tradition of the clergy, more precisely that of the ordo canonicus, which had never quite disappeared.109 Yet to have brought these elements into a synthe- sis, and to have deployed them in the right place at the right time in a struggle against heresy is, upon closer inspection, not to be credited to Dominic him- self. It was his bishop Diego of Osma (advised by Innocent iii) who in 1206 first took off his shoes; and it was he who first sent his entourage over the Pyrenees, uno comite contentus, to take up the seemingly hopeless struggle against a defi- ant heresy by embracing the model of those who had once preached—on foot, poor and without permanent homes—in Judea and Galilee.110 In the wake of such precedents, in light of such predecessors, what remained for Dominic himself to do? Why are the preachers called Dominicans, and not Inno­ centians?111 Why do they venerate Dominic and not, say, Diego of Osma as their founder? The answer is relatively simple. It was Dominic of Caleruega, not Diego of Osma, who first truly grafted the new branch onto the old trunk of the regular canons. It was his tenacity that forged an order from an idea, his solici- tude that gave it such an exemplary legal shape, his discretion that renewed in it the bonds between spiritual life and theological knowledge, his circumspec- tion that led him to travel the roads from Paris and Bologna, to Oxford and . And it was in the end his Roman universalism that made the Ecumene as a whole, and not just the Midi, to the mission field of his preachers, who placed on their heart the cura animarum of all Christians, and not only that of the heretics. Francis and Dominic! One, the bourgeois layman, an idiota far removed from the world of scholars, was carried forward by an anti-hierarchical impulse of reform that called back to contemporary consciousness the absolute sacri- fice of the early monks and the radicalism of the church’s Gospel. The other was a nobleman, a learned canon who established in medio ecclesiae the regen- erative power of a clergy at the center of a long tradition of lordship. While the

d’Ermengaud de Béziers,” in: rhe 55 (1960), 130–141; idem, “Controverses Vaudoises– Cathares à la fin du XIIe siècle,” in: Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge 27 (1960), 137–227; M.-H. Vicaire, “Les Vaudois et Pauvres Catholiques contre les Cathares (1190–1223),” in: cf 2: Vaudois languedociens et Pauvres Catholiques (Paris, 1967), 244–271. 109 M.D. Chenu, “Moines, clercs, laïcs au carrefour de la vie évangelique (XIIe s.),” in: rhe 49 (1954), 59–89, and in: La theologie au XIIe s. (Paris, 1957), 225–251; M. Puechmaurd, “Le prête ministre de la parole dans la théologie du XIIe s. (Canonistes, moins et chanoines),” in: RthAM 29 (1962), 52–76; M.– H. Vicaire, L’Imitation des Apôtres. Moines, chanoines et mendiants IVe–XIIIe s. (Paris, 1963); idem, “Les deux traditions apostoliques ou l’évangélisme de Saint Dominique,” in: cf 1 (1966), 74–103. 110 Petrus des Vaux-de-Cernay, Historia Albigensis, ed. P. Guébin-E. Lyon (Paris, 1926) I, 21. 111 H. Chr. Scheeben, “Dominikaner oder Innozenzianer?” in: afp 9 (1939), 280–297.

50 chapter 1 one took up once again the adventure of a life of “all or nothing,” the other showed the direction in which the vita religiosa would soon develop. He showed with all clarity that the radical, often contradictory demands of the Gospel and the gifts of the Holy Spirit would no longer be realized in an indi- vidual order, to say nothing of an individual person, but rather in the function- ally oriented multiplicity of the new orders. The question of a Fra Masseo to Francis has still never quite been answered: “Tu non se’ bello uomo del corpo, tu non se’ di grande scienza, tu non se’ nobile: donde dunque a te, che tutto il mondo ti vegna dietro?” The question also remains open why Dominic became the founder of a new order and not a cathedral canon from Lüttich, who was preaching in Toulouse at the same time,112 or why the hermit Johannes Bonus, living in apostolic poverty in the Marches only slightly later, soon fell into oblivion,113 while one today speaks the name of Francis of Assisi with reverence even beyond the ranks of Christianity. There are many possible answers. The beginnings of at least one can be found in what even today remains a powerful historical factor, that of the psyche, the individuality of the two historical personalities. What then was Francis like?114 Hardly capable of developing a complex train of thought through logic, but rather one who overflowed in free rhythms, in the “Laudes” and the “Canticle of Brother Sun.”115 Without any profound knowledge of Holy Scripture, but full of its spirit.116 Without any gift for law or organization, yet a charismatic leader, as a brother among brothers.117 The son of a worldly father who was not unfa- miliar with violence, and a mother of sensitive disposition, the one who called

112 H. van Rooijen, Theodorus van Celles. Een tijds- en levensbeeld (Cuyk, 1936). 113 Cf. n. 98. 114 Cf. B. Tilemann, Studien zur Individualität des F.v.A. (Leipzig-Berlin, 1914). Starting points for a psychoanalitical interpretation: E. Mariani, Psicologia e mentalitlà di S.F. d’A., (Naples, 1926); F.P. Calamita, La Persona di S.F. d’A. Note d’antropologia, 2nd ed. (Assisi, 1927). 115 Cf. n. 85. 116 V. da Bussum, “De veneratione S. Francisci Assisi erga S. Scripturam,” in: Verbum Domini 21 (1921), 101–168, 201–208; I. Schlauri, “Saint François et la Bible. Essai bibliographique de sa spiritualité evangelique,” in: Coll. Fran. 40 (1970), 365–437. 117 On this set of problems: W. Hirsch, “Werden und Wandel der Autoriät in der Frühperiode des Minderbrüderordens” (Diss. Münster, 1966); J.-V. Selge, “Rechtsgestalt und Idee der frühen Gemeinschaft des Franz von Assisi,” in: Erneuerung der Einen Kirche. Arbeiten aus Kirchengeschichte und Konfessionskunde. H. Bornkamm zum 65. Geburtstag gewid- met, Kirche und Konfession 11 (Göttingen, 1966), 1–31; Fr. de Beer, “La genèse de la ­fraternité franciscaine selon quelques sources primitives,” in: fs 49 (1967), 357–372; K. Eßer, “Gehorsam und Autorität in der frühfranziskanischen Gemeinschaft,” in: ww 34 (1971), 1–18.

Francis and Dominic 51 himself “the little black hen” and wanted to be called brother instead of father118 was given to an almost feminine, artistic impressionability,119 and had the power of perception that psychologists of religion have seen as essential for the experience of holiness.120 Francis experienced the numen personally, spontaneously and unreflectingly. It dissolved in him any trace of what which medieval psychology, founded on Augustine, saw as the actual source of all evil—superbia.121 It transformed him into one who was pauper et devotus, into a frater minor, one who could at once push an anti-hierarchical reform move- ment to the extreme and yet set limits for it, one who changed the world with- out wanting to change it, one who became powerful only because he and his wanted nothing other than to be poor and obedient. Dominic! He left no “Laudes,” no “Cantico di fratre sole.” Only charters, legal texts and their result, his Order.122 What his companions provided in the pro- tocol123 of the process of that began in the first twelve years after his death, what the “Libellus de initio ordinis” of Jordan of Saxony reported about him,124 is little. But it gives the impression of astonishing austerity. The aura of the miraculous that later legends built up around this core material is

118 For relationships with father and mother, see the extensive treatment of C. Ortolani, La madre del Santo. d’ A. (Tolentino, 1926). 119 Cf. among others: R. Boving, “Das aktive Verhältnis des bl. Franz zur Kunst,” in: afh 19 (1926), 167ff.; A. von Corstanje, “Franciscus de Christusspeler. Tot een nadere karakteibe- paling van Franciscus,” in: Sint Franciscus 58 (1956), 7–24. 120 J. Mouroux, “Sur la nation de l’experience religieuse,” in: Recherches de sciences religieuses 34 (1947), 5ff. Cf. among others J. Wach, Types of Religious Experience (Chicago, 1951) 32ff.; J.B. Lotz, “Zur Struktur der religiösen Erfahrung,” in: Interpretation der Welt. Festschrift R. Guardini (Würzburg, 1965), 205ff. 121 H. Grundmann, “Der Typus des Ketzers in mittelalterlicher Anschauung,” in: Kultur- und Universalgeschichte, Festschrift für W. Goetz (Leipzig, 1927), 91–107. 122 F. Balme-P. Lelaidier-J. Collomb, Cartulaire ou histoire diplomatique de Saint Dominique, i–iii (Paris, 1893–1901); M.H. Laurent, Historia diplomatica S. Dominici, moph xxv (Paris, 1933); V.J. Koudelka-R.-J. Loenertz, Monumenta diplomatica S. Dominici, moph xxv (Rome, 1966); V.J. Koudelka, “Notes sur le Cartulaire de S. Dominique,” in: afp 28 (1958), 92–114; 33 (1963), 89–120; 34 (1964), 5–44; W. von den Steinen, Franziskus und Dominikus. Leben und Schriften (Breslau, 1926), 11: “The image of Francis is constituted exclusively from within. The image of Dominic is constituted exclusively from without. Only research into the nature of his order reveals what the spiritual seed of such a tree must have been.” Similarly Altaner, op. cit. (n. 2), 18. 123 A. Walz (ed.), Acta canonizationis S. Dominici, in: moph 16 (Rome, 1935), 89ff. 124 H. Chr. Seheeben (ed.), Jordanus de Saxonia, Libellus de principiis Ordinis Praedicatorum, in: moph 16 (Rome, 1935), 25ff.

52 chapter 1 in no way comparable to the sprawling growth of the legend of Francis.125 What is praised about Dominic concerns primarily matters of the intellect: wisdom, insight, power of mind, studiousness, persuasiveness, purpose­ fulness.126 These preferences in turn help explain the tendency, discernible already in the fourteenth century, to make the founder of the order, one who had denied all earthy honors, into a Cattedratico, into a Master of Theology, into a professor at the .127 The few spontaneous acts they reveal are certainly not “deeds of a wide-ranging power never before experienced, deeds that moved others immediately to flowing tears and to an enthusiastic humility,” as Erich Auerbach once said of Francis.128 They come less from the heart and more from the intellect, and they were not capable of captivating the masses.129 Dominic, with reddish-blonde hair, with a powerful voice and impressive hands (as the Bolognese sister Caecilia Cesarini remembered him)130 never shied from interacting with the papal curia, never forgot about its privileges, never misjudged the importance of juristic formulations.131 Dominic never babbled his prayers in the manner of a troubadour. He so ordered the prayers of the Officium in the choir, as canons were to do, in the language of the church.132 Francis, almond-eyed and dark-haired (as Cimabue represented him)133 died in 1226, singing.134 Ventura of Verona spoke only of the brief Incipite which the General of the Order of Preachers commanded his

125 Altaner, op. cit. (n. 2), xiv. 126 Jordan of Saxony, Libellus, 25, 28, 33–34, 37, 42, 54. Acta Canon. 124, 126, 128, 137. 127 R. Loneritz, “Saint Dominique écrivain, maître en théologie, professeur á Rome et Maître du Sacré Palais d’apres quelques auteurs du XIVe et XVe siècle,” in: afp 12 (1942), 84–97. 128 E. Auerbach, “Über das Persönliche in der Wirkung des hl. F.v.A.,” in: Deutsche Vierteljahrschrift für Literaturwiss. u. Geistesgesch. 5 (1927), 70. 129 B. Altaner, “Zur Beurteilung der Persönlichkeit und der Entwicklung der Ordensidee des hl. Dominikus,” in: Zeitschr. f. Kirchengeschichte 46 (1928), 396–407. 130 A. Walz, “Die Miracula Beati Dominici der Schwester Cäcilia,” in: afp 37 (1967), 44; A. D’Amato, G.G. Palmieri et al., Le reliquie di San Domenico (Bologna, 1946). On the ico- nography of S. Dominic Réau, op. cit. (n. 4), iii, 390–398; G. Kaftal, St. Dominic in Early Tuscan Painting (Oxford, 1948); M.Ch. Celletti, “Domenico, fondatore dell’Ordine dei Frati Predicatori vii: Iconografia,” in: Bibliotheca Sanctorum iv (Rome, 1964), 727–734. 131 M.-H. Vicaire, Geschichte des hl. Dominikus ii, 6. Appendix: the confirmation bull of Honorius iii, 279–290; idem, “La bulle de confirmation des Prêcheurs,” ibid., 124–141, 586–603. 132 I. Taurisano and A. Floris, Come pregava S. Domenico (Rome, 1949). 133 Cf. n. 4. 134 1 Cel, 109–111.

Francis and Dominic 53 brothers to sing, the liturgical, the impersonal commendatio animae, as his end neared in 1221.135

*

Francis was not merely a gentle soul, not only an ascetic driven by love of God and a concern for his own salvation. He was also a hard-nosed zealot for pov- erty, obedience and orthodoxy.136 Dominic combined with his genius and his lordly pedigree a refined sense of brotherhood, intellectual acumen and reli- gious richness. He was not only a man of the church but also of the Gospel.137 Already in the lifetime of their founder the Franciscans had erected houses of study;138 they began very soon after his death to circumvent the stringent requirements of his Testament;139 in 1260 they gave themselves constitutions that betray the influence of the Dominicans140 and brought them to bear in the fight against heresy.141 The Preachers, for their part, had to banish the endless debates of their schoolmen from the cloister and set their demands for spiri- tual development in the way of so much hollow careerism.142 In the thirteenth century the theologians, for their part, turned the order (at least in Germany) into a home for mysticism. The contrasts begin to dissolve upon closer inspec- tion, the sharp oppositions lose, in the daily course of history, most of their contour and clarity. And yet, for all of the assimilation, it is not without reason that the two founders were, already in the thirteenth century, set in opposition to one another as John and Paul, Esau and Jacob, Elijah and Moses, their orders

135 Acta Canon. 129, 163. 136 Cf. for example K. Beyschlag, Die Bergpredigt und F.v.A., Beiträge zur Förderung christli- cher Theologie ii, 57 (Gütersloh, 1955), which reads the Franciscan ethos as a dialectic between “community and isolation,” “lordship and service,” and “giving and receiving.” 137 M.- H. Vicaire, Geschichte des hl. Dominikus I, 13; H. Chr. Scheeben, Der heilige Dominikus (Freiburg i. Br., 1927), 407–421. 138 Cf. n. 13. 139 Cf. n. 21. 140 R.B. Brooke, Early Franciscan Government, Appendix ii. Relations between the Franciscan and Dominican Constitutions, 293–296; E. Wagner, Historia Constitutionum Generalium Ordinis Fratrum Minorum (Rome, 1954). 141 M. d’ Altri, “L’inquisitione francescana nell’Italia centrale nel secolo xiii,” in: Coll. Franc. 22 (1952), 225–250; 23 (1953), 51–165. 142 Humbert de Romans, Tractatus de instructione novitiorum, ed. J.J. Berthier, Opera ii, 525– 544; R. Creytens, “L’instruction des novices dominicains au XIIIe siècle,” in: afp 20 (1950), 147ff.; idem, “L’instruction des novices dominicains à la fin du XVe siècle,” in: afp 22 (1952), 201–226.

54 chapter 1 symbolized as ox and ass, raven and dove. And not without reason did Dante attempt to capture one in the image of a warming but also destroying fire, the other with the image of a light in the darkness. The differences between Francis and Dominic remain. In them the modern observer can discern not only the divergence of two different characters. They also capture the polarity between prophet and priest, Pneuma and Schema, Désire de dieu and Amour les Lettres, liberum charisma and rigidum ius, as well as the dialectic of religiosity as a ten- sion between piety and knowledge. That they both worked together and helped the church overcome one of its most serious crises could suggest that both, Francis and Dominic, flame and light, utopianism and pragmatism, belong together—lest the individual, the church and her orders, indeed the whole of society fall into the trap of either emotionless rationality or irrational emotionality. afh Archivum Franciscanum Historicum (Florence-Quaracchi, 1908ff.) afp Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum (Rome, 1931ff.) alkm Archiv für Literatur- und Kirchengeschichte des Mittelalters (Berlin-Freiburg i. Br., 1885–1900). cf Cahiers de Fanjeaux (Toulouse, 1966ff.). Coll. Franc. Collectanea Franciscana (Rome, 1931ff.) ef Etudes franciscaines (Paris, 1909ff.). fs Franziskanische Studien (Münster-Werl 1914ff.). gwu Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht (Stuttgart, 1949ff.). moph Monumenta ordinis Fratrum Praedicatorum historica (Rome- Paris 1896ff.) rhe Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique (Leuven, 1900ff.) rhlf Revue d’histoire de l’Eglise de France (Paris, 1910ff.) RThAM Recherches de Théologie ancienne et médiévale (Lowen 1949ff.) ww Wissenschaft und Weisheit (Düsseldorf 1931ff.) zgo Zeitschrift für die Geschichte des Oberrheins (Karlsruhe, 1851ff.) zsrg Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte (Weimar, 1863ff.)

chapter 2 Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri: Reflections on Fraternitas, Familia and Women’s Religious Life in the Circle of the Chapter of the Holy Sepulcher

The cartulary of the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem,1 compiled in the thirteenth century, contains a charter from the year 1212 that was later used as a formulary. In the charter the prior of the basilica of the Sepulcher grants to the provost of the chapter’s settlements (established in the territories of the after the fall of Constantinople) the potestas faciendi fra- tres et sorores.2 These and other similar conferrals of power,3 along with refer- ences to fratres and sorores found throughout the written records of the chapter, create the impression that from the earliest days of the Holy Sepulcher (and the order that emerged from it) there had been a culture of equality among its male and female members. And in that sense it is assumed to be appropriate, by way of analogy to the mendicant orders, to speak of a first and of the Holy Sepulcher.4 Upon closer consideration, however, this impression proves as misleading as the claim that the brothers and sisters mentioned in these documents were members of a military order associated with the Holy Sepulcher.5 References to ­fratres and sorores, present already in

1 E. De Rozière, Cartulaire de l’église du Saint-Sèpulcre de Jérusalem (1849), after ms Vat.7241. Cf. A. Tardif, Cartulaire de l’église du St-Sèpulcre de Jérusalem (Bibl. Écol. Chartes iii, 3, 1852), 513ff. 2 Rozière (n .1), 2. On dating: R. Röhricht, Regesta Regni Hierosolymitani mxcvii–mccxci, 1893, 231, Nr.861. On the recipient: R. Janin, L’église latine a Thessalonique de 1204 à la conquête turque (Melanges Severien Salaville = Revue des Etudes Byzantines 16, 1958), 212ff. 3 As examples: ad Haute-Savoie, Annecy, sa 215, Nr. 1 (1359); HStA Stuttgart, A 480, Urk. 113 (1461). 4 Cf. for example: M. Hereswitha, De Vrouwenkloosters van het Heilig Graf in het prinsbisdom Luik vanaf hun ontstaan tot aan de fransche Revolutie 1480–1789 (Universiteit te Leuven. Publ. op het gebied der Geschiedenis en der Philologie iii, 4, 1941), 9: “Zoals de uitdrukkingfratres op regu- lieren wijst, bedoelt de gelijkwaardige term sorores echte kloostervrouwen.” The following presume the existence of a female branch of the order founded in the twelfth century: F. Herve-Bazin, Les grandes ordres et congrégations de femmes, 1889, 52; P.H. Helyot, Histoire des ordres monastiques, religieux et militaires et des congregationes seculières, 1714–1716, iii, 122ff. and M. Heimbucher, Die Orden und Kongregationen der katholischen Kirche, 3rd ed. (1934), i, 458. 5 So for example. E. Persischetti Ugolini, L’ Ordine del S. Sepolcro nei documenti pontifici e nella tradizione della chiesa (1938), 16, invoking the charter cited in n. 2 above. To cite only the most recent of numerous publications in which the canons are seen as adherents of a military order supposedly founded by Godfrey of Bouillon, or as forerunners of a fourteenth cen- tury knighthood of the Holy Sepulcher composed mostly of noble pilgrims to Jerusalem:

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi 10.1163/9789004307780_004 56 chapter 2 the twelfth century, refer nowhere to members of a military order, and only seldom to male or female religious in the strict sense. In the overwhelming number of cases the references denote, through the almost stereotypical for- mula fratres et sorores, nothing more than the many different forms of life and organization through which communities and individuals, men and women, clergy and laity, noble and non-noble, found a way to associate themselves with the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem from the twelfth century on—without becoming, as canons, full members of the conventus. It is difficult to capture under one rubric the many and varied patterns of life that became established between cloister and world—prayer confraternities, the lives of donats and oblates, the lives of the conversi and of women who lived on the margins of canonry and . How to come to terms with that variety has been one of the most hotly debated questions among scholars of the religious orders in recent decades.6 But the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher and the forms of confraternity life, semi-religious life and women’s religious

I cavalieri del Santo Sepolcro, Tempi e figure 22 (1957); G.C. Bascape, Gli ordini cavallereschi in Italia. Storia e diritto (1972), 365–400. The most accessible treatment of the history of the Order of the Holy Sepulcher: V. Cramer, “Der Ritterschlag am Hl. Grabe,” Das Hl. Land in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart 2 (1940), 137–199; idem, “Das Rittertum vom Hl. Grabe im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert” (ibid. 3, 1941) 111–200; idem, “Das Rittertum vom Hl. Grabe im 16. Jahrhundert. Der Übergang in einen Ritterorden unter der Schutzherrschaft der Päpste” (ibid. 4, 1949), 81–159; idem, “Der Ritterorden vom Hl. Grabe vom Beginn des 17. Jahrhunderts bis zur Reform durch Pius x. 1600–1868” (ibid. 5, 1950), 97–174. 6 Cf. for example: U. Berlière, “Les fraternités monastiques et leur rôle juridique,” Mem. Acad. Roy. Belg., Lettres ii, 11, 3, (1920); K. Schmid—J. Wollasch, “Die Gemeinschaft der Lebenden und Verstorbenen in Zeugnissen des Mittelalters,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 1 (1967), 365–405; J. Duhr, “La confrèrie dans la vie de l’église,” Rev. d’hist. eccl. 35 (1939), 437–477; U. Berlière, “La ‘Familia’ dans les monastères bénédictins du Moyen Âge,” Mem. Acad. Roy. Belg., Lettres ii, 29, 2 (1931); J. Marchal, “Le ‘Droit d’oblat’. Essai sur une variété de pensionnés monastiques,” Arch. de la France monastique 49 (1955); K. Hallinger, “Woher kommen die Laienbrüder?” Anal. S. Ord. Cist. 12 (1956), 1–104; idem, “Ausdrucksformen des Umkeh­rgedankens. Zu den geistigen Grundlagen und den Entwicklungsphasen der Institutio Conversorum,” Stud. u. Mitt. z. Gesch. des Benediktinerordens u. seiner Zweige 70 (1959), 169–181; Ph. Hofmeister, “Die Rechtsverhältnisse der Konversen,” Österreich. Arch. f. Kirchenrecht 13 (1962), 3–47; J. Leclercq, “Comment vivaient les frères convers?” in: I laici nella “Societas Christiana” dei secoli XI e XII. Atti delle terza Settimana internazionale di Studio, Mendola, 21–27 agosto 1965, Miscellanea del Centro di Studi Medioevali V., Pubbl. dell’ Univ. Catt. del Sacro Cuore. Contr. iii 5 (1968), 152–176; J. Dubois, “L’institution des convers au XIIe siècle, forme de vie monastique propre aux laïcs,” ibid., 183ff.; U. Berlière, “Les monastères doubles aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles,” Mem. Acad. Roy. Belg., Lettres ii 18 (1924); St. Hilpisch, “Die Doppelklöster. Entstehung und Organisation,” Beitr. z. Gesch. des alten Mönchtums u. des Benediktinerordens 15 (1928); J. Orlandis, Los monasterios duplices españoles en la alta Edad Media (Estudios sobre instituciones monasticas medievales, 1971), 165, 202. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 57 life that emerged in its circles have remained all but ignored in those debates.7 This is in part due to the fact that the community of the of the Holy Sepulcher,8 though grounded in the humanae reparationis fons and the origo totius ecclesiae, and though highly venerated in the middle ages, has in modern scholarship been the subject of only overviews9 or investigations of one or another of its many aspects.10 There has still been no attempt at a com- prehensive history.11 The aim of the contributions presented here is not to engage directly all of the questions of recent research into the increasingly popular forms of lay or semi-religious community that emerged alongside monastic and canonical reform movements from the eleventh century—questions of origin, of charac- ter, of interdependence. The contributions presented here are in fact not even in a position to offer as clear and as nuanced an account as one might like of all the institutions of this kind that emerged in association with the Holy Sepulcher. This is not only because the sources for the history of the Canons of the Holy Sepulcher (unlike those of the military orders that emerged in

7 See for example C.D. Fonseca, “I conversi nelle comunità canonicali,” (I laici [see n. 6] 262–305) and the indices of the most important conference proceedings in this connec- tion: La vita comune del clero nei secoli XI e XII, Atti della Settimana di Studio: Mendola, settembre 1959. Miscellanea del Centro di Studi Medioevali iii., Pubbl. dell’ Univ. Catt. del S. Cuore iii, 2–3 (1962) ii, 333–352; I Iaici (see n. 6), 764–775. 8 De Rozière, (see n. 1) 287, 301 (1169): “Quoniam sacrosancta Dominice Resurrectionis eccle- sia quadam speciali sanctitatis, prerogativa merito ab omni populo Christiano devotissime veneratur et pio institutu humane reparationis ac universis deum colentibus fons et origo universalis ecclesie veraciter praedicatur….” 9 H.P.J. Vanderspeeten, “Ordres religieux du Saint Sépulcre,” Précis historiques 8 (1859), 173–180, 206–211; J. Ceyssens, “L’Ordre du Saint Sépulcre,” Leodium 6 (1923), 62–76; A. Couret, Notice historique sur l’Ordre du Saint Sépulcre de Jérusalem depuis son origine jusqu’à nos jours, 1099–1905, 2nd ed. (1905); W. Hotzelt, “Die Chorherren vom Heiligen Grabe in Jerusalem,” Das Hl. Land in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart. Gesammelte Beiträge zur Palästinaforschung 2 (1940), 1–7ff. Also worthy of mention: J.C. Dickinson, The Origins of the Austin Canons and their Introduction to England (1950) 83–84; Ch. Dereine, “Chanoines” DHGE xii (1953), 353–405. 10 P. Grech, “Les Chanoines du Saint-Sépulcre.” Institut Catholique de Toulouse, Faculté de Droit Canonique (unprinted Master’s thesis, 1958); G. Bautier, “Le Saint-Sépulcre de Jérusalem et l’Occident au Moyen Âge” (unprinted Master’s thesis of the École Nationale des Chartes, 1971); P. Grech desribes the organization of the chapter as it developed in the twelfth century on the basis of the cartulary (n. 1); G. Bautier approaches the subject mainly from the point of view of archaeology and art history. See also n. 181. 11 K. Elm, Der Ordo SS. Sepulcri Dominici Hierosolimitani. Untersuchungen zu Geschichte und Selbstverständnis des Kapitels vom Hlg. Grab (Habilitationsschrift, Freiburg, 1967) will soon appear in print. 58 chapter 2

Palestine) have scarcely been made available.12 It is also because of the history and the unique character of the institution itself. Unlike comparable orders like Prémontré, Arrouaise or St. Rufus its circumstance denied the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher the possibility of undisturbed growth, and thus the possi- bility of forming a relatively uniform constitution and way of life. As will be shown in the first of the following contributions, its history is much more strongly shaped by change, by new starts and unique developments. So much so, in fact, that one can hardly venture to establish genealogical or even system- atic connections between its many forms—those of an ordo tam longe lateque dilatus,13 developed and inherited over the course of almost a thousand years. What can be attempted in the face of these challenges is a presentation, more additive than analytical, of the evidence concerning the semi-clerical way of life that emerged under the red patriarchal cross from the twelfth century, and an effort to situate that presentation, at least provisionally, in the wider context of the Latin Church in Palestine and the history of the religious orders.14

12 Exceptions are the surviving materials of the foundation of Miechów near Cracow and the settlements of northwest Europe: S. Nakielski, Miechovia sive promptuarium antiquitatum monasterii Miechoviensis, 1634–1646; idem., De sacra antiquitate et statu ordinis canonicorum custodum S.S. Sepulchri Hierosolymitani, 1625; Z. Pięckowski, “Nie znane dokumenty Miechowskie,” Malopolskie Studia Historyczne 5 (1962), 34–38; idem., Miechów. Studia z dziejów miasta i ziemi Miechowskiej do roku, 1967, 429–436; F. Piekosinski, Codex dipl. Poloniae Minoris (Mon. Medii Aevi hist. res gestas Poloniae illustrantia = kdm, 1877ff.); J. Habets, “Diplomata Ordinis S. Sepulchri,” Publ. soc. hist. archeol. Limbourg 6 (1989), 368–382; idem. [P. Trecpoel], Chronijk der landen van Overmaas en der aangrenzende gewesten door eenen inwoner van Beek bij Maastricht, 1275–1507 (1870), here following: Publ. soc. hist archeol. Limbourg 7 (1870), 5–227; M. Willemsen, Oorkonden en bescheiden aangaade de kerk en het kapittel van St. Odilienberg, Codex diplomaticus Bergensis ii (1889), here following: Publ. soc. hist. archeol. Limbourg 22 (1885), 412–538; 23, (1886), 161–291; 26 (1889), 167–336; idem, “Deux notices sur l’Ordre canoniale du Saint Sepulcre. Appendices,” (1891), here following: Publ. soc. hist archeol. Limbourg 28 (1891), 247–405; 29 (1892), 17–65; M. Hereswitha, De Heilig- Graforde in de Nedergermaanse provincie (1366–1647), Bull. Com. Roy. Belg. 131 (1965), 231–360; idem, “Uit de geschiedenis der Heilig Graforde in Belgie en anngrenzende gewesten,” Augustiniana 22 (1972), 398–466; idem, “Documenten in verband met de geschiedenis der Heilig-Graforde tussen 1299 en 1762,” Augustiniana 23 (1973), 468–546; ibid. 24 (1974), 190– 208; K. Elm, Quellen zur Geschichte des Ordens vom Hlg. Grab in Nordwesteuropa aus deutschen und niederländischen Archiven (1191–1603) (Publ. Com. Roy. Belg., 1975). 13 This formula, used repeatedly by the archpriors of the order, is found in (among others): ArchivoDiocesano Barcelona, S. Ana, 0–1 (1479) and HStA Stuttgart, A 480, bundle 9 (1480). 14 I hope to be able to treat elsewhere the extra-regular coalitions of crusaders without any direct ties to the chapter. Studies of the formation of corporations in association with pilgrimage to Jerusalem in the later Middle Ages are being prepared by W. Schneider (Freiburg/Bielefeld). Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 59

i*

Immediately after the conquest of the Holy City, Godfrey of Bouillon and other magnates of the crusading army elevated a group of clerics that had accompanied them to Palestine to the rank of canonici ecclesiae dominici Sepulcri.15 The newly established canons were placed under the authority of Arnulf of Chocques, who had been elected patriarch of Jerusalem at the insis- tence of the Norman and Lotharingian crusaders. The canons were also entrusted with the liturgical service of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and provided with houses and incomes from the spoils of war that had fallen to the conquerors. The chapter was a composite of clerics of many different backgrounds, and it had a difficult time living up to the will of their founder as divini cultores officii. It had to steer into appropriate channels all of the spontaneous worship services that had begun after the fall of Jerusalem.16 Ongoing power struggles among the crusaders, and their conflicts over the office of patriarch, prevented the canons from carrying out their duties. Circumstance also demanded of the canons a way of life that, in the words of Paschal ii, stood in contradiction to the worthiness of the Holy Sepulcher, and allowed the latine puritatis consuetudo to become stained by heathens and non-Latins.17 Patriarch Gibelin, with the aid of King Baldwin, sought to improve this state of affairs, one that his predecessor Ebremar had tolerated, if not in a certain way institutionalized. But the introduction of the mensa communis (a proposal Gibelin advanced even on his death bed) remained unrealized.18 Only Arnulf (elected to the patriarchate again in 1112) and his successor Warmund were able (with the support of king and pope, and against heavy resistance) to lead the chapter to a life of obedience, poverty and chastity according to the Rule of Augustine. The thus helped establish a renovatio ecclesie Sancti Sepulcri that brought the lives of the canons into harmony with the esteemed rank of their titular church, and that marked the beginning of the history of the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher as a community of regular canons.19 The chapter took a distinctive place among all of the spiritual institutions of Jerusalem: in the hierarchy of Latin Palestine, its prior ranked above all

* The following summary rests on the work cited in n. 11. Individual references will be lim- ited to the citing of specific sources and verbatim citations. 15 William of Tyre, Historia, ix, 9 (rhc, Hist. Occ. i, 1), 376. 16 Albert of , Historia vi, 40 (ibid. iv), 490. 17 Rozière (n. 1), 9, J.-L. 6175. 18 Ibid., 78–80. 19 Ibid., 45. 60 chapter 2 other and . Prior and chapter enjoyed their rank by virtue of all of their important functions as a royal foundation and cathedral chapter—in lit- urgy, administration and the public life of the patriarchate and the kingdom of Jerusalem. The privileges enjoyed by virtue of this double role were not incon- siderable. But they paled in comparison to the incomparable prerogative of being, along with the patriarchs, guardian of the most precious relics in Christendom: the grave and the cross of the Lord. The task of standing watch over the grave of the Lord, as successors to the Angel, powerfully shaped the activity and spirituality of the chapter. To venerate grave and cross according to a liturgy that had grown out of both Greek and Latin traditions was the high- est honor and the actual raison d’être of the canons of the Holy Sepulcher. Yet their unequivocal primacy did not prevent the canons from carrying out the duties of pastoral care, of caring for the sick and of offering hospitality. Nor did they shrink from devoting enormous energy to the expansion and exploitation of their property, not only in order to secure the future exis- tence of their community, but also in order to contribute, in a not inconsid- erable way, to the maintenance of the holy sites of the region and to the protection of the Holy Land generally. And hand in hand with the acquisi- tion of property went the establishment of a network of settlements on both sides of the Mediterranean. Their members not only managed property and offered support to pilgrims on their way to the Holy Land. They also served all among the faithful who could not undertake a visit to the holy sites, above all by inspiring and maintaining devotion to the Holy Sepulcher. Their efforts were successful enough that by the end of the twelfth century the chapter Church of the Holy Sepulcher had grown to a religious order that had spread throughout all of Europe, the Ordo SS Sepulcri Dominici Hierosolimitani. The loss of Jerusalem and the fall of Acre did not mean, as one might have expected, the end of a chapter whose origins and history had been so inti- mately tied to Jerusalem and the Holy Land. Even in exile its members served the Holy Sepulcher, first in Acre and later in Perugia, and they continued to do so even as other Latin Christians took over the duties of guarding the Sepulcher in Jerusalem. They saw themselves as the only legitimate guard- ians of the Sanctum Sanctorum. Nevertheless the desire, despite so many changing circumstances, to advance the work that had begun in 1099 (if not realiter, then at least spiritualiter) could not prevent the decline of the chap- ter’s overall significance. Nor could it prevent the gradual decay of the ­organization that from the twelfth century had secured the chapter’s author- ity over its obedientiaries in Europe. While the chapter itself was soon Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 61 impoverished through both the loss of its titular church and its Palestinian and Syrian holdings, the prestige of its daughter houses and their began to grow. In England, on Cyprus and in the successor states of the Latin Empire in Byzantium, ties between patriarch and prior, weak from the begin- ning and difficult to maintain, began to dissolve. In Italy, Spain and France, in Germany, Poland, Hungary and Bohemia, distinct monastic congregations began to emerge (under the leadership, respectively, of the provosts or priors of Barletta, Annecy and La Vinadiére; Barcelona, Calatayud and Logroño; Droyssig and Denkendorf; Miechów, Zedras and Glogovinca). These con­ gregations, some of which soon branched out in all directions, were in prin- ciple subject to the directive authority of either the prior or the patriarch (the distinction was never clearly made), but in fact the histories of their organizations, their spirituality and possessions were shaped more strongly through their particular interests and local conditions than through any common heritage. The strong independence of their daughter houses and congregations made it possible for the Canons of the Holy Sepulcher to weather another crisis, one that threatened their existence just as much as their exile from the Holy Land. It came at the end of the middle ages, and ushered in a third phase in the his- tory of their community. In 1489 Pope Innocent viii ordered the dissolution of the chapter and conferred its holdings onto the Hospitalers. The mother house in Perugia and a number of Italian, Spanish, French and central German settle- ments fell victim to the measure, but the congregations in Spain, Poland, Hungary, Bohemia, Savoy, northern and southern Germany did not. While the southern German communities and the long-independent English founda- tions managed to sustain themselves only until the Reformation, the remain- ing canonries were able to maintain their autonomy (despite the effort of the foundation of Miechów to claim for itself the role of caput ordinis), as much as the bishops and the princes would allow, into the nineteenth century. The fourth phase of the history of the chapter—apart from the story of the ­community of the Canonesas del S. Sepulcro de Saragossa in the fourteenth ­century—does not follow neatly upon the third, which ended in secularization and confiscation in the nineteenth century. Rather, its beginnings stretch back to the middle of the fifteenth, to an effort at renewal that emerged in the Netherlands among the dependent houses of the community of Denkendorf in Württemberg. The most important fruits of that renewal were the communi- ties of the canonesses of the Holy Sepulcher, who in Belgium, England, south- west Germany and the Netherlands keep alive still today the tradition of the chapter founded in 1099. 62 chapter 2

ii

Already in the first years after the establishment of their chapter Patriarch Arnulf and the Canons of the Holy Sepulcher are said to have accepted the members of the foundation of Neufmoustier (founded by Petrus Eremita near Huy) into their community of sacrifice and prayer, and made them confratres Jherosolimitane ecclesie.20 This claim, made by Maurice of Neufmoustier, has with good reason come to be seen as an invention of the thirteenth century.21 But other more reliable sources leave no doubt that very early in its history the chapter established prayer confraternities with other spiritual institutions. It is known that in 1112 Patriarch Arnulf acknowledged a prayer confraternity with Fruttuaria;22 that in 1120/21 his successor Warmund established similar ties with the chapter of Notre Dame in Paris23 and the cathedral clergy of Santiago de Compostela;24 and that in the third decade of the century there was established among the canonries of the Holy City a Unio ecclesiarum25 that obligated its members not only to common remembrance of the dead, but also to provision of funeral services for their dead confratres.26 The loss of older memorial and anniversary books and calendars makes it impossible to move

20 De reliquiis et privilegio prefate ecclesie Novi Monasterii, in: G. Kurth, Documents sur l’abbaye de Neufmoustier près de Huy, Acad. Roy. Belg. Compte rendu des séances de la Commission royale d’histoire ou recueil de ses bulletins iv 2 (1892), 58–59; S. Gevaert, “La note de l’obituaire de l’abbaye de Neufmoustier,” Bull. des musées roy. d’art et d’histoire (1833), 137–139. 21 Ch. Dereine, Les chanoines réguliers au diocèse de Liege avant Saint Norbert, Acad. Roy. Belg. Lettres 47 (1952), 139ff. 22 S. Guichenon, Bibliotheca Sebusiana, sive variarum chartarum…centuriae ii, 1660, 116: Patriarch and chapter to the of Fruttuaria: “Mandatum, quod de fraternitate et soci- etate vestra per fratrem W. nobis direxistis, gaudenter suscepimus.” 23 mpl 162, col. 729; R. De Lasteyrie, Cartulaire general de Paris, 1887, i, 1711: “Hac ergo dilec- tione pro vobis sollicitus dominum venerabilem patriarcham et canonicos nostros rogavi, ut orationibus et beneficiis nostrae congregationis fratres et participes jungeremini, cui peti- tioni concedentes etidem a vobis rogant et requirunt.” On dating: G. Bautier, L’envoi de la relique de la Vraie Croix à Notre-Dame de Paris en 1120 (Bibl. Écol. Chartes 129, 1971), 387–397. 24 España Sagrada 20, 310: “pro vobis et pro statu Ecelesiae vestrae assidue orare decrevimus et eadem a vobis accipere obsecramus.” Cf. also: J. Richard, “Quelques textes relatifs aux pre- miers temps de l’église de Jérusalem,” in: Recueil de travaux offerts à M. Cl. Brunel (1955) ii, 423–426. 25 The term in E. Rey, “Chartes de l’abbaye du Mont Sion,” Mem. Soc. Nat. Antiq. de France 48 (1887), 47. 26 Kohler (n. 28) 434–435. On the designation confratres cf. also Rozière (n. 1) 136. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 63 beyond isolated reports to describe the nature and scope of the memorial bonds with other spiritual institutions.27 Nevertheless the prescriptions of the Liber ordinis28 and the Constitutiones29 regarding the obligations of liturgical memory, as well as the fact that the military orders30 and the Cistercians31 in

27 In comparison with the more recent surviving anniversary books (cf. n. 43), and in view of the range of comparable documents of other orders and institutions (Schmid-Wollasch, n. 6), the calendars ascribed to the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher in H. Buchtal, Miniature Painting in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem (1957), 140, 141, 143 and 145 contain so few rel- evant entries that one can hardly identify them with the memorial books mentioned in the Liber ordinis and Constitutiones. In view of the current state of research it is unlikely that alongside those that are known (n. 43) still other libri anniversariorum, “old written memorial books,” libri animarum, libri memoriales and necrologies, as they are called in inventories and charters (U. Durand-E. Martène, Voyage litt. de deux religieux bénédictins de la congr. de Saint Maur, 1711, i, 243; HStA Munich, Allg. Archiv, Württ. Extr. Verz. 35, A 97, A 229; mgh Necr. i, 172; Elm, Quellen [n. 12] no. 71), can be discovered. 28 The two known manuscripts of the Ordo secundum institutionem ecclesiae dominici Sepulcri (ms Barletta, S. Sepolcro; ms Univ. Bibl. Breslau, i Qu 175) have been only partially edited, described and evaluated: J.M. Giovene, Kalendaria, vetera manuscripta aliaque monumenta ecclesiarum Apuliae et Japygiae 1 (1828); Ch. Kohler, “Un rituel et un bréviaire du Saint-Sèpulcre de Jérusalem XIIe–XIIIe siècle,” Revue de l’Orient latin 8 (1900), 434–435; C.D. Fonseca, “Il ms. gerosolimitano della comunitità canonicale del Santo Sepolcro di Barletta,” Medioevo Canonicale. Pubbl. dell’ Universitità Cattolica del Sacro Cuore. Contr. iii 12, (1970), 193–195; A. Schönfelder, “Die Prozessionen der Lateiner in Jerusalem zur Zeit der Kreuzzüge,” Hist. Jahrbuch 32 (1911), 578ff. ms Barletta, S. Sepolcro, fol. 49; Kohler, 403: “In capitulo annuntiationes lectorum et cantorum leguntur et anniversaria defunctorum.” Ibid. fol. 496b, 433: “Si autem patriarche vel alicuius regum fuerit anniversarium, missa cum tractu….” 29 The antiquissimae constitutiones (ad Barcelona, S. Ana, 0–1) survive in fragments, excerpts and revisions of the fifteenth century. Cited here is the recension surviving from the Belgian monastery of Henegouw (Statuta canonicorum regularium Ordinis ss. Sepulchri monasterii Sanctae Crucis, Lüttich, 1742), 25: “De capitulo: Deinde pronunciet obitus, qui in kalendariis notati sunt.” 46: “De cantore: diem defunctorum computare…in kalendario anni- versaria scribere.” 82: “Pro poenitentibus vel quibus orationes ordinis conceduntur…singuli sacerdotes cantent…” 83: “Commemorationes quorundam regularium fratrum nobis socie- tate conjunctorum.” 30 A. De Morales, Kalendario de Uclés (Opusculos Castellanos, 1793, iii) 30ff. Cf: D.W. Lomax, La Orden de Santiago mclxx–mcclxxv (1965) 27–28, 46, 97, 222; J. Leclercq, “La vie et la prière des chevaliers de Santiago d’après leur règle primitive,” Liturgica 2 (1958), 347–357, though the chapter is here misunderstood as an association of “knights of the Holy Sepulcher.” 31 J. Wollasch, “Neue Quellen zur Geschichte der Cisterzienser,” Zeitschr. f. Kirchengesch. 84 (1973), 217. 64 chapter 2

Spain accepted the canonici de Sepulcro into their circle of memory and care, allow us to conclude that the chapter’s members continued to ally themselves with spiritual communities well beyond the twelfth century. Along with these corporate efforts, there was also a tradition of individual participation in the prayer and sacrifice of the chapter that reached back to the twelfth century. In September 1211 in Acre, in a ceremony before the main altar of the church of the canons who had fled there, a Spanish pilgrim was accepted in fratrem and granted the participatio omnium spiritualium beneficiorum sicut unus ex illis.32 In 1198 Patriarch Monachus and the chapter accepted a number of Polish nobility and prelates into their fraternitas, so that in this way they omnium oracionum et beneficiorum, que…in Hierosolimitana fiunt ecclesia…nobiscum pariter percipiant portionem.33 In doing so the patriarch called not only on the forma predecessorum nostrorum, but used almost the same words with which Archbishop Henry of Reims in 1174 had been granted the fraternitas of the chapter,34 and with which in the 1130s the faithful in Palestine had described their participation in the prayer and sacrifice of the canons.35 Based on the available sources, it was Patriarch Ebremar who, by promising the benefits of prayer and liturgical memory36 to Bishop Lambert of Reims in 1104, opened up individual membership in the chapter and church of Jerusalem’s community of prayer and spiritual merit. The cases witnessed through contract and official

32 España Sagrada 50, 436: “Hoc autem donum feci in Acon quando Sepulcrum Domini visitavi coram Dominio Sancio Priore eiusdem ecclesie et canonicis, qui aderant super altare mag- num, et fui ibi receptus ab eisdem in fratrem, ut habeam participacionem omnium spiritua- lium beneficiorum sicut unus ex illis.” 33 C. Maleczyński, Codex dipl. nec non epist. Silesiae, 1959, ii, 186; H. Appelt, Schlesisches Urkundenbuch, 1963ff., i, 43ff.: “Nos Monachus Dei gracia sancte Resurrectionis ecclesie patriarcha una cum eiusdem ecclesie nostre capitulo et fratrum collegio ad formam predec- cessorum nostrorum patriarcharum…. notum facimus…universos episcopos Polonie, duces, barones, viros et mulieres, quorum nomina inferius leguntur, ob helemosinarum suarum beneficia ecclesie dominici sepulcri collata in eiusdem domus nostre fraternitatem et consor- cium recepisse, ut omnium oracionum et beneficiorum, que hinc et in…Hierosolimitana fiunt ecclesia…eandem…nobiscum pariter percipiant portionem.” This rich source is character- ized by Nakielski (Miechovia [n. 12], 83) as a fragment of an Album patriarchale, and by H.R. Zeissberg “Kleinere Geschichtsquellen Polens im Mittelalter,” Archiv f. Österr. Gesch. 55 (1877), 5 as a Liber fraternitatis. On the basis of the diplomatic analysis of Appelt one could also see it as an “excerpt” from the Liber fraternitatis of the Church of the Sepulcher. 34 Prior Peter and the chapter are clear (rhgf xvi, 1878, 200): “omnium oracionum et benefi- ciorum, quae in ecclesia Dominici Sepulcri fient, vos participem constituimus.” 35 Rozière (n. 1), 311: “nos confratres et orationum ac beneficiorum suorum participes….” 36 mpl 162, col. 677: “In orationibus et in aliis beneficiis…scitote vos esse consortem….” Cf. n. 156. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 65 guarantee, however, are only a fraction of the confraternity ties37 established between the canons and the faithful in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. We can say with great certainty that King Baldwin iii,38 Queen Melisende,39 Count Amalric of Ascalon40 and Hugh of Ibelin,41 who styled themselves as fratres and sorores of the canons, also belonged to the spiritual fraternity. And with equal certainty we can assume a similar bond among numerous others— the German emperors, the kings of France and England, the rulers of Aragon and Castile, León and Sicily—whose not inconsiderable gifts and privileges allowed them an early role in the establishment of the chapter.42 Fraternal affiliation with the chapter, that is to say participation in its prayers and sacrifices acquired through special contributions, was not limited to Palestine. Nor was it limited to the first centuries of the history of the chapter. Well in to the modern era, just as the patriarch and the prior had done in Jerusalem and Acre, provisors and quaestors of the Spanish and Italian, the Polish and Bohemian, the northern and southern German dependencies all helped others find acceptance into the fraternitas of the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher.43 What changed over the course of time was the number and status of those who were accepted into membership, the nature of their organization and the manner in which the spiritual work of the chapter was defined. Already from the twelfth century there was a tendency to establish more precisely what in meant to participate in the orationes and beneficia of the canons, which until that time had been formulated only in a general way. In 1196 Celestine iii secured for the confratres of the chapter the privilege of church burial even in

37 Cf. nn. 27–29. 38 Rozière (n. 1), 110: “fratres nostros canonicos Sancti Sepulcri.” Similarly ibid., 114. 39 Ibid., 92: “fratres nostros Dominici Sepulcri canonicos.” 40 Ibid., 115: “Dominici Sepulcri canonicis et confratribus meis.” Similarly ibid., 117, 121 and 124. 41 Ibid., 128: “fratribus meis Sancti Sepu!cri canonicis.” Similarly ibid., 133. 42 Detailed proof forthcoming in the article cited in n. 11. Mentioned here is only one of the many usages that suggest a meaning in the sense of a fraternal relationship: (kdm [n. 12] ii, 50): “circa dictum sanctum Sepulcrum deserviencium me comitt[o] orationibus.” 43 Entries in lists of Nomina permansura (ra = Rijksarchief Gelderland, Arnheim, Arch. Heeren en Graven van Culemborg, 8046, 3), memorial books (HStA Stuttgart, A 480, H 51, fol. 265), calendars (HStA München, Allg. Arch., Württ. Extr. Verz. 35, A 23) and anniver- sary books (ahn Madrid, Ord. Mil., S. Sepulcro de Calatayud, Memorias de las fundacio- nes antiquas, Sec. de Cód. 782 B; ad Barcelona, S. Ana, N-l: Nekrologfragment), pledges of admission (Besson [n .53] 119), contracts of admission (Stadtarchiv Speyer 1 A, Nr. 401/6), declarations of admission (Elm, Quellen [n. 12] Nr. 4, 15, 25, 29) und other brief notices (K.J. Erben among others, Regesta diplomatica nec non epistolaria Bohemiae et Mora­ viae = rbm, 1890, iii, 365). 66 chapter 2 the case of interdict, as long as the fratres were not excommunicated or per- sonally responsible for the issuing of the church’s sentence.44 The privilege was repeatedly confirmed by subsequent popes,45 and in the fifteenth century it was combined with another, one that in its substance can also be traced back to Celestine iii:46 license to be provided last rites and to be buried by the Canons of the Holy Sepulcher, without regard to the rights of parish clergy.47 Many contracts also expanded these general rights with special stipulations regarding the funeral services. Alongside individual guidelines for the funeral itself and for liturgical memory, they usually required burial in the churches or the cemeteries of the canons, thereby securing proximity to the grave of the Lord and thus hope for the day of Resurrection.48 Hand in hand with this cen- tral concern for proper funeral services, so typical for these as for other forms of Fraternitas, went a concern for liberation from the penalties of sin. Celestine iii guaranteed a commutation of a seventh or a third of all punishment.49 Gregory xi,50 Alexander v51 and Eugenius iv52 then sponsored a dramatic expansion by not only granting the confratres a broad array of privileges, but also by allowing participation in every indulgence ever conferred upon the order or its individual members. With the attempt in the fifteenth century to draw together all of the rights and privileges inherited by the confratres into

44 Celestine iii, 13.2.1196, J.-L. 17324; Rozière (n. 1) 236–237. Cf. also J.-L. 16708. 45 Urban ii., 27.9.1262, kdm (n. 12) ii, 117. 46 Cf. n. 44. 47 Celestine iii., 26.10.1191, Elm, Quellen (n. 12) n.1. Cf. España Sagrada 49, 411. B. Joh. v. Lüttich, 24. 3. 1496, Willemsen, Oorkonden (n. 12) 215: “eucharistie et extreme unctionis sac- ramenta ecc!esiastica habere et retinere, illaque…infirmis vestris ac fratribus et sororibus confraternitatis dicti vestri ordinis ministrare mortuosque id exigentes sepelire ac eorundem exequias et anniversaria celebrare possitis et valeatis, vobis similiter indulgemus.” 48 Cf. for example rbm (n. 43) iii, 365 (1323): “Prepositus et…conventus me in vita et in morte patrem meum et…matrem meam in suam confraternitatem receperunt me in suo monaste- rio sepulturi ac de lapide sepulcrum meum tecturi, clipeum in ecclesia suspensuri, condignas exsequias modo funeri impensuri tercium septimum ac singulos per annum trecesimos per- acturi.” Similarly revealing: S. Santeramo, Codice diplomatico Barlettano iv, 64, 100, where the cimiterium of S. Sepolcro in Barletta is described as a locus confraternitatis. 49 Celestine iii, 28. 12. 1191, Besson (n. 53, 433–434): “Praeterea constituimus ut quicumque confrater Jerosolomitanae ecclesiae esse voluerit, quod sibi admonitione divina promittere placuerit, annuatim fratribus reddat, et tertiam partem iniunctae sibi poenitentiae dimis- sam sibi cognoscat.” 50 Gregory xi, 6. 3. 1371, Willemsen, “Deux notices” (n. 12), 382–388. 51 Alexander V, 28. 8. 1409, Willemsen, “Deux notices” (n. 12), 385. Idem, 25. 5. 1410, Arch. Vat. R. Lat. 144, fol. 174r-v. 52 Eugenius iv, 23. 4. 1431, R. Arnold, Repertorium Germanicum: Eugen iv. 1, 1892, 878. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 67 brevicula or litterae indulgentiales, it became clear that the original participatio omnium orationum et beneficiorum had expanded to an almost unimaginably vast array of special graces and spiritual rights. Alongside the privileges and indulgences already mentioned, alongside the participation in the merits of prayer, fasting, vigils and sacrifice in what must have been more than 2,800 , churches, chapels and hospitals of the order, the confratres and sorores of the chapter enjoyed the fruits of every merit won in the Roman church and on the pilgrim roads to the Holy Land.53 In the later middle ages, as in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, accep- tance into the fraternity of the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher came normally out of gratitude for some special special service rendered to the chapter. From the fourteenth century at the latest, however, it became an extension of an older practice, one used in the first years of the church in Jerusalem: an instru- ment through which the quaestionarii worked to create a broad clientele who could support the chapter over the long term.54 Their rounds of begging usu- ally took place once a year, were undertaken with the permission and support of Curia55 and bishops,56 and were grounded in the authority of the privileges that had been granted to them and to their order. Each tour drew numerous

53 The collections of privileges listed here are in need of closer investigation, both with regard to their mutual interdependence and the authenticity of the papal privileges they incorporate: StA Breslau, Rep. 103: Kreuzherren Neisse; ahn Madrid, Ord. Mil., S. Sep. de Calatayud, Doc. eccl., Carp. 5, Nr. 53; ibid., Carp. 4a, No. 24; ibid., S. Juan (Castilla), Carp. 576, Nr. 3; HStA Stuttgart, A 480, Urk. 28–29; HStA München, Allg. Arch., Württ. Extrad. Verz. 35. A.L. Jegher, La gloire de l’ordre canonial régulier du S. Sépulcre Hierosolimitain de N.-S. Jésus-Christ (1626); Nakielski, Miechovia (n. 12) 305–308, 520–526; Anciens statuts de l’ordre du…Saint Sépulchre de Jérusalem (1776), 91; J.A. Besson, Memoires pour l’histoire ecclesiastique des dioceses de Genève…(1759), 443–444; rbm (n. 43) vii, 528–529; Willemsen, “Deux notices” (n. 12), 382ff.; Elm, Quellen (n. 12) Nr. 25, 29. On the accumula- tion of privileges between the monasteries of Miechów and Speyer see the exchange of letters in Nakielski, Miechovia (n. 12), 500ff. 54 Cf. for example J. Delaville Le Roulx, Cartulaire général de l’ordre des Hospitaliers de S. Jean de Jérusalem (1100–1310) (1894) i, 9–11 (1101): Numerous benefactors who gave to an elemosi- narius S. Sepulcri a donation ad victum et ad vestitum clericis S. Sepulcri received from Paschal ii and Patriarch Dagobert absolution ab omni vinculo delictorum suorum. These indulgences are likely best seen in connection with the general crusading indulgence: A. Gottlob, Kreuzzugsablaß und Almosenablaß, Kirchenrechtl. Abhdlg. 30/31 (1906). 55 Urban iv, 24. 2. 1262, Württ. Urkundenbuch vi, 1894, 84; Nicholas iv., 1. 4. 1290, ibid., 354. In both cases the issue of authenticity should be pursued in connection with the investi- gations suggested in n. 53. 56 A. Cartellieri—K. Rieder, Regesta Episc. Constant. (= rec) iii, 1913, 92, no. 7522; iv,1941, 232, no. 12005; 305, no. 12709. Elm, Quellen (n. 12) no. 7. 68 chapter 2 followers, who had themselves recorded in the confraternity books as confra- tres and sorores and who thereby obligated themselves to repeated financial contributions, as well as to participation in the annual meeting of the chapter. An example from the community of Culemborg in the Netherlands, founded in the second half of the fifteenth century, makes clear how great was the num- ber of the faithful who were accepted into the brotherhood by the receptores fraternitatis: The confraternity book of this community survives only in frag- ments, but it lists no fewer than 500 men and women, along with the members of their immediate family, arranged by parish membership. One can thus assume that within the area of influence of this one community, nearly every soul was bound to the order as fratres et sorores.57 The obligation, in return for acceptance, of regular dues and regular gathering with the brothers and sisters of the diocese led, with a certain inevitability, to the formation of corporations, to brotherhood in the narrow sense. Already at the end of the fourteenth and in the course of the fifteenth century it became common for local chapters to use their own seals and to adopt special names (tam sancta nostri ordinis con- fraternitas, que per Gregorium undecimum ac pluros alios summos pontifices sancta venerande passionis ac gloriose resurrectionis domini nostri Jhesu Christi confraternitas intitulatur).58 Thereafter, in the seventeenth century, the trans- formation from the fraternitas to the confratria59 reached its highpoint. Under the leadership of provosts they themselves elected, under their own statutes, often with their own chapels and altars, the members of these local confrater- nities united veneration of the Holy Sepulcher and participation in the merits and privileges of its order with ideals of mutual support and care in both life and death.60 The result was a synthesis of spiritual community and self-help

57 ra Gelderland, Arnheim, Arch. Heeren en Graven van Culemborg, 8045. For comparable numbers among the Franciscans: H. Lippens, “De litteris confraternitatis apud fratres minores ab ordinis initio ad annum usque 1517,” Arch. Francisc. Historicum 31–32, (1938– 39), 276–329, 49–88; A.G. Little, “Franciscan Letters of Fraternity,” The Bodleian Library Record 5, 1, (1954), 16ff. 58 Elm, Quellen (n. 12) no. 15 (1465), no. 29 (1501). 59 ad Haute-Savoie, Annecy, sa 216, no. 1 (1359): “potestas statuendi, revocandi et ordinandi contratrias seu confraternitates nomine Sanctissimi Sepulcri.” Similarly Elm, Quellen (n. 12) no. 15, 29. 60 Cf. for example Státní Ustředni Archiv (= sua), Prag, Listíny Česk. zouš. klášteru, Nr. 1896; Nakielski, Miechovia (n. 12) 120–121, 421, 850–851; Officium parvum SS. Sepulchri pro usu Confraternitatis tituli ejusdem in ecclesia Canonicorum SS. Sepulchri Dominici Hierosolymitani erectae (1664); E. Olivan Baile, “Los Hermanos del Santo Sepulcro de Jerusalén en Zaragoza,” El Noticiero (1964); Dittrich, “Beiträge zur Geschichte der Kreuzherrn mit dem doppelten roten Kreuz in Neisse,” Jahresb. d. Neisser Kunst- u. Altertumver. 18 (1914), 32. Cf. also n. 293. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 69 association that—more strongly than its own members may have been aware—loosened the bonds between this confraternity and the Holy Sepulcher, and brought it more fully into line with a range of so many other brotherhoods of the cross and the grave that were actually independent of the chapter itself. The Cartularium of the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher, so illuminating for the circumstance of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, reveals alongside the fratres and sorores already mentioned another group, whose status differs from the former by virtue of a stronger material association with the conventus canonicorum. These are the married and unmarried faithful, whether men and women, who typically offered an endowment to the chapter or even handed over all of their property, thereby acquiring for themselves not only participa- tion in the community of prayer and spiritual merit, but also contractually established claims to protection and material provision.61 Sometimes these claims were reduced ob fraternitatis recordationem to symbolic offerings like wine and bread on specific feast days.62 But most often they secured the provi- sion of clothing, food and housing in old age, in sickness, or for those unable to inherit.63 And alongside this form of oblatio or traditio (which is in evidence above all in Jerusalem) there emerged in Magna Mahumeria (a new commu- nity64 settled by the chapter between Jerusalem and Nablus) another kind of fraternal association, one in which ecclesiastical and feudal affairs were tightly intertwined.65 Alongside numerous inhabitatores,66 bound to the chapter through a kind of citizen’s oath, there were also fratres67 (like Robertus Porcarius, who is so often mentioned in the charters)68 who, we can assume, handed over all of their property to the chapter, and then received it back for their own use in a ceremony of investiture presided over by the prior.69 The extent to which the cases of oblation and subordination to the chapter men- tioned here (in Magna Mahumeria, subordination to a dispensator, provisor

61 Rozière (n. 1), 201, 207. 62 Ibid., 200. Similarly 242. Total renunciation of reciprocation: ibid., 216. 63 Ibid., 154, 199, 204, 311. 64 J. Prawer, “Colonization Activities in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem,” Rev. beige de phil. et d’hist. 29 (1951), 1096ff.; F.M. Abel, “Les deux ‘Mahomerie’ El-Birch, El-Quobeibeh,” Rev. Biblique 35 (1926), 273ff.; G. Beyer, “Die Kreuzfahrergebiete von Jerusalem und Hebron,” Zeitschrift d. dtsch. Palästinavereins 65 (1942), 198–199. 65 See in this connection the parallelism between feodum, fraternitas and amicitia (Rozière [n. 1], 214). 66 Rozière (n. 1), 243–244. 67 Ibid., 240, 249. 68 Ibid., 240–241, 242. 69 Ibid., 240ff. 70 chapter 2 and magister clientium)70 were bound with a spiritual sacrifice, perhaps even the adoption of a semi-monastic way of life modeled on northern Italian peni- tential communities,71 cannot be determined on the basis of the reports that come from the Holy Land.72 The sources are also silent regarding the place of the milites73 who were, whether temporarily or lastingly, in the service of the chapter. A rich literature has thought itself able to discern in these figures a military order of the Holy Sepulcher ostensibly founded by Godfrey of Bouillon.74 Whether the military contingents actually put into service by the chapter formed a militia that was also spiritually tied to the canons cannot be definitively decided. But it is crucial not to dismiss out of hand another possi- bility: that alongside the militia Templi,75 who prayed more canonicorum regu- larium, and who have been described in recent research as a kind of “” of the Holy Sepulcher,76 there was also a militia S. Sepuchri. Admittedly, of course, its development stagnated so early that at best one seems justified in making comparisons with the Templars and Hospitalers only with regard to a common genesis, not with regard to later developments. Traditio and oblatio, too, like participation in prayer and sacrifice, were in no way limited to the Holy Land. In almost every overseas foundation of the chap- ter, from the twelfth century deep into early modernity, there is evidence of fratres and sorores who bound themselves to the chapter as oblati, donati or traditi, and who at certain times found their way into close association with the canons, even sharing the same space as incolae monasterii, commensales or

70 Ibid., 249ff. 71 G.G. Meerseman—E. Adda, “Pénitents ruraux communitaires en Italie au XIIe siècle,” Revued’hist. eccl. 49 (1954), 232–390. 72 Prawer (n. 64) no. 1097 sees in the fratres of Magna Mahumeria “a kind of fratres conversi.” 73 Livre des Assises de la Haute Cour (rhc, Lois, i), 426. Also: R.C. Smail, Crusading Warfare 1097–1193 (1956), 89–91. On individual crusaders who stood in servitio Sancti Sepulcri or who are designated visitors of the Holy Sepulcher: K. Schmid, “Graf Rudolf von und Kaiser Friedrich i,” Forsch. zur oberrh. Landesgesch. 1 (1954), 202; J. Aschbach, Geschichte der Grafen von Wertheim (1843), 63ff.; J. Hermens, Der Orden vom heil. Grabe (1870), 25. 74 Cf. n. 5. 75 W.V. Tyrus, Historia xii, 7 (rhc, Hist. occ. i, 1), 520; L. De Mas-Latrie, Le Chronique d’Ernoul et de Bernard le Tresorier (1871), 70; G. Schnürer, “Die ursprüngliche Templerregel,” Stud. u. Darst. aus dem Gebiet d. Gesch. iii 1–2 (1903), 135; H.E. Mayer, “Zum Itinerarium Peregrinorum,” da 20 (1964), 213–214. 76 J. Leclercq, “Un document sur les débuts de Templiers,” Rev. d’hist. eccl. 52 (1957), 85; Ch. Dereine, Le Moyen Âge 59 (1953), 197; idem, dhge xii, col. 370. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 71 praebendarii.77 In these cases, too, as in the Holy Land itself, the range and variety of the duties the fratres and sorores carried out, and the obligations embraced by the canons in return, is not inconsiderable. What is more clearly visible in the surviving sources of the foreign obediences than in the houses of the Holy Land itself is the degree of spiritual and institutional obligation estab- lished by oblation. It ranges from the obligation to allow property held as a life tenancy to be handed over to the chapter after death,78 to material provision79 in return for the promise, in the event of a conversio, of entering the Order of the Holy Sepulcher,80 to the adoption of the vita religiosa in the full sense of adopting monastic life. But even these close spiritual ties allowed for a range of possibilities. In a charter issued in Spain in 1179 a frater of this kind obligated himself tenere obedienciam et castitatem secundum vestrum ordinem et nos- trum.81 Similarly, in 1226, the clothing provided for a soror was described as vestes religiosae bonae et sufficientes.82 In 1277 in Speyer female oblates lived in the life of beguines in their own curia.83 In Barletta in the fourteenth century, oblates answered to a pater spiritualis personally assigned to them.84 In 1507 in Zuid-Beveland, a donatus under the leadership of a commendator obligated himself to the vita contemplativa in a cloistered community, as long as his wife agreed to the separation.85

77 Cf. n. 43. 78 E.g. España Sagrada 50, 426: “offero et dono me ipsum deo et sancto Sepulcro Jerusalem cum omni mea hereditate…in mea vita vivam ego in illa hereditate…quando transiero de hoc seculo…totum veniat ad …Deo et ad Sancti Sepulcri Jherusalem (sic).” Cf. ibid. 50, 142; ibid. 49, 440–441. 79 ahn Madrid, Ord. Mil., S. Sep. de Calatayud, (n. 43) no. iv: the arrangement is for “panis et aqua toto tempore vitae” (1293). ahn Madrid, ibid. no. v: “mantenere in victu et vestitu como canonigo” (1273). España Sagrada 49, 395 (1177); ibid., 378 (1159). Prebend contracts of the fifteenth century from Speyer (HStA München, Allg. Arch., Württ. Extrad. Verz. 35, A 43– 45, 47–49) and Barletta (Santeramo [n. 48] iv, 64). 80 Rozière (n. 1), 162–163; Württ. Urkundenbuch ii, 18; M. Golobardes, El Sepulcro de Peralada (1955), 29 (1143). 81 España Sagrada 50, 429. 82 Golobardes (n. 80), 29. 83 HStA München (n. 79), A 207. Further references to conversae and beginae in the Necrology (ibid. A 23). 84 Santeramo (n. 48) iii, 126–127; iv, 100. 85 Elm, Quellen (n. 12), no. 38: “rogavit…considerans nichil tutius morte et nichil incertius hora mortis, volens emendare, plangere et deflere peccata sua et ex post in vita contemplativa Deo servire…ut ipse commendator …eundem…recipere vellet in laicum sui ordinis vel in familiam.” 72 chapter 2

These forms of fraternitas in the circles of the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher were never sharply distinguished from one another, either in their substance or their terminology. They were intertwined and grew together cumulatively. They are also in part characterized by the certain fluid way in which they allow the periphery to be drawn to the center, to the fraternitas, the conventus, the congregatio, the coetus or consortium of the canons.86 This kind of movement was not rare. In fact it was often considered a possibility already at oblation, and formulated as a legal right. So in 1142 Berthold of Denkendorf, as he offered up his property to the Holy Sepulcher in the presence of his peers, gave the assurance, ut…si forte mihi in animo venerit, ut omnia relinquens in ecclesia Sancti Sepulcri Jherusalem, vel in ea, que est in Denkendorf, divine religioni me subdam, dominus patriarcha et prior Dominici Sepulcri…absque omni contradic- tione me recipiant.87 Conversely, in 1189 the prior of the Spanish convent of Peralada obliged the nobleman Ramón de Cerviá, upon his donation of prop- erty, to adopt the habitus religiosus of the order should Ramón ever resolve to enter religious life.88 Two institutions offered another way (more direct than the paths outlined here) to make the transition from the ranks of the laity to the status canonico- rum. One of them allowed access to the chapter only to a limited circle, the other only in a symbolic way: the royal canonry, and the canonry ad succur- rendum. The latter form of participation, which was acceptance into the order upon one’s deathbed,89 seems to have been embraced by King Baldwin ii. In 1131, as he faced death, he had himself brought before the patriarch of Jerusalem to receive (as was customary upon the profession of canons) the robe de reli- gion and to become chanoine rilez, a regular canon.90 The existence of the royal canonry—conferred by the king himself on solemn feasts, though nor- mally undertaken by one of his chaplains—is not so easily visible in the

86 Rozière (n. 1). 87 Ibid., 162–163. Württ. Urkundenbuch ii, 18. 88 Golobardes (n. 80), 30. 89 M. Figueras, “Acerca del rito de la profesión monastica medieoval ‘ad succurrendum’,” Studia Monastica 1 (1960), 359ff.; J.B. Valvekens, “Fratres et sorores ‘ad succurrendum’,”Anal. Praem. 37 (1961), 323–328; W. Brückner, “Sterben im Mönchsgewand. Zum Funktionswandel einer Totenkleidsitte,” Kontakte und Grenzen. Probleme der Volks-, Kultur- und Sozialforschung. Festschrift für Gerhard Heilfurth zum 60. Geburtstag (1969), 259–277. 90 The translator of William of Tyre (rhc, Hist. Occ., i) 602, puts it this way: “Tantost guerpi abit et toutes choses qui à roi apartenoient, et vesti de robe de religion, si devint chanoines rilez de l’ordre de l’eglise del Sepulcre.” The translation is even more emphatic than the original (ibid. 602): “ipse vero Christi verus confessor, habitum religionis assumens et vitam regularem professus, si viveret, ei qui spirituum pater est, tradidit spiritum.” Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 73 sources. The presence of the king in the chapter,91 which is mentioned in the constitutions; the liturgical memory provided for him in the Liber ordinis;92 the place of honor granted to him in worship services;93 the evidence that he referred to himself94 as confrater or concanonicus—none of this is sufficient to prove with certainty the existence of an institution. But in light of the willing- ness of the kings of Jerusalem to embrace western ceremonies and symbols of rulership (a point made clearly a few years ago),95 one may assume that the Latin rulers of Palestine availed themselves of the canonry, too, as a means of representing and securing royal rule.96

iii

In its oldest surviving charters the chapter of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher presents itself as a community of clerics with diverse duties and ranks.97 Only seldom is there mention of individuals and groups who, as servants with diminished rights, lived under one roof with the clerics, in the shadows of the church of the Sepulcher.98 Setting aside the fratres and sorores who enjoyed provision and shelter from the chapter by virtue of a traditio or oblatio, evi- dence of laity in the cloister precincts is limited to a few, mostly passing refer- ences. In 1129 there is mention of a puer nutritus;99 in 1135, mention of a

91 Statuta (see n. 29), 25–26: “De capitulo: Quod si episcopus vel abbas, vel archidiaconus vel etiam rex aliquando capitulum introiverit: assurrgentes ei omnes cum ante eos transierit. Quod si fraternitatem quaesierit assurgentibus omnibus concedatur ei per librum.” 92 Kohler (n. 28), 433–434. 93 B. De Khitrowo, Itinéraires Russes en Orient (1899), 78. 94 See nn. 38–39. 95 H.E. Mayer, Das Pontifikale von Tyrus und die Krönung der lateinischen Könige von Jerusalem. Zugleich ein Beitrag zur Forschung über Herrschaftszeichen und Staatssymbolik, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 21, 1967, esp. 185–186. 96 On the nature and function of the royal canonry: H. Nottarp, “Ehrenkanonikat und Honorarkapitel,” Zs. d. Savigny-Stiftung f. Rechtsgesch. Kan. Abt. 14 (1925), 189–192; A. Schulte, “Deutsche Könige, Kaiser, Päpste als Kanoniker an deutschen und römischen Kirchen,” Hist. Jahrbuch 54 (1934), 137–177; H.W. Klewitz, “Königtum, Hofkapelle und Domkapitel im 10. und 11. Jahrhundert,” Arch. f. Urkundenforschung 16 (1939), 134–139. 97 Rozière (n. 1), 157–158, 160, 180, 207. 98 On the building: H. Vincent—F.M. Abel, Jérusalem. Recherches de topographie, d’archéologie et d’histoire ii: Jerusalem nouvelle (1914), 260ff.; M. Clapham, “The Latin Monastic Buildings of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher of Jerusalem,”Antiquaries Journal 1 (1921), 26ff. 99 Rozière (n. 1), 2, 154. 74 chapter 2 prebendary provision in the refectory of the chapter unius servientis; in the same connection, the conduct of the superior of the Hungarian hospital is compared with the provision of a soror ecclesie necessitati fratrum providens;100 and finally, in 1155, a charter issued by Patriarch Fulcher and Prior Amalric dis- tinguished between clerici and laici among all those sub titulo ac pro honore Dominici Sepulcri…militantes.101 These scattered hints in the charters can be supplemented by the provisions of the constitutions and the Liber ordinis, which can be assumed to have governed the life and activity of the order from the twelfth century.102 The information that can be taken from them is uneven with respect to the groups noted thus far. Fratres, fratres laici, conversi, fratres simplices and sorores are mentioned so often, however, that the distinction made by Fulcher and Amalric can be assumed valid not only for the broader familia, but also for the core community of the chapter.103 The fratres and the canonici, distinguished more sharply in the Constitutions than in the Liber ordinis,104 together carried out (as far as the education of the fratres allowed) the duties of community prayer in the choir;105 participated together in the meetings of the chapter106 and ate together (albeit at separate tables) in the refectory.107 Both canonici and fratres had also as novices to endure a proba- tionary period, to which the canons were admitted by the patriarch and the prior, the fratres by the prior alone.108 Both groups were to be clothed de com- muni panno et ab uno vestiario,109 though there were differences in the cut of

100 Ibid., 201. 101 Ibid., 327. Date according to Rhöricht (n. 2), 81, no. 315. 102 Cf. nn. 28–29. 103 Cf. n. 101. The statutes are a summary of older and newer elements of the constitution. Only with a critical edition will it be possible to discern the different levels from one another. The statutes also betray divergent particulars with respect to lay monks and conversi. The measures cited here clearly register an earlier stage in the tradition’s development. 104 Statuta (n. 29), 30, 35, 42, 52, 63, 69ff., 73, 85. The claim of M. Hereswitha thus stands cor- rected: “Het verband tussen de wetgeving van de Heilige-Graforde en die van de Orde van Prémontré in de XIIe eeuw,” Anal. Praem. 47 (1971), 16: “om de kanunniken to beduiden, gebruikt SS. de term fratres et canonici.” 105 Ibid., 20ff. 106 Ibid., 25ff., 41. Cf. the instructions of the Liber ordinis, according to which the Patriarch, after Prime on Ash Wednesday “fecit sermonem in capitulo ibidem omnibus canonicis et fratribus congregatis.” (Kohler [n. 28], 410). 107 Ibid., 30. 108 Ibid., 35 f., 42, 50, 88. 109 Ibid., 78: “De eommuni panno nec de alio omnes tam clerici, quam laici vestiantur et ab uno vestiario.” Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 75 their clothes,110 just as in cut of their hair and beard.111 Fratres and canonici alike were placed under the prior as the de facto head of the community, though the canons confessed only to him, while the fratres could also acknowl- edge their sins to the sub-prior.112 The penalties imposed on both are essen- tially identical.113 The subordination of the one group to the other is made clear, however, in that clergy repeatedly convicted of apostasy were transferred to the community of the laity.114 Another difference is revealed in how each group spent its time in between choir, chapter and meal times: the canons devoted themselves above all to reading, the fratres to manual labor.115 Concerning recruitment, numerous witness lists make clear116 that not only at the beginning but in the longer course of the twelfth century, fratres and can- onici came from the ranks of laity and clergy who came to the Holy Land from overseas. From the middle of the century at the latest, however, they also come from the ranks of the chapter itself, from its and its school. This is made clear from the prescriptions of the Constitutions regarding the accep- tance and education of novices,117 and the numerous references in the Liber ordinis to the pueri who took part in the liturgy of the chapter.118 Given the purpose of the constitutions and the Liber ordinis, they do not speak explicitly of the community’s servants in the narrow sense, of famuli and ancillae.119 But there can be no doubt that both within and outside of its actual precincts the community availed itself of laity for the performance of humble duties—the care and nourishment of the poor and the ill as well as the collec- tion of alms. And though they did not belong to the order, these laity, too, stood

110 Cf. the instructions for funeral services in ms Vat. Barb. lat. 659, fol. 12v: “secundum ordi- nem, suum induantur, hoc est si ipse defunctus fuit sacerdos sacerdotis indumentis, si diaco- nus…diaconi, si conversus fuerit conversi…”—although here it must be considered that the clerical vestments are not comparable with the monastic habit. 111 Ibid., 78, 84, 87ff. 112 Ibid., 42. 113 Ibid., 61ff. 114 Ibid., 69ff. 115 Ibid., 26ff., 28. 116 Rozière (n. 1) 53 and passim. Cf. also: R. Röhricht, “Syria Sacra,” Zeitschrift des dtsch. Palästinavereins 10 (1887), 42–48. 117 Statuta (n. 29), 35, 42, 50, 88. 118 Kohler (n. 28), 338, 402, 413; Schönfelder (n. 28), 594. 119 The Constitutions (Statuta [n. 29] S.31, 34, 54, 57) speak repeatedly of servitores, though one must assume that neither they, nor indeed the ministri (ibid., 22, 27ff.) are members of formal status, but servants of the chapter. 76 chapter 2 alongside it, in the words of Patriarch Fulcher and Prior Amalric, tam vicini quam longe positi, as militantes sub titulo ac pro honore Dominici Sepulcri.120 The presence of lay women,121 though assumed on the basis of the surviving charters of the church of the Sepulcher, is not mentioned at all in the liturgical texts. And in the constitutions the presence of women is mentioned only in such a general way122 that there is no proof, on that basis alone, of the accep- tance of religiosae into the community of the canons. But if one wants to assume that already in the twelfth century there were women in the circles of the church of the Sepulcher who were bound to the chapter not only through prayer or traditio, one must turn to the practice of the dependent houses that in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were still closely bound to the mother house in Palestine. In the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth century, in Acre,123 Huesca,124 Barcelona,125 Perugia126 and Zderas127 near Prague there is mention of women who are not only described as sorores, cruciferae, fratrisse or incolae monasterii, but who also, as it was put in 1228 in Huesca and in 1200 in Acre, lived or died intus in domo S. Sepulcri. If in these cases it cannot be ruled out that these women were traditae, oblatae or donatae in the sense dis- cussed above, then at least in one case, that of the Spanish woman Abadesa, such a qualification is not necessary. Her contract with the prior of the domus SS. Sepulcri in Catalonian Peralada makes clear that in 1226 she donated almost all of her property to that community.128 In return she received not only the participatio in omnibus bonis spiritualibus, but also in omnibus bonis temporali- bus, which found its expression in the provision of victus et vestitus and accep- tance in domo nostra. Along with these assurances, which bound together the advantages of spiritual association through prayer and oblation, the new soror et consocia was given the opportunity to have herself accepted, at the appropri- ate time, into the status religiosus in the proper sense. This meant that the

120 Statuta (n. 29), 53: Mention here of pellifices, sutores, hospites and infirmi. 121 See n. 101. 122 Statuta (n. 29), 26, 77, 82, 98. 123 Rozière (n. 1), 330: “Uxor Petri de Yspania fuit soror nostra et mortua fuit in gardino nostro in Accon…” 124 España Sagrada 50, 441: “Prior et Fratres Domus Sancti Sepulcri detis mihi omni tempore victum et vestitum honorifice, sicuti uni Fratrisse intus in Domo Sancti Sepulcri de Osca.” 125 ad Barcelona, St. Ana, Carp. 4; Golobardes (n. 80), 30. 126 as Perugia, Corp. relig. soppr., S. Luca, Reg. 2, fol. 17v. 127 rbm (n. 43) iii, 760 (1332): “Clara crucifera Sderasiensis.” Ibid., vii, 732 (1362): “Benedicta, vidua Wilhelmi quondam de Bor, matrona nostra et nostri monasterii incola, soror et benefactrix.” 128 Golobardes (n. 80), 30. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 77 prior would invest her, like a canon, with crux et habitus ordinis nostri, and would accept her into the convent proper quasi domina et soror. The clergy who were bound to the chapter of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, like the laity, were not a homogenous group. Along with the canons who were sacerdotes, diaconi et subdiaconi, there were also capellani, presby- teri, clerici and sacerdotes129 in the circles of the church who belonged neither to the chapter nor to the domus or the familia of the patriarch.130 Perhaps they were vicars or beneficed clergy who carried out long or short term representa- tive duties—so for example the 1133 arrangements for the provision of funeral services for deceased canons,131 in which the priests were not only provided with the clothing of the deceased, but also honored with the right to enjoy his prebend for one year.132 And far on the margins of the clergy who were associ- ated with the chapter (as revealed in an 1171 agreement between the Bishop of Lydda and the prior of the chapter) were those who, having been presented by the chapter and ordained by the appropriate bishop, carried out divine ser- vices in parish churches incorporated by the chapter.133 The nature of the rela- tionship between the Canons and communities of secular clergy that assisted in the performance of divine services in places like St. Demetrios in Saloniki134 and at S. Sepolcro in Barletta135 is similarly difficult to establish, as is the case with the Church of the Sepulcher itself—where the Latin canons of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries remained, after all, only one part of a much larger community of non-Latin Christians who worshiped at the Holy Sepulcher.136 The association of groups of different status and with different duties, so characteristic of the chapter in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, also remained decisive for the corporation and its affiliates even after the fall of Jerusalem—allowing of course for a shift in the importance and function of the various groups as dictated by their temporal and geographic circumstance. As a consequence of the dissolution of the vita communis137 in many com- munities from the thirteenth century, for example, the importance of the laity

129 Statuta (n. 29), 23, 42, 46, 52, 82. 130 Rozière (n. 1), 236, 302. 131 Statuta (n. 29), 97; Kohler (n. 28), 434. 132 Mayer (n. 95), 186 sees this funcion as one of the representative duties of a royal canon. 133 Rozière (n. 1), 323. 134 Honorius iii., 28. 3. 1213, 9. 8. 1222, Presutti, no. 1193, 4105. Misunderstood by Janin (n. 2), 213. 135 Santeramo (n. 48) ii, xvii. 136 See now Elm (see n. 11). 137 ad Barcelona, S. Ana, Urk. no. 505 (1306); España Sagrada 50, 455 (1306), 447 (1249), 452(1293); Nakielski, Miechovia (n. 12), 623ff. 78 chapter 2 and clergy who stood in service of the chapter and its membra increased remarkably. In many dependencies they took on not only the duties associ- ated with agriculture, manufacture and administration.138 They also took on (as beneficiarii, presbyteri commensales, vicarii, procuratores, administratores and magistri) such central tasks as leadership and supervision of churches, chapels and hospitals,139 the organization of new foundations140 and the visi- tation of established communities.141 In certain instances the development of this trend was remarkable: Rhineland communities in Worms and Speyer, for example, handed over the care of their sick brethren to a community of ser- vants who dedicated themselves solely to that purpose,142 and in Perugia the archprior soon allowed his household finances to be taken care of all but exclusively by laity and clergy who did not themselves belong to the order.143 Changes in the duties of lay brothers and conversi are closely associated with these developments. One can assume, to the extent that the sources allow such a conclusion, that there were brothers of this kind in almost every known community until the thirteenth century.144 Whereas the development of the women’s religious life, as will be shown, moved in the direction of more auton- omy, the lay brothers and conversi increasingly lost their importance over the same period. In the face of the rebelliousness of the conversi,145 so often

138 HStA München, Allg. Arch., Württ. Extrad. Verz. 35, A 229: “Statuta per ipsos capitulares iuranda et servanda”; ad Barcelona, S. Ana, 0–1: documents on the activities of ancillae; ra Gelderland, Arnheim, Arch. Heeren en Grafen van Culemborg, 8050–52: account books; as Perugia, Corp. rel. soppr., S. Luca, Reg. 2. 139 See n. 11 for the numerous hospitals associated with the order and their incorporated churches. 140 ad Haute-Savoie, Annecy, sa 216 (1359): appointment of a Benedictine as administrator of a community soon to be founded in Annecy. 141 See also rec iv (n. 56) iv, 440, no. 14057. 142 HStA München (n. 138). 143 as Perugia (n. 138) fol. 98v. 144 Along with the entries in the anniversary books in n. 43 cf.: Inn. iv., 7. 5. 1243, Willemsen,“Deux notices,” (n. 12), 360–361; Urban iv, 7. 6. 1262, Württ. ub. iv, 67; Idem, 26. 9. 1292, kdm (n.12) ii, 115; ad Barcelona, S. Ana, CO-1, fol. 36–36v (1274); HStA München (n. 138); Nakielski, Miechovia (n. 12), 156, 159, 303; kdm (n. 12) iii, 342; Hereswitha, Documenten (n. 12), 493; rbm (n. 43) iii, 477, Schlesische Regesten iv, 269; Elm, Quellen (n. 12) no. 5. 145 On May 1, 1261 the papal penitentiary Martin allowed the Prior of Denkendorf to absolve domus vestre clerici et laici who had been excommunicated for violence, resistance and disobedience (Württ. ub vi, 17–18). On May 7, 1281, Martin iv allowed the prior of Miechow, regardless of potential appeals, to undertake correctio excessum fratrum et con- versorum ecclesie…(kdm [n. 12] ii, 151). Cf. the high number of revolts of conversi that can be ­confirmed for the period from 1168 to 1308: J.S. Donelly, The Decline of Medieval Cistercian Laybrotherhood, Fordham Univers. Studies, Hist. Ser. 3, 1949. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 79 lamented in the second half of the thirteenth century, the chapter was not only pressured to limit their number146 but also compelled to restrict their rights. Hence the patriarch and prior, given the evidence of conversi who had ­broken the law, commanded that prelates of their congregations no longer allow lay brothers to participate in important chapter deliberations, and that they exclude lay brothers from all actus legitimi.147 Only in the course of the reform movements that began in the fifteenth century did there emerge in the Netherlands a renewal of the decayed institution of the conversi. In the stat- utes and the resolutions of the chapter, ordinances were established for the lay brothers148 that clearly looked back to the circumstances of the early days of the order.149 But the renewal remained limited to the reform circles of the Low Countries. The sixteenth and seventeenth century constitutions of the Spanish, Italian and Polish daughter congregations see no reason to concern themselves with regulating the place of the lay brothers.150 Thus a gradual process of sepa- ration, already discernible among the confraternities, soon becomes notable among the core community as well. The original diversity of lay and clerical elements is reduced to a clerical core, and the religious bonds between clergy and laity devolve into associations based merely on self-interest.151 The founders, leaders and earliest members of the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher could take as a model for their organization the Greek clergy who served the church of the Sepulcher before the fall of Jerusalem. They too secured the material and spiritual support of Western Christendom with the aid of

146 ad Barcelona, S. Ana, Urk. 744 (1306). 147 rbm (n. 43) iv, 547 (1343): “Pervenit ad nos ex veridica relacione, quod in partibus vestris per conversos sive laicos ordinis eiusdem multa scandala et dissensiones atque lites facte sunt et frequenter suscitantur…” Hereswitha, Documenten (n. 12), 487–489 (1343): “mandamus…ut de cetero in capitulo et secretis tractatibus conversos ad capitulum intrare non permittant, quo- rum voces auctoritate qua fungimur dicimus carere robore alicuius auctoritates.” See n. 151. 148 Hereswitha, “De priorij” (n. 181), 730–731; Elm, Quellen (n. 12), no. 27, 45. 149 ra Limburg, Maastricht, Archief Kl. Hoogcruts: Statuten der Begifte off Laibroeders Ordens des heiligen Graeffs ons Heren (1638); vgl. Hereswitha, “De priorij” (n. 181), 763–767. ra Gelderland, Arnheim, Arch. Heeren en Graven van Culemborg, 8046: Statuta quaedam ordinis ff. S. Sepulcri, fol. 25. 150 Constitutiones in generalis capitulis ordinis canonicorum regularium Custodum S. Sepulchri D. Hierosolymitani Miechoviae…annis 1585 et 1587 et 1598 celebratis sancitae (1598); Constitutiones primi Capituli generalis Ord. Can. Reg. Custodum S. Sepulchri Domini Hierosolymitani (1620); Constitutiones secundi generalis Capituli Miechoviensis Ord. Canon…. Hierosolymitani (1627); ad Barcelona, S. Ana, Co-2: Libre del more de la insigne Iglesia de Sta. Anna. 151 Hereswitha, Documenten (n. 12), 489: “Item cum ordo noster sit clericalis et fundatus super statutis sacrorum canonum, ideo de iure communi dicimus quod layci sive conversi non sunt ad aliquem actum legitimum admittendi.” 80 chapter 2 prayer confraternities,152 and allowed fraternally-organized lay organizations153 access to worship at the Holy Sepulcher. But dependence on older traditions (which can in fact be observed in matters of inheritance and liturgy, for exam- ple) was in no way a precondition for the organization of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The first patriarchs, along with the first dignitaries of the chap- ter, were by virtue of their heritage well acquainted with Western monastic and canonical traditions,154 and it is this that most easily explains the forms of orga- nization they chose to adopt. Arnulf of Chocques was, as has been shown,155 shaped by the schools and the monastic life of Normandy; Patriarch Ebremar felt himself closely bound to the reformer Lambert of Arras;156 Gibelin modeled his efforts at reform after the churches of Lyon and Reims;157 until his departure for the Holy Land, Prior Gerhard, who was so important for the chapter, had as

152 mgh Epp. iv, 350–351, no. 210: Alcuin to Patriarch George of Jerusalem. Gallia Christiana xiii, 141: Contract of Patriarch Sergius with Moissac and Cluny. Cf. A. Gieysztor, “The Genesis of the Crusades. The Encyclical of Sergius iv,” Med. et Ren. 6 (1950), 25ff.; J. Bousquet, “La fondation de Villeneuve-d’Aveyron,” Annales du Midi 75 (1963), 538–539: Commitment of Patriarch Sophronius to pray for the church of Villeneuve d’Aveyron, a dependency of the Holy Sepulcher. For an overview of the relationships between Jerusalem and the Latin West up to the Crusades: J. Ebersolt, Orient et Occident (1928), i, 89ff.; A. Michel, “Der kirchliche Wechselverkehr zwischen West und Ost vor dem ver- schärften Schisma des Kerullarios (1054),” Ostkirchl. Studien 1 (1967), 161ff. 153 T.P. Thelemis, “Les Grecs aux Lieux Saint,” Nea Sion 15 (1920), 403ff.; S. Pétrides, “Spudaei et Philopones,” Echos d’Orient 7 (1904), 341ff.; J. Duhr, “La confrérie dans la vie de l’église,” Rev. d’hist. eccl. 35 (1939), 446ff. 154 On the patriarchs of Jerusalem and the members of the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher: F. Kühn, Geschichte der ersten lateinischen Patriarchen von Jerusalem (1886); R. Röhricht, (n. 116), 42–48; L. De Mas Latrie, “Les patriarches latins de Jérusalem,” Rev. de l’Orient latin 1, (1893), 17ff.; W. Hotzelt, Kirchengeschichte Palästinas im Zeitalter der Kreuzzüge 1099–1291 (1940), 5ff.; R. Hiestand, “Chronologisches zur Geschichte des Königreiches Jerusalem um 1130,” da 26 (1970), 226ff. 155 C.W. David, Robert Curthose. Duke of Normandy (1920); R. Foreville, “L’École de Caen au XIme siècle et les origines normandes de l’université d’Oxford,” Études médiévales offertes à M. le Doyen Augustin Fliche (1953), 81–91; Idem, “Un chef de la prémiere croisade: Arnoul Malecouronne,” Bull. phil. et hist. du comité des travaux hist. et scient. (1953/54), 377–390; Cf. also: R. Musset, “Observations sur les collégiales Normandes au XIe siècle,” Rev. hist. de droit (1959), 267ff. 156 On origins: D. Moeller, “Les Flamands du Ternois au royaume latin de Jérusalem,” Melanges Paul Fredericq (1904), 194–195, and on the meaning of the relationship with Lambert d’Arras: L. Duflot, La restauration du siège episcopal d’Arras (1898); H. Sproemberg, Die Gründung des Bistums Arras im Jahre 1094 (Album E. Lauss, 1962). Cf. n. 36. 157 Rozière (n. 1), 79. On his activity as bishop of Arles and temporary administrator of the diocese of Avignon: M. Constantin, La sainte église d’Aix et Arles (1898), ii, 251; E. Granget, Histoire de diocèse d’Avignon (1862), ii, 369. On canonical reform in Lyon and Reims: Ch. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 81 abbot of Schaffhausen stood at the center of the circles associated with the Hirsau reform;158 the canon Ansellus maintained close ties to his home in Paris.159 Ties of this kind explain not only adoption of older monastic institu- tions like prayer confraternities and oblation,160 but also the monastic and canonical reforming spirit that allowed the acceptance of laity, whether men or women, into the claustrum.161 And it should be said, in the interest of being thorough, that the shaping force of Western models was not limited to the members of the chapter. The faithful, too, who advanced the cause and associ- ated themselves with it, allowed themselves to be led by religious practices,162

Dereine, “Vie commune, règle de Saint Augustin et chanoines réguliers au XIe siècle,” Rev. d’hist. eccl. 41, (1946), 366, 375. 158 K. Schib, Das Buch der Stifter des Klosters Allerheiligen (1934), 27ff.; F.L. Baumann, “Das Kloster Allerheiligen in Schaffhausen,” Quellen zur Schweizer Geschichte 3, (1883), 146ff.; H. Jänichen, “Die schwäbische Verwandtschaft des Abtes Adalbert von Schaffhausen 1099–1124,” Schaffhauser Beiträge zur vaterländischen Geschichte 35 (1958), 67ff.; A. Mettler, “Laienmönche, Laienbrüder, Conversen besonders bei den Hirsauern,” Württ. Vierteljahreshefte f. Landesgesch. 41 (1935), 239ff.; H. Jacobs, Die Hirsauer. Ihre Ausbreitung und Rechtsstellung im Zeitalter des Investiturstreites (Kölner Hist. Abh. 4, 1961), 23ff. Cf. also: J. Fechter, Cluny, Adel und Volk. Studien über das Verhältnis des Klosters zu den Ständen 910–1156 (1966), 16ff. 159 Cf. along with the literature cited in n. 23: G. Birkner, “Notre-Dame Cantoren und Succentoren vom Ende des X. bis zu Beginn des xiv. Jahrhunderts,” In memoriam J. Handschin (1962), 107. 160 Cf. n. 6. 161 In place of further proof it is enough to reference: I laici (n. 6). Especially: G. Tellenbach, “Il monachesimo riformato ed i laici nei secoli XI e XII,” 118ff.; C.D. Fonseca, “I conversi nelle comunitità canonicali,” 262ff.; N. Huyghebaert, “Les femmes laïques dans la vie religieuse des XIe et XIIe siècles dans la province ecclésiastique de Reims,” 346ff.; Fechter, (n. 158). 162 J.C. Anderssohn, The Ancestry and Life of Godfrey of Bouillon (1947). In this connection cf. the memorial service for Godfrey in Lyon and Saint-Nicaise de Meulan: M.-C. Guigue, Obituarium Lugdunensis Ecclesiae (1867), 73; A. Molinier, Obituaires de la Province de Sens ii: Dioc. de Chartres (rhgf, Obit. ii 1906), 240; C. Blanc, “Les pratiques de piété des laïcs dans les pays du Bas-Rhône aux XIe et XIIe siècles,” Annales du Midi 72, (1960) 137–147; E. Pasztor, “Sulle origini della vita comune del clero in Ungheria,” (La vita comune del clero, n. 7) ii, 71–79; J. Kloczowski, “Les chanoines en Pologne aux XIe–XIIe siècles,” ibid., 66–70; J. Szymanski, “Problemes de la ‘vita canonica’ dans la Pologne des XIIe et XIIIe siècles,” Aevum 38, (1964), 468–478. Here it is interesting to note that Jaksa von Miechów was not only the founder of the cloister of the same name, but also founder and patron of the Praemonstratensian canonry of Zwierzyniec and of the Benedictine abbey of Sieciechowie: Polski Stownik Biograficzny 10 (1962–64), 340–341. For the close ties of the founder of Denkendorf to All Saints in Schaffhausen and the reforming circles of Hirsau: Jänichen (n. 158), 67ff. For early ties in Perugia to the Abbey of S. Pietro there: M. Belucci, “Rapporti nel xii secolo fra l’Abbazia di S. Pietro in Perugia e l’Ospedale di S. Pietro del S. Sepolcro,” Boll. Dep. St. Patria Umbria 44, (1967), 69–73.On 82 chapter 2 legal norms163 and forms of organization164 that had been known in their homeland for ages, or that they had come to know in the wake of the ecclesiasti- cal renewal of their era. The ties with western monastic and canonical life that emerged organically at the beginning of the twelfth century remained strong through the rest of the century. And their broader development—the celebration of the liturgy, the ordering of cloister life and the community’s methods of household manage- ment—cannot be understood apart from the influence of the western churches and monastic congregations, to which patriarchs, priors and canons remained bound through ties of heritage165 and geographical proximity.166 The case of Patriarch Fulcher provides the most revealing evidence of this dependence: in the middle of the twelfth century, as he undertook a reordering of not only the liturgy but also of monastic life, he took as his model (as had been done before him) the Western European canonical congregations167— in this case the stat- utes of the .168

the crusaders of southern France and their relations with Cluny, among others, A. Fliche, “Urbain ii. et la croisade,” Rev. d’hist. egl. de France 13 (1927), 295ff.; Fechter (n. 161), 102ff.; H.E.J. Cowdrey, The Cluniacs and the Gregorian Reform (1970), 67 and especially J.H. Hill—L.C. Hill, Raymond de Saint-Gilles, comte de Toulouse, Bibl. Méridionale. Fac. Lettres Toulouse ii, 35 (1959). 163 J. Orlandis, ‘Traditio corporis et animae’. Laicos y monasterios en la Alta Edad Media espa- ñiola (Estudios sobre instituciones monasticas medievales, 1971), 219–378; F.-L. Ganshof, Étude sur les ministeriales en Flandre et en Lotharingie (1926), 167ff. 164 Along with n. 43 cf. for example: A. Eckhof, De questierders van den aflaat in de noordelijke Nederlanden (1909); P. Héliot—M.L. Chastany, “Quêtes et voyages de reliques au profit des églises françaises du Moyen Âge,” Rev. d’hist. eccl. 59 (1964), 60 (1965) 789–822 and 5–32. 165 Cf. along with Röhricht (n. 116), 42–48, the names of patriarchs and priors in the obituar- ies of Franciscan churches and cloisters: A. Molinier, Obituaires de la Province de Sens i,1: Dioc. de Sens et de Paris (rhgf, Obit. i, 1902) 164, 472; Idem., ibid. ii, 71, 230, 232; Boutillier du Retail—Piétresson de Saint-Aubin, Obit. Provo Sens iv (ibid. iv, 1923), 292; G. Guigue—J. Laurent, Obituaires de la Province de Lyon i (ibid. v, 1951), 345; J. Laurent—P. Gras, Obit. Provo Lyon ii (ibid. vi, 1965), 470. 166 M. Geudens, “L’Ordre de Prémontré en Palestine et en Chypre,” Rev. de l’Ordre de Prémontré et de ses missions 16 (1914), 35ff.; N. Backmund, Monasticon Praemonstratense i (1949), 397, 404–405. On Cîteaux, among others: E. Pfeiffer, “Beziehungen deutscher Cistercienser und ihrer Klöster zu Kreuz- und Pilgerfahrten nach dem Hlg. Land, 1100–1300,” Cistercien­ serchronik 47 (1935), 269ff. 167 Influences from St. Rufus are assumed, though not demonstrated, in A. Carier De Belleuse, Abbayes et prieures de l’ordre de Saint Ruf, Etudes et doc. sur l’ordre de Saint Ruf i (1933), and Ch. Dereine, “Saint Ruf et ses coutumes aux XIe et XIIe siècles,” Rev. Bened. 59 (1949), 163. 168 Discussion of the connections between the constitutions of the Holy Sepulcher and the statutes of the Praemonstratensians found in: P. Lefèvre, “Prémontré, ses origines, sa Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 83

The chapter of the Holy Sepulcher was not the only institution of the Latin Church in Palestine that looked to and in a certain way developed in harmony with Western models. From the beginning of the twelfth century, all of the institutions characteristic of that interdependence (prayer confraternities and other fraternal associations, oblates, conversi) were adopted (and modified according to circumstance and tradition) by other canonries in Jerusalem and the Holy Land,169 by Benedictines on Mount Tabor170 and in the valley of Jehoshaphat,171 by the Templars172 and Hospitalers,173 the Lazarites174 and the

permière liturgie, les relations de son code législatif avec Citeaux et les chanoines du Saint-Sépulcre de Jérusalem,” Anal. Praem. 25 (1949), 96–103; M. Hereswitha, “Het ver- band tussen de wetgeving van de Heilig-Graforde en die van de Orde van Premontre in de XIIe eeuw,” ibid. 47 (1971), 5–23. 169 Röhricht (n. 116), 41ff.; J. Soyer, “Les actes des souverains antérieurs au XIVe siècle ­ conservés dans les archives départementales du Loiret,” Le bibliographe moderne 18 (1916– 17), 63, No. ix, 69, 74–75, No. xii; A. Bruel, “Chartes d’, Abbé de N.-D. du Mont-Sion, concernant Gerard, évèque de Valanea et le prieure de Saint-Samson d’Orleans,” Rev. de l’Orient latin 10 (1903–04), 9–10 (1289); J. Ramackers, Papsturkunden in Frankreich nf 6, Abh. Akad. Wiss. Göttingen, Phil.-hist. Kl. iii, 41 (1958), 213–217, No. 149; J. Delaville le Roulx, Les archives, la bibliothèque et le trésor de l’Ordre de Saint-Jean de Jérusalem (1883), 76, 118. 170 Comte Riant, “Quatre pièces relatives à l’Ordre Teutonique en Orient,” Archives de l’Orient latin 1 (1884), 165; Prawer (n. 64), 1111, n. 4. 171 H.-F. Delaborde, Chartes de Terre Sainte provenant de l’abbaye de N.-D. de Josaphat, Bibl. Des Écoles franç. d’Athenes et de Rome 19 (1880) 23, 26–27, 47–49, 84–85, 92–94; Idem, “Chartes de l’abbaye de Notre-Dame de la vallée de Josaphat en Terre-Sainte (1108–1291),” Revue de l’Orient latin 7 (1900), 138. 172 Marquis D’Albon, Cartulaire général de l’ordre du Temple 1119?-1150 (1913), 97, 105, 131, 144ff.; A.J. Forey, The Templars in the Corona de Aragón (University of Durham Publications, 1973), 36–37, 376–377; E. Magnau, “Oblature, dasse chevaleresque et ser- vage dans les maisons méridionales du Temple au XIIme siècle,” Annales du Midi 73 (1961), 377–397. 173 J. Delaville Le Roulx, Cartulaire general de l’ordre des Hospitaliers de S. Jean de Jerusalem 1100–1310 (1894–1906), i: 22, 29, 39, 82, 102ff.; C.H.C. Flugi Yan Aspermont, De Johanniter- Orde in het Heilige Land 1100–1292, Van Gorcums Historische Bibliotheek 54 (1957), 87ff.; J. Riley-Smith, The Knights of St. John in Jerusalem and Cyprus c. 1050–1310, A History of the Order of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem i (1967), 229ff.; B. Waldstein-Wartenberg, “Donaten-Confratres-Pfründner. Die Bruderschaften des Ordens,” Annales de l’OSM de Malte 31 (1973), 9–19. 174 A. De Marsy, “Fragment d’un cartulaire de l’ordre de Saint Lazare en Terre Sainte,” Archives de l’Orient latin 2 (1884): 131, 139, 147. On the character of the Order: E. Visnay, Les lépreux et les chevaliers de Saint-Lazare de Jérusalem et de Notre-Dame de Mont Carmel (1884); 84 chapter 2

Teutonic Knights,175 by chapters like those in Bethlehem,176 Nazareth177 and Sidon.178 This openness, characteristic not only of ecclesiastical affairs but of political, economic and social matters as well,179 did not wane in the thirteenth century. The chapter of the Holy Sepulcher, like the church of Palestine and Syria as a whole, remained a full participant in the ongoing development of western religious life and its corporations,180 such that even upon the loss of the Holy Land its members did not find themselves foreigners forced into a European exile.

P. Bertrand, Histoire des chevaliers hospitaliers de St.-Lazare (1932); R. Petiet, Contributions à l’histoire de l’ordre de St.-Lazare en France, 1914. 175 E. Strehlke, Tabulae Ordinis Theutonici (1869), 73–74ff.; M. Tumler, Der Deutsche Orden im Werden, Wachsen und Wirken bis 1400 (1955), 383ff. 176 P. Riant, Études sur l’histoire de l’église de Bethléem (1889), 96ff.; Idem, “Éclaircissements sur quelques points de l’histoire de l’église de Bethléem-Ascalon,” Revue de l’Orient latin 1 (1893), 400. 177 Santeramo (n. 48) iv, 120: “Prior, capitulum, clerici offerti et confratres ipsius eccl. Nazarene.” 193: “habitus confratrie de Nazaret.” Idem, Canne-Nazareth-Barletta. Vescovi e archivescovi (1940). 178 Delaborde (n. 171), 84–85, 92–94. 179 Cf. for example J.L. La Monte, Feudal Monarchy in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem 1100–1291, Medieval Acad. of America 34 (1932); J. Richard, Le royaume latin de Jerusalem (1953); J. Prawer, Histoire du royaume latin de Jérusalem, (1969–1970), i–ii; H.G. Preston, Rural Conditions in the Kingdom of Jerusalem (1903); Prawer, “Colonization Activities” (n. 64); Idem, “Étude de quelques problemes agraires et sociaux d’une seigneurie croisée au XIIIe siècle,” Byzantion 22–23 (1952–1953), 5–61, 143–170; Idem, “Les premiers temps de la féo- dalité du royaume latin de Jérusalem,” Tijdschrift voor rechtsgeschiedenis 22 (1954), 402– 424; Idem, “La noblesse et le régime féodal du royaume latin de Jérusalem,” Le Moyen Âge 65 (1959). 180 L. Lemmens, Die Franziskaner im hl. Lande i, Franzisk. Studien, Beih. 4, 2nd ed. (1925); M. Roncaglia, Storia della provincia di Terra Santa i (1954); Idem, Saint Francis in the Middle East, 3rd ed. (1957); B. Altaner, Die Dominikanermission des 13. Jahrhunderts, Breslauer Stud. zur hist. Theologie 3 (1922); B. v. Luijk, Le monde Augustinien du XIIIe au XIXe siècle (1972), 43; C. Cicconetti, La regola del Carmelo. Origine-natura-significato, Textus et Studia Historica Carmelitana xii (1973); G.M. Giacomozzi, L’Ordine della Penitenza di Gesu Cristo. Contributo alla storia della spiritualità del sec. xiii, Scrinium historiale 2 (1962), 46; J. Richard, “La confrèrie des Mosserins d’ Acre et les marchands de Mossul au XIIIe siècle,” L’Orient Syrien 11 (1966), 451; J. Riley-Smith, “A Note on Confraternities in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem,” Bull. of the Inst. of Hist. Research 44 (1971), 301–308. On the politi- cal role of the confraternities: J. Prawer, Estates, Communities and the Constitution of the Latin Kingdom, Proc. of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities ii, 6 (1966) Cf. also: H.E. Mayer da 27 (1971), 615–616. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 85

iv

The emergence of independent communities of canonesses of the Holy Sepulcher was a result neither of developments in the Holy Land nor of any particular brand of crusading sentiment. As we understand it thus far, the development instead belongs to the history of the European continent. And it unfolded within two different episodes, each of them in an era when interest in crusading and the Holy Land had long since faded in comparison to the excitement surrounding the crusades in the eleventh and twelfth centuries.181 In early 1306, as the prior of the Holy Sepulcher undertook a round of visita- tions through Aragon, he learned of a novus locus sororum seu fratrissarum in Saragossa182 that, according to his own statements, had been founded by the

181 The contributions of Herve-Bazin, Helyot und Heimbucher to the history of the “female” branch (n.4) are outdated. Hereswitha, De Vrouwenkloosters (n. 4) and the studies that followed this work are foundational for the women’s settlements established in the wake of the reform of the orders in the fifteenth century: Idem, De Orde van het H. Graf in onze streken tot aan de hervorming van Jan van Abroek (Miscellanea Historica in honorem Alberti de Meyer, 1946) 457ff.; Idem, “De Orde van het Heilig Graf in de Nederlanden tot aan de Franse revolutie,” Taxandria 3 (1951), 120ff.; Idem, “De Sint-Martinuskapel te Bierbeek,” Eigen Schoonen-de Brabander 51 (1968), 122–141; Idem, “De priorij van de reguli- ere kanunniken van het Heilig-Graf te Sint-Odilienberg 1467–1639,” Augustiniana 21 (1971), 267–320, 725–769. E. Pleissner, Die Entwicklung des weiblichen Zweiges des Heilig Grabordens bis zur Gründung des Hauses in Baden-Baden, 1670, (manuscript, 1933), passes over the medieval phase of the history of the order. A.-M. Sevene, Les Chanoinesses et les Dames de l’Ordre du Saint-Sepulcre de Jérusalem (Les Chevaliers du Saint-Sepulcre par S.A.R. Le Prince Xavier de Bourbon-Parme, 1957), 85ff. makes no distinction between the chapter and the later knighthood of the Holy Sepulcher. K. Elm, Die Frauen vom Hlg. Grab und das Kapitel der Grabbasilika von Jerusalem in Mittelalter und Neuzeit, offers a sum- mary contribution for the celebration of the 300-year anniversary of the establishment of the community of the Holy Sepulcher in Baden-Baden (1970). We still do not have a his- tory of the older female settlements. This is especially the case for Spanish houses, whose not-inconsiderable archival records (ahn Madrid, Ord. Mil., S. Sepulcro de Calatayud, de Zaragoza; Archivo Col. de Calatayud; Archivo S. Sepulcro de Zaragoza) are cited only occasionally, if at all, in the surveys: Establecimientos de la Sagrada Orden Militar y Pontificia del S. Sepulcro. Memorias de la misma Orden desde su fundación hasta al pre- sente, 1893, 277–315; C. De Odrizola y Grimaud, Monasterio del S. Sepulcro de N.S. Jesucristo de Zaragoza. Memorias históricas referentes al mismo monasterio (1908); L. De La Figuera, El convento del santo Sepulcro (El Noticiero 1924); R. Del Arco, Zaragoza histórica. Evocaciones y noticias (1928). 182 España Sagrada 50, 455. 86 chapter 2 high noblewoman Marquise Gil de Rada, a daughter of Teobaldos ii of Navarre, after the death of her spouse Petro Fernández de Hijar, a natural son of James I of Aragon.183 A week later, on May 20, 1306, he had occasion to approve the foundation of a novum monasterium near the church of St. Mark in Calatayud. There the noblewoman Doña Guillerma Gil de Tarin, widow of Don Guillermo Ramón de Liñan, lord of Sestrica, had resolved to live a life with other sorores according to the regularis observantia of the order.184 Yet these women’s com- munities in Saragossa and Calatayud were not as recently founded as they might seem given the turns of phrase used by the prior and chapter, novus locus and novum monasterium. The Marquise de Rada, who had died before the visit of the prior, had until her death held the powers of gubernatio ac praela- tura over the congregation, which had established itself in one of her father’s territories. The foundation of the women’s community in Saragossa must have been settled, if not (as some authors claim)185 in 1276, then at least two or three years before the visitation by the prior of the Holy Sepulcher. And this assump- tion of a founding between 1300 and 1303 is in fact confirmed in the sources. The datum quo ante is revealed in a testament of the Marquise (issued on February 28, 1304) in which she makes a number of generous donations to the congregation in Saragossa, to which belonged a number of fratrissae, some of them from her own family.186 The datum post quem, on the other hand, can be discerned in light of a charter of oblation from November 13, 1300, in which the noblewoman offered herself con el cuerpo e con la anima, and donated to it the church of S. María de la Villa Viella in Híjar (which belonged to an allod of her husband), with the intention of founding a community for sisters and brothers

183 On the family of the founder and her spouse: J. De Blancas, Comentarios de las casas de Aragón, (1878), 150; Vilar y Pascual, Diccionario histórico, genealógico y heráldico iv (1900), 264ff.; A.-A. Garcia Carraffa, Diccionario heráldico de apellidos Españioles y Americanos xli (1932), 250ff., 264; lxxiv (1955), 150ff.; M.D. Quiroga, “Filiación genealógica y curiosos permenores de la casa de Rada,” Principe de Viana 16 (1955), 411–460. 184 España Sagrada 40, 454–455; V. De la Fuente, Historia de la siempre augusta y fidelissima Ciudad de Calatayud (1880) ii, 444; M. Martínez del Villar, Tratado del patronato y antigüe- dades de Calatayud (1598); J. Gonzalez Ayala, Canónigos del Santo Sepulcro en Jérusalen y Calatayud (1970), 107ff. On the history of the building, erected on the Roman city walls: G. De Gotor, Zaragoza artistica y monumental (1890); A. Navarro, Zaragoza, aportacíon a su geografía urbana (1957); R. del Arco (n. 181), 24ff.; F. Abbad-Rios, Catalogo monumental de España: Zaragoza (1957), 108ff.; F.B. Torralba, Guía artistica de Aragón (1960), 100. 185 J. Zurita, Annales de la Corona de Aragón (1669ff.), iii, 101. The date has become virtually commonplace in the literature, albeit without any evidence being provided. 186 Odrizola y Grimaud (n. 181) 13ff.; M. De Bofaruell y de Sartorio, El Registro del Merino de Zaragoza, el Caballero Don Gil Tarin 1291–1312 (1889), 287. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 87 of the Holy Sepulcher, in which she herself intended also to enter as freira et sierva.187 The 1304 testament also reveals that this plan did not come to frui- tion, but was instead given up in favor of another foundation, namely that of the community in Saragossa—whose establishment may thus be estimated to have been only after 1300. In the case of the women’s cloister in Calatayud, there is no doubt about the official founding in the year 1306. Just as certain, however, is that the community of women who settled in the new cloister was of older origins. On May 20, 1306, Doña Guillerma declared herself ready to endow the ecclesia, ortus et domus Sancti Marchi that belonged to the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher in Calatayud so strongly that a community could be established there, and she herself was a novice there at the time. In fact she had already begun to wear the habitus ordinis, but had not yet offered up her solemn profession. Nor had she passed the time of her novitiate alone, but rather cum sororibus secum degentibus, hoping that with the foundation of a community they would be able to follow the regularis observantia in a more fruitful and salutary way than before. Moreover, given the fact that from 1144 in Calatayud there was a house of the Holy Sepulcher, its main foundation in Aragon, it seems reasonable to assume that the noble novice and her sorores had, until the establishment of their own community, lived their religious life, if not in community with those canons, then at least in very close contact with them. Thus the foundation charter of May 20, 1306 appears with a certain prob- ability to have been an act of dividing an established community of canon- esses and canons.188 The convents of Saragossa and Calatayud are the oldest women’s communi- ties of the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher.189 Decades before their foundation, however, women in Bohemia had begun to live according to the observance of the chapter: The canonesses of Svetec, or Schwaz,190 whose community was established northwest of Bilin in the region of Telpitz-Schönau.191 The date and the circumstance of the founding of the community is not as clearly discern- ible as is the case with the Spanish houses noted above. It is not from the

187 Odrizola y Grimaud, 121. 188 ahn Madrid, Ord. Mil., S. Sero de Calatayud, Doc. Eccl., Carp. 4, Nr. 26. 189 Cf. n. 181. 190 J. Světek, Z dêjin konventu řádu svatého hrobu ve Světci u Bíliny (Zprávy studie o blastniho valstivědného muzea y Teplicich, 1969), 9–18 was not available to me. J. Hart, “Deutsche Ordensfrauen in den böhmischen Ländern,”Arch. für Kirchengeschichte von Böhmen- Mähren-Schlesien 2 (1971), 88–113 is, in light of Světek, in need of correction. 191 On the location: A. Profous—V. Svoboda, Místní jména v Čechách. Jejich vznik, původní význam a změny (1957), iv, 246. 88 chapter 2

­surviving documents of the cloister Svetec itself, but rather from an entry made in the thirteenth century in the necrology of the Premonstratensian commu- nity of Doxan, that we learn of a Bohemian noblewoman named Wratislava, who can be taken as its founder.192 Already in the middle of the last century it was seen as probable that the fundatrix cenobii Swetensis in the necrology of Doxan was Wratislava, the spouse of the richly-endowed Kojata von Brüx in northwest Bohemia.193 In 1227 this childless nobleman, closely related to the lords of Hasenburg and Schwabenitz,194 had willed his spouse life tenancy of certain lands near Teplitz and Brüx, under the condition that upon her death they were to be given over to the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher.195 From this evidence it was concluded that the foundation, witnessed for certain by 1257,196 had been founded shortly after 1227.197 One thing may have proved decisive in motivating Wratislava to found a women’s community of the chapter Holy Sepulcher after her husband’s death (and, possibly, to have adopted its way of life as a soror): Already before 1227, Kojata and his brother Vsebor had donated to the chapter (along with large estates in Bohemia and Moravia)198 the church of St. Peter at Zderas near Prague199— and so became the founders of the most important settlement of the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher in Bohemia.200 Quite independently of modern research on the religious orders, local histo- rians of Speyer have since the seventeenth century told of a community of “cloistered virgins” in their city, founded in the second half of the twelfth cen- tury, that had maintained close ties to the Holy Sepulcher. And according to a few witnesses, it was in fact a community of canonesses of the Holy Sepulcher.201

192 J. Emler, Necrologium Doxanense (sb. Böhm. Ges. d. Wiss., Phil.-hist. Kl. 1884, 1885), 89. 193 F. Palacký, Dějiny národu českého v Čechách i v Moravě (1894), i, 422–423. Also: V. Novotný, České dějiny (1928), i, 3, 613; J.V. Šimák, České dějiny (1938), i, 5, 617. 194 On the familial relationships: rbm (n. 43) ii, 95, 761, 914, 929, iii, 7, 9–20, 334 etc. 195 G. Friedrich et al., Codex diplomaticus et epistolaris regni Bohemiae et Moraviae (= cdb), 1904ff., ii, 300–302. 196 rbm (n. 43) ii, 60. 197 Cf. n. 193. 198 cdb (n. 195) ii, 239–242, 269–271, 300–302. 199 V.E. Mourek, Kronika Dalimilova, 2nd ed. (1910), 99; V. Chaloupecky, in: Praha romanská (1948) 41, 96. 200 Still provisionally on the history of Zderas: W. Tomek, Geschichte der Stadt Prag (1855), i: 490–497, 438–439; M. Lüssner, “O pozustćich kláštera a kostela Zderazského na Novém Meste Prazském,” Method 12 (1925), 61ff. 201 Ch. Lehmann, Chronica der Freyen Reichs-Statt Speyr (1612), 570. See also, among others: F.X. Rhiling, Urkundliche Geschichte der ehem. Abteien und Klöster im jetzigen Rheinbayern (1836) ii, 168–169; G.J.W. Wagner, Die vormaligen Stifte im Großherzogtum Hessen (1878) ii, 47–48; L. Stamer, Pfälzische Kirchengeschichte (1949) ii, 13. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 89

According to “ancient writings,” their community was said to have been founded by two citizens of Speyer in the time of Conrad iii near a church in a suburb of the old town. They had the church built upon their return from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, “in the same form and model as the church of Jerusalem and the memorial site of the burial of the Lord Christ.” The report, which if accurate would be of greatest significance for the history of the canon- esses of the Holy Sepulcher, is not lacking in historical foundation. Until its total destruction in 1689 there had in fact existed “a most interesting and important Romanesque building” that, according to surviving representations of the city can be seen as an imitation of the Anastasis.202 A charter issued in 1207 by bishop Conrad of Speyer, moreover, provides proof that in this church (which Frederick ii in 1214 described explicitly as ecclesia Sancti Sepulcri apud Spiram) there was in fact a conventiculum of mulieres, that is, a women’s con- vent.203 The claim that these women were sisters of the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher cannot be made with equal certainty. An act of Bishop Conrad speaks against this: in 1207, when he handed the church over to the Canons of the Sepulcher in Denkendorf for the establishment of a filial foundation, the bishop made the stipulation that before establishing their own community the brothers were to take care of the women, or transfer them ad alia conventicula eiusdem professionis cum earum voluntate—which would suggest that the women followed an observance other than that of the Holy Sepulcher.204 A necrology produced for the Speyer foundation in the fourteenth century con- tains a series of entries that may provide clues as to the relationships between the younger male community and the older women’s community.205 The entries provide the names of almost twenty women described explicitly as sorores nostrae. For a few of them, additional commentary and other docu- mentary evidence make clear that they belonged to the confraternity of the chapter, or had associated with it as oblatae, conversae or beguinae.206 Apart from these instances there remain eight women, of which seven are described tersely as soror nostra, one as custos ecclesie nostre. Since there have until now been no discoveries of further documents that would establish the relation- ships of these women to the chapter more precisely, it seems reasonable to assume that they were members of the older convent, whose names (along with those of the other thirteenth-century faithful) were taken up into the

202 B.H. Röttger, Die Kunstdenkmäler der Pfalz iii (1934), 521ff.; A. Becker, “Die Prozession zum Hlg. Grab in Speyer,” Pfälzisches Museum 20 (1903), 155–156. 203 Württ. Urkundenbuch ii, 356–357; iii, 11–12. 204 Ibid. iii, 11–12. 205 HStA München, Allg. Archiv, Württ. Extr. Verz. 35, A 23, fol. 6, 6v, 8, 10v, 12, 17, 19, 20, 20v. 206 HStA Stuttgart, A 480, H 14–15, 51, fol. 31 (1277), fol. 55 (1306), fol. 63 (1313) etc. 90 chapter 2 necrology. The assumption can be grounded in a stipulation of Bishop Conrad, according to which women not to be accommodated in alia conventicula eius- dem religionis were to be cared for in necessariis tam corporis quam anime amanter et diligenter. The simplest way to fulfill that demand would have been to leave the nuns in the church and to accept them into the established com- munity, even into the actual order. Such an interpretation might solve some of the problems of the early history of a Speyer convent of “Sepulchrians,” but it is insufficient to prove the local historian’s thesis that the convent founded in the middle of the twelfth century by the ecclesia Sancti Sepulchri apud Spiram was a community of Canonesses of the Holy Sepulcher. The independent convents of canonesses of the Sepulcher discussed thus far were directly subject, just as the male communities of the order, to the juris- diction and administrative authority of the prior of the Holy Sepulcher.207 Their superiors, in Spain called priorissae, in Bohemia magistrae,208 were invested by the prior per anulum,209 and obligated by an oath (in form identi- cal to that rendered by the canons in Jerusalem in the twelfth century) to be faithful and obedient to the church and chapter of Jerusalem.210 The sorores, too, indeed even the conversae and oblatae that we know were in the women’s convents, were directly subject to the archprior by oaths of fidelity and obedi- ence. The sorores swore the oath of obedience that was constitutive of their estate (based on a twelfth-century formula for profession) to him (and not, for example, their local superior).211 The conversi and oblates, for their part, were bound to prior and chapter in the sense that only he possessed the right

207 Cf. among others España Sagrada 50, 456–457 (1306): “Nos prioris praedicti et successorum eius et capituli Jerosolimitani jurisdictioni vel eorum focum vices gerentibtus subjicientes et eorum mandatis licitis et honestis humiliter promittimus obedire….” 208 rbm (n. 43) iii, 32, 62, 79ff., which reveals that in Svetec, alongside the office of Magistra there was also the priorissa subject to her. 209 Monasterio del Santo Sepulcro, Zaragoza, Archivo, Secco C., Nt. 1, fol. 42ff.: “Officium quando confertur primatus alicui sorori electe in priorissam” (before 1348). For S. Marco in Calatayud cf. Arch. Col. del S. Sep., Calatayud, Urk. 1. 10 (1312). 210 Ibid., fol. 47–47v: “Ego priorissa N. ab hac hora in antea fidelis ero sancte ieherosolimitane ecclesie domnoque nostro priori eiusque successoribus canonice intrantibus. Non ero in con- silio necque in facto, ut vitam perdat aut membrum vel capiatur mala captione consilium. Quod mihi aut per se aut per litteras aut per nuncium manifestabit, ad eius dampnum nulli pendam et patriarche ierosolimitane ecclesie et regulis sanctorum patrum adiutrix ero ad deffendendum et retinendum salvo ordine meo contra omnes personas.” For comparison, Rozière (n. 1), 1–2. 211 Ibid., fol. 1ff.: “L’Orden, que se deve tener para dar el abito a una religiosa del sco. Sepulcro.” Ibid., fol. 36vf.: “Ordo ad canonicum val sororem benedicendum vel professionem faciendum.” Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 91

(repeatedly and emphatically reclaimed in the thirteenth and fourteenth cen- turies) to accept conversi and to provide victus et vestitus to oblates.212 In fact, however, this right was exercised through vicars who carried out the duties of the prior in ultramarinis partibus.213 Since the power of the vicar was normally in the hands of the superiors of the larger filial congregations, the women of Saragossa, Calatayud and Svetec, apart from their official subordination to the archprior, were in fact subject to the governance of those superiors. In accor- dance with that custom, during his visit to Aragon the prior of the Holy Sepulcher conferred upon the prior of Calatayud the right to appoint and install the prioresses of the women’s communities, to shroud the nuns with their veils and to accept their profession, and to reform the communities tam in capite quam in membris.214 Subordination to the local canonries was only intensified through the associated duties of pastoral supervision. In Calatayud those duties were assumed directly by members of the chapter.215 From the beginning of the fourteenth century there is evidence in Svetec of canons installed as priors or procurators by the provost in Zderas.216 In Saragossa the spiritual leadership of the women was undertaken by canons from Calatayud. At first the canons lived together with the women, but from the 1360s they claimed their own monasterium near St. Nicholas in Saragossa, a church that had been incorporated into the women’s community.217 Among women who hailed from the circles of the high nobility and who enjoyed royal protection, such strict subordination to the superiors of the can- onries, including renunciation of the right to administer their own monastic property, was not accepted without resistance.218 That resistance emerged most forcefully in Bohemia, where at the beginning of the fourteenth century fierce confrontations flared up between the canons of Zderas and the sisters of Svetec super terris, possessionibus et rebus aliis—confrontations so fierce, in fact, that early in the year 1310 the prior and Convent of Zderas thought it nec- essary to bring their accusations against the Mistress and sisters before the curia in Avignon. Clement V subsequently transferred the investigation of the

212 ad Barcelona, S. Ana, Carp. 4 (1274 and 1296). 213 Cf, Elm, Quellen (n. 12), 19–22. 214 España Sagrada 50, 455 (1306). 215 Ibid., 50, 454 (1306). 216 rbm (n. 43) iii, 476–477 (1326); iv, 547–548 (1343); iv, 584 (1344). 217 ahn Madrid, Ord. Mil., S. Sep. de Calatayud: Cód. 872 B: Calage de las Escrituras de la Iglesia de San Nicolas de Zaragoza y del Convento de las religiosas dc Sepulcro, fol. 61vff. 218 rbm (n. 43) ii, 614 (1287); 806 (1301). Establicimientos (n. 181) 278; H.A. Sedláček, Úplný místopisný slovník království českého (1895), ii, 852–853. 92 chapter 2 dispute to the abbot of Königsaal with the proviso that the case was to be heard appelatione remota.219 Two years later the prior of Zderas had yet again to turn to the pope and request support in his fight against the women, who (accord- ing to his version of events) not only refused to render him honor and obedi- ence, but in their spirited resistance had afflicted him so greatly that he could not even dare to meet together with them in the city or in the diocese of Prague.220 The complaints moved the pope (on July 7, 1313) to empower the provost of the cathedral chapter of to compel the recalcitrant women, under threat of ecclesiastical punishment, to render obedience to the prior of Zderas.221 Six months after this coercive measure the mistress and the convent declared themselves ready to accept the decision super obediencia, possessioni- bus, villis, terris, debitis et rebus aliis, which was to be handed down by arbi­ trators that had been appointed by both sides.222 It is not known how the arbitration turned out. But it is certain that the established relationships between the two communities remained essentially unchanged. In Calatayud and Saragossa from the middle of the fourteenth century the nuns were able to acquire from their superiors, the canons of Calatayud, certain concessions regarding the election of the prioress as well as the administration and use of their incomes.223 But even here there was no question of releasing the women from their strict subordination to the priors of Calatayud and their official power as vicars. The priors also reserved for themselves the right, confirmed by pope Clement vii in 1378,224 of investiture and visitation; they maintained as before the last word regarding any alienation of property; and deep in to the modern era they were able, through the promulgation or revision of constitu- tions, to determine the daily life and spirituality of the women.225 The daily life and spirituality of the canonesses, who described themselves as filiae Jerusalem,226 were also powerfully shaped by the example of their spiritual brethren, the canons of the Holy Sepulcher. Through investiture and

219 rbm (n. 43) ii, 961. 220 Ibid., iii, 32. 221 Ibid., iii, 62. 222 Ibid., iii, 79–80. 223 Mon. S. Sepulcro, Zaragoza, Arch. Sec. B, 13b: Constitutiones hechas y ordinadas en visitas (1641ff.) fol. 11ff. On the attempts of the fratrissae to liberate themselves from their subor- dination to the prior of Calatayud see V. De La Fuente (España Sagrada 50, 162). 224 ahn Madrid, Ord. Mil., S. Sep. Calatayud. 225 Cf. n. 229, 243. 226 España Sagrada 50, 456 (1306): “promittimus…sicut filiae Jerusalem Matri Jerosolimitanae Ecclesiae obtemperare.” Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 93 profession they obligated themselves, with the same words as their brethren, to a life of poverty, chastity and obedience according to the Rule of St. Augustine and the constitutiones ordinis Sepulcri Dominici.227 Therewith they obligated themselves to a life of prayer lived out day and night in choro—a life made possible only because other women, serving as conversi, took over the menial duties of daily life for their dominae or Religiosas de Coro, set apart by their black choral habits.228 The liturgy celebrated in the women’s communities was carried out, as in the men’s, secundum consuetudinem Jerosolimitanae eccle- siae—which was to say that the honor of the suffering and resurrected savior was at its center.229 And like their brethren the sisters sought to keep the heart of their spirituality alive and effective by erecting models of the Holy Sepulcher in their churches, by founding confraternities of the Sepulcher and the Passion, by outfitting their churches with indulgences, by working in support of the Holy Land, and by directing the whole of their spiritual life, through the fulfill- ment of the liturgy, but also beyond, extending it to the mysteries of the Passion and the Resurrection.230 The three women’s communities of the Holy Sepulcher treated thus far had different lifespans. The convent of St. Mark in Calatayud, whose incomes were so meagre that according to one report from 1343 they were barely sufficient for basic necessities,231 had by 1435 been dissolved for quite some time, iam longe tempore. In September of the same year, pope Eugenius iv gave permission to the chapter of Calatayud to occupy the places abandoned by the women.232 Around the same time, the women’s cloister in Bohemia seems to have met its end. In 1421 the plundered and burned it so badly that the inhabitants were compelled to seek refuge either among their families or among the Magdalenes in Brüx.233 But the canonesses again returned to Svetec, as they did after the destruction of their community in the wake of the 1278 invasion

227 See n. 211. 228 See nn. 211, 223, 243. 229 España Sagrada 50, 456–457 (1306): “Officium ecclesiasticum secundum consuetudinem jierosolimitanae ecclesiae tenere et servare promittimus, si commode illud poterimus habere.” Liturg. ms in: Mon. S. Sep. Zaragoza, Arch. Sec. Cb, no. 11. Liturgical guidelines for fratres et sorores in: ahn Madrid, Ord. Mil., S. Sep. de Calatayud, Doc. eccl., Carp.5, Nr. 58 (1504). Cf. also nn. 27–29. 230 Ordizola y Grimaud (n. 181) 20ff.; Establicimientos (n. 181), 296ff.; Olivian Baile, Los Hermanos (n. 60). 231 hn Madrid, Ord. Mil. S. Sep. de Calatayud, Doc. eccl., Carp. 4, Nr. 26. 232 ahn Madrid, Ordines Mil., S. Sep. de Calatayud, Doc. eccl., Carp. 5, Nr. 41. The last clear evidence, 1386: España Sagrada 50, 149. 233 V.O. Hlošina, České duchovni řadý za rozmachu husitské bouře (1924), 247, 276–277. 94 chapter 2 of Bohemia by Margrave Otto iii of Brandenburg.234 They reconstructed their convent in the coming decades, intent on bringing it to bloom once more and on enlarging its estates more still.235 The ultimate demise of the community did not come for another century. In 1571, in the wake of intense religious strife, the women retreated to Zderas in Prague, left to them after the canons them- selves had fled in 1531 to the foundation of Neisse. When the men were at last able in 1573 to reconstitute their chapter, there was no longer any place for the women. They thus resolved to refuse to accept any more novices, and their community, whose ancestral home Emperor Rudolf ii handed over to the Archbishop of Prague in 1580, had ceased to exist by the end of the sixteenth century.236 Only the monastery of the Holy Sepulcher in Saragossa, the “Real Monasterio de las Señoras Canonesas Comendadoras de la Orden Sagrada del Santo Sepulcro de Jerusalén” (so it was called from the seventeenth century) was able to survive the vicissitudes of some six centuries, and to continue to this day its vigil for the Holy Sepulcher. Its inhabitants, unlike the sisters of Calatayud, had been well provided for materially from the outset. Already richly endowed by the daughter of Theobald ii of Navarra,237 in 1306 the prior of the Holy Sepulcher had also promised the first sorores properties that the church had possessed in Saragossa from the twelfth century.238 In the course of the centuries this foundation was further enriched through the dowries of the women, who hailed from so many wealthy families, as well as the donations, bequests and anniversary foundations of numerous benefactors239—most notably among them Martín de Aplartil, canon of the Holy Sepulcher and

234 J. Emler, Cosmae Chronicon Bohemorum cum continuatoribus (Fontes rerum Bohemicarum ii, 2, 1874), 332. 235 A. Sedláček, Úplný místopisný ii, 852–853. On property and taxes: F. Tadra, Acta judiciaria consistorii Pragensis (1893), i, 182; iii, 312–313; F. Palacký, Archiv česky vi, (Prague, 1872), 370, 590; W.W. Tomek, Registra decimarum papalium (Abh. der Kgl. Böhm. Gesell. der Wiss. vi, 6, 1874), 32, 78; A. Schubert, Urkunden-Regesten aus den ehemaligen Archiven der von Kaiser Joseph ii. aufgehobenen Klöster Böhmens (1901), 47–48. 236 J. Svátek, Organisace řeholních institucí v českých zemích a péče o jejich archivy (1966), 133; Z. Wirth, Umělecké památky Čech (1957), 748–749. 237 Cf. nn. 181, 184. 238 Odrizola y Grimaud (n. 181) 12ff.; Establicimientos (n. 181), 304: fragmentary list of prior- esses to 1891. 239 ahn Madrid, Ord. Mil., S. Sep. de Calatayud, Cod. 872 B: Calage de las Escrituros…del Conv. de las rel. de Sep., fol. 61v–62. On the archive and its destruction: Establicemientos (n. 181), 304. Information on property and incomes in the visitation records: nn. 242, 243. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 95

­treasurer of the Archbishop of Saragossa, who died in 1384.240 Eventually the endowments became so rich that the sisters enjoyed a religious life free of eco- nomic cares. The women’s outward security and their close ties with the nobil- ity of Aragon were not, however, always to their advantage. They brought with them the perpetual danger that the chapter might become merely a pen­ sioner’s home for noble women, and thereby lose its original character as a ­community of regular canonesses. Hence the reforms that emerged from Calatayud,241 the visitation protocols that survive from the sixteenth and sev- enteenth centuries,242 and the constitutions newly revised by priors Antonio Muñoz, Mateo Castellón and José Español in the fifteenth and the seventeenth centuries,243 all of which emphatically sharpened the observance of claustra- tion, the regular and punctual exercise of choral prayer and the observance of vows, above all vows of chastity and personal poverty. From the seventeenth century, even these measures were no longer upheld with any strictness, and even in Calatayud religious life grew somnolent—in fact, already from the middle of the fifteenth century the community had succumbed to commen­ dation, and the archprior had been stripped of his leadership.244 As late as 1574 Archbishop Ferdinand of Saragossa, in accordance with the demands of the Council of Trent, had sharpened key statutes concerning claustration. But in 1604 the prior Doña Ana de Cuevas secured from Clement viii a brief that ameliorated those same statutes, to the extent that it allowed the “Comendadoras” to leave the cloister and to receive their relatives as guests. Only in 1880, with the approval of the Archbishop of Saragossa (to whom juris- diction over the women’s convent in Saragossa had been transferred, after the dissolution of the regular canonry of Calatayud in 1856) was the prioress Doña

240 Ibid., fol. 75ff.; Establicemientos (n. 181), 290. 241 AHN Madrid, Ord. Mil., S. Sep. de Calatayud, Doc. eccl., Carp.5, Nr.46: (1437) Eugene iv;ibid., no. 66: (1522) Alexander vi. 242 Mon. S. Sep., Zaragoza, Arch., Sec. Ba, Nr. Ba; Visitation records for 1515, 1538, 1565, 1641, 1644, 1652, 1655. 243 ahn Madrid, Ord. Mil., S. Sep. de Calatayud, Doc. eccl., Carp. 5, no. 46 (1437); ibid., no. 58 (1504); Mon. S. Sep., Zaragoza, Arch., Sec. Ba, no. 13: Constitutiones hechas y ordinadas (1641ff.); Constituciones hechas y ordenadas en visita para la rev. Priora y Religiosas del Real Monasterio del Santo Sepulcro de Zaragoza por el Muy Ill. y Rev. Senor Doctor Don Pedro Miguel de Valsorga, Prior de la Iglesia Collegial de Canónigos Regolares del S. Sep. de Calatayud (1626); Mandatos que han resulta dode las Visitas hechas en el convento de Monjas Comendadoras del Santo Sepulcro de Zaragoza por et muy ill. y rev. Prior el Doctor D. Joseph Espanol y Serra…(1655). Cf. also Gonzales Ayala (n. 184), 117. 244 De La Fuente (n. 184) ii, 100ff. 96 chapter 2

Felipa Labarrera able to reintroduce strict observance of claustration and thus to restore the original character of the household.245 Even if we assume (as we must, given the fact that the discovery and evalu- ation of new sources is hardly underway) that there were other women’s com- munities of the Holy Sepulcher alongside those already known,246 their overall number is in no way comparable to the myriad of women’s communities that had emerged from the twelfth century, whether of Premonstratensians, Cistercians, or even those of the second orders of the mendicants. As a key cause for the stagnation that prevented any of their communities from estab- lishing daughter houses, one can point to a waning interest in the Holy Land from the thirteenth century, and the powerful draw of the mendicant orders, which exerted its influence especially in the world of women. Given this over- all state of affairs it is tempting to assume that the founding of the Spanish and Bohemian houses was merely the beginning of a process of expansion that was doomed from the outset. But to do so would be unjustified. It is better to see that founding as the end of a long tradition of shared community among fra- tres and sorores, one demonstrable in the Order of the Holy Sepulcher as well as in other orders, and one that survived well into the thirteenth century. Two facts, both grounded in the circumstances of the founding of the communities under discussion, speak for this view:247 not only the distancing between the canons and their sisters248 that is noticeable from the thirteenth and four- teenth centuries, but also their relationship with the hospitaler and military

245 Cf. also Odrizola y Grimaud (n. 181), 15ff. Establicimientos (n. 181), 282ff. On the contempo- rary circumstance: M. Hereswitha, “Geschiedenis van het kloosterwezen in het algemeen en van de Heilig-Graforde in het bijzonder,” (Manuscript s. d.) iii, 203ff.; A. Beltran Martinez, “Notas sobre la restauracion del Monastero de Canonesas del S. Sep. de Zaragoza” (Libro Homenage a D. Juan Manuel Pardo de Santayana y Suarez, 1963); Gonzalez Ayala (n. 184), 117–118. 246 The “monasterio de la misma Orden situado cerco de Wiltstock” mentioned in Establicimientos (n. 181), 280, n. 6 is Heiligengrabe bei Techow in Prignitz, a Cistercian womens’ house founded in 1287 by the Cistercian nuns of Neuendorf in the Altmark. I. Simon, “Kloster Heiligengrabe. Von der Gründung bis zur Einführung der Reformation 1287–1549,” Jahrbuch für Brand. Kirchengesch. 24 (1929) 1ff.; G. Wentz, Das Bistum Havelberg (Germania Sacra i, 2; 1933), 320ff. 247 On November 18, 1230 a Polish nobleman “cupiens una cum uxore Sepulchro dominico ab omnibus venerando, reverenciam et honorem exhibere, imo habitu et signo ordinis illius insigniri et muniri” offered many rich donations to the cloister Miechów (kdm [n. 12] ii, 46), thereby revealing the observance of a common vita religiosa in that foundation as well. 248 Hereswitha, Documenten (n. 12), 280, 290; Nakielski, Miechovia (n. 12), 310, 315. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 97 orders, both of which were closely tied to the chapter through common heri- tage and aims. From the thirteenth century the Order of St. John249 and the Teutonic Knights,250 as well as the Spanish military orders251 increasingly loos- ened their ties to the sisters and conversi who lived in their immediate vicinity. This promoted the formation of independent, spatially segregated convents, in which (as the examples of the female cloister of the Hospitalers in Sigena and Sant-Antoine-en-Dauphiné reveal) the work of service took a back seat to a life of prayer ordered to the model of the vita canonica.252 This transition from an early era of commonality to a later one character- ized by growing independence is not limited only to those orders associated with crusade and holy war. From the beginning of the twelfth century at the latest, monastic congregations such as those of Cluny253 and Cîteaux254 as well as the canons of Prémontré,255 Arrouaise256 and St. Victor257 all embraced a conscious politics of ending the practice of community among man and

249 J. Delaville Le Roulx, Hospitalières de S. Jean de Jérusalem, Comptes rendus des sèances del’Acad. des Inscr. et Belles Lettres iv, 22 (1894), 137–146; Idem, Cartulaire général (n. 173), ccxxiff. 250 Along with n. 175: B. Dudik, Über die Deutsch-Ordens-Schwestern, sb Kaiserl. Akd. d. Wiss. Wien, Phil.-hist. ki. 16 (1855), 307–326. K.H. Lampe, “Beiträge zur Geschichte der Deutschordensschwestern,” Zeitschrift für Ostforschung 16 (1967), 45–78; E. Gruber, Deutschordensschwestern im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert. Wiederbelebung, Ausbreitung und Tätigkeit 1837–1971, Quellen u. Stud. zur Gesch. d. Dtsch. Ordens 14 (1971), 1–6. 251 D.W. Lomax (n. 30), 80ff., 90ff.; F. Gutton, L’Ordre de Santiago (Saint Jacques de l’Epee, 1972), 222ff.; Idem, L’Ordre de Calatrava (1955), 220ff. 252 A. Ubieto Arteta, El Real Monasterio de Sigena 1188–1300 (1966); Idem, La documentación de Sigena 1188–1300 (Saitabi 15, 1966); J. Chetail, “Les chanoinesses de Malte de Saint- Antoineen- Dauphine,” Annales de l’OSM de Malte 27 (1962), 42–49. Other forms of female vita religiosa among the Hospitalers are mentioned in W.G. Rödel, Das Großpriorat Deutschland des Johanniter- Ordens im Übergang vom Mittelalter zur Reformation anhand der Generalvisitationsberichte von 1494/95 und 1540/41, 2nd ed. (1972), 17ff.; E. Schöningh, Der Johanniterorden in Ostfriesland, Vortr. u. Abh. zur Gesch. Ostfrieslands liv (1973), 24ff. 253 G. Charvin, Statuts, chapitres generaux et visites de l’ordre de Cluny (1965), i, 43. 254 E.G. Krenig, “Mittelalterliche Frauenklöster nach den Konstitutionen von Cîteaux,” Anal. S. Ord. Cist. 10 (1954), 13ff. 255 A. Erens, “Les soeurs dans l’ordre de Prémontré,” Anal. Praem. 5 (1929), 5–26. 256 L. Millis, L’Ordre des chanoines réguliers d’ Arrouaise. Son histoire et son organisation de la fondation de l’abbaye-mère (vers 1090) á la fin des chapitres annuels 1471 (1969), i, 515ff. 257 P. Coenegracht, “De kloosterwetgeving van de Victorinen,” Ons Geestelijk Erf 37 (1963), 318–328; Idem, “Ontstaan van de Brabantse witte vrouwen en hun overgang naar de orde von Saint Victor,” Ibid. 34 (1960), 53–90. 98 chapter 2 woman258 shaped by the vita apostolica and of releasing the women to a greater autonomy. The women’s newfound independence did not, however, mark the beginning of a new ascendance. Rather, it helped assure that the women’s orders that emerged from the monastic and canonical movements of the elev- enth and twelfth centuries soon fell behind the increasingly powerful second and third orders of the mendicants.259 The religious women who still today describe themselves as Canonesses of the Holy Sepulcher cannot trace their lineage directly back to the Bohemian and Spanish communities that were established in the thirteenth century. Their origins are rather to be sought in the prince-bishopric of Lüttich, the duchy of Brabant and the county of Loon. Here, from the twelfth century, a number of smaller convents were founded, and several churches and chapels acquired, all of which were subject to the prior of the cloister of Denkendorf in Württemberg. When Denkendorf, (after a brief time of full independence) fell victim to the Reformation, the Dutch confederation of communities enjoyed a renaissance. That too soon came to an end, but it was significant for the history of the order in that it inspired a revival of religious life for the women of the order.260 The actual instigator of the reform movement that began in the mid- dle of the fifteenth century was Jan van Abroek, who was born around 1440 in Beek near Bree. After a time of study, perhaps in Cologne, he came to know the Canons of the Holy Sepulcher and in 1465 made the decision to ask for acceptance into their order in the community of Henegouw near Hasselt.261

258 Cf. along with the literature cited in nn. 6–7: F. Petit, “La spiritualité des Prémontrés aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles,” Études de théologie et d’hist. de la Spiritualité 10 (1947), 44ff.; Ch. Dereine, “Les origines de Prémontré,” Rev. d’hist. eccl. 42 (1947), 342ff.; P. Classen, “G. v. Reichersberg und die Regularkanoniker in Bayern und Österreich,” La vita comune del Clero nei secoli XI e XII [n. 7] i, 312.On double-cloister communities and orders founded in the wake of the wandering apostolic preachers see J. Von Walter, Die ersten Wanderprediger Frankreichs. Studien zur Geschichte des Mönchtums (1903/06); J. Becquet, “L’érémitisme clerical et laïque dans l’ouest de la France,” L’Eremitismo in oceidente nei sec. XI et XII. Atti della seconda Settimana internazionale di studio, Mendola 30 agosto-6 settembre 1962, Misc. del Centro di studi Medioevali iv (1965), 182ff. 259 M. De Fontette, Les religieuses à l’âge classique du Droit Canon. Recherches sur les structures juridiques des branches féminines des ordres (Bibl. de la Soc. d’hist. eccl. de la France, 1967). 260 Cf. nn. 12 and 181. 261 J. Ceyssens, “Jan van Abroek. Rervormer van de kloosters der kanunniken van het H. Graf en stichter der Sepulcrienen in het bisdom Luik,” Limburg 4 (1922–23), 107–110; M. Hereswitha, “Jan van Abroek en de gedenkdag van het 450e verjaring van zijn zalig overli- jden,” Limburg 39 (1960), 258–272; idem, article: “Abroek, Jan” in Nationaal Biografisch Woordenboek 3 (1968), 2–5. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 99

The prevailing circumstances there were less than inspiring.262 In the first half of the fourteenth century the convent, which had played a leading role in the confederation of Dutch communities, had reached the nadir of both its inter- nal and external affairs. Perugia and Denkendorf were long unable to stop the decline. But under the Denkendorf canon Cornelius Oeslinger from Eupen, who had served as rector of the house of St. Leonard in Aachen from 1436 to 1456 and as prior of Henegouw to 1484, the most scandalous abuses were finally curtailed. The energetic prior was also able, after two centuries of stagnation, to increase the number of communities of the Holy Sepulcher in northwest Europe. Between 1435 and 1442 he worked for the foundation of a community for the order near the chapel of St. Leonard (in the parish of Gustorf in the deanery of ) and in 1437 (after negotiations with duke Arnold of Geldern, the Holy Spirit hospital in Roermond and the Roman curia) he secured the transfer to the Order of the Holy Sepulcher the abandoned com- munity of St. Peter and Paul at Sint-Odiliënberg near Roermond. Despite these successes, however, we cannot speak of a genuine improvement in the overall circumstance. The prior, like many of his brethren and contemporaries, was too heavily burdened with concubinage and nepotism to have led a true reform effort. John of Abroek deemed it impossible to erect the reforms he envisioned on the old, recalcitrant foundations of the convent of Henegouw. He thus abandoned the idea of winning Oeslinger and his brethren for the cause of reform. Instead he turned to the community of St. Peter and Paul on Sint- Odiliënberg, established in the Merovingian era and acquired for the order in 1437, and made that community the foundation of his reforms.263 Despite numerous difficulties, he was able to find like-minded companions, and with the help of the faithful in the region to acquire sufficient property to secure the temporal existence of his reforming chapter. After the resistance against reform mounted by the prior of Denkendorf had been overcome, and after the support of the prior general in Perugia had been won, Abroek directed his efforts to the remaining settlements of the order. He ensured that the convent

262 On the circumstance of the cloister of Henegouw and the activity of C. Oeslinger: Hereswitha, De Heilig-Graforde (n.12), 259–263, 272–279, 282–284, 289–294; idem, Documenten (n. 12) 520–521; Elm, Quellen (n. 12), 7ff. 263 On the reform established by Abroek and its expansion, see the literature cited in n. 181. On the pre-history at Sint-Odilienberg; along with Oorkonden en bescheiden (n. 12): idem, Kroniekje van de Kerk van Sint Odiliënberg (Maastricht, 1880); J. Linssen, “Een onderzoek naar Odilienberg,” Publ. soc. hist. archeol. Limbourg 94–95 (1958–59), 121ff.; P. Glazema, Oudheidkundige onderzoekingen in en bij de kerk te Sint-Odiliënberg, Bull. Kon. Nederl. Oudheidkundige Bond VI/5 (1953), 8ff. 100 chapter 2 of Henegouw would take on the reforms, and sent to Aachen and Bierbeek brothers who were to work in the churches there for a more disciplined obser- vance of the liturgy and for a more intensive cura animarum. When in 1478 the four year experiment had failed to establish reform at Kinrooi in Limburg, a wave of expansion nevertheless followed in the coming years. It led to new foundations not only in the immediate vicinity of the center of reform in Limburg, but also in the county of Zeeland, the duchy of Kleve, the lordships of Culemborg, Kessenich and Dyck as well as the Landgraviate of Hesse. Despite the freedom (after 1489) to pursue their own reform agenda without interference from superiors, the Dutch canons of the Holy Sepulcher were not able to establish their congregation with such permanence and breadth of influence as the Windesheim congregation, which had established itself under similar conditions. Under the followers of Jan van Abroek (†1510) the expansion stagnated, and discipline began to wane even in places where the reform had initially been a success. Step by step, decline slowly set in once again. External pressures and internal dissolution eventually ensured that by September 1, 1796, when the Belgian republic ordered the dissolution of the monasteries in its territory, only one house—the little community of Hoogcruts, the last survivor of the Dutch province—was affected by the decree.264 More lasting than the male branch of the reform group were the women’s communities that emerged from Abroek’s initiatives. They surpassed the male foundations not only in longevity but also in significance and impact. Already in 1442 Oeslinger (with the support of the prior of Denkendorf and the Bishop of Lüttich) had established a community of virgines cum decenti familia on Sint-Odiliënberg—though the community had to be disbanded only a few years later because of its supposed vita dissoluta.265 Abroek again took up the business of the prior of Hegenouw. But he began differently, this time with the renewal of women’s religious life not on the Odilienberg, but in the neighbor- ing cloister of Kinrooi, where the recent attempt to establish a foundation of canons had failed. After the future canonesses had been introduced to strict observance by the canons at Odilienberg, on October 8, 1480 their own convent was established and placed under the leadership of Clementia van Abroek, a

264 W. Goosens, Het klooster van het H. Graf te Hoogcruts, Publ. soc. hist. arch. Limbourg 55 (1919), 94ff.; M. Hereswitha, “Het Klooster van Hoogcruts en Jan van Abroek,” De Maasgouw 73 (1954), 34ff. 265 Willemsen, Oorkonden en bescheiden (n. 12), 288–289; M. Hereswitha, “Het eerste vrou- wenklooster van de Heilig-Graforde in de Nederlanden,” Taxandria 44–46 (1972–74), 129–141. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 101 sister of the reformer.266 Only a few years after its foundation, in 1486 or 1490, the first prioress of Kinrooi (who until her entry into the Order of the Holy Sepulcher had belonged to the Augustinian convent of Den Bogart in Roermond) was able to send forth fellow sisters to establish new convents in Niewstadt267 near Sittard and in Gartzen268 near Euskirchen. This first, rather modest beginning, was not to last. In 1495 the mother-convent of St. Mary in Jerusalem in Kinrooi, flattened in the struggles between Jan van Hoorn, Prince- Bishop of Lüttich, and Karl von Egmont, had to be abandoned. Its sisters were relocated to Maaseik, where they left the order of the Holy Sepulcher in 1520 and allied themselves with Windesheim. After the community in Gartzen had also to be abandoned in 1507, only the convent of Bethlehem in Nieuwstadt remained of the foundations established in the early years of reform. In 1496, before the dissolution of the other two convents, that community had relo- cated from Nieuwstadt to Lüttich (to the community of St. Elisabeth des Bons- Enfants, which had been abandoned by the Alexians).269 And through the acceptance of both the convent of Gartzen and the determined nuns of Kinrooi, it was so strengthened in numbers that it became the point of depar- ture for a new expansion, and in fact became the mother convent of a newly revived life for canonesses in the region. After a daughter house had been founded in Sint-Truiden270 in 1539, some 40 years after the relocation from Niewstadt to Lüttich, the actual expansion began at the opening of the seven- teenth century. Alongside Jerusalem in Sint-Truiden, which continued in the tradition of an older community of Franciscan tertiaries, houses emerged in

266 S. Drost, Geschiedkundig overzicht van het O.L. Vr. Klooster…der Orde van het H. Graf te Kinroy (1931); H. Janssen-Aerts, Aantekeningen over het vededen van Kinrooi (1953), 53–59. On close ties to the canons: Hereswitha, De Heilig-Graforde (n. 12), 358. 267 Trecpoel (n. 12), 171–172; M.J. Wolters, Recherches sur l’ancienne avouerie de la ville de Ruremonde et sur les familles de Vlodorp et de Cortenbach (1855), 22–29; idem, Notice histo- rique sur la ville de Maaseyck, 1855, 67–68. 268 Th. Paas, “Das Kloster Gartzem,” Annalen des Hist. Vereins für den Niederrhein 99 (1916), 142ff.; F.W. Oediger, Das Hauptstaatsarchiv Düsseldorf und seine Bestände iv: Stifts- und Klosterarchive. Bestandsübersichten (1964), 156ff. 269 L. Halkin, “La maison des Bons-Enfants de Liège,” Bull. de l’institute Arch. Liégeois 64 (1940), 9–14; M. Hereswitha, “De Franciscanessen (1493) en de Sepulcrinessen (1496) in het klooster der Bons Enfants te Luik,” Franciscana 21 (1966), 39–46. 270 F. Straven, “Les Chanoinesses de l’ordre du Saint-Sepulcre du couvent dit de Jérusalem à Saint-Trond,” Bull. scient. et litt. de Hasselt 38 (1904), 83; J. Paquay, Het Klooster van St. Truiden, 1933. 102 chapter 2

1616 and 1622 in Visé and in Lüttich.271 Almost at the same time, in 1619, the convent in Sint-Truiden founded a new community in Huy.272 Soon after its foundation, this , although it had from 1630 to contend with the competi- tion of the , became the mother house of settlements in Buillon, Malmedy, Marienbourg, Marchienne-au-Pont and Waremme.273 Two of these communities, the houses in Malmedy and Marienbourg, were able to establish new foundations in Verviers and attempted to establish the order in Chimay and Donchery as well.274 Only one of the daughter-houses, Verviers, was able to establish a third generation of affiliates: a foundation in Mainz in 1652 that survived until 1678 and in 1677 a short-lived settlement in Kalkar.275 The third daughter-house, St. Walburge in Lüttich,276 established only one settlement in

271 F. Henaux, Histoire de la bonne ville de Visé, 1853, 37ff.; J. Ceyssens, Histoire de la paroisse de Visé (1891), 18ff. 272 J. Freson, Notice historique sur les anciens monastéres des Ursulines, des Annonciades célestes, des Carmélites dechausées et des Sépulcrines de Huy, 1887. 273 Leroux-Delogne, “Le couvent des Sépulcrines à Bouillon,” Le Semois 6 (1876); P. Pellot, “Les Sépulcrines de Bouillon de 1626 a 1794,” Annuaire du conseil heraldique de France 10 (1897), 240–264; M. Hereswitha, “Le monastére des chanoinesses régulières du Saint Sépulcre à Malmedy,” Bull. soc. d’art et d’hist. du dioc. de Liège 41 (1959), 97–163; A. Robaulx de Soumoy, “Recherches sur l’histoire de la ville de Mariembourg,” Annales de la soc. archéol. de Namur 8 (1864), 159–220, 233–326; “Chronique du couvent de Notre Dame à Marchienne-au- Pont,” Documents de la soc. paléontologique de Charleroi 7 (1875), 342ff.; P.A. Masset, Histoire de Marchienne-au Pont (1893), 30ff.; A. De Ryckel, “Histoire de la bonne ville de Waremme,” Bull. Soc. d’art et d’hist. du dioc. de Liège 5 (1889), 5ff. 274 H. Hans, Notice sur le couvent des Sépulcrines de Verviers (1934); H. Angenot, “Les Sépulcrines de Verviers,” La Presse (1934), 10ff. On the foundations at Chimay und Doncherry, which failed after a short time: Hereswitha, De Vrouwenkloosters (n. 4), 99ff. 275 There are no investigations of the short-lived settlements in Mainz and Kalkar. Cf. Archives Épiscopales, Liège, G. ix. 11 (Visites et Documents…Sépulcrines de Verviers) and ad Ardennes, Mézieres-Charleville, H 453. 276 J. Papuay, Tongeren vorheen, 1934; Idem, “Aperçu sur la ville de Tongres,” Bull. de la soc. scient. et litt. du Limbourg 29 (1911), 75ff.; S. Hawley, A Brief Relation of the Order and Institute of the English Religious Women at Liège (1652); A.F. Trappes-Lomax, “Records of the English Canonesses of the Holy Sepulcher at Liège,” Publications of the Catholic Record Society 17 (1915); M. Simon, “‘Sepultus est’. A Study of the Holy Sepulcher in the Spirituality of the Canonical Order of the Holy Sepulcher, With Special Reference to the English Sources” (Typescript, ma Thesis at the Pontifical Institute Regina Mundi, Rome [1959]), 28ff.; A. Henry, “Le couvent des Sépulcrines de Bouvignes,” Annal. Soc. Archeol. de Namur 26 (1905), 267ff.; Idem, Notes sur l’histoire de Bouvignes (1888), 219ff.; M. Hereswitha, “Le monastére du chanoinesses reguliers du Saint Sépulcre à Bouvignes,” Annal. Soc. archeol. Namur 55 (1970), 233ff. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 103

Tongeren in 1640, which in turn founded two daughter houses: a third cloister in Lüttich, St. Helena in Avroy, established in 1642 for English emigrants, and the 1666 foundation of Bouvignes. But it was the convent in Visé, established in 1616, that became head of a widespread congregation. Its oldest daughter, the convent of Charleville, became the mother-house of three French communi- ties: in Vierzon and in Belle-Chase near Paris, established in 1635, as well as the convent of Luynes, established in 1662 from Belle-Chase, which enjoyed the special favor of the French aristocrats associated with the royal confraternity of the Sepulcher.277 In 1626 canonesses from Visé came to Aachen. Here they inherited the old settlement at St. Leonard, which had been transferred to the community of the canons in Hoogcruts near Slenaken.278 In 1644, the Aachen canonesses then founded a daughter-house in Jülich, and from there, a decade later, nuns were sent to .279 Another daughter-house of Visé, a cloister founded in 1627 in Maastricht, became the mother-house of settle- ments in Hasselt and Lüttich.280 The former was able to establish a foundation in Turnhout in 1662,281 the latter, St. Agatha in Lüttich, a settlement in

277 M.F. Tausserat, “Vierzon. Hospitalières et chanoinesses du Saint-Sépulcre,” Mémoires de la soc.des antiquaires du Centre 23 (1899–1900), 127–173; M. Dumolin, “Les chanoinesses du Saint Sépulcre ou dames de Belle-Chasse,” Bull. de la soc. de l’hist. de Paris et de l’Ile de France 63 (1936), 10–28. 278 300 Jahre höhere Mädchenbildung an St. Leonhard in Aachen (Aachen, 1926); K. Neuefeind, “Die Neugründung klösterlicher Erziehungsanstalten in Aachen im Zeitalter der Gegenreformation,” Zeitschrift des Aachener Geschichtsvereins 56 (1935), 61–104, 58 (1937), 57–103; A. Brecher, Die kirchliche Reform in Stadt und Reich Aachen von der Mitte des 16. bis zum Anfang des 18. Jahrhunderts, Reformationsgeschichtliche Studien und Texte 80–81 (1967), 376. 279 G. Bers, “Die Geschichte des ehemaligen Sepulchrinerinnenklosters St. Josef zu Jülich,” Heimatkalender des Kreises Jülich (1959), 47ff. On the foundation of the daugher house at Neuss: K. Tücking, Geschichte der kirchlichen Einrichtungen der Stadt Neuss i (1886), 180ff.; J. Lange, Neuss. Eine kirchliche Heimatkunde (1961), 130ff. 280 N. Lequarre—E. Jacquemotte—J. Lejeune, Histoire de la commune de Jupille (Vieux Jupille i, 1909), 8ff.; N.J. Bosnard, Couvent des chanoinesses regulières du Saint-Sépulcre a Jupille, 1864; F. Dazert, “Geschiedenis van het voormalige klooster van het H. Graf thans Bonnenfantenkazerne te Maastricht, voorafgegaan doof en overzicht van de geschiede- nis der orde van het H. Graf in het algemeen en van hare wederwaardigheden in deze streken in het bijzonder,” Bull. soc. d’art et d’hist. du dioc. de Liege 38 (1902), 251–375; O. Robijns, “De zusters van het klooster van het H. Graf te Hasselt,” Limburg 14 (1932–33), 83ff. 281 M. Hereswitha, Den oorspronck ende opkomste van ons clooster binnen der stadt ende vri- jheijt van Tournhout (1962); Idem., De Heilig-Grafpriorij te Turnhout 1662–1963 (1962). 104 chapter 2

­Baden-Baden282 in 1670—two houses which, although they established no fur- ther daughter-houses in the seventeenth century, nevertheless were to prove crucial in sustaining the order in the following centuries. The second impressive flowering of women’s religious life, which had led canonesses from the diocese of Lüttich to new settlements in Germany and France, endured heavy setbacks in the wake of the French Revolution and its consequences. All but three houses of the order—the priory of Turnhout in the Netherlands, the German house in Baden-Baden and the community of canonesses of St. Helena of Avroy near Lüttich (whose members emigrated to Chelmsford in England in 1794)—fell victim to Josephinism or to the French Revolution. Neither the resistance of the women nor their efforts to continue their traditions without official sanctions could change their fate.283 Yet even after the bloodbath the canonesses, unlike their male counterparts, refused to abandon their enterprise. The of Baden-Baden284 and Chelmsford,285 which had survived the caesuras brought by revolution and secularization, but especially the newly founded priories of “Holy Sepulcher” and “Jerusalem” (established in 1826 and 1837, respectively, from a few canonesses scattered in Turnhout and Bilzen) then established a new, third phase of expansion.286 The canonesses of Turnhout were able to return to Lüttich in 1917, and also in 1912

282 K. Nörber, Geschichte des Klosters vom Hlg. Grab zu Jerusalem in Baden-Baden (ms Bibl. Kloster und Institut vom Hlg. Grab, Baden-Baden); M. Dominika, “Aus der Chronik des Klosters vom Hlg. Grab in Baden-Baden,” Institutsblätter der Frauen vom Hlg. Grab 2 (1930–38, 1936); E. Pleissner, “Chronik des Klosters vom Heiligen Grab in Baden-Baden” (n. 181). 283 F.X. Georges, Le diocèse de Liège sous la domination française de 1795 à 1814 (1904), 30ff.; J. Daris, “État des établissements religieux en 1809,” Publ. soc. hist. archeol. Limbourg 17 (1899), 311–323; P. Clerx, “Liste génerale des églises et couvents de la province actuelle de Liège…vendus comme propriétés nationales du 1r. Ventôse an V,” Bull. inst. archeol. Liégeois 16 (1881), 485–523. On the Josephinist educational politics of William I, hostile to the orders: S. Stokman, De religieuzen en de onderwijspolitiek der regering in het vereenigd koninkrijk der Nederlanden 1814–1830 (1935). 284 M. Dominika, “Wie das Kloster vom Hlg. Grab in Baden-Baden die französische Revolution, die Säkularisation und das Regulativ überstand,” (ms Bibl. Kloster und Institut vom Hlg. Grab, Baden-Baden). 285 History of the New Hall Community of Canonesses Regular of the Holy Sepulcher, 1899; Canonesses of the Holy Sepulcher of our Lord in Jerusalem, 1952; Simons, (n. 276), 25ff. 286 On the foundation and expansion of both houses M. Hereswitha, “De Orde van het H. Graf in de Nederlanden na de Franse Revolutie,” Taxandria 26 (1954), 3ff.; Idem, De Heilig- Grafpriorij te Turnhout 1662–1692 (1962); A. Habets, Het klooster van het H. Graf te Bilzen met eene geschiedkundige schets van de Orde van het H. Graf (1909). Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 105

(after they had already established a good dozen new foundations in the Netherlands) to found a community at the wellsprings of reform, on Sint- Odilienberg. The push for expansion did not falter, even during the First World War. But it began to stagnate in the interwar period, which saw the foundation of only one new settlement, in Nijmegen. But the causes had little to do with a lack of zeal or flagging spirit. They had rather to do with the order’s decision, in 1926, to devote its energies to mission in the Belgian Congo. After the Second World War followed a new phase of expansion.287 It led canonesses to South America and left the women in possession of the Abbey of St. Trond in Brugge, founded in Merovingian times. Its inhabitants, Augustinian canonesses, trans- ferred to the Order of the Holy Sepulcher. Alongside so many daughter houses founded from Lüttich, the number of those founded by other priories appears quite modest. The nuns of Bilzen were able to establish a community in Alken in 1835, which itself was able to found two more (in 1881 and 1886, respectively) in Sint-Truiden and in Kinrooi, which had been so important for the history of the canonesses. The nuns who had fled to Essex from Lüttich sent from their convent (New Hall near Chelmsford, founded in 1779) sisters who established a new house in Berkshire, while the German daughters of the Holy Sepulcher in Baden-Baden founded or took over daughter houses in Bruchsal and Neijmegen. For political reasons, however, they were repeatedly hindered from advancing in a way that would have been comparable to the expansion led by their sisters in Turnhout.288 In both their relationships to their male counterparts and in their spiritual- ity, these modern women’s communities conform to their older Bohemian and Spanish counterparts. Until the dissolution of the province of the Netherlands in 1606, they held fast to their subordination to the male branch of the order.289 Thereafter they lost not only the support the canons had long offered, but also their solidarity with the men. Both the cloisters of the seventeenth century as well as the houses founded anew after the French Revolution were indepen- dent of one another. And still today they survive as individual, autonomous

287 Along with the literature cited in n. 181: Hereswitha, Geschiedenis van het kloosterwezen (n. 245) iii, 226ff. 288 M. Dominka, Das Filialkloster vom Hlg. Grab in Bruchsal (ms. Bibl. Kloster und Institut vom Hlg. Grab, Baden-Baden); Idem, Aus der Chronik des Klosters vom Hlg. Grab xv: Neugründung der Klosterfiliale in Bruchsal (Institutsblätter der Frauen vom Hlg. Grab, 1937), 5ff.; M. Hereswitha, De Orde van het Heilig Graf in Nederland (Hou-en-Trou, 1957) 13ff.; N. Albot, Les religieuses chanoinesses du Saint Sepulcre de Charleville (1893). 289 Cf. among others ra Gelderland, Arnheim, Arch. Heeren en Graven van Culemborg, 8046, 16, fol. 31. Elm, Quellen (n. 12), no. 41. 106 chapter 2 priories or filial congregations, in which (similar to the circumstance in the male branch before 1489) the prioress of the mother-house enjoyed far-reaching rights over the daughter foundations. Such fragmentation, along with the encroachments (despite privileges of exemption) after 1606 of respective local bishops had as its consequence a certain differentiation in the constitutions290 and the liturgy291 of the individual priories. Nevertheless, in the constitutions

290 The oldest statutes, modeled on the constitutions of male foundations (see n. 29), survive in a fifteenth-century recension (ms Bibl. Roy., Brüssel ii, 5265). They were later revised according to the decrees of the Council of Trent: Les Constitutions de l’Ordre du S. Sépulcre, qui est de Chanoines et Chanoinesses régulières (Lüttich, 1631). The revision, first intended for the cloister in Visé, was adopted by the canonesses in Aachen (Stadtarchiv Aachen Hs. 380: Statutes of the Order of the Holy Sepulcher) and Charleville as well as their daughter houses (Règles et constitutions des Chanoinesses régulières de l’Ordre du St. Sépulchre en Jérusalem, 1637), although in the case of the Constutions of Charleville there is a notable emphasis on personal piety. Through the use of the “mystical” Constitutions of Charleville emerged the 1651 Constitutions established in the women’s communities of Lüttich, which remained in force in Belgian and Dutch communities into the nineteenth century. (ms Bibl. Roy., Brussels 4136, 21221–22). The older recension, printed in 1631, was also adopted by German canonesses (Rules and Statutes of the Regular Canonesses of the Holy Sepulcher, ms Bibl. Kloster und Institut vom Hlg. Grab, Baden-Baden) and later still replaced by the Constitutions of Charleville (Neue ehrwürdige Haushistorie dieses Klosters zum Hlg. Joseph genannt im Markgraff. Baaden Orden des Hlg. Grabs zu Jerusalem von anno 1670, ms BibI. Kloster und Institut vom Hlg. Grab, Baden-Baden). The constitutions of the seventeenth century retained their force until 1918. Only then were they modified in keeping with the cic. Three closely related constitutions—for Bilzen (1926), Baden-Baden (1937) and Turnhout (1942)—were woven together. They described as the spirit and the goal of the order “God te loven en te danken voor…de weldaad der Verlossing, het lijden, de dood en de begraffenis van de Zaligmaker voortdurend te gedenken en vooral de glorie van Zijn Verreijzenis te bezingen.” They require “Ter herinnering aan de oude statieplaatsen van het Heilig Land zullen deze plaatsen voorgesteld worden in de panden of in en ander deel van het huis.” They provide for ; describe the Easter festival as “het grootste feest der Orde,” one that should be celebrated “met den grootsten luister en in de diepste ingetogen- heid”; prescribe for the canonesses daily meditation on one of the stations of the cross; establish as the intention of their prayers “de noodwendigheden van het Heilig Land” and took on the liturgical commemoration of the benefactors of all of the order’s dissolved cloisters (Regel van de H. Augustinus en Constituties van de Reguliere Kanunnikessen van het H. Graf van Jerusalem te Turnhout, 1942; The Rule of our Holy Father Saint Augustine and the Constitutions of the Order of the Holy Sepulcher of our Lord in Jerusalem at New Hall, 1948). 291 La dévotion des prédestinez ou les stations de Jérusalem et du Calvaire (1710, 1720, 1737); Stations de la crèche, passion, croix et résurrection de notre Seigneur s. d. Stations de crèche, passion, croix et resurrection de N.S. Jésus-Christ, qui se font journellement dans l’ordre canonial du S. Sépulcre (1753); Stations of the Crib, Passion, Cross and Resurrection of our Saviour (1932). Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 107 as well as in the liturgies of the canonesses of the Holy Sepulcher, the sub- stance of their way of life as it was established in the twelfth century has sur- vived intact. Their worship remains patterned after the Stations of the Cross: cyclically, in the course of the day, the week and the year they commemorate, in particular loca sancta, the birth, suffering, death and resurrection of Christ. And the same pattern of worship remains characteristic of both the public and the private devotions of the canonesses, who despite numerous other obliga- tions continue to see proper observance of the liturgy as their primary con- cern.292 Like the canons and canonesses who were their predecessors, they have continued not only the tradition of confraternities,293 but also the tra­ ditions of the Imitatio S. Sepulcri, of relics and patronage that allowed them to turn their churches and chapels into representations of the Sanctum Sanctorum, and so into centers of their tomb- and passion-centered piety. From the fifteenth century to the present they have erected chapels, churches and crypts conceptualized as realizations of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and brought into association with those lost shrines through preservation of fragments of the Holy Cross or of the Holy Sepulcher. And just as the men, who from the fifteenth century named their communities in such a way as to recover the Holy Land—Nazareth, Bethlehem, Jerusalem, the Mount of Olives and Calvary—so too the women tried in their churches to bring back to life the terra repromissionis as the setting for their obligation, reaching back to 1099, toward the Custodia SS. Sepulcri.294

292 Cf. for example M. Hereswitha, “Order of the Holy Sepulcher: Distinctive Traits of its Spirituality and historical Survey of its devotional Practices” Simul in Unum (1952), 4ff.; M.M. Josefa, “Liturgy as a Helpful Source for the Spirituality of the Order of the Holy Sepulcher,” Simul in Unum (1953), 20ff.; Simon (n. 276) 50ff. 293 Advis de l’établissement d’une confrairie érigée à perpetuité en l’église ou chapelle des Chanoinesses Angloises du S. Sépulchre au Faubourg d’Avroy les Liège…(Lüttich, 1663); Abrégé de l’origine, motifs et exercises de la dévote et importante association ou confrairie au Saint Sépulchre d’où Notre Sauveur Jésus Christ est sorti triomphant (Lüttich, 1718 and 1779); Règles, Statuts et indulgences de la confrérie de la très Sainte Agonie de N.S. Jésus-Christ (Lüttich, 1718). 294 Imitation of the Holy Sepulcher, of which L. Jegher (La Gloire de l’Ordre Canonial Regulier du S. Sépulchre Hierosolymitain, 1726), 75, says “La sonst noz Portiquez, noz Loures, nos Escurials, noz Serrai, la est gisante toute nostre gloire, la abutissent nos meditations et contemplations,” can be found in keeping with the prescriptions of the Constitutions in every church of the canonesses. In a few cases, such as the Church of the Holy Infant in Lüttich, the church itself was established ad instar S. Sepulcri: P. Clerc, “Notices sur les monuments religieux et civiles de Liège,” Bull. de l’inst. archeol. Liegeois 7 (1865), 297ff.; Cf. also in this connection: J. Eyckeler, De Heilig-Landstichting Goesbeek (1930). 108 chapter 2

Despite the conformity shaped through their common tradition, both the women and the men of these reforming communities developed a style of piety different from that which had been common in the older filial congrega- tions and their female dependencies. The difference becomes most clear, for example, when we consider that Jan van Abroek and his successors speak of themselves only rarely as vicarii generales or as priores generales, but instead remain content with the formula humilis prior—a turn of phrase that was held in tension with written correspondence addressed to the reverendus et gratiosus dominus praepositus generalis of Denkendorf.295 The strong accen- tuation of humilitas and the almost synonymous use of paupertas is discern- ible only within the order itself. And for contemporary observers beyond its ranks, too, “sympelheit” and “armoede” were the essential hallmarks of the reform Abroek began.296 One could easily read the emphasis on humilitas and paupertas as a reflec- tion of the actual poverty and need that shaped the life of the reformed houses in the Low Countries, which in fact belonged to the poorest in the entire order. They were also doubtless easily distinguished from other houses of canon- esses, the oldest ones especially, by virtue of the social status of their mem- bers—who came not from the nobility but (as far as we are able to tell) above all from rural and bourgeois circles. And yet the concrete economic and social circumstances were not decisive for their emphasis on poverty, humility and other-worldly piety. They were much more an expression of the spiritual ideal to which the canons and canonesses of the Holy Sepulcher in the Netherlands felt themselves obliged. And in the pursuit of that ideal they did not stand alone. They shared it with the Brothers and Sisters of the Common Life, the canons and canonesses of Windesheim and Diepenveen, who had begun the renewal of the vita religiosa in the spirit of the Devotio Moderna.297 The second expansion of women’s communities, which began in the early seventeenth century, was shaped not by the Modern Devotion, but by the Counter-Reformation. Urban and ecclesiastical authorities, above all the prince-bishops of Lüttich, hastened to create the most favorable conditions possible for the canonesses and their new foundations, because they expected that the canonesses (like the Ursulines and the English Ladies) would provide for young girls the same orthodox education and moral formation that the

295 Hereswitha, De Heilig-Graforde (n. 12) 340ff. Elm, Quellen (n. 12), no. 41. 296 Trecpoel (n. 12), 166. 297 Cf. the summary account of R.R. Post, The Modern Devotion. Confrontation with Reformation and Humanism, Studies in Medieval and Reformation Thought iii (1968), 259ff., 493ff. Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri 109

Jesuits had begun to provide for young boys.298 After decades of quiet a third wave of expansion emerged, explosively, in the second half of the nineteenth century. And like the second it, too, was driven by measures centered on the politics of education. It was provoked by the anti-clerical educational policies of the Belgian government, which reached their sharpest expression between 1837 and 1844, and which drove Catholics to develop more fully their own forms of private confessional schooling.299 Since the Canonesses of the Holy Sepulcher had already played a considerable role in that regard from the seven- teenth century, so too in the nineteenth they came again to be of special importance in matters of education. Their second intensive engagement in the education of youth differed from the first, however (apart from questions of motive) especially with regard to its particular orientation. In the seventeenth century the canonesses concerned themselves with training in the French lan- guage and with the education of the daughters of the nobility and from the higher ranks of the bourgeoisie, not only in the Low Countries but also in Germany and England. In the nineteenth century, however, they engaged themselves deliberately in the service of the general population. In fact the weight of their pedagogical efforts began to outweigh their charitable work, so much so that it sometimes became difficult for outsiders to distinguish the women of the order, despite their red patriarchal crosses, from so many other nineteenth-century congregations of sisters devoted to education, and to see them as followers of those who had come before, the Canonesses of the Holy Sepulcher, the filiae Jerusalem who had turned from the world and devoted themselves to liturgical duties alone.

v

In hindsight, the range of groups and institutions that have been associated with the Ordo SS. Sepulcri Dominici Hierosolymitani since its founding can be seen as a conglomeration that brings together many of the elements, though not all, of the history of the religious orders and their corporations as it had developed

298 L.E. Halkin, Le cardinal de la Marck, prince évêque de Liège (1505–1538). Réforme protestante et réforme catholique au diocèse de Liège (Université de Liège. Faculté de philosophie- lettres, Bibliothèque 43, 1930); A. Pasture, La restauration religieuse aux Pays-Bas catholiques sous les archiducs Albert et Isabella 1596–1633, Univ. de Louvain. Rec. de travaux d’histoire et de philologie ii, 3 (1925); Brecher (n. 278), 376ff. 299 A. Simon, Le Cardinal Sterck et son temps 1792–1867 (1950), ii, 230ff.; J.L. Broeck, Flandria Nostra, (1958), v, 25ff.; R. Van Roosbroeck, Geschiedenis van Vlaanderen (1946ff.), v, 520ff. 110 chapter 2 from the high middle ages. But a closer look also reveals that the formation and reception of the way of life and the forms of organization noted here were some- thing other than a normal phenomenon that simply corresponded to so many other comparable orders. Rather, that formation and reception represent what was, to a certain degree, a consequence of the decisive principles enshrined in the constitution of the chapter and the order it sustained. From the fall of Jerusalem in 1187 to the dissolution of the foundation in Perugia in 1489, and indeed until the secularization of the last foundation in the nineteenth century, the order continued to claim to be the chapter of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, and to represent the cathedral clergy of Jerusalem. This meant, concretely, that only the canons in residence with the archprior (along with a few priors of filial foundations who were named on a case-by-case basis) could claim the status of a Canonicus Hierosolymitanus. To preserve this archaic and exclusive principle of organization while still holding together the wide- spread network of membra founded or incorporated in the twelfth and thir- teenth centuries was a challenge. Wholesale adoption of the egalitarian constitutional spirit of the newer religious orders was not possible. Instead there had to be crafted a system of graduated and partial participation, as well as a mechanism for delegation, assignment and representation – a system that left the substance of the order’s structure unchanged and yet held together a broad confederation of monasteria, praepositurae, prioratus, domus, ecclesiae, capellae, altaria, hospitia et alia loca.300 Despite such challenges of organization and structure, and despite the com- petition between archprior and patriarch that threatened the unity of the order, so many prepositi, priores, priorisse, magistri, preceptores, plebani, rectores, com- mendatores et alii administratores, economi et officiales, fratres, confratres, con- versi, donati, oblati, sorores et alii personae cuiuscumque conditionis et sexus,301 though scattered across all of Europe and shaped by so many particular regional circumstances, still managed to become integrated into a unique community. And yet this was not merely the result of a more or less consciously developed constitutional system. What held so many people of different gender, social sta- tus and language together across so many centuries within the Order of the Holy Sepulcher was a self-understanding, defended against all competing claims, whose most important elements can only be hinted at here: the duty, as Custodes SS. Sepulcri, and in imitation of the Marys, to spread the good news of the Resurrection, and the conviction that they were able to lead their community back to the ecclesia primitiva, back to the beginnings of the church of Jerusalem.

300 Following Elm, Quellen (n. 12) no. 8, 12, 23; Nakielski, Miechovia (n. 12), 303. 301 Following Hereswitha, Documenten (n. 12), 493 und kdm (n. 12) iii, 347. chapter 3 Mendicants and Humanists in Florence in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries: The Problem of Justifying Humanistic Studies in the Mendicant Orders

As the Observant movement in the mendicant orders reached its height in the fifteenth century,1 its impact on the older orders was diverse: Here the enthu- siasm of the turbulent masses stirred by the sermons of a Bernardino of Siena,2 John of Capistrano3 or Albert of Sarteano,4 there the critical distance of an educated laity whose confidence had been heightened through the studia humanitatis. The literary caricatures of a Masuccio Salernitano,5 or the sarcasm with which Leonardo Bruni,6 Francesco Filelfo7 and Poggio

1 On the Observant movement among the mendicants generally: J. Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order from its Origins to the Year 1517 (Oxford, 1968), 368ff., 437ff.; William A. Hinnebusch, The History of the Dominican Order I: Origins and Growth to 1500 (New York, 1966), 229ff.; idem., The History of the Dominican Order ii: Intellectual and Cultural Life to 1500 (New York, 1973), 341ff.; A.M. Rossi, Manuale di storia dell’ordine dei servi di maria mccxxxiii– mcmliv (Rome, 1956), 57ff.; K. Walsh, “The Observant Congregations of the Augustinian Friars in Italy c. 1385–c. 1465” (Ph.D., Oxford, 1972). 2 S. Bernardino da Siena. Saggi e richerche pubblicati nel quinto centenario della morte (1444– 1944) (Pubbl. dell’Univ. Catolica del S. Cuore, ns vi, Milan, 1945). On the problematic noted here: K. Hefele, Der hl. Bernhardin von Siena und die franziskanische Wanderpredigt in Italien während des xv Jahrhunderts (Freiburg, 1912). 3 J. Hofer, Johannes Kapistran. Ein Leben im Kampf um die Reform der Kirche, vols. 1–2, Bibliotheca Franciscana (Heidelberg, 1964–5), I, 97ff. 4 B. Neri, La vita ed i tempi di Alberto da Saretano (Quaracchi, 1902); F. Biccellari, “Un frances- cano umanista, il B. Alberto da Saretano 1385–1450,” Studi francescani 35, 36 (1938, 1939), 22– 48; 47–95; R. Pratesi, “Nuovi documenti sul B. Alberto da Saretano (†1450),” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 53 (1960), 78–110. 5 G. Petrocci, ed., Masuccio Salernitano. Il Novellino (Florence, 1957), 52ff. Cf. A. Capasso, “I frati in Masuccio Salernitano,” Biblioteca delle scuole italiane 10 (1904). 6 E. Brown, ed., Oratio in hypocritas. Fasciculus rerum expetendarum et fugiendarum ab Orthuiono Gratio, editus Colonaie mdxxxv (London, 1690). See also H. Baron, Leonardi Bruni Aretino: Humanistisch-philosophische Schriften mit einer Chronologie seiner Werke und Briefe (Leipzig-Berlin, 1928), 164. 7 C. De’Rosmini, Vita di Francesco Filelfo da Toletino (Milan, 1808), iii, 74.

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Bracciolini8 described the wandering Franciscan preacher’s powers of per- suasion were hardly original inventions. Rather, they were an integral part of a long tradition—from the satires of Rutebeuf9 and Chaucer10 through the principled critique of Wyclif11 or Valla12 to the radical rejection of the reformers13—that had made the mendicant friar the subject of ridicule and contempt.14 Nevertheless the humanist critics of the Observants were quite different from both their predecessors and successors, as were the feuds that an Albertino Mussato, or a Guarino of Verona fought out with members of the religious orders.15 In the fourteenth century Italy’s lay

8 Contra Hypocritas (see n. 6) and G. Vallese, Contro l’ipocrisia (Naples, 1946). See also E. Garin, “De avaricia,” in Prosatori Latini del Quattrocento. Storia e testi 13 (Milan-Naples, 1952), 248–301; R. Fubini (ed.), “Un’orazione di Poggio Bracciolini sui vizi del clero scritta al tempo del concilio di Costanza,” Giornale storico della letteratura italiana 142 (1965). 24–33; G. Vallese, “P. Bracciolini e il ‘Contra hypocritas’,” Italica 23 (1946), 147–51. 9 E. Faral and J. Bastin, Oevres complètes de Rutebeuf (Paris, 1959). T. Denkinger, “Die Bettelorden in der franzöischen didaktischen Literatur des 13. Jahrhunderts, im beson- deren bei Rutebeuf und im Roman de la Rose,” Franziskanische Studien 2 (1915), 63–109; 286–313; A. Serper, “Rutebeuf, poète satirique,” (1969), 75ff. 10 Manley-Rickert, ed., Canterbury Tales (Chicago, 1948); A. Williams, “Chaucer and his Friars,” Speculum 28 (1953), 499–513. 11 See, among others, Th. Arnold, “Fifty heresies and Errors of the Friars,” in Select English Works of John Wyclif (London, 1869–71), 367ff.; A. Dakin, Die Beziehung John Wiclifs und der Lollarden zu den Bettelmönchen (London, 1911). 12 De professione Religiosorum, in E. Garin, Prosatori (above, n. 8), 566–631; R. Radetti, “La religione di Lorenzo Valla,” Medioevo e Rinascimento 2 (1955), 595–620; Charles Trinkaus, “Humanist Treatises on the Status of Religious,” Studies in the Renaissance 11 (1964), 7–45, now in Ibid., In Our Image and Likeness. Humanity and Divinity in Italian Humanist Thought (Chicago, 1970). 13 See, for example, V. Sarenac, Luthers Kritik an den Mönchsgelübden bis zum Albassstreit (Jena, 1940); B. Löhse, Mönchtum und Reformation. Luthers Auseinandersetzung mit den Mönchsideal des Mittelalters (Göttingen, 1963), 267ff. 14 On the mendicant friar as an object of satire see, among others, P. Lehmann, Die Parodie im Mittelalter, 2nd ed. (Stuttgart, 1963), 68ff, 188ff., 192ff. 15 J.G. Graevius, ed., Thesaurus antiquitatum et historiarum Italiae (Leiden, 1722) vi, 2, 59–62; A. Zardo, Albertino Mussato (Padua, 1884), 302–10; F. Novati, ed., Epistolario, Fonti per la Storia d’Italia 15–18 (Rome, 1891–1911), iii, 539–43, iv, 170–205; F. Cinquino, “Coluccio Salutati. Defender of Poetry,” Italica (1949), 131–35; J. Reginald O’Donnell, “Coluccio Salutati on the Poet-Teacher,” Medieval Studies (1960). C. Trinkaus (above, n. 12), 662; T.F. Rich, “Giovanni da Sanminiato and Coluccio Salutati,” Speculum (1936), 386–90; R. Sabbadini, ed., Epistolario de Guarino Veronese, Miscellanea di Storia Veneta iii, 11 (Venice, 1916); 519–34. On the feud of the Franciscan Antonius of Rho with Antonio Beccadelli see: D. Ronzoni, L’eloquenzia di S. Bernadino da Siena e della sua scuola (Siena, 1899),

Mendicants and Humanists in Florence 113 culture16 had moved from merely handing down cultura Latina to a conscious reception of an ancient legacy. Consequently the mendicants—with their concern for schooling and a culture of preaching oriented toward the needs of the masses—had come to be seen as cultural competitors. Their norms, institutions and customs were not only rejected, but came to be seen as a threat to a way of life oriented toward the model of antiquity.17 When Poggio denounced the mendicants as rudes atque incultu aselli bipedales18 it was not only a bonmot in search of applause, not only an element of style of an invec- tive subtly deployed by the humanists.19 It was the precise formulation of an opposition between new and old, between education and ignorance, between artistry and banality, between “Renaissance” and the “Middle Ages,” which the humanists saw personified in themselves and their mendicant antagonists.20

15, 103 and 114. On the feud of the Observant Antonius von Bitonto with Lorenzo Valla: A. Gaeta, Antonio da Bitonto ofm, oratore e teologo del secolo xv (Baronissi-Salerno, 1952), 35–57. See also in this connection: M.L. Plaisant, “Un oposculo inedito di Francesco da Fiano in difesa della poesia,” Rinascimento ii, 1 (1961), 119ff. V.R. Giustiniani, Alamanno Rinuccini 1426–1499. Materialieun und Forschungen zur Geschichte des florentinischen Humanismus, vol. 5, Studi Italiani (Cologne-Graz, 1965), 76–79. On the literary confronta- tions between humanists and mendicants generally: V. Rossi and A. Valone, Il Quatrocento, 4th ed. (Milan, 1949), 54–9; E. Garin, Il pensiero pedagogico dell’umanesimo, I classici della pedagogia italiana 2 (Florence, 1958), 1–89; F. Tateo, I centri culturali dell’umanesimo, Letteratura Italiana Laterza 10 (Bari, 1971), 39ff. 16 See, among others P.O. Kristeller, “Humanism and Scholasticism in the Italian Renaissance,” Byzantion (1944–45), also in ibid., Studies in Renaissance Thought and Letters, 2nd ed. (Rome, 1969), 553–583; R. Weiss, The Dawn of Humanism in Italy (London, 1947); ibid., “Lineamenti per una storia del primo umanesimo Fiorentino,” Rivista storica italiana 60 (1948), 349ff. H. Wieruszowski, “Rhetoric and the Classics in Italian Education of the Thirteenth Century,” Studia Gratiana 11 (1967), 169–208, also in Politics and Culture in Medieval Spain and Italy, Storia e Letteratura 121 (Rome, 1971), 589–627. 17 Novati (above, n. 15), 327 n. 8 and B. Smalley, English Friars and Antiquity in the Early Fourteenth Century (Oxford, 1960), 278–79 note forcefully the “avversione pre’frati” and the ideas of the “educated laymen” about the role of the friars. 18 T. Tonelli, ed., Pogii Florentini epistolae (Florence, 1832–61) I, 261. 19 F. Vismara, L’invetiva, arma preferita degli umanisti (Milan, 1900). 20 On the historical self-understanding of the Italian humanists, among others: W.K. Ferguson, “Humanist Views of the Renaissance,” American Historical Review 45 (1939), 1–28; F. Simone, “La conscienza della rinascita negli umanisti,” La Rinascita 2, 3 (1939, 1940), 838–71, 163–85; T.E. Mommsen, “Petrarch’s Conception of the ‘Dark Ages’,” Speculum 17 (1942), 226–42; H. Weisinger, “The Renaissance Theory of the Reaction against the Middle Ages as a Cause of the Renaissance,” Speculum 20 (1945); A. Buck, Das Geschichtsdenken der Renaissance, Schriften und Vorträge des Petrarca-Instituts Köln 9 (Krefeld, 1957); P. Burke, The Renaissance Sense of the Past (London, 1969). Further literature: J. Voss, Das Mittelalter

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Such distancing from the mendicants was no one-sided affair, driven only by the concerns of the humanists. Jerome and Augustine had long ago begun to hash out between them the opposition between l’amour des letters and désir du Dieu, the difference between the codices sacri and the libri gentilium, between sacra Sophia and philosophia pagana. But that difference had perhaps never been more fully treated than in the treatises in which Giovanni da Mantua and John of Prato, and above all John Dominici, turned against the overestimation of the ancient poets and their reckless use in education.21 Here was the verdict of the mendicant polemics, officially approved by the Franciscan Observants:22 utilius est Christianis terram arare quam gentilium intendere libros.23 But it was nothing new.24 Warnings against the study of hea- then philosophers and the all-too intimate familiarity with the poets had echoed through the mendicant orders again and again from the thirteenth century. It happened not only among marginal groups, like the Spirituals or Carmelites, driven to uphold the vita eremitica,25 but also at the pinnacle of the

im historischen Denken Frankreichs, Veröffentlichungen des Historischen Instituts der Universität Mannheim 3 (1972), 22–39; F.J. Worstbrock, “Über das geschichtliche Selbst­ verständnis des deutschen Humanismus,” in Historizität in Sprach- und Literaturwis­ ­sen­ schaft. Vorträge und Berichte der Stuttgarter Germanistentagung 1972, ed. W. Müller-Seidel (1974). Also informative: D.A. Barbagli, “L’ideale dell’eleganzia agli albori del movimento humanistico,” Rinascimento ii, 1 (1961), 63–94; C. Vasoli, “L’estetica dell’Umanesimo e del Rinascimento,” in Problemi ed orientamenti critici di lingua e letteratura italiana. Momenti e problemi di storia dell’estetica (Milan, 1959), 332ff. 21 Leclercq, L’amour des lettres et le désir de Dieu. Initiation aux auteurs monastiques du moyen âge (Paris, 1957). 22 F. Novati (see above, n. 15) iii, 221–29, 539ff.; Duffner, Die “Moralia” Gregors des Groβen in ihren italienischen Volgarizzamenti (Padua, 1958), 31–80; F.A. Zaccaria, Iter litterarium per Italiam (Venice, 1762), 325–356; J.G. Graevius (above, n. 15) vi, 2, c. 54–57; Edmund Hunt, ed., Iohannis Dominici Lucula Noctis, Publications in Medeival Studies (Notre Dame, in, 1940); B.L. Ullman, “The Dedication Copy of Giovanni Dominici’s Lucula Nocits. A Landmark in the History of the Italian Renaissance,” Medievalia et Humanistica 1 (1943), 109–123; Ibid., Studies in the Italian Renaissance, Storia e Letteratura 51 (Rome, 1955), 258ff. 23 L. Lemmens, Beati Bernardini Aquilani Chronica Fratrum Minorum Observantiae, Fragmenta Franciscana ii (Rome, 1902), 43ff. 24 E. Hunt (above, n. 22). 25 See, for example F.M. Delorme, “Fr. Petri Joannis Olivi tractatus ‘De perlegendis Philosophorum libris’,” Antonianum (1941), 31–44; A. Staring, “Nicolai Prioris Generalis Ordinis Carmelitarum Ignea saggita,” Carmelus 9 (1962), 237–307; C. Cicconetti, La regola del Carmelo. Origine, natura, significato, Textus et Studia Historica Carmelitana 12 (Rome, 1973); B. Smalley, “John Baconthorpe’s Postill on St Matthew,” Medieval and Renaissance Studies 4 (1958), 121–39.

Mendicants and Humanists in Florence 115 orders. For all of their differences Bonaventure26 (Minister General of the Franciscans) and Humbert of Romans27 (fifth successor to St. Dominic) agreed that the study of ancient philosophers was to be undertaken only with care, and could make no claim to speak to matters of salvation: Qui ergo vult discere, quaeret scientiam in suo fonte scilicet in sacra scriptura, quia apud philosophos non est scientia ad dandam remissionem peccatorum. The assessment of the ancients and of Aristotelian philosophy28 from Bonaventura’s Collationes in Hexameron found a parallel in the oft-cited measure of the Dominican Constitutions from 1220, which prohibited the study of the libri gentilium et philosophorum and any engagement with seculares scientie and the artes quam liberales vocant—or allowed such study only with the permission of the minis- ter general or the general chapter.29 This disassociation from ancient philoso- phy and poetry, first formulated in the thirteenth century30 and taken up anew, under different conditions, in the fifteenth, is misunderstood if it is cast merely as a “negation of the humanistic spirit” or indeed as a consequence of a “competition in the palestra letteraria that had first been a monopoly of the religious orders.”31 In the fifteenth century as in the thirteenth, it was above all an expression of the fear of novelty, of new ways of teaching and viewing the world, through which individual salvation and praise of God—in short, religious life and monastic spirituality—seemed to be threatened.32

26 See fn. 28. 27 “Expositio Magistri Humberti super Constitutiones Fratrum Praedicatorum,” in B. Humberti de Romanis Opera de vita regulari, ed. J.J. Berthier (Turin, 1956). 28 Coll. in Hex. xix, 7. Opera Omnia V (Quaracchi, 1891), 421. On the connection: H. van der Laan, “The Idea of Christian Philosophy in Bonaventure’s Collationes in Hexaëmeron,” in S. Bonaventura 1274–1974 iii. Philosophica (Rome, 1973), 39–56. 29 H. Denifle, “Die Constitutionen des Predigerordens vom Jahre 1228,” Archiv für Literatur- und Kirchengeschichte des Mittelalters 2 (1885); R. Creytens, “Les Constitutions des frères Prêcheurs dans la rédaction de S. Raymond de Peñafort,” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 18 (1948), 29–68; G.G. Meerseman, “In libris gentilium non studeant. L’étude des classiques interdite auz clercs au moyen âge?” Italia medioevale e umanistica 1 (1958), 1–13. 30 On the prohibition of the “libri pertinentes ad aliquas sciencias seculares preter logicales et ea que pertinent ad moralem philosophiam” (moph xx, 2); K.W. Humphreys, The Book Provisions of the Medieval Friars 1215–1400, Studies in the History of Libraries and Librarianship 1 (Amsterdam, 1964), 42ff. 31 O. Bacci, Della prosa volgare del Quattrocento (Florence, 1897), 16; F. Biccerlari, “Un Francescano umanista, il B. Alberto Saretano 1385–1450,” Studi Francescani 35 (1938). 32 G.M. Sicacca, La visione della vita nell’umanesimo e Coluccio Salutati (Palermo, 1954), 25ff.; J.W. Frank, “Die Spannung zwischen Ordensleben und wissenschaftlicher Arbeit im frühen Dominikanerorden,” Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 49 (1967), 164–201.

116 chapter 3

For the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the antithesis between sophia sacra and philosophia gentilum, the sharp contrast of the world of the human- ists with the world of the mendicants, can be seen as a kind of rhetorical commonplace, a schoolman’s tortured literary topos.33 For us, too, it is little more than a hermeneutic device helpful for capturing a reality in which sharp lines of division between mendicants and humanists were often blurred, and in which permeable boundaries were more common than sharp confronta- tions. The Florentine chancellor Coluccio Salutati not only defended the writ- ings of the ancients against the suspicions of a John of S. Miniato and a John Dominici. In his treatise De seculo et religione Salutati emerged as such an advocate for religious life that he not only encouraged the addressee of the work, Niccolò di Lapo da Uzzano, to uphold his propositum, but also led his Florentine contemporary Filippo Villani to enter the cloister.34 Moreover, Salutati’s adversary, the Dominican cardinal Giovanni Dominici, has been seen not only as a fighter against poetae impudici. At least since Sadoleto, Dominici has also been honored as the incarnation of a verus humanista.35 Giovanni Dominici, moreover, was not the only figure who embodied a synthesis of vita religiosa and studia humanitatis. The biographies of the orders provide many further examples of fratres sanctitate, doctrina et litteris illustres.36 Indeed, according to P.O. Kristeller, of some 200 members of the religious orders who became well-known humanists beyond the walls of the cloister in Italy and Germany between 1400 and 1530, well more than half came from the mendi- cant orders.37 Among these the Dominicans were slightly ahead of both the

33 See, for example, Giustiniani (above, n. 15), 76–77; Novati (above, n. 15). 34 B.L. Ullman, Coluccio Salutati de seculo et religione, Nuova Colleczione di testi umanistici inediti o rari 12 (Florence, 1957). See also G. Toffanin, “Per Coluccio Salutati,” Rinascimento 9 (1956), 4–10; P. Oliver, “Review,” Speculum 34 (1959), 131–35; B.L. Ullman, The Humanism of Coluccio Salutati, Medioevo e Umanesimo 4 (1963), 26ff. 35 J. Sadoleto, Phaedrus, in: Opera (Mainz, 1607); Pironti, ed., Elogia della Sapienza (Naples, 1950). See also P. Stella, “Saggio bio-bibliographico,” in Giovanni Dominici (†1419). Saggi e inediti, Memorie Dominicane ns 1 (Pistoia, 1970), 203–35. 36 J. Quétif and J. Echard, Scriptores ordinis Praedicatorum (Paris, 1719–23); T. Käppeli, Scriptores ordinis Praedicatorum medii aevi I (Rome, 1970); B. Xiberta, De scriptoribus scho- lasticis saeculi xiv ex Ordine Carmelitarum (Louvain, 1931); J.F. Ossinger, Bibliotheca Augustiniana Historica (Ingolstadt-, 1768 [Repr. Turin, 1963]); D.A. Perini, Bibliographia Augustiniana (Florence, 1929–37). See also G.M. Besutti, “Repertori e sussidi generali,” in Bibliografia dell’Ordine dei Servi, Bibliotheca Servorum Romandiolae 4 (Bologna, 1971), 19ff. 37 P.O. Kristeller, “The Contribution of the Religious Orders to Renaissance Thought and Learning,” The American Benedictine Review 21 (1970), 1–54.

Mendicants and Humanists in Florence 117

Augustinian Hermits and the Franciscans, while the Carmelites, Servites and the members of other smaller mendicant congregations trailed far behind. In the context of the overall numbers of their settlements and members, how- ever, the proportions shift decidedly toward the Augustinian Hermits, the “humanist” mendicant order par excellence. In light of these various numbers and relationships—all of which can be reinforced through an analysis of surviving library catalogues38—one could challenge the pointed thesis, inspired by the polemical literature of the Quattrocento, that there was some great distance between the mendicants and the humanists. One could instead argue with Kristeller (the thesis no less sharply formulated) that from the middle of the fifteenth century the mendicants had given up all opposition against the study of ancient authors, and had taken over an active role in the reception and cultivation of the legacy of antiquity.39 Concrete historical investigations of the relationships between mendicants and humanists can proceed from neither of these extremes.40 The study of the ancients took shape differently in the thirteenth century than in the fifteenth. It took on forms in Italy that differed from those north of the Alps. It was evalu- ated differently among the Dominicans and Franciscans than among the Augustinian Hermits and the Carmelites, and in fact met with both approval and resistance in the same order at the same time. It was influenced by so many particular social and political circumstances that one can hardly speak of either widespread approval or general condemnation. Indeed it is probably

38 P. Kibre, “The Intellectual Interests Reflected in Libraries of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries,” Journal of the History of Ideas 7 (1946), 257–97. For an analysis of mendicant libraries see K.W. Humphreys (above, n. 30). G. Abate, “Manoscritti e biblioteche frances- cane del medio evo,” in Il libro e le biblioteche. Atti del primo congresso bibliologico frances- cano internazaionale (Rome, 1950); D. Gutiérrez, “De antiquis Ordinis Eremitarum Sancti Augustini bibliothecis,” Analecta Augustiniana 23 (1954), 164–372; T. Käppeli, “Antiche biblioteche Domenicane in Italia,” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 36 (1966). 39 Kristeller (above, n. 37). 40 Apart from the work of B. Smalley (above, n. 17) and the research focused on individual orders and figures (see n. 62), the assertion encountered in H. Maschek, “Zur Geschichte des Humanismus im Franziskanerorden,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 28 (1935) remains valid: The relation of the religious orders to humanism, and especially the Franciscans, remains in need of foundational research. Several other scholars have made brief reference to the need for such research: Maschek, “Zur Geschichte des Humanismus im Franziskanerorden”; K. Arnold, Johannes Trithemius (1462–1516), Quellen und Forschungen zur Geschichte des Bistums und Hochstifts Würzburg vii (Würzburg, 1971), vii; H.A. Oberman in W. Eckermann, Der Physikkommentar Hugolins von Orvieto o.e.s.a. Ein Beitrag zur Erkenntnislehre des spätmittelalterlichen Augustinismus., Spätmittelalter und Reformation. Texte und Untersuchungen 4 (Berlin-New York, 1972), xix.

118 chapter 3 dangerous to speak even of “the” legitimation of humanistic studies in “the” mendicant orders at all. Armed with these caveats, the following investigation will limit itself to Florence in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In this relatively uniform setting, in one place across one period, the following hopes to show from one example how not official pronunciation, but rather the power of the facts on the ground—social conditions and dynamics, similar ideas and models—allowed mendicants and humanists to overcome the barriers between their different worlds, and find their way to intellectual community. Even a first glance suggests that relationships valid for Italy and Germany appear, in a general way, to be accurate for Florence as well. The smaller men- dicant orders—the order of the Servites, which emerged from a confraternity of Florentine merchants, along with the Carmelites,41 who had settled in Florence already before the fall of Acre—clearly provided, according to time and place, a rearguard in the field of humanist study. In S. Maria del Carmine the identification with the studia humanitatis was so weak that it cannot be compared to the literary energy42 that developed in the Congregation of Mantua in the fifteenth century. And Paolo Attavanti, a conventual of the Florentine Servite cloister at S. Maria Annunziata, produced sermons and psalm commentaries shaped by the spirit of the unica et divina sapientia Platonicorum only in the second half of the fifteenth century.43 Earlier and far more intense, in contrast, was the contact of the Dominicans, Franciscans and Augustinian Hermits with the culture of antiquity that came to life anew in the thirteenth century, and that flowered so remarkably in the fourteenth. Already in the first decades of the fourteenth century, under the leadership of the

41 The relatively limited interest referenced in R. Davidsohn, Forschungen zur Geschichte von Florenz (Berlin, 1896–1908), iv, 81 has been confirmed through an analysis of the cloister library: K.W. Humphreys, The Library of the Carmelites of Florence at the End of the Fourteenth Century (Amsterdam, 1964). 42 L. Saggi, La Congregazione Mantovana dei Carmelitani sino all morte de B. Battista Spagnoli (1516), Textus et Studia Historica Carmelitana 1 (Rome, 1954). On the work of Battista Mantovano: E. Coccia, Le edizioni delle opere del Mantovano (Rome, 1960). See also B.M. de la Croix, “Les Carmes Humanistes (Environ 1465 jusque 1525),” Etudes Carmelitaines 20 (1935), 19–23. 43 Expositio in psalmos paenitentiales (Milan, 1479); Quadragesimale de reditu peccatoris ad Deum seu thesaurus praedicatorum (Milan, 1479). See A.M. Serra, “Memoria di Fra Paola Attavanti,” in Bibliografia dell’Orgine dei Servi I, Bibliotheca Servorum Romadiolae 4 (Bologna, 1971), 213–54. On the spiritual life in ss Annunziata: E. Casalini, La ss. Anunziata. Studi e documenti sulla chiesa e il convento, Collana di contributi per la storia e per l’arte a cura della provincia Toscana dei Servi di Maria (Florence, 1971).

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­lector Remigio Girolami, S. Maria Novella began to reach back strongly to Cicero, Seneca, Virgil and Horace and to turn more sharply to the models of Alexander, Cicero and Octavian than had been the case in a culture of notaries shaped by the ars dictaminis.44 The recovery of further elements of antiquity continued in the course of the fourteenth century, and indeed into the ­fifteenth in Santa Maria Novella from the beginnings Remigio had made there.45 Around the core of a Thomist-influenced scholasticism emerged a homiletic literature whose authors, Jacobo Passavanti,46 Taddeo Dini,47 Luca de Manetti48 and Dominico da Corella,49 with reference to Seneca, cited the virtutes antiquorum principum et philosophorum and clothed the life of Mary in the language of a Virgilian epic—all in the hope that their pastoral efforts would make a more dramatic impression among the faithful, many of whom now seemed less than convinced by traditional legends and pious stories of miracles. On the periphery of this intellectual system, so to speak, were brothers like Vicenzo Bandello,50 Nicolaus de Mirabilibus,51 Simone da Cascina52 and Giovanni Caroli,53 who carried on conversations with the Humanists, who corresponded with Pico della Mirandola and disputed in the household of Lorenzo de’ Medici.

44 Sermoni d’occasione, le sequenze e i ritmi di Remigio Girolami Fiorentino, in Scritti vari di Filologia (Rome, 1901); L. Minio-Paluello, “Remigio Girolami’s De bono communi,” Italian Studies 11 (1956), 56–71; C.T. Davis, “An Early Florentine Political Theorist: Fra Remigio de’Girolami,” Proceedings of the American Philological Society 104 (1960), 665ff.; Ibid., “Education in Dante’s Florence,” Speculum 40 (1965), 415–35. 45 Foundational: S. Ordlandi, “Necrologio” di S. Maria Novella (Florence, 1955); Ibid., La Bibliotheca di S. Maria Novella in Firenze dal Sec. xiv al Sec. xix (Florence, 1952). 46 Orlandi (see above, n. 45) I, 88–89, 450–71; Monteverdi, Studi e saggi sulla letteratura itali- ana dei primi secoli (Milan, 1954), 167ff.; T. Käppeli, “Opere latine attribute a Jacopo Passavanti,” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 32 (1962), 153ff.; C. Getto, Umanità e stile di J. Passavanti (Milan, 1943). 47 Orlandi (above, n. 45) I, 498. 48 Orlandi (above, n. 45) i, 568ff.; T. Käppeli, “Luca Manetti (†1362) e la sua Tabulatio et expositio Senecae,” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 18 (1948), 237–264. 49 Orlandi (above, n. 45) ii, 187–90, 305–15; J.B.M. Contarenus, Nuova raccolta d’opuscoli sci- entifici e filologici, vol. 17 (1768); 19 (1770), 10ff. 50 P.O. Kristeller, “A Thomist Critique of Marsilio Ficino’s Theory of Will and Intellect,” in Harry Austryn Wolfson Jubilee Volume. Engl. Section, Jerusalem (1965), 463–494. See also the references to him in the investigations of the biography of his nephew: C. Godi, “Per la biografia di Matteo Bandello,” Italia medioevale e umanistica 11 (1968), 257–92. 51 Kristeller (above, n. 37), 46. 52 Hinnebusch ii (above, n. 1), 369. 53 Orlandi (above, n. 45) I, 898–900; ii, 353–80. Kristeller (above, n. 37), 43.

120 chapter 3

In S. Croce, as in S. Maria Novella, a notable embrace of the ancients is visi- ble already at the end of the thirteenth century. The library of the Franciscan convent received in that era not only the grammars and dictionaries of Priscian, Isidor and Papias, but also works of Virgil, Servius, Solinus, Eutripius, Suetonius, Horace and Ovid. It is also known that one of the conventuals, a Fra Anastasio, used the manuscripts of the library for a Latin commentary on Virgil’s Aeneid.54 The openness to the ancient tradition that these examples suggest—an open- ness that, as with the Dominicans, was probably shaped above all by the needs of preachers, and one that included Dante himself—did not become the defin- itive style for the spirituality of the brothers of S. Croce. That had already been shaped in the 1280s by the lectors Peter John Olivi and Ubertino da Casale, who saw in the cultivation of ancient philosophy more danger than desire for salvation,55 and who obligated the convent to a certain notable and lasting distance over against the city’s political, social and cultural leadership.56 That distance did not prevent brothers like Fra Illuminato and Fra Tedaldo della Casa from maintaining ties to the humanists in the fourteenth century,57 however. And here, as E. Garin has pointed out,58 there emerged conditions that nurtured the platonic spirituality of Marsilio Ficino and the Florentine Academy.

54 C.T. Davis, “The Early Collection of Books of S. Croce in Florence,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 107 (1963). Ibid., Education (above, n. 44), 418. 55 Along with n. 25 see also F. Sarri, “Piero di Giovanni Olivi e Ubertino da Casale Maestri di Teologia a Firenze,” Studi Francescani 22 (1925). On the role of the Fraticelli in Florence: L. Oliger, “Beiträge zur Geschichte der Spiritualen, Fratizellen und Clarener,” Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 44 (1926), 215ff. 56 F. Tocco, Studi francescani (Naples, 1909), 406ff.; M. D’Alatri, “L’inquisizione francescana nell’Italia centrale nel secolo xiii,” Collactanea franciscana 23 (1953), 77ff.; Ibid., “Nuove notizie sull’inquisizione toscana del duecento,” Collactenea Franciscana 31 (1960), 637–44; M.B. Becker, “Florentine Politics and the Diffusion of Heresy in the Trecento: A Socio- Economic Inquiry,” Speculum 34 (1959), 60–75. 57 Davis (above, n. 54), 477ff.; F. Mattesini, “La biblioteca di S. Croce e Fra Tedaldo della Casa,” Studi Francescani 57 (1960), 254–316; F. Sarri, “Fratre Tedaldo della Casa e le sue transcrizioni petrarchesche,” Annali della cattedra petrarchesca 4 (1933); C. Mazzi, “L’inventario quattrocentesco della biblioteca di S. Croce in Firenze,” Rivista delle biblio- teche e degli archive 8 (1897), 16–31; 99–113; 129–47. 58 E. Garin, “Il francescanesimo e le origini del rinascimento,” in Filosofia e cultura in Umbria fra medioevo e rinascimento Atti del iv Convegno di studi Umbri, Gubbio 22–26 Maggio 1966 (Perugia, 1967), 113–132; P.O. Kristeller, “Florentine Platonism and its Relation with Humanism and Scholasticism,” Church History 8 (1939), 202ff.; ibid., “The Scholastic Background of Marsilio Ficino,” Traditio 2 (1944), 257–318 (now ibid., in Studies in Renaissance Thought and Letters, Storia e Letteratura 54 (Rome, 1969), 35–55).

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The study of ancient authors at S. Maria Novella and S. Croce was never so intensive, the bonds between the religious orders and humanists never so strong, that one could speak of a convergence between the mendicant orders and humanism. But if ever there were a symbiosis of religious life and studium litterarum in a Florentine mendicant house an almost institutional bond between the two cultural worlds, then it was to be found in the convent of the Augustinian Hermits of S. Spirito. Founded in 1250 on the left bank of the Arno,59 from 1287 tied to a studium generale60 and distinguished for its many important theologians and preachers,61 in the last half of the fourteenth cen- tury the friary found itself home to a circle of religious and educated laity gath- ered under the leadership of its prior, Luigi Marsigli.62 Scholars from Voigt63 to Tateo64 have praised that moment as a milestone on the journey from the medieval schools and universities to the more open forms of modern lay edu- cation. Decades after the dissolution of a circle whose members found them- selves both within and beyond the walls of S. Spirito, John of Prato in the Paradiso degli Alberti portrayed its composition, concerns and sociability65 in colors that, in Baron’s view,66 belong more to the fifteenth century than to the

59 S. Bellandi, La chiesa di S. Spirito di Firenze (Florence, 1921); see also Bolletino storico agos- tiniano 25 and 26 (1949), 31–40; (1950), 1–9. 60 Analecta Augutsiniana 2 (1908), 271, 275. On the organization of the schools of the Augustinian Hermits: E. Ypma, La formation des professeurs chez les Ermites de Saint- Augustin de 1256 à 1354 (Paris, 1956); D. Gutiérrez, “Los estudios en la Orden Augustiniana desde la Edad Media hasta la contempránea,” Analecta Augustiniana 33 (1970), 75–149. 61 See, among others, Ossinger (above, n. 36) 53, 223, 346, 413, 592. A. Zumkeller, “Die Augustinerschule des Mittelalters: Vertreter und philosophisch-theologische Lehre (über- sicht nach dem heutigen Stand der Forschung),” Analecta Augustiniana 27 (1964), 174–76. 62 F. del Secolo, Un teologo dell’ ultimo trecento: Luigi Marsigli (Trani, 1898); C. Cesari, Notizie intorno a Luigi Marsili (Lovere, 1900); S. Bellandi, Luigi Marsali degli Augustiniani, apos- tolo ed anima del rinascimento letterario in Firenze, an. 1342–1394 (Florence, 1911). In sum- mary: R. Arbesmann, Der Augustiner-Eremitenorden und der Beginn der humanistischen Bewegung, Cassiciacum 19 (Würzburg, 1965), 73–119. 63 G. Voigt, Die Wiederbelebung des classischen Altherthums oder das erste Jahrhundert des Humanismus, 4th ed. (Berlin, 1960), I, 184ff. 64 Tateo, I centri culturali dell’umanesimo, 39. 65 A. Wesselofsky, Il Paradiso degli Alberti, ritrovi e ragionamenti del 1389: Romanzo di Giovanni da Prato dal codice autografo e anonimo della Riccardiana, Scelta di curiosità letterarie inedite or rare 86–88 (Bologna, 1867). 66 H. Baron, The Crisis of the Early Italian Renaissance. Civic Humanism and Republican Liberty in the Age of Classicism and Tyranny (Princeton, 1955), 298ff.; ibid., Humanistic and Political Literature in Florence and Venice at the Beginning of the Quattrocento, Studies in Criticism and Chronology (Cambridge, Mass., 1955), 18–24.

122 chapter 3 lifetime of Luigi Marsili. What can be drawn from sources more proximate to the events is sufficient, however, to reveal that the circle—shaped by the prior of S. Spirito as through a divinum quoddam oraculum67—in fact brought reli- gious energy and worldly scholarship together in a way quite unusual for its day. Unfettered by an institution shaped by and bound to tradition, Marsili was able to teach and to influence his egregii adolescentes and his optimi ac praes- tantissimi viri civitatis68—men like Coluccio Salutati, Niccolò Niccoli and Roberto de’ Rossi—so powerfully that (as Coluccio confessed to his friends in 1401) they owed him the greatest part of their intellectual formation.69 Scholarship suggests that Luigi deployed a method of teaching70 that combined scholastic disputation with free conversation, and in doing so he aimed—as all of the sources suggest—at not only ea, quae ad religionem spectant, sed etiam ista, quae appellamus gentilia.71 He sought both studium doctrinae as well as morum institutio,72 and thus bound religious and intellectual formation to one of the many variants of an oft-cited “Christian Humanism.”72a According to the judgment of many contemporaries73 and the witness of his surviving works,74

67 “Poggio Florentini oratio in funere Nicolai Nicoli civis Florentini,” in: Poggii Florentini ora- toris et philosophi opera (Basel, 1538), 27. 68 Poggio (above, n. 87), 27. 69 L. Bruni, Ad Petrum Paulum Histrum dialogus, in: E. Garin (above, n. 8), 50. On the figures mentioned here, with extensive further literature: L. Martines, The Social World of the Florentine Humanists 1390–1480 (Princeton, 1963), 108–110, 110–112, 309–10. J.E. Siegel, Rhetoric and Philosophy in Renaissance Humanism. The Union of Eloquence and Wisdom, Petrarch to Valla (Princeton, 1968), 226–33. 70 Arbesmann (above, n. 62), 60–81; N.W. Gilbert, “The Early Italian Humanists and Disputation,” in Renaissance Studies in Honor of Hans Baron (Florence), 203ff. 71 Bruni (above n. 69), 50. 72 Poggio (above, n. 67), 27. 72a A. Buck, Das Problem des christlichen Humanismus in der italienischen Renaissance, Sodalitas Erasmiana I (Naples, 1950), 181–92. See also the thorough survey of literature in C. Angeleri, Il problema religioso del renascimento (Florence, 1952). 73 Along with the witnesses cited in notes 65, 67 and 69, see Leonardo Bruni, Dialogus de tribus vatibus florentinis, ed. K. Wotke (Viena, 1889), 12–13; ibid., De militia, ed. C.C. Bayley, War and Society in Renaissance Florence (Toronto, 1961), 381; Giannozzo Manetti, De illus- tribus longaevis, here following L. Mehus, ed., Vita Ambrosii Traversarii (Florence, 1759), lxxxvi; Cino Rinuccini, Risponsiva alla invettiva di Messer Antonio Lusco, ed. D. Moreni, Invectiva Colluci Salutati reip. Flor. a secretis in Antonium Luschum Vicentinun (Florence, 1826), 226ff.; F. Petrarca, Epistolae seniles, in: Opera (Basel, 1581), ii, 732; Lapo Mazzei, Lettere di un notaio a un mercante del secolo xiv, ed. Guasti (Florence, 1880), i, 69. 74 On the works: Cesari (above, n. 62), 102ff. and Arbesmann (above, n. 62), 87–88. Important here are the letters to Guido del Pelagio, cited by Arbesmann from the inaccessible edition of B. Sorio, Biblioteca Classica Sacra (1845) and C. Vasoli, “La ‘Regola per ben confessarsi’ di Luigi Marsili,” Rinascimento (1953), 39–44.

Mendicants and Humanists in Florence 123 the prior brought the best of qualifications to the task before him. So Coluccio Salutati in a letter of 1405 to Poggio Bracciolini: Quis hystoriarum etiam gentilium compositor, promptior atque tenacior? Quis theologie illumi- nator, quis atrium et philosophiae subtilior, quis eruditior antiquitatis vel eorum peritior, que callere creditor ista modernitas?75 To honor the prior properly would require, to speak with John of Prato, the eloquence of Demosthenes and Cicero.76 But his reputation rested not merely on his way of life and his knowledge. It also drew from the heritage of a renowned Florentine family.77 His mother had brought him to Petrarch already as a child, and thereafter he remained in the presence of the princeps humanista- rum. One can therefore include him in that oft-noted circle of Paduan, Florentine and Neapolitan Augustinian Hermits (including Michele da Massa, Dionigi da Borgo S. Sepolcro, Bartolomeo da Urbino, Bonaventura da Peraga and Bonsembiante Badoer). Along with Petrarch these figures formed such a closely knit intellectual, scholarly and religious community that it is rightly seen as one of the earliest and closest collaborations between the mendicant orders and humanism.78 The concord between humanists and religious that reached its height under Luigi Marsili (and that was in a certain way preserved in the library of S. Spirito)79 remained alive through the fifteenth century into the early years of the sixteenth. Naldo Naldi and Vespasiano da Bisticci tell of lectures and dispu- tations held in S. Spirito a few decades after Luigi’s death by the masters Vangelista da Pisa and Girolao da Napoli. Open to both clergy and laity, the

75 Epistolario (above, n. 15) iv, i, 138. 76 Wesselofsky (above, n. 65) iii, 3. 77 Casari (above, n. 62), 20ff. 78 E. van Möe, “Les Ermites de Saint-Augustin amis de Pétrarque,” Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire 46 (1929), 260–67; U. Mariani, Il Petrarca e gli Agostiniani, 2nd ed. (Rome, 1959); P. Courcelle, “Pétrarque entre Saint-Augstin et les Augustins du XIVe siècle,” Studi Petrarcheschi 7 (1961), 51–71. Arbesmann (above, n. 62) 15–73. 79 On the library of S. Spirito, in which were to be found the libraries or books of Boccaccio, Luigi Marsili, Nicolas di Michele Bonaiuti, Simone Tornaquinci, Antonio da Marcialla, Francesco d Nerei, Agostino Zenobi and William Becchi: D. Gutiérrez, “La biblioteca di Santo Spirito in Firenze nella metà del secolo xv,” Analecta Augustiniana 25 (1962), 5–88; A. Mazza, “L’invenrario della ‘parva libraria’ di Santo Spirito et la biblioteca del Boccaccio,” Italia meioevale et umanistica 9 (1966), 1–74. On the intention of Antonio Corbinelli and Giannozzo Manneti to donate their libraries to S. Spirito see R. Blum, La biblioteca della Badia fiorentina e i codici di Antonio Corbinelli, Studi e Testi (Vatican City, 1951); L. Martines, “Addenda to the Life of Antonio Corbinelli,” Rinascimento 8 (1967), 3–19; R. Arbesmann, “Andrea Biglia. Augustinian Friar and Humanist (†1435),” Analecta Augustiniana (1965), 154–185.

124 chapter 3 gatherings were so popular that they drove Gianozzo Manetti to allow a door to be broken open from his garden to the cloister, so that he could take part directly in the intellectual and liturgical life of the brothers.80 In 1419 Andrea Biglia, the son of a Milanese patrician professed to the of S. Marco, took up his teaching position in the Florentine studium generale. There the intellectual climate allowed him to come into close contact with Niccolò Niccoli, Leonardo Bruni and Ambrogio Traversari—just as he had done before in Padua with Sicco Polenton, and just as he would in 1423 in Bologna with Leon Battista Alberti, Antonio Beccadelli Panormita, Giovanni Aurispa and Filelfo.81 During his stay in Florence in 1494–95 Giles of Viterbo, another figure with numerous ties to the humanists of his day, took up contact with Marsilio Ficino with the same intellectual ease.82 It was an encounter that was admit- tedly more fruitful than that of Biglia with Niccoli, Bruni and Traversari. But the spirit of Marsilio and his academy strongly influenced the ways in which the later General of the order and cardinal allowed himself to be led in the reform of the religious orders and the church.83 Considered from the point of view of social history, the points of contact between mendicants and humanists surveyed here (by no means compre- hensively) shared a common ground in the close social interconnections between cloister and city, between those who were members of the religious orders and the wider urban population.84 In their earliest days the Florentine mendicant convents were composed only partially of inhabitants of the city itself, and even in later decades they took in conventuals of foreign origin.

80 Naldo Naldi, Vita Jannotti Manetti, Rerum Italicarum Scriptores 20 (1731), 531–32; P. d’Ancona—E. Aeschlimann, eds., Vespaisiano da Bisticci, Vite di uomini illustri del secolo xv (Milan, 1951), 261, 527. 81 Arbesmann, “Andrea Biglia. Augustinian Friar and Humanist (†1435)”; Ibid. (above, n. 62). 82 Cf. G. Signorelli, Il Cardinale Egidio da Viterbo, umanista e riformatore 1469–1532 (Florence, 1929); F.X. Martin, “The Problem of Giles of Viterbo: A Historical Survey,” Augustiniana 9 (1959), 357–79; 10 (1960), 43–60; F. Secret, “Notes sur Egidio da Viterbo,” Augustiniana 9 (1968), 134–50. On the humanistic circle surrounding Giles, with extensive literature, see J.W.O’Malley, Giles of Viterbo on Church and Reform. A Study in Renaissance Thought, Studies in Medieval and Reformation Thought 5 (Leiden, 1968), 8–11. 83 J.W. O’Malley (above, n. 82); N.H. Minnich, “Concepts of Reform Proposed at the Fifth Lateran Council,” Archivum historiae pontificae 7 (1969), 168–73; J.W. O’Malley, “Fulfillment of the Christian Golden Age under Pope Julius ii: Text of a Discourse of Giles of Viterbo, 1507,” Traditio 25 (1969), 265–338. 84 On these close relationships see G.A. Brucker, Renaissance Florence (New York, 1969), 172ff.; G. Holmes, “The Emergence of an Urban Ideology at Florence,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society (1973), 111–34.

Mendicants and Humanists in Florence 125

But taken together with both the houses of the second order and the range of semi-religious associations that came to be under their care, the mendicant convents may rightly be viewed as an integral part of Florentine society.85 There are no focused studies of the regional and social composition of Florentine mendicant convents.86 But substantial archival material sur- vives—above all such sources as the necrology of S. Maria Novella, kept from the 1280s,87 as well as the Totenbuch of S. Maria del Carmine,88 compiled in 1593 but drawn from older material. These sources allow access to a more precise sense of the social makeup of the mendicant houses, to the extent that the cloisters of S. Croce, S. Maria Novella, S. Spirito, S. Maria Annunziata and S. Maria del Carmine—despite occasional ties to the populo minuto89— closely mirrored the political, social and cultural elites of their immediate environment. The Strozzi, Medici, Bardi, Tornaquinci, Corbinelli, Rinuccini, and all the other leading families of Florence were not only benefactors who promoted the building of monumental houses and who secured their burial plots within them.90 They also provided a deep social reservoir for the broth- ers’ and priors’ recruitment efforts—so much so that one can with a clear conscience echo the assessment offered in 1414 by Simone da Cascina at the

85 The best overview of the religious houses of Florence remains R. Davidsohn (above, n. 4). On “semi-religious” congregations, among others: G. Monti, La confraternite medievali dell’alta e media Italia (Venice, 1927), I, 253–65; C. Plana, “La posizione giuridica del terz’Ordine della penitenza a Firenze nel secolo xiv,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 50 (1957), 200–50; G.G. Meerseman, “Etude sur les anciennes confréries Dominicaines,” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 21 (1951), 62–66. 86 G.A. Brucker (above, n. 84, 180) has recently complained of “the lack of systematic study devoted to this subject.” For statistical data concerning the number of houses and reli- gious in Florence: E. Fiumi, “La demografia fiorentina nelle pagine di Giovanni Villani,” Archivo Storico Italiano 108 (1959), 78–158; R.B. Lichfild, “Demographic Characteristics of Florentine Patrician Families,” Journal of Economic History 29 (1969), 191–205; R.C. Trexler, “Le célibat à la fin du Moyen Âge: Les religieuses de Florence,” Annales e.s.c. 27 (1972), 1329–50. 87 Orlandi (above, n. 45). 88 Necrologium hoc est codex mortuorum in quo nomina partum ac fratrum in hoc conventu defunctorum per singulos anni menses describuntur, bn Florence C V 786. 89 Cf. above, n. 56. 90 W. and E. Paatz, Die Kirchen von Florenz. Ein Kunstgeschichtliches Handbuch (Darmstadt, 1955), i: 62–196, 497–701, ii: 188–303, 663–845, v, 117–208. Also, among others, E. Borea, Il ciostrino dell’Annunziata a Firenze (Milan, 1965); R. Taucci, La chiesa e il convento della ss. Annunziata di Firenze e i loro ampliamenti fino alla metà del secolo xv (Florence, 1942); E.M. Casalini, “Note d’arte e storia alla ss. Annunziata di Firenze,” Studi Storici dell’Ordine dei Servi di Maria 19 (1961); M. Bucci, La Basilica di Santa Croce (Florence, 1965).

126 chapter 3 opening of the Dominican general chapter: Non est domus aliqua famosa in civitate de qua non habuerimus aliquem nostrum fratrem.91 The personal interconnections between the members of the religious orders and the civic population found expression in numerous quasi-institutional bonds between convent and commune. The Signoria resolved in 1397—to name only one example—that a renovated S. Spirito should give a votive offering for the victory over the Duke of Milan on 28 August, St. Augustine’s day, in the same year.92 It lodged guests of the state in the convents of the mendicant brothers,93 saw their libraries as quasi-public facilities, and pro- moted their studies as such.94 In the sons of leading families who professed religious life it saw natural candidates for the city’s episcopal office, and for those metropolitan positions that lay within its sphere of influence.95 Though not always with success, it promoted careers in the church, in the orders and the schools; sent brothers as ambassadors both to the curia and to secular courts;96 entrusted them with the education of the youth,97 conferred upon them teaching chairs at the city’s studium. When it came to representing the city, they called on members of the orders—figures like Remigio Girolami98 or Dominico da Corella99—to serve as rhetoricians. For these figures the renown

91 T. Käppeli, “La raccolta dei discorse e di atti scolastici di Simone da Cascina O.P. († ca. 1420),” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 12 (1942). 92 Botto, “L’edificazione della Chiesa di S. Spirito in Firenze,” Rivista d’Arte 13 (1931); M. Salmi, “Nota sulla Chiesa di Santo Spirito a Firenze,” in Atti del I Congresso Nazionale di Storio dell’Architettura, 25–31 Ottobre (Florence, 1935); Paatz (above, n. 90) v, 117ff. 93 Orlandi (above, n. 45) i, 349. 94 Along with notes 41, 45, 54 and 57, see B.L. Ullman and A. Stadter, The Public Library of Renaisance Florence. Niccolò Niccoli, Cosimo de Medici and the Library of San Marco (Padua, 1972). 95 In this connection cf. the list of the bishops of Florence provided by L.G. Cerrrachini, Chronologia sacra de’vescovi e archivescovi (Florence, 1716), 102ff. 96 Orlandi (above, n. 45) I: 499, 577. 97 Davis, Education (above, n. 44), 430ff.; F. Novati, “Sul riordinamento del studio fiorentino nel 1385,” Rassegna bibliografica della letteratura italiana 4 (1896); A. della Tore, Storia dell’academia fiorentina (Florence, 1902); G.A. Brucker, “Florence and its University 1343– 1434,” in Action and Conviction in Early Modern Europe (Princeton, 1969). 98 Orlandi (above, n. 45) I, 276ff.; Salvadore—Federici (above, n. 44). See also Davis, An Early Florentine Political Theorist (above, n. 44); O. Capitani, “L’incompiuto ‘Tractatus de iustitia’ di fra’Remigio de’Girolami (†1319),” Bulletino dell’Instituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo 72 (1961), 95–108; Davis (above, n. 54), 432–33. 99 Orlandi (above, n. 45) ii: 310–15. Bibl. Laurenziana, Florence, Cod. Plut lxxxxi sup. L: “De illustratione urbis florentinae.”

Mendicants and Humanists in Florence 127 and the influence of the city was to be found not only in the wealth of its citizens, but also in the splendor of the cloisters that lay within its walls. The familial, social and institutional bonds noted here (as can be shown not only through the example of the prior of S. Spirito, who came from an aristo- cratic Florentine family)100 provide foundational preconditions for the close- ness between vita religiosa and studia humanitatis. The lay elites of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries—who fashioned a kind of spiritual physiog- nomy not least by turning to antiquity as a model—drove this process (to put it sharply) both within and beyond the cloister walls.101 The development of such a symbiosis, the emergence of an intellectual community that cut across the boundaries of two worlds so near to one another spatially and socially, yet so different in purpose and style—all of this required a range of catalysts and intellectual commonalities that are difficult to pin down. To name only a few: a certain affinity to the models of reform and Renaissance that Thode, Burdach and Ladner have pointed to in different ways;102 the resonance between mod- els of Franciscan poverty and a Humanist contempt of the world inspired by the Stoics;103 a return to the history and philosophy of the ancients shaped by the needs of preaching and scholarship, business and statecraft;104 or (to note the most important catalyst for the synthesis that emerged at S. Spirito) a shared sense of the true vita perfecta, as well as a shared commitment to a historical personality who provided a model, a norma vitae. All of these ele- ments, as will be shown in what follows, can be seen at work among Florentine humanists and Augustinian Hermits in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. There is hardly an order in which the question of the proper shape of the vita regularis has more often been posed, and the image of a founder more heatedly contested, than in the Augustinian order. Established in 1256 with

100 Martines (above, n. 69), 306–308. 101 Along with Baron (above, n. 66) see also Martines (above, n. 69); L. Martines, Lawyers and Statecraft in Renaissance Florence (Princeton, 1968); C. Bec, Les marchands écrivains. Affaires et humanisme à Florence 1375–1434, Civilisations et sociétés 9 (Paris, 1967). 102 H. Thode, Franz von Assisi und Anfänge der Kunst der Renaissance in Italien (Berlin, 1885); K. Burdach, Vom Mittelalter zur Reformation (1921–39); Ibid., “Sinn und Ursprung der Worte Renaissance und Reformation,” in Reformation, Renaissance, Humanismus (Berlin- Leipzig, 1926); G.B. Ladner, The Idea of Reform. Its Impact on Christian Thought and Action in the Age of the Fathers (Cambridge, ma, 1959); Ibid., “Die mittelalterliche reformidee und ihr Verhältnis zur Idee der Renaissance,” miög 60 (1952), 31–59. 103 H. Baron, “Franciscan Poverty and Civic Wealth as Factors in the Rise of Humanistic Thought,” Speculum 13 (1938), 1–37. 104 Smalley (above, n. 17). D. Trapp, “Augustinian Theology of the 14th Century. Notes on Editions, Marginalia, Opinions and Book-Lore,” Augustiniana 6 (1956), 146–274. See also note 60, 112.

128 chapter 3 the unification of what had been independent communities of hermits across Tuscany, the curia drew the order into the service of urban pastoral care. But without the prestige of a distinguished founding personality, it was at the mercy of fierce competition from the Franciscans and the Dominicans.105 To decide on a binding forma vitae and on a true caput and fundator were thus matters of fundamental importance. The first systematic account of the his- tory of the Augustinian Hermits, Henry of Freimar’s Tractatus de origine et pro- gressu ordinis fratrum heremitarum et cero ac proprio titulo eiusdem of 1320, cast the history of the order as one of an eremitical life that reached back to the earliest days of the church, indeed back further still into the days of the Old Testament.106 As heirs of the tradition of Elijah and John, of Anthony and Paul of Thebes, who were themselves the primarii nostrae religionis fundatores, Simplicianus of Milan and his companions won the newly baptized rhetori- cian Augustine for the vita solitaria et heremitica in 387. Upon taking up the ascetic and contemplative life, Augustine was not content with reviving an inherited way of life in Tuscany and Africa. Instead he fashioned a new order and rule, a regula et forma vitae. When in 1256 it then came to the formation of an order through the unification of the various groups of Tuscan hermits, it was thus not the foundation of a new order, but rather the gathering of an Augustinian eremitical way of life that, though long-forgotten, had never been abandoned, and that owed its existence not to the actions of the curia but to the authority of its rule-giver, Augustine himself. Indeed it was Augustine who in a vision had admonished Alexander iv to unite the sons with the father, the soldiers with their general, the members with the head. Despite the fact that the members of the new order—who were idonei ad fructificandum in populo per doctrinam verbi divini—had been placed in the service of pastoral care in the cities, in the view of the Thuringian historian the Order of Augustinian

105 On the early history of the Augustinian Hermits: K. Elm, “Italienische Eremitenge­ meinschaften des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts,” in L’eremitismo in Occidente nei secoli XI et XII. Atti della seconda settimana internazionale di studio, Mendola, 30 aogosto—6 settembre 1962 (Milan, 1965), 497–559; B. van Luijk, Gli Eremiti Neri nel Dugento con particolare riguardo al territori Pisano e Toscano. Origine, sviluppo ed unione, Biblioteca del “Bollettino Storico Pisano,” Coll. Storico 7 (1968); K. Elm, “Gli Eremiti Neri nel Dugento. Ein neuer Beitrag zur Vorgeschichte des Augustiner-Eremitenordens,” Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken 50 (1971), 58–79. In summary, see B. Rano, “Agostiniani,” in: Dizionario degli institute di perfezione I (Rome, 1973), 278–381. 106 R. Arbesmann, “Henry of Freimar’s ‘Treatise on the origin and the development of the Order of the Hermit Friars and its true and real title’,” Augustiniana 6 (1956), 37–145. On the author: C. Stroick, Heinrich von Freimar. Leben, Werke, philosophisch-theologische Stellung in der Scholastik (Freiburg, 1954).

Mendicants and Humanists in Florence 129

Hermits remained in its essence an ordo eremiticus. Moreover, its members led the vita artissima et sanctissima of the status eremiticus that for both the order and its contemporaries still counted as the fulfillment of the vita monastica, as the vita perfectissima. Recalling Paul’s admonition Unusquisque in qua vocatione vocatus est, in ea permaneat (1 Cor 7:20), not only enemies of the new mendicant order—figures like the canon Durandus of Aln107—but even its allies and members recalled its inherited traditions and warned against too vigorous an engagement in scholarship and pastoral care. In 1380 Master William Flete108 fled university life and retreated to Lecceto, an isolated community near Siena that was reported to have been home to the vita eremitica of St. Augustine. Flete, an amator vitae solitariae, took up the Pauline formulation and admonished his brothers in the ordo fratrum eremitarum to think on the name of their order, and to view neither the market nor the school, but rather the cella as the proper locus of their way of life. He also admonished them not to strive after magna scientia, but rather to seek the sancta stultitia cherished not only by Christ and his fishermen, but also their own forerunners, the grandevi of the order.109 Others had made similar gestures long before Flete’s death (†1380). In his De Gestis Domini Salvatoris, composed between 1338 and 1347, the Augustinian Hermit Simon Fidati of Cascia pointed to Christ, his Apostles and disciples in arguing for the eremus as the true home and calling of the order.110 For him the model vita eremitica was to be found not only in the lineage of the desert fathers that had been known since Jerome, but in the life of Christ himself, who embodied the eremitical life during his forty-day fast and showed that the des- ert was its proper home. Both authors took up a stance against scholarship that was clearly a protest against a wider trend111—underway by 1256 at the latest,

107 Correctorium tractatus de origine et progressu Ordinis Eremitarum S. Augustini et vero ac proprio titulo eiusdem, Cod. Vat. Reg. 565. 108 On Flete see A. Gwynn, English Austin Friars at the Time of Wyclif (London, 1941); B. Hackett, “William Flete and the ‘De remediis contra temptaciones’,” in Medieval Studies Presented to A. Gwynn S.J. (, 1961), 330–48. 109 M.H. Laurent, “De litteris ineditis Fr. Wilhelmi de Flete,” Augustiniana 18 (1942), 308–24. 110 B. Simonis Fidati de Cassia o.e.s.a. Gesta Salvatoris Domini nostri Jesu Christi, (Regensburg, 1734); N. Mattioli, Il beato Simone da Cascia dell’Ordine Eremitano di S. Agostino e suoi scritti editi ed inediti, Antologia Agostiniana 3 (Rome, 1898); M.G. McNeil, Simone Fidati and his “De Gestis Domini Salvatoris,” Studies in Medieval and Renaissance Latin Language and Literature 21 (Washington, 1950). 111 On Simone’s critique of philosophy: A. Zumkeller, “Die Augustinertheologen Simon Fidati von Cascia und Hugolin von Orvieto und Martin Luthers Kritik an Aristoteles,” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 54 (1963), 15–37.

130 chapter 3 then reaching its height under the Prior General Giles of Rome—that not only placed the study of theology at the center of the life of the order, but in fact saw that study as the order’s overall purpose.112 Yet the order was not uninfluenced by the ideals of the Spirituals and Joachimites, disseminated through the circle of students around Angelo Clareno and through the spiritual familia of Catherine of Siena.113 Recourse to the eremitical tradition and the obligation of the order to the vita contemplativa that it implied was not the only, and indeed not the most binding of the concepts that emerged from all of the discussions surrounding the aims of the order. For the historian Jordan of Quedlinburg114—the impor- tance of whose work remains insufficiently acknowledged—the history of the order’s eremitical life did not unfold linearly from the ancient world. In his Liber Vitasfratrum of 1357 he cast that history as a succession of two large epochs and estates: the status antiquus and the status modernus. At the begin- ning of the status antiquus or the tempus partum stood the scattered commu- nities of hermits founded by Augustine. At the beginning of the status modernus, the tempus fratrum, stood the unification of the long-forgotten communities through a Church guided by the Holy Spirit. Thus the Augustinian Hermits could celebrate, more than any other order, two founders: Augustine as their father, and mater ecclesia as their mother.115 The twofold founding of the Augustinian way of life, the formation from a scattered eremitism of a con- gregation of cenobitic communities, in turn, is taken up into the larger rhythm of decline and reform, fragmentation and renewal that shaped the overall his- tory of the church. Because of the central place that Jordan affords the idea of communio, of union and synthesis, he must expand the ancestry of the order

112 A. Trapè, “Scuola teologica e spiritualità nell’Ordine Agostiniano,” in S. Augustinus vitae spiritualis magister ii (Rome, 1959); Zumkeller (above, n. 61). 113 Mattioli (above, n. 110), 4–13, 336, 446–467; M. Reeves, “Joachimist Expectations in the Order of Augustinian Hermits,” Recherches thèologie ancienne et médiévale 25 (1958), 110– 141; Ibid., The Influence of Prophecy in the Late Middle Ages. A Study in Joachimism (Oxford, 1969). See also A. Zumkeller, “Joachim von Fiore und sein angeblicher Einfluβ auf den Augustiner-Eremitenorden,” Augustinianum 3 (1963); A.C. Romanis, “Sancta Caterina da Siena e gli Eremitani di Sant’Agostino,” Bollettino Storico Agostiniano 24 (1948); A. Giron, Sancta Caterina da Siena (Brescia, 1953). 114 On this figure and the spread of his works in the Netherlands: R. Lievens, Jordanus van Quedlinburg in de Nederlanden. Een onderzoek van de handschriften, Kon. Vlaamse Scademie voor Taal en Letterkunde vi, 82 (Gent, 1958). 115 R. Arbesmann and W. Hümfner, eds., Jordani de Saxonia Ordinis Eremitarum S. Augustini Liber Vitasfratrum, Cassiciacum. Studies in S. Augustine and the Augustinian Order i (American Series) (New York, 1943).

Mendicants and Humanists in Florence 131 and interweave the genealogies of eremitic and cenobitic life. The school of the prophets and the community of the early Apostles emerge alongside Elijah and , Anthony and Paul of Thebes; Augustine the teacher appears alongside Augustine the hermit, with the vita communis at the center. The ultimate reason for the shift is clear: Jordan can no longer see the order, in light of its actual development, as only an eremitical one. Rather, he must explain the blend of both eremitical and cenobitic life, the synthesis of vita contemplativa with vita activa that allowed the order to find the vita perfectis- sima in a vita mixta—in both activity and contemplation, in both the “desert” and in the city, in both the pursuit of personal salvation and in service of neighbor. To see the order as the embodiment of eremitical life or as the union of vita contemplativa and vita activa, and to call on Augustine as a hermit and as a founder of the order—these were themes and claims that concerned not only those whose provinces were in the Empire. They were debated with at least as much intensity in Florence as well. Around the same time that Henry of Freimar wrote his treatise on the name and the establishment of his order, a still unknown prior of S. Spirito produced a compilation of legends that cele- brated Augustine as a hermit and as father of the eremitical life in Tuscany. The compilation in turn was taken up into the widely read pseudo-Augustinian Sermones ad fratres in eremo.116 Augustine as founder, the order as ordo eremiti- cus or as a realization of the vita mixta—these were commonplaces for the Florentine Augustinian Hermits from the beginning of the fourteenth century. They found expression in iconography.117 They were broadcast among the faithful and communicated to the members of the studium generale through teaching.118 They were defended against the resistance of other orders119 and, as

116 R. Arbesmann, “The ‘Vita Aurelii Augustini Hipponensis Episcopi’ in Cod. Laurent, Plut 90 Sup. 48,” Traditio 18 (1962), 319–25; idem., “A Legendary of Early Augustinian Saints,” Analecta Augustiniana 29 (1966), 5–58; idem., “Mönchslegenden in mittelalterlichen Augustinus-viten,” in Perennitas. P. Thomas Michels osb zum 70. Geburtstag (Münster, 1965), 91–104. On the sermons noted here, with which the author will concern himself in a study (now in preparation for some time) of the historical self-understanding of the Order, see M. de Kroon, “Pseudo-Augustin im Mittelalter. Entwurf eines Forschungsb­ erichtes,” Augustiniana 22 (1972). 117 G. Kaftal, Iconography of the Saints in Tuscan Painting (Florence, 1952), 84ff. See especially G.H. Hoogewerf, Benozzo Gozzoli (Paris, 1934), 34–44. On Augustinian iconography in gen- eral: P. Courcelle, Iconographie de Saint Augustin, 2 vols. (Paris, 1965–69). 118 Tractatus de vita et habitu S. Augustini, Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 8340, fol. 141ff. 119 D. Cresi, “L’opusculo ‘Defensorio della verità’ di Mariano da Firenze,” Studi Francescani 61 (1964). The “Apologia pro ordine Augustiniano” of the Florentine Augustinian Hermit and

132 chapter 3 the remarks of Marsili and his patron Petrarch suggest,120 they were constitu- tive of the order’s self-image. What had its origins in the thirteenth century remained alive in the fourteenth. In 1430, while teaching in Florence, the Milanese humanist and Augustinian Hermit Andrea Biglia took up the old dis- cussion as he sought to instruct a young brother regarding the actual forma of his order.121 The order offered the perfect synthesis of asceticism and scholar- ship, monasticism and learning, a synthesis nourished by a tradition of an ancient eremitism that reached back to the early days of the church, shaped by Augustine and brought to unity by the church, whose end and purpose was both the ascetic pursuit of holiness and the studium litterarum. Its members were at once religionis filii and sapientiae et doctrinae discipuli, so that for the scholar who begins in its ranks, as Biglia explained to the novice, nothing could be more fruitful or more inspiring than to choose from among the orders of the church the one whose rule-giver, in his reorganization, had before his eyes not only ancient eremitism but also the ancient school of philosophers surround- ing Socrates and Pythagoras. To see the Order of Augustinian Hermits as the synthesis of ancient academy and early Christian eremitism, as the realization of the way of life most suited to the perfection of the spiritual man is a theme that was soon commonplace. It was taken up by Maffeo Vegio,122 and it deeply influenced the reforms led by Giles of Viterbo, the famous eulogist of the vita eremitica and the life of the convent of Lecceto.123 The theme also remained decisive for the approach to the history of the order into our own time.124 Our considerations must place the self-understanding of the Augustinian Hermits of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries over against the views of

General of the order William Becchi has not been available to me. The treatise, according to G. Negri, was printed in Florence in 1491: Istoria deglie Scrittori Fiorentini (Ferrara, 1732), 316–17. 120 Seniles xiii, 8 Opera (Basel, 1581), 820. Sorio (above, n. 74) 200–210. 121 R. Arbesmann, “Ad Fratrem Ludovicum de Ordinis nostri forma et propagatione,” Analecta Augustiniana 28 (1965), 186–218. 122 S.A. Consonni, Un umanista agiografo: M. Vegio da Lodi (Ravenna, 1909). 123 Rome, General Archive of the o.e.s.a.: Cod. Cc 37, fol. 112r–116r: Aegidius de Viterbo, Eremitarum vita. F.X. Martin, “Giles of Viterbo and the Monastery of Lecceto: the Making of a Reformer,” Analecta Augustiniana 25 (1962), 225–53. See also O’Malley (above, n. 82), 59ff. 124 On the disputes (reaching well into recent times) over the character and founder of the Order of Augustinian Hermits, see provisionally the references in B. Rano (above, n. 105) and C.D. Fonseca, Il formarsi di una coscienza storica canonicale attraverso polemiche giurisdizionali e storiographiche, Pubbl. dell’Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore. Contributi iii, Science storiche 12 (Milan, 1970), 5–56.

Mendicants and Humanists in Florence 133 others in conversation with them—Petrarch, Coluccio, Niccolò Niccoli, Roberto de’ Rossi or Marsilio Ficino—about the norma vivendi optima, and especially of the true vita monastica. That the matter was no superfluous one, that the old question of the precedence of the vita activa or the vita contemplativa125 and the related question of the essence and justification of the order’s way of life126 were matters that inspired the humanists of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, need not be proven at length here. It would be more important to follow the course of the discussion in detail and to establish precisely the values that inspired a given form of life in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Since this requires a greater effort than is possible here, we must limit ourselves to mentioning Petrarch and Coluccio, the most distinguished participants in the two most important phases of the conversation between Italian humanists and Augustinian Hermits. Petrarch raised the question of the proper form of religious life in the De vita solitaria, in De otio religioso and in the Secretum. For him, the command of the Psalmist (Vacate et videte) is the principle, the quietas animae won through contemplation, prayer and reading the goal of true religious life. Through them the tria substantialia of chastity, poverty and obedience find meaning as the most effective means of combating the discord of the world.127 This conception of the religious life as the realization of a primarily contempla- tive existence corresponds to the tradition of the vita solitaria128 that was grounded in the Old Testament as well as in Greek and Latin Antiquity. Among the orders of his own day, those that came closest to Petrarch’s ideal were the (whom Petrarch esteemed as the order that had nurtured his own brother) and above all the Order of Augustinian Hermits,

125 See, for example E.F. Rice, The Renaissance Idea of Wisdom (Cambridge, ma, 1953); E. Kessler, Das Problem des frühen Humanismus. Seine philosophische Bedeutung bei Coluccio Salutati, Humanistische Bibliothek. Abhandlungen und Texte i, 1 (Munich, 1968), 91–103; R.A. Borrell, “An Early Humanistic View of the Active and Contemplative Life,” Italica 43 (1966), 225–39. 126 Trinkaus, “Humanist Treatises on the Status of Religious.” Now also in Ibid., In Our Image and Likeness. Humanity and Divinity in Italian Humanist Thought, ii, 651–82. 127 H. Cochin, La frére de Pétrarque et le livre du repos des religieux, Bibl. lit. de Renaissance 4 (1903). See also G. Rotondi, “Le due redazioni dell’ ‘De otio religioso’ del Petrarca,” Aevum 9 (1935), 27ff. Foundational: Charles Trinkaus, “Petrarch’s Views on the Individual and His Society,” Osiris 11 (1954), 168–98. 128 See G. Rotondi, “Intorno alla ‘Vita Solitaria’,” in Rendiconti R. Ist. Lomb. Science e Lettere lxix (Milan, 1936), 845–98; B.L. Ullman, “The Composition of Petrarch’s ‘De vita solitaria’ and the History of the Vatican Manuscript,” in Miscellanea G. Mercati 4. Studi e Testi 124 (Vatican City, 1946).

134 chapter 3 honestissimus ordo supra sacras heremitice vitae delicias devotione humili fundatus. Admittedly, its members earned the highest esteem of the human- ist not because of their rejection of the world through asceticism (which the Carthusians accomplished much more impressively). What made the order so attractive for the great literary scholar was their connection to monastic contemplation and otium litterarum, which allowed to emerge from their order a school of piety as well as scholarship, and which brought not only praise for the fulfillment of monastic duties, but also acclaim as a signifier in the acies philosophantium.129 Coluccio Salutati, the author of De seculo et religione, held fast in principle to the ladder of monastic Perfectio, on which the eremita ranked above the claustralis et professus monachus.130 Coluccio also shared with Petrarch a higher estimation, in principle, of the contem- plative life. But he was more strongly conscious than his predecessor, as recent scholars have recognized almost with unanimity,131 of the need to combine contemplative life with a sense of public duty and practical action, the vita associabilis et operativa.132 And so, in a certain way, here in the pro- fane sphere there emerged an equilibrium that was approved by figures like Gianozzo Manetti, Niccolò Niccoli, Roberto de’ Rossi133 and indeed Marsilio

129 Seniles xi, 14, viii, 6, Opera (Basel, 1581), 840, 890. Similar formulations in Fam. viii, 6, Rossi ii, 173–74; xix, 18, Rossi iii, 349–50, 359. 130 Epistolario (above, n. 35) iii, 577. See also n. 131. 131 A.v. Martin, Mittelalterliche Welt- und Lebensanschauung im Spiegel der Schriften Coluccio Salutatis, Historische Bibliothek 33 (Munich-Berlin, 1913), 31ff.; ibid., Coluccio Salutati und das humanistische Lebensideal. Ein Kapitel aus der Genesis der Renaissance (Leipzig- Berlin, 1916); L. Borghi, “La dottrina morale di Coluccio Salutati,” Annali della R. Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa ii/3 (1934), 74ff.; W. Rüegg, “Entstehung, Quellen und Ziel von Salutatis ‘De fato et fortuna’,” Rinascimento 5 (1954), 143ff.; G.M. Sciacca, La visione della vite nell’umanesimo e Coluccio Salutati (Palermo, 1954); B.L. Ullman, The Humanism of Coluccio Salutati, Medioevo e Umanesimo 4 (Padua, 1963), 217–18. See also n. 125. 132 So, according to Baron, Crisis (above, n. 66) the title of a work planned by Coluccio. 133 On Petrarch’s relationship to Augustine and the Augustinian order see, along with the literature in n. 78 above: P. de Nolhac, “Pétrarque et l’umanesimo agostiniano del Petrarca,” Didaskaleion ns 3 (1925), 13–29; 4 (1926), 107–37; 5 (1927), 69–127; 6 (1928), 101–37; C. Segré, Il “Secretum” del Petrarca e le “confessioni” di Sant’ Agostino, Studi Petrarcheschi (Florence, 1903), 3–126; C. Calcaterra, “S. Agostino nelle opere di Dante e del Petrarca,” S. Agostino. Suppl. 23 (1931), 422–99; A.v. Martin, “Petrarca und Augustin,” Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 18 (1927), 57–96; E. Razzoli, Agostinismo e religiositá del Petrarca (Milan, 1937); P.O. Kristeller, “Augustine and the Early Renaissance,” Review of Religion 1 (1941), 7–14. Now also in Studies in Renaissance Thought and Letters, Storia e letteratura 54, 2nd ed. (Rome, 1969), 355ff.; K. Heitmann, “L’insegnamento Agostiniano nel ‘Secretum’ del Petrarca,”

Mendicants and Humanists in Florence 135

Ficino,134 and that found an analogue in the theories of a vita mixta that Jordan of Quedlinburg had developed and that figures like Luigi Marsili, Andrea Biglia and Giles of Viterbo had taken up for themselves. Humanists and members of the religious orders alike were united in the tendency to see the synthesis between action and contemplation as the optimal starting point for an ascetic-literary existence, and so to tear down the walls between cloister and world. For them the vita religiosa was no longer a primarily religious way of life. Rather, it was for a small circle whose heritage, educa- tion and character marked them out as an elite, a circle whose members created—now by abandoning the world, now through a careful balance of vita activa and vita contemplativa—their own literary and aesthetic Elysium. It was of course not only the convergence of conceptions of the vita beata outlined here that brought humanists and Augustinian Hermits together in Florence in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. As for Petrarch, for the circle of S. Spirito, and indeed for the Platonic Academy, the Fratres Ordinis Eremitarum Sancti Augustini were more than merely representatives of the eremitical life. What separated them from other orders of hermits—from the Carmelites,135 whose tradition supposedly went all the way back to Elijah; from the Servites, who were also deeply rooted in the eremitical tradition;136 from the of S. Maria degli Angeli,137 representatives in Florence of an older form of eremitical life—was their special relationship to Augustine. For the Florentine humanists the conventuals of S. Spirito were filii of a pater, milites of a dux, and discipuli of a magister, one whom they honored not only as the perfect embodiment of the vita beata,138 but also as the one who led

Studi Petrarcheschi 7 (1961), 187–93; P.P. Gerosa, Umanesimo Cristiano del Petrarca. Influenza Agostiniana—Attinenze Medievali (Turin, 1966), esp. 137ff. 134 M. Heitzmann, “Études sur l’Académie Patonicienne de Florence,” Bulletin international de l’Academie Polonaise des sciences et lettres. Classe de philologie, d’histoire et de philoso- phie (1932, 33), 18ff., 35ff.; P.O. Kristeller, Il pensiero filosofico di Marsilio Ficino, Biblioteca storica del Rinascimento ns 3 (Florence, 1953); Ibid., “The Scholastic Background of Marsilio Ficino,” Traditio 2 (1944), 257ff. Also in Studies in Renaissance Thought and Letters, Storia e letteratura 54, 2nd ed. (Rome, 1969), 35–53. 135 See here: R. Hendricks, “La succession héréditaire (1280–1451),” in Elie le prophète ii: Au Carmel, dans le judaïsme et l’islam. Etudes Carmélitaines (1956), 34–81. 136 A.M. dal Pino and O.J. Dias, Vera e certa origine del principio dell’eremo di Monte Senario (1593–1604), Documenta I (Rome, 1967). See also n. 43. 137 Literature on S. Maria degli Angeli and the Camaldolese order: Paatz (above, n. 90) iii, 107–47; G. Penco, Storia del monachesimo in Italia: Dalle origine alla fine del Medio Evo, Collana Universale Storica. Tempi e Figure 31 (Rome, 1963), 211ff. 138 Epistolario (above, n. 35) iii, 307.

136 chapter 3 them to the Classics, as the crowning witness for the justification of their studia humanitatis. In the convent of the Augustinians the humanists were guests, so to speak, in the domus Augustini, commensales at his table, brothers of his sons.139 For the Augustinian Hermits the appeal to Augustine was more than a mere recommendation, more than a passport to the circles of the humanists. From the end of the thirteenth century the order asserted Augustine as their founder, and the tradition was then confirmed in 1327 when John xxii approved the order as guardian of the tomb of the .140 In the person of the Bishop of Hippo a congregation that had grown together from such diverse origins thus found a lex animata, a personified norm for living, so to speak, that over time proved stronger and more influential than Rule or constitution. As the Augustinians who gathered in Tuscan hermitages like Lecceto worked to realize the true vita eremitica, they could call on Augustine, the supposed author of the Sermones ad fratres in eremo.141 When they came forward, as suc- cessors to figures like Giles of Rome, to take over chairs of theology, the great Doctor of the Church stood behind them.142 When they raised their voices against Wyclif or Hus in Oxford or Constance,143 they fulfilled a command that the enemy of the Manichees and Donatists had given them. And when they collected and interpreted the writings of ancient authors in places like Florence, Milan, Padua or Naples,144 there stood behind them a rhetor who had been educated in Carthage, Rome and Milan, who had read Cicero’s Hortensius and who had praised Plato above all other philosophers. Among the Franciscans and Dominicans, and indeed among the Servites and Carmelites, the needs of preaching, the development of theology, the social interdependence of

139 See along with n. 78, 120, 133 also Epistolario (above, n. 35) iv, 225; Naldo Naldi (above, n. 80), 532; E. Garin, De nobilitate legum et medicinae (Florence, 1947), 22. On the circulation of the writings of St. Augustine see G.M. Cagni, “I codici Vaticani Palatino-Latini apperte- nuti alla biblioteca di Giannozzo Manetti,” La Bibliofilia 62 (1960); Ullman (above, n. 131), 217–18. See also n. 79 and in general: J.B. Reeves, “St. Augustine and Humanism,” in A Monument to St. Augustine (London, 1930), 121–51; N. Abercrombie, Saint Augustine and French Classical Thought (Oxford, 1938), 1–17. 140 See along with n. 105: R. Maiocchi and N. Casacca, Codex Diplomaticus Ord. E.S. Augustini Papiae (Pavia, 1905), I, 13ff. A. Addeo, “Pavia e S. Agostino. Gli splendori di S. Pietro in Ciel d’Oro,” (1951). 141 See n. 116. 142 See n. 112 143 Cf. Gwynn (above, n. 108) and A. Zumkeller, “Die Augustinereremiten in der Auseinandersetzung mit Wyclif und Hus,” Analecta Augustiniana 28 (1965), 5–56. 144 See n. 62.

Mendicants and Humanists in Florence 137 humanists and religious all suggested the importance of the cultivation of litterae. Among the Augustinian Hermits that cultivation was the commission of one man, Augustine. In 1425 the novus Augustinus145 Andrea Biglia preached at the general chapter of Bologna (an official occasion). In the sermon he declared that in Augustine, head and preceptor of the order, all of the virtues of a man of religious life united with all of the talents and abilities of an ancient teacher and schoolmaster: the keen mind of Aristotle, the eloquence of Plato, the renown of Pythagoras, the wisdom of Varro, and lastly the dignified sincerity of Socrates.146 An analysis of monastic legislation and of the writings of the orders (espe- cially the polemical literature surrounding the studia humanitatis) could doubtless have explored the justification of humanistic studies in the mendi- cant orders more extensively and in more detail than has been the case here. The foregoing discussion has also been grounded less in an explicit permis- sion, articulated expressis verbis and justified theologically, philosophically or indeed pedagogically, to study the ancient authors. Rather, the focus here has been on one setting, and on a limited consideration of the social condi- tions and intellectual energies that led to the interaction, and occasionally to the convergences between two more or less independent groups. But the theme of this conference has justified these choices. Stratification, social climbing and social decline—these themes, to be sure, are not the only ones appropriate to social history. Just as crucial are matters of self-understanding, of the images, ideas and conceptualizations that establish groups, hold them together, distinguish them from one another and occasionally bind them together across the boundaries of status.

145 A. Coriolanus, Chronica S. Ordinis Fratrum Eremitarum S. Augustini (Rome, 1481), 30. 146 A. Biglia, De disciplina ordinis admonitio habita in capitulo Bononensi, Bibl. Ambrosiana, Milan, H 117 Inf. Fol. 44. See also De concessione et translatione b. Monicae Matris S. Patris Augustini sermo, ibid., fol. 112–125.

chapter 4 Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders in the Late Middle Ages: Current Research and Research Agendas

Not long ago the late middle ages in Germany was read as an age of steady decline, uncontrollable conflict and frustrated efforts at reform. The interpre- tation was rooted in the criticisms of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and it reflected a long historiographical tradition, but it found its sharpest expression in the nineteenth century. This model, of an age once judged nega- tively against the early and high middle ages, has recently undergone profound revision. Regional history has now shown the importance of late-medieval ter- ritories for the development of the modern state in Germany—so strongly, in fact, that older laments over the growth of “petty states” at the expense of a weak Empire have now lost their force. Both the history of the estates (often neglected in a tradition drawn to the ideal of a unified monarchical state) and indeed the place and function of German kingship itself have now enjoy such renewed appreciation that it is difficult to see only decline and dissolution in Germany’s later medieval history. Moreover, just as the history of territories, constitutions, society and economy have seen thorough revision, so too have the histories of the church, theology and intellectual life. Invigorated by the Second Vatican Council, recent research into the reform councils of the fif- teenth century now stresses (much more than an older tradition of ecclesiasti- cal history shaped by ideals of papal universalism) the importance of , both in the Empire and in Christendom generally. Inspired by Neo-Thomism, Reformation research and an increasing interest in the history of natural science, historians of philosophy and theology are now positioned to abandon older misrepresentations of late scholasticism and its academic disputes as debased monks’ quarrels. Similarly, current research has come to reshape an older dualistic model of theology and Humanism into one that pos- its a close, symbiotic relationship between those two educational worlds. Scholars have not researched with the same intensity the theme with which we are concerned here, the decline and renewal of the later-medieval religious orders. Nor have they subjected the late-medieval history of the orders to such thoroughgoing revision as the fields of secular and ecclesiastical history noted above. As it stands, a number of basic problems still await their solution. The phenomenon itself—an almost incomprehensible variety of local reform

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Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 139 movements, trans-regional reform circles, varieties of observance—has not been confronted or described, nor its mechanics analyzed, in anywhere near the same measure as the reforms of the monks and canons of the early and high middle ages. Aggravating this circumstance is the fact that there is still no synthetic survey of the reform efforts that began in the fourteenth century and culminated in the fifteenth. To embed their histories in the overall narrative of the later middle ages and of the early modern era remains an unfulfilled schol- arly desideratum. Far less than one would have expected given the ubiquitous intensity of recent late-medieval research, there remain unanswered questions concerning the causes, driving forces and effects of reform, and perhaps above all the relationship between the reform of the orders and the Reformation. That this is so may be because the history of the orders is still not yet recog- nized, in proportion to its true importance, as part of the broader sweep of history, and the late-medieval orders here and there remain under the verdict that humanists, Reformation and Enlightenment thinkers first articulated about the “uneducated,” “unchristian” and “superstitious” religious of the later middle ages. The actual cause of the inadequacy of our research, however, is of a scholarly nature. As a subject not only of church history but of history generally, the history of the religious orders cuts across all historical sub- disciplines—intellectual history, art history, cultural history; finds expression in so many languages; is shaped by variety of scholarly traditions; and makes use of a worldwide, if heterogeneous, system of publication. As with hardly any other discipline the history of the orders is known not only to a cadre of professional experts, but also to those men and women who themselves live religious life. That many of them understand the histories of their orders or their communities as an internal matter, as a kind of “family” history, is not always favorable for a better understanding of the history of decline and renewal, to say nothing of an attempt at broad synthesis. Personal commit- ments have also led scholars to focus on origins and on the era of their great founders, as well their own diverse legacies. The overall result is a certain lack of coordination. But that should not prohibit a broad interest in histories that cut across individual traditions. The history of the religious orders has accom- plished so much in recent years, and published so many heretofore unknown sources, that one can now consider attempting a synthetic account of the reforms that began in the fourteenth century, placing those reforms in their broader historical contexts, investigating their causes and impacts. Clearly the many questions that would arise in such an attempt can hardly be formulated, let alone answered in a brief essay—questions concerning the course of decline and renewal, the reasons for ruin and revival; the agents, goals and methods of renewal; their importance for the politics of secular rulers; the

140 chapter 4 importance of opposition both within and outside the church; finally ques- tions concerning the relationship between reform of the orders and the Reformation. The following can only begin to indicate the overall direction of current research, and how that research begins to provide an outline for an overall picture of the decline and renewal of the religious orders in the later middle ages.1

i

For an account of decline, to which we turn first, there are no certain catego- ries in the sources, and still fewer reliable starting points in current research. Precisely those sources most capable of providing insight are, with respect to what can be called decline, mostly subjective, indeed often colored with propaganda. Moreover, there is no scholarly consensus about how one should measure the flowering and decline of the religious orders—according to the norms appropriate to their estate, according to the requirements set out by their founders, according to their accomplishments (by no means compatible with a purely “regular” life) in economic, civic and cultural prog- ress, or quite simply according to the measure of the orders’ own contempo- rary moral horizons? Before we begin even superficially to enter in to this discussion (one begun long ago in scholarly discussions surrounding the

1 Given the purpose of the current contribution it is not appropriate to survey or to cite in full the extensive literature on late-medieval reform and the Observant movement. Overviews of the current state of research can be found in E. Delaruelle—E.R. Labande—P. Ourliac, L‘Eglise au temps du Grand Schisme et de la crise conciliaire 1378-1449, Histoire de l‘église 14, 2 (Paris, 1964); B. Moeller, Spätmittelalter (Die Kirche in ihrer Geschichte, Lfg. H1, 1966); R. García Villoslada, Historia de la Iglesia Católica (Madrid, 1967), 1.519–545. H.-G. Beck—K.A. Fink—J. Glazik—E. Iserloh—H. Wolter, Die Mittelalterliche Kirche: Von kirchlichen Hochmittelalter bis zum Vorabend der Reformation, Handbuch der Kirchengeschichte 3, 2 (1968), 516–538, 693–697. For supplemental references see also Dizionario degli instituti di perfezione 1–5 (Rome, 1973–78) as well as the bibliographies, journals and handbooks of the individual orders. In two colloquia (in 1978 and 1979) the working-group for the comparative history of the religious orders at the Friedrich-Meinecke-Institut of the Freie Universität Berlin has also recently begun to work toward a synthesis of late-medieval reform and Observant movements. That work will hopefully be concluded in the near future and brought to print. In England and France, too, scholars have recently undertaken more intensive research into the late-medieval reform of the Orders: Renaissance and Renewal in Christian History, StudChurchHistory 14 (Edinburgh, 1978); La réforme des réguliers en France de la fin du XVe siècle à la fin des guerres de religion, RevHistEglFr 65 (1979).

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 141

Reformation)2 perhaps one criterion can be tested for its potential usefulness: a purely quantitative comparison of the number of orders and religious households founded in the high and later middle ages. Here perhaps is a criterion independent from the attitude of the sources, and one that there- fore frees us from the necessity of making moral evaluations. A wave of new foundations began in the twelfth century with the new orders of monks and canons, approached its peak with the Cistercians and the Premonstratensians, continued with the expansion of the military orders and the Hospitalers and reached its highpoint with the expansion of the mendi- cant orders in the thirteenth. That same wave had spent most of its energy by the first quarter of the fourteenth century. The number of new orders began to wane. Moreover, and more importantly, the established orders, with few exceptions, no longer founded new houses. The Dominicans and Franciscans, Augustinian Hermits and Carmelites—only the four most notable representa- tives of a host of mendicant orders—founded thousands of convents down to the first decades of the fourteenth century. Yet through the remainder of that century new foundations reached only into the hundreds. The older orders seem to have stagnated already by the last quarter of the thirteenth century— a process that (with certain delays that varied across time and place) is in evi- dence among the Hospitalers and Templars as well. In the case of the older orders, the evidence for this astounding attenuation rests on the sure founda- tions of what is in some ways a remarkably early scholarly interest.3 A survey of the regression of Benedictine foundations from their peak has not yet appeared, but there are preliminary studies for individual lands, regions,

2 H. Finke, Die Kirchenpolitischen und kirchlichen Verhältnisse zu Ende des Mittelalters nach der Darstellung K. Lamprechts, RömQuartschrChristlAlktKde Suppl 4 (1896); J. Löhr, Methodisch- kritische Beiträge zur Geschichte der Sittlichkeit des Klerus, besonders der Erzdiözese Köln, am Ausgang des Mittelalters, RefGeschichtlStud 17 (1910); J. Lortz, “Zur Problematik kirchlicher Miβstände im Spätmittelalter,” TrierTheolZ 58 (1949), 1–26; 212–227; 277–279; 347–357; H. Jedin, “Zur Aufgabe des Kirchengeschichtsschreibers,” TrierTheolZ 6 (1952), 65–78. For these matters in general see also E. Saurer, “Kirchengeschichte als historische Disziplin,” in Denken über Geschichte (Vienna, 1974), 157–169. 3 Recent examples of this kind of research include: Germania Benedictina, edited by the Academia Benedictina in association with the Abt-Herwegen Institute 2 (1971) and 5 (1975); G. Cacciamani, Atlante storio-geografico Camaldolese secoli x–xx (Camaldoli, 1963); Fr. Van der Meer, Atlas de l’Ordre Cistercien (Paris-Brussels, 1955). Here see also F. Vougrey and F. Hervay, “Kritische Bemerkungen zum ‘Atlas de l’ordre cistercien’ von Frédéric van der Meer,” AnalCist 23 (1967), 115–152; M. Cocheril, Dictionnaire des monastères cisterciens I: Cartes géographiques (Rochefort, 1976); N. Backmund, Monasticon Praemonstratense 1–3 (1949–56).

142 chapter 4 orders and provinces.4 To take stock of the trends comprehensively, with care- ful attention to the proper methodology, would provide more complete and reliable data, and thereby allow the slowing of the orders’ growth (that is, their so-called decline) to appear in a far more differentiated way. While the explo- sive expansion of the mendicant orders in south, west and central Europe slowed by the first decades of the fourteenth century (and indeed was con- sciously hindered by courts and councils, princes and city authorities thereaf- ter), in north, east and southeastern Europe, especially in Poland, Lithuania, Bohemia, Hungary and Dalmatia (where the mendicant orders were inter- twined, early and deeply, in a general eastward expansion) the growth of ­mendicant foundations continued well into the fourteenth century. One should therefore speak of a slowdown that unfolded regionally, and in several phases.5 As with the foundation and growth of cities in the thirteenth and

4 See, among others, R.W. Emery, The Friars in Medieval France. A Catalogue of French Mendicant Convents 1200–1550 (New York-London, 1962); D. Knowles and R. Neville Hadcock, Medieval Religious Houses: England and Wales, 2nd ed. (London, 1971); A. Gwynn and R. Neville Hadcock, Medieval Religious Houses. Ireland (London, 1970); D. Easson, Medieval Religious Houses. Scotland (London, 1957); M. Schoengen, Monasticon Batavum, i–iii (Amsterdam, 1941–42); D. De Kok, Monasticon Batavum I. Supplementum (Amsterdam, 1942); B.A.L. Van Luijk, Le Monde Augustinien du XIIIe au XIXe siècle (Assen, 1972); Ambrosius a S. Theresa, “Monasticon Carmelitanum seu lexicon geographicum—historicum ordinum fun- dationum universi ordinis Carmelitarum,” AnalCarmelDiscal 22–23 (1950–51); F.A. Dal Pino, I fratri Servi di s. Maria dalle origini all’approvazione (1223–c. 1304), 2 vols. (Louvain, 1972); A.G. Little, “List of Custodies and Houses in the Franciscan Province of England,” FranciscPapersListDoc (1943), 217–229; W.A. Hinnebusch, The Early English Friars Preachers (Rome, 1951); F. Roth, The Early English Austin Friars (1249–1538), 2 vols. (New York, 1966); K.J. Egan, “Medieval Carmelite Houses, Scotland,” Carmelus (1972), 107–112; idem., “Medieval Carmelite Houses, England and Wales,” Carmelus 16 (1969), 142–226; P. O’Dwyer, “The Carmelite Order in Pre-Reformation Ireland,” Carmelus 16 (1969), 264–278; A. Staring, “Notes on a List of Carmelite Houses in Medieval France,” Carmelus 11 (1964), 150–160. To extend this list of particularly accessible data one may consult the relevant articles and maps in the Dizionario degli instituti di perfezione and the Atlas zur Kirchengeschichte edited by H. Jedin, K.S. Latourette and J. Martin (1970). 5 K. Kantak, “Die Entestehung der polnischen Konvente der böhmisch-polnischen Franziskaner-Provinz,” FranziskStud 16 (1929), 81–84, 94–96; idem., Franciskanie polscy (Crakow, 1932); J. Kłoczowski, Dominikanie polscy na Śląsku w xiii–xiv wieku (Lublin, 1956); idem., “Dominikanie polzcy nad Bałtykiem u xiii wieku,” Nasza Przezłość (1975), 83–124. Ibid., Studia nad historia dominikanów w Polsce 1222–1972, 2 vols. (Warsaw, 1975); G. Uth, Szkic historyczno-biograficzny zakonu Augustjańkiego w Polsce (Kraków, 1930); A. Kunzelmann, “Geschichte der deutscher Augustiner-Eremiten 3: Die bayerische Provinz bis zum Ende des Mittelalters,” Cassiciacum 26 (1972), 63–80; W. Roth, Die Dominikaner und Franiskaner im Deutsch-Ordensland Preuβen bis zum Jahre 1466 (1918); L. Lemmens, “Annales Minorum

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 143

­fourteenth centuries, the disruption of expansion in central, southern and western Europe was in fact not so sudden as it may seem at first glance. Rather, it was a reflection of qualitative differences in the size and importance of the cities that nurtured them. By the beginning of the fourteenth century fully endowed mendicant foundations were well-established in major urban cen- ters. But there followed soon after a whole series of foundations in smaller cities and towns, foundations that one may describe (adapting a concept from urban history), as “meagre” convents (Kümmerkonvente), since they only par- tially fulfill the criteria for an ideal mendicant convent of the thirteenth ­century—namely the close relationship with city life, noted above for the mendicant orders generally. Indeed, even a phenomenon so important for agrarian history as abandoned property (Wüstung) finds an analogy at the end of the mendicant expansion in the above-named regions. Concerning those smaller mendicant orders established following the expansions of the larger, for example, research shows how strikingly high was the number fourteenth- century settlements that had either to be abandoned shortly after their foun- dation, that retained merely the status of a preaching-station, or that remained only in the planning stages.6 It remains an open question how much a waning of outward expansion cor- responded to a stagnation or decline in the overall population of the orders. To approach an answer would require a demographical survey of the regular population of Europe (a project equally as desirable for intellectual and social historians as it would be for historians of the orders). The prospects for such a

Prussicorum,” ArchFrancisHist 6 (1913), 702–704; V. Gidžunas, “De missionibus Fratrum Minorum in Lituania (saec. xiii et xiv),” ArchFrancisHist 42 (1949), 3–36; idem., The Lithuanian Franciscans (Boston, 1972); G. von Walther-Willenheim, Die Dominikaner in Livland im Mittelalter. Die Natio Livoniae (Rome, 1938); F. Hübl, “Počatky minoritů v Čechách a na m Morave,” ČeskyČasHist (1896), 335–345; V.J. Koudelka, “Zur Geschichte der böhmischen Dominikanerprovinz im Mittelalter,” afp 25 (1955), 26 (1956), 27 (1957); P. Sladek, “Die Augustiner in Böhmen,” S. Augustinus 430–1930 (1930), 219–224; A. Kunzelmann, Geschichte der deutschen Augustiner-Eremiten, 3: 3–48; J. Karácsonyi, Szt. Ferenc rendjének története Magyarországon 1711-ig. (Budapest, 1923); N. Pfeiffer, Die Ungarische Dominikanerprovinz von ihrer Gründung 1221 bis zur Tartarenverwüstung 1241–42 (Zurich, 1913); idem., A Domonkos rend Magyar zárdáinak vázlatos törénete (Košice, 1917); F. Fallenbüchl and G. Ring, “Die Augustiner in Ungarn vor der Niderlage von Mohács,” Augustiniana (1965), 171–174; G. Adriány, “Die Augustiner-Eremiten in Ungarn,” Cassiciacum 30 (1975), 714–732; E. Fügedi, “La formation des viles et les ordres mendiants en Hongrie,” Annales esc (1970), 966–987. 6 Jacques LeGoff, “Apostolat mendiant et fait urbain dans la France médiévale: L’implantation des ordres mendiants,” Annales E.S.C. 23 (1968), 335–352. On the last point see also Kaspar Elm, “Termineien und Hospize der westfälischen Augustiner-Eremitenklöster Osnabrück, Lippstadt und Herford,” Jahrbuch für Westfälische Kirchengeschichte 70 (1977), 11–40.

144 chapter 4 project, as for late-medieval demography in general, are admittedly not favor- able. And in fact their particular circumstance makes the prospects for the religious orders even worse. In the case of the mendicant orders, the mobility of individual conventuals restricts the possibility of evaluating numbers over the long-term. And with regard to canonries and monasteries, which often fixed their numbers by statute, one must ask whether the number of conventu- als can be taken as an indicator of growth, stagnation or decline at all.7 In light of these and other reservations, scholars are able, in a certain number of favor- ably disposed circumstances, for narrowly circumscribed time-frames and spe- cific regions, to arrive at more or less reliable numbers. Only with such caveats in mind can one approach the results of available research. According to that research, in the fourteenth century a certain stagnation in the number of foun- dations was accompanied by an unmistakable reduction in the overall regular population. The number of Franciscans between 1325 and 1400 is supposed to have fallen from 35,000 to 20,000; that of the Dominicans from 12,000 to 8,000; the Augustinian Hermits from 8,000 to 6,000, the Carmelites from 12,000 to 8,000.8 The data, compiled here from studies of the mendicant orders, could lead to the conclusion that monastic piety had reached its nadir in the course of the fourteenth century, and that the recruitment of the religious orders suffered accordingly. In reality however, the data reveal nothing more than a retreat of institutionalized religious life. From the end of the thirteenth century down through the fourteenth, the papal curia, councils and the episco- pate managed to rechannel piety long directed at the religious orders toward semi-religious life. It is difficult to say how many took up the variety of options that emerged—tertiaries, beguines and begards, hermits and recluses, and not least the members of secular foundations whose numbers grew in the

7 Cf., for example, U. Berlière, Le recrutement dans les monastères bénédictines aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles (Brussels, 1924); idem., “Le nombre des moines dans les anciens monastères,” Revue Bénédictine 41 (1929), 231–261; 42 (1930), 19–42 (1929–30); J.C. Russell, “The Clerical Population of Medieval England,” Traditio 11 (1944), 177–212. On the issue of statistical inquiry: B. Guillemain, “Chiffres et statistiques pour l’histoire ecclésiastique du Moyen Âge,” Moyen Âge 40 (1955); J. Heers, “Les Limites des méthodes statistiques pour les recherches de démographie médiévale,” AnnDemographHist (1968), 42–72. 8 Numbers according to R. Hostie, Vie et mort des ordres religieux. Approches psychoso- ciologiques (Paris, 1972), 348. Cf. the somewhat divergent evidence in H. Holzapfel, Handbuch des Franziskanerordens (1909), 163; A. Walz, Compendium Historiae Ordinis Praedicatorum 2 (Rome, 1948), 174–177; D. Gutiérrez, “De vulgatis Ordinis Augustiniani censibus seu ‘statisticis’,” AnalAug 30 (1967), 322–334; D. Cresi, “Statistica dell’Ordine Minoritico all’ano 1282,” afh 56 (1963), 157–162. See also relevant material in the Dizionario degli instituti di perfezione and in the Atlas zur Kirchengeschichte.

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 145 fourteenth century. Yet these are but one factor in explaining the numerical retreat of the vita religiosa, and although it is almost certain that there was in fact a shrinking of regular institutions over the same time, there was no reduc- tion in the overall religious and semi-religious population.9 Turning from considerations of the necessity, status and the limits of a quantitative evaluation of decline, we turn to matters of definition. Here it is important to refrain from reliance on categories derived from subjective or col- lective value judgments. Rather, it is important to observe the compromise or

9 Numbers for individual regions and cities in: M. Bihl, “Elenchi Bononiensis Fratrum de Poenitentia,” afh 7 (1914), 229–214; idem., “De Tertio Ordine S. Francisci in Provincia Germaniae Superioris sive Argentinensi syntagma,” afh (1921), 138–198; F. Calley, “Le Tiers Ordre de Saint François d’Assise,” EtFrancisc 24 (1922), 372; A. Fantozzi and B. Bughetti, “Il Terz’Ordine Francescano in Perugia,” afh (1940), 334–339; D.W. Whitfield, “The Third Order of St. Francis in Medieval England,” Franciscan Studies 13 (1953), 334–339; R. Pazelli, Il Terz’Ordine Regolare di S. Francesco attraverso i secoli (Rome, 1958); B. Deger-Spengler, Die regulierten Terziarinnen in der Schweiz, Helvetia Sacra V, 1 (1978); J. Asen, “Die Beginen in Köln,” AnnHistVNdRh 111, 112, 113 (1927-29); K. Zuhorn, “Die Beginen in Münster. Anfänge, Frühzeit und Ausgang des münsterischen Beginentums,” WestfZ 91 (1935), 1–149; D. Philips, Beguines in Medieval Strasburg. A Study of the Social Aspect of Beguine Life (Stanford, 1941); A. Patschovsky, “Strassburger Beginenverfolgungen im 14. Jahrhundert,” da 80 (1974), 85ff. and 107ff.; E.G. Neumann, Rheinisches Beginen- und Begardenwesen. Ein Beitrag zur religiösen Bewegung am Rhein (1960); W.H. Struck, “Von Beginen und Begarden in Mittelrheingebiet,” NassAnn 72 (1961), 184–198; E. Gruber, Beginen und Eremiten der Innerschweiz. Festschrift Oskar Vasella (Freiburg/Schweiz, 1964); G. Peters, “Norddeutsches Beginen- und Begardenwesen im Mittelalter,” NdSächsJbLdG 41/2 (1969/70), 50–118; E.P. Wermter, “Die Beginen im mittelalterlichen Preuβenland,” ZGErml 33 (1969), 41–45; D. Lapis, “Beginski w polsce w xii–xv wieku,” KwartHist 79 (1972); B. Deger-Spengler, Die Beginen in Basel, Basler zg (1969–70); A. Winter, “Studien zur sozialen Situation der Frauen in der Stadt Trier nach der Steuerliste von 1364. Die Untersicht,” Kurtrier Jb 15 (1975), 20. Overviews of the “eremitical life” in individual territories available in, among others: H. Grundmann, “Deutsche Eremiten, Einsiedler und Klausner im Hochmittelalter,” ArchKulturg 45 (1963), 60–90; Ph. Hofmeister, “Eremiten in Deutschland, Warheit und Verkündigung,” in Festschrift Michael Schmaus (1967); R.M. Clay, The Hermits and Anchorites of England (London, 1914); S. Darwin, The English Medieval Recluse (London, 1944); L. Gougaud, Ermites et réclus (Ligugé, 1928); J. Sainsaulieu, Les ermites français (Paris, 1974). References to hermitages and eremitical groups in other regions: L. Gougaud, “Essai de bibliographie érémitique,” Revue Bénédictine 45 (1933), 281–291; P. Doyère, “L’érémitisme,” RevAscMyst 23 (1956), 351–359; J. Sainsaulieu, “Érémitisme,” in dghe (1963). See also Ph. Rouillard, F. Ferrero and others, “Eremitismo” DizIstPerf 3 (1976) c. 1241–43, 1258. On new foundations in individual regions see, among others, L. Mezey, “Die Devotio Moderna der Donauländer Böhmen, Österreich, Ungarn,” MediaevBohem 70 (1971), 177–192; N. Backmund, Die Kollegiat- und Kanonissenstifte in Bayern (1973); P. Moraw, “Über Typologie, Chronolgie und Geographie der Stiftskirche im deutschen Mittelalter,” here 9–37.

146 chapter 4 the abandonment of tasks and behaviors that contemporaries saw as norma- tive. These are the only criteria suitable for a properly historical evaluation. To invoke them is to recognize the emergence (alongside the tria substantialia that were binding for every order) of a number of particular measures of evalu- ation: For the monastic orders, care in fulfilling liturgical duties and strictness in the ascetical pursuit of salvation; for orders devoted to pastoral care, eager- ness in fulfilling the obligations of the cura animarum; for orders of hermits, an appropriate degree of withdrawal from the world; for the Hospitalers, the intensity of the service of pilgrims, the poor and the sick. It is not necessary here to give an overview of the symptoms of late-medieval religious decline, still less a systematic account of patterns of degeneration specific to each order.10 Our intention is rather to explore the process of departure from origi- nal ideas and actual intentions through the example of one way of life—here through the example of the mendicants. This will allow us to at least outline the causes of decline in general, and so come to terms with the difficulty of offering an appropriate historical judgment of the mendicant way of life. To describe decline among the mendicants, and especially among the Franciscans, as a loss of original ideals and purpose, our attention turns first to the observance of voluntary, corporate poverty. Upon consideration of so many sources, and of a literature now so vast that it is almost impossible to review properly, it soon becomes clear that the order’s more or less sharp divergences from absolute poverty do not fit neatly in any chronological scheme grounded in an organic process of flowering and decline.11 In his own lifetime Francis’

10 A. Bruel, “Visites des monastères de l’ordre de Cluny de la province d’Auvergne aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles,” BiblEcoleChartres 38 (1891); U. Robert, “Etat des monastères Espagnols de l’Ordre de Cluny aux XIIIe siécle d’après des actes de visites et des chapitres généreaux,” BolAcadHistMadrid 20 (1872), 321–375; P. Caillet, “La décadence de l’ordre de Cluny aux XVe siècle et la tentative de réforme de l’abbé Jean de Bourbon (1465–1485),” BiblEcoleChartres 89 (1928), 183–234; F. Vandenbroucke, “La morale monastique du XIe siécle,” AnalMedievNamurcensia (1966), 117–180; E.N. Gorsuch, “Mismanagement and Ecclesiastical Visitation of English Monasteries in the Early Fourteenth Century,” Traditio 28 (1972), 473–482; D. Knowles, “Grandeur et décadence de Cluny,” Concilium (1974), 31–42; C. Conway, “Decline and attempted Reform of the Irish Cistercians 1445–1531,” CollectCistRef 10 (1956), 11 (1957); G. Heinrich, “Klosterflucht und Klosterzucht im 15. Jahrhundert. Zur Geschichte Chorins,” JbGDtOsten 12 (1963), 195–206; A. Dimier, “Violences, rixes et homicides chez les Cisterciens,” RevScienceRelUnivStrasbourg 46 (1972), 38–52; H. Grüger, “Die monastische Disziplin der slesischen Zisterzienser vor Anbruch der Reformation,” Citeaux 24 (1973), 209–249. 11 See especially K. Esser, Anfänge und ursprüngliche Zielsetzung des Ordens der Minderbrüder (Leiden, 1966); idem., “Die Armutsauffassung des hl. Franziskus,” in Poverty in the Middle Ages, ed. D. Flood (1975), 60–70; R. Manselli, “La povertà nella vita di Francesco d’Assisi,”

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 147 command to abandon common ownership was judged unrealistic by men like cardinals John of St. Paul and Hugolino of Ostia—and indeed it was never real- ized fully, even with Francis himself and his earliest followers.12 No surprise, then, that soon after the death of the founder his intentions were no longer taken officially as the guiding principle of the practice of poverty in his order. Rather, quite contrary to their claim to realize the full imitation of Christ through mendicant poverty, the order’s convents, grounded in legal construc- tions that dated from the pontificate of Gregory ix, were soon able to accumu- late considerable corporate wealth.13 Zeal for absolute poverty can therefore no longer be taken as an indicator of flowering or decline even for the thir- teenth century, and for a variety of reasons this is even more the case for the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. As with the other mendicant orders who demanded an observance of poverty less rigorous than the Minorites,14 in many Franciscan convents not even the precept of traditional monastic poverty—the abandonment of personal property—was observed. Precepts and admonitions articulated in the acts of general chapters, in visitation proto- cols and circulars15 make clear not only how much individual property could be

in La povertà del secolo XII e Francesco d’Assisi. Società Internazionale di Studi Francescani. Atti del Il Convegno Internazionale Assisi, 17–19 ottobre 1974 (Assisi, 1975), 257–282. 12 K.-V. Selge, “Franz von Assisi und die römische Kurie,” ZTheolK 67 (1970), 129–161; idem., “Franz von Assisi und Hugolin von Ostia,” in San Francesco nella ricerca storica degli ultimi ottanta anni, 13–16 ottobre 1968 (Todi, 1971), 159–222. 13 Malcom Lambert, Franciscan Poverty: The Doctrine of the Absolute Poverty of Christ and the Apostles in the Franciscan Order, 1210–1323, 2nd ed. (New York, 1998). 14 B. Altaner, “Der Armutsgedanke beim Hl. Dominikus,” TheolGlaube 11 (1919), 404–417; C. Lammerbond, Der Armutsgedanke des hl. Dominikus und seines Ordens (Zwolle, 1926); G.M. Löhr, “Die Mendikantenarmut im Dominikanerorden im 14. Jahrhundert. Nach den Schriften von Johannes Dambach, O.P. und Johannes Dominici, O.P.,” Divus Thomas (1940), 257–299; W.A. Hinnebusch, “Poverty in the Order of Preachers,” CathHistRev 45 (1960), 436–453; F.A. Mathes, “The Poverty Movement and the Augustinian Hermits,” AnalAugust 31–32 (1969–69); S. Zuk, “De Capacitate possidendi in communi in Ordine Carmelitano saec. xiii,” AnalCarmel 10 (1938), 12–23, 155–164; O. Steggink, “Fraternità e possesso in commune, l’inspirazione presso i mendicanti,” Carmelus 15 (1968), 5–35. 15 To give some sense of the nature and range of available printed material: E. Wagner, Historia Constitutionum Generalium Ordinis Fratrum Minorum (Rome, 1954); B.M. Reichert, Acta Capitulorum Generalium Ordinis Praedicatorum, 9 vols. (Rome, 1897–1904); G.M. Löhr, Registrum litterarum pro provincia Saxoniae 1474–1551, QForschGDomin­ ­ Deutschland 37, 40 (1939, 1952); R. Creytens, “Les actes capitulaires de la Congrégation Toscano-romaine O.P. (1496–1530),” afp 40 (1970), 125–230; R.F. Madura, Acta Capitulorum Provinciae Poloniae Ordinis Praedicatorum I: 1225–1600 (1972); N. Teeuwen and A. de Meijer, Documents pour servir à l’histoire médiévale de la province augustinienne de Cologne.

148 chapter 4 amassed, but also the ways and means through which individual conventuals could become proprietarii: endowment of offices; lease of preaching revenues, payment for work outside of the order, transfer of rents and legacies to those within. It is easy to recognize how severely these practices—common not only among the mendicants, but especially dangerous for them—threatened the foundations of the religious life. When the well-endowed son of a burgher, the industrious limitor, the privileged honorary papal chaplain and the beneficed suffragan bishop all lived together in one convent with their fellow brothers who were not as wealthy or who did not have as much business sense, each in their individual “dwellings,” it was rather difficult to realize the Augustinian Rule’s ideal, foundational to every form of religious life, of living according to “one heart and one soul in God.” As a consequence, the moral trustworthiness of a spiritual elite came widely in question, since its members—according to the intention of their founders—were supposed to advance the Gospel more through example than through words.16

Extraits des registres des prieurs généreaux (1357–1506) (Héverlé-Louvain, 1961); idem., Documents pour servir à l’histoire médiévale de la province augustinienne de Cologne (1507– 1551) (Héverlé-Louvain, 1970); A. De Meijer, Gregorii de Arimino o.s.a. Registrum Generalatus 1357–1358 (Rome, 1976); K. Walsh, “The Observance: Sources for a History of the Observant Reform Movement in the Order of Augustinian Friars in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries,” RivStorChiesaItalia 31 (1977), 40–67; G. Wessels, Acta capitulorum generalium ordinis Fratrun B.V. Mariae de Monte Carmelo, 1–2 (Rome, 1912–34); idem., “Acta capitulorum provincialum Lombardiae 1328–1398,” AnalCarmel 3 (1914–15), 152ff.; P. Cacioli, “Acta capitulorum provincialium provinciae Carmelitarum Thusciae ab anno 1375 ad annum 1408,” RivStorCarmel 1–3 (1929–32); G. Couto, “Acta antiquorum capitulo- rum provincialium di Toscana dei Carmalitani 1452–1461,” AnalCarmel 11 (1940–45), 56–59; A. Sabatini, Atti dei capitoli provinciali di Toscana dei Carmelitani 1375–1491, ArchHistCarmel 4 (Rome, 1975); A. Van de Pasch, Definities der generale kapittels van de Ordre van het H. Kruis 1410–1786 (Brussels, 1969); F. Pelster, “Admonitiones des Provinzialpriors der Teutonia an die Brüder des Straβburger Konvents (1307?),” afp 12 (1942), 307–312; R. Creytens, “Ordonnances du maître général Jean de Puinoix, O.P., pour le couvent de Viero en Galice 1413,” afp 29 (1959), 148–152; W. Hecht, “Ein Brief des Provinzials Johannes Cusin an die Dominikaner in ,” afp 43 (1973), 83–90. 16 Here, among others, cf. R. Schmitz, Der Zustand der süddeutschen Franziskaner Konventualen am Ausgang des Mittelalters (1914); C. Erickson, “The Fourteenth Century Franciscans and their Critics I: The Order’s Growth and Character,” Franciscan Studies 35 (1975), 107–135; 36 (1976), 108–147; H. Finke, “Zur Geschichte der deutschen Dominikaner im xiii. and xiv. Jahrhundert,” RömQuartChristAltKde 8 (1894), 367–392; B.M. Reichert, “Zur Geschichte der deutschen Dominikaner und ihrer Reform,” RömQuartChristAltKde 10 (1896), 299–311; idem., “Zur Geschichte der deutschen Dominikaner am Ausgang des xiv. Jahrhunderts,” RömQuartChristAltKde 14 (1900), 15 (1901); A. Deckert, “Die oberdeutsche

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Not only corporate and individual property, of course, threatened the unity of the convent. Other circumstances, if judged according to the order’s original conception, must be evaluated as symptoms of decline. The Franciscan claim to realization of paupertas angelica; the Dominican return to the vita vera apostolica; the call of the especially commendable vita eremitica, so clearly expressed in the names given to the orders of the Augustinian Hermits and the Carmelites—these became turns of phrase in the mouths of masters and lectors, of princely counselors and urban officials, papal chaplains and curial penitentiaries, suffragan bishops and cardinals, who cared little for any vow of obedience or the vita communis, and who indeed granted numerous privileges with the explicit intention of dispensing with the common life.17 The fragmen- tation of community through individual property and privileges found their outward expression in an ever-increasing mobility, a process that culminated in the integration of countless religious into the spiritual and secular hierarchy. The trend went back, in the first instance, to students and teachers who went back and forth from one university to another, from this studium generale to that one. This form of legitimate mobility, visible in general registers and capitular legislation, consecration lists and obituaries, has not yet been inves- tigated nearly enough for all it could reveal about intellectual history, social history and the history of education. It found its obverse in numerous wanderers, apostates and rebels, spoken of so often in the same sources. Their motives and influences, however, are harder to get to than those of the masters and students.18 Along with symptoms of decline that can be traced back to the

Provinz der Karmeliten nach den Akten ihrer Kapitel von 1421 bis 1529,” ArchHistCarmel 1 (1961). 17 R. Ritzler, “I Cardinali e i Papi dei Frati Minori Conventuali,” MiscFrancesc 71 (1971), 32–70; W.R. Thompson, Friars in the Cathedral. The First Franciscan Bishops 1226–1261 (Toronto, 1975); P. Taurisano, Hierarchia ordinis Praedicatorum (Rome, 1916); B. Wild, “Augustiner als Bischöfe im Dienste der Kirche,” Cor Unum 7 (1949), 9 (1951); E. Göller, Die päpstliche Pönitentiarie von ihrem Ursprung bis zu ihrer Umgestaltung unter Pius V (Rome, 1907); C. O’Donnell, The Friars Minor Conventual Penitentiaries in the Basilica of St. Peter in the Vatican (Albany, 1975). 18 Individual studies on this kind of mobility include: G.M. Löhr, “Breslauer Dominikaner des 15. Jahrhundert auf auswärtigen Hochschulen,” afp 13 (1943), 162–180; idem., “Die Dominikaner an den ostdeutschen Universitäten Wittenberg, Frankfurt/Oder, Rostock und Greifswald,” afp (1952), 294–316; idem., “Die Dominikaner an den Universitäten Erfurt und Mainz,” afp 1953 (1953), 236–274; J.R.H. Moorman, “The Foreign Element among the English Franciscans,” EnglHistRev 62 (1947), 289–303; A.M. Bogaerts, “Dominicanen der Nederlanden in de registers der magisters-generaal,” BouwstG­ DominNederl 12–16 (1973–77).

150 chapter 4 centrifugal forces that fragmented the vita communis, other symptoms can be observed that one can interpret as a consequence of a certain petrification of an early mobility and dynamism. I mean here those phenomena, noted so often in the latest research, that appear wherever the boundaries between the worlds of the cloister and profane society, between convent and city, between monastery and nascent territorial principalities were no longer properly maintained; where convents mirrored the social stratification of their environments; where family networks dominated spiritual communi- ties; where monastic wealth and corporate property became integral parts of the urban economy; where the decisions of chapters were drawn up in the committees of burghers or at the courts of territorial princes, where not only spiritual but also worldly authorities were instances of appeal; where— to put it drastically and in an overly sharp way—families held private feasts in the refectory and convents held their gatherings in the chambers of the city council.19 Let us turn from a depiction of the abuses typical among the mendicants to a consideration of their causes and to the standards for their evaluation. One explanation mentioned frequently in the scholarly literature, though with little reflection, is that in the fourteenth century, according to an almost biological law, originally zealous orders somehow became somnolent; that their piety, after a period of flowering, with a certain necessity grew cold, and that the willingness of the faithful, after an all-too strong desire to support the orders, disappeared during the thirteenth century. Not as vague, and to a certain degree more historical, are attempts to explain the circumstance of the orders in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries with reference to the challenges of the era: plague and famine, the weakness of a papacy held in “Babylonian cap- tivity” in Avignon and then divided by schism; the Hundred Years’ War between England and France; the wars, local feuds and rebellions in other lands that, though more brief, were just as destructive. We can test the arguments, listed only briefly here, according to their merits. The theory of an almost foreor- dained decline of piety, so sharply formulated at the end of the thirteenth century in the Determinationes quaestionum circa regulam fratrum minorum

19 J. LeGoff, “Apostolat mendiant et fait urbain dans la France médiévale: L’implantation des ordres mendiants”; idem., “Ordres mendiants et urbanisation dans la France médievale. État de l’enquête,” Annales esc 25 (1970), 924–987; B.E.J. Stüdeli, “Minoritenniederlassungen und mittelalterliche Stadt,” FranziskStud 21 (1969); Freed, “Friars”; L. Pellegrini, “L’ordine francescano e la società cittadina in epoca bonaventuriana,” Laurentianum 15 (1974), 154–200.

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 151 attributed to Bonaventure, is of course in its generality not very serviceable.20 But if one grounds it more precisely in anthropology or social psychology it provides a quite practical explanatory model. The traditional rules of the orders, their ordines and constitutiones, but above all the intentions of found- ers like those of the Servites, the little-known Tuscan and Palestinian forerun- ners of the Augustinian Hermits and the Carmelites, or indeed of a Francis or Dominic, were directed at a way of life that required a high degree of individual and collective energy. As a sociology of religions, organizations and groups shaped by Weber and Troeltsch teaches, even with the best of intentions it is almost impossible to avoid certain tendencies to fall away from the ideals of a given order, tendencies that, as they unfold, appear almost predictable in advance.21 To focus these considerations concretely on the example of the mendicant orders, and especially on the Franciscans, it is impossible to be at one and the same time a charismatic brotherhood and an international order. One cannot at once reshape the foundations of urban pastoral care, undertake the spiritual leadership of women and other pastorally neglected groups, and transfer legal titles of ownership to communes and urban institutions, and yet somehow avoid all of the consequences—conflicts of interest with secular clergy, the influences of daily urban life, the pressures to conform with pat- terns of urban thought and feminine emotionality. To make the university the focus of one’s activity and to develop a highly efficient system of study focused on intellectual progress, as was the case with the Dominicans, had the darker side of scholarship as its unavoidable consequence. The vanity of scholars, strife among students and tensions between teachers and students found a home in cloister, refectory and dormitory, and the rationality and industry of scholarship thus endangered the heart of spiritual life. And when the two great mendicant orders no longer felt in principle bound to the ancient monastic stabilitas loci, but rather made mobility in an ever-changing world into a foun- dational principle of their form of life, there is little wonder that complaints and laments about wandering friars came to the fore—as was the case already in the early days of the Franciscans, and indeed while the founder himself still

20 Doctoris seraphici S. Bonaventurae opera omnia 8 (Quaracchi, 1898); Cf. A. Borst, Lebensformen im Mittelalter (1973), 531–538; I. Brady, “The Writings of Saint Bonaventure Regarding the Franciscan Order,” MiscFrancesc 75 (1975); Th. Crowly, “Saint Bonaventure and Reform,” MiscFrancesc 75 (1975), 129–135. 21 K. Elm, “Die Entwicklung des Franziskanerordens zwischen dem ersten und letzten Zeugnis des Jakob von Vitry,” in Francesco d’Assisi e Francescanesimo dal 1216 al 1226. Società Internazionale di Studi Francescani. Atti del iv Convegno Internazionale Assisi, 15–17 ottobre 1976 (Assisi, 1977), 195–233.

152 chapter 4 lived. Given their pursuit of earthly perfection, their view that the true realiza- tion of Christianity was the realization of certain patterns of life, it is not surprising that strife soon broke out within the Franciscan ranks over true teaching, proper practice and an absolutely binding conception of poverty. Moreover, as both participants and partisans in a widespread movement, the Franciscans were spared neither disputes over their origins nor envious com- petition. And as their voluntary begging came gradually to be seen as a burden on society, they had soon to reckon with the waning material support of the faithful.22 Observations and considerations of this nature force us, if not to entirely abandon the traditional chronological scheme of an earlier flowering followed by decline, then at least to set it aside, and to proceed more carefully than before with evaluations measured by original intentions. Without reviving a move toward history accentuated by anthropological theory, it seems nevertheless nec- essary to evaluate the norms and models of monastic life according to their con- temporary horizons, and only then to judge the failures that emerge in the struggle for their realization. That means, concretely, to evaluate the appearances of decline no longer simply as the failures of particular individuals or groups, but rather to accept them as both consequences of a necessary process of develop- ment, and as social and psychological deviations integral to religious life. No less important is an awareness of the fact that any proper interpretation of these matters requires a spectrum, a system, so to speak, of standards for evaluation. So, from this perspective, consider the collective and individual observance of poverty as indicator of the rise and fall of the Franciscan order.

22 From a rich literature can be noted: L. Hödl, “Zum Streit um Buβprivilegien der Mendikantenorden in Wien im 14. Jahrhundert und beginnenden 15. Jahrhundert,” ZKathTheol 79 (1951), 170–189; H. Lippens, “Le droit nouveaux des mendiants en conflit avec le droit coutumier du clergé séculier du concile de Vienne à celui de Trente,” afh 47 (1954), 241–292; D.W. Whitfield, “Conflicts of Personality and Principle. The Political and Religious Crisis in the English Franciscan Province 1400–1408,” FrancStud 17 (1957), 321– 362; A. Williams, “Relations Between the Mendicant Friars and the Secular Clergy in England in the Later Fourteenth Century,” DuqesneStudAnnMediev 1 (1960), 22–95; Y. Congar, “Aspects ecclésiologiques de la querelle entre mendiants et séculiers dans la sec- onde moitié du XIIIe siècle et le début du XIVe,” ArchHistDoctLittMA 36 (1961), 35–151; I.W. Frank, “Die Spannung zwischen Ordensleben und wissenschaftlicher Arbeit im frühen Dominikanerorden,” ArchKultGesch 49 (1967), 164–201; M.-M. Fuful, Guillaume de Saint- Amour et la polémique universitaire Parisienne 1250–59 (Paris, 1972); A. Zimmerman, ed., Die Auseinandersetzungen an der Pariser Universität im xiii. Jh. (Berlin-NewYork, 1976). A good summary can be found in D. Berg, Armut und Wissenschaft. Beiträge zur Geschichte des Studienwesens der Bettelorden im 13. Jahrhundert (1977).

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Here the questions to ask might concern what place poverty and idleness, work and property might have had in a particular time, within a precisely out- lined social context, and what work, idleness, and poverty actually looked like within that context. This is a question that has been asked in Germany and Italy and especially in France in recent years, where it has become the subject of systematic research.23 The results of this work require that we investigate, from case to case, how a spectrum of wealth, poverty and sufficient income might have appeared within a particular social setting—in a specific city, for example.23a Only then would it be possible to evaluate the observance of monastic poverty and the renunciation of property, and thereby the degree of ascetical accomplishment. As difficult as these investigations might be, with as good a source foundation as can be found in the late-medieval city, a kind of structured system could emerge from a systematic investigation and compari- son of monastic, civic and private households. From such investigations monastic economies, and thereby monastic poverty in practice, could be characterized more fairly than is possible based on contemporary polemical literature and a historiography that is occasionally all-too rigorous, if not confessional or ideological.23b Claims of property and privilege; accommodation to the laws and condi- tions of the economy and its institutions; too intimate a bond with society; a mobility no longer controllable; the abandonment not only of once lofty ideals, but of even the foundational requirements of monasticism—all are manifestations of decline according to the point of view adopted above, a

23 K. Bosl, “Potens und Pauper. Begriffsgeschichtliche Studien zur gesellschaftlichen Differenzierung im frühen Mittelalter und zum ‘Pauperismus’ des Hochmittelalters,” in Alteuropa und die moderne Gesellschaft. Festschrrift für Otto Brunner (1963), 60–87; idem., “Armut, Arbeit, Emanzipation (Zu den Hintergrunden der geistigen und literarischen Bewegung vom 11.–13. Jh),” in Beiträge zur Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte des Mittelalters. Festschrift für Herbert Helbig zum 65. Geburtstag (1975), 128–146; M. Mollat, “La notion de la pauvreté au moyen âge. Position de problèmes,” RevHistEglFr 52 (1966), 5–23; idem., Les pauvres dans la société médievale (Paris, 1974); idem., ed., Etudes sur l’histoire de la pau- vreté, 2 vols. (Paris, 1974); Cf. Also the contributions in D. Flood, ed., La povertà del secolo XII e Francesco d’Assisi. Poverty in the Middle Ages (1975) and Povertà e ricchezza nella spiri- tualità dei sécoli XI e XII (Todi, 1969). 23a See for example U. Dirlmeier, Untersuchungen zu Einkommensverhältnissen und Lebenshaltungskosten in oberdeutschen Städten des Spätmittelalters (Mitte 14. bis Anfang 16. Jahrhundert) (Heidelberg, 1978). 23b One such attempt has now been made: Bernard Neidiger, Mendikanten zwischen Ordensideal und städtischer Realität: Untersuchungen zum wirtschaftlichen Verhalten der Bettelorden in Basel (Berlin, 1981).

154 chapter 4 perspective that in a certain sense arises from anthropological constants and the compulsions of social pressure. How quickly and to what degree these pro- cesses are set in motion is of course no longer to be described as a function of either individual or collective psychology. Far more relevant are the particulars of a given historical situation, the political, social and economic circumstances that accelerate or attenuate these processes. Doubtless to be included among the catalysts are the phenomena usually noted as crucial for the decline of the religious orders in the later middle ages—the fiscalization and juridification of the papacy through the Avignonese captivity and Schism; the consolidation of the modern state and territorial lordship that went hand in hand with both; insurrections and feuds; biological forces like plague and famine. The deform- ing effects of the structural changes that the papacy and the church endured during the Avignonese captivity, and the consequences of the internal tensions in the era of Schism and councils for the religious orders are known, if not in every detail, at least in general outline. The efforts of popes and councils, in competition with one another, to establish or to expand their respective obedi- ences through every available means brought fleeting profit to the orders through the awarding and confirmation of privileges, as well as more relaxed practices of dispensation. More serious, however, were the negative conse- quences, which are very well known. The formation of obediences affected the older, relatively loosely organized congregations and orders like those of the Cluniacs, Cistercians, Premonstratensians and Carthusians sharply enough. But the same process had an even sharper impact on the more strictly orga- nized, younger mendicant orders. In some instances the orders were so torn asunder that general master stood against general master, chapter against chapter, indeed provinces and individual convents fell out with one another over the question of which pope should be recognized.24 Yet already before the

24 J. Leclercq, “Cluny pendant le Grand Schisme d’Occident,” RevMabillon 32 (1942), 119–132; Fr. Bliemetzrieder, “Der Zisterzienser-Orden im groβen abendländischen Schisma,” StudMittGBened 25 (1904), 62–82; R. Graham, “The Great Schism and the English Monasteries of the Cistercian Order,” EngHistRev 44 (1929), 373–382; Fr. Bliemetzrieder, “Der Kartäuser-Orden und das abendländische Schisma, zugleich zur Geschichte der Kartause Mariengarten bei Prag,” MittVGDBöhmen 47 (1909), 47–61; G. Mollat, “L’adhesion des Chartreux à Clement vii, 1378–1380,” RevMALat 5 (1949), 35–42; J. Gomez, “Les Chartreux espagnols et le Grand Schisme,” SemEtudMonast 5 (1962); K. Eubel, Die avigno- nesische Obödienz der Mendikanten-Orden sowie der Orden der Mercedarier und Trinitarier zur Zeit des groβen Schismas (1900); O. Hütterbräuker, Der Minoritenorden zur Zeit des groβen Schismas (1893); K. Eubel, “Die avignonesische Obödienz im Franziskaner-Orden,” FranziskStudien 1 (1914), 170–180; C. Schmitt, “Le parti clémentiste dans la province fran- ciscaine de Strasbourg. Notes et documents,” afh 55 (1962), 82–102; G.G. Meersseman,

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 155 schism the same process of decomposition was underway, inspired by conflicts between the Empire and papacy. Of no less consequence was the attempt of the curia to win political power and financial advantage through the prolifera- tion of provisions originally intended only for those who had been placed directly under papal protection. Such provisions first had an impact on the great and economically powerful abbeys and foundations, and above all exposed those communities that had been centers of the monastic reform movements in the early and high middle ages to the cancer of the commen- da.25 Fiscal impositions, limitations of autonomy and economic interference were of course not only a consequence of both internal and external changes of the church. The development of the modern state, a contemporary process that occasionally in fact played out in dialogue with those same changes, worked in the same direction, as did the growing consolidation of a more urban economy with urban political power. The financial needs of princes and cities, heightened for economic, political and military reasons, along with the ten- dency to extend rights of lordship and to secure inherited freedoms—these weighed on and interfered with spiritual institutions no less than the interests of the papacy, the episcopacy and local clergy. The same two forces worked in the same way to influence the inner organization of the orders and monastic con- gregations. Like the forces that worked to consolidate the papal obediences, these too worked against the orders’ claim to universality. In England, France and Spain, as well as in the Empire, the formation of congregations, provinces and vicariates, indeed of entire orders, during the orders’ decline as well as their renewal, were a consequence less of the pressing needs and inherited demands of the orders themselves, much more a consequence of the rule of law and the demands of politics.26

“Etudes sur l’ordre des Frères Prêcheurs au début du Grand Schisme,” afp 25 (1955), 213– 257; F. Roth, “The Great Schism and the Augustinian Order,” Augustiniana 8 (1958), 281– 298; C.L. Tipton, “The English Hospitallers during the Great Schism,” StudMedieavRenHist 4 (1967), 91–123. 25 C. Samaran and G. Mollat, La fiscalité pontificale en France au XIVe siècle (Paris, 1905); J. Favier, Les finances pontificales à l’époque du Grand Schisme d’Occident 1378–1409 (1966); K. Eubel, “Die Besetzung deutscher Abteien mittels päpstlicher Provision in den Jahren 1431–1503,” StudMittGBened 20 (1899), 234–246; C. O’Coubhiude, “Taxation of Irish Cistercian Houses 1329–1479,” Cîteaux 15 (1964), 144–160; W.J. Telesca, “Papal Reservations and Provisions of Cistercian Abbeys at the End of the Middle Ages,” Cîteaux (1975), 145–192. 26 L.A. Desmond, “The Statute of Carlisle and the Cistercians, 1289–1369,” in Studies in Medieval Cistercian History Presented to Jeremiah F. O’Sullivan (Shannon, 1971), 138–162; W.J. Telesca, “The Cistercian Dilemma at the Close of the Middle Ages. or

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The visitations of the plague in the fourteenth century—along with war,27 perhaps most often made responsible for the decline of religious life in the fourteenth century—are as difficult to summarize, or even to quantify pre- cisely, as the changes in secular and ecclesiastical affairs. On the basis of current research, and where the sources provide relatively reliable data, one can assume that the plague (beginning in the first decades of the fourteenth century, culminating in the forties and reemerging once again around the end of the century) resulted in around a 30–40% mortality in the ranks of the religious orders. Along with countless unknown men and women, the plague carried away such prominent professed religious as the founder of the congre- gation of the Olivetans, Bernard Tolomei, the Minister General of the Franciscans, Gerard Odonis, and the renowned Augustinian preacher Simone Fidati da Cascia. Such losses not only devastated once flowering communities in the short term. Surviving evidence suggests a further conclusion, one already evident to contemporaries: the severe challenge of filling houses with new recruits (aggravated by the general reduction in the population) led to a drastic relaxation of the standards of acceptance, and thereby to a considerable reduction in the spiritual quality of new recruits.28 A further consequence is more hypothetical: it seems possible, in a general way, that by the middle of the fourteenth century, as a result of high mortality, there was a considerable increase in gifts, bequests and endowments. As a consequence, much like the abandonment of traditional criteria for acceptance, there was a worsening of discipline and, accordingly, a decline in the prestige of those in the religious orders.29

Rome,” in ibid., 163–185. A.K. McHardy, The Alien Priories and the Expulsion of Aliens from England in 1378 (Oxford, 1975), 133–145; P. Feige, “Filiation und Landeshoheit. Die Entstehung der Zisterzienserkongregationen auf der Iberischen Halbinsel,” ZistStud 1 (1975), 37–76. 27 H. Denifle, La désolation des églises, monastéres et hospitaux en France pendant la guerre de cent ans (1897–99); N. Coulet, “La désolaiton des églises de Provence,” ProvenceHist 6 (1956), 34–52, 123–141; A. Lesort, “La reconstitution des églises après la guerre de cent ans,” RevHistEglFr 20 (1934), 177–215. 28 J.-N. Biraben, Les hommes et la peste en France et dans les pays européens et méditerranéens, 2 vols. (Paris, 1975); P.-G. Mode, The Influence of the Black Death on the English Monasteries (Menasha, Wisc., 1916); A. Biglmair, “Zur Statistik der groβen Pestepidemien des 14. Jahrhunderts: Die Zahl der Opfer im Franziskanerorden,” ArchHyg 130 (1943), 196–210. J.C. Russel, “The Clerical Population of Medieval England,” Traditio 2 (1944); B. Zaddach, Die Folgen des Schwarzen Todes (1347–51) für den Klerus Mitteleuropas (Stuttgart, 1971). 29 An account of the donations of particular groups over the long term: R. Boutruche, “Aux origines d’une crise nobiliaire. Donations pieuses et pratiques successorales en

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 157

The outward causes for the decline of religious life in the fourteenth century surveyed here are more or less uncontested, and have in a few cases in fact been the subject of systematic investigation. A number of questions, however, remain unanswered: those, for example, concerning various configurations of causes and their divergent regional consequences; how individual orders negotiated the challenges; even more fundamentally, how various causes and consequences differed for landed or mendicant houses for those that bought annuities or managed their own economies, for rural and urban communities. Despite uncertainty conditioned by both the nature of the surviving sources and the current state of research, it is appropriate here to discuss in detail a model of the later middle ages that has recently come into the mainstream of historical scholarship, a model that reads decline (and to a certain extent renewal as well) not as a function of individual responsibility, but as a function of long-term economic development. At issue are the theories of crisis that social and economic historians have developed in recent years, theories that render all of the manifestations of decline surveyed here—falling revenues, declining population, political, social and ecclesiastical tensions—as epiphe- nomena of more deeply rooted change, described variously as stagnation, depression or contraction.30 Presuming their chronological and regional diver- sity, and limiting the analysis to generally accepted symptoms of crisis (a regional decline in population, some restriction of production, the opening up of the “wage- and price-scissors,” the differentiation, of special consequence for agriculture, between agrarian and urban economies)—in all this the ques- tion arises how far the decline of religious life can be understood as a symptom of crisis. To move toward a preliminary answer, it must be said that in recent discussions of crisis the connections between monastic decline and economic circumstance have not yet even been formulated as a problem. Prior to those discussions, or without any reference to them, others have made economic circumstance responsible, alongside political and moral causes, for a retreat in both the numeric strength and quality of religious life. This is the case for

Bordrelais du XIIIe au XVIe siècle,” AnnSocHist 1 (1939), 160–177; 257–272; J.T. Rosenthal, “The Purchase of Paradise. Gift Giving and the Aristocracy, 1307–1485,” in StudSocHist, ed. H. Perkin (1972). 30 Surveys of current research found in František Graus, Das Spätmittelalter als Krisenzeit. Ein Literaturbericht als Zwischenbilanz (1969); H. Aubin and W. Zorn, Handbuch der deutschen Wirtschafts und Sozialgeschichte (1971), 300–357. In summary: František Graus, “Vom ‘Schwarzen Tod’ zur Reformation. Der krisenhafte Character des europäischen Spätmittelalters,” Revolte und Revolution in Europa (1975), 10–30.

158 chapter 4 research into the economy of individual households in England, France, Belgium and the Netherlands,31 and in Germany it has been proven—to note only a few more or less randomly chosen examples—for the Benedictine houses of the lower Rhine, for the Westphalian Benedictine houses that were later taken up in to the Bursfeld congregation, for the women’s communities at Essen and Möllenbeck, for the Cistercian households Langheim, Ebrach, Rottenmünster, Marienstatt, Salem and Bronnbach, and for abbeys once so famous as Hirsau, St. Blaise and Gorze.32 With explicit reference to the theories that have been developed in these discussions, economic historians have virtually exemplified economic decline through studies of the Bavarian monastic economy33 and proven, for individual

31 D. van Derveeghe, Le domaine de l’abbaye du Val-Saint-Lambert de 1207 à 1387 (Brussells, 1935); J.A. Raftis, The Estates of Ramsey Abbey. A Study in Economic Growth and Organization (Toronto, 1957); P.J. Jones, “Le finanze della badia cistercense di Settimo nel xiv secolo,” RicStorChiesaItal 10 (1956), 90–122; A. d’Haenens, “La crise des abbayes bénédictines au bas Moyen Âge: Saint Martin de Tournai de 1290 á 1350,” Moyen Âge 65 (1959), 75–95; idem., L’abbaye Saint-Martin de Tournai de 1290–1350. Origines, évolution et dénouement d’une crise (Louvian, 1961); R.B. Dobson, Durham Priory, 1400–1450 (Cambridge, 1973). 32 J. Linneborn, “Der Zustand der westfälischen Benediktinerklöster in den lezten 50 Jahren vor ihrem Anschlusse an die Bursfelder Kongregation,” Westfälische Zeitschrift 56 (1898), 1–64; E. Wisplinghoff, “Die Benediktinerklöster des Niederrheins im 13. und 14. Jahrhundert,” in Festschrift für Herman Heimpel (Göttingen, 1972), 277–291. H. Weigel, Studien zur Verfassung und Verwaltung des Grundbesitzes des Frauenstiftes Essen 852–1803 (1960); N. Heutger, Das Stift Möllenbeck a.d. Weser (1962); F. Engel—H. Lathwesen, Das Güterverzeichnis des Klosters Möllenbeck bei Rinten von 1465 (1963); H. Weiss, Die Zisterzienserabei Ebrach (1962); M. Reichenmiller, Das ehemalige Reichsstift und Cistercienserinnenkloster Rottenmünster (1964); W.-H. Struck, Die Cistercienserabtei Marienstatt im Mittelalter. Urkundenregesten, Güterverzeichnisse, Nekrologe (1956); W. Rösener, Reichsabtei Salem. Verfassungs- und Wirtschafsgeschichte des Zisterzienserklosters von der Gründung bis zur Mitte des xiv Jahrhunderts (1974); Leonhard Scherg, Die Zisterzienserabtei Bronnbach im Mittelalter: Studien zur Geschichte der Abtei von der Gründung bis zur Mitte des xiv. Jahrhunderts (Würzburg, 1976); A. Schäfer, “Zur Besitzgeschichte des Klosters Hirsau vom 11. bis 16. Jahrhundert,” ZWürttLdG (1960), 1–50. H. Ott, Studien zur Geschichte des Klosters St. Blasien im hohen und späten Mittelalter (1963); G. Reimann, “Beitrag zur Geschichte des Klosters Gorze im Spätmittelalter,” Studien und Mitteilungen zur Geschichte des Benediktinerordens 81 (1970), 348–389. 33 G. Kirchner, “Probleme der spätmittelalterlichen Klostergrundherrschaft in Bayern. Landflucht und bäuerliches Erbrecht,” Zeitschrift für bayerische Landesgeschichte 19 (1956), 1–94; Ingomar Bog, “Geistliche Herrschaft und Bauer in Bayern und die spätmit- telalterliche Agrarkrise,” Vierteljahrschrift für Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte 45 (1958), 62–75; Heinrich Rubner, “Die Landwirtschaft der Münchener Ebene und ihre Notlage

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 159 regions, the relationship between economic crisis and decline of the orders.34 Signs of exhaustion are becoming discernible in recent discussions, and indi- vidual studies have occasionally qualified the trends described here so much that they are almost entirely deprived of their substance.35 Even so, historians of the orders should nevertheless keep this interdependence in view as especially relevant for future research. For the history of the orders has the possibility—one that hardly any other discipline can match—of evaluating from its solid source base (think of undertakings like the Germania Sacra, now so broad in scope and so systematically compiled) the data and theories of recent research in social and economic history, whose importance reaches far beyond the narrow field of the orders themselves. To summarize our considerations, to summarize the mechanics of the decline of the late-medieval religious orders, it is perhaps useful to think of the image of a system of coordinates. One coordinate, the religious orders, is a col- lection of institutions at different points in their development, each with inde- pendent histories and divergent functions, norms and structures. And despite their universal claims each is shaped strongly by regional factors. A second coordinate is the bundle of political and social forces that can indeed be interpreted as symptoms of a general crisis, symptoms that shaped the entire middle ages, but which realized themselves in numerous variants that were strongly divergent across time and place. It would be foolish to assume that any model of the decline of the orders, represented as a result of endogenous and exogenous factors, could essentially advance our knowledge of these phe- nomena beyond their current status, since they are already so important for late-medieval ecclesiastical and intellectual history. As all who know the material agree, to capture some sense of the late-medieval orders in the state of their most advanced decomposition, and to do so systematically, with attention to all of the particularities—the various states of development and

im 14. Jahrhundert,” Vierteljahrschrift für Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte 51 (1964), 433–453. 34 C.M. Cipolla, “Une crise ignorée. Comment s’est perdue la propriété ecclésiastique dans l’Italie du nord entre le XIIe et le XVIe siècle,” Annales E.S.C. 3 (1947), 248–280; A. Verhulst, “L’économie rurale de la Flandre et la dépression économique du bas Moyen Âge,” EtRurales 68 (1963), 68–80; L. Genicot—M.-S. Bouchat-Dupont—B. Delvaux, La crise agri- cole du bas Moyen-Âge dans le Namurois (Louvain, 1970); Cl. Rotelli, Una campagna medi- evale. Storia agraria del Piemonte (nord-occidentale) fra il 1250 e il 1450 (Torino, 1973); M.-Th. Lorcin, Les Campagnes de la région lyonnaise aux XIVe et XVe siècles (Lyon, 1974); R. Pastor Tongeri, Conflictos sociales y estancamiento económico en la España Medieval (Barcelona, 1974). 35 Graus, Das Spätmittelalter als Krisenzeit (above, n. 30).

160 chapter 4 the spiritual uniqueness of each institution, as well as regional variations of the long-term changes—is something we are at best able only to postulate, but will hardly realize. Nevertheless we have a hermeneutical model for individual investigations, so that it will be possible for us to see both decline and renewal of the orders no longer as merely a juxtaposition of individual phenomena, but rather as a broader pattern of historical change. We will be able, as one remotely placed essay has recently suggested, to place both renewal and the “crisis of religious life at the end of the middle ages” in the context of the intellectual, political and economic changes of era.36

ii

The genesis and course of movements for reform and strict observance, each a reaction to the symptoms of decline surveyed above, seem essentially well understood. As the example of the congregation centered on Montoliveto shows, the Benedictines had planted the seeds of renewal already at the moments of their deepest decline. By the end of the fourteenth and the begin- ning of the fifteenth century, many other communities had been established: in the Empire the reform congregations of Kastl, Melk and Bursfeld; in the Netherlands, France and Hungary those of St. James in Lüttich, Chezal-Benoît and Pannonhalma. Beyond the Alps and the Pyrenees several other commu- nities had become leading sponsors of monastic renewal: houses reformed from the communities of Subiaco and Farfa; the congregation centered on S. Giustina in Padua; the abbeys allied with S. Benito in Valladolid and with the Catalan community of Montserrat.37 Among the regular canons, north of the Alps the Bohemian reformers of Raudnitz and soon after the canons of

36 L.A. Gutiérrez, “Crisis en la vida religiosa a finale de la Edad Media,” RevAgustEspiritualidad 15 (1974), 37–82. 37 Ph. Schmitz, Geschichte des Benediktinerordens 3 (Einsiedeln-Zurich, 1954); G. Penco, Storia del monachesimo in Italia dalle origini alla fine del Medio Evo (Rome, 1961); D.M. Lunn, “Benedictine Reform Movements in the Later Middle Ages,” DownsideRev 91 (1973), 275–289; P. Becker, “Benediktinische Reformbewegungen im Spätmittelalter. Ansätze, Entwicklungen, Auswirkungen,” in Untersuchungen zu Kloster und Stift, ed. J. Fleckenstein (Göttingen, 1980), 167–187. On the Olivetans especially: P. Lugano, “Inizi e primi sviluppi dell’instituzione di Monte Oliveto (1313–1348),” BenedMschr 1 (1947), 43–81; M.P. Dickson, La congrégation bénédictine de Mont-Olivet au premier siècle de sa fondation e sa place dans l’histoire de l’ordre (Monte Oliveto Maggiore, 1976); P. Lugano, “I monaci olivetani a S. Giustina di Padova nel 1408 e le origini della congregazione benedettina ‘De unitate’,” RivStorBened 4 (1909), 560–570.

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 161

Windesheim became a dominant force.38 To the south the Lateran congrega- tion that emerged from S. Maria di Fregionaia competed with those from S. Giorgio in Alga, S. Maria di Reno and S. Salvatore in Bologna.39 The picture is not as clear, or at least more difficult to survey, for the Cistercians40 and Premonstratensians41 as well as for the lesser-known branches of the ordo canonicus and ordo monasticus, for the Camaldolese and the Williamites,42

38 The reform of the regular canons in the later Middle Ages has not yet received synthetic treatment. Provisionally one may consult: H. Vissers, Vie canoniale (Bruges, 1953); E. van Ette, Les chanoines réguliers de Saint-Augustin. Aperçu historique (Cholet, 1953); C. Giroud, L’Ordre des chanoines réguliers de Saint Augustin et ses diverses formes de régime interne. Essai de synthèse historicojuridique (Martigny, 1961); Ignaz Zibermayer, “Zur Geschichte der Raudnitzer Reform,” Mitteilungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung. 11. Ergänzungsband (1929), 323–353; C.D. Fonseca, “Roudnice e Mortara,” ArchStorLomb 90 (1963), 273–286; A. Angerpointer, “Das Kloster Indersdorf und die Raudnitzer Reform im 15. Jahrhundert,” Amperland 5 (1969), 11–16; J.N.A. Zeschick, Das Augustinerchorherrenstift Rohr und die Reformen in bairischen Stiften vom 15. bis 17. Jahrhundert (1969); N. Backmund, Die Stifte der Chorherren in Bayern (1972); F. Machilek, Reformorden und Ordensreform in den bömischen Ländern vom 10. bis 18. Jahrhundert (1974); J.C.R. Acquoy, Het klooster te Windesheim en zijn invloed 1–2. Utrecht 1875–1880 (1976). A survey of current literature is available in W. Kohl, E. Persoons, and A.G. Weiler, Monasticon Windeshemense (Brussels, 1976). 39 A.C. Trombelli, Memorie storiche concernenti le due canoniche di S. Maria in Reno e di S. Salvatore (Bologna, 1752); N. Widloecher, La Congregazione dei Canonici Regolari Lateranensi. Periodo di formazione (1402–1483) (Bologna, 1929); J.C. López Giminez, “San Jorge in Alga—San Juan Evangelista. Orden de canonigos Veneto-Portugesa,” RevUnivCathSPaulo 7 (1955), 3–15; G. Gracco, “La fondazione dei canonici secolari di S. Girgio in Alga,” RivStorChiesaItal 13 (1959), 70–81; S. Tramontin, “S. Lorenzo Giustiniani nella penisola iberica: i canonici portoghesi di S. Giovanni Evangelista e le suore giustini- anee spagnole,” in Saggi Laurentiani (Venice, 1963),77–99; G. Musolino, “I canonici regolari de S. Lorenzo Giustiniani in Sicilia,” in idem., 101–118. 40 See, among others, U. Berlière, “Benedictiner- und Cistercienser-Reformen in Belgien vor dem Trienter Concil,” StudMittBenedCist 8 (1882), 317–327; 532–540; A. Nyssen, “Über einige Cistercienserklöster in den Niederlanden vor der Reform,” CisterChron (1914), 147– 157; I. Eichler, “Die Kongregationen des Zisterzienserordens. Ursprung der Zister­ zienserkon­gregation und ihr Verhältnis zur Verfassung und zum Generalkapitel des Ordens,” StudMittBenedCist 49 (1931), 55–91; 188–227; 308–340; L.J. Lekai, The Cistercians. Ideals and Reality (Kent, 1978); K. Elm, “Westfälisches Zisterziensertum und spätmittelal- terliche Reformbewegung,” Westfälische Zeitschrift 128 (1978), 9–32. 41 F. Petit, L’Ordre de Prémontré (Paris, 1927); B. Grassl, “Der Praemonstratenserorden, seine Geschichte und seine Ausbreitung bis zur Gegenwart,” AnalPraem 10 (1934). 42 D.A. Pagni, Storia dei Benedittini Camaldolesi (1949); K. Elm, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Wilhelmitenordens (1964).

162 chapter 4 and for the once famous congregations of Arrouaise, St. Rufus and St. Victor.43 Also poorly understood is the place of the Hospitalers and the Teutonic Order in the reform movements of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. This is not least because their histories unfolded in different chronological rhythms, and because reform, in their case, must be understood more as a search for new challenges rather than a return to origins.44 In the case of the mendicant orders there seems to be greater clarity. For years the Franciscan Observant movement centered on the Umbrian hermitage of Brogliano has remained a focal point for research. After early reversals of fortune in the first half of the fourteenth century, the effort spread through the motherland of the order under the leadership of Paoluccio dei Trinci. In the first decades of the fifteenth century it was then able to find a foothold beyond Italy, and

43 F. Gosse, Histoire de l’abbaye et de l’ancienne congrégation d’Arrouaise (Lille, 1786); J. Becquet, “Abbayes et prieurés xiv: Diocèse d’Arras,” RevMabillon 245 (1971); F. Bonnard, Histoire de l’abbaye royale et de l’ordre des chanoines reguliers de Saint-Victor de Paris (Paris, 1907); P. Coenegracht, “Ontstaan van de Brabantse Witte Vrouwen en hun Overgang naar de Orden van St. Victor,” OnsGeestErf 34 (1960), 52–90; ibid., “De Kloosterwetgeving van de Victorinen,” OnsGeestErf 37 (1963), 291–328. 44 A first attempt at an overview: F. Hammerschmidt, “Die Blüte und Verfall der mittelalterli- chen Ritterorden,” Stimmen der Zeit 136 (1939), 291–328. Particular studies of decline and reform in the military orders, among others: B. Waldstein-Wartenberg, “Rechtsgeschichte des Malteserordens,” (1969), 91–130; W.G. Rödel, Das Groβpriorat Deutschland des Johanniter-Ordens im Übergang vom Mittelalter zur Reformation, 2nd ed. (1972); W. Engel, “Die Krise der Ballei Franken des Johanniterordens zur Mitte des 14. Jahrhunderts,” ZBayerLdG 18 (1955), 279–290; A.T. Lutrell, “Juan Fernàndez de Heredia, Castellan of Amposta, Master of the Knights of St. John at Rhodes (1377–1396)” (Diss. Oxford University, 1959); ibid., “Intrigue, Schism and Violence among the Hospitallers of Rhodes 1377–1384,” Speculum 41 (1966), 30–48; C.L. Tipton, “The 1330 General Chapter of the Knights Hospitallers at Montpellier,” Traditio 24 (1968), 293–308; J. Glenisson, “L’enquête pontifi- cale de 1373 sur les possessions des Hospitaliers de Saint-Jean de Jérusalem,” BiblEcoleChart 129 (1971), 83–111; B. Waldstein-Wartenberg, “Die drei groβen historischen Krisen und ihre Überwindung,” AnnOSMMalte 34 (1976), 61–68. Of the rich literature on the history of the Teutonic Order should be mentioned R. ten Haaf, Deutschordensstaat und Deutschordensballeien. Untersuchungen über Leistung und Sonderung der Deutschordensprovinzen in Deutschland vom 13. bis zum 16. Jahrhundert (1954); H. Gersdorff, Der Deutsche Orden im Zeitalter der polnisch-litauischen Union (1957); W. Nöbel, “Michael Küchmeister. Hochmeister des Deutschen Ordens 1414 bis 1422,” (1969). As an overview: E. Maschke, “Die inneren Wandlungen des Deutschen Ritterordens,” in Domus Hospitalis Theutonicorum. Europäische Verbindungslinien der Deutschordensgeschichte. Gesammelte Aufsätze aus den Jahren 1931–63 (1970), 35–59. An example for the Hospitalers: A. Mischlewski, Grundzüge der Geschichte des Antoniterordens bis zum Ausgang des 15. Jahrhunderts (1976).

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 163 found its greatest representatives and champions in the figures of Bernardino of Siena, Albert of Sarteano and James of the Marches.45 Of equal significance was the Dominican Observant movement, an effort made famous on both sides of the Alps by the efforts of Raymond of Capua, John Dominici and Bartholomew of Siena.46 Thanks to research on Luther the genesis and impact of the reform efforts among the Augustinian Hermits are especially familiar, at least with respect to the reform congregation of Saxony-Thuringia.47 Among the Carmelites the notable figure Battista Spagnoli, the Christian Virgil, has directed attention to the congregation of Mantua, which he led for a time as vicar-general.48 Closer consideration makes clear that these histories, though well known in many scholarly circles, are themselves only fragments in a wider terra incog- nita that has only in recent decades begun to be explored and developed in earnest. So for example the reform efforts of the congregations of Neuss and Sion, later in part taken over by the Windesheim congregation49 along with the

45 Along with H. Holzapfel, Handbuch des Franziskanerordens (1909) and John R.H. Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order from its Origins to the Year 1517 (Oxford, 1968) see for the early history of the Franciscan Observants and their ancestors: L Brengio, L’osservanza francescana in Italie nel secolo xiv (Rome, 1956); Nimmo, “The Franciscan Regular Observance 1386–1447 and the Division of the Order 1294–1524” (Diss. Edinburgh University, 1974); M. Sensi, “Brogliano e l’opera di fra Paoluccio Trinci,” Picenum Seraphicum 12 (1976), 7–62; J. Milano, San Bernardino da Siena e l’Osservanza Minoritica (Milan, 1945); B. Neri, La via e i tempi di Alberto da Saretano (Quaracchi, 1902); R. Pratesi, “Nuovi docu- menti sul B. Alberto da Saretano (†1450),” afh (1960), 78–110; U. Picciafuoco, S. Giacomo della Marca (1393–1476): Uomo di cultura, apostolo, operatore sociale, taumaturgo del sec. xv (Monteprandone, 1976); S. Candela, S. Giacomo della Marca nel v. centenario della morte (Naples, 1964–5); J. Hofer, Johannes Kapistran. Ein Leben im Kampf um die Reform der Kirche (1964–5). 46 Along with Walz, Compendium Historiae Ordinis Praedicatorum, 2nd ed. (1948) and William A. Hinnebusch, The History of the Dominican Order 2: Intellectual and Cultural Life to 1500 (New York, 1966) see, among others, H.-M. Cormier, Le bienheureux Raymond de Capoue (Rome, 1899); P. Stella, “Saggio bio-bibliografico su Giovanni Dominici (†1419). Saggi e inediti,” Memoire Dominicane ns 1 (1970), 203–235. 47 Th. Kolde, Die deutsche Augustiner-Congregation und Johann von Staupitz (1879); A. Kunzelmann, Geschichte der deutschen Augustiner-Eremiten 5: Die sächsische-thüringische Provinz und die sächsische Reformkongregation bis zum Untergang der beiden (1974). 48 L. Saggi, La Congregazione Mantovana dei Carmelitani sino alla morte del B. Battista Spagnoli (1516) (Rome, 1954). 49 The history of the Congregation of Neuss has not yet been researched. On Sion, see E. Ypma, Het Generaal Kapitel van Sion. Zijn oorsprong, ontwikkeling en inrichting (Nijmegen- Utrecht, 1949).

164 chapter 4 reform efforts they inspired (together with the Fraterherren) among the Cistercians, the Croziers, Canons of the Holy Sepulcher,50 and indeed among the Franciscans and Dominicans—all have received relatively little attention. Meanwhile in Italy the declining fortunes of the reforms of ss. Annunziata di Sturla in , of S. Pietro in Ciel d’Oro and S. Maria di Reno fell behind the reform centers of S. Giustina, S. Girogio in Alga and S. Maria di Fregionaia. And even this is to note only a few representative examples of reform movements among monks and canons that are everywhere visible at the end of the four- teenth and the beginning of the fifteenth century.51 Greater still was the breadth and intensity of the Observant movement among the mendicant orders. The Saxon reform congregation was only one among more than ten Augustinian Observant groups who grew from Italy to have an impact across all of Europe.52 Among the Franciscans and Dominicans, as has become quite clear in recent years, the intensity of the reforming efforts of the French, Spanish, Portuguese, German and Polish provinces and congregations in no way took second place behind those of the Italian houses.53 In the case of the

50 See along with n. 40 above, among others: K. Elm, “Die münsterländischen Klöster Groβ- Burlo und Klein-Burlo. Ihre Entstehung, Observanz und Stellung in der nordwesteu- ropäischen Reformbewegung des 15. Jahrhunderts,” WestForsch 8 (1965), 23–42; ibid., “Entstehung und Reform des belgisch-niederländischen Kreuzherrenordens,” zkg 82 (1971), 292–313; M. Hereswitha, “De Priorij van de Reguliere Kanunniken van het Heilig Graf te Sint-Odilienberg 1467–1639,” Augustiniana 22 (1972), 398–466; ibid. “Het eerste vrouwenklooster van de Heilig-Grafordre in de Nederlanden,” Taxandria 44–46 (1972–74), 129–141; K. Elm, Quellen zur Geschichte des Ordens vom Hlg. Grab in Nordwesteuropa aus deutschen und niederländischen Archiven 1191–1603 (Brussells, 1976). 51 Cf. notes 38–39. 52 An overview: K. Walsh, “The Observant Congregations of the Augustinian Friars in Italy c. 1385–c. 1465” (Diss. Oxford University, 1972). See also B.A.L. van Luijk, L’ordine Agostiniano e la riforma monastica dal cinquecento alla vigilia della rivoluzione Francese. Un sommario cronologico-storico (Héverlé-Louvain, 1973); R. Gavotto, “The General and the Congre­ gations in the Order of St. Augustine,” AnalAugust 35 (1972), 303–372. 53 G.M. Löhr, Die Teutonia im 15. Jahrhundert. Studien und Texte vornehmlich zur Geschichte ihrer Reform (1924); A. Barthelmé, La réforme dominicaine au XVe siècle en Alsace et dans l’ensemble de la province de Teutonie (Strasbourg, 1931); A. de Meijer, La Congrégation de Hollande ou la réforme dominicaine en territoire Bourguignon 1465–1515 (Liège, 1946); Beltrán de Heredia, Historia de la reforma de la provincia de España (1450–1550) (Rome, 1939); Beltrán de Heredia, “Los comienzos de la reforma dominicana en Castilla, particu- larmente en el Convento de San Estaban de Salamanca y su irradiación a la provincia de Portugal,” afp 28 (1958), 221–262; Isidoro Villapadierna, “Il ritorno all’ideale primitivo nelle riforme francescane di Spagna nei sec. xiv–xv,” Picenum Seraphicum 12 (1975), 273–289; St Krasić, Congregatio Ragusina Ord. Praed. (1481–1550) (Rome, 1973); A.D’Amato,

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 165

Carmelites the congregation of Mantua must be considered, along with both the older congregations of S. Maria delle Selve and Girond im Wallis, the more recent congregations of Albi and Monte Oliveto, as well as the reform intro- duced by Prior General Nicholas Audet.54 Among the Servites in Florence there were, one can assume, at least five centers of reform.55 This overall impression of diversity is strengthened still more given all of the reforming

“Sull’introduzione della riforma domenicana nel Napoletano per opera della con- gregazione Lombarda (1489–1501),” afp 26 (1956), 249–275; J. Kłoczowski, “Reforma pol- skiej prowincji dominikańskiej w xv–xvi w,” RocznikiHumanistyczne 4 (1957), 277–286; V.J. Koudelka, “Heinrich von Bitterfeld (†1405),” AFP 23 (1953), 1–85; ibid., “Raymond von Capua und Böhmen,” afp 30 (1960), 206–226; F. Doelle, Die Observanzbewegung in der sächsichen Franziskanerprovinz (Mittel- und Ostdeutschland) bis zum Generalkapitel von Parma 1529 (1928); ibid., “Die Martinianische Reformbewegung in der sächischen Franziskanerprovinz (Mittel- und Nordostdeutschland) im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert,” (1921); F. Van den Borne, “De observantiebeweging en het onstaan der provincie Germania inferior,” CollFranciscNeerlandica 2 (1931), 137–152; L. Teichmann, “Schlesiens Observan­ tenklöster vor der Reformation,” ArchSchlesKG 3 (1938); Paul Nyhus, “The Franciscans in South Germany 1400–1530: Reform and Revolution,” Transactions of the American Philosophical Society 65 (1975), 1–47; ibid., “The Observant Reform Movement in Southern Germany,” FrancStud 32 (1972), 154–162; K. Minarik, “Die Provinzvikare der österreich- bömisch-pölnischen Observantenprovinz von 1451 bis 1567,” FrancStud 1 (1914), 328–336; L. Teichmann, “Der deutsche Charakter der bömischen Observantenprovinz im Mittelalter,” FranziskStud 34 (1952), 61–87; K. Kantak, “Die Ostmission der polnischen Observanten und die litauische Observantenprovinz (1453–1570),” FranziskStud 14 (1927), 135–168; V. Giudžiūnas, “De vita et apostolatu Fratrum Minorum Observantium in Litauania saec. xv et xvi,” afh 68/69 (1975/76), 298–345; 23–106; ibid., “Les donées histo- riques sur les bienheureux Bernardins (Observants) polonais du xve siècle,” afh 22 (1929), 433–461; J. Kłoczowski, “Les ordres mendiants â la fin du moyen âge,” ActaPolHist 115 (1967), 5–38; A.G. Little, “Introduction of the Observant Friars into England,” ProcBritAcad 10 (1923), 455–471; F.X. Martin, “The Irish Friars and the Observant Movement in the Fifteenth Century,” ProcIrishCathHistComm (1961), 10–16; P. Gratien de Paris, “La fondation des Clarisses de l’Ave Maria et l’établissement des Frères Mineurs de l’Observance à Paris,” EtFracisc 27 (1912), 605–621; idem., “Les débuts de la réforme des Cordreliers en France et Guillaume Josseaume (1390–1436),” EtFracisc (1914), 415–439; R. Pratesi, “L’introduzione della Regolare Osservanza nella Francia meridionale,” afh (1957), 178–194; P. Péano, “Documents sur les Observants de Provence 1435–1527,” afh 63 (1970), 319–351; idem., “Les chroniques et les débuts de la réforme des Recollets dans la province de Provence,” afh 65 (1972), 157–224. 54 B. Zimmerman, “Les réformes dans l’Ordre de N.D. du Mont Carmel,” EtCarmel 19 (1934), 155–195; L. Van Wijmen, La Congrégation d’Albi 1499–1602 (Rome, 1971). 55 A.M. Rossi, Manuale di storia dell’ordine dei Servi di Maria (mccxxxiii–mcmliv) (Rome, 1956); D.M. Montagna, I conventi di Brescia, e Cremona e il decennio decisivo per la fondazione dell’Osservanza dei Servi (1430–1440) (Vicenza, 1963).

166 chapter 4 efforts in smaller orders such as the Williamites, the Croziers and Canons of the Holy Sepulcher.56 Even these many considerations, however, fail to capture the full extent of the changes and renewals that unfolded in the fourteenth and fifteenth centu- ries. To allow the rubrics of reform and observance to encompass only the spiritual and temporal renewal of older convents and monasteries is to forget that this age of reform movements was also an epoch of new foundations, a wave that spread and that shaped religious life in a way not seen since the expansions of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. To note only one example, in Westphalia the Franciscan Observants founded, alongside the friaries of Soest, Dortmund, Höxter, Osnabrück, Münster and Paderborn (founded already in the thirteenth century) the new communities of Lemgo, Siegen, Korback, Dorsten and Bielefeld.57 A similar dynamic is visible among the Franciscans in southern Germany, in the Netherlands, in Bohemia, Poland and Lithuania, in Hungary and in the Balkans, as well as in many other orders—the Dominicans, the Augustinian Hermits and Carmelites. Various soundings sug- gest that the number of convents increased by at least a quarter if not a third— a number that is in fact probably higher given that the number of women’s communities in these orders either sharply increased, or were first established (as in the case of the Carmelites).58 At least as notable as these patterns of expansion is this: though a number of orders already established in the thir- teenth century enjoyed only a modest growth thereafter, in the fifteenth cen- tury they enjoyed so many new foundations that one can in fact see them as products of the later era. Consider for example the Belgian and Dutch order of the Croziers. Though founded in the diocese of Lüttich, in southern France and England, the order only established the greater part of its foundations in the fifteenth century, and thereby came to be seen as a proper order in the eyes of the faithful.59 In Westphalia, where deep into the fifteenth century the Croziers were almost unknown, the order was able within a few decades not only to

56 Along with n. 50 see P. Van den Bosch, Studiën over de observantie der Kruisbroeders in de vijftiende eeuw (Diest, 1968). 57 P. Schlager, Beiträge zur Geschichte der kölnischen Franziskanerprovinz im Mittelalter (1904); K. Eubel, Geschichte der kölnischen Minoriten-Ordinsprovinz (1906); L. Schmitz- Kallenberg, Monasticon Westfaliae (1909); A. Schröer, “Die Kirche in Westfalen vor der Reformation,” (1967), 188–210. 58 Cl. Catena, Le Carmelitane. Storia e spiritualità (Rome, 1969). 59 E. De Moreau, “L’origine des Croisiers belges,” Clair-Lieu 3 (1945), 7–12; H. Van Rooijen, De Oorsprong van de Ordre der Kruisbroeders of Kruisheren. De Geschiedbronnen (Diest, 1961); idem., “Les origines des Croisiers,” BullSocArtHistLiége 42 (1961), 87–113. J.M. Hayden, “The Crosiers in England and France,” Clair-lieu 22 (1964), 91–109.

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 167 take over three derelict settlements of older orders but also to establish an equal number of new foundations.60 Similarly for the Hospitalers of St. Agnes, the brothers De poenitentia Martyrium and the Canons of the Holy Sepulcher— all orders of Croziers who were marked, respectively, with the red star, the red heart and the red double cross. After a century of stagnation, indeed of bare survival, these orders came first to a dramatic expansion in Bohemia, Silesia, Poland and Hungary in the fourteenth century.61 The Pauline order, estab- lished in Hungary at the end of the thirteenth century through the unification of what had been independent eremitical congregations, flowered first in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Its success was such in fact that it could establish numerous communities not only in neighboring Poland but also in Germany, in the dioceses of Constance, Speyer, Basel and Strasbourg.62 As a further example for the late flowering of older orders, one could mention Italy’s Apostolic Brethren and the Alexians of north-west Europe—both of which had their origins in the poverty movement of the high middle ages, but which found their true institutionalization and expansion only in the wake of the Observant movement.63 Above all, however, the Carthusian order offers perhaps the most well known and most impressive example of this kind of late

60 H.U. Weiss, Die Kreuzherren in Westfalen (Diest, 1963). 61 K.J. von Bienenberg, Analekten zur Geschichte des Militärkreuzherrenordens mit dem Roten Stern (Prague-Vienna, 1787); Fr. Jacksch, Geschichte des ritterlichen Ordens der Kreuzherren mit dem Roten Stern (Prague, 1909); Dějiny českych Křižoviniků s červenou hvězdou, 2 vols. (Prague, 1930); W. Lorenz, Die Kreuzherren mit dem Roten Stern (1964). On the history of the Crosiers of the Red Heart, about which the author will write more extensively else- where, there is at present only the history of J.C. Rohn, “Historia Sacri Canonici Ordinis Crucigerorum cum Rubeo Cordre” (1768). On the Jerusalem Crosiers, see along with the literature of n. 50: M. Hereswitha, “Uit de geschiedenis der Helig-Grafordre in Belgie en aangrezende gewesten,” Augustiniana 22 (1972), 398–466; K. Elm, “St. Pelagius in Denkendorf. Die älteste deutsche Propstei des Kapitels vom Hlg. Grab in Geschichte und Geschichtschreibung,” in Landesgeschichte und Geistesgeschichte. Otto Herding zum 65. Geburtstag (1977), 80–130. 62 Recent surveys: A. Gyenis, A pálosrend multjyból (Kalosca, 1936); E. Kisbàn, A magyar Pálosrend történte (Budapest, 1938); St Nowak, “I monaci di San Paolo primo eremita,” in Ordini e congregazioni religiose a cura di Mario Escobar (Turin, 1931), 427–432; J. Fijalek, Zibór dokumentów Zakonu OO. Pulinów w Polsce 1.: 1328–1464 (Kraków, 1938); A. Maurer, “Die Paulinerklöster der Diözese Konstanz,” Konradsblatt 24 (1966), 10–11; K. Elm, “Quellen zur Geschichte des Paulinerordens aus Kloster Grünwald im Hochschwarzwald in der Stiftsbibliothek von St. Paul in Lavanttal,” ZGORh 120 (1972), 91–124. 63 On the Societas fratrum apostolorum pauperis vitae (not that of the apostolic brethren of Fra Dolcino, joined to the Ambrosians in 1589) see R. Sassi, “Per la storia di un ordine religioso scomparso. Gli Apostoletti a Fabriano,” Studia Picena 13 (1938), 139–154. For a

168 chapter 4 growth. By 1300 the way of life founded in 1084 by Bruno of Cologne in the Grand Chartreuse had established itself in only 71 Charterhouses, largely in an area limited to its homeland in Burgundy and its immediate environs. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, after a century of stagnation, the number climbed to no fewer than 221 new foundations, in effect first establishing the presence of the order in the Netherlands, in England and Germany.64 As fur- ther proof of the strength of the expansion of the orders that took place in the course of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, mention should be made of those orders that were first founded in the era, and that until now have only in part been the subject of scholarly research: in Italy the brotherhood of the Jesuati,65 founded in Siena around 1360 by Giovanni Columbini; the order of the Ambrosians,66 established in a Milanese community in the second half of the fourteenth century, and from 1375 governed by the Rule of St. Augustine; the Minims established in 1454 in Calabria, most often designated (after founder Franz of Paola) as Paulines, but in fact an independent order;67 and finally the Jeronimites,68 whose tradition reached back to Thomas Succio of Siena, and who after their confirmation in 1373 soon established themselves as an order in Spain and Italy—and whose influence remained, like the Poor Hermits of St. Jerome,69 founded in 1435 by Pietro Gambacorti, limited to the Mediterranean region. In northern Europe, the Order of the Holy Savior or of

history of the Alexians see Chr. J. Kauffman, Tamers of Death I. The History of the Alexian Brothers from 1300 to 1789 (New York, 1976). 64 F.-A. Lefèbre, Saint Bruno et l’Ordre des Chartreux, 2 vols. (Paris, 1883); B. Bligny, L’Eglise et les ordres religieux dans le royaume de Bourgogne aux XIe et XIIe siècles (Paris, 1960); idem., “Les fondations cartusiennes d’Italie,” in Monasteri in alta Italia dopo le invasioni saracene e magiare: Sec. x–xii (Turin, 1966), 35–51; Maisons de l’Ordre des Chartreux. Vues et notices 1–4 (Montreuil-Tournai-Parkminster, 1913–19). Most recent maps and lists of houses ­available in Atlas zur Kirchengeschichte and Dizionario degli instituti di perfezione. 65 Cl. Gennaro, “Giovanni Colombini e la sua ‘brigata’,” BollInstitStorItalMedEv 81 (1966), 237–271; M. Tangheroni, “La spiritualità del B. Giovanni Colombini,” RivAscMist 25 (1974), 291–320; G. Dufner, Geschichte der Jesuaten (Rome, 1975). 66 M. Cremosano, “Memorie storiche milanese,” ArchStorLomb 7 (1880), 277–300. G. Turazza, Sant’Ambrogio ad nemus in Milano. Chiesa e monastero dal 367 al 1895 (Milan, 1960). 67 C.B. Roberti, Disegno storico dell’ordine dei Minimi 1–3 (Rome, 1902–1922); A. Galuzzi, Origini dell’Ordine dei Minimi (Rome, 1967). Ongoing bibliography in: Bollettino Ufficiale dell’Ordine dei Minimi (Rome, 1955ff). 68 J. de Sigüenza, Historia de la Orden de S. Jerónimo, 2nd ed. (1907–1909); E. Tomo, Los Gerónimos (Madrid, 1919). Numerous contributions also in the journal Yermo 1ff. (1963ff). 69 G. Barbaro, Compendio della vita del G. Pietro da Pisa (Vicenza, 1929); P. Ferrara, Luci ed ombre nella christiantià del secolo xiv. Il b. Pietro Gambatorta de Pisa e la sua con- gregazione (Rome, 1964).

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 169

St. Birgitta established in Vadstena in 1370, established itself in Scandinavia but saw its influence limited almost exclusively in the Netherlands and the Baltic.70 Meanwhile the Brothers of the Common Life made their way from the northwest to northern Germany and the Baltic coast, and shaped the religious life of later-medieval northern Europe like no other new foundation.71 For all of the successful expansion of the orders in the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, there is regrettably no reliable survey of the actual num- ber of new foundations or of the increase in the European religious popula- tion. The same is all the more true for the wave of expansion surveyed here, which was rivaled only by the comparable expansions of the Counter- Reformation and in the great renewal of the religious orders in the nineteenth century. Only a full survey, along with its appropriate mapping geographically, would provide the foundations needed for a proper synthesis. It would reveal more clearly not only the notable chronological correspondence between the emergence of reform efforts in Italy, Bohemia and the Netherlands in the mid- dle and the second half of the fourteenth century—already at the time, that is, of the greatest decline—and the general movement that spread to all of Europe from the beginning of the fifteenth century. It would also make clear, quite concretely, the centers of gravity and vectors of this movement, as well as a geography of all of the regions it first claimed for religious life. Admittedly all of this would of course only place on a new footing the basis from which new scholarship could investigate leading figures of reform, the religious and polit- ical motives of its protagonists and supporters as well as its social and economic contexts. Only then will new scholarship begin to tackle questions that in the case of early and high-medieval monastic and canonical reform have been pursued continually for years, and that have long produced important scholarly results. Even a preliminary survey reveals, however, that to see the reform of the orders as somehow overwhelmingly a matter of “self-reform,” or as advanced through

70 T. Nyberg, Birgittinische Klostergründungen des Mittelalters (Leiden, 1965); T. Harjunpää, “Birgittinera i England intill 1539,” TeolTidskrift 73 (1968), 369–383. H. Cnattingius, “Brigittinerorden i Polen,” KunglVetenskapUppsalaAarsb 15–16 (1971–72), 21–83; T. Lindgren, “Birgittinordens utbredning,” Credo 54 (1973), 123–128; T. Nyberg, Dokumente und Untersuchungen zur inneren Geschichte der drei Birgittenklöster Bayerns 1420–1570 (1972–74). 71 C. van der Wansem, Het ontstaan en de geschiedenis der Broederschap van het Gemene Leven tot 1400 (Leuven, 1958); N.M. Landeen, The Beginnings of the Devotio Moderna in Germany (1951–1954); R.R. Post, The Modern Devotion. Confrontation with Reformation and Humanism (Leiden, 1968); W. Leesch, E. Persoons, and A.G. Weiler, Monasticon Fratrum Vitae Communis i (Brussells, 1977) and ii (1979).

170 chapter 4 enclaves within the orders, only partially captures the historical reality.72 Far more often the strongest stimulus for reform came from heterogeneous circles of figures beyond the ranks of the orders—circles of laity and clergy, women and men, secular and spiritual lords, royal and princely counselors, city coun- cils, and not least from the ranks of an increasing number of late-medieval universities. They directed their efforts not toward a single order or even particu- lar religious institutions, but toward the renewal of the entire church or the improvement of its affairs generally. What is here formulated in the abstract is especially well illustrated for Italy, through the examples of the Venetian reform circles of Ludovico Barbo, Lorenzo Giustiniani, Bartholomew of Rome and John Dominici, as well as the bella brigata of Catherine of Siena, which had earlier worked for the unity and renewal of the church. These reform movements, rooted in the leading circles of Venice, inspired by older examples of a perfect vita monastica and vita canonica, led not only to the formation of the two well-known and more widely influential reform congregations of S. Giorgio and S. Giustina. They also influenced and animated the renewal of mendicant houses, and to no small degree they shaped, through their influ- ence on popes and bishops, the reform politics of curia and church.73 Still more impressive is the diversity and breadth of the initiative with which the Dominican Tertiary Catherine of Siena influenced the intellectual life and the self-consciousness of almost every order, and through which she influ- enced every estate of the church.74 A similarly diverse constellation, one with

72 H. Jedin, Geschichte des Konzils von Trient 1: Der Kampf um das Konzil (1949), 111. 73 Cf. along with n. 82 B. Trifone, “Ludovico Barbo e i primordi della congregazione benedet- tina di Santa Giustina,” RivStorBened 5/6 (1910/11), 269–280; 364–394; I. Tassi, Ludovico Barbo (1381–1443) (Rome, 1952); L. Pesce, Ludovico Barbo vescovo di Treviso (1437–1443); Cura Pastorale, riforma della Chiesa, spiritualità (Rome, 1969); F.G.B. Trolese, Ludovico Barbo (1381–1443) e la congregazione monastica riformata di S. Giustina. Un settantennio di studi (Padua, 1976); P. Sambin, L’abbate Giovanni Michiel e la riforma di S. Giorgio di Venezia (Padua, 1970); S. López, “Notitiae circa observantiam in genere contentae in regestis Ordinis,” AnalAugust 19 (1943/44), 169–179; G. Cracco, “Riforma e decadenza a S. Agostino da Vicenza,” RivStorChiesaItal 14 (1960), 203–234; P. Da Prati, Giovanni Dominici e l’umanesimo (Naples, 1967); R. Creytens, “Un ‘Consilium’ de François Zabarella et de Jacques de Piédmont relatif aux observances dominicaines,” afp 22 (1952), 346–380; idem., “L’obligation des constitutions dominicaines d’après le B. Jean Dominici O.P.,” afp 23 (1953), 195–235; L. Gargan, Lo studio teologico e la biblioteca dei Dominicani a Padova nei Tre- e Quattrocento (Padua, 1971). 74 A. Giron, Santa Caterina da Siena. Dottrini e Fonti (Brescia, 1953); P. Lugano, “Santa Caterina e i monaci Olivetani,” RivsStorBened 7 (1912), 168–172; B. Dedel, “Dominicani e Vallombrosani. Giovanni delle Celle e Caterina da Siena,” MemDom 49 (1932), 29–46; E. Lucchesi, Santa Caterina e i monaci di Vallombrosa (Florence, 1948); B. Borghini, “Caterina

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 171 no less widespread an influence, is discernible beyond the Alps. From the middle of the fourteenth century Bohemian and Dutch centers of reform also provided important initiatives for the renewal of not a single order, but of reli- gious communities of almost every kind.75 One comes to such a conclusion not only by considering the “primary centers” of reform, but also by considering reform circles less well known to history: that of S. Salvatore in Lecceto in Siena, for example; S. Maria of Monte Senario, the “Paradiso degli Alberti” in Florence; S. Giovanni della Carbonaria in Naples as well as in the capital city of Christendom itself, whose function as a center of reform has until now hardly been noticed, to say nothing of becoming the subject of scholarly analysis.76 Investigation of these individual reform circles shows that they were intercon- nected through many personal networks, as has been emphasized in the case of Subiaco, S. Giustina, Kastl, Melk, Bursfeld and for the Bohemian as well as the Dutch centers of reform.77 Even where one might not expect it, in the

scrive ai monaci,” RassAscMist 21 (1970), 401–416; I. Taurisano, “S. Francesco e i Francescani nella vita di S. Caterina da Siena,” Antonianum 2 (1927), 91–134. A.C. de Romanis, “Santa Caterina da Siena e gli Eremitani di Sant’Agostino,” BollStorAgostiniano 24 (1948), 3–12, 48–55; 25 (1949), 10–15; 26 (1950), 17–19; B. Hackett, “Simone Fidati da Cascia and the Doctrine of St. Catherina of Siena,” Augustiniana 19 (1966), 381–414; R. Balbo, El monaste- rio de Santa Maria del Santo Sepulcro en Campora (Florencia) y la fundación de la Orden de san Jerónimo (Madrid, 1973). 75 In summary: Machilek, Reformorden und Ordensreform in den bömischen Ländern vom 10. bis 18. Jahrhundert; Post, The Modern Devotion. 76 A. Landucci, Sacra Ilicetana Selva sive origo et chronicon breve coenobii et congregationis de Iliceto in Hetruria o.e.s.a. in Tuscia (Siena, 1653); F.X. Martin, “Giles of Viterbo and the Monastery of Lecceto. The Making of a Reformer,” AnalAugust 25 (1962), 225–253; L. Bertoni, “Il declino di un’osservanza. S. Martino in Siena della congregazione Leccetana 1522–1620,” AnalAugust 29 (1966), 316–339; R. Filangieri di Candida, “La chiesa e il monas- terio di S. Giovanni a Carbonara,” ArchStorProvNapoletana ns 9 (1923); S. Lopez, “Notizie sulle origini della congregazione di S. Giovanni a Carbonara dell’Ordine degli Eremitani di S. Agostino,” ArchAugust 56 (1963), 327–342; D. Gutiérrez, “La biblioteca di S. Giovani a Carbonara di Napoli,” AnalAugust 29 (1966), 59–212; G.G. Meersseman, “Gli amici spiritu- ali di S. Caterina a Roma nel 1378 alla luce del primo manifesto urbanista,” BullSenStorPatria 59 (1962), 99ff.; O. Montenovesi, “Roma agli inizi del sec. xv (1400–1408) e il monastero di S. Maria Nova al Foro,” RivsStorBened 17 (1926), 234–240; P.T. Lugano, “L’instituzione delle Oblate di Tor de Specchi secondo i documenti,” RivStorBened 14 (1923), 272–308; A. Esch, “Die Zeugenaussagen im Heiligsprechungsverfahren für S. Francesca Romana als Quelle zur Sozialgeschichte Roms im frühen Quattrocento,” QForschItalArchBibl 53 (1973), 93– 151; S. Sibilia, La Casa di S. Brigida in Piazza Farnese a Roma (Rome, 1960). 77 B. Frank, “Subiaco. Ein Reform-Konvent des späten Mittelalters. Zur Verfassung und Zusammensetzung der Sublacenser Mönchsgemeinschaft in der Zeit von 1362 bis 1514,” QForschItalArchBibl 52 (1972), 526–651; T. Leccisotti, “La congregazione benedettina di S.

172 chapter 4 smaller orders, even in the mendicant orders, networks of relationships and personal connections are quite discernible. To investigate these should allow us to establish prosopographically how, from the end of the fourteenth cen- tury, on both sides of the Alps and the Pyrenees, tightly bound circles of reformers became both initiators and cultivators of renewal in the late- medieval orders.78 Such a project, to which literary history and all of its

Giustina e al riforma della chiesa al sec. xv.,” ArchDeputazRomStorPatr 57 (1944), 451–569; P. Sambin, Richerche di storia monastica medioevale (1959); W. Witters, “La rédaction primitive des déclarations et constitutions de la congrégation de Sainte Justine de Padoue (XVe s.),” StudMonast 7 (1965), 127–146; B. Wöhrmüller, “Beiträge zur Geschichte der Kastler Reform,” StudMittGBened 42 (1924), 10–40; K. Bosl, Das Nordgaukloster Kastl (1939); P. Weissenberger, “Zur Geschichte des Benediktinerklosters Kastl im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert,” ZBayerKG 19 (1950), 101–106; J. Hemmerle, Germania Benedictina 2: Bayern, (1972); J. Zeller, “Beiträge zur Melker Reform im Bistum Augsburg,” ArchGHochstiftAugsburg 5 (1916); G. Spahr, “Die Reform im Kloster St. Gallen,” SchrVGBodensee 75/76 (1957/58); J. Angerer, Die Bräuche der Abtei Tegernsee unter Abt Kaspar Ayndorffer (1426–1461) (1968); P. Becker, Das monastische Reformprogramm des Abtes Johannes Rode von St. Matthias in Trier (Münster, 1970); H. Herbst, “Die Anfänge der Bursfelder Reform,” ZNiedSächsKG 36 (1931), 13–30; J. Linneborn, “Die Bursfelder Kongregation während der ersten hundert Jahre ihres Bestehens,” DtGBll 14 (1912), 9–30, 33–53; P. Volk, “Die Generalkapitel der Bursfelder Benediktiner-Kongregation,” BeitrGAltMönchBened 14 (1928); idem., Die Generalkapitels-Rezesse der Bursfelder Kongregation 1–4 (1957–72). 78 Several works on individual members of this circle have appeared in recent years, among others: R. Ohlbaum, Johann Rode aus Hamburg. Vom deutschem Geistesleben in Böhmen um 1400 (Prague, 1943); J. Meyer, “Johannes Busch und die Klosterreform im 15. Jahrhundert,” JbGesNdsächsKG 47 (1949), 43–53; H. Lippens, “Jean Glapion, défenseur de la réforme de l’observance, conseiller de l’empereur Charles Quint,” afh 44 (1951), 3–70; A. Stoelen, “Recherches récentes sur Denys le Chartreus,” RevAscMyst 29 (1953), 250–258; P. Wilpert, “Bernhard von Waging, Reformer vor der Reformation,” in Festgabe für Kronprinz Ruprecht von Bayern (1953), 260–276; J. Hemmerle, “Nikolaus von Laun. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Prager Universität und des Augustinerordens in Böhmen,” StudGKarlsUnivPrag (1954), 80–129; F. Wintermayr, “Andreas Plank, ein österreichischer Kanzler,” JbLdKdeNdÖster 31 (1954), 84ff.; J. Klapper, Der Erfurter Kartäuser Johannes Hagen. Ein Reformtheologe des 15. Jahrhunderts (1960–61); F.X. Thoma, “Petrus von Rosenheim, o.s.b. (1380–c. 1433): Eine Zusamenfassung der bisherigen Ergebnisse,” Das Bayerische Oberland 32 (1962); J. Klapper, Johann von Neumarkt, Bischof und Hofkanzler. Religiöse Frührenaissance (1964); Alois Madre, Nikolaus von Dinkelsbühl. Leben und Schriften. Ein Beitrag zur theologischen Literaturgeschichte (Münster, 1965); I.W. Frank, “Leonhard Huntpichler, O.P. (†1478), Theologieprofessor und Ordensreformer in Wien,” afp 36 (1966), 313–388; F. Machilek, Ludolf von Sagan und seine Stellung in der Auseinandersetzung um Konziliarismus und Hussitismus (1967); H. Heimpel, “Der Benediktiner und Kanonist Nikolaus Vener aus Gmünd. Vorbericht zur Geschichte einer deutschen Juristenfamilie des 14. und 15. Jarhhunderts,” ZSRGKan 53 (1967), 46–76;

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 173 research on reception could make an important contribution,79 would estab- lish without doubt the spiritual currents, the religious energy, and the intel- lectual interests, the political and economic motives that predominated in the aforementioned reforms. Together these no longer allow us to view reform as an event merely internal to the orders themselves, or as an affair that was lim- ited to individual orders. Rather, we are now compelled to place reform in much larger contexts. In Italy, for example, though not only for this mother- land of the Observant movement, there is an unmistakably close connection between renewed observance and the still vibrant influence of original Franciscanism (or more precisely, the influence of the Joachite Spiritual tradi- tion and of the Fraticelli outlawed in the wake of the poverty controversies)— even if the Observants themselves were more likely to deny and to fight rather than to embrace gratefully what was sometimes a directly traceable lineage of radical Franciscanism.80 Both north and south of the Alps there was also a tight bond between a reform of the orders that looked back to the origins of

H. Rüthing, Der Kartäuser Heinrich Egher von Kalkar 1329–1408 (1967); J. Sudbrack, Die geistliche Theologie des Johannes von Kastl. Studien zur Frömmigkeitsgeschichte des Spätmittelalters, 2 vols. (1967–79); R.E. Weltsch, Archbishop John of Jenstein (1348–1400); Papalism, Humanism and Reform in Pre-Hussite Prague (Paris, 1968); L.B. Pascoe, “Jean Gerson, Mysticism, Conciliarism and Reform,” AnnHistConc 6 (1974), 135–153; E. Spielvogel, “Georg Falder-Pistoris. Reformator österreichischer und süddeutscher Dominikanerklöster des 15. Jahrhunderts,” miög 83 (1975), 325–351. 79 See for example W. Schmidt, Die vierundzwanzig Alten Ottos von Passau (Palaestra 218) (1938); U. Montag, Das Werk der heiligen Birgitta von Schweden in oberdeutscher Überlieferung (1968); R. Goy, Die Überlieferung der Werke Hugos von St. Viktor. Ein Beitrag zur Kommunikationsgeschichte des Mittelalters (1976); D. Mertens, Jacobus Carthusiensis. Untersuchungen zur Rezeption der Werke des Kartäusers Jakob von Paradies 1381–1465 (1976). 80 F. Ehrle, “Das Verhältnis der Spiritualen zu den Anhängern der Observanz,” ArchLitKGMA 4 (1888), 181–190; L. Oliger, “De Dialogo contra Fraticellos S. Jacobi de Marchia,” afh 4 (1911), 80–94; idem., “De relatione inter observantium querimonias Constantinenses (1415) et Ubertini Casalensis quoddam scriptum,” afh 9 (1916), 3–41; idem., “Acta inquisi- toris Umbriae Fr. Angeli de Assisio contra stigmata S. Francisci negantem contra Fraticellos aliosque,” afh 24 (1931), 63–90; E. Blondeel, “L’influence d’Ubertin de Casale sur les écrits de Saint Bernardin de Sienne,” CollFrancisc 5 (1935), 5–44; A. Frugoni, “Subiaco Francescana,” BullIstStorItalMedioEvo 65 (1953), 107–119; A. Saccheti Sassetti, “Giovanni da Capistrano inquisitore a Rieti,” afh 49 (1956), 336ff.; E. Dupré Theseider, Sul dialogo contro i Fraticelli di San Giacomo della Marca (1970); A.M. Ini, “Nuovi documenti sugli Spirituali di Toscana,” afh 66 (1973), 331–942; M. d’Alatri, “Fraticellismo e inqui- sizione nell’Italia centrale,” Picenm Seraphicum 11 (1974), 289–314. See also: Chi erano gli Spirituali (Atti del iii Convegno Internazionale Assisi 16–18 Ottobre 1975).

174 chapter 4 monasticism and the new humanist scholarship, which sought new begin- nings in a return to ancient education. Humanism also shared, along with the reform of the orders, a certain ambivalent relationship to the traditional con- tent and form of teaching in the universities, a relationship that must itself become the subject of more specialized research.81 To raise questions about those who advanced reform, and about the intel- lectual currents that began it, fostered it or died with it is also to raise questions about political and social context. Which spiritual and secular institutions encouraged the first reformers? Whose power enforced the reformers’ efforts? Who supported reform’s representatives in the full-blown fifteenth-century struggle between conventualism and Observantism, between centralization and particularization? In answering these questions it is possible at least to mention the initiatives and measures through which popes, papal legates, bishops and (often with continual interest) the reform councils of the fifteenth century all influenced the reform of the orders. Clearly these matters open up a range of unsolved problems, and to make reference to the reform efforts of individual popes, leading reformers from the and the epis- copate82 does as little to solve them as does the citation of so many studies

81 On this set of problems see, among others: H. Maschek, “Zur Geschichte des Humanismus im Franziskanerorden,” afh 28 (1935), 575–590; A. Porzi, Umanesimo e francescanesimo nel Quattrocento (Rome, 1975); R. Arbesmann, Der Augustiner-Eremitenorden und der Beginn der humanistischen Bewegung, Cassiciacum 19 (1965); P.O. Kristeller, “The Contribution of the Religious Orders to Renaissance Thought and Learning,” The American Benedictine Review 21 (1970), 1–54; V. Fiala, “Humanistische Frömmigkeit in der Abtei ,” StudMittBened 86 (1975), 112; K. Elm, “Mendikanten und Humanisten im Florenz des Tre- und Quattrocento. Zum Problem der Legitimierung humanistischer Studien in den Bettelorden,” in Die Humanisten in ihrer politischen und sozialen Umwelt, ed. R. Stupperich and O. Herding (Bonn, 1976), 51–85. On the relationship between reform of the orders and the university see also P. Becker, Benediktinische Reformbewegungen, 170ff. and 186ff. 82 J.-B. Mahn, Le pape Benoît xii et les Cisterciens (Paris, 1949); J. Léger, “Benoît xii et la réforme de l’ordre bénédictin,” RevHistEglFr 40 (1954), 187ff.; C. Schmitt, Un pape réforma- teur et un défenseur de l’unité de l’église. Benoît xii et l’ordre des Frères Mineurs (1334–1342) (Quaracchi, 1959); B. Schimmelpfennig, “Zisterzienserideal und Kirchenreform. Benedikt xii. (1334–1342) als Reformpapst,” ZistStud 3 (1976), 1–43; L. Boehm, “Papst Benedikt xii. (1334–1342) als Förderer der Ordensstudien. Restaurator-Reformator-oder Deformator regularer Lebensform?” in Secundum regulam vivere. Festschrift für P. Norbert Backmund O. Praem. (1978), 281–310; P. Partner, The Papal State under Martin V (London, 1958); Ignaz Zibermayr, “Die Legation des Kardinals Nikolaus Cusanus und die Ordensreform in der Kirchenporvinz Salzburg,” RefGeschtStud 29 (1914), 1–128; H. Hallauer, “Eine Visitation des Nikolaus von Kues im Benediktinerinnenkloster Sonnenburg,” MittCusanusGes 4 (1964), 104–125; A. Schröer, “Die Legation des Kardinals Nikolaus von Cues in Deutschland und

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 175 concerned with the influence of the orders on the reform councils, or of the councils on reform of the orders.83 Here, instead, only a few words about the role of secular power—a subject that has hardly been overlooked until now, but that remains in need of more thorough evaluation. In Venice it was the Doges, the leading families of the Morosini, Correr, Condulmer, Giustiniani and Barbo,84 in Florence and Siena communes and leading families, in Milan the Sforza, in Mantua the Gonzaga, in Naples the Anjou and Caraccioli, in the

ihre Bedeutung für Westfalen,” SchrHistKommWest 4 (1965), 304–321; J. García Oro, Cisneros y la reforma del clero espagnol en tiempo de los Reyos Caólicos (Madrid, 1971); L. Glénisson—G. Mollat, Gil Albornoz et Androin de la Roche (1353–1369) (Paris, 1964); C. Piana, “Il cardinale Albornoz e gli ordini religiosi,” Studia Albornatiana 11 (1972), 481–519; S. Samaritani, “Il cardinale E. Albornoz e l’abbazia di Pomposa (1353–1366),” Studia Albornatiana 3, 19–24; A. Linage Conde, “Sánchez Albornoz y el monacato hispano,” StudMonast 15 (1973), 103–117; S. von Pölnitz, “Die bischöfliche Reformarbeit im Hochstift Würzburg,” WürzbDiözGBll 8 (1941), 9 (1942); B. Kochan, “Kirchliche Reformbestrebungen der Erzbischöfe” (Diss. Göttingen, 1965); B. Eichholz, “Bemühungen um die Reform des Speyrer Klerus besonders unter Bischof Ludwig von Helmstedt” (Diss. Münster, 1967); J. Leinweber, “Das Hochstift Fulda vor der Reformation,” AbhGAbteiDiözFulda 22 (1972); L. Binz, Vie réligieuse et réforme ecclésiastique dans le diocèse de Genève pendant le Grand Schisme et la crise conciliaire (1378–1450) (Geneva, 1973); F. Rapp, Réformes et réformation à Strasbourg. Eglise et société dans le diocèse de Strasbourg 1450–1525 (Paris, 1974); P. Becker, “Dokumente zur Klosterreform des Trierer Erzbischofs Otto von Ziegenhain 1418–1430,” RevBénéd 84 (1974), 126–166. 83 Josef Zeller, “Das Provinzialkapitel im Stift Petershausen im Jahre 1417. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Reformen im Benediktinerorden zur Zeit des Konstanzer Konzils,” StudMittBened 41 (1921/22), 1–73; T. Silnicki, “Die Idee der Reform polnischer Benediktinerklöster und das Konstanzer Konzil,” in La Pologne au VIIe Congrés International des Sciences Hist (Warsaw, 1933), 374–389; J. Leclercq, “Cluny et le concile de Bâle,” RevHistEglFr 28 (1942), 181–195; L. Spätling, “Der Anteil der Franziskaner an den Generalkapiteln des Spätmittelalter,” Antonianum 36 (1961), 326–328; D. Nimmo, “Reform at the : The Franciscan Case,” StudChurchHist 14 (1977), 159–173; A. Zumkeller, “Die Beteilung der Augustiner-Eremiten an den Konzilien von Konstanz und Basel,” AnalAugust 28 (1965), 5–56; idem, “Unbekannte Konstanzer Konzilspredigten der Augustinertheologen Gottfried Schale und Dietrich Vrie,” AnalAugust 33 (1970), 5–74; K.A. Fink, “Zum Streit zwischen Deutschem Orden und Polen auf den Konzilien von Konstanz und Basel,” in Reformata Reformanda. Festgabe für Hubert Jedin (1965), 74–86; W. Brandmüller, “Ein Nachspiel zur Auflösung des Konzils von Siena innerhalb des Augustinerordens,” RömQuartSchrChristlAltKde 60 (1965), 186–202; K. Forstreuter, “Der Deutsche Orden und die Kirchenunion während des Basler Konzils,” ArchHistConc 1 (1969), 114–130. 84 Along with note 73 see C. Cenci, Senato Veneto, “Probae” ai benefizi ecclesiastici (Quaracchi, 1968); O. Logan, “Studies in the Religious Life of Venice in the Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth Centuries: The Venetian Clergy and the Religious Orders” (Diss. Cambridge

176 chapter 4 the popes and their legates85 who often supported the Observants through political means, or who intervened on their behalf. In England and Ireland Edward iv and Henry vi opened the way, in Spain reform found sup- port in the Reyes Católicos, especially Juan I of Castile and León.86 In Bohemia and other crown lands of the Luxembourg princes a renewal that encompassed the region’s entire landscape of religious orders is quite inexplicable86a with- out the involvement of Charles iv, and those of the upper nobility and the epis- copacy who were allied with him. The renewed life of the Croziers in the Netherlands and Belgium, the flowering of the first and second branches of the Carmelites, the introduction of the Observants among the Dominicans and the Canons of the Holy Sepulcher, the establishment of the Birgittine order, and not least the establishment of the Windesheim congregation and the Brothers of the Common Life in northwest Europe were supported in no small measure by the dukes of Burgundy, along with allied territorial princes such as the Counts of Cleve and the lords of Culemborg.87 Conversely it was their rivals in the Hundred Years’ War, the Dukes of Orléans, who supported the reform of the Franciscans with particular zeal—and thereby make quite unambiguously clear the political implications of the reform of the orders in the late middle ages.88 The same can be said of the German territorial princes, the dukes of

University, 1964); ibid., Culture and Society in Venice 1470–1790. The Renaissance and its Heritage (London, 1972). 85 D. Nimmo, “Poverty and Politics: The Motivation of Fourteenth Century Franciscan Reform in Italy,” StudChurchHist. 86 See along with n. 53, among others: A. López, “Confessores de la Familia Real de Castila,” ArchIberoAmer 31 (1929), 69–83; J.E. Martinez Fernando, “San Vincente Ferrer y al casa real de Aragon,” AnalSacrTerragon 26 (1953), 1–143; L. Alvarez, “Contribución al estudio de la reforma en el reinade de los Reyes Católicos,” RevAugustEspirid 5 (1964), 145–212; J. García Oro, La reforma de los religiosos españoles en tiempo de los Reyes Católicos (Valladolid, 1969); M. de Castro, “Confessores franciscanos en la corte de los Reyes Católicos,” ArchIberoAmer (1974), 55–126. 86a See notes 75 and 80. 87 See along with notes 50, 56, 58, 59, 60 and 70, among others: A.G. Jongkees, Staat en Kerk in Holland en Zeeland onder de Bourgondische hertogen 1425–1477 (Groningen, 1942); L. Ceyssens, “Les Ducs de Bourgogne et l’introduction de l’observance à Malines (1443– 1469),” afp 30 (1937), 391–419; A. Heysse, “Trois couvents des observants á Bruges et envi- rons (1461, 1462, 1468),” afp 41 (1949), 217–239; S.P. Wolfs, “De invoering van de observantie in het Dominicanenklooster te Zutphen (1464–1465),” in Postillen over kerk en maatschap- pij in de vijftiende en zestiende eeuw. Aangeboden aan Prof. Dr R.R. Post (Utrecht-Nijmegen, 1964), 154–180; idem., “Het Nijmeegse Dominicanenklooster en de middeleeuwse Observantie-beweging,” ArcGKathkerkNederland 10 (1978), 95–113. 88 See for example: M.-D. Chapotin, La Guerre de Cent Ans. Jeanne d’Arc et les dominicains. Etude historique sur la province de France (Paris, 1900).

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 177

Brunswick and Saxony, the electoral princes of the Palatinate, the Wittelsbachs and the Habsburgs. The latter (to make our reflections more concrete) emphat- ically supported not only the reform of individual institutions but also the for- mation of reform congregations that spread from their territories—and so, through their help they gave the Pauline order, for example, the chance to spread out and establish itself in Further Austria, just as they had done with the help of the Anjous in Poland at the end of the fourteenth century.89 What is true for Europe’s leading dynasties is no less true for lesser spiritual and ter- ritorial princes, for the nobility, for the patriciate and the cities. A view of the limits of reform congregations, and of the topography of the orders’ spread as they flowered anew (or were first established) in the fourteenth and fifteenth century makes clear how important secular powers were as catalysts for reform. The same view also makes clear how the orders increasingly took on, under the influence of their political supporters, a certain national and regional character. The influence of secular lords on the spiritual institutions in their territories; the introduction of Observant reform or even the foundation of new houses and orders—clearly all this was largely a function of the consoli- dation of the territorial state, the rise of territorial princes, of lords and power- ful city councils who imposed their will. The motives for their commitment can only be established precisely from case to case. One cannot deny that the idea of the house-cloister, a belief in the meritoriousness of good works, the personal piety of lords and of course their spouses all played a role in the sup- port and the renewal of religious life. Nevertheless, one cannot overlook the fact that, in general, political considerations often played a crucial role. In what was in a sense a repeat of an earlier “inner colonization,” religious reform brought renewal to landed abbeys and foundations in areas that had lost value in the wake of the economic crisis of the fourteenth century—thereby making them once again fruitful as sources of income for certain dynasties. At the same time, the re-establishment of a conventual life lived according to rules brought about a further weakening of the power of the nobility, which had been enriched through the fragmentation of ecclesiastical institutions—above all by appropriating for itself rights and properties and viewing the monaster- ies themselves as little more than hospices for their offspring. Lastly, reform served as an alibi, one that gave territorial lords, standing on the right of advo- cacy and the right of reform, the possibility of drawing the properties and rights of landed houses into the building up of their territories, and so to force the development of the “modern state.” The trends and actions can only be

89 H. Reller, “Vorreformatorische und reformatorische Kirchenverfassung im Fürstentum Braunschweig-Wolfenbüttel,” (1959).

178 chapter 4 noted in passing here, but they could be easily traced more precisely and tested when grounded in the considerable literature on the ecclesiastical politics of territorial princes in the later middle ages.90 The political motives of the cities are more difficult to judge and less easy summarize. Without doubt religious motives were to be found among the bourgeois circles interested in the renewal of urban communities. A concern to safeguard religious life, to promote education and welfare and to curtail the frustrations spawned by unregulated orders made it easier for urban authorities to support measures that reformed their houses. And as with the territorial princes, when it became a matter of either supporting or (as often happened) of resisting the Observant movement, reform offered an important chance for city councils and burghers to extend their influence over spiritual institutions.91 If one might venture a general assessment, the politics of religious life, and the support of reform and of the Observant movement in particular, fit well within those fifteenth-century trends that led, at the expense of the church, to a consolidation of secular power and to the formation of “bourgeois” society. It is difficult, then, to answer the question of motives and methods among those secular powers that supported reform. A still more difficult challenge,

90 See, for example, F. Priebatsch, “Staat und Kirche am Ende des Mittelalters,” zkg 21 (1901), 43–90; B. Hennig, Die Kirchenpolitik der älteren Hohenzollern und die päpstlichen Privilegien des Jahres 1442 (1906); O. Redlich, Jülich-Bergische Kirchenpolitik am Ausgang des Mittelalters und in der Reformation (1907); J. Weissbach, “Staat und Kirche in Mecklenburg in den letzten Jahrzehnten vor der Reformation,” JbVMecklenbbG 75 (1910), 29–130; E. Bütow, “Staat und Kirche in Pommern im ausgehenden Mittelalter bis zur Einführung der Reformation,” BaltStud nf 14 (1910), 85–184; (1911), 77–142; W. Wintruff, Landesherrliche Kirchenpolitik in Thüringen am Ausgang des Mittelalters (1914); J. Wulk and J. Funk, Die Kirchenpolitik des Grafen von Württemberg bis zur Erhebung Württembergs zum Herzogtum 1495, DarstWürttG 10 (1912); G. Steinhauser, “Die Klosterpolitik der Grafen vom Württemberg bis Ende des 15. Jahrhunderts,” StudMittBened 34 (1913), 1–62, 201–242; F. Korte, “Kirchenpolitik oder Kirchenreform. Zur Frage des Einflusses des bergischen Herzoghauses im Osten Westfalens zu Beginn des 15. Jahrhunderts,” JberrHist­ VGrafschRavensberg 68 (1972), 66–87; K. Schreiner, “Altwürttembergische Klöster im Spannungsfeld landesherrlicher Territorialpolitik,” BllDtLdG 109 (1973), 196–245; W. Ribbe, “Zur Ordenspolitik der Askanier. Zisterzienser und Landesherrschaft im Elbe-Oder- Raum,” ZistStud 1 (1975), 77–96. 91 J. Kist, “Klosterreform im spätmittelalterlichen Nürnberg,” ZBayerKG 32 (1963), 31–45; G. Geiger, Die Reichstadt Ulm vor der Reformation. Städtisches und kirchliches Leben am Ausgang des Mittelalters, ForschGUlm 11 (1971); R. Kiessling, Bürgerliche Gesellschaft und Kirche in Augsburg im Spätmittelalter. Ein Beitrag zur Strukturanalyse der oberdeutschen Reichstadt, AbhGAugsburg 19 (1971).

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 179 recently issued in an Oxford dissertation, is to clarify the economic and social conditions under which the renewals of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries came to fruition.92 Of course the matter cannot be addressed in only a few sentences, but as with the consideration of decline, here too a series of com- monalities and developments emerge from an initial (and naturally only a partial) evaluation of the available literature. These commonalities allow an assessment of the renewal of the orders, considered socially and economically, as a general phenomenon—and one that is again in turn closely intertwined with demographic growth and a revived economy in the fifteenth century. As a first indicator of that connection, it is notable that the communities estab- lished in the course of the fourteenth and the early fifteenth centuries, both in central and in southern Europe, were founded in agrarian environments or in small towns, if not in wasteland. The great wave of new foundations at the end of the middle ages seems thus quite clearly to reflect an overall reclaiming of land, a general model that Italian economic historians, especially, have out- lined.93 In view of the agrarian depression brought on by the crises of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries this is no surprise. Circumstance demanded precisely that reformers capture and exploit land that had lost its value, as well as villages and monasteries that had become wasteland.94 Nevertheless, already at the end of the thirteenth century both cities and territories had developed a wide range of measures against the founding of new houses, and they only reluctantly allowed new communities within their walls.95 In such environments reforming efforts oriented toward the cities were likely to be

92 Walsh, “The Observant Congregations of the Augustinian Friars in Italy c. 1385–c. 1465,” 120. 93 Cf. for France, for example, LeGoff, “Ordres mendiants et urbanisation dans la France médievale.” 94 Cf. along with the literature of n. 10 above, Linneborn, “Der Zustand der westfälischen Benediktinerklöster in den lezten 50 Jahren vor ihrem Anschlusse and die Bursfelder Kongregation”; F. Beste, Beiträge zur Geschichte der Grundherrschaft des Klosters Dalheim (1909); L. Schmitz-Kallenberg, Monumenta Budicensia. Quellen zur Geschichte des Augustiner-Chorherrenstifts Böddeken i.W. (1915); E. Schatten, Kloster Böddeken und seine Reformtätigkeit im 15. Jahrhundert (1912); G. Luntowski, “Zur Verfassungs- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte der ehemaligen Benediktinerabtei Bursfeld” (Diss. Berlin, 1954); W. Vahrenhold, Kloster Marienfeld. Besitz- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte des Zisterzienserklosters Marienfeld in Westfalen (1966); B. Frank, Das Erfurter Peterskloster im 15. Jahrhundert. Studien zur Geschichte der Klosterreform und der Bursfelder Union (1973). 95 See, for example, C. Gross, “Mortmain in Medieval Boroughs,” AmHistRev 12 (1907), 733– 742; D. de Man, Maatregelen door de middeleeuwsche overheden genomen ten opzichte van het oeconomisch leven der kloosterlingen en leden van congregaties (1921); R. Koerperich, Les lois sur la mainmorte dans le Pays-Bas catholiques (1922); E. De Moreau, “La législation des ducs de Bourgogne sur l’accroissement des biens ecclésiastiques étudié spécialment

180 chapter 4 realized only in those settlements that found themselves on the rise for the first time, or in places that had been prevented, in the wake of the stagnation that had set in at the beginning of the fourteenth century, from first establish- ing houses within city walls. This proposition—that by the later middle ages most new foundations preferred the countryside and smaller cities—could be illustrated by countless examples from all across Europe. We limit ourselves here to those from the German region, more precisely to those from Westphalia and the German southwest. The monastery of Falkenhagen in the county of Lippe, which owed its genesis to the flowering of women’s Cistercian founda- tions in the middle of the thirteenth century, was all but ruined through war- ring nobility and economic decline. It was reformed first by the Williamites, who abandoned the house because of its meagre endowment. The community then fell to the Dutch Croziers, who were clearly more modest in their aims, but who brought it to new life through arduous manual labor and who held their own until the Reformation.96 In the southwest the expansion of the oft- noted Pauline order concentrated itself in areas which were, one can say with full justification, lands of marginal worth, lands that had either never been used or that had been abandoned in the course of the fourteenth century. Under these same conditions settlements had been founded—for example those at Donnersberg in the Palatinate and at Kaiserstuhl in Breisgau—that could draw the attention of hermits. But as soon became clear, they remained insufficient even for their modest ambitions, and so had once again soon to be abandoned.97 As should be almost self-evident, newly established convents no longer had a monopoly on the higher social ranks. On the contrary, it is clear that in new foundations, in reformed abbeys, in foundations with richer endowments and longer traditions, sons of burghers and farmers were taken in to the ranks of the orders. At least in the early stages of reform, leadership was taken over from outsiders in a way that allowed a certain horizontal mobility. Moreover, apart from that, a certain upward mobility is evident from the lists of priors

en Belgique,” RevHistEccl 41 (1946), 44–60; S. Raban, “Mortmain in Medieval England,” PastPresent 62 (1974), 3–26. 96 E. Kittel, “Das Kreuzherrenkloster Falkenhagen,” 137–166. 97 A. Hoffmann, Kloster St. Jakob auf dem Donnersberg (1959); ibid., “Die letzten Jahre des Klosters St. Jakob auf dem Donnersberg,” NordPfälzGV 40 (1960), 437; A. Hanle, “Das Kloster St. Jakobus und das Donnersberger Hofgut,” PfälzHeimat 12 (1961), 45–47; A. Poinsignon, “Das verschollene Klösterlein St. Peter auf dem Kaiserstuhl,” Shcau-ins-Land 14 (1873), 13–17; idem., “Ödungen und Wustungen im Breisgau,” ZGORh NF 2 (1887), 456; A. Keller, “Vom Paulinerkloster St. Peter und Paul auf dem Kaiserstuhl,” FreibDiözArch 80 (1960), 292–295.

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 181 and abbots.98 In general, the number of members in new foundations was smaller than in the older communities. Convents with around 100 brothers and more, as in the landed foundations of Böddeken and Windesheim, were the exception. Normally the communities were so small that one can rightly speak (as has happened occasionally) of “mini-monasteries.”99 Most members of the new communities were no longer monks and canons, that is to say full partici- pants in the strict sense. In fact, the majority were often conversi who together with religious themselves were obligated to manual labor. New foundations reaped the benefits of that cheap labor in their high degree of autonomy: freed from having to pay wages to outsiders, their communities were allowed to prosper economically.100 Along with social restructuring, this kind of enterprise—with its more intense cultivation, its improvement of agricul- tural technology and its more careful household management—restored to many houses all that had been lost in the wake of the circumstances outlined above. It thereby provided an important set of conditions for advancing the work of reform. Many key aspects of this “new” agrarian economy of the reformed orders might be noted briefly: their meticulous way of acquiring property and keeping accounts—something clearly evident from an evalua- tion of the archives of reformed or Observant houses; their modern agrarian technologies, such as drainage among the Dutch reformers from Windesheim; their almost puritanical zeal for work; their zeal for saving and self-denial, through which even in nearly hopeless cases they often shaped the economic conditions that allowed renewal.101

98 P. Becker, “Die ständische Zusammensetzung der Abteien St. Matthias und St. Maximin in Trier zu Beginn der Reform des Abtes Johannes Rode (†1439),” ArchMittelrhKG 18 (1966), 313–320; Klaus Schreiner, Sozial und standesgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu den Benediktinerkonventen im östlichen Schwarzwald (Stuttgart, 1964); G. Kaller, “Amtszeiten und Herkunft der Äbte des Zisterzienserklosters Otterberg,” ArchMittelrhKG 18 (1960), 65–83; C. Jaritz, “Die Konventualen der Zisterzen Rein, Sittich und Neuburg im Mittelalter. Örtliche Herkunft und ständische Stellung” (Diss. Graz, 1973); idem., Cîteaux 29 (1978), 60–92. 99 See, in this connection: F. Flaskamp, “Einstige Kleinklöster zu Wiedenbrück,” JbWestfälKG 67 (1974), 207–217. On the size of late-medieval monasteries see, along with n. 7: E. Persoons, “De bewoners van de kloosters Bethlehem te Herent en Ten Troon te Grobbendonk,” Arca Lovaniensis 5 (1976), 221–240 and the literature provided there. 100 As an overview: J. Leclercq, “La vie économique des monastères au moyen âge,” in Inspiration religieuse et structures temporelles (Paris, 1948), 211–259; K. Hallinger, “Woher kommen die Laienbrüder?,” AnalCist 12 (1956), 1–104. 101 Along with n. 102 cf., among others: J. Wild, Beiträge zur Registerführung der bayerischen Klöster und Hochstifte im Mittelalter (1973); B.M. von Scarpatetti, Die Kirche und das

182 chapter 4

It is more difficult to evaluate social and economic changes and conditions with respect to the reform of mendicant convents in the cities. In light of the resistance of so many conventuals and their allies, most houses were led to observance only with the help of outside reformers. And for the overwhelming number of those communities it can be said that reform was bound up with not only the desire to curb widespread abuses, but also with at least an attempt to return to original practices of poverty. Concretely that meant not only indi- vidual conventuals had to give up their personal property, but also that con- vents had to renounce their corporate property, or to have it managed by others.102 Tied to these were the revival of the mendicants’ systems of begging and preaching stations, the acquisition of anniversary foundations, indeed in certain cases also the intensification of trade. These transformations not only changed the place of the convents in urban society and economy. They were also in turn bound up—at least in Italy—with increasing criticism of particu- lar aspects of the urban economy, such as its widespread dependence on inter- est and pensions. Here the demands of Observant preachers that centered on economic ethics are as significant103 as their special promotion of social assis- tance through the Monti di Pietà.104

Augustiner-Chorherrenstift St. Leonhard in Basel (11./12/ Jh –1525). Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Stadt Basel und der späten Devotio Moderna (Basel, 1974). 102 H. Amman, “Klöster in der städtischen Wirtschaft des ausgehenden Mittelalters,” Argovia 72 (1960), 102–134; Th. Rensing, “Die Reformbewegung in den westfälischen Dominikanerklöstern,” Westfalen 17 (1932), 91–97; G.M. Löhr, “Die zweite Reform des Magdeburger Dominikanerklosters (1468); Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Congr. Hollandiae,” afp 8 (1938), 215–230; idem, “Das Nürnberger Predigerkloster im 15. Jahrhundert,” MittVGNürnb 39 (1944), 223–232; idem., “Die zweite Blütezeit des Kölner Dominikanerklosters 1464–1525,” afp 29 (1949), 208–254; R. Weis-Müller, Die Reform des Klosters Klingenthal und ihr Personenkreis (Basel, 1956); Th.v. Kern, “Die Reformation des Katharinenklosters zu Nürnberg im Jahre 1428,” JberrHistVMittelfrank Beih. 1 (1963); V. Gerz von Büren, Geschichte des Clarissenklosters St. Clara in Kleinbasel 1266–1529 (Basel, 1969); B. Deger-Spengler, Das Klarissenkloster Gnadental in Basel 1289–1529 (Basel, 1969). 103 See, among others: F.J. Hünermann, “Die Wirtschaftsethischen Predigten des hlg. Bernhardin von Siena,” (1939); R. de Roover, San Bernardino of Siena and Sant’Antonino of Florence. Two Great Economic Thinkers of the Middle Ages (Boston, 1967); A. Spicciani, “Sant’Antonino, San Bernardino e Piero di Giovanni Olivi nel pensiero economico medio- evale,” Economica e storia 19 (1972), 315–341; G. Todeschini, “‘Oeconomia franciscana’. Proposte di una nuova lettura delle fonti dell’etica economica medioevale,” RivStorLettRel 12 (1976), 15–77. 104 A survey of literature and an overview: A. Ghinato, “I Monti di Pietà istituzione frances- cana,” Picenum Seraphicum 9 (1972), 7–62.

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 183

To emphasize the economic and social dimensions of the reform of the orders is to fall into the danger that, as Linneborn puts it, “the impact of reform on the wealth of the cloister and its economic affairs come so sharply to the fore that one could see the success, indeed the essence of reform, in this alone.”105 Of course even contemporaries themselves saw the close connection between spiritual reform and economic recovery. For the stern cellarer of the Cistercian abbey of Marienfeld, John Lamberti, who led the renewal of the Premonstratensian community of Carholz, the most important requirement for renewal next to auditorium Dei was naturalis industria.106 The first prior of the foundation of Böddeken saw the amount of labor associated with the reform of this and of other Westphalian cloisters as similarly crucial—so much so that he warned his brothers against seeing the essence of reform in the opera agriculturae.107 It is no longer possible to present, even in outline, the counterweight to these considerations—namely to trace the intellectual forces that drove reform, the nature of the consciousness of the orders’ original ideals, the spe- cific spiritual currents that were bound up with or indeed advanced by reform. To do so would require an essay of its own. One thing, however, should be made clear here: In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, for all of the con- scious and programmatic efforts to return to beginnings, for all of the pedantic precision with which the observance of rule, constitutions and liturgical ordines were renewed or promoted, all the same a new spiritual landscape developed across the orders, one that was not simply identical with that of the high or the early middle ages. The Franciscans and Dominicans, the Augustinian Hermits and the Carmelites, the Benedictines and the Augustinian Canons, to say nothing of the smaller orders, developed a distinct spirituality. Their “piety of crisis,” as it has occasionally been called (and it is a frustrating over- simplification) was characterized by a desire for interiority; by a reconsidera- tion of the relationship between theology and learning; by a strong turn to history; by a preference for individual prayer; by a turning away from the solemnity of the common cult. All of this describes a style of piety108 that has

105 Linneborn, “Der Zustand der westfälischen Benediktinerklöster in den lezten 50 Jahren vor ihrem Anschlusse and die Bursfelder Kongregation.” [n. 32] 106 R. Schulze, “Beiträge zur Geschichte des Prämonstratenserklosters Klarholz (Kreis Wiedenbrück) 1133–1803,” Westfälische Zeitschrift 78 (1920), 51. 107 J. Probus, Chronicon monasterii Boedecensis scriptum saeculo xv (1731), 4. 108 Mezey, Die Devotio moderna der Donauländer; F. Machilek, “Die Frömmigkeit und die Krise des 14. und 15. Jahrhunderts,” MediaevBohem 70, 3 (1971), 209–227; H. Heimpel, “Das Wesen des deutschen Spätmittelalters,” ArchKulturg 35 (1953), 29–51; B. Moeller, “Frömmigkeit in Deutschland um 1500,” ArchRefG 56 (1965), 5–31. Apart from general

184 chapter 4 long been claimed for the Netherlands’ Devotio Moderna. But it was much more than a piety shaped only by one region or its people. It was the tonus rectus of a late-medieval monastic piety that had been renewed through a broad movement for reform.109 Let us close our reflections with this resolution, to note at least in passing two further areas of inquiry: the relationship of reform to wider religious movements, and to the Reformation. Of these fields of inquiry, the relation- ship of the late-medieval reform of the religious orders to the reform of non-institutionalized and extra-ecclesiastical religious movements is the one that typically only comes into question when there is a concern to describe the divergence between orthodox reform and heterodox religious move- ments, for example the mendicant orders’ resistance against Hussitism and Wyclifism. Links between reform of the orders and wider social and religious movements; the role of those in the orders in articulating and enforcing the church’s political aims; and above all the links between the will to reform and social and political protest (visible, for example in the Florentine tre- and quattrocento)—a tradition of research still overwhelmingly advanced by members of the religious orders has hardly taken notice of these matters, let alone undertaken any focused investigation of them.110 The same can be said,

surveys—for example those offered in Axters and Knowles—there is no special investiga- tion of changes in piety in the orders. For changes in liturgy and practices of prayer cf., e.g. S. Hilpisch, Chorgebet und Frömmigkeit im Sptätmittelalter (Heilige überlieferung. Festgabe Dom Herwegen) (1938), 263–284; O. Van Veghel, “De oefening van het inwendig gebed in de Minderbroedersorde gedurende de vijftiende en zestiende eeuw,” OnsGeestlErf 21 (1947), 113–116; E. Iserloh, “Die Kirchenfrömmigkeit in der ‘Imitatio Christi’,” Sentire Ecclesiam. Festschrift für Hugo Rahner (1961), 251–262; J. Leclercq, “Culte liturgique et prière intime dans le monachisme au moyen âge,” La Maison-Dieu 69 (1962), 39–55; G.M. Picasso, “La preghiera nel movimento spirituale di S. Giustina. Preghiera nella bibbia e nella tradizione patristica e monastica,” BiblCultRelig 78 (1964), 735–769. 109 J. Huijben, “De verspreiding der nederlandsche spiritualiteit in he buitenland in de XIVe em XVe eeuw,” OnsGeeslErf 4 (1930), 168–182; R. Pittigliani, Il ven. Ludovico Barbo e la dif- fusione dell’Imitatione di Cristo per opera della Congregazione di S. Giustina. Studio storica- bibliografico-critica (Padua, 1947); A. Blaschka, “Zur Devotio Moderna,” in Deutsch-slavische Wechselbeziehungen in sieben Jahrhunderten. Festschrift E. Winter (1956), 88–92; C. Rodriguez-Granit, La Devotio Moderna en Espagne et l’influence française (Geneva, 1957); E. Mályusz, Zukon paulinów i devotio moderna (Warsaw, 1960); H.F. Rosenfeld, “Zu den Anfängen der Devotio Moderna,” in Festgabe für Ulrich Pretzel zum 65. Geburtstag (1962), 239; J. Schreiber, “Devotio Moderna in Böhmen,” Bohemia 6 (1965), 93–121; idem., “Die böhmische Devotio moderna,” Bohemia Sacra, 81–91. 110 F. Sarri, “Pietro di Giovanni Olivi e Ubertino da Casale Maestri di Teologia a Firenze,” StudFrancesc 22 (1925), 75–96; L. Oliger, “Beiträge zur Geschichte der Spiritualen,

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 185 though with considerable qualifications, for the relationship between the reform of the orders and the Reformation. The connections between these phenomena were already apparent to sixteenth-century contemporaries, who discerned connections that scholarly research discerns and evaluates still today.111 Struggles over prestige both among Observants and conventuals as well as between divergent reform parties—met among the learned of the day with dismay, irony and contempt—created a climate that was not only detrimental to religious life as such. It also created, both within and beyond the cloister walls, the predisposition toward a fundamental rejection of clois- ter and monastic life that was to be exploited by the leaders of the Reformation. It would be wrong, of course, to see as the only connection between Reform and Reformation the monks’ eagerness for strife, their pedantry and the accusations of hypocrisy it inspired, the mutual defamation that was so dam- aging to their entire estate. Given the frequent observation (though one still not sufficiently demonstrated) that it was in fact the members of the religious orders who often helped the new faith establish itself, and who gave the churches of the Reformation their institutional and intellectual shape, it must be asked whether there were positive links between the Observant movement and the Reformation. In answering this question one need not go so far as to see Luther as a product of the theology and spirituality of the Augustinian Observants. Nor is it necessary to assume that the openness to the studia humanitatis cultivated among the Franciscans and Dominicans (themselves parodied in the sixteenth century) was a precondition for adopting the new theology. The theological and spiritual breadth of the Observant movement among the mendicants, the Hussite-inspired extremism of a Nicholas Serruier or Thomas Connecte, the conciliarism of a Kaspar Schatzgeyer and the curialism of the Augustinian school—to note all of these is to see clearly how many other theological relationships there could be between reform and Reformation than those captured under the rubrics of Humanism or Augustinianism.112

Fratizellen und Clarener,” zkg 45 (1927), 215–242; M.B. Becker, “Florentine Politics and the Diffusion of Heresy in the Trecento. A Socioeconomic Inquiry,” Speculum 34 (1959), 60–75; R. Ridolfi, Vita di Girolamo Savonarola, 2nd ed. (Rome, 1952); Donald Weinstein, Savonarola and Florence; Prophecy and Patriotism in the Renaissance (Princeton, 1970). 111 See, among others, B. Lohse, Mönchtum und Reformation. Luthers Auseinandersetzung mit dem Mönchsideal des Mittelalters (1963). 112 A. Lauche, “Nicole Serruier, hérétique du XVe siècle,” AnalServHistEcclBelg 24 (1893), 280–297; P. Beuzart, Les hérésies pendant le moyen âge et al réforme jusq’à la mort de Phillipe ii (1598) dans la région de Douais (Paris, 1912); B. Zimmerman, “De Fratre Thoma Connecte de Francia,” AnalCarmDisc 3 (1929), 262–280; J. Schevers, “Thomas Connecte,

186 chapter 4

The fact that only the connections between late-medieval Augustinian the- ology and the Reformation have become the subject of specialized research reveals what kind of field awaits work in this regard. The preconditions for the Reformation are, of course, to be found not only in the areas of spirituality and theology. Economic renewal, the reorganization of monastic property, and especially the return to a more rigorous practice of poverty in the cities in the fifteenth century—all led to confrontations between nobility and burghers over matters of privilege, influence and to some degree over the wealth that the nobility and their children brought to the cloister. Here was a further con- sequence of the renewal of landed settlements: a once relatively free rural population was bound by stronger ties of dependence (at times a kind of “sec- ond serfdom”) and became more heavily burdened than they had been during the era of decline. To put it in an exaggerated way: It was not parasitic monks, but rather reforming zealots concerned with the economic interests of their foundations, the mendicants who sought to return to the practices of poverty of the thirteenth century, who awoke such animosity among the nobility, urban burghers and the rural population, all of which exploded so spectacu- larly in the Reformation and the peasant wars that followed.113 In the wake of reform, the many bonds with territorial princes—whether established will- ingly or compelled through force—strengthened these tensions, and in the end they led monasteries long accustomed to the patronage and protection of

Carmelite Savonarola,” The Sword 15 (1952), 140–147; H. Holms, “Kirche, Freiheit und Gesetz bei dem Franziskanertheologen Kaspar Schatzgeyer,” RefGeschtStud 84 (1959); idem., “Konzilsgedanken bei dem Franziskanertheologen Kaspar Schatzgeyer,” in Die Kirche und ihre Ämter und Stände. Festgabe Kardinal Frings (1960), 453–461; Paul Nyhus, “Caspar Schatzgeyer and Conrad Pellican: The Triumph of Dissension in the Early Sixteenth Century,” ArchRefG 65 (1970), 179–204; F.X. Duijnstee, ‘s Pausen Primaat in de latere Middeleeuwen en de Aegidiaansche School (Amsterdam, 1939); M. Wilks, The Problem of Sovreignty in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge, 1963); A.J. Black, Monarchy and Community. Political Ideas in the Later Conciliar Controversy 1430–1450 (Cambridge, 1970). 113 See, along with notes 87, 91, 95 and 102, B. Moeller, Reichstadt und Reformation (1962); F.G. Heymann, “The Hussite Revolution and the German Peasants’ War. A Historical Comparison,” MedievaliaHumanistica ns 1 (1970), 141–159. G. Strauss, Manifestations of Discontent in Germany on the Eve of the Reformaiton (Bloomington, 1971); H.A. Oberman, “Tumultus rusticorum. Vom ‘Klosterkrieg’ zum Fürstenkrieg. Beobachtungen zum Bauernkrieg unter besonderer Berücksichtigung zeitgenössischer Beurteilung,” zkg 85 (1974), 301–316. The literature on the German Peasants’ War and its course (recently, S. Hoyer, “Zu den Ursachen des deutschen Bauernkriegs und zu Problemen seines Verlaufs,” ZfG 20 (1976), 622–680; E. Wolgast, “Neue Literatur über den Bauernkrieg,” BllDtLdG 112 (1976), 424–440) has hardly noticed this topic. See now H. Cohn, “Anticlericalism in the German Peasant’s War 1525,” PastPresent 83 (1979), 3–31.

Decline and Renewal of the Religious Orders 187 princes to see in the Reformation, at first glance, if not a means to their well- being, then at least the mere continuation of the already customary politics of their territorial lords. And so it is no accident that numerous members of the religious orders either enlisted in a Reformation led by their territorial and urban authorities or tried to desert, arguing that they had only recently been reformed, and did not need to be reformed again.114

*

We conclude our discussion of the status and challenges facing research on the late-medieval Observant movement and the reform of the orders with this thought, one that juxtaposes Reformation and reform, even though it is insuf- ficient for capturing the entire problematic of the relationships of the two phenomena. Let us then return once again to our introductory line of thinking. We began with a reflection on the fact that the histories of territory and con- stitution, society and economy as well as church and intellectual history no longer judge the later middle ages only as an era of decline, but increasingly as an age of new beginnings. Once can also now ask whether a similar judgment is appropriate for the history of the religious orders, and for the history of late- medieval reform and the Observant movement in particular. Certainly there is no absence of numerous signs of decline that met with strong criticism among the faithful, even after the height of the movement for reform. There can also be no doubt that the renewal of the orders, for all of its original energy, was in many cases brought to nothing by the Reformation. When one broadens the field of vision, however—looking beyond Saxony and Thuringia, Brandenburg and Brunswick, Pomerania and Mecklenburg, where the religious orders met their end along with the rest of the inherited church traditions—this impres- sion loses its force. In fact it must be thoroughly rethought when one considers reform and its impact in the southern Netherlands and in a few south-German

114 See, for example, W. Ziegler, Die Bursfelder Kongregation in der Reformationszeit. Dargestellt an Hand der Generalkapitalsrezesse der Bursfelder Kongregation (1968); E.G. Franz, “Die hessischen Klöster und ihre Konvente in der Reformation,” HessJbLdg (1969), 147–223; H. Wiemann, “Die ostfriesischen Klöster in vorreformatorischer und reformato- rischer Zeit,” JbGesNdsächsKG 68 (1970), 25–38; F. Schrader, Reformation und katholische Klöster. Beiträge zur Reformation und zur Geschichte der klösterlichen Restbestände in den ehemaligen Bistümern Magdeburg und Halberstadt (1973); M. Schaab, “Pfälzische Klöster vor und nach der Reformation,” BllDtLdG 99 (1973), 753–758; F. Schrader, Ringen, Untergang und Überleben der katholischen Klöster in den Hochstiften Magdeburg und Halberstadt von der Reformation bis zum Westfälischen Frieden (1977); B. Jaspert, “Reformation und Mönchtum in Hessen,” CisterChron 84 (1977), 30–50.

188 chapter 4 territories, but especially in Italy and Spain. The Augustinian Hermits (first renewed in Italy by the efforts of Giles of Viterbo and Hieronymus Seripando) had a dramatic impact on the Counter-Reformaiton in Europe, and on the exploration and Christianization of lands overseas—so dramatic that they restored the damage to their prestige once fostered by their association with Luther. In Italy, at the heart of the Observant movement, the original Franciscan way of life found renewal in the Capuchin order, which became independent in 1528. In the same years, Italy saw priests and laity join the communities of the Oratorians, Theatines and —here, in an altered form, a realiza- tion of what the Fraterherren in the north and the reformers of S. Giorgio in Alga in the south had begun, and that the Jesuits brought to fruition in Spain and beyond. This much can be said in conclusion: Led by the charisma of saintly personalities, with the help of popes and councils, supported by secular powers and institutions and in ways that reflected wider social and economic development, the religious orders reformed themselves from the fourteenth century, and especially in the fifteenth, in ways that created preconditions for renewal and that fostered the remarkable achievements of the coming era. The religious orders soon played roles that without hesitation can be can compared to those they played in the early and high middle ages. As leaders of the Catholic reforms of the early modern era, of the Counter-Reformation and of overseas missions, the orders were once again agents of mission, defenders of the faith, teachers and patrons of the people.

chapter 5 Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher: A Contribution to the Origins and Early History of the Military Orders of Palestine

Scholarly interest in the military orders of the middle ages most often concen- trates on the most important of them: on the Templars, the Hospitalers and the Teutonic Order, on the Spanish military orders and (to a more limited extent) on the Lazarites, the Sword-Brothers of Livonia, and the Order of Mountjoy. Usually ignored are the smaller militias and orders of hospitalers founded in the crusading era, and especially those knightly orders founded after the fall of Acre, or those that evolved from the transformation of older orders, or quasi- regular knightly societies. Even specialists are so ill-informed about these groups that they describe them by turns as amalgamations of monks and canons, Hospitalers or other military orders, as mendicants or semi-religious— if in fact they do not dismiss them all as merely orders of merit, even ordines falsi. This uncertainty is often attributable to our lack of both authentic sources and accessible preliminary scholarship. But more often it is due to a body of literature that has hidden the history of these orders in such a cloud of assump- tions, legends and historical fabrication that their actual shape is hardly dis- cernible any more. If one were to select an example from this field—a field not unimportant in shaping our judgments of the overall phenomenon of the “military orders”—one could select none better than the Militia, the Ordo Militaris or the Ordo Equestris S. Sepulcri Hierosolymitani. In the ranks of the Catholic Church its adherents, their white cloaks adorned with the red cross of Jerusalem, still today represent crusade piety and honor for the Holy Land. What has been published about the military order of the Holy Sepulcher since the fourteenth century, especially since the advent of print, is often so unreliable and contradictory that prima vista one can hardly find in it any common ground.1 To note only a few of the claims most often encountered regarding its age and traditions: the order’s foundation has been attributed to a brother Jacobus Minor, to Charlemagne, to Godfrey of Bouillon, King Louis

1 Characteristic are: A. Couret, Notice historique sur l’ordre du Saint-Sépulcre de Jérusalem depuis son origine jusqu’à nos jours 1099–1905 (Paris, 1905); M.E. Persichetti Ugolini, L’Ordine del S. Sepolcro nei documenti pontifici e nella tradizione della Chiesa (Milan, 1938); G.A. Quarti, I Cavalieri del Santo Sepolcro di Gerusalemme (Milan, [1951]).

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190 chapter 5 vii of France, even to Pope Alexander vi. For some, the story is of the first and oldest military order; for others, of a military order with its origins in a com- munity of regular canons. Still others move in a third direction: they assume the order to have been divided into knightly and canonical branches, with the patriarch of Jerusalem assuming the duties of Grand Master from the begin- ning of the twelfth century. For all of the uncertainties, however, nearly all representations of the order’s history are in agreement that with respect to its overall character the Ordo Equestris S. Sepulchri may be ranked alongside the other well-known military orders—and that it indeed surpasses them in age and honor. Today these interpretations of the origins and nature of the military order of the Holy Sepulcher, offered here only in outline, need no longer be accepted as unconditionally as they have been—not only by the knights of the Holy Sepulcher themselves,2 but also by respected scholars, in highly esteemed handbooks and in dissertations undertaken in faculties of canon law.3 Already a quarter of a century ago V. Cramer,4 himself a Knight of the Holy Sepulcher, began (with the aid of the preparatory scholarship of his brother J. Hermens5) to prune back the wildly overgrown thicket of literature and to allow the Ordo Equestris S. Sepulcri to take an important place, as its history deserves, along- side the other religious communities associated with the Holy Sepulcher. It can be counted as certain that the Militia or the Ordo Equestris S. Sepulcri was a lay association that, while certainly subject to many changes in organi- zation and aims over the course of its history, never emerged as an order

2 So for example J. Meile, Die Ritterschaft vom Heiligen Grabe in der Geschichte (Au, St. Gallen, 1951); X. De Bourbon-Parme (ed.), Les Chevaliers du Saint-Sépulcre de Jérusalem (Paris, 1957), Ital. I Cavalieri del Santo Sepolcro, Tempi e figure 22 (Milan, 1957); J.M. Ortega Costa De Ballestero, Breve Historial de la Orden de Caballeros del Santo Sepulcro de Jerusalém (Barcelona, 1961); B. De Meester De Ravenstein, “L’Ordre du Saint-Sépulcre de Jérusalem,” Revue générale 10 (1976), 17–31. 3 J.G. Avala, Canónigos del Santo Sepulcro en Jerusalén y Calatayud. Pontificia Universitas Comillensis (Madrid, 1970); G.C. Bascapé, Gli ordini cavallereschi in Italia, Storca e diritto (Milan, 1972), 365–400. J. Hourlier, Histoire du droit et des institutions de église en occident X: L’âge classique (1140–1378): Les religieux (Paris, 1974), 102. 4 V. Cramer, “Der Ritterschlag am Hl. Grabe,” in: Das Hl. Land in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart 2 (Cologne, 1940), 137–199; idem, “Das Rittertum vom Hl. Grabe im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert” (ibid., 3, 1941), 111–200; idem, “Das Rittertum vom Hl. Grabe im 16. Jahrhundert. Der Übergang in einen Ritterorden unter der Schutzherrschaft der Päpste” (ibid., 4, 1949), 81–159; idem, “Der Ritterorden vom Hl. Grabe vom Beginn des 17. Jahrhunderts bis zur Reform durch Pius X. 1600–1868” (ibid., 5, 1950), 97–174; idem, Der Ritterorden vom Hl. Grabe von den Kreuzzügen bis zur Gegenwart, Palästinahefte des Deutschen Vereins vom Heiligen Lande 46–48 (Cologne, 1952), a summary of the studies cited here, without references. 5 J. Hermens, Der Orden vom heil. Grabe, 2nd ed. (Cologne-Neuß, 1870).

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 191 comparable to the Templars and Hospitalers.6 Its origins reach back not to the twelfth century but to the fourteenth, to a time after the fall of Acre, when the recuperatio terrae sanctae had taken on a new urgency, and when pilgrimage to the holy sites had come to life once more. The occasion for its founding, accord- ing to Cramer, was a custom among noble pilgrims first reported in 1333/6 and attested many times thereafter through many accessible sources: to be knighted at the Holy Sepulcher, or to request the renewal of a knighting already received. In no way did this ceremony involve, as the older literature would have it, the profession of . It was rather a variation on ceremonies of knight- ing that had begun to spread from the beginning of the fourteenth century (also in Germany), through which (building on older ceremonies of conferral of arms and dubbing) soldiers were accepted into knighthood.7 The knighting of the Holy Sepulcher differed from the more common form of knighting (nor- mally conferred by the hand of a layman, in celebration of outstanding deeds) by virtue of the special holiness of the place in which the ceremony was car- ried out. This meant that the one knighted after a long journey and an expen- sive voyage overseas to the Holy Sepulcher could lay claim to a higher rank than that of his contemporaries (Felix Fabri attributed to it no less than forty characteristics). He also declared himself prepared to take up the cross should a new crusade be called.8 Beyond these obligations, all of them within the

6 The essentials of the history of the knights of the Holy Sepulcher (which the author treats at more length and with full documentation in the forthcoming book Der Ordo ss. Sepulcri Dominici Hierosolymitani. Untersuchungen zu Geschichte und Selbstverständnis des Kapitels vom Heiligen Grab) are covered in, among other studies, the journals published by the Grand Magisterium, and the Italian and German governing bodies: Commentarium Equestris Ordinis Sancti Sepulcri Hierosolymitani 1 ff. (Vatican City, 1953ff.); Crociata 1ff. (Milan, 1933 ff.). Deus Lo Vult. Ordensbrief des Ritterordens vom Heiligen Grabe 1ff. (Cologne- Freiburg, 1952ff.). 7 Only the most recent works from the rich literature on conferral of arms and dubbing need be cited here: J.M. Van Winter, “Cingulum Militiae. Schwertleite en ‘miles’—Terminologie als Spiegel van veranderend menselijk Gedrag,” Tijdschrift voor rechtsgeschiedenis 44 (1976), 1–92; J. Flori, “Chevalerie et liturgie. Remise des armes et vocabulaire ‘chevaleresque’ dans les sources liturgiques du IXe au XIVe siècle,” Le Moyen Âge 84 (1978), 247–278 (à suivre). On the social and political background of ennobling and knightly orders in the later middle ages see among others: B. Heydenreich, Ritterorden und Rittergesellschaften. Ihre Entwicklung vom späten Mittelalter zur Neuzeit (Würzburg, 1960); M. Keen, “Brotherhood in Arms,” History 47 (1962), 1–17; Ph. Contamine, “Points de vue sur la chevalerie en France à la fin du Moyen Âge,” Francia 4 (1976), 255–285; R.H. Lucas, “Ennoblement in Late Medieval France,” Mediaeval Studies 39 (1977), 239–260. 8 C.D. Hassler (ed.), Fratris Felicis Fabri Evagatorium in Terrae Sanctae, Arabiae et Egypti peregrinationem, Bibl. d. Litt. Vereins Stuttgart 2–4 (Stuttgart, 1843–49).

192 chapter 5 established tradition of knighthood and crusade, knights of the Holy Sepulcher obligated themselves to no further responsibilities. Thus we cannot speak here even of an association, let alone a religious order. From the end of the fifteenth century, when the ritual of knighting that had been in the hands of a layman became, auctoritate apostolica et imperiali, a privilege exercised by the Franciscans on Mt. Sion, the knights of the Holy Sepulcher witnessed a modi- fication of their status.8a The stroke of dubbing, now conferred in a ceremony that approached something like monastic profession, was no longer merely one of many forms of being accepted into that knighthly status to which all noble-born men (and in certain circumstances non-noble as well) might lay claim. It retained the character of an initiation ritual, but it was no longer open (as it had been before) only to all noble pilgrims travelling to Jerusalem. Rather it was open only to those whom the Guardian saw as acceptable—and nobility, though originally the decisive criterion, increasingly lost its importance. The knights, their entry confirmed by letter and entered into a register, thereby no longer entered only into a new status. They also bound themselves to a com- munity that demanded of them, alongside the fulfillment of the usual duties of knighthood, the observation of such religious prescriptions as were found in the statutes of the confraternities associated with the mendicant orders. And yet the knights of the Holy Sepulcher—despite the statutes, the matriculation and the conferral of the Jerusalem cross—were still far from a true corpora- tion. They were somewhere in between the secular orders of knights that Jan Huizinga described in his inimitable way and the brotherhoods that had spread so dramatically since the high middle ages. They were different from each of these in that the knights, after their elevation to knightly status, were bound by no organizational ties, and neither gathered in regular chapter meetings, nor were subject to the leadership of any religious order. Already in the early fif- teenth century in , Brabant and Holland, the renunciation of such a comprehensive organization led to the formation of local confederations— brotherhoods in the old style, aimed at helping the knights fulfill the religious obligations of their estate, and at supporting the Holy Sepulcher.9 Only in the sixteenth century did there emerge any sustained attempts to draw all of the knights of the Holy Sepulcher together and to organize them. And the concern then was not so much for the religious life of the knights as it was for mobiliz- ing them to reconquer the Holy Land. The Jerusalem brotherhood of Antwerp, which had among its number nobles of Brabant as well as Spanish elites,

8a Cf. among others n. 53. 9 Here see now the Berlin dissertation of W. Schneider, “Peregrinatio Hiersolymitana. Studien zum spätmittelalterlichen Jerusalembrauchtum und zu den aus der Heiliglandfahrt her- vorgegangenen nordwesteuropäischen Jerusalembruderschaften.”

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 193 took the lead in these efforts. In 1553 it issued a memorandum calling knights together from across the world to be organized according to the model of the old knightly orders, placed under the secular authority of the king of Spain and the spiritual authority of the pope. In conscious imitation of crusading tradi- tion, and influenced by a series of previous crusading plans, the order was given the task of driving back the heathen and reconquering the Holy Land. Philip ii took up the plan, and allowed himself to be elected head of the order on March 26, 1558 in the church of St. Catherine in Hoogstraaten. But the plan soon failed in the face of resistance from the curia, the king of France and the Hospitalers—none were prepared to give Spain access to an instrument of power that would have certainly helped further establish its political and mili- tary hegemony.10 Half a century later, in 1615, a new effort at integration was undertaken by Carl of Gonzaga, duke of Nevers. But like the Spanish undertak- ing, this one, too, failed in the face of the resistance of the Hospitalers, whose Grand Master Adolf von Vignacourt registered his protest before both crown and curia.11 In France the effort to bind an older tradition of confraternities to the knighthood of the Holy Sepulcher had met with success already two centu- ries before: from the middle of the fourteenth century, and far into modernity, the Militia S. Sepulcri had found an organizational form.12 Its frame was the Confrèrie du Saint Sepulcre, founded in 1326 by Count Louis of Clermont with the support and approval of Charles iv, Philip vi and John xxii. The inspira- tion grew from the crusading plans of the French crown, which by the begin- ning of the fourteenth century had grown beyond mere theoretical statements to encompass the recruitment of a crusading army and the deployment of a vanguard. Accordingly, the membership of the brotherhood consisted not of former crusaders but of future ones, who had become crucesignati in strict accordance with canon law, and who stood ready to undertake a crusade. What bound the French confraternity with the Militia S. Sepulcri, however, was not only the readiness to take the field for the Holy Sepulcher, but also the effort to

10 Here cf. N.J. Cinnamond, Contribución al estudio de la Orden del Santo Sepulcro (Vich, 1933). 11 A. De Kerseve, “L’Ordre du Saint-Sépulcre de Jérusalem de 1291 à nos jours,” in: De Borbon- Parme (n. 2), 57–84. 12 General overviews in: E. Molinier, “Inventaire du trésor de l’église du Saint-Sépulcre de Paris (1379),” Mémoires de la Société de I’Histoire de Paris et de l’Ile-de-France 9 (Paris, 1883), 39–86; M. Du Pierredon, L’Ordre équestre du Saint-Sépulcre de Jérusalem (Paris, 1928); X. du Boisrouvray, “L’église collegiale et la confrérie du Saint-Sepulcre à Paris (1325–1791),” in: Positions de thèses (Paris, 1953), 33–35. x. du Boisrouvray is not prepared to allow his thesis to be tested in other locales. The author explores the institutional circumstance in Paris in greater detail in the work cited in n. 6.

194 chapter 5 establish a link to its legendary traditions. The cooperation of canons, Hospitalers and knights, along with the recovery of older liturgical and archi- tectural models, was meant to renew a tradition of veneration at the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, one that supposedly reached back to the earliest days of Christianity. Only when the effort to realize the crusade in practice was abandoned did the confraternity find itself reduced to one centered merely on devotion and commemoration—and one that after the loss of its original duties struggled so mightily amid the tensions between knights, canons and devotees that by the seventeenth century it had all but dissolved. Yet its decline gave new life to another Confrèrie du Saint-Sépulcre, this one with its home, again from the fourteenth century, among the Cordeliers of Paris.13 Officially recognized as a royal archconfraternity in 1693, it drew its membership from both the high nobility and the royal family—which not only secured its exis- tence until the dissolution decree of 1792, but also allowed its restoration in 1824 (however short-lived) as the Ordre Royal militaire et hospitalier du Saint Sépulcre de Jérusalem. After the formation of such half-legitimate cadet lines, the establishment of regional associations and the failed attempts to found the order anew, a lasting unification of all of the knights of the Holy Sepulcher came only in 1868, twenty years after the re-foundation of the Latin Patriarchate of Jerusalem. It came at the instigation of the patriarch, through Pius ix, and gave the long-disorganized brotherhood of knights the formal shape of a papally approved military order. It was placed under the authority of the pope as its ultimate sovereign, taking the patriarch of Jerusalem as its administrator and its de facto leader and organizing itself into three classes and national bal- liwicks. Expected of its members were Catholic confession, good works for the church and the Holy Land as well as noble birth, or a social rank sufficient to allow one to live more nobilium. This organizational foundation was in turn subject to many modifications under Pius xi, Pius xii and Paul vi. Its exclu- sively noble character, as well as its character as an order of service, were downplayed, its religious and fraternal dimensions emphasized.14

13 L. Beaumont-Maillet, Le Grand Couvent des Cordeliers de Paris. Étude historique et archéologique du XIIIe siècle à nos jours, Bibliothèque de l’École des Hautes Études. IVe Section: Sciences historiques et philologiques 325 (Paris, 1975) hardly treats this brother- hood at all. See n. 6. 14 On the contemporary circumstance of the order, along with the literature cited in n. 6, see K.M. Stephan, “Ordo Equestris Sacri Sepulcri Hierosolymitani. Der Ritterorden vom Heiligen Grab zu Jerusalem,” in: Predigten und Ansprachen von Erzbischof Dr L. Jaeger (Paderborn, 1957); A Cohausz, “Zur Spiritualität des Ritterordens vom Heiligen Grab. Aus Investituransprachen Kardinal Jaegers zusammengestellt,” Deus Lo Vult nf 15 (1975).

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 195

Our image of the knights of the Holy Sepulcher is one that quite resists firm definition, and one that is quite subject to change. Thus one would hardly be able to claim that it was founded before even the great military orders, that its members fought on the battlefields of Palestine, Spain and even Poland, or that they counted among their number so many crusading princes and rulers of the high middle ages, without some other institution providing a matrix for such claims. That institution is the canonical order of the Holy Sepulcher. Their existence, amid the flood of publications on the knights of the Holy Sepulcher, has fallen into oblivion almost as much as the canons of the Temple, about whom (as a consequence of the dominant tradition of the Templars) one hears hardly a word. The memory of the canons has lived on even into our day only in the intimate circles of the canons and canonesses themselves, and has found its expression only in histories of the order that for the most part remain in manuscripts written by Spanish, Polish, French and Dutch members whose names it would be pointless to survey here. Only in recent years have we come to know enough about them to place alongside an overview of the his- tory and the nature of the Ordo Equestris S. Sepulcri Hierosolymitani a similar one for the Ordo Canonicorum regularium S. Sepulcri Dominici.15 Unlike the Ordo Equestris, the Ordo Canonicorum S. Sepulcri was, from the beginning, a clearly definable institution. It was nothing other than the cathe- dral chapter of Jerusalem, established in 1099 by Godfrey of Bouillon and other crusaders at the basilica of the Holy Sepulcher.16 It was subject to the patriarch of Jerusalem, and in the pattern of western cathedrals supported him both in the administration of his diocese and in the performance of a liturgy that took

15 Up to the appearance of the works cited in n. 6: W. Hotzelt, “Die Chorherren vom Heiligen Grab in Jerusalem,” in: Das Hl. Land in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart 2 (Cologne, 1940), 107; P. Grech, Les Chanoines du Saint-Sépulchre. Institut Catholique de Toulouse, Faculté de Droit Canonique (unprinted thesis, 1958); G. Bautier, Le Saint-Sépulcre de Jérusalem et l’Occident au Moyen Âge (unprinted thesis of the École Nationale des Chartes, 1971); K. Elm, “Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri. Beiträge zu fraternitas, familia und weibli- chem Religiosentum im Umkreis des Kapitels vom Hlg. Grab,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 9 (1975), 287–333; M. Hereswitha, Inleiding tot de Geschiedenis van het Kloosterwezen in de Nederlanden A ii, 1 f.: Orde van het Heilig-Graf, Archief- en Bib!iotheekwezen in Belgie, Extranummer 15 (Brussels, 1975); K. Elm, Quellen zur Geschichte des Ordens vom Hlg. Grab in Nordwesteuropa aus deutschen und niederländischen Archiven (1191–1603), Académie Royale de Belgique. Commission Royale d’Histoire (Brussels, 1976). 16 William of Tyre, Historia rerum in transmarinis gestarum, ix, 9, rhc Hist. oec. i (Paris, 1864), 376–377. Fulcher of Chartres, Historia Hierosolymitana i, 30, ed. H. Hagenmeyer (Heidelberg, 1913), 308; Albert of Aachen, Historia Hierosolymitana vi, 40, rhc Hist. oec. iv (Paris, 1879), 490. E. de Rozière, Cartulaire de l’église du Saint-Sépulcre de Jérusalem (Paris, 1849).

196 chapter 5 shape as a composite of Greek and Latin elements.17 Conflicts among the cru- sading princes and the struggle between Daimbert of Pisa and Arnulf of Chocques over the patriarchal office—and therefore over the future place of the church in the kingdom of Jerusalem—repeatedly drew the canons into partisan conflict18 and allowed them to forget their actual duties, to such a degree that Paschal ii could characterize the circumstance of their community as an outrage that brought shame to Christians and gave occasion for insult among the heathen.19 After the failed attempts of his predecessor Gibelin, and in the face of heavy resistance that lasted into the ’20s, the energetic patriarch Arnulf was able only in 1114 to turn the canons from praebendarii and propri- etarii to a life lived in common. But the canons now could lay claim more strongly than before to the vita communis and the paupertas evangelica of the early church in Jerusalem.20 From that time the spiritual life and liturgical work of the community of the chapter was grounded in the Regula, more pre- cisely the Praeceptum S. Augustini, and to Consuetudines or Ordines that had been influenced by French models, more precisely those of the reform-centers of Reims, St. Quentin and St. Rufus.21 And that influence was strong enough that this transmutatio canonicorum secularium in regulares (which Arnulf celebrated

17 References to the liturgical manuscripts of the canons in H. Buchtal, Miniature Painting in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem (Oxford, 1957), 140ff. and M. Hereswitha, Inleiding (n. 15), 20–24. Also: Ch. Koehler, “Un rituel et un bréviaire du Saint-Sépulcre de Jérusalem (XIIe– XIIIe siècle),” Revue de l’ Orient latin 8 (1900), 383–499; A. Schönfelder, “Die Prozessionen der Lateiner in Jerusalem zur Zeit der Kreuzzüge,” Hist. Jahrbuch 32 (1911), 578–597; C.D. Fonseca, “Il ms. gerosolimitano della communità canonicale del Santo Sepolcro di Barletta,” in: Medioevo Canonicale, Pubbl. dell’ Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore. Contr. iii, 12 (Milan, 1970), 193–195; H. Piwoński, “Antyfonarz Bożogrobców z Miechowa,” in: Polska Akademia Nauk-Instytut Sztuki. Musica Medii Aevi vi (Warsaw, 1977), 88–140. 18 Most recently: H.E. Mayer, “Die Entwicklung des Besitzes des Hl. Grabes in der Frühzeit, der erste Versuch zur Gründung eines Bistums in Jaffa und das Verhältnis von Kirche und Staat im Königreich Jerusalem,” in: Bistümer, Klöster und Stifte im Königreich Jerusalem, Schriften der mgh 26 (Stuttgart, 1977), 1–43. 19 Rozière (n. 16), 9–11. 20 Ibid., 78–80, 44–47. 21 On the particular problems (which in any case do not pertain to the oldest recension of the Constitutions): P. Lefèvre, “Prémontré, ses origines, sa première, liturgie, les relations de son code législatif avec Cîteaux et les chanoines du Saint Sépulcre de Jérusalem,” Analectica Praemonstratensia 25 (1949), 96–103; M. Hereswitha, “Het verband tussen de wetgeving van de Heilige Graforde en die van de Orde van Prémontré in de XIIe eeuw,” ibid., 47 (1971), 5–23; A.H. Thomas, “Les statuts des Chanoines du Saint-Sépulcre et leurs rapports avec les constitutions des Dominicains,” Arch. Frat. Praed. 48 (1978), 5–22.

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 197 not without justification as renovatio ecclesie Sancti Sepulcri)22 can be seen, at least with regard to spirituality and statutes, as an extension of the canonical reform movements of the end of the eleventh and the beginning of the twelfth centuries.23 A number of factors—the high ranking of their titular church; their guardianship and veneration of the most holy relics of Christendom; their eminent place in the religious and political life of the kingdom—ensured for the canons not only the place of highest honor among the monastic and canonical institutions of the Holy Land,24 but garnered for them in the ­crusaders’ homeland an esteem that was not inconsiderable. It was thus not difficult for them to acquire property, to take over churches and to found new settlements in ultramarinis partibus just as they did in Palestine and Syria. Already in the first years of the twelfth century they can be seen at work in the same places where Hospitalers and Templars had begun to seek their support: in southern France and southern Italy, but above all in Spain.25 At the same time, and in fact on occasion earlier than the two famous military orders, they branched out into western, central and eastern Europe, and became active in the newly founded Latin Empire of Constantinople.26 Already by the end of the twelfth century they had reached the goal they had articulated to the king of France27—to establish settlements in omnibus regnis, ubi nomen crucifixi

22 Rozière (n. 16), 44–45. 23 Cf. most recently on this: L. Milis, “The Regular Canons and Some Socioreligious Aspects About the Year 1000,” in Études de civilisation médievale (IXe–XIIe siècles), Mélanges offerts à E.R. Labande (Poitiers, n.d.), 553–561; C.W. Bynum, “The Spirituality of Regular Canons in the Twelfth Century: A New Approach,” Medievalia et Humanistica ns 4 (1973), 3–23; St. Weinfurter, “Neuere Forschungen zu den Regularkanonikern im deutschen Reich des 11. und 12. Jahrhunderts,” hz 214 (1978), 379–397. 24 Rozière (n. 16), 5–6. 25 Provisionally: F. Allemand, “Les prieurs du Saint Sépulcre,” Bull. Soc. d’Études des Hautes Alpes 3 (1884), 122; P. Vidal, “Études historiques sur le prieuré de Marcevol de l’Ordre du Saint Sépulcre,” Bull. Soc. Agricole, Scient. et Litt. des Pyrénées Orientales 29 (1888), 165; L.T. White, Latin Monasticism in Norman Sicily, The Medieval Academy of America Publ. 31 (Cambridge, ma, 1938); G. Tessier, Les débuts de l’Ordre du Saint Sépulcre en Espagne, Bibl. de l’Écol. des Chartres 116 (1956), 5–28. 26 For an overview of the expansion in central and eastern Europe: Z. Pęckowski, Miechów. Studia z dziejów miasta I ziemi Miechowskiej do roku 1914 (Miechów, 1965); K. Elm, “St. Pelagius in Denkendorf. Die älteste deutsche Propstei des Kapitels vom Hlg. Grab in Geschichte und Geschichtsschreibung,” in: Landesgeschichte und Geistesgeschichte. Festschrift für Otto Herding zum 65. Geburtstag, Veröff. D. Komm. F. Geschichtl. Landeskunde in Baden-Württemberg B 92 (Stuttgart, 1977), 80–130. 27 rhfg xvi, 2nd ed. (Paris, 1978)

198 chapter 5 accipitur. It should also be mentioned that in the Empire the canons enjoyed the special favor of the Hohenstaufen. And neither the loss of Jerusalem nor the fall of Acre meant, as one might expect, the end of a chapter thereby deprived of its core duties. Its members remained in the service of the Holy Sepulcher while in exile, first Acre, then later in Perugia. And even as the Franciscans took over the guardianship of the grave in Jerusalem, the canons continued to style themselves keepers of the Sanctum Sanctorum and as the only legitimate clergy of Jerusalem.27a That they maintained this strong sense of identity unfailingly into the nineteenth century did nothing to keep the real- ity at bay: the chapter slowly lost its significance, and the streamlined organi- zation that had been crafted in the thirteenth century with the help of Urban iv (himself a former patriarch of Jerusalem) soon began to crumble.28 While the actual chapter at S. Lucia in Perugia never recovered from the loss of its titular church and its overseas possessions, its daughter houses were in a posi- tion to shore up their position and to expand their holdings. In Italy, France, Spain, England, Germany, Poland, Bohemia, Hungary and Croatia they orga- nized themselves—under the leadership, respectively, of the provosts or priors of Barletta and Messina, Annecy and La Viniadère, Barcelona, Catalayud and Logroño, Warwick and Thetford, Denkendorf and Droyβig, Miechów, Prague and Glogovnica—into congregations that stood at least nominally under the direction (often difficult to distinguish) of either the prior or the patriarch. But in reality, at least with regard to matters of organization, spirituality and prop- erty, their own interests and local conditions shaped developments more strongly than any common heritage. This sharp independence was thus also the precondition that allowed the canons once more at the end of the middle ages to endure another crisis that, like being driven from the Holy Land itself, threatened their existence, and to enter into a third phase of the history of their community. In 1489 Pope Innocent vii ordered the dissolution of the chapter and transferred its holdings to the Knights of St. John, who were war- ring with the Turks. The decision brought an end to the mother house in Perugia and to a few other houses in Italy, Spain, France and central Germany. But the larger, better-organized congregations in the south and the West of the Empire, in Spain, France and Poland survived—not least because so many secular princes engaged so forcefully for their survival that Alexander vi was forced to renounce the decree of dissolution issued by his predecessor.29 And while long-since independent houses in England and most German houses

27a Cf. n. 53. 28 G. Bresc-Bautier, “Bulles d’Urbain iv en faveur de l’Ordre du Saint-Sepulcre (1261–1264),” in: Mélanges de l’école franç. de Rome 85,1 (1973), 283–310. 29 Elm, “St. Pelagius in Denkendorf” (n. 26), 80–82.

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 199

(with the exception of their daughter houses in the lower-Rhine and the Low Countries) fell victim to the Reformation, the remaining communities were in a position—along with the female branch of the order, which had begun to flower anew in the fifteenth century—to maintain their existence. Under the leadership of the Polish foundation at Miechów as the new caput ordinis, they were then able to continue the tradition of the Latin Ecclesia Hierosolymitana founded in 1099 into the nineteenth century—and the women’s communities continue that tradition still today.30 This brief history of the canonical order explains aspects of the confused story of the military order of the Holy Sepulcher that would be hardly under- standable otherwise. The notion of a founding by Godfrey of Bouillon, of dis- solution under Innocent vii and a renewal under Alexander vi find their historical foundations here. The same is also true for the tracing of a tradition back to the Apostle Jacobus Minor. The patriarch and the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher did in fact work from their earliest days to claim for themselves standing in an unbroken tradition of the clergy of Jerusalem, and to represent like no other spiritual community in Christianity the ecclesia primitiva, the early church in Jerusalem. It is all the more astonishing that such a tightly interwoven tapestry of history and tradition is almost entirely divorced from reality. Apart from occasional interventions, such as the missives that knights of the Holy Sepulcher such as Frederick iii and Maximilian I sent to Alexander vi (aimed at annulling the decree of dissolution issued by his predecessor),31 there were never any close personal connections—to say nothing of institu- tional connections—between the knights and the canons of the Holy Sepulcher. The former did virtually nothing for pilgrimage to Jerusalem and the recuperatio terrae sanctae. The latter saw themselves as obligated to the holy sites of Palestine, but not to the communities of canons that had taken root in their own countries. In 1486, after his return from the Holy Land, Count Eberhard im Bart of Württemberg was elevated to the rank of miles S. Sepulcri and honored with gifts from the prelates of the male houses of the territory. But one was absent: the prior of the canonry of the Holy Sepulcher in Denkendorf.32 With the fall of Acre, clearly not only the Latin lordship of Outremer had come to an end. There had been such a profound shift in

30 M. Hereswitha, De vrouwenkloosters van het Heilig-Graf in het prinsbisdom Luik vanaf hun ontstaan tot aan de Fransche Revolutie (1480–1789), Universiteit te Leuven. Publ. op het gebied der Geschiedenis en der Philologie iii, 4 (Antwerp-Leuven, 1941); Elm, “Fratres et Sorores” (n. 15), 312–333. 31 Elm, “St. Pelagius in Denkendorf,” (n. 26), 80–82. 32 J.U. Steinhofer, Neue Wirtembergische Chronik (Stuttgart, 1752), 158–162; Elm, “St. Pelagius in Denkendorf” (n. 26), 113.

200 chapter 5 crusading and in veneration of the Holy Sepulcher that the knights and can- ons of the same Sepulcher confronted one another as representatives of two different worlds. Having thus juxtaposed the histories of the canons and the knights of the Holy Sepulcher, one could consider the theme more or less exhausted. But one would then be exposed to the accusation of having offered a contribution not to the history of a knightly order during the crusades, but at best to the afterlife of the Latin church of Jerusalem and to the (occasionally odd) transformations of crusading thought. It must therefore be asked whether already during the crusading era there are discernible at least the beginnings of something one could describe as knighthood, or even a knightly order of the Holy Sepulcher. Such an inquiry is promising, because it speaks to something other than the arguments one typically encounters in the literature on the knights of the Holy Sepulcher—that from the twelfth century they enjoyed privileges similar to the other military orders; that they were endowed by King Alfonso I of Aragon with a third of his kingdom; that they participated in military engagements in Palestine and Spain and like the Hospitalers and Templars could shed blood for the defense of the Holy Land. These arguments, and others quite overlooked by the knights’ advocates (in the high and late middle ages the papal chancel- lery repeatedly nudged the canons in the direction of the knightly order and gave them a military mission in the Holy Land)33 need not be rehearsed here. Insofar as they have any historical foundation at all, they can be quite well reconciled with the canonical character of the Order of the Holy Sepulcher (which not need be proven in detail here). Much more relevant to an affirma- tive answer to our question are those concepts and rubrics that historians of the knights adduce in a certain way as the last and most definitive proof of their thesis. I mean here the formulations found already in the twelfth century in chronicles, charters, letters and legal sources: dedicatus, frater, custos, famu- lus, magister, even miles S. Sepulcri. From these the historians noted here think themselves able to say that all are markers of one and the same circle of people, that is to say the members of the knights of the Holy Sepulcher. Knights in service of the Holy Sepulcher, in servitute S. Sepulcri, appear in both historical as well as literary texts. Four crusaders and Jerusalem pilgrims of the twelfth century emerge from the historical sources as crowning wit- nesses for early service to the Holy Sepulcher: Counts Poppo of Wertheim,

33 Cf. for example: Inn. iii, 8. 3. 1210, Pott. 3929. Inn. iv, 1. 3. 1249, Reg. Vat. an. vi, fol. 32. Clement V., 5. 11. 1313; S. Nakielski, Miechovia sive Promptuarium Antiquitatum Monasterii Miechoviensis (Cracow, 1634), 306–307.

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 201

Adolf iii of Schauenburg, Rudolf of Pfullendorf and Berthold of Neuenburg.34 Upon closer inspection, for the first two nobles there is little more than evi- dence for their participation in a crusade.35 But contemporary sources reveal that the count of Pfullendorf, who set out for the Holy Land in 1180, perpetuali- ter sancti sepulcri servitio dicavit. And the lord of Neuenburg, who became a crusader in 1200, led many nobles by his example perpetuo servicio sancti sep- ulcri se devovere.36 There is at the moment no proof, however, for the tempting conclusion: that the perpetuum servicium of two crusaders who died in the Holy Land was part of a lasting institutional tie to the church or the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher.37 A recent new edition of a letter from the Count of Pfullendorf to the procurator of San Marco in Venice, on the contrary, gives the impression that he felt himself more strongly bound to the Hospital than to the Holy Sepulcher.38 In the literary realm the results are somewhat more favor- able. Here we have two Middle High German poems, the knightly lais “Orendel” and “Peter of Staufenberg,” whose heroes (Master Ise and the knight Egenolf) are made knights or herzogen zuo dem heiligen grab in Jerusalem.39 The textual transmission of the two works, which have recently been dated to somewhere between the end of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth century, is not well enough researched40 to be able to say with certainty whether we have

34 Hermens, Orden (n. 5), 21. 35 J. Aschbach, Geschichte der Grafen von Wertheim von den ältesten Zeiten bis zu ihrem Erlöschen im Mannesstamme im Jahre 1556 (Frankfurt, 1843) I, 63–69; ii, 17–18; D. Rüdebusch, Der Anteil Niedersachsens an den Kreuzzügen und Heidenfahrten, Quellen und Darstellungen zur Geschichte Niedersachsens 80 (Hildesheim, 1972), 20. 36 C. Henking (ed.), “Die annalistischen Aufzeichnungen des Klosters St Gallen,” Mitt. z. Vaterländ. Gesch. St. Gallen 19 (1884), 323–324; H. Bloch (ed.), Annales Marbacenses, ss rer. germ. (Hannover-Leipzig, 1907), 75–76. 37 On Rudolf von Pfullendorf: K. Schmid, Graf Rudolf von Pfullendorf und Kaiser Friedrich I, Forschungen z. Oberrhein. Landesgesch. I (Freiburg, 1954). On Bertholdus comes de Nuwenpurch (according to the information of Dr Tfl. Zotz, Göttingen, Nimburg in the Kaiserstuhl rather than the Zähringer foundation at Neuenburg, as Bloch, 76, assumes): L. Werkmann, “Die Grafen von Nimburg im Breisgau. Mit einem Nachtrag von Dr J. Bader,” fda 10 (1876), 71–96. H. Ott, “Das Urbar als Quelle für die Wüstungsforschung. Dargestellt an Beispielen aus dem Oberrheingebiet,” zgo 116 (1968), 13–19. 38 M.-L. Favreau, “Zur Pilgerfahrt des Grafen Rudolf von Pfullendorf. Ein unbeachteter Originalbrief aus dem Jahre 1180,” zgo 123 (1975), 31–45. 39 H. Steinger (ed.), Orendel, Altdeutsche Textbibliothek 36 (Halle 1935), verses 2277–2280; A. Ebenbauer—E. Schröeder, Zwei Altdeutsche Rittermaeren: Moriz von Craon, Peter von Staufenberg, 4th ed. (Berlin, 1929), verses 346–350. 40 E. Teubner, “Die Datierungsfrage des mittelhochdeutschen Orendelepos,” (Diss. Göttingen, 1954); O. Dinges, “Peter von Staufenberg” (Diss. Münster, 1948); M. Curschmann,

202 chapter 5 here early witnesses for the custom of knighting at the Holy Sepulcher, or whether the passages must be taken as an anticipation of a later custom, one firmly established only in the fourteenth century.41 But when one recalls that in the twelfth century dubbing occurred in the Holy Land as much as in France and Germany,42 it is not difficult to imagine such ceremonies taking place in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, perhaps even in the Monumentum itself. Even for the associations of crusaders and pilgrims under the patronage of the Holy Sepulcher that Cramer first dated to the later middle ages there can be found precursors dating to the time of the crusades. There was in Jerusalem— probably already before 1187—a Fraternitas whose seal is so consciously adorned with the patriarch’s cross that one can hardly rule out a tie to the Holy Sepulcher and its clergy.43 In the fourth decade of the twelfth century William iii, Earl of Warren marked the occasion of the founding of the priory of the Holy Sepulcher in Thetford, Norfolk. He did so with reference to his fratres palmiferi,44 who had ties to the Holy Sepulcher. And in Cambridge two decades

“Spielmannsepik.” Wege und Ergebnisse der Forschung von 1907–1965. Mit Ergänzungen und Nachträgen bis 1967 (Stuttgart, 1968). Cf. also: V. Meves, “Das Gedicht vom ‘Grauen Rock’ (Orendel) und die Trierer Reliquientradition,” Kurtrierisches Jahrbuch 15 (1975), 5–19. 41 So Cramer, Ritterschlag (n. 4), 148–154. 42 Fulcher of Chartres, iii, 31, 726–727. Cf. also 409, n. 4, 495, n. 9; Van Winter (n. 7), 66. Further examples of elevation to knighthood in Palestine during the twelfth and thir- teenth centuries: J. Riley-Smith, The Feudal Nobility and the Kingdom of Jerusalem, 1174– 1277 (London, 1973), 11. For the various ways of knighting cf. along with the literature cited in n. 7: W. Erben, “Schwertleite und Ritterschlag,” Zeitschrift für historische Waffenkunde 8 (1918–20), 105–176; F. Pietzner, Schwertleite und Ritterschlag (Heidelberg, 1934); E.H. Massmann, Schwertleite und Ritterschlag aufgrund der mittelhochdeutschen liter- arischen Quellen (Hamburg, 1932); R.W. Ackerman, “The Knighting Ceremonies in the Middle English Romances,” Speculum 29 (1944), 285–313. 43 S. De Sandoli, Corpus Inscriptionum Crucesignatorum Terrae Sanctae (1099–1291). Testo, traduzione e annotazioni. Pubbl. dello Studium Biblicum Franciscanum 21 (Jerusalem, 1974), 331. Not treated in the discussion of the confraternities of Palestine in the crusading era: J. Richard, “La Confrèrie des Mosserins d’ Acre et les marchands de Mossul au xiiie siècle,” L’Orient Syrien 11 (1966), 451–460; J. Prawer, Estates, Communities and the Constitution of the Latin Kingdom, The Israel Acad. of Sciences and Humanities. Proc. ii, 6 (Jerusalem, 1969); H.E. Mayer, “Zwei Kommunen in Akkon?,” da 26 (1970), 434–453; J. Riley-Smith, “A Note on Confraternities in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem,” Bull. of the Inst. of Hist. Research 44 (1971), 301–308; J. Richard, “La confrèrie de la croisade: à propos d’un épisode de la première croisade,” in: Études de Civilisation Médiévale (IXe–XIIe siè- cles). Mélanges E.-R. Labande (Poitiers, n.d.), 617–622. 44 British Library, London, ms Add. Ch. 17,245. On this matter; F. Blomfield, The History of the Ancient City and Burgh of Thetford (Farsfield, 1739), 120–128; W. Page (ed.), The Victoria History of the County of Norfolk ii (London, 1906), 391–393.

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 203 before, a Fraternitas S. Sepulcri—possibly also an association of Jerusalem pilgrims—took part in the founding of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher there.44a The designation fratres appears frequently in the surviving documentation of the chapter, along with related formulations like confratres or confratrisse S. sepulcri.45 In the juxtapositions canonici et fratres as well as fratres et sorores such formulations appear almost stereotypical.46 But upon closer investigation it becomes clear that they designate a full range of forms of spiritual asso- ciation that the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher (along with so many other monastic and canonical institutions in Palestine and Syria) had shaped from Western traditions and made at home in Outremer.47 Fratres S. Sepulcri are the conversi, who were more or less fully integrated into the community of full- fledged canons.48 Fratres S. Sepulcri are also the oblates, male and female, who in return for certain advance payments received provision from the canons, intus et extra monasterium, with victus et vestitus.49 King Baldwin ii was also a frater, who as perhaps the most distinguished frater ad succurendum took the habit of a canon shortly before his death, and thereby gained access to all of the spiritual graces and intercession that were available to the professed canons.50 But above all the designation fratres encompassed the many faithful Christians—crusading princes, European rulers, nobles from both sides of the Mediterranean, individual clerics and clerical institutions, as well as men and women of non-noble status—all of whom were taken up as confratres or

44a W.H. Hart and P.A. Lyons, Cartularium Monasterii de Rameseia I, Rolls Series 79 (London, 1884), 145–146. 45 Discussed thoroughly in Elm, “Fratres et Sorores” (n. 15). 46 Rozière (n. 16), 2. 47 Cf. for example: H.F. Delaborde (ed.), Chartes de Terre Sainte provenant de l’abbaye de N.-D. de Josaphat, Bibl. des Écoles franç. d’Athenes et de Rome 19 (Paris, 1889), 23, 26–27, 47–49, 84–85, 92–94; A. de Marsy, “Fragment d’un Cartulaire de l’Ordre de Saint Lazare en Terre Sainte,” Archives de l’Orient latin 2 (1884), 131, 39, 47; E. Magnou, “Oblature, classe chevaleresque et servage dans les maisons mèridionales du Temple au XIIe siècle,” Annales du Midi 73 (1961), 377–397; B. Waldstein-Wartenberg, “Donaten—Confratres— Pfründner. Die Bruderschaften des Ordens,” Annales de l’osm de Malte 31 (1973), 9–19. 48 Regulations for conversi, among others, in: ms vat. Barb. Lat. 659, fol. 12v; Kohler (n. 17), 338, 402, 413 and a collection based on an earlier recension, the Statuta canonicorum regu- larium Ordinis ss. Sepulcri monasterii Sanctae Crucis (Lüttich, 1742). 49 Among others, Rozière (n. 16), 162–163; España Sagrada 49 (Madrid, 1865), 378, 395; Ibid., 50 (Madrid, 1886), 142, 426, 429. 50 William of Tyre, xiii, 28, 602. Cf. also: H.E. Mayer, “Das Pontifikale von Tyrus und die Krönung der lateinischen Könige von Jerusalem. Zugleich ein Beitrag zur Forschung über Herrschaftzeichen und Staatssymbolik,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 21 (1967), 185–186; Elm, “Fratres et Sorores” (n. 15), 301–302.

204 chapter 5 concanonici into the canons’ community of prayer and spiritual merit, and who as such enjoyed a range of precisely defined spiritual privileges, but who were also bound to certain obligations to the chapter.51 These kinds of spiritual confraternities, in the West and in the Holy Land alike, were not intended from the outset to facilitate the formation of sharply defined communities. But in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries we can discern in the West organized confraternities or confratrias of the Holy Sepulcher that were closely tied to the chapter, and in fact in a few cases were under the direct leadership of one of its members. Their core duty was to work for the support of the canons.52 Along with the designation fratres, one also finds very early on the formulation custodes S. Sepulcri. As in the case of the fratres, here the overwhelming number of these references can easily be traced back to their original meaning. They are ref- erences to none other than the patriarch and canons, who were given the title custos or custodes S. Sepulcri, and who were thereby clothed in language found in both the Psalms and the New Testament. The designation in fact so strongly reflected the self-understanding of the canons as custodians and guardians of the Holy Sepulcher that they articulated it again and again, and in fact no later than the end of the middle ages they let it become a kind of name for their order.53 But evidence from the first half of the twelfth century also reveals a much more spe- cific meaning for this concept. Custodes, according to John of Würzburg and the report of Theodoricus, are also those guardians and caretakers who reside in the antechamber of the Monumentum, who open and close the doors of the church day after day, and who keep order firmly—perhaps even with weapon in hand, but in any case acerrime—amid the throng of pilgrims.54 We do not know how these custodes were organized; we do not know whether they carried weapons; nor do

51 For example Rozière (n. 16), 92, 110, 115, 128, 311; España Sagrada 20 (Madrid, 1765), 309, 50, 436; H. Appelt (ed.), Schlesisches Urkundenbuch I (Cologne-Vienna, 1963), 43ff. 52 E. Dittrich, “Beiträge zur Geschichte der Kreuzherren mit dem doppelten roten Kreuz in Neiße,” Jahresber. d. Neißer Kunst- u. Altertumsvereins 18 (1914), 32; E.O. Baile, Los Hermanos del Santo Sepulcro de Jerusalen en Zaragoza (Saragosa, 1964). 53 Cf. for example Rozière (n. 16), 44–47 and the numerous witnesses in S. Nakielski, De sacra antiquitate et statu Ordinis Canonicorum Custodum Sacrosancti Sepulcri Hierosolymitani (Cracow, 1625). On the adoption of the designation by the Franciscans in the Holy Land see now among others C. Brelek, De Custode Terrae Sanctae in legislatione Ordinis Fratrum Minorum (Jerusalem, 1958); A. Arce, “De Origine Custodiae Terrae Sanctae,” in: Miscelanea de Terra Santa iii, Ex Archivis Custodiae Terrae Sanctae 9 (Jerusalem, 1974), 75–139. 54 R. Röhricht, Beiträge zur Geschichte der Kreuzzüge (Berlin, 1874), 193; T. Tobler (ed.), Descriptiones Terrae Sanctae ex saeculo viii., ix., xii. et xv. (Leipzig, 1874), 147–148; M.-L. and W. Bulst (ed.), Theodoricus: Libellus de Locis Sanctis, Editiones Heiclelbergenses 18 (Heidelberg, 1976), 12–13.

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 205 we know whether it is they who appear in the chronicles of the First Crusade, where there is occasional discussion of how the holy sites of Jerusalem were left in tuitio and defensio.55 We know only that they had predecessors in their office, vis- ible as far back as the sixth century: the fragelites of Cyrill of Scythopolis and the custodes of the Commemoratorium,56 who according to recent Greek Orthodox scholarship may have been organized as spudaei in their own fraternitates.57 We now turn to a third cluster of relationships, to the clientes or famuli S. Sepulcri and the magister who was placed over them.58 Here we come closer than with the custodes to the concept of an active laity in service to the ­patriarch and the chapter.59 They were burgenses, non-nobles of Frankish descent who held property—by whatever right—of the chapter.60 Over them was a magister clientium, a figure who was not a master in the mold of the mili- tary orders, but rather a canon of the Church of the Sepulcher who in certain cases allowed himself to be represented through a dispensator.61 The clientes, at least those of Magna Mahumeria62 (located between Jerusalem and Nablus and tied to the chapter), swore a kind of oath of fidelity through which they obli- gated themselves explicitly to the canons ad custodiendum et manutenendum vitam et membra eorum.62a The oath suggests that this circle may have been the

55 Albert of Aachen, vi, 41, 491, xi, 28, 676; Ekkehard of Aura, Hierosolymita, xvii, 3 (ed. H. Hagenmeyer, Tübingen, 1877), 175; Quarti (n. 1), 551–555. These and other comparable passages refer to the Cavalieri del Santo Sepolcro. 56 J.B. Cotelier, (ed.), Ecclesiae graecae monumenta iii (Paris, 1686), 278; E. Schwartz, Kyrillos von Skythopolis (Leipzig, 1939), 48. Similar formulations also in Eusebius (Hist. Eccl., mpg 20, c. 542) and John Moschus (Pratrum Spirituale, mpg 87, c. 2903); T. Tobler—A. Moliner, Itinera Hierosolymitana et descriptiones Terrae Sanctae I, Publ. de la Soc. de l’Orient Latin. Sér. géogr. I (Paris, 1879), 301. 57 T.P. Themelis, “Les Grecs aux Lieux Saints,” Nea Sion 15 (1920), 403; S. Petrides, “Spudaei et Philopones,” Echos d’Orient 7 (1904), 341. 58 Rozière (n. 16), 238–244, 249–250. 59 J. Prawer, “Colonization Activities in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem,” Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire 29 (1951), 1063–1118; Elm, “Fratres et Sorores,” (n. 15), 298–300. 60 J. Prawer, “Étude preliminaire sur les sources et la composition du ‘Livre des Assises de Bourgeois’,” Revue hist. de droit franç. et étranger 32 (1954), 218–227; Riley-Smith, The Feudal Nobility (n. 42), 49. 61 Rozière, ibid., 249. Riley-Smith, ibid., 49. 62 Cf. along with Prawer, “Colonization Activities,” 1090ff. Also F.M. Abel, “Les deux ‘Mahomerie’ El-Bireh, El-Quobeibeh,” Revue Biblique 35 (1926), 272–283; G. Beyer, “Die Kreuzfahrergebiete von Jerusalem und Hebron,” Zeitsch. d. Dtsch. Palästinavereins 65 (1942), 165–211. 62a Rozière, 243: “juro fidelitatem Deo et Sanctissimo Sepulcro et Conventui eiusdem Sanctissimi Sepulcri ad custodiendum et manutenendum vitam et membra eorum et honorem eorum et omnia, que ad Sanctum Sepulcrum et ad praedictum conventum pertinent, salva fidelitate regis Jerusalem.”

206 chapter 5 population from which were recruited at least a part of the strong contingent of 500 sergenz63 that the chapter and the patriarch were able to offer to the king in the 1180s, when a grand besoin, a great emergency, compelled the force to be called together.64 The summons calls to mind so many militiae eccle- siarum, with which German and French prelates rendered military service to their lords in the early and high middle ages.65 And if the clientes S. Sepulcri who had become foot soldiers were such—as was occasionally the case in Mahumeria—that they had transferred their property to the chapter and had, as oblates, become confratres of the canons, then for a moment our thoughts are turned to that connection between military service and spiritual obligation that was so characteristic of the military orders. Thanks to the Livre of Jean d’Ibelin we can speak with a certain degree of precision about the role of the patriarch and the chapter in the defense of the land in the decade before the capture of Jerusalem. The years immediately after the capture of the city, however, remain somewhat in the dark.66 Yet for

63 J. Prawer, The Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. European Colonialism in the Middle Ages (London, 1972), 163. 64 M. Le Comte Beugnot (ed.), Assises de Jerusalem I: Assises de la Haute Cour, rhc Lois I (Paris 1841), 416. On the dating of the lists of aides que les yglises et les borgeis deivent, quant le gran besoin est en la terre dou reiaume de Jerusalem, according to which the ­patriarch and the chapter had to provide five hundred sergenz each: J.L. La Monte, “Three Questions Concerning the Assises de Jerusalem,” Byzantia Metabyzantina 1 (1946), 207– 208; J. Richard, “Les listes de seigneuries dans ‘Le Livre de Jean d’Ibelin’,” Revue hist. de droit franç. et étranger (1954), 565–577. 65 E.N. Johnson, The Secular Activities of the German Episcopate (Lincoln, 1932); L. Auer, “Der Kriegsdienst des Klerus unter den sächsischen Kaisern,” miög 79 (1971), 316–407; 80 (1972), 48–70; F. Prinz, Klerus und Krieg im früheren Mittelalter. Untersuchungen zur Rolle der Kirche beim Aufbau der Königsherrschaft, Monographien zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 2 (Stuttgart, 1971); P. Van Luyn, “Les milites dans la France du XIe siècle,” Le Moyen Âge 77 (1971), 5–52, 193–238; J. Johrendt, “‘Milites’ und ‘Militia’ im 11. Jahrhundert. Untersuchungen zur Frühgeschichte des Rittertums in Frankreich und Deutschland” (Diss. Erlangen–Nuremberg, 1971); idem, “‘Milites’ und ‘Militia’ im 11. Jahrhundert in Deutschland,” in: Das Rittertum im Mittelalter, Wege der Forschung 349 (Darmstadt, 1976), 419–436. On a particular form of the militia ecclesiae see: R. Schneider, “Garciones oder pueri abbatum. Zum Problem bewaffneter Dienstleute bei den Zisterziensern,” in: Zisterzienser-Studien 1 (1975), 11–35. 66 On the difficulty of recruiting knights, and the often unclear legal foundations for the patriarch’s summons, see along with the literature cited in n. 64, among others: R.C. Smail, Crusading Warfare (1097–1193) (Cambridge, 1956), 23, 88, 94–95; C. Cahen, “La féodalité et les institutions politiques de l’Orient latin,” in: Accademia Nazionale dei

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 207 all of the difficulty in assessing a circumstance that was at that time still very much in flux, we can be certain that the patriarch and chapter were never more fully engaged in the armed defense of the kingdom than under Godfrey and Baldwin I. If one can believe Albert of Aachen it was not only the milites et pedites67 who were supported—nolens volens—with stipendia and donativa from offerings to the Holy Sepulcher, but also clerici fortiores and clerici cum equis, who in emergencies like the battle of Ramla closed the faltering ranks of the crusaders (and thereby expanded the number of combinations of military and spiritual duties).68 When one then considers that the patriarch or the prior, in this and in other battles, surrounded by milites loricati, carried before the army the True Cross as the banner of the kingdom,69 it is easy to recognize that such images not only confirmed young knights in their vision of their community as a military order, but also served them as an argument for rank- ing it above even the Templars and the Hospitalers.70 A fresh look at the sources has yielded essentially no new insights—various forms of military service for the Holy Sepulcher here, a variety of religious ties to patriarch and chapter there, but in any case only the beginnings of what makes for the essence of a military order, and nothing that would compel us to retreat from the claim made at the outset: That there was never a military order of the Holy Sepulcher comparable to the Templars, the Hospitalers or the Teutonic Knights. Yet the analysis of the range of meanings associated with the phrase milites S. Sepulcri, though founded on only a few examples, has not been entirely in vain. Of a certain necessity it raises the question of why the

Lincei. Fondazione Alessandro Volta. Atti dei convegni 12 (1957), 173–174; J. Prawer, “La noblesse et le regime féodal du royaume latin de Jérusalem,” Le Moyen Âge 65 (1969), 20–35; P.W. Edbury, “Feudal Obligation in the Latin East,” Byzantion 47 (1977), 35–53. 67 Albert of Aachen, V, 53, vii, 58–63, 499–548. Cf. also die “Epistula Dagoberti Patriarchae Hierosolymitani ad omnes Teutonicae regionis Catholicos,” in: H. Hagenmeyer, Die Kreuzzugs briefe aus den Jahren 1088–1100 (Innsbruck, 1901), 177. 68 Albert of Aachen, vii, 57, 545; Gesta Francorum (ed. R. Hul), 93; Balderic of Dol, Historia Jerosolimitana, xviii, rhc Hist. oc. iv, 107 (Note 8). Similarly also Mayer, Bistumer, Klöster und Stifte (n. 18), 10. Cf. the critique of William of Tyre against the military actions of the canons (xxii, 16, 1095). 69 Albert of Aachen, vi, 44; vii, 66–70, 493, 550–552; Petrus Tudebodus, Historia Herosolimitana, rhc Hist. occ. iii, 113. The Gerhardus mentioned by Albert of Aachen (550) may be a reference to the prior of the chapter and the former abbot of Schaffhausen. See Elm, “St. Pelagius in Denkendorf” (n. 26), 89–90. 70 Quarti (n. 1), 306ff.

208 chapter 5 patriarch and the chapter did not avail themselves of the available and indeed compelling possibilities before them, and still more why they left to other insti- tutions those functions that were so crucial in the Holy Land: the work of the hospitals that was such a part of the tradition of the canonical orders; the armed protection of pilgrims that had become necessary in the face of the Muslim threat; the outfitting of their own militia as a contribution to the defense of the kingdom. The question becomes all the more pressing when one recalls that contemporaries demanded that the patriarch and his church take over all or certain parts of these various duties—not only at the court of King Roger of Sicily or in Puysubran (Pexiora) in southern France, but in Jerusalem itself.71 According to Albert of Aachen, in 1101 Baldwin I emphati- cally made the case that the patriarch could not dispose of the lavish donations of the faithful only for himself and the clergy of the Church of the Sepulcher; rather, he had the duty ut ex oblationibus Fidelium milites procuraret ac reti- neret in conventione solidorum qui Paganorum viribus repugnantes, Peregrinos et universam Ecclesiam ab eorum insidiis et assultibus protegerent.72 Indeed one would not err in the assumption that the king wanted more from the patriarch than merely temporary support or the armed protection of pilgrims. Some evi- dence also speaks for the possibility that he expected from the spiritual head of Jerusalem (who governed at least a quarter of the city as something like a civic overlord)73 the provision of a military contingent—just as he did from the other signeurs of his kingdom, among them the spiritual lordships of Ramla and Nazareth. Why the patriarch and chapter did not comply, whether they even considered it a possibility, or even had the chance to field a kind of militia ecclesiae and to take charge of both the work of the hospital and the protection of pilgrims, thereby moving along the path toward an ordo hospi- talis or militaris S. Sepulcri—these are questions one can only approach if one inquires into their relationships with those institutions that actually took up the tasks enumerated here: the Templars and Hospitalers. With regard to the Templars and their relationship to the Holy Sepulcher, J. Leclercq has formulated the notion that they were nothing other “than a sort of third order attached to the canons regular of the Holy Sepulcher in

71 Albert of Aachen, vii, 62, 548; J. Delaville le Roulx, Cartulaire genéral de l’Ordre des Hospitaliers de Saint-Jean de Jérusalem (Paris, 1894–99) I, 10. 72 Albert of Aachen, vii, 58, 545. 73 On the “Christian quarter” in Jerusalem and its legal status cf. among others J. Prawer, “The Settlement of the Latins in Jerusalem,” Speculum 27 (1952), 490–550; idem, The Latin Kingdom (n. 63), 161; Mayer, Bistümer, Klöster und Stifte (n. 18), 8–11.

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 209

Jerusalem.”74 The concept of a “third order” is certainly not entirely fitting here, but it does serve like no other to make clear the close bonds that existed between the Templars, the patriarch and the canons. The legal character of these designations, their obligation to obedience to the patriarch (later abol- ished through the exemptions of Innocent ii) and the nature of their spiritual orientation (an adaptation of the mos canonicorum regularium)75 have been explored repeatedly in the literature of the Templars. But they have not yet been as carefully researched as the circumstance requires.76 The legal relation- ships can be more fully appreciated when one considers how far-reaching the authority of the patriarch as bishop was over non-exempt orders and houses, and especially over a new foundation seeking adequate organization and legal approval.77 The nature of their spiritual formation becomes more clear when

74 J. Leclerq, “Un document sur les débuts des Templiers,” rhr 52 (1957), 85. Similar formula- tions in C.H. Dereine (Le Moyen Âge 59, 1953, 197 and dhge, xii, c. 370). 75 William of Tyre, xii, 7, 520; James of Vitry, Historia Orientalis (Douai, 1557) 115–120; L. De mas Latrie, (ed.), Chronique d’Ernoul et de Bernard le Trésorier (Paris, 1871), 7: “Et estoient obéissant au prieus dou Sepucre (!)…le prieus dou Sepucre qu’ il les quita de l’obedience.” 76 From the rich literature on the history of the Templars (H. Neu, Bibliographie des Templerordens 1927–65, Bonn, 1965) can be mentioned in this connection: F. Wilcke, Geschichte des Ordens der Tempelherren, 2nd ed. (Halle, 1860); H. Prutz, Entwicklung und Untergang des Tempelherrenordens (Berlin, 1888); G. Schnürer, “Zur ersten Organisation der Templer,” Historisches Jahrbuch 32 (1911), 298–314, 11–46; V. Carrière, “Les débuts de l’Ordre du Temple en France,” Le Moyen Âge 17 (1914), 308–335; F. Lundgreen, “Zur Geschichte des Templerordens,” miög 35 (1914), 670–687. M. Melville, La vie des Templiers, La Suite des Temps 24, 8th ed. (Paris, 1951), l–23; G. De Valous, “Quelques observations sour la toute primitive observance des Templiers et la Regula pauperum Commilitionum Christi Templi Salomonici, rédigée par saint Bernard au conci!e de Troyes (1128),” in: Mélanges Saint Bernard. XXIVe Congrès de l’Association Bourguignonne des Sociétés Savantes Dijon 1953 (Dijon, n.d.), 32–40; P. Cousin, “Les débuts del’Ordre des Templiers et Saint Bernard,” ibid., 41–52; H.E. Mayer, “Zum Itinerarium Peregrinorum. Eine Erwiderung,” da (1964), 210–221; M. Barber, “The Origins of the Order of the Temple,” Studia Monastica 12 (1970), 219–240. M.-L. Bulst-Thiele, Sacrae Domus Militiae Templi Hierosolymitani Magistri. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Templerordens 1118/19–1314, Abh. d. Akad. d. Wissenschaften in Göttingen. Phil. hist. Kl. iii, 86 (Göttingen, 1974). 77 On the terminology and the process of approval in broad outline: L. Prosdocimi, “A proposito della terminologia e della natura giuridica delle norme monastiche e canoni- cale nei secoli xi e xii,” in: Raccolta di Scritti in onore di Arturo Carlo Jemolo (Milan, 1970) I, 2, 1067–1076; M. Maccarone, “Le approvazioni di nuove congregazioni religiose,” in: Studi su Innocenzo iii, Italia Sacra 17 (Padua, 1972), 278–300. The approval of the Carmelites and their rule allow inferences regarding the process typical for the end of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth century in the Holy Land: Ambrosius a

210 chapter 5 one reads the most important text, the Regula pauperum commilitionum Christi, not only in light of the elements of the Benedictine and Augustinian rules that appear there, but also in light of the degree to which it reflects the mos canonicorum regularium, that is the Consuetudines of the Canons of the Holy Sepulcher and the Canons of the Temple, who were closely associated with them. Such readings reveal that the uniqueness of their liturgy, the nature of their memorials for the dead, rules for prayer and fasting, their profession ritual, their clothing and possibly even the cross of the order are understand- able if one sees them not exclusively as the creation of Hugh of Payns, or the council fathers of Troyes, but rather as recommendations or prescriptions of those prelates and canons78 who in 1099 played a decisive role in shaping the life of the church in Palestine, and who by 1114 at the latest, in the wake of the reform of the chapter and Church of the Holy Sepulcher, gave the church of Jerusalem a constitution appropriate to its rank and worth.79 Not only William of Tyre and the Chronique d’Enroul,80 but also the patriarch and the chapter make clear that they were not content merely to be occasional supporters of the societas pauperum commilitonum Christi but rather played a considerable role in their actual foundation. In 1137/38, in the presence of the patriarch, the Grand Master of the Templars, the prior of Church of the Holy Sepulcher and other prelates of the holy city, it was made clear that the charging of the milites Templi with the defensio terre Jerusalem and the cus- todia peregrinorum had been done divina providentia patriarche, Warmundi,

S. Teresia, “Untersuchungen über die Karmeliter-Regel. Verfasser. Abfassungszeit, Quellen und Bestätigung,” Ephemerides Carmeliticae 2 (1948), 17–45; C. Cicconetti, La Regola del Carmelo. Origine—Natura—Significato, Textus et Studia Historica Carmelitana xii (Rome, 1973). The author hopes to explore the problem noted here at greater length at another time. 78 The works cited in n. 76 stress the influence of the Rule of Benedict (Prutz, 2, 7; Schnürer, 311 (modified); Lundgreen, 678.; Bulst-Thiele, 22; J. Leclercq, “La spiritualité des chanoines réguliers,” (Discussion), in: La vita comune del clero nei secoli XI e XII, Pubbl. dell’Università Catt. del S. Cuore iii, Sc. Stor. 2, 1 = Miscellanea del Centro di Studi Medioevali iii (Milan, 1962 I, 137) or the Rule of Augustine (Wilke, 342, 353; Melville, 20; Mahr, “Zum Itinerarium,” 215; Barber, 224), while De Valous relates the original form of life of the Templars in a general way with the “fonds commun dans lequel ont puisé tous les fondateurs d’ordre” (28). The author hopes soon to be able to undertake an investigation of the relationship of the modus et observantia equestris ordinis of Hugh of Payns established in 1128 in Troyes and the Consuetudines followed by the Canons of the Holy Sepulcher in the first quarter of the twelfth century (cf. n. 17, 21). 79 See n. 16. 80 William of Tyre, xii, 7, 520; Bulst-Thiele, Sacrae Domus (n. 76) 5.21. Cf. n. 75.

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 211 baronumque consilio.81 The Templars themselves, but especially Innocent ii (the pope who had charged them with the service of the church as a whole) saw the matter otherwise. For them the establishment of the order went back to Hugh of Payns, the Lord and his earthly representatives.82 But the patriarch’s claim still does not seem hard to believe. In the immediate aftermath of the conquest of the city, the patriarch and the canons had much to do with caring for the crusaders and regulating pilgrim traffic, and the complaints of their contemporaries regarding the dangers to unarmed pilgrims must have been known to them.83 The idea of deploying knights who were ready to serve the Holy Sepulcher to protect the unarmed thus need not be attributed to them alone—especially since the same kind of thing had already been practiced in their homeland.84 In other words, the mission of sending so many unoccupied, loitering foreign knights—so the Chronique d’Enroul and Bernard le Trésorier described the situation85—lay right at hand. One thing, admittedly, is also for certain: if patriarch and chapter took on a stronger role than before in the ­formation of the Templar community, that does not mean that the military order necessarily developed in a way that corresponded to the outsiders’ original vision. In a Sermo ad milites Templi (attributed by J. Leclercq to the first

81 D’Albon (ed.), Cartulaire général de l’Ordre du Temple 1119?–1150 (Paris, 1913) I, 99. Similarly William of Tyre, xii, 7, 521. 82 Innocent ii (March 29, 1139), Omne datum optimum, R. Hiestand (ed.), Papsturkunden für Templer und Johanniter. Archivberichte und Texte. Vorarbeiten zum Oriens Pontificius 1., Abh. d. Akad. d. Wissenschaften in Göttingen. Phil. Hist. ki. iii, 77 (Göttingen, 1972), 205–210, 212. 83 Albert of Aachen, xii, 24, 33, 595–596, 712–713; “Vie et pèlerinage de Daniel Hegoumene Russe (1106–1107),” in: Itinéraires Russes en Orient traduits pour la Société de l’Orient Latin par Mme. B. de Hirowo I, 1 (Paris, 1889) 5, 10, 26. España Sagrada 20: 309–312; J. Richard, “Quelques textes sur les premiers temps de l’ église latine de Jérusalem,” in: Recueil de travaux offert à M. Clovis Brunel (Paris, 1955) ii, 427–428. In this sense also: Barber (n. 76), 225. 84 According to the Chronicon Affligemense (ed. V. Coosemans—C. Coosens, “De eerste kro- niek van Afflighem,” Affligmensia 4 (1947), 13–26) the Brabantine abbey of Afflighem had its origins in a group of knights who, probably at the suggestion of Archbishop Sigewin of Cologne (1078–89), did penance in a “locus solis latronum conventiculum et conspira- tionibus aptus” and who then took charge of security and hospitality for pilgrims on a nearby “highway”: Ch. Dereine, “La spiritualité apostolique des premiers fondateurs d’Afflighem (1083–1100),” rhe 54 (1959), 41–65; H. Grundmann, “Adelsbekehrungen im Mittelalter. Conversi et nutriti im Kloster,” in: Adel und Kirche. Gerd Tellenbach zum 65. Geburtstag (Freiburg—Basel—Vienna, 1968); Here: H. Grundmann, Gesammelte Aufsätze 1, Schriften der mgh 25, 1 (Stuttgart, 1978), 136–141. 85 Cf. n. 75.

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Grand Master of the Temple)86 there is talk of the difficulties and the trials that threatened the unity and the existence of the young community: doubt about the legitimacy of their profession (propositum) and their community (socie- tas); wondering aloud whether it might be better to join a more worthy order, an ordo alcior; and finally the desire to be equal to those who took them into service, but who had denied them partitio fraternitatis and participation in the solutiones and orationes that the faithful had offered from around the world.87 Leclercq left open who the temptatores might have been, those who sought to win doubters of the new profession over to traditional religious life and accep- tance into their fraternitas. One would certainly not go wrong in assuming that the patriarch and the Canons of the holy city were among their number. To resist following a new and unproven propositum, to resist grounding what canon law viewed as an ill-defined societas, and to enter instead one of the old ordines instead88 can be found at the beginning of the twelfth century at the latest among the repertory of arguments of the popes and bishops. In was in a certain sense their lead argument, in fact, when faced with the task of approv- ing new religious communities or of integrating groups that walked the border between orthodoxy and heresy89—for which the best example, of course, is the recognition of the Franciscan order.90 Nor was it unusual in the twelfth century to try to contain brotherhoods striving for independence within restricted spheres of influence by offering them the opportunity to incorporate—an illustration here might be the decades-long conflict between the spiritual

86 On the date of composition and authorship cf. along with Leclercq (n. 74): C. Schaffert, “Lettre inédite de Hughes de Saint-Victor aux chevaliers du Templre,” Revue d’ascétique et de mystique 34 (1958), 275–299. 87 Similar reflections in: Guigo Carthusiensis, Epistola ad Hugonem s. militiae priorem, mpl 153, c. 598–599; Ivo of Chartres, Epistola ccxlv, mpl 162, c. 251–253; Anselm v. Havelberg, Dial., mpl 188, c. 1156. 88 Astonishment and wonder at the Novitas of the Templars are discernible in, among other places, the Policraticus of John of Salisbury (ed. C.C.I. Webb, Oxford, 1909, ii, 190–199), in the letters of Peter (ed. G. Constable, Cambridge, ma 1967, I, 407–409) and in De nugis curialium of Walter Map (ed. Th. Wright, London, 1850, 29–31). 89 H. Grundmann, Religiöse Bewegungen im Mittelalter (3rd ed. Darmstadt, 1970). For consid- erations from canon law: G. Schreiber, Kurie und Kloster im 12. Jahrhundert,Kirchenrechtl. Abh. 65–68 (Stuttgart, 1910), which unfortunately does not consider the military orders. 90 Most recently K.-V. Selge, “Franz von Assisi und die römische Kurie,” Zeitschrift f. Theologie u. Kirche 67 (1970), 129–161; M. Maccarone, “L’approvizazione di S. Francesco” (n. 77), 300–306; K. Elm, “Die Entwicklung des Franziskanerordens zwischen dem ersten und letzten Zeugnis des Jakob von Vitry,” in: Francesco d’Assisi e Francescanesimo dal 1216 al 1226. Soc. Int. di Studi Franc. Atti. del iv Convegno Int. Assisi, 15–17 Ottobre, 1976 (Assisi, 1977), 195–233.

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 213 confraternity of the Antonines and the Benedictine priory of Saint-Antoine of La-Motte-aux-Bois.91 In Jerusalem the patriarch and canons would thus have been the exception, in fact, had they not responded with these or similar means to the Nova militia striving for independence in their midst! What is difficult to discern in the Sermo ad milites Templi emerges forcefully in the revision, in 1128, of the modus et observantia equestris ordinis: the effort of the patriarch to shape the order according to his vision, or at least to play a role in its future development. The changes that Patriarch Steven made to the regula pauperum commilitionum as it was presented to him by the Council in Troyes in 1128 make this clear. They allow us to see that Steven certainly had an idea of what the order should be:92 He was persuaded less by a universally oriented order than by an ecclesiastical and political conception (itself shaped by the vision of Daimbert of Pisa) of a community limited to his diocese, and subject to him as the appropriate Ordinarius—who along with his clerics would be responsible for their spiritual guidance, and who would have direct influence on their discipline. And indeed one can go further. The strong emphasis on foreign knights allows the conclusion that the patriarch envi- sioned not a closed military contingent, but rather a small cadré whose func- tion it would be to organize so many crusaders ready for service in the Holy Land as milites ad terminum, and to deploy them effectively for defense of the church and the kingdom.93 The patriarch’s plan had thus been to deploy his own militia in order to sat- isfy his service obligations to the king94 in a financially responsible way, and so to carve out his own space in the kingdom. But by the beginning of the 1130s the time for such plans, still less any attempt to put them into action, or to advance them as far as Daimbert of Pisa envisioned during his short time as patriarch,95 had long passed. By the 1120s, with the help and perhaps even at

91 A. Mischlewski, Grundzüge der Geschichte des Antoniterordens bis zum Ausgang des 15. Jahrhunderts, Bonner Beiträge zur Kirchengeschichte 8 (Cologne—Vienna, 1976), 17–36. 92 On Steven’s position within church politics see now Mayer, Bistümer, Klöster und Stifte (n. 18), 43. 93 G. Schnürer, Die ursprüngliche Templerregel, Studien und Darstellungen aus dem Gebiet der Geschichte iii, 1–2 (Freiburg i. Br., 1903), 136–137, 142–145, 149–151. 94 H.E. Mayer brought attention to this possibility (Protocol, no. 221, 68). 95 In this sense already Schnürer, Die ursprüngliche Templerregel (n. 93), 118 and H. Prutz, Die Autonomie des Templer-Ordens, sb der phil.-philolog. u. hist. Kl. d. Bayer. Akad. d. Wiss. (Munich, 1905), 7ff.; similarly also Prawer, The Latin Kingdom (n. 63), 259. Schnürer, “Zur ersten Organisation,” (n. 76), 514–515 is of the opinion that Baldwin ii directed his request for a recommendation for a new version of the rule through Steven to Bernard of

214 chapter 5 the instigation of the king,96 a community newly settled near the Temple97 had not only displaced98 the commilitiones Christi from the immediate circles of influence around the patriarch and the canons. It had also reshaped its self- understanding in a way now more oriented toward the kingship of the lord David and Temple-builder than toward the Holy Sepulcher99—which according to Bernard’s In Praise of the New Knighthood was the actual signum

Clairvaux, not before the Council of Troyes, but after the revision of a draft of the Rule, in order to prohibit the order, by virtue of the intervention of the patriarch, from falling “almost entirely” into his hands. 96 Cf. n. 75. In his Chronicle (ed. J.-B. Chabot, Paris, 1905, iii, 201), Michael the Syrian depicts the communauté des frères as an institution shaped decidedly by the interests of the king. 97 On the site of the Templum Salomonis, the Templum Domini and the Domus Templi see the useful source compilation by D. Balidi, Enchiridion Locorum Sanctorum 2nd ed. (Jerusalem, 1955), 444–454 as well as the foundational work of L.H. Vincent—F.M. Abel, Jérusalem. Recherches de topographie, d’archéologie et d’histoire 1, 1–3 (Paris, 1914–22), 225ff. For a sum- mary of the most recent literature: E. Vogt, “Vom Tempel zum Felsendorn,” Biblica 55 (1974), 23–64. J. Guttman (ed.), The Temple of Solomon. Archeological Fact and Medieval Tradition in Christian, lslamic and Jewish Art, American Academy of Religion. Society of Biblical Literature, Religion and the Arts 3 (Missoula, Montana, 1976); H.W. Hazard, The Art and Architecture of the Crusader States, A History of the Crusades 4 (Madison, 1977), 84–89. 98 On royal property in the Temple precincts and the early history of the foundation at the Templum Domini cf. along with the works cited in n. 97: F. Chalandon, “Un diplome inédit d’ Amaury Ier roi de Jérusalem en faveur de l’abbaye du Temple-Notre-Seigneur,” Revue de l’Orient latin 8 (1900–01), 311–317. S. Clermont-Ganneau, “Les possessions de l’abbaye du Templum Domini en Terre Sainte au XIIe siècle,” Recueil d’Archéologie Orientale 5 (1902), 70–78 and H.E. Mayer, “Zur Frühgeschichte des Templum Domini in Jerusalem,” in: Bistümer, Klöster und Stifte (n. 18), 222–229, who suggests proprietary church claims on the foundation by the King on the basis of Albert of Aachen (xi, 12, 668) and Bartolf of Nangis (c. 46, 523). Proximity to the royal party is suggested by fact that after his displace- ment by Daimbert of Pisa, Arnulf of Chocques was praelatus of the Templum Domini. 99 On the two temples in the surviving evidence of the middle ages see now C.H. Krinksy, “Representations of the Temple of Jerusalem before 1500,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 33 (1970), 1–19; S. Ferber, “The Temple of Solomon in Early Christian and Byzantine Art,” in: Gutiman (n. 97), 21–41; W. Cahn, “Solomic Elements in Romanesque Art,” ibid., 42–58 (thorough bibliography 147–149). For a thorough treatment of the recep- tion of the Temple tradition among the canons of the Templum Domini: P. Lehmann, “Die mittelalterlichen Dichtungen der Prioren des Tempels Acardus und Gaufridus,” in: Corona Quernea. Festgabe Karl Strecker, Schriften des Reichsinstitutes für ältere deutsche Geschichtskunde (mgh) 6 (Leipzig, 1941), 296–330. For the liturgical relationships between canons and knights of the Temple: bn Paris, ms lat. 10478 (13th cent.), which, as Leroquais established (Les bréviaires manuscrits des bibliothèques publiques de France iii, 189), is a Bréviaire des chanoines du Temple de Jérusalem. ms Barberini lat. 659, which Bulst-Thiele (n.76), 380 claims for the Templars, is a liturgical manuscript of the chapter of the Holy Sepulcher, which clearly came later into the possession of the Templars. The

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 215 populorum.100 Such a reorientation took on its full meaning within the context of the political constellations that had shaped the relationships of the church in the Holy Land101 in the 1120s and 1130s. They gave the militia—one closely tied to the king, the French high nobility, Bernard of Clairvaux and the Cistercians, with pope and cardinals—a strong counterweight against a ­patriarch who found himself in the political doldrums, and initially on the side of an amid a schism.102 Hugh and his companions, with the support of the king, could advocate for the revision and approval of their rule directly in the curia,103 and at the Council of Pisa they enjoyed the active support of the pope and numerous cardinals and bishops;104 finally, with the promulgation of the bull Omne datum optimum on March 23, 1139, they not only attained their recognition as Catholice ecclesie defensores et inimicorum Christi impugnatores. They also enjoyed a full range of privileges that barred the patriarch from any voice or influence,105 privileges that patriarch Fulcher (who in the middle of the twelfth century, like his predecessor Steven, strove for the strengthening of the church of Jerusalem) could himself no longer ignore.

author investigates these and other liturgical manuscripts at greater length in the work cited in note 6. 100 J. Leclercq—H.M. Rochais (ed.), Liber ad milites Templi de Laude Novae Militiae, in: Tractatus et Opuscula. S. Bernardi Opera iii (Rome, 1963), 229–237, similarly, 221. 101 W. Hotzelt, Kirchengeschichte Palästinas im Zeitalter der Kreuzzüge, Kirchengeschichte Palästinas von der Urkirche bis zur Gegenwart iii (Cologne, 1940), 93–106. 102 P.F. Palumbo, “Lo scisma del mcxxx. I precedenti, la vicenda Romana e le ripercussioni europee della lotta tra Anacleto ed Innocenzo ii col regesto degli atti di Anacleto ii,” Miscellanea della R. Deputazione di Storia Patria (Rome, 1942); Idem, “Nuovi studi (1942– 62) sullo Scisma di Anacleto ii,” Bull. dell’ Inst. Stor. per il Medio Evo 75 (1963), 71–103; Mario da Bergamo, “Osservazioni sulle fonti per la duplice elezione papale dell 1130,” Aevum 39 (1965), 45–65. I prefer not to follow the reasoning of Fr.-J. Schmale, Studien zum Schisma des Jahres 1130, Forschungen zur kirchlichen Rechtsgeschichte und zum Kirchenrecht 3 (Cologne—Graz, 1961), 249–250, that the shared interest of pope and patriarch in canoni- cal reform had pushed the church of Jerusalem to embrace the party of Innocent. 103 Cf. n. 75. Most of the authors cited in n. 76 assume a direct attempt at the curia (Schnürer, Die ursprüngliche Templerregel, 13, Carrière, 311–312, Cousin, 42, De Valous, 83, Bulst- Thiele, 21, Barber, 226), without considering what could have caused the loyalties of the patriarch to shift. The request of Baldwin ii cited in n. 95, for example, Bulst-Theiele, 22 and Barber, 226 regard as true or as based on a core of truth. Barber, 230, in contrast to Prutz and Schnürer, is of the view that it was before the Council of Troyes. 104 E. Bernheim, “Ein bisher unbekannter Bericht vom Concil zu Pisa im Jahre 1135,” Zeitschrift für Kirchenrecht 16 (1881), 147–154; R. Somerville, “The Council of Pisa, 1135: A Re-examination of the Evidence for the Canons,” Speculum 45 (1970), 98–114. On other measures of the pope: Schnürer, “Zur ersten Organisation” (n. 76), 521ff. 105 Hiestand (n. 82), 204–210.

216 chapter 5

The thesis that in the twenties and thirties the patriarch was deprived, step- by-step, of the possibility of turning a knightly brotherhood (one that had emerged under obedience to him and dependent on his chapter) not into a Militia Templi but into a Militia S. Sepulcri, is supported in certain ways through a comparison to analogous developments in the early history of the Hospitalers.106 In the wake of the capture of Jerusalem, the relationship between the new Latin patriarchate and an older hospital (with its origins most likely in the Benedictine monastery of S. Maria Latina, the cradle of the Hospitalers) is as difficult to summarize as is the Templars’ circumstance. All that is certain is that the two institutions were closely associated not only by virtue of their close proximity107 in the city, and certain similarities in their rules108 and iconography.109 It is also quite probable that they held property as a corporation, one that lasted until the of Patriarch Arnulf and which displaced (if not replaced) older ties to S. Maria Latina inherited from before the crusade.110 What can only be presumed from the oldest surviving sources in Jerusalem—namely a direct dependence of the Hospital on the Church of the Holy Sepulcher—was for contemporaries an established fact. Already for the first benefactors of the church in Jerusalem—King Robert of Sicily and the faithful from Pexiora noted above—the work of a hospital was assumed to be one of the duties of the patriarch and the chapter.­ 111 From that

106 J. Riley-Smith, The Knights of St. John in Jerusalem and Cyprus c. 1050–1310, A History of the Order of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem I (London, 1967). On the general back- ground: T.S. Miller, “The Knights of Saint John and the Hospitals of the Latin West,” Speculum 58 (1978), 709–733. 107 Alongside the literature cited in n. 97 especially: C. Schick, “The Ancient Churches in the Muristan,” Quarterly Statement of the Palestine Exploration Fund (1902), 50–53. 108 M. Ambraziejüté, Studien über die Johanniter-Regel (Freibourg, 1929), 6; E. Nasalu Rocca, “Origine et Évolution de la “Règle” et des Statuts de l’Ordre Hiérosolomitain des Hospitaliers de St. Jean,” Annales de l’osm de Malte 19 (1961), 41–42. 109 G. Schlumberger—F. Chalandon—A. Blanchet, Sigillographie de l’ Orient Latin, Haut Commissariat de l’État Français en Syrie et au Liban. Service des Antiquités. Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 37 (Paris, 1943), 232; S. De Sandoli (n. 43), 93–104; H.E. Mayer, Das Siegelwesen in den Kreuzfahrerstaaten, Bayer. Akad. d. Wiss. Phil.-hist. Klasse, Abh. np 83 (Munich, 1978), 35–37. 110 Delaville (n. 71) I, 25; H.E. Mayer, “Zur Geschichte des Klosters S. Maria im Tal Josaphat,” in: Bistümer, Klöster und Stifte (n. 18), 267, concludes from this charter that “the canons of the Holy Sepulcher at that time still saw the properties of the hospital as a possession of the Sepulcher church, although distinct from the actual property of the church.” 111 Cf. n. 71. On Pexiora most recently: E. Delaruelle, “Templiers et Hospitaliers en Languedoc pendant la croisade des Albigeois,” in: Paix de Dieu et guerre sainte en Languedoc au xiiie siècle, Cahiers de Fanjeaux 4 (Toulouse, 1969), 317.

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 217 time on, down to the middle of the twelfth century, donations were made Deo et S. Sepulcro et Hospitali, and the hospital appears without comment as ospi- tale S. Sepulcri.112 It cannot be ruled out that in a few cases the designation S. Sepulcrum meant not the institutions charged with guarding the Holy Sepulcher, but rather the holy city in general or even the entire holy land. But the fact that in 1148 and 1155 one had to divide property that had been left to the two communities in common (or that that the ­hospital had inherited for the chapter, or the chapter for the hospital)113 suggests that at the beginning of the twelfth century both chapter and hospital in fact formed a kind of con- sortium, or mutually represented one another in matters of law and property— as was actually the case in the collections established at beginning of the twelfth century in southern France,114 and in the solution of the problems that emerged from the will of King Alfonso I of Aragon.115 The close relationship between Sepulcher and hospital, we can say with more certainty, lasted only to 1112/13. At that time there began, with support of the king, approval of the ­patriarch and bishops as well as the support­ of the curia, a process of dissolu- tion116 that shifted the Hospital more and more in the direction of the Templars, putting it into position to leave behind the prestige of the Holy Sepulcher and its guardians it had so usefully deployed at the beginning of the twelfth century, turning117 instead to the faithful on the merits of their own accomplishments. In 1957 Daniel-Rops, in a treatment of “The Ideal of Chivalry and the Defense of the Tomb,” came to the conclusion that the unity of the knightly ideal and the veneration of the Sepulcher “quite naturally, by the very logic of events”

112 M.A. du Bourg, Histoire du grand prieuré de Toulouse et des diverses possessions de l’ordre de S. Jean de Jérusalem dans le Sud-Ouest de la France, 2nd ed. (Toulouse, 1883), 100, 210. Delaville (n. 71) I, 2–3, 9–10, 14, 26, 40–44, 50, 57–59, 68, 80, 83. F. Galabert, “Donation du lieu d’Orgueil à l’ordre de Saint Jean,” Bull. de la Soc. archéol. de Tarn et Garonne 29 (1901), 380. C. Brunel, Les plus anciennes chartes en langue provençale (Paris, 1926), 24, 31–32. 113 Delaville (n. 71) I, 137–139; Rozière (n. 16), 325–326. Whether to read the conflicts between the Canons of the Sepulcher and the Hospitalers over Manetin in Bohemia (mediated by Celestine iii on 12 November 1191) in light of this connection must be set aside: Delaville, I, 580; G. Friedrich (ed.), Codex dipl. et. epist. Regni Bohemiae I (Prague, 1907), 302–303. 114 Cf. n. 71, 111–112. 115 S.A. Garcia Larragueta, El Gran Priorado de Navarra de la Orden de San Juan de Jerusalém, Siglos xii–xiii 2: Colección Diplomatica (Pamplona, 1957), 15–18, 21. On the will of Alfonso I, see now: E. Lourie, “The Will of Alfonso I, ‘El Batallador,’ King of Aragon and Navarra: A Reassessment,” Speculum 50 (1975), 635–650. 116 Delaville (n. 71), I, 7, 25–32; Hiestand (n. 82), 203, 210–211. 117 H. Prutz, “Die exemte Stellung des Hospitaliter-Ordens. Ihre Entwicklung, ihr Wesen und ihre Wirkung,” in: Sitzungsberichte der philosoph.-philologischen u. d. hist. Klasse d. K.B. Akad. d. Wiss. z. München 1904 (Munich, 1905), 111–114.

218 chapter 5 resulted in the knightly order of the Holy Sepulcher and its institutionaliza- tion.118 There can be no doubt about the truth of that statement, at least as far as the knightly ideal and its bond with the piety surrounding the Sepulcher is concerned. After the sermons of Urban ii it belonged to the repertoire of cru- sade propaganda that sought to motivate the nobility, by appealing to the obligations of their estate, to protect the Holy Sepulcher, the haereditas Christi.119 The First Crusade was, for the majority of its chroniclers, nothing other than the via or the iter S. Sepulcri, one that the crusaders undertook in nomine Dei et S. Sepulcri, and on which, Deo et S. Sepulcro adiuvante they would break the resistance of the heathen.120 Their taking up of the cross, like the ritual of the cingulum militare, had made them into knights, and as such they stood, as Petrus Tudebodus put it, in fidelitate Dei et S. Sepulcri, seniorum et imperatoris. The conquest of Jerusalem culminated in the veneration of the Holy Sepulcher; it became the fulfillment of the prophecy of : Et erit Sepulcrum eius gloriosum (10:10). In view of this vision of the Holy Sepulcher, shaped by popes and pilgrims already before the crusade, as Sanctum Sanctorum, as navel of the world and the mystery of the faith, it is self-evident that the phrase miles S. Sepulcri was not used first in the fourteenth century, but that it served much earlier and more generally, together with the phrase miles Christi, to designate a knightly crusader. For the author of the Gesta Francorum, for Albert of Aachen, Petrus Monachus and Petrus Tudebodus, the crusader army is an exercitus S. Sepulcri. Crusaders are not merely peregrini or domestici, but also bellatores and milites S. Sepulcri.121 If the miles Christi, the best model of the knightly crusader, found in the military orders a centuries- long institutional form, and if the militia S. Sepulcri, on the other hand, was never what Daniel-Rops claimed it to be, namely the institutionalization “of

118 F.X. De Bourbon-Parme (n. 2), 24. 119 Guibert of Nogent, Gesta Dei per Francos, ii, 5, rhc Hist. occ. iv, 140: “et veluti cingulum milite…Crucis figuram…assui mandavit.” On the sermons of Urban ii see now: H.E.J. Cowdrey, “Pope Urban ii’s Preaching of the First Crusade,” History 55 (1970), 177–188. 120 P. Alphandéry—A. Dupront, La chrétienté et l’idée de Croisade, Bibliothèque de Synthèse historique. L’Évolution de l’Humanité xxxviii, 1–2 (Paris, 1954) I, 10–42; P. Rousset, “L’idée de croisade chez les chroniqueurs d’Occident,” in: Relazioni del X Congresso internazionale di scienze storiche (Rome, 1955) iii, 547–563; J. Richard, L’Ésprit de la croisade (Paris, 1969); A. Dupront, “Guerre Sainte et Chrétienté,” in: Paix de Dieu et guerre sainte en Languedoc au XIIIe siècle (n. 111), 17–50. 121 Gesta Francorum, 1, 7, 11, 21, 26. Robertus Monachus, Hist. Hierosolymitana, rhc Hist. oec. iii, 746–747, 768, 869; Petrus Tudebodus, 9–10, 15, 18, 32, 40–48, 83–84, 87, 90–94, 114; Balderic of Dol, 207, 307. Cf. also: G. Spreckelmeyer, Das Kreuzzugslied des lateinischen Mittelalters, Münstersche Mittelalter-Schriften 21 (Munich, 1974), 20.

Canons and Knights of the Holy Sepulcher 219 two of the most high spiritual flights of the middle ages: the ideal of chivalry and the veneration of the Holy Sepulcher,” none of this contradicts the logic of the events.122 On the contrary, those concrete historical events—the weakness of patriarch and chapter, their confrontations with the king, and not least the discrepancy between their local interests and the universal outlook of the papacy—prevented the head of the church of Jerusalem and his chapter, the Custodes S. Sepulcri, from shaping according to their vision the brotherly circles of hospital workers and knights that emerged so nearby and under their auspices. They thus failed to see established, instead of what would become the Hospitalers and Templars, a fraternitas, sodalitas, societas or milita S. Sepulcri. The opportunity was there to be taken, but for only a few years. By the third and fourth decades of the twelfth century it had already passed. By that time the military orders had put patriarch and chapter in their shadow on both sides of the Mediterranean, and could in fact provoke them in defiant ways, thereby making clear a fact that contemporaries noted in the words of the Bible: Filios enutrivi et exaltavi, illi autem spreverunt me.123

122 See n. 118. 123 William of Tyre, xviii, 4, 820–822; De prima institutione Hospitalariorum, rhc Hist. occ. v, 2, 403.

chapter 6 The Status of Women in Religious Life, Semi-Religious Life and Heresy in the Era of St. Elizabeth

The biographer of Gilbert of Sempringham, the twelfth-century English founder of an order for both men and women, compared his order to a wagon whose four wheels represented the participation of both genders in religious life: two wheels signified the men, canons and conversi, two the women, the canonesses and lay sisters. The order’s litany for All Saints, which at its core reached back to late antiquity and the early middle ages, maintained a simi- larly strict parallel in its listing of men and women. After monks and hermits, it called on the virgins and widows, and its later versions placed female part- ners alongside the great founders of the orders. Already in the thirteenth cen- tury, St. Elizabeth had been taken up into the tradition of men and women who, in harmonious accord, strove together toward monastic perfection. An unknown French Franciscan placed her in the most intimate proximity to St. Francis imaginable. He saw both, the Poverello from Assisi and the Landgravine of Thüringia, as protectors and nurturers, as father and mother of the Minorites: “He was the father of the Minorites, she their mother. He protected them like a father; she nurtured them like a mother.”1 That men and women found common ground in their pursuit of holiness and perfection was in no way unusual for the middle ages. Both the corre- spondence between Jerome and the Roman women entrusted to his pastoral care and the letters of Boniface to his female relatives and friends left behind in England are eloquent witnesses here, as are the bonds between Benedict and Scholastica, Francis and Clare or even between Theresa of Avila and , the two great Spanish mystics of the Carmelite order. Such com- mon ground, to be sure, was never as stable and self-evident, as free of tensions and problems as the liturgies, saints’ lives and art might suggest (think for example of Jan van Eyck’s representation of the spiritual estates

1 The following notes provide only basic citations. More detailed literature is found in the select bibliography. A. Huyskens, Quellenstudien zur Geschichte der hl. Elisabeth, Landgräfin von Thüringen, 1908, 70, n. 3. Also: S. Gieben, “I patroni dell’ordine della Penitenza,” in: Collectanea franciscana 43 (1973), 238–239: “fratrum minorum pater erat, ista mater eorum. Ille custodiebat eos ut pater, ista nutriebat eos ut mater.”

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi 10.1163/9789004307780_008

The Status of Women in Religious Life 221 coming to the adoration of the Lamb). And it certainly cannot be said that the middle ages witnessed the formation of institutions, orders and cloisters in which women had the opportunity to shape their spiritual lives without dif- ficulty or resistance, or in the same measure as men, or even in cooperation with them, such that the image of harmonious and equitable cooperation fashioned among the Gilbertines could take across the whole of religious life. That such qualifications are justified is clear from the life and the piety of St. Elizabeth. We have long since given up trying to portray her as a member of the Second Order of St. Francis, or merely a Franciscan Tertiary. When it comes to the influence of the great twelfth and thirteenth century saints of the reli- gious orders, we no longer dare say for certain whether the Landgravine was influenced by the life of her Umbrian contemporary St. Francis more strongly than by the older ideal of poverty and flight from the world first formulated by Bernard of Clairvaux and Norbert of Xanten. In fact we are inclined to note the influence of the orders’ spirituality somewhat less than before, and instead to link her spiritual formation to the spirit and convictions of the crusades, which so deeply influenced the high middle ages. All of these matters of categorization find their expression in concrete questions: whether one should see her con- fessor and spiritual advisor Conrad of Marburg as the member of an order or as a member of the secular clergy, and whether it was first through him or through the Franciscan Rüdiger and his brothers in Eisenach that the most decisive influence came to bear on the young woman. No less great is the uncertainty surrounding the institutional status of the saint. Was she a religious, or did she remain in the ranks of the laity? Can one describe her as a penitent, a hospital sister or a beguine? These doubts are not new, nor have they merely been imposed on her from without. In the wake of her renunciation of parents, chil- dren and her own will, Elizabeth and those around her had to ask whether she could best lead her life in a cloister or in an anchoress’s enclosure, or by follow- ing the poor and naked Christ as a beggar. She herself ultimately compared her way of life with the lives of sisters in the world, the vita sororum in seculo.2 To do so was to find a formulation that was (at least at first glance) paradoxical, to establish a place for herself between cloister and world, between religious life and the life of the laity. We can blame neither a lack of sources nor a lack of acumen among histori- ans for the difficulties of trying to find a place for Elizabeth in the hierarchy of the orders’ saints, or of finding even a well-defined place for her in the ranks of the medieval religious orders. She was successful neither in finding a truly

2 The so-called Libellus de dictis quatuor ancillarum S. Elisabeth confectus, ed. A. Huyskens, 1911, 69.

222 chapter 6 adequate form of life for herself, nor of living out her way of life in a permanent religious order of her own founding. But this can be attributed only in the slightest degree to her own “indecisiveness,” her “erratic” character or “uncer- tainty.” Nor can it be due to the independence attributed to her by Conrad of Marburg, who said that she was “without precedent in the history of the Christian women’s movement.”3 In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries she must have experienced, as many others did, how difficult it could be to bring one’s own ideas of an authentic Christian life into harmony with the tradi- tional vita religiosa—not least because the era itself, like few others in European history, was marked by profound ruptures, by great change and widespread uncertainty. This was true for men like Norbert of Xanten and Francis of Assisi, but above all for women like Elisabeth of Thuringia. In her search for the proper form of religious life she had to fight against not only the usual difficulties of her day. Again and again she ran up against the boundaries that circumscribed her gender and that hindered her in pursuing, like the men, or even alongside them, what she perceived to be the most direct way to salva- tion. When we grapple with the place of women in religious life, in semi-­ religious life and heresy in the era of St. Elisabeth, we must think not only of the majority of holy women who managed to balance individual piety and institutional circumstance without issue. We must also keep in mind a minor- ity (however little or much we may know of them), who found themselves caught in a tension between a desire to shape their own lives and the con- straints of their organizations. It was a circumstance arising not from their own weakness or inconsistency, but from their desire for spiritual perfection. It was also a tension they could escape only with much more difficulty than their male contemporaries.

*

Across Europe from the tenth century a variety of efforts emerged that sought to reform a monastic life first lived by desert ascetics and monastic fathers and grounded in the Benedictine rule, as well as to restore the observance of rules the church fathers had established for the common life of clerics. Great ­congregations and religious orders emerged from these efforts—the Cluniac and Cistercian orders from the renewal of the ordo monasticus, the Premonstra­ tensians among the regular canons. But the their centuries-long stability makes

3 W. Maurer, “Zum Verständnis der heiligen Elisabeth von Thüringen,” in: Zeitschrift für Kirchengesch. 65 (1953–54), 17, 601 (reprint in: Kirche und Geschichte, Gesammelte Aufsätze, 1970, vol. 2).

The Status of Women in Religious Life 223 it easy to forget that their founders had sought out and experimented with forms of the vita religiosa in ways that caused astonishment and wonder among their contemporaries. The historiography of these orders casts their origins in a mild light, and smoothes over much that is visible only to the trained eye. But a sharply different picture emerges elsewhere: in Italy with Nilus of Rossano, Romuald of Ravenna and John Gualbert, to the north with the founder of the Carthusians Bruno of Cologne, but above all with the wan- dering apostolic preachers of France. Their way of life—grounded in ancient Christianity’s ideals of the eremitical life and of apostolic community—allows us to recognize, with all the clarity we might wish for, the dynamism and spon- taneity of the movements for renewal that were reaching their first high points in the eleventh and twelfth century. Those imitators of Christ who first emerged at the turn of the eleventh and twelfth centuries in the Limousin, in Brittany and above all in the forest of Craon (Bas-Maine) are important for us not only because they sought an appropriate form of Christian life for themselves and their fellow men. In a way that until that time had been unheard of in the middle ages, they also allowed women to take part in the search. Robert of Arbrissel, Vitalis of Savigny, Gerald of Salles, Bernard of Tiron and Norbert of Xanten—like other contemporary preachers, orthodox and heretical alike— drew to themselves hundreds, indeed thousands of women from every estate. Virgins, widows, divorced women and prostitutes weary of their way of life not only followed the men on their preaching tours, but sought to join them ­permanently. Many of the women shared with the preachers a life of strict asceticism and seclusion. Robert of Arbrissel and a few of his disciples, at least, seem to have sought an intimate association with women—the practice of syneisaktism described as mulierum consortia—in order to win the crown of white martyrdom. Others, especially the repentant women, ran away, or if they did not want to renounce their way of life for the cloister, remained married to honorable men. The result was a number of religious communities in which the women as a rule submitted themselves to the leadership and care of a small number of men who served as their pastors, taking care of the sacraments and other necessary business. A similar relationship between men and women also emerged in the houses founded by Vitalis of Savigny and Gerald of Salles, ­communities that soon came together to form their own congregation. In 1120, when Norbert of Xanten founded a house in Prémontré, he also sheltered within its walls some of those women whom he had attracted through his preaching. They lived separately from the brothers, but participated together with them in worship and did their part for the welfare of the community. A prioress served as their superior, though the actual leadership of the community remained in the hand of the abbot or prior—a pattern that was

224 chapter 6

­introduced beyond Prémontré in the “double houses” of the Premonstratensians between 1120 and 1140. Robert of Arbrissel (who said of himself: “What I have done in this world has served only the needs of spiritual women, for whom I have engaged all of my strength…, in whose service I and my followers have entered”)4 found another way. The community of Fontevrault, which had emerged from an older “thatched hut” colony of women and men founded in 1109, by 1115 had come to shelter two communities, each further divided within itself. Legally they were one, though not, as in the aforementioned cases, under the leadership of a man. According to Robert’s will the men had instead declared themselves ready to render obedience to an abbess—first Hersende of Champagne and then Petronilla de Chemillé—thereby recognizing her plenaria potestas, the fullness of her power. The women’s superiority inspired wonder and mistrust among contemporaries, but their position was not unusual for the religious orders of the twelfth century. Influenced by Robert’s model (though it was cer- tainly not the immediate cause), in 1131 in Lincolnshire Gilbert of Sempringham, mentioned above, founded a convent for young women that itself soon became the foundation of an order—one that, like Fontevrault, made more room for women than was customary in double houses subject to male leadership. Theologically more deeply grounded than Robert of Arbrissel, whom he described as Christ’s herald, the renowned Abelard made the superiority of women of paramount importance for religious life in the convent he founded: the Paraclete in Quincey near Nogent-sur-Seine. Led by his personal bond with his lover Heloise, who had become its abbess, and surely also through “true humanity,”5 he attempted to outline a way of life that required men and women to live together. It placed the abbess and her sisters at the center of the life of the community and charged the men with guarding and protecting the natura fragilior of the female gender with caritas and diligentia, with charity and dili- gence. The men were to serve the women like those servants in a royal house- hold who were responsible for the needs of the spouse of the lord, the sponsa Christi.6 The way of life Abelard outlined remained ephemeral. Even in the Paraclete it was never realized. The convent of Fontevrault and its numerous daughter houses had fallen into crisis already by the end of the twelfth century. The resistance of the bishops, the revolt of men against the “lordship of women”

4 Vita altera B. Roberti de Arbrissello, Migne pl 162, col. 1059. 5 E. Werner, Stadt und Geistesleben im Hochmittelalter, Forschungen zur mittelalterlichen und neueren Geschichte 30 (1980), 118. 6 T.P. McLaughlin, Abelard’s Rule (see bibliography), 250.

The Status of Women in Religious Life 225 and the progressive estrangement between men’s and women’s communities living according to various rules could not (even with the help of the pope) be wished away. In the end those houses that had been founded for women of the lowest and most contemptible origins became “hostels” for the ladies of the French and English nobility. The Premonstratensians put an end to living in common with women already around 1140. “Because of the danger of the times and the burdens imposed upon the church”—as one put it at the end of the twelfth century—their general chapter resolved to give up the double houses, or more precisely to drive women from them.7 In the course of the twelfth century those women thus moved from Prémontré to Fontenelle, from Tongerloo to Aiwen, from Knechtstedten to Flaesheim, to found convents that were physically separated from and for the most part administratively inde- pendent of any male community. The canons thereby began to divest them- selves of a duty that the founder of their order had taken upon himself, when he had resolved non solum autem virorum, sed et feminarum cohortes…ad Deum convertere8—to turn to God not only crowds of men, but also women. What the Premonstratensians did reflected a trend that became more widely dis- cernible from the middle of the twelfth century. A tradition of female and male ­communities, and of the cohabitation of the two sexes in one monastic com- munity, reached back to late antiquity and the early middle ages. Yet after its flowering in the wake of the wandering preachers, this symbiosis fell into dis- credit. Both individual houses like Affligem or St. Martin of Tournai, as well as entire monastic and canonical congregations like those of Arrouaise, St. Victor in Paris and the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, and indeed the Templars and the Hospitalers (who in fact relied in great measure on the aid of women) began to find their way to a physical and institutional division of the sexes. There remained women’s houses that were only loosely bound to those of the men, and that gave up an inherited tradition shaped by duties and aims shared with men in favor of an enclosed, contemplative life. That women and men no longer lived together in community in no way weakened female piety. There was no decline in the number of new monastic foundations: In the high middle ages more were founded than in every century before. And women did not shy away from seeking the spiritual encourage- ment, organizational support and material aid that they could not find else- where (from the secular clergy, for example)—even if certain orders sharply withdrew (officially, at least) from the cura monialium, the care for nuns. So it happened that many orders took part in the pastoral care and ­supervision of

7 E. Martène, De antiquis ecclesiae ritibus, 2nd ed. (1788) iii, 330. 8 Hermannus Monachus, De Miraculis S. Mariae Laudunensis, Migne pl 156, col. 994.

226 chapter 6 religious women, even though they had abandoned the close community they had once shared. Even if one cannot say for certain today just how many women’s convents the individual orders came to oversee or incorporate, it remains clear that in the twelfth and even in the first half of the thirteenth centuries the Premon­ stratensians and Cistercians, at least in western and central Europe, were the orders with which the women’s communities preferred to associate them- selves. From the days of James of Vitry there had been no question that the Premonstratensians (after ordering the dissolution of double cloisters around 1140) had also abandoned the tradition of the cura monialium, the care of clois- tered women. A half century later this is supposed to have led to the General chapter’s decision to refuse to accept any more women into the order at all. But this hesitation then inspired the Cistercians to revisit their longstanding resistance to women’s affairs, and so made possible the “efflorescence of Cistercian women” that inspired contemporaries to say, with wonder, that their communities seemed as numerous as the stars in heaven.9 Recent research has called this kind of interpretation into question. Its authors are now able to show that there were new double houses founded in the Rhineland and in Westphalia even after 1140, and that despite the prohibi- tions of c. 1190 numerous women’s convents were founded or accepted into the order even in the thirteenth century. Recent research also reminds us that both Molesme and Cîteaux were in the beginning associated with women’s com- munities (the priories of Jully and Tart, where the relatives of monks and abbots lived a spiritual life according to the customs of the two men’s houses); that in the middle of the twelfth century, when the abbey of Obazine was accepted into the Cistercian order, the women’s community of Coiroux was accepted as well; that when the men’s houses of Savigny were accepted, the women’s convents of that congregation were accepted as well; and that there were numerous twelfth-century female Cistercian communities in the territo- ries of the Empire. Yet however justified these corrections, they do not change the fact most relevant to our current considerations: The two great orders of the high middle ages were never able to adopt a clear and constant position in favor of accepting the women who wanted to be bound to them, or who were in any way bound to their order. Although there were far more female Cistercians than male, and the number of women’s cloisters among the Premonstratensians was not far behind those of the men, this was above all the result of compromises and concessions. The general chapters both allowed and prohibited women—quite emphatically in 1228. Local decision makers

9 S. Roisin (see bibliography), 342.

The Status of Women in Religious Life 227 sometimes looked to their superiors—and sometimes not. Many made excep- tions and yielded to the interventions of bishops and secular magnates, and some even officially recognized a kind of mediating role for the papacy. Moreover, as numerous as the ways into the orders were the ways to settle in them, or in their vicinity. These ranged from houses incorporated iure pleno (in full power) to those that, with an order’s tacit tolerance, followed its rule, cus- toms and statutes. This diversity of responses doubtless arose from the fact that the orders and their houses had to make their position dependent upon the money and manpower available to them when addressing the “women’s question.” But ultimately it was a consequence of a degree of uncertainty, and an expression of the orders’ fear that fulfilling all of the women’s wishes regard- ing care and leadership would mean losing themselves, or having to give up their ideals. As one Carthusian put it, his order struggled with the women’s houses bound to his order as Christ suffered from his five wounds. How vexed must his own order have seemed to a similarly-engaged Cistercian, an order to which incomparably more women’s convents had been entrusted than to the Carthusians.10 The wandering apostolic preachers had inspired a desire to imitate Christ and to seek a renewal inspired by the early church. In the twelfth and thir- teenth centuries, in the richly urban regions of Italy and southern France, that same desire came to life with renewed strength, under new social and political circumstances. It inspired the establishment of numerous communities whose members cast doubt on the legitimacy of the church, and within the church it inspired the formation of numerous mendicant orders. With their emergence the question of women’s participation in the life of the orders acquired a new urgency, and began to resonate in much wider circles than before. When looked back on her life, she called St. Francis the “founder, sower and helper,” the one who nourished and cared for her like a “small plant.” To her and to her community Francis became a pillar of strength, and next to God their special consolation. Her heirs were to follow him in sim- plicity, humility and poverty just as she did.11 Here Clare recalled her personal closeness to Francis. It had begun in 1211/12, when the newly penitent son of the merchant Pietro Bernadone encountered the young girl, and “stole her away from the harsh world like a precious treasure.”12 It had ended in 1225, when the ailing founder had taken leave of the abbess of S. Damiano to seek healing for his diseased eyes in Rieti. Their closeness was a result not only of

10 W.A. Hinnebusch (see bibliography), 2, 389. 11 E. Grau (see bibliography), 109–119. 12 Ibid., 38.

228 chapter 6 their common heritage and their personal bond. It was also grounded in Clare’s desire to follow the Lord, like Francis, as a beggar in complete poverty, ever ready for mission and martyrdom. Of course we know that she and her sisters were never able to shape their lives as Francis and his brothers had, despite so much resistance. And there was never the harmony between religious life and organization that James of Vitry thought he had seen in 1216, when he reported with wonder of the Fratres Minores and the Sorores Minores, who preached their way through the cities and villages of Umbria by day, and at night devoted themselves to contemplation and prayer in separate hermitages and isolated houses.13 On August 9, 1253, just three days before her death, Pope Innocent iv granted Clare a privilege that accorded with her original intention: to live with her sis- ters at S. Damiano in total poverty, and to follow a rule that in large part fol- lowed that of St. Francis. The pious gesture was the culmination of a process that had begun only a few years after the conversion of the young woman. It ended, for all of their mutual love and understanding, with a division between those the bishop of Acre called Fratres Minores and Sorores Minores. In 1218/19 the women of S. Damiano and their sisters living elsewhere were in need of a rule. Cardinal Hugolino, friend and patron of St. Francis, prescribed for them not the observance of the Franciscan formula vitae, but rather the Rule of Benedict and other observantiae regulares of his own design. This meant strict claustration, common property and the establishment in the convent of domi- nae (ladies) and servientes (servants)—a division that Francis and Clare had originally not wanted. The women of S. Damiano did not adopt the divisions without resistance. The fact that the pope and the cardinal protectors had to review and approve no less than six rules between 1219 and 1263 is the best proof of this. Yet Clare and her allies could do little about the fact that with the passage of time their way of life developed in such a way as to make it ulti- mately hard to distinguish from the one that religious women had come to live long before them—a life that renounced the world and turned to contempla- tion. This was the result not only of a papal politics that believed its decisions to be appropriate for women’s nature and their needs. The Franciscans, and Francis himself, allowed themselves to be guided by similar arguments. Although mutual sympathy and concern between Francis and Clare never waned, without question there was a certain distancing from Clare and her sisters already in the lifetime of the saint, one grounded more in calculated thought than in matters of the heart. It finds its strongest expression in two

13 B.B.C. Huygens, Lettres de Jacques de Vitry (1160/1170–1240), évéque de Saint-Jean-d’Acre. Edition critique (Leiden, 1960), 71–78.

The Status of Women in Religious Life 229 resolutions that are difficult to reconcile. Francis promised the poor women of S. Damiano that he would always care for them with cura diligens (loving care) and sollicitudo specialis (special care). He made it the obligation of his entire order to do the same. Yet the Regula Bullata of 1223 includes a chapter in which the brothers, “so that they not have suspect interaction or counsel with women” (ne habeant suspecta consortia vel consilia mulierum), are allowed to enter the women’s cloisters only with papal permission. Without question this was a measure that placed almost insurmountable obstacles in the way of proper pastoral care. From that point forward the relationship between Franciscans and Clares moved between these two poles, with an instability similar to that which we have already noted in the older orders. The relationship of the Dominicans with the women of their time was not as personal as that between Francis and Clare, even though women like Cecilia Cesarini and Diana d’Andalo had a greater significance for the first followers of Dominic than the order’s historiographical tradition allows. For the praedica- tores, engaged before the citadels of heresy in a fight over orthodoxy, the “wom- en’s question” posed itself in a way that recalls the circumstance of the wandering apostolic preachers, figures like Robert of Arbrissel or Norbert of Xanten, more than Francis and his followers. They had to accommodate women brought back in to the orthodox fold, and to make it possible for them to make progress in a life of religious community begun in the ranks of the heretics. Prouille near Toulouse was founded for this purpose around 1206 by Dominic of Caleruega and Diego of Osma. But the first “Dominican convent” was not only a hospice for converted heretics. It was also a place of support and a point of origin for sancta praedicatio. Its women took care of Dominic and his preachers, and indeed themselves became “teachers” (educatrici) and “preachers” (praedicatrici) in the fight against heresy and the proclamation of the faith.14 Yet as with Francis, so with Dominic: from very early on one can discern a certain suspicion, if not active resistance, against the cooperation of the women. Like Francis, Dominic also clearly feared that too much concern over the needs of women would distract his disciples from their primary duty. How much this fear beset Dominic is clear from the fact that even on his death- bed he felt the need to warn against associating with them too closely and maintaining contact with them too intimately. Even the remaining convents that he himself founded (S. Domingo in Madrid, S. Sisto in Rome, S. Agnese in Bologna and a house in Toulouse first intended as a shelter for converted pros- titutes) and especially women’s houses founded after his death or incorporated

14 L.A. Redigonda, “Dominicane,” in: Dizionario degli Istituti di Perfezione, iii (Rome, 1976), col. 781.

230 chapter 6 within the order—these had a much more conventional character than the community of Prouille. The constitutions they followed combined elements of Dominican prescriptions with those of the Gilbertines and the Rule of St. Benedict. The result was a religious life for women shaped by renunciation of the world and contemplation, and one that had little to do with the study and pastoral care that were the main concerns of their male counterparts. The Dominican women shared not only these restrictions with the Clares. The Dominican women too, like the Clares, had to accept that their desire for more intense mentoring and closer bonds with the men, especially after the expan- sion of their branch of the order, would not only often fall on deaf ears, but also become the cause of intense conflicts among their brethren. And this circum- stance, or something similar to it, can also be observed in the other mendicant orders, large and small—the Carmelites and Augustinian Hermits, the Servites, the Sack Brothers and the Croziers. No one expects that the result of these drives for greater participation of women in religious life—efforts that took the work of so many decades, that were conditioned by so many circumstances and undertaken in conjunction with so many new impulses—could be described accurately in only a few words. We can only offer a general outline of the direction in which this pro- cess unfolded: The intimacy and broad consensus that characterized its origins gave way first to a certain distancing (whether voluntary or forced), and then to a coexistence of men and women that was not always free of problems, ten- sions, mistrust and oppression. Whether in houses that remained autonomous or that were incorporated into established orders, the process unfolded in similar ways and with almost identical results. Often in the first generation, but almost always by the second, the vision fostered by the spirit of the founding era became increasingly distant. In the place of a way of life shaped by the demands of the Gospels emerged a style, common across the boundaries of the orders, characterized by claustration; institutionalized renunciation of the world; focus on contemplation and prayer; a restriction of the active life to car- ing for the sick, education and general care; and a general jurisdictional and spiritual subordination to the men and the powers of their office. Today we tend to read this process as a regrettable “systematization” and “domesticiza- tion,” and to interpret its end result as “an exceptionally well-integrated and well-buttressed organization for exercising power over women, and for put- ting them to well-regulated use.”15 As well as such judgments might reflect our modern outlook, they are ill suited to do justice to the reality of women’s religious life in the middle ages.

15 E. Carroll, “Frauen im Ordensleben,” in: Concilium 12 (1976), 521.

The Status of Women in Religious Life 231

For all of the various convergences in principle, an astoundingly broad diver- sity remained characteristic for women’s religious life in the high middle ages. That diversity, grounded in the orders’ spirituality, history, local horizons and social circumstances, allowed women considerable freedom in shaping their way of life. One need not for that reason push them in the direction of Chaucer’s masterful portrait of women who saw the religious habit as no hindrance to a life of liberty. Alongside the hard-working sister of the hospital and the strictly enclosed Clare stood the abbess widely travelled in the world and the prioress wise to the ways of business—both of the latter fully legitimate in their way of life, and both of whom, with manly energy and sharpness of spirit, defended the rights and guarded the economic interests of their communities. When turning an accusing eye toward the spiritual domesticity of medieval religious women, one must not forget how many women found in the cloister support, security and freedom from the domination of a father or a husband. The clois- ter was also surely more than a place in which women were forced into subor- dination, if not oppression. , Mechtild of Hackeborn and many other religious women, known and unknown, came into their own not in the world but in the cloister; not alone, but in the company of religious men. There, as one prudent champion of women’s emancipation has put it, “they developed a spirituality that affirmed a feminine language and symbolism about God, and that reflected the psychological and religious experience of women and men.”16 The spiritual diversity of the convent in turn corresponded to the range of purposes and patterns of association offered to women who sought in it a higher form of religious life. As one can infer from the foregoing discussion, the life of women in the cloister—whether of those who were members of the secular affiliates, or those who lived in autonomous foundations and houses— was not limited to being a religious woman in the fullest sense (to nuns, canon- esses and other cloistered sisters). As in the houses and foundations of the men, in the women’s abbey, in the canonry and the mendicant convent, there gathered around the convent and the community in the strict sense a range of people of divergent spiritual status. Whether as servants, or in some other jus- tifiable way, they participated in the life of the community, or were bound to it at least through loose ties of affiliation. We speak here of the conversae and lay sisters, who not only counted legally as religious, as members of the religious orders in the strict sense, but who also in fact shared meaningfully with the men (the conversi monialium) in the life of the cloister and its material security.

16 E. McLaughlin, “Die Frau und die mittelalterliche Häresie. Ein Problem der Geschichte der Spiritualität,” in: ibid., 41.

232 chapter 6

Ranked beneath them were not only the wage workers, the famulae and ancil- lae, but also those women often described as familiares, oblatae or donatae, who by virtue of donations had inherited the right to enjoy from the religious women and their administrators not only victus et vestitus, food and clothing, but also spiritual care and supervision. Lastly, there were the consorores or confratrissae, who remained in the world but who had been accepted into a community of prayer and spiritual merit through their sisters who had entered religious life.

*

When she compared her way of life with the “life of sisters in the world,” the vita sororum in seculo, Elizabeth made clear that she did not want it to be thought of in terms of the communities of religious women of which we have spoken so far. In speaking of sisters living in the world but (to expand the idea through St. Paul) not of the world, Elizabeth meant neither women in religious orders, nor conversae, oblatae, ancillae or confratrissae. If through her turn of phrase Elizabeth had in mind (so one may assume) some concrete association, she can only have meant those sorores, swestriones, susteren, mulieres devotae, virgines continentes, mulieres poenitentes, sanctae, santarellae, beatae, pinzo- chere or beginae of which there was so much discussion (using these and many other names) from the end of the twelfth century. They were neither laity nor religious, but pious women. For the canonists of the twelfth century they formed their own estate, a status medius or a status tertius, between the laity and the religious orders, such that they could be counted as religious only in the broadest sense. The significance of this so-called semi-religious way of life has become the subject of serious research only in the last few decades. For Germany its unique character is most visible in the example of the beguines, who from the thirteenth century came to play an unmistakably important role in religious life across all of north-west, central and east-central Europe, as well as in Thuringia. Their presence is in evidence from the first decades of the thir- teenth century in the large German cities, in Cologne, Mainz, Strasbourg and Basel. Along with settlements in these larger cities, from the thirteenth century beguines came to live in a number of middling and smaller cities in the Rhineland and Westphalia, in Thuringia and Saxony, in the upper-Rhine region and in German-speaking Switzerland. One can even find them in villages and hamlets, even in the open countryside and in barren wasteland. But there is no question that the rise of the beguines was a phenomenon closely associated with the life of the city. Though often only a few beguine houses emerged in small or middling towns, in Basel and Mainz in the fourteenth century there

The Status of Women in Religious Life 233 were no fewer than 22 and 28, respectively—that is to say these cities were home to some 350 to 400 women living as beguines. And that was relatively few in comparison to Strasbourg and Cologne: Strasbourg counted 85 beguine communities, and within its walls Cologne was home to no fewer than 169 houses with around a thousand inhabitants. Small wonder that in the middle ages contemporaries likened the number of beguines in Cologne to drops of water in the ocean. With respect to the economic foundations of their way of life most of these women, who came mostly from the cities themselves but also often from the surrounding territory, were dependent on the city and the possibilities for employment that it afforded. To the extent that they lived together (and in general that was the case) they could only in part support themselves from sufficient property. Apart from occasional begging and the acceptance here and there of various donations, their incomes rested for the most part on their own industry. They cared for the invalid and the ill, accompanied the dead to their eternal rest and took care of both gravesites and liturgical memory. They also occasionally passed on their practical knowledge and abilities to the young. But their true source of income was the work of their own hands, their work with needle and thread, with spinning wheel and weaving chair, with cooking and washing in cloisters and private houses. The life of a woman striving for spiritual perfection outside of the convent and the canonry, as we have already suggested, had its legal foundation neither in the classical rules of the orders nor in binding constitutions. It was oriented much more toward statutes and house rules that were non-binding in the eyes of church law, and shaped according to the will of the founders, the needs of the women and the special circumstances of each individual household. Yet there was also much common ground: the women, whether in beguinages that became customary in the Netherlands, or the individual houses most often found in Germany, were subject to the authority of a leader who was often described as Martha. For as long as they remained beguines, they obligated themselves to poverty, chastity and obedience, and to the extent that their work allowed them the time and the opportunity, they devoted themselves to prayer and contemplation. Their spiritual exercises are only distantly related to the prayers of the choir, the meditations and collations of nuns and canon- esses. These drew very much more strongly than the beguines from the tradi- tional culture of monastic life. Yet for all of their distancing from the religious orders and the clergy, these women in no way wanted to renounce the support of the church in the establishment of their way of life. Occasionally they entrusted themselves to secular clergy, sometimes members of monastic, men- dicant or military orders—whosse convents, not only spiritually but spatially

234 chapter 6 also, were central to the beguines and their communities. Many pious women lived in the shadows of the orders’ churches, and took part in their divine ser- vices as often as they were able—so much so that it is fair to speak of beguine “colonies” in the neighborhoods of the Dominicans and Franciscans. And by the later middle ages such proximity was often the cause of sharp conflict between the religious orders and the secular clergy, as well as conflicts among the mendicant orders themselves. Here and there the conflicts had to be given up, when the pious women (rightly or wrongly) were accused of heresy, perse- cuted or forced to renounce their way of life. The impressionistic portrait offered here might create the sense that beguine life was somehow nothing more than an impoverished, inadequate substitute for genuine religious life. Such an impression is, at least for the later middle ages, not unjustified. By that time the beguines drew their recruits primarily from the lower ranks of the population. Their work was often such that it could be associated with ostracized professions. Their overwhelmingly vernacular manuscripts normally espouse commonplace theological truths, common meditational exercises and commonly read texts, suggesting that the intellec- tual level of their owners had long been not nearly as high as that of Dominican and Franciscan women. The beguines, too, counted themselves least among the spiritual corporations that served God and the church. Of course that did not prevent them from being proud of their estate and expressing their own distinct confidence. They moved their half-official status in the direction of the community of disciples that surrounded Christ, and saw in the poverty and humility of their circumstance not a mark of shame, but a sign of distinction, granted to them by the one who left behind the glory of heaven to take on the form of a servant. This modeling of the life of Christ and his disciples is a legacy of the early days of the beguine way of life, one that can be traced back to the turn from the twelfth to the thirteenth century, and to the time of St. Elizabeth. If one wishes to understand properly the life and the aims of the earliest beguines, one must forget much of what became characteristic of the lives of pious women, of mulieres religiosae, in the later middle ages. The earliest beguines certainly did not come only from the ranks of the lowest orders of society. Their poverty and their renunciation of marriage were not shaped only through external circum- stances, as was often the case in the later middle ages. Their way of life was instead based on voluntary decisions. Nor can there be any suggestion of intel- lectual parochialism or quietistic conspiracy. The women from Brabant, Flanders, the lower Rhine and the bishopric of Lüttich, of whom Mary d’Oignies and Ivette of Huy are the most well-known, were all from noble and patrician families that did not accept without resistance their daughters’ and wives’

The Status of Women in Religious Life 235 decisions—to turn radically from the world, to live in poverty, to sustain them- selves from begging or manual labor, to feed the hungry, to care for the leprous, to accompany the dying, to bury the dead, and to relive the suffering of Christ on their own flesh through stern bodily asceticism. Mary d’Oignies, who hailed from an esteemed family in Nivelles, had been given to a man in marriage already at age fourteen. She eventually persuaded him to live with her in chas- tity and to work in common with her to care for the poor and the leprous, and eventually she made her way into a circle of like-minded women at St. Nicholas in Oignies. Ivette of Huy, who was also from a wealthy family, was already a widow and mother of three sons at eighteen, after a forced marriage of five years. She refused, despite the pressure that the Bishop of Lüttich placed on her, to enter into a new marriage. Five years after the death of her husband she instead left her small children in the care of her father in order, as she put it, to take on higher duties than those of a mother. She founded a hospital for sick and for pilgrims, and soon established a “leper colony” there in which she served the lowest of the low with such model diligence that she was able not only to win many companions, but also to persuade her father and two of her sons to enter Cistercian monasteries. The prerequisite for this way of life was a spiritual fullness oriented toward both the model of Christ and his followers and toward the strict penitential practices of the monastic and desert fathers. The women drew strength (as can be seen so well in the lives of Christina of St. Trond and Margarita of Ypres) from the Eucharist they held in such reverence, and their lives took shape through the influence (itself not always without problems) of spiritual instruc- tors. Human strength and spiritual fire put these first beguines (who need not be ashamed before a comparison with Elizabeth of Thuringia) unquestionably at the center of their circles, and inspired wonder not least among their biog- raphers and mentors—figures like James of Vitry, Fulk of Toulouse, Thomas of Cantimpré, Hugh of Floreffe, Siger of Lille and John of Lier—who were more led and shaped by the women than they led and shaped the women themselves. The beguine way of life was, as has been said, no isolated phenomenon. Similar developments can be seen across Europe at the turn from the twelfth to the thirteenth century. In Catalonia, Castile and Aragon from that time there is word of the beatae who lived without religious rule or order. In Provence the beguine Douceline, sister of Hugh of Die, found herself at the center of the Ladies of Roubaud, who like many similarly directed women’s communities led a life of chastity, poverty and prayer without associating with any religious order. At the same time, in the densely urban areas of Italy, many faithful men and women resolved to live more consciously in imitation of Christ, without

236 chapter 6 entering a convent or an order. Instead they began, voluntarily, to lead the penitential life, the vita poenitentialis, which required prayer, fasting and an exemplary turn from the world, including the renunciation of ill-gotten gains, made it obligatory to serve the weak, the poor and the ill, and required a readi- ness to thoroughgoing sexual abstinence: Women vowed perpetual chastity, married couples periodically embraced abstinence, and wives promised, should they become widows, to forego future marriage. The penitential life began with an expression of obligation, more private than public, before a spiritual authority—whether a member of the secular clergy or of a religious order. It then found outward expression through the mutatio habitum, the adoption of an undyed, grey penitential garment. It was then fulfilled in one’s own house, in domo propria, but also led in many cases to the formation of wider confraternities. In general the penitents—in Italy one most often called them pinzocheri or bizzochi—sought close association with the orders and their members. In certain cases it was the members of older orders, even the Templars and the Hospitalers, that stood ready to serve as their mentors. Normally, however, the mendicants took on the spiritual leadership of the penitential communities. It was thus no accident that at the end of the thir- teenth century many communities adopted rules for tertiaries crafted by the Franciscans and Dominicans, and so bound themselves institutionally with the larger mendicant orders as well. But it should not be forgotten that the penitential way of life was a phenomenon older than the mendicant orders, and a way of life and that from its origins aimed for a certain kind of Christian perfection, one that had not been shaped by religious life. To speak of the status tertius or a via media in the thirteenth century, how- ever, was not only to speak of the beguines and penitents that were encoun- tered in such great numbers on both sides of the Alps. Hermits and recluses and brothers and sisters serving in hospitals, too, were to be numbered among the ranks of semi-religious life. Concerning the first group, there is no need to think of proven members of established religious orders—those who in the spirit of the Benedictine Rule were allowed to spend some part of their life in separate hermitages without giving up their membership in the cloister com- munity. Rather, the discussion here should center on the significant number of men and women who, with the blessing and approval of their parish priest and bishop, left the world to live the vita eremitica without approved rule or consti- tution, personally free and responsible only to themselves. Their way of life offered many opportunities. It reached from the almost total renunciation of the world among “walled-in” recluses to the work of the cloistered in the world, who offered aid to pilgrims and travelers in the streets and on the waterways. The same can be said for the brothers and sisters of the hospitals. In speaking

The Status of Women in Religious Life 237 of them as semi-religious, they should not be confused with the members of the hospital-orders that emerged in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries—the Johannites and Antonites, for example. Rather, the brothers and sisters of the status tertius were those who offered their services to the needy in so many autonomous hospitals, founded by clergy and laity, cloisters and bishops, cities and confraternities, who wore their own kind of spiritual garb, who lived like members of the religious orders, but who were not professed religious in the strict sense. As broad as this spectrum of semi-regulated institutions could be, however, and as smoothly as it met the religious needs and social circum- stances of women faced with suspicion among ecclesiastical authorities, it still did not represent a solution that could satisfy every model of religious life.

*

In the reports of the heretics discovered in France and Italy at the opening of the eleventh century, there is mention again and again of the participation of women. The French chronicler Ralph Glaber suggested that the spread of her- esy in Gaul was to be traced back to a woman who had come from Italy. She is said to have been able to win over to her errors not only uneducated and simple folk, but many learned clerics. Ademar of Chabannes says of the heretics dis- covered around 1022 in Toulouse that they caused not only many men but many women to depart from the faith. According to the report of Landulf of Milan, near Turin around 1028 Archbishop Aribert convicted a group of false teachers that included both women and men. They lived with one another as brothers and sisters, under the leadership of a woman, the Countess of Monteforte. Over the course of the following century, as the dualistic heresy of the Cathars found its way into Latin Christendom, what had been in the elev- enth century merely an astonishing curiosity came to disturb laity and clergy alike. To careful observers like Eberwin of Steinfeld, Egbert of Schönau, Hilde­ gard of Bingen and Bernard of Clairvaux it became clear that women not only flew to the heretics in Scharen, but that they also persuaded their husbands to join them. They were, as the figures we have noted make clear,17 not only accepted into the circles of the Cathar sympathizers, the credentes, but also numbered among the ranks of the consecrated, the perfecti. Hildegard strug- gled to find an explanation. As she saw it, the women found among the heretics that guidance from true teachers, recti doctores, that they sought in vain among

17 Eberwin of Steinfeld, Epistola ad S. Bernardum, Migne pl 182, col. 679; Egbert of Schönau, Sermones contra Catharos, Migne pl 195, col. 13–14, 19, 90.

238 chapter 6 the orthodox clergy.18 Bernard did not even bother with an explanation. That men and women should live together was for him a symptom of their error. With disgust he claimed that women left their husbands and men left their wives so that they could live together in the circles of the heretics as chaste men and women, viri et feminae continentes, and eat and work together. “If one wants to keep the church pure,” so he says, “one must break up such conventi- cles, drive away the women and keep the men out of the church.”19 According to the protocols of the inquisitors active across Southern France in the thirteenth century, the threat that had loomed a century before had become reality, and it could no longer be contained by the measures Bernard had suggested. The Albigensians, so they were named after one of their fortifi- cations, had been able to win over many women to their cause. They either remained in the world as amicae or—in a way reminiscent of religious life— committed (as indutae or vestitae) to strive after spiritual perfection. In order to reach it, they seem (unlike the Bosnian dualists who were the forerunners of the western Cathars) not to have been allowed to live in community with the male members of the sect. Rather they gathered themselves in communities of women that have been compared, with justification, to women’s convents and beguinages. Prayer, fasting and contemplation shaped their lives; they cared for the sick and raised children; and it was not unusual for them to sustain themselves through manual labor and begging. The women, who entered the sect as girls (and often very young ones), as widows, as women divorced or abandoned, came from every social rank—high and low nobility, bourgeois circles and the underclasses. Perhaps the most distinguished and well known among them was Esclarmonde of Foix, who in the nineteenth century was dubbed the “inspiratrice visible du mysticism Cathare” and assumed, in her position as Lady of Montségur, to have been at the heart of the resistance against the inquisition.20 There is no evidence of that in the sources. What we do know of her, however, is enough to place the countess of Foix alongside her countrywoman Douceline of Digne and her social peer Elizabeth of Thuringia. After the death of her spouse Jordan ii of Isle-Jourdain, who had left to her and her daughters only a modest sum, Esclarmonde resolved around 1200 to associ- ate herself with the heretic Guillabert de Castres and make him her spiritual guide. In 1204 he administered to her and to other pious women a spiritual baptism, the consolamentum, and accepted them in to the circles of the

18 S. Hildegardis, Epistolae, Migne pl 197, col. 251. 19 S. Bernardus, Sermones in Cantica, Migne pl 183, col. 1092. 20 S. Coinca-Saint-Palais, “Esclarmonde de Foix dans l’histoire et le roman,” in: Revue de la Gascogne 52, (1911), 60.

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­perfecti. The noblewoman, now the leader of a community of women, appears for the last time in the historical record in 1207. In that year, in the presence of numerous secular and ecclesiastical dignitaries, she intervened in a dispute that pitted Waldensians and Cathars against Dominic and the bishops of Toulouse and Couseran. And in doing so she incurred the wrath of one who had sharp words for her: “Go back to your spinning wheel, my lady. It is not your place to speak in an assembly such as ours.”21 What the Cathars allowed was all the more possible among the Waldensians, who as the “Poor of Lyon” claimed for the laity the authority to preach and who led, against a “priestly” church that had grown too wealthy, a life of apostolic poverty and missionary zeal. After his conversion in 1177 their “founder,” the rich Lyonese banker Waldes, left his wife behind in the world and put his two daughters away in the order of Fontevrault. But he had no reservations whatso- ever about allowing those women who wished to follow him to take part in the often dangerous and tumultuous life of a wandering preacher. The sources, whether Waldensian or orthodox, thus speak quite clearly of his followers as “brothers and sisters.” In the early days the relationships between the sexes was in fact so close that there is no evidence of independent women’s communi- ties; men and women clearly lived in community with one another. It is thus no wonder that Innocent iii and other critics accused the Waldensian men and women of not only travelling the land together, but of sharing the same houses and hospices, even the same beds.22 The women who chose to join the ranks of these two great heresies instead of entering the cloister had reasons that differed from case to case and from place to place. One motive that must have prevailed generally, however, can be gauged from the evidence of two heretical women who at the end of the twelfth century were asked by Bishop Ponce of Clermont for the reason behind their departure from the faith: In the sect they were free, subject to no one, and in fact they were allowed to preach. But under the burdens of monastic life they had lived only in misery and suffering.23 Their remarks captured a critical point: In their early years both heresies had in fact offered women the possibil- ity of an unconventional life in “community of action,” side by side with men who were moving across the countryside, working both openly and covertly. More important still was the fact that the women were granted in principle

21 J. Beyssier, “Guillaume de Puylaurens et sa chronique,” in: Bibliothèque de la Faculté des Lettres. Université de Paris 18 (1904), 127. 22 Die Chronik des Propstes Burchard von , mgh ss rer. Germ. ed. O. Holder-Egger and B.V. Simson, 2nd ed. (1916), 107. 23 G. Gonnet, Enchiridion Fontium Valdensium i (Torre Pellice, 1958), 46.

240 chapter 6 what the church had withheld from the laity, and especially from women, from time immemorial: open preaching and the administration of the sacraments. Among the Waldensians from 1182/83 at the latest there is evidence of sisters who preached and disputed quite openly in public, after they had been pre- pared through an intensive course of study in Holy Scripture. “Day and night they never ceased from teaching and learning,” so David of Augsburg said of the Waldensians in Germany, both women and men.24 Such equality prevailed not only in preaching, but also in divine services and in the sharing of the sac- raments. The Dominican Stephen of Bourbon notes that it was allowed to Waldensian women, if they lived an upright life, to exercise the officium sacer- dotis, the priestly office.25 In fact we know that women played an active role in the Waldensian ritual of initiation, that they baptized and occasionally dis- pensed the sacrament of the altar. Among the Cathars, after the perfectae had received the consolamentum they had the right to give the sacrament to others as well, at least in exceptional cases or in cases of emergency. They could also hear the confessions of the credentes, and break the bread during the liturgy. If they only seldom preached in public, one can nevertheless assume that they continually sought a deeper understanding of their teaching. How else could they, like Esclarmonde, actively intervene in the debates between heretics and orthodox believers? The willingness of medieval heretics to make a place for women in ecclesi- astical duties of pastoral care and worship that had been exclusively preserved for men is occasionally taken as proof for a close bond between women’s strug- gle for emancipation and social and religious protest, and described as the ideological foundation of a mass movement. More recent investigations have shown, however, that among the heretics, too, any openness toward women lasted only through the early period of their history, and that only relatively few women were able to climb their way to the higher ranks of the hierarchy. Soon their participation was unanimously approved neither among the Wald­ ensians nor the Cathars. And in fact that participation was driven back to such a degree that the sects began to form new institutions. The formation of a hier- archy of offices, a decline in mobility and the waning intensity of religious life led within heterodoxy to phenomena similar to those that can be observed among the orthodox. Once generous possibilities for growth and development, as well as relatively broad equality, yielded to “claustration,” “domesticization,”

24 David of Augsburg, De inquisitione hereticorum, ed. W. Preger, Abhandlungen der histo- rischen Classe der k. bayr. Akademie der Wissenschaft 19 (1891), 209, 213, 218. 25 Steven of Bourbon, De septem donis spiritus sancti, ed. A. Lecoy de la Marche (Anecdotes historiques, légendes et apologues, Milan, 1766–80), i, 296.

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“subordination” and “limiting of apostolic activity”—the same constrictions thought to be characteristic of the development of women’s religious orders. What took place in a certain inherent way within heretical circles was, for groups that had loosed themselves from heresy and returned to the bosom of the church, imposed from without. When at the beginning of the thirteenth century French Waldensians under the leadership of Durandus of Huesca and Bernardus Primus were reconciled with the church, they were made to prom- ise to avoid association with women, never again to sleep with sorores in a house or to eat with them at the same table. In places like Elne in southern France this led concretely to the formation of a papally-licensed community of clergy and laity that enforced a strict division of the sexes (the women lived on one side of the house, men on the other), yet allowed men and women to inter- act in the community guest house, “in which the tired and poor were to be refreshed; the sick cared for; children abandoned by their mothers nourished; poor, pregnant women cared for; and at the beginning of the winter, the poor provided with clothing.”26 A short time before, the Humiliati of northern Italy (who in 1184 had been condemned as heretics along with the Waldensians) had gone a similar way. When they decided to return to the church in 1198/99, pope Innocent iii had the foresight to allow them to maintain the cohabitation of clergy and laity, men and women that was characteristic of their organization, as long as they agreed to certain modifications. As is clear from the propositum approved for them by the curia, communities of Humiliati organized them- selves into three groups or “orders.” The first two, headed by praepositi and praelati, consisted of unmarried men and women who lived separately and adopted the status of those in religious orders. To the third order belonged laity who continued to live their normal lives in the company of their families, but who ate and prayed together in common, clothed themselves humbly and who sought to observe God’s commandments with special zeal. As a concession to their original intentions they were also allowed to gather in a suitable place every Sunday to hear the sermons of those laity whose faith and knowledge were deemed suitable for the task of preaching. The reconciliation of the Waldensians and the Humiliati, whose propositum anticipated the trina milita that would later be realized by St. Francis and his followers, was an exception. Normally the proximity of heresy to orthodoxy did not lead to such compromises or transitions, but to confusion, uncertainty and persecution. The sheer number of new religious communities that emerged in the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth centuries made it difficult for pope and bishops to oversee what had until that time been relatively

26 K.-V. Selge (see bibliography), 217.

242 chapter 6 manageable religious orders. When it came to matters of obedience and ortho- doxy, faced with so many groups of pious men and women with similar ways of dress, ways of life and intentions, it was almost impossible to judge properly, to separate the sheep from the goats. Moreover, within the new communities themselves, the rank and file surely did not understand the nature of true faith or the necessity of obedience in as sophisticated a way as could be found in the cloister, in the schools or among the inquisitors. And yet in these pious con- venticles one tended toward dispute over theological subtleties and to inter- pretation of scripture without the requisite training—which frequently led many to fall into dangerous errors. This helped cultivate an environment that not only favored deviance and disobedience, but also attracted heretics who, through the strength of their arguments, and often through their exemplary way of life, won for themselves sympathizers whom they led into error. For that reason, as is well known, by the later middle ages semi-religious life had come under suspicion, and the name of beguine became synonymous with heresy and error, if not with the shameful rabble beyond the ranks of the church or on the margins of society—and this despite the fact that the majority of the women lived a pious and godly life. The fear that a religionum diversitas, a multiplicity of orders and religious communities, could throw the church into great confusion, into a gravis confu- sio, inspired the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 to prohibit not only the founda- tion of new religious orders but also of individual houses, domus religiosae, unless they agreed to adopt one of the established religious rules—in other words to attach themselves to an existing religious order.27 This measure, renewed and refined at the Second Council of Lyon in 1274, did not make it easy for those who wanted to go their own way, or a way other than those that had been established. If they wanted neither to drift into heresy nor to bind themselves to an established order, they found themselves at the opening of the thirteenth century on a narrow and dangerous path. What until then had been seen by the clergy and the bishops as tolerable now seemed to learned theologians and inquisitors—faced with the general spread of heresy—as dangerous error and disobedience worthy of punishment. Only in the later middle ages, above all in circles shaped by the Modern Devotion, did one begin to find legal ideas and arguments that not only helped establish a secure foun- dation for those who chose semi-religious life, but also strengthened their resolve to live a life that need not take second place behind life in a religious order, that indeed was of equal in importance, in the eyes of the church, with the vita regularis.

27 Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Decreta 3rd ed. (Bologna 1973), 242.

The Status of Women in Religious Life 243

*

In the prologue of his Vita Mariae Oigniacensis James of Vitry made an attempt to classify the new forms of women’s religious life that had emerged in his day. He differentiated among three groups: the virgins, who according to the com- mands of their heavenly spouse lived by the work of their hands in poverty and modesty; widows, who renounced future marriage and who offered compas- sionate care to the poor and the sick; and lastly married women, who with the approval of their husbands lived in chastity. This scheme makes clear that with his categorization came certain judgments. At the pinnacle of his order stood the virgins; widows followed, and only at the end did he mention married women. It is rightly said of James that he followed the changes and innovations of his day with a keen eye. But in this case his observations reveal no original insight. The scheme he invoked had become commonplace by the high middle ages. It can be found already in , , Augustine and Jerome. Its foundation in the New Testament can be found in the parable of the seeds that bring forth great fruit: The life of the virgins, so it is explained, brings a hun- dred-fold, that of the widows and married women, however, only sixty and thirty. And it was not only in the Vita of Mary d’Oignies that there were attempts to understand new phenomena within old categories, and to judge according to outdated norms. Theologians and historians, too, in the same years, tried to interpret the emergence of new social classes and groups, the growing diver- sity of religious orders and the growth of doctrinal error and heresy within the framework of inherited social models, and to interpret all of the changes as either the evolution of an existing order, or even as a return of an ancient one. Today some historians take this as evidence of how difficult it could be for medieval people to recognize and evaluate new trends. Others, however, see therein proof of an unbroken continuity between antiquity and the medieval era of church history. That continuity is postulated not only for the traditional vita religiosa of the women—which found its literary expression in works like the Speculum virginum and its institutional form in traditional cloister life— but also for marginal or unique forms of women’s religious life that have been spoken of here. Whenever women and men lived a spiritual life together both within and beyond the church; when they preached the word of God; carried out liturgical functions, or strove to test their chastity through intimate cohabi- tation—all of this can be linked to a tradition of double houses that reached back to antiquity, or perhaps to a tradition of canonesses that reached back to the early Christian diaconate, even to a tradition of syneisaktism that lived on in the Celtic world into the high middle ages. Similarly for penitential brother- hoods, communities of beguines and women living in chastity: their modus

244 chapter 6 vivendi can be understood as a contemporary adaptation, respectively, of the ancient ordo viduarum, a vita poenitentialis outlined in the early Christian penitential tradition, and a vita eremitica that could be traced back to Anthony and Paul of Thebes. These links to enduring traditions are not unjustified. A careful observer can in fact discern here and there in the early middle ages forms of women’s piety and practices of religious life that can be interpreted as antecedents or fore- runners of what came to fruition in the high middle ages. But such observa- tions cannot avoid the fact that women’s spiritual life experienced a flowering in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries that was, in terms of both quantity and quality, out of all proportion to what had come before. It was no longer only noble and high-ranking women who entered the cloister. Thousands upon thousands of women, from the ranks of burghers, farmers and even the under- classes, now “flooded” into so many cloisters newly established in both city and countryside. Whereas before only a few had lived a life between laity and reli- gious orders in scattered hermitages, cloisters or hospitals, in the high middle ages countless numbers of women on the margins, between vita regularis and vita laicorum, explored the possibilities of living a more free spiritual life— including, in extreme cases, taking on tasks that had until then been reserved only for men. The intensification of women’s piety and the growing importance of women in religious life were closely tied to women’s growing independence generally, in society, economy, law and culture. And that independence was closely asso- ciated with a general elevation of the status of women that found expression in many ways, but especially in the cult of the Mary and of the duties of courtly love. Historians are quick to see in these developments, along with the valorization of labor and of poverty, the most important characteristics of the high middle ages as an “era of European awakening.” They speak, often with conscious exaggeration, of the emergence of “strong matriarchal undercur- rents,” that led to a “turning away from sexual oppression,” to “emancipation from ecclesiastical domination,” to “equality” and stronger “social engagement” for women.28 Many factors are brought forth to explain this new state of affairs. Some have described it as a consequence of the Gregorian reforms; as a conse- quence of increasing urbanization; as a consequence of a surplus of women in the wake of the crusades and the increase of celibacy. Others believe to have

28 K. Bosl, “Armut, Arbeit, Emanzipation. Zu den Hintergründen der geistigen und liter- arischen Bewegung vom 11. bis zum 13. Jahrhundert,” in: Beiträge zur Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte des Mittelalters. Festschrift für Herbert Helbig zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. K. Schulz (1976), 134–135.

The Status of Women in Religious Life 245 established the importance of outside influences, or see in the entire process an overall step in the direction of both outward and inner emancipation not only for women, but for mankind in general. Such terms and interpretations, however, tend to foster misunderstanding about female piety, women’s reli- gious life and heresy in the high middle ages: they cannot be understood solely through established social processes and group formations, through the struc- tures of a given economic context, still less as ways of life assumed to be typi- cally female, comprehended by men only with difficulty, if at all. Careful scrutiny of the matter makes it clear that the spiritual life of women as well as men took its orientation above all from Holy Scripture, and more precisely from the New Testament. Both sexes turned to it in a new way, in that they took its words literally and sought to live up to the radical nature of its claims. The women who strove together with the men to live a more intense spiritual life, who made their way begging, indeed preaching across the landscape, did so above all because they sought to follow in the footsteps of Christ and the Apostles—who had made their own way, surrounded by disciples male and female, through Judea and Galilee. When women entrusted themselves to the leadership of men, when men accepted the power and responsibility of lead- ing women, and when both lived together in a religious community, they did so not without the sanction of the New Testament itself: Jesus himself had entrusted Mary to the care of John and left behind a community that was at first nothing other than a community of men and women who, gathered around Mary, received the Holy Spirit. And when the men of the religious orders, theologians and canonists were finally prepared to allow women to participate more fully than before in the spiritual life, that too had its founda- tion not least in their return to the Bible—and more precisely to the Lord, who drew to himself divorced women and prostitutes, who allowed his foot to be washed by women and who made them to be the first witnesses of his resurrection. The model of the Gospels, which was both known universally and embod- ied in countless particulars, was also taken as normative among those who moved beyond the boundaries of orthodoxy or who renounced their obedi- ence to the church hierarchy. This was so for the Waldensians, whose pursuit of a life more strictly in accord with the word of the Gospel led them to separate from the church. It was true as well as for the Cathars. Their dualistic world view actually prohibited them from affording women equal rank with men (since it was woman who guaranteed the propagation of a humanity deemed to be the manifestation of evil). But they too used the New Testament when- ever they accepted women into their circle and allowed them to dispense the sacraments. To summarize these reflections, it was not an appropriation of

246 chapter 6 outdated traditions but rather a direct return to the Bible and to the history of early Christianity that established the direction of these efforts and shaped the style of their piety. The attempt to come to a revision of the status of women in the church and religious life by recourse to the Gospels and the early church led in the high middle ages, as we have shown, to only slight changes in inherited circum- stance. One might adduce any number of reasons for this: the fact of the differ- ences in the sexes, and their differing patterns of life; social structures based on male dominance, whether real or merely asserted; even the sociological laws that seem to govern groups in transition from spiritual movements to orga- nized institutions. For those clerics and members of religious orders who found themselves on the front lines of these changes, however, what mattered most—as with questions of participation or of retreating from engagement with women—were the theological arguments. And it was no accident that these were formulated based on the authority of patristic and scholastic texts, on canon law and tradition. The Gospels, the pastoral letters and the Acts of the Apostles make clear that already in the second half of the first century, within the church itself, there had begun a process of crystallization and insti- tutionalization. As it unfolded the leadership of the early communities shifted from wandering missionaries to holders of hierarchical offices, from apostles and prophets to bishops and priests. And closely tied to this process of institu- tional formation was the emergence of a patriarchy—one that afforded a spe- cial place in the church and its community only to virgins and widows, because only they were free from the judgment of ancient and later Jewish tradition concerning women, who with Eve had brought evil into the world and who sought always to lead men into temptation. And if one were not in a position to argue from church law, a glance at Holy Scripture could suffice. That Christ had chosen men, not women, to be his Apostles, and so to be his priests, and still more that St. Paul (despite his recognition in principle of the fundamental equality of man and wife) had spoken so sharply of the natural and legal infe- riority of women—these made it possible to legitimize hardening and resis- tance with the same authority that had made possible such openness and readiness for women’s participation. It was thus Scripture itself, in the end, that gave rise to the “irrationality,” to the “contradiction” and “inconsistency” that shaped so many centuries of the relationship between women and the church, and thereby women’s status in religious life.29 Given that foundation, it would be a mistake to see the phenomenon addressed here as one limited merely to the high middle ages. The question of the appropriate place of women in the

29 Metz, “Le statut” (see bibliography), 112.

The Status of Women in Religious Life 247 church and in religious life had emerged already in late antiquity and the early middle ages, and lost none of its importance from the later middle ages into modernity. How unlikely that question is to have resolved itself merely through the course of further social and historical change becomes more clear in light of the rapidly growing number of so many recent publications on this inflec- tion of the “women’s question.” In virtually every Christian community, theolo- gians and believers today battle through almost all of the same difficulties that 750 years ago confronted not only a saint like Elisabeth, but so many other men and women, within and beyond the cloister, on both sides of the boundaries between orthodoxy and heresy.

*

It is certain that Elisabeth of Thuringia knew very early on of Francis of Assisi. Whether Francis ever heard of her can neither be confirmed nor denied. There is no doubt, however, that neither of them met during their lifetimes. And yet the seraphic saint was as near to the Thuringian countess from Hungary as he was to St. Clare, his Umbrian countrywoman, with whom he was bound his whole life long. Elisabeth and Francis shared so strongly their way of life and sensibility, and reflected so clearly the highest religious yearnings of their time that the unknown Franciscan cited at the opening of this essay erred only in fact, not in essence, when he assumed a spiritual bond between the two saints, one that could not be more intimate. Francis and Elisabeth shared the same restless search for the proper way of life. They both had to ask themselves whether it were better to enter a cloister or to live as an anchoress or a hermit, to devote themselves to the care of the sick or to wander as a beggar and preach the word of God. In the end both chose a vita poenitentialis between cloister and world. It became the ultimate solution for Elisabeth, while for Francis it was but one stop along the path to his own forma vivendi. Driving both was a desire to follow Christ, not in the way of what had become traditional piety, but in an adoption of the life of the Lord that could hardly have been more immediate and tangible: to renounce household and children, to turn to the bodily care of the most horrific sufferings of the ill, to resolutely return ill-got- ten money and goods, to embrace poverty and nakedness for the sake of Christ, to deny the flesh ruthlessly, and to participate in the sufferings of Christ even to the point of desiring or receiving the stigmata. Like Francis, who was ready in all things to render honor and obedience to the priesthood and the church, Elisabeth, too, in all things obedient and eager (in omnibus obediens et paratis- sima) saw in her subordination to Conrad of Marburg no dishonorable renun- ciation of her own will, but rather the crowning of her effort to become like the

248 chapter 6 one who had been obedient to his father even unto death on a cross. Both, Francis and Elisabeth, enjoyed in their lifetimes the blessing of experiencing true happiness and cheer, vera laetitia, hilaritas et iocunditas, through humilia- tion, renunciation and obedience. Through it they came so near the “magnifi- cence of heaven” that at the end both could meet their death cantantes, singing. At least one contemporary was able immediately to perceive and to appreci- ate what a later observer can see only with a close reading of the sources: Cardinal Hugolino of Ostia, who knew Elisabeth from her writings, and who had led and advised Francis both with counsel and instruction from the begin- ning of his public ministry. That the Cardinal had seen how close the two saints were, and that he was prepared to afford them similar honor, is clear from the process of their canonization. On July 16, 1228 the Cardinal, after his election as Pope Gregory ix, officially canonized the Poverello in S. Giorgio in Assisi. Only a relatively short time later, on May 27, 1235, he then helped the Countess to the honor of the altars in Perugia. In both instances the interests of the clergy and the religious orders, rulers and communes, but also the will of the ordinary faithful all played a considerable role. But when Gregory insisted on presiding personally over the , and on praising in his own words one as Vas admirabile, the other as Stella matutina (as “marvelous vessel” and as “morning star”), he did so with a specific intention. Through these canoniza- tions he surely wanted not only to encourage men and women, nobility and commoners, rich and poor, in a timeless way, to embrace the Christian life. In a world coming apart at the seams, in the struggle with the emperor and his powerful allies, beset on all sides by critics of the church, by heresy and unbe- lief, Francis and Elisabeth helped make clear that the pursuit of holiness and perfection found their proper place in a church whose origins reached back to the community of men and women gathered around Mary. Holiness and per- fection, that is to say, need not be tangled up with rebellion or heresy, still less a monopoly held by men.

Select Bibliography

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German tr. by R. Aachlama, 1981. For supplemental details see the excellent resource Dizionario degli Istituti di Perfezione Iff., Rome, 1973ff. R. Abel—E. Harrison. “The Participation of Women in Languedocian ,” in: Mediaeval Studies 41 (1979), 215–251. M.-Th. D’Alverny. “Comment les théologiens et les philosophes voient la femme,” in: Cahiers de civilisation médiévale 20 (1977), 105–129. M. Bateson. “The Origin and Early History of Double Monasteries,” in: Transactions of the Royal Historical Society NS 13 (1899), 137–198 U. Berlière: “Les monastères doubles aux 12e et 13e siècles,” in: Mémoires de l’Académie Royale de Belgique, 2 Ser., fasc. 3, Brussels, 1923. M. Bernards. Speculum virginum. Geistigkeit und Seelenleben der Frau im Hochmittelalter, Forschungen zur Volkskunde 36/38, 1955. ———. “Zur Seelsorge in den Frauenklöstern des Hochmittelalters,” in: Revue bénédic- tine 66 (1956), 256–268. ———. “Die Frau in der Welt und die Kirche während des 11. Jahrhunderts,” in: Sacris Erudiri 20 (1971), 39–100. B.M. Bolton. “Vitae matrum: A further Aspect of the Frauenfrage,” in: Medieval Women, Studies in Church History, Subsidia I, Oxford, 1978, 253–73. ———. “Mulieres sanctae,” in: Sanctity and Secularity: The Church and the World, Studies in Church History 10, Oxford, 1973, 76–95. A. Borst. Die Katharer, Schriften der MGH 12, 1953. R.B. Brooke—C.N.L. Brooke. “St. Clare,” in: Medieval Women, Studies in Church History, Subsidia I, Oxford, 1978, 275–287. K. Bücher. Die Frauenfrage im Mittelalter. 2nd ed. 1910. J. Bugge. Virginitas. An Essay in the History of a Medieval Ideal, International Archives of History of Ideas. Series Minor 17, The Haague, 1975. J. Buhot. “L’abbaye normand de Savigny, chef d’ordre et fille de Cîteaux,” in: Moyen Âge 7 (1936), 1–19; 104–121; 178–190; 249–272. C. Carozzi. “Une béguine Joachimite: Douceline, soeur d’Hugues de Digne,” in: Franciscains d’Oc. Les Spirituels ca. 1280–1324, Cahiers de Fanjeaux 10, Toulouse, 1975, 169–201. C. Carpaneto. “Lo stato dei penitenti nel ‘Corpus Juris Canonici’,” in: M. D’Alatri, I Frati Penitenti di San Francesco nella società del Due e Trecento, Atti del 2° Convegno di Studi Francescani, Roma, 12-13-14 ottobre 1976, Rome, 1977, 9–19. C. Catena. Le Carmelitane. Storia e spiritualità. Rome, 1969. M.D. Chenu. “Moines, clercs, laïcs au carrefour de la vie évangélique (XIIe siècle),” in: Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 49 (1954), 59–89. J. Croix Bouton. “L’établissement des moniales Cisterciennes,” in: Mémoires de la Societé pour l’histoire du droit et des institutions des anciens pays Bourguignons 15 (1953), 83–86.

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E. Nasalli-Rocca. Il diritto ospedaliero nei suoi lineamenti storici. Milan, 1956. R. Niderst. Robert d’Arbrissel et les origines de l’ordre de Fontevrault. Rodez 1952. O. Nübel. Mittelalterliche Beginen- und Sozialsiedlungen in den Niederlanden, Studien zur Fuggergeschichte 23, 1970. J. Orlandis. “Los monasterios duplices en la Alta Edad Media,” in: Anuario de Historia dei Derecho Españiol 30 (1960), 49–88. M. Parisse. “Les chanoinesses dans l’Empire Germanique (IXe-XIe siècles),” in: Francia 6 (1978), 107–126. I. Raming. Der Ausschluß der Frau vom priesterlichen Amt. Gottgewollte Tradition oder Diskriminierung. Eine rechtshistorisch-dogmatische Untersuchung der Grundlagen von Kanon 968 § 1 des Codex Juris Canonici, 1973. O. Reber. Die Gestaltung des Kultes weiblicher Heiliger im Spätmittelalter. Die Verehrung der Heiligen Elisabeth, Klara, Hedwig und Birgitta, 1963. S. Reicke. Das deutsche Spital und sein Recht im Mittelalter, 2 vols., Kirchenrechtliche Abhandlungen 111/112, 1932. R.E. Reynolds. “Virgines subintroductae in Celtic Christianity,” in: Harvard Theological Review 61 (1968), 559. S. Rorsin. “L’efflorescence Cistercienne et le courant féminin de piété au treizièrne siècle,” in: Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 39 (1943), 342–378. K.H. Schäfer. Die Kanonissenstifter im deutschen Mittelalter. Ihre Entwicklung und innere Einrichtung im Zusammenhang mit dem altchristlichen Sanktimonialentum, Kirchen­ rechtliche Abhandlungen 43/44, 1907, Repr. Amsterdam, 1965. ———. “Kanonissen und Diakonissen,” in: Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und für Kirchengeschichte 24 (1910), 49–90. J.-Cl. Schmitt. Mort d’une hérésie. L’Église et des clercs face aux béguines et aux béghards du Rhin supèrieur du XIVe au XVe siècle. Paris, 1978. E. Schüssler-Fiorenza. “Die Rolle der Frau in der urchristlichen Bewegung,” in: Concilium 12 (1976), 3–9. K.-V. Selge. Die ersten Waldenser I, Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte 37/1, 1967. S. Shahar. “De quelques aspects de la femme dans la pensée et la communauté reli- gieuse aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles,” in: Revue de l’histoire des religions 185 (1974), 27–77. J. Siegwart. Die Chorherren- und Chorfrauengemeinschaften in der deutschsprachigen Schweiz vom 6. Jahrhundert bis 1160, Studia Friburgensia NF 30, Freiburg, 1962. A. Simon. L’Ordre des Pénitentes de Ste Marie-Madeleine en Allemagne au XIIIe siècle. Freiburg/Switzerland, 1918. J. Smith. “Robert of Arbrissel: Procurator Mulierum,” in: Medieval Women, Studies in Church History, Subsidia I, Oxford, 1978, 175–184. K. Stendhal. The Bible and the Role of Women. Philadelphia, 1966. M. Stöckle. “Studien über Ideale in Frauenviten des VII.–X. Jahrhunderts.” Diss. Munich, 1957.

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S. Thompson. “The Problem of the Cistercian Nuns in the Twelfth and early Thirteenth Centuries,” in: Medieval Women, Studies in Church History, Subsidia I, Oxford, 1978, 227–252. C. Thouzellier. Catharisme et Valdéisme en Languedoc à la fin du XIIe et au début du XIIIe siècles. Paris, 1966. M.-H. Vicaire. L’imitation des Apôtres. Moines, chanoines, mendiants (IVe–XIIIe s.). Paris, 1963. F. De B. Vizmanos. Las virgines cristianas de la Iglesia primitiva. Madrid, 1949. J.V. Walter. Die ersten Wanderprediger Frankreichs. Studien zur Geschichte des Mönchtums. 2 vols. 1903, 1906. E. Wauer. Entstehung und Ausbreitung des Klarissenordens, 1906. E. Werner. Pauperes Christi. Studien zu sozial-religiösen Bewegungen im Zeitalter des Reformpapsttums. 1956. D.H. Williams. “Cistercian Nunneries in Medieval Wales,” in: Citeaux 26 (1975), 155–174. J. Wollasch. “Parenté noble et monachisme réformateur. Observations sur les “conversions” à la vie monastique aux XIe et XIIe siècles,” in: Revue historique 264, (1980), 3–24. L. Zarnecke. Der Anteil des Kardinals Ugolino an der Ausbildung der drei Orden des hei- ligen Franz, Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte des Mittelalters und der Renaissance 42. 1930. R. Zerfass. Der Streit um die Laienpredigt. Eine pastoralgeschichtliche Untersuchung zum Verständnis des Predigtamts und zu seiner Entwicklung im 12. und 13. Jahrhundert. 1974.

chapter 7 John of Capistrano’s Preaching Tour North of the Alps (1451–1456)

Dietrich Kurze sexegenario

In late autumn of 1450 Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini invited his countryman John of Capistrano to cross the Alps to Austria to preach. The letter of invitation, from the secretary of Frederick iii, no longer survives. It becomes clear, how- ever, from a later letter from Aeneas to John of 5 July 1451, and even more from the Historia Frederici iii Imperatoris, that the invitation was not merely a per- sonal one. It had found the support of King Frederick iii and Archduke Albert, and it was accompanied by a letter of Nicholas v (also lost), in which the pope ordered the Franciscan Observant to accept the invitation as soon as possible. In the History of Frederick iii Aeneas hints at the task John of Capistrano was supposed to fulfill in the Habsburg territories. The hope was that John could reform dilapidated Franciscan cloisters; preach peace to the people and bring before them the truth of the faith.1 The stakes of those hopes become more discernible when set against the political context of the Jubilee year of 1450: After the official dissolution of the Council of Basel on April 7, 1449 and the final recognition of Nicholas v, the normalization of the relationship between empire and papacy that had begun in 1448 with the of Vienna was brought to a close, sealed with the crowning of Frederick iii as emperor. The creation of the right climate was crucial amid these events—winning over those in the University of Vienna’s circle who were still sympathetic to the con- ciliar cause; the easing of tensions arising from the long-drawn out succession to the throne of King Ladislaus; but above all the strengthening of the ties

1 R. Wolkan (ed.), Der Briefwechsel des Eneas Silvius Piccolomini, iii, 1, Fontes rerum austriac- arum 68 (Vienna, 1918), 19–20; J.C. Kulpis (ed.), Aeneas Silvius, Historia rerum Friderici iii. imperatoris (Strassborg, 1685), 41–42. Similarly the two biographers of Capistrano, Nicholas of Fara and Christopher of Varese, in their lives of the saint—composed in 1462/63, cited here from the edition of J. Van Hecke in the Acta Sanctorum (=aass) Octobris x, (Paris-Rome, 1869). On these texts and the various recensions of the vitae: F. Banfi, “Le fonti per la storia di S. Giovanni da Capestrano,” Studi Francescani (= sf) 53 (1956), 299–343; E. Hocedez, “Nicolai de Fara Praefatio in Vitam S.Johannis a Capistrano,” Analecta Bollandiana 23 (1904), 320–324; J. Hofer, “Die ‘Legenda Johannis de Capistrano’ des Christophorus von Varese im Codex 2606 der Breslauer Stadtbibliothek,” Franziskanische Studien (= fs) 24 (1937), 175–182.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi 10.1163/9789004307780_009

256 chapter 7 between the German church and her faithful to the Roman church and the papacy.2

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John of Capistrano was suited for these tasks like no other.3 He was personally acquainted with Frederick iii, enjoyed the good will of Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini and stood on solid ground with Nicholas v, whom he had come to know already as bishop of Bologna. John knew virtually anyone who enjoyed any rank or recognition in Italy and at the papal court, and he was counted among his admirers as well as his detractors as a person of significance and influence. In a poetic letter of 1451, the Paduan humanist Donato da Cittadella praised him as a “light of the faith” and the “adornment of Italy.”4 Minister General of the Franciscan order Giacomo Bussolini, who was not exactly friendly to the Observants, said of him in 1453 that he not only enjoyed a repu- tation of holiness, but also that he had, with God’s help and the blessing of the , accomplished much for the reform of the Franciscan order and the welfare of the church.5 That these judgments were no exaggeration would be proven through John’s decision to leave Italy in May, 1451—forever, as it

2 J.W. Stieber, Pope Eugenius iv, The Council of Basel and the Secular and Ecclesiastical Authorities in the Empire. The Conflict over Supreme Authority and Power in the Church, Studies in the History of Christian Thought xiii (Leiden, 1978), 276–330. For Imperial his- tory, B. Töpfer et al., Die entfaltete Feudalgesellschaft von der Mitte des 11. bis zu den siebziger Jahren des 15. Jahrhunderts, Deutsche Geschichte 2 (Cologne, 1983), 420–432; P. Moraw: Von offener Verfassung zu gestalteter Verdichtung. Das Reich im späten Mittelalter 1250–1490, Propyläen Geschichte Deutschlands 2 (Berlin, 1985), 362–385; H. Boockmann, Stauferzeit und spätes Mittelalter, Deutsche Geschichte in zehn Bänden. Das Reich und die Deutschen 2 (Berlin, 1987), 326–335. On Frederick iii and his politics: B. Rill, Friedrich iii. Habsburgs europäischer Durchbruch (Graz-Vienna-Cologne, 1987). 3 Foundational: J. Hofer, Johannes Kapistran. Ein Leben im Kampf um die Reform der Kirche, i– ii, new, revised ed., Bibliotheca Franciscana 1–2 (Rome-Heidelberg, 1964–65). Also: O. Bonmann, “Jean de Capestrano (Saint),” in: Dictionnaire de Spiritualité 8 (1974) c. 316–324; idem, “Giovanni da Capestrano,” in: Dizionario degli Istituti di Perfezione 4 (1977) c. 1212–1223. Forthcoming: S. Giovanni da Capestrano nella Chiesa e nella societa del suo tempo. Atti del convegno storico internazionale. vi Centenario della nascita del Santo 1386–1986. Capestrano— L’Aquila, 8–12 ottobre 1986. 4 F.M. Delorme (ed.), “Une lettre poétique de Donato de Cittadella à S.Jean de Capistran,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum (= afh) 4 (1911), 178. 5 L. Wadding, Annales Minorum seu trium ordinum a S. Francisco institutorum xii (Quaracchi, 3rd ed., 1932), 203.

John of Capistrano’s Preaching Tour North of the Alps 257 would turn out, and much to the regret of his countrymen—for the foreign lands on the far side of the Alps.6 John was born in 1386 in Capestrano, at the foot of the Gran Sasso, the son of a barone oltremontano who had come to Italy with Louis of Anjou. John renounced the world in 1415 and entered the Observant convent of Monteripido in Perugia. At that time the number of brothers from Umbria and the Rieti val- ley who had embraced the strict observance of the Franciscan rule was still relatively small.7 The number of their hermitages and convents remained around thirty. When John died in Hungary on 23 October 1456 the number of Observant convents in his homeland had reached over 600, and nearly as many were to be found in west-central and southeastern Europe.8 Moreover, by the middle of the fifteenth century there had not only been an expansion of the circle of convents that were eager to embrace a stricter observance, whether through reform or through new foundations. Franciscan Observant reform had also established itself institutionally, over against both the order as a whole and against the papal curia, such that it enjoyed—officially from 1517, but in reality from the promulgation of the bull Ut sacra ordinis in 1446—the status of an autonomous order. These accomplishments owed much in the first instance to the efforts of John of Capistrano, whom Eugenius iv had named General Vicar of all cismontane Observant cloisters in 1443, and who therefore could lay claim not only de facto but de jure to being the leader, promoter and organizer of the Franciscan Observants in Italy.9

6 J. Hofer, “Die Predigttätigkeit des hl. Johannes Kapistran in deutschen Städten,” fs 13 (1926), 120–158; C. Othmer, “S.Giovanni da Capestrano ed i suoi viaggi fuori d’ltalia,” sf 26 (1929), 180–212. A provisional chronology of his journey in: A. Chiappini, “Prospetto cronologico della vita di S. Giovanni da Capestrano,” sf 53 (1956), 203–224. 7 L. Brengio, L’Osservanza francescana in Italia nel secolo xiv, Studi e testi francescani 24 (Rome, 1963); M. Sensi, Le Osservanze Francescane nelI’Italia Centrale. Secoli xiv–xv, Bibliotheca Seraphico-Capuccina 30 (Rome, 1985); D. Nimmo, “The Genesis of the Observance,” in: Il rinnovamento del Francescanesimo: L’osservanza. Atti dell’xi Convegno internazionale, Assisi, 20-21-22 ottobre 1983 (Assisi, 1985), 109–147. 8 The statistical data in Wadding, Annales Minorum xv, 367–420; L. Di Fonzo, “Francescani iv, 10: La statistica dell’ Ordine,” in: Dizionario degli Istituti di Perfezione 4 (1977) c. 491, 495–498; J.R.H. Moorman, Medieval Franciscan Houses, Franciscan Institute Publications, Hist. Ser.4 (New York, 1985). Cf. also G. Bove: “Conventi minoritici medievali (1209–1517) in un recente dizionario di J.R.H. Moorman,” Miscellanea Francescana (= mf) 84 (1984), 744–753. 9 H. Holzapfel, Handbuch der Geschichte des Franziskanerordens (Freiburg i. Brsg., 1909); J.R.H. Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order from its Origins to the Year 1517 (Oxford, 1967); C. Schmiti, “François (Ordre de Saint): les Franciscains,” in: Dictionnaire d’Histoire et de Géographie Ecclésiastique xviii (1977) cols. 824–911; D. Nimmo, Reform and Division in the

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John began to preach immediately after his priestly in 1417, and continued to do so in his native Aquila after a brief stay at the papal court in Mantua. From 1422 his preaching led him through several cities in central Italy, where the common folk soon esteemed him as a teacher, prophet and healer.10 The series of his surviving sermons and sermon cycles begins with the Lenten sermons he preached in 1424 in Siena—a body of preaching and missionary work that proves John to be justly numbered, along with Albert of Sarteano, James of the Marches and Bernardino of Siena (whom John himself held in high esteem), as one of the Four Pillars of the Observance.11 As a former judge of both the Tribunale della Vicaria, the highest judicial court in Naples, and of the Giudice delle cause civile in Perugia, John also revealed, earlier and more strongly than his fellow friars, his inclination for political activity. He sought out the inner circles of the popes and cardinals, and placed himself uncondi- tionally in their service.12 Even before his preaching tour, in the service of Martin v he had turned himself against the Fraticelli. In 1422 in Rome he had proclaimed the same pope’s Jubilee indulgence. In 1425, along with Bernardino of Siena, he helped win back a Perugia that had been alienated from the papacy under Braccio di Montone. In 1431 and 1433, commissioned by Eugene iv and with the pope’s favor, John continued the persecution of the Fraticelli and the advancement of Observant reform. Two years later, again in the service of the pope, he intervened in the struggle over royal succession in Naples. And in 1439 he took up an invitation of Eugene iv to come to Florence, where the union of the Greek and Latin churches was ratified in July. Yet all of this says nothing of the life of a jurist trained in Perugia by teachers like Matteo Feliziani and Alessandro di Angelo, nephew of the renowned Baldus—his attempts at nego- tiation and mediation, and all of his legal treatises, through which he sought to

Franciscan Order from Saint Francis to the Foundation of the Capuchins, Bibliotheca Seraphico-Capuccina 33 (Rome, 1987). 10 L. Łuszcki, De Sermonibus S. Joannis a Capistrano. Studium historico-criticum, Studia Antoniana 16 (Rome, 1961). Cf. also idem, “Notae critico-historicae de manuscriptis ser- monum S.Joannis de Capistrano,” sf 53 (1956), 345–363. On prophecy: O.Bonmann, “Zum Prophetismus des Johannes Kapistran (1386–1456),” Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 44 (1962), 193–198. On miracles see the literature cited in n. 28. 11 Łuszcki, De Sermonibus (n. 10), 30–31; idem, “De quibusdam sermonibus S. Bernardini a S. Joanne Capistranensi reportatis,” afh 49 (1956), 345–351. 12 For the relationships to the popes see the thorough treatment of A. Matanič, “San Giovanni da Capestrano oratore pontificio, apostolo e difensore della ‘Republica Cristiana’,” sf 58 (1956), 225–51; M. Fois, “I papi e l’osservanza minoritica,” in: Il rinnovamento del Frances­ canesimo (n. 7), 31–105.

John of Capistrano’s Preaching Tour North of the Alps 259 end legal strife and political quarrels, and to establish peace in Aquila, Sulmona, Ortona and Lanciano.13 How then would Capistrano, so much a product of Italy, fare north of the Alps? Would a way of reforming the orders, of popular preaching and church politics that had taken shape in the communal world of Umbria and Tuscany, in Naples and the Papal States allow itself to take hold there without issue? It was a question asked not only at the court in Wiener . John and his companions themselves asked it at the end of April and the beginning of May, 1451, before they departed from Venice over Portogruaro and St. Vitus to Austria. But with the first steps north of the Alps it became clear that the plans of Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini, at least with regard to popular preaching and reform of the orders, would work out well, and that the brothers’ self-doubt was unjustified.14

*

In Villach, where John was received on May 18, 1451 “as if it were the advent of the pope himself,” great masses of the faithful crowded around him.15 After his sermon many who had been stricken ill with pestilence were carried to him on biers, among them the vicar of the main church in Villach. He healed them all in nomine Jesu Christi et sancti Bernardini. Thereafter the press of the masses was so powerful that John and his entourage left the city secretly in the middle of the night. But the rumor of events moved more quickly. The citizens of Gurk, Neumarkt and Judenburg, as well as many smaller cities and villages, took to the road to see the preacher on his way, to hear him and to touch him. Frederick iii, his ward Ladislaus and the court received him in Wiener

13 His juristic tracts and consilia, although “until now almost completely neglected,” were taken up into the Tractatus universi juris (Venice, 1584), i, 5. 323–371; ix, 77–84; xiii, 32– 66; xiv, 386–400; the Repetitiones in iure canonico (Vencie, 1587), iv, 392–402; 56–63; and the Perillustrium doctorum…in libros Decretalium aurei commentarii (Venice, 1580) i, 320–382. See now a first investigation by R. Naz, “Jean de Capestrano,” in: Dictionnaire de Droit Canonique vi (1957) c. 97–98; O. Bonmann, “Jean de Capestrano (saint),” in: Dictionnaire de Spiritualité viii (1974) c. 316–323, esp. 321. On the Studium in Perugia: U. Nicolini, “San Giovanni da Capestrano studente e giudice a Perugia (1411–1414),” afh 53 (1960), 39–77, which modifies Hofer’s account on essential points. 14 N. Lickl, “Das Wirken des heiligen Johannes Kapistran in und für Österreich,” fs 14 (1927), 91–121; F. Popelka, “Johannes Capistran in der Steiermark,” Blätter für Heimatkunde 31 (1957), 2–6; P. Csendes, “Johann von Capestrano und sein Zug nach Österreich,” Carinthia 155 (1965), 406–422. 15 Nicholas of Fara (n. 1), 456–457.

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Neustadt.16 Under the influence of his preaching and his miracle working they praised God, so the chronicler Nicholas Glassberger told the story, that He had revealed himself so fully in his servant John.17 The reception in Vienna then surpassed all that had come before. Already before the walls of the city reli- gious and secular clergy, magistrates, university schoolmen and an innumera- ble crowd welcomed the preacher with banners, torches, candles, music and the pealing of bells—as if the Messiah himself had come. In the Franciscan church and in St. Stephen, but also in the open air, John preached before great masses of people—the king, the queen, Ladislaus and duke Albert, the city council and university scholars often among them—for some seven weeks, from June 7 to July 27, treating both subtle and profound matters so impres- sively and pleasantly that both learned and unlearned understood the preacher equally well. And as in Villach and Vienna Neustadt, in Vienna miracles ­followed the words and gestures: the lame walked, the deaf heard and the blind saw. Indeed as John’s secretary and biographer Nicholas of Fara told the story, the dead were brought back to life. Impressed by the preacher’s word and deeds, and with his encouragement hearers then threw masks, dice, cards, jewelry, fashionable shoes and clothes into a great pile, and set their excesses afire. Many young people then went one step further, resolving to enter the religious life. Some fifty in Vienna alone embraced the Observant life.18 Under the leadership of one of John’s companions, Michael of Sicily, and with the help of Frederick iii, they built on the site of the dilapidated tertiary commu- nity of St. Theobald in Laimgrube, a convent that soon numbered some three hundred members, and that became the point of origin for Franciscan Obser­ vant reform throughout the southeastern Empire.19 What had begun in Villach and Vienna Neustadt and reached its first high point in Vienna continued between 1451 and 1455 in and Franconia, Thuringia and Saxony, Poland and Moravia, in southern and western Bohemia,

16 G. Gerhartl, “Wiener Neustadt als Residenz,” in: Friedrich iii., Kaiserresidenz Wiener Neustadt (Vienna, 1966), 112–113. 17 Chronica Fratris Nicolai Glassberger Ord. Min. Observ., Analecta Franciscana ii (Quaracchi, 1887), 334–339. 18 J. Hofer, “Die Wien der Predigten des hl. Johannes Kapistran im Jahre 1451,” Jahrbuch der österreichischen Leo-Gesellschaft 1 (1927), 122-46. 19 E. Englisch, “Zur Geschichte der fanziskanischen Ordensfamilie in Österreich von den Anfängen bis zum Einsetzen der Observanz,” in: 800 Jahre Franz von Assisi. Franziskanische Kunst und Kultur des Mittelalters. Niederösterreichische Landesausstellung. Krems-Stein, Minoritenkirche 15. Mai—17. Oktober 1982, (Vienna, 1982), 289–306, esp. 306. Forthcoming: H. Hagenofer, “I Francescani in Austria al tempo di S. Giovanni da Capestrano,” in: S. Giovanni da Capestrano nella Chiesa e nella societa del suo tempo.

John of Capistrano’s Preaching Tour North of the Alps 261 in smaller cities like Amberg, Arnstadt and Halle, in larger cities and university towns like Augsburg, Nuremberg and Breslau, like Erfurt, Leipzig and Krakow. The reports of eyewitnesses, biographers and chroniclers, the charters, confra- ternity letters, epistolary collections and city account books, as well as the ser- mons of the saint that the Redemptorist J. Hofer evaluated carefully for his 1936 biography, wherever they may come from and whatever they may reference, begin to seem suspiciously like the image of an Observant sermon that in a certain way transcends place and time. It seems not unlike what the artist of the well-known image in the Bamberg state gallery had in mind around 1470/75, when he decided to paint the sermon that Capistrano preached in August 1452 on the Bamberg cathedral plaza: a gaunt mendicant friar with an almost bald head, one hand lifted imploringly to heaven. He holds Bernardino of Siena’s image of the Name of Jesus of in the other. He is surrounded by men and women, sharply divided by gender. On the edge of the scene is a crowd of indi- vidual onlookers, clearly also “representatives of the Jews” among them. The wider public can be seen in the background, leaning out of the windows. And at the base of a pulpit draped with red tapestries is a fire, into which an audi- ence spurred to repentance by his words casts its jewelry, clothing and games.20 Our sources give an impression of improvisation and spontaneity, of occasions laden with emotion and driven by demanding, indeed hysterical masses, and for all of the restraint of its sensibility, the Bamberger image gives traces of the same. The impression is not unjustified when speaking of Franciscan preach- ing tours of the Quattrocento, and of John of Capistrano’s preaching tour in particular. Upon closer consideration, however, it becomes clear that such characterizations offer only a one-dimensional and impoverished account of the reality of observant missionary preaching on both sides of the Alps. A few points can easily confirm this.

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To what extent were Capistrano’s preaching tours and his preaching a matter of improvisation? Certainly neither the duration nor the route of the trip had been established in 1451, when John accepted Aeneas’ invitation. One can in

20 A. Stange, Die deutschen Tafelbilder vor Dürer (Munich, 1978), iii, 110. H. Hundsbichler, “Predigt des Johannes Kapistran in Bamberg,” in: 800 Jahre Franz von Assisi (n. 19), 589. Cf. also the contributions in L. Hennig (ed.), Der Bußprediger Capestrano auf dem Domplatz in Bamberg. Eine Bamberger Tafel um 1470/75. Begleitschrift zur didaktischen Ausstellung im Historischen Museum Bamberg, Schriften des Historischen Museums Bamberg 12 (Bamberg, 1989).

262 chapter 7 fact assume that he had at first envisioned only an affair of a few months’ dura- tion, and one limited to Austria. Yet he took care in the winter of 1450–51 to make careful preparations.21 He recruited twelve brothers who because of their heritage and training were well-suited to the challenge. He settled unfinished business within his order; took books, charters and documents with him on the trip and drew up for his daily use a collection of Italian-German phrases in translation.22 Once the trip had begun, its course became in a certain sense predetermined. Invitations, inquiries and offers from princes, prelates, urban authorities, members of the orders, clergy and laity became ever more frequent. Yet John knew always which ones to choose, which to turn down and to accept.23 In the case of Nuremberg it took three attempts24 and in Jena, Halle and Magdeburg the intervention of territorial princes, Duke William of Saxony and the Archbishop of Magdeburg, persuaded the preacher to include these and other cities in central Germany in his itinerary.25 Even this happened only with preparation and under specific conditions. Months before his arrival John made arrangements for travel and for his entourage, for accommodation and

21 Nicholas of Fara (n. 1) 5:464–465; Christopher of Varese (ibid.) 5:498–499. On the com- panions and their later fate: Lickl, “Das Wirken des heiligen Johannes Kapistran in und für Österreich” (n. 14), 94. 22 On Capistrano’s archive and library: V. De Bartholomeis, “I codici di San Giovanni,” mf 5 (1890), 5–21; S. Gaddoni, “Descriptio duorum codicum Bibliothecae S. Cataldi (Mutina),” afh 1 (1908), 623–626; A. Chiappini, “Reliquie letterarie Capestranesi. Storia—codici— carte—documenti,” Bullettino della R. Deputazione Abruzzese di storia patria 10 (1921), 27–185; 11–13 (1922), 1–71; O. Bonmann, “Um das ‘Opus epistolarum’ des H. Johannes Kapistran,” sf 53 (1956), 275–286; Łuszczki, “Notae critico-historicae de manuscriptis ser- monum S. Joannis de Capistrano,” sf 53 (1956), 348–350; A. Chiappini, “De quodam bre- viario O.F.M. perperam S. Joanni Capistranensi adiudicato,” Collectanea Franciscana 26 (1956), 2–78. 23 See here the literature cited in n. 6. 24 J. Kist, “Der hl. Johannes Kapistran und die Reichsstadt Nürnberg,” fs 16 (1929), 206–208. 25 W. Nissen, “Der Aufenthalt Johann Kapistrans in Halle im Jahre 1452,” Thüringisch- Sächsische Zeitschrift für Geschichte und Kunst 26 (1938), 85–93; O. Richter, “Der Bußprediger Johannes von Capistrano in Dresden und den Nachbarstädten, 1452,” Mitteilungen des Vereins für Geschichte und Topographie Dresdens und seiner Umgebung 4 (1883), 1–8; J. Bühring, “Johannes von Capistrano, des andächtigen Vaters Aufenthalt in Arnstadt 1452,” Alt-Arnstadt. Beiträge zur Heimatkunde von Arnstadt und Umgebung 3 (1906), 83–95; R. Beumann, “Johannes Capistrano und Mühlhausen,” Mühlhäuser Geschichts­blätter 10 (1909/10), 120–121; J. Neubner, “Die Sachsenfahrt des hl. Johannes Capistrano,” St.-Benno Kalender. Die katholische Volkskalender für das Bistum Meißen 81 (1931), 49–56; J. Hofer, “Ein zeitgenössischer Bericht über das Wirken des hl. Johannes Kapistran in Leipzig im Jahre 1452,” fs 22 (1935), 364–366.

John of Capistrano’s Preaching Tour North of the Alps 263 for a suitable place to hold the sermon. Everything, from his reception to his departure, was well governed according to guidelines set down by John and his companions, so that his limited time could be put to good use and his sermon could have an optimal impact on his audience.26 Moreover, those who invited John had to take measures to accommodate, over the course of a few days, thou- sands of people, most of them old, weak and ill, and to allow them to partici- pate in the event in an appropriate way. But the work did not end even with the preparation and completion of the sermon. The preacher and his companions prepared for their supporters and friends confraternity letters that offered full participation in the prayers and merits of the order.27 Moreover, even before the preacher’s departure they took meticulous care to publicize word of John’s miraculous healings, and to register and classify them according to category. Apart from healings described and confirmed by local notaries, north of the Alps no fewer than 1,500 cases were taken up in the Liber miraculorum of Conrad of Freystadt, the main record of healings now kept in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris.28 Capistrano left Nuremberg, after some three weeks of preaching, on August 13, 1452. But affairs there continued to occupy him for months. At the request of the city council he designated one of his fellow Franciscans as a preacher in the city; worked through problems that had arisen from the reform of St. Clare; and sought from the city two carriages to bring to Nuremberg or Vienna some novices that he had won in Leipzig.29 The city

26 The ceremonies of reception, described thoroughly in the sources and secondary litera- ture, were in accordance with those customary for rulers and prelates: A.M. Drabek, Reisen und Reisezeremoniell der römisch-deutschen Könige im Spätmittelalter (Vienna, 1984); K. Militzer, “Die feierlichen Einritte der Kölner Erzbischöfe in die Stadt Köln im Spätmittel­ alter,” Jahrbuch des Kölnischen Geschichtsvereins 55 (1984), 77–116; H. Boockmann, “Der Einzug des Erzbischofs Sylvester Stodewescher von Riga in sein Erzbistum im Jahre 1449,” Zeitschrift für Ostforschung 35 (1986), 1–17. 27 W. Dersch, “Ein Brüderschaftsbrief des heiligen Johannes von Capistrano,” fs 7 (1920), 75–78; J. Hofer, “Brüderschaftsbriefe des heil. Johannes Kapistran,” fs 22 (1935), 326–337. F. Machilek, “Zwei Brüderschaftsbriefe des Johannes von Capestrano im Staatsarchiv Bamberg,” in: Der Bußprediger Capestrano auf dem Domplatz in Bamberg (n. 20), 111–114. 28 F. Delorme, “Ex libro miraculorum ss. Bernardi Senensis et Joannis a Capistrano auctore Conrado de Freyenstat,” afh 11 (1918), 399–441;. P. Jansen, “Un exemple de sainteté thaumaturgique à la fin du Moyen Âge: les miracles de Saint Bernardin de Sienne,” Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome. Moyen Âge-Temps Modernes 96 (1984), 129–150. Cf. as an example of local notification: J. Baader, “Der hl. Johannes Capistranus in Nürnberg und seine wunderbaren Krankenheilungen,” Münchener Sonntagsblatt (1865), 254–256, 259–260. 29 J. Kist, “Klosterreform im spätmittelalterlichen Nürnberg,” Zeitschrift für bayerische Kirchengeschichte 32 (1963), 31–45; F. Machilek, “Anschluß des Klaraklosters an die

264 chapter 7 council, in turn, approached him in its struggle with Margrave Albrecht Achilles and the treatment of two citizens, convicted of a crime, who wanted to pay for their misdeeds in a cloister instead of a prison.30 Similarly after his visit to Magdeburg: there John took up a position, as Nicholas of Cusa had done a year before, on the long-running dispute over the blood cult at Wilsnack. As late as 1452 John continued to exchange letters with the Magdeburg Premonstratensian prior Eberhard Woltmann, whom he advised to refer the dispute to the papacy for a decision.31 Though he was laden with requests, and despite his ever- increasing burdens, in these and in other cases the friar never lost patience, but instead responded all the more punctually, carefully and competently.

*

As with the logistical matters briefly outlined here, so with the style and con- tent of the sermons themselves: They, too, are anything but products of spon- taneity and improvisation. From the learned humanist Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini to the Leipzig chaplain Stephan Naumann, all were of the same view: that in Capistrano the grace of the word of God showed forth wonder- fully, and that he knew, in a masterful way, how to expound upon the Scriptures in a way appropriate to time, place and audience.32 The means and methods of Observant preaching have in recent times been the subject of thorough description and unbiased evaluation: the power of facial expression; the tempo of speech; the strength and modulation of the

Straßburger Observantenprovinz,” in: Caritas Pirckheimer 1467–1532. Eine Ausstellung der Katholischen Stadtkirche Nürnberg, Kaiserburg Nürnberg, 26. Juni–8. August 1982 (Nuremberg, 1982), 76; idem, “Armut und Reform. Die franziskanische Obersvanzbewegung des 14. Jahrhunderts und ihre Verbreitung in Franken,” in: Der Bußprediger Capestrano auf dem Domplatz in Bamberg (see n. 20), 115–125. 30 Cf. Kist, (n. 24), 193–215, 208. 31 E. Breest, Das Wunderblut von Wilsnack, 1383–1552, Märkische Forschungen 16 (1881), 133– 301, here 256ff.; L. Meier, “Wilsnack als Spiegel deutscher Vorreformation,” Zeitschrift für Religions- und Geistesgeschichte 3 (1951), 53–69. More recently: F. Escher, “Brandenburgische Wallfahrten und Wallfahrtsorte im Mittelalter,” Jahrbuch für die Geschichte Mittel- und Ostdeutschlands 27 (1978), 116–137; H. Boockmann, “Der Streit um das Wilsnacker Blut. Zur Situation des deutschen Klerus in der Mitte des 15.Jahrhunderts,” Zeitschrift für histo- rische Forschung 9 (1982), 385–408, esp. 405–408. Ch. Zika, “Hosts, Processions and Pilgrimages: Controlling the Sacred in Fifteenth-Century Germany,” Past and Present 118 (1988), 25–64, esp. 49–59. 32 Wolkan, (ed.), Der Briefwechsel (n. 1), 19–20; Hofer, “Ein zeitgenössischer Bericht” (n. 25), 364–365.

John of Capistrano’s Preaching Tour North of the Alps 265 voice; the depth of gesture; the effectiveness of a surprising act, and especially the willingness and the ability actively to engage the audience through direct address, spontaneous dialogue and invitation to prayer, invocation and inter- cession.33 Even better than the reports of eye-witnesses and hearers for dis- cerning the impact of these techniques is the report of Nicholas of Fara, who reported that the faithful could listen for three hours and more to the Latin sermon of the devout father (as they called him), but then began to lose ­interest when the translators (between 1451 and 1453 John worked with no fewer than 44 of them) began to translate the sermon into German.34 Thanks to the research of Chiappini, Hofer, Bonmann and Łuszcki, the tran- scriptions or reports of the sermons preached between 1451 and 1456 are now (as far as the surviving texts are concerned) more or less completely known.35 A few survive in older editions.36 In them we have before us only a dim reflec- tion, the mere shells, the burned-out embers of the actual delivery. But they confirm impressions arising from descriptions of Capistrano’s rhetorical strat- egies. The range of biblical allusions; the references to history and nature;

33 C. Delcorno, La predicazione nell’ età comunale (Florence, 1974); R. Rusconi, Predicazione e vita religiosa nella società italiana da Carlo Magno a la Controriforma (Turin, 1981), 63–200; idem, “La predicazione minoritica in Europa nei secoli xiii–xv,” in: Francesco, il Francescanesimo e la cultura della nuova Europa a cura di I. Baldelli—A.M. Romanini, Acta Encyclopaedica 4 (Rome, 1986), 141–165; A. Martin, “La prédication et les masses au XVe siècle. Facteurs et limites d’une réussite,” in: Histoire vécue du peuple chrétien (Paris, 1979) ii, 9–41; V. Coletti, Parole dal pulpito. Chiesa e movimenti religiosi tra latino e volgare nell’ Italia del Medioevo e del Rinascimento (Casale Monteferrato, 1983). 34 Cf. for example the striking portrait of Jerome of Udine in his Epistola prooemialis, in: aass Oct. x (n. 1), 486–488 and the Vita S. Johannis de Capistrano (n. 1), 479. On the trans- lators, among others: A. Neumann, “Ein mährischer Dolmetsch des hl. Kapistran,” fs 6 (1919), 175–176. 35 Cf. the literature cited in nn. 3, 10, 11 and 22. There is still no definitive edition of Capistrano’s treatises and sermons. In the Nota illustrative introducing the Opera Omnia Sancti Joannis a Capistrano (L’Aquila, 1985)—a reproduction in facsimile of the Collectio Aracoelitana of P. Antonio Sessa da Palermo (1700)—provide an overview of the older surviving prints and editions, which are often inacessible. 36 E. Jacob, Johannes von Capistrano i–ii (Breslau, 1905/07/11); G. Buchwald, “Johannes Capistranos Predigten in Leipzig 1452,” Beiträge zur sächsischen Kirchengeschichte 26 (1923), 125–180; L. Meier, “De sermonibus quos S. Joannes a Capistrano fecit Erfordiae,” Collectanea Franeiscana 21 (1951), 89–94; idem, “De praedicatione dominicana sermoni- bus Capestranensibus Erfordiae parallela,” Antonianum 29 (1954), 143–148. On surviving vernacular texts, which have thus far received no systematic treatment: K. Ruh, “Johannes von Capestrano (J. Capistranus, Kapistran),” in: Die deutsche Literatur des Mittelalters. Verfasserlexikon iv (1983) cols. 561–565.

266 chapter 7 the continuous references to the experiences of his own life; the characteriza- tions of virtue and vice, sharpened through anecdote and exaggeration; the direct reference to the hearer’s own world of circumstances and events, serving as a complement to that direct preaching style aimed at the ideal and the effect that we have already characterized. Both made Capistrano’s sermons into not only an attraction for the faithful, but also a model for the clergy, who dili- gently wrote them out and used them as models for their own sermons, indeed as the basis for a distinct theory of preaching—as the Ars praedicandi of Nicholas Eyfeler makes clear.37 Surviving copies provide not only confirmation of the liveliness and timeli- ness of Capistrano’s sermons. They also force a reconsideration of a view often encountered in older scholarship, and occasionally in recent scholarship as well: that these homilies, works that turned on sin, guilt, forgiveness and con- fession, were nothing more than sermons of accusation and punishment. Capistrano speaks of sin, confession and damnation—what preacher would not do that? But he does so relatively rarely, hardly in the aforementioned expressive manner, and certainly not in the insulated form of a homily. Capistrano preferred, wherever he could (over the course of his long stays in Vienna, Nuremberg, Leipzig and Breslau, for example) to preach the extended sermon cycle—on upright living, prayer, penance, fasting, faith, the end of the world and the last judgment, on the glory of heaven, the religious life, the saints and the mother of God. He adhered to a broadly-based model arranged, according to the customs of his day, according to distinctions—even when saints’ feasts or local events might dictate changes or deviations. He was clearly not concerned to preach ad hoc, but rather to do that which his teacher and model Bernardino of Siena had advocated a few decades before, in the face of the desolate circumstance of the medieval cities: to mount a systematic attack against a widespread ignorance that, in his view, was the real reason for the moral decline of the individual, for inequality in society, social misery, the hopelessness of debt, political strife and schism in the church.38

37 Here see now: F.J. Worstbrock: “Eyfeler, Nikolaus,” in: Verfasserlexikon (n. 36) ii (1980) col. 668–669. 38 M. Agosti, “La pedagogia di S. Bernardino,” in: S. Bernardino da Siena. Saggi e ricerche pub- blicati nel quinte centenario della morte (1444–1944), Pubblicazioni dell’Università Cattolica del S. Cruore, ns 6 (Milan, 1945). Cf. also the numerous contributions to Bernardino of Siena’s intentions in: Bernardino predicatore nella societa del suo tempo. 9-12 ottobre 1975, Convegni del Centro di Studi sulla spiritualità medievale xv (Todi, 1976); Atti del Convegno storico Bernardiniano in occasione del sesto centenario della nascità di S. Bernardino da Siena, L’Aquila, 7-8-9 maggio 1980 (L’Aquila, 1982); Atti del Simposio Internazionale Cateriniano-Bernardiniano, Siena, 17–20 aprile 1980. Accademia Senese degli

John of Capistrano’s Preaching Tour North of the Alps 267

When Stephan Naumann (in the audience, as noted above, for the Leipzig sermons) wrote that Capistrano knew how to expound on scripture according the needs of the various estates, it was no general or tentative claim.39 In fact while on his tour it was not John’s only concern, indeed not even his primary concern, to appeal to the masses. In Vienna, Nuremberg, Erfurt and Bamberg, as in Italy, he preached before secular clergy and members of the religious orders. Reaching back to his Speculum clericorum, first delivered at a synod in Trent in 1439, John reminded priests and prelates of the rights and duties of their estate and the worthiness of their office.40 In communities of religious both male and female, but also among students and masters in the universi- ties, John celebrated in a long sermon cycle the superiority of the religious estate, to whose exempla praeclara, Francis, Clare, Bernard and Dominic, he devoted individual sermons.41 More direct and concrete was the influence that John sought to exercise over temporal and spiritual authorities, both in Italy and in Germany, whether by invitation or otherwise. In summer 1451, while he was still preaching in Vienna, the city council of Nuremberg asked him to intervene as mediator in a conflict with Margrave Albrecht Achilles of Brandenburg.42 In Pillenreuth at the end of July, 1452, only a few days after his arrival in the imperial city, John sat down at the table with the scholar Gregor Heimburg, representative of Nuremberg, and (one less experienced in legal affairs), the procurator of the Margrave Peter Knorr of Ansbach. A crafty jurist, John soon discerned that neither party was in any way seriously prepared to discuss a compromise.43

Intronati (Siena, 1982); San Bernardino. Storia, cultura, spiritualità, Esperienze dello spirito. Quaderni a cura dello Studio Teologico S. Bernardino, Verona 6 (Vicenza, 1982). 39 Hofer, “Ein zeitgenössischer Bericht,” (n. 25), 64. 40 For editions of the Speculum cf. nn. 13 and 35 as well as E. Jacob (ed.), Speculum Clericorum, in: idem, Johannes von Capistrano, ii, i, (Breslau, 1905), 12–174. Forthcoming: P. Vian, “Lo ‘Speculum Clericorum’ di Giovanni da Capestrano,” in: S. Giovanni da Capestrano nella Chiesa e nella società del suo tempo. 41 Cf. here Łuszczki, “De sermonibus” (n.10) as well as the literature cited in n. 18, 25 and 36. 42 Kist, “Der hl. Johannes Kapistran und die Reichsstadt Nürnberg,” (n. 24), 206–208. Cf. also A. Bauch, “Zur Kapistranforschung in Franken,” Jb. f. fränk. Landesforschung 26 (1966), 1–5. 43 P. Joachimson, Gregor Heimburg, Historische Abhandlungen aus dem Münchener Historischen Seminar 1 (Bamberg, 1891, new imprint , 1983), 133. More recently on G. Heimburg, with thorough bibliography: R. Kemper, G. Heimburgs Manifest in der Auseinandersetzung mit Pius ii., Sodalitas litteraria Rhenana. Denk-Schriften 1 (Mannheim, 1984); Kist, “Peter Knorr,” in: G. Pfeiffer (ed.): Fränkische Lebensbilder ii, Veröffentlichungen der Gesellschaft für fränkische Geschichte vii/A (Wurzburg, 1968), 159–176.

268 chapter 7

How thankless and dangerous the business of a mediator could be became clear to John (if he had not already known it before) in June, 1453. In that month Ludwig von Erlichshausen, Grand Master of the Teutonic Order, invited John to come to Prussia in order to teach his subjects “that they should have a better attitude toward the order,” and (no less importantly) in order to mediate between the order and the Prussian League.44 Capistrano, who doubtless quickly recognized the full scope of the conflict,45 declined the invitation. He expected no success from any effort at mediation, as long he had received nei- ther an official mission nor the corresponding authority from the pope and the emperor. Thereafter John had to contend with the accusation that he had con- spired with Hans von Baysen (a trusted follower of the Grand Master who had gone over to the Polish side), spoken quite harshly against the order, and indeed encouraged the Poles to attack the order’s territory.46 As always, whenever John of Capistrano spoke before princes and city coun- cils about public affairs, he encouraged them to fight against cupiditas, i.e. against interest, usury and fraud.47 Soon after his arrival in Austria John did not shy away from challenging Frederick iii (whose subjects were complaining loudly) to free himself from his bondage to moneylenders.48 It is true enough

44 J. Hofer, “Johannes von Capestrano und der Deutsche Ritterorden,” fs 26 (1939), 201–212. 45 On the conflict of the Teutonic Order with the Prussian League between December 1452 and August 1454: H. Weigel—H. Groneisen: Deutsche Reichstagsakten unter Kaiser Friedrich iii., vi, 1, 1453–1454, Deutsche Reichstagsakten xix, 1 (Göttingen, 1969), 416–507; E. Lodicke, Der Rechtskampf des Deutschen Ordens gegen den Bund der preußischen Stände 1440–55, Altpreußische Forschungen 12 (Königsberg, 1935); H. Boockmann, Laurentius Blumenau. Fürstlicher Rat—Jurist—Humanist (ca. 1415–1484), Göttinger Bausteine zur Geschichtswissenschaft 37 (Göttingen, 1965), 65–85; M. Bliskup, “Der preußische Bund 1440–1454. Genesis, Struktur, Tätigkeit und Bedeutung in der Geschichte Preußens und Polens,” in: K. Fritze et al. (eds.), Hansische Studien iii (Weimar, 1975), 217–218. 46 R. Greiser, Hans von Baysen, ein Staatsmann aus der Zeit des Niedergangs der Ordensherrs­ chaft in Preußen, Deutschland und der Osten. Quellen und Forschungen zur Geschichte ihrer Beziehungen 4 (Leipzig, 1936), 80–90. 47 The Tractatus de cupiditate venerabilis patris fr. Joannis de Capistrano ordinis minorum et utriusque juris doctoris. In quo de variis criminibus per que aliena usurpantur. Nec non de usura plenissime societateque mercatorum licita et illicita. De comparatione redituum per- petuorum et vitalium in pecunia aut in rebus aliis, cum pactis reemptionis et sine materia etiam monete et complura utilia et quotidie occurentia continentur (first printed in Cologne in 1480 by Johannes Koelhof) and similar articulations in his sermons (Łuszczki, De ser- monibus, n. 10) are in need of more careful investigation. On the current state of research see the literature cited in n. 50. 48 Hofer, “Die Wiener Predigten des hl. Johannes” (n. 18), 136–137; B. Haller, Kaiser Friedrich iii. im Urteil der Zeitgenossen, Wiener Dissertationen aus dem Gebiete der Geschichte 5

John of Capistrano’s Preaching Tour North of the Alps 269 that “John of Capistrano was active in many cities without inspiring any action against the Jews.”49 But tightly interwoven into his economic ethics and his social and political world view—and these were consistent with the views of his fellow Observant friars50—was an anti-Jewish hostility, one augmented in Italy51 by theological arguments that had been advanced especially by the mendicants,52 and one that John had made use of in the communes of central Italy, in the face of such a broadly-based monopoly of Jewish money-lenders and bankers.53 The consequences of such interventions and appeals became clear in 1453 in Breslau, where John not only instructed the clergy and the faith- ful and worked for the foundation of an Observant cloister.54 In the wake of an alleged host-desecration John also took part in a trial against the Jewish com- munity there.55 As his biographer Cristopher of Varese reports, the trial led to

(Vienna, 1965), esp. 70, 94, 108–113. Cf. also: F. Tremel, “Studien zur Wirtschaftspolitik Friedrichs iii. 1435–1453,” Carinthia 146 (1956), 546–557. 49 F. Backhaus, “Judenfeindlichkeit und Judenvertreibungen im Mittelalter. Zur Ausweisung der Juden aus dem Mittelelberaum im 15.Jahrhundert,” Jahrbuch für die Geschichte Mittel- und Ostdeutschlands 36 (1987), 275–332, esp. 298. 50 W. Forster, “Der heilige Johannes von Capestrano und die soziale Frage,” fs 35 (1953), 1–21; Cf. in this connection also: O. Capitani, “S. Bernardino e l’etica economica,” in: Atti del Convegno storico Bernardiniano (wie Annm. 38), 46–68 with a thorough bibliography on the economic ethics of the Observants. 51 D. Kaufmann, “Correspondance échangée entre les communautés juives de Recanati et d’Ancone en 1448,” Revue des Études Juives 23 (1891), 249–253. 52 Cf. most recently and thoroughly on this theme: J. Cohen, The Friars and the Jews. The Evolution of Medieval Anti-Judaism (Ithaca-London, 1982). 53 G. Todeschini, “Teorie economiche francescane e presenza ebraica in Italia (1380–1462 c.),” in: Il rinnovamento del Francescanesimo (n. 7), 195–227; idem, “La ricchezza degli Ebrei. Merci e denaro nella riflessione ebraica e nella definizione cristiana deli’ usura alla fine del Medioevo,” Studi medievali 27 (1986), 671–730. 54 W. Urban, Studia nad dziejami Wroclawskiej diecezji w píerwszej polowie xv wieku, (Breslau, 1959), 246–251; L. Teichmann, Die Franziskaner-Observanten in Schlesien vor der Reformation (Breslau, 1934), 20–31. 55 L. Oelsner, “Schlesische Urkunden zur Geschichte der Juden im Mittelalter,” Archiv für Kunde österreichischer Geschichtsquellen 31 (1864), 45, 57–59, 116–118; M. Brann, Geschichte der Juden in Schlesien (Breslau, 1896–1910), i, 115–149. Cf. also: O. Bonmann, “Zur Judenfrage,” in: Hofer, Johannes Kapistran (n. 3) i, 416–424. Cf. also: V. Colorni: “Shmuel da Spira contra fra Giovanni da Capestrano. Un curioso episodo del Quattrocento,” La Rassegna Mensile di Israel 38 (1972), 69–86. On the history of the Jewish community in Breslau: F. Rosenthal, “Najstarsze osiedla żydowskie na Sląsku,” Biuletyn Żydowskiego Instytutu Historycznego 34 (1960), 3–27; A. Maimon (ed.): Germania Judaica iii/i (Tübingen, 1987), 156–168.

270 chapter 7 the burning of Jews and brought John himself the dubious distinction that universi Judaei solo eius nomine audito, vehementer pavebant.56 Although John increasingly turned down invitations and requests to preach, to mediate disputes, and even to reform religious houses, it was not merely because he was overwhelmed or because of any sense his efforts would be in vain. The trip he had undertaken in 1451, a trip with a limited goal and modest mission, found itself drawn ever more into the undertow of the great political events of the era: the confrontation with the Hussites and Utraquists, and the threat to Europe of the Turks, who were advancing through the Balkans. From month to month, the fight against the Hussites and the call to defend Christendom against the Ottomans increasingly shaped the course of John’s tour, and indeed the content of his sermons.57 These were the concerns that led John to take part in the imperial councils in Regensburg and Frankfurt, and to preach there against the Hussites and the Turks.58 They were also the con- cerns that led his preaching tour to take on a different shape. In the confronta- tion with Hussites and Utraquists, and especially in the struggle against the Turks, the preacher became a warlord, a new Joshua (as Capistrano described himself)59 who played a prominent role in the victory over the Turks before Belgrade.60 The demands of conflict and strife transformed an audience eager for show and miracle into an army of crusaders, of whom in 1456 an unknown Nuremberger Crozier said that they “came together from cities, villages and markets,” and “took the field and fought” before Belgrade “without lord or nobleman, alone with the spiritual father John.”61

56 Christopher of Varese (n. 1), 499. 57 F.C.R. Weber, Des Franciscaners Johannes von Capistrano Mission unter den Hussiten 1451– 1453 (Leipzig, 1867); J. Hofer, “Die auf die Hussitenmission des Hl. Johannes von Capistrano bezüglichen Briefe im Codex 598 der Innsbrucker Universitätsbibliothek,” afh 16 (1923), 113–126; R. Rýšavý, “Die erste Hussitenmission des heiligen Johannes v. Capestrano in Mähren (1451),” fs 19 (1932), 224–249. 58 Wadding xii (n. 5), 131. 59 M. Bihl, “Duae epistulae S. Johannis a Capistrano, altera ad Ladislaum Regem, altera de victoria Belgradensi (An. 1453 et 1456),” afh 19 (1929), 63–75, here 73. 60 F. Babinger, Mehmed der Eroberer und seine Zeit. Weltenstürmer einer Zeitenwende, (Munich, 1953); idem, Der Quellenwert der Berichte über den Entsatz von Belgrad am 21.–22. Juli 1456, Sitzungsberichte der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Phil. hist.- Kl., Heft 6 (Munich, 1957). 61 J. Baader, “Zur Geschichte des Kreuzzuges vom Jahre 1456,” Anzeiger für Kunde der deutschen Vorzeit N.F. 10 (1863), 253–254. Also a member of this crusading party was the priest of Pechtal, Johannes Paur, who died on the return journey to Vienna on December 20, 1456. H. Boockmann has brought to my attention that his image survives today in the Franconian Gallery (Veste Rosenberg-Kronach). Cf. A. Schädler, Die Fränkische Galerie,

John of Capistrano’s Preaching Tour North of the Alps 271

*

Our brief survey of John Capistrano’s preaching tour, and its transformation from 1453 into a crusade, thus comes to a close. We want by way of conclusion, if not to answer the question of who Capistrano was, then to at least pose it. What kind of a person was this who came to the Empire in 1451? “Sixty-five years old, small, haggard, harsh, wasted away, a body held together by skin and bones,” so Hartman Schedel described him.62 And Thomas Burgkmaier, who must have encountered him in 1452 in Augsburg, represented him around 1480 in a painting that survives in the National Gallery in Prague.63 If it was said that he could get by with a minimum of nourishment and sleep, and yet was still possessed of so much energy, intellectual presence and powers of memory that he was able to think through and decide on many matters at once,64 there is no need to turn to G. Moretti’s65 analysis of John’s handwriting in order to con- clude that he was a personality of great dynamism, high intelligence, a strong ability to adapt and to express himself, as well as a figure with a pronounced tendency toward polemic—in sum, a contentious intellectual. Should one wish to define Capistrano’s character as a religious figure, one would hardly describe him as a profound theologian, still less an inspired mys- tic. At best he is an ascetic, a preacher and a prophet. In fact, after the learned jurist and renowned official turned from the world and became a novice in the wake of his “Turmerlebnis” in 1415, he began to exercise himself in a program of suffering, self-denial and obedience to a degree remarkable even for his own day, in order to become master of his pride and arrogance. There is no mention of any theological study in the proper sense, or even of a time of contempla- tion and spiritual training.66 Who doesn’t marvel at a preacher who had a

Zweigmuseum des Bayerischen Nationalmuseums (Veste Rosenberg-Kronach, 1983), 51–52. 62 H. Schedel, Buch der Croniken und Geschichten (Nuremberg, A. Koberger 1493), fol. 249; E. Rocker, Die Schedelsche Weltchronik (Munich, 1973), 80–81. 63 E. Buchner, Das deutsche Bildnis der Spätgotik und der fruhen Dürerzeit (Munich, 1953), 86, 199; E. Vavra, “Hl. Johannes Kapistran,” in: 800 Jahre Franz von Assisi (n. 19), 589–592. References to further representations: G. Van ‘s-Hertogenbosch—O. Schmucki, “Johannes von Capestrano,” in: Lexikon der christlichen Ikonographie vii (1974), cols. 90–93. 64 Jerome of Udine (n. l), 486–488; Cf. also Wadding xii (n. 5), 87. 65 G. Moreiti, I Santi dalla scrittura. Esami grafologici, (Padua, 1952). Cf. also O. Bonmann, “Eine graphologische Betrachtung der Handschrift Kapistrans,” in: Hofer, Johannes Kapistran (n. 3) i, 512–515. 66 On conversion, profession and ordination: Nicolini, San Giovanni da Capestrano studente e giudice a Perugia (n. 13), 39–77. C. Tabarelli, Documentazione notarile sul convento di

272 chapter 7 broad knowledge of Holy Scripture, who knew Bonaventure and Peter John Olivi along with Richard of Mediavilla and Franciscus Marioni, and who referred to Thomas Aquinas as his specialis patronus, and yet who showed no sign of theological creativity, indeed betrayed no real interest in the theology of his time or his order? Moreover, his treatises, most unpublished or available only in old and inaccessible printed editions, reveal a preference for practical, homiletical works rather than systematic or speculative theology.67 In Vienna in 1451 John remarked cum vidi theologiam, ego noluissem corpus iuris pro mille caruisse mundis, quia bene confert sacre theologie—which is to say nothing other than that in church law and ecclesiology he saw matters that were central to theology.68 The ideas about the nature of the church and its organization that emerge from his treatises, sermons and letters only strengthen the impres- sion of his relatively limited interest in theology and theological thought in the narrow sense. Like his model Bernardino of Siena and his brothers Augustine of Ferrara, Capistrano stands resolutely on the stark papalism advocated at the end of the thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth centuries by theolo- gians like Giles of Rome, William of Cremona and Augustinus Novellus.69 In 1438 in his treatise “De auctoritate pape et concilii vel ecclesiae” he took to the field against conciliarism;70 in 1452 he branded as heretics those qui se non vult conformare ritibus ecclesiae romanae;71 and soon thereafter he fought with bare fists against the Hussite compacts as a threat to the unity of the church72—all

Moteripido nei secoli XIV e XV, Fonti per la storia dell’ Umbria 12 (Perugia, 1970); U. Nicolini, “Perugia e l’origine dell’osservanza Francescana,” in: Il rinnovamento del Francescanesimo (n. 7), 289–299; B. Pandzic: “De ordinatione sacerdotali S. Johannis a Capistrano,” afh 49 (1956), 77–82. 67 Cf. n. 35. 68 ms Maria-Saal, Bibl. Cap., Nr. 6, fol. 249r: “Certe, qui habent curam animarum, deberent bene scire decretum et decretales, quia est quasi torcular sacre theologie et succus expres- sus…postea, cum vidi theologiam, ego noluissem corpus iuris pro mille caruisse mundis, quia bene confert sacre theologie.” 69 W. Brandmuller, “L’ecclesiologia di San Bernardino da Siena,” in: Atti del Simposio Internazionale Cateriniano-Bernardiniano (n. 38), 393–406; R. Manselli, “S. Bernardino da Siena e l’ecclesiologia tra Trecento e Quattrocento,” in: Atti del Convegno storico Bernardiniano (n. 38), 33–36; B. Piana, “Agostino da Ferrara (†1446). Un francescano asser- tore del potere temporale nel Papa fra le negazioni dell’ Umanesimo,” afh 41 (1946), 240–281. 70 De Papae et Concilii sive Ecclesiae auctoritate B. Joannis a Capistrano Minorum Observantiae familiae concionatoris celeberrimi opus, Venetiis ap. Antonium Ferrarium mdlxxx. Cf. also nn. 12 and 38. 71 Buchwald, Johannes Capistranos Predigten (n. 36), 135. 72 Cf. n. 57.

John of Capistrano’s Preaching Tour North of the Alps 273 of this done in the spirit and with the arguments of an ecclesiology already outdated by the turn of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. No one articu- lated more clearly than Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini how strong was Capistrano’s conviction, so often expressed, that the church was necessary for salvation and the plentitudo potestatis of the popes was the will of God. As he wrote in 1455, to ease the fears of Cardinal Domenico Capranica that John might mobilize his supporters against the interests of the curia, Aeneas attested to the fact that he was a homo Dei, one who had built the Observant movement as a domus firma super firmam petram, and who would never waver in his support of the church.73

*

After all that has been said about Capistrano it is not to be expected that he and his actions have always been judged in a uniform way. It has already been noted how judged him in the 1450s. The celebrations in his honor after his death resonate no differently.74 His biographers celebrated him as the crown and the renown of his order.75 His fellow Franciscans then worked tire- lessly to 1690, when after many failed attempts they won his canonization from Alexander viii. The representations of Capistrano’s life and work as they emerge from these affairs are full of praise—for the preacher, the miracle worker, the reformer of his order, the defender of the faith, the crusader against the Turks, the Apostle of Europe—and they strike a tone that resonates even today.76 No less sharp and sustained however, were the criticisms. They began north of the Alps with the voices of reformers like John Busch, who in Halle in 1452 was in fact impressed by John’s powers of persuasion, yet also found the mos italycus of his preaching foreign, if not vulgar.77 The pattern continued­

73 Hofer, Johannes Kapistran (n. 3), 275–280. 74 On Capistrano’s “afterlife,” cf. J. Van Hecke, “De S. Joanne de Capistrano confessore Ordinis ff. Minorum…Commentarius praevius,” in: aass Oct. x (n. 1), 269–439; Hofer, Johannes Kapistran (n. 3) ii, 421–464, and now: O. Capitani, “S. Giovanni da Capestrano nella storio- grafia,” in: S. Giovanni da Capestrano nella Chiesa e nella societa del suo tempo. 75 On the biographers: F. Banfi, “Le fonti per la storia di S. Giovanni da Capestrano,” sf 53 (1956), 299–344; G.B. Festa, “Cinque lettere intorno alla vita e alla morte di S. Giovanni da Capestrano,” Bullettino della R. Deputazione Abruzzese di storia patria iii/2 (1901), 18–37; 49–56; R. Lechat, “Lettres de Jean de Tagliacozzo sur le siège de Belgrade et la mort de S. Jean de Capistran,” Analecta Bollandiana 39 (1921), 139–151. 76 Cf. n. 74 and 84. 77 K. Grube (ed.), Des Augustinerpropstes Johannes Busch “Chronicon Windeshemense” and “Liber de reformatione monasteriorum quorumdam Saxonie,” Geschichtsquellen der

274 chapter 7 with the principled, theologically well-grounded critiques of his “miracle- working,” attributed to James of Paradies.78 It then sharpened with the assess- ments of the conventual Matthias Döring, who dismissed the preaching and the works of his Observant brother.79 Criticism of John then reached a certain high point when Nicholas of Cusa, Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini, Cardinal Carvajal and put him in his place: the zealot, disturbing their plans, boldly attacked80 George Podiebrad and John Rokyzana without suffi- cient authority. He also admonished Nicholas of Cusa, who was prepared to make concessions in the name of the unity of the faith and the church, si hae- reticos excusamus, nos ipsos condemnamus.81 And in 1461 Cardinal Carvajal said of the friar who had died in Ilok in 1456 that he was irascible, ambitious, rash and vain—appropriate observations, here shaped by the wounded pride of the eclipsed by Capistrano as the conqueror of the Turks, and a judg- ment, issued from the highest of places, that would long darken the image of the Italian preacher.82 Just as John’s character has inspired contradictory judgments, so too have his works.83 Both within and beyond the Franciscan order a number of authors—grounded not least in the positive judgments that lords, prelates, city councils, clergy and laity offered on both sides of the Alps in the 1460s, in support of John’s canonization.84 They point to his propagation of

Provinz Sachsen und angrenzender Gebiete 19 (Halle, 1886), 240. 78 Jacob, Johannes von Capistrano (n. 36) ii, 407–409; D. Mertens, Jacobus Carthusiensis. Untersuchungen zur Rezeption der Werke des Kartäusers Jakob von Paradies 1381–1465, Veröffentlichungen des Max-Planck-Instituts für Geschichte 50. Studien zur Germania Sacra 13 (Göttingen, 1976), 113, 133, 150. On James’ brother Johannes Hagen’s critique of the miracles of Capistrano: J. Klapper, Der Erfurter Kartäuser Johannes Hagen. Ein Reformtheologe des 15. Jahrhunderts, Miscellanea Erffordiana 2. Erfurter theologische Studien 9–10 (Leipzig, 1964), ii, 105–107. 79 A.F. Riedel (ed.): “Mathias Dörings Fortsetzung der Chronik von Dieterich Engelhusen,” in: Codex diplomaticus Brandenburgensis iv, 1 (Berlin, 1862), 223, 225, 227–228. 80 Wadding xii (n. 5), 106–110. Cf. also: 368–375; Hofer, Johannes Kapistran (n. 3) ii, 107–110, 280–283. 81 Wadding xii (n. 5), 145–150. 82 Wadding xii (n. 5), 416, 480; Hofer, Johannes Kapistran (n. 3) ii, 435–437. 83 Wadding xii (n. 5), 477–485; Hofer, Johannes Kapistran (n. 3) ii, 435–466. 84 R. Pratesi, “I documenti per la canonizzazione di S. Giovanni da Capestrano contenuti nel Ms. Marciano cl. xiv, n. ccxlvi,” sf 53 (1956), 364–377; idem, “Lettera della Signoriadi Firenze per la canonizzazione di Giovanni da Capestrano (Giuglio 1453),” sf 53 (1956), 378–381. A. Liberati, “La repubblica di Siena e San Giovanni da Capestrano,” Bullettino Senese di storia patria 44 (1937), 375–401. On similar stances in Germany: Wadding xii (n.5), 414–416; Kist, “Der hl. Kapistran” (n. 24), 214–215; Nissen, “Der Aufenthalt Kapistrans

John of Capistrano’s Preaching Tour North of the Alps 275 the Observants, which led to numerous reforms and new foundations in the Empire and established a home for renewed Franciscan life in the Balkans and in all of central Europe, all the way to Lithuania and the Rus. In doing so he gave new life to the piety of the laity and the spiritual life of the clergy and the religious orders; worked for the purity of the faith, the unity of the church and peace among Christians. He also urged Christendom, with every means at his disposal, to take up the fight against the Turks as they came to threaten the borders of the Empire. And so it is said that John helped prevent the premature demise of the medieval world, and that in certain places he established a firm- ness of faith that survived, decades after his death, to resist the Reformation and its novel beliefs.85 Others have judged, on the contrary, that John should be numbered among those who only propped up tradition, and who with dubious means contrib- uted to the establishment of the power of the Roman papacy—thereby hin- dering, rather than advancing, the necessary inward reform of the church. And this is to say nothing of those authors for whom the Observant preacher was nothing more than an exponent of a medieval obscurantism,86 one who could lay no claim to the “piety that we great and pure men both gladly express in life, and guard after death.”87

in Halle” (n. 25), 92–93. Buchwald, “Johannes Kapistrans Predigten in Leipzig” (n. 36), 147–180. 85 A. Pozzi, “Umanesimo francescano. La personalità di S. Giovanni da Capestrano,” Analecta T. O. R. 18 (1950), 431–437; O. Bonmann, “Johannes Kapistran, der ‘Apostel Europas’,” Stimmen der Zeit 159 (1956/57), 47–56; A. Martini, “La multiforme vita e la san- tità di Giovanni da Capestrano,” La Civiltà Cattolica 107 (1956) V, 1–16; P. Brezzi, “Religione e civiltà in San Giovanni da Capestrano,” Frate Francesco 25 (1958), 27–65; J.M. Wehner, Der Kondottiere Gottes (Heidelberg, 1956); O. Bonmann, “Johannes Kapistran (1386–1456). Ein Leben für Europa,” Der Rufer 29 (1960), 62–64; N. Rodolico, “La figura storica di S. Giovanni da Capestrano,” sf 53 (1956), 221–224; L. Spätling, “San Giovanni da Capestrano campione dell’ Europa unità,” sf 53 (1956), 225–235; N. Honermann, Ein Mönch unter den Wölfen. Johannes von Kapistran, der Apostel Europas (Innsbruck, 1965); R. Zavalloni, “San Giovanni da Capestrano e la ‘Cultura Francescana della Pace’,” Antonianum 61 (1986), 520–539. On the theme of “Franciscan Observants and the Reformation,” see now W. Ziegler, “Die deutschen Franziskanerobservanten zwischen Reformation und Gegenre­ formation,” in: I Francescani in Europa tra Riforma e Controriforma. Atti del xiii Convegno internazionale 17-18-19 ottobre 1985 (Società Internazionale di Studi Francescani, Assisi 1986), 52–94. 86 L . Poliakov, Geschichte des Antisemitismus ii: Das Zeitalter der Verteufelung und des Ghetto, trans. R. Pfisterer (Worms, 1978), 47, 150. 87 G. Voigt, “Johannes von Capistrano, ein Heiliger des fünfzehnten Jahrhunderts,” Historische Zeitschrift 10 (1863), 19–96, 96.

276 chapter 7

John of Capistrano, if asked about his historical significance, would not have been at a loss for words. More than once in his own lifetime he embraced turns of phrase that recalled the Apostle Paul; that celebrated his accomplishments in spreading the word of God and the defense of the faith, the church and the papacy.88 He also claimed that without Observant preaching the Catholic faith would have all but completely crumbled away, preserved only by a few.89 John also stressed that his life and mission were not only about himself and his renown, indeed not even about his order and the legacy of Francis of Assisi. His only concern was the unity of the church, the superiority of the papacy and orthodoxy. In late autumn 1452, most likely at the insistence of Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini, Nicholas v withdrew John’s authority in a “Motu proprio,” making clear to the friar that he was to show restraint in matters of high politics. In response the friar chose for his humble and self-conscious missive words that capture his intention and his historical role: “Tuam vineam colo, Pater sanctis- sime, tua excutio arva, omnes animae tuae sunt, eius, qui eas creavit et creat, auctoritate tibi commissae. Aperi fontes vitae perennis, et de tuo, licet inutili, ser- vulo confide secure, quia citius mortem expeterem, quam sanctae Sedis Apostolicae culmini detrimentum utcumque pusillum debiti honoris paterer ignorari.”90

88 Bibl. Conv. O.F.M. AracoeIi, Rome, Cod. 19 (olim V-3), fol. 89r: “Omnis occupatio postpo- nenda pro fidei defensione censetur, quod nimis dulce otium ac omni negotio pulcrius exis- timo,” ff. Hofer, Johannes Kapistran (n. 3) i, 96, n. 34. 89 ms Maria Saal, Bibl. Cap., Nr. 6, fo1. 255v, ff. Hofer, Johannes Kapistran (n. 3), ii, 292. 90 Wadding xii (n. 5), 154–157, here 155. Forthcoming: K. Elm, “S. Giovanni da Capestrano nella Chiesa del Quattrocento,” in: S. Giovanni da Capestrano nella Chiesa e nella società del suo tempo.

chapter 8 Vita regularis sine regula. The Meaning, Legal Status and Self-Understanding of Late-Medieval and Early-Modern Semi-Religious Life

I

The Franciscan Hippolyte Hélyot (†1716) published his five-volume history of the religious orders in Paris between 1714 and 1716. After his death his fellow Franciscan Maximillian Bullot expanded the work by three more volumes, and the work was thereafter often re-issued and translated into other lan- guages. But Hélyot did not choose the seemingly obvious “Histoire des ordres religieux” as his title. Instead he chose, with care and discernment, “Histoire des ordres monastiques, religieux et militaires et des congrégations séculières de l’un etl’autre sexe.”1 To take to hand even one volume of this work—one that Marie-Léandre Badiche used as the foundation for his Dictionnaire des ordres monastiques, religieux et militaires published between 1847 and 1859— is to be reminded of the encyclopedias of Jean-Lerond d’Alembert and of Denis Diderot, as well as the work of Martin Gebert, abbot of St. Blaise, who would undertake the Germania Sacra some fifty years later.2 With their drive

1 H. Hélyot, Histoire des ordres monastique, religieux et militaires et des congrégations séculières de l’un et l’autre sexe, qui ont esté establiés jusqu’à present (Paris, 1714–19); German: Ausführliche Geschichte aller geistlichen und weltlichen Kloster- und Ritterorden für beyderley Geschlecht (Leipzig, 1756); Dictionnaire des ordres monastiques, religieux et militaires ou Histoire des ordres…par le P. Hélyot mis en ordre alphabétique par M.-L. Badiche (Encyclopédie Théologique, I Série, T. xx–xxiii, Paris, 1847–59). On Helyot, his work and its dissemination see i. Noye, “Pierre Hélyot (en religion Hippolyte),” in: Dictionnaire de Spiritualité vii (Paris, 1969), 174ff. 2 J. Lough, The “Encyclopédie,” (London, 1971); idem, The Contributors to the Encyclopédie (London 1973); L’Encyclopédie (Paris, 1993). On his birth see now: L. Hell, “Die eine Theologie und ihre Teile. Martin Gerberts Beitrag zur Geschichte der Theologischen Enzyklopädie,” in: Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv 114 (1994), 7–34. On his life and his works: W. Müller, “Martin Gerbert. Fürstabt von St. Blasien 1720–1793,” in: Lebensbilder aus Schwaben und Franken 12, ed. R. Uhland (Stuttgart, 1972), 100–120. On “Germania Sacra”: G. Pfeilschiffer, Die St. Blasiani­ sche Germania Sacra, Münchener Studien zur historischen Theologie I (Kempten, 1921); L. Hammermayer, “Die Forschungszentren der deutschen Benediktiner und ihre Vorhaben,” in: Historische Forschung im 18. Jahrhundert. Organisation—Zielsetzung—Ergebnisse. 12. Deutsch-Französisches Historikerkolloquium des Deutschen Historischen Instituts Paris, ed. K. Hammer, J. Voss Pariser Historische Studien 13 (Bonn, 1976), 122–191.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi 10.1163/9789004307780_010

278 chapter 8 to classify­ and categorize, historians of the religious orders in the eighteenth century proved themselves to be not only representative of the cosmopolitan scholarly culture of the late- era, or of the Enlightenment’s passion for systematization.3 They were participants in a tradition that reached back to the early days of Christianity, indeed far back to the ancient world.4 To organize according to genera and coetus, according to contemplatio and actio, vita communis or vita solitaria,5 or later according to rule and legal status has counted, until the present, as the most appropriate way to classify a vita reli- giosa that, over the course of its history, has grown into an inestimable range of ways of life and institutions.6 Hélyot, Gerbert and later historians like Max Heimbucher, but above all historical theologians and theologians of religious life of the high middle ages, worked from the assumption that the founda- tional principles of such a system of classification were grounded in the nature of a church founded by God, in the unfolding of salvation history and

3 E.W. Cochrane, “The Settecento Medievalists,” in: Journal of the History of Ideas 19 (1958) 36– 61; L. Gossman, Medievalism and the Ideologies of Enlightenment (Baitimore, 1968). 4 Cf. here, among others, J. Joly, Le thème philosophique des genres de vie dans l’antiquité clas- sique (Brussels, 1956); U. Ranke-Hememann, “Das Motiv der Nachfolge im frühen Mönchtum,” in: Erbe und Auftrag 36 (1960), 335–347; G. Penco, “Il capitolo ‘De generibus monachorum’ nella tradizione medievale,” in: Studia monastica 3 (1961), 241–251. 5 M.E. Mason, Active Life and Contemplative Life. A Study of the Concepts from Plato to the Present (Milwaulkee, 1961); G. Turbesi, “La solitudine come espressione ideale della vocazione cristi- ana,” in: Benedictina 8 (1954), 43–56; G. Lobrichon, “Erémitisme et solitude,” in: Montelucio e i Monti Sacri. Atti dell’incontro di studio Spoleto, 30 settembre–2 ottobre 1993, Centro Italtano di studi sull’Alto Medievo. Miscellanea 8 (Spoleto, 1994) 125–148;M.-E. Brunert, Das Ideal der Wüstenaskese und seine Rezeption in Gallien bis zum Ende des 6. Jahrhunderts, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Alten Mönchtums und des Benediktinertums 42 (Münster, 1994); H.J. Derda, Vita communis. Studien zur Geschichte einer Lebensform in Mittelalter und Neuzeit (Cologne, Weimar, Vienna, 1992); K. Elm, “Die Bedeutung historischer Legitimation, Funktion und Bestand des mittelalterlichen Ordenswesens,” in: Herkunft und Ursprung. Historische und mythische Formen der Legitimation. Akten des Gerda-Henkel-Kolloquiums veranstaltet vom Forschungsinstitut für Mittelalter und Renaissance der Heinrich-Heine-Universität Düsseldorf, 13. bis 15. Oktober 1991, ed. P. Wunderli (Sigmaringen, 1994), 71–90. 6 Cf. among others H. Hourlier, Les religieux, Histoire du Droit et des Institutions de l’Église en Occident publié sous la direction de Gabnel Le Bras x: L’âge classique 1140–1378 (Paris, 1974); R. Lemoine, Le monde des religieux, ibid. XV/2: L’ époque moderne 1563–1789 (Paris, 1976). Further literature: K. Elm, “Orden I: Begriff und Geschichte des Ordenswesens,” in: Theologische Realenzyklopädie xxv (Berlin, 1995), 315–330; G. Melville, “‘Diversa sunt monasteria et diversas habent institutiones’. Aspetti delle moltiplici forme organizzative dei religiosi nel Medioevo,” in: Chiesa e società in Sicilia. I secoli xii–xvi, ed. G. Zito (Turin, 1995), 323–345.

Vita regularis sine regula 279 not least in the religious disposition of man—that is to say in ecclesiology, in historical theology and anthropology.7 But there soon emerged a new model, now widely accepted: to see the establishment of traditions of asceticism and monasticism, and especially the formation of religious orders, as a historical process shaped by many factors. This in turn has created the need to see the history and structure of the orders in a way appropriate to the highly complex social system we see today.8 The shift has had important consequences for the history of the religious orders. From the 1920s the dominant view has remained that religious orders and heresies are no longer to be seen as independent entities, but rather (at least from a historical point of view) as different mani- festations of a single phenomenon, each complementary to or dialectically in tension with the other—in short, as “religious movements” shaped by numerous factors.9 Another trend has moved, with increasing sharpness, in a

7 M. Heimbucher, Die Orden und Kongregationen der katholischen Kirche i–ii, 3rd ed. (Paderborn, 1934); H. Silvestre, “Diversi sed non adversi,” in: Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale 31 (1964) 124–132; G. Constable, “The Diversity of Religious Life and Acceptance of Social Pluralism in the Twelfth Century,” in: History, Society and the Churches. Essays in Honour of Owen Chadwick, ed. D. Beales, G. Best (Cambridge, 1985), 29–47; W. Eberhard, “Ansätze zur Bewältigung ideologischer Pluralität im 12. Jahrhundert,” in: Historisches Jahrbuch 105 (1985) 353–387; J. Leclercq, “Diversification et identité dans le monachisme au XIIe siècle,” in: Studia Monastica 28 (1986) 51–74. 8 Cf. among others, G. Schmelzer, Religiöse Gruppen und sozialwissenschaftltche Typologie. Möglichkeiten der soziologischen Analyse religiöser Orden, Sozialwissenschaftliche Abhan­ dlungen der Görres-Gesellschaft 3 (Berlin, 1979). 9 G. Volpi, Movimenti religiose e sette ereticali nella società medioevale Italiana (Florence, 1922) and H. Grundmann, Religiöse Bewegungen im Mittelalter. Untersuchungen über die geschich- tlichen Zusammenhänge zwischen der Ketzerei, den Bettelorden und der religiosen Frauen­ bewegung im 12. und 13. Jahrhundert und über die geschichtlichen Grundlagen der deutschen Mystik, Historische Studien 267 (Berlin, 1935); idem, “Neue Beiträge zur Geschichte der religiösen Bewegungen im Mittelalter,” in: Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 37 (1955), 129–182, also in: idem, Ausgewählte Aufsätze. Teil 1: Religiöse Bewegungen, Schriften der Monumenta Germaniae Historica 25, 1 (Stuttgart, 1976), 38–92. Cf. also: R. Buchner, “Religiösität, Spiritua­ lismus, geistige Armut, Bildung: Herbert Grundmann’s geistesgeschichtliche Studien,” in: Innsbrucker Historische Studien 1 (1978), 239–251; M. Wehrli-Johns, “Vorausset­zungen und Perspektiven mittelalterlicher Laienfrömmigkeit seit Innozenz iii. Eine Auseinandersetzung mit Herbert Grundmanns ‘Religiösen Bewegungen’,” in: Mitttellungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung 104 (1996), 286–309. On the character of “religious move- ments,” J.J. van Moolenbroek, “Mouvements populaires, mouvements religieux au Moyen Âge,” in: Le Moyen Âge 93 (1987), 249–253; K. Elm, “Francescanesimo e movimenti religiosi del Duecento e Trecento. Osservazione sulla continuità e il cambiamento di un problema storio- grafico,” in: Gli studi francescani dal dopoguerra ad oggi, ed. F. Santi (Spoleto, 1993), 73–89.

280 chapter 8 similar direction. Older definitions of the orders as institutions sharply divided from one another legally and socially, are now undergoing revision. The notion that religious life stands alongside the clergy and the laity as one of the independent pillars of the church has been modified. Scholars now emphasize the ability of the religious orders to change, to adapt and to reform, and they point to the broad spectrum of connections between the secular and regular clergy, as well as to connections between both clerical estates and the world of the laity.10 That a church and its orders once viewed as rather static and structured is now viewed as more dynamic in character is doubtless a result of the profound changes in understandings of the church and its practice that have emerged in our century11 —not least a new appreciation of the laity and its role in the church, one that was already discernible at the end of the nineteenth century, that grew in strength between the World Wars, and that culminated at Vatican ii.12 It has led not only to a more intense concern with lay and popular piety in the

10 Cf. for example R. Kottje, “Monastische Reform oder Reformen?” in: Monastische Reformen des neunten und zehnten Jahrhunderts, ed. R. Kottje, H. Maurer, Vorträge und Forschungen 38 (Sigmaringen 1989), 9–13; K. Schreiner, “Dauer, Niedergang und Erneuerung klösterli- cher Observanz im hoch- und spätmittelalterlichen Mönchtum. Krisen, Reform- und Institutionalisierungsprobleme in der Sicht und Deutung betroffener Zeitgenossen,” in: Institutionen und Geschichte. Theologische Aspekte und hochmittelalterliche Befunde, ed. G. Melville, Norm und Struktur 1 (Cologne, Weimar, Vienna, 1992), 1–24. On “stasis” and “change” as paradigmatic for medieval scholarship and interpretation in general: O.G. Oexle, “‘Die Statik ist ein Grundzug des mittelalterlichen Bewußtseins’. Die Wahrnehmung sozialen Wandels im Denken des Mittelalters und das Problem ihrer Deutung,” in: Sozialer Wandel im Mittelalter. Wahrnehmungsformen, Erklärungsmuster, Regelungsmechanismen, ed. J. Miethke, K. Schreiner (Sigmaringen, 1994), 45–70. 11 K. Rahner, Strukturwandel der Kirche als Aufgabe und Chance (Freiburg, 1972); H.U. von Balthasar, “Kirchenerfahrung dieser Zeit,” in: “Sentire ecclesiam.” Das Bewußtsein von der Kirche als gestaltende Kraft der Frömmigkeit. Festschrift für Hugo Rahner, ed. J. Danielou, H. Vorgrimler (Freiburg, 1981), 743–768; World Catholicism in Transition, ed. T.M. Gannon (New York, London 1988); W. O’Malley, Tradition and Transition. Historical Perspectives on Vatican ii (Wilmington, 1989). 12 Y.-M. Congar, Jalons pour une théologie du laïcat (Paris, 1953), Ger: Der Laie. Entwurf einer Theologie des Laientums (Stuttgart, 1957); Die Kirche der Laien. Eine Weichenstellung des Konzils, ed. R. Zerfass (Würzburg, 1987); G. Spadolini, Coscienza laica e coscienza cattolica (Florence, 1988); L. Karrer, Aufbruch der Christen. Das Ende der klerikalen Kirche (Munich, 1989). On the shifting accents of recent research and the interpretation of the “Christian Middle Ages,” see J. Van Engen, “The Christian Middle Ages as an Historiographical Problem,” in: The American Historical Review 91 (1986), 519–552.

Vita regularis sine regula 281 middle ages.13 The modern church knows of the emergence of “secular institu- tions,” “societies of the apostolic life” and “other forms of devout life” that post- conciliar church law has placed alongside religious life (designated as the Institutes of Consecrated Life) as equally justified forms of the vita Deo devota.14 But we have also become far more strongly conscious a longer ­history, one of numerous prototypical, analogous or transitional forms of religious life. These were practiced by individuals as “semi-religious,” as “half-monks,” as “lay religious,” as “irregular and independent religious,” as “half- spiritual, half- religious” persons. They also led to the formation of “informal groups,” “free religi­ ous associations” and “religious communities of laymen with a way of life similar to the cloister.” All this considerably modifies the older view of religious life as an acies ordinata, a well-ordered battle line.15 Grado G. Merlo has recently

13 Cf. among others: I laici nella “Societas christiana” dei secoli XI e XIII. Atti della terza Settimana internazionale di studio Mendola, 21–27 agosto 1965, Pubblicazioni dell’­ Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore. Miscellanea del Centro di studi medioevali V (Milan, 1968); R. Manselli, La religion populaire au moyen âge. Problèmes de méthode et d’histoire (Montréal, 1975); A. Vauchez, Les laïcs au Moyen-Age. Pratiques et expérience religieuse (Paris 1987), Ger.: Gottes vergessenes Volk. Laien im Mittelalter (Freiburg, Basel, Vienna, 1993); K. Schreiner, “Laienfrömmigkeit—Frömmigkeit von Eliten oder Frömmigkeit­ des Volkes? Zur sozialen Verfaßtheit laikaler Frömmigkeitspraxis im späten Mittelalter,” in: Laienfrömmigkeit im späten Mittelalter. Formen, Funktionen, politisch-soziale Zusammen­ hänge, ed. K. Schreiner and E. Müller-Luckner, Schriften des Historis­chen Kollegs, Kolloquien (Munich, 1992), 1–78; P. Dinzelbacher, “Zur Erforschung der Geschichte der Volksreligion. Einführung und Bibliographie,” in: Volksreligion im hohen und späten Mittelalter ed. P. Dinzelbacher, D.R. Bauer, Quellen und Forschungen aus dem Gebiet der Geschichte nf 13 (Paderborn, Munich, Vienna, Zürich, 1990), 79–125; R.W. Scribner, “Volksglaube und Volksfrömmigkeit. Begriffe und Historiographie,” in: Volksfrömmigkeit­ in der frühen Neuzeit, ed. H. Molitor, H. Smolinski, Katholisches Leben und Kirchenreform im Zeitalter der Glaubensspaltung 54 (Münster, 1994), 121–135. 14 Das Konzil und die Orden. Die Lehre des ii. Vatikanischen Konzils über den Ordensstand mit einem ausführlichen Kommentar, ed. K. Siepen, A. Scheuermann (Cologne, 1966); G. Jelich, Kirchliches Ordensverständnis im Wandel. Untersuchungen zum Ordensverständnis des Zweiten Vatikanischen Konzils, Erlanger Theologische Studien 49, (Erlangen, 1983); A. Boni, “La vita religiosa nella struttura concettuale del nuovo Codice di Diritto Canonico,” in: Antonianum 58 (1983), 523–627; G. Pollak, Der Aufbruch der Sakulärinstitute und ihr the- ologischer Ort (Vallendar, 1986); R. Henseler, Ordensrecht, Münsterische Kommentare zum Cle. Sonderausgabe (Essen, 1987); R. Seboll, Ordensrecht. Kommentar zu den Kanones 573–746 des Codex Iuris Canonici (Frankfurt, 1995). 15 See now: Les mouvances laïques des ordres religieux. Actes du IIIe Colloque International du c.e.r.c.o.r., ed. N. Bouter (Saint-Etienne, 1996).

282 chapter 8 described this field of “semi-religious life” as a universe only recently redis- covered. The following aims to draw out the larger significance of that universe, at least in broad outline; to characterize its legal standing and self- perception; and to inquire into the place of vita regularis sine regula in the transition from the late middle ages to the Reformation and the era of confessionalization.16

ii

The religious movements of the high and late middle ages did not become institutionalized only in the traditional forms of the vita religiosa—in new abbeys, canonries, convents, congregations, observances, orders and their affiliates. The monastic and canonical reforms and the apostolic poverty ­movement of the twelfth century, the poverty, penance and eremitical move- ment of the thirteenth and the Observance and reform movements character- istic of the fourteenth and fifteenth brought forth or revitalized other forms of life and community. As these took their place alongside newer forms of “actual” religious life, they allowed the faithful, and above all the laity, to live a spiritual

16 G.G. Merlo, “Eremitismo nel francescanesimo medievale,” in: Eremitismo nel francescane- simomedievale. Atti del xvii Convegno Internazionale Assisi, 12-13-14 ottobre 1989 (Perugia, 1991) 48: “Cell dwellers, domestic penitents, hermits, recluses, the repentant, incluses are the protagonists of a world that research has begun only in the last few years to allow to emerge.” The author of this essay has already sought in several others to describe the uniqueness, the legal status and the meaning of “semi-religious” life: “Die Stellung der Frau in Ordenswesen, Semireligiosentum und Häresie zur Zeit der hlg. Elisabeth,” in: Sankt Elisabeth. Fürstin—Dienerin—Heilige. Aufsätze. Dokumentation. Katalog, ed. Philipps-Universität Marburg in cooperation with the Hessischen Landesamt für geschichtliche Landeskunde (Sigmaringen, 1981), 7–38; “Die Brüderschaft vom gememsa- men Leben. Eine geistliche Lebensform zwischen Kloster und Welt, Mittelalter und Neuzeit,” in: Geert Grote en Moderne Devotie. Voordrachten gehouden tijdens het Geert Grote congres, Nijmegen 27–29 september 1984, ed. J. Andriessen, B. Bange, A.G. Weiler, Middeleeuwse Studies 1 (Nijmegen, 1985), 470–496 and “Die Spiritualität der geistlichen Ritterorden des Mittelalters. Forschungsstand und Forschungsprobleme,” in: “Militia Christi” e Crociata nei secoli xi–xiii. Atti della undecima Settimana internazionale di studio Mendola, 28 agosto–1 settembre 1989, Pubblicazioni dell’Universira Cattolica del Sacro Cuore. Miscellanea del Centro di studi medioevali xxx (Milan, 1992), 475–578. The cur- rent contribution is now offered as well, though with the full awareness that a compre- hensive account of this way of life awaits considerably more preparatory work, above all in matters of canon law and legal history.

Vita regularis sine regula 283 life (whether permanently or provisionally) that was more intense than they had lived before, yet did not obligate them, like religious, to renounce the world entirely, to bind themselves pleno iure to an established order and to live according to approved rule and constitutions.17 The manifestations of vita semireligiosa were often sharply divergent accord- ing to their age and composition, purposes and degrees of organi­zation, prox- imity to or distance from the established church, self-understanding and

17 From the literature on the history of these religious movements in the high and later middle ages see, among others: F.A. Dal Pino, Rinnovamento monastico-clericale e movimenti religiosi evangelici nei secoli x–xii (Rome, 1973); K. Bosl, Europa im Aufbruch: Herrschaft, Gesellschaft, Kultur vom 10. bis zum 14. Jahrhundert (Munich, 1980); Renaissance and Renewal in the Twelfth Century, ed. R.L. Benson, G. Constable, C.D. Lanham (Cam­bridge, 1982); La Europa dei secoli X e XII tra novità e tradizione. Sviluppi di una cultura. Atti della decima Settimana internazionale di studio Mendola, 25–29 agosto 1986, Pubblicazione dell’Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore. Miscellanea del Centro di studi medioevali xii (Milan, 1989); Aufbruch—Wandel—Erneuerung. Beiträge zur “Renaissance” des 12. Jahrhunderts, ed. G. Wieland (Stuttgart, Bad Cannstadt, 1995). Especially noteworthy there: A. Haverkamp, “Leben in Gemeinschaften—Alte und neue Formen im 12. Jahrhundert,” 11–44; P. Dinzelbacher, “Die ‘Bernhardinische Epoche’ als Achsenzeit der europäischen Geschichte,” in: Bernhard von Clairvaux und der Beginn der Moderne, ed. D.R. Bauer, G. Fuchs (Innsbruck, Vienna, 1996), 9–46 with literature on the theme (47–53); Machtfulle des Papsttums. 1054–1274, ed. A. Vauchez, German ed. O. Engels et al., Die Geschichte des Christentums 5 (Freiburg, Basel, Vienna, 1994); La ­conversione alla povertà nell’Italia dei secoli xii–xlv. Atti del xviii Convegno storico internazionale­ Todi, 14–17 ottobre 1990, Atti dei Convegni dell’Academia Tudertina e del Centro di studi sulla spiritualità medievale ns 4 (Spoleto, 1991), and there, especially thorough and with numerous references to literature: F. Dal Pino, “Scelte di povertà all’origine dei nuovi ordini religiosi dei secoli xii–xiv” (53–126); Religiones novi, Quaderni di storia religiosa 2 (Verona, 1995); K. Elm, “Verfall und Erneuerung des Ordenswesens im Spätmittelalter,” in: Untersuchungen zu Kloster und Stift, Veröffentli­ chungen des Max-Planck-Instituts für Geschichte 68. Studie zur Germania Sacra 14 (Göttingen, 1980), 188–238; G. Zarri, “Aspetti dello sviluppo degli ordine religiosi in Italia tra Quattro e Cinquecento. Studi e problemi,” in: Strutture ecclesiastiche in Italia e Germania prima della Riforma, ed. P. Prodi, P. Johanek, Annali del’ Istituto storico italo- germanico. Quaderno 16 (Bologna, 1984), 207–258; Reformbemühungen und Observanz­ bestrebungen im spätmittelalterlichen Ordenswesen, ed. K. Elm, Berliner Historische Studien 14, Ordensstudien 6 (Berlin, 1989); D. Mertens, “Monastische Reformbewegungen des 15. Jahrhunderts: Ideen—Ziele—Resultate,” in: Reform von Kirche und Reich zur Zeit der Konzilien von Konstanz (1414–1418) und Basel (1431–1449). Konstanz—Prager Historisches Kolloquium, 11.–17. Oktober 1993, ed. H. Hlaváček, A. Patschovsky (Constance, 1996), 157–181.

284 chapter 8 representations of others. They ranged from hermits,18 conversi19 and oblates20 to “confraternities” and unregulated, mixed forms of “monastic” and “cano­ nical,” “spiritual” and “lay” life21 to independent communities of laymen and

18 L. Gougard, Ermites et reclus. Études sur d’anciennes formes de vie religieuse (Moines et monastères V, Saint-Martin de Ligugé, 1928); idem, “Essai de bibliographie érémitique,” in: Revue béndéictine 45 (1933), 281–290; O. Dörr, Das Institut der Inclusen in Süddeutschland, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Alten Mönchtums und des Benediktinerordens 18 (Münster, 1934); M. Le Roy Ladurie, Femmes au desert. Témoignage sur la vie eremitique (Paris, Fribourg, 1971); J. Leclercq, “Solitude and Solidarity. Medieval Women Recluses,” in: Medieval Religious Women ii. Peaceweavers, ed. L. Th. Schank, J.A. Nichols (Kalamazoo, 1987); G. Casagrande, “Il fenomeno della reclusione volontaria nei secoli del Basso Medioevo,” in: Benedictina 35 (1988), 504–507. 19 Beiträge zur Geschichte der Konversen im Mittelalter, ed. K. Elm, Berliner Historische Studien 2, Ordensstudien 1 (Berlin, 1980), with select bibliography on the history of con- versi in the middle ages. 20 J. Orlandis, “‘Traditio corporis et animae’. Laicos y monasterios en la alta edad media española,” in: Anuario de Historia del Derecho Español 24 (1954), 95–279; J. Marchel, Le “Droit d’oblat.” Essai sur une variété de pensionnés monastiques, Archives de la France monastique 49 (Saint-Martin de Liguge, 1955); J. Guilmard, Les oblats séculiers dans la familie de S. Benoît (Solesmes, 1975); M.B. de Jong, Kind en klooster in de vroege middeleeu- wen, Amsterdamsche Reeks 8 (Amsterdam, 1986); M. Lahaye-Geussen, Das Opfer der Kinder. Ein Beitrag zur Liturgie- und Sozialgeschichte des Mönchtums im Hohen Mittelalter, Münsteraner Theologische Abhandlungen 13 (Altenberge, 1991); D.J. Osheim, “Conver­ sion, Conversi and the Christian Life in Late Medieval Tuscany,” in: Speculum 58 (1983) 368–390; G.G. Merlo, “Uomini e donne in communità ‘estese’. Indagini su realtà piemon- tesi tra xii e xiii secolo,” in: Uomini e donne in comunità, Quaderni di storia religiosa 1 (Verona, 1994), 9–31. 21 J. Wollasch, “Die mittelalterliche Lebensform der Verbrüderung,” in: Memoria. Der geschichtlicheZeugniswert des liturgischen Gedenkens im Mittelalter, ed. K. Schmid, J. Wollasch, Münstersche Mittelalter-Schriften 48 (Munich, 1984), 215–232; H.E. Cowdrey, “Legal Problems Raised by Agreements of Confraternity,” ibid., 233–254. Especially note- worthy in this context is the “semi-religious” canoness, first noted by K.-H. Schäfer, Die Kanonissenstifter im deutschen Mittelalter. Ihre Entwicklung und innere Einrichtung im Zusammenhang mit dem altchristlichen Sanktimonialentum, Kirchenrechtliche Abhand­ lungen 43–44 (Stuttgart, 1907, repr. Amsterdam, 1965), see now among others: G. Despy, “Les chapitres de chanoinesses nobles de Belgique au Moyen Âge,” in: 36e Congrès de la Fédération Archéologique et Historique de Belgique (Gent, 1955), 169–179; I. Gampe, Adelige Damenstifte. Untersuchungen zur Entstehung adeliger Damenstifte in Österreich unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der alten Kanonissenstifte Deutschlands und Lothringens, Wiener Rechtsgeschichtliche Arbeiten (Vienna, Munich, 1960); M. Parisse, “Les chanoi- nesses dans l’empire germanique (IXe—XIe siècles),” in: Francia 6 (1978) 107–126; W. Kohl, “Bemerkungen zur Typologie sächsischer Frauenklöster im westlichen Sachsen,” in:

Vita regularis sine regula 285 clerics who sought (without formal obligations or recognized rule) to embrace salvation in brotherly community, to exercise acts of charity and to embrace a spiritual apostolate.22 Indeed some have occasionally gone so far as to number among them not only pilgrims and crusaders under ecclesiastical privilege, but even those who on their deathbed donned the religious habit, so as to ensure in the afterlife their participation in the merits of monastic life.23 At first institutions of this kind were overwhelmingly associated with monaster- ies and other religious foundations.24 But from the twelfth century, the century

Untersuchungen zu Kloster und Stift, 112–139 and E. Ziegler, “Secular Canonesses as Antecedents of the Beguines in the Low Countries. An Introduction to Some Older Views,” in: Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History ns 13 (1992), 117–135. 22 See nn. 36 and 44. 23 F. Garrison, “A propos des pèlerins et de leur condition juridique,” in: Études d’histoire du droit canonique dédiées a G. Le Bras (Paris, 1965) ii, 1165–1189; G.B. Ladner, “‘Homo viator’. Medieval Ideas on Alienation and Order,” in: Speculum 42 (1967), 233–259; L. Schmugge, “Pilgerfahrt macht frei: Eine These zur Bedeutung des mittelalterlichen Pilgerwesens,” in: Römische Quartalsschrift 74 (1979) 31–75; M. Villey, La croisade. Essai sur la formation d’une theorie juridique, L’Église et l’État au Moyen Âge 6 (Paris, 1942); J. Brundage, Medieval Canon Law and the Crusader (Madison, London, 1969); J.B. Valvekens, “Fratres et Sorores ‘ad succurrendum’,” in: Analecta Praemonstratensia 37 (1961), 323–328; U. Brückner, “Sterben im Mönchsgewand. Zum Funktionswandel einer Todkleidsitte,” in: Kontakte und Grenzen. Probleme der Volks-, Kultur- und Sozialforschung. Festschrift für G. Heilfurth (Würzburg, 1969), 259–277. 24 U. Berlière, La Familia dans les monasteres bénédictins du moyen âge, Memoires de l’ Academie Belgique, Classe de Lettres et deo Sciences morales et politiques XIX/2 (Brussells, 1931); On the “familia” of individual foundations and cloisters: K. Elm “Fratres et Sorores Sanctissimi Sepulcri. Ein Beitrag zu fraternitas, familia und weiblichem Religiosentum im Umkreis des Kapitels vom Hl. Grab,” in: Frühmittelalterliche Studien 9 (1975) 287–333; H. Dormeier, Montecassino und die Laien im 11. und 12. Jahrhundert. Mit einem einleitenden Beitrag: Zur Geschichte Montecassinos im 11. und 12. Jahrhundert von Hartmut Hoffmann, Schriften der Monumenta Germaniae Historica 27 (Stuttgart, 1979); M. de Jong, “Kloosterlingen en buitenstaanders. Grensoverschrijdingen in Ekkehards Casus Sancti Galli,” in: Bijdragen en mededeiingen betreffende de geschiedenis der Nederlanden 98 (1983) 337–357; J. Fechter, Cluny, Adel und Volk. Studien über das Verhältnis des Klosters zu den Ständen (Stuttgart, 1966); G. Constable, “Famuli and Conversi at Cluny. A Note on Statute 24 of Peter the Venerable,” in: Revue bénédictine 83 (1973), 326–350; W. Teske, “Laien, Laienmönche und Laienbrüder in der Abtei Cluny. Ein Beitrag zum Konversenproblem,” in: Frühmittelalterliche Studien 10 (1976) 248–322; 11 (1977) 288–339; J. Wollasch, Cluny—“Licht der Welt.” Aufstieg und Untergang der klosterlichen Gesells­ chaft (Zürich, Düsseldorf, 1996), 101–140.

286 chapter 8 of the great awakening, with the increasing foundation of hermitages25 and hospitals26 there was a notable growth of individuals and communities who stood between order and world. The trend reached a high point in the thir- teenth century, with the founding of so many penitential confraternities27 and ­tertiary orders.28 And in the later middle ages, with the beguines and

25 L’ Eremitismo in Occidente nei secoli xi–xii. Attidella seconda Settimana internazionale di studi Mendola, 30 agosto-6 settembre 1962, Pubblicazioni dell’Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore, Miscellanea del Centro di studi medioevali IV (Milan, 1965); H. Grundmann, “Deutsche Eremiten. Einsiedler und Klausner im Hochmittelalter (10.–12. Jahrhundert),” in: Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 45 (1963), 60–90. Also in: idem, Ausgewählte Aufsätze (n. 9) i, 93–124; J. Sainsaulieu, Les ermites français (Paris, 1974); A.K. Wanen, Anchorites and their Patrons in Medieval England (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London, 1985); G. Penco, “L’eremitismo irregolare in Italia nei secoli xi–xii,” in: Benedictina 32 (1985), 201–221; G. Casagrande, “Forme di vita religiosa femminile solitaria in Italia Centrale,” in: Eremitismo nel frances- canesimo (n. 16), 53–94; E. Pásztor, “Ideali dell’eremitismo femminile in Europa tra i secoli xii–xv,” in: ibid. 131–164; P. Gehrke, “Pious Hermits and Magical Helpers. Alternative Solutions for Spiritual Problems,” in: Saints and Scribes. Medieval Hagiography in its Manuscript Context, University of California Publications in Modern Philology 126 (Berkeley, Los Angeles, 1993), 86–104. 26 Histoire des hôpitaux, ed J. Imbert (Toulouse, 1982); D. Jetter, Das europäische Hospital. Von der Spätantike bis 1880 (Cologne, 1987); G. Castelli, Gli ospedali d’Italia (Milan, 1941); C. Dainton, The Story of the English Hospital (London, 1961); P. Bonenfant, “Hôpitaux et bienfaisance dans les anciens Pays-Bas des origines à la fin du XVIIIe siècle,” in: Annales de la Société Belge d’Histoire des Hôpitaux 3 (1965), 1–44; G. Maréchal, “Armen—en zieken- zorg in de zuidelijke Nederlanden,” in: Algemene Geschiedenis der Nederlanden ii (Harlem, 1982), 268–280, 541; E. Gilomen-Schenkel, “Spitaler und Spitalorden in der Schweiz. Ein Forschungsbericht,” in: Die Antoniter, die Chorherren vom Hlg. Grab in Jerusalem und die Hospitaliter vom Hlg. Geist in der Schweiz, ed. E. Gilomen-Schenkel, Helvetia Sacra IV/4 (Basel, Frankfurt a. M., 1996), 19–34. On the semi-religious character of hospital brothers and sisters in particular: D. Rando: “‘Laicus religiosus’ tra strutture civili ed ecclesiastiche: L’ospedale di Ognisanti in Treviso,” in: Studi Medievali 24 (1983), 617–656; Ch. de Miramon, “Les donnes à Lille au Moyen Âge. Une forme de vie religieuse laïque,” in: Revue du Nord 76 (1994), 231–253. 27 G.G. Meersseman, “I penitenti nel secoli xi e xii,” in: I laici (n. 13), 306–309. Also in: idem, G.P. Pacini, Ordo Fraternitatis. Confraternite e pietà dei laici nel medioevo, Italia Sacra 24–26 (Rome, 1997), 265–304; G. Casagrande, “Il movimento penitenziale nel Medioevo,” in: Benedictina 27 (1980), 695–709; G. Penco, “Tra monachesimo e laicato: L’ordine dei penitenti,” in: ibid. 29 (1982), 489–494; G. Casagrande, “Il movimento penitenziale nel secoli del Basso Medioevo. Note su alcuni recenti contributi,” in: ibid. 30 (1983), 217–233. 28 With special emphasis on Franciscan tertiaries, but also with a view to penitents and third-order members associated with other orders: I Frati Penitenti di San Francesco nella società del Due e Trecento. Atti del 2° Convegno di Studi Francescani Roma, 12-13-14

Vita regularis sine regula 287 beghards,29 the Brothers and Sisters of the Common Life30 as well as so many other similar communities, semi-religious life reached such a highpoint that the number of its communities caught up with (if they did not in fact overtake)31 those of formal religious life. Their way of life “between status

ottobre 1976, ed. M. D’Alatri (Rome, 1977); Il movimento Francescano della Penitenza nella società medioevale. Atti del 3° Convegno di Studi Francescani. Padova, 25-26-27 settembre 1979, ed. M. D’Alatri (Rome, 1980); I Frati Minori e il Terzo Ordine. Probleme e discussioni storiografiche, Convegno del Centro di studi sulla spiritualità medievale 23 (Todi, 1985); M. D’Alatri, Aetas poenitentialis. L’antico Ordine francescano della Penitenza, Bibliotheca Seraphico-Capuccina 42 (Rome, 1993). For a brief summary of research on tertiaries to this point see: G. Barone, “Tertianer,” in: Lexikon des Mittelalters viii (1996), 556–559. 29 A. Mens, Orsprong en betekenis van de Nederlandse Begijnen—en Begardenbeweging. Vergelijkende studie: XIIde–XIIIde eeuw, Verhandlungen van de Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België. Klasse der Letteren ix, 7 (Antwerp, 1947); E.W. McDonell, The Beguines and Begards in Medieval Culture: With Special Emphasis on the Belgian Scene (New Brunswick n.j., 1954). On the current state of research and the current assessment of the Beguine way of life see, among others, W. Simons, “The Beguine Movement in the Southern Low Countries: A Reassessment,” in: Bulletin de l’Institut historique belge de Rome 59 (1989), 63–105. 30 Monasticon Fratrum Vitae Communis i–ii, ed. W Leesch, E. Persoons, A.G. Weiler, Archives et bibliothèques de Belgique. Numéro spécial 18–19 (Brussels, 1977/79); A.G. Weiler, Voigens de norm van de vroege kerk. De geschiedenis van de huizen van de broeders van het Gemene leven in Nederland, Middeleeuwse Studies xxiii (Nijmegen, 1997); G. Rehm, Die Schwestern vom gemeinsamen Leben im nordwestlichen Deutschland. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der Devotio moderna und des weiblichen Religiosentums, Berliner Historische Studien 11, Ordensstudien 5 (Berlin, 1985). 31 Of the many works on the regional spread of both male and female semi-religious groups only the following are cited as examples. Despite their seemingly limiting and in a certain sense misleading titles, they document the diversity especially of female semi-religious communities, through examples drawn from Baden, Switzerland and central Italy: A. Wilts, Beginen im Bodenseeraum, Bodensee-Bibliothek 37 (Sigmaringen, 1994); B. Degler-Spengler, “Die Beginen im Rahmen der religiösen Frauenbewegung des 13. Jahrhundert in der Schweiz,” in: Die Beginen und die Begarden in der Schweiz, Helvetia Sacra ix, 2 (Zürich, 1995) 31–91; A. Benvenuti Papi, ‘In castro poenitentiae’. Santità e società femminile nell’Ialia medievale, Italia Sacra 45 (Rome, 1990); M. Sensi, Storie di Bizzoche tra Umbria e Marche, Storia e letteratura. Raccolta di studi e testi 192 (Rome, 1995). For a general view of the quantitative dimensions of women’s ­religious life and semi-religious life, B. Degler-Spengler, “Die religiöse Frauenbewe­ gung des Mittelalters. Konversen—Nonnen—Beginen,” in: Rottenburger Jahrbuch für Kirchengeschichte 3 (1984), 75–88.

288 chapter 8 laicalis and status religiosus”32 was no longer perceived as a marginal form of vita religiosa. It came to be esteemed, among both laity and clergy alike, as the highest end of the pursuit of perfection, “the highest rank that holy Christendom knows.”33

iii

Semi-religious life spread across all of Europe with remarkable speed from the twelfth century, in the cities above all, but also in rural areas. It did so with a diversity of forms that is difficult to capture, and in terms that are difficult to define and to pin down precisely today. But it is difficult to underestimate the importance of its impact, both spiritually and materially, for church and soci- ety alike. Its weak sense of obligation, its only loosely organized structures and its easier requirements for entry offered the faithful of both genders and of different backgrounds the possibility of realizing their own religious inten- tions, even when personal conviction, social status or other reasons hindered them from entering traditional religious orders,34 or when membership in one of any number of widely available “profane” confraternities (with their mild religious and moral obligations) proved insufficient.35 Viewed from the

32 Casagrande, Forme di vita religiosa (n. 25), 60. 33 Des Teufels Netz. Satirisch-didaktisches Gedicht aus der ersten Hälfte des fünfzehnten Jahrhunderts, ed. K.A. Barack (Stuttgart, 1863), 193–199. On a similarly positive estimation of semi-religious women by Robert Grosseteste, Matthew Paris and Humbert of Romans: B.M. Bolton, “Some Thirteenth Century Women in the Low Countries,” in: Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis 61 (1981), 7–29. 34 E. Koch, “De positie van vrouwen op de huwelijksmarkt in de middeleeuwen,” in: Tijdschrift voor sociale geschiedenis 13 (1987), 150–172. On the material demands nor- mally required for entry into the convent: H. Schuller, “Dos—Praebenda—Peculium,” in: Festschrift Friedrich Hausmann, ed. H. Ebner (Graz, 1977), 453–487; E.M.F. Koch, De Kloosterpoort als Sluitpost?, Maaslandse Monografien 57 (Limburg, 1994). On the importance of the “Frauenfrage im Mittelalter,” first posed by K. Bücher (Tübingen, 1910) for the establishment of semi-religious life for women, see now among others P. Ketsch, Frauenarbeit im Mittelalter. Quellen und Materialien, ed. A. Kuhn (Düsseldorf, 1983) I, 12–24 and W. Simons, “Een zeker bestand: de zuid-nederlandse begijnen en de Frauenfrage, 13de—18de eeuw,” in: Tijdschrift voor sociale geschiedenis 17 (1991), 126–146. 35 For an overview of the widespread phenomenon of confraternities and the research of their histories: L. Orioli, “Per una rassegna bibliografica sulle confraternite medievali,” in: Ricerche di Storia Sociale e Religiosa 17–18 (1980), 101–130; Le mouvement confraternel au Moyen Âge. France, Italie, Suisse, Université de Lausanne, Publications de la Faculté des

Vita regularis sine regula 289

­perspectives of the history of piety, of intellectual history and the history of education, this meant that it became possible for broader circles, especially of laity, to participate more fully in liturgical and religious life, and to access more easily the truths of the faith, than might have otherwise been the case, given an established “religious reluctance and social resistance” against the education of the laity.36 The effect was especially pronounced among women, who in this regard had long been at a strong disadvantage. In this new estate women— who for any number of personal, social or demographic reasons were prohib- ited from marriage or entry into convents regular canonries or other institutions of religious life37—found what they might otherwise have found only with great difficulty, or not at all: a higher sense of their own intellectual and spiri- tual worth, a higher degree of respect, fuller access to a world of church life and faith still shaped overwhelmingly by men, active participation in the raising of the social and cultural level in the city as well as in the country, in private as

Lettres xxx. Collection de l’École française de Rome 97 (Rome, 1987); A. Czacharowski, “Die Bruderschaften der mittelalterlichen Städte in der gegenwärtigen polnischen Forschung,” in: Bürgerschaft und Kirche, ed. J. Sydow, Stadt in der Geschichte 7 (Sigmaringen, 1980), 26–37; E. Rubin, “Fraternities and Lay Piety in the Later Middle Ages,” in: Einigungen und Bruderschaften in der spätmittelalterlichen Stadt, ed. P Johanek, Städteforschung A 32 (Cologne, Weimar, Vienna, 1993), 185–198; Cofradias, gremios y soli- daridades en la Europa medieval. 19a Semana de Estudios medievales. Estella 24 de julio de 1992 (Pamplona, 1993); T. Frank, “Tendenze della recente ricerca tedesca sulle confrater- mte,” in: Confraternité, Chiesa e Società. Aspetti e problemi dell’associazionismo laicale europeo in età moderna e contemporanea, ed. L. Bertoldi Lenoci, Biblioteca della ricerca. Pugha storica 5 (Bari, 1995), 305–322. 36 K. Schreiner, “Laienbildung als Herausforderung für Kirche und Gesellschaft. Religiöse Vorbehalte und soziale Widerstände gegen die Verbreitung von Wissen im späten Mittelalter und in der Reformation,” in: Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 11 (1984), 257–354; A. Läther, “Grenzen und Möglichkeiten weiblichen Handelns im 13. Jahrhundert. Die Auseinandersetzung um die Nonnenseelsorge der Bettelorden,” in: Rottenburger Jahrbuch für Kirchengeschichte 11 (1992), 223–240. 37 K. Bosl, “Armut, Arbeit, Emanzipation. Zu den Hintergründen der geistigen und liter- arischen Bewegung vom 11. bis zum 13. Jahrhundert,” in: Beiträge zur Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte des Mittelalters. Festschrift für Herbert Helbig zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. K. Schulz (Cologne, 1976) 128–146; P. Dinzelbacher, “Rollenverweigerung, religiöser Aufbruch und mystisches Erleben mittelalterlicher Frauen,” in: Religiöse Frauenbewegung und mystische Frömmigkeit im Mittelalter, ed. P. Dinzelbacher, D.R. Bauer, Beihefte zum Archiv für Kirchengeschichte 28 (Cologne, Vienna, 1988) 1–58; B.U. Weinmann, Mittelalterliche Frauenbewegungen. Ihre Beziehungen zur Orthodoxie und Häresie, Frauen in Geschichte und Gesellschaft (Pfaffenweiler, 1990); cf. also n. 34.

290 chapter 8 well as in public spheres.38 Social security and stability went hand-in-hand with the possibility of greater religious fulfillment and more intense “self-real- ization.” To live as an anchoress, to belong to a congregation of hermits, to a penitential confraternity, to a hospital, a community of tertiaries, a beguinage or other devout community improved women’s social station and garnered them prestige—something especially attractive for women from the lower classes and from socially marginal groups. To lead a life individually as a mulier devota, but especially to be taken up into an institution of semi-religious life, helped them not only achieve a greater degree of social security, but also protected them from social marginalization, or indeed social disgrace.39 In many cases they offered even the possibility of social advancement and the winning of prestige—witness the many “incarcerates” who lived alone or in small groups, the anchoresses or hermitesses, who as teachers, counselors and “mediators of divine grace” brought high prestige into their respective social environments.40 For church and society, semi-religious life had both a positive and negative significance. In those semi-religious who associated with their foundations,

38 E. Ennen, Frauen im Mittelalter, 2nd ed. (Munich, 1984); eadem., “Politische, kulturelle und karitative Wirksamkeit mittelalterlicher Frauen in Mission—Kloster—Stift— Konvent,” in: Religiöse Frauenbewegung (n. 37), 59–82; B. Rath, “Im Reich der Topoi. Nonnenleben im mittelalterlichen Österreich zwischen Norm und Praxis,” in: L’Homme. Zeitschrift für feministische Geschichtswissenschaft 9 (1996), 122–134. 39 F. Graus, “Randgruppen der städtischen Gesellschaft im Spätmittelalter,” in: Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 8 (1981), 385–437; V. Bullough, “The Prostitute in the Middle Ages,” in: Studies in Medieval Culture 10 (Kalamazoo, 1977), 9–12 (with further literature); Ch. Cohen, The Evolution of Women’s Asylums. From Refuges for Ex-Prostitutes to Shelters for Battered Women (New York, Oxford, 1992); P. Schuler, “‘Sünde und Vergebung’. Integrationshilfen für reumütige Prostituierte im Mittelalter,” in: Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 21 (1994), 145–170; A. Simon, L’Ordre des Soeurs Penitentes de Ste-Marie- Madeleine en Allemagne au XIIIe siècle (Freiburg, 1918); Ph. Hofmeister, “Die Exemption des Magdalenerinnenordens,” in: Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte, Kan. Abt. 35 (1948), 305–329; F. Discry, “La règle des Pénitentes de Ste-Marie-Madeleine,” in: Académie Royale de Belgique. Bulletin de la Commission Royale d’histoire 121 (1956), 85–145. 40 Along with the literature cited in nn. 25 and 31: A. Benvenuti Papi, “Santità femminile nel territorio fiorentino e lucchese. Considerazioni intorno al caso di Verdiana da Castel- fiorentino,” in: Religiosità e società in Valdelsa nel basso medioevo. Atti del Convegno di S. Vivaldo, 29 settembre, 1979 (Florence, 1980), 113ff.; eadem, “Frati mendicanti e pinzochere in Toscana. Dalla marginalitá sociale al modello di santità,” in: La mistica femminile del Trecento. xxx Convegno storico internazionale del Centro di studi sulla spiritualità medievale, Todi 14–17 ottobre 1979 (Todi, 1983) 107–137; A.B. Mulder-Bakker, “Lame Margaret of Magdeburg. The Social Function of a Medieval Recluse,” in: Journal of Medieval History 22 (1996), 155–169.

Vita regularis sine regula 291 cloisters and convents, secular and regular clergy found an “auxiliary army” that embraced in both cloister and world duties that professed religious them- selves could or would not do. Those duties were many: provision of material security and support of fully professed religious, such as they rendered to con- versi both professed and unprofessed;41 enclosure of previously unenclosed areas and the securing of streets, bridges and shipping channels through her- mitages and hermit colonies;42 embrace of public functions and social ser- vices, for example the fight against disease, the care of the sick, the comfort for the dying and the burial of the dead that were the business of hospital mem- bers, “bizzoche,” beguines and begards, as well as other devout figures, both men and women alike;43 the pursuit of ecclesiastical interests, such as the par- ticipation in inquisition and the combating of heresy as well as reinforcement for those tasked with preaching and pastoral care—examples of which include the northern-Italian militias, who early on were shaped under the influence of the mendicant orders, especially the Dominicans.44 Another relevant social function of semi-religious life centers on both recruitment and formation of those professed to religious life. Suitable recruits were led to individual monas- teries, foundations and convents from wider semi-religious circles. Formerly autonomous semi-religious communities also took on (whether willingly or under the compulsion of ecclesiastical authorities) the status of regular corpo- rations, often thereby becoming the foundation of a new order or congrega- tion. This process of transformation of “free communities” into ordines lay at the twelfth-century origins of religious orders associated with knighthood, with hospitals and with the ransoming of captives,45 as well as with orders

41 Cf. n. 19. 42 Cf. nn. 16 and 18. 43 Cf. nn. 26, 28 and 29. 44 G.G. Meersseman, “Études sur les anciennes confrèries dominicaines i–iv,” in: Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 20 (1950), 5–113; 21 (1951), 51–196; 22 (1952), 5–176; 23 (1953), 275– 308; idem, G. P Pacini, Ordo fraternitatis (n. 27), iii, 1233–1289; N.F. Housley, “Politics and Heresy in Italy. Anti-Heretical Crusades, Orders and Confraternities,” in: Journal of Ecclesiastical History 33 (1982), 193–208; A. Thompson, Revival Preachers and Politics in Thirteenth-Century Italy. The Great Devotion (Oxford, 1992). 45 On the semi-religious origins of the military, hospital and ransom orders, with sources and further literature: K. Elm, “Die Spiritualität der geistlichen Ritterorden” (n. 16), also in: Die Spiritualität der Ritterorden im Mittelalter, ed. Z. Nowak, Ordines militares. Colloquia Torunensia Historica vii (Thorn, 1933), 7–44; idem, “Gli ordini militari. Un ceto de vita religiosa fra universalismo e particolarismo,” in: Militia Sacra. Gli ordini militari tra Europa e Terra Santa, ed. E. Coli, M. de Marco, F. Tommasz (Perugia, 1994), 9–28.

292 chapter 8 of hermits, monks and canons.46 This trend continued its advance in the thirteenth century, as communities associated (rightly or wrongly) with heresy were reconciled; as communities of penitents and hermits anticipated orders such as those of the Franciscans, Carmelites, Augustinian Hermits, Servites, Sack Brothers, Paulines and Croziers.47 The trend then strengthened in the

46 Cf. among others: F. von Walter, Die ersten Wanderprediger Frankreichs. Studien zur Geschichte des Mönchtums i–ii (Leipzig, 1903–1906); E. Werner, Pauperes Christi. Studien zu sozial-religiösen Bewegungen im Zeitalter des Reformpapsttums (Leipzig, 1956); F.M. Bienvenu, “Préhistoire du francescanisme. Aspects préfranciscains de l’érémitisme et de la prédication itinérante dans la France de l’Ouest,” in: Poverty in the Middle Ages, ed. D. Flood (Werl, 1975), 27–36; H. Leyser, Hermits and the New Monasticism. A Study of Religious Communities in Western Europe 1000–1150 (London, 1984); G. Vittolo, “Eremitismo, cenobitismo e religiosità laicale nel Mezzogiorno medievale,” in: Benedictina 21 (1974), 19–129; M. Fuiano, “Movimenti religiosi in Italia meridionale nella prima metà del secolo xii,” in: Studi storici meridionali 1 (1981), 5–24; B. Vetere, “Nuove forme di spiritualità e di vita monastica nell’Italia meridionale dei secoli xi–xii,” in: S. Piero del Morone—Celestino V nel Medioevo monastico. Attii del Convegno storico internazionale L’Aquila, 26–27 agosto 1988, Convegni Celestiniani 3 (L’Aquila 1989), 155–184. 47 K. Esser, Anfänge und ursprüngliche Zielsetzung des Ordens der Minderbrüder, Studia et documenta Franciscana iv (Leiden, 1966); R. Manselli, San Francesco d’ Assisi, Biblioteca di cultura 182, 2nd ed. (Rome, 1980), Ger. trans.: Franziskus. Der solidarische Bruder (Zürich, Einsiedeln, Cologne, 1984); Th. Debonnets, De l’intuition a l’institution. Les Franciscains (Paris, 1983); E. Friedmann, The Latin Hermits of Mount Carmel. A Study in Carmelite Origins, Institutum Historicum Teresianum, Studia 1 (Rome, 1979); B.Z. Kedar, “Gerard of Nazareth. A Neglected Twelfth-Century Writer in the Latin East. A Contribution to the Intellectual and Monastic History of the Crusader States,” in: Dumbarton Oaks Papers 37 (1983), 55–77; E. Boaga, “La storiografia carmelitana nei secoli XIII e XIV,” in: The Land of Carmel. Essays in Honor of Joachim Smet, O.Carm, ed. P. Chandler, K.J. Egan (Rome, 1991), 125–154; A. Jotischky, The Perfection of Solitude. Hermits and Monks in the Crusader States (University Park pa, 1995); A. de Meijer, R. Kuiters, “Licet Ecclesiae Catholicae. Text, Commentary,” in: Augustiniana 6 (1956), 9–36; K. Elm, “Italienische Eremitenge­ meinschaften des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts. Studien zur Vorgeschichte des Augustiner- Eremitenordens,” in: L’Eremitismo in Occidente (n. 25), 491–559; F. dal Pino, I Servi di S. Maria dalle origini all’approvazione (1233 ca.–1304) i–ii, Université de Louvain. Recueil de travaux d’histoire et de philosophie iv, 49–50 (Louvain, 1972); L’ ordine dei Servi di Maria nel primo secolo di vita. Atti del convegno storico Firenze, 23–24 maggio 1987 (Florence, 1988); I Sette santi nel primo centenario della canonizzazione (1888–1988). Convegno di stu- dio Roma 3–8 ottobre 1988 (Rome, 1990); R.M. Emery, “The Friars of the Sack,” in: Speculum 18 (1943); 323ff.; G.M. Giacomozzi, L’Ordine della Penitenza di Gesù Cristo. Contributo alla storia della spiritualità del sec. xiii, Scrinium historiale 2 (Rome, 1962); A. Amargier, “Les frères de la penitence de Jesus-Christ ou du Sac,” in: Provence historique 15 (1965) 158–167; K. Elm, “Ausbreitung, Wirksamkeit und Ende der provençalischen Sackbrüder (Fratres de

Vita regularis sine regula 293 later middle ages with the regularization of communities of penitents or ter- tiaries48 living alone or in community, in the wilderness or the city; similarly with other communities of other semi-religious groups, leading to the forma- tion of independent communities that lived according to a recognized rule such as the Alexians and the Cellites,49 or even autonomous orders such as the Franciscan Observants and Capuchins,50 the Jeronimites, Ambrosians and Jesuits.51 As individuals, too, the founders of orders and congregations

Poenitentia Jesu Christi) in Deutschland und den Niederlanden. Ein Beitrag zur kurialen und konziliaren Ordenspolitik des 13. Jahrhunderts,” in: Francia 1 (1973), 257–324; E. Kisbán, A magyar Pálosrend törtenete I-lI (Budapest, 1938–1940); J. Horvath, “Ursprung, Verbreitung und Tätigkeit der Pauliner in der Diözese Fünfkirchen von 1225 bis 1526” (Diss. Vienna, 1938); G. Sarbak, “Entstehung und Frühgeschichte des Ordens der Pauliner,” in: Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 99 (1988), 93–103. On the various Crozier orders, with sources and literature, K. Elm, “Kreuzherren,” in: Lexikon des Mittelalters v (1991), 1500–1502. 48 R. Pazzelli, Il Terz’Ordine Regolare di San Francesco attraverso i secoli. Rielaborazione crit- ica e sviluppo dell’opera storica del Raniero Luconi t.o.r. (Rome, 1958); G. Andreozzi, Il Terzo Ordine Regolare di San Francesco nella sua storia e nelle sue legge i–iii (Rome, 1993– 95). Cf. also n. 28. 49 C. Greifenhagen, “Die Alexianer und Alexianerinnen Deutschlands. Eine kirchenge- schichtliche Studie,” in: Hannoverland 4 (1910), 9–14, 28–35, 55–68; A. Huyskens, “Die Anfänge der Aachener Alexianer im Zusammenhang der Ordens- und Ortsgeschichte,” in: Zeitschrift des Aachener Geschichtsvereins 48/49 (1928), 190–256; J. Arsen, “Die Begarden und die Sackbrüder in Köln,” in: Annalen des Historischen Vereins vom Niederrhein 115 (1929), 167–179; J. Wiegers, Die Aachener Alexianerbrüder. Ihre Geschichte und ihr Ordensgeist (Aachen 1956); J.C. Kaufmann, Tamers of Death I: The History of the Alexian Brothers from 1300 to 1789 (New York, 1976), Ger.: Die Geschichte der Alexianerbruder i–ii (Aachen, 1976–78); H. Heitzenräder, “Geschichte der Begarden (Alexianer) in Frankfurt am Main,” in: Archiv für mittelrheinische Kirchengeschichte 31 (1979), 55–74; B. Hotz, Beginen und Willige Arme im spätmittelalterlichen Hildesheim, Schriftenreihe des Stadtarchivs und der Stadtbibliothek Hildesheim 17 (Hildesheim, 1988); 500 Jahre Alexianerbruder in Neuss 1490–1990 (Neuss, 1990). The unprinted 1972 Freiburg thesis of M. Birken on “Die Niederlassungen der Alexianer in Nordwesteuropa” provides a “monas- ticon” of the begards of northwest Europe who later became Alexians or Cellites. 50 M. Sensi, Le Osservanze francescane nell’Italia centrale. Secoli xiv–xv, Bibliotheca Seraphico-Capuccina 30 (Rome, 1985); D. Nimmo, Reform and Division in the Medieval Franciscan Order from Saint Francis to the Foundation of the Cappuchins, Ibid. 33 (Rome, 1987); Merlo, Eremitismo nel francescanesimo (n. 16), 29–50; M. Sensi, Dal movimento ere- mitico alla regolare osservanza francescana. L’opera di Fra Paolucci Trinci (Assisi, 1992). 51 I. de Siguenza, Historia de la Orden de San Jeronimo i–ii, ed. J. Catalina-Garcia (Madrid, 1907–1909); J. Revuelta Somato, Los Jerónimos I: La fundación 1373–1414 (Guadalajara, 1982); C. Dos Santos, Os Jerónimos em Portugal dos origines aos fins do seculo xviii (Oporto, 1980);

294 chapter 8 recognized the status medius as a kind of transitional circumstance, one in which it was possible—under the auspices of an estate well-established in tra- dition and law, and therefore without giving offense—to seek out and to test new forms of religious life. Norbert of Xanten led the vita eremitica before he set out to preach across France, to found the Premonstratensian order and to become archbishop of Magdeburg.52 Francis of Assisi considered along with his first followers “whether they ought to live among men, or retreat to solitary places,” and set out as a “lay-penitential hermit, irregular and independent” for Rome, where he received the support of Innocent iii for the founding of an order.53 The path that led Norbert and Francis to forsake the world was by no means out of the ordinary. Before and after them, countless men and women, whether forgotten or brought to the honor of altars, sought to set similarly new aims for themselves, to give up their former way of life, to establish reforms, or perhaps sought nothing more than a change of established circumstances— without thereby running the danger of drawing fire as outsiders or even heretics.54

J.R.L. Highfield, “The Jeronimites in Spain, their Patrons and Success 1373–1516,” in: Journal of Ecclesiastical History 34 (1983), 513–553; G. Turazza, S. Ambrogio ad Nemus in Milano. Chiesa e monastero. Notize storiche dall’anno 357 al 1912 (Milan, 1914); C. Gennaro, “Giovanni Colombini e la sua brigata,” in: Bullettino dell’Istituto storico per il medio evo 81 (1969), 237–271; G. Dufner, Geschichte der Jesuaten, Nomine e dottrine 21 (Rome, 1975); A. Benvenuti Papi, “Le donne di Giovanni Colombini,” in: idem, “In castro poenitentiae,” (n. 31), 415–528. 52 W.M. Grauwen, Norbert, Erzbischof von Magdeburg (1126–1134). Zweite überarbeitete Auflage, übersetzt und bearbeitet von L. Horstkätter (Duisburg, 1986); F.J. Felten, “Norbert von Xanten. Vom Wanderprediger zum Kirchenfürst,” in: Norbert von Xanten. Adeliger— Ordensstifter—Kirchenfürst, ed. K. Elm (Cologne, 1984), 69–157; S. Weinfurter, “Norbert von Xanten und die Entstehung des Prämonstratenserordens,” in: Barbarossa und die Pramonstratenser, Schriften zur staufischen Geschichte und Kunst 10 (Göttingen, 1989), 67–100; K. Elm, “Norbert von Xanten,” in: Rheinische Lebensbilder 15, ed. F.J. Heyen (Cologne, 1995), 7–21. 53 Thomas von Celano, “Vita prima s. Francisci,” in: Legendae sancti Francisci Assisiensis sae- culi xiii et xiv conscriptae, Analecta Franciscana x (Quarracchi—Florence 1926/41), 28; L. Pellegrini, “L’esperienza eremitica di Francesco e dei primi francescani,” in: Francesco d’Assisisi e francescanesimo dal 1216 al 1226. Atti del iv Convegno Internazionale Assisi, 15–17 ottobre 1976 (Assisi, 1977), 279–313. 54 For the twelfth century see, alongside the literature cited in n. 46: J. Bequet, “L’eremitisme clerical et laïc dans l’ouest de la France,” in: L’Eremitismo in Occidente (n. 25), 182–204; G.G. Meersseman, “Eremitismo e predicatione itinerante dei secoli XI e XII,” in: ibid. 164–179; L. Milis, “Eremites et chanoines reguliers au XIIe siècle,” in: Cahiers de civilisation medievale

Vita regularis sine regula 295

Spiritual and temporal powers alike held the accomplishments of semi- religious life in high regard. Yet the established authorities also had certain reservations about the semi-religious way of life. In semi-religious groups church hierarchy and religious orders alike saw a dangerous challenge to their traditional monopoly. Churchmen and religious complained of disobedience and lack of discipline and felt themselves provoked in a variety of ways: through presumptuous behavior, unauthorized engagement with Holy Scripture, occult practices both real and alleged, and by teachings that diverged from orthodoxy. Worldly authorities, for their part, looked positively on semi- religious people and unregulated communities only so long as they remained loyal subjects, and indeed proved themselves useful to the social order. The temporal authorities’ support waned, however, to the extent that semi-religious groups resisted integration into public life; understood themselves as mem- bers of the clerical estate or appropriated clerical privilege for themselves; refused to take oaths; refused to pay taxes or to serve in war; challenged monopolies of markets and trade or even formed a political opposition.55 And all of this is to say nothing of a public opinion that—for all of its respect for piety and for the “social engagement” of the laici religiosi—was never sparing of its critique for what was seen as the bigotry or the laxity of devout men and women who lived in the world, but who seemed not quite fully to belong to it.56

22 (1979), 39–80; L. Donnat, “La spiritualité du desert au XIIe siècle,” in: Collectanea Cisterciensia 53 (1991), 146–156. For statistical coverage of female “religious beyond monastic space” who entered orders, B. Wilms, “Amatrices Ecclesiarum.” Untersuchung zur Rolle und Funktion der Frauen in der Kirchenreform des 12. Jahrhunderts, Bochumer Historische Studien. Mittelalterliche Geschichte 5 (Bochum, 1987), 361–369. 55 On the following see the literature cited in n. 16. 56 Leclercq, “Le poème de Payen contre les faux ermites,” in: Revue bénédictine 68 (1958), 52–86; J. Howe, “The Awesome Hermit. The Symbolic Significance of the Hermit as a Possible Research Perspective,” in: Numen 30 (1983), 106–119; J. Batany, “Les convers chez quelques moralistes des XIIe et XIIIe siècles,” in: Citeaux 20 (1969), 241–259; J. Van Engen, “Late Medieval Anticlericalism. The Case of the New Devout,” in: Anticlericalism in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. P.A. Dykema, H.A. Oberman, Studies in Medieval and Reformation Thought 51 (Leiden, 1993), 19–52; C. Märtel, “Pos verstockt weyber? Der Streit um die Lebensform der Regensburger Damenstifte im ausgehenden 15. Jahrhun­ dert,” in: Regensburg, Bayern und Europa. Festschrift für Kurt Reindel zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. L. Kolmer, P. Segl (Regensburg, 1995), 365–401; U. Andermann, “Die unsittlichen und dis­ziplinlosen Kanonissen. Ein Topos und seine Hintergründe, aufgezeichnet an Beispielen sächsischer Frauenstifte (11.-13. Jh.),” in: Westfälische Zeitschrift 146 (1996), 39–63.

296 chapter 8

iv

Given many forms of religious life across so many centuries and regions— forms of ascetic life practiced by individuals in Christian antiquity and the early middle ages; communities of hospitals, hermits, penitents and tertiaries in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries; late-medieval beguines and beghards or the Brothers and Sisters of the Common Life—it is difficult to discern any- thing that might unite them all. In the face of so much diversity of so many interrelated manifestations of religious life, so many shifting relationships, and so many divergent ways of self-definition, and of being defined by others—in the face of all of this it is difficult to find some kind of unity in this way of life. Just as difficult is how to differentiate semi-religious life from other ways of life that are just as challenging to define: confraternities and other “fraternal” associations, as well as so many “heretical” manifestations of medieval sociability, many of them with origins, shapes and patterns of life that were analogous to semi-religious life.57 Nevertheless there are certain discernible commonalities among so many virgines et viduae, canonicae et canonissae, con- fratres et confratrissae, inclusi et eremitae, peonitentes et disciplinati, fratres communis vitae et mulieres devotae. What bound them together, apart from all of their differences across time and place, was their character as something intermediary, something ambivalent and transitory. Their way of life obligated them to more frequent reception of the sacraments; to a more intense prayer life and to greater ascetical achievements than the laity, without obligating them to all of the demands associated with the status religiosus. It bound them by certain social ties, yet did not hinder them from returning to the world; granted them certain privileges associated with profession in a religious order, yet did not release them from their established legal status and their depen- dence on local clergy; promoted a renunciation of the “fashionable” clothing of the laity, yet denied them the habitus religiosus; encouraged them to deepen their faith, yet denied them formal theological training; opened the book to them, yet never taught them Latin; encouraged frequent prayer, yet denied them full participation in the liturgy and Divinum officium. All of this thrust its

57 On the problem of terminology and definition, alongside the literature cited in n. 35: P. Michaud-Quantin, Universitas. Expression du mouvement communitaire dans le Moyen Âge (Paris, 1970); F. Remling, “Bruderschaften als Forschungsgegenstand,” in: Jahrbuch für Volkskunde 3 (1980), 81–112; R. Schmidt-Wiegand, “Hanse und Gilde. Genossenschaftliche Organisationsformen im Bereich der Hanse und ihre Bezeichnungen,” in: Hansische Geschichtsblätter 100 (1982), 21–40; F. Irsigler, “Zur Problematik der Gilde- und Zunftter­ minologie,” in: Gilden und Zünfte. Kaufmännische Genossenschaften im frühen Mittelalter. Ein Beitrag zum Problem der sozialgeschichtlichen Kontinuität zwischen Antike und Mittelalter, ed. B. Schwineköper, Vorträge und Forschungen 29 (Sigmanngen, 1985), 53–70.

Vita regularis sine regula 297 adherents into a place between religious and laity. There emerged from this ambivalent situation, which many tried to capture in formulations such as vita regularis sine regula, via media, status tertius, status medius, a certain spiritual- ity, indeed a culture, that researchers have begun to explore only in recent decades. In a way similar to other forms of socially-directed formation of spiri- tual community, both orthodox and heterodox, that culture was characterized above all by a form of organization rooted in the demands of a wide-reaching sense of brotherly equality, in conventicle-like gatherings, paraliturgical prayer and spiritual song, prayer and mutual admonition, reading and the circulation of vernacular scripture, and ultimately a striving after individual religious insight and experience that often crossed the boundaries of what was custom- ary, indeed of what was orthodox. The phenomenon of semi-religious life, outlined here in a general way, can be refined by defining more precisely the legal position of the status religionis largo modo—as Henry of Segusio, or Hostiensis, defined the “estate” in the thirteenth century.58 Apart from several categories that in part went back to late antiquity (“virgins dedicated to God,” virgins and widows,59 hermits,60 hospital brethren61

58 Summa aurea (Venice 1574, repr. Turin, 1963), 1108. For a different interpretation of the term: P. Biller, “Words and the Medieval Notion of ‘Religion’,” in: Journal of Eccleslastical History 36 (1985), 351–366. 59 H. Koch, Virgines Christi. Das Gelübde der gottgeweihten Jungfrauen in den ersten Jahrhunderten, Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur 31 (Leipzig, 1907); F. de Vizmanos, Las Virgenes cristianas de la Iglesia primitiva (Madrid, 1949); R. Metz, La consecration des vierges dans l’église romaine. Étude d’histoire et de la liturgie, Bibliothèque de l’Institut du Droit Canonique de l’Université de Strasbourg (Strassburg, 1954); L. Bopp, Das Witwentum als organische Gliedschaft im Gemeinschaft­ sleben der alten Kirche (Mannheim, 1965); J. Bugge, Virginitas. An Essay in the History of a Medieval Ideal, Archives internationales d’histoire des idées. Séries mineur 17 (The Haague, 1975). On the deaconesses of the early church see, among others, J.G. Davies, “Deacons, Deaconesses and the Minor Orders in the Patristic Period,” in: Journal of Ecclesiastical History 14 (1963), 1–15. 60 Along with the literature cited in n. 18: C. Lialine, P. Doyère, “Eremitisme,” in: Dictionnaire de la spiritualité iv (1960), 936–982; Th. Spidlik, J. Sainsaulieu, “Ermites,” in: Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie ecclésiastique xv (1963), 766–787. 61 Alongside the literature cited in n. 26: S. Reicke, Das deutsche Spital und sein Recht im Mittelalter ii. Das deutsche Spitalrecht, Kirchenrechtliche Abhandlungen 111–114 (Stuttgart, 1932); J. Imbar, Les hôpitaux en droit canonique (Paris, 1947); E. Nasalli-Rocca, Il diritto ospitaliero nei suoi fondamenti storici (Milan, 1956); J. Sydow, “Spital und Stadt in Kanonistik und Verfassungsgeschichte des 14. Jahrhunderts,” in: Der deutsche Territorialstaat im 14. Jahrhundert, Vorträge und Forschungen 13 (Sigmaringen, 1970) I, 175–195.

298 chapter 8 and penitents,62 associations of laity and clerics63 as well as conversi,64 and other semi-religious institutions associated with cloisters and other founda- tions) church law governing the religious orders before Gratian knew no explicit and comprehensive definition of what we today call semi-religious life.

62 Along with the literature cited in n. 27: B. Poschmann, Die abendländische Kirchenbüße am Ausgang des christlichen Mittelalters, Münchener Studien zur historischen Theologie 7 (Munich, 1928); idem, Die abendländische Kirchenbuße im frühen Mittelalter, Breslauer Studien zur historischen Theologie 16 (Breslau, 1930); J.A. Jungmann, Die lateinischen Bußriten in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung, Forschungen zur Geschichte des inner­ kirchlichen Lebens 3–4 (Innsbruck, 1932); F. Kerf, “Libri Poenitentiales und kirchliche Strafgerichtsbarkeit bis zum Decretum Gratiani,” in: Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte. Kan. Abt. 75 (1989), 23–57; K.-J. Klär, Das kirchliche Bußinstitut von den Anfängen bis zum Konzil von Trient, Europäische Hochschulschriften, Reihe xxiii, 413 (Frankfurt, 1991); C. Carpaneta, “Lo stato dei penitenti nel Corpus Juris Canonici,” in: I Frati Penitenti di San Francesco (n. 28), 9–19. 63 G.M. Monti, Le confraternite medievali dell’Alta e Media Italia i–ii (Venice, 1927); J. Duhr, “La confrèrie dans la vie de l’Église,” in: Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 25 (1939) 437–478; G. Le Bras, “Les confréries chrétiennes. Aperçus historiques, problèmes et propositions,” in: Revue historique de droit français et étranger 19–20 (1940–41), 310–363; J. Sydow, “Fragen zu Gilde, Bruderschaft und Zunft im Lichte von Kirchenrecht und Kanonistik,” in: Gilden und Zünfte. Kaufmännische und gewerbliche Genossenschaften im frühen und hohen Mittelalter, ed. B. Schwinekäper, Vorträge und Forschungen 29 (Sigmaringen, 1985, 113–126; W. Astraht, Die Vita communis der Weltpriester, Kanonische Studien und Texte 22 (Amsterdam, 1967); M. Zacherl, “Die Vita communis als Lebensform des Klerus in der Zeit Zwischen Augustinus und Karl dem Großen,” in: Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie 97 (1970), 385–425; P. Moraw, “Über Typologie, Chronologie und Geographie der Stiftskirche im deutschen Mittelalter,” in: Untersuchungen zu Kloster und Stift, Veröffentlichungen des Max Planck-Instituts für Geschichte 68. Studien zur Germania Sacra 14 (Göttingen, 1980), 9–37; C. Cracco “La fondazione dei canonici secolari di S. Giorgio in Alga,” in: Rivista di storia della Chiesa in Italia 13 (1959), 70–81; I. Crusius, “Gabriel Biel und die ober- deutschen Stifte der Devotio moderna,” in: Studien zum weltlichen Kollegiatsstift in Deutschland, ed. I. Crusius, Veröffentlichungen des Max-Planck-Instituts für Geschichte 114. Studien zur Germama Sacra 18 (Göttingen, 1995), 298–322; G.G. Meersseman, “Die Klerikervereine von Karl dem Großen bis Innozenz iii.,” in: Zeitschrift für Schweizer Kirchengeschichte 46 (1952), 1–42, 81–112; H. Klein, “Die Entstehung und Verbreitung der Kalandsbrüderschaften in Deutschland” (Diss. Saarbrücken, 1958/1963); Th. Helmert, “Kalendae, Kalenden, Kalende,” in: Archiv für Diplomatik 26 (1980), 1–55; M. Prietzel, Die Kalande im südlichen Niedersachsen. Zur Entstehung und Entwicklung von Priester­ bruderschaften im Spätmittelalter, Veroffentlichungen des Max-Planck-Instituts für Geschichte 117 (Göttingen, 1995). 64 Along with the literature cited in n. 19: Ph. Hofmeister, “Die Rechtsverhältnisse der Konversen,” in: Österreichisches Archiv für Kirchenrecht 19 (1962), 3–47.

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The main reason may be above all discerned in this: before the twelfth cen- tury’s movements to codify church law and to establish more precisely the legal status of the secular and regular clergy as well as the laity, popes and bishops, councils and synods had no reason to define a kind of spiritual life that had established itself in the interstices of the religious estates, a spiritual life not even conscious of (and that could not be conscious of) its own way of life as a distinct forma vitae.65 Only in the course of the twelfth century, and then especially in the course of the thirteenth, a definition of semi-religious life was synthesized from earlier designations already crafted for certain forms of the vita media. This did not happen in one move, however, but step by step, under a variety of circumstances, as a reaction to needs that emerged over time. This shaped reflections on semi-religious life in a particular way: On the one hand, it was distinguished from secular and regular clergy; on the other, from the vita dissoluta of the laity, especially those suspected of heresy or who were rightly seen as heretics. From the twelfth century and increasingly in the thirteenth, popes, councils and bishops were compelled by circumstance (hav- ing to distinguish so many forms of semi-religious life, on the one hand, from the laity and from heresies that were both growing in number and increasingly diverse, and on the other from an equal number of new religious orders) to craft a concept that made legitimate room for this intermediate status. That such a distinction was already necessary in connection to the “regulation” of the hospital and knightly orders of the twelfth century is clear from the gene- sis, organization and self-understanding of their most important representa- tives, the Hospitalers and the Templars.66 The distinction was also required for

65 R.J. Cox, A Study of the Juridic Status of Laymen in the Writings of Medieval Canonists (Washington d.c., 1959); L. Prosdocimi, “Clerici e laici nella società occidentale,” in: Proceedings of the Second International Congress of Medieval Canon Law, ed. S. Kuttner, F.J. Ryan, Monumenta Juris Canonici C: Subsidia 1 (Vatican City, 1965), 105–122: idem, “Lo stato di vita laicale nel diritto canonico dei secoli XI e XII,” in: I laici nella “Societas chris- tiana” (n. 13), 55–77; L. Hertling, “Die ‘Professio’ der Kleriker und die Entstehung der drei Gelübde,” in: Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie 56 (1932), 148–174; C. Bock, La promesse d’obéissance ou la “professio regularis” (Westmalle, 1955); C. Capelle, Le voeu d’obéissance dès origines au XIIe siècle. Étude Juridque, Bibliothèque du droit canonique et du droit romain 22 (Paris, 1958); J. Laudage, Priesterbild und Reformpapsttum im 11. Jahrhundert, Beihefte zum Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 22 (Cologne, Vienna, 1984). Cf. also: H. Jakobs, “Kirchenfreiheit und Priesterbild,” in: Historisches Jahrbuch 10 (1988), 448–462. 66 G. Schnürer, Die ursprüngliche Templerregel, Studien und Darstellungen auf dem Gebiet der Geschichte iii, 1–2 (Freiburg, 1903). Among the most recent publications on the estab- lishment and organization of the order: F. Tommasi, “‘Pauperes commilitones Christi’. Aspetti e problemi delle origini Gerosolimitane,” in: ,Militia Christi’ e crociata (n. 16),

300 chapter 8 the reconciliation, led by Innocent iii, of groups suspected of heresy—those such as the Poor Catholics and the Humiliati67; it was also crucial for the judg- ment of groups, like the Waldensians, who were not prepared to compromise.68

443–476; P. Vial, “La papauté, l’exemption et l’ordre du Temple,” in: Papauté, monachisme et théories politiques 1. Le pouvoir et l’institution ecclesiale. Études d’histoire médiévale offertes à Marcel Pacaut, Collection d’histoire et d’archeologie medievale 1 (Lyon, 1994), 173–180; M. Barber, The New Knighthood. A History of the Order of the Temple (Cambridge 1994); A. Luttrell, “The Earliest Templars,” in: Autour de la première croisade, ed. M. Bastard, Byzantina Sorbonensia 14 (Paris, 1996), 193–202; F. Tommasi, “Per i rapporti tra Templari e Cisterciensi. Orientamenti e indirizzi di ricerca,” in: I Templari. Una vita tra riti cavalleres- chi e fedeltà alla Chiesa. Atti del I Convegno “I Templari e San Bernardo di Chiaravalle” Certosa di Firenze 23–24 ottobre 1992 (Florence, 1995) 227–274; J. Leclerq, “Un document sur les débuts des Templiers,” in: Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 52 (1957), 81–91, also in idem, Recueil des études sur saint Bernard et ses écrits (Rome, 1966) ii, 87–99; Ch. Schaffert, “Lettre inédite de Hugues de Saint-Victor aux chevaliers du Temple,” in: Revue d’ascétique et de mystique 34 (1958), 275–299; R. Hiestand, “Die Anfänge der Johanniter,” in: Die geistli- chen Ritterorden Europas, ed. J. Fleckenstein, M. Hellmann, Vorträge und Forschungen 26 (Sigmaringen, 1980), 31–80; G.T. Lagleder, Die Ordensregeln der Johanniter/Malteser. Die geistlichen Grundlagen des Johanniter-Malteserordens samt einer Edition und Übersetzung der drei ältesten Regelhandschriften (St. Ottilien, 1983); M. Matzke, “De origine Hospi­ taliorum Hiersolymitanum. Vom klösterlichen Pilgerhospital zur internationalen Organi­ sation,” in: Journal of Medieval History 22 (1996), 1–23; A. Luttrell, “The Earliest Hospitallers,” in: Montjoie. Studies in Honour of Hans Eberhard Mayer, ed. B.Z. Kedar, J. Riley-Smith, R. Hiestand (Aldershot, 1997), 37–54. Cf. also: Elm, “Die Spiritualität der geistlichen Ritterorden,” (n. 6), 477–518. 67 A. Luchaire, Innocent iii, le concil de Lateran et la réforme de l’église (Paris, 1908); A. Fliche, “Innocent iii et la réforme de l’église,” in: Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 44 (1949), 90–152; M. Maccarone, “Riforme e innovazioni di Innocenzo iii nella vita religi- osa,” in: idem, Studi su Innocenzo iii, Italia Sacra 17 (Padua, 1972), 223–337; J.B. Pierron, Die katholischen Armen (Freiburg, 1911); K.-V. Selge, “L’aile droite du mouvement Vaudois et la naissance des Pauvres Catholiques et des Pauvres Réconciliés,” in: Vaudois Languedociens et Pauvres Catholiques, Cahiers de Fanjeaux 2 (Toulouse, 1967), 227–243; B. Bolton, “Innocent iii’s Treatment of the Humiliati,” in: Popular Beliefs and Practice, ed. C.J. Cuming, D. Baker, Studies in Church History 8 (Cambridge, 1972), 73–82; eadem, “Sources for the Early History of the Humiliati,” in: The Material Sources and Methods of Eccleslastical History, ed. D. Baker, in: ibid. 11 (New York, 1975), 125–133; P. Alberzoni, “Gli inizi degli Umiliati: una reconsiderazione,” in: La conversione alla povertà (n. 17), 187– 237. Overview of research and literature: K.-V. Selge, “Humiliaten,” in: Theologische Realenzyklopedie xv (Berlin, New York, 1986), 691–696; L. Paoloni, “Le Umiliate a lavoro. Appunti fra storiografia e storia,” in: Bulletino storico italiano opper il medio evo 97 (1991), 229–265. 68 K.-V. Selge, Die ersten Waldenser. Mit Edition des Liber antiheresis des Durandus von Osca, Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte 37 i/ii (Berlin, 1967); M. Schneider, Europäisches

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It was used in taking a position on the penitential movement,69 which reached its high-point in the middle of the thirteenth century; and in crafting official positions on beguines and beghards in fourteenth century, especially in the upper-Rhine—positions that wavered threateningly between condemnation and approval.70 The distinction found expression in decretals, in synodal decrees, in rules, statutes, proposita, household regulations, Memorialia and Defensoria. All of these signaled a remarkable consensus71: if they were to be

Waldensertum im 13. und 14. Jahrhundert. Gemeinschaftsformen—Frömmigkeit—Sozialer Hintergrund, idem, 51 (Berlin, New York, 1981). 69 Along with the foundational Dossier de l’Ordre de la Pénitence au XIIIe siècle, Spicilegium Friburgense 7 (Freiburg/Suisse, 1961) by G.G. Meersemann, cf. among others, G. Odoardi, “L’Ordine della Penitenza nei documenti papali del secolo xiii,” in: i Frati Penitenti di San Francesco nella società (n. 28), 21–49 and the literature in nn. 27 and 62. 70 J.C. Schmitt, Mort d’une hérésie. L’Église et les clercs face aux beguines et aux beghards du Rhin supérieur du XIVe au XVe siècle, Civilisations et Societes 56 (Paris, 1978); D. Phillips, Beguines in Medieval Strasbourg. A Study on the Social Aspect of Beguine Life (Stanford, 1941); A. Patschovsky, “Straßburger Beginenverfolgungen im 14. Jahrhundert,” in: Deutsches Archiv zur Erforschung des Mittelalters 30 (1974), 56–198; M. Straganz, “Zum Begharden und Beginenstreit in Basel zu Beginn des 15. Jahrhunderts,” in: Alemania 27 (1900), 20–28; B. Degler-Spengler, “Die Beginen in Basel,” in: Basler Zeitschrift für Geschichte und Altertumskunde 69 (1969), 5–83; B. Neidiger, Mendikanten zwischen Ordensideal und städtischer Realität. Untersuchungen zum wirtschaftlichen Verhalten der Bettelorden in Basel, Berliner Historische Studien 5, Ordensstudien 3 (Berlin, 1981); B. Degler-Spengler, “Der Beginenstreit in Basel, 1400–1411. Neue Forschungsergebnisse und weitere Fragen,” in: Il movimento francescano della penitenza nella società medioevale (n. 28), 95–105; A. Patschovsky, “Beginen, Begarden und Terziaren im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert. Das Beispiel des Basler Beginenstreits (1400/4–1411),” in: Festschrift für Eduard Hlawitschka zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. K.R. Schnith, R. Pauler, Münchener Historische Studien, Abt. Mittela­ lterliche Geschichte 5 (Kallmünz, 1993) 403–418; H.-J. Schiewer, “Auditionen und Visionen einer Begine. Die ‘Selige Schererin’ Johannes Mulberg und der Basler Beginenstreit. Mit einem Textabdruck,” in: Die Vermittlung geistlicher Inhalte im deutschen Mittelalter, ed. T.R. Jackson, N.F. Palmer, A. Suerbaum (Tübingen, 1996), 289–317. With reference to the little-researched treatment of Beguines and Begards in north-west Europe: i. Wormgoor, “De vervolging van de Vrijen van Geest, de Begijnen en Begarden,” in: Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis 65 (1985), 120–138. 71 J. Tarrant, “The Clementine Decrees on the Beguins. Conciliar and Papal Visions,” in: Archivum Historiae Pontificiae 12 (1974), 300–308; J. Leclercq, Vienne, Geschichte der Ökumenischen Konzilien 8 (Mainz, 1965); L. Veerecke, “La réforme de l’église au concile de Vienne 1311–1312,” in: Studia moralia 14 (1976), 283–337; W. Janssen, “Unbekannte Synodalstatuten der Kölner Erzbischöfe Heinrich von Virneburg (1306–1332) und Wolfram von Jülich (1332–1349),” in: Annalen des Historischen Vereins vom Niederrhein 172 (1970), 113–154; A. Poloni, “Synodale Gesetzgebung in der Kirchenprovinz Mainz—dargestellt an der Beginenfrage,” in: Rottenburger Jahrbuch für Kirchengeschichte 5 (1986) 33–51;

302 chapter 8 counted as legitimate, hermits, penitential brothers, beguines, begards and other semi-religious people and groups had to live and work within certain limits. The consensus demanded, with one voice, an honesta vita, an embrace of humilitas, of recta intentio, of devotio, of simplicitas and reverentia. The con- sensus required a renunciation of theological subtleties, warned against super- ficial expositions of scripture, and prohibited coniurationes, conventiones and conspirationes. Toleration also demanded submission to the teaching author- ity of the church, obedience to the hierarchy as well as integration into local parish communities. Only with the fulfillment of these requirements—so the council of Vienne72—could those who “lived honestly, serving the lord in the spirit of humility” be allowed, “whether they vowed chastity or not,” to pursue the vita media. Here the decrees used concepts that marked out not only the possibilities and the limits of a semi-religious way of life, but that also shaped central themes of the devout literature of the later middle ages.73 Particularly decisive for the “politics of restriction” adopted over against semi-religious life was the concern, which found expression so clearly in the decrees of the councils, to prohibit the spread not only of new orders, but also

J. Greving, “Protokoll über die Revision der Konvente der Beginen und Begarden zu Köln im Jahr 1452,” in: Annalen des Historischen Vereins für den Niederrhein 73 (1902), 25–87; J. Asen, “Die Beginen in Köln,” in: ibid. 111 (1927), 81–180; 112 (1928), 71–148; 113 (1929), 13–96. Accounts of Beguine history from the Netherlands, Belgium and the Rhineland can be found the following unprinted Masters’ Theses: A. van den Eynden, “Statuten der begijn- hoven van Mechelen, Brugge en het bisdom Luik” (Leuven, 1960); R.M. Quintijn, “Normen en normering van het begijnenleven. Vergelijkende studie van begijnenregels in de Nederlanden van de XIIIe tot de XVIIIe eeuw” (Gent, 1984); J. Knoppik, “Hausordnungen rheinischer Beginengemeinschaften des 13. und 14. Jahrhunderts” (fu Berlin, 1992). Cf. also A. Pil, “Een handleiding voor het geestelijk leven der Brusselse Begijnen,” in: Sacris erudiri 16 (1965), 470–485; A. Schmidt, “Tractatus contra hereticos Beckardos, Lullhardos et Swestriones des Wasmund von Hornburg,” in: Archiv für mittelrheinische Kirchenge­ schichte 14 (1962), 336–386; A.G. Weiler, “Begijnen en Begharden in de Spiegel van een universitair disput (Heidelberg 1458),” in: Archief voor de Geschiedenis van de Katholieke Kerk in Nederland 12 (1968), 63–94. 72 Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Decreta, ed. J. Alberigo et al. (Basel, Barcelona, Freiburg, Rome, Vienna, 1962), 302ff. 73 Cf. among others: N. Staubach, “Pragmatische Schriftlichkeit im Bereich der Devotio moderna,” in: Frühmittelalterliche Studien 25 (1991), 418–464; Th. Mertens, Boeken voor de eeuwigheid. Middelnederlandse geestelijk proza, Nederlandse literattuur en cultuur in de middeleeuwen 8 (Amsterdam, 1993); Th. Kock, “Theorie und Praxis der Laienlektüre im Einflußbereich der Devotio moderna,” in: Laienlektüre und Buchmarkt im späten Mittelalter, Gesellschaft, Kultur und Schrift. Mediävistische Beiträge 5 (Frankfurt a.M., Berlin, 1997), 199–220.

Vita regularis sine regula 303 of organizations like them (or to allow them only under certain circumstances). Such was the intention of the Second Lateran Council, which already in 1139 enjoined on sanctimoniales the observance of either the Rule of Benedict or Augustine. The measure was advanced again at the Third and Fourth Lateran councils, which turned against the spread of confraternities and made it oblig- atory for newly-founded religious orders to adopt the rules and institutions of religiones approbatae. It was also at the center of the proceedings of the second council of Lyon.74 In the face of an inestimable number of new orders, the council gathered there in 1274 prohibited the foundation of new orders and the adoption of rules other than those already written. In the twenty-third canon, Religionem diversitatem, later taken up into the Liber sextus of Boniface viii, the council demanded that all mendicant orders founded after 1214 (in violation of the decrees of Lateran iv) were to be dismantled. Exceptions were made only for the Franciscans and Dominicans, and later the Augustinian Hermits and Carmelites as well. New foundations were only to be allowed if their mem- bers were prepared to adopt approved rules.75 These measures thus gave a religious community justification for existence only if they either adapted themselves to the traditions of established religious orders, or abandoned the essential markers of the vita religiosa—approved rule, formal vows and religious habit. In order to negotiate the contradiction between the prescrip- tions of church law and the undeniable existence of a quasi-monastic life of religious community, the canonists crafted an ancillary construction designed to establish unregulated religious communities and similar associations on firm legal ground. In doing so they turned not only to the Decretum and the Decretals but also to Roman law, and more precisely to the laws governing associations, to designate semi-religious communities as societates omnium bonorum.76 The societas, described in the forty-seventh book of the Digest,

74 Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Decreta (n. 72) 75, 192ff. 75 Ibid., 218; B. Roberg, Das zweite Konzil von Lyon 1274, Konziliengeschichte A: Darstellungen (Paderborn, 1990), 89–126; St. Kuttner, “Conciliar Law in the Making. The Lyonese Constitutions (1274) of Gregory x in a Manuscript at Washington,” in: Miscellanea Pio Paschini. Studi di Storia Ecclesiastica, Lateranum ns 15 (Rome, 1949) ii, 39; R.M. Emery, “The Second Council of Lyon and the Mendicant Orders,” in: Catholic Historical Review 39 (1953), 257–271; Elm, “Ausbreitung, Wirksamkeit und Ende der provençalischen Sackbrüder” (n. 47). 76 Sinibaldus Fliscus, Super libros quinque decretalium (Frankfurt, 1570, repr. 1968) 75ff.; idem, In primum decretalium librum (Venice, 1589, repr. 1965) 159; Johannes Andreae, In quintum Decretalium librum novella commentaria (Venice, 1581, repr. 1963) 95ff.; Bernardus Papiensis, Summa decretalium (Regensburg, 1866), 109ff.; M. Waltzing, Étude historique

304 chapter 8 was a community capable of ownership and inheritance that (in contrast to a collegium or a corpus) required public approval. It did not enjoy the privi- leges of a legal person, but it was therefore not subject to legal condemnation (which had allowed Christians before Constantine to secure for their com- munities, if not legal recognition, then at least toleration). Applied to the status medius, this meant that the people and the communities who belonged to it, so long as they abided by the recognized prescriptions for a societas, established a certain legal character for themselves. That character did not place them on the same footing as those cloisters and religious orders, which enjoyed the status of a corpus or collegium. But it did protect semi-religious communities against being branded as domus illicitae, ordines non approbati or indeed conventicula haeretica. Reaching back to older categories of canon law, but above all drawing from the Digest, the canonists developed a power- ful legal tool: used already in the fourteenth century among defenders of beguines, beghards and tertiaries as the foundation of their argumentation,77 the apologists of the Fratres vitae communis advocated, developed and refined78 its essentials in so many juristic treatises that a century later it

sur les corporations professionelles chez les Romains depuis les origines jusqu’à la chute de l’empire d’Occident i–ii (Leuven, 1894–96); P. Gillet, La personalité juridique en droit ecclé- siastique specialement chez les décretistes et les décretalistes et dans le code de droit cano- nique (Malies, 1927); F. Wieacker, Societas. Handelsgenossenschaft und Erwerbsgemeinschaft (Weimar, 1931); F.M. de Robertis, Storia delle corporazioni e del regime associatio nel mondo romano i–ii (Bari, 1973); idem, “Dai ‘collegia cultorum’ alle ‘confraternitates’ religiose: La normativa Giustiniana sui tenuiores e la sua disapplicazione nella età di mezzo,” in: Confraternite, Chiese e Società (n. 35) 11–29. Cf. in this connection also: H.E. Feine, “Vom Fortleben des römischen Rechts in der Kirche,” in: Zeitschrift der Savigny Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte 73, Kan. Abt. 42 (1956), 1–24. 77 Along with the literature in n. 28 and n. 48 on the Beguine controversies, see M. D’Alatri, “Contrasti tra Penitenti francescani ed autorità ecclesiastica nel Trecento,” in: I frati Penitenti (n. 28), 101–110; A.G. Matanic, Il “Defensorium Tertii Ordinis beati Francisci” di San Giovanni de Capestrano, in: Il movimenti francescano della penitenza (n. 28), 47–57. 78 L. Korth, “Die ältesten Gutachten über die Bruderschaft des gemeinsamen Lebens,” in: Mitteilungen aus dem Stadtarchiv von Köln 5 (1888), 1–27; H. Keussen, “Der Dominikaner Matthäus Grabow und die Brüder vom Gemeinsamen Leben,” in: ibid. 29–47; D. de Man, “Vervolging, welke de broeders en zusters des gemeenen levens te verduren hadden,” in: Bijdragen voor vaderlandse Geschiedenis en Oudheidkunde 6 (1926), 283–295; C.H. Lambermond, “Geert Grote, zijn stichtingen en zijn bestrijders,” in: Studiën 73 (1941), 187–200; St. Wachter, “Matthias Grabow, ein Gegner der Brüder vom Gemeinsamen Leben” in: Festschrift zum 50jährigen Bestandsjubiläum des Missionshauses St. Gabriel Wien-Mödling (Sankt Gabrieler Studien viii, Vienna-Mödling, 1939) 289–376; G. van den

Vita regularis sine regula 305 could be taken up by the Societas Jesu and other communities, both of regu- lar clerics and secular institutions alike.79 The legal peculiarity of the vita media as an estate between cloister and world as it appears in so many trea- tises in defense of the Brothers of the Common Life (especially in the Defensorium of Gerard Zerbolt von Zutphen)80 is best revealed through com- parison with the legal status of cloisters or the houses of the religious orders

Heuvel, “Het bestaansrecht van de Broeders van het Gemene Leven voor de bisschoppeli- jke goedkeuring van 1401” (Pontificia Universitas Gregoriana Romae, Dissertatio, Tilburg, 1953); G. Biel, “Tractatus de communi vita clericorum,” ed. W.M. Landeen, in: Research Studies of the State College of Washington 28 (1960), 79–95. Cf. also: i. Crusius, “Gabriel Biel und die oberdeutschen Stifte der Devotio moderna,”(n. 63), 298–322; G. Faix, Gabriel Biel und die Brüder vom Gemeinsamen Leben. Quellen und Untersuchungen zu Verfassung und Selb­stverständnis des oberdeutschen Generalkapitels, Spätmittelalter und Reformation 11 (Tübingen, 1998); W. Lourdaux, “Dirk of Herxen’s Tract De utilitate monachorum: A Defence of the Lifestyle of the Brethren and Sisters of the Common Life,” in: Pascua Mediaevalia. Studies voor Prof. Dr. J.M. De Smet, Mediaevalia Lovaniensia i, 10 (Leuven, 1983), 312–336; idem, “De utilitate monachorum van Dirk van Herxen. Een verdediging van de Moderne Devoten tegenover de burgerlijke overheid,” in: Ons geestelijk Erf 59 (1985), 185–196; A. Beriger, “Ruotger Sycamber van Venray: Rede zum Lob der Brüder vom Gemeinsamen Leben 1501,” in: Ons geestelijk Erf 68 (1994), 129–143. On the origins of the brothers cf. among others: C. van der Wansem, Het ontstaan en de geschiedenis der broedershap van het gemene leven tot 1400, Universiteit te Leuven. Publicaties op het gebied der geschiede- nis en der philologie iv, 12 (Leuven, 1958); W. Lourdaux, “De Broeders van het gemene Leven,” in: Bijdragen. Tijdschrift voor filosofie en theologie 33 (1972), 373–416. Elm, Die Bruderschaft vom gemeinsamen Leben (n. 16). 79 G. Switek, “Die Eigenart der Gesellschaft Jesu im Vergleich zu den anderen Orden in der Sicht des Ignatius und seiner ersten Gefährten,” in: Ignatianisch. Eigenart und Methode der Gesellschaft Jesu, ed. M. Sievernich, G. Switek (Freiburg, 1991), 204–232; J.W. O’Malley, The First Jesuits (Cambridge, ma, 1993). Cf. also: O. Steggink, “De Moderne Devotie in het Montserrat van Ignatius van Loyola,” in: Ons gestelijk Erf 59 (1985), 383–392. 80 A. Hyma, “Het traktaat ‘Super modo vivendi devotorum hominum simul commorantium’ door Gerard Zerbolt van Zutphen,” in: Archief voor Geschiedenis van het Aartsbisdom Utrecht 52 (1926), 1–100; idem, “Is Gerard Zebolt of Zutphen the Author of the ‘Super modo Vivendi’?” in: Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis ns 16 (1921), 107–128; J. Deschamps, “Middelnederlandse vertalingen van Super modo vivendi (7de hoofdstuk) en De libris teu- tonicalibus van Gerard Zerbolt van Zutphen,” in: Handellingen. Koninklijke Zuidnederlandse Maatschappij voor Taal- en Letterkunde en Geschiedenis 14 (1960), 67–108; 15 (1961), 175–220; N. Staubach, “Gerhard Zerbolt von Zutphen und die Apologie der Latenlektüre in der Devotio moderna,” in: Theorie und Praxis der Devotio moderna, 221–289. Cf. also: G.H. Gerrits, Inter timorem et spem. A Study of the Theological Thought of Gerard Zerbolt of Zutphen, Studies in Medieval and Reformation Thought 37 (Leiden, 1986).

306 chapter 8 in the proper sense, the domus religiosa. The official power of priors, abbots and provosts—grounded in obedience, conferred by the maior et sanior pars and confirmed through ecclesiastical approbation—has no equivalent in the societas. The principle that guided the societas, par in parem non habet potes- tatem, denied any jurisdictional power to the superior who stood at its head. Similarly for the legal character of the societas itself: Ex definitione incapable of forming a majority, its members could establish no binding resolutions. And what counted for the leader and the societas counted also for its consue- tudines. These were not legally binding rules. They were private ordinances, statutes and proposita of an individual household, measures that derived their authority from law in general, from the law of the Gospel and from canon law valid for all Christians. Whenever laws were issued and majority decisions were in fact recorded, these were not precepts or measures or stip- ulations with vis coactiva. Rather they were consilia and correctiones frater- nae, measures that were to be followed not ex necessitate but only ex caritate et amicitia. Accordingly, the embrace of the non-regular communis vita entailed no legally-binding obligation in the form of a professio. At the begin- ning of community life was merely a receptio, that had as a requirement only partial willingness to observance of the tria substantialia of the religious orders, i.e. to the renunciation of ownership, to the limitation of personal freedom and the preservation of chastity. The contrasts between cloister and brotherly society are numerous, and they can be illustrated through more than one example. To move beyond further explanation to a summary of the legal differences between the two forms of community, we can invoke the very concepts so often used in fourteenth and fifteenth literature for the defi- nition and defense of the way of life of the beguines, tertiaries, Brothers and Sisters of the Common Life—concepts especially appropriate for “estab- lished institutions” on the one hand, and for “communities of brotherly ­association” on the other: subordinatio and aequalitas, potestas and caritas, obedientia and libertas.81

81 J. Ratzinger, Die christliche Brüderlichkeit (Munich, 1960); J. Hasenfuß, “Brüderlichkeit in religionssoziologisch-theologischer Sicht,” in: Warheit und und Verkündigung. Michael Schmaus zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. L. Scheffczyk (Munich, 1967), 265–283; W. Schieder, “Brüderhchkeit, Brüderschaft, Verbrüderung, Bruderliebe,” in: Geschichtliche Grundbegnffe 1, ed. O. Brunner, W. Conze, R. Kossellek (Tübingen, 1972), 552–581; M.D. Chenu, “‘Fraternitas’. Évangile et condition socio-culturelle,” in: Revue d’histoire de la spiritualité 49 (1973), 385–400; H. Tyrell, “Die christliche Brüderlichkeit—Semantische Kontinuitäten und Diskontinuitäten,” in: Festschrift für F.X. Kaufmann (forthcoming).

Vita regularis sine regula 307

v

To describe what one might call the self-understanding of the status tertius demands careful evaluation of a broad and very diverse body of source material, ranging from documents and statutes to literary and liturgical texts to works of fine art and music. The articulations of that self-under- standing were grounded in the forms of life and the communities that semi- religious of the high and late middle ages invoked as their predecessors and models.82 The arsenal of prototypes reached back to the early middle ages, and indeed into Christian antiquity and to biblical times: Elijah, Anthony and Paul of Thebes as the archetypes of the vita eremitica; John the Almsgiver and Nicholas of Myra, helpers of the poor and disadvantaged; Alexius and Roche, representatives as well as patrons of the ill and the suffering, the downfallen and the faltering; Elizabeth of Hungary, Landgravine of Thuringia, and Louis ix, the holy king of France, exponents of Christian caritas and intensive lay piety; Martha, busy caring for the welfare of the familia sacra in Bethany; Mary Magdalen, the model and the embodiment of penance; Mary, the mater dolorosa iuxta crucem, and Christ, the thorn- crowned man of sorrows. The semi-religious—especially the Brothers of the Common Life—saw themselves and their community modeled in Benjamin, the youngest son of Jacob; in Bethlehem, the least of the princely cities of Judea; and in Paul, the

82 For an overview: S. Giehen, “Appunti per l’iconografia dei santi e beati dell’Ordine della Penitenza (secoli xiii–xiv),” in: I Fratri penitenti di San Francesco (n. 28), 111–124. For elaboration: K. Klein, “Frühchristliche Eremiten im Spätmittelalter und in der Reformat­ ionszeit,” in: Literatur und Laienbildung im Spätmittelalter und in der Reformationszeit, ed. L. Grenzmann, K. Stackmann (Stuttgart, 1984), 686–695; J. Oliver, “‘Gothic’ Women and Merovingian ,” in: Gesta 32 (1993), 124–134; E. Gössmann, “Mariologische Entwicklungen im Mittelalter. Frauenfreundliche und Frauenfeindliche Aspekte,” in: Maria—für alle Frauen oder über allen Frauen?, ed. E. Gössmann, D.R. Bauer (Freiburg, 1989), 63–85; M. Wehrli-Johns, “Haushälterinnen Gottes. Zur Mariennachfolge der Beginen,” in: Maria—Abbild oder Vorbild? Zur Sozialgeschichte mittelalterlicher Marienverehrung, ed. H. Röckelein (Tübingen, 1990) 147–182; H.M. Garth, Saint in Medieval Literature (Baltimore, 1950); V. Saxer, Le culte de Marie-Madeleine en occident dès origines à la fin du moyen âge (Auxerre, Paris, 1959); S. Haskins, Mary Magdalen. Myth and Metaphor (London, 1993); K.L. Jansen, “Mary Magdalen and the Mendicants: The Preaching of Penance in the Late Middle Ages,” in: Journal of Medieval History 21 (1995), 1–25; G. Constable, Three Studies in Medieval Religious and Social Thought. The Interpretation of Mary and Martha. The Ideal of the Imitation of Christ. The Orders of Society (Cambridge, 1995); Die Passion Christi in Literatur und Kunst des Spätmittelahers, ed. W. Haug, B. Wachinger, Fortuna Vitrea 12 (Tübingen, 1993).

308 chapter 8 last Apostle. Such models must be understood surely as expressions of humil- ity (whether voluntary or compulsory) in a community more or less well- formed, yet positioned decidedly on the margins of both secular and sacred society. And yet the same formulations (like those of the popes, who repre- sented themselves as “servants of the servants of God”) claimed a privileged place, and even implied a claim to the highest rank among the “Istituti di per- fezione.” They were seldom advanced expressis verbis among the Brothers themselves, but their traces were felt in every expression, even in the existence of the semi-religious life, which was in a certain way provocative by its very nature. The Franciscan Observant John Brugman formulated it word for word in the middle of the fifteenth century. Inspired by Joachim of Fiore, Brugman saw in the communities of the Brothers of the Common life the spiritual order that was to inaugurate the third age of world and salvation history, and a way of life thereby superior to all others in spiritual substance.83 Brugman’s eschatological outlook is of less interest here than the attempt of the Brothers and their allies to anchor their modus vivendi historically. They looked back to the early Christian ascetics in Rome, to Aquila and Priscilla, the helpers of Paul mentioned in his letters to the Corinthians and the Romans. They saw their own societas anticipated in Augustine’s circle of friends at Cassiciacum between Milan and Bergamo, and in the Sacra familia that Jerome gathered around himself in Bethlehem. The early Christian hermits of Egypt, Syria and Palestine, Elijah and Elisha, the prophets of the Old Testament and the pious Essenes were for them not merely the prototypes of monks and monasticism, but creators of free societates that lived sine regula, sine statutis obedientialibus, sine habitu approbato aut ceremoniis regularibus. Their actual model, however, was neither the church fathers nor the prophets and hermits, but rather the vita apostolica and the ecclesia primitiva. What monks, canons and mendicants, and indeed the military orders had long claimed for them- selves—to live according to the model of the Apostles and to return to the early church—semi-religious now claimed as well, and with an exclusivity similar to that of the other orders and their branches.84 Returning to arguments that the

83 J. Brugman, Speculum imperfectionis, ed. F.A.H. van den Homberg (Groningen, 1962). 84 M.-H. Vicaire, L’imitation des apôtres: Moines, chanoines, mendiants, IVe–XIIIe siècles (Paris, 1963); G. Olsen, “The Idea of the Ecclesia Primitiva in the Writings of Twelfth-Century Canonists,” in: Traditio 25 (1969), 61–86; G. Leff, “The Apostolic Ideal in Later Medieval Ecclesiology,” in: Journal of Theological Studies 18 (1967), 58–82; S.H. Hendrix, “In Quest of the Vera Ecclesia: the Crisis of Late Medieval Ecclesiology,” in: Viator 7 (1976), 347–378; A. Vauchez, “La Bible dans les confrèries et les mouvements de devotion,” in: Le Moyen Âge et la Bible, ed. R. Riché, G. Lobrichen (Paris, 1984), 583–595; Constable, Three Studies (n. 82).

Vita regularis sine regula 309 wandering apostolic preachers of the twelfth century had used and to those James of Vitry had used in his Vita of Mary d’Oignies in defense of the beguines,85 the Brothers now claimed to be a direct continuation (if not in fact the only legitimate continuation) of the early apostolic community. They, like the Apostles, followed no rule other than the regula evangelii, and were obli- gated to no superior other than the abbas Jesus Christ. While monks and can- ons called on Benedict and Augustine and Franciscans and Dominicans on Francis and Dominic as their fundatores, they had no other founder than the lord himself. It was a claim that had as its consequence—already noted by Geert Groote86—that the rules of Augustine, Benedict and Francis seemed superfluous, and that the orders they founded could be seen as particularitates et singularitates, that is as obstacles in the way to salvation. What the devout texts only hinted at became clearly and unmistakably to expression in the texts that the Devout and their friends authored in defense of their way of life. Under pressure from clergy, bishops and curia either to conform at least outwardly to the norms of a monastic or canonical way of life, or to give up entirely their experiment in semi-religious life, they reacted with a decisiveness that sent an unmistakable signal: the Devout accorded their way of life, a way of life grounded in equality, freedom and brotherly love, a higher rank than a life in religious orders grounded in obligations and obedience. To abandon its worth and to bind oneself to a religious rule seemed to them to be nothing other quam vendere libertatem nostram, singulare decus christinae religionis et emere vincula et carceres—so Peter Dieburg, rector of the Devout community of Lüchtenhof in Hildesheim, formulated it in his Annales in 1490.87 For Peter and his like-minded brothers semi-religious life was no longer what it had been for

85 Along with the literature cited in n. 46: J. Becquet, “L’Institution. Premier coutumiers de l’Ordre de Grandmont,” in: Revue Mabillon 46 (1956), 15–32; Vita b. Mariae Oigniacensis, in: Acta Sanctorum v (Antwerp, 1867), 547–575. Cf. also Lettres de Jacques de Vitry (1160/1170–1240) évêque de Saint-Jean-d’Acre. Edition critique, ed. R.B.C. Huygens (Leiden 1960), 71–78. 86 G. Groote, De Simonia ad beguttas, ed. W. de Vreese (The Hague, 1940), 29. 87 Annalen und Akten der Brüder des gemeinsamen Leben im Lüchtenhof zu Hildesheim, ed. R. Doebner, Quellen und Darstellungen zur Geschichte Niedersachsens 9 (Hannover, Leipzig, 1903), 113. On Dieburg: G. Boerner, Die Annalen und Akten der Bruder des gemein- samen Lebens im Lüchtenhof zu Hildesheim. Eine Grundlage der Geschichte der deutschen Brüderhäuser und ein Beitrag zur Vorgeschichte der Reformation (Furstenwalde, 1905); W. Schültke, “Die Brüder vom gemeinsamen Leben und Peter Dieburg, 1420–1494” (Diss. Rostock, 1969). Cf. also E. Barnikol, “Bruder Dieburgs deutsches Christentum und Luthers Stellung zu den Brüdern vom gemeinsamen Leben,” in: Das Eisleber Lutherbuch, ed. H. Etzrod, K. Kronenberg, (Magdeburg, 1933), 18–28.

310 chapter 8 the decretists and decretalists—a makeshift arrangement—nor what it had been for the secular clergy—a “negligible quantity.” It was of consequence, indeed the only right way to follow Christ. Formulations like Peter Dieburg’s, however, hint at even greater consequences. To put brotherly love and Christian freedom on equal footing struck at the foundations of regular life in established orders as it was understood in the late middle ages. To make “volkomen mynne” and “volkomen anhangen an god” (to invoke the words of Geert Grote) into the only relevant requirements for the vita perfecta88 not only rendered meaning- less the outward markers of religious life—the habitus, the tonsura and the cappa. It shattered the foundation of monastic life, namely its vows, which late- medieval theology understood as a second baptism, as an act that guaranteed eternal salvation.89 Where one could live religious life out of pure conviction, without the approval of pope or bishop and beyond the cloister, there the vita perfecta was no longer a matter for legally established institutions; there dis- tinctions between a vita regularis and a vita media were superfluous; there emerged the Erasmian formulation already anticipated in Wyclif: purus chris- tianus verus monachus.90 Such a cogent articulation of the Devout ideal, and with it an absolute commitment to the status medius, challenged the founda- tions of medieval monasticism, and indeed put into question the dominant late-medieval view of the nature of the church—and this is not merely the interpretation of historians working with the benefit of hindsight. Martin Luther himself, notwithstanding his strong criticism of secular confraterni- ties and his principled renunciation of the estate of the religious orders,91

88 See. n. 86. 89 B. Lohse, Mönchtum und Reformation. Luthers Auseinandersetzung mit dem Mönchsideal des Mittelalters, Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte 12 (Göttingen, 1963), 167–170. 90 Fifty Heresies and Errors of Friars, in: Selected English Works of John Wycliff, ed. Th. Arnold (London, 1869–71), iii, 367–372; A. Dakin, Die Beziehung John Wyclifs und der Lollarden zu den Bettelmönchen (London 1911); Th. Renna, “Wyclif’s Attacks on the Monks,” in: From Ockham to Wyclif, ed. A. Hudson, M. Wolks, Studies in Church History. Subsidia 5 (New York, 1987), 267–280. 91 H.-Chr. Rublack, “Zur Rezeption von Luthers De votis monasticis iudicium” in: Reform und Revolution. Beiträge zum politischen Wandel und den sozialen Kräften am Beginn der Neuzeit. Festschrift R. Wohlfeil zum 60. Geburtstag, ed. R. Postel, F. Kopitzsch (Stuttgart, 1989), 224–237; Lohse, Mönchtum und Reformation (n. 89); O.H. Pesch, “Luthers Kritik am Mönchtum in katholischer Sicht,” in: Strukturen christlicher Existenz. Beiträge zur Erneuerung des geisthchen Lebens, ed. H. Schlier et al. (Würzburg, 1968) 81–97; H.-M. Stamm, “Luthers Stellung zum Ordensleben,” in: Der Durchbruch der reformato- rischen Erkenntnis bei Luther. Neuere Untersuchungen, ed. B. Lohse, Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz. Abt. für Abendländische Religionsgeschichte

Vita regularis sine regula 311

­recognized an inward relationship between his new teachings and the old ­institutions of the Devout. In 1532 the Devout of Herford faced attacks from former Augustinian Hermits who had embraced the new faith. They asked Luther for a defense of their way of life, and he responded with praise not only for their ratio vivendi and their genus vitae. He also confirmed that in viewing that way of life from the perspective of the new understanding of faith there was nothing that was unjustified, that they lived a life in the spirit of the Gospel, without the vows he had judged to be unchristian. It was an argument that Philip Melanchthon would repeat to Trithemius, and one that representatives and champions of the status tertius had used already in the thirteenth and ­fourteenth centuries to describe and to characterize the special place of their estate, between cloister and world, between religious and laity, yet fully in accordance with the law: hanc societatem esse rem licitam.92

vi

The question of what role the vita regularis sine regula played in the transition from the late middle ages to the Reformation and the subsequent process of confessionalization has until now neither been explicitly posed, nor has there been any attempt to answer it in a systematic way.93 But the problem was as

101 (Wiesbaden, 1980); W. Werbeck, “Martin Luthers Widmungsrede zu ‘De votis monasti- cis’,” in: Luther 62 (1991), 78–89. On Luther’s critique of “secular” brotherhoods, see now B. Schneider, “Wandel und Beharrung. Brüderschaften und Frömmigkeit in Spätmittelalter und Früher Neuzeit,” in: Volksfrömmigkeit in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. H. Molitor, H. Smolinski, Katholisches Leben und Kirchenreform im Zeitalter der Glaubensspaltung 54 (Münster, 1994), 65–87. 92 Das Fraterherrenhaus zu Herford ii: Statuten, Bekenntnisse, Briefwechsel, ed. R. Stupperich, Veroffentlichungen der Histonschen Kommission von Westfalen 35 (Münster, 1984); R. Stupperich, “Luther und das Fraterhaus in Herford,” in: Geist und Geschichte der Reformation. Festgabe H. Rückert zum 65. Geburtstag, Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte 38 (Berlin, 1966) 219–238; idem, “Das Herforder Fraterherrenhaus und die Reformation,” in: Jahrbuch für Westfälische Kirchengeschichte 64 (1971), 7–27. 93 As an example of focused studies: F. Merzbacher, “Die Aschaffenburger Beginen um das Jahr 1527,” in: Archiv für mittelrheinische Kirchengeschichte 3 (1951), 365–368; J.-Ch. Schmitt, “Les Dernières années d’un beguinage colmarien d’après ses comptes (1510– 1531),” in: Annuaire de la Société d’Histoire et d’Archeologie de Colmar (1975/76) 31–41; F. Glauser, Das Schwesternhaus zu St. Anna im Bruch in Luzern 1498–1625. Religiöse, soziale und wirtschaftliche Strukturveränderungen einer Beginengemeinschaft auf dem Weg vom Spät­ mittelalter zur Katholischen Reform, Luzerner Historische Veröffentlichungen 222 (Lucerne, Stuttgart 1987).

312 chapter 8 pressing in the nineteenth century as it has been in recent times, albeit for dif- ferent motives than those driving scholarship today. At the end of the nine- teenth and the beginning of the twentieth century social scientists and legal historians turned with a special intensity to the study of medieval forms of association, and they extended their interests to encompass the study of semi- religious life. They did so, as the work of Otto von Gierke makes especially clear, because of semi-religious life’s supposed contribution to the process of the “republicanization” of the state and the “democratization” of society—pro- cesses that the historians of the nineteenth century saw not as a merely histori- cal phenomenon, but as a burning issue for their own day.94 The same contemporary concerns influenced still more a church history shaped by the , leading to a study of semi-religious life that turned on the ques- tion of its importance as a precursor to the Reformation. For Carl Ullmann, who believed he was able to answer with certainty the question (already raised in the earliest Reformation historiography) of “reformers before the Refor­ mation,” the “free religious” associations were nothing other than gatherings of the faithful that, as Flaccus Illyricus and Gottfried Arnold had seen it, had proven themselves witnesses to the Gospel. And the Modern Devotion, as a trail-blazer for both Humanism and the Reformation, provided a powerful argument of that, both to him and to the historians who argued along similar lines.95 The same model—that semi-religious life, seen as characteristic of the

94 O. Gierke, Deutsches Genossenschaftsrecht i: Rechtsgeschichte der deutschen Gemeinschaft (Berlin, 1868); E.W. Böckenförde, Die deutsche verfassungsgeschichtliche Forschung im 19. Jahrhundert. Zeitgebundene Fragestellungen und Zeitbilder, Schriften zur Verfassungs­ geschichte i (Berlin, 1961); O.G. Oexle, “Otto von Gierkes ‘Rechtsgeschichte der deutschen Genossenschaft’. Ein Versuch Wissenschaftsgeschichtlicher Rekapitulation,” in: Deutsche Geschichtswissenschaft um 1900, ed. N. Hammerstein (Stuttgart, 1988), 193–217; P. Landau, “Otto Gierke und das kanonische Recht,” in: Die deutsche Rechtsgeschichte in der ns-Zeit, ihre Vorgeschichte und Nachwirkungen, ed. J. Rückert, D. Willowett, Beiträge zur Rechtsgeschichte des 20. Jahrhunderts 12 (Tübingen, 1995), 94–97. 95 C. Ullmann, Reformatoren vor der Reformation ii: Die Positiven Grundlagen der Reformation auf dem populären und wissenschaftlichen Gebiete, 2nd ed. (Gotha, 1866). On the problem: H.A. Oberman, Werden und Wertung der Reformation. Vom Wegstreit zum Glaubenskampf, Spätscholastik und Reformation ii (Tübingen, 1977); idem, Forerunners of the Reformation. The Shape of Late Medieval Thought (Philadelphia, 1981); Albert Hyma, The Christian Renaissance. A History of the “Devotio Moderna” 2nd ed. (Hamden, Conn. 1965); L.E. Halkin, “La ‘Devotio Moderna’ et les origines de la Réforme aux Pays-Bas,” in: Courants religieux et humanisme à la fin du XVe et au début du XVIe siècle. Colloque de Strasbourg 9–11 mai 1957 (Paris, 1959), 45–51; J. Roelink, “Moderne Devotie en Reformatie,” in: Serta Historica 2 (1970), 5–43; W. Lourdaux, “Dévotion moderne et humanisme chrétien,” in: The Late Middle Ages and the Dawn of Humanism Outside Italy. Proceedings of the International

Vita regularis sine regula 313 late middle ages, was potentially a force for change, for emancipation, for reform, for pre-reform, for Reformation—inspired interpretations that saw in a lay piety “shaped by monasticism” one of the preconditions for the “spirit of capitalism” that emerged from the “Protestant ethic.”96 Others, conversely, thought themselves able to discern in both heresy and in semi-religious life those forces that turned against the “feudal powers,” that initiated the “early bourgeois revolution”97 and that prepared the way for modern individual- ism and the emancipation of women.98 Against this interpretative approach Gennaro M. Monti, Gabriel Le Bras, Giles G. Meersseman, André Vauchez and most other representatives of recent research into confraternities and semi- religious life have countered with an argument already deployed by Max

Conference, Louvain, May 11–13, 1970 (Lueven, The Hague, 1972), 57–77; R. Mokrosch, “Devotio moderna ii: Verhältnis zu Humanismus und Reformation,” in: Theologische Realenzyklopadie viii (1981), 609–617; N. Staubach, “Christianam sectam arripere: Devotio moderna und Humanismus zwischen Zirkelbildung und gesellschaftlicher Integration,” in: Europäische Sozietätsbewegung und demokratische Tradition. Bürgerlich-gelehrte Organisationsformen Zwischen Renaissance und Revolution, ed. K. Garber, H. Wismann (Tübingen, 1996), 112–167. 96 M. Weber, “Die Protestantische Ethik und der Geist des Kapitalismus 1. Das Problem,” in: Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik 20 (1904), 1–54; idem, “Die Berufsidee des asketischen Protestantismus,” in: ibid. 21 (1905), 1–110; E. Troeltsch, Die Soziallehren der christlichen Kirchen und Gruppen (Heidelberg, 1912); G. Becker, Neuzeitliche Subjektivität und Religiosität. Die religionspsychologische Bedeutung von Herauskunft und Wesen der Neuzeit im Denken von Ernst Troeltsch (Regensburg, 1982); S. Kalberg, “Max Webers Typen der Rationalität. Grundsteine fur die Analyse von Rationalisierungsprozessen in der Geschichte,” in: Max Weber und die Rationalisierung sozialen Handeins, ed. W.M. Sprondel, C. Seyfarth (Stuttgart, 1981) 9–38; L. Kaelber, “Weber’s Lacuna: Medieval Religion and the Roots of Rationalization,” in: Journal of the History of Ideas 57 (1996), 465–485; Ernst Troeltschs Soziallehren. Studien zu Ihrer Interpretation, ed. F.W. Graf, T. Rendtdorf, Troeltsch-studien 6 (Gütersloh, 1973); O.G. Oexle, “Kulturwissenschaftliche Reflexionen über Soziale Gruppen in der mittelalterlichen Gesellschaft: Tönnies, Simmel, Durkheim und Max Weber,” in: Die Okzidentale Stadt nach Max Weber. Zum Problem der Zugehörigkeit in Antike und Mittelalter, ed. Chr. Meier (Munich, 1994) 115–159, especially 133–135. 97 Cf. along with the literature cited in n. 37: E. Werner, Stadtluft macht frei. Frühscholastik und burgerliche Emanzipation in der ersten Hälfte des 12. Jahrhunderts, Sitzungsberichte der Akademie der Wissenschaften Leipzig 118/5 (Leipzig, 1976). 98 Cf. along with the literature cited in n. 96: C. Morris, The Discovery of the Individual 1050– 1200 (London, 1972); H. Bayer, “Zur Soziologie des mittelalterlichen Individualisierung­ sprozesses,” in: Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 58 (1976), 115–153; J.F. Benton, “Consciousness of Self and Perceptions of Individuality,” in: Renaissance and Renewal (n. 17), 263–295; G. Penco, “Senso dell’uomo e scoperta dell’individuo nel monachesimo del secoli xi e xii,” in: Benedictina 37 (1990), 285–315.

314 chapter 8

Weber: that this estate contributed in essential ways to the growing influence of the church on the laity and on “profane” society, and therefore can be seen as a witness for the increasing “sociabilité” and “christianisation” of European society. It was thus in no way a priori a destructive force, and therefore cannot so easily be seen as one of those factors that set in motion (or accelerated) the process that led from pre-reform to Reformation.99 The argument is further buttressed by the fact that while semi-religious life, like religious life itself, was forced to endure considerable setbacks during the Reformation, it nevertheless experienced (with the support of the new orders of the sixteenth century) a remarkable revival, especially in those regions that came to embrace church renewal and Counter-Reformation. And it was a revival in which women played a considerable role, just as they had in the middle ages.100 Apart from these

99 Cf. nn. 11–13. 100 M. Benard, “La crise des confréries en France au XVIe siècle,” in: Population et cultures. Études réunies en l’honeur de François Lebrun (Rennes, 1989), 397–404. Cf. also idem, “Volksfrömmigkeit und Konfessionalisierung,” in: Die Katholische Konfessionalisierung. Wissenschaftliches Symposion der Gesellschaft zur Herausgabe des Corpus Catholicorum und des Vereins für Refomationsgeschichte 1923, ed. W Remhard, H. Schilling, Schriften des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte 198 (Gütersloh, 1995) 258–270; R.R. Harding, “The Mobilization of Confraternities against the Reformation in France,” in: Sixteenth Century Journal 11 (1980), 85–107; B. Montages, “Huguenots contre pénitents à Marseille au XVIe siècle,” in: Les confréries de pénitents: Dauphine-Provence (Valence, 1980), 35–54; K. Norberg, “The Counter-Reformation and Women. Religious and Laity,” in: Catholicism in Early Modern History, ed. J.W.O’Malley, Reformation Guides to Research 28 (St. Louis, 1988), 133–146; E. Theissing, Over Klopjes en Kwelzels (Utrecht, 1935); E. Schulte van Kessel, Geest en vlees in godsdienst en wetenshap. Vijf opstellen over gezagsconflicten in de 17de eeuw (The Hague, 1980); F. Koorn, “Women without Vows. The Case of the Beguines and the Sisters of the Common Life in the Northern Netherlands,” in: Women and Men in Spiritual Culture. xiv–xvii Centuries, ed. E. Schulte van Kessel (The Hague, 1986), 135–147; E. Raply, The Dévotes. Women and Church in Seventeenth Century France, McGill/Queens Studies in the History of Religion 4 (Montreal, 1990); A. Conrad, Zwischen Kloster und Welt. Ursulinen und Jesuitinnen in der katholischen Reformbewegung des 16./17. Jahrhunderts, Veroffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz. Abt: Religion­ sgeschichte 142 (Mainz, 1991); eadem, “Ursulinen und Jesuiten. Formen der Symbiose von weltlichem und männlichem Semireligiosentum in der frühen Neuzeit,” in: Doppelklöster und andere Formen der Symbiose männlicher und weiblicher Religiosen im Mittelalter, ed. K. Elm, M. Parisse, Berliner Historische Studien 18, Ordensstudien 8 (Berlin, 1992), 213–238; M. Monteiro, “Den middelen staet. Waarom vrouwen in de vroegmoderne tijd kozen voor een semireligieus bestaan,” in: De dynamiek van religie en cultuur. Geschiedenis van het Nederlands katholicisme, ed. M. Monteiro et al., (Kempen, 1993) 138–161; eadem, Geestelijke maagden. Leven tussen klooster en wereld in Noord-Nederland gedurende de zeventiende eeuw (Hilversum, 1996); G. Rocca, “Le fondazioni femminili ‘non religiose’

Vita regularis sine regula 315 considerations, however, one must in part concur with an earlier scholarly tra- dition that believed to have established a direct connection between the style of piety and models of organization of semi-religious life, on the one hand, and the Reformers’ models of community and church organization on the other. The parallels between models of the church among such laici religiosi like Peter Dieburg and the early-modern Reformers are often unmistakable. The concentration of scholarship in recent decades on so many extra-regu- lar spiritual experiments of the middle ages can create the impression that the whole matter was merely an epiphenomenon of a process of regulation and institutionalization of the vita religiosa reaching from the asceticism of the early church to the full formation of religious orders. This in turn seems to explain why semi-religious life could have been marginalized in the West and then brought into question (along with the religious orders themselves) by the Reformation, while it retained greater significance in Orthodox and oriental churches, where monastic life largely escaped any kind of centralization.101 That such an interpretation fails in large part to correspond to historical cir- cumstance becomes clear upon careful consideration of the early days of Christianity. Even if one assumes that the formation of houses and orders in late antiquity and the middle ages was an outgrowth of concepts of spiritual life first formed in the Gospels, it cannot be overlooked that the many forms of unregulated ascetic life belong to a tradition that reaches back to a time before monasticism, indeed back to the earliest days of the Christian community.102 The defenders of the vita communis of the Devout thus sought to justify the status medius above all with reference to the apostolic origins of their way of life.103 With the same arguments the Reformers, despite their principled rejec- tion of a religious life founded on rules and vows, allowed themselves to be led

dopo Trento,” in: Congregazioni laici femminili e promozione della donna in Italia nei secoli xvi e xvii, ed. C. Paolocci, Quaderni i franzoniani 8, 2 (Genoa, 1995), 55–59; A.K. de Meijer, “Augustinian Filiae spirituales in Amsterdam during the Seventeenth Century,” in: Analecta Augustiniana 60 (1997), 51–80. 101 Cf. among others T. Miller, The Birth of the Hospital in the Byzantine Empire (Baltimore, London 1985); G. Dragon, “‘Ainsi rien n’échappera à la réglementation.’ État, corporation, confrèries,” in: Hommes et richesses dans l’Empire byzantin, ed. V. Kravaki, J. Lefort, C. Morrisson (Paris, 1991) ii, 155–182. 102 H. v. Campenhausen, Die Askese im Urchristentum (Tübingen, 1949); P. Brown, The Body and Society. Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York, 1988); S. Elm, Virgins of God. The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1996). 103 U. Hinz, “Die nordwestdeutschen Brüder vom Gemeinsamen Leben in der zweiten Hälfte des 16. Jahrhunderts. Zur Konfrontation mit der katholischen Konfessionalisierung,” in: Ons geestelijk Erf 69 (1995), 157–174; idem, Die Brüder vom Gemeinsamen Leben im

316 chapter 8 to tolerate the existence or the founding of unregulated religious communi- ties.104 Indeed in canon law itself the view has taken hold that semi-religious life is in no way subordinate to religious life by virtue of the age and impact of the latter, or that it was of importance only in the middle ages.105 To make clear that semi-religious life (whatever the derogatory overtones of a composite con- cept) is a way of life that reaches back to the origins of Christianity and that can be found in all eras of church history and in most Christian churches can- not be without consequence for our estimation of its historical significance. Such a consideration compels us not only to see the relationship between reli- gious life and unregulated religious spiritual communities in another light, but also to place the role that vita regularis sine regula played in the late middle ages and the early modern era in a broader context than before. Semi-religious life should not be seen in isolation, and it should especially not be seen as only an aspect of the Reformation, of confessionalization, and of the social and intellectual forces of “modernization” that were their consequence. Rather, it should be judged above all as that which a view to its origins reveals it to be: as a way of life for individuals and communities that had its roots in early Christianity, that forever inspired critique and contradiction, as well as new beginnings and returns to origins, whenever inherited models and established institutions lost their power to convince or lost their authority. Semi-religious life thus earned for itself special meaning not only in the late middle ages and the era of the Reformation and Counter-Reformation but also in earlier and later ones as well, in times of transition and crisis.

Jahrhundert der Reformation. Das Münstersche Kolloquium, Spätmittelalter und Refor­ mation. Neue Reihe 9 (Tübingen 1997). 104 G. Krause, R. Stupperich, “Brüderschaften, Schwesternschaften, Kommunitäten,” in: Theologische Realenzyklopädie vii (1981), 195–212; C. Joest, Spiritualität evangelischer Kommunitäten. Altkirchlich-monastische Traditionen in evangelischen Kommunitäten von heute (Göttingen, 1995). 105 Along with the literature cited in notes 11 and 14 see also: M. Schlosser, “Alt—aber nicht veraltet. Die Jungfrauenweihe als Weg der Christusnachfolge,” in: Ordenskorrespondenz 33 (1992), 41–64, 165–178, 289–311; eadem, “Solus cum solo—Eremiten gestern und heute. Zu cic 1983 Titel i, c. 603,” in: ibid. 37 (1996), 188–212.

chapter 9 The “Devotio Moderna” and the New Piety between the Later Middle Ages and the Early Modern Era

Heiko A. Oberman in memoriam

i

In 1372/73 the son of a Deventer patrician broke with the way of life he had estab- lished. He had studied the Liberal Arts in Paris and Cologne (and perhaps also in Prague), as well as canon and civil law. Thereafter he had obtained a canonry in Aachen, and a little later another in Utrecht. He now renounced his offices and prebends, offered the use of his parents’ house in the commercial city on the Ijssel to pious women, and donated the majority of his wealth to the Charterhouse of Monnikhuizen in Arnhem. One might think the decision was another of the many conversions that had taken place since the one that had made Paul from Saul. But the conversion of Geert Grote, of which we speak here, was different from most others. Before his conversion he was neither a persecutor of Christians nor a particularly flagrant sinner. Nor after his conversion did he become an apostle, monk or priest. Rather, he remained a layman and began, after his “turn,” to encourage monks and laymen, in word and writing, in both Latin and vernacu- lar, to embrace a life of humility, modesty and retreat, and to encourage them to renounce all that the church and the world had to offer in the way of privileges, incomes and honors. The decision was not without consequence. In a few decades a number of brother-houses had been established in the Netherlands, and by 1409 these had come together to form a loose congrega- tion. In Germany Henry of Ahaus (illegitimate son of the lords of Ahaus), who had come into contact with the Devout through his aunt Jutta in Deventer, advanced the new style of piety from Münster. He did so with such success that within a few decades the same story played out in Westphalia and the lower Rhine, in Hesse and Württemberg, in the middle Rhine and the Mosel, indeed as far as the Baltic coast: the establishment of brother-houses that in the course of the first half of the fifteenth century came together to form loose congregations, so-called colloquia, whose communities sought, as each deemed fit, to remain true to the way of life of Geert and his followers. Far greater still were the number of women’s houses. They, like the men, shaped their way of life and spirituality according to Grote’s example and, at least for

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318 chapter 9 those in Germany, looked for inspiration (directly or indirectly) to Henry and the Brothers of Münster. Alongside the fratres et sorores, the “Broederen ende Susteren,” there emerged already at the origins of the movement that began in the Ijssel valley a second variant of the devout life, known as the Windesheim congregation. It took root not only in the Netherlands and in modern Belgium but also in the north and south of Germany (from Frenswegen in the county of Bentheim and from its Westphalian daughter foundation at Bödekken), even in Switzerland and Alsace. As in the case of the Brothers of the Common life, women pre- sented themselves early on to the Windesheimers as well, and from the foun- dation of Diepenveen they fostered an expansion that, in terms of its numbers and geographical scope, long rivaled that of the canons. For all of their spiritual affinity with the Brothers and Sisters of the Common Life, the members of these circles were not semi-religious who lived a common life in poverty without vows. Rather, they were members of a religious order in a traditional sense, bound by the Rule of Augustine and their own constitu- tions. Yet in contrast to other congregations of reforming canons they did have a special duty: to serve as spiritual mentors to the Brothers and Sisters of the common life, to accept into their company those among the Brothers and Sisters who felt called to religious life, and not least to offer support and protec- tion to a way of life that was hard for contemporaries to define, and not always easy to justify.

ii

It is with good reason that scholars today in Germany and France, England, Italy and the United States, and especially in the Netherlands and Belgium, concern themselves so intensely with the Brothers and Sisters of the Common Life, the Canons of Windesheim and the Canonesses of Diepenveen. They and the movement they fostered have shaped the self-understanding and historical consciousness of those who live in north-west Europe, whatever their nation- ality, until the present day. Their way of life and style of piety are seen as deci- sive for shaping the heritage and character of not only the Dutch and the Flemings, but of those from Westphalia, the lower-Rhine and lower Saxony. The movement has contributed to the formation and spread of vernacular lit- erature and the development of distinct literary genres. The nature and direc- tion of the movement’s spread recalls its close ties to the commercial and economic networks that in the later middle ages spread from northwest Europe far to the northeast and southwest. Yet this alone does not explain why the

The “Devotio Moderna” and the New Piety 319 movement has been studied from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, both among the learned and among the broader public, not only in Holland and Belgium, in Westphalia and the lower Rhine, but across the world. Scholarly concern over the Dutch devotio moderna and the institutions it inspired has overflowed the boundaries of the history of religious orders and of piety (indeed of church history) to become a subject of a field of research that encompasses every intellectual discipline. From the nineteenth century (even, if one wishes, from the seventeenth) scholars have seen the Devout as forerun- ners (if not in fact representatives) of the Reformation and Humanism—and thus as figures that typically signal the end of the middle ages and the begin- ning of modernity. Much has been seen as an anticipation of the concerns of the Reformation: the critique the Devout advanced against the clergy, directly and indirectly, through their very existence; their conscious renunciation of religious vows, and their decision for a brotherly common life without superi- ors or subjects. But more significant still were these: their constant reference to Holy Scripture and the recourse they took, again and again, to the model of the early apostolic community; their conscious distancing from a mere works piety; their interiorized spirituality and their effort to establish a personal style of piety centered on the obligations of the individual, which went hand-in- hand with their conscious renunciation of scholastic subtlety, and their return to the fathers of monasticism and the church. Carl Ullmann and Gaston Bonet- Maury, who in the nineteenth century spoke of Geert Grote and the Devout (even more explicitly than Gottfried Arnold and Jacobus Revius before them) as “precursors of the Reformation” or “reformers before the Reformation,” but- tressed the thesis of a close and causal relationship between the devotio mod­ erna and the Reformation with reference to Zwingli, Bucer, Calvin, Bullinger, Oecolampadius, and not least Martin Luther—all of whom, they felt them- selves able to say with certainty, were, if not raised by the Brothers of the Common Life, then at least in close contact with them. It was perhaps only natural, then, that an American of Dutch descent, Albert Hyma, then went a step further. Alongside the first and second Reformations of Luther and Calvin, Hyma characterized parallel and later inflections—Anabaptists, Remonstrants, Methodists and more or less every other church and denomination on both sides of the Atlantic that claimed for itself evangelical heritage—as having its roots in the devotio moderna. Others argued in similar ways for the Devout as precursors and antecedents, if not of Humanism in an Italian mold, then at least of a northern “Christian Renaissance.” They worked from the assumption that the Brothers’ vigorous culture of writing, and their associated concern for proper texts and pure speech, their striving after a place for the self in matters of faith and style of life, and not least their concern for the education and

320 chapter 9 moral formation of young men, all provided the fertile soil that nourished the later accomplishments of Rudolf Agricola, Conrad Mutianus, Jacob Wimpfeling, John Murmellius, no less than even Erasmus of Rotterdam himself. The Devout, then, have been celebrated as pre-humanists, styled in the manner of Flacius Illyricus as testes veritatis and taken up (along with heretics and Protestants) into a litany of forerunners of the Reformation that reaches far back into the middle ages. The more some have celebrated them in that way, so all the more have an increasing number asserted the opposite. They claim with Huizinga that the Devout are best understood as reactionary hypo- crites; with Romein that they are the last representatives of the middle ages. They even accuse the Devout of being exponents of the servile spirit, opposed to every kind of progress that one long saw as characteristic of the era. And this is to say nothing of those who, for whatever political and ideological reasons, saw the Devout as the incarnation of a specifically Dutch popular spirit, and revered them as “pillars of our people’s strength” (“Pijlers van onze Volkskracht”). More substantive than all of these interpretations, however, were the counter- arguments crafted by a Dutch Catholic minority seeking to preserve its “spiri- tual heritage” (Geestlijk Erf), arguments that resisted styling the Devout as forerunners of modernity. Titus Brandsma, a Carmelite and an expert in the field of mysticism, pointed to the timeless religious character of the move- ment, albeit in a way that de-historicized it and thereby deprived it of its ideological force. It then fell to R.R. Post, Professor of medieval History at the Catholic University of Nijmegen, to refute point-for-point those who linked the devotio to Reformation and Humanism. According to his line of argument the Brothers neither represented a distinct pedagogical program, nor were they interested in the advancement of learning in the humanist sense. Nor could one speak of any lasting influence on the humanists—a point evidenced by reference to the distant relationship of a figure like Erasmus to the devotio moderna. All of the expressions (such as those of the Hildesheim rector Peter Dieburg) that called for freedom from compulsion and rule, long taken as an anticipation of the concerns of the Reformation, Post saw instead as interpre- tations post festum, and as not representative of the movement as a whole. He repeatedly emphasized the Catholicity of the Devout with reference to their religious ideals and their relationship to the Roman curia. It was far from their concern—so we can summarize Post’s position—to challenge fundamental matters of faith or to withdraw themselves from the authority of the church. Their spirituality was also nothing new, as some had claimed through their misreading of the concept modernus. Rather, it took its place in a long tradition of monastic and ascetic spirituality that, in the eleventh and the fifteenth ­centuries as much as in the high middle ages, had long stood in the field of

The “Devotio Moderna” and the New Piety 321 tensions between ecclesiastical office and theological schooling—and yet never broke beyond the boundaries of orthodoxy. And as proof for this last point one can cite not least the findings of U. Hinz: that the overwhelming number of the Brothers and Sisters of the Common Life did not become fol- lowers of the Reformation, but rather (insofar as the possibility was left to them to decide freely) remained true to the old faith. Closely associated with the “antimodernists” in the mold of scholars like Post are those who, while not doubting the “modernity” of the devotio moderna as a supposedly world-wide phenomenon, nevertheless saw the movement neither as unique nor limited in its impact to Protestant circles. They note the long list of reformers and reform movements within the Orbis catholicus that were shaped by or helped shape the spirit of the devotio moderna. Among the many that have been seen as tied to the movement, pride of place has been accorded to Ludovico Barbo and the Benedictine Congregation of S. Giustina in Padua, Garcia Ximinéz de Cisneros and the Benedictine reforms that spread from Monserrat, Ignatius of Loyola and the Societas Jesu as well as the later Cardinal Pierre de Bérulle and the Oratorians, to say nothing of , which has with good reason been described as the second great “religious revival” that the “Dutch spirit” (Dietse geest) brought forth, one that managed not to break with its traditions of faith. In keeping with the dynamics of thesis and antithesis, the scholarship is now approaching a kind of synthesis, perhaps better described as a mediation between opposing sides. H.A. Oberman, W. Lourdeauz, J. Van Engen and N. Staubach have returned, in a general and less provocative way, to familiar arguments for the proximity between the Devout and Humanism. Specifically these scholars have noted the undoubt- edly significant pedagogical contributions of the Devout, their “philological” textual criticism, the presence of “humanist” writings in their libraries as well as the parallels between their loose brotherhoods and the academies and learned associations of the humanists. Theologians like R. Mokrosch and B. Hamm see among the Brothers and the canons of Windesheim (even though they depart from the core teachings of the Protestants, especially Luther’s trust in faith alone and Calvin’s emphasis on predestination) many intersections with the reformers’ concerns—not least their return to the early church; the emphasis on practice found in their piety; their distance from the intricate subtleties of university theologians and the truth claims of philosophers; but above all in their manner of self-discipline (rather more Calvinist than Lutheran in its leanings) and their effort to shape and form the individual per- son through spiritual exercises and methodical meditation. A concentration on north-west Europe, the Baltics and the Rhine, the geo- graphical impact of the institutions shaped by the three movements that

322 chapter 9 emerged in the Netherlands, the problematic of an era of transition, all of the discussions surrounding the historical place of the movement and its importance for the self-understanding and self-consciousness of the “low countries”— all of this, as we know, promotes a certain monopolization of the concept of the devotio moderna, and a view that is limited to northwest Europe. In recent decades voices have emerged that call for resisting such narrow- ness of vision, and that point to comparable phenomena in other parts of Christendom. But we have not yet inquired with sufficient energy into the deep tradition from which the Devout drew, and we have not yet sufficiently grounded that inquiry in the historical and geographical context in which it took shape. That the devotio moderna discussed here did not of course emerge ex nihilo raises the stakes of any inquiry into its early history, and into the conversion of Geert Grote that inspired the movement. Before his conversion Grote was for a long time a kind of donatus, a guest of the Carthusians of Monnikhuizen. And they themselves stood in close contact with Jan van Ruusbroec, who in 1343 had retreated with a few like-minded colleagues to Groenendaal near Brussels to live a life of brotherhood and community. There also need be no extensive inquiry into the community of pious women associated with his parents’ household: theirs was nothing other than a kind of beguine community, of which there was more than one, and not only in the Netherlands and north- west Europe. One can also assume that the Devout in no way understood themselves as modern, as innovators in our sense. In the writings through which they defended themselves against those who viewed their brotherhood as a violation of canon law, the Devout turned to the long tradition in which (as they saw it) they stood. They appealed to the early Christian ascetics in Rome, to Aquila and Priscilla, the companions of the Apostle Paul, and saw their brotherhood anticipated above all in the circle of friends around Augustine on the estate of Cassiciacum between Milan and Bergamo, and in the familia Sacra that Jerome gathered around himself in Bethlehem. The early Christian hermits of Egypt, Syria and Palestine, even the prophets of the Old Testament were for them no longer prototypes of monks and monasticism, but creators of such free religious associations as theirs. Their actual models, however, were neither the church fathers nor the hermits, but rather the Ecclesia primitiva, the apostles and disciples gathered around Mary—in a word, the original Apostolic community. When the Devout spoke of their communities as sodali­ tates, and even more frequently as socitates, not of monasteries canonries or convents, they were describing an institution—the so-called “semi-religious life”—that although long unrecognized, has drawn increasing attention to itself since Vatican ii. The term describes those many forms of life and association

The “Devotio Moderna” and the New Piety 323 that have allowed believers to lead a spiritual life that was more intense than that of the laity but did not compel its adherents, like those who entered a religious order, to renounce the world and to abandon their social station. Its many forms ranged from loose confraternal organizations to brotherhoods to independent communities in which one could, without formal obligation and generally recognized rules, pursue personal holiness, perform charitable work and embrace a spiritual apostolate. It is not necessary to go into all of the forms and functions of this kind of life, nor to describe in every detail its role over the course of church history. What is of most interest here is that from the four- teenth century into the fifteenth, semi-religious life experienced an unprece- dented flowering. And this in turn meant that “informal groups” and “free religious associations” took shape not only in the northwest, but virtually all across Europe; and that beguines and beghards, penitential brothers and ter- tiaries, conversi and donati, hermits and recluses of both sexes emerged in great numbers. It meant, moreover, that they enjoyed high esteem—so much in fact that in certain circles the inherited “scale of perfection” could be turned on its head: the semi-religious believed themselves able to say that they had achieved the highest degree of perfection known to Christendom. Let us take these considerations a step further. Much of what we take as characteristic of the devotio moderna—the modesty of its way of life; its con- centration on the essence of Christian living; its devotion to the suffering and crucified savior, his mother under the cross, the penitent Mary Magdalen, the patrons of lepers and the ill, and its preference for the fathers of the early church and early monasticism over theologians who were formed by and who taught in the universities—none of these things were limited to the ranks of the Brothers and Sisters of the Common Life, the canonesses of Diepenveen and the Canons of Windesheim, nor to the many other advocates of lay piety between cloister and world that we have described under the rubric of semi- religious life. Such models and agendas were also present within the ranks of religious life itself, where in the fourteenth and especially in the fifteenth cen- tury reform movements embraced strict observance. In many of these cases we can prove the direct influence of the Devout in northwest Europe. In others, conversely, one can assume that the reformers had their own influence on the Devout. And in still other cases it must be said that there is no relationship at all between Observant reformers and the devotio moderna in the narrow sense. Rather, one must posit independent development from autonomous origins. We turn now to the reform movements influenced most directly from the devotio. Among the reform congregations of the Benedictines, the Bursfeld reform in lower Saxony was doubtless most strongly shaped by men who not only hailed from the heartland of the devotio moderna, but who were

324 chapter 9 influenced by it—figures like Johannes Dederoth and Johannes Hagen. We have already noted the congregation of S. Giustina in Padua in this connec- tion, and in the case of Subiaco we can also say for certain that in the four- teenth century many monks from north of the Alps visited that abbey in Latium, founded by Benedict himself, and were shaped by the spirit of the devotio moderna. And even though Cistercian reform was in full bloom only after the Council of Trent, it must not be thereby assumed that the order remained untouched by the new spirituality, and the devotio moderna in par- ticular. When at the beginning of the fifteenth century a union of reform- minded cloisters began to form, it happened in the borderland between the Netherlands and what is today lower Saxony, in the county of Bentheim and in the lower-Saxon province of Drenthe. Consider also the reform congrega- tion of Warmond, Sibculo and Ijsselstein, which inspired reform as far as Frisia and the upper Rhine. With respect to its organization, and especially its spirituality and the intentions of its priories, that congregation is rightly seen as nothing more and nothing less than a mirror of the devotio moderna, one that had shaped religious life throughout the region in which the union (col­ ligatio) had emerged. Similarly for the Premonstratensians: Like the founda- tion at Clarholz, the other male and female houses of the Norbertines in Westphalia and the Rhineland stood either directly or indirectly (as mediated through the Croziers) under the influence of the devotio moderna of the Netherlands. It will thus come as no surprise that a similar kind of mutual influence and congruity can be found among the Franciscans, Augustinian Hermits and Carmelites, all of which contributed to the formation of new Observant congregations and new foundations—such as the first German Carmelite women’s cloister in Geldern on the lower-Rhine, for example. An emphasis on humilitas as well as paupertas, and the retreat from without to within, can in these cases be understood as a return to the original intentions of the Poverello of Assisi and as a renewal of the vita eremitica that had begun in Tuscany and on Mount Carmel. But it is striking that the same can be said of the Dominican order: although some of their number turned emphati- cally against the Brothers of the Common Life precisely because they had challenged the prevailing norms of religious life, others in the reforming Congregatio Hollandiae found their spiritual orientation in the ideals of the devotio moderna. Through these discussions of its direct and indirect influence, we have clari- fied the context in which the devotio moderna took root in the Netherlands. But that is not the end of the matter. We should also speak of the similar phe- nomena that emerged elsewhere, before and independently of the pious movements of the Low Countries. The former had everything in common with

The “Devotio Moderna” and the New Piety 325 the latter, or at least with regard to the essential characteristics that have been seen as particular to the devotio moderna in the classic sense. To pursue this line of inquiry as thoroughly as is possible given the current state of research would produce a list longer than that of the institutions and movements asso- ciated with the devotio moderna of the Netherlands and lower Germany. The discussion must thus be limited to only a few examples. A sense of return com- parable to the devotio moderna can be found among the ranks of the regular clergy in the Bohemian canonry of Raudnitz on the Elbe, founded in 1353, as well as in the Cistercian abbey of Königsaal, founded already in the thirteenth century—which has inspired some to speak of a devotio moderna Bohemica. That this is not unjustified is made clear to anyone who has even glanced at the Malogranatum, a work compiled in Königsaal already before the middle of the fourteenth century. The work’s “reflexive-sensitive piety” is said to have had considerable influence on the lay religious movements of the devotio moderna in the Netherlands. In Venice it was not limited to the influence, noted above, on the reform of S. Giustina. Apart from what was then happening in the Netherlands, at S. Giorgio in Alga as well as S. Frediano in Lucca there emerged alliances of reform-minded canons whose structures, organization and spiri- tuality are comparable to those of the congregation of Windesheim. Alongside Venice and Lucca, mention should also be made of Siena, where the Dominican tertiary Catherine came to be at the center of a Sacra familia of clerics, laity and regular clergy in nearby Lecceto. At the same time Giovanni Colombini and his cousin Caterina founded the society of the Jesuati, a company of laity, men and women who like the Brothers and Sisters of the Common Life led a life devoted to God without the bonds of religious rules. It is unlikely that Geert Grote had any knowledge of these societies, which were still taking shape in his lifetime. One can also only speculate as to whether he came into contact with the Bohemian devotio as a student in Prague, which he may have been. But there is no doubt, as was noted above, that he had ties to the circle that surrounded Jan van Ruusbroeck at Groenendaal, and that he had at least heard of the clergy and laity who had gathered near Goch on the lower Rhine in the ‘30s to form a community of Brethren of the Common Life “avant la lettre.” There is no doubt that the Windesheimers saw what they were doing as no more than a pure novitiate. Rather, they saw the similarly organized and similarly minded communities of canons at Neuss and Sion, which later joined their congregation, as their brothers. But even this is not enough. In his writ- ings and in his numerous letters Geert Grote more than once made clear what had especially inspired his conversion and shaped his new spiritual life: the time he spent with the Carthusians of Monnikhuizen near Arnhem and the experience he had there with a spirituality and religious practice that tied

326 chapter 9 itself, like no other form of the vita religiosa in his day, to the origins of monas- tic and ascetic life. Something further is important to note in this connection: it was in no way self-evident that Geert Groote had occasion in his hometown to come to know the Carthusian way of life, or to cultivate friendly relation- ships with Carthusians like Henry of Coesfeld and Henry Egher of Kalkar. Monnikhuizen was a young foundation. When Grote made his way there it had existed for only a few decades, since 1335. The other Carthusian houses of the Rhineland and the Netherlands with which he was in contact (like their moth- erhouse in Cologne, S. Barbara) had also only been founded since the ‘30s of the fourteenth century. The Order’s history reached back to Bruno of Cologne and the Grand Chartreuse he founded in 1084. But by the late middle ages it could claim no settlements in northwestern Europe, and merely two in the Empire. Only in the ‘20s and ‘30s of the fourteenth century did it experience explosive growth. By century’s end, in the very places where the order was vir- tually unknown at its beginning, it could claim of more than 90 houses of con- templation, prayer, study and a systematically cultivated pursuit of salvation. It is not without reason, then, that we can see the Carthusians as the fashion- able order of the later middle ages, and as the driving force behind the New Piety. In order to place what is traditionally called the devotio moderna more fully in proper context, we would have to expand our circles of inquiry still further. We would have to show how even the lay piety of the later middle ages, now coming to occupy historians of virtually every color, took on features of what we have long recognized to be characteristic of the vita religiosa and the vita semireligiosa. We would also have to take into account changing models of the office and function of the priest, which found expression in figures like Jean Gerson and Pierre d’Ailly, among the humanists of the upper Rhine and in (among other things) the renewed appreciation of preaching. One would have to ask whether that which we take as characteristic of the spirituality of the religious orders and of semi-religious laity found equivalent expressions in the theology that many today describe as the “theology of piety.” Indeed, one would also have to take into account the theological deviations and “heresies” like those of , and even the pre-Reformation anticlericalism of the rural and urban underclasses. Only in these ways could one begin to describe in an appropriate way the nature, scope and impact of the many inflections of the New Piety that began to take on such importance from the fourteenth century. But description alone is not enough. One would have also to ask why this new kind of interiority emerged as it did; why there emerged such intensive con- cern with Holy Scripture and the church fathers, with the Passion, the cross and the grave of Christ; why there was a retreat from the festivals of a common

The “Devotio Moderna” and the New Piety 327 cult into individual prayer—why, in a word, there emerged so much of what we take to be characteristic of the Brothers and Sisters of the Common Life and the canons of Windesheim and Diepenveen; why the nobility (as a general rule) lost their monopoly on so many rural and urban religious houses, now modestly outfitted; why communities of enormous size, so often the rule in the high middle ages, were now the exception; and why the pattern of their endow- ments and their economy came to be so different from that of the orders of the high middle ages. To ask these questions is to open up an enormously complex field of inquiry. To begin to cultivate it requires us to answer questions that range far beyond the usual concern over the devotio moderna of the Netherlands and its relationship to other forms of the New Piety. There are many starting points to help explain all that we have described: a reaction to an affectivity shaped by what researchers have described (rightly or wrongly) as the result of “crisis”; expression of a dissatisfaction with a papacy driven into exile and torn by schism, with all of the consequences for church and religious life; renuncia- tion of a tradition of theology that seemed, no less than the church hierarchy, to have become an end in itself; disappointment at so many failed attempts at reform; the uncertainty unleashed by profound social change; the attempt to overcome the horrors of plague, war and devastation through the cultivation of the inner life; or, put more generally, the consequences of a social transfor- mation underway from the fourteenth century, one that witnessed a shift from a more rural society to an increasingly urban one, and one that afforded the laity a greater range of options than had been possible in the high middle ages. To provide a clear answer to these questions would demand a breadth of vision that historians do not normally possess. As a consequence, the issues are left to “philosophers” and “theoreticians” of history, each of whom has more than one model for the answers, and we are free to make of it all what we will. Despite such limitations it is important to return to the problem raised at the outset, and to seek an answer to the question of whether the new piety, and in particu- lar the devotio moderna, is in fact best seen as a phenomenon of the transition from the middle ages to modernity, between scholasticism and humanism, old and new faith. That we cannot speak of a direct causal connection has already been noted. But one can still maintain that the devotio moderna, in both its more narrow and in its broader senses, created a climate that one can describe as a precondition for both a multifaceted Reformation as well as the move- ments for Catholic reform that began in the fifteenth century and reached their highpoint at the Council of Trent. Perhaps no text offers better proof of these claims than the Imitatio Christi of Thomas of Kempen, a work that crossed all confessional divides to become a companion for all Christians on the way to a more interior and thereby deeper engagement with religious life.

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Yet none of this is to say that the phenomenon we have described here can only be read as a manifestation of the transition from medieval to modern. Neither the New Piety, found in virtually every corner of Europe in the later middle ages, nor the devotio moderna of the northwest, fits seamlessly into the process of an emerging modernity—however often that has been tried, and however often it is tried even today. To do so is to overlook the fact that this style of piety is in no way relevant only to the era circumscribed by the end of the middle ages and the beginning of modernity. Rather, it is a phenomenon that, with a certain regularity, has returned again and again over the long course of European history. It has appeared, and appears (in whatever kind of variations) whenever spiritual institutions grow unresponsive, when tradi- tional ruling classes begin to lose their prestige, when established powers fail and spiritual traditions lose their attraction. So it happened in the earliest days of Christianity, in the high and later middle ages, even in the modern era: monks and ascetics, Waldensians and Humiliati, beguines and begards, the Pietists opposed to an old Lutheran orthodoxy, the “solitaires” of Port Royal, the free churches in revolt from the high church tradition and, in the most recent past, Secular Institutes and Basic Ecclesial Communities—all of these have taken on the role of the Devout. They too have been tolerated and occa- sionally promoted, but also often suspect and scolded. So too were once the pious circles of the Netherlands that gathered around Geert Grote, who sought with him a renewal of the spiritual life—not, in the first instance, from their institutions, but among their own.

Bibliographical Note

The remarks made here are based on the following list of the author’s publica- tions, which have been published elsewhere, and the literature cited therein, as well as the work of his graduate students. Of the latter, special mention should be made in this connection of the dissertations of Gerhard Rehm, Die Schwestern vom gemeinsamen Leben im Nordwesten Deutschlands. Unter­ suchungen zur Geschichte der “Devotio moderna” und des weiblichen Religio­ sentums, Berliner Historische Studien 11, Ordensstudien 5 (Berlin, 1987) and, above all, Ulrich Hinz, Die Brüder vom Gemeinsamen Leben im Jahrhundert der Reformation: Das Münstersehe Kolloquium, Spätmittelalter und Reformation. Neue Reihe 9 (Tübingen, 1997). Of the author’s works, see “Die münsterlän- dischen Klöster Groß-Burlo und Klein-Burlo. Ihre Entstehung, Observanz und Stellung in der nordwesteuropäischen Reformbewegung des 15. Jahrhunderts,” in: Westfälische Forschungen 18 (1965), 23–42; “Die ‘Devotio moderna’ im

The “Devotio Moderna” and the New Piety 329

Weserraum,” in: Kunst und Kultur im Weserraum 800–1600. Ausstellung des Landes Nordrhein-Westfalen. Corvey 28.5.–15.9.1966, 1: Beiträge zu Geschichte und Kunst (Münster, 1966), 251–255; Die “Devotio moderna” im Weserraum, ibid., 2: Katalog, (Münster, 1967), 884–896; “Entstehung und Reform des belgisch-nie- derländischen Kreuzherrenordens,” in: Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 82 (1971), 292–313; “Mendikanten und Humanisten im Florenz des Tre- und Quattrocento. Zum Problem der Legitimierung humanistischer Studien in den Bettelorden,” in: Die Humanisten in ihrer politischen und sozialen Umwelt, ed. Otto Herding (Bonn-Bad Godesberg, 1976), 51–85; Westfälisches Zisterzien­ sertum und spätmittelalterliche Reformbewegung, in: Westfälische Zeitschrift 128 (1978), 9–32; (with Peter Feige) “Reformen und Kongregationsbildungen der Zisterzienser in Spätmittelalter und früher Neuzeit,” in: Die Zisterzienser. Ordensleben zwischen Ideal und Wirklichkeit. Katalog zur Ausstellung des Landschaftsverbandes Rheinland. Aachen 2. Juli—29. September 1980, ed. Kaspar Elm, Schriften des Rheinischen Museumsamtes 10 (Cologne, 1980), 243–54; “Verfall und Erneuerung des Ordenswesens im Spätmittelalter. Forschungen und Forschungsaufgaben,” in: Untersuchungen zu Kloster und Stift, Veröffen­ tlichungen des Max Planck- Instituts für Geschichte 68, Studien zur Germania Sacra 14 (Göttingen, 1980), 188–238; “Mendikantenstudium, Laienbildung und Klerikerschulung im spätmittelalterlichen Westfalen,” in: Studien zum städtischen Bildungswesen des späten Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit. Bericht über Kolloquien der Kommission zur Erforschung der Kultur des Spät­ mittelalters 1978 bis 1981, ed. Bernd Moeller, Veröffentlichungen der Göttinger Akademie der Wissenschaften, phil.-hist. Kl. 3, 137 (Göttingen, 1983), 586–617; “Die Bruderschaft vom Gemeinsamen Leben. Eine geistliche Lebensform zwischen Kloster und Welt, Mittelalter und Neuzeit,” in: Geert Grote en de Moderne Devotie. Voordrachten gehouden tijdens het Geert Grote congres. Nijmegen 27–29 September 1984 = Ons Geestelijk Erf 59 (1985), 470–96; “Die Franziskanerobservanz als Bildungsreform,” in: Lebenslehren und Weltentwürfe im Übergang vom Mittelalter zur Neuzeit. Bericht über Kolloquien der Kommission zur Erforschung der Kultur des Spätmittelalters 1983 bis 1987, ed. Hartmut Boockmann and Bernd Moeller, Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissen­ schaften in Göttingen, phil.-hist. Kl. 3, 179 (Göttingen, 1989), 201–213; “Johannes Kapistrans Predigtreise diesseits der Alpen (1451–1456),” ibid., 500–519; “Reform- und Observanzbestrebungen im spätmittelalterlichen Ordenswesen.­ Ein Überblick,” in: Reformbemühungen und Observanzbestrebungen im spätmit­ telalterlichen Ordenswesen, ed. Kaspar Elm, Berliner historische Studien 14, Ordensstudien 6 (Berlin 1989), 3–19; “Die Bedeutung Johannes Kapistrans und der Franziskanerobservanz für die Kirche des 15. Jahrhunderts,” in: S. Giovanni da Capestrano nella Chiesa e nella società dei suo tempo. Convegno

330 chapter 9 storico internazionale vi Centenario della nascità del Santo 1381–1981. Capestrano- L’Aquila, 8–13 ottobre 1986, ed. Edith Pásztor and Lajos Pásztor (L’Aquila, 1990), 100–120; “Heinrich von Ahaus,” in: Westfälische Lebensbilder 15 (Münster, 1990), 1–29; “Les Ordres monastiques, canonicaux et militaires en Europe du Centre- Est au bas Moyen Âge,” in: L’Église et le peuple chrétien dans les pays de l’Europe du Centre-Est et du Nord (XIVe–XVe siècles). Actes du colloque organisé par l’École française de Rome avec la participation del’Istituto polacco di cultura cristiana (Rome) et du Centre européen de recherches sur les congrégations et ordres reli­ gieux (cercor). Rome 27–29 janvier 1986, Collection de l’École française de Rome 128 (Rome, 1990), 161–180; “Tod, Todesbewältigung und Endzeit bei Bernhardin von Siena. Ein Beitrag zum Verhältnis von italienischem Humanismus und franziskanischer Observantenpredigt,” in: Conciliarismo, stati nazionali, inizi dell’umanesimo. Atti del xxv Convegno storico internazio­ nale Todi. 9–12 ottobre 1988, Atti dei Convegni dell’Accademia Tudertina e del Centro di studi sulla spiritualità medioevale ns 2 (Spoleto, 1990), 79–96; “Spätmittelalterliche Reformbemühungen unter den Zisterziensern im Rheinland und in den Niederlanden,” in: Die niederrheinischen Zisterzienser im späten Mittelalter. Reformbemühungen, Wirtschaft und Kultur, ed. Raymund Kottje, Zisterzienser im Rheinland 3 (Bonn, 1992), 3–20; “Anticlericalism in Medieval Germany,” in: Anticlericalism in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. Peter A. Dykema and Heiko A. Oberman, Studies in Medieval and Reformation Thought 51 (Leiden, 1993), 3–18; “Frömmigkeit und Ordensleben in deutschen Frauenklöstern des 13. und 14. Jahrhunderts,” in: Van Hadewijch tot Maria Petyt. Vrouwen en Mystiek in de Nederlanden [13de–17de eeuw]. Ruusbroec genootschap (ufsia) 5–7 sept. 1989 = Ons Geestelijk Erf 66 (1993), 28–45; “‘Propugnator et defensor totius ordinis’. Arnold van Monnickendam, Abt von Lehnin (1456–67) und Altenberg (1467–90),” in: “Vera lex Historiae.” Studien zu mittelalterlichen Quellen. Festschrift für Dietrich Kurze zu seinem 65. Geburtstag am 1. Januar 1993, ed. Stuart Jenks, Jürgen Sarnowsky and Marie-Luise Laudage (Cologne-Vienna- Weimar, 1993), 1–38; “Monastische Reformen zwischen Humanismus und Reformation,” in: 900 Jahre Kloster Bursfelde. Reden und Vorträge zum Jubiläum 1993, ed. Lothar Perlitt (Göttingen, 1994), 59–111; “Gelehrte im Reich. Zur Sozial- und Wirkungsgeschichte akademischer Eliten des 14. bis 16. Jahrhunderts. Ein Resümee,” in: Gelehrte im Reich. Zur Sozial- und Wirkungs geschichte akade­ mischer Eliten des 14. bis 16. Jahrhunderts, ed. Rainer Christoph Schwinges, Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung. Beiheft 18 (Berlin, 1996), 515–525; “Der Kleriker zwischen Kult und Verkündigung,” in: Paragrana. Internationale Zeitschrift für Historische Anthropologie 6 (1997/98), 29–44; “Reformbestre­ bungen und Reformen im Zisterzienserorden,” in: Zisterzienser zwischen Zentralisi­ erung und Regionalisierung. 400 Jahre Fürstenfelder Äbtetreffen—Fürstenfelder

The “Devotio Moderna” and the New Piety 331

Reformstatuten von 1595–1995, ed. Hermann Nehlsen and Klaus Wollenberg (Frankfurt am Main—New York, 1998), 71–87; “‘Vita regularis sine regula’. Bedeutung, Rechtsstellung und Selbstverständnis des mittelalterlichen und frühneuzeitlichen Religiosentums,” in: Häresie und vorzeitige Reformation im Spätmittelalter, ed. František Šmahel, Schriften des Historischen Kollegs. Kolloquien 39 (Munich, 1998), 239–73; “Studium und Studienwesen der Bettelorden: Eine ‘andere’ Universität?” in: Stätten des Geistes. Große Universitäten von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart, Alexander Demandt (Cologne— Weimar—Vienna, 1999), 111–126; “Eremiten und Eremitenorden des 13. Jahrhunderts,” in: Beiträge zur Geschichte des Paulinerordens, ed. Kaspar Elm, Berliner Historische Studien 32, Ordensstudien 14 (BerIin, 2000), 11–22; “Mythos oder Realität? Fragestellungen und Ergebnisse der neueren Zisterzienserforschung,” in: Unanimité et diversité cisterciennes. Filiations— réseaux—relectures du XIIe au XVIIe siècle. Actes du quartième colloque interna­ tional du cercor. Dijon, 23–25 ix 1998 (Saint-Étienne, 2000), 17–48; “L’italiano Cataneus de Traversagnis e l’olandese Jan van Abroek. Due riformatori dimen- ticati dei xv secolo,” in: L’Italia a la fine dei Medioevo: I caratteri originali nel quadro europeo. Atti dei Convegno InternazionaIe di Studio S. Miniato, 28 settem­ bre–1 ottobre 2000, Collana Studi e Richerche (Pisa, 2001), 210–45; “Riforme e osservanze nel xiv e xv secolo: una sinossi,” in: Ordini mendicanti e società politica in Italia e Germania: secc. xiv–xv, ed. Giorgio Chittolini and Kaspar Elm, Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento. Quaderni 56 (Bologna, 2001), 120–135; “Semireligiose Institutionen in Westfalen,” in: Westfälisches Klosterbuch. Lexikon der vor 1815 errichteten Stifte und Klöster von ihrer Gründung bis zur Aufhebung, ed. Karl Hengst, 3: Institutionen und Spiritualität (Münster, 2001), 43–60.

Index

Abelard, Peter 224 (St. Augustine) 46, 51, Acre 18, 60, 64, 65, 76, 118, 189, 191, 114, 128, 243, 309, 322; and Augustinian 198, 228 Hermits, 135–37; and Humanism, 129, Acts of the Apostles 246 130, 131, 132 Ademar of Chabannes 237 Augustinian Hermits 6–7, 12, 28, 117–18, 141, Adolf III, count of Schauenburg 201 188, 230, 292; and humanism, 121–37; Agricola, Rudolf 320 and Reformation, 163, 311; estimate of Albert of Aachen 207 numbers, 144, 149; in central Europe, 166 Albert of Montalceto 42 Augustinus Novellus 272 Albert of Sarteano 111, 163, 258 Avignon 91, 150 Albert, archduke of Austria 256 Alberti, Leon Battista 124 Badore, Bonsembianta 123 Albi (congregation) 165 Baldwin I, king of Jerusalem 59, 207, 208 Albrecht Achilles, margrave of Baldwin II, king of Jerusalem 72, 203, Brandenburg 264, 267 213 n. 95, 215 n. 103 Alexander IV, pope 128 Baldwin III, king of Jerusalem 65 Alexander the Great 119 Bandello, Vicenzo 119 Alexander V, pope 66 Barletta (priory) 61 Alexander VI, pope 190, 198, 199 Barnabites 188 Alexander VIII, pope 273 Bartholomew of Trent 28, 33 Alexians 101, 167, 293 Bartolomeo of Urbino 123 Alfonso I, king of Aragon 200, 217 Basel, council of 255, 256 Amadeans 34, 36 Basic Ecclesial Communities 328 Amadeus of Silva 34 Basil 45 Amalric, count of Ascalon 65 begards 144, 286-7, 291, 293 n. 49, 302, 328 Ambrosians 168 beguines 221, 232, 233–35, 242, 296-7, 322 Anabaptists 319 Belgrade 11, 270 Andrea della Robia 28 Benedict of Nursia (St. Benedict) 29, 46, Annecy (priory) 61 220, 309, 324 Anthony, hermit 21, 128, 131, 244, 307 Benedictines (Order of St. Benedict) 22, 83, Apopthegmata Patrum 45 160, 183, 323 Apostles 129, 131, 245, 308, 309 Benz, Ernst 49 Apostolic Brethren 167 Berkshire (convent) 105 apostolic ideal 246, 308–9, 322 Berlin, Free University of 7, 8 Aquila, city 258, 259 Bernard of Asti 35 Aquila, companion to Paul 308 Bernard of Clairvaux 210, 215, 221, 237 Aquinas, Thomas 29, 272 Bernardino of Siena 34, 111, 163, 258, 261, Arnold, Gottfried 312, 319 266, 272 Arnoldists 44 Bernardone, Pietro 42 Arnulf of Chocques, patriarch of Bernardus Primus 48, 241 Jerusalem 59, 80, 196 Berthold, count of Neuenburg 201 Arrouaise (congregation) 58, 97, 162, 225 Bethlehem (convent) 101 Attavanti, Paolo 118 Bethlehem, city 84, 107, 307, 308, 322 Aubin, Hermann 9 Béziers 48 Audet, Nicholas 165 Bielefeld School 7, 8 334 Index

Bielefeld, University of 7, 15 Carmelites (Order of the Brothers of the Biglia, Andrea 124, 132, 135, 137 Blessed Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel) Bilzen (convent) 105 39, 102, 114, 117, 118, 135, 136, 141, 144, 149, 151, Birgitta of Sweden 169 163, 165, 166, 176, 183, 230, 292, 303, 324 Birgittines (Order of the Holy Savior) 168–9 Caroli, Giovanni 119 Black Death 22, 26, 150, 154, 156, 327 Carthusians 133, 134, 154, 223, 227, 322, Bogomil 44 325, 326 Bohemia 18, 38, 46, 61, 87, 88, 90, 91, 93, 142, Carvajal, Juan, cardinal 274 166, 167, 169, 176, 198, 260 Cassiciacum 308, 322 Bonaventura da Peraga 123 Catalayud (priory) 198 Bonaventure 29, 33, 115, 151, 272 Cathars 48, 237, 238, 239, 240, 245 Bonet-Maury, Gaston 319 Catherine of Siena 36, 130, 170 Bonus, Johannes 47, 50 Celestine III, pope 65, 66 Bouvignes 103 Cellites 293 Bracciolini, Poggio 111, 113, 123 Celmentia van Abroek 100 Brandsma, Titus 320 Charles IV, king of Bohemia and Breslau 261, 269 emperor 176, 193 Brogliano 162 Charleville 103, 105, 106 Bronnbach (convent) 158 chastity 44, 59, 93, 95, 133, 233, 235, 236, 243, Brother Giles 33 302, 306 Brother Leo 33 Chaucer, Geoffrey 112, 231 Brothers and Sisters of the Common Life Chelmsford (convent) 104, 105 108, 287, 296, 306, 318, 321, 323, 325, 327 Chenu, Marie-Dominique 11, 27 Bruchsal (convent) 105 Chezal-Benoit (monastery) 160 Brugman, John 308 Chimay (convent) 102 Bruni, Leonardo 111 Christina of St. Trond 235 Brunner, Otto 9 and n. 19 Christopher of Varese 269 Bruno of Cologne 168, 223, 326 Cicero 119, 123, 136 Brunswick, duchy of 177, 187 Cimabue 52 Bucer, Martin 319 Circumcellians 45 Bullinger, Henry 319 Cistercians (Cîteaux) 13, 16, 63, 96, 141, 154, Bullot, Maximillian 277 161, 164, 215, 226 Burgkmaier, Thomas 271 Clare of Assisi 221, 227, 228, 229, 231, Bursfeld (reform congregation) 158, 160, 247, 263 171, 323 Clareno, Angelo 130 Busch, John 273 Clares 34, 229–30 Bussolini, Giacomo 256 Clement V, pope 91 Bynum, Caroline Walker 24 Clement VII, pope 35, 92 Clement VIII, pope 95 Caesarines 33 Cleve, county of 176 Caleruega 16, 28, 40, 47 Cluny 222 Calvary 107 Coelestines 33 Calvin, John 319, 321 Coletans 34 Camaldolese 135, 161 Colette of Corbie 34 Caperolani 34 Collegio Borromeo (Pavia) 10, 14 Cappuchins 35, 36 Columbini, Giovanni 168 Carcasonne 48 Commenda 163 Carholz (canonry) 183 common life (vita communis) 77, 131, Carl of Gonzaga, duke of Nevers 193 149–50, 196, 278, 315, 222, 318, 319 Index 335 conciliarism 139, 193, 272 Dominicans (Order of Preachers) 22, 26, 31, Concordat of Vienna 255 36–39, 49, 53, 291, 303, 309, 324, 325; confraternities 56, 62, 65, 66 nn. 47–49, decline of, 136, 141; estimate of numbers, 68–69, 79–80, 81, 83, 89, 93, 103, 107, 118, 144; and humanism, 111, 116, 119, 126; and 192, 193, 204, 213, 236, 237, 284, 286, 288, Observant reform, 163–66, 166, 170, 176; 290, 296, 303, 311, 313, 323 and religious women, 229–30 Confrèrie du Saint Sepulcre 193, 194 Dominici, John 36, 116, 163, 170 Connecte, Thomas 185 Dominico da Corella 119, 126 Conrad III, king of Germany 89 Donato da Cittadella 256 Conrad of Freystadt 263 Donchery (priory) 102 Conrad of Marburg 19, 221, 222, 247 Döring, Matthias 276 Conrad of Prussia 36 Douceline of Digne 235, 238 Conrad, bishop of Speyer 89 Doxan (canonry) 88 Conventuals (Franciscan) 34, 35, 36, 37, 185 Droyssig (priory) 61 conversi/ae 18, 42, 56, 70, 74, 78, 79, 83, 90, 91, Durandus of Aln 129 93, 97, 110, 181, 203, 220, 231, 291, 298, 323 Durandus of Huesca 48, 241 conversion 42, 228, 239, 271 n. 66, 317, 322, 325 Eberhard im Bart, count of Württemberg Counter-Reformation 21, 169, 188, 314, 316 199 Craon, forest of 223 Eberwin of Steinfeld 237 crisis 27, 46, 157–59 Ebrach (convent) 158 Croziers 38, 164, 166–67, 180, 230, 292, 324 Ebremar, patriarch of Jerusalem 59, 80 crusades, crusaders 1, 11, 12, 14, 15, 17, 30, 48, Edward IV, king of England 176 59, 85, 97, 189, 200, 212, 221, 244 Egbert of Schonau 237 Culembourg 68, 100, 176 Egher, Henry 326 cura animarum, see pastoral care Elias of Cortona 33 Cyprian 243 Elijah, prophet 29, 46, 53, 128, 131, 135, 308 Elisha, prophet 308 D’Ailly, Pierre 326 Elizabeth of Hungary (St. Elizabeth) 19, Daimbert of Pisa, patriarch of 220ff., 307 Jerusalem 196, 213 Elm, Kaspar 1–27; family origins and early Dalmatia 142 life, 3–5; early career and scholarship, Damian, Peter 47 11–15; education, 6–10; themes of Dante 29, 30, 54, 120 research and reception, 15–27 David of Augsburg 240 Elze, Reinhard 16 decretalists 310 English Ladies 108 decretists 310 Enlightenment 139, 278 Denkendorf (priory) 61, 72, 89, 98, 99, 100, Enoch 46 108, 198, 199 Erasmus of Rotterdam 36, 320 Devotio Moderna, see Modern Devotion eremitic life (vita eremitica) 7, 21, 23, 34–35, Dieburg, Peter 309 39, 46, 47, 114, 149, 167, 223, 236, 244, Diepenveen (convent) 108, 318, 323, 327 282, 294, 307, 324; and intersections Dini, Taddeo 119 with humanism, 128–36 Diogini da Borgo S. Sepolcro 123 Esclarmonde, countess of Foix 240, 328 Discalced Friars 34, 35, 36 Essen (convent) 158 Disciplinati 46 Essex 105 Domenico Capranica, cardinal 273 Eucharist 235 Dominic of Caleruega (St. Dominic) 15–16, Eugenius IV, pope 66, 93, 257 47–49, 50–52, 115, 151, 229, 239, 267, 309 Eyfeler, Nicholas 266 336 Index

Fabri, Felix 191 Gil, Marquise de Rada 86 Falkenhagen 180 Gilbert of Sepmringham 220, 224 famine 22, 150, 154 Gilbertines 221, 230 Fara, Nicholas 260, 265 Giles of Rome 130, 136 Ficino, Marsilio 120, 124, 133, 135 Giles of Viterbo 124, 132, 135, 188 Fidati, Simon 129, 156 Girolami, Remigio 119, 126 First World War 2, 105 Girolao da Napoli 123 Flaccus Illyricus 312 Girond im Wallis (congregation) 165 Flagellants 46 Glassberger, Nicholas 260 Flete, William 129 Glogovinca (priory) 61, 198 Fontevrault 224, 239 Godfrey of Bouillon 59, 70, 189, 195, 199 Fra Angelico 28 Goetz, Walter 6, 10, 12, 13 Francesco Filelfo 111 Gorze 158 Francis of Assisi (St. Francis) 15–16, 40–47, Gospel(s) 30, 40, 43, 44, 49, 50, 53, 148, 230, 50–52, 52; Little Flowers of, 40; 245, 246, 306, 311, 312, 315 Testament of, 42, 43, 53 Gozzoli, Benozzo 28 Francis of Jesi 35 Grand Chartreuse 168, 326 “Franciscan Question” 41 Gratian 298 Franciscans () 33–40, Great Hallelujah (1233) 46 136, 141, 212, 192, 198, 228, 234, 236, 292, Great Schism 22, 26, 150, 154, 327 303, 309, 324; and Humanism, 117, 118, Gregorian reform 244 128; estimate of numbers, 144; Gregory IX, pope (Hugolino of Ostia) 28, observance of poverty in the later 147, 248 middle ages, 146–49, 151–52; Observant Gregory XI, pope 66 reforms, 162, 164, 173, 176, 188 Gregory XIII, pope 35 Franz of Paola 168 Groenendaal 322, 325 Fraterherren, see Modern Devotion Groote, Geert 309, 326 Fraticelli 34, 37, 173, 258 Grundmann, Herbert 5–7, 9ff., 16, 20, 23, 24, Fratres della Cappuciola 34 27, 44 Frederick II, emperor 89 Gualbert, John 47, 223 Frederick III, emperor 199, 255, 256, 259, Guarino of Verona 112 260, 268 Guillabert de Castres 238 French Revolution 104, 105 Gymnasium Dionysianum 5 Fruttuaria 62 Gyrovagues 45 Fulcher, patriarch of Jerusalem 74, 76, 82, 215 Habsburgs 177 Fulk of Toulouse 235 Hamburger, Jeffrey 24 Hamm, Bernd 321 Galganus of Chiusdino, saint 42 Haskins, Charles Homer 23 Gambacorti, Pietro 168 Heimbucher, Max 278 Gartzen (priory) 101 Heimburg, Gregor 267 Gentile da Spoleto 34 Heloise 224 Gerald of Salles 223 Hélyot, Hippolyte 277 Gerard of Fracheto 28 Henry of Ahaus 317 Gerson, Jean 326 Henry of Coesfeld 326 Ghirlandaio, Dominico 28 Henry of Freimar 128,131 Gibelin, patriarch of Jerusalem 59, 80, 196 Henry of Segusio (Hostiensis) 297 Gierke, Otto von 312 Henry VI, king of England 176 Gil de Tarin, Guillerma 86 Henry, archbishop of Rheims 64 Index 337

Herding, Otto 7, 15, 28 Jesuits () 109, 188, 293 Hersende of Champagne 224 Jews 261, 269, 270 Hieronymites (Hermits of St. Jerome) 68, Joachim of Fiore, abbot 10, 24, 29, 48, 308 293, 168 Joachimites, Joachimism 130, 173, 29 Hildegard of Bingen, 231, 237 John della Valle 34 Hofer, Johannes 261 John of Capistrano 1, 11, 23, 34, 111, 255ff.; Holy Spirit 50, 130, 245 and the crusade of 1456, 270; and the Honorius III, pope 30 Jews, 269–70; career, 256–59; politics Hoogcruts (canonry) 100, 103 and diplomacy of, 267–69; preaching Horace 119, 120 in northern Europe, 259–67 Hospitalers (Order of St. John) 17, 19, 48, 61, John of Guadalupe 34, 35 70, 83, 97, 141, 146, 162, 167, 189, 191, John of Lier 235 193–94, 197, 200, 207, 208, 216, 219, 225, John of Prato 114, 121, 123 236, 299 John of St. Paul, cardinal 147 Huesca (priory) 76 John the Almsgiver 307 Hugh of Die 235 John XXII, pope 136, 193 Hugh of Floreffe 235 Jordan of Quedlinburg 130, 135 Hugh of Ibelin 65 Josephinism 104 Hugh of Payns 201, 211 Juan I, king of Castile and León 176 Hugolino of Ostia, cardinal (Pope Gregory IX) Jülich 103 28, 29, 30, 147, 228, 248 Jully (convent) 226 Huizinga, Jan 192, 320 Humanism (Studia humanitatis) 21, 121–23, Kastl (reform congregation) 160, 171 138, 174, 185, 312, 319, 320, 321 Kinrooi (convent) 100, 101, 105 Humbert of Romans 115 Knights of the Holy Sepucher (Ordo Equestris Humiliati 44, 54, 241, 300, 328 S. Sepulcri) 198ff; and Templars, 208–9; Hundred Years’ War 150, 176 customs and liturgy of, 210; historiography Hungary 11, 39, 61, 142, 160, 166, 167, 198, 257 of, 189–95; piety of, 218; religious context Hussites 93, 270 of, 203; conceptual frameworks for, 203–4; Huy 62, 102, 234 self-understanding of, 204 Hyma, Albert 319 Knorr, Peter 267 Kojata von Brüx 88 Innocent II, pope 19, 211 Königsaal (monastery) 92, 325 Innocent III, pope 30, 49, 209, 239, 241, Kristeller, Paul 116, 117 294, 300 Kulturkampf 312 Innocent IV, pope 38, 228 Innocent VII, pope 198, 199 La Vinadiére (priory) 61 Innocent VIII, pope 61 Ladies of Roubaud 235 Ivette of Huy 234, 235 Ladislaus Posthumus, duke of Austria and king of Hungary 255, 259, 260 Jan van Abroek 100 Lambert of Arras 80 Jannsen, Johannes 3–4, 10, 15 Lambert of Reims 64 Jansenism 321 Lamprecht, Karl 9, 10 Jena 262 Landulf of Milan 237 Jerome 114, 129, 220, 243, 308, 322 Langehim (convent) 158 Jeronimites, see Hieronymites Latin Empire of Constantinople 61, 197 Jerusalem 17, 59–60, 107, 110, 192, 194, 194, Lazarites 83, 189 198, 202, 205, 208 Le Bras, Gabriel 313 Jesuati 168, 325 Lecceto (hermitage) 129, 132, 136, 171, 325 338 Index

Leclercq, Jean 27, 208, 211, 212 Michael of Sicily 260 LeGoff, Jacques 27 Michele da Massa 123 Leipzig, University of 6, 9, 10 Miechów (priory) 61, 198, 199 Leo XIII, pope 35 Minims 168 León 65 Minorites, see Franciscans Lerner, Robert 24 Modern Devotion (Devotio Moderna) 15, 17, Lithuania 142, 166, 275 21, 23, 26, 108, 164, 184, 188, 242, 312, liturgy, liturgical 13, 28, 29, 53, 60, 63, 64, 66, 317ff. 73, 75, 76, 80, 82, 93, 100, 106, 107, 109, Möllenbeck (convent) 158 124, 146, 183, 194, 195, 196, 210, 214, 220, Monachus, patriarch of Jerusalem 64 233, 240, 243, 289, 296, 307 Monnikhuizen 317 Lorenzo de’ Medici 119 Monte Oliveto (monastery) 156, 165 Louis of Anjou 257 Monteripido (friary) 257 Louis VII, king of France 190 Montserrat (monastery) 160 Luca de Manetti 119 Monumenta Germaniae Historica 7 Ludwig von Erlichshausen 268 Mount of Olives 107 Lüttich 38, 50, 98, 100, 101, 108, 160, 166, Mt. Tabor (monastery) 83 234, 235 Münster, Wilhelms-Universität 5 Luynes (convent) 103 Murmellius, John 320 Lyon II, council 242, 303 Mussato, Albertino 112 Mutianus, Conrad 320 Maaseik (convent) 101 Magdalenes 38, 93 Nablus 69, 205 Magdeburg 262, 264, 294 Naldi, Naldo 123 Magna Mahumeria 69, 205, 206 Name of Jesus 261 Mainz 11, 102, 232 Narbonne 48 Malmedy 102 National Socialism (ndsap) 4 and n. 7, 9 Malogranatum, treatise 325 Naumann, Stephan 264, 267 Manetti, Gianozzo 124 Nazareth 84, 107, 208 Mantua (congregation) 163, 165 Neo-Thomism 138 Margarita of Ypres 235 Neufmousiter 62 Marienbourg (convent) 102 Neuss (congregation) 163, 325 Marienfeld (monastery) 183 New Devout, see Modern Devotion Marienstatt (convent) 158 New Testament 204, 243, 245 Marioni, Franciscus 272 Niccoli, Niccolò 122, 124, 133, 134 Marsigli, Luigi 121, 122, 123, 135 Nicholas of Myra 307 Martin of León 48 Nicholas V, pope 255, 256, 274, 276 Mary d’Oignies 234, 235, 243, 309 Nicolas de Mirabilibus 119 Mary Magdalen 21 Nider, John 36 Masuccio Salernitano 111 Niewstadt (priory) 101 Matteo da Bascio 35 Nijmegen 105 Maximilian I, emperor 199 Nilus of Rossana 46 Mechtild of Hackeborn 231 Norbert of Xanten 15, 48, 221–23, 229, 294 Melanchthon, Philip 311 Norbertines, see Premonstratensians Melisende, queen of Jerusalem 65 Nuremberg 261 Melk (monastery, reform congregation) 160, 171 Oberman, Heiko, 317, 321 Melville, Gert 25 Oblation, oblates, oblatae/i 18, 69, 70–73, 76, Merlo, Grado 281 8, 86, 110, 208 Index 339

Observant movement 1, 22, 24, 111, 140, Paulines (Pauline Hermits) 168, 292 160–87, 273 Peralada (convent) 72, 76 Octavian 119 Perugia 64, 60, 61, 76, 78, 99, 110, 198, 198, Odonis, Gerard 156 248, 257, 258 Oecolampadius 319 Peter of Alcantara 35 Oeslinger, Cornelius 99, 100 Peter of Bruis 44 Olivetans (congregation), see Monte Oliveto Peter of Staufenberg, lais 201 Olivi, Peter John 120, 272 Petrarch, Francesco 123, 132, 133, 135 Oratorians 188, 321 Petronilla of Chemillé 224 Order of Friars Minor, see Franciscans Petrus Monachus 218 Order of Hermits of St. Jerome, see Petrus Tudebodus 218 Hieronymites Pexiora (Puysubran) 208, 216 Order of Mountjoy 189 Philip VI, king of France 193 Order of Preachers, see Dominicans Phillip II, king of Spain 193 Order of St. Benedict, see Benedictines Piccolomini, Aeneas Silvius 255, 256, 261, Order of the Brothers of the Sword, see Sword 264, 273, 274, 276 Brothers Pico della Mirandola 119 Order of the Holy Savior, see Birgittines piety 14, 16, 27, 38, 45, 46, 107–08, 134, 144, 150, Order of the Holy Sepulcher (Ordo 177, 183–84, 218, 221, 222, 225, 244–46 Canonicorum S. Sepulcri) 14, 18, 55ff., 164, Pisa, council of 215 166, 167, 176, 195–99, 225; canonesses and Pius IX, pope 194 religious women associated with, 85–109; Pius XI, pope 194 clergy associated with, 77–82; daughter Pius XII, pope 194 houses and congregations of, 61; fraternal plague, see Black Death affiliations with (fratres, sorores), 65–73; Podiebrad, George 274 historiography of religious communities Poland 61, 142, 166, 167, 177, 195, 198 surrounding, 55–58; origins of chapter of, Ponce, bishop of Clermont 239 59–60; relations with patriarch of Poor Catholics 300 Jerusalem, 61–64 Poor Hermits of St. Jerome, see Hieronymites Orendel, lais 201 Poor of Lyon, see Waldensians Osma 47 Poppo, count of Wertheim 200 Otto III, margrave of Brandenburg 94 poverty (paupertas) 6, 24, 34, 36, 38, 42, Ovid 120 44–45, 48, 50, 53, 59, 93, 95, 108, 127, 133, 147, 152–53, 167, 186, 221, 228, 233–35, Pachomius 45 239, 243, 247, 282, 318 Palatinate 177, 180 preaching 7, 13, 37–38, 48, 113, 127, 136, 223, Pannonhalma (monastery) 160 240–41, 245, 255ff., 326 Paoluccio (Paolo) de Trinci, 34, 162 Premonstratensians (Order of Prémontré) Paraclete 224 82, 88, 96, 141, 154, 151, 183, 222, 224, 225, Paradiso degli Alberti (Florence) 121, 171 226, 264, 294, 324 Paschal II, pope 59, 196 Priscian 120 Passau 92 Priscilla, companion to Paul 308 Passavanti, Jacobo 119 proprietarii (propertied religious) 148 Passion of Christ 93, 107, 326 Prouille (convent) 229 pastoral care (cura animarum) 7, 13, 31, 39, Prussian League 268 49, 60, 100, 128, 129, 146, 151, 220, 225, 229, 230, 240, 291 Rainer of Pisa, saint 42 Paul of Thebes 21, 128, 131, 244 Ralph Glaber 237 Paul VI, pope 194 Ramla 207, 208 340 Index

Raudnitz 160, 325 S. Maria del Carmine (Florence) 118, 125 Raymond of Capua 33, 163 S. Maria delle Selve (congregation) 165 Recollects 35 S. Maria di Fregionaia (Lucca) 161, 164 Reformati 35, 36 S. Maria di Reno 161, 164 Reformation 3, 21, 22, 98, 138, 280, 184, S. Maria Latina 216 185–86, 187, 199, 275, 282; and S. Maria Novella (Florence) 119–21, 125 semi-religious life, 311–16 S. Maria of Monte Senario 171 Regula Bullata 229 S. Odiliënberg 99, 100, 105 Remoboth 45 S. Pietro in Ciel d’Oro 164 Remonstrants 319 S. Rufus (congregation) 196, 58, 162 Research Center for the Comparative History S. Salvatore (Bologna) 161 of Religious Orders (fovog), S. Salvatore in Lecceto (Siena) 171 Dresden 25 S. Sisto (Rome) 229 Revius, Jacobus 319 S. Trond (Brugge) 235 Richard of Mediavilla 272 S. Truiden (convent) 101 Robert of Arbrissel 223–24, 229 S. Walburge 102 Robert, king of Sicily 216 Sack Brothers 230, 292 Roberto de Rossi 122 Salem (convent) 158 Roermond 99, 101 Salutati, Coluccio 116, 122, 123 Roger, king of Sicily 208 Santiago de Compostela 62 Rokyzana, John 274 Sarabites 45 Romuald of Ravenna 46, 223 Saragossa (convent) 86, 87, 91, 92, 94, 95 Rottenmünster (convent) 158 Savonarola, Girolamo 39 Rudolf, count of Pfullendorf 201 Saxony, duchy of 177, 187,232, 260, 318, 322 Rule of Augustine 59, 93, 148, 168, 210, 303, Schatzgeyer, Kaspar 185 318 Schieffer, Theodore 11 Rule of Benedict 45, 201, 228, 230, 303 Schneider, Reinhard 16 Rutebeuf 112 Scholastica, saint 220 Ruusbroec, Jan 322, 325 Second World War 10, 105 Secular Institutes 281, 328 S. Agatha (Lüttich) 103 Semi-religious life (Semireligiosentum, vita S. Agnese (Bologna) 229 semireligiosa) 14–15, 19–20, 21, 24, 26, 125, S. Annunziata di Sturla (Genoa) 164 144–45, 277ff.; and circles of the Holy S. Benito (Valladolid) 160 Sepulcher, 56–57; and historiography of S. Blaise 277 religious women, 232; and Reformation, S. Croce (Florence) 120–21, 125 311–15; and women’s religious life, 220ff, S. Damiano 46, 228–29 290–91; conceptual frameworks of, S. Domingo (Madrid) 229 282–296; historiography of, 277–82; legal S. Frediano (Lucca) 321 frameworks for, 297–306; outsiders’ views S. Giorgio in Alga (Venice) 161, 164, 188, 325 of, 295; self-understanding of, 307–311; S. Giovanni della Carbonaria (Naples) 171 variety and functions of, 236–37, 283–84, S. Giustina (Padua) 160, 164, 170, 171, 321, 290–96 324, 325 Seneca 119 S. Helena (Avroy) 103, 104 Servites 39, 43, 117–18, 135, 136, 151, 165, 230, S. James (Lüttich) 160 297 S. Leonard (Aachen) 99 Sidon 84 S. Lucia (Perugia) 198 Siger of Lille 235 S. Marco (Venice) 124, 201 Simone da Cascina 119, 125 S. Maria Annunziata (Florence) 118, 125 Simone Fidati da Cascia 129 Index 341

Sion (congregation) 103, 325 universities 120, 121, 124, 131, 170, 174, 249, societas 20, 212, 303–308 267, 323 Soviet Union 11 Ursulines 102 Spagnoli, Battista 163 Ut sacra ordinis, bull (1446) 257 Speyer 71, 78, 88, 89, 90, 167 Utraquists 270 Spirituals 34, 36, 39, 114, 130 stabilitas loci 151 Valla, Lorenzo 112 Stations of the Cross 107 Van Engen, John 321 Staubach, Nicholas 321 Vangelista da Pisa 123 Stephen of Bourbon 240 Varro 137 Strayer, Joseph 23 Vatican II, council 11, 20, 138, 280, 322 Studia humanitatis, see Humanism Vauchez, André 27, 313 studium generale, see universities Vegio, Maffeo 132 Subiaco 160, 171, 324 Verviers (convent) 102 Succio, Thomas 168 Vespasiano da Bisticci 123 Suetonius 120 Vienna, University of 255 Svetec (convent) 87, 88, 81, 93 Vierzon (convent) 103 Sword Brothers 189 Villach 259–60 Syneisaktism 223, 243 Virgil 119, 120 Virgin Mary, saint 101, 119, 244, 245, 248, 307, Tart (convent) 226 322 Templars 1, 7, 18, 19, 48, 70, 83, 141, 189, 191, Visé (convent) 103 195, 197, 200, 207, 211, 216, 217, 219, 225, Vita mixta 131, 135 236, 299 Vitalis of Savigny 48, 223 tertiaries 14, 24, 101, 144, 236, 290, 293, 296, 304, 306, 323 Waldensians 44, 45, 48, 239, 240, 241, 245, Teutonic Knights (Teutonic Order) 84, 97, 300, 328 162, 189, 207, 268 Waldo 42, 44 Theatines 188 Warmund, Patriarch of Jerusalem 59, 62, 210 Theoboald II of Navarra 94 Weber, Max 25, 151, 313–14 and n. 96 Theresa of Avila, saint 220 Wiener Neustadt 259–60 Thomas of Cantimpré 235 William III, earl of Warren 202 Thomas of Celano 28, 30, 46 William of Cremona 272 Thomas of Kempen 327 William of Malavalle 13, 47 Tolomei, Bernard 156 William, duke of Saxony 262 Tongeren 103 Williamites 12–14, 16–17, 161, 166, 180 Toulouse 48, 50, 237, 239 Wimpfeling, Jacob 320 Traversari, Ambrogio 124 Windesheim (congregation) 100, 101, 108, Trent, council of 95, 324, 327 161, 176, 181, 318, 321, 323, 325, 327 tria substantialia 59, 93, 95, 133, 146, 233, Wittelsbachs 177 306 Woltmann, Eberhard 264 Trithemius 311 Wyclif, John 112, 136, 184, 310 Troeltsch, Ernst 151 Xanten 2–5, 10, 15 Turnhout 103 Ximinéz de Cisneros, Garcia, cardinal 321

Ubertino da Casale 120 Zderas (priory) 76, 88, 91–92, 94 Ullmann, Cark 312 Zwingli, Huldrych 319