Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages : On Pleasure, Fear, Desire and Pain [1 ed.] 9781527512344, 9781527503465

Citation preview

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages: On Pleasure, Fear, Desire and Pain Edited by

Carme Muntaner Alsina, David Carrillo-Rangel, Delfi I. Nieto-Isabel and Pau Castell Granados

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages: On Pleasure, Fear, Desire and Pain Edited by Carme Muntaner Alsina, David Carrillo-Rangel, Delfi I. Nieto-Isabel and Pau Castell Granados This book first published 2017 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2017 by Carme Muntaner Alsina, David Carrillo-Rangel, Delfi I. Nieto-Isabel, Pau Castell Granados and contributors Translated by Pangur Bàn, Ltd. www.pangurbansl.com All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book 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 copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-5275-0346-1 ISBN (13): 978-1-5275-0346-5

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Figures and Tables ......................................................................... vii Acknowledgements .................................................................................... ix Introduction ................................................................................................. 1 CARME MUNTANER ALSINA Setting the Stage: On Pain and Desire Chapter One ............................................................................................... 11 Blood and Pleasure in Christ: Private Devotion and Mystical Experience in Late Medieval Franciscan Umbria PABLO ACOSTA-GARCÍA Part I: Pleasure Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 33 The Experience of Touching Christ: Imitating the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalen in High Medieval Biblical Commentaries LYDIA HAYES Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 45 “Un odor tan saboroso”: For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María IVO ELIES Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 73 Beyond Economic Spaces: Smells, Colours, Flavours, and Sounds in Medieval Markets and Fairs in the County of Barcelona between the Eleventh and the Thirteenth Centuries MARIA SOLER SALA

vi

Table of Contents

Part II: Fear Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 95 The Heavenly Harem: Sexual Rewards in the Path to God JOSEP SUÑÉ-ARCE Chapter Six .............................................................................................. 109 Ethical and Moral Barriers in Maimonides and Rabbienu Yonah ha-Gerondi’s Commentaries on the Pirkei Avot: Restrictions on the Relationships between Men and Women in the Jewish Communities of the Middle Ages ALBERT LIZANDRA Chapter Seven.......................................................................................... 119 “I know nothing for sure, but I have heard it.” The Role of Hearsay and Fama in the Witchcraft Trials of 15th-Century Catalonia PAU CASTELL GRANADOS Bringing Down the Curtain: On Desire and Pain Chapter Eight ........................................................................................... 141 Penitential and Mystical Senses: Two Paths for Female Devotion in the Late Middle Ages SERGI SANCHO FIBLA Bibliography ............................................................................................ 159 Contributors ............................................................................................. 179 Index of Names and Works ..................................................................... 183

LIST OF FIGURES AND TABLES

Figures 1-1

Detail of the so-called “vetrata degli angeli,” Basilica Superiore, Assisi .............................................................................................. 18

1-2

Cimabue, Crucifixion (right transept), Basilica Superiore, Assisi .... 19

1-3

Master of San Francesco, Compianto sul Cristo morto (detail), Perugia, Galleria Nazionale dell’Umbria ....................................... 21

4-1

Weekly markets and fairs documented in the county of Barcelona between the eleventh century and the first half of the fourteenth ... 85

Tables 8-1

Comparison between the two texts, Marguerite d’Oingt’s Letter V and Ancrene Wisse ........................................................ 151

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The Editors wish to thank ARDIT (Association of Interdisciplinary Research and Dissemination on Medieval Cultures), an association of predoctoral students and young doctors linked to the Institute for Research on Medieval Cultures (IRCVM) of the University of Barcelona, the trust they have placed in us throughout the production of this volume. With this book, our wish was to convey the spirit of the association, namely the spirit of exchange, collaboration, and understanding between different disciplines (art, philology, philosophy, history, musicology, etc.) that have their focus on the medieval world. We hope to have been able to accomplish this task. We would also like to thank the IRCVM, the Master's Programme in Medieval Cultures (UB), the Milá i Fontanals Institution (CSIC), the Catalan Philosophical Society (IEC), the Spanish Society of Medieval Studies, and the Seminar on Philosophy and Gender (UB) for their support to all activities carried out by ARDIT, as well as for their particular support in the completion of this book. Likewise, we would like to thank the Agency for the Management of University and Research Grants (AGAUR) for the funding provided for the translation and revision of the texts, without which this volume would not have been possible. Finally, we would like to thank the contributors for their chapters, for facilitating our work at all times, and for their availability in the complex process of revision and completion of this volume. Without their excitement, encouragement, and good will these lines would never have been printed.

INTRODUCTION CARME MUNTANER ALSINA

This volume aims to show the different aspects of sensory experiences that medieval people conveyed through documents, literary accounts, and religious practices. The unifying theme of the volume is how pleasure, pain, desire, and fear appear in different and sometimes conflicting combinations and settings: from the private space of the monastic cell to the shared hustle of the market. Therefore, we propose to show snapshots of human experience and passions, arranging them through the use of the so-called “stoic quartet;” a structure that highlights the complementarity of the contributions and the emotions analysed by the authors. Stoicism was a fundamental part of the development of Christian thought and was highly influential in authors such as Ambrose, Jerome, and Augustine. The Stoics held that men acquired knowledge through the senses; a process that was in turn mediated by the self, which sorted out judgements and weighed what was perceived against a series of stimuli. In particular, medieval Stoicism would consider Pain and Pleasure as the most basic of passions. Furthermore, within the framework provided by the Stoic theory of knowledge, the combination of these passions and the virtues would allow representations whose full meaning we can barely grasp. The geographic focus of this volume is Mediterranean Europe, although it also touches on other Western contexts. This collection of essays is multidisciplinary and the combination of different points of view aims to provide an original contribution to the study of sensory experiences in the Middle Ages. The contributors are young researchers and early career scholars who use a variety of sources: private documents, archaeological and topographical data, literary works, theological sources, and judicial records. The different chapters, presented in two blocks respectively centred on pleasure and fear will transport the reader from the sobriety of a monk’s cell to the harshness of a battlefield, from the exuberance of a marketplace full of spices to the severity of a judicial court.

2

Introduction

Framing these two main blocks, the opening and closing chapters of the volume revolve around pain and desire, specifically focusing on a key element of the medieval imagery of the Christian West: the crucified Christ. The chapters by Pablo Acosta and Sergi Sancho look into the desire and pain that Angela of Foligno, Marguerite d’Oingt, and the anchoresses of insular Britain experienced in order to reach spiritual fulfilment. According to Pablo Acosta, pain and desire were the crucial physical and spiritual sensations in Angela of Foligno’s mystical experiences, which she described in her Memoriale in the late thirteenth century. In her works, this Franciscan Tertiary shows a clear preference for the figure of the Virgin Mary, which she places in a central place of her imaginary as “the main doorway between two worlds.” Thus Mary is second only to the Trinity and remains above other main figures of the Gospels, such as the apostles. It is through Mary that Angela experiences the pain and suffering of the Passion of Christ in the first person, which in turn allows her to establish an intimate relationship with Him. Acosta focuses on discussing whether Angela of Foligno engaged in these mystical experiences through the contemplation of physical images—similar to some of the extant artworks from that time—or only used mental images; a divide that appears blurred and remains ambiguous in many passages of the Memoriale. The author attempts to reconstruct Angela’s spiritual journey through these images. At first, plastic and public images—the stained-glass windows and frescoes of the Basilica Superiore of Assisi—awakened Angela’s mystical curiosity for Christ’s Passion. Later on, during her meditations in a private context she used devotional objects that prompted the development of more intimate and intense mental images. Finally, she would end up reliving said images, which helped her reach a state of grace and intrinsic understanding of the pain of Christ on the cross, and even caused her to reject physical images of the crucifixion, for they held no truth as to the true pain Christ had endured. In this chapter, Angela’s experiences are also placed within the general context of the privatization of cult images and ways of meditation in the late Middle Ages, and the practice of Mary’s com-passion. In this sense, one of the main contributions of the author is the affirmation that the experiences of mystics like Angela of Foligno would play a main role in the collective imaginary for they anticipated elements of later art.

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

3

While in Umbria Angela of Foligno used the crucifixion as the central motif for her meditations, Margerite d’Oingt did the same in southern France, just as the anonymous author of the Ancrene Wisse had earlier advised in the British islands. In his final chapter, Sergi Sancho compares the reflections of these two authors—a female mystic and a canon or friar—on the crucifixion and the bodily sensitivity that derived from it. Whereas Acosta focuses his analysis on devotional objects and the use that Angela of Foligno made of them throughout her mystical journey, Sancho concentrates on the presence of the five senses in penitential and devotional instances. Meditating before a crucifix enabled mental recreations of the crucifixion. These mental images led to a deeper understanding of the wounds of the crucified Christ and the assimilation of his pain, which in turn made it possible to heal human sensitivity, that is, the illness caused by the senses. In Marguerite’s work, devoted to the mystical experience, the senses are not an impediment to the ascension of the soul. In contrast, in the Ancrene Wisse, which was meant as a sort of rule for anchoresses, senses are seen as an extension of the five sensory sins and the suffering of Christ on Calvary and, therefore, are a reminder of sin. Thus, whereas the Ancrene Wisse focuses not so much on bodily redemption as on the human perversity that caused Christ’s death, Marguerite’s text leaves more room for hope. The aforementioned analysis of the pain of the crucifixion and the desire to emulate it in order to reach spiritual fulfilment described in Chapter 1 is followed by the first block of the volume, which focuses on spiritual and worldly pleasures. This section discusses the pleasure provided by the elevated experience of touching Christ (Chapter 2), being surrounded by the fragrances and aromas of an incorruptible icon (Chapter 3), and the pleasure of walking among the stalls full of spices and a thousand other products of a weekly market (Chapter 4). In Chapter 2, Lydia Hayes explores the senses as a means to approach Christ, and especially focuses on touch, considered by Aristotle as the lowest of them all. Interweaving the sensual poetics of the Song of Songs with several examples from the Gospels, Hayes studies the commentaries on these texts by several twelfth-century French authors, including Bernard of Clairvaux, Rupert of Deutz, Honorius of Autun, and Peter Cantor. Starting from different points of view, these commentators presented the relationship between the bride and groom of the Song of

4

Introduction

Songs and the figure of the Virgin Mary as mother and wife of God as metaphors for the relationship between Christ and humanity. Thus, through these biblical sensory experiences, Christians would have been able to establish a closer connection with Christ. It is indeed through touch that the Virgin and Mary Magdalene had a deeper connection with the Son of God. Conception, breastfeeding, kissing, tears, and anointing allowed them to form an intimate and unique union with Christ. Likewise, the French authors studied by Hayes claimed to feel closer to the Lord through this sense and, therefore, according to them it was through touch that Christians were able to approach God, either by means of the Eucharist or touching relics, for instance. The core of Chapter 2 is devoted to the interpretations of French commentators on the different physical contacts that the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene shared with Christ. Hayes establishes the links between Mary’s pregnancy and being pregnant with the Word of God, and compares breastfeeding and feeding Child Jesus with the Eucharist in which all the faithful take part. Hayes also notes the humility and contrition with which Mary Magdalene touches Christ, when she weeps at his feet or when she anoints him with oils. This physical contact conveys a sense of reverence and humility, but above all, the joy and spiritual pleasure brought by this connection with Christ—and God—through touch. Scents are also important in this contact with Christ. The perfumes with which Mary Magdalene anoints the body of Christ and that fill the verses of the Song of Songs lead us to the next chapter, in which Ivo Elies transports us to the most perfumed passages of the Cantigas de Santa María, authored by King Alfonso X of Castile, known as the Wise, in the thirteenth century. Despite not leaving a trace whatsoever in material history, these smells have played an important role in the medieval imaginary and worldview. In Chapter 3, Elies compiles all the references to smells contained in the 427 cantigas that make up this poetic corpus. Good odours are predominant, and they always appear in relation to the sacred and the Divinity. Perfume is featured in the cantigas as a healing substance linked to the odour of sanctity that some of the bodies or objects in these stories give off, in clear connection with the pleasant scent that Christ’s body emitted in his tomb according to the Scriptures.

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

5

The Virgin Mary—the central motif of the cantigas—and the icons and objects related to her, are closely linked to scents. Alongside rose water, flowers, incense, myrrh and aromatic plants, we find spices, balsam, and ointments, which play a very important symbolic and spiritual role in these compositions and convey the olfactory imagery of the time. Finally, Elies ends his chapter with an in-depth philological analysis of Cantiga 34, a paradigmatic example of the role of smells in this corpus. There he shows the contrast between the unpleasant odours emanating from the negative characters and spaces of the narration—the Jew, the latrine, the Devil—and the pleasant smell of the icon of the Virgin and the Christian who salvages it. The numerous literary references used to contextualize the analysis recall not only other similar compositions of the period, but also the Scriptures and several other authors of Western medieval Europe. Finally, in the last chapter of this first section, Maria Soler looks into one of the most prosaic and at the same time more sensorially relevant instances of pleasure: life in the markets of the county of Barcelona between the eleventh and the thirteenth centuries. The exercise is not easy, because the extant documents from this period are not abundant and even less so the sources that may help address the topic of sensory experiences. However, on the basis of documentary and archaeological sources as well as building on other studies on the matter, the author manages to draw a detailed picture of the products that were usually sold in these marketplaces and, by extension, of the sensations experienced by those who attended them. Theirs was an experience linked to the five senses: to the sounds of the sellers’ calls and the people who negotiated, the less pleasant noise of fights, and the festive din of the musicians who attended the fairs, while buyers, attracted by the colours of food or of the cloths displayed by merchants, touched or tasted the merchandise to check its quality. However, smells were the marketplace’s most distinctive feature: cereal, wine vats, vegetables, oil, eggs, and poultry, among other products. The variety would even increase in fairs, with the addition of livestock and spices. After all, it should be noted that, although exclusive products such as spices could only be afforded by a few customers, in the marketplace everyone could experience some of the intense sensations they caused; a situation exemplified by the twelfth-century French satirical tale of the

6

Introduction

peasant who carried a cartload of manure through the market of Montpellier and ironically fainted due to the strong smell of spices. In stark contrast to pleasure, the second main block of this volume is devoted to fear: the fear of Muslims, who yearned to earn a place in Paradise (Chapter 5); the fear of Jews, afraid of trespassing against the limits imposed on the relations between men and women (Chapter 6); and the fear of the women accused of witchcraft due to a more or less unwarranted bad reputation that their neighbours held against them (Chapter 7). In Chapter 5, Josep Suñé analyses the Muslim warriors’ fear of dying in battle, the promise of an eternal life that moved them, and especially the houris—the eternally young virgins awaiting the martyrs in Paradise— through a manual on jihad written between the tenth and eleventh centuries by FaqƯ Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn. According to this Andalusian author, lack of sincerity, hypocrisy, and not following the precepts dictated by Muhammad and his followers could lead not to Paradise, but to eternal damnation in Hell instead. After analysing Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn’s brief work as well as earlier witnesses’ accounts, Suñé reviews the political and military context of the time in which this opuscule was written. Contrary to what it might seem at first glance, Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn’s work was not written during a period of Muslim military failure with numerous casualties, but rather at a time when the many victorious expeditions provided numerous captives that were sold in the slave market. It was precisely these slaves, and more specifically the female captives, who could distract Muslims from the ideal attainment of Paradise. Therefore, the purpose of AbƯ ZamanƯn was to raise moral awareness among fighters, and to frighten and warn them in case they lost their way. From the reality of the Muslim battlefield, Chapter 6 moves on to the everyday life of Jewish communities. Through the analysis of the Pirkei Avot, one of the main Jewish didactic and moral texts, Albert Lizandra addresses the limitations imposed on the relations between men and women. These restrictions, based on the idea that women were a bad influence, were mainly aimed at preventing men from straying from their obligations, that is, studying the Torah and curbing sexual desire. Lizandra’s analysis is based not only on the aforementioned text but also on the commentaries on it that were produced by two Iberian intellectuals

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

7

in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, Maimonides—a Cordovan philosopher who was exiled in North Africa from a very young age—and Rabbeinu Yonah ha-Gerondi—from Girona, in the northeast of the Iberian Peninsula. While sexual pleasure is an important part of the Jewish religion, provided that it happens within marriage, men’s social interactions with women are strictly limited. All those who read the Pirkei Avot knew that talking too much with their own wives or the neighbour’s wife could lead them to sin. But this text could have very different interpretations, which the rationalist Maimonides and the traditionalist Rabbeinu Yonah haGerondi discussed at practically the same historical moment. The last chapter of this block is authored by Pau Castell and focuses on the role of hearsay and reputation in the witch trials of fifteenth-century Catalonia. Through a thorough documentary research, the author addresses the importance of what was said in the condemnation of men and— mostly—women, for witchcraft, which superseded material and testimonial evidence. Castell discusses the concepts of hearsay, fama and witchcraft in this context and goes on to describe the judicial procedure in cases of witchcraft. The key point of Chapter 7, however, is the questioning of witnesses not so much on what they themselves had been able to see but rather on what they had heard or knew about the matter. Their answers were more the result of rumours and the (bad) reputation of the accused than of factual reality. Far from standing frightened and defenceless before these accusations, the women accused of witchcraft defended themselves by means of physical or verbal confrontations with the instigators of the rumour, filing complaints for slander, and seeking the aid of mediators. These were the only possible strategies to counter the unsubstantiated accusations, and sometimes they were even successful. In contrast, absconding, the last resort to escape conviction, would only consolidate the rumour against the accused as well as their bad reputation. In sum, the present volume aims to look into the Pleasure, Fear, Desire, and Pain experienced by medieval women and men from different cultures and social backgrounds, who often lived in very distant contexts. Therefore, our purpose is not so much to offer conceptual views on each of these feelings, but to explore them, celebrating their complexity and

8

Introduction

showing them for what they are: fragments of the past of individuals who felt different emotions and were in turn defined by them.

SETTING THE STAGE: ON PAIN AND DESIRE

CHAPTER ONE BLOOD AND PLEASURE IN CHRIST: PRIVATE DEVOTION AND MYSTICAL EXPERIENCE IN LATE MEDIEVAL FRANCISCAN UMBRIA PABLO ACOSTA-GARCÍA

Angela, Mary, and Textual Pain One of the greatest experts in Angela of Foligno’s Memoriale called it the first European ‘auto-hagiography’.1 Indeed, this late thirteenth-century work records a daily dictation in which a Franciscan tertiary recounted her inner story to her confessor; a story whose textual genesis can be found in the pilgrimage Angela made to Assisi around 1291.2 In the course of this journey, in Angela’s own words, the Holy Spirit joined her, spoke to her during the ascent to the Colle del Paradiso, and finally left her.3 In later years, a long series of allocutions, visions, and all kinds of ecstatic phenomena would add to this first experience. Angela narrates them all with a psychological richness that is unparalleled in the documents of her time. One of the most appealing features of her account is that it is Angela herself who structures her experience (and therefore the book) following the model of the scalae coeli.4 Therefore, the Memoriale consists of two sequenced, ascending, and parallel schemata: the first one is made up of thirty steps or stages, although it appears truncated in the twentieth, whereas the second one is complete and includes seven degrees.5 In the following pages, I will approach these two inner paths trying to elucidate the meditative practices that could lie behind some of the experiences narrated in the Memoriale.6 My analysis will start with the identification of the moments of devotional interaction that Angela shares with different figures of the Passion, whom she sees both with her own eyes and with the eyes of her mind. In particular, I will focus on her

12

Chapter One

relationship with Mary as an affective link in different evangelical scenes. To this purpose I will study how she presents her identification with Christ’s mother in the text and how this is used to develop a direct relationship with Christ himself.7 The main aim here is to study the perceptive ambiguity with which Angela recounts her connection with these figures. In other words, is this Umbrian tertiary speaking about material images or does she refer to mental elements present during meditation? This chapter will mostly be centred on discussing the possibility of reconstructing devotional dynamics on the basis of visual materials whose features can be restored by placing the texts within a broader context. I will thus compare certain steps of the Memoriale to different contemporary Umbrian works and discuss their contribution to the interpretation of Angela’s experiences. Before I begin my analysis, I would like to note that although Angela recounts different mystical experiences in which the Virgin appears to her—for example, visions of Mary in glory and allocutions8—here I will only comment on those passages whose frequency makes it possible both to study them as a homogeneous material and to establish comparisons between them. Specifically, I will address the moments when Angela refers to the mother of Christ in her capacity as intercessor. First, some passages reveal a hierarchy among the figures that possess this power of intercession. Let us look at an example: … her soul was in a state of languor. What she wanted to see and feel was God, and not any creature. She did not speak nor could she make any words come out, but her soul spoke inwardly and cried out to God not to leave her languishing in such a death, for she regarded life as death. She also first called upon the Blessed Virgin, and then invoked and beseeched all the apostles to accompany her in kneeling before the Most High and implore him not to make her suffer this death, namely, the present life, but to enable her to attain the one she was feeling. She similarly invoked and 9 cried out to blessed Francis and the Evangelists.

As we can see, the text first (primo) points to the Virgin Mary and then (postea) to the apostles, Francis, and the four evangelists as supporting pillars in a situation of deep life crisis. This order of appearance could be attributed to her stumbling dictation (which Brother A., the transcriber, so often mentions) and not to a chronological order that would betray Angela’s preference for the figure of Mary over others, but other textual data confirm the devotional pre-eminence of the Virgin in Angela’s mind.10 The main evidence for this is that, leaving aside the members of the Trinity, Mary is the figure that most often appears in the Memoriale

Blood and Pleasure in Christ

13

and the one that grants the largest number of gifts to its author. To cite but a few examples: she blesses her alms, grants Angela the grace of her Son so the tertiary is not deceived by diabolical speeches, revives her from the death of sin and, finally, is set as an example in terms of behaviour.11 In spite of this variety of Marian gifts, it could be said that the most important present that Angela receives from Mary is her grief and suffering at Christ’s Passion. In order to fully grasp the implications of this statement, let us analyse the first thirty-step ladder in which Angela and her companion initially decided to organize their experience.12 It is not possible to discuss in depth here the historical semantic reach of this graphic structure that graduates Angela’s inner life.13 However, as Giovanni Pozzi taught us, several important elements intersect in the design of this interior pilgrimage.14 On the one hand, the road begins with pain, which accompanies Angela from the very first moment and up until at least the fourteenth step—where ‘joy’, letitiam, is mentioned—or, undoubtedly, until the nineteenth step, where she speaks of “primam consolationem magnam de dulcedine Dei” (the first great sensation of God’s sweetness).15 This omnipresence of pain in Angela’s internal evolution clearly places her spirituality within a penitential framework.16 Hers is an ascetic path made up of prayer, spiritual exercises, and meditation. Not without reason does Brother A. note between the fourth and fifth steps: I, brother Scribe, declare that in all these steps I have not written about the remarkable penances which the faithful follower of Christ performed, for I learned about them only after I had written the aforesaid steps. She had only been telling me, at this point, what was necessary to distinguish one step from another. For my part, I did not want to write down one single Word which was not exactly as she had said it. I even omitted many things which were simply impossible for me to write down properly.17

This annotation, whose characteristics make it seem more like an added comment than part of the original wording, gives a fundamental hint to complete the silences that can be found in this first series of twenty steps. Events have been summarised, prioritizing a roadmap that, as is known, served as a manual for spiritual development to various audiences over the centuries.18 Therefore, it could be said that Angela’s testimony details effects rather than causes, that is, the account specifies her accomplishments—in the book’s own words, how her soul mutates19—but the process through which she gets there is largely omitted.

14

Chapter One

Pilgrimage: Angela and the Umbrian images Mary appears in the sixth step of the aforementioned itinerary, marking a fundamental turning point in the journey of the female mystic. Giuseppe Pozzi also emphasized this watershed, although he omitted the allusion to the Virgin: “Una linea di divisione può essere aprossimativamente tracciata tra il quinto e il sesto passo, dove infittisce la presenza del verbo chiave ‘illuminare’.”20 Indeed, the panorama outlined between the first step—the acknowledgement of sin—and the fifth one—where the soul acquires selfknowledge—is completely different from the articulation presented from the sixth step onwards. As the lexicon shows, the first five steps are marked by self-mortification and its effects. In each of them we find either the term ‘pain’—for example, in the second step, “... et not sentit amorem sed sentit dolorem”—or a conjugated form of plangere—for instance, plangit.21 In contrast, the illumination of the sixth stage together with the intercession requested of Mary lead not to a denial of pain, but to its transformation. The seventh step gives way to a landscape centred in the cross of the crucified Christ, which appears here for the first time and will be developed through a sort of markedly passional devotional features— that is, related to the Passion—in the steps that follow.22 Thus, the cross is the visual focus through which the steps following the sixth make up a path that has to do with the transformation of the initial suffering. Whereas the initial journey was centred on the mortification of one’s own soul, Angela’s discovery at this point turns to the learning of com-passio, the human and divine pain of others on the edge of redemption. The elements that appear as the marrow of this set of steps are easily recognizable images, typical of the late medieval meditations focused on the suffering of Christ.23 Their detachment from a broader evangelical context reveals the characteristic fragmentation of meditative instruments that were already widely used in Angela’s time.24 As the textual descriptions highlight, throughout this series of images there is an allusion to both their mental representation and the visionary experiences in which a given element or character simply ‘appears’ to the author. In other words, in most cases Angela seems to be using these images—or coexisting with them—through her inner senses.25 For instance: In the fourteenth step, while I was standing in prayer, Christ on the cross appeared more clearly to me while I was awake, that is to say, he gave me an even greater awareness of himself than before. He then called me to place my mouth to the wound in his side. It seemed to me that I saw and

Blood and Pleasure in Christ

15

drank the blood, which was freshly flowing from his side. His intention was to make me understand that by this blood he would cleanse me. And at this I began to experience a great joy, although when I thought about the passion I still filled with sadness.26

The syntax of the first clause, in which an abrupt apposition—“michi vigilanti” (while I was awake)—cuts off what would be the normal rhythm of the sentence, suggests the desire of the author to place the image of the cross in the waking plane of consciousness as opposed to a possible dream state.27 The following scene, in which Christ invites her to place her mouth on the wound of his side and suck, is commonplace both in the female mendicant religious experiences of the time and in the iconographic motif of the ostentatio vulneris as an extension of the cult of the Five Wounds.28 This kind of contiguity between certain ‘artistic’ motifs and Angela’s visionary-erotic experiences is not only apparent in the Memoriale, but other details also suggest that some of her penitential exercises were related to the use of images as meditative devices. Thus, the step towards the feeling of com-passio seems to have been motivated by an image of Mary and John the Evangelist before the Crucifixion: In the thirteenth step, I entered into the sorrow over the passion suffered by the mother of Christ and St. John. I prayed that they would obtain for me a sure sign by which I might always keep the passion of Christ continually in my memory.29

The main doubt cast about the interpretation of this passage is the kind of image Angela is talking about when she refers to the “mother of Christ and St. John.” As J.F. Hamburger has emphasized, it is common in the mystical texts of this period to use a deliberate ambiguity that blurs the border between the device on which the meditation is based—here perhaps a painted cross, a miniature, or a fresco—the mental impression created by it, and the somatic experiences derived from devotion.30 This is one of such cases, because whether Angela “intravi” (entered) this step thanks to a devotional image or through meditation or reflection on holy figures remains unknown. At any rate, in this phase Angela seeks pain following the models of Mary and John not only to understand it, but to contain the Passion “in memoria,” that is, to revive it within herself. Another passage reads: Then my soul cried out loudly: ‘O holy Mary, mother of the afflicted one, tell me something of your Son’s pain which no one else but you can possibly recall. For you saw more passion than any other saint; and, as I perceive it, you not only saw it with your bodily eyes, but also pictured it with your imagination, and out of the continual ardent devotion that was

16

Chapter One yours toward the one you loved.’ At this point, my soul cried out in extreme pain: ‘Is there any saint who can tell me something of this passion which I have not yet Heard spoken or related, but which my soul has seen, which is so great that I find no words to express it?’ My soul saw such suffering!31

Here we find some of the features of both the cults and the forms of meditation of the late Middle Ages. The most characteristic of these is probably Angela’s second person interpellation of the Virgin. It is precisely this trait that defines what Hans Belting understands as ‘devotion’.32 What leads the author to speak to the Virgin in this context? She claims to have seen in her soul—“quam anima mea vidit,” that is, inwardly—an unheard-of Passion (“de ista passione de qua non audio loqui vel referri verbum”) and therefore requires an authoritative explanation for it. Mary is needed here as a contemplative model. In principle she is related to the external senses (“cum oculus capitis”) and then to the inner ones (“et cum imagination”). Finally, the central motif of all meditation on the Passion is also mentioned, the pain felt by its characters (“pro zelo quem habuisti continue de isto tuo amore”). This transition from outer to inner contemplation defines the mechanism of the devotional instruments par excellence, images, and pain represents the link between the world of the devotee and that of whom he or she worships. The presence of this scene at the foot of the Cross is repeated in several steps. As I have already mentioned, a true via crucis starts in the seventh step, after the illumination of the sixth one. Angela then goes through the elements and characters of the Passion perfecting herself through her interaction with them.33 Whereas in the ninth step she receives the gift of being able to ask through the Cross, in the fifteenth, after having already “entered” the pain of the Passion, she declares the following: In the fifteenth steep, I fixed my attention on St. John and on the mother of God, meditating on their sorrow and praying them to obtain for me the grace of always feeling something of the sorrow of Christ’s passion or at least something of their own sorrow. They obtained and still obtain that favour for me. Thus, one time, St. John made me feel this sorrow to such a degree that it surpassed any I had ever experienced. From the insight I received from this experience I understood that St. John had endured such great sorrow over the passion and the death of Christ and over the sorrows of the mother of Christ that I was convinced, and still am, that he is more than a martyr.34

In the first place, the implicit visual status of the verb ‘fixed’ must be emphasized. Again, Angela focuses her gaze on this scene and, at the same

Blood and Pleasure in Christ

17

time, the receiver runs into the ambiguity of the materiality of such an image. Here we can infer a cognitive process (cogitando) centred on a typically devotional scene: the pain of Mary and John at the foot of the Cross. Attempting to achieve com-passio through a direct request mediated by this image is a desire that perfectly fits the historical devotional context in which Angela lived. As Rachel Fulton puts it, the earliest textual breakthroughs in relation to the com-passio of the Virgin in the West took place already in the ninth century, but it is not until at least the twelfth century that we can find a fully developed verbal device to meditate on the relationship between Mary and her Son.35 These were the different versions of the commentaries on the Song of Songs, which in the thirteenth century were replaced by meditations on the life of Christ and mystery plays.36 On a plastic level, Anne Derbes’s important study pushes backward Hans Belting’s dating of affective developments in late medieval Italian iconography, tracing the turning point back to the Duecento and placing in Umbria the area of introduction of Byzantine forms.37 Both historiographic reconstructions and the data provided by her book evince that Angela was immersed in an environment in which the experience of the Passion through devices played a fundamental role. The Memoriale hints at such kind of scenario in various ways: in the aforementioned first series of steps, specifically in the eighteenth step, we read: “Also, whenever I saw the passion of Christ depicted, I could hardly bear it, and I would come down with a fever and fall sick. My companion, as a result, hid paintings of the passion or did her best to keep them out of my sight.”38 Several things can be deduced from this sentence, the main one being that this “passionem Christi pictam” almost certainly belonged in the private area of Angela’s casalenum, where she lived with her companion. The fact that it can be hidden at will suggests an easy to handle, portable, and personal object. This would perfectly fit the late medieval trend of privatization of cult images which, among other things, sought to foster their use by the laity.39 In Angela’s case this would be related to the ascetic practices carried out in her house that she so often recounts, as well as the mention of periods of seclusion in a cella or carcere devoted to penitential exercises: “…for most of that day I remained in my cell where I was praying, strictly confined and alone.”40 The entire itinerary of Angela of Foligno hints both at a direct and frequent relationship with images and at the development of a hypersensitivity towards them. Let us not forget that the first great religious crisis narrated in the Memoriale—which precisely contains the

18

Chapter One

seed of her writing—occurs in front of a stained-glass window still extant in the Basilica Superiore of Assisi that is described in the text and where Mary appears as theotokos.41

Fig. 1-1. Detail of the so-called “vetrata degli angeli,” Basilica Superiore, Assisi. Photograph by Fr. Gerhard Ruf, Archivio fotografico del Sacro Convento di San Francesco.

Discussing the theological implications of Mary’s relationship with Christ, of Christ’s connection with Francis, and of that of all three of them with the six angels would exceed the framework of the Passion, whose clarification is my main goal here.42 What should be noted is that the textual traces of Angela’s devotional use of images are so numerous that they cannot be overlooked in an interpretation of the passages in which the figure of the Virgin is interpellated as a mediator of the Passion. This fact was well understood by the organizers of a recent exhibition on our author and the plastic arts, which tried to relate the inner world of Angela of Foligno to the figuration surrounding her.43 Let us now return to the scene of Mary and John at the foot of the Cross to analyse some examples in this regard. In her already classic iconographic compilation, Gertrud Schiller traced this composition back to the Byzantine period.44 The medieval examples

Blood and Pleasure in Christ

19

she notes evidence how the expressiveness of this scene underwent a process of transformation that was quite typical of Christian art. Thus, the components of the Mary-Cross-John tableau went from representing types, that is, the embodiment of a concept or an idea, to become an expression of humanized pain; in other words, they acquired an affective function.45 Schiller precisely relates this shift to the meditative function that plastic arts adopted and to the personal participation of spectators in the depicted scene. Now, what kind of Mary before the Cross could Angela see in late medieval Umbria? And, above all, what degree of pain did that image convey? The only reference to a specific historical object included in Angela’s text is the stained-glass window she saw in her initiation pilgrimage of 1291.46 In all likelihood, this indicates that Angela could have seen the frescoes of the crucifixions traditionally attributed to Cimabue that are preserved in the Basilica Superiore.47

Fig. 1-2. Cimabue, Crucifixion (right transept), Basilica Superiore, Assisi.

In spite of the poor conservation of the painting (and the traces of incomplete attempts at restoration), it is possible to observe that the affective elements that would develop in later decades were already present here: Christ’s blood, the pathetic gestures of pain before the crucified, Francis kissing the foot of the Cross, etc.48 Of course, John and Mary are also depicted, the latter even fainting in accordance with an also

20

Chapter One

traditional iconographic motif. In any case, the affective elements in this fresco seem rather conservative compared to Angela’s perception of grief before the cross. Leaving aside the early date of this mural painting (circa 1280), we must take into account two other factors. First, both this fresco and the aforementioned stained-glass window of the angels belong in a sacred public space. Both images are in the Basilica of Assisi, a centre of mass pilgrimage even today. However, as I have tried to show, the meditative context in which Angela is immersed is surely a private, solitary, almost domestic penitential setting, where the experienced phenomena happen inwardly and are extremely vivid. Secondly, in the passages analysed above, Angela speaks of an internalization of the pain of the Passion, that is, of a direct experience she undergoes through a series of mental exercises. See, for instance, the following passage: Afterward, whenever I passed near a painting of the cross or the passion, it seemed to me that the representation was nothing in comparison with the extraordinary suffering which really took place and which has been shown to me and impressed in my heart. This is why I no longer wanted to look at these paintings, because they seemed to me to signify almost nothing by comparison to what really happened.49

The contrast between representation and experience is key to understanding devotional images as media through which certain ends can be achieved. The insipidity of the painted depiction becomes evident in face of the “maxime passionis” (great passion) Angela lives through, which the previous passage likens to that which Christ “facta est ei secundum veritatem” (truly suffered) and she has imprinted on her heart. In this sense, the intensification of affectivity in the instruments of meditation that would ensue in later years—for example in northern Pietàs or in the cult of the wounds or the blood of Christ—must be seen as a development of the great laboratory of devotional experimentation that was private piety in the late Middle Ages.50 This is clearly shown by the following example, which will then be compared to the image below: “Among other things, she related to me, brother Scribe, that on that very day, in a state of ecstasy, she found herself in the sepulcher with Christ. She said she had first of all kissed Christ’s breast—and saw that he lay dead, with his eyes closed—then she kissed his mouth, from which, she added, a delightful fragrance emanated, one impossible to describe. This moment lasted only a short while. Afterward, she placed her cheek and Christ’s own and he, in turn, placed his hand on the other cheek, pressing her closely to him. At that moment, Christ’s faithful one heard him telling her: ‘Before I was laid in the sepulcher, I held you this tightly to me.’ Even though she understood that it was Christ telling her this, nonetheless she

Blood and Pleasure in Christ

21

saw him lying there with the eyes closed, lips motionless, exactly as he was when he lay dead in the sepulcher. Her joy was immense and indescribable.”51

Fig. 1-3. Master of San Francesco, Compianto sul Cristo morto (detail), Perugia, Galleria Nazionalle dell’Umbria.

It is quite tempting to establish a relationship between this representation of the lamentation of the women over Christ’s body painted by the Master of San Francesco—in line with other analogous Byzantinising paintings— and Angela’s text.52 In fact, in the image of the grieving women before the sepulchre, both Mary and Christ appear in the exact same position described in the Memoriale: cheek to cheek, the Virgin acquires traces of what will later be detached from the scene of the tomb and its characters to become a Pietà.53 However, the erotic undertones that Angela provides are nowhere to be found in the painting: there are no kisses (although perhaps

22

Chapter One

they are subtly insinuated), scents nor, of course, words uttered by Christ’s dead mouth. Angela’s narrative must therefore be considered as a somatic development where the image of Mary is the door that allows the devotee to enter the tomb to touch, smell, and feel Mary’s son, and this is made possible by the total identification of both women in love and pain. As stated by Anne Derbes, the main reason for the appearance and evolution of this type of images is the interest of the Order of St Francis to develop an eminently Christological spirituality.54 Yet here we find a combination that is typical of Angela. It has been said that Franciscan and Bernardine mysticism contrast because whereas the former is passional, the latter is epithalamic.55 However, in the scene recounted by the Franciscan tertiary the passional and the erotic appear undifferentiated; that is to say, the scene of the lament of Mary in the sepulchre gives rise to a wide range of sensations that Angela experiences in a fully sensual manner.

Conclusions There seems to be a continuity between the textual images of the Passion described by Angela of Foligno and those produced in the pictorial context of thirteenth-century Umbria. The use of the figures of Mary and Christ in certain experiential contexts fits what we know of the devotional and meditative ways of the time. The analysis presented here, therefore, supports Anne Derbes’s claim that, “Like the texts, they [the images] seem to have been carefully crafted to promote the Order’s [the Franciscan’s] founder and its mission; at times they seem particularly fitting expressions of a more specifically Bonaventurean ideology. I’ll suggest the confluence of text and image, and the skillful assertion of the same issues in both visual and verbal spheres.”56

In this sense, the Byzantineism of the Umbrian images of the period (regarding both iconographic motifs and the enhancement of affective traits) matches the experience of women religious such as Angela, educated within the framework of Franciscan spirituality and the personal search for com-passio. Nevertheless, as I proposed in the last comparative analysis, images are always more ‘contained’ with respect to expressiveness than Angela’s own account of the scenes. It could be said that certain paintings seem to belong to a meditative stage centred on the body of Christ that takes place prior to the somatic experiences described in the texts, which in turn derive from it and are perceptually very rich. This would point in the

Blood and Pleasure in Christ

23

direction of Émile Mâle’s old but lucid idea that mysticism influenced the evolution of the medieval Christian iconography.57 To this perspective it can be added that this influence happens in a very specific way: the experiences focused on the Passion revitalize the images that are used in meditation and include sensorial developments that will later be adopted by iconographic programmes. Thus, the experience of the Passion that arises from meditation anticipates certain expressions of later art. As for the kind of images Angela used in her private devotion, we can only conjecture. As we know, her time was characterized by a great creativity centred on private worship and the appearance of objects that served its needs. What was the format of the “passionem Christi pictam” that her companion had to hide? Given Angela’s socio-economic position—she was a landowner who renounced all but one of her properties after taking a vow of poverty—it was likely a portable altar (one of the “rectangular diptychs” Garrison mentions) or a miniature in a book of hours.58 The next step would be to carry out an exhaustive search of the works produced in thirteenth-century Umbria for private devotion in order to find likely objects of worship and compare them to Angela’s spirituality. A possible and so far unexplored avenue for the study of the images of the Passion to which this tertiary had access could be the theatre plays staged in Foligno (and in Umbria in general), which Angela also mentions in an experiential context.59 In this sense, the wooden groups of Descents from the Cross and the Christs and virgins with articulated arms would be an interesting material to classify and study in relation to female mystical texts. Finally, we must highlight the affective role played by Mary during the meditation on the Passion. She is the main doorway between two worlds: that which opens between the sacred Umbria of the tertiaries and the Passion that can be found anew within some of them. This imaginary character of the holy figures connects with a whole series of devotional processes related to images (always understood in the medieval sense of imago) that reveal a historical way of understanding meditation, worship and, ultimately, personal interaction with the divine.

24

Chapter One

Notes 1

Claudio Leonardi, “Agiografia,” in La produzione del testo (Rome: Salerno Editrice, 1993), 421–62. All subsequent citations from Angela’s texts refer to the recent edition in Angela de Foligno. Memoriale, ed. Enrico Menestò (Florence: Edizioni del Galluzzo–SISMEL, 2013), hereinafter Memoriale. The citations from the English translation refer to Angela of Foligno, Complete Works, trans. Paul Lachance (New Jersey: Paulist Press, 1993), hereinafter, Memorial. 2 The date is provided by Angela of Foligno, Il libro della beata Angela da Foligno. Edizione Critica, ed. Thier Ludger and Abele Calufetti (Grottaferrata: Editiones Collegii S. Bonaventurae ad Claras Aquas, 1985), 178–79, n. 5. The expression “inner story” is borrowed from Angela of Foligno, Angela de Foligno, Il libro dell’esperienza, ed. Giovanni Pozzi, rev. ed. (Milan: Adelphi, 2001), 67. For an introduction to the figure of Angela of Foligno, see Victòria Cirlot, and Blanca Garí, La mirada interior: escritoras místicas y visionarias en la Edad Media (Madrid: Siruela, 2008), 177–205. 3 Angela of Foligno, Il libro dell’esperienza. 4 On the history of this motif in Western spirituality, see Christian Heck, L'echelle céleste dans l'art du Moyen Âge: Une histoire de la quête du ciel (Paris: Flammarion, 1999). 5 For a discussion of these structures in the Memoriale, see Pablo García-Acosta, “Shouting at the Angels: Visual Experience in Angela da Foligno's Memoriale,” Mirabilia 17, no. 2 (2014): 115–39; and Angela of Foligno, Il libro dell’esperienza, 84–91. 6 For a contextualization of the connections between imagen and text in Italy in Angela’s time, see Lucia Battaglia, “Ad exercitandum devotionis affectum. Gli scritti e le imagini sacre,” in Sacre Passioni. Scultura lignea a Pisa dal XII al XV secolo, ed. Mariagiulia Burresi (Milan: Federico Motta, 2002), 19–23. 7 See Jeryldene M. Wood, Women Art and Spirituality. The Poor Clares in Early Modern Italy (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996) for an analysis of the relations the Poor Clares of Assisi established with images that also takes into account the functionality of space and private devotional contexts. 8 Memoriale, 69 and 41–42, respectively. 9 Memorial, 183 translates Memoriale, 67: “Et animam languebat et desiderabat pervenire, et volebat nec sentire nec videre aliquam creaturam. Et ipsa non loquebatur et nescit quod potueritloqui extra; sed intus loquebatur, intus clamans quod non facereteam tanta morte languere, quia vitam estimabat mortem. Et adhuc beatam Virginem primo, et postea obsecrabat et vocabat omnes apostolos, quod irent cum ea et genuflecterent et nuntiarent Altissimo, quod non faceret ei pati istam mortem, scilicet vitam istam, sed quod perveniret ad eum quem sentiebat; et beatum Franciscum et evangelistas similiter obsecrabat et clamabat.” 10 For instance, see Memoriale, 21. 11 See, respectively, Memoriale, 16, 52, 5, and 50. 12 Memoriale, 4.

Blood and Pleasure in Christ

25

13 On John Climacus’s seminal work—which laid the foundations for the use of these structures in the West—see John Rupert Martin, The Illustration of the Heavenly Ladder of John Climacus (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1954). I have analysed some of the implication of this schema in Angela’s work in García-Acosta, “Shouting at the Angels.” 14 Angela of Foligno, Il libro dell’esperienza, 67-69. 15 Memoriale, 9 and 13, respectively; Memorial, 130 and 131, respectively. 16 Mario Sensi, Storie di bizzoche: Tra Umbria e Marche (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1995), 32–35. 17 Memorial, 125 translates Memoriale, 5: “Ego frater scriptor dico quod in omnibus passibus non scripsi penitentiam eius mirabilem quam ipsa fidelis Christi faciebat et quam ego didici postquam scripseram passus predictos, quia et ipsa non michi manifestavit tunc nisi quantum oportebat eam dicere pro passibus distinguendis. Et ego nolebam unam dictionem plus scribere nisi sicut ipsa loquebatur, immo plura dimittebam que non poteram scribere.” 18 On the medieval reception of Angela’s works see Paolo Mariani, “Liber e contesto: codici miscellanei a confront,” in Angèle de Foligno. Le dossier, ed. Giulia Barone and Jacques Dalarun (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1999), 94– 144. For a more general outline, see Angela of Foligno, Ángela de Foligno. Libro de la experiencia, ed. and trans. Pablo García-Acosta (Madrid: Siruela, 2014), 25– 28. 19 This expression appears in the first paragraph of the book, see Memoriale, 4. 20 Angela of Foligno, Il libro dell’esperienza, 67. 21 Memoriale, 4. 22 Memoriale, 6. 23 James H. Marrow, Passion Iconography in Northern European Art of the Late Middle Ages and Early Renaissance: A Study of the Transformation of Sacred Metaphor into Descriptive Narrative (Kortrijk: Van Ghemmert, 1979) remains the best study on the meditation treatises on Christ’s Passion and the artistic influences derived from them. 24 See Hans Belting, L’arte e il suo pubblico. Funzione a forme delle antiche immagini della passione (Bologna: Nova Alfa, 1986), 55–58. On the arma christi, a clear instance of fragmentation of meditative instruments, see the essays in Lisa H. Cooper, and Andrea Denny-Brown, eds., The Arma Christi in Medieval and Early Modern Material Culture. With a Critical Edition of “O Vernicle” (Farnham–Burlington: Ashgate, 2014). 25 For an outline of the medieval theory of inner and outer senses in medieval mystical tradition, see Victòria Cirlot, Hildelgard von Bingen y la tradición visionaria de Occidente (Barcelona: Herder, 2005). 26 Memorial, 128 translates Memoriale, 8-9: “Quarto decimo, dum starem ad orationem, Christus ostendit se michi vigilanti in cruce magis clarum; hoc est quod dedit michi maiorem cognitionem de eo. Et tunc vocavit me et dixit michi quod ego ponerem os meum in plagam lateris suis. Et videbatur michi quod ego viderem biberem sanguinem eius fluentem recenter per latere suo, et dabat michi intelligere

26

Chapter One

quod in isto mundaret me. Et hic incepiet habui letitiam magnam, quamvisex consideratione passionis haberem tristitiam.” 27 This distinction is recurrent in the Memoriale; see for instance, Memoriale, 8. 28 For an almost contemporary example of ostentatio vulneris, see Jeffrey F. Hamburger, The Rothschild Canticles: Art and Mysticism in Flanders and the Rhineland circa 1300 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990), 72–73. On the meaning of sucking on Christ’s side wound for Angela, see Caroline Walker Bynum, Jesus as Mother. Studies in the Spirituality of the High Middle Ages (Berkeley–Los Angeles–London: UCP, 1982), 110–69. For an analysis focused on Angela and including iconographic examples from the Vita of Catherine of Siena, see García Acosta, “Shouting at the Angels,” 20–22. 29 Memorial, 128 translates Memoriale, 8: “Tertio decimo intravi per dolorem Matris Christi et sancti Ioannis et rogabam quod ipsi acquirerent michi signum certum, quo Semper possem habere in memoria passionem Christi continue.” On the motif of Mary and John at the foot of the Cross, its evolution, and theological implications, see Amy Neff, “The Pain of Compassio: Mary’s Labor at the Foot of the Cross,” The Art Bulletin 80, no. 2 (1998): 254–73; Rachel Fulton, From Judgement to Passion: Devotion to Christ and the Virgin Mary, 800-1200 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002), 197–290; and M. Rubin, Mother of God. A History of the Virgin Mary (New Haven-London: Yale University Press, 2009), 128, 152, and 243. 30 Jeffrey F. Hamburger, St. John the Divine: The Deified Evangelist in Medieval Art and Theology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 186. 31 Memorial, 180 translates Memoriale, 64: “Et tunc clamore clamabat anima dicens: “O sancta Maria, Mater Afflicti, dic michi de illa pena istius tui Filii de qua non audio memoriam, quia tu vidisti de ipsa passione plus quam aliquis sanctus; quia ego video quod tu vidisti eam cum oculus capitis et cum imaginatione et pro zelo quem habuisti continue de isto tuo amore!” Et tunc clamabat anima cum máximo dolore dicens: “Est aliquis sanctus qui michi sciat dicere aliquid de ista passione de qua non audio loqui vel referri verbum, quam anima mea vidit, que tanta st quod eam dicere non possum?” Tanta passionem vidit anima mea.” 32 Belting, L’arte e il suo pubblico, 2–3. See Fulton, From Judgement to Passion, 226: “… a prayer instructs the meditant not only to contemplate her sinfulness and her need for Mary’s intercession, but to do so through the life of the Virgin itself.” 33 See Jeffrey F. Hamburger, Nuns as Artists: The Visual Culture of a Medieval Convent (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), and Jeffrey F. Hamburger, The Visual and the Visionary: Art and Female Spirituality in Late Medieval Germany (New York: Zone Books, 1998) for a broader context where the traditionally so-called “works of art” are analysed in regards to their internalising functions. On the use of the elements of the Passion as meditative materials, see A. Macdonald et al, eds., The Broken Body. Passion Devotion in Late-Medieval Culture (Groningen: Egbert Foster, 1998). 34 Memorial, 128–129 translates Memoriale, 9: “Quinto decimo, et figebam me in sancto Ioanne et in Matre Dei cogitando dolorem eorum, rogando ipsos quod ipsi acquirerent michi istam gratiam, scilicet quod sentirem semper de dolorem passionis

Blood and Pleasure in Christ

27

Christi vel saltem de dolore eorum. Et ipsi inveniebant michi, sed et adhuc ipsi inveniunt michi. Unde et tantum dedit michi semel sanctus Ioannes, quod fuit de maximis quod unquam senserim. Et dabatur michi intelligere quod sanctus Ioannes tantum dolorem sustinuerat de passione et de morte Christi et de dolore Matris Christi, quod existimabam et existimo eum fuisse plus quam martyr.” 35 Fulton, From Judgement to Passion, 214 et seq. 36 Fulton, From Judgement to Passion, 289. Fulton remarks on the role of devices, tools or instruments in ibid., 197. According to this scholar, said role stems from the act of praying to Mary and her Son thus prompting medieval Christians to develop tools “with which to feel” that could be either external (texts and artistic depictions) or internal (memory, meditation, and prayer). 37 Anne Derbes, Picturing the Passion in Late Medieval Italy. Narrative Painting, Franciscan Ideologies and the Levant (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 1–2. 38 Memorial, 131 translates Memoriale, 13: “Et quado videbam passionem Christi pictam, vix poteram sustinere, sed capiebat me febris et infirmabar, unde socia mea abscondebat a me picturas passionis et studebat abscondere.” 39 On late medieval privatization processes, see Belting, L’arte e il suo pubblico. 40 Memorial, 131 translates Memoriale, 13: “per magnam partem diei illius steti in pedibus in cella ubi oraveram constipata et sola.” 41 I dealt with this experience in symbolic terms in García-Acosta, “Shouting at the Angels.” On the stained-glass windows of Assisi, see Egidio M. Giusto, Le vetrate di S. Francesco in Assisi: Studio storico iconografico (Milan: Alfieri & Lacroix, 1911), and Joachim Poeschke, Italian Frescoes. The Age of Giotto, 1280-1400 (New York–London: Abbeville Press, 2005), 41–44. 42 See the commentaries on Angela of Foligno, Il libro dell’esperienza, 102–103. 43 This exhibition was held in Foligno from 6 October 2012 to 6 January 2013. The exhibition catalogue was published in Massimiliano Bassetti, and Bruno Toscano, Dal visibile all'indicibile: Crocifissi ed esperienza mistica in Angela da Foligno (Espoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull'Alto Medioevo, 2012). 44 Gertrud Schiller, Iconography of Christian Art (London: Lund Humphries, 1972), 94. 45 Schiller, Iconography of Christian Art, 95 and 152. On the emergence of affection in the cult of the Virgin, its comparison to previous perceptions that depicted an apathetic Mary at the foot of the Cross, and the theological importance of such transformation, see Fulton, From Judgement to Passion, 197–290. 46 See García-Acosta, “Shouting at the angels.” 47 On the frescoes of Assisi, see Poeschke, Italian Frescoes, 40–155, which includes excellent reproductions. On Cimabue, see ibid., 45–48—featuring a reproduction of the crosses in the transept in pages 52–53—and Derbes, Picturing the Passion, 20. A thorough study connecting all the images that pilgrims saw in Assisi and Angela’s spirituality is yet to be carried out. For instance, it would be interesting to analyse artworks such as the painted historiated crosses typical of this region and time, and to compare their range of expressions to the experience of this Franciscan tertiary. See Derbes, Picturing the Passion, 4. For a compelling

28

Chapter One

interpretation of the frescoes from the point of view of a medieval pilgrim, see Janet Robson, “The Pilgrim’s Progress: Reinterpreting the Trecento Fresco Programme in the Lower Church at Assisi,” in The Art of the Franciscan Order in Italy, ed. William R. Cook (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 39–70. 48 On Christ’s blood see the essential work Caroline Walker Bynum, Wonderful Blood. Theology and Practice in Late Medieval Northern Germany and Beyond (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007). 49 Memorial, 162 translates Memoriale, 46: “Et post hoc, quan transibam iusta crucem pictam vel passionem, videbatur michi quod nichil erat pictum comparatione maxime passionis que facta est ei secundum veritatem, et que fuerat michi ostensa et impressa cordi, ita quod istud quod pingitur nolebam respicere, quia videbatur omnino quasi nichil.” 50 See Joanna E. Ziegler, Sculpture of Compassion: The Pietà and the Beguines in the Southern Low Countries, c.1300-c.1600 (Brussels: Institut historique belge de Rome, 1992), and Bynum, Wonderful Blood. 51 Memorial, 182 translates Memoriale, 66: “Et inter alia retulit michi fratri scriptori quod ipso die ipsa Christi fidelis, facta in excessu mentis, stetit in sepulcro simul cum Christo. Et dixit quod obsculata fuit primo pectus Christi, et videbat eum iacentem oculis clausis sicut iacuit mortuus, et postea obsculata est os eius; ex quo ore dicebit quod admirabilem et inenarrabiliter odorem acceperat, qui respirabat per eius ore, et hic dixit quod fuit parva mora. Et postea dixit quod posuit maxillam suam super maxillam Christi, et Christus posuit manum suam super aliam maxillam et strinxiteam ad se, et ista fidelis Christi audivit sibi dici ista verba: “Antequam iacerem in sepulcro tenui te ista astrictam.” Et quamvis ipsa intelligeret quod Christus diceret predicta verba, tamen videbat Christum iacentem cum oculis clausis et non moventem labia, sicut quando iacuit mortuus in sepulco. Et ipsa era letitia máxima inenarrabiliter.” On the image see Bassetti and Toscano, Dal visibile all'indicibile, 159–70. 52 For a discussion on the origin of this kind of depictions that show a clear oriental influence, see Derbes, Picturing the Passion, 12–16. The theme of the Entombment and its pathetic motifs as we see them here is one of the most commonplace features of the Byzantinising Umbrian pictorial school. For an example of painted historiated crosses, see the reproduction of a work dated to 1261 in ibid., 8, and the information provided in ibid., 169. Angela could well have seen a fresco with this theme painted by the Master of San Francesco and his workshop in the Basilica Inferiore of Assisi—it is listed in Edward B. Garrison, Italian Romanesque Painting. An Illustrated Index (New York: Haecker Art Books, 1976), 461; see Poeschke, Italian Frescoes, 41–43, where the author claims that the work of this painter “… has no parallel anywhere in Italian painting.” 53 Derbes, Picturing the Passion, 9–10, dates the inclusion of affective scenes in depictions of the Passion to the period 1275–1300—which would match the experiences recounted in the Memoriale—and highlights the strengthening of the motifs related to Mary. 54 Derbes, Picturing the Passion, 16.

Blood and Pleasure in Christ

29

55 Cirlot, and Garí, La mirada interior, 192; see also Derbes, Picturing the Passion, 17. 56 Derbes, Picturing the Passion, 162. 57 Émile Mâle, L’art religieux de la fin du Moyen Âge en France (Paris: Armand Colin Éditeur, 1995), 87 et seq. 58 Garrison, Italian Romanesque Painting, 96 describes the extensive use of rectangular historiated diptychs in private devotion in Italy in Angela’s time. One example of such altars, which featured the images analysed here, can be found in ibid., Fig. 422. There is a great variety of extant portable altars that were probably meant for domestic use. Derbes, Picturing the Passion, 2, n. 10, describes them as “smaller panels, presumably intended for private devotion, also often included Passion themes”; some examples appear in ibid., 163, 6, Fig. 6, and 8, Fig. 8. These depict the theme of the Entombment and the women before the sepulchre and were produced in chronological and geographical contexts close to Angela. Moreover, painted historiated crosses, an example of which Angela could have seen in Assisi, were portable according to Derbes, Picturing the Passion, 21. 59 See Claudio Bernardi, “La deposizione di Cristo nei teatri della pietà,” in Sacre Passioni. Scultura lignea a Pisa dal XII al XV secolo, ed. Mariagiulia Burresi (Milan: Federico Motta, 2000), 15–18, which includes explicit references to Umbria (ibid., 15) and a depiction of the Passion documented in Foligno in 1425 (ibid., 17): Was this image maybe the same one Angela describes in ‘Santa Maria Infraportas’ in Memoriale, 60?

PART I: PLEASURE

CHAPTER TWO THE EXPERIENCE OF TOUCHING CHRIST: IMITATING THE VIRGIN MARY AND MARY MAGDALEN IN HIGH MEDIEVAL BIBLICAL COMMENTARIES LYDIA HAYES

My beloved put his hand through the keyhole and my stomach trembled at his touch.1 Song of Songs 5:4 beautifully encapsulates the sensuality of touch. In the context of a literal experience between lovers, this depiction of touch perhaps seems overtly sexual; however, in medieval theological texts on the Song, this verse traversed the boundary between the carnal and the spiritual and became metaphorical of an experience shared with Christ.2 For instance, Rupert of Deutz (1075-1129) used this verse to describe the Virgin Mary acknowledging her duty to spread the word of God, echoing the moment when she was first filled or impregnated with Christ as the word of God; Rupert then compared this to his own experience of receiving a vision urging him to become an exegete.3 Honorius of Autun (1080-1154) explained this verse as God putting his hand—that is, Christ—into the world.4 These examples demonstrate that medieval touch was not only an action, but also an experience, sometimes motivated by a desire to interact with the sacred. Touch could be physical, as in a devotee touching the relics of a saint or a believer receiving the sacrament of the Eucharist.5 Touch could also be metaphorical, experienced through writing, reading, or hearing about biblical examples of the men and women who touched Christ during his time on Earth. This chapter will examine the ways in which medieval authors described the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalen touching Christ within the context of the Song of Songs and the Gospels. Most significantly, it will also examine how they appropriated these experiences for themselves and for other Christians, so that they too could touch Christ.

34

Chapter Two

Theological texts, including biblical commentaries, paraphrases, and sermons on the Gospels and the Song of Songs will be analysed. Gospel texts are valuable as they focus on the life of Christ and the relationships he had with individuals while living; Song of Songs texts are important as they use the bride-bridegroom metaphor to describe the relationship between Christ and all of humanity, so that Christians may have a relationship with the resurrected Christ. All of the texts that will be examined, with the exception of Peter Cantor’s (d. 1197) Verbum Abbreviatum, were authored by monks.6 Aspects of Cantor’s description of Christian development will be compared to that of Bernard of Clairvaux (1090-1153), as they both use Mary Magdalen as their model. All texts date from the twelfth century and the majority were written by authors living in modern-day France, with the exception of Rupert of Deutz, who authored the first purely Marian commentary on the Song of Songs. Analysis of the aforementioned texts will reveal how many twelfthcentury theologians viewed the sense of touch in the Bible and how they related their own experiences to those of the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalen. In the early Middle Ages, commentators typically wrote about physical encounters between the Virgin, Mary Magdalen, and Christ in allegorical terms, rather than as experiences that they could participate in. For these commentators, both women touching Christ in some way prefigured the actions of the Church; furthermore, in these texts, the Church was described more as an institution than a conglomeration of believers. Allegorical interpretations continued to be used in the twelfth century, but there was also an interest in how the actions of these women related to individual believers. This was likely due to a number of developments, most significant of which were the growth of the cults of the Virgin and Mary Magdalen, as well as a renewed interest in the life and body of Christ.7 Ultimately, the experiences of these women touching Christ were applicable to both theologians and medieval believers as a whole because touch was used in the texts to explain the significance of Christian practices and spiritual development. This is especially clear when touch was used to describe penance, forgiveness, and the reception of the Eucharist, as these experiences were available to monks and laymen alike.

The Virgin Mary The Virgin Mary had the closest possible relationship with Christ and thus medieval theologians believed that examining her experiences would better enable Christians to participate in this relationship. Understanding

The Experience of Touching Christ

35

or studying the life of Christ in the Bible was one matter, but being able to experience it was an entirely different situation. Through the example of the Virgin, believers were able to have vicarious, and in some ways personal, experiences of Christ. Mary’s relationship with Christ was an especially popular topic in commentaries on the Gospels because of their focus on the life of Christ, but it is also prominent in texts on the Song of Songs. Many Song commentators refer back to the biblical example of Mary when describing the behaviour of the Bride in her marriage with the Bridegroom, as Mary was considered to be both mother and spouse of God. However, Rupert of Deutz and Honorius of Autun are unique because their texts provide a purely Marian interpretation of the Bride in the Song. Mary occupies this position because all of her experiences with Christ make her a perfect model for Christians to follow in their personal love relationship with him. This is why Honorius read the Song as a conversation between Mary the Bride and Christ the Bridegroom and Rupert read it as the Incarnation. Mary’s association with the Church in texts on the Song and the Gospels is also significant. Many of the virtuous and chaste biblical women were compared to the Church in commentaries.8 However, the Virgin Mary had intimate physical contact with Christ, likely making her experiences the most desirable and the most relatable to the Church in Christ’s absence. For instance, the Virgin was considered a precursor of the Church for three specific reasons: one, Mary had given birth to the word of God, which the Church was responsible for after Christ’s death; two, Mary had physically held Christ within her body, just as the Church housed the body of Christ in the form of the Eucharist, the Holy Spirit, or the Word; and, three, Mary had provided nourishment for Christ through her breasts like the Church provided nourishment for souls through the Word of God.9 The Church provided believers with experiences of Christ that were similar to those that Mary had shared with him during his lifetime. As will become clear, not only were these experiences applicable to the functions of the Church, but they were also applicable, on an individual level, to the experiences of theologians and believers.

Pregnant with the Word The first time that Mary touched and was touched by Christ was during the Annunciation. When Mary replied to the angel Behold! The handmaid of the Lord (Luke 1:38) she was said to have conceived Christ. In his commentary on Matthew, Rupert of Deutz elaborated on the Annunciation,

36

Chapter Two

explaining that it was at this moment that Mary also conceived the Word of God and the spirit of God.10 Commentators, like Rupert, therefore credited Mary with giving birth to God in human form, giving birth to the word of God, and giving birth to the Holy Spirit. Rupert opened his commentary on the Song of Songs with the Annunciation and pregnancy of Mary, and then he described her other physical experiences with Christ, which were often related to the sense of touch. Rupert began with the first verse of the Song (Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth), which he said symbolised the Annunciation of Mary.11 The kiss not only marked the moment when Mary became pregnant with Christ, but also when she became knowledgeable of the word of God. Rupert wrote that when Christ was no longer a child, Mary was called to preach the Gospel on behalf of Christ, her beloved. Rupert quoted Song 5:4 (My beloved put his hand through the keyhole and my stomach trembled at his touch), which he used to describe Christ touching Mary’s stomach; the touch of her beloved’s hand spurred her to spread his word. This is likely also referring back to the Annunciation, when God touched Mary’s stomach by placing Christ in her womb, which made her the vessel through which his word first entered the world. Rupert embraced Mary’s experience of trembling at the touch of Christ’s hand as his own by describing his experiences with God in terms of trembling. He described this as trembling with desire for God, trembling with joy over Christ, and even trembling at the sight of Christ crucified.12 These types of trembling comprised a visionary experience Rupert had where Christ appeared to him and commanded him to become an exegete. Rupert thus described the touch that Mary experienced in her womb and on the outside of her stomach in such a way that the audience could either have this experience for themselves or could at the very least comprehend it. In this case it was not a direct physical touch per se, but rather an emotional touch experienced in a physical way. The trembling that Mary experienced at Christ’s touch was also experienced by Rupert; trembling, as a physical reaction to an emotional experience, could then serve as a tangible experience open to believers who had contact with the word of God. Therefore, even though believers would not have shared Mary’s knowledge of God, nor would the majority of them have the knowledge that exegetes or preachers had, they would still have been capable of physically experiencing the word of God through the example of Mary.

The Experience of Touching Christ

37

In Rupert’s commentary, Mary being touched by Christ was described as a touch he had personally felt. Honorius of Autun’s interpretation of Song 5:4, however, was more focussed on the symbolic meaning of physical touch. In his commentary on the Song, he interpreted this verse as the Incarnation, rather than Mary’s evangelical awakening. Honorius used the reference of the hand through the keyhole to explain that Mary was the hole through which God put his hand—that is, Christ—into the world.13 Christ, living on earth was the physical presence of God in the world, which was described by Honorius as God touching the world with his hand. Though Rupert and Honorius vary on their interpretations of Song 5:4, both writers described the presence of God in the world as either a physical touch from God or an emotional touch through his word.

Nursing, Nourishment, and the Eucharist Both Rupert and Honorius were also concerned with how God touching Mary during the Annunciation could be used to explain the relationship between Christ’s divinity and his humanity. This was alluded to in Rupert’s commentary on John, where he explained that since Christ was God and God was the Word, which existed since the beginning of time, Christ as the Word existed before Mary, but it was Mary who made Christ known in the flesh.14 Without Christ’s humanity, his crucifixion would not have lent itself to suffering for the sake of humankind. If Christ had not been human, believers would not have been left with the Eucharist after his death. Honorius emphasized Mary’s role in Christ’s humanity by referencing the Eucharist, stating, ‘…the faithful feast on [his] flesh, which he took from the Virgin.’15 The Eucharist was, and for many still is, one of the most intimate experiences that believers could have with the body of Christ and the closest they could possibly come to experiencing Mary’s feeling of having Christ physically in her body. The way in which Mary nourished Christ both inside and outside of her womb was often compared to the ways in which Christ nourished believers. This may include nourishment through the Word of God, nourishment through Mary’s example as a devoted believer, or nourishment through the reception of the sacrament. There is an abundance of nursing metaphors to be found in medieval theological texts and they are especially prominent in texts on the Song of Songs. Nursing provides a very powerful and clear example of touch at work. A nursing mother holds her child in her arms, against her body, while her child nurses, reciprocating touch by contact with his or her

38

Chapter Two

mother’s arms, body, and breasts. The mother could also be said to touch her child with her milk; thus, this type of touch is characterized by nourishment and nurturing. Honorius embraced this metaphor in his text on the Song. He explained Song 7:7 (your breasts [are like] to clusters of grapes) through the words of Christ the Bridegroom speaking to Mary the Bride, ‘…that is, your merits shall be imitable by all, like my gospels, which are clusters of the vine, namely, the drink of the Church.’16 Mary’s breasts represented her virtues, which were to be imitated by believers. The reference to wine also suggests that the virtues of Mary would allow believers to have an experience with Christ, made possible in his absence by the Church in the form of the Word of God and, potentially, the Eucharist. Thus, Christ, who had been physically nourished by Mary during his life, nourished her and all others through his symbolic breasts after his death.17 Honorius wrote, ‘He who nourishes the angels in the bosom of the Father, here on earth sucked the breasts of the virgin Mother.’18 Similarly, William of St. Thierry (1085-1148), in his commentary on the Song, wrote, ‘From [his breast] is to be sucked the milk of all the mysteries accomplished in time for our eternal salvation, in order to attain to the food which is the Word of God….For Christ, in his humility, is our milk; God equal with God, he is our food.’19 Nursing imagery in these examples created a parallel between the relationship that Christ first had with Mary and the relationship he later had with Christians, opening up a new realm of experience for believers. By reading or hearing the word of God or receiving the Eucharist, believers were capable of touching Christ the way Mary touched him and they were also capable of being touched by him in return. These relationships, which were both physical and spiritual, were bound together by the sense of touch.

Mary Magdalen In addition to the Virgin, Mary Magdalen also had a close relationship with Christ during his life. There are various Marys mentioned in the Gospels, the woman possessed by demons, the repentant sinner who washed Christ’s feet with her tears, and the sister of Martha and Lazarus, but by the twelfth century they had merged into one.20 Perhaps one of the most common medieval associations of Mary Magdalen with Christ is the moment in John 20:17 when she saw him at the tomb after his crucifixion and he told her not to touch him. This is a significant moment in their

The Experience of Touching Christ

39

relationship as well as in the story of Christ’s resurrection, which will be discussed in reference to Mary Magdalen’s role as a prefiguration of the Church; first, it is vital to examine the time before his crucifixion when Mary did touch him and what this touching is said to have meant for medieval believers. .

Repentant Sinner The occasions where Mary Magdalen touched Christ are closely associated with repentance, reverence, and humility. During their first encounter, as an act of repentance, Mary fell at the feet of Christ, covered his feet with her tears, and dried them with her hair. On another occasion, Mary listened to Christ’s preaching sitting at his feet, while her sister Martha served him with food. These events are interpreted in various ways by medieval authors. In his commentary on Matthew, Rupert explained that it showed the power of Christ on earth and the Holy Spirit after his death. He noted that following the example of Mary, who humbled herself at the feet of Christ and listened to his word, would allow mankind to rise above both sin and death.21 Similarly, Peter Cantor used Mary’s example in his Verbum Abbreviatum to describe both oral confession and the granting of mercy, as Mary was forgiven by Christ after washing his feet with her tears and was later given the honour of anointing his head,22 which will be discussed in conjunction with the resurrection of Lazarus. Cantor used Mary as a model of the first stage of oral confession because her action of washing Christ’s feet with her tears demonstrated a true desire for repentance, which all who seek forgiveness must express.23 Touch in this case is made even more significant by Mary’s emotional response, expressed through tears. Tears may demonstrate sorrow over one’s own sin, as well as sorrow over the sins of others; thus, the repentance of the sinful Mary Magdalen is an experience appropriated for all believers. As with the Virgin Mary being touched by Christ and Rupert experiencing this touch through his own trembling, believers were able to participate in Mary Magdalen’s touching of Christ through their own tears of repentance. In his work on the Song of Songs, Honorius emphasized Mary Magdalen’s humility, stating that her falling at Christ’s feet pointed back to the Virgin Mary humbling herself before God during the Annunciation.24 In this way, the humility of both women was used as an example of how penitents should approach God. It is likely significant that both women

40

Chapter Two

touched, and were touched by, Christ when they displayed humility; the Virgin conceived Christ and Mary Magdalen anointed him.

The Anointing of Christ, the Church, and Repentance Mary anoints Christ’s feet after washing them with her tears of repentance and she is also said to have anointed him after he resurrected Lazarus. Mary is believed to have had a close relationship with Christ because he came to her home to raise Lazarus from the dead. In an act of thanks for healing her brother and an act of worship, Mary brought out a container of oil and anointed some part of Christ. Different Gospels provide different accounts of the occasions when Mary anointed Christ, but theologians referenced both versions, sometimes interchangeably; Mary anointed Christ’s feet in John (12:3) and Luke (7:38) and his head in Matthew (26:7) and Mark (14:3) William of St. Thierry noted that when Mary anointed the body of Christ, the scent of the oil was said to have filled the entire house. He compared this to the Song of Songs when the Bride speaks about the Bridegroom saying his name is oil poured out (1:2) and while the king sits at his table, my spikenard sends forth its odour (1:11).25 Furthermore, in Gospel and Song commentaries, the scent filling the house is said to have been symbolic of the Holy Spirit filling the Church after Christ’s death. Therefore, as with the Virgin, commentators associated Mary Magdalen’s actions with the functions of the Church, stating that anointing the entire body of Christ foreshadowed the salvific power of the Church in his absence. Cantor suggested that Mary anointed Christ prior to his death because she would be unable to anoint him after the crucifixion, referring to the occasion when he appeared to her at the tomb and she could not touch him because he had not yet ascended. Mary being unable to touch Christ after his death was used to explain that believers had to approach him through the Church; furthermore, the Church, like Mary who had not been initially believed by the disciples, persisted in teaching the promise of the resurrection and eternal life despite those who challenged her.26 This was also understood as believers being purified before they were able to encounter Christ through his word.27 Mary touching Christ’s body was used in theological texts to outline the stages of Christian development, or the soul’s ascent to God, and especially to describe the stage of repentance. Peter Cantor’s Verbum Abbreviatum and Bernard of Clairvaux’s Sermons on the Song of Songs both used Mary’s anointing of Christ in the Gospels as a model for

The Experience of Touching Christ

41

Christians to imitate in their personal relationships with God. Cantor appears to have conflated the accounts of all four Gospels, whilst Bernard only referenced the account in Luke. Cantor used Mary’s example of touching Christ to describe the personal Christian experiences of confession and penance. He explained that once sinners recognised sin within their heart, they then had to confess with their mouths and there were three stages to this oral confession. In brief, his three stages included: 1) kissing Christ’s feet, which included washing them with tears and anointing them with oil, 2) kissing his hands, and 3) kissing his head.28 Similarly, Bernard of Clairvaux outlined three stages of the soul’s ascent to God: 1) kissing Christ’s feet, 2) kissing his hands, and 3) kissing his lips.29 These stages are nearly identical, but their contexts vary in that Bernard did not directly refer to Mary Magdalen by name. He did, however, indirectly reference Luke 7:37 and 7:48, which described Mary’s anointing of Christ’s feet.30 For his audience, Bernard also wrote, ‘Prostrate yourself on the ground, take hold of his feet, soothe them with kisses, sprinkle them with your tears and so wash not them but yourself.’31 This is undoubtedly a reference to Mary Magdalen. The fact that Bernard was writing specifically within the context of Song of Songs 1:1 (Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth) may account for the fact that he did not mention anointing with oil, but rather chose to focus specifically on the kissing. Even more significant is the fact that both authors used kissing and the sense of touch to describe the way in which believers should approach Christ.

Kissing and Touch Kissing was a special type of touching. Kissing was said to represent, and was sometimes a part of, many medieval Christian ritual practices from relic veneration to receiving the sacrament.32 For this reason, it is no surprise that events like Mary Magdalen washing Christ’s feet with her tears or anointing his body, the Incarnation of Christ in the person of Mary, or the union of Christ and the Church, were sometimes symbolized by a kiss in theological texts. Kissing was of course another form of touch that carried with it varying connotations. Like other forms of touch, kissing could be overtly carnal, but a kiss could also elevate an individual from the carnal to the spiritual. Kissing conveyed a deep sense of reverence and also a strong desire for the power or virtue of the object or individual that was kissed.33

42

Chapter Two

The act of kissing, likened to other types of touch by Cantor, Bernard, and others, encapsulates the complexity and significance of medieval touch within a biblical context. Touch as an action could be performed by any part of the body; it not only implied mutual contact between individuals and objects, but also a transfer of some form of energy or emotion. As this analysis of theological texts demonstrated, in the medieval period the sense of touch was not restricted to the hands alone, but could also have been a component of pregnancy, nursing, repentance, and kissing.

Conclusions When speaking of the senses as a whole, Aristotle associated sight, smell, taste, and hearing with the brain and, being higher in the body, he believed these senses were capable of elevating humans toward the celestial spheres. Touch he associated with the lower parts of the body and believed that it pulled humans earthward. Medieval views of touch followed Aristotle, believing that touch was more of an animal sense, but they also believed that in certain circumstances touch had the potential to connect humanity with the divine.34 The lower sense of touch was seen as capable of elevating humanity in some circumstances, just as the higher senses, such as sight, smell, and hearing, could serve as corporeal and emotional triggers. Ultimately, despite the tension that existed between the carnal and the spiritual in the Middle Ages, the authors of the aforementioned texts embraced the sense of touch as a physical expression of religious emotion. The examples of the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalen demonstrated how touch could be both conceptualized and utilized in a way that allowed humans to traverse the boundary between the secular and the sacred. According to the aforementioned medieval authors, these women physically touched Christ during his time on earth and through their examples, especially in relation to the sacraments of the Eucharist and penance, believers were capable of touching the resurrected Christ.35

The Experience of Touching Christ

43

Notes 1

All quotations from the Bible will be in italics to distinguish them from other sources; book, chapter, and verse will be cited in-text. 2 For more on the metaphor of Bride and Bridegroom in the Song of Songs as part of a monk’s personal experience with God, see: Ann Astell, The Song of Songs in the Middle Ages (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995), 76–77; E. Ann Matter, The Voice of My Beloved: The Song of Songs in Western Medieval Christianity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997), 133. 3 Rupert of Deutz, Commentaria in Canticum Canticorum, chap. 5, par. 2-8: 110– 11. 4 Honorius Augustodunensis, Sigillum Beatae Mariae ubi Exponuntur Cantica Canticorum, PL 172: col. 509; see also Carr’s translation in Honorius of Autun, The Seal of Blessed Mary, 70. 5 Jeffrey Schnapp, “Touch and Transport in the Middle Ages,” Modern Language Notes 124 (2009), 118–19. 6 For more on Peter Cantor’s context and his work, see: Beryl Smalley, “The Gospels in the Paris Schools in the Late 12th and Early 13th Centuries: Peter the Chanter, Hugh of St. Cher, Alexander of Hales, John of La Rochelle,” Franciscan Studies 39 (1979): 230–54. 7 For more on how the Cistercians renewed interest in the body of Christ and the individual, see: Caroline Walker Bynum, “Did the Twelfth Century Discover the Individual?,”Journal of Ecclesiastical History 31 (1980), 1; for more on the relationship between the body of Christ and the cult of saints, see: Caroline Walker Bynum and Paula Gerson, “Body-Part Reliquaries and Body Parts in the Middle Ages,” Gesta 36 (1997): 3–7. 8 Rupert’s Marian commentary on the Song, however, does not mention that Mary may prefigure the Church; see Rachel Fulton, “Mimetic Devotion, Marian Exegesis and the Historical Sense of the Song of Songs,” Viator 27 (1996), 94. 9 Honorius Augustodunensis, Sigillum, PL 172: col. 500. 10 Rupert of Deutz, De Gloria et Honore Filii Hominis super Mattheum, PL 168: col. 1326B. For more on Rupert’s Mariology, see: Peter Gittens, Magistra Apostolorum: Mary in the Mariology of Rupert of Deutz (Saarbrücken: Scholar’s Press, 2012). 11 Rupert of Deutz, Commentaria in Canticum Canticorum, 1.1, p. 10. PL 168: 0839A. 12 Rupert of Deutz, Canticum Canticorum, 5.2-8, pp. 110-11. PL 168: 0914A – 0915B. 13 Honorius Augustodunensis, Seal of Blessed Mary, 70; PL 172: col. 0509A. 14 Rupert of Deutz, Commentaria in Evangelium S. Joannis, PL 169: cols. 205-07. 15 Honorius Augustodunensis, Sigillum, PL 172: col. 505; Honorius of Autun, Seal of Blessed Mary, 63. 16 Honorius Augustodunensis, Sigillum, PL 172: col. 514; Honorius of Autun, Seal of Blessed Mary, 79–80.

44

Chapter Two

17 For an in-depth study of Christ’s feminine attributes and his role as mother, see: Caroline Walker Bynum, Jesus as Mother: Studies in the Spirituality of the High Middle Ages (Berkeley–Los Angeles–London: University of California Press, 1982). 18 Honorius Augustodunensis, Sigillum, PL 172: col. 500; Honorius of Autun, Seal of Blessed Mary, 53. 19 William of St. Thierry, Expositio altera super Cantica Canticorum, PL 180: col. 488; see also Hart’s translation in William of St. Thierry, Exposition on the Song of Songs, 36–37. 20 For more on Mary Magdalen’s identity in the Middle Ages, see: Susan Haskins, Mary Magdalen: Myth and Metaphor (London: Harper Collins, 1993), 14–23. For general information on Mary Magdalen and her relationship with her sister Martha, see: Giles Constable, Three Studies in Medieval Religious and Social Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 1–142. 21 Rupert of Deutz, Super Mattheum, PL 168: col. 1509]. 22 Peter Cantor, Verbum Abbreviatum, PL 205: col. 281–2. 23 Peter Cantor, Verbum Abbreviatum, PL 205: col. 342-4. 24 Honorius Augustodunensis, Sigillum, PL 172: col. 497. 25 William of St. Thierry, Super Cantica Canticorum, PL 180: col. 498–500. 26 Rupert of Deutz, Evangelium S. Joannis, PL 169: col. 807C-D. 27 Peter Cantor, Verbum Abbreviatum, PL 205: col. 0038B. 28 Peter Cantor, Verbum Abbreviatum, PL 205: col. 343–4. 29 Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermons sur le Cantique I (1–15), Sermon 3: par. 1–5, 100–10. 30 Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermons on the Song of Songs I, 17, n. 17 and 19. 31 Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermons, Sermon 3: par. 2, 17. 32 For more on the significance of kissing in Christian practice, see: Michael Philip Penn, Kissing Christians: Ritual and Community in the Late Ancient Church (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005). 33 Chris M. Woolgar, The Senses in Late Medieval England (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006), 40–41. 34 Schnapp, “Touch and Transport,” 115–17.

CHAPTER THREE “UN ODOR TAN SABOROSO”: FOR AN OLFACTIVE INTERPRETATION OF THE CANTIGAS DE SANTA MARÍA IVO ELIES

Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, The perfume and suppliance of a minute. (SHAKESPEARE, Hamlet, I, III).

The perfumer Jean-Baptiste Grenouille—the main character of Patrick Süskind’s macabre novel Perfume. The Story of a Murderer—knew the mysteries of perfumes perfectly well; as well as the hidden influence these can exert on people. Humans cannot fight against the persuasive force of a fragrance or a foul smell, and while the rest of the senses can be easily nullified, protection against smell is almost impossible: “For people could close their eyes to greatness, to horrors, to beauty, and their ears to melodies or deceiving words. But they could not escape scent. For scent was a brother of breath.”1 Despite their delicacy, invisibility, and volatility, despite leaving no trace in history, smells awaken the deepest and most irrational feelings in human beings, the most powerful emotions and memories, and the most unfathomable strength or doubt, sometimes even unknowingly. In spite of their alleged subtlety and weakness, perfumes materialize inside of us with an intensity that is “stronger than that of words, appearances, emotions, or will. The persuasive power of an odour cannot be fended off, it enters into us like breath into our lungs, it fills us up, imbues us totally. There is no remedy for it.”2

Title borrowed from Cantiga 208 of the Cantigas de Santa María, l. 43.

46

Chapter Three

These brief initial passages from Süskind’s renowned novel have helped me set the tune for the topic I aim to discuss here. In this chapter I will focus on the sense of smell, specifically circumscribing my research to the Cantigas de Santa María (hereinafter, CSM), a great compilation attributed to King Alfonso X of Castile (1221–1284), known as the Wise. After providing a brief overview of the olfactory references that can be extracted from the 427 cantigas, I will turn to the analysis of Cantiga 34. Since a general introduction to the five senses and sensoriality would surely need of most of the pages at my disposal, I will directly address the sense that lies at the centre of my research: smell.3

Introduction Isidore of Seville (556–636), in his Etymologiae, defined smell in this way: “Smell is so called as if it meant ‘touched by the smell’ of the air, for it is activated when the air is touched. So one also says ‘olfactory sense’, because one is ‘affected by smells’.”4 Thus, air was presented as playing a key role in the spread of odours, to the point that Isidore understood smell as the air’s touch.5 In the medieval period there was no space, human activity, or life expression that did not go along with a characteristic smell. ‘Olfactory silence’ was practically non-existent in the atmospheres of premodern societies. The pleasant fragrances that emerged between seas of nauseating odours were most appreciated by people accustomed to coexisting with bad smells and stenches that are hardly imaginable nowadays.6 From early on, the presence of unpleasant odours that permeated the day-to-day life of ancient societies brought about the idea that scented essences were a perceptible manifestation of divinity. The initial reluctance to use scents in Christian liturgy due to their connection with pagan religion, was overcome after the eradication of paganism, and Christianity eventually accepted and introduced fragrances and scented essences in its rituals.7 The use of olfactory stimuli in the Christian sacred sphere was motivated by two fundamental aspects.8 First, perfume was considered as a divine theophany, a manifestation of the presence of God amongst men, and secondly, Christian liturgy was conceived as a synaesthetic and multisensory experience in which the interaction of the five senses produced reassuring and restorative effects among believers.9 Many Christian saints and mystics also enjoyed a perfumed aura that attested to their direct relationship with the Divinity.10 Thus the members of the Church, the ecclesiastical institution itself, and the sacred space

For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María

47

were clothed with an olfactory holiness that served to evidence the sweetsmelling nature of Christ.11 The exegetical reading of some passages of the Bible that were particularly relevant because of the presence of aromas resulted in a theological sensorial elaboration.12 These passages gave rise to an important patristic literary corpus on smells and their interpretation.13 Since an exhaustive review of some of these interpretations would escape the purpose of this contribution, some of the most relevant aspects of the theological, cultural, and social tradition deriving from olfactory perceptions in the medieval period will be analysed through the olfactory references that can be found in the CSM. These will include the odour of sanctity, anointments and essences in Christian liturgy, perfumes with healing properties, and smells as emblems or allegories, among others.

Olfactory References in the CSM The presence of pleasant smells and bad odours in the collection of the CSM has some relevance. A total of fourteen compositions out of the 427 contain olfactory references, and all of these belong to the group of the socalled cantigas de miragre.14 Most of them—twelve—include said references in the central part of the narration, whereas the remaining two mention the subject in the exordium (CSM 408) or the closure (CSM 39). The odours mentioned in the cantigas can be divided into miraculous supernatural odours and natural smells, characteristic of objects, products, and substances that are previously mentioned in the poem. However, the most interesting and appropriate division that can be established depends on the typology of the smell. Thus, on the one hand we find a first major group formed by nine cantigas that include references to pleasant smells and, on the other, a second group of five compositions featuring the presence of bad odours.15 This classification will be the basis for the analysis of olfactory references I will undertake in the following pages. It should be noted that the inherent ineffability of smells greatly complicates the task of putting them in writing. Therefore, I will first outline the formal devices used in the narration of olfactory instances in the CSM. These are often formed by verbs of perception such as smell (cheirar or sentir), and verbal forms that are combined with other less precise verbs such as give (dar) or issue (haver).16 The type of smell is usually specified through nouns that can be traced back to the same semantic field, that is, plants and other olfactorily relevant substances.17 The purpose is to transport the audience to a world of exuberant and known fragrances. This type of construction usually appears in cantigas

48

Chapter Three

that recount pleasant olfactory experiences.18 In contrast, in cases characterized by the presence of bad odours, we find either the verb cheirar without any complement or verbs that appear positively or negatively nuanced by means of adverbs of manner; 19 a type of resource also used, although far less so, in some of the CSM that refer to pleasant olfactory instances.20 Some of these specific olfactory experiences will be analysed in depth in the following sections.

Pleasant smells Eight of the nine compositions that include the presence of pleasant smells also indicate the specific type of perfume or fragrance. In order to follow a certain order in my exposition I have divided olfactory references not according to the type of perfume but to the object or product that emits said fragrance. Thus, the cantigas can be reorganized into four large groups featuring sacred images, offerings, divine scents, and aromatic plants. The presence of pleasant smells issuing from sacred images is the most common, these are mentioned in a total of four cantigas, in all of which the fragrance emanates from images of the Virgin.21 The fragrances and perfumes described in these four compositions are always of the supernatural and miraculous kind and their emanation always occurs in a context of danger or sacrilege.22 In CSM 34 and 128 the description of the miraculous odour is carried out through the use of a tricolon of substances or products especially relevant for their scent, their mention helps present a divine odour that is infinitely superior to any natural or earthly smell.23 This type of construction is due to the impossibility of the text to fully express and describe the olfactory aura emanated by sacred images.24 In CSM 39 the image of Mary manages to survive the intense fire that has spread inside a church. Although the sanctuary is completely destroyed the image is not only in perfect condition, but also emanates an intense perfume of rose water.25 In CSM 128 and 208 the olfactory miracle takes place after a context of desecration.26 Both compositions present very similar stories, characters, and settings: an unbeliever profanes a consecrated host by throwing it into a beehive.27 After this impulse, the sacrilegious assailants, moved by their curiosity to see what has happened to the body of Christ, return to the scene only to find with great wonder that the host has transformed into an image of the Virgin. The visio is accompanied by smell and in both cases the image emanates an exuberant fragrance when they open the beehive. However, these two cantigas

For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María

49

narrate the olfactory experience from completely opposite perspectives. Whereas CSM 128 recounts the emanation of perfume from the traditional external point of view, CSM 208 describes the scene through the eyes of the heretic responsible for the desecration: “[...] upon it and also smelled a fragrance so delicious that he was immediately converted” (ll. 43–44). 28 A second relatively relevant group is formed by those compositions that mention offerings considered especially meaningful because of their pleasant smell, as in Cantigas 251 and 424.29 This type of offering that is specifically valued for its olfactory qualities presents evident biblical reminiscences.30 CSM 424 refers to incense and myrrh, aromatic substances that feature in the narrative of the well-known adoration of the Magi. Their presence is accompanied by their symbolic reading: “incense because it is spiritual” and “myrrh, with which they anoint the dead so that they will never decay.”31 Incense is a fundamental substance in Christian tradition and liturgy. Despite the initial reluctance to use incense in the early centuries of Christianity, it acquired an important role as mediator between the individual and the Divinity thanks to its links to prayer: “Think of my prayer as sweet-smelling incense” (Ps 141: 2).32 The second of the cantigas that contains a reference to fragrant offerings is CSM 251, which narrates the vicissitudes of a young nun from Provence, who, captivated by the beauty of a sculpture of the Virgin, constantly brings her offerings. The interesting thing about the olfactory instance in this story is that once again the gifts seem to be chosen precisely because of their fragrance: “She always took it a rose or other flower or a fragrant fruit she had found.”33 The rhyming sequence fror (flower) (1. 31), odor (smell) (1. 32) is certainly remarkable, as is the use of the words rosa (rose) and fror, which, in the corpus of the CSM can be considered traditional and very recurrent metaphors for the Virgin.34 The only case in the whole corpus referring to a bodily odour that is perceived as a fragrance or perfume is found in CSM 261. This cantiga tells the story of a young woman who yearns for divine knowledge and finally dies after receiving a magnificent vision of the Virgin and Jesus Christ accompanied by a procession of martyrs.35 Once the corpse of the young woman is rediscovered, it emanates an exuberant fragrance of spices. This passage is rhetorically well-structured thanks to the zeugma (“viu-a morta e mellor cheirar”) and the synaesthesia that this figure of speech helps establish:

50

Chapter Three [...] and when he arrived, he had the doors opened and looked for the lady. He saw her dead, and smelling more fragrant than the spices that they bring from the Holy Land.36

Death in the odour of sanctity was a recurrent theme in Christian tradition from the fifth century onwards. The first saints who began to be remembered for their smell were the martyrs of the great persecutions against Christianity.37 However, the main impulse for this interesting connection, which these pages will not discuss with the detail it deserves, came from Augustine of Hippo (354–430) and Paulinus of Milan (ca 370– 418).38 As a result of their accounts, this matter entered the new hagiographic genres of traslationes and inventiones that were so commonplace in the Early Middle Ages.39 As in the case of CSM 261, many of these narrations mention the scents that emanate from the bodies of those who die in holiness: floral scents (roses, lilies, and violets), fruit, bread, and spices.40 A brief passage of CSM 419 can be included in this group of divine scents: in the midst of an account of the translation of the Virgin, St Peter witnesses a divine theophany through word, light, and also perfume.41 Finally, the last cantiga I will analyse in this subsection is CSM 408, in which the olfactory reference is related to aromatic and medicinal plants. In this miracle, the Virgin is praised for her healing powers, which, interestingly enough, are placed in opposition to the medicinal powers of aromatic plants: “For She does not work with herbs, nor with roots nor flowers, nor with other kinds of spices, although they have pleasant odours. [...].”42 Here the Virgin, as the refranh, or refrain, of the composition recalls, acts by means of “spirital cilorgía” (spiritual surgery, l. 3). These lines introduce an interesting theme in relation to the perception of odours in the Middle Ages and their medicinal conception.43 The therapeutic powers of the Virgin are supernatural, unlike those of herbs, roots, flowers, and spices. It should be noted that ambiance fragrances, anointments, and rubs with perfumed oils were a recurrent therapy. In fact, in many cases, these substances came from major pilgrimage shrines where the devotees collected oils from the lamps that burned near the tomb of the saint who was venerated there.44

For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María

51

Bad odours References to bad odours are less frequent. Only five cantigas include the description of an unpleasant and nauseating smell, and two of these five cantigas mention bad odours that can be ascribed to bodily smells (CSM 43 and 54). In the first case, the bad odour comes from the corpse of a child of which it is said that, “he has smelled for two days.”45 In the second case the stench comes from the throat of a monk infected by disease: “[...] he was stricken with a disease in the throat, so terrible that, as I heard, it smelled worse than a cadaver.”46 For medieval medicine, bad odours were signs of poor health and had to be eliminated to restore the patient’s condition. From the thirteenth century onwards, medical treatises began to include detailed lists of bad odours caused by certain diseases, and among them was the so-called foetor oris.47 Cantigas 102 and 192 suggest a second subdivision. In both compositions the reference to bad odours is spatial. In CSM 102, a monk is thrown in a well that gives off “a very noxious smell.”48 The second pestilent space featured in the cantigas is the fetid cavity par excellence: Hell. The reference to it is brief and secondary in CSM 192: “so that he might not burn in Hell’s stinking fire.”49 Since attempting to briefly outline infernal imagery and bad smells would be quite impossible due to the vastness of the subject, it is perhaps more interesting to note the link between Cantigas 102 and 192: both spatial references are subterranean and are specifically characterized by their stench.50 Hell is also very present in the last of the cantigas I will present in this section. The handsome and courageous knight described in CSM 152, who is at the same time lustful and unfair, is surprised by the apparition of the Virgin, who materializes before the warrior with “a shining bowl of silver, large and beautiful” full of unpleasant food that gives off bad odours.51 The sinner, frightened by the divine apparition, wants to know who he is speaking to, and the Virgin, after introducing herself, replies that the food contained in the bowl represents the knight’s soul, stinking and nauseating because of his sins. Although the poem does not include any specific olfactory reference, the dialogue between the Virgin and the knight displays an elaborate rhetorical and formal structure that allows us to place the type of smell in a totally negative atmosphere, far removed from the scents of fruit and flowers characteristic of Paradise.52 First, it is necessary to emphasize the antithetical relation established between the marvellous bowl and the repulsive food it contains (ll. 21–24), an allegorical image that in turn establishes a binary link between the bowl and the soul, food

52

Chapter Three

and sin. The bad odour of the food is indicated by the generic expression maos odores (foul odours) (l. 24). However, the etymological figure created by the adjective amarga (bitter) (l. 24) and the noun amargores (bitter sufferings) (l. 34) makes it possible to establish an almost synaesthetic relationship between taste and smell, olfaction and sin. The links established through the rhyme are also remarkable: sabores (tastes) (l.19), odores (smells) (l. 24), errores (errors) (l. 29) and amargores (bitter sufferings) (l. 34), and carry the reader from a sensorial semantic field to the seclusion of the infernal world.

Analysis of Cantiga 34 Of all the olfactory references contained among the characters, representations, and situations narrated in the corpus of the CSM, I will devote the following pages to the study of Cantiga 34, focusing on the precious albeit unpleasant olfactory details it includes. The story recounts the desecration of a magnificent icon by a Jew. After stealing the image, he throws it in his home’s latrine, which then he proceeds to use, thus completing the profanation. He then disappears from the story killed by a demon, and that is when his antagonist, the Christian protagonist, appears and decides to look for the image of the Virgin. When he finds it, he realizes that despite the dirt soiling it, the image gives off plenty of fragrance. Finally, once removed from that horrible place and taken home with him, the image still performs a second miracle: the emanation of oil.

The tradition of the miracle The miracle described in Cantiga 34 is very well represented in Marian tradition;53 it features prominently in the Latin compilations of John of Garland (1205–1255) and Juan Gil de Zamora (1241–1318), and in the vernacular examples of the Adgar collection (twelfth century), the writings of Gautier de Coincy (1177–1236), and the compilations of AngloNorman miracles (twelfth and thirteenth centuries). The first author to recount a Marian miracle involving an icon was Adamnán of Iona (627–704), who precisely described the miracle in question.54 According to some authors Adamnán’s account seems inspired by an episode of the Vita Eutychii that narrates the emanation of oil by the Virgin of Sozopolis in Pisidia.55 Both examples serve to highlight the importance of such miracles—of which CSM 34 is not the only example— in the Eastern tradition.56 Icons played a major role in spreading Marian

For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María

53

miracles. According to some authors, the rarity of Marian miracles during the first centuries of Christianity was due to the inexistence of the Virgin’s body relics. The appearance of icons—which embody the essence and presence of the Divinity in the Byzantine tradition—and their miraculous performance seem to play a rôle compensatoire given the impossibility of acquiring bodily remains.57 However, CSM 34 introduces a remarkable particularity with regard to tradition that is in clear accordance with King Alfonso’s corpus, since the rest of Marian stories do not specify the emanation of pleasant smells during the recovery of the icon.58 This variation of the discourse is intentional and meaningful, not only because it occupies an entire stanza— the fifth one—but also because it introduces an entire antagonistic interplay that goes far beyond the contrast between pleasant and unpleasant odours. This olfactory addition recounts the specific smells— spices, balm, and ointment—perceived by the Christian upon the inventio of the image.

The characters The icon of the Virgin is the only character that is present throughout the whole storyline. It is thanks to the image and by means of it that the rest of the characters—the devil, the Jew, and the Christian—can steal, desecrate, cleanse, venerate, and make their entrances and exits. In CSM 34 everything revolves around the Virgin, represented and personified in a marvellous icon. Icons acquire a transcendent dimension in the Byzantine tradition, their essence consists precisely in being a space that holds the divine presence.59 This sacred aura distances icons from the rest of iconographic representations and allows for their prodigious performance.60 Their emergence as miraculous objects is linked to the iconoclastic period and to the return of orthodoxy (eighth and ninth centuries). It is from then onwards that icons were equated with relics in the Byzantine tradition.61 Among the CSM, a total of 47 compositions present the image of the Virgin as the true intercessor between heaven and earth.62 However, the introduction of these accounts in the Iberian cultural milieu does not in any case involve the acceptance of Byzantine sacredness, as CSM 162 remarks.63 The icon in CSM 34 is described in detail in the second stanza as a splendid image of the Virgin painted on a table (ll. 10–13).64 In spite of

54

Chapter Three

being the protagonist of the composition, its actions are always passive with respect to the rest of the characters. The precise and concrete description of the image contrasts with the scarce details that the text provides about the rest of the individuals in the narrative. Its anonymity, however, is highly functional, for it is precisely its indefinite state that transforms the Jew, the Christian and the devil into universal and collective representations. The presence of Jews is quite remarkable in the CSM; they appear in about thirty compositions and their depiction is always negative.65 The Jew acts as an archetype of evil, as a profaner, an infanticide, a traitor, a miser, and an enemy of Christianity. Jews are usually accompanied by the devil, since it is him who usually induces them to perpetrate their sacrilegious acts. The defiling figure of the Jew contrasts with his antagonist: the Christian; the character that finds the icon and experiences the miracles it performs. These two antagonistic characters are articulated in a binary manner, there is no contact between them and their only link is their relationship with the image of the Virgin. Their placement in the text is very precise, while the Jewish occupies the first stanzas (ll. 13–20), the Christian becomes the protagonist of the last ones (ll. 22-34). There is a clean separation between them in the fourth stanza; the two protagonists coexist in these transitional verses, even if the Christian only makes an appearance (l. 22) once the death of the Jew has already happened (l. 20). The figure of the devil accompanies the Jew at all times, and is ultimately responsible for his death, after which both devil and desecrator disappear from the story (ll. 2–21). The only protagonist who reigns through the whole cantiga is the Virgin, either directly (ll. 7; 36), or through her iconographic representation (ll. 10–37). This division makes it possible to split the cantiga into two opposing parts in which characters, actions, and odours can be ascribed to the antagonistic principles of evil and good (ll. 5–21; 22–38).

Rethoric and textuality The CSM are characterized by their great narrative quality, the simplicity of their vocabulary, and the brevitas of most of the compositions. However, these compact and edifying poems are based on an elaborate formal construction. A functional rhetoric serves the purpose for which they were written, that is, “to educate the audience on the generosity of the Virgin.”66

For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María

55

CSM 34 presents the usual dispositio (arrangement) of this type of compositions: an opening with a maxim summing up the meaning of the story (ll. 1–2), a brief summary followed by the refranh (ll. 4–5) and the text itself, which is in turn structured by means of an exordium (ll. 5–9), the initium (ll. 10–14), medium (ll. 15–34) and finis narrationis (l. 38). Leaving aside other general questions, in this section I will focus much of my rhetorical and textual study on the olfactory references contained in CSM 34.67 But first, I will briefly discuss spatial representation within the framework of this narration. CSM 34 is articulated through a spatial course marked by verticality. Starting from an empty and universal space, the poem presents a series of different locations that move towards the closure of the poem. The indeterminate space of the narrator (E0)—timeless and universal— becomes concrete through the insertion of the setting of the action, that is, the city of Constantinople (E1), a geographical specification that brings together the rest of the narrative sequences, and gives consistence to the miracle recounted in the following stanzas.68 From there, the space is progressively restricted towards the interior at a vertiginous pace: the street where the icon hangs (E2), the Jew’s home (E3), and finally the camara privada (the privy) (E4). This concrete and specific chamber acts as a hinge space and puts the two parts of the poem in contact through a series of binary and antinomial concatenations; it is in this particular spot where the Jew and the Christian converge, as do the desecration and the miracle, the stench and the perfume, condemnation and salvation, life and death. Finally, through an undefined space in which the Christian carefully cleanses the icon (E5), the narration transfers to his home (E6), where the second miracle takes place. Generally speaking, the cantiga can be subdivided into outer (E1, E2) and inner spaces (E3, E4, E6). Spatial markers are specific and identifiable on the one hand thanks to the toponym Constantinople (l. 6) and the word rua (street) (l. 10), for outer spaces, and on the other, through the nouns casa (house) (l. 16, l. 31) and camara privada (l. 16) for inner spaces. The homes of the two characters (E4, E6) have a close relationship through their antithetical definition: a contrast between the Jewish logar balorento (evil-smelling hole) (l. 23) and the Christian bon logar (proper place) (l. 32).69 CSM 34 is characterized by the use of an eminently generic lexicon, a scarcity of adjectives, and an abundant presence of verbal phrases. However, its great narrative quality and lexical simplicity do not preclude an elaborate rhetorical and formal structure that brings the poem together. As for figures of speech, it is worth noting an insistent presence of the

56

Chapter Three

hyperbaton in the first stanzas of the composition (ll. 6–15), establishing a constant rupture between the verb and its complements that in some cases continues over the break between stanzas.70 Sometimes, at the beginning of the line, this resource is used to highlight the role of the main protagonist of the narration, that is, the Virgin.71 Moreover, in some of the verbal periphrases, the impersonal form exchanges positions with the auxiliary verb, thus showing examples of the use of other rhetorical figures such anastrophes and prolepses.72 Stylistic schemes and word plays have a fundamental importance in the internal structure and cohesion of the text, for they establish links both within and between stanzas. For instance, the paronomasia in vento (wind) (l. 8), cento (hundred) (l. 12), and atento (carefully) (l. 13) connects Stanzas I and II, and gives cohesion to Stanza II, and the same goes for the verbal forms lavou-a (washed it) and levou-a (took it) in lines 30 and 31. In turn, a polyptoton links Stanzas II and III with the repetition of furtar (steal) and furtada (stolen) (ll. 13; 15), whereas the chiasmus formed by ouve de fazer (had to do) and feit’ouve (had done) binds together Stanzas VI and VII (ll. 33; 35).73 These links between stanzas are also due to the anaphoric repetition of some lines, which, besides helping the cohesion of the text, give relevance to the Virgin’s icon.74 Other relevant rhetorical figures, albeit less frequently used, are: the metaphor present in the first stanza, “he who goes against Her will is as powerless as a straw against the wind”;75 the hyperbole that serves to indicate the extraordinary beauty of the icon, “that even if one examined more than a hundred, not another to equal il could be found [...]”;76 and the periphrasis used to discreetly recount the shameful desecration suffered by the image of the Virgin, “desecrated it shamefully.”77 Finally, the completely antinomial lexicon used in the two parts of the cantiga needs also be taken into account. In the stanzas devoted to the Jew (II-IV), which take place at night-time, the words and verbal tenses are easy to relate to negative or disastrous actions, a semantic field that is linked with sin and perdition.78 This is very different from what happens in the stanzas in which the protagonist is the Christian, which are characterized by a completely positive lexicon.79 The links between these two parts are remarkable thanks to the parallel structure established between some lines, marked by a causal relation between the actions of the protagonists and their fate.80 A careful analysis of the verbal tenses allows us to follow the voice of the narrator.81 This is present in three key points of the story, two of which correspond to fairly canonical additions in the exordium and the congedo.

For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María

57

There the narrator aims to give veracity to the narrated facts and to close the composition with the usual explanation for the motivation behind the act of writing.82 However, CSM 34 also presents a return of the narrator in the fifth stanza, precisely in the lines added by the Alphonsine scriptorium describing the olfactory miracle: Although the place was foul, the image gave off such a beautiful fragrance that spices from the East, balsam or unguent, would not smell as pleasant as the image which I mention.83

The rhetoric of olfactory references The addition introduced by the Alphonsine scriptorium is fundamental to the structure and internal cohesion of CSM 34. Thanks to the olfactory references in the fifth stanza, the division of the cantiga into two opposing parts not only affects the characters and their actions but also provides both parts with distinct and antagonistic odours. The fragrances and bad odours directly or indirectly present in the composition go beyond the olfactory phenomenon and require an allegorical reading. The theological interpretations of both odours and the sense of smell were a recurring theme in the medieval period. The dichotomy between good and bad odours is usually connected to the presence or absence of the Divinity, and it was often used to differentiate faith from heresy.84 CSM 34 describes two completely opposite olfactory environments. Bad odours are very much present not only in the scene where the icon is dropped into the latrine for the faecal and almost burlesque desecration, but also in the figure of the Jew, who has a clearly negative olfactory aura. The belief that Jews smelled bad from birth began to spread from the twelfth century onwards; a stench that was supposed to disappear at the very moment of their conversion, just like the rest of their body marks.85 Thus, the initial lines of CSM 34 are surrounded by a series of implicit nauseating olfactory references: the Jew, the existence of a latrine, the way in which the desecration takes place, and the definition of the space as balorento (evil-smelling) (l. 23). The Jew leaving the scene also seems to involve the disappearance of all bad odours. In contrast, the entry of the Christian into the space of the desecration takes us to a new olfactory world filled with an intense fragrance of spices, balm, and ointment. These three substances, which are quite symbolic—and not only from an olfactory point of view—will be analysed separately following their order of appearance. The olfactory

58

Chapter Three

experience is structured using a tricolon of nouns leading to a climax capable of providing the reader with an emblematic olfactory reference that ends up in the infinitely superior divine scent.86 This type of formal construction is recurrent in the olfactory mentions found in the CSM and reveals the nature and the doubly ineffable perfume of divine and miraculous odours.

Spices Spices were a most precious product in the Middle Ages due to their olfactory and gustatory properties. Appreciated for their colour, the intensity of their flavour, and the pleasantness of their smell, spices had a great variety of uses: medicinal, cosmetic, culinary, and simply olfactory.87 Their exotic olfactory quality and their Eastern origin eventually linked spices to the mythical garden of Eden that the Christian tradition vaguely placed somewhere in the distant East.88 CSM 34 also specifies the origin of the spices with the term Ultramar (the East), a place name used in other cantigas to refer to the territories of the Holy Land. 8990 References to spices are not confined to CSM 34 but also appear in other compositions. Two of them have already been mentioned above, Cantigas 261 and 408. Spices are also mentioned in CSM 389, where they are offered to Santa Maria do Porto amidst prayers for the healing of a sick person. In three of these four cases, spices can be ascribed to an atmosphere of sacredness either through sacred images (CSM 34), the odour of sanctity (CSM 261), or through offerings to the Virgin (CSM 389).

Balsam The second substance mentioned in CSM 34 is balsam, one of the indispensable ingredients—along with olive oil—for the production of chrism.91 The first evidence of its use goes back to the fourth century in the city of Jerusalem under the patriarchy of Cyril (ca 313–386).92 Due to its preciousness and rarity, balsam was chosen by the Church as a representation of the Holy Spirit.93 Its uses in the Crown of Castile in times of King Alfonso X are well known thanks to the precise references included in the Setenario. Not only does this encyclopaedic work specify the substances that were mixed to manufacture balsam, and the manufacture process itself, but it also describes the symbolic importance of its components.94 The therapeutic and spiritual qualities of balsam are unquestionable and its uses were usually related to all kinds of purification rituals.95 As for its therapeutic properties, the Setenario again provides us

For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María

59

with some precious details: “balsam heals new sores and attenuates the signs of the old ones; [...] (heals) the hearts soiled by the errors of the sinners and removes the signs of the temptation that the devil put in their will.”96

Ointment The third and last of the olfactory references in CSM 34 is ointment; a substance which, as in the two previous cases, has an important spiritual symbolism in part due to its biblical reminiscences: “Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth” (Sg 1: 3). From the third century onwards, this short verse from the Song of Songs opened the door to patristic interpretation. The prophetic interpretation of the Old Testament and its re-figuration in the new canonical books in order to be presented as historical truth led to link the passage from the Song of Songs with the well-known anointment of Jesus by Mary of Bethany narrated by the four evangelists.97 Thus, the Old Testament’s ointment was identified with an announcement of the incarnation of Christ, which in turn led to the assimilation of Christ’s figure to the ointment.98 For most of the patristic authors of Late Antiquity, Jesus is ‘the anointed one’, a description they derived from the etymological reading of the re-figuration of verses Sg 1: 1–3. Therefore, according to this interpretation, Christ possessed a perfumed ointment that conveyed his divinity.99

Conclusions The examples extracted from the CSM show important similarities between the poems that include olfactory references. While the mentions of pleasant smells lead to heavenly landscapes full of olfactory exoticism and endowed with sacredness, the mentions of nauseating smells often merge into images of sin, death, and condemnation. As I have tried to show, olfactory additions are highly functional in the case of the analysed cantiga, for they give internal coherence to the two opposing parts of the composition by impregnating the scene of the desecration with unpleasant odours, and surrounding the passage of the icon’s salvage with exquisite fragrances. The choice of the perfumes listed in the olfactory miracle is by no means casual. As we have seen, the three mentioned essences—spices, balsam, and ointment—have an important symbolic and spiritual meaning.

60

Chapter Three

The presence of pleasant and bad odours in the CSM serves to separate olfactory worlds, delineate opposing spheres, evidence the presence or absence of the divinity, and lead the protagonists towards either pleasant spaces of well-being and health or to landscapes of sin and perdition. The role of perfume and stench in the world of the CSM is consistent with the functionality they had in the society in which this work was thought, adapted, and written, as Susan ASHBROOK recalls, “holy smells restructure the meaning of historical time in relation to eternity, and they demarcate sacred from profane, salvation from damnation, and redeemed creation from the fallen order.”100

Appendix THIS IS HOW HOLY MARY GOT EVEN WITH THE JEW FOR THE DISHONOUR HE DID TO HER IMAGE. It is right and fitting that he who insults Holy Mary should receive the devil as punishment. Concerning this, I shall relate a true miracle, which the Virgin Mother of God performed in the rich city of Constantinople in order to demonstrate that he who goes against Her will is as powerless as a straw against the wind. There was in the street a well-made image of Holy Mary, painted on wood. It was so beautiful that even if one examined more than a hundred, not another to equal it could be found. A Jew stole it one night, and after he carried it home hidden under his cape, he threw it into the privy, then he sat down there and desecrated it shamefully. The devil killed him, and he went to perdition. After the Jew was thus killed and condemned and the devil had taken him off without a trace, a conscientious Christian took the image out of the evil-smelling hole. Although the place was foul, the image gave off such a beautiful fragrance that spices from the East, balsam or unguent, would not smell as pleasant as the image which I mention. After he took it out of there, he washed it in water at once and took it to his house. He put it in a proper place and made offerings to it for his salvation.

For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María When he had done all this, the Mother of God performed a great miracle there. A substance like oil issued from that image in great abundance to serve as a reminder of this wondrous event. ESTA É COMO SANTA MARÍA FILLOU DEREITO DO JUDÉU POLA DESONRRA QUE FEZÉRA A SÚA OMAGEN.101 Gran dereit’ é que fill’o démo por escarmento quen contra Santa María filla atrevemento. I

5

Porên direi un miragre, que foi gran verdade, que fez en Constantinóble, na rica cidade, a Virgen, Madre de Déus, por dar entendimento que quen contra ela vai, palla é contra vento. Gran dereit’ é que fill’o démo por escarmento…

II

10

Ûa omage pintada na rúa siía en távoa, mui ben feita, de Santa María, que non podían achar ontr’outras mais de cento tan fremosa, que furtar foi un judéu a tento Gran dereit’ é que fill’o démo por escarmento…

III

15

De noit’. E poi-la levou so sa capa furtada, en sa cas’ a foi deitar na cámara privada, des i assentous-s’ alí e fez gran falimento; mas o démo o matou, e foi a perdimento. Gran dereit’ é que fill’o démo por escarmento…

IV

20

Pois que o judéu assí foi mórt’ e cofondudo, e o démo o levou que nunc’ apareçudo foi, un crischão entôn con bon enssinamento a omagen foi sacar do logar balorento. Gran dereit’ é que fill’o démo por escarmento…

V

25

E pero que o logar muit’ enatio estava, a omagen quant’ en si muy bõo cheiro dava, que spécias d’Ultramar, bálssamo nen onguento, non cheiravan atán ben com’ esta que emento. Gran dereit’ é que fill’o démo por escarmento…

VI

30

Pois que a sacou dalí, mantenente lavou-a con agua e lógu’ entôn a sa casa levou-a, e en bon logar a pos e fez-lle comprimento de quant’ ouve de fazer por aver salvamento. Gran dereit’ é que fill’o démo por escarmento…

61

Chapter Three

62 VII 35

Pois lle tod’ esto feit’ ouve, mui gran demostrança fez i a Madre de Déus, que d’óio semellança correu daquela omage grand’ avondamento, que ficasse deste feito por renembramento Gran dereit’ é que fill’o démo por escarmento…

Notes 1

Patrick Süskind, Perfume. The story of a murderer (London: Penguin, 1987), 142. 2 Süskind, Perfume, 79. 3 For a general overview of the history of senses and sensoriality, see Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses (New York: Random House, 1990); Jacques Le Goff, Il corpo nel Medioevo (Bari: Editore Laterza, 2005); Stephen G. Nicols, Andreas Kablitz, and Alison Calhoun, Rethinking the Medieval Senses. Heritage, Fascinations, Frames (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2008); Éric Palazzo, “Les cinq sens au Moyen Âge: état de la questione et prespective de recherche,” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale 55 (2012): 339–66; Éric Palazzo, L’invention chrétienne des cinq sens dans la liturgie et l’art au Moyen âge (Paris: Les éditions du Cerf, 2014); Jacqueline Cerquiglini-Toulet, “Le schéma des cinq sens, d’une thérorie de la connaissance à la création de formes littéraires,” in Parfums et odeurs au Moyen Âge, ed. Agostino Paravicini Bagliardi (Florence: SISMEL–Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2015), 3–23; Jean-Yves Tilliette, “Le symbolisme des cinq sens dans la littérature morale et spirituelle des XIe et XIIe siècles,” Micrologus: Natura, scienze e società medievali. Nature, Sciences and Medieval Societies 10 (2002): 15–32; Carla Casagrande, “Sistema dei sensi e classificazione dei peccati (secoli XII–XIII),” Micrologus: Natura, scienze e società medievali. Nature, Sciences and Medieval Societies 10 (2002): 33–55; Peter Dronke, “Les cinq sens chez Bernard Silvestre et Alain de Lille,” in Parfums et odeurs au Moyen Âge, ed. Agostino Paravicini Bagliardi, (Florence: SISMEL-Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2015), 1–14. 4 Isidore of Seville, The Etymologies of Isidore of Seville, ed. and trans. Stephen A. Barney, W. J. Lewis, J. A. Beach, and Oliver Berghof (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), Book XI, i–22: “Odoratus quasi aeris odoris adtactus. Tacto enim aere sentitur. Sic et olfactus, quod odoribus adficiatur.” 5 For a study on olfactory perception and the variety of theories on the diffusion of smells, see Simon Kemp, “A Medieval Controversy about Odor,” Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences 33 (1997): 211–19. 6 On the topic of medieval smells, see Paul Freedman, Il gusto delle spezie nel Medioevo, trans. Domenico Giusti (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2008), 103; and Béatrice Caseau, “Le parfum de Dieu,” in Parfums et odeurs au Moyen Âge, ed. Agostino Paravicini Bagliardi (Florence: SISMEL–Edizioni del Galluzo, 2015), 4. 7 Béatrice Caseau, “Christian bodies: the senses and early Byzantine Christianity,” in Desire and Denial in Byzantium, ed. Liz James (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1999), 103–07; Freedman, Il gusto delle spezie, 97; Martin Roch, L'intelligence d'un sens:

For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María

63

Odeurs miraculeuses et odorat dans l'Occident du haut Moyen-Âge (Ve-VIIIe siècles) (Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 2009), 14. 8 On this topic, see Catherine Gauthier, “L’odeur et la lumière des dédicaces. L’encens et le luminaire dans le rituel de la dédicace d’église au haut moyen Âge,” in Mises en scène et mémoires de la consécration de l’église dans l’Occident médiéval, ed. Didier Méhu (Turnhout: Brepols, 2008), 75–88; Martin Roch, “Théophanie et liturgie: les odeurs de la dédicace de l'église Sainte-Agathe selon Grégoire le Grand (Dial., III, 30, 1-7),” in Mises en scène et mémoires de la consécration de l’église dans l’Occident médiéval, ed. Didier Méhu (Turnhout: Brepols, 2008), 51–73. 9 On perfume as a divine manifestation, see Pietro Meloni, Il profumo dell’immortalità: l’interpretazione patristica di Cantico 1,3 (Roma: Studium, 1975), XI. For an introduction to sensorial effects on medieval audiences that also provides abundant bibliographic references, see Palazzo, “Les cinq sens,” 347–51. See also, Éric Palazzo, “La liturgie et les cinq sens: les illustrations du ‘cartulaire’ de Saint-Martin du Canigou,” in La cultura en el Europa del siglo XIII: emisión, intermediación, audiencia (Pamplona: Gobierno de Navarra, Departamento de Cultura, Turismo y Relaciones Institucionales, 2014), 69–83. 10 Annick Le Guérer, I poteri dell’odore (Turin: Bollati Boringhieri, 2004), 172. 11 Caseau, “Christian bodies,” 107. 12 The biblical passages I will discuss from an olfactory point of view include the Song of Songs (Sg 1: 2–3), the anointing of Jesus by Mary of Bethany (Mt 26: 6– 13; Mk 14: 3–9; Lk 7: 36–50; and Jn 12: 1–8), and several relevant passages from 2 Corinthians (2 Cor 2: 14–16). For an in-depth study of their theological interpretation, see Meloni, Il profumo; Renzo Infante, “Maria di Betania e l’unzione di Gesù,” Vetera Christianorum 37 (2000): 35–55; Carrez, “Odeur du mort, odeur de vie (à propos de la 2 Cor. 2-16),” Revue d’Histoire et de philosophie religieuses 64 (1984): 135–41. 13 Meloni, Il profumo. 14 These include Cantigas 34, 39, 43, 54, 102, 128, 152, 192, 208, 251, 261, 408, 419, and 424 according to the numbering in Alfonso X, o Sabio, Cantigas de Santa María, ed. Walter Mettmann (Madrid: Clásicos Castalia, I [1986], II [1988], III [1989]), which has been the main primary source for the research presented here. 15 CSM 34, 39, 128, 208, 251, 261, 408, 419, and 424 mention fragrances and perfumes, whereas CSM 43, 54, 102, 152, and 192 refer to bad odours. 16 Cheirar is the most frequently used verb, it appears in CSM 34, 39, 43, 54, 102, 152, 192, and 261; sentir can be found in CSM 208 and 419; dar in CSM 34, 128, and 152; and finally, haver is used in CSM 102 and 408. 17 Plants can appear by means of either generic terms, such as fror, frores (flower, flowers) (CSM 251, 408), ervas (herbs) (CSM 408), and raizes (roots) (CSM 408), or specific references to flowers, such as lilies (CSM 128), violets (CSM 128), and roses (CSM 251). Among the scented products, we find rose water (CSM 39 and 128), fruit (CSM 251), spices (CSM 34, 261, 389, and 408), incense and myrrh (CSM 242), balm, and ointment (CSM 34).

64

18

Chapter Three

Only CSM 54 contains a direct reference to an unpleasant smell: “peyor cheirava que a caavrǔna” (it smelled worse than a cadaver) (l. 34). 19 See CSM 43, 152, and 192 for examples of the the former structure and CSM 152 for the latter. 20 CSM 251 and 419. 21 Cantiga 34 notes that the depiction of the Virgin is a “well-made image [...] painted on wood” “omage pintada [...] en tavoa” (ll. 10-11). Cantiga 39 uses the generic term omage (image) (ll. 13; 16; 21; 35), and later specifies that it is indeed a painting (l. 33). In Cantigas 128 and 208 the images appear inside a beehive and seem to portray the Virgin holding Jesus: “the Most Holy Virgin was [...] holding Her Son, Jesus Christ” “Virgen e com’abraçava/a seu Fillo Jesus-Christo” (CSM 128, ll. 53–54), “the statue of the Virgin with Her Son” “a omagen cousiu / da Virgen cono seu Fillo […]” (CSM 208, ll. 41–42). 22 The emanation of scented oils from relics, icons and tombs in unstable and dangerous contexts is commonplace in many Eastern Mediterranean accounts, see Béatrice Caseau, “Parfum et guérison dans le christianisme ancien et byzantin: des huiles parfumées des médicins au ‘myron’ des saints byzantines,” in Pères de l’Église face à la science medical de leur temps, ed. Véronique Boudon-Millot et al (Paris: Beauchesne, 2005), 189–190. 23 CSM 128, ll. 54–55: “[...] e mui mellor odor dava / que liros nen vïoletas non dan, nen agua rosada” (and giving off a fragrance sweeter than lilies, violets, or rose water); CSM 34, ll. 27–28: “que specias d’Ultramar, balssamo nen onguento, / non cheiravan atan ben com’ esta que emento” (that spices from the East, balsam or unguent, would not smell as pleasant as the image which I mention). 24 This device is also used to describe the odour of sanctity in CSM 261, although in this case the basis for it is only one noun: “e viu-a morta e mellor cheirar / que nullas especias d’Ultramar” (he saw her dead, and she smelled more fragrant than spices that they bring from the Holy Land) (ll. 80–81). 25 CSM 39, ll. 35-38: “Da omagen nen ar foi afumada, / ante semellava que mui lavada / fora ben toda con agua rosada, / assi cheirava con ssa cobertura” (of the statue was not soiled with smoke in any way. Rather, it seemed that the statue had been bathed in rose water, for it and its raiment gave off that fragrance). 26 A section below is exclusively devoted to the analysis of Cantiga 34. 27 The protagonist of CSM 128 is a peasant (vilão) (l. 9), and the main character of CSM 208 is a heretic “ereges de muitas guisas” (heretics of many kinds), while the setting is always European: Flanders (CSM 128) and Toulouse (CSM 208). These two cantigas seem to share a common Central European origin and appear in the compilations of Marian miracles put together by Peter the Venerable and Caesarius of Heisterbach. For a detailed study on this topic see Jaime Ferreiro Alemparte, “Fuentes germánicas en las cantigas de Santa María de Alfonso X el Sabio,” Grial 31 (1971): 36–62. 28 CSM 208, ll. 43–44: “[...] sobr’ ele, e ar sentiu / un odor tan saboroso que logo foi convertudo.” This kind of perception that transports the reader to the innermost feelings of the protagonist is also found in CSM 419, ll. 82–83: “‘[...] vosqu’.” E logo sentiu / tod’ aquela companna mui bon odor e viu / claridade que todo o lógu’

For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María

65

enlumeou” (At once, all that company smelled a beautiful aroma and saw a light which illuminated the whole place). In contrast, the external narrator in Cantiga 128, notes that the image “mui mellor odor dava” (gave off a fragrance sweeter than lilies, violets or rose water) (l. 54). 29 Olfactory references are built on a triad of nouns: “rosa ou outra fror / ou fruita” (a rose or other flower or a fragrant fruit) (CSM 251, ll. 30–31); “ouro de que aos reis dan, / encensso por espirital, / mirra de que os mortos van” (gold which befits kings; incense because it is spiritual; myrrh, with which they anoint the dead so that they will never decay) (CSM 424, ll. 56–58). 30 See, among other examples, Gn 8: 21; Ex 29, 18; and Lv 2: 2. 31 CSM 424, ll. 57–59: “encensso por espirital”; “mirra de que os mortos van / ungir por nunca podreçer.” 32 The first reference to the use of incense in Christian liturgy appears in the Itinerarium Egeriae, see The Pilgrimage of Etheria, ed. and trans. M. L. Herbert McClure, and Charles Lett Feltoe (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1919), 49: “Dictis ergo his tribus psalmis et factis orationibus tribus ecce etiam thiamataria inferuntur intro spelunca Anastasis, ut tota basilica Anastasis repleatur odoribus” (After these three psalms and three prayers are ended, lo! censers are brought into the cave of the Anastasis so that the whole basilica of the Anastasis is filled with odours); see also Caseau, “Christian bodies,” 107. On the links between incense and prayer, see Susan Ashbrook, Scenting Salvation: Ancient Christianity and the Olfactory Imagination (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), 92. 33 CSM 251, ll. 30–34: “E levava-lle sempre rosa ou outra fror / ou fruita que achasse de mui bõa odor.” 34 See, for instance, the refranh of the first cantiga de loor (song of praise) in the compilation, which evinces a clear biblical inspiration (Rv 19: 16), CSM 10, ll. 1– 2: “Rosa das rosas, Fror das frores, Dona das donas, Sennor das sennores” (Rose of roses, Flower of flowers, Dame of dames, Lady of ladies). 35 CSM 261, ll. 49–61: “[…] ‘—Estes foron sofrer / por Deus en este mund’ e endurar / muitas coitas por ele veer / no parayso, e poren chamar / lles foron santos per todo logar (…) E os outros que oydes leer / loando a Deus e aposto cantar, / angeos son que o sempre veer / poden; e aqueles dous que chegar / veedes, JhesuCristo sen dultar / ést’ e sa Madre, onde foi nacer’” (‘These beings suffered for God in this world and endured many hardships in order to see Him in Paradise, therefore, they were called saints everywhere’ [...] ‘The others whom you hear reading and praising God and singing beautifully are angels who may always see Him. Those two whom you see approaching are, without doubt, Jesus Christ and His Mother of whom He was born’). 36 CSM 261, ll. 70–75: [...] e pois chegou, fez as portas britar / e buscou a dona pola veer,/ e viu-a morta e mellor cheirar / que nullas especias d’Ultramar / daquestas que ende soen trager. 37 Martin Roch, “Odeurs extraordinaires et emotions dans le haut Moyen Âge,” in Le sujet des emotions au Moyen Âge, ed. Damien Boquet and Piroska Nagy (París: Beauchesne, 2009), 53.

66

Chapter Three

38 For an in-depth overview of this subject, see Jean-Pierre Albert, Odeurs de saintité. La mythologie chrétienne des aromates (Paris: Éditions de l’École des Haues Études en Sciences Sociales, 1996); Robert Penkett, “Perceiving the other: sensory phenomena and experience in the early medieval Other World,” Reading Medieval Studies 25 (1999): 91–106; Roch, “Odeurs extraordinaires”; and Roch, L'intelligence. 39 One of the first accounts of the occurrence of the odour of sanctity is described by Paulinus of Milan at the request of Augustine of Hippo, and refers to the discovery of the remains of St Celsus by Ambrose of Milan: “Vidimus autem in seplucro, in quo iacebat coprus martyris [...] Etiam odore tant repleti sumus, ut omnium aromatum vinceret suavitatem”; see, Roch, L'intelligence, 255. On the frequency of such episodes in traslationes and inventions, see ibid., 249. 40 Suzanne Evans, “The scent of a martyr,” Numen: International Review for the History of Religions 49:2 (2008), 193. 41 CSM 419, ll. 80–84: “Outro dia San Pedro a voz de Deus oyu / que lles diss: ‘Aqui sõo vosqu’.’ E logo sentiu / tod’ aquela companna mui bon odor e viu / claridade que todo / o log’ enlumeou” (The next day Saint Peter heard the voice of God Who said to them: ‘I am here with you.’ At once, all that company smelled a beautiful aroma and saw a light which illuminated the whole place). 42 CSM 408, ll. 5–6: “Ca non vos obra con ervas, / nen con raizes nen frores, nen con especias outras / macar x’ an bõos odores.” 43 Freedman, Il gusto delle spezie, 27. 44 Caseau, “Parfum et guérison,” 151–75. 45 CSM 43, l. 53: “e dous días á que cheira.” 46 CSM 54, ll. 31–34: “[...] ena garganta ouv’ enfermidade / tan maa que, com’ aprix en verdade, / peior cheirava que a caavrinna.” 47 Michael R. McVaugh, “Smells and the medieval surgeon,” Micrologus: Natura, scienze e società medievali. Nature, Sciences and Medieval Societies 10 (2002): 122–24. 48 CSM 102, ll. 44–45: “de muita maa cheiror.” 49 CSM 192, ll. 94–96: “per que na fogueira / d’inferno que cheira / non podess’ arder.” 50 On the topic of infernal imagery, see Evans, “The scent of a martyr,” 197; Penkett, “Perceiving the other,” 102; and Clifford Davidson, “Heaven's fragrance,” in The Iconography of Heaven, ed. Clifford Davidson (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 1994), 110–27. 51 CSM 152, l. 22: “hNJa branqu’ escudela de prata, grand’ e fermosa.” 52 The content of the bowl is described in the following terms, “chêa dun manjar mui jalne, non de vida saborosa, / mas amarga, e sen esto dava mui maos odores” (“full of a dark yellow subtance. It was not a tasty food but bitter, and futhermore, it emitted a foul odor” (ll. 23–24). The word amargor appears again at the end of the composition as part of the description of hell: “per que yrás a inferno, / que é chêo d’amargores” (Therefore, you will go to Hell, which is full of bitter suffering) (l. 34).

For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María

67

53 On this theme, see Teresa Marullo, “Osservazioni sulle Cantigas di Alfonso X e sui Miracles di Gautier de Coincy,” Archivium Romanicum 18 (1934): 495–540; Valeria Bertolucci, “Contributo allo studio della letteratura miracolistica,” Miscellanea di studi ispanici 6 (1963): 5–72; and Elvira Fidalgo, As Cantigas de Santa Maria (Vigo: Edicións Xerais de Galicia, 2002), 16–48. 54 Guy Philippart, “Le récit miraculaire marial dans l’Occident médiéval,” in Marie: le culte de la Vierge dans la société médiévale, ed. Dominique Iogna-Prat (Paris: Beauchesne, 1996), 568. 55 Adamnán of Iona, I luoghi santi, ed. and trans. Maria Guagnano (Bari: Edipuglia, 2008), 259. 56 CSM 9 also recounts the emanation of oil by a Byzantine icon; see CSM 9, ll. 168–173: “Carne, non dultamos, / se fez e saia / dela, mas non rança / grossain et sejamos / certos que corria / e corr’ avondança” (Doubt not, it became flesh, and sweet, not rancid, oil issued from it, and we may be assured that it flowed and still flows abundantly). For a discussion on this topic, see Luigi Canetti, “‘Suxerunt oleum de firma petra’. Unzione dei simulacri e immagini miracolose tra Antichità e Medioevo,” in Studi di storia del cristianesimo per Alba Maria Orselli, ed. Luigi Canetti (Ravenna: Longo Angelo, 2008), 61–87. 57 Philippart, “Le récit miraculaire marial,” 567–68. 58 The only olfactory reference in the tradition of this miracle belongs to the collection of Anglo-Norman miracles. However, in this case, the emanation of perfume occurs in a very different context. First, the characters of the AngloRoman story are all angelic figures and, secondly, the olfactory miracle takes place in a sacred space, for the image only emanates perfume once it taken to a church. See Hilding Kjellman, La deuxième collection anglo-normande des miracles de la Vierge et son original latin avec les miracles correspondants des mss. fr. 375 et 818 de la Bibliothèque nationale (Uppsala: Akademiska Bokhandeln, 1922), 229: “La seint ymage fu sus porté / E en le église fu reportée / Par angles ke unke celé figure / Re ne tucha de cel ordure. / Mes plus fleira ducement / Ke nul espece fet de Orient. (…).” 59 Egon Sendler, L’icona: immagine dell’invisibile. Elementi di teologia, estetica e tecnica (Roma: Edizioni Paoline, 1985), 41. On olfactory rituals that revolve around icons, see Bissera V. Pentcheva, The Sensual Icon: Space, Ritual and the Senses in Byzantium (Pennsylvania: University Park, 2010), 36–44. 60 Palazzo, “Les cinq sens,” 362. 61 Marie-France Auzépy, “L’évolution de l’attitude face au miracle à Byzance (VIIe - IXe siècles),” in Miracles, prodiges et meraveilles au Moyen Âge (París: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1995), 38–44. 62 Fidalgo, As Cantigas de Santa Maria, 277. 63 CSM 162, ll. 5–11: “Ca en onrrar-las dereit’ é / e en lles avermos gran devoçon, / non ja por elas, a la fe, / mas pola figura da en que son; / e sól non devemos provar / de as trager mal nen viltar. / A sas figuras muit’ onrrar” (for it is fitting to honor them and render great devotion to them, not for their own sake, by my faith, but because of Her whom they represent. We should never attempt to bring harm to them nor defile them. We should greatly revere the images).

68

64

Chapter Three

The miniature that appears next to the text features a very specific iconographic depiction: a Virgin Hodigetria. This kind of icon had a great significance in Byzantine tradition for its creation was attributed to St Luke himself; see Francisco Corti, “Iconos dentro de la miniaturas de las Cantigas de Santa Maria,” in El Mediterráneo y el arte español, ed. Comité Español de Historia del Arte (Valencia: Generalitat de València, 1996), 9. This tradition is also conveyed in CSM 264, l. 16: “foron aa omagen que San Lucas fezera” (went to the image which Saint Luke had painted). 65 On the presence of Jews in the CSM see Albert Bagby, “The Jew in the Cántigas of Alfonso X El Sabio,” Speculum 46, no. 4 (1971): 670–88, and Paulino Rodríguez Barral, “La dialéctica texto-imagen a propósito de la representación del judío en las Cantigas de Santa Maria de Alfonso X,” Anuario de Estudios Medievales 37 (2007): 213–43. 66 Fidalgo, As Cantigas de Santa Maria, 120: “aleccionar un publico sobre a xenerosidade da Virxe.” 67 For a comprehensive study on narrative models in the CSM, see Fidalgo, As Cantigas de Santa Maria, 96–135. 68 The cantigas set in Constantinople are CSM 9, 25, 28, 34, 131, 196, 231, 264, 342, and 405. The miracles drawn from Byzantine tradition spread across Western Europe due to pilgrimages; see Fidalgo, As Cantigas de Santa Maria, 378. 69 On the application of this methodology, see Giovanni Borriero, “‘Omnia tempus habent’: per una lettura di CSM 4,” in Forme del tempo e del cronotopo nelle letterature romanze e orientali, ed. Gaetano Lalomia et al, (Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino, 2014), 453–78. 70 CSM 34, ll. 10–11: “HNJa omage pintada na rua siya / en tavoa” (There was in the street a well-made image [...] painted on wood); ibid., ll. 12–13: “que non podian achar ontr’outras mais de cento / tan fremosa” (that even if one examined more than a hundred, not another equal it could be found); ibid., ll. 13 and 15: “que furtar foi un judeu a tento […] / De noit’” (“A Jew stole it one night). 71 This figure is not only used due to the syntactic requirements of medieval Galician, but also with clear metrical purposes in order to maintain the rhyme, as in the following cases: muit’ enatio estava (was foul) (l. 25); bõo cheiro dava (gave off such a beautiful fragrance) (l. 26); mantenente lavou-a (he washed it [...] at once) (l. 30); and a ssa casa levou-a (took it to his house) (l. 31). This example shows how hyperbatons are used to create a rhyme scheme based on the endings of verbal forms. In other cases, anastrophes help highlight the image of the Virgin by placing it at the beginning of a line, as in a omagen foi sacar (took the image out) (l. 26). 72 Another example of anastrophe can be found in CSM 34, ll. 6–7: “que fez en Constantinoble, na rica cidade, / a Virgen” (the Virgin [...] performed in the rich city of Constantinople). Prolepses are also frequent, see furtar foi (stole it) (l. 13), apareçudo / foi (without a trace) (ll. 21–22), feit’ouve (had done) (l. 35). 73 The presence of coblas capfinidas, that is, when the last rhyme word of one stanza appears in the first line of the next one, is not only due to the use of polyptotons. See, for instance, the following cases: foi a perdimento (went to

For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María

69

perdition), foi mort (was thus killed) (Stanzas III–IV, ll. 18 and 20); logar balorento (evil-smelling hole), logar muit’enatio (place [...] foul) (Stanzas IV-V, ll. 23 and 25). 74 See CSM 34, l. 10: HNJa omage (a well-made image); and ibid., ll. 23 and 25: a omagen (the image). 75 CSM 34, l. 8: “que quen contra ela vay, palla é contra vento.” 76 CSM 34, ll. 12–13: “que non podian achar ontr’outras mais de cento / tan fremosa.” 77 CSM 34, l. 17: “fez gran falimento.” 78 The negative atmosphere is built through the use of terms such as furtar (steal) (l. 13), furtada (hidden) (l. 15), deitar (threw) (l. 16), gran falimento (desecrated it shamefully) (l. 17), matou (killed) (l. 18), perdimento (perdition) (l. 18), mort’ (killed) (l. 20), cofondudo (condemned) (l. 20), and logar balorento (evil-smelling place) (l. 23). 79 The part devoted to the Christian is defined by positive expressions such as bon enssinamento (conscientious) (l. 22), bõo cheiro (beautiful fragrance) (l. 26), cheiravan [...] ben (had a pleasant smell) (l. 28), en bon logar (in a proper place) (l. 32), comprimento (offerings) (l. 32), salvamento (salvation) (l. 33). 80 In the case of the Jew, there is a link between desecration and perdition, see CSM 34, ll. 17–18: “des i assentous-ss’ aly e fez gran falimento; / mas o demo o matou, e foi a perdimento” (then he sat down there and desecrated it shamefully. The devil killed him, and he went to perdition). Analogously, worship and salvation are connected in the case of the Christian, see CSM 34, ll. 32–33: “e en bon logar a pos e fez-lle comprimento / de quant’ ouve de fazer por aver salvamento” (He put it in a proper place and made offerings to it for his salvation). 81 The voice of the narrator is apparent in the verbal forms in the first person singular: direi (I shall relate) (l. 5), emento (I mention) (l. 28), and ficasse (I serve) (l. 38). 82 See, in the exordium, CSM 34, l. 5: “Poren direi un mirage, que foi gran verdade” (Concerning this, I shall relate a true miracle); and in the closure, ibid., l. 38: “que ficasse deste feito por renenbramento” (to serve as a reminder of this wondrous event). 83 CSM 34, ll. 25–28: “E pero que o logar muit’ enatio estava,/ a omagen quant’ en si muy bõo cheiro dava,/ que specias d’Ultramar, balssamo nen onguento,/ non cheiravan atan ben com’ esta que emento.” 84 See for instance, the commentary by Bruno of Segni (1045–1123): “Sed quid dicam de odoratu, quo fideles tuos instruxi, qua ratione discernere valeant inter catholicam doctrinam, et fetentem haereticam parvitatem?” (Bruno of Segni, Commentaria in Matthaeum, PL 165: col. 281). This topic is also discussed in Palazzo, L’invention, 80. 85 On the disappearance of bad odours upon conversion, see Roch, L'intelligence, 235; Le Guérer, I poteri, 43; Mark Smith, “Transcending, othering, detecting: smell, premodernity, modernity,” Postmedieval 3, no. 4 (2012), 383–86. The loss of bodily marks in a context of conversion is also frequent in other CSM; see, for example, CSM 4, discussed in Borriero, “‘Omnia tempus habent’.”

70

Chapter Three

86 The climaxing sequence is based on the allegories usually associated with these three products, that is, spices as an allegory of the garden of Eden, balsam as a symbol of the Holy Spirit, and ointment—as I have mentioned above—as an allegory of Christ. 87 Bruno Lauroiux, “Parfums d’Orient. La sciences des épecies au Moyen Âge,” in Parfums et odeurs au Moyen Âge, ed. Agostino Paravicini Bagliardi (Florence: SISMEL–Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2015), 61; Freedman, Il gusto delle spezie, 12. 88 Freedman, Il gusto delle spezie, 15. 89 For other instances of the use of this term, see CSM 1, 5, 46, 155, 165, 261, 377, and 401. 90 Saint John of Acre, the setting for CSM 172, was among the main ports for spice trade (Freedman, Il gusto delle spezie, 129). Another interesting reference to the connection between the Holy Land and spices appears in another of King Alfonso’s works, the Gran conquista de Ultramar; the chapter devoted to the conquest of Jerusalem recounts how, “E toda havía de estar llena de especias e de frutas e de árboles, (…) E aquí devía nascer garigal, e genigibre, e pimienta, e cardamonio, e citoal, e girofle, e macis, e nuez moscada, e madero áloe, e sándalo, e mirra e encienso, e todas las buenas especias del paraýso” (And it had to be full of spices and fruits and trees (…) And there grew garingal, and ginger, and pepper, and cardamom, and white turmeric, and clove, and mace, and nutmeg, and aloeswood, and sandalwood, and myrrh and incense, and all the good spices of paradise); see Alfonso X, o Sabio, La gran conquista de Ultramar, ed. Luis Cooper (Bogotá: Instituto Caro y Cuervo, 1945), Book III, Chapter 1. 91 Albert, Odeurs de saintité, 2. 92 Emanuela Braida, “Del balsamo, aroma d’Oriente,” Rivista di Storia e Letteratura religiosa 38 (2002): 411. 93 Caseau, “Le parfum de Dieu,” 4–20. 94 Alfonso X, o Sabio, Setenario, ed. Kenneth H. Vanderford (Buenos Aires: Instituto de filología, 1945), 157: “Los olios de sse ha de ffazer la crisma son de dos maneras, el uno del bálssamo, et el otro de oliuas” (Two types of oils are needed to make chrism, balsam and olive oil). Ibid., 170–73: “boluer deuen del olio del crisma con el del bálssamo” (the oil of the chrism and the balsam oil need to be combined). Ibid., 157: “Et el olio del bálssamo e el de las oliuas sson ssemeiantes a Nuestro Ssennor Ihesu Cristo en ssiete cosas: en buena fama; en buena olor; en que el bálssamo es e vn logar ssolo; en que no se puede dannar; en que ssana las llagas nuevas e tuelle las ssennales vieias; en que gouyerna e mantiene; et en que amansa e amolleçe las cosas duras.” (And balsam and olive oil resemble Our Lord Jesus Christ in seven things: in good reputation; in good odour; in the fact that balsam can only be found in one place; in the fact that it does not spoil; in the fact that it heals new sores and attenuates the signs of the old ones; in the fact that it nurtures and preserves; in the fact that it softens and smooths hard things over). 95 Freedman, Il gusto delle spezie, 27. Chrism was not only used in sacramental and sacerdotal anointings, and in the consecration of bishops and monarchs, but also in other consecrations. See, Alfonso X, o Sabio. Las siete partidas: El libro

For an Olfactive Interpretation of the Cantigas de Santa María

71

del fuero de las leyes, ed. José Sánchez-Arcilla Bernal (Madrid: Reus, 2004), 15: “Han de ungir otras cosas según costumbre de santa Iglesia demás de aquellas que sobredichas son en las leyes antes de ésta así como cuando consagran iglesias que ungen las paredes haciendo cruces con la crisma en lugares contados. E otrosí ungen altares e las aras cuando las consagran. E los cálices cuando los bendicen.” (They are to anoint other things according to the custom of the holy Church, besides those aforementioned in previous laws, such as when they consecrate churches by anointing the walls with chrism in certain places in the form of a cross; and yet others anoint altars when they consecrate them; and chalices when they bless them). 96 Alfonso X, o Sabio, Setenario, 157: “el bálssamo ssana las llagas nueuas e tuelle las ssenales de las vieias; [...] los coraçones que sson llagados por yerros que ffizeron los peccadores e tuelle las sennales de las tentaçiones que les metió el diablo en las voluntades.” 97 See note 12 above. 98 Meloni, Il profumo, 92. 99 Meloni, Il profumo, 104. 100 Ashbrook, Scenting Salvation, 94. 101 Mettman, Cantigas de Santa María, vol. I, 143–44.

CHAPTER FOUR BEYOND ECONOMIC SPACES: SMELLS, COLOURS, FLAVOURS, AND SOUNDS IN THE MEDIEVAL MARKETS AND FAIRS OF THE COUNTY OF BARCELONA BETWEEN THE ELEVENTH AND THE THIRTEENTH CENTURIES MARIA SOLER SALA

In recent years, our knowledge of medieval markets and fairs has significantly improved. The intensive study of historical sources has allowed us to understand the role of markets in the High Middle Ages, rescuing it from the insignificance to which it had been relegated, and contributing to a reinterpretation of their function in the medieval period. Thus, thanks to research, we have learned that markets were not only fundamental economic spaces in European feudal societies, but that they also played a significant role in the lives of their contemporaries.1 Medieval marketplaces were much more than spaces for the purchase and sale of supplies: they were also meeting points, broke the monotony of everyday life, and became a relevant arena in the life experience of the men and women of the time.2 Approaching the markets of medieval villages as living spaces is not a simple task, for it involves addressing the sensations perceived by the women and men who gathered there, which are rarely recorded in historical sources. In order to do this, we must conceptualize the marketplace as something more than a centre of economic exchange, and understand it instead as a public space linked to cultural, ideological, and social references. In medieval markets and fairs, we find buyers and sellers—the agents—products—the supply—and needs—the demand—but

74

Chapter Four

also many attitudes and preferences that were determined by cultural perceptions. To face the challenge of studying the market as a living space, I have adopted two distinct analysis strategies. On the one hand, I have focused my research on the network of markets and fairs articulated in the territory of the county of Barcelona between the eleventh and the thirteenth century, which has been the object of intense research in recent years.3 On the other hand, this chapter is based not only on written documents— which are not very explicit for this early medieval period—but also on the information provided by archaeological evidence and the evolutionary study of urban topography. All this will allow us to analyse the marketplace from the perspective of sensorial perceptions, and to enter the atmosphere of fragrances, colours, flavours, and sounds characteristic of medieval fairs and markets.

Medieval Markets and Fairs Exchanges are a necessary phenomenon for any society. At least this was what Nicholas de Oresme thought in the mid-fourteenth century, when he wondered about the origin of coins, for which he provided a biblical explanation.4 Because of Sin, Man was expelled from the abundance of Paradise and forced to work to be able to feed himself. From that moment onwards, farmers would work the land but would not have access to meat, whereas shepherds would have meat but lack fresh food. The farmer’s need to purchase the produce of the shepherd, and vice versa, would have pushed both to trade. At first, this would happen through the exchange of products and, later, through the use of an instrument that would soon become essential: coins. Oresme’s interpretation hints at the medieval conception of the profound antiquity, not only of exchange activities but also of the mechanisms designed to organize their functioning. The medieval world maintained an intense relation with markets from the very beginning. The appearance of increasingly abundant archaeological evidence on the existence of exchanges during the first medieval centuries, as well as the detection of continuities of use in the road network, and the identification of telonea—taxes collected on the circulation and sale of goods—in Carolingian documents bear witness to the movement of goods and merchandise during the Early Middle Ages.5 The fact that some markets located in areas with a strong Roman tradition were never awarded a charter and are described using the archaism forum—in addition to the

Beyond Economic Spaces

75

usual mercatum—in eleventh-century documents, seems to betray the ancient origin of some of these commercial meeting places.6 However, it was not until the introduction of feudalism that markets increased their presence in written documentation. The expansion of cultivated land, the imposition of crops that could easily become rents in kind, and the increase in production turned the market into the fundamental economic valve of the feudal system. In this context, markets were necessary for both farmers and lords. Whereas for the former the village market was the place to sell the agricultural surplus in exchange for money, which was in turn necessary to acquire everything that they were not able to produce, for landowners it constituted the space to commercialize the products they received as rents. Their shared need to exchange surpluses and rents in kind led to a rearrangement of previous economic flows, the creation of new markets, and the institutionalization of a trade network that operated on two different levels: weekly markets and annual fairs (Fig.4-1).7 Weekly markets were held once a week in villages of a certain economic standing. They were attended by local producers and buyers, but also by those who lived less than a day away and therefore within the village market’s area of influence. In the twelfth century, the need for strategic economic events of regional and sometimes even international importance, prompted the appearance of fairs. According to their charter, they were celebrated once a year—or twice if the village was granted the privilege of refira—and lasted between a week and a fortnight. These fairs gathered not only local buyers and producers, but also professional merchants who supplied quality goods from distant origins.8 As villages increased their economic dynamism, the weekly market fell short as a trading space, and the need arose to have a stable supply of staples throughout the week, which resulted in the gradual appearance of new dedicated places for the marketing of specific food products. Wheat, oil, vegetable, and cabbage marketplaces are documented in the villages of the county of Barcelona from the thirteenth century onwards, evincing the commercial transactions that took place there and have survived fossilized in toponyms and in the urban planning of towns and cities.9 The process of institutionalization of exchange activities involved enforcing peace in the marketplace, which in turn guaranteed a certain freedom of movement for both merchants and products. Each market had a system of weights and measures of its own and slowly incorporated a

76

Chapter Four

series of regulations to monitor the quality of products, to fight against speculation, and to ensure the proper development of trade.10 Thus, in the Late Middle Ages, municipalities promoted the appearance of officers whose mission was to guarantee the quality of the products sold in the market. For instance, in fourteenth-century Igualada we find custodis—in charge of guarding the cereal—baners—responsible for monitoring weights and measures—and lastly, the mostassaf or market inspector.11 Other villages in the county of Barcelona, such as Granollers or Vilafranca del Penedès, also underwent a process of progressive regulation of economic exchanges.12 At the end of the fourteenth century, these two villages had a mostassaf and, later on, both of them compiled the by-laws related to market control in their respective Ordinacions de mostassaferia.13

The platea mercatalis or Marketplace A good way to approach markets as living spaces is through the analysis of their physical form. The study of the urban topography of the market towns in the county of Barcelona can shed light on the characterization of medieval marketplaces, and therefore on how commercial exchanges materialized and were experienced by their actors. To this purpose, we have used Geographic Information Systems (GIS), which allow the representation of information from a variety of sources on the same cartographic basis, thus enabling its analysis from the perspective of the urban evolution of medieval villages.14 The results of this study show that the platea mercatalis was usually an open and diaphanous space in the middle of a street crossing. Many of these streets, which became roads outside the boundaries of the urban area, still bear today the name of the town to which they led, conveying a clear commercial origin: Barcelona Street, Tarragona Street, Granollers Street, and La Granada Street for instance. Sometimes the market square was large, such as in the Mercadal de Sabadell, one of the largest in the county of Barcelona. However, the square was often much smaller and it was located in the area surrounding the church or in the junction of streets/roads that crossed each other inside the village. In the case of Sabadell, as in Granollers, Martorell or La Granada, the market square constituted an important pole of population attraction.15 The successive growth of exchange activities in the most dynamic villages determined a change in the location and shape of the market square according to the needs of each moment. When the original square became too small to accommodate the commercial momentum of the city,

Beyond Economic Spaces

77

the market was moved to a larger space, often outside the city walls, and new suburban neighbourhoods grew around it. This was the case, for example, in Martorell, where the congestion of the square located next to the primitive church of Santa Maria determined the creation of a new marketplace outside the city walls, at the foot of the old Via Augusta, which fossilized in the present urban planning of the city. It was also the case of Sant Celoni, where the need to have a larger market prompted the move from the original square to a location outside the walls, in front of the portal Major (the main gate), where a porticoed square known as plaça del Bestiar (Cattle Square) was built. Something similar happened in Olesa de Montserrat, where the market moved from the church square to the Porxada de la Verdura (literally, Vegetable Portico), built beyond the original walls.16 The market space had to guarantee the proper development of exchanges, therefore all kinds of resources were used to improve its performance if it was not deemed suitable. This can be seen in Vilanova de Cubelles, where King Pere III’s granting of a charter for a market and fair in 1381 entailed the construction of a new square in the centre of the town, which led to the demolition of some houses.17 In this particular case, this square was used for the celebration of both the weekly market and the annual fair, whereas in some villages these two types of commercial events were held in separate places. This is what happened in Vilafranca del Penedès, where the market was held inside the walled enclosure, while the fair took place outside the city walls, in the space today occupied by the Penedès Square.18 In the marketplace, sellers arranged their products in order to show them to buyers. The typology and complexity of the stalls must have encompassed a wide variety of forms, for these depended on the professionalization of the seller and the type of products sold: from simple boxes, baskets, panniers, and cage-baskets for poultry, to more sophisticated stalls featuring a counter on which the available products were displayed. These counters, consisting of two simple planks resting on trestles or boxes, had to be light and easily removable, for they had to be assembled and disassembled every time the market was held. At times, the counter was sheltered by a cloth awning stretched out on two or more wooden posts set upright in the ground. Evidence of the post holes left by this type of mobile structures has been identified at an archaeological level in some Catalan markets, such as the old Quintana Square in Vic.19 On many occasions, however, this function was carried

78

Chapter Four

out by the portico, still extant in many towns and villages, such as Sabadell, Igualada, La Granada, Olesa de Montserrat, and Sant Boi de Llobregat. In this last case, the construction of the porticoed square was related to the construction of a bridge over the Llobregat River, whose objective was to ensure the transit of people and goods from the plain of Barcelona to Vilafranca del Penedès and Zaragoza.20 On other occasions, however, the stalls were fixed. These appear as taules (tables) in written documentation, and could be leased by sellers. This is what happened in Granollers and Vilafranca del Penedès, where the tables had something of a structure and were arranged next to each other.21 We can also find lasting structures in the market of Martorell, where archaeological excavations have allowed the location of a series of silos that possibly functioned as granaries linked to commercial activity.22 The market square was the main centre of economic attraction in medieval villages, and numerous workshops of artisans had a shop that opened directly to the market. For instance, from the end of the twelfth century onwards, in Vilafranca del Penedès there was a macello or butcher’s shop, a furnum panis (baker’s shop) and several botycas (shops) overlooking the square.23 Furthermore, Vilafranca—like other Catalan market towns such as Igualada or L'Arboç—also had a public scrivener’s office. This privilege was granted by King Alfons I in 1188, and it was absolutely necessary to guarantee the economic transactions of merchants.24

Colours, Flavours, and Smells in the Market To approach the range of perceptions that could be experienced in the market, we must analyse the two main elements that converged there: people and goods. Buyers, sellers, and occasional visitors brought movement and sounds to the marketplace, while the commercialized products transferred their own accents to the atmosphere of colours, tastes, and smells (often, also stenches) of these commercial events. The study of these elements will allow us to enter the scene of sensorial stimuli that characterized medieval fairs and markets. Identifying the products sold in rural markets between the eleventh and the thirteenth century is not a simple task. There are no extant hygienic or operating regulations from this period, but we do have some indirect sources. First, wills, which often record the bequest of food products— especially cereal or wine—that must be sold in the market in exchange for

Beyond Economic Spaces

79

money. Secondly, the accounting records of the royal house and the families of the high Catalan nobility for every time they stayed in one of their rural properties are also interesting. These documents include the purchases made to support the family and their entourage while they were in the area, and are quite revealing as to the products that were sold in the market.25 Finally, late medieval mostassaf ordinances should also be taken into account, even if they appeared in a later period, for they perfectly convey the diversity of products sold during these commercial events.26 The analysis of all these sources evinces that weekly markets had an essentially alimentary purpose. Most of the marketed products were staple foods, especially cereals. In a time when bread had become the basis of the diet of all social sectors, grain and, by extension, loafs, ended up as fundamental products.27 The place names of some of the most relevant market towns in the territory—for instance, both Granollers and La Granada derive from the same linguistic root ‘gra’ (grain)—attest to this, as do their systems of weights and measures, usually established in relation to the purchase of cereals.28 Besides the various types of grain—wheat, barley, and spelt29—other products with more vivid colours, smells, and tastes also reached the marketplace. This was the case of wine, which usually came straight from the hands of local producers and from those who lived within the market’s radius of influence.30 All kinds of wine—white, red, young, and old31— were probably sold in weekly markets, as well as some of the necessary instruments for its production and storage, such as the “tonnam quam compravit in Calidis” documented in Sant Martí de Provençals.32 The range of colours, tastes, and smells diversifies when we take into account fresh produce, harvested at dawn by local and foreign farmers: fruits and vegetables of all kinds were sold in the market.33 Along with fresh produce we also find dried fruits and vegetables, as well as agricultural products such as jams, syrups, and compotes.34 Honey—the basic sweetener of medieval cuisine—and salt were also sold there.35 In contrast, evidence of the sale of oil is scarce, given feudal society’s preference for animal fat. Its consumption was connected to the cooking of fish and penitential days, and apart from the case of Caldes de Montbui— where there are extant traces of an important specialization in the production and commercialization of this product36—its presence in the market was probably of little relevance.

80

Chapter Four

Fresh meat was sold in the butcher’s shop, which was located near the market square and was usually a royal or seigneurial monopoly. However, all sorts of poultry—hens, chickens, chicks, capons, partridges, geese, and pigeons—were sold in the market, as well as animal by-products such as eggs, milk, and cheese, and locally produced cold and salted meats.37 Bearing in mind the numerous periods of abstinence of meat imposed by the Church, fresh and salted fish, coming not only from the coast, but also from rivers and streams, had to be among the most typical commodities. At least this is what the purchases by Queen Petronila and the lady of Montcada in the markets of Vilamajor and Sentmenat during the Lenten season show; as does the acquisition of “pex fre” and “pex salat” by the monarchs in the market of Manresa at the end of the twelfth century.38 For the period studied here, there are no municipal ordinances designed to preserve the hygiene and health standards of the market, and it was not until the Late Middle Ages that these appeared.39 They would include not only the obligation to clean the marketplace after exchange activities took place there, but also the creation of positions such as that of the mostassaf, who was responsible for ensuring the proper development of transactions and the quality, arrangement, and good aspect of the marketed merchandise. Thus, for instance, we fins the “ordenaments fets sobre los flaqués e flaqueres” (ordinances for male and female bakers) of Vilafranca del Penedès, by which they were forced to knead “bon pa e bell, e que no sia lleig” (good and nice-looking bread, that is not unpleasant in appearance).40 Besides food products, weekly markets also offered crafted goods that were manufactured both by local workshops and by artisans scattered throughout the surrounding territory: blacksmiths carried iron utensils and tools; potters sold ceramic ware; weavers offered clothes of various qualities; and shoemakers traded in footwear. Raw materials, such as wool, hemp, firewood or lime, could also be found in the market and were probably of interest to local craftsmen.41 In Vilafranca del Penedès, the commercialization of the so-called red cloth stands out among the products with the most vivid colours. This cloth was of the highest quality and it was acquired by the most refined social groups of Barcelona during the fair of Saint Luke.42 The universe of colours, flavours and, above all, smells significantly diversified in annual fairs, with the influx of two types of goods that are especially remarkable as far as their olfactory quality goes: spices and livestock. Both products were precisely connected in this sense in a

Beyond Economic Spaces

81

thirteenth-century French satirical tale made known by Massimo Montanari that brings us closer to the cultural meaning of smells.43 The protagonist of said story is a peasant who, passing by through the spice market of Montpellier while driving a cart laden with manure, is so drowned by the concentrated aromatic scents that he faints. He only comes to when someone puts some of his malodorous merchandise under his nose and forces him to smell it. Not only does this story ridicule the little familiarity of the rural world with such refined condiments, but also highlights two other interesting aspects: the intoxicating perception of the scent of spices and their highly symbolic value, for they were solely within the reach of the most powerful sectors of society. The presence of spices brought exotic colours, flavours, and aromas to annual fairs, but also to the rural markets whenever the demand required it. This is apparent in Vilamajor and Sentmenat, where Queen Petronila and the lady of Montcada bought considerable quantities of pepper in village markets.44 In fact, the most prized spice in the marketplaces of the county was always pepper, but the presence of cinnamon, cumin, and saffron is also documented. 45 The olfactory diversity of fairs was not only due to spices, but also to the fact that they were often the space for the sale of livestock. A good example is the market square of Sant Celoni, which was known as Plaça del Bestiar (Cattle Square) not only because of its dedicated cattle fair but also because of its relationship with the transhumant cattle routes that led to the Montseny Massif. The fair of Saint Luke, in Vilafranca del Penedès, was also an important animal market, where oxen, horses, and mules were sold. Likewise, the fairs of Montcada and Martorell were renowned for the quality of the cattle.46 In all these places, the presence of cattle would undoubtedly play a significant role in the olfactory experience of those who gathered there.

The Sounds of the Market Medieval markets were also rich in sounds. In fact, they were probably not so different from today’s markets or at least from the markets of not too many decades ago. The auditory universe of the market was made up by all kinds of noises: arguments about prices, discrepancies on weights and measures, and calls of sellers, who in some markets like Sitges were forced to call out wine prices.47 The obligation to “cridar el vi” (literally, call out wine) can also be found in other markets in the Vallès region, such as Sant Celoni, especially in relation to the sale of white wine.48 The

82

Chapter Four

complaints of the buyers, the conversations of the villagers, the shouts of children, as well as the rumbling of cattle also added to the calls of the sellers. On occasion, the market was the scene of scandals and riots. In 1161, the people attending the fair that was usually held next to the monastery of Sant Cugat del Vallès, must have been stunned when, on the day of the fair (25 July, on the feast of the monastery’s patron saint), Guillem de Montcada and his men occupied the monastery and stayed there. This episode, which highlights the conflict—persecutio, according to the monks—between the Montcada family and the monastery, was recorded in a memorial of grievances addressed to the count of Barcelona that has been studied by Pere Benito.49 It is possible that the forceful occupation carried out by Guillem de Montcada on the day of the fair was aimed at controlling the fair itself. At least that is what the pact that was agreed on shortly afterwards suggests, for the monastery gave up the fair to the Montcadas in return for a tenth of the profits. The Montcadas then moved it to a place under their own jurisdiction and obtained all kinds of rights from it, but would end up losing it due to their debts.50 More common arguments and fights are also documented in markets, such as the one during which Guillem Julià uttered “graviter verbis contimeliosis et iniuriosis” against Guillem de For “in platea et in dia foris” in Granollers, in an episode that ended up with a punch.51 In some cases, artisans and merchants were involved in violent situations. For instance, in Vilafranca del Penedès, a minor was accused of attacking the shoemaker Miquel Figuerola with a crossbow, and of lunging at the tailor Jaume Bertran near the Plaça Nova. On another occasion, a merchant was even accused of killing a villager.52 As for brawls, however, we must mention, already in the Late Middle Ages, the disputes involving the sellers of the Cabbage Marketplace of Barcelona, which sometimes led to colourful vegetable fights.53 Despite the arguments that sometimes took place there, the market was a big celebration. As Carme Batlle reminds us, the Latin word feria means ‘fair’, but it also means ‘feast’ and it is for this reason that the beginning of the fair coincided with the feast of a patron saint. The fairs of the county of Barcelona opened with a mass and were put under the protection of these respective patron saints: Saint Saviour (Sabadell); Saint John (Olesa de Montserrat); Saint Lawrence (Igualada); Saint Bartholomew (Martorell), and Saint Luke (Vilafranca del Penedès), among many others.54 The festive atmosphere of fairs turned them into an ideal space for relaxation

Beyond Economic Spaces

83

and fun, the memory of which has survived to the present day in current patron saint festivals, many of which find their origin and date in the fairs that were held from the medieval period onwards. The festive nature of markets and, especially, of fairs, favoured the presence of musicians and minstrels that emphasized the jovial atmosphere. In some cases, they attended the event on their own accord, while on other occasions it was the village itself that hired them.55 The presence of minstrels brought new sounds to the market, in the form of sung fables, music, and games. Horse and geese racing as well as races between youths were commonplace among the latter.56 In all likelihood, gambling and raffles were also frequent, for their recurrent prohibition suggests that they were a usual leisurely activity.57

Conclusions The pages above lead to the conclusion that the market was more than a simple space of economic exchange for medieval people and in fact constituted an important area of social convergence. The market was the meeting place between farmers and artisans, between lords and bourgeois, between the inhabitants of the countryside and those who lived in villages. Individuals from everywhere gathered there, exchanging ideas and information about their respective places of origin. In annual fairs, with merchants from farther away and even more exotic products, the market became a space to break with the daily routine: a place of contact with diversity, otherness, and what was different. The market was a meeting place. The place where the voices shared secrets and conversations, where the news spread by word of mouth, where rumours and gossip were proclaimed as truths. It was a space for personal and collective decision-making, the political centre of the city. The seat of the municipal council, the public scrivener’s office, and often the parish church were located nearby. The counters of the butchery, the bakery, and the various workshops and shops of the city opened to the market square. The market day invited the reunion of family and friends, the closing of businesses, the payment of debts, and even the negotiation of future marriage contracts. To some extent, the market was like a great theatre endowed with very unique colours, flavours, and sounds. Discussions about prices, disagreements over product quality, or discrepancies about measures were combined with the calls of sellers, the sound of children having fun, and

84

Chapter Four

the noise of the crowd. The interplay of fragrances emanating from the spices, the smell of fresh produce, and the more or less foul-smelling odorous of cattle made up the atmosphere of a colourful and picturesque setting, often attended by individuals who had little to do with exchange activities, as musicians, acrobats, and minstrels. All this helped to highlight the festive, diverse, and transgressive nature of markets and fairs, providing them with a significant social, ideological, and cultural dimension in the lived experience of medieval men and women.

Beyond Economic Spaces

85

Appendix

Fig. 4-1. Weekly markets and fairs documented in the county of Barcelona between the eleventh century and the first half of the fourteenth.

86

Chapter Four

Notes 1

Several works have analysed markets and their role in feudal economy. Thus, new valuable contributions need to be mentioned that go far beyond the systematization proposed in Guy Bois, “Un assaig sobre el naixement i el desenvolupament de l’economia de mercat al si de la societat feudal,” in Els espais del mercat. Segon Congrés Internacional d’Història Local, ed. José Luís Martín Ramos (Valencia: Diputació de València, 1993), 77-90. For the French territory, see Isabelle Theiller, Les marchés hebdomadaires en Normandie oridentale (XIVedébut XVIe siècle) (PhD diss., Université Paris-7 Denis Diderot, 2004), and Judicaël Petrowiste, Naissance et essor d’un espace d’échanges au Moyen Âge. Le réseau des bourgs marchands du Midi toulousain (XIe-milieu du XIVe siècle) (PhD diss., Université Toulouse-Le Mirail, 2007). For England, see among others, Richard H. Britnell, The Commercialisation of English Society, 1000-1500 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993); Maryanne Kowaleski, Local markets and regional trade in medieval Exeter (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); Christopher Dyer, “Market Towns and the countryside in Late Medieval England,” Canadian Journal of History 31 (1996): 47–69; James Masschaele, Peasants, merchants and Markets. Inland trade in medieval England, 1150-1350 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997), and Bruce M. S. Campbell, English seigniorial agriculture, 1250-1450 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). For the Catalan territory in general, see Josep Mª Salrach, “Sociedad rural y mercados en la Cataluña medieval,” Edad Media. Revista de Historia 4 (2001): 83–111; Josep Mª Salrach, “El mercat de la vila, mercat de productes,” in Història agrària dels Països Catalans, ed. Emili Giralt (Barcelona: Fundació Catalana per a la Recerca, 2004), vol. II, 433–64; and Josep Mª Salrach, “Mercat i mercats,” in Història agrària dels Països Catalans, ed. Emili Giralt (Barcelona: Fundació Catalana per a la Recerca, 2004), vol. II, 395–432; Carme Batlle, Fires i mercats. Factors de dinamisme econòmic i centres de sociabilitat (segles XI a XV) (Barcelona: Rafael Dalmau, 2004); Víctor Farías, “La vila i el mas: economia pagesa i mercat a la Catalunya Vella dels segles XI-XIV,” in Fires, mercats i món rural. IV Jornades sobre sistemes agraris, organització social i poder local als Països Catalans, ed. Enric Vicedo (Lleida: Institut d’Estudis Ilerdencs, Diputació de Lleida, 2004), 101–17; and Flocel Sabaté and Maite Pedrol, eds., El mercat. Un món de contactes i intercanvis (Lleida: Pagès, 2014). On rural markets in the county of Barcelona, see Jaume Vilaginés, El paisatge, la societat i l’alimentació al Vallès Oriental (segles X-XII) (Barcelona: Publicacions de l’Abadia de Montserrat, 2001); Mercè Aventín, “Ordinacions medievals de viles-mercat catalanes sobre el comerç i el consum del vi,” Estudis d’Història Agrària. Homenatge al Dr. Emili Giralt i Raventós 17 (2004): 115–27; and Maria Soler, Els espais d’intercanvi. El mercat en el procés de gènesi i consolidació del feudalisme al comtat de Barcelona (segles IX a XIII) (PhD diss., Universitat de Barcelona, 2006). For the area of Girona, see the examples presented in Xavier Soldevila, “Una vila empordanesa a l’Edat Mitjana. Torrella de Montgrí, segles XII-XIV,” Quaderns de la Selva 15 (2003): 89–103; Joel Colomé, “El comerç del drap a la vegueria de Besalú (1325-1340),” Annals del Patronat d’Estudis d’Olot i Comarca

Beyond Economic Spaces

87

17 (2006): 23–40; Elvis Mallorquí, Parròquia i societat rural al bisbat de Girona, segles XIII i XIV (Barcelona: Fundació Noguera, 2011); Lluís To, “La comercialització de productes tèxtils a l’entorn de 1300: els drapers de la vila d’Amer,” in Ciutats, viles, sagreres. Els nuclis urbans a la Baixa Edat Mitjana (s. XIII-XV). Actes del II seminari d’Estudis Medievals d’Hostalric, ed. Neus Puig, and Montse Viader (Hostalric: Ajuntament d’Hostalric, 2011), 36–56; and Pere Ortí, “Pagesos de Caldes de Malavella, mercaders de Sant Feliu de Guíxols i consellers reials: l'espectacular ascens de la família Pujada durant el segle XIV,” in La Corona catalanoaragonesa, l'Islam i el món mediterrani: estudis d'història medieval en homenatge a la Doctora María Teresa Ferrer i Mallol, ed. Josefina Mutgé, Roser Salicrú, and Carles Vela (Barcelona: CSIC, 2013), 547–57. On Lleida, see Prim Bertran, “Mercat i fira a Vilagrassa (s. XII-XIV). De les concessions reials a les tensions amb els municipis veïns,” in XLII Jornada de Treball “Estudis sobre Vilagrassa i el romànic tardà a les Terres de Lleida/Ponent, ed. Miquel Torres et al (Vilagrassa: Grup de Recerques de les Terres de Ponent, 2013), 121– 52; and Flocel Sabaté, ed., El mercat de Balaguer, una cruïlla (Balaguer: Ajuntament de Balaguer, 2015). 2 The studies devoted to markets as lived spaces are far less numerous; see Gina Fasoli, “Il mercato nella vita contadina,” in Cultura popolare dell’Emilia Romagna. Espressioni sociali e luoghi di incontro (Milan: Silvana, 1978), 75–99; and Irma Naso, “In platea mercati. Il piccolo commercio in centri urbani dell’Italia nord-occidentale (secoli XIII-XV),” in El mercat. Un món de contactes i intercanvis (Lleida: Pagès, 2014), 99–118 on the Italian case. For the case of the Catalan territory, see also Batlle, Fires i mercats, 127–44; and especially Teresa Vinyoles, “Veus i sensacions dels mercats medievals,” in El mercat. Un món de contactes i intercanvis (Lleida: Pagès, 2014), 77–98. 3 To mention but a few, see Maria Soler, “‘Feriam, forum, mercatum’: el mercat a l’Edat Mitjana,” Diónysos 3 (2002): 9–25; Maria Soler, “Medieval topographical urban models: development and morphological evolution of the villages in Barcelona’s county between the 10th and the 13th century,” in Centre, Region, Periphery, ed. Guido Helmig, Barbara Scholkmann and Matthias Untermann (Basel: Folio Verlag, 2002), vol. II, 573–79; Maria Soler, “Feudalisme i mercat: vers una nova estructuració dels intercanvis. L’exemple de la baronia de Castellvell de Rosanes entre l’alta i la plena edat mitjana,” in Fires, mercats i món rural. IV Jornades sobre sistemes agraris, organització social i poder local als Països Catalans, ed. Enric Vicedo (Lleida: Institut d’Estudis Ilerdencs, Diputació de Lleida, 2004), 159–80; Soler, Els espais d’intercanvi, 2006; Maria Soler, “From ‘forum Granate’ to Vilafranca’s Fair. Origin, Foundation and Articulation of a Market Network in the Feudal Penedès Region (9th–12th c.),” SVMMA. Revista de Cultures Medievals 6 (2015): 171–90; and Maria Soler, “Fires i mercats a Vilafranca i al Penedès medieval,” in Fires i mercats a Vilafranca i al Penedès. Economia i sociabilitat, ed. Ramon Arnabat (Vilafranca del Penedès: Institut d’Estudis Penedesencs, 2016), 11–34. For a map of the network of weekly markets and fairs in the county of Barcelona between 1000 and 1350, see Figure 1.

88

4

Chapter Four

Charles Johnson, The ‘De moneta’ of Nicholas Oresme and English Mint Documents (Edinburgh: Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd, 1956), 4–5. 5 On this topic, see the suggestive and well-document Michael McCormick, Orígenes de la economía europea. Viajeros y comerciantes en la Alta Edad media (Barcelona: Crítica, 2005). 6 In the county of Barcelona, this is the case of the markets of Granollers, Caldes de Montbui, Sabadell, Sant Cugat del Vallès, and Sant Celoni, in the Vallès region, but also of Martorell, in the basin of the Llobregat River, and of La Granada, in the Penedès region. For an in-depth analysis of these markets, see Soler, Els espais d’intercanvi, 221–28. 7 Soler, “From ‘forum Granate’,” 176. 8 Batlle, Fires i mercats, 47–58. 9 In Granollers we find squares named after wheat (plaça del Blat), oil (plaça de l’Oli), kids (plaça dels Cabrits), hens (plaça de les Gallines), and pots (plaça de les Olles). Moreover, in Vilafranca del Penedès, the current plaça de l’Oli and the old plaça del Blat—renamed today after the Constitution—attest to the commercial specialization of the medieval period; see Soler, “Fires i mercats a Vilafranca,” 31). 10 Antoni Riera, “Mercat i regulació: Inspecció, controls de qualitat i defensa dels consumidors als mercats medievals ibèrics,” in El mercat de Balaguer: una cruïlla (Balaguer: Ajuntament de Balaguer, 2015), 61–76. 11 Joan Cruz, “El municipi igualadí medieval: una aproximació al seu funcionament (1282-circa 1388),” Miscellanea Aqualatensia 8 (1997): 40. 12 On Granollers, see Aventín, “Ordinacions medieval,” 120; on Vilafranca del Penedès, see Soler, “Fires i mercats a Vilafranca,” 31–32. 13 On the presence of a mostassaf in the territories of the Crown of Aragon, see Riera, “Mercat i regulació,” 68–71. There are several extant late medieval Llibres del mostassaf or Ordinacions de Mostassaferia from the county of Barcelona. The most remarkable examples are from the city of Barcelona, from Igualada, and Granollers. On these books, see, respectively, Montserrat Bajet, El mostassaf de Barcelona i les seves funcions al segle XVI. Edició del “Llibre de les Ordinacions” (Barcelona: Fundació Noguera, 1994); Gabriel Castellà, Llibre de la Mostaçaferia. Ordinacions de la vila d’Igualada, segles XIV-XVI (Igualada: Centre d’Estudis Comarcals d’Igualada, 1954); and Alfred Canal, Llibre de les ordinacions del consell de la vila de Granollers (1418–1452) (Granollers: Junta d’Estudis Històrics, 1932). In the Early Modern Era, the main extant examples are from Vilafranca del Penedès, Vilanova i la Geltrú, and Olesa de Montserrat. On these villages, see, respectively, Jordi Vallès, Jordi Vidal et al, El Llibre Verd de Vilafranca (Barcelona: Fundació Noguera, 1992), vol. I, 282–99; Carme Barceló, El mercat de Vilanova i la Geltrú. Aproximació Històrica (Vilanova i la Geltrú: Ajuntament de Vilanova i la Geltrú, 1991); and Josep Mª Font i Rius, “Ordenanzas municipales de una villa catalana: Olesa de Montserrat (siglo XVII),” in “Liber amicorum” dedicado al Profesor Don Ignacio de la Concha (Oviedo: Universidad de Oviedo, 1986), 191–203.

Beyond Economic Spaces

89

14 On the study of the urban topography of the villages of this territory through the use of Geographic Information Systems (GIS), see Soler, “Medieval topographical urban models,” 573–79; and Maria Soler, “Feudalisme i nucleació poblacional. Processos de concentració de l’hàbitat al comtat de Barcelona entre els segles X i XIII,” Acta Historica et Archaeologica Mediaevalia 23–24 (2003): 69–101. 15 Soler, “Feudalisme i nucleació poblacional,” 87–89. 16 Soler, Els espais d’intercanvi, 367–8, 380, 485. 17 Vinyoles, “Veus i sensacions,” 84. 18 Josep Mª Masachs, “El Penedès a l’alta edat mitjana i els inicis de Vilafranca (segles XII-XIII),” in Història de Vilafranca del Penedès, ed. Ramon Arnabat, and Jordi Vidal (Vilafranca del Penedès: Ajuntament de Vilafranca del Penedès, 2008), 98. 19 Antoni Caballé, Memòria-informe de l’excavació arqueològica de la Plaça de la Pietat i Temple Romà realitzada durant el mes de setembre de 1985 a la ciutat de Vic (Generalitat de Catalunya, 1985), 14, accessed July 4, 2017, URI: http://hdl.handle.net/10687/9303. 20 Batlle, Fires i mercats, 57–58. 21 Mireia Comas, and Teresa Vinyoles, “L’horta i la volateria als mercats,” in Proveir Barcelona. El municipi i l’alimentació de la ciutat, 1329–1930, ed. Mercè Renom (Barcelona: Museu d’Història de la Ciutat de Barcelona, 2016), 93. 22 Alfred Mauri, Les excavacions arqueològiques a la Plaça de l’Església (Martorell) (Martorell: Quaderns Quatre Ratlles, 1988). 23 Alfons I, year 1191, Document 582, Parchment Collection, Chancery, Archive of the Crown of Aragon, Barcelona. 24 Masachs, “El Penedès a l’alta edat mitjana,” 98. 25 Antoni Riera, and Maria Soler, “La distribución de alimentos en el Mediterráneo Occidental (siglos VIII-XII),” in L’Alimentazione nell’Alto Medioevo. Pratiche, simboli, ideologie, ed. Roberto Arelli (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’alto Medioevo, 2016), 233–42. 26 See note 13 above. 27 Antoni Riera, Senyors, monjos i pagesos: alimentació i identitat social als segles XII i XIII (Barcelona: Institut d’Estudis Catalans, 1997), 24. 28 The following references show as much: “III sacos de ordeo ad mensura de Martorello” (Berenguer Ramon II, year 1091, Document 75, Folder 26, Parchment Collection, Chancery, Archive of the Crown of Aragon, Barcelona); “V quarteras de blado obtimo ad mensura directam” (Ramon Berenguer III, year 1104, Document 82, Folder 28, Parchment Collection, Chancery, Archive of the Crown of Aragon, Barcelona); “una quartera et media de blado ad mensuram Sabbateli” (Alfons I, year 1181, Document 508, Folder 52, Parchment Collection, Chancery, Archive of the Crown of Aragon, Barcelona); “I quartera tritici ad mensuram Granolers” (Alfons I, year 1183, Document 348, Folder 48, Parchment Collection, Chancery, Archive of the Crown of Aragon, Barcelona); “IV quarteres espelte ad mensuram directam de Granolers (Jaume I, year 1231, Document 426, Folder 73, Parchment Collection, Chancery, Archive of the Crown of Aragon, Barcelona). 29 The references in note 28 above show evidence of these three types of cereals.

90

30

Chapter Four

Aventín, “Ordinacions medievals,” 122. The written documents of the period do not provide much information on the kinds of wine that were sold in the marketplace. However, rural communities produced white wines (Alfons I, year 1175, Document 167, Folder 45, Parchment Collection, Chancery, Archive of the Crown of Aragon, Barcelona); red wines (Josep Rius, Cartulario de “Sant Cugat” del Vallés (Barcelona: CSIC, 1945– 1947), Document 631, year 1063); young wines (Rius, Cartulario, Document 123, year 977; Rius, Cartulario, Document 427, year 1010; Rius, Cartulario, Document 547, year 1037); and also old wines (Rius, Cartulario, Document 258, year 990; Rius, Cartulario, Document 427, year 1010; Ramon Berenguer II, year 1076, Document 27, Folder 23, Parchment Collection, Chancery, Archive of the Crown of Aragon, Barcelona). 32 Berenguer Ramon I, year 1031, Document 92, Folder 8, Parchment Collection, Chancery, Archive of the Crown of Aragon, Barcelona. 33 Riera, and Soler, “La distribución de alimentos,” 238–39. 34 As an example of the mention of dried fruits and vegetables, see Pere I, year 1202, Document 142, Folder 59, Parchment Collection, Chancery, Archive of the Crown of Aragon, Barcelona: “X quarteres fabarum ad mensuram veteram fori Granularii.” 35 On the uses of honey, see Antoni Riera, “Alimentació i poder a la Catalunya del segle XII. Aproximació al comportament alimentari de la noblesa,” Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya 2 (1993): 12. On the commercialization of salt, see Thomas N. Bisson, Fiscal accounts of Catalonia (1151-1213) (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), vol. II, 35, Document 4, years 1156–1157. 36 For an in-depth analysis of this specialization see Vilaginés, El paisatge, 178– 79, and Pere Benito, Senyoria de la terra i tinença pagesa al comtat de Barcelona (segles XI–XIII) (Barcelona: CSIC, 2003), 353. 37 Comas, and Vinyoles, “L’horta i la volateria,” 193–7. 38 Bisson, Fiscal accounts, vol. II, 240, Document 39, year 1181. It should be noted that Manresa is located outside the lands of the county of Barcelona but very close to it. 39 See note 13 above, and also Vinyoles, “Veus i sensacions,” 88–89. 40 Vallès, and Vidal et al., El Llibre Verd de Vilafranca, 292. 41 Soler, Els espais d’intercanvi, 518–19. 42 Batlle, Fires i mercats, 52. 43 Quoted in Massimo Montanari, “L’image du paysan et les codes de comportement alimentaire,” in Le petit peuple dans l’Occident médiéval. Terminologies, perceptions, réalités (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2002), 109. This satirical tale, entitled “Du Vilain Asnier,” was compiled along with other French fables in Philippe Menard, ed., Fabliaux français du Moyen Âge (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1979), vol. I, 19–20. 44 Riera, “Alimentació i poder,” 12. 45 On pepper, sinamon and cumin, see Antoni Riera, and Maria Soler, “La distribución de alimentos,” 289–92. On the presence of saffron, see Batlle, Fires i mercats, 73. 31

Beyond Economic Spaces

46

91

Batlle, Fires i mercats, 50, 54. Carme Muntaner, “Terra de masos, vila de mar. Vida, economia i territori al castell de Sitges i el seu terme entre els segles XIV i XV” (PhD diss., University of Barcelona, 2013), 240. 48 Aventín, “Ordinacions medievals,” 122. 49 Pere Benito, “Els ‘clamores’ de Sant Cugat contra el fill del gran senescal i altres episodis de terrorisme nobiliari (1161-1162),” Anuario de Estudios Medievales 30, no. 2 (2000): 851–86. 50 According to this agreement, the old fair of Sant Cugat was moved to Guardiola, within the area controlled by the Montcadas; see Benito, “Els ‘clamores’ de Sant Cugat,” 878. On the later loss of the fair by the Montcadas, see Batlle, Fires i mercats, 24–25. 51 Jaume I, year 1260, Document 1627, Folder 94, Parchment Collection, Chancery, Archive of the Crown of Aragon, Barcelona. 52 Josep Bosch, “Vilafranca entre la crisi i l’esplendor, segles XIV i XV,” in Història de Vilafranca del Penedès, ed. Ramon Arnabat, and Jordi Vidal (Vilafranca del Penedès: Ajuntament de Vilafranca del Penedès, 2008), 155–56. 53 Vinyoles, “Veus i sensacions,” 90. 54 Batlle, Fires i mercats, 134, 179–84. 55 Carme Batlle discusses the cases of Reus and Valls, where municipal accounts record the hiring of musicians and the purchase of beautiful attires for them; see Batlle, Fires i mercats, 137–78. 56 Batlle, Fires i mercats, 138. 57 Vinyoles, “Veus i sensacions,” 93. 47

PART II: FEAR

CHAPTER FIVE THE HEAVENLY HAREM: SEXUAL REWARDS IN THE PATH TO GOD JOSEP SUÑÉ-ARCE

The KitƗb Qudwat al-ƤƗzƯ and the Houris The KitƗb Qudwat al-ƤƗzƯ, written by the Andalusian FaqƯ Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn (d. 1008), is as its title suggests a manual of jihad whose aim was to offer a guide of morality to the combatants that participated in military expeditions against Christian kingdoms and counties.1 The prologue to the book does not conceal this corrective and moralizing intention. On the contrary, the author states that one of the motives that led him to write it was the desire that those who fought without taking into account religious norms and prohibitions would follow the example of those others who did.2 This was not a trivial matter. The Prophet Muতammad and his main followers had personally led campaigns and established which military practices were lawful and which others were not. Failing to obey these precepts or abiding by them only hypocritically not only prevented Muslims from achieving the main objective of jihad, that is, to be granted entry to Paradise after earthly life, but could even involve eternal punishment in Hell.3 With this concern in the background, Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn encouraged Muslims to spend their wealth on jihad and to reject material rewards. He also forbade the death of innocents, clearly defined what objects and elements could be considered spoils of war, and regulated some strictly military issues, such as the retreat from the enemy, sieges, and obedience to superiors.4 Much of the aspects he discusses also appear to a greater or lesser extent in the works of other contemporary and later jurists, especially those concerning the booty and the military management of expeditions. However, there is a specific chapter that deserves particular attention, for it is devoted to the merits and rewards of the martyrs of jihad. To the absence of pain and the direct access to Paradise, the eminent

96

Chapter Five

FaqƯ adds other sexual privileges for those Muslims who fall fighting.5 The Qur’an and the books of Islamic eschatology repeatedly mention the existence of women in Paradise who are superior to earthly women in all respects and will marry those who win the prize of eternal life.6 But in the chapters that both Al-QayrawƗnƯ (923-996), in his RisƗla, and Averroes (1126-1198), in his BidƗyat al-MuЂtahid, devote to jihad, there are no concepts such as al-zawЂƗ al-ҵaynƗҴ or al-‫ۊ‬njr al-ҵƯn.7 In the fourteenth century, Ibn Hu঎ayl’s Tu‫ۊ‬fat al-anfus only includes one reference to these houris in the chapter that describes the divine favours reserved for the practitioners of jihad and the martyrs.8 However, this mention falls short against the five traditions that Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn compiles.9 Especially, given that three of these have the peculiarity of recounting the testimonies of martyrs who, just before dying, were able to tell their companions about the journey of their soul to Paradise, and how they finally met their houris.10 This feature, rather unusual in the rest of books and chapters devoted to jihad, deserves special attention. Thus, the aims of the present chapter are to analyse these traditions and to provide an explanation for Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn’s special interest in the houris.

Meeting the Houris Before Death: Premonitory Dreams and Visions of Martyrs The common feature shared by the aforementioned three traditions included in the KitƗb Qudwat al-ƤƗzƯ is the existence of a combatant who, while asleep or unconscious from the wounds he has suffered, starts to weep intensely. Once awakened or after regaining consciousness, his companions question him about his tears. He then explains that he was in a wonderful place, with male and female servants, giant pearls, palaces, rooms and beds of red hyacinth, where he met a sensual and exuberant woman with large black pupils that enthralled him with her beauty. However, when the combatant tried to engage in a more intimate contact, the woman told him that he had to return to the earthly world, which he refused to do, and this brought him to tears. The woman then reassured him that he should not grieve because his death was imminent and then he could finally join her. Indeed, the combatant dies just as the woman had foretold, and his companions are thus able to verify that what he had told them was true. Although this account may seem somewhat comical and fanciful, the inclusion of plausible elements in the narrative, such as the martyr’s relatable and human character, the premonitory dream, the psychological

The Heavenly Harem: Sexual Rewards in the Path to God

97

alteration of the dying man, and the testimony of his companions, give it a touch of realism that is not shared by the traditions that merely offer a theoretical and impersonal description of the rewards the martyrs will receive in the afterlife. The message this conveys is clear: the Qur’an and the Traditions tell the truth, and those Muslims who get to enter Paradise will have a woman of such great beauty and virtues that life in the earthly world will pale when compared with the mere desire to be able to enjoy her company. Each of the three traditions including this more realistic approach will now be discussed in detail.11 In the first of these, Šahr b. ণawšab (d. 718/719) recalls how, while on a military expedition, he was awakened one night by the tears of a man lamenting over his family. Šahr tried to soothe his companion, who was called ‫ޏ‬Abd AllƗh, by telling him that the next day he could see them again. However, ‫ޏ‬Abd AllƗh replied that he was not crying for his earthly family, but for a dream he had in which he heard a voice telling him to run to his wife of large black pupils (zawЂatu-ka al-ҵaynƗҴ). He claimed that he had then found himself in an exceptional place, where there were girls (ЂawƗrin) of unparalleled beauty and elegance. ‫ޏ‬Abd AllƗh asked if the woman with large black pupils (al-ҵaynƗҴ) was among them but they replied that they were only her maids. He went ahead and arrived to a place that was even better than the previous one. There he found some girls (ЂawƗrin) whose physique and clothes even surpassed those of the first ones. He asked again whether the woman with large black pupils (alҵaynƗҴ) was among them. The answer was again negative, but this time they told him that the woman was in the large pearl nearby. ‫ޏ‬Abd AllƗh approached the pearl and saw a woman seated (marҴat ЂƗlisatin) on a bed of red hyacinth, and her buttocks protruded from it. They greeted, sat down and talked. Before waking from the pleasant dream, the woman assured him that he would shortly come and spend the night with them. Despite this promise, ‫ޏ‬Abd AllƗh could not help crying the moment he opened his eyes and did not see her. Šahr ends the account by explaining that, just after their conversation, ‫ޏ‬Abd AllƗh called the cavalry and entered into combat, being the first Muslim to die that day.12 The second tradition is conveyed by ‫ޏ‬Amr b. al-ণƗri৮ (d. 764/766), who seems to have learned about the event through the testimonies of direct witnesses. According to their narration, the Muslims made an expedition against Sicily and ended up attacking one of its fortified settlements. In the course of the combat, one of the men was injured in the knee by a rock fragment that had been dislodged as a result of the impact of a projectile launched by an al-manЂanƯq, a siege engine. The fighter,

98

Chapter Five

called Nuۜayত, fell unconscious and was taken to the outskirts of the city, where his companions watched astonished how, in spite of his condition, he first laughed and then cried. When he regained consciousness for a moment, he was asked about the cause of his laughter and cries. Nuۜayত explained that he had seen himself in a room of red hyacinth and that a woman (imraҴat) had approached him. Her light, beauty, sweetness and the quality of her clothes were such that he was stunned. The woman reminded him of his merits, which caused him the laughter his companions witnessed. Then he wanted to take her hand, but the woman told him that the would not join her until the noon prayer. This momentary rejection made him cry and exclaim that he did not want the earthly world or its decay. The story finally ends with the death of Nuۜayত, which, as foretold by the woman, happened at noon.13 In the third tradition, ণabƗn b. AbƯ ۛabala (d. 742/743) explains that, when he was participating in the siege of a fortification, two Muslims approached the wall to fight it. One of them told the other if he wanted to wash in case God offered them martyrdom. The latter rejected the proposal and only the former got into the water. When he finished his bath, a stone thrown from the fortification wounded him severely. ণabƗn saw his companions take him to the tent, asked what had happened and left. After a while he returned to the place where the wounded man lay, and what he and his companions saw puzzled them. The wounded man laughed once, then laughed again, and finally cried and opened his eyes. ণabƗn asked him about the reason for his laughter and tears. The wounded man told him that when he was hit, a man took him by the hand to a palace of hyacinth. There he found the most diligent boys (ƥilmƗn) he had ever seen. He questioned them and they replied that God had expressly created them for him. Then the man took him to another palace, where there were some other boys (ƥilmƗn) that were better than the first. He also interrogated them and they responded the same. Then his guide made him go to a house of hyacinth, emerald or pearl. Several boys (ƥilmƗn) came out of it, and they were so diligent that they made him forget the rest. The wounded man questioned them again, and they gave him the same answer. His guide then stopped him at the door of the house and let him inside, where he saw a carpet, mattresses, and pillows made of threads of joy, and two doors, one on the right side and the other on the left. The man told him to lay down on the mattresses that were specially set for him. When he did as he was told, he heard a noise in one of the doors. He looked that way and saw a woman (imraҴat) with a beauty and clothes like none he had ever seen before. She moved toward him as if she was not really walking, but rather seemed to glide through the cushions’ threads of joy. They greeted each

The Heavenly Harem: Sexual Rewards in the Path to God

99

other and he asked her who she was. The woman replied that she was his wife and that she was one of the maidens of large black pupils (anƗ zawЂatu-ka min al-‫ۊ‬njr al-ҵƯn). The wounded man laughed and spoke with his houri about the affairs of earthly women. Then he heard noise coming from the other door. He turned and saw another woman (imraҴat) just as the one he was talking to or even better. She moved toward him in the same manner as her companion had done before her and joined them in conversation. After this, the first houri left so that the wounded man could be alone with the second woman. When he had finally decided on one of the two, the houri told him that his moment would come with the noon prayer and not before. He expressed doubts and she tried to reassure him that had he not been predestined to be with her, they would not have met. Despite her words, he could not help the tears. ণabƗn ends his account by saying that the wounded man died before the end of the noon prayer, as the houri had predicted.14

The Context of the Work: Al-Manৢnjr and Al-Mu਌affar’s Jihad It is rather interesting that it is precisely an author who wrote in an era of political and military splendour who gives more prominence to the sexual rewards of martyrs, whereas authors like Averroes and Ibn Hu঎ayl lived through periods of military difficulties which surely resulted in a larger number of Muslim martyrs. The historical context in which the KitƗb Qudwat al-ƤƗzƯ appeared was marked by the offensive policies of the ‫ۊ‬ƗЂib Muতammad b. AbƯ ‫ޏ‬Ɩmir al-Manৢnjr and his son ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Malik al-Mu਌affar (1002-1008) against the Christian kingdoms and counties. Overall, during these thirty-one years, the Muslim armies carried out fiftyfour expeditions against the different feudal enclaves.15 As for military difficulties, only two defeats are documented, one in 981 and the other in 1006, an indecisive military expedition in 1008 apparently had an adverse outcome, and two other campaigns in 995 and 1000 ended up with a high number of casualties, despite being victorious. The failure of the year 981 was inconsequential.16 In the struggle for power between Muতammad b. AbƯ ‫ޏ‬Ɩmir and ƤƗlib b. ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Raতman (974-981), the latter mobilized the Christians and defeated the former in a pitched battle, capturing his viziers.17 However, there is no evidence of significant loss of human life, and in fact, very shortly afterwards, alManৢnjr achieved a definitive victory against ƤƗlib and his allies. More important was the failure of the year 1006. It seems that on this occasion

100

Chapter Five

the forces of ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Malik al-Mu਌affar were defeated by the troops of the Catalan counts in Torà de Riubregós.18 According to the Latin account of the confrontation, many Muslims were killed.19 In contrast, the Arabic version of the events does not provide casualty figures, but it does recognize that the population of Córdoba publicly criticized ‫ޏ‬Abd alMalik, which forced him to write a statement where he blamed the weather for his defeat.20 I will comment below on the precise criticisms he received. In any case, however crippling this defeat might have been, the next two campaigns were victorious and celebrated.21 As for the campaign of the year 1008, it seems that the Muslim army dissolved before being able to do damage in Castilian territory due to the disease that kept ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Malik in Medinaceli for a long time.22 It should be noted though, that military victory did not exclude the possibility of martyrdom. During the third expedition in 995, seven hundred Muslim fighters died due to lack of water, and in the year 1000, at the battle of Peña Cervera, the Andalusian forces, which were almost defeated, also suffered seven hundred casualties.23 Thus, it is obvious that there was martyrdom throughout those years, although in forty-nine out of the fifty-four military campaigns, that is, in the great majority (91%), there are no references to failures or significant losses of human lives. I therefore believe that the main motive that led Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn to have this special interest in the traditions related to houris could not have been the death in combat of his coreligionists, but that other equally or more important reasons must also be factored in. There is a particular element that differentiates the expeditions of this period from those carried out before and after them, and which provides the key to solving this question: the large number of captives taken, especially women. In the campaign against Baños de Ledesma of year 977, 2,000 women were captured;24 in the 978 campaign against Catalan territory, 3,000;25 in 979 in Zamora, 13,000;26 in 982 in León, 1,000;27 in the 983 campaign in Simancas, 17,000;28 in 985, in the campaign against Barcelona, the records document the appalling figure of 70,000 captives between women and children;29 in 988, 40,000 captives were taken in the campaign against Zamora;30 in the one of 991-992 aimed against the Basques, among others, 5,000 women were captured;31 in the year 995, in the campaign against Aguiar de Sousa, 50,000 Christian captives of both sexes were taken;32 in an indeterminate campaign carried out between 1000 and 1002, 10,000 captives of both sexes were also recorded;33 at the same time, the campaign against Pamplona resulted in 18,000 women captured;34 in 1003 in Montmagastre, 5,570 women and children were

The Heavenly Harem: Sexual Rewards in the Path to God

101

taken;35 and, finally, in 1005 the campaign against Zamora, resulted in 2,000 captives between women and children.36 Here I have only mentioned those expeditions for which a specific figure is documented, but it must be borne in mind that most accounts of military campaigns mention captives, even if the exact number is not provided. However, summing only the aforementioned figures we obtain a minimum of 99,000 women captured and 137,570 captives of unspecified sex—although in all likelihood, as in the case of Barcelona, these were mostly women and children. Obviously, these figures were exaggerated by chroniclers to an almost absurd point, but even if these are divided by ten, 9,900 women and 13,570 women and children over thirty-one years would entail a minimum of 757 captives on average each year. It is not surprising, therefore, that the population of Córdoba knew al-Manৢnjr as “the slave importer.” In fact, the public criticism they made after the failed campaign of Torà de Riubregós (1006) was that no new captives had arrived that could renew the pleasures of the inhabitants of the capital.37 It seems that there were economic motivations behind the massive capture of women and children. Thanks to a text by Ibn ণayyƗn, it is clear that the Umayyad tax revenues in the last years of al-Manৢnjr’s rule were considerably lower than those of the time of Caliph ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Raতman III (912-961). The causes for this decrease are unknown, but the testimony of the great erudite from Córdoba confirms that captives and booty constituted a source of extra income for the state.38 In fact, captives were treated as one more commodity and were part of the spoils of war. This booty was divided in five parts, one part belonged to the state, and the other four were evenly distributed among the combatants.39 Female captives were very expensive. In 910 or 911, the governor of Huesca, Muতammad b. ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Malik al-৫awƯl (887-913), launched an expedition against the region of Pallars during which he took 300 women.40 The value of the sale of these captives was 13,000 dinars that were invested in the improvement and fortification of the city of Huesca.41 This means that each of the women allotted to the governor—one-fifth, that is, 60 women—was sold for about 217 dinars. Therefore, in the Montmagastre campaign, where the number of captives given by the source is plausible— 5,570 between women and children—the profits for the state would have amounted to 241,738 dinars, which, added to the tax revenue, could have equalled the profits of the best years of Caliph ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Raতman III.42

102

Chapter Five

The Memory of the Houris and the Preservation of the Good Intentions of the Combatants Thus, the motives of rulers had little to do with the contempt for earthly goods that Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn defended. However, the state could justify its greed for money by arguing that, thanks to it, it paid the salaries of the soldiers who guaranteed the protection of the Muslim community and the free practice of their religion.43 More troubling to Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn was probably what was done with those four parts of the booty that were distributed among jihad practitioners. Around 1312 or 1313, Ibn ‫ޏ‬I঎ƗrƯ records that in the time of the ‫ۊ‬ƗЂib ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Malik al-Mu਌affar it was customary for captives (most of which were women and children) to be divided between two very specific contingents: the ahl al-ribƗ‫ ܒ‬and the fursƗn al-wufnjd.44 The former were men of religion, erudites and ascetics who voluntarily withdrew to the Muslim frontiers to temporarily devote themselves to ascetic and pious practices, which of course included fighting the Christian neighbours.45 The latter are more difficult to define. The anonymous author of the A‫ې‬bƗr MaЂmnjҵa equates them to the ‫ۊ‬ušnjd, a concept etymologically linked to the levies and related to a tax paid by Muslims in exchange for exemption from military service.46 The account of the siege of Gormaz (975) seems to confirm this equivalence, since the wufnjd are clearly differentiated from regular troops, slaves, professional contingents, and volunteers. However, Ibn ‫ޏ‬I঎ƗrƯ’s work makes it clear that not all wufnjd received this especially prized part of the booty, but only the riders, the fursƗn. That is to say that the Andalusian state rewarded those Muslims who instead of avoiding the practice of jihad in exchange for a certain amount of money, not only embraced it but also cared for and fed a horse for war. Both the FaqƯs who went to the border voluntarily and the recruits who came to the call of the jihad with a horse, theoretically fulfilled many of the merits required to enter Paradise in the afterlife. But in order to achieve the great triumph of eternal life, it was necessary for their intention (niyya) to be sincere, and herein lay the problem.47 An earthly prize in the form of an unfortunate captive woman could divert the devotees of jihad from good intentions and cast doubt on whether Muslims fought to protect God’s message or for their own earthly enjoyment. Both were not compatible from the point of view of Islamic jurists, and the complaints of the population of Córdoba after the defeat of Torà de Riubregós precisely show the close relationship between captives and pleasure.48 I think that,

The Heavenly Harem: Sexual Rewards in the Path to God

103

ultimately, it was these issues that most concerned Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn. Recalling the superiority of the sexual rewards of the Muslim Paradise over those of the earthly world, he sought to prevent the great influx of captives from deviating those who were most worthy of eternal life—the ahl al-ribƗ‫ ܒ‬and fursƗn al-wufnjd—from good intentions and from falling into error; an error that would lead them to stop fighting on their ‘path to God’ to fight instead on a path to women and worldly pleasures.49

Conclusions The important arrival of Christian captives in Andalusian territory during the last quarter of the tenth century and the first decade of eleventh due to the aggressive policy of jihad carried out by the ‫ޏ‬Ɩmiris brought about a renewed interest in the theme of the houris among Muslim religious circles. The description of these paradisiac women aimed to prevent jihad fighters from contaminating their intention and prioritizing the desire to possess Christian slaves over a sincere service to God. The KitƗb Qudwat al-ƤƗzƯ by Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn is proof of this. Not only does this work contain a remarkably high number of traditions related to houris, five in all, but also three of them correspond to first-hand testimonies of eighth-century combatants who witnessed how their companions had been warned by their houris—while unconscious or through a dream—of the concrete moment in which they were going to die. The purpose of including these highly realistic narratives was to demonstrate the existence of the houris and to make it clear that they were predestined to those Muslims who were not corrupted by earthly pleasures. The moralizing purpose of the work, which is explicit in its prologue, the triumphant character of the campaigns of the ‫ޏ‬Ɩmiris, and the few data on Muslim casualties in the armed actions of the period confirm that Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn’s concern were not so much the martyrs, but the fact that the large number of women captured and distributed among combatants could reduce the number of candidates for Paradise.

104

Chapter Five

Abbreviations AM

BID

BML II

BML III

DBA KA

KQG KSY

KWF

M III

M VI

A‫ې‬bƗr maЂmnjҵa fƯ fat‫ ۊ‬al-Andalus wa-‫ڴ‬ikr umarƗҴi-hƗ ra‫ۊ‬mi-him AllƗh wa-l-‫ۊ‬urnjb al-wƗqiҵa bi-hƗ bayn a-hum. Edited and translated by Emilio Lafuente y Alcántara. Madrid: Imprenta y Estereotipia de M. Rivadeneyra, 1867. Averroes. BidƗyat al-MuЂtahid wa nihƗyat al-Muqta‫܈‬id. Beirut: DƗr al-Ma‫ޏ‬rifa, 1982. Partially translated in Rudolf Peters “El capítulo sobre la Yihad del manual jurídico de Averroes al-Bidayah.” In La Yihad en el Islam Medieval y Moderno, 19–34. Seville: Universidad de Sevilla, 1998. Ibn ‫ޏ‬I঎ƗrƯ. Al-BayƗn al-Muƥrib II. Edited by Georges Séraphin Colin and Évariste Lévi-Provençal. KitƗb al-BayƗn al-Muƥrib fƯ a‫ې‬bƗr alAndalus wa-l-Maƥrib li-Ibn ҵI‫ڴ‬ƗrƯ l-MarrƗkušƯ. Vol. II. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1951. Translated by Edmon Fagnan. Histoire de l’Afrique et de l’Espagne. Vol. II. Algiers: Imprimerie Orientale P. Fontana et Cie., 1904. Ibn ‫ޏ‬I঎ƗrƯ. Al-BayƗn al-Muƥrib III. Edited by Évariste Lévi-Provençal. Al-BayƗn al-Muƥrib fƯ a‫ې‬bƗr mulnjk al-Andalus wa-l-Maƥrib li-Ibn alҵAbbƗs Ibn ҵI‫ڴ‬ƗrƯ l-MarrƗkušƯ. Al-ЂuzҴ al-‫ܔ‬Ɨli‫ܔ‬. Paris: Libraire orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1930. Translated by Felipe Maíllo Salgado. La caída del Califato de Córdoba y los Reyes de Taifas (al-BayƗn alMugrib). Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca, 1993. ‫ڳ‬ikr bilƗd al-Andalus. Luis Molina, ed. Una descripción anónima de al-Andalus. Vol. I. Madrid: CSIC–Instituto Miguel Asín, 1983. Ibn al-঩a৬Ưb. TaҴrƯ‫ ې‬IsbƗniyya al-IslƗmiyya aw kitƗb aҵmƗl al-aҵlƗm fƯ man buwƯҵ qabla l-i‫ۊ‬tilƗm min mulnjk al-IslƗm. Edited by Évariste Lévi-Provençal. Beirut: DƗr al-Makšnjf, 1956. Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn. KitƗb Qudwat al-ƤƗzƯ. Edited by ‫ޏ‬Ɩ‫ގ‬išà ণasƯn alSulaymƗnƯ. La Meca: Umm al-Qurà, 1986–1987. Al-Aš‫ޏ‬arƯ, Abnj l-ণasan. KitƗb šaǔarat al-yaqƯn: tratado de escatología musulmana. Edited and translated by Concepción Castillo Castillo. Madrid: Instituto Hispano–Árabe de Cultura, 1987. Ibn ণabƯb, ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Malik. KitƗb wa‫܈‬f al-Firdaws: la descripción del Paraíso. Translated by Juan Pedro Monferrer Sala. Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1997. Ibn ণayyƗn. Al-qism al-‫ܔ‬Ɨli‫ ܔ‬min KitƗb al-Muqtabas fƯ taҴrƯ‫ ې‬riЂƗl alAndalus. Al-Muqtabas III. Edited by Melchor Martínez Antuña. París: Libraire orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1937. Translated by José Guráieb. “Al-Muqtabis de Ibn ণayyƗn.” Cuadernos de Historia de España, 13 (1950) and 32 (1960). Ibn ণayyƗn. Al-Muqtabas fƯ a‫ۏ‬bƗr balad al-Andalus. Al-Muqtabas VI. Edited by ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Raতman ‫ޏ‬AlƯ l-ণaۜۜƯ. Beirut: DƗr al-৭aqƗfa, 1965. Translated by Emilio García Gómez. Anales Palatinos del Califa de Córdoba al-‫ۉ‬akam II, por ҵIsà ibn A‫ۊ‬mad al-RƗzƯ (350-364 H. = 971975 J.C.). Madrid: Sociedad de Estudios y Publicaciones, 1967.

The Heavenly Harem: Sexual Rewards in the Path to God QUR RIS

TA

TUH

105

QurҴƗn. El Corán. Translated by Julio Cortés. Barcelona: Herder, 2005. Al-QayrawƗnƯ, Ibn AbƯ Zayd. Al-RisƗla l-Fiqhiyya li-l-šay‫ ې‬AbƯ Mu‫ۊ‬ammad ҵAbd AllƗh b. AbƯ Zayd al-QayrawƗnƯ, al-mutawafà sana 386. Edited by Al-HƗdƯ ণammnj and Muতammad Abnj al-AۜfƗn. Beirut: DƗr al-Ƥarb al-IslƗmƯ, 1986. Translated by Jesús Riosalido. Compendio de derecho islámico (RisƗla fƯ l-Fiqh). Madrid: Editorial Trotta, 1993. Al-‫ޏ‬U঎rƯ, Aতmad b. ‫ޏ‬Umar b. Anas. Nu‫܈‬nj‫ ܈‬ҵan al-Andalus min kitƗb tar‫܈‬Ưҵ al-a‫ې‬bƗr wa-tanwƯҵ al-Ɨ‫ܔ‬Ɨr wa-l-bustƗn fƯ ƥarƗҴib al-buldƗn wal-masƗlik ilà ЂamƯҵ al-mamƗlik. Edited by ‫ޏ‬Abd al-‫ޏ‬AzƯz al-AhwƗnƯ. Madrid: Instituto de Estudios Islámicos, 1965. Translated by Fernando de la Granja. “La Marca Superior en la obra de al-‫ޏ‬U঎rƯ.” Estudios de Edad Media de la Corona de Aragón 8 (1966): 447–545. Ibn Hu঎ayl, ‫ޏ‬AlƯ b. ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Raতman. Tu‫ۊ‬fat al-anfus wa šiҵƗr sukkƗn al-Andalus. Edited by ‫ޏ‬Abd AllƗh NubhƗn and Muতammad FƗtiত Zagl. Al Ain: Zayed Center for Heritage and History, 2004.

Notes 1 For translations and commentaries on some of the traditions compiled by Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn, see María Arcas Campoy, “Teoría jurídica de la guerra santa: el KitƗb Qidwat al-GƗzƯ de Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn,” Al-Andalus-Magreb 1 (1993): 51–65. According to Sunni doctrine, jihad is the offensive and defensive war effort that Muslims make against those who do not profess the Islamic religion. See Émile Tyan, “DjihƗd,” in Encyclopédie de l’Islam, ed. Bernard Lewis et al. (Leiden– París: E. J. Brill–Maisonneuve & Larose, 1997), II: 551; Felipe Maíllo, “El ǔihƗd. Teoría jurídica y praxis en el mundo islámico actual,” Revista Española de Filosofía Medieval 10 (2003): 111–12; Alejandro García Sanjuán, “Bases doctrinales y jurídicas del yihad en el derecho islámico clásico (siglos VIII–XIII),” Clio & Crimen 6 (2009): 258–59. 2 KQG, 114. 3 María Arcas Campoy, “La escatología de la Guerra Santa,” Boletín de la Asociación Española de Orientalistas 29 (1993): 171; Alejandro García Sanjuán, “El concepto islámico de martirio,” in Lágrimas en la lluvia. Estudios sobre la muerte y los muertos, ed. José María Miura Andrades and Juan Carlos Arboleda Goldaracena (Sevilla: Aconcagua Libros, 2014), 285. 4 KQG, 136–63, 178–84, 192–98, 210–23. 5 KQG, 224–35. 6 QUR, 2:23–25, 3:13–15, 4:57, 37:47–48, 38:52, 44:54, 52:20, 55:56, 55:58, 55:72, 56:22–24, 78:33; KWF, 118–22; KSY ed. 93-94, trans. 94-95. The verses of the Qur’an dealing with houris and other texts related to them have been studied in the works of Concepción Castillo Castillo, “Las huríes en la tradición musulmana,” Miscelánea de Estudios Árabes e Islámicos 34–35 (1985–1986): 7–18, and Dolors Bramon, “Una cuestión de género en el Más Allá: hurís en el Paraíso islámico,” in

106

Chapter Five

Traducir el mundo árabe. Homenaje a Leonor Martínez, ed. Mònica Rius Piniés (Barcelona: Publicacions i Edicions de la Universitat de Barcelona, 2015), 155–67. On the eschatology of jihad, see Arcas Campoy, “La escatología,” 167–75; María Arcas Campoy, “Miedo, muerte y vida en la escatología de la Guerra Santa,” in Miedo y religión, ed. Francisco Díez de Velasco (Madrid: Ediciones del Orto, 2002), 63–69; Diego Melo Carrasco, “Gloria, sacrificio y martirio en la tradición preislámica y en el Islam Clásico,” Revista Cultura y Religión 2, no. 1 (2008); García Sanjuán, “El concepto islámico,” 283–89. 7 RIS, ed. 189–91, trans. 105–07; BID, ed. 380–407, partially translated 19–34. 8 TUH, 59. 9 KQG, 227, 228, 229–30, 231–32, 233–35. 10 This fact was already noted in Arcas Campoy, “La escatología,” 174–75. 11 The KitƗb Qudwat al-ƤƗzƯ was translated into German by R. Wechsel in 1970 with the title Das buch “Quidwat al-gƗzƯ.” Ein beitrag zur Geschichte der ЂihƗdliteratur. See: Arcas Campoy, “Teoría jurídica,” 53. The analysis provided here is based on the Arabic text edited by ‫ޏ‬Ɩ‫ގ‬išà ণasƯn al-SulaymƗnƯ. 12 KQG, 229–30. 13 KQG, 231–32. 14 KQG, 233–35. 15 The only source that records all of al-Manৢnjr’s campaigns is the ‫ڳ‬ikr bilƗd alAndalus, although it usually includes only briefs account. The campaigns led by his son, al-Mu਌affar, are well documented in the third volume of the al-BayƗn alMuƥrib. 16 KA, 62–63, 63–65. 17 On the dazzling career of Muতammad b. AbƯ ‫ޏ‬Ɩmir, who rose from being a mere FaqƯ to becoming the highest political authority in al-Andalus, see: Xavier Ballestín, Al-Mansur y la dawla ‘amiriya: una dinámica de poder y legitimidad en el occidente musulmán medieval (Barcelona: Publicacions i edicions de la Universitat de Barcelona, 2004). On the professional trajectory of ƤƗlib b. ‫ޏ‬Abd alRaতman, who apparently ended up exercising some sort of superior administrative authority over the border governors in the service of the Umayyad caliphs, see Mohamed Meouak, “La biographie de GƗlib, haut fonctionnaire andalou de l’époque califale: carrière politique et titres honorifiques,” Al-Qan‫ܒ‬ara 11, no. (1990): 102–04. 18 Eugène Certain, ed., Les miracles de Saint Benoît écrits par Adrevald, Aimoin, André Raoul Tortaire et Hugues de Sainte Marie, moines de Fleury (Paris: Libraire de la Société de l’Histoire de France, 1858), 187–90; Albert Benet i Clarà, El procés d’independència de Catalunya (897-989) (Sallent: Institut d’Arqueologia, Història i Ciències Naturals, 1988), 129–31; Albert Benet i Clarà, “Les incursions d’Almansor i Abd al-Malik,” in Catalunya Romànica, ed. Antoni Pladevall, and Jordi Vigué (Barcelona: Enciclopèdia Catalana, 1997), vol. XXIV, 301. 19 Certain, Les miracles de Saint Benoît, 187–90; Benet i Clarà, El procés d’independència, 129–31; Benet i Clarà, “Les incursions,” 301. 20 BML III, ed. 12–13, trans. 20–21; Évariste Lévi-Provençal, “Observations sur le texte du Tome III du BayƗn d’Ibn ‫ޏ‬I঎ƗrƯ,” in Mélanges Gaudefroy-Demombynes

The Heavenly Harem: Sexual Rewards in the Path to God

107

(Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire, 1935-1945), 241–258; Dolors Bramon, De quan érem o no musulmans: textos del 713 al 1010 (Vic– Barcelona: Eumo Editorial–Institut d’Estudis Catalans–Institut Universitari d’Història Jaume Vicens i Vives, 2002), 351–54, n. 346. 21 BML III, ed. 13–14, 21–23, trans. 21, 28–30. 22 BML III, ed. 23–24, trans. 30–31. On the events that followed the fitna of the Umayyad Caliphate of Córdoba (1009-1031) see Peter C. Scales, The Fall of the Caliphate of Córdoba. Berbers and Andalusis in conflict, (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994). 23 DBA, 162; KA, 69–72; Luis Molina, “Las campañas de Almanzor a la luz de un nuevo texto,” Al-Qan‫ܒ‬ara 2, nos. 1–2 (1981): 259. 24 DBA, 157; Molina, “Las campañas,” 238. 25 DBA, 158; Molina, “Las campañas,” 239–40. 26 DBA, 158; Molina, “Las campañas,” 240. 27 DBA, 158; Molina, “Las campañas,” 248. 28 DBA, 158; Molina, “Las campañas,” 248. 29 DBA, 159; Molina, “Las campañas,” 249–50; Manuel Sánchez Martínez, “La expedición de Al-Manৢnjr contra Barcelona en el 985 según las fuentes árabes,” in Catalunya i França meridional a l’entorn de l’any mil: Colloque international, C.N.R.S –Generalitat de Catalunya, Hugues Capet 987-1987. La France de l’an mil: Barcelona, 2–5 juliol 1987, ed. Xavier Barral i Altet (Barcelona: Generalitat de Catalunya. Departament de Cultura, 1991), 293–301. For an in-depth analysis, see Ballestín, Al-Mansur. 30 DBA, 159; Molina, “Las campañas,” 251–52. 31 DBA, 160; Molina, “Las campañas,” 256–57. 32 DBA, 163; Molina, “Las campañas,” 261. 33 DBA, 163; Molina, “Las campañas,” 263. 34 DBA, 163; Molina, “Las campañas,” 263. 35 BML III, 4–8, 8–9, 10; Bramon, De quan érem, 345–50. 36 BML III, ed. 11–12, trans. 18–19. 37 BML III, ed. 12–13, trans. 20–21; Lévi-Provençal, “Observations sur le texte,” 241–58; Bramon, De quan érem, 351–54. 38 In the last years of al-Manৢnjr the state raised 4,000,000 annual dinars in taxes, see KA, 98. In the time of Caliph ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Raতman III this figure amounted to 5,480,000 dinars, see BML II, ed. 247, trans. 382. 39 RIS, ed. 189-191, trans. 105–07. 40 On the chronology of Muতammad b. ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Malik al-৫awƯl tenure as governor of Huesca, see Juan Antonio Souto, “Cronología y gobernadores de Huesca omeya,” in Homenaje al profesor José María Fórneas Besteiro (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1995), vol. II, 860–61. 41 M III, ed. 146–47, trans. XXXI-XXXII (1960), 316–21; TA, ed. 56, trans. 506– 07; BML II, ed. 150, trans. 242. 42 At the time of Caliph ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Raতman III a third of the tax revenue went directly to the state treasury, which gives an amount of 1,826,667 dinars, see BML II, ed. 247, trans. 382. In the last years of al-Manৢnjr’s rule, the monthly expenses were

108

Chapter Five

between 150,000 and 200,000 dinars, which amounted to more than 500,000 in the months in which military expeditions were organized. The rest went to the treasury, see KA, 98. In a normal year with only one military expedition, this figure would be 1,575,000 dinars. It is very probable, however, that the surplus achieved thanks to the captives was invested in the preparation of new military expeditions against the Christians, since these increased significantly during the ‫ޏ‬Ɩmiri period. 43 M VI, ed. 127, trans. 161. 44 BML III, ed. 21–23, trad. 28–30. 45 Manuela Marín, “La práctica del ribƗ‫ ܒ‬en al-Andalus (ss. III-V/IX-XI),” in El ribƗ‫ ܒ‬califal. Excavaciones y estudios (1984-1992), ed. Rafael Azuar Ruiz (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez, 2004), 191–201. 46 AM, ed. 150, trans. 131; Reinhart Pieter Anne Dozy, Supplément aux dictionnaires arabes (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1881), vol. I, 290; Julio Cortés, Diccionario de árabe culto moderno (Madrid: Editorial Gredos, 2008), 238; Miquel Barceló, “Un estudio sobre la estructura fiscal y procedimientos contables del emirato omeya de Córdoba (138-300/755-912) y del califato (300–366/912–976),” Acta Historica et Archaeologica Mediaevalia 5–6 (1984–1985): 48–54. 47 KQG, 131–33; Arcas Campoy, “Teoría jurídica,” 57, 59–60; García Sanjuán, “El concepto islámico,” 285. 48 BML III, ed. 12–13, trans. 20–21; Lévi-Provençal, “Observations,” 241–58; Bramon, De quan érem, 351–54; Cristina de la Puente, “Mujeres cautivas en la Tierra del Islam,” Al-Andalus-Magreb 14 (2007): 28, 30; Francisco Vidal Castro, “Poder religioso y cautivos creyentes en la Edad Media: la experiencia islámica,” in Fe, Cautiverio y Liberación. Actas del I Congreso Trinitario de Granada (Granada, 6, 7 y 8 de 1995), ed. I. Hernández Delgado (Córdoba: Secretariado Trinitario, 1996), 78; Francisco Vidal Castro, “El cautivo en el mundo islámico: Visión y vivencia desde el otro lado de la frontera andalusí,” in II Estudios de Frontera. Actividad y vida en la Frontera (Alcalá la Real, del 19 al 22 de noviembre de 1997), ed. Francisco Toro Cevallos and José Rodríguez Molina (Jaén: Diputación Provincial de Jaén, Área de Cultura , 1998), 779. 49 Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn includes a tradition in which a man asks the Prophet whether, if he kills a Jew, he can keep the Jew’s donkey. The man ends up killed by the Jew and his companions happily exclaim that he has reached Paradise for he died in the “path the God.” However, the Prophet chastened them, for the man, in fact, had died in the “path to the donkey.” See KQG, 132–33; Arcas Campoy, “Teoría jurídica,” 60. On concubinage in Islam see Cristina de la Puente, “Límites legales del concubinato: normas y tabúes en la esclavitud sexual según la BidƗya de Ibn Rušd,” Al-Qan‫ܒ‬ara 28/2 (2007): 409–33.

CHAPTER SIX ETHICAL AND MORAL BARRIERS IN MAIMONIDES AND RABBEINU YONAH HAGERONDI’S COMMENTARIES ON THE PIRKEI AVOT: RESTRICTIONS ON THE RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN MEN AND WOMEN IN THE JEWISH COMMUNITIES OF THE MIDDLE AGES ALBERT LIZANDRA

Reception Jewish people base their faith on the existence of only one God—the notion of Adonai Echad—the sovereign creator of the universe. This transcendent and eternal God chose them as His only heirs through a series of alliances and pacts until the time of Moshe, to whom God revealed the Torah, or The Laws. From this moment onwards, the Jews and their beliefs were tied to a perpetual descent of works in which they found a religious, ethical and moral belief system; to the point that even in today’s religious court system, these laws still inform some decisions concerning litigious matters. Pirkei Avot is among the main Jewish texts; one of the most essential pillars of the Jewish faith, and explains the requirements God handed down to Moshe on Mount Sinai. It contains the wisdom of the most relevant rabbis and teachers from the first centuries of the Common Era, and elucidates various biblical passages for the entire Jewish community. It also establishes a code of conduct, binding Jews to the Laws of Moshe, the Torah, and God, and for this reason it is also known as Chapters of the Fathers. Composed as six chapters, the Avot is unique because it is the only treatise in the Mishnah that deals with the ethical and moral

110

Chapter Six

principles of life, and by extension, with the ways to observe and perform the mitzvot, or “good deeds.” It is necessary to clarify the confusion about the title of Pirkei Avot, which literally means “chapters of the fathers,” because this source is also known by other names. The most common are Pirkei Avot, simply Avot (Fathers), and Masechet Avot (Treatise of the Fathers). As noted above, Avot refers to the main rabbis of the beginning of the Common Era who wrote the sayings found in the text. Avot is also linked to the Avot haOlam (the Fathers of the World) and the Avot ha-Rishonim (the First Fathers) who passed on the knowledge from generation to generation; therefore, they were not only biological fathers, but spiritual fathers as well. Moreover, Avot also alludes to Avot Beit Din (Masters of the Rabbinic Court), which means that the chapters of Avot were written by judges for judges and would serve them as a tool for justice. Consequently, this chapter is named by combining the following concepts: EthicsKnowledge-Wisdom-Precepts… of the Fathers-Sages-Rabbis-Masters. Once the doubts about its name have been cleared up, one is left with question “what is Pirkei Avot precisely?” This text is considered part of the “Musar Literature” which means that Avot is both didactic and ethical at the same time. This kind of literature flourished during the Middle Ages. As stated above, Pirkei Avot is part of the Mishnah. The Mishnah is the first major work of the Jewish oral tradition, also known as the ‘Oral Torah’, written by rabbis (that is, by the fathers) in the first centuries of the Common Era. The Mishnah consists of six orders. The fourth one is called Nezikin (Damages) and deals with civil and criminal law, the functioning of the courts, and oaths. Nezikin is composed of ten treatises and Pirkei Avot is one of them. The volume of Avot is unique because it is the only one that deals with ethical and moral principles and there is little halakhah in it. Halakhah is the branch of rabbinical literature that outlines the laws of Jewish religious and ethical behaviour; in other words, it deals with how to observe the 613 mitzvot (precepts) and with every aspect of the daily life of Jews. There exists an entire section called Nashim (Women) which dictates the rules of marriage and divorce and elaborates upon relationship restrictions between men and women in the Jewish communities of the Middle Ages. Why is Avot so essential for the sustenance and survival of the Jewish people? The answer is clear: Pirkei Avot legitimates the entire Oral Law

Commentaries on the Pirkei Avot

111

and its chain of transmission from the Fathers to the Sons of Israel. In addition, Avot contains the wisdom of the rabbis who explain various biblical passages to provide advice for their disciples, and by extension, for the entire Jewish community. For these reasons, the influence of Avot was extremely important. On the one hand, highly-respected scholars wrote their own exegesis regardless of the territory where they lived. On the other, this text was a tool for rabbis to give counsel and to resolve the doubts or problems raised within their communities. Therefore, during the Middle Ages, this work was popular amongst Jewish communities throughout the Mediterranean, and was a ‘bedside book’ in synagogues, where it helped rabbis to lead their congregations. The collection of rabbinical sayings and maxims contained in Avot, highlighted the importance not only of study, but also of the observance of the Torah, while at the same time it focused on the respect people should have for themselves and for others. Thus, one of the topics covered in Pirkei Avot is the relationship between men and women, or rather the barriers between sexes that exist to avoid distraction from the commandments and are directly aimed at men. Within this patriarchal society, women were seen as negative influences for men, especially any time they did not conform to their assigned roles. Jewish teachers related the concept of women disturbing men to the episode in the Torah when Eve brought sin upon Adam by convincing him to eat the forbidden fruit; therefore, according to them, the power of a woman’s speech could lead a man astray from the righteous path. Despite having equal rights, Jewish women and men have fulfilled different role requirements within Hebrew societies throughout different epochs, and some of those differences are found within Avot. Jewish teachers elaborated further. They claimed that the three worst transgressions of a Jew were idolatry, immoral sexual practices, and murder. Within Judaism it is supremely important to study the Torah and adhere to religious observance. However, it is also essential to point out that study was only reserved for men. During the Middle Ages, a limited number of women from higher social spheres of society could delve into the Scriptures, however this was always done under the supervision of their fathers or tutors. Following the instructions contained in Sotah, the fifth chapter of the third order of the Mishnah—called Nashim—recalls that “Rabbi Eliezer says: Whoever teaches his daughter Torah, it is as if he teaches her licentiousness.”1 This assertion illustrates the point that study was something frowned upon and

112

Chapter Six

forbidden for the majority of women, therefore most men refused to teach their daughters in order to deter women from sinning. Women were not only excluded, but also discriminated against. They were considered inept and incapable of performing public duties and assuming community positions.2 A woman’s only duty was to take care of her children and husband—who was the only one allowed to study. This panorama shows that Jewish women were mistreated in the Iberian Peninsula because “misogynist attitudes were part of the prevailing atmosphere in Spain during latter half of the Middle Ages.”3 It is precisely in this oppressing environment for women that Maimonides and Yonah ben Abraham ha-Gerondi provided two medieval interpretations for the sayings in Avot.4 These two wise men lived in the same age but came from different regions and schools: Maimonides was from Al-Andalus, and Rabbeinu Yonah was from the Catalan territories. Consequently, it seems reasonable to assume that the barriers between the lives of men and women could be somewhat different depending on where they resided.

Relationships The teachings in Jewish sacred scriptures, such as Pirkei Avot, define and confine the ethical and moral barriers that establish the cohabitation principles of Jewish society. Furthermore, they highlight the importance of the study and observance of the Torah based on the appeal of wisdom and the respect for oneself and for others. In other words, in the six chapters of Avot, Jews are provided with all the ethical rules for daily life, including sexual intercourse, for it can negatively influence the study of the Law. Let us now point out some additional issues concerning Jewish relationships between sexes. First, Judaism has a complex set of laws governing human relations and sexuality. At any rate, the Jewish view of sexuality is unrivalled in other religions because sex and sexual pleasure are approved within Judaism. Sexual intercourse is required for the existence of human beings. This is already stated in Genesis 1:28, “And God said to them: ‘Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it’.” Therefore, sex is a mitzvah. “Pleasure, like our sexual organs, is a gift from the Creator.”5 Secondly, the Talmud establishes that “a person will be held accountable to God for refusing to enjoy those pleasures that are permitted. Maimonides calls such a person a sinner. So, celibacy and self-denial are

Commentaries on the Pirkei Avot

113

not on the Jewish agenda.”6 Likewise, there is no place for free love, for prostitution, rape, incest, or bestiality, because sexual activity cannot involve the exploitation, coercion, or subjugation of another being. Thirdly, sexuality is an important part of marriage. It is compulsory for the husband to ensure that his wife enjoys sex, because “it is indicative of how holy sex within marriage is considered that it is a mitzvah to have intercourse even on the Shabbat.”7 There is an abundance of literature dealing with this issue. For example, Iggeret ha-Kodesh (literally, Holy Letter) is a book concerning marriage and attributed to Nahmanides.8 The main topic of this book concerns the sexual intercourse between a husband and his wife, which is addressed from two perspectives: the sexual experience as a holy mitzvah, and the understanding that the two share a mystical union free of shame. This letter recommends having sex on Friday nights (when Shabbat, the holiest day in Judaism, has already started) because that time is the moment for the foundation of the world.9 Shabbat is the peak of the creation of the world, and therefore the peak for people to have sex and engender new lives. Interestingly, the husband must avoid lecherous and lustful thoughts during love making because his fantasies and his thoughts may predetermine the nature of the newborn child.10 Engagement also has its boundaries, as we find some restrictive attitudes towards women already in the Torah. For instance, in Genesis 3:16 we learn about the relationship between Adam and Eve. It is said that the man can dominate his spouse, which conveys a situation of gender inequality: “To the woman He said, ‘I shall surely increase your sorrow and your pregnancy; in pain you shall bear children. And to your husband will be your desire, and he will rule over you’.” And in n Exodus 20:14 we read: “You shall not covet your neighbor's house. You shall not covet your neighbor's wife, his manservant, his maidservant, his ox, his donkey, or whatever belongs to your neighbor.” These quotes underscore the notion that a man needs to respect his neighbour by not seducing his wife, that is, his property. Again, this illustrates gender inequality within the confines of marriage. Therefore, how did men study the Torah while still attending to the needs of a successful marriage? Not all the rabbis shared the same stance regarding this complex issue, as we can deduct from the commentaries on Avot by Maimonides and Rabbeinu Yonah.

114

Chapter Six

As previously noted, Maimonides was a rationalist thinker and tried to conciliate faith and reason and this is why he is considered the most outstanding personality of medieval Judaism. Moshe ben Maimon was antagonistic to the teachings of the Geonim, who demanded money in exchange for providing education.11 It was because of this that Maimonides believed the intellectuals from the northern territories to be corrupt. He synthesized aspects of Jewish faith with Aristotelian philosophy, thus establishing ways of introducing and coding Greek legal issues into the Jewish ways of life. This challenged the Talmudic system of discussion used by rabbis in the north. Maimonides saw this Talmudic system as archaic and flawed, which illustrates the rift between Jewish traditions in the north and the south. The Talmudic scholar Rabbeinu Yonah ha-Gerondi followed his teacher Nahmanides, an exegete and mystic, and was therefore totally opposed to Maimonides’s philosophy. The traditionalist sector in Europe, led by Shlomoh ben Abraham of Montpellier and Rabbeinu Yonah, rose against the beliefs of Maimonides and his support of Greek philosophy. As a result, most of the northern rabbis began a campaign against him known as the “Maimonidean Controversy.” The Mishneh Torah and the Guide for the Perplexed, written by Maimonides, were burned because the northern rabbis did not accept that the synthesized study of RaMBaM’s books was enough to teach Jews in schools, and believed that delving into the study of the Talmud had to be mandatory.12 The traditionalists then argued that philosophers denied miracles, saw prophecies as normal phenomena, downplayed the authorship of scriptures and biblical passages, and failed to respect good deeds. That was the context where these two rabbis— Maimonides and Rabbeinu Yonah—wrote their opposing commentaries on Pirkei Avot. Maimonides’s introduction to Avot is not the same text as his commentaries (on Avot), although these two texts are often confused. On the one hand, Maimonides wrote his introduction (to Avot) in his book Shemone Perakim (Eight Chapters); on the other, Maimonides composed his own commentaries on Avot to help readers understand every verse unerringly when he translated the Chapters of the Fathers into JudeoArabic, his native tongue. Another remarkable feature is the fact that Maimonides did not provide a translation or commentary to the sixth chapter of Avot because that chapter is not included in the Talmud. In order to have enough material to study the set of Avot between Pesach and Shavuot, the ancient rabbis created a sixth extension to the five previous chapters.

Commentaries on the Pirkei Avot

115

Maimonides’s Eight Chapters is an ethical treatise in which he explained Pirkei Avot and by providing his conception of personal growth. To do so, he explained the nature of our personal make-up in a systematic way; in other words, how we can control our behaviour to be more productive. For instance, the author pointed out the difference between a pious person and one who overcomes desire.13 Contrarily to Maimonides, Rabbeinu Yonah wrote a brief introduction to Avot and provided a simple meaning for each verse. As the Catalan author explained in his preface, Avot is included in the section of Nezikin (Damages) because the only way to achieve piety is through strict observance of both the ethical teachings included in Avot and the obedience to the laws contained in Nezikin.14

Restrictions In the following passages of Avot, we will see how Maimonides and Rabbeinu Yonah interpreted the dealings between men and women: Yossi ben Yochanan, man of Jerusalem, says: “Be your house wide open and let the poor be members of thy household; and do not talk much with women.” This was said about one's own wife and about the wife of one's neighbor. Therefore, the sages said: “Any time that a man talks too much with a woman, he brings evil upon himself and neglects the study of the Torah and will end inheriting the hell.” [Avot 1:5]

The issue of “not to talk too much with women” means men shouldn’t engage in idle chatter with women, not even with their wives, for most such discussions are frivolous, without modesty, and generally end up as gossip. Men should better spend their time by learning the Torah which is a mitzvah. A man shouldn’t think about the Torah and women simultaneously; it is either one or the other. Men shouldn’t chat with women either, because people might get suspicious about their motives. Talking leads to desire, and desire leads to action. However, men should offer respect and attach importance to their wives views, opinions, and counsel. Moreover, a man must hold his wife in esteem and show recognition for her wisdom by engaging her in serious conversations. In reference to the line “do not talk much with women,” Maimonides was asserting the idea that when a man talks with a woman, he will eventually talk about sex, which will ultimately drive him to sin. Because the natural inclination of a man’s heart is towards evil, he needs to fight his desires. In turn, Rabbeinu Yonah believed that talking to women made

116

Chapter Six

men weak, resulting in sexual fantasies that would distract him from the study of the Torah. Furthermore, the rabbi from Girona pointed out that (he) “who talks too much with women brings evil upon himself” and this notion is related to the Christian idea of original sin, specifically when Eve shared the forbidden fruit of the tree with Adam, resulting in shame. The rabbi mentioned a piyut (poem) to support his argument: “A woman who is a snare, her heart is a net, for a man, because once he looks at her, he becomes ensnared in her net and is unable to escape her. For a man sees what his heart desires, without seeing the consequences.”15 By extension, if one should not waste their time on idle chitchat with their spouse, he or she ought not to not waste time with the spouse of his or her friends either Rabbi Elazar ha-Kapar says: “envy/jealousy, lust and ambition remove man from the world.” [Avot 4:21]

Maimonides claimed that having “jealousy, lust, and ambition” prevents us from acquiring ethical or intellectual virtues. Regarding “jealousy and lust,” the Catalan rabbi in turn said that these conditions are negative qualities, capital sins, and are the first step towards sin for men because “desire is the first stage of any sinful action or deed, even preceding thought […] An excessive desire for permitted marital relations is very bad.”16 Every love that depends upon something when the thing passes away, then the love passes away too. But if love doesn’t depend upon anything, then the love will never pass away. What is the love which depends upon something? That is the love of Amnon and Tammar. And what is the love which doesn’t depend upon anything? That is the love of David and Jonathan. [Avot 5:16]

RaMBaM explained that the love for banalities vanishes quickly as things disappear, but the love for what is not trivial never fades. For Maimonides, all physical issues are temporary; but those which are metaphysical, such as the love for God, will last forever because that kind of love is eternal: “If the cause of the love is of Godly matter, true knowledge, it is impossible that this love will ever be nullified, for its cause exists eternally.”17 In order to explain this passage, Rabbeinu Yonah cited Samuel II 13:15, which talks about Ammon’s love for Tammar, his sister, both of them descendants of King David. With the help of a friend, Amnon convinced his father that he was sick and needed Tammar to feed him while he was resting in bed. Once Amnon was in his bedroom in the company of his sister, he raped her. After the assault, he developed a hate for Tammar that was stronger than the love he previously felt, because

Commentaries on the Pirkei Avot

117

“this love, which was totally self-centered, did not endure.”18 As a result, Amnon repudiated his sister on account of the hate he felt towards her, and this alone was more despicable than the rape itself!

Reasoning “The commentaries on Avot offered a lively platform for discussing contemporary problems […] teaching us not only about the text being elucidated but also about the worlds of the commentators and their communities.”19 As we have seen in the three examples provided above, the commentaries and interpretations on Pirkei Avot by Maimonides and Rabbeinu Yonah perfectly convey the ethics and morality surrounding the relationship between men and women in their societies. In conclusion, “to talk too much to a woman” makes man break two precepts, for he leaves aside the study of the Torah and feels sexual desire for other women who are not his wife. For these rabbis, it was a sin to talk with women excessively, because men ended up talking about sex. Moreover, jealousy and lust for a woman make men sin, taking them out of the world, and when love is grounded on personal interest, it won’t last; only the love for the scriptures will endure. These commentaries were gender barriers purposefully imposed to prevent distraction from the commandments, and they were directly aimed at men. The collection of rabbinical commands contained in the Avot emphasizes the importance of the study and observance of the Torah. At the same time it fosters the admiration and respect men should have for themselves as well as for women.

Notes 1

Order Nashim, Chapter Sotah, perek 3, mishnah 4. Moisé Orfali, “Influencia de las Sociedades Cristiana y Musulmana en la Condición de la Mujer Judía,” in Árabes, Judías y Cristianas: Mujeres en la Europa Medieval, ed. Celia del Moral (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1993), 78. 3 Nahem Ilan, “‘Do not talk excessively with Women’. A Study of Selected Medieval Sephardic Commentaries,” Hispania Judaica Bulletin 10 (2014): 142. 4 Maimonides full name was Moshe ben Maimon (Cordova 1135–Egypt 1204), and he was also known by the acronym RaMBaM. Yonah ben Abraham haGerondi was known as Rabbeinu Yonah (d. Toledo, 1263). 2

118

5

Chapter Six

George Robinson, Essential Judaism. A Complete Guide to Beliefs, Customs, and Rituals (New York: Pocket Books, 2000), 244. 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid. 8 His full name is Moshe ben Nahman. He is also known by the acronym of RaMBaN and by the Catalan name Bonastruc ça Porta, Girona 1194-Akko 1270. 9 Eduard Feliu, Lletra Santa concernent l’ajustament carnal de marit i muller (Barcelona: Columna, 1986), 56. 10 Ibid., 72. 11 The Geonim were the presidents of the Talmudic academies in Babylonia. They were considered to be spiritual leaders during the Middle Ages. 12 The Mishneh Torah, also known as Sefer Yad ha-Hazakah, consists of fourteen books that compile Jewish religious law. As for the Guide for the Perplexed, Moreh Nebukhim in Hebrew, it consists of three books and it is considered as Maimonides’s most important work. 13 Eliyahu Touger, Shemoneh Perakim: The Rambam’s Classic Work of Ethics and Maimonides’s Pirkei Avot with the Rambam’s commentary (New York: Moznaim Publishing Corporation, 1994), 7. 14 David Sedley, Rabbenu Yonah (New York: The Judaica Press Inc., 2008), 15. 15 Ibid., 39–40. 16 Ibid., 251. 17 Touger, Shemoneh Perakim, 141. 18 Sedley, Rabbenu Yonah, 314. 19 Ilan, “Do not talk,” 143.

CHAPTER SEVEN “I KNOW NOTHING FOR SURE, BUT I HAVE HEARD IT.” THE ROLE OF HEARSAY AND FAMA IN THE WITCHCRAFT TRIALS OF 15THCENTURY CATALONIA PAU CASTELL GRANADOS

From little things is fama born among neighbours Once it is born, it dies hard, despite not being true It grows everyday with envy and falsehood Little can prevent the meanness of the mean.1 Juan Ruiz’s Libro del Buen Amor, vol.1, l. 707 (1343)

“What have you heard about her?” This was one of the most frequently asked questions in the inquests (enquestes) regarding women accused of witchcraft that were carried out in many secular courts in fifteenth-century Catalonia. What was said about someone created his or her fama, and had a central importance in medieval courts of justice, especially after the legal change brought about by the adoption of the inquisitorial procedure, which took place in Europe between the thirteenth and the fourteenth centuries. The concepts of hearsay and fama appear as even more relevant in a type of trials where factual proof was often hard to come by and usually completely non-existent but for the suspect’s own confession. From the early fifteenth century onwards, Catalonia was the scenario of numerous judicial actions against women accused of harming and killing people or livestock by maleficent and diabolical means. They were called witches and poisoners (bruixes i metzineres in Catalan, maleficae et vereficae in Latin) and were brought to justice by local courts that held

120

Chapter Seven

secular trials often instigated by the neighbours of the suspects in a context of death and disease, especially of children and cattle.2 However, unlike the trials for regular murder or poisoning, the severity of the charges contrasted here with the difficulty to prove them in a court of justice, given the total lack of witness or material evidence. Thus, the things “being heard” by the witnesses became the main and often the only evidence used in this type of trials, most of which ended with a death sentence for having actually perpetrated the crimes people had heard and talked about. The role of hearsay and fama then needs to be considered when trying to understand the workings of these secular witchcraft trials, for what people heard (rather than what they actually knew, saw, or experienced) would become the dangerous basis for judicial truth.

Hearsay, Fama, and Witchcraft The role of hearsay and fama in legal proceedings has drawn the attention of medievalists over the last few decades. The most thorough study on this topic remains Francesco Megliorino’s monograph, which addressed the concepts of fama and infamia in civil and canon law in great depth.3 Megliorino masterfully analysed the impact of these two antagonistic concepts on legal proceedings, as well as their influence on social, economic, and political relations in the medieval period. Besides the differences between fama and infamia facti and fama and infamia legalis, the contrast established between the idea of notorium, understood as an evident fact derived from evidence, sentences, and confessions, and the idea of fama as public opinion on specific facts and personal reputation is especially revealing. The latter, although insufficient to convict a suspect, was in itself a presumption of guilt.4 In addition to Megliorino’s seminal work, which was later enriched by the contributions of authors such as Richard M. Fraher, Chris Wickham, and Claude Gauvard, the latest research on the subject was compiled in a miscellany published in 2003, in which several researchers discussed the phenomenon of fama in the Middle Ages on the basis of legal and procedural sources from several European kingdoms.5 In general terms, the authors elaborated on the mechanisms for establishing good and bad reputation in medieval communities and their repercussions in both the social and legal spheres. As for the Catalan area, the relative lack of works on this subject poses a stark contrast to the wealth of late medieval extant documents from this

The Role of Hearsay and Fama in Witchcraft Trials

121

territory. In the midst of this historiographical silence the valuable works of Marie A. Kelleher stand out. Kelleher, whose work is especially focused on women, combines the most recent historiographical reflections at the European level with the rich documentation kept in Catalan archives.6 The author’s contributions to the articulation of the legal concepts of inquisitio and fama in late medieval Catalan society are central to the understanding of the importance of these mechanisms in the Catalan legal system, previously analysed by authors such as Josep Mª Font Rius, Jesús Lalinde, Josep Mª Pons Guri, Victor Ferro, and Flocel Sabaté.7 The consequences of the adoption of the inquisitorial system in Catalonia in relation to the concept of fama have also been addressed by Ivo Elies in a recent article, in which the author emphasizes the importance of public reputation and its role as the basis for a so-called “common knowledge” in medieval Catalan society.8 In this context, witchcraft trials are particularly useful in order to approach the role of hearsay and fama as a source of knowledge and, ultimately, of judicial truth. Unlike other criminal trials, witchcraft proceedings stand out because of the total lack of material or testimonial evidence as proof of the crime. In most of these trials the court had no physical evidence whatsoever and no witnesses who had directly experienced the criminal action. In the absence of evidence, the courts would be limited to what witnesses had heard (audivit) about the crime and its alleged perpetrators; an information that was often the sole basis for the suspicions against the accused, their criminal prosecution, and even for their subsequent conviction. In the last decades, some researchers have come to situate the concepts of hearsay and fama at the root of the witch-hunting phenomenon, both in Europe and elsewhere. The British author Robin Briggs has already convincingly demonstrated the popular origin of most witchcraft trials. These would start on the basis of accusations for maleficia made by the defendants’ neighbours, and were then substantiated by local authorities under pressure from the community itself in the midst of a climate of suspicion after a time of great mortality and other misfortunes.9 This view of the witch-hunt as a bottom-up phenomenon has also been confirmed by several anthropologists. In one of their most recent works, Pamela Stewart and Andrew Stathern show the catalytic role that rumours and gossip invariably play in the accusations of witchcraft and sorcery among several African and Southeastern Asian populations.10 The authors place these factors in the genesis of social and political violence in these communities, establishing interesting connections with witch-hunting episodes in

122

Chapter Seven

medieval and early modern Europe. The ill fame of certain individuals, spread and consolidated through rumour and gossip, would prompt violent outbursts in these communities during episodes of death or illness; violence that would often be channeled through judicial actions presided over by local authorities. This hypothesis was also put forward in my doctoral dissertation on witch-hunts in Catalonia in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, in which I devoted a chapter to analyse the role of fama and rumour in the context of witchcraft trials.11 The present contribution draws heavily on the considerations made in said work, and builds on the aforementioned hypothesis on the basis of late medieval judicial documentation.

The Judicial Proceedings for Witchcraft in Catalonia In Catalonia, the prosecution of the crime of witchcraft was mainly carried out by secular justice. In particular, local and baronial courts held over 90% of the witchcraft trials recorded between 1400 and 1700.12 It should be noted that in Catalan nobiliary domains—which ruled over two thirds of the territory—jurisdiction remained exclusively and completely with the lord, which left no room at all for royal intervention. The majority of trials for witchcraft took place in courts presided over by a batlle, a veguer or a procurator / governor, who acted as representatives of the jurisdictional secular or ecclesiastical lord of a given domain, with full civil and criminal jurisdiction according to the Catalan legal system. The situation of criminal law in fifteenth-century Catalonia has already been masterfully exposed in the aforementioned works by Lalinde and Ferro. Catalan secular courts were governed in the late medieval and early modern periods by the so-called common law (ius commune) and by furs, that is, the laws of the land, which had a parliamentary nature. It is also worth mentioning the existence of particular customs, which could give rise to a special privilege or regime that superseded the common law. These local and customary laws were sometimes ratified in writing in the form of statutes, bylaws, and privileges that were specific to particular jurisdictional domains.13 As for the crime of witchcraft, neither common nor customary laws provided any specific regulation for it. While some Pyrenean domains such as the valleys of Àneu adopted specific statutes against this crime over the fifteenth century, most local Catalan courts judged cases of witchcraft following the same pattern as in cases of murder or poisoning.

The Role of Hearsay and Fama in Witchcraft Trials

123

However, they tended to curtail the legal guarantees of the accused and to dispense with certain legal formalities to favour convictions, especially in contexts of high social pressure by village communities willing to punish the alleged culprits of the diseases and deaths that affected them.14 It should be kept in mind that criminal procedure in late medieval and Renaissance Catalonia was based on the inquisitorial system, according to which the detection and prosecution of crimes fell on the representatives of the authority through the figures of the judge and the prosecutor, who were in charge of looking for the necessary evidence to clarify the facts and also acted as plaintiff in the trial. This judicial modality, used in ecclesiastical courts after the Lateran Council (1215) and also adopted by secular courts during the late medieval centuries, meant the decline of the traditional accusatory system, according to which the initiative to prosecute rested solely on the plaintiff. Thus, it was the plaintiff who had to seek evidence and prove the crime before a judge who acted as arbiter and ensured the formal correctness of the proceedings. In contrast, in the inquisitorial system, judges could initiate an enquiry (inquisitio), summon the suspect, seek and assess evidence of guilt, and eventually sentence him or her. In this way, the accusation and subsequent investigation were monopolized by the representatives of the authority, thus dangerously diminishing the possibilities of defence of the innocent.15 In this context, the witchcraft trials registered in the course of my doctoral dissertation allow us to approach the proceedings of local and baronial Catalan courts in cases of witchcraft throughout the fifteenth century.16 The criminal procedure for witchcraft could be initiated with the “instància de part formada” of an alleged victim—a private criminal charge—which the procurator took over as prosecutor. However, the most common procedure was initiated ex officio, that is, directly by the court on the basis of the suspicion that a crime had been committed, either as a result of a private denunciation, the public fama of the accused, or evidence collected in a preliminary inquest. The first part of the trial was the so-called “part en ofensa,” the prosecution phase, during which various actions were carried out to identify and detain defamed individuals and to gather evidence of their guilt. This first investigative phase was articulated around the inquest or inquisition, the main content of which were the depositions of several members of the community. The purpose of the inquest was either to determine the presence in a specific region of persons who were notorious for the crime of witchcraft (inquisitio generalis), or to specifically

124

Chapter Seven

determine the responsibility of persons that were already suspected of such crime (inquisitio specialis). The responses of the witnesses, who were personally questioned by the prosecutor or the judge, had to be faithfully transcribed by a clerk, usually a notary, who always began by recording the date, name, occupation, and parish of the witness, and whether or not he or she was under oath. Once the depositions were recorded and ratified, they were kept secret until the inquest was made public. Once sufficient evidence had been accumulated, the judge issued an arrest warrant, provided that the suspects had not already been previously detained. The warrant was executed by the appropriate officers, the batlles or saigs, and in cases of absconding the court could proceed to banish the suspects, convicting them on grounds of contumacy. After their arrest, the accused were held in solitary confinement. Next, the prosecutor proceeded to question the suspect who, in order to avoid perjury, was deposed under oath about the actions of others, and without oath about her own deeds. Unlike in other Iberian kingdoms such as the Crown of Castile, where the information collected during the inquest was revealed in full to the defendant at the outset of the proceedings, Catalan judicial practice did not require the court to communicate the reason for the arrest to the accused, nor the charges brought against him or her. However, if the accused questioned the legality of the procedure, the judge could then order the clerk to read a couple of incriminating testimonies out loud without mentioning the names of said witnesses.17 After this first statement, in which most defendants maintained their innocence, the prosecutor could reinforce the inquest with new evidence, such as inculpatory testimonies of other accused women who had been already deposed, confrontations with them or with other witnesses, and certain judicial assessments by experts such as the infamous “examination of marks” that consisted in searching the body of the defendant for certain marks considered as signs of witchcraft. After this phase was completed to the satisfaction of the prosecutor, the judge decreed the publication of the process, informing the defendant of the actions that had been carried out up to that point and the resulting charges. The accused was then allowed to appoint counsel and a time limit was set for her to raise a defence before the court. Thus started the defence phase of the process, known as the “part en defensa,” during which the defendant had the possibility to present evidence and relevant witnesses in

The Role of Hearsay and Fama in Witchcraft Trials

125

her own defence. Once the defence rested, and in case the prosecutor did not request to bring new witnesses in, the judge of the court could already pronounce sentence, relying on the advice of an expert, usually a doctor in law. At this point, however, in cases of witchcraft, most courts opted for an interlocutory sentence of torture (quaestio, tortura). In such cases the prosecution phase was resumed, beginning with a pronouncement by the judge stating that the evidence collected so far was sufficient to subject the accused to further questioning in order to obtain the truth from her mouth (ut veritas ab eius ore habeatur). Subsequent interrogations under torture were carried out in the presence of the judge, the prosecutor, the clerk, and the executioner or ministre de cúria (literally, minister of the court), with the occasional presence of a surgeon in charge of interrupting torture in case of fainting fits and other accidents. Sometimes the accused were not physically tortured, for they began to confess at the mere threat of torture, in a situation known as territio or “fear of torment.” The accused did not declare under oath in these interrogations, during which the clerk took note of the answers, cries, moans, and silences of the person that was being tortured, as well as the type of torture inflicted and its duration. At the end of the session, the accused were taken to another room where they were asked to ratify under oath the confessions extracted under torture. If the defendant retracted, the court could again dictate the use of torture in a space of days or hours. If the accused repeatedly persisted in her refusal despite torture, the court could consider that the evidence against her had been purged (purgat els indicis), or it could defer the final sentence by asking for the advice of other experts. In the more usual case where the defendant confessed to the alleged crimes, her replies were added to the evidence collected by the prosecutor and made available to her counsel, who had a new period to present the defence. Once the new defence phase was over, and in the event that the prosecutor did not wish to submit new evidence, he again asked the judge to issue a final sentence. If the defendant was found guilty, the judge issued a conviction and imposed the corresponding sentence. The extant sentences include penalties of lashes, banishment, condemnations to the galleys, and even a few cases in which the accused were released on probation. However, the most common penalty was the “natural death” sentence, in which the culprit was hanged on the gallows and later burned. The final sentence was read publicly on the day set for the execution, at which time the defendants were offered the possibility of ratifying or denying the accusations against

126

Chapter Seven

others they may have made during the trial, and their responses were recorded “for the redemption of their souls.”18 In sum, the characteristics of the Catalan criminal procedure, which markedly favoured the prosecution and frequently resorted to the use of interrogation under torture, would condition the action of local courts when dealing with cases of witchcraft. In this context, the information gathered during the inquest constituted the basis for constructing the accusation and ultimately justifying the application of torture, under which the accused ended up admitting to the crimes the enquiry had brought up. A detailed analysis of these inquests highlights the central role of hearsay and fama in the formulation of charges; a fama that was considered in itself as evidence or indication of guilt, and which the accused would have to face during her trial.

The inquisitio de vox et fama Most inquests in fifteenth-century witch trials tended to start the interrogation of witnesses with the same question: “Do you know, have you seen or heard about women in this land who are witches and poisoners, or have such fama?” The answers to this question were usually affirmative, with general expressions about hearsay among parishioners or about the presence of certain women among the population who had a reputation (fama) as witches. When questioned about the specific actions that motivated such rumours, most neighbours began their answers with the same expression: “And s/he claims that s/he knows nothing for sure, but that s/he has heard others say that...” (Et dixit que a ciència certa no hi sap res, però que ha sentit a dir que...). This dynamic followed the logic of this type of inquests, which were significantly called inquisitiones de vox et fama (literally, inquests on voice and reputation). The first goal of the inquest was precisely to establish the existence and soundness of the rumour relating to the crime or its alleged culprit in order to proceed with his or her identification, arrest, and prosecution. At the same time, it was a matter of establishing the fama publica (public reputation) of the suspect, which was understood in itself as a possible indication or evidence of guilt. In most witch trials, the rumours concerning the alleged actions perpetrated by the suspect were gathered during the inquest and would become the main basis for the subsequent interlocutory sentence of torture. Thus the court merely established that “it has been proven by many witnesses that you are a witch and a poisoner.”19

The Role of Hearsay and Fama in Witchcraft Trials

127

This pattern is exemplified in the series of trials for witchcraft held in the Pyrenean domain of Andorra between May 1471 and February 1473, in which at least twelve women were arrested and prosecuted as witches by the local veguer.20 Twenty-seven people testified during the preliminary inquest, and several women were identified by these witnesses as “having fama,” that is, being defamed as witches, stating that some of the neighbours “hold a negative opinion of them,” that “many talk about them,” and even that “everybody says so.”21 When questioned as to the exact origin of that ill fame, many witnesses merely confirmed the existence of rumours among neighbours, while others directly pointed to some people or families as especially linked to the spread of such rumours, which were based on certain cases of death and disease connected to an alleged evil action. Thus, during one of the trials in which a woman from a certain Tomàs household was prosecuted, the accused defended her innocence by pointing out that “the neighbours slander each other.” One of the witnesses of the inquest claimed that “the women accuse each other, and that Teixidora accuses the women from the Tomàs household,” while others admitted that “it is said that the women from the Tomàs household are witches. Some women say that the Tomassas inflicted goiter on them, others claim that they have given them poisons, others claim that they have killed their children.”22 On the whole, the hearsay about certain women and their alleged ability to do ill by occult means would become commonplace in the depositions of witnesses, including the testimonies of the relatives of the accused. The sister-in-law of a woman accused of witchcraft in 1471, stated that “she has publicly heard that na Palesa, her sister-in-law, is indeed a witch, and everybody avoids her,” while the daughters of Caterina Tarrada, accused of witchcraft in 1473, claimed to know nothing about her ill-doings, despite acknowledging that “it is true that the fama publica says so, according to what they have heard.” 23 Caterina’s daughter-in-law went even further and claimed that “she has a deep suspicion of her mother-in-law, and she thinks that she has perpetrated some maleficium between herself and her husband,” a suspicion she based on the sudden repulsion that she felt towards her husband after marrying him, to which she added that she would not bear him any children because one had already died suddenly.24 Sudden deaths of children, the appearance of diseases in strange circumstances, and languishing livestock were the main evils that the witnesses of these inquests associated with the maleficent actions of “evil people” (males gents). These misfortunes made visible their suspicions

128

Chapter Seven

against certain women, which were in turn based on the fama of said women within the community. One of the testimonies against a woman from the parish of Encamp named Margarida Anglada, judged in Andorra in 1471, offers an illustrative example of this connection: First he was asked whether he knew or had heard that Margarida Anglada is reputed to be a witch and a poisoner. And he said that she has got such fama among the parishioners of Encamp. Asked whether he knew or had heard if the said Margarida had given poisons or goiter to anyone, he claims that he doesn’t know for sure, but that it is true that much damage is done everyday, and someone is giving goiter and poisons. He doesn’t know who does it. And he himself has a grandson who was poisoned, although they noticed it in time and were able to cure him. And it is true that the said Margarida is often in his house, and that many in the parish tell him, “you should not welcome her in your home,” saying many bad things about her. And he knows nothing else, although he begs the veguer to do justice and to investigate diligently.25

In this particular case, the investigations carried out by the court would lead to the arrest of the suspect on the basis of this kind of testimonies. Another male witness claimed to have seen Margarida in his cattle pen shortly after he had milked the cows. Given the suspect’s fama as a witch, he fed said milk to the dogs of the house, one of which fell ill and kept vomiting for three weeks. A third witness, in this case a woman, explained to the court an overnight experience she underwent shortly after giving birth, when one night, a figure appeared in her room to attack or kidnap her child. To this the witness still added that “it seemed to her” (li donà de parer) that said figure was the defendant. The remaining witnesses mostly confirmed the ill fame of the suspect, claiming to have heard the rumours about her being a witch and a poisoner.26 Once arrested, Margarida Anglada maintained her innocence throughout the first questionings and during the confrontations with one of the witnesses (specifically the owner of the nauseated dog) but finally the court decided to subject her to several sessions of interrogation under torture. In the course of these interrogations, Margarida confessed to being a witch and a poisoner, to having attended diabolical gatherings by applying certain ointments and reciting certain formulas, to abjuring God, and to paying homage to the Devil by kissing his anus and promising him to do damage at every chance, and never to confess before a priest. Likewise, the defendant admitted to having committed all the crimes brought up during the inquest in relation to the murder and poisoning of children and cattle, thus confirming the popular rumour and the suspicions of her neighbours.

The Role of Hearsay and Fama in Witchcraft Trials

129

In short, popular rumour led to the identification of Margarida as the possible culprit of certain deaths and diseases in her community, which, in a context of misfortunes, led to the opening of legal proceedings against her. That same rumour reinforced the inquest and was the basis for the construction of the accusation, which finally justified the interlocutory sentence of torture that would in turn produce the final proof: a confession from the defendant’s own lips. Ultimately, this confession would only confirm what the rumour had already pointed out, that is, that Margarida was a witch and had caused death and disease in the homes of her neighbours.

Dealing with Hearsay: The Accused against her Fama Social and judicial mechanisms put the women rumoured to be witches in a vulnerable position. However, judicial sources also highlight the strategies of defendants to deal with popular rumour, try to put an end to hearsay, and restore their reputation. These strategies included confronting the main instigators of the rumour, allegations of slandering, mediation by third parties and, in some cases, absconding. The extant Catalan sources evince that the existence in a certain community of women who had a reputation as witches often triggered conflict situations in contexts of death and disease, in which they were held responsible for those evils. Angry accusations were frequent among the neighbours who had endured some misfortune, with expressions such as, “Ah ye big witch, you have poisoned my daughter!” or “you deserve a good pile of firewood!” Threats were also commonplace, such as “I will cut your throat,” “I will make ye burn,” “I will have ye arrested,” and “I will kill ye or else defame ye everywhere.”27 The response of the suspects to this kind of expressions ranged from silence to mediation attempts and even physical fights. Witnesses occasionally mention the lack of response on the part of the persons to whom these insults and threats were directed, which was perceived as an implicit admission of guilt. In other cases, the inquests mention angry reactions of the suspects against accusing or defaming neighbours. Thus, Caterina Tarrada exclaimed in 1471 “that she wished bad for the notable, for he had defamed her by saying that she was a witch,” and na Grahullana threatened her daughter-in-law saying “that if she did not to give her her reputation back, she would give her two blows to the face.”28 A later but especially illustrative example of this dynamic corresponds to the complaint for slander filed by a woman from the village of Erinyà, in the region of Pallars, in 1593, in an attempt to avoid a trial

130

Chapter Seven

for witchcraft following the accusations publicly made against her by a neighbour who had just lost a daughter. The suspect appeared voluntarily before the seigneurial court asking that the accuser “does prove what she has said about me. And if it is proven, I beg Your Mercy to punish me. And if it is not proven, I request Your Mercy to restore my fama to its previous state.”29 The depositions of the accused often refer to various types of arguments with their alleged victims, which were motivated by the suspicions derived from their fama and included more or less implicit mentions and attempts at negotiation initiated by the suspects themselves: ‘Tell me Suquerrana, how are you?’, and the said Suquerrana answered: ‘Badly’. And the deponent replied, ‘Do you suspect anybody?’, and the said Suquerrana said to her, ‘I have reasons to be suspicious, because things go badly for me’. And still the deponent replied again, ‘Do you suspect me?’, and the said Suquerrana answered, ‘I am indeed suspicious, because I am about to die’. And then the deponent almost burst into tears (Trial against Caterina Tarrada, 1473).30 When she arrived at the house of Bertran Areny, she found the said Joana, who was ill near the fire. And the said Joana said, ‘Trollop, you have poisoned me’. And the deponent said, ‘Oh Joana, you traitor, that is what you have to say? I have done no wrong to you, and if you die you will be damned, because I won’t forgive you’ (Trial against Dolça Narbona, 1499).31

Besides the reactions of the suspects themselves, extant documents suggest some attempts at mediation by relatives, friends, and even by the local authorities, who aimed at putting an end to conflicts before they ended up in an official prosecution. In a trial held in 1489, witnesses stated that when the varvassor of the domain of Toralla arrested two women on a charge of witchcraft connected to the death of a man, “at the request of some people, the lord finally released them for the sake of their relatives.”32 Mediation by third parties is also evident in the trials against Maria Tomassa in Andorra (1499) and Margarida Guitarda in the region of Pallars (1516), in which witnesses mentioned fights between some neighbours and the suspects, stating that “the wife of Arnau Martí managed to separate them,” and that the local bailiffs “intervened in order to make them get along and stop people from talking about the matter.”33 During the first decades of the witch-hunts, there would also be some successful initiatives taken by the accused, their family, and neighbours to intervene in the foreseeable outcome of the trials. Thus the men of the

The Role of Hearsay and Fama in Witchcraft Trials

131

Aymar household, in Engordany, challenged the men of the Abadia household in 1450 following the rumours initiated by the latter against Esclarmonda Aymar, which called her a witch and held her responsible for the poisoning of a man from the village. It seems that Esclarmonda was cleared on that occasion, for her trial did not proceed beyond the inquest.34 In a trial for witchcraft held before the court of Lleida in 1453, the defendant was not convicted thanks to the favourable testimonies of several neighbours who affirmed that she was a woman “of good reputation and condition,” while in 1461, in a trial in Andorra, the defendant was also able to reverse her situation by filing a complaint for slander against her accuser.35 These strategies would be progressively limited by the very evolution of the witch-hunt. From the last decades of the fifteenth century onwards, the most frequent reactions were submitting to the court, relying on the success of the defence and the mercy of the tribunal, and absconding. The situation of legal defencelessness of the accused would lead many people to flee their places of origin rather than submitting to the court, often following the advice of relatives and friends. A touching example dates back to 1512, when a group of people from several Pyrenean domains were arrested in the city of Lleida and tried for witchcraft. They confessed to having fled their places of origin to avoid being convicted. In particular, one of the accused, when asked about the specific reasons for absconding confessed “that he came to this land because some of his relatives advised him to leave, because he was accused of being a warlock, […] and as many as they seized, just as many they burned.”36 One example of this strategy appears in the aforementioned Andorran trial of 1499 against Maria Tomassa, in which her daughter-in-law explained the following: She was asked whether she knew that her mother-in-law fled the land for [being suspected of] hexing. And she said that she certainly did, due to some things that Bertran Areny said, suspecting that she had poisoned his daugther. The deponent’s husband [the son of the accused] was very upset by such words. And all her friends gathered and advised her to flee, fearing justice and the destruction of the household. And thus she has been away from the land for five years.37

Contrary to the wishes of friends and family, the escape of suspects from their places of origin would only consolidate the rumour and fama that had prompted their departure, even favouring the convictions for contumacy in some local courts. Furthermore, the fugitives were followed

132

Chapter Seven

by their reputation; they often found themselves accused or tried for witchcraft in the places they escaped to, and such fama would also remain among their female descendants for generations.38 Thus, one of the testimonies of an Andorran trial of 1472 mentioned that “he has heard that Vidalia del Puyol could be a witch. That he has heard that she fled the valley when the last trials were being held, although he doesn’t know why. It is true that Vidalia’s mother had already been burned as a witch.”39 This transmission of reputation is one of the most outstanding facts conveyed by Catalan documentation, evincing the recurrence of accusations of witchcraft against the women (and also some men) of certain households and families, which carried on for generations. Thus the women of the Conilo household in Erinyà (Pallars) appear associated with the crime of witchcraft in trials held in 1489, 1534, 1548, and 1574, and the same happens with the women of the Call household in Engordany, and the aforementioned Tomàs household in Encamp (Andorra), who were prosecuted as witches in trials between 1471 and 1529.40 Current ethnographic studies corroborate this link between certain families and the crime of witchcraft until surprisingly recent dates, with conflicts and accusations by neighbours taking place up until the early decades of the twentieth century. The misfortunes denounced by modern informants (basically deaths and illnesses of children and livestock) are often attributed to women belonging to the same households and families that were connected to the crime of witchcraft between the fifteenth and the seventeenth centuries.41

Conclusions The analysis of Catalan extant sources on the crime of witchcraft highlights the importance of hearsay and fama for judicial proceedings. From suspicions and the identification of the culprits to their prosecution and eventual conviction, local courts were well acquainted with the law but were also predisposed to fully support the probative nature of popular rumour. As for the spread of rumours and suspicions among neighbours, we can affirm, as the saying goes, that if seeing is believing, hearing is—at least—suspecting. Obviously, none of the neighbours could know for certain or even claim that the suspects were witches, nor had they actually witnessed any spell, poisoning or murder of children (let alone a diabolical gathering) in which the suspects were involved. However, all the witnesses of the inquest had heard (and spread) rumours about such things, thus generating a presumption of guilt that constituted a kind of “common

The Role of Hearsay and Fama in Witchcraft Trials

133

knowledge” that was finally sanctioned by the judicial action itself. This dialectic between rumour and truth, between what is ‘heard’ and what is ‘known’, is a constant in human societies throughout history. In this sense, the information gathered in recent ethnographic works points to a similar pattern for the relationship of some mountain communities with the crime of witchcraft. Several elderly inhabitants of a Pyrenean village interviewed in the summer of 2009, explained to the author of the present chapter some of their experiences with witchcraft, which consisted in deaths and diseases of relatives and livestock back in the first half of the twentieth century. The alleged culprit was a woman, a late inhabitant of the same village. When asked about how they could be certain that said woman had been a witch and that she was to blame for the misfortunes they had endured, the answer was a rather succinct, “everybody said so” (tothom ho deia). During the centuries of the witch-hunt, this logic would greatly condition judicial action and end up bringing to the gallows and the stake thousands of women who were the victims of hearsay and fama in their own communities. This was especially the case in territories with an autonomous local court predisposed to make an abusive use of interrogation under torture to force self-incriminating confessions that corroborated popular rumours. In 1450, in Andorra, when one of the witnesses to a trial for witchcraft was questioned about a woman from his parish who was defamed as a witch, he replied that “he had not heard about it until the hearsay started.”42 His answer sums up the logic described in the pages above and recalls the terrible conclusion that the renowned Castilian inquisitor Alonso Salazar Frías would draw decades later during the great witch-hunts of seventeenth century Navarre: “There were neither witches nor bewitched until some people started to talk and write about them.”43

Notes 1

De pequeña cosa nasçe fama en la vezindat / Desque nasçe, tarde muere, maguer non sea verdat / Sienpre cada día cresçe con enbidia e falsedat / Poca cossa le enpeçe al mesquino en mesquindat. All English translations are my own unless indicated otherwise. I thank Delfi I. Nieto-Isabel for her assistance in the English translation of some of the original sources. 2 Pau Castell Granados, “‘De crimine heresis maxime de bruxa’. L'aparició del crim de bruixeria a Catalunya en el context baixmedieval europeu,” in Ortodòxia i heretgia. Actes de les VI Jornades d'Història del Monestir de les Avellanes, ed.

134

Chapter Seven

Karen Stoeber (Lleida: Pagès Editors, in press). See also Pau Castell Granados, “Orígens i evolució de la cacera de bruixes a Catalunya (segles XV i XVI)” (PhD diss., Universitat de Barcelona, 2013), http://www.tdx.cat/handle/10803/131462. 3 Francesco Megliorino, Fama e Infamia. Problemi della società medievale nel pensiero giuridico nei secoli XII e XIII (Catania: Editrice Giannota, 1985). 4 Cf. Megliorino, Fama e Infamia, 46–74 and Jean-Philippe Lévy, “Le problème de la preuve dans les droits savants du Moyen Âge,” Recueils de la Société Jean Bodin pour l'histoire comparative des institutions 17 (1965): 137–67. 5 Richard M. Fraher, “Conviction according to Conscience: The Medieval Jurists’ Debate concerning Judicial Discretion and the Law of Proof,” Law and History Review 7 (1989): 23–88; Claude Gauvard, “La fama, une parole fondatrice,” Médiévales 24 (1993): 5–13; Chris Wickham, “Gossip and Resistance among the Medieval Peasantry,” Past & Present 160 (1998): 3–24; Thelma Fenster, and Daniel Lord Smail, eds. Fama: The Politics of Talk and Reputation in Medieval Europe (New York: Cornell University Press, 2003). 6 Marie A. Kelleher, “Law and the maiden: inquisitio, fama, and the testimony of children in medieval Catalonia,” Viator 37 (2006): 351–67; and Marie A. Kelleher, The Measure of Women. Law and Female Identity in the Crown of Aragon (Philadelphia–Oxford: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010), 29–45. 7 Josep Mª Font Rius, “El desarrollo general del derecho en los territorios de la Corona de Aragón (siglos XII–XIV),” in VII Congreso de Historia de la Corona de Aragón (Barcelona: Imprenta Vda. De Fidel Rodríguez Ferrán, 1962), vol. I, 289–326; Jesús Lalinde Abadía, La gobernación general en la Corona de Aragón (Madrid: CSIC–Institución Fernando el Católico, 1963); and Jesús Lalinde Abadía, La Jurisdicción real inferior en Cataluña: “corts, veguers, batlles,” (Barcelona: Ayuntamiento de Barcelona, 1966); Josep Mª Pons Guri, “Constitucions de Catalunya,” in Recull d’estudis d’història jurídica catalana (Barcelona–Lleida: Fundació Noguera–Pagès, 1989), vol. III, 65–71; Víctor Ferro, El Dret públic català: les institucions a Catalunya fins al Decret de Nova Planta (Vic: Eumo, 1987); Flocel Sabaté, “La pena de muerte en la Cataluña bajomedieval,” Clio & Crímen 4 (2007): 117–276; see also Flocel Sabaté, El veguer a la Catalunya del segle XIV. Anàlisi de l'exercici de la jurisdicció reial (PhD diss., Universitat de Barcelona, 1993). 8 Ivo Elies Oliveras, “The Street as a Space of Knowledge: The Importance of Reputation in the Civil Society of Medieval Catalonia (14th Century),” in Spaces of Knowledge. Four Dimensions of Medieval Thought, edited by Noemi Barrera et al (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholar Publishing, 2014), 73–85. 9 Robin Briggs, Witches and neighbours, (London: Harper Collins, 1996); and Robin Briggs, The Witches of Lorraine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). 10 Pamela J. Stewart, and Andrew Strathern, Witchcraft, sorcery, rumors and gossip (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 11 Castell Granados, “Orígens i evolució,” 219–61. 12 For an estimate of the global figures of the prosecution against the crime of witchcraft in Catalonia, see Castell Granados, “Orígens i evolució,” 31–59 and Castell Granados, “‘Con toda templanza y moderación’. El Santo Oficio ante la

The Role of Hearsay and Fama in Witchcraft Trials

135

caza de brujas en Cataluña,” in Mujeres quebradas. La Inquisición y la reprensión femenina en España, ed. Mª Jesús Zamora Calvo (Madrid: Calambur, in press). 13 See, for instance, Ferro, El Dret públic, 289-318. 14 Castell Granados, “Orígens i evolució,” 189–217. 15 Ferro, El Dret públic, 357–75. 16 The following conclusions are based on the extensive work on the extant sources developed in Castell Granados, “Orígens i evolució,” 189-218. 17 Ferro, El Dret públic, 159. 18 Castell Granados, “Orígens i evolució,” 212–18. 19 “ha estat provat per molts testimonis que ets bruxa y metzinera” (Document 71, fol. 1r, Vilamur Fonds, Ducal Archive of Medinaceli). 20 Documents 1759, 1760, 1798, 1804, 1806, 5090, 5947, 5948, and 5951, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra. For a complete transcription of the original documents see Castell Granados, “Orígens i evolució,” 364–425. 21 See, for instance, Document 1760, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra: “Que ha hoyt dir de na Vidalia del Puyol y de na Busquera d'Escàs que són tengudes en opinió de bruxes. [...] E més dix interrogat que tanbé alguns parlen de na Joana Call de Segudet, que no sie tanbé d'aquells. [...] Ha hoyt dir que na Palesa de Lors és tenguda en opinió de bruixa. Y axí mateix na Joana Call de Segudet. Que molt ne parlen y tal fama tenen. [...] Que ha hoyt dir que ací ha Ordineu ho a Lors, que na Palesa de Lors públicament totom diu que sie bruxa.” 22 “Et primo fuit interrogata si ela deposant és infamada ni inculpada de ésser bruxa ni metsinera. E dix que no, enperò que se infamian ab los veïns. [...] Él testimoni no y sab res. És ver que les dones se acusen unes ab altres, e que la Texidora acuse aquexes Thomases. [...] Que d'aquexes Thomases dien que són bruxes, que la huna se clame que li han dat guiterns, altres metzines, altres que·lls an mort criatures” (Document 1874, fols. 5r, 14v–15v, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra). 23 “Et interrogatus dixit que és veritat que ha hoyt dir públicament que na Palesa, sa cunyada, és manifestament bruxa, que tot lo món se'n guarde” (Document 1760, fol. 8v, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra). “Et primo fuit interrogada si ella testimoni sab ne ha hoyt dir que sa mare Catherina Tarrada sie bruxa ne metzinera. Et dixit que no sab tall cossa ne y sab sinó bé. [...] Et dixit que és veritat que és fama pública segons ha hoyt dir” (Document 1798, fols. 5r–v, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra). 24 “Et primo fuit interrogata si ela testimoni té en sospita de bruxa ne de metzinera na Caterina, sogra sua. Et dixit que stà en veritat que la dita sa sogra a fama de ésser bruxa e metzinera, e que ella testimoni la té en gran sospita. E que ha gran dupte que la dita sa sogra no hage fet qualque gran malifici entre ella testimoni e son marit, que abans que entràs en cassa de dita sa sogra, ella testimoni bé volie a son marit, e aprés se seguí que no·l volie veure, ans li prenie gran frendó, sò és gran feretat. [...] que si podie no li farie negun fill, que ja n'a mort hu, lo quall dins poch temps decaygué e·s foné tot” (Document 1798, fol. 3r, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra).

136

Chapter Seven

25 “Et primo fuit interrogatus si sab ho ha hoyt dit que na Marguarida Anglada hage fama de bruxa ni metzinera. Et dixit que fama n'a entre los de la parròquia d'Encamp. Interrogat ell testimoni si sab ho ha hoyt dir que dita Marguarida hage donadas metzines ne goternons a negú. Et dixit que no·s sab de serta sciència. Bé és veritat que tot jorn s'i fa gran mal e·s donen goternons e metzines. No sab qui u fa. E que ell testimoni té hun nét al quall foren donades metzines, e ells conegueren-ho tantost e ajudaren-li. Bé és veritat que dita Marguarida preticha molt en casa sua e que molts de la parròquia dien a ell testimoni “mall le y aculireu,” dient-ne molt de mall. E que alre no y sab, bé suplica al senyor de veguer que fassa justicia e que y fassa bona diligència” (Document 1806, fols. 3r– v, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra). 26 Document 1806, fols. 4r–5v, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra. 27 Castell Granados, “Orígens i evolució,” 242–46: “ah na bruixassa, que vós m'heu metzinat la filla!”; “mereixes tu bona garbera de llenya!”; “jo us degolaré”; “jo us faré cremar”; “jo te faré pendre”; “jo us mataré o us difamaré pertot.” 28 “(…) que mala vida hagués lo dit prom, que en mala fama la havie mesa, que havie dit que ere bruxa” (Document 1798, fol. 7r, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra). See also, Mª Dolors Farreny Sistac, La llengua dels processos de crims a la Lleida del segle XVI (Barcelona: Institut d'Estudis Catalans, 2004), 37: “que si ella no li tornave la fama, que li farie donar dos pichs per la cara.” 29 “…demane suplique y requereix a Vostra Mercè sia servit en compel·lir dita na Aparícia que·m prove lo que ha dit. Y sent així, vull que Vostra Mercè me castigue, y no provant-m’o, requeresq a Vostra Mercè me fasse tornar la fama de la manera que la tenia abans” (Document 154, fol. 1v, bundle 9, Toralla, Sentmenat, Archive of the Crown of Aragon). 30 “‘Digues Suquerrana com stàs?’, e que dita Suquerrana li respongués: ‘Mal stich’. E ella deposant li tornàs replicar: ‘As sospita en negú?’, e que dita Suquerrana li respongués dient: ‘Bé puch haver sospita, que mal me va’. E encara ella deposant li tornà replicar dient-li: ‘Hauries sospita en mi?’, e que la dita Suquerrana respongués: ‘Prou sospitós hé, que stich en punt de morir’. E que lavòs ella deposant se prengué quasi a plorar” (Document 1798, fol. 7v, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra). 31 “E axí com fonc a casa de Bertran Areny, trobà ditta Johana que stava malalta entorn del foc. E ditta Johana li dix: ‘Tro, vós m'aveu metzinada’. E ela deposant li dix: ‘O traydora Joneta, axò dius? Que jo ne t'e fet mal ni teca, e si mors moriràs dapnada, car jo no t'o perdonaré’” (Document 1874, fol. 5r, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra). 32 “...a pregàries de algunes gents lo senyor les soltà per amor de los parents d'ellas abdues” (Document 7, fol. 33v, bundle 1, Toralla, Sentmenat, Diversos, Archive of the Crown of Aragon) 33 “la dona d'Arnau Martí les partisqué” (Document 5973, fol. 16r, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra); “se meteren en havenir-les perquè no se'n parlàs pus” (Document 76, fol. 13v, Vilamur Fonds, Ducal Archive of Medinaceli). 34 Castell Granados, “Orígens i evolució,” 364–79.

The Role of Hearsay and Fama in Witchcraft Trials

35

137

Farreny Sistac, La llengua, 57; Castell Granados, “Orígens i evolució,” 361–63. Farreny Sistac, La llengua, 40: “que se'n vingué en aquesta terra perquè alguns parents seus li aconselaren que se apartàs, perquè lo inculpaven de ésser bruxot, [...] perquè tants com ne prenien, tants ne cremaven.” 37 “Interrogada si sab ela testimoni que ditta sa sogra sie fugida de la terra per malificis. E dix que certament, per huns parlaments que Bertran Areny féu, sospitant-se que agés metzinat sa fila. Son marit de ela deposant ne fou molt enugat d'aquells parlars. E aplegaren-se tots los amics, [...] e tots conselyaren per pahor de la justícia, que no destruyssen la casa, donaren-li de conseyll que donàs loc. E axí ha stat defora sinc ans” (Document 5973, fol. 5r, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra). 38 Castell Granados, “Orígens i evolució,” 250–59. 39 “(…) ha hoyt dir que na Vidalia del Puyol no sie bruxa, que ha hoyt dir que se n'anà les darreres corts de les valls, emperò no sab perquè. Bé és ver sab que dita sa mare de dita Vidalia és stada cremada per bruxa” (Document 1760, fol. 3r, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra). 40 Castell Granados, “Orígens i evolució,” 236–39. 41 Castell Granados, “Orígens i evolució,” 239–41. See also Castell Granados, “La persecución de la brujería en el Pirineo leridano (ss. XV-XVI),” in Estudios Recientes de Jóvenes Medievalistas Lorca 2012, ed. Carlos Villanueva et al (Murcia: Universidad de Murcia–Sociedad Española de Estudios Medievales), 36– 38. 42 “(…) que ell testimoni no ho sab ni ho ha hoyt dir fins que ara són anades aquestes parlaries” (Document 1804, fol. 14v, Tribunal de Corts, National Archive of Andorra). 43 Gustav Henningsen, The Witches’ Advocate. Basque Witchcraft and the Spanish Inquisition (Reno: University of Nevada Press, 1980), 357. 36

BRINGING DOWN THE CURTAIN: ON DESIRE AND PAIN

CHAPTER EIGHT PENITENTIAL AND MYSTICAL SENSES: TWO PATHS FOR FEMALE DEVOTION IN THE LATE MIDDLE AGES SERGI SANCHO FIBLA

The medieval conception of the five senses changed depending on the context in which these were evoked. The articulation of these subtle nuances has recently gained interest among medievalists. This chapter falls within this endeavour, and aims to explore the particular ambivalence that connects the five senses and the cloistered female context. Indeed, the goal of this paper is to address two very different conceptions of sensorial experience in medieval spiritual literature, both of which derive from the same major image: the crucifixion. On the one hand, this study will be focused on the well-known anonymous work Ancrene Wisse, written in the first half of the thirteenth century in an English female circle. On the other, I will analyse two letters written by Marguerite d’Oingt, a Carthusian nun who was born ca. 1240 and died in 1310. Thus, the first of these two texts can be situated in the British Isles, whereas the second was produced in a cloistered milieu in southern France, in particular, in the region of the Dauphiné. Despite the geographical distance, both works share a similar devotional framework and were written roughly in the same period. However, what is it exactly that they share besides a similar spiritual landscape? We should consider the crucifixion (and the fragmentation of this very image) as a starting point from which both texts develop a particular reflection on corporal sensitivity. The procedure is astonishingly akin, but in contrast, the role played by the senses in both cases is completely the opposite. The goal of this article is, thus, to provide an explanation for such a divergence.

142

Chapter Eight

Ascetic Senses in Ancrene Wisse, Part II Ancrene Wisse (hereinafter, AW) or Guide for Anchoresses is a devotional text with a profoundly didactic nature that was conceived as kind of monastic rule and was written in the thirteenth century by either an Augustinian canon or a Dominican friar. AW is actually a revision of an older rule, the Ancrene Riwle, a book of religious instruction for three lay noble women who enclosed themselves as anchoresses in the West Midlands.1 When AW was produced though, the audience had expanded to a much wider community of anchoresses, which might be one of the reasons why the author chose to write in a vernacular language (in this period Latin or French would have been a more natural medium).2 The level of commitment expected of the anchoritic life was similar as that of desert saints. Its goals, solitude, corporal suffering, and discipline, were supposed to guide the soul towards spiritual improvement. In order to accomplish these requirements, enclosure and asceticism seemed the best way. The Guide is structured in eight parts, divided into two blocks: Parts I and VIII are devoted to the exterior life while Parts II to VII refer to interior life. Parts II and III are of special interest for this chapter, given that, according to A. Barratt, they form a diptych (that is, an interdependent unit) focused on a single topic: the five senses—or the five wits—in the everyday life of anchoresses.3 Part II deals with the senses as guardians of the heart and Part III, although it may seem heterogeneous, is considered to develop the subject of the heart and its dispositions.4 It should be noted that the five wits are already present as a penitential and devotional topos in the opening of Part II. Indeed, in this section the anchoress is advised to meditate before an image of the crucifixion.5 The text prescribes the mental reconstruction of this scene, and recommends breaking it down into five parts that correspond to the five wounds, which, in turn, are associated with the five sins related to the senses. In order to purge these sins, AW exhorts readers to pray five paternosters for each wound: Ah, Jesus, [grant me] Your grace! Jesus, hung on a Cross for my sins, by the very five wounds [from] which You bled on it, heal my bloody soul of all the sins which she is wounded with by my five senses. [Say] five “Our Fathers”; versicle: “Let all the earth adore You, and recite a psalm to Your name.”6

Penitential and Mystical Senses

143

Therefore, on the one hand, the text considers the wounds as a healing element clearly linked to the senses, whose sins they can cleanse.7 On the other hand, there is also a connection between the five senses and Christ’s wounds, since human sensitivity is responsible for his very torment. Thus, it seems that this fivefold human sensitivity is the source of Christ’s suffering, which is metonymically represented in five different parts of his body: one wound on his side, two on his arms, and two more on his legs. [There] was not among all mankind one healthy part found [from] which blood might be let, except for God’s body alone, who let His own blood on the Cross, not in the arm alone, but did [so] in five places in order to heal mankind of the sickness that the five senses had spread.8

This kind of reasoning is a commonplace in the spiritual works from this period. The devotion to Christ’s wounds as well as their constant associations and derivations in other quintuple elements are part of a diagrammatic argumentation that worked as a mnemonic device for meditation, as we will see in further examples. Christ is the only one who can redeem human sensitivity, that is to say, the one who heals humanity from a sickness caused by the senses. Nevertheless, the text does not focus on the corporal redemption made possible by God, but on the human perverse action that caused the damage in the first place. In fact, meditating on how Christ did suffer through his five senses is prescribed at the end of Part II as the best prophylactic against sensorial sins.9 In this case, the combination goes beyond the sins and the wounds, and adds the parts of Christ’s body to the aforementioned fivefold model. However, this connection is not always obvious: some senses are easily associated with an organ (sight with the eyes, ears with the hearing, etc.), but others are more ambiguous.10 This same one sense is in all the others, and throughout all the body, and therefore it is need (i.e., there is need) to have best vigilance [...] Our Lord in this sense did not have in one place, but had pain overall (i.e., everywhere), not only throughout all His body, but had [it] even in His blessed soul.11

Particularly, the author of AW seems to be hesitant when it comes to linking the sense of touch with the traditional image of the crucifixion and with a specific part of Christ’s body. Indeed, after some references to the skin, to the heart, and even to the whole body, in the end touch is particularly focused on the hands (felunge), recalling that it was on this sense and body part where he suffered the most.

144

Chapter Eight Thus was Jesus Christ, the almighty God, cruelly pained in all His five senses, and especially in this last [sense]—that is, in feeling—because His flesh was completely alive as is the tender eye. And you, protect this sense—that is, the flesh’s feeling—over (or, better than) all the others.12

The last scene provides the author with a perfect pretext for a striking conclusion in which he suggests the anchoresses to “keep their hands” and to use them for digging their own tombs instead of admiring and caring for their “whiteness.”13 Concerning this point, it must be said that anchoritic life had strong conceptual connections with death. The ideals of abnegation and contemplative life evoked by the desert saints were widely reinforced in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, following the popular and mystical piety movements.14 As A. K. Warren and R. Hasenfratz have noted, one of the duties of the bishop was to officiate the rite of enclosure of anchoresses. Several of these ceremonies are extant and, although there are some variations, the enclosure rite is usually carried out as follows: “an anchorite receives last rites, has the Office of the Dead said over her, enters her cell, and is bricked in, accompanied at each stage by various prayers.”15 The Office of the Dead is thus recited whilst the anchoress is entering her cell. The notion that underlies this ceremony is that anchoritic enclosure only ends with death. M. Hughes-Edwards points this out when he states: The extant ceremonies of enclosure within the English tradition certainly reinforce this, for in some of them the graveyard setting of the anchorhold becomes a liturgical reality when the corpse-like candidate is given the sacrament of Extreme Unction is sprinkled with dust and is processed into the anchorhold to the sound of the same prayers and psalms that would have accompanied the dead body into the graveyard.16

Additionally, E. A. Jones argues that this evocation of death is not only metaphorical, since the long rubrics include the digging in the reclusory of “a grave of the length of a man and a foot and a half in depth.”17 Therefore, the aforementioned advice of keeping their hands to dig their own tombs sheds light on the deathly connotations of anchoritic life, and more precisely on a conjecture we pointed out before, that is, the use of the senses as edifying elements for the penance and moral instruction of anchoresses. This implies that the senses must always be treated as a negative part of existence that has to be controlled and restrained, since they caused agony to the Lord. In this way, thanks to the association of the senses and Christ’s bodily parts, his image is neither used as a mirror with

Penitential and Mystical Senses

145

agency, nor as an agent of corporal redemption, but as a figure of poignancy and condemnation.18 The rhetorical strategy used by the author of AW is a widespread common practice in Old French, Occitan, and Middle English texts. In these, the senses and the parts of the body are merged in order to recall the sins. A fourteenth-century text attributed to Robert Grosseteste (11751253), presents the Seven Deadly Sins, the Sins of speech, and finally, the Sins of the senses: “I have sinned a lot through my five senses: with my sight, my hearing, the smelling of my nose, the taste of my mouth, the touching of my body.”19 This technique was intimately related to confession practices and sometimes involved the association with Christ’s body parts as well; stressing the corporal pain he suffered. In this period, one of the most popular texts where we can find a similar formula is Iacobus de Voragine (1230-1298)’s Legenda Aurea, which includes a long text about the Passion among saints’ lives. This text specifies that, regarding Christ’s pain, he especially suffered through the senses. Following the diagrammatic structure we already pointed out in AW, here the author provides a particular backbone for these torments, outlining every sense with an adverb as an opening (primo, secundo, etc.): This pain was first of all in his eyes, because he wept, as Heb, 5-7 says [...] He suffered in his hearing, when insults and blasphemies were leveled at him [...] thirdly, in the sense of smell. A strong smell of decay pervaded the place of Calvary, where dead bodies were left to rot [...] fourthly, he suffered in the sense of taste. When he cried out: “I thirst!” They gave him vinegar mixed with myrrh and gall [...] fifthly, he suffered pain through the sense of touch. In every part of his body, from the soles of his feet to the top of his head there was no soundness.20

The author concludes emphasising every part of his body that could be related to a sin: the head, the eyes, the ears, the mouth, the limbs, and the side. Bernard says that he suffered in all his senses: “The head that angels trembled to look upon is stabbed with clustered thorns; the face more beautiful than the faces of the children of men, is befoulded by the spittle of the Jews; the eyes that outshine the sun are clouded over in death; the ears that hear the angels sing hear the taunts of sinners; the mouth that teaches angels is given gall and vinegar to drink; the feet whose footstool is adored because it is holy are fixed to the cross with a nail; tha hands that shaped the heavens are spread open and nailed to the cross; the body is scourged, the side is is pierced with a lance, and what more is there?21

146

Chapter Eight

The five sorrows Iacobus de Voragine lists are thus a mix of senses and organs. Like in AW, seeing, hearing, smelling, and tasting seem to be clearly connected to an obvious organ, even though the nose and the mouth are not explicitly mentioned. However, the author finds more difficulties when he has to focus on an organ for touching, connecting it finally to “all the parts of his body.” In the second text, which follows these considerations, the author insists on the parts of the body related to the sorrows, stressing the head, the visage, the eyes, the ears, the mouth, the feet, the hands, and the body. Again, there is some vagueness concerning smell and touch. The latter may be related to the five wounds and the whole body, but there is no trace for a connection with smell or with the nose (the head and the visage, which are conceived as a unit as a result of their association with the crown of thorns, do not really fit in this structure). Therefore, since the goal of the Legenda is not penitential but devotional, we do not find a negative treatment of the senses: here Christ is an example to follow and to worship.

Mystical Senses in Marguerite d’Oingt’s Letters Another thirteenth-century text that might help us to better understand the devotional conception and usage of senses is a letter written by Marguerite d’Oingt, a thirteenth-century Carthusian nun from Poleteins, near Lyon, where she reached the title of prioress. We do not know much more about her except for what she wrote. The whole corpus of her writings is composed of: the Pagina meditationum, a meditation work; a visionary text, the Speculum; a hagiography of another Carthusian nun called Beatrix d’Ornacieu, and a brief epistolary.22 The last of the letters found in the manuscripts (maybe following the precepts of the cura monialum) focuses on Christ’s body and his wounds.23 Although the first group of letters is addressed to a “sweet father” (§133, §140)—maybe following the precepts of the cura monialum—and to a “beloved brother” (§126), the last two are addressed to a “loved and respectful woman” (“chiere et reverent dame,” §147) from whom we do not know anything.24 Letter V starts with a description of a sick religious lady lying in her cell, praying to God for alleviation. When she felt asleep, she had a vision of a door in heaven (towards Orient) with five shining rubies strategically placed on it.25 Suddenly, the body of Christ appeared and replaced the door, while the five rubies became his luminous wounds.26 A voice then told Marguerite, “I am Jesus Christ, I am the door. If you want to pass, you

Penitential and Mystical Senses

147

should do it through me.”27 In that moment, the woman regained consciousness. A great sweetness and piety accompanied this sentence, so the woman was released and she committed to pray five hundred paternosters every day, one hundred for each part of Christ’s body. But the letter does not end here, precisely when she was performing these prayers, she thought that it would be convenient to spiritually wash and to anoint Jesus’s wounds. She went into a state in which she felt those wounds nailed into her heart so that it looked like she was seeing a whole great wound in front of her.28 Here Marguerite offers a meditation on Jesus Christ’s wounds and, afterwards, an intimate scene with his body. This also means that the text has to be considered as a mystical work that achieves the unio mystica. This phenomenon is represented by the breach of the great wound, a symbol of the entrance into the unveiled mystery and the revelation. The story gets circular: the first gate, conceived as a twodimension door (a wall), gives way to an image of the pierced body of the Passion, which in a later stage becomes an outsized wound that the reader should enter in order to achieve the mystical goal. This text, however, is not completely understandable without the balance of the previous one (Letter IV). Actually, both texts have been curiously treated as separated works in all modern editions, but they have been published without the headline “iter alia epistola” that appears at the top of the preceding epistles. Nevertheless, there is no formal evidence in the manuscript (and it will be shown here that there is no evidence regarding the content either) that suggests them to be different independent texts.29 What I defend here is that the texts traditionally called Letters IV and V are actually a diptych with a single goal. More precisely, the fifth letter could be an exegesis of the fourth, which is lacking of a commentary. Letter IV starts with a story about a reunion of gentlefolk discussing God. One of them asked a woman what the meaning of ‘vehemence’ was. This word touched the woman’s heart so intensely that, alone in her meditations, she wondered how to overcome this anxiety, and she asked everyone to illustrate the word—namely, to provide an image or a meaning for it—but nobody could answer convincingly.30 Finally God gave her a relief by sending a vision of a big desert where there was only one mountain. At the foot of this mountain there stood a marvelous tree with five branches, all of them dry and bending downwards. On each of the five branches there was a sense written: “sight”, “hearing”, “taste”, “smell”, and “touch.” A large circle spread over the top of the tree, covering it so that neither the sun nor the dewdrops could nourish it.

148

Chapter Eight He did this in such a way that it seemed to her that she was in a large deserted open space where there was only one high mountain, and at the foot of this mountain there stood a marvelous tree. This tree had five branches which were all dry and were bending downwards. On the leaves of the first branch there was written “sight”; on the second was written “hearing”; on the third was written “touch”; on the fourth was written “smell”; on the fifth was written “touch”. On the top of the tree there lay a large circle, similar to the bottom of a barrel, which covered the tree completely so that neither the sun nor the dewdrops could get it (§145).31

After this description, we are told that a stream descends from the mountain and rushes the tree so violently that all its roots are turned upside down and the top is stuck in the earth. Thus, not only were the branches and the roots bending downwards, but the whole tree was also inverted, so that the roots were above the branches.32 Both are now stretching towards Heaven but the tree is already straight. The leaves, which had been dry, are all green, and even the roots are becoming full of leaves as if they were branches. That is the way Marguerite choses to explain the bodily experience of God, the sensorial capacity of ascending to the divine. This is actually the end of this text, since the author does not provide any further explanation for it. Some analogies suggest a connection between these two visions. Structurally, both start with the same formula and give way to a description of an intimate place (a house or a cell). Another formula, “li fut semblanz” (it seemed to her), marks the border between reality and the vision. Likewise it is noticeable that in both texts the vision provides relief to an anguished woman. According to Letter V, this relief consists on the “doucour” and “pidié” (§150), sweetness and pity, the two qualities with which God is described in Letter IV (§145). Because of its rareness and its fabulous nature, the image of the tree has received much more attention than the other one.33 For instance, C. W. Bynum has chosen this text to illustrate the complexity of female corporality in the Late Middle Ages. More precisely, in this essay Bynum develops the ambiguous separation between body and soul, as well as the link between the body and the experience of the sacred.34 The overflowing of this revitalizing water and its collision with the sensitive tree representing the visionary’s body was interpreted by Bynum as an image of the mystical reception through Christ’s imitatio.35 Indeed, the sensorial tree with its five branches is a reflection of Christ’s body (represented in the crucifixion, therefore, as a lignum crucis,

Penitential and Mystical Senses

149

an arbor bona), depicted in the mind of the reader thanks to Letter V and its five shining wounds.36 A close reading of the passage in which Marguerite enumerates the paternosters prayed for each part of the fragmented body might suggest a connection between anatomy and the senses, as the connections established above for AW and Da Voragine’s text. She resolved in her heart that from now on she would always say fifty “Our Fathers” in the memory of the Passion of Jesus Christ and His blessed wounds. And she divided up these “our Fathers” so that she said five in honor of His blessed head and hair, so violently washed and beaten for us; then she said five in memory of His blessed eyes because He looked at her with such pity; then she said five in memory of His sweet ears which had to listen to so many outrages for us; then she said five in honor of His blessed nose, so that He would give her the grace to smell something of her great sweetness with which she loved Him tenderly; then she said five in memory of His blessed mouth so that He would give her His benediction and call her into His kingdom; then she said five in memory of the wound in His side, to that He would wash and bless her with this fountain springing from His side; then she said five for each hand, so that with the strength of His arms He would protect and defend her against her enemies; then she said five more for each wound on His feet, so that Jesus Christ would forgive her for her sins as He had forgiven the Magdalen (§151).37

The narrator counts up to fifty “Our Fathers,” distributed in groups of five for each part of Christ’s body.38 On the one hand, we find five parts that belong to the head (hair, eyes, nose, ears, and mouth) and, on the other, five for the rest of the body (the five wounds: two arms, two legs, and the side). The second group is what we could expect from a vision that starts with an image of the five wounds. However, the fragmentation of the head is apparently unreasonable and, even if the narrator tries to link the different parts to different passages of the Passion, sometimes this connection is rather unclear. For instance, she claims to meditate on his hair because it was “hurt” by the crown of thorns. Additionally, when she speaks about the eyes, the ears, and the nose, she justifies her veneration in a reflexive way: his eyes looked at her with pity, his nose allowed her to smell his sweet fragrance, and his mouth called her to his reign. Here, unlike in AW, it is Christ’s body that validates her sensitive experiences, so that her senses are converted like in a baptism. Actually, she describes in this very passage, “the wound in His side, so that He would wash and bless her with this fountain springing from His side” (§151),39 an image clearly associated to the vision of the tree in Letter IV. The presence of the hair might be ambiguous, according to what we have seen above, but it

150

Chapter Eight

can also represent the sense of touch, which would fit perfectly a pentapartite diagram, even if in all the previous examples, it has proven the most difficult sense to place.

Conclusions The similarities we have stressed here between AW and Marguerite d’Oingt’s letters are not actually surprising. First, they follow a common rhetoric strategy based on numeration and on a diagrammatic way of thinking that helped readers meditate and introspect/confess by providing a mnemonic structure.40 These so-called “meditation machines” were designed to provide condensed summaries of moral and theological doctrine, always structured in two symmetrical levels: Christ’s life and oneself’s.41 Secondly, it is totally expected to find some imagery about Christ’s body linked to the five senses.42 And thirdly, the repetition of the paternosters is not shocking at all, since this prayer was often used in this kind of meditational reiterative performances. M. Villalobos Hennessy has studied another text that works in a very similar way. The Revelation or the Hundred Pater Nosters focuses on the paternosters as well. However, it does not follow a quintuple structure, but a septenary system based on the seven bloodsheds of Christ. From this point on, the text combines these seven scenes with the Seven Deadly Sins, and exhorts readers to pray a hundred paternosters for every bloodshed. According to Villalobos Hennessy, “readers were supposed to make meaningful connections among and between this schema and their own sinfulness.”43 Therefore, the goal of this procedure, similarly to that in AW and unlike Marguerite d’Oingt’s letter, was not the unio mystica or the contemplatio, but confession and penance.44 We have highlighted three common points between these two thirteenth-century works, but more important and interesting than that is the different perspective from which senses are treated in both cases. The validation of sensitive experience we have seen in Marguerite’s case responds to the topic of the use of the spiritual and corporal senses in a mystical context. This subject can already be found in the third century and it has often been intimately linked to the incarnation.45 Christ represents the redemption of the sensitive world because he was made flesh and cleansed the sin of the senses.46 This idea is perfectly illustrated in Angela of Foligno’s (1248-1309) testimony: “this intellect feels delight and expands in him, because it sees God ‘humanated’ and God uncreatead

Penitential and Mystical Senses

151

conformed and made like itself (because, that is, the human soul sees the soul of Christ, his eyes, his flesh, and his body).”47 Table 8-1. Comparison between the two texts Marguerite d’Oingt’s Letter V

Ancrene Wisse

Written by a Carthusian prioress from the Dauphiné in the thirteenth century.

Anonymous work from the thirteenth century.

Symmetry between the five corporal and spiritual senses and Christ body’s parts.

Symmetry between the senses and Christ body’s parts.

Christ’s body is like an opening, a door to mystical encounter.

The body is considered as a building whose doors are the senses.48

Connection between Christ’s body parts and the senses.

Association between the senses and Christ’s/own’s parts of the body.

Ambiguous relationship between touch and a specific body part.

Conflicted relationship between touch and a specific body part.

The religious woman prays five paternosters for each part of Christ’s body.

It is recommended to pray five paternosters for each part of Christ’s body.

Senses are the required way for mystical experience.

Senses are sanctioned within a framework of penance and confession.

For mystical experience it was important to stress this point, since occasionally it involved the narration of corporal performances and sensitive experiences that could have been (and were in some cases) dangerous. According to C. W. Bynum, in Marguerite’s or Angela’s experiences, the senses are not so much “a hindrance to the soul’s ascent as the opportunity for it.”49 The body is the instrument in which mystical stimulus vary and transcend thanks to suffering and pleasure. The idea of the five senses in AW is far removed from this. As I have shown, penance and self-confession are the real aims of Part II we have analyzed. A. Barrat points out that AW “shows the firm imprint of the penitential literature produced, to a certain extent, in anticipation of the decrees of the Lateran Council of 1215” and that “AW’s preoccupation with the theory and

152

Chapter Eight

practice of confession is reflected in the amount of space it devotes to the analysis of sin and temptation.”50 Therefore, here we have seen a common rhetorical strategy involving the five senses in an identical way, but at the same time based on completely different conceptions of the human and spiritual body. Mystical literature and ascetic literature share many aspects and sources, but when it comes to sensitive experience, the intention of the text can completely change their approach. In any case, whether shunned or venerated, the senses were a main point of interest in late medieval spirituality, whose literary strategies have not yet received enough attention.

Notes 1

Robert Hasenfratz, ed., “Introduction,” in Ancrene Wisse, Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications. Robbins Library Digital Projects. TEAMS Middle English Texts, “Ancrene Wise,” http://d.lib.rochester.edu/teams/text/hasenfratz-ancrene-wisseintroduction, accessed December 13, 2016. 2 Ibid. 3 Alexandra Barratt, “The Five Wits and Their Structural Significance in Part II of Ancrene Wisse,” Medium Aevum 56 (1987): 12. 4 “The heart's guardians are the five senses: sight, and hearing, tasting, and smelling, and each limb's feeling” (“The heorte wardeins beoth the fif wittes: sihthe, ant herunge, smechunge, ant smeallunge, ant euch limes felunge”), Ancrene Wisse, Part II, 4–5. 5 As it has been excellently demonstrated by recent studies, this crucifixion can be physically painted, sculpted or only mentally figured, as long as it is conceived as a real presence. See Mary Carruthers, The Craft of Thought. Meditation, Rhetoric and the Making of Images (Cambridge–New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 6 “A Jesu, thin are! Jesu, for mine sunnen ahonget o rode, for the ilke fif wunden the thu on hire bleddest, heal mi blodi sawle of alle the sunnen thet ha is with iwundet thurh mine fif wittes. I the munegunge of ham thet hit swa mote beon, deore-wurthe Laverd: ‘Fif Pater nostres; verset: Omnis terra adoret te, et psalmum dicat nomini tuo’,” Ancrene Wisse, Part I, 127–30. 7 Similarly Alexandre of Bath’s Moralia connected Christ’s quintuple suffering to human sensitivity, since God’s wounds are the medicine for the “fallen human senses”: “Quod Christi vulnera sunt sensum nostrorum medicamenta […] Ille nudatur, caeditur, nectitur vinculis, oblinitur sputis, quinquepartito vulnere illius caro perfoditur, ut nos a vitiorum, quae in nos per quinque sensus ingrediuntur, irruptione curemur; et tu lascivus, tu unctus, tu petulculus ac tenellus, non vis thesaurum carnis tuae hominibus detegi, ne mortalis vel terrena, quod absit!” (PL 145: 683). Cited from Marlene Villalobos Hennessy, “Passion Devotion. Penitential

Penitential and Mystical Senses

153

Reading, and the Manuscript Page. ‘The Hours of the Cross’ in London, British Library Additional 37049,” Mediaeval Studies 66 (2004): 230. 8 “Ah in al the world the wes o the fevre, nes bimong al moncun an hal dale ifunden the mahte beon i-lete blod, bute Godes bodi ane the lette him blod o rode, nawt o the earm ane, ah dude o fif halve for-te healen mon-cun of the secnesse thet te fif wittes hefden awakenet.” Ancrene Wisse, Part II, 778–81, http://d.lib.rochester.edu/teams/text/hasenfrantz-ancrene-wisse-part-two, accessed December 13, 2016. 9 Barratt, “The Five Wits,” 12. 10 As Barratt points out, this equivocal procedure is already stressed by the narrator: “He recognizes that, while there is a direct correspondence between the eye and the (single) sense of sight, the mouth is involved in two activities, taste (which he puts off until the discussion of diet) and speech, which is not a sense but an activity which impinges on one of the senses, and which leads on to a consideration of that sense as such—the sense of hearing.” Barratt, “The Five Wits,” 15. 11 “The fifte wit is felunge. This ilke an wit is in alle the othre, ant yont al the licome,” Ancrene Wisse, Part II, 748; “Ure Laverd i this wit nefde nawt in a stude, ah hefde over al pine, nawt ane yond al his bodi, ah hefde yet in-with in his seli sawle,” Ancrene Wisse, Part II, 753–54. Barrat also draws attention to this point, replying that the reason for extending touch to the whole body might be adding another dimension to the torment, maybe emotional suffering. Barratt, “The Five Wits,” 14. 12 “Thus wes Jesu Crist, the almihti Godd, in alle his fif wittes derfliche i-pinet, ant nomeliche i this leaste, thet is, i felunge, for his flesch wes al cwic as is the tendre ehe. Ant ye witen this wit, thet is, flesches felunge, over alle the othre,” Ancrene Wisse, Part II, 801–803. 13 “Not only to intertwine hands, but to put the hand outward, unless it be for necessity, is wooing of God's fury and courting of His ire. For herself to behold her own white hands does harm to many an anchoress, who has them too fair, as those [hands] which are ruined by idleness. They (i.e., the hands) should scrape each day the earth up from their grave (lit., pit) that they will rot in. God knows, the grave does much good for many an anchoress” (“Nawt ane monglin honden, ah putten hond ut-ward bute hit beo for nede, is wohunge efter Godes grome ant tollunge of his eorre. Hire-seolf bihalden hire ahne hwite honden deth hearm moni ancre, the haveth ham to feire as theo the beoth for-idlet. Ha schulden schrapien euche dei the eorthe up of hare put thet ha schulen rotien in. Godd hit wat, thet put deth muche god moni ancre”), Ancrene Wisse, Part II, 812–16). 14 See Ann Warren, Anchorites and Their Patrons in Medieval England (Berkeley– Los Angeles–London: University of California Press, 1985). 15 Hasenfratz, “Introduction.” 16 Mari Hughes-Edwards, “Anchoritism: the English tradition,” in Anchoritic Traditions of Medieval Europe, ed. Liz Herbert McAvoy, (Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 2010), 144. See also, Edward Jones, “Ceremonies of Enclosure: rite, rhetoric and reality,” in Rhetoric of the Anchorhold: Space, Place and Body within

154

Chapter Eight

the Discourses of Enclosure, ed. Liz Herbert McAvoy (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2008), 42–44. 17 Ibid., 42. 18 Barratt briefly noted this aspect: “The penitential cast of AW becomes even more pronounced that is generally conceded if Part II is read as an analysis more of the potentiality for sin offered by the Five Senses and their associated bodily organs that of the possibilities for their virtuous exercise.” Barratt, “The Five Wits,” 15. 19 “Mut ai pecche par mesurer me cink sens cum ma uewe, ma oye, mon sentement de moun nees, le guste de ma bouche, le touchement de mon cors.” Hamburg Stadtbibl. Phil. 296 (fourteenth century), lost since 1945. See Hermann Urtel, “Eine altfranzösische Beichte,” Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie XXXXIII (1909): 575. 20 Jacobus de Voragine, The Golden Legend: Reading on the Saints with an Introduction by Eamon Duffy, trans. William Granger Ryan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 205–06. Latin text: “Primo enim fuit hic dolor in oculis, quia lacrymatus est, sicut dicitur Hebr. V. [...] Secundo fuit in auditu, cum ei scilicet opprobria et blasphemiae irrogatae sunt [...] Tertio, fuit in odoratu, quia magnum foetorem sentire potuit in loco calvariae, ubi erant corpora foetida mortuorum [...] Quarto fuit in gustu, unde cum clamaret: sitio, dederunt ei acetum cum myrrha et felle mixtum [...] Quinto fuit in tactu, quia in omnibus partibus corporis, a planta enim pedis usque ad verticem non fuit in eo sanitas.” Jacobus de Voragine, Jacobi da Voragine Legenda aurea, vulgo Historia Lombardica dicta, ed. J. G. T. Grasse (Lipsiae: impensis Librariae Arnoldianae, 1801), 224–26. 21 Jacobus de Voragine, The Golden Legend: Reading on the Saints with an Introduction by Eamon Duffy, trans. William Granger Ryan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 206. Latin text: De hoc autem qualiter in omnibus sensibus dolorem habuit, dicit Bernardus: caput angelicis tremendum spiritibus densitate spinarum pungitur, facies pulchra prae filiis hominum sputis Judaeorum deturpatur, oculi lucidiores sole caligant in morte, aures, quae audiunt angelicos cantus, audiunt peccatorum insultus, os, quod docet angelos, felle et aceto potatur, pedes, quorum scabellum adoratur, quoniam sanctum est, cruci clavo affiguntur, manus, quae formaverunt coelos, sunt in cruce extensae et claves affixae, corpus verberatur, latus lancea perforatur, et quid plura? Jacobus da Voragine, Jacobi da Voragine Legenda aurea, 226. 22 Marguerite d’Oingt, Les oeuvres de Marguerite d’Oingt, ed. A. Duraffour, P. Gardette, and P. Durdilly (Paris, Société d’édition Les Belles Lettres, 1965). All quotes from the Francoccitan original text are from this edition. 23 Three manuscripts contain the whole corpus of Marguerite’s works. The original manuscript in which Marguerite might have written her own words is lost, but a copy of it was made a few years after her death. This oldest manuscript is kept in Grenoble: Bibliothèque Municipale de Grenoble, c. 410. Two more copies were made in the Grande Chartreuse during the sixteenth century. Both contain the same exact works (with a translation into French) in the same order as the oldest manuscript. One of these is in Grenoble (5786 R) and the other one in the Grande Chartreuse’s library (66b 7 ORNA 5). For a detailed explanation see, Sergi Sancho

Penitential and Mystical Senses

155

Fibla “Quando bene respicio. Palabra, Imagen y Meditación en las obras de Marguerite d’Oingt,” (PhD diss., Universitat Pompeu Fabra, 2015), 15–19. I will focus here on the letters referring to them by the traditional system, that is, the number of the French edition: Letter I, Letter II, up to Letter V. Nevertheless, I think to have demonstrated that this should be reconsidered, since Letter II is actually a compendium of five epistles. See ibid., 68–70. 24 For an introduction to the cura monialium in this context see, Jeffrey Hamburger, “Art, Enclosure and the Cura Monialium: Prolegomena in the Guise of a Postscript,” Gesta 31 (1992): 108–34. 25 “On that prayer she fell asleep and it seemed to her that she saw looking into the sky towards the east, and that she saw there a beautiful gate, as splendid as the sun. On this gate there were five precious stones, all red like beautiful rubies: between two of the stones there was a distance of at least six feet, the third was in the middle of the gate, and the others were above [there is a mistake here: it should say below] that at a distance of about a foot from each other.” Marguerite d’Oingt, The Writings of Margaret of Oingt. Medieval Prioress and Mystic, ed. Renate Blumenfeld-Kosinski (Newburyport: The Focus Classical Library, 1990), 67. All English quotations of Marguerite’s works will be from this edition. “En co ele s'endormit et li fut semblanz que ele regardoyt ou ciel dever Orient et li sembloit que ele y veit une tre bele porte qui estoyt assi resplendissenz come li selouz. En cele porte avoit V peres preciouses totes vermeilles come beau rubiz: les dues peres estoyent de bien una teysa loins l'una de l'autra, la tierci estoyt ou milua de la porte, les autres estoyent desoz en la porta pres du pie l'une de l'autre” (§148). 26 “At the moment when she least thought of it, she seemed to see Jesus Christ in the center of the gate, His arms and hands outstretched: the two red stones above Him penetrated His blessed hands, the stone in the middle penetrated His blessed side, and the two stones from below penetrated His blessed feet.” BlumenfeldKosinski, The Writings of Margaret of Oingt. 67. “Quant ele en se prit garda, yo li fut semblanz que ele vit Jhesu Crit ou miliua de la porta, qui avoyt los braz et les mains estendues; les dues pieres vermeilles qui estoient desus s'aventieront dedenz les benoytes mans, la piera du miliue s'aventoyt endroyt son beneyt flan, et les dues qui estoyent per desoz s'aventaront en ses beneyt pies” (§149). 27 “Je sui Jhesu Criz qui soy li huis, se tu caenz vous entrer par mi te conveniet passer” (§150). 28 “She thought that it would have been good, after having washed the wounds of Christ spiritually, to anoint them with some precious balm, as the Magdalen had done. She felt the wounds of Jesus Christ so deeply in her heart that she seemed to see Him before her all covered with wounds [the translation of this sentence is not exact]. “Que l'en aveyt lave les plaes Jhesu Crit espiritualment, que l'en les ognit d'acun precious goniment ausi come la Magdalena fit. Se le avoy fichie fort en son cuer les playes Jhesu Crit que yo li eret semblanz que ele le veoit tout plaie devant si” (§152). 29 Like the modern French and English editions, our reference is the oldest manuscript, c. 410 (Bibliothèque de Grenoble).

156

Chapter Eight

30 It is important to understand the transcendent quest for meaning to which Marguerite is alluding to: “Marguerite d’Oingt’s climactic moment of visionary comprehension is realized through the proper understanding of a single word’s meaning, a meaning that is only available through a viscerally experienced allegorical vision. Her quest for the meaning of vehemens and its fulfillment indicate the potentially edifying role of language in visionary knowing—but only when language refers to its proper, i.e. divine, referent.” Jessica Barr, Willing to know God (Columbus: The Ohio State University Press, 2010), 238. 31 “Li fut semblanz que illi eret en un grant leu desert, ou ques en avoyt maque una grant montaygne et au pie de cele montaygne aveit un arbre mout meravillous. En cel arbre aveit cinc branches que estoyent totes seches et totes enclinavunt ver terra. Et es feuylles de la premere branche avoyt escrit: gustu, en la seconde avoyt escrit: auditu, en la tierci avoy escrit: gustu, en la quarta avoyt escrit: odoratu, en la cinquiesma avoyt escrit: tactu. Sus la cime de l'arbre avoyt un grant rondel, come se fut un fonz de vayssel, si que li arbres estoyt toz clos par desus en tel maneri que li selouz en la rosee en poyent ferir per desus” (§145). 32 For a study of this spiritual and corporal inversion see, Sergi Sancho Fibla, “Visione e corpo nel secolo XIII. La donna-albero di Marguerite d’Oingt,” in Viridarium 8. La visione, ed. Francesco Zambon (Venice: Edizioni Medusa, Fondazione Giorgio Cini, 2012), 131–54. 33 All scholars devoted to Marguerite’s works have stressed the peculiarity of these two letters. McGinn, for instance, has treated it as a “strange account,” “fascinating for the personal symbolism.” See Bernard McGinn, The Flowering of Mysticism. Men and Women in the New Mysticism, vol. II The Presence of God. A History of Western Christian Mysticism, 1200–1350 (New York: Crossroad, 1998), 292. See also Victor Le Clerc, Histoire littéraire de la France (Paris: L’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, 1842), vol. XX, 321; Victòria Cirlot, and Blanca Garí, La mirada interior. Escritoras místicas y visionarias en la Edad Media (Madrid: Siruela, 1999), 171. 34 “Behavior in which bodiliness provides access to the sacred seems to have increased dramatically in frequency in the twelfth century and to have been more characteristic of women than of men.” Caroline Walker Bynum, “The Female Body and Religious Practice in Later Middle Ages,” in Fragments for a history of the human body, I, ed. Michel Feher et al (New York: Zone Books, 1989), 164. 35 “It is hard to imagine a more pointed way of indicating that the effect of experiencing Christ is to ‘turn on’, so to speak, the bodily senses of the receiving mystic.” Bynum, ibid., 169. 36 More than an iconographic motif, arbor bona/arbor mala was a scheme for representing contrary ideas, thanks to its symmetrical structure. See Hélène Toubert, “Une fresque de San Pedro de Sorpe (Catalogne) et le thème iconographique de l’Arbor bona-ecclesia, arbor mala-synagoga,” Cahiers archéologiques XIX (1969): 177. 37 “Et proposa en son cuer que ele diroyt toz jors mai. L. pater noster el non de la passion Jhesu Crit et de ses beneytes playes. Et ordena cest pater noster en tel manere que ele en disoyt. V. en honour de son benoyt chie et de ceus benoyz

Penitential and Mystical Senses

157

cheveuz qui por nos furont si delava et empaignie; et apres en disoyt autres. V. el nun de sos beneyz euz por co que il la regardat en pidie; apres en dysoyt. V. en nun de ses douces oreylles qui tant orent de reproches por nos; apres en disoyt. V. en honour de son benoyt nas, per quoy il li donat sentir aucunes choses de sa tres grant doucour per laquele ele lo sout amer tendrement; apres en disoit. V. en nun sa benoyte boche per quoy il li tendrement; apres en disoit. V. en nun sa benoyte boche per quoy il li donat sa benicion et la appelat en son regno; apres en disoyt el nun de la play del flan por ce qui el la voucist laver et bateyer de ele benoyte fontayne qui li sallit del flan; apres illi disoyt. V. per chacuna mayn por ce qui el la vousit garder et deffendre en la force de ses braz de les mains a ses enemis; apres dysoyt autres. V. por chacune playe des piez por ce que Jhesu Crit li pardonat ses pechiez ausi come il fit a la Magdalena” (§151). 38 The number of Christ’s wounds was frequently given as 5475, and the number of drops of blood, 547500. In fact, these devotional numbers were supposed to be revealed to a woman recluse, but the exact figures varied. The first number (5475) is the result of reciting fifteen paternosters and Ave Marias for a year. The second figure is the result of multiplying that by one hundred. See Giles Constable, Three Studies in Medieval Religious and Social Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 254. “Other blood measures include the one hundred droplets believed to have issued from the crown of thorns and the length of the stream of blood that flowed from Christ’s body, which was said to be fifteen feet long.” Marlene Villalobos Hennessy, “The Disappearing Book in The Revelation of the Hundred Pater Nosters,” in Devotional Culture in Late Medieval England and Europe: Diverse Imaginations of Christ’s Life, ed. Stephen Kelly and Ryan Perry (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), 254. See also Thomas Lentes, “Counting Piety in the Late Middle Ages,” in Ordering Medieval Society: Perspectives on Intellectual and Practical Modes of Shaping Social Relations, ed. Bernhard Jussen (Philadelphia: University of Philadelphia Press, 2001), 75. 39 “De la play del flan por ce qui el la voucist laver et bateyer de ele benoyte fontayne qui li sallit del flan” (§151). 40 Villalobos Hennessy, “Passion Devotion,” 223. 41 Ibid., 223-24. 42 In this case, the number five is the backbone of all texts, being the number of Christ’s wounds and human’s senses. However, this figure used to have even more associations: Moises’ five books, the five breads and the five thousand people that they nourished, the Samaritan’s five husbands, the five columns in front of the Saint of Saints, the five stones chosen by David, or the five wise and five fool virgins. See Jean-Yves Tilliette, “Le symbolisme des cinq sens dans la littérature morale et spirituelle des XIe et XIIe siècles,” Micrologus X (2002): 22. 43 Villalobos Hennessy, “Disappearing Book,” 252. 44 Obviously, the mystical purpose is not only found in Marguerite’s text, but in other writers of her time. Metchthild of Hackeborn, for instance, recounts a vision of Christ’s heart as a five-petalled rose; each of these petals represents one of Christ’s wounds. Then, she interprets this image as an exhortation to “pray to God with her five senses” in order to enter His domain. As we can see, the link between

158

Chapter Eight

the wounds and the senses allow the presence of sensitive performance in order to achieve sacred knowledge. Jeffrey Hamburger, Nuns as artists: the Visual Culture of a Medieval Convent (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), 135–36. 45 See Paul Gavrilyuk and Sarah Coakley, The Spiritual Senses. Perceiving God in Western Christianity (New York–Melbourne–Madrid et al: Cambridge University Press, 2012). 46 Theological arguments about this subject are countless. For instance, medieval exegetes saw it in Gn 3, 7 “Et aperti sunt amborum cumque cognovissent esse se nudos” (“And the eyes of them were opened: and when they perceived themselves to be naked”), and John’s Epistle (1, 1) stresses that Jesus is perceptible with the senses and He redeems: “quod fuit ab initio quod audivimus quod vidimus oculis nostris quod perspeximus et manus nostrae temptaverunt de verbo vitae” (“That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon and our hands have handled, of the word of life”). All biblical quotations are drawn from Latin Vulgate, http://www.latinvulgate.com/, accessed August 28, 2016. See also Gregory the Great’s well-known testimony about Christ’s interiority and exteriority and its repercussion in the Middlge Ages. See Aubin, “Intériorité et extériorité dans les Moralia in Job de saint Grégoire le Grand.” For the sensitive redemption the incarnation provided, see Schmitt, Le corps des images. Essais sur la culture visuelle au Moyen Âge. 47 Angela da Foligno, Le livre de l’expérience des vrais fidèles: texte latin publié d’après le manuscrit d’Assise, ed. and trans. Martin-Jean Ferré and Léon. Baudry (Paris: Éditions E. Droz), 383-84. Cited in English in Bynum, “The Female Body and Religious Practice in Later Middle Ages,” 169–70. 48 See Ancrene Wisse, Part II 302–33. It should be noted that the idea of the senses as gates of a building that let the sins in is a traditional topic. It already appears in Jerome’s Against Jovinianus (third century), but we still see it in De Doctrina Cordis, an extremely popular mid-thirteenth-century text attributed to Gerard of Liège. Éric Palazzo, L’invention chrétienne des cinq sens dans la liturgie et l’art au Moyen Âge (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 2014), 73. 49 Ibid., 170. 50 Barratt, “The Five Wits,” 15.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Manuscripts and Archival Sources Bajet, Montserrat. El mostassaf de Barcelona i les seves funcions al segle XVI. Edició del “Llibre de les Ordinacions.” Barcelona: Fundació Noguera, 1994. Bisson, Thomas N. Fiscal accounts of Catalonia (1151-1213). 2 vols. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984. Canal, Alfred. Llibre de les ordinacions del consell de la vila de Granollers (1418–1452). Granollers: Junta d’Estudis Històrics, 1932. Castellà, Gabriel. Llibre de la Mostaçaferia. Ordinacions de la vila d’Igualada, segles XIV-XVI. Igualada: Centre d’Estudis Comarcals d’Igualada, 1954. Parchment Collection. Chancery. Archive of the Crown of Aragon. Rius, Josep. Cartulario de “Sant Cugat” del Vallés. 3 vols. Barcelona: CSIC, 1945–1947. Vallès, Jordi, Jordi Vidal, et al. El Llibre Verd de Vilafranca. 2 vols. Barcelona: Fundació Noguera, 1992.

Printed Sources Adamnán of Iona. I luoghi santi. Edited and translated by Maria Guagnano. Bari: Edipuglia, 2008. Alfonso X, o Sabio. Cantigas de Santa María. Edited by Walter Mettmann. Madrid: Clásicos Castalia, I [1986], II [1988], III [1989]. —. Cantigas de Santa María. Edited by Kathleen Kulp-Hill. Songs of Holy Mary of Alfonso X, The Wise. A Translation of the Cantigas of Santa Maria. Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2000. —. La gran conquista de Ultramar. Edited by Luis Cooper. Bogotá: Instituto Caro y Cuervo, 1945. —. Las siete partidas: El libro del fuero de las leyes. Edited by José Sánchez-Arcilla Bernal. Madrid: Reus, 2004. —. Setenario. Edited by Kenneth H. Vanderford. Buenos Aires: Instituto de filología, 1945.

160

Bibliography

Ancrene Wisse. Edited by Robert Hasenfratz. Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 2000. Robbins Library Digital Projects. TEAMS Middle English Texts, “Ancrene Wise,” http://www.lib.rochester.edu/camelot/teams//awfrm1.htm, accessed December 13, 2016. Angela of Foligno. Angela of Foligno, Complete Works. Translated by Paul Lachance. Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1993. —. Angela de Foligno, Il libro dell’esperienza. Edited by Giovanni Pozzi. Revised edition. Milan: Adelphi, 2001. —. Ángela de Foligno. Libro de la experiencia. Edited and translated by Pablo García-Acosta. Madrid: Siruela, 2014. —. Angela de Foligno. Memoriale. Edited by Enrico Menestò. Florence: Edizioni del Galluzzo–SISMEL, 2013. —. Il libro della beata Angela da Foligno. Edizione Critica. Edited by Thier Ludger, and Abele Calufetti. Grottaferrata: Editiones Collegii S. Bonaventurae ad Claras Aquas, 1985. —. Le livre de l’expérience des vrais fidèles: texte latin publié d’après le manuscrit d’Assise. Edited and translated by Martin-Jean Ferré and Léon Baudry. Paris: Éditions E. Droz, 1927. Bernard of Clairvaux. Sermons on the Song of Songs I. Translated by Kilian Walsh. Collegeville: Cistercian Publications, 1971. —. Sermons sur le Cantique I (1-15). Edited by Jean Leclercq. Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1996. Bruno of Segni. Commentaria in Matthaeum. Patrologia Latina online (PL) 165: cols. 63—314. Certain, Eugène de, ed. Les miracles de Saint Benoît écrits par Adrevald, Aimoin, André Raoul Tortaire et Hugues de Sainte Marie, moines de Fleury. Paris: Libraire de la Société de l’Histoire de France, 1858. Head, Thomas. Medieval Hagiography. An Anthology. New York– London: Routledge, 2001. Honorius of Autun. The Seal of Blessed Mary. Translated by Amelia Carr. Toronto: Peregrina Press, 1991. —. Sigillum Beatae Mariae ubi Exponuntur Cantica Canticorum. Patrologia Latina online (PL) 172: col. 499–517. Isidore of Seville. Etimologiae o Origini. Edited by Angelo Valastro Canale. Turin: UTET, 2000. —. The Etymologies of Isidore of Seville. Edited and translated by Stephen A. Barney, W. J. Lewis, J. A. Beach, and Oliver Berghof. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Jacobus de Voragine. The Golden Legend or Lives of the Saints. Compiled by Jacobus de Voragine, Archbishop of Genoa, 1275. Edited by

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

161

William Caxton. London: F.S. Ellis Temple Classics, 1900. Internet Medieval Sourcebook, “The Golden Legend: The Passion of our Lord,” http://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/basis/goldenlegend/GL-vol1passionofourlLord.%20.html, accessed December 15, 2016. —. The Golden Legend: Reading on the Saints with an Introduction by Eamon Duffy. Translated by William Granger Ryan. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993. —. Jacobi da Voragine Legenda aurea, vulgo Historia Lombardica dicta. Edited by Johann Georg Theodor Grasse. Lipsiae: impensis Librariae Arnoldianae, 1801. Johnson, Charles. The ‘De moneta’ of Nicholas Oresme and English Mint Documents. Edinburgh: Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd, 1956. La Chanson de saint Alexis. Edited by Mario Eusebi. Modena: Mucchi Editore, 2001. Latin Vulgate, http://www.latinvulgate.com/, accessed December 15, 2016. Marguerite d’Oingt. Les oeuvres de Marguerite d’Oingt. Edited by Antonin Duraffour, Pierre Gardette, and Paulette Durdilly. Paris: Société d’édition Les Belles Lettres, 1965. —. The Writings of Margaret of Oingt. Medieval Prioress and Mystic. Edited by Renate Blumenfeld-Kosinski. Newburyport: The Focus Classical Library, 1990. Menard, Philippe, ed. Fabliaux français du Moyen Âge, vol. I. Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1979. Peter Cantor. Verbum Abbreviatum. PL 205: col. 23–369. The Pilgrimage of Etheria. Edited and translated by M. L. Herbert McClure, and Charles Lett Feltoe. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1919. Rupert of Deutz. Commentaria in Canticum Canticorum. Corpus Christianorum: Continuatio Mediaevalis (CCCM) XXVI, edited by Hrabanus Haacke. Turnhout: Brepols, 1974. —. Commentaria in Evangelium S. Joannis, PL 169: col. 201–826. —. De Gloria et Honore Filii Hominis super Mattheum, PL 168: col. 1307–1634]. William of St. Thierry. Expositio altera super Cantica Canticorum, PL 180: col. 475–545. —. Exposition on the Song of Songs. Translated by Mother Columba Hart. Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1968.

162

Bibliography

Bibliography Ackerman, Diane. A Natural History of the Senses. New York: Random House, 1990. Albert, Jean-Pierre. Odeurs de saintité. La mythologie chrétienne des aromates. Paris: Éditions de l’École des Haues Études en Sciences Sociales, 1996. Alcoberro, Agustí. “Cacera de bruixes, justícia local i Inquisició a Catalunya, 1487–1643: alguns criteris metodològics.” Pedralbes 28 (2008): 485–504. Arcas Campoy, María. “La escatología de la Guerra Santa.” Boletín de la Asociación Española de Orientalistas 29 (1993): 167-175. —. “Miedo, muerte y vida en la escatología de la Guerra Santa.” In Miedo y religión, edited by Francisco Díez de Velasco, 63–69. Madrid: Ediciones del Orto, 2002. —. “Teoría jurídica de la guerra santa: el KitƗb Qidwat al-GƗzƯ de Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn.” Al-Andalus-Magreb 1 (1993): 51–65. Ashbrook, Susan. Scenting Salvation: Ancient Christianity and the Olfactory Imagination. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006. Astell, Ann. The Song of Songs in the Middle Ages. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995. Aubin, Paul. “Intériorité et extériorité dans les Moralia in Job de saint Grégoire le Grand.” Recherches de science religieuse 62 (1974): 117– 66. Auzépy, Marie-France. “L’évolution de l’attitude face au miracle à Byzance (VIIe - IXe siècles).” In Miracles, prodiges et meraveilles au Moyen Âge, 33–46. Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1995. Aventín, Mercè. “Ordinacions medievals de viles-mercat catalanes sobre el comerç i el consum del vi.” Estudis d’Història Agrària. Homenatge al Dr. Emili Giralt i Raventós 17 (2004): 115–27. Bagby, Albert. “The Jew in the Cántigas of Alfonso X El Sabio.” Speculum 46, no. 4 (1971): 670–88. Ballestín, Xavier. Almansor i la destrucció de Barcelona, de les cendres del Regomir a l’ultimàtum d’Hug Capet. Barcelona: Editorial Base, 2015. —. Al-Mansur y la dawla ‘amiriya: una dinámica de poder y legitimidad en el occidente musulmán medieval. Barcelona: Publicacions i edicions de la Universitat de Barcelona, 2004. Barceló, Carme. El mercat de Vilanova i la Geltrú. Aproximació Històrica. Vilanova i la Geltrú: Ajuntament de Vilanova i la Geltrú, 1991.

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

163

Barceló, Miquel. “Un estudio sobre la estructura fiscal y procedimientos contables del emirato omeya de Córdoba (138-300/755-912) y del califato (300–366/912–976).” Acta Historica et Archaeologica Mediaevalia 5–6 (1984–1985): 45–72. Barr, Jessica. Willing to know God. Columbus: The Ohio State University Press, 2010. Barratt, Alexandra. “The Five Wits and Their Structural Significance in Part II of Ancrene Wisse.” Medium Aevum 56 (1987): 12–24. Bassetti, Massimiliano, and Bruno Toscano. Dal visibile all'indicibile: Crocifissi ed esperienza mistica in Angela da Foligno. Espoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull'Alto Medioevo, 2012. Batlle, Carme. Fires i mercats. Factors de dinamisme econòmic i centres de sociabilitat (segles XI a XV). Barcelona: Rafael Dalmau, 2004. Battaglia, Lucia. “Ad exercitandum devotionis affectum. Gli scritti e le imagini sacre.” In Sacre Passioni. Scultura lignea a Pisa dal XII al XV secolo, edited by Mariagiulia Burresi, 19–23. Milan: Federico Motta, 2002. Belting, Hans. L’arte e il suo pubblico. Funzione a forme delle antiche immagini della passione. Bologna: Nova Alfa, 1986. Originally published as Das Bild und sein Publikum in Mittelalte: Form n. Funktion frührer Bildtaf. d. Passion, Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 1981. —. Likeness and Presence. A History of the Image before the Era of Art. London: Chicago University Press, 1994. Originally published as Bild und Kult. Eine Geschichte des Bildes vor dem Zeitalter der Kunst, Munich: Verlag C. H. Beck, 1990. Benet i Clarà, Albert. El procés d’independència de Catalunya (897-989). Sallent: Institut d’Arqueologia, Història i Ciències Naturals, 1988. —. “Les incursions d’Almansor i Abd al-Malik.” In Catalunya Romànica, Vol. XXIV, edited by Antoni Pladevall, and Jordi Vigué, 301. Barcelona: Enciclopèdia Catalana, 1997. Benito, Pere. “Els ‘clamores’ de Sant Cugat contra el fill del gran senescal i altres episodis de terrorisme nobiliari (1161–1162).” Anuario de Estudios Medievales 30, no. 2 (2000): 851–86. —. Senyoria de la terra i tinença pagesa al comtat de Barcelona (segles XI-XIII). Barcelona: CSIC, 2003. Bernardi, Claudio. “La deposizione di Cristo nei teatri della pietà.” In Sacre Passioni. Scultura lignea a Pisa dal XII al XV secolo, edited by Mariagiulia Burresi, 15–18. Milan: Federico Motta, 2000. Bertolucci, Valeria. “Contributo allo studio della letteratura miracolistica.” Miscellanea di studi ispanici 6 (1963): 5–72.

164

Bibliography

Bertran, Prim. “Mercat i fira a Vilagrassa (s. XII-XIV). De les concessions reials a les tensions amb els municipis veïns.” In XLII Jornada de Treball “Estudis sobre Vilagrassa i el romànic tardà a les Terres de Lleida/Ponent, edited by Miquel Torres et al, 121–52. Vilagrassa: Grup de Recerques de les Terres de Ponent, 2013. Blackman, Phillip. Mishnayoth Volume IV, Order Nezikin. New York: The Judaica Press Inc., 1963. Bosch, Josep. “Vilafranca entre la crisi i l’esplendor, segles XIV i XV.” In Història de Vilafranca del Penedès, edited by Ramon Arnabat, and Jordi Vidal, 121–65. Vilafranca del Penedès: Ajuntament de Vilafranca del Penedès, 2008. Bois, Guy. “Un assaig sobre el naixement i el desenvolupament de l’economia de mercat al si de la societat feudal.” In Els espais del mercat. Segon Congrés Internacional d’Història Local, edited by José Luís Martín Ramos, 77–90. València: Diputació de València,1993. —. “Una cuestión de género en el Más Allá: hurís en el Paraíso islámico.” In Traducir el mundo árabe. Homenaje a Leonor Martínez, edited by Mònica Rius Piniés, 155–167. Barcelona: Publicacions i Edicions de la Universitat de Barcelona, 2015. Borriero, Giovanni. “‘Omnia tempus habent’: per una lettura di CSM 4.” In Forme del tempo e del cronotopo nelle letterature romanze e orientali, edited by Gaetano Lalomia et al, 453–78. Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino, 2014. Braida, Emanuela. “Del balsamo, aroma d’Oriente.” Rivista di Storia e Letteratura religiosa 38 (2002): 401–26. Bramon, Dolors. De quan érem o no musulmans: textos del 713 al 1010. Vic–Barcelona: Eumo Editorial–Institut d’Estudis Catalans–Institut Universitari d’Història Jaume Vicens i Vives, 2002. Briggs, Robin. Witches and neighbours. London: Harper Collins, 1996. —. The Witches of Lorraine. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Britnell, Richard H. The Commercialisation of English Society, 10001500. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Bynum, Caroline Walker. “Did the Twelfth Century Discover the Individual?.” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 31 (1980): 1–17. —. “The Female Body and Religious Practice in Later Middle Ages.” In Fragments for a history of the human body, I, edited by Michel Feher et al, 160–219. New York: Zone Books, 1989. —. Jesus as Mother. Studies in the Spirituality of the High Middle Ages. Berkeley–Los Angeles–London: University of California Press, 1982.

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

165

—. Wonderful Blood. Theology and Practice in Late Medieval Northern Germany and Beyond. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007. Bynum, Caroline Walker, and Paula Gerson. “Body-Part Reliquaries and Body Parts in the Middle Ages.” Gesta 36 (1997): 3–7. Caballé, Antoni. Memòria-informe de l’excavació arqueològica de la Plaça de la Pietat i Temple Romà realitzada durant el mes de setembre de 1985 a la ciutat de Vic. Generalitat de Catalunya, 1985. Accessed July 4, 2017. URI: http://hdl.handle.net/10687/9303. Campbell, Bruce M. S. English seigniorial agriculture, 1250–1450. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Canetti, Luigi. “‘Suxerunt oleum de firma petra’. Unzione dei simulacri e immagini miracolose tra Antichità e Medioevo.” In Studi di storia del cristianesimo per Alba Maria Orselli, edited by Luigi Canetti, 61–87. Ravenna: Longo Angelo, 2008. Carrez, Maurice. “Odeur de mort, odeur de vie (à propos de 2 Co 2, 16).” Revue d’Histoire et de philosophie religieuses 64 (1984): 135–41. Carruthers, Mary. The Craft of Thought. Meditation, Rhetoric and the Making of Images. Cambridge–New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Casagrande, Carla. “Sistema dei sensi e classificazione dei peccati (secoli XII-XIII).” Micrologus: Natura, scienze e società medievali. Nature, Sciences and Medieval Societies 10 (2002): 33–55. Caseau, Béatrice. “Christian bodies: the senses and early Byzantine Christianity.” In Desire and Denial in Byzantium, edited by Liz James, 101–09. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1999. —. “Le parfum de Dieu.” In Parfums et odeurs au Moyen Âge, edited by Agostino Paravicini Bagliardi, 3–23. Florence: SISMEL–Edizioni del Galluzo, 2015. —. “Parfum et guérison dans le christianisme ancien et byzantin: des huiles parfumées des médicins au ‘myron’ des saints byzantines.” In Pères de l’Église face à la science medical de leur temps, edited by Véronique Boudon-Millot et al, 141–92. Paris: Beauchesne, 2005. Castell Granados, Pau. “‘Con toda templanza y moderación’. El Santo Oficio ante la caza de brujas en Cataluña.” In Mujeres quebradas. La Inquisición y la reprensión femenina en España, edited by Mª Jesús Zamora Calvo. Madrid: Calambur, (in press). —. “‘De crimine heresis maxime de bruxa’. L'aparició del crim de bruixeria a Catalunya en el context baixmedieval europeu.” In Ortodòxia i heretgia. Actes de les VI Jornades d'Història del Monestir de les Avellanes, edited by Karen Stoeber. Lleida: Pagès Editors, (in

166

Bibliography

press). —. “La persecución de la brujería en el Pirineo leridano (ss. XV-XVI).” In Estudios Recientes de Jóvenes Medievalistas Lorca 2012, edited by Carlos Villanueva et al, 25–38. Murcia: Universidad de Murcia– Sociedad Española de Estudios Medievales. —. “Orígens i evolució de la cacera de bruixes a Catalunya (segles XVXVI).” PhD diss., Universitat de Barcelona, 2013. URL: http://www.tdx.cat/handle/10803/131462. —. “‘Wine vat witches suffocate children’. The mythical complex of the Iberian witch.” eHumanista: Journal of Iberian Studies 26 (2014): 170–95. Castillo Castillo, Concepción. “Las huríes en la tradición musulmana.” Miscelánea de Estudios Árabes e Islámicos 34–35 (1985–1986): 7–18. Cerquiglini-Toulet, Jacqueline. “Le schéma des cinq sens, d’une théorie de la connaissance à la création de formes littéraires.” In Parfums et odeurs au Moyen Âge, edited by Agostino Paravicini Bagliardi, 3–23. Florence: SISMEL–Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2015. Cirlot, Victòria. Hildelgard von Bingen y la tradición visionaria de Occidente. Barcelona: Herder, 2005. Cirlot, Victòria, and Blanca Garí. La mirada interior: escritoras místicas y visionarias en la Edad Media. Madrid: Siruela, 2008. Colomé, Joel. “El comerç del drap a la vegueria de Besalú (1325–1340).” Annals del Patronat d’Estudis d’Olot i Comarca 17 (2006): 23–40. Comas, Mireia, and Teresa Vinyoles. “L’horta i la volateria als mercats.” In Proveir Barcelona. El municipi i l’alimentació de la ciutat, 13291930, edited by Mercè Renom, 187–98. Barcelona: Museu d’Història de la Ciutat de Barcelona, 2016. Constable, Giles. Three Studies in Medieval Religious and Social Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Cooper, Lisa H., and Andrea Denny-Brown, eds. The Arma Christi in Medieval and Early Modern Material Culture. With a Critical Edition of “O Vernicle.” Farnham-Burlington: Ashgate, 2014. Cortés, Julio. Diccionario de árabe culto moderno. Madrid: Editorial Gredos, 2008. Corti, Francisco. “Iconos dentro de la miniaturas de las Cantigas de Santa Maria.” In El Mediterráneo y el arte español, edited by Comité Español de Historia del Arte, 8–13. Valencia: Generalitat de València, 1996. Cruz, Joan. “El municipi igualadí medieval: una aproximació al seu funcionament (1282-circa 1388).” Miscellanea Aqualatensia 8 (1997): 19–58.

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

167

Davidson, Clifford. “Heaven's fragrance.” In The Iconography of Heaven, edited by Clifford Davidson, 110–27. Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 1994. Derbes, Anne. Picturing the Passion in Late Medieval Italy. Narrative Painting, Fransciscan Ideologies and the Levant. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Dozy, Reinhart Pieter Anne. Supplément aux dictionnaires arabes. 2 vols. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1881. Dronke, Peter. “Les cinq sens chez Bernard Silvestre et Alain de Lille.” In Parfums et odeurs au Moyen Âge, edited by Agostino Paravicini Bagliardi, 1–14. Florence: SISMEL–Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2015. Dyer, Christopher. “Market Towns and the countryside in Late Medieval England.” Canadian Jornal of History 31 (1996): 47–69. Elies Oliveras, Ivo. “The Street as a Space of Knowledge: The Importance of Reputation in the Civil Society of Medieval Catalonia (14th Century).” In Spaces of Knowledge. Four Dimensions of Medieval Thought, edited by Noemi Barrera et al, 73–85. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholar Publishing, 2014. Evans, Suzanne. “The scent of a martyr.” Numen: International Review for the History of Religions 49, no. 2 (2008): 193–211. Farías, Víctor. “La vila i el mas: economia pagesa i mercat a la Catalunya Vella dels segles XI-XIV.” In Fires, mercats i món rural. IV Jornades sobre sistemes agraris, organització social i poder local als Països Catalans, edited by Enric Vicedo, 101–17. Lleida: Institut d’Estudis Ilerdencs, Diputació de Lleida, 2004. Farreny Sistac, Mª Dolors. La llengua dels processos de crims a la Lleida del segle XVI. Barcelona: Institut d'Estudis Catalans, 2004. Fasoli, Gina. “Il mercato nella vita contadina.” In Cultura popolare dell’Emilia Romagna. Espressioni sociali e luoghi di incontro, 75–99. Milan: Silvana, 1978. Feliu, Eduard. Lletra Santa concernent l’ajustament carnal de marit i muller. Barcelona: Columna, 1986. Fenster, Thelma and Daniel Lord Smail, eds. Fama: The Politics of Talk and Reputation in Medieval Europe. New York: Cornell University Press, 2003. Ferreiro Alemparte, Jaime. “Fuentes germánicas en las cantigas de Santa María de Alfonso X el Sabio.” Grial 31 (1971): 36–62. Ferro, Víctor. El Dret públic català: les institucions a Catalunya fins al Decret de Nova Planta. Vic: Eumo, 1987. Fidalgo, Elvira. As Cantigas de Santa Maria. Vigo: Edicións Xerais de Galicia, 2002.

168

Bibliography

Font Rius, Josep Mª. “El desarrollo general del derecho en los territorios de la Corona de Aragón (siglos XII–XIV).” In VII Congreso de Historia de la Corona de Aragón, vol. I, 289–326. Barcelona: Imprenta Vda. De Fidel Rodríguez Ferrán, 1962. —. “Ordenanzas municipales de una villa catalana: Olesa de Montserrat (siglo XVII).” In “Liber amicorum” dedicado al Profesor Don Ignacio de la Concha, 191–203. Oviedo: Universidad de Oviedo, 1986. Fraher, Richard M. “Conviction according to Conscience: The Medieval Jurists’ Debate concerning Judicial Discretion and the Law of Proof.” Law and History Review 7 (1989): 23–88. Freedman, Paul. Il gusto delle spezie nel Medioevo. Translated by Domenico Giusti. Bologna: Il Mulino, 2008. Fulton, Rachel. From Judgement to Passion: Devotion to Christ and the Virgin Mary, 800-1200. New York: Columbia University Press, 2002. —. “Mimetic Devotion, Marian Exegesis and the Historical Sense of the Song of Songs.” Viator 27 (1996): 85–116. García-Acosta, Pablo. “Shouting at the Angels: Visual Experience in Angela da Foligno's Memoriale.” Mirabilia 17, no. 2 (2014): 115–39. García Sanjuán, Alejandro. “Bases doctrinales y jurídicas del yihad en el derecho islámico clásico (siglos VIII–XIII).” Clio & Crimen 6 (2009): 243–277. —. “El concepto islámico de martirio.” In Lágrimas en la lluvia. Estudios sobre la muerte y los muertos, edited by José María Miura Andrades and Juan Carlos Arboleda Goldaracena, 283–289. Seville: Aconcagua Libros, 2014. Garrison, Edward B. Italian Romanesque Painting. An Illustrated Index. New York: Haecker Art Books, 1976. Gauthier, Catherine. “L’odeur et la lumière des dédicaces. L’encens et le luminaire dans le rituel de la dédicace d’église au haut moyen Âge.” In Mises en scène et mémoires de la consécration de l’église dans l’Occident médiéval, edited by Didier Méhu, 75–88. Turnhout: Brepols, 2008. Gauvard, Claude. “La fama, une parole fondatrice.” Médiévales 24 (1993): 5–13. Gavrilyuk, Paul, and Sarah Coakley. The Spiritual Senses. Perceiving God in Western Christianity. New York–Melbourne–Madrid et al: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Gittens, Peter. Magistra Apostolorum: Mary in the Mariology of Rupert of Deutz. Saarbrücken: Scholar’s Press, 2013. Giusto, Egidio M. Le vetrate di S. Francesco in Assisi: Studio storico iconografico. Milan: Alfieri & Lacroix, 1911.

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

169

Hamburger, Jeffrey F. “Art, Enclosure and the Cura Monialium: Prolegomena in the Guise of a Postscript.” Gesta 31 (1992): 108–34. —. Nuns as Artists: The Visual Culture of a Medieval Convent. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997. —. The Rothschild Canticles: Art and Mysticism in Flanders and the Rhineland circa 1300. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990. —. St. John the Divine: The Deified Evangelist in Medieval Art and Theology. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002. —. The Visual and the Visionary: Art and Female Spirituality in Late Medieval Germany. New York: Zone Books, 1998. Haskins, Susan. Mary Magdalen: Myth and Metaphor. London: Harper Collins, 1993. Heck, Christian. L’échelle céleste. Une histoire de la quête du ciel. Paris: Flammarion, 1999. Henningsen, Gustav. The Witches’ Advocate. Basque Witchcraft and the Spanish Inquisition. Reno: University of Nevada Press, 1980. Hughes-Edwards, Mari. “Anchoritism: the English tradition.” In Anchoritic Traditions of Medieval Europe, edited by Liz Herbert McAvoy, 131–52. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 2010. Ilan, Nahem. “‘Do not talk excessively with Women’. A Study of Selected Medieval Sephardic Commentaries.” Hispania Judaica Bulletin 10 (2014): 127–43. Infante, Renzo. “Maria di Betania e l’unzione di Gesù.” Vetera Christianorum 37 (2000): 35–55. Jones, Edward. “Ceremonies of Enclosure: rite, rhetoric and reality.” In Rhetoric of the Anchorhold: Space, Place and Body within the Discourses of Enclosure, edited by L. Herbert McAvoy, 34–49. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2008. Kelleher, Marie A. “Law and the maiden: inquisitio, fama, and the testimony of children in medieval Catalonia.” Viator 37 (2006): 351– 67. —. The Measure of Women. Law and Female Identity in the Crown of Aragon. Philadelphia–Oxford: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010. Kemp, Simon. “A Medieval Controversy about Odor.” Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences 33 (1997): 211–19. Kjellman, Hilding. La deuxième collection anglo-normande des miracles de la Vierge et son original latin avec les miracles correspondants des mss. fr. 375 et 818 de la Bibliothèque nationale. Uppsala: Akademiska Bokhandeln, 1922. Kowaleski, Maryanne. Local markets and regional trade in medieval Exeter. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995.

170

Bibliography

Kravitz, Leonard, and Kerry M. Olitzky. Pirkei Avot. A modern commentary on Jewish Ethics. New York: URJ Press, 1993. Lalinde Abadía, Jesús. La gobernación general en la Corona de Aragón. Madrid: CSIC–Institución Fernando el Católico, 1963. —. La Jurisdicción real inferior en Cataluña: “corts, veguers, batlles.” Barcelona: Ayuntamiento de Barcelona, 1966. Laurioux, Bruno. “Parfums d’Orient. La sciences des épecies au Moyen Âge.” In Parfums et odeurs au Moyen Âge, edited by Agostino Paravicini Bagliardi, 61–87. Florence: SISMEL-Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2015. Le Clerc, Victor. Histoire littéraire de la France. Vol. XX. Paris: L’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, 1842. Le Goff, Jacques. Il corpo nel Medioevo. Translated by Catalda Villardi. Bari: Editore Laterza, 2005. Le Guérer, Annick. I poteri dell’odore. Translated by Chiara Bongiovanni. Turin: Bollati Boringhieri, 2004. Lentes, Thomas. “Counting Piety in the Late Middle Ages.” In Ordering Medieval Society: Perspectives on Intellectual and Practical Modes of Shaping Social Relations, edited by Bernhard Jussen, 55–91. Philadelphia: University of Philadelphia Press, 2001. Leonardi, Claudio. “Agiografia.” In La produzione del testo. Vols. 1 and 2 of Lo spazio letterario del Medioevo 1. Il medioevo latino, edited by Guilelmo Cavallo et al, 421–62. Rome: Salerno Editrice, 1993. Lévy, Jean-Philippe. “Le problème de la preuve dans les droits savants du Moyen Âge.” Recueils de la Société Jean Bodin pour l'histoire comparative des institutions 17 (1965): 137–67. Lévi–Provençal, Évariste. “Observations sur le texte du Tome III du BayƗn d’Ibn ‫ޏ‬I঎ƗrƯ.” In Mélanges Gaudefroy-Demombynes, 241–258. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire, 1935-1945. Macdonald, Alasdair et al, eds. The Broken Body. Passion Devotion in Late-Medieval Culture. Groningen: Egbert Foster, 1998. Maíllo, Felipe. “El ǔihƗd. Teoría jurídica y praxis en el mundo islámico actual.” Revista Española de Filosofía Medieval 10 (2003): 111–117. Mâle, Émile. L’art religieux de la fin du Moyen Âge en France. Paris: Armand Colin Éditeur, 1995. First published 1908 by Armand Colin Éditeur. Mallorquí, Elvis. Parròquia i societat rural al bisbat de Girona, segles XIII i XIV. Barcelona: Fundació Noguera, 2011. Mangel, Nissen. The Rambam: A Brief Biography. Brooklyn: Kehot Publication Society, 1985.

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

171

Mariani, Paolo. “Liber e contesto: codici miscellanei a confronto.” In Angèle de Foligno. Le dossier, edited by Giulia Barone and Jacques Dalarun, 94–144. Rome: École Française de Rome, 1999. Marín, Manuela. “La práctica del ribƗ‫ ܒ‬en al-Andalus (ss. III-V/IX-XI).” In El ribƗ‫ ܒ‬califal. Excavaciones y estudios (1984-1992), edited by Rafael Azuar Ruiz, 191–201. Madrid: Casa de Velázquez, 2004. Marrow, James H. Passion Iconography in Northern European Art of the Late Middle Ages and Early Renaissance: A Study of the Transformation of Sacred Metaphor into Descriptive Narrative. Kortrijk: Van Ghemmert, 1979. Martin, John Rupert. The Illustration of the Heavenly Ladder of John Climacus. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1954. Marullo, Teresa. “Osservazioni sulle Cantigas di Alfonso X e sui Miracles di Gautier de Coincy.” Archivium Romanicum 18 (1934): 495–540. Masachs, Josep Maria. “El Penedès a l’alta edat mitjana i els inicis de Vilafranca (segles XII-XIII).” In Història de Vilafranca del Penedès, edited by Ramon Arnabat, and Jordi Vidal, 87–119. Vilafranca del Penedès: Ajuntament de Vilafranca del Penedès, 2008. Masschaele, James. Peasants, merchants and Markets. Inland trade in medieval England, 1150–1350. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997. Matter, E. Ann. The Voice of My Beloved: The Song of Songs in Western Medieval Christianity. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1990. Mauri, Alfred. Les excavacions arqueològiques a la Plaça de l’Església (Martorell). Martorell: Quaderns Quatre Ratlles, 1988. McCormick, Michael. Orígenes de la economía europea. Viajeros y comerciantes en la Alta Edad media. Barcelona: Crítica, 2005. McGinn, Bernard. The Flowering of Mysticism. Men and Women in the New Mysticism, vol. II: The Presence of God. A History of Western Christian Mysticism, 1200–1350. New York: Crossroad, 1998. McVaugh, Michael R. “Smells and the medieval surgeon.” Micrologus: Natura, scienze e società medievali. Nature, Sciences and Medieval Societies 10 (2002): 113–32. Megliorino, Francesco. Fama e Infamia. Problemi della società medievale nel pensiero giuridico nei secoli XII e XIII. Catania: Editrice Giannota, 1985. Melo Carrasco, Diego. “Gloria, sacrificio y martirio en la tradición preislámica y en el Islam Clásico.” Revista Cultura y Religión 2, no. 1 (2008). Meloni, Pietro. Il profumo dell’immortalità: l’inetrpretazione patristica di Cantico 1,3. Rome: Studium, 1975.

172

Bibliography

Meouak, Mohamed. “La biographie de GƗlib, haut fonctionnaire andalou de l’époque califale: carrière politique et titres honorifiques.” AlQan‫ܒ‬ara 11, no. 1 (1990): 95–112. Molina, Luis. “Las campañas de Almanzor a la luz de un nuevo texto.” AlQan‫ܒ‬ara 2, nos. 1–2 (1981): 209–263. Montanari, Massimo. “L’image du paysan et les codes de comportement alimentaire.” In Le petit peuple dans l’Occident médiéval. Terminologies, perceptions, réalités, edited by Pierre Boglioni, Robert Delort, and Claude Gauvard, 97–112. Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2002. Muntaner Alsina, Carme. “Terra de masos, vila de mar. Vida, economia i territori al castell de Sitges i el seu terme entre els segles XIV i XV.” PhD diss., Universitat de Barcelona, 2013. Naso, Irma. “In platea mercati. Il piccolo commercio in centri urbani dell’Italia nord-occidentale (secoli XIII–XV).” In El mercat. Un món de contactes i intercanvis, edited by Flocel Sabaté, and Maite Pedrol, 99–118. Lleida: Pagès, 2014. Neff, Amy. “The Pain of Compassio: Mary’s Labor at the Foot of the Cross.” The Art Bulletin 80, no. 2 (1998): 254–73. Nicols, Stephen G., Andreas Kablitz, and Alison Calhoun. Rethinking the Medieval Senses. Heritage, Fascinations, Frames. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2008. Orfali, Moisés. “Influencia de las Sociedades Cristiana y Musulmana en la Condición de la Mujer Judía.” In Árabes, Judías y Cristianas: Mujeres en la Europa Medieval, edited by Celia del Moral, 77–89. Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1993. Ortí, Pere. “Pagesos de Caldes de Malavella, mercaders de Sant Feliu de Guíxols i consellers reials: l'espectacular ascens de la família Pujada durant el segle XIV.” In La Corona catalanoaragonesa, l'Islam i el món mediterrani: estudis d'història medieval en homenatge a la Doctora María Teresa Ferrer i Mallol, edited by Josefina Mutgé, Roser Salicrú, and Carles Vela, 547–57. Barcelona: CSIC, 2013. Palazzo, Éric. “La liturgie et les cinq sens: les illustrations du ‘cartulaire’ de Saint-Martin du Canigou.” In La cultura en el Europa del siglo XIII: emisión, intermediación, audiencia, 69–83. Pamplona: Gobierno de Navarra, Departamento de Cultura, Turismo y Relaciones Institucionales, 2014. —. “Les cinq sens au Moyen Âge: état de la questione et prespective de recherche.” Cahiers de civlisation médiévale 55 (2012): 339–66. —. L’invention chrétienne des cinq sens dans la liturgie et l’art au Moyen âge. Paris: Les éditions du Cerf, 2014.

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

173

Penkett, Robert. “Perceiving the other: sensory phenomena and experience in the early medieval Other World.” Reading Medieval Studies 25 (1999): 91–106. Penn, Michael Philip. Kissing Christians: Ritual and Community in the Late Ancient Church. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005. Pentcheva, Bissera V. The Sensual Icon: Space, Ritual and the Senses in Byzantium. Pennsylvania: University Park, 2010. Petrowiste, Judicaël. Naissance et essor d’un espace d’échanges au Moyen Âge. Le réseau des bourgs marchands du Midi toulousain (XIe-milieu du XIVe siècle). PhD diss., Université Toulouse-Le Mirail, 2007. Philippart, Guy. “Le récit miraculaire marial dans l’Occident médiéval.” In Marie: le culte de la Vierge dans la société médiévale, edited by Dominique Iogna-Prat, 563–89. Paris: Beauchesne, 1996. Poeschke, Joachim. Italian Frescoes. The Age of Giotto, 1280-1400. New York–London: Abbeville Press, 2005. Pons Guri, Josep Mª. Recull d’estudis d’història jurídica catalana. Barcelona–Lleida: Fundació Noguera–Pagès, 1989. Puente, Cristina de la. “Límites legales del concubinato: normas y tabúes en la esclavitud sexual según la BidƗya de Ibn Rušd.” Al-Qan‫ܒ‬ara 28, no. 2 (2007): 409–433. —. “Mujeres cautivas en la Tierra del Islam.” Al-Andalus-Magreb 14 (2007): 19–37. Riera, Antoni. “Alimentació i poder a la Catalunya del segle XII. Aproximació al comportament alimentari de la noblesa.” Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya 2 (1993): 8–21. —. “Mercat i regulació: Inspecció, controls de qualitat i defensa dels consumidors als mercats medievals ibèrics.” In El mercat de Balaguer: una cruïlla, edited by Flocel Sabaté, 61–76. Balaguer: Ajuntament de Balaguer, 2015. —. Senyors, monjos i pagesos: alimentació i identitat social als segles XII i XIII. Barcelona: Institut d’Estudis Catalans, 1997. Riera, Antoni, and Maria Soler. “La distribución de alimentos en el Mediterráneo Occidental (siglos VIII-XII).” In L’Alimentazione nell’Alto Medioevo. Pratiche, simboli, ideologie, edited by Roberto Arelli, 213–98. Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’alto Medioevo, 2016. Robinson, George. Essential Judaism. A Complete Guide to Beliefs, Customs, and Rituals. New York: Pocket Books, 2000. Robson, Janet. “The Pilgrim’s Progress: Reinterpreting the Trecento Fresco Programme in the Lower Church at Assisi.” In The Art of the

174

Bibliography

Franciscan Order in Italy, edited by William R. Cook, 39–70. Leiden: Brill, 2005. Roch, Martin. L'intelligence d'un sens: Odeurs miraculeuses et odorat dans l'Occident du haut Moyen-Âge (Ve-VIIIe siècles). Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 2009. —. “Odeurs extraordinaires et emotions dans le haut Moyen Âge.” In Le sujet des emotions au Moyen Âge, edited by Damien Boquet, and Piroska Nagy, 433–64. Paris: Beauchesne, 2009. —. “Théophanie et liturgie: les odeurs de la dédicace de l'église SainteAgathe selon Grégoire le Grand (Dial., III, 30, 1–7).” In Mises en scène et mémoires de la consécration de l’église dans l’Occident médiéval, edited by Didier Méhu, 51–73. Turnhout: Brepols, 2008. Rodríguez-Barral, Paulino. “La dialéctica texto-imagen a propósito de la representación del judío en las Cantigas de Santa Maria de Alfonso X.” Anuario de Estudios Medievales 37 (2007): 213–43. Rubin, Miri. Mother of God. A History of the Virgin Mary. New HavenLondon: Yale University Press, 2009. Sabaté, Flocel. El veguer de Catalunya del segle XIV. Anàlisi de l’exercici de la jurisdicció reial. PhD diss., Universitat de Barcelona, 2003. —. “La pena de muerte en la Cataluña bajomedieval.” Clio & Crímen 4 (2007): 117–276. Sabaté, Flocel, ed. El mercat de Balaguer, una cruïlla. Balaguer: Ajuntament de Balaguer, 2015. Sabaté, Flocel, and Maite Pedrol, eds. El mercat. Un món de contactes i intercanvis. Lleida: Pagès, 2014. Salrach, Josep Mª. “El mercat de la vila, mercat de productes.” In Història agrària dels Països Catalans, edited by Emili Giralt, vol. II, 433–64. Barcelona: Fundació Catalana per a la Recerca, 2004. —. “Mercat i mercats.” In Història agrària dels Països Catalans, edited by Emili Giralt, vol. II, 395–432. Barcelona: Fundació Catalana per a la Recerca, 2004. —. “Sociedad rural y mercados en la Cataluña medieval,” Edad Media. Revista de Historia 4 (2001): 83–111. Sánchez Martínez, Manuel. “La expedición de Al-Manৢnjr contra Barcelona en el 985 según las fuentes árabes.” In Catalunya i França meridional a l’entorn de l’any mil: Colloque international, C.N.R.S – Generalitat de Catalunya, Hugues Capet 987-1987. La France de l’an mil: Barcelona, 2–5 juliol 1987, edited by Xavier Barral i Altet, 293– 301. Barcelona: Generalitat de Catalunya. Departament de Cultura, 1991.

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

175

Sancho Fibla, Sergi. “Quando bene respicio. Palabra, Imagen y Meditación en las obras de Marguerite d’Oingt.” PhD diss., Universitat Pompeu Fabra, 2015. —. “Visione e corpo nel secolo XIII. La donna-albero di Marguerite d’Oingt.” In Viridarium 8. La visione, edited by Francesco Zambon, 131–54. Venezia: Edizioni Medusa, Fondazione Giorgio Cini, 2012. Scales, Peter C. The Fall of the Caliphate of Córdoba. Berbers and Andalusis in conflict. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994. Schiller, Gertrud. Iconography of Christian Art. London: Lund Humphries, 1972. First published 1969 as Ikonographie der christlichen Kunst, Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn. Schmitt, Jean-Claude. Le corps des images. Essais sur la culture visuelle au Moyen Âge. Paris: Gallimard, 2002. Schnapp, Jeffrey. “Touch and Transport in the Middle Ages.” Modern Language Notes 124 (2009): 115–36. Sensi, Mario. Storie di bizzoche: Tra Umbria e Marche. Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1995. Sedley, David. Rabbenu Yonah on Pirkei Avos. New York: The Judaica Press Inc., 2008. Sendler, Egon. L’icona: immagine dell’invisibile. Elementi di teologia, estetica e tecnica. Rome: Edizioni Paoline, 1985. Smalley, Beryl. “The Gospels in the Paris Schools in the Late 12th and Early 13th Centuries: Peter the Chanter, Hugh of St. Cher, Alexander of Hales, John of La Rochelle.” Franciscan Studies 39 (1979): 230–54. Smith, Mark. “Transcending, othering, detecting: smell, premodernity, modernity.” Postmedieval 3, no. 4 (2012): 380–90. Soldevila, Xavier. “Una vila empordanesa a l’Edat Mitjana. Torrella de Montgrí, segles XII-XIV.” Quaderns de la Selva 15 (2003): 89–103. Soler, Maria. “Antes de las etiquetas. El intercambio de alimentos a través de la Historia.” In Alimentos ¿Qué hay detrás de la etiqueta?, edited by Ramon Clotet, 207–23. Barcelona: Viena Ediciones, 2004. —. Els espais d’intercanvi. El mercat en el procés de gènesi i consolidació del feudalisme al comtat de Barcelona (segles IX a XIII). PhD diss., Universitat de Barcelona, 2006. —. “‘Feriam, forum, mercatum’: el mercat a l’Edat Mitjana.” Diónysos 3 (2002): 9–25. —. “Feudalisme i mercat: vers una nova estructuració dels intercanvis. L’exemple de la baronia de Castellvell de Rosanes entre l’alta i la plena edat mitjana.” In Fires, mercats i món rural. IV Jornades sobre sistemes agraris, organització social i poder local als Països Catalans,

176

Bibliography

edited by Enric Vicedo, 159–80. Lleida: Institut d’Estudis Ilerdencs, Diputació de Lleida, 2004. —. “Feudalisme i nucleació poblacional. Processos de concentració de l’hàbitat al comtat de Barcelona entre els segles X i XIII.” Acta Historica et Archaeologica Mediaevalia 23–24 (2003): 69–101. —. “Fires i mercats a Vilafranca i al Penedès medieval.” In Fires i mercats a Vilafranca i al Penedès. Economia i sociabilitat, edited by Ramon Arnabat, 11–34. Vilafranca del Penedès: Institut d’Estudis Penedesencs, 2016. —. “From ‘forum Granate’ to Vilafranca’s fair. Origin, Foundation and Articulation of a Market Network in the Feudal Penedès Region (9th– 12th c.).” SVMMA. Revista de Cultures Medievals 6 (2015): 171–90. —. “Medieval topographical urban models: development and morphological evolution of the villages in Barcelona’s county between the 10th and 13th centuries.” In Centre, Region, Periphery, edited by Guido Helmig, Barbara Scholkmann, and Matthias Untermann, vol. II, 573–79. Basel: Folio Verlag, 2002. Souto, Juan Antonio. “Cronología y gobernadores de Huesca omeya.” In Homenaje al profesor José María Fórneas Besteiro, vol. II, 857–865. Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1995. Stewart, Pamela J. and Strathern, Andrew. Witchcraft, sorcery, rumors and gossip. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Süskind, Patrick. Perfume. The Story of a Murderer. London: Penguin, 1987. Taylor, Charles. Sayings of the Jewish Fathers. New York: Ktav Publishing House Inc., 1969. Theiller, Isabelle. Les marchés hebdomadaires en Normandie oridentale (XIVe-début XVIe siècle). PhD diss., Université Paris-7 Denis Diderot, 2004. Tilliette, Jean-Yves. “Le symbolisme des cinq sens dans la littérature morale et spirituelle des XIe et XIIe siècles.” Micrologus: Natura, scienze e società medievali. Nature, Sciences and Medieval Societies 10 (2002): 15–32. To, Lluís. “La comercialització de productes tèxtils a l’entorn de 1300: els drapers de la vila d’Amer.” In Ciutats, viles, sagreres. Els nuclis urbans a la Baixa Edat Mitjana (s. XIII-XV). Actes del II seminari d’Estudis Medievals d’Hostalric, edited by Neus Puig, and Montse Viader, 36–56. Hostalric: Ajuntament d’Hostalric, 2011. Toubert, Hélène. “Une fresque de San Pedro de Sorpe (Catalogne) et le thème iconographique de l’Arbor bona-ecclesia, arbor malasynagoga.” Cahiers archéologiques XIX (1969): 167–89.

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

177

Touger, Eliyahu. Shemoneh Perakim: The Rambam’s Classic Work of Ethics and Maimonides’s Pirkei Avot with the Rambam’s commentary. New York: Moznaim Publishing Corporation, 1994. Tyan, Émile. “DjihƗd.” In Encyclopédie de l’Islam, edited by Bernard Lewis et al, vol. II, 551-553. Leiden–París: E. J. Brill–Maisonneuve & Larose, 1997. Urtel, Hermann. “Eine altfranzösische Beichte.” Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie XXXXIII (1909): 571–75. Vidal Castro, Francisco. “El cautivo en el mundo islámico: Visión y vivencia desde el otro lado de la frontera andalusí.” In II Estudios de Frontera. Actividad y vida en la Frontera (Alcalá la Real, del 19 al 22 de noviembre de 1997), edited by Francisco Toro Cevallos and José Rodríguez Molina, 771-823. Jaén: Diputación Provincial de Jaén, Área de Cultura, 1998. —. “Poder religioso y cautivos creyentes en la Edad Media: la experiencia islámica.” In Fe, Cautiverio y Liberación. Actas del I Congreso Trinitario de Granada (Granada, 6, 7 y 8 de 1995), edited by Isidro Hernández Delgado, 73-96. Córdoba: Secretariado Trinitario, 1996. Vilaginés, Jaume. El paisatge, la societat i l’alimentació al Vallès Oriental (segles X–XII). Barcelona: Publicacions de l’Abadia de Montserrat, 2001. Villalobos Hennessy, Marlene. “The Disappearing Book in The Revelation of the Hundred Pater Nosters.” In Devotional Culture in Late Medieval England and Europe: Diverse Imaginations of Christ’s Life, edited by Stephen Kelly and Ryan Perry, 243–66. Turnhout: Brepols, 2014. —. “Passion Devotion. Penitential Reading, and the Manuscript Page. ‘The Hours of the Cross’ in London, British Library Additional 37049.” Mediaeval Studies 66 (2004): 213–52. Vinyoles, Teresa. “Veus i sensacions dels mercats medievals.” In El mercat. Un món de contactes i intercanvis, edited by Flocel Sabaté, and Maite Pedrol, 77–98. Lleida: Pagès, 2014. Warren, Ann. Anchorites and Their Patrons in Medieval England. Berkeley–Los Angeles–London: University of California Press, 1985. Wickham, Chris. “Gossip and Resistance among the Medieval Peasantry.” Past & Present 160 (1998): 3–24. Wood, Jeryldene M. Women Art and Spirituality. The Poor Clares in Early Modern Italy. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Woolgar, Chris M. The Senses in Late Medieval England. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006.

178

Bibliography

Ziegler, Joanna E. Sculpture of Compassion: The Pietà and the Beguines in the Southern Low Countries, c.1300-c.1600. Brussels: Institut historique belge de Rome, 1992.

CONTRIBUTORS

Pablo Acosta-García is currently associate professor of Spanish Literature and Language at the Autonomous University of Barcelona and member of the Bibliotheca Mystica et Philosophica Alois M. Haas’ Research Group (Universitat Pompeu Fabra. He holds a PhD in Late Medieval Literature; in particular, he has studied female mystics from an interdisciplinary perspective. In his PhD thesis (Poética de la visibilidad del ‘Mirouer dessimples ames’ de Marguerite Porete) he analyses the visuality of Marguerite Porete’s Mirror of Simple Souls. His latest book is the edition and Spanish translation of Angela da Foligno’s Memoriale (Siruela, 2014). Pau Castell Granados holds a PhD in Medieval History and works as a Lecturer in the Department of History and Archaeology of the Universitat de Barcelona. His soon-to-be-published doctoral thesis is devoted to the emergence of the witchcraft mythology and the development of secular and inquisitorial witch-hunts in Catalonia during the 15th-16th centuries. He has been a visiting scholar and a guest Lecturer at the Université de Lausanne and the University of Oxford. He has participated in several national and international projects and is currently curating a national exhibition on Witchcraft in the Pyrenean region. His current research is devoted to medieval magic and the emergence of the witch-craze phenomenon in southern Europe. Ivo Elies graduated in History at the University of Barcelona and in Medieval Cultures at the same University. He has been Research Assistant in the Project “Economic Crisis and Social Transformations: the Phylloxera Crises and their effects in the demography and vinery exploitation in Alt Penedès area (1870-1920),” supervised by Josep Colomé, and has published articles devoted to the social history of the Middle Ages in Catalonia. He is now studying his second degree in Modern Literature at the University of Padova (Italy).

180

Contributors

Lydia Hayes holds a BA in History and Political Science from the Fagler College (St Agustine, Florida, 2012) and a MLitt in Medieval Studies from the University of St Andrews (2013). She currently is completing her PhD in Medieval Studies at the University of St Andrews, with a thesis on depictions of women in Chrétien de Troyes Arthurian Romances, theological texts, and the cult of saints. She has worked as research assistant in the Humanities Department of Flagler College and she has taught several courses at the School of History of the University of St Andrews. Albert Lizandra holds a BA+MA in English Studies and an MA in Medieval Cultures. His field of research is Medieval Judaism. Currently, he is pursuing his PhD at the University of Barcelona whilst he is a Research Associate in Jewish Studies at Smith College (Massachusetts, USA). He is also a teacher of English and Spanish as L2 and a member of the Spanish Association for Hebrew and Jewish Studies (AEEHJ) and the Catalan Society for Hebrew Studies (SCEH). Carme Muntaner Alsina holds a PhD in Medieval History from the Universitat de Barcelona (2013). She gained a fellowship at the Department of Medieval History, Palaeography and Diplomatics of the University of Barcelona between 2006 and 2010. She is currently an associated researcher of the Institut de Cultures Medievals (IRCVM) and has participated in several research projects, including competitive projects on Medieval Records and Heritage Archives. She has done research sojourns abroad (École des Chartes of Paris and Università degli Studi di Bologna, among others). Her research focuses on rural history and the edition of medieval and modern collection of documents and manuscripts. Sergi Sancho Fibla is a postdoctoral researcher at CNRS and AixMarseille University (TELEMME lab). In October 2016 he was awarded a Labexmed contract thanks to a project about “Space, Female Spirituality and Intellectual Practices in Southern Europe (13th-15th centuries).” Sergi graduated from the Universitat Pompeu Fabra (Barcelona, Spain) in December 2015 with a PhD thesis devoted to the relationship between Image, Text, Memory, and Meditation in medieval texts, especially in Marguerite of Oingt’s works. He is a member of two Reseach Groups: “Bibliotheca Mystica et Philosophia Alois Maria Haas” and "Valenciana Prosa.” He is also the coordinator of the scientific publication “Forma: Revista d'Estudis Comparatius.”

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

181

Maria Soler Sala holds a PhD in Medieval History (2007) and is currently lecturer professor at the Department of Medieval History, Palaeography and Diplomatics of the University of Barcelona. She participates in several national research projects and is member of the research group on Medieval Art, History, Palaeography, and Archaeology led by Prof. Blanca Garí (University of Barcelona). She has published a number of articles devoted to the study of markets and fairs in medieval Catalonia, food systems and social structure in medieval times, and production, distribution, and consumption of food in the Middle Ages. Josep Suñé-Arce graduated in History at the University of Barcelona (2009) and specialized in Medieval History at the same institution (2011). His research topics are Andalusian society, gihad, and medieval warfare. He has published works in Gadius (CSIC) and Índice Histórico Español, and he has participated with Jordi Pérez (CEIPAC) in the EFR’s international symposium entitled Il ruolo delle vie d’acqua (Rome, 2015).

INDEX A ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Malik al-Mu਌affar, 99, 100, 102 ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Raতman III, 101, 107 Adam, 111, 113, 116 Adamnán of Iona, 52, 67, 159 Aguiar de Sousa, 100 Al-Andalus, 6, 95, 100, 102, 103, 105, 108, 112, 162, 173, 181 Alfonso X of Castile, 4, 46, 58 Al-QayrawƗnƯ, 96, 105 ‫ޏ‬Amr b. al-ণƗri৮, 97 Ancrene Wisse, 3, 141, 142, 151, 152, 153, 158, 160, 163 Andorra, 127, 128, 130–133, 135– 137 Angela of Foligno, 2, 3, 11, 17, 18, 22, 24, 25, 27, 150, 160 angels, 18, 20, 27, 38, 65, 145 Annunciation, 35–37, 39 apostles, 2, 12 archaeological evidence, 74, 77, 78 Aristotle, 3, 42, 114 asceticism, 2, 3, 13, 17, 102, 142, 144, 152 Assisi, 2, 11, 18, 19, 20, 24, 27–29, 168, 173 Augustine of Hippo, 50, 66 Averroes, 96, 99, 104

B Baños de Ledesma, 100 Barcelona, 80, 82, 100, 101 Basques, 100 Bernard of Clairvaux, 3, 34, 40, 44, 160 Bible, 4, 33–35, 42, 43, 47, 49, 59, 63, 65, 74, 109, 111, 114, 158 blood, 142, 143

Byzantine tradition, 17, 18, 21, 22, 53, 62, 67, 68, 165

C Caldes de Montbui, 79, 88 Catalonia, 7, 77–79, 86, 87, 90, 100, 112, 115, 116, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 126, 129, 132, 134, 159, 167, 169, 179– 181 cattle, 5, 80, 81, 82, 84, 119, 120, 127, 128, 132, 133 Christ, 2, 3, 4, 11–15, 17, 18, 20, 22, 26, 33–44, 47–49, 59, 64, 65, 70, 143–146, 148, 150, 152, 155–158, 168, 177 Christ’s body, 21, 22, 143, 144, 146–151, 157 Christ's blood, 15, 19, 20, 28, 143, 150, 157 Christ's mouth, 20, 22, 149 Christ's Passion, 2, 11, 13–18, 20, 22, 23, 26–29, 145, 147, 149, 167 Christian iconography, 15, 17, 18, 20, 22, 23, 53, 54, 68 Cimabue, 19, 27 Constantinople, 55, 60, 68 Córdoba, 100–102, 104, 107, 108, 163, 175, 177 county of Barcelona, 5, 74–76, 82, 85–87, 88, 90 Crown of Castile, 58, 100, 124, 133 crucifixion, 2, 3, 14, 37, 38, 40, 141–143, 148, 152 Crucifixion, 15, 19 Cyril, 58

Index

184

D Dauphiné, 141, 151 demons, 38, 52 desire, 1–3, 6, 17, 33, 35, 36, 39, 41, 95, 97, 103, 113, 115–117 Devil, 5, 53, 54, 59, 60, 69, 128, 132 diabolical speeches, 13

E ecstasy, 11, 20 Eden, 58, 70 England, 141 Eucharist, 4, 33–35, 37, 38, 42 Eve, 111, 113, 116

F fairs, 5, 73–75, 78, 80–85, 87, 181 fama, 7, 70, 119–123, 126–128, 130–136, 168, 169 fear, 1, 6, 125, 131 France, 3, 34, 67, 106, 107, 141, 156, 160, 162, 170, 174

G ƤƗlib b. ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Raতman, 99, 106 Gautier de Coincy, 52, 67, 171 Gormaz, 102 Gospels, 2, 3, 33–36, 38, 40, 43, 175 John, 37, 38, 40 Luke, 35, 40, 41, 68 Mark, 40 Matthew, 35, 39, 40 gossip, 83, 115, 121, 134, 176 Granollers, 76, 78, 79, 82, 88, 159 grief, 13, 20, 21, 96

H ণabƗn b. AbƯ ۛabala, 98 hearing, 16, 33, 38, 42, 120, 121, 126, 127, 132, 143, 145–148, 152, 153

hearsay, 7, 119–121, 126, 127, 129, 132, 133, 145 Heaven, 53, 70, 146, 148 Hell, 6, 51, 52, 66, 95, 115 heresy, 49, 57, 64 Holy Land, 50, 58, 64, 70 Holy Spirit, 11, 35, 36, 39, 40, 58, 70 Honorius of Autun, 3, 33, 35, 37– 39, 43, 44, 160 houris, 6, 96, 99, 100, 103, 105 Huesca, 101, 107, 176

I Iacobus de Voragine, 145, 146, 149 Ibn AbƯ ZamanƯn, 6, 95, 100, 102– 105, 108, 162 Ibn ণayyƗn, 101, 104 Ibn Hu঎ayl, 96, 99, 105 Ibn ‫ޏ‬I঎ƗrƯ, 102, 104, 106, 170 Igualada, 76, 78, 82, 88, 159 Incarnation, 35, 37, 41 incense, 5, 49, 63, 65, 70 Isidore of Seville, 46, 62, 160

J Jerusalem, 58, 70, 115 Jews, 5–7, 52–57, 60, 68, 69, 108– 114, 118, 145, 162, 170, 176, 180 jihad, 6, 95, 102, 103, 105, 106 John of Garland, 52 joy, 4, 13, 15, 21, 36, 98 Juan Gil de Zamora, 52

K kissing, 4, 19, 20, 36, 41, 42, 44, 128 KitƗb Qudwat al-ƤƗzƯ, 95, 96, 99, 103, 104, 106

L La Granada, 76, 78, 79, 88

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages L'Arboç, 78 Lazarus, 38–40 León, 100 Lleida, 86, 87, 131, 134, 136, 164, 165, 167, 172–174, 176, 177 Lyon, 146

M Maimonides, 7, 109, 112–118, 177 Marguerite d’Oingt, 2, 141, 146, 150, 151, 154–156, 161, 175 markets, 1, 3, 5, 6, 73–88, 169, 181 Martorell, 76–78, 81, 82, 88, 89, 171 martyrs, 6, 16, 27, 49, 50, 66, 95– 100, 103, 167 Mary Magdalen, 33, 34, 38–42, 44, 149, 169 Mary of Bethany, 59, 63 Master of San Francesco, 21 Medinaceli, 100, 135, 136 meditation, 2, 3, 11–17, 19, 20, 22, 23, 25, 27, 143, 146, 147, 150 miracles, 47, 48, 50, 52–55, 57–61, 64, 67, 68, 69, 106, 114, 160, 162, 169 Mishnah, 109–111 Montcada, 81 Montmagastre, 100, 101 Montpellier, 6, 81, 114 Moshe, 109, 117, 118 Moshe ben Maimon, 114 mostassaf, 76, 79, 80, 88, 159 Mount Sinai, 109 mouth, 14, 15, 36, 41, 83, 125, 145, 146, 153 Muতammad b. ‫ޏ‬Abd al-Malik al৫awƯl, 101, 107 Muতammad b. AbƯ ‫ޏ‬Ɩmir alManৢnjr, 99, 101, 174 music, 5, 83, 84, 91 Muslims, 6, 95, 97–100, 102, 103, 105

185

mysticism, 2, 14, 22, 23, 25, 46, 113, 114, 144, 147, 148, 150, 157, 179 mystical experiences, 2, 3, 12, 150, 151 mystical texts, 15, 23, 147, 152

N Nahmanides, 113, 114 Nicholas de Oresme, 74

O odour, 4, 5, 40, 45–54, 57–60, 63– 66, 69, 70, 81, 167 oil, 4, 5, 40, 41, 50, 52, 58, 61, 64, 67, 70, 75, 79, 88 Old Testament, 59 Olesa de Montserrat, 77, 78, 82, 88, 168

P paganism, 46 pain, 2, 3, 13–17, 19, 22, 95, 113, 142, 143, 145, 149 Pallars, 101, 129, 130, 132 Pamplona, 63, 100, 172 Paradise, 6, 65, 74, 95, 97, 102, 103, 108 Paulinus of Milan, 50, 66 penitence, 3, 13, 15, 17, 20, 79, 142, 146, 151, 154 self-mortification, 14 Peña Cervera, 100 perfumes, 4, 45–50, 55, 58–60, 63, 67 Peter Cantor, 3, 34, 39, 40, 43, 44, 161 pilgrimage, 11, 13, 14, 19, 20, 50, 65, 161 Pirkei Avot, 6, 7, 109–118, 170, 177 pleasure, 97, 101, 102, 103, 112, 151 olfactive pleasure, 3, 20, 46–48, 50, 57, 59, 63, 74, 84

Index

186 sexual pleasure, 7, 112 poison, 120, 122, 128, 131, 132 prayer, 13, 14, 16, 17, 26, 27, 49, 58, 65, 98, 99, 144, 147, 150, 155 preaching, 36, 39 Prophet Muতammad, 95 Provence, 49

Q Qur’an, 96, 97, 105

R redemption, 3, 14, 143, 145, 150, 158 relics, 4, 33, 41, 53, 64 Robert Grosseteste, 145 rumour, 7, 83, 121, 122, 126–129, 131–133 Rupert of Deutz, 3, 25, 33–37, 39, 43, 44, 161, 168, 171

S Sabadell, 76, 78, 82, 88 sacrilege, 48 Šahr b. ণawšab, 97 Saint Francis, 12, 18, 19 Saint John the Evangelist, 15–19, 26, 169 Saint Peter, 50 saints, 43, 46, 50, 64, 65, 82, 145, 165, 180 desert saints, 142, 144 Sant Boi de Llobregat, 78 Sant Celoni, 77, 81, 88 Sant Cugat del Vallès, 82, 88 Sentmenat, 80, 81, 136 Sicily, 97 sickness, 17, 51, 58, 100, 116, 120, 122, 123, 127, 129, 130, 132, 133, 143, 146 sight, 16, 17, 36, 42, 126, 132, 143, 145–148, 152, 153 Simancas, 100

sin, 3, 7, 13, 14, 38, 39, 41, 51, 56, 59, 60, 74, 111, 112, 115–117, 142, 143, 145, 149, 150, 152, 154, 158 Sitges, 81, 91, 172 smell, 4, 5, 6, 22, 42, 45–53, 55, 57– 60, 62, 64, 69, 78–81, 84, 145– 149, 152, 175 Song of Songs, 3, 4, 17, 33–37, 39– 41, 43, 44, 59, 63, 160–162, 168, 171 sounds, 5, 74, 78, 81, 83 spices, 1, 3, 5, 49, 50, 53, 57–60, 63, 64, 70, 80, 81, 84

T Talmud, 112, 114 taste, 42, 52, 74, 78, 79, 80, 81, 83, 145–147, 152, 153 tears, 4, 38–41, 96–98, 130, 145 Torà de Riubregós, 100, 101, 102 Torah, 6, 109–118 torture, 125, 126, 128, 129, 133 touch, 3, 4, 5, 22, 33–42, 46, 143, 145–148, 150, 151, 153 touching Christ, 33, 34, 38, 41

U Umbria, 3, 11, 12, 14, 17, 19, 21, 22, 23, 25, 28, 29, 175

V Vic, 77, 89, 107, 134, 164, 165, 167 Vilafranca del Penedès, 76–78, 80– 82, 87–89, 91, 164, 171, 176 Vilamajor, 80, 81 Vilanova de Cubelles, 77 Virgin Mary, 2, 4, 5, 12–19, 21, 22, 26, 27, 33–35, 37–40, 42, 43, 48–54, 56, 58, 60, 64, 68, 168, 174 visions, 11, 12, 14, 15, 33, 36, 49, 146–149, 156, 157

Sensual and Sensory Experiences in the Middle Ages

W William of St. Thierry, 38, 40, 44, 161 wine, 5, 38, 78, 79, 81, 90 witchcraft, 6, 7, 119–127, 130–134, 179 wounds, 3, 14, 96, 142, 143, 147, 152, 155, 157

187

cult of the Five Wounds, 15, 20, 142, 143, 146, 147, 149, 157

Y Yonah ben Abraham ha-Gerondi, 112, 117

Z Zamora, 100, 165 Zaragoza, 78