Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400-1550): Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting through the Continuum of Sacred and Secular (New Communities of Interpretation) 9782503590813, 2503590810

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Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400–1550)

New Communities of Interpretation

Contexts, Strategies, and Processes of Religious Transformation in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe

Volume 1 General Editors Sabrina Corbellini, Rijksuniversiteit Groningen John Thompson, Queen’s University Belfast Editorial Board Pavlína Rychterová, Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften Ian Johnson, University of St Andrews Géraldine Veysseyre, Institut de recherche et d’histoire des textes (CNRS), Université Paris IV-Sorbonne Chiara Lastraioli, Centre d’Études Supérieures de la Renaissance (CNRS), Université François Rabelais, Tours Pawel Kras, John Paul II Catholic University of Lublin / Katolicki Uniwersytet Lubelski Jana Pawła II Marina Gazzini, Università degli Studi di Milano Statale Marco Mostert, Universiteit Utrecht Rafael M. Pérez García, Universidad de Sevilla

Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400–1550) Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting through the Continuum of Sacred and Secular

Edited by Suzan Folkerts

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© 2021, Brepols Publishers n. v., Turnhout, Belgium. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. D/2021/0095/16 ISBN 978-2-503-59081-3 eISBN 978-2-503-59082-0 DOI 10.1484/M.NCI-EB.5.121128 Printed in the EU on acid-free paper.

Table of Contents

List of Illustrations

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Preface

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Introduction Religious Connectivity as a Holistic Approach to Urban Society Suzan Folkerts11 Urban Society and Lay-Religious Communities Notes on Confraternities in Italian Communes and Signories Marina Gazzini21 Religion as a Connecting Force in the Late Medieval City of Utrecht The Religious Life of Alderman and Mayor Dirck Borre van Amerongen (c. 1438–1528) Cora Zwart43 Fleshers, Saints, and Bones Connectivities that Transcend the Sacred-Secular Divide within the Medieval Scottish Burgh of Perth Megan Edwards Alvarez75 Dit boec heft gegeven Book Donation as an Indicator of a Shared Culture of Devotion in the Late Medieval Low Countries Johanneke Uphoff99 Recycled Piety or a Self-Made Community? The Late Medieval Manuscripts of the Tertiaries of SintCatharinadal in Hasselt An-Katrien Hanselaer125 The Re-Use of Melodies as an Indication of the Connection of Religious Song to the Urban Environment Cécile de Morrée157

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Caxton’s Press and Pilgrimages Shaping Groups of Travellers into a New Community of Interpretation? Delphine Mercuzot185 How Figures of the Bible Connected Printers, Artists, and Friends (1538–1576) Elsa Kammerer215 The Coalman and the Devil Carbonaria Fides and the Limits of Lay Religious Knowledge María José Vega239 People, Passion, and Prayer Religious Connectivity in the Hanseatic City of Deventer Suzan Folkerts263 Index of Manuscripts, Archival Sources, and Copies of Incunables 277 Index of Names and Places

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List of Illustrations

Cora Zwart Figure 3.1. Owner’s mark and Easter dates, written by Dirck Borre van Amerongen, The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, MS KW 128 D 9, fol. 293v.44 Figure 3.2. Heraldry of the Borre van Amerongen and Trinde families in the Album amicorum of Hendrick van der Borch, The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, MS KW 76 H 5, fol. 23v.50 Figure 3.3. Extended gloss in the Nuttelijc boec, written by Dirck Borre van Amerongen, The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, MS KW 128 D 9, fol. 128v.58 Figure 3.4. Stadtbrief written by Dirck Borre van Amerongen, Utrecht, Het Utrechts Archief, Access no. 709 (Bewaarde Archieven ii), inv. no. 350. 61 Figure 3.5. Anonymous, Portrait of Dirck Borre van Amerongen and Maria van Snellenberch, Rotterdam, Museum Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. no. 2464 (OK). Picture by Studio Tromp, Rotterdam. 64 Johanneke Uphoff Table 5.1. Contents of manuscript Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, LTK 318.

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An-Katrien Hanselaer Table 6.1. Manuscripts from Sint-Catharinadal in Hasselt.

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Cécile de Morrée Table 7.1. Melody references using incipits of profane texts in Middle Dutch printed songbooks. Table 7.2. Melody references using incipits of profane texts in Middle Dutch song manuscripts. Table 7.3. Owners of Middle Dutch song manuscript collections.

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Elsa Kammerer Figure 9.1. Anonymous annotation commenting Ezekiel 37. 1–14 in Georg Böhne’s Stammbuch or liber amicorum, which is an interleaved copy of Neuwe biblische Figuren (s.l., [1564]), Weimar, Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek, MS Stb 358, fols 48v–49r.230 Figure 9.2. Sigfried von Pohleim und Warttenburg’s annotation in Georg Böhne’s liber amicorum in Wittenberg on 5 June 1565 (Samson destroying the temple, Judges 16. 25–30), Weimar, Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek, MS Stb 358, fols 27v–28r.232 Suzan Folkerts Figure 11.1. Paul’s Letter to the Romans in the New Testament translation of the Modern Devotion. Manuscript from the sisters of the common life of the Brandeshuis in Deventer (1460), Deventer, Athenaeumbibliotheek, MS i, 9 (101 F 17 KL), fols 8v–9r.266 Figure 11.2. Prayerbook of Catherine, widow of Kerstken, presum­ably ­written in one of the religious convents in Deventer (last quarter of the fifteenth century), Deventer, Athenaeumbibliotheek, MS i, 30 (101 E 9 KL), flyleaf and fol. 1r. 269 Figure 11.3. Incipit of Speculum exemplorum. Distinctio decima. Noviter conscripta (Deventer: Richard Pafraet, 1481), Deventer, Athenaeumbibliotheek, Inc. 245 (110 B 9 KL), fol. eee1r.273

Preface

In September 2015 a conference was organized at the University of Groningen with the title ‘Religious Connectivity. Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting in the Continuum of Sacred and Secular (1400‒1600)’. This conference was aimed at exploring a new approach to religious reading and devotion, with a special emphasis on the interaction between laypeople and religious people on the one hand and between laypeople and religious literature and practices on the other. The search for a new approach was part of a NWO-Veni research project on readers and reading practices of Middle Dutch Bible translations (‘From Monastery to Marketplace. Towards a New History of New Testament Translations and Urban Religious Culture (c. 1450‒1540)’, 2013‒2017). Although this was an individual project, I did not run it in isolation: the theme of religious reading was (and is) of central concern to many scholars. I would like to thank my former colleagues at the Faculty of Arts of the University of Groningen very much for the inspirational environment they provided. I participated in the ERC-SG project ‘Holy Writ and Lay Readers’ (2009‒2013) with Sabrina Corbellini, Margriet Hoogvliet, and Mart van Duijn.  This was followed not only by my own NWO project, but also by the NWO ‘Cities of Readers’ project; this research was undertaken by Sabrina, Margriet, Bart Ramakers, Johanneke Uphoff, and Joanka van der Laan (2015‒2019). The other people at the University of Groningen who helped me developing my ideas and whom I wish to thank are Catrien Santing, Mathilde van Dijk, and Cora Zwart. I discussed academia and the career step I took when my project came to an end and I accepted a position as curator of the heritage library Athenaeumbibliotheek Deventer with my Groningen colleague Babette Hellemans. I am not only indebted to my colleagues in Groningen, but to scholars from all over Europe as well, united in the COST Action ‘New Communities of Interpretation’ (2013‒2017). This COST Action provided a very inspiring platform of knowledge exchange. I learned a lot about European cultures of the past, but also about (academic) cultures of the present. I am grateful that this collection is published in the series coming from this COST Action. Furthermore, I would like to thank the speakers at the conference ‘Religious Connectivity’ who unfortunately could not contribute to this book. Many of them participated in the COST Action as well. Besides some Groningen colleagues I already mentioned, they are: Abigail Brundin, Laura Crombie, Riitta Laitinen, Kristof Papin, Marika Räsänen, Lianne van Beek, and Arie van Steensel. My deepest thanks go to the authors of this book, both for their

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contributions and for their patience. When I was in the final stage of finishing this book, I became not only curator of the Athenaeumbibliotheek, but also curator of an exhibition and editor of the accompanying book Deventer Boekenstad. Twaalf eeuwen boekcultuur aan de IJssel (Deventer, City of Books. Twelve Centuries of Book Culture). For a year and a half, these activities took all of my time. I am very happy that this book is now completed as well. Suzan Folkerts

Suzan Folkerts

Introduction Religious Connectivity as a Holistic Approach to Urban Society

Cultural History and Social History Over the past years, many projects have been developed around the subject of the increasing participation of laypeople in religious literature and culture in the late Middle Ages. I will merely mention the ERC Synergy Grant Project ‘Domestic Devotions: The Place of Piety in the Italian Renaissance Home, 1400–1600’ (2013‒2017), carried out in Cambridge under the supervision of Dr Abigail Brundin, Professor  Deborah Howard, and Professor  Mary Laven, and the NWO Free Competition in the Humanities project ‘Cities of Readers: Religious Literacies in the Long Fifteenth Century’ of Professor Sabrina Corbellini, Professor Bart Ramakers, and Dr Margriet Hoogvliet (University of Groningen, 2015‒2019). The series in which this collection is published derives from the COST Action ‘New Communities of Interpretation: Contexts, Strategies, and Processes of Religious Transformation in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe’ (2013‒2017), which was also chaired by Professor Sabrina Corbellini at the University of Groningen.1 These projects take the socio-cultural contexts of religious activities and artefacts into consideration and aim to study religious ‘products’ from different angles, such as spatiality, networks, and communities. Researchers of religious literature and culture make ever more use of social history approaches, such as social network theory. Corbellini’s previous ERC Starting Grant project was even called ‘Holy Writ and Lay Readers. A Social History of Vernacular



1 See the websites of Domestic Devotions and Cities of Readers respectively. Suzan Folkerts  •  is curator of manuscripts and old printed books at the Athenaeumbibliotheek Deventer. Previously she was a postdoctoral researcher at the Faculty of Arts of the University of Groningen. Her latest project, in which this collection has its origin, is ‘From monastery to marketplace. Towards a New History of New Testament Translations and Urban Religious Culture in the Low Countries (c. 1450–1540)’, funded by a Veni grant of NWO (2013–2017). Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400–1550): Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting through the Continuum of Sacred and Secular, ed. by Suzan Folkerts, New Communities of Interpretation, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), pp. 11–20 © FHG10.1484/M.NCI-EB.5.122092

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Bible Translations in the Late Middle Ages’ (2009‒2013). This new search for a material, socio-economic basis for cultural phenomena is what Peter Burke called ‘the revenge of social history’.2 The cultural history of society makes a place for social history of culture, also in the history of reading and the history of religion. In social history, on the other hand, religious activities and religious identities are treated as component parts of social life in civic societies. Themes such as memory and reading are considered the domain of social history as well as of cultural history. On the occasion of their retirement, the Belgian social-economic historians Hugo Soly and Catharina Lis reflected on developments in history and pleaded for a ‘new social history’; an eclectic or synergetic kind of history, in which mental and cultural processes are studied together with social processes.3 This collection and the conference that preceded it4 are organized around a theme and an approach where both research traditions meet, i.e. religious connectivity in urban communities. As I will explain in a moment, ‘connectivity’ is better understood as an approach, whereas urban communities should be considered a theme. Both the conference and the book aim(ed) to investigate how religious connectivity was established in late medieval urban communities and, from a slightly different angle, how producers and consumers of religious literature, artefacts, and rituals were engaged in the creation of social cohesion. During the conference, papers were presented by both literary and cultural historians and social historians, that addressed such questions, and in this collection an archaeologist has joined the company.

Religion and Society Although ‘connectivity’ seems to be a theme both cultural and social historians can respond to, ‘religion’ has its own dynamic and that is a problem we should tackle first. A few preliminary remarks are in order about modern thinking on the domain of religion, its place in (medieval) society, and in historical research. ‘Sacred’ (or ‘religious’) and ‘secular’ (or ‘profane’) should not be understood as opposite(s), but rather as a continuum. Dichotomies like these are the result of centuries-long thinking about the place of religion in society. In Religion Studies and in Theology, the debate centres on the secularization thesis. Thinking of religion as a domain to be studied apart from politics, culture, economics, and so on, is a post-Reformation, western approach to

2 Burke, What is Cultural History?, p. 114. 3 Interview with Hugo Soly and Catharina Lis in De Moeial: ‘De student is mondiger’. 4 Conference ‘Religious Connectivity. Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting in the Continuum of Sacred and Secular (1400‒1600)’, University of Groningen, 24‒25 September 2015.

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society. After the Reformation, religion increasingly became a private matter, the primitive other of Enlightenment’s reason, and an analytical category. As a private matter, religion would gradually disappear from public life. In Religion Studies and in Theology, the identification of modernization with secularization, the two of them going hand in hand, is called the ‘secularization thesis’. Some people even went so far as to state that religion has no data and ‘is solely the creation of the scholar’s study’.5 This line of thinking, based mainly on the Protestant tradition, is much criticized, because recent global developments show that religion is not a private matter, is not disappearing, and does indeed exist. Moreover, students of non-western religions cannot work with western dichotomies such as ‘faith’ and ‘reason’, ‘religion’ and ‘politics’, and have developed new thoughts and concepts for the study of religion in society. Religion is no longer seen as a private matter, and, in the words of Talal Asad, quoted by Manuel Vásquez, ‘religious symbols cannot be understood independently of their historical relations with nonreligious symbols or of their articulation in and of social life, in which work and power are crucial’.6 According to Vásquez and Asad, the concept of religion as private feelings and belief fails to describe non-western religion and — and this is important to this collection — it also fails to describe pre-Reformation western Christianity. It should make place for a concept of religion which also takes into account public rituals, power, and practice. These are exactly the phenomena we can study with the concept of connectivity, and these kinds of things have indeed been studied in our field already. To name but a few influential studies, one can think of Andrew Brown’s Civic Ceremony and Religion in Medieval Bruges of 2011, Eamon Duffy’s Stripping of the Altars of 1992, and Andre Vauchez’s The Laity in the Middle Ages of 1993, a translation of Les laïcs au moyen age, published already in 1987.7 If religion cannot be understood as a separate domain, and sacred and secular are no opposites, but have their place in a single continuum, how should we approach our subjects? Should we consider a holistic approach instead of an analytical domain-oriented approach? A holistic approach goes beyond all categories. The Oxford English Dictionary defines ‘holism’ as ‘a theory that parts of a whole are in intimate interconnection, such that they cannot exist independently of the whole, or cannot be understood without reference to the whole’.8 I use the term holistic in the title of this contribution, because I want to make clear we should avoid thinking in domains and dichotomies. But ‘holism’ remains a problematic term. As a system of thought, holism is a non-western approach to reality, ‘attending to the entire field, assigning

5 Jonathan Smith, cited in Vásquez, ‘Studying Religion in Motion’, p. 154. 6 Vásquez, ‘Studying Religion in Motion’, p. 156. 7 Brown, Civic Ceremony and Religion; Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars; Vauchez, The Laity in the Middle Ages. 8 ‘Holism’, Oxford English Dictionary online.

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causality to it making little use of categories and formal logic’.9 Such an approach is the very opposite of what (western) academics are used to doing, making use of categories and rules. How can we speak about the place of religion in society if religion cannot be spoken of as a category? Moreover, the concept of a ‘continuum’ is a linear one, and is not in line with holism either. In cultural history, however, holistic approaches have been embraced. Marc Bloch aimed for a holistic approach to history, combining all disciplines in order to address (medieval) society as a whole as best as possible. This kind of holism is perhaps too ambitious, and is not exactly what is aimed for in this collection. I just want to plead for an integrated study of social, cultural, and religious symbols and practices. However problematic the term ‘holistic’ may be, it is helpful in explaining how religion, just like gender, should always be taken into consideration when approaching pre-Reformation society. In their introduction to the collection Faithful Narratives: Historians, Religion, and the Challenge of Objectivity of 2014, Andrea Sterk and Nina Caputo wrote that historians of religion require almost supernatural skills. They — or rather we — must take religion seriously when we study religious culture. We need to find a balance between Divinity School ways of thinking about religion and reductionist approaches; the latter exclude the meaning of religion to the people studied.10 Sterk and Caputo argue, just like Vásquez quoting Asad mentioned above, that we should approach religion and religious expression as integral to the very framework of social organization. Studying connectivity is a way to do that.

Connectivity According to the Oxford English Dictionary, ‘connectivity’ in general means: the state of being connected or the degree to which two things are connected. In Computing, connectivity is the ability of electronic devices to connect, and from this field the term has been developed as a general theoretical concept. In Humanities, the concept has not been used very often, an exception being the article ‘Gender and Connectivity: Facilitating Religious Travel in the Sixth and Seventh Centuries’ by Courtney Luckhardt.11 This study is about connections and communication between places through the travels of holy women. In modern-day Media Studies, however, connectivity is used as a central concept, referring to human connections through the internet. Examples include a well-known book on social media called The Culture of Connectivity. A Critical History of Social Media by José van Dijck, and a study called Feminist Cyberethics in Asia: Religious Discourses on Human Connectivity,

9 Nisbett and others, ‘Culture and Systems of Thought’. 10 Sterk and Caputo, ‘Introduction’, p. 2. 11 Luckhardt, ‘Gender and Connectivity’.

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edited by Agnes M. Brazal and Kochurani Abraham.12 In Organizational Sciences, Darl Kolb also investigates the wider use (i.e. wider than the technological term) of the concept connectivity, in particular as a metaphor for intra- and inter-organizational interactions. He defines connectivity as ‘the mechanisms, processes, systems and relationships that link individuals and collectives (e.g. groups, organizations, cultures, societies) by facilitating material, informational and/or social exchange. It includes geo-physical (e.g. space, time and location), technological (e.g. information technologies and their applications) as well as social interactions and artefacts, including shared histories, travel, trade, migration, culture, politics and other social activities’.13 Another scholar who uses connectivity as a key concept is Luis Lobo-Guerrero, a specialist in Global Politics. He approaches sites or places, such as ports, as ‘knots’, points where the domains of commerce, tax policy, politics, and so on meet, as a way to understand connectivity within contemporary geopolitics. In his view connectivity is an effect of the commercial, economic, human, and political flows or conjugation and interaction in a specific space.14 Lobo-Guerrero, and also Kolb’s, use of metaphors for space, flows, and networks (knots) is worth noting; these metaphors will be discussed in greater detail below. The aforementioned studies of Kolb and Lobo-Guerrero do not mention religious activities or the religious domain. Concerning religion, Manuel Vásquez’ article ‘Studying Religion in Motion: A Networks Approach’ proved to be very helpful.15 His area of expertise is the intersection of religion, immigration, and globalization in the Americas. In particular, he has focused on contemporary transnational religious networks. In his article he reflects on a methodology for the study of religion. Searching for a tool for studying

12 Van Dijck, The Culture of Connectivity; Brazal and Abraham, eds, Feminist Cyberethics in Asia. 13 Kolb, ‘Exploring the Metaphor of Connectivity’, p. 128. This article responds to a thematic issue on ‘Connectivity’ of the journal Organization Studies, published in 2005, in which was stated that ‘Here, “connectivity” can be understood as a metaphor that highlights the complexities, interconnected processes and synchronized activities in organizations and their contexts. We can conceive of dyadic connections between the merging firms at sub-organizational and organizational levels as well as between different social actors. […] These connections are embedded spatially within local, regional and national geographies and temporally in a process or series of processes. A focus on “connectivity” can thus bring to the fore such linkages, interdependencies, coordination questions and power implications that easily pass unnoticed when examining ‘isolated’ M&A projects’. Angwin and Vaara, ‘Introduction’, pp. 1445–53. 14 Lobo-Guerrero, ‘Connectivity as the Strategization of Space’, pp. 311–12. On his University of Groningen website he writes in 2015: ‘Global Connectivities is a research initiative that seeks to explore ideas of connectivity derived from political, economic, social, cultural, and religious interaction and their effects in creating spaces of governance. Connectivity is here understood in all dimensions, from the nano to the astro, from the cell to the sentiment, from the material to the spiritual. Thinking connectivity is a reflection on the relational character of being, a reflection that invites interrogations on categories of thought such as the ‘global’, the ‘national’ and the ‘international’ through which the aspiration of political community in the ‘West’ has traditionally been thought about’. 15 Vásquez, ‘Studying Religion in Motion’.

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religion in motion, he reviews three clusters of metaphors: spatial metaphors, such as landscapes, maps, fields, and geographies — which are also used very often in cultural and social history —; hydraulic metaphors, such as flows and streams, and models of relationality and connectivity, such as networks, webs, and pathways. He considers the latter to be the best way to describe mobile religion in the Americas, and, more importantly, we can use his concepts for our holistic approach to religion in a past era. How can we approach religion and religious symbols and activities through the concepts of connectivity and networks? First of all, networks should be considered as relational processes, rather than as static systems. A danger in studying networks is that the structure of a network itself says very little about the relationships comprising it. A network could also easily be described as an actor with its own intentionality. Vásquez argues that we should never forget that human beings are acting on networks, and not the other way around. He stresses that networks should be considered as dynamic processes: ‘As temporal and spatialized forms of relationality, networks are also negotiated “phenomenological realities” consisting of narratives, practices, cognitive maps, and microhistories. In other words, meaning, orientation, and intentionality are not just commodities that circulate but are constitutive of the networks themselves’.16 Connectivity may well be just the concept we need here. The research questions Vásquez poses next are very familiar to scholars in our field. He writes, for example, that ‘we might study how religious elites adapt doctrines and ritual practices to particular localities and how locals creatively appropriate the teachings, opening the way for heresies and other forms of religious innovation’.17 Considering all studies mentioned, the concept of connectivity is not so much a theoretical term as a methodological tool to analyse and describe human relations and human communication in (dynamic) networks, transgressing the boundaries between political, economic, social, cultural, and religious domains or areas. The term originated as a description of technical connections (i.e. connections between machines in networks),18 and analogous to this, ‘religious connectivity’ can serve as a description of religious connections (i.e. connections between people, religious activities, and religious artefacts in networks, which may be communities or spatial areas). By using the lens of religious connectivity rather than focusing on religious networks or spaces, we are able to investigate dynamics and processes instead of stability. Focusing on dynamics and processes is crucial for our understanding of the relation between sacred and secular. In conclusion, connectivity seems a useful tool for studying the sacred in relation to the secular in late medieval communities. It offers us a lens through which to view networks of people, their activities, and their artefacts.

16 Vásquez, ‘Studying Religion in Motion’, p. 169, quoting White. 17 Vásquez, ‘Studying Religion in Motion’, p. 172. 18 Kolb, ‘Exploring the Metaphor of Connectivity’, pp. 128–29.

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Urban Communities The contributions in this collection demonstrate that by using a connectivity approach, cultures of shared piety and interactions between people, texts, and religious practices are revealed that a.) were not put at the centre of investigations earlier, and b.) show that similar processes of emancipation and appropriation took place in different places in Europe. Before presenting the case studies in this volume, a word about the urban communities in which people lived and interacted. We are not only referring here to slightly abstract ‘communities of interpretation’ or ‘textual communities’ — the networks around the common understanding and use of religious practices and texts —, but also to concrete urban communities as a whole, and smaller communities within towns or cities. Cities were formed as communes, coniurationes, or Eidgenossenschaften, and were also called as such. The voluntary bond of an oath between equal freemen was the basis for the new communes. One could describe social cohesion and connectivity in medieval cities as the defining elements of a medieval city. Freed from the old bonds of serfdom, people sought new forms of corporate life, the most common being the confraternities and guilds. All forms of corporate life had the same aspiration: to seek the common good, welfare and virtue for their members and to live in solidarity and togetherness.19 In modern-day research, the term ‘guild’ is often narrowed down to craft guilds and merchants’ guilds, but essentially a guild is the same as a confraternity: an institution based on voluntary mutual obligation. The narrow definition of guilds developed because of the predominant interest of economic historians in the topic. Lately, the non-economic functions of guilds and confraternities are being studied as well, such as their roles in social care, political culture, and cultural or religious rituals. The contribution of Marina Gazzini to this volume is precisely about the broader cultural functions of Italian confraternities. Gazzini uses statutes as a source for authoritative religious models for confraternity members. Confraternities, she concludes, are an essential part of the ‘great educational project’ in communal society. The education of morals was a central function of confraternities.20 Cora Zwart also studies the religious formation of an urban citizen, but approaches him as an individual seeking his way among sometimes hostile communities. She demonstrates how a dedicated search for sources concerning one person and his family can disclose a rich story on the religious connections a person entered into, using Ninian Smart’s seven dimensions of the sacred. Both Gazzini and Zwart explain how people connected with each other through obtaining religious knowledge. They

19 Black, Political Thought in Europe, pp. 14–33; Reynolds, Kingdoms and Communities, pp. 67–78; Prak, Citizens without Nations. 20 In the paper held at the Religious Connectivity conference, Laura Crombie demonstrated this as well for the Ghent Masons’ guild.

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demonstrate, without explicitly using the concept, how religious connectivity worked. A completely different approach is taken by Megan Edwards Alvarez, who as an archaeologist reflects on how the Fleshers’ craft in Scottish Perth dealt with death, Purgatory, and saintliness in their daily butcher’s practices. By using both archaeological and documentary sources, she discloses the connective lines between earthly practices and the hereafter as experienced by the fleshers. These first three articles are case studies on lay citizens embracing religious morals and practices, and they show how social cohesion took shape. The next three contributions focus on religious communities or the interaction of laypeople with religious people in the Low Countries. Just like Italy, the Low Countries were highly urbanized, and urbanized regions proved a fruitful ground for religious education and religious reform. Johanneke Uphoff demonstrates how laypeople and religious people formed eternal bonds through the practice of book donation. Using June Mecham’s concept of ‘cooperative piety’, she focuses on the shared religious culture and the appropriation of religious texts and knowledge by laypeople. Religious connectivity proves a useful concept to study the interaction between lay and religious. It also clarifies processes of religious education within religious communities. An-Katrien Hanselaer investigates how the tertiaries of Sint-Catharinadal shaped a reading programme for their novices using several textual traditions. Originally embracing the via media, tertiaries underwent a process of monasticization, and this development is also visible in the text corpus. Cécile de Morrée investigates the interaction between profane and religious song cultures. Religious songs were less dependent on profane songs than is often presumed, but in urban contexts the dependency of religious songs on profane songs proved to be quite strong. De Morrée innovatively includes the urban soundscape in her attempt to explain this phenomenon. With this, she brings the study of connectivity between religious and profane to another level. In my own contribution at the end of the book, I approach the Hanseatic town of Deventer as a place where people interacted and connected with each other particularly through religious knowledge and religious books. Although the contributions mentioned earlier were not exclusively dedicated to manuscript sources, the remaining three articles bring us from the Low Countries to other European regions and to print culture. Delphine Mercuzot aims to analyse the structure of the social, political, and religious networks that underlay the publication and diffusion of indulgences and of Caxton’s edition of the Life of Winifred. She studies the relationships between the actors involved in their production, and additionally investigates the relationship between a printer and a commissioner, thereby questioning how the printing press facilitated the emergence of pilgrims as a community of interpretation and how fifteenth-century religious practices changed. Elsa Kammerer takes us to the world of printed Figures of the Bible and discerns three connectivities: the interaction between printers and other actors in commercial networks, the connections between the religious and the aesthetic, and the interaction

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between people using these Figures of the Bible as libri amicorum. Often the contributors to such libri amicorum supplied a religious or profane interpretation of a selected biblical episode. María José Vega’s contribution has a pan-European perspective on an old story that not only crossed national boundaries, but also the boundary between the late medieval and premodern eras. It is the story about a dialogue between a coalman, a theologian, and the devil, which developed many versions throughout the (late) Middle Ages. All versions, however, represent the Catholic theologians’ fear for laypeople’s speech and knowledge of dogmatic matters, especially after the Reformation deepened controversies. I would add that they also reveal existing practices of laypeople’s Bible reading, while, in the sixteenth century, the story becomes a platform for the debate about laymen’s connectivity with the Christian faith.

Bibliography Secondary Works Angwin, Duncan, and Eero Vaara, ‘Introduction’, [Special Issue “Connectivity in Merging Organizations: Beyond Traditional Cultural Perspectives” of] Organization Studies, 26 (2005), 1445–53 Black, Antony, Political Thought in Europe, 1250–1450 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992) Brazal, Agnes M., and Kochurani Abraham, eds, Feminist Cyberethics in Asia: Religious Discourses on Human Connectivity (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014) Brown, Andrew, Civic Ceremony and Religion in Medieval Bruges (c. 1300–1520) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011) Burke, Peter, What is Cultural History?, 2nd edn (Cambridge: Polity, 2008) Cities of Readers: Religious Literacies in the Long Fifteenth Century [accessed 1 July 2019] ‘De student is mondiger als klant maar hij is minder assertief als vrijdenker’, De Moeial. Studentenblad van de Vrije Universiteit Brussel (13 October 2013) [accessed 15 July 2020] Domestic Devotions: The Place of Piety in the Italian Renaissance Home, 1400–1600 [accessed 1 July 2019] Dijck, José van, The Culture of Connectivity: A Critical History of Social Media (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013) Duffy, Eamon, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England (1400– 1580) (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992) ‘Holism’, Oxford English Dictionary online [accessed 2 July 2019] Kolb, Darl G., ‘Exploring the Metaphor of Connectivity: Attributes, Dimensions and Duality’, Organization Studies, 29 (2008), 127–44

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Lobo-Guerrero, Luis, ‘Connectivity as the Strategization of Space: The Case of the Port of Hamburg’, Distinktion. Scandinavian Journal of Social Theory, 13 (2012), 310–21 ———, [website] [accessed 1 October 2015] Luckhardt, Courtney, ‘Gender and Connectivity: Facilitating Religious Travel in the Sixth and Seventh Centuries’, Comitatus: A Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 44 (2013), 29–53 Nisbett, Richard E., Kaiping Peng, Incheol Choi, and Ara Norenzayanand others, ‘Culture and Systems of Thought: Holistic Versus Analytic Cognition’, Psychological Review, 108 (2001), 291–310 Prak, Maarten, Citizens without Nations: Urban Citizenship in Europe and the World c. 1000–1789 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018) Reynolds, Susan, Kingdoms and Communities in Western Europe, 900–1300, 2nd edn (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997) Sterk, Andrea, and Nina Caputo, ‘Introduction: The Challenge of Religion in History’, in Faithful Narratives: Historians, Religion, and the Challenge of Objectivity, ed. by Andrea Sterk and Nina Caputo (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2014), pp. 1–11 Vásquez, Manuel, ‘Studying Religion in Motion: A Networks Approach’, Method and Theory in the Study of Religion, 20 (2008), 151–84 Vauchez, André, The Laity in the Middle Ages: Religious Beliefs and Devotional Practices, ed. and intr. by Daniel E. Bornstein, trans. by Margery J. Schneider (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1993)

Marina Gazzini

Urban Society and Lay-Religious Communities Notes on Confraternities in Italian Communes and Signories

We were Jovial Friars, born in Bologna; my name was Catalano, his, Loderingo, your city made the two of us a pair, where usually a single man was chosen, to keep the peace within; and we were such that all around Gardingo the ruins can be seen. These are the well-known lines with which Dante condemns Loderingo degli Andalò and Catalano di Guido of Donna Ostia to eternal shame, the frati Gaudenti, originally of Bologna, who in 1266 ruled Florence.1 They were members of a religious-military association, the Milizia dei frati Gaudenti, also known as Milizia della beata Maria Vergine Gloriosa, which was initially founded as a confraternity for the men of the urban ruling classes, who were in part themselves professional politicians. In 1261 the confraternity was recognized by Pope Urban IV and elevated to the status of a religious order. The pope, like his successor Clement IV, recognized in these fratres milites of



1 ‘Frati godenti fummo, e bolognesi | io Catalano e questi Loderingo | nomati, e da tua terra insieme presi | come suole esser tolto un uom solingo, | per conservar sua pace; e fummo tali, | ch’ancor si pare intorno dal Gardingo’. Dante Alighieri, Commedia, Inferno, ed. by Pasquini and Quaglio, p. xxiii, vv. 73–144 (vv. 103–08). For recent discussions between historians and italianists, see the two monographic sections Milani and Montefusco, ed., ‘Dante attraverso i documenti. i; and Milani and Montefusco, ed., ‘Dante attraverso i documenti. ii; Pegoretti, “Civitas diaboli”’. Marina Gazzini  •  is Associate Professor in Medieval History at the State University of Milan. She received her PhD in Medieval History in 1996. Since 2001 she has been a member of the editorial board of ‘Reti medievali. Online initiatives for medieval studies’ . Her research is focused on medieval social history in its economic, religious, and cultural manifestations with particular reference to northern Italy. Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400–1550): Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting through the Continuum of Sacred and Secular, ed. by Suzan Folkerts, New Communities of Interpretation, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), pp. 21–42 © FHG10.1484/M.NCI-EB.5.122093

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the Glorious Virgin a precious means of influence in the Italian communes: on the mandate of the Holy See, the frati Gaudenti would participate in any communal assemblies that touched on questions of faith, ecclesiastical freedom, peace, and works of piety and charity.2 In the second half of the thirteenth century, the Milizia of the Glorious Virgin developed a network of branches in the major centres of communal Italy, thanks to intercity links pivoting on religious, but also political solidarities, cemented by common reference to goals and ideals of peace, anti-heretics actions and charitable activities. The network of the frati Gaudenti, which followed partly autonomous paths, partly the circuits of Mendicant orders and of travelling political officials, circulated forms of devotion and solidarity as well as patterns of holiness and civic-mindedness. Dante relegates the two Bolognesi to the infernal pit of the hypocrites because, according to him, they do not carry out the grave task entrusted to them in a transparent and honest manner. Despite presenting themselves as a pair of ‘bipartisan’ clergymen, Loderingo being a Ghibelline of influence among Italy’s magnati and Catalano a Guelf with close links to representatives of the popolo grasso, they had apparently not succeeded in impartially ruling over the Tuscan city.3 Indeed, the factional infighting which had disturbed the city had even led, among other consequences, to the exile of numerous citizens (a subject that was particularly close to Dante’s heart…).4 Dante’s severe judgement of the Milizia dei frati Gaudenti, on the one hand, recalled the equally negative judgements of other intellectuals of the period, such as the mendicant friars Salimbene de Adam and Bartolomeo da Breganze, who defined them respectively as ‘avarissimi’ (miserly men)5 and ‘superbi et fastuosi’ (arrogant and ostentatious),6 or as the Florentine chronicler Giovanni Villani, who remembered them as a reprehensible example of ‘duplicity’.7 On the other hand, Dante’s words were a far cry from the much more positive pronouncements of other contemporaries: when Guittone d’Arezzo, who was made a Cavaliere Gaudente in 1265, referred to the so-called ‘cavalleria’

2 Federici, Istoria dei Cavalieri Gaudenti, ii, Codex diplomaticus, doc. xviii, 23 December 1261; doc. xxii, 13 March 1266; doc. xxiii, 12 May 1266. The document of the year 1261, the papal bull Sol ille verus, has been edited also by Meersseman, Dossier de l’ordre de la Pénitence, pp. 295–307. 3 For the politics of the frati Gaudenti in the history of Florence, see Salvemini, Magnati e popolani a Firenze, p. 254; Davidsohn, Storia di Firenze, ii, pp. 566–93, 650, 817–35; iii, p. 73; v, pp. 164, 314; Bruni, La città divisa, p. 107. 4 About the practices of conflict, revenge and peace in the history of Italian communes see Zorzi, ed., Conflitti, paci e vendette. 5 Salimbene de Adam, Cronica, ed. by Scalia, ii, p. 680. 6 Bartolomeo da Breganze, OP, Sermones in festis Iesu Christi, Sermo 137: Vicenza, BCB, MS Gonz. 25.4.4 (435), fols 131va–133rb (fol. 132va). 7 ‘Questi due frati (…) sotto coverta di falsa ipocresia furono in concordia più al guadagno loro propio ch’al bene comune’. Giovanni Villani, Nuova cronica, ed. by Porta, i, book viii. xiii–xv. See Boucheron, ‘Politisation et dépolitisation’, p. 240.

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(chivalry) he unhesitatingly proclaimed it a ‘nobilissimo ordine secolare’ (most noble secular order).8 At the time, then, a range of reactions were provoked by this simultaneously secular and religious organization. This is not the place to elaborate on the role played by the frati Gaudenti in the political life of the Italian communes in the second half of the Duecento.9 It is enough to recall that Loderingo and Catalano ruled, as a partnership, not only Florence but also the commune of Bologna: in 1265 and 1267, they reformed Bologna’s municipal statutes in the name of the bonum statum et pacificum (good and peaceful state) of the city. What I wish to stress primarily, however, from the example I have cited, is the complexity of the world of the confraternities and of other lay-religious associations in the age of Dante: a world based on religious ideals and values as well as civil ones, made up not only of devotional and charitable practices, but also of participation in the life of the urban community. I will therefore dedicate this contribution to a general depiction of the role played by confraternities within Italian urban society in the age of communes and signories,10 and in particular to the contribution they made both to the ideal and to concrete constructions of the civic community. I would like to group my thoughts around a few fundamental points which I will call, firstly, ‘Societas and societates: parallels and similarities’; secondly, ‘Internal solidarity and community culture’; and thirdly, ‘The circulation of models: rituals, men, and texts’. I will discuss historical themes and issues. The presentation of single historical examples may appear somewhat swift and cursory.

Societas and Societates: Parallels and Similarities In speaking of medieval confraternities we should above all keep in mind that they are only one among many manifestations of the rise of associations, which throughout the Middle Ages, but with growing intensity from the year 1000 onwards, swept across Europe, and particularly Italy.11 The diverse group of factors which spawned this movement is well described by a first-hand witness of the phenomenon, Boncompagno da Signa, a teacher of grammar and rhetoric who lived between the end of the twelfth and the first half of

8 In the letter to messer Ranuccio de Casanova: Guittone d’Arezzo, Le lettere di frate Guittone d’Arezzo, ed. by Meriano, xl, p. 453; Guittone d’Arezzo, Lettere, ed. by Margueron, xxxvi [xl], p. 349. 9 Role already investigated by Gazzini, ‘Fratres e milites’ (now in Gazzini, Confraternite e società cittadina). 10 See Crouzet Pavan, Inferni e paradisi. 11 For a European overview see Meersseman, Ordo fraternitatis; Le mouvement confraternel; La Roncière, ‘Le confraternite in Europa’; Cofradías, gremios, solidaridades; Zardin, ed., Corpi, ‘fraternità’; Escher-Apsner, ed., Mittelalterliche Bruderschaften; Gazzini, ed., Studi confraternali; Pastore, Prosperi, and Terpstra, ed., Brotherhood and Boundaries.

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the thirteenth centuries. In his work Cedrus, which deals with the hierarchy of written laws, Boncompagno wrote that these should be understood from two angles, that of the ius commune of the Empire, identical to Roman law, and that of ius proprium, the collection of rulings which pertain to a particular society. Boncompagno went on to specify the societates which might produce iura propria.12 His list included as many urban and territorial institutions — city, castle, town, and village communes — as lay and clerical groups, youth associations, and tower owners, as well as confraternaties, hospitaller orders, and the inevitable Templars (because, as Umberto Eco would say centuries later, ‘the Templars are always involved somewhere’).13 Boncompagno’s ‘globalizing’ vision, which brings together societates of strikingly different types, was shared by notable medieval historians of the twentieth century. They identified voluntary membership, equality among members, the creation of judicial autonomy, promissory oaths, and periodical banquets, as the elements which allow us to consider not only clerical associations, religious confraternities, craft and trade guilds, merchant groups and professional schools, but also universities, and even rural communities and urban communes, as expressions of a single community movement.14 Such a variety of types of association is not surprising: in the Middle Ages, even more than today, it was difficult to conceive of an existence lived without social relations codified within a more or less stably organized group. To be part of an association meant entering a group which was both protective and conferred an accepted, recognized identity, whether that was of fellow citizen, fellow guild member, colleague, or good neighbour. To remain outside such groupings, especially if one could not depend upon important family connections, could instead lead to exclusion from the circle of those accorded civil rights, and accessing any network of economic, judicial or spiritual support might become impossible. These societates of varying types and functions, founded upon links of blood, proximity, activity, or faith, were characterized by a high degree of permeability. Historians have studied in-depth the similarities between the

12 ‘Statutum est quedam verborum series in scriptis redacta, in qua continetur quo modo illi qui tenentur statuto se in publicis et privatis negotiis regere debeant […] Nam quelibet civitas in finibus Ytalie sua facit statuta seu constituciones, quibus potestates vel consules publica exercent negotia, et puniunt excedentes […] Porro quedam statuta fiunt quandoque a castellanis, burgensibus et villanis […] Fiunt etiam in multis partibus Ytalie quedam iuvenum societates, quarum aliqua “falconum”, aliqua “leonum”, aliqua “de tabula rotonda societatis” nominatur […] Eodem modo faciunt plures qui tures hedificant quoddam statutum quod vulgo ‘breve’ nominatur, in quo continetur quomodo vel quantum debeant levare turem vel custodire […] Fiunt et quandoque ab Hospitalariis, Templariis, clericis et aliis Christi fidelibus quedam consortia seu fraternitates, pro quibus aliqua brevia componuntur’. Boncompagno da Signa, Cedrus, ed. by Rockinger, pp. 121–27. 13 Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum. 14 In this sense, on medieval communities see at least Michaud-Quantin, Universitas; Oexle, ‘Die mittelalterlichen Gilden’; Black, Community in Historical Perspective.

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different forms of association. The confraternal origin, for example, has often been emphasized — as its subsequent religious or charitable aims, and close links to Church authorities, as well as public powers — of associations which would then become guild associations, or rather corporations, with primarily economic or political aims rather than social ones. The original connection with a devotional group is particularly evident in certain contexts, such as Milan and Venice, where, although notable for an early and profitable development of the local economy in a range of areas of work, not all trades were recognized in a paratico or scuola d’arte (craft guild), and nor did all trades enjoy influence at the highest levels of power, as instead did happen in Bologna, Florence, and Parma, to name merely the best known.15 The relationship between corporations and confraternities has been without a doubt the primary interest of historians in the field. Recent studies, however, have shown how the confraternal schola might have constituted the original nucleus of, or at least the counterbalance to, other institutions which would be of quite different institutional importance. In some Italian and French contexts, such as in Rome and Marseille, significant parallels have been traced between lay or religious confraternal associations and the comune, which was born as an association of concives.16 Even more common is a shared identity and representational role between confraternities and areas of the urban territory. In Aosta, for example, at the end of the Duecento, a confratria of clerics and laymen entitled al S. Spirito, made up of burgenses and habitatores of Porta S. Orso, one of the three areas of the city after its division in 1191, founded the first case of institutional support for the inhabitants of the burgus de Porta Sancti Ursi. The inhabitants turned to officials of the confraternity as their representatives against the two centres of power which controlled the Borgo, the collective of the clerics of the church of S. Orso and the family de Porta Santi Ursi’, vassals of the bishop of Aosta and of Savoia.17 The exchanges between the political communitas and the societates which made it up were frequent. In fact, the networks and institutional models which constitute the internal workings of these communities of confratres and concives appear to be similar. They use similar modes of organization, through the summons to meetings and assemblies, the institution of specific offices, the naming of functionaries and representatives, and the subsequent analogous production of documents: statutes, council rulings, collections of privileges, and administrative documents.18 15 Greci, ‘Economia, religiosità’; Gazzini, ‘Confraternite/corporazioni’ (now in Gazzini, Confraternite e società cittadina). 16 Di Carpegna Falconieri, Il clero di Roma; Rigon, ‘Schole, confraternite e ospedali’. 17 Corniolo, ‘La confraternita’. 18 On the documentary heritage of medieval secular solidarities see the wide-ranging survey in Cammarosano, Italia medievale, pp. 205–210; and, on confraternities, Gazzini, ‘Gli archivi delle confraternite’.

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In their initial phase — that is, before being recognized officially by the pope — many religious orders also passed through a sort of embryonic confraternal stage. Some remained rooted in this early phase, such as the order of the Consorzio dello Spirito Santo, also known as the Colombetta, which originated in Cremona in the mid-thirteenth century and subsequently spread to numerous locations throughout the Po Valley.19 Others, such as the Milizia della beata Maria Vergine Gloriosa mentioned above, instead underwent a process which fixed them more firmly in the institutional framework. Some small conventicole, later judged heretical and therefore harshly repressed, also had rituals which were clearly of a confraternal nature.20 Beyond common practices, each group distinguished itself by the carrying out of more specific aims. Confraternities had primarily devotional and charitable functions, which included shared ritual practices and charitable acts to support non-members as well as members. These might include helping both materially and spiritually a brother fallen ill, organizing funerals, distributing alms, providing dowries for poor unmarried women, running hospitals, and organizing the schooling of children from deprived economic backgrounds. The confraternities, unlike other associations, had a mixed membership, partly male and partly female, partly lay and partly clerical, in varying proportions. While some boasted only twelve members, a number which deliberately referenced the first community of the Apostles, others instead counted hundreds of fellows, in rare cases thousands. These large numbers could be seen particularly when the confraternity was composed essentially of women, as the thirteenth- and fourteenth-century lists of new members of the consorzio della Misericordia di Bergamo, the consorzio dello Spirito Santo di Piacenza, or the fraternity of S. Maria del Mercato di Gubbio show.21 In other areas — particularly in Florence — companies made up of young people grew in popularity, becoming important sources of learning, moral and spiritual formation for adolescents, and a preparation for military and political life.22

Internal Solidarity and Community Culture The concepts of fraternity and solidarity, which fostered the sense of belonging to a group, were of entirely relative value. If in some cases the confraternities

19 Gazzini, ‘Il consortium Spiritus’ (now in Gazzini, Confraternite e società cittadina). 20 It was the case of the group — congregatio — of men and women that, at the end of the thirteenth century, were devoted in Milan to a woman, Guglielma, called the Bohemian. See Benedetti, Io non sono Dio. 21 Brolis and Brembilla, ‘Mille e più donne’; Gazzini, ‘Donne e uomini in confraternita’; Casagrande, ‘Confraternities and Lay Female Religiosity’. 22 Taddei, ‘Confraternite e giovani’.

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favoured social inclusion, in others they stimulated mechanisms of exclusion.23 First of all, they limited the right of entry into the association or into the circle of beneficiaries of its activities, whether spiritual or economic: selection was based on age, judicial status, religious belief, economic activity, political party, or geographical origin. And that was not all. Intense manifestations of rivalry and competition broke out amongst these groups, because each association claimed its own sphere of influence and authority and pushed to obtain the favour of the wider society and authorities, upon which the dispensation of donativi (donations) and fiscal and political privileges depended. We should not think, however, that confraternities prized their associational insularity to the exclusion of all else. These intermediate social bodies in reality participated in the construction of civic ideals that were shared by all those who belonged to the same community assembly and were fundamental to urban civic cohabitation. The rhetoric of confraternities around reciprocal love, charity, peace, and justice, which we find constantly expressed in the statutes and regulations of these associations, far from being a weak gesture towards evangelical values, is, for example, the type of language common in debates of the era. These debates revolved around monastic and mendicant, theological, and philosophical thought, and were at the centre of the first animated university discussions and later humanist controversies. They were also, even if with less precise definitions, mediated by important representatives of the lay cultures of the time, particularly of the culture linked to the world of ruling the communes. In the first half of the Duecento, Judge Albertano da Brescia in fact identified in the associations, which reinforced emotional connections between men, a means of spiritual, cultural, and social growth for the individual. To form Christian men and mould citizens are operations which go hand in hand: the civis Christianus is at the heart not only of three noted moral treatises by Albertano, the De amore et dilectione Dei et proximi, the Liber de doctrina dicendi et tacendi, and the Liber consolationis et consili, but also of lesser-known sermons delivered by the judge to confraternities of men of law linked to Franciscan circles in Genoa and Brescia.24 Members of legal (causidici) and notary confraternities, Albertano preaches, join together to honour God and to feed the poor, so that they may fan the flame of faith which drives out sin, keep the candles on their confraternal altar constantly lit, recite prayers and do charitable

23 Trio, ‘The Social Positioning’; Gazzini, ‘Solidarity and Brotherhood’. 24 Several scholars have been interested in Albertanus, from different points of view: medieval literature, culture and civilization, medieval politics, religiousness and economy. Albertanus arises in fact at the intersection of lay preaching, construction of urban values systems, discipline and ethics of speech, confraternal studies, and work ethic. See at least: D’Avray, The Preaching of the Friars; Casagrande and Vecchio, I peccati della lingua; Powell, Albertanus of Brescia; Artifoni, ‘Gli uomini dell’assemblea’; Pryds, ‘Monarchs, Lawyers, and Saints’; Artifoni, ‘Prudenza del consigliare’; Nuccio, Epistemologia; Graham, ‘Albertanus of Brescia’; Felice, ‘Albertano da Brescia’; Tanzini, ‘Albertano e dintorni’.

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works — so that they might know when to speak and when to keep silent, to refuse evil and pursue good, to strive for peace, to follow ideals of wisdom, justice, and truth.25 If love of God and charity towards men are themes constantly emphasized in the confraternal environment, in some cases we come across particularly striking and original references. For example, in the prologue to the statutes of the Mantuan company of disciplinati dedicated to S. Maria della Misericordia, drawn up in the early fourteenth century under the supervision of the Dominican bishop Giacomo Benfatti,26 it is stated that three paths lead to salvation: the contemplative life, the moral life, and the active life. The ‘contemplative life […] consists of raising the mind up to God with devout speech and most holy meditation’, the ‘active life […] consists of helping one’s neighbour with zealous charity’, and finally the ‘moral life […] consists in restraining oneself with an honest life and virtuous conversation’.27 To the usual distinction between active and contemplative life28 is added the insistent reference to the ‘moral life’, that is, reflection on the morality of one’s intentions, and thus on the necessity not only of doing good, for example through charity and prayer, but of doing so knowingly and consciously. The weekly prayers of the brotherhood were to have been said for, among many others, ‘the Holy Father, that is the Pope, and for all the prelates of the Holy Mother of Jesus, and above all for the bishop of this city, that God may grant him the grace to rule over the state of its souls’, and furthermore they were to have been said ‘for the Emperor, the rulers and lords of Christianity, and above all for the lord of this city, that they might have grace to rule their

25 The sermons are edited in Fè d’Ostiani, Sermone inedito di Albertano; Albertano da Brescia, Sermo Januensis, ed. by Nuccio; Albertano da Brescia, Sermones quattuor, ed. by Ferrari. 26 Text of uncertain date, between 1319 and 1332. Mantua, BC, MS 954, fols 3r–14r, 19r–21v. The document has been edited by Thompson, ‘New Light on Bl. Giacomo Benfatti OP’. For a recent analysis see Rossi, ‘Vescovi e confraternite’, and Gazzini, ‘Costruire la comunità’. Benfatti Bishop’s biography is still waiting to be studied in-depth, like the history of the disciplined brotherhood and the entire history of Mantua in the first half of the fourteenth century. 27 Thompson, ‘New Light on Bl. Giacomo Benfatti’, p. 161: ‘Unde videndo io, homo peccatore, frate predicatore, per la Idio gracia vescovo de Mantua, vui, devote persone acte e dedite, mediante a gracia de la Virzene Maria, per la devotione che portate ad essa nel vivere per acquistare le dicte due parte del psalmista dicte di sopra, per salute de le anime vostre e de altre, secundo è per divina gracia possibille a persone poste in habito seculare, unde ne proceda fructo che ne conduca a la vita eterna. E però, sa nel vivere per acquistare le dicte due parte del psalmista dicte di sopra, per salute de le anime vostre lenti, et confirmati per la sacra scriptura, et laudati per la dotrina de’ sacri doctori, et exercitata per la vita et opere de molti sancti, li quali hano fondata la vita lor in questi gradi, videlicet: Lo primo di quali è vita contemplativa, la qual consiste in levar la mente a Dio cum devote oratione e sanctissima meditatione. Lo secundo grado è vita activa, la qual consiste in sovenire al proximo cum fervente caritade. Lo terzo grado è vita morale, la qual consiste in ordinare si medesimo cum honesta vita et virtuosa convesatione’. 28 Solignac, ‘Vie active, vie contemplative’; Trottmann, ed., Vie active et vie contemplative.

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states according to the will of God’.29 The bishop thus asked that anyone wearing the disciplinary habit exert himself — through prayer, charity, and reflection on his own deeds — to be a devout follower, but also a good subject, and to contribute to his own salvation, that of his brothers, and that of the rulers of the Church and state. Finally, he cautioned that this role was not to be merely superficial, but of great substance. Like the disciplinati of Mantua, their flagellant brothers in Parma and Piacenza, also in the first half of the fourteenth century, were ‘above all to pray for the State of the Holy Mother of God, that is for the Pope and for his cardinals, archbishops, bishops, priests and monks’, and also ‘for the Emperor and for those around him and his princes and barons’, and then ‘for all rational creatures, whether Jew or pagan or Saracen, for all Christian souls, for pilgrims, merchants and travellers, whether by land or sea, for peace, for the fruits of the earth, for the souls of our mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters, for our brothers around the world who are of this congregation’.30 This ecumenical embrace began from the highest echelons of the world closing with the members of the company itself. In the following decades and centuries, that is from 1400 onwards, frequent declarations of loyalty to the political regime included in the text of confraternal statutes derived above all from the desire of lay or religious companies not to incur censure from the authorities, fearful as they were of plots which might have been hatched within the confines of these exclusive groups, which were seen as potential fomenters of dissent.31 In this previous phase, however, the significance of the blessings sought for popes, bishops, monks, emperors, and princes seems markedly different. Confraternities wanted to become, through prayer and care for one’s neighbour, the bearers of a message of collective salvation, including not only Christian souls but 29 Thompson, ‘New Light on Bl. Giacomo Benfatti’, p. 168: ‘Anchora, pregaremo per lo sancto padre, cioè per lo papa, et per tuti li prelati de la Sancta Madre Gesia, et maxime per el vescovo de questa cità, a ciò che Dio li presti gratia de rezere el stado de le anime secundo la voluntà sua, diciamo uno Pater noster [et ave Maria]. […] Anchora, pregaremo per lo imperatore, regi et signori de la cristianità, et maxime per el signor di questa cità, a ciò li habiano gracia de rezere i stadi sui secundo la voluntà de Dio, diciamo uno Pater, et cetera’. 30 The text, handed down by a code of the first half of the fourteenth century, was used both in Piacenza and in Parma. It is not dated precisely. Mesini, ‘Statuti piacentini-parmensi’, pp. 66–68: ‘Fradegii me karissimi, noy debiemo primamente pregare per lo stato de santa Madre gexia, zoe per mesere lo papa e per gi so cardinai, arciviscuvhi, veschivi, previdi e frai […] Encore se abiemo eciande de pregare per messer lo Imperadore e per tuti gli soi vicarii e i principi e baroni, […] per zaschauna creatura raxonevole, como zude, pagan, saraxin et zaschuna altra generacion […], per zaschauna anima christiana […], per piligrim, per merchadanti e per viandanti, chi sum per mare e per terra […], per la paxe […], per li fructi dela terra […], per le anime de nostri pare e mare e fradegi e sorore […], per gi nostri fradegi chi sum per tuto el mundo, chi sono de questa congregation’. 31 So under the Medici in Florence (Weissman, Ritual Brotherhood), the Gonzaga in Mantua (Navarrini and Belfanti, ‘Il problema della povertà’), and the Visconti and Sforza in Milan (Gazzini, ‘Confraternite e società’, now in Gazzini, Confraternite e società cittadina).

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also, at least in some cases, as the statutes of the disciplinati of Parma and Piacenza show, all other creatures of reason, that is, Jews, Muslims, and pagans. The aim and ideal of many confraternities during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries was the integration of the individual into the community, drawing him out of his original condition and making him a participant in the construction of society. This was not only an impressive piece of rhetoric. The fraternitas could also point to itself as a communitas par excellence. Such is the well-known case of Arezzo where, around the mid-fourteenth century, the civic authorities ruled that all newborns in the city would be entered at the time of baptism into the confraternity of S. Maria della Misericordia, also known as the Fraternità dei Laici. This confraternity had arisen in the thirteenth century out of mendicant origins, and was later singled out by the commune as the organizational hub of highly useful collective services, and thus subject to public control. This control, which was figured as a form of protection, extended to such a point that, based on regulations inserted into the municipal statutes, citizenship of Arezzo was dependent on membership of the association and vice versa: to be a member of the confraternity meant ipso facto to be a citizen of Arezzo.32 Even without arriving at the extreme consequence of complete identification between the urban and confraternal societas, elsewhere the positive public connotations of some of the social and economic projects of the confraternity, linked to both spiritual and charitable assistance, reinforced the sense of belonging to a community and heightened the sense of shared responsibility within this group. The regular practice of charitable public works and community prayer encouraged the individual to believe in himself as a virtuous promoter of civic values. Both moral and material rewards resulted from personal participation in such projects, whether they were civic or religious. The more the confraternal scholae promoted themselves as patrons of devotional, charitable, educational, and artistic activities, the more members they attracted, because to be part of such an organization became a source of pride, and a badge signifying a precise new social status. The social and religious life of the confraternity reveals itself constantly as a representation put on by the confraternal group before the other groups with which it was in contact. The individual members were encouraged to play more than one role: they played the devoted follower, the supportive neighbour, and the engaged citizen.33 Different demonstrations of religious or community spirit were required by the different roles, which slowly but surely opened the closed space of the confraternity to the open arena of the city. A particularly striking example of this gradual development is offered by the fourteenth-century società disciplinata di S. Stefano di Assisi. As sources

32 Moriani, ‘Assistenza e beneficenza’; Benvenuti, ‘Ad procurationem caritatis’. 33 See Rosser, ‘Finding Oneself ’; Rosser, ´Guilds and Confraternities’.

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from both within and outside the association show,34 from 1327 the brothers of S. Stefano met several times a week at their headquarters, which included an oratory, to practice the devotio, also known as auto-flagellation, and to sing praises. When celebrating the funeral of a member or a member’s relative, or when celebrating their patron saint’s feast day, the confraternity would partially open itself up from a private context to the public one: the celebrations would in fact occur twice, first in the closed oratory and then in the less circumscribed space of the parish church, framing the official liturgy. Thus, wider sections of the local community would be involved, such as neighbours in the parish, or other groups with strong connections to the same church. The confraternity eventually expanded to the whole civic space, playing a part in collective rituals, such as processions for local patron saints and the public representations of the praises of the Passion put on during Holy Week. The commune of Assisi, which subsidized part of the cost of such rituals, asked in return that the brothers take on responsibilities within the community, mostly relating to administrative and financial matters. Ecclesiastical and civic authorities were well aware of the wide reach of confraternal practices. The result was the large number of attempts aimed at controlling, protecting, directing, and subsidizing the confraternities and their activities. Public powers, as much as the Church, were well within their rights to exercise their jurisdiction. Medieval judicial doctrine considered the confraternities as collegia licita causa religionis, associations judged legal for religious reasons but without powers of jurisdiction, set firmly within the system of ius civile commune.35 At the same time, however, they were counted among the pia loca (pious institutions) thanks to the religious activities carried out and the assistance they gave to pauperes, and which inevitably linked them to the ecclesiastical institutions and to the bishop, ‘father to the poor’.36 Bishops and popes made the confraternities a stronghold of orthodoxy, especially those groups linked to mendicant orders, who had swiftly assumed the role of ‘guardians of the threshold’.37 As such, they were defenders of the social perimeter, pacifiers, mediators, and protectors of the good name of both devotees and citizens. The defence of orthodoxy carried out by the confraternities could prove useful to the interests of secular powers too. For example, the numerous Venetian scholae functioned as examples of widespread religious feeling in a state keen to defend itself from any pretext for interference on the part of the Roman curia; the fundamentally secular nature of the scholae, shown by their independence from the control of the clergy as an institution, made them formidable allies of the Venetian state, rather than of the Church.38

34 Casagrande and others, Statuti, matricole. 35 Natalini, ‘Appunti sui collegia religionis’. 36 Prosdocimi, Il diritto ecclesiastico. 37 Todeschini, ‘Guardiani della soglia’. 38 Pullan, Rich and Poor; Ortalli, ‘Per la salute delle anime’.

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The Circulation of Models: Rituals, Men, and Texts Whether they partook of the same devotional impulse visible in differing locations — such as the confraternities of the disciplinati, the domus of the Consorzio dello Spirito Santo del beato Facio, or the Marian confraternities with a specifically mendicant character, all products of the Duecento —, or whether they were born of more specific local conditions — such as the confraternities of parish neighbours, or devotees of a particular sacred image, which had often ‘miraculously’ appeared on the wall of a city palazzo —, these associations drew from a shared cultural well, made up of shared points of reference. The statutes of a society frequently supply us with valuable information on the culture which guided and drove the group, on the ways in which this culture was capitalized upon, and on the circulation of textual models. When you compare the statutory texts of confraternities from different locations, the elements of similarity are striking. It is evident that the authors used a common outline, which clearly circulated from place to place. Not only are the community regulations listed in the same order, but often similar, if not identical, sections of text appear, adapted from models used in the chanceries of bishoprics, which were in turn based upon models laid out by the papal curia. Perhaps the most famous case is that of the arenga Quoniam ut ait, whose incipit makes reference to two sections of the letters of Saint Paul (Romans 14. 10: ‘omnes enim stabimus ante tribunal Christi’; and II Corinthians 9. 6: ‘qui parce seminat, parce et metet; et qui seminat in benedictionibus, de benedictionibus et metet’),39 which are reproduced in the prologues of many statutes.40 The presence of ecclesiastics, regular visitors to the confraternities, is discernible behind these provisions, as is the impact of the notaries responsible for setting out the regulations. They were experts in this type of compilation and would have had the diplomatic models used in different settings at their fingertips, even if most of the time the work of notaries was limited to taking records, rather than making an original contribution. As a result, when less standardized elements occur, it inevitably captures our interest and raises multiple questions on the possible means of communication and transmission of such original features. Particularly noteworthy, for example, is the richness of quotations found in statutes of società della beata Vergine Maria e del beato Francesco, later known as the Immacolata Concezione, linked to Parma’s convent of S. Francesco in Prato, drawn up in 1295 and frequently altered thereafter.

39 The series of papal letters with the arenga Quoniam ut ait starts at the end of the twelfth century: Enzensberger, ‘Quoniam ut ait apostolus’; Regesta Pontificum Romanorum, ed. by Potthast. 40 Just to give two examples, see De Sandre Gasparini, ‘Un’immediata ripercussione’; Gazzini, ‘Devozione, solidarietà’.

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The moral precepts recommended to confraternity members were further reinforced by explicitly invoking a series of auctoritates, which included most importantly the traditional texts of the Scripture and of the Church Fathers.41 Philosophical works came next, such as Aristotle’s Metafysica, as well as proverbs stemming from various traditions.42 In the section concerning the celebration of the festival of the Concezione della Vergine, initiated in 1312, certain Ultramontani — not further identified — are described as customarily officiating at this festival with due solemnity and receiving great thanks as a result.43 These Oltremontani would presumably be of French or English origin, where it seems that the custom developed, in the eleventh century, of celebrating the day of Madonna Immacolata on 8 December. This was particularly prevalent in the monastic and university schools which were home to the many of those grappling with what Alain Boureau has termed the ‘great theological adventure of the age’,44 from the Benedictine Eadmer of Canterbury, follower of Anselm of Aosta, to the Franciscan John Duns Scotus. The latter was the author of, among other works, an important commentary on the books of Aristotle’s Metafysica, which was probably the source of the Aristotelian quotation in the Parma confraternal text.45 Furthermore, references can be found to texts of canonical law, specifically Clement V’s Decretales: ‘Et cum a malo non sufficiat abstinere nisi fiat quod bonum est, sicut Clemens papa in septimo libro decretalium dicit expresse’.46 This quotation can also be dated to 1312, 41 The statutes, edited in Giordani, ‘Statuta’, quote from Ecclesiasticus (‘Sicut aqua extinguit ignem, ita eleemosyna extinguit peccatum’, 3. 29; ‘Non est speciosa laus in ore peccatoris’, 15. 9; ‘Vinum et mulieres apostatare faciunt [sapientes]’, 19. 2); Psalms (‘Cum sancto sanctus eris […] et cum perverso perverteris’, 17. 26–7); Proverbs (‘Septies cadit in die iustus et septies in die resurgit’, 24. 16); the book of Wisdom (‘Quoniam in malivolam animam non intrabit sapientia nec habitabit in corpore subdito peccatis’, 1. 4); the book of Tobit (‘Bona est oratio cum ieiunio et elemosina magis quam thesauros condere’, 12. 8); the Gospel of Matthew (‘Omnia ergo quaecumque vultis ut faciant vobis homines, et vos facite illis’, 7. 12); and from Pope Gregory the Great’s Moralia in Iob (‘Consideratio premii minuit vim flagelli’, iii. 16). 42 Giordani, ‘Statuta’, 356–68: ‘Nam ut dicit Phylosophus: non possunt simul duo esse contraria in eodem’, quoted from Metafisica, 1, iv. c. 4; ‘Ubi te invenero, ibi te iudicabo’, traditional proverb. 43 Giordani, ‘Statuta’, chapter vii: ‘De festo conceptionis Domine cellebrando’. 44 Boureau, La religion de l’État, pp. 233 and following. 45 Given the Franciscan and ‘immaculate’ context of the Parmesan brotherhood, a reference to Duns Scotus there seems more likely than to Thomas Aquinas; but the Dominican transmission is not deniable a priori. Tommaso d’Aquino, Commento alla metafisica di Aristotele, trans. by Perotti, iii, book xi. lesson 6. 46 Clementine, i. v, tit. 8, c. 3. The Clementine, which include the canons of the Council of Vienne and the decretals of Pope Clement V, were in fact originally reported by the will of their own promulgator as Liber septimus of Decretals, because subsequent to the five books of canon law by Pope Gregory IX and the Liber Sextus of Boniface VIII. The preference for the Clementine title, however, was due to the work of the first commentator, the great canonist Giovanni d’Andrea. Mollat, ‘Corpus Iuris Canonici. Les Clémentines’.

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that is, the same year as the inclusion of the regulation on the celebration of the Vergine Immacolata, because it was in that year that the Clement V’s Liber Septimus was first published.47 Just as the reference to the Oltremontani who celebrated Mary’s immaculate conception, the quotation of Clement leads us to hypothesize a link between the Parma convent of S. Francesco in Prato, which was home to the lay brotherhood in question, and certain French — particularly university and papal — circles. The many references found in the statutes of the Parma confraternity to the scriptural and philosophical traditions, and to theological questions surrounding them, as well as to the Corpus iuris canonici, bear witness to how an apparently modest text from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, such as the statutes of a small Emilian confraternity, drawn up with the involvement of an anonymous mendicant friar, one brother Rainerio of Genoa of whom we know next to nothing, could become part of a debate which extended far beyond the local borders. This debate, both complex and extremely pressing, on the predestination of Christ and Mary, on the relationship between faith and religion, on the value of good and bad, and even on the political absolutism and judicial sovereignty of ‘Church and State’, was made up of theological questions and practical problems with which anyone — lay or cleric, with no more than a minimum level of religious education — was free to engage. Parma was a particularly suitable environment to incorporate these messages. The figure of the Virgin was in fact connected to the founding myth of the commune, especially from the time when the commune took on a primary Guelph orientation, which it held until about the mid-fourteenth century.48 In addition, in the thirteenth century, the town had been deeply marked, in legislative practice first and then in civic memory, by an extraordinary political intervention carried out by a Franciscan, Gerardo Boccabadati from Modena. In 1233, as a result of the popular enthusiasm that he invoked as an able preacher in the great campaign of peace and devotion known as the Alleluia, he had received from the town of Parma extraordinary powers to reform the city statutes in the matter of pacification, fight against heresy, and defence of the Ecclesiae libertas.49 The Franciscan friars, and the environments linked to them in the Emilian town, were therefore, all through the thirteenth century and even later, fertile promoters not only of ideal, but also of concrete measures

47 The Clementine were published for the first time on 3 May 1312 and for the second time on 24 March 1314, when they began to be sent to universities. However, the official promulgation was not under Clement V, who died in the same year 1314, but under his successor John XXII, in 1317. Paravicini Bagliani, ‘Clemente V’. 48 The resounding victory of Parma against Frederick II took place in 1248 under the protective mantle of the Virgin Mary, to whom the cathedral of Parma was dedicated. Greci, ‘Origini, sviluppi e crisi’, iii/i, pp. 115–67. 49 Zafarana, ‘Boccabadati Gherardo’; Thompson, Revival Preachers and Politics; Gazzini, ‘Tra Chiesa e Impero’.

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aimed at mediating the endemic conflicts of communal society, and to model the behaviour of the population. The statutes of the società della Vergine e di s. Francesco suggest that the regulations relating to practical, moral, and religious life they contain, designed to lead to salvation, as well as the authoritative sources behind them, should be known not only to confraternity members, who would have heard them recited at least three times a year (the Sundays up to Christmas, Easter, and the Assumption of the Virgin). They should also have been familiar to all the citizens of Parma who might have visited the Franciscan convent frequently, where the statutes would have been read on the Sunday prior to the celebration of the Conception of the Virgin, which was also to become the day on which the confraternity held its primary assembly. And that is not all. To give even more publicity to the society ordinances, the evening before this celebration a brother would have gone through the city loudly announcing the great celebrations which were to take place in the Franciscan convent. In such a way they attracted a great number of people eager to ‘obtain indulgences and to hear beautiful prayers’, prayers which, given the theological context, we can imagine were reinforced by reflections on the nature of God and the human soul, on the purity of the Virgin, on righteous behaviour, and on the value of alms-giving. This strikes me as a good example on which to close, finishing with a final thought which reinforces the concept underlying this whole contribution. I believe that the confraternities, as much as they fitted themselves to designs modelled on religious and ecclesiastical authorities — bishops, popes, mendicant orders — were at the same time an intrinsic part of that ‘grande progetto educativo’ (great educational project) of communal society,50 a project based, from a textual standpoint, on didactic literature, on encyclopaedias, on behaviour and morality manuals, and on Holy Scripture, and mediated by urban intellectuals, both lay and clerical. Inside intra- and supra-city networks, built on parishes, convents, guilds, and territorial-based societies, but also on parental and political solidarities, the confraternities of the Italian communes and signories instructed individual and collective behaviour.

Bibliography Manuscripts and Archival Sources Mantua, Biblioteca Comunale di Mantova, MS 954 Vicenza, Biblioteca Civica Bertoliana, MS Gonz. 25.4.4 (435)

50 Artifoni, ‘Tra etica e professionalità politica’.

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Primary Sources Ae. Friedberg, Corpus iuris canonici editio lipsiensis secunda post Ae. L. Richteri curas ad librorum manu scriptorum et editionis romanae fidem recognovit et adnotatione critica instruxit, II (Lipsiae [Leipzig], 1881), pp. 1125–1200 Albertano da Brescia, Sermones quattuor, ed. by Marta Ferrari (Lonato: Fondazione Ugo da Como, 1955) ———, Sermo Januensis, ed. by Oscar Nuccio (Brescia: Industrie grafiche bresciane, 1994) Boncompagno da Signa, Cedrus, ed. by Ludwig Rockinger, Briefsteller und Formelbüchern des eilften bis vierzehnten Jahrhunderts (Munich: Georg Franz, 1863; repr. New York: Burt Franklin, 1961) Dante Alighieri, Commedia, Inferno, ed. by Emilio Pasquini and Antonio Quaglio (Milan: Garzanti, 1984) Giovanni Villani, Nuova cronica, ed. by Giovanni Porta, 3 vols (Parma: Guanda, 1991) Guittone d’Arezzo, Le lettere di frate Guittone d’Arezzo, ed. by Francesco Meriano (Bologna: R. Commissione Pei Testi di Lingua, 1922) ———, Lettere, ed. by Claude Margueron (Bologna: Commissione per i testi di lingua, 1990) Regesta Pontificum Romanorum inde ab a. post Christum natum mcxcviii ad a. mccciv, ed. by A. Potthast (Graz: Akademische Druck- u. Verlagsanstalt, 1957–1978) Salimbene de Adam, Cronica, ed. by Guiseppe Scalia, 2 vols (Rome: Laterza, 1966) Tommaso d’Aquino, Commento alla metafisica di Aristotele, trans. by Lorenzo Perotto (Bologna: ESD, 2004–05) Secondary Works Artifoni, Enrico, ‘Prudenza del consigliare. L’educazione del cittadino nel Liber consolationis et consilii di Albertano da Brescia (1246)’, in Consilium. Teorie e pratiche del consigliare nella cultura medievale, ed. by Carla Casagrande, Chiara Crisciani, and Silvana Vecchio (Florence: SISMEL Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2004), pp. 195–216 ———, ‘Tra etica e professionalità politica. La riflessione sulle forme di vita in alcuni intellettuali pragmatici del Duecento italiano’, in Vie active et vie contemplative au Moyen Âge et au seuil de la Renaissance, ed. by Christian Trottmann, Proceedings of International Congress, Rome 17–18 June 2005, Tours 26–28 October 2006 (Rome: École française de Rome, 2009), pp. 403–23 ———, ‘Gli uomini dell’assemblea. L’oratoria civile, i concionatori e i predicatori nella società comunale’, in La predicazione dei Frati dalla metà del ‘200 alla fine del ‘300, Proceedings of the International Congress, Assisi 13–15 october 1994 (Spoleto: Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 1995), pp. 141–88 Benedetti, Marina, Io non sono Dio. Guglielma di Milano e i figli dello Spirito Santo (Milan: Biblioteca Francescana, 1998)

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Benvenuti, Anna, ‘Ad procurationem caritatis et amoris et concordiae ad invicem. La Fraternita dei Laici di Arezzo tra sistema di solidarietà e solidarietà di sistema’, Annali aretini, 1 (1993), 79–104 Black, Antony, Community in Historical Perspective: A Translation of Selections from Das deutsche Genossenschaftsrecht (the German Law of Fellowship) by Otto von Gierke (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990) Boucheron, Patrick, ‘Politisation et dépolitisation d’un lieu commun. Remarques sur la notion de Bien Commun dans les villes d’Italie centro-septentrionales entre commune et seigneurie’, in De Bono Communi: The Discourse and Practice of the Common Good in the European City (13th–16th c.), ed. by Elodie LecuppreDesjardin and Anne Laure Van Bruaene (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), pp. 237–51 Boureau, Alain, La religion de l’État. La construction de la République étatique dans le discours théologique de l’Occident médiéval (1250–1350) (Paris: Les Belles-Lettres, 2006) Brolis, Maria Teresa, and Giovanni Brembilla, ‘Mille e più donne in confraternita. Il consorcium Misericordiae di Bergamo nel Duecento’, in Il buon fedele. Le confraternite tra medioevo e prima età moderna, Quaderni di storia religiosa, 5 (Verona: Cierre, 1998), pp. 107–34 Bruni, Francesco, La città divisa. Le parti e il bene comune da Dante a Guicciardini (Bologna: Mulino, 2003) Cammarosano, Paolo, Italia medievale. Struttura e geografia delle fonti scritte (Rome: La Nuova Italia Scientifica, 1991) Casagrande, Carla, and Silvana Vecchio, I peccati della lingua. Disciplina e etica della parola nella cultura medievale (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1987) Casagrande, Giovanna, ‘Confraternities and Lay Female Religiosity in Late Medieval and Renaissance Umbria’, in The Politics of Ritual Kinship: Confraternities and Social Order in Early Modern Italy, ed. by Nicholas Terpstra (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 48–66 Casagrande, Giovanna, Thomas Frank, Paola Monacchia, and Daniele Sini, Statuti, matricole e documenti, Testi e Documenti della Fraternità dei Disciplinati di S.Stefano di Assisi (Perugia: Deputazione di Storia Patria per l’Umbria Accademia Properziana del Subasio, 2011) Cofradías, gremios, solidaridades en la Europa Medieval. xix Semana de Estudios Medievales, Estella, 20 a 24 de Julio de 1992 (Pamplona : Ediciones Universidad de Navarra, 1993) Corniolo, Elena, ‘La confraternita del Santo Spirito della Porta Sant’Orso (Aosta, secoli XII–XIV)’, in Reti Medievali Rivista, 15 (2014), 3–39 [accessed 6 June 2017] Crouzet Pavan, Élisabeth, Inferni e paradisi. L’Italia di Dante e Giotto (Rome: Fazi, 2007) Davidsohn, Robert, Storia di Firenze, 8 vols (Florence: Sansoni, 1956–1968) D’Avray, David L., The Preaching of the Friars: Sermons Diffused from Paris before 1300 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985) Di Carpegna Falconieri, Tommaso, Il clero di Roma nel Medioevo. Istituzioni e politica cittadina (secoli VIII–XIII) (Rome: Viella, 2002)

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Eco, Umberto, Foucault’s Pendulum (London: Secker & Warburg, 1989; original edition Milan: Bompiani, 1988) Enzensberger, Horst, ‘Quoniam ut ait apostolus. Osservazioni su lettere di indulgenza nei secoli XIII e XIV’, in ‘Misericorditer relaxamus’. Le indulgenze fra teoria e prassi nel Duecento, ed. by L. Pellegrini and R. Paciocco (Naples: Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 1999), pp. 57–100 Escher-Apsner, Monika, ed., Mittelalterliche Bruderschaften in europäischen Städten. Funktionen, Formen, Akteure / Medieval Confraternities in European Towns: Functions, Forms, Protagonists (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2009) Federici, Domenico Maria, Istoria dei Cavalieri Gaudenti, 2 vols (Venice: Coletti, 1787) Fè d’Ostiani, Luigi F., Sermone inedito di Albertano giudice di Brescia (Brescia: Pavoni, 1874) Felice, Flavio, ‘Albertano da Brescia’, in Dizionario di economia civile, ed. by Stefano Zamagni and Luigino Bruni (Rome: Città Nuova, 2009), pp. 27–35 Gazzini, Marina, ‘Devozione, solidarietà e assistenza a Milano nel primo Quattrocento: gli statuti della Scuola della Divinità’, Studi di storia medioevale e diplomatica, 12–13 (1992), 91–120 ———, ‘Confraternite e società cittadina nel Medioevo: percorsi di indagine sulla realtà milanese’, Nuova Rivista Storica, 81 (1997), 373–400 (now in Marina Gazzini, Confraternite e società cittadina nel Medioevo italiano (Bologna: Clueb, 2006), pp. 199–226) ———, ‘Il consortium Spiritus Sancti in Emilia fra Due e Trecento’, in Il buon fedele. Le confraternite tra medioevo e prima età moderna, Quaderni di storia religiosa, 5 (Verona: Cierre, 1998), pp. 159–94 (now in Marina Gazzini, Confraternite e società cittadina nel Medioevo italiano (Bologna: Clueb, 2006), pp. 157–96) ———, ‘Donne e uomini in confraternita. La matricola del Consorzio dello Spirito Santo di Piacenza (1268)’, Archivio Storico per le Province Parmensi, iv s., 52 (2000), 253–74 ———, ‘Fratres e milites tra religione e politica. Le milizie di Gesù Cristo e della Vergine nel Duecento’, Archivio Storico Italiano, 162 (2004), 3–78 (now in Marina Gazzini, Confraternite e società cittadina nel Medioevo italiano (Bologna: Clueb, 2006), pp. 126–55) ———, Confraternite e società cittadina nel Medioevo italiano (Bologna: Clueb, 2006) ———, ‘Confraternite/corporazioni: i volti molteplici della “schola” medioevale’, in Corpi, ‘fraternità’, mestieri, pp. 51–71 (now in Marina Gazzini, Confraternite e società cittadina nel Medioevo italiano (Bologna: Clueb, 2006), pp. 59–81) ———, ed., Studi confraternali. Orientamenti, problemi, testimonianze, Reti medievali E-Book 12 (Florence, Firenze University Press, 2009) [accessed 6 June 2017] ———, ‘Gli archivi delle confraternite. Documentazione, prassi conservative, memoria comunitaria’, in Studi confraternali. Orientamenti, problemi, testimonianze, ed. by Marina Gazzini, Reti medievali E-Book 12 (Florence: Firenze University Press, 2009), pp. 369–89 [accessed 6 June 2017]

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———, ‘Solidarity and Brotherhood in Medieval Italian Confraternities: A Way of Inclusion or Exclusion?’, Reti Medievali Rivista, 13 (2012), 109–20 [accessed 6 June 2017] ———, ‘Costruire la comunità: l’apporto delle confraternite fra Due e Trecento. Alcuni esempi dal Nord e Centro Italia’, Rivista di storia della Chiesa in Italia, 68 (2014), 331–48 ———, ‘Tra Chiesa e Impero, tra movimenti di pace ed eresia. Il francescano Gerardo Boccabadati da Modena, la Grande Devozione e gli statuti del comune di Parma (1232–1233)’, in Francescani e politica nelle autonomie cittadine dell’Italia basso-medioevale: Attidel convegno (Acoli Piceno, Palazzo dei capitani, 27–29 novembre 2014, ed. by Isa Lori Sanfilippo and Roberto Lambertini (Rome: ISIME, 2017), pp. 59–90 Giordani, Bonaventura, ‘Statuta Consortii B. Mariae Virginis et S. Francisci Parmae saec. xiv’, Archivum Franciscanum Historicum, 16 (1923), 356–68 Graham, Angus, ‘Albertanus of Brescia’, in Key Figures in Medieval Europe: An Encyclopedia, ed. by Richard K. Emmerson (New York: Routledge, 2006), pp. 12–14 Greci, Roberto, ‘Origini, sviluppi e crisi del comune’, in Storia di Parma. Parma medievale, ed. by Roberto Greci (Parma: MUP, 2010), pp. 115–67 ———, ‘Economia, religiosità, politica. Le solidarietà delle corporazioni medievali nell’Italia del Nord’, in Cofradías, gremios, solidaridades en la Europa Medieval. xix Semana de Estudios Medievales, Estella, 20 a 24 de Julio de 1992 (Pamplona: Ediciones Universidad de Navarra, 1993), pp. 75–111 La Roncière, Charles-Marie de, ‘Le confraternite in Europa fra trasformazioni sociali e mutamenti spirituali’, in Vita religiosa e identità politiche: universalità e particolarismi nell’Europa del tardo Medioevo, ed. by Sergio Gensini (Pisa: Pacini, 1998), pp. 325–82 Le mouvement confraternel au Moyen Âge. France, Italie, Suisse, Proceedings of the International Congress, Lausanne 9–11 May 1985 (Rome : École française de Rome, 1987) Meersseman, Gilles Gérard, Ordo fraternitatis. Confraternite e pietà dei laici nel Medioevo, 3 vols (Rome: Herder, 1977) ———, Dossier de l’ordre de la Pénitence au 13ème siècle (Fribourg: Éditions universitaires de Fribourg, 1982) Mesini, Candido, ‘Statuti piacentini-parmensi dei Disciplinati’, Archivio Storico per le province parmensi, iv s., 12 (1960), 43–70 Michaud-Quantin, Pierre, Universitas. Expression du mouvement communautaire dans le Moyen Âge latin (Paris : Vrin, 1970) Milani, Giuliano, and Antonio Montefusco, ed., ‘Dante attraverso i documenti. i. Famiglia e patrimonio (secolo xii–1300 circa)’, Reti Medievali Rivista, 15 (2014) [accessed 6 June 2017] ———, ‘Dante attraverso i documenti. ii. Presupposti e contesti dell’impegno politico a Firenze (1295–1302)’, Reti Medievali Rivista, 18 (2017) [accessed 6 June 2017]

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Mollat, Guillaume, ‘Corpus Iuris Canonici. Les Clémentines’, in Dictionnaire de droit canonique, ed. by Raoul Naz, 7 vols (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1935–65), iv (1949), cols 635–40 Moriani, Antonella, ‘Assistenza e beneficenza ad Arezzo nel XIV secolo: la Fraternita di Santa Maria della Misericordia’, in La società del bisogno. Povertà e assistenza nella Toscana medievale, ed. by Giuliano Pinto (Florence: Salimbeni, 1989), pp. 19–35 Natalini, Cecilia, ‘Appunti sui collegia religionis causa nella dottrina civilistica tra Glossa e Commento’, in Studi confraternali. Orientamenti, problemi, testimonianze, ed. by Marina Gazzini, Reti medievali E-Book, 12 (Florence: Firenze University Press, 2009), pp. 97–124 [accessed 6 June 2017] Navarrini, Roberto, and Carlo Marco Belfanti, ‘Il problema della povertà nel ducato di Mantova. Aspetti istituzionali e problemi sociali. Secoli xiv–xvi’, in Timore e carità. I poveri nell’Italia moderna, ed. by Giorgio Politi, Mario Rosa, and Franco Della Peruta, Proceedings of the Congress, Cremona, 28–30 March 1980 (Cremona: Libreria del Convegno Editrice, 1982), pp. 121–36 Nuccio, Oscar, Epistemologia dell’‘azione umana’ e razionalismo economico nel Duecento italiano. Il caso Albertano da Brescia (Turin: Effatà Editrice, 2005) Oexle, Otto Gerhard, ‘Die mittelalterlichen Gilden: ihre Selbstdeutung und ihr Beitrag zur Formung sozialer Strukturen’, in Soziale Ordnungen im Selbstverständnis des Mittelalters, ed. by Albert Zimmermann (Berlin: Gruyter, 1979), pp. 203–26 Ortalli, Francesca, ‘Per la salute delle anime e delli corpi’. Scuole piccole a Venezia nel tardo Medioevo (Venice: Marsilio, 2001) Paravicini Bagliani, Agostino, ‘Clemente V’, in Enciclopedia dei Papi (Rome: Treccani degli Alfieri, 2000), ii, pp. 501–12 Pastore, Stefana, Adriano Prosperi, and Nicholas Terpstra, eds, Brotherhood and Boundaries / Fraternità e barriere, Proceedings of the International Congress, Pisa, 19–20 September 2008 (Pisa: Edizioni della Normale ETS, 2011) Pegoretti, Anna, ‘‘Civitas diaboli’: Forme e figure della religiosità laica nella Firenze di Dante’, in Dante poeta cristiano e la cultura religiosa medievale: In ricordo di Anna Maria Chiavacci Leonardi: Atti del convegno internazionale di Studi (Ravenna, 26 novembre 2015), ed. by Guiseppe Ledda (Ravenna: Centro Dantesco dei Frati Minori Conventuali, 2018), pp. 65–116. Powell, James M., Albertanus of Brescia: The Pursuit of Happiness in the Early Thirteenth Century (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1992) Prosdocimi, Luigi, Il diritto ecclesiastico dello Stato di Milano dall’inizio della signoria viscontea al periodo tridentino (sec. xiii–xvi) (Milan: Edizioni de L’Arte, 1941; repr. Milan: Cisalpino, 1973) Pryds, Darleen, ‘Monarchs, Lawyers, and Saints: Juridical Preaching on Holiness’, in Models of Holiness in Medieval Sermons, ed. by Beverly Mayne Kienzle, Proceedings of the International Symposium, Kalamazoo, 4–7 May 1995 (Louvain-la-Neuve: FIDEM, 1996), pp. 141–56

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Pullan, Brian, Rich and Poor in Renaissance Venice: The Social Institutions of a Catholic State, to 1629 (Oxford: Blackwell, 1971) Rigon, Antonio, ‘Schole, confraternite e ospedali’, in Pensiero e sperimentazioni istituzionali nella Societas Christiana 1046–1250, ed. by Giancarlo Andenna, Proceedings of the International Congress, Mendola (TN) 26–31 August 2004 (Milan: Vita e Pensiero, 2007), pp. 407–27 Rosser, Gervase, ‘Finding Oneself in a Medieval Fraternity: Individual and Collective Identities in the English Guilds’, in Mittelalterliche Bruderschaften in europäischen Städten. Funktionen, Formen, Akteure / Medieval Confraternities in European Towns. Functions, Forms, Protagonists, ed. by Monika Escher-Apsner (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2009), pp. 29–46 ———, ‘Guilds and Confraternities: Architects of Unnatural Community’, in De Bono Communi: The Discourse and Practice of the Common Good in the European City (13th–16th c.), ed. by Elodie Lecuppre-Desjardin and Anne-Laure Van Bruaene (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), pp. 217–24 Rossi, Maria Clara, ‘Vescovi e confraternite: alcune premesse storiografiche e metodologiche’, in Studi confraternali. Orientamenti, problemi, testimonianze, ed. by Marina Gazzini, Reti medievali E-Book, 12 (Florence: Firenze University Press, 2009), pp. 125–65 [accessed 6 June 2017] Salvemini, Gaetano, Magnati e popolani a Firenze (Florence: Tipografia Carnesecchi e figli, 1899; Turin: Einaudi, 1960) De Sandre Gasparini, Giuseppina, ‘Un’immediata ripercussione del movimento dei Bianchi del 1399: la regola di una “fraternitas alborum” in diocesi di Padova (13 ottobre 1399)’, Rivista di storia della chiesa in Italia, 25 (1972), 354–68 Solignac, Aimé, ‘Vie active, vie contemplative, vie mixte’, in Dictionnaire de spiritualité, ascétique et mystique, 17 vols (Paris: Beauchesne Éditeur, 1932–1995), xvi (1993–94), cols 592–623 Taddei, Ilaria, ‘Confraternite e giovani’, in Studi confraternali. Orientamenti, problemi, testimonianze, ed. by Marina Gazzini, Reti medievali E-Book, 12 (Florence : Firenze University Press, 2009), pp. 79–93 [accessed 6 June 2017] Tanzini, Lorenzo, ‘Albertano e dintorni. Note su volgarizzamenti e cultura politica nella Toscana tardo-medievale’, in La parola utile. Saggi sul discorso morale nel Medioevo (Rome: Carocci, 2012), pp. 161–217 Thompson, Augustine, Revival Preachers and Politics in Thirteenth-Century Italy: The Great Devotion of 1233 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992; Italian trans. Milan: Biblioteca Francescana, 1996) ———, ‘New Light on Bl. Giacomo Benfatti OP, Bishop of Mantua, and the Mantua Disciplinati’, Archivum fratrum Praedicatorum, 69 (1999), 147–79 Todeschini, Giacomo, ‘Guardiani della soglia. I Frati Minori come garanti del perimetro sociale (XIII secolo)’, Reti Medievali Rivista, 8 (2007) [accessed 12 January 2021]

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Trio, Paul, ‘The Social Positioning of Late Medieval Confraternities in Urbanized Flanders: From Integration to Segregation’, in Mittelalterliche Bruderschaften in europäischen Städten. Funktionen, Formen, Akteure / Medieval Confraternities in European Towns. Functions, Forms, Protagonists, ed. by Monika Escher-Apsner (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2009), pp. 101–10 Trottmann, Christian, ed., Vie active et vie contemplative au Moyen Âge et au seuil de la Renaissance, Proceedings of International Congress, Rome 17–18 June 2005, Tours 26–28 October 2006 (Rome: École française de Rome, 2009). Weissman, Ronald F. E., Ritual Brotherhood in Renaissance Florence (New York: Academic Press, 1982) Zafarana, Z., ‘Boccabadati Gherardo’, in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani (Rome: Treccani degli Alfieri, 1960–), x (1968), pp. 822–23 Zardin, Danilo, ed., Corpi, ‘fraternità’, mestieri nella storia della società europea: Atti del convegno tenutosi a Trento 30 maggio - 1 giugno 1996, Quaderni di Cheiron, 7 (Rome: Bulzoni, 1998) Zorzi, Andrea, ed., Conflitti, paci e vendette nell’Italia comunale, Reti medievali E-Book 14 (Florence: Firenze University Press, 2009), [accessed 12 January 2021]

Cora Zwart

Religion as a Connecting Force in the Late Medieval City of Utrecht The Religious Life of Alderman and Mayor Dirck Borre van Amerongen (c. 1438–1528)

‘Everyone belonged to religion — and yet no less to the world’ Van Engen, ‘Multiple Options’, p. 265

Introduction ‘Dit boeck hoert toe dirck borre van ameronghen’ (This book belongs to Dirck Borre van Amerongen).1 This carefully written inscription is visible in a Middle Dutch miscellany book of sermons (1469), now kept in The Hague. The inscription was put there by its first owner, Dirck Borre van Amerongen (c. 1438–1528), a prominent citizen of Utrecht and in the 1470s and 1480s alderman and mayor of the city.2 Underneath his owner’s mark, Dirck wrote the Easter dates of the years [14]89–[14]93 (Figure 3.1). The manuscript book includes two texts of different sizes: the well-known large sermon book Een nuttelijc boec den kerstenen menschen (A useful book for Christian people), and the far less-known and shorter Eene Oufeninghe vander gracien gods (An exercise/





1 The Hague, KB, MS KW 128 D 9, fol. 293v. This case study is part of my PhD project ‘Weaving the Religious Civic Web: A Socio-Historical Analysis of Fifteenth-Century Religious City Life in Utrecht, Leiden, and Bruges’, University of Groningen, The Netherlands. 2 For the date of death of Dirck Borre van Amerongen: Maris, Repertorium op de Stichtse leenprotocollen, p. 44, no. 49 and p. 408, no. 438. Cora Zwart  •  received her Masters’ degree in Classical, Medieval, and Renaissance Studies (cum laude) at the University of Groningen in 2013. She now works at this University on her PhD project ‘Weaving the Religious Civic Web. A Socio-Historical Analysis of Fifteenth-Century Religious City Life in Utrecht, Leiden and Bruges’. Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400–1550): Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting through the Continuum of Sacred and Secular, ed. by Suzan Folkerts, New Communities of Interpretation, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), pp. 43–74 © FHG10.1484/M.NCI-EB.5.122094

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Figure 3.1. Owner’s mark and Easter dates, written by Dirck Borre van Amerongen, The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, MS KW 128 D 9, fol. 293v.

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treatise on God’s grace).3 The author of the Oufeninghe was Goswinus Hex, a man who at the moment of the making of Dirck’s manuscript was about to be suffragan bishop of Utrecht.4 A very similar owner’s mark of Dirck’s appears in a precious illuminated Book of Hours written in Latin and Middle Dutch (1473), which is now kept in Edinburgh.5 Here it says ‘Dit boeck hoert toe: dirck borren wiif van ameronghen’ (This book belongs to the wife of Dirck Borre van Amerongen) — wiif referring to Dirck’s first wife Clementia Sloyer († 1483). Both books still have their original bindings and show little damage. Lay ownership of prayer books, Books of Hours, sermon books, treatises, and other religious books was very common in the long fifteenth century. This period between c. 1370 and c. 1530, nowadays increasingly seen as a period with its own dynamics, was one in which ‘everyone belonged to religion’, and in which lay spirituality thrived.6 As the century progressed, the possession and domestic use of precious and costly prayer books and Books of Hours became typical for the upper echelons of many western European societies.7 In the Low Countries these books were often written in the vernacular or in a combination of Latin and vernacular. Many beautifully illuminated prayer books and Books of Hours still bear witness to this elite book ownership and prove their value as rich sources for (art-)historical research. Many sober vernacular books dealing with religion and devotion have been preserved as well, as witnesses of religious book ownership by the lesser echelons of society, or by people who preferred modest copies. Because of their sober appearances, these books, which include treatises and many books of sermons, are still less studied. They can, however, be a most meaningful starting point for research on late medieval urban individuals and their religious lives, as well as on urban religious cohesion. This essay on the religious life of the Utrecht citizen Dirck Borre van Amerongen focuses on two elements. The first one is the question of Dirck’s personal religious agency, by which I mean the way he used ‘religious resources’ to connect with others. He seems to have established a personal network by deliberately acting in a religiously motivated way. The second element is the question how his religious actions affected his social environment. To investigate these two elements, I will first discuss three shifts in scholarship that affect the approach of this essay. I will also explain my use of the words ‘religion’ and ‘religious resources’. Then, after an introduction to his life, his family, and his city of Utrecht, Dirck’s religious views will be examined. His

3 Abbreviated henceforth as Nuttelijc boec and Oufeninghe, respectively. On the book of sermons of Dirck Borre van Amerongen and the importance of marginal glosses in medieval manuscripts as a source for research, see Zwart, ‘Religie, ridderschap en rijkdom’. 4 Weijling, Bijdrage tot de geschiedenis, pp. 242–43. 5 Edinburgh, NLS, MS National Galleries 7130, fol. 147v. 6 Van Engen, ‘Multiple Options’. 7 Marrow, ‘The Golden Age’; Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, pp. 68–87; Hindman and Marrow, eds, Books of Hours Reconsidered.

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personally annotated book of sermons has proved to be a great source for understanding his religious views. The analysis of his sermon book with his handwritten annotations allows us to get as close as possible to him, and to understand him as a religiously engaged person. Finally, other material, textual, and archival sources will be discussed that shed light on questions concerning Dirck’s religious agency: how and why did he mobilize religious resources in order to connect with others? How did he strengthen and continue these bonds? Were his actions in line with his religious views? How did ‘the others’ respond? Focusing on the religious agency of one late medieval citizen and the impact of this agency as an urban connecting force might be thought of as a surprising way to study urban religious cohesion. However, it ties in well with new approaches in social history that use cultural models which put the agency of diverse parties centre stage rather than focusing on binary and conflictual modes of thinking.8 And it may be surprising as well that, compared with the many existing studies that focus on religious groups in medieval cities, the perspective of one lay individual provides a broader view on the impact and function of religion in urban societies as a whole.9 To ensure that the urban society as a whole is involved, the scope of this essay is not limited beforehand to specific social or religious groups.

Three Shifts in Modern Research on Religion and Devotion Three somewhat hidden shifts in modern research on religion and devotion affect the content and approach of this essay. First, over the last decades a change has been taking place from studying religion as ‘church history’, mainly from an institutional and theological perspective, to more comprehensive ‘history of religious culture’.10 An example of this latter approach is the recent publication of a sequence of five volumes containing international studies on the importance of legacies of religion for today, which explicitly includes ‘powers, words, things, and gestures’.11 Studies like the present one about the religious life of Dirck Borre van Amerongen, which includes textual, material, and visual sources, clearly belong to this ‘history of religious culture’.



8 Terpstra, ‘Lay Spirituality’, p. 267. 9 Typical studies on religious groups in Utrecht include Palmboom, Het kapittel van Sint Jan; Van den Hoven van Genderen, De Heren van de Kerk; Van den Hoven van Genderen and Trio, ‘Old Stories and New Themes’; Van Engen, De derde orde van Sint-Franciscus; Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers; for a comprehensive study on culture and religion in Utrecht see Bogaers, Aards, betrokken en zelfbewust. 10 Caldwell Ames, ‘Medieval Religious’, p. 334; Terpstra, ‘Lay Spirituality’, p. 266. 11 De Vries and others, eds, The Future of the Religious Past. As of now four volumes have been published.

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Secondly, the societal role of religion at large and the importance of the existence of a sacred–secular gap in our so-called post-secular society are subjects of constant debate. Firm belief in this gap, however, sometimes hinders research on religion in the past. During the ‘long fifteenth century’, the sacred and the secular were not experienced as separate entities; therefore, they need to be studied in cohesion.12 Urban neighbourhoods, rural villages, churches, and convents all belonged to the one Corpus Christianum, a politically unified body of Christians, and lay and religious people alike tried to make this concept work.13 The focus in this essay on an urban individual and his network, based on his own religious actions, challenges an often-presumed and anachronistic lay–religious division. Connections between lay and religious people become visible, revealing that they were often closely involved with each other. Thirdly, there is an ongoing debate about the theoretical conceptualizations of ‘religion’ and ‘religious’, which is caused by the need for a definition beyond ‘we know it when we see it’.14 Studies on religion within a late medieval urban setting often take as their point of departure groups with an ‘obvious’ connection to the topic, such as guilds, confraternities, mendicant orders, militias, and associations of clergy.15 This essay about Dirck Borre van Amerongen takes an individual perspective on late medieval Christian urban life. The phenomenological description of religion by the theologian Ninian Smart provides a fitting frame for the interpretation of Dirck’s religiously coloured actions and use of objects. Smart’s universal definition of religion is taken as starting point: religion is ‘that aspect of human life, experience and institutions in which we as human beings interact thoughtfully with the cosmos and express the exigencies of our own nature and existence’.16 Smart then describes seven closely connected and partly overlapping dimensions of the sacred that, in his belief, all religions or worldviews have in common. He planned to extend it to nine but unfortunately has not been able to do that fully.17 His concept was not specifically designed for medieval Christian societies in the Low Countries, but, as a universal concept, it can be of use here, and it offers possibilities for comparisons with other situations. Smart differentiates a doctrinal and philosophical dimension, a ritual or practical dimension, a mythic or narrative dimension, an experiential and emotional dimension, an ethical and legal dimension, a social and institutional dimension, a material or artistic dimension, a political dimension, and an economic dimension. More than one of these dimensions are visible in the textual,

12 Van Engen, ‘Multiple Options’. 13 ‘The term Corpus Christianum refers to the medieval concept of a unity of Church and “state”, of spiritual and secular dominion’, De Wall, ‘Corpus Christianum’. 14 For example, De Vries, ed., Religion: Beyond a Concept. 15 Terpstra, ‘Lay Spirituality’, p. 270. 16 Smart, Dimensions of the Sacred, p. 1. 17 Seefor Smart’s definition of the dimensions and a brief discussion of them, Smart, Dimensions of the Sacred, pp. xv, xvi, xx, xxi, xxiv, xxv, 8–14.

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material, and visual sources connected with Dirck, among them also the archival sources that document his actions. In this essay, all of these sources taken together are called ‘religious resources’. They show a broad variety of dynamic connecting ties between the nodes of the social network of Dirck Borre van Amerongen, which consists of religious and non-religious people and institutions.18 In this way, a fifteenth-century example of urban religious connectedness becomes visible.

Dirck Borre van Amerongen The family Bor(re) van Amerong(h)en belonged to the lesser nobility in the diocese of Utrecht, part of which was an episcopal principality of the Holy Roman Empire in the Low Countries between 1054 and 1528.19 In 1286, Henric and Diederic of Amerongen, the ancestors of the family, vassals of the count of Holland, Floris V, built the castle of Amerongen, which the family lost at the end of the fourteenth century. Dirck (c. 1438–1528) was a son of Jacob Borre van Amerongen and Dyna Trinde, members of prominent Utrecht families of aldermen.20 Just like his father Jacob, Dirck married within the ruling elite of the city. His first wife was Clementia Sloyer († 1483), daughter of mayor and alderman Jan Sloyer. Dirck and Clementia had three sons: Jacob, Jan, and Frederik.21 Three years after Clementia’s death, Dirck married Maria van Snellenberch (1465–1540), daughter of Willem van Snellenberch and Mergriet de Gruyter. Willem was alderman in Utrecht, steward of Bishop David of Burgundy, and eventually schout (a kind of sheriff) of Utrecht.22 The children of Maria and Dirck were called Willem, Lutgard, and Dyna. Most families of the ruling elite of Utrecht were of (lesser) nobility.23 Though they belonged to the city elite, they also held important fiefs, or even 18 Smart, Dimensions of the Sacred; Crossley and others, Social Network Analysis. 19 On the specifics of Dutch lesser nobility see Van Winter, Ministerialiteit en ridderschap; Marshall, The Dutch Gentry, pp. xv–xviii; Buitelaar, De Stichtse ministerialiteit. 20 Until 1528 the guilds, with their prominent aldermen, were the most influential political force in Utrecht. Then, after a long period of great turmoil, Emperor Charles V finally took over all power. 21 Van Hoogstraten and Brouërius van Nidek, Groot algemeen woordenboek, pp. 327–28. 22 Henceforth, Dirck Borre van Amerongen and Maria van Snellenberch will be referred to as Dirck and Maria. The Dutch ‘Maria’ has been chosen to avoid confusion with other Marys in this essay; Zwart, ‘Religie, ridderschap en rijkdom’, p. 108. 23 The complicated situation in Utrecht considering the backgrounds, and the partial interweaving, of the nobility and the lesser nobility (of which many, but not all, were subordinates of the ruling bishop), emerges for instance from the study by Buitelaar, De Stichtse ministerialiteit. Together with Utrecht’s urban patrician families, with whom they gradually became intertwined as well, they belonged to the ruling city elite. In this period of time the lines between these groups sometimes are rather blurred. About the ‘nobility’ living in the actual vicinity of Dirck Borre van Amerongen in Utrecht, see De Goede and Boon, Plompetorengracht westzijde, p. 14, the inverted commas by the authors point to this lack of clarity as well.

religion as a connecting force in the late medieval city of utrecht

owned ridderhofsteden (knight dwellings) in the diocese of Utrecht, the county of Holland, and the duchy of Guelders. Dirck, for instance, held several fiefs in Amerongen, Cothen, Vleuten, and Wijk bij Duurstede, which belonged to the Dom and Oudmunster provostries and to the Gaasbeek fiefs that in 1459 were taken over by Bishop David of Burgundy.24 These noble families each had their coats of arms, which they often used in combination with images of specific saints whenever they thought this representation was appropriate. Examples of these visual representations can still be seen in Utrecht domestic corbel pieces and mantlepieces, and in images of stained-glass windows donated to churches, convents, and the city hall.25 A songbook made by Hendrick van der Borch († 1698), a descendant of Dirck and Maria, beautifully shows the extended heraldry of his family (Figure 3.2).26 Dirck and his household lived in the house he inherited from his parents at the Nieuwe Gracht (‘New Canal’) or Plompetorengracht, a canal named after a tower, the ‘Plompetoren’.27 This was a prestigious neighbourhood, where many members of the city government used to live. The chapter of Saint John was the landowner of this location; it was to this chapter that Dirck paid his rent.28 His house, which, like many houses of the well-to-do, consisted of several houses made into one, was located at the west side of the canal, at the location of buildings that are nowadays numbered 14 to 18. In the 1470s and 1480s Dirck was chosen several times as a member of the city council. Some of his doings here might be mapped within what Smart identified as the political dimension, as well as the ethical and legal dimensions. At first he was alderman on behalf of the Grauwerckers’ guild (the guild of the furriers), and in September 1487 he became mayor on behalf of the aldermen.29 In his capacity as alderman and mayor of Utrecht, Dirck was involved in urban legislation, as well as the enforcement of the law. The Raads Dagelijks Boek and the Buurspraakboek, registers containing the directions and notifications of the city council, often speak of these tasks. They mention, for instance, names, crimes, and punishments such as fines, physical punishments (the removal of an ear or finger), and banishments. The city

24 See e.g. Kort, Repertorium lenen Proosdij Ten Dom, pp. 7–8, 14, 19–21; Kort, Repertorium lenen Gaasbeek, p. 70, 164. 25 Klinckaert, Beeldhouwkunst tot 1850, e.g. cat. nos 65, 78, 93, 108, 109, 117, 337; Buchelius, Inscriptiones monumentaque (Utrecht, UB, MS 1648, c. 1609–1632). 26 The Hague, KB, KW 76 H 5, fol. 23v, a seventeenth-century songbook including texts and clippings from the sixteenth-century Album amicorum of his (grand-)father(?) Hendrick van der Borch († 1637); heraldry at fol. 109r. 27 De Goede and Boon, Plompetorengracht westzijde, pp. 94–95. 28 Palmboom, Het kapittel van Sint Jan, p. 318. 29 Van den Hoven van Genderen, ‘Op het toppunt’. This paragraph about the politics in Utrecht is based on the text of the Raads Dagelijks Boek from the years 1470 to 1490, transcriptions of which are available at the website of the Archives of Utrecht: Utrecht, HUA, access no. 1128 (Verzameling fotokopieën en transcripties, Stadsarchief 1122–1577, raad), inv. nos 3001-28. Transcription of access no. 701, inv. nos 13–1 to 13–28.

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Figure 3.2. Heraldry of the Borre van Amerongen and Trinde families in the Album amicorum of Hendrick van der Borch, The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, MS KW 76 H 5, fol. 23v.

council books also record, however, that the council could impose religious fines. This might include an obligatory walk at the head of the procession starting at the Buurkerk on the following Sunday without shoes or outer garments.30 The council could also send offenders away on pilgrimages to nearby Amersfoort or Rhenen, or to far away Santiago de Compostela, only to return with proper proof of completion. It is often mentioned that the city council decided when, where, and for what purpose a procession was to be held. They even determined in what order people were supposed to walk.31 On 23 August 1524, the Buurspraakboek mentions a ban issued by the city council on the purchase and use of the ‘heretical books’ of Martin Luther. On pain of severe sanctions, everybody had to hand these books over to their vicars within eight days (‘datse die brengen in hande van zijn pastoer binnen acht daeghen naestliken’).32

30 Buurkerk means the church of the buren or burghers, ‘citizens’. 31 This was quite common, see Brown, Civic Ceremony and Religion. 32 Utrecht, HUA, access no. 701 (Stadsbestuur van Utrecht 1122–1577), inv. no. 16 (Dit is een boec, daer men al de buerspraken (in scriven) zel), part 16–19 (the years 1522–1536), fol. 28v.

religion as a connecting force in the late medieval city of utrecht

In 1489 Dirck’s political career came to a sudden halt, as a result of the complicated political situation both inside and outside the city of Utrecht.33 Wars of independence and conflicts with the Burgundian rulers dominated the European political scene. Both the Hook and Cod wars in Holland and the ongoing power struggle in the duchy of Guelders had spread into the principality of the bishop of Utrecht. Mercenary troops flooded in, and the ongoing battles heavily affected the internal politics of the city of Utrecht. Extended family bonds, ever-changing alliances, and factional struggles affected the position of the city elite and members of the city government, and complicated the struggle for urban power of the city of Utrecht itself, which was trying to gain as much independence as possible from its landlord, Bishop David of Burgundy. After a riot in February 1489, certain citizens of Utrecht, apparently prompted by certain guilds, captured and deposed the complete city council, which consisted of an old part and a new part. Dirck, being a member of the old council and a supporter of the bishop, was imprisoned in the Catharijnepoort, together with a few of his fellow council members. A new council was installed afterwards, in which, surprisingly, some members of the old one reappeared. They fined the prisoners to make up for what was called ‘their financial mismanagement’ and ‘their neglect to repair the city walls and gates’. Henric van Gendt, who had served on the council together with Dirck almost continuously from the 1470s until 1488, was one of the new members. Under his command some of the deposed members and supporters of the bishop, including Dirck, were banished to Overijssel.34 Several tried to get justice for themselves and asked to be pardoned.35 Dirck, however, who refused to pay his exorbitant fine of 800 Rhinish guilders, was kept out of the city of Utrecht until 1525. In the meantime, on 5 December 1492 in Utrecht, his brother Jacob was stabbed to death.36 As an indication that the reasons for Dirck’s banishment were indeed questionable, a specific note in the Raads Dagelijks Boek of 31 August 1479, about ten years earlier, is telling. It questions the likelihood of the financial reproaches of the new council, and the reproach of Dirck neglecting an important task. At

33 The political situation in late medieval Utrecht was quite comparable with, for instance, York and Bruges, see Liddy and Haemers, ‘Popular Politics’. 34 See the transcription of the Raads Dagelijks Boek of 4 March 1489: Utrecht, HUA, access no. 1128 (Verzameling fotokopieën en transcripties, Stadsarchief 1122–1577, raad), inv. no. 3014. Transcription of access no. 701, inv. no. 13–14 (1488–1492). 35 ‘Verzoek der ballingen van Utrecht, totten gebruycke van hare goederen, etc., te mogen Comen’, in Dodt van Flensburg ed., Archief voor Kerkelijke en Wereldsche Geschiedenissen, pp. 170–71. 36 As mentioned in the Buurspraakboek. Transcriptions available at the website of Het Utrechts Archief: Utrecht, HUA, access no. 1128 (Verzameling fotokopieën en transcripties, Stadsarchief 1122–1577, raad), inv. nos 3044 and 3045. Transcription of access no. 701, inv. nos 16–16 (1481–1490) and 16–17 (1490–1499). Later sources say Dirck van Amerongen killed Jacob, but nothing of the kind could be found in contemporary sources. See Van Leeuwen, Batavia illustrata, i, p. 757.

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this date, Willebroert Lubbert Schinckelszoon specifically expresses on behalf of himself, his friends, and his family, his gratitude to the council concerning the ‘momberschap’ (guardianship) over his wife Peternelle Ghijsbert Scadendochter by aldermen Dirck Borre van Amerongen and Gheryt van Rhijn Gerrits. They all were very grateful for the fact that the financial aspects of her guardianship were dealt with correctly. Aldermen were often appointed as guardians over minors who lacked a family that could take care of their financial situation. Compliments like these, however, are scarce in the Raads Dagelijks Boek, so the guardians mentioned here must have been remarkably accurate in their business dealings. Not much is known of Dirck’s life in exile. His whereabouts in this period are uncertain. Once he is mentioned as one of the knights present at the trial in 1517 at the court of the bishop in Wijk bij Duurstede, together with some other exiles. This trial involved a long-standing conflict about the ownership of profitable peat lands near Utrecht between the Utrecht chapter of Saint John and the prestigious abbey of Benedictine nuns outside of Utrecht (Vrouwenklooster buiten Utrecht).37 The chapter lost, and in its protest against the loss repudiated the improper procedure that caused it. In 1519, at a trial on the execution of the judgement of 1517, Dirck’s son Willem was present. Though Dirck himself did not hold any political office after 1489, his family continued to have influence in Utrecht. His son Willem was chosen twice as a member of the city council and once as mayor. Much later, in 1678, stadtholder Willem III (the later king William III of England, Ireland, and Scotland) appointed a descendant of Dirck’s, Dirck Borre van Amerongen, Lord of Sandenburg, as schout of Utrecht.38 Several archival documents of Dirck and his family show clear examples of the interwovenness of the sacred and the secular, and of close connections between lay people and religious people. They represent what Smart identifies as the political dimension together with the ritual or practical dimension. Documents in the archives of the city of Utrecht testify that the Borre van Amerongen family belonged to the parish of the Buurkerk or Saint Mary Minor Church, a church they probably attended daily.39 Many other parishioners of this church belonged to the urban ruling elite. A ground plan of the position of elite altars within the Buurkerk reveals a competitive attitude among their founders or users, strongly connected with high status and representation.40

37 Henceforth abbreviated as Vrouwenklooster; Van Erp, De kroniek, ed. by Doedens and others, p. 31. About the trials, see the online edition of the Vrouwenklooster charters: Utrecht, HUA, access no. 1005–4 (Vrouwenklooster van Benedictinessen te De Bilt), Bijlagen, Transcripties, pp. 377–79, 392–93, 404–05. 38 Kronenberg, ‘Een oud-Utrechtse kwartierstaat’, cols 355–57; Vande Water, Groot Placaatboek, iii, i, pp. 128–30, 133, 162, 218. 39 Bogaers, Aards, betrokken en zelfbewust, i, pp. 285–87. 40 On the altars of the Buurkerk and their founders/users in c. 1550, see Zwart, ‘Zijaltaren als liturgisch venster’; For more about the Buurkerk, see below.

religion as a connecting force in the late medieval city of utrecht

Documents from the prestigious charterhouse Nieuwlicht outside of Utrecht at Bloemendaal show that the Trinde, Borre van Amerongen, and Sloyer families were for some time closely connected with these Carthusians as well.41 And the annual accounts of the Illustrious Fraternity of Our Lady (‘Illustre Lieve Vrouwe Broederschap’), a confraternity in Den Bosch devoted to the Virgin Mary, indicate that Clementia was a member.42 This distinguished confraternity was popular with the elite both inside and outside Den Bosch, presumably because of the generous indulgences for its members, but certainly because of its elevated status. Other Utrecht members were mostly canons or priests belonging to ruling elite families. It is unclear whether or not these members and their families connected with each other, and if so, how. Dirck himself forged a relationship in 1471 with the canons regular of Saint Augustine at Vredendael outside of Utrecht, a monastery also devoted to the Virgin Mary. The repertory of episcopal fiefs mentions him in this year as their new hulder (the legal male representative). He kept this position until his death, after which Adam Ram, just like Dirck several times alderman of Utrecht, as well as a parishioner of the Buurkerk, took it over (16 October 1528).43

Dirck’s Religious Manuscript Books and Personal Notes Two religious books mainly meant for domestic use and once belonging to Dirck Borre van Amerongen and his first wife are preserved to this day. It is unknown whether Dirck or his wives owned any other books. Of these two books, the huge Middle Dutch miscellany book offers the most significant information about Dirck’s religious thinking. It was completed in 1469, neatly written in cursiva on paper, and has a sober appearance.44 Only the first initial of the first text (fol. 3r), with a height of eight lines and flowery details, has been embellished with paint and gold. The manuscript mainly contains what was, at the time, a well-known lectionary book based on Epistles and Gospels to be read according to the liturgical year, now named Nuttelijc boec, with sermons that focus particularly on how to live as a good Christian in daily life (fols 3r–284v). The second text is the Oufeninghe, a treatise on acquiring, 41 De Weijert-Gutman, ‘Schenken, begraven, gedenken’, pp. 281, 320–21, 345–46. 42 Annual accounts of the Illustre Lieve Vrouwe Broederschap (ILVB) at Den Bosch, Brabants Historisch Informatie Centrum (BHIC). A scan of the ILVB accounts of the years 1478/1479–1484/1485, fol. 301r is available at the website of BHIC: Den Bosch, BHIC, Access no. 1232 (Illustre Lieve Vrouwe Broederschap in ’s-Hertogenbosch, (1291) 1318–2005), inv. no. 121, scan name 1232–121-301r. 43 Maris, Repertorium op de Stichtse leenprotocollen, p. 44, no. 49; For remnants of memorial plaques of the Ram-Van Hoven-Bollen families, see Van Bueren and others ed., Medieval Memoria Online, objects ID 854, 855, 856. 44 Colophons with dates of completion: The Hague, KB, MS KW 128 D 9, fol. 284v, fol. 293r. Some details: 293 × 213 (195 × 135) mm; 293 fols; 1 col., c. 31–33 lines; binder unknown, no heraldry nor names at the binding.

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maintaining, and growing in the grace of God (fols 285r–293r).45 This book of sermons is a good example of a source that represents the doctrinal and philosophical dimension featured in Smart, as well as the mythical or narrative dimension. The complete manuscript was written and rubricated in one and the same hand. It shows Utrecht penwork that most likely comes from the Carthusian monastery of Nieuwlicht, a monastery well known for its book production.46 Dirck personally wrote his name in it, as well as five notations of Easter dates from the years 1489 to 1493 and several notes (see below).47 Easter dates were of great importance for readers of sermons following the liturgical calendar, as the dates of many liturgical holidays depended on them.48 Fol. Ir is a later inserted late fifteenth-century coloured drawing on vellum of the Crucifixion with the Holy Virgin Mary and Saint John. Considering the glue, tear, and colour marks, this drawing must have been attached previously to fol. 2v.49 Given the differences in wormholes in the drawing and the adjacent paper pages at both locations in the manuscript, the drawing was inserted at a (much?) later moment. Though contemporary, Dirck may not have had anything to do with inserting or moving it. In 1473, presumably on the occasion of their marriage, Clementia received her Book of Hours. The book is in Latin and Middle Dutch, and written on vellum in hybrida. The illumination consists of nicely painted initials, inhabited borders, and Utrecht penwork, but there are no full-page miniatures.50 The book includes the usual Utrecht calendar with fixed saints’ days, and it has two plain circular diagrams. These diagrams show the year of completion and the computing tables for determining Easter dates and Sundays.51 Clementia did not personally put her name in her book, but Dirck did: ‘Dit boeck hoert toe: dirck borren wijf, van amerongen’ (‘this book belongs to the wife of Dirck Borre van Amerongen’, fol. 147v). A later, partly crossed-out owner’s mark (fol. 1r) says, ‘Dit boek hoert toe Joffrau Walborch bor van Amerongen Cloester Juffrau tot vroecloester’ (this book belongs to lady Walborch Bor[re] van Amerongen, nun in Vrouwenklooster). This Walborch was the granddaughter of Dirck, and Vrouwenklooster’s final abbess. After its dismantling between 1580 and 1585, she returned with the remaining nuns to her family home at the Plompetorengracht.52 45 Reypens, ‘Nog een merkwaardig’, pp. 244–45. 46 For comparison see e.g. Utrecht, UB, MS 51, fol. 1r (1457); Gerritsen-Geywitz, ‘Utrecht 1425–1500’, p. 50, cat. no. 12. 47 Owner’s mark and Easter dates, fol. 293v; for more specifics of the manuscript see Zwart, ‘Religie, ridderschap en rijkdom’. 48 Saints’ days had fixed dates and were therefore independent from the flexible Easter dates. 49 The Hague, KB, MS KW 128 D 9, fol. Ir. 50 The illuminations and content of this Book of Hours still need to be studied in depth; Edinburgh, NLS, MS National Galleries 7130, fol. 147v. For some specifics of the manuscript, see Keizer, ‘Editie’. 51 Circular calendars, Edinburgh, NLS, MS National Galleries 7130, fol. 13r. 52 De Goede and Boon, Plompetorengracht westzijde.

religion as a connecting force in the late medieval city of utrecht

Unlike some contemporary book owners in the Low Countries, Dirck did not copy these books himself. A comparison of the main hand with Dirck’s personal handwriting in a charter (1498, see below) and the glosses in the Nuttelijc boec shows this clearly. Dirck was, however, personally involved in its making. On ordering the books, he may have contacted several people in Utrecht: parchment makers and paper makers, copyists for the texts, illuminators, and bookbinders. More plausible, however, is that a convent, an atelier, or a middleman — often a binder, copyist, or illuminator himself — would have arranged the making of the books according to Dirck’s wishes.53 Sometimes (parts of) books were already waiting for buyers on the shelves, such as (parts of) Books of Hours. Illuminators exchanged models for marginal embellishments and used them as they saw fit; clients could make their choice from them.54 In other cases, a client specifically ordered a book. Then decisions about the content of the book and its design were made by the client him or herself. The decisions depended on his or her knowledge of texts, personal taste, and intended use; the materials that he or she wanted to be incorporated; general practices in his or her environment; the availability of the texts and illuminations; and the total costs of the book. Whether Dirck personally chose the content and illuminations of the Book of Hours remains to be seen. To what extent the copyist or middleman may have had an advisory role is as yet unknown. It is in any case very likely that Dirck chose the combination of the texts in the miscellany himself. Personal choice played a significant role in the making of this type of book, as the varying combinations of texts in the remaining copies show. The Nuttelijc boec has been preserved in more than twenty copies and three early printed books, but never in combination with the Oufeninghe of Goswinus Hex, the Carmelite doctor and confessor of Bishop David of Burgundy.55 In addition to Dirck’s manuscript, Hex’s sermon has only been preserved in four manuscripts. One is a miscellany book containing sermons, treatises, and religious songs, copied and used by sister Mertynken van Corselles, who donated it to someone in the beguinage of Antwerp. Two other miscellany books possibly were used in nunneries in Haarlem and Ghent, and the provenance of a third composite manuscript is unknown.56 Perhaps Dirck preferred the inclusion of the Oufeninghe because

53 On Utrecht ateliers involved in book making: As-Vijvers, ‘Over schrapen’, p. 56; Leeflang, ‘Boeken als prestigeobjecten’. Recent research on ateliers and the way they worked in the northern Low Countries focuses on richly illuminated religious manuscripts, but tries to connect the makers with the commissioners as well: Bloem, ‘De Meesters’. 54 As-Vijvers, ‘De marge uitgelicht’, p. 55. 55 Literature and discussion on the Nuttelijc boec: Ermens, ‘“Een nuttelijc boec”’; Folkerts, ‘Reading the Bible Lessons’, pp. 234–35. 56 Bibliotheca Neerlandica Manuscripta et Impressa: Antwerp, RG, MS Neerl. 202, flyleaf; The Hague, KB, MS KW 75 H 42, fols 181–215 (copy of Mertynken van Corselles); Haarlem, SB, MS 187 D 7, fols 16v–25v; Ghent, UB, MS 259, fols 162r–170v; the internal cohesion of these

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he thought its content would fit well with the didactics in the Nuttelijc boec. Or the author and his treatise may have been known to him because of Hex’s preaching in the cathedral of Utrecht, the Domkerk, before his ordination as suffragan bishop in September 1469.57 It definitely makes for an appropriate ending of the book on the last empty pages of the last quire. The colophons, glosses, and rubrications of the manuscript reveal, among other things, interaction between the copyist-illuminator and Dirck as commissioner of the book, as well as the actual use of the book. There are two colophons. The first one is written at the end of the Nuttelijc boec (fol. 284v), the second one at the end of the Oufeninghe (fol. 293r). The first one looks rather messy, as if someone unsuccessfully tried to cross it out with red and dark ink.58 This colophon mentions, for instance, Johannis Decollatio 1469 (29 August) as the date of completion of the Nuttelijc boec, and it announces the final text of the book, ‘Noch een scoen troestelic sermoen vander godliker gracien’ (In addition a commendable and uplifting sermon on the grace of God). The second colophon reveals the original and oral source of this sermon, because it says ‘Dit leste sermoen van Gods gracien heeft ghepredict meyster Gosen doctor in theologia broder vanden kermeliten tutrecht. Ende heeftet om beden wil enighen personen ghescreven anno seven ende tsestich dair dit wt is ghescreven’ (This final sermon of the grace of God was preached by master Goswinus, doctor in theology and Carmelite monk in Utrecht. At their request he wrote it down for several people in the year sixty-seven, of which copy this is a copy). At this point a second hand, identified as the hand of Dirck, added the marginal gloss ‘ende na bisscop’ (and later bishop). As Hex was ordained in Utrecht on 29 September 1469, the time frame for copying this sermon in the back of the book of sermons owned by Dirck seems to have been only one month, between 29 August and 29 September 1469.59 Pencil glosses only appear in the Nuttelijc boec-part of the manuscript; glosses that are not found in any of the other copies of this text. All but one consist simply of the word ‘nota’ (pay attention). Throughout the text, next to the pencil ones, this word ‘nota’ has been written in red ink as well, for permanent and immediate visibility — save one, which probably was overlooked. Between fol. 125v and fol. 266v, from the story of the Passion to the twenty-first Sunday after Trinity, sixty-one of these marginal glosses

miscellanies and the composite book has not been studied yet, nor their contents, as seen from the perspective of their users. In the past the composite book Antwerp, RG, MS Neerl. 202 contained Hex’s text and the printed text of Devote ghetiden van den leven ende passie Jhesu Christi (Antwerp, Gerardus Leeu, c. 1485). See the description at the website of the Ruusbroec Genootschap of the University of Antwerp. 57 Preaching of Hex is known, e.g. on the occasion of the display of the relics of the Dom on the feast day of Saint Mary Magdalen, 22 July 1466. See Tenhaeff and others, ed., Bronnen tot de bouwgeschiedenis, ii, i, p. 410, n. 46. 58 Perhaps an apprentice of the copyist on the occasion of the copying of the Oufeninghe? 59 Weijling, Bijdrage tot de geschiedenis, pp. 242–43.

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can be found. Only one extensive marginal gloss appears. An unrubricated, seven-line ‘nota’ in dark ink is written in the lower margin of fol. 128v, within the story of the Passion. The Oufeninghe is illuminated with penwork, initials, and rubrication similar to the Nuttelijc boec, but is completely lacking in glosses. Red ink plays an important role in this manuscript. The consistent use of it greatly facilitates reading. The table of contents is written in red, the corresponding Sunday gospel readings in the text of the Nuttelijc boec are written in red, red paragraph markers indicate the start of new paragraphs in the body of the text, and rubrication of the first letter of a word marks the starting point of each sentence. Bible texts, names of prophets, and quotations of Church Fathers are usually underlined with red ink. Thus, although the book has a sober appearance, it is very well ‘organized’, as can be expected from its makers at Nieuwlicht. The order taken by the joint efforts in the making of the book seems to have been as follows: first Dirck ordered the copying of the Nuttelijc boec, perhaps directly at the monastery of Nieuwlicht. After the copyist had handed this copy over to him, Dirck read it at home, and put pencil ‘nota’ marks in the margins next to what he considered important passages. Then he returned the manuscript for the insertion of the initials and penwork, for rubrication of the text and insertion of the text in red, and for completion of the book with the Oufeninghe. The copyist finished the Oufeninghe and its colophon at least before 29 September 1469. After this date the book was checked once more by Dirck, on which occasion he adjusted that colophon.60 Because of the lack of rubrication and the use of ink instead of pencil, Dirck must have put in the seven-line gloss at a later date, probably in the period 1489–1493, as he included the (also not rubricated) Easter dates for these years underneath his owner’s mark. Analysis of the texts next to the sixty-one notes reveals Dirck’s thinking on the content of the sermons. These glosses facilitated his personal reading over the years, but also directed the interpretation of the text passages by members of his household, who read them or heard them read. The Nuttelijc boec as a whole is about how to deal with wealth as a true Christian, the importance of God’s grace, and the right way of living. Dirck specifically marked passages on how to be a good Christian while being rich, on keeping your eye on the afterlife, and on achieving and maintaining God’s grace by observing religious actions such as praying, confessing, doing penance, and correcting wrongdoings. He marked the ill deeds of the Jews when they took Jesus. He marked that there were ‘wolves’, false priests who by their twisted readings of the Bible, just like the Pharisees, posed a danger to the ‘sheep’, the true Christians. He marked the pitfall of pride, the mortal sin visible in religious people as well as in laypeople, when they exposed themselves ostentatiously as righteous people. He marked the warning not to give in to anger, as this 60 The binding usually was the final part of book making, As-Vijvers, ‘Over schrapen’, pp. 47–57.

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Figure 3.3. Extended gloss in the Nuttelijc boec, written by Dirck Borre van Amerongen, The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, MS KW 128 D 9, fol. 128v.

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would lead to a heart full of hatred, which is also a mortal sin. He more than once marked passages on the importance of being generous to the poor, and, as the only route to eternal and heavenly peace, passages saying that the love for God should come before the love for money. Dirck also wrote a seven-line gloss accompanying the story of the Passion. It says: men sel weten datmen scrijft in die storie vanden romey[n]en van drierleye ridderen daer die eerste ridderen of waren die edele van geboerten die gout droegen die andere waren edele die geen gout en droegen ende die derde ridderen waren die voet knechten die te voet ghinge ende dienden den romeynen om hoir soudie. Also alsmen nu edele luden ende onedel die in soudie leggen al ruteren heet also hietmen doe al die soudiee verdienden ridderen aldus hieten als pylatus knechten ridderen. (One should know that in the story of the Romans three kinds of knights are written about. The first knights were of noble birth carrying gold, the second ones were of noble birth not carrying gold, and the third kind of knights were footmen that went on foot and served the Romans for their payment. As is the custom today to call all men of noble birth and of non-noble birth who serve for payment mercenaries, at that moment in time all who served for payment were called knights. That’s why all of Pilate’s soldiers are called knights) (Figure 3.3).61 Dirck probably made this gloss in one of the years of which he mentions the Easter dates in the back of the book; years during which he apparently used the book with more attention than before.62 Comparing the colour of the ink of the gloss with the ink of the Easter dates, he may even have written them both at the same occasion. But as the marks of 1490 and 1493 are written in an equally dark ink, both comparable to the gloss, it is not possible to pin the gloss down to one year. The gloss starts with ‘men sel weten’ (one should know), and though Dirck may primarily have put these words here as a reminder to himself, he also wanted to make a clear statement to other readers and listeners, first of all his offspring and the members of his household. The gloss reflects Dirck’s personal thoughts about the passage in the Passion text in which the bad ‘knights of Pilate’ torture Christ. In his explanation of the different types of knights, he refers to Roman customs at the time to allow only people of noble birth to wear gold, meaning golden rings. He mentions also that, perhaps in contrast to that, the Romans still called all noblemen, non-noblemen, and footmen ‘knights’. Dirck, however, who thinks of himself as a ‘ridder’ (knight), absolutely does not want to be identified as a ‘ruter’ of the Pilate type, and a mercenary soldier. 61 The Hague, KB, MS KW 128 D 9, fol. 128v (transcription and translation by CZ. Abbreviations are solved and ‘missing letters’ are put between square brackets). 62 From the year of his exile to the year following the death of his brother Jacob.

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Let us return now to the moment when Dirck probably made this gloss, between 1489 and 1493, which was the first difficult period for him. He was exiled in 1489, and in 1492 his beloved brother Jacob was killed. His intensified reading of the sermons may indicate that he wanted to find out why all of this happened to him. Perhaps, doing self-examination, he wanted to know where he had gone wrong himself, and how he could be redeemed. From this perspective, the gloss seems to point out that he believed his misfortune had nothing to do with his own doings as a ‘knight’. Not all knights are the same, he says, not all knights are bad. Not being a ‘ruter’ but a ‘good knight’, who tried to live as a Christian, and who attentively read his book of sermons (at least from 1489 until 1493, and at the time of the making of the book), he could not be compared with ‘bad knights’ such as the ones serving Pilate. Dirck experienced his exile as an unjust and heavy load. But he refused to give in to what he thought were unjust accusations and demands, only to be socially accepted again and escape the misery. As a good Christian, he needed to do the right thing, and accept the consequences.

A Chantry, a Painting, and a Chasuble The three religious sources connected with Dirck discussed in this section strongly reflect the ritual or practical dimension identified by Smart. At the same time, they are also representatives of the material and institutional dimensions. A charter of 21 August 1498 (briefly mentioned above) shows one of Dirck’s religious actions connected with his family and his parish. In this charter he personally draws up a stadt brief (a sealed legal deed on vellum), by which he establishes a chantry in the Buurkerk (Figure 3.4).63 The handwriting of this document confirms that the glosses in the book of sermons are indeed his. Dirck establishes this chantry for Masses to be held in perpetuity in the Buurkerk, each year on 21 November at the feast of the Presentation of Mary in the Temple of Jerusalem, a feast just emerging in the diocese.64 The altar, later called ‘Maria-Presentatie-altaar’ (altar of the Presentation of the Virgin Mary), probably did not even exist as yet, because contemporary sources call the altar at which the chantry was founded the ‘Dirrik Bor van Amerongens outtaer’ (altar of Dirck Borre van Amerongen).65 Dirck established this chantry on behalf of his late parents Jacob and Dyna and their children, specifically his brother Jacob and his sisters Christine and Mary, and on behalf of himself and both of his wives, their children, and further offspring. He demanded organ playing, singing and praying, and the lighting of candles, for all of which he

63 Utrecht, HUA, access no. 709 (Bewaarde Archieven ii), inv. no. 350. The seal of Dirck Borre van Amerongen is still attached to it. 64 Mulder, ‘Waar rustte het hoofd’, pp. 309–10. 65 Bogaers, Aards, betrokken en zelfbewust, ii, p. 938.

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Figure 3.4. Stadtbrief written by Dirck Borre van Amerongen, Utrecht, Het Utrechts Archief, Access no. 709 (Bewaarde Archieven ii), inv. no. 350.

specified a fixed sum of money. Furthermore, he required that a vigil was to be sung every year at 3 December, while four candles were lit on the family grave, for his mother Dyna, his brother Jacob, and his two sisters. During this vigil prayers were to be said for all the people mentioned earlier. If the priests did not perform their duties, they would face a fine. This is a surprising document. Dirck had been banned from Utrecht since 1489, so how could he establish a chantry in one of its churches? Apparently, he was still considered a parishioner. The Buurkerk, or Saint Mary Minor, was the most important parish church of Utrecht. It housed the chapel of the city council, the city charters, and aldermen’s charters, sister Bertken lived there walled up in a cell, and many altars were founded and used there by Utrecht urban authorities, nobility, guilds, and fraternities, all crowded together.66 As

66 Muller Fzn, ‘Bijvoegselen bij de geschiedenis’; Zwart, ‘Zijaltaren als liturgisch venster’, pp. 303–08.

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his parents were buried there, this church was Dirck’s parish church of old. He must have known all of these people and groups very well. Some of them had even been members of the city council together with him, like Aernt van Hove, whose family memorial plaques are still in situ at the Buurkerk.67 To establish a chantry in this church was nothing less than a statement. A statement of Dirck’s genuine godliness, faith, and penitential attitude, perhaps a statement of his innocence, and definitely a statement of his status amongst the other urban authorities. It was also an invitation to the parishioners to join in prayers for him and his family, and as such an attempt to restore the bonds that were cut off by his exile. The establishment of the chantry can be interpreted in this way, because on every Sunday and holiday in all chapters, convents, and parish churches of Utrecht, processions were held within the churches and in the graveyards. The establishment of Dirck’s chantry at an altar in the Buurkerk would result in the incorporation in a remembrance procession, which connected the living and the dead of the parish community with God.68 Dirck’s family was to remain tied to the Buurkerk. His son Willem and two of Willem’s sons — Gerrit Borre van Amerongen, canon of Saint Mary Maior, and his brother Dirck Borre van Amerongen — were members of its ‘Kleine Kalende’ (Small Kalend) confraternity, a small and elite confraternity devoted to the Virgin Mary.69 Over the years many members of the city council, such as the above-mentioned Henric van Gendt, and canons from the chapters of Saint Mary and Saint Peter belonged to it. On behalf of his parents, Gerrit Borre van Amerongen donated a memorial painting to the Buurkerk, or perhaps to the Saint Mary Maior.70 It shows ‘Christ washing the feet of the disciples’, with his parents to the right of Christ, and he himself as canon at Christ’s left side. Besides its memorial aim, this painting shows the importance of servitude and humbleness, and it presents Gerrit and his parents as an example for the spectators. An action toward the end of his life connected Dirck firmly with Vrouwenklooster. It is unknown why he chose this abbey. Maybe some close family members lived there, but the abbey’s records are not clear about this.71 Abbess Henrica van Erp of Vrouwenklooster, who like Clementia happened to be a member of the ‘Illustre Lieve Vrouwe Broederschap’ in Den Bosch (though not in the same period), wrote at the year 1521 in the chronicle: ‘Ende

67 See note 43, remnants of memorial pieces of the Ram-Van Hoven-Bollen families. 68 Bogaers, Aards, betrokken en zelfbewust, i, pp. 285–87. 69 The necrology of the Kleine Kalende-fraternity can be found at: Utrecht, HUA, access no. 708 (Bewaarde archieven i), inv. no. 173. 70 To which of these two churches is not certain, Utrecht, Centraal Museum Utrecht, ‘Memorietafel van de familie Borre van Amerongen met de voetwassing’, inv. no. 2470. 71 In many contemporary Utrecht documents the name ‘Borre van Amerongen’ is abbreviated to ‘Van Amerongen’, so confusion occurs with other Van Amerongen families not named Borre. Further research might clear this up.

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Dirck Bor van Amerongen gaf om twee casuffels op te maken 6 Philipsguldens’ (Dirck Borre van Amerongen donated six Philips guilders for repairs on two chasubles).72 Liturgical vestments and textilia were very expensive and belonged to the treasures of every church and convent. People felt it essential to keep these garments in good order, as Christ was present during Mass. Usually individual and institutional interests coincided in their purchase and maintenance.73 Bishops, canons, nuns, monks, and parishioners alike could donate some money for them, or even donate complete vestments to a church or convent. By doing this, they would be represented and remembered during Mass, especially when their coats of arms were attached.74 Coats of arms usually were embroidered on the back of liturgical garments, the side visible to the attendees. Dirck donated his six Philips guilders at the age of eighty-three years. Obviously he was thinking about his future. No specifics are given on the chasubles, but they definitely would be used during Masses for a long time to come. The attendants would remember him and pray for his soul. Registration of the gift in the chronicle ensured the remembrance to last even longer. As only daughters of the nobility and ruling elite of Utrecht were admitted to this abbey, Dirck’s gift would be known to the elite families too, families he was familiar with of old. Memory, the salvation of his soul, and representation at the appropriate social level were all taken into account with such a gift.

A Portrait of a Pious Couple While he was in exile, Dirck ordered a double portrait to be made of himself and his wife Maria van Snellenberch.75 It is a small oil painting on an oak panel (385 × 215 mm), of which the painter is unknown.76 The dimensions indicate that it was meant to be hung in a private chamber at home, where it would be

72 The annual ILVB accounts. See the scan of the ILVB accounts of the years 1507/08–1512/13, fol. 258r at the website of BHIC: Den Bosch, BHIC, access no. 1232 (Illustre Lieve Vrouwe Broederschap in ’s-Hertogenbosch, (1291) 1318–2005), inv. no. 125, scan name: 1232–125-258r; Van Erp, De kroniek, ed. by Doedens and others, p. 114. 73 Van den Hoven van Genderen, ‘Gewaden op papier’, pp. 22–23. 74 Contemporary examples of this are the cope donated in memory of Bishop David of Burgundy to the Dom of Utrecht, the donation of a chasuble to the Saint Agnes convent of tertiaries in Kampen(?) by ‘joffer Berthe van Broeckhuysen’, and the donation of a chasuble by a member of the Grauwert family to the Grauwert chantry chapel of the Dom or Saint Saviour’s Church (Oudmunster), Van Bueren and others, eds, Medieval Memoria Online, objects ID 3912, 3893, 3898; many examples are provided in the catalogue part of Leeflang and Van Schoten, eds, Middeleeuwse borduurkunst uit de Nederlanden. 75 Now at Rotterdam, Museum Boijmans van Beuningen, access no. 2464. 76 Lammertse and Giltaij, Vroege Hollanders, p. 183. The Master of the Amsterdam Death of the Virgin (active in Amsterdam or Utrecht c. 1500) has been mentioned as its maker, but this is highly questionable.

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Figure 3.5. Anonymous, Portrait of Dirck Borre van Amerongen and Maria van Snellenberch, Rotterdam, Museum Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. no. 2464 (OK). Picture by Studio Tromp, Rotterdam.

visible for the members of the household and visitors. It is an extraordinary source, because portraits of Utrecht elite couples of this period have seldom been preserved. Dendrochronological research and a visual estimation of the age of the portrayed persons both suggest that it was made around the year 1504 (Figure 3.5).77 This visual and material source clearly reflects Smart’s experiential and emotional dimension. Dirck and Maria are presented here as good Christians. The golden gothic tracery above unites them as a couple.78 He has a precious paternoster in his hands for his prayers to the Virgin Mary, and she wears a

77 Lammertse and Giltaij, Vroege Hollanders, pp. 188–90; Filedt Kok, ‘Master of the Amsterdam Death of the Virgin’. 78 About Gothic tracery, see Kavaler, ‘Renaissance Gothic’.

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golden necklace with tau cross and bell, the insignia of the fraternity of Saint Anthony. Maria also holds a red carnation in her right hand, which refers to love and (marital) faithfulness. The red carnation is an often-depicted flower in the fifteenth century. The ‘Madonna with Child with a red carnation’ by a follower of Rogier van der Weyden (c. 1480) is a famous example.79 The combination of tau cross and carnation is known elsewhere as well, as in the ‘Portrait of a Man with carnations and the Order of Saint Anthony’ by a follower of Jan van Eyck (c. 1435).80 Dirck and Maria both wear golden rings on their left-hand ring fingers. As was customary for people of their social standing, their clothes and belts are made of precious materials. The heraldic messages that were also quite common in these portraits were left out, however, probably because the commissioner thought these of less importance than the religious messages.81 The scant studies on this double portrait focus particularly on the way Dirck and Maria are depicted as a couple, and on the artist who, because of the uncertainty of the attribution, still remains anonymous.82 The religious objects in the painting do not seem extraordinary, so they have not yet been specifically studied in connection with the person who ordered it. At least one of these objects — the necklace — is nevertheless quite unusual. Maria’s golden necklace indicates that she was a prominent member of the order of Saint Anthony. Usually people depicted with these golden necklaces belonged to the noble order of Saint Anthony that was supposed to have been terminated at the end of the 1440s. Pendant portraits of Jacqueline, Countess of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland († 1436) and her fourth husband Frank of Borsselen reveal their membership at the time. The order of Saint Anthony was founded in c. 1382 by Albert of Bavaria, Count of Holland, Zeeland, and Hainault, as a way of connecting religiously with the nobility. In 1430 Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, founded the Order of the Golden Fleece to counterbalance and neutralize the former, because it was associated with his opponents and acted as a link between them during the Hook and Cod wars. Philip also wanted to be connected religiously with the nobility.83 Saint Anthony, the patron of the ill and poor, was a popular saint in the fifteenth century, as is shown by his association with many hospitals and charity foundations. Besides the noble order, many other (not-noble) Anthony confraternities existed, such as the one at the

79 Ghent, Museum voor Schone Kunsten, inv. no. 1954-S. 80 Berlin, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Gemäldegalerie, inv. no. 525 A, online at BPK Bildagentur, Image Bank of Cultural Institutions, no. 00043429. 81 Documentation kindly provided by the Boijmans van Beuningen Museum shows that Infrared Reflectography research proved that no previous images are hidden under the current image. 82 For literature on this portrait, see Lammertse and Giltaij, Vroege Hollanders, pp. 183–90. 83 Kuiken, ‘Antonius als adelsheilige’, pp. 34–35; On Saint Anthony’s cult see Noordeloos, ‘Antoniana’.

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Buurkerk. Their members did not wear golden necklaces. And though the lists of members of all Utrecht Anthony confraternities definitely mention women, Maria van Snellenberch is not one of them. It is remarkable, therefore, that around the year 1504, the golden tau cross and bell was depicted on Maria who, as far as we know, was not high-born. In connection with this double portrait, another painting with golden tau crosses comes to mind, the Van Zwieten memorial painting. This painting shows Saint Mary and Christ together with seventeen members of the Leiden Van Zwieten family, many of whom are depicted with golden necklaces with a tau cross and bell.84 The making of this piece started in c. 1454 and continued until the 1550s. Kees Kuiken believes that the Van Zwieten necklaces and Maria’s necklace share a similar background. After the death of Countess Jacqueline, things seemed to have loosened up. From that moment, people of the lower nobility and prominent citizens were increasingly admitted to the order, and they could be either Hooks or Cods. Depicted with a golden tau cross and bell necklace, Maria and Dirck may have associated in a religious way with members of the high nobility, who had been linked with Saint Anthony in earlier years (and were perhaps still distant relatives). Primarily, however, they may have chosen to represent themselves at home as a prominent couple of faithful spouses and good Christians. They worshipped the Virgin Mary, and took care of the poor and ill, just as Christ required and Saint Anthony showed. They set an example to be followed.

Urban Religious Cohesion: In Conclusion In this study of lay spirituality and religious agency in the long fifteenth century, the focus on a small network, in which the religious agency of an individual is central, uncovers unknown facts. Religious books, material objects, buildings, and archival documents that reflect the religious dimensions identified by Smart function here as religious tools, dynamic connecting ties between the network’s centre, Dirck Borre van Amerongen, and the others, citizens, religious people, and institutions both inside and outside of the city of Utrecht. Dirck’s religious actions, taken together and seen from the perspective of cohesion, express the major importance of religiously connecting with many others at the same time. He acted religiously in order to save his soul and to ensure his place within this broad religious community during his life and also after his death. The individual approach reveals new aspects of urban religious cohesion in Utrecht. It confirms the claim that the sacred and secular were not clearly separated but often coincided. Dirck Borre van Amerongen belonged to the ruling elite of the city. His religious thinking and actions, however, tied him not only to his specific social group, but also to several other groups. Within 84 Kuiken, ‘Antonius als adelsheilige’, pp. 36–37; now in Stedelijk Museum De Lakenhal, Leiden.

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his religiously defined network, his family and his social status were of course important, but it was broader than that, as it also comprised the participation of lay and religious. Taken as a whole, his religious network can be seen as a small part of the urban and extra-urban Corpus Christianum. Political troubles were not only dealt with in a ‘secular’ way. Part of the efforts to resolve them consisted explicitly of religious actions, actions in which Dirck participated. The Buurspraakboek and the Raads Dagelijks Boek show this clearly. They mention religious fines the city council imposed, regulations on religious literature, and measures considering urban religious processions, including the line-up of the participants in the procession. The interwoven nature of the secular and the sacred is very obvious also in the political use of the Buurkerk as the central location for disclosing the decisions of the council to the citizens, and as a repository of the charters of council and aldermen. Dirck’s religious actions differed according to the people or institutions he wanted to connect with, and the responses differed as well. He educated his family following the religious guidelines he distilled from his book of sermons, and at least some of his children and grandchildren responded by following in his footsteps. Though devotion to the Virgin Mary was common in this period, Dirck seems to have transferred this specific devotion to his son and grandsons Willem, Gerrit, and Dirck Borre van Amerongen. They all belonged to the Small Kaland confraternity in the Buurkerk, a fraternity devoted to Saint Mary, in a church also devoted to her. At the same time, Gerrit was a canon at the chapter of Saint Mary Maior in Utrecht. Dirck’s granddaughter Walborch, who inherited and used Clementia’s Book of Hours, entered the same Vrouwenklooster to which Dirck had donated money for repairing the chasubles, and she ended up as its final abbess. After the dismantling of Vrouwenklooster, she felt responsible for the nuns and removed them to her family house at the Plompetorengracht, where she took good care of them. Dirck’s donation of money for repairs to two chasubles in Vrouwenklooster was gratefully accepted. Henrica van Erp mentioned the gift and its donor in the chronicle of the monastery, and by doing so she ensured the remembrance of Dirck for a long time to come. The visibility of Dirck’s gift for those attending Masses in Vrouwenklooster called for them to pray for him, which they undoubtedly did. During his exile, which can be seen as a consequence of his religiously based conviction not to give in to unjust demands, Dirck ensured that his family and the parishioners at the Buurkerk were connected once more. The chantry and the place of the altar in the many processions were of great importance in this, and they kept the memory of Dirck and his family alive. In this liturgical setting of remembrance, the living and the dead all connected with each other and with God. The parishioners, who, considering the altars present in the church at the time, and their patrons, consisted of people belonging to the nobility, the ruling elite, members of guilds and fraternities, and the anchoress sister Bertken, would pray on his behalf and on behalf of his family during the Buurkerk processions, and each year on 21 November and 3 December.

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Potential connections with the copyists and illuminators of the Book of Hours are still unknown. It has become clear, however, that Dirck’s orders for the making of the book of sermons connected him personally with the Carthusians of the monastery of Nieuwlicht. Together, they must have discussed his wishes concerning the content, the layout, the illuminations, the binding, and the costs, and he himself worked on it in placing the glosses that needed to be rubricated. Any personal negotiations between Dirck and the painter of the portrait remain hidden, but the portrayal of him and his wife Maria shows that he wanted to be depicted in a specific way. He wanted to connect with the viewers and to show them what he thought was the right way of living as a Christian citizen in Utrecht. For a long period of time, religious and lay members of the Borre van Amerongen family remained connected with others, based on religious actions which originated with Dirck: the grave in the Buurkerk and its chantry, the membership of the fraternity, the use of the family Book of Hours (and probably the book of sermons as well), and several remembrances. The response of the people involved consisted of the pursuit of a good Christian lifestyle, and compassion and prayers for each other, thus forming a dynamic religious community over time, of the living and the dead.

Bibliography Works of Art Berlin, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Gemäldegalerie, inv. no. 525 A, online at BPK Bildagentur, Image Bank of Cultural Institutions, no. 00043429 [accessed 10 October 2016] Ghent, Museum voor Schone Kunsten, inv. no. 1945-S [accessed 24 July 2020] Rotterdam, Museum Boijmans van Beuningen, access no. 2464 (OK) [accessed 10 October 2016] Utrecht, Centraal Museum Utrecht, ‘Memorietafel van de familie Borre van Amerongen met de voetwassing’, inv. no. 2470 [accessed 24 July 2020] Manuscripts and Archival Sources Antwerp, Ruusbroecgenootschap, MS Neerl. 202 Den Bosch, Brabants Historisch Informatie Centrum, access no. 1232 (Illustre Lieve Vrouwe Broederschap in ’s-Hertogenbosch, (1291) 1318–2005), inv. no. 121, [accessed 17 July 2017]

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———, access no. 1232 (Illustre Lieve Vrouwe Broederschap in ’s-Hertogenbosch, (1291) 1318–2005), inv. no. 125, [accessed 17 July 2017] Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, MS National Galleries 7130 Ghent, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS 259 Haarlem, Stadsbibliotheek, MS 187 D 7 The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, MS KW 75 H 42 ———, MS KW 76 H 5 [accessed 26 September 2016] ———, MS KW 128 D 9 [accessed 19 June 2017] Utrecht, Het Utrechts Archief, access no. 701 (Stadsbestuur van Utrecht 1122– 1577), inv. no. 13 ———, access no. 701 (Stadsbestuur van Utrecht 1122-1577), inv. no. 16 ———, access no. 708 (Bewaarde archieven i), inv. no. 173 ———, access no. 709 (Bewaarde Archieven ii), inv. no. 350 ———, access no. 1005–4 (Vrouwenklooster van Benedictinessen te De Bilt), Bijlagen, Transcripties [accessed 17 July 2017] ———, access no. 1128 (Verzameling fotokopieën en transcripties, Stadsarchief 1122–1577, raad), inv. nos 3001-28 (transcription of access no. 701, inv. nos 13-1 to 13-28) [accessed 17 July 2017] ———, access no. 1128 (Verzameling fotokopieën en transcripties, Stadsarchief 1122–1577, raad), inv. nos 3014 (transcription of access no. 701, inv. no. 13–14 (1488-1492) [accessed 19 June 2017] ———, access no. 1128 (Verzameling fotokopieën en transcripties, Stadsarchief 1122–1577, raad), inv. no 3044 (transcriptions of access no. 701, inv. no. 16–16 (1481-1490)) [accessed 17 July 2017] ———, access no. 1128 (Verzameling fotokopieën en transcripties, Stadsarchief 1122–1577, raad), inv. no. 3045 (transcriptions of access no. 701, inv. no. 1617 (1490-1499)) [accessed 17 July 2017] Utrecht, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS 51 ———, MS 1648

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Primary Sources Buchelius, Arnoldus, Inscriptiones monumentaque in templis et monasteriis Belgicis inventa (copy Utrecht, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS 1648) Devote ghetiden van den leven ende passie Jhesu Christi (Antwerp: Gerardus Leeu, c. 1485) (copy Antwerp, Ruusbroecgenootschap, 1099 E 4 (olim MS Neerl. 202) [accessed 15 November 2019]. Erp, Henrica van, De kroniek van Henrica van Erp, abdis van Vrouwenklooster, ed. by Anne Doedens and Henk Looijesteijn (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2010) Leeuwen, Simon van, Batavia illustrate, ofte Verhandelinge vanden Oorspronk, Voortgank, Zeden, Eerde, Staat en Godtsdienst van Oud Batavien (…) (The Hague: Johan Veely, etc., 1685) [accessed 24 July 2020] Water, Johan vande Groot Placaatboek vervattende alle de Placaten, Ordonantien en Edicten, der Edele Mogende Heeren Staten’s Lands van Utrecht (…), iii (Utrecht: Jacob van Poolsum, 1729) [accessed 10 October 2016] Secondary Works As-Vijvers, Anne Margreet W., ‘Over schrapen, schrijven, verluchten en binden. Het maken van boeken in de Middeleeuwen’, in Beeldschone Boeken. De Middeleeuwen in goud en inkt, ed. by Micha Leeflang and Kees van Schooten (Zwolle: Museum Catharijneconvent, 2009), pp. 47–57 ———, ‘De marge uitgelicht. Randversiering bij de Meester van Katherina van Kleef ’, in De hand van de meester. Het getijdenboek van Katherina van Kleef, ed. by Anne Margreet W. As-Vijvers (Antwerp: Ludion, 2009), pp. 45–62 Bibliotheca Neerlandica Manuscripta et Impressa Bloem, Miranda, ‘De Meesters van Zweder van Culemborg. De werkplaatspraktijken van een groep Noord-Nederlandse verluchters, ca. 1415–1440’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Amsterdam, 2015) Bogaers, Llewellyn, Aards, betrokken en zelfbewust. De verwevenheid van cultuur en religie in katholiek Utrecht, 1300–1600, 2 vols (Utrecht: Levend verleden Utrecht, 2008) Brown, Andrew, Civic Ceremony and Religion in Medieval Bruges (c. 1300–1520) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011) Bueren, Truus van, Rolf de Weijert, and Corinne van Dijk, eds, Medieval Memoria Online: Commemoration or the Dead in the Netherlands until 1580 (Utrecht: University of Utrecht, 2013) [accessed 24 July 2020]

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Buitelaar, A. L. P., De Stichtse ministerialiteit en de ontginningen in de Utrechtse Vechtstreek (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 1993) Caldwell Ames, Christine, ‘Medieval Religious, Religions, Religion’, History Compass, 10 (2012), 334–52 Crossley, Nick, Elisa Bellotti, Gemma Edwards, Martin G. Everett, Johan Koskinen, and Mark Tranmer, Social Network Analysis for Ego-Nets (Los Angeles: Sage, 2015) Dodt van Flensburg, J. J., ed., Archief voor kerkelijke en wereldsche geschiedenissen, inzonderheid van Utrecht, i (Utrecht: Johan Altheer, 1838) Duffy, Eamon, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England 1400–1580, 2nd edn (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005) Engen, Hildo van, De derde orde van Sint-Franciscus in het middeleeuwse bisdom Utrecht. Een bijdrage tot de institutionele geschiedenis van de Moderne Devotie (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2006) Ermens, Daniël, ‘“Een nuttelijc boec den kerstenen menschen” (ca. 1400). Heilsgeschiedenis voor beginners’, in De letter levend maken. Opstellen aangeboden aan Guido de Baere SJ bij zijn zeventigste verjaardag, ed. by Kees Schepers and Frans Hendrickx (Leuven: Peeters, 2010), pp. 265–84 Filedt Kok, J. P., ‘Master of the Amsterdam Death of the Virgin: The Death of the Virgin, Amsterdam c. 1500’, in Early Netherlandish Paintings, ed. by J. P. Filedt Kok, online coll. cat. Amsterdam 2010 [accessed 10 October 2016] Folkerts, Suzan, ‘Reading the Bible Lessons at Home: Holy Writ and Lay Readers in the Low Countries’, Church History and Religious Culture, 93 (2013), 217–37 Gerritsen-Geywitz, Gisela, ‘Utrecht 1425–1500’, in Kriezels, aubergines en takkenbossen: Randversiering in Noordnederlandse handschriften uit de vijftiende eeuw, ed. by A. S. Korteweg (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 1992), pp. 42–55 Goede, Julius de, and Herman Boon, Plompetorengracht westzijde. Over de huizen en hun bewoners van 1300 tot 2000 (Utrecht: Stichting De Plantage, 2006) Hindman, Sandra, and James H. Marrow, eds, Books of Hours Reconsidered, Studies in Medieval and Early Renaissance Art History, 72 (London: Harvey Miller, 2013) Hoogstraten, David van, and Matthaeus Brouërius van Nidek, eds, Groot algemeen woordenboek, zo historisch, geographisch, genealogisch, als oordeelkundig (…), ii (Amsterdam: Brunel, 1725) Hoven van Genderen, A. J. van den, ‘Op het toppunt van de macht (1304–1528)’, in ‘Een paradijs vol weelde’. Geschiedenis van de stad Utrecht, ed. by R. E. de Bruin, P. D. ’t Hart, A. J. van den Hoven van Genderen, A. Pietersma, and J. E. A. L. Struick (Utrecht: Matrijs, 2000), pp. 113–90 Hoven van Genderen, Bram van den, De Heren van de Kerk. De kanunniken van Oudmunster te Utrecht in de late middeleeuwen (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 1997) ———, ‘Gewaden op papier: Kerkelijke textilia in Utrechtse archiefstukken’ in Middeleeuwse borduurkunst uit de Nederlanden, ed. by Micha Leeflang and Kees van Schoten (Zwolle: WBooks, 2015), pp. 15–23

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Hoven van Genderen, Bram van den, and Paul Trio, ‘Old Stories and New Themes: An Overview of the Historiography of Confraternities in the Low Countries from the Thirteenth to the Sixteenth Centuries’, in Religious and Laity in Western Europe, 1000–1400: Interaction, Negotiation, and Power, ed. by Emilia Jamroziak and Janet Burton, Europa Sacra, 2 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), pp. 357–84 Kavaler, Ethan Matt, ‘Renaissance Gothic in the Netherlands: The Uses of Ornament’, The Art Bulletin, 82 (2000), 226–51 Keizer, Laura, ‘Editie van een Middelnederlands getijdenboek uit de Watsoncollectie van de National Library of Scotland’ (unpublished master’s thesis, University of Utrecht, 2013) [accessed 12 December 2016] Klinckaert, Jan, Beeldhouwkunst tot 1850, De verzamelingen van het Centraal Museum te Utrecht, 3 (Utrecht: Centraal Museum Utrecht, 1997) Kort, J. C., Repertorium op de lenen van Gaasbeek (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2001) ———, Repertorium op de lenen en tijnsen van de Proosdij Ten Dom, 1174-1660, Historische reeks Kromme-Rijngebied, 11 (Houten: Historische Kring tussen Rijn en Lek, 2010) Kronenberg, A. J., ‘Een oud-Utrechtse kwartierstaat’, De Nederlandsche Leeuw, 95 (1978), cols 355–57 Kuiken, Kees, ‘Antonius als adelsheilige. Liefdadigheid en memoriecultuur in de late Middeleeuwen’, Virtus: Jaarboek voor adelsgeschiedenis, 15 (2008), 30–42 Lammertse, Friso, and Jeroen Giltaij, Vroege Hollanders. Schilderkunst van de late Middeleeuwen (Rotterdam: Museum Boijmans van Beuningen, 2008), pp. 188–90 Leeflang, Micha, ‘Boeken als prestigeobjecten’, in Beeldschone Boeken. De Middeleeuwen in goud en inkt, ed. by Micha Leeflang and Kees van Schooten (Zwolle: Museum Catharijneconvent, 2009), pp. 99–115 Leeflang, Micha, and Kees van Schooten, eds, Middeleeuwse borduurkunst uit de Nederlanden (Zwolle: WBooks, 2015) Liddy, Christian D., and Jelle Haemers, ‘Popular Politics in the Late Medieval City: York and Bruges’, English Historical Review, 128 (2013), 771–805 Maris, A. J., Repertorium op de Stichtse leenprotocollen uit het landsheerlijke tijdvak, i: De Nederstichtse leenacten (1394–1581) (The Hague: Ministerie van Onderwijs, Kunsten en Wetenschappen, 1956) Marrow, James H., ‘The Golden Age of Dutch Manuscript Painting’, in The Golden Age of Dutch Manuscript Painting, ed. by Henri Defoer, Anne Korteweg, and Wilhelmina C. M. Wüstefeld (Utrecht: Rijksmuseum Het Catharijneconvent, 1989), pp. 9–16 Marshall, Sherrin, The Dutch Gentry, 1500–1650: Family, Faith, Fortune (New York: Greenwood, 1987)

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Mulder, Herman, ‘Waar rustte het hoofd van de H. Helvidius? Op zoek naar een Maria Magdalenaklooster in het bisdom Utrecht’, in Manuscripten en miniaturen. Studies aangeboden aan Anne S. Korteweg bij haar afscheid van de Koninklijke Bibliotheek, ed. by Jos Biemans, Klaas van der Hoek, Kathryn M. Rudy, and Ed van der Vlist (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 2007), pp. 303–10 Muller Fzn, S., ‘Bijvoegselen bij de geschiedenis van het archief ’ (1914), Utrecht, HUA, access no. 703-a: Stadsbestuur van Utrecht, supplement, Inleiding [accessed 13 July 2017] Noordeloos, Piet, ‘Antoniana’, Archief voor de geschiedenis van de katholieke kerk in Nederland, 1 (1959), 27–107 Palmboom, E. N., Het kapittel van Sint Jan te Utrecht. Een onderzoek naar verwerving, beheer en administratie van het oudste goederenbezit (elfde-veertiende eeuw) (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 1995) Reypens, L., ‘Nog een merkwaardig Diets tractaatje’, Ons Geestelijk Erf, 34 (1960), 241–70 Smart, Ninian, Dimensions of the Sacred: An Anatomy of the World’s Beliefs (London: HarperCollins, 1996) Tenhaeff, N.B., ed., Bronnen tot de bouwgeschiedenis van den Dom te Utrecht, ii, i: Rekeningen 1395–1480, Rijks Geschiedkundige Publicatiën, 88 (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1946) Terpstra, Nicholas, ‘Lay Spirituality’, in The Ashgate Research Companion to the Counter-Reformation, ed. by Alexandra Bamji, Geert H. Janssen, and Mary Laven (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013), pp. 261–79 Van Engen, John, ‘Multiple Options: The World of the Fifteenth-Century Church’, Church History, 77 (2008), 257–84 ———, Sisters and Brothers of the Common Life: The Devotio Moderna and the World of the Later Middle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2013) Vries, Hent de, ed., Religion: Beyond a Concept, The Future of the Religious Past: Elements and Forms for the Twenty-First Century, 1 (New York: Fordham University Press, 2008) Vries, Hent de, and others, eds, The Future of the Religious Past (New York: Fordham University, 2008–2012) Wall, Heinrich de, ‘Corpus Christianum’, in Religion Past and Present, ed. by Hans Dieter Betz, Don S. Browning, Bernd Janowski, and Eberhard Jüngel (Leiden: Brill, 2006–2013; published online 2011) [accessed 17 June 2017] Weijling, J. F. A. N., Bijdrage tot de geschiedenis van de wijbisschoppen van Utrecht tot 1580 (Utrecht: Van Rossum, 1951) Weijert-Gutman, Rolf de, ‘Schenken, begraven, gedenken. Lekenmemoria in het Utrechtse kartuizerklooster Nieuwlicht (1391–1580)’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Utrecht, 2015) [accessed 21 December 2016]

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Winter, J. M. van, Ministerialiteit en ridderschap in Gelre en Zutphen (Groningen: Wolters, 1962) Zwart, Cora, ‘Zijaltaren als liturgisch venster op laatmiddeleeuwse samenlevingen. Altarenpatronen van vijf stedelijke parochiekerken uit de Noordelijke Nederlanden (ca. 1550) onderling vergeleken’, Jaarboek voor liturgieonderzoek, 29 (2013), 289–329 ———, ‘Religie, ridderschap en rijkdom. De levensvragen van Dirck Borre van Amerongen (ca. 1438–1527). Marginale notities in een prekenverzamelhandschrift als bron’, Madoc. Tijdschrift over de Middeleeuwen, 29 (2015), 107–17

Megan Edwards Alvarez

Fleshers, Saints, and Bones Connectivities that Transcend the Sacred-Secular Divide within the Medieval Scottish Burgh of Perth

Introduction: Studying the Medieval, Studying Religion The papers gathered together in this volume share a common goal. Each seeks to demonstrate how central religion was to the social life of ordinary individuals living, and dying, in medieval cities. They are also explorations of how best to uncover precisely how vernacular religious practices tied together these local communities through lived experience and interpersonal relationships. In pursuit of this, the scholars involved, including myself, have adopted the concept of ‘connectivity’ as a lens focusing attention on how producers and consumers of religious literature, artefacts, and rituals engaged in the co-creation of social cohesion in medieval urban communities. Our work defies scholarly compartmentalization that would interpretively cordon off religion from what has been deemed the ‘secular’ life of politics, the economy, and culture in medieval Europe. Analytical holism, with an emphasis on active social process, is the aim of these ‘connectivity’ studies. We are using this lens to re-inject a dynamism into how the medieval past, too often thought of as a void of rote acceptance and timeless tradition, is understood. This paper takes as its subject the workings of the Fleshers’ craft — a guild devoted to the butchery and sale of animal flesh for human consumption — in the medieval royal burgh of Perth, Scotland. Through a combination of archaeology, documentary research, and material cultural analysis, I will explore the integration of matters profoundly of this world — the provisioning of meat to an urban populace — with those of the next — concerning the fate of souls in Purgatory — on what would have been both the geographical Megan Edwards Alvarez  •  received a Master’s degree in Archaeology from Queen’s University Belfast in 2006, and a PhD in Anthropology from the University of Chicago in 2021. Her doctoral thesis, a historical anthropology of Irish whiskey, is titled ‘Transforming the Irish Spirit: Colonialism through the Commodification of “Drinkways” in Early Modern Ireland, c. 1540–1660’. She currently lives in Hawaii, where she promotes historical archaeology in the Pacific through teaching and her work in contract archaeology. Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400–1550): Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting through the Continuum of Sacred and Secular, ed. by Suzan Folkerts, New Communities of Interpretation, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), pp. 75–98 © FHG10.1484/M.NCI-EB.5.122095

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and social fringe of medieval Europe. I will explore how Fleshers, both as individuals and as a corporate body, understood and engaged with the cult of saints and doctrine of Purgatory in not only provisioning, but perpetuating the civico-religious life of this medieval Scottish burgh. Eschewing a focus on hierarchy and dogma, this will be an exploration of how lay townspeople harnessed vernacular religious practice to structure and safeguard multiple connective processes integral to life and the afterlife in their medieval urban community. Sociality within the Fleshers’ confraternal guild, the role that its patron saint and chantry played in craft activities, and the form of animal butchery itself demonstrate how craftsmen used, and sometimes circumvented, the connection that clergy supposedly monopolized between nature and the supernatural. Through such practices, this laity shaped connections made by living producers to living consumers, living producers to each other, and the living community to its dead in ways that blur the lines between the sacred and the secular, the divine and the mundane, even life and death.

Methodological Background: Initial Research and Analysis The origins of this paper lie in a thesis completed by myself in fulfilment of an MA in Archaeology and Palaeoecology, within the Faculty of Engineering and Physical Sciences at The Queen’s University of Belfast. The legwork done in researching and writing that archaeological thesis was complemented by further analyses undertaken, both for classes and for professional papers delivered at international conferences, while a doctoral student in Anthropology at the University of Chicago. Here the deeper social implications of patterns and practices only hinted at in the earlier study were more fully explored using a theoretical toolkit drawn from the social sciences and humanities.1 What I would like to accomplish in the current study is an integration of the various stages that this research has taken — demonstrating not only those insights into the ‘religious connectivities’ of medieval life that have been gained from it, but also the varied strands of evidence and interpretation that have gone into drawing such conclusions. The goal is to balance my substantive historical contributions with an argument about the methodologies used in studying that past.



1 I must thank Dr Finbar McCormick, of Queen’s University Belfast, for his early guidance and granting access to an invaluable personal collection of transcribed Scottish burgh records; the good people of the Perth and Kinross Archives; Catherine Smith, and the whole staff of Scottish Urban Archaeology Trust, who opened their archives and site reports to my student enquiries. Portions of this study were presented as papers at the following conferences: Contemporary & Historical Archaeology in Theory, 2007; American Anthropological Association Annual Meeting, 2007; Theoretical Archaeology Group (USA), 2007; Society for Historical Archaeology, 2012. Travel to these conferences was funded by the Marion R. & Adolph J. Lichtstern Fund at the University of Chicago.

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My initial Master’s thesis work sprung from my training as both a zooarchaeologist and historical archaeologist, with a special interest in time periods where documentary evidence exists to complement archaeological data. Zooarchaeologists are archaeological specialists trained to identify and analyse animal bones as a component of the materials recovered during archaeological excavations. Zooarchaeology is a methodology applied to all time periods and geographical locations where archaeological work is undertaken. Its interpretive interests lie in reconstructing past culinary, dietary, subsistence, and craft practices surrounding animals, both from an environmental and cultural perspective. This training and these interests led to a project tracing the movement of animals and their (by-)products through the social and physical landscape of medieval Perth. The project asked how the organization and practice of professional animal butchering in medieval Scotland affected the movement, and ultimate archaeological deposition, of animal remains, and how, in turn, these patterns reflected the overriding concerns of those living in a medieval Scottish burgh? These driving questions were addressed by integrating documentary evidence, from Victorian transcriptions of medieval Scottish burgh records dating from the twelfth through seventeenth centuries, with archaeological data gleaned from development-driven excavations conducted by professional archaeologists working in present-day Perth.2 The Scottish burgh of Perth originally grew up as a medieval trading centre at the lowest fording point on the River Tay. As such, it was initially laid out on the driest land between often waterlogged meadows to the north and south. A motte and bailey castle stood north of the burgh, separated from the town by an encircling stank, or ditch, which drained the town and served as a mill race. Two medieval suburbs grew up to the north and to the west of the stank.3 Like many Scottish burghs, Perth experienced little growth from the sixteenth through seventeenth centuries, remaining largely within its medieval footprint.4 It stagnated until the end of the eighteenth century.5 The recurrent flooding and subsequent silting that urban Perth has been subject to over its long history, along with soil subsidence and an overall lack of intensive development until the nineteenth century, have meant wonders for the archaeological preservation of artefacts and features relating to life in the medieval burgh. Some thirty years and sixty excavations have thus yielded a wealth of information on this period in Perth’s history.6 The records which proved most fruitful in understanding the particulars of medieval Perth were: an 1831 index of local council records dating to between



2 Edwards, ‘Whither gae the bones?’, pp. 4–5. 3 Spearman, ‘The Medieval Townscape’, pp. 46–52. 4 Lynch, ‘Introduction: Scottish Towns’, p. 27. 5 Spearman, ‘The Medieval Townscape’, p. 56. 6 Bowler, Perth: The Archaeology, p. 3.

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1500 and 1699 held in the Perth and Kinross Council Archives; a recent publication of The Perth Guildry Book, 1452–1601; and an 1891 publication of The Rental Books of King James VI Hospital, Perth. Twelve archaeological sites dating to the later medieval period — from the fourteenth through to the sixteenth centuries — were selected for consideration, in order to match up temporalities reflected in the archaeological and documentary records. As the Fleshers’ craft, as butchers were then known, was of chief concern for my study, I chose to focus on animal bone evidence of how and where butchery was undertaken within the burgh. Were there patterns in the location and concentration of different portions of animal carcasses, identified through the particular ‘skeletal elements’ of a given animal species present in the material excavated from a given site, which could be used to locate butchering practices and other animal-related crafts in the medieval town? Was there documentary evidence which would flesh out this picture? What evidence could be gleaned, from documents and the bones themselves, of the tools and methods used to dispatch livestock and disarticulate their bodies into desired cuts of meat and other animal products? Why were these the practices and spatial distributions favoured by the medieval Fleshers of Perth?7 One of the analytical strengths of archaeology, which traces itself to basic practices of recordation involved in scientific excavation, is the emphasis placed on spatiality.8 Historic landscape analysis, as laid out by Stephen Rippon in his Council for British Archaeology handbook on the subject, thus presents an ideal framework for integrating documentary and archaeological evidence. The spatiality of past practice, to which both data sets speak, allows for their interpretive integration in reconstructing how social relationships played out in and through the physical fabric that surrounded them.9 Archaeologists approach past practices through the material residues they have left behind, recovered both through excavation and archival research. In the case of Perth’s Fleshers, these materials included everything from livestock, butcher’s blocks, cutlery, and market stalls, to candle wax, altars, and images of saints — all playing into this culture’s ‘style of technology’.10 The diversity of these residues makes more sense when considered in the light of the multiple cultural subsystems — economic and religious — that scholars tend to differentiate in classifying past practices.11 Anthropology has long espoused interpretive strategies where technology is viewed as deeply embedded in cosmology, subordinated to the ritual needs and subsequent social organization of a community.12 The activities of past craftspeople, the 7 Edwards, ‘Whither gae the bones?’, pp. 12–16. 8 Renfrew and Bahn, Archaeology: Theories. 9 Rippon, Historical Landscape Analysis; O’Connor, The Analysis of Urban Animal. 10 Lechtman, ‘Style in Technology’, pp. 5–6; Edwards, ‘Whither gae the bones?’. 11 Lechtman, ‘Style in Technology’, pp. 11–12; Douglas and Isherwood, The World of Goods, p. 53. 12 Miller, Material Culture, p. 113.

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very same that produced those artefacts that comprise the archaeological record, connected individuals and groups within communities that potentially prioritized their needs in ways very different from those of the researcher.13 While not necessarily developed as an approach to western culture and its histories, this approach is just as fruitful when applied to life in a medieval European urban context. Closely studying the Fleshers’ craft in medieval Perth is a compelling focus for such research, given how important animal products were to the medieval Scottish economy. Medieval Perth was an animal-based craft town, where craftsmen contributed as much to the local tax pool as did the merchants; they held membership in the locally powerful guild merchant in large numbers, and sat on the burgh council.14 The cattle and sheep that provided the raw materials for these crafts were raised in the Scottish hinterlands and driven into royal burghs, like Perth, which held crown-sanctioned monopolies on the hosting of markets and fairs. Here it fell to urban fleshers to begin the process of converting livestock into its respective products — woolfells, hides, skins, and horn — by dispatching live animals and dividing their carcasses. While non-meat animal products passed on to other tradesmen within a burgh — to tanners, glovers, candle and soap makers, etc. — the edible portions of these animals fell under the purview of the Fleshers. As a result of the prevalence of the trade in animal inedibles, the consumption of meat appears to have been higher in Scotland than elsewhere in the British Isles.15 The proper functioning of the Fleshers’ craft was thus essential to the health and wellbeing of towns, both because of its role in the export economy, and because its members kept the urban population fed. When it comes to life in medieval urban contexts, histories run the risk of breaking down along sacred and secular lines. Commerce can take the front seat in considerations of Scottish royal burghs, as their status hinged on exclusive trading rights. The economic and civic functions of guilds — in training craftsmen and acting as quality control in the marketplace — are foregrounded in such accounts. There is still room within these histories for the spiritual affairs of towns and their craft guilds, however interpretively cordoned off they are from business and politics. Churches, guild altars, and burial masses feature among the identifiably religious institutions and practices of medieval towns.16 Guilds, worshipful companies, and corporations — as they have variously been known — also suffer from having been characterized, from the 13 Pfaffenberger, ‘Social Anthropology’, pp. 496–502; Douglas and Isherwood, The World of Goods, p. 43. 14 Lynch, ‘Introduction: Scottish Towns’, pp. 9–10; Lynch, ‘The Social and Economic Structure’, pp. 270–71. 15 Rixson, The History of Meat Trading, pp. 115–29; Smith, ‘Flesche and fische’. 16 Rixson, The History of Meat Trading; Lynch, ‘The Social and Economic Structure’; Ewan, Townlife in Fourteenth-Century Scotland; Ewan, ‘The Community of the Burgh’.

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Enlightenment onward, in a regressive light. From their appearance in Adam Smith’s An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, these corporate bodies of craftsmen have been portrayed as monopolistic vices gripping medieval production potential, preventing the economic growth engendered by free-market trade.17 These organizations have been portrayed among the countless spiritual obstacles of ‘the medieval’ that obstructed the development of such ‘rational economic conduct’ as characterized the reformed nations of Europe.18 Trying to understand medieval guilds in terms of the needs of a post-medieval present was also the impetus behind Émile Durkheim’s discussion of them in the ‘Preface to the Second Edition’ of his The Division of Labor in Society. Rather than bemoan the economic impact of these corporate bodies, Durkheim praised their effect on social cohesion, presenting them as an antidote to the anomie that he saw as a pathology of industrial society.19 In keeping with these historiographical traditions, the project that this paper is based on was not initially conceived as an exploration of medieval religion, although it was open to exploring whatever social contexts emerged in relation to the practicalities of medieval Scottish butchering. As this paper will demonstrate, though, even interpretations of something as mundane as butchering would be sorely lacking if they failed to bring religious beliefs and ritual practices to bear. The sacred and the secular should be considered in tandem in seeking to understand how everyday people structured and negotiated the full spectrum of life in a medieval Scottish burgh.

‘Connectivity’ in Perth Medieval Perth

The Royal Burgh of Perth, the focus of this paper, was officially established by William the Lion’s twelfth-century charter as an entrepôt on the North Sea coast of Scotland where land and sea routes converged at the head of the Firth of Tay.20 By the close of the 1370s the burgh was counted among Scotland’s four leading towns by merchants in the Hanseatic port of Bruges in Flanders. The backbone of Perth’s economy by the later fifteenth century was craft production, namely the working of leather and hides.21 Faunal analyses of assemblages excavated from the burgh’s medieval core, undertaken by Scottish Urban Archaeology Trust’s Catherine Smith, reveal that this hide and leather export trade was the leading factor in bringing domestic animals into 17 Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature, pp. 135–59. 18 Weber, The Protestant Ethic, p. xxxix. 19 Durkheim, The Division of Labor, pp. xxxi–lvii. 20 Bowler, The Origins of Perth, p. 5. 21 Lynch, ‘Introduction: Scottish Towns’, pp. 9–10; Lynch, ‘The Social and Economic Structure’, pp. 261, 268, 270–71.

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the urban landscape. Meat from cattle, horses, and goats was a by-product, in effect, of a much more lucrative industry. Pigs, to a limited extent, were kept in yards and on burgh streets, converting putrid waste into protein fit for human consumption.22 The Material Culture and ‘Functional Topography’ of Animal Crafts in the Burgh

Animals were ubiquitous in later medieval Perth. Their bodies, once drained of vitality, provided the economic life-blood of the burgh. Maps and cartographic reconstructions of medieval Perth reveal street names that attest to the movement of animals through the burgh. Live animals, kept in a field just to the south of the medieval town’s limit, were taken up Cow Vennel to Fleshers Close.23 Their conversion from livestock to animal products began on the properties of fleshers (butchers) themselves. It was here, during daylight hours in an open-windowed booth fronting the flesher’s home, that all animals intended for market were to be slaughtered and their carcasses divided up using the chopping block, axe, cleaver, knife, and butcher’s gambrel. The last item refers to a carved wooden stick to which the hind feet of a carcass were tied as the animal’s body was hoisted up to be disembowelled and disarticulated into joints of meat.24 The disarticulation of animal carcasses was just the beginning of animal processing in a late medieval burgh like Perth. Knives were used to remove flesh from bones that were set aside for further working.25 A land rental appearing in the name of a 1550s Deacon of the Fleshers Craft cites a ‘Pudden Town’ situated on his property within the burgh limits.26 This most likely refers to the location of the processing of animal intestines for use as casings in sausages and puddings, as foods cooked in intestinal casings were known.27 Cobblers and candle makers vied for animal fat, which fleshers were specifically prohibited from hoarding once a carcass had been sold off. Despite the desirability of the end product, the putrid process of tallow rendering was ordered removed from dwellings on street frontages, banished to the rear yards and outskirts of town.28 22 Smith, ‘Conclusions: The Environment’, p. 9; Smith, ‘Flesche and fische’. 23 Spearman, ‘The Medieval Townscape’; Rutherford, ‘A Plan of the Town of Perth taken from an Actual Survey’ (1774), reproduced as frontispiece of The Rental Books, ed. by Milne. 24 Ewan, Townlife in Fourteenth-Century Scotland, pp. 25–26; Ancient Laws and Customs, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society, p. 78; Extracts from the Records, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society, pp. 54–56; Smith, ‘Scott Street, Perth’, p. 7. 25 Smith, ‘Faunal Report’; Smith, ‘Scott Street, Perth’. 26 The Rental Books, ed. by Milne, p. 103. 27 Rixson, The History of Meat Trading, p. 179. 28 Extracts from the Records, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society, pp. 54–56; Perth, A. K. Bell Library, Perth and Kinross Council Archive, MS B59/17/1, ‘Index to the Records belonging to the Magistrates and Council of the Burgh of Perth of Acts and other proceedings relative to the Burgh drawn up in the year 1831. Commencing 1500 and Ending 1699’.

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By far the most prestigious of the animal crafts, and the industry which proved the driving force of Perth’s economy, was leatherworking, carried out by the burgh’s skinners, tanners, glovers, and shoemakers. Applying salt, egg, alum, and oil tallow to remove hair and season the skin of animals, these craftsmen corrupted local water sources with the waste of their trade. The effluvium rising from their cobills, those in-ground tanks where tanning occurred, would have marked the streets along the northern edge of Perth in the olfactory memory of every resident of the burgh. This activity, sequestered as it was to rear yards, was still preferable to the common habit, much loathed by public officials, of processing hides in the front rooms of houses, on stairs fronting streets, and in the streets themselves.29 How was it that there was such strong spatial patterning of craft production in late medieval Perth?30 What social institutions and cultural practices connected these townspeople and structured their practices and distribution across the town as the medieval gave way to the post-medieval? Which of their concerns most influenced the shape of these practices? What Bound These Crafts Together: The Guild Altar

Timothy Pont’s late sixteenth-century map of Scotland highlights the prominence of Saint John’s Kirk — ‘kirk’ denoting a church in Lowland Scots — within the town life of late medieval Perth. Here the parish church looms over all that was then encompassed within the town lade (moat). This was to say nothing of the burgh’s second name — Saint Johnstoune — a direct reference to the kirk.31 It is within the walls of this medieval parish church that one must first look to answer the questions of how the individuals engaged in Perth’s medieval animal crafts came to connect with one another and organize their material world in the ways revealed in the archaeological and documentary record. The omnipresence of chantries — altars established for the singing of the masses for the dead — in the lives of later medieval Perth residents is underscored by the sheer number of them populating the side aisles of Saint John’s Kirk at the time of the Reformation. Individuals and corporate groups chartered some forty altars between 1428 and 1535, each dedicated to a saint from the life of Christ (Saints Anne, Joseph, Peter, Mary Magdalene, and John the Baptist), or the Celtic North (Saints Mungo, Bride, Adamnan, Monan, Fillan, and Ninian). There was even an altar dedicated to a Scottish queen (Saint Margaret). Many, if not all, of these altars were endowed from private property held within the burgh. Revenues from the rental of these lands, and

29 Spearman, ‘The Medieval Townscape’; The Rental Books, ed. by Milne; Serjeantson, ‘Animal Remains’, p. 135; Extracts from the Records, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society; Ancient Laws and Customs, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society. 30 Edwards, ‘Whither gae the bones?’, pp. 23–26. 31 Omand, The Perthshire Book, p. 60.

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from guild sources outlined below, maintained chaplains and supplied them with the materials that their ritual offices required.32 The craft guilds were among the central elements structuring life in late medieval Scottish burghs — from the everyday actions of members to those civico-religious rituals that marked the passing of the year. In the days before the Reformation, feast days were celebrated with religious processions, mystery plays, and games that brought together guild brethren and townsfolk.33 The annual Corpus Christi procession through the streets of Perth afforded the burgh’s craft guilds a means of jockeying for and asserting their relative standing within the non-ecclesiastical ranks of the burgh council. The proximity of a guild’s marchers and banner to the Blessed Sacrament, held aloft at the head of the procession, thus reflected and reinforced their prominence within burgh politics and policy making.34 The fees and fines channelled through a craftsman’s guild also went toward the upkeep of the physical and spiritual fabric of the burgh. These moneys maintained bridges, harbours, streets, and kirk. They also afforded guild brethren proper burial, ensured the saying of masses for the dead, and provided support for surviving widows and children.35 Guilds, their worldly regulations, and the activities surrounding their saintly patronages worked to connect both physically and socially the inhabitants of medieval Perth by maintaining civic infrastructure and providing reciprocal care beyond guild-defined relationships of master–apprentice, and brethren–everybody else. The physical manifestation of any guild was the guild altar. In Perth these sites of veneration, devoted to each craft’s patron saint, graced the aisles of Saint John’s Kirk. It is no coincidence that the spike in Scottish altar foundations ran parallel to a rise in the incorporation of guilds between 1475 and 1530. The Glovers and Skinners of Perth maintained an altar dedicated to Saint Bartholomew.36 As of 1503/1504, the Incorporated Fleshers of Perth also had an altar, this one dedicated to Saint Peter.37 These guild altars were the focus of corporate membership. As was true in medieval Edinburgh, any apprentice wishing to be received into the Fleshers Craft in Perth had to pay dues that were used to sustain the craft’s altar. Those who dared practice commercial butchering without being members of the craft — as neither master nor apprentice of the art — were charged with paying a fine to both the kirk’s high altar and to that of the Fleshers.38 Altars were the beneficiaries of fines meted out for acts that transgressed the

32 The Rental Books, ed. by Milne. 33 The Perth Guildry Book, ed. by Stavert, pp. xiv–xvi. 34 Lynch, ‘Introduction: Scottish Towns 1500–1700’, p. 14; White, ‘The Impact of the Reformation’, p. 97. 35 The Perth Guildry Book, ed. by Stavert, pp. xiv–xvi. 36 Bowler, The Origins of Perth, p. 23. 37 The Rental Books, ed. by Milne, p. 485. 38 Extracts from the Records, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society, pp. 54–56.

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guild-defined borders of the craft community, for violations of statutes that regulated craft practice within the guild, and for irregular market activity between residents of medieval Perth. Council records for Perth dating to 1541 record that craftsmen caught in violation of the rules established by their deacons had to forfeit a set amount of their wares to both the high altar of the kirk and their guild altar.39 The Perth Guildry Book records a 1545 statute requiring merchants to pay a stone of wax to the Holy Blood altar for undertaking transactions on Sundays or feast days.40 Wax was particularly important in the ritual functioning of altars, which maintained connections between the living and the dead, as will be discussed below. The impetus behind the founding and maintenance of these altars was the doctrine of Purgatory, which rose to eschatological prominence in northern Europe in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Spreading through ritual practice along trade routes crisscrossing the North Sea, the doctrine was premised on the liminal state of the soul after death, as it was purged of sin in order to attain everlasting communion with God.41 This meant that late medieval Christian communities consisted of three interconnected spheres: those of the Church Militant, living on earth; the Church Suffering, working its way through Purgatory; and the Church Triumphant, basking in God’s presence in heaven. These three communities were reciprocally tied to one another through the medium of intercessory prayers invoked at chantry altars dedicated to designated saints. Prayers of petition were offered to saints because these holy men and women were believed to have already achieved perpetual communion with Christ. They were thus better placed to bend the Lord’s ear, interceding with Him on behalf of those who cried out from the confines of earthly toil on behalf of their loved ones suffering in Purgatory.42 Saints were one pillar of the ‘debt of interchanging neighbourhood’ that tied together the three realms of any medieval Christian community. Good Christians, as individuals and corporate bodies, were expected to forge intimate client relationships with specific deceased holy persons by honouring them on their feast days and at their altars.43 In practice, it was an altar’s continued illumination with wax candles that insured the continued patronage of its associated saint. In the case of the fleshers, the apotropaic power of illumination — and through it the patronage of Saint Peter — was guaranteed by a tax on all cattle slaughtered within the burgh.44 The question remains, how did a later medieval Christian strike upon the saint most sympathetic to his or her cause? How did he or she divine the most appropriate heavenly advocate in negotiating the trials and tribulations of a life’s labours? 39 Perth, A. K. Bell Library, Perth and Kinross Council Archive, MS B59/17/1, p. 59. 40 The Perth Guildry Book, ed. by Stavert, p. 161. 41 Woodward, The Theater of Death, pp. 40–41; Ewan, Townlife in Fourteenth-Century Scotland, p. 62. 42 The Holy See, Catechism of the Catholic Church, pp. 247–50. 43 Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, pp. 160–63. 44 The Rental Books, ed. by Milne, p. 485.

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The Spiritual Craft: Religious Expression and Connectivity Beyond the Church Walls

Despite the ravages of time and the rampant iconoclasm of the Scottish Reformation, traces of this later medieval cult of saints can still be found in the documentary and material records of Perth. One particularly lucrative source for piecing together pre-Reformation practice is the edition of The Rental Books of King James VI Hospital, Perth, a transcription and history undertaken by the then-minister of the burgh’s West Kirk, R. Milne, D. D. This invaluable text includes the burgh’s records of landholdings that, having previously been endowed for the upkeep of chantries and their Catholic chaplains, reverted to the maintenance of a public hospital under the aegis of the Reformed kirk. The appendix to this work lists some forty altars dedicated to different saints, including that of the Fleshers Incorporation to Saint Peter.45 Imagining the material reality of the later medieval cult of saints in Scotland proves somewhat more difficult, as most of the venerable depictions accompanying chantries were destroyed in the Calvinist purgation of idolatrous Catholic icons from medieval churches.46 One of these Scottish icons has, through the kind hands of anonymous guild brethren, survived down to the present in the collections of the Perth Museum and Art Gallery.47 The folk depiction, an oil painting on finished wooden boards, shows Saint Bartholomew surrounded by the trappings of the Glovers’ trade — a razor in hand, shears and various weights and stretchers at his side. Just beyond the halo of holy fire encircling the saint’s head are the marketable products of the guild responsible for commissioning the piece — two pairs of fine leather gloves. A closer examination of the saint’s corporeal representation gives some clue as to his life’s most pious aspect, at least in eyes of the guild that commissioned the painting — his martyrdom. Saint Bartholomew, one of the twelve apostles, is remembered as having been flayed alive for preaching the gospel in Armenia in the early decades of the Church. Whereas most images of the saint show a skinless man holding his own pelt,48 the Perth icon is simply missing a bit of hair from the top of his head, as if it was scalped by a trapper’s knife. To understand fully the association of certain saints with given trades, and thus to grasp better the role these religious images played in chantry rituals and the communities of identity and practice that they maintained, Peircian notions of iconicity and indexicality come into interpretive play. A sign, within the semiotic theory or ‘doctrine of signs’ of Charles Sanders Peirce, is classified as ‘icon’ or ‘index’ based on its relationship to the object,

45 The Rental Books, ed. by Milne, Appendix. 46 Omand, The Perthshire Book, p. 72. 47 Bowler, The Origins of Perth, p. 23. 48 Jones, ‘Patron Saints Index’.

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person, or event in the world that it references in conveying information. ‘Icons’ act as meaningful signs because they bear a likeness to their objects, as in portraiture. The signification of an ‘index’, however, derives from its having been physically affected by its object, compulsively drawing attention to that object through this implicit relationship, rather than through observed resemblance.49 The religious images hanging above Perth’s chantries were practically the definition of an iconic sign. They depicted the very thing they desired to reference — the physicality of the saint in question and the tools of the commissioning trade. It was, rather, in the association of saints with certain professions that the indexical sign reigned supreme. The tools and techniques of a given trade bore a historical relationship of physical contiguity with the corporeality of the chosen saint, specifically in terms of that saint’s martyrdom. In what appears to modern sensibilities to have been a very grim move, these significative patron–client links often saw the gruesome details of a martyr’s death indexed in the material practices of those occupations they were charged with interceding on behalf of in heaven. Saint Bartholomew, skinned alive, patronized leather workers. Saint Adrian, hacked to pieces for his faith, could be called upon by butchers. Professional cooks venerated Saint Lawrence, who himself was cooked to death on a gridiron.50 Saint Peter presents a more puzzling scenario as patron of the fleshers of Perth. The ‘rock’ on which Christ is said to have built his Church is generally shown as a healthy man holding the keys to the eternal kingdom of God. But when one recalls the manner of his death, inverse crucifixion, things begin to fall into place.51 Was a similar image not evoked in the stringing up of large animal carcasses in later medieval Perth — feet toward the sky, head or severed neck dangling earthward? An imaginative illustration of a medieval market day, gracing an interpretive board erected by Scottish Urban Archaeology Trust in Perth’s city centre, shows just such animal carcasses strung up by their feet. Carl Knappett, in his discussion of modern-day Nike marketing, strikes upon such visceral indexicality as the reason for the popularity of the brand. Such an argument, I contend, holds also for the cult of saints in later medieval Scotland. The icons providing a backdrop for Christian rituals performed at chantries, through the indexical symbolism inhering in the lives and deaths of the saints depicted therein, provided ‘the most effective form of symbolic commentary […] conjur[ing] up an imaginary world with some bearing on the real, rather than amplifying the discrepancy between the real and the imaginary’.52 In this way, heaven — an otherwise inconceivable community whence no one ever returned to provide first-hand description — became

49 Peirce, ‘Logic as Semiotic, pp. 98–111; Layton, ‘Structuralism and Semiotics’, p. 30. 50 Jones, ‘Patron Saints Index’. 51 Jones, ‘Patron Saints Index’. 52 Knappett, Thinking Through Material Culture, p. 130.

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imaginable, populated with historical persons whose past lives had visceral connections to one’s daily toil. Even such seemingly vulgar practices as the skinning and butchering of animal carcasses — an ever-present aspect of life in the later medieval burgh of Perth — were represented in this heavenly community by saints whose deaths mirrored the activities involved in these crafts. In this way too, animal craft-based guild brethren and their kin found a channel to the Divine through which not only their prayers and ritual activities, but the unconscious motions of their daily tasks could be understood as effective in maintaining necessary connections to deceased loved ones and patron saints in those realms of the Christian community that constituted the medieval afterlife. Through the indexicality of patron saints, even the mundane tasks that characterized craft production — from slaughtering an animal and hoisting its carcass aloft for further butchering, to carefully removing the hair from a calf hide bound to be made into fine gloves — could play an active role in the spiritual life of these interconnected Christian communities. This adds a new dimension to the medieval insistence on the transparently public nature of the market for animal flesh in Scottish burghs, expressed as a desire for the acts of slaughter and butchery to occur in plain sight, visible through open storefront windows, during daylight hours.53 The ready interpretability of a craft’s patron saint through this practical indexicality required the kind of intuitive coherence assured by the socially regimented instruction that typified the medieval guild system. The medieval master–apprentice system thus addressed both the spiritual and material needs of the burgh community, passing on semiotic ideology in tandem with the practical skills of craftsman. This mode of social reproduction thus connected the natural and supernatural worlds in an inextricable way.54 The moral authority of craft guilds, which was essential in perpetuating these manifold connections, was reinforced by another aspect of the materiality of these ‘folk’ depictions of patron saints. The very anonymity of the artists responsible for such chantry carvings and paintings ensured that the patron– client relationship between saint and craft was foregrounded in the minds of those offering prayers and rituals before guild altars.55 The apotropaic powers of candlelight, fed from the wax given to altars in payment for fines levied by craft guilds, further focused devotion on those saints depicted in these pieces of chantry art.56 Thus, even mundane fines served the divine connective ends of guilds and their altars. As much as the master–apprentice system served the spiritual and temporal needs of the guild, it also served the broader community, to which

53 Ancient Laws and Customs, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society, pp. 31–32; Extracts from the Records, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society, pp. 54–56, 253. 54 Keane, ‘Signs Are Not the Garb’, pp. 190–98. 55 Gell, ‘The Technology of Enchantment’, pp. 52–54. 56 Woodward, The Theater of Death, p. 45; The Perth Guildry Book, ed. by Stavert, p. 161.

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it was connected by the market. This was especially so in the case of burgh Fleshers, who were liable for the sustenance of the burgh. Their product, if tainted, could kill yet more of a population already decimated by plague.57 The 1488 Fleshouirs Seill of Cause of Edinburgh, their founding charter, expressed just such sentiment, concluding that their corporation’s general aim was the ‘commoun proffeit and incressing of guid sheip fishe and fleshe, and gude reule in the toun’ (common profit and increasing of good sheep, fish, and flesh, and good rule in the town).58 Apprenticeship, whereby future craftsmen learned their trade through experience in the household of a master of the craft, acted as a form of quality control serving these ends. In an ideal situation, it would ensure that best practices were passed on from one generation to the next. As further insurance of best practice, the deacon and ‘best of the craft’ were allocated the daily task of monitoring against the buying, slaying, or selling of ‘infectit fleshe or fishe […] rottyn purit beistis, cassin or deid be the self, or ony vther insufficient sustentatioun owther of fishe or fleshe’ (infected flesh or fish […] rotten, putrid beasts, cast off or dead by themselves [dying rather than having been slaughtered], or any other insufficient sustenance either of fish or flesh).59 This inspection of meat was all the better effected through the open-air slaughter of animals in the ‘hie mercatt’ (high market), or widening of the high street surrounding a burgh like Perth’s royally-sanctioned market cross. Such statutes stood in opposition to the breaking or selling of flesh in ‘hiddillis nor in bak houssis’ (secrecy nor in back houses [the rear of a property]).60 A fine line had to be trodden between the unpleasant noise, smell, and blood produced in slaughtering something as large as beef cattle, and the desire to bear witness to the buying, slaying, and dressing of meat.61

Impact of the Reformation: Reconfiguring Connectivities Severing Ties to the Dead

The Protestant Reformation in Scotland was a historical turn that, through its very contempt for the materiality of medieval Christianity, highlighted the social connectivities served by guild altars and chantry art. Through the words and acts of reformers, previously indispensable components of

57 Hall, Burgess, Merchant, and Priest, p. 32. 58 Extracts from the Records, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society, pp. 54–56. 59 Extracts from the Records, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society, pp. 54–56. 60 Extracts from the Records, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society, pp. 54–56. 61 Ancient Laws and Customs, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society, pp. 31–32; Extracts from the Records, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society, pp. 54–56, 253.

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medieval urban life became the focus of social protest.62 On 11 May 1559, in Perth’s parish kirk of Saint John the Baptist, the firebrand minister John Knox preached an impassioned sermon railing against the wanton idolatry of the Church of Rome. His words proved the Calvinist spark in the tinderbox of Scotland’s Reformation. Surrounded by the medieval religious trappings of an ancient burgh kirk, in a burgh itself encircled by no fewer than four medieval friaries, the former priest’s words stirred the assembled crowd to fever pitch. No sooner had the sermon ended, than the crowd-turned-mob set about stripping Saint John’s of its chantry altars and ‘papist’ ornaments.63 The Calvinist theology that Knox espoused vehemently argued that the common practice of venerating saints through the lighting of candles and saying of prayers before chantry images amounted to the worship of false idols. It was not enough simply to outlaw such ‘pagan’ practices. Rather, the objects of these acts had to be physically destroyed. Visual representations of holy persons and Christ were thus ripped from their niches and piled into great bonfires. It was hoped that these purgative flames would wipe away those ingrained habits of thought and practice that had previously structured medieval urban life and connected the members of that Christian community to one another. The sheer relentlessness of these cleansing actions flowed from a desire to ‘free humans from false relations to things’.64 Calvinist reformers were, however, most concerned with the connectivity that these chantry objects and rituals promised between the three spheres of medieval Christian community — the living on earth, the dead in Purgatory, and the dead in heaven. Knox and his followers rejected the doctrines of Purgatory and the communion of saints, and reviled the practices stemming from them. Instead, they believed that, of those professing faith in God, a select few, the Elect, were predestined by God for eternal life in heaven. All others were damned to eternal hell, regardless of good works, atonement for earthly sins, or the intercessions of holy individuals. Accusations of ‘idolatry’ were hurled at everything associated with attempts to intervene in the afterlife, to be rooted out in the stripping of religious objects from churches. The Lord’s rightfully intended religious practices were to be drawn from the Word of God, as faithfully transcribed by earlier prophets and the four evangelists of the Gospels. All other practice and belief were an abomination, spawned by the devil in the minds of men.65 Within this new religion, the dead were exiled from living man’s interactive sphere.66 Once a person died, nothing could be done by the living to affect 62 Pfaffenberger, ‘Social Anthropology’, p. 505. 63 Bowler, The Origins of Perth, pp. 30–31; Omand, The Perthshire Book, pp. 72–73; McRoberts, ‘Material Destruction’, p. 429; Spicer, ‘Iconoclasm and Adaptation’, p. 31. 64 Keane, ‘Signs Are Not the Garb’, p. 200. 65 Aston, ‘Public Worship’, p. 18; Taylor, ‘The Conflicting Doctrines’, pp. 249–56; Woodward, The Theater of Death, pp. 42–43. 66 Roffey, ‘Deconstructing a Symbolic World’, p. 341.

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the fate of their soul, which was bound for either heaven or hell. All that remained was for the living to commit the body of the dead to the earth.67 As individuals were publicly discouraged from maintaining active relationships with the dead, post-Reformation funerary dedications and monuments took on the form of individualized tombs rather than guild chantries.68 To further divest guild altars of their power in promoting undesirable community connectivities, new religious bodies — like Perth’s Kirk Sessions and General Assembly — were granted the rights of title to all rental properties then in the possession of former chantries and religious houses. Those who had previously lived off these rents — the priests, friars, and prebendaries of Perth who had served its many religious foundations prior to the Reformation — were ordered by the Town Council to make an accounting of such rental properties. These were duly recorded in what would become The Rental Books of King James VI Hospital, Perth, which preserved in its pages the association of certain rentals with specific altars long after the altars themselves had disappeared from Saint John’s Kirk.69 Re-Forging the Bonds of Caring

This seizure of assets pulled the feet out from beneath the civico-religious system that had so profoundly structured life and the connectedness of the living in medieval Perth. Confusion of purpose followed, as those now in charge of public life in Scottish burghs decided what to do with this newly acquired property. Civic concern ensured that this wealth did not just end up in the hands of private individuals, but official decrees, charters, and acts coming from the highest levels of state government sometimes worked at cross purposes in sorting out exactly which ‘godly use’ most deserved these funds. Legislation passed by Scottish Parliament in 1567 favoured the presentation of these former patronages, once integral to Catholic ritual practice, to university students being trained up as Reformed ministers. While such redirection of monies aimed both to fill the gap in right-minded religious practitioners and convert entire communities from traditional religious belief and practice, there were other holes in the social fabric of the burgh that needed filling. One such area of disconnect, left by the systematic disarticulation of medieval religion and loss of services it had provided, was the provisioning of care for the aged and chronically sick. Among those religious foundations dissolved in the fervour of reformation was Perth’s chapel of Saint Anne. This small foundation — which received the better portion of its endowment from obits, or funds allocated to the saying of masses for the dead — was

67 Woodward, The Theater of Death, pp. 42–43. 68 Finch, ‘A Reformation of Meaning’, p. 442. 69 The Rental Books, ed. by Milne, pp. iv–viii; Lynch, ‘Preaching to the Converted?’, p. 306).

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the medieval equivalent of a residential hospital.70 Other hospitals in Perth catered specifically to poor travellers and lepers.71 All functioned as residential chantries. These were institutions in which the old, destitute, and infirm were provided what medical care there was, and where they lived out their days in perpetual prayer for the souls of those whose obituary endowments or guild fees and fines provided the necessities of life. In this system — which bound together rich and poor, living and dead — those individuals otherwise incapable of physical labour were put to spiritual work. The wealth of donors thus materially benefitted those whose physical hardships in life were seen to endow them with a spiritual grace that more well-off members of Perth’s community could not personally obtain, in light of the ease of their lives on earth. Nevertheless, the bond that was forged through the mechanism of chantry hospitals, in enabling the materially-poor-but-spiritually-rich to survive, allowed the well-to-do to tap into a spiritual well that would benefit their affluent souls in the afterlife.72 Thus, aid for the poor, while fulfilling Christ’s injunction to feed and clothe those in need, simultaneously met the needs of the deceased for intercessory prayer. Given the religious doctrines invoked in the functioning of chantry hospitals, it should come as no surprise that they were targeted for dissolution by Calvinist reformers in Scotland. Benevolent funds were instead to be channelled through a new mechanism of poor relief, that of the Reformed Kirk Session. As of 1569, with the passing of a Royal Charter in the name of the infant King James VI, a Hospital Trust was established for the collection of rents once accruing to the religious houses and altars of the burgh. Serving one half of the social needs once met by chantry hospitals, this money — drawn off lands originally donated to now defunct religious foundations in order to maintain religious practitioners whose rituals were understood to speed a donor’s soul through Purgatory — was henceforth to be applied to the maintenance of ‘unfortunates’.73 While the spiritual landscape of Perth was in upheaval in the second half of the sixteenth century, the burgh’s physical layout hung on longer to its medieval patterns, especially as regarded benevolent care. Perth’s Kirk Session, acting on behalf of the recently established Hospital Trust, co-opted the medieval chapel of Saint Anne, managing it as an alms-house until it fell into such disrepair as to prove no longer habitable. A subsequent Hospital House is reported to have stood on this site up through the time of Oliver Cromwell’s ravaging of the town in the mid-seventeenth century. From 1651 through 1745 no building of like function is recorded for the burgh. The current

70 The Rental Books, ed. by Milne, pp. x, 447–96; Durkan, ‘Care of the Poor’, p. 117; Giles, ‘Reforming Corporate Charity’, pp. 331–32. 71 Bowler, Perth, p. 23. 72 Giles, ‘Reforming Corporate Charity’, p. 332. 73 The Rental Books, ed. by Milne, pp. iv–viii; Lynch, ‘Preaching to the Converted?’, p. 306.

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extant construction, still standing though long since converted for other uses, was erected in 1752 to serve as ‘poorhouse, industrial school, infirmary, and reformatory’. By 1813 the building had been decommissioned, with its remaining residents pensioned out to private care. And so the institution continued as a Hospital Trust, increasingly under the aegis of the Burgh Council, whose mission was to provide income for the poor and destitute to ‘live after their own manner’.74 Re-Centring the Guild

Milne, in his nineteenth-century transcription of The Rental Books of King James VI Hospital, Perth, recounted an incident from the year 1580 that calls into question just how quickly the old habits surrounding chantries died in post-medieval Perth. In this incident, the former patron of Saint Margaret’s altar accompanied a young man to the former site of the altar within Saint John’s Kirk, where he read an article of donation and proceeded to hand the grantee of the altar’s rentals a book of Psalms, in accord with the old rights of conferring chaplaincies.75 There is also the fact that the ‘Patie’s Penny’ tax, levied on every cattle slaughtered within the burgh and earmarked to supply wax to Saint Peter’s altar in Saint John’s Kirk, was officially abolished by the Town Council only in 1760. This despite the fact that the chantry itself was presumably cast out of Saint John’s Kirk during Perth’s iconoclastic riots of 1559.76 While radical religious dissenters succeeded at casting guild altars out of Scotland’s parish kirks, the deeply ingrained communities of practice that had founded these altars and whose identities hinged on them proved more resilient. Members were forced, however, to look for alternative means of enacting their personal and corporate identities and articulating old relationships. The survival of the Glovers’ icon of Saint Bartholomew speaks to a desire for material continuity in forging those new practices that would bind the guild, even if the setting in which the painting hung had changed. From the parish kirk the image likely moved between private residences, eventually coming to rest in a guild house purchased by the Glovers Incorporation in 1629 just to the north of Perth’s medieval core.77 The Fair Maid’s House, as it was later christened by Walter Scott in his 1828 novel The Fair Maid of Perth, became the venue for those guild rituals that had once taken place at the craft’s kirk altar. The now-banned, annual Corpus Christi procession through the streets of Perth had offered craft guilds a venue for positioning themselves in the non-ecclesiastical political structure of the burgh council.78 The new guild 74 The Rental Books, ed. by Milne, pp. x–xliii, 494. 75 The Rental Books, ed. by Milne, p. 475. 76 The Rental Books, ed. by Milne, pp. 485–86. 77 Bowler, Perth, p. 43. 78 Lynch, ‘Introduction: Scottish Towns 1500–1700’, p. 14; White, ‘The Impact of the Reformation’, p. 97.

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houses that crafts acquired in the early modern period — through their physical grandeur, furnishings, and location within the burgh — may have served a similar social function to the old procession, proving the status of the guilds in relation to one another. Land holdings in the seventeenth century already referred to a ‘Flesher’s Calling’ or ‘Flesher Craft’, pointing to a public manifestation of corporate identity. Milne’s nineteenth-century compendium of land rentals also contains, as its frontispiece, a reproduction of a 1774 ‘Plan of the Town of Perth taken from an Actual Survey’. This lithograph depicts a structure labelled ‘Flesh Market’ in the dead centre of town, at the outlet of Fleshers Vennel — pointing to a secular material consolidation of the corporate identity and practices that had once found expression in the guild altar. The same can be said of the Skinners, whose ‘Yeard’ appears on the 1774 plan, as well as the Glovers, who purchased a guild house in 1629.79

Conclusions Max Weber argued in The Protestant Ethic, a seminal work of economic and historical sociology, that the Protestant ethos expressed in the concept of a ‘calling’, as applied to the menial work of something like craft production, endowed the everyday actions of the Christian laity with previously absent religious significance. Weber was, like Martin Luther before him, contrasting the esteem in which medieval Christians held ascetic monasticism to the moral value that Reformed Christians placed on the worldly duties of everyman.80 What is revealed in examining medieval Christianity beyond the confines of the cloister — in the vernacular beliefs and practices of craftsmen and guilds — is that the everyday actions involved in medieval crafting were, in fact, endowed with religious significance, be it in a way that only made sense in a spiritual context explicitly rejected by Protestant reformers. While Weber may have misrepresented medieval Christianity by focusing on the extreme example of ascetic monasticism, his characterization of Protestant spirituality in relation to earthly toil better reflects the shifts in belief and practice that this study has explored. He is close to the mark in arguing that the post-Reformation ‘calling’ differed from what had come before in emphasizing that worldly duty was paramount in the moral affairs of individuals.81 This shift reflected changes necessitated by the adamant rejection of key medieval Christian doctrines. As this study has shown, the concepts of Purgatory and the communion of saints, so vehemently opposed by reformers, were essential to the social institutions and religious practices that defined

79 The Rental Books, ed. by Milne, pp. 215, 337–38, frontispiece. 80 Weber, The Protestant Ethic, p. 40. 81 Weber, The Protestant Ethic, p. 40.

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life in medieval urban contexts and connected community members to one another. In rejecting these religious ideas, reformers also rejected the form that community connectivities had taken up to this point. The communities impacted by these reforms needed those connections, however. In the decades and centuries following the Reformation, these connectivities — which were involved in everything from provisioning the town with food and raw craft materials to caring for the infirm — were refashioned along lines more acceptable to a Protestant metaphysics where the living and dead occupied wholly autonomous spheres of existence. Thus ‘worldly duty’, focused on conforming one’s practical actions to the expectations of strictly earth-bound social systems, supplanted medieval moralities, in which the line between earthly affairs and those of the hereafter was a connective one, rather than an impermeable boundary. One particular aspect of the 1774 map of Perth fronting Milne’s Rental Books speaks to this distinction between medieval connectivities and their early modern counterparts. It is the designation of all the burgh’s religious foundations — friaries and chapels — as ‘the Antiquities of Perth’, marked out by numbers inscribed on the street plan. This same map assigned letters to the industrial developments of the Fleshers, Skinners, and Glovers crafts.82 This sharp categorical separation marks, in cartographic form, the effects of the Scottish Reformation discussed in this paper. The theological arguments that reformers like John Knox made, and the impact that these doctrinal changes had on the material fabric and ritual life of Scottish burghs, required a realignment of the connectivities that vernacular religious belief and the spiritual aspects of craft practice had promoted in the medieval town. The conclusions reached through this study demonstrate the inseparability of the secular and religious, the material and supernatural, in medieval urban life. Understanding the interpersonal connections and practices that ordered craft production requires understanding the beliefs and rituals that constituted these same individuals’ religious lives. Realizing how interdigitated these worlds were opens up new dimensions of interpretation in studying medieval occupations, moving interpretation beyond the simple gloss off ‘pre-industrial production’. The guild system, organized around the master–apprentice relationship, certainly produced Arjun Appadurai’s ‘enclaved commodities’, goods that necessarily travelled through the restrictive channels of official market protocol in a medieval burgh. Such a system not only maintained a carefully formed link between people and things, acting as market regulation and quality control, it promoted specific connectivities between the individuals involved, bonds that later economic and social transformations often sought actively to dissolve.83 To twenty-first-century western sensibilities, keeping the reality of both animal and saintly death ever in the realm of visible and

82 The Rental Books, ed. by Milne, frontispiece. 83 Appadurai, ‘Introduction: Commodities’, p. 24.

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visceral urban experience seems a grim, if not altogether irrational, endeavour. In late medieval Perth, however, such a system not only protected the burgh’s supply of healthy, affordable meat, it actively engaged those involved in animal crafts in meeting the spiritual needs of the burgh’s dead through their embodied craft practices.

Bibliography Manuscripts and Archival Sources Perth, A. K. Bell Library, Perth and Kinross Council Archive, MS B59/17/1 Primary Sources Ancient Laws and Customs of the Burghs of Scotland, vol. i, A.D. 1124–1424, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society (Edinburgh: Scottish Burgh Records Society, 1868) Extracts from the Records of the Burgh of Edinburgh, A.D. 1403–1528, ed. by Scottish Burgh Records Society (Edinburgh: Scottish Burgh Records Society, 1869) The Holy See, Catechism of the Catholic Church, Second Edition (Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1997) The Perth Guildry Book, 1452–1601, ed. by Marion L. Stavert, New Series, 19 (Edinburgh: Scottish Record Society, 1993) The Rental Books of King James VI Hospital, Perth, ed. by R. Milne (Perth: Wood & Son, 1891) Rutherford, A., ‘A Plan of the Town of Perth taken from an Actual Survey’ (1774), reproduced as frontispiece of The Rental Books of King James VI Hospital, Perth, ed. by R. Milne (Perth: Wood & Son, 1891) Secondary Works Appadurai, Arjun, ‘Introduction: Commodities and the Politics of Value’, in The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, ed. by Arjun Appadurai (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), pp. 3–63 Aston, Margaret, ‘Public Worship and Iconoclasm’, in The Archaeology of Reformation 1480–1580, ed. by David Gaimster and Roberta Gilchrist, Society for Post-Medieval Archaeology Monograph, 1 (Leeds: Maney, 2003), pp. 9–28 Bowler, David P., Perth: The Archaeology and Development of a Scottish Burgh, Monograph Three (Perth: Tayside and Fife Archaeological Committee, 2004) ———, The Origins of Perth: A Medieval Royal Burgh (Perth: Perth and Kinross Heritage Trust, 2006) Douglas, Mary, and Baron Isherwood, The World of Goods: Towards and Anthropology of Consumption (New York: Routledge, 1996)

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Duffy, Eamon, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England c. 1400– 1580 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992, repr. 2005) Durkan, John, ‘Care of the Poor: Pre-Reformation Hospitals’, in Essays on the Scottish Reformation 1513–1625, ed. by David McRoberts (Glasgow: Burns, 1962), pp. 116–28 Durkheim, Émile, The Division of Labor in Society (New York: The Free Press, 1997 [1st edn 1902]) Edwards, Megan E. ‘Whither gae the bones?: The Role and Movement of Animals and their Products in the Medieval Scottish Burgh of Perth’ (unpublished master’s thesis, Queen’s University Belfast, 2006) Ewan, Elizabeth, ‘The Community of the Burgh in the 14th Century’, in The Scottish Medieval Town, ed. by Michael Lynch, Michael Spearman, and Geoffrey Stell (Edinburgh: John Donald, 1988), pp. 228–43 ———, Townlife in Fourteenth-Century Scotland (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1990) Finch, Jonathan, ‘A Reformation of Meaning: Commemoration and Remembering the Dead in the Parish Church, 1450–1640’, in The Archaeology of Reformation 1480–1580, ed. by David Gaimster and Roberta Gilchrist, Society for Post-Medieval Archaeology Monograph, 1 (Leeds: Maney, 2003), pp. 437–49 Gell, Alfred, ‘The Technology of Enchantment and the Enchantment of Technology’, in Anthropology, Art, and Aesthetics, ed. by Jeremy Coote and Anthony Shelton (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992), pp. 40–63 Giles, Kate, ‘Reforming Corporate Charity: Guilds and Fraternities in Pre- and Post-Reformation York’, in The Archaeology of Reformation 1480–1580, ed. by David Gaimster and Roberta Gilchrist, Society for Post-Medieval Archaeology Monograph, 1 (Leeds: Maney, 2003), pp. 325–40 Hall, Derek, Burgess, Merchant, and Priest: Burgh Life in the Scottish medieval Town, The Making of Scotland Series (Edinburgh: Birlinn, 2002) Jones, Terry, ‘Patron Saints Index’, (Star Quest Production Network), or [accessed 23 July 2020] Keane, Webb, ‘Signs Are Not the Garb of Meaning: On the Social Analysis of Material Things’, in Materiality, ed. by Daniel Miller (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), pp. 182–205 Knappett, Carl, Thinking Through Material Culture: An Interdisciplinary Perspective (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005) Layton, Robert, ‘Structuralism and Semiotics’, in Handbook of Material Culture, ed. by Chris Tilley, Webb Keane, Susanne Küchler, Mike Rowlands, and Patricia Spyer (London: Sage, 2006), pp. 29–42 Lechtman, Heather, ‘Style in Technology - Some Early Thoughts’, in Material Culture: Styles, Organization, and Dynamics of Technology, ed. by Heather Lechtman and Robert S. Merrill (St Paul: West, 1977), pp. 3–20 Lynch, Michael, ‘Introduction: Scottish Towns 1500–1700’, in The Early Modern Town in Scotland, ed. by Michael Lynch (London: Croom Helm, 1987), pp. 1–35

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———, ‘The Social and Economic Structure of the Larger Towns, 1450–1600’, in The Scottish Medieval Town, ed. by Michael Lynch, Michael Spearman, and Geoffrey Stell (Edinburgh: John Donald, 1988), pp. 261–86 ———, ‘Preaching to the Converted? Perspectives on the Scottish Reformation’, in The Renaissance in Scotland, ed. by A. A. MacDonald, Michael Lynch, and Ian B. Cowan (New York: Brill, 1994), pp. 301–43 McRoberts, David, ‘Material Destruction Caused by the Scottish Reformation’, in Essays on the Scottish Reformation 1513–1625, ed. by David McRoberts (Glasgow: Burns, 1962), pp. 415–62 Miller, Daniel, Material Culture and Mass Consumption (New York: Basil Blackwell, 1987) O’Connor, Terence P., The Analysis of Urban Animal Bone Assemblages: A Handbook for Archaeologists, The Archaeology of York, vol. 19, fasc. 2 (York: Council for British Archaeology for York Archaeology Trust, 2003) Omand, Donald, The Perthshire Book (Edinburgh: Birlinn, 1999) Pfaffenberger, Bryan, ‘Social Anthropology of Technology’, Annual Review of Anthropology, 21 (1992), 491–516 Peirce, Charles Sanders, ‘Logic as Semiotic: The Theory of Signs’, in Philosophical Writings of Peirce, ed. by Justus Buchler (New York: Dover, 1955), pp. 98–119 Renfrew, Colin, and Paul Bahn, Archaeology: Theories, Methods, and Practice, 6th Edn (New York: Thames & Hudson, 2012) Rippon, Stephen, Historical Landscape Analysis: Deciphering the Countryside, Practical Handbook, 16 (York: Council for British Archaeology, 2004) Rixson, Derrick, The History of Meat Trading (Nottingham: Nottingham University Press, 2000) Roffey, Simon, ‘Deconstructing a Symbolic World: The Reformation and the English Medieval Parish Chantry’, in The Archaeology of Reformation 1480–1580, ed. by David Gaimster and Roberta Gilchrist, Society for Post-Medieval Archaeology Monograph, 1 (Leeds: Maney, 2003), pp. 341–55 Serjeantson, Dale, ‘Animal Remains and the Tanning Trade’, in Diet and Crafts in Towns: the Evidence of Animal Remains from the Roman to the Post-Medieval Periods, ed. by Dale Serjeantson and Tony Waldron, BAR Series, 199 (Oxford: BAR, 1989) Smith, Adam, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, vol. i, (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1981 [1st edn 1776]) Smith, Catherine, ‘Conclusions: The Environment of Medieval Perth’, in Perth High Street Archaeological Excavations 1975–1977, Fascicule ix: The Environmental Evidence, 2nd Draft, ed. by Catherine Smith (archived report, Scottish Urban Archaeology Trust Ltd, 2002) ———, ‘Scott Street, Perth: The Animal Bones’ (archived report, Scottish Urban Archaeology Trust Ltd) ———, ‘Faunal Report: Mammals, Birds and Mollusk Shell from Horse Cross, Perth’, (archived report, Scottish Urban Archaeology Trust Ltd)

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———, ‘Flesche and fische eneuch: The Role of Animals in the Medieval Scottish Economy’, Special Conference of Tayside and Fife Archaeological Committee (2002) [accessed 20 July 2020] Spearman, Michael, ‘The Medieval Townscape of Perth’, in The Scottish Medieval Town, ed. by Michael Lynch, Michael Spearman, and Geoffrey Stell (Edinburgh: John Donald, 1988), pp. 41–59 Spicer, Andrew, ‘Iconoclasm and Adaptation: The Reformation of the Churches in Scotland and the Netherlands’, in The Archaeology of Reformation 1480–1580, ed. by David Gaimster and Roberta Gilchrist, Society for Post-Medieval Archaeology Monograph, 1 (Leeds: Maney, 2003), pp. 29–43 Taylor, Maurice, ‘The Conflicting Doctrines of the Scottish Reformation’, in Essays on the Scottish Reformation 1513–1625, ed. by David McRoberts (Glasgow: Burns, 1962), pp. 245–73 Weber, Max, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (New York: Routledge, 2006 [1st edn 1905]) White, Alan, ‘The Impact of the Reformation on a Burgh Community: The Case of Aberdeen’, in The Early Modern Town in Scotland, ed. by Michael Lynch (London: Croom Helm, 1987), pp. 81–101 Woodward, Jennifer, The Theater of Death: The Ritual Management of Royal Funerals in Renaissance England 1570–1625 (Rochester: Boydell, 1997)

Johanneke Uphoff

Dit boec heft gegeven Book Donation as an Indicator of a Shared Culture of Devotion in the Late Medieval Low Countries

Introduction This paper discusses the practice of book donation by laypeople to religious communities as an indicator of the participation of the laity in religious culture and as evidence for the shared devotional culture between lay and religious professionals in the late medieval Low Countries.1 It aims to show that the reconstruction of the practice of book donations offers a fruitful starting point for research on late medieval religious connectivity,2 as these donations are testimony to a practice that bridged the secular and monastic worlds. Through studying book donations in their social-historical context,





1 The distinction between lay and religious has been often discussed and debated within medieval scholarship. This paper distinguishes laypeople from religious professionals. The term ‘religious professionals’ is here used in its widest sense and refers to monastics as well as the secular clergy and those groups, like Beguines, who are often called semi-religious. In the context of book donations, the religious professionals in question are often, but not always, professed religious living in convent communities. 2 The concept of religious connectivity used in this paper is the one offered by Suzan Folkerts during the conference ‘Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities’, 24–25 September 2015 in Groningen, and can be summarized as follows: The concept of connectivity is a methodological tool to analyse and describe human relations and human communication in (dynamic) networks, transgressing the boundaries between political, economic, social, cultural, and religious domains or areas. Religious connectivity can serve as a description of religious connections (i.e. between people, religious activities and religious artefacts in networks, which may be communities or spatial areas). It enables us to investigate dynamics and processes, which is crucial for our understanding of the relation between sacred and secular. Johanneke Uphoff  •  studied History at the Radboud University in Nijmegen. She has worked at the Faculty of Arts of the University of Groningen on her PhD research on the religious reading culture of laypeople in the late medieval Low Countries, which is part of the NWO project ‘Cities of Readers: Religious Literacies in the Long Fifteenth Century’. Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400–1550): Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting through the Continuum of Sacred and Secular, ed. by Suzan Folkerts, New Communities of Interpretation, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), pp. 99–124 © FHG10.1484/M.NCI-EB.5.122096

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networks between lay and religious can be made visible that demonstrate their similarities and help us to reconsider the divide between the devotional worlds of the laity and the religious, as opposed to the more traditional focus on the differences between these groups. Moreover, by focusing on the role of laypeople as the agents in these networks (instead of on the role of religious people) a more nuanced picture can be painted of lay participation in late medieval religious culture. Preliminary research testifies that book donations by lay individuals to religious houses were a common feature of late medieval and early modern society. A substantial number of manuscripts attest to this practice: in notes found in these books, the bequest is described and the donor and recipient are named. In spite of the substantial amount of surviving evidence of book donation, the topic has received little scholarly attention so far. Many of the scholars who have investigated the social-historical context of book donations have focused particularly on medieval women, adding to the notion of book ownership and the bequeathing of books as social tools. They have shown how book gifts functioned as means of communication in religious book networks between lay and religious women, in which the notion of family often played an important role.3 An important study that connects book donations to the idea of a shared devotional culture between lay and religious is June L. Mecham’s research on ‘cooperative piety’. Mecham has used this term to investigate the interaction between secular and professed women in support of monastic life, monastic devotion, and medieval religious culture in general. One of the three categories of cooperative piety Mecham has identified is that of devotional reading and the exchange of manuscripts.4 She states that patterns of book ownership and book donation illustrate the similar devotional texts and concerns that shaped the piety of late medieval laywomen and monastic women.5 All studies carried out so far effectively show the particular role book gifts and the exchange of books could play in the lives of medieval women. It is, however, important to note that book donation was not a gender-exclusive practice and that men, as well as women, donated books to religious communities.6 These studies also illustrate that it is worthwhile exploring further practices of book donations as manifestations of a shared culture of





3 See, for example, De Hemptinne, ‘Reading, Writing, and Devotional Practices’; Erler, ‘Exchange of Books’; Corbellini, ‘The Voice of Silence’, p. 465. 4 Mecham, ‘Cooperative Piety’, p. 585. The other two categories of cooperative piety distinguished by Mecham are the fashioning of tangible expressions of piety (such as liturgical decorations) and the secular support of religious practices or professed religious persons. 5 Mecham, ‘Cooperative Piety’, p. 609. 6 A non-gendered view of book donation was discussed, for example, by Suzan Folkerts, who, focusing on Middle Dutch Bibles, has shown how books travelled between lay and monastic owners, often through the act of donation. Folkerts, ‘Approaching Lay Readership’, pp. 33–37.

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devotion between laypeople and religious professionals. This is the topic that this article seeks to address. The body of sources used for this paper is a selection of twenty-seven Middle Dutch manuscripts:7 all containing religious texts and bearing evidence of a bequest by a layperson to a religious house made during the long fifteenth century (1400–1550), as testified by colophons and ownership marks. These ownership marks and colophons serve as the point of departure for this study, as they allow us to reach the users through the manuscripts, revealing their identity,8 and to reconstruct how they, through the practice of donation, actively participated in the dissemination of religious knowledge.9 This paper will first focus on the context of book donation, namely the growing participation of the laity in religious textual culture, and then it will zoom in on the shared culture of devotion between lay and religious, of which book donation is an important indicator. This practice will be further illustrated by the study of manuscript Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, LTK





7 The selection principles have been applied to the manuscripts described in the Bibliotheca Neerlandica Manuscripta et Impressa, resulting in the following corpus for further research: Amsterdam, UB, MS xxv C 26 (Book of Hours); Arnhem, GA, MS Beckering Vinckers 9 (Gospel harmony); Olim Bonn, UB, MS S 315 (lost) (Hieronymusbrieven); Bremen, SUB, MS C 55 (Book of Hours); Brussels, KBR, MS 11172 (Book of Hours); Brussels, KBR, MS 3753 (miscellany); Brussels, KBR, MS ii 6644 (miscellany); Brussels, KBR, MS ii 6906 (Dat boeck vander voirsienichheit godes); Brussels, KBR, MS iv 5 (Cassianus, Collationes patrum); Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2348 (Book of Hours); Deventer, AB, MS i, 57 (10 W 7 KL) (miscellany); Groningen, UB, MS 217 (Pseudo Bonaventure-Ludolphian Life of Christ); The Hague, KB, MS KW 70 H 12 (sermons); The Hague, KB, MS KW KA 32 (Bible texts); The Hague, MM, MS 10 A 18–19 (First History Bible or Herne Bible); Leiden, UB, MS BPL 2260 (Hieronymusbrieven); Leiden, UB, MS LTK 235 (Psalms, Canticles, and litany of saints); Leiden, UB, MS LTK 263 (translation of Jacobus de Voragine’s Legenda aurea, winter and summer part); Leiden, UB, MS LTK 318 (miscellany); BL, MS Add. 26659 (Gospels); München, BSB, MS Cgm 5150–51 (Bible texts); Nijmegen, RAN, MS Collectie Codices 20 (miscellany); Nijmegen, RAN, MS i A 23 (miscellany); Olim Utrecht, ABM, MS 47 (lost) (Die gheestelike tyen gheboeden); Utrecht, UB, MS 1039 (lay breviary); VanDerMeulen (Hasselt), MS s. n. (Prayer book); Weesp, RHCVV, inv. no. 286 (Dat boec vanden claren ende verluchten mannen der oerden van cistercien). 8 De Hemptinne, ‘Reading, Writing, and Devotional Practices’, p. 120. 9 The use of the term religious knowledge is based on the definition of knowledge provided by Christian Jacob: ‘Un champ de l’expérience humaine, individuelle et collective, plus précisément comme l’ensemble des procédures mentales, discursives, techniques et sociales par lesquelles une société, les groupes et les individus qui la composent, donnent sens au monde qui les entoure et se donnent les moyens d’agir sur lui ou d’interagir avec lui. Ces procédures concernent aussi bien le monde visible que le monde invisible, le monde matériel que le monde immatériel, le monde naturel et humain, le monde du vivant et de l’inerte, ces différentes dimensions, et les oppositions qui les corrèlent, étant elles-mêmes des constructions culturelles’. See Jacob, Qu’est-ce qu’un lieu de savoir. Further evidence of book donation that was used for this study was found in convent archives (for example in testaments and memorial books). Compendia of medieval monastic orders, such as the Monasticon Trajectense of the Third Order of Saint Francis, were used as starting points for the investigation.

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318, a miscellany that perfectly exemplifies the wealth of information resulting from the analysis of the selected manuscripts.

Lay Participation in Religious Culture The long fifteenth century was a period in which laypeople, especially in urban areas, became more actively involved in shaping religious life, and in doing so left their mark on religious (textual) culture. In his landmark paper ‘Multiple Options: The World of the Fifteenth Century Church’, John Van Engen argues that in the late Middle Ages ‘acts largely accounted clerical, or aspirations associated with the religious, increasingly were undertaken by interested laypeople’.10 This narrative of a religiously active and self-aware laity has not always been evident. André Vauchez has pointed out that the history of the medieval Church has often been limited to the history of its hierarchy and clergy, leaving out the laity as an active player in the religious field.11 However, over the last decades things have been changing and scholarly attention is increasingly shifting towards possibilities for the reconstruction of a more active role of laypeople in processes concerning the religious culture of the later Middle Ages. Scholars have signalled that from the thirteenth century onwards, the position of the laypeople in the religious field changed. Attaining divine grace and coming closer to God was no longer a prerogative of religious professionals but was thought to be possible for people living in the everyday world.12 An ongoing process of privatization of religious practices took place, in which devotion was increasingly practised at home as well as in the public sphere.13 This seems to have reached its height in the fifteenth century, with laypeople seeking advanced religious instruction blurring the borders between the secular and the monastic.14 It is important to state that these shifts within the religious sphere did not necessarily cause an opposition between laity and clergy. Vauchez argued that one of the novel characteristics from the twelfth century onward was ‘the ability of laypeople to create autonomous forms of piety which, while generally avoiding clashes with orthodoxy, succeeded in reshaping the religious message disseminated by the clergy to meet their feelings and specific needs’.15 He also underlines that, in spite of the fact that anti-clericalism among laypeople was a real thing, both clergy and laity were, generally speaking, aware of the complementarity of their roles.16 Not only that, but the increased spiritual 10 Van Engen, ‘Multiple Options’. 11 This point is touched upon for example by Vauchez, The Laity in the Middle Ages, p. 1. 12 McGinn, The Flowering of Mysticism, pp. 12–13. 13 Webb, ‘Domestic Space and Devotion’, p. 46. 14 Appleford and Watson, ‘Merchant Religion’, pp. 204–06. 15 Vauchez, The Laity in the Middle Ages, p. 265. 16 Vauchez, The Laity in the Middle Ages, pp. xv–xvi.

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fervour found in the late Middle Ages was sometimes even stimulated by the clergy. Werner Williams-Krapp, for instance, focusing on the German speaking areas, has pointed out that laypeople as early as the 1420s were encouraged by their preachers seriously and independently to immerse themselves in spiritual works.17 Peter Howard too has shown the interaction and exchange between preacher and lay audience in fifteenth-century Florence, thereby revealing the enormous influence of the laity (defined as ‘literate in theology’) on what was preached.18 One of the most evident manifestations of laypeople’s involvement in religious life is their engagement in religious textuality. Discussing the situation in England, Vincent Gillespie has pointed to an increase of interest in, and market for, vernacular religious texts in the late fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, which led to some major developments in the production of religious books for laypeople.19 But even earlier signs of an increase of lay interest in religious textual culture can be observed. Nicole R. Rice has demonstrated that laypeople had already begun to engage textually with religious disciplines long before texts of religious instruction were translated into the vernacular, for example through the use of Latin prayer books or Books of Hours.20 Suzan Folkerts has shown, with regard to the medieval Low Countries, that Middle Dutch Bible translations were widely read by lay audiences whose hunger for religiously educating themselves even influenced the shape and layout of these books.21 Geert Warnar has pointed out the immense popularity of texts like Tlevens of heren Jhesus Christi (The Life of Jesus Christ) in the late medieval Low Countries, which were also popular with laypeople, especially women.22 There was diversity not only in the devotional texts owned by laypeople, but also in the social status of the lay people who owned such texts. For it was not only the very rich, with their expensively illuminated copies, who had access to religious books; they were also beloved possessions of the urban middle classes, such as tradesmen and craftsmen, although the latter’s books were often more sober in execution.23

A Shared Culture of Devotion In spite of the growing awareness of the involvement and possibilities of laypeople in late medieval religious life and religious textual culture, the

17 Williams-Krapp, ‘The Erosion of a Monopoly’, p. 241. 18 Howard, ‘“Doctrine, When Preached”’, pp. 303, 313–14. 19 Gillespie, ‘Vernacular Books of Religion’, pp. 146–47. 20 Rice, Lay Piety and Religious Discipline, p. 12. 21 Folkerts, ‘The Cloister or the City?’, p. 181. 22 Warnar, ‘Tleven ons heren Jhesu Christi’, p. 27. 23 For information on religious reading by the urban middle class, see Corbellini and Hoogvliet, ‘Artisans and Religious Reading’.

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awareness of the existence of a ‘shared culture of devotion’ between the laity and the religious is still lacking. In fact, the traditional division of late medieval religious culture into three separate groups (religious, semi-religious, and laity) has proven to be a very persistent one.24 This not only emphasizes the differences while causing us to neglect common elements, but it has also resulted in a narrative that does not do justice to the initiatives of laypeople as participants in medieval religious culture. It would indeed be fruitful to reconsider the traditional but sometimes also artificial divide between the devotional worlds of the laity and the (semi-)religious by focusing on their connectivity and interaction. As already mentioned above, Mecham has shown that lay and religious people cooperated in the support of religious communities and that they often shared the same devotional trends.25 Focusing on late medieval women, she demonstrates that the boundaries between secular and monastic were fluid. This fluidity was increased by the laity taking on practices that earlier had been the reserve of the religious professionals.26 An example of this is the donation by Leiden citizen Willem Heerman in 1462 of a vernacular Bible in two parts to the church of Saint Peter in the city of Leiden. Heerman, who had repeatedly served as schepen (alderman) and mayor of Leiden, copied the books himself and seems to have been very concerned with the religious life of his city. Heerman intended this Bible to be available to be read by all good honourable men (‘om alle goede eerbare mannen dairinne te lesen’).27 Another act by Heerman was the donation of a missal, again copied by his own hand, to the town hall of Leiden in 1463. With it, he donated the tools necessary to celebrate Mass in the city hall.28 Here we see a layman providing the means of religious edification and religious practice to a public of probably both lay and religious people. Tasks like these may traditionally have rested with religious professionals, but in the late Middle Ages we increasingly see laypeople taking them upon themselves. Reconstructing this ‘shared culture’ by focusing on the social-cultural context of late medieval religious life, its devotional practices, and the role of laypeople as agents in these practices, nuances the traditional and also sometimes artificial divide between lay and religious. It also draws attention to

24 The use of this terminology is not without difficulties, as has been pointed out by, for example, Thom Mertens, who has proposed the term ‘spirituele leken’ (spiritual laypeople), following Gerard Zerbolt van Zutphen, as a substitute for ‘semi-religious’. See Mertens, ‘Het middeleeuwse klooster’, p. 43. 25 Mecham, ‘Cooperative Piety’. 26 Van Engen, ‘Multiple Options’, pp. 269–70. 27 Leiden, ELO, access no. 0501 (Archief der Secretarie van de stad Leiden (Stadsbestuur (SA I)), inv. no. 395. For a transcript, see Kist, ‘De Nederduitsche bijbel’. See also Brand, Over macht en overwicht, p. 355. 28 Leiden, ELO, access no. 0501 (Archief der Secretarie van de stad Leiden (Stadsbestuur (SA I)), Privilegeboek A, inv. no. 80, fol. 125v.

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the possibilities open to laypeople for getting involved in the transmission of religious knowledge through religious (textual) culture, as part of this shared culture of devotion is formed by the religious texts that lay and religious alike used for their spiritual edification. The practice of sharing religious texts has especially been noted for laypeople and religious women, as texts originally written for female convent communities were increasingly translated, and sometimes adapted, for the laity.29 Textual religious culture was influenced by these contacts and exchanges between lay and religious.30 Laypeople stimulated religious professionals to make vernacular translations of religious Latin texts, and vernacular translations began to move more freely between these two groups of people. Texts written for female religious in particular were often also read by laypeople, first by noblewomen and successively by a wider lay public.31 As a result, many religious texts had a mixed audience, and many texts intended for religious were adapted to a lay public of readers.32 Conversely, texts that seem to have been aimed at laypeople were also read by religious. An example of this is De spieghel der Volcomenheit (The Mirror of Perfection) which was in all probability written for a laywoman, but was widely disseminated among convent communities as well.33

Donating Books and Memoria Culture As we know that texts were shared between the laity and religious professionals, it is not surprising that these two groups also sometimes shared their books. In fact, in the late Middle Ages material culture often served to connect the convent and the secular world.34 Donations of all sorts, from sums of money to paintings and from pieces of land to liturgical objects, played an important role in this. The donating of such gifts to religious communities and institutions was considered beneficial for the donors’ salvation. Often, however, these gifts were made with the explicit expectation of commemoration, through some form of prayer in return. Through prayer, the time that the deceased donor and/or his or her relatives had to spend in Purgatory could be shortened.35 29 30 31 32 33

See, for example, Gillespie, ‘Vernacular Books’, pp. 150–52. For example, see Corbellini, ‘The Voice of Silence’, p. 468. Gillespie, ‘Vernacular Books’, pp. 146, 147, 150, 152. See, for example, Brantley, Reading in the Wilderness, pp. 28, 53. The text, dating from 1455 to 1460, was written by the Franciscan brother Hendrik Herp and tells the reader how to live the perfect Christian life. Dlabačová, Literatuur en observantie, pp. 47–50. 34 Signori, ‘Wanderer zwischen den “Welten”’, p. 136. See also Mecham, ‘Cooperative Piety’, p. 585. 35 Van Bueren and others, ed., Medieval Memoria Online provides a database of textual sources and material sources which are connected to medieval memorial culture. See this website for gifts donated to convents in return for a memoria.

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Such donations in return for commemoration were part of the memoria culture, which formed an important element in medieval religious life. Due to the rise of the cities, lay involvement in religious life, and the attraction of new monastic orders to a wider public, donations in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries were made by a greater range of classes and groups in society than they had been before, when they had mostly been restricted to the aristocracy.36 Traces of benefactors and the memorial services which they received in exchange for their donations can be found in the memorial registers which were kept by religious institutions.37 Memorial registers occasionally offer information about the donation of books, but even more crucial for research on book donation are the colophons and ownership notes in the donated manuscripts themselves. A case in point is manuscript Bremen, Stads- und Universitätsbibliothek, C 55, a prayer book copied at the request of one of the sisters’ mothers for the convent of Saint Margaret in Roomburg in Leiden. The ownership note states that the book must remain in the convent as a testamentary bequest and should not be sold or removed. The readers of the book are asked to remember the donor and her family and to pray for them.38 In cases like this, books were not mere objects of use but became artefacts that could be used as a tool to manifest or carry out one’s devotion and support one’s salvation. It confirms the idea of a shared culture of devotion, as the book is regarded as a valuable gift that connects the worlds of the secular and monastic through the exchange of religious knowledge for spiritual welfare in the form of prayer. Although the memorial and devotional function may have been the main aspect of a book donation, this certainly does not mean that practical considerations with an eye to the further use of the book could not have played a role. An interesting aspect of book donation is that most Middle Dutch books donated by laypeople were donated to houses of female religious. This may be explained by the fact that there were more communities of female religious in the late medieval cities than male houses, but practical considerations may

36 Van Bueren, ‘Care for the Here and the Hereafter’, p. 14. 37 An example of this are the late fifteenth-century registers of the charterhouse of Nieuwlicht near Utrecht in which donations made during the period 1391–1470 are recorded. Utrecht, HUA, access no. 1006–3 (Kartuizerklooster Nieuwlicht bij Utrecht), inv. no. 27 and Utrecht, HUA, access no. 1006–3 (Kartuizerklooster Nieuwlicht bij Utrecht), inv. no. 28. These were discussed by, for example, J. P. Gumbert and Rolf de Weijert-Gutman. See Gumbert, ‘What Do We Want To Remember?’ and De Weijert-Gutman, ‘Schenken, begraven, gedenken’. Another example is the cartulary of the convent of Saint Margaret in Gouda as discussed by Koen Goudriaan. The list notes the donor, the gift, and the liturgical services that had to be given in exchange for the donation. Gouda, SAMH, acces no. 0091 (Archieven van de kloosters te Gouda, 1324–1635), inv. no. 0091.95. See Goudriaan, ‘The Devotio Moderna and Commemoration’. See the website Van Bueren and others, ed., Medieval Memoria Online for records of memorial registers. 38 Bremen, SUB, MS C 55, fol. 1r.

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also have played a role. It seems that in the late Middle Ages, religious texts in the vernacular were considered more suitable for a female community, while Latin texts were often looked upon as more suitable for male readers. A case in point is the bequest of a woman called Jutte, who was the widow of Willem Willemsz. In 1423 she donated her books, which are not further specified except that they were in the vernacular, to the sisters of Saint Margaret in Amsterdam. Three years earlier, Jutte had donated the supposedly Latin books of her deceased son to priest Dirck van Voorst who was a confessor at the convent of Saint Margaret and was also connected to the Saint Paul’s convent.39 Language seems to have determined Jutte’s choice of beneficiary. Thematic considerations may also have played a role. That the majority of the donations seem to have been made to female communities is also in accordance with the idea that laypeople often read texts which were in the first instance written for female religious.40

Keeping It in the Family Next to memoria, another important factor with regard to late medieval book donation was family relations. Thérèse de Hemptinne has argued that ties of kinship and friendship also played a role in the exchange of books between family members, both in- and outside the convent, as books served as go-betweens to bridge these worlds.41 Cases in point of this practice are the donations of Jan Philipsz. This Leiden town secretary is best known for copying a miscellany containing texts such as antiphons and responsories; rhymed letters and rhymed proverbs (rijmbrieven and rijmspreuken); tales, exempla, and ballads; a report of the entry of Emperor Frederick III in Trier; and a Middle Dutch translation of the Disticha Catonis.42 Jan Philipsz left two religious manuscripts to two of his nieces as a testamentary bequest.43 Leiden, UB, BPL 2260, a manuscript containing a

39 Amsterdam, SA, access no. 1414 (Collectie Vlaming-Schoemaker), inv. no. 24, p. 38 (1 December 1423) and inv. no. 30, p. 37 (10 June 1420). According to Marijke Carasso-Kok, the books donated to the priest were written in Latin. Carasso-Kok, Geschiedenis van Amsterdam tot 1578, pp. 214, 398. Jutte and her son were already benefactors of the convent in its early days and they leased out the land on which the community lived. 40 Gillespie, ‘Vernacular Books’, pp. 150–52. 41 De Hemptinne, ‘Reading, Writing, and Devotional Practices’, p. 123. 42 Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgq 557, is a composite manuscript. It consists of two parts which were combined around 1600. When we talk about the manuscript, which belonged to Jan Philipsz, only the first part (fols 1–84) is considered. The second part of the manuscript (fols 85–103) contains texts from the Old Testament. Jan Philipsz’s manuscript has been edited by Herman Brinkman. See Het Handschrift-Jan Phillipsz., ed. by Brinkman. 43 These ‘nieces’ were probably the granddaughters of Jan Philipsz’s brother Vranck Philipsz. Brinkman, Dichten uit liefde, p. 201.

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Middle Dutch translation of the Epistola de morte Hieronymi (Letter on the death of Saint Jerome) and the Epistola de magnificentiis beati Hieronymi (Letter on the magnificence of Saint Jerome) was left to his niece Katrijn Claes Vranckendochter, in the convent of the canonesses regular of Saint Margaret in Leiden, while manuscript Leiden, UB, BPL 2782, a Book of Hours, was donated to another niece, Margriete Claesdochter, who may have been a laywoman.44 In this case the wish to donate to family members may have been the prime consideration of the donation. However, next to an ownership note of Katrijn Claes Vranckendochter, manuscript Leiden, UB, BPL 2260 also includes a note stating that the book was given as a testamentary bequest to the convent of ‘sancte Margrieten op Rodenburch’ (Saint Margareth on Rodenburg (or Roomburg)).45 From this note it seems that the donation was not exclusively meant for the niece, but for the benefit of the community as a whole. This example shows that not only were family bonds an important factor in late medieval society, but that these bonds could also function as a bridge between the secular and monastic worlds, creating textual networks in which religious knowledge was shared in the form of religious books.

Book Donations and Convent Libraries The donation of books to convent communities shows the fluidity of the religious textual culture between the secular and the monastic. It also adds to the idea that the contents of (convent) libraries were far from static and that their growth (or decline) was an organic process influenced by many different factors. Laypeople, through the act of book donation, were one of these influences. Julie Hotchin, focusing on reading networks of religious women in fifteenth-century Germany, argues that donations from patrons and family were a significant factor in the expansion of a convent’s library, and that, although these donated books may not always reflect the interests of the nuns, they at least show what was suitable for these women to read.46 The practice of book donation may on occasion even distort our image of late medieval textual culture. According to Mary C. Erler, the institutional ownership of books that were donated to convents by laypeople is sometimes responsible for the characterization of these books as ‘nuns’ books’, while these books also used to be owned and read by secular women.47

44 Brinkman states that, although it is suggested by P. F. J. Obbema, he found no evidence that Margriete Claesdochte was also a nun. See Brinkman, Dichten uit liefde, p. 201. 45 Leiden, UB, MS BPL 2260, fol. 1v. 46 Hotchin, ‘Reformatrices and Their Books’, p. 280. 47 Erler, ‘Exchange of Books’, p. 361.

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It is important to realize that convent libraries are often used in historical research as indicators of a community’s religious identity. This can be a useful approach, since books and reading practices often played a dominant role in everyday convent life. However, if we acknowledge that book donation was quite a common practice in late medieval times, we also have to consider the consequences of this notion for research on convent libraries. When we approach libraries as a mirror of a community’s religious identity (because this identity was partly shaped by the religious edification that monks and nuns received through reading practices) we should also take into account the way that a library grew over time, and which factors influenced this growth. This should include the contributions of laypeople to these libraries through the practice of book donation. Book donation, in other words, adds to the notion that laypeople were fully-fledged participants within the late medieval networks in which religious knowledge was shared and exchanged. Adding to this, all the other forms of gifts and donations by the laity to religious communities (like sums of money and rents, but also objects such as paintings), and the fact that laypeople were often involved (if not the initiators) in the founding of religious houses, we can argue that the secular and monastic worlds were certainly not entirely different spheres, but in fact could be closely intertwined, with laypeople influencing life behind convent walls and vice versa.

The Practice of Book Donation Manuscripts donated to religious houses were often books that the donor him or herself had already owned (and probably used) before the donation.48 A clear example is that of Elisabeth de Grutere, a lady from a prominent family in the city of Ghent, who was married to Simon Borluut, also one of the city’s leading figures. After her husband’s death, Elisabeth went to live with a community of beguines in Ghent and took a substantial number of books along with her. At her own death, she donated her collection of over seventy religious books (it is unknown whether these were manuscripts or printed books) to the beguinage and one to a community of Rich Clares. A notable condition of the donation was the request that the books should still be available to be borrowed by people from outside the convent, in particular Elisabeth’s friends and those of her husband.49

48 It is important to note that books were not always donated ready-made. It was not uncommon for wealthy laypeople to fund the copying of a book and the necessary materials for this as a gift to a religious community. Bookmaking was often a quite expensive and timeconsuming business and since books were highly important to convent life it is probable that such gifts were very much welcomed by the receiving community. 49 Zwart, ‘Religieuze literatuur in lekenhanden’.

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Another well-known example, from Germany this time, is that of Katherina Tucher. Katherina was a laywoman, who entered the Nuremberg Dominican convent of Saint Catherine as a lay sister and donated about twenty-six books to the convent upon her entry.50 Both examples show how books could shift from lay ownership to becoming part of the library of a religious community. It seems to have been quite common for laypeople to bring books with them upon their entry into a religious community and to donate them to that same community afterwards. These books were thus once used by lay individuals, but after their donation transferred to a monastic setting and to monastic users. Most cases of book donation that we come across in the late medieval Low Countries are more modest than the substantial donations by Elisabeth and Katherina, but they nevertheless indicate that the donation of books was a common practice. An example of this is manuscript Deventer, Athenaeumbibliotheek, MS i, 57 (10 W 7 KL), a miscellany containing texts by Hendrik Herp and Meister Eckhart. The ownership mark reads: ‘Dit boeck heft gegeven jonfer van Steenbergen saligen Johans van S[…] weduwe den susteren toe Dyepenveen ende behoert in die liberie int gemeen’ (This book was given by Lady van Steenbergen, widow of the late Johan van S[…], to the sisters of Diepenveen, and belongs to the common library).51 This note provides little context. In the cases of Elisabeth de Grutere and Katherina Tucher, both women entered the religious communities to which they donated their books. The circumstances of the donation of this ‘jonfer van Steenbergen’ are unknown. The donor may have entered the convent upon her husband’s death, but she may just as well have remained a laywoman. No other donations by her are known. It is also unclear whether the book was donated by testament or during the widow’s lifetime.

The Case of Manuscript Leiden, UB, LTK 318 The possibilities of donated manuscripts as sources of religious connectivity can be illustrated by the case study of manuscript Leiden, UB, LTK 318.52 This miscellany contains a sermon cycle (separated into a winter and a summer part), two different Passion treatises (of which the first one is unfinished), a pilgrimage text called Pelgremaedse van dat heilighe lant (Pilgrimage to the

50 Williams and Williams-Krapp, Die ‘Offenbarungen’ der Katharina Tucher, p. 1. 51 Deventer, AB, MS i, 57 (10 W 7 KL), fol. 2r. See also the contribution of Folkerts, ‘People, Passion, and Prayer. Religious Connectivity in the Hanseatic City of Deventer’ in this book, pp. 263-76. 52 Some basic characteristics of Leiden, UB, MS LTK 318: paper (271 fols) with one parchment leaf (between fols 173 and 173), 285 × 205 mm, two columns, two hands, fifteenth-century binding, four watermarks. For more characteristics, see Van Loo, ‘UBL LTK 318: Sermoenen’.

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Holy Land), and a short poem on spiritual mortification.53 The miscellany, bound in a fifteenth-century leather cover and written on paper, is completely written in Middle Dutch. It is copied by two hands. The sermon cycle and the first, unfinished, Passion treatise were written by the first hand (hand A: fols 1–69, winter part, followed by the unfinished Passion treatise, and fols 174–271, summer part). The ductus of the hand is quite irregular, which makes its appearance throughout the manuscript somewhat variable. The summer and winter parts of the cycle and the unfinished Passion treatise are separated by the other texts, which were written in a second hand (hand B: fols 70–173).54 The manuscript contains two identical ownership notes by a man named Claes van Dorssen (one in the front and one in the back of the book on the parchment flyleaves), stating: ‘Dit boec hoert toe Claes van Dorssen’ (This book belongs to Claes van Dorssen).55 Both notes are written in the same hand. According to J. P. Gumbert, the note in the back is in the same hand as hand A (Gumbert does not mention the other ownership note).56 It is quite hard to establish whether these hands are indeed identical, but, if so, we may consider the possibility that Claes van Dorssen himself was the scribe of the sermon cycle (hand A), since it seems likely that he wrote his own name in the book. A third ownership note, also found on the flyleaf at the back, states that the manuscript was the property of the convent of Saint Bridget in Gouda: ‘Dit boeck hoert toe dat convent van Sinte Birgitten ter Goude’ (This book belongs to the convent of Saint Bridget in Gouda).57 A connection between these ownership marks is made by a colophon on fol. 173v following the text Pelgremaedse van dat heilighe lant and the short poem on spiritual mortification, both written by hand B. The colophon is written in a third hand and reads as follows: Item dit boeck is ghescreven int jaer ons heren Dusent vierhondert ende sesendeseventich. Ende dit boeck liet scriven Claes van dorssen ende yde sijn wijf, welke claes vorseit sterff int jaer van lxxvii des maendachs nae gou kermysse, pie memorie, welke boeck yde sijn wijf heeft ghemaect ende ghegheven den cloester van sinte birgitten tot

53 On the text Pelgremaedse van dat heilighe lant, see Hage, ‘“Die stede van der Goude”’. One other manuscript with this text is known: BL, Add. 10286, which was copied around 1460. Hage argues that the London manuscript cannot have served as an example for the Leiden manuscript, and that at least one more copy must have circulated. Hage also states that the text’s identification as a vernacular translation of the Perigrinationes totius terre sancte by Willem de Goude is probably incorrect (pp. 78–83). 54 For more information on this specific Passion treatise, see Moolenbroek, ‘“Dat liden ende die passie”’. 55 Leiden, UB, MS LTK 318, found both on flyleaves in the front and the back of the manuscript. 56 Lieftinck and Gumbert, Manuscrits datés conservés, ii, p. 158. 57 Leiden, UB, MS LTK 318, flyleaf in the back of the manuscript.

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een ewich testament willende dat dit selve boeck nyet uut den cloester bliven en sal boven ii of drie daghe. Ende nae haerre doot nummermeer uutten cloester te gaen. (Item this book is written in the year of our Lord 1476. And this book was written at the request of Claes van Dorssen and Yde, his wife. The same Claes died in the year seventy-seven on Monday after Gouda fair,58 of blessed memory. His wife Yde has given this book to the convent of Saint Bridget as an eternal testament, wishing that the same book will not be absent from the convent any longer than two or three days. And after her death it should never leave the convent again.) Then Yde’s death in 1490 is mentioned, in what, according to G. C. Zieleman, appears to be the same hand, but written at a later date.59 Very little is known about Claes and Yde van Dorssen except that they were citizens of Gouda, because we know that Claes was buried in the Gouda Church of Saint John, and the church’s account books make mention of Yde’s inheritance.60 The colophon in manuscript Leiden, UB, LTK 318 tells us that Yde donated the book to the convent in Gouda called Mariënsterre. Mariënsterre was a double convent of the Bridgettine Order, founded on the initiative of eight citizens and Margaret of York, wife of Duke Charles the Bold. The eight citizens were all appointed as procurator, but all but one, Dirk Jacobsz Houyck, resigned from their task prematurely.61 The exact date of the convent’s foundation has been the subject of debate, since the chronicle of the convent offers conflicting evidence on this point. Scholarly consensus is that the founding year was probably 1476.62

58 Gou kermysse is probably Goukermisdach, the annual celebration of the feast of the dedication of the church on the day of Saint James on 25 July. See Van Loo, ‘UBL LTK 318: Sermoenen’, pp. 20–21. 59 Zieleman, Middelnederlandse epistel- en evangeliepreken, p. 112. 60 Van Moolenbroek, ‘“Dat liden ende die passie”’, p. 110. Koen Goudriaan found these notes concerning Claes and Yde in church burial and account books. Gouda, SAMH, access no. 0090 (Archief van de Rooms-Katholieke parochie St Jan de Doper (St.-Janskerk) te Gouda vóór de reformatie, 1315–1573), inv. no. 0090.24, fol. 86v, and Gouda, SAMH, access no. 0090 (Archief van de Rooms-Katholieke parochie St Jan de Doper (St.-Janskerk) te Gouda vóór de reformatie, 1315–1573), inv. no. 0090.1.2a, fol. 11v. The pages are damaged and the notes are partly illegible, but the note about Yde mentions that an exsu was paid for her inheritance. Van Moolenbroek explains this as a levy that was imposed on goods that left the ownership of Gouda burghers. 61 Gouda, SAMH, access no. 0091 (Archieven van de kloosters te Gouda, 1324–1635), inv. no. 0091.183. It would be interesting to investigate whether the citizens involved in the convent’s foundation were part of the same network as Claes and Yde van Dorssen. 62 See, for example, Van Hattum, ‘Nog eens het Brigitten-klooster’, p. 258; Taal, De archieven van de Goudse kloosters, p. 62; Van Dolder-de Wit, ‘Goudse kloosters’, p. 65; Nyberg, Birgittinische Klostergründungen, p. 208. Tony Nyberg suggests that the initiative to the foundation was taken in 1470, a house was obtained in 1476, and the first Mass was held in 1477 or

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According to D. Van Heel, Lieftinck has suggested that manuscript Leiden, UB, LTK 318 was copied in Mariënsterre.63 If the founding year of the convent was indeed 1476, the manuscript was copied in the same year as this foundation. The chronicle of the convent, dating from 1494, testifies to book production in the convent. Sister Rijckmoet van Loen (who from 1483 was substitute abbess of the convent) is said to have worked night and day copying books for the sisters, as well as two missals for the brothers.64 In spite of this evidence of book production in Mariënsterre and the fact that the production of manuscripts by convents for the external market in general increased from the beginning of the fifteenth century,65 it seems unlikely that a convent that had only just been founded was already producing books for use by others. A Bridgettine origin for the manuscript has also been suggested by J. van Loo, who has argued that at least scribe B may have been a Bridgettine, since there is a mark on fol. 173r (at the end of the pilgrimage text) which includes the names of Jesus, Mary, John, Anne, Joseph, and Catherine grouped around what seems to be the sacred heart.66 Although these saints and symbols can be linked to the Bridgettine Order, they are, nevertheless, hardly unique to the order. Van Loo has also argued that the addition about Yde’s date of death was probably made approximately five years after the first part of the note and that Yde left the book to the convent around 1485.67 However, the book does not offer a particular clue on when Yde left the manuscript to the Bridgettine house, other than that it was after the death of her husband in 1477, one year after the book was copied. We also know it was before Yde’s own death in 1490, otherwise the remarks about what to do with the book before and after her death would make no sense. For all we know, the book may have been donated in 1477 right after the death of her husband, or only just before 1478. Later, in 1479, the choir and three altars of the convent’s church were consecrated. D. van Heel argues that the year of founding was 1477, as the first buildings were bought in November 1476 and February 1477. Van Heel, ‘Het Brigittinessen-klooster’, pp. 126–27. 63 Van Heel, ‘Het Brigittinessen-klooster’, p. 134. Van Heel has not provided a reference to Lieftinck’s assumption. Van Heel dated the convent’s foundation to 1477, and therefore doubted Lieftinck’s statement. 64 Gouda, SAMH, access no. 0091 (Archieven van de kloosters te Gouda, 1324–1635), inv. no. 0091.183. We know that other Bridgettine convents in the Low Countries also copied manuscripts during the fifteenth century, but primarily those that were necessary for the community. The convent Mariënwater in Rosmalen, near the city of ’s-Hertogenbosch, probably also copied books for its daughter convents. The copying of texts seems to have been an important fulfilment of manual labour in Bridgettine communities. See Van Liebergen, Birgitta van Zweden 1303–1373, pp. 43, 45. Evidence that Bridgettine scribes also produced books for laypeople is Uden, MRK, inv. no. 7738. The manuscript was copied by a Bridgettine brother from Mariënwater in 1457 for Heylwich Dircs Borchgraefsdr and her family. 65 Rudy, Piety in Pieces, p. 47. 66 Van Loo, ‘UBL LTK 318: Sermoenen’, p. 15. 67 Van Loo, ‘UBL LTK 318: Sermoenen’, p. 8.

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Yde’s own death in 1490. We can only conclude that the book was donated somewhere between 1477 and 1490. What happened to the book after its donation is unknown. Although the convent seems to have prospered for some time, financial and spiritual hardship eventually set in. Efforts to revive the convent were of no avail. This resulted in the selling of convent property, including its books. For this the convent was reprimanded in 1544, risking a fine and excommunication.68 The miscellany of Claes and Yde van Dorssen may have been among these sold books, but there is no information on this. The convent itself could not be saved, and the building and properties were sold to the canons regular of Stein in 1551. The prioress and seven remaining Bridgettine sisters left for the city of Soest.69 The whereabouts of manuscript Leiden, UB, LTK 318 at that point are unknown. There are no signs that it was owned by the canons regular or that it was transferred to Soest. We do know, however, that at some point in the sixteenth century it was owned by a man called Arnoldus Vianen, as this is attested by an ownership mark in the book.70 Therefore, it seems probable that the book was indeed sold at some point. It is important to consider the position of the colophon in manuscript Leiden, UB, LTK 318, as it provides us with important information on the manuscript’s history and construction. The colophon is not found at the end of the manuscript, as one might expect, but instead on fol. 173v, before the start of the second part of the sermon cycle. As mentioned above, the note is written in one hand, in two phases: one before Yde’s death and one after. The colophon was not written at the time that the book was copied, but at a later stage. We know this because it mentions the date of Claes’s death, while the two ownership marks on the flyleaves seem to confirm that Claes had owned the book for some time. This rules out the possibility that Claes had died before the book was finished. The decision to put this colophon in the middle of the book might have been a practical one, since a large blank space was left on fol. 173v. However, since the colophon could also have been written on the almost-blank flyleaves at the end, this does not seem like it would have been the most logical choice. A more probable reason for the odd placement of the colophon is revealed when we have a closer look at the construction of the manuscript. According to Lieftinck, a mistake was made in the original binding of the manuscript: the summer part of the sermon cycle should have followed the winter part.71 This idea is supported by the fact that the quire marks of both parts of the sermon cycle appear to follow one another (with an overlap of quire f).72 (Another 68 Gouda, SAMH, access no. 0091 (Archieven van de kloosters te Gouda, 1324–1635), inv. no. 0091.184. See also Taal, De archieven van de Goudse kloosters, p. 63. 69 Van Dolder-de Wit, ‘Goudse kloosters’, p. 70. 70 Leiden, UB, MS LTK 318, last flyleaf. 71 Lieftinck, Codices 168–360, p. 144. 72 Van Loo, ‘UBL LTK 318: Sermoenen’, p. 1.

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mistake was made during the copying of the manuscript, since fol. 34 has to be read before fol. 33.73) If the texts had been bound in what would seem a more logical order (the sermon cycle followed by the other texts), then the colophon would have appeared at the end of the book. We have already determined that the colophon cannot date from the time that the manuscript was copied, but was written after Claes’s death. So, if the colophon was indeed intended to be at the end of the book, we must conclude that the book’s current binding took place after it was given to Mariënsterre and after the colophon was written. If this is the case, Claes and Yde may have owned the manuscript in a form in which the texts copied by the two different scribes were not yet combined. Moreover, the summer and winter part of the cycle might not even have been bound together at that point. One of the four different watermarks that are found in the book is used throughout almost the entire manuscript.74 This suggests that all three parts were copied around the same time and at the same place. However, it is possible that they functioned as separate booklets for a while and were given as such to the convent of Mariënsterre. In the convent the colophon about the donation was added and at some point after this the separate booklets were put together, mistakenly or for some unknown reason, with the second part of the sermon cycle added at the end instead of directly after the winter cycle, leaving the book in its current form. A closer look at the materiality of the manuscript confirms this idea.75 Folios 70r (the beginning of hand B and the Passion Treatise) and 174r (the beginning of the summer part of the sermon cycle) both appear to have accumulated more dirt than most of the other pages. This suggests that at some point, these folios were on the outside, which is more exposed to dirt and thus more likely feature discolouration than the pages on the inside of the manuscript. Furthermore, a probatio penne and some ink stains are visible on an unnumbered verso leaf after the first part, something that seems to be more typically found at the end of a manuscript (although certainly not exclusively). Taking everything together, we have to conclude that it seems most likely that manuscript Leiden, UB, LTK 318 consists of three parts, which once functioned as separate manuscripts.76 All three manuscripts were donated to Mariënsterre, where the colophon was written and the manuscripts were bound together. The complete manuscript is therefore a composite miscellany. The production of both manuscripts by hand A may have been conducted in the same process or soon after one another, given the succession of quire marks of both parts of the sermon cycle (except for the overlap of quire f). This reconstruction of the making of Leiden, UB, LTK 318 may explain why Claes’s ownership note is found both in the front and in the back of the

73 Zieleman, Middelnederlandse epistel- en evangeliepreken, p. 113. 74 Van Loo, ‘UBL LTK 318: Sermoenen’, p. 2. 75 Many thanks to Erik Kwakkel for sharing his expertise on this. 76 On booklets and their identifying characteristics, see Gillespie, ‘Medieval Books’.

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book: they once belonged to separate manuscripts. We also must conclude that we can only be sure that the colophon on fol. 173v refers to the manuscript written by scribe B, as it is highly likely that the colophon predates the binding of the three manuscripts. Therefore, we cannot be entirely certain whether the manuscripts with the sermon cycles were donated at the same time as the devotional texts in the manuscript by hand B. However, the binding of the three manuscripts together, enclosed by Claes van Dorssen’s name in the front and the back of the book, suggests that the convent regarded the donation as a unity. Due to its complicated construction, the manuscript reveals the organic process of manuscript-making and owning. It illustrates how the lives of manuscripts did not end after their creation, but can be described as part of an ongoing process in which things were added and changed, and in which choices and sometimes also mistakes were made. The text of the colophon on fol. 173v also raises some questions. A precondition to the donation was that the book would not leave the convent for more than two or three days, and that after Yde’s own death in 1490 the book would not leave the convent at all. Why did Yde, who presumably made the condition upon donation, think this was important? There is no record that tells us whether commemoration was expected in return for the donation and, if so, what form it would take. Even without the explicit exchange of an act of memoria, donations were considered to benefit the spiritual welfare of the donor. However, the text of the colophon, especially with the later addition of Yde’s date of death, seems to function as a commemoration in itself, as it can be seen as an indirect invitation for the users of the book to pray for this couple. Possibly, the donation was considered less important for the spiritual welfare of the donor if the book was not present in the convent at all times. After all, when it was absent it could not be used by the sisters, who might have otherwise prayed for the donors. Another interesting element of this part of the colophon is that it suggests the possibility of the book being used within and outside the convent. This may hint at a loan to other religious houses, which was not unusual. It may also concern a loan to laypeople. The lending of books that were owned by a religious community to laypeople is also indicated by the aforementioned case of Elisabeth de Grutere, and it happened in other countries as well, as Sabrina Corbellini and Werner Williams-Krapp have shown.77 Cases like manuscript Leiden, UB, LTK 318 demonstrate that it was not uncommon for religious books to cross the boundaries between the secular and monastic worlds. Manuscripts like these therefore show that devotional culture was shared between these groups and served as an element of connectivity in the late medieval urban religious landscape.

77 Corbellini, ‘Beyond Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy’, p. 37; Williams-Krapp, ‘The Erosion of a Monopoly’, p. 239.

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Conclusion Medieval manuscripts, like that of Claes and Yde van Dorssen, could live quite dynamic lives. Book donation was one of the ways by which these dynamics were created. This paper has discussed book donation as an indication of the existence of what we may call a ‘shared culture of devotion’. The donation of books by lay individuals to religious houses often seems to have been part of the medieval memoria culture in which gifts were bestowed upon a religious house or another institution in return for prayers for the givers and/or their families. The donation of books by lay individuals to religious institutions offers scholars an angle to explore the existence of a shared culture of devotion between these two groups. It also nuances the view of the production and transmission of religious knowledge as the domain of the clergy and religious communities. Research on book donation contributes to the view that the laity could also play an active role in late medieval dissemination of religious knowledge through the transmission of religious texts. Looking at religious culture in the late Middle Ages by focusing on the agents involved and their devotional practices helps us to consider the sources (in this case manuscripts) in their proper socio-cultural context and to understand their meaning to late medieval society. Books were a means of communicating, sharing, and exchanging religious knowledge and bridging the worlds of their multiple users. The traces of book donations not only connect the devotional lives of people living in the secular world with those living in the monastic world, but also show that the religious knowledge both groups used to shape their devotional lives overlapped. Although there are unmistakable differences between living in the world and living life behind convent walls, the picture is far more complex than this antithesis suggests. Instead of the traditional focus on differences, it may be fruitful to concentrate on the many similarities and forms of communication and cooperation between these groups. Studying the movements of manuscripts between laypeople and (members of) religious houses offers us a way to reconstruct both material (the manuscript) and immaterial (the transfer of knowledge) aspects of a shared devotional culture. The donation of books to convent communities shows the fluidity between the secular and the monastic worlds. It is therefore a fruitful approach to investigate the theme of religious connectivity in the urban environments of the late Middle Ages.

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Appendix Table 5.1. Contents of manuscript Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, LTK 318

Part 1: flyleaf (parchment) + fols 1‒69 (paper) Contents:

Fols 1r‒66v: sermon cycle, winter part Fols 67r‒69r: Passion treatise (unfinished)

Inscription ‘Dit boec hoert toe Claes van Dorssen’ (This book on flyleaf in belongs to Claes van Dorssen) the front:

Hand A, before 28 July 1477, possibly 1476 Hand A, before 28 July 1477, possibly 1476

Part 2: fols 70‒173 (paper) Fols 70r‒161r: Passion treatise: Dat liden ende die passie ons Heren Jhesu Christi Fols 162r‒173r: Pelgremaedse van dat heilighe lant Fol. 173v: short poem on spiritual mortification Inscriptions ‘Item dit boeck is ghescreven int jaer ons heren Dusent on fol. 173v vierhondert ende sesendeseventich. Ende dit boeck liet scriven Claes van dorssen ende yde sijn wijf, welke claes vorseit sterff int jaer van lxxvii des maendachs nae gou kermysse, pie memorie, welke boeck yde sijn wijf heeft ghemaect ende ghegheven den cloester van sinte birgitten tot een ewich testament willende dat dit selve boeck nyet uut den cloester bliven en sal boven ii of drie daghe. Ende nae haerre doot nummermeer uutten cloester te gaen’. (Translation in text above) ‘Item yde van dorssen wedue is ghestorven int jaer ons heren doemen screef dusent cccc ende xc des selven maendaechs na gouden kermysse Requiescat in pace’ (Item Yde van Dorssen, widow, died in the year 1490 on the same Monday after Gouda fair. May she rest in peace) Contents:

Hand B, 1476

Hand C, between 1477 and 1490

Hand C?, in or after 1490

Part 3: fols 174‒271 (paper) + flyleaf (parchment) Contents: Fols 174r‒271v: sermon cycle, summer part Inscriptions ‘Dit boec hoert toe Claes van Dorssen’ (This book on flyleaf at belongs to Claes van Dorssen) the back: ‘Dit boeck hoert toe dat convent van Sinte Birgitten ter Goude’ (This belongs to the convent of Saint Bridget in Gouda) ‘Arnoldo Vianen donavit hunc librum frater germanus suus, degat beatam ac deo gratam vitam. fide sed cui vide’ (This book was given to Arnold Vianen by his brother Germanus [or: his German brother], who lives a good life thankful to God. Trust, but be careful whom.)

Hand A Hand A, before 28 July 1477, possibly 1476 Hand D, in or after 1477 Hand E, sixteenth century

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An-Katrien Hanselaer

Recycled Piety or a Self-Made Community? The Late Medieval Manuscripts of the Tertiaries of Sint-Catharinadal in Hasselt

At the end of the fourteenth century, the Low Countries witnessed a growing demand among the laity for religious experience modelled on the apostolic values of the ecclesia primitiva, a life of poverty and contempt for the world. This resulted in groups of active men and women organizing themselves into informal religious communities, which provided an alternative to the traditional cloistered life. They chose a via media,1 a middle way between the monastic and the secular worlds, in which one could live a penitential communal life without taking vows.2 The unheard-of enthusiasm with which women in particular embraced religious renewal and commitment has resulted in this phenomenon being called the ‘second religious women’s movement’. Unlike the first one, which originated at the end of the twelfth century with the rise of the beguines, the second one was characterized by institutional diversity. This time women had several options when giving shape to their religious enthusiasm and commitment. As part of the movement of the Modern Devotion, which originated in the last quarter of the fourteenth century, new communities of sisters of the common life and female tertiaries were established on a large scale. Alongside this, the existing communities of beguines and tertiaries also experienced a renaissance. Male counterparts too, such as the beghards, the



1 This term was introduced by Kaspar Elm in: Elm, ‘Die Bruderschaft vom gemeinsamen Leben’, p. 478. 2 Simons, ‘On the Margins of Religious Life’; Van Engen and Verhoeven, ‘Monastiek observantisme en Moderne Devotie’, pp. 9–10; Bogaers, Aards, betrokken en zelfbewust, pp. 163–64. An-Katrien Hanselaer  •  received her Master’s degree in History (cum laude) at the University of Ghent in 2013. She worked as a PhD student at the University of Ghent in the project ‘Between lay devotion and monastic experience. Ascetism and penitential culture in late medieval semi-religious communities in the Southern Low Countries’. Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400–1550): Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting through the Continuum of Sacred and Secular, ed. by Suzan Folkerts, New Communities of Interpretation, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), pp. 125–155 © FHG10.1484/M.NCI-EB.5.122097

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brothers of the common life, and tertiaries, experienced exponential growth, albeit to a lesser extent.3 In contrast to the older traditional monasteries, these penitential groups consciously opted to dwell in the city where they were involved in crafts, caring for the poor, or education.4 In Max Weber’s terms, these groups were early examples of ‘inner-worldly asceticism’.5 This meant that their spiritual renunciation was achieved in the midst of secular society rather than in remote and isolated cloisters. They lived in symbiosis with their urban environment, and in the midst of it they realized their exemplary penitential lifestyle of abstinence and asceticism.6 These groups used their own spiritual manuals written in the vernacular for their spiritual training. In this way they developed their own literary canon of reform-minded spiritual texts written in their native tongue rather than Latin.7 Since the pioneering research of Kaspar Elm (1998), these groups are designated in the historiography with the label ‘semi-religious’.8 This is a problematic term, however, and it no longer expresses the full charge of what it meant at the beginning of the fifteenth century. Fearful of being accused of heresy and driven by the search for profound piety, many of the ‘semi-religious’ men and women subjected themselves to institutionalization and cloistering. This was also a widespread phenomenon among tertiaries in the Low Countries. Their original penitential identity, as expressed in the active apostolic life in the world — distributing alms, caring for the sick, wearing penitential garments —, was being diluted.9 Several communities adopted the Third Order rule of Saint Francis, approved in 1289 by Pope Nicholas IV.10 This rule was initially intended for laypeople wishing to live a religious life in the world without leaving their family or professional existence. Over time, however, adherents of the rule began to live together in closed communities, so that more traditional elements of classic monastic life also entered into their lifestyle.11 Some tertiaries took one or more vows, choir prayers were practised, and in some cases even enclosure was introduced. The importance of a vita activa diminished and was increasingly replaced by a vita contemplativa. From that point on, praying, reading, and contemplating became the cornerstones of communal living. In short, dealing with texts increasingly began to form the basis for the shaping of their penitential identity.

3 Van Luijk, ‘Devote vrouwen’. 4 Van Engen and Verhoeven, ‘Monastiek observantisme en Moderne Devotie’, p. 9. 5 Kaelber, Schools of Asceticism; Weber, Economy and Society, pp. 544–51. 6 Van Engen, ‘New Devotion’, p. 244; Marnef and Van Bruaene, ‘Civic Religion’. 7 Williams-Krapp, ‘The Erosion of a Monopoly’, p. 241. 8 Elm, ‘Vita regularis sine regula’; see also Van Engen, ‘Friar Johannes Nyder on Laypeople’. 9 Harline, ‘Actives and Contemplatives’, p. 545. 10 Goudriaan, ‘De derde orde van Sint Franciscus’, p. 205; Van Engen, De derde orde van SintFranciscus, p. 14. 11 Goudriaan, Vernieuwde innigheid, pp. 58–59; More, ‘Institutionalizing Penitential Life’.

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Though this already provided them with the perspective of a monastic set-up, it was only with the taking of the three solemn vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience that they also received official recognition of belonging to the status regularium. In the bishopric of Utrecht, which led the way in terms of Third Order communities in the northern Netherlands, such vows became compulsory in 1487.12 Fifteenth-century religious observance thus created a new order of tertiaries, namely Third Order regulars.13 The rise of such monasticized Third Order communities was not self-evident, however. As unexampled monastic novices they did not have their own textual tradition to fall back on. They leaned on the Franciscan textual tradition, which derived from the introduction of the Third Order rule in 1289, when Pope Nicholas artificially linked unbound penitents to the figure of Saint Francis, who, stricto sensu, had nothing to do with this order. In this way a fictional history was created, which gave the impression that the regularization of the tertiaries embodied a resuscitation of old Franciscan ideals.14 It remains a question to what extent their further monasticization in the course of the fifteenth century was mirrored in the reading culture of these communities. It was precisely by establishing specific reading programmes that medieval religious orders and groups set up their spiritual training and differentiated themselves from other canonical categories.15 That is why in this contribution I examine, by means of a case study of Sint-Catharinadal in Hasselt, which texts a community of Third Order regulars used for self-definition and self-presentation. Located in the diocese of Liège, this convent of tertiaries quickly adopted the Third Order rule and introduced the three vows soon after its establishment in 1430. In the first instance, I map all the extant texts of this community in order to establish which textual traditions and movements formed its source of inspiration. This also offers the possibility of establishing to what extent its relatively youthful ideal as a community of regular tertiaries still contains traces of the lay devotion that had influenced the via media ideal of the Third Order in the late thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Secondly, through an analysis of two specific manuscripts, I focus on precisely those texts that played a formative role in the spiritual development, which each new community member had to undergo. This process was centred on internalizing a religious ideal of forsaking worldliness which, at the same time, determined

12 At the end of the fifteenth century, the introduction of the three vows in communities of the Third Order became widespread all over Europe. Around 1480, a bull of Pope Sixtus IV (1471–1484) expressly states that the vows of tertiaries in Rome were ‘solemn’ vows. As in the dioceses of Cologne and Utrecht the monastic character of tertiary communities was officially confirmed by the papal Bull Ad ea que circa statum regularium (1499); see also: Van Engen, De derde orde van Sint-Franciscus, pp. 143–44. 13 More, ‘Dynamics of Regulation’, p. 85. 14 More, ‘Dynamics of Regulation’, pp. 90–91. 15 Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers of the Common Life, p. 278.

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the community’s self-representation with respect to the world. The texts that were meant to effect this removal from the world can therefore be typified as a ‘literature of transition’, since they had to accompany the sisters in their transition from life in the world to life in the convent. I look specifically at texts that illuminate educational ideals around asceticism and penitence. In this way, the reading programmes accompanying the process of spiritual training of the community in Hasselt can be uncovered.

Sint-Catharinadal and the Third Order Sint-Catharinadal was founded on 25 November 1430. As noted in the foundation charter, five women decided to live a communal life in order to flee the world.16 That very same year the first inhabitants received the officially recognized rule of the Third Order, granted to them by the Bishop of Liège John of Heinsberg.17 Although this rule allowed for remaining in the world, the tertiaries of Hasselt almost immediately chose a contemplative, enclosed way of life. Sint-Catharinadal was situated in the diocese of Liège, where Bishop John of Heinsberg in 1441 united all Third Order convents into an overarching congregational structure: the Chapter of Zepperen. Up to 1487 this chapter mainly consisted of male communities, which had received permission to take the three vows.18 The sisters from Hasselt, however, lacked any connection with the Chapter of Zepperen, which would have automatically given them the necessary juridical basis for a regular lifestyle. The sisters had to establish this juridical basis for themselves.19 Therefore, shortly after the foundation, they asked and were granted papal permission to take the three vows.20 By the end of the fifteenth century, Sint-Catharinadal had evolved into such an important convent that it was able to set up five daughter institutions: the convent of Heilige Margaretha-van-het-Dal-van-Josaphat in Bergen-op-Zoom (1461), Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-ter-Riviere in Bree (1468), Sion in Lier (1469), Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-ter-Engelen in Bilzen (1472), and the Liège cloister Sint-Annadal (1493).21 For a long time, the activities of the Franciscan Third Order in the Low Countries have been studied against the backdrop of the Modern Devotion,

16 Hasselt, RA, Oorkonden bundel 1, a° 1430; see also Roggen, ‘De witte nonnen van Hasselt’, p. 45. 17 Roggen, ‘De witte nonnen van Hasselt’, p. 46. 18 The Founding charters of the Tertiary communities in the diocese of Liège are referring to the statutes of the Chapter of Utrecht: ‘sororum inclusarum conventuum Trajectensis diocesis’, see Van Wely, ‘Tertiarissenkloosters in het Luikse Kempenland’, p. 326. 19 Carnier, ‘De reguliere vrouwelijke derde orde’, pp. 215, 219. 20 Bullarium franciscanum, ed. by Pou and others, nos 604, 674, and 910. 21 Lambrechts, Het oud Sint Catharina-dal, pp. 48–49; see also: Lambrechts, ‘De penitentienen of witte damen te Hasselt’, pp. 12–17 and 40–43.

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with a consequent focus on the northern Netherlands.22 The movement of the Third Order witnessed an important expansion in the north at the end of the fourteenth century, when various Modern Devotion communities of sisters and brothers of the common life adopted the Third Order rule. The majority of these communities organized themselves in the Chapter of Utrecht (1399), a group of Third Order communities in the diocese of Utrecht that were organizationally linked. In the course of the fifteenth century, many associated convents became more monastic in outlook. Following the example of the consuetudines of the Windesheim canons regular within the Modern Devotion movement, more uniform statutes were established, which from the first half of the fifteenth century on entailed enclosure, especially for the more prosperous convents.23 Initially these communities only took the vow of chastity. Only in 1487 did all three vows become compulsory.24 Through the influence of the Modern Devotion, the Third Order movement thus became uniform in character in the north. Research into the development of communities in the southern Low Countries, however, is still rare to this day.25 This discrepancy in research is possibly due to the complexity of the history in this region. In contrast to those in the north, the convents in the south did not have a very homogeneous character, since communities of the Third Order were already established there before the development of the Modern Devotion. Older communities of, for instance, beghards and beguines, adopted the Third Order rule in the course of time but often did not change their way of life.26 Moreover, the habit of taking the three vows appeared much earlier in the south, something proved by Sint-Catharinadal.27 They adopted the regular statute almost immediately after their foundation in the 1430s, whereas this only became established practice in the north towards the end of the fifteenth century. It seems, therefore, that the monasticization in the south had its own dynamic. Even though Bishop John of Heinsberg was clearly inspired by the Utrecht model of contemplative cloisters when setting up the Tertiary convents in his bishopric of Liège, the future trajectories were to diverge. Only in 1487 was there a parallel evolution between both geographical regions, when the Chapter of Zepperen adopted the statutes of the Utrecht congregation. It is

22 The study of the textual tradition has also consistently been approached from this perspective, to the extent that e.g. research into the Franciscan textual tradition within Third Order circles has been completely overlooked. Dlabačová, Literatuur en observantie. 23 Peterson, ‘The Third Order of Francis’, pp. 201–02; Van Engen, ‘Speciosus forma’; Koorn, ‘Het Kapittel van Utrecht’, pp. 139–41. 24 Van Engen, De derde orde van Sint-Franciscus, pp. 214–15. 25 Carnier, ‘De reguliere vrouwelijke derde orde’, p. 205; see also Van Luijk, Bruiden van Christus. 26 Simons, Cities of Ladies, p. 116. 27 Carnier, ‘De reguliere vrouwelijke derde orde’, p. 208; Simons, Bedelordekloosters, pp. 166–70; Van Engen, ‘Met het volste recht’.

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not by chance that this happened in the same year that the Chapter of Utrecht introduced the three solemn vows.28 Recent publications advocate more research into the influence of Modern Devotion in the bishopric of Liège.29 This article is an indirect answer to this plea. It is not the institutional set-up that is central but the spirituality of the Hasselt tertiaries, which is brought to light by means of their textual culture. Texts can be seen as betraying the religious, ideological, and even institutional alliances at play. Such a perspective can give insight into the extent to which the ideas current in Hasselt were, or were not, indebted to the Modern Devotion, ideas which also flourished in the Utrecht Chapter and may have trickled down south.

The Corpus of Manuscripts The sheer number of extant manuscripts of Sint-Catharinadal shows conclusively that Sint-Catharinadal was an important institution. A total of nineteen manuscripts have been identified as belonging to the sisters of Hasselt.30 Fourteen of them have an ownership mark, and the other five have been attributed on the basis of scribe identification, codicological aspects, the contents, or the name of one of the sisters.31 With one exception,32 these are all late fifteenth- or early sixteenth-century manuscripts, of which no fewer than eight are dated in the colophon.33 This body of texts also confirms the role of the vernacular within female religious communities at that time, since almost all texts found there were written in, or translated into, the vernacular. Sint-Catharinadal disposed of a scriptorium. On the basis of information found in the colophon or the ex libris we know that seven manuscripts were written there. Of these, six were made by a certain Anna Swilden, while one manuscript was written by mater (Mother) Catharina van der Molen ‘haerre properre hant’ (by her own hand).34 These manuscripts testify to a flourishing writing and copying activity within the community. In addition, a number of manuscripts were acquired. Three manuscripts are supposed

28 Van Engen, De derde orde van Sint-Franciscus, p. 349. 29 Carnier, ‘De reguliere vrouwelijke derde orde’, p. 219; Van Engen, De derde orde van SintFranciscus, p. 350. 30 Stooker and Verbeij, Collecties op orde, ii, pp. 189–95. 31 This is the case for: Brussels, KBR, MS 21953; Brussels, KBR, MS ii 279; Brussels, KBR, MS ii 7265; Hasselt, PM, MS s. n.; The Hague, KB, MS KW 135 F 12; Stooker and Verbeij, Collecties op orde, i, pp. 1–6. 32 Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 332 is a fourteenth-century manuscript. 33 Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 332; The Hague, KB, MS KW 73 E 7; Leiden, UB, MS LTK 252; BL, MS Add. 15310; BL, MS Add. 15311; Liège, Bu, MS 2635; Utrecht, MCC, MS Warmond 92 E 9; Weert, Minderbroeders, MS 8. 34 Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 331, fol. 1r.

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to have been made by the beghards of Sint-Hiëronymuskamp in Zepperen, possibly commissioned by the Hasselt tertiaries.35 One should not forget that this set of books may have only constituted a fraction of the original corpus. Some of the manuscripts seem to have been destined for a communal library within the convent, whereas others were private possessions. The ex librises and colophons of twelve manuscripts state that they belonged to ‘den susteren inden besloten cloester tsinte Katharinendael binnen den stat van Hasselt’ (sisters of the cloistered convent Sint-Catharinadal in Hasselt), which suggests communal property.36 Manuscript Brussels, Koninklijke Bibliotheek (KBR), ii 7265, on the other hand, has the ownership mark of the named Neesken van Myellen. That this manuscript was meant for the intimate use of one individual is already evident from the fact that its size is smaller than a hand. This is further confirmed by the presence of a loosely inserted devotional print of the Virgin Mary, intended to support personal meditation, along with the fact that in the stitching of the codex a small stylus was found, which would have helped the reader to read the small typeface.37 The personal relation of readers with manuscripts is also shown by the colophon of manuscript Berlin, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin – Preußischer Kulturbezitz (SBB–PK), mgo 331, in which one can read that said manuscript ‘vortaen sal bliven geleent vander eenre onder moeder op dander’ (henceforth will be passed on from one Mother to another).38 This makes clear that the manuscript is to be transferred from Mother Superior to Mother Superior with the aim of keeping it within the community. The transmission of this manuscript not only strengthens the idea of a communal textual heritage, but also emphasizes the stature of the Mother Superior, since she was privileged in this transmission.

Content of the Manuscripts The vast majority of Hasselt manuscripts are compilations of various works. Yet among all manuscripts one can detect a certain similarity between the respective texts as regards theme, the literary tradition from which they stem, or their functionality. Taking this into account one can subdivide the manuscripts into several categories. First and foremost, the sisters seem to have been interested in the Holy Writ. At least five manuscripts can clearly be categorized as biblical manuscripts. 35 BL, MS Add. 15310; BL, MS Add. 15311; Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgq 1109, fol. 2r: ‘Dit boeck is ghescreven te zepperen inden Convent der broedere vander derder ordenen Sint Francisci, Gheheiten Sint Jheronimus Camp, voir die Religiose devote besloeten Susteren der selver ordenen, wonende tot Hasselt, In den Jare ons Heren MCCCC Ende LVI’. 36 The Hague, KB, MS KW 73 E 7, fol. 1r. 37 At the time of consultation, the reading pen was located between fols 135v–36r. 38 Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 331, fol. 1r.

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The Bible, specifically the southern Middle Dutch History Bible of Herne, seems to have been particularly popular.39 The latter occurs at least four times in the manuscripts concerned. In addition to this, the community possessed a northern Middle Dutch translation of the New Testament, presumably by John Scutken, a clerk from the convent of Windesheim.40 Both translations were also popular in lay circles. The Herne Bible was originally made at the behest of the well-off Brussels nobleman Jan Taye.41 In parallel with this biblical theme, three manuscripts focus on the Song of Songs and associated commentaries. Sint-Catharinadal possessed two versions of the Marian interpretation of the Song of Songs by the Cistercian Alain of Lille (d. 1202) and a Middle Dutch translation of Richard of Saint Victor’s (d. 1173) Explicatio in cantica canticorum.42 In addition, the communal library seems to have been stocked with a suitable amount of patristic literature. Manuscript Berlin, SBB–PK, mgq 1109 is completely devoted to John Cassian’s Collationes patrum in a northern Dutch translation. This is the same text that was only partially included in miscellany The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek (KB), KW 135 F 12. Moreover, the tertiaries provided themselves with works attributed to Saint Augustine and Saint Gregory. Four of the manuscripts mainly contain texts of practical use for the liturgy.43 A specific focus on the canonical hours is detectable in them. Manuscript Brussels, KBR, 21953 consists largely of hymns and various prayers and antiphons in honour of the Holy Virgin Mary. Manuscript Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek (UB), LTK 252 contains texts such as the letters of Saint Paul, Saint James, Saint Peter, Saint John, and Saint Jude, and functioned as a lectionary.44 The Middle Dutch translations in these manuscripts allowed an official liturgical canonical prayer according to the monastic example, an Officium Divinum, to become part of daily spirituality.45 Additionally, the sisters possessed an obituary of which it was said ‘dat die custersse alle weeken smaendaechs doorgeven sal den confessoer om dan Reguiem te lesen oft commemoratie haelden, indien dat iemants feest is’ (that every Monday the sacristan will give the book to the confessor for a Requiem or commemoration to be read out, in case it was somebody’s feast day).46 A large number of texts can be characterized as receptive of older monastic traditions. The above-mentioned manuscripts already showed the influence

39 BL, MS Add. 15310; BL, MS Add. 15311; Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 331; Liège, Bu, MS 2653; Leiden, UB, MS LTK 252; Brussels, KBR, MS ii 7265. 40 Leiden, UB, MS LTK 252. 41 Gillaerts and others, eds, De Bijbel in de Lage Landen. 42 Brussels, KBR, MS ii 7265; The Hague, KB, MS KW 133 F 13; The Hague, KB, MS KW 76 J 7. 43 Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 332; Brussels, Bollandistes, MS 548; Brussels, KBR, MS 21953; Hasselt, PM, MS s. n. 44 Van Dijk, ‘Methodologische kanttekeningen’, p. 212. 45 Desplenter, ‘Lofzangen voor derden’, p. 118. 46 Brussels, Bollandistes, MS 548.

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of Cistercian and Victorine environments, and the Bernardine tradition with its classic Sermones was also represented. The forty-nine sermons from the summer part were bundled in Utrecht, Museum Catharijneconvent (MCC), Warmond 92 E 9.47 In addition, it is clear that the tertiaries, given their (presumed) Franciscan roots, possessed a number of texts from this order.48 For example, manuscript Weert, Minderbroeders, 8, is exclusively devoted to this subject and contains, inter alia, a Middle Dutch version of Bonaventure’s legenda S. Francisci (both the legenda maior and the legenda minor). Other manuscripts that are central in this article, namely Ghent, Universiteitsbibliotheek (UB), 1305 and The Hague, KB, KW 135 F 12, are somewhat at variance with the rest of the corpus. It concerns two late fifteenth-century miscellanies with texts from various genres and traditions which clearly promoted the ascetic and penitential educational ideals of the community. They must have been meaningful to newcomers to the convent, who, by reading them, would have been able to learn the essential wisdom needed to succeed in the Hasselt communal life. Alongside this, both manuscripts stand out because of their clear indebtedness to the Modern Devotion. Not only do they contain contemporary popular literature from Windesheim, they also contain texts from earlier traditions, which were very popular within the Modern Devotion, such as the Dominican mysticism of Henricus Suso, Johannes Tauler, and Meister Eckhart. From the perspective of supposed cross-fertilization with the Modern Devotion, it is remarkable that manuscript The Hague, KB, KW 135 F 12 incorporates a text by Alijt Bake. Her authorship was, as we will see, somewhat problematic in the leadership circles of Windesheim, the monastic articulation of the devout movement.49 Apart from the text by Alijt Bake, this body of texts is very typical of what could be expected to be present in a library of a female community under the influence of the Modern Devotion. The corpus of texts of Sint-Catharinadal is largely compatible with that of a cloister of moniales from the Windesheim congregation. Wybren Scheepsma sheds light on the three large groups of related authors which could be found there as standard. He firstly distinguishes the patristic works: treatises, homilies, and letters of the Church Fathers embodied the longing of the devout for a return to the charisma of the early Church. The second group of authors stems from the mystical traditions of the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries, with special emphasis on the Dominican mystics of the fourteenth century, such as Tauler and Henricus Suso. The last group marks the authors who were themselves part of the Modern Devotion: John of Schoonhoven, Thomas a Kempis, Gerard Zerbolt of Zutphen, etc.50 These three categories were also present in the convent

47 Utrecht, MCC, MS Warmond 92 E 9. 48 Weert, Minderbroeders, MS 8 and to a lesser extent: Brussels, KBR, MS ii 279. 49 Scheepsma, Deemoed en devotie, p. 30. 50 Scheepsma, Deemoed en devotie, pp. 78–80.

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of Hasselt and this may imply that Sint-Catharinadal was influenced by the Modern Devotion. The sisters of Hasselt demonstrated the same eclectic style in the compilation of their reading programme. They paid attention to the Holy Writ, returned to the Church Fathers, and showed an appreciation of contemporary devotional treatises which employed a more personal and intimate rhetoric of persuasion.51 The detailed analysis of two manuscripts will show how the sisters compiled a reading programme in support of their spiritual education.

The Process of Spiritual Transformation People who entered a cloister or a religious community had to subject themselves to a process of spiritual transformation, an educational programme in which the individual had to become a more ascetic version of themselves. This occurred by means of letting go of worldly longings, by disciplining behaviour so that in the end impulses and innermost feelings could be bridled as well. In this way, ascetic self-renewal could create a new habitus, one which was in conformity with the norms and values propounded by the community as ideal. Manuscripts Ghent, UB, 1305 and The Hague, KB, KW 135 F 12 gather texts that could mediate this learning process. Manuscript Ghent, UB, 1305 (1475)

Manuscript Ghent, UB, 1305 is a mystical ascetic miscellany, written in the vernacular. Most of the folios deal with didactic-moralistic texts in various genres. For instance, the manuscript contains a few exempla, among which the anonymous Negligencien inder ghetijden (Neglicences of the Hours) and the Exempel van een meester en een arme (Example of a master and a poorman) attributed to Eckhart.52 In addition, it contains a dictum in the name of Augustine, and a small portion of hagiography with the vita of Saint Macharius, which was added in the version of the Vitae patrum. The influence of the Modern Devotion is instanced by texts from the Windesheim circle, including the Middle Dutch translations of the Imitatio Christi of Thomas a Kempis and the Epistola prima in Eemsteyn of John of Schoonhoven. Other works were added, which, although not written by an author of the Modern Devotion movement, enjoyed popularity in its circles. One example of this is the Malogranatum, of which one Middle Dutch excerpt is included in

51 Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers of the Common Life, pp. 277–78; Roest, Franciscan Literature of Religious Instruction, p. xvi. 52 For an edition of the Negligencien, see Middelnederlandse stichtelijke exempelen, ed. by De Vooys, pp. 71–73; for an edition of Exempel van een meester en een arme, see Deutsche Predigten und Traktate, ed. by Quint, p. 444.

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the manuscript. It is a text dealing with the threefold way towards spiritual perfection. It was written by the fourteenth-century Cistercian abbot Gallus of Königsaal and was disseminated as one of its most popular reform texts by Modern Devotion adherents.53 The rest of the manuscript consists of a number of mystical works, which were also popular in devout circles, including a sermon based on Johannes Tauler, the Lectulus noster Floridus of Henricus Suso, and a short version of the Palmboomtraktaat (Treatise of the Palm Tree). To better understand the literature that Sint-Catharinadal used to align the attitudes and ideas of its members, and which was therefore actively used in its educational programme, we will focus on those texts which show, either explicitly in the prologue or on the basis of its themes, whether they were aimed at novices or more experienced members of the spiritual life. One text which was explicitly addressed to aspirants in spiritual life is the Middle Dutch translation of the Epistola prima of John of Schoonhoven. Originally this was a letter by John, as prior of the regular canons of Groenendaal (1378), to his younger nephew Simon, who was about to enter the Windesheim monastery of Eemstein.54 This text contains specific advice on how to be successful in monastic life. John of Schoonhoven describes a threefold disciplinary model that is completely built up around the virtues of obedience, humility and patience. Typical of the texts of the Modern Devotion was the everyday flavour in which authors gave advice in order to bring people to virtuous practices. Just as in the first book of the Imitatio Christi, also included in this collection, the letter highlights a number of practical directions for resisting bodily and spiritual temptations and for turning away from the outer, the superficial, and the worldly. According to John, novices in spiritual life had above all to concentrate on gathering self-knowledge. With this aim in mind, the letter details a number of symptomatic descriptions of unvirtuous human behaviour, which the reader could use as a mirror in order to check whether they possessed these failings or not. It was said, for example, that people who were ashamed to do irksome and menial jobs were too proud and lacking in the virtue of humility.55 Taking stock of one’s own weaknesses and shortcomings was meant to lead to the feeling of compunctio or ‘remorse’ at one’s own sinfulness. This was the basic attitude that a new sister had to make her own.56 In order to hone the text of John of Schoonhoven even more to its intended public, the novices of Sint-Catharinadal, the last four chapters of his original letter were left out of the Hasselt manuscript. These chapters mainly publicized the development of the individual who had already mastered the basic monastic virtues and was aiming at spiritual perfection. They dealt with the love of God, the inner life, the calming of desire, etc., subjects that

53 Stoop, Schrijven in commissie, p. 152; Gruijs, ‘Jean de Schoonhoven’, pp. 156–57. 54 Lingier, ‘De middelnederlandse vertaling’; Obbema, ‘Brinckerinck en Jan van Schoonhoven’. 55 Ghent, UB, MS 1305, fol. 36. 56 Breure, Doodsbeleving en levenshouding, pp. 84–85.

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showed how to renounce the world emotionally. This was rather educational material for people who were already familiar with spiritual community life. Novices had, first of all, to conform in their behaviour to the imposed ideal of obedience, as described in the first thirteen chapters of the letter. The remainder of the manuscript contains texts of greater difficulty. Specifically, these concern the Middle Dutch translations of Suso’s Lectulus noster floridus, a sermon ascribed to Tauler, and the excerpt Wten boeke van granaten (From the Book of the Pomegranate). These texts presuppose sufficient basic knowledge of the theory of mystical ascent and spiritual sacrifice in order to understand the allegorical use of language and figurative descriptions. They stimulated meditatio, the inner contemplation of the user, and were aimed at the reader’s adapting his subjectivity to God’s will. It was an exercise for those already sufficiently familiar with the primary virtues of humility, obedience, and patience.57 The Epistle of John of Schoonhoven can be found in three surviving reading lists of tertiary communities that belonged to the Chapter of Utrecht, among which the convent of Saint Barbara in Delft, the Grote Convent of Doesburg, and the convent of Saint Agnes in Amersfoort.58 In the Informieringheboeck, a book of instruction by Father Confessor Jan de Wael for the tertiaries at Amersfoort, the text was explicitly included in the reading list for novices, while this work also contained summaries of the literature for more advanced and perfected sisters.59 Though it needs more research, these occurences seem to suggest that in the Chapter of Utrecht John of Schoonhoven’s text was a semi-institutionalized means for inducing novices into the life of Third Order regulars. But the Epistle also became known outside of monastic milieux. By removing the initial personal address and the closing formula of the letter, the text could be read as a simple manual in sixteen parts, usable by whomever wanted to live a devout life. In this guise as general treatise the text also appeared in beguine circles as well as those of the brothers and sisters of the common life and mendicant orders.60 This confirms the assertion of Thom Mertens, who claims that it is not relevant to distinguish between spiritual literature for religious and semi-religious people. According to him, it is only legitimate to speak of a difference between the literature for ordinary laypeople and (semi-)religious people.61 Spiritual literature for laypeople elaborated its

57 Van Aelst, ‘Het gebruik van beelden’, p. 94; Laemers, ‘Gereedschap voor de ziel’, p. 31. 58 For an edition of the list from the convent of Saint Barbara: Moll, ‘De boekerij van het St Barbara-klooster’; for the list of Doesburg: Janse, ‘Het religieuze leven in het Grote convent te Doesburg’; see also: Van Beek, ‘“Ten love Godes”’, pp. 58–59; Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers of the Common Life, p. 276. 59 Corbellini, ‘Mannenregels voor een vrouwenwereld’, p. 188. 60 Lingier, ‘De middelnederlandse vertaling’, p. 59; Schoonhoven’s text had been owned by the sisters of the common life in Deventer, the Dominicans of Tienen, a beguine convent in Zwolle, and so on. 61 Mertens, ‘Boeken voor de eeuwigheid’, p. 12.

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own lay morality. By this is meant the ethical discourse focused on subjects of everyday life, or the vita activa in which laypeople were involved, such as the sacrament of marriage, adultery, business, observing Sundays and feast days, government, justice, and authority within the household.62 Often these themes were discussed in the form of moral lessons with the emphasis on the practical interpretation of Christian theology. Exempla were the beloved literary medium for conveying this. By means of anecdotal stories from daily life, laypeople were confronted with their own (im-)moral behaviour and were educated in so-called mores.63 However, educational models for laypeople could also be useful within the monastic context. In the chapter Van den ghepeisen (On meditation) of John of Schoonhoven’s text, an exemplum64 is inserted that originally derives from Jacques de Vitry (the early thirteenth century), but gained notoriety in the late Middle Ages when it was taken up in Reghel der kersten ghelove (Rule of Christian Faith) (1462), also called Vander kersten ewe. This text was written by an anonymous observant minor friar and primarily circulated in lay circles. The author explicitly addressed a lay audience, man or woman, young or old, servant or head of the household.65 The exemplum in question deals with a man supposed to have given his wife a hard-handed lesson in obedience because she refused to be silent when he requested it. He was supposed to have thrown her in the mud because she persisted in her ill will and rebelliousness. Even such a worldly example could convince nuns of the virtue of obedience. Sisters could interpret it as an illustration of the obedience and submission they owed their superior. By presenting novices who had only just left the world with recognizable situations, and possibly even familiar literature from their former social environment, they were more easily made familiar with the values and norms of the convent life into which they were deemed to integrate. This literature therefore literally gave form to the concept of ‘transitional literature’. By means of the insertion of an example that was educational also for a layperson, the user had to take a smaller step when moving from the secular to the religious life. In applying an imitatio morum,66 newcomers could transform a number of recognizable values which were also known in the lay world they had been part of, into the conventual ideal of imitatio Christi.

62 Warnar, ‘Biecht, gebod en zonde’, p. 39. 63 Bange, Moraliteyt saelt wesen, pp. 16 and 20; see also Bange, ‘Ganzen komen niet in de hemel’; Reynaert, ‘Leken, ethiek en moralistisch-didactische literatuur’; Bigus, ‘A Pragmatic Path to Salvation’. 64 This example was also found in the original Latin text of the epistola prima, for an edition see Becker, ‘Een brief van Johannes van Schoonhoven’, p. 360. 65 Ghent, UB, MS 1305, fols 30–31; this example was also noticed by: De Vooys, ‘Middelnederlandse vertalingen van Jan van Schoonhoven’s werken’, p. 141; Bange, Moraliteyt saelt wesen, pp. 233–34; Dlabačová, Literatuur en observantie, pp. 86–94. 66 Mulder-Bakker, ‘Introduction’, p. 14.

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Manuscript The Hague, KB, KW 135 F 12 (c. 1475)

In opposition to manuscript Ghent, UB, 1305, manuscript The Hague, KB, KW 135 F 12 shows much more unity as regards the degree of difficulty of its contents. The texts deal primarily with the second phase of the ascetic development process, in which reform of the inner life is a key element. They speak of an internalized way of doing penance and being ascetic. Thus, the anonymous text XV quade condicien des eygens wille ende der onghehoersamheyt (Fifteen evil conditions of one’s self-will and disobedience) claims that renouncing self-will is the highest degree of penitence, trumping all other forms of outward penitence.67 The majority of the folios in this manuscript consist of texts the author of which is unknown but which are clearly indebted to the Modern Devotion in the way they describe the process of ‘self-determination’. The language used is, here and there, much closer to the experience of laypeople than that of monastics. One example of this is the tract Vanden huyse der consciencien datmen tymmeren sal (Of the house of conscience that one ought to build), which deals with the development of conscience.68 Though this text can be described as pseudo-Bernardian, the title already betrays the strong influence of the Modern Devotion through the use of the word ‘tymmeren’ (to build). This refers to the use by the modern devout of the term ‘geestliker tymmeringe’ (spiritual carpentry) in order to describe the construction of the ascetic self.69 This representation evokes associations with trades and suggests that a believer can use the same methodical approach as a tradesman in order to give effect to their spiritual reorientation.70 The manuscript as a whole follows the chronology of the process of spiritual transformation, because the texts are ordered according to increasing difficulty. It opens with the Middle Dutch version of the Epistola de tribus votis (Letter on the three vows) by the Dominican Humbert of Romans, which repeats the training principles for novices. This thirteenth-century work is a general commentary on the importance of the three vows. Humbert wrote it with the aim of familiarizing beginners in the spiritual life with the strict application of the discipline that communal life required of them.71 The original introductory passage, in which the author justifies his letter and identifies himself clearly as a master belonging to the Dominican preachers, was left out in this version. Within the Hasselt context this text functioned, above all, to legitimize the sisters’ choice of a regular lifestyle within the Third Order.72 Thus, it is explicitly emphasized that religious people are no

67 The Hague, KB, MS KW 135 F 12, fol. 101v. 68 The Hague, KB, MS KW 135 F 12, fols 140r–51v. 69 This phrase was used in the lives of Sisters Fenne Wilmynck and Hille Vriesen, both sisters of the common life of the Meester Geertshuis in Deventer. For an edition, see: Hier beginnen sommige stichtige punten, ed. by De Man, pp. 29, 250. 70 Van Engen, Sisters and Brothers of the Common Life, pp. 301, 304. 71 Brett, Humbert of Romans, pp. 195–97. 72 Stooker and Verbeij, ‘Over de verspreiding van Middelnederlandse kloosterliteratuur’, p. 355.

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different from laypeople in ‘vasten of waken’ (fasting or vigil), but they are so in their obedience and by fact that they have given up personal possessions.73 In De tribus votis Humbert gives pride of place to monastic obedience and needs no fewer than thirteen chapters to define it in its totality. The rest of the text is devoted to the vows of poverty and chastity, the virtues of humility and patience, and the relation of the individual to God. This text also draws similarities with life in the world in order to make the material more approachable for the postulants. Thus, Humbert specifies that religious people who are tied to a rule are obliged to fulfil their vows, just as in a household one has to obey the father. The King is tied to God’s will, and Church leaders follow divine commandments and sacraments.74 While this text does not immediately derive from the Modern Devotion, it fits very well with the characteristics of that movement by inveighing against the formalism of institutionalized religion.75 Humbert does not simply assume that the concrete living out of a vow of obedience can bring salvation. He cultivated the idea that any outward, visible shows of discipline had to be a reflection of the inner state of the individual.76 In his vision, obedience was much more a psychic construction and inner realization. This is expressed in the individual by an attitude of bravely being prepared to suffer, attendant on his or her ascetic life within the community, and to accept suffering willingly. He compared it with the docility of an animal that patiently accepts any burden placed on it.77 Outward conformity to the rules of cloistering and material enclosure was not enough. Instead one had to internalize this concept, by keeping self-will a ‘prisoner’ and by turning the heart into an ‘besloten hof ’ (hortus conclusus).78 In this way Humbertus gave an alternative interpretation of cloistering. An enclosed lifestyle ought, according to him, to be as easily expressed in a disposition of mental closure to the temptations of the world. This internalized form of enclosure was realized, on the one hand, by following behavioural rules and, on the other, by the practice of reading and contemplation.79 The text of Humbert sets the tone for the remainder of the manuscript. His idea that a dialogue has to be set up between the inner and outer lives of a religious person, is also present in the texts of Alijt Bake included in 73 The Hague, KB, MS KW 135 F 12, fol. 3v: ‘In vasten in ghebede ende in waken moghen ons ghelijc werden die werelike menschen. Die welke wi boven gaen in afsnydinghen der eyghentheit ende ghehoersamheit’. 74 The Hague, KB, MS KW 135 F 12, fol. 7r: ‘Nochtan sijn die ghene die onder een regule staen meer verbonden om der beloften. Want men sal gehoersam wesen een vader des huys ghesins in goeder ordinancien, den coninghen inden regimenten des ghemeynen gods, den kerck heren in naevolghinge der gotliker gheboden ende in aendieninghe der sacramenten’. 75 Zarri, ‘Ecclesiastical Institutions and Religious Life’, p. 45. 76 Breitenstein, ‘The Success of Discipline’, p. 210; The Hague, KB, MS KW 135 F 12, fol. 25r. 77 The Hague, KB, MS KW 135 F 12, fol. 3v. 78 The Hague, KB, MS KW 135 F 12, fols 2v, 12r; Melville, ‘Gehorsam und ungehorsam als Verhaltensformen’, p. 190. 79 Ehrenschwendter, ‘Creating the Sacred Space Within’, p. 316.

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this manuscript.80 Alijt had been the prioress of the Windesheim convent of Galilea in Ghent (1445–1455). There she wrote various spiritual texts, among which a number of ‘convent instructions’ for the promotion of deeper piety. Her first instructional text, De weg der victorie (The path of victory), was also incorporated in manuscript The Hague, KB, KW 135 F 12. Here she speaks of the fourteen failings that a religious person has to overcome. She describes this in allegorical terms as fourteen pieces of clothing, namely seven outer and seven inner garments, of which a sister has to divest herself in order to go forth naked and encounter her naked groom. The first part of the text focuses on the seven outer garments, all of which relate to the attachment to the senses: the desire for earthly possessions and gain, the wish for honour and praise, love of ease, sensual pleasure, consolation, friendship, and seeking solace in worldly things. The second part of the text deals with seven spiritual failings: eygen minne, eygen wille, eygen goetdinken, eigen vermetelheit, eygen begrijp ofte aennementheyt and eyghen behaegen sijns selves (self-love, self-will, self-esteem, arrogance, self-understanding, and self-satisfaction).81 These are all variations on the theme of egotism and self-love, but their subtle distinctions in meaning escape the modern reader.82 Judging by the content one could say that the first part of the text was, above all, aimed at novices. In the context of the conventual policy of contemptus mundi, conquering the senses was, after all, the first phase in the victorious progress of the new entrant. The second part was aimed instead at more practised religious people who were ready to express a world-shirking subjectivity. In the second text of Alijt Bake, Boeckxen vander passion (Little book of Passion),83 partially included in the manuscript with the title Vanden seven clederen die men bijden cruce uut trecken sal (Of the seven garments one will take off at the Cross), the theme of the inner garments is taken up and elaborated on. In this text Alijt pursues the contemporary reform movement promoting a more subjective spirituality. Like Humbert, she develops the idea that outer conformism to the ideals of virtue is not sufficient. With a barbed tongue, she fulminates that certain clerics ‘alleen dat abijt ende den schijn drages’ (only wear the habit and the appearance [of a religious person]).84 Concretely she means that professing vows is worthless if one is only taking them in speech rather than also putting one’s heart where one’s mouth is.85

80 Breitenstein, ‘The Success of Discipline’, p. 210; The Hague, KB, MS KW 135 F 12, fol. 25r. 81 Alijt Bake, De weg der victorie, pp. 293–97; Dresen, Onschuldfantasieën, p. 103. 82 Dresen, Onschuldfantasieën, p. 103. 83 This text was inserted in the version of Alijt’s Een merkelike leeringhe, see: Bloemenkolk, ‘Het Boecxken vander passien’. 84 The Hague, KB, MS KW 135 F 12, fol. 53r. 85 The Hague, KB, MS KW 135 F 12, fol. 51r: ‘nu sijn sommege menschen in relegione die hueren wille schinene versmaet te hebbene. Om dat si hon in professien verbonden hebben nae der ordenen. Maer hoe hebben si dit ghedaen van buyten metten monde maer binnen inder herten sijn si hoers selfs ghebleven’.

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The study of manuscript Ghent, UB, 1305 shows that the Hasselt tertiaries made good use of texts that promoted the educational ideals of Windesheim. Given this fact, it is somewhat surprising that they also possessed works by Alijt Bake, since her status as author was problematic in Windesheim milieux. In the Ghent convent of Galilea, Alijt had intended to steer the subjective spirituality of the sisters towards a pure mystical experience of faith.86 According to her, the ascetic virtues of obedience, humility, and patience were only simple preparatory means to arrive at a higher stage: mystical union with God. Precisely because Bake saw mystical experience as the goal of devout spiritual experience, she came into conflict with the authorities of Windesheim. These saw the uncontrollable character of mystical experience as a threat to the idea of community.87 Mystics did not even think it necessary to completely run the course of the ascetic learning process. They cultivated the idea that their God-contemplating experience could not be pinned down in set rules or learning processes. Since this unteachable aspect of mysticism might make community members lax in their pursuit of the virtue of obedience, it was not given a leading role in the literature of the Modern Devotion.88 In 1455 the general Chapter of Windesheim suspended Alijt from her function as prioress and banished her to the Facons convent in Antwerp, far from her faithful Ghent followers.89 That same year she was enjoined to silence by a new prohibition on writing, which forbade all female members of the Windesheim Chapter to commit their visionary experiences to paper, trying in this way to dam the practice of mystical experience.90 The fact that the Hasselt tertiaries possessed a number of texts by Alijt possibly suggests greater religious independence with respect to the Modern Devotion and its view of mysticism. They credited Alijt with the authority to shape their communal life and spirituality. However, this presumed independence must be qualified. A straightforward identification with Alijt’s ideas also seems somewhat problematic in the case of Sint-Catharinadal, since the texts were bundled anonymously and not under their original title in the Hasselt manuscript.91 Furthermore, De weg der victorie and the included text passage from Boecxken der passien can be characterized as the least mystical works of Bake. Her instructions with respect to the seven outer and seven inner garments are, after all, still very much focused on the classical preparatory ascetic path to be trodden by every sister newly entering the convent rather than on the ultimate goal she had in mind, namely mystical union with God. The theme

86 Winston-Allen, Convent Chronicles, pp. 113–14; Van Nieuwenhove and others ed., Late Medieval Mysticism, pp. 176–79; Herzig, ‘Female Mysticism, Heterodoxy, and Reform’, pp. 262–65. 87 Scheepsma, Deemoed en devotie, pp. 28–29. 88 Mertens, ‘Mystieke cultuur en literatuur’, pp. 122–24. 89 Alijt Bake, De brief uit ballingschap, p. 351. 90 Scheepsma, Deemoed en devotie, p. 30. 91 Bollmann, ‘Being a Woman on my Own’, p. 96.

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still fits squarely within the safe and well-outlined logic of the ascetic training programme described above, in which the disciplining of outward behaviour comes before reforming the inner person.

Internalizing the Text On the basis of the analysis of manuscripts Ghent, UB, 1305 and The Hague, KB, KW 135 F 12, it would seem that the spiritual education programme in Hasselt was twofold, divided between one stage for beginners and another for the more advanced. The texts cited above accompanied the stages and clarified how one could reach the goal of ascetic transformation, seen as a state of absence of will and complete readiness to obey God’s will.92 This situation brought them into a spiritual state of separation from the world. This very religious condemnation also shaped their concrete relationship to the outside world and formed their identity as a group of religious persons living a secluded life. Sint-Catharinadal also had reading material for those who had already achieved this stage. What appears in the corpus as a whole, is a traditional triplex via, a religious way for beginners, for the more advanced and for the perfected.93 Those who had perfected their ascetic ideal of renouncing the world had to perfect themselves further through contemplation. The possession of a text by Alijt Bake shows that there was a more relaxed receptive climate with respect to mysticism in Sint-Catharinadal than in the Windesheim congregation. And yet the community preferred in its choice of mystical works precisely those texts that foregrounded the ascetic ideal without necessarily realizing divine contemplation. As in the above-mentioned text by Bake, mysticism functioned as a frame of reference and stylistic idiom within which ascetic educational ideals could be made explicit. An illustration of this is the short version of the Palmboomtraktaat found in manuscript Ghent, UB, 1305 and Berlin, SBB–PK, mgo 332. This anonymous thirteenth-century text describes the trajectory one has to complete in order to reach the highest level of spiritual development: contemplation. This is represented symbolically as the top of a palm tree, which one can reach by climbing its seven branches. The emphasis is placed on the seven branches that represent the seven virtues necessary to reach the ultimate spiritual goal of mystical union with Christ.94 It

92 Hanselaer and Deploige, ‘“Van groeter bannicheit hoers herten”’, p. 487; see also Warren, Anchorites and Their Patrons, p. 113. 93 The idea of a triple path was already described by Gregory the Great; Pansters, ‘De “vier doechden”’, p. 107; Sabrina Corbellini sees a similar trend in the work of Jan De Wael, confessor of the community of tertiaries of Saint Agnes in Amersfoort: Corbellini, ‘The Manual for the Young Ones by Jan de Wael’; Corbellini, ‘Een oude spiegel voor nieuwe maagden’. 94 Ghent, UB, MS 1305, fols 105–14; Scheepsma, ‘Het oudste Middelnederlandse palmboomtraktaat’, p. 154.

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is a traditional, didactic argument for virtue, framed within a weakened mystical narrative. The same can be said of the Sint-Catharinadal version of the Bruut van Cantiken (The Bride of the Canticles)95 and the commentary on the Song of Songs as given by Richard of Saint Victor.96 In this latter work the mystical experience is defined as a purifying ascetic process in which the spirit has to do battle against immoral physical desires.97 The Bruut van Cantiken begins with a passionate description of the loving reunion with the heavenly groom, entirely in the manner of twelfth-century Bernardine sermons on which the work is based. The tone then changes quite quickly to a typical fifteenth-century moral-mystical gloss on the Song of Songs.98 Though these works were meant to encourage a mystical way of life, it seems that the safe way of ascesis was emphasized. In this sense Hasselt is beholden to observantism and follows, in the way it promotes mysticism, the literature policies of Windesheim, where mystical experience was downgraded to an ascetic realization.99 Contemplation in Hasselt was instead promoted by means of texts fitting with the practice of Passion devotion. Manuscript The Hague KB, KW 73 E 7 (1472) is fully dedicated to such a text. It concerns the Vita Christi by the Carthusian Ludolph of Saxony (d. 1378). The author of the prologue to this text propounds a number of precepts for the reader, which detail how best to approach it. First and foremost, he clarifies which (inner) disposition is best when reading it. The reader has to lay aside all external cares in order to free the mind completely, so as to be able to take in the narrative.100 The reader has to let him or herself be carried away by the story, in other words, not hesitating to take in the full beauty or horror of the textual images. The aim was to realize the imitatio Christi-principle as completely as possible by internally identifying with the suffering Christ.101 The use of this text was guided even more by a second precept in the prologue, describing how a reader should react to the events described, so that the story could provoke renewed feelings of pity, love, and solace.102 That the reader had to allow him or herself to be led by the aesthetic character of the text had a dangerous dimension. Did asceticism in its strict form not call for a rejection of the ‘beautiful’ insofar as it could seduce the senses? It goes without saying, therefore, that such texts were only meant for the most practised nuns, who had strictly to follow the precepts as expounded in the prologue. It was these very precepts that ensured that the ascetic

95 The Hague, KB, MS KW 76 J 7, fols 164r–204v. 96 The Hague, KB, MS KW 76 J 7, fols 1–163. 97 Kingma, De mooiste onder de vrouwen, p. 79. 98 The Hague, KB, MS KW 76 J 7, fols 164r–204v; see also Schepers, Bedudinghe op cantica canticorum, p. 39. 99 Koorn, ‘Hollandse nuchterheid?’. 100 The Hague, KB, MS KW 73 E 7, fol. 1r; see also Erler, ‘Private Reading’, p. 145. 101 Van Aelst, Vruchten van de passie, p. 161. 102 The Hague, KB, MS KW 73 E 7, fol. 1r.

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theology embodied in the text received a practical dimension. By dwelling meditatively on the Passion on a daily basis, to the believer it also became a model for giving content to the communal life. It was from the suffering of Christ that they extracted the courage and solace to conquer, by means of a quasi-heroic acceptance, the physical and psychical hardships of their own existence.103 It was by meditating on the suffering of Christ that one also reached His divinity.104 One had to have such texts to hand or drag them up from memory in moments one was at risk of neglecting the ascetic and penitential way of life. In this way, reading became an ascetic practice in itself. The act of reading removed temptation while busying the mind with pious material, and this could help repress at well-defined moments the bodily or mental tendency no longer to accept suffering.105

Conclusion The sisters in Hasselt did not write their own texts but entered into dialogue with other textual traditions. They were original and ‘self-made’ in making conscious choices as to what literature they wished to help shape their spiritual and devotional identity. They did not exclusively tie themselves to the Franciscan textual tradition most consonant with their own Third Order nature. On the contrary, they selected a wider and more varied range of texts and treatises from different milieux. Some of these were only partially incorporated, or rewritten, or carefully adapted to meet the spiritual needs felt within the community. The convent disposed of a large number of works from the older canon of the classical monastic repertoire (Cistercians, Victorine tradition, Carthusians, etc.) and the mendicant orders (Dominicans, Franciscans). They further chose from Patristic literature those Church Fathers that seemed most valuable and inspirational for their way of life. Finally, they also allowed themselves to be inspired by the contemporary reform-minded literature from the monastic branch of the Modern Devotion. In some sense one may posit that their spirituality was a patchwork blanket made up of consciously chosen models, theological concepts, and ideals of piety derived from other religious orders and currents.106 At the same time one can detect a certain tendency in their reading patterns, which show great similarity with those of female adherents of the Modern Devotion. Their links to this pietist movement is further confirmed when focusing on texts used for educational purposes.107 103 Hogg, Praying the Life of Christ, p. ii. 104 Van Aelst, Vruchten van de passie, p. 161. 105 Stock, Ethics through Literature, p. 59. 106 Cochelin, ‘Community and Customs’, p. 253; John Van Engen observes the same trend regarding the brothers and sisters of the common life: Van Engen, ‘New Devotion’, pp. 243–44. 107 This has already been concluded by Sabrina Corbellini and Antheun Janse, see: Corbellini, ‘Mannenregels voor een vrouwenwereld’, pp. 182–83; Janse, ‘Het religieuze leven’, pp. 98–99.

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Their educational programme leaned heavily on the Windesheim textual tradition. Just as in classical monastic schooling, Sint-Catharinadal also subdivided its programme into stages for beginners, the more advanced, and the perfected. Each stage was provided with suitable literature, which for each stage required a different way of reading. The manuscripts Ghent, UB, 1305 and The Hague, KB, KW 135 F 12 collect texts which mediate the first two phases of the process of ascetic self-development. The first manuscript appears to be a seamless continuation of texts from the Modern Devotion from Windesheim convents, such as the Epistola prima of John of Schoonhoven. His text was meant for novices and clarifies why, in this developmental phase, penitence and asceticism should mainly be perceived as the visible performance of three virtues: humility, obedience, and patience. In short, the behaviour and bodily actions of individuals needed to be disciplined. Texts from the sphere of the Modern Devotion were especially useful because of their practical character and sense of reality. By means of uncomplicated, ready-made rules and practical advice they specified how to realize virtues in practice. Novices could simply acquaint themselves with the codes of behaviour by reading them in their tailor-made form, and change their behaviour accordingly. It is interesting that this initial phase includes passages or textual fragments that are close to lay spirituality. The exemplum in De Reghel der kersten ghelove is an example of this. It seems to imply that any connection with and recognition of matters from the lay world was important to novices of the Third Order. In general, the use of such texts in monastic environments was minimal, but it does suggest a certain rapprochement between monastic and lay ways of life. More than this, it implies that a lay educational model could be transposed to a monastic setting.108 The texts in manuscript The Hague, KB, KW 135 F 12 mainly thematize the second phase of spiritual development. This privileges the idea that the underlying intentions, motives, feelings, and longings of the individual have to be checked and kept in check so that the ultimate goal of the ascetic training process, i.e. renouncing one’s own will, could be achieved. In actuality, texts such as the Boecxken vander passien of Alijt Bake gave indications on how to make the penitential ideal an internalized concern. The need for a measure of erudition in the reading of such literature is shown in the discursive structure of these texts. They are written in a narrative form that promotes meditation, and they have a mystical tinge that deploys the more difficult literary constructions, allegories, or complex metaphors. It therefore goes without saying that this was literature for the more seasoned of the community members. They could be entrusted with texts requiring greater empathy, because they had enough experience of the right teaching of worldly renunciation for their interpretation not to diverge from the intended message. That is why a text from a controversial author such as Alijt Bake regarding the ‘seven outer

108 Dlabačová, Literatuur en observantie, pp. 163–65; Williams-Krapp, ‘Observanzbewegungen, monastische Spiritualität und geistliche Literatur’, pp. 14–15.

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garments’, aimed mostly at novices, could be included in a manuscript in which the majority of texts were aimed at more experienced believers. Bake was not authorized reading material for all and sundry. Those who were sufficiently experienced in renouncing their own will and had perfected their ascetic self-discipline had yet to perfect contemplation. In this stage of spiritual life, the tertiaries of Sint-Catharinadal also followed the modern devout, who used a safe kind of contemplation-promoting literature. Thus, on the one hand they chose texts, which homed in on Passion devotion and which they were asked to ‘internalize’. The reader was then supposed to completely open herself to the aesthetic value of the story in order to stimulate the power of imagination. By means of visualizations, the textual images could be transferred from the external to the internal plane by the reader, more specifically to the world of feeling.109 On the other hand, the more perfected sisters opted for mystical texts. It is noticeable that these mystical works can be more accurately described as ascetic-moralizing commentaries, which were bounded by a mystical frame of reference. However, as the sisters possessed works by Alijt Bake, who worked to make ascetic disciplining end in mystical experience, it is likely their ultimate spiritual aim was indeed contemplation of God. It is clear that the spiritual education of tertiaries in Hasselt involved a reading programme that was consonant with the classic monastic triad of lectio-mediatio-contemplatio. Their educational organization thus slotted in with a regular monastic setting. The texts used to give effect to this were works that realized innicheit (devotion). Characteristic of the piety of innicheit, indebted to the Modern Devotion, was that it was aimed at a multifarious public of religious, semi-religious, and laypeople. This ensured that devout spiritual manuals were often put together in such a way that they were reconcilable with this heterogeneous intended audience. Sporadically, this also manifests itself in the Sint-Catharinadal corpus. The treatise Huyse der consciencien, for example, describes an almost exclusively conventual subject in a language redolent of lay experience. Finally, even the reserved attitude of Sint-Catharinadal towards mystical practices testifies to their preference for a more down-to-earth religious experience that was accessible to any believer. One cannot, however, speak of lay devotion in the strict sense of the term when speaking of Sint-Catharinadal. Their spirituality was strongly monastic and was differentiated from lay experience by its ascetic and penitential educational ideals. Yet their choice of certain hybrid texts illustrates that, despite their adoption of a regular statute, they still opted for a spirituality that was guided by texts that derived from different strata of society and that could function in varying contexts of either a lay or a monastic environment. In that sense, the ideals of their young order of regular tertiaries still carried an echo from a time in which the Third Order had functioned as a lay order.

109 Melion, ‘Introduction’, p. 3.

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Appendix Table 6.1. Manuscripts from Sint-Catharinadal in Hasselt.

Manuscript

Date

Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 331

c. 1465– 1520

Contents

Psalms and Canticles; Pseudo-Ambrose, Expositio in psalmum CXVIII (excerpt); Prologue of David to the Psalms (Psalm 151); Lof der psalmen of Saint Augustine, fols 1–250. Leiden, UB, MS LTK 252 1461 Northern Middle Dutch translation of the New Testament by John Scutken (Letters of Saint Paul, Saint James, Saint Peter, Saint John, and Saint Jude, Book of Revelation), fols 1–270. London, BL, MS Add. 1462 Herne Bible (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, 15310 Numbers, Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, and 1–2 Kings = 1–2 Samuel), fols 2v–209r. London, BL, MS Add 1460– Herne Bible (3–4 Kings, Prayer of Manasseh, 15311 1461 Tobit, Ezekiel, Job, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs, Wisdom, Ecclesiasticus, Daniel, Habakkuk, Esther, Judith, 1–2 Maccabees), fols 1–183. Liège, Bu, MS 2635 1462 Herne Bible (Gospel harmony), fols 1r–202v. Berlin, SBB–PK, c. 1456 John Cassian, Collationes patrum (Coll. 1–12), MS mgq 1109 fols 1–129. Berlin, SBB–PK, c. 1392, Die ghetiden van den dogene ende lidene ons heren MS mgo 332 c. 1350 Ihesu Christi; Palmboomtraktaat, fols 57r–66v; Dictum in the name of Saint Augustine; Die seven gaven des Heylighen Gheests; Uitleg op de tien geboden; Prayer of Solomon, fols 67r–69v. Brussels, Bollandistes, 1475– Jaerghetije boecxken van Sinte Catharynendael MS 548 1800 binnen der stadt Hasselt Brussels, KBR, MS 21953 Fifteenth Prayers and excerpts from Saint Bernard of century Clairvaux, fols 73r–77v; Henricus Suso, Büchlein der ewigen Weisheit (cap. 16), fols 156r–60v; Eckbert of Schönau, Loquor ad cor tuum, o Maria, fols 161r–62v; Jacobus of Gruitrode, Coronula laudis Mariae, fols 212r–41v; Konrad of Würzburg, Die goldene Schmiede, fols 294r–307v; Arnulf of Leuven, Salve meum salutare, fols 399r–405v. Hasselt, PM, MS s. n. 1480 Prayerbook with calendar. Brussels, KBR, MS ii 279 1530 Prayers (a.o. Pseudo-Francis). Weert, Minderbroeders, 1455 Bonaventure, Sinte franciscus leuen, and MS 8 additional texts. The Hague, KB, MS KW 1472 Dutch translation of Ludoph of Saxony: Vita 73 E 7 Christi (ii, cap. 58–66 and 68–89), fols 1–232.

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Manuscript

Date

Contents

The Hague, KB, MS KW 76 J 7

c. 1460

The Hague, KB, MS KW 133 F 13 Brussels, KBR, MS ii 7265

c. 1460

Utrecht, MCC, MS Warmond 92 E 9 Ghent, UB, MS 1305

1467

Middle Dutch translation of Richard of Saint Victor, Explicatio in cantica canticorum (cap. 1–41), fols 1–163; Die bruud van cantiken, fols 164–204. Middle Dutch translation of Alain of Lille, Elucidatio in Cantica canticorum, fol. 181v. Song of Songs, fols 8–25; Lamentations ( Jeremiah), fols 125–51; Chronicles 16,1–36, fols 151–55; Malachias, fols 156–69; Alain of Lille, Elucidatio in Cantica Canticorum (Middle Dutch explanations of the Song of Songs 5,9–8–14); Alain of Lille, Tractaet op Cantica canticorum, fols 25r–106v. Saint Bernard, Sermones, fols 3–215.

The Hague, KB, MS KW 135 F 12

c. 1475

c. 1500– 50

c. 1475

John of Schoonhoven, Epistola prima in Eemsten; Van negligencien inder ghetijden; Prayer of Solomon; Life of Saint Macharius; Lectulus Noster Floridus; Sermon to Luke 8,5 (after John Tauler); Goede gheestelijc vraghen ende antworden; Exempel van een meester en een arme; Een merkleike epistel van te doen enen volcomenen uutganc der gheesteliker maescap ende den vader der liefden te versaken; Thomas a Kempis, Imitatio Christi (i,1–24); Gallus of Königsaal, Malogranatum (excerpt); tract with dictum in the name of Augustine; Palmboomtraktaat. Humbert of Romans: Epistola de tribus votis; Alijt Bake, Weg der victorie; Alijt Bake, Boecxken vander passien ons heren; XV quade condicien des eygens wille ende der onghehoersamheyt; Van die doecht des swigens; Van nutticheit des swigens; Vander neernstigher volheerdender bewaringhen ons herten; Dander artikel vanden dinghen die noetdorftich zijn tot inwendiger ende nernstiger behuedingen des herten; Het is te weten dat onse herte is als een boec; Vanden leven ende wanderinghen eens goet monics; etc., fols 6r–218.

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Bibliography Manuscripts and Archival Sources Berlin, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin - Preußischer Kulturbezitz, MS mgo 331 ———, MS mgo 332 ———, MS mgq 1109 Brussels, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, MS 21953 ———, MS ii 279 ———, MS ii 7265 Brussels, Société des Bollandistes, MS 548 Ghent, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS 1305 Hasselt, Provinciaal Museum, MS s. n. Hasselt, Rijksarchief, Oorkonden bundel 1, a° 1430 Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS LTK 252 Liège, Bibliothèque universitaire, MS 2635 London, British Library, MS Add. 15310 ———, MS Add. 15311 The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, MS KW 73 E 7 ———, MS KW 76 J 7 ———, MS KW 133 F 13 ———, MS KW 135 F 12 Utrecht, Museum Catharijneconvent, MS Warmond 92 E 9 Weert, Minderbroeders, MS 8 Primary Sources Alijt Bake, De brief uit ballingschap, ed. by Bernard Spaapen, ‘Middeleeuwse passiemystiek, iv. De brief uit ballingschap’, Ons Geestelijk Erf, 41 (1967), 351–67 Alijt Bake, De weg der victorie, ed. by Bernard Spaapen, ‘Middeleeuwse passiemystiek, v. De kloosteronderrichtingen van Alijt Bake. De weg der victorie’, Ons Geestelijk Erf, 43 (1969), 270–304 Bullarium franciscanum continens constitutiones, epistolas, diplomata romanorum pontificum Calixti III, Pii II et Pauli II ad tres ordines S. P. N. Francisci spectantia, ed. by Joseph L. M. Pou (Florence: Ad claras aquas, 1939) Eckhart, Meister, Exempel van een meester en een arme, in Deutsche Predigten und Traktate, ed. by Josef Quint (Munich: Hanser, 1955), p. 444 Hier beginnen sommige stichtige punten van onsen oelden zusteren. Naar het te Arnhem berustende handschrift uitgegeven, ed. by Dirk De Man (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1919) Negligencien inder ghetijden, in Middelnederlandse stichtelijke exempelen, ed. by Cornelis G. N. De Vooys, (Zwolle: Willink, 1953), pp. 71–73

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Reynaert, Joris, ‘Leken, ethiek en moralistisch-didactische literatuur. Ter inleiding’, in Wat is wijsheid? Lekenethiek in de Middeleeuwse letterkunde, ed. by Joris Reynaert (Amsterdam: Prometheus, 1994), pp. 9–36 Roest, Bert, Franciscan Literature of Religious Instruction before the Council of Trent (Leiden: Brill, 2004) Roggen, Heribert R., ‘De witte nonnen van Hasselt. De eerste franciscaanse stichting in Hasselt (1430–1797)’, Franciscana, 49 (1994), 41–73 Scheepsma, Wybren, Deemoed en devotie. De koorvrouwen van Windesheim en hun geschriften (Amsterdam: Prometheus, 1997). Translated as Medieval Religious Women in the Low Countries: The Modern Devotion, the Canonesses of Windesheim, and their Writings, trans. by David F. Johnson (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2004) ———, ‘Het oudste Middelnederlandse palmboomtraktaat en de Limburgse sermoenen’, Ons Geestelijk Erf, 75 (2001), 153–81 Schepers, Kees, Bedudinghe op cantica canticorum. Vertaling en bewerking van Glossa Tripartita super cantica. Teksthistorische studies en kritische editie (Leuven: Peeters, 2006) Simons, Walter, Bedelordekloosters in het graafschap Vlaanderen. Chronologie en topografie van de bedelordenverspreiding vóór 1350 (Brugge: Stichting Jan Cobbaut, 1987) ———, Cities of Ladies: Beguine Communities in the Medieval Low Countries, 1200–1565, The Middle Ages series (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001) ———, ‘On the Margins of Religious Life: Hermits and Recluses, Penitents and Tertiaries, Beguines and Beghards’, in The Cambridge History of Christianity, 4: Christianity in Western Europe c. 1100–c. 1500, ed. by Miri Rubin and Walter Simons (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 311–23 Stock, Brian, Ethics through Literature: Ascetic an Aesthetic Reading in Western Culture (Hannover: University Press of New England, 2007) Stooker, Karl, and Theo Verbeij, ‘Over de verspreiding van Middelnederlandse kloosterliteratuur aan de hand van de Profectus religiosorum van David van Augsburg’, in Boeken voor de eeuwigheid. Middelnederlands geestelijk proza, ed. by Thom Mertens and others (Amsterdam: Prometheus, 1993), pp. 318–40 ———, Collecties op orde. Middelnederlandse handschriften uit kloosters en semireligieuze gemeenschappen in de Nederlanden, 2 vols (Leuven: Peeters, 1997) Stoop, Patricia, Schrijven in commissie. De zusters uit het Brusselse klooster Jericho en de preken van hun biechtvaders (ca.1456–1510) (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2003) Van Engen, John, ‘Friar Johannes Nyder on Laypeople: Living as Religious in the World’, in Vita Religiosa im Mittelalter. Festschrift für Kaspar Elm zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. by Franz J. Felden, Nikolas Jaspert, and Stephanie Haarländer (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1999), pp. 583–615 ———, ‘New Devotion in the Low Countries’, Ons Geestelijk Erf, 77 (2003), 235–63 ———, Sisters and Brothers of the Common Life: The Devotio Moderna and the World of the Later Middle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008)

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Vooys, Cornelis G. N. de, ‘Middelnederlandse vertalingen van Jan van Schoonhoven’s werken’, Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis, 41 (1956), 129–42 Warnar, Geert, ‘Biecht, gebod en zonde. Middelnederlandse moraaltheologie voor de wereldlijke leek’, in Boeken voor de eeuwigheid. Middelnederlands geestelijk proza, ed. by Thom Mertens and others (Amsterdam: Prometheus, 1993), pp. 35–51 Warren, Ann K., Anchorites and Their Patrons in Medieval England (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985) Weber, Max, Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology, ed. by Guenther Roth and Claus Wittich (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968; repr. 1978) Wely, Daniel van, ‘Tertiarissenkloosters in het Luikse Kempenland (15e en 16e eeuw)’, Bijdragen voor de geschiedenis van de provincie der minderbroeders in de Nederlanden, 13 (1963), 321–39 Williams-Krapp, Werner, ‘Observanzbewegungen, monastische Spiritualität und geistliche Literatur im 15. Jahrhundert’, Internationales Archiv für Sozialgeschichte der Deutschen Literatur, 20 (1995), 1–15 ———, ‘The Erosion of a Monopoly: German Religious Literature in the Fifteenth Century’, in The Vernacular Spirit: Essays on Medieval Religious Literature, ed. by Renate Blumenfeld-Kosinski, Duncan Robertson, and Nancy Bradley Warren (New York: Palgrave, 2002), pp. 239–59 Winston-Allen, Anne, Convent Chronicles: Women Writing about Women and Reform (Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2004) Zarri, Gabriella, ‘Ecclesiastical Institutions and Religious Life in the Observant Century’, in A Companion to Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages and Beyond, ed. by James D. Mixon and Bert Roest (Leiden: Brill, 2015), pp. 23–59

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Cécile de Morrée

The Re-Use of Melodies as an Indication of the Connection of Religious Song to the Urban Environment

Introduction In late medieval song culture, the re-use of melodies was common practice. It facilitated learning, memorizing, and adapting songs, and it enabled people to join in communal singing, for instance at the marketplace, in taverns, in parish churches, on the road, at home, or in convents. This specific mechanism for song composition — the substitution of one text for another without substantial change to the music — is called contrafactum. It remained a popular mechanism for many centuries, and most Middle Dutch songs are contrafacta, or song texts that are written to existing melodies.1 Melodies were re-used because they were well known and liked. A charming account of the practice was recorded by the early modern Dutch poet Pieter Corneliszoon Hooft in 1630. In one of his letters to his fellow poet and composer Constantijn Huygens, Hooft expressed his intention to compose a new song to a lovely tune he heard the other day and that had stuck in his mind ever since. He described this aural ghost as: den smijdighe keel, die mij t’elkenmaele in’t oor quam kittelen, met het slieren van dat ‘rameine’ in deze vaersen: ‘Qui me le retrouve et le rameine, l’amour, l’amour?’ (the flexible voice, that persisted in tickling me in the ear, dragging along the word ‘rameine’ in these verses: ‘Qui me le retrouve et le rameine, l’amour, l’amour?’)2

1 Entry ‘contrafactum’, in Grove Music Online; Grijp, Het Nederlandse lied, pp. 23–24, 30. 2 Hooft refers to the song ‘Qui l’a trouvé le rameine, l’amour, l’amour’. Rasch, Driehonderd brieven over muziek, pp. 267–70. Cécile de Morrée  •  received her PhD in 2017 for her dissertation on vernacular devout song culture. She is now an assistant professor in Middle Dutch Literature at Radboud University Nijmegen and a postdoctoral fellow at the Herzog August Library in Wolfenbüttel. Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400–1550): Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting through the Continuum of Sacred and Secular, ed. by Suzan Folkerts, New Communities of Interpretation, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), pp. 157–183 © FHG10.1484/M.NCI-EB.5.122098

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Inconveniently, Hooft only recalled the tune’s refrain, whose lyrics were continuously and involuntarily repeating in his inner ear, and he begged his friend’s assistance with the recollection of the melody’s first notes, so that he could finish his song. When contrafacta were written down, well-known melodies were sometimes indicated by quoting the first verse of another text that was sung to it, such as: ‘Dit is die wise: “Ick weet een vrouken welbereyt”’ (This is the melody: ‘I know a little woman who’s well disposed’).3 In this case, the melody reference, accompanying a spiritual song, is derived from a profane love song that was preserved in another songbook.4 Similar melody references have added to the general image that Middle Dutch religious songs are often set to the tunes of profane (that is: non-religious) songs. Hence, some scholars understand vernacular religious song culture to be highly dependent on profane song culture, or believe religious songs to be derivatives of or variations on profane songs.5 The contrafactum mechanism resulted in re-used melodies being known under various names, because different lyrics were sung to the same tunes. There is no clear distinction between melodies that were used for either religious or profane song texts; both were composed to the same melodies. No melody is inherently sacred or profane: by using the contrafactum mechanism, any melody could be re-used for the expression of any textual message.6 This has become apparent from scholarly efforts to designate groups of songs that could be sung to the same tune. For Middle Dutch songs, this was mainly achieved by comparing stanza forms, according to an innovative system devised by the Dutch musicologist Louis Peter Grijp.7 Thus, melody references interconnect songs of diverse thematic content, bridging the alleged gap between religious and profane song culture. Therefore, they form a valuable instrument to approach the permeability of the boundaries between the sacred and the secular. In this article, I will explore the new insights that are to be gained from this approach.

3 Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken, song 19. Quotations of the Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken are taken from the edition by D. F. Scheurleer. 4 The melody reference is derived from the first verse of song 91 of the secular Antwerp songbook, printed in 1544, Het Antwerps Liedboek, ed. by Van der Poel and others. 5 Opinions concerning this general image were expressed by, among others, Knuttel, Het geestelijk lied, pp. 434–35; Joldersma, ‘“Geestelijke” en “wereldlijke” liederen’, p. 66; Strijbosch, ‘Vogelnestjes in de marge’, pp. 20–21; Oosterman, ‘Ik breng u de mei’, pp. 174–75. 6 Lenselink, De Nederlandse psalmberijmingen, p. 190. If some form of textual adoption was practised, this usually did not go beyond the first verse. Nevertheless, some scholars speak of ‘profane melodies’ when indicating melodies that were referred to by the incipit of a profane text. 7 Grijp devised a system to encode stanza forms in sets of numbers and letters, Grijp, Het Nederlandse lied, pp. 233–38. Songs with similar stanza forms could be sung to the same melody. However, formal similarity is not sufficient evidence to conclude that a text was actually sung to a certain tune. Grijp’s work formed the basis for the later design of the Dutch Song Database.

T he Re -U se o f Me lo d i e s

This article consists of two parts. In the first part, I will investigate the references in a large corpus of songs, in order to determine what the tunes are called and whether their names are taken from an incipit of a religious or a profane song text. In doing so, I presume that the occurrence of a melody indicated with an incipit of a profane text implies that the users of the relevant collection were, at least to some extent, familiar with the indicated song text.8 Therefore, a religious song collection containing many melody references with profane incipits could indicate a relatively evident connection between religious and profane song culture, while a religious song collection in which traces of profane songs are scarce or absent may indicate that both song cultures rather functioned independently. This tentative survey leads to an image of the dialogue between the sacred and the secular that is more balanced and more diversified than is usually accounted for. In the second part of this article, I will offer a possible explanation for this variety. Based on research on neuropsychology and music cognition, I will relate the songbooks to the diverse surroundings in which they were assembled and used. Even though much remains unsure about the collections’ backgrounds, it seems that particularly those songbooks originating from an urban environment indicate a connection between religious and profane song culture. Some Middle Dutch religious song collections may therefore be the product of an urban song culture to a greater degree than has hitherto been acknowledged.

The Re-use of Melodies in Print and Manuscript Collections of Religious Songs Method

An exploratory study of melody references cannot do without the Dutch Song Database. This online database contains information about approximately 170,000 Dutch songs, preserved in sources dating from the past 900 years. It includes all songs known from before 1550, as well as any headings and melody references that accompany them.9 The database allows for songs with identical or very similar incipits — as well as those with similar stanza forms — to be searched for and sorted. Thus, melody references in large song collections can be detected and compared to the incipits of other songs relatively easy.



8 Joldersma and Van der Poel, ‘Si singhen met soeter stemmen’, suggest that the scribe of Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631 assumed the manuscript’s users knew a great many profane songs. 9 When using the Dutch Song Database, it should be noted that its contents were supplied, added, and adapted by many collaborators over a period of seven years. It therefore inevitably contains mistakes and lacunae. For this article, I consulted some of the medieval sources for verification, but not all.

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This tool enabled me to include all preserved Middle Dutch religious song collections dating up to c. 1550 in my survey.10 Since the incipits that serve as melody names can cover up to four verses of the indicated song text, many offer ample material for comparison. In some cases, like the example quoted in the Introduction, the incipit can be matched with another song text that has been preserved. If that text has a stanza form similar to that of the song text containing the reference, it is likely that it is the one indicated.11 In these cases, reading that song text suffices to determine whether the incipit was taken from a profane text or from a religious one. Examining melody references, however, can be quite a challenge. There can be several song texts that match the criteria, in which case the provenance of the incipit remains undecided.12 In other cases, the incipit in the reference has only been preserved in the melody reference of yet another song, or not at all. In these cases, it is difficult, if not impossible, to decide whether the melody name refers to a profane or a religious song text. Many songs open with a verse on a very general theme, such as love, faith, joy, grief, or the beauty of nature. As modern scholars we should be careful not to be deceived by the worldly appearances of an incipit like ‘Het sand een coninc sinen soen te trouwen een joncfrouwe’ (A king sent his son to be united with a damsel), which is the beginning of a spiritual Christmas song.13 Nevertheless, I considered a profane interpretation more likely for a small number of incipits, particularly when the incipit in question refers to worldly authorities or to the pleasure of sex in a positive way. To my knowledge, medieval religious songs never speak of another lord or king but God or Jesus, which makes it unlikely that a song about ‘Die edele heer van Brunenswijc, die heeft een kint gevangen’ (The noble lord of Brunswijk has captured a child) would be spiritual.14 Likewise, carnal lusts are discussed differently in religious and profane songs — though love and lovers are not. Even so, caution is in order.

10 I only included collections of some size, thus excluding song excerpts, individual songs, and small groups of two to four songs transmitted in combination with other texts. Furthermore, I only included collections of which the manuscripts or printed copies are preserved, excluding collections transmitted only in editions. 11 Hypothetically, the incipit may refer to yet another song text that has not been preserved and thus has escaped our attention. Yet, in this article, I limit myself to the information currently available, with the remark that we can never be entirely sure that the matching song was indeed the one the reference was intended to refer to. 12 When several texts have the same incipit and the same stanza form, it is usually impossible to appoint one as the original and another as a derivative. Also, it is not the aim of this article to find out whether religious songs are variations on profane songs or the other way around, nor to determine the origins of a certain tune. 13 Brussels, KBR, MS iv 421, song 9. 14 Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 190, song 162.

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Consequently, my count of the number of profane and religious incipits is a conservative one, and it is by no means definitive. For a rather large number of incipits, the provenance must remain undecided. In Tables 7.1 and 7.2, to be discussed below, this is accounted for by presenting the number of incipits of profane texts used as a melody reference in a certain collection as a range, the bottom number being the conservative count, the highest number including those incipits that were impossible to trace or to interpret. Still, the results of this exploration are valuable. A Tentative Survey of Melody References

As will become clear from the following section, the idea of religious songs often being set to the tunes of profane songs is oversimplified. Some melody references do refer to profane song texts, but others refer to spiritual texts. More importantly, many songs are not accompanied by melody references at all. In these cases, the incipit of the song text may have sufficed to recall the right melody, or one of several suitable melodies, into memory, as is shown by songs that simply state ‘Ghelijck alst beghint’ (Like it begins), meaning: sing the tune as indicated by the first verse.15 Also, some vernacular songbooks did provide musical notation for some of the melodies. In a few rather exceptional cases, song headings state that users might themselves think of a melody the text might fit to, or that they might make one up.16 In this section, I will first discuss the printed songbooks, and next the manuscript song collections.17 The three oldest-known printed religious songbooks, are the Suverlijc boecxken (Antwerp, 1508),18 the Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken (Antwerp, 1539),19 and the Souterliedekens (Antwerp,

15 For example in Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken, song 54. 16 For example Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631, song 21: ‘Dit is een suverlijc lyedekijn van onsen heylighe Vader Franciscus. Ende men mach ’t singhen op die wise: ‘Nu laet ons huden vrolijc sijn op desen hoeghen dach’. Maer die een ander wijse wet, die mach se singhen’ (This is a pure song about our holy Father Francis. One may sing it to this tune: ‘May we now all rejoice on this holy day’. But whoever knows another tune, may sing it). Another example can be found in the prologue of the Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken. 17 My research of the printed songbooks was based on editions and facsimile editions, as well as information on headings and tunes included in the Dutch Song Database. 18 Full title, according to its title page: Dit is een suverlijc boecxken, in welcke staen scone leysen ende veel scone gheestelike liedekens (This is a fine little book, containing fine chants and many beautiful spiritual songs). 19 Full title, according to its title page: Een devoot ende profitelijck boecxken, inhoudende veel ghestelijcke liedekens ende leysenen, diemen tot deser tijt toe heeft connen ghevinden in prente oft in ghescrifte (A devout and useful little book, containing many spiritual songs and chants, that one was able to discover in prints and in manuscripts until now).

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1540).20 The melody references in all of these songbooks show a connection with profane song culture that is rather evident (Table 7.1).21 Table 7.1. Melody references using incipits of profane texts in Middle Dutch printed songbooks.

Printed books with collections of Middle Dutch religious songs

Total number of vernacular songs

Vernacular Number profane of melody songs references

Number of references to profane incipit

RELATIVELY EVIDENT CONNECTION WITH PROFANE SONG Suverlijc boecxken Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken Souterliedekens

30 259 + prologue

0 0

165 + prologue

0

16 211 (+ musical notation)22 176 (+ musical notation)23

6–12 86–124 93–166

The oldest of these sources, the Suverlijc boecxken, includes melody references with about half of the songs. Roughly half of those refer to incipits of profane texts, while some refer to religious texts. The Suverlijc boecxken also contains one reference to a devout Latin song.24 20 The Souterliedekens (Psalter songs) are collected vernacular verse adaptations of the Psalms. 21 The nature of the melody references in each collection was interpreted as follows (the numbers indicate the songs; multiple melody references are indicated by a, b, etc.). Suverlijc boecxken: religious: 4, 16, 18, 29; profane: 19, 21, 22, 24, 27, 30; undecided: 17, 20, 23, 25, 26, 28, 62, 64, 66, 67, 72, 73, 74, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 121, 123. Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken: religious: 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 38, 39, 40b, 54, 55, 56, 68, 59, 60, 61, 133, 134, 135, 136, 138, 139, 140, 144, 145, 148, 149a, 149b, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 164, 166, 167, 168, 176ab, 177, 178, 179, 180, 182, 183, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 204, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 223, 224, 234; profane: 10, 11, 12, 14a, 14b, 14c, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 28b, 40a, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 50a, 50b, 51, 52, 53, 68, 69, 70, 78, 79, 87a, 88, 89, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 142, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203; undecided: 25, 26, 27, 28a, 28c, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 40c, 75, 76, 77, 87b, 90, 91, 92, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 174, 184, 185, 186, 187, 214, 215. Souterliedekens: religious: 16, 24, 48, 90, 116, 118b, 129, 141, 159, 160, 165; profane: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 11, 13, 14, 17, 18, 21, 22, 25, 26, 31, 34, 35, 36, 37, 43, 47, 49a, 56, 57, 59, 61, 62, 65, 68, 69, 70, 72a, 72b, 78, 79, 81a, 81b, 82, 83, 84a, 84b, 85, 86, 87, 89, 92, 95a, 95b, 96, 99, 101, 102, 103, 106, 107, 109, 110, 112, 113a, 113b, 114, 115, 117a, 117b, 120, 123, 127, 128, 131, 134, 135a, 135b, 136, 137, 138, 140, 144, 148, 149a, 149b, 150, 152, 153, 155, 158, 161, 162, 163, 164; undecided: 1, 9, 10, 12, 15, 19, 20, 23, 27, 28, 29, 30, 32, 33, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 44, 45, 46a, 46b, 49b, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 58, 60, 63, 64, 66, 67, 71, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 80, 88, 91, 93, 94, 97, 98, 100, 104, 105, 108, 111, 118a, 119, 121, 122, 124, 125, 126, 130, 132, 133, 139, 142, 143, 145, 147, 151, 154, 156, 157. 22 Five songs have several melody references: 14, 28, 40, 50, 176. 23 Eleven songs have two melody references: 46, 49, 72, 81, 84, 95, 113, 117, 118, 135, 149. 24 The melody of song 4 is referred to as ‘Puer nobis nascitur’ (Unto us, a child is born). Quotations of the Suverlijc boecxken are taken from the edition by J. J. Mak.

T he Re -U se o f Me lo d i e s

Although both the Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken and the Souterliedekens include musical notation with almost all of the songs, these collections also provide melody references, and sometimes even several per text. Both collections contain melody references citing religious incipits. The Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken presents clusters of songs that all refer to the same tune, a good deal of which are named after spiritual texts, like ‘Ghi die Jesus wijngart plant’ (You, who plants Jesus’s vineyard, song 38). Also, some religious incipits referred to are in Latin.25 The majority of the melody names, however, are taken from profane song texts, some of which are French.26 Two songbooks contain prologues, in which the compilers comment on the melodies used. The compiler of the Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken condemns the many improper, worldly songs that are sung by young people on a daily basis. These songs are considered perilous, for they ignite within us the evil fire of carnal desires, to which we have a natural inclination and which infect the human body to the death. Therefore, those who read, sing, or compose improper songs will have to account for their actions on Judgement Day, and God will make them pay for every idle word. This was the compiler’s main motive for gathering the songs, so that every person may discard all idleness.27 The compiler of the Souterliedekens had the same aim, which is to enable young people to sing edifying, devotional songs instead of foolish, carnal songs.28 As Van Dongen has convincingly argued, the editors of these songbooks did not seek to replace specific profane song texts with religious song texts, but to substitute the activity of singing improper songs with the activity of devout singing.29 Apparently, this aim was not hindered by using incipits from those indecorous profane songs to indicate the tunes. Far from it — both compilers included melody references especially, in order to accommodate all users. The compiler of the Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken states that because many people cannot read musical notation, the songs are accompanied by the beginnings of the worldly songs that are best known and that are sung to the same melody. When the first verse of the religious song is similar to that of a well-known worldly song, none is indicated. Also, some songs do not have a worldly tune they can be sung to.30 Clearly, the incipits of profane song 25 Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken: song nos 180, 217–21 (grouped under the melody of ‘Puer nobis nascitur’), 239. Souterliedekens: song nos 116, 159, 160, 165. 26 For example ‘Int Walsche: “Sur le pont D’ Avignon”’ (In French: ‘On the bridge of Avignon’, Souterliedekens, song 81). The Souterliedekens cites ten French song texts to indicate tunes (nos 31, 72, 81, 84, 95, 113, 117, 120, 128, 135), the Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken three (nos 248, 250, 255). 27 Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken, pp. 5–7. 28 Lenselink, De Nederlandse psalmberijmingen, pp. 189–90. 29 Van Dongen, ‘Een devoot ende profitelijck boecxken’, pp. 108–13. 30 ‘Ende want veel lieden gheenen sanc en connen, noch de noten niet en kennen, so is daer bi gheset het beghin vanden weerliken liedekens, die ghemeyn ende best bekent sijn, die op dien selven toon oft voys gaen. Ende alsmen die weerlike liedekens bi die

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texts are cited here to indicate the melody to those who cannot read musical notation, but who can use the songs via the contrafactum mechanism. At least in most cases, for some of the songs are not contrafacta of well-known tunes. In short, the profane melody names are used only if applicable, and only because of their notoriety. Likewise, the Souterliedekens’ compiler states that melodies of well-known worldly songs were used for the Psalm-adaptations, to allow those who are not familiar with the melodies to learn the songs from those who are.31 Compared to these printed songbooks, the contemporary manuscript tradition (c. 1470‒1550) offers a more diversified impression of the re-use of melodies.32 Here, references to profane song texts are represented less, but a few collections do include entire profane song texts (Table 7.2).33

noten niet en vint staende, dan weet dat het gheestelijc liedeken beghint ghelijc eenich weerlijc liedeken dat wel bekent is. Noch sijn daer sommige daer men die noten op gheset heeft, ende die en hebben gheen weerlicke voysen daer si op gaen’, Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken, p. 7. 31 ‘So zijn hier (so ghi sien moget) op elcke psalmen sonderlinge wisen van wereltlike liedekens gheappliceert ende op noten ghestelt, op dat die ghene die de musike niet en verstaen, die selve wisen moghen leeren vanden ghenen diese verstaen’ (Souterliedekens, fol. A1v). Quotations of the Souterliedekens are taken from the edition by Nicoline van der Sijs and Hans Beelen. 32 The signatures of the thirteen manuscripts which I have included in my studies are: Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 185; Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 190; Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 280; The Hague, KB, MS  75 H 42; Leiden, UB, MS BPL 1289; Leiden, UB, MS LTK 218; Leiden, UB, MS LTK 2058; BnF, MS Fonds Néerl. 39; Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631; Brussels, KBR, MS ii 270–B; Vienna, ÖNB, MS Codices series nova 12875; Brussels, KBR, MS iv 421; Gaesdonck, BCA, MS 37. The first eight manuscripts mentioned here, I consulted in person. I consulted scans of the codices Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631, Brussels, KBR, MS ii 270–B, and Vienna, ÖNB, MS Cod. ser. n. 12875. For the final two manuscripts, I relied on modern text editions. Additionally, I used information included in the Dutch Song Database. 33 The nature of the melody references in each collection was interpreted as follows (the numbers indicate the songs). Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 185: religious: 6, 20, 55, 56, 65, 70, 72, 89; profane: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10, 15, 16, 18, 21, 22, 24, 31, 33, 34, 35, 37, 40, 42, 43, 53, 54, 57, 71, 82, 86; undecided: 4, 12, 13, 14, 17, 23, 25, 27, 32, 36, 38, 41, 44, 45, 49, 50, 51, 52, 91. Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 190: religious: 57, 82, 83, 92, 95, 96, 97, 147, 155, 164, 166, 170b, 172, 189b, 200, 228, 229; profane: 93, 94, 96, 143, 144, 148, 149, 153, 158, 159, 160, 162, 170a, 175, 177, 179, 183, 185, 191, 193, 194, 197, 203, 204, 223, 225; undecided: 89, 145, 146, 151, 154, 156, 157, 161, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168a, 168b, 169, 171, 173, 174, 176, 178, 180, 181, 182, 184, 187, 188, 189a, 195, 196, 198, 207, 224. Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631: religious: 3a, 2b, 21, 38a, 41; profane: 1a, 1b, 1c, 3b, 2c, 6, 9b, 12a, 12b, 12c, 16, 33, 38b, 42, 44, 46, 48, 51; undecided: 2a, 5, 7, 8, 9a, 10, 12d, 20a, 20b, 23, 24, 28, 29, 30, 37, 38c, 43, 45, 47, 49. Leiden, UB, MS BPL 1289: religious: none; profane: 3, 7, 11; undecided: 10, 19, 23. Leiden, UB, MS LTK 218: religious: 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17; profane: 5, 9; undecided: none. BnF, MS Fonds Néerl. 39: religious: 29; profane: 33, 38; undecided: 34, 41. Brussels, KBR, MS ii 270-B: religious: 31; profane: 33; undecided: 34. Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 280: religious: 13, 14, 16, 19; profane: none; undecided: none.

T he Re -U se o f Me lo d i e s Table 7.2. Melody references using incipits of profane texts in Middle Dutch song manuscripts.

Manuscripts with collections of Middle Dutch religious songs

Total number Vernacular Number of vernacular profane of melody songs songs34 references

Number of references to profane incipit

RELATIVELY EVIDENT CONNECTION WITH PROFANE SONG Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 185 Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 190 Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631 The Hague, KB, MS  75 H 42 Leiden, UB, MS BPL 1289 (+ Souterliedekens)

92

0

56

29–48

106

0

7635

26–59

68

6

4336

17–36

9 + prologue

0

0

0

26

11

6

3–6

RELATIVELY WEAK CONNECTION WITH PROFANE SONG Leiden, UB, MS LTK 218 Paris, BnF, MS Fonds Néerl. 39 Brussels, KBR, MS ii 270-B

17

2

16

2

44

0

5

2–4

16

0

3 (+ musical 1–2 notation)

NO CONNECTION WITH PROFANE SONG Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 280 Gaesdonck, BCA, MS 37 Leiden, UB, MS LTK 2058 Brussels, KBR, MS iv 421 Vienna, ÖNB, MS Cod. ser. n. 12875

66

0

4

0

5 19

0 0

0 0

0 0

11

0

50

0

0 (+ musical 0 notation) 0 (+ musical 0 notation)

34 The following manuscripts also contain religious Latin songs: Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 190; Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631; BnF, MS Fonds Néerl. 39; Brussels, KBR, MS ii 270-B; Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 280; Vienna, ÖNB, MS Cod. ser. n. 12875. 35 Three songs in Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 190 have not one, but two melody references: 168, 170, 189. 36 Six songs in Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631 have not one, several melody references: 2, 3, 9, 12, 20, 38.

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In most codices, melody references are lacking completely, for example, Vienna, ÖNB, Cod. ser. n. 12875, Leiden, UB, LTK 2058, and in the smaller song collections in the multi-text manuscripts Brussels, KBR, iv 421, Gaesdonck, BCA, MS 37, and The Hague, KB, MS 75 H 42.37 In some codices, melody references are scarce, as in Paris, BnF, MS Fonds Néerl. 39, in Brussels, KBR, ii 270–B, and Berlin, SBB–PK, mgo 280. Manuscripts Brussels, KBR, ii 270–B, Brussels, KBR, iv 421, and Vienna, ÖNB, Cod. ser. n. 12875 provide written melodies for the contrafact songs, which explains the lack of melody references in these cases. All religious songs in Leiden, UB, LTK 218 simply state ‘Alst beghint’ (Like it begins). In all likelihood, for the users of these collections it was not necessary to record the melodies: they were so familiar with them that reading the first verse sufficed to recall the tune. In the manuscripts that do contain melody references, these can be vernacular as well as Latin, and religious as well as profane. Most, if not all, melody references in Brussels, KBR, ii 270–B and Berlin, SBB–PK, mgo 280, for example, refer to melodies that are known by a Latin incipit, e.g. the Christmas hymn ‘Dies est laeticiae’ (This is the joyful day), and not to vernacular songs. Quite a few religious songs are contrafacta of other religious songs. For instance, the song ‘Och God, wat vruechden si hier smaken, die hairs selfs versaken’ (O God, great joy belongs to those who renounce themselves)38 is, as appears from both melody references and similarity of stanza form, a contrafactum of the spiritual ‘Droch werelt, my gruwelt voer dijn weesen’ (Deceitful world, I dread your existence),39 which is in turn a contrafactum of ‘Ave pulcherrima regina’ (Hail, beautiful queen).40 Likewise, the spiritual song ‘Ghewanghen, ghewanghen, ghewanghen ben ic’ (Captured, captured, captured am I)41 refers to the tune of the evidently religious song ‘Lust ende leven, hart ende moet, ic en wijl van heer jhesus niet scheijden’ (Delight and pleasure, heart and courage, I do not want to be separated from lord Jesus). In several other cases, a tune that is in various songbooks indicated by a name taken from a profane incipit is nevertheless called by a name taken from a religious incipit.42

37 The same observation has been made about Middle German song manuscripts: Meyer, ‘Die St Katharinentaler Liedersammlung’, p. 297. 38 Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 190, song 200. 39 This song is transmitted in Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 190, Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631, and Gaesdonck, BCA, MS 37. 40 This song is transmitted in Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 190, Brussels, KBR, MS ii 270–B, and Vienna, ÖNB, MS Cod. ser. n. 12875. 41 Leiden, UB, MS LTK 218, song 12. 42 For example: the melody of song 21 in Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631 (the spiritual reference was cited in footnote 16) is usually referred to with the incipit of a love song (‘Ic weet een vrauken wel bereit’).

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Only three manuscripts present melody references with most of their songs: Berlin, SBB–PK, mgo 185, Berlin, SBB–PK, mgo 190, and Brussels, KBR, ii 2631. Of these references, the majority present incipits of secular texts. Remarkably, the first two codices also present incipits of profane texts as melody references with religious song texts that are preserved in most manuscripts, and therefore must have been very well known. In most sources, for example, the melody of the religious song ‘Ic wyl my selven troesten’ (I want to comfort myself) is indicated with the same incipit, yet only Berlin, SBB–PK, mgo 185 refers to a profane text: ‘Dit is die wyse: “lief haven ende myden”’ (This is the melody: ‘Loving and avoiding’, song 3). The same goes for the song ‘O ghi, die Jhesus wijngart plant’ (O you, who plants Jesus’ vineyard), which is preserved in many sources and which, only according to Berlin, SBB–PK, mgo 185, can be sung to the tune of ‘die meye wil ons mit gelpen bloemen schencken, des vervrouwen’ (Spring wants to offer us yellow flowers, hence (we) rejoice, song 1). The melody that is generally called ‘Hoe lude soe sanck die lere opter tynnen’ (A teacher loudly sang on the gallery), in Berlin, SBB–PK, mgo 185 is indicated as ‘Hoe lustelic waert der mynnen bant ontsloten’ (How pleasantly love’s chains were released, song 35) and the melody generally known as ‘Ic drage dat liden verborgen’ (I suffer my grief in secret) is called ‘Dat gaet hier tegen den somer al datmen syngen sal’ (When summer draws near, one shall sing, song 38). These examples are remarkable, because Berlin, SBB–PK, mgo 185 often presents the song text whose incipit in most collections is used to designate the melody. In such cases, a plain reference like ‘Alst beghint’ would suffice, if a reference were needed at all. The scribe of this codex seems to be one of the few scribes of religious song manuscripts who associated well-known melodies with profane texts rather than with religious ones. Similar but fewer examples are to be found among the melody references in Berlin, SBB–PK, mgo 190, for instance song 178. Brussels, KBR, ii 2631 is notable for a number of reasons. In this codex, as many as six songs are accompanied by multiple references to different tunes that all suit the lyrics.43 Incipits of religious as well as profane song texts are used. Some melodies are considered better known than others by the collection’s compiler. One heading refers to three possible melodies, one of which is described as ‘the old tune, which all of you know well’ and another as a melody from a foreign country. Dit is een gheestelijck, suverlijck lyedekijn ende heeft drie wijsen. Die eerste is die ou wijs, alsoe beghint, die konde ghi alle gader wel. Die ander is: ‘Het daghet wonderlijke, Ic sie die lichte dach, Van die liefste mocht ic 43 The unique character of the headings in Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631 has already been pointed out by Joldersma and Van der Poel, ‘Si singhen met soeter stemmen’, pp. 113–37 and by Grijp, Het Nederlandse lied, p. 216. Many headings not only refer to melodies, they also offer instructions about singing and comment on the songs and their origins.

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swicten’ etcetera. Dit is een overlantse wijse. Die dorde wijse is als men een vaers in twee delt: ‘Het viel op eenen morghenstont’. (This is a spiritual and fine song and it has three melodies. The first is the old one, like it begins, you all know it well. The second is ‘Day is dawning in an exceptional manner, I see the daylight, I have to leave my loved one’ et cetera. This tune comes from a land far away from here. The third is when one splits the verses into two parts: ‘It was at the break of dawn’)44 Other unique features of this collection are headings stating that two songs were first sung locally by secular people: ‘Hillegont Aerontsdochter, Cornelis Cornelis’ soens huusvrou’ (Hillegont, the daughter of Aeront and the housewife of Cornelis, son of Cornelis, song 25) and ‘mijnheer die pastor van die Nuewee Kerck, Meester Ariaen Cornelis die brouwerssoen’ (the parish priest of the New Church, Master Ariaen, son of Cornelis the brewer, song 50). It is uncertain whether this means the wife and the parish priest composed these songs, yet it is noteworthy that their names meant something to the scribe. Finally, three collections not only refer to profane texts, but also contain actual profane songs. Manuscript Leiden, UB, LTK 218 contains two, whereas Brussels, KBR, ii 2631, and Leiden, UB, BPL 1289 contain no fewer than six and eleven profane songs, respectively.45 As such, these manuscripts demonstrate a relatively strong connection to profane song culture. Moreover, the latter manuscript was at some stage bound together with a copy of the Souterliedekens. A comment that is somewhat similar to those in the prologues of the printed songbooks has only been preserved in manuscript The Hague, KB, MS 75 H 42. This multi-text codex contains several prayers and other devotional texts, as well as a cycle of nine religious songs. The collection is preceded by a prologue that clearly relates to profane song culture: it states that the devout songs were composed to the tunes of profane songs, so that the user may forget the profane lyrics, which only lead to idleness and impede devotion.46 However, as opposed to the printed songbooks, in The Hague, KB, MS 75 H 42 no melody references are included, nor are there any indications that profane texts were sung to the same tunes.47

44 Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631, fol. 43r. 45 Joldersma, ‘“Geestelijke” en “wereldlijke” liederen’, pp. 58–73, has suggested that the profane songs in Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631 could be interpreted spiritually within this religious song collection. She therefore characterizes these songs as ‘occasionally sacred’. 46 ‘Dit es die gheestelike melodie tusschen Jhesu Cristum ende de minnende ziele, geset op noetkins van weerliken liedekins, om dat men die werlike worden sal moghen vergheeten, want daar niets dan ydelheit in gheleghen en es ende dicwile zijn zij een groot hinder des gheesteliken levens’, The Hague, KB, MS  75 H 42, fol. 217r–v. 47 Van Dongen, ‘Een devoot ende profitelijck boecxken’, p. 107; Dutch Song Database.

T he Re -U se o f Me lo d i e s

Music, Lyrics, and Environment A tentative survey has revealed a diverse re-use of melodies. Since the occurrence of melody references presumably implies some sort of familiarity with the indicated song texts, the variation could be the result of differing users. All three printed songbooks were produced in the city of Antwerp. Most of the manuscript song collections, however, belonged to convents of religious women and men, who supposedly were not as much in touch with profane or urban culture as the audience of the printed books. This raises the question whether the differing users’ environments are related to the variety in melody references and other traces of profane songs that I observed above. Profane incipits may be abundant in printed songbooks because their intended users were familiar with the profane song texts. They may be less present in manuscript collections, because sisters and brothers knew the melodies by the first verses of the religious texts.48 Theoretical Background

There is ample theoretical ground to suppose that the compilation and use of song collections were to some extent shaped by their environment. The production and reception of both lyrics and music are highly influenced by their social and situational contexts.49 Fascinatingly, the idea that our musical surroundings involuntarily affect the words and melodies we sing is supported by several studies conducted outside the humanities. I will summarize a few interesting conclusions that highlight the subject’s significance. First, we can think of the spontaneous songs sung by young children during a certain stage of their language acquisition. Research shows that in these improvised compositions, consisting of single words or short sentences, children usually integrate elements of the music they were previously exposed to, such as its words and rhythm.50 In addition, research in music psychology suggests that recent aural exposure is the most important cause of the phenomenon that is generally known as ‘earworms’: tunes whose lyrics stick in the mind and repeat themselves over and over to our internal hearing. In most documented cases, this involuntary musical imagery occurs after having been aurally exposed (either consciously or subconsciously) to the song in question. It was also observed that refrains have a particular tendency to stick in the mind.51 This is very relevant, as refrains feature in many Middle Dutch songs. Moreover, the dragging quality 48 A somewhat similar observation was made by Knuttel, Het geestelijk lied, p. 244. 49 For example Bakhtin, Dialogic Imagination, pp. 267, 281–82; Tan, Pfordresher, and Harré, Psychology of Music; Lashua, Way, and Spracklen, eds, Sounds and the City. 50 Tan, Pfordrescher, and Harré, Psychology of Music, pp. 156–57. 51 Williamson and others, ‘How do “Earworms” Start?’; Halpern and Bartlett, ‘The Persistence of Musical Memories’; Margulis, On Repeat, pp. 76–82.

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of refrains has already been mentioned in the excerpt from Hooft’s letter that appears in the Introduction of this article. Earworms clearly are not simply a modern-day phenomenon. Earworms can be induced by frequent relistenings to the same tune. Whether the musical piece is already familiar to the listener or not is not of any importance. Professional musicians, for instance, do not report this phenomenon more often than others do, nor are the tunes that get stuck in their heads more likely to be compositions they studied and know very well. In short, we are innately much more likely to think of a song when we have recently heard it.52 A final example is musical preference, which is largely determined by one’s surroundings as well. Several psychological studies suggest that repeated exposure to certain pieces of music results in a preference for those pieces. Although over-exposure ultimately leads to increasing displeasure, people tend to prefer the music they are most familiar with. Also, people use their musical preferences for social purposes: individuals adapt their preferences (or pretend as much) to those of individuals they identify with.53 Exposure to Differing Surroundings

The late medieval urban environment was a very productive one for the transmission of song texts and melodies. Singing was a popular activity, performed in public spaces and enjoyed by people of various ages and backgrounds. In the market square, in the streets, in the parish church, and in taverns, profane as well as spiritual vernacular songs could frequently be heard. In these places, artists performed songs to an audience, merchants and vendors sang tunes praising their goods, and people sang together for enjoyment. On the square, song vendors sang on elevated platforms, selling the song texts on printed sheets to the public.54 It is thus not surprising that religious songbooks were printed in an urban environment. However, besides the printers’ names, the songbooks only offer indirect clues about their origins and use. The compiler of the Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken, for instance, was probably a member of the Franciscan order.55 Also, the prologues of both the Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken and Souterliedekens are directed to youths and their parents, guardians, or other educators. According to the compiler of Souterliedekens, the songs are quite suitable for singing alone, with the family, in the company of virtuous people, or when 52 Williamson and others, ‘How do “Earworms” Start?’; Halpern and Bartlett, ‘The Persistence of Musical Memories’, pp. 425–32; Margulis, On Repeat, pp. 76–77. 53 Margulis, On Repeat, pp. 95–104; Hargreaves and North, The Social Psychology of Music, pp. 67–83. 54 Het Antwerps Liedboek, ed. by Van der Poel and others, pp. 36–41; Brinkman, Dichten uit liefde, pp. 33–71; De Morrée, ‘Devout Sisters’ Aural Experiences’. 55 Van Dongen, ‘Een devoot ende profitelijck boecxken’, pp. 35, 37.

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travelling, working, or at the dinner table. This list does not exclude other contexts, but it seems that the collection primarily aimed at use by laypeople in informal social situations. Even so, we unfortunately know nothing about the actual owners or users of individual copies.56 Information about the place of possession — and, presumably, use — is available for about half of the manuscripts. Most of these places are situated within or just outside cities. Even so, the intensity of contact between the city and the religious sisters and brothers who owned the collections varied. In most cases, the available information about these environments is neither very detailed nor concrete. Nevertheless, it appears that profane songs as well as melody references that take their names from the incipits of profane song texts are relatively abundant in sources originating from an urban environment, and remarkably scarce in sources from a monastic environment (Table 7.3).57 Five collections show a connection with profane song that is relatively evident. Of two of those manuscripts, no place of origin or possession is known as yet. Several scholars have linked manuscript Berlin, SBB–PK, mgo 190 to Utrecht, but according to the most recent research the evidence is not very strong. Although its origins remain unknown, the manuscript is generally supposed to have been used in a religious community where the Latin liturgy was celebrated, since it contains not only a vernacular repertoire but also a substantial collection of Latin chants that may have served liturgical purposes.58 Manuscript Brussels, KBR, ii 2631 was first thought to originate from a city in South Holland, such as Dordrecht or Delft, but later it was pointed out that the pen work seems to originate from the city of ’s-Hertogenbosch or the surrounding region. Since this manuscript, like Berlin, SBB–PK, mgo 190, contains a vernacular repertoire as well as Latin liturgical chants, its users must have been familiar with the Latin liturgy to some extent. Based on its contents, the manuscript is supposed to have belonged to a convent of one of the Franciscan orders, possibly tertiaries, but it cannot be connected to a specific community.59 The third collection with an evident connection to profane song, Berlin, SBB–PK, mgo 185, was probably in the possession of the convent of Saint Cecilia of sisters of the common life in the city of Zwolle, in the eastern

56 A copy of the Souterliedekens (second edition, 1540) was at some stage bound together with a song manuscript. Together they now form Leiden, UB, MS BPL 1289. Even though one of the song manuscript’s owners has been identified, it remains unsure when both parts were combined. 57 An overview of the state of research into the provenance and date of these manuscripts is presented in De Morrée, Voor de tijd van het jaar. 58 Het liederenhandschrift, ed. by Mertens and others. 59 De Loos and Van der Poel, ‘Het liederenhandschrift’; De Loos, ‘De interactie tussen liturgische zang’.

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c éc i l e de m o r r é e Table 7.3. Owners of Middle Dutch song manuscript collections.

Manuscript

Date

Place of possession Community

RELATIVELY EVIDENT CONNECTION WITH PROFANE SONG Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 185 Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 190 Brussels, KBR, MS ii 2631 The Hague, KB, MS  75 H 42

c. 1475–1505 Zwolle c. 1480–1500 Utrecht? c. 1525 1473

’s-Hertogenbosch? Antwerp?

Leiden, UB, MS BPL 1289 c. 1540–1550 Ter Bank, outside (+ Souterliedekens) Leuven

Sisters of the common life ? Tertiaries? Beguinage (sixteenth century?) Priory and leper house (c. 1586)

RELATIVELY WEAK CONNECTION WITH PROFANE SONG Leiden, UB, MS LTK 218 Paris, BnF, MS Fonds Néerl. 39 Brussels, KBR, MS ii 270-B

c. 1540 ? c. 1475–1525 Brussels

? Rich Clares

c. 1500–1510 ?

?

NO CONNECTION WITH PROFANE SONG Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo c. 1525–1550 ? 280 Gaesdonck, BCA, MS 37 c. 1400– Gaesdonck 1500 Leiden, UB, MS LTK c. 1470–80 ? 2058 Brussels, KBR, MS iv 421 c. 1450–1500 Tongeren Vienna, ÖNB, MS Cod. ser. n. 12875

c. 1470–1500 ?

? Canons regular of Saint Augustine ? Canons regular of Saint Augustine ?

Low Countries.60 These sisters lived a religious life according to strict rules. Spiritually, they were placed under the care of the brothers of the common 60 On the flyleaf of Berlin, SBB–PK, MS mgo 185 is written: ‘Dit boeck hoert toe […] vander Nyestat int kyf kynderhuss’. Because the sisters were involved in teaching children, the convent of Saint Cecilia was also called the Children’s House (‘kynderhuss’), and it was situated in the newer part of the city (‘Nyestat’). De Morrée, ‘Komt het Deventer liederenhandschrift’.

T he Re -U se o f Me lo d i e s

life in the same city. Legally, the sisters fell under the jurisdiction of the urban authorities, because they did not belong to a monastic order. It was this subjection to secular law that caused a series of quarrels between the sisters and the city council. The council obliged the sisters to attend all liturgical services in the parish church and explicitly forbade them from adopting a monastic rule or striving for autonomy.61 This situation evidently annoyed the sisters, for they spent the better part of the fifteenth century trying to gain independence and recognition of their religious identity. In the end, the convent of Saint Cecilia was detached from the urban parish in 1501.62 Until then, the sisters had been obliged to visit the parish church on all Sundays and feast days, together with the other parishioners, as was prescribed by the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215.63 This means that the sisters were forced to leave their convent and take a 350-metre walk through Zwolle on a regular basis. On this occasion, they would have had to cross the market square, and consequently they would be exposed to daily urban life. Since the streets and markets were pre-eminent locations for singing, the church visits offered regular opportunities for exposure to profane songs. Additionally, the parish church itself formed a source of urban influences. The church held a central position in the community, and the building could have numerous functions of both a sacred and secular nature. Besides liturgical services, the parish church housed markets, plays, and distributions of food to the poor (often preceding Mass or directly afterwards). In the eastern Low Countries, it was also an important place for government communication: no decision of the city council was official until it had been announced in the parish church, after Mass, when all inhabitants would have been present to hear it.64 Given the church’s function as a central meeting place in the urban community, it is likely that vernacular singing was among the activities enjoyed here. Additionally, vernacular songs were sometimes sung during celebrations of special feasts, like Christmas and Easter, together with liturgical plays and other forms of re-enactment of biblical events, such as communal cradle rocking. Since many of the Zwolle sisters were born and raised in the city, they must have run into their family and former acquaintances on these occasions. Not surprisingly, these parish church visits were often regarded as a real danger to the sisters’ spirituality by their male religious guardians, as well as by some of the sisters themselves.65

61 Berkenvelder, Zwolse Regesten, no. 1074. 62 Van Luijk, ‘Bruiden van Christus’, pp. 127–28; Wormgoor, Uit vrije wil, p. 195. 63 Van Luijk, ‘Bruiden van Christus’, p. 126; Wormgoor, Uit vrije wil, pp. 191–92; Berkenvelder, Zwolse Regesten, nos 2100, 2105, 2124; Kuys, Kerkelijke organisatie, p. 68. 64 Kuys, Kerkelijke organisatie, pp. 73–75; Wormgoor, Uit vrije wil, pp. 101–05; Kuys, ‘Weltliche Funktionen’. 65 A detailed reconstruction of these fifteenth-century parish church visits, as well as the sisters’ attitudes towards them, is presented in De Morrée, ‘Devout Sisters’ Aural Experiences’, pp. 165–68; Van Luijk, ‘Bruiden van Christus’, pp. 139–44; Hier beginnen sommige stichtige

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Other occasions for contact with the urban community were provided by the sisters’ manual labour. They produced textile goods and ran a small school for young children. The school gave the convent its second name, the Kinderhuis (Children’s House). It provided opportunities for contact with the children and their parents, who visited them occasionally.66 In the second half of the fifteenth century, the convent’s textile production increased substantially. As a result, the competition proved too strong for the urban weavers’ guilds. This again led to a series of quarrels between the Saint Cecilia convent and the urban authorities, resulting in numerous regulations. Through their textile production the sisters also maintained contact with lay individuals, who would order cloth from them. This was usually coordinated by a particular sister.67 Furthermore, several sources indicate that some sisters of the common life visited their friends and family, or received visitors in the convent. One sister in the Deventer Meester Geertshuis (Master Geert’s House) is praised for not interrupting her prayers when her lay cousin came to visit her. Instead, she made her wait until she had finished her devotions. Another sister wanted to move to another convent, because she felt her relatives visited her too often. However, although it was generally considered undesirable to spend too much time with lay friends, in some cases it did not impede a religious life. One of the sisters who visited her friends came back unaltered, because her friends were good and virtuous people. Another sister went to spend time with her family and at dinner time, she was placed at the servant’s table instead of at the family table. This was a kind gesture on the part of her mother, who feared that her daughter’s confrontation with the life she had left behind would make her doubt her choice for a religious life.68 Finally, the religious community of Saint Cecilia’s was situated in an ordinary town house, surrounded by neighbours, to whom the sisters were no strangers. As in modern times, medieval neighbours quarrelled, and at one

punten, ed. by De Man, p. 152; Van den doechden der vuriger ende stichtiger susteren van Diepen Veen, ed. by Brinkerink, pp. 9–10; Van Dijk, Een rij van spiegels, pp. 70, 172–74; De Morrée, Voor de tijd van het jaar. 66 The school is mentioned in the late fifteenth-century chronicle of the Zwolle convent of brothers of the common life. Jacobus Traiecti alias De Voecht, Narratio, ed. by Schoengen, pp. li, lxvii–lxviii, lxxvi–lxxxix. 67 Van Luijk, ‘Bruiden van Christus’, pp. 120–22, 209–10; Hier beginnen sommige stichtige punten, ed. by De Man, p. 194; Van Luijk, ‘“Want ledicheit een vyant”’. 68 Hier beginnen sommige stichtige punten, ed. by De Man, pp. 48, 114, 190, 245. This publication contains a large collection of vitae of sisters of the common life that is preserved from the Meester Geertshuis (Master Geert’s House), a convent of sisters of the common life in the neighbouring city of Deventer. Even though these vitae had an exemplary function and may therefore present an idealized version of convent life, they offer a colourful insight into the sisters’ daily surroundings in a community of the same type as the Zwolle convent of Saint Cecilia. With some caution, this so-called sister book can therefore be used as an additional source.

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time, in 1514, the sisters had a disagreement with one of them over the use of a common well. Similar disagreements are documented for other houses of sisters of the common life, for instance concerning the right of passage through a certain alley behind a row of houses.69 From these examples it becomes evident that life in the Saint Cecilia convent was probably not as secluded as we might expect from a religious community. Of the two remaining collections that show a relatively evident connection with profane song, the owners are known from users’ inscriptions dating from after the collections were produced. Again, both owners lived in a religious community in an urban environment. An owner of The Hague, KB, MS 75 H 42 wrote her name in a (possibly) sixteenth-century hand, identifying herself as sister Mertijnken van Corselles.70 She mentions the Antwerp beguinage, but the inscription is in such a bad condition that it is hard to make out whether she is related to this convent as a sister or as a benefactress.71 Fortunately, she stated her name and ownership in two other manuscripts, in one of which she calls herself ‘baghynken van Antwerpen’ (beguine of Antwerp).72 The Antwerp beguinage called Sion was a rather large court beguinage, consisting of about a hundred beguine houses. The court also featured a chapel and several service buildings, such as a bakery, a brewery, and an infirmary. It was originally situated just outside the city walls, but it was moved into the city around 1544. Beguines led a contemplative as well as an active life, involving themselves in charity, teaching, and manual labour, thus following the apostolic ideal, much like the sisters of the common life did. Among their main activities were producing and selling textiles, teaching young girls, and nursing the sick and elderly.73 It hardly seems far-fetched to assume that these activities involved at least some contact with the urban environment, as was the case for the sisters of the common life. Manuscript Leiden, UB, BPL 1289 contains three names of females, who presumably owned the manuscript one after the other.74 The earliest-known

69 Van Luijk, ‘Bruiden van Christus’, pp. 178–79. Hier beginnen sommige stichtige punten, ed. by De Man, p. 76 records a neighbour’s refusal to lend the sisters any cutlery. 70 ‘Suster Mertijnken van Corselles geft dit bock […] bidt vor mij bij god, ist al datmen begeren sal den coor van bagijnhof tAnwerpen’, The Hague, KB, MS  75 H 42, fol. 1r. In a short colophon on fol. 286r the scribe states that the copying work was finished in 1473. 71 Stooker and Verbeij, Collecties op orde, p. 47. 72 Brussels, KBR, MS 5144, containing works of David of Augsburg, translated into Middle Dutch: ‘Desen boeck behoert toe suster Mertijnken van Corstelles ende geft hem den closter daer hij van comen is voer een testement’ (fol. 1r). Brussels, KBR, MS 11856–57, containing translated works of Thomas a Kempis and Pseudo-Augustine: ‘Desen boeck behoert toe Mertynken van Corsteller, baghynken van Antwerpen, brent hem weder om Gods wiel’ (flyleaf). 73 Simons, Cities of Ladies, pp. 48–51, 61–87, 256. 74 The oldest note in Leiden, UB, MS BPL 1289 reads: ‘Desen boeck hoert toe Joeffrouwe Jenneken Verelst woenende totter cloester Ter Banck. Wij desen boeck vint eer hij verloren is dij zal sterven eer hij siec is’ (flyleaf). The other, later owners only wrote their names on

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owner, Jenneken Verelst, was identified with the help of archival documents. In 1586, she was the prioress of the priory and leprosery Ter Bank, located just outside the city of Leuven. The priory was placed under the care of the Cistercian abbey of Villers. Its function was providing care and a home for skin-disease patients, who were unwelcome inhabitants of the city.75 The leprosery of Ter Bank has not been the subject of a thorough study yet, but research on other leper houses provides some relevant information, since the dioceses in the Low Countries strived for a uniform approach to the problems posed by the increasing number of leprosy patients. Leper houses in Ghent, Tournai, Lille, Malines, Antwerp, Geel, and Herentals all had similar regulations. The sisters took vows of obedience, poverty, and chastity, whereas the lepers were only bound to the vow of obedience. The main sources of income were donations and sums for board and lodging paid by the patients. For obvious reasons, most leper houses had a private chapel, where all sisters and patients were obliged to attend religious celebrations.76 Even if life in the leper house was organized by rules resembling convent life, daily encounters with laypeople ensured that the sisters had to deal with profane influences to some extent.77 The priory and leper house of Ter Bank had a clear connection to the city of Leuven. Its foundation, around 1200, was initiated by both the city and the local Lord Goswin of Heverlee. Like most medieval leper houses, it was in part governed by the urban authorities: two urban guardians were appointed every year to oversee the priory’s possessions and financial administration. The priory also possessed a house in the city, where the sisters could take refuge in emergency situations, such as in times of war. Furthermore, from the end of the fifteenth century, the priory of Ter Bank functioned not only as a leper house, but also as a secular court of law, where the health of lepers and those infected by other skin diseases was assessed, in order to determine whether they were eligible for admission into a leper house or deemed fit to return to society. This function was not a local one: the court evaluated the situation of patients from a large part of the southern Low Countries, covering the diocese of Liège.78

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the flyleaf of the song manuscript: Maiken Mertensdochter alias Passchens and Mariken Paesschens van Gheel. About these two persons nothing is known and it is uncertain whether they also lived in the priory and leper house Ter Bank. On the title page of the printed edition of Souterliedekens, still another user wrote his name in a younger hand: Paulus Veezaerdt. Oosterman, ‘Jenneken Verelst en Anna Bijns’. Boone, ‘De mazen in het netwerk’, p. 366; Gysseling, ‘De statuten’; Ebbinge Wubben, Leven als doodverklaarden, pp. 42–106; Goudriaan, ‘Early Hospital Development’. It is, however, not entirely certain what the sisters’ duties consisted of, and whether they worked as nurses. Leper houses varied in this respect, just as hospitals did. Goudriaan, ‘Early Hospital Development’, pp. 51–53; Ebbinge Wubben, Leven als doodverklaarden, pp. 76–85. Van Buyten, ‘Terbank’; Goudriaan, ‘Early Hospital Development’, pp. 40–48.

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The manuscript Leiden, UB, BPL 1289 was presumably copied around 1540–1550. It is uncertain whether the collection was compiled near Leuven. Previous scholars have characterized it as a representation of song culture in the city of Antwerp during the decades prior to 1540. This is not only based on the edition of the Souterliedekens it now shares its cover with. The manuscript collection has quite a few of its twenty-six songs in common with other printed songbooks from Antwerp. Seven songs also occur in the Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken and four are to be found in the secular Antwerp Songbook (1544). The collection also contains a song by the Antwerp rhetorician Anna Bijns.79 However, it was but a short journey between Antwerp and Leuven, both prosperous cities, and probably the same songs were distributed, known, and appreciated there. Furthermore, wherever the collection was compiled, it was kept and, given the owner’s inscription, very probably also used in Ter Bank. Even without knowing the compilation’s origins, this is a valuable observation. As far as the current knowledge about the manuscripts’ environments stretches, all known owners of collections demonstrating a rather evident connection with profane song lived in a religious community which followed strict religious rules. Even so, on occasions they all were to some extent exposed to their urban surroundings. While living in a convent, they had some opportunities to absorb secular songs and other urban cultural products. The examples discussed above are not plentiful, but they do form a meaningful contrast with the manuscript song collections that demonstrate only a weak connection with profane song or none at all. In comparison, the latter collections were in the possession of nuns and monks whose daily surroundings seem to have differed from those of the sisters of the common life, the beguinage, and the leper house. The differences are related to three particular areas: these nuns and monks were not subjected to secular law but to ecclesiastical law, they had a private chapel or cloister church, and they spent their days celebrating the Divine Office instead of working. All of these differences seem to correspond negatively to opportunities for exposure to urban culture. Manuscript Paris, BnF, Fonds Néerl. 39 belonged to a sister Liisbet Ghoeyvaers, who was possibly its first owner.80 A second owner’s mark, written in a later, sixteenth-century hand, was added by a sister Johanna Cueliens, stating that sister Liisbet had given the book to her.81 This Johanna Cueliens was identified as the prioress of the Brussels convent of Rich Clares,

79 Oosterman, ‘Jenneken Verelst en Anna Bijns’, pp. 52–54. 80 ‘Dit leiisenbuecsken hoert thoe suster Liisbet Ghoeyuaers’, fol. 22v. 81 ‘Dit boexskens hoort toe suster Johanna Cueliens. Suster Elisabet Ghoeuyuaers heuet mij gegeuen’, fol. 80v.

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based on three notarial deeds from 1580 and 1591.82 The Rich Clares lived in a community that was originally situated outside the city of Brussels. Yet within decades after the convent’s foundation, the city was enlarged and its new walls enclosed the existing convent. As members of the Second Order of Saint Francis, the sisters were subjected to ecclesiastical law, and no conflicts or other dealings with the government of urban Brussels are documented.83 In the period in which the song manuscript was produced, the sisters led a secluded life, subjected to strict clausura. They celebrated the Divine Office in their private church. The sisters were financially independent: novices were required to bring in large dowries and the convent owned several estates, farm lands, fields, and fishponds, and received numerous legacies. This situation remained more or less unchanged until halfway through the sixteenth century.84 In 1578 the cloister buildings were demolished. The sisters stayed in temporary residences until they found a new home in 1589, during the period when the then owner of the songbook was prioress.85 Manuscripts Brussels, KBR, iv 421 and Gaesdonck, BCA, 37, containing small song collections as well as other devout texts, both belonged to convents of canons regular of Saint Augustine. These are the convent Ter Nood Gods in the city of Tongeren and the convent of Gaesdonck, situated in a remote area, near Goch. Like the Rich Clares, these brothers belonged to a monastic order and they had a private chapel. Although to my knowledge these specific convents have not been subjected to an in-depth study, it seems consistent with my previous observations that the collections from these communities do not demonstrate any connection to profane song culture.

Conclusion: The Connection of Religious Song to the Urban Environment The general image of spiritual songs being sung to the tunes of secular songs is less representative for religious song collections than is generally assumed. Although the majority of the melody references preserved with religious 82 Het liedboek van Liisbet Ghoeyuaers, ed. by Van Seggelen, p. 21. That this convent is the place of origin of the manuscript is supported by the collection’s dialect and the songs about the Saints Francis, Clare, and Barbara, who were especially venerated by this community. Also, the manuscript was later bound together with a printed document from the Archbishop of Malines, dated 1603, addressing religious people among others, and referring to the Brussels church of Saint Goedele. This suggests that the manuscript remained in the same convent from its production c. 1475–1525 until the beginning of the sixteenth century. 83 Juvyns, ‘Le couvent (1)’; Juvyns, ‘Le couvent (2)’; Juvyns, ‘Le couvent (3)’. 84 Juvyns, ‘Le couvent (2)’, pp. 71–72; Roggen, De Clarissenorde, p. 90. Regarding the financial situation, there are some indications that the convent’s resources decreased at the very end of the fifteenth century, Juvyns, ‘Le couvent (3)’, p. 147. 85 Juvyns, ‘Le couvent (3)’, pp. 157–59, 163; Juvyns, ‘La communauté’.

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songs indicate the tune by the incipit of a secular text, names derived from spiritual texts are used as well. Furthermore, melody references are absent more often than is generally accounted for, particularly in the manuscript tradition. Especially with regard to the many songs that are transmitted in several collections, melody references often seem to have been deemed superfluous, because these songs’ spiritual incipits sufficed to recall the accompanying tunes. Consequently, those who wanted to sing religious songs did not necessarily need to know a great many profane songs. Religious song culture was not entirely dependent on secular song culture, for religious songs also functioned independently. This is highlighted by the many contrafacta of religious songs, as indicated by the melody references. Moreover, many compilers and scribes in religious communities seem to have preferred religious incipits over references to profane ones, not because the profane melody names were considered improper, but because the religious lyrics were more familiar to them. Melodies were known by different names, and they could be called differently depending on the incipit that was best known to their users. However tentative my survey is, and in spite of all the insecurities associated with it, a general pattern in the designation of re-used melodies is visible. Comparatively speaking, the greater the intensity of the connections between users of a religious song collection and the urban environment, the greater the influence of profane song culture on those collections, even if the users lived in convents. This observation can be explained by the influence of regular and recent aural exposure to specific songs on the cognition, recollection, and preference of those songs. Modern scholars tend to assume that all songs selected for Middle Dutch collections were chosen for their textual content. They seem to believe that the song texts appealed to the users from the first to the last stanza. Indeed, the culture of the Modern Devotion, the spiritual movement that was most influential in the cities and convents of the Low Countries in the later Middle Ages, was highly text-oriented. Also, it has been convincingly argued that several collections of Middle Dutch religious songs were used in spiritual practices, including meditation, which allowed for a repetitive concentration on the text’s meaning. And yet, maybe, the collections are also representations of users’ sound worlds. They may have appreciated a tune because it reminded them of something else, for instance family or sunshine, or some unconscious association. Moreover, like all humans of all eras, medieval people were naturally inclined to prefer and recall a tune because of its familiarity and because they had recently heard it. The urban sonic environment offered ample opportunities for aural exposure to secular song — even, on particular occasions, to certain groups of religious people. It is therefore quite possible that the traces of profane song that are present in religious song collections are the footprint of the late medieval sonic city.

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Bibliography Manuscripts and Archival Sources Berlin, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin - Preußischer Kulturbesitz, MS mgo 185 ———, MS mgo 190 ———, MS mgo 280 Brussels, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, MS ii 270–B ———, MS ii 2631 ———, MS iv 421 Gaesdonck, Bibliothek des Collegium Augustinianum, MS 37 Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS BPL 1289 ———, MS LTK 218 ———, MS LTK 2058 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS Fonds Néerlandais 39 The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, MS KW 75 H 42 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS Codices series nova 12875 Primary Sources Suverlijc boecxken – Dit is een suverlijc boecxken, in welcke staen scone leysen ende veel scone gheestelike liedekens (Antwerp: Adriaen van Bergen, 1508) Dit is een suverlijc boecxken, ed. by J. J. Mak (Amsterdam: Wereld-Bibliotheek, 1957) Devoot ende profitelijck boecxken – Een devoot ende profitelijck boecxken, inhoudende veel ghestelijcke liedekens ende leysenen, diemen tot deser tijt toe heeft connen ghevinden in prente oft in ghescrifte (Antwerpen: Symon Cock, 1539) Een devoot ende profitelijck boecxken, ed. by D. F. Scheurleer (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1889) Het Antwerps Liedboek, ed. by Dieuwke van der Poel, Dirk Geirnaert, Hermina Joldersma, Johan Oosterman, and Louis Peter Grijp, 2 vols (Tielt: Uitgeverij Lannoo, 2004) Het liedboek van Liisbet Ghoeyuaers, ed. by A. J. M. van Seggelen (Zwolle: Tjeenk Willink, 1966) Het liederenhandschrift Berlijn 190. Hs. Staatsbibliothek Zu Berlin - Preußischer Kulturbesitz Germ. Oct. 190, ed. by Thom Mertens, Dieuwke van der Poel, Gisela Gerritsen-Geywitz, Koen Goudriaan, Hermina Joldersma, Ike de Loos, and Johan Oosterman, Middeleeuwse Verzamelhandschriften uit de Nederlanden, 12 (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2013) Hier beginnen sommige stichtige punten van onsen oelden zusteren, ed. by D. de Man (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1919) Jacobus Traiecti alias De Voecht, Narratio de Inchoatione Domus Clericorum in Zwollis. Met Akten en Bescheiden betreffende dit Fraterhuis, ed. by M. Schoengen (Amsterdam: Johannes Müller, 1908)

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Souter Liedekens ghemaect ter eeren Gods, op alle die Psalmen van David: tot stichtinghe, en een gheestelijcke vermakinghe van allen Christen menschen (Antwerp: Symon Cock, 1540) Souterliedekens, ed. by Nicoline van der Sijs and Hans Beelen [accessed 24 July 2020] Van den doechden der vuriger ende stichtiger susteren van Diepen Veen, ed. by D. A. Brinkerink (Groningen: Wolters, 1904) Secondary Works Bakhtin, M. M., Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays, ed. by Michael Holquist (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981) Berkenvelder, F. C., Zwolse Regesten, 6 vols (Zwolle: Waanders, 1980–1997) Boone, Marc, ‘De mazen in het netwerk’, in Prinsen en poorters. Beelden van de laatmiddeleeuwse samenleving in de Bourgondische Nederlanden 1384–1530, ed. by Walter Prevenier (Antwerpen: Mercatorfonds, 1998), pp. 355–78 Brinkman, Herman, Dichten uit liefde. Literatuur in Leiden aan het einde van de Middeleeuwen (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 1997) Buyten, L. van, ‘Terbank: 800 Jaar Zorg voor Mensen’, Museumstrip, 23 (1996), 50–56 Dijk, Mathilde van, Een rij van spiegels. De Heilige Barbara van Nicomedia als voorbeeld voor vrouwelijke religieuzen (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2000) Dongen, Jeske van, ‘Een devoot ende profitelijck boecxken. Terug naar de bron’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Radboud Universiteit Nijmegen, 2011) Dutch Song Database (Amsterdam: KNAW/Meertens Instituut) [accessed 1 November 2017] Ebbinge Wubben, Susa, Leven als doodverklaarden. Leprozenzorg in Europa (500–1800) (Zeist: Uitgeverij Christofoor, 1993) Goudriaan, Koen, ‘Early Hospital Development in the Provinces of Holland, Zealand and Utrecht’, in Piety in Practice and Print: Essays on the Late Medieval Religious Landscape, ed. by Anna Dlabačová and Ad Tervoort (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2016), pp. 31–73 Grijp, Louis Peter, Het Nederlandse lied in de Gouden Eeuw. Het mechanisme van de contrafactuur (Amsterdam: P. J. Meertens Instituut, 1991) Grove Music Online (Oxford: Oxford University Press) [accessed 1 November 2017] Gysseling, Maurits, ‘De statuten van de Gentse leprozerie van 1236’, Studia Germanica Gandensia, v (1963), 9–43 Halpern, Andrea R., and James C. Bartlett, ‘The Persistence of Musical Memories: A Descriptive Study of Earworms’, Music Perception: An Interdisciplinary Journal, 28 (2011), 425–32 Hargreaves, David J., and Adrian C. North, The Social Psychology of Music (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997) Joldersma, Hermina, ‘“Geestelijke” en “wereldlijke” liederen. Enige aspecten van het handschrift Brussel MS ii, 2631’, in Veelderhande liedekens: Studies over het Nederlandse lied tot 1600, ed. by Frank Willaert, Antwerpse studies over Nederlandse literatuurgeschiedenis, 2 (Leuven: Peeters, 1997), pp. 58–73

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Joldersma, Hermina, and Dieuwke van der Poel, ‘Si singhen met soeter stemmen. Het liederenhandschrift Brussel KB ii 2631’, Nederlandse Letterkunde, 5 (2000), 113–37 Juvyns, Claudine, ‘La communauté des riches-claires de Bruxelles de 1585–1796’, Cahiers Bruxellois, 10 (1965), 181–239 Juvyns, Marie-Jeanne, ‘Le couvent des riches-claires à Bruxelles (1343–1585) (1)’, Franciscana, 19 (1964), 120–36 ———, ‘Le couvent des riches-claires à Bruxelles (1343–1585) (2)’, Franciscana, 20 (1965), 66–94 ———, ‘Le couvent des riches-claires à Bruxelles (1343–1585) (3)’, Franciscana, 20 (1965), 141–63 Knuttel, J. A. N., Het geestelijk lied in de Nederlanden voor de kerkhervorming (Rotterdam: Brusse, 1906) Kuys, Jan, Kerkelijke organisatie in het middeleeuwse bisdom Utrecht (Nijmegen: Valkhof Pers, 2004) ———, ‘Weltliche Funktionen Spätmittelalterlicher Pfarrkirchen in den Nördlichen Niederlanden’, in The Use and Abuse of Sacred Places in Late Medieval Towns, ed. by Paul Trio and Marjan De Smet (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2006), pp. 27–45 Lashua, Brett, Stephen Way, and Karl Spracklen, eds, Sounds and the City: Popular Music, Place and Globalization (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2014) Lenselink, S. J., De Nederlandse psalmberijmingen in de 16de eeuw. Van de ‘Souterliedekens’ tot ‘Datheen’ met hun voorgangers in Duitsland en Frankrijk (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1959) Loos, Ike de, ‘De interactie tussen liturgische zang en niet-liturgische liederen’, Ons Geestelijk Erf, 76 (2002), 155–76 Loos, Ike de, and Dieuwke van der Poel, ‘Het liederenhandschrift Brussel KB ii 2631. Samenstelling en repertoire’, Queeste: Journal of Medieval Literature in the Low Countries, 8 (2001), 97–119 Luijk, Madelon van, ‘Bruiden van Christus. De tweede religieuze vrouwenbeweging in Leiden en Zwolle 1380–1580’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, 2003) ———, ‘“Want ledicheit een vyant der zielen is”. Handenarbeid in laatmiddeleeuwse vrouwengemeenschappen’, Madoc, 17 (2003), 114–23 Margulis, Elizabeth Hellmuth, On Repeat: How Music Plays the Mind (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014) Meyer, Ruth, ‘Die St Katharinentaler Liedersammlung. Zu Gehalt und Funktion einer bislang Unbeachteten Sammlung Geistlicher Lieder des 15. Jahrhunderts’, in Lied im Deutsche Mittelalter: Überlieferung, Typen, Gebrauch, ed. by Cyril Edwards, Ernst Hellgardt, and Norbert Ott (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer, 1996), pp. 295–307 Morrée, Cécile de, ‘Komt het Deventer liederenhandschrift wel uit Deventer?’, Spiegel der letteren, 55 (2013), 121–32

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———, ‘Devout Sisters’ Aural Experiences in the Late Medieval Urban Sonic Environment: Soundscaping the Functional Context of Oral Literature’, Ons Geestelijk Erf, 86 (2015), 159–77 ———, Voor de tijd van het jaar. Vervaardiging, organisatie en gebruikscontext van Middelnederlandse devote liedverzamelingen (ca.1470–1588) (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2017) Oosterman, Johan, ‘Jenneken Verelst en Anna Bijns. Nieuws over handschrift Leiden, UB, MS BPL 1289 en zijn inhoud’, Spiegel der letteren, 42 (2000), 49–57 ———, ‘Ik breng u de mei: Meigebruiken, meitakken en meibomen in Middelnederlandse meiliederen’, in Aan de vruchten kent men de boom. De boom in tekst en beeld in de middeleeuwse Nederlanden, ed. by Barbara Baert and Veerle Fraeters (Leuven: Universitaire Pers Leuven, 2001), pp. 167–89 Rasch, Rudolf, Driehonderd brieven over muziek van, aan en rond Constantijn Huygens, 2 vols (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2007) Roggen, Heribert R., De Clarissenorde in de Nederlanden (Sint-Truiden: Instituut voor Franciscaanse Geschiedenis, 1995) Simons, Walter, Cities of Ladies: Beguine Communities in the Medieval Low Countries, 1200–1565 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010) Stooker, Karl, and Theo Verbeij, Collecties op orde. Middelnederlandse handschriften uit kloosters en semi-religieuze gemeenschappen in de Nederlanden, 2 vols (Leuven: Peeters, 1997) Strijbosch, Clara, ‘Vogelnestjes in de marge. De overlevering van Middelnederlandse liederen in bronnen tot 1500’, in Veelderhande liedekens. Studies over het Nederlandse lied tot 1600, ed. by F. Willaert (Leuven: Peeters, 1997), pp. 10–29 Tan, Siu-Lan, Peter Pfordresher, and Rom Harré, Psychology of Music: From Sound to Significance (Hoboken: Taylor & Francis, 2010) Williamson, Victoria J., Sagar R. Jilka, Joshua Fry, Sebastian Finkel, Daniel Müllensiefen, and Lauren Stewart, ‘How do “Earworms” Start? Classifying the Everyday Circumstances of Involuntary Musical Imagery’, Psychology of Music, 40 (2011), 259–84 Wormgoor, Ingrid, Uit vrije wil en voor zijn zieleheil. Kerkelijke instellingen in Zwolle en hun functioneren binnen de stedelijke samenleving tot 1580 (Zwolle: Waanders, 2007)

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Delphine Mercuzot

Caxton’s Press and Pilgrimages Shaping Groups of Travellers into a New Community of Interpretation?

In 1476 William Caxton established the first printing press in England. As a printer and a translator, he contributed to the dissemination of religious knowledge and to the development of literary networks in England. This article will interrogate both the information that passed through these networks and the relationships established between their members.1 The concept of connectivity is crucial to an understanding of Caxton’s production of religious tracts and booklets intended for a broad audience. Indeed, the regular production of small books and jobbing were instrumental in keeping the first English printing press running.2 These small works refer to miscellaneous single sheets that took one day to print. As Mary Erler and James Raven remind us, printing’s beginnings were spurred by ‘a demand for objects viewed as worthy possessions’.3 These possessions often took the







1 These intellectual communities included, but were certainly not limited to, powerful laymen and laywomen, well-read individuals, religious communities, religious authorities, confraternities, and the multitude of Christians who now had access to printed books. For a discussion of the breadth of readership in fifteenth- and sixteenth-century England see Hellinga, William Caxton and Early Printing, pp. 107–12; Wang, ‘Caxton’s Romances’; Mairey, ‘William Caxton’. For discussion of intellectual communities as a subsection of reader reception see Kuskin, Symbolic Caxton, Part iii, ‘Print and Social Organization’, pp. 193–298. 2 Carlson, ‘A Theory of the Early Printing Firm’, pp. 36–37; Stallybrass, ‘“Little Jobs”’. ‘A saint’s Life, perhaps commissioned by a religious order, might have offered a sure and uncontroversial means of keeping his press occupied during the anxious months of waiting to see how the restored Lancastrian regime would treat a hardened Yorkist sympathizer’, Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, p. 101. 3 Erler, ‘The Laity’, p. 134; Raven, ‘Selling Books around Europe’, p. 15. Delphine Mercuzot  •  was, until 2020, a curator of manuscripts at the French National Library (Bibliothèque Nationale de France). She now is university librarian in Nanterre. In 2012, she graduated from the higher education institution l’Ecole Nationale des Chartes after presenting her thesis on Caxton, the Printer. In 2020 she defended her PhD thesis on Caxton, the Translator (‘Caxton traducteur: l’humanisme vernaculaire et la presse typographique’). Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400–1550): Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting through the Continuum of Sacred and Secular, ed. by Suzan Folkerts, New Communities of Interpretation, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), pp. 185–214 © FHG10.1484/M.NCI-EB.5.122099

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form of printed ephemera, such as indulgences or hagiographic booklets, that preceded the ownership of printed books and accustomed potential readers to printed media.4 Pilgrimages played an active role in introducing people with no literary background to handwritten and printed texts. In her essay on the religion of the gentry, Christine Carpenter describes pilgrimage as a very conventional step in one’s religious life.5 Throughout the fifteenth century, the act of making a pilgrimage served as a common point of reference that shaped the readership’s horizon of expectation.6 Caxton’s editions of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales in 1476–1477 (STC 5082) and 1483 (STC 5083) and his publication of Lydgate’s translation of Le Pélerinage de l’âme by Guillaume de Digulleville in 1483 (STC 6473) demonstrate the continued cultural importance of pilgrimage in this period. Pilgrimage was such a significant religious experience that Digulleville employed it as a metaphorical explanation of the soul’s earthly journey towards Salvation. As common as it seems, pilgrimage remained an intensely personal experience — temporarily loosening the individual’s ties with their local communities and dissolving the barriers between ordained and lay individuals.7 Pilgrimage bound together, through their shared experience of journeying to a shrine, a great variety of believers who participated in this inclusive ritual. Some pilgrims kept their experience active through the purchase of a printed keepsake such as an indulgence form, a book, or a pilgrim badge.8 Stricto sensu, an indulgence is a remission of the punishment of sins granted to a believer who has already shown true contrition.9 The Church could grant an indulgence in connection with a pious action, such as going on a pilgrimage.10 Once completed, the pilgrim could purchase an indulgence (a document, written in Latin, that recorded the forgiveness offered). The Church commissioned workshops to print such documents, but their sale remained the reserve of clerks, called pardoners.11 When Caxton decided to

4 Erler, ‘The Laity’, p. 134. 5 Carpenter, ‘The Religion of the Gentry’, p. 63. 6 Jauss, Toward an Aesthetic of Reception. 7 As Duffy notes, ‘Pilgrimage also provided a temporary release from the constrictions and norms of ordinary living […] and, in a religious culture which valued asceticism and the monastic life above the married state, an opportunity for profane men and women to share the graces of renunciation and discipline which religious life, in theory at least, promised’. Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, p. 191. 8 Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, p. 192. 9 ‘In every case the indulgence could only be obtained by a Christian in state of grace, that is one who had truly repented, sincerely confessed, and been absolved of all grave sins, and the pardon was awarded in return for the performance of a specific pious act, such as pilgrimage or the recitation of particular indulgenced devotion’. Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, p. 288. 10 ‘The penitential dimensions of late medieval pilgrimage have perhaps been underplayed in recent discussions. Pilgrimages were often undertaken precisely as penance, and the element of hardship in them was of the essence’. Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, p. 191. 11 Hellinga, William Caxton and Early Printing, p. 56. On indulgences printed by Caxton, see Needham, The Printer and the Pardoner.

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settle at Westminster, itself a popular site of pilgrimage, the printer foresaw the opportunities available through this jobbing.12 Among the pilgrims to Canterbury, Chaucer’s Pardoner proves that Christians understood the indulgence as more than an administrative form or receipt. The document reminded the pilgrims of their participation in a collective experience and was understood as protections against the torments of Purgatory, to the extent that people kept the document on their person at all times and even asked to be buried with these receipts of their absolution.13 More than mere superstition (a common accusation against pre-Reformation Christian practices), this intimate relationship with indulgences indicates a personal appropriation of both the religious experience and the printed document. Apart from their economic advantage to both the Church and the printer, these ephemeral religious tokens enabled pilgrims to maintain a sense of connection with the sacred place, or places, they visited. Although Caxton possibly printed many variants, the only extant representative of his booklets for pilgrims is a peculiar little folio (sixteen leaves) printed around 1484.14 Entitled The lyf of the blessed vyrgyn saynt Wenefred (STC 25853), it was sold to pilgrims in a sanctuary associated with Saint Winifred, either at Holywell (in Wales) or at Shrewsbury Abbey.15 Caxton’s translation of the Life of Saint Winifred summed up basic knowledge of the saint to whom pilgrims directed their collective prayers. Ownership of the booklet ensured both the permanence of the pilgrim’s religious cohesion after completing their journey and facilitated the spread of specific religious practices within the pilgrim’s local community. Caxton’s edition of the Life of Saint Winifred was probably intended to circulate both among the pilgrims and the confraternity created by the abbot of Shrewsbury.16 Christian devotees of Saint Winfred centred her cult around two sanctuaries: the saint’s well in Holywell (Wales) and the abbey of Shrewsbury (close to the border with Wales but within the diocese of Canterbury). Devotion to Saint Winifred was also closely linked to pardons. For example, in 1427 Pope Martin V offered remission of time in Purgatory to pilgrims who visited Saint Winifred’s well at Holywell on holy days of obligation, or who gave alms for the ‘repair and restoration of the buildings’.17 Caxton’s small book was probably commissioned, though the identity of the patron remains unknown to modern scholars. The book’s text was neither controlled by religious authorities nor regarded as miraculous. Indeed, its

12 Erler, ‘The Laity’, p. 136. On the mutual advantage of Caxton’s location in Westminster, see Hellinga, William Caxton and Early Printing, pp. 53–55. 13 Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, p. 193; Harper-Bill, ‘Cecily’. 14 Painter, William Caxton, pp. 163, 214. For a description of the edition, see Appendix. Needham, The Printer and the Pardoner, Cx 73; BMC, xi, p. 151. 15 William Caxton: An Exhibition, p. 77, no. 80. 16 William Caxton: An Exhibition, p. 77, no. 80; Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, pp. 101–17. 17 Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, p. 112.

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practical nature demonstrates flexibility within the established religious system — one traditionally described since the Reformation as structured by a dichotomy between the clerical elites and an acquiescent or subservient lay population. In order to reach a wider public, Caxton kept the book short and cheap. He undertook a complete rewriting of the Latin source material, reducing and distilling what must already have been an abridged version of Winifred’s Life, resulting in an English text that is extremely simple — to the point that the book was largely ignored by scholars until M. J. C. Lowry’s 1983 article connected the edition to a central point in the history of Caxton’s production.18 Caxton’s careless (or overdone) translation raises questions as to the dynamics of information transmission in this period: was the circulation of ideas detrimental to knowledge? If we consider pilgrims as a temporary collective shaped, by their shared experiences, into an interpretive community, who, or what, fashioned this expanded context of interpretation?

Indulgences: Caxton as a Connector between Religious Centres, Clerical Authorities, Political Elites, and Lay Folk There are ten extant editions of indulgences printed by Caxton’s press at Westminster. While Caxton probably printed each issue by the thousands, only a few copies and fragments survive — preserved among tract volumes or because they were discarded as printer’s waste and used in book bindings.19 Of the extant copies, two are letters of confraternity ([R]STC 14077c.25G, [R]STC 14077c.83G).20 The other copies were accorded by the pope to fund the Holy War against the Turks. While the links between these examples and pilgrimage is not clear, the fragments of vellum and paper record a tangible connection between believers, religious houses, mother houses on the continent, the papacy, the crown, and the printing press. For example, one of the letters

18 Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, pp. 101–17. Painter notes that Caxton used an abridged version of Winifred’s Latin Life written by Robert of Shrewsbury c. 1140, but further truncated the text through his translation process. Painter also states that Caxton included the Latin text of Winifred’s feast-day services as celebrated at Shrewsbury Abbey. Painter, William Caxton, p. 157. 19 For discussion of indulgence production volumes, see Erler, ‘The Laity’, p. 135. Erler notes the significance of these large production numbers in comparison to the volume of books produced by individual presses, which numbered in the hundreds. For a discussion of the preservation of these fragments see Needham, The Printer and the Pardoner, pp. 28–33 and Hellinga, William Caxton and Early Printing, p. 56. 20 Indulgentia: Letter of confraternity, [R]STC 14077c.25G and Ponyngs, Indulgence for the Hospital of St Mary Rounceval, [R]STC 14077c.83G. On how the distribution of indulgences developed from the extant confraternity system, see Swanson, Indulgences, p. 69:‘the marketing of confraternity and confessional letters was the busiest feature of indulgence distribution from around 1400 through the Reformation’.

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of confraternity printed by Caxton supported the Hospital of Saint Mary of Ronceval at Charing Cross ([R]STC 14077c.83G, printed in 1480).21 Letters of confraternity, which could be acquired during a pilgrimage in exchange for a donation, tie the recipient or a community of recipients (sometime an entire parish) to a group, extending the spiritual graces (including the indulgences) bestowed upon that group.22 In this case, the letter established a connection with the hospital and its motherhouse, the priory of Roncesvalles in Navarre, which had gained a certain notoriety after Geoffrey Chaucer turned it into the epitome of indulgence sales to pilgrims in his Canterbury Tales. Chaucer’s Pardoner is quite remarkable for his attempts to reach every Christian soul and purse, especially those of the pilgrims. I will argue that the printing and subsequent disappearance of indulgences illustrate the vivid religious life of fifteenth-century England, the need for tangible connectivity, and the eventual appropriation of religious printed objects by the laity. I will argue that Caxton’s relationship with both the commissioners and the institutions who funded the sale of indulgences formed the impetus for many of these connective relationships. I will investigate the relationship between Caxton and those who commissioned the printing of indulgences. Finally, I will draw a comparison between the unique circumstances underlying the printing of indulgences and the production of booklets — detailing the extent to which the processes of production and the professional relationships forged through commissions or patronage transformed the message transmitted by the printing press. Indulgences and Religious Connectivity

After the Reformation, indulgences, commonly known among all classes of believers in late medieval Christendom, gained a terrible reputation as the currency of greedy pardoners who preyed upon the gullible and weak minded. However, R. N. Swanson’s recent monograph on indulgences demonstrates that, contrary to these post-Reformation ideas, indulgences actually strengthened the social fabric by encouraging pilgrimage, boosting attendance at sermons, and encouraging acts of charitable giving.23 By suggesting that scholars use the word ‘dispersed’ instead of ‘sold’ in their discussions of the market for indulgences, Swanson puts the focus on the social and religious aspects of these documented pardons rather than on their part in more practical, economic transactions.24 A comprehensive history of indulgences employs both Swanson’s and William Lunt’s distinct approaches to pardons, thereby explaining how spiritual privileges touched all categories of believers through

21 Needham, The Printer and the Pardoner, pp. 33–46. 22 Swanson, Indulgences, p. 70. 23 Swanson, Indulgences, pp. 113–79. 24 Swanson, Indulgences, pp. 113–79.

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social experiences, such as confraternities and pilgrimages, as well as by the financial aspects of indulgence exchanges.25 That many foundations and churches would have failed without the sale of indulgences implies an involvement of those institutions in encouraging pilgrimages and in selling indulgences. Although pilgrims greatly valued the pardons they obtained by visiting sacred and sanctified sites, indulgences were not limited to pilgrimage. Other ways of obtaining indulgences from the Church included, but were not limited to, the donation of funds as an act of charity, such as supporting a hospital or rebuilding a church; a financial donation to or participation in a crusade; or involvement in a confraternity.26 Additionally, the individual could obtain either a partial or total pardon. As Eamon Duffy reminds us, an indulgence granted for a rare or significant occasion, such as pilgrimage to the Jubilee in Rome, could earn the pilgrim a total or plenary indulgence (i.e. one that not only remitted past sins, but also conferred the privilege of choosing one’s confessor freely and a full pardon at the hour of death).27 While official Church doctrine defined indulgences as a mere remission of the earthly punishment due to sins for which a believer was ready to atone, the Christian populace believed that pardons shortened the torment of souls in Purgatory, and they were eagerly sought by every class of English society.28 Even those who claimed to enjoy direct reassurance from their Maker, such as the mystic Margery Kempe, were eager for pardons obtained during pilgrimages.29 At court, Cecily Neville, duchess of York and mother to Kings Edward IV and Richard III, was buried with a papal bull of indulgence.30 Although normally associated with the devotio moderna, Lady Margaret Beaufort, mother to Henry Tudor, also requested indulgences with extraordinary privilege. Indeed, Henry VII secured indulgences in 1504 and 1508 for both himself and his mother.31 The continuum of indulgence seekers spans from full-time pilgrims, such as the mystic Margery Kempe, to political figures like Henry VII, and finally to those whose names are now known to modern

25 Swanson, Indulgences; Lunt, Financial Relations. 26 Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, pp. 193, 288; Swanson, Indulgences, pp. 23–77. 27 Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, p. 288. For the benefits bestowed by a full pardon, see William Caxton: An Exhibition, p. 38, no. 20; Pollard, ‘The New Caxton Indulgence’, p. 89. 28 Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, p. 288; Swanson, Indulgences, pp. 8–22. 29 Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, p. 193; Carruthers, ‘La Science infuse’. 30 Harper-Bill, ‘Cecily’. 31 Lunt, Financial Relations, p. 450. The king and his mother were granted plenary remission twice a year, along with the privilege to have a portable altar at which mass could be celebrated in places under interdict; to eat meat, cheese, butter, and milk during Lent; and to communicate with one under the sentence of excommunication without being excommunicated as a consequence. Lady Margaret Beaufort was granted the right to enter religious houses with six attendants and to talk and eat with the inmates, even if they were Carthusians or enclosed monasteries. On days when the consumption of meat was forbidden, Henry VII’s privilege extended to six persons who ate at his table, plus the servants that tasted his food for safety.

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scholars solely for their purchase of an indulgence. For example, Henry and Katherine Langley’s names are indicated as the beneficiaries of an indulgence printed by Caxton in 1476 ([R]STC 14077c.106).32 Symon Montfort and his wife Emma bought another indulgence printed by Caxton from a pardoner on 31 March 1480 (STC 22582).33 According to A. W. Pollard, ‘Henry Langley (d. 2 April 1488) and his wife Katherine (d. 18 October 1511) lived at Rickling Hall in Essex, and are known to have acquired letters of confraternity of the Hospital of Saint Thomas at Rome and several other religious bodies’.34 These citizens are perfect examples of the connections English laypeople established with religious institutions, both on a national as well as a continental scale. Indulgences Commissioned to the First English Printer

The Langleys purchased their indulgence on 13 December 1476, suggesting that Caxton printed it shortly after his arrival at Westminster. The issue, commissioned by John, abbot of Abington and papal nuncio, funded the Vatican’s planned crusade against the Turks.35 In 1476, the pope decided to extend the benefits of the Jubilee of 1475 to England. Through this issue, those who purchased the indulgence obtained the same privileges as the pilgrims who had visited the holy sites in Rome the previous year: full pardon of past sin, pardon at the hour of death of sins reserved to the Holy See, and the right to choose a confessor. In addition to these clauses of plenary pardon (the standard by the fifteenth century), the Jubilee indulgence freed the owner from fulfilling any rashly made vows, with three exceptions: vows to make the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, a vow to become a member of a religious order, or vows of continence.36 John of Abington acted as a commissary, ensuring the distribution of the spiritual privilege and collecting the funds raised in England. While William Lunt found no record of English pilgrims who attended the Jubilee at Rome in 1475, the indulgence of 1476 served in lieu of a pilgrimage while still establishing a spiritual connection between the benefactors and the Holy City.37 This connection, unique to the Englishmen and women who obtained these indulgences, was not grounded 32 Sant, Indulgentia; [R]STC 14077c.106; see Needham, The Printer and the Pardoner, pp. 83–91 (‘Checklist of Caxton’s Printing’), Cx 16; Hellinga, William Caxton and Early Printing, p. 56; Pollard, ‘The New Caxton Indulgence’, pp. 86–89; Povey, ‘The Caxton Indulgence of 1476’; William Caxton: An Exhibition, p. 38, no. 20. The only copy of this issue is preserved at the National Archives in London (Exchequer K. R. Ecclesiastical Documents 6/56). 33 Kendale, Indulgence for the Knights of Rhodes, STC 22582; Needham, The Printer and the Pardoner, Cx 36. On the vellum copy preserved in the British Library under the shelfmark IC.55024, ‘The spaces are filled in for “Symoni Mountfort et Emme uxori eius”, with the date 31 March’. BMC, xi, p. 114. 34 Pollard, ‘The New Caxton Indulgence’, p. 89. 35 Lunt, Financial Relations, p. 522. 36 Pollard, ‘The New Caxton Indulgence’, p. 89 and William Caxton: An Exhibition, p. 38, no. 20. 37 Lunt, Financial Relations, p. 470.

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in the personal experience of making a pilgrimage to Rome but rather in the act of visiting a shrine, such as Westminster, or even a local church, where a pardoner sent by the commissary preached the crusade, heard the purchasers’ confession, and received their donations. The pardon created a community of contributors whose souls benefitted from the spiritual benefits received from the papacy through the indulgence. The distribution of indulgences involved a series of political decisions both within and outside the Church. For example, the 1476 indulgence foregrounded the political and economic rivalry between the abbot of Abington, who, as the papal nuncio, felt he had the authority to commission the printing of Jubilee indulgences without the permissions of the pope and the crown, and John Giglis, whom the pope appointed as commissary for the crusade indulgences in 1478. As a result of this duplicity, the Church forced the abbot of Abington to make way for Giglis, and the abbot required a royal pardon to avoid a condemnation.38 While the complexity of these political factors did not impact the general public’s understanding of the indulgences, politics retained a strong hold upon the environment in which Caxton printed the documents. Indeed, the political and religious authorities involved acted at best as a strictly hierarchical network between the pope and the crown and the mere believer, and at worst as rival factions. These political stakes did not directly impact Caxton or his workshop, as they continued to print at least four indulgences for Giglis in 1481 and 1489 (STC 22586, 22587, 14000, and 14001).39 Caxton also printed three editions of indulgences sold to help the Knights of Rhodes under the authority of another papal commissary, John Kendale, in 1480 (STC 22582, 22584, and [R]STC 14077c.107c), one of which was sold to Simon and Emma Montfort.40 In this production model, the printer rents his press’s capacity and skills to the commissioners, leaving blank spaces at the beginning of the prescribed text so that the pardoner can manually add the recipient’s name. Caxton’s professional relationships with his commissioners reveal an active network around Westminster Abbey. John Kendale, charged by the pope to collect money for the Knights of Rhodes and also the proctor of the indulgence in favour of Rounceval’s hospital, lived in exceptionally close proximity to Caxton’s shop.41 Upon his arrival in England, Giglis purchased a number of printed books for his personal use, inevitably bringing him into contact with Caxton.42 Giglis’s unfortunate predecessor, John of Abington, also lived in

38 Pollard, ‘The New Caxton Indulgence’, p. 89; Erler, ‘The Laity’, p. 135; Lunt, Financial Relations, pp. 459–65. 39 BMC, xi, pp. 125–26, 165–66; Needham, The Printer and the Pardoner, Cx 49, 50, 88, 89. 40 BMC, xi, pp. 114, 118–19; Needham, The Printer and the Pardoner, Cx 36, 43, 42. 41 ‘He was based at St Margaret’s Church, adjoining the abbey’ of Westminster, Hellinga, William Caxton and Early Printing, p. 56. 42 Erler, ‘The Laity’, p. 135.

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a house near Caxton’s shop.43 Caxton may thus have known these prelates personally before they commissioned an issue of indulgences. It is more likely, however, that Caxton’s connection with the commissioners of indulgences was established under the authority of John Eastney, abbot of Westminster.44 The printer, who mentions John Eastney’s library in the prologue of Eneydos (STC 24796), certainly knew the abbot well.45 John Eastney, and through him Westminster Abbey, was the primary financial beneficiary of the 1476 indulgence, retaining a large percentage of the money raised for the rebuilding of the church’s nave. Indeed, Lunt estimates that the abbot of Westminster gained more than the pope from the 1476–1478 extension of the Jubilee indulgence to England.46 Although none of the indulgences mentions a pilgrimage to Westminster Abbey, the abbot’s role clearly was instrumental in obtaining a large volume of cheap copies and selling them to the shrine’s many visitors. Papal indulgences, or confraternity letters, established a sense of connection among the entire Christian community. However, the initial connection reactivated by the paper (or vellum) receipt pertained to the personal experience of visiting the local sanctuary in order to confess and atone for sins, hearing reassurance that pardon was granted, and making an offering. Furthermore, pilgrims were unaware of the complexity of the hierarchical network, beginning with the pope and finishing with the scribes and printers, that enabled the granting of pardons to those who visited holy places. The network functioned with top-down messaging without any alteration: the Church granted remissions of sin under strictly codified conditions pre-approved by the highest authorities. Only the final step, the individual’s personal reception and understanding of the pardon, remained subject to individual appropriation. The Church heavily regulated the printing of indulgences, with printers, such as Caxton, serving as broadcasters and wielding no control over the content of the indulgence document. But Caxton retained agency in the production of another type of document distributed for a fee to pilgrims seeking redemption: hagiographical booklets. Westminster Abbey’s involvement with Caxton’s press did not, however, go further than encouraging the printing of indulgences. The press was independent of the abbey and Caxton was merely a rent-paying tenant who sometimes printed indulgences.47 Other Works Commissioned for Pilgrims Seeking Indulgences

While Westminster Abbey did not risk investment in the first English press, new orders, like the Bridgettines at Syon, foresaw Caxton’s impact and 43 Erler, ‘The Laity’, p. 135. 44 Caxton’s major connection to a religious order was with the Benedictine Abbey of Westminster, on whose premises he set up his shop and his printing press. 45 Erler, ‘The Laity’, p. 136; BMC, xi, p. 174; Needham, The Printer and the Pardoner, Cx 97. 46 Lunt, Financial Relations, p. 522. 47 Hellinga, William Caxton and Early Printing, p. 56.

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decided to exploit it in order to communicate with pilgrims — through the sale of booklets which disseminated the order’s spiritual teaching among the laity.48 However, this new utilization of the press did not occur before the last years of Caxton’s life, once he had secured a more stable position in the new Tudor order.49 In 1491, under the influence of Lady Margaret Beaufort, Caxton printed a small quarto infused with the Bridgettines’ spirituality. As he proudly states in his colophon, Caxton’s 1491 edition was bespoke by Lady Margaret Beaufort and her daughter-in-law, the queen consort.50 With the printing of The Fifteen Oes (STC 20195) and The Book of Diverse Ghostly Matters (STC 3305), published the same year, Caxton departed from his previous workshop practices.51 The influence of Margaret Beaufort is the only explanation of this shift from printing material based on traditional religious practices up to the devotio moderna.52 While the edition of The Fifteen Oes was clearly bespoke and did not represent his personal traditional sensibility, Caxton wielded more agency in its production than when printing indulgences in Latin, and left his own personal mark on the design of the book. The marketability of this prayer book was heavily connected to indulgences and pilgrimage to the abbey of Syon. The Fifteen Oes is a series of prayers universally attributed to Bridget of Sweden, founder of the Order of the Most Holy Saviour (also called the Bridgettines). The only house attached to the order in Britain, Syon Abbey, was a shrine reputed for indulgences. As Duffy reminds us, when Syon was founded in 1415, a plenary indulgence granted in 1378 to Vadstena, the mother house of the order, became available to Englishmen.53 Partial indulgences were also available at the abbey. For example, a pilgrim could obtain an indulgence for three hundred days by hearing a sermon given by one of the brethren.54 The Fifteen Oes possessed a strong reputation for providing miracles and indulgences of all sorts.55 Although the text was extremely orthodox and

48 Hellinga, William Caxton and Early Printing, p. 55. 49 Gillespie, ‘Caxton and After’, p. 316. 50 ‘⸿ Thiese prayers tofore wreton ben enprinted bi the commaundementes of the moste hye & vertuous pryncesse our liege ladi Elizabeth, by the grace of God quene of Englonde & of France & also of the right hye & most noble pryncesse Margarete, mother unto our soverayn lorde the kyng, &c. ⸿ By their most humble subget and servant, William Caxton’, The Fifteen Oes, STC 20195, fol. 22v. 51 Blake, ‘Caxton, William (1415x24–1492)’. As described by Norman Francis Blake, ‘Caxton was … a religious man of a traditional faith … He was a man of the late medieval period, not of the Renaissance’. The Book of Diverse Ghostly Matters (STC 3305) was probably destined to nuns, BMC, xi, p. 181. 52 Hellinga, William Caxton and Early Printing, p. 157. 53 Absolution of all sins was given for a visit on the first day of August. Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, p. 492. 54 Rhodes, ‘Syon Abbey’, p. 12. 55 Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, p. 292.

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delivered an elaborated teaching on the Passion of Christ, legend promised that reciting the Fifteen Oes on a daily basis could enable the believer to see the body of Christ fifteen days before dying, enjoy a longer life-span, save fifteen kinsmen from Purgatory or deliver souls from the Purgatory, or thwart a sentence of damnation entirely.56 While it is impossible to claim that the entire edition of the Fifteen Oes was bespoke, the Bridgettines likely benefitted from the diffusion of the prayer books among the pilgrims that travelled to Syon hoping for a complete remission of sins. Caxton may have translated the text himself or he may have printed a translation made by a Bridgettine of Syon. At any rate, he acted as editor of the text — adding his name to the colophon, proudly reminding buyers of the commission by Lady Margaret and her daughter-in-law, and probably correcting or editing the text so it fitted the mise-en-page, acts unthinkable on an indulgence. While the roles of indulgence commissaries, proctors, and pardoners was strictly defined by canon law and enforced by the Church, the degree to which Caxton’s patrons oversaw the printing of the Fifteen Oes remains unclear.57 While each of his small works involved sponsorship of a printed work, Caxton’s role varied. For commissioned indulgences, Caxton acted solely as a printer, completing the tasks to the specifications of the Church’s emissary. In contrast, Caxton performed the additional functions of editor, translator, and/or bookseller when engaging in a patron/client relationship. A strictly economic analysis of the networks that underlay the diffusion of small religious commissioned works, such as indulgences, the Fifteen Oes, or the Life of Winifred, might assess Caxton as a passive participant in the process — a type of workshop-for-hire.58 However, through the lens of connectivity, scholars can interrogate anew the relationship between religious orders, royal patrons, the printer, and believers. Analysis of the messages distributed through these ephemeral pieces of paper and parchment clearly demonstrates that the relationships between the printed objects and the various agents differed: an indulgence, printed in Latin under the supervision of clerks and sold to Christians who believed the document itself remitted sins, is distinct from a vernacular book, even if popular belief attributed miraculous powers to the text. By problematizing these relationships, we can reconsider the extent by which the man who translated, printed, designed, and marketed the book possessed a degree of agency. Since the edition of The Fifteen Oes involved a translation of prayers, and a careful design for the booklet, Caxton impacted the message

56 Krug, ‘The Fifteen Oes’, p. 109; Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, p. 287. 57 Elizabeth of York, queen consort of England, and Lady Margaret Beaufort, either commissioned the translation, bespoke an entire edition of the work, pre-ordered a few copies of the new translation, or simply allowed Caxton to use their names. Similarly, the Bridgettines may have either enlisted Lady Margaret’s support for the edition, of received it as a royal present, pre-ordered a few copies or bespoke the entire edition for sale at Syon Abbey. Rutter, ‘William Caxton and Literary Patronage’. 58 Carlson, ‘A Theory of the Early Printing Firm’, p. 46.

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diffused through his press. In his edition of Saint Winifred’s Life, Caxton demonstrates, through his editorial decisions and translation choices, an even more profound impact on the dissemination of knowledge available to pilgrims.

Caxton’s Life of Winifred: The Continuum between Religious, Political, and Urban Elites Winifred is a local Welsh saint whose popularity survived and even thrived in the Reformation. Winifred, an early Christian martyr who lived in the seventh century, was beheaded by a certain Caradoc for refusing to succumb to his sexual advances. Following her death, a saintly man named Beuno called for divine vengeance to be brought upon Caradoc. Beuno picked up Winifred’s severed head and replaced it onto the body of the young martyr, bringing the girl back to life. God then made a spring appear to mark the location of the miracle in Holywell. Winifred survived an additional fifteen years, living a virtuous life that included a pilgrimage to Rome and leading a female religious community. When she finally died of natural causes, her body was buried in Gwytherin (Wales). In 1138, Robert, prior of the English Benedictine abbey of Saint Peter in Shrewsbury, transferred the bones of Winifred to the grounds of his abbey and wrote a vita for the young saint, in which he documented his own quest for the relics of the saint and their translation to Shrewsbury.59 The Lancasters, in an effort to control Wales, supported Saint Winifred’s cult, both at the shrine of Holywell and in Shrewsbury. Indeed, after Agincourt, Henry V made a pilgrimage from Holywell to Shrewsbury (i.e. from Wales to England).60 After 1485, the Tudors, interested in promoting their position as heirs to the Lancastrian dynasty and in asserting their Welsh origins, continued the royal support for the devotion to Winifred.61 The site at Holywell was reconstructed by the Church after 1485, now including a sculpture of Henry VII’s mother, Lady Margaret Beaufort. In 1487, Thomas Mynde, abbot of Saint Peter’s, obtained permission from the Church to establish a confraternity of Saint Winifred on the premises of his monastery. His project might have been carried out in the mid-1480s.62 Caxton’s edition of Winifred’s

59 Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, pp. 102–03; Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, pp. 109–11. 60 Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, pp. 110–11. ‘The growth of Winifred’s cult during the fifteenth century was principally a matters of politics. This is not to question for a moment whether the worshippers were as sincere, of the cures as genuine, as in previous centuries, for the Reformation was to show that Winifred had no need of any prince’s goodwill. But towards the end of the Middle Ages a section of the governing class realized that if it was to rule England or conquer France it would need to draw some of its most valuable man-power from Wales. Winifred offered a means of wooing Celtic sensibilities, and four generations of English rulers tried to suborn her’. See Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, pp. 114–15. 61 Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, pp. 113–17. 62 BMC, xi, p. 151.

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Life (printed around 1484) actively participated in this politicization of the religious cult — through his original framing and translation of the vita, through practical decisions he made during the printing process, and through the actors involved in the selection of the original Latin source material used in his version of the Life of Winifred. The Content of Caxton’s Life of Winifred

As Anne Sutton reminds us, the Life of Winifred, rather than the more marketable stories of Thomas Becket or Saint Edmund, is the only known vita of an individual saint printed by Caxton.63 Concurring with an hypothesis formulated by N. F. Blake, Sutton suggests Caxton also printed a now lost copy of the Life of Robert of Oxford, presumably at the request of the earl of Oxford around 1485.64 Caxton formatted his Life of Winifred as a series of prayers, rather than in the traditional form of a saint’s biography. This formatting recalls Caxton’s own edition of The Fifteen Oes, a version that also possesses a strong hagiographical element, which presents the legends as a miraculous revelation to Bridget of Sweden. These types of small books connected to the lives of local saints (quartos or short folios), now lost or extant in only very few copies, shared two common characteristics: they spoke directly to a local audience, centred on the vicinity of the saint’s shrine or in an area where the saint was particularly revered, and they were, as a consequence, the result of a direct commission or a patron request. While it is possible that Caxton could have kept copies of The Fifteen Oes for sale, either as stand-alone issues or as a complement to a Book of Hours (a series of miraculous prayers being appealing to the general public), the local roots of the devotion to Winifred makes it unlikely that he distributed the book himself, especially since he marketed his version of the Golden Legend to customers interested in hagiography. Caxton’s ambitious translation and publication of the Golden Legend (STC 24873) in 1483 included Winifred’s story. Indeed, Winifred is among the seventeen English saints added by Caxton to his edition of this popular collection of hagiographical and apocryphal narratives.65 Caxton did not use Mirk’s Festial as a source for Winifred’s Life, suggesting that the printer worked from a Latin vita.66 Caxton’s Golden Legend, which compiles the lives

63 Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, p. 109. While it is more than plausible that Caxton printed other vitas, there is no known evidence, whole or partial, documenting the existence of these other works. 64 Blake, Caxton’s Own Prose, p. 84; Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, p. 109. 65 Needham, The Printer and the Pardoner, Cx 67; BMC, xi, pp. 144–49. Caxton translated his Golden Legend from the French translation of Jean de Vignay: he added seventeen British saints (Winifred, Cuthbert, Dunsham) and eleven saints from the Roman calendar. 66 Caxton printed two editions of the Mirk’s Festial: one in 1483 (STC 17957), the other in 1491 (STC 17957/I). The Festial is a cycle of sermons adapted for the religious feasts that structured the Christian year. Under the impulse of Lady Margaret Beaufort, that second

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of saints chronologically by order of their feast day, situates Winifred’s vita on 3 November (fols T5v‒T6v), the day of the translation of her relics to Shrewsbury Abbey. Caxton’s version is short, focusing only on Winfred’s earthly life and not upon the enumeration of her miracles. This different account by the printer demonstrates Caxton’s familiarity with several versions of Winifred’s narrative prior to his authorship of a hagiographical booklet focused solely on Winifred and intended for distribution to pilgrims. Caxton conflated several versions of the vita in his self-standing publication of the Life of Winifred, although his translation is so elliptic and obscure (Lowry would say bizarre) that the original source material remains unidentifiable.67 Since Caxton skipped the miracles surrounding Winifred at Holywell, focusing primarily upon her life in the female religious community she led at Gwytherin and on the translation of her relics, Lowry concludes that Caxton employed the twelfth-century account written by Robert of Shrewsbury.68 By comparing Caxton’s edition to Robert’s narrative, extant in the Bodleian Library’s Laudian Miscellanea, Lowry estimates that Caxton distilled the Life from approximately 16,000 words to less than 9000, sometimes to comical and grotesque effect.69 For example, in Caxton’s accounting of Winifred’s revival, the printer omits the sentence where the head is replaced onto the body.70 While such an omission in the narrative of Winifred’s life clearly

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edition included new sermons for the new liturgical feast adopted in England by the Late Fifteenth Century (The Visitation on 2 July, the Transfiguration on 6 August, and the Holy Name on 7 August). BMC, xi, pp. 141, 178; Needham, The Printer and the Pardoner, Cx 65 and 103; John Mirk’s Festial, vol. 1, pp. 85–102. Although Caxton did not include her in his printed editions, in most manuscripts, Winifred appears in the second part (dedicated to less important feasts) in sermon forty-three, prepared for commemoration of the date of her beheading, considered a martyrdom, and miraculous resurrection ( June 21), see John Mirk’s Festial, vol. 1, pp. 381–85. Mirk’s extremely clear and concise sermon retells the story of Winifred’s life, the translation of her relics to Shrewsbury, and the documented miracles attributed to Winifred. The young saint’s appearance is this collection of sermons is mainly due to the geographical proximity between Mirk’s abbey at Lilleshall and Shrewsbury, see John Mirk’s Festial, vol. 2, pp. 162–66. Butler, Legenda aurea, p. 86. Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, p. 101. Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, p. 103. Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, p. 103. Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Misc. Laud. 144, fols 140r–63v. Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, pp. 104–05. ‘Such heroic and hasty self-confidence was bound to lead the editor into trouble, and one instance must be pinpointed if only for the part-comic, part-ghoulish effect which it produces. In his account of Winifred’s revival, Prior Robert set out the sequence of events as follows: Beuno emerged from the Church, picked-up Winifred’s head, blasted Caradoc with divine vengeance, then replaced the head carefully on the body and covered both with his cloak; this gave him time to celebrate mass, preach to his congregation, and pray with them for the recovery which was instantly granted. Caxton followed the same pattern, but chose to economize by omitting the sentence in which the head was replaced. When he reached the point of Winifred’s revival, he therefore found himself with the head still off and had to insert “he sette the hede to the body” immediately before, “the holy vyrgyn arose”. The extra strain on his credulity might not have disturbed a fifteenth-century reader. But Caxton had distorted

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constitutes a serious transcription error, pilgrims to Shrewsbury and Holywell quite likely did not recognize the transgression. The pilgrims to her shrines clearly knew the key moments of Winifred’s life, or else they would not have undertaken the pilgrimage. Perhaps for these pilgrims the text served as a reminder of information they already possessed. This would explain why Caxton additionally excluded dialogues, miracles, and pious reflections from his editions.71 He also omitted the passage where Robert of Shrewsbury bribes an opponent to open Winifred’s grave, which Lowry interprets as a personal condemnation of such an event.72 These minor points of narrative were secondary to the pilgrims who concerned themselves primarily with the liturgical portions of the small folio.73 Along with the life of Winifred and the account of the discovery of her bones, Caxton’s book contains several hymns and offices recited on the saint’s commemoration days. These include a hymn beginning ‘Gaude Wenefreda pura’ and the prayer ‘Ad primas vesperas in solempnitate sanctae wenefrede’; a hymn beginning ‘Virgo cum occiditur vesanat’ and a prayer ‘Ad secundas vesperas’; and hymns beginning ‘Ad laudes regis glorie’, ‘Collecta ad translacionis diem’, ‘Ad missam, Officum in die passionis in nouembris’, and ‘Ad missam, Officum in die passionis in translacione eiusdem virginis’.74 Lowry notes that Caxton’s edition of the texts attracted attention to Shrewsbury and prepared pilgrims for the services and events surrounding the feast day of Winfred’s translation to the abbey and for the three festivals dedicated to the saint celebrated at the abbey.75 Actively praying to Winifred during a visit to the holy shrine facilitated a sense of connection between the pilgrim and the saint. Caxton’s edition of the Life of Winifred is thus an exceptionally practical book designed by a lay editor for the use of lay pilgrims. The brevity of the text and its combination with short prayers enabled to keep down the cost of each copy, even if this decision was detrimental to the contents of the Life itself. The juxtaposition of these texts within a single booklet added the advantage of encouraging pilgrims to buy the booklet if they were interested in any of these texts at all. Caxton’s Translation of Winifred’s Life

While Caxton’s editorial decisions imprinted his own authorial intent upon the Life of Winifred, his translation restricted textual comprehension. Lowry notes that

his original severely. As it stands, his version can only mean that Beuno was brandishing Winifred’s head before the eyes of her stricken parents throughout the mass and the sermon which accompanied it (Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Misc. Laud. 144, fol. 144, Caxton a2v)’. 71 Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, p. 103. 72 Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, p. 103. 73 Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, p. 113. 74 BMC, xi, p. 151. ‘The concluding offices for St Winifred have not been identified elsewhere, but are presumably of the Sarum use’. 75 Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, p. 108.

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Caxton’s handling of Latin reflects his lack of formal education post-adolescence. While the printer understood the fundamental grammatical basis of a Latin sentence, he struggled to translate more complex metaphors and elaborate passages and did not understand the subtleties of double negatives, connecting relatives, or the ablative absolute. Moreover, when confronted with a polysemous vocabulary, Caxton expressed the most common meaning of the Latin word at the expense of a contextual interpretation.76 That said, fifteenth-century readers rarely judged translations for their fidelity, or lack thereof, to the original text.77 Indeed, for many pilgrims, Caxton’s translation served as the only available version of the text, and even if some pilgrims could read Latin, they were unlikely to possess any subtler understanding of the original text than demonstrated by Caxton. In fact, the printer’s edition served an additional pedagogic function as it aided the reader’s acquisition and mastery of Latinate vocabulary through the employment of doublets.78 The translation and publication of Caxton’s text transformed the original meaning of the vita while synchronously enhancing his audience’s reading skills, thus promoting the development of an interpretative community around this edition of the Life of Winifred. What Lowry exposes as Caxton’s creative or inaccurate translation of the vita further problematizes the identification of a source text (or texts). The fault, however, may not be found in Caxton’s linguistic abilities, but in the source material itself. As Samuel Workman reminds us: ‘Fidelity to the content of the original is not readily to be disputed, because apparent differences might have come from an altered copy of the source’.79 While Caxton certainly used the Vita Santae Wenefredae of Robert of Shrewsbury as an authority, scholars are unable to identify which version of the text or which abridgement the printer studied.80 Lowry’s analysis of Caxton’s ease with Latin is based on the hypothesis that the printer read a version of Robert of Shrewsbury’s long text, a form close to the copy found in the Laudian Miscellanea. Lowry, Sutton, and Hellinga all agree that the source is not John of Tynmouth’s neat summary of Robert’s work, as John omits the translation of the relics from his version.81 Sutton also doubts that Robert’s account was Caxton’s main source, arguing that the man who translated the remarkable Golden Legend could not have produced such a poor translation from a Latin source.82 Were

76 Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, pp. 107–08. 77 Workman, Fifteenth Century Translation, pp. 69–70; Jeremy, ‘Caxton’s Golden Legend’, p. 217. 78 Doublets are the couplings of a word of Latin origin (which may be unfamiliar to the reader) with an equivalent (not always an exact synonym) of English origin. These pairings arguably contributed to both a greater mastery of Latin vocabulary and to improved listening comprehension during the office. 79 Workman, Fifteenth Century Translation, pp. 69–70. 80 BMC, xi, p. 151. 81 BMC, xi, p. 151; Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, pp. 103–04. 82 ‘Accepting that Caxton translated the “Life” from the Latin as he said he did, it cannot be established from which text he worked’. Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, p. 113.

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it not for the vastly different natures of the two books, I would concur with Sutton’s defence of Caxton’s translation abilities. However, as Sister Mary Jeremy reminds us, the Golden Legend represents Caxton’s most ambitious undertaking.83 The text was carefully translated, using both a Latin text and a French version by Jean de Vignay, and carefully edited, especially since it contained paraphrases of the Biblical text. In his prologue to the Golden Legend, Caxton takes the time to thank the earl of Arundel, great-nephew of the archbishop who banned translation of the Bible in the vernacular, for his help with the English rendition.84 It is thus hardly possible to draw a comparison between the authoritative Golden Legend and the practical and hastily translated Life of Winifred. Some details of Winifred’s life found in Caxton’s vita of the saint are not found in any of the extant Latin accounts. For example, the idea that the stone in Winifred’s well still looked ‘as though spattered with blood’ and the names of the ‘two men present on the expedition to Shrewsbury’ (Wulmare, prior of Chester, and Idon, a Welshman) are unique to Caxton’s version of the Life.85 Additionally, both Caxton’s Golden Legend and his Life of Winifred identify the scar on Saint Winifred’s neck as red in colour instead of the white hue described in all other known accounts.86 The precision of these details, set in the Welsh tradition, implies that Caxton possessed access to a local version of Winifred’s legend.87 Framed in this way, Caxton’s Winifred exemplifies not a loss of meaning through inferior translation, but a resetting of the story into a local tradition, one connected directly with the shrines. The question of how Caxton obtained a local version of the vita likely may be answered through an investigation into the patronage and commissioning of this publication. Questioning Caxton’s Source and his Patrons

Insisting that devotion to Winifred was highly political in the fifteenth century, Lowry hypothesizes that Lady Margaret Beaufort is the formidable force behind this publication. Lowry’s theory relies upon the existence of a hierarchical network that begins with the queen mother at its head and moves down through the Benedictine abbey of Shrewsbury, the printer,

83 Jeremy, ‘Caxton’s Golden Legend’, p. 212. 84 Hellinga, Caxton in Focus, p. 157. 85 BMC, xi, p. 151; Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, p. 113. ‘And with hym the pryour of Cestre name Wulmare / & a preest a man of grete virtue named Idon born of the same countrey’. Shrewsbury, The lyf of the blessed, STC 25853, fol. b2v. 86 ‘Neverthelss in the place of her necke where as her heede was smyten of / And after by dyvyne operacion was sett on ageyn & resolydate / a lytyl rednes in the maner of a threde went about the necke / and shewed the place where as hi had be cutte of / And that euer after abode for to shewe the absicycion and thostension of the miracle’. Shrewsbury, The lyf of the blessed, STC 25853, fol. a3v. 87 BMC, xi, p. 151; Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, p. 113.

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and terminates with the sincere pilgrims. In other words: ‘The state now took the initiative: the Church had only to sign the directives and enjoy the endowment. Caxton’s edition marks the last and most overtly political phase of the process’.88 For Lowry the main interest in studying Caxton’s edition of Winifred’s Life is to evaluate how a Yorkist sympathizer such as Caxton re-established his position in the Tudor court and secured the patronage of the most powerful woman in the country, Lady Margaret Beaufort.89 This understanding is based on an important omission: although he was a Yorkist supporter, Caxton’s political loyalty during the reign of Richard III did not lie with the king, who had executed his patron Anthony Woodville in June 1483, but with the survivors of the Woodville family, who made an alliance with the Tudors before Henry VII conquered the throne in August 1485.90 In Lowry’s interpretation of the production process, the abbot of Shrewsbury served as an intermediary, providing Caxton with a legend to translate and then sell to pilgrims. While the main force of Lowry’s argument illustrates how political, religious, national, and local stakes merged to promote devotion to Winifred, I find this representation of a medieval Church controlled by the state unrealistic. Lady Margaret Beaufort’s support of the Holywell and Shrewsbury sites and her developing relationship with Caxton throughout the last years of his life do not necessarily demonstrate the queen mother’s awareness of Caxton’s many commissions. While it is possible that Lady Margaret possessed contemporaneous knowledge of the printer’s edition of the vita, her knowledge alone does not implicate her as the driving force behind Caxton’s Life. Networks are sometimes redundant. Indeed, Caxton’s contact with both Lady Margaret Beaufort and with Shrewsbury Abbey should not be interpreted as proof that he was connected with the latter through the former. According to Sutton, the very fact that Caxton did not mention royal patronage is telling, as he would certainly have boasted of support from the royal court.91 As this kind of patronage often did not grant funding, but rather implied the authorization to use a famous person’s name on the edition, Sutton suggests that it was probably less effective than the funding of an edition by a religious house or a confraternity.92 The main argument against Lowry’s theory comes from material bibliography. While Sheppard suggested that the Life of Winifred was

88 Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, p. 111. 89 Lowry, ‘Caxton, St Winifred’, p. 102. 90 Caxton had to request royal pardon to Richard III after the rebellion of 1483. Gill, ‘William Caxton’. He remained way more faithful to the Woodvilles than a simple relationship of patronage implied. Weinberg, ‘Caxton, Anthony Woodville’. 91 Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, p. 116. 92 Hellinga, William Caxton and Early Printing, p. 104; Rutter, ‘William Caxton and Literary Patronage’; Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, p. 116: ‘Royal and noble patronage was rarely more valuable than the attention and gift lavished by local people and local, of which the alms collecting and membership would be the most effective means of spreading a cult’.

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printed in 1485, consistent with the beginning of Henry Tudor’s reign, paper evidence, coupled with the absence of the initials introduced in Caxton’s works at the end of 1484, tie the book to that year.93 With this revised dating to 1484, the Life of Winifred predates the resolution of the War of Roses, thus thwarting the hypothesis of a state cult driven by Lady Margaret Beaufort.94 A way to rephrase this point would be that Caxton and his would-be-patron had an opportunity to be bound together through their respective involvement with Shewsbury Abbey and their devotion to Winifred.95 Moving away from Margaret Beaufort, one should instead reinvestigate established local networks and analyse how they connected with the mercer of London, who established a printing press in the precincts of Westminster. Lotte Hellinga offers a theory on the anonymous patronage behind the Life of Winifred that focuses upon the central role played by Thomas Mynde, abbot of Shrewsbury, in the development of Winifred’s cult. Hellinga notes that Mynde was interested in promoting the use of the vernacular and that he was well placed to supply Caxton with the necessary historical source material, derived from the Welsh tradition, to assist in compiling a mass-produced legend.96 In 1480, Mynde was working to establish a confraternity and probably understood the value of providing the religiously ambitious laity with hagiographical accounts. Like Westminster, Shrewsbury was a Benedictine abbey and could have contacted Caxton through the well-established network of their order. John Eastney, the abbot of Westminster, would then have transmitted the commission of an edition and the source material to his tenant. This theory implies both horizontal relationships between the abbots of Benedictine houses and a strict dichotomy between clerics or monks on the one hand and laypeople on the other, the former group exerting control over the latter. As with any theory concerning the commissioning of a hagiographical book, this one also has a flaw: the notion/suggestion that neither Mynde nor Eastney proofread the translation prior to its sale is troublesome. This lack of supervision suggests that the two men either considered that hagiography was, by its nature, harmless, or that Caxton, as a translator, editor, and printer, was reliable. Sutton’s ground-breaking study of Winifred’s Life offers another interpretation, which is based on the relationships between merchant families.

93 See the description of the edition in Appendix. Sheppard, ‘Catalogue of XVth Century Books’; Needham, The Printer and the Pardoner, Cx 73; BMC, xi, p. 151. 94 David Lawton warns us against dismissing the fifteenth-century attempt at the construction of a public sphere as a febrile failure or even as a type Christian Stalinism. Lawton, ‘Dullness’, p. 793. 95 Caxton and Lady Margaret Beaufort seem to have established some commercial and intellectual relationship during the reign of Richard III, as he mentions selling a manuscript to her in the prologue to his edition of Blanchardyn and Eglantine (STC 3124). See BMC, xi, p. 176; Barlett, ‘Translation, self-representation and statecraft’, pp. 55–66. 96 BMC, xi, p. 151.

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Familial relationships connected the confraternity of Shrewsbury to London and these relationships might explain how Caxton accessed the local versions of Winifred’s vita. Sutton provides a list of merchants in contact with either Caxton or his close friends and, among the Shrewsbury immigrants, Nicholas Hagour and his brother-in-law Richard Aunsham stand out as mercers and merchant adventurers of comparable age to Caxton.97 Sutton establishes that the two merchants were acquainted with at least one of Caxton’s close friends, a man by the name of William Pratt, to whom the printer dedicated at least two books.98 Their niece and nephew, Anne Banknot and John Hagour, also moved to London. Anne’s husband, William Banford, was a close friend of a silk woman named Alice Claver, who was a neighbour to William Large, in whose workshop Caxton was apprenticed. She was also close to William Pratt’s wife.99 The lawyer Thomas Luyt, attorney to Elizabeth Woodville after 1466, steward of Westminster Abbey, married into an eminent family of Shrewsbury.100 Finally, Adam Grafton, a priest of Shrewsbury involved in the confraternity, was the brother of a merchant adventurer named Thomas Grafton whose granddaughter was named Winifred.101 Apart from demonstrating how common the devotion to Winifred was in Caxton’s milieu, Sutton’s article details a horizontal network among the urban elites that helped shape the religious, social, and economic evolution in fifteenth-century England. Caxton’s Life of Winifred does not fit clerical standards. It seems, however, perfectly adapted to the kind of information merchants belonging to a confraternity wanted to disseminate in order to fund and spread devotion to Winifred. Through the lens of connectivity, a theoretical framework that emphasizes the mechanisms of information transference, scholars are able to understand the Life of Winifred as both proof of the vividness of fifteenth-century religious life and as a tool used by the lay urban elite to instigate religious evolution. While the Church and the political authorities provided a general framework for the devotion to Winifred among the lay population, it was the urban elites who acted as instrumental forces in the diffusion of religious knowledge and in shaping new communities of interpretation.

Conclusion A strictly economic analysis of the role small religious commissions, such as indulgences and hagiographic booklets, played in maintaining the financial viability of early printing presses would, by necessity of its narrow monetary

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Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, pp. 118–19. Mairey, ‘William Caxton’, pp. 99, 124. Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, p. 120. Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, p. 121. Sutton, ‘Caxton, the Cult’, pp. 121–24.

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focus, fail to capture a holistic understanding of the fifteenth-century printing enterprise. Indeed, the intellectual content of the printed material determined the extent of the printer’s agency in producing the works, the types of distribution networks employed in the diffusion of the text, and the sort of relationship forged between the owner/purchaser of the document and the text printed on paper. The press was, to a large degree, working with already developed ideas and established texts, and, through mass production, delivering identical copies to a set distribution network. However, changes in religious culture necessitated adaptation in the types of texts manufactured and distributed by the printing workshops. Since the Reformation, scholars and humanists have described late medieval religious life as static. The study of indulgences, however, demonstrates an evolution (and a sharp clarification) in the vertical network within the Church hierarchy granting spiritual benefits, and, through the availability of printed documents, enabling more parishioners to obtain and collect indulgences. The practice of keeping indulgences on one’s person indicates a process of appropriation, an intimate belief that the document in itself offered real protection against damnation, a social construction granting this administrative form the highest symbolic virtue. The content of the Life of Winifred points to a horizontal network of the urban elites — a decision-making class that selected the information provided to Caxton in order to promote a cult that possessed gradually increasing recognition and political support over four generations. People who gathered in the confraternity around Shrewsbury Abbey or undertook a pilgrimage there were not passive receivers of religious instruction: they served as active participants in the construction of the saint’s cult.

Appendix Book Description: The Life of Saint Winifred Robert of Shrewsbury, Vita Sanctae Wenefredae [English]. The lyf of the holy and blessid vyrgyn saynt Wenefryde, trans. by William Caxton ([Westminster: William Caxton, 1484]). Folio; ISTC iw00062000; STC 25853 Analysis of Content

a2r‒a8r, l. 14. [Life of Saint Winifred]: ‘⸿ Here begynneth the lyf of the holy & blessed vyrgyn saynt ǁ Wenefryde ǁ IN the west ends of great Britayn / which now is calǁlyd Englond is a prouynce whiche is named walys / ǁ This saud prouynce was sometime inhabyted of say⸗ǁntes of many & dyuerse merytes … - … To whome late vs praye to be a specialle aduocatry⸗ǁce for vs in alle thynges to vs necessarye and behoeffulle/ ǁǁ’. a8r, l. 16‒b6r, l. 23. [Translation of Saint Winifred]: ‘⸿ The Translacion of saynt Wenefrede ǁǁ [a]Fter that the blesseyd vyrgyne Saynt Wenefred shy⸗ǁnynge

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by Innumerable vertues was departed oute ǁ of this lyf … - … to the glorye and Imperye world without end ǁ AMEN’. b6r, l. 24‒27. [Colophon]: ‘⸿ Thus endeth the decollacion / the lyf after / and the transla⸗ǁcion of saynte Wenefrede virgin and martir / which was reyǁse after that her hede had be smyton of the space of xv yere / ǁ reduced in to Englysshe by me William Caxton/’. b6v‒b8r, l. 10. [Office for Saint Winifred]: ‘⸿ Gaude Wenefreda pura / virgo iuuentutis iura dei dans ǁ obsequijs / … - … vt per ǁ hec merita sancte virginis tue wenefrede / cuius venerandam ǁ celebramns translacionem / cunctorum adispisci mereamur pec⸗ǁcatorum remissionem / Per dominem nostrum/ et cetera/’ Edition102

a b88. 16 leaves, the first blank, b8v blank. Signed to the fold with a lower-case letter and a roman numeral. a3r: 38 lines, type area: 190 × 120 mm. Type 4: 95 (100)B* Initial space on a2r and a8r, the former with a guide letter. Paper: stocks 145–48, 155. 148–48 belong to Caxton’s large Italian supply of 1484; the fifth stock (155), also an Italian paper, is also found in Cato, Duff 79, completed after 23 December 1483 (Duff, Fifteenth Century English Books, p. 33). Date: Early 1484, as dated by Needham, The Printer and the Pardoner, Cx 73, and Hellinga (BMC, xi) on paper evidence and from the absence of initials introduced later that year. Sheppard, ‘Catalogue’ dates [1485?]. I concur with Hellinga. Seven Extant Copies

1. London, British Library, Ames i 52 Fragment. Leaf a7 only, taken from a binding: ‘… and retorned home with grete wonder and admyracion … - … the⸗ǁyr Ifyrmitees and sckenesses haue ben heled and maade ǁ all hole’. No variant noted. Size of leaf: 240 × 160 mm. Binding: Bound in volume i, no 52 of the Ames collection. Provenance: Collection of nine volumes of title pages formed by Joseph Ames (1689‒1759) during the compilation of this Typographical Antiquities (1749), see Pollard, ‘The Ames Collection of titlepages’, pp. 161–63. This copy corresponds to De Ricci, A Census, 100:5. Not in BMC. 2. London, British Library, C. 10. b. 9. [IB 55109] Without the first blank.

102 The depiction of the ‘ideal copy’ derives from BMC, xi, p. 151, which also describes two of the copies in the British Library.

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Size of Leaf: 263 × 184 mm. Binding: Bound in the private bindery of King George II, in gold-tooled straight-grain morocco, with his armes. Gilt-tooled edges. Early binding: Formerly bound (from the early sixteenth century, see BMC, xi, pp. 136–37 and Hellinga and Nickson, ‘A Caxton Tract-Volume’) with: 1. Chaucer, Canterbury Tales, STC 5083 (copy untraced) 2. Chaucer, Book of Fame, STC 5087 (copy British Library, C.10. b. 13) 3. Christine de Pizan, Moral Proverbs, STC 7273 (copy Manchester, John Rylands University Library, 12025) 4. Alain Chartier, Curial, STC 5057 (copy British Library, C.10. b. 17) 5. Life of Saint Winifred, STC 25853 (copy British Library, C.10. b. 19) 6. The art and craft to know well to die (copy BnF, Réserve des livres rares, D-338 [Bibliothèque Nationale, Catalogue des incunables, A-603]) 7. Eneydos, STC 24796 (copy British Library, IB.55135) 8. Christine de Pizan, Fayttes of Armes, STC 7269 (copy Beinecke Library, Yale University, * Zi+ 9677 Annotations: Foliated 84‒98 in the same characteristic early sixteenth-century hand as the other items. A title ‘Life of St Wenefry[de]’ is written in the top right hand-margin of a2r in the same seventeenth-century hand used in the similar titles in the other items, possibly Edward Berisford’s hand, according to an early note on the House of Fame (BMC, xi, p. 136). Provenance: – Edward Berisford (late sixteenth-century)? – Thomas Rawlinson (d. 1725) by 1714, while in his possession the items were separated. – Lot 953 in Rawlinson’s posthumous sale, October 1727; the buyer is unknown (De Ricci, A Census, 100: 1 was wrong in identifying the Rawlinson copy as the one now in the Pierpont Morgan Library, which was formerly owned by Edward Harley, 2nd Earl of Oxford). – James West (by 1749), lot 1864 at his sale, March 1773. – John Ratcliffe (from 1733); lot 1422 at his sale, March 1776 (lot 1422). – Bought at Ratcliffe’s sale to G. Nicol for King George III. Former shelfmarks: With the former King’s Library press-mark 167. b. 7. This copy corresponds to De Ricci, A Census, 100: 2. 3. London, British Library, Harl. 5919/8 [IB 55110] Fragment. Leaf a2 only: ‘⸿ Here begynneth the lyf of the holy & blessed vyrgyn saynt ǁ Wenefryde … - … sprynge up / largely gyuynge oute water and plentyuously’. No variant noted. Size of Leaf: 285 × 225 mm. Provenance: Bagford collection for the History of Printing. This copy corresponds to De Ricci, A Census, 100: 4.

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4. London, Lambeth Palace, MS 306, item 27 (fols 188‒201v) Imperfect, missing the first blank and leaf b8. Size of leaf: 295 × 215 mm. Soiled and toiled. Bound (c. 1504‒1512) in a collection of manuscript chronicles (fols i + 204) and historiographical texts, including several relating to London, with religious and other verses, a romance, lyrics, carols, and texts on hawking, hunting, household economy, saints, medicine and natural lore, comprising eleven independent booklets. The life of Winifred is item 27 out of 31 (fols 188‒201v). See the online catalogue of manuscript in Lambeth Palace Library for an exhaustive list of items, the new description was written by Richard Palmer in 2011 (Lambeth Palace Library, Online Catalogue) Binding: blind stamped leather over wooden boards. Roll (lion rampant, branches with leaves and acorns, wyvern, portcullis) and ornament (seven-pointed leaf and thistle) used together c. 1504‒1512. Provenance: – Seemingly for ‘d[ominus] T. Mylle’, who contributed to the contents between 1508 and 1531, and whose signature is found at fol. 133r. – The antiquary John Stow (1525?‒1605), who added notes on contemporary events between 1561 and 1567. It was amongst ‘unlawfull bookes’ found in Stow’s study in 1569 by agents of Edmund Grindal, bishop of London. This copy corresponds to De Ricci, A Census, 100.3. 5. Oxford, Bodleian Library, Arch. G d. 17. [W-024(1)] Fragment. Leaf a8 only: ‘⸿ Thus endeth the martirdome of this blessyd saynt / Saynt ǁ wenefrede … - … and he sawe by a vysyon an excellent &…’. No variant noted. Size of leaf: 285 × 190 mm. Binding: Nineteenth-century half maroon morocco, with black cloth; bound for the Bodleian Library. Annotations: – Note by Hearne: ‘Fragment of a book printed by Caxton. Given me by Mr Bagford’. – Letter, dated 1 Oct. 1885, from William Blades to W[illiam] H[enry] Allnutt, assistant in the Bodleian, bound with the fragment. Provenance: – John Bagford (1650‒1716). – Thomas Hearne (1678‒1735). – Acquired by 1885. Former Bodleian shelfmark: Auct. QQ sup.1.36. This copy corresponds to De Ricci, A Census, 100:6.

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6. New York, Morgan Library & Museum, PML 35083 Perfect, with blank. Size of leaf: 280 × 190 mm. Binding: eighteenth-century deer skin over paper boards (29 × 20 cm.), sewn on six supports by John Elliott. Annotations: – Leaf a1r. William Stanehouse owe this booke which was bought of John Randall and coste iii s[hillings], with a list of payments and money received (sixteenth-century hand). – F. S. Ferguson collation note, 22 June 1938, rear pastedown. – Manuscript title by Joseph Brereton on first flyleaf. Provenance: – John Randall, sixteenth century. – William Stanehouse, sixteenth century. – Edward Harley (1689‒1761), 2nd Earl of Oxford. – Thomas Osborne purchased the printed books in 1743. – Joseph Brereton (d. 1787), manuscript title (first flyleaf recto); not in his sale, Payne, 1789. – William John Tollemache Dysart (1859‒1935), Earl of Dysart, probably in the Ham House Library since eighteenth century. – Dysart sale, Sotheby’s, 20 June 1938, lot 319, to Quaritch for Morgan. – Pierpont Morgan Library, purchased in 1938. This copy corresponds to De Ricci, A Census, 100: 1. De Ricci incorrectly identified this copy as Thomas Rawlinson’s. See Morgan Library & Museum, Online Collection Catalog (Corsair). 7. New York, Morgan Library & Museum, PML 699 Fragment, leaf a6 only: ‘… man/ And wente unto seynte defeyre/ This man was an holy … - … laude to almighty god in his grete and merueyllous werkess …’ No variant noted. Size of leaf: 280 × 190 mm. Binding: Red portfolio. Annotations: a few eighteenth-/nineteenth-century markings, ‘808’ on top left corner. Provenance: – Richard Bennet (1844‒1900) – Purchased by Morgan in 1902 with the Bennet collection. This copy corresponds to De Ricci, A Census, 100:7. Morgan Library & Museum, Online Collection Catalog (Corsair).

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Bibliography Manuscripts and Archival Sources Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Misc. Laud. 144, fols 140r‒163v Primary Sources Blanchardyn and Eglantine, trans. by William Caxton ([Westminster: William Caxton, about 1490]). Folio. STC 3124; ISTC ib00690400 Chaucer, Geoffrey, The Canterbury Tales ([Westminster]: William Caxton, [1483]). Folio. STC 5083; ISTC ic00432000 Chaucer, Geoffrey, The Canterbury Tales, ([Westminster: William Caxton, about 1476–1477]). Folio. STC 5082; ISTC ic00432000 Digulleville, Guillaume de, trans. by John Lydgate, The pylgremage of the sowle (Westminster: William Caxton, 6 June 1483). Folio. STC 6473; ISTC ig00640000 Gigliis, Johannes de (commissary), Indulgentia 1481. For promoting the war against the Turks (Singular issue) ([Westminster: William Caxton], 1481). Bdsde Quarto. STC 22586; ISTC ij00333250 Gigliis, Johannes de (commissary), Indulgentia 1481. For promoting the war against the Turks (Plural issue) ([Westminster: William Caxton, after 25 August] 1481). Bdsde Quarto. STC 22587; ISTC ij00333300 Gigliis, Johannes de, and Perseus de Malvitiis (commissaries), Indulgentia 1489. For promoting the war against the Turks ([Westminster: William Caxton, 1489, before 24 April]). Bdsde (Folio). STC 14100; ISTC ij00333350 Gigliis, Johannes de, and Perseus de Malvitiis (commissaries), Indulgentia 1489. For promoting the war against the Turks ([Westminster: William Caxton, 1489, before 24 April]). Bdsde (Folio). STC 14101; ISTC ij00333400 Indulgentia: Letter of confraternity for benefactors of the Dominican Priory of Arundel, Sussex, issued by the Prior, Johannes Arundell, 1485 ([Westminster: William Caxton, 1485]). Bdsde. [R]STC (Addenda) 14077c.25G; ISTC ii00063750 Jacobus de Voragine, trans. by William Caxton, The Golden Legend (Westminster: William Caxton, [between 20 November 1483 and March 1484]). Folio. STC 24873; ISTC ij00148000 Kendale, John (commissary), Indulgence for the Knights of Rhodes (Singular issue) ([Westminster: William Caxton], 1480 [before 31 March]). Bdsde. STC 22582; ISTC ik00010300 Kendale, John (commissary), Indulgence for the Knights of Rhodes (Plural issue) ([Westminster: William Caxton, 1480, after 9 August]). Bdsde Quarto. STC 22584; ISTC ik00010600 Kendale, John (commissary), Indulgence for the Knights of Rhodes (Singular issue) ([Westminster: William Caxton, 1480, after 9 August]). Bdsde Quarto. [R] STC 14077c.107c; ISTC ik00010800 Mirk, John, Liber festivalis (Westminster: William Caxton, 30 June 1483). Folio. STC 17957 (I); ISTC im00620000

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Mirk, John, Liber festivalis ([Westminster]: William Caxton, [about 1491]). Folio. STC 17957 (I); ISTC im00621000 Pollard, A. W., ‘The Ames Collection of titlepages’, Transactions of the Bibliographical Society, vol. 7 (1902–1904) Ponyngs, Edward, John Kendale, and John Lynton (proctors), Indulgence for the Hospital of St Mary Rounceval, Charing Cross. Letter of confraternity (Plural issue) ([Westminster: William Caxton, about 1480]). Bdsde. [R]STC (Addenda) 14077c.83G; ISTC ip00935800 Sant, Johannes, Abbot of Abingdon (commissary), Indulgentia 1476. For promoting the war against the Turks ([Westminster: William Caxton, between July and 13 December 1476]). Bdsde. [R]STC 14077c.106; ISTC is00163100; copy London, National Archives, Exchequer K.R. Ecclesiastical Documents 6/56 Shrewsbury, Robert of, Vita Sanctae Wenefredae [English]. The lyf of the holy and blessid vyrgyn saynt Wenefryde, trans. by William Caxton ([Westminster: William Caxton, 1484]). Folio; STC 25853; ISTC iw00062000 The Fifteen Oes (Westminster: William Caxton, [about 1491]). Quarto. STC 20195, ISTC ib00683600 The book of divers ghostly matters; Henricus Suso, Horologium sapientiae; Seven points of true love; The twelve profits of tribulation; The rule of St Benedict, (Westminster: William Caxton, [about 1491]). Quarto. STC 3305; ISTC ig00301000 Virgil, Eneydos, trans. by William Caxton ([Westminster]: William Caxton, [after 22 June 1490]. Folio. STC 24796; ISTC iv00199000 Secondary Works Barlett, Anne Clark, ‘Translation, self-representation and statecraft: Lady Margaret Beaufort and Caxton’s Blanchardyn and Eglantine (1489)’, Essays in Medieval Studies, 22 (2005), 53–66 Bibliothèque Nationale, Catalogue des incunables, i (Xylographes, A-G); ii (H-Z) (Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale, 1981‒2014) Blake, N. F., Caxton’s Own Prose (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973) ———, ‘Caxton, William (1415x24–1492)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (first published 2004, online edition January 2008) [accessed 31 July 2017] BMC = Catalogue of Books Printed in the XVth Century now in the British Library. Part xi: England, ed. by Lotte Hellinga, with contributions by Paul Needham, Margaret Nickson, John Goldfinch (London: Brill, 2007) Butler, Pierce, Legenda aurea - Légende dorée - Golden legend: A Study of Caxton’s Golden Legend with Special Reference to its Relations to the Earlier English Prose Translation (Baltimore: John Murphy, 1899) Carlson, David R., ‘A Theory of the Early Printing Firm: Jobbing, Book Publishing, and the Problem of Productive Capacity in Caxton’s Work’, in Caxton’s Trace: Studies in the History of English Printing, ed. by William Kuskin (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2006), pp. 35–68

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Carpenter, Christine, ‘The Religion of the Gentry of Fifteenth Century England’, in England in the Fifteenth Century: Proceedings of the 1986 Harlaxton Symposium, ed. by Daniel Williams (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1987), pp. 53–74 Carruthers, Leo, ‘La Science infuse: l’inspiration de Dame Julien de Norwich, mystique anglaise du xive siècle’, in L’Inspiration: le souffle créateur, ed. by Claire Kappler and Roger Grozelier (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2006), pp. 203–15 De Ricci, Seymour, A Census of Caxtons, Illustrated monographs issued by the Bibliographical Society, xv (Oxford: Bibliographical Society at the Oxford University Press, 1909) Duff, E. Gordon, Fifteenth Century English Books, Illustrated monographs issued by the Bibliographical Society, xviii (Oxford: Bibliographical Society at the Oxford University Press, 1917). Reprinted with supplement compiled by L. Hellinga (London, 2009) Duffy, Eamon, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England c. 1400– c. 1580 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992) Erler, Mary, ‘The Laity’, in A Companion to the Early Printed Book in Britain, 1476–1558, ed. by Vincent Gillespie and Susan Powell (Cambridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2014), pp. 134–49 Gill, Louise, ‘William Caxton and the rebellion of 1483’, English Historical Review, 114 (1997), 105–16 Gillespie, Alexandra, ‘Caxton and After’, in A Companion to Middle English Prose, ed. by A. S. G. Edwards (Woodbridge: Brewer, 2004), pp. 307–25 Harper-Bill, Christopher, ‘Cecily [Cicely] [née Cecily Neville], duchess of York (1415–1495)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (first published 2004); online edn ( January 2008) [accessed 31 July 2017] Hellinga, Lotte, Caxton in Focus: The Beginning of Printing in England (London: British Library, 1982) ———, William Caxton and Early Printing in England (London: British Library, 2010) Hellinga, Lotte, and Margaret Nickson, ‘A Caxton Tract-Volume from Thomas Rawlinson’s Library’, The Yale University Library Gazette, 72 (1997), 17‒26 ISTC = Incunabula Short Title Catalogue (British Library) [accessed 31 July 2017] Jauss, Hans R., Toward an Aesthetic of Reception, trans. by Thimothy Bathi (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1982) Jeremy, Mary, ‘Caxton’s Golden Legend and Varagine’s Legenda Aurea’, Speculum, 21 (April 1946), 212–21 John Mirk’s Festial: Edited from British Library MS Cotton Claudius A. II, 2 vols, ed. by Susan Powell (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009–2011) Krug, Rebecca, ‘The Fifteen Oes’, in Cultures of Piety: Medieval English Devotional Literature in Translation, ed. by Anne Clark Bartlett and Thomas H. Bestul (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1999), pp. 107–17

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Kuskin, William, Symbolic Caxton: Literary Culture and Print Capitalism (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2008) Lambeth Palace Library, Online Catalogue of Printed Books and Online Catalogue of Manuscripts and Archives [accessed 31 July 2017]) Lawton, David, ‘Dullness and the Fifteenth Century’, English Literary History, 54 (1987), 761–99 Lowry, M. J. C., ‘Caxton, St Winifred and the Lady Margaret Beaufort’, The Library, 6th ser., 5 ( June 1983), 101–17 Lunt, William Edward, Financial Relations of the Papacy with England, 1327–1534, 2 vols (Cambridge, MA: Mediaeval Academy of America, 1962) Mairey, Aude, ‘William Caxton: auteur, éditeur, imprimeur’, Cahiers de recherches médiévales et humanistes, 19 (2010), 123–42 Morgan Library, Online Collection Catalog (Corsair) [accessed 31 July 2017] Needham, Paul, The Printer and the Pardoner: An Unrecorded Indulgence Printed by William Caxton for the Hospital of St Mary Rounceval, Charing Cross (Washington, DC: Library of Congress, 1986) Painter, George Duncan, William Caxton: A Quincentenary Biography of England’s First Printer (London: Chatto & Windus, 1976) Pollard, A. W., ‘The New Caxton Indulgence’, The Library, 4th ser., 9 ( June 1928), 86–89 Povey, K., ‘The Caxton Indulgence of 1476’, The Library, 4th ser., 9 (March 1939), 462–64 Raven, James, ‘Selling Books around Europe, c. 1450–1500: An Overview’, Publishing History, 34 (1993), 5–19 Rhodes, Jan T., ‘Syon Abbey and its Religious Publications in the Sixteenth Century’, The Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 44 (1993), 11–25 Rutter, Russell, ‘William Caxton and Literary Patronage’, Studies in Philology, 84 (1987), 440–70 Sheppard, L. A., ‘Catalogue of XVth Century Books in the Bodleian Library’ (unpublished manuscript, 1954–1971) Stallybrass, Peter, ‘“Little Jobs”: Broadsides and the Printing Revolution’, in Agent of Change: Print Culture Studies after Elizabeth L. Eisenstein, ed. by Sabrina Alcorn Baron, Eric N. Lindquist, and Eleanor F. Shevlin (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2007), pp. 315–41 STC and [R]STC = A. W. Pollard and G. R. Redgrave, A Short-Title Catalogue of Books Printed in England, Scotland, & Ireland and of English Books Printed Abroad, 1475–1640 (London, 1926), second edition, revised and enlarged, begun by W. A. Jackson and F. S. Ferguson, completed by Katherine F. Pantzer, 3 vols (London: Bibliographical Society, 1976–1991) Sutton, Anne F., ‘Caxton, the Cult of St Winifred, and Shrewbury’, in Of Mice and Men: Image, Belief and Regulation in Late Medieval England, ed. by Linda Clark (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2005), pp. 109–26

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Swanson, R. N., Indulgences in Late Medieval England: Passports to Paradise? (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008), pp. 68–70 Wang, Yu-Chiao, ‘Caxton’s Romances and Their Early Tudor Readers’, The Huntington Library Quarterly, 67 (2004), 173–90 Weinberg, S. Carole, ‘Caxton, Anthony Woodville, and the Prologue to the Morte Darthur’, Studies in Philology, 102 (2005), 45–65 William Caxton: an Exhibition to Commemorate the Quincentenary of the Introduction of Printing into England: British Library Reference Division, 24 September 1976–31 January 1977, compiled by Janet Backhouse, Mirjam Foot, and John Barr William (London: Published for the British Library by British Museum Publications, 1986) Workman, Samuel, Fifteenth Century Translation (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1940)

Elsa Kammerer

How Figures of the Bible Connected Printers, Artists, and Friends (1538–1576)

In the production and distribution of Figures of the Bible1 and collections of emblems — two genres whose production can only be apprehended on a West-European scale (and specifically within a French-Dutch-Germanic sphere where the Figures are concerned) — the role played by printers and booksellers operating in mutual rivalry was decisive. In a few printing centres, which were also major centres of the book trade (Lyon, Frankfurt, Strasbourg, and later Antwerp) that were connected especially by commercial fairs, they took the initiative of having the best draughtsmen, engravers, and poets of the time work together. The fairs provided opportunities to compare and contrast different editions and bring competition into play. The first connection I would like to highlight here is therefore directly related to the ‘connectivity’ of commercial networks. In this context, printers deliberately maintained a high porosity between collections of Figures and books of emblems. The real question in the eyes of the buyer was not so much to know whether he was purchasing a religious or profane book, but to assess the aesthetic quality of the engravings in such books and the potentially diverse uses that he might make of them: as a medium for worship and aesthetic enjoyment, or as models for drawings or repertories of motifs that he could use in his own artistic endeavours. That is the second connection I would like to show, the artistic connection. But there was also the case, as yet unstudied, where Figures of



1 On the Biblical Figures, see above all the studies of Max Engammare, especially ‘Les Figures de la Bible’. Cf. Van der Coelen, De Schrift verbeeld. I would like to thank very much M. Engammare for his critical reading of this article. On the dynamic of networks underlying successive editions of Figures of the Bible, see Kammerer, Jean de Vauzelles, pp. 211–51. Elsa Kammerer  •  received her PhD in 2005 at the Universities of Lille 3 and München. She now works at the University of Lille as maître de conférence, and since 2013 she is member of the Institut Universitaire de France. As Fellow of the Alexander von Humboldt-Stiftung (HU Berlin, 2015–2017) she studied the German reception of François Rabelais. Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400–1550): Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting through the Continuum of Sacred and Secular, ed. by Suzan Folkerts, New Communities of Interpretation, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), pp. 215–238 © FHG10.1484/M.NCI-EB.5.122100

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the Bible were used, from the second half of the sixteenth century, as libri amicorum: over a period of several years, collections of Figures of the Bible were used to record the autographs of networks of friends or even famous personalities, who most often supplied a religious or profane interpretation of a selected biblical episode.

Connected Printers (Frankfurt, Strasbourg, Lyon, Basle) The publication of Alciat’s Emblematum Liber in Augsburg in 1531, and its immediate success, opened up new opportunities for printer-booksellers. It was doubtless no coincidence that the Frankfurt printer Christian Egenolff, who commissioned Hans Sebald Beham to produce a series of Biblische Historien that he first published in 1533, was in personal contact with Justinus Gobler, who was in Bourges while Alciat was teaching there. The aim was, of course, as for almost all the Figures in the sixteenth century, to offset the cost of making the woodcuts used in picture-Bibles. But the impulse provided by the publication of books of emblems was also a decisive factor in the blossoming of the genre. In the 1533 Biblische Historien, a short Latin summary appears above each engraving, along with the biblical reference, and the same summary appears below it in German. In 1539 Egenolff added Latin epigrams commissioned from Georg Œmler, which he placed after each engraving (however, the pages do not follow a regular three-part layout, as some epigrams continue onto the following page).2 Egenolff ’s Biblische Historien were followed in 1538 by the publication in Lyon of a magnificent series of Old Testament engravings based on drawings by Hans Holbein. The Historiarum veteris instrumenti icones, most of whose engravings had already been copied to illustrate Christoph Froschauer’s Zürcher Bibel in 1531, were put on sale in Lyon by the Trechsels the same year as the Simulachres et historiées faces de la mort — Holbein’s celebrated ‘Dance of Death’.3 This publishing coup is an especially interesting instance of a connection between Lyon and Basle, cities in permanent contact thanks to merchants, bankers, and printers. Several personalities served as intermediaries in this vast undertaking, including Jacob Faber (Lefèvre or Vérier), Nicolas Bourbon, and most of all Jean de Vauzelles. The prose written by the latter to frame the edition princeps of the ‘Dance of Death’ suggests that he may have been thinking primarily of a collection for painters.4 The following year, in

2 The immediate and enduring success of this series was not due to a didactic intention that would have aimed it at a devout readership, but on its almost subversive nature: it is a far cry from Luther’s Passional. Beham’s series was republished in 1551 with Latin texts by Petrus Artopeus, along more moral and spiritual lines. 3 Historiarum veteris instrumenti icones; Les simulachres et historiées faces de la mort. 4 On the relations between Lyon and Basle in this project, see Kammerer, Jean de Vauzelles, pp. 177–91.

How Figures of the Bible Connected Printers, Artists, and Friends

1539, the Trechsels made determined use of connections with the genre of Emblemata: Holbein’s engravings were accompanied by quatrains in French written by Gilles Corrozet, who also worked on collections of emblems and devices.5 Having recovered the woodcuts when the Trechsels died, the Frellons pulled off another publishing coup in 1542 by securing the collaboration of Œmler, the poet who had worked for Egenolff in Frankfurt, their most direct competitors in the market for collections of Figures. Conrad Gesner’s Partitiones theologicae (1549), which brought together the entire corpus of contemporary religious printed works, shows the extent to which, in the ‘theological’ domain treated by Gesner, editions of Holbein played a key role in the gradual constitution of books of emblems in Lyon. Gesner opens the section entitled Picturae rerum et historiarum sacrarum in libris impressis, which includes Holbein’s Icones Historiarum veteris testamenti, by quoting Simonides’ famous aphorism that was taken up by Plutarch and constantly featured in collections of emblems, namely that ‘painting is silent poetry and poetry is painting that speaks’.6 Two years after the publication in Lyon of Holbein’s twofold series (Old Testament and Dance of Death), the Strasbourg printer Wendel Rihel decided in turn to publish some Figures of the Bible. He called upon Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder and Hans Baldung Grien, who took much of their inspiration from Holbein’s drawings.7 A short summary and a biblical reference appear above each engraving, which is then followed by a quatrain in German, confirming the deliberate kinship between Figures of the Bible and Emblemata. In Frankfurt, Hermann Gülfferich responded to Rihel by publishing a series by Hans Brosamer (New Testament in 1551, Old Testament and Apocalypse in 1553),8 soon eclipsed by the multilingual Figures (intended for a broad European readership) by Jean de Tournes in Lyon, which brought the genre to its first peak of excellence (1553–1558). De Tournes commissioned Bernard Salomon to produce a series of 350 engravings covering both Testaments. Unlike his German rivals, who only published their Figures in Latin and German, and following on from the Frellons, who had paved the way for multilingual series, De Tournes called upon seven different poets, several of whom were already famous: Claude Paradin (epigrams in French), Guillaume Paradin (Latin), Charles Fontaine (French), Damiano Maraffi (Italian), Caspar Scheit

5 Historiarum Veteris Testamenti icones. Holbein’s series is re-edited in Latin (1543, 1547), Spanish (1543, 1549), and English (1549), while the Dance of Death is re-edited in French (1542, 1547, and 1562), in Latin (1542, 1545, 1547, and 1554), and Italian (1549). 6 Gesner, Partitiones theologicae, fol. 156r: ‘Cum poësis viva quaedam et vocalis pictura sit, et pictura poësis muta, non temete haec illam subsequetur’. The expression ‘painting is silent poetry and poetry is painting that speaks’ is from Plutarch’s De gloria Atheniensium, iii. 346f–47c, in which he takes up Simonides’ famous aphorism. 7 Leien Bibel. 8 Novi Testamenti Iesu Christ historia effigata; Biblia veteris Testamenti et historiae.

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(German), Peter Derendel (English), and Guillaume Borluyt (Flemish);9 the identity of the Spanish poet remains hidden (maybe De Tournes himself). The response was not long in coming: a couple of years later, Sigmund Feyerabend published a series of woodcuts made by the Nuremberg draughtsman Virgil Solis (1560), using the German epigrams Scheit had written for De Tournes.10 In Lyon, De Tournes’ principal rival publishing in Italian, Guillaume Roville, decided in 1564 to employ Pierre Eskrich to produce a new series of Figures of the Bible in French and Italian.11 At the same time Feyerabend, Rab, and Han’s heirs in Frankfurt published a new series of Figures drawn by Bocksberger and engraved by Jost Amman (1564–1569).12 Feyerabend responded in 1571 with a series on which Amman worked alone, in Latin and German.13 And in 1576 Guarin in Basle, in collaboration with Jobin in Strasbourg, published the last Figures of the century based on woodcuts, the astonishing Neue künstliche Figuren Biblischer Historien by Tobias Stimmer, with a lengthy preface in praise of art and German epigrams by Johann Fischart of Strasbourg, who was also the publisher of Mathias Holtzwart’s Emblematum Tyrocinia.14 The series was republished in 1590, but with a clearly different approach in mind, Jobin having explicitly returned to the idea of a Leien Bibel (Laymen’s Bible).15

Sacred and Profane: High Porosity Max Engammare has shown that in the sixteenth century Figures were read by educated more than by uneducated folk; their aim was not so much to edify as to facilitate historical knowledge of the Bible, while providing genuine aesthetic enjoyment. Take, as an anecdotal example, the case of readers who clearly wished to preserve only the beautiful engravings from the two illustrated editions of Ovid and the Bible in their possession: the Ricklef collection at 9 In Lyon by J. de Tournes: Quadrins historiques de la Bible (1553; 1555; 1560; 1583); Quadrins historiques d’Exode (1553); True and lyvely historyke purtreatures of the woll bible (1553); Quadernos Ystoricos de la Biblia (1553); Figures du Nouveau Testament (1554; 1556; 1557; 1558; 1559; 1579); Wol gerissnen vnd geschnidten figuren Ausz der neuwen Testament (1554; 1564); Wol gerissnen und gechnidten figuren Ausz der Bibel (1554; 1564); Figure del nuovo testamento illustrate da versi vulgari Italiani (1554; 1559; 1577); Figure del Vecchio Testamento (1554; 1559); Ghesneden figueren wyten ouden testamente naer tleuene met huerlier bedietsele (1557); Ghesneden Figueren wuyten nieuwen testamente naer tleuene met huerlier bedietsele (1557); Historiarum memorabilium ex Genesi descriptio (1558). On this series, see Kammerer, ‘Lyon, capitale d’imprimerie’. 10 Biblische Figuren des Alten und Newen Testaments. 11 In Lyon, by G. Roville: Figures de la Bible, illustrées de huictains françoys, pour l’interpretation et intelligence d’icelles (1564) (huitains of G. Guéroult); Figure de la Biblia, illustrate de stanze tuscane (1565) (sixains of G. Simeoni); Figures du Nouveau Testament (1570) (huitains of C. Pontoux); Figure del Nuovo Testamento (1588) (huitains of G. Simeoni). 12 Neuwe biblische Figuren / deß Alten vnd Neuwen Testaments. 13 Bibliorum utriusque Testamenti icones; Neuwe Biblische Figuren: Künstlich vnd artig gerissen. 14 Neue künstliche Figuren Biblischer Historien. 15 Nouae Tobiae Stimmeri sacrorum bibliorum figurae.

How Figures of the Bible Connected Printers, Artists, and Friends

Erlangen-Nuremberg has a composite book featuring both Ovid’s Metamorphoses illustrated by Solis (1563) and Bocksberger and Amman’s Figuren (1565), from which their owner had removed the preliminary texts before having the illustrations bound into a single volume.16 In their hermeneutic relationship to the Bible, the vast majority of the Figures bear witness to the prevalence of a cognitive/recreational function over the soteriological function of scriptural knowledge one might justifiably expect. The Figures thus reveal a dialectic between historical knowledge of the Bible (rather than catechistic teaching) and pleasure experienced through seeing pictures, echoing the assertion, throughout that century, that painting was superior to poetry.17 After the relative restraint of early iconographic programmes (Holbein, Salomon), the series are full to the brim with sensuous and sometimes violent images: by neglecting to state their message of human salvation and by focusing instead on the enjoyable chaos of the senses, the images tended to threaten the meaning given to the Scriptures. The Bible increasingly became a mere storybook, while pictures, those ‘masters of pleasure’, assumed ever-greater power in a genre where they might have been destined to play a secondary role.18 In this context, we must emphasize the extent to which the physical proximity between Figures of the Bible and Emblemata, deliberately maintained by printers eager to surpass their direct rivals, was able to inflect (or even contaminate) the reader’s approach to biblical episodes — an approach that was not so much that of the devout individual, who saw it as a medium for devotion, nor even that of a Christian consolidating his historical knowledge of the Bible, but rather that of an art-loving scholar who saw the Figures as a source of aesthetic pleasure or a possible opportunity to engage in a deciphering exercise. The system of the Emblemata establishes, between the different parts of the emblem (motto, engraving, epigram), a relationship that is not descriptive but analogical, and which, in particular, releases the epigram from the need to describe the engraving. This is especially visible in the Figures of 1553–1558 in Lyon. A lively spirit of competition and rivalry concerning emblems existed between three printers, Jean de Tournes, Guillaume Roville, and Macé Bonhomme. Barthélemy Aneau’s Imagination poétique (published by Bonhomme in 1552) appeared exactly halfway between the year De Tournes began his project (1551)19 and the year he first published the first Figures (1553), Aneau’s French translation of Alciat’s Emblemata having been published in Lyon in 1549. With the Imagination poétique, Aneau wanted to prove that an engraving that tells a story ‘says nothing’, because it can have several different meanings; it says nothing because it ‘says 16 Tetrasticha in Ovidii Metam. (H62/Slg.Ricklefs B23); Neue biblische Figuren (H62/Slg. Ricklefs B24); Text und Bild, pp. 17–18. There is another composite book in a particular collection in Geneva: see Engammare, ‘D’une philologie l’autre’. 17 Lee, Ut pictura poesis. 18 Engammare, ‘Les Figures de la Bible’, p. 587. 19 On the date when De Tournes began work on his project, see Kammerer, Jean de Vauzelles, pp. 240–42.

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too much’. The prevailing principles here were free association, contemplation, and invention. In a sense, Aneau invented picture commentary — the kind of free commentary that is the very basis of the emblem.20 The experiment attempted by Macé Bonhomme when he published the Imagination poétique highlighted and legitimized a certain creative freedom on the part of the poet with respect to the engravings. I have suggested elsewhere the influence of Aneau’s Emblèmes and Imagination poétique on De Tournes’ Figures: they clearly place the latter less in a dynamic of devotion than in one of pictorial representation. If the role of the figure as a source of pleasure is obvious, when it is framed by a biblical reference and an epigram it becomes an aid to thought, driven by a deliberately cultivated disparity between image and text. Drawing inspiration, for example, from Salomon’s engraving of the Flood, Derendel, the Spanish author (De Tournes himself?), Scheit, and Guillaume Paradin prosaically state the duration of the flood (five months); Claude Paradin mentions the Ark which ‘flotte dessus l’onde’ (float on the waves);21 and the correction made to the third verse in the 1560 edition (‘tous les canaux du Ciel sont tous ouverts’ became ‘tous les canaux du Ciel se sont ouverts’, which is more pleasing to the ear),22 reveals a certain concern for poetry. The pieces of Latin text, some evocative of the Eclogues, others of the Aeneid, lend the engraving a very Virgilian tone: the image of God breaking the celestial locks to release the downpour; the drifting ship carried by the waves up to the stars; Noah referred to as a vitisator or vine-planter, which is both an allusion to his drunkenness (Genesis 9. 20–21) and a possible nod to Silenus in the sixth Eclogue,23 and the majesty and amplitude of the receding flood. The engraving of Joseph escaping from Potiphar’s wife inspired the Italian poet Maraffi to write verses reminiscent of Petrarch or Boccaccio. He describes the birth and gradual flowering of fierce love in the heart of Potiphar’s wife: her contemplation of the young Joseph, her pounding heart, the ardent love mounting in her brain, and her passion that can no longer be concealed. But in Maraffi, unlike in the Bible story (Genesis 39. 7–15), the seductress first engages in an inner struggle against the illicit love she seeks to hide. It seems that Maraffi, whose humanistic erudition in Lyon is unquestionable, treats Potiphar’s wife like Seneca’s pagan Phaedra. As a result, the significance of the oft-repeated affirmation in early editions of Figures of the superiority of Bible stories over pagan narratives must not be overstated: it was first and foremost a topos in religious poetry. True, in 1538 Frellon expressed his aversion for ‘images of Venus, Diana, and other debauched goddesses who hinder the mind with error or turpitude’, preferring holy figures imbued with the ‘mysteries of faith alone’, teaching the reader to love only God and to acknowledge the true religion. He believed that biblical

20 Fontaine, ‘Stories beyond Words’. 21 Paradin, Quatrins, 1553, fol. B3v. 22 Paradin, Quatrins, 1560, fol. B3v. 23 Virgil, Eclogues, vi, vv. 13–30.

How Figures of the Bible Connected Printers, Artists, and Friends

images, or ‘tableaux depicting the holy canons’, must replace the lewd world of Olympus, and the reader must turn his back on the heroes of classical Antiquity.24 In 1539, Œmler saw Beham’s figures as infinitely preferable to the morally questionable images in circulation at the time.25 Corrozet, who was working in the same period on the Tapisserie de l’Eglise Chrestienne et catholique (Paris: Denis Janot, 1544) also underlined the importance of the ‘beauty’ of the portraits ‘described’ and ‘painted’ in the collection, that the reader can then ‘insculp’ (insculper) in his imagination. He concludes: Doncques ostez de voz maisons & salles, Tant de tapiz & de peintures sales, Ostez Venus & son filz Cupido, Ostez Helene & Philice & Dido, Ostez du tout fables & poësies Et recevez meilleures fantasies. Mectez au lieu, & soient vos chambres ceinctes Des dictz sacrez, & des histoires sainctes Telles que sont celles que voiez cy En ce livret. Et si faictes ainsy, Grandz & petis, les jeunes & les vieulx Auront plaisir, & au cœur & aux yeulx.26 (So remove from your houses and halls All those dirty tapestries and paintings, Remove Venus and her son Cupid, Remove Helen and Phyllis and Dido, Remove all fables and poetry And receive more elevated fantasies. Put them there instead, and surround your rooms With godly words and holy stories Such as those you see here In this book. And if you do this, People big and small, young and old Will have pleasure in their hearts and eyes.) But Corrozet, who had just published a book of emblems explicitly aimed at ‘ymagers & tailleurs / Painctres, brodeurs, orfevres, esmailleurs’ (painters and embroiderers, draughtsmen, engravers, goldsmiths, and enamellers), apparently considered that the Icones might also be used by artists. And three years later, he published an illustrated translation of Aesop’s fables. Claude Paradin (whom Scheit mentions, among the three who collaborated on the Wol gerissnen figuren of 1554, as the one who ‘arranged the Figures of 24 Historiarum veteris instrumenti icones, fol. A1v. 25 Biblicae historiae, magno artificio depictae, fol. A2r. 26 Historiarum veteris Testamenti icones, fols A3r–v.

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the Bible according to the veritable text, with such care that it was crowned with success’)27 was closely involved in the milieu of humanists and printers in Lyon, and in 1551 wrote a collection of emblems and mottos that enjoyed continued success until the mid-seventeenth century. Most often the same men, in the same workshops, composed, engraved, and commented upon Figures of the Bible, emblems, and devises. Equally at ease in profane and sacred settings, they shared the same creative drive and the same desire to ensure the commercial success of the workshop that employed them. It seems to me that one cannot consider the production of Figures of the Bible — and no doubt, more broadly, a significant number of illustrated religious texts — independently of the local or, in our case, European dynamics that drove printers eager to offset the costs of woodcuts, who were constantly on the lookout for successful publications, and who even launched trends. Jean de Tournes, for instance, published his Métamorphose figurée and his Figures de la Bible at the same time, and Roville published the Figures and Alciat’s Emblemata. Solis produced his Figures in 1560 and the woodcuts for Metamorphoseon libri ix in 1563. The same artists moved freely from Ovid to the Pentateuch, from Eve to Venus. The bodies depicted in the Figures are very often, using the Bible as their cover, daring, scantily clad and sometimes very beautiful, doubtless giving rise to many secret thoughts. Poets and engravers undertook to breathe life into both Suzanne and Daphne: the sacred and profane inspirations of artists and poets belonged to the same world, and they moved easily, and indeed willingly, between the two. This is a palpable reality of the sixteenth century. Think for example of Cranach’s paintings Cupid Complaining to Venus and Eve, hanging opposite one another at the Gemäldegalerie in Berlin: Venus and Eve have the same features, the same graceful elegance, and the same unsettling beauty. The corpus of Figures of the Bible is unique in that the porosity they reveal between the sacred and the profane is intrinsically and palpably linked to a constant ‘connectivity’ among those who produced them (printer-booksellers, artists, poets) and among those who received them (devout scholars, art lovers, and artists — as well as networks of friends).

Community of Artists One of the editorial strategies adopted by rival printer-booksellers who put Figures on the market thus consisted in expanding their readership not only to educated people and art lovers, but also, ever more explicitly, to artists themselves, thus creating several circles of readers — several communities of interpreters, one might say: devout readers (who were not, in fact, very numerous); scholars and art lovers; and artists, to whom the books offered repertories of models that were sometimes used in religious contexts, but 27 Scheit, Wol gerissnen Figuren, fols A2v–A3r.

How Figures of the Bible Connected Printers, Artists, and Friends

above all served as inspiration for profane works. The titles, prefaces, and dedications of the Figures were essentially intended for lovers of belles-lettres who were just as fond of biblical and contemporary stories as they were of ancient or mythological ones. The printers aimed above all to spark erudite and aesthetic pleasure, whilst producing books whose illustrations could be used as models by artists. Books of Figures of the Bible thus became the focus of different communities of interpretation. In 1540, Rihel explicitly addressed ‘painters, goldsmiths, and tapestry weavers’.28 In Lyon, Scheit explicitly considered his Salomon series worthy of Holbein and Beham, and aimed his Wol gerissnen vnd geschnidten figuren at ‘artists, painters and art lovers’.29 In 1564, Roville published Eskrich’s Figures, prompted, he said, by ‘gens doctes, soyt en bonnes lettres, ou art de paincture’ (people of learning, either in literature or painting).30 The titles of the German Figuren that appeared in Frankfurt from 1560 onwards laid emphasis on the art of the engraver, while the forewords and dedications highlighted the tension that remained between devout and artistic use — although the latter prevailed. The engravings of Solis, in 1560, are thus first and foremost intended for artists (painters, goldsmiths, and lovers of engravings) who could not afford to buy a complete Bible, and for ‘einfeltigen Christen’ (uneducated Christians) who found in them a kind of Leyen Bibell (Laymen’s Bible). Feyerabend intended Bocksberger and Amman’s Neuwe biblische Figuren not only for uneducated folk (either because they could not read or because aesthetic pleasure might encourage them to read more) but also and above all for painters, goldsmiths, and art lovers; the dedication addressed to the ‘Christian reader’ states that the intended audience is not only ‘jedermann’ (everyman) but ‘fürnemlich’ (above all) artists: painters, goldsmiths, sculptors, and ‘all artists’.31 In 1571, when he published, in a tinier format, the new series by Amman, Feyerabend pointed out, referring to the beauty of the pictures, the continuum between the sacred and the profane: many Fathers of the Church, he says, and still others in his time, have used their poetic talents in the service of God, and led young people from profane turpitude towards the contemplation of that which is holy. Why then refuse to allow the sacred to enjoy the poetry and images that adorn the profane? He himself had adorned his editions of Livy and Ovid with engravings, and now did the same with Bible stories (we see

28 Leien Bibel, fol. a3r: ‘Darin auch iren lust und nutz haben mögen die Künstler, als maler, goldschmid, bildwürcker und dergleichen’. 29 Scheit, Wol gerissnen figuren, fols A2r–v: ‘Und darbey des fleißigen berümpten truckerherren Ioannis Tornesii, welcher solche figuren mit grossem kosten in die Bibel (die dan solches und grössers fleisz wol wurdig) reissen laszt, gedachte, das er nemlich der meynung wëre die selbigen für künstler, maler, und kunst liebhaber, wie man auch die künstliche Holbeinische und fleißige des Sebolds Behmen, biblische figuren zu samen getruckt hat, sonderlich an tag zu geben’. 30 Figures du Nouveau Testament (Lyon: Roville, 1570), fol. Aa2v. 31 Biblische Figuren des Alten und Newen testaments, fols A2r-v.

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here once again the ‘printshop dynamic’ mentioned above). His collection of Figures is ultimately presented as ‘hic pulcherrimus Iconum & Emblematum thesaurus’ (this magnificent treasure-house of images and emblems).32 The German version of this series, first published in Latin, which also appeared in 1571 and whose eight-line verses were written by the pastor Petrus Rebenstock, nevertheless leans towards more meditative, devout reading. In his dedication to Conrad von Ofenbach, to whom he gave the Figuren as a New Year gift, Feyerabend began with a long catechism. Recalling the great mysteries of the Christian faith and the need always to praise God this nonetheless allowed him to state that it is vital to instruct children and young people; one of the ways of doing this, he deftly concludes, is to use paintings and figures. Taking a stance in contemporary discussions on the legitimacy of religious images, Feyerabend concedes that excesses and idolatry exist but, quoting Gregory, he defends their usefulness for those who are unable to read: figures, like verses, hymns, and beautiful songs, can be instruments of praise. He ends his dedication by warmly lauding the art of printing, and then the other arts: drawing and engraving, painting, and sculpture, all of which he saw as remarkable in such ‘dangerous times’. His book, he said, was to serve God and the Church, and to be useful to young people and the man in the street, as well as to all Christians and, more broadly, to lovers of the ‘ehrlicher guten Künste’ (honest arts).33 Stimmer’s Neue künstliche Figuren (1576), the first to refer to its ‘figures’ as ‘artistic’ rather than ‘biblical’ (the adjective ‘biblical’ being used for the ‘biblical stories’), are characterized by a hitherto unknown strategy, in marked contrast to the porosity I have observed in certain epigrams in De Tournes’ publications in Lyon. Fischart, who can be considered as the publisher of the book, makes a clear distinction between the recreational and iconological function of Stimmer’s engravings, which might inspire art lovers and artists, and German verse, which offered a moral or pastoral reading of biblical episodes. The first lines of each epigram describe the biblical scene depicted in the engraving; the last verse, echoing the brief summary presented above the engraving, shows its moral or religious outcome. For example, the creation of Eve shows the ‘necessity for marriage’,34 the drunkenness of Noah, in other words, in this particular case the shameful negligence of Sham, makes it possible to conclude that ‘he who honours his parents is honoured by God’, and so on.35 In marked

32 Bibliorum utriusque Testamenti icones, fol. A5r, dedicace of Feyerabend to Johannes Fichard. See the title: ‘Ut pius Lector vere sacrorum hic emblematum thesaurum possit agnoscere’. 33 Neuwe Biblische Figuren: Künstlich vnd artig gerissen, fol. A8r, dedicace of Feyerabend to Conrad von Ofenbach. 34 Neue künstliche Figuren Biblischer Historien, fol. A1v: ‘Ehlich Pflicht aufgericht. Auf das der Mensch ain Ghülfin het | Schuf Got, weil Adam schlafen teht | Evam das Weib, aus seiner Ripp | Die darnach allzeit bei jm plib: | Hiraus entsprißt die Ehlich lib’. 35 Neue künstliche Figuren Biblischer Historien, fol. Bar: ‘Der Schänder wird geschändet. Der Regenbogen ward Gots bund: | Cham plos sein Vater ligen fund | Vnd deckt jn nicht, wie seine Brüder | Verflucht ward er, zum Knecht ernidert: | Wer Eltern ehrt, den ehrt Got wider’.

How Figures of the Bible Connected Printers, Artists, and Friends

contrast, the dedication Fischart addresses to Philipp Ludwig, count of Hanau and Rineck, features a lengthy text in praise of art, in verse and then in prose, followed by an explicit defence of the religious images that made the text the focus of contemporary discussions on the subject. Here Fischart suggests his explicit rivalry vis-à-vis the publishers of the Figures that preceded his own. When Jobin, working alone, republished Stimmer’s series in 1590, he made some significant alterations. He dropped the in-quarto format used in 1576, which had made it possible to add a magnificent frame to each page, alternating eight different designs,36 and adopted instead an in-octavo format that was easier to handle, less heavily ornamented and less expensive (the page frames disappeared); he balanced the effect of the engraving by giving more space to the text, which was now bilingual: Fischart’s German quatrains are preceded by Latin verses written by Paulus Crusius, deacon of the church of Sankt-Wilhelm in Strasbourg.37 The dedication, which has been transformed into a text addressed to the reader, shifts reading the Figuren towards an act of devotion and moral probity. The Künstliche Figuren are clearly described as a Leien Bibel,38 the name Rihel gave to the series by Vogtherr and Baldung Grien in 1540, and which also connects Rihel to the pedagogical ambitions of Luther when he added the Passional to his Betbüchlein in 1529.39 It is thus hardly surprising that Fischart removed the two very amusing anecdotes from Vasari that had featured in his 1576 dedication. To justify the use of religious imagery, he recalled Paul’s Epistle to Titus (1. 15) according to which ‘to the pure all things are pure’, followed by an anecdote about a monk who was annoyed that Mary Magdalene was depicted with a pretty face and bare arms; the second anecdote was about a prelate who asked Ridolfo Ghirlandaio to stop painting such seductive Virgins; in response Ghirlandaio gave him a painting of the Virgin of the Annunciation sporting a beard.40 36 The alternating frames are reminiscent of the principle adopted by Sabon for Maurice Scève’s Délie (1544). 37 Nouae Tobiae Stimmeri sacrorum bibliorum figurae. 38 J. Fischart, dedicace of the Nouae Tobiae Stimmeri sacrorum bibliorum figurae, fol. 8v: ‘Dieselben hat nachmaln der würdige vnnd wolgelerte M. Paulus Crusius der Kirchen zu S. Wilhelm in Straßburg Diaconus, in lateinische versus gesetzt, vnd zu disem werck dise Leien Bibel, wie man diß werck billich nennen möchte etlichen Leuten dienen zu einer erinnerung der Göttlichen Mayt. offenbarung in Exemplen der gerechtigkeit vnd barmherzigkeit darinnen sie jre in Glauben stercken, vnd ernstliche Gottsforcht zu jrem thun vnd lassen mögen erwecken’. 39 Luther’s Passional (1529), which has been seen as foreshadowing the genre of Biblical Figures, was clearly aimed at educating uneducated folk, based on the function of sacred imagery recognized by medieval tradition from Gregory the Great to Thomas Aquinas or Bonaventure. Luther’s intention was to announce the Word of God via all possible media, especially to the gemeiner Mann, the ‘man in the street’, who only spoke the vernacular language, as well as to ‘children’ and ‘uneducated folk’ (einfeltige) who had no theological training; the Latin editions of the Passional were intended for scholars, including those outside Germany. 40 Neue künstliche Figuren Biblischer Historien, fol. 4v.

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The artists (engravers, of course, but also painters, ceramicists, enamellers, glassmakers, master carpenters, embroiderers, etc.) used Figures of the Bible as anthologies of motifs for their sacred or profane work, just as collections of emblems and mottos served as models for decorating churches, castles, or private homes. Research has been carried out on the series by Salomon and Eskrich in Lyon, used for instance by the ceramicists of Faenza and Urbino;41 the wall paintings at the Château de Lude reproduce the story of Joseph based on Salomon’s vignettes; and the cycle of Jacob can be found on the painted fireplaces at the Château d’Ecouen. A chased silver dish made in Paris c.1560 also has sixteen biblical scenes apparently taken from Salomon; a range of motifs on plates and a bowl made by Pierre Reymond (1513–1584?) come from Salomon and Eskrich; a vignette from Salomon probably served as a model for Nicolas Pinaigrier when he made the stained-glass window depicting the Resurrection at the Church of Saint-Etienne-du-Mont in Paris around 1585; and so on. We also know, thanks to Joachim von Sandrart, who in his Teutsche Academie (1675) tells of a journey he made with Rubens from Utrecht to Amsterdam, that Rubens held the German old masters in great esteem and that, in his youth, he had copied Stimmer’s Figuren and Holbein’s Dance of Death. Several surviving drawings by Rubens confirm that, in his later formative years (1595–1598), Rubens used Holbein’s and Stimmer’s Figures of the Bible to practice drawing. Rubens either isolated certain motifs that were of particular interest to him, or used the Figures directly: for example, the depiction of Job’s wife by Holbein, and then (especially) Stimmer, which Rubens used for the altar of the Church of Saint Nicholas in Brussels (now destroyed).42

The Unstudied Case of the Libri Amicorum We can thus see to what extent the Figures of the Bible put into play and energized networks of both printer-booksellers and artists. I would now like to draw attention to the role played by a third ‘community of interpretation’: the friends of owners of Figures of the Bible that were used as libri amicorum. The practice of the liber amicorum or album amicorum or Stammbuch,43 part of the classical, then humanist tradition of the cult of friendship, involved

41 For all these discoveries, see the references in Engammare, ‘Le livre à figures lyonnais’. 42 Lohse Belkin, ‘Rubens und Stimmer’. 43 In 1573 Feyerabend published the first Stamm- oder Gesellenbuch that explicitly bears the name Stammbuch. In response to demand from his customers, in 1567, he had nonetheless prepared an edition of Alciat’s Emblemata in which he had left a few blank pages on which autographs might be written. On the libri amicorum, see in particular ‘Stammbuch’, in Deutsches Wörterbuch, xvii, cols 646–48; Roersch, ‘Les “Album Amicorum” du xvie et du xviie siècles’; Fechner, ‘Persönliche Beziehungen und Bildungskontakte’; Fechner, ‘Stammbücher als kulturhistorische Quellen’; Schwarz, Studien zur Stammbuchpraxis; Schnabel, Das Stammbuch; Beal, ‘Liber amicorum’.

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gathering together in a special book, carried on its owner’s person on his travels, autographs of friends, teachers, or famous people who agreed, as a token of friendship, to leave a simple signature, accompanied by the date and possibly a greeting, a pithy quotation, a motto, a proverb, a Bible verse or a classical epigram, or sometimes an original text in prose or verse. The ‘true’ liber amicorum consisted of blank sheets bound into a small book, but many libri amicorum were originally printed books. In these cases the owner might simply use the blank endpapers, or the bookbinder might insert some blank pages specially intended for autographs, or the printer might design a book as a liber amicorum and leave some pages blank: this is the case for the Thesaurus Amicorum printed by Jean de Tournes in Lyon in 1558–1559, the first of its kind. The practice can first be observed in academic circles in Wittenberg in the late 1540s, especially in the entourage of Philip Melanchthon. A ritual soon developed there, which involved collecting the autographs of renowned reformers and theologians in what might also be referred to as an album sodalium. Such collections of autographs, gathered over the years, made it possible to constitute — or reconstitute — a symbolic sodalitia. Although affected especially by Luther’s death in 1546, or more simply by one of its members moving further away, the sodalitia could thus be symbolically preserved despite geographical distance. The book was also a conscious instrument of memoria: the memory of distant or deceased friends; the memory of the owner who left his name to posterity, inserted into a network of possibly famous people; and the memory of a group of people who, at a particular point in history, formed a community (of students, more often than not), and often knew one another (some signatories can be found in several Stammbücher). The liber thus reflects a network that was built up gradually over time, forming a record of the joint presence of the owner and the friend who, by leaving an autograph, joined a community of autograph-signers who, in the case of the libri amicorum made from printed books, were also readers. The liber amicorum ultimately constitutes a fascinating historical source that vibrantly combines the culture of the manuscript and the culture of printing; reading and writing; religious and profane reading; travel and collecting; memory and representation; and personal initiative and collective construction. The libri amicorum made from collections of Figures of the Bible — those that interest me here — only form a small proportion of the libri that have so far been identified: the vast majority of printed works used as libri amicorum were collections of emblems. Once again we see the fertile tension that existed between collections of Figures and collections of emblems: choosing a collection of Figures often meant choosing a collection of emblems — in its religious variant. The act of choosing a collection of Figures to gather the autographs of friends and famous people certainly reflected an interest in its biblical content, relating to the theological studies undertaken by its owner, for example, or to his desire to confirm a religious profile in the eyes of his friends or potential protectors (the liber amicorum often served as a visiting card). But this decision just as often reflected the owner’s sensitivity

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to the beauty of the engravings (through personal taste, or because the liber amicorum also served as an instrument of self-representation, and thus possibly of prestige). Above all it reflected a practice that combined a mental exercise that was specific to emblemata (forming analogical relationships between the motto, the engraving, and the epigram) with an approach that associated a characteristic of a friend (or of a friendship) with a particular emblem or, in our case, a particular biblical episode. The friend asked for an autograph would take the time to leaf through the Figures to choose where to place his signature; he would copy the quotation inspired by the engraving; or he would write an original text inspired by the biblical episode. Not only did the liber amicorum build up a network of friends, many of whom were willing, for a moment, to act as the interpreters of biblical episodes. Several autographs also show their authors playing consciously with the system of the emblem, with ‘emblematic’ reading contaminating literal or allegorical reading. To date I have identified two copies of Stimmer’s Neue Künstliche Figuren (1576) that were used as libri amicorum.44 The first was, in the late nineteenth century, in the ducal library of Wernigerode, now no longer in existence; it was used by a certain Paul Bolen as a Stammbuch between 1593 and 1595 (and then occasionally between 1603 and 1633). Bolen’s interleaved Figuren contained the autographs of several friends or colleagues mainly from Wittenberg, but also from Greifenberg, Danzig, and Königsberg.45 The second copy, with interleaved pages framed with a red border, belonged to one Jean Murer of Zurich, a student of the Sturm Academy in Strasbourg; it is held in the Bibliothèque Diderot in Lyon.46 The book contains thirty-one Latin, Greek, or Hebrew inscriptions dating from 1578 to 1580; among the Germans, Alsatians, and Swiss (and one Irishman) who left their autograph, we find the coloured arms of one Friedrich Wolfgang Boschman, an autograph by Jean Sturm, the signatures of Michael Boschius and Melchior Junius, Lutheran professors at the Academy of Strasbourg, and those of a number of notables.47 Of equal interest is the interleaved collection of Neuwe biblische Figuren by Bocksberger and Amman (1564) used as a Stammbuch between 1565 and 1600 by Georg Böhne, who was born in Thorn and studied at Wittenberg around

44 Kammerer, ‘Un usage méconnu des Figures de la Bible’. 45 Wernigerode, Fürstliche Bibliothek, Zm 5.4 ( Jacobs, Die Stammbücher der Fürstlichen Bibliothek, A, p. 3, no. 7. Cf. Klose, Corpus Alborum Amicorum, p. 143). The ducal library of Wernigerode, which boasted 130,000 volumes in the mid-1920s, was the largest private library in northern Germany. Financial difficulties forced it to sell several books in 1927–1929, when it was finally closed. It reopened in 1933 but most of the books were confiscated as war trophies by the Russians in 1946. I have been unable to find Paul Bolen’s copy. 46 Lyon, Bibliothèque Diderot, 1R 100001. Ex-libris with crest painted on the flyleaf and accompanied by the hand-written inscription Johannes Murerus Tigurinus possessor hujus libri anno Christi m d lxxviii. The initials of the owner (IMT) are also stamped on the upper section of the brown calfskin binding dating from 1579. 47 Kammerer, ‘Un usage méconnu des Figures de la Bible’.

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1565. This copy, held at the Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek in Weimar,48 has forty-four autographs. I will discuss two of them here, as they seem to exemplify religious connectivity on several levels.49 The Neuwe biblische Figuren of 1564 were printed in a small, narrow format; the size of the engravings means there is little space left for the text: a brief scriptural reference, four lines of Latin verse laid out across two columns above the engraving, and four lines of German verse laid out in the same way underneath. The set of autographs in Böhne’s Stammbuch, of various different types (simple signatures, more or less elaborate greetings, quotations from the Bible and classical authors sometimes inserted by the same person, original texts in Latin distychs, or prose in German or French), indicates a posteriori a group of students and professors connected to one another by location (Wittenberg, then Altdorf), activities (teaching, studying, various student pursuits), or simply friendship. The choice of a collection of Figures of the Bible as the medium for a liber amicorum is doubtless related to the fact that Böhne, in Wittenberg, was probably a student of theology: his friends were anyway students of theology;50 among the friends who left their mark on his Stammbuch, we find Caspar Bucer, Melanchthon’s son-in-law. But his choice was also based on the magnificence of the engravings, which, in sum, would suggest his own standing and taste: indeed, Böhne obtained the autographs of several members of the nobility and even the upper nobility — Solms, Polheim, Lobkowitz, Scherffenberg, Stahrhemberg, Ost, Czitzuitz [Zitzewitz], and Jasmund. It is also conceivable that Böhne may have consciously wished to give his friends the opportunity to play with the emblematic process: very widespread at the time, this was one of the scholarly pursuits that provided the most pleasure. I propose to focus on two examples here, which connect the consideration of a biblical episode to an emblematic exercise and also involve an entire community of readers in the background. Bocksberger and Amman chose to depict the precise moment when the dry skeletons described in Ezekiel 37. 1–14, after being covered with sinews and flesh, are blown upon by the Holy Spirit and come to life (Ezekiel 37.

48 Weimar, HAAB, MS Stb 358 (after the brandfire 2004 still in the library). Cf. Henning, ‘Zu Entstehung und Inhalt’, p. 36; Klose, CAAC, p. 31. 49 For a detailed analysis, see Kammerer, ‘Un usage méconnu des Figures de la Bible’. 50 I found a Michael Böhne (maybe a brother of Georg Böhne?) among the adolescentes nobiles who came to Wittenberg in May 1563 with the dukes of Pomerany Ernestus Ludovicus (who was elected Rector Academiae in Wittenberg in 1563) and his brother Barnimus (see Foerstemann, Album academiae Vitebergensis, p. 50: ‘Pridie Iduum Maii [1563], hoc est die 14, venerunt in hanc academiam illustrissimi principes ac domini dominu Ernestus Ludovicus et dominus Barnimus fratres principes ac duces Stetinensium Pomeraniae Cassubiae Sclauoniaeque duces principes Rugiae et comites Guzkoviae filii illustrissimi et otpimi principis Philippi Pomeraniae ducis, etc. Et horum in comitatu fuerunt adolescentes nobiles: Michael Boehne Pomeranus’, cf. p. 60: ‘Inscriptorum nomina et eorum, qui in nostro et illustrissimi fratris domini Barnimi iunioris, Stettinensium, Pomeranorum ducis, etc. comitatu fuerunt. […] Michael Böhne puer cubicularius’).

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Figure 9.1. Anonymous annotation commenting Ezekiel 37. 1–14 in Georg Böhne’s Stammbuch or liber amicorum, which is an interleaved copy of Neuwe biblische Figuren (s.l., [1564]), Weimar, Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek, MS Stb 358, fols 48v–49r.

9–10) (Figure 9.1). The prophetic vision of Ezekiel lends itself to two main interpretations in ecclesiastical tradition: the promise of the restoration of Israel (the vision recalls God’s plan for the Israelites held captive in Babylon, in order to restore their hope); or an Old Testament adumbration of the Resurrection of the Dead (a typological interpretation). It is this second interpretation that the Latin and German epigrams point to: God brings the army of Christ back to life. The German text also associates the windborne Spirit with the manifestation of forgiveness and divine grace. The German autograph at this point in the Figuren is neither signed nor dated; its apparent incompleteness even suggests that its author may have been interrupted. Taking the vision of Ezekiel as a type for the resurrection of the dead made possible by the Resurrection of Christ (fol. K1r), Böhne’s friend quotes, with a slight alteration, the first verse of the German epigram (‘Die Todten sollen wider leben’); but his gloss then goes further, offering an interpretation of the text from Ezekiel as announcing not only

How Figures of the Bible Connected Printers, Artists, and Friends

the Resurrection, but also — and above all — the Last Judgement: ‘Alle Thodten werden auferstehen, alle die in den Gräbern sind werden [?] kommen etliche zum ewigen Leben etliche zur ewigen Glimpf [?] und verdammnüβ’ (All deceased people will resurrect; all who are lying in their graves will either obtain eternal life or will endure eternal suffering and damnation).51 This association between the vision of Ezekiel and the Last Judgement is not, in my view, so much based on a reading of Ezekiel as on iconographic reminiscences awakened by the engraving. Bocksberger and Amman gathered together, in the left-hand corner, bodies that have not yet been covered in flesh, i.e. skeletons, while on the right there are bodies that have already come back to life. In Ezekiel, all the dried bones become living bodies once more; the engraving, if it properly follows the Bible, thus depicts a moment in time, not the result of a Judgement, which appears 51 Weimar, HAAB, MS Stb 358, fols 48v‒49r; Neuwe biblische Figuren, fol. K1r.

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Figure 9.2. Sigfried von Pohleim und Warttenburg’s annotation in Georg Böhne’s liber amicorum in Wittenberg on 5 June 1565 (Samson destroying the temple, Judges 16. 25–30), Weimar, Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek, MS Stb 358, fols 27v–28r.

nowhere in Ezekiel. And yet Böhne’s friend perceived in this picture a possible evocation of the Last Judgement, and one might think that Amman and Bocksberger in fact had depictions of the Last Judgement in mind. We are immediately put in mind of Michelangelo’s Last Judgement, which shows, in the lower left-hand corner of the huge fresco, a resurrection of the dead that is clearly directly inspired by Ezekiel: some bodies are still skeletons, while others have already been covered in flesh. In the lower right-hand corner, however, men and women are being thrown from Charon’s boat (a reminiscence from Dante’s Divine Comedy) into hell. Michelangelo thus closely associates the bones in Ezekiel with the Last Judgement, and it is this association that Bocksberger and Amman (possibly) and the author of the autograph (unquestionably) made their own. The latter thus applies in practice the analogical process typical of emblemata: by adding an eschatological meaning that did not appear in the printed book, Böhne’s friend in a sense completes the emblem already put in place by the trio

How Figures of the Bible Connected Printers, Artists, and Friends

formed by the scriptural reference, the engraving, and the epigrams. We see here how flimsy the frontier can be between analogical interpretation characteristic of the emblem and typological interpretation typical of biblical exegesis: we find ourselves facing a similar thought process, which involves deciphering a hidden meaning that is waiting to be revealed. More interesting still: Sigfried von Pohleim und Warttenburg, who signed Georg Böhne’s liber amicorum a few days later, on 5 June 1565, also in Wittenberg, seems to place a religious interpretation on an episode (Samson destroying the temple, Judges 16. 25–30, fol. E5r) whose engraving and epigrams in the Figuren only highlight its human (or more precisely superhuman) dimension (Figure 9.2). The Latin and German epigrams content themselves with describing the scene: Samson upturns the two columns of the temple, which collapses onto the people and kills them. The engraving immediately recalls Giulio Romano’s frescoes depicting the fall of the giants at the Palazzo Te in Mantua (1530–1534). However, Sigfried von Polheim chooses to quote a

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Latin distych by Melanchthon.52 In doing this he seems to be thinking of the moment when, in the Bible, Samson appeals to God, asking him to give back his strength as a last act of grace.53 The autograph here finds itself part of the emblematic system of the printed page, going a step further than the scriptural reference ‘Iudic. xvi’ which, in place of a motto, indicated that the engraving and the epigrams together refer to a biblical episode. The autograph Sigfried gave to his friend Georg reveals a still hidden meaning of the engraving: we must see in it not only a demonstration of immense physical strength, but also the true source of that strength: the knowledge (‘notitiam’) that Samson has of the Lord. We see how the formulation of certain autographs strongly suggests a possible contamination of the act of reading, in a biblical context, by the emblematic approach, which is analogical.

Conclusion In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, distinctions between the sacred and the profane were not always clear-cut, nor even relevant. In this respect, Figures of the Bible form a rich corpus that allows us to observe the continuum between the religious and the profane, thanks precisely to the large number of people involved in their design (rivalry between European printers), their production (print shops, networks of artists and poets), their various religious uses (sources of historic knowledge of the Bible, perhaps media for worship), and especially their profane uses (aesthetic enjoyment for art lovers, repositories of motifs for artists). Figures of the Bible constantly connected different people involved in illustrated books and the world of art, not to mention friends and other acquaintances. In the design of the engravings and sometimes the texts, there is much porosity between the biblical and profane (mainly classical) worlds, and the engravings also fuelled an increasingly sensual imaginary world that was closely linked to contemporary iconography. The contamination of epigrams by classical sources in the work of certain poets employed by De Tournes in Lyon, and the solution proposed by Fischart and Stimmer in the mid-1570s, then more significantly in 1590, which involved distinguishing between the function of the engravings (to inspire the artists) and those of the epigrams (to support religious devotion), are but two of the many strategies adopted within this immense corpus where all possible cases of mutual opposition, cohabitation, and porosity between the sacred and the profane can be observed. The

52 Neuwe biblische Figuren, fol. E5v; Weimar, HAAB, MS Stb 538, fol. 27v: ‘Felix cui dederit mediocria commoda vitae / Notitiamque sui Filius ipse Dei’. See for example in Melanchton, Philippi Melanthonis Epigrammatum, fol. L1r. Melanchthon is one of the most frequently quoted contemporary authors in sixteenth-century German Stammbücher. 53 Judges 16. 28.

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transformation of some copies of the Figures into libri amicorum — a corpus that assuredly deserves a closer look — reveals in very concrete terms the different types of relationship that existed between the Scriptures, the engravings that acted as their mediators, and the networks of friends who added their own interpretations.

Bibliography Manuscripts and Archival Sources Weimar, Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek, MS Stb 358 [accessed 14 July 2019] Primary Sources Biblia veteris Testamenti et historiae, artificiosis picturis affigiata. Biblische Historien Künstlich Fürgemalet (Frankfurt: Hermann Gülfferich, 1553) Biblicae historiae, magno artificio depictae, et utilitatis publicae causa latinis Epigrammatibus a Georgio Aemylio illustratae (Frankfurt: Egenolff, 1539) Bibliorum utriusque Testamenti icones: summo artificio expressae, historias sacras ad vivum exhibentes, et oculims summa cum gratia repraesentantes adeoque doctis & venustis carminibus exornatae, ut pius lector vere sacrorum his emblematum thesaurum possit agnoscere. In omnium, qui pietatis et literarum amantes sunt, gratima, per candidum studiosorum fautorum in lucem nunc primum aeditae (Frankfurt: Feyerabend, 1571) Biblische Figuren des Alten und Newen Testaments, gantz künstlich gerissen. Durch den weitberhümpten Vergilium Solis zu Nürnberg (Frankfurt: Sigmund Feyerabend, David Zöpfel, and Johann Rasch, 1560) Figure de la Biblia, illustrate de stanze tuscane (Lyon: G. Roville, 1565) (sixains of G. Simeoni) Figure del Nuovo Testamento (Lyon: G. Roville, 1588) (huitains of G. Simeoni) Figure del nuovo testamento illustrate da versi vulgari Italiani (Lyon: J. de Tournes, 1554; 1559; 1577) Figure del Vecchio Testamento (Lyon: J. de Tournes, 1554; 1559) Figures de la Bible, illustrées de huictains françoys, pour l’interpretation et intelligence d’icelles (Lyon: G. Roville, 1564) (huitains of G. Guéroult) Figures du Nouveau Testament (Lyon: J. de Tournes, 1554; 1556; 1557; 1558; 1559; 1579) Figures du Nouveau Testament (Lyon: G. Roville, 1570) (huitains of C. Pontoux) Gesner, Conrad, Partitiones theologicae, Pandectarum universalium Conradi Gesneri Liber ultimus (Zurich: Ch. Froschauer, 1549) Ghesneden Figueren wuyten nieuwen testamente naer tleuene met huerlier bedietsele (Lyon: J. de Tournes, 1557)

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Ghesneden figueren wyten ouden testamente naer tleuene met huerlier bedietsele (Lyon: J. de Tournes, 1557) Historiarum memorabilium ex Genesi descriptio (Lyon: J. de Tournes, 1558) Historiarum veteris instrumenti icones ad vivum expressae. Una cum brevi, sed quoad fieri potuit, dilucida earundem expositione (Lyon: G. Lyon and M. Trechsel for J. and F. Frellon, 1538) Historiarum Veteris Testamenti icones ad vivum expressae. Una cum brevi, sed quoad fieri potuit, dilucida earundem et Latina et Gallica expositione (Lyon: G. and M. Trechsel for J. and F. Frellon, 1539) Leien Bibel, in deren fleissig zu samen bracht sind Die Fürnemern Historien beder Testament (Strasbourg: Wendelin Rihel, 1540) Les simulachres et historiées faces de la mort, autant elegamment pourtraictes, que artificiellement imaginées (Lyon: G. Lyon and M. Trechsel for J. and F. Frellon, 1538); fac-simile ed. by H. Green (Manchester: Brothers, 1869) Melanchton, Philippus, Philippi Melanthonis Epigrammatum libri tres collecti ab Hilbrando Grathusio Vffleniensis (Wittenberg: Joannes Crato, 1560) Neue biblische Figuren (Frankfurt: Feyerabend, 1565) (H62/Slg.Ricklefs B24) Neue künstliche Figuren Biblischer Historien / grüntlich von Tobia Stimmer gerissen: Vnd zu Gotsförchtiger ergetzung andächtiger hertzen / mit artigen Reimen begriffen / durch J. F. G. M (Basle: T. Guarin/Strasbourg: B. Jobin, 1576) (copies Lyon, Bibliothèque Diderot, 1R 100001 and Wernigerode, Fürstliche Bibliothek, Zm 5.4) Neuwe biblische Figuren / deß Alten vnd Neuwen Testaments / geordnet vnd gestellt durch den fürtrefflichen vnd Kunstreichen Johan Bockspergern von Saltzburg / den jüngern / vnd nach gerissen mit sonderm fleiß durch den Kunstverstendigen vnd wolerfarnen Joß Amman von Zürych. Allen Kuenstlern / als Malern / Goltschmiden / Bildhauwern / Steinmetzen / Schreinern / etc. fast dienstlich vnd nützlich (Frankfurt: Feyerabend, Rab, Han’s heirs, 1564) (copy Weimar, Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek, Stb 358 [accessed 14 July 2019]) Neuwe Biblische Figuren: Künstlich vnd artig gerissen / durch den sinn vnd kunstreichen auch weitberühmten Joß Amman / von Zürych / mit schönen Teutschen Reimen / welche den gantzen innhalt einer jeden Figur vnd Capitel jurtz begreiffen / zuvor dergleichen nie im Druck außgangen: Gestellt durch Herr Heinrich Peter Rebenstock / Pfarherr zu Eschershaim (Frankfurt: Feyerabend, 1571) Nouae Tobiae Stimmeri sacrorum bibliorum figurae: Versibus Latinis et Germanicis exposita. Newe Biblische Figuren / durch Tobiam Stimmer gerissen. Mit Lateinischen vnd Teutschen Versen außgelegt (Strasbourg: B. Jobin, 1590) Novi Testamenti Iesu Christ historia effigata. Vna cum aliis quibusdam Iconibus. Das New Testament / vnd Histori Christi fuergebildet (Frankfurt: Hermann Gülfferich, 1551) Paradin, Claude, Quadrins historiques de la Bible (Lyon: Jean de Tournes, 1533)

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———, Quadrins historiques de la Bible: Revuz, & augmentez d’un grand nombre de figures, 3rd edn (Lyon: Jean de Tournes, 1560) Quadernos Ystoricos de la Biblia (Lyon: J. de Tournes, 1553) Quadrins historiques de la Bible (Lyon: J. de Tournes, 1553; 1555; 1560; 1583) Quadrins historiques d’Exode (Lyon: J. de Tournes, 1553) Scheit, C., Wol gerissnen Figuren (Lyon: De Tournes, 1554) Tetrasticha in Ovidii Metam. Lib. xv quibus accesserunt Vergilii Solis figurae elegantiss. & ima primum in lucem editae (Frankfurt: Corvinus, Feyerabend, Gallus, 1563) (H62/Slg.Ricklefs B23) True and lyvely historyke purtreatures of the woll bible (Lyon: J. de Tournes, 1553) Wol gerissnen vnd geschnidten figuren Ausz der neuwen Testament (Lyon: J. de Tournes, 1554; 1564) Wol gerissnen und gechnidten figuren Ausz der Bibel (Lyon: J. de Tournes, 1554; 1564) Secondary Works Beal, Peter, ‘Liber amicorum’, in A Dictionary of English Manuscript Terminology, 1450 to 2000 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), pp. 231–32 Coelen, Peter van der, De Schrift verbeeld: oudtestamentische prenten uit renaissance en barok (Nijmegen: Nijmegen University Press, 1998) Engammare, Max, ‘Les Figures de la Bible. Le destin oublié d’un genre littéraire en image (xvie–xviie s.)’, Mélanges de l’École française de Rome. Italie et Méditerranée, 106 (1994), 549–91 ———, ‘Le livre à figures lyonnais comme source de modèles pour la majolique’, in Majoliques européennes. Reflets de l’estampe lyonnaise (xvie–xviie siècles), ed. by S. Deswarte-Rosa, Actes des journées d’études internationales ‘Estampes et Majoliques’ Rome (12 oct. 1996)-Lyon (10–12 oct. 1997) (Dijon: Faton, 2003), pp. 24–39 ———, ‘D’une philologie l’autre. La muse classique, maîtresse cachée des Réformateurs’, in La Philologie humaniste et ses représentations dans la théorie et la fiction, ed. by Perrine Galand-Hallyn, Fernand Hallyn, and Gilbert Tournoy, Romanica Gandensia, 32 (Geneva: Droz, 2005), ii, pp. 409–37 Fechner, Jörg-Ulrich, ‘Persönliche Beziehungen und Bildungskontakte anhand einer Aufschlüsselung der erhaltenen Stammbücher der Barockzeit’, in Stadt, Schule, Universität. Buchwesen und die deutsche Literatur im 17. Jahrhundert, ed. by Albrecht Schöne (Munich: Beck, 1976), pp. 410–23 ———, ‘Stammbücher als kulturhistorische Quellen. Einführung und Umriß der Aufgaben’, in Stammbücher als kulturhistorische Quellen, ed. by J.-U. Fechner, Wolfenbütteler Forschungen, 11 (Munich: Kraus International Publications, 1981), pp. 7–21 Foerstemann, Karl-Eduard, Album academiae Vitebergensis ab a. Ch. mdii usque ad a. mdcii. Volumen secundum. Ex autographo edidit Carolus Eduardus Foerstemann… (Halle: Niemeyer, 1894)

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Fontaine, Marie Madeleine, ‘Stories beyond Words’, in The French Renaissance in Prints from the Bibliothèque nationale de France (Los Angeles: UCLA, 1994), pp. 58–77 Henning, Hans, ‘Zu Entstehung und Inhalt der Stammbücher des 16. Jahrhunderts’, in Stammbücher des 16. Jahrhunderts, ed. by Wolfgang Klose, Wolfenbütteler Forschungen, 42 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1989), pp. 33–50 Jacobs, Eduard, Die Stammbücher der Fürstlichen Bibliothek zu Wernigerode, welche sich allermeist auf die Graffschaft Wernigerode und deren Umgegend beziehen (Wernigerode: Vierthaler, 1914) Kammerer, Elsa, Jean de Vauzelles et le creuset lyonnais. Un humaniste catholique au service de Marguerite de Navarre entre France, Italie et Allemagne (1520–1550), Travaux d’Humanisme et Renaissance, 522 (Geneva: Droz, 2013) ———, ‘Lyon, capitale d’imprimerie. Les Figures de la Bible multilingues dans l’atelier de Jean de Tournes (1545–1565)’, in Imprimeurs et libraires de la Renaissance. Le travail de la langue. Sprachpolitik der Drucker, Verleger und Buchhändler der Renaissance, ed. by Elsa Kammerer and Jan-Dirk Müller, De lingua et linguis, 1 (Geneva: Droz, 2015), pp. 176–221 ———, ‘Un usage méconnu des Figures de la Bible comme libri amicorum. Les Neue Künstliche Figuren de Tobias Stimmer (1576) ayant appartenu à Paul Bolen (Wernigerode) et à Jean Murer (Lyon)’, in preparation Klose, Wolfgang, Corpus Alborum Amicorum. Beschreibendes Verzeichnis der Stammbücher des 16. Jahrhunderts (CAAC) (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1988) Lee, Rensselaer W., Ut pictura poesis. The Humanistic Theory of Painting (New York: Norton, 1967) Lohse Belkin, K., ‘Rubens und Stimmer’, in Spätrenaissance am Oberrhein: Tobias Stimmer 1539–1584. Ausstellung im Kunstmuseum Basel, ed. by Dieter Koeppler and Paul Tanner (Basle: Kunstmuseum, 1984), pp. 201–22 Roersch, Alphonse, ‘Les “Album Amicorum” du xvie et du xviie siècles’, Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire, 8 (1929), 530–36 Schnabel, Werner Wilhelm, Das Stammbuch. Konstitution und Geschichte einer textsortenbezogenen Sammelform bis ins erste Drittel des 18. Jahrhunderts (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2003) Schwarz, Christiane, Studien zur Stammbuchpraxis der Frühen Neuzeit. Gestaltung und Nutzung des Album amicorum am Beispiel eines Hofbeamten und Dichters, eines Politikers und eines Goldschmieds (etwa 1550 bis 1650), Mikrokosmos. Beiträge zur Literaturwissenschaft und Bedeutungsforschung, 66 (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2002) ‘Stammbuch’, in Deutsches Wörterbuch von Jacob und Wilhelm Grimm (Leipzig: Hirzel, 1854–1961), xvii, cols 646–48 Text und Bild. Europäische Buchkultur aus fünf Jahrhunderten. Die Sammlung Ricklefs in der Universitätsbibliothek Erlangen-Nürnberg. Ausstellung 4.5.–31.5.2011 (Erlangen: Universitätsverlag Erlangen-Nürnberg, 2011)

María José Vega

The Coalman and the Devil Carbonaria Fides and the Limits of Lay Religious Knowledge

Introduction The expression, ‘the coalman’s faith’ (carbonaria fides, Köhlerglaube, fe del carbonero, fede del carbonaio, foi du charbonnier, fé do carvoeiro), became widespread in the sixteenth century as a result of the extraordinary and controversial dissemination throughout Europe of a brief dialogue between a coalman, a doctor of theology, and the devil. The tale was continuously rewritten and can be found — with differing meanings and purposes — in works of Antoninus of Florence, Erasmus, Luther, Alejo de Venegas, Stanislaus Hosius, Cipriano de Valera, Matthias Flacius Illyricus, Silvius Antonianus, and Diego de Valdivia, among others. From the 1530s the story became the focus of confessional conflict, dramatizing concepts that were keenly relevant to pastoral and dogmatic matters, such as the degree of religious knowledge among uneducated people, the minimum doctrine a Christian must know in order to be saved, and the common person’s capacity for participating in debates about spiritual matters, for speaking or writing about the faith, or for reading the vernacular Bible. The surprising longevity of the little story (and its constantly changing nature) can perhaps be explained by its polemical and propagandistic usefulness and by the fact that it reduced complex issues to simple and memorable dichotomies. The story establishes a simplified representation of laypeople’s faith and discourse, and of their participation in, or exclusion from, religious culture; and it does so at a historical moment — namely, the Reformation — when María José Vega  •  is Professor of Comparative Literature at the Universidad Autónoma de Barcelona. She has a PhD in Philology and a PhD in Modern History. In the last years she has developed a line of research devoted to the theory of censorship and the impact of confessionalization in writing and reading practices in the long sixteenth century. She has been PI of several national and international funded projects. In 2012 she received the Humboldt Research Award. She is currently working on the project PGC2018–096610 The limits of dissent. The expurgatory policies of the Spanish monarchy (1571–1584). Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400–1550): Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting through the Continuum of Sacred and Secular, ed. by Suzan Folkerts, New Communities of Interpretation, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), pp. 239–262 © FHG10.1484/M.NCI-EB.5.122101

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theological controversy was at its height. Historians and theologians have given continuing, intense attention to the question of the common person as doctrinal agent. Here I propose to study the issue from the standpoint of a work of fiction, given that devotional narratives are religious artefacts that yield behaviours, understandings, and convictions. They constitute a common imaginative and representational space in which interpretative and proprietary battles are joined. Religious products and practices can be studied through the stories that construct and simplify them, and by whose narrative syntax they are in some sense given final form. The story of the coalman is, one might say, a discrete, shared narrative, which can be inserted into longer discourses, and whose meaning is constantly reconstructed and shifted. It was written and read across a wide geographical and linguistic terrain, from Portugal to Poland and from Holland to Italy.1 Its very proliferation witnesses to its relevance: it defines a verbal space for reflection, representation, and connectivity through which the synergies of philology and social history can be explored.

Theological Fictions The tale of the coalman is quite possibly derived from a little story inserted in the artes bene moriendi. In this specifically pastoral context, it consists of a fictitious dialogue between the devil and a believer, which dramatizes the doubts concerning the Faith that assault the Christian at the moment when the soul leaves the body. The versions we can consider canonical — those most frequently invoked or rewritten — are found in Antoninus of Florence and Erasmus of Rotterdam, to which I shall refer below. However, the story continues to be found, with minor differences, in many sixteenth-century texts of piety. There are three distinct phases in the movement of this text from a pastoral setting to one of religious controversy; that is, it is developed in exemplary fashion in three foundational texts: Luther’s Warnungschrift and die zu Frankfurt am Main… (1533) against Zwingli; and the Hierarchiae Catholicae Assertio (1538) by the Dutchman Albertus Pigghe or Pighius, whence the Polish cardinal Stanislaus Hosius took it for his Verae, Christianae, Catholicaeque doctrinae solida Propugnatio (1558), a treatise written against the Protestant theologian Johann Brenz. These versions should not be taken as original to their authors, but as the legacy of one and the same story which is narrated again and again — as a fiction with multiple uses which was able to take on new meanings and unexpected implications with each rewriting.



1 In writing these pages I have used twenty-five printed sixteenth-century versions. I have taken into account some variants from the end of the fifteenth century and also the beginning of the seventeenth, to trace the genealogy of the story before the Reformation and as testimony to the continuity of its plot’s motifs.

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I shall first make reference to the four foundational versions (Antoninus, Erasmus, Luther, Pighius-Hosius), since they set out four different ways of understanding a shared fiction. Then I shall look at the anti-Catholic and anti-Protestant uses and transformations of the story, and the tale’s capacity for harbouring reflections on legitimate and illegitimate forms of the common person’s piety and doctrinal knowledge. Antoninus

The Summa Theologiae Moralis (1487) of Antoninus of Florence includes a pious short story that instructs the faithful to reject the devil’s temptations at the moment when the soul departs the body.2 This is a very brief narrative employing two independent and contrasting scenes. In the first, Satan carries on a dialogue concerning the Faith with a very learned doctor who is about to die. He first asks him what he believes, and the doctor replies that he believes what the Church believes. The devil presses him to declare what the Church believes, and the doctor responds with the articles of the Creed. The devil retorts that philosophy teaches that everything the Creed asserts is impossible. In this way, the doctor is led to dispute with the devil, which then leads to doubt, incredulity and, in the end, to his condemnation. The second scene takes place a little later, though it is unrelated to the first one. A second doctor, ill and at the point of death, is questioned by Satan in the same way about his faith. Like the first doctor, he responds that he believes what Holy Mother Church believes: ‘Credo quod credit sancta mater Ecclesia’. But with the second question, ‘Quod credit Ecclesia?’ (And what does the Church believe?), the dialogue enters an infinite loop: Id quod ego credo (That which I believe). Et tu quod credis? (And what do you believe?) Quod credit Ecclesia (That which the Church believes). Et quod credit Ecclesia? (And what does the Church believe?) Id quod ego credo (That which I believe), etc. The devil abandons the interrogation when he is unable to move the dialogue any further. The second doctor is saved, while the first doctor, now dead, laments his weakness and pride in disputing with the devil. The ultimate purpose of the narrative is to teach the faithful to persevere in their faith (and to avoid disputing with Satan), and to promote the value of the Creed as a compendium of undeniable truths, sufficient and necessary for the Christian. At the same time, the secondary moral is that the weapons of reason, philosophy, and dialectic should not be applied to the foundational

2 Florentinus, Summae Sacrae Theologiae, i, tit. v, cap. ii, fol. 125v. The tale illustrates the infestatio deomoriorum, the first battle of the dying person at the moment when the soul leaves the body.

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truths of the Faith; they do not necessarily bring the Christian closer to God nor do they guarantee salvation. In fact, the second doctor’s faith-without-reasons prevails, while the faith that disputes and aspires to understand does not, and is associated with pride. The narrative can be found again, with few changes, in many sixteenth-century artes bene moriendi, often with an explicit reference to the Summa of Antoninus. In some cases, the devil’s temptation in which he interrogates a dying man is the first of a series in which the Evil One successively undermines the three cardinal virtues of faith, hope, and charity. In others, such as De modo bene moriendi (1531) by Pietro Barozzi, the contrasting scenes of the devil and the two doctors are linked more artfully (causally rather than simply juxtaposed), and the syntax of the narration is more refined.3 Finally, in still other versions the doctors are exchanged for Biblical scholars or are presented as real people known for their great wisdom or piety. The story is found, for example, in Jean Raulin’s Doctrinale de triplici morte (1519), Erasmus’s Praeparatio ad mortem (1533), Alejo de Venegas’s Agonía del tránsito de la muerte (1537), Juan de Salazar’s Arte de ayudar a bien morir (1608), and in De arte bene moriendi (1621) by Cardinal Bellarmine.4 It is also used as part of the guide to pastoral care of the dying in general works such as those of Jean Viguier and Diego Noguera.5 It is thus a narrative contextually associated with the pastoral genre, and is widely distributed in European literature of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Erasmus

The story’s variations in Erasmus of Rotterdam’s Praeparatio ad mortem (1533) are of particular doctrinal relevance. With reference to the spiritual dangers at the hour of death, Erasmus says that the believer should not give way to doubt at that moment, but should push temptations away and not disbelieve what the Church teaches (‘non dubitare de iis … quae docta tradidit Ecclesia’), being convinced that, in order to be saved, it is enough to maintain one’s faith in that place where understanding cannot reach. He goes on to illustrate this teaching with a little story, which he thinks is ‘adequate to the occasion’. This is the account of Satan tempting two men: one a wise philosopher and

3 Barozzi, De modo bene moriendi, fols 30r–32v. Pietro Barozzi creates a scene with two doctors who are friends in holy orders, and are extremely learned and able dialecticians (‘in disputando facile principes’). The first doctor, after death, appears to the second in a dream, wrapped in flames, in order to warn him about his doubting, and his imprudence in disputing with the devil; he reproduces the dispute in detail in the first person. Thanks to the friend’s account, the second doctor is able to save himself when he too comes to die. 4 Raulin, Doctrinale de triplici morte, tractatus i, cap. xx, pp. 59–60; Erasmus, Praeparatio ad mortem, pp. 69–70; De Venegas, Agonía del tránsito, iii, cap. xii, fols 53v–55r; De Salazar, Arte de ayudar, v, pp. 99–100; Bellarmino, De arte bene moriendi, ii; cap. 9, pp. 293–94. 5 Viguerius, Institutiones, cap. xviii, p. 793; Noguera, De Ecclesia Christi, lib. i, fol. 69r.

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the other a rough and ignorant Christian. The first man is confused by the devil’s questions concerning the human and divine natures of Christ, the virgin birth, the resurrection of the dead, and the disagreements between philosophy and the Faith. By this method the devil makes him doubt and he is cast into Hell. On the other hand, the unlettered man (‘Christianus rudis et anormis’) declares, when asked what he believes, that he believes what the Church believes. When asked what the Church believes, he answers, ‘Quod ego’, and so on (‘Quid tu?’ ‘Quod credit Ecclesia’. ‘Quid Ecclesia?’ ‘Quod ego’, etc.).6 Erasmus explains that this response is sufficient for resisting an insidious enemy, especially in obscure or doubtful matters. This teaching should be applied to what he calls tentare de fide, that is the doubts about the Faith that arrive at the moment of death, but he seems to expand it in order to advise the Christian to flee contentions and dialogues concerning religion with any doctrinal enemy (‘ab abigendum insidiosum hostem’).7 Undoubtedly, this version shares its general precept, ‘cum Sathana non est disputandum’ (with Satan, there can be no disputes), with Antoninus’s story, but this time the moral exalts the value of simplicitas (which is of course missing from the story of the two doctors), opposing the efficacy of the rustic man’s elementary faith, lacking in understanding, to the perils of reason and subtlety. In this way the narrative acquires a new contrast, reinforcing the conceptual dichotomy by the use of personalities who seem to be opposites (and who stand for concepts that the author wishes to present as opposites). This reinforces the paradox that he who knows the least, or is ignorant of everything but the Creed, overcomes the devil more surely — having entrusted his faith to the Church — than he who knows theology and philosophy. With the Praeparatio ad mortem the simplest Christian (as opposed to the doctor or theologian) takes his place firmly in the story. The simple man and the philosopher create a series of polarizations in the narrative through net opposites (peritus / rudis, or ‘learned / unlearned’, as a parallel to reason / faith, damnation / salvation, understanding / ignorance, disputation / silence), giving the account a much more noticeable anti-intellectual twist. Luther

From the 1530s this short pastoral story made the transition to texts of religious controversy. Luther was the first (to the best of my knowledge) to present a polemical version. His goal was to contradict the story’s moral and conclusion, undercutting those who were satisfied with ‘believing what must be believed’ and denying that ‘faith without questions’ is efficacious. The story made its appearance in the letter to the Frankfurt Senate (Warnungsschrift an die zu Frankfurt am Main, sich von Zwinglischer Lehre zu hüte), published the

6 Erasmus, Praeparatio ad mortem, pp. 69–70. 7 Erasmus, Praeparatio ad mortem, p. 70.

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same year as Erasmus’s Praeparatio (1533), and written against the followers of Zwingli. The immediate context is a discussion on the nature of faith and the common person’s understanding of doctrine. The story appears at the close of a lengthy argument against Zwingli’s view of the Eucharist, which posited a symbolic rather than a real presence of the body and blood of Christ in the consecrated bread and wine. Zwingli had decided that it was enough for lay and common people to know and believe that Christ was present in the sacrament in the way he desired to say he was, or ‘in the sense he meant to give his words at the Last Supper’. Luther accused the Zwinglians of deceiving the uneducated people and of teaching, like the Romanists, that unlettered laypeople should believe without asking questions, and that, in order not to err, it was enough for them ‘to believe what Christ believes’ or ‘to believe what Christ meant to say’.8 On this point the Zwinglians were acting like the papists, who encouraged the faithful to believe obediently whatever the Church believes. This is the immediate context of the plot of the story, which once again has two scenes. In the first, a doctor has an encounter with a very simple coalman, and questions him concerning the nature of his faith. The coalman replies that he believes what the Church believes, that the Church believes what he believes, and so on, as we have seen. In the second scene, which takes place a long time later, the doctor finds himself at the point of death, being assaulted by Satan with the same question he himself had asked the coalman. Remembering his words, he answers the devil: ‘Ich glaube, das der Köhler glaubt’ (I believe what the coalman believes). Luther assures us that God is not pleased with this type of faith, and that both the doctor and the coalman were damned to the deepest pit of Hell. The great Thomas Aquinas was also tempted in this way but, unlike the coalman and the doctor, he pointed to the Bible and responded: ‘Ich glaube was in diesem Buche steht’ (I believe what is in this book).9 Luther’s little story has now moved beyond the realm of consolation and pastoral care, which appears to have been the original or native habitat of the narrative. It is not written to prepare the believer for the hour of death, but to reprove the example of a delegated, obedient faith (that of the papists), which places the Church’s teaching above what is in the Scriptures. In addition, it changes the denouement that we have previously seen (which gives a finishing touch to the story’s parallelisms and contrasts), condemning both the doctor and the simple man, who, although he manages with his argument to defeat the devil, does not please God. Luther’s story denies or opposes a fiction from within the fiction itself, and transforms the exemplary and pastoral narrative into a dogmatic fable whose principal thesis is the ineffectiveness of delegated faith as the minimum necessary for salvation.

8 Luther, Warnungsschrift an die zu Frankfurt am Main, fol. Biiir. 9 Luther, Warnungsschrift an die zu Frankfurt am Main, fols Biiir–v. Cited also in Hoffmann, Die Lehre, p. 213.

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Albertus Pighius and Stanislaus Hosius

The coalman’s story moves into anti-heretical — specifically anti-Lutheran — discourse at the end of the 1530s. The Dutchman Albertus Pighius included it in his Hierarchiae Ecclesiasticae Assertio (1538), a long polemical work whose first book is dedicated to dogma, with the remaining five covering the unity of the Catholic Church and its structures of doctrinal authority. Book One also includes a long reflection on the nature of heresy, based on Saint Paul’s epistles, whose epilogue gives a memorable example, teaching the believer to sidestep the traps of present-day heretics and to keep him or herself firmly within the body of the Catholic Church.10 This version, which I will explore below, is the one adopted by Stanislaus Hosius, to whom its authorship is usually attributed. He converts the story, or its countertexts, into a key component of anti-Catholic controversial literature. Hosius narrates the tale in Book Three of the Propugnatio against Johann Brenz, or Brentius, a long treatise first published in Cologne in 1558, which enjoyed a large number of reprints during the sixteenth century.11 Hosius’s polemic against Brenz concerned central themes of Christian doctrine and, above all, the forms of papal and conciliar authority, the nature of the Eucharist, and the knowledge of Scripture. The immediate context for the little fable of the coalman is the nature of a simple man’s faith and his capacity for understanding the Scriptures. Brenz asserted that direct knowledge of the Bible was necessary in order for a person to be saved, and he took the position that Scriptures contained everything needed for salvation. Hosius’s reply considerably lowered the bar of cognitio necessaria (essential knowledge), denied that Scripture was free of ambiguity, and defended the idea that salvation could be obtained with much more slender knowledge. Against Brenz, Hosius assured his readers that it was impossible to expect the common people to have an exact knowledge of religious doctrine, much less to expect them to be capable of making a judgement about it, since not all are learned men or doctors or judges. The simple people, he continued, are saved ‘in the faith of their elders’: Atqui non tenetur e vulgo quivis omnem religionis doctrinam exacte nosse, multo minus de ea iudicare. Simplicium fides in maiorum fide salvatur…

10 Pighius, Hierarchiae Ecclesiasticae Assertio, lib. i, cap. v, fol. xxir. 11 Hosius, Verae, Christianae, Catholicaeque doctrinae. On Hosius, see Ritschl, Fides implicita, p. 44; Hoffmann, Die Lehre, p. 99. Mothu studied the French seventeenth-century versions of the story, and observes that many of them make Hosius the author or protagonist. Nevertheless, he states that he was unable to find the references and the text of the Propugnatio: ‘Lui-même [viz. Hosius] mit-il à jour l’histoire du charbonnier, s’attribuant dans l’un de ses livres une rencontre avec ce personnage de légende? Nous ne l’avons pas vérifié’ (…) ‘Nous avons lu, mais sans hélas avoir relevé ni pu retrouver la référence, que Hosius lui-même était l’auteur de la relation rapportant sa rencontre avec un charbonnier’. Mothu, ‘De la foi du charbonnier’, par. 6 n. 7.

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tu vero vis tuos omnes esse sapientes, vis esse doctores, vis esse iudices et decisores.12 (It is not required of any simple person, whoever he/she may be, to know the whole teaching of religion with exactitude, much less to make judgements about it. The faith of simple folk is preserved in the faith of those who are over them. You, however, want all your simple folk to be wise; you want them to be doctors; you want them to be judges and settlers of arguments.) Some people have great devotion but little knowledge (the contrasts are parva cognitio / magna devotio) and it is pious to believe that they can somehow reach salvation (‘Multi enim sunt boni simplices, qui, quamvis sint parvae cognitionis, sunt tamen magnae devotionis, et tales pium est credere ad salutem pervenire’; ‘There are many good simple folk who, however small their cognition may be, are nevertheless great in devotion, and it is pious to believe that such will come to be saved’).13 The treatise’s central problem is how to manage ignorance and simplicity, given the fundamental disagreement concerning access to the Bible by laypeople and those with little instruction. An example of a dark passage are the words of Jesus at the Last Supper, Hoc est corpus meum (This my body), and the many interpretations competing to be accepted as true. It is in this precise context that Hosius tells the story, using two scenes and three personages: an extremely simple coalman, a theologian who is an expert in Scriptural interpretation, and Satan himself. In the first part he relates the dialogue between the doctor and the coalman. The latter, asked what he believes, recites the Creed from memory; when faced with the other questions he takes refuge in the ‘Catholic circle’ which cuts short all dialogue and disputation. In the second scene, when the Biblical theologian is tempted at his hour of death by Satan’s questions, he remembers the coalman and responds in a loud voice: ut Carbonarius! Those who were attending at his deathbed thought he was delirious. When, by the mercy of God, the theologian recovers his health, they ask him what his enigmatic words meant. He explains that, when confronted by the devil’s tempting him to argue, he had fled and taken refuge in the faith of the Catholic Church ‘as in a most secure fortress’, and saying that he had found more comfort there than in a whole life of interpreting and meditating on Scripture.14 Hosius’s support and primary authority for this argument is Tertullian’s Adversus omnes haereses, which provides an arsenal of opinions praising the innocent simplicity of laypeople and their superiority over those who scrutinize Scripture and the divine mysteries:

12 Hosius, Propugnatio, iii, p. 199. 13 Hosius, Propugnatio, iii, pp. 199–200. 14 Hosius, Propugnatio, iii, pp. 199–201. The metaphors (the refuge, the Catholic circle) and the lexical choices show that Hosius closely followed Pighius’s text.

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‘Praeclare scriptum est a Tertulliano: Fides tua te salvum fecit, non exercitatio scripturarum’ (It was excellently written by Tertullian: Your faith saves you, not your being exercised (occupied) in the Scriptures).15 In fact, the coalman’s story represents a kind of return to Tertullian, apparently common during the period of anti-Protestant polemic.16 Thus, the story closes with two morals: the preference for devotio over cognitio, and the praising of simplicity above intellectual understanding (credendi simplicitas / intelligendi vivacitas). Hosius assures his readers that on Judgement Day we will not be examined for our erudition or doctrine, but for our affections (‘hoc est, quam simplex, quam rectus, quam pius, humilis et devotis, quam spontaneus et fidelis in Dei servitio’; ‘that is, how simple, honest, pious, humble and devoted, how spontaneous and faithful (we are) in God’s service’).17 The narrative cuts short all disputation about, or reflection on, the Scriptures, and ejects the uneducated and laypeople from the religious discursive space. It raises, at one and the same time, the issues of authority in dogmatic matters, lay access to reading the Bible, and strong rejection of any disputation about the mysteries. One of the guiding ideas in Hosius’s text is that simple folk are saved in the faith of their (doctrinal) betters: ‘Simplicium fides in maiorum fide salvatur’. These words clearly recall the interpretative tradition of a passage in the book of Job, a tradition associated with the concept of implicit faith (fides implicita). Ritschl and Hoffmann, at the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth, each wrote a history of this concept and indicated the authorities and Biblical passages linked to the exposition of the nature of implicit faith in manuals of theology.18 In particular, one passage from Job, ‘Boves arabant et asinae pascebantur iuxta eos’ (The oxen were ploughing and the she-asses were grazing by their side, 1. 14), seems to have been regularly linked to implicit faith. Saint Thomas, in treating the need for all believers

15 Hosius, Propugnatio, iii, p. 199. The quotation is from Tertullian, De praescriptione haereticorum, xiv, 2–5. In this chapter Tertullian assures his readers that it is better to believe simply than eternally to search and dig for what cannot be known: faith is what saves, not scrutinizing the Scriptures. This opinion is directed against philologists and theologians, and against the glory that comes from study. In the passage cited by Hosius one find the principle of melius ignorare: ‘Novissime ignorare melius est, ne quod non debeas noris, quia quod debeas nosti. Fides tua te salvum fecit: non exercitatio Scripturarum. Fides in regula posita est… Adversum regulam nihil scire omnia scire est’ (Tertullian, De praescriptione, xv, 5). On the influence of this passage of Tertullian on sixteenth-century moral theology, see Vega, ‘El saber como conflicto’, pp. 164–65. 16 The reception of Tertullian in modern Europe began with the rediscovery of some of his writings against heresies by Beatus Rhenanus and the publication of his works in Basle at Froben’s press in 1521. In later Basle editions new texts and collations were added, especially from De praescriptione haereticorum. On the reception of Tertullian in the sixteenth century, see Backus, Historical Method, pp. 152–73. 17 Hosius, Propugnatio, iii, p. 200. 18 Ritschl, Fides Implicita, pp. 5–6; Hoffmann, Die Lehre, pp. 8–14.

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to know the principles of the Faith, considers that the minores (lesser) who do not know explicitly what they ought to believe should trust in the faith of the maiores (betters): ‘Praeterea, si minores non tenentur habere fidem explicitam, sed solum implicitam, oportet quod habeant fidem implicitam in fide maiorum’ (Moreover, if the lesser ones are not held to have an explicit faith but only an implicit one, it is necessary that they should have an implicit faith in the faith of their betters, iiaiiae, q. 2, art. 6). He uses the passage from Job to argue against the objections to this type of faith: ‘Sed contra est quod dicitur Iob i, quod boves arabant et asinae pascebantur iuxta eos, quia videlicet minores, qui significantur per asinos, debent in credendis adhaerere maioribus, qui per boves significantur’ (Against [viz. these objections] is what is stated in Job 1, that the oxen were ploughing and the asses were grazing by their side. In other words, the lesser, as represented by the asses, should adhere to the beliefs of their betters, as represented by the oxen, iiaiiae, q. 2, art. 6). Peter Lombard writes in the Book of the Sentences (Distinctio xxv.2) that simple people and minores are the asses that, according to Job, feed alongside the oxen; that is, they are those people who humbly believe what they are told and taught by their maiores: ‘Simplices et minores sunt asinae pascentes iuxta boves, quia humilitate maioribus adhaerendo in mysterio credebant, quae et illi in mysterio docebant…’ (The simple and lesser folk are the asses feeding alongside the oxen because, in humbly keeping close to their betters, they were believing in a mystery that those men were also teaching in a mystery).19 Those who are simple or of diminished capacity believe what they do not know, and ought to place their faith, which is veiled and confused, in the explicit and distinct faith of their betters. The contrast between fides velata and fides distincta is projected onto simple versus learned persons, laypeople versus theologians (or laypeople versus bishops), as onto the asses and oxen in Job. Gregory the Great’s Moralia had already pointed in this interpretative direction, and his fundamental authority undergirds this passage’s association with delegated faith.20 Ritschl argues that the concept of implicit faith was formed in about the eleventh or twelfth century, and would have left a lasting impression on later theological thought.21 It is worth highlighting that, very early, the definitions of implicit faith seem to anticipate the terms of the

19 Quoted by Ritschl, Fides Implicita, p. 2. 20 ‘Quae bene juxta boves pasci referuntur, quia mentes simplicium, etiam cum alta capere non possunt, eo magis vicinae sunt, quo et fraterna bona sua per caritatem credunt, cumque invidere alienis sensibus nesciunt, quasi in pastu se minime dividunt. Simul ergo se asinae cum bovus reficiunt, quia prudentibus coniunctae tardiores eorum intelligentia pascuntur’, Gregory the Great, Moralia in Iob, ii, 30. See also Summa Theologica, iiaiiae, q. 2 a. 6. 21 In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, reflections on implicit faith are found above all in the commentaries on the Summa Theologica, commenting on iiaiiae q. 2 and the treatises de fide. Saint Thomas affirms that explicit faith is necessary regarding the basic principles of doctrine, but not the rest, which can be believed implicitly: ‘Quantum ergo ad prima credibilia, quae sunt articuli fidei, tenetur homo explicite credere, sicut et tenetur habere

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coalman’s reply, as, for example, William of Auxerre’s dictum ‘Credere autem implicite est credere … quicquid credit Ecclesia, credere essere verum’ (to believe implicitly is to believe … that whatever the Church believes is true). Ritschl, after examining the history of fides implicita in the dogmatic theology of the later Middle Ages, defines the term thus: ‘credere implicite est credere quod ecclesia credit’ (to believe implicitly is to believe that whatever the Church believes is true).22 This, therefore, is the definition of delegated, veiled, or implicit faith that is acknowledged and transformed in the story; or, more precisely, in certain variants of the story, since clearly it is not applicable to the faith of the two doctors. In Hosius’s Propugnatio, the connection between fides implicita or velata (veiled) and the story’s coalman becomes explicit and is formulated in terms of the Scriptural authority of the book of Job and the contrast between two ways of believing: that of minores and maiores. In this way, the story of Satan’s temptations is, in the middle of the sixteenth century, a little tale about implicit faith as an instrument of salvation, as well as a defence of the recitable Creed as a compendium of necessary and sufficient doctrine for laypeople. But the story goes beyond associating implicita fides with the vulgar or unlettered person: Hosius’s version claims for itself an exemplary and, indeed, a universal value, by which the coalman (who initially represents only the simplest of men) is or becomes the model for all believers: ‘Exemplum fidelis carbonarii imitandum’. All Christians, and thus all laypeople, ought to be ‘ut carbonarius’ and see themselves in the story.

The Papist Coalman Hosius’s version of the Propugnatio aids our understanding of the twists and turns of the narrative in its role as a fictional space for controversy and an object of (re-) confessionalization in each of its incarnations. The Protestant versions are explicitly written against Hosius’s tale, which they characterize as ‘fallacious’ because of its erroneous or false teaching. Barely a year after the Propugnatio was published, the Spanish Protestant Cipriano de Valera made an attack on the story in his Tratado sobre la autoridad papal (1559), casting aspersions on the coalman’s ignorance in knowing neither what he nor the Church believed. But, he says, even so, ‘Hosius, writing against the authority of Scripture, thinks that following that example is the surest course’; and he concludes: ‘O ignorancia terrible, que no excusarás el pecado: manda Dios que se lean y escudriñen las Escrituras y ellos ni quieren leerlas ni escudriñarlas’ (Oh terrible ignorance, that shall not excuse sin: God commands that his

fidem. Quantum autem ad alia credibilia, non tenetur homo explicite credere, sed solum implicite’ (Summa Theologica, iiaiiae, q. 1, a. 5). The question is expanded in the work of the great theologians of second wave of scholasticism. 22 Ritschl, Fides implicita, p. 51.

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Scriptures be read and searched, and they care neither to read nor to search them).23 The story’s transformations are especially discernible in the polemical treatises of Jacob Andreae and Matthias Flacius Illyricus, published soon after the Propugnatio appeared. Andreae wrote a Refutatio pia et perspicua (1560) against Hosius’s teachings and in defence of Brenz.24 An entire section of the treatise recounts the ‘false’ and ‘invented’ story of the coalman. In the first place, Andreae explains that ‘slender’ faith was intended to be a balm for ignorance, but that in ‘our days’ all men and women, not only the coalman, are being told they should be ignorant of ‘Christian doctrine, baptism, the Decalogue, the Lord’s Supper, and even the Creed’. And indeed, if one should ask them about these things they would be as dumb as fish (‘muti sunt quam pisces’). Implicit faith had been turned into a tool for excluding laypeople from doctrine by means of a demand for universally delegated faith. In this way, the (abominable) moral of the story is that laypeople should not know too much, but rather trust their pastors: ‘Laicorum officium non esse plura scire, haec ad officium Episcopum spectare’ (It is not the responsibility of laypeople to know many things; these pertain to the responsibility of the bishop).25 Thus a layman should stick to labouring, using his sweat to support the useless and pernicious burden of idle men who do the believing for him. In the realm of fiction, Andreae’s text shows implicit faith to be a dream or trick of Satan, because the coalman of the story is destined to burn in Hell. The true Christian ought to know what he believes, to say what he believes, and to preach what he believes. Hosius, ‘ad fallacias natus’ (born for deceit), degrades the story by proposing that ‘fides carbonaria’ is the best form of faith. Flacius Illyricus is just as forceful in his condemnation and in his reinterpretation of the story, which is now extended to include papal infallibility. His discussion of the narrative’s theological consequences is found in one of his lesser-known works, De sectis, dissensionibus, contradictionibus et confusionibus doctrinae, religionis, scriptorum doctorum Pontificiorum Liber (1566). Here the general context is religious concord, especially the apparent Roman consensus: their peace and doctrinal harmony is only a façade, like clean white linen covering a wound. For this reason, Flacius denounces the strategies that allow for confusion and discord to be covered over; their exposure occupies a large part of the book. Of particular interest is the third strategy, which Flacius calls ‘consensio pecuina’ or ‘beluina’ — the consensus of animals or beasts — and

23 De Valera, Dos tratados, pp. 66–67. The marginal notes of the first edition already use the expression fe del carbonero. Calvin’s blunt conclusion, apparently written against the moral of the Catholic versions, is not much different when speaking of the ineffectiveness of ignorant faith, ‘Fides enim in Dei et Christi cognitione, non in Ecclesia reverentia jacet’: John Calvin, Institutio Christianae Religionis (1559), iii, 2, 2–5: quoted by Ritschl, Fides implicita, p. 42; Hoffmann, Die Lehre, p. 215. 24 Andreae, Refutatio pia. 25 Andreae, Refutatio pia, p. 174.

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therefore also ‘consensio epicurea’ (the Epicurean agreement). Animals, because they have no knowledge, do not err, disagree, or speak, and remain blind and in darkness. The papists believe what the pope and his prelates say: the layperson knows nothing except what the Church believes, and the Church knows what the pope says, and the pope himself does not know what is believed by those who believe: ‘Talis est eorum fidei concordia’ (So great is the agreement of their belief).26 This is precisely the conceptual context in which Flacius relates the coalman’s story, as a substitute for a definition of concordia beluina. Once again, the coalman represents not the uneducated class specifically, but rather laypeople in general (this time, Catholics), who are reduced to obedience and ignorance. This line of argument reappears in later controversial works such as Solidum responsum ad Georgii Braunii… by Hermann Empsychovius (1609). Like Flacius, he repudiates as fallacious the idea of worldwide Catholic unanimity in matters of faith. Empsychovius lists eight forms of false, apparent, or forced consensus. The first is unitas sathanica (this refers to the use of saints, and I omit its description here), followed by ethnica (which avoids disputation by appealing to custom and ancient usage). Next comes unitas beluina or pecuina: the consensus of those who, like animals, have no understanding but rather follow the beliefs of others (‘cum homines, sicut pecudes, nihil omnino de Religione intelligunt, sed aliorum tantum opiniones sequuntur’).27 The story of the coalman illustrates this fallacy of agreement reached through ignorance. The fides beluina seu pecuina (the coalman’s faith, or delegated, implicit, or veiled faith) is thus simply one more strategy for ideological control and the elimination of dissent, together with ‘unitas tyrannica’, which consists of using terror to prohibit anyone ‘aliter sentire’ (to think otherwise): ‘Illa crudelis inquisitio, quam dira, quam horrenda est?’ (That cruel Inquisition — how awful, how terrible is it?).28 Therefore, ignorance and terror are part of a joint strategy, and are damnable forms of faith. The coalman and the inquisitor are thus momentarily united in the text as contiguous representations and (counter-)examples. Thus, in the texts of Flacius and Empsychovius the coalman’s story is placed into a new controversial setting, of the false concordia fidei and the methods used to achieve it. The story effectually takes the place of a definition of implicit faith, as a sort of exemplification a contrario that adds yet one more term (fides pecuina seu beluina) to the adjectives already used: implicita, velata, and the one drawn from fiction, carbonaria. The short story was to be frequently repeated in Protestant literature, following the lines of Flacius’s text.29 In addition, Luther’s version in time came to form part of the

26 Flacius Illyricus, De sectis, dissensionibus, p. 232. 27 Empsychovius, Solidum responsum, p. 596. 28 Empsychovius, Solidum responsum, p. 598. 29 For example, Heidfeld, Theologico-Philosophica Sphinx, pp. xliv and 529–30.

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collection of the Reformer’s witticisms and stories. It is found, for example, in the compilation by Othon Melander (in a 1603 edition). It eventually found a place in collections of loci (common places), such as Theologia pura et sincera … digesta et concinnata, by Johannes Henricus Majus (1709), which reviews basic concepts of Lutheran doctrine; it gives a new title to the short story, using the phrase Pontificorum fides implicita et carbonaria.30 Several elements and concepts — fides implicita, pontifical faith, Job’s asses, and the fictional coalman — thus came in the end to be understood as (near) synonyms, or as equivalents at different levels of discourse. The fact that the story was incorporated into florilegia and compendia shows that it had come to be seen as a repeatable, memorable element, susceptible to popularization; this is evidence of how central the story was to Lutheran historiography as an effective substitute for the ‘faith of the pontiffs’ or the damnable, delegated ways of believing.

The Devil as Heretic: The Anti-Protestant Story In the Catholic world, the story was rewritten following Antoninus or Pighius and Hosius, with its meanings being expanded or varied by assimilation. In most of the Italian, French, and Spanish versions, the account remained within the context of the art of a good death and in the sequence of temptations presented to the dying person. Jean Viguier (1558), for example, relates it when warning against arguing with the devil (‘Monendi etiam sunt agonizantes ut caveant disputare cum diabolo’; ‘The dying should be warned to be careful not to argue with the devil’).31 Diego Noguera applies it to the moment of the soul’s departure (‘Quod vero soleat Sathanas quo tempore anima de corpore exitura est, de fide cum hominibus disputare’; ‘Because, indeed, Satan is in the habit of arguing with people about the faith at the moment when the soul is leaving the body’), though one can also extrapolate the conclusion that all disputations about faith should be avoided.32 In Pighius’s Hierarchiae Ecclesiasticae Assertio (1538), the author uses the story — which he claims to have heard as a child — to teach that disputations with heretics should be avoided, and so-called ‘serpent’s wisdom’ should be shunned. Miguel de Medina, in his Christianae Paraenesis…, published at Venice in 1564, takes his account from Pighius, with the same moral and unmistakable metaphors of the Assertio (the safe harbour, the Catholic circle).33 This version is unique because it ‘Hispanizes’ the story, assuring the reader that what happens to the story’s doctor actually

30 Melander, Iocorum atque seriorum, cci, p. 163; Majus, D. M. Lutheri Theologia pura et sincera, locus xxi, ix, p. 1068. 31 Viguerius, Institutiones, cap. xviii, iv, p. 793. 32 De Ecclesia Christi ab Haereticorum, i, fol. 69r. 33 De Medina, Christianae Paraenesis, v, p. 173.

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happened to Alonso Fernández de Madrigal, called El Tostado — Hebraist, Biblicist, professor at Salamanca, celebrated theologian, and author of a vast collection of exegetical works. By some means or other, El Tostado became, in later Hispanic versions, the flesh-and-blood representative of the Biblicist who cries, at the moment of death, ‘ut carbonarius, ut carbonarius’ (like the coalman, like the coalman). Like Pighius and Hosius, Medina presents the account as an exemplary tale in which, once again, the coalman represents not just the least educated, but all the faithful. His conclusion: ‘Let us all take advantage of the precepts of our betters [maiores, as in the Job text], and let us keep the rules of faith’,34 thus avoiding the deceptions of the heretics. In this anti-heretical context, the account invites the reader to avoid dialogue with Protestants, whose danger is comparable to disputing with Satan, and it calls on the faithful to shun the Lutheran ‘contagion’ by means of silence and an adherence without exception to the Church’s precepts. The anti-heretical — specifically anti-Protestant — drift is clear, for example, in the singular Italian version by Silvio Antoniano, which recasts the story as a supposed dialogue between a lay Christian and a heretic, who takes the role of Satan. The reluctance to dialogue with the devil is extended to day-to-day conversations between Catholics and Lutherans, and to informal and occasional exchanges among believers. The context is Christian education, and the model proposed is one of silence for all laypeople. Antoniano warns that these are dangerous times which require obedience, and that it is not the place of the layperson (‘nor the unlearned, nor the artisan, nor the little woman’) to engage in fine disputations about matters of faith. In order to be saved, a good Christian should limit him or herself to believing what the Church believes (‘ha da credere semplicemente quello che la santa Chiesa madre nostra ci propone’).35 Furthermore, one should avoid conversations about religion and should abstain from all exchanges of questions about the Faith. One must cut short the reasoning process, flee from anyone who wants to dialogue, take refuge in the Church’s teaching, and not respond to questions such as: ‘Why do you fast?’ or ‘Why do you attend ceremonies?’ The ‘ministers of perdition’ are the ones who offer to analyse (or speak about) such things with the least educated: Et però se alcuno di coloro, che sotto il mantello d’una falsa, et finta santità vanno seminando nova, et pernitiosa dottrina vorrà entrare in disputa col Christiano, et catholico, et obediente figliuolo della santa Chiesa Romana, dicendo perche fate voi questa cosa, et perche quell’altra? egli non occorre astenersi in tal tempo dalla carne, ne digiunare, et simili cose, sia avvertito il fidele di troncar il ragionamento, et fuggire più velocemente, che non si fugge da un aspide calcato, et non si lasci invischiare da dolci, et melate

34 De Medina, Christianae Paraenesis, v, p. 173. 35 Antoniano, Tre libri dell’educatione, fol. 39v.

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parolette, quali sono quelle che per acquistar credito appresso i semplicetti, usano frequentemente i ministri della perditione, cioè parola di Dio, sacra scrittura, evangelio, passione di Christo, et simiglianti, percioche il demonio si tranfigura in angelo di luce, et sotto questa esca, è l’hamo della heresia, et però quanto più presto, bisogna ritirarsi alla rocca della santa Chiesa, et con una risposta sola, cosi ci ha insegnato la Santa Chiesa madre nostra, cosi crede, cosi ordina la sposa di Giesù Christo, una santa, catholica, et Apostolica Romana Chiesa, con questa dico sola risposta, come con un coltello acutissimo si troncano tutti i capi dell’Idra infernale.36 (If someone of those who sow new and pernicious doctrine under the false cloak of feigned holiness wishes to enter into dispute with the obedient Catholic Christian son of the Roman Church by asking why you do this or that thing, or whether it is necessary to abstain from eating meat or to fast, and other similar things, the believer is warned to cut short the argument and flee quickly as if he had trodden on a viper, and not let himself be deceived by sweet, honeyed words, like those used by the ministers of perdition to gain acceptance among simple folk, such as, for example, ‘word of God’, ‘Holy Scripture’, ‘gospel’, ‘passion of Christ’ and other similar ones. Because the Devil disguises himself as an angel of light and beneath this bait lurks the hook of heresy. For this reason, it is imperative to withdraw as quickly as possible to the rock of the Holy Church, and with a single response, ‘thus the Holy Church our mother has taught us’, ‘this is what it believes, this is what the Bride of Jesus Christ ordains, one holy, Catholic Apostolic Roman Church’, with this single response, as I say, cut off, as though with the sharpest of knives, all the heads of the infernal Hydra.) This passage from Antoniano reproduces all the advice implicit in our story. The heretic and the layperson stand for, respectively, the devil and the coalman. In order to avoid the dangers of heresy, the simple child of the Church has to cut off all dialogue and flee as though from a serpent. The response, ‘Thus has our Holy Mother Church taught us’, is what cuts off the heads of the hellish hydra. This last is obviously a traditional metaphor for heresy, but in sixteenth-century texts it is habitually used to designate Protestantism specifically. In this way, Antoniano’s advice reproduces the historiola of the coalman as a warning, without narrating the story. These accounts not only construct a concept of the layperson subsumed under the figure and function of the coalman, but also contain a representation of the heretic; they transmit the widely-disseminated idea that fraudes haereticorum (delusions of the heretics) are, above all, of a discursive or dialectical nature.

36 Antoniano, Tre libri dell’educatione, fol. 39v. On the importance of this reasoning in sixteenthcentury Italian culture, see Frajese, Il popolo fanciullo; Fragnito, Proibito capire, p. 13; Caravale, ‘Illiterates and Church Censorship’.

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In Catholic texts the construction of the heretic, especially the Lutheran, repeatedly asserts his capacity for using dialectic to lead eventually to dissent. In fact, the heretic’s ability for doctrinal disputation and debate about faith is a commonplace in Catholic heresiology. Alphonsus a Castro, the most widely-read heresiologist in sixteenth-century Europe, pondered the skill with which the heretic could ‘seduce the simple’.37 In the same way, Didacus Simancas assured his readers that disputation ‘enflames the heretic’.38 The polemicist Georg Eder, in Malleus Haereticorum, characterizes the heretic as one who gives dialectical or multiloquus form to his principles, in order to ‘twist his arguments’ however he wishes, never yielding until he gains the victory (‘non cedunt, etsi vincatur’), in order to outwit the unwary and sow doubts concerning matters defined once and for all by the Church.39 This series of representations allows for the figure of the devil to be assimilated with that of the heretic, the Lutheran, and even Luther himself.

The Coalman as Penitent: Uses of the Creed There is an exceptional, unique use of the coalman’s story in Esteban de Salazar, Veinte discursos sobre el Credo (1582). Salazar does not alter the outward presentation of the argument nor the personalities; rather, the story’s special interest lies in the central emphasis that Salazar’s line of argument gives to the recitation of the Creed. Here the tale serves in primis to promote memorization of this liturgical text, as well as to contend that laypeople should necessarily curb their curiosity in the face of the doctrinal difficulties of its content. The private person, says Salazar, has no need to ‘set himself up as judge’ (‘hacerse juez’) nor examine doctrine; rather, he ought to close his eyes and embrace whatever the Church embraces and teaches. To this end, Salazar recounts the salvific response of the coalman to the doctor (‘who in Spain is commonly said to be that most learned and religious Bishop of Ávila’, el Tostado), as related by the most pious Hosius. According to Salazar, the account is an assurance of the superiority of ignorance accompanied by faith over knowledge accompanied by rashness or presumption (‘knowledge puffs up and charity builds up’).40 Within the general framework of religious polemic the vindication of the unlearned has disappeared, and the issue of Scripture — essential to Hosius — is lacking from both context and story. The anti-Lutheran uses of the tale (as in Pighius, Medina, and Antoniano) likewise seem to have vanished. The simple contrasts of faith and knowledge or ignorance and presumption show that the fable is now designed to bring

37 De Castro, De iusta haereticorum punitione, p. 182. 38 Simancas, Theorices et praxis haereseos, fols 40v–41r. 39 Eder, Malleus haereticorum, vii, v, pp. 85, 88, 107, 122. 40 De Salazar, Veynte Discursos sobre el Credo, pp. 171–72.

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down the haughtiness and pride of the wise, and to exalt the humility and simplicity of the common person. Making El Tostado the hero of the tale disconnects the story from anti-heretical and anti-Lutheran propaganda (the figure who interrogates the layman is, once again, a theologian; he is not, nor could he be, a stand-in for a Lutheran or heretic, as he was for Antoniano), and the narrative is turned into a dramatization of a moral conflict. Central to this version is the value of a recitable Creed as the encapsulation of essential doctrine, beyond which lies the territory of the validity of fides implicita. In a Spanish context, the story’s defence of the Creed could also be understood as part of the policy that ecclesiastical authorities implemented in the mid-sixteenth century of teaching prayers and basic doctrinal principles. We have the word of a great many priests and preachers testifying to widespread ignorance of the most important prayers. From the records of the Toledo tribunal of the Inquisition studied by Jean-Pierre Dedieu we know that less than half the adult males knew the Lord’s Prayer, and the Creed and Salve were the subject of even more confusion. In fact, Dedieu concludes that the majority of the population was ignorant of these three texts. This was the period when Cardinal Tavera implemented the requirement for the Creed and Lord’s Prayer to be recited as part of the act of penance following confession.41 Esteban de Salazar’s Veinte discursos can be understood within this general plan of promoting the memorization and daily recitation of the Creed. The manuals of confession printed in the sixteenth century often yield precious data concerning the doctrinal knowledge of penitents, which often follows from pastoral experience. Such knowledge appears to have been quite slender, limited to a few prayers and a very few principles. Nearly all the manuals remind the confessor of his responsibility, at the beginning of confession, to be sure that the penitent knows the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer; if he sees that such knowledge is lacking, he must take steps to remedy the situation and oversee the learning process. In this way, the interrogation presented in some versions of our story — namely, the doctor’s questioning of the coalman or unlearned Christian as to what he believes, with the proper response being a recitation of the Creed — can be seen as reproducing the model prescribed in the manuals and guides for confessors and penitents, a model in which the former makes certain, at the start of confession, of the extent of the latter’s knowledge of doctrine. In every case, knowing what the manuals call the Credo chico (little Creed) or the equivalent of its articles (the Trinity, the Incarnation, the Resurrection, the hope of Salvation) appears to mark the minimum threshold for receiving the Sacrament. What is more, fides implicita is overtly mentioned in the confessionals as a common and indispensable concept in the exchange of practical advice on a well-organized confession.

41 Dedieu, L’administration de la foi, pp. 51–52. A vivid description of the generalised doctrinal ignorance (and its possible remedies) can be found in De Meneses, Luz del alma Christiana, i, i, fols 6r–7r.

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The celebrated manual of Martín de Azpilcueta — the most widely translated and used in Spain, Portugal, France, and Italy — pleads with confessors and even preachers: que se encarguen mucho de la fe desplegada y en particular destos articulos, y aun la de todos los otros del Credo pequeño. (…that they be greatly responsible for unfurled faith and especially for these articles, and even for the faith of all the others in the little Creed.) And he adds: aunque no osamos por agora condenar por mortal la ygnorancia de todos los otros, con tanto que general y implícita o plegadamente alomenos crean todo lo que la santa Madre Iglesia cree.42 (…although we do not at present dare to damn as mortal [sin] the ignorance of all the others, so long as they at least believe generally and implicity or in furled fashion everything that holy Mother Church believes.) The sum of the Creed and of implicit faith (for the rest of doctrine) reproduces exactly, in the verbal space of the confessional, the knowledge and strategy of the story’s coalman. The most widely-distributed confessional manuals agree on this point with Martín de Azpilcueta. For example, Juan de Pedraza thinks that the minimum doctrinal requirements are met if the penitent ‘knows the Creed in Spanish, or in Latin while understanding what it says’, and the Franciscan Corella is of the opinion that it is enough for those with the least education and ability to know the Credo chico and the general principle that God rewards good people and punishes evil ones: ‘whatever else the Church teaches (he adds), let them believe it implicitly’.43 Thus, the doctor and the coalman from the realm of fiction unexpectedly stand in for the real figures of a typical dialogue as recommended in the manuals of confession. In Salazar’s Veinte discursos, the Creed is also highlighted for its value in definitive salvation, since it constitutes a summary of the Faith. In general, pastoral literature recommends reciting it often in order to internalize it fully, since its recitation has the value of an act of contrition that could even take the place of confession in a dire emergency or when in danger of death. This added value of the Creed furnishes new meanings and uses to the pastoral story nestled in the artes moriendi, when the prudent doctor or the simple man is saved by clinging to the Creed at the hour of death.

42 De Azpilcueta, Manual de confessores y penitentes, p. 47. On this passage, see González Polvillo, Decálogo y gestualidad, p. 79. 43 De Pedraza, Summa de casos de conciencia. Jaime de Corella, Práctica del confesionario, quoted by González Polvillo, Decálogo y gestualidad, p. 43.

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Conclusions The coalman’s story has many features that seem typical of oral literature. In particular, it is akin to tales in which a simple man, often a farmhand, is able to overcome the devil or death, or to respond ingeniously to complex or unsolvable questions. However, the similarities do not mean that the story was the product of popular culture. Rather, it is a narrative fragment from literary culture, which aims, at least in Catholic versions, to be popularized and interiorized in order to be added to the store of oral lore.44 In its sixteenth-century variations it harbours a number of pastoral and dogmatic questions: the notion of implicit faith, the nature of cognitio necessaria for salvation, management of simple people’s ignorance, lay access to the Bible, the religious knowledge of the common person, the confessor’s forms of intervention, the value of the recitable Creed as a summary of faith, and as an act of contrition with a value equal to general confession. Within the plot the coalman is, or can be, many things: fool, very simple man, believer, all the believers, layman, Catholic or papist, and, finally, in opposition to the story’s other dominant figure, he can represent the person who is not a doctor, theologian, or Biblical scholar. He can be, either in exemplary fashion or a contrario, the private or common man, which brings the idea of the ‘layman’s faith’ into close association with the idea of ‘delegated faith’. It is clear that, before the Reformation, the line of the story’s argument was well defined, particularly the circular dialogue that gives it its denouement: the story of the two doctors as told in Antoninus’s Summa predates the confessional conflict by many years. What is relevant is that the Reformation’s theological controversies had an impact on this devotional fiction, modifying its implications and teaching. In Catholic circles, the story of the person who believes ‘what the Church believes’ remains as a narrative fragment encapsulated in treatises on the art of a good death. It is also incorporated into anti-heretical treatises (as a model of sure obedience in the face of the Lutheran ‘danger’); it is used to dissuade people from reading the Bible, and to promote the use of the recitable Creed. In polemical contexts it is an anti-Protestant account that prescribes to laypeople a sure ignorance or more sure silence, and identifies Lutherans with the devil himself. In other cases it is a moral account that condemns arrogance and celebrates devotion and the affective religiosity of simple people. In Protestant texts, the story appears in polemical treatises that use fiction to answer Catholic uses of the same story, and that condemn outstanding ‘papist vices’ incarnated in the coalman: Church authority placed 44 Although I cannot go into detail here on the book-based antecedents of the story, it is possible that it had its origins in the years following the Council of Nicea as a narrative to promote the Creed. In fact, a similar anecdote, about an encounter between a simple Christian and a dialectician (or an Arian), is told in some canonical histories of the Council, as, for example, Rufinus of Aquilea’s continuation of Eusebius’s Ecclesiastical History. On this and other anecdotes related to the Creed, see Lim, Public Disputation.

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above Scripture, believers being denied the capacity to reason about the faith, the unsatisfactory reduction of doctrine to formulas for unthinking assent, the reduction among Catholics of cognitio necessaria to (near-)nothingness; the denial of fides implicita, which now becomes equivalent to ‘bestial’ and ‘pontifical’ faith; and the criticism of the forms of false consensus founded on the coalman’s silence or on terror of the Inquisition. The Catholic versions all seem to have in common a bias against lay speech and laypeople’s capacity for speaking about the Faith, which is seen instead as a source of dissent and a serious spiritual threat. The same fear is evident also in the indices of prohibited books, in Thomist dogmatic theology, and in inquisitorial manuals.45 The Summa Theologica expressly condemns laypeople disputing with heretics because it has the potential to lead to confusion and heresy. Saint Thomas believed that it was also illicit to hold any disputation about the Faith ‘in the presence of simple people’, since their faith would be more solid and strong if they had never heard anything different from what they ought to believe (‘periculosum est disputare de fide coram simplicibus: quorum fides ex hoc est firmior quod nihil diversum audierunt ab eo quod credunt’).46 This idea is a commonplace in Catholic theological thought in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Furthermore, there existed a general disapproval of any debate held in the hearing of simple people that was intended to present or clearly defend true theses, which were beyond the public’s capacity of comprehension, since such debates could sow error in the unlearned. The topics included: grace, free will, predestination, and, above all, the Eucharist, which should never be discussed in the common language.47 It would be dangerous to pretend that the people are capable of understanding such questions, or that they could be submitted for their consideration. Debating about the Faith is therefore seen as an activity restricted to the society of experts, which cannot be popularized and to which laypeople have no access. Viguier stated that excommunication was reserved for any layperson who debated about the Faith (‘Non licet laicis personis, maxime illiteratis, qui non sunt in fide perfecti, de fide disputare’), and he noted that the strict rule of Catholicism differed from Lutheran practice, which encouraged simple people, housewives, and artisans to give opinions and to debate and preach (‘Hac via grassati sunt Lutherani, qui mulieres et artifices ad disputandum et seducendum induxerunt’).48 The opinion appears widespread among Catholic writers that one of the causes of the spread of the Reformation was precisely this access by simplices (simple men) and mulierculae (little women) to debating about spiritual things and interpreting the Scriptures, or, put in another way, the reckless and illegitimate popularization of magisterial understanding and theological knowledge.

45 Eymeric, Directorium Inquisitorum F. Nicolai Eymerici, pp. 69, 71. 46 Summa Theologica, iiaiiae, q. 10, a. 7. 47 See Vega, ‘Coram simplicibus’. 48 Viguerius, Institutiones, p. 112.

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Bibliography Primary Sources Andreae, Jacob, Refutatio pia et perspicua criminationum, calumniarum et mendaciorum, quibus Stanislaus Hosius non solum Prolegomena Ioannis Brentij, verumetiam universam vere piam doctrinam contaminare conatus est, Autore Iacobo Andreae, Theologo et pastore Ecclesia Göppingensis, una cum praefatione Ioan. Brentij (Frankfurt am Main: Petris Brubachius, 1560) Antoniano, Silvio, Tre libri dell’educatione christiana dei figliuoli (Verona: Sebastiano dalle Donne, Girolamo Stringari, 1584) Aquinas, Thomas, Summa Theologica: Sancti Thomae Aquinatis Doctoris Angelici. Opera Omnia. Iussu Leonis XIII, vols IV–XII (Rome: Vatican Polyglot Press, 1888) Azpilcueta, Martín de, Manual de confessores y penitentes que clara y brevemente contiene la universal y particular decision de quasi todas las dudas, que en las confessiones suelen ocurrir de los peccados, absoluciones, restituciones, censuras & irregularidades (Salamanca: Andrea de Portonariis, 1557) Barozzi, Pietro, De modo bene moriendi (Venice: s.n., 1531) Bellarmino, Roberto, De arte bene moriendi libri duo (Rome: Typis Bartholomaei Zannetti, 1620) Castro, Alfonso de, De iusta haereticorum punitione (Salamanca: Ioannes Giunta, 1547) De Ecclesia Christi ab Haereticorum Conciliabulis Disnoscenda, praeclari libri do antehac nunquam aediti, Authore Iacobo Noguera (Dillingen: Sebaldus Mayer, 1560) Eder, Georgius, Malleus haereticorum. De variis falsorum dogmatum notis, atque censuris, libri duo (Ingolstadt: David Sartorius, 1580) Empsychovius, Hermann, Solidum responsum ad Georgii Braunii in gradibus B. Mariae Coloniensis Decani Maledicum et virulenter libellum, quem ille Catholicorum Tremoniensium adversus Lutherananicae ibidem fationis Praedicantes defensionem appellavit, et anno 1605 in lucem edidit. Conscriptum pro toto ecclesiastico ministerio Tremoniano ex eiusdem mandato et approbatione, per M. Hermannum Empsychovium, Pastorem Ecclesiae Christi ad S. Nicolaum ibidem… (Dortmund: Iohannes Wetshovius, 1609) Erasmus Rotterodamus, Liber cum primis pius de praeparatione ad mortem, nunc primum et conscriptus et aeditus (Basle: Froben, 1534) Eymeric, Nicolas, Directorium Inquisitorum F. Nicolai Eymerici, cum commentariis Francisco Pegna (Rome: Georgius Ferrarius, 1587) Flacius Illyricus, Matthias, De sectis, dissensionibus, contradictionibus et confusionibus doctrinae, religionis, scriptorum doctorum Pontificiorum Liber (Basle: Paulus Quaeckus, 1566) Florentinus, Antoninus, Summae Sacrae Theologiae Pars Prima (Venice: Bernardus Iunta & Sociis, 1571) Heidfeld, Johann, Theologico-Philosophica Sphinx, promens et proponens pia, erudita ac arguta aenigmata sive scrupos, ex variis tum sacris tum profanis authoribus

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coportatos, qui mirifice faciunt ad comparandam sapientiam, ad exercenda & acuenda liberalia ingenia, ad formanda iudicia ingenuamque delectationem philologorum omnium (Herborn, 1600; 3rd edn 1602) Hosius, Stanislaus, Verae, Christianae, Catholicaeque doctrinae solida Propugnatio. Una cum illustri confutatione Prolegomenorum quae primum Ioannes Brentius adversus Petrum a Soto Theologum scripsit, deinde vero Petrus Paulus Vergerius apud Polonos temere defendenda suscepit… Opus elegantissimum, nunc recens aeditum et in quinque libros distributum, nostri temporis haereses primum ab origine recensens, dein eas complectens controversias maximas, quae nunc de fide et religione potissimum agitantur, uti sequens mox pagina indicabit (Cologne: Maternus Cholinus, 1558) Luther, Martin, Warnungsschrift an die zu Frankfurt am Main, sich von Zwinglischer Lehre zu hüten (Frankfurt am Main: Johann Spiess, 1593) Magnus, Gregorius, Moralia in Iob, Libri I-X, ed. by M. Adriaen, Corpus Christianorum Series Latina, 143 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1979) Majus, Johannes Henricus, D. M. Lutheri Theologia pura et sincera, ex viri divini scriptis universis, maxime tamen Latinis, pero Omnes Articulos Fidei digesta et concinnata a Joh. Henrico Majo (Frankfurt am Main: Joannes Maximilianus a Sande, 1709) Medina, Miguel de, Christianae Paraenesis sive de recta in Deum fide libri septem, … in quibus orthodoxae fidei origines et causae proponuntur, ac simul eius excolendae, nutriendae, et propagandae ratio quam amplissima traditur; atque universa, quae eam pertentare solent, infidelium aut haereticorum nostrae paraesertim memoriae, argumenta, et rationes proteruntur (Venice: Iordanus Ziletus, 1564) Melander, Othon, Iocorum atque seriorum, tum novorum, tum selectorum, atque memorabilium, centuriae aliquot, iucundae, utiles… recensente Othone Melandro (Frankfurt am Main: Zacharias Palthenius, 1603) Meneses, Felipe de, Luz del alma Christiana contra la ceguedad y ygnorancia, e lo que pertenesce a la fe y ley de Dios (Valladolid: Francisco Fernández de Córdoba, 1554) Noguera, Jacobus, De Ecclesia Christi ab Haereticorum Conciliabulis Disnoscenda, praeclari libri do antehac nunquam aediti, Authore Iacobo Noguera (Dillingen, Sebaldus Mayer, 1560) Pedraza, Juan de, Summa de casos de conciencia (Salamanca: Andrea de Portonariis, 1567) Pighius, Albertus, Hierarchiae Ecclesiasticae Assertio (Cologne: Melchior Novesianus, 1538) Raulin, Jean, Doctrinale de triplici morte, naturali, culpa, Gehennae (Venice: Altobellus Salicatius, 1585) Salazar, Esteban de, Veynte Discursos sobre el Credo, en declaración de Nuestra Sancta Fe Catholica y Doctrina Christiana muy necessarios a todos los Fieles en este tiempo (Granada: Ioan Diaz and Hugo de Mena, 1582) Salazar, Juan de, Arte de ayudar y disponer a bien morir a todo genero de personas, dividida en tres tratados (Rome: Carlo Vulliet, 1608)

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Simancas, Didacus, Theorices et praxis haereseos, sive Enchiridion Iudicium Violatae Religionis (Venice: Iordanus Ziletus, 1573) Tertullian, De praescriptione haereticorum [accessed 15 July 2020] Valera, Cipriano de, Dos tratados, el primero es del Papa y su autoridad, colegido de su vida y dotrina, el segundo es de la Missa: el uno y el otro recopilado de lo que Doctores y Concilios antiguos y la sagrada Escritura enseñan ([London]: Ricardo del Campo (Richard Field), 1599) Venegas, Alejo de, Agonía del tránsito de la muerte con los avisos y consuelos que cerca della son provechosos (Alcalá: Andrés de Angulo, 1565) Viguerius, Ioannes, Institutiones ad Christianam Theologiam (Venice: Iacobus Vitalis, 1575) Secondary Works Backus, Irena, Historical Method and Confessional Identity in the Era of the Reformation (Leiden: Brill, 2003) Caravale, Giorgio, ‘Illiterates and Church Censorship in Late Renaissance Italy’, in Lectura y culpa en el siglo XVI (Barcelona: Studia Aurea Monográfica, 2012), pp. 93–106 Dedieu, Jean-Pierre, L’administration de la foi. L’Inquisition de Tolède XVIe-XVIIIe siècle (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez, 1992) Fragnito, Gigliola, Proibito capire. La Chiesa e il volgare nella prima età moderna (Bologna: Mulino, 2005) Frajese, Vittorio, Il popolo fanciullo. Silvio Antoniano e il sistema disciplinare della controriforma (Milan: Franco Angeli, 1987) González Polvillo, Antonio, Decálogo y gestualidad social en la España de la Contrarreforma (Seville: Universidad de Sevilla, 2011) Hoffmann, Georg, Die Lehre von der Fides Implicita innerhalb der katholischen Kirche (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrich Buchhandlung, 1903) Lim, Richard, Public Disputation, Power and Social Order in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995) Mothu, Alain, ‘De la foi du charbonnier à celle du héros (et retour)’, in Les Dossiers du Grihl [online], Les dossiers de Jean-Pierre Cavaillé, Libertinage, athéisme, irréligion. Essais et bibliographie (published online 6 December 2010) [accessed 1 April 2017] Ritschl, Albert, Fides implicita (Cologne: Marcus, 1890) Vega, María José, ‘El saber como conflicto: curiosidad herética y saberes inmoderados en la temprana modernidad’, in Saberes humanísticos, ed. by Christoph Strosetzki (Frankfurt: Iberoamericana-Vervuert, 2014) ———, ‘Coram simplicibus. Disputatio y diálogo doctrinal en el pensamiento censorio del siglo XVI’, in Diálogo y censura en el siglo XVI (España y Portugal), ed. by Ana Vian Herrero, María José Vega, and Roger Friedlein (Frankfurt: Iberoamericana-Vervuert, 2016), pp. 73–104

Suzan Folkerts

People, Passion, and Prayer Religious Connectivity in the Hanseatic City of Deventer

In the project ‘From Monastery to Marketplace. Towards a New History of New Testament Translations and Urban Religious Culture’ (2013‒2017), I studied the use of the vernacular Bible in communities and social networks in the late medieval cities of the Low Countries — ‘late medieval’ understood very broadly as up to 1550.1 Although the period studied, especially the decades from 1520 to 1550, is characterized by political, religious, and social changes, I focused on one stable element in religious culture, which is the reading of the Middle Dutch New Testament. The Northern Middle Dutch New Testament translation originated in the religious movement of the Modern Devotion, which in its turn originated in the IJssel valley, more specifically in the city of Deventer. In this contribution, I will zoom in on the circulation of this Bible translation in Deventer, a flourishing Hanseatic town that experienced its golden age as the book city in the fifteenth century. I will also zoom out again and explain how people in Deventer established religious connectivity by producing, exchanging, and reading the New Testament and other religious books. In the late medieval Low Countries, the reading of the New Testament in the vernacular was a common and accepted ingredient of lay religious culture. This kind of orthodox reading outside the Latin liturgical setting of the Church took place in various social networks, such as families, religious communities, and, although unfortunately we have less information for this, parishes and gatherings for public lectures. We know of a Bible manuscript that was copied by a patrician called Willem Heerman and put on a reading

1 For the results of this NWO Veni project, see [accessed 26 February 2021]. Suzan Folkerts  •  is curator of manuscripts and old printed books at the Athenaeumbibliotheek Deventer. Previously she was a postdoctoral researcher at the Faculty of Arts of the University of Groningen. Her latest project, in which this collection has its origin, is ‘From Monastery to Marketplace. Towards a New History of New Testament Translations and Urban Religious Culture in the Low Countries (c. 1450–1540)’, funded by a Veni grant of NWO (2013–2017). Religious Connectivity in Urban Communities (1400–1550): Reading, Worshipping, and Connecting through the Continuum of Sacred and Secular, ed. by Suzan Folkerts, New Communities of Interpretation, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), pp. 263–276 © FHG10.1484/M.NCI-EB.5.122102

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desk in the church of Saint Peter in Leiden, chained, for everyone to read.2 We also know that in Ghent the poet Everaert Taybaert rented a hall to read books publicly. He rented these books from a professional scribe named Jan de Clerc.3 According to a witness, he read histories (ieesten), but it is quite imaginable that other people in other situations publicly read religious texts. Religious communities were not closed communities, either. Bible reading took place, for example, during meetings on Sunday evenings, the so-called collations, in houses of the brothers of the common life in Netherlandish towns. Laypeople and brothers gathered to listen to an exposition and a lesson from the Bible or another devotional book. Laypeople were also stimulated to read the Bible by themselves, or to their children. Several clerics advised that it was better to read the Bible at home than to play outside or read shallow books.4 The Epistles and Gospels were considered to be especially suitable, whereas the more difficult books like Song of Songs were thought to be less appropriate. Yet the Epistles and Gospels were also what laypeople wanted to read, as the preserved copies prove. The Epistles and Gospels were an established set of Bible lessons, taken from the New Testament and the Prophets, which were read in Latin during Mass according to the liturgical calendar. They were already available in Middle Dutch in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. When the Middle Dutch Epistles and Gospels were put into print, from 1477 on, they became a bestseller: no fewer than forty-one editions are known, so hundreds, if not thousands of copies must have circulated in the Low Countries. These printed copies were mainly bought by laypeople, as the ownership notes demonstrate.5 As an orthodox form of popular culture, reading the Epistles and Gospels was a cohesive element in civic society, because they were read in different situations in both the vernacular and Latin. A layperson, familiar with the vernacular text and the structure of Epistles and Gospels, could easily understand what was being read in Latin during Mass. Through the Epistles and Gospels laymen connected with Latin liturgy.

The New Testament and the Passion in Deventer We do not know when and where the Epistles and Gospels were put in the shape in which they appeared in print. These printed editions contained a complete Passion harmony, to be read during the Holy Week, and additional



2 3 4 5

Van Duijn, ‘Gods Woord gemeengoed’, p. 128. Brinkman, ‘Het Comburgse handschrift’, pp. 105–07. Staubach, ‘Gerhard Zerbolt von Zutphen’, pp. 13–15. Folkerts, ‘Middle Dutch Epistles and Gospels’, pp. 59–60.

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sermons the source of which is as yet unknown.6 The Epistle and Gospel lessons as well as the Passion Harmony were taken from the northern Dutch New Testament translation (also called the ‘New Testament of the Modern Devotion’), presumably at their first printer’s request, Gerard Leeu in Gouda. This New Testament translation was made in the monastery of Windesheim near Zwolle and Deventer in the IJssel area a century earlier, around 1390. Windesheim was a community of canons regular of the Modern Devotion movement and the head of the congregation called the Chapter of Windesheim. It was founded by Barthold Ten Hove, a cousin and follower of Geert Grote, and was related to the house of brothers of the common life in Deventer, the first male community of modern devout. Geert Grote was the charismatic ‘founder’ of the Modern Devotion movement; he himself established a house for ‘sisters of the common life’ — sisters who took no vows but lived together and shared their possessions (the Meester Geertshuis in Deventer). This movement and the texts it produced — the Middle Dutch Book of Hours by Geert Grote and De imitatione Christi by Thomas a Kempis being the most famous — was very influential in western Europe. The influential Modern Devotion movement, which sprang up in Deventer, brought forth a Middle Dutch New Testament that was copied and read throughout the Low Countries, both by religious women and laypeople. Around 160 copies are preserved. They show a wide variety: some contain only the Gospels, some the other New Testament books, some the Epistles and Gospels (but not the version of the printed editions), some the Passion stories that were extracted from the Gospels, and some a Gospel harmony or only a Passion harmony. Almost all manuscripts have in common that the Bible text was structured in such a way, with an index and rubrics indicating the lessons, that Epistle and Gospel lessons could be found back and read. Readers used the New Testament mainly to read a lesson each day. Of the preserved manuscripts, 70% belonged to female religious convents or individuals, and the remaining 30% to beguines, laywomen, and laymen.7 We may safely assume that all convents of sisters of the common life in Deventer owned a copy of (parts of) this New Testament translation, although few survive. A manuscript from the Brandeshuis of sisters of the common life containing the Pauline Letters and Apocalypse is still kept in the Athenaeumbibliotheek in Deventer (Figure 11.1).8 Three other manuscripts with excerpts of the New Testament translation of the Modern Devotion come from the monastery of Diepenveen near Deventer (just as Windesheim a community of modern devout following Augustine’s rule and belonging to the Chapter of Windesheim). One of them,

6 Folkerts, ‘Middle Dutch Epistles and Gospels’, p. 58. 7 Folkerts, ‘Reading the Bible Lessons at Home’. 8 Deventer, AB, MS i, 9 (101 F 17 KL), fol. 168r: ‘Dit waert gescreuen int iaer ons heren .m cccc lx. Dit boeck hoert toe den susteren bynnen deuenter van brandes huus ten eluen m megeden’ (This was written anno domini 1460. This book belongs to the sisters of Brandeshuis of 11,000 virgins).

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Figure 11.1. Paul’s Letter to the Romans in the New Testament translation of the Modern Devotion. Manuscript from the sisters of the common life of the Brandeshuis in Deventer (1460), Deventer, Athenaeumbibliotheek, MS i, 9 (101 F 17 KL), fols 8v–9r.

dating from c. 1450, contains, next to the De vier utersten (Cordiale de quatuor novissimis) by Gerard of Vliederhoven, the Gospel lessons of the proper of the year, a treatise on the Passion, and a Life of Saint Eusebius.9 The other two manuscripts, both dating from c. 1500, both contain the Passion harmony from the New Testament translation among other devotional Passion-related texts. They bear the inscription of sister Elisabeth of Kalkar, who lived at the end of the sixteenth century.10 When the convent of Diepenveen was destroyed

9 Deventer, AB, MS i, 60 (10 W 1 KL), flyleaf Iv: ‘Dit boeck hoert int cloester ten dyepenveen by deuenter’. 10 Deventer, AB, MS i, 29 (101 E 8 KL), flyleaf IIIv: ‘S[oror] Elisabet de kalcker’. This manuscript contains a treatise on the Passion by Jan of Schoonhoven, a sermon on the Passion by Bernardinus of Siena, Christmas sermons by Saint Bernard, the Last Supper from the Gospel harmony and some Gospel lessons, and the Ten Commandments. Deventer, AB, MS i, 24 (101 E 15 KL), fol. 1r: ‘Suster Elyzabeth van Calker’. This manuscript contains the Passion harmony with in-text prayers, prayers, Gospel lessons, and various devotional lessons.



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in 1578 during the war against the Spanish king, she and her fellow sisters took the books of their convent library, wrote their names in some of them, and moved to Deventer, where they lived in the Meester Geertshuis and the Brandeshuis. Thus, many manuscripts from Diepenveen ended up in the Brandeshuis, before they were confiscated in 1597 by the city administration for the Stadsbibliotheek (City Library), which had been founded in 1560 (and which in 1630 also became the library of the Athenaeum illustre, hence its name Athenaeumbibliotheek). The Middle Dutch Epistles and Gospels that were made with the New Testament translation of the Modern Devotion were put into print by several printers in the Low Countries, among them the Deventer printer Jacob van Breda (quite late, in 1493 and 1496). He and the first Deventer printer, Richard Pafraet, had already printed several editions of the Latin Epistles and Gospels, but also other Middle Dutch religious books, such as the Life of Christ, the Life of Saint Catherine, the Kerstenspiegel (Mirror of Christians), and Petrarca’s Historia Griseldis. Of the known printed copies of the Epistles and Gospels from the presses of Jacob van Breda in Deventer, we cannot connect any to Deventer readers, for they only mention owners’ names without further specification. For example, a copy of Jacob’s 1493 edition, now in Cambridge, belonged to Delegne, daughter of Claes.11 Another copy of the 1496 edition was, according to sixteenth-century inscriptions, owned by Anselmus vander Diesler [?] and, presumably, his daughter Neeltken Anselmus.12 Even if we have no certified copies, surely there must have been citizens of Deventer who bought a copy of the Epistles and Gospels, read the lessons each Sunday and the Passion harmony during the Holy Week, and shared this devotional reading practice with the sisters who had the same kind of literature at their disposal. The inventory of the estate of the Deventer bookseller Wolter de Hoge of 1459 points at the availability of devotional books outside religious convents already before the age of print. On his list we find, next to medical books and grammar books, also a brevier (breviary) and an ewangelieboec (Gospel book).13

11 Cambridge, UL, Inc. 5 E.4.4 (3016), fol. 3#6v: ‘Dit boeck hoert Delegnen Claes dochter. Dit boeck hoert Dieliegnen Claes Dochter. Diet vijnt die gefft hoer weeder om gads willen. Dit boeck hoirt delegnen claes thoe mer[…]sen dochter thoe. Diet vint gheeff off brent hoer weeder om gads willen. [some notes and figures]. help got’ (This book belongs to Delegne, daughter of Claes. Whoever finds it, please bring it back to her God willing [and this is repeated twice]). 12 The Hague, KB, KW 171 G 43, fol. 3#1r: ‘Anselmus vander Diesler [?]’ and ‘Neeltken Ansselmus niet sonder godt’ (not without God). 13 Koch, Zwarte kunst in de Bisschopstraat, pp. 51‒56; Corbellini, ‘Lezers, kopiisten en boekverkopers’, pp. 44–45; Folkerts and Verhoeven, eds, Deventer Boekenstad, p. 17. The estate of Wolter De Hoge is preserved in the register of deeds at HCO-SAD, access no. 0722 (Rechterlijk archief), inv. no. 57, fols 46v‒47r.

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Religious and Laypeople Connecting Through Books The Passion was the most important devotional moment in the liturgical year and this is clear from many books from Deventer. I name one more manuscript from the modern devout. It is a miscellany with Passion treatises and meditations deriving from the Brandeshuis.14 Around 1550, many years after the book was produced, this inscription was added: ‘Dyt boeck hoert toe Deuenter int iunferen cloester tho brandeshuus. off sancte urselen huus ghenoemet. Dyt boeck sal hebben suster styne hofmeyers in oer bewaringhe’ (This book belongs to Deventer, to the maidens’ convent of Brandeshuis, also called Saint Ursula’s house. Sister Styne Hofmeyers will keep this book [safe]). It may be the case that, just as the sisters of Diepenveen during tumultuous times kept track of their books by inscribing their names in them, the sisters of the Brandeshuis did the same. Alternatively, books were no longer strictly reserved for the convent’s library, and sisters could appropriate them for their own use. Whatever was the case, all the manuscripts mentioned thus far derive from religious communities. They do not represent Deventer devotional culture fully, however. The Modern Devotion and its culture of reading and writing could only develop because the Deventer citizens were already educated and eager to read. Geert Grote himself was a highly educated son of a cloth merchant and mayor. Deventer was a lively Hanseatic city where merchants, craftsmen, and the city administrators were not only literate but also produced books. The physician Reyner Oesterhuys wrote a medical book, and professional scribes produced beautifully decorated books of regulations (Keurboeken).15 One scribe from Deventer, Gerard Wesselszoon, copied a Middle Dutch Bible, which was decorated in an Utrecht atelier, and which is now one of the most prestigious illuminated Bibles in the Koninklijke Bibliotheek in The Hague.16 It is not my intention to make a distinction between laypeople buying printed books and religious people using manuscripts either. Looking carefully at the Deventer manuscripts, we see a more diverse world, where laypeople and religious people lived together and shared books.17 Some manuscripts that are described in catalogues as having a religious community as their final owner have had a more complicated history. One manuscript that ended up in the city library of Deventer via one of the houses of sisters of the common life is a Middle Dutch prayerbook with prayers devoted mainly to the Holy Virgin. It dates from the last quarter of the fifteenth century and was presumably written in one of the Deventer convents. According to a contemporary note in 14 Deventer, AB, MS i, 57 (10 W 7 KL), inscription on flyleaf Iv. 15 The Compendium medicinale written by Reynier Oesterhuys, contains Latin and vernacular medical and scientific texts, and is now BL, MS Sloane 345. See Santing, ‘Kennis en geleerdheid’. For the Keurboeken, see Deventer Boekenstad, pp. 14‒15. 16 The Hague, KB, MS KW 69 B 10 (written in 1443 by ‘gherardo wesseli van deventer’). 17 This is demonstrated by Johanneke Uphoff in her contribution to this book ‘Dit boec heft gegeven: Book Donation as an Indicator of a Shared Culture of Devotion in the Late Medieval Low Countries’.

p eo p l e, passi o n, and pray e r

Figure 11.2. Prayerbook of Catherine, widow of Kerstken, presumably written in one of the religious convents in Deventer (last quarter of the fifteenth century), Deventer, Athenaeumbibliotheek, MS i, 30 (101 E 9 KL), flyleaf and fol. 1r.

a rubric at the back, the book belonged to a laywoman, ‘meyster Kertskens [sic] huysurou Katherina wonende op die wisport’ (Catherine, housewife of master Kerstken, who lives at the Fish Gate [Vispoort in Deventer]).18 We also read a note at the front of the book: ‘Item dit boeck hoert toe suster annus int lammen huus. Dit lenet sie her lieue suster derck’ (This book belongs to Agnes, sister of the Lamme van Diesehuis. She lends it to her beloved sister Derck) (Figure 11.2). This note is struck through, either because the book was returned to Agnes, or because it stayed with Derck in the Brandeshuis. Who are these readers? Archival sources give a clue.19 Catherine long outlived her husband Kerstken, who was a mason and died in 1496. They must have lived at the Vispoort before 1496, because in that year they lived at the Noordenbergpoort. Catherine made two testaments (in 1507 and in 1539), in which she cancelled the debts of the church of Saint Lebuinus, for which her husband had worked, and left money and/or property to the pastor and chaplains of the Saint Lebuinus church, 18 Deventer, AB, MS i, 30 (101 E 9 KL), fol. 208v. 19 Unpublished dossier on this manuscript by Bonny Rademaker-Helfferich in the Athenaeumbibliotheek Deventer. She consulted the archival records HCO-SAD, access no. 0722 (Rechterlijk archief), inv. nos 25 and 26q.

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and — here is our clue — to her cousins Agnes in the Lamme van Diesehuis, and Derrick in the Brandeshuis, both sisters of the common life. Moreover, in 1523, she donated three houses to the Saint Elisabeth hospital. Apparently, she was dedicated to the ‘religious commune’ of Deventer. Catherine’s testaments do not mention books, so she had probably donated her prayerbook already during her lifetime to her cousin Agnes. After its production and acquisition, the book was thus exchanged twice, across the walls of convents, demonstrating the shared piety of Deventer citizens. It also seems that family bonds were just as important as religious bonds. Another manuscript, which belonged to the monastery of Diepenveen, also has a more complicated provenance history than appears at first sight.20 It survived the destruction of the convent and was brought to Deventer by sister Adriana van Delen, who, from 1595–1604, as procuratrix took care of the belongings of the former convent of Diepenveen. Her name, ‘Adriana Deelen’, is written on a flyleaf at the back of the book. According to a note on a flyleaf in the front of the book, the manuscript was given to the monastery of Diepenveen by a laywoman: ‘Dit boeck heft gegeven jonfer van Steenbergen, seligen Johans van S[teenbergens] weduwe’ (This book was given by Lady van Steenbergen, widow of late Johan van S[teenbergen]). Someone later added to this: ‘den susteren toe Dyepenveen ende behoert in die liberie int gemeen’ (to the sisters of Diepenveen, and belongs to the common library). It is possible that Lady van Steenbergen donated the book right after purchasing it, but we may also think that this book, which is at present a composite book made up of two manuscripts, was first used by her. The first manuscript (fols 4–134, written c. 1465–1485) contains the Spieghel der volcomenheit (Mirror of Perfection) by Hendrik Herp. This text was meant as a personal spiritual guide for laypeople, such as Lady van Steenbergen.21 The second manuscript in this composite book is a Middle Dutch version of Meister Eckhart’s Reden der Unterweisung (Discourses of Instruction, fols 135–59, also written c. 1465–1485). These Reden are textual versions of the collations Eckhart gave to laybrothers and laypeople.22 On the first folio of this second manuscript we can just read the inscription ‘Dit boeck hoert toe Steven dye boeff [?]’.23 Could it be the case that this manuscript first belonged to a certain Steven, then to Lady van Steenbergen, who then donated both manuscripts to Diepenveen? The two manuscripts were bound together very early on, as the binding dates from the late fifteenth century, not long after the production of both manuscripts. The binding shows traces of a staple, which means that it had been chained to a lectern, and it is more probable that the sisters of Diepenveen ordered 20 Deventer, AB, MS I, 57 (10 W 7 KL). Johanneke Uphoff also mentions this manuscript in her contribution about book donation. 21 Dlabačová, Literatuur en observantie. 22 On Eckhart’s Discourses, see Gottschall, ‘Eckhart’s German Works’, pp. 146‒47. 23 Although the inscription is visible, no one seems to have noticed it. I wish to thank Cora Zwart, who made me aware of it. With UV-light we were able to read it.

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such a binding than a laywoman. Both texts were very suitable for laypeople, so, all in all, it is very likely that Lady van Steenbergen used both manuscipts for her own spiritual development, before donating them to the convent.

Deventer Printers and Religious Connectivity Since both religious people and laypeople were eager to read, the first printers arriving in Deventer could expect a large public for their works. Looking at the work and network of the printer Richard Pafraet and Jacob van Breda, we see how strongly they were connected to devotional culture. Pafraet, who moved from Cologne to Deventer in 1476, and Jacob van Breda, who came to Deventer in 1483, together produced by far the most incunables in the Low Countries: in Deventer c. 650 editions were produced up to 1500, whereas only around 460 were printed in Antwerp and none at all-in Amsterdam.24 It was only in 1520 that Antwerp surpassed Deventer as the ‘book capital’. Two stories about Pafraet show how tight the Deventer network of educated devout people was. Pafraet and Jacob van Breda did not produce as many vernacular titles as Latin ones: they mainly printed Latin theological and devotional books, classical authors, and school books. This focus on Latin learned titles can be explained by the presence of the famous Deventer Latin School. From 1483 to 1498 the Latin School was led by Alexander Hegius, who was a student of Rudolf Agricola and reformed the Latin School according to the latest humanist ideals. He was the first to teach Greek north of the Alps and attracted learned men and students such as Cusanus and Erasmus. Hegius happened to live in the house of Pafraet in the Lange Bisschopstraat, close to the Saint Lebuinus Church, the Latin School, and the Heer Florenshuis. Jacob van Breda’s workshop was located even closer to the Latin School at the Grote Kerkhof. Pafraet and Hegius obviously worked together on Pafraet’s oeuvre — Pafraet was the first north of the Alps to print a Greek typeface.25 On 7 April 1484, Hegius’s mentor Rudolf Agricola visited their house during one of his travels. While Hegius and Agricola discussed learned matters, Pafraet took a poem Agricola carried with him, and quickly put it to the press. This is the poem Anna Mater, on Saint Anna, mother of the Virgin Mary.26 A few years later Pafraet’s son Albert would edit the poem again — this time without the mistakes that, caused by the hurry, had crept into the first edition. Pafraet did not only work together with Hegius, but also with his neighbours at the Heer Florenshuis. The brothers of the common life were well known 24 For these numbers I consulted the Incunabula Short Title Catalogue and the Short Title Catalogue of the Netherlands. Pafraet and Jacob van Breda worked until 1512 and 1518 respectively, and in sum they printed more than 900 editions. 25 Pafraet first used Greek typeface is his edition of Franciscus Philelphi, Epistolae (copy The Hague, KW 170 G 19). 26 The only copy of Anna Mater that is available in the Netherlands is The Hague, KB, KW 170 G 8.

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for their writing skills and for their library, which consisted of about 1500 books. Actually, we could speak of a triangle, because the bonds between the modern devout and the Latin School were also strong: many brothers of the common life studied at the school or taught there, and the brothers took care of young students in the Arme Fraterhuis, a satellite of the Heer Florenshuis. Books were shared and donated. For example, Jacobus Faber, teacher at the Latin School and rector of the Arme Fraterhuis, and magister Johannes Marquard, alderman of Deventer, left their personal books to the library of the Heer Florenshuis. Before the arrival of the printing press, the brothers of the Heer Florenshuis were, together with professional scribes, responsible for copying books on demand. When Pafraet searched for new titles to print after the success of his first (and very prestigious) project in 1477, the Liber Bibliae moralis of Petrus Berchorius, and another large folio edition of Jacobus de Voragine’s Legenda aurea in 1479, he presumably turned to his neighbours of the Heer Florenshuis to ask for more devotional texts to edit. In 1481 he published the Speculum exemplorum, a collection of exempla from all over Europe, taken from famous collections such as Pope Gregory’s Dialogus, Thomas of Cantimpré’s Liber de apibus, Conrad of Heisterbach’s Liber de viris illustribus, the Vitae patrum, and Caesarius of Heisterbach’s exempla. These exempla were assembled in nine Distinctiones, to which a tenth Distinctio was added with the subtitle noviter conscripta (newly written) (Figure 11.3). The compiler/author states in his prologue that he had heard these stories being told and was the first to write them down.27 The Speculum exemplorum was a successful compilation. Over fifty copies have been preserved of its many editions and reworkings. The Athenaeumbibliotheek preserves the copy that belonged to the Heer Florenshuis itself.28 It was reprinted by Johann Koelhoff the Elder in Cologne in 1485 and three times by the printer of the 1483 Jordanus de Quedlinburg [Georg Husner] in Strasbourg (1487, 1490, and 1495). In the Incunabula Short Title Catalogue, the compilation is attributed to Johannes Busch, but it is probably written by an author from Deventer. There are a few reasons for this. First, Busch died of old age in 1479 or 1480, and by then had been living for twenty years in Germany. He had written his historical works about Windesheim in the 1450s, long before the new stories were compiled. Another reason is, that at the end of Distinctio x the author writes that he could have written more, if the printer had not been in such a hurry.29 So the author must have been around when Pafraet planned to edit this book.

27 Speculum exemplorum, Deventer, AB, Inc. 245 (110 B 9 KL), fol. a1v: ‘Demptis dumtaxat que in vultima distinctione locata sunt, que quia non tam ex libris legi quam veridica aliorum relatione didici, quia aliud mihi iter non patuit quomodo calamus ferebatur ipse conscripsi’. 28 Deventer, AB, Inc. 245 (110 B 9 KL), first flyleaf: ‘Iste liber pertinet ad librariam domus domini florentij in dauentria. Speculum exemplorum’. 29 Deventer, AB, Inc. 245 (110 B 9 KL), fol. ggg10r: ‘Et plura hijs similia vel etiam pociora scriptis commendassem, nisi me et imprimentis acceleratio et proprii corporis adversa valitudo vetuissent. See also Kruitwagen, ‘Het “Speculum exemplorum”’, p. 453.

p eo p l e, passi o n, and pray e r

Figure 11.3. Incipit of Speculum exemplorum. Distinctio decima. Noviter conscripta (Deventer: Richard Pafraet, 1481), Deventer, Athenaeumbibliotheek, Inc. 245 (110 B 9 KL), fol. eee1r.

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Bonaventura Kruitwagen, who edited the tenth Distinctio in 1905, suggested that the author was familiar with the monastery of Windesheim, but was not necessarily a canon of Windesheim. The author knew the eastern part of the Low Countries well, especially the IJssel area: the newly written exempla are about Thomas a Kempis of the Agnietenberg in Zwolle, but the author also very specifically mentions a student in Deventer, a boy in Doesburg (a town south of Deventer) and a boy he knew, the son of an alderman, who attended the fourth grade at the school in Deventer.30 Who would be a better candidate for authorship than a brother of the Heer Florenshuis, who had a large library at his disposal, and knew the IJssel area and the Deventer citizens?

Conclusion: Social Cohesion in Deventer These two stories about Pafraet show both his eagerness to put devotional literature into print (although mostly in Latin) and his widespread connections with devout and learned men in order to accomplish that. When he started his business the book market was foremost a theological and devotional book market (somewhat later complemented with school books). Combined with the stories about book donations across the walls of religious convents, and the connections between sisters and their lay family members, they make us aware that a civic society like Deventer should be approached as a community in which the borders between religious people living in convents, laypeople, and commercial printers were porous, if they existed at all. The city of Deventer was a ‘religious commune’ in itself. Other historians with different approaches will stress other characteristics, but the fact that religious literature, religious knowledge, and devotional practices were all over the place and all-encompassing, justifies the conclusion that social cohesion in Deventer was established by processes of religious connectivity.

Bibliography Manuscripts and Archival Sources Deventer, Athenaeumbibliotheek, MS i, 9 (101 F 17 KL) ———, MS i, 24 (101 E 15 KL) ———, MS i, 29 (101 E 8 KL) ———, MS i, 30 (101 E 9 KL) ———, MS i, 57 (10 W 7 KL) ———, MS i, 60 (10 W 1 KL)

30 Deventer, AB, Inc. 245 (110 B 9 KL), fol. ggg7v-ggg8r: ‘Noui iuuenem honestissimi scabini filium […] Is cum in quarto loco dauentriensis scole resideret, nescio quo…’.

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Deventer, Historisch Centrum Overijssel-Stadsarchief Deventer, access no. 0722 (Rechterlijk archief), inv. no. 25 ———, access no. 0722 (Rechterlijk archief), inv. no. 26q ———, access no. 0722 (Rechterlijk archief), inv. no. 57 London, British Library, MS Sloane 345 The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, MS KW 69 B 10 Primary Sources Agricola, Rodulphus, Anna Mater (Deventer: Richardus Pafraet, April 1484). ISTC ia00167000 (copy The Hague, KB, KW 170 G 8) Epistolae et Evangelia [Dutch] (Deventer: Jacobus de Breda, 1 March 1493). ISTC ie00071750 (copy Cambridge, University Library, Inc. 5 E.4.4 (3016)) Epistolae et Evangelia [Dutch] (Deventer: Jacobus de Breda, 4 March 1496). ISTC ie00071850 (copy The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, KW 171 G 43) Philelphi, Franciscus, Epistolae ([Deventer: Richardus Pafraet, about 1488]). ISTC ip00588000 (copy The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, KW 170 G 19) Speculum exemplorum (Deventer: Richardus Pafraet, 2 May 1481). ISTC is00651000 (copy Deventer, Athenaeumbibliotheek, Inc. 245 (110 B 9 KL)) Secondary Works Brinkman, Herman, ‘Het Comburgse handschrift en de Gentse boekproductie omstreeks 1400’, Queeste. Journal of Medieval Literature in the Low Countries, 5 (1998), 98–113 Corbellini, Sabrina, ‘Lezers, kopiisten en boekverkopers in de middeleeuwse stad’, in Verlichte geesten. De IJsselstreek als internationaal religieus-cultureel centrum in de late middeleeuwen, ed. by Catrien Santing, Mathilde van Dijk, Sabrina Corbellini, and Ad Tervoort (Deventer: Stadsarchief en Athenaeumbibliotheek Deventer, 2012), pp. 41–53 Dlabačová, Anna, Literatuur en observantie. De ‘Spieghel der volcomenheit’ van Hendrik Herp en de dynamiek van laatmiddeleeuwse tekstverspreiding (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2014) Duijn, Mart van, ‘Gods Woord gemeengoed. Een sociale geschiedenis van de Delftse Bijbel (1477–ca. 1550)’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Groningen, 2014); published as De Delftse Bijbel. Een sociale geschiedenis 1477 – c.1550 (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 2018) Folkerts, Suzan, ‘Reading the Bible Lessons at Home: Holy Writ and Lay Readers in the Low Countries’, Church History and Religious Culture, 93 (2013), 217–37 ———, ‘Middle Dutch Epistles and Gospels: The Transfer of a Medieval Bestseller into Print during the Early Reformation’, in Vernacular Bible and Religious Reform in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Era, ed. by Wim François, August Den Hollander, and Els Agten, BETL series (Leuven: Peeters, 2017), pp. 55–75 Folkerts, Suzan, and Garrelt Verhoeven, eds, Deventer Boekenstad. Twaalf eeuwen boekcultuur aan de IJssel (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 2018)

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Gottschall, Dagmar, ‘Eckhart’s German Works’, in A Companion to Meister Eckhart, ed. by Jeremiah M. Hackett (Leiden: Brill, 2013), pp. 137‒84 Incunabula Short Title Catalogue [accessed 24 July 2019] Kruitwagen, Bonaventura, ‘Het “Speculum exemplorum”’, Bijdragen voor de geschiedenis van het Bisdom van Haarlem, 29 (1905), 329–453 Koch, A. C. F., Zwarte kunst in de Bisschopstraat: Boek en druk te Deventer in de 15de eeuw, 2nd edn (Deventer: Corps 9 Publishers, 2007) Santing, Catrien, ‘Kennis en geleerdheid ten dienste van de stad Deventer in de vijftiende eeuw: Gerard Bruns, Johan Marquard en Reyner Oesterhuys’, in Stedelijk verleden in veelvoud. Opstellen over laatmiddeleeuwse stadsgeschiedenis in de Nederlanden voor Dick de Boer, ed. by Hanno Brand, Jeroen Benders, and Renée Nip (Hilversum: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2011), pp. 181‒97 Short Title Catalogue of the Netherlands [accessed 24 July 2019] Staubach, N., ‘Gerhard Zerbolt von Zutphen und die Laienbibel’, in Lay Bibles in Europe 1450–1800, ed. by M. Lamberigts and A. A. Den Hollander (Leuven: Peeters, 2006), pp. 3–26

Index of Manuscripts, Archival Sources, and Copies of Incunables

Amsterdam, Stadsarchief, access no. 1414, inv. no. 24: 107 n. 39 —, access no. 1414, inv. no. 30: 107 n. 39 Amsterdam, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS xxv C 26: 101 n. 7 Antwerp, Ruusbroecgenootschap, MS Neerl. 202: 55, 55‒56 n. 56 Arnhem, Gelders Archief, MS Beckering Vinckers 9: 101 n. 7 Berlin, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin – Preußischer Kulturbesitz, MS mgo 185: 164 n. 32, 164 n. 33, 165, 167, 171‒72 —, MS mgo 190: 160 n. 14, 164 n. 32, 164 n. 33, 165, 166 n. 38‒40, 167, 171, 172 —, MS mgo 280: 164 n. 32, 164 n. 33, 165, 166, 172 —, MS mgo 331: 130 n. 34, 131, 132 n. 39, 147 —, MS mgo 332: 130 n. 32, 130 n. 33, 132 n. 43, 142, 147 —, MS mgq 557: 107 n. 42 —, MS mgq 1109: 131 n. 35, 132, 147 Olim Bonn, Universitätsbibliothek, MS S 315 (lost): 101 n. 7 Bremen, Stads- und Universitätsbibliothek, MS C 55: 101 n. 7, 106 Brussels, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, MS 3753: 101 n. 7 —, MS 11172: 101 n. 7 —, MS 21953: 130 n. 31, 132, 147 —, MS ii 270–B: 164 n. 32, 164 n. 33, 165, 166, 172 —, MS ii 279: 130 n. 31, 133 n. 48, 147 —, MS ii 2348: 101 n. 7 —, MS ii 2631: 159 n. 8, 161 n. 16, 164 n. 32, 164 n. 33, 165, 166 n. 39, 166 n. 42, 167, 168, 171, 172 —, MS ii 6644: 101 n. 7 —, MS ii 6906: 101 n. 7 —, MS ii 7265: 130 n. 31, 131, 132 n. 39, 132 n. 42, 148 —, MS iv 5: 101 n. 7 —, MS iv 421: 160 n. 13, 164 n. 32, 165, 166, 172, 178 Brussels, Société des Bollandistes, MS 548: 132 n. 43, 132 n. 46, 147 Cambridge, Cambridge University Library, Inc. 5 E.4.4 (3016): 267 n. 11 Den Bosch, Brabants Historisch Informatie Centrum, access no. 1232, inv. no. 121: 53 n. 42 —, access no. 1232, inv. no. 125: 63 n. 72

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Deventer, Athenaeumbibliotheek, Inc. 245 (110 B 9 KL): 272 n. 27‒29, 273, 274 n. 30 —, MS i, 9 (101 F 17 KL): 265 n. 8, 266 —, MS i, 24 (101 E 15 KL): 266 n. 10 —, MS i, 29 (101 E 8 KL): 266 n. 10 —, MS i, 30 (101 E 9 KL): 268‒70, 269 —, MS i, 57 (10 W 7 KL): 101 n. 7, 110, 268, 270 —, MS i, 60 (10 W 1 KL): 266 n. 9 Deventer, Historisch Centrum Overijssel-Stadsarchief Deventer, access no. 0722, inv. no. 25: 269 n. 19 —, access no. 0722, inv. no. 26q: 269 n. 19 —, access no. 0722, inv. no. 57: 267 n. 13 Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, MS National Galleries 7130: 45, 54‒55 Gaesdonck, Bibliothek des Collegium Augustinianum, MS 37: 164 n. 32, 165, 166, 172, 178 Ghent, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS 259: 55 n. 56 —, MS 1305: 133, 134‒37, 141, 142, 145, 148 Gouda, Streekarchief Midden-Holland, acces no. 0090, inv. no. 0090.1.2a: 112 n. 60 —, acces no. 0090, inv. no. 0090.24: 112 n. 60 —, access no. 0091, inv. no. 0091.183: 112 n. 61, 113 n. 64 —, access no. 0091, inv. no. 0091.184: 114 n. 68 —, access no. 0091, inv. no. 0091.95: 106 n. 37 Groningen, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS 217: 101 n. 7 Haarlem, Stadsbibliotheek, MS 187 D 7: 55 n. 56 Hasselt, Provinciaal Museum, MS s. n.: 130 n. 31, 132 n. 43, 147 Hasselt, Rijksarchief, Oorkonden bundel 1, a° 1430: 128 n. 16 Leiden, Erfgoed Leiden en Omstreken (olim Gemeentearchief), access no. 0501, inv. no. 395: 104 n. 27 —, access no. 0501, Privilegeboek A, inv. no. 80: 104 n. 28 Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS BPL 1289: 164 n. 32, 164 n. 33, 165, 168, 171 n. 56, 172, 175, 177 —, MS BPL 2260: 101 n. 7, 107‒08 —, MS LTK 218: 164 n. 32, 164 n. 33, 165, 166, 168, 172 —, MS LTK 235: 101 n. 7 —, MS LTK 252: 130 n. 33, 132, 147 —, MS LTK 263: 101 n. 7 —, MS LTK 318: 101‒02, 110‒16, 118 —, MS LTK 2058: 164 n. 32, 165, 166, 172 Liège, Bibliothèque universitaire, MS 2635: 130 n. 33, 147

index of manuscripts, archival sources, and copies of incunables

London, British Library, Ames i 52: 206 —, C. 10. b. 9. [IB 55109]: 206‒07 —, Harl. 5919/8 [IB 55110]: 207 —, MS Add. 10286: 111 n. 53 —, MS Add. 15310: 130 n. 33, 131 n. 35, 132 n. 39, 147 —, MS Add. 15311: 130 n. 33, 131 n. 35, 132 n. 39, 147 —, MS Add. 26659: 101 n. 7 —, MS Sloane 345: 268 n. 15 London, Lambeth Palace, MS 306, item 27: 208 London, National Archives, Exchequer K.R. Ecclesiastical Documents 6/56: 191 n. 32 Mantua, Biblioteca Comunale di Mantova, MS 954: 28, n. 26 München, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS Cgm 5150–51: 101 n. 7 New York, Morgan Library & Museum, PML 699: 209 —, PML 35083: 209 Nijmegen, Regionaal Archief Nijmegen, MS i A 23: 101 n. 7 —, MS Collectie Codices 20: 101 n. 7 Oxford, Bodleian Library, Arch. G d.17. [W-024(1)]: 208 —, MS Misc. Laud. 144: 198–99 n. 70 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS Fonds Néerl. 39: 164 n. 32, 164 n. 33, 165, 166, 172, 177 Perth, A. K. Bell Library, Perth and Kinross Council Archive, MS B59/17/1: 81 n. 28, 84 n. 39 The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, KW 170 G 8: 271 n. 26 —, KW 170 G 19: 271 n. 25 —, KW 171 G 43: 267 n. 12 —, MS KW 69 B 10: 268 n. 16 —, MS KW 70 H 12: 101 n. 7 —, MS KW 73 E 7: 130 n. 33, 131 n 36, 143, 147 —, MS KW 75 H 42: 55 n. 56, 164 n. 32, 165, 166, 168, 172, 175 —, MS KW 76 H 5: 49, 50 —, MS KW 76 J 7: 132 n. 42, 143 n. 95, 143 n. 96, 143 n. 98, 148 —, MS KW 128 D 9: 43, 44, 53‒59, 58 —, MS KW 133 F 13: 132 n. 42, 148 —, MS KW 135 F 12: 130 n. 31, 132, 133, 134, 138‒42, 145, 148 —, MS KW KA 32: 101 n. 7 The Hague, Museum Meermanno, MS 10 A 18–19: 101 n. 7 Uden, Museum voor Religieuze Kunst, inv. no. 7738: 113 n. 64 Olim Utrecht, Aartsbisschoppelijk Museum, MS 47 (lost): 101 n. 7

27 9

280

index of manuscripts, archival sources, and copies of incunables

Utrecht, Het Utrechts Archief, access no. 701, inv. no. 13: 51 n. 34 — access no. 701, inv. no. 16: 50 n. 32, 51 n. 36 —, access no. 708, inv. no. 173: 62 n. 69 —, access no. 709, inv. no. 350: 60, 61 —, access no. 1005–4: 52 n. 37 —, access no. 1006–3, inv. no. 27: 106 n. 37 —, access no. 1006–3, inv. no. 28: 106 n. 37 —, access no. 1128, inv. nos 3001–28: 49 n. 29 —, access no. 1128, inv. no. 3014: 51 n. 34 —, access no. 1128, inv. no. 3044: 51 n. 36 —, access no. 1128, inv. no. 3045: 51 n. 36 Utrecht, Museum Catharijneconvent, MS Warmond 92 E 9: 130 n. 33, 133, 148 Utrecht, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS 51: 54 n. 46 —, MS 1039: 101 n. 7 —, MS 1648: 49 n. 25 VanDerMeulen (Hasselt), MS s. n.: 101 n. 7 Vicenza, Biblioteca Civica Bertoliana, MS Gonz. 25.4.4 (435): 22, n. 6 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS Cod. ser. n. 12875: 164 n. 32, 165, 166, 172 Weert, Minderbroeders, MS 8: 130 n. 33, 133, 147 Weesp, Regionaal Historisch Centrum Vecht en Venen (olim Gemeentearchief), inv. no. 286: 101 n. 7 Weimar, Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek, MS Stb 358: 228‒34, 230‒31, 232‒33

Index of Names and Places

Adam Grafton: 204 Adriana van Delen: 270 Agnes, sister of Lamme van Diesehuis Deventer: 269‒70 Alain of Lille: 132, 148 Albertano da Brescia: 27‒28 Albertus Pighius: 240, 241, 245, 252, 253, 255 Alciat: 216, 219, 222, 226 n. 43, Alejo de Venegas: 239, 242 Alexander Hegius: 271 Alice Claver: 204 Alijt Bake: 133, 139‒41, 142, 145‒46, 148 Alonso Fernández de Madrigal alias El Tostado: 253, 255, 256 Alphonsus a Castro: 255 Amman, Jost, see Jost Amman Amsterdam: 63 n. 76, 107 Aneau, Barthélemy, see Barthélemy Aneau Anna Bijns: 177 Anna Swilden: 130 Anne Banknot: 204 Anselmus vander Diesler [?]: 267 Antoniano, Silvio, see Silvio Antoniano Antoninus of Florence: 239, 240, 241‒42, 243, 252, 258 Antwerp: 141, 161, 169, 176, 177, 215, 271 beguinage: 55, 172, 175 Aosta: 25 Arezzo: 30 Ariaen Cornelisz, son of Cornelis the brewer: 168 Aristotle: 33

Arnoldus Vianen: 114 Assisi: 30‒31 Augustine, saint: 132, 134, 147, 148 Barozzi, Pietro, see Pietro Barozzi Barthélemy Aneau: 219, 220 Barthold Ten Hove: 265 Bartolomeo da Breganze: 22 Beham, Hans Sebald, see Hans Sebald Beham Bernard of Clairvaux, saint: 147, 148, 266 n. 10 Bernard Salomon: 217, 219, 223, 226 Bernhard Jobin: 218, 225 Bocksberger, Johann, see Johann Bocksberger Böhne, Georg, see Georg Böhne Bologna: 21, 23, 25 Bonaventure: 133, 147, 225 n. 39 Boncompagno da Signa: 23‒24 Brenz, Johann, see Johann Brenz Brussels, convent of Rich Clares: 172, 177‒78 Caesarius of Heisterbach: 272 Caspar Scheit: 217, 218, 220, 221, 223 Cassian, John, see John Cassian Catalano di Guido: 21‒23 Catharina van der Molen: 130 Caxton, William, see William Caxton Cecily Neville, duchess of York: 190 Charles the Bold, duke of Burgundy: 112 Christian Egenolff: 216, 217 Cipriano de Valera: 239, 249 Claes van Dorssen: 111‒16

282

in d e x o f n am e s an d p l ac e s

Claude Paradin: 217, 220, 221 Clement IV, pope: 21 Clement V, pope: 33‒34, 33 n. 46 Clementia Sloyer: 45, 48, 53, 54, 62, 67 Conrad Gesner: 217 Conrad of Heisterbach: 272 Corrozet, Gilles, see Gilles Corrozet

Empsychovius, Hermann, see Hermann Empsychovius Erasmus: 239, 240, 241, 242‒43, 244, 271 Eskrich, Pierre, see Pierre Eskrich Esteban de Salazar: 255, 256, 257 Eusebius: 258 n. 44 Everaert Taybaert: 264

Damiano Maraffi: 217, 220 Dante Alighieri: 21‒22, 232 David of Burgundy, bishop of Utrecht: 48, 49, 51, 55, 63 n. 74 Delegne, daughter of Claes: 267 Den Bosch: 171, 172 Illustrious Fraternity of Our Lady: 53, 62 Derck, sister of Brandeshuis Deventer: 269‒270 Deventer: 263, 265‒74 Brandeshuis: 265, 266, 267, 268 Diepenveen, convent of: 110, 265, 266‒67, 268, 270‒71 Heer Florenshuis: 271, 272, 274 Meester Geertshuis: 138 n. 69, 174, 265, 267 Didacus Simancas: 255 Diego Noguera: 242, 252 Diepenveen, convent of, see Deventer Dirck Borre van Amerongen: 43, 44, 45, 46, 48‒53, 50, 54‒68, 58, 61, 64 Dirck van Voorst: 107

Feyerabend, Sigmund, see Sigmund Feyerabend Fischart, Johann, see Johann Fischart Flacius Illyricus, Matthias, see Matthias Flacius Illyricus Florence: 21‒23, 25, 26, 29 n. 31, 103 Frankfurt am Main: 215, 216, 217, 218, 223, 243 Frederick II, emperor: 34 n.48 Frederick III, emperor: 107 Frellon, printing house: 217, 220

Eadmer of Canterbury: 31 Eckhart, Meister, 110, 133, 134, 270 Eder, Georg, see Georg Eder Edinburgh: 88 Egenolff, Christian, see Christian Egenolff El Tostado see Alonso Fernández de Madrigal Elisabeth de Grutere: 109‒10, 116 Elisabeth of Kalkar: 266 Emma Montfort: 191, 192

Gaesdonck, convent of: 172, 178 Gallus of Königsaal: 135, 148 Geert Grote: 265, 268 Geoffrey Chaucer: 186, 187, 189, 207 Georg Böhne: 228, 229, 230, 230‒31, 232, 232‒33, 233 Georg Eder: 255 Georg Œmler: 216, 217, 221 Gerard Leeu: 265 Gerardo Boccabadati; 34 Gerard of Vliederhoven: 266 Gerard Wesselszoon: 268 Gesner, Conrad, see Conrad Gesner Ghent: 55, 109, 176, 264 Galilea, convent of: 140, 141 Giacomo Benfatti: 28‒29 Giglis, John, see John Giglis Gilles Corrozet: 217, 221 Giovanni Villani: 22 Goswinus Hex: 45, 53, 55‒57 Goswin of Heverlee: 176 Gouda: 106 n. 37, 112, 265 Mariënsterre, convent of Saint Bridget: 111‒15

i n d e x o f name s and place s

Gregory the Great, pope, saint, 33 n. 41, 132, 142 n. 93, 224, 225 n. 39, 248, 272 Guglielma the Bohemian: 26 n. 20 Guillaume de Digulleville: 186 Guillaume Paradin: 217, 220 Guillaume Roville: 218, 219, 222, 223 Guittone d’Arezzo: 22, 23 n. 8 Gülfferich, Hermann, see Hermann Gülfferich Hans Holbein: 216, 217, 219, 223, 226 Hans Sebald Beham: 216, 221, 223 Hasselt, convent of SintCatharinadal: 128, 130‒35, 141, 142‒43, 145, 146 Hendrick van der Borch: 49, 50 Hendrik Herp: 110, 270 Henric van Gendt: 51, 62 Henrica van Erp, abbess: 62, 67 Henricus Suso: 133, 135, 136, 147 Henry Langley: 191 Henry VII, king of England: 190 Hermann Empsychovius: 251 Hermann Gülfferich: 217 Hillegont Aerontsdochter, housewive of Cornelis Cornelisz: 168 Holbein, Hans, see Hans Holbein Hosius, Stanislaus, see Stanislaus Hosius Humbert of Romans: 138, 139, 140, 148 Jacob Andreae: 250 Jacob van Breda: 267, 271 Jacobus de Voragine: 272 Jacobus Faber: 272 Jaime de Corella: 257 Jan de Clerc: 264 Jan Philipsz: 107 Jean de Tournes: 217, 218, 219, 220, 222, 224, 227, 234 Jean de Vauzelles: 216 Jean Murer: 228 Jean Raulin: 242

Jean Viguier: 242, 252, 259 Jenneken Verelst: 176 Jobin, Bernhard, see Bernhard Jobin Johann Bocksberger: 218, 219, 223, 228, 229, 231, 232 Johann Brenz: 240, 245, 250 Johann Fischart: 218, 224, 225, 234 Johanna Cueliens: 177 Johannes Busch: 272 Johannes Marquard: 272 Johannes Tauler: 133, 135, 136, 148 John Cassian: 101 n. 47, 132, 147 John Duns Scotus: 33 John Eastney, abbot: 193, 203 John Giglis: 192 John Hagour: 204 John Kendale: 192 John Knox: 89, 94 John of Abington, abbot: 191, 192 John of Heinsberg, bishop: 128, 129 John of Schoonhoven: 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 145, 148, 266 n. 10 John Scutken: 132, 147 Jost Amman: 218, 219, 223, 228, 229, 231, 232 Juan de Pedraza: 257 Jutte, widow of Willem Willemsz: 107 Katherina, widow of Kerstken: 269‒270, 269 Katherina Tucher: 110 Katherine Langley: 191 Katrijn Claes Vranckendochter: 108 Knox, John, see John Knox Leiden: 66, 104, 106, 107, 108, 264 Roomburg, convent of Saint Margareth: 106, 108 Leuven: 177 leprosery Ter Bank: 172, 176 Liisbet Ghoeyvaers: 177 Loderingo degli Andalò: 21‒23 Luther, Martin, see Martin Luther Lyon: 215, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 222, 223, 224, 226, 227

283

284

in d e x o f n am e s an d p l ac e s

Macé Bonhomme: 219, 220 Mantua: 28‒29, 29 n. 31, 233 Maraffi, Damiano, see Damiano Maraffi Margareth Beaufort, lady: 190, 194, 195 n. 57, 196, 197 n. 66, 201, 202, 203 Margareth of York: 112 Margery Kempe: 190 Maria van Snellenberch: 48, 63‒66, 64 Martín de Azpilcueta: 257 Martin Luther: 50, 93, 216 n. 2, 225, 227, 239, 240, 243‒44, 251, 255 Matthias Flacius Illyricus: 239, 250‒51 Mertijnken van Corselles: 175 Miguel de Medina: 252, 253, 255 Milan, 25, 26 n. 20, 29 n. 31 Neeltken Anselmus: 267 Neesken van Myellen: 131 Nicholas IV, pope: 126, 127 Nieuwlicht, monastery of: 52, 54, 57, 68, 106 n. 37 Noguera, Diego see Diego Noguera Œmler, Georg, see Georg Œmler Ovid: 218, 219, 223 Paradin, Claude, see Claude Paradin Paradin, Guillaume, see Guillaume Paradin Parma: 25, 29‒30, 33, 34, 35 Paul Bolen: 228 Perth: 77, 79, 80, 84, 85, 90, 92 Fleshers Craft: 79, 83 Saint John’s Kirk: 82, 83, 90, 92 Peter Derendel: 218, 220 Peter Lombard: 248 Petrarca: 220, 267 Petrus Berchorius: 272 Petrus Rebenstock: 224 Pighius, Albertus, see Albertus Pighius Philip Melanchton: 227, 234

Philip the Good, duke of Burgundy: 65 Piacenza: 26, 29‒30 Pierre Eskrich: 218, 223, 226 Pietro Barozzi: 242 Reyner Oesterhuys: 268 Richard III, king of England: 202 Richard of Saint Victor: 132, 143, 148 Richard Pafraet: 267, 271, 273 Rihel, Wendel, see Wendel Rihel Rijckmoet van Loen: 113 Robert of Shrewsbury, prior: 188 n. 18, 196, 198, 199, 200 Rosmalen, convent of Mariënwater: 113 n. 64 Roville, Guillaume, see Guillaume Roville Rudolf Agricola: 271 Rufinus of Aquilea: 258 n. 44 Salazar, Esteban de, see Esteban de Salazar Salimbene de Adam: 22 Salomon, Bernard, see Bernard Salomon Scheit, Caspar, see Caspar Scheit Shrewsbury: 196, 198, 199, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205 Sigfried von Pohleim und Warttenburg: 232‒33, 233, 234 Sigmund Feyerabend: 218, 223, 224, 226 n. 43 Silvio Antoniano: 253‒54, 255, 256 Simon Borluut: 109 Simon Montfort: 191, 192 Solis, Virgil, see Virgil Solis Sixtus IV, pope: 127 n. 12 Stanislaus Hosius: 239, 240, 241, 245‒47, 249, 250, 252, 253, 255 Steenbergen, lady van, widow of Johan van Steenbergen: 110, 270 Steven dye boeff [?]: 270 Stimmer, Tobias, see Tobias Stimmer

i n d e x o f name s and place s

Strasbourg: 215, 217, 218, 225, 228, 272 Suso, Henricus, see Henricus Suso Syon, monastery: 193, 194, 195 Tauler, Johannes, see Johannes Tauler Tertullian: 246, 247 Thomas a Kempis: 133, 134, 148, 175 n. 72, 265, 274 Thomas Aquinas: 33 n. 45, 225 n. 39, 244, 247‒48, 259 Thomas of Cantimpré: 272 Thomas Grafton: 204 Thomas Luyt: 204 Thomas Mynde, abbot of Shrewsbury: 203 Tobias Stimmer: 218, 224, 225, 226, 228, 234 Tongeren, convent of Ter Nood Gods: 172, 178 Trechsel, printing house: 216, 217 Trinde, family: 48, 50, 52 Urban IV, pope: 21 Utrecht: 43, 45, 48, 49‒50, 51, 52, 67, 171, 172, 268 Buurkerk, Saint Mary Minor: 50, 52, 53, 60, 61, 62, 66, 67, 68 Chapter of (Third Order): 128 n. 18, 129, 130, 136 Kleine Kalende, Small Kaland, confraternity: 62, 67 Nieuwlicht, monastery of, see Nieuwlicht Saint John, chapter of: 49, 52 Saint Mary Maior, chapter of: 62, 67 Vredendael, convent of: 53 Vrouwenklooster, monastery of, see Vrouwenklooster

Van Zwieten, family: 66 Venice: 25 Viguier, Jean, see Jean Viguier Virgil Solis: 218, 219, 222, 223 Vredendael, convent of, see Utrecht Vrouwenklooster, monastery of: 52, 54, 62, 67 Walborch Borre van Amerongen, granddaughter of Dirck: 54, 67 Wendel Rihel: 217, 223, 225 Westminster abbey: 187, 188, 192, 193, 203 Willem Borre van Amerongen, son of Dirck: 48, 52, 62, 67 Willem Heerman: 104, 263‒64 Willem van Snellenberch: 48 William Banford: 204 William Caxton: 185‒89, 191‒205 William Large: 204 William Pratt: 204 Windesheim Chapter, congregation of: 133, 134, 135, 140, 141, 142, 143, 145 convent of: 129, 132, 265, 272, 274 Wittenberg: 227, 228, 229, 232‒33, 233 Wolter de Hoge: 267 Yde van Dorssen: 111‒16 Zepperen Chapter of: 128, 129 beghards of SintHiëronymuskamp: 131 Zwingli: 240, 244 Zwolle Agnietenberg, convent of: 274 beguines: 136 n. 60 Saint Cecilia, convent of: 171‒75 Windesheim, convent of, see Windesheim, convent of

285

New Communities of Interpretation Contexts, Strategies, and Processes of Religious Transformation in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe

All volumes in this series are evaluated by an Editorial Board, strictly on academic grounds, based on reports prepared by referees who have been commissioned by virtue of their specialism in the appropriate field. The Board ensures that the screening is done independently and without conflicts of interest. The definitive texts supplied by authors are also subject to review by the Board before being approved for publication. Further, the volumes are copyedited to conform to the publisher’s stylebook and to the best international academic standards in the field.

In Preparation Religious Practices and Everyday Life in the Long Fifteenth Century (1350–1570): Interpreting Changes and Changes of Interpretation, ed. by Ian Johnson and Ana Maria S. A. Rodrigues