Women in The Medieval Monastic World (Janet Burton, Karen Stöber) PDF

Women in the
Medieval Monastic World

MEDIEVAL MONASTIC STUDIES
General Editors
Janet Burton, University of Wales Trinity Saint David
Karen Stöber, Universitat de Lleida
Editorial Board
Frances Andrews, University of St Andrews
David Austin, University of Wales Trinity Saint David
Edel Bhreathnach, Discovery Programme, Dublin
Megan Cassidy-Welch, Monash University
James Clark, Bristol University
Albrecht Diem, Syracuse University
Marilyn Dunn, University of Glasgow
Sarah Foot, Oxford University, Christ Church
Paul Freedman, Yale University
Alexis Grélois, Université de Rouen
Martin Heale, University of Liverpool
Emilia Jamroziak, University of Leeds
Kurt Villads Jensen, Syddansk Universitet
William Chester Jordan, Princeton University
József Laszlovszky, Central European University Budapest
Julian Luxford, University of St Andrews
Colmán Ó Clabaigh, Glenstal Abbey
Tadhg O’Keeffe, University College Dublin
Jens Röhrkasten, University of Birmingham
Antonio Sennis, University College London
Orri Vésteinsson, University of Iceland
Volume 1
Women in the
Medieval Monastic World
Edited by
Janet Burton and Karen Stöber

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
© 2015, Brepols Publishers n.v., Turnhout, Belgium
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,
without the prior permission of the publisher.
D/2015/0095/143
ISBN: 978-2-503-55308-5
e-ISBN: 978-2-503-55425-9
Printed on acid-free paper
Contents
List of Illustrations vii
Acknowledgements ix
Introduction
Janet Burton and Karen Stöber 1
Spanish Female Monasticism: ‘Family’ Monasteries and

their Transformation (Eleventh to Twelfth Centuries)
Gregoria Cavero Domínguez 15
Cistercian Nuns in Northern Italy:

Variety of Foundations and Construction of an Identity
Guido Cariboni 53
Female Monasteries of the Early Middle Ages (Seventh to Ninth Century)

in Northern Gaul: Between Monastic Ideals and Aristocratic Powers
Michèle Gaillard 75
Bishops and Nuns: Forms of the cura monialium

in Twelfth- and Thirteenth-Century England
Brian Golding 97
Medieval Nunneries and Male Authority:

Female Monasteries in England and Wales
Janet Burton 123
vi Contents
Women and Monasticism in Venice

in the Tenth to Twelfth Centuries
Anna Rapetti 145
Cistercian Nuns in Twelfth- and Thirteenth-Century

Denmark and Sweden: Far from the Madding Crowd
Brian Patrick McGuire 167
Female Mendicant Spirituality in Catalan Territory:

The Birth of the First Communities of Poor Clares
Núria Jornet-Benito 185
‘For they wanted us to serve them’:

Female Monasticism in Medieval Transylvania
Carmen Florea 211
An Archaeological Perspective on Female Monasticism

in the Middle Ages in Ireland
Tracy Collins 229
Silk Purse or Sow’s Ear? The Art and Architecture

of the Cistercian Nunnery of Swine, Yorkshire
Michael Carter 253
Pro remedio anime sue: Cistercian Nuns

and Space in the Low Countries
Erin L. Jordan 279
Symbolic Meanings of Space in Female Monastic Tradition

Anne Müller 299
The Place of the Choir in Churches of Female Convents

in the Medieval German Kingdom
Matthias Untermann 327
FemMoData: A Database of Medieval Female Monasteries in Europe

Hedwig Röckelein 355
Index 365
List of Illustrations
Figures
Figure 3.1. List of nuns of Remiremont.

Rome, Biblioteca Angelica, MS 10, fol. 4v. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
Figure 10.1. Carrowntemple, County Roscommon, showing a small church
with attached domestic accommodation, viewed from northwest. . . . . . . 239
Figure 10.2. Claustral plans of nunneries. A. St Catherine’s, Old Abbey,
County Limerick. B. Molough, Moloughabbey, County Tipperary.
C. Killone, Newhall, County Clare . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241
Figure 10.3. An outline of the incised ship graffiti in the church
at St Catherine’s. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244
Figure 11.1 Engraving of the church at Swine in 1782. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 258
Figure 11.2. Exterior of the church at Swine showing the sequence
of building works between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries. . . . . . . . . . 259
Figure 11.3. Interior of the church at Swine. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260
Figure 11.4. Swine Priory, surviving portion
of the early sixteenth-century rood screen. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261
Figure 11.5 Swine Priory, early sixteenth-century parclose screen
at the west of the Hilton chapel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 262
Figure 11.6. Thame Church, former prebendal church,
early sixteenth-century screen. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 264
Figure 11.7. Swine Priory, Darcy arms on the parclose screen. . . . . . . . . . . . . 268
viii List of Illustrations
Figure 11.8. London, British Library MS Harley 2509, fol. 2r,

devotional book owned by Prioress Maud Wade of Swine. . . . . . . . . . . . . 271
Figure 14.1. Vilich, convent church, c. 990. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 328
Figure 14.2. Gnadenthal, Cistercian nuns’ church, c. 1230,

view to the west. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 330
Figures 14.3. Cappel, Premonstratensian church, c. 1160. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331
Figure 14.4. Gravenhorst, Cistercian nuns’ church, late 14th century. . . . . . 332
Figure 14.5. Rosenthal, Cistercian nuns’ church, c. 1260 and c. 1480. . . . . . . 335
Figure 14.6. Meschede, canonesses’ church, c. 1000. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 336
Figure 14.7. Bersenbrück, Cistercian nuns’ church, 1263. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 337
Figure 14.8. Levern, Cistercian nuns’ church, c. 1230. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 338
Figure 14.9. Sulzburg, canonesses’ church, c. 990. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 338
Figure 14.10. Preetz, Benedictine nuns’ church, c. 1330,

choir seen from the east. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 341
Figure 14.11. Enkenbach, Premonstratensian church, c. 1150/1200. . . . . . . 342
Figure 14.12. Colmar, Dominican convent of Unterlinden. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 344
Figure 14.13. Königsfelden, Franciscan double convent. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 345
Maps
Map 3.1. Monasteries of Gaul. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
Map 6.1. Venice and its surroundings. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146
Map 10.1. Distribution map of nunneries in Ireland in the Middle Ages. . . 236
Map 11.1. The location of Cistercian nunneries in northern England. . . . . . 254

Acknowledgements
T
his book has grown out of a conference entitled El monacat femení a
l’Europa Medieval, held at the Monastery of Les Avellanes, in Catalonia,
in July 2011. We have come a long way since that conference and in the
course of preparing this volume we have incurred many debts, which we would
like to acknowledge here.
First of all we would like to thank the Marists and all the staff – especially
Robert Porta – at the Monastery of Les Avellanes for their immense hospi-
tality and for letting us spend three days talking about nuns in an unbeatable
environment. The Spanish Ministry of Science and Innovation supported this
project with a generous grant (HAR2011-12859-E) and we would like to
express our gratitude for this. We would also like to thank Karen’s colleagues
at the Medieval Research Group ‘Space, Power and Culture’, directed by Flocel
Sabaté, of Lleida University, and Janet's colleagues at the University of Wales
Trinity Saint David.
As ever, working with the staff at Brepols has been a pleasure and we would
like to express our thanks to all of them, and especially to Guy Carney.
Finally, and most of all, we are very grateful to all contributors to this book
for their collaboration and their patience, and for sharing their work with us
and the readers.
Introduction
Janet Burton and Karen Stöber*
In the world of chivalry most literature was composed by

men — though often in women’s honour — and so we have
little direct contact with the nuns of the Middle Ages.1
H
istoriographically speaking, the study of forms of female monastic
observance and communities of nuns in medieval Europe has in the
past been somewhat in the shadow of the interest shown to their male
counterparts. This is most striking, apart from the general imbalance in the vol-
ume of publications on male and female monasteries, in some of the ‘classics’
on medieval monastic studies, where the space allocated to women and men
tends to show major discrepancies. Infamously, some six decades ago, David
Knowles, in his monumental work on the monastic and religious orders in
medieval England, mentions religious women little more than in passing, and,
where he does, his verdict is not exactly one of praise or even acknowledgement
of their achievements but rather an image of intellectual inferiority and mate-

* The editors would like to acknowledge the support of the Spanish Ministerio de Economía
y Competitividad, who fund the research project Auctoritas: Iglesia, Cultura y Poder, s.xii–xv
(HAR2012-31484), within the framework of which this book was created.
1
Brooke, The Age of the Cloister, p. 209.
Janet Burton ([email protected]) is professor of Medieval History at the University of

Wales Trinity Saint David, Lampeter Campus.
Karen Stöber ([email protected]) is researcher and lecturer at the Universitat de

Lleida, Catalonia.
Women in the Medieval Monastic World, ed. by Janet Burton and Karen Stöber pp. 1–13
MMS 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015) BREPOLS PUBLISHERS 10.1484/M.MMS-EB.5.107539
2 Janet Burton and Karen Stöber
rial decadence.2 And Knowles was not alone in his imbalanced representation
of Western monasticism: most of the standard works on the topic match his
quantitative — if not qualitative — disparity when dealing with monks and
nuns in the Middle Ages.3 As recently as 2008, Jeffrey Hamburger, in his intro-
duction to the volume Crown and Veil: Female Monasticism from the Fifth to
the Fifteenth Centuries, laments the ‘relative lack of interest’ in women’s monas-
ticism in the German context; María-Milagros Rivera Garretas makes similar
comments in relation the Iberian Peninsula; and, in the case of the British Isles,
few studies followed Eileen Power’s pioneering work on medieval English nun-
neries, published in 1922, until the last twenty years or so.4
Fortunately, things have changed considerably since then, and recent dec-
ades have seen promising changes to this trend, as women in general have
increasingly attracted the attention of researchers of various disciplines, among
them historians, archaeologists, and art historians. Between them, scholars
have done much to rescue medieval religious women from undeserved obscu-
rity and to highlight their very wide-ranging contributions to the religious
as well as cultural, intellectual, artistic, and not least also the social, political,
and economic landscape of medieval Christendom. Thus in 2011, when Anne
Müller was writing her introduction to the book, edited with Gert Melville, on
the ‘female vita religiosa between Late Antiquity and the High Middle Ages’,
she could justifiably say that ‘there can be no doubt that the research field of
female medieval monastic studies is fairly well tilled’.5 However, as she points
out in the same introduction, ‘although studies on female religious institutions
have increased in relevance in the historical sciences, comprehensive systematic
research of the female vita religiosa as a common European phenomenon is still
on the agenda’.6 The present volume seeks to address this point.
2
Knowles, The Monastic Order in England and The Religious Orders in England.
3
Even Brooke (The Age of the Cloister) and Lawrence (Medieval Monasticism), for instance,
reflect this pattern, though without the hostility evident in the work of David Knowles.
4
Hamburger and Marti, Crown and Veil, p. 5; Rivera Garretas, ‘El monacato femenino,
siglos viii–xii’, p. 106; Power, Medieval English Nunneries.
5
Melville and Müller, Female ‘vita religiosa’, p. ix. For a selection of recent literature on
women and medieval monasticism, see the Select Bibliography following this introduction.
6
Melville and Müller, Female ‘vita religiosa’, p. ix. It is worth noting here the increasing
number of conferences in recent years that have focused on religious women in the Middle
Ages. Several such events took place across Europe in 2011 alone, among them the international
conference on which the present volume is based, which was entitled ‘El Monacat Femení en
l’Europa Medieval’, and took place at the monastery of Les Avellanes in Catalonia on 4 and
Introduction 3
Just as women differ from men (a fact of which even medieval writers were
all too keenly aware), so nunneries differ from monasteries (a fact of which
modern writers are perhaps not always aware enough), and while it has in the
past been the unfortunate custom to study communities of religious women as
little more than female versions of male houses, it has now increasingly been
recognized that this is an unhelpful approach, and that we should instead look
at these houses as religious (and social and cultural) phenomena in their own
right. In the words of María-Milagros Rivera Garretas, all too often the histori-
ography of female monasticism treats ‘this social and cultural phenomenon’ as
nothing more than a variant or an epithet of ‘a collective defined by its condi-
tion of being non-male’.7 What has really moved female monasticism along,
both as an academic discipline and in terms of our understanding of its dynam-
ics, in her view, is the emergence of women’s studies and feminist thought of
the past century.8 This has opened up new areas of debate, new questions, and
new approaches.
It is clear that the monastic life, going back to the very origins of monasti-
cism in the deserts of the East, was not entirely a male preserve. Women as
well as men participated in the earliest manifestations of a Christian urge to
renounce society and all its implications in favour of the solitary life. In medi-
eval Europe, as cenobitic monasticism spread across Western Christendom,
female communities emerged alongside male communities. Indeed, in the sixth
century Caesarius of Arles wrote two monastic rules, one for men, and one for
women. From the beginnings of Western monasticism, women were not only
present but were active and enthusiastic participants in this way of life that,
nonetheless, in so many ways meant different things to them than it did to their
male counterparts. Nowhere is this better exemplified than in the debate about
the existence and meaning of Cistercian nuns.9 Women responded, just as men
5 July 2011. And only a couple of weeks earlier the University of Hull in England hosted an
international conference entitled ‘Nuns’ Literacies in Medieval Europe’ (published under the
same title in 2013 and edited by Virginia Blanton, Veronica O’Mara, and Patricia Stoop). And
in the spring of 2009, the Centre for Comparative Research of Religious Orders (FOVOG) in
Eichstätt, Germany, organized a conference, ‘Female “vita religiosa” between Late Antiquity
and the High Middle Ages’, subsequently (in 2011) published under the same title by LIT,
edited by Gert Melville and Anne Müller.
7
Rivera Garretas, ‘El monacato femenino, siglos viii–xii’, p. 106.
8
9
See, for instance, Greven, Die Anfänge der Beginen; Grundmann, Religiöse Bewegungen
im Mittelalter; Krenig, ‘Mittelalterliche Frauenklöster nach den Konstitutionen von Cîteaux’;
did, to that surge of devotion of the eleventh and twelfth centuries that gave
birth to the ‘new’ orders. Some of these experiments — those of Fontevraud
in France and Sempringham in England — seem to have foregrounded the
needs and aspirations of women.10 Others, most notoriously the Cistercian
Order, reacted more cautiously, and — in the opinion of the older historiogra-
phy — with hostility to women who wished to become part of that movement.
Current research, most notably that of Constance Berman and Anne Lester,
has restored Cistercian nuns to their place within the Order, but the question
still remains: in what ways were women in houses bearing the name ‘Cistercian’
following the same way of life as Cistercian men?11 Such a fundamental issue
still requires investigation. So if we want to understand female monasticism, we
have to consider it both as a phenomenon in its own right, and in connection
with male monasticism, with which it interacted on several levels.
From the start, women founded, joined, and led religious communities, and
as time went on and new religious orders emerged — first the regular canons,
later the different groups of friars — women embraced these new opportunities
and, under the vigilant gaze of male ecclesiastical authorities, attached to them
their own characteristics. The result was a religious landscape of great diversity,
ranging from the strictest enclosure to semi-formal organization that allowed
— or obliged — women to participate in the incessantly changing religious life
and culture of the Middle Ages.
The essays that constitute this book cover a wide geographical, chronologi-
cal, thematic, and methodological spectrum in order to offer an ample compar-
ative approach to a complex topic. Certain issues appear and reappear in diverse
geographical and chronological contexts, such as, for instance, the crucial con-
sideration of the role of male authority and female communities in the inter-
action between religious women and ecclesiastical authorities (as for instance
the case of bishops, abbots, and so forth), as well as secular authorities (such
as patrons or the king). Women in the medieval church had to rely on a male
presence, and on male authority, in certain specific contexts, notably and most
Thompson, ‘The Problem of Cistercian Nuns’; Degler-Spengler, ‘The Incorporation of

Cistercian Nuns into the Order’; Freeman, ‘Nuns’; Lester, Creating Cistercian Nuns; Burton
and Kerr, The Cistercians in the Middle Ages; Berman, ‘Were there Twelfth-Century Cistercian
Nuns?’; Jamroziak, The Cistercian Order in Medieval Europe.
10
Dalarun, ‘Robert d’Arbrissel et les femmes’; Robert of Arbrissel: A Medieval Religious
Life, trans. by Venarde; Golding, Gilbert of Sempringham; Sykes, Inventing Sempringham.
11
Lester, Creating Cistercian Nuns; Berman, The Cistercian Evolution; Berman, Women
and Monasticism in Medieval Europe.
Introduction 5
fundamentally in the celebration of Mass, which was prohibited to women and

had to be the responsibility of a male priest.12 On a more basic level, from the
moment of the foundation of a female religious community the male presence
of founders, abbots of mother houses, bishops, and kings made itself felt. But
there were other areas, too, where female religious had to interact with male
authority, meaning that in their dealings with most aspects of life outside their
convent walls, nuns were negotiating with male representatives of both ecclesi-
astical and secular power. Female convents were often placed under the jurisdic-
tion of a male monastery, as in the case of the Cistercian nunnery of Llanllŷr in
Wales.13 And then there were the more immediate, practical occasions of male
presence in the female monastic world, such as male servants carrying out heavy
physical labour within the nunnery: we know of their presence from monastic
accounts detailing their wages, for example, but also from anecdotal evidence.14
More generally (and a related issue), we need to consider the important
matter of patronage, and the relationships between the religious community
and the world outside the convent walls, including the severing or continuing
of family ties of women after entering the monastic life. Contacts with patrons,
or with relatives or friends, constituted a link with the non-claustral world out-
side the nunnery and were as such considered potentially problematic and to
be avoided. In practice, however, we know from documents such as wills, char-
ters, letters, and monastic accounts, that many religious women maintained ties
with their blood families after entering the religious life, and that many nunner-
ies opened their doors to visiting patrons. Under normal circumstances, such
encounters did not necessarily cause a disturbance of the monastic life, but they
did in one way or another interfere with the ideal of solitude and withdrawal.
Furthermore, we need to address the question of identity — institutional
as well as individual — of religious women in the Middle Ages. As in the case
of religious men, nuns had to negotiate their identities as members of corpo-
rate religious institutions with their individual, personal, and familial contexts.
Janet Burton’s work on the Yorkshire nunneries has demonstrated the tensions
that might arise as female religious found themselves torn between the demands
12
Oliva, The Convent and the Community in Late Medieval England, p. 114.
13
See ‘Llanllŷr’, in Burton and Stöber, Abbeys and Priories of Medieval Wales, pp. 123–24;
Burton, ‘Moniales and Ordo Cisterciensis’.
14
Note the example of the recorded staff (in terms of resident and seasonal workers, both
male and female) at the English nunneries of Blackborough, Bungay, and Carrow, among
others.
of the monastic community (often enforced by male authority figures) and the
concerns and expectations of the wider communities in which they were, physi-
cally, located.15
Finally, we have to consider the internal workings of medieval nunneries,
their organizational structures, and ideas of continuity in female communi-
ties. Nunneries existed within a wider religious, social, political, economic, and
cultural context which had an impact on the way in which they were run and
which changed over time. This book covers a long chronological period dur-
ing which European society underwent fundamental changes. On one hand,
religious houses partook in these changes, contributed to them, and were in
turn affected by them; while on the other hand, efforts were made to main-
tain a certain continuity within the organization of religious communities. In
the words of Bruce Venarde, ‘the importance of female monasticism lies pre-
cisely in its relationship to social, economic, and institutional organization and
development’.16 By comparing the structures and workings of medieval nun-
neries, we are able to discern wider developments over time across Europe and
identify both the catalysts for change and the endeavours, by the authorities
and by religious communities, to preserve tradition in the face of a constantly
evolving world.
The chapters in this volume address a wide range of issues and cover a
broad chronological, geographical, and thematic spectrum, from the emer-
gence and establishment of religious communities of women across medieval
Europe to their relations with male authorities and the world outside at large.
Furthermore, they consider the role of female monasticism in the regions —
including Transylvania, Venice, Scandinavia, Catalonia, and Flanders — and
its impact on the localities. Some focus is, moreover, on nuns’ cultural con-
tributions: art, architecture, and archaeology, and on the important issue of
symbolic space. The comparative approach of this volume emphasizes the simi-
larities as well as the variety in foundation processes of female religious houses
across medieval Europe, and thereby helps us appreciate dynamics, motivations,
and practicalities.
The contributions to the present collection look at female religious com-
munities across the width and breadth of Western Christendom, from its
northern peripheries to Italy and the Iberian Peninsula, including Scandinavia
(Brian Patrick McGuire), the British Isles ( Janet Burton, Brian Golding, and
15
Burton, ‘Cloistered Women and Male Authority’.
16
Venarde, Women’s Monasticism and Medieval Society, p. 2.
Introduction 7
Tracy Collins), Transylvania (Carmen Florea), Flanders (Erin L. Jordan), Gaul

(Michèle Gaillard), the Iberian Peninsula (Gregoria Cavero Domínguez and
Núria Jornet), and Italy (Anna Rapetti and Guido Cariboni).
The art, architecture, and archaeology of medieval nuns are the subject of the
chapters by Tracy Collins and Michael Carter, while the following three essays
examine the symbolic meaning of space in female monastic tradition (Anne
Müller); the issue of gender, space, and Cistercian nunneries in thirteenth-cen-
tury Flanders (Erin L. Jordan); and the location of the choir in the churches of
female monasteries (Matthias Untermann). Finally, Hedwig Röckelein presents
the important research project FemMoData, a Europe-wide database of female
religious communities, which simultaneously indicates the direction the dis-
semination of new research is increasingly taking — namely, the publication
of works in electronic format, which often contain an element of interactivity.
A frequently recurring theme among the chapters of this book is the impor-
tant issue of male authority, both in terms of intervention and interference
— especially in the case of figures of ecclesiastical authority, such as bishops
and archbishops, or of royal authority, but also in terms of guidance of reli-
gious women, their spiritual advice and governance, and even friendship and
kinship bonds that might exist between those bishops and individual nuns or
communities of female religious. Thus Janet Burton and Brian Golding in par-
ticular examine aspects of the relationships between nunneries and episcopal
representatives, while the chapters by Michèle Gaillard and Gregoria Cavero
Domínguez demonstrate the important impact patrons and benefactors might
have had upon female religious communities, a topic also addressed by Erin
L. Jordan and by Michael Carter. In this context both Gaillard and Cavero
Domínguez examine — using the diverse cases of Gaul and Spain — the signifi-
cant changes in the nature of certain early female communities as their patron-
age passed from members of the aristocracy, from being ‘family monasteries’,
to the crown, facing a whole new set of demands. The ways in which extra-
claustral obligations penetrated the convent walls can be seen in the manners
in which nuns, and especially aristocratic and royal nuns, endeavoured to com-
bine their religious duties and those that bound them to the world outside on
account of their lineages.
The important and complex matter of the formation of female religious
communities and the construction of a communal identity is a focal point in
the chapters of Guido Cariboni, Anna Rapetti, and Brian Patrick McGuire.
That the problem of affiliation is an issue especially in the case of the emerging
Cistercian Order of the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries is recognized by
scholars working on such geographically diverse regions as rural Scandinavia
and urban Italy. In this context McGuire also addresses the problem that schol-
ars of female religious communities frequently face in terms of documentary
sources, which are often ambiguous.
The impact of the mendicant orders, both real and perceived, lies at the
heart of several of the present chapters that look at different regions across
medieval Europe. Thus Núria Jornet explains the emergence and success of the
Poor Clares in medieval Catalonia in the context of the expansion of female
monasticism in the region, and Carmen Florea examines the options avail-
able to women who wished to enter into a religious community in medieval
Transylvania and the role played by the mendicants in this part of Europe.
The contributions by Tracy Collins, Michael Carter, Erin L. Jordan, Anne
Müller, and Matthias Untermann all — in different ways, through the archaeol-
ogy, architecture, and art of religious women — address the material culture
of female religious communities and the symbolic use and sacred meaning of
space in the monastic context. The study of sacred space and its significance
— of liturgy, ritual, and monastic architecture in religious houses of men and
women — clearly demonstrates the need to revise the traditional one-size-fits-
all approach to male and female monasticism and calls for a whole set of sepa-
rate criteria, as Collins shows in the case of medieval Ireland and Jordan dem-
onstrates for Flanders and Hainaut.
In one way or another, moreover, all of the chapters look at the ways in
which female communities interacted, and were shaped by, their localities:
localities that varied a great deal in terms of their political, social, and cultural
circumstances, and that underwent significant changes over time.
What these chapters show, then, is that there was a great variety of com-
munities of religious women that existed at some point during the medieval
period, ranging from very small, often impoverished, houses to grand royal
abbeys, and yet, despite the considerable differences (geographical, political,
cultural, social) that existed across medieval Europe, and despite the equally
considerable diversity in terms of religious orders and in terms of the character-
istics of individual houses, there are certain common aspects and shared expe-
rience that can be identified. The contributors agree that the roles played by
nunneries, and by individual nuns — particularly their cultural input — have
in the past often been undervalued by historians, and what the chapters in this
volume emphasize is the important contribution made by female religious com-
munities to medieval life and society, despite the frequent prejudices and occa-
sional hostility medieval nuns had to face. Their importance was in many cases
first and foremost local, and contact between the religious and lay communities
was frequently close, making institutions of religious women often centrally
Introduction 9
significant across Western Christendom. They also shared certain more global
experiences that had an impact — in different ways and to differing degrees —
on their communities, such as the arrival of the friars in the thirteenth century
or the calamity of the Black Death in the fourteenth.
While the common ground connecting medieval nunneries across Western
Christendom is a key to understanding them, there were also certain imbal-
ances that are not always easy to explain. Take the distribution of female con-
vents across medieval Europe: it has yet to be explained satisfactorily why we
find a proliferation of nunneries in some regions, while, during the same period,
they are virtually absent in others.17
Finally: a brief comment on sources. In the introduction to Crown and
Veil, Jeffrey Hamburger addresses the important issue of sources relating to the
religious life of women and notes that, contrary to an oft-held conviction that
medieval religious women are poorly documented and hence difficult to appre-
hend, the sources are ‘not nearly as scarce as is often maintained’.18 The chap-
ters in this volume demonstrate the richness of source material which we have
at our disposal for the study of religious women and the female monastic life,
comprising documentary as well as material evidence that was produced by and
for nuns and in and for nunneries, granting a fascinating insight into aspects of
the lives of religious women in medieval Europe.
This volume is not a comprehensive history of female monasticism in medi-
eval Europe; rather, it is a collection of new and recent international and inter-
disciplinary research on many aspects of a religious phenomenon that is not yet
fully understood in all its facets.
17
A striking example here is the case of Wales, where no more than three nunneries were
ever established, two of them being very small, while across the border in England, in Yorkshire
or Lincolnshire, for instance, houses for religious women were far more abundant. Or take the
example of Catalonia, which had an important number of nunneries, while in neighbouring
Valencia there were considerably fewer female foundations; cf. Cortés-Vicent Pons, ‘Geografía
dels monestirs femenins valencians en la baixa Edat Mitjana’, p. 80.
18
Hamburger and Marti, Crown and Veil, p. 1.
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Spanish Female Monasticism:
‘Family’ Monasteries and
their Transformation
(Eleventh to Twelfth Centuries)
Gregoria Cavero Domínguez
S
panish monasticism in the eleventh and twelfth centuries was made up of
male and female communities. There were double monasteries and also
‘family’ monasteries, which have been defined as monastic seigneuries and
have been considered as cultural, spiritual, and agrarian seeds of colonization
whose objective was their members’ spiritual improvement. Many of the high
medieval monasteries were modelled on ‘family’ monasticism and founded by
members of lay aristocratic families who became reference points for the found-
ing lineages. Lay people’s presence and its implications have driven researchers
of these institutions to analyse them as instruments generating kindred social
networks. Many studies have focused on religiosity, whereas others have been
limited to the repopulating process of the northern lands, due to their impor-
tance in the formation of the political and socio-economic processes which
reorganized the territory. Additionally, over the last few years, archaeological
maps and registers have been incorporated into the studies of some areas.
There is no uniting criteria to define and specify the observance and
dependence of these monasteries, until at least the late eleventh century. The
‘Benedictinization’ process has been described as a slow and long-lasting one,
except in the Catalonian territory, where Benedict of Aniane’s reformation was
introduced in the early ninth century. In particular, the monasteries’ depend-
Gregoria Cavero Domínguez ([email protected]) is lecturer in Medieval History at the Uni

versity of León (Spain).
16 Gregoria Cavero Domínguez
ence, which might have been limited especially to the bishops’ control, subor-
dination, and exemption is not very clear either. Their development did not
follow one model. The objective of the present essay, therefore, is to analyse the
development of the female monasteries in the northern part of Spain through-
out the tenth to twelfth centuries, indicating the changes that occurred in the
Leonese and Castilian kingdom from ‘family’ models to the character provided
by the Cluniac and Cistercian reforms.
1. From East to West: The Main Nunneries

of the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries
An approach to high medieval female monasticism — which was also closely
associated with male monasticism — shows outstanding differences, but also
similarities, on an east to west arc. We see this in the first place, because of the
early introduction of the Benedictine Rule in Old Catalonia, through Benedict
of Aniane’s reformation — very likely as a consequence of the concern for the
spread of the Adoptionism heresy and the involvement of the Seu d’Urgell
itself in the heresy. In the second place, it is due to the survival of ‘family’ and
double monastic formulas, which are seen especially in the northwest of the
Iberian peninsula. And in the third place, it is on account of the search for a
spiritual, sacred, safe place to shelter dominae, dowager queens, and so forth,
in the Visigothic period. Let us consider some examples from the tenth and
eleventh centuries.
The activities of Wilfred the Hairy and his wife, Vinidilda, in the valley
of Ripoll and the Plain of Vic were the result of the early spreading of the
Benedictine Order in the Catalonian territory. These activities resulted in the
foundation, in the late ninth century, of the monasteries of Santa María de
Ripoll, for monks, and another dedicated to St John the Baptist — Sant Joan
de les Abadesses — for nuns.19 Both of them were born as Benedictine foun-
dations. Wilfred and Vinidilda’s daughter, Emma, became a nun at Sant Joan
and was its first abbess.20 This nunnery continued to be known as the count’s
foundation: a few years later, Countess Elo gave her daughter Enquilia to the
19
Udina Martorell, El Archivo condal de Barcelona, doc. 3, pp. 98–103. This document is
dated 27 June 885.
20
Cf. Ferrer i Godoy, Diplomatari del monestir de Sant Joan de les Abadesses, and Ripollès-
Ponsi Ortiz and Trayner i Vilanova, Emma de Barcelona. The following are also useful:
D’Abadal i Vinyals, Els primers comtes catalans (particularly pp. 1–20), and Junyent, El monestir
de Sant Joan de les Abadesses.
Spanish Female Monasticism 17
monastery.21 The latter was the founders’ great-granddaughter. The female

community was ousted by canons regular of St Augustine who arrived in the
twelfth century.22
Another case can be found in the north-east. In the central years of the
eleventh century, Ramiro I of Aragon founded the Benedictine nunnery Santa
Cruz de la Serós, in which three of his daughters — Urraca, Teresa, and Sancha
— took their vows.23
Further to the west, in the year 1011, Sancho García, count of Castile and
grandson of the first count of Castile, Fernán González, founded, together with
his wife, Doña Urraca, the nunnery of San Salvador de Oña, on the banks of
the river Oca.24 Tigridia, their daughter, would be its abbess. She was later ven-
erated as a saint. Her aunt Oñeca had preceded her in the position of abbess, as
she was too young. In this case there is no evidence that the Benedictine Rule
was followed there. This foundation, however, was short lived as a nunnery. In
fact, in 1033, Sancho III Garcés (the Elder) of Navarre established the Cluniac
Abbot Paternus there, making way, therefore, for a male community.25 Monastic
historiography puts the blame for this change on the monastic moral decline
which had taken place after the death of St Tigridia.26 The prestige of the male
community took off after St Íñigo, who apparently started his office of abbot
after 1035.
Housing a double community in the tenth century, the monastery of Santos
Cosme y Damián at Covarrubias was acquired by Count García Fernández
and Countess Ava. In the year 972 their daughter, Infanta Urraca, entered the
monastery. She laid the foundations for, and then strengthened, the new insti-
21
Udina Martorell, El Archivo condal de Barcelona, doc. 132, pp. 291–93. Countess Elo
was, at the time, the dowager of Count Oliba. The document is dated 4 November 955.
22
Riu Riu, ‘Monacato y colonización rural en la Cataluña altomedieval’, pp. 95–96.
23
Cf. Ubieto Arteta, Cartulario de Santa Cruz de la Serós, and Sánchez Usón, El monasterio
de Santa Cruz de la Serós.
24
Cf. Del Álamo, Colección diplomática de San Salvador de Oña, doc. 8 (dated 12 February
1011), pp. 11–21. In the Introduction, the author remarks that there was a double community
and that the village of Oña had been purchased by Count Sancho from Gómez Díaz in 1002.
The monks who had arrived at Oña came from San Salvador de Loberuela; and the nuns,
brought by Doña Oneca, the founder’s sister, arrived from San Juan de Cillaperlata: see p. xxx.
25
Del Álamo, Colección diplomática de San Salvador de Oña, doc. 26, pp. 46–52.
26
De Barreda, Historia de la vida del glorioso Aragonés y Gran Padre San Yñigo, p. 34, cited
in López Santidrián, ‘San Íñigo, abad de Oña’, pp. 444–45. The latter author notices that ‘the
nuns left Oña on 27 June 1033, and they were scattered into the nearest nunneries’.
tution, which became the head of the ‘Infantado’ of Castile.27 Later on it was
turned into an institution of canons regular. According to Julio González, on
24 February 1175, Alfonso VIII and Eleanor Plantagenet donated the monas-
tery of Santos Cosme y Damián on the banks of the river Arlanza, which had
belonged to the ‘Infantado’, with all its rights, to the church of Toledo, which
was then run by Don Cerebruno.28
Ramiro II of León had the monastery of San Salvador de Palat de Rey built
for his daughter Elvira, where she became a nun. When St Pelagius’s body was
moved to León, it was laid in a little monastery which was named after him.
This monastery merged with another one named after St John the Baptist,
and together they became a double monastery, which, according to Antonio
Viñayo, was
aún monasterio familiar, puesto que en el femenino de San Pelayo se constituye
el Infantado, cuya dómina era una infanta de León que recibía el cargo hereditari-
amente.29
(still a family monastery, since in the female monastery of San Pelayo the ‘Infantado’
was constituted, whose domina was an ‘Infanta’ of León who received this office
hereditarily.)
After that, the monastery of San Pelayo-San Juan Bautista would take the
place of the monastery of Palat de Rey as the royal mausoleum, and a new
Romanesque pantheon was built there. When the body of St Isidore of Seville
was moved to León under Fernando I, the monastery of San Pelayo-San Juan
Bautista lost this name in favour of the Sevillian saint; in the central years of the
twelfth century, its community, which was already under the Benedictine Rule,
was moved from the city of León to a nearby village, Carbajal de la Legua, and a
community of canons regular was installed there under the intervention of the
king (Alfonso VII) and the ‘Infantado’ (his sister, Sancha Raimúndez).
At the end of the tenth century and next to San Salvador of Oviedo, there
was a monastery under the patronage of St John the Baptist, which, in its turn,
was near that of San Vicente, where Teresa Ansúrez, King Sancho I’s dowager
27
Serrano, Cartulario del Infantado de Covarrubias, ii.
28
González, El reino de Castilla en la época de Alfonso VIII, i, 468. The document itself is
in ii: Documentos, pp. 360–62, under no. 218. See also Cavero Domínguez, ‘Fernando Ruiz,
obispo de León (1289–1301)’.
29
Viñayo, ‘Reinas e infantas de León’, p. 125.
queen, was staying.30 A diploma by Vermudo II of León attests to this.31 In the

last quarter of the tenth century, and due to one of Almanzor’s destructive raz-
zias (raids for plunder or slaves, especially those carried out by Moors in north-
ern Christian territories in Spain) (c. 987–88), St Pelagius’s body was moved
from León to Oviedo and laid in the monastery of San Juan, and so St John’s
name was replaced with St Pelagius’s. As Miguel Calleja Puerta comments, in
the monastery of San Pelayo there was
una organización similar al resto de monasterios de propios contemporáneos, del
que lo distinguirá básicamente la titularidad regia sobre el mismo y que se podría
asociar con la tradición visigoda de retiro de reinas viudas, costumbre perpetuada
en tiempos de la monarquía asturiana a través del caso de Adosinda.32
(an organization similar to that in the rest of the contemporary private monaster-
ies, being different basically in the fact that it is under the direct protection of the
monarchy and that it is associated with the Visigothic tradition of being a retreat
for dowager queens, a tradition that was continued in the Asturian monarchy
through the case of Adosinda.)
It was especially so when, in 1086, the monastery was run by Gontrodo, the
Deo vota de Sancti Pelagii (a woman dedicated to God and coming from the
nunnery of St Pelagius): it was then a private ‘family’ monastery in the hands
of the monarchs. From an economic viewpoint, this Oviedo monastery func-
tioned as the centre of a domain similar to that of ‘family’ monasteries. That is
why Calleja, citing Pascual Martínez Sopena’s words concerning the necessity
of clarifying the similitudes and relationships of familial-aristocratic monaster-
ies with those depending on the Infantado, concludes, in his own words,
que la investigación ha de ser bidireccional, y que mucho de lo que vale para las
fundaciones aristocráticas es también susceptible de ser ampliado a las regias.33
(that research must be bidirectional, and that much of what is relevant to aristo-
cratic foundations can also be extended to the royal ones.)
30
She died at San Pelayo in 1039, as is recorded in the inscription on her tombstone; cited
by Miguel Vigil, Asturias monumental, epigráfica y diplomática, ii, 133.
31
Fernández Conde, Torrente Fernández, and De la Noval Menéndez, El monasterio de
San Pelayo de Oviedo, doc. 1, pp. 19–22.
32
Calleja Puerta, El conde Suero Vermúdez, p. 429.
33
Calleja Puerta, El conde Suero Vermúdez, pp. 450–51.
In the twelfth century, the monastery of San Pelayo was an independent female
one. The Infantas gave way to abbesses of noble birth, and, after a period of
stagnation, the monastery recovered its economic activities in the central
years of that century.34 Next to the activities carried out by abbesses of noble
descent, the ‘Infantado’ women never gave up their rights, which accounts for
the presence of Infanta Sancha, Alfonso VII’s sister and holder of the title, who,
as María Élida García has pointed out, used to intervene in internal affairs of
the monastery next to Abbess Doña Aldonza.35 The monastery of San Pelayo,
which had already lost its previous name of St John, regularized its monastic
life when it accepted the Benedictine Rule. The first clear mention of this dates
from 1152.
In 1024, Cristina Vermúdez, a daughter of Vermudo II of León and his repu-
diated queen, Velasquita, endowed, already as a monastery, the church of San
Salvador, which she also founded. It was located in her village of Cornellana,
on the river Narcea.36 The latest study on Cornellana, carried out by Calleja,
reminds us that its foundation was constituted independently from the bishop
and upon the Infanta’s estates. It is difficult to attest that there was a monastic
regular life there at the time. Certainly, it was founded as a nucleus for her fam-
ily’s heritage:
La descripción de los bienes integrantes de la fundación constituye el paradigma
de lo que podría constituir una gran propiedad rural en el noroeste de la Península
Ibérica durante los siglos xi y xii.37
(The description of the properties on which the foundation was based is the para-
digm of what might have constituted a large rural estate in the northwest of the
Iberian peninsula during the eleventh and twelfth centuries.)
In 1122 this monastery was owned by Cristina Vermudez’s descendant, the

powerful count Suero Vermúdez, who transferred it to the monks of Cluny for
its reformation with a male community.38
34
Cf. Torrente Fernández, ‘Abadologio del monasterio de San Pelayo de Oviedo’.
35
García García, ‘Monasterios benedictinos y aristocracia laica en Asturias (siglos xi–xii)’,
p. 222.
36
The main documentary sources for the monastery are Floriano Cumbreño, El monasterio
de Cornellana, and Fernández de Viana y Vieites, ‘Pergaminos del monasterio de Cornellana’.
37
Calleja Puerta, El monasterio de San Salvador de Cornellana en la Edad Media, pp. 39–40.
38
See also Alonso Álvarez, ‘El monasterio de San Salvador de Cornellana y el patrocinio
nobiliario’.
There were, thus, counts’ and monarchs’ foundations which followed the
traditional private and ‘family’ monasteries encompassed in the Spanish high
medieval monasticism in the west, and under the Benedictine Rule in the east.
In this regard, four main features are worth mentioning.
First, there was the necessity of controlling the sacred as a basis for the legit-
imation of power,39 a female control which secured a holy locus (ecclesia, monas-
terium) for noblewomen who were not destined for marriage, had been repudi-
ated, or had become dowagers, to live. Their strategies to manage sacredness were
orientated towards traditional devotions, like those of St Saviour or St John the
Baptist, or included new cults spreading in Christian Spain and originating in
Islamic Spain, which honoured martyred Christians and desecrated Christian
places. This worship legitimated the northern kings’ and nobles’ power over
the sacred, as they effected the transfer of holy bodies from the Islamic south
to the Christian north, and fostered the worshipping of their relics. The mar-
tyred child Pelagius’s presence is a characteristic example in the founding of
altars, churches, and monasteries when his mortal remains were moved from
the south to the north, and, later on, from León to Oviedo:40 kings and nobles
were protecting, and were persuaded that they were protected by, relics.
Second, there was a particular prominence of dominae. These ladies exerted
great power in royal and noble spheres, or were included in the Infantado insti-
tution in the case of Castilian-Leonese. Urraca of Castile is a relevant example.
The study of the figures of Elvira of León (d. c. 986) and Sancha of Aragon
(d. c. 1097) offers a revealing profile.
Ramiro II’s daughter, Elvira Ramírez, a nun in the above-mentioned court
monastery of San Salvador de Palat de Rey, gained political prominence in
safeguarding the interests of the Leonese kingdom, especially after the death
of Sancho I the Fat (966), along with his dowager Teresa Ansúrez, during the
minority of their prince, Ramiro III, who was five years old when his father
died. At that moment Elvira did not hesitate to entitle herself regina. In the
year 968, the expression ‘Regina domna Geloria, Deo Dicata,’ appears in the
Leonese Aula Regia when settling a legal dispute between an Íñigo Garseani
and a priest called Berulfo.41
39
Cf. Le Jan, Femmes, pouvoir et société dans le haut Moyen Âge.
40
On the spreading of St Pelagius’ cult, see Díaz y Díaz, ‘La pasión de San Pelayo y su
difusión’.
41
Sáez and Sáez, Colección documental del archivo, ii: 953–85, doc. 410, pp. 198–99.
As the regent for Ramiro III, she also carried out intense political activities.
In the year 973, she dispatched an embassy to Cordoba, in her nephew’s name,
and participated actively in the government of the kingdom, either individu-
ally or jointly with Teresa Ansúrez, her sister-in-law. Together with Ramiro III,
Elvira led the army which, in 975, collaborated in the siege of Gormaz Castle,
and encouraged the Leonese troops who fought arm-in-arm with the armies
of the Castilian counts and the Navarrese monarch. Her job as a regent ended
when her nephew came of age, in about 980. She still survived several years in
her Leonese monastery of San Pelayo, now away from politics.42
Dominae did not always live sub regula, that is, they did not necessarily
take vows, even though they lived in the cloister. Countess Sancha (d. c. 1097),
the dowager of Armengol III of Urgell and ‘Ranimiri regis filia et Armisende
regine’,43 entered the monastery of Santa Cruz de la Serós. This did not prevent
her from participating in Pedro I’s Aragonese politics, enjoying numerous land
tenures (Santa Urbez and Santa Cruz, and Siresa) and even confronting her
brother, Bishop García of Jaca.44 As Agustín Ubieto Arteta remarks,
Si bien se ha dicho que fue abadesa del monasterio, no consta en la documentación
conservada, apareciendo siempre como comitisa o domina, aunque en realidad fue
el alma del cenobio, que le estuvo supeditado.45
(Although it has been said that she was the abbess of her monastery, it is not attested
to in the surviving documentation, where she always appears as comitissa or domina,
though in reality she was the life and soul of the convent, which she actually ran.)
Her mortal remains would be buried, next to her sisters’, in the monastery of
Santa Cruz de la Serós.
Third, counts’ and kings’ daughters tried to find in monasteries not only a
sheltering place but also the preservation of their stock — the memory of their
lineage. In fact, there is a special connection with family mausolea, both royal
and noble, as everyone wanted to find a place for their eternal rest. For instance,
42
The archives of the monastery of Sahagún contain information about her until 986. A
document in the archives of the León cathedral is also particularly interesting. See Sáez and
Sáez, Colección documental del archivo, ii: 953–85, doc. 436, pp. 233–36.
43
AHN, Serós, carp. 785, no. 5, dated October 1076. It contains a donation to the nunnery
of Santa Cruz de la Serós by Countess Sancha. Cited in González Miranda, ‘La condesa doña
Sancha y el monasterio de Santa Cruz de la Serós’, doc. 2, pp. 197–99.
44
González Miranda, ‘La condesa doña Sancha y el monasterio de Santa Cruz de la Serós’,
doc. 2, pp. 185–212.
45
Ubieto Arteta, Los monasterios medievales de Aragón, p. 107.
the Castilian count Fernán González was buried at Covarrubias. But the most
outstanding mausoleum is, no doubt, that of San Pelayo (later San Isidoro) of
León, head of the ‘Infantado’ of the Leonese monarchy. Its monastery would be
the guardian of their memory.
Fourth, and finally, the monasteries’ importance in terms of heritage must
be highlighted. There were monasteries protected throughout the centuries
in which some dominae exerted their power as owners of large estates that
increased with donations from their co-heirs and from other private donors.
This contributed to the organization of the surrounding space into a hierarchy
and, quite often, to the concentration of monasteries and churches. In Asturias,
Infanta Cristina’s foundation at Cornellana would give her descendants, as
owners, the control over other convents like Lapedo, Santa María de Villanueva
de Carzana, and San Pedro de Teverga, among others.
That the owners did not give up their control is clear, for instance, in the
fact that Sancho III exchanged the monastery of Oña. But there is also evidence
that some female communities were replaced with male ones. San Pelayo de
León became a community of canons regular in the central years of the twelfth
century, as did Sant Joan de les Abadesses. The monastery of Oña, endowed by
Sancho, count of Castile, in 1011, would enter the Benedictine reformation
only twenty years after its foundation and would become a male monastery.46
Covarrubias, the head of the Castilian Infantado, would also be associated later
with a community of canons regular.
2. ‘Family’ Nunneries in the Castilian and Leonese Space

and their Transformation
‘Family’ monasteries, which were private, were the properties of laypeople, usu-
ally aristocrats or nobles.47 ‘Family’ monasticism underwent a deep develop-
ment during the Visigothic and high medieval periods between the seventh
and eleventh centuries. It was frequent in monasteries which contained double
communities and were owned jointly by members of the same lineage who had
suertes (shares) in the same heritage.48
46
Cf. Olmedo Bernal, Una abadía castellana en el siglo xi, and Bonaudo de Magnani, ‘El
monasterio de San Salvador de Oña’.
47
The traditional work on this topic is Orlandis, Estudios sobre instituciones monásticas
medievales, esp. pp. 125–64 and 219–379.
48
Bermejo Castrillo, Parentesco, matrimonio, propiedad y herencia en la Castilla altomedi
eval, p. 563.
The survival of ‘family’ monasticism throughout the tenth to twelfth centu-

ries owes much to strategies carried out by lay aristocratic families who became
centres of power over churches and monasteries, and who drew together social,
political, economic, and spiritual functions. Such strategies were planned to use
monasteries to concentrate properties which could not be alienated; at the same
time as monastic structures themselves functioned as nuclei linking various fam-
ily groups. José Ángel García de Cortázar y Ruiz de Aguirre argues that monas-
teries joined relations and properties together and organized social relationships
into hierarchies.49 However, it is also true that it was a slow, evolving process,
not at all homogeneous, and in which various kinds of control can be detected.50
Essential changes are sensed coming from two factors associated with
Fernando I — the council of Coyanza and the abbey of Cluny. These were
circumstances which the Castilian and Leonese monarchy acted in order to
introduce and spread the Cluniac reformation, and which would continue dur-
ing the reign of Fernando I’s son, Alfonso VI. Both monarchs, Fernando I and
Alfonso VI, maintained the same performance line initiated by Sancho III the
Elder of Navarre, the former’s father and the latter’s grandfather.
The council of Coyanza was held in the central years of the eleventh century. It
was organized and directed by Fernando I and his queen, Sancha. In the long run,
the council’s regulations would change the ecclesiastical and monastic panorama.
For example, Isidorian and Benedictine observances were accurately specified:
Deinde statuimus ut omnia monasteria nostra secundum possibilitates suas adim-
pleant ordinem Sancti Isidori uel Sancti Benedicti et nichil habeant proprium nisi
per licentiam sui episcopi aut sui abbatis.51
(Then we order that all our monasteries should, according to their capabilities, fol-
low the order of St Isidore or of St Benedict and should have nothing of their own
unless by permission of their bishop or their abbot.)
49
García de Cortázar, ‘Monasterios hispanos en torno al año mil’, pp. 226–31. The author
analyses the role of family strategies and deduces that the monastery was the centre for the
family’s reserve of wealth, the guardian of the family’s memory, and the appropriate place for
the lineage’s relationship with the Divinity.
50
See Martín Viso, ‘Monasterios y poder aristocrático en Castilla en el siglo xi’, esp. p. 95.
51
There are different editions and versions of the council’s texts; for the Oviedo text, see
García Gallo, ‘El concilio de Coyanza’; and for the Portuguese one, Grassotti, ‘La Iglesia y el
Estado de Tamarón a Zamora (1037–72)’. The reader is also referred to the edition and study of
Martínez Díez, ‘La traducción manuscrita del fuero de León y del concilio de Coyanza’, p. 175,
punto 2 (Portuguese version), and p. 180, punto 2 (Oviedo version).
But the council’s minutes seem to have been dealing, at least initially, more with
a theoretical than a real field. An intense concentration of monasteries is seen
after the council’s sessions (c. 1055), especially around cathedral sees, as well as
a hierarchical influence from some great monasteries, which joined ecclesiae and
monasteria together. This may have been connected with other council canons
whose purpose might have been to move laypeople away from ecclesiastical
properties.52 The year after the council, another council was held in Compostela,
at which an attempt was made to implement the Coyanza reforms.53
Very frequently, monasteries which were near cathedral sees lost the character
of royal monasteries as their properties augmented those of the sees. Sometimes
they became secular cathedral ‘abbeys’ (as they were called) under the name of the
same patron saint, but they had only the name. Some returned to the cenobitic
life later on,54 and other monasteriolos/ecclesiae became just simple rural churches.
In their turn, the monasteries dependent on lay aristocracies seem to have
maintained a strong dependency on their proprietors.55 In fact, according to
García de Cortázar,
Es ya un lugar común de la historiografía la idea de que, hasta la reforma gregoriana
en la segunda mitad del siglo xi, los monasterios, como en buena medida toda la
iglesia estuvieron en manos de los laicos.56
(It is already a common historiographic cliché to say that the idea that, until the
Gregorian Reform in the later part of the eleventh century, monasteries, like all the
church to a great extent, were in the hands of laypeople.)
52
See Martínez Sopena, ‘Aristocracia, monacato y reformas’, p. 78.
53
Cf. Martínez Díez, ‘El concilio compostelano del reinado de Fernando I’, and López
Alsina, La ciudad de Santiago de Compostela en la Alta Edad Media.
54
As it was a nunnery, the ‘family’ monastery of San Salvador in Santa Colomba de la
Polvorosa, in the present province of Zamora, is an appropriate case. A part of it was granted by
Alfonso VI to the cathedral of León on 14 April 1097. See Ruiz Asencio, Colección documental
del archivo, iv: 1032–1109, doc. 1293, pp. 608–10. Later on it would accept the Cistercian
reform and since then it has been known as Santa Colomba de las Monjas; Cavero Domínguez,
‘El Císter femenino en el reino de León’, p. 79.
55
See, for example, the case of Asturias, which was analysed by García García, ‘Aristocracia
laica y monasterios familiares en Asturias (ss. x y xi)’. See also by the same author, ‘Monasterios
benedictinos y aristocracia laica en Asturias (siglos xi y xii)’. The case of Cantabria has been
studied by Loring García, ‘Nobleza e iglesias propias en la Cantabria altomedieval’. On León,
see Martínez Sopena, ‘Monasterios particulares, nobleza y reforma eclesiástica’; Martínez
Sopena, ‘Parentesco y poder en León’; and, a more recent study, Martín Viso, ‘Monasterios y
redes sociales en el Bierzo altomedieval’.
56
García de Cortázar, ‘Monasterios hispanos en torno al año mil’, p. 217.
The council of Coyanza, which has been described by historiography in general

as the anteroom of the Gregorian Reform, occurred in the later part of the elev-
enth century. But neither the Coyanza canons nor the Gregorian Reform actu-
ally consolidated a monastic reformation at once, which allows us to state that
at the turn of the year 1000, the only observance in Spain was the Benedictine
Rule. However, what has actually been discovered is a wide variety of ‘fam-
ily’ monasteries which, in some cases, still followed the Visigothic tradition,
particularly St Fructuosus’s pact rule. It is certainly true that their existence
would still linger until the end of the twelfth century. Martínez Sopena points
out that their last vestiges reached the turn of the thirteenth century, when
they disappeared forever;57 ‘family’ monasteries were bound to disappear or
to be converted to the Benedictine model or other monastic twelfth-century
reforms. Fernando I and Alfonso VI were the great driving force of such
reforms. Sancho III Garcés had also been ‘gané au modèle de réforme du grand
monastère bourguignon’, as Dominique Iogna-Prat has remarked.58
In the central years of the twelfth century the monarchy and the nobility
worked together not only to spread the Cistercian reforms but also, in gen-
eral, the various reforms brought about by Augustinian canons regular, the
Premonstratensians, and even the military orders. This was the moment when
many ‘family’ monasteries were incorporated into these observances and
absorbed by them. As Martínez Sopena notes:
Hay empeño por sustituir los monasterios familiares, mediante su transformación
o desahucio, y por reordenar el poder de la Iglesia (así como los de la nobleza y
monarquía) en términos políticos, fiscales y territoriales. Además de esto, los reyes
se garantizaron un papel arbitral, mientras la nobleza se aseguraba una colección de
beneficios o prerrogativas en las nuevas casas, respetando su autonomía.59
(There was a determination to replace family monasteries, by transforming or

abandoning them, and to reorder the power of the Church (as well as the power of
the nobility and the monarchy) in political, fiscal and territorial terms. Besides, the
kings guaranteed themselves as arbiters whereas the nobility secured a collection
of benefits or prerogatives for themselves in the new houses as they respected their
self-government.)
57
Martínez Sopena, ‘Aristocracia, monacato y reformas’, p. 92.
58
Iogna-Prat, ‘Les Moines et la “blanche robe d’églises” à l’âge roman’, p. 319.
59
Martínez Sopena, ‘Aristocracia, monacato y reformas’, p. 91.
2.1 The Concentration of Monasteries under a Benedictine-Cluniac Imprint:

San Pedro de las Dueñas
Royalty and nobility, above all, increased the properties of churches and mon-
asteries: many of them were turned into priories dependent on the remark-
able monastery of Sts Peter and Paul of Cluny, whose piety so much attracted
kings and magnates. That meant the establishment of the Benedictine-Cluniac
observance, which began to be favoured particularly in the reigns of Fernando I
and Alfonso VI, who were great protectors of the Burgundian abbey.60
The first transformation model of ‘family’ nunneries which will be discussed
starts with the presentation of a pact, held in 941 in the Cantabrian region of
Liébana. It brought together thirty-six female disciples around Abbess Ailón:
Pactum facimus Deo et tiui matri nostra Ailoni qualiter secundum editum apos-
tolorum et regulam monasterii sicuti sancta precedentium patrum sanxit auctoritas
qui homnia sua diuideuant et ante pedes apostolorum poneuant ad instar illorum
uno in cenouio auitemus.61
We make a pact with God and with you our mother Ailon thus, according to the
edict of the Apostles and the rule of the monastery, just as the holy authority of our
fathers who went before us affirmed, who used to share all their goods and place
them before the feet of the Apostles, in the likeness of those men in one monastery
we will dwell in one monastery.
After Ailón’s signum, there appear the signatures of the ‘filias umiles et obedi-
entes’. This became the monastery of Santa María de Piasca, very close to the
powerful monastery of San Martín de Turieno (later named Santo Toribio), in
the Liébana area.62 Actually, in María Isabel Loring García’s words, the monas-
tery of Santa María existed before that pact had been formed
60
See the comprehensive study by Reglero de la Fuente, Cluny en España.
61
This document is now in the AHN, Clero, Sahagún, carp. 873, no. 6. It has been
published several times. See Mínguez Fernández, Colección documental del monasterio de
Sahagún, doc. 79; and Montenegro Valentín, Colección diplomática de Santa María de Piasca,
doc. 8.
62
Its cartulary was published by Sánchez Belda, Cartulario de Santo Toribio de Liébana.
García de Cortázar comments that ‘Santo Toribio de Liébana […] es un monasterio que se ha
beneficiado de una cierta memoria histórica mesurada. La generada por la presencia y producción
doctrinal de Beato a finales del siglo viii, prolongada, en el subconsciente colectivo’ (St Toribio
de Liébana […] is a monastery which has benefited from a certain restrained historical memory
— the memory generated by the presence and doctrinal production of Beatus at the end of the
absorbiendo a una serie de iglesias y pequeños monasterios, que en su mayoría pro-

ceden de la región lebaniega pero también de algunos valles vecinos tanto de intra
montes como de foras montes.63
(by incorporating a number of churches and small monasteries which, in its greater
part, were located in the Liébana region but which also were in some neighbouring
valleys both from intra montes and foras montes).
Julia Montenegro Valentín, a prominent scholar of the monastery, describes

it as a ‘Fructuosan inspiration’ monastery, and a case of ‘pact monarchism’. It
appears as a ‘private’ church in 930 and, only eleven years later (941), was a pact
monastery, not a ‘private’ one.64
In the eleventh century Santa María monastery was a ‘family’ monastery,
probably a double one: that is, with a male community and a female one,
although the female community was prominent. It had been placed under the
multiple dedication of St Mary, St James, and Sts Julian and Basilissa; was con-
nected to the Alfonso lineage, whose head was Alfonso Díaz;65 and was a ‘fam-
ily’ monastery whose raciones/porciones (shares) belonged to several members
of the owner family, who exerted an energetic control over it. This is shown
in the origin of its abbesses, Fronilde in 1030, Eilo in 1039, and the powerful
domina Urraca Alfonso, who did not take the title of abbess but controlled
monasteries without the abbatial dignity.66
It was an expanding monastery as the nearby and, until then, powerful mon-
astery of San Martín de Turieno was undergoing a deep crisis. Santa María’s
grew with the annexation of some churches and monasteries, several of which
were donated to it by members of the Alfonso family itself in 1030. These were
Santa María and Santiago de Renoso, half of the monastery of San Pelayo as
well as San Miguel de Luniezo in 1039, and San Andrés de Valdavia in 1068.
eighth century, extended in the collective unconscious); García de Cortázar, ‘Monasterios y

dominios monásticos en el Reinado de Alfonso VI de León y Castilla’, p. 79.
63
Loring García, ‘Nobleza e iglesias propias en la Cantabria altomedieval’, p. 113.
64
Montenegro Valentín, Santa María de Piasca: estudio de un territorio, pp. 45–47.
65
Martínez Sopena, ‘Parentesco y poder en León durante el siglo x’, p. 75.
66
Frequently dominae from powerful noble lineages, such as Urraca Alfonso or Fronilde,
who were either single or dowagers consecrated to God (deovotae), appear governing
monasteries, guarding their lineage’s interests, and exerting a firm control over abbots and
abbesses. See particularly Loring, ‘Nobleza e iglesias propias’, p. 99; Martínez Sopena,
‘Aristocracia, monacato y reformas’, p. 75; and Martínez Sopena, ‘Monasterios particulares,
nobleza y reforma eclesiástica’, p. 327.
However, the Alfonso family also owned the ‘family’ nunnery of San Martín
de la Fuente in the present province of Palencia, which was near the great abbey
of San Facundo, in Sahagún. That of San Martín had been built under Urraca
Alfonso, after a donation made by her brother Gutier Alfonso in 1048.67 That
donation included other monasteries owned by the same family: San Pedro de
Valderaduey and Santa María de Valdetolo, which will be discussed below.
In the central years of the eleventh century, both monasteries, Santa María
de Piasca and San Martín de la Fuente, were controlled by the aristocratic own-
ers, represented at the time by domina Urraca Alfonso. The transformations
undergone by both monasteries were carried out according to the regulations
of the Coyanza council (c. 1055) and were influenced by Alfonso VI coming to
power after the confrontations and fights between Fernando I’s children and
the death of Sancho II.
The aristocratic owners kept the female communities of Santa María de
Piasca and San Martín de la Fuente closely linked. While the Benedictine Rule
was developed to be implemented, the community of Piasca, which was a dou-
ble one, also evolved; but the nunnery, as such, disappeared in about 1071, and,
at the same time, the various portions of the monastery were concentrated in
another great monastic institution, Sahagún. In the twelfth century, Piasca,
now only a male community, would remain as a priory dependant on Sahagún.
A seemingly similar case is found in San Martín de la Fuente, which would also
be taken over by Sahagún.
King Alfonso VI’s interests as well as those represented by the Alfonso line-
age turned towards the monastery of Santos Facundo y Primitivo at Sahagún,
in the basin of the river Cea, the borderlands between León and Castile, where,
from the time of Alfonso III (866–910), there existed a small church, iden-
tified by some with the chapel of San Mancio, which would be replaced by
another church after the former was destroyed by the Muslims.68 Starting from
that church, a monastery was founded. Its existence is registered in 883 by the
Crónica Albeldense.69 The earliest document originating in its monastic archives
dates from the year 904. It contains a donation by Alfonso III to the church
67
Herrero de la Fuente, Colección diplomática, ii: 1000–73, doc. 513, pp. 189–90.
68
See particularly Fernández Catón, San Mancio: Culto, leyenda y reliquias.
69
On Sahagún (the word Sahagún is derived from Sanctus Facundus), see Pérez Gil and
Sánchez Badiola, Monarquía y monacato en la Edad Media; Fernández González and Pérez,
Alfonso VI y su época, i: Los precedentes del reinado and Alfonso VI y su época, ii: Los horizontes
de Europa. On artistic issues, see Herráez Ortega, Esplendor y decadencia de un monasterio
medieval.
of Santos Facundo y Primitivo and attests to the presence of Abbot Alfonso.70

One year later, Alfonso III granted coto (enclosed lands) to the monastery of
Sahagún.71
The monastery of San Facundo, also called the monastery of Domnos
Sanctos, was King Alfonso VII’s favourite monastery. He granted it numerous
benefits and privileges, spent long stays there in his royal apartments, which
were built especially for him, and chose it as an eternal resting place for himself
and his wives — it was his royal mausoleum. This monastery was also chosen to
carry out the Cluniac reform. It was associated with the monarchy and would
become the great Cluniac Benedictine monastery (though it was not very suc-
cessful) by the direct desire of the king, who had the monk Roberto brought to
the monastery
qui est in honore Sanctorum Facundi et Primitiui constructum, ut teneant ibi regu-
lam et monasticum ordinem sicut docet beatus Benedictus et secundum quod fra-
tres Sancti Petri Cluniacensis obtinent. Igitur, annuente Deo, mittimus domnum
Robertum abbatem ut teneant uitam suprascriptam cum fratribus qui modo ibi
sunt uel post eum in loco successerint usque in perpetuum. Mandamus, etiam, ut
abbas qui esse debuerit per electionem de congregacione monasterii et per precep-
tum regis fiat.72
(which has been built in honour of St Facundus and St Primitivus, that they are to
hold to the rule and the monastic order just as the blessed Benedict teaches and just
as the brothers of St Peter of Cluny keep. Therefore, with God’s help, we send lord
Roberto as abbot, that they may cling to the life as written above with the brothers
who are there now or who will come after him in that place for evermore. We also
order that the abbot who ought to be elected by the congregation of the monastery
shall also be in agreement with the king.)
Other changes were added to the Cluniac reform, such as the introduction of
the Roman liturgical rite. However, as Carlos Reglero de la Fuente has pointed
out, the monastery of Sahagún would remain among those which Alfonso VI
70
AHN, Clero, Sahagún, carp. 872, no. 6. The document was published by Mínguez Fer
nández, Colección documental del monasterio de Sahagún, doc. 6, and is dated 22 October 904.
71
AHN, Clero, Sahagún, carp. 872, nos 10 and 11. See also Mínguez, Colección documental,
doc. 8, dated 30 November 905.
72
Herrero de la Fuente, Colección diplomática, iii: 1073–1109, doc. 782, dated 14 May
1080. With this document, King Alfonso VI and Queen Constanza, after mentioning Abbot
Roberto and the procedure to elect abbots, establish the liberties and exemptions the monastery
was to enjoy from then on.
placed under Cluny’s consuetudines, but it was not consolidated and its life-
time was very short. The main character here was Abbot Roberto, identified
by Reglero with the abbot who had been the prior at San Isidro de Dueñas
and counsellor to the king. He was also the same abbot to whom the king gave
the monastery of San Pedro.73 The purported Cluniac reform of 1079–80 was
a failure under him and his successor Marcellinus. It was one thing to follow
the Cluniac customs, but it was something quite different to be a priory of
Cluny. A short time later, Abbot Bernardo opted for independence, and Pope
Gregory VII gave his approval. Sahagún would thus be a simple Benedictine
community.74
Very closely related to the Sahagún monastery were the members of the
Alfonso lineage, whose head, in 1024, was Alfonso Díaz, count of Grajal, a place
quite near the monastery. Later on, the Alfonsos also became counts of Cea.75
In the second half of the eleventh century, they were close to the royalty, espe-
cially to Alfonso VI. In reality, they were so close to Sahagún and Alfonso VI
that they stopped giving donations to Santa María de Piasca and focused their
interest on Sahagún, perhaps following Alfonso VI’s policy. Between the last
quarter of the eleventh century and the first decades of the twelfth, there
occurred a change of orientation. As Martínez Sopena comments,
se produce la desmembración de las partiones que los herederos de la familia tenían
en los cenobios de Piasca y San Martín las cuales son cedidas por sus titulares.76
(There occurred the dismemberment of the partiones which the heirs of this family
had in the monasteries of Piasca and San Martín and which were granted by their
owners [to Sahagún].)
In fact, between 1095 and 1107, the partiones (portions) which were supposed
to be directed to Santa María de Piasca were donated to Sahagún by their own-
ers, including Alfonso VI himself. The same thing happened with San Martín
de la Fuente. The process was gradual, but eventually the ownership of the ‘fam-
ily’ nunnery which was held by the Alfonsos would definitely be linked to the
monastery of San Facundo, although their donation implied that the family did
not dissociate themselves from it entirely.
73
Reglero de la Fuente, Cluny en España, pp. 165–67.
74
Herrero de la Fuente, Colección diplomática, iii: 1073–1109, doc. 809, pp. 102–05.
75
Cf. Martínez Sopena, ‘Monasterios particulares, nobleza y reforma eclesiástica’.
76
Martínez Sopena, ‘Parentesco y poder en León’, p. 48.
Alfonso VI and the monastery of Sahagún were the origins of the transfor-
mation of female monasticism in neighbouring places both from territorial and
family viewpoints. We are speaking about monasteries placed under the dedica-
tion of St Peter and whose description and independence do not appear quite
clear in the documentation.
(a) San Pedro de Valderaduey. It was quoted above as having been donated,
together with the monastery of Santa María de Valdetolo, to the monas-
tery of San Martín de la Fuente, in 1048. In monastic historiography, this
monastery is spoken of as a nunnery.77 The first time that San Pedro de
Valderaduey is mentioned in records, it is not clear what it is, whether a
church, a monastery, or just a place name.78 The date corresponds to 1033,
and the document deals with a share of a mill on the river.79
(b) The monastery of San Pedro de Mazuecos was given to the monastery of
Sahagún and its abbot, Roberto, in 1080.80 The former has been identified
and confused with the monastery donated by Alfonso VI and the abbot of
Sahagún to a nun, Urraca, at a date around 1080.81
(c) The monastery of San Pedro de los Molinos, in the area around Sahagún,
and mentioned at the end of the eleventh century,82 is, according to Car-
riedo, that of San Pedro de las Dueñas itself.83
(d) The monastery of San Pedro de las Dueñas. It is only four kilometres
away from that of San Facundo, in Sahagún, and became a great nunnery
77
Escalona, Historia del Real Monasterio de Sahagún, p. 247.
78
It is true that frequently the differences between a church and a monastery are not very
clear at this time, as it is pointed out by Loring García, ‘Nobleza e iglesias’, pp. 90–91.
79
Herrero de la Fuente, Colección diplomática, ii: 1000–73, doc. 435, dated 15 November
1033.
80
Herrero de la Fuente, Colección diplomática, iii: 1073–1109, doc. 776, dated on 22
January 1080. At the beginning of the thirteenth century, the church of San Pedro de Mazuecos
belonged to the nunnery of San Pedro de las Dueñas, as shown in Fernández Flórez, Colección
diplomática del monasterio de Sahagún, doc. 1576, dated 1210.
81
See Domínguez Sánchez, Colección documental medieval, doc. 2 (22 January 1080),
pp. 420–22.
82
Herrero de la Fuente, Colección diplomática, iii: 1073–1109, doc. 950 (11 April 1095)
and doc. 1021 (24 October 1097).
83
Carriedo Tejedo, ‘Los orígenes del Monasterio Benedictino de San Pedro de Dueñas’,
pp. 26–28.
dependent on the male monastery of Sahagún. We do not know whether

it had existed prior to this time or the details of its foundation, dated to
1080 by Montenegro. This author believes that it was not a ‘family’ monas-
tery and did not belong to the Alfonso lineage, among whose properties it
had been included by Martínez Sopena.84 The first document of it actually
dates from 1094, when it is described as Benedictine and said to be under
Abbot Diego of Sahagún.85 It must have been under this abbot that it was
built if we trust an epigraph, now lost, that so registered it.86
The main problems to identify and clarify female monasticism in the Cea-
Valderaduey area come, especially, from two diplomas. The first is a 1048 dona-
tion with two different versions: one of them comes from the Gothic ‘Becerro’
(community register for property and privileges) of Sahagún;87 and the other
is from the monastic archives of the San Pedro de las Dueñas nunnery.88 Both
these versions have been studied and collated by José María Fernández Catón,89
Montenegro,90 and Manuel Carriedo Tejedo.91 The core of the diploma has the
same meaning but it is different in the beginning, the invocation, and the end-
ing: Gutier Alfonso and his wife Goto donate to his sister Urraca — deodicata
at the monastery of San Martín de la Fuente and abbess of the monastery of
San Pedro de las Dueñas — various properties, including the monasteries of
San Pedro de Valderaduey and Santa María de Valdetolo. The date is the same
in both documents, but the signatories and witnesses date from the last third
of the eleventh century in the case of the diploma from the monastery of San
Pedro de las Dueñas.92
84
Montenegro Valentín, Santa María de Piasca: estudio de un territorio, p. 109. The
author’s analysis of the existing documentation is very clarifying and is based on the study by
Fernández Catón, ‘Documentos leoneses en escritura visigótica’, docs 2 and 3, pp. 208–25.
85
Domínguez Sánchez, Colección documental medieval, doc. 3 (28 January 1094), pp. 422–23.
86
Escalona, Historia del Real Monasterio de Sahagún, p. 94. It is also recorded in an
appendix by Carriedo Tejedo, ‘Los orígenes del Monasterio Benedictino de San Pedro de
Dueñas’, p. 38.
87
Herrero de la Fuente, Colección diplomática, ii: 1000–73, doc. 513 (11 May 1048).
88
Domínguez Sánchez, Colección documental medieval, doc. 1 (dated 1048 [?]), pp. 419–20.
89
Fernández Catón, ‘Documentos leoneses en escritura visigótica’, pp. 222–23.
90
Montenegro Valentín, Santa María de Piasca: estudio de un territorio, pp. 106–07.
91
pp. 14–17.
92
In fact, the falsified document is that from the monastery of San Pedro de las Dueñas and
The three aforementioned authors agree in commenting that the tampering

was done on purpose by the monastery, which might have been trying to place
its origins earlier, in 1048, perhaps with the intention of freeing themselves
from the Sahagún monks. That is, the forgery might have been due to jurisdic-
tional conflicts, which, incidentally, were rather frequent.93
The second is a diploma, which certainly did not come from the Royal
Chancellery, has some errors in its date and has been dated 22 January 1080 (a
Wednesday). It contains the donation made by Alfonso VI and abbot Roberto
of Sahagún to the nun Urraca and her nuns of the monastery of San Pedro, so
that they could live according to St Benedict’s rule and subject to the Abbot of
Sahagún.94 In this case the problem is its identification, made by several authors
who understand that the document is about San Pedro de las Dueñas, while
others suppose that it deals with San Pedro de Mazuecos. The problem lies in a
confusion in terms:
Ego, Adefonsus, nutu diuino princeps, et Rodbertus, gratia Dei abba, una cum
omnem congregationem Sanctorum Facundi et Primitibi, facimus tibi, Urraka,
Deo deuota, cartula exarationis, tam tibi quam etiam et alie religiose femine qui
tibi sunt subiecte, de illo monasterio uocabulo Sancto Petro, seu etiam et succes-
sores uestri qui monasticam uitam secundum regula patris nostri sancti exercere
uoluerint, id est, Benedicti, per iussionem domni Rodberti, qui preest omnibus uel
successor illius qui in loco hoc fuerit constitutus. Alius uero neminem pretermit-
timus qui uobis ibidem disturbationem faciat nec inmodice, sed inlesas et intactas
permaneatis absque aliam iussionem uos et successores uestri, et sit ipsius monas-
terii puellarum stabilissimum usque in perpetuum. Ita uero sicut habetur Domnos
Sanctos in consuetudinem Sancti Petri, ita abeatur Sancti Petri in consuetudinem
Marcilinieco.95
the original is that in the Becerro. Montenegro and Carriedo notice how other documentary
forgeries were executed, and both mention one from 1107.
93
The strained relations between both monasteries were ever continuous until the
beginning of the thirteenth century. About this, see Fernández Flórez, Colección diplomática
del monasterio de Sahagún (857–1300), v: 1200–1300, doc. 1576, pp. 62–66. This document
(dated 27 September 1210) contains a final agreement between both monasteries.
94
Herrero de la Fuente, Colección diplomática, ii: 1000–73, doc. 777. This document has
also been published by Gambra, Alfonso VI, pp. 165–66; and Domínguez Sánchez, Colección
documental medieval, doc. 2, pp. 420–22.
95
Herrero de la Fuente, Colección diplomática, ii: 1000–73, doc. 777; Gambra, Alfonso VI,
doc. 66, pp. 165–66; Domínguez Sánchez, Colección documental medieval, doc. 2; and Reglero
de la Fuente, Cluny en España, doc. 3, pp. 694–95.
(I, Alfonso, prince by divine will, and Roberto, abbot by the grace of God, together
with the whole congregation of St Facundus and St Primitivus, make a donation
document of the monastery called St Peter for you, Urraca, who are devoted to
God, as also for the other religious women who are subject to you or indeed also
your successors who wish to live the monastic life according to the rule of our holy
father St Benedict, under the mandate of Lord Roberto, who now governs over all,
or his successor who will be appointed in this place. We pass over no one who may
cause disruption or excesses to you (particularly if they are really serious), but you
and your successors are to remain uninjured and intact without any other order. So
that this monastery of maidens may be totally stable for evermore. Thus, indeed,
just as Domnos Sanctos is bound to the custom of St Peter’s, so that of St Peter’s
should be bound to the custom of Marcigny.)
Actually, it is not about San Pedro de Mazuecos, nor is San Pedro de las Dueñas
clearly mentioned. It is only the monastery of San Pedro, which King Alfonso VI
and Abbot Roberto of Sahagún donated to Urraca — deovota/abbess, who has
been identified as Urraca Alfonso96 —, so that, under the authority of the abbot
of Sahagún, they could follow St Benedict’s Rule according to the customs of
Marcigny-sur-Loire:97 that is, the French nunnery depending on Cluny and
founded by Abbot Hugh.
After all that has been said, we can infer that in the basins of the rivers
Cea and Valderaduey there were institutions placed under the dedication of
St Peter which were called ecclesiae and also monasteries. We know that the
monastery of San Pedro de Valderaduey was donated to that of San Martín de
la Fuente, which might have been in the same area. As for that of San Pedro de
Mazuecos, we know it was near Cisneros. Some have noticed that San Pedro de
los Molinos is the same as San Pedro de las Dueñas. What is definitely attested
to is that the latter two shared the St Peter dedication.98
After 1080 one monastery of San Pedro was chosen by Alfonso VI to carry
out the reform of female monasticism in the Cea-Valderaduey-Liébana area
under the obedience of the Sahagún monastery. Several female communities
would have converged in such a monastery: that of Santa María de Piasca;99
96
Montenegro Valentín, Santa María de Piasca: estudio de un territorio, p. 109.
97
Cf. Wischermann, Marcigny-sur-Loire, Gründungs- und Frühgeschichte des ersten
Cluniacenseinnenpriorates (1055–1150).
98
This kind of occurrence was rather frequent. See, for example, the case of the Aragonese
monastery of San Juan de la Peña in Lapeña Paúl, El monasterio de San Juan de la Peña en la
Edad Media, pp. 53–59.
99
Montenegro Valentín, Santa María de Piasca: estudio de un territorio, pp. 104 and 108–09.
that of San Martín de la Fuente100 — to which, in turn, the monasteries of San

Pedro de Valderaduey and Santa María de Valdetolo were subject; and the vari-
ous monasteries under the same dedication, St Peter, around Sahagún. This
convergence seems to have been carried out during the abbacy of Diego de
Sahagún (1087–1110) and with Alfonso VI’s support.
Under the dedication of St Peter the Apostle, the monastery of San Pedro
de las Dueñas, perhaps eponymous of some of those mentioned above, would
have been the converging point of all the other monasteries. This could account
for the beginning of the changes which can be detected in the 1080 document
referring to King Alfonso VI’s decision to transfer the monastery of St Peter to
Abbess Urraca and her nuns,101 so that they might live under the Benedictine
Rule, according to the Marcigny customs and subject to the abbey of Domnos
Sanctos — Sahagún.102
What was the relationship between Sahagún and St Peter, on the one hand,
and Marcigny, on the other? Perhaps, besides the direct relationships with
Cluny,103 which might be a sufficient explanation, we could also suggest some
others, such as, in Reglero’s words, the existence of a ‘Clunophilic’ aristoc-
racy. In the first place, there is the relationship of Countess Teresa Peláez, the
dowager of Count Gómez Díaz, who calls herself ‘ancilla ancillarum Dei’ and
who some think was a nun at Marcigny.104 In the second place, in the year 1085,
100
Escalona, Historia del Real Monasterio de Sahagún, p. 94.
101
We must remember the presence of the Libellus a regula Sancti Benedicti subtractus in La
Rioja already in the tenth century. It was published by Linage Conde, Libellus a regula Sancti
Benedicti subtractus.
102
Escalona, Historia del Real Monasterio de Sahagún, pp. 475–76. See also the comments
by Fernández Catón, ‘Documentos leoneses en escritura visigótica’, p. 213, and Montenegro
Valentín, Santa María de Piasca: estudio de un territorio, pp. 107–08.
103
It is the opinion of several authors that the central axis of the Cluniacs’ establishment
in the Iberian peninsula lay in the kingdom of León, especially under Alfonso VI, who gave
them, among others, the monasteries of San Isidro de Dueñas and Santa María de Nájera. See
comments on this by Calleja Puerta, El conde Suero Vermúdez, p. 499.
104
Reglero de la Fuente (Cluny en España, pp. 241–44) dwells extensively on the Banu
Gómez family’s relations with Cluny, particularly those of the descendants of the Díaz brothers
— Ansur and Gómez. Gómez Díaz was married to Teresa Peláez. Teresa and their children
(there were at least seven) donated San Zoilo de Carrión to Cluny. The document is from 1077.
Gómez had died in 1057/58. Teresa was included in the Marcigny necrology, which has led
some to infer that she had been a nun there. In reality, she was in the kingdom of León in 1091
(she died in 1093), and her tombstone with her epitaph is kept at San Zoilo. The explanation
might be that some benefactors were included among the members of a monastery.
Abbot Hugh of Cluny sold Count Pedro Ansúrez all the properties belong-
ing to Countess Justa in Spain for 2500 sueldos. This countess, the dowager of
Ansur Díaz, a member of the Banu Family, did certainly enter Marcigny; the
buyer was her stepson and the most outstanding nobleman from his own family
in King Alfonso VI’s court. In the narratio of this diploma, the abbot accounts
for everything:
Ego Ugo abba Sancti Petri, Cluniacensis monasterio, una cum collegio monaco-
rum qui ibi sunt deseruientium et sub iussionem nostram sororum, deodicarum
atque uirginum Sancti Petri Marcionensis sedis monasterii. In ipsius ergo monas-
terii aduenit nobis sub dominationem nostram, propter amorem Dei, comitissa de
terra Spanensis nomine Iusta, et non reliquit in patria sua nec filios, nec filias, et
habebat hereditates plurimas in ipsius terra. Et elegimus infra nosmetipsos ut ipsas
qui inde pro emere fuissent que non habuisset eas alius homo nisi propinquus suus
aut de uiri sui, qui fuit comite Ansur Didaz. Et ipse comes qui fuit uir suus reliquia
filius alia uxori, nomine comite domno Petro. Et placuit ad nos super nominati et
ad illa comitissa domna Iusta ut emisset eas illo comite domno Petro antenatus suus
plusquam alius homo.105
(I, Hugh, abbot of St Peter’s, the monastery of Cluny, together with the commu-
nity of monks serving God there and under the order of our sisters and consecrated
virgins of St Peter’s, the site of the monastery of Marcigny. A countess from Spanish
lands named Justa came to us, under our jurisdiction, for the love of God, and
she did not leave in her homeland either sons or daughters, and in that land she
had a lot of properties. And we chose ourselves that those properties that were on
sale there no one else would have them but a relation of hers or his man’s, Count
Ansur Didaz. And this same count who was her husband had a son by another wife,
and his name is Lord Count Peter. And it pleased us, the aforementioned, and the
aforesaid lady Justa, that she should sell them to the Lord Count Peter, her stepson,
rather than to any other man.)
Alfonso VI and Abbot Roberto took the first steps to establish the Benedictine
Rule following the Cluniac reform as it was happening in Domnos Sanctos,
which the nuns of the monastery of San Pedro were dependent on.
But circumstances changed, as mentioned above, under Abbot Bernardo
and his successors, and King Alfonso VI’s efforts were ephemeral. Therefore,
at the end of the eleventh century, things were also different for the nuns. They
105
The document is registered by Ruiz Asencio, Colección documental del archivo, iv:
1032–1109, doc. 1237, pp. 519–20; and Reglero de la Fuente, Cluny en España, doc. 4,
pp. 695–96. The latter comments that some members of the Alfonso family also entered Cluny
— Munio Fernández, for example (pp. 314–15).
may have been concentrated at San Pedro de los Molinos while a new monastic
building was being constructed, which would account for the fact that tempo-
rarily San Pedro de los Molinos sheltered the several female communities while
Abbot Diego was having the monastery of San Pedro de las Dueñas built. This
seems sensible to infer from an oblatio puellae, in 1095, which can serve as a
reference point: Gonzalo Núñez and his wife Goto gave their daughter Teresa
to the monastery of Sahagún and its abbot, Diego, so that she could serve God
in the monastery of San Pedro de los Molinos; likewise, they donated to the
above mentioned monasteries all their properties in several places, including
parts of the monasteries of San Martín de la Fuente and Santa María de Piasca.106
Later on, Teresa became prioress and abbess of the monastery of San Pedro de
las Dueñas.107
Second, once the nunnery was built (between 1087 and 1110),108 the com-
munity would follow St Benedict’s Rule under the Sahagún Benedictines.109
By the year 1100, the monastery of San Pedro Apóstol was already consoli-
dated, the various communities were already merged, and only San Pedro de las
Dueñas is quoted as being run by Abbess Urraca, possibly Urraca Fernández, in
the first decade of the twelfth century.110 The Alfonso lineage was still present
and would continue to be so through the early twelfth-century abbesses, but
the nunnery of San Pedro would still be dependent on Sahagún.111
To sum up, after the Cluniac solution had failed, the rule adopted was sim-
ply the Benedictine Rule. The Cassino model, which was pre-eminent now,
would do away with ‘family’ monasticism and give a firm solution to stop the
106
Herrero de la Fuente, Colección diplomática, iii: 1073–1109, doc. 950 (11 April 1095),
pp. 280–82.
107
In Domínguez Sánchez, Colección documental medieval, doc. 8, corresponding to 1121,
she appears as prioress; and after 1124, as abbess: docs 9, 10, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, and 18. Number
11 is from 17 June 1126, and no. 18 is from 1154.
108
‘La construcción de la iglesia se sitúa entre los años 1087 y 1110, fecha esta última
relacionada con el epitafio que se trazó sobre la tumba del abad Diego, hombre que parece haber
dado impulsos definitivos a la obra’ (The building of the church dates from between 1087 and
1110; the latter year is related to the epitaph on Abbot Diego’s tombstone. He seems to have
definitely boosted the works to their completion’); Valdés Fernández, ‘La escultura románica
del monasterio de San Pedro de las Dueñas (León)’, p. 378.
109
See note 67.
110
Domínguez Sánchez, Colección documental medieval, docs 5 and 6, pp. 423–24.
111
p. 37, where the author comments on the early abbesses’ families.
aristocratic owners’ control over religious communities, although the process

was slow and gradual. San Pedro de las Dueñas became the main Benedictine
nunnery affiliated with Sahagún, with a clear intervention of the Leonese and
Castilian royalty. In it converged other nunneries from the Liébana region and
from the present-day province of Palencia, as well as those monasteries under
the dedication of St Peter in the Sahagún area. A concentration of monasteries
had taken place, mainly due to the convergence of portiones/rationes of ‘family’
monasteries in the monastery of Sahagún itself. Alfonso VI was among those
owners. Following the Coyanza regulations, as well as the Gregorian Reform,
the female communities forgot double monasticism.
After the death of Alfonso VI, his daughter, Queen Urraca, granted Abbot
Domingo of Sahagún, in 1116, the right to mint money. Its benefits were
divided into three parts: one for the queen herself, one for the monastery of
Sahagún, and the remaining third for the nunnery of San Pedro de las Dueñas.112
2.2 ‘Family’ Monasteries and ‘Benedictinization’ in the Twelfth Century:

The Case of Galicia
A decade ago, Baury, scholar of the Rioja monastery of Santa María de Cañas,
pointed out in an article on the Castilian Cistercian nuns that St Bernard’s
female branch could not have existed in the twelfth century, given the evolution
of the Order itself and the General Chapter of the Cistercians, because there
was not a juridical frame for nuns in the Order.113 However, the White Monks
did allow the nuns to call themselves Cistercians and imitate their lifestyle, and
also advised the nuns regarding such a life. This is why the ‘phenomenon’ of
integrating the nuns into the Order does not owe anything to the opinion the
monks had of the nuns, but is a consequence of the great transformations that
the government of the Order underwent in the late twelfth century.114 In trying
to account for the behaviour of Alfonso VIII of Castile and his queen, Eleanor
Plantagenet, when they founded the powerful monastery of Santa María de las
Huelgas in Burgos, Baury notices that the monarch was trying to imitate the
112
Fernández Flórez, Colección diplomática, doc. 1195, pp. 47–49. However, three years
later (doc. 1201, pp. 58–59) Alfonso VII would make a new distribution and this time the
convent of San Pedro would be left out.
113
Cf. Baury, ‘Diego López “le Bon”, Diego López “le Mauvais”’.
114
Cf. Baury, ‘Émules puis sujettes de l’ordre cistercien’.
Castilian aristocracy and that he simply intended to give pre-eminence to the

royal foundation.
Throughout the twelfth century, ‘family’ monasteries lost ground, were
transformed, perhaps rapidly, and, in many cases, were gained by the reforms
based on St Benedict’s Rule, especially by the Cistercians, which spread in the
Iberian peninsula from Tulebras to Perales, Santa María de Gradefes, Cañas,
Vallbona, Trasobares, Marcilla, and Las Huelgas, among others.115 Actually, it
expanded from already existent monasteries (Vallbona de las Monjas, for exam-
ple) or from foundations created from scratch.
If we focus our attention on the north-west of the Iberian Peninsula, we
find that between 1152 and 1196 there were seven nunneries in the kingdom of
León which accepted the Cistercian observance to various degrees: San Miguel
de las Dueñas, Santa María de Gúa, Santa María de Gradefes, San Salvador de
Ferreira de Pantón, Santa María de Carrizo, San Salvador de Santa Colomba de
las Monjas, and Santa María de Moreira. Out of these seven, four were founda-
tions ex novo; the other three were reconverted, and the inference is evident:
none of them was initially under a dedication related to St Mary, but under
St Saviour or St Michael, who were both (at least, the former) associated with
traditional ‘family’ monasticism. San Salvador (Saviour) de Ferreira, initially
of Santa María and San Salvador, would choose the Cistercian dedication of St
Mary. Santa Colomba de las Monjas and San Miguel de las Dueñas,116 however,
kept theirs.
Only one of them, Ferreira de Pantón, is in Galicia, where I will now exam-
ine the transformation process in the twelfth century — likely a female trans-
115
Cf. Cavero Domínguez, ‘Implantación y difusión del Císter femenino hispano en el
siglo xii’.
116
Santa Colomba de las Monjas was a ‘family’ monastery — already mentioned above —
in the late eleventh century. Its ‘heirs’ were Alfonso VI himself, Pelayo Vellídiz, and Nepociano
Vermúdez, plus others. It continued to be a ‘family’ monastery until 1181, when it was restored
under the Cistercian Order supported by Pelayo Taboadelo’s children and other knights. See
Cavero Domíngez, ‘El Císter femenino en el Reino de León’.
San Miguel de las Dueñas appears in documentation at the end of the tenth century as an
ecclesia/monasteriolo/monasterio. It was transferred to the monarchy and then to the Infantado,
where it still was in the twelfth century, when Infanta Sancha Raimúndez restored monastic life
in it as a nunnery dependent on the abbot of the male convent of San Salvador-Santa María de
Carracedo, whose federation it joined. At the beginning of the thirteenth century it joined the
Cistercian Order. See Cavero Domínguez and González García, El monasterio de San Miguel de
las Dueñas, pp. 20–21.
formation, whether on the Benedictine general line or on that of the Cluniac

or Cistercian reforms.
The great Galician ‘family’ monasteries were that of Sobrado (founded
by Hermenegildo and Paterna, the count and countess of Présaras), that of
Celanova (founded by St Rudesind), and that of Lorenzana (established by
Count Osorio Gutiérrez). Slightly less important were those of Ramirás,
Bóveda, and the aforementioned San Salvador de Ferreira. A priori, the latter
were not dependent on the former. One of the former, at Sobrado, would turn
towards the Cistercian reform in the twelfth century, becoming a male mon-
astery in the context of an intense Cistercian colonization in Galicia.117 Let us
now consider the transformation of Ramirás, Bóveda, and Ferreira.
According to Emilio Duro Peña, the monastery of San Pedro de Ramirás
‘might have existed in the second half of the tenth century’, though the first
documentary mention dates from the first quarter of the eleventh century.118
This author adds that, from a ‘family’ and double monastery, it became a
Benedictine female one. However, the editors of its documentary collection
refer to it as a monastery not clearly defined, both in the eleventh and twelfth
centuries. In the diploma which is dated 1 March 1017, it is described as
Sancti Salbatoris, sanctorum Petri et pauli apostolorum et quórum reliquie recon-
dite sunt in loco predicto, baselica fundata ese dinoscitur quod nuncupant monas-
terii Ramiranis, subtus montis Silbascura, discurrente ribulo Eires.119
(The basilica is known to have been founded in honour of St Saviour, of St Peter

and St Paul the Apostles, and of those whose relics are contained in the said
place, which they now call the monastery of Ramirás, at the foot of the mountain
Silbascura, on the bank of river Eires.)
The only safe assertion that can be made about this monastery is that it was
a female one governed by an abbess who was called domina, ona, or lady ‘de
Ramiranes’, and who was the spiritual head of the monastery and, at the same
time, a temporary lady with both civil and criminal jurisdiction over its cotos.120
Ultimately the monastery became Benedictine, but there is not a single docu-
117
Cf. Pallares Méndez, El monasterio de Sobrado, and Portela Silva, La colonización
cisterciense en Galicia (1142–1250).
118
Duro Peña, ‘El monasterio de Ramiranes’, p. 12. The documentary collection of this
monastery was published by Lucas Álvarez and Lucas Rodríguez, San Pedro de Ramirás.
119
Lucas Álvarez and Lucas Rodríguez, San Pedro de Ramirás, doc. 1, pp. 179–80.
120
See Lucas Álvarez and Lucas Rodríguez, San Pedro de Ramirás, doc. 3, pp. 182–83.
mentary mention that locates this securely in the twelfth century. However, its
Benedictine character was clear in the fifteenth century, under the reform car-
ried out by Brother Rodrigo de Valencia, who made St Paio de Antealtares the
centre of the Benedictine nunneries in Galicia.121
The second centre of interest is the monastery of San Miguel de Bóveda.
In reference to it, in 1121 Queen Urraca and her son Alfonso, the future
Alfonso VII, granted ‘cartam cariterii et cautionis […] super illud monasterium
de Bobeda, in honore Sancti Michaelis archangeli constructum’ (The charter
of [charity? ] and security […] concerning that monastery of Boveda built in
honour of St Michael the Archangel) to Odoario Ordóñez and his wife, Aldara
Pérez.122 In his introductory study on the monastery, the editor of its documen-
tary collection, Adolfo Fernández Fernández, registers some epigraphic and
artistic remains which are the evidence that it had existed prior to that date, and
remarks that ‘quite likely it was’ a family foundation and had a double commu-
nity, like other Galician monasteries in the tenth century. He also adds that, for
some time, it sheltered a monastic community whose life was suspended later
on. According to Fernández, that would account for an 1168 diploma by which
Aris Fernández and his wife Gudina Oduáriz, with their children, endowed the
nunnery of Bóveda; this endowment includes, besides the land properties, an
important delivery of utensils, clothes and liturgical books, candelabra, crosses,
antiphonaries, basins, and so forth:
Ista omnia iam superius nominata monsterio supradicto integrum damus et fir-
miter concedimus et in potestate abbatise eiusdem loci et eius monialum qui ibi
Deo seruient in uita sancta perseuerauerint et in agonne Dei certabimus, tam de
nostris quam de extraneis omnia supradicta in integrum ponimus.123
(We grant in full and firmly concede all the things named above to the said monas-
tery, and we place all the above completely under the authority of the abbess of the
place and her nuns who might serve God and persevere in the holy life and strive
in combat for the Lord, both from our own possessions as from those of others.)
No monastic rule is referred to, nor is St Benedict a reference point for the
nuns. But the endowers establish that the abbess will be chosen by them, by
their lineage, ‘genere nostro’, with ‘consilio episcopi’; therefore they would
121
Duro Peña, ‘El monasterio de Ramiranes’, p. 32.
122
Fernández Fernández, O mosteiro feminino de San Miguel de Bóveda na Idade Media.
doc. 1, pp. 119–21.
123
Fernández Fernández, O mosteiro feminino de San Miguel de Bóveda na Idade Media,
doc. 2, p. 123.
control the abbess elections which would choose a person from their family.
Bóveda would become, too, the reference point for their heirs, who would take
it as their burial place:124
Filii nostri et filie nostre et omne genus nostrum qui ipsum monasterium heredi-
tauerint uel corpora sua ibi sepelierent nostris benedictionibus repleantur et eterna
hereditate que ualde necessaria et in celo hereditentur.125
(Our sons and our daughters and all our kind who might inherit this monastery or
whose bodies might be buried there may be filled with our blessings and in eternal
inheritance inherit in heaven all those things that are really necessary.)
Bóveda does not seem to have been different from the other aristocratic
‘family’ monasteries mentioned above. Even the ‘heirs’ to the monastery are
referred to,126 and its owners belong to the Galician aristocracy.127 Later on, it
was placed, no doubt, under the Benedictine Rule, but in the twelfth century
there is no reference attesting to it. However, its female character is certainly
evident. In the fifteenth century, it was annexed to the Cistercian community
of San Clodio.
The third example is the monastery of San Salvador de Ferreira de Pantón.128
As it happened with San Miguel de Bóveda, the documentary mentions come
from the reign of Urraca (1109–26) and refer to the powerful Galician aristoc-
racy. It was located in what is today the province of Lugo; and, as is reflected in
the epigraphic and artistic sources, San Salvador had had monastic life before
that time, so that it can be dated back to the central years of the eleventh cen-
124
Fernando Oduáriz was buried there in 1169. He was Gudina Oduáriz’s brother. His
tombstone has been studied by Vázquez-Monxardín, ‘Aportación á historia do convento de
San Miguel de Bóveda’. It is also recorded by Fernández Fernández, O mosteiro feminino de San
Miguel de Bóveda, pp. 28–29.
125
Fernández Fernández, O mosteiro feminino de San Miguel de Bóveda, p. 123.
126
‘Un monasterio familiar de herederos’ (a hereditary ‘family’ monastery), says Duro
Peña, ‘El monasterio de San Miguel de Bóveda’, p. 109.
127
Their belonging to the house of Traba is dealt with in López San Gil, La nobleza
altomedieval gallega, p. 55. On the relations between the monastery of Bóveda and that of
Nogales (in León), founded by Vela Gutiérrez and Sancha Ponce, see Cavero Domínguez, ‘La
condesa Sancha Ponce y el monasterio de Nogales’. In the case of Nogales there is a precise
reference to St Benedict’s Rule.
128
Cf. Enríquez Rodríguez, ‘Real Monasterio de Santa María de Ferreira de Pantón’; and
Fernández de Viana y Vieites, Colección diplomática del monasterio de Santa María de Ferreira
de Pantón.
tury at the latest.129 Its description as a ‘family’ monastery is clear in the twelfth-
century documentation, in which the existence of several heirs is registered.
In 1108 the monastery was governed by Abbess Jimena;130 and, in 1117,
Count Fernán Fernández and his wife, Infanta Elvira, Alfonso VI’s daughter,
donated the fourth part of this monastery, with its properties, to the powerful
abbey of Cluny. The donation, which was only a partial one, does not seem to
have been successful, as in 1125 the portion of the monastery donated to Cluny
did not belong to the French monastery any more. 131
In 1129 the monastery accepted a sale from Infanta Sancha Enríquez and
her husband Sancho Núñez, together with Mendo Núñez, which attests to the
dynamics of the monastery, now run by Abbess Marina. From that moment until
1175 there is no documentation for this monastery. But in this year Countess
Fronilde Fernández was the head of the monastery, ‘quam ego [Fronilde her-
self ] habui ab auis, et astatuis meis’.132 She opted for the Cistercian monastic
renovation, being dependent on the male monastery of Meira:
Concedo […] illis Monialibus, quae in Religione sancta vouerint perseuerare, iuxta
consuetudinem Cisterciensium Monachorum, per manum Abbatis, vocati Vitalis
de Meyra et conuentus sui,133
(I grant […] to those nuns who might vow to persevere in holy religion according
to the custom of the Cistercian monks, under the authority of the abbot called
Vitalis de Meyra and his community,) in agreement with Juan, the bishop of Lugo.
Countess Fronilde added other heirs’ rights,134 and, with royal support, trans-
formed this monastery of San Salvador de Ferreira.135
129
According to its editor, the first diploma in the Ferreira collection is a document from
962 (?), which has been considered a forgery by several authors and which also presents several
other problems. See Fernández de Viana, Colección diplomática del monasterio de Santa María
de Ferreira de Pantón, doc. 1, p. 19; and the comments in Moure Pena, El monasterio femenino
de Ferreira, pp. 21–23.
130
Cf. Fernández de Viana, Colección diplomática, doc. 5, pp. 22–23.
131
Cf. Bishko, ‘The Cluniac Priories of Galicia and Portugal’. See also this author’s later
work, Spanish and Portuguese Monastic History, 600–1300.
132
Fernández de Viana, Colección diplomática, doc. 7, p. 24.
133
Fernández de Viana, Colección diplomática, doc. 7, p. 24. See also the interesting
comments by Reglero de la Fuente, Cluny en España, p. 174, and Reglero de la Fuente, El
monasterio de San Isidro de Dueñas en la Edad Media, doc. 66, pp. 170–71.
134
Fernández de Viana, Colección diplomática, doc. 9 (dated 1182), p. 26: Doña Elvira donates
to Countess Fronilde her patronage rights over the monastery of Ferreira ‘iure fundationis’.
135
Fernández de Viana, Colección diplomática, doc. 8, p. 25. It is a diploma issued by
Following Father Risco (a well-known eighteenth-century historian), Teresa

Claudia Moure Pena comments that the monastery of Sobrado de Trives, gov-
erned by Abbess María Sánchez, was annexed to Ferreira;136 and another foun-
dation, Santa María de Moreira, was also placed under the abbot of Meira’s
obedience.137
But, as discussed above, the transfer of the monastery did not mean that
the owner aristocracy gave up their rights for nothing. On the contrary, they
expected to go on controlling the convent. At Ferreira, Guiomar Rodríguez,
Countess Fronilde’s daughter, ratified her mother’s stipulations in 1196 as
she confirmed its transfer to the Cistercian Order.138 The strong control that
the owner aristocracy was determined to maintain over nuns can be detected
throughout the thirteenth century. By then, however, ‘family’ monasteries were
not viable.
Thus, in the north-western part of the Iberian Peninsula, the monasteries of
San Pedro de Ramirás, San Miguel de Bóveda, and San Salvador-Santa María
de Ferreira de Pantón underwent an evolving process, slow but unstoppable,
from the basis of the traditional ‘family’ and double monasticism towards
the ‘Benedictinization’ which was progressing through either the traditional
Cassino model or the reformed, whether Cluniac or Cistercian. All this hap-
pened throughout the twelfth century.
The initial familial origins of Galician female monasticism persisted, as
shown in the examples presented above, until late eleventh or early twelfth
century, holding on tight to practices which, by then, had already disappeared
in lands further east, and in the centre of Castile and León. When the female
Cistercians established themselves in Galicia, as well as in El Bierzo in the pre-
sent province of León, it was clearly done with dependence on male monas-
ticism and with no reference whatsoever to pre-eminent nunneries like that
of Las Huelgas in Burgos. In the case of Ferreira de Pantón, it was under the
obedience of the male abbey of Meira, whose abbot’s name is specifically men-
tioned.139
Fernando II and dated 1180.

136
Moure Pena, El monasterio femenino de Ferreira, p. 33.
137
Cavero Domínguez, ‘El Císter femenino en el reino de León’, p. 85. It was founded by
Countess Sancha, a daughter of Álvaro Rodríguez and Infanta Sancha, count and countess of
Sarria and also founders of the monastery of Santa María de Meira.
138
Fernández de Viana, Colección diplomática, doc. 10, p. 26.
139
Cavero Domínguez, ‘El Císter femenino en el reino de León’, p. 92.
The transformation of the Galician monasteries was orientated to the origi-

nal, though late, Benedictine system, as shown in the cases of Ramirás and San
Miguel de Bóveda. In the former, the presence of dominae/onas granted a pre-
eminent role to women in the process of transformation, which, likewise, seems
to have been rather slow. The managerial power, however, moved away from the
familial model — that is, from the pressure of aristocratic owners.
Conclusions
Regional differences are detected in the north of the Iberian Peninsula. These
were marked by the more rapid ‘Benedictinization’ process in the east (Aragon
and Catalonia) than in the west (Galicia) and the centre (León and Castile),
where the Cassino rule spread more slowly. Benedict of Aniane’s presence in
Catalonia was the initial instigator of this early dissemination. But let us high-
light the presence of Benedictine female regulations in Castile, the Libellus a
Regula Sancti Benedicti subtractus, which dates from the tenth century, though
it seems to be an isolated case.
There was an evolving process in the transformation of monastic family insti-
tutions towards Benedictine monasticism, which shows its own timeline. Three
stages can be differentiated. The first lasted until the central years of the eleventh
century. ‘Family’ monasticism was remarkable in this phase. A second period,
which shows the Benedictine transformation process more clearly, corresponds
to the last third of the eleventh century. In the areas of Castile and León, it
covers the last part of Fernando I’s reign and the first part of Alfonso VI’s. A
‘Benedictinization’ process began during this period, and it was frequently a
Cluniac one. Finally, the third stage leads us to a transformation which, besides
being Benedictine, was orientated to the Cistercian reform, in the latest part of
the twelfth century and well beyond the turning of the thirteenth century.
As far as creation, organization, and transformation are concerned, female
monasticism owes a lot to dominae coming from the royalty, noble institu-
tions, and regional aristocracies. Both the royalty and the nobility founded,
endowed, and maintained monasteries where noblewomen entered and lived.
These women had been widows, repudiated, and those who were not meant to
marry. They could enter and live in the cloisters, though in many cases they did
not live following a monastic rule. Monasteries depending on Infantados or
heading them and those that were ‘family’ institutions maintained their mem-
ory of their lineage through their dominae.
Finally, the great reforms of the eleventh and twelfth centuries were the key
to this process of transformation. It was relevant to this process that important
councils were held at this time — Coyanza (1055) and Compostela (1056).
The implementation of the Gregorian Reform in Spain was also quite signifi-
cant. All of these reforms led to the protection of Church properties that were
in lay hands and to the independence of monasteries, which seem to have been
trying to break away from lay aristocratic owners and define and protect their
land properties.
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Cistercian Nuns in Northern Italy:
Variety of Foundations and
Construction of an Identity
Guido Cariboni
Introduction
In the last two decades research into female Cistercian monasticism in Italy,
and particularly in northern Italy, has undergone certain developments.1
Representative of these are the pioneering essay by Valeria Polonio, ‘Un’età d’oro
della spiritualità femminile a Genova: devozione laica e monachesimo cister-
cense nel Duecento’; the volume Monasteria Nova, centred on the c oenobites
of Liguria;2 the conference held in Rifreddo di Saluzzo;3 and the recent treatise
by Cristina Sereno, Il monastero cistercense femminile di S. Michele d’Ivrea. The
proliferation of such studies, many of which are built on a solid documentary
base, now allows us to attempt to trace a more general picture of the phenom-
enon, beginning with a comparative analysis.
In her appendix to Louis Lekai’s I cistercensi: ideali e realtà, Laura Del Pra
identifies fifty-eight Cistercian convents in northern Italy up to the end of
the thirteenth century: fifteen in Piedmont, eleven in Lombardy, fourteen in
Liguria, nine in Veneto, and nine in Emilia Romagna.4 Although useful, her
1
The newest report on the bibliography of female Cistercian monasticism is in Felten,
‘Abwehr, Zuneigung, Pflichtgefühl’.
2
Bozzo Dufour and Dagnino, Monasteria Nova.
3
Comba, Il monastero di Rifreddo.
4
Del Pra, ‘Repertorio delle abbazie cistercensi in Italia’.
Guido Cariboni ([email protected]) is assistant professor at the Università Cattolica

del Sacro Cuore in Milan.
54 Guido Cariboni
work, in light of archival research, is limited, particularly with regard to the

dates of foundation and incorporation.
In this essay I do not intend to present a complete review of all the female
monasteries that were connected in some way to the White Nuns in the area
I am considerating. I will, rather, concentrate on two problematic reference
points: the moment of foundation or incorporation of the groups of nuns into
the Order; and the gradual construction of a Cistercian community identity.
The geographical area considered includes the current regions of Liguria,
Piedmont, Lombardy, and Emilia, for which the studies and editions of sources
are richer and on which I have conducted direct archival research (especially on
Lombardy and Emilia).5 However, I will also refer sporadically to particularly
interesting cases in Veneto and Tuscany.
Foundation or Incorporation
Female Cistercian monasticism in northern Italy is mainly a phenomenon of
the thirteenth century. Sporadic examples can perhaps be found even during
the twelfth century, but they should be carefully analysed case by case.6
The debate on the precise nature of a Cistercian monastery is closely tied to
its moment of foundation or, rather, at what level and with what characteristics
a community could define itself as fully integrated into the structure of the
Order, particularly if an already-founded monastery was the object of a gradual
annexation process — something often never fully completed.
Those monasteries that were part of the Order from their foundation con-
stitute a rather small part of the total number. Among these are the Piacentine
abbeys of Sta Maria del Terzo Passo, Sta Maria di Nazareth, and Sta Maria di
Galilea, as well as Sta Maria del Monte Oliveto near Castellarquato.7 To this
must be added Pogliola, in the diocese of Asti, in south-western Piedmont, first
a priory and then an abbey, founded between 1176 and 1180 by the noble fam-
5
Cariboni, ‘Comunità religiose femminili legate ai Cistercensi a Piacenza’; Cariboni, ‘Il
monachesimo cistercense femminile in Lombardia ed Emilia’; Cariboni, ‘Il monachesimo fem
minile cistercense’.
6
Chiappa Mauri, ‘Sulle tracce del “nuovo” monachesimo’; Merati, ‘Una precoce esperienza
cistercense femminile’. I have clarified some of the conclusions of these studies in Cariboni, ‘Il
monachesimo femminile cistercense’, pp. 68–69.
7
Cariboni ‘Comunità religiose femminili’; see also Nasalli Rocca, ‘I monasteri cistercensi
femminili di Piacenza’. On Sta Maria del Monte Oliveto, see also Evangelista, ‘Indirizzi econo
mici del monastero di Sta Maria del Monte Oliveto’.
Cistercian Nuns in Northern Italy 55
ily of the da Morozzo.8 There are also St Stefano di Millesimo, originating in

1216 in the diocese of Alba, thanks to the intervention of the marquises of
Carretto (a branch of the Aleramici family);9 and Sta Maria di Valle Christi,
founded in 1204 by Otto, archbishop of Genoa, thanks to the donation of a
fundus in the parish church of Rapallo by two noblewomen, Tiba and Antilia
de Mari, for the construction of a Cistercian church.10
The fortunes of the Piacentine monastery of Terzo Passo were exemplary.
Its foundation was promoted by a group of families headed by the Viscontis of
Piacenza and including exponents of the Gnachi de Fontana family, major vas-
sals of the bishop, and of the de Tuna family, also members of the vassal order.
All clans supported the societas militum, the noble party.
If between 1214 and 1218 these clans offered the founding endowment
indispensable for the birth of the monastery, the key role in its genesis was
played by Baiamonte, the abbot of Chiaravalle della Colomba, also of the
Visconti family, who presided at all the acts of donation in favour of the newly
created community of nuns of Cîteaux. Baiamonte was a prominent person in
Piacentine ecclesiastical circles between the twelfth and thirteenth centuries,11
and held positions of importance for the Roman Church in the areas of reform
and of the correction of the regular bodies. Religious motivations and institu-
tional expediency therefore mingled with family strategies. Before 1214 the
abbot of La Colomba had already had direct experience of Cistercian female
monasticism. His monastery was, in fact, for some years the mother abbey
of two of the first communities of Cistercian nuns in Liguria, St Spirito di
Bisagno near Genoa and Sta Maria di Latronolio in Varazze.12 Here Baiamonte
conducted periodic visits and corrections, even intervening in abbey elections.
The initial Piacentine community developed around the charismatic figure
of Franca, abbess of the episcopal monastery of St Siro of Piacenza, who also
belonged to the Vitaltas, a family affiliated with the societas militum.13 The first
8
Grillo, ‘Il monastero di Pogliola nella concorrenza’.
9
Polonio, ‘I Cistercensi in Liguria’, pp. 44–47.
10
Polonio, ‘Un’età d’oro della spiritualità femminile’, pp. 328–29; ‘I Cistercensi in Liguria’,
pp. 161–66.
11
Rapetti, La formazione di una comunità cistercense, pp. 97–101.
12
For St Spirito di Bisagno, see Ughelli, Italia sacra, iv (1719), col. 374. 10 January 1217,
Ex parte priorisse (Potth. --), in Regesta Honorii papae III, ed. by Pressutti, i, 41, n. 222; 20
March 1224, Ex parte priorisse, in Regesta Honorii papae III, ed. by Pressutti, ii, 228, n. 4879.
13
Bruschi, ‘Franca da Vitalta’, pp. 588–90.
56 Guido Cariboni
group of nuns was composed of the faithful of noble Piacentine lineage, among
which, naturally, that of the benefactors took the lead.
Some years later Abbot Baiamonte was even more decisive than in the case
of the Terzo Passo in the creation of a second abbey, that of Monte Oliveto in
Castellarquato.14 In a papal letter of 1233 he was, in fact, defined as founder of
the monastery, fundator monasterii.15
These two Piacentine monasteries were without doubt exceptions in north-
ern Italy. In fact, incorporations into the order of already-consolidated com-
munities were much more numerous. These were almost always domus, isolated
and disconnected from traditional monasticism, and, at least apparently, with-
out a precise established regulatory path. To quote Kaspar Elm, we could define
these as ‘semi-religious’ communities.16 These groups of penitential stamp —
often in cooperation with the male element, and also with charitable purposes
— managed to survive and even prosper without particular difficulty in the
ecclesiastical structure, which was almost always under episcopal protection.
They offered a response to the demand for religious life, both because many of
the faithful were substantially denied access to a traditional order, and because
the monastic model, even reformed, no longer seemed to satisfy the spiritual
aspirations emerging in society after the reforms of the eleventh century.
For Piedmont it shall suffice to mention the conversae et rendute of Sta
Maddalena del Ponte near Biella, subject to the bishop of Vercelli;17 the hospi-
tal of St Spirito of Vercelli, guided by a magistra and whose sorores were called de
Caritate;18 the hospital of St Spirito of Asti;19 Sta Maria di Fonte Stivolato, in the
territory of the village of Chieri;20 and Sta Maria di Latronolio, in the diocese of
Acqui.21 For Lombardy, there is St Cristoforo and Sta Maria in Pertica, in Pavia;22
14
Cariboni, ‘Il monachesimo cistercense femminile in Lombardia ed Emilia’, pp. 42–43.
15
4 June 1233, Dilecte in Christo (Potth. --); Parma, Archivio di Stato di Parma, Archivio
Diplomatico, Atti Pontifici, cass. 5, n. 82.
16
Elm, ‘Die Stellung der Frau im Ordenswesen’; Elm, ‘Vita regularis sine regula’; Wehrli-
Johns, ‘Voraussetzungen und Perspektiven’.
17
Sereno, Il monastero cistercense femminile di S. Michele d’Ivrea, pp. 48–50.
18
Ferraris, ‘I fratres et sorores de Karitate’.
19
Sereno, Il monastero cistercense femminile di S. Michele d’Ivrea, pp. 60, 83–84; Bordone,
‘St Spirito e Sta Anna’, pp. 157–63; Goria, ‘Un fondo archivistico inesplorato’.
20
Vai, ‘Le dipendenze femminili’, pp. 107–12.
21
Bozzo Dufour and Dagnino, Monasteria Nova, pp. 244–48.
22
Cariboni, ‘Il monachesimo cistercense femminile in Lombardia ed Emilia’, pp. 45–47,
51, 54–55.
Sta Maria del Boschetto, in Cremona;23 Sta Maria di Riolo, near Lodi;24 and St
Vittorello all’Olmo, of Milan.25
The incorporation of these domus, not always successful, is part of the tor-
tuous process of regulation of religious life, especially female, which without
doubt registered a strong impulse in the early decades of the thirteenth century,
in particular with canon 13 of the Fourth Lateran Council: Ne nimia religio-
num diversitas.26 This development only accentuated a trend already present in
the previous century, when the regulatory texts — in particular, the rules —
were increasingly considered to found religious life juridically,27 to the extent
that in the papal privileges the clause of regularity was gradually introduced.28
For female communities, moreover, an element of vital importance, besides
the regular path, was being able to count on the periodic visit and, in particu-
lar, on the pastoral and often material care of the brothers, whether these be
monks, canons, or friars, into whose order the sorores had been incorporated
or, as more often happened, attempted to be incorporated. In northern Italy,
besides the Cistercians, the ordo Sancti Damiani (that is, the future Clarisses),29
the Humiliati,30 the Order of the canons of St Mark of Mantua,31 and, to a
lesser degree, also the Dominicans,32 were involved in this process of institu-
tionalization. However, without doubt the Order of Cîteaux represented the
most important outlet for these still not fully regularized communities.
23
Filippini, ‘Gli ordini religiosi tra vita ecclesiastica e impegno caritativo’, p. 179.
24
8 June 1245, Ex parte dilectarum (Potth. --); Milano, Archivio di stato di Milano, Perga
mente per fondi, cart. 145.
25
Alberzoni, Francescanesimo a Milano, p. 26; Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by
Canivez, ii, 366, n. 32.
26
Constitutiones Concilii quarti Lateranensis, ed. by Garcia y Garcia, p. 62. On this canon,
see Maccarrone, ‘Le costituzioni del IV concilio lateranense’, pp. 36–45; Alberzoni, ‘I nuovi
ordini, il IV concilio lateranense’, pp. 75–89; Alberzoni, ‘Curia romana e regolamentazione
delle damianite’, pp. 507–11.
27
See, for example, canon 26 of the Second Lateran Council: Conciliorum oecumenicorum
decreta, ed. by Alberigo and others, p. 203.
28
Dubois, ‘Les Ordres religieux au xiie siècle’; Maccarrone, ‘Primato romano e monasteri’,
pp. 853–60; Melville, ‘Zum Recht der Religiosen’, pp. 166–69, 186–87.
29
Alberzoni, ‘L’Ordine di St Damiano in Lombardia’.
30
Alberzoni, ‘“Sub eadem clausura sequestrati”’; Andrews, The Early Humiliati, pp. 150–52,
160–62.
31
Rigon, ‘Penitenti e laici devoti’.
32
Meersseman, ‘La Bienheureuse Emile Bicchieri’.
58 Guido Cariboni
In some cases the mulieres religiose settled in monasteries of ancient tradition,

taking the place of a morally or economically impoverished Benedictine com-
munity. The results of the history of the Cremonese monastery of St Giovanni
della Pipia are emblematic. The house, founded in 1079 by Bernardo, count
of Sospiro, and his wife Berta, was donated to the Patrimonium Sancti Petri.33
Around the 1230s the Cremonese Benedictines fell into serious material and
spiritual crisis. The monastery was described as ‘in spiritualibus erat enormiter
deformatum’ (outrageously deformed in spiritual matters) to the extent that
‘quedam ipsarum [monialium] que credebantur virgines matres essent’ (certain
of the same nuns who are held to be virgins may be mothers). The news induced
Pope Gregory IX to intervene resolutely, the more so because St Giovanni della
Pipia, although not exempt, belonged to the Holy See. Before July 1235, the
pope entrusted the correction of the nuns to some exponents of the Order of
the Dominicans, who had established themselves in the city only a few years
earlier. However, the initiative was unsuccessful, and the Roman Church then
entrusted the reform directly to Stephen, called Hispanus, the provincial prior
of the Dominicans in Lombardy. Stephen was a prominent figure in the Order;
intimate friend of Dominic, he had been nominated as provincial prior, suc-
ceeding Jordan of Saxony, and, in this role, had conducted important missions
on behalf of the Holy See, acquiring a certain experience regarding female reg-
ular life. In the summer of 1235 he visited Pipia personally and interrogated
the nuns. Having communicated the results of the investigation to Rome, on
28 September of the same year the provincial prior received orders to proceed
without delay with the reform of the institution, involving, if he thought neces-
sary, even the secular branch. Since there was no possibility of the monastery
being reformed while remaining within the Benedictine religio, on the instruc-
tions of the pope the institution was enrolled in the Order of Cîteaux.34 On 18
33
Andenna, ‘Le istituzioni ecclesiastiche’, pp. 46–47.
34
The reconstruction of this affair is possible thanks to a letter of Gregory IX: ‘Gregorius
episcopus servus servorum Dei, dilecto filio […] priori provinciali fratrum Predicatorum in
Lombardia, salutem et apostolicam benedictionem. Olim miserabili statu monasterii Sancti
Iohanns de Pipia Cremonensis diocesis intellecto, correctionem et reformationem ipsius primo
quibusdam fratribus tui ordinis ac demum, eis non proficientibus, tam correptionem eandem
quam transationem ipsius faciendam in Cisterciensem ordinem tibi, si bene meminimus,
duxerimus comitendam. Tu vero in executione mandati procedens, prout ex litteris tuis
accepimus, recepisti a singulis eiusdem monasterii monialibus de veritate dicenda corporaliter
iuramentum, et quamquam per assertionem ipsarum nichil de nefandis earum actis penitus
invenisses, cum ea etiam que manifesta erant et publica negavissent, presertim cum ante paucos
dies quedam ipsarum que credebantur virgines matres essent, earum tantum infamiam fama
March 1236, the provincial prior, ‘delegatus a domino papa super monasterio
Sancti Iohannis de Pipia transferendo et mutando in ordinem Cisterciensem’
(delegated by the Lord Pope to transfer and bring the monastery of St John
of Pipia into the Cistercian Order), having sent away the original inhabitants,
introduced the ‘conventus et fraternitas Sancte Marie de Buschetto’, an aggre-
gation of mulieres religiose who had previously led a penitential life without
following a precise rule. The fraternitas was regularized at the same time as the
transfer. The passage of the community of Boschetto to the new residence was
made official by a certified act. In fact, on behalf of the Holy See, owner of
the building and of the wealth connected to it, Stephen gave the monastery
of St John in concession, with all its spiritual and temporal goods, to Castella,
already the superior of the penitential community and now the abbess. She
received this wealth not only in the name of her community but also in the
name of the Order of Cîteaux.35
publica manifestat. Ne igitur dicte moniales in multorum scandalum cumputrescant in suis

sordibus ut iumenta, discretioni tue per apostolica scripta mandamus quatinus omni dilatione
ac excusatione cessantibus, in executione mandati nostri procedas iuxta traditam tibi formam;
invocato ad hoc, si opus fuerit, auxilio brachii secularis. Datum Asisii IIII kalendas octubris
pontificatus nostri anno nono’; 28 September 1235, Olim miserabili statu (Potth --), Milano,
Archivio di Stato di Milano, Pergamene per fondi, cart. 172.
35
‘Frater Stephanus prior provincialis omnium fratrum Predicatorum in Lombardia
delegatus a domino papa super monasterio Sancti Iohannis de Pipia transferendo et mutando in
ordinem Cisterciensem sicut continetur in literis domini pape bullis domini pape signatis atque
bullati et a me visis et lectis, tenores quarum tales sunt […]. Qua propter suprascriptus frater
Stephanus, prior provincialis omnium Predicatorum in Lombardia, delegatus a domino papa
auctoritate suprascripti domini pape qua fungebatur, induxit dominam Castellam abatissam
monasterii Sancte Marie de Buschetto Cremonensis diocesis et Beatricem, Patientiam,
Pacem, Imildam, Olivam, Offrasiam, Umilitatem, Agnetem, Imildam de Vedexeto, Iacopam,
Rambertam, Benedictam, Iacopam, Mariam, Citiliam, Richam, Mariam, Ioanam alteram et
Berta, sorores suprascripti monasterii Sancte Marie de Boscetto in monasterium Sancti Iohannis
de Pipia et tradidit et dedit eis dictum monasterium Sancti Iohannis de Pipia cum rebus et
possessionibus suis tam temporalibus quam spiritualibus ubicumque sint et reperiantur esset
ad dictum monasterium pertinere sive sint reales sive personales, et de eis rebus spiritualibus et
temporalibus datum fecit eisdem mulieribus recipientibus nomine suprascripti monasterii et
ordinis. […] Et insuper suprascriptus frater Stephanus prior provincialis, auctoritate suprascripti
domini pape qua in hac parte fungebatur, dedit cessit atque mandavit suprascriptis mulieribus
stipulantibus nomine monasterii suprascripti et ordinis omnia iura omnesque acciones seu
raciones et defenciones et exceptiones reales et personales, utiles et directas civiles et naturales
que et quas ipse prior provincialis attoritatec domini pape habebat vel sibi competebant in dicto
monasterio Sancti Iohannis de Pipia et in rebus spiritualibus et temporalibus et in domibus et
possessionibus et fictis et decimis. […] Et ita posuit eam abatisam in tenutam et corporalem
60 Guido Cariboni
Gregory IX confirmed the work of his representative. This passage allowed

the monastery to make rapid and clear spiritual and material progress so that,
as can be seen from the papal letter dated 2 June 1236, ‘It happened that, with
the favour of divine Grace, having uprooted the useless plants, and planted
perfumed plants rich with fruit, where before eight nuns lived in poverty now
fifty live praising God in very sweet perfume’.36 In this way the Roman Church
attained two objectives: in the first place, a monastery of the patrimonium
Sancti Petri, which otherwise would have been lost, submerged in debt and
scandals, was recovered and relaunched; in the second place, a flourishing but
originally canonically unorganized community was valorized. To reinforce the
measure even further, on 25 June 1238 the pope took St Giovanni della Pipia
under apostolic protection and granted the nuns the privilegium, Religiosam
possesionem de suprascriptis rebus etiam per funem campane qui est in capitulo suprascripti
monasterii nomine et vice suprascripti monasterii et ordinis Cisterciensis auctoritate
suprascripti domini pape qua super predictis fungebatur’, 18 March 1236, Milano, Archivio di
Stato di Milano, Pergamene per fondi, cart. 172.
36
‘Gregorius episcopus servus servorum Dei, dilectis in Christo filiabus .. abbatissae et
monialibus monasterii Sancti Iohannis de Pipia Cremonensis, Cisterciensis ordinis, salutem et
apostolicam benedictionem. Quoniam scriptum est omnis plantatio quam non plantavit pater
celestis eradicabitur et labores impiorum iusti edent, mutationem dextre excelsi que ad laudem et
gloriam Dei animarumque salutem in monasterio vestro auctoritate nostra facta dinoscitur solita
volumus sicut et tenemur prosequi pietate. Sane visitatione dicti monasterii quod maxime in
spiritualibus erat enormiter deformatum dilecto filio fratri Stephano, priori fratrum Predicatorum
in Lombardia, a nobis sub certa forma commissa, idem mandati nostri fines diligenter observans,
cum nulla spes superesset quod in suo posset ordine reformari, monialibus in eo degentibus inde
remotis, vos prius in loco nimis ineptus, videlicet in monasterio Boscellic, Cremonensis diocesis,
et in summa positas egestate, de illo ad istum auctoritate apostolica transferens eis substituere
procuravit, pluribus ex prioribus monialibus habitum et ordinem vestrum sumentibus, quibusdam
vero nec hec facere nec in aliis monasteriis sui ordinis volentibus collocari, iamque factum est
gratia cooperante divina quod evulsis plantis inutilibus et fructuosis ac odoriferis consitis, ubi
prius octo moniales in paupertate et in miseria vivere consueverant nunc quinquaginta fere
habitare noscuntur in suavissimum odorem domino iugiter iubilantes. Nos vero novellam
plantationem eiusdem monasterii rore apostolice gratie irrigare volentes ut cum animarum
salute flores et fructus valeat sicut fiduciam certam habemus producere honestatis, vestris devotis
supplicationibus inclinati quod laudabiliter et pie factum est in hac parte, auctoritate apostolica
confirmamus et presentis scripti patrocinio comunimus. Nulli ergo omnino hominum licet hanc
paginam nostre confirmationis infrangere vel ei ausu temerario contraire. Si quis autem hoc
aptentare presumpserit indignationem omnipotentis Dei et beatorum Petri et Pauli apostolorum
eius se noverit incursurum. Datum Interamne IV nonas iunii anno decimo’; 2 June 1236, Quoniam
scriptum est (Potth. --), Milano, Archivio di Stato di Milano, Museo diplomatico, cart. 20, n. 547;
Città del Vaticano, Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Registri vaticani, 18, fol. 159v, n. 96.
vitam eligentibus, reserved for female Cistercian monasteries.37 Only in May

1245, nearly a decade from its entry into the congregation, Innocent IV,
from Lyons, instructed the abbot of Colomba to visit the nuns of Pipia, who
‘ardently desired to be placed under the guardianship’ of the male monastery of
Piacenza.38 The choice fell on the monks of Chiaravalle, for their experience in
the direction of female communities but also for the network of relations and
contacts which tied them with Cremona.39
Various points common to incorporation processes can be found in this
reform iter.40 In the first place, the Roman Church played a leading role in the
reform, indicating the Cistercian solution among various possible options,
probably following a survey of the territory; second, the monastery of St
Giovanni belonged to the Patrimonium Sancti Petri, as did the other ecclesiae
with female members which later entered in the circle of the White Monks,
such as Sta Maria di Rifreddo in Saluzzese,41 St Pietro di Vesima, St Spirito di
Bisagno, Sta Maria della Vesola, St Sepolcro di Sanpierdarena, and Sta Maria di
Latronolio, all in Liguria;42 third, the normal incorporation practice — that is,
a petitio sent to the General Chapter of Cîteaux by the promoter of the institu-
tion — was not followed. In Lombardy this long and costly iter was followed
for only three monasteries: Sta Maria Nova of Modena in 1250;43 in 1251, the
Milanese community of St Vittore all’Olmo;44 and the abbey of Sta Maria del
Monte Oliveto near Castell’Arquato in the diocese of Piacenza.45 The balance
37
25 June 1238, Religiosam vitam eligentibus (Potth. --), Milano, Archivio di Stato di
Milano, Bolle e brevi, cart. 7, n. 55.
38
4 May 1245, Vota devotorum ecclesie (Potth. –), Milano, Archivio di Stato di Milano,
Pergamene per fondi, cart. 172.
39
Rapetti, La formazione di una comunità cistercense, pp. 103–04.
40
On the processes of incorporation, see also Burton, ‘Moniales and Ordo Cisterciensis’.
41
Grillo, ‘Desiderio di autonomia e ricerche di protezione’, pp. 60–65.
42
Le Liber censuum de l’Eglise romaine, ed. by Fabre, Duchesne, and Mollat, i, 75–77.
43
‘Inspectio abbatiae monialium Sancte Mariae Novae Mutinensis diocesis quam petit
incorporari Ordini venerabilis pater episcopus sabinensis, de Locedio et de Fontevivo abbatibus
committitur in plenaria Ordinis potestate qui ad locum etc. Abbas de Locedio hoc collegae suo
denuntiet’; Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez, ii, 353–54.
44
‘Conceditur a Capitulo generali abbati de Morimundi in Lombardia ut abbatiam
monialium Sancti Victoris ad Ulmum Mediolanansis diocesis, pro qua scribit dominus Papa
Capitulo generali, sicut hactenus visitavit deinceps visitet auctoritate Capituli generalis’;
Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez, ii, 366, n. 32.
45
Cariboni, ‘Il monachesimo cistercense femminile in Lombardia ed Emilia’, pp. 55–56, n. 3.
62 Guido Cariboni
is no more reassuring for other regions of northern Italy. In Liguria two incor-
porations were conceded by the General Chapter: Sta Maria della Vesola46 and
St Sepolcro di Sanpierdarena in 1236;47 there was one incorporation in Veneto:
Sta Maria alla Piana, in the diocese of Treviso in 1230;48 there were no incorpo-
rations in Piedmont.
Instead, St Giovanni della Pipia could take advantage of two elements
which in northern Italy seemed to qualify the juridical annexing to the Order
of Cîteaux of the majority of the female monasteries: the privilegia and the lit-
tere cum sericeo conceded to the Holy See and in which the appurtenance to the
Cisterciensis ordo was clearly indicated; and the officium visitationis of a father
abbot.
In some cases, the incorporation process was interrupted or remained incom-
plete even for decades. The vicissitudes of the community of St Cristoforo of
Pavia, closely tied to Folco Scotti, first bishop-elect of Piacenza from 1210 to
1216 and later bishop of Pavia until 1229, are emblematic.49 Sensitive to the
problems of religious life, Folco had witnessed the birth of the first Piacentine
Cistercian monasteries, and thus their initial developments, and so was able to
discern their potential. In 1218, relying on these experiences, Scotti introduced
the Cistercian institutions in Pavia as well, in a young and prosperous commu-
nity of mulieres religiose established not far from the city walls at an episcopal
church, St Cristoforo. At the beginning of the 1200s these nuns, defined as
capuçinne in the private documentation of the period, had started up a frater-
nitas, leading a penitential life without, however, following an approved rule.
Following their regularization a hybrid institutional formula was created; that
is, the monastery followed the Cistercian institutions, it was incorporated into
46
‘Abbatia monialium de Vesola, pro qua scripsit dominus Papa, ob reverentiam ipsius
in societatem ordinis suscipitur, definitione tamen contra quam fieri videtur, in suo robore
permanente’; Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez, ii, 87, n. 18.
47
‘Mandatum domini papae de abbatia monialium monasteri Dominici Sepulcri, in loco
Sancti Patride arena Ianuensis diocesis nostro Ordini socianda, et sit filia domus Cistercii,
exauditur, et inspectio locis illius committitur de Tillieto et Ripalta abbatibus, qui ad domum
illam personaliter accedant, et faciant secundum formam ordinis quae viderint expedire. Abbas
Locedii hoc eis denuntiet, et quid inde, etc.’; Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez,
ii, 156–57, n. 20.
48
‘De domo Sancte Marie de Plana, de qua incorporanda Ordini dominus papa misit
litteras suas abbati Sane Vallis, pro reverentia domini papae conceditur, ut Ordini incorporetur’;
Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez, ii, 85–86, n.10.
49
Cariboni, ‘Monasteri cistercensi maschili a Pavia’, pp. 386–93.
the order by means of a papal confirmation, but for many decades it was not vis-
ited by the White Monks, remaining for this reason tied to the diocesan appa-
ratus. Fulco did not stop with canonical reorganization. In fact, quite soon he
transferred the community of St Cristoforo to the more suitable church of Iesu
Christi, also in Pavia, which had been, up until a short time before, the seat of
a small Cistercian male community, a daughter of La Ferté. This was a some-
what audacious operation, a veritable expropriation, conducted to the detri-
ment of the Burgundian abbey. The protests of Simon, the abbot of La Ferté,
to the Roman Church in 1227 had no effect. To annul the expropriation, the
abbot raised doubts that the nuns of St Cristoforo belonged to the Cistercian
Order, maintaining that they were still called capuçinne, that is, by the name
that indicated the original semi-religious community. He therefore questioned
their identity.50
The Construction of an Identity

The recourse of the abbot of La Ferté introduces the second point that I intend
to deal with in this essay. Most of the communities incorporated in the Order
of Cîteaux over the thirteenth century can be traced back to experiences often
very distant from the Cistercian world, endowed with a high level of testability
and whose institutional development was almost always guided by contingent
causes not only of a religious but also economic, political, and social nature.
Often these involved a tortuous process with unpredictable results, in which
incorporation into the Order represented just an opportunity, a compromise
which allowed the sorores to enter into a religio approbata and in this way to be
able to enjoy all the advantages from a juridical and pastoral viewpoint.
Therefore, entry among the Cistercians was not a point of arrival for the
nuns, as much as a starting point for the gradual formation of a Cistercian com-
50
‘Gregorius episcopus servus servorum Dei, venerabili fratri episcopo et dilecto filio
archidiacono Vercellensi, salutem et apostolicam benedictionem. Dilecti filii abbas et conventus
de Firmitate, Cisterciensis ordinis, suam ad nos querimoniam destinaverunt quod abbatissa et
conventus de domo Iesu Christi, que Capitine dicitur, Papiensis diocesis eandem domum Iesu
Christi cum pertinenciis suis eorum monasterii de iure spectantem contra iusticiam detinent
occupatam et reddere contradicunt. Ideoque discretioni vestre per apostolica scripta mandamus
quatinus partibus convocatis auditis causam et appellatione remota sine debito terminetis,
facientes quod decreveritis per censuram ecclesiasticam firmiter observari. Testes autem et
çetera. Datum Laterani sexto idus novembris pontificatus nostri anno primo’; 8 November
1227, Dilecti filii abbas (Potth. --), Milano, Archivio di Stato di Milano, Pergamene per fondi,
cart. 632.
64 Guido Cariboni
munity identity.51 This gap, this discrepancy between formal identification and
the identity really perceived and experienced, without doubt represents a seri-
ous problem, so much so that it was emphasized by the General Chapter of
1249: ‘Since the nuns already incorporated in the Order enjoy the privileges
and benefits of the Order itself, it is decent and honest that they conform to the
Cistercians also in their behaviour.’52
Various instruments were employed to gradually elicit a Cistercian aware-
ness in the newly incorporated communities which would differentiate these
nuns from the rest of the regular experiences, yet which was, as far as possible,
in conformity with the statuta. The first instrument was the institution of the
visitatio, typical of Cistercian circles also among male monks. The figure of the
visitor can be found in at least two types of documents. One is the littere cum filo
canapis which the popes, particularly Gregory IX and Innocent IV, sent to male
abbeys, entrusting an abbot with the education in regular discipline of the nuns
just incorporated.53 The second instrument, on the other hand, concerns private
acts, often permutations, acquisitions, and donations, where the visitor flanked
the abbess or prioress to supervise or watch over the juridical negotiation.54
In some cases the nuns themselves complained of the absence of a visitor.
In 1230, for example, the sorores of St Cristoforo were obliged to nominate
magister Bartolomeo of Benevento, canon of the cathedral, as their attorney to
request from the Roman Curia a visitor of the Cistercian Order.55
51
On these problems, see Burton, ‘Constructing a Corporate Identity’; Cariboni, ‘Prob
lemi d’identità’.
52
‘Cum moniales iam Ordini incorporatae privilegiis et aliis beneficiis Ordinis gaudeant,
decens est et honestum ut in iis que secundum Deum et Ordinem fieri possunt, Ordini se
conforment’; Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez, ii, 335, n. 3.
53
See above, nn. 24, 48.
54
See, for example, a donation for the abbey of Millesimo: ‘Quapropter dominus Henricus
marchio sua bona et spontanea voluntate fecit puram et meram inter vivos donationem pro
remedio animae suae et uxoris ejus Agathae, atque parentum, nec non et haeredum suorum
monasterio St Stephani de Millesimo in manibus dominae Vilielmae abbatissae dicti monasterii
atque in manibus domini Bonifacii abbatis Tilieti eiusdem monasterii visitatoris’; Moriondo,
Monumenta Aquensia, ii, col. 652. See also 12 September 1248, in Carte inedite e sparse del
monastero di Tiglieto, ed. by Guasco di Bisio, Gabotto, and Pesce, p. 322, n. 108.
55
‘Domina Ottobona, monasterii Iesu Christi Papiensis diocesis abbatissa, et domina
Benvenuta et domina Valeria, domina Berta, domina Ysaya, domina Maria, domina Otta, item
domina Benvenuta Buffaresta, et domina Bontata monace eiusdem monasterii, nomine et a
parte eiusdem monasterii, magistrum Bertholameum de Benevento, canonicum Papiensem,
constituerunt et fecerunt eorum procuratorem in Romana curia ad impetrandum litteras
Some male monasteries seemed to be more welcoming towards female

communities than others. In particular, for a number of foundations visited,
Sta Croce del Tiglieto and Sta Maria di Lucedio stand out in north-western
Italy and,56 for the Po area, St Pietro in Cerreto in the diocese of Lodi,57 while
Chiaravalle della Colomba took care of female monasteries throughout the
north of the peninsula.58
Perhaps an even more effective propaedeutic tool for the gradual creation
of a Cistercian identity was the shifting, even temporarily, of nuns from one
monastery to another, so that, through example, expert nuns could introduce
neophytes to the customs of daily life and especially to the rituals and liturgies
of the Cistercian Order. In 1216 Enrico and Agata, the marquises of Carretto,
donated St Stefano di Millesimo, the church they themselves founded in
the diocese of Alba, to Petronilla, the abbess of the monastery of Sta Maria
of Betton in Savoia, who sent nuns there to start a community.59 Nuns from
Betton were also present at the monastery of Brione.60 In November 1235,
Gregory IX charged the abbot of St Galgano, visitator of the recently reformed
Tuscan female monastery of Montecelso, to introduce, if necessary, three or
four nuns from other monasteries into that Cistercian community, to facilitate
their learning the customs.61 Perhaps the most explicit example in this sense
seu rescriptam vel rescriptum a summo pontifici super translatione fatienda de suprascripto
monasterio seu premutacione ad ecclesiam predictam Sancti Crispofori et ad petendum
visitatorem de ordine Cisterciensi et ad contradicendum in ipsa Romana curia; et quicquid
ipse fecerit ratum et firmum habere et tenere promiserunt a parte eiusdem monasterii’; Milano,
Archivio di Stato di Milano, Pergamene per fondi, cart. 632.
56
The abbot of Tiglieto visited San Pietro of Vesima, in the diocese of Genoa (29 March
1224, Ad preces dilectarum, [Potth. --], Regesta Honorii papae III, ed. by Pressutti, i, 231,
n. 4898); St Stefano di Millesimo (see n. 54).
The abbot of Lucedio was visitor of St Spirito of Vercelli (12 November 1220, Cum
sicut dilecte [Potth. --], Regesta Honorii papae III, ed. by Pressutti, i, 459, n. 2770); Sta Maria
Maddalena del Ponte di Biella (Sereno, Il monastero cistercense femminile di S. Michele d’Ivrea,
p. 49); St Spirito di Asti (Sereno, Il monastero cistercense femminile di S. Michele d’Ivrea, p. 84).
57
The abbeys of StaMaria di Riolo and Sta Maria in Pertica: Cariboni, ‘Il monachesimo
cistercense femminile in Lombardia ed Emilia’, p. 47.
58
St Spirito di Bisagno, Sta Maria di Latronolio, Sta Maria del Terzo Passo, St Giovanni
della Pipia, Sta Maria del Monte Oliveto (see footnotes 11–13, 15, 38).
59
Comba, ‘“Come le stelle del firmamento”: la diffusione’, pp. 29–30; Bozzo Dufour and
Dagnino, Monasteria Nova, p. 45.
60
Chiarle, ‘Fondazioni monastiche e organizzazione del territorio’, pp. 352–55.
61
22 November 1235, Magne iocunditatis affectum (Potth. --), Carte dell’Archivio di Stato
66 Guido Cariboni
is that of the hospital of Sta Trinità and St Spirito of Asti. Bishop Guidotto
donated this charitable body to the Genovese nuns of St Spirito di Bisagno in
1215. The abbess Druda, arriving from Genoa with a group of companions,
took material possession of the church after receiving permission from its visi-
tor, the abbot of Colomba, symbolically receiving into her own hands the bell
ropes, handed over to her by the bishop’s delegate. Druda remained in Asti for
two months, then returned to her monastery of origin and ceded the office of
abbess to Valeria, also originally from Genoa.62
In other instances it was the neophytes themselves who, wishing to learn
the Cistercian way of life, went to live for a period in an already consolidated
female monastery connected with Cîteaux, in this way absorbing, by cohabi-
tation and imitation, the liturgical and disciplinary customs, which upon
their return they would then transmit to their recently founded community
of origin. An exemplary case is that of Carenza Visconti, among the initiators
of Cistercian monasticism in Piacenza, who, on the advice of Abbess Franca,
when she was not yet even a novice, accompanied by two preaching friars, went
to the Ligurian monastery of Vallechristi, where she stayed for a year.63
di Siena, ed. by Ghignoli, pp. 218–20, n. 96: ‘Pro instructione ipsarum presertim circa obser
vantias ordinis assumas tres vel quatuor undecumque ipsius ordinis moniales easque ibidem
recipi facias ab eisdem.’
62
Bordone, ‘St Spirito e Sta Anna’, pp. 159–60; Comba, ‘“Come le stelle del firmamento”’,
pp. 25–26 (see n. 64), 30–31.
63
‘Circa Incarnationis Christi annum millesimum et ducentesimum, exsurrexit quaedam
puella, nomine Carentia, filia quorumdam Vicecomitum de Placentia. Ista praesagium
exercens futurorum, usque ad annum aetatis quartum decimum scholas intravit, et omnem
philosophicam scientiam ac moralem copiosissime didicit. Unde accidit, quod sicuti verbo
Domini caeli firmati sunt, et spiritu oris ejus omnis virtus eorum; ita et ista corde conciperet,
secumque quotidie tractaret, quomodo melius posset seculi pompam et vitam, ad quam verbis
et exemplis per parentes et affines incitabatur, contemnere suamque virginitatem Christo et ejus
matri Virgini consecrare. Super quo, fama comperta Virginis et Abbatissae Francae, saepius ad
illam recurrebat; et eidem suum propositum intimans, consilium ab eadem solicite requirebat.
Illa vero perpendens hoc donum esse a Deo, qui per hoc videbatur satisfacere velle desiderio
suo, quoniam de Cisterciensibus monialibus, quarum Religio reboabat ubique, nulla tunc erat
Placentae; suasit Carentae ut Januam pergeret, et apud unum monasteriorum Cisterciensis
Ordinis, quorum ibi copia magna est et erat, se collocaret; atque desiderium suum aliquibus
sanctis feminis manifestans, ab eisdem monasticam vitam disceret et approbaret. Reputans vero
Franca beata, quod tantum illi Carentia sancta Religionis forma Cisterciensium complacebit,
quod inde moveri non poterit, ex condicto cum illa convenit, ut si vita illa sibi placuerit, redeat ad
se; sibique priusquam profiteatur, debeat intimare; Quia tecum, inquit, cogito, si perseveraveris
in illo sancto proposito, conversari, et effectum percipere desiderii mei: scio enim quod si
A not inferior role in the gradual formation of a community identity belongs

to the hagiographic texts. This involved in particular the vita of Franca of
Piacenza, written in the fourteenth century by the Cistercian monk Bertramus
Reoldus and published in the Acta Sanctorum. We also have a condensed ver-
sion of this text, included in a manuscript originally belonging to the abbey of
Terzo Passo of Piacenza.64 This version is structured in liturgical form, divided
into twelve lessons followed by an evangelical passage and a collect to be read
on 25 April, the day on which the Blessed Franca was celebrated.
Franca, who on her death had only a local following, was the abbess of the
traditional Benedictine monastery of St Siro in Piacenza, which she led, at least
formally, until her death, as various documents testify. Although never becom-
ing a Cistercian, in the last years of her life the future Blessed Franca backed
and supported the establishment of the first female monastery of Cîteaux in
her city.65
A very different version was transmitted by an anonymous hagiographer who
narrated that Franca was obliged in the final years of her life, because of the hos-
tility of corrupt sisters, to leave her Benedictine community of origin to found
a new monastery, this time Cistercian, where she died and was buried in 1218.
There are at least three aspects that contribute to the emergence in this
text of a Cistercian identity. The hagiographer, first of all, demonstrated the
difference between the highly relaxed traditional Benedictine monasticism
and the White Nuns’ strictly aesthetic form of life approaching sanctity. In
this, Franca of Vitalta seems to repeat the experience of other ‘founder saints’,
such as Clare of Assisi and Diana of the Andalò, who before inaugurating their
innovative communities had spent time in traditional monasteries only to
leave dissatisfied. All of this put the hagiographer in a position to emphasize
the differences between the already consolidated traditional forms and the
perseveraveris, Deus erit tecum, et per te parentes tui conficient monasterium Deo placitum,
in quo simul conversabimur, animasque Christo Salvatori nostro multas congregabimus
et lucrabimur, juxta pium sanctumque desiderium nostrum. Hujusmodi consiliis et
admonitionibus assuefacta et quasi divinitus edocta Carentia, cum negotiatoribus Fratribusque
duobus Paedicatoribus assectata, januam perrexit et juxta præmissa consilia recursum habuit ad
Rapallum, Cisterciensis Ordinis monasterium feminarum: in quo quasi divinitus complexata,
per annum laudabiliter nimis est conversata; et omnem regularem disciplinam cum omni
dulcedine spiritus edocta’; Bertramus Reoldus, Acta, pp. 389–90, paras 22–23.
64
Piacenza, Biblioteca comunale, MS Pallastrelli 141: Vita beate Franche virginis,
fols 34r–40v.
65
Bruschi, ‘Franca da Vitalta’, pp. 588–90; Dimier, ‘Franca (Bienheureuse)’.
68 Guido Cariboni
newly arisen religiones. This comparison allowed the disciplinary and institu-
tional peculiarities of the new experiences to emerge — to be honest, often not
very marked — attesting to the validity of such experiences and therefore, by
contrast, causing the emergence of an identity.66 In the second place, Franca,
whose day-to-day experience is described in detail, was elevated to living rule,
incarnation of the Cistercian disciplinary path. The individual identity of the
abbess therefore constituted the basis for constructing the collective identity
of the community.67
Perhaps the most interesting aspect of the vita regards, however, the period
of its composition, more than a century after the death of Franca. This delay
was mentioned frequently even by the anonymous author who stressed, in
fact, that the body of the Blessed Franca remained underground for fifty years,
almost ignored, despite the repeated exhortations of Franca herself, appear-
ing in dreams to both her sisters and the monks in the nearby male Cistercian
abbeys.68 All of this seems almost to indicate that the abbess, in whom the most
66
Cariboni, ‘Problemi d’identità’, pp. 166–67.
67
‘In tribus igitur locis praenominatis Franca sacra devote conversabatur, non minus
aspere et religiose quam supradictum est in S. Syro, sed multo plus et plus; ita quod vita illius
Deo complacens multas personas ad admirationem sui provocabat, et imitationem. Sed et
vita dictae Carentiae, quae Priorissa fuerat constituta, ad aemulationem sanctitatis vicinos, ac
vicinas incitabat; cujus Carentiae, sociarumque solicitudine locus iste ultimo locatus crevit in
amplitudine possessionum, ac multitudine monialium et religiosarum, Beatae Franchae sanctam
vitam imitantium. Et merito. Nam ipsa Beata, mirabilis in vita sua, praeter ea quae scripta sunt
supra, licet post Completorium intraret cum aliis Sororibus Dormitorium, numquam tamen
visa fuit intrare lectum; sed sicut divulgatum est per totum conventum, postquam sentiebat
obdormire Sorores, prius de manibus Sacristae clavibus acceptis ecclesiae, intrabat oratorium,
ibique pernoctabat, donec ipsamet ad Matutinalem horam socias tempestive satis excitaret.
Cum haec et similia gravia nimis et grandia gereret, propter stomachi dolores quos incurrerat,
ut praemissum est, Priorissa et aliae Sorores curaverunt solicite, ne denuo claves ecclesiae illi
Sacrista permitteret. Quod Sacrista diligenter observante, nihilominus oratorium intrabat illa
solito, portas illi aperiente Christo, qui est clavis, quae aperit et nemo claudit’ […] ‘Anno vero
Domini millesimo ducentesimo octavo decimo, de mense Aprilis, coepit gravius infirmari;
et affirmans se mori, quotidie verbis et operibus moniales admonebat, ut honeste viverent
et sancte, reddentes gloriam et honorem sponso cælesti Christo, et ejus beatae matri virgini,
totique sancto Cisterciensi Ordini, pro cujus observatione non dubitabat se reverenter amantes
perenni debere coronari’; Bertramus Reoldus, Acta, p. 391, para. 28, and p. 392, para. 33.
68
‘Quocirca cum consilio Domini Abbatis de Columba fecerunt Sorores fieri capsellam
de aere, et ita cum reverentia colligentes ossa, pulveremque corporis jam consumpti, posuerunt
ea in decentiori quantulumcumque loco, parum a priori remoto juxta murum, per quem
tantus esse non poterat transitus personarum. Et quia timebant istae, ne vi vel furto ab
aliquibus comminantibus, ad instantiam praecipue Dominarum de S. Syro, dolentium se talem
profound Cistercian identity projected itself, was neglected for a long time,
only to be rediscovered and valorized at a later period.
To conclude, the neglected memory of Franca is in my opinion indicative
of the torturous and not at all mechanical or immediate rise among the female
communities of a Cistercian identity which went beyond the simple juridi-
cal identification present in papal documentation. This objective was without
doubt made more difficult by the extreme variety of the religious groups incor-
porated by various means into the Cistercian Order. There was a variety of ori-
gins, social extractions, relations with the ecclesiastic structure, and aims — a
wealth which is almost impossible to classify and which testifies to the extreme
vivacity of religious life in northern Italy in the midst of the Middle Ages.
thesaurum perdidisse, tollerentur Reliquiae ipsae, multo profundius ac secretius quam antea,
tumulaverunt sub terra per brachia plura. Ubi cum per plures annos quiete jacuisset, coepit ipsa
S. Franca, sororibus apparere in visionibus et dicere, Deo placere ut inde moveretur, et adhuc
venerabilius reconderetur. Quod cum invicem sibi moniales sæpissime reserarent, non audebant
haec extraneis revelare, nec novitatem aliquam efficere; praestolantes quod Deus aliter melius
dignaretur providere. Anno igitur Domini millesimo ducentesimo sexagesimo sexto, in festo
sancti Bernardi Abbatis, quod fit die vigesimo Augusti, odor tam mirabilis effloruit in ecclesia
illa tempore vigiliarum nocturnarum, quod vix sufferri posset a sororibus. Et sic animatae
transmiserunt ad dominum Gulielmum de Quadrogis, abbatem de Columba, rogantes, ut venire
dignaretur ad videnda mirabilia Dei, et quid faciendum sit inde, providendum. Qui Dominus
Abbas cum vidisset nuntium adhuc tacentem, Scio, inquit, quare veneris; causa per eundem,
affirmante nuntio, illius exposita itineris. Nam ut ipse postea retulit, Franca ipsa comparuerat
sibi, monens corpus suum inde moveri, et decentius debere tumulari. Venit igitur Abbas ille
Gulielmus, cum duobus monachis venerabilibus, ad monasterium de Tertio-passu, cognitoque
ubi capsella præmissa cum ossibus ac reliquiis fuerat posita, senserunt odorem et ipsi. Et indutis
illis tribus vestibus sacris, longe præstolantibus monialibus, coepit Abbas cum ligone terram
sodere: et statim terra sonuit, acsi capsam tutudisset. Mira res! Cum enim profundissime, ut
dictum est supra, fuerit subterrata, quasi penna in aera, sic apparuit subito capsa illa inopinatius
elevata; ita quod Abbati competat dicere; Modicum laboravi, et inveni multam requiem, non
modo mihi, sed et toti meo Ordini’, Bertramus Reoldus, Acta, pp. 393–94, paras 34–35.
70 Guido Cariboni
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Female Monasteries of the Early
Middle Ages (Seventh to Ninth Century)
in Northern Gaul: Between Monastic
Ideals and Aristocratic Powers
Michèle Gaillard
A
lthough monasticism in its origin was not an institution made for
women, and although — on account of the mistrust of the body present
in Christianity and among the ancient desert monks, as Peter Brown
has shown1 — few Lives of holy women were produced in ancient Christianity,
women quickly seized this way of life, which enabled them to live together
outside of their community and their families: it seems that there were, in the
deserts of Egypt and Syria, as many monasteries for women as there were mon-
asteries for men. But it is not from these women that saints were made: in the
East, until the seventh century, the two figures of holy women which were most
fashionable were that of disguised women who lived in monasteries of men, and
that of the repentant prostitute, such as Mary of Egypt.
These two examples served to remind ascetic monks of the humility they
ought to show, since they demonstrated that women were capable of doing
just as well as they were. These stories were therefore more edifying for men
than they were models of holiness aimed at women. According to Marie-France
Auzépy, in the East attitudes only began to change from the ninth century
onwards, after the iconoclasm movement; but in Gaul, where female monas-
1
Brown, The Body and Society.
Michèle Gaillard ([email protected]) is professor of Medieval History at

Université Lille 3-IRHiS (Institut de Recherches et Historiques du Septentrion).
76 Michèle Gaillard
Map 3.1. Monasteries of Gaul, from Guillaume,

‘Les abbayes de femmes en pays franc à la fin du viie siècle’, p. 40.
teries appear as early as the sixth century, their foundresses or abbesses were
soon considered saints and recognized as models.2 We refer, of course, to the
holy queen Radegund at Poitiers and the sister of Bishop Caesarius, Caesaria,
in Arles.
While in many ways the lifestyle of the nuns and the asceticism of the holy
women who founded or led monasteries does not seem to distinguish them
from those of monks, there is an important difference between them: mon-
asteries of men are defined as places where women are totally absent, while
2
Auzépy, ‘La Sainteté et le couvent’.
Female Monasteries of the Early Middle Ages in Northern Gaul 77
monasteries of women required the presence of men in their relations with

the external world, because the enclosure of women was stricter; and especially
concerning the sacraments that only priests could provide, which gave rise to
what is commonly called ‘double-monasteries’, a term which, as we shall see,
covers many diverse types.3
Taking into consideration the recent article by Anne-Marie Helvétius on
female monasteries in the Merovingian period,4 I have chosen to deal here with
only four monasteries, for which the sources are relatively consistent and allow
us to highlight two underlying problems in the study of women’s monasteries
in Gaul: in the seventh century, the influence of St Columbanus and his disci-
ples; and in the ninth century, the effects of the handling of monasteries by the
Carolingian kings. These two periods were indeed crucial for female monasti-
cism and for monasticism in general: the seventh century was a great time of
monastic foundations and a ‘century of saints’; and the beginning of the ninth
century was a period of reform, initiated by Benedict of Aniane and Louis the
Pious, which also affected women’s monasteries.
A ‘Columbanian’ Network?
The seventh century was, indeed, remarkable for the numerous foundations
of monasteries, some of which appeared in the wake of the pilgrimage of the
Irishman Columbanus into Gaul, sometime between 590 and 612.5 But it should
be noted that no women’s monastery was founded by Columbanus himself. It
is his hagiographer Jonas of Bobbio (or Susa), writing around 640, who attrib-
utes to Columbanus a number of foundations, to which his successor abbots
of Luxeuil — Eustasius (d. 629) and Waldebertus (d. 667) — contributed: the
monasteries of Jouarre, Faremoutiers, Saint-Jean of Laon, and Remiremont.6
The blessing of the saint, that is, Columbanus or Eustasius, which was a natural
gesture from a man of God coming to visit a family, became, through the pen
3
On double-monasteries, see Elm and Parisse, Doppelklöster und andere Formen der
Symbiose männlicher und weiblicher Religiosen im Mittelalter.
4
Helvétius, ‘L’Organisation des monastères féminins à l’époque mérovingienne’.
5
For some background on Columbanian monasticism, note especially Dierkens, ‘Prolégo
mènes à une histoire des relations culturelles’; Columbanus and Merovingian Monasticism,
ed. by Clarke and Brennan; Wood, ‘A Prelude to Columbanus’ and ‘The vita Columbani and
Merovingian Hagiography’; Lapidge, Columbanus: Studies on the Latin Writings.
6
Vita Columbani et discipuli eius, ed. by Krusch, lib. i, §26, pp. 99–100; lib. ii, §7,
pp. 119–22 and §10, pp. 126–27.
of Jonas of Bobbio, a sign of predestination for the religious life, which would
bear fruit when the boy or girl became an adult.7
I will not discuss the abbey of Jouarre in this paper, despite its great reputa-
tion.8 It poses many problems. It is poorly documented for the period covered
by this study, and the traditional presentation of its history is a product of the
interpretation of later sources.9 I will also leave aside any discussion of the mon-
astery of Sainte-Marie-Saint-Jean de Laon, about which I have written else-
where.10 I will instead concentrate my study on four monasteries, often called
‘Columbanian’ or ‘Iro-Frankish’ and considered to be double monasteries:11
Faremoutiers-en-Brie, which was founded in the seventh century and is well
7
For example, regarding Burgondofara: ‘Deinde ad Meldensem oppidum properat. Quo
cum quidam vir nobilis Chagnericus Theudeberti conviva, vir sapiens et consiliis regiis gratus
et nobili tatis sapientia vallatus, inesset, his virum Dei miro gaudio recepit, seque habere curam
spondit, qualiter ad Theudeberti accederet aulam; non esse necesse alios comites e regio latere
habere. Ad hoc enim aliorum differebat subsidium, ut vir Dei secum, quamdiu valeret, teneret
et eius doctrina sua domus nobilitaretur. Benedixit ergo vir Dei domum eius filiamque illius
nomen Burgundofara, quae infra infantiae annis erat, benedicens, Domino vovit, de quo postea
in subsequentibus narrabimus’; Vita Columbani et discipuli eius, ed. by Krusch, lib. i, §26, p. 99.
8
In what is called ‘the crypts of Jouarre’ (see Périn and Delahaye, ‘Jouarre, église funéraire
Saint-Paul’), we find the particularly noteworthy cenotaph of the abbess Théodechilde and the
sarcophagus of her brother Agilbert, the bishop of Paris and former bishop of Dorchester, who
is quite well known thanks to the Venerable Bede (Bede’s Ecclesiastical History, ed. by Colgrave
and Mynors, chap. iii, §§25, 26, and 28, pp. 299–311 and 315–17).
9
Jonas knew only that Ado, after having served at the court, withdrew and founded
a monastery intra Iorani saltus, according to the Rule of St Columbanus; Vita Columbani et
discipuli eius, ed. by Krusch, lib. i, §26, p. 100. One could conclude that Ado had founded
Jouarre, as it is mentioned by Jonas just before the foundation of the monastery of Rebais by
his brother Audoenus: in Briegensis saltus, the Brie. However, a very similar expression, Iorensis
saltus, is also used by Jonas to indicate the Jura (Vita Columbani et discipuli eius, ed. by Krusch,
lib. i, §14, p. 80). Therefore, we cannot be sure that Ado really founded Jouarre. In addition, it
was not until the seventeenth century that a sarcophagus was assigned to Ado in the crypt of
Jouarre and a genealogy drafted, showing his kinship with the abbess Theodechildis, niece of
the second wife of his father Moda, and sister of Agilbert, the bishop of Paris. See de Maillé,
Les Cryptes de Jouarre, pp. 66–69, and Guérout, ‘Les Origines et le premier siècle de l’abbaye’.
10
Gaillard, ‘De l’Eigenkloster à l’abbaye royale’; ‘Les Saints de l’abbaye Sainte-Marie-Saint-
Jean de Laon’; ‘Les Vitae des saintes Salaberge et Anstrude de Laon’.
11
This is especially the case since the thesis of Prinz, Frühes Mönchtum im Frankenreich:
see particularly the second part (‘Das Irofränkische Mönchtum und das Angelsächsiche Karo
lingische Mönchtum’), and pp. 141–42 for the affiliation of Remiremont and Faremoutiers
with Luxeuil; to that of Nivelles through St Amand, pp. 185–86; and Chelles (sur Marne and
not ‘s. Cher’), through Jouarre, pp. 174–75.
documented; Remiremont in the Vosges, whose foundation is known through

many hagiographic texts and which in the ninth century is illuminated by
an exceptional document, the Liber memorialis; Nivelles, founded by Itta,
the widow of Pippin I, and their daughter, Geretrudis; and, finally, Chelles,
founded by Queen Bathildis.
Faremoutiers-en-Brie (Eboriacum): The Influence of Columbanus

and of the Abbots of Luxeuil
There seems to be little reason to doubt the fundamental reliability of the infor-
mation provided by Jonas about the foundation of Faremoutiers. He relates the
visit of Colombanus to Chagnericus, advisor of King Theudebert II.12 But the
name of Chagnericus’s daughter, Burgondofara (often abbreviated to Fara) sug-
gests the family’s origins in Burgundy. The rest of the story highlights the mira-
cle of healing performed by Eustasius, successor of Columbanus at Luxeuil, and
the obstinacy of Chagnericus, in whom violence and faith coexisted. As told by
Jonas, the story was one of a conflict between the father’s plans for his daugh-
ter, and the saint’s will, with the latter prevailing: after trying twice to marry
Burgondofara against her will, Chagnericus was forced to yield and give her
the land required for the construction of a monastery.13 To teach the Rule to
the sisters, Eustasius delegated Chagnoaldus and Waldebertus.14 The influence
of Walbertus upon Faremoutiers has led to him being assigned the authorship
of an anonymous rule, the Regula cuiusdam Patris ad virgines,15 inspired both
by Columbanian practices (especially daily confession16) and the Rule of St
Benedict.
12
Vita Columbani et discipuli eius, ed. by Krusch, lib. i, §26, pp. 99–100.
13
Vita Columbani et discipuli eius, ed. by Krusch, lib. ii, §7, pp. 119–21
14
Vita Columbani et discipuli eius, ed. by Krusch, lib. ii, §7, p. 121: ‘Nec mora Eusthasius
remeat, puellam ab custodia liberat, patrem terribiliter increpat; religionis vestem per pontificem
urbis illius Gundoaldum nomine induit sacravitque salutaribus sacramentis. Monasteriumque
Christi virginum supra paternum solum inter fluvios Mugram et Albam aedificat fratresque, qui
aedificandi curam habeant, deputat; germanum puellae Chagnoaldum et Waldebertum, qui ei
postea successit, ut regulam doceant, decernit.’
15
This attribution is plausible but unproven.
16
Sancti Columbani abbatis et confessoris regula coenobialis, cap. i, col. 209: confession
before meals or going to bed; the Regula cujusdam Patris ad virgines (cap. vi, col. 1059) goes
further with a confession on the second hour, the ninth hour, and before Compline!
Through what is called the ‘testament’ of St Fare, shown by Jean Guérout

to be genuine and dated 26 October 633 or 634,17 we know a little about
the family of Burgondofara. Comparisons carried out by scholars allow us
to consider the family of Fara as one branch of the Agilolfing (the family of
the dukes of Bavaria and of the Lombard kings) in Gaul.18 Burgondofara’s
father, Chagnericus, resided at Meaux and was close to Theudebert II, king of
Austrasia; he was probably also count of Meaux. Burgondofara had one sis-
ter, Agnetrudis (or Chagnetrudis), who is known only from the testament, and
three brothers:
–– Chagnoaldus, who is not mentioned in the testament, because he was
probably already dead, was, according to Jonas, one of the companions of
Columbanus and became bishop of Laon about 626/27, and died probably
between 632 and 634.
–– Burgondofaro (Faron), mentioned in Burgondofara’s testament, but not by
Jonas, became bishop of Meaux, where the foundation of Holy Cross Mon-
astery, which later took his name, is attributed to him.
–– Chagnulfus, only mentioned in the testament and not in the Vita Colum-
bani of Jonas, can be identified with Count Chainulfus, who was assassi-
nated in 641, according to Fredegar, by order of the maior domus of Neus-
tria Aega, and who was probably count of Meaux.19
Before settling in the county of Meaux, which was part of the kingdom of
Austrasia in the hands of Theudebert II, it is possible that the family had been
settled in Burgundy: this would explain the entrance of Chagnoaldus in the
monastery of Luxeuil. But more likely this was not a Burgundian but a Frankish
family, related to the Agilolfings and located in Burgundy after the Frankish
conquest.
It is possible that Chagnericus’s family settled in the county of Meaux after
the death of Childebert II, king of Austrasia and Burgundy, at the request of
his son Theudebert II, to whom they would have remained faithful, while
their ancestral possessions were in the kingdom of Theuderic II. This would
17
Guérout, ‘Fare (Sainte)’.
18
Vollmer, ‘Die Etichonen’, p. 183; Jarnut, Agilolfingerstudien; Le Jan, Famille et pouvoir
dans le monde franc (viie–xe siècle), pp. 390–91.
19
Fredegarii chronicorum liber quartus cum continuationibus, ed. by Wallace-Hadrill, §83,
p. 70.
explain why they welcomed Columbanus, himself banished by Theuderic II

and Brunechildis. The names given to the two younger children, probably born
after the implantation in Brie, may appear to claim a lost Burgundian inherit-
ance. The settlement in Meaux was probably linked to the count’s function,
granted by the king but also to the control of the episcopal see, which was
attributed to Burgondofaro, and to the foundation of monasteries. The founda-
tion of a monastery by Burgondofara, probably influenced by the first abbots of
Luxeuil, must also be understood as an aspect of the familial strategy of settling
in the counties of Meaux and Brie.
Remiremont: A Rival Monastery of Luxeuil?20

Jonas also credits Abbot Eustasius for the part he played in the foundation of
the monastery of Remiremont in the Vosges by a great aristocrat, Romaricus.21
But other sources also give us information about the foundation of the mon-
astery: the Life of Arnulfus of Metz, probably written shortly after 650; and
the three Lives of the early abbots of Remiremont, Amatus, Romaricus, and
Adelphus, which are dedicated to three different persons and seem to have
been written a few years apart. These three texts were first considered to be
Carolingian works, but scholars have now agreed to date the time of their com-
position to 675–80.22 Jonas provides a brief description of the foundation of the
monastery: Romaricus, who served in King Theudebert’s court, was converted
by the preaching of Eustasius and went to Luxeuil to follow the example of
Columbanus. Some time later, he founded a monastery of women living accord-
ing to the ‘Rule of Columbanus’ in Vosges, in propria, with the agreement of
Eustasius and with the help of Amatus, another monk of Luxeuil.23 Indeed,
Jonas’s purpose here is to highlight the subjection of Remiremont to Luxeuil.
20
I use here a phrase by Anne-Marie Helvétius in her ‘mémoire d’habilitation’, sadly un
published (Le Saint et le Moine: entre discours et réalité), and in our jointly written article:
‘Production de textes et réforme d’un monastère double’. For Ramiremont in general, see the
work of Helvétius.
21
Vita Columbani et discipuli eius, ed. by Krusch, lib. ii, 127.
22
Goullet, ‘Les saints du diocèse de Toul (SHG VI)’, pp. 42–51.
23
Vita Columbani et discipuli eius, ed. by Krusch, lib. ii, §10, p. 127 : ‘[Romaricus]
qui primis nobilitatibus fuerat apud Theudebertum habitus, postque per beati Columbae
exemplum ac Eusthasii praedicatione monitus, ad Luxovium veniens, monachiae institutis se
subdidit. Quo diu sub regulari tenore vitam agente, postea, Eusthasio annuente, puellarum
monasterium in propria instruit, in quo et regulam beati Columbani custodiendam indidit.’
In the Life of Arnulfus, bishop of Metz, written a few years after the Vita
Columbani, we learn that Bishop Arnulfus chose to end his days at Remiremont
after resigning from his see of Metz in 629. To justify this choice, the author
of the Life emphasizes the personal links between Arnulfus and Romaricus,
who both served at King Theudebert’s court and appeared to be equal in holi-
ness. After the resignation of Arnulfus, Romaric is said to have brought his
friend to Metz in order to install him in a solitary place near the monastery
of Remiremont with some monks and lepers. However, the author of the Life
does not mention Columbanus, Luxeuil, or Amatus.24
The three Lives dedicated to the abbots Amatus, Romaricus, and Adelphus
are complementary. The third Life, which is very brief, is limited to the story
of the death of Abbot Adelphus, who died in penitence at Luxeuil. The story
of the life of St Amatus is different from Jonas’s: here Amatus plays the leading
role in the foundation and is presented as the first abbot. Amatus was a skilled
monk who was trained at Saint-Maurice of Agaune, which helps to explain the
use of laus perennis in Remiremont. Romaricus, a member of the royal entou-
rage, retired to Luxeuil on the advice of Amatus, and founded the monastery,
which then took his name, Remiremont, on his estate.25
Without contradicting the version given by Amatus, the Life of Romaricus
provides further details:26 after the assassination of his father (who had been
faithful to King Theudebert) by Theuderic II in 612, Romaricus was able to
recover his confiscated inheritance by helping Queen Brunechildis to escape
from Metz after the death of Theuderic. But in the next chapter, the author
shows him as one of the great men at the palace of Chlothar II. We may be
suspicious about the veracity of this story because it is difficult to imagine a
former supporter of Brunechildis becoming a close associate of King Chlothar.
In these circumstances, as Anne-Marie Helvétius has argued, one may wonder
if the ‘conversion’ of Romaricus in Luxeuil was really the result of a deliberate
choice, or rather of a forced exile by order of King Chlothar.27
But the monastery founded by Romaricus on his estate does not seem to
have followed the customs of Luxeuil: the laus perennis, which involved daily
and nightly prayer, was hardly compatible with the exercise of a disciplinary rule
and manual labour. From its foundation, the monastery was designed as a dou-
24
Vita Arnulfi, ed. by Krusch, §19, p. 440.
25
Vita Amati, ed. by Krusch, pp. 215–20; Acta Sanctorum, Septembris, iv, pp. 103–07.
26
Vita Romarici, ed. by Krusch, pp. 221–25.
27
See n. 20 above.
ble monastery, where a male community coexisted with a female community. It

had an abbess, but — just like male monasteries — submitted to the superior
authority of the abbot, as the Life of Amatus shows;28 this is a very different sit-
uation from that at Faremoutiers, where the abbess ruled alone. The true causes
of Arnulfus’s resignation are not revealed in our sources, but we can assume that
they were primarily political, especially since the date of 629 coincides with the
departure of King Dagobert from Metz towards Paris. The Vita Arnulfi relates
a deep dissension between the bishop and the king, and a very strained situa-
tion at the court, where Arnulfus probably had enemies.29 From that moment
on, the fate of the monastery of Remiremont was closely linked to that of the
Arnulfings-Pippinids, whereas Faremoutiers was one of the strongholds of the
Faronids. Remiremont, rather than being a ‘Columbanian’ monastery created
in the wake of Luxeuil, seems to have been connected to another aristocratic
network altogether, and to have developed a monastic way of life very different
from that of Luxeuil or Faremoutiers. According to the descriptions by Jonas,
at Luxeuil, as at Faremoutiers, only repentance and obedience could bring sal-
vation; while liturgical prayer, which is little mentioned by Jonas, occupied an
important place in Remiremont.
Nivelles: A Family Monastery Connected to Ireland

The foundation history of the monastery of Nivelles is known through the Life
of St Geretrudis, written shortly after her death, probably around 670, by a
monk of the abbey. He describes especially the foundation of the monastery by
Geretrudis’s mother, Itta, and portrays the holy abbess Geretrudis.30 This indi-
cates both the part played by the aristocracy in the founding of monasteries, the
motivations behind this particular foundation, and the ideal of holiness that
was in vogue among the aristocracy and men of the church in the seventh cen-
tury. Geretrudis’s family is well known: her father, Pippin, belonged to a family
that owned immense estates in Brabant, Namur, and Hesbaye (now in Belgium).
He was probably one of the Austrasian nobles who left Queen Brunechildis and
sided with Chlothar II in 613. In 614, Pippin was appointed maior domus of
Austrasia by Chlothar, while his friend Arnulfus became bishop of Metz.
28
Vita Amati, ed. by Krusch, §8, p. 218 Acta Sanctorum, Septembris, iv, §15, p. 105 and
§21, p. 106.
29
Vita Arnulfi, ed. by Krusch, §§17–18, pp. 439–40.
30
Vita sanctae Geretrudis, ed. by Krusch, pp. 455–58.
The foundation of the monastery of Nivelles around 650 (or in any case
before 652, because Itta died twelve years after Pippin), is not an exceptional
event: it is roughly at the same time that Queen Bathildis founded Corbie and
restored Chelles, and Sadalberga founded her monastery in Laon; one could
quote many other examples of such aristocratic foundations in northern Gaul
during the seventh century.31 According to the Vita Geretrudis, this foundation
was made under the auspices of St Amandus, himself the founder of the mon-
astery of Elnone (now Saint-Amand-les-Eaux). The monk Amandus, native
of Aquitaine and first bishop-missionary in the region of the Scheldt, became
bishop of Tongeren-Maastricht about 648/49.32 His own Vita, written in the
late seventh or early eighth century, presents him as being close to the family of
Geretrudis. His elevation to the episcopate (a charge from which he resigned
at the beginning of the year 652) is likely due to the influence of Grimoaldus,
maior domus and brother of Geretrudis. With this data and the information
from the Life of St Geretrudis, we can date the foundation of the monastery of
Nivelles to between 646/47 and 651.33 Although greatly conventional, the por-
trait of Abbess Geretrudis gives some clues regarding the spiritual network of
the monastery of Nivelles. The hagiographer emphasizes Geretrudis’s links with
Rome, where she would fetch books, and with ‘the overseas’ — that is to say,
Ireland — from whence came ‘scholars who can teach singing and the Divine
Law’.34 The Roman influence (the legacy of Amandus, who himself made a trip
to Rome before becoming a missionary, and which became a constant element
in the policy of the Pippinids), highlighted by the dedication of the church of
the monastery to St Peter, is combined with the insular influence, which is con-
firmed by the welcome given by Itte and Geretrudis to Ultanus and Foillianus,
brothers of the Irish saint Fursy, expelled from Peronne by Erchinoald, the
maior domus of Neustria.
The monastery of Nivelles, although it appears to have had close ties with
Ireland and Irish monastic currents, is not part of the legacy of Columbanus
and his disciples.35 The only tentative link we have been able to find is that Jonas
of Bobbio, author of the Vita Columbani, for a while supported St Amandus in
31
Overview in Gaillard, ‘Les Fondations d’abbayes féminines dans le Nord et l’Est de la Gaule’.
32
Dierkens, ‘Notes biographiques sur saint Amand, abbé d’Elnone’; Helvétius, ‘L’Origine
aquitaine des saints dans l’hagiographie franque des viiie et ixe siècles’.
33
Dierkens, ‘Saint-Amand et la fondation de l’abbaye de Nivelles’.
34
Vita Geretrudis, ed. by Krusch, pp. 455–64.
35
Dierkens, ‘Prolégomènes à une histoire des relations culturelles’.
his work of evangelization. The close link of the monastery with the Pippinids
brought it closer to Remiremont, which, at that time, had rather bad relations
with Luxeuil because of the Agrestius affair.36
A Merovingian Royal Foundation: Chelles

The establishment (or restoration) of Chelles by Bathildis, 37 widow of
Clovis II, around the year 660, a very significant but not well-known event,
represents one of the last Merovingian royal foundations and therefore appears
as a royal attempt to regain control of a monasticism increasingly controlled by
the aristocracy and in particular by the maiores domus. The author of the Life
of Bathildis, who probably wrote in Merovingian times, says that the abbess
Bertilla and the first nuns of Chelles came from Jouarre, which shows that
the two monasteries enjoyed a good relationship. He emphasizes the numer-
ous gifts that the queen made to the monasteries, especially to Luxeuil and
Faremoutiers.38 One might conclude that the monastery was founded in the
Columbanian wake, but at this time, as Alain Dierkens has shown, Luxeuil
itself was far removed from Columbanian uses, and we know nothing about
what happened in Faremoutiers and Jouarre.39 These gifts can also be inter-
preted in an opposite way, that is to say, as the manifestation of the royal will
to control these monasteries, as well as the awarding of royal charters of exemp-
tion, which granted monasteries smaller autonomy than before,40 and also as
the desire of Bathildis to reform the ‘great basilicas’ of the kingdom.41
In contrast, the two abbeys seem close to Anglo-Saxon circles: at Jouarre, the
abbess Theodechildis was the sister of Agilbert, former bishop of Dorchester,
and since, according to the Venerable Bede, Anglo-Saxon princesses retired
36
On the Agrestius affair, which is linked to the quarrel of the Three Chapters dividing the
Catholics of northern Italy (precisely where Colombanus fled after his expulsion of Luxeuil),
see the account of Jonas (Vita Columbani et discipuli eius, ed. by Krusch, lib. ii, §§9–10,
pp. 123–29) and the interpretations of Gauthier, L’Évangélisation des pays de la Moselle,
pp. 280–84, and Gaillard and Helvétius, ‘Production de textes et réforme d’un monastère
double’.
37
Unfortunately, there is no extant documentation for the early history of Chelles
between the mid-seventh and early ninth centuries.
38
Vita Bathildis, ed. by Krusch (BHL 905–07), pp. 489–92A.
39
Dierkens, ‘Prolégomènes à une histoire des relations culturelles’.
40
Dierkens, ‘Prolégomènes à une histoire des relations culturelles’, pp. 388–92.
41
Vita Bathildis, ed. by Krusch, p. 493.
to Chelles, it can be suggested that Bathildis was of Anglo-Saxon origin.42 It

was the episode of the murder of Sigobrand, the bishop of Paris, which caused
Bathildis’s withdrawal to Chelles in 665. The Vita says he was murdered by
those who reproached him for his superbia, his excessive pride. According to
Bathildis’s hagiographer, Sigobrand was murdered by the Franks, who loved
the queen, but this was done against her wish, and so they feared her revenge
and finally allowed her to retire at Chelles.43 In fact, Sigobrand and Bathildis
probably tried to regain power to the detriment of the maior domus Ebroinus
and his supporters, hence the murder of Sigobrand and the forced retirement
of Bathildis, ‘led by some lords’ — indeed, under escort —, in Chelles.
From the Seventh to the Ninth Century:

Many Questions and Few Certainties
During the seventh century, the ‘Columbanian’ influence was much more
limited than has often been argued.44 Among the female monasteries here
surveyed, Faremoutiers is probably the community that remained closest to
Luxovian customs.45 Until the ninth century at least, Remiremont remained
faithful to the practice of laus perennis, perpetual praise incompatible with
‘Columbanian’ cursus psalmorum,46 as is shown by the list of nuns included
42
Bede’s Ecclesiastical History, ed. by Colgrave and Mynors, chap. VIII, pp. 236–38.
43
Vita Bathildis, ed. by Krusch, pp. 495–96: ‘Nam et Franci pro eius amore hoc maxime
dilatabant nec fieri permittebant, nisi commotio illa fuisset per miserum Sigobrandum
episcopum, cuius superbia inter Francos meruit mortis ruinam. Et exinde orta intentione, dum
ipsum contra eius voluntatem interfecerunt, metuentes, ne hoc ipsa domna contra eos graviter
ferret ac vindicare ipsam causam vellet, permiserunt eam subito pergere ad ipsum monasterium.
Et fortasse dubium non est, quod ipsi principes tunc illud non bono animo permisissent; sed
ipsa domna Dei voluntatem considerans, ut hoc non tam eorum consilium, quam Dei fuisset
dispensatio, ut eius sancta devotio per quamlibet occasionem, Christo gubernante, esset impleta.
Deductaque ab aliquibus senioribus, venit ad praefatum monasterium suum Kala, ibique ab
ipsis sanctis puellis, ut decebat, honorifice et satis amabiliter in sancta congregatione recepta est.’
44
See Montalembert, Les Moines d’Occident, ii, bk vii, 409–580, and more recently Prinz,
Frühes Mönchtum im Frankenreich.
45
That is, as far as we can ascertain through the Regula monachorum, which focuses mainly
on defining the moral qualities of the monk, and through the Regula coenobialis (Sancti Col
umbani abbatis et confessoris regula coenobialis), a penitential for monastic use composed in
successive strata.
46
Chapter 7 of the Regula monachorum refers to three psalms to be sung at all hours of
the day, considering the work to be done in intervals, and stresses the need to increase the
in the Liber Memorialis.47 This in part explains the strained relationship with
Luxeuil. Nothing is known about the life of the nuns of Chelles. At Nivelles,
the community had links with some Irish monks but it did not have any kind of
relationship with Luxeuil or with Columbanus’s disciples.
The notion of ‘double monastery’ is also worth reconsidering: one monas-
tery, namely Remiremont, seems to have been regarded as a double house since
its foundation, but Jonas qualifies it as a ‘female monastery’. Amatus put an
abbess at the head of the community of women, but his vita presents him as
keeping control of the entire monastery, of men and women. Of the other mon-
asteries, Chelles, Nivelles, and Faremoutiers were monasteries for women ruled
by women, where there was a community of men in charge of the spiritual ser-
vices and probably, as is suggested by the Life of St Geretrudis, of relations with
the outside world. The whole monastic community was under the authority of
the abbess. It seems that after the death of its first three abbots, Remiremont
evolved in this direction too.
We know little or nothing about the eighth century. The actions of Pippin II
and Pippin III led to the quasi-disappearance of ‘independent’ monasteries; in
the Carolingian period, monasteries were either royal or episcopal houses. All
those mentioned here were royal monasteries, which gave them the privilege
of having abbesses chosen by the king, and, more often, lay abbesses from the
Carolingian family. These include, in Chelles, Gisela, sister of Charlemagne,
and later Helwidis, stepmother of Louis the Pious; in Faremoutiers, Rothildis,
daughter of Charlemagne; in Laon, the Empress Judith, and a daughter of
Louis the Pious, Hildegardis. With the exception of these fragments of infor-
mation from diplomatic documents, the sources are not very explicit on these
female monasteries in the ninth century. However, we can assume that reform
efforts, or at least a return of power, took place in Chelles at the time of Abbess
Helwidis, which prompted the translation of the body of Bathildis in 833, in
the presence of the emperor Louis the Pious, and it was likely on this occasion
that the rewriting of St Bathildis’s Life was ordered.48 Nivelles is no exception
to this blanket of silence: its name appears only among the abbeys entrusted
to Charles the Bald in the treaty of Meersen (870),49 and in a charter of the
duration of the office of the night as the duration of the night increases (Regula coenobialis, cols
212–13).
47
See below, pp. 88–89.
48
Vita Bathildis, ed. by Krusch, pp. 482–504B.
49
Capitularia regum Francorum, ed. by Boretius and Krause, pp. 193–95.
Figure 3.1. List of nuns of Remiremont.

Rome, Biblioteca Angelica, MS 10, fol. 4v.
same king creating a monastic revenue (mense conventuelle), which establishes

that the abbey is henceforth to be populated by canons and sanctimoniales.50 At
the end of the ninth century, the daughter of Lothar II, Gisela (probably a lay-
woman), was abbess of Nivelles.51
Despite the abundance of legislation concerning religious communities of
women in the ninth century (Institutio sanctimonialium,52 canons of coun-
cils53), for many abbeys, especially those which are the subject of this article, it
is impossible to blaze more accurate trails in their history, regarding their reli-
gious life, their number, and even regarding the lifestyle they chose to observe,
whether monastic or canonical, with the exception of Remiremont.54
The Exception of Remiremont

Remiremont, although complex, is exceptionally well illuminated, thanks to
the Liber memorialis and the letters of Abbess Theotildis,55 who was behind
the creation of this book. The Liber memorialis of Remiremont belongs to the
50
9 July 877, Recueil des actes de Charles II le Chauve, roi de France, ed. by Tessier, ii, no.
433, pp. 466–68.
51
Annales Fuldenses, ed. by Kurze, 883 and 884, pp. 100–01; Reginonis abbatis Prumiensis
Chronicon, ed. by Kurze, 882 and 885, pp. 120–22; Hoebanx, L’Abbaye de Nivelles des origines
au xive siècle, pp. 109–11. It is unclear whether Gisela truly exercised the duties of abbess at
Nivelles and lived in the abbey, and whether, in Nivelles as in Fosses, received a little later, she
was a lay abbess.
52
The Institutio sanctimonialium promulgated in Aachen in 816 was clearly a codification
of already existing practices in communities of women who did not follow to the letter or did
not claim a specific monastic rule. Codified and maybe slightly modified, a ‘canonical’ lifestyle
was therefore proposed as a model for those communities which were probably the most
numerous; see Gaillard, D’une réforme à l’autre, pp. 129–33.
53
In particular, canon 15 of the Council of Aix in 836 allows us to understand what
was expected of women and how this requirement was different from that of men: ‘Modus
autem erga ipsarum congregationum disciplinam hic esse debet, id est ut canonici secundum
id, quod continetur in libro, qui de eorum uita collectus est, religiose conuersentur ; monachi
uero secundum traditam a beato Benedicto regulam unanimiter, quantumcumque posse est,
cuiusque religionis regularem uitam in omnibus sectentur. Sanctimoniales denique secundum
id, quod earundem sexus fragilitati congruit, religioni cum omni diligentia subdantur’; Concilia
aevi Karolini, ed. by Werminghof, §15, pp. 713–14. For other councils, see Gaillard, D’une
réforme à l’autre, p. 131.
54
Schilp, Norm und Wirklichkeit religiöser Frauengemeinschaften in Frühmittelalter,
pp. 195–202.
55
Formulae Merowingici et Karolini aevi, ed. by Zeumer, pp. 525–28.
category of so-called Books of Life, designed to keep alive the memory of the
dead but also of the living, for whom the monks were praying. It is a composite
manuscript including several books, some assembled together in the ninth cen-
tury, and others later. It is now preserved in Rome, Biblioteca Angelica, MS 10
and was edited in 1970.56 The Liber memorialis opens with a statement of the
nuns of Remiremont and their abbess Theotildis, dated the seventh year of the
reign of Emperor Louis, and therefore, in my view, between August 861 and
August 862, which was the seventh year of the reign of Emperor Louis of Italy.57
From this statement we learn that the Rule of St Benedict was henceforth fol-
lowed by the religious community of Remiremont, and that it was headed by
an abbess, Theotildis, and a praepositus, Theodericus.58 The Benedictine Rule
seems to have been adopted under Abbess Imma, as fol. 35r bears the names of
sixteen abbesses prior to the monastery’s application of the Rule of St Benedict;
the last name, IMMA, is written in capitals, which suggests that it was at the
time of Imma that the change was made. This change of rules should be linked
to the reform of Benedict of Aniane and Louis the Pious in 816/817.59
The Liber memorialis is a key witness for the manner in which the memory
of the dead might be practised in a monastery in the early Middle Ages,60 but
it also provides considerable information about life in a ninth-century mon-
56
Liber memorialis, ed. by Hlawitschka, Schmid, and Tellenbach.
57
Liber memorialis, ed. by Hlawitschka, Schmid, and Tellenbach, pp. xvi–xxii, and
Hlawitschka, ‘Remiremont: Drei Hauptabschnitte seiner Frühgeschichte’; for more
information, see Gaillard, D’une réforme à l’autre, pp. 41–56 and 173–80.
58
Liber memorialis, ed. by Hlawitschka, Schmid, and Tellenbach, i, p. 1, and ii, fol. 1v:
‘ANNO SEPTIMO IMPERII GLORIOSI PRINCIPIS HLUDOUUICI . Nos ac si indignę
Christi famulę in cenobio sancti Romarici atque almi patris nostri Amati una cum consensu
patris nostri domini Theodrici seu matris nostrę religiosissimę deo sacratę Teothildę abbatissę
decreuimus pro omnibus his utriusque sexus missam cotidie caelebrari, qui hunc locum pro
amore dei ad usus monacharum de rebus suis ditauerunt uel suas nobis seu antecessarum
nostrarum largiti sunt ęlemosinas siue qui se in nostris uel illarum se commendauerunt
orationibus, tam pro uiuis quam et pro defunctis ; unde et eorum nomina, qui in tempore
antecessarum nostrarum fuerunt, subter scripsimus. Illorum uero seu illarum, qui in temporibus
nostris extiterunt, in hoc semper curauimus scribere memoriali, hoc nostras ammonentes
successores sub sancta patris nostri Benedicti regula militaturas, ut nomina amicorum seu
amicarum suarum semper in hoc scribant memoriali et pro omnibus praedictis specialiter missa
cotidie, quae super scripta est, cęlebrętur.’
59
On this reform, see Gaillard, D’une réforme à l’autre, pp. 123–48.
60
Schmid and Wollasch, ‘Die Gemeinschaft der Lebenden und Verstorbenen in Zeug
nissen des Mittelalters’.
astery.61 We have seen the introduction of the Rule of St Benedict by Abbess

Imma, and we have noted the presence of a provost, Theodoricus, who headed
an undoubtedly small community of clerics (whose names are found in the
obituaries inserted in the Liber), but the major event is the transference of the
monastery into the valley. Until this time, indeed, the monastery founded by
Romaric in the seventh century had been installed on the top of a hill overlook-
ing the Moselle valley. A reference to this shift appears in an inscription at the
bottom of fol. 46v,62 and, at fol. 47v, in a copy of a charter of Abbess Imma, who
distinguishes those nuns who remained at Mount Habend from those installed
in the new monastery, near the Moselle.63
The change of rules is accompanied by the monastery’s move down into
the valley. From an isolated community with a more or less eremitical purpose,
Remiremont became a monastery situated on the lines of communication,
installed in a place which was probably already inhabited. Although the Rule of
St Benedict demanded that a monastery should be enclosed, and its enclosure
be respected, it also stipulates that it should be visible to all, and that one of
its churches should be accessible to its royal patrons, to the aristocracy, and to
pilgrims. Henceforth, its main function was to pray for the living and the dead
included in their hundreds in the Liber memorialis. However, some traditions
remained alive: the presence of a male community, as evidenced by Imma’s
charter and several other inscriptions, and, especially, the practice of Laus per-
ennis, as demonstrated in the concern to maintain the number of eighty-four
nuns in the monastic community in order to form the seven groups (turmae)
of twelve nuns required for this perpetual praise, as we can see in the list of the
eighty-four nuns included in the first pages of the book (Figure 3.1).64
However, the Rule of St Benedict does not seem to have been followed for
a long time in Remiremont: it no longer appears in any document, and Abbess
61
Hlawitschka, ‘Zur Klosterverlegung und zur Annahme der Benediktsregel in
Remiremont’ and Studien zur Äbtissinnenenreihe von Remiremont (7. –13.Jh.).
62
Liber memorialis, ed. by Hlawitschka, Schmid, and Tellenbach, i, p. 107, ii, fol. 46v:
‘V id. Madias sic coniunxsimus ad istam ordinem ; VI id. decembris sic fecimus sanctam
professionem ; in alio iam anno kal. augusti sic uenimus hic ; XVI kal. iunii translatio sanctorum
corporum ; et redeunte alio anno ipso die exaltatio eorum.’
63
Liber memorialis, ed. by Hlawitschka, Schmid, and Tellenbach, i, p. 111, ii, fol. 47v:
‘In dei nomine deo sacrata Emmane abbatissa et Teoderico preposito uel omni congregatione
puellarum in Christo sororum nostrarum in monte Habendo castro […] Actum ad monasterio
nove, q(uod) est constructus in ualle Rumerio regio super flumen Musella.’
64
Gaillard, D’une réforme à l’autre, pp. 216–18.
Ida, who died in the 920s, is described in the obituary as abbatissa atque diaco-
nissa, which is more reminiscent of a canoness than of a Benedictine abbess.
In 1130 the monastery became the capitulum Romaricense. Clearly, like many
female religious communities in the Empire, the nuns of Remiremont preferred
to follow the Institutio sanctimonialum of 816, rather than the austere Rule of
St Benedict.65
Conclusion
Although it is mostly difficult to follow the evolution of female religious com-
munities from their foundation in the seventh century to the Carolingian
reform, we can detect some fundamental changes and also some continuity.
The extreme austerity of the community of Faremoutiers seems to have been
an exception, unless it has been exaggerated by Jonas of Bobbio. In the sev-
enth century, as in the ninth, women’s monasteries were led and populated by
women from the aristocracy who intended to live religiously without being
deprived of all their comforts. However, there were certainly great differences
between a monastery as modest as Hamage, where Etienne Louis’s excavations
have granted us an insight into the simple life in the seventh century, and the
great monasteries such as Remiremont, Nivelles, and Chelles, stakeholders of
the strategies of great aristocratic families in the seventh century and then con-
trolled by the Carolingian kings in the ninth century.66 This royal control is
probably the most important factor of change on account of the increase in
wealth which it provides, and also by imposing the choice between Rule of St
Benedict and the canonical rule, by appointing lay abbesses, often from the
royal family, and by the new role now assigned to these religious communities:
to pray for the salvation of the emperor or the king, for that of his family, and
that of his kingdom or empire.
65
Schilp, Norm und Wirklichkeit religiöser Frauengemeinschaften im Frühmittelalter.
66
Louis, Wandignies-Hamage, ancienne abbaye de Hamage.
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Bishops and Nuns:
Forms of the cura monialium in Twelfth-
and Thirteenth-Century England
Brian Golding*
T
he term cura monialium has commonly been used by modern historians
as shorthand for the spiritual oversight in the provision of pastoral care
and for the authority exercised over female communities by male cler-
ics, often bishops or abbots, but also by those variously styled magistri, custodes,
or priores in nunneries that were to a greater or lesser extent exempt from epis-
copal control.1 Such authority was often autocratic and often resented, both by
the nuns themselves and also by those who exercised it, as inappropriate activ-
ity. And there was always a potential tension between bishops’ desire to dis-
tance themselves from too close an involvement in the cura monialium and a
concern to ensure that their control was not compromised through exemptions
from visitations and other rights normally associated with the diocesans.
This essay focuses almost exclusively on the diocesan bishop’s roles in the
management of communities for women, particularly as it played out in post-

* I am very grateful to Bella Millett and Barbara Yorke for their help in the preparation of
this essay.
1
The literature on the cura monialium, which goes back at least as far as Grundmann,
Religiöse Bewegungen im Mittelalter, is too extensive to cite, but see McNamara, Sisters in Arms,
chaps 10 and 11 for an introduction, and pp. 713–718 for a substantial bibliography. Griffiths,
‘“Men’s Duty to Provide for Women’s Needs”’, is a valuable contribution to the historiography
and indicates further reading. See also her ‘The Cross and the Cura Monialium’.
Brian Golding ([email protected]) taught medieval history at the University of

Southampton until his retirement.
98 Brian Golding
Conquest England. It will suggest that we have too often tended to see this rela-
tionship solely in mechanistic terms; we have concentrated too much on forms
and institutional structures and organization. This is partly, of course, because
this approach appears more straightforward, more amenable to analysis, and
in England, at any rate, there is a substantial documentary archive of episcopal
registers from the thirteenth century onward which reveals a great deal both
about the workings of episcopal visitations of nunneries and conditions within
the cloister.2 But it is just as essential to examine the ‘unofficial’ ties of bish-
ops to female communities expressed not only through their foundation and
patronage of such houses but through friendship and support for nunneries
and individual nuns, particularly through works of spiritual direction, which
were often delivered in epistolary form: the cura of an individual monialis is as
important as the cura monialium. At the same time, it must be recognized that
here there is a problem of evidence, since there are few surviving major letter
collections or vitae that make this sort of detailed investigation possible.
To over-simplify: the care and control of nuns from the first generations of
monasticism had normally been entrusted to the diocesan bishops, who some-
times wrote rules for nuns. Caesarius of Arles’s rule produced for his sister’s
community is the first monastic rule specifically composed for women. 3 He
was followed by, and often influenced, others, such as Leander of Seville or,
later, Amalarius of Metz.4 Bishops enforced canonical legislation and issued
their own, more local regulations, though these were rarely if at all, at least in
England, specific to an individual community.5 Gradually, however, some male
2
The classic account of episcopal visitations in this period remains Cheney, Episcopal
Visitation of Monasteries.
3
Caesarius, Regula ad virgines, ed. by de Vogöé and Correau; Cesarius d’Arles, The Rule
for Nuns, trans. by McCarthy.
4
Leander of Seville, Regula sive de institutione virginum; El ‘De institutione virginum’, ed.
by Vega; Amalarius of Metz, Regula sanctimonialium.
5
Abbot Aldhelm of Malmesbury, later bishop of Sherborne, wrote his prose ‘de virginitate’
for Abbess Hildelith of Barking and her nuns around 700, which was followed by a verse
version. Though the argument that this was written shortly before Aldhelm became bishop
is strong, it is not conclusive, and it remains possible that he wrote it after he became bishop;
Aldhelm, Prosa de virginitate, ed. by Gwara; for translation, see Aldhelm, The Prose Works,
trans. by Lapidge and Herren, pp. 59–132, and Aldhelm, The Poetic Works, trans. by Lapidge
and Rosier, pp. 97–167. See also Watt, ‘Lost Books’, pp. 1–22. The difficulties of dating the
work and the arguments are summarized in Aldhelm, The Prose Works, trans. by Lapidge and
Herren, pp. 14–15. In the mid-tenth century Aethelwold of Winchester may well have intended
his vernacular translation of the Benedictine rule for the nuns of his diocese. This exists in
Bishops and Nuns 99
monastic houses began to take responsibility for female groups, though there is
little evidence of any formal affiliation, and the later emergence of orders such
as those of Fontevraud and Sempringham provided a structure of ‘internal’ gov-
ernance in many, but not all, ways exempt from episcopal authority.6
Though, as synodal legislation makes clear, Anglo-Saxon bishops had long
been expected to conduct regular visitations of both male and female com-
munities in their diocese, there is no evidence of how these were conducted
or of their edicts being implemented. The earliest known visitation of a nun-
nery (other than the exceptional, and probably politically motivated, case of
Amesbury in 1177, which cannot be regarded as typical of standard twelfth-
century practice) is that of Nun Cotham by Hugh de Wells of Lincoln some-
time between 1209 and 1235.7 That it was recognized that diocesans had an
obligation to carry out visitations and correct shortcomings is evident from
the prologue to Hugh’s regulations for the nunnery: ‘Cum ad congregationem
ancillarum Christi de Cotun, causa visitacionis, ex officii nostri debito facien-
dae accederemus, ad ea quae didiscimus ibidem corrigenda, remedium studui-
mus adhibere’ (Having come to the community of the handmaidens of Christ
at Cotham to carry out an episcopal visitation, we are now eager to apply a
remedy for the things we discover need correction there). The catalyst for his
action may have been the attempt by Pope Innocent III in the twelfth canon
of the Fourth Lateran Council to ensure regular visitations of both male and
female communities.8 Prior to that time, visitations in general were seemingly
absent, in spite of royal sanction and canonical codification (as, notably, in
Gratian), a situation which requires comment, even if it cannot at present be
two forms, the ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’, and its textual history is extremely complex. The
most concise discussion is Gretsch, ‘Æthelwold’s Translation of the “Regula Sancti Benedicti”’,
pp. 137–39, and see Gretsch, ‘The Benedictine Rule in Old English’.
6
For Fontevraud, see especially de Fontette, Les Religieuses à l’âge classique de droit
canon, pp. 68–73; Dalarun, ‘Pouvoir et autorité dans l’Ordre double de Fontevraud’; and for
Sempringham, Golding, Gilbert of Sempringham, pp. 101–06, 134–36; Golding, ‘Authority
and Discipline at the Paraclete, Fontevraud, and Sempringham’; Sykes, Inventing Sempringham,
esp. chap. 4, pp. 165–212.
7
Dugdale, Monasticon Anglicanum, ed. by Caley, Ellis, and Bandinel, v, 677–78. For
Amesbury, see Cheney, Roger, Bishop of Worcester, pp. 216–17, 367; Elkins, Holy Women of
Twelfth-Century England, pp. 146–48; Kerr, Religious Life for Women, pp. 70–72; Calendar of
Documents Preserved in France, ed. by Round, pp. 378–79; Gerald of Wales, Giraldi Cambrensis
Opera, viii: De principis instructione liber, ed. by Warner, pp. 170–71.
8
Conciliorum oecumenicorum decreta, ed. by Alberigo and others, pp. 216–17.
100 Brian Golding
fully explained.9 It is true that the earliest surviving episcopal registers only date
from the first half of the thirteenth century, but it is extremely unlikely that
earlier registers once existed but are now lost.10
One of the reasons why registers were kept was precisely to keep a record
of administrative activity such as visitations. Of course, it cannot necessar-
ily be argued that no registers means no visitations. Yet the lack of reference
to them in other sources, such as those generated from within the monastic
houses themselves or in vitae or acta of eleventh- or twelfth-century bishops,
strongly suggests that they were indeed unknown. Oversight could, however,
be exercised in other ways, both formal and informal: the acta (which, in some
respects, are the precursors of the registers), for example, contain numerous ref-
erences to episcopal interventions in nunneries, their foundation and consecra-
tion, grants and confirmations of property, consecration of nuns, the capture of
apostates, and so on.
Visitations were intended to ensure good order in individual communi-
ties; synodal legislation had a wider authority. This was either a restatement of
existing conciliar canons or generated by the diocesan bishop and intended for
observance solely within his diocese, though other bishops might well copy and
incorporate these rulings into their own statutes. We need to distinguish here
between those applicable to all religious, male and female, and those which
were directed specifically at female houses. Here again the twelfth-century evi-
dence for episcopal interest in religious women is extremely sparse. The 1127
Westminster legatine council forbade abbesses or nuns from wearing clothing
made of anything more valuable than lambs’ wool or the skins of wild black
cats: this ruling on clothing was expanded by the Westminster legatine council
of 1138.11 And that is all.
This brief survey will examine the various ways, other than by visitations and
synodal edicts, in which bishops, nunneries, and nuns interacted. Archbishop
Anselm of Canterbury and Bishop Gundulf of Rochester had been fellow
monks at Bec and were united throughout their lives in close friendship.12
9
Corpus iuris canonici, ed. by Friedberg, i, C. 18, q. 2, cc. 28–29.
10
Though the acta and registers of many medieval bishops have been edited, there has
been surprisingly little study of them as a genre. But see Smith, Guide to Bishops’ Registers,
pp. vii–x, and Cheney, English Bishops’ Chanceries.
11
Councils and Synods, ed. by Whitelock, Brooke, and Powicke, ii, 749, 778.
12
For Gundulf ’s friendship with Anselm at Bec, see The Life of Gundulf, ed. by Thomson,
chap. 8, pp. 30–31, and for his support of Anselm as archbishop, chap. 33, p. 55 and also
Eadmeri Historia Novorum in Anglia, ed. by Rule, p. 376.
Bishops and Nuns 101
Gundulf founded the nunnery of West Malling sometime between Anselm’s

consecration and the archbishop’s exile to Lyons in 1097. The Vita Gundulfi,
which provides the fullest account of the community’s first years, makes it clear
that Gundulf found support and advice from his archbishop.13 In two letters to
Gundulf dated 1104, Anselm sends his greetings to ‘your sons and daughters’,
almost certainly a reference to the monks and nuns at Rochester and Malling.14
The new foundation was explicitly intended as a female parallel to the male
house Gundulf had earlier established with Archbishop Lanfranc’s guidance
at Rochester, about thirteen kilometres to the north.15 One of the two manors
at Malling was held by the archbishop, the other by the bishop.16 It was thus
an excellent potential site for a nunnery to be established through their joint
agency. The Vita goes on to describe how Gundulf provided the conventual
buildings, including the church, and attended both to the nuns’ spiritual and
temporal needs. How these nuns were recruited is unclear, though the Vita tells
how many women, even of noble birth, were happy to enter the community, and
that Gundulf introduced nuns (‘matres spirituales’) from other houses to serve
as ‘priores vel custodes’.17 Were these overseeing nuns brought from English
houses, or introduced from Normandy, just as monks from Norman abbeys
were sometimes brought in to reinforce communities in England, as at Battle,
Shrewsbury, and Chester?18 But Gundulf himself retained overall authority,
not wishing to appoint an abbess. He only installed Avice as first abbess on
his deathbed, and then not before she had promised obedience to the see of
Rochester and on condition that no nun be received except with the bishop’s
permission. His unwillingness to cede control of the community foreshadows
similar reluctance by founders of female houses in the following century, such
as Gilbert of Sempringham.19
13
Life of Gundulf, ed. by Thomson, chap. 34, p. 58.
14
Anselm, Opera, ed. by Schmitt, v, 242 (ep. 314); translated in Anselm, The Letters, trans.
by Fröhlich, iii, 19, 50.
15
Life of Gundulf, ed. by Thomson chap. 34, p. 58.
16
Domesday Book, i, fols 3r, 5v.
17
Life of Gundulf, ed. by Thomson, chap. 34, p. 58.
18
The Chronicle of Battle Abbey, ed. and trans. by Searle, pp. 42–43, 46–47, 68–71; The
Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis, ed. and trans. by Chibnall, iii, 148–49; The Chartulary
or Register of the Abbey of St Werburgh, Chester, ed. by Tait, pp. 15–22, 38–39; The Life of St
Anselm, ed. and trans. by Southern, p. 63; Southern, Saint Anselm, pp. 188–89.
19
Life of Gundulf, ed. by Thomson, chap. 43, p. 65, and for the oath Textus Roffensis, ed. by
Hearne, pp. 194–95. See Golding, Gilbert of Sempringham, pp. 56–57.
102 Brian Golding
The foundation of Malling represents almost (but not quite) all we know of
Bishop Gundulf and his support for nuns. Judging from his correspondence,
Gundulf ’s first archbishop, Lanfranc, had little interest in nuns or nunneries.
He once wrote to the bishop of London requiring him to intervene to settle
a dispute between the abbess and prioress of Barking.20 However, there is one
well-known letter, much cited by historians of the Norman Conquest, where
he sets out his decision on women who fled to nunneries ‘not for love of the
religious life but for fear of the French’, and allowing girls who had been placed
in a nunnery but had not yet been professed or presented as oblates to leave.
Though very familiar, it is not often sufficiently recognized that this letter is
addressed to Gundulf in reply to a letter (which has not survived) Gundulf
himself had written raising these concerns.21
Largely as a result of his substantial letter collection, we know considerably
more about Anselm’s encouragement, counsel, patronage, and friendship with
individual nuns and communities.22 All these letters convey that deep sense
of spiritual friendship that is found throughout Anselm’s works, but they also
reveal a concern for the well-ordering of the communal life, founded on har-
mony and obedience to the Rule.23 While still at Bec, he wrote to Adelaide, the
eldest daughter of William the Conqueror, who was a nun, most probably at St
Léger, Préaux, sending her a little book containing a florilegium of the Psalms
and a number of prayers and meditations for private devotion which she herself
had requested, together with seven prayers and meditations for private devo-
tion. His accompanying letter provided brief guidance on how these were to
be used.24
20
Lanfranc, The Letters, ed. and trans. by Clover and Gibson, pp. 174–75, no. 59.
21
Lanfranc, The Letters, ed. and trans. by Clover and Gibson, pp. 166–67, no. 53. For a
full discussion of this issue, see Searle, ‘Women and the Succession’, pp. 165–66.
22
Surprisingly little attention has been paid to Anselm’s ties with religious women, with
the exception of Vaughn, ‘St Anselm and Women’, and St Anselm and the Handmaidens of
God, where she notes (pp. 2, 4) that Anselm corresponded much more with lay than religious
women; see also the table on pp. 36–37 and pp. 160–202.
23
On Anselm and friendship, see especially Southern, Saint Anselm, pp. 138–65; and
for monastic friendship in general, see McGuire, Friendship and Community: he treats of
Anselm and Gundulf ’s friendship, pp. 214–16, 224–25. Canatella, ‘Friendship in Anselm
of Canterbury’s Correspondence’, focuses on Anselm’s friendship with Gundulf and Ida of
Boulogne.
24
Anselm, Opera, ed. by Schmitt, iv, 121 (ep. 10); Anselm, The Letters, trans. by Fröhlich,
i, 92–93. The florilegium has not survived: the meditations enjoyed wide circulation. They are
As archbishop he continued to correspond with nuns and send them spir-

itual advice. Two of his letters may well have been sent to Eulalia, abbess of
Shaftesbury, and her community: they are certainly found in the Shaftesbury
Psalter of c. 1125. Morrow has recently suggested that Eulalia was Anselm’s clos-
est friend amongst his female religious correspondents and that his letters indi-
cate a politico - spiritual symbiosis between nun and archbishop. Eulalia was a
‘colleague’ in his struggles with kings William II and Henry I, and, as powerful
abbess of a great and prestigious royal nunnery, gave some political legitimacy
to the archbishop’s cause.25 Yet it is to exaggerate to contrast this relationship
with his letters to Athelitz, abbess of Romsey, and Matilda of Wilton, argu-
ing that in Eulalia’s case he ‘did not write in stern admonition or for the sake
of bureaucratic supervision’.26 Anselm refers to all three collectively in equally
affectionate terms as his dearest beloved daughters in a letter to Hugh, archdea-
con of Canterbury, requesting him to greet them, sending them his blessings,
and asking for their prayers in return.27 Anselm’s first letter to Shaftesbury was
written shortly after he became archbishop and, in asking for the nuns’ prayers,
complains explicitly that he would prefer to die than endure the wretchedness
of his office. Further, he exhorts them to even greater holiness and that they
should observe every part of the Rule, however slight it might seem. This is not
‘stern admonition’, but admonition none the less.28
His second letter, written in 1104 from Lyon, urges the nuns to increas-
ing love of God, and asks that they should display obedience to the abbess not
only in outward appearance but in the heart, which might hint at some internal
dissensions within the community and perhaps opposition to Eulalia’s rule: it
also contains a reference to unspecific adversities and tribulations the commu-
nity faced from every side.29 His final letter, written two years later, reiterates
more strongly the themes of the earlier letters: obedience to the Rule and to the
discussed in Anselm, The Prayers and Meditations, trans. by Ward, and Southern, Saint Anselm,
pp. 91–112. See also Bell, ‘A Token of Friendship?’, and Morrow, ‘Sharing Texts’, pp. 114–23
and 97–113.
25
Morrow, ‘Sharing Texts’, pp. 102–05.
26
Morrow, ‘Sharing Texts’, pp. 103 and 110, n. 24.
27
Anselm, Opera, ed. by Schmitt, v, 103, ep. 208; Anselm, The Letters, trans. by Fröhlich, ii, 152.
28
Anselm, Opera, ed. by Schmitt, iv, 67–68, ep. 183; Anselm, The Letters, trans. by Fröhlich,
ii, 102–03.
29
Anselm, Opera, ed. by Schmitt, v, 274–05, ep. 337; Anselm, The Letters, trans. by
Fröhlich, iii, 63–65.
104 Brian Golding
abbess, the avoidance of dissension, and the maintenance of communal peace.30

Again, the context is unclear, but the difficulties may have been associated with
the political tensions of the first years of the reign of King Henry I.
Certainly, in Anselm’s dealings with English nuns and abbesses there is
almost always a political as well as a spiritual dimension. The thorniest politi-
cal problems relating to English nunneries with which he had to deal were
unquestionably those of Gunnhild, daughter of King Harold II Godwineson,
and Matilda, daughter of King Malcolm III Canmore of Scotland. Involving,
as they did, the kings of England and Scotland, the old Wessex dynasty, and
Count Alan the Red of Richmond (one of the greatest of the Anglo-Norman
magnates in the north), the stakes could not have been higher. These events
have been much studied and will only be outlined briefly here. Gunnhild had
taken refuge in Wilton Abbey following the Norman Conquest, but on fail-
ing to become abbess she had left the community to live with Count Alan.
Anselm wrote her two stern letters ordering her to return to the religious life.31
This correspondence, which can be dated to late 1093 or early 1094, has been
examined in detail by Richard Southern, who describes Gunnhild as establish-
ing ‘the closest friendship with Anselm of any woman known to us’. Many of
the women who fled to nunneries after 1066 had not been professed as nuns,
as that famous letter of Archbishop Lanfranc’s discussing their situation and
proposing a solution makes clear.32 But the precise status of Gunnhild was, and
remains, unclear. As Southern notes, ‘the situation is hard to disentangle’. 33
Anselm certainly believed that she was truly a nun and, crucially, wore the
habit both publicly and privately: at the same time, he admitted that she had
not been episcopally consecrated as canonically required, nor taken her vows
in the bishop’s presence. However, if she had indeed hoped to become abbess,
she must have been fully professed. Anselm regarded leaving the nunnery, wear-
ing secular dress, and living in the world as clear apostasy. Gunnhild oscillated
between the secular and religious worlds, perhaps a victim of external political
exigencies rather than personal indecision.
30
Anselm, Opera, ed. by Schmitt, v, 347–48, ep. 403; Anselm, The Letters, trans. by
Fröhlich, iii, 167–68. The question of obedience, including monastic obedience is, of course, a
leitmotiv in Anselm’s writings. See Southern, Saint Anselm, esp. pp. 254–76.
31
Anselm, Opera, ed. by Schmitt, iv, 43–50. ep. 168–69; Anselm, The Letters, trans. by
Fröhlich, ii, 64–74.
32
See above, n. 21.
33
For summaries see Southern, Saint Anselm, pp. 262–64, and Barlow, William Rufus,
pp. 313–14.
At the same time, while dealing with Gunnhild’s case, Anselm had to inter-
vene in that of Matilda. This was very similar and equally complex. Matilda
had been sent to Wilton (or just possibly, Romsey) to be educated under the
supervision of her aunt Christina. Whether she took the veil is unclear: she
undoubtedly wore the habit, though perhaps under coercion. Her father cer-
tainly thought she was a nun, thus jeopardizing the possibility of a marriage
alliance with Count Alan of Richmond — who was simultaneously involved
with Gunnhild. Anselm was equally certain that she was professed and that she
was an apostate, writing to Bishop Osmund of Salisbury urging him to compel
her to return to the community, since he had confirmed with William Rufus
that the king wished her to return, probably because William did not wish to
see a dangerous bond between the lord of Richmond and the king of Scots. 34
Anselm’s ruling was of no effect, and it seems that Matilda returned to
Scotland with her father. By this time, Count Alan was dead: he was succeeded
by his brother, Alan Niger, whom it seems Matilda next proposed to marry. He,
however, died in 1098. Then in 1100 a further problem arose. Henry I wished
to marry Matilda himself, not only because such a marriage would serve a valu-
able diplomatic function, since it would unite the old native and the Anglo-
Norman dynasty with the kingdom of Scotland, but because this was a love
match. Anselm had to revisit the question of whether she had ever been a nun.
Having made a detailed investigation, the archbishop decided that Matilda had
never been professed and that she was free to marry. He had, therefore, com-
pletely rejected the position he held less than ten years before. It is hard not
to agree with C. Warren Hollister’s suggestion that this reversal had political
motives, and that the archbishop did not wish to alienate the new king.35
Politics possibly also lay behind one of the letters Anselm wrote to Athelitz,
abbess of Romsey, in 1102, which contains a strong rebuke to her and her com-
munity. They had sent a messenger asking for his advice on how they should
deal with the problem of an unofficial cult that had emerged in Romsey around
a man whom some wished to be regarded as a saint (‘volunt pro sancto haberi’).
However, they had then ignored his advice. He now threatened the abbess with
suspension from office unless she complied with his strict orders to withdraw all
promotion and veneration of the cult and neither to make or receive any offer-
34
Anselm, Opera, ed. by Schmitt, iv, 60–61, ep. 177; Anselm, The Letters, trans. by
Fröhlich, ii, 91–92.
35
The fullest account is found in Eadmer, Historia Novorum in Anglia, ed. by Rule,
pp. 121–26. The clearest summary of events are Huneycutt, Matilda of Scotland, pp. 17–25,
28–30, and Hollister, Henry I, pp. 126–30.
106 Brian Golding
ings to the dead man. Moreover, the nunnery should expel from the town the
young man who was hanging about at the tomb, and prevent his return.36 He
simultaneously wrote in very similar language to the archdeacon of Winchester,
ordering him to go to Romsey and enforce these injunctions on behalf of the
archbishop and the bishop of Winchester.37 The dead man has often been
identified (most recently in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography) as
Waltheof, earl of Northumbria, executed at Winchester in 1076.38 If this inter-
pretation is correct, then Anselm was right to be especially concerned with
the suppression of an irregular cult, for such a shrine could easily become the
focus of political discontent for the dispossessed Anglo-Saxon ancien régime.
But there are problems with this hypothesis: Waltheof had been executed (or
martyred) over twenty-five years earlier, and there is no hint of continuing
Anglo-Saxon opposition at this time; a secondary cult of Waltheof might have
been expected to be found at Winchester, not Romsey, if anywhere; Waltheof
is never recorded as a benefactor of Romsey nor known to have had any con-
nection with it — after all, his power base lay in the north and midlands, most
of his patronage being directed at the Fenland house of Crowland, where his
body was taken for burial a fortnight after his death, and where a cult certainly
soon afterwards developed.39 Moreover, though Athelitz was of native origin,
and almost certainly drawn from the old aristocracy, it would have been folly to
promote the cult of one the Normans regarded as a traitor. It is perhaps more
likely that Anselm’s concerns reflect a growing unease with popular, unsanc-
tioned cults. Whether the man was Waltheof or a much less important local
figure, this episode was probably the prime catalyst for the decree issued a few
months later in September 1102 at the council of Westminster under Anselm’s
presidency forbidding anyone from venerating the bodies of the dead, springs,
or other things with rash innovation which we know to have happened without
episcopal authority.40 A year later Anselm was writing much less acerbically to
Athelitz (addressed as abbess of Winchester) urging her not to be concerned at
36
Anselm, Opera, ed. by Schmitt, iv, 144–45, ep. 237; Anselm, The Letters, trans. by Fröh
lich, ii, 213–14.
37
Anselm, Opera, ed. by Schmitt, iv, 144, ep. 236; Anselm, The Letters, trans. by Fröhlich,
ii, 212–13.
38
Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, s.v. Waltheof; Brett, The English Church under
Henry I, p. 83.
39
The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis, ed. and trans. by Chibnall, ii, 320–25,
344–49.
40
Councils and Synods, ed. by Whitelock, Brooke, and Powicke, ii, 678 (my italics).
the departure of her diocesan bishop, William Giffard, but rather to rejoice. It
was better to be forced into exile and face confiscation of goods for the sake of
justice — perhaps the archbishop was thinking here of his own recent experi-
ences — than to accumulate wealth through injustice.41
The only nun to whom Anselm wrote in England who was not an abbess
was Mabilia, whom Anselm addressed as his dearest daughter, but whose iden-
tity and community are unknown. He urged her not to become entangled with
this world and in particular not to visit her secular relatives with whom she
could have no common interests or concerns. If they visited her, they would
not become monks through her influence; and if they did wish to see her, they
should come to her, not she go to them: worldly friendships detracted from
divine friendship, and she should desire to be a friend of God alone.42 Mabilia
should probably be identified with the nun ‘M’, daughter of Richard, to whom
he had earlier employed the same salutation. It has plausibly been suggested
that ‘M’ may have been the daughter of Richard and Rohais de Clare.43 In this
letter Anselm refers to his friendship with her parents, which caused him to
love her the more, before he goes on to exhort her to remain steadfast amongst
the chosen few and asks for her prayers. Richard and Rohais were generous
patrons of Bec, and one of their sons, brother of the putative ‘M’, entered Bec,
where he would have known Anselm as abbot. Here familial and spiritual ties
are meshed.44 Both letters certainly suggest a close relationship between family
and community, though, of course, prohibitions and warnings against family
members, particularly men, visiting nuns except under the strictest conditions
were a common theme in later synodal legislation and episcopal visitations.45
41
lich, ii, 279–80.
42
Anselm, Opera, ed. by Schmitt, v, 349–50, ep. 405; Anselm, The Letters, trans. by Fröh
lich, iii, 170–72.
43
lich, ii, 103–04 and note.
44
See Stoke by Clare Cartulary, ed. by Harper-Bill and Mortimer, iii, 1–2. Richard of
Clare’s letters relating to the establishment of Stoke by Clare and St Neots, which was also
under the patronage of Rohaise de Clare, are found in Anselm, Opera, ed. by Schmitt, iii,
218–21, ep. 91–94 (especially ep. 94); Anselm, The Letters, trans. by Fröhlich, i, 232–38. For
Anselm’s links with Bec’s English cells, see Chibnall, ‘The Relations of St Anselm with the
English Dependencies of the Abbey of Bec’ and ‘The English Possessions of Bec’
45
E.g., Councils and Synods, ed. by Whitelock, Brooke, and Powicke, ii, 790 (Legatine
Council of London, 1268).
108 Brian Golding
Amongst the most interesting of the letters from the perspective of this
essay are the two written — the first c. 1102, the second a few years later
— to a certain Robert and a small community of women which, judging by
the addressees, seems to have grown between these two dates: in 1102 there
were just two women, later joined by five more.46 All had native Anglo-Saxon
names, unlike their spiritual director. Unfortunately, neither Robert nor the
women can be further identified. The letters themselves give few clues. Robert
clearly had the care of the women, teaching them how to live ‘verbo et exem-
plo’. Both letters are of spiritual guidance and advice: both urge Robert and
the women to persevere in their calling, which may be a commonplace, or
could indicate that the community was in danger of disintegration. Where it
was, other than somewhere in England, cannot be determined. It is possible,
as Sally Thompson suggests, that it was in or near Canterbury.47 It may have
been the initial core of St Sepulchre’s nunnery, whose foundation was attrib-
uted by William Thorne, the fourteenth-century historian of St Augustine’s
Abbey, Canterbury, to Anselm, though William Urry makes a strong case that
the nunnery was established by William Cauvel, but perhaps with the arch-
bishop’s encouragement.48 Thompson alternatively suggests that Robert’s group
might be associated with the four nuns recorded in Domesday as holding four
acres in alms of St Augustine, ‘close by the city’.49 However, the status of these
nuns is unclear, and it is unlikely that the archbishop and titular head of Christ
Church, Canterbury, would have entrusted Robert’s community to the care of
the cathedral’s great rival. It is more probable that these were, as Sarah Foot
conjectures, a small group of vowesses who were the abbey’s tenants but had
no affiliation with it.50 What is certain is that it can be seen as a precursor of
eremitic groups such as the much better-known examples of Markyate and
Sempringham, which evolved into formally regulated nunneries.51
46
Anselm, Opera, ed. by Schmitt, iv, 130–35, 359–62, eps 230, 414; Anselm, The Letters,
trans. by Fröhlich, ii, 199–200, and iii, 184–87.
47
Thompson, Women Religious, pp. 36–37.
48
William Thorne’s Chronicle, trans. by Davis, pp. 214–15; Urry, Canterbury under the
Angevin Kings, pp. 62–63.
49
Domesday Book, i, fol. 12r.
50
Foot, Veiled Women, ii, 51–52.
51
For Markyate, see The Life of Christina of Markyate, ed. and trans. by Talbot, pp. 28–30;
and for Sempringham, Golding, Gilbert of Sempringham, especially pp. 78–81, 85–86. Anselm
had also earlier undertaken the direction of a small community of women at Lyon; Canatella,
‘Friendship in Anselm of Canterbury’s Correspondence’, p. 360; Vaughn, St Anselm and the
After Gundulf and Anselm, episcopal involvement with female communi-

ties seemingly became generally much more formalized. There is little indica-
tion that nuns sought spiritual advice from their diocesan, nor that it was prof-
fered. Many bishops were certainly conscientious visitors of nunneries (as they
were of male communities), and they attempted to ensure that the Rule was
observed, discipline maintained, and scandal averted, but there is no sense, as
there is in the cases of Gundulf and Anselm, of personal engagement, though
they might still play a significant role in the foundation and patronage of
twelfth-century nunneries.52
If there is a theme connecting a number of the twelfth-century episcopal
founders, it is their interest in houses that sprang from anchoretic origins.
Alexander of Lincoln, the founder of Gilbertine Haverholme, was a commit-
ted supporter of the anchoress Christina of Markyate. He consecrated her as
a religious and later consecrated the church at the nunnery of Markyate estab-
lished by Christina’s other friend and patron, Geoffrey, abbot of St Albans.53
Alexander’s brother, Nigel of Ely, certainly played a part in the foundation
of St Radegund’s nunnery, Cambridge, though whether he was actually the
founder is questionable. Of more significance in this discussion is his early
patronage of the small nunnery of Hinchingbroke, which seems to have been
a small community of religious women, not unlike those supported by Anselm
at Canterbury. Nicholas Karn has recently suggested that this was anchoretic
in nature — Nigel was certainly a patron of hermits and anchorites, and his
transformation of the community at Hinchingbroke could be seen as very
similar to what his brother was doing at Markyate.54 Alexander’s contempo-
rary, Archbishop Thurstan of York, is described in Christina’s vita as ‘a helpful
promoter of such holy vocations’, that is, the anchoretic life. According to the
vita, he initially tried to persuade Christina to become the first prioress of his
new nunnery at York, and when that proved unsuccessful encouraged her to go
either to the Cluniac nunnery of Marcigny or to Fontevraud.55 Finally, Bishop
Handmaidens of God, p. 14.

52
For the fullest discussion of episcopal founders, see Thompson, Women Religious,
pp. 191–210.
53
Life of Christina of Markyate, ed. and trans. by Talbot, pp. 4, 8–9, 126, 146.
54
Thompson, Women Religious, pp. 200–01; English Episcopal Acta 31: Ely, ed. by Karn,
pp. 89–91.
55
Life of Christina of Markyate, ed. and trans. by Talbot, pp. 110–11, 126–27. Talbot
suggests (p. 8 n. 1) that Thurstan thought Marcigny an appropriate refuge since he had earlier
accompanied Adela, countess of Blois, to be received as a nun there.
110 Brian Golding
Roger de Clinton of Coventry and Lichfield was responsible for the conversion
of several eremitic communities in the remote area of Cannock Chase to small
Benedictine nunneries at Brewood, Farewell, and Polesworth.56
In the following century, as is well known, the number of new foundations
for women declined, nor is there much evidence to suggest that bishops took
an active part in the process. However, Bishop Richard le Poor of Salisbury
played a key role in the foundation of the Cistercian nunnery of Tarrant. He
seems to have patronized this house for no other reason than that he was born
in the village — and at his death he was buried there.57 His successor as bishop,
Robert Bingham, was involved in the establishment of Lacock Abbey. It is
impossible to be certain whether the warm words he expresses for the com-
munity in a confirmation charter are merely formulaic, but he was certainly
instrumental in ensuring that the canonesses followed the Augustinian rule
rather than the Cistercian, which seems to have been the original intention of
the foundress, Ela, countess of Salisbury.58 His action was probably a conse-
quence of the Cistercians’ recently repeated prohibition of their order taking
on the care of religious women. In providing a rule for Lacock, Bingham was
not alone. In the following generation the unusually detailed account of the
foundation of Flixton Priory demonstrates the role bishops might continue to
have in the establishment and ordering of new communities. The acta of Bishop
Simon Walton of Norwich show that he consecrated the site of the new nun-
nery of Flixton, founded sometime before 1259 by Margaret of Creake; veiled
the nuns; and imposed the Augustinian rule, but with specific modifications of
his own which reflect contemporary concerns familiar from visitation records.
Enclosure was to be strictly enforced. The nuns were restricted to seven in num-
ber; only when its resources had increased proportionately could any more be
recruited. When not at the Divine Office they were to work as appropriate for
56
English Episcopal Acta 14, ed. by Franklin, pp. xlvi, 19–21, 30, nos 21, 32.
57
Thompson, Women Religious, pp. 96–98. According to Matthew Paris, Richard founded
the nunnery ‘which he gave to the queen’; Matthew Paris, Chronica Majora, ed. by Luard, iii,
392. See also English Episcopal Acta 18: Salisbury, ed. by Kemp, pp. liv–lv. Leland, citing a
‘table’ in the Lady Chapel of Salisbury cathedral, records that Poor founded Tarrant where he
was born, and his heart was buried there; The Itinerary of John Leland, ed. by Toulmin-Smith,
i, 262–63. Matthew Paris writes that he chose Tarrant as his place of burial; Matthew Paris,
Chronica Majora, ed. by Luard, iii, 392. According to the Waverley annals, his older brother
Herbert, also bishop of Salisbury, died in Salisbury but was buried at Wilton nunnery, perhaps,
as Kemp has suggested, because he had intended it to be the site of his projected new cathedral;
Annales Monastici, ed. by Luard, ii, 287.
58
Dugdale, Monasticon Anglicanum, ed. by Caley, Ellis, and Bandinel, vi, 503.
the maintenance of the house. These statutes were amended and extended in
1261 and 1263.59 However, somewhat surprisingly, these later versions omit
any reference to enclosure and do not include the earlier prohibition on eat-
ing with men. But the 1263 version did stress the centrality of visitation. The
bishop noted that the Augustinian rule followed by the nuns and to which the
statutes were supplementary made no provision for visitation and stipulated
that this should take place annually.
As in the case of Bishop Poor, informal links between his episcopal contem-
poraries and nunneries were often grounded in familial ties. In 1232 Bishop
Robert Grosseteste of Lincoln wrote to his sister Yvette, a nun, perhaps at the
Gilbertine priory of Catley, urging her to remain strong in the religious life.60
His reformist colleague Edmund Rich of Abingdon, who became archbishop
of Canterbury in 1233, placed his two sisters, Margery and Alice, in the small
nunnery of Catesby.61 In her turn Margery later became prioress, and she her-
self became the centre of a small unofficial cult.62 According to Matthew Paris,
the motivation for Edmund’s action derived from his extremely pious mother.
On her deathbed she commended her daughters to Edmund’s care with a
sum of money for the dowry payment customarily, though uncanonically,
required from recruits to most nunneries. Edmund was reluctant to commit
such simony, but on visiting the prioress she agreed to receive the women.63
There is more to this than is at first apparent: clearly this episode is included
to highlight the bishop’s opposition to simony, but why choose Catesby?
However, the Abingdon family seem already to have been patrons of the nun-
nery (both Edmund and his brother William granted it property and rent in
Abingdon), which may explain why the prioress was happy to receive the nuns
without a down payment, but what brought about this connection between a
59
English Episcopal Acta 32: Norwich, ed. by Harper-Bill, pp. 168–75, nos 149–51. See
also Thompson, Women Religious, pp. 187, 205, 209. Unlike Poor, Walton was a noted curialist
with no reputation for personal piety.
60
Grosseteste, Epistolae, ed. by Luard, pp. 43–45, ep. 8. For English translation and notes,
see Grosseteste, The Letters, trans. by Mantello and Goering, pp. 75–77. See also Marsh, The
Letters, ed. and trans. by Lawrence, i, 32–33, 148–49, nos 12, 53.
61
Vita Sancti Edmundi, ed. by Lawrence, p. 222. For Catesby nunnery, see Gervase of
Canterbury, The Historical Works, ed. by Stubbs, i, 431.
62
Lawrence, St Edmund of Canterbury, p. 108; Farmer, The Oxford Dictionary of Saints,
pp. 423–24.
63
Vita Sancti Edmundi, ed. by Lawrence, p. 250. On the particular problems of simony in
nunneries, see Lynch, Simoniacal Entry into Religious Life, pp. 158–59, 193–94.
112 Brian Golding
wealthy urban dynasty and a small nunnery some seventy-five kilometres away
is unknown.64 Edmund’s attachment to Catesby continued through his life and
beyond, since on his death he left the nunnery his cloak and a sculpted diptych,
which then became the focus of a small cult.65
It was presumably these connections with, and patronage of, Catesby that
lay behind an incident recorded in the Lanercost Chronicle for the year 1238,
the year in which Edmund became archbishop, though it is unclear whether the
events described relate to the time of his archiepiscopate or his earlier ecclesias-
tical career.66 While Edmund was in Norfolk, he persuaded a young heiress who
did not wish to be married to be received at Catesby, ‘where his sister was then
prioress’. He continued to have a close relationship with the woman, greeting
her as his dearest friend and providing her with suitable support. Once, while
staying nearby, he asked that his sister, accompanied by this nun, should visit
him at Easter. Arriving late on Easter eve, they found Edmund already washing
his hands (presumably in preparation for the Easter liturgy). As soon as he saw
her, he is said to have embraced her in the sight of all, saying that if the world
would not think the worse of it, they would never live apart.
That Edmund was noted as a spiritual advisor to nuns and religious women
beyond Catesby is apparent from a story in Ralph Bocking’s vita of Edmund’s
friend and colleague, Richard, bishop of Chichester. Ralph writes how Edmund
was always willing to visit religious women, either to admonish them to good,
or to exhort them to even greater perfection. Such behaviour clearly provoked
scandalous gossip, as when Edmund was visiting a holy woman alone and the
suspicious chatter of the archbishop’s servants came to Richard’s attention,
causing both saints great distress.67 Both the Lanercost and Bocking accounts
are inserted in their narratives to emphasize Edmund’s own chastity, a virtue
which all his hagiographers emphasized, and to counter any accusations of
impropriety; but at the same time, they reflect the bishop’s concern to promote
the religious life of women under his jurisdiction. This interest may also perhaps
be reflected in the Pontigny vita which tells how before he became archbishop
he went to preach at Buckland nunnery, styled Cistercian here and seemingly
a confusion of the nunnery of the sisters of the Order of St John of Jerusalem
at Minchin Buckland with the Cistercian monastery of Buckland. A nun had
64
Lawrence, St Edmund, pp. 316–17.
65
Vita Sancti Edmundi, ed. by Lawrence, pp. 270, 278–79.
66
Chronicon de Lanercost, ed. by Stevenson, i, 36–37.
67
Saint Richard of Chichester, ed. by Jones, pp. 102, 178–79.
a vision that a deceased sister appeared telling her that Edmund would come
to preach and that she should give him a thread she would find in order that
he might make crosses from it. The nun did as told and Edmund made crosses
with which many people were signed. This account is given in the context of
Edmund’s preaching of the crusade (probably c. 1226–27), and the fact that he
chose to visit a nunnery of a crusading order may be significant.68
It is also possible that the Anglo-Norman version of Edmund’s Speculum
ecclesie, the La Merure de Seinte Eglise (which perhaps preceded the Speculum),
was originally intended for a female religious audience, though it soon enjoyed
a wide readership.69 Maybe, as David N. Bell has suggested, following M.
Dominica Legge, it was produced for Countess Ela, the foundress and first
abbess of Lacock. Such a suggestion is not unlikely since, according to the nun-
nery’s foundation, after Ela had entered the community she always acted in
accordance with Edmund’s counsel, and the Pontigny vita records how he sent
her a curative relic of Thomas Becket when she was abbess and ill.70 Edmund
may have already acted as Ela’s spiritual advisor while she was still countess, for
the same source tells how he refused a gift of jewels the countess sent him.71
Legge also raised the possibility, though considered it less probable, that La
Merure was intended for Edmund’s sisters.72 Indeed, there is nothing in the
Latin text of the Speculum ecclesie, which was certainly written for religious, to
preclude the possibility that it too was written for nuns.73 Moreover, Nicholas
Watson has recently suggested that Edmund’s Speculum religiosorum, another
text of spiritual guidance, might have been written for his Catesby sisters.74
68
Thesaurus Novus Anecdotorum, ed. by Martène and Durand, iii, cols 1799–1800.
69
Mirour de Seinte Eglise, ed. by Wilshere, who argues that Edmund was not responsible
for the French version, which he sees as posterior to the Latin text (p. xxxviii). See also the
valuable discussion by Iguchi, ‘The Visibility of the Translator’.
70
Dugdale, Monasticon Anglicanum, ed. by Caley, Ellis, and Bandinel, vi, 501–02;
Thesaurus Novus Anecdotorum, ed. by Martène and Durand, iii, cols 1798–99.
71
Thesaurus Novus Anecdotorum, ed. by Martène and Durand, iii, col. 1799.
72
Bell, What Nuns Read, p. 69; Legge, Anglo-Norman in the Cloisters, p. 96, and ‘Wanted:
An Edition of St Edmund’s “Merure”’. Legge notes that some manuscripts of the Merure are
addressed to ‘dear sister and friend’. I subscribe to Legge’s suggestion, in contrast to Wilshere,
that the Anglo-Norman version was written before the Latin.
73
There is a substantial literature on the Speculum ecclesie: see especially Pantin, The
English Church, pp. 222–24; Lawrence, St Edmund, pp. 120–22, and Gunn, ‘Reading Edmund
of Abingdon’s Speculum’.
74
Watson, ‘Middle English Versions and Audiences’, p. 118.
114 Brian Golding
Other works of spiritual guidance were also associated with bishops. Simon
de Ghent, who became bishop of Salisbury in 1297, was certainly concerned to
maintain standards within the nunneries of his diocese. He was among the very
first of the English bishops to try to enforce Boniface VIII’s edict, Periculoso,
writing to the abbesses of all the nunneries in his diocese to order them to
ensure the strict claustration of their nuns.75 A manuscript of c. 1400 attributed
the Latin translation of the Ancrene Wisse to him: ‘Hic incipit prohemium uen-
erabilis patris magistri Simonis de Gandavo episcopi Sarum in librum de uita
solitaria quem scripsit sororibus suis anachoritis apud Tarente.’76 This incipit
raises some obvious problems: the bishop is not known to have to have had any
biological sisters, and it is probable that the reference here is to his spiritual
sisters in his diocese. Nor were there anchoresses at Tarrant: Tarrant was, as we
have seen, a Cistercian nunnery. Indeed, the vernacular version of the Ancrene
Wisse, which was almost certainly written in the late 1220s, predates the bishop
by some decades.77 Simon was also, however, credited with another rule for
both male and female anchorites: the so-called ‘Dublin rule’, which was prob-
ably produced during his lifetime.78 Here again we see the connection between
bishops and the eremitical life. What is important is not whether Simon was
really the author of the vernacular text, but that some thought it appropriate to
ascribe works of spiritual guidance for women to the bishop.
This survey is intended only to suggest that a more nuanced analysis of the
relationship between diocesan bishops and nunneries in medieval England
than has generally been presented is necessary. Meanwhile, a number of tenta-
tive conclusions can be drawn. First, there is a gradual transition from relatively
75
Registrum Simonis de Gandavo, ed. by Flower and Dawes, i, 10–13, 109–10.
76
Oxford, Magdalen College, MS 67 (Millett, Annotated Bibliographies, pp. 58–59). A
similar attribution was probably found at the beginning of an earlier Latin version of the Ancrene
Wisse (in the now-fragmentary manuscript British Library, Cotton Vitellius E vii), which is
described in the 1696 catalogue of the Cottonian manuscripts, ‘Regulae vitae anachoretarum
utriusque sexus scriptae per Simonem de Gandavo, episcopum Sarum, in usum sororum’: it is
also found in an earlier Cottonian catalogue (London, British Library, MS Additional 36682
B, fol. 179r) which also refers to the Magdalen manuscript; Millett, Annotated Bibliographies,
pp. 53–54; Macaulay, ‘The Ancren Riwle’, pp. 70, 71, 77–78, 473–74. In 1853 James Morton
erroneously ascribed the Ancrene Wisse to Bishop Poor; Millett, Annotated Bibliographies,
pp. 7, 15, 34, 66–67.
77
On the dating and authorship of Ancrene Wisse, see Millett, Annotated Bibliographies,
pp. 6–13, and Ancrene Wisse, ed. by Millett, ii, pp. xvi–xix.
78
For the ‘Dublin Rule’, see ‘Regulae tres reclusorum et eremitarum’, ed. by Oliger, and
‘Regula reclusorum Angliae’, ed. by Oliger.
unstructured relationships to greater institutionalization and formalization.

This transition and the development of processes of control may well have led
to a general distancing between diocesan and community and the canaliza-
tion of spiritual counsel through visitations rather than personal contacts. This
counsel was most probably delivered through the sermon which was customar-
ily delivered at all visitations. The biblical texts of some of these sermons have
survived, as have a few full sermon texts, though none has yet been identified
as being intended for a nunnery.79 Second, it is noteworthy that all the bishops
discussed above (with the exception of Walton) were distinguished for their
piety, three (Anselm, Grosseteste, and Edmund) were canonized, and at least
one other, Simon de Ghent, was the subject of an unofficial cult. This might
suggest that unexceptional bishops in general paid little attention to the care of
the nuns in their diocese, and that though even the most worldly might found
nunneries, thereafter they were largely ignored, except in the context of rou-
tine visitations, consecrations, and other ‘official’ obligations. But only a small
proportion even of the thirteenth-century reformist bishops had any direct
encounter with nunneries. Such contacts there were driven as much as anything
by familial and friendship ties, which were frequently established well before
the bishop was appointed: spiritual and temporal kinship converged.
79
Cheney, Episcopal Visitation of Monasteries, pp. 15–16, 59, 62–63
116 Brian Golding
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Medieval Nunneries and Male Authority:
Female Monasteries in England and Wales
Janet Burton
W
ithin the British Isles, provision for women wishing to live the reli-
gious, specifically the monastic, life, varied both in terms of chro-
nology and geography. The monastic houses of England in the late
Anglo-Saxon period were confined to the south and midlands of the country,
and monasteries for men outnumbered the houses for women by about four to
one.1 Both male and female houses enjoyed support from the kings of England,
and accumulated considerable wealth, but outside the royal heartlands of
Wessex and Mercia provision was non-existent. By the end of the Middle Ages,
female monasticism had spread widely, though there were some areas — notably
Cornwall and the north-west — where there was still a lack of formal opportu-
nity for female religious.2 In contrast, a map of monastic England in the Middle
Ages would show a density of nunneries, particularly in the north-east and the
midlands. In Lincolnshire, for instance, the Gilbertine Order offered nuns a life
within one of its highly regulated double houses, where women (nuns and lay
sisters, converse/conversae) and men (regular canons and conversi) formed the
four wheels of the biblical ‘Chariot of Aminadab’, while wealthy female monas-
teries like Stixwould and tiny, poor houses like Fosse were as much a part of the
1
On female religious, and the different terminology used to describe them, in Anglo-
Saxon England, see Foot, Veiled Women and ‘Flores ecclesiae’.
2
Orme, A History of the County of Cornwall, p. 31.
Janet Burton ([email protected]) is professor of Medieval History at University of Wales

Trinity Saint David, Lampeter Campus.
124 Janet Burton
vibrant religious life of the region.3 In terms of affiliation and observance, the
majority of houses followed the Rule of St Benedict, though there was a hand-
ful (around twenty) of houses of Augustinian canonesses.4 Between twenty and
thirty houses — the number is uncertain — were in some ways associated with
the Cistercians, though not apparently throughout their history.5 In Wales,
despite a considerable male monastic presence, there were only three small
priories for nuns: one Benedictine and two Cistercian.6 It is largely — though
not exclusively — with these smaller Cistercian nunneries that this essay is con-
cerned. Relatively few medieval writers in a British context commented on the
status of female Cistercian houses in relation to their male counterparts. One
who did was Gerald of Wales (Giraldus Cambrensis), archdeacon of Brecon
in South Wales from 1175, a man whose ecclesiastical career and ambitions
brought him into contact with the monastic world. In his Speculum ecclesie,
written around 1216, he mentions — though not by name — a small house for
nuns founded by Rhys ap Gruffudd, lord of Deheubarth (d. 1197), endowed
with lands and pastures in order to sustain the nuns in their life of service
to God: ‘Erat autem domus monialium pauperum in dextralis Walliae parte
superiori sita, a Reso Griffini filio principe regionis illius suis nostrisque die-
bus egregio fundata, et praediis ac pascuis, quibus vivere juxta modulum suum
Deoque servire poterant, caritative dotata.’7 The house to which he refers here
is Llanllŷr, lying in the valley of the river Aeron. Gerald — by 1216 no friend of
the Cistercians — tells how this unnamed nunnery was oppressed by the monks
of a rich abbey who appropriated its lands. This house is again unnamed but
3
For a general study of English nunneries, see Thompson, Women Religious; on the
northern nunneries, see Burton, The Monastic Order in Yorkshire, pp. 125–52; on the Gilbertine
priories of eastern England and the midlands, particularly Lincolnshire, see Golding, Gilbert of
Sempringham; see also Wilkinson, Women in Thirteenth-Century Lincolnshire, pp. 165–95.
4
Knowles and Hadcock, Medieval Religious Houses, pp. 278–82.
5
The question of Cistercian nuns has attracted considerable attention over recent years.
See, for instance, Berman, Women and Monasticism in Medieval Europe; Freeman, ‘“Houses of
a Peculiar Order”’; Burton, ‘Moniales and Ordo Cisterciensis’; and Lester, Creating Cistercian
Nuns. On the apparent confusion in the affiliation of some English nunneries, see Burton, ‘The
Convent and the Community’, especially pp. 66–71.
6
On the Welsh nunneries, see Williams, ‘Cistercian Nunneries in Medieval Wales’, and,
more recently, Cartwright, ‘The Desire to Corrupt’; Burton and Stöber, Abbeys and Priories,
pp. 5, 13, 120–24, 210–12.
7
Gerald of Wales, Speculum ecclesie, ed. by Brewer, pp. 152–53. I also discuss the signi
ficance of this passage in ‘Moniales and Ordo Cisterciensis’, pp. 380–81.
Medieval Nunneries and Male Authority 125
clearly identified by the description of its location as Strata Florida, which lay
some fifteen miles to the north-east of Llanllŷr. Founded in 1164 in the shadow
of the Cambrian Mountains, Strata Florida had since 1165 also been in the
patronage of the Lord Rhys and his successors. Gerald goes on to tell his readers
something of the relationship between the monastery and the nunnery and of
the place of Llanllŷr within the structure of the Cistercian family:
domus monialium exilis et exigua ab initio cultum et habitum exteriorem ordi-
nis Cisterciensis et institutionem etiam interiorem, quoad muliebri sexui licuit, ab
eadem divite domo susceperat, et magisterio ipsius ordinationi quoque et guberna-
tioni tanquam subditam et ex toto subjectam se subjecerat.8
(The ruined and humble house of nuns had from the very beginning received from
that same rich house the outward practice and habit, and also the internal constitu-
tion of the Cistercian Order as far as was possible for the female sex, and had also
subjected itself to the instruction, government, and direction of the same house as
subject and submissive in all things.)
Gerald could not resist drawing attention to what he interpreted as the exploi-
tation of the poor nuns of Llanllŷr by the rich monks of Strata Florida, but he
also seems clear in his own mind that there was a constitutional relationship
between the two houses, which went back — in his words — to ‘the very begin-
ning’, that is, to the foundation of Llanllŷr by the Lord Rhys. His comments
— although his hint at the exploitation of the nuns by the monks was made in
that phase of his career which may loosely be described as anti-Cistercian, with
Strata Florida a particular target for his displeasure9 — form a useful intro-
duction to this essay, which offers a few thoughts on the nature of the relation-
ship between male authority and female religious communities, particularly
the Cistercian houses of England and Wales. Gerald, it seems to me, makes
two important points here. The first is that outwardly — to the casual visitor,
perhaps — the nuns of Llanllŷr were recognizable by their practices (customs)
and by their dress, their habit. These were what distinguished them to others
as Cistercian. These were markers of a corporate identity. The second point
he makes is that there was between the male and female monastery a relation-
ship of authority and instruction, and indeed enforcement. The abbot of Strata
8
Gerald of Wales, Speculum ecclesie, ed. by Brewer, iv, 153.
9
On Gerald’s early admiration for, and later antagonism towards, the Cistercians, see
Golding, ‘Gerald of Wales and the Cistercians’. For his criticism, see Gerald of Wales, Speculum
ecclesie, ed. by Brewer, iv, 129–248.
126 Janet Burton
Florida was the father abbot, or father immediate, of the nuns of Llanllŷr. He
enjoyed, in Gerald’s words, ‘instruction, government, and direction’ over the
nuns. It is this aspect of the life of medieval Cistercian women, their control
by male authorities, that this essay explores and, more specifically, the wider
issues of male authority over nuns and the extent to which nuns themselves
held, or sought, power and authority over their own affairs. Discussion is not
confined to Cistercian abbots, to whom the female houses may have been com-
mitted, but other male authorities as well, notably, bishops and archbishops on
a diocesan level, and masters and guardians on a more local level. It considers
such issues as mechanisms of control and the enforcement of authority, and
through these the imposition of rules and regulations. Such rules were about
routine, and the enforcement of routine and, through routine, of corporate
identity. Such identity might be achieved through the structure of the monastic
day, through ritual, through the use of space within the monastic cloister and
precinct, and through such mechanisms as dress, which was, and remains, a way
of enforcing corporate identity. All these aspects of monastic observance might
be determined by authority structures within the nunnery — the abbess or pri-
oress — but also by external, male authorities. They were enforced by the pope,
through papal bulls and mandates, as well as the grant of liberties to individual
houses. They were enforced by archbishops and bishops, using the methods of
visitation, and periodic intervention in the processes of election of a superior.
They may have been enforced through masters and guardians, though these
tended to be delegated care of the secular business of a nunnery.10 All of these
male authorities found methods of enforcing a way of life and also of counter-
ing, or trying to counter, what we might term acts of resistance to corporate
identity and expressions of individualism.
The Cistercian Hierarchy

Recent years have seen a debate about the nature of Cistercian nunneries,
although to some there is no debate: women were an important part of what
became the Cistercian Order from the very beginning, and were as much
Cistercian as Cistercian men. I do not want to enter into this debate in detail
in this essay, though it is germane to my subject insofar as one can legitimately
ask these questions: if — using the first part of Gerald’s description — religious
women were defined or recognized as Cistercian by their outward practices and
10
For remarks on masters and guardians, see below, p. 139.
habits, were they also defined or recognized as such by a dependence on the

authority of Cistercian men? Was their identity as Cistercians dependent on
recognition that they were part of the structure of the Order? I will accordingly
begin with a top-down approach and look for what evidence there might be for
the enforcement of authority over nunneries within the Cistercian Order itself,
and geographically within the context of England and Wales.
First, however, there is an important point to be made about chronology.
Save only three houses — Tarrant, Marham, and Whistones — all the English
and Welsh houses of nuns which at some point in their history were termed
Cistercian were founded before that famous series of statutes of the General
Chapter in the early thirteenth century that related to the incorporation
of female houses into the Order.11 In fact, few English houses were founded
after that date. In 1213 the Chapter ordered that ‘All nuns incorporated in the
order, by the authority of the General Chapter, must not leave their cloisters
except with the permission of their father-abbot. Moreover, any houses incor-
porated in the future will be admitted only on the condition that total enclo-
sure is maintained’12 — this makes clear that some female houses had already
been incorporated into the Order before that date.13 For most of the houses in
England and Wales, although there are a few exceptions, there is no evidence
that they were Cistercian in the twelfth century — though there is no evidence
that they were not. Rather, most references to a Cistercian identity come from
a later period. Evidence for our few exceptions — that is, those recognized as
following Cistercian customs in some way before the thirteenth century —
derives from papal bulls of the later twelfth century allowing nuns to enjoy the
same privileges as those enjoyed by Cistercian men. That some nunneries, such
as the Yorkshire house of Swine and the Lincolnshire priory of Nun Cotham,
were joint recipients of such bulls may suggest some form of corporate enter-
prise in seeking and obtaining such privileges.14 The 1213 statute of the General
Chapter leaves us in no doubt that male houses were to enjoy an association
with incorporated female houses in terms of authority and supervision, but the
11
For the evidence and discussion, see Burton, ‘Moniales and Ordo Cisterciensis’.
12
Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez, i, 405 (1213/3), as translated in Lester,
Creating Cistercian Nuns, p. 93. Lester discusses Cistercian legislation and women on pp. 92–96.
13
A point made by Freeman, ‘“Houses of a Peculiar Order”’, p. 247. The most famous
Cistercian female houses of the twelfth century were those of La Tart (France) and the royal
Spanish house of Las Huelgas.
14
For this see Dugdale, Monasticon Anglicanum, ed. by Caley, Ellis, and Bandinel, v, 494.
128 Janet Burton
decade and a half that followed saw legislation that both enforced the enclosure
of Cistercian nuns and acknowledged the difficulties of entrusting their super-
vision to Cistercian men.15 That of 1228, which laid down that no further nun-
neries of the Order were to be founded, forbade visitation by Cistercian abbots.
New houses could use Cistercian customs, but they were not to be under the
supervision of, or visited by, Cistercian men.16 The lack of definition about the
foundation and status of the English and Welsh houses raises questions about
the relationship — if any — between male and female houses of the Order,
both before and after the series of statutes just discussed.
Of association at the time of foundation, we know only a little. Because his
own house was closely involved, the chronicler of the male Cistercian abbey at
Waverley recorded some of the details of the processes which led to the founda-
tion of Marham Abbey in Norfolk, one of only two fully incorporated English
nunneries, the only two female Cistercian houses to enjoy the status of abbey
rather than priory. It is clear that the negotiations which led to the foundation
involved the abbot of Waverley to some considerable extent, though there is no
evidence after the foundation of the nature and extent of any continued rela-
tionship.17 Otherwise, we can only speculate that new or indeed existing houses
were eased into the Order by local Cistercian abbots and monks, or founders
and patrons of female houses. Gerald’s remarks suggest that Lord Rhys negoti-
ated with Strata Florida about the foundation of Llanllŷr, and it is likely that the
second of the two Cistercian nunneries in Wales, Llanllugan, might have stood
in the same relationship to Strata Marcella as Llanllŷr did to Strata Florida.18
As we will see, there is a hint in a later source that the northern English nun-
nery of Sinningthwaite may have been related to the great abbey of Fountains.
Sinningthwaite, which like Swine is referred to as Cistercian in a papal bull
of 1170, was founded by Bertram Haget, a benefactor of Fountains, where
one son, Ralph, was to enter the religious life and rise to the office of abbot.19
15
Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez, i, 502 (1218/84), 505 (1219/12), 517
(1220/4); ii, 19 (1222/30), 36 (1225/7). For discussion, see, for instance, Lester, Creating
Cistercian Nuns, pp. 93–96.
16
Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez, ii, 68 (1228/16).
17
Annales monasteriii de Waverleia, in Annales monastici, ed. by Luard, ii, 344; Burton,
‘Moniales and Ordo Cisterciensis’, pp. 375–76.
18
Cartwright, ‘The Desire to Corrupt’, pp. 21–23. Cartwright also discusses Gerald’s tales
of a third Cistercian nunnery at Llansanffraid-yn-Elfael.
19
Burton, The Monastic Order in Yorkshire, pp. 151–52; Knowles, Brooke, and London,
Heads of Religious Houses: England and Wales, i, 133, 136.
The proximity of Swine Priory to Cistercian Meaux Abbey, both in terms of

geographical location and date of foundation, suggests a possible connection
between the two. However, Swine, while claiming Cistercian privileges, seems
to have been influenced in its internal organization by the Gilbertine Order, or
Order of Sempringham, the only medieval monastic order with its origins in
England, which grew up in Lincolnshire.20 Moreover, Swine’s relationship with
Meaux Abbey was frequently inharmonious, and the nuns, far from being ‘sub-
jective and submissive’ (Gerald’s words again) were vigorous in opposing any
encroachments on their rights by their more powerful Cistercian neighbours.21
This does not rule out that in the initial planning some dependence on the local
male Cistercian abbey may have been intended, and I have argued elsewhere
that a number of female Cistercian houses in England and Wales may have owed
their origins to the cooperation of founders and the leaders of local Cistercian
male abbeys, and that there was a grass roots desire to found Cistercian female
houses, whatever the ambiguity of the attitude of the Order.22
Having said that, the trail of records relating to the relationship between
male and female houses of the Order in England and Wales within the archive
of the Order itself is disappointing. There is some evidence that the second
house in England to be formally incorporated into the Order — that is, Tarrant
in Dorset — was under Cistercian supervision and subject to the authority
of the General Chapter. In 1243 correction of the abbey was delegated by the
Chapter to the abbots of Boxley and Robertsbridge.23 The reason for the choice
of these two abbots is interesting, for they were not by any means the nearest
houses in terms of geography, as they were situated far to the east, in Kent.
A decade or so later, however, the General Chapter committed to two abbots
from the south-west of England, those of Buckfast and Newenham, responsi-
bility for investigating the quarrel between the nuns of Tarrant and the abbot of
Bindon.24 This did keep the process of conflict resolution as a ‘local affair’: we
see the investigation of two Cistercian houses, one male and one female, by two
20
Burton, The Monastic Order in Yorkshire, pp. 149–51, and ‘The “Chariot of Aminadab”’.
Wilkinson, Women in Thirteenth-Century Lincolnshire, p. 166, notes the similarity in terms
of organization between some of the Cistercian nunneries of Lincolnshire and that of the
Gilbertines.
21
See the examples given in Burton, ‘The “Chariot of Aminadab”’, pp. 33–37.
22
See Burton, The Monastic Order in Yorkshire, pp. 147–52. For this phenomenon in Italy,
see the essay by Guido Cariboni in the present collection.
23
24
130 Janet Burton
abbots in reasonably close proximity. However, for other English and Welsh
Cistercian female houses there is a distinct lack of evidence for their interac-
tion with the Order. This raises a number of questions: about the nature of the
power and authority of the Cistercian Order, through its legislative body, the
General Chapter; about the question of identity — how far did the presence, or
lack, of male Cistercian authority affect the nuns’ sense of their own identity as
Cistercians; and about whether they actively sought, or actively resisted, such
authority, and if they harnessed it to their own sense of their communities.
On the whole, the evidence suggests that intervention by Cistercian abbots
in the internal affairs of Cistercian nunneries in England and Wales was not
common practice. In 1276 the archbishop of York issued a mandate to a number
of Cistercian prioresses in his diocese — hinting at some tension over sources of
authority — ordering them to receive members of the Friars Minor and Friars
Preacher as their confessors as they had customarily done ‘notwithstanding the
prohibition placed on you by abbots of the Cistercian Order’.25 This appears
to refer specifically to the statute of the previous year (‘monialibus nostri
Ordinis praecipitur, hoc adiuncto, ne eisdem confiteantur Fratribus sub poena
excommunicationis, quam in ipsas ferimus, si statuto non paruerint supradicto,
capellanos monialium celebrantes, ipsis Minoribus in monasteriis monialium
existentibus, praedictae excommunicationis sententia innodando’), and the
inference we can draw is that both the archbishop and local northern prioresses
were aware of the rulings of the Order.26 Cistercian abbots, the archbishop told
the prioresses, had no ordinary or delegated jurisdiction over them. It is most
likely that this prohibition led to an interpretation of his letter, by some female
religious, as a threat to their Cistercian status and identity. Just a few months
after the archbishop issued his decree three nuns appeared in court in St Pauls
Cathedral in London to give evidence about an appeal that had been made to
the pope. They were Prioress Isabella of Sinningthwaite and two of her nuns,
Margery Graymore and Ingreta de Walkeringham. Sinningthwaite is described
as a Cistercian priory in the diocese of York. The three women claimed the
Cistercian privilege of exemption from episcopal visitation, as enjoyed by other
Cistercian houses.27 As reinforcement of their claim they offered evidence that
visitation of their priory was a function performed by the abbot of Fountains
— something they maintained that the abbot had done time out of mind. The
25
The Register of Walter Giffard, ed. by Brown, p. 295.
26
Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez, iii, 142 (1275/14).
27
Dugdale, Monasticon Anglicanum, ed. by Caley, Ellis, and Bandinel, v, 464–65.
nuns therefore argued that the attempted visitation by the archbishop was an
infringement of the rights of the priory as well as the privileges of the order.
As Guido Cariboni has argued in relation to Cistercian nuns in northern
Italy, the officium visitationis of a father abbot, and the privilegia and littere cum
serico normally granted by the papacy to Cistercian monasteries, were grounds
on which female houses might claim membership of the Cistercian Order and
might appeal to the Apostolic See when these rights were infringed.28 The
Sinningthwaite sisters not only claimed violation of their Cistercian privileges:
they also maintained that their appeal to the pope had led to their excommu-
nication and the deposition of Prioress Isabella. The authenticity of the nuns’
claim is impossible to assess. However, as suggested earlier, the indications are
that from the very beginning Sinningthwaite was tied in some way to the great
abbey of Fountains through the family of Haget, founders and patrons of the
nunnery, benefactors of Fountains, and the origin of at least one prioress of
Sinningthwaite in the early thirteenth century.29 Of visitation by the abbot of
Fountains, if indeed he ever performed this function, we have no record. This is
seemingly the only known reference to Prioress Isabella, although the sequence
of prioresses at Sinningthwaite is poorly attested. However, this one document
may provide us with a glimpse of what we might have lost: that is, we may have
a hint of interaction between local male and female Cistercian houses. The
episode could, however, be interpreted in another way. Are we perhaps seeing
some enterprising nuns inventing a process — visitation by a Cistercian father
abbot — in order to avoid another source of male authority, the archbishop of
York? If that were the case, it was a battle or a skirmish that the nuns appear
to have lost. We do indeed have record of visitation, by the archbishop, of
Sinningthwaite and other female Cistercian houses in his diocese.30 It is not
until the last generation or so of the monastic houses of England and Wales,
before the Dissolution of 1536–40, that we have evidence of the intervention
of the General Chapter in English nunnery affairs, specifically in relation to
28
See his essay in this collection, pp. 53–74.
29
See above, p. 128, and, for Prioress Eufemia Haget, see Smith and London, Heads of
Religious Houses: England and Wales, ii, 606–07. It is known that a daughter of the founder,
Gundreda, entered the nunnery, and it is possible, though not documented, that she held the
position of prioress.
30
For the evidence of visitation of the northern nunneries, see Burton, The Yorkshire Nun
neries in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, pp. 27–36; for the Lincolnshire evidence, see
Freeman, ‘“Houses of a Peculiar Order”’, pp. 267–70, and Wilkinson, Women in Thirteenth-
Century Lincolnshire, pp. 190–92.
132 Janet Burton
their visitation by abbots of the Order. It was perhaps in 1517 that the abbots
of Forde, Stratford Langthorne, and St Mary Graces, London, gave notice to
the General Chapter of the division of responsibility for the visitation of male
and female houses among them: the nunnery of Tarrant had fallen to the abbot
of Forde, while the other two visited the nunneries of Marham, Cook Hill (in
the county and diocese of Worcester), and — apparently its first appearance in
Cistercian records — Pinley (Warwickshire, diocese of Worcester).31 In 1520
the Chapter ordered the abbots of Stratford Langthorne and St Mary Graces to
visit the same three nunneries.32 Interestingly, in the same year John, abbot of
Vale Royal, claimed, among the monasteries under his jurisdiction, the nunner-
ies of Marham, Pinley, and Cook Hill.33 There was clearly some dispute about
pre-eminence among the hierarchy of English Cistercian abbots. Finally, in
1533 commissions were granted to the abbots of St Mary Graces and Woburn
in respect of three nunneries (Cook Hill, Marham, and Tarrant, thus omitting
Pinley on this occasion),34 and to the abbots of Fountains and Byland for four-
teen female houses in the northern dioceses.35
Another method of enforcing authority was by the appointment, or per-
haps even more the removal — of heads of houses, the abbesses and prioresses.
While accepting that the documentary evidence may be deficient, it is note-
worthy that I have been able to locate in the records of the Cistercian General
Chapter only one instance of intervention in the headship of an English or
Welsh female house. This was at Cook Hill in 1491. The Chapter noted the
‘privationem, amotionem, depositionem, et destitutionem’ of Joan Frankelden,
until recently abbess of Cook Hill, and the ‘promotionem, provisionem, insti-
31
Letters from the English Abbots to the Chapter at Cîteaux, ed. by Talbot, pp. 236–38. The
document is undated but placed by Talbot with other records under the year 1517.
32
Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez, vi, 557–58 (1520/29); Letters from the
English Abbots to the Chapter at Cîteaux, ed. by Talbot, p. 258.
33
Letters from the English Abbots to the Chapter at Cîteaux, ed. by Talbot, pp. 254–58.
34
Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez, vi, 719 (1533/45).
35
Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez, vi, 719 (1533/46). With one exception
(Newcastle), these lay in the dioceses of York and Lincoln: Nun Appleton, Sinningthwaite,
Esholt, Hampole, Wallingwells, Arthington, Ellerton, Swine, Greenfield, Stixwould, Kirklees,
Gokewell, Nun Cotham. ‘Ardyngthone’ is identified in the index to Statuta capitulorum
generalium, ed. by Canivez (viii, 27) as Haddington in Scotland, but is undoubtedly
Arthington in Yorkshire. This is usually referred to as a Cluniac house, but changes in affiliation
are not unknown; Burton, ‘Convent and Community’.
tutionem, et installationem’ of Elizabeth Webbe as her successor.36 This record

was only part of a long running saga. Joan’s removal had taken place at least as
early as 1489, and she had appealed against her deposition both to the court at
Canterbury and to the papal curia, and the abbot of Hailes was summoned to
defend his action in expelling her from her house. This affair generated lengthy
correspondence between English Cistercian abbots and the Chapter, and the
intervention of the abbots of Fountains and Stratford Langthorne.37 But how
are we to interpret this? Was this case extraordinary only insofar as it appears
to be a unique record? Was there, accordingly, more interaction between male
and female houses and with the Order than the records of the General Chapter
allow? Or was formal Cistercian intervention in English nunnery affairs unu-
sual? We have an apparent ‘hands off ’ attitude on the part of the Cistercian
hierarchy, but we need to ask if this is merely the product of the survival of
evidence. Was Cistercian visitation, the attempts to enforce discipline, as well
as Cistercian practice, more common than the records suggest? I will leave that
question now and turn to a second source of male authority, that is, that which
was exercised at episcopal level.
Archbishops, Bishops, and Episcopal Authority

There appears to be no evidence of two Cistercian foundations of the thirteenth
century, Tarrant and Marham, being subject to episcopal visitation. Elsewhere
there is a different picture. The archbishop of York and a number of diocesan
bishops did, in fact, visit the Cistercian nunneries of their dioceses in the same
way as they did Benedictine and Augustinian houses, if not on a regular basis,
then often enough to suggest that for these houses the archbishop or bishop
was a more powerful enforcer of authority than the members of the Cistercian
Order themselves.38 Whereas the process of visitation among male Cistercian
houses — by the father abbot (father immediate) or his proxy — would in part
at least have related to the maintenance of specifically Cistercian regulations,
36
Statuta capitulorum generalium, ed. by Canivez, vi, 22 (1491/49); Smith, Heads of
Religious Houses: England and Wales, iii, 639.
37
Letters from the English Abbots to the Chapter at Cîteaux, ed. by Talbot, pp. 130–39,
146–48, 152–54.
38
For a discussion of the role of archbishops and bishops in the oversight of nunneries, see
Spear, Leadership in Medieval English Nunneries, pp. 41–58. On the Lincolnshire houses, see
Wilkinson, Women in Thirteenth-Century Lincolnshire, pp. 185–90.
134 Janet Burton
an archbishop or bishop would have been more concerned to enforce general

monastic codes of behaviour: the proper performance of the liturgy; silence; the
norms of food, drink, and clothing; and enclosure. Thus it was that at Swine in
1268 Archbishop Walter Giffard noted inter alia that silence was not observed
in the church, cloister, refectory and dormitory; and that despite grants being
made for the purpose, sick nuns were cared for inadequately and not given extra
food.39 He commented on one infringement of a specific Cistercian regulation:
the code of dress was broken by the lay sisters, who wore the black veil of the
nuns — which was not the custom in other Cistercian houses.40 Other prob-
lems which surfaced in the course of Giffard’s visitation suggest that the nuns
were not just influenced in their practices by Cistercian customs. The arch-
bishop noted with disapproval the conversations between the nuns and canons,
through the Gilbertine-style window house, which was intended to reinforce
the separation of the male and female components of double houses.41 All this
was compounded by the shortcomings of the prioress and the rebellious nature
of a number of the nuns. The archbishop’s comment that three nuns belonged
to the same birth family as well as monastic family (‘tres sorores carnales et spir-
ituales’) gives us a clue about one source of unease in the convent.42 In one way
this long list of complaints is about norms of behaviour: the apparent inability
of the prioress to maintain control; the problems caused by poverty; the fac-
tional infighting. Also noteworthy were the accusations of control of nunnery
affairs by the male element within this Cistercian priory, the regular canons,
to the detriment of the women — the presence of canons furnishing another
example of the exercise of male authority over nunnery affairs that appears to
owe much to Gilbertine practice.43 In another way, however, we might interpret
39
The Register of Walter Giffard, ed. by Brown, pp. 146–48 (findings), 248–49 (decrees).
For discussion of the history of Swine, and issues relating to the relationship between male and
female power and authority, see Burton, ‘The “Chariot of Aminadab”’.
40
‘quod in aliis ejusdem religionis domibus esse dicitur insuetum’; The Register of Walter
Giffard, ed. by Brown, p. 148. As Anne Lester has highlighted, the General Chapter of 1235
prescribed the dress for female religious: an undyed cowl or mantle (to be worn at all times),
a scapular for periods of manual labour, and a black veil (no other colour was permitted): see
Lester, Creating Cistercian Nuns, pp. 107–10. For the decree of 1235, see Statuta capitulorum
generalium, ed. by Canivez, ii, 139 (1235/3).
41
On the Gilbertine window house, see Golding, Gilbert of Sempringham, p. 127.
42
The Register of Walter Giffard, ed. by Brown, p. 147.
43
On the presence of regular canons in Gilbertine priories, see Golding, Gilbert of Sem
pringham, pp. 126–32. For their occurrences in Lincolnshire Cistercian houses, see Wilkinson,
the problems at Swine as a result of the multiple layers of identity within a

medieval religious house, the carrying over of family and local loyalties and sen-
timents into the monastic community — which was probably more common
among smaller houses, both male and female, and those that seem to have been
closely rooted into the local community. Thirty years later at Swine there were
still infringements of dress — the nuns were ordered not to wear large collars,
barred girdles, or laced shoes — a description that recalls the thirteenth-cen-
tury guidance for anchoresses, the Ancrene Wisse.44 The seemingly persistent
complaints about dress among nunneries of all orders have been interpreted
in different ways. Eileen Power saw them as an indication of lack of vocation
among high born women.45 Conversely, John Tillotson argued that divergence
in dress came about because of the extreme poverty of some priories, which
meant that the nuns had to rely on hand-me-down clothes from relatives and
friends. This, he suggests, lay behind irregularities in dress.46 Might there be a
third explanation, which is that such divergence was a deliberate subversion of
the norm and an assertion of individuality? Within their small, poor, and often
marginal communities, were the nuns creating their own rules, and defining
their nunneries as households, in one way liminal, yet still closely integrated
into the broader communities in which they were located? Either way, it is clear
that, in respect of dress, archbishops and bishops seem to have encountered dif-
ficulty in enforcing institutional identity.
Another way of enforcing authority on female houses (as well as male ones)
was by the transfer of nuns, or even prioresses, from one house to another.
Within the male Cistercian community this seems to have been a function of
the General Chapter, although on a local level it might also be done by episco-
pal authority. In respect of female houses in England and Wales, however, there
is no evidence of Cistercian involvement, though there are numerous examples
of the intervention of archbishops and bishops in this way. This might be for
the purposes of discipline, or more benignly for the economic welfare of the
community, as poverty — either persistent or related to specific occasions —
made the continuation of the community for the time being impossible. Two
examples will suffice. During a visitation of Hampole Priory (Yorkshire) in
Women in Thirteenth-Century Lincolnshire, p. 183.

44
The Register of John le Romeyn, ed. by Brown, i, 203–04; Ancrene Wisse, ed. by Millett,
i, 158–60.
45
Power, Medieval English Nunneries, pp. 73–78.
46
Tillotson, ‘Visitation and Reform of the Yorkshire Nunneries’.
136 Janet Burton
1312, it was discovered that the prioress had — despite the prohibition of the
archbishop — accepted two new recruits. Her resignation followed as a result
of this revelation, and as a simple nun of Hampole she was sent to Swine Priory
to do penance there.47 We see here the archbishop as disciplinarian, but prob-
ably one with a concern that recruitment should match the material and finan-
cial resources of the house. At the Augustinian house of Moxby, in the Forest of
Galtres to the north of York, the archbishop ordered the dispersal of the prior-
ess and her eight nuns in 1322: the prioress to Cistercian Swine, two nuns each
to the Benedictine houses of Nun Monkton and Nunkeeling, and two each
to the Cistercian houses of Hampole and Nun Appleton.48 The reason for the
temporary disbandment of the priory was not one of discipline — though once
the community reassembled, problems were to follow — but the desecration
of the priory church during Scottish raids.49 In some cases archbishops seem
to have been sensitive about selecting an appropriate host for displaced nuns,
which is apparent in their letters referring to the settlement of nuns ‘vestri ordi-
nis’ (of your order).
A final aspect of the imposition, by an archbishop or bishop, of his author-
ity on nunnery affairs can be seen in his intervention in the election or appoint-
ment of heads of female communities. I have already indicated that for England
and Wales there is little evidence for activity in this respect by members of
the Cistercian Order or the General Chapter. For the most part — as far as
the evidence will allow us to make this assertion — the heads of English nun-
neries of any order were, as we would expect, elected by the community. But
what happened when the community was unable to agree, or when the prior-
ess turned out to be in some way deficient? Louise Wilkinson has detected an
increasing tendency of the thirteenth-century bishops of Lincoln to interfere
in the election of the prioresses of their diocese, on a scale not matched in male
houses.50 Here, as elsewhere, surviving records yield many examples of episco-
pal intervention, but what some of these stories suggest is that resistance to
such manifestations of male authority was far from unknown. One example
comes from the small northern nunnery of Keldholme, a house that probably
had no more than eight or nine nuns. The sequence of events is unusually well
47
The Register of William Greenfield, ed. by Brown and Hamilton Thompson, ii, 141–42.
48
The Register of William Melton, ed. by Hill, Robinson, Brocklesby, and Timmins, ii, 84.
49
For these problems see Burton, ‘Cloistered Women and Male Authority’, p. 162;
‘Looking for Medieval Nuns’, p. 119; and ‘Documenting the Lives of Medieval Nuns’.
50
Wilkinson, Women in Thirteenth-Century Lincolnshire, pp. 186–89.
documented in the registers of the archbishops of York, though many questions

still remain.51 Between 1294, when one prioress resigned, and 1316, a period
of just over twenty years, there were five elections or appointments of superi-
ors at Keldholme, and on each occasion the vacancy was caused by a resigna-
tion, voluntary or enforced.52 Two prioresses were elected, resigned, and were
then re-elected, though not immediately. The records also suggest a prolonged
vacancy between a resignation in 1301 and 1308. Given the attention that the
archbishops usually paid to the nunneries, this is surprising. It was in 1308 that
the archbishop ordered an enquiry to be made by the rectors of two local par-
ish churches as to how long the position of prioress at Keldholme had been
vacant. Their reply did not provide a clear answer to this question, but they did
report that because of the length of time since there had been a prioress, the
right of appointment had lapsed to the archbishop. The archbishop therefore
commissioned the appointment of a nun of the house named Emma of York
as prioress. She was not, therefore, elected, but chosen by the archbishop from
among the community in the particular circumstance of a prolonged vacancy.
Emma of York did not, it seems, find favour among other members of the con-
vent, for within a month the archbishop was forced to warn six nuns to obey
the prioress under pain of penalty. Matters still did not settle down, for the
prioress resigned, and the archbishop appointed a nun of another convent, the
Cistercian house of nearby Rosedale, as prioress. No longer, it would seem — at
least for the time being — were the nuns of Keldholme to be allowed the privi-
lege of electing their superior, or indeed providing a superior from among their
own number. The archbishop explained his actions in a long letter to the offi-
cial of the archdeacon of Cleveland, arguing that he had appointed an outsider
because he could find no one within the nunnery capable of exercising high
office. His letter also reveals that he had for a second time encountered opposi-
tion to his plans. Five nuns as well as nine lay men from the immediate locality
51
For discussion, see Burton, ‘Cloistered Women and Male Authority’, pp. 160–62. This is
based on The Register of John le Romeyn, ed. by Brown, i, 179; The Register of Thomas Corbridge,
ed. by Brown and Hamilton Thompson, i, 126, 128; The Register of William Greenfield, ed. by
Brown and Hamilton Thompson, iii, 20, 21, 27, 29–30, 33–35, 39–44, 58, 93–94, 111–12, 258.
52
The sequence is: Beatrice of Grendale (resigned by 29 January 1294); Emma of Stapleton
(1294–1301); vacancy to 1308; Emma of York (appointed after 20 April 1308, resigned by 30
July of that year); Joan of Pickering, nun of Rosedale (appointed 30 July 1308, resigned 17
February 1309); Emma of Stapleton (confirmed 7 March 1309, resigned, citing old age and
ill health, 13 February 1316); Emma of York, confirmed 17 March 1316); Smith and London,
Heads of Religious Houses: England and Wales, ii, 574–75.
138 Janet Burton
actively intervened to prevent the installation of the archbishop’s nominee as

prioress. More arguments followed until the new prioress had had enough. She
resigned and returned to her former home at Rosedale, where she was in due
course elected prioress. It was not for another eight years, after two more resig-
nations, that life at Keldholme apparently returned to some degree of harmony.
Or so it would appear.
From this evidence — and other episodes like it — one might be tempted to
fall into agreement with traditional assessments of religious women in England,
that is, that they were quarrelsome and lacked vocation. No one would deny
that Keldholme Priory was a troubled place in the fourteenth century. From
the perspective of the theme of this essay, what is of interest is the attitude of
the nuns towards male authority, and in this case the male authority figure of
the archbishop of York. For a period of nearly twenty years we see resistance
on the part of the nuns to male authority. We see acts of resistance to attempts
on the part of the archbishop to impose a corporate identity on the commu-
nity though acceptance of his nominee as prioress (presumably with a mandate
to prevent further discord and restore harmony); we see also the expression
of individual wills and a sense on the part of the nuns of a local identity, one
which they shared with the local community, and I am thinking here particu-
larly of those local men who resisted the installation of Joan of Pickering, an
outsider from Rosedale, as prioress. The archbishop had stated that there were
no nuns at Keldholme capable of holding office. The nuns clearly disagreed;
indeed, several of them aspired to office and fought keenly to gain and retain
power and authority over nunnery affairs. Louise Wilkinson warns that we
should not see episcopal interference in nunnery elections in a wholly negative
way, suggesting that, particularly after the Council of Oxford of 1222, nunner-
ies welcomed the benign protection of their local diocesan, while bishops, for
their part, respected (where they could) the choice of the community.53 This
may have been the case on occasion, though bishops would have varied in the
tact, or lack of it, that they brought to their relations with the female houses
under their jurisdiction. Equally Brian Golding makes a sound point when he
suggests that bishops were often resented, as aristocratic male authority figures,
by nuns, while they, for their part, resented, or felt compromised by, the need
to oversee female communities.54
53
Wilkinson, Women in Thirteenth-Century Lincolnshire, p. 189.
54
Brian Golding, in the present collection, pp. 97–121.
It is likely that, from day to day, the men with whom medieval nuns in
England and Wales came into most contact were the (often shadowy) masters
and guardians of their houses. This topic is a broad one, beyond the scope of
this essay, and one worthy of further investigation. Masters or guardians might
be drawn from members of the monastic or mendicant orders, of from the
ranks of parish priests. Individual houses might show diversity in the course of
their history, rarely — as far as the written record will allow us to tell — being
served consistently from the same source.55 The role of these guardians prob-
ably varied too, from concern for the secular business of the nunnery, to the
implementation of episcopal injunctions issued following visitations. Some —
monks, regular canons, friars, and parish priests — were clearly non-resident.
Others lived within nunneries, as, apparently, did the male master mentioned
in the 1235 injunctions for Nun Cotham drawn up by Hugh de Wells, bishop
of Lincoln.56 But, as C. V. Graves, and more recently Wilkinson, have argued,
Cistercian masters or guardians bore no comparison to the male authority fig-
ures within the Gilbertine Order:
The master or warden of an English Cistercian nunnery fulfilled an entirely differ-
ent role which to a degree subverted gender norms: his authority was secondary to
that of the prioress. The master owed his position, in the first instance, to his elec-
tion by the prioress and convent.57
But this was not always the case, and though masters may not have had the
same level of authority as archbishops and bishops, it was often these men who
appointed them.58
Recent years have seen a rise in interest in literacy among female religious,
in questions of access to literacy, ownership of books, skills in reading and
writing, and so on. With questions of literacy emerge questions of power and
authority. The direct evidence for the degrees of learning and literacy, book
ownership and libraries, among the Cistercian nunneries of England and Wales
55
Thompson, Women Religious, pp. 232–58; Burton, The Monastic Order in Yorkshire,
pp. 171–73, and ‘The “Chariot of Aminadab”’, pp. 28–32.
56
Acta of Hugh of Wells, ed. by Smith, no. 447; Graves, ‘The Organization of an English
Cistercian Nunnery’.
57
Wilkinson, Women in Thirteenth-Century Lincolnshire, p. 184, citing Graves, ‘The Or
ganization of an English Cistercian Nunnery’, pp. 336–38; and Rolls and Register of Bishop
Oliver Sutton, ed. by Hill, iv, 101–02; v, 51.
58
Burton, The Yorkshire Nunneries, pp. 35–36.
140 Janet Burton
is in some cases scarce and in others non-existent.59 How far the majority of
nuns were literate in Latin, or had the pragmatic literacy for keeping of records
relating to the administration of their houses, we cannot know. The evidence
I have reviewed suggests a high degree of male control, or authority, through
the imposition of the rules of the Order, though within an English and Welsh
context it was at the level of diocesan administration, rather than through the
Order, that authority was imposed. However, the evidence also suggests that
English nuns and prioresses did not always take kindly to the imposition of
male authority, and that although some of their communities may have been
marginal, poorly endowed, and small, religious women had their own aspira-
tions for power and authority.
59
Bell, What Nuns Read.
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—— , ‘Looking for Medieval Nuns’, in Monasteries and Society in the British Isles in the
Later Middle Ages, ed. by Janet Burton and Karen Stöber (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2008),
pp. 113–23
—— , The Monastic Order in Yorkshire, 1069–1215, Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life
and Thought, 4th ser., 40 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999)
—— , The Yorkshire Nunneries in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, Borthwick Paper,
56 (York: University of York, 1979)
Cartwright, Jane, ‘The Desire to Corrupt: Convent and Community in Medieval Wales’,
in Medieval Women and their Communities, ed. by Diane Watt (Cardiff: University of
Wales Press, 1997), pp. 20–48
Foot, Sarah, ‘Flores ecclesiae: Women in Early Anglo-Saxon Monasticism’, in Female ‘vita
und Deutungen religiosen Lebens im Mittelalter, 47 (Berlin: LIT, 2011), 173–85
—— , Veiled Women, 2 vols (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2000)
Freeman, Elizabeth, ‘“Houses of a Peculiar Order”: Cistercian Nunneries in Medieval
England, with Special Attention to the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries’, Cîteaux:
Golding, Brian, ‘Gerald of Wales and the Cistercians’, Reading Medieval Studies, 21
(1995), 5–30
—— , Gilbert of Sempringham and the Gilbertine Order, c. 1130–1300 (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1995)
Graves, C. V., ‘The Organization of an English Cistercian Nunnery’, Cîteaux: Commentarii
Cistercienses, 33 (1982), 333–50
Knowles, David, and R. N. Hadcock, Medieval Religious Houses: England and Wales, 2nd
edn (London: Longman, 1971)
Knowles, David, Christopher N. L. Brooke, and V. C. M. London, Heads of Religious

Houses: England and Wales, i. 940–1216, 2nd edn (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer
sity Press, 2001)
Lester, Anne E., Creating Cistercian Nuns: The Women’s Religious Movement and its
Reform in Thirteenth-Century Champagne (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2011)
Orme, Nicholas, A History of the County of Cornwall, ii: Religious History to 1560,
Victoria History of the Counties of England (Woodbridge: Boydell for the Institute
of Historical Research, 2010)
Power, Eileen, Medieval English Nunneries, c. 1275–1535 (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni
Smith, David M., Heads of Religious Houses: England and Wales, iii. 1377–1540
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001)
Smith, David M., and V. C. M. London, Heads of Religious Houses: England and Wales, ii.
1216–1377 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001)
Spear, Valerie G., Leadership in Medieval English Nunneries (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2005)
Tillotson, John, ‘Visitation and Reform of the Yorkshire Nunneries in the Fourteenth
Century’, Northern History, 30 (1994), 1–21
Wilkinson, Louise J., Women in Thirteenth-Century Lincolnshire, Royal Historical
Society, Studies in History, n.s. (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2007)
Williams, David H., ‘Cistercian Nunneries in Medieval Wales’, Cîteaux: Commentarii
Women and Monasticism in Venice
in the Tenth to Twelfth Centuries
Anna Rapetti
A Historical Paradigm: Venice as a Case of her Own

The study of Venetian female monasticism during the high Middle Ages con-
tributes to our understanding of the long and variegated processes of the forma-
tion of those communities which were to become important to the religious, as
well as the social, political, and economic, life of the city. We know that there
were some old and prestigious female monasteries, which were often intimately
connected with the public authorities of the city,1 but there were others that
had an uncertain institutional profile. Both types, however, were original and
dynamic as organizations, and it is instructive to assess their specific influence
and relevance in the making of the history of the Dogado, or Duchy of Venice.
In fact, a number of foundation documents of new female communities provide
testimony to the great religious vitality of women from both aristocratic and
mercantile backgrounds. Such records also suggest the extent of these women’s
courage when they had to make choices about their lives. Yet such considera-
tions have not been sufficient to foster specific research and studies. Until now,
historians have been mainly interested in the political and civic dimensions of
monasticism in Venice. This approach is particularly deep seated where female
monasticism is concerned: monasticism has been essentially, or even exclu-
sively, studied as a social and economic phenomenon, a strong component of
1
Among these was the ancient nunnery of San Zaccaria, near Piazza San Marco, suppressed
in 1810.
Anna Rapetti ([email protected]) is senior lecturer (associate professor) in Medieval History

at the Department of Humanities of Ca’ Foscari, University of Venice.
146 Anna Rapetti
Map 6.1. Venice and its surroundings.

Source: Istituto geografico militare.
the very myth of Venice, grandly on display during the Renaissance, from the
fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries.2 Religious institutions have for the most
part been considered in their relations with the aristocracy, with the most illus-
trious and richest families sponsoring Venetian churches and monasteries. Such
an approach has stemmed from the conviction that monasteries were consid-
2
See Muir, Civic Ritual in Renaissance Venice, and Pavan, Venice Triumphant.
Women and Monasticism in Venice in the 10th–12th Centuries 147
ered to be instrumental in consolidating the oldest families and in sustaining

those making their fortunes. In brief, monasteries have been considered only
as a fundamental basis of the Venetian state or, alternatively, as an indicator
of social and political relationships — although clearly these two aspects are
intertwined. As a result, Venetian monasticism has been neglected as a specific
religious phenomenon.3 Scholars have neglected the institutional dimension
which each monastery had individually, both with regard to the governance
mechanisms of the conventus, the community of the nuns, and to the manage-
ment of its properties, which did not necessarily coincide with the economic
interests of the families and patrons of the monasteries themselves.
This essay aims to provide the first answers to such questions about female
monastic life in a city during its making. In particular, it focuses on the topic
of the originality of Venice in comparison with contemporary religious move-
ments, and with the social dynamics pertaining to the city. The relative origi-
nality of the Venetian case has always been postulated but has not been prop-
erly investigated to date. There is still a dearth of systematic studies on medieval
Venetian monasticism, both male and female, with no differentiation between
the great Benedictine and mendicant monasteries, and the smaller and poorer
ones in the Lagoon. The abundance of monastic studies from the last thirty
years, with their different paths of research, is not rooted in the history of
medieval Venice.4
The current state of research on female monasticism not only prevents a syn-
thesis but also requires a pre-emptive verification of some research hypotheses,
which is not always an easy task. This is, in part, due to a lack of case studies
and to a historiographic tendency to regard everything that occurred in Venice,
including monasticism (in medieval times and later), as exceptional to Venice
alone. Such Venice-centric historiography de facto automatically precludes all
confrontation and comparison with the same phenomenon in other cities or
regions. Consequently, we have to verify whether there actually was a low pres-
ence of congregations and reformed monastic orders, whilst many monastic
houses maintained their independence at an institutional level, and whether
there actually was a prominence of ‘internal’ relationships (that is, between the
3
In fact, the erudite studies about the churches and monasteries in Venice and the Lagoon,
published by Flaminio Corner in the late 1740s and in the 1750s, are still among the most well-
known and useful tools amongst scholars, although their contents are largely still to be verified.
4
See Andenna, Dove va la storiografia monastica in Europa. On the Italian case in partic
ular, see Albuzzi, ‘Il monachesimo femminile nell’Italia medioevale’.
148 Anna Rapetti
monasteries and the doge, or the monasteries and the elite families), as opposed
to ‘external’ relationships, above all, with their own orders and with the papacy.
In any case, we have to consider the geographical specificity: on the one
hand, the frequent, or even very frequent, transference of communities from
the Lagoon to the Terra Ferma, or vice versa; and, on the other, the transfer-
ences and amalgamations of communities within the Lagoon.
The period covered in this paper is one during which a profound change
took place in Benedictine monasticism, and in female monasticism in particu-
lar, which occurred both in northern Italy and elsewhere, albeit with a rhythm
of its own compared to other regions. Proprietary aristocratic monasteries of
the eighth to the tenth centuries — conceived as refuges for widows and as a
place for organizing both dynasties and estates — often suffered hard times or
had a short lifespan. In a sharp contrast, many monasteries founded by kings
and queens, with strong symbolic and political implications, witnessed remark-
able growth that assured their prosperity for centuries to come, in some cases
up to the thirteenth century. As one example, consider the monastery of San
Salvatore or Santa Giulia in Brescia, founded in the year 753 by the Lombard
queen Ansa for herself and her daughter Anselperga, who was its first abbess.
This convent lasted until its suppression in 1798.5 From the eleventh century,
monastic life underwent a profound renewal. The role played by women, both
nuns and lay women, who actively took part in the general renewal of religious
life, sometimes by modifying their relationships with religious practices, is well
known. On the one hand, many female monastic communities, both old and
new, tended to imitate customs which were similar to those of the male com-
munities of eleventh-century reform: a renowned example is that of the nuns
who asked to become Cistercian.6 On the other hand, the eagerness for renewal,
not just of institutions but also of personal religious practices, was made appar-
ent by many women in quite new, original, and informal ways (works of mercy,
praying and penance, voluntary seclusion, for example).7 As a counterpoint to
this fervour, we find the ecclesiastical hierarchies, which had for a long time
been engaged in restoring these religious experiences to an institutional frame-
5
See Stella and others, Santa Giulia di Brescia; Andenna, Culto e storia in Santa Giulia;
Andenna, Arte cultura e religione in Santa Giulia di Brescia; Wemple, ‘S. Salvatore/S. Giulia: A
Case-Study’.
6
See Cariboni, ‘Cistercian Nuns in northern Italy: Variety of Foundations and Construc
tion of an Identity’, in this volume.
7
See Grundmann, Religiöse Bewegungen im Mittelalter. The first Italian version, Movi
menti religiosi nel Medioevo, was published forty years later.
work, which was to be both recognizable and rational from a regulatory point
of view. It is no coincidence that the first female order was founded in the thir-
teenth century, with a decisive endorsement by the papacy.8
What significance may we perceive in this fervour emanating from these reli-
gious movements in Venice? There are no straightforward answers to this ques-
tion. According to the available studies, there is very little we can perceive.9 In
the twelfth century, the Gregorian reform, with its many novelties, determined
a push, not a hard one but a gradual one, towards a standardization, a homolo-
gation of Venetian religious foundations, both secular and regular, to the other
local churches.10 But with regard to other topics, we can, unfortunately, say very
little. First of all, the development of lay religious movements, traces of which
are preserved in many documents, is worth studying systematically. However,
what we can say is that there were a number of female religious initiatives in
Venice during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In part, they occurred within
traditional institutional frameworks, and they expressed both ways of life and
the rather particular relationships with certain monasteries. Clear evidence of
this can be found in a large number of wills and testaments. These features had
a profound influence on the development of medieval monasticism, so much
so that a real Venetian ‘exceptionalism’ can be identified within the monastic
panorama. This is especially true in the case of women, constrained by both
the pressures and the limits imposed upon them from the world outside of the
cloister. However, it is best to be cautious. Sometimes, historians have arbitrar-
ily extended what we can verify for single foundations to monasteries in general,
whilst the lack of information would recommend a good dose of scepticism.
Let us start with the single most apparent and unquestionable data. The
geo-morphological phenomena and the ability of the inhabitants to control the
Lagoon waters had a decisive importance for the evolution of several monaster-
ies. From the first centuries of her history, Venice had experienced recurrent
abandonments and moved from one island to another, and from the Lagoon
to the Terra Ferma,11 because of climate changes and flooding on its outskirts,
8
These points are quite well known thanks to a number of studies by Italian medievalists:
see Francesco d’Assisi e il primo secolo di storia francescana, and, in particular, Alberzoni, Chiara
di Assisi e il francescanesimo femminile, pp. 203–35; more recently, Alberzoni, ‘“Servus vestrum
et ancillarum Christi omnium”’.
9
See Rando, Una chiesa di frontiera, pp. 135–48.
10
Rando, Una chiesa di frontiera, pp. 246–48.
11
One of the most famous and ancient cases is that of the male monastery of San Servolo,
located on the San Servolo island in the north-eastern lagoon. In 819 Abbot John asked
150 Anna Rapetti
with the result that the ground often became uninhabitable marshland. Natural
phenomena added to the process by which the Venetian economy became con-
centrated in Rialto and also provoked a depopulation of islands that had once
been inhabited, as well as of the monasteries which had been built upon them.12
This process is particularly apparent in the northern Lagoon, where a fair num-
ber of convents were constructed in the thirteenth century. These monasteries
had a notable, albeit short-lived, success, and were abandoned within two or
three centuries.13 The hydro-geological disorder and the resulting instability
have often been considered by historians to be the ultimate cause of the aban-
donment of these monasteries, and indeed this would seem to be reinforced
by the frequent complaints of both male and female communities to the pub-
lic authorities as they sought more convenient locations. We may suggest that
these complaints might have been exaggerated in order to achieve their aim,
and it is accordingly difficult to assess the actual causes of these changes and
disorders. Did uncontrollable flooding provoke the abandonment of these
communities? Or did a lack of maintenance cause the flooding? If so, was a loss
of interest in some areas of the Lagoon the reason for the lack of maintenance?
The consequences of climate change for the islands differed: some were com-
pletely submerged, while others are still inhabited today: for example, Murano,
Torcello, and Mazzorbo. Some moves may have seemed unavoidable because
of the worsened environmental conditions, but there may also have been other
motives. Moreover, some transfers did not involve the whole community, but
only a part of it: for instance, the convent of Santi Leone and Basso asked for
permission to leave the island of Metamauco in order to move to the island of
San Servolo. But a church on Metamauco remained open, as it contained the
relics of San Leone, which had previously been kept in the convent. 14 Thus,
geographical determinism is not the only issue here. The abandonment of mon-
asteries and the construction of new ones were the result of a combination of
factors, in which geography assumed a more important role in Venice than else-
where but was certainly not the exclusive deciding factor.
One feature distinguishes the oldest Venetian nunneries, that is, the absence
of proprietary monasteries. These were usually founded by kings, queens, and
Doge Giustiniano for permission to move to Terra Ferma because of the island’s unfavourable
climate; see Pozza, ‘Per una storia dei monasteri veneziani’.
12
A paradigmatic example of this process is represented by what happened in the island of
Torcello: compare Pavan, La Mort lente de Torcello.
13
Moine, I monasteri femminili della laguna nord di Venezia nel basso medioevo.
14
Corner, Ecclesiae Venetae, vii, 98–109; Carraro, ‘Tra sacro e quotidiano’, pp. 11–12.
aristocratic families as instruments of dynastic consolidation, of political prop-

aganda, for the organization of the family estate, and, last but not least, for
the placement of family widows (but, as already stated, they were completely
absent in the Duchy of Venice). However, Doge Giustiniano Partecipazio and
Bishop Orso of Olivolo, the latter perhaps a relative of the former, created the
two major early medieval foundations, San Zaccaria, not far from the doge’s
palace, and San Lorenzo near Rialto, as proprietary convents.15 On these nun-
neries they conferred a rich endowment and extensive exemptions. However,
in a relatively short space of time both foundations freed themselves from the
control of their patrons and their respective descendants.16 This process may
have been hastened by the disappearance of the Partecipazio family from the
political arena during the ninth century.17 San Zaccaria and San Lorenzo did
not perform the functions for which they had been founded, and thus did not
become the constitutive elements of a political lordship. In Venice, as is well
known, the offices of public power were not fragmented or privatized. San
Zaccaria, however, maintained close relations with all the families that rose to
the office of doge, a fact worth emphasizing. It was more than a family monas-
tery: it was the foundation of the doge and of the leading families closest to the
apex of political power.
Traditional Monasticism in Rialto: San Zaccaria and San Lorenzo

Historical literature agrees that San Zaccaria was, from its foundation until
its suppression, a convent of aristocratic Venetian women.18 This hypothesis is
confirmed by the fact that between the twelfth and the thirteenth centuries,
70 per cent of the identifiable nuns, that is, those with a family name, belonged
to the ranks of the aristocracy. Having said that, we clearly need to clarify what
is meant by the term ‘aristocracy’ within the context of Venice, and who could
be considered to have been a member of the nobility. In fact, social mobility in
Venice was rather high, even after the serrata, or closing, of the Great Council,
when membership was restricted to the descendants of those nobles who had
been its members between the years 1293 and 1297. Following Gerhard Rösch’s
15
San Zaccaria was founded in the year 829; San Lorenzo just some years later, in 853.
16
Carraro, ‘Tra sacro equotidiano’, pp. 13–26.
17
Ortalli, ‘Il ducato e la “civitas Rivoalti” tra carolingi, bizantini e sassoni’; Rando, Una
chiesa di frontiera, pp. 57–60.
18
Rösch, Der venezianische Adel bis zur Schließung der Großen Rats, pp. 200–03.
152 Anna Rapetti
criterion,19 whoever acceded to public office in Venice could be assumed to be

an aristocrat, although his rank would vary according to the frequency and the
level of his office. Families whose members did not hold public office could not
be considered aristocratic. To this first criterion, we might add the ability, or at
least the ambition, of members of a family of the mercantile milieu to elevate
themselves to higher ranks, that is, to ennoble themselves. Remarkable upward
mobility was effectively encouraged by such ambitions, by the extinction of aris-
tocratic families, and by the multiplication of the branches of their family tree
in the different parishes of the city.20 As many as 12 per cent of the nuns at San
Zaccaria belonged to rich mercantile families, which, in some cases, succeeded
in entering the ranks of the ruling classes — a process that may indeed have owed
something to the presence of their daughters within this prestigious convent.
Another fundamental feature of San Zaccaria was that, from its inception, it
was connected to the doge’s court. In the city as it existed in the eleventh century,
it was close to the residence of the doge. Moreover, the ground upon which the
basilica was built to host the relics of San Marco, which had been stolen from
Alexandria and brought to Venice in the year 828, belonged to the convent.
Giustiniano Partecipazio granted a large endowment to the foundation, as he
wanted his wife Felicita to build ‘basilicam ad honorem Sancti Marci infra ter-
ritorio Sancti Zacharie’.21 Again, around the year 1170, the nuns of San Zaccaria
were obliged to hand over a large garden in order for Piazza San Marco to be
enlarged, which is how it attained its current size.22 The direct link with the
Partecipazio family ended in the ninth century with the extinction of the fam-
ily. However, San Zaccaria maintained a central role in the political system of
the city because of its intense and often personal relations with the doge’s court.
Over time, these relations were guaranteed by the recurrent election of abbesses
from families of those who had been elected doge.23 Above all, during its first
centuries, and up until the twelfth century, the community of San Zaccaria
was also a place where political conflicts were settled and where groups com-
peting for power found a new equilibrium, thereby creating a different balance
of power. Between the ninth and the eleventh centuries, eight doges requested
19
20
Chojnaki, ‘La formazione della nobiltà dopo la Serrata’; on San Zaccaria, see Fees, Le
monache di San Zaccaria a Venezia.
21
Santi Ilario e Benedetto e San Gregorio, ed. by Lanfranchi, no. 2, pp. 17–24.
22
Agazzi, Platea Sancti Marci, pp. 79–83.
23
Fees, Le monache di San Zaccaria a Venezia, pp. 45–48.
burial in San Zaccaria, a clear sign of its function as a place for retaining the
political memory of the city. Moreover, the convent also became a place where
foreign policy was conceived and woven. In the eleventh century, many German
emperors visited the convent not only to pray but also to form new pacts and
consolidate old alliances. San Zaccaria held outstanding prestige even outside of
Venice. At the same time, it was deeply embedded in the more elevated politi-
cal and social milieux of Venice, and, as already mentioned, the abbesses in
office were quite often from the families of those who had been elected doge. As
they had obtained a host of privileges conceded to them from Emperor Otto I
onwards, the abbesses took advantage of their position in order to obtain the
renewal of their privileges and to ensure the emperor’s protection.24
The social and political importance of San Zaccaria within Venetian society
was mirrored in its substantial endowment, which mostly comprised properties
located in the city. The nunnery was the most important ecclesiastical owner of
property in Venice and retained this primacy until its suppression in the early
nineteenth century. In addition, it had property on the Terra Ferma in the areas
of Treviso and Verona, even though the size of these properties as a whole was
substantially less than that of the properties which it owned in Venice.25 Rural
rents and, in particular, rent from housing represented a considerable — indeed,
decisive — proportion of the convent balance sheet. Nonetheless, all female
monasteries, even the richest ones, had estates which, as a whole, were smaller
and confined to specific geographic areas when compared to male monasteries: a
comparison with San Giorgio Maggiore is probably the more telling example.26
The monastery of San Lorenzo was founded in the year 853 by Bishop Orso
of Olivolo (as mentioned above) and was donated by him to his sister Romana.27
This also seems to have been a proprietary monastery; that is, Romana was
granted the potestas dominandi over it, and the church that already existed
close to the nunnery was given to Romana herself. But, like San Zaccaria, San
24
Heinrici III diplomata, ed. by Bresslau and Kehr, no. 57 (2 July 1040), pp. 74–75;
Heinrici IV diplomata, ed. by von Gladiss, no. 445 ( June 1095), pp. 600–01.
25
Masé, ‘Les relations des monastères vénitiens’; Modzelewski, ‘Le vicende della “pars
dominica” nei beni fondiari del monastero’.
26
A comparison between San Giorgio Maggiore’s wealth and the wealth of other Venetian
monasteries can be drawn by considering the last will of Petrus Encius, a member of an
influential aristocratic family who was involved in the political life of the city; the document
has been edited in San Giorgio Maggiore, ed. by Lanfranchi, ii: Documenti, 982–1159, no. 132
(November 1123), pp. 295–303.
27
San Lorenzo, ed. by Gaeta, no. 1, pp. 1–5.
154 Anna Rapetti
Lorenzo evolved in quite a different way to other proprietary monasteries.

Here, the percentage of nuns belonging to aristocratic families increased to 80
per cent from the ninth to the thirteenth century. There is also evidence there
of some daughters from mercantile families and the lower ranks of the aris-
tocracy. It should be noted that the recruitment of nuns to the convent of San
Lorenzo — certainly, in the thirteenth century, but very probably also previ-
ously — seems to have been limited to the city of Venice alone; a few nuns
came from outside of Venice, but none have surnames from the Terra Ferma.28
In 1151, San Zaccaria announced its intention to embrace the Cluniac con-
suetudines. This came at the end of a long period of ten years during which this
wealthy and prominent convent had been without an abbess because of the
dispute between the doge, Pietro Polani, and the patriarch of Grado, Enrico
Dandolo, and their families. After the death of Nella Michiel, abbess of San
Zaccaria, in 1141, Polani had expected — as was customary — to nominate and
invest the new abbess, but Dandolo opposed the doge’s claim, insisting that the
nuns themselves should hold a free election to choose their abbess without any
lay interference. The patriarch’s arguments were resonant of Gregorian reform,
giving voice to libertas ecclesiae. This episode shows that some people, both lay
and ecclesiastic, and some powerful families in Venice actively favoured and
supported the ecclesiastical reform.29 Despite this, modern scholarship usually
maintains that the Venetians were not interested in introducing the reform of
the clergy and the monasteries within the Lagoon.
Pope Eugenius III recognized the nuns’ choice and took them ‘sub Beati
Petri et nostra protectione’. The powerful political connections of the convent
allowed it to break off its subjection — which was, until then, very close — to
the doge; at the same time, it remained independent from the direct authority
of Cluny.30 From then onwards, the abbesses of San Zaccaria were no longer
drawn from the elite families of Venice, as had previously been the case on
almost every occasion. However, or perhaps even because of this fracture, the
abbesses started managing their vast properties personally, both in the city and
on the Terra Ferma. The abbesses themselves selected and employed priests and
lay brothers, who regularly looked after the management and the estates even in
areas more distant from Venice.
28
Carraro, ‘Società e religione nella Venezia medievale’, p. 39.
29
Carraro, ‘Tra sacro e quotidiano’, pp. 51–55, and Madden, Enrico Dandolo and the Rise
of Venice.
30
Some interesting remarks about the autonomy of the Lombard Cluniac nuns from their
brothers have been expressed by Andenna, ‘Sanctimoniales cluniacenses’.
The first answer to one of my earlier questions is that one of the two old-
est and most prestigious female foundations (San Lorenzo) did not enter any
of the reformed monastic orders already existing in Venice (Cluny, Fruttuaria,
Cîteaux), while the other one (San Zaccaria) embraced the customs of Cluny’s
monks (‘Cluniacensium fratrum observantia’). Nevertheless, they both
remained independent, preserving all their rights and privileges, as well as their
relationships with society and the political authorities of the city. The phenom-
enon did not depend on the specific gender of the community, and it was not
related to any presumed frailty on the part of female communities. In fact, the
main Venetian male monasteries, Sant’Ilario and San Giorgio Maggiore, to cite
just two of the oldest ones, also remained autonomous and continued to grow
in wealth and power in traditional ways, increasing both their properties and
their privileges, in particular, in the so-called Romània, which had been con-
quered in the Crusade of 1204.31 They continued to be indifferent to religious
fervour and calls for the renewal of monastic life, which, in contrast, involved
other monasteries in Venice. There are no traces of those difficulties, so often
related to problems of internal discipline, which convinced other monasteries
to adopt customs, frequently those of the Cistercian Order. This is what hap-
pened, for instance, in 1229 in the very ancient abbey of Brondolo, which had
probably been founded by the Lombards in the diocese of Chioggia. It was
obliged to adopt the Cistercian instituta because ‘tam in spiritualibus quam in
temporalibus enormiter deformata’ (it was greatly corrupted both in spiritual
and in temporal matters).32
Female Monasticism in the Islands of the Northern Lagoon

In the early and high Middle Ages, the diocese of Torcello, which was part
of the northern Lagoon, was an important economic area, sufficiently inhab-
ited to have a number of parish churches and a socially diverse population:
besides fishermen and hunters, there were inhabitants classified as ‘antiquiores
et nobiliores de Ammianis’.33 However, it was an area particularly exposed to
climate changes and the tide, which deeply modified its configuration from
31
Orlando, ‘Ad profectum patriae’.
32
Santissima Trinità e San Michele Arcangelo di Brondolo, ed. by Strina, iii: Documenti,
1200–1229 e notizie di documenti, no. 686 (24 May 1229).
33
Ammiana was one of the northern Lagoon islands; see San Lorenzo di Ammiana, ed. by
Lanfranchi, no. 79 (1195), pp. 89–90.
156 Anna Rapetti
the fourteenth century onwards. Some islands, such as Torcello, Murano, and
Mazzorbo, did not suffer significant transformation, whilst others were almost
completely submerged. Amongst the latter, Ammiana and Costanziaco are
uninhabited today, largely overrun by water and vegetation. San Giacomo in
Paludo (in the marsh) is also almost uninhabited. In the high Middle Ages,
female monasteries, established between the late twelfth and the thirteenth
century, blossomed on these islands.34 The significant number of these commu-
nities and higher proportion of female over male communities raises questions
which are not easy to answer. For example, why was there such a concentration
of female communities? Two hypotheses have been advanced in relation to
this question. The first draws attention to the strong influence of the ideals of
the apostolic life and a new initiative by women in religious life. However, the
new female foundations normally belonged to the traditional orders, to the
Benedictine or the Cistercian Orders, when the latter had lost its reforming
character. Moreover, this in itself does not explain the high concentration of
nunneries in this part of the Lagoon.35 The second explanation, put forward by
Élisabeth Crouzet-Pavan,36 is that new foundations were a solution to islands
which had become uninhabited due to environmental deterioration. However,
other scholars maintain that nunneries were dependent on cities, and that they
rarely emerged in isolated contexts.37 It thus seems strange that settlements of
women in Venice should favour areas which were becoming marginal. Given
that the public authorities viewed monasteries as a means of control and organ-
ization — social, economic, and agrarian — and that they often favoured the
establishment of a monastery in one place rather than another because particu-
lar locations could guarantee such control and protection, both symbolic and
material, one must ask whether nuns would be likely to settle on islands which
were on their way to being abandoned.
We may also argue a different origin for these convents on the periphery:
namely, that they were founded by commoners, in comparison with the more
ancient convents in Rialto, which had been established by aristocrats. This is
another hypothesis which needs to be tested. Let us start with the more ancient
communities. San Lorenzo of Ammiana (1185) was established by two women,
Berta and Agnese, under the Benedictine Rule and under the control of the
34
Moine, I monasteri femminili della laguna nord di Venezia nel basso medioevo, pp. 15–31.
35
Carraro, ‘Tra sacro e quotidiano’, pp. 107–11.
36
Crouzet-Pavan, La Mort lente de Torcello.
37
Zarri, ‘Monasteri femminili e città (secoli xv–xviii)’, pp. 359–60.
bishop of Torcello. Sant’Angelo of Ammiana (1195), founded by Berta (the

same woman) and Benvenuta, was dependent on San Lorenzo of Ammiana,
and was always under the patronage of the bishop of Torcello.38 The family
names of these women are not known, which is perhaps proof, albeit weak,
that they belonged to non-aristocratic families. It is possible that the latter
monastery was an affiliation of the former.39 In both cases, the bishop donated
the parish church of San Lorenzo and the parish church of Sant’Angelo, which
were already operating with their own clergy, to the women so that they could
build the monasteries beside the churches. This tie with the church is a feature
of many of the monasteries of Ammiana, which were built beside an already
existing church, to which they were linked in various ways. We can understand
why the bishops of Torcello played a determinant role in promoting new foun-
dations and why they preserved certain control rights over the nuns: the pay-
ment of duties (censi), rendered in coins and wax candles; the right to appoint
the abbess, for many years called prelata or domina; and the right to receive
new nuns. At San Lorenzo, the bishop reserved for himself the right to appoint
the parish clergy for the church, a fact that suggests that the parish was not
completely uninhabited if the priests were required to provide cura animarum.
They were always quite small groups, formed by two or three women who,
perhaps, lived together spontaneously. At the beginning, even recruiting new
nuns proved difficult: in 1193, eight years after its foundation, San Lorenzo
only had Berta and Agnese, who had taken vows as nuns.40 In 1195 they were
joined by Engelmota, but the founder, Berta, left to establish the monastery of
Sant’Angelo. The following year, Engelmota became abbess.41 In the founding
records of Sant’Angelo, it was anticipated that the new monastery would not
succeed in recruiting fratres or sorores. In the event of the death of the nuns,
the net value and the chapel would be returned to San Lorenzo, along with
some books, including the Regula.42 The founders themselves were conscious
that these nunneries seemed to hold little attraction. It is quite possible that
these houses recruited nuns only from the islands that were closest to them
38
San Lorenzo di Ammiana, ed. by Lanfranchi, respectively, no. 71, pp. 81–83; no. 78,
pp. 88–89; Moine, I monasteri femminili della laguna nord di Venezia nel basso medioevo, p. 31.
39
Moine, I monasteri femminili della laguna nord di Venezia nel basso medioevo, p. 17.
40
San Lorenzo di Ammiana, ed. by Lanfranchi, no. 74, pp. 84–85.
41
42
158 Anna Rapetti
geographically, because of the difficulties in communicating with the city —

difficulties which were further exacerbated with the Terra Ferma.
One of the most successful orders of the twelfth century, the Cistercian
Order, had great difficulty establishing itself not only in the Lagoon but also in
the Veneto. Only one male abbey was created in Venice, that of San Tommaso
dei Borgognoni. It was established by a noble Venetian in 1206,43 much later
than the most important Cistercian monasteries of northern Italy, which were
founded in the period from the 1120s to the 1140s. For most monastic histo-
rians, the reason for this partial failure is still unexplained. However, the influ-
ence of Cistercian customs was also apparent in the Lagoon, as is demonstrated
by the large number of monasteries created for the female branch of the order.
The activity of the latter in the duchy is also clear evidence of the remarkable
success of the ideals of the Cistercian monks. If we consider the female com-
munities, which were particularly numerous in the northern islands, it becomes
more difficult to sustain the argument for the lack of influence of Cistercian
monasticism. San Maffio (or Matteo) of Costanziaco provides a good example.
As with all Cistercian abbeys, it adopted the Benedictine Rule, even though
the bishop maintained a certain amount of control over it, and the commu-
nity had to pay tithes. When nuns asked, in 1229, to be incorporated into the
Cistercian Order, an argument broke out with San Tommaso dei Borgognoni.
This is a well-known phenomenon where relationships between Cistercian
nuns and monks are concerned. In 1232 Pope Gregory IX confirmed the net
value and the privileges granted to the abbey, and conceded juridical exemption
by removing the local clergy’s control of the community. Such an act created
tension with the bishop of Torcello, who was deprived of his rights.44
Foundations and Motivations

What significance may we attribute to the fact that a religious woman was
defined as Christi famula or ancilla Dei in the founding act of San Zaccaria?
One such woman was Agata, a daughter of the late Maurizio, ‘magister mili-
tum qui fuit dux Venecie’.45 Some other ancillae and famulae Dei are cited
as being among those who gave the lands donated to the new foundation to
Doge Giustiniano. It is difficult to say whether these women belonged to a
43
Rigon, ‘Présence cistercienne dans le Veneto médiéval’.
44
45
Santi Ilario e Benedetto e San Gregorio, ed. by Lanfranchi, no. 2, pp. 17–24.
real monastic community, under an abbess and a rule. It seems more probable
that they lived in an intermediate condition between that of a nun and that
of a woman in a semi-religious state. Perhaps they lived in small communities
devoted to penance and prayer, spontaneous, not institutionalized, or as her-
mits living in their own homes. These frail clues testify to the fact that vivere
religiose (‘to live a religious life’), in spontaneous forms, was a practice present
both in Venice and on the islands. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, there
were women called eremite (hermits) and others who lived in domicelle (small
houses or rooms) physically attached to city churches. These women found
favour with the other citizens, who left them clothes and money in their wills.46
Devout women founded, often with the support of the bishop, convents
not only in the northern Lagoon islands but also in Chioggia and in Rialto.
Others promoted the founding of monastic communities through the dona-
tion of property. They were women — some, perhaps, nuns, while others
were certainly lay persons — who came from both aristocratic and non-aris-
tocratic families, about which we have scanty information. The monastery of
Sant’Adriano of Costanziaco was founded by Anna Michiel, the wife of Doge
Niccolò Giustiniani, and the monastery of Santa Maria degli Angeli of Murano
(1187) by Ginevra Gradenigo: both of them were from the most prominent
families in Venice.47 Were Agnese, Berta, and Benvenuta devout lay women
or nuns who had come from other monasteries, and to whom the bishop of
Torcello had given permission to live together under Benedictine Rule? This
small but dynamic group founded two communities on the island of Ammiana
within the space of ten years, the convent of San Lorenzo in 1185 and that of
Sant’Angelo in 1195.48 Even though they were not from families which can be
identified, it is clear that they came from a sufficiently well-off milieu that was
able to provide for their education and give them the ability to read. In the
founding acts, the books to bring to the new convent are cited, as are books
belonging to one of them, Agnese (‘illos libros quos habeo’), which were to
be returned to San Lorenzo in the event that the community be dissolved. It
is hard to define the legal status of the other three women — Maria da Canal,
Richelda Zancarolo, and Maria da Zara — with any accuracy, although we do
46
Carraro, ‘Tra sacro e quotidiano’, p. 95.
47
On S. Maria degli Angeli, see Corner, Ecclesie Torcellanae, ii, 261. A short, albeit hagio
graphic, biography of Niccolò Giustiniani and his wife Anna Michiel is provided by Musolino,
Niero, and Tramontin, Santi e beati veneziani, pp. 133–36.
48
San Lorenzo di Ammiana, ed. by Lanfranchi, no. 71, pp. 81–3, and no. 78, pp. 88–89.
160 Anna Rapetti
know that they received, in the name of the Cistercian monastery of San Maffio
of Costanziaco, a church from the bishop of Torcello in 1229.49 However, we
also know that the first two came from well-to-do families: the da Canal family
were at the height of their economic ascendancy during the thirteenth century;
whilst the Zancarolo family held public office.50 It seems clear that in all of these
cases the women showed their willingness to pass from the religious experience
of a penitent and pious life, which was informal and spontaneous, to a formal
recognition of their way of living in the ecclesiastical hierarchy. These women,
independently of their education and social class, were very much aware of the
necessity of institutionalizing their religious beliefs and were able to choose the
most effective legal instruments, as well as which authorities to address. Usually,
it was the bishop of Torcello who formalized such requests, even though they
could ask the pope directly for the permission to found a community:51 this is a
demonstration of the strength and initiative of these women.
Within the monasteries of the Lagoon, the abbesses had limited independ-
ence; that is, they seldom managed the community matters directly or person-
ally.52 In order to handle these matters, and especially with regard to their prop-
erties on the Terra Ferma, they employed priests or lay representatives, who
were always male. Nuns in Ammiana and Costanziaco appear more respectful
of their vows of claustration in comparison with those at San Zaccaria and San
Lorenzo. Nevertheless, in this regard, the dimension of insularity or isolation
imposed by living on an island and the high concentration of incomes which
originated within the Lagoon were crucial: the exploitation of their rights to
water, fish, and the production of salt. This situation generated a strong tie with
the local communities. Besides, there was the physical isolation which facili-
tated the physical stability of the nuns within the cloisters.53 I would argue that
seclusion played a lesser role than the physical isolation of living on an island
in conditioning this behaviour, at least during the period considered here. Nor
49
San Maffio di Mazzorbo e Santa Margherita di Torcello, ed. by Frizziero, no. 67 (1229).
50
51
Corner, Ecclesiae Torcellanae, ii, 234: 1188. The nunnery of S. Maria degli Angeli,
‘impetrata prius a Sede Apostolica expresse per bullam plumbeam erigendi monasterii facultate’
(asked to have beforehand an explicit permission, via a lead bull [per bullam plumbeam],
from the Holy See to establish a nunnery), was supported by the bishop of Torcello, ‘ut ex eius
assensu res ad sui perfectionem deduceretur’ (so that from his assent the foundation should be
completed and perfected).
52
San Lorenzo di Ammiana, ed. by Lanfranchi, no. 74 (1193), pp. 84–85.
53
should we think that these abbesses were incapable of, or not interested in, the
management of their estates. On the contrary, we have just seen that they were
clearly able to assert their rights. A partial exception can be found with regard
to the Cistercian nunneries (San Maffio and San Giacomo in Paludo), whose
abbesses were able to act more autonomously. In such cases, the key point was
that of the belonging to an order which guaranteed their independence from
the bishop and provided them with the above-mentioned juridical exemption
privileges and close ties with other abbeys of the same order. At San Giacomo
in Paludo, the conventus was quite often called upon to approve the acts taken
by the abbess. Physical isolation continued to be a problem, as it forced them to
assign the management of the properties on the Terra Ferma to representatives,
who were almost certainly not lay-brothers.
With regard to the motivations for women to enter a convent as adults,
it generally occurred when they became widows. We have the testimony of
Bartolomea Riccoboni and her Necrology of the Monastery of Corpus Domini. In
this text from the early fifteenth century, there are some interesting biographi-
cal profiles of nuns: there are those who entered the convent as children (as
eleven- or twelve-year-olds) and those who entered as widows. These include
the rich Franceschina da Noale, who entered Corpus Domini when she was
forty-nine years old, together with her seven-year-old daughter; and Lucia
Fagiuoli, a twenty-eight-year-old widow who lived in the monastery for a fur-
ther twelve years. In the Necrology, the gifts of humility, patience, and religious
zeal are remembered. But historians are more interested in observing that the
act of entering a monastic community guaranteed both material and spiritual
benefits, and, last but not least, good care and attention when they fell sick,
sometimes with diseases which lasted for years, and the certainty of being
administered the last rites on their deathbeds and being recalled in the prayers
of the other nuns.
The necrology also cites lay-sister Ambrosina, who died at the age of thirty,
after nine years at Corpus Domini. She had been ill for more than three years,
and she passed away after receiving the Sacraments.54 This woman, unique
amongst those mentioned by Bartolomea, had the misfortune of seeing the
devil on her deathbed, but she courageously succeeded in driving him away.
It seems interesting, and not without significance, that the devil appeared to
her, a laywoman, perhaps from a modest background, and with humbler reli-
gious virtues compared to her sisters. To other nuns on their deathbeds, angels
54
Riccoboni, Life and Death in a Venetian Convent, ed. by Bornstein, p. 70.
162 Anna Rapetti
appeared, Sant’Orsola and her companions, or even St Dominic, St Peter the

Martyr, and St Thomas Aquinas.55 It is not clear whether Ambrosina was a
widow, nor is she defined as a ‘pure virgin’, as the nuns who entered as children
or adolescents were described. Probably her status as a lay-sister suggested a cer-
tain discretion in formulating her obituary, since she was given a lower status
even from the point of view of spiritual perfection.
In conclusion, what answers can we offer to the questions formulated at the
beginning of this essay? Remembering that our answers are only provisional
— as must be the case for whomever studies history — we may say that the
specificity of Venetian female monasticism was not exclusive to this city, as is
often maintained. First, although it is often claimed that the Venetian expe-
rience exhibits ‘originality’ when these religious phenomena are examined in
comparison with the simultaneous movements in nearby countries, it can be
demonstrated that this is far from the case: a large number of Venetians par-
ticipated in the most significant religious movements. In particular, it may be
observed that the profound renewal in Benedictine monasticism, and in par-
ticular in female religious life, that occurred between the eleventh and the
thirteenth century in northern Italy and elsewhere, was also apparent in the
Duchy. Venetian women participated in this reform, sometimes in original and
informal ways. Furthermore, a number of female religious initiatives occurred
within an institutional framework: some older convents adhered to reform by
embracing the Cluniac customs (San Zaccaria), whilst some others founded in
the twelfth and thirteenth century in the northern Lagoon asked for permis-
sion to adopt the Cistercian customs (San Maffio of Costanziaco). As a result
of this religious female involvement, small groups of nuns or lay women created
many communities in the northern Lagoon islands that were strongly influ-
enced by the ideals of the apostolic life, but they looked from the beginning for
the support of the bishops of Torcello. The evidence suggests that these women
were eager for the institutionalization of their religious experiences, and the
intervention of bishops assured them a degree of success in this regard. On the
contrary, the main Venetian male monasteries, like Sant’Ilario and San Giorgio
Maggiore, remained indifferent to the fervour of religious renewal and to the
main reform’s principles.
The geographical specificity of a city founded between land and water, and
the capacity of the inhabitants to control the Lagoon waters, held great impor-
tance for the evolution of several female communities. The abandonment of
55
Riccoboni, Life and Death in a Venetian Convent, ed. by Bornstein, pp. 70–72.
the islands, which became uninhabitable marshland, frequently forced nuns to

transfer from one island to another and from the Lagoon to the Terra Ferma,
but nevertheless, any geographical determinism should be avoided. The foun-
dation and abandonment of monasteries depended on a combination of several
factors: economic, political, social, religious, as well as geographic. The latter
perhaps assumed a greater importance in Venice than elsewhere, but surely was
not the deciding element. In other words, the emergence of female Venetian
monasticism was the result of a mixture of different factors and elements. But
all the forms of monasticism in the Middle Ages are intimately related to the
conditions of the societies in which they are embedded, of which they are one
of the most distinctive manifestations.
164 Anna Rapetti
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astero regio dai Longobardi al Barbarossa. Atti del convegno, Brescia, 4–5 maggio 1990
(Brescia: Grafo, 1992)
Wemple, Suzanne Fonay, ‘S. Salvatore/S. Giulia: A Case-Study in the Endowment and
Patronage of a Major Female Monastery in Northern Italy’, in Women of the Medieval
World: Essays in Honour of John H. Mundy, ed. by Julius Kirshner and Suzanne Fonay
Wemple, (Oxford: Blackwell, 1985), pp. 85–102
Zarri, Gabriella, Monasteri femminili e città (secoli xv–xviii), in Storia d’Italia, annali, 9:
La chiesa e il potere politico, ed. by Giorgio Chittolini and Giovanni Miccoli (Turin:
Einaudi, 1986), pp. 357–429
Cistercian Nuns in Twelfth- and
Thirteenth-Century Denmark and
Sweden: Far from the Madding Crowd
Brian Patrick McGuire
I
n the course of the twelfth to fifteenth centuries, three Cistercian houses
for women were established in Denmark and seven in Sweden. One of the
‘Danish’ houses was on the island of Rügen or Rygen, which was conquered
by the Danes in the 1160s but never became a part of medieval Denmark. I
include this house because it was established from the Danish women’s mon-
astery at Roskilde. For Sweden, I limit myself to the first Cistercian house for
nuns at Vreta, in central Sweden, near the town of Linköping. I do not cover
the other Swedish houses: Gudhem, Riseberga, Sko, Askeby, Solberga, and
Vårfruberga, for the sources for them are extremely limited, and so I find it
more useful in this brief study to concentrate on the four houses for women
where we can get a fuller picture of their early development. My study limits
itself to Our Lady of Roskilde on the island of Zealand; Our Lady of Slangerup,
also on the same island, about thirty kilometres to the north of Roskilde; Our
Lady of Bergen on Rygen; and Our Lady of Vreta in the Swedish district of
Västergötland.1
It has long been noticed that Sweden had many more Cistercian women’s
houses than did Denmark, and the explanation probably lies in the fact that
Christianity came later to Sweden than to Denmark.2 Here there were a num-
1
For an overview, see France, The Cistercians in Scandinavia, pp. 159–84.
2
France, The Cistercians in Scandinavia, p. 171.
Brian Patrick McGuire ([email protected]) is professor emeritus of Medieval History (Roskilde

University, Denmark).
168 Brian Patrick McGuire
ber of earlier women’s houses that were Benedictine, while the first female
monasteries in Sweden were established at the very time when the Cistercians
were making their presence felt. Only Vreta seems to have existed before the
coming of the Cistercians and must around 1200 have made the transition to
the Cistercian Order.3
There has been general confusion in treatments of the nuns concerning
when their monasteries actually became Cistercian.4 This misconception has
to a large extent been due to ignorance of the international development of the
Order. Thus, both Roskilde and Slangerup monasteries are usually considered
to have been Cistercian from their very beginnings, even though these go back
to the middle of the twelfth century and thus to a time when the Order was
trying in official terms to keep women at a distance and to avoid any legal com-
mitments to women’s houses.5
The sources do not allow us to assert an exact ‘moment of creation’ when
Benedictine women’s foundations became Cistercian. Instead of thinking of
this affiliation in terms of a single date for the event, it would probably be
best to imagine a process over a period of years during which the nuns made
it clear that they desired this affiliation. At the same time, it was crucial for a
Cistercian abbot to be willing to take on the pastoral and economic responsi-
bility for these foundations, the all-important cura monialium. We know this
happened at Roskilde with the abbot of Sorø and at Slangerup with the abbot
of Esrum, but we have no precise date for this arrangement.6 What we can say,
however, is that in Sweden and Denmark, as elsewhere in Western Europe,
Cistercian houses for men took on responsibilities for women’s houses and thus
came to recognize them as Cistercian. Eventually, after about 1200, the Order
as a whole recognized women’s houses, as can be seen from the statutes of the
General Chapter.
This evolution has been traced in detail especially by Brigitte Degler-
Spengler, and there is no reason here to repeat her evidence, only to empha-
size her point that ‘this process of integration did not […] unfold smoothly’.7
3
McGuire, ‘Vretas nonner i europæisk perspektiv’.
4
Skyum-Nielsen, Kvinde og slave, p. 120.
5
Smith, ‘De danske nonneklostre’, and France, The Cistercians in Scandinavia, pp. 164–65.
6
Smith, ‘De danske nonneklostre’, p. 31.
7
Degler-Spengler, ‘The Incorporation of Cistercian Nuns into the Order’, esp. p. 97;
France, The Cistercians in Scandinavia, pp. 164–67. The classic study is Krenig, ‘Mittelalterliche
Frauenklöster nach den Konstitutionen von Cîteaux’.
Cistercian Nuns in 12th- and 13th-Century Denmark and Sweden 169
It seems apparent that the women’s houses in Denmark and Sweden became
Cistercian in conjunction with the General Chapter’s formal recognition of
women’s houses in the Cistercian Order, even though we have no contempo-
rary sources that record this transition of our four houses to the Order. In what
follows here, I will assume that these houses took on a Cistercian identity at the
same time or soon after the Order as such came to accept that women’s houses
belonged to them. I have no conclusive proof, but it is clear that in the course of
the later Middle Ages these houses were considered to be Cistercian, and their
attachment to the Order must go back to the time when the General Chapter
came to take on women’s houses as part of its responsibilities.
Besides this dimension of institutional affiliation, it is important to recon-
sider the sources in terms of what they reveal about women’s communities and
how they changed. In what follows here I will in one case show how a monas-
tery could house women who may have been there because of social or politi-
cal pressure and not as a result of their own choice. But I will also make use of
sources that reveal the relative flexibility of women in opening their monastic
church to pilgrimage and a saint’s cult. Finally, I will consider the existence of a
women’s house in a recently Christianized area: here it is useful to consider the
meaning of the contemplative life in a missionary district.
How could the contemplative women cope with the challenges of pilgrim-
age and a recent transition to Christianity? For the most part, we can only
guess the answer to this question, but the very existence of Cistercian women’s
houses in Denmark and Sweden can shed light on the way Christian belief
could have manifested itself among medieval people.
Our Lady of Roskilde: Building on a Solid Church

Sometime around 1080 a bishop of Roskilde, Svend the Northman (1073–88),
erected a basilica whose nave has three bays, an imposing church for its time.8
The church of St Mary, as it is still known to this day, where it now serves as
a parish church hidden behind the railway station, was initially built out of
porous travertine (frådsten) but later completed in brick. There are only a few
other churches in Denmark from this period, and even though the present
church building is only a fragment of its medieval ancestor, its Romanesque
arches suggest the power and beauty of the original structure.
8
Saxo, Gesta danorum xi.12.1; Saxos Danmarks historie, trans. by Zeeberg, ii, 88.
Our Lady of Roskilde was originally meant only to be a parish church, but
after the election of Absalon as bishop of the diocese in 1158, a monastery for
women was founded at the church. This was the result of the fact that a church
official named Isak and two of his colleagues had come to violate the grave of
Bishop Svend the Northman. We know of this misdeed from the Danish histo-
rian Saxo, who finished his Gesta Danorum a few decades later. In order to do
penance for his action, Isak established a monastery for women and ‘used the
rest of his life to keep the nuns in a virtuous life’.9
Saxo was a secular cleric and not generally interested in monastic life. His
few mentions of the Cistercians are not exactly favourable.10 His description of
the monastic foundation at Roskilde is probably due to fascination with what
happened to Isak in avoiding the divine punishment that apparently struck two
of his colleagues, who also had violated the bishop’s grave. In any case, Saxo says
nothing about a Cistercian foundation. This silence, of course, could mean any-
thing, but we can at least assert that in about 1160, the parish church of Our
Lady in Roskilde took on a new identity in becoming part of a women’s monas-
tic foundation. On the basis of what we know about the Cistercian Order, it is
wrong to claim that this foundation from the beginning was Cistercian. Like so
many other Danish houses, its nuns followed the Rule of St Benedict, and so we
would have to call them Benedictine, even though it is an anachronism to speak
of a Benedictine Order at this time. There were houses all over Europe that fol-
lowed the Rule of St Benedict, but the creation of a Benedictine Order came
after the existence of a Cistercian Order, which forced traditional monasteries
to join together and hold General Chapters and visitations, as decided by the
Fourth Lateran Council in 1215.11
The next indication of the growth of the monastery for women at Roskilde
is a letter from Bishop Absalon dated to 1178.12 He gave the monastery two
churches in the vicinity of Roskilde, Sengeløse and Gadstrup, so that the nuns
would remember and pray for him. He mentioned the nuns’ ‘living and lasting
charity’ (‘vivax et inextinguibilis caritas’) and spoke of his ‘special affection’ for
them. The phrases could probably easily be shown to be commonplaces in such
literature, but when one looks at the beautiful twelfth-century hand, so care-
9
Saxo, Gesta danorum xi.12.5; Saxos Danmarks historie, trans. by Zeeberg, ii, 90.
10
McGuire, The Cistercians in Denmark, pp. 110–11.
11
See statute 12, De communibus capitulis monachorum, in Conciliorum oecumenicorum
decreta, ed. by Alberigo and others pp. 216–17.
12
Diplomatarium Danicum: Række i, iii, no. 74.
fully made with its lines and loops, it is clear that Absalon through his scribe
was making a statement that he wanted to last forever.
The first signatory of this document is Simon, the abbot of Sorø (1163–86).
I have written about him elsewhere as an extraordinary personality who took
over the fledgling monastery two years after its Cistercian foundation and
probably saved it from chaos. Simon can be located in Cistercian exemplum
literature as a former schoolmaster (magister scholarum), possibly at Roskilde
cathedral, who found meaning and harmony in the Cistercian way of life. A
vision changed his life, and news of this conversion reached the Cistercian
General Chapter.13
Since Bishop Absalon had been the central figure in the foundation of Sorø,
it is not surprising that the abbot of Sorø assisted him in providing the nuns of
Our Lady of Roskilde with an assured income. Simon’s signature by no means
proves that the nuns had taken on the Cistercian way of life, but it is the first
instance in which we find the women’s house in contact with a Cistercian men’s
house.
The next time the nuns of Roskilde appear in a written source is when the
body of Margrete of Højelse was translated in 1177 to their church. Here we
have a Danish saint who never received papal canonization but where a cult
emerged that in local and regional terms seems to have been quite important.
The woman was a relative of Bishop Absalon. She had a husband who first
abused her and finally murdered her by hanging. Margrete was buried outside
the cemetery, for her husband Herlog made her death look like suicide. His
misdeed was revealed, however, for lights appeared around the grave on the
seashore and the matter was brought to the attention of Bishop Absalon. He
ordered an enquiry to be made and sent to the site investigators to find the truth
of the matter. Together with our friend Simon, abbot of Sorø, and Richard, the
former Benedictine abbot of Ringsted, he deliberated what was to be done in
the matter. The husband was summoned and made to confess his crime.14
Margrete’s relatives then demanded that the husband be punished for his
deed, but Absalon is said to have calmed them. He then ‘with great joy’ went
from Roskilde and, surrounded by a crowd of people, came to the grave. The
body was exhumed, washed, placed on a stretcher and brought to Roskilde:
‘With the greatest jubilation people of all classes, sex, age, and background
come to meet the holy procession.’ In front of the stretcher were wax candles
13
McGuire, ‘Absalon’s Spirituality’.
14
Vitae sanctorum Danorum, ed. by Gertz, pp. 389–90.
and lamps, and behind it came the clergy and bishop, with hymns and songs.
The body was brought into the ‘basilica of the holy virgin Mary, where a huge
mausoleum was built, where she afterwards distinguished herself through many
miracles’.15
Why did Absalon call upon Abbot Simon of Sorø to participate in this mat-
ter? The involvement may be an indication that the bishop of Roskilde wanted
the Cistercian abbot to commit himself to the affairs of a nuns’ monastery. An
indication of a growing closeness is provided by a papal letter from 1182 issued
to Abbot Simon and his monks.16 Sorø was given a third of the offerings left at
the grave of Margrete in ‘Our Lady’s Monastery in Roskilde’. According to the
letter, the bishop of Roskilde had already seen that this third was to be handed
over to Sorø. The purpose of the gift was to make certain that the monks had the
income they needed in order to build their monastery and to cover other needs.
Even though the papal letter does not directly assert that the abbot of Sorø
in this manner committed himself to looking after the material and spiritual
needs of the women’s house, it seems more than likely that the translation of
Margrete’s body and its presence at Our Lady of Roskilde with a steady flow
of pilgrims opened up a new chapter in the nuns’ existence. From this time
onwards, they are likely to have been under the supervision of the abbot of
Sorø, a man who was close to the bishop and at the same time involved in the
construction of one of the first brick churches in the country. Sorø needed
income, and the Cistercian monastery in turn could provide the nuns with
moral support and supervision.
I look upon this papal letter as an indication that by 1182 there was a for-
mal, legal, and financial bond between Cistercian Sorø monks and Benedictine
Roskilde nuns. There is no proof that the nuns at this point had become
Cistercian, but they were certainly on their way to becoming part of the Order.
It is more than likely that soon after 1200, when the General Chapter gave way
and acknowledged women’s houses, Our Lady of Roskilde took on a Cistercian
identity. The sisters themselves probably continued more or less as previously
with contemplative prayer and physical enclosure, while at the same time the
presence of Margrete’s body in the church meant a steady stream of pilgrims,
many of whom were praying for a miracle.
15
Vitae sanctorum Danorum, ed. by Gertz, p. 390: ‘Introducitur ergo corpus in sancte vir
ginis Marie basilicam, ubi mausoleum ingens honeste construitur, ubi postea multis claruit
miraculis.’
16
We have no medieval list of miracles but we can see from the east end of the
church, where the Romanesque apse was opened out onto a full-scale choir,
that the church was provided with adequate room for a shrine.17 One can only
surmise that the pilgrims were let in by an entrance which kept them separate
from the nuns’ section. The church with its long nave could certainly accom-
modate such a division. At the same time we are informed in the Elder Zealand
Chronicle from the fourteenth century that Margrete is known to have per-
formed few miracles not because they failed to happen but because ‘they are
not written down’.18 The compiler of the Chronicle was perhaps on the lookout
for a list and was surprised he could not find one. His assertion that miracles
had taken place but had not been recorded at the time provides a hint that
the nuns of Our Lady of Roskilde were not especially keen on increasing the
renown of their shrine. They may have chosen to avoid having a list made. In
this manner they guarded the integrity of their foundation by limiting the pub-
licity for their saint’s shrine.
The above conclusion is more a conjecture than the result of proof. But there
is no doubt that the Church of Our Lady in Roskilde after 1177 became a place
of pilgrimage, while the presence of contemplative nuns could hardly have har-
monized with the disturbances brought about by the comings and goings of
laypeople. Somehow, the sisters found a way to accommodate pilgrims and to
maintain their way of life, and perhaps this involved suppressing any attempt to
make the cult of Margrete better known. The nuns lived physically close to ‘the
madding crowd’ and yet spiritually far from it.
A final indication of the early history of Roskilde Our Lady Monastery is
a letter to its prioress and nuns from William, abbot of the Victorine mon-
astery of the Paraclete, located in Northern Zealand. He had been brought
to Denmark by Absalon in order to reform the lives of secular canons on the
island of Eskilsø in Roskilde Fjord.19 Ten years later he moved the community
to Æbelholt, where he gave it the name of the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete, just as
Abelard had done with his monastic settlement.20 William left behind a letter
collection whose exact purpose and intent remains a mystery in Danish history
17
McGuire, ‘Roskilde i europæisk middelalderperspektiv’. See the plan of the church on p. 25.
18
Vitae sanctorum Danorum, ed. by Gertz, p. 390: ‘De miraculis illius sancte […] paucis,
ut opinor, constat, non quia non sunt per virtutem domini facta, sed magis quia non sunt
scripto […] commendata.’
19
Vitae sanctorum Danorum, ed. by Gertz, pp. 319–22.
20
Vitae sanctorum Danorum, ed. by Gertz, p. 330.
writing.21 But it seems clear that the letters illustrate his interests and concerns,
even though it is not apparent which of them, if any, were actually sent.22 It is
my view that what we have are drafts of letters, in order to illustrate William’s
ability in ars dictandi, the art of letter-writing. At the same time, however, many
of these letters, perhaps with later emendations, can have been actually sent to
the recipients named in them.
William begins one letter to the nuns in Roskilde by asserting his respon-
sibility to manifest care and concern for the flock to whose care he had been
given: ‘We have been entrusted with the authority given us by God […] to care
for them handed over to us.’23 The reader might wonder whether William was
asserting some type of responsibility for the nuns, but it soon becomes clear
that his concern is not with them but with Niels, the son of their prior. He
had apparently come to Æbelholt and had been trained as a member of its
Victorine community. William admitted that he had been hard on the youth,
and now the young man was threatening to give up the way of life to which
he had vowed himself. Without conferring with William, Niels had put aside
his cowl and ‘deposited’ it with the nuns, ‘something which has surprised us
greatly’. William concludes by asking the prioress of Roskilde and her nuns to
hand over the garments, ‘so that your Order, which always has loved the truth,
does not become a part of evil deeds and become a hiding place and dwelling of
evil and wrongdoing’.24
By using the term ordo tuus, William was probably referring in general to the
monastic order, even though he could have been indicating the Benedictine or
Cistercian Order. We have no clear indication of when the letter was composed.
It has to have been after William in about 1175 made the move to Æbelholt
and before his death in 1203. Whatever the exact situation, I find here an indi-
cation of the complexity of monastic and ecclesiastical life in later twelfth-cen-
tury Denmark: we have a prioress, a prior, his son who had taken vows as an
Augustinian canon, and now the youth had received some kind of support from
the nuns — or, at least, from their prior. This man would have been a layperson
who looked after the material affairs of the sisters, and it is likely he is the one
who had convinced the nuns to look after his son’s monastic cowl.
21
Diplomatarium Danicum: Række i, iii, Abbed Vilhelms brevsamling.
22
Damsholt, ‘Abbed Vilhelm af Æbelholts brevsamling’.
23
Diplomatarium Danicum: Række i, iii, 27.
24
Diplomatarium Danicum: Række i, iii, 470: ‘ne vestra religio, quae semper est amatrix
veritatis, sit latibulum et refugium malitiae atque nequitiae communicando operibus malis’.
However thin our sources, I think it can be concluded that the Monastery
of Our Lady at Roskilde by 1200 had become a significant foundation with
links not only to the bishop but also to the Cistercian monastery of Sorø. The
nuns had accepted that by the end of the 1170s their church had become a site
for pilgrimage, and they had to give up a third of the income from this activ-
ity to the monastery of Sorø. As indicated above, we have no contemporary
sources telling us the exact time when the nuns came to consider themselves to
be Cistercian, but this transition probably took place at the same time as the
General Chapter soon after 1200 recognized nuns as being ‘incorporated in the
Order’.25
One indication that the monastery was linked to the aristocracy in Denmark
is a papal prohibition in 1257 against the nuns’ allowing lay women with their
servants to come so frequently to the monastery ‘against the regular institutes
of your order’. These women were known to ‘remain there for a long time, on
account of which grave harm is done to the monastery and the leisure of holy
contemplation is greatly disturbed’.26 Here we can see the importance attached
to separating the monastery from lay society and ensuring it as a place of prayer
and contemplation. The papal letter indicates that it is the nuns themselves
who had written to the pope in order to obtain a guarantee of their right to
turn aside privileged women who wanted to make use of their facilities.
Our Lady of Slangerup: Royal Nuns

According to the historian Saxo, King Erik Ejegod (d. 1003) built a church at
his birthplace to contain the relics of St Nicholas of Bari.27 At some time in the
twelfth century a women’s house was established here, but we have no written
records of its foundation. By the end of the twelfth century, however, we have a
few letters from William of Æbelholt that indicate Slangerup was a monastery
for women with members of the royal family. It is not until a document from
1383 that the nuns of this monastery are called Cistercian.28 As with Roskilde,
the question is when the nuns took on the Cistercian observance.
25
Degler-Spengler, ‘The Incorporation of Cistercian Nuns into the Order’, p. 97: ‘In 1213
moniales quae iam etiam incorporatae sunt Ordini are mentioned’.
26
Diplomatarium Danicum: Raekke ii, i, no. 230. France, The Cistercians in Scandinavia,
pp. 177–78.
27
Saxo, Gesta danorum xii.7.4; Smith, ‘De danske nonneklostre’, p. 7.
28
Acta Pontificum Danica, ed. by Krarup, vii, no. 5571.
William’s three letters concerning the nuns are usually mentioned solely
because of his reference to excessive drinking on the part of the nuns as an
expression of ‘the widespread vice in this country’.29 William may well have felt,
as many visitors and immigrants from southern Europe do today, that alcohol
was far too prevalent in the culture of the north, but his letters deserve to be
seen in terms of a variety of themes. In one letter he wrote to the prioress of
Slangerup, together with two other nuns whom he also addresses in the fol-
lowing letter.30 The letter is a typical twelfth-century manifestation of love and
friendship between persons in the religious life.31 William expressed his ‘genu-
ine feeling of love’ towards the nuns, but he ended the letter by indicating there
was a practical matter at hand: the nuns had asked him to send a certain person
to them, and he promised to do so ‘as quickly as possible’. We are not told who
this person was, and it should not be surprising that so much space is dedicated
towards an expression of affection while a practical concern is reserved for a
vague final sentence. In the medieval practice of letter-writing between eccle-
siastical persons, what mattered was the expression of attachment, while the
bearer of the letter could convey any practical matters.
In another letter sent to the same sisters William speaks of what he had
heard from ‘our dear son Thomas, who honors and loves you in the Lord’.32
Thomas had informed him of the sisters’ affection for William amid all his dif-
ficulties. Once again he expresses his love for the sisters, but now he speaks of
the devil who goes forth ‘like a roaring lion’ (cf. 1 Peter 5.8). The devil will not
be able to overwhelm the sisters’ chastity. William plays with biblical passages
about royal daughters and then asserts that the sisters are daughters of kings.
Such passages have been interpreted as indicating that Slangerup had become
a monastery for royal women.33 After 1157 King Valdemar had consolidated
his power in the country, and it was in his interest to see that female members
of the royal family who were not to be married found places in a monastery. It
would have been appropriate that a foundation going back to King Erik Ejegod
became a home for members of the royal family.
The longest and most complex letter of William to nuns is addressed to M.
and M., said to be of royal descent. William describes them as happy not only
29
Jørgensen and Thomsen, Gyldendals bog om danske klostre, p. 243.
30
31
McGuire, Friendship and Community, chap. 6, ‘The Age of Friendship’.
32
33
in their blood but also in their entrance to the monastery. He also here men-
tions the ravages of the devil, whose fall from heaven is described. William pro-
vides a long sermon on the dangers the nuns face and assures the sisters that his
words should provide a promise of his devotion to them. Here finally comes the
admonition against drinking: ‘We do not think it necessary to remind you of
your vow of piety and your way of life, so that it shall not become your habit to
seek relief in intoxication at your meals, even though this belongs to the cus-
tom of the country.’34
It should be noticed that this warning is but a small part of a long letter, and
William continues at this point in giving his assurance of friendship. Since our
text only has initials and not full names, we cannot know precisely to whom
William was writing, but there is no doubt that he was addressing women con-
nected to the royal family. We see here an abbot doing what male monastic
figures had done since late antiquity and still do to this day: they address with
respect monastic women and criticize them, for they take it for granted that it
is their rightful function to correct and improve them. William, so far as I can
tell, had no legal or institutional bond with Slangerup, but since it was only
about fifteen kilometres from his monastery, he could easily have kept informed
about the nuns and told them what he thought about their way of life. In these
letters we get a rich indication of the cura monialium in a Danish context.
Slangerup has an even more shadowy existence than Roskilde, but our
sources indicate that it grew on its twelfth-century foundation, and that the
succeeding medieval centuries contributed to its prominence. Slangerup’s
royal connections continued, as manifested by a 1344 grant by King Valdemar
Atterdag of possessions in the town of Slangerup. Valdemar wanted to reward
the nuns for allowing the Swedish king Birger’s daughter Agnes entrance to
their community.35 It is possible that there was an attempt to have King Erik
Ejegod canonized, and so the early history of the monastery would have been
connected with this prospective cult, in the same way as with Margrete of
Køge at Roskilde. At least we find in Saxo’s narrative about the death of Erik
Ejegod materials for considering him to be a saint.36 Nothing came of this pos-
sible interest, however, and Slangerup developed as one of the three Cistercian
houses for women in medieval Denmark.
34
Diplomatarium Danicum: Række i, iii, 468: ‘Non credimus, quod vobis sit necessarium,
vestram sanctitatem atque propositum commonere, ne sit vobis familiare in mensis vestris
ebrietatis habere diffugium, licet consuetudinis terrae sit.’
35
Jørgensen and Thomsen, Gyldendals bog om danske klostre, p. 244.
36
Our Lady of Bergen on Rygen: Contemplatives and Christianization

In 1193 Prince Jaromar of Rygen, an island in the Baltic to the south of medi-
eval Denmark, drew up a foundation document for a monastery of women.37
His salutation addresses ‘all believing Christians’, and the first lines of the doc-
ument express gratefulness that God ‘removed us from the worship of idols,
which our ancestors unhappily toiled for’. Instead, the Lord brought Jaromar
and his contemporaries ‘to the true and rightful faith which allows us to take
part in the blessings of his grace’.
Jaromar (or the priest who formulated his thoughts for him) explained that
in order to cultivate the holy name of God and to encourage people in great
numbers to show honour to Him, he had built a brick church ‘on our own land
and had it consecrated’ by Bishop Peter ‘to the glorious Virgin Mary’. This is
Bishop Peter Sunesen of Roskilde, a nephew of Absalon and his successor in
the diocese. Building a church in brick is significant: at this time, the only brick
ecclesiastical buildings in Denmark were the churches at Ringsted and Sorø
abbeys. It is also important that the church was entrusted to the patronage of
Mary: Jaromar added how he had obtained nuns from the monastery of the
Holy Virgin in Roskilde and brought them there so that ‘they will eternally
praise her glorious, fruitful virginity’.38
Less than twenty years after the body of the holy Margrete was brought to
the Roskilde monastery of Our Lady, the same nunnery was able to send a suffi-
ciently large number of sisters to make a new foundation on an island that only
a few years before had been pagan. What unites Roskilde and Bergen monas-
teries is a shared devotion to St Mary the Virgin. Since every Cistercian male
monastery took its name from Mary, it would be tempting to conclude that the
naming of Bergen’s female monastery after Mary indicates that the new founda-
tion was Cistercian.
James France, in his splendid monograph on the Cistercians in Scandinavia,
assumes that the nuns who came from Roskilde to Bergen in 1193 were
Cistercian, and so Bergen would have been Cistercian from the time of its
foundation.39 I am not so sure and cannot give a clear date for when Bergen can
37
38
Diplomatarium Danicum: Række i, iii, no. 196: ‘assumentes de ecclesia eiusdem sacre
virginis Roschildis sanctimoniales inibi perpetuo laudaturas eius gloriosam fecundam virgini
tatem’.
39
France, The Cistercians in Scandinavia, p. 107.
be considered to be a Cistercian house, but it is likely that Roskilde Our Lady’s

transition to the Cistercian Order also meant Bergen’s entrance into the Order.
The rest of the charter lists the many properties that Jaromar was handing
over to the nuns, including five estates on Rygen and other holdings there and
in Pomerania. Among the witnesses to the transaction are named Jakob and Bo
as provisores or caretakers of the monastery. Thus there were two ecclesiastical
persons entrusted with the task of looking after the needs of the nuns. One can
ask what the purpose and function of the nuns was in a territory that so recently
had become Christian. My answer is that the nuns were brought to Rygen in
order to perform the same function as they had in Roskilde and Slangerup: to
pray and praise the Lord through singing the Psalms of David and to seek the
salvation of their people. In spite of the lack of sources, I can easily imagine the
nuns respecting their monastic enclosure in keeping a distance to the rough-
and-tumble society around them. For Jaromar, their prayers were an integral
part of his strategy aimed at completing the Christianization of his island.
It is noteworthy that once Bergen monastery came under the Cistercian
Order, its father abbot became the abbot of Eldena, a daughter house of
Esrum.40 This arrangement reflects the development of politics in the Baltic
after 1200: Danish military power diminished, and so abbeys like Eldena that
had been founded from Denmark came under German houses. Eldena was
founded in 1199 by monks from Dargun and had as its patron the same Prince
Jaromar who had founded Bergen. Geographically and politically Eldena was
closer to Bergen than Esrum or Sorø, and so the initial bond to Denmark via
Our Lady Monastery in Roskilde seems to have disappeared.
Vreta in Sweden: A Royal Foundation with Lay Access

Vreta outside of the town of Linköping in south-central Sweden may go back
to the end of the eleventh century or the very beginning of the twelfth. In 1162
King Karl Sverkersson decided to strengthen the foundation with his own
property.41 It has been taken for granted that Vreta at this time associated itself
with the Cistercian Order, but I find no evidence for this assertion.42 We do
have a document from King Johan Sverkersson, dated to 1216–22, in which
the nuns are called sanctimoniales, but there is nothing about belonging to any
40
41
McGuire, ‘Vretas nonner’, p. 244.
42
Lundberg, Vreta Kloster, p. 3.
specific order. This is the period, as I made clear above, when Cistercian foun-
dations for women were being recognized as such elsewhere in Western Europe,
and it is likely that the same was happening in Sweden. Vreta began its existence
as probably the first house for women in the Swedish kingdom, a beneficiary of
royal generosity, and by the end of the 1100s or the early 1200s it could have
made contact with the Cistercian monasteries of Sweden; for example, with
Alvastra, located about seventy kilometres to the south-west.
The first time Vreta is called Cistercian is in a letter from 1248 written by the
papal legate, Cardinal William of Sabina. For all who assisted the nuns of Vreta
in rebuilding their monastery after a fire, he gave forty days of indulgence.43 Here
the leader of the monastery is for the first time called abbatissa, while in earlier
documents she is entitled priorissa. The document reveals that it was not only
the monastic church that had burned but also the sisters’ living quarters and sur-
rounding workshops. In 1266 another papal legate, Cardinal Guido, granted a
hundred days of indulgence to those who contributed to the repair of the mon-
astery. Here again the monastery is said to belong to the Cistercian Order.44
Later documents preserved for the monastery deal almost exclusively with
its possessions. Our only other source for the life of the monastery is the
abbey church, which was divided between a lay section and one for the nuns.45
Such a division was unthinkable in a Cistercian house for men, where at least
in the first centuries laypeople were kept out of the monastic church. But at
both Roskilde and Vreta, church architecture reveals an opening to the laity in
women’s houses and makes one think of what the Birgittines would do in their
churches in the late Middle Ages, making the ground floor level available to the
laity while the nuns on an upper floor were protected from view.
Conclusion: Rivalry between Men’s and Women’s Houses?

The foundations of women’s houses at Roskilde, Slangerup, Bergen, and Vreta
all seem to have taken place in good order and in harmony with the wishes of
the most powerful men in medieval society: bishops, kings and princes. This
development, however, may not have always been so harmonious, even in a
time of growth in church and society. Thanks to the witness of the Chronicle
of Øm Abbey in Jutland, it is possible to see the establishment of a Cistercian
43
Diplomatarium Suecanum, ed. by Liljegren, i, no. 356.
44
Diplomatarium Suecanum, ed. by Liljegren, i, no. 434.
45
Tagesson, I Erik Lundbergs fotspår.
house for men in opposition to the needs and desires of at least one powerful
woman. For her the goal was a monastic foundation for women.
The Chronicle of this Cistercian abbey, whose first part was drafted soon
after 1200, tells how a certain noble woman Margareta plagued the monks
when they were living at Veng, which formerly had been a Benedictine founda-
tion.46 Finally, the brothers arranged to move to Kalvø. This move was approved
of by both Archbishop Eskil of Lund and by Pope Alexander III. Margareta was
not satisfied with this arrangement and is said to have plagued King Valdemar I
to hand over Veng to her ‘so that she could found a house for nuns’ (et pos-
set ibi congregationem monialium constituere).47 Margareta tried to get the
support of Valdemar’s queen by offering her two gold rings, together with a
golden chasuble of the finest workmanship ‘so stiff with gold that it could not
be folded together in the creases made for that purpose’. These precious objects
Margareta is said to have robbed from the church at Veng.
The story continues: the pope wrote to the woman, but she refused to obey
him:
In spite of all the many and important letters which the pope had sent, the brothers
did not succeed in getting their possessions back, because the king on the basis of
family bonds loved the woman dearly and would not make her sad so long as she
lived and so he put aside what was rightful.48
The conclusion is that the brothers who ended at Øm Abbey via Veng and
Kalvø complain to this day and will not stop complaining until they get what
was taken away from them: ‘nec cessabunt conqueri, donec eis iusticia de ini-
uste sibi ablatis fiat’.49
For our purposes, the narrative is a superb indication of how a woman close
to the king could pursue her own monastic policy and establish a house for
women precisely where a house for men had been established. There was rivalry,
as also can be seen in the narrative for the foundation of Vitskøl Abbey, also in
Jutland, but whose monks first lived at Varnhem in Sweden, where they were
driven out by Christina, the wife of King Erik, who ‘in every way was pestering
the abbot and his convent’,50 even getting some of her female friends to dance in
scanty clothes in the cloister.
46
McGuire, Conflict and Continuity at Øm Abbey.
47
Scriptores minores historiae Danicae medii aevi, ed. by Gertz, ii, 173.
48
49
50
Such narratives have been used to indicate male Cistercian hostility against
women, but in my view they indicate that there could be disagreement about
what kind of monastery was to be founded.51 There were powerful women who
preferred houses for their own sex instead of for men. In the case of Øm, the
monks won out; but in Roskilde, Slangerup, and Vreta, already-established
foundations for women in the Benedictine tradition became Cistercian houses
for nuns after 1200. However difficult it is for us to reach the daily life of such
places and to see how the sisters perceived their lives, we can at least claim
that their prayers were considered essential for those who were in command-
ing positions in church and society. The sisters were meant to be far from the
madding crowd, but they were clearly in touch with what was going on around
them. Their monasteries became part of the fabric of medieval society, also in
Scandinavia.
51
Damsholt, Kvindebilledet i dansk højmiddelalder, pp. 209–30.
Works Cited
Primary Sources
Acta Pontificum Danica, ed. by Alfred Krarup (Copenhagen: Gad, 1948)
Conciliorum oecumenicorum decreta, ed. by Giuseppe Alberigo and others (Basle: Herder,
1962)
Diplomatarium Danicum: Række i, ed. by Niels Skyum-Nielsen, Lauritz Weibull, and
Herluf Nielsen, 7 vols (Copenhagen: Det danske sprog og litteraturselskab, 1957–77)
Diplomatarium Danicum: Række ii, ed. by Franz Blatt and others, 12 vols in 7 (Copen
hagen: Munksgaard, 1938–60)
Diplomatarium Suecanum, ed. by Joh. Gust. Liljegren and others, 6 vols to date (Stockholm:
Kungl. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitetsakademien; Riksarkivet, 1829–)
Saxos Danmarks historie, trans. by Peter Zeeberg, 2 vols (Copenhagen: Gad, 2000)
Scriptores minores historiae Danicae medii aevi, ed. by M. Cl. Gertz, 2 vols (Copenhagen:
Selskabet for udgivelse af kilder til dansk historie, 1970)
Vitae sanctorum Danorum, ed. by M. Cl. Gertz (Copenhagen: Gad, 1908–12)
Secondary Studies
Damsholt, Nanna, ‘Abbed Vilhelm af Æbelholts brevsamling’, Historisk Tidsskrift, 78
(1978), 1–22
—— , Kvindebilledet i dansk højmiddelalder (Copenhagen: Borgen, 1985)
Degler-Spengler, Brigitte, ‘The Incorporation of Cistercian Nuns into the Order in
the Twelfth-Thirteenth Century’, in Hidden Springs: Cistercian Monastic Women,
ed. by John A. Nichols and Lillian Thomas Shank (Kalamazoo: Cistercian, 1995),
pp. 85–134
France, James, The Cistercians in Scandinavia (Kalamazoo: Cistercian, 1992)
Jørgensen, Jens Anker, and Bente Thomsen, Gyldendals bog om danske klostre (Copenhagen:
Gyldendal 2004)
Krenig, E. G., ‘Mittelalterliche Frauenklöster nach den Konstitutionen von Cîteaux’,
Analecta Sacri Ordinis Cisterciensis, 10 (1954), 1–103
Lundberg, Erik, Vreta Kloster (Stockholm: Svenska Fornminneplatser, 1964)
McGuire, Brian Patrick, ‘Absalon’s Spirituality: A Man Attached to Holy Men’, in Arch
bishop Absalon of Lund and his World, ed. by Karsten Friis-Jensen and Inge Skovgaard-
Petersen (Roskilde: Roskilde Museum, 2000), pp. 71–88
—— , The Cistercians in Denmark (Kalamazoo: Cistercian, 1982)
—— , Conflict and Continuity at Øm Abbey (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 1976)
—— , Friendship and Community: The Monastic Experience (Ithaca: Cornell University
Press, 2010)
—— , ‘Roskilde i europæisk middelalderperspektiv’, Historisk Årbog for Roskilde Amt (2005),
13–36
—— , ‘Vretas nonner i europæisk perspektiv’, in Fokus Vreta Kloster, ed. by Göran Tagesson
and others (Stockholm: Museum of National Antiquities, 2010), pp. 243–55
Skyum-Nielsen, Niels, Kvinde og slave (Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1971)
Smith, Gina Gertrud, ‘De danske nonneklostre indtil c. 1250’, Kirkehistoriske Samlinger
(1973), 1–45
Tagesson, Göran, I Erik Lundbergs fotspår (Linköping: Riksantikvarieämbetet, 2007)
Female Mendicant Spirituality in
Catalan Territory: The Birth of the
First Communities of Poor Clares
Núria Jornet-Benito*
The Religious-Monastic Background

Our topography begins in the decade of the 1230s when the first female com-
munities entered the orbit of mendicant spirituality. These female commu-
nal expressions brought about a disruption of the traditional monastic scene,
marked by a strong Benedictine background and the pre-eminence of the Rule
of St Benedict. In Catalonia, several nunneries still active today, exemplified
that scene, such as Sant Pere de les Puel·les in Barcelona and Sant Daniel de
Girona, which sank their roots well into the tenth and eleventh centuries
respectively. Scholars have already established the role played by these two nun-
neries (as well as that of several others, no longer extant, that also belonged
to the Benedictine family, such as Sant Joan de Ripoll, also known as Sant
Joan de les Abadesses; Sant Pere del Burgal, in the Vall d’Àneu; Santa Cecília
d’Alins, in Alt Urgell; and Santa Maria de Meià, in La Noguera) in the shap-
ing of Catalonia during the early Middle Ages. Their role in the resettlement
of population and the design of the first urban topography of cities such as
Barcelona or Girona has been duly noted. In this early period, however, the

* This text falls within the framework of the research project of IRCVM (Institut de
Recerca en Cultures Medievals, Institute of Research on Medieval Cultures) of the University
of Barcelona: CLAUSTRA: Atlas de espiritualidad femenina medieval en los Reinos peninsulares,
funded by the Spanish Ministry of Science and Innovation, 2001–13 (HAR 2011-25127).
Núria Jornet-Benito ([email protected]) is researcher at the Duoda Centre for Research on

Women and member of the faculty of Library and Information Science, University of Barcelona.
186 Núria Jornet-Benito
spirituality of women tended just slightly toward monasticism. As Montserrat

Cabré has noted, only a few nunneries predate the year 1000 (three over a total
of forty-seven monasteries).1 This lack of proportion could indicate, among
other factors, the existence of other expressions of piety, such as those displayed
by deodicatae and deovotae, who lived their spirituality outside the walls of the
monastery without submitting to any rule, by themselves or in small communi-
ties, and devoting their time to both the assistance of others and transcendence
of self. It is also likely that some women chose to lead an eremitic life. We will
find some of them as promoters of several later monastic foundations (particu-
larly Cistercian).2
In the twelfth century, before the foundation of the first communities of
Poor Clares or Clarisses, the religious landscape showed a significant change in
the number of nunneries. The Cistercian reform certainly had a lot to do with
this new trend. For the first time, female monastic foundations outnumbered
their male counterparts. Some of them were emblematic, such as Santa Maria
de Valldemaria, Santa Maria de Cadins, Santa Maria del Montsant, Santa Maria
de la Bovera, Santa Maria de Valldaura, Sant Feliu de Cadins, Santa Maria de
Vallverd, Santa Maria de Pedregal, Santa Maria de Vallsanta, Sant Hilari de
Lleida, Santa Maria de les Franqueses, and, especially, Vallbona de les Monges
— which, in many cases, was itself the promoter of new foundations — or,
later in the thirteenth century, the community of Santa Maria de Valldonzella
in Barcelona. In the twelfth century, we also find communities of canonesses
related to military orders, such as the order of St John of Jerusalem, which was
in charge of the Catalan hospitals of Cervera, Siscar, and Sant Salvador Isot.
The last examples of the scene we have so briefly outlined were certainly
the result of the first expressions of what scholars have called the ‘dynamism
of the female religious movement of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries’. 3
The strong participation of women, triggered by the dawn of the evangelical
awakening of the twelfth century, undoubtedly became one of the most sig-
nificant phenomena in both the history of medieval spirituality and the history
of women. It is in this phenomenon that we can discern the real feminization
1
Cabré, ‘“Deodicatae” y “deovotae’”.
2
A good overview of early medieval Catalan monasteries until the explosion of mendicant
monasticism (including interesting theoretical ideas on female monasticism) can be found in
Rivera Garretas, ‘El monacato femenino, siglos viii–xii’.
3
Andenna, Dove va la storiografia monastica in Europa; Garí, Redes femeninas de promoción
espiritual en los Reinos Peninsulares.
Female Mendicant Spirituality in Catalan Territory 187
of religious women. There was a strong presence of women in the orthodox

movements (that held fast to traditional ways, such as the Cistercian Order) as
well as in those considered heretical. Women also took part in the reorganiza-
tion of monastic structures (mendicant movements) and in other alternatives
to pious life or religious vocation that escaped the strict walls of the monastery
and regular religiosity. Those alternatives were embodied in different projects
and varieties of lay semi-religious life, either autonomous or weakly dependent
on the clergy, which synthesized active and contemplative life (female recluses,
beguines, beatas, female penitents, pinzochere). Over the last decades, the inte-
gration of the Iberian kingdoms into this European movement during the cen-
tral centuries of the Middle Ages has been well proven, as have been several of
its most specific traits (such as an extension of the chronology, especially in
Castilian territory, with the emergence of the beatas).4
These new expressions, which were actually the result of a genuine female
concern,5 also prompted the feminization of urban space. For instance, in the
case of Tuscany, Anna Benvenuti has remarked on the exponential growth of
new forms of female religiosity that went beyond the more traditional frame-
work offered by classic monasticism. These new communities often preferred
the outskirts of the urban world in a double sense: they took in women who
came from the lowest social strata, including prostitutes, and chose areas out-
side the city walls but close enough to the movements of urban and commercial
expansion that would give birth to the profile of late medieval cities.6
It is thus impossible to understand the meaning of the development of the
spiritual and communal journey of St Clare and the first Damianites-Clarisses
without relating them to this broader movement that undoubtedly disrupted
the religious panorama of the moment: a moment characterized also by new
urban scenarios in which our Sisters Minor would be fully integrated, by the
new actors of economic and mercantile growth, and by the more intense par-
ticipation of laity in the different spiritual options at hand (such as third orders
or fraternities).
4
Muñoz Fernández, Beatas y santas neocastellanas.
5
The theologian Adriana Valerio has repeatedly used the term concern to define the
mystical experience as the result of a female concern, understood in a positive sense, as an
experience of the search for God and a deep demand for God, with its final destiny not so
much in truth or certainty, but in the definition of a path toward Him; see ‘L’altra rivelazione:
l’esperienza profetica femminile’.
6
Benvenuti, ‘Consideracions generals i alguns exemples locals’.
The Birth of the Order of St Clare

Catalan (and also Iberian) Clarist topography places the first communities in
the first half of the thirteenth century. This chronology is embedded in a larger
discussion that addresses two structural issues: the complex and difficult inser-
tion of women, and particularly these Sisters Minor, within the newly born
Franciscanism, and the role played by Clare of Assisi in the definition of these
communal expressions of religious commitment. It was in this context that the
preconceptions specific to a patriarchal culture, and the subordinate position
of women in the ideological and symbolic scheme, came into play. The exist-
ing concerns about the necessity of channelling female religious experiences
into the system became apparent. In the case of the Clarisses, the situation was
aggravated by a certain ambiguity in the specific status of women within the
new Franciscan movement — a status just as ambiguous as was the attitude
of St Francis himself towards the female movement that had emerged around
Clare and, particularly, towards the Damianite communities emerging at that
moment across the Italian territory and, soon after, all over Europe.
The matter of the cura monialium was in this sense a recurrent topic that
accompanied the birth and structuring of all the new female communities,
and not only those run by the new mendicant orders. For instance, through-
out the thirteenth century, the Cistercian Order changed its attitude towards
those semi-religious women who would become gradually and significantly
more involved in the life of its nunneries, especially between 1220 and 1240.
Eventually, those women were accepted, but only into those monasteries pro-
vided with endowments.7 Actually, this question was brought to discussion in a
moment of increasing mistrust of the autonomy of women and the rise of initia-
tives and commitments that escaped the traditional framework. In the particu-
lar case of the Clarisses, this issue came along with another discussion: the adap-
tation of the new female communities to the ideal of radical poverty, inherent
in Franciscan charisma. This was a process that was, in the long run, impossible
to combine with the necessity of monastic enclosure progressively promoted
by ecclesiastical authorities. Poverty, but also preaching, the apostolate, and an
itinerant profile, were the central elements of the Franciscan mendicant ideal
that were, or could be, disrupted by their adjustment to the female reality.
The decisive evolution of the movement took place in the midst of this
tension: the transition from an initial fraternitas, in which men and women
7
Roisin, ‘L’Effervescence cistercienne et le courant feminine’; Lester, Creating Cistercian
Nuns.
shared the same project of evangelical life, albeit with certain differences, to the
establishment of a more stable ordo.8 Jacques de Vitry, after his visit to Italy in
1216, left us an interesting account of that first Franciscan fraternity. He wrote
about the paterini or humiliati, men and women who preached and worked
with their hands, and about the fratres minores and sorores minores who, in the
region of Perugia, did not possess temporal goods and worked for the care of
souls, wandering through towns and villages and going back home at night to
devote themselves to contemplation.9 Later, though, in the 1220s, the founder,
already working on a rule for the movement, had already been imbued with
the traditional ecclesiastical suspicion of women. At the same time, an insti-
tutional ‘solution’ was found for the sisters and female religious communities
approaching the movement. In 1219, Cardinal Ugolino (who was the first
papal legate in Umbria and Tuscany and, after that and since 1227, was pope
under the name of Gregory IX (1227–41) wrote the first rule for Clarisses.
The rule shaped a space for women within Franciscanism according to the
legal framework of Benedictine observance (the profession of the Rule of St
Benedict), although adapted to the premises of Franciscan spirituality. From
then on, the papal policy would foster the progressive insertion of informal
semi-religious female communities into the Franciscan orbit. This determined
intervention marked a first important phase of ‘monastization’ or institution-
alization of female Franciscanism that revolved around two axes: endowing
Damianite communities with immovables and properties in order to guarantee
their survival in an environment of contemplation and monastic enclosure, and
regulating the relationship between Clarisses and Friars Minor, forcing the lat-
ter to take charge of the pastoral care of the former, as well as other domestic
and organizational issues.
The Franciscan Order, evolving from the initial fraternity into a fully struc-
tured congregation, needed to find a place for the sorores minores and to face
the institutional relationship between both branches of the Order. Those
women, called ‘poor recluse nuns of the order of St Damian’ in the first docu-
ments and members ‘of the order of St Clare’ from the middle of the thir-
teenth century onwards, obtained their first institutional definition under
Gregory IX. However, the issue was far from resolved, and the successive pon-
tiffs had to deal with the difficult and complex question of the location of these
groups of women and, above all, with their relationship with the Friars Minor.
8
Dalarun, Francesco, un passaggio: donna e donne negli scritti e nelle leggende di Francesco
d’Assisi.
9
Jacques de Vitry, Letters, ed. by Huygens, pp. 72–73.
Their transition through different monastic rules, from a simple ‘way of life’
with Benedictine roots to the Urbanist rule, including the precept of radical
poverty Clare always yearned for, would still be another aspect of the problem.
The definition of a regular monastic space for women could certainly be
interpreted in comparison with the male branch of the Franciscan Order.
Such a subsidiary perspective puts under the spotlight its deficiencies con-
cerning the original ideal, better upheld in the case of the friars, and leaves in
the background the female initiative in the acquisition of that space, as well
as the assertion of female freedom it entails. In that sense, Roberto Rusconi
states that female Franciscanism progressively became a monastic institution
in the traditional sense, with a definite disciplinary orientation and nurtured
by a Franciscan spirituality conditioned by its singular institutional context.10
The research of Maria Pia Alberzoni,11 in turn, has prioritized another issue:
the papacy’s part in the progressive institutionalization of female communities
linked to mendicants and in the creation of an exclusively female order, the
ordo sancti Damiani.
As for the direct implication of Clare of Assisi (in other words, the found-
ing ‘missions’ carried out by her disciples and, therefore, the founding desire of
the saintly woman), scholars have limited it to Italian territory, considering as
foundational myths the stories involving the disciples and relatives of St Clare.
On the other hand, the religious and communal project led by St Clare was
quite renowned in a more or less explicit way, thanks to both the pilgrimage to
Rome of several mulieres religiosae — such as the four foundresses of the com-
munity of Burgos, who obtained from the pope their foundational bull after
becoming acquainted with the movement during their travel to Rome — and,
in all likelihood, the presence of Italian Damianites in the Iberian Peninsula,
the ‘educators’, suggested by José García Oro in the case of Barcelona, on the
basis of names such as Maria de Pisa or Clara de Janua/Genoa.12
In any case, the rapid increase in the number of Damianite houses cannot
be understood without Clare’s involvement: by 1238 there were already sev-
enty nunneries, most of them in Italy, the rest in France, Germany, and Spain.
10
Rusconi, ‘L’espansione del francescanesimo femminile nel secolo xiii’.
11
Alberzoni, Francescanesimo a Milano and La nascita di un’istituzione. Her thesis was
also supported by Knox in Creating Clare of Assisi.
12
García Oro, ‘Orígenes de las clarisas en España’, p. 172. Maria de Pisa appears in the
document containing the permission of the bishop of Barcelona to build the monastery (1237):
Arxiu del Monestir de Sant Benet de Montserrat, Fons del Monestir Santa Clara de Barcelona
(MSCB), Col·lecció de pergamins, no. 209.
However, even if the foundational legends linking the creation of a commu-

nity with the express wish of Clare and the presence of her disciples-relatives
are, in most cases, implausible, we cannot ignore what these legends might be
concealing or transmitting.13 As María-Milagros Rivera states, ‘the legend, like
the myth or the fable, retrieves a known truth that other ways of knowledge
transmission or historical memory are not able to admit’.14 The legends cre-
ated by these first Iberian Damianites and preserved within the oral tradition
of the communities (as the case of the nunnery of Barcelona well shows) bring
under the limelight of history the direct relationship between women who
shared a common spiritual yearning and several other actors who intervened
in a determined manner (especially the papacy, with its wish for channelling
the female experience and homogenizing it within the framework of a more or
less traditional monasticism). Those women, touched by St Francis’s charisma,
managed to follow the female project outlined by St Clare, although not with-
out difficulties, as we have already seen. The lack of a legal link between these
communities — which, unlike the friars, did not have a general abbess nor
general or provincial chapters, — brought to the fore the awareness of sharing
the same root and, in my opinion, progressively provided the figure of Clare
with a preeminent place in Clarist genealogy.15 The first Clarisses of Barcelona
manifested this link, as well as the clearly Damianite character of the new com-
munity, and relived in the figures of their foundresses — Agnès de Peranda
and Clara de Janua, relatives and disciples of St Clare according to the legend
— and in the handling of their historical memory, the idea of the founding
purpose of the Italian saintly woman.
On the contrary, the works by Herbert Grundmann in the 1930s stressed
an important aspect of this characterization of the female Franciscan move-
ment in northern-central Italy:16 its autonomous origin and institutional devel-
opment from the male branch of the order of St Francis. Later researchers, in
particular Anna Benvenuti, have placed this approach into a larger framework
that comprises the study of all those forms of female spiritual life in specific
13
According to Benvenuti, while the communities of Foligno, Florence, Perugia, Siena,
and Lucca were born from the charismatic diaspora of the first companions of Clare, the
chroniclers of the order not only accepted without reservation the topos of a foundation closely
related to the matriarch or her first disciples but also elaborated it: ‘La fortuna del movimiento
damianita in Italia’, p. 68.
14
15
Omaechevarría, Las clarisas a través de los siglos, pp. 51–52.
16
Grundmann, Movimenti religiosi nel Medioevo.
regional or topographic contexts. Another question ensues: the necessity of a

study that avoids the understanding of Damianites and the expansion of female
Franciscanism as a mere branch of the Order’s history.17 In that sense, Benvenuti
also speaks about a genuine ‘Damianization’ of many communities of female
recluses and, in particular, about the existence of a whole normative programme
that would regularize the ‘generazione spontanea della religio femminile’. 18
Subsequent studies by Alberzoni also stress this last aspect by taking into
account the implication of the papacy as well as the lesser incidence in the foun-
dational dynamics of the Franciscan Order and the sociae of Clare of Assisi.19
In conclusion, recent research has highlighted the necessity of placing the
birth of female communities within Franciscanism in a wider scene that takes
into account regularization or institutionalization processes that, however dif-
ferent their origins, share a common denominator: semi-religious communi-
ties with pauperistic and penitential profiles within the framework of a female
religious movement both monastic and lay.20 The incorporation into the order
of pre-existing communities of mulieres religiosae (female converts, women in
hospitals, penitential fraternitas, etc.) or, in any case, the attempt to regularize
their situation, also appear in other monastic contexts, as Guido Cariboni has
noted for the Cistercian Order.21
Clarist Topography: Thirteenth-Century Catalan Foundations

in the Iberian Context
Even nowadays, the analysis of the origin and foundation of the houses of Sisters
Minor in the Iberian Peninsula is full of uncertainties. This is partly because
so far the surviving records of these houses are not substantial enough to put
together a monograph, and partly because of the lack of documents, which
makes it difficult to narrow down the year — or years — of their foundation. In
1989, Manuel de Castro stated this fact in a brief catalogue of the Spanish Clarist
nunneries,22 which compiled, in turn, the first reviews of Atanasio López.23
17
Pecorini Cignoni, ‘Francescanesimo al femminile’.
18
Benvenuti, ‘La fortuna del movimiento damianita in Italia’, p. 62.
19
Alberzoni, ‘Chiara e San Damiano tra Ordine minoritico e chiesa romana’.
20
Graña Cid, Religiosas y ciudades.
21
See the chapter by Guido Cariboni in the present volume.
22
Castro, ‘Monasterios hispánicos de clarisas’.
23
López, ‘Los monasterios de clarisas en España en el siglo xiii’.
The studies of Ignacio Omaechevarría are another outstanding contribution. As

translator and editor of the textual corpus of the saintly woman of Assisi and
the rules of the Poor Clares,24 in 1972 he produced the first statistics of their
houses, also providing the foundation dates of Clarist nunneries around the
world.25 John Moorman has devoted several chapters of his voluminous work
on the origins of European Franciscan monasteries to St Clare and the Clarist
order.26 Also remarkable are the synthesis of the Iberian Franciscan phenome-
non in the Middle Ages produced by García Oro, Francisco de Asís en la España
medieval, and more recently, his analysis of the birth of the first Iberian Clarist
nunneries.27
For the Catalan case, the most extensive approach to the history of Fran
ciscanism is the work of Jill Webster, who has thoroughly analysed the history of
most Franciscan communities — particularly communities of friars, such as the
convents of Puigcerdà, Girona, and Vic — in specific papers, and has also syn-
thesized most of her research in her thesis Els Menorets, updated in part in Els
Franciscans catalans a l’edat mitjana: els primers menorets i menoretes de la Corona
d’Aragó. In this work she adds, for the first time, a chapter devoted to Clarisses,
even though the author herself points out that it must not be in any case taken as a
history of the Minoresses but only as a first attempt that has to be followed up and
that requires further years of research as well as a separate study. Regarding those
monographs or papers devoted to specific monasteries, we point out the follow-
ing: Pedro Sanahuja, who has reviewed several female Catalan nunneries, such as
Balaguer and Cervera;28 the historical notes on the monastery of Pedralbes written
by its archivist Sister Eulàlia Anzizu29 — Pedralbes, the emblematic monastery of
the order in Catalonia, was the object of a well-documented monograph devoted to
its medieval period in the doctoral thesis of Anna Castellano, published in 199830
— and, more recently, my own doctoral thesis, published in 2007, on the first mon-
astery of Clarisses in Catalan territory, Sant Antoni I Santa Clara de Barcelona.31
24
Omaechevarría, Escritos de santa Clara y documentos complementarios.
25
Omaechevarría, Las clarisas a través de los siglos.
26
Moorman, Medieval Franciscan Houses.
27
García Oro, ‘Orígenes de las clarisas en España’.
28
Sanahuja, ‘El convento de Santa Clara de Balaguer’ and ‘El monestir de Santa Clara de
Cervera’.
29
Anzizu, Fulles històriques del reial monestir de Santa Maria de Pedralbes.
30
Castellano, Pedralbes a l’edat mitjana.
31
Jornet-Benito, El monestir de Sant Antoni de Barcelona. In this historiographical
This historiographical overview cannot leave out Franciscan chronicles, gen-

eral chronicles as well as provincial accounts, since they provide historical notes
on every monastery and recount their origins, albeit following, in many cases,
hagiographical patterns previously established. As an example of a general out-
line, Father Damián Cornejo offered a historical synthesis of the Clarist family
in the two volumes of his Chrónica seráphica. For the case of the Franciscan
province of Catalonia, the eighteenth-century chronicles by Father Josep Batlle
and Father Jaume Coll are indispensable references.32 In the twentieth century,
the work of Father Pedro Sanahuja stands out33 — he composed a brief mon-
ographic study for each monastery in the ecclesiastical province of Catalonia
providing specific notes for the foundations and including, when available, the
papal bull that gave them institutional shape. Even today, Sanahuja’s Historia,
based on the classic work of the chronicler Francisco Gonzaga and the Annales
Minorum by the annalist Lucas Wadding, is still an essential reference.34
The aforementioned scholars have considered the Iberian Peninsula as
a privileged scenario for the analysis of the establishment of the order, both
the male branch and its female counterpart. The Iberian kingdoms, in general,
played an outstanding role and had an enormous significance in the genesis
and development of the Franciscan movement, mostly due — according to
García Oro — to two different realities that coexisted in the area: on the one
hand, the pilgrimage route to Santiago; and, on the other, the Arab presence
and the subsequent Reconquista. Those two factors are of the essence in order
to understand the presence of the Franciscan ‘family’ in what has come to be
called the ‘Spanish Franciscan spring’.35 Other significant elements in the inter-
pretation of this phenomenon were the remarkable Franciscanist component
of the religiosity of the royal dynasties — especially and quite early, that of the
House of Aragon — and the social and political dimension of the Friars Minor,
the most dynamic ecclesiastical group together with the Dominicans and the
Mercedarians. Its most prominent members were required by the papacy for
context, the project ‘Atlas of Female Spirituality in the Peninsular Kingdoms’ is important;
it contains the listing and mapping of spaces of feminine spirituality <http://www.ub.edu/
claustra/eng/Monestirs/atles> [accessed 7 May 2015].
32
Barcelona, Biblioteca de la Universitat de Barcelona, MS 993–94: Josep Batlle, Crónica
de la provincia de los frailes menores de la regular observancia del seráfico padre san Francisco de
Cataluña; Coll, Chrónica seráfica de la santa província de Cataluña.
33
Sanahuja, Historia de la Seráfica provincia de Cataluña.
34
Gonzaga, De origine seraphicae religionis franciscanae.
35
García Oro, Francisco de Asís en la España medieval, p. 47, and Los franciscanos en España.
important matters and questions (from popular preaching in an atmosphere

rarefied by ‘heresy’ and religious dialogue with Arabs and Jews, to the eco-
nomic and diplomatic relationship with Iberian ecclesiastical and civil powers,
without leaving out their welfare work and hospital tasks36). They also had a
considerable influence in royal circles as shown, for example, by their active
participation in the campaigns of the Christian Reconquista and resettlement,
the diplomatic missions assigned to individual friars in the service of the royal
house, and their function as confessors or even right-hand men.
By the time of St Clare’s death (11 August 1253), according to the data
provided by Manuel de Castro, there were twenty-two Clarist nunneries in the
whole Iberian Peninsula. Therefore, it was one of the regions most favoured
by the second Franciscan Order, second only to Italy. Later on, between the
thirteenth and the fourteenth centuries, 194 Spanish monasteries of Poor
Clares are documented. Santa Engracia of Pamplona, according to Ignacio
Omaechevarría,37 and St Claire of Reims, according to John Moorman, dispute
the privilege of being the first Damianite community founded outside Italian
territory.38
The first Iberian foundations of this ‘order of St Damian’ span a chrono-
logical arch that starts with the monastery of Santa Engracia in Pamplona.
Mary and her companions — first living in a beaterio dedicated to St Mary of
the Virgins — were pioneers in establishing the first Iberian Damianite com-
munity, asking the new pope, Gregory IX, for the statute of the Clarisses in
1227, a request to which they received effective confirmation in a bull dated
1228.39 Six years later, four women from Burgos, acquainted with the new pro-
ject of Clare of Assisi at St Damian while on pilgrimage to Rome, received a
foundational and constitutive bull (1234) for the nunnery of Santa Clara, and
the rule of life that Gregory IX himself had just composed. 40 Six days later,
still in 1234, four women from Zaragoza sponsored by Lady Ermessenda de
Celles (the aunt of Jaume I) also received papal approval for the foundation
of the monastery of Santa Catalina.41 Santa Clara de Zamora and Santa Clara
36
García Oro, Los franciscanos en España, pp. 458–60.
37
Omaechevarría, Las clarisas a través de los siglos, p. 44.
38
Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order, p. 210.
39
See, on this subject, the study by Ruiz de Larrinaga, ‘Las clarisas de Pamplona’.
40
On this community, see Omaechevarría, ‘Orígenes del monasterio de Santa Clara de
Zamora’.
41
On this community, see López, ‘Monasterio de Santa Catalina de Zaragoza’; Ruiz de
Larrinaga, ‘El monasterio de Santa Catalina de Zaragoza’.
de Salamanca, together with the sorores penitentium of Barcelona, who would

receive in 1236 the papal answer to their request for the establishment in the
city of a monastery of poor recluse nuns of the order of St Damian, complete
this panorama of primitive Iberian Damianite foundations in the decade of
the 1230s.42
According to García Oro, these nunneries were located in significant loca-
tions on the so-called route of St James and its derivations — for instance, from
Barcelona to Zaragoza, through Lleida, Tarazona, and Calatayud — where the
‘mysterious disciples’ of St Clare appeared, either playing the leading role in
foundational legends or surrounded by a halo of sanctity (as in the case of the
foundress and first abbess of Barcelona, Agnès de Peranda).43 In the Franciscan
province of Aragon, the pioneering communities of Zaragoza and Barcelona
would become foundational poles and a model for other communities. 44
Franciscan chroniclers, led by Damián Cornejo, saw the latter as one of the
most important Iberian foundations on account of the legend that attributes its
origin to the disciples and relatives of St Clare. Barcelona would thus be, in the
words of García Oro, a paradigm of St Clare’s foundation, in which the hagi-
ographical images relating it to a personal desire of the Italian saintly woman
could be best projected.45 This community would exercise a significant influ-
ence within its territory, helping establish other houses of the order. In 1267
a group of nuns left Sant Antoni to set up the monastery of Santa Clara de
Castelló d’Empúries; in 1300, three nuns from Barcelona were transferred to
the new community of Santa Clara de Vilafranca del Penedès;46 and in 1326,
fourteen nuns moved to a new foundation in the city of Barcelona, Santa Maria
de Pedralbes.47
If we follow the foundational sequence set by Webster, we find a group of
nunneries founded before 1250, several others established around the turn of
the century, and another significant group founded around 1340.48 Webster
notes the way in which, in general, the establishment of the first Franciscan
42
On the first one, see Omaechevarría, ‘Orígenes del monasterio de Santa Clara de Zamora’;
on the second, see Riesco, Datos para la historia del real convento de clarisas de Salamanca.
43
García Oro, ‘Orígenes de las clarisas en España’, p. 168.
44
Specifically, in the Aragonese area: Calatayud, Santa Inés, 1240; Tarazona, Santa Inés, 1240.
45
García Oro, ‘Orígenes de las clarisas en España’, p. 168.
46
MSCB, Col·lecció de pergamins, no. 722.
47
Castellano, Pedralbes a l’edat mitjana, p. 43.
48
Webster, Els franciscans catalans, pp. 298–307.
foundations — male as well as female — in the territories ruled by Jaume I is

related to the travel of St Francis to Spain as much as to the reconquest of terri-
tory from the Muslims: from Barcelona to Tarragona in the south, from Lleida
up to Navarra in the west, and in Valencia and the Balearic Islands. She finally
determines that, despite several exceptions, for the case of thirteenth-century
foundations and those of the first half of the fourteenth, the communities of
Poor Clares settled in those nuclei that already had a house of Friars Minor, and
that they did so within one or two decades.
A distinct foundational strategy can be observed in the area from the
1240s onwards. On the one hand, the community of Barcelona, consolidated
by means of privileges and donations endowed by the pontiff himself — who
clinched the tutelage of the Holy See with the offering of spiritual incentives
to the protectors and devotees of this new monastery — the great donations
contributed by the royal family, and, finally, the close relationship between
members of the Catalan court, particularly the queens, and the Minoresses
and Franciscans. On the other hand, new houses started spreading all over the
territory, with several foundations set up by nuns who came from pre-existing
communities, especially, as mentioned above, the nunneries of Barcelona and
Zaragoza. That was the case of the establishments of Santa Isabel de Lleida
(1240),49 Santa Magdalena de Tarragona (1248–49),50 Santa Clara de Tortosa
49
The monastery of Santa Isabel de Lleida appears in the 1240 bull Gratum gerimus,
addressed by Gregori IX to Queen Violant. In that document, the pontiff thanks her for the
donation of a number of houses for the settlement of several women devoted to contemplative
life in a place known as the beateri of Santa Isabel d’Hongria and urges her to hold on to that
protection. In her testament of 1251 she left fifty morabatins for the dominas inclusis Sancti
Damiani. The monastery was out of the city, close to its walls, in the place known as ‘secanet
de Sant Pere’; in 1481 they were transferred to the convent of Clot, inside the city, which had
up until then belonged to the Friars Minor. See Castro, ‘Monasterios hispánicos de clarisas’;
Sanahuja, Historia de la Seráfica provincia de Cataluña. Moorman, Medieval Franciscan Houses,
suggests that the monastery already existed in 1236.
50
The monastery of Santa Maria Magdalena de Tarragona appears already documented
between 1248 and 1249, when the community had a part in the foundation of a new house
of Clarisses in the city of Valencia, that of Santa Isabel also known as La Puridad; in 1256
they also destined several nuns to the new foundation of Santa Clara de Palma de Mallorca
in both communities, by the action of Abbess Caterina. Father Sanahuja suggests that Santa
Magdalena could have been founded by a group of penitent women from Tarragona who were
granted the statute of Clarisses by the pope; in 1254, a papal bull commanded the monastery
of Zaragoza to provide two nuns for the ‘instruction’ of the monastery of Tarragona. Also an
out-of-town settlement, it was located in the house known as ‘ermitori de Santa Magdalena’
(hermitage of St Magdalene), between the main water channel and the Francolí river. At the
(1267),51 and Nostra Senyora de la Serra de Montblanc (1296).52 Some commu-

nities settled in southern areas, next to the Saracen frontiers, while the only new
house in the northern regions was Santa Clara de Castelló d’Empúries (1260).53
The communities of Valencia (1250–51),54 Palma de Mallorca (1256),55 and
Ciutadella (1285–87) were founded outside the principality of Catalonia.56
This group was clearly related to the expansion project of the Catalan mon-
end of the fourteenth century, they transferred to another location, again outside the city walls,
at the end of the current Rambla Vella and close to the sea. See Castro, ‘Monasterios hispánicos
de clarisas’; Sanahuja, Historia de la Seráfica provincia de Cataluña; and Moorman, Medieval
Franciscan Houses.
51
The monastery of Santa Clara de Tortosa was founded, according to de Castro, Sanahuja,
and the chronicler Wadding, around 1267. One of its initial protectors was another wife of
Jaume II, Maria of Cyprus. The foundresses of the convent of Xàtiva and the Conceptionists’
convent of the city of Tortosa came from the group of religious women of Santa Clara de
Tortosa. There is a legend that the founders were Agnès de Peranda and Clara de Janua.
52
As for the monastery of Nostra Senyora de la Serra de Montblanc, in 1296, the neigh
bours of Montblanc, responding to King Jaume II’s plea, donated the spot of ‘Santa Maria de la
Serra’ to the Greek princess Làscaris, daughter of Theodor II and widow of Arnau Roger, count
of Pallars, for the foundation of a Clarist nunnery. The sanctuary aroused great devotion due
to the miraculous apparition of the Virgin in the same place where the Clarisses later settled.
It was studied by Sanahuja, Historia de la Seráfica provincia de Cataluña; Castro, ‘Monasterios
hispánicos de clarisas’; and Serra, El Monestir de la Mare de Déu de la Serra de Montblanc.
53
In the case of the monastery of Santa Clara de Castelló d’Empúries, the archive of Sant
Antoni i Santa Clara preserves a first document where, in 1261, the noble lady Dolça de Pau
donated several houses for the foundation of a monastery of Poor Clares, and where two nuns
of Sant Antoni appear (sor Ramona de Vilanova, sor Jaumeta, sor Joana) (MSCB, Col·lecció
de pergamins, no. 536); in 1267, Abbess Agnès allowed that three nuns should arrive from the
monastery of Sant Antoni de Barcelona to be its foundresses. It went through the Colettine
reform in 1505, and its nuns also reformed the convent of Tarragona in 1578. It was described
by Gonzaga, De origine seraphicae religionis franciscanae; Batlle, Crónica de la provincia de los
frailes menores; and by Sanahuja, Historia de la Seráfica provincia de Cataluña. More recently,
see Martí i Mayor, Les Clarisses a l’Alt Empordà.
54
The monastery of Santa Isabel de Valencia was founded between 1250 and 1251 on a
plot of land outside the city walls but close enough to them, upon the donation Ximeno Pérez
de Arenós granted sister Caterina, the abbess of Tarragona. In 1534, a papal brief issued by
Clement VII granted them the dedication to ‘la Puridad or la Purísima Concepción’. See Castro,
‘Monasterios hispánicos de clarisas’, and more recently Antón, El monasterio de la Puridad.
55
The monastery of Santa Clara de Palma de Mallorca was founded in 1256 and went
through the Observance reformation in 1490. See Castro, ‘Monasterios hispánicos de clarisas’,
and more recently, Sastre, Espiritualitat i vida quotidiana al monestir de Santa Clara.
56
On Santa Clara de Ciutadella, see Castro, ‘Monasterios hispánicos de clarisas’.
archy, which relied on the Franciscan element for the design of the conquest
policy and the territorial, urban, and ecclesiastical arrangement of the new
settlements. At that point, the monasteries of Tarragona and Tortosa played
the role of ‘mother’ communities in the foundation of new nunneries and the
provision of the first groups of sisters for them. The convent of Tarragona was
involved in the foundation of the Clarist house of Valencia, and in 1256, they
destined several nuns to the foundation of Santa Clara de Palma de Mallorca.
Some of the religious women of the monastery of Tortosa set out to found the
convent of Xàtiva well into the fourteenth century.
Towards a Definition of a Foundational Model for the First Communities

of Catalan Damianites: The Example of the First Community,
Sant Antoni i Santa Clara de Barcelona
The monographic study of the monastery of Sant Antoni i Santa Clara de
Barcelona, together with the possibility of consulting its magnificent archives
— held by the Benedictine community of Sant Benet de Montserrat, heir to the
late medieval Minoresses — enables us to draft a first foundational pattern that
can be also perceived, at least in part, in several other communities within this
first group of Iberian foundations from the thirteenth century.57
First, radical poverty would be one of the most characteristic traits of these
religious expressions (it was, after all, characteristic of mendicant spirituality
and, furthermore, the central pillar of Clare’s charisma). This component was
expressed in the terms used to name the new order: ‘pauperes dominae, ordo
pauperum dominarum, pauperes inclusae ordinis sancti Damiani’.58 Second,
the original communities or groups that, at a certain point in their trajectories,
entered the Damianite-Clarist orbit shared a semi-religious profile (beguines,
female oblates, female recluses, female penitents) in an ‘extra-claustral’ frame-
work not ruled by any specific monastic order. They embodied the synthesis
between the active (charity and welfare) and the contemplative. Based on the
Clarist nunnery of Lleida, there was a group of women devoted to a contempla-
tive life, that is, the beateri of Santa Isabel d’Hongria; in the case of Tarragona,
Sanahuja suggests a possible foundation by penitent women who obtained
57
Jornet-Benito, Sant Antoni i Santa Clara de Barcelona.
58
In 1237: ‘filiabus pauperibus monialibus inclusis monasterii Barchinensis de ordine
Sancti Damiani’ (MSCB, Col·lecció de pergamins, no. 187). In 1315: ‘monasterii dominarum
inclusarum Sancti Anthonii, ordinis Sancte Clare’ (MSCB. Col·lecció de pergamins, no. 2232).
the status of Poor Clares from the pope. As mentioned earlier, this model has
already been established by Italian scholars for the Italian case, where many of
the first Damianite houses also began as female associations with a beguine-
penitent profile. The research for the regions of Lombardy, Veneto, Tuscany,
and Umbria has made possible to adjust some of those previous community
profiles that would later join the new Damianite order: a hospital in the case
of Santa Maria de Siena, a hermitage in that of Lucca, and a group of female
‘converts’ or ‘oblates’ in that of Monteluce.59
In the case of Barcelona, a dynamic group of twelve women had enough
economic resources and strength to ask for the help of the pontiff and accom-
plish their desire to settle as ‘poor recluse nuns of the order of Saint Damian’;60
the pre-existing hospital of Sant Nicolau might have been related to the pious
and charitable trajectories of those women, who would have been involved in
charitable work. Benvenuti has also noted the presence of women around hos-
pitals in the Italian case. They would have been the substratum from which
Damianite communities were born.61 The new community was located outside
the city walls, in the outskirts of an area in full expansion, the Ribera quarter,
which, in fact, would become one of the most populated and dynamic areas
of the city; one of those viles noves (new villages) that escaped the old walls
of the Roman Barcelona. The growth of the urban perimeter of Barcelona in
the thirteenth century matches the arrival of the new ecclesiastical orders, all
of them sharing a strong mendicant mark: the Dominicans (Santa Caterina)
occupied the area of the Mercadal, another ‘new village’; the Franciscans (Sant
Nicolau) and the Mercedarians (Nostra Senyora de la Mercè) occupied loca-
tions between the Carrer Ample (Broad Street) and the sea before 1232 and
1242, respectively. The ‘poor recluse nuns of the order of St Damian’, would
settle beyond the Rec Comtal water channel, at the opposite side of the beach,
in the place through which the coastal route entered the city from Badalona.62
They established their house next to the port’s sandy area, the ‘new village’ that
was becoming then, according to the geographer Francesc Carreras Candi, ‘a
59
Benvenuti, ‘In castro poenitentiae’. See also Pellegrini, ‘Female Religious Experience and
Society in Thirteenth-Century Italy’.
60
‘in quo sub regula et ordine pauperum monialum inclusarum Sancti Damiani ei desi
derant famulari in fundo propio edificare cupian’. They are: Guillema de Polinyà and Berenguera
d’Antic and ‘decem sororum penitentem sociarum ipsarum’; MSCB, Col·lecció de pergamins,
no. 179.
61
Benvenuti, La fortuna del movimento, pp. 63–64.
62
Vila and Casassas, Barcelona i la seva rodalia al llarg del temps.
barren place where the outcasts of fortune usually raised their shacks’.63 It is
plausible that the initial group of penitent women performed pious and chari-
table tasks in this marginal area, close to the poor, unfortunate, and needy.
That topographical remark points to another specific aspect of those early
communities: the initial ‘peripheral’ or eremitic establishment that would even-
tually transfer to an urban location. However, as Ángela Muñoz notes in the
case of Madrid, nunneries were usually assigned lesser locations, since female
communities were not supposed to perform pastoral tasks.64 García Oro notes
in his approach to the Iberian Poor Clares that, after this ‘peripheral presence’,
and over the three central decades of the thirteenth century, the communities
would enter the urban orbit, led in particular by the papacy that conducted an
extensive campaign of rapid settlement supported by sovereigns and, at least in
part, by episcopal authorities.65 For instance, the community of Pamplona had
its first provisional eremitic location in a plot of land provided by an honour-
able citizen. Later, the nuns requested and obtained permission from the dioc-
esan to build a monastery dedicated to Santa Engracia, also outside the walls
of the city and close to the public road of Zandua.66 The community of Santa
Magdalena de Tarragona would also have started as a community of penitent
women located outside the city, in the hermitage of Sainte Madeleine.67 In the
case of Barcelona, the foundation legend recounts how the two foundresses,
who had reached the beach miraculously, received the chapel of St Anthony the
Abbot as their first dwelling place.68
63
Carreras Candi, Geografia general de Catalunya, i: Barcelona.
64
Muñoz Fernández, ‘Fundaciones conventuales franciscanas en el ámbito rural madrileño’.
65
García Oro, ‘Los orígenes de las clarisas’.
66
Ruiz de Larrinaga, ‘Las clarisas de Pamplona’.
67
Sanahuja, Historia de la Seráfica provincia de Cataluña.
68
This detail appears in the notes written about the saintly women and the foundational
legend by Sister Dorotea Sarrovira between 1632 and 1637. She wrote down the stories that had
remained quite alive in the oral memory of the community and the city of Barcelona. Antoni
Domènech — who probably knew about it through the ‘old memories of the monastery’ — had
already referred to this legend in his Historia general de los santos y varones ilustres en santidad
del Principado de Cataluña. The legend took its final shape in Franciscan chronicles with Lucas
Wadding and Antonio Cornejo. Dorotea’s notes were recorded, together with several other
documents, in the process of beatification and recognition of the cult ab immemorabili of
the two saintly foundresses that was initiated before the curia of Barcelona in 1912. It seems
that the process was never resumed, since it does not appear in the list of pending cases of
the Congregation for the Causes of Saints (I thank Father Gabriel Soler for this information).
Barcelona, Arxiu Diocesà de Barcelona, Causa de beatificació i confirmació del culte d’Agnès de
The case of Barcelona also suggests another important element to bear in

mind when drafting a possible foundational model: the presence of Agnès and
Clara, the foundresses and, according to the legend, relatives and disciples of
St Clare herself, who would hold a sort of charismatic authority, became the
reference for the identity and the memory of the house, and would be wor-
shipped as saints by both the community and other local people.69 In that
sense, it is interesting to ponder the role played by the presence of charismatic,
‘saintly’ women, related to local worship in the first thirteenth-century founda-
tions — women who must be understood within the broader framework of the
heterogeneous female religious movement, which entailed, as André Vauchez
notes, a true ‘feminization of medieval sainthood’.70 The similarities between
the Catalan territory (exemplified by the Damianite community of Barcelona)
and the Italian case are again evident. Anna Benvenuti has remarked how saint-
hood became related to the figure of a woman connected with Franciscan or
mendicant charisma within an urban environment. This kind of sainthood
was not always officially sanctioned and mainly appeared outside the clois-
ters (mulieres religiosae or ‘tertiary saints’), although she also mentions ‘saintly
Damianite abbesses’, pioneers, and foundresses of the communities of Tuscany
and Umbria.71 Agnès, one of the leading characters of the foundational legend
of the monastery of Barcelona, would belong to this group.
The constant element in this foundational overview of thirteenth-century
Clarisses is the implication, at different levels, of the Catalan monarchy, per-
fectly exemplified in the monastery of Sant Antoni i Santa Clara de Barcelona.
The clear moral and economic support of the royal house to the mendicant
cause must undoubtedly be taken into account in order to explain the success
— meteoric success, in some cases — achieved by Franciscan houses in Catalan
territory. As the chronological sequence has shown, foundations such as
Valencia, Palma, and Ciutadella appear clearly related to the expansion project
of the Catalan monarchy. With the support of the papacy, Catalan monarchs
would be one of the cards played by the monastery of Sant Antoni de Barcelona.
Peranda i Clara de Janua 1912, ‘Apuntes que se refieren a una declaración prestad’, no. 37 bis.
On the foundational legend and the role of the two saintly women, Agnès de Peranda and
Clara de Janua or Porta, and the recognition of their sanctity, devotion and cult, see Jornet-
Benito, El monestir de Sant Antoni de Barcelona, pp. 55–83.
69
Jornet-Benito, ‘Memoria y genealogía femeninas’.
70
Vauchez, ‘L’Ideal de saintité dans le mouvement féminin’ and La Sainteté en Occident
aux derniers siècles du Moyen Age.
71
Benvenuti, ‘Una terra di sante e di città’, p. 200.
The Catalan royal house acted as protector of the nunnery, endowing it with
rights and privileges: lands and money to enable the urban and patrimonial
settlement of the community and the construction of its main buildings or the
upgrade of the original see. These donations guaranteed the subsistence of the
community at the most basic level (such as the right to use water from the Rec
Comtal channel or the privilege to run ovens). The royal house was also present
during the first decade of the monastery through the devotional and spiritual
link that some of its members established with the nunnery. In particular, in
1240, Gregory IX granted Queen Violant of Hungary and her daughters per-
mission to enter the premises three times a year for devotional reasons.72
According to Jill Webster, the foundational dynamics of that first group of
establishments, especially those settled before 1250, involved an important fac-
tor: the previous presence of Friars Minor, who would have undertaken tasks of
dissemination of the new evangelical ideal, thus paving the way for the new com-
munity. In the case of Barcelona, if that previous function of the Friars Minor
regarding the group of penitent women is to be considered at an individual
level, their concrete and direct contribution as an order to bring forth the foun-
dation of the monastery is darker and poorly documented. This fact could be
explained by the phase of uncertainty that both the new order and the insertion
of women were still going through. The delicate relationship between those
women, the Friars Minor, and their role as confessors, chaplains, and preach-
ers, also an issue, would slowly become defined and institutionalized. María
del Mar Graña states, for the Andalusian area, the ambiguous role played by
the Friars Minor in the foundational dynamics of the first Clarisses: they either
assumed a position as determined promoters or, on the contrary, impeded their
establishment, showed certain indifference, or even total inhibition. She also
notes that the friars’ influence did not leave any documentary trace, and that
even if there is a topographic link between the monasteries of friars and nuns,
this correspondence is not so much based on the interests of the first but on
other dynamics related to the policy of Reconquista of the Castilian monarchy,
the most important defender and promoter of the Andalusian Clarisses.73 In
the case of some Italian communities, Anna Benvenuti, in turn, speaks of the
difference between the ‘semi-official nature’ (this is the expression used by the
author) of the presence of a friar among other mediators in the foundation of
the Florentine monastery of Santa Maria de Monticelli (1218), and the more
72
MSCB, Col·lecció de pergamins, no. 254.
73
Graña Cid, ‘Las primeras clarisas andaluzas’.
formal stance of the Friars Minor in the document of creation of other commu-
nities, such as that of San Salvatore di Colpersito (1224–25).74
In any case, the scarce official presence of the sibling community of Friars
Minor in the foundational dynamics of the community of Barcelona would actu-
ally confirm the initial hypothesis: it is necessary to read and interpret the birth
of the first Clarist communities on the basis of new research parameters that
account for the whole history and evolution of female spirituality in the thir-
teenth century, instead of only focusing on its relationship with the first order,
that is, exclusively as a ‘second order’.75 Maria Pia Alberzoni has approached the
subject from another perspective: the essential role of the papacy, in particular
under the rule of Ugolino, the future Pope Gregory IX, in the shaping of the
ordo Sancti Damiani (the future order of St Clare, especially after 1263). The
new order enabled the inclusion, within a more formalized and regular frame-
work, of a whole variety of female religious groups, with informal profiles and
present all over Europe, the viability and future of which worried ecclesiastical
authorities.76 In the case of Barcelona, the direct implication of the papacy is
well documented: the group of sorores penitentium addressed the pope, and he
promoted the new community through indulgences for those who gave alms to
the nunnery and shaped its essential juridical profile (that is, observance of the
Rule and papal dispensations).
In conclusion, despite the lack of monographic studies on thirteenth-cen-
tury Clarist houses, the model described for the first community founded in
Catalan territory, the nunnery of Sant Antoni i Santa Clara de Barcelona, is
only partially valid: the initial group of women with a beguine or penitent pro-
file, usually in an eremitic location outside the city walls, can also be found in
the communities of Lleida and Tarragona (1240s), which were also under papal
protection. However, according to the available data, other foundations of the
second half of the century show foundational dynamics that emphasize the role
and the sponsorship of women of the Catalan royal house (Violant of Hungary
in the case of Lleida, and Maria of Cyprus, wife of Jaume II, in the monastery of
Santa Clara de Tortosa) and noblewomen (the Greek princess Làscaris, widow
of the count of Pallars, in the community of Montblanc, or Lady Dolça de Pau
in Castelló d’Empúries).
74
Benvenuti, ‘L’insediamento franciscano a Firenze: le origini’.
75
Pecorini Cignoni, ‘Francescanesimo al femminile’.
76
Alberzoni, ‘Chiara e San Damiano tra Ordine minoritico e chiesa romana’.
The communities of the Principality of Catalonia and the new Clarist

houses founded in the newly conquered territories of the Crown of Aragon —
which followed the itinerary of the Catalan conquest and expansion (Valencia,
Palma de Mallorca, and Ciutadella) — defined a foundational network. The
first node was the origin of the groups of nuns who made connections through-
out the territory with the foundation of new nunneries: from Barcelona to
Castelló d’Empúries in the thirteenth century; to Vilafranca del Penedès, and
back again to Barcelona and Santa Maria de Pedralbes in the fourteenth cen-
tury; from Tarragona to Valencia and Palma in the thirteenth century; from
Tortosa to Xàtiva in the fourteenth. Thus, we can understand the almost ‘gene-
alogical necessity’ of the sisters of Sant Antoni i Santa Clara de Barcelona to
pass on the legend that recounted how the nunnery had been founded by two
disciples and relatives of St Clare who had come from Italy in a boat without
oars or sails, following the wishes of the saintly woman. A legend that recreated
the true links that existed among a group of Catalan beguines or penitents,
who became acquainted, during a pilgrimage or through the presence of some
Italian women in Barcelona, with the new statute of the poor recluse nuns of
the order of St Damian.
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‘For they wanted us to serve them’:
Female Monasticism in
Medieval Transylvania
Carmen Florea*
I
n 1406, Innocent VII issued a letter to the archbishop of Esztergom.
According to the papal bull, Elizabeth, Margaret, another Elizabeth,
Gertrud, and Catherine — Cistercian nuns in the monastery from Braşov
(Kronstadt, Brassó) — had complained about the difficulties they had to face
and appealed to the papal curia for a solution. Because they wished to embrace
religious life, from their own income and with the help of other pious people,
these women built a house next to the chapel of St Catherine, entered into the
Cistercian Order, and lived in that house under the supervision of the abbot
of a nearby Cistercian monastery. After a while, however, the abbot, some of
the Cistercian monks, and the parish priest of the town had started to offend
them. The women were forced to leave the house they had built, some of their
belongings were confiscated by their persecutors, and the abbot even took away
the Order’s habit from them. All of this happened because they did not want
to cook for the monks or take care of their gardens; as the letter describes, they
did not want to do such work appropriate only for those engaged in domestic
service. Because they did not want to live in apostasy, they took the habit of the
Benedictine nuns. A solution was found to their complaint, as a papal envoy

* This work was supported by a grant of the Romanian National Authority for Scientific Re
search, CNCS – UEFISCDI, (project number PN-II-ID-PCE-2011-3-0359, code 225/2011).
Carmen Florea ([email protected]) is a teaching assistant in the faculty of His

tory and Philosophy, Department of Medieval, Early Modern, and Art History, Babeş-Bolyai
University of Cluj, Romania.
212 Carmen Florea
was sent to settle the affair. The women were received back into the Cistercian
Order and the abbot from the nearby monastery of Cârţa (Kercz) was obliged
to appoint a monk to take care of them ‘in spiritualibus et in temporalibus’.
Finally, the pope confirmed the restoration of their status, and the women
returned to their house and to their lives within the Cistercian Order.1
Why would this example be relevant for an analysis devoted to female
monasticism in medieval Transylvania? On the one hand, it illustrates the ten-
sions between women wishing to assume a religious role and the clergy under
whose supervision they would have to fulfil that role. The notorious reluctance
of the First Order regarding the provision of material and spiritual assistance
for the female religious associated with their Order would partly explain the
fate of the Cistercian nuns from Braşov.2 On the other hand, this example is
also relevant because it reveals the efforts made by female religious within an
urban environment, as their way of life was not only opposed by the Cistercian
monks, but also by the ecclesiastical elite of the town, represented by the parish
priest. In what follows, therefore, I will discuss female monasticism in medi-
eval Transylvania at the intersection between particular, local contexts and the
more general policy that religious orders designed in order to integrate women
into the religious life.
Before embarking on this, however, it should be mentioned that the sur-
viving Transylvanian source material seriously limits the extent to which one
can offer a detailed analysis of this subject. The spread of evangelical ideas
greatly disturbed religious life in Transylvania. For example, in the year 1556
the authorities decided that all religious orders must be expelled from this
region and their properties confiscated. As a result, the libraries and archives
of monasteries and convents suffered severe losses, and in the churches of the
religious orders, altarpieces were destroyed and murals were whitewashed. The
houses of female communities were also seriously affected, the majority of the
buildings being transformed to serve diverse purposes, such as schools or even
1
Zsigmondkori oklevéltár, ed. by Mályusz, i, 576–77, doc. 4698.
2
For example, in 1228 the General Chapter prohibited the Friars Preachers to undertake
responsibilities regarding the female houses affiliated with them because it prevented the friars
from accomplishing their ministry; Lawrence, Medieval Monasticism, pp. 263–65. Further
decisions were formulated by the Dominican governing body which aimed at severely limiting the
friars’ interaction with the nuns: thus, in 1321 the General Chapter asked the priors to nominate
those who would guide the nuns, specifying that this could also be very well accomplished by
the secular clergy, whilst in 1462 it was agreed that only old priests could visit the Dominican
nunneries. On this, see Hinnebusch, The History of the Dominican Order, pp. 387–97.
‘For they wanted us to serve them’ 213
warehouses.3 Thus, one is forced to rely on a rather limited number of textual

sources to attempt to reconstruct the fate of female monastic life according to
the information they provide.
To begin, the main characteristic features of medieval Transylvania should
be reviewed. The region, located on the margins of Latin Christendom, was
part of the Hungarian kingdom, and it was inhabited by ethnically diverse
groups, such as Germans, Hungarians, Sezeklers, and Romanians. The popula-
tion’s religious affiliation with either the Western or the Eastern Church further
contributed to the cultural diversity that prevailed in the area. Christianization
was a belated process as compared with other parts of Latin Christendom, the
Transylvanian diocese and the network of the parish churches being established
only after the year 1000.4
This ecclesiastical network was completed by traditional religious orders,
such as the Benedictines and the Premonstratensians, who are attested in the
course of the thirteenth century. By royal initiative, a Benedictine abbey was
founded in Cluj-Mănăştur (Kolozsmonostor, Abtsdorf ) and a Cistercian one
in Cârţa.5 Despite having a short-lived existence, two female monasteries of
the Premonstratensian Order were recorded by the surviving sources in the
first half of the thirteenth century, whereas a house of the Benedictine Order
had also been functioning in the episcopal town of Alba-Iulia (Gyulafehérvár,
Weissenburg ).6 Whilst our knowledge of the female monasteries is severely
limited by the sources that survive, we can still see that the Premonstratensian
houses were most likely founded as part of the formation of the towns of Sibiu
(Hermannstadt, Nagyszeben) and Braşov, and the related institutionalization
of the Christian religion there.7
Unlike the situation in other parts of Latin Christendom, medieval Transyl
vania was predominantly characterized by a limited presence of the traditional
3
Rusu and others, Dicţionarul mănăstirilor, pp. 47–49, 54–55, 67–69, 80–82, 105–08,
119–20, 169–70, 172–75, 186–87, 198, 232, 234–37, 242–44, 251, 260–62, 266–67, 280–81.
4
Kristó, ‘The Bishoprics of Saint Stephen, King of Hungary’. The parochial network
can be reconstructed by using the tithe registers compiled at the beginning of the fourteenth
century and published by Beke, ‘Erdélyi egyházmegye képe a xiv. század elején’.
5
Rusu and others, Dicţionarul mănăstirilor, pp. 96–99 and 114–18.
6
Binder, ‘Unele probleme referitoare la prima menţiune documentară a Braşovului’,
pp. 126–29; Huttmann and Prox, ‘Corona-Zur Entstehungsgeschichte von Kronstadt’, p. 8;
and Romhányi, Kolostorok és társaskáptalanok a középkori Magyarországon, p. 29.
7
For the role played by the Premonstratensian Order in the Christianization of central
and eastern Europe, see Netzwerk des Glaubens.
214 Carmen Florea
religious orders, the example of the female monasteries of the Benedictines and
Cistercians accurately demonstrating this pattern. However, things were dif-
ferent concerning the female branches of the mendicant orders. The success of
these new religious orders, particularly the Dominicans and Franciscans, has
long been acknowledged in existing research. This situation has been given
several explanations. There was, on the one hand, the proximity of non-Chris-
tian groups, such as the Cumans and Tatars, which stimulated the mendicant
apostolate. On the other hand, another explanation derives from the largely
monoparochial profile of the majority of Transylvanian towns, which for most
of the Middle Ages had only single parish churches.8
Highly illustrative in this regard are the most important towns of the region,
such as Sibiu, Braşov, Cluj (Kolozsvár, Klausenburg ), and Bistriţa (Bistriz,
Beszterce), which became free royal towns in the course of the fourteenth and
fifteenth centuries. This was a privileged status which allowed the citizens not
only to elect the urban magistracy but also the parish priest. Furthermore,
given the fact that these towns were ethnically homogenous, being inhabited
predominantly by a German population, it has been considered that the func-
tioning of a single parish church which gradually became supervised by the city
council enforced the cohesion of these urban communities.9
At the same time, it must be mentioned that urbanization was a belated pro-
cess in this region as compared to other territories of Western Europe, a pro-
cess which in fact appealed to the mendicant ministry keen to become engaged
in the evangelization of the urban population.10 As a result, the first convents
founded by the Dominicans and Franciscans were located in the major urban
centres of Sibiu, Braşov, Cluj, and Bistriţa, where the friars had already man-
aged to establish their houses in the course of the thirteenth century. The great-
est part of the Dominican priories was founded before the second half of the
8
Dobre, ‘The Mendicants’ Mission in an Orthodox Land’, pp. 226–34. The functioning
of the parish churches in Transylvanian towns is discussed by de Cevins, L’Église dans les villes
hongroises, esp. pp. 38–44 and pp. 157–65.
9
Several decisions taken by the city councils of Sibiu and Bistriţa, such as those from
1432, 1457, and 1504, established the type of divine services to be celebrated in the parish
churches of these towns and regulated the administration of pious donations made to these
institutions; see Gündisch, ‘Hermmanstädter Messestiftungen im 15. Jahrhundert’, and
Teutsch, Geschichte der evangelische Kirche in Siebenbürgen, i, 149–51.
10
Le Goff, ‘Apostolat mendiant et fait urbain dans la France médiévale’. Fügedi, ‘Koldulóren
dek és városfejlődés Magyarországon’, has discussed the extent to which the assumptions made by
Le Goff regarding the relationship between the mendicant orders and urbanization are confirmed
by the settlement and development of these religious orders in the kingdom of Hungary.
fourteenth century, while those belonging to the Friars Minor were established
at an accelerated rate in the course of the fifteenth century, particularly after the
creation of the Observant branch of the Friars Minor.11
The female houses belonging to the Friars Preachers and the Friars Minor
were a belated presence in Transylvania, the Dominican nunneries being
attested only from the second half of the fifteenth century. There is no doubt
that these foundations can be connected with the reformation of the most
important Dominican priories through the adoption of Observant ideals.12 As
the chronology testifies, all the houses of the Dominican Second Order from
Cluj, Sighişoara (Schässburg, Segesvár), Bistriţa, Braşov, and Sibiu were estab-
lished after the reformation of the corresponding male convents.13 This would
suggest that the well-known rule of founding a female house only when a male
convent was already in place was applied to Transylvania in as much as the prio-
ries were adopting the Observant ideals.14
The case of the Franciscan female houses presents some marked differ-
ences to the Dominican ones. The existence of Poor Clare nunneries is con-
firmed by the surviving sources for the town of Cluj, but the functioning of
those from Braşov is still a matter of debate within current scholarship.15 Yet,
the Observant Franciscans were very successful in integrating women through
11
Karácsonyi, Szent Ferencz rendjének története Magyarországon 1711-ig, pp. 310–56.
12
In the fifth decade of the fifteenth century, Jacob Riecher was sent to Transylvania by
the Holy See in order to reform the Dominican houses. As part of his missionary activities,
the convents of Sibiu, Cluj, Braşov, and Bistriţa were reformed; Harsányi, A Domonkosrend
Magyarországon a reformáció előtt, pp. 35–39.
13
The Dominican nunnery of Cluj was first mentioned in 1450, that of Bistriţa in 1476,
that of Sighişoara in the last decade of the fifteenth century, and those of Braşov and Sibiu in
1502; Iványi, ‘Geschichte des Dominikanerordens’, pp. 25, 30, 37.
14
Hinnebusch, The History of the Dominican Order, pp. 378–88. The most interesting case
is that of Sibiu, where the Dominican priory founded in the course of the thirteenth century
was located outside the town’s fortifications and as a result was severely damaged in the first half
of the fifteenth century due to the Ottoman attacks. The friars tried for almost three decades to
obtain a site inside the city walls, but this happened only in 1474. The successful relocation of
the priory has been connected to the adoption of Observant ideals. Significantly enough, soon
afterwards, the Dominican nunnery of St Mary Magdalene was founded in Sibiu; see Salontai,
Mănăstiri dominicane din Transilvania, pp. 216–18.
15
Karácsonyi, Szent Ferencz rendjének története Magyarországon 1711–ig, ii, 19, argues
that in Braşov there was only a house of the Third Order and not a Poor Clare nunnery. How
ever, Rusu and others, Dicţionarul mănăstirilor, pp. 79–80, claim that in Braşov there was a
Poor Clare nunnery attested in 1486 and a tertiary house attested in 1534.
216 Carmen Florea
the network of the houses belonging to the Third Order. To this success
undoubtedly contributed the missions undertaken in this region by notewor-
thy Observant Franciscans, particularly John of Capistran.16 As a result, the
number of houses of the Third Order significantly outnumbered those of the
Poor Clare nunneries, a situation well reflected by the Transylvanian experi-
ence, where no less than ten such establishments are mentioned in the surviving
sources, predominantly in the first half of the sixteenth century.17 One should
also take into account that by the late Middle Ages, the Third Order became in
many respects similar to a traditional monastic order and with a predominantly
female membership. These features are largely reflected by the tertiaries from
the kingdom of Hungary, where, as it has been observed, the Third Order gath-
ered exclusively women who led an enclosed, monastic way of life.18
Let me return now to the more general context within which Transylvanian
female monasticism was shaped. It has been discussed above that mendicant
success was prompted by the feeble parochial network and was reflected by
the large number of houses the Friars Preachers and Friars Minor managed to
establish. The priories and the female communities affiliated with the friars
surpassed in each locality the number of parish churches, a situation which in
fact opened up possibilities for a better integration of lay religious life.19 To be
sure, however, the Transylvanian parish churches seriously competed with the
mendicants, and the parochial clergy did not hesitate to appeal to the Holy
See in order to protect their pre-eminence over the cure of souls. It is surely
not coincidental that such conflicts recorded by our sources concern the most
important towns and were formulated with regard to the administration of
confession and burials by the friars.20
16
Andrić, The Miracles of St John Capistran, pp. 16–25. On John of Capistran’s contri
bution to the emergence and official approval of the Third Order Regular, see Matanić, ‘Il
“Defensorium Tertii Ordinis Beati Francisci” di San Giovanni da Capestrano’, pp. 45–57.
17
De Cevins, L’Église dans les villes hongroises, pp. 304–07, has explained the growth in the
number of the houses of the Third Order by both the poor representation of Poor Clare nunneries
and the late urbanization of the region which prompted the organization of the tertiaries. Houses
of the Third Order were attested in the following Transylvanian localities: Albeşti (1535), Bistriţa
(1531), Braşov (1534), Cluj (1522), Coşeiu (1507), Mediaş (1525), Orăştie (1334), Suseni
(1535), Tirgu Mureş (1503), and Teiuş (1520). See Rusu and others, Dicţionarul mănăstirilor.
18
Pásztor, ‘Per la storia dell’esperienza penitenziale francescana in Ungheria nel medioevo’,
p. 121; Kollányi, ‘Magyar ferencrendiek’, p. 415.
19
De Cevins, L’Église dans les villes hongroises, p. 328
20
In 1460 for several months members of the Dominican confraternity from Cluj protes
ted against their parish priest, who prevented burials by Friars Preachers, whereas the conflicts
When seeing this competition from a broader perspective, it should be men-

tioned that the friars’ apostolate did not only resemble the activity of the parish
church in what concerns pastoral care.21 The Transylvanian examples accurately
prove that the mendicant ministry intensified precisely when lay religious life
became better integrated with the parochial network through the function-
ing of devotional fellowships and the religious goals the guilds pursued in the
parish churches. Evidence for such associations dates predominantly from
the second half of the fifteenth century and the first decades of the sixteenth,
at the time when the majority of confraternities organized by the friars was
also attested.22 But, as was previously discussed, this was precisely the time
when the majority of the houses of the Second Order and Third Order were
founded in Transylvania. It can be considered, therefore, that the adoption of
the Observant ideals and the growing competition with the parish must have
encouraged the friars to institutionalize women’s religious life.
But who were those who were becoming nuns or tertiaries? There are not
many instances recorded by our sources which reveal such choices, but based
on the available information it can be suggested that recruitment in Dominican
nunneries was particularly targeted at young, unmarried women, whereas that
of the tertiaries consisted almost exclusively of widows. For example, in the year
1485 a Transylvanian nobleman, Thomas Farkas from Herina, lavishly endowed
the Dominican nunnery of Bistriţa, a pious gesture which was common at
that time in the region.23 Interestingly enough, two decades later, his daughter
Catherine is among the nuns mentioned by her father in his deathbed bequest.24
between the mendicants and the parochial clergy in Bistriţa were solved by papal mediation:
see Gross, Confreriile medievale în Transilvania, pp. 170–80, and A Kolozsmonostori Konvent
jegyzőkönyvei, ed. by Jakó, i, 569, doc. 1465; p. 570, doc. 1466; and p. 571, doc. 1470; Ur
kundenbuch, ed. by Zimmermann and others, vi, 84, docs 3225 and 3226; pp. 517–18, doc. 568.
21
Mertens, ‘Clero secolare e cura d’anima nella città del tardo medioevo’, pp. 262–63.
22
Several confraternities, such as those of Corpus Christi, the Virgin Mary, St Catherine,
and St Mary Magdalene, were attested in the parish churches of Cluj, Sibiu, Braşov, and
Bistriţa, particularly from the fifteenth century onwards. Based on the guild statutes drafted in
the second half of the fifteenth century, the guilds of the tailors, tanners, blacksmiths, weavers,
furriers maintained altars in the parish churches of Cluj and Braşov and became engaged in
the liturgical services performed there. This was precisely the time when the functioning of the
fellowships organized with the Dominicans of Cluj, Sighişoara, and Bistriţa were also recorded;
Gross, Confreriile medievale în Transilvania, pp. 170–80 and 245–69.
23
Lupescu Makó, ‘Item lego…: Gifts for the Soul in Late Medieval Transylvania’; Urkunden
buch, ed. by Zimmermann and others, vii, 388, doc. 4592.
24
A Kolozsmonostori Konvent jegyzőkönyvei, ed. by Jakó, i, 225, doc. 3272.
218 Carmen Florea
It cannot be ascertained whether his daughter was already affiliated with the
Second Order at the time of this donation; if this were the case, he might have
been aiming to provide for her support. Yet, as we can see from a last will issued
in 1520, it seems that youth was indeed a prerequisite for those wishing to join
the Dominican Second Order.
The document I have alluded to above was issued by Dorothy, widow of
Martin Cruez from Braşov, on behalf of the Dominican friars from Sighişoara.
According to the testamentary clauses drawn up by this widow, she provided
the friars with sufficient funds to support a chapel being built in their church
and dedicated to five saints: the Virgin Mary, St Dominic, St Francis, St Rupert,
and St Ulrich.25 As the association of the founders of the two most important
mendicant orders is peculiar in the titular dedication of this establishment
founded with the Friars Preachers, one wonders what might have motivated
Dorothy when making this selection. As seen in the document, she wished to
become a Dominican nun but was unable to because of her widowhood. Since
Dorothy wanted to prevent worldly life from having a negative effect on her
chances of salvation, and since the prospect of accomplishing her goal could
not be achieved by becoming a member of the Dominican Second Order, she
chose to be a penitent of St Francis instead.
It is therefore her adjustment to the available institutional options which
made Dorothy pair, in the patronal dedication of the chapel she founded, two
saints which would otherwise be unlikely to appear side by side. The testament
of 1520 is also important because it gives further weight to the idea that in late
medieval Transylvania those wishing to be affiliated with the Friars Preachers
must indeed be young and unmarried women. In fact, the examples that have
been analysed have not only the merit of clarifying issues concerning recruit-
ment in the Dominican Second Order, but also of highlighting that this path
was, to be sure, a desirable choice for female religious.26
As for those wishing to pursue their devotional goals with the Franciscans,
either as Poor Clare nuns or tertiaries, in the light of the surviving sources it
seems that not youth but adulthood was a requirement to be met. When in
1531, Magdalene, a Franciscan tertiary from Cluj, drafted her testament she
was already a widow, as also were those elected as executors of her testamentary
25
Fabritius, ‘Zwei Funde in der ehemaligen Dominikanerkirche zu Schässburg’, pp. 16–17,
doc. xx.
26
At Bistriţa the master general of the Order of the Friars Preachers had to limit the
enrollments into the Second Order in 1506 to twenty-two members; Iványi, ‘Geschichte des
Dominikanerordens’, p. 36.
clauses, who were mentioned as belonging to the Third Order.27 This status is
further proven by another Dorothy, who, being of old age and gravely ill, lived
as a tertiary in Tg. Mures.28 Albeit in an indirect manner, the vulnerable condi-
tion of becoming affiliated with the Third Order is revealed by a decision taken
at the provincial chapter of the Franciscans held in Oradea in 1542. There, it
was decided that as a result of a request reiterated several times by the parish
priest, the city council, and the citizens of the town of Mediaş, a young girl was
accepted to join the sisters of St Francis.29
Based on this information it can be argued that not only adulthood but
also a certain social standing eased integration with the Friars Minor. This was,
for example, the case with a married woman who decided together with her
husband that she would become a nun of the Poor Clares, whereas he would
become a Franciscan friar.30 The two agreed to leave all their valuables to their
relatives who would then raise their son, a decision which might indeed be con-
sidered as proof of their attachment to the way of life to be followed along-
side the friars and nuns. Whilst this example speaks about adulthood, pros-
perity, and perhaps selfishness, another case reveals that sometimes those in
need might find with the Second Order a suitable place to live. Because of her
serious illness, a certain Anne sold her property and became affiliated with the
religious women from the Order of St Francis in Cluj.31
To be sure, these individual cases do not allow us to define definite pat-
terns according to which recruitment to the Second and Third Order was
made. They create rather a composite picture which displays, in the case of the
Dominican nuns, youth and wealth, the latter feature being coupled in the case
of the Franciscan Second and Third Order with widowhood and, more gener-
ally speaking, with social vulnerability. But what was the life that these women,
as well as dozens of others whose names and motivations remained unknown
to us, led in their houses? What were the exigencies they had to deal with in
order to attain perfection of their devotional endeavours, once they passed the
formal requirements?
27
Monumenta Ecclesiastica tempora innovatae, ed. by Bunyitay, Rapaics, and Karácsonyi,
i: 1520–1529, pp. 178–81, doc. 159.
28
A Kolozsmonostori Konvent jegyzőkönyvei, ed. by Jakó, i, 225–26, doc. 3273.
29
i, 499
30
31
220 Carmen Florea
First of all, it should be said that with the implementation of Observant ide-
als in the Transylvanian male convents and the foundation of the Dominican
nunneries in its aftermath, the rules of strict enclosure, asceticism, and a
penitential way of life were reinforced.32 The best illustration of this policy is
reflected by the patrocinia of the Dominican nunneries of Cluj and Sibiu. That
great emphasis was indeed being laid on the revival of asceticism in the way of
life that the Observant Dominicans sought to impose is demonstrated by the
choice of hermit saints for the convents of Cluj. Reformed in the mid-fifteenth
century, the priory, initially dedicated to the Virgin Mary, was given a second
patron, St Anthony. By selecting the First Hermit to protect the friary of Cluj,
the Observant Dominicans ingeniously and unambiguously reflected in titular
dedication the restoration of an ideal religious life.
At the same time, another hermit, St Egidius, was chosen as patron of the
Dominican nunnery of the town. Renowned for his asceticism and for the isola-
tion and solitude in which he lived, Egidius also became the protector of those
truly repenting their sins through confession. It was specifically for this latter
quality that Egidius became a specialized protector within the groups of the
Fourteen Holy Helpers. At the same time, the ideal of sainthood represented
by Egidius was also an embodiment of what a Dominican nun must achieve, as
she had to live cloistered, in isolation, and do penance. Visual representations
of St Egidius, dressed in monastic habit and depicted as a Holy Helper, as well
as those surviving from an altarpiece most likely belonging to the Dominican
church of Sighişoara, testify to the adoption of this cult by the Observant
Dominicans because it fitted well with the ideals they strove to implement in
the female houses of their Order.33
Of similar importance in this regard is the titular dedication of another
Dominican nunnery, that of Sibiu, which was under the patronage of Mary
Magdalene. Adopted and assiduously propagated by the mendicant friars, the
saint par excellence of the penitents, Mary Magdalene became emblematic for
women in the monastic life, the example of Sibiu being thus an integral part of
numerous similar European cases.34 Connection to the reform movement is also
32
Huffmann, ‘Inside and Outside the Convent Walls’.
33
Firea, ‘Polipticul din Sighişoara — un retablu dominican?’; Nagy Sarkadi, ‘Szent
Mártonnak szentelt szárnyasoltár Segesvárról’; Richter and Richter, Siebenbürgische Flügel
altäre, pp. 165–69; Vătăşianu, Istoria artei feudale în Ţările Române, i, 795–97.
34
Jansen, The Making of the Magdalen, see esp. Part I, ‘The Mendicant Magdalen’,
pp. 44–227. The Dominican adoption of the cult of Mary Magdalene is also illustrated by the
foundations which she was called to patronize. For example, in the diocese of Spoleto over the
detectable, as the nunnery of Mary Magdalene was established at the very end
of the fifteenth century and was a foundation which must have occurred in the
aftermath of the adoption of the Observant ideals by the Dominican priory.35
Therefore, the understanding of local circumstances, derived from the his-
tory of the Dominican Order in Transylvania, offers insights into the way of
life led by women affiliated with the Dominican Second Order. Enclosure and
penitence were thought to pave the way towards the achievement of Christian
perfection, and it can be argued that this has indeed become a hallmark of
the nuns’ piety. According to surviving testamentary clauses, the Dominican
nuns were employed in the economy of salvation by being commissioned to
carry out commemorative prayers.36 From the last will issued by Magdalene,
the Franciscan tertiary from Cluj mentioned above, it can be argued that the
Dominicans of the town specialized in mediating Marian protection through
their prayers.37 Their engagement in liturgical practices seems to have been
of constant concern, as the charter that informs us about the functioning of
the Dominican nunnery in Cluj specified that the prioress sold some liturgi-
cal books which were of no more use to her congregation.38 As such, when
Magdalene asked several decades later that the sisters of the Friars Preachers
would have to chant for her the Salve Regina antiphon, it can be suggested that
the life they pursued within the walls of their nunnery had transformed them
into valuable intercessory vehicles.
Magdalene’s example, the confratrissa of the Observant Franciscans from
Cluj, also deserves to be examined in some detail, and not only from the point
of view of the religious options she devised according to the Dominican Order,
or the parish church that was, as discussed above, lavishly endowed in her testa-
ment. In fact, a thorough reading of this document could help us get a more
nuanced understanding of the religious life and devotional motivations of the
women associated with the Friars Minor. Magdalene belonged to the urban
course of the thirteenth and fourteenth century, not even the Virgin Mary acquired so many
patrocinia of Dominican houses of the Second Order as Mary Magdalene, whereas in Germany
the entire Order of the Penitents of St Mary Magdalene, consisting of more than forty houses,
was affiliated in 1287 with the Friars Preachers. See Hinnebusch, The History of the Dominican
Order, p. 378.
35
Salontai, Mănăstiri dominicane din Transilvania, p. 225.
36
Urkundenbuch, ed. by Zimmermann and others, vii, 388, doc. 4592.
37
i, 180, doc. 159.
38
222 Carmen Florea
world of craftsmen, being the widow of one of the masons who most likely
worked on the construction of the Observant Franciscan church in Cluj.39 Her
testament details at length her concerns for her soul, which is entrusted first of
all to the prayers of the Franciscan friars with whom she wanted to be buried,
and then to the Dominican friars, the Dominican nuns, and the parish clergy.
What it is striking, however, is the amount of valuables, money, and prop-
erty, including her house, furniture, dishware, silver objects, and clothing that
she bequeathed. There are no less than fifteen such clauses which carefully spec-
ify how these goods were to be used: for which altars and chapels, as well as for
Dominican and Franciscan friars, nuns and tertiaries, and also the poor. One is
given the impression that Magdalene acted as a housewife who, whilst leaving
behind her former way of life, was diligently planning her future one. Among
the fifteen regulations of her last will that were meant to provide for liturgical
vestments, altar cloths, and restoration or decoration of altarpieces, ten con-
cerned the Observant Franciscan church and within it the chapel used by the
tertiaries.40 Thus, Magdalene disposed of her wealth and domestic comfort by
transforming it and adapting it to the sacred space where she would live a new,
different life as tertiary.
The abandonment of worldly life seems to have been rather a process of con-
verting it to the requirements of the Third Order as suggested by the analysis of
Magdalene’s last will. When investigating the Third Order regulations drafted
in the third decade of the sixteenth century by the Observant Franciscans, to
be followed by the pious women, this idea seems to emerge even more clearly.
Whilst the tertiaries lived a common life in a house usually placed near a male
convent, measures were taken to limit their interaction with those from the
outside. They were allowed to beg only from their closest relatives and not from
strangers, and when going to the church there had to be at least two of them,
whereas conversation with laypeople could happen only after permission was
granted by their superior, the so-called prelata.41
This gradual detachment from the world was accompanied by obedience
to the exigencies of a religious behaviour, which consisted of daily praying
one hundred Pater Nosters in the memory of Christ’s suffering and one hun-
dred Ave Marias in veneration of the Virgin. Devotion to Christ was further
39
Entz and Kovács, A Kolozsvári Farkas utcai templom címerei, pp. 9–11.
40
i, 178–81, doc. 159.
41
Kollányi, ‘Magyar ferencrendiek’, pp. 912–14.
endorsed by requiring each tertiary to flagellate herself every Friday and to wear
cilicium. Focus on and development of personal piety is further revealed by the
daily recitation of prayers to the Virgin Mary and St Francis.42
Self-denial and repentance thus shaped the life of these religious women.
This is also reflected by the so-called codex Teleki, which not only enumerated
the regulations of the Third Order but also explained them.43 This codex was
compiled by a Franciscan friar for the use of his sister who was a beguine in the
house of Tg. Mureş (Marosvásárhely, Neumarkt). Interestingly enough, this work
seems to have been aiming at the religious education of the tertiaries. The regula-
tions were but one part of it. Another part of equal interest and importance was
represented by the legends it contained. Among them, there was an extant ver-
sion of a Franciscan legend of St Anne.44 It can be argued that its inclusion was
not by chance. The Virgin’s mother became a popular saintly figure at the end of
the Middle Ages, particularly among the urban population; women from towns
easily identified in Anne how reconciliation of wealth and involvement in family
life with the exigencies of Christian perfection could be achieved.45 Therefore, as
one could learn from confratrissa Magdalene, leaving behind a certain way of life
and attempting to accommodate oneself in the requirements of the life of the
Third Order seems to have indeed been dealt with by the Franciscan friars, and
solutions to this adjustment were ingeniously devised.
At this point it might be useful to return to those Cistercian nuns whose
example was discussed at the beginning of this analysis. The functioning of the
female monastery of the Cistercian Order in Braşov seems to have continued
without difficulties until 1474, when King Mathias decided to dissolve the
Cistercian monastery at Cârţa. The king then decided that the female commu-
nity from Braşov would be placed under the spiritual guidance of a chaplain
who would be appointed by the city council of Sibiu.46 However, it seems that
the councillors did not take seriously this responsibility, as a few years later the
magistracy of Braşov applied to the king himself, complaining about the fact
that no chaplain had been sent to serve in the chapel of St Catherine, which as
a result was in very poor condition.47
42
Kollányi, ‘Magyar ferencrendiek’, p. 915.
43
Régi magyar codexek és nyomtatványok, ed. by Volf, xii, 400–03.
44
Horváth, A magyar irodalmi műveltség kezdetei, pp. 202–18.
45
Sheingorn, ‘Appropriating the Holy Kinship: Gender and Family History’.
46
Urkundenbuch, ed. by Zimmermann and others, vii, 17–19, doc. 4005.
47
Urkundenbuch, ed. by Zimmermann and others, vii, 128, doc. 4169.
224 Carmen Florea
It is unclear what happened in the end to the Cistercian nuns of Braşov who
were grouped around the chapel of the virgin martyr Catherine. The surviving
tax registers of the town inform us in 1480 and again in 1490 that near this
chapel, in the Katharinenhof, lived nineteen women who belonged to the cate-
gory of the poor inhabitants of the town, although not to that of the extremely
poor. It has been argued that they embraced the way of life of the beguines,
leading a life in common and providing for themselves, since they were men-
tioned as weavers, wax makers, and one of them even as Schreiberin.48 The com-
plicated situation of female religious in this town with regard to their insti-
tutional affiliation thus complements our understanding of the local contexts
which decisively shaped the religious life ‘of the other half of Christendom’.
Transylvanian women living a monastic life in the late Middle Ages thus
had several choices they could opt for when deciding to join a religious order.
On the one hand, the examples investigated here suggest that affiliation with
the Cistercian and Dominican Order was available to well-to-do women, most
likely those who were young and unmarried. On the other, association with the
Franciscans, particularly with the Third Order that the Observants supervised,
appears to have been favoured by women who found themselves in a vulner-
able condition because of their widowhood, old age, or even illness. Whilst the
surviving source material is neither generous nor does it take into account all
female communities which have been attested in medieval Transylvania, it can
nonetheless be observed that female monasticism was primarily linked with
towns and articulated in direct connection with the specificities of urban reli-
gious life.
48
Philippi, ‘Die Unterschichten der Siebenbürgischen Stadt Braşov (Kronstadt)’, pp. 671–73.
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An Archaeological Perspective
on Female Monasticism in
the Middle Ages in Ireland
Tracy Collins
C
oncepts of monasticism or ‘getting closer to God’ first developed in the
East, which made isolated, physically enclosed spaces sacred through
prayer and contemplation.1 Two complementary strands of monas-
ticism developed in this region: eremitism, a deliberately solitary life led by
hermits; and coenobitism, or a communal way of life.2 While there were some
differences in how women were perceived within the nascent monastic tradi-
tion, they were accommodated from its origins. For example, Gregory of Nyssa
created an ascetic community for his sister Macrina. By entering such a com-
munity, she was considered to have ‘surpassed’ her gender.3 This perceived tran-
scendence of gender meant that male and female could mix together without
sexual impropriety. By the late third to early fourth centuries, the Nile delta and
Asia Minor were the location of several mixed monastic communities.
Pachomius was instrumental in the development of coenobitic or commu-
nity monasticism.4 However, Pachomius did have ‘proximity anxiety’ about mix-
1
McNamara, ‘Monasticism and Nuns’.
2
Dunn, The Emergence of Monasticism, pp. 1–41; Harmless, ‘Monasticism’.
3
Dunn, The Emergence of Monasticism, p. 43.
4
McNamara, ‘Monasticism and Nuns’, pp. 580–82.
Tracy Collins ([email protected]) is a doctoral candidate in the Department of Archaeology,

University College Cork, Ireland, and archaeologist and company director at Aegis Archaeology
Ltd, Limerick, Ireland.
230 Tracy Collins
ing male and female, so he did not establish mixed communities.5 In Alexandria,
a number of wealthy women joined together and vowed themselves to virgin-
ity and continence, some with men in ‘spiritual marriage’. By the 350s, Roman
women had become interested in monasticism.
It is traditionally thought that St Patrick introduced Christianity and
monasticism to Ireland in the 430s, though it is likely that several missionaries
facilitated its spread.6 It is known from Patrick’s writings (his Confessio and his
letters) that religious women were present at the introduction of this new reli-
gion into Ireland.7 Hagiographic writings and saints’ lives also suggest the pres-
ence of religious women in the early medieval period in Ireland.8 Four impor-
tant Irish female saints have vitae and all are reputed to have founded nunner-
ies: Brigit (Brighid) of Kildare, who was born in Faughart and died at Kildare
in the 520s, is the most famous of all the female saints; Ita (Íde) of Killeedy,
who was born in Waterford and died in the 570s; Monenna (Moninne) of
Killevy, who died in 519; and Samhthann of Clonbroney, who died in 734.9
Christina Harrington has used their lives to plot their travels throughout the
island. She has demonstrated that that all four travelled extensively and are
associated with many nunnery foundations, many of which have archaeologi-
cal remains.10 Therefore, the popular perception of enclosure and isolation, for
these religious women at any rate, does not appear to hold true.
Brigit’s foundation at Kildare appears to have been a particularly important
site in the early medieval period. Literature, such as that written by Cogitosus
in the seventh century, suggests that this was a mixed community of monks
and nuns ruled by Brigit herself, and, after her death, by an abbess.11 He par-
ticularly describes the functioning of the church and how it was shared with
the community, while maintaining a strict separation of the sexes.12 The site
was reputed to have housed a perpetual flame maintained by the nuns for many
5
Dunn, The Emergence of Monasticism, p. 46.
6
Duffy, ‘The Arrival of Christianity’; Thom, Early Irish Monasticism, p. 5.
7
De Paor, Patrick: The Pilgrim Apostle of Ireland, pp. 121–29.
8
Harrington, Women in a Celtic Church.
9
Ó Riain, A Dictionary of Irish Saints, pp. 123–25, 375–78, 545–46.
10
Harrington, Women in a Celtic Church, maps 1–4.
11
Connolly and Picard, ‘Cogitosus’s Life of St Brigit’.
12
De Vegvar, ‘Romanitas and Realpolitik’; Bitel, Landscape with Two Saints, pp. 137–61;
Ó Carragáin, Churches in Early Medieval Ireland, p. 172.
An Archaeological Perspective on Female Monasticism in Ireland 231
centuries, which even Gerald of Wales commented upon.13 This association

with fire has led many to suggest that Brigit might represent a Christianization
of a pagan deity.14 While there is a historical record for Kildare, its nunnery
material culture is sparse, and includes an undiagnostic structure called the ‘fire
house’, while its cathedral and round tower do not betray any distinctive nun-
nery traits (although they would not be expected to).15
Other important early medieval nunneries, which lack the historical accounts
of Kildare, include Killeedy, Killevy, and Clonbroney, already mentioned, and
others such as Ballyvourney, founded by St Gobnait or Cloonburren, whose
founding saint is unknown.16 Therefore, from the beginning of the Middle Ages,
religious women were functioning in Ireland as female saints, nuns, priests’
wives, and pilgrims. The documentary evidence from the later Middle Ages
(referred to as the later medieval period in Ireland), which includes letters, pat-
ent rolls, and other state papers, also records female recluses, anchorites, nuns,
and the female orders.17 While mystics and beguines are recorded elsewhere in
this period, no reference has yet been found for their presence in Ireland.18
Scholars have demonstrated that records relating to nunneries have much
to reveal when they are explored.19 How can the discipline of archaeology
elucidate the lives of these women religious? Women, and in particular reli-
gious women, are mentioned in Irish archaeological literature; nevertheless,
they continue to remain an understudied resource. Archaeology can make a
significant contribution to the study of medieval religious women and help fill
this lacuna.20 Indeed, the study of medieval monastic archaeology in Ireland
has been unbalanced in favour of male monasticism. Religious male houses of
13
O Meara, The History and Topography of Ireland, pp. 81–82.
14
Ó Catháin, ‘Hearth-Prayers and other Traditions of Brigit’; Ó Duinn, The Rites of Brigid;
Swift, ‘Brigid, Patrick and the Kings of Kildare’, esp. p. 100. However, for an alternative view, see
Harrington, Women in a Celtic Church, pp. 63–68.
15
Andrews, Irish Historic Towns Atlas No. 1: Kildare.
16
Both these places have archaeological remains dating to the early medieval period,
though little is known of their early history.
17
Hall, Women and the Church; Kenny, Anglo-Irish and Gaelic Women, pp. 169–84; Ó
Clabaigh, ‘Anchorites in Late Medieval Ireland’.
18
For example, Dickens, The Female Mystic, and Neel, ‘The Origins of the Beguines’.
19
Hall, ‘Towards a Prosopography of Nuns’; Mac Curtain, ‘Late Medieval Nunneries’;
Burton, ‘Looking for Medieval Nuns’.
20
Edwards, ‘Early Medieval Munster’, esp. p. 204; Harrington, Women in a Celtic Church,
pp. 49–51; Hall, Women and the Church, pp. 96–97.
232 Tracy Collins
all orders and time periods have been comprehensively studied, and academic
interest in their remains continues to thrive.21
Subtle differences can be identified in the treatment of medieval religious men
and women in archaeological discourses. Stereotypes of both male and female
religious tend to feature both in archaeology and history.22 The archaeological
study of women has generally followed the three waves of feminism.23 After the
identification of androcentrism across archaeological studies, a remedial phase,
called the ‘add women and stir’ approach, was adopted, in for example Medieval
English Nunneries.24 These studies, while ground-breaking, are now considered
somewhat essentialist, as they seek to make religious women ‘visible’, which is
no longer considered adequate for a truly engendered approach. Thus, many
early studies are being revisited by modern scholars influenced by postmodernist
thought, which has been influential in gender theory-building, particularly post-
processual archaeologies and the study of space, temporality, and the life course.25
In many aspects of archaeology, man and the male have long been considered
the standard. This has been dubbed ‘man as the measure’.26 Roberta Gilchrist,
in particular, rejects this status quo as it belies the premise ‘that women, their
behaviour and material culture, can be recognized only as a deviant pattern to
a standard which is male’.27 In Ireland and elsewhere, female monastic houses,
where known and considered, are (unfairly) compared to this male standard
and are found lacking. Gilchrist has shown in her research that nunneries in
England did not have the same purpose and functions as male houses and so
to make direct comparisons results in meaningless conclusions.28 This method
of approach is somewhat easier said than done. The popular ‘mental template’
of a monastery, whether it is a male house or a nunnery, originates in the male
21
For example, Clyne, Kells Priory, Co. Kilkenny and ‘The Founders and Patrons of the
Premonstratensian Houses in Ireland’; Doherty, Doran, and Kelly, Glendalough; Ó Clabaigh,
The Friars in Ireland.
22
For reviews, see Mac Curtain, O Dowd, and Luddy, ‘An Agenda for Women’s History
in Ireland’; Gilchrist, ‘Women’s Archaeology?’; Gilchrist, Gender and Archaeology, pp. 1–16;
Bhreathnach, ‘Medieval Irish History’.
23
For example, Wylie, ‘Gender Theory and the Archaeological Record’.
24
Knapp, ‘Boys Will Be Boys’; Power, English Nunneries.
25
For example, McNamara, Sisters in Arms; Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture;
Stuard, Considering Medieval Women and Gender.
26
Spector, ‘What This Awl Means’.
27
Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture, p. 6.
28
standard. Therefore, it is not an easy task to challenge this male-based tem-

plate in order to highlight the complexities and nuances in the archaeological
record of female houses. This challenge is, however, essential and the basis of
any gendered archaeological approach.29 This is a key theoretical perspective
which allows the complexity of female monasticism in Ireland to be realized.
The strategy of a gendered archaeology is applied to the Irish data in order to
interpret the evidence in new ways and to generate further debate. As with any
theoretical approach, there are pitfalls! Scholars inevitably bring their own
background and baggage to their research, and the bias of presentism looms in
any archaeological study. Archaeologists inhabit ‘the past’ archaeological land-
scape in the ‘present’.30 Indeed, it has been suggested that archaeology itself is
the most recent form of dwelling on an ancient site and is thus part of its story.31
Considering the volume of data on nunneries in Ireland dating to the
Middle Ages, surprisingly very little archaeological work has been undertaken,
and no archaeological synthesis has been published.32 Archaeological sources
of information for nunneries in medieval Ireland are wide ranging. In addition
to historical evidence,33 manuscripts, and hagiographic information mentioned
previously, there are images of religious women in figure sculptures, tomb
carvings, and several artefacts.34 Some artefacts are attributed to female saints
themselves, such as St Brigit’s mantle and shoe, the crosier of St Dympna, or the
cross and cup of St Attracta.35 The nunnery sites and their architecture can be
recorded in the field and are complemented by historic mapping, archaeologi-
cal inventories, aerial photography, local histories, and folk memory.36
29
Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture; Gilchrist, Contemplation and Action.
30
Frazer, ‘The Public Forum and the Space Between’, p. 204.
31
Thomas, ‘Archaeologies of Place and Landscape’, p. 181.
32
Unpublished studies have been done, for example, Ronan, ‘Irish Nunneries’.
33
Most recently, Harrington, Women in a Celtic Church; Hall, Women and the Church;
Bitel, Landscape with Two Saints (with references). Occasionally studies of nunneries abroad
mention Irish sites, for instance, Gilchrist, Contemplation and Action.
34
For example, a corbel of a female head at Killone, County Clare; tomb surrounds
showing St Brigit as at Cashel Cathedral, County Tipperary; Abbess Alice Butler’s Tomb in St
Canice’s Cathedral, Kilkenny; and the reliquary known as the Domnach Airgid.
35
McClintock, ‘The “Mantle of St Brigid” at Bruges’; Mac Dermott, ‘The Crosiers of St
Dympna and St Mel’. Images of St Brigit’s shoe are reproduced in Ó Floinn, Irish Shrines and
Reliquaries, p. 44, and Bitel, Landscape with Two Saints, p. 200. For St Attracta’s relics, see Ó
Floinn, Irish Shrines and Reliquaries, p. 30; Hall, Women and the Church, p. 117.
36
Collins, ‘An Archaeology of Female Monasticism’.
234 Tracy Collins
Place and townland name evidence, as well as local tradition, can also be
useful in identifying nunnery sites. Place names such as Nun’s Island, Nunsacre,
Nunsland, Nun’s Quarter, and Nunstown all point to the previous presence
of nuns or their land holdings. Furthermore, the Irish word for nun is cail-
leach, meaning ‘veiled one’, and, interestingly, it also translates as ‘hag’ or ‘old
wise woman’.37 Place names incorporating cailleach and its derivatives include
Ballynacallagh, Ballynagallagh, Monasternagalliaghduff (the monastery of the
black nuns), and Templenagalliadoo (the church of the black nuns).
Another possible source for religious women, particularly dating to the
early medieval period in Ireland, is the occurrence of segregated burial places.
Some ecclesiastical sites are known as specific burial places for women, such as
Relignaman, County Tyrone.38 Other larger sites also had an area designated
for women, either a church or burial place, as on Inishmurray or Inishglora
Islands.39 It has been noted that contemporary sources provide no concrete evi-
dence that separate burial of the sexes or children was normal in Ireland from
ad 900–1500, but there is a good deal to show that there were cemeteries in
Ireland devoted exclusively to the burial of men, women, or children.40
Following this suggestion, excavated female human remains might contrib-
ute to the identification of religious women in the archaeological record who
may represent priests’ wives, pilgrims, or nuns.41 Archaeological data from an
intensive period of recent excavation in Ireland has been collated in several
open access state-funded databases, such as Mapping Death and the National
Roads Authority.42 Mapping Death covers the early medieval period to the
eleventh century and includes some sixty-one sites containing female burials.
However, none is suggestive of obvious segregated burial.43 The archaeological
37
Ní Dhonnchadha, ‘Cailleach and Other Terms for Veiled Women’; Ó Crualaoich, The
Book of ‘The Cailleach’, pp. 81–99.
38
Hamlin and Foley, ‘A Women’s Graveyard’.
39
O’Sullivan and Ó Carragáin, Inishmurray Monks and Pilgrims, pp. 152–58, 243–46;
Harbison, Guide to National and Historic Monuments of Ireland, p. 247, for Inishglora.
40
Fry, Burial in Medieval Ireland, p. 180.
41
Harrington, Women in a Celtic Church, p. 50–51. However, her example of the female
burial at Church Island, County Kerry, is problematic, as not all the burials were analysed from
the excavations and so it is unclear if this was a single female burial. O Kelly, ‘Church Island
near Valentia Co. Kerry’.
42
For Mapping Death, see <www.mappingdeath.ie>; for the National Roads Authority,
see <www.nra.ie/archaeology> [both accessed 3 March 2015].
43
The writer is grateful to Dr Elizabeth O Brien for supplying information on relevant sites.
evidence from sites which do have lower numbers of segregated female burials
does not permit a religious or ecclesiastical interpretation. Most sites appear
to be related to ancestral burial places known as Ferta, and, more recently,
cemetery settlements.44 Similarly, there was a lack of archaeological burial evi-
dence from later medieval nunneries until recently, as none was investigated
archaeologically.45 Some are mentioned in historical evidence. For example,
Gormlaith, an anchorite who died in 1437, was buried in religious habit; and
Fionnuala O’Connor, who had retired to the nunnery at Killeigh, was buried
there in 1447.46
I have undertaken research which has identified a total of some 114 medi-
eval nunnery sites in Ireland. Of that number, forty-nine date to the early
medieval period (c. 450–1140) and sixty-five to the later medieval period
(c. 1140–1540). There are some further seventy-six sites identified as possible
nunnery locations.47 Finally, there are eight sites which are known from docu-
mentary sources but which remain unlocated. It is important to note that these
sites were never all used at the same time, and several sites were abandoned to
be later replaced elsewhere. Ten nunnery sites have an early and a later medieval
phase, but which may not necessarily have been continuously occupied.48
Early medieval nunneries are known, including those at the larger ecclesi-
astical centres of Armagh, Clonmacnoise, Glendalough, and Kildare. Armagh
and Clonmacnoise each have two nunnery sites adjacent: Temple-na-Ferta
and Temple Brigit at Armagh; and the Nuns’ Church and possibly Temple
Finghin at Clonmacnoise. Temple Finghin has only recently been identified
as a possible second nunnery.49 Other important early ecclesiastical sites, such
as Finglas and Tallaght, which are now no longer extant, also had nunner-
44
Ó Carragáin, ‘From Family Cemeteries to Community Cemeteries’.
45
There have been a few investigations adjacent to nunneries which discovered female
human remains, for example, Graney, County Kildare. The writer is grateful to Byrne, Mullins
and Associates archaeological consultants for providing this unpublished report.
46
Fry, Burial in Medieval Ireland, p. 159.
47
In the majority of these cases the foundation date is unknown. This number is not
exhaustive and includes sites which have a female saint dedication, local tradition, or tentative
place name.
48
None of these sites has been extensively excavated, and so it cannot be demonstrated
archaeologically if they were continually occupied. It is possible that the larger nunneries were
continuously occupied, with the nuns adopting a rule and order in the twelfth century when
the church was being reformed; see Flanagan, The Transformation of the Irish Church.
49
Manning, ‘Finghin MacCarthaigh, King of Desmond’.
236 Tracy Collins
Map 10.1. Distribution map of nunneries in Ireland in the Middle Ages.

Map by the author.
ies adjacent.50 Smaller early medieval nunnery sites include the ecclesiastical
complex on Inishglora Island and a possible nunnery at Templecashel. What
would these nunnery sites have looked like originally? It is suggested that they
probably looked similar to those ecclesiastical sites which are extant along the
western seaboard, containing a small church and circular huts within a usually
sub-circular enclosure.51 It is postulated that some of these sites were occupied
by mixed communities, or communities that may have been more segregated,
though in close proximity, such as Armagh, Clonmacnoise, or Glendalough.
It is likely that monks, priests, and nuns interacted and may have been related.
The somewhat artificial division of the Middle Ages in Irish history is pri-
marily created by the reforms of the church in the twelfth century, which archae-
ologists use to define the early from the later medieval period. This reform was
constituted at a series of church synods, such as that of Rathbreasil in 1111.
These re-established dioceses throughout the country and made Armagh the
primary church (although Kildare greatly disputed this primacy). Tuam and
Cashel were later established as archbishoprics.52 St Malachy was a leader of this
reform and returned from travels with a continental approach to monasticism
along with the Rule of St Benedict. He is singularly credited with introduc-
ing both the Cistercians and the Augustinians to Ireland.53 The archaeological
record perhaps illustrates this reform most starkly, with a monastic claustral lay-
out being adopted in male and female houses, such as at the nunnery of Killone,
an Augustinian house founded in the late twelfth century by the O Briens.54
Many of the later nunneries in Ireland were affiliated to major orders:
Cistercians (six sites), Augustinians (eight), those following the Arroasian rule
(forty), and Franciscans (four).55 Some nunneries were originally Benedictine
but later changed to other orders, such as Kilcreevanty, Downpatrick, and
possibly Cork. Only the nunnery at Wicklow is definitely a Benedictine
50
Harrington, Women in a Celtic Church, pp. 104–30.
51
For example, O Kelly, ‘Church Island near Valentia Co. Kerry’; Fanning, ‘Excavation of
an Early Christian Cemetery and Settlement’; White-Marshall and Walsh, Illaunloughan Island;
Sheehan, ‘A Peacock’s Tale’.
52
Flanagan, The Transformation of the Irish Church.
53
Flanagan, ‘St Mary’s Abbey Louth’; Stalley, The Cistercian Monasteries of Ireland, pp. 7–16;
O Keeffe, ‘Augustinian Regular Canons’.
54
Collins, The Other Monasticism.
55
There are no known medieval nunneries of the Dominican Order, although there are
several founded in the post-medieval period.
238 Tracy Collins
house, of which nothing is now extant. Killeentrynode is doubtfully of the

Premonstratensian Order.56 Interestingly, a female recluse is recorded at their
house of Holy Trinity, although this site was never considered a nunnery.57 Six
nunnery sites cannot be affiliated to any order.
The ‘double houses’ or orders which were specifically dedicated to women
religious, such as Sempringham and Fontevraud, were never established in
Ireland.58 There is a possibility though that some religious houses here may have
been co-located, where men and women religious lived in proximity and may
have shared facilities and duties.59 It has been suggested that order affiliation is
an unhelpful category to employ when studying nunneries because of its fluid
nature, and the fact that many nunneries were never actually officially affiliat-
ed.60 However, there must have been reasons for preferring one order’s ethos
and rule over another, although whether this choice was through the agency
of the nuns themselves or the patron is difficult to gauge. In Ireland, there is a
preference for the Augustinian of Arroasian observance for nunneries; while
nunnery identity in England was distinctly Benedictine; while in Scotland and
Wales, their identity was predominately Cistercian.61
Prior to this study, there were a number of gaps in the research. The first is
the classification of the nunnery sites on various national databases and inven-
tories.62 Many of the sites are not classified as ‘nunneries’ but rather cover a
range of archaeological site types, including church, graveyard, deserted settle-
ment, ecclesiastical enclosure or site, castle, fortified house, holy well, or even
male religious house. A very small number remain unrecorded. This situation
is understandable as classification of an archaeological site rests on the extant
56
Miriam Clyne suggests that this order did not found nunneries in Ireland as it was already
prohibited when it was established in Ireland (personal communication, 28 April 2012).
57
Clyne, ‘Archaeological Excavations at Holy Trinity Abbey’; Ó Clabaigh, ‘Anchorites in
Late Medieval Ireland’, p. 155.
58
Golding, Gilbert of Sempringham; Kerr, Religious Life for Women.
59
For example, several Cistercian houses and many Augustinian of Arroasian observance:
Stalley, The Cistercian Monasteries of Ireland, pp. 22–23; and Flanagan, The Transformation of
the Irish Church, pp. 149–61, who coined the useful term ‘co-located’.
60
Burton, Monastic and Religious Orders, p. 86; Jäggi and Lobbedey, ‘Church and
Cloister’, p. 119.
61
Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture, p. 61; Hall, Scottish Monastic Landscapes,
pp. 87–202; Cartwright, Feminine Sanctity and Spirituality in Medieval Wales, pp. 177–81.
62
See National Monuments Service <www.archaeology.ie> [accessed 3 March 2015], the
portal for the Archaeological Survey of Ireland and various published county inventories.
Figure 10.1. Carrowntemple, County Roscommon, showing a small church with

attached domestic accommodation, viewed from northwest. Photo by the author.
remains identified during field survey, and usually the site is manifested in its
last function. The reuse of many of these sites causes their nunnery function to
be sometimes overlooked. A second gap in the archaeological evidence from
medieval nunneries in Ireland is the lack of archaeological investigation and
excavation. There have been only eighteen modern investigations over a fifty-
six-year period from 1951 to 2007 — and of that number, only four could be
considered to be research driven.63 In order to rectify this, I have undertaken
excavations at St Catherine’s, Old Abbey (see below).
A popular view of later medieval nunneries in Ireland is that most followed
the typical claustral plan of many of their male counterparts. Many of the nun-
neries in Ireland do not appear to have had cloisters. While it is possible that a
number now have no extant trace, or that they were constructed in timber, there
is a significant number of smaller churches, some with attached accommoda-
tion, that suggest a much more fluid arrangement was employed. This is not
unique, and the phenomenon has previously been noted on the Continent.64
One such site is Tisrara, Carrowntemple, where excavations revealed a later
medieval church with attached first floor domestic accommodation over a dou-
ble vaulted transept.65 Inishmaine Abbey similarly lacks a claustral plan, but
has probable domestic spaces attached to its church. In this case, it has a large
separate gatehouse which would have provided extra accommodation.66
63
See Database of Irish Excavation Reports <www.excavations.ie> [accessed 3 March
2014], a database of all licenced archaeological work undertaken in Ireland.
64
Jäggi and Lobbedey, ‘Church and Cloister’, p. 119.
65
Higgins, The Tisrara Medieval Church.
66
Healy, ‘Two Royal Abbeys by the Western Lakes’.
240 Tracy Collins
While it is clear from the historical evidence that many of the larger later
medieval nunneries, of which nothing now remains extant, such as St Mary
de Hogges and Grace Dieu, Lismullin, or Kilculliheen, probably did utilize a
claustral layout, there are now only three nunneries where this ‘standard’ claus-
tral plan is extant. They are St Catherine’s Old Abbey, founded sometime before
1261; Molough, founded sometime in the fourteenth century; and Killone,
founded around 1189. Their extant cloisters measure 508 metres, 392 metres
and 217 metres squared respectively.67
St Catherine’s is located in the southwest of Ireland in the county of
Limerick.68 This region was once part of the ancient area of Connello and
within the territory of the Anglo-Irish earls of Desmond, who were its patrons.
Its precise foundation date is not known, though it is likely, however, that it
was founded in the mid-thirteenth century, as its founder is known to have
died in the 1260s.69 While the nunnery now appears to be in an isolated rural
location, it is centrally placed near Desmond strongholds in the region, includ-
ing the early castle site at Shanid to the south-west, and the medieval towns of
Askeaton to the north-east and Newcastlewest to the south. The medieval vil-
lage of Shanagolden is just four kilometres to the west.70
The nunnery comprises the claustral complex, with several features remain-
ing within its surrounding precinct. The precinct boundary is no longer extant,
nor can it be traced in the field boundaries due to field amalgamation. Features
in the precinct include an arched entrance gateway, a dovecote, and a fishpond,
to the south and west of the main complex. Water management appears to have
been undertaken at the site, where two streams converge to run adjacent to the
nunnery, while also filling the fishpond. A number of small footbridges have
been identified, which span the watercourses, facilitating access to the nunnery
complex.
Its parallelogram church unusually projects from the east wall of the clois-
ter.71 There is evidence for two ranges, one on the west, comprising three vaulted
rooms on the ground floor with dormitory accommodation above. The south
67
All are affiliated with the Augustinian Order and located in the province of Munster.
68
St Catherine’s was chosen as a case study and for excavation, as it is the best preserved
and is no longer used for burial.
69
Lydon, ‘A Land of War’, esp. p. 252.
70
Wardell, ‘The History and Antiquities of St Catherine’s’; Keegan, ‘The Archaeology of
Manorial Settlement’.
71
This is a unique arrangement in Ireland. The only other two known are in Dartford,
England, and a second near Paris.
Figure 10.2.
A Claustral plans of nunneries.
A. St Catherine’s, Old
Abbey, County Limerick
showing excavated
archaeological trenches.
B. Molough, Molough
abbey, County Tipperary.
C. Killone, Newhall,
County Clare.
Drawings by the author.
B
C
242 Tracy Collins
range contains the refectory. The kitchen extends to the south and is adjacent
to a watercourse. There is no north range, and the cloister is completed by a
high wall. There is no evidence for a chapter house. The building survey and
phasing indicates two main phases of construction, the first dated to the mid-
thirteenth century. It appears that the west range was built first, then the inner
cloister walls, followed by rest of the ranges. The kitchen section is later, as it
partially obscures the refectory’s windows. The church also appears to be later,
though also dating to the thirteenth century.
The second phase of building dates to sometime in the fifteenth century,
when the nuns’ church became a parish church.72 These amendments included
the raising of the wall plate of the church, which changed its roof, the blocking
of a large west window, and a number of smaller windows, and the insertion of
a north doorway, presumably for parishioners’ use. A small structure was also
added at the west end of the church, on its southern side.73 A small doorway,
with an external porch, was also inserted in the north wall of the cloister in
order to facilitate direct access.74
Excavations within the nunnery complex revealed a substantial wall to the
eastern and northern sides of the cloister, which was interpreted as the basal
courses of the cloister arcade wall. This feature appeared to have been disman-
tled in the past as no arcade fragments were recovered.75 It would have sup-
ported a lean-to roof over the cloister ambulatory, the line of which can still be
identified by the presence of corbels. The ambulatory was significantly wider
on the northern side of the cloister. I am suggesting that it was probably used
for everyday activities, such as reading or needlework, due to its south-facing
aspect. The ambulatory was floored in a stony metalled surface. This was similar
to floor surfaces identified in the refectory area near the location of a reader’s
recess and also in the kitchen range.
The excavations revealed that the ground plan of the nunnery was changed
quite early on in its construction. An east range was begun (identified to the
72
Gywnn and Hadcock, Medieval Religious Houses, p. 323.
73
This structure was described as a sacristy by Westropp; however, its location at the west
end of the church is highly unusual. It has similarities with a recluse’s cell, though again its
location is unusual for this function; see Ó Clabaigh, ‘Anchorites in Late Medieval Ireland’, for
other examples. A small squint (window) is located at the east end of the church, which seems
an original feature, which also suggests that the nunnery may have had a recluse at some time.
74
A geophysical survey was undertaken to the north of this doorway in the adjacent field.
No features related to the nunnery were revealed.
75
A single fragment of possible cloister arcade was recorded by Wardell, which is now lost.
north-east of the complex outside the church), which formed an interior space
with mortar floor. For reasons not clear, this plan was abandoned, its access
doorway to the cloister was blocked, and the church foundations dug through
the mortar layer. The elaborate doorway for a room in this range (perhaps the
chapter house?) became the west doorway of the church, though it was posi-
tioned slightly off-centre of the church in the revised plan.
Although there was no local tradition of burial in the nunnery, and only
one thirteenth-century grave slab had been identified, which is now lost, many
burials were found during the excavation.76 Burials were located in the cloister
ambulatory, the church, and outside, immediately to the north of the church.
Interestingly, no burials or ex situ human remains were found in the cloister
garth, which suggests it was deliberately kept free of burials. Radio carbon dat-
ing has shown that many of the burials were contemporary with the nunnery’s
use and are likely to represent members of the religious community and its
parishioners.77 Burial in cloister ambulatories is not unusual in an Irish context.
Excavations at the friary at Ennis uncovered many burials within its ambulato-
ries, some placed three burials deep, while at Tintern burials were also discov-
ered in its ambulatories.78
Artefacts, in addition to several ex situ architectural fragments, included a
pruning hook and a variety of local medieval pottery wares, possibly from the
nearby medieval town of Adare, and some imported pottery such as Saintonge
from southwest France. A fragment of a candlestick was recovered from a trench
at the east end of the church, which was perhaps used on the altar. An incised
ship on plaster on the southern wall of the church’s nave towards its western end
was also identified during the archaeological investigations. The ship has been
identified to the keel tradition of shipbuilding, a type which would have been
in use in Ireland from the thirteenth to the seventeenth century.79 These ship
motifs are ecclesiastical Christian symbols, and it is likely that they formed part
of a larger pictorial scheme, of which no trace now remains. Incised motifs else-
where suggest that they would have been painted.80 The location of the ship at St
76
For the grave slab, see Wardell, ‘The History and Antiquities of St Catherine’s’, p. 56.
77
Collins, ‘Excavations at St Catherine’s Old Abbey, Co. Limerick’.
78
O’Sullivan, Roberts, and Halliday, ‘Archaeological Excavation of Medieval, Post-Medi
eval and Modern Burials’; Ó Donnabháin ‘The Human Remains’.
79
Brady and Corlett, ‘Holy Ships’. I am grateful to Karl Brady for identifying the ship
type. Collins, ‘Missing the Boat…’.
80
Morton, ‘Iconography and Dating of the Wall Paintings’; Morton, ‘Aspects of Image
244 Tracy Collins
Figure 10.3. An outline of the incised ship graffiti in the church at St Catherine’s. Photo by the author.
Catherine’s towards the west end of the church suggests that it may mark the loca-
tion of an altar, as other ships are usually in proximity to an altar. The west end of
the church is actually not an unusual location for the nuns’ space, and west end
choirs and galleries for nuns are known from both England and the Continent.81
The archaeological investigation at St Catherine’s is the first dedicated
research excavation of an extant claustral-plan nunnery in Ireland. Meaningful
results have emerged from the excavations. It has been noted that the construc-
tion plan for the nunnery changed at an early stage in its development, and the
west range was the earliest building on site. It is possible that this was a pre-
existing structure which was re-used in the nunnery complex. In the fifteenth
century the interior of the church was likely to have been decorated, at least in
part, and the nuns probably used the west end of the church for their own use.
and Meaning’, esp. 66–67; Brady and Corlett, ‘Ships on Plaster’.

81
Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture, pp. 97, 101–02;. Jäggi and Lobbedey, ‘Church
and Cloister’, p. 121.
The nunnery, while being an impressive structure in an Irish context, did not
contain expensive fittings; for example, no floor tiles were recovered, and floor
surfaces were either earthen (in kitchen) or metalled (in refectory and cloister
ambulatories). Several fragments of medieval pottery were recovered and a few
artefacts, most notably a fragment of a pruning hook and a candlestick. Burial
was undertaken in the early years of the nunnery’s use in the thirteenth century
and continued intermittently until after it was abandoned in the sixteenth cen-
tury. The church interior, cloister, and outside the church were all used for bur-
ial. The burials included men, women, and children. These are likely representa-
tive of the nuns themselves, laypeople, and possibly the male clergy, although
there were no ‘special’ graves uncovered.
Building on the scholarship on medieval religious women, this research
attempts to elucidate all aspects of material culture relating to medieval nun-
neries in Ireland. The broad gender approach adopted is an ideal perspective
from which to ask new questions of the archaeological evidence. This provides
‘new angles of vision’ — angles and perspectives which have not yet been fully
considered in the study of female monasticism in medieval Ireland.82 A con-
sideration of the wider archaeological landscape around nunneries may help to
illuminate nunnery communities and how they interacted with the surround-
ing lordships and towns, and the people who lived there. This will reveal more
about medieval nunneries in Ireland, the religious women who inhabited them,
and will hopefully paint a more balanced picture of monasticism.
The archaeolog y of female monasticism and medieval nunneries in
Ireland to date has been greatly understudied. For the early medieval period
(c. 450–1100), the archaeological record for nunneries includes small commu-
nities at sites such as Inishglora Island and larger monastic ‘cities’ of Armagh,
Kildare, Glendalough, Clonmacnoise, Tallaght, and Finglas. Many of these
sites would have housed mixed communities of holy women and men, work-
ing, living, and praying together. In the later medieval period (c. 1100–1540),
nunneries became more formalized in Ireland with the introduction of the
Continental orders and their rules. Monastic enclosure, architecturally mani-
fested in a claustral arrangement, though not exclusively, became a feature of
female monastic life, perhaps to a greater extent than in the earlier period. It is
a popular belief that enclosure was strictly observed, particularly after 1298.83
Individual nunnery histories suggest that they were more ‘permeable cloisters’,
82
Wylie, ‘The Interplay of Evidential Constraints and Political Interest’.
83
Schulenburg, ‘Strict Active Enclosure’; Makowski, Canon Law and Cloistered Women.
246 Tracy Collins
as abbesses, prioresses, and nuns negotiated their medieval world through

patronage, family connections, the wider church, their estates, and pastoral
works within their community.84 The archaeological evidence similarly sug-
gests, through analyses of architecture, space, and layout, that enclosure may
have been more symbolic than actual. These medieval nuns interacted with
society in their hinterlands and further afield, and their lives were ones of con-
templation and action.85
An archaeology of female monasticism in Ireland is emerging. Rather than
having a distinct architecture, later medieval nunneries use the architectural
‘grammar’ of monasticism in a variety of fluid forms. Patronage appears to have
been the key factor in the location and distribution of nunnery sites in Ireland,
as has been demonstrated elsewhere.86 Like the British evidence, medieval
nunneries in Ireland had different functions than male monasteries, and so it
is unhelpful to consider them deviant to a standard which is male. Nunneries
should be compared to their own standard.
84
Hall, Women and the Church, pp. 159–90.
85
Gilchrist, Contemplation and Action.
86
Stöber, Late Medieval Monasteries.
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Silk Purse or Sow’s Ear?
The Art and Architecture of the
Cistercian Nunnery of Swine, Yorkshire
Michael Carter*
A
total of thirteen nunneries in medieval Yorkshire had a Cistercian
identity (Map 11.1).1 Unlike the eight Cistercian abbeys in the county,
their art and architecture has received little scholarly attention. This
is partly because the nunneries have traditionally been regarded as small,
peripheral, and scandal-ridden institutions. Their spiritual life has been char-
acterized as having the same poverty as their endowments.2 The fullest analysis
of their art and architecture is John Nichols’s 1982 article, which provides a
useful description and catalogue of their often scanty physical remains.3 Since
the publication of Nichols’s essay, the history of England’s medieval nunner-
ies has been largely reappraised, and long-held views about the characteristics

* With thanks to Janet Burton, Glyn Coppack, Steve Edwards, David Park, and Charles
Tracy for their assistance during the preparation of this essay.
1
Knowles and Hadcock, Medieval Religious Houses, pp. 284–85 lists twelve: Baysdale,
Ellerton, Esholt, Hampole, Handale, Keldholme, Kirklees, Nun Appleton, Rosedale, Sinning
thwaite, Swine, and Wykeham. The list was recently augmented with a thirteenth house,
Arthington, which was described as Cistercian by the Order’s General Chapter in 1539; see
Freeman, ‘“Houses of a Peculiar Order”’, p. 284.
2
For instance, see Power, English Medieval Nunneries, especially pp. 597–601.
3
Nichols, ‘Medieval English Cistercian Nunneries’.
Michael Carter ([email protected]) is a senior properties historian at

English Heritage.
254 Michael Carter
Map 11.1.
The location of Cistercian
nunneries in northern England.
Map drawn by Steve Edwards.
of female monasticism have been challenged.4 Moreover, important studies

on the art and architecture of late medieval nuns, especially their material and
visual cultures, have appeared.5 (For example, Glyn Coppack recently used
reports compiled in 1535 to chart the planning of six Cistercian nunneries in
Yorkshire.6) Despite this, many aspects of the art and architecture of Cistercian
nunneries in Yorkshire (and elsewhere) still remain unexplored. The sources
for such a study are surprisingly rich. Much of the evidence comes from Swine
4
For example, Burton, ‘Yorkshire Nunneries in the Middle Ages’; Cross, ‘Yorkshire Nun
neries in the Early Tudor Period’.
5
Especially, Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture; Hamburger, Nuns as Artists and
The Visual and the Visionary. For the art and architecture of Cistercian nunneries in northern
England, see Carter, ‘The Art and Architecture of the Cistercians’, pp. 206–48.
6
Coppack, ‘How the Other Half Lived’.
Silk Purse or Sow’s Ear? 255
Priory, the largest and wealthiest house of Cistercian nuns in the county, where
the chancel of the medieval church which served as the nuns’ choir survived
the Dissolution and remained in use as a parish church.7 It is well known for
its splendid series of alabaster tombs and its misericords.8 But also present are
two early sixteenth-century screens which have hitherto have been largely over-
looked. Both have a hybrid of late Gothic and early Renaissance ornament and
one has an inscription giving the identity of the patron. Medieval visitation
records, wills, Suppression era documents and antiquarian literature are also
illuminating. Using these sources, the present essay will provide an analysis
of the art and architecture of Swine Priory between c. 1300 and 1539. It will
discuss the identity and motives of patrons, the extent and type of ornament
within the nuns’ church, and explore the influence of late medieval devotions
and spirituality on the material and visual cultures of the priory.
Cistercian Nunneries in Yorkshire

The Cistercian nunneries in Yorkshire were founded between 1133 and the end
of the twelfth century. On the whole, their patrons did not have the aristocratic
status of those who founded the Order’s male houses in northern England, and
this had implications for the endowments of the nunneries, which were gener-
ally poor.9 Swine was no exception. The priory was founded before 1153 by
Robert de Verli, priest of Swine.10 Papal taxation records give the income of the
priory as £53 8s 6d in 1291, and in 1535 its annual income was £83, which at
the time of the priory’s dissolution in 1539 supported a community of twenty
nuns.11 Although this income was well below the £200 limit set for the sup-
pression of the smaller houses in 1536, Swine was nevertheless the richest and
wealthiest priory of Cistercian nuns in the county.12
7
For a description of the architecture of Swine, see Pevsner and Neave, The Buildings of
England, Yorkshire, pp. 719–20.
8
The fullest description of the tombs can be found in Routh, Medieval Effigial Alabaster
Tombs in Yorkshire, pp. 106–16. For the misericords, see Remnant, A Catalogue of Misericords
in Great Britain, pp. 184–85; Nichols, ‘The Cistercian Nunnery of Swine Priory’.
9
See Burton, The Yorkshire Nunneries of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries and The
Monastic Order in Yorkshire, pp. 125–54; Thompson, Women Religious, pp. 94–112.
10
Burton, ‘The “Chariot of Aminadab”’.
11
Page, Victoria County History: The County of Yorkshire (hereafter VCH: Yorkshire), p. 179.
12
For the income of these houses, see Knowles and Hadcock Medieval Religious Houses,
pp. 284–85.
256 Michael Carter
The history of these houses was occasionally marked by scandal,13 but the
research of Claire Cross has shown that Yorkshire’s nunneries retained the
esteem of local elites until the very end of the Middle Ages. The nunneries
allowed their daughters to pursue a religious vocation and also gave a refuge to
unmarriageable daughters and widows. They also provided educational oppor-
tunities, social prestige and, perhaps most importantly of all, prayers for both
living and dead family members.14 Swine (and other Cistercian nunneries in
Yorkshire) had a complex and at times confused relationship with the Cistercian
Order, which initially resisted accepting responsibility for female houses. Even
though it became possible for Cistercian sisters to receive official recognition
in 1213,15 only two houses in England, Marham (Norfolk) and Tarrant Keynes
(Dorset), were incorporated into the Order and became abbeys. Instead, the
nunneries in Yorkshire, and those elsewhere in England, had a looser relation-
ship with the Cistercian Order. Indeed, at times there is confusion about the
identity and affiliation of some of the nunneries. Until well into the fourteenth
century, the community at Swine included not only sisters but also canons and
lay brothers, and a master of canons is mentioned as late as 1344. The vari-
ous components of the community at Swine appear to have lived according to
different rules. The canons are referred to as canonici albi, a designation used
for Premonstratensian canons, and in the late thirteenth century Archbishop
Romanus of York appealed to the General Chapter of the Premonstratensian
Order for help in regulating the spiritual life of the nunnery. The lay brothers
seem to have been under some form of Cistercian jurisdiction, as in 1335 a
troublesome lay brother was transferred to Sawley Abbey, Yorkshire.16
This provides a rare instance of recorded contact between male Cistercian
houses and nunneries. Swine was in close proximity to Meaux Abbey, and in
their early histories there was conflict between the houses over landholdings
and the burial of benefactors.17 But only occasionally did Cistercian monks
become involved in the internal affairs of nunneries. A charter of 1240 records
that the abbot of Kirkstall was the visitor of Esholt Priory.18 Despite this, it
seems that the nunneries were actually subject to episcopal visitation, and male
13
For which, see Power, English Medieval Nunneries, pp. 597–601.
14
Cross, ‘Yorkshire Nunneries in the Early Tudor Period’.
15
Burton and Kerr, The Cistercians in the Middle Ages, p. 53.
16
VCH: Yorkshire, pp. 180–81.
17
Burton, ‘The “Chariot of Aminadab”’, pp. 33–35.
18
Whitaker, Loidis and Elmete, p. 201.
religious from other orders or the secular clergy attended to the spiritual and
material wellbeing of the White Nuns. For instance, in 1283 the prior of the
Augustinian priory of Nostell was appointed by the archbishop of York to
conduct a visitation of the nuns at Hampole;19 in 1378 it was the prior of the
Augustinian house of Guisborough who received the resignation of Prioress
Alice Page of Baysdale Priory;20 and the archbishop of York’s visitation records
show that the nuns’ confessors were Franciscans, with Brother John Wotton,
Friar Minor, appointed confessor to the nuns of Hampole in 1426.21 Only at the
very end of the Middle Ages did Cistercian abbots in Yorkshire take an inter-
est in the welfare of their sisters. In 1533 the Order’s General Chapter ordered
the abbots of Byland and Fountains to conduct visitations of eight Yorkshire
houses: Arthington, Ellerton, Esholt, Hampole, Kirklees, Nun Appleton,
Sinnigthwaite and Swine.22 As these, and all the other religious houses in the
county were dissolved between 1536 and 1539, this intervention was unable to
have any lasting impact.
Planning and Architecture

The loose relationship between the Order and Cistercian sisters, and the funda-
mentally different nature of female monasticism, may explain why neither the
churches nor claustral precincts of nuns conform to a recognizably Cistercian
plan.23 Their churches were unaisled halls, and with a length of between 80 and
90 feet,24 which was shorter than the norm of 105 feet for nunnery churches
established by Roberta Gilchrist.25 However, Swine was an exception in both
planning and scale. An engraving of 1782 shows the remains of north and
south transepts, a broad central crossing tower, the traces of an aisled nave, and
a large aisled choir (Figure 11.1). This cruciform plan is likely to be because
19
VCH: Yorkshire, p. 163
20
VCH: Yorkshire, p. 159.
21
VCH: Yorkshire, p. 165.
22
Freeman, ‘‘“Houses of a Peculiar Order”‘, p. 276.
23
Coppack, ‘How the Other Half Lived’, pp. 293–97. Examination of Cistercian nun
neries elsewhere in Europe has also failed to find a distinctive plan; see Coomans, ‘Cistercian
Nunneries in the Low Countries’, and Kratzke, ‘The Architecture of Cistercian Nunneries in
the North of Germany’.
24
Coppack, ‘How the Other Half Lived’, p. 294.
25
258 Michael Carter
Figure 11.1 Engraving of the church at Swine in 1782 (from Poulson, Holderness, II).
Swine’s early community had both female and male inmates who required
different liturgical spaces, the sisters occupying the chancel, with the canons
and lay brothers using the nave, which also functioned as the parish church.26
Swine’s cloister is now lost, but the 1535 description of the house states this was
to the south of the church. This also records that the chapter house, with the
dormitory above, was in the east range; that there was a first floor refectory in
the south range; and a kitchen and chambers were in the west range. The other
nunneries surveyed at this time had a broadly similar plan.27
The chancel at Swine is the most significant architectural remnant of a
Cistercian nunnery in Yorkshire. It is therefore worthwhile describing it in
some detail and outlining the sequence of building campaigns it reveals. The
core is late twelfth century. The earliest features on the exterior are the lancet
26
Some older literature suggested that the nuns’ choir at Swine occupied the nave.
However, Coppack, ‘How the Other Half Lived’, p. 284, shows that the fenestration of the
present parish church closely matches that described in the 1535 survey.
27
For these plans, see Coppack, ‘How the Other Half Lived’.
Figure 11.2. Exterior of the church at Swine. The sequence of building works between
the twelfth and fifteenth centuries can clearly be seen. Photo by the author.
windows in the clerestory and the corbel table (Figure 11.2). The buildings of
the nunnery were destroyed by fire in 1308.28 Modifications to the church in
the later Middle Ages are clearly visible, including the construction of a north
aisle. Its east window, and the great east window of the church, are both in
the late Decorated style. The aisles have Perpendicular fenestration and the
doorway of the northern porch is also in this style. The 1782 engraving of the
church shows that crenellations were also added.
Inside, the late twelfth-century circular piers have multi-scalloped capitals
(Figure 11.3), and Romanesque chevron ornament is visible on two arches of
the north arcade.29 The interior of the church also shows evidence of enlarge-
ment and modification in the later Middle Ages. On the north side of the chan-
cel a large arch provides access into a chantry chapel containing alabaster tombs
28
Poulson, The History and Antiquities of the Seignory of Holderness, ii, 205.
29
For a description of the architecture of Swine, see Pevsner and Neave, The Buildings of
England, Yorkshire, pp. 719–20.
260 Michael Carter
Figure 11.3. Interior of the church at Swine. Photo by the author.
of the Hilton family dating from the last quarter of the fourteenth century and
early decades of the fifteenth.30 It seems reasonable to assume that the chapel
was constructed to accommodate the earliest of these, the monument of Sir
Robert Hilton (d. 1372).
Furnishings
The description made in 1535 gives some idea of the furnishings of the church,
which had ‘xxxvi goode stalls alle along bothe the sydes of waynscott bordes
and tymber for the nonnes’,31 and eight of these have survived. All have miseri-
cords, and their subjects are: a bearded man looking through his legs, exposing
30
The earliest monument is that of Sir Robert Swine, who died in 1372, and his wife, Maud,
and the latest tomb is probably that of his son, another Sir Robert, the father of the Sir Robert
who died in 1431, and who was buried in the chancel of the parish church. For the date of the
Hilton monuments, see Routh, Medieval Effigial Alabaster Tombs in Yorkshire, pp. 107–16.
31
Figure 11.4.
Swine Priory, surviving
portion of the early
sixteenth-century
rood screen.
Photo © Conway Library,
The Courtauld Institute
of Art.
his anus and genitals; a man’s head with a forked beard; a griffin; a knight’s head
in profile; a nun’s head between two back-to-back animals; a grotesque wearing
a mitre; a Green Man; and a female head. A further misericord with a grotesque
has been incorporated into the pulpit.32 None have supporters, and although
there are various opinions about their date,33 it seems likely that they are late
fourteenth century. A man with a twisted, forked beard similar to that on one
of the misericords can be seen in the illuminations of the Lytlington Missal
32
Williamson, ‘A Note on the Hidden Misericord of Swine’.
33
A date of c. 1400 is suggested by Bond, Wood Carvings in English Churches, p. 226, and
repeated by Nichols, ‘The Cistercian Nunnery of Swine Priory’, p. 283. However, Remnant,
A Catalogue of Misericords in Great Britain, pp. 184–85, dates them a century later, whereas
Poulson, The History and Antiquities of the Seignory of Holderness, ii, 212, suggests a date of 1500.
262 Michael Carter
Figure 11.5
Swine Priory, early
sixteenth-century
parclose screen at the
west of the Hilton
chapel. Photo by
Conway Library.
(c. 1384).34 The square headdress on the alabaster effigy of Catherine Norwich,

wife of Sir William de la Pole, who died in 1366, at Holy Trinity Hull,35 is simi-
lar to that worn by the female head which adorns one of the misericords.36 A
late fourteenth-century date would mean that the stalls are broadly coeval with
the Hilton chantry, and it is possible that its construction was accompanied by
a refurnishing of the church and the donation of the stalls.
34
Illustrated in Millar, English Illuminated Manuscripts, ii, pl. 71.
35
For this monument, see Routh, Medieval Effigial Alabaster Tombs in Yorkshire, pp. 73–74.
36
This square headdress evolved from French and German fashions in the middle of the
fourteenth century; see Newton, Fashion in the Age of the Black Prince, pp. 96–97.
In 1535 it was recorded that each of the Cistercian priories had a rood
screen, and a portion of Swine’s is extant (Figure 11.4). Also at the church is a
largely intact parclose screen enclosing the west of the chapel at the east of the
north aisle (Figure 11.5), the chantry chapel of the Hilton family which con-
tains the monuments of several members of this family.37 These screens provide
previously overlooked evidence concerning the priory’s late medieval furnish-
ing and ornament, and show the continuing importance of external patrons to
the art and architecture of the priory in the late Middle Ages.
Both screens have a hybrid of late Gothic and early Renaissance ornament.
The parclose screen before the chantry has thirteen rectangular compartments,
and beneath the central three are folding doors. There are upper and lower reg-
isters divided by a middle rail. The screen is surmounted by a frieze, which has
traces of polychrome and contains fragments of a black letter inscription. The
inscription was still largely intact in 1665 and was transcribed thus:
ista suetos sculpta sunt arma domini thomae domini de darcy et
herederum [sic] suorum et finitum est hoc opus tempore domini
georgii darcy militis filli [sic] et heredis domini thomae darcy, 153138
(Below are carved the arms of Lord Thomas, Lord Darcy and his heirs and this
work was finished in the time of Sir George Darcy, knight, son and heir of Lord
Thomas Darcy, 1531).
Each of the compartments below contains a shield with traces of polychrome

as well as tracery. The screen is divided into sections by pilasters, which have
honeycomb or cylindrical ornament, reminiscent of Netherlandish early
Renaissance work.
The screen’s middle rail contains fragments of a second black letter inscrip-
tion, which was also recorded in the seventeenth century:
orate pro animabus domini thomae bywatt’ capellani huis [sic] can-
tariae beatae mariae et omnium capellanorum tam praeteritorum
quam futurorum39
(Pray for the souls of Master Thomas Bywater, chaplain of this chantry of the Bles
sed Virgin Mary and all chaplains past and to come.)
37
For detailed descriptions, see Vallance, ‘The History of Roods, Screens and Lofts’,
pp. 173–76.
38
39
264 Michael Carter
Figure 11.6.
Thame Church, former
prebendal church, early
sixteenth-century screen.
Photo by Charles Tracy.
The surviving portion of the inscription is interspersed with three small shields
carved with the arms of the priory’s historic patrons. These will be described
and discussed presently. Beneath the inscription rail are compartments with
linenfold panelling and some retain elaborate blind tracery in their head.
The fragment of the rood screen is located before the chancel. Only the
dado survives, as it is cut off at the middle rail, which also had an indent for
an inscription. Its loft and upper portions were removed in 1720 because they
were ‘old, decayed and indecent’.40 It is divided into compartments contain-
40
Vallance, ‘The History of Roods, Screens and Lofts’, p. 173.
ing linenfold panels surmounted by blind tracery. There are two central doors,
each of which is divided into two by a pilaster, and two panels with blind
Netherlandish-style tracery are in the base of each door. The pilasters and the
doors’ tracery are similar to those seen on the chantry screen.
The ornament on the screens can be related to so-called ‘Renaissance
Gothic’ architectural ornament, which first emerged in the Netherlands in
the early to mid-fifteenth century.41 This was characterized by the use of highly
elaborate Flamboyant tracery in vegetal forms and by then archaic Romanesque
style ornament on pillars. These motifs were used, in addition to ornamenting
architecture, on ecclesiastical furnishings, including screens and choir stalls:
for example, the fragments of the stone screen at St Janskerk, Tervuren,42 and
the still intact wooden screen at St Nicolaaskerk, Monnikendam.43 It seems
likely that this form of ornament was introduced into England by resident
Flemish sculptors and craftsmen such as those who were associated with royal
commissions in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. These include
the stalls and gates of the chantry of Edward IV at Windsor and the stalls in
Henry VII’s chapel at Westminster Abbey.44 The bronze cage surrounding the
tomb of Henry VII’s is known to be the work of Thomas Ducheman,45 and the
style of its corner pillars is reminiscent of ornament in the Netherlands.
The ornament on the Swine screens have a number of close parallels, espe-
cially the contemporary rood screen at the former prebendal church at Thame,
Oxfordshire (Figure 11.6).46 Notable similarities include: the lack of vaulting;
the frieze at the top of the screen (blank at Thame); the cylindrical and hon-
eycomb ornament of the pilasters; the elaborate, vegetal tracery; and the use
of linenfold panelling in the lower registers. Prebendary Richard Maudeley of
Lincoln is known to have commissioned new stalls for his church in 1529, 47
and it seems likely that the screen was ordered at the same time, making it
almost contemporary with the parclose screen at Swine.
41
Kavaler, ‘Renaissance Gothic in the Netherlands’.
42
Steppe, Het Koordoksaal in de Nederlanden, pp. 95–110.
43
Elias, Koorbanken en Kansels, pl. 172.
44
Tracy, English Gothic Choir Stalls, pp. 47–58; Geddes, ‘John Tresilian and the Gates of
Edward IV’s Chantry’.
45
Stone, Sculpture in Britain, p. 230.
46
Vallance, Greater English Church Screens, pp. 175–76.
47
Lee, A History of the Prebendal Church of Thame, p. 63.
266 Michael Carter
The proximity of Swine to the major North Sea trading port of Hull may
help to explain this Netherlandish influence apparent in the priory’s screens.
The bulk of the town’s trade in the later Middle Ages was with the Low
Countries, and individuals of Netherlandish origin were certainly resident in
the port; John and Walter Flemyng are recorded there in 1320.48 Continental
images were also being imported into Hull, and at least four were acquired for
the port’s two parish churches between 1438 and 1521.49 However, screens are
large, cumbersome objects that would be difficult and expensive to transport
by ship; and, rather than being imported, they are much more likely to have
been the work of craftsmen working locally. Indeed, Flemish influence can also
be detected in other screens in northern England, including that surrounding
the chantry of Prior Richard Leschman (d. 1499) at the Augustinian priory of
Hexham, Northumbria, and the screen of Prior Thomas Gondibour (d. 1507)
at the Augustinian cathedral priory at Carlisle.50 There is good evidence that
carvers who were at the very least of Netherlandish descent were working in
early sixteenth-century Yorkshire. In 1516, a Thomas Flemyng, ‘carvour’ was
admitted as a freeman of the City of York, and a John Flemyng with the same
trade gained the freedom of the city in 1538.51 It is alternatively possible that
native carvers, such as the Thomas Hynde, documented in Hull in 1526,52 were
influenced by the style introduced by craftsmen with Netherlandish connec-
tions. It has long been recognized that Continental prints were an iconographic
source for woodcarvers working in northern England at the end of the Middle
Ages. Examples include misericords of c. 1520 at Beverley Minster, close to
Swine, which are based upon woodcuts in the Biblia Pauperum.53 Similarly, fig-
urative sculpture at the Newcastle Packet, a late medieval timber framed house
in Scarborough, has been shown to have a source in Continental prints.54
48
Selected Rentals and Accounts of Medieval Hull, ed. by Horrox, p. 155.
49
Woods, Imported Images, pp. 113–15.
50
Tracy, ‘The Stylistic Antecedents of the Gondibour Screen’.
51
Register of the Freeman of the City of York, ed. by Collins, i: 1272–1558, pp. 239, 259.
52
Selected Rentals and Accounts of Medieval Hull, ed. by Horrox, p. 121.
53
Grössinger, ‘The Misericords of Beverley Minster’.
54
Pacey, ‘German Prints, Flemish Craftsmen, and Yorkshire Buildings’.
Patronage
Until the very end of the Middle Ages Cistercian nunneries maintained a close
relationship with the local elites.55 The Netherlandish influence and quality of
the screen at Swine is a reflection of the high status and metropolitan connec-
tions of its benefactor, Sir George Darcy (c. 1499–1558). The Darcys were an
ancient gentry family whose estates were originally centred on Lincolnshire.
By the late thirteenth century, they had become established in Yorkshire, with
their principal seat at Temple Hirst, near Selby. The family rose to prominence
and was briefly ennobled in the fourteenth century. They were benefactors of
the Augustinian priory of Newburgh and the Benedictines at Selby. There was
a decline in their status in the early fifteenth century, but they nevertheless
remained a substantial gentry family. Their fortunes were restored in the early
sixteenth century by Thomas Darcy (c. 1465–1537), a talented soldier who was
ennobled by Henry VIII and made a Knight of the Garter. Religiously con-
servative, he was a leader of the Pilgrimage of Grace in 1536, leading to his
execution a year later.56
His son George, the patron of the screen, was knighted in 1513 after dis-
tinguishing himself at the Battle of Flodden. He was established with his own
seat at Gateforth, close to Temple Hirst, and occupied a number of offices
in Yorkshire, including the stewardship of manors for Pontefract Priory. Sir
George was summoned to the royal court in 1524, his father recommending
him to the care of Cardinal Wolsey.57 It was perhaps thanks to this great patron
of art and architecture that Sir George acquired a familiarity with modish
Renaissance ornament and established contacts with the craftsmen who exe-
cuted the screen at Swine in 1531.
Sir George’s obtained the lordship of Swine and patronage of the priory
through his marriage to Dorothy Melton in 1511. Her family had in turn acquired
these in 1431 through marriage with the Hiltons.58 The three coats of arms on
the lower inscription on the chantry screen noted above refer to this descent of
the priory’s patronage and are decorated with a trefoil leaf for Hilton, a crosslet
55
Vickers, ‘The Social Class of Yorkshire Medieval Nuns’; Burton, ‘Yorkshire Nunneries
in the Middle Ages’; Cross, ‘Yorkshire Nunneries in the Early Tudor Period’.
56
For the early history of the Darcys, see Verduyn, ‘The Darcy Family’.
57
For details of Sir George Darcy’s career, see Smith, Land and Politics in the England of
Henry VIII, pp. 67, 194, 241–50.
58
For the descent of the patronage of the priory and lordship of Swine, see Poulson, The
History and Antiquities of the Seignory of Holderness, ii, 199–202.
268 Michael Carter
Figure 11.7. Swine Priory, Darcy arms on the parclose screen. Photo by the author.
for Melton and a sexfoil voided for Darcy (Figure 11.7). This heraldry, therefore,
made clear the association between Sir George and the priory’s historic patrons.
The Hilton connection with Swine extended back to the early thirteenth
century. Swine was the Hilton’s mausoleum, and the alabaster monuments in
their chantry are adorned with their arms and those of their familial connec-
tions, a reminder that nunneries in Yorkshire and elsewhere in England contin-
ued to attract gentry burials until the end of the Middle Ages.59 An early nine-
teenth-century description of the priory notes that the arms of Hilton were
also glazed in the chapel’s east window.60 Recognition of the importance of the
Hiltons’ historic relationship with the nunnery is suggested by the inscription
‘vnius fundatoris de Swyne’ beneath the arms of Sir Robert Hilton in Jenyns’
Ordinary, an armorial roll from the second half of the fifteenth century, which
contains depictions of the arms of aristocratic and gentry families, many of
which had strong connections with the north. The passage of the patronage of
the convent to the Darcys is similarly recorded in this manuscript by an inscrip-
tion beneath the arms of Piers de la Hay which reads ‘vnius fundatoris de Swyne
Abbey postea Melton modo Dacy’.61
The heraldry on the screen at Swine demonstrates the intimate and endur-
ing relationship between the priory and the local gentry community, and
bequests to Swine by members of the gentry and Hull merchants can be related
to description of the priory made in 1535. This mentions that the cloister had
59
Cross, ‘Yorkshire Nunneries in the Early Tudor Period’; Oliva, ‘Patterns of Patronage to
Female Monasteries’.
60
Thompson, A History of the Church and Priory of Swine, p. 94
61
London, British Library, MS Additional 40851, fol. 65v.
‘wyndowes rounde aboute, and all glasid, except one, which conteyn in alle by
estimacon cccm xx ffoote of glasse’.62 The cloister appears to have been glazed
in the first decade of the sixteenth century. Thomas Hedon, gentleman, of
Mardon, Holderness, requested burial before the image of Our Lady of Pity
at the priory in 1504 and left the priory 20s for the glazing of its cloister.63
In 1505 Robert Garner, alderman of Hull, willed ‘that my wyffe make a glasse
wyndowe for her and me in Swyne abbey cloister of the north side’.64 Thanks to
this benefaction, Swine was thus equipped with an architectural luxury associ-
ated with much wealthier monasteries. The Cistercian nunnery of Wienhausen,
Lower Saxony, had glazed windows in its cloister by c. 1280.65 Richer houses
of Cistercian monks in England and Wales were building glazed cloisters in
the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, including Byland Abbey, Yorkshire, and
a magnificent cloister with glazing was built in the early sixteenth century at
Forde Abbey, Dorset, by Abbot Thomas Chard.66
Wills also provide evidence of gentry patronage of the architecture of
other houses. In 1406 Sir John Scot left 10 marks for the fabric of the church
at Kirklees Priory;67 in 1412 John de Burgh bequeathed 13s 4d for the same
purpose;68 and, later in the fifteenth century, John Wollwrowe of Kirklees con-
tributed 20d to the priory’s campanile.69 Gentry benefaction also provided
nunneries with liturgical equipment, including vestments. In 1400 Dame
Johanne Hesirig left Basedale 20s and a vestment of gold cloth, with Handale
also receiving two vestments.70 Joan Ward bequeathed her best gown and gilt
girdle to Esholt in 1472 to buy a vestment,71 and Margaret Dodsworth’s will
of 1520 provided the community at Sinningthwaite with her best diaper cloth
‘for to make a alter cloth of, and a kirchiff to make a corprax of wt a corprax case
of gold and damasck and purple velvet’.72
62
63
Testamenta Eboracensia, ed. by Raine and others, iv, 224.
64
Testamenta Eboracensia, ed. by Raine and others, v, 39.
65
Hayward, ‘Glazed Cloisters’, p. 100.
66
Robinson and Harrison, ‘Cistercian Cloisters in England and Wales’, pp. 151–52.
67
Testamenta Eboracensia, ed. by Raine and others, i, 346
68
VCH: Yorkshire, iii, 170.
69
Armytage, ‘Kirklees Priory’, p. 27.
70
Testamenta Eboracensia, ed. by Raine and others, i, 266.
71
Bell, ‘Esholt Priory’, p. 11.
72
Testamenta Eboracensia, ed. by Raine and others, v, 119.
270 Michael Carter
The clergy were important and often very generous benefactors of nunner-
ies. In 1404, Bishop Walter Skirlaw of Durham left £100 to the priory of Swine
(well in excess of its annual income) in return for prayers and an obit; and his
sister, Joan Skirlaw, the prioress, received £40, and one of his ‘best’ silver cups,
gilded with a cover. Swine held lands at the nearby village of Skirlaugh and the
bishop’s will provided also provided for the construction of a chantry chapel
there.73 The bequests of other clerics enriched the priory’s library. In c. 1400,
Peter, vicar of the parish church at Swine, bequeathed the nunnery twelve vol-
umes in Latin, and in 1486 Thomas Hornby, chaplain of York, left Dame Anne
Vavasour, a nun of Swine, a life of St Catherine in English.74
It is clear that the clergy continued to be patrons of Swine into the sixteenth
century. The second inscription on the parclose screen at the priory names the
chantry’s chaplain, Thomas Bywater. The registers of the archbishop of York
record that he was from Ledsham, a village in the West Riding, close to the
Darcy seats at Gateforth and Temple Hirst, and that he was ordained priest at
York in 1526.75 He is documented as the ‘lady priest’ at the priory at Swine at
the time of its suppression, when he was receiving a salary of £2 and a further
£2 13s 4d in allowances.76
External patrons, lay and ecclesiastical, clearly enriched the material and
visual culture of Swine and the other houses of Cistercian nuns in the county.
In contrast, there is little evidence of internal patronage from these houses,
and a likely explanation is their poverty. Even the comparatively wealthy Swine
appears to have had difficulty maintaining its buildings in good repair. In
February 1318 the prioress was instructed by Archbishop William Melton to
have the dormitory roofed without delay ‘so that the nuns might quietly and in
silence be received in it, without annoyance from storms’.77
Nevertheless, the nunneries had some means, and this was due to the social
origin of the nuns themselves, who usually came from well-connected families,
as shown by the membership of several of the prestigious Corpus Christi Guild
in York.78 The prioresses occupied positions of status and performed valuable
73
Testamenta Eboracensia, ed. by Raine and others, i, 309.
74
Bell, What Nuns Read, pp. 170–71.
75
York Clergy Ordinations, 1520–59, ed. by Cross, p. 32.
76
London, The National Archives, SP 5/2, fols 132v, 134v.
77
VCH: Yorkshire, iii, 181.
78
For example, Cecily Hik, Prioress of Kirklees in 1473, and in the same year Edenne
Neville of Joan Roose, nun of Sinningthwaite; see Register of the Corpus Christi Guild in the
City of York, ed. by Scaife, pp. 90, 97.
Figure 11.8. London, British Library MS Harley 2509, fol. 2r, devotional book
owned by Prioress Maud Wade of Swine. Photo © British Library Board.
272 Michael Carter
services for the local gentry community. At the end of the fifteenth century,
Prioress Beatrix Lowe of Swine was custodian of the muniments of the Twyer
family, and Prioress Isabel Whateley of Hampole was ‘delivered […] of jewels,
plate and household stuff of Dame Lucy Fitzwilliam’.79 What little evidence
there is of internal patronage at a Cistercian nunnery in Yorkshire invariably
relates to a prioress who belonged to an elite local family. An example is the
illuminated devotional book (Figure 11.8) that is inscribed with the name of
Dame Maud Wade,80 prioress of Swine. She seems likely to have come from a
prominent Holderness family with this name,81 and she was admitted to the
Corpus Christi guild in York in 1473, resigning as prioress of Swine in 1482.82
The volume contains a number of devotional works in English, including The
Contemplation on the Dread and Love of God, or the Fervor Amoris, and a life
of St Catherine of Siena. Even though the former text was probably written for
the laity, a number of other copies survive with a monastic provenance. The
prioress’s manuscript is handsomely written in a neat Gothic script and is orna-
mented with two illuminated initials, and there are numerous other initials
with decorative penwork in red and blue. However, it is by no means a deluxe
volume. It and other copies of The Contemplation on the Dread and Love of God
have been described as ‘unpretentious working books’.83
Ornament and Devotion

Other aspects of the late medieval ornament of Swine have also been over-
looked, but they nevertheless provide insights into the extent and character of
the priory’s material and visual cultures and the devotional world of Cistercian
nuns at the end of the Middle Ages. In the eighteenth century, ‘storied glass’, a
narrative glazing scheme, was present in the east window at Swine,84 and this
seems to have been part of a wider decorative scheme. The 1535 description
of the priory records that the church roof was ‘coueryd with leade, and sylid
79
Monastic Chancery Proceedings, ed. by Purvis, pp. 137, 47.
80
London, British Library, MS Harley 2509, fol. 78r.
81
Poulson, The History and Antiquities of the Seignory of Holderness, i, 189, 205, 207.
82
Heads of Religious Houses, ed. by Smith, p. 697.
83
Gillespie, ‘Vernacular Books of Religion’, p. 331; for other surviving copies with a mon
astic provenance, see p. 342 n.59.
84
Thompson, A History of the Church and Priory of Swine, p. 126.
wtyn wt boourdes paynted’.85 The ceiling possibly resembled that surviving at St

Mary, Beverley, close to Swine. Here the chancel ceiling is painted with images
of forty kings of England from the mythical Brutus to Henry VI. The chancel
aisle once had fourteen painted panels depicting the legend of St Catherine of
Alexandria, and another ceiling painted with figures and scrolls once existed
in the south transept.86 Plaster ceilings at Hampole also appear to have been
decorated, fragments of plaster being recovered painted blue and ornamented
with golden stars, a typical late medieval decorate scheme intended to repre-
sent the heavens.87 Surviving Continental evidence shows that the churches of
Cistercian nuns often had elaborate painted decoration, and a striking exam-
ple is the nuns’ choir at Wienhausen, Lower Saxony. The vault is painted with
scenes from the life of Christ, the Coronation Virgin, apostles, and a choir of
angels. There are also scenes from the Old Testament on the walls and figures
of saints on the window jambs. The work has been dated to c. 1330 but was
repainted in 1488 and again in the nineteenth century.88 Fourteenth-century
paintings of St Christopher, John the Baptist, and Christ blessing the Virgin
decorate the walls of the refectory at Bijloke, near Ghent.89
There is also evidence of figurative wall painting at Swine. The removal of
whitewash from the piers in the Hilton chapel in the early nineteenth century
uncovered the incised image of the Virgin, with a crown and lily on one of the
piers. Below AVE M’ was inscribed in ‘Gothic letters’, and on the same pil-
lar, ‘on the side towards the chancel’ there was a second inscription. However,
this could not be read because of the ‘foul bedaubings’ of whitewash.90 The
Gothic script beneath the image suggests that the work was late medieval, and
the inscription on the chapel’s early sixteenth-century screen records that the
chantry was dedicated to the Virgin. The description of the image suggests that
it was similar to the representation of the Virgin on an undated seal of the pri-
ory, which also depicts her crowned and with a lily.91
85
86
Pevsner and Neave, The Buildings of England, Yorkshire, pp. 297–98.
87
Whiting, ‘Excavations at Hampole Priory’, p. 205.
88
Die Zisterzienser, pp. 460–62.
89
Coomans, ‘Cistercian Nunneries in the Low Countries’, p. 125.
90
Thompson, A History of the Church and Priory of Swine, p. 100. There is now no trace of
either the indent of the painting or the inscription.
91
Ellis, Catalogue of Seals, p. 21.
274 Michael Carter
All of Yorkshire’s Cistercian nunneries were dedicated to the Virgin, and

there is considerable evidence of both individual and communal devotion to
her. The seal used by the prioress of Swine at the time of the Dissolution has
an image her crowned and seated on a bench-type throne, holding the Christ
child on her left knee. Below, the prioress is shown kneeling in prayer.92 Images
of the Virgin at Cistercian nunneries were also the focus of lay devotion. In
1472, Joan Ward left Esholt priory her ‘bedys of coral, gauditt wit calsedone to
the payntyng of an ymage of Our Lady of Pete’.93 Images of Our Lady of Pity, or
the Pietà, are documented at other Cistercian nunneries in the county, where
they acted as a focus for lay burials, a widespread use of this image in medieval
England.94 Thomas Hedon of Mardon asked to be buried before such an image
at Swine in 1504,95 and in 1526 Sir John Hall, vicar of Huddersfield, requested
burial front of the image of Our Lady of Pity in the church at Kirklees.96
Conclusion
These images perished as a consequence of the Dissolution and Reformation.
The English historiographical tradition that was established at this time has
meant that until recently most scholars have had an unfavourable view of
the quality of religious life observed within most nunneries, and their mate-
rial and visual cultures have been largely neglected. Swine, and all the other
Cistercian nunneries in Yorkshire, was unquestionably poor, but that does not
mean that their art and architecture were uninteresting. As has been shown,
the patronage of local elites and clergy helped maintain the convents’ build-
ings and contributed to the nuns’ material culture. Thanks to the wealth and
status of these patrons, the nunneries had ‘ffayre’ buildings, including a glazed
cloister at Swine, which also had screens of the highest quality and latest fash-
ion. Nunneries also benefited by the donation of vestments and books. The
gentry favoured Cistercian nunneries with their burials until the very end of
the Middle Ages, and recorded their patronage by the depiction of their arms
in stained glass windows and in sculpture. Prioresses were also, on occasion,
patrons. Occupying positions of local status, they usually originated from the
92
Ellis, Catalogue of Seals, p. 21.
93
Bell, ‘Esholt Priory’, 11.
94
Marks, Image and Devotion in Late Medieval England, p. 140
95
Testamenta Eboracensia, ed. by Raine and others, iv, 224.
96
Armytage, ‘Kirklees Priory’, p. 29.
gentry families who were such important benefactors of their convents, and
perhaps it was their family means rather than the resources of the convent that
paid for the illuminated book owned by Prioress Wade of Swine.
The surviving evidence allows some insights into the spiritual world of
Cistercian nuns. Images of the Virgin, to whom all Cistercian nunneries were
dedicated, proliferated and were the focus of both individual and communal
adoration. Like elsewhere in England, burial before images of Our Lady of Pity
was esteemed. These requests for burial support the conclusions of a recent gen-
eration of scholars that female monasticism remained vibrant and continued to
fulfil useful religious and social functions until the eve of the Suppression. This
enduring vitality ensured that the art and architecture of Swine Priory contin-
ued to attract patrons until the very end of the Middle Ages and was much
more of a silk purse than a sow’s ear.
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HMSO, 1912)
Pacey, Arnold, ‘German Prints, Flemish Craftsmen, and Yorkshire Buildings: A Late Medi
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278 Michael Carter
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Pro remedio anime sue: Cistercian Nuns
and Space in the Low Countries
Erin L. Jordan
I
n 1242, Marguerite, countess of Flanders and Hainaut, issued a charter in
her capacity as executrix of the will of Isabelle, the widow of Thierry, cas-
tellan of Diksmuide. In accordance with Isabelle’s last wishes, Marguerite
arranged to have a grant of 400 livres parisis annual rent to be divided equally
between the Cistercian nunneries of Bijloke and Nieuwenbos to fund commem-
orative services on behalf of Isabelle and her late husband. Marguerite recog-
nized that fulfilling Isabelle’s request might overtax the liturgical staff currently
in place in both abbeys. To that end, she gave each permission to use the funds
to hire additional chaplains to supplement those currently in residence if neces-
sary, ensuring each abbey’s ability to offer the spiritual remuneration desired by
patrons like Isabelle.1 The contents of this charter are remarkable for a number
of reasons. The centrality of female actors is one. Isabelle was clearly a wealthy
and powerful woman. Her husband, Thierry III, was the castellan of Diksmuide
and, through her, lord of Beveran Waas. Together the couple ranked among the
most important nobles in the county of Flanders.2 Marguerite was even more
powerful. The daughter of Baldwin IX, count of Flanders and Hainaut and first
Latin emperor of Constantinople, and Marie of Champagne, she succeeded
her older sister Jeanne as countess in 1244, ruling Flanders and Hainaut in her
1
Gent, Rijksarchief, Abdij Nieuwebos, O 50/22.
2
Warlop, The Flemish Nobility before 1300, i, 674. On the importance of castellans in
Flanders, see Blommaert, Les Chatelains de Flandre.
Erin L. Jordan ([email protected]) is associate professor of History at the University of Old

Dominion.
280 Erin L. Jordan
own right until 1278/80.3 Together, Isabelle and Marguerite demonstrate the
ability of women to inherit powerful offices, exercise authority, and dispense
wealth well into the thirteenth century, a period often characterized by schol-
ars as increasingly detrimental to members of the female sex.4 However, this
discussion does not concern itself with the ability of females to wield power,
but rather with the second feature of the charter: namely, the esteem placed by
those women on the sacred space within a Cistercian nunnery.
Contrary to what scholars have often assumed about the position of nuns
in the spiritual landscape of the thirteenth century, patrons like Isabelle con-
tinued to value their prayers — so much so that they were willing to entrust
them with their spiritual fates.5 By the end of the thirteenth century, the coun-
ties of Flanders and Hainaut were peppered with monastic and religious foun-
dations. Patrons like Isabelle had a wide spectrum of choices from which to
choose when considering venues for commemorative services. In Ghent alone
there were nearly a dozen communities, ranging from the more traditional
Benedictine abbeys of St Bavon and St Peter to more recent arrivals like the
Dominicans and Franciscans. Cistercian monks inhabited the monastery of
Boudelo, located just north of the city.6 In the face of all these possibilities,
Isabelle’s decision to request commemorative services from not one but two
Cistercian nunneries is telling. Clearly, Isabelle perceived the space within the
3
In spite of his prominence in late twelfth-century French politics and his role in the infamous
Fourth Crusade, little has been written about Baldwin IX. The most comprehensive study
remains that of Wolff, ‘Baldwin of Flanders and Hainaut, First Latin Emperor of Constantinople’.
For his daughters and successors, Jeanne and Marguerite, see Luykx, Johanna van Constantinopel,
gravin van Vlaanderen en Henegouwen; and Jordan, Women, Power and Religious Patronage in the
Middle Ages. Marguerite abdicated as countess of Flanders in 1278, allowing power to pass to her
son, Guy. She remained countess of Hainaut until her death in 1280.
4
This characterization of the position of women regarding land and inheritance was
made prevalent by Duby, The Knight, the Lady and the Priest, trans. by Bray, and more recently
Ward, Women in Medieval Europe, p. 5. Duby’s model of declining female power, however, has
been challenged, most notably by Evergates, ‘The Feudal Imaginary of Georges Duby’. See also
Livingstone, ‘Noblewomen’s Control of Property’ and, more recently, Out of Love For My Kin.
5
For scholarship that presents nunneries, Cistercian in particular, in a negative light, see
Lawrence, Medieval Monasticism, p. 217; Jordan, ‘The Cistercian Nunnery of La Cour Notre-
Dame de Michery’; de Fontette, Les Religieuses à l’âge classique du droit canon, p. 53.
6
On monasticism in the region generally, see Michel, Abbayes et monasteries de Belgique,
and Canivez, L’Ordre de Cîteaux en Belgique. By the middle of the thirteenth century, the men
dicants had appeared on the scene, providing even more competition for religious patronage.
See Simons, Stad en Apostolaat.
Pro remedio anime sue 281
Cistercian nunnery as exceptionally sacred, possessing the ability to confer spir-

itual value on the commemorative services offered by the nuns and affording
her the opportunity to share vicariously that space in the form of prayers and
anniversary masses.
While somewhat unusual in terms of the status of the donor and the
amount of wealth entailed in the donation, the charter issued by Marguerite is
by no means exceptional in its request or its recipient. Dozens of similar exam-
ples exist, recorded in charters by nunneries in the thirteenth century and cur-
rently housed in state and departmental archives across Belgium and northern
France.7 By the middle of the thirteenth century, thirty Cistercian nunneries
existed in the counties of Flanders and Hainaut; of these, twenty-one have left
considerable archival collections.8 Such documents provide an opportunity to
explore the relationship between gender, space, and monasticism in the Middle
Ages, particularly as it pertained to Cistercian nuns. This discussion focuses
specifically on the interior space of the cloister, examining it from a conceptual
as well as a physical point of view, through investigating requests for commem-
orative services. Conceptually, it will utilize extant documents to explore the
sacred meaning of space and assess the extent to which it was valued by patrons.
It will simultaneously assess the physical space within these communities, using
charters to penetrate the walls of the cloister, identifying the individuals who
shared that space with the nuns. Understanding what confers meaning on a par-
ticular space often entails identifying how that space was regulated. The meas-
ures taken to regulate movement across the boundaries that delimited sacred
from secular space are often privileged in scholarly debates about monastic life.9
7
These documents are predominantly housed in the Archives Départementale du Nord,
Lille, France, and the various Rijksarchief in Belgium.
8
This list includes the abbeys of Ath (1216), Beaupré at Grimminge (1228), Beaupré-
sur-la-Lys (1220), Blendecques (founded 1186, incorporated 1228), Bijloke (1228), Bonham
(1233), Brayelle (founded 1196, incorporated 1212), Doornzele (1234), Épinlieu (1216),
Flines (1234), Fontenelle (1212), Hemelsdale (1237), Groeninghe (1237), Maagdendale
(1233), Marquette (1224), Wevelgem (1214), Nieuwenbos (1215), Notre-Dame des Près
(1218), Notre-Dame d’Olive (1233), Oosteeklo (1228), Ravensberg (1194), Saulchoir (1233),
Soleilmont (founded 1088, incorporated 1237), Spermalie (founded 1200, incorporated
1234), Ter Hagen (1234), Ter Roosen (1228), Verger (1225), Vivier (1219), Woestine (1233),
and Zwijveke (founded 1214, incorporated 1233). For a history of the Order in this region,
which comprises the modern Belgian provinces of West Flanders, East Flanders, and Hainaut
and the French departments of Pas-de-Calais and Nord, see Michel, Abbayes et monastères de
Belgique, and Sabbe, Lamberigts, and Gistelinck, Bernardus en de Cistercienzerfamilie in Belgie.
9
The issue of enclosure tends to dominate discussions of late medieval monastic life for
282 Erin L. Jordan
Although at times limited to providing a snapshot of those who may have been
within the abbey’s walls for the purpose of a specific transaction (most com-
monly donors and those individuals witnessing the donation), the charters do
identify individuals who occupied the space within the cloister more perma-
nently. The presence of chaplains, priests, father abbots, and patrons of both
sexes within the cloisters examined here indicate that the most sacred spaces
within the monastery were never unilaterally restricted to nuns, a conclusion
that has significant implications for our understanding of gender and monas-
ticism during this period. By assessing the various commemorative services
sought from Cistercian nunneries, most notably anniversary masses, provisions
for chaplains, and requests for burials, this investigation of the space within the
cloister aims to shed new light on the experience of nuns and the various ways
that that experience was influenced by gender.
Even the most general requests for commemorative services reveal the value
placed on the sacred space of the cloister, and the laity’s regard for the prayers of
Cistercian nuns in particular. They also allow us better to appreciate what made
a certain space sacred in the medieval imaginary, who could be present and in
what capacity. The qualitative and quantitative analysis employed here indicates
that women’s houses fielded nearly as many requests for such commemorative
services as men’s. Further, men and women were equally inclined to request
such services of nuns, as illustrated in the obituary of the Cistercian nunnery
of Fontenelle. By the end of the thirteenth century, there were 126 individuals
who received memorial masses from the abbey, sixty-six men and sixty wom-
en.10 While many of those listed were nuns from the community or their rela-
tives, a considerable number were drawn from the local nobility, reflecting the
value such patrons placed on the spiritual services offered by the nuns, services
that would have been performed within the sacred space of the cloister.
In October 1239, Folcandis, a resident of the city of Ghent, and his wife
Aelidis stipulated that the 14 librarum annual rent left to the abbey of Oosteeklo
in their will be used for obits ‘following the usage of the Cistercian Order’. 11
The nuns received a similar request in 1248 from Hosto de Wedergrada,
women, though the focus is most often on legislation and the beliefs that prompted it rather
than on the impact of such policies. See Anson, ‘Papal Enclosure for Nuns’; Makowski, Canon
Law and Cloistered Women; Johnson, ‘The Cloistering of Medieval Nuns’, and Jordan, ‘Roving
Nuns and Cistercian Realities’.
10
Lille, Archives Départementale du Nord (ADN), 32H3.
11
Gent, Rijksarchief, Abdij Oost-Eecklo, Inv. 31, no. 7.
knight, and his wife Johanna. The couple donated an annual rent of 20 solidos
on pasture land in the parish of Caprica. In return, they demanded that a mass
be performed on the anniversary of their deaths.12 In 1224, the dean of the city
of Lille made a donation of 200 libras flandrensis to the abbey of Nieuwenbos
for a daily mass in honour of the Virgin Mary. Any additional funds were to be
distributed among the poor.13 The abbey’s founder, Countess Jeanne, donated
310 bonniers of land in 1218, requesting in return that anniversary masses be
said for her and her husband Ferrand, as well as for her father Baldwin, her
mother Marie, and her uncle Philip of Alsace, whom her father succeeded as
count of Flanders in 1191.14 In return for a donation of 80 livres parisis, which
was used to purchase land at Beaucamps, the nuns of Notre-Dame des Près
agreed to have anniversary masses performed for Borgain du Sauchoit de Lens,
the donor, as well as for his sisters Marien and Jehanain.15
The nuns of Blendecques received a donation of land from Mahaut, daugh-
ter of the castellan of St Omer, to assist in the construction of their new church.
In return, Mahaut requested that the nuns recite psalms for her soul, as well as
those of her father, mother, sisters, and brothers.16 Although it initially used the
parish church of Blendecques for its liturgical needs, the abbey of Blendecqes
was able to erect its own church as a result of Mahaut’s donation. The abbey
of Blendeques attracted the attention of an even more powerful woman in
1221, when Béatrix, countess of Guînes and castellan of Bourbourg, made an
extremely generous donation on behalf of her father Gautier, formerly castellan
of Bourbourg, her mother Mahaut de Béthune, her husband Arnoul, the cur-
rent count of Guînes, and her son Henry.17 Blendecques received a number of
other requests for commemoration, ranging from pittances to prayers to pro-
viding wine for the daily mass, reflecting the value members of the local nobil-
ity placed on the spiritual services offered by its nuns.18 Even those patrons who
12
Gent, Rijksarchief, Abdij Oost-Eecklo, Inv. 31, no. 12.
13
Gent, Rijksarchief, Abdij Nieuwenbos, O 50/17.
14
15
ADN, 30H23, pièce 212, 2 April 1293.
16
Bonvarlet, ‘Chronique de l’abbaye de Sainte-Colombe de Blendecques’, p. 125.
17
Bonvarelt, ‘Chronique de l’abbaye de Sainte-Colombe de Blendecques’, p. 127 (4 May 1221).
18
In 1238 Guy, castellan of Berghes, granted an annual rent of six rasieres of wheat to
provide wine. In 1242 Guillaume de Suerdes, chevalier de Clety, granted an annual rent on
two houses in the village of Saint Omer, located near the market, requesting the celebration
of anniversary mass in return. In May 1265 Enguerran Gohcaus, knight, castellan d’Ardres,
284 Erin L. Jordan
considered death to be an immediate possibility looked to Cistercian nuns for

spiritual assistance, as reflected in a donation made by Helenard, seigneur of
Clarques and Grigny, to the nuns of Blendecques in October 1223 prior to his
departure on the Albigensian Crusade. Helenard granted the nuns 20 meas-
ures of land at Cormettes in return for prayers to be said on his behalf. In the
donation charter, he stipulated that if he died on crusade, the prayers should be
converted to an obit, and the donation increased by thirty additional measures
of woods at Raugosart.19
Taken collectively, the charters cited above illustrate increasing emphasis
on anniversary masses and obits that characterized commemoration during the
thirteenth century, when donors seemed more intent on securing individual
intervention from monks and nuns. This development culminated in the emer-
gence of the chantry (chapéllenie in French), which reserved the liturgical ser-
vices of a chaplain specifically for a single donor and members of his or her
family.20 As early as 1225, the Cistercian Order was concerned about the impli-
cation of such requests, attempting to restrict such commemorative services to
the most significant patrons of a foundation and stipulating that patrons who
were granted an anniversary mass were only entitled to one per year.21 As the
discussion here indicates, it seems unlikely that the Order’s effort to stem the
tide of such requests was successful.
While the text of such donations requesting anniversary masses and obits
implies, but does not confirm, the permanent presence of chaplains in these
abbeys, other charters are more revealing, illustrating the gender diversity of per-
sonnel within monastic communities as well as the ability of Cistercian nuns to
avoid the problems that could have resulted from their inability to be ordained.
granted an annual rent for anniversary masses for him and his wife. See Bonvarlet, ‘Chronique
de l’abbaye de Sainte-Colombe de Blendecques’, pp. 132–34.
19
Bonvarlet, ‘Chronique de l’abbaye de Sainte-Colombe de Blendecques’, p. 129.
20
Colvin, ‘The Origin of Chantries’. Colvin defines a chantry as ‘an endowment for the
performance of masses and other works of charity for the benefit of the souls of specified
persons’ (p. 164). For the significance of spiritual commemoration to patrons generally, see
Rosenthal, The Purchase of Paradise; Vauchez, The Laity in the Middle Ages; and McLaughlin,
Consorting with Saints.
21
Colvin, ‘The Origin of Chantries’, pp. 168–69. Additional legislation regarding
anniversary masses was issued by the General Chapter in 1250 and 1272. Colvin suggests
the preoccupation of patrons with the anniversary mass was integrally connected to the
formalization of the doctrine of purgatory, completed in 1274. See also Jamroziak, Rievaulx
Abbey and its Social Context, pp. 206–07.
One of the earliest Cistercian abbeys for nuns founded in the region was that of
Ravensberg, established by Christina of Ravensberg in 1196. The community
counted a chaplain among its residents from its very beginning.22 In 1196, Pope
Celestine III issued a charter to the abbey in which he confirmed a number of
donations, and granted the nuns the right to elect their own chaplain.23 A simi-
lar charter was issued in the same year by Arnould, the prévôt of Watten.24 In
1205, Christina, the abbey’s founder, donated an annual rent of 10 rasieres of
oats to provide for a chaplain, and in 1227, Countess Jeanne and her husband
Ferrand made a donation of an annual rent of 10½ marcs and 11 rams, valued at
30 deniers each, on the condition that the money be used to support a chaplain
who would celebrate the Divine Offices for them and their predecessors.25
In spite of what appears to have been a rather modest endowment, the abbey
of Oosteeklo supported at least one chaplain, as indicated by several donations
made to the abbey requesting masses referenced above. A donation of a tithe
made by Everardus to the abbey of Nieuwenbos in Ghent in 1220 suggests
that the abbey was staffed with several chaplains capable of performing masses.
Everardus requested that a mass be said daily by one of the two chaplains cur-
rently in residence.26 In 1219, Countess Jeanne made a donation to Niewenbos
of 12 bonniers. The countess stipulated that the revenue generated by the dona-
tion be used for the support of the abbey’s priests.27 Even the smallest of the
Cistercian nunneries in Flanders and Hainaut supported chaplains, providing
further illustration of the continued permeability of the cloister well into the
thirteenth century. For example, in 1219, the knight Gautier du Flos founded
a chaplaincy in the church of the abbey of Beaupré-sur-la-Lys.28 Mahaut de
Béthune, the daughter-in-law of Countess Marguerite, established a perpetual
chantry in the abbey of Beaupré as well, donating an annual rent of 13 livres
parisis to provide the necessary funds.29
22
De Coussemaker, ‘Notice sur l’abbaye de Ravensberg’, pp. 251–52, no. 13.
23
De Coussemaker, ‘Notice sur l’abbaye de Ravensberg’, p. 250, no. 5.
24
25
26
27
Vleeschouwers, Het archief van de Abdij van Boudelo to Sinaai-Waas en te Gent, pp. 181–82,
no. 20 (9 October 1219).
28
ADN, 29H3, pièce 23, 1219.
29
Dom Eugène, ‘Histoire de l’abbaye de Beaupré-sur-la-Lys’, p. 233
286 Erin L. Jordan
Prior to leaving on pilgrimage to Compostela, Arnoul, castellan of Bour

bourg, donated a rent of 12 livres on a mill at Blendecques to the nuns of
Sainte-Colombe. The money was specifically earmarked for the service of a
chaplain. It is clear from the witness lists of later charters that a chaplain named
Hugh was in residence among the nuns of Blendecques from at least 1209. 30
Based on the litany of requests for anniversary masses and obits that appear in
the cartulary of Blendecques, Chaplain Hugh would have been kept extremely
occupied by the liturgical services requested from the abbey’s patrons. In 1227,
Arnulf, described as a knight, granted the nuns of Doornzele an annual rent
of 100 livres flandres ‘for the support of a priest for the convent’. Presumably,
the priest would include Arnulf in his commemorative services.31 The abbey of
Doornzele received a similar donation from Marguerite de Valle of 150 libras
flandrensis in September 1240 for the support of a chaplain to perform daily
masses on her behalf in the abbey’s church.32
While some patrons were vague about the exact nature of the services they
required in return for their grants, other donors were more specific. For exam-
ple, in 1227, Count Ferrand and Countess Jeanne granted the nuns of Épinlieu
an annual rent of 13 libras to provide a chaplain who would perform the Divine
Office on their behalf once a day.33 Several male donors established obits in
the abbey of Hemelsdale, including Salemons Morins, bourgeois of Ypres, and
Michiel de Trehout.34 By including the monetary provisions necessary to pro-
vide the chaplains needed to perform the desired masses, such donations sur-
mounted the obstacles faced by the nuns in fulfilling their requests.
While the prohibition against ordaining women may have had the potential
to disadvantage nuns, the tendency of donors to provide the funds necessary
to hire chaplains allowed them to circumvent such restrictions resulting from
views about their sex. And in spite of ecclesiastical attempts to reserve the most
sacred space of the abbey for nuns only, the commemorative services demanded
by patrons perpetuated the presence of men within the interior of the cloister.
As these documents demonstrate, chaplains and priests remained prominent
30
Bonvarlet, ‘Chronique de l’Abbaye de Sainte-Colombe de Blendecques’, p. 95.
31
Gent, Rijksarchief, Abdij Doorenzele, Inv. 027/C 4, 16 June 1227.
32
Gent, Rijksarchief, Abdij Doorenzele, Inv. 027/C 19.
33
Chronique de l’abbaye d’Epinlieu, ed. by Devillers, no. 55 (1229).
34
Cartulaire de l’abbaye de Hemelsdale, ed. by Van de Putte, p. 61, no. 20 (1270) and p. 58,
no. 17 (March 1266). Both charters included detailed discussions of the monetary provisions
provided by each donor.
features of Cistercian nunneries throughout the thirteenth centuries. Their

presence did not detract from the sacred nature of the space they occupied,
as reflected in the propensity of donors to seek spiritual services from these
communities. This suggests the need to revisit current conceptions about the
relationship between gender and the sacred in the Middle Ages. Scholars in the
past have engaged in extensive discussions about the need to control such space
once it was understood as sacred in order to maintain its spiritual integrity. They
have typically focused on the gendered nature of such restrictions and their
implications for women, understood as routinely denied access to sacred space
for fear of pollution. Similarly, scholars have long discussed ecclesiastical efforts
to control the spaces occupied by religious women, preventing the movement
of nuns outside of their cloister walls and prohibiting men from penetrating
cloister walls, regardless of their capacity. As the discussion here demonstrates,
the evidence provided by the charters reveals a much more complex situation
that prompts reconsideration of the relationship between space and gender in
the medieval monastery, as well as in medieval mindset more generally. While
scholars have examined the sacred nature of monastic space, they have often
focused on communities of monks or cathedrals, places that often understood
the very presence of women to be polluting and limited their access according-
ly.35 The logical application of this conclusion to monastic space occupied by
nuns suggests that it would be perceived as having less spiritual value, due to the
very presence of members of the ‘inferior’ sex. Yet examining the value patrons
placed on women’s religious communities indicates that not all women were
understood this way, and that the relationship between gender and spirituality
was much more complex than we have previously assumed.36
Due to the vagaries of time and the destructive nature of war, physical
remains of Cistercian communities in Flanders and Hainaut from the thir-
teenth century are exceedingly rare.37 Architectural plans, when available, pro-
35
Schulenburg, ‘Gender, Celibacy and Proscriptions of Sacred Space’, p. 192, focuses on
the exclusion of women from monastic churches, which she interprets as further evidence of the
church’s ongoing attempts to exclude women from sacred space. Cassidy-Welch, Monastic Spaces
and their Meanings, deliberately excludes nunneries from the discussion (p. 12). The excep
tion would be Gilchrist, who is more focused on archaeology as reflecting gender difference;
Gilchrist, ‘The Spatial Archaeology of Gender Domains’ and Gender and Material Culture.
36
Examples of space as theoretical construct, particularly in conjunction with discussion
of gender, include Spain, Gendered Spaces; and Johnson, ‘Mulier et monialis’, p. 242.
37
Beginning with the religious wars at the end of the sixteenth century and intensifying
again with the French Revolution and forced dissolution of monastic communities in the
288 Erin L. Jordan
vide a sense of the structure and dimensions of Cistercian abbeys, but they tell
us very little about the interior of the space.38 Similarly, archaeological excava-
tions provide knowledge of the layout of an abbey but reveal little information
about the individuals who resided within it. In these instances, written docu-
mentation provides an important supplement to the material evidence we do
have. Further, in the complete absence of material remains, charters provide an
opportunity better to understand how space was configured within Cistercian
abbeys. The chapels and altars that they often arranged for would have been
instrumental in defining the interior space of the abbey churches in which they
were placed, on occasion even providing alterations to the physical structure.
While the nature of the source prevents us from determining their exact place-
ment, we are able to know that they were there. Since few of these communities
have left any physical traces of their original buildings, this proves to be a sig-
nificant addition to our very limited knowledge of what a thirteenth-century
Cistercian nunnery would have looked like, inside and out.39
Close examination of the documents reveals much about the various ways
that space within these abbeys was configured. The tendency of patrons to
demand anniversary masses in return for the donations described could prompt
the physical transformation of monastic architecture over the course of the
thirteenth century. Accommodating such requests often entailed the construc-
tion of additional altars, housed in chapels that radiated from the centre of the
church. In the absence of material evidence, scholars have concluded that nuns
seldom faced such pressures to alter the physical space within their churches, in
part because they fielded few requests for the type of such commemorative ser-
vices that prompted them to begin with.40 However, as the examples drawn from
the charter evidence attest, Cistercian nuns not only received requests for anni-
versary masses, but they built chapels and altars to facilitate their ability to fulfill
such requests, transforming the physical space of their communities accordingly.
eighteenth century, the abbeys of Flanders and Hainaut were almost systematically destroyed;
38
Chauvin, Marquette-lez-Lille à la Redécouverte de l’Abbaye de la comtesse Jeanne, uses
charters and cartularies to determine what buildings were present within abbey complex. Plans
of the abbatial churches of Bijloke and Flines are published in Dimier, Recueil de plans d’églises
cisterciennes, ii, pls 37 and 114.
39
40
Even if archaeological remains were extant, the presence of altars and chantries might
not be evident because such structures did not always leave tangible evidence of their presence
within the church; Colvin, ‘The Origin of Chantries’, p. 164.
The construction of chapels often resulted from arrangements made by

individual donors, especially those involved with the initial foundation of the
abbey. Mathilda, lady of Tenremonde, requested that the abbey of Zwijveke
arrange for a priest to perform a mass on her behalf every Sunday after prime
‘in accordance with the rites of the Cistercian Order.’ In order to realize her
demands, she provided the funds necessary to establish a chapel and pay for
the services of a permanent chaplain.41 The foundation of the abbey of Notre
Dame d’Olive is often attributed to a member of the local bourgeoisie named
Guillaume. The abbey was built on land first donated by Berthe de Morlanwelz,
widow of Eustace, seigneur de Roeulx. Guillaume not only arranged to have
seven nuns sent from the nearby monastery of Moustier-sur-Sambre, but he
served as the abbey’s chaplain until his death in 1240.42
A number of individuals founded chapels in the abbey of Flines, includ-
ing the founder Countess Marguerite, her son Guy, and her daughter-in-law
Mahaut. Mahaut became an avid patron of Cistercian women in Flanders
and Hainaut, erecting chapels in the abbeys of Flines, Beaupré-sur-la-Lys, and
Zwijveke.43 Flines also received a donation of twenty livres from Jean, seigneur
de Dampierre and de St Dizier, to fund ‘a chapel in the church for the soul of
his dear seigneur and father of good memory Jean.’44 Although the configura-
tion of the abbey complex in the thirteenth century is unknown, the plan of
the church does exist. Archival evidence, used in tandem with archaeological
investigation has revealed the existence of thirteen secondary altars by 1279,
along with five radiating chapels.45
In June 1277, Marie, abbess of Brayelle, issued a charter confirming a dona-
tion made to her abbey by Pierre, knight and lord of Ghoy, of an annual rent
of 100 libras parisienses, to be used to erect a chapel in which services would
41
Cartulaire de l’abbaye de Zwijveke-lez-Termonde, ed. by De Vlaminck, pp. 52–53, no. 59
(7 February 1250).
42
Little remains of the abbey’s archives, though excavations have revealed the configuration
of the abbey complex; Monasticon Belge, ed. by Berlière and others, i.2, p. 371.
43
Mahuat made several donations to Flines to provide monetary support for a chaplain to
perform masses on her behalf: ADN, B 446/202 (27 March 1259) and B 446/1264 (13 April
1262); for Beaupré see ADN, 2187 51 H, no. 1202 (1258); and for Zwijveke, ADN, 2187 51
H, no. 1202 (1258).
44
Cartulaire de l’abbaye de Flines, ed. by Hautcoeur, pp. 158–59, no. 145 (September
1263); pp. 261–62, no. 240 (19 October 1284).
45
Heddebaut, ‘L’Abbaye de Flines’.
290 Erin L. Jordan
be performed twice a week on his and his wife’s behalf.46 In 1293, Pierre’s wife
Honnestasse de Hamelaincourt added an additional six livres parisis annual rent
along with a life rent of an unspecified amount, and requested that the number
of masses said per week be increased to four. A pittance was to be distributed
to the nuns on the day of her death.47 In spite of the absence of architectural
evidence for the abbey of Brayelle, which was destroyed during the French
Revolution, the written evidence reveals that after her death, Honesstasse was
buried in the chapel her donation funded.
Honnestasse was not alone in requesting burial within the monastic pre-
cincts, preferably within the abbey’s church. While prayers and obits provided
an opportunity for patrons to participate vicariously in the spiritual life of the
monastic community, burials were even more desired by donors seeking physi-
cally to share the sacred space of the abbey for eternity.48 Archaeological inves-
tigation into the site of the abbey of Beaupré-sur-la-Lys revealed the presence of
several sepulchres in the abbey church, including their most prominent patron,
Sybille de Wavrin, who was buried under the nuns’ choir ‘sur un marbre plat
ou est empreinte la figure d’une dame couronnée avec ceste escrit aux environs:
Cy gist Sibille, dame de Wavrin et de Liller’. Remains of a second tomb near
the sacristy were also discovered. It was identified as the burial site of Marie,
chatelaine of Berghes, who died 1265.49 Similarly, several sepulchral enclosures
were discovered at Fontenelle, indicating the burial of at least two individuals
within the abbey church.50
While archaeological excavation has revealed the presence of tombs in the
abbeys mentioned above, written evidence has proven equally valuable for those
nunneries that left no material traces of their thirteenth-century structures.
46
Cartulaire et abbesses de la Brayelle d’Annai, ed. by Demarquette, pp. 378–79, no. 109
( June 1277).
47
Cartulaire et abbesses de la Brayelle d’Annai, ed. by Demarquette, pp. 379–81, no. 110
( June 1293).
48
On burials, see Cassidy-Welch, Monastic Spaces and their Meanings, who argues that the
physical sites of death were spaces associated with memory and commemoration, an association
that strengthened as the thirteenth century wore on (p. 236). Also Hall, ‘The Legislative
Background to the Burial of Laity’. The significance of burial location to patrons is addressed by
Golding, ‘Burials and Benefactions’.
49
Dom Eugène, ‘Histoire de l’abbaye de Beaupré-sur-la-Lys’, p. 229 ; it is interesting that
Piérone de Lannoy, abbess of Beaupré, was buried in the chapter house following her death in
1261, rather than in the abbey’s church (p. 236).
50
Beaussart and Maliet, ‘Les Pavements de l’abbatiale de Fontenelle a Maing’.
Egidius de Bredeene, chancellor of Flanders and a canon of St Donatien, was

instrumental in the foundation and early growth of the abbey of Spermalie. His
special relationship with the community was demonstrated in his burial in the
nuns’ choir, beneath an elaborate marble sepulchre.51 Similarly, Guillaume, the
founder and first chaplain of the abbey of Notre-Dame d’Olive at Morlanwelz,
was buried in the abbey church following his death in 1233. Like their male
counterparts, female founders of Cistercian nunneries also sought a perma-
nent place among the nuns. Marguerite de Guînes, the founder of the abbey
of Wevelgem, was initially buried in the church at its original location in
Moorseele after her death in 1221. Her body was later exhumed and moved
to the new church after its completion the 1230s, where it was buried in the
middle of the nuns’ choir. Their decision to move the body of their founder and
most generous patron reflects the nuns’ recognition that it was their presence
that conferred spiritual significance upon the space within the cloister; in their
absence, the structure lost its sacred value — hence, the need to transfer the
body of Marguerite.52
In accordance with the wishes expressed in her testament, Countess Jeanne
was buried at Marquette following her death in 1244, alongside her husband
Ferrand and daughter Marie. They were interred in the middle of the nuns’
choir; their prominent burial location was clearly intended to reflect their posi-
tion as founders of the prosperous abbey. They were also ideally positioned to
benefit from the prayers and songs offered daily by the nuns when they con-
gregated in the church for liturgical services. Jeanne’s nephew Guillaume, who
was killed at a tournament in 1251,was buried in the church of Marquette in a
lateral chapel. The significance associated with one’s final resting site is reflected
in the dilemma faced by Guillaume’s wife, Béatrice of Brabant. During her
extended widowhood, Béatrice developed an extremely close relationship with
the nuns of Groeninghe, building a house within the enclosure of the abbey
that eventually became her primary residence. In spite of her clear affinity for
Groeninghe, Béatrice, who never remarried after Guillaume’s untimely death,
requested that she be buried alongside her husband in the abbey of Marquette.
However, in a gesture rife with symbolism, she stipulated that her heart remain
with the nuns of Groeninghe, interred in a marble effigy positioned at the cen-
tre of the nuns’ choir.53
51
Canivez, L’Ordre de Cîteaux en Belgique, p. 430.
52
Monasticon Belge, ed. by Ursmer Berlière and others, iii.2, p. 479.
53
Coomans, ‘Moniales cisterciennes et mémoire dynastique’, p. 104.
292 Erin L. Jordan
Archaeological investigation, in tandem with written documentation, has

revealed the presence of a number of individuals in the abbey church of Flines,
most notably its foundress, Countess Marguerite, who was buried in a particu-
larly prominent location at the heart of the choir, surrounded by the numer-
ous relics she had donated to the abbey in her will.54 Sharing this sacred space
with Marguerite was her second husband William of Dampierre. William was
buried at the abbey’s initial location in Orchies. His body was transferred after
the abbey was relocated, and was interred in one of the many chapels of the
new church. Flines was also the burial site of Marguerite and William’s son,
Guy; his wife, Mahaut de Béthune; and Guy’s son Robert and his wife, Blanche
of Sicily. Marguerite’s youngest daughter, Marie, a nun at Flines, occupied the
space in the choir with her. Marguerite’s granddaughters, Jeanne de Dampierre
and Jeanne d’Avesnes, were buried in to the left of the altar in the church and
in the chapter room, respectively. A number of other prominent individuals
not connected to the comital family also requested and received permission to
erect sepulchres in the abbey, including Jean de Neuville, prévôt of Soignies,
and Gerard, prévôt of Cassel.
Cistercian nunneries in the thirteenth century were vibrant communities,
constantly evolving to meet the needs of patrons and potential adherents. In
addition, the experiences discussed here prompt a reconsideration of a number
of past assumptions about the limitations faced by religious women in secur-
ing patronage and sustaining their communities. Contrary to claims about the
inferiority of religious women in the spiritual hierarchy of the Middle Ages,
the evidence for Cistercian nunneries in Flanders and Hainaut suggests that
not only were nunneries not disadvantaged by their inability to offer such com-
memorative services, but that such services were actually sought from them as
often as they were from their male counterparts. In suggesting that nuns were
viewed as inferior to their male counterparts in the monastic landscape, their
motives suspect and the finances of their abbeys muddled, scholars have often
cited their inability to attract sustained religious patronage. Such views ulti-
mately stem from an interpretation of medieval society that assumes that men’s
prayers were more valued than women’s. In particular, historians have argued
54
For details regarding the burial of Marguerite, see Coomans, ‘Moniales cisterciennes
et mémoire dynastique’. Anne Lester disagrees with Coomans regarding the burial place of
Marguerite’s husband William, arguing instead for a sepulture at the abbey of St Dizier, which
he founded; Lester, Creating Cistercian Nuns, p. 166. Based on the written evidence, most
notably Marguerite’s testament of 1278, which clearly stipulated burial next to William, who
had predeceased her, I concur with Coomans.
that nuns were less capable of providing the types of commemorative services
preferred by thirteenth-century patrons, leading patrons to direct donations
to communities of monks instead.55 Most notably, the anniversary mass has
received most of this attention. This type of commemoration involved the per-
formance of a mass, requiring the presence of an ordained individual. Since
church doctrine prohibited the ordination of women, nuns are often viewed as
being disadvantaged in terms of the donations and resources that would have
accompanied such requests.56 Male communities could adjust to this shift in
commemoration by including more ordained monks among their ranks; nuns
could not, prompting scholars to assume that donations to their communities
declined accordingly.57 To quote C. H. Lawrence, ‘The lay donor who endowed
a monastery hoped to reap spiritual benefits from his gift, and the most highly
valued of these was one that women could not provide: women could not cel-
ebrate mass.’58 As the numerous examples cited above attest, Lawrence was mis-
taken in his conclusions about the inability of women to provide commemora-
tive services desired by patrons. This corrective to our assessment of the appeal
of female prayers has significant implications for our understanding of the posi-
tion of women in the spiritual landscape of medieval Europe more generally.
As the discussion here demonstrates, nuns employed and occupied physi-
cal space in ways that very much resembled those of their male counterparts.
The most notable difference between foundations for religious men and
women seems to be that men’s communities attempted to reserve their most
sacred places for males only, while women’s communities were more diverse.
This difference has been noted by scholars, who often interpret the presence of
men within the cloister in a negative light. It is often explained as a reflection
of the secondary spiritual status of nunneries within the monastic landscape,
an unavoidable consequence of the gender dynamic that informed medieval
society and forced women into a position of dependence on men. However,
55
Southern, Western Society and the Church, p. 310; Burton, The Yorkshire Nunneries
of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, p. 2. See also Johnson, Equal in Monastic Profession,
p. 191 and p. 224; Lemaître, ‘Nécrologes et obituaires des religieuses en France’, p. 196; and
more recently Muschiol, ‘Time and Space’, p. 195.
56
Michel Lauwers argues that the overall decline in bequests to monastic communities in
the thirteenth century was especially disadvantageous to religious women, who were excluded
from sacerdotal functions and could not offer anniversary masses; Lauwers, La Mémoire des
ancêtres, le souci des morts, p. 429.
57
Cardman, ‘The Medieval Question of Women and Orders’.
58
Lawrence, Medieval Monasticism, p. 216.
294 Erin L. Jordan
the evidence of the esteem placed on the commemorative services offered by

Cistercian nuns discussed here suggests the need to revisit these conclusions
and to revise our understanding of how gender influenced the way religious
men and women were perceived by the laity.
Clearly, the physical presence of a woman was not in and of itself regarded
as polluting. If so, nunneries would have never had patrons. Rather, the space
within the monastic cloisters discussed here derived their sacred status from
the presence of the nuns who occupied it, and it was obviously esteemed by
members of the laity, who sought spiritual association with the nuns. Further,
past focus on ecclesiastical and monastic legislation perpetuated the belief that
in order for such spaces to remain sacred, men and members of the laity were
prohibited entrance, just as women were prohibited entrance into male monas-
tic communities. Such conclusions are belied by the evidence cited here. The
numerous charters produced by Cistercian nunneries in this region suggest the
vibrancy of these communities and the diversity of their members. Not only
do they illustrate the periodic presence of non-monastic personnel within the
cloister in the form of donors, both symbolically in the case of those invoked
in anniversary masses and obits and physically in the form of burials, but even
more present are the chaplains, often permanent members of the monastic
community, who regularly frequented the confines of the abbey church to per-
form the masses requested by patrons. Their presence did not disqualify the
space from being considered sacred by those requesting the commemorative
services, suggesting that what qualifies a space as sacred in the medieval mind
was considerably more complicated than prescriptive sources have indicated.59
Attitudes about gender difference undoubtedly shaped society’s views of
monks and nuns and their respective communities in the thirteenth century.
However, in order to reposition nuns more accurately within the social and
spiritual landscape of the Middle Ages, we need to reassess many of the gen-
dered assumptions that inform modern notions of medieval perceptions of the
sexes. The experience of women in the Middle Ages is often understood as uni-
form, which fails to appreciate the complexity of medieval society. As the dis-
cussion here demonstrates, the uniform application of beliefs about medieval
gender norms to the experience of all women should be avoided.60 Religious
59
Penelope Johnson makes a similar argument, suggesting that nuns were less defined by
gender than other medieval women; see Johnson, ‘Mulier et monialis’, p. 246.
60
LoPrete, ‘Gendering Viragos’, p. 17, warns against the imposition of universalizing
categories on women in the past.
women are assumed to have encountered the same difficulties and disadvan-
tages as their secular sisters. However, the evidence provided here suggests the
need to reexamine the extent to which women, both religious and secular, were
negatively impacted by medieval gender norms. Such generalizations do a dual
disservice, one to the past in their inaccurate portrayal of monasticism and one
to the present in their failure to accurately understand how gender functioned
across time and space.
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Symbolic Meanings of Space
in Female Monastic Tradition
Anne Müller
T
his essay offers a few thoughts about how we might look at conceptions
of space in the female monastic tradition and at their possible symbolic
meanings. It will build on a range of studies, which have shown historical
interest with spatial matters in a female monastic context. This interest, I think, is
directly connected to a rising academic awareness of the important potential that
monastic spaces provide for the representation of identities and the creation of
order. The following takes up this issue of the nature of space to discuss a range of
general problems that I identify from current studies. What I would also like to
do, without delving too deeply into detail, is to consider a few paths and routes
that future research could take to move a vibrant and vital subject forward.
There is no need to open this essay with a lament about an overlooked
topic. Studies on female monastic spaces are not as scarce as one would, per-
haps, expect. Scholarly interest in the relationships between space and gender
came up among Anglo-American scholars as early as the 1980s, and since then
research in that area has become relatively well established.1 However, one defi-
1
There is an excellent introductory essay by one of the pioneers in this field of research
about how the exploration of women’s religious life developed: see Bitel, ‘Convent Ruins
and Christian Profession’. One of the first major approaches to female monastic space is
Schulenburg, ‘Strict Active Enclosure’. An important step towards integrating historical and
archaeological questions with sociological theories of space was taken by Gilchrist, Gender and
Material Culture.
Anne Müller ([email protected]) is honorary research fellow at the University of Wales,

Trinity Saint David, and academic director of the Heidenheim Abbey Project in Germany.
300 Anne Müller
cit in regard to the complexity of space is that investigations in this field are
often located in single disciplines, in particular history, architectural history,
or history of art. Frequently, they embrace phenomena such as the normative
settings for the use of space, physical structures, or the use of real spaces and art
for devotional and imaginative practice, which is a theme crucial in the stud-
ies of Jeffrey F. Hamburger.2 While all these studies have drawn attention to
the complexity of space and its importance for identity-building, there have
been few attempts so far to transcend the traditional bounds of disciplines and
work out a broader dialogue. Another shortcoming is that, with the excep-
tion of a range of high-quality studies on individual religious orders, such as
Meredith Parsons Lillich’s work on female Cistercian art and architecture or
Carola Jäggi’s study of the churches of the Poor Clares and Dominican sisters,3
female monastic spaces are not often approached as a pan-European phenom-
enon. What we can also note, where systematic spatial studies are concerned,
is a clear focus of interest on the nunnery church and church typologies. This
appears to be reasonable given the evident role of the church as a liturgical and
symbolic place. It is in this particular part of the monastic compound that the
answer to a most crucial question of identity-building is revealed: how could
women move through the space and participate in liturgy and mass and, at the
same time, keep their enclosure? There is no better place than the church to
see how the creation and use of space was indeed affected by the difference and
different character of the female monastic life.4 I believe, however, the same is
true for the wider space of the enclosure. Therefore, a perspective is taken in the
following pages that is complementary to that of Matthias Untermann in the
present volume: while his essay analyses the space of the church, I shall look
into the claustral compound beyond.
It is a striking fact that the cloisters of religious women in particular have
attracted scant research so far. For instance, in Claudia Mohn’s important study
2
See, for example, Hamburger, The Visual and the Visionary. This approach led to a
conference and an important exhibition, accompanied by substantial new publications; see
Hamburger and others, Frauen – Kloster – Kunst. The splendid exhibition catalogue is Frings
and Gerchow, Krone und Schleier: Kunst aus mittelalterlichen Frauenklöstern. An English
translation of the essays in this catalogue is in Hamburger and Marti, Crown and Veil.
3
Lillich, Studies in Cistercian Art and Architecture, Volume 6: Cistercian Nuns and their
World; Jäggi, Frauenklöster im Spätmittelalter. A step towards a comparative investigation of
space within a broader geographical and chronological frame was attempted in Melville and
Müller, Female ‘vita religiosa’ between Late Antiquity and High Middle Ages.
4
This is discussed in detail by Matthias Untermann in the present volume.
Symbolic Meanings of Space in Female Monastic Tradition 301
Mittelalterliche Klosteranlagen der Zisterzienserinnen — a title that decisively

implies the investigation of claustral layouts — only twelve pages of what is
a substantial book are dedicated to claustral buildings. Where scholars have
devoted attention to the monastic compound, their interest often appears to
be with ‘domestic functions’. Meredith Parsons Lillich’s view might be charac-
teristic of this when, regarding the impressive buildings of the medieval nun-
neries, she concludes: ‘Monasteries are nothing if not practical.’ 5 This is cer-
tainly true, but we should not forget that there is no functional arrangement in
social contexts — monastic or not — that would not also have a symbolic side.
It is only during recent years that spatial studies have looked at this interrela-
tion and have stressed meanings and functions of monastic buildings that are
other than merely instrumental. A ground-breaking enterprise in this regard is
Megan Cassidy-Welch’s book (published in 2001), which is a systematic spatial
analysis of the Cistercian houses in northern England. Unfortunately, this fine
book also excludes the female tradition, with the sound argument that women’s
houses — due to their distinctive nature — deserve better than to be dealt with
as an appendix to the epistemologies created by men.6 So we are still left waiting
for the first comprehensive study about the individual nature of female monas-
tic spaces.7
In this context, one crucial question concerns the possibilities that claustral
space provided for the presentation and representation of distinctive identities
in female monastic tradition. I will try to address this issue in different histori-
cal and geographical contexts. I exclude the church itself from this discussion,
as this primary liturgical space opens completely different fields of reference. I
will begin by looking at the earliest concepts about female monastic enclosure
and how they were put into practice. Using the example of early Ireland, I will
then briefly turn to the relationship between particular sociocultural condi-
tions and the development of spaces within nunneries. The second part of my
essay considers a range of spatial symbolism in the female context, including
the possibilities available to nuns for symbolically transcending the earthly
space of their cloister and creating a heavenly place.
5
Preface to Lillich, Studies in Cistercian Art and Architecture, v, p. x.
6
Cassidy-Welch, Monastic Spaces and their Meanings, pp. 12–13.
7
Emerging from a new understanding of space, stimulating individual discussions on
real and imagined spaces in the claustral compounds of medieval nunneries are now appearing:
see, for example, Jäggi, ‘Raum als symbolische Kommunikation’, pp. 196–205; or Rudy, Virtual
Pilgrimages in the Convent.
302 Anne Müller
Two more brief thoughts when it comes to the question of space: first, I
think it is important to realize that concepts of female claustral space did not
follow those of men. There were so many ways in which the religious life of
women diverged from that of men and had completely different functions — an
aspect that has also been emphasized in most of the essays of the present book.
Therefore, it would be bad science to judge spatial arrangements in nunneries
against male standards. This, of course, should not prevent us from comparing
basic structures in order to then identify the particular, distinctive character-
istics of female monastic space — or, if one prefers, the other way around.8 In
doing so, and this is my second point, any attempt at comparison must be con-
textual and take into account the full range of milieux in which these institu-
tions developed. The social standing of the founder, the social hierarchy within
the convent, the variety of urban or rural situations in which these communi-
ties operated, external expectations, forms of interaction, and social functions
connected to the religious life — these are only a few of the factors that were
apparently decisive for the construction of particular space and need to be con-
sidered. It is established knowledge today that monastic space is social space,
and not a fixed place but constructed and shaped through complex human
action, inside and outside the monastic compound.9 As such, space is not static
but in permanent motion. Yet interestingly, monastic spaces, and female spaces
in particular, can create the impression of being static and closed — a capacity
of symbolization that was apparently pivotal for conceiving these spaces as a
quasi-sacred counter-world and a place already understood as between heaven
and earth.
If we now look for the primacy of this complex development, it appears that
all the later expressions of female monastic enclosure were rooted in a ‘monas-
tic experiment’ that took place around the year 500 and was connected to
Caesarius of Arles (468/70–542),10 who lived in the surroundings of new and
8
There is a compelling essay on the use of a comparative history in the context of the
religious orders, including comparison between female and male institutions by Felten, ‘Wozu
treiben wir vergleichende Ordensgeschichte?’ Strong arguments in this regard were also made by
Caroline Walker Bynum in her foreword to Hamburger and Marti, Crown and Veil, pp. xiv–xv.
9
On the engagement with theorized discussions of space within monastic studies, see,
for example, Cassidy-Welch, Monastic Spaces and their Meanings, pp. 2–12; or Spicer and
Hamilton, ‘Defining the Holy’.
10
Diem, Das monastische Experiment. The title of this book refers to the interplay between
ideals of chastity and community building, which generated completely new concepts of
enclosure, originating in the female religious world.
complex religious formation.11 In creating a rule for his sister’s newly founded
convent Saint Jean in Arles — the Regula ad virgines, which was actually the
result of a thirty-year-long experiment and modification — this leading ecclesi-
astic and bishop in Gaul appears to have set the spatial frameworks for the rigor-
ous enclosure of women to come. Albrecht Diem, when analysing the Regula ad
virgines in relation to the organization of the nunnery in Arles, has stressed the
point that in this rule Caesarius assigned a truly distinctive and so far unknown
functional role to claustral space.12 According to Diem, Caesarius’s conception
of enclosure for women centred on the creation of a place free of sin (‘sünden-
freie Zone’), marked out and delimited through space.13 The value of this sepa-
rate, closed, and ‘pure’ place lay in the fact that it offered completely new and
significant opportunities for salvation, from which — mediated through the
prayer of the nuns — not only the founder of the house could benefit but exter-
nal groups as well. This very idea of prayer on behalf of a wider outside world
apparently grew out from the female community in Arles and was, according
to Diem, not yet associated with the various options of monastic living then
available for men. So, from what Diem suggests, it looks as if the idea of the
monastery as a quasi-sacred space with the capacity for salvation would have its
roots in female, and not in male, monastic tradition. This, in fact, is a remark-
able suggestion, questioning the paradigm of male religious life as being senior
to that of the late-coming sisters.14
Two central ideas were connected to Caesarius’s concept of enclosure. First
is the creation of a distinctive space where a community of women would con-
tinuously pray for the coming of Christ. Here, it appears, lie the roots of the
stabilitas loci. For having entered this place, the nuns were not supposed ever
to leave it. Second, designed as a refuge where women could escape the jaws
of the spiritual wolves (‘fauces spiritualium luporum’, as Caesarius put it), the
nunnery was a place of shelter. Caesarius also used the metaphor of the ark that
11
For Caesarius’s life, work, and influence, see Klingshirn, Caesarius of Arles.
12
I am here following Albrecht Diem’s argumentation as provided in Das monastische
Experiment, pp. 173–93. For a critical edition of the versions of the Regula Caesarii ad virgines,
see Césaire d’Arles, Oeuvres monastiques, ed. by de Vogüé and Courreau, pp. 170–273. For an
introduction to the rule and English translation, see Césaire d’Arles, The Rule for Nuns, trans. by
McCarthy. For a new spatial analysis of the Regula cuiusdam ad virgines, see Diem, ‘Das Ende
des monastischen Experiments’. Diem also provides an English essay on normative settings for
spatial developments: ‘Inventing the Holy Rule’.
13
Diem, Das monastische Experiment, pp. 178–80.
14
Diem, ‘Das Ende des monastischen Experiments’, p. 83.
304 Anne Müller
protected the women from the storms, temptations, and perils of the world. As
long as the women did not transgress the boundaries of their enclosure, they
were in a safe place, offering not only physical protection but what was then
regarded as the greatest chance for spiritual salvation.15
A set of elements from the material, symbolic, and normative household
supported and constructed this spatial design of the nuns’ enclosure. At the
core of Caesarius’s new experiment was the strict physical delimitation from
the urban world. Walls and physical space were, as Diem says, ‘institutional-
ized’ for the purpose of religious perfection and salvation. Nevertheless, there
appears to be a striking difference to later monastic notions of space. Although
a spatially confined area provided the framework for the women’s holy life from
the time of Caesarius onwards, this was evidently not yet linked to the mechan-
ics of ‘sacralization’, as they were to mark out the space as distinctively ‘holy’
at a later point in time. There is no indication whatsoever in Caesarius’s rules
that symbolic actions or rituals would have vested the space with meaning or
that, for instance, relic cults were used as a generator for the sacralization of
the place. Evidently, it was only from the sixth century onwards, or the post-
Caesarius generation, that female monastic houses started to become centres of
relic veneration.16 But if this is the case, what, then, was the base for the crea-
tion and perception of a distinct locus sanctus?
Caesarius’s project is based on a model known as active enclosure — in con-
trast to passive enclosure. Active enclosure is marked by the prohibition against
leaving the cloister; passive enclosure also regulates access and keeps strangers
out. In Caesarius’s earlier rules for nuns, emphasis is on active enclosure, and
there is little directive about who was allowed or forbidden to enter the wom-
en’s space. This lack of interest in matters of ingress might correlate with the
fact that up to Caesarius’s own time religious women (sanctimoniales) could
live in their families’ houses where the physical sealing-off from the secular
world was simply not an option. Within the spaces of the nuns, the reception
of visitors or the answering of letters was part of their everyday life. This prac-
tice of interaction, however, was to change. It was still during Caesarius’s epis-
copacy that religious enclosure was established and seen as a secretum. In this
‘secret’ or closed place sanctity was generated not only through the permanent
presence of the nuns but through the absence of all other persons. In one of the
later versions of his rule, Caesarius stipulated that in order to protect the repu-
15
Diem, ‘Das Ende des monastischen Experiments’, pp. 175–79.
16
Smith, ‘Women at the Tomb’.
tation of the house (‘propter custodientiam famam’), no man was to enter the
partes secretae of the women’s enclosure, with the sole exception of the bishop
and the clerics in charge of the mass. Even the provisor, the economic manager,
was excluded from the nunnery, while the abbess, usually the contact person
with the outer world, was now expected to speak to visitors and guests only
if trustworthy witnesses were present, which marked a significant loss of her
authoritative power.17
Such ideas of rigorous enclosure were characteristic of the female monastic
institutions in Merovingian Gaul and the Frankish empire.18 In the course of
the Carolingian reform, active cloistering for religious women was then spec-
ified in a series of conciliar degrees.19 In these texts a significant change can
be noted. What seemed to have started as a policy of protection soon appears
to have turned into a policy of restriction. Jane Tibbits Schulenburg has pro-
vided a comprehensive analysis of the normative settings for this development.
She has made the point that this policy of narrow enclosure may have sparked
from ‘the desire of controlling women’s sexuality through enforced isolation,
not guarding her autonomy’.20 What the reformers apparently envisioned when
they discussed enclosure was to protect the women from the fragility of their
own sex rather than from the dangers imposed on them from the outside world.
Such a notion may have laid down the roots for the long-standing theological
perception of the women’s bodies as dangerously porous. Eventually it culmi-
17
Regula Caesarii ad virgines, cap. 36, pp. 218, 220; on this aspect, see also Diem, Das
monastische Experiment, pp. 187–88.
18
An excellent discussion of the development of the female Merovingian monastic
foundations and of the state of research is in Helvétius, ‘L’Organisation des monastères
féminins à l’époque mérovingienne’. For the earliest developments of female monastic spaces,
see Schulenburg, ‘Women’s Monasteries and Sacred Space’; Jäggi and Lobbedey, ‘Church
and Cloister’, pp. 110–12; or the important case study by Blennemann, ‘Raumkonzept und
liturgische Nutzung’.
19
According to Schulenburg, at least a dozen separate pieces of legislation from c. 750
to 850 demanded rigorous enclosure for nuns. Important sex-specific canons in regard to the
claustration of nuns were released, for example, by the Council of Ver (755), the Council of
Friuli (796/7), the Council of Riesbach and Freising (800), the General Council of Aix-la-
Chapelle (802), the Council of Tours (813), or the Council of Mainz (847) — all of these
stipulating strict claustration for nuns and enumerating the circumstances under which the
abbess could leave the monastery. For the names and content of these specific conciliar decrees,
see Schulenburg, ‘Strict Active Enclosure’, pp. 56–59.
20
Schulenburg, ‘Strict Active Enclosure’, p. 79.
306 Anne Müller
nated in the bull Periculoso (1298), which was the most radical papal attempt
to force religious women universally into full, strict enclosure.21
Returning to Caesarius’s original model for a nunnery in Arles, there are
hints that this bishop’s notion of space did in fact affect physical structures.
After the original cloister outside the Roman city walls was destroyed following
the siege of Arles in 507/08, the convent moved into a town house that would
have accommodated more than two hundred women.22 In one of his latest stip-
ulations, Caesarius had all the former entrances into this new nunnery bricked
up so that the nuns could not leave their house for the rest of their lives. The
only door cut through the walls of the cloister connected to the basilica of St
Mary, the nuns’ burial church.23 Though there are very few physical remains left
from that early time, what archaeologists did discover, interestingly, is the place
of the funerary church (adjacent to the Roman city walls) and a barricaded gate
where the cloister of the women of Arles was supposed to be.24
Among the points of discussion that could follow from here is how
Caesarius’s idea of strict enclosure developed on a wider European scale. This
issue was dealt with, for example, by Jane Tibbetts Schulenburg in her study of
contemporary texts, such as historiography, hagiography, and normative writ-
ing, or, more recently, by Matthias Untermann, who has looked at the build-
ing structures and physical remains of early nunneries.25 Interestingly, what the
scant archaeological evidence reveals for the four or five hundred years follow-
ing Caesarius — up to the tenth and eleventh centuries — is a striking variety
in the conception and construction of female monastic complexes. Among the
cloisters that emerged, there is scarcely any evidence for a residential structure
that would have enclosed an open central court, corresponding to the ‘classi-
cal’ arrangement we are familiar with from the plan of St Gall. Interestingly,
it is precisely this great diversity in structures that can lead us to suggest that
21
Makowski, Canon Law and Cloistered Women, pp. 29–31, where parallels between Peri
culoso and Caesarius’s cloister rules are discussed.
22
Helvétius, ‘L’Organisation des monastères féminins à l’époque mérovingienne’, p. 157.
23
Cf. Regula Caesarii ad virgines, p. 236, and Vita Caesarii, ed. by Krusch, p. 470. On
the aspect of physical delimitation, see van Rossem, ‘De poort in de muur’, and Diem, Das
monastische Experiment, pp. 175, 191, 313.
24
For the spatial arrangements in Saint Jean of Arles, see Heijmans, ‘Édifices religieux
d’Arles’ (providing ground plans).
25
Schulenburg, in addition to her article ‘Strict Active Enclosure’, provides a wider over
view on this issue in ‘Women’s Monasteries and Sacred Space’. For archaeological considerations,
see Untermann, ‘Das “Mönchshaus” in der früh- und hochmittelalterlichen Klosteranlage’.
nunneries were centrally in the mainstream of spatial monastic developments

of their time and not only fringe players.26 Up to the tenth and eleventh centu-
ries, the claustral arrangements of nunneries appear to have paralleled those of
monks. The male houses were characterized by the development of a so-called
Konventshaus that would have housed the community and integrated a range
of rather ‘domestic’ functions.27 Noticeably, this building often did not estab-
lish a close spatial relationship with the church by physically adjoining it, but
existed as a separate unit. Such flexible, irregular solutions are characteristic of
male and female houses of the earlier time. However, later developments in the
male and female branches diverged. While the nunneries continued tending to
individualism, the male counterparts, the Mönchshäuser, often became ‘orderly’,
aligned towards the church, and were earlier and more frequently built on an
axis.28 One might wonder whether such spatial development might parallel and
represent principal distinct identities and objectives of the female and male reli-
gious branches. Whereas in the male houses the church became the benchmark
for order and was to fix four proper wings of the cloister in close, functional
communication, the long-term detachment of the women’s living centre from
the church, which in fact was a semi-public and male dominated space, may sig-
nify that women’s religious life was not primarily connected to the altar but to
devotion and individual prayer. Thus, building structures eventually continued
to express the early Christian ideal of ascetic retreat in a symbolical way.29
26
Untermann, ‘Das “Mönchshaus” in der früh- und hochmittelalterlichen Klosteranlage’,
p. 107.
27
For an investigation of the structure of the ‘monks’ house’, the nucleus of the east wing,
see Untermann, ‘Das “Mönchshaus” in der früh- und hochmittelalterlichen Klosteranlage’.
28
Untermann, ‘Das “Mönchshaus” in der früh- und hochmittelalterlichen Klosteranlage’,
p. 103; for the male houses, see the examples throughout (with ground maps).
29
See the conclusion in Untermann, ‘Das “Mönchshaus” in der früh- und hochmittelalter
lichen Klosteranlage’, p. 107: ‘Es wäre dann eine Ironie der Geschichte, daß die männlichen
Zisterzienser in ihrer Suche nach Regelhaftigkeit eine Klosterbauform propagiert hätten, die
gerade nicht asketischen Rückzug, sondern Dienst an den Heiligen und Gläubigen symbolisiert,
während Frauenkonvente, mit deren Existenz und Spiritualität sich die kirchliche Obrigkeit so
viele Probleme machte, frühchristliche Ideale monastischer Abgeschiedenheit und Autarkie
in ihrer Architektur weitertrugen.’ Untermann sees the ‘irony of history’ in the development
of male and female monastic buildings. While the male Cistercians, in their striving for rule
and order, drifted off in their buildings from the ideal of ascetic retreat, nuns, in spite of having
caused so many problems for the ecclesiastical authorities in terms of their existence and
spirituality, were, according to Untermann, more successful in perpetuating the early Christian
ideals of monastic withdrawal and autarchy through their buildings.
308 Anne Müller
Were we to move this topic forward, we could also look at spaces other than
physical spaces, and their impact on women’s enclosure. As we know, in reli-
gious life there was a strong notion of the domus interior, the individual inner
space of the body and soul, which in the theological debates of the Middle
Ages was metaphorically linked to the vocabulary of real architecture; for
example, the structure of the cell or the four-winged cloister. I cannot delve
deeply into this subject here, but I should like to mention a new analysis of
the mid-seventh-century Regula cuiusdam ad virgines, compiled presumably in
Luxeuil, which provides fresh insight into how such ‘inner spaces’ correlated to
female religious life.30 In the Regula cuiusdam great emphasis is placed on the
‘closed body’, a symbolization of a barricaded space. This emerged as a central
focus for their individual spiritual life. The rules suggest that in the same radi-
cal way the nuns were expected to open and turn out their very inner selves in
the moment of confession, they were also expected to keep locked their body
at all other times. Their eyes, but also their ears and mouth, were all consid-
ered to be potentially dangerous loopholes to their pure inner space (the true
meeting place with God). For this reason ears, eyes, and mouth were to be kept
closed. A broad range of normative texts centred on controlling particularly
those accesses to the women’s ‘inner house’ and regulated precisely what and
how they were supposed to hear, see, and speak.31
It would certainly add a new dimension to our understanding of space if
we were to investigate further how conceptions of enclosure — both physi-
cal and allegorical — developed in relation to the body or, as another focal
point, to the church building and its own symbolism, and how this affected
everyday life. However, in looking at the complexities of the nunneries’ own
spaces, we should not only consider theoretical and normative models but also,
for instance, the formative impact of the wider macro space and surroundings.
This nexus and mutual relationship between the convent’s inner spaces and the
outer world is beginning to enter current research. There is, for example, a clear
trend among German historians to address the important role that medieval
nunneries at times would have played in German lands as Wissensräume, Wirt
schaftsräume, or Kulturräume32 — as spaces of intellectual, cultural, economic,
30
For the following see the two fundamental articles by Diem, ‘Das Ende des monastischen
Experiments’, pp. 91–102, and Diem, ‘On Opening and Closing the Body’.
31
For further discussion of the ‘inner house’, see van ‘t Spijker, Fictions of the Inner Life;
Constable, ‘Metaphors for Religious Life in the Middle Ages’; Melville and Müller, ‘Franzis
kanische Raumkonzepte.
32
See, for example, Eisermann and others, Studien und Texte zur literarischen und materiellen
and also political power. Most of these studies reveal the significant cultural
contributions that female communities were making. But there are also inves-
tigations that clearly show that in some regions the opposite was true. Janet
Burton’s examination of nunneries in northern England makes a striking case
by showing that houses of nuns, in contrast to the neighbouring houses of
monks, did indeed remain in the shadow of society where they scarcely left cul-
tural marks.33 Further systematic comparative investigation in various sociocul-
tural contexts would certainly help to construct a more rounded understanding
of how nunneries may have created a spatial and cultural presence and role for
themselves in the political and cultural life of distinct European regions.
A fruitful venture point for analysing particular spatial arrangements of
nunneries in regard to wider regional functions and expectations is the exam-
ple of early medieval Ireland. What is most striking here is that in this early
period very little evidence can be found of nuns being shut away — a phenom-
enon that can also be observed in Anglo-Saxon England. On the contrary, it
appears that the earliest female religious houses in Ireland (and England) even
developed a fairly relaxed attitude to claustration. This forms an obvious con-
trast to the strict cloistered life of the nuns on the Continent and is, apparently,
related to their distinctive roles and functions. As Lisa Bitel and Sarah Foot
have shown, the first generation of nuns in Ireland and England often played
an active role in pastoral care — at least up to the late seventh century, when
their houses began to disappear for a combination of reasons. 34 Evidence for
such active life can be found, for instance, in the first Life of Brigit of Kildare
(the so-called Vita prima), where Brigit (c. 451–525), the famous founder of
the double house in Kildare and a contemporary of Caesarius, is presented,
and in some sense celebrated, as a ‘female bishop’ with close ties to the secu-
lar world.35 This foundress, we read, arranged baptisms, supervised penance,
Kultur, and Melville and Müller, Female ‘vita religiosa’; or, focusing on the production of visual
culture, Frings and Gerchow, Krone und Schleier (in English, Hamburger and Marti, Crown and
Veil). Another important collection of papers is Signori, Lesen, Schreiben, Sticken und Erinnern.
33
See Janet Burton’s contribution to the present volume and, with more extensive lit
erature, Burton, ‘Moniales and Ordo Cisterciensis’.
34
On Irish female monasticism, see Bitel, ‘Women’s Monastic Enclosures’ or Landscape
with Two Saints. On the continuation of female Celtic nunneries at the time of the Anglo-
Irish colonization, see Hall, Women and Church in Medieval Ireland. On early Anglo-Saxon
nunneries, the new principal work is now Foot, Veiled Women.
35
See, for example, ‘Vitae S. Brigitae: The Oldest Texts’, ed. by Sharpe; cf. Bitel, Landscape
with Two Saints, p. 151.
310 Anne Müller
organized cure of the sick, and care for the guests. To manage and bless the
fields, she rode around in her chariot. By providing service to the laity of the
region, and beer for the eighteen churches in her district, she and her commu-
nity had regular contact with men. Brigit and her nuns seem to have travelled
extensively and for various reasons, including political, and the bounds of their
enclosure appear to have been defined by the boundaries of the Irish provinces
and their own clan’s lands rather than by cloister walls.36 There were, of course,
physical structures connected to their dwelling site. Yet often no stone walls
were needed for demarcation, for there were, as Lisa Bitel has noted, other,
more powerful markers to keep them safe.37 Brigit of Kildare had supposedly
marked the outer boundaries of Cell Dara, her house in Kildare, with invisible
limits that were just as good as walls for stopping intruders from the outside
world. No stone walls appear to have confined the settlement when Cogitosus
visited the place in the late seventh century, and he believed that none were
needed, for at the boundaries ‘which Brigit laid at a certain limit, no human
adversary nor advance of enemies is feared’.38 In early Ireland and other Celtic
regions, carved stone crosses and cross-inscribed slabs often marked out and
enclosed monastic settlements, and apparently they could fulfil the same func-
tion as walls. There is sufficient archaeological evidence to show that such a
model of ‘open space’ was very common in early Irish monasticism, both male
and female.39 This, however, raises the question of how the religious could sense
and prove the presence of God in their places, and the sacredness of their locus,
if this was not physically confined. There must have been other, non-physical
forms of symbolization that could transcend the worldly space.
Among the characteristic features of early Irish monasticism is the absence
of square, stone-built cloisters. Whilst in Continental monasteries this fea-
ture developed into a strong symbol of the Heavenly Jerusalem, Paradise, and
its garden, square stone cloisters seem to have arrived in Ireland only with the
36
Harrington, Women in a Celtic Church, uses the term ‘open claustration’ to describe the
nature of the life of the early Irish nuns.
37
On the nature of enclosure in early Irish nunneries, see Bitel, Isle of Saints, p. 58–66.
38
Cogitosus, Vita Brigidae, col. 790; English quotation in Bitel, Isle of Saints, p. 63.
39
For the construction of enclosures, physical and ritual, see the discussion in Bitel, Isle
of Saints, pp. 58–66; and, from an archaeological point of view, Herity, Studies in the Layout,
Buildings and Art in Stone. The new standard work for early ecclesiastical architecture in
Ireland, which addresses structures of boundaries and delimitation, is Ó Carragáin, Churches in
Early Medieval Ireland, pp. 15–234, for the pre-Romanesque period.
Cistercians in the 1140s.40 The model that earlier Irish monastic buildings, for
men and women, were based on was circular, as exposed, for example, in the
highly schematic plan in the Book of Mulling, a pocket gospel book from the
late eighth century. This ground plan can be seen as the Celtic counterpart to
the famous Continental plan of St Gall.41 Until recently, only limited study was
devoted to the symbolic meaning of that circular configuration of enclosure.
The suggestion was made that such circular patterns were inspired by medie-
val depictions of the Temple of Jerusalem, or the layout of the Holy Sepulchre,
which would symbolically connect the monastic sites with the image of a locus
resurrectionis.42 What this concentric design also brings to mind is the image of
the cosmos. It can be seen, perhaps, as an icon of infinitude and model for a place
that existed simultaneously between the two spaces of time: heavenly earth. As
a common universal symbol for the cosmic and celestial, the circle had a long
tradition in the spirals of pagan metalwork. It appears in the shape of the sacral
sites of the Iron Ages, such as Tara, seat of the high kings of Ireland (County
Meath), or the many other ringfort enclosures that occasionally continued as
monastic sites. In regard to the earliest Irish monastic places, there is evidence
that the marking out of such sacred topographies was connected to elaborate rit-
ual acts that, progressing in circular movements from the fringes of the monastic
enclosure to the centre, would recall the creation of the world.43 There are good
new ideas about how concentric enclosures, together with performative actions,
marked out sacred space. From there we could, I think, turn to the transcenden-
tal meaning of female spaces and their own functions and symbolism.
Another issue that would need further attention is the spatial order within
the female monastic compound. How were social relationships structured
through space? How and where could different social groups move? Who had
40
This, however, was the case only after a strong resistance from the side of the Irish monks
who, preferring their old-fashioned huts of wattle construction instead of proper cloisters,
provoked drastic sanction from the side of the Order’s government. For the ‘vernacular
component’ in early Irish Cistercian style and the resistance to continental patterns, see Stalley,
The Cistercian Monasteries of Ireland, pp. 7–20.
41
Nees, ‘The Colophon Drawing in the Book of Mulling’.
42
On the morphology of early medieval Irish religious settlement, see Jenkins, ‘Holy,
Holier, Holiest’. There is new fundamental consideration of biblical models and the Imitatio
Hierusalem in Irish churches in Ó Carragáin, Churches in Early Medieval Ireland, pp. 57–60
and 72–82.
43
Bitel, Isle of Saints, pp. 59–62; Ó Carragáin, Churches in Early Medieval Ireland,
pp. 168–69.
312 Anne Müller
access to which spaces? Both in the semi-public nunneries of the earliest times
and in double houses in particular, the spaces of the male and female compo-
nent developed in close communication. Cogitosus’s account of the life of St
Brigit offers some insight into how this may have functioned, though his spe-
cial interest is with the micro-space of the church. He relates how the male
part of the community entered on the south, and the women on the north side
of the church — an order that implies its own symbolism44 — and goes on
to describe how the church was partitioned and decorated and the altars were
arranged.45 Sadly, there are no traces of the earliest structure of the monastery
of Kildare and it is far from clear how this strict sex segregation continued out-
side the church. Regarding the domestic quarters, it is far from clear whether
the nuns shared a single dormitory or inhabited individual huts, or how the
mixed community worked or met.
Given the lack of information for the early Irish context, a useful com-
parative example, though from a later point in time, is the community of the
Gilbertines — the only monastic order that originated in medieval England
and was restricted in its geographical spread to this country. Founded about
the year 1130 by St Gilbert in Sempringham, Lincolnshire, this order of can-
ons regular and nuns has its roots in a community of female recluses. Soon,
however, these Gilbertine communities developed into an amalgam of nuns, lay
sisters, lay brothers, and canons observing the rule of St Augustine. The intro-
duction of a male component in the Gilbertine nunneries led to the revival of
the double-house model. Roughly half of the English foundations were dou-
ble houses, though, in clear contrast to the developments in the early Irish or
Anglo-Saxon double houses, the individual houses were now to be governed by
men.46 Watton, the most fully excavated double house in England, reveals the
44
Roberta Gilchrist suggests that this order may be seen as a metaphor for the body of
the crucified Christ with the Virgin Mary at Christ’s right-hand side (north) and John the
Evangelist on the left (south). This, according to Gilchrist, may also have led to the affinity of
nuns for north facing cloisters, of which there is a strikingly high percentage in England; see
Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture, pp. 128–49.
45
Cogitosus, Vita Brigidae, cap. 8. For the rhetorical or rather hagiographical component
in Cogitosus’s description of the church, see Bitel, ‘Ekphrasis at Kildare’ and Landscape with
Two Saints, pp. 137–61; further consideration is in Haarländer, ‘Innumerabiles populi de utroque
sexu confluentes’. For a comparative discussion of early Irish internal church arrangements and
the place of the congregation within, see Ó Carragáin, Churches in Early Medieval Ireland,
pp. 169–75.
46
The standard work on the Gilbertines, discussing normative, social and economic
spatial structure set up for the separation as well as interaction of the canons
and nuns. There was a longitudinally divided church where the nuns had the
larger part to the north. Attached to the church were the detached cloisters
for the two sexes. An original element is the so-called window house (domus
fenestre). Placed in the deepest space of the enclosure and accessible by passages
from each of the cloisters, controlled exchange between the nuns and canons
was possible in there by means of a great turning window. This place, to some
extent, was ‘boundary transcending’, as it allowed women and men to exchange
words, food, or goods through a turning hatch, but without any glimpses at
each other’s faces.47 The window house was only one of the many elaborate fix-
tures used in double as well as in genuine female communities to differentiate
diverse spheres of space. In nunneries, usually, all communication and exchange
with the outside world would have passed through turnstiles or grilles. These
could be perforated platters in the outer walls or special confessional boxes that
from a modern perception might allude to a prison. Other markers of segrega-
tion were the talking grilles. An extreme form of them still exists in the outer
walls of the former cloister of the Poor Clares at Pfullingen (Germany). Here
the platters are equipped with long iron thorns, giving a clear warning to the
outsiders that, by glimpsing into the sacred world of the nuns, they were indeed
to ‘risk an eye’.48
Another way to progress with the question of how the distinct identities
in female religious communities were shaped through spaces, and social rela-
tionships ordered, is through a systematic analysis of the structure of bounda-
ries and their negotiation. Roberta Gilchrist, in her book Gender and Material
Culture, has done a pioneering job in drawing attention to the range of bounda-
ries in women’s houses — both physical and symbolic — and how they were
organized and traversed. Emphasis, apparently, was on the boundaries between
those enclosed and those not belonging to that group: the founders and spon-
sors; the priests and male confessors; the visitors and guests; the servants (male
and female), labourers, bailiffs, and other personnel. This she connects to basic
issues, such as the structures of interaction and delimitation between these
contexts, is Golding, Gilbert of Sempringham. The system of government in this order is

discussed by Sykes, Inventing Sempringham.
47
The archaeological situation is documented by Hope, ‘The Gilbertine Priory of Watton’,
who notes that a similar fenestra versatilis — a wheel or turntable for passing things from the
space of the canons to that of the nuns — was identified in the presbytery wall of the church.
48
On these to date scarcely studied symbols of segregation, see Beuckers, ‘Neue
Forschungen zur Architektur mittelalterlicher Frauenklöster’, p. 174.
314 Anne Müller
groups, or the accommodation of non-core groups within the sacred space.

Another question is where the ‘outsiders’ could move and what that meant and
involved for the internal order. One of her findings, which may surprise, is that
it was common in a number of English nunneries to link the guest tract closely
to the symbolical heart of the cloister. Occupying the full west range, this tract,
however, was often distinguished from the nuns’ quarters by the use of superior
quality masonry.49 Features like this appear to be symbolic. In our case, this leap
in quality could express the nuns’ particular attitude to hospitality or, perhaps,
their own ‘humble’ status.
Apart from the links between the inner and outer world, another funda-
mental question is how internal relationships were spatially defined. Here the
wider spatial setting of, and the communication between, the diverse internal
groups — such as the novices, the sick, or even the dead — might be consid-
ered. The spaces of these groups were clearly defined, but what happened at the
moments of transgression? What were the rituals that symbolically bridged and
negotiated the boundaries between those living the regular life of the nuns and
those neither really inside nor outside the core community, as it was the case,
for example, with the deviants in their own spaces of sanction, with the lay
sisters, the novices, or the sick, all of whom were orbiting in a sort of liminal
or ‘in-between’ space’?50 Clearly, and this would be another point to consider,
space was also used in monasticism to strengthen the power and authority that
operated within these communities. Given, for example, the higher status of
the abbess or prioress, issues of interest are ceremonies of entry into the church,
the refectory, or the chapter house; seating patterns; or art and architecture as
markers of power. Strikingly, English nunneries appear to have possessed no
detached prioress’s lodge for residence. It has not yet been fully established
whether this paralleled wider European trends or was typical for England,
where nunneries are supposed to have followed, in terms of architecture, a
rather lower gentry-house style.51
49
50
A body of theory that can be utilized for the investigation of issues of transgression is
Arnold van Gennep’s concept of ‘rites des passage’: see The Rites of Passages (original title: Les
Rites de passage). There are studies on monastic graveyards, prisons, or infirmaries that draw on
theorized conceptions: see, for example, Gilchrist and Sloane, Requiem; Cassidy-Welch, ‘Incar
ceration and Liberation’; Cristiani, ‘Integration and Marginalization’. An important, more
recent book on the English Cistercian infirmaries is Lindenmann-Merz, Infirmarien: Kranken-
und Sterbehäuser der Mönche.
51
Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture, pp. 119, 125, with further reference.
In this context it may also be worth looking at the impacts of external pow-
ers in shaping space. How were these outsiders represented and integrated in
the female enclosure? Key themes in this regard are burial practice and memo-
rialization on the one hand, and structures of access into the enclosures on the
other hand. Based on a comparison of monastic ground plans for women and
men, Robert Gilchrist offers a type of ‘access analysis’. Her point of departure is
the precinct — the outer space of the monastic compound — from where she
identifies all possible routes and diverse access points into the heart of the clois-
ter. Her analysis suggests that the level of permeability (based on the number
of access points) was higher in female than in male houses. At the same time,
however, the private quarters in female houses developed greater spatial segre-
gation from the surrounding precincts and were guarded by a higher number of
physical and symbolic barriers than was the case in male houses. In nunneries
the dormitory tended to lie in the ‘deepest’ space, at the fourth level or ring
of access, while in male houses the sacristy and chapter house were the most
encapsulated parts, situated at the third level. Such spatial analysis undoubt-
edly has considerable potential to be developed further and to be tested against
other samples, including cross-order comparisons as well as other forms of reli-
gious life available to women, such as houses of canonesses, anchorages, hermit-
ages, or hospitals.52
Another issue progressing in current debate concerns the particular gender-
specific usage of the claustral buildings. Appropriate venture points for closer
studies are the dormitories and refectories that have attracted much attention
in terms of their function. In the medieval visitation records, refectories are
more often addressed than dormitories, and they were always focal points for
correction. The suggestion has therefore been made that the refectory was of
vital importance for regulating the communal life of the religious.53 It is obvious
that the refectory was more than a place for communal eating. There is evidence
that in the refectories of male communities, the act of eating was connected to
the symbolic behaviour and rituals that elevated the meal to the Last Supper
52
Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture, pp. 160–69. A new research project by
Matthias Untermann and Leonie Silberer in Heidelberg (Germany) offers a structured spatial
access analysis into medieval friaries. See the collection by Melville, Silberer and Schmies,
Franziskanerklöster: Räume, Nutzungen, Symbolik. Another research project at the University
of Dresden is concerned with the structures of boundaries; see Melville, ‘Inside and Outside:
Some Considerations’.
53
Signori, ‘Zelle oder Dormitorium?’, p. 67.
316 Anne Müller
— the monks joined with Christ.54 This idea had a strong impact on the use
of this space: the rituals connected to entering the room, the sitting order, the
keeping of absolute silence, and the reading during the meal, which is liturgy.
There was also the issue of abstaining from certain foods (such as the meat of
quadripedes), or a quasi-allegorical meaning of the food consumed; there were
the washing ceremonies connected to the meal, or the exclusion of the devi-
ants from the table — all these things and actions symbolically purified this
room and made this space sacred. But can we apply such symbolic construction
of holy space also to female contexts? Thanks to Caroline Walker Bynum we
know much about the religious significance of food to medieval women.55 But
how was this integrated into female monastic life and connected with ritual,
architecture, art, and decoration? Among the inspiring, but at times perhaps
a little unsettling, ideas put forward by Roberta Gilchrist on the symbolism
of female monastic enclosure is her suggestion that the two-storey refectories,
which nunneries in England tended to possess, might have represented a sym-
bolic image of the coenaculum — the place of the Last Supper of Christ that
also housed the Holy Women after Christ’s death.56 Though at the moment we
lack convincing evidence for such a link, ideas like this certainly stimulate one
to look more closely at the symbolism behind the material facades of the so-
called ‘functional rooms’.
Similar links to the symbolic meaning of space can be established in regard
to dormitories or chapter houses. In terms of function and iconography, these
rooms have found much attention in recent studies, though unfortunately
scarcely a word has been said about women.57 What these new studies, such as
Jörg Sonntag’s fundamental book on the symbolic dimensions of monastic life,
have demonstrated is that symbolism in monasticism is a complex issue, which
is evident as a construct on diverse levels. 58 Studies like Sonntag’s suggest a
range of aspects we might consider in relation to the creation of symbolic space
54
On the symbolical potential of the refectory, see Rüffer, ‘Refektorien – Zisterzienser
und benediktinische Tradition’, and Bonde and Maines, ‘“To Hunger for the Word of God”’.
55
Walker Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast.
56
Gilchrist, Gender and Material Culture, pp. 115–17. This draws on Peter Fergusson’s
discussion of the double-storey refectories in Cistercian houses in northern England; see
Fergusson, ‘The Twelfth-Century Refectories’. See, however, the forceful refutation by Rüffer,
‘Refektorien – Zisterzienser und benediktinische Tradition’, pp. 47–56.
57
Stein-Kecks, Der Kapitelsaal in der mittelalterlichen Klosterbaukunst. An English
summary is in Stein-Kecks, ‘“Claustrum” and “capitulum”’.
58
Sonntag, Klosterleben im Spiegel des Zeichenhaften.
in nunneries; that is, among other things, location and topographies, markers
such as the monastic habit, symbolic behaviour and rituals, or — a long ignored
aspect — atmospheric qualities, such as light or silence. To the comparatively
well-studied dimension of architecture, the issue of art and decor must be
added. I should like to emphasize at this point that I do not mean to suggest
that the splendid new studies about space that we have for male monasteries
should be used as a blueprint for approaching the spaces of nuns. This would
ignore their own distinctive nature and their own dynamics in their develop-
ment. But what the growing spatial studies on male monasticism certainly can
help us with is to raise our own questions and to develop methodologies that
set the female religious institutions in a more contrastive comparison against
those of men.
A final issue I would like to address is the matter of spatial arrangements
in the male and female branches of the same religious order. Here, again, past
scholarship has taken a strong interest in church buildings and has made signifi-
cant contributions by looking at issues such as the relationship between distinct
female identities and the use and material arrangements of the inner space of
the church.59 One of the next steps, I think, must be to integrate these particu-
lar insights into a wider analysis of the female monastic spaces which lay outside
the church, involving the question of how they differed from the arrangements
of men. There are notable examples of such comparative investigations, among
them, for instance, the interdisciplinary work carried out by Margit Mersch
on the spatial structures in Cistercian nunneries: her work certainly provides
a template for scholars analysing the relationships between belonging to an
Order and architectural form.60 Building on the consensus that Cistercian nun-
neries had their own programmatic dimensions in the architecture and spaces
of their houses, which were linked to a distinct identity, Mersch has systemati-
cally combed a range of sources, including literary, documentary, and archaeo-
logical sources. The house she looked at in detail was Brenkhausen, a Cistercian
nunnery in Westphalia, one of the rare examples in Germany where the claus-
tral buildings of the thirteenth century are still preserved.61 The simple church
59
For example, Jäggi, Frauenklöster im Spätmittelalter, and Bruzelius, ‘Hearing is
Believing’. For more details and literature, see Untermann’s essay in this volume.
60
Mersch, ‘Programmatische Ordensarchitektur’. For architectural characteristics of
female Cistercian monasteries in France and the organization of space in these nunneries, see
the important collection Barrière and Henneau, Cîteaux et les femmes.
61
For the following, see Mersch, Das ehemalige Zisterzienserinnenkloster Vallis Dei.
318 Anne Müller
and the eastern and southern wings of the cloister, both equipped with claustral
walks, came into being straight after the foundation in 1246. Towards the west,
the cloister was originally closed only by a wall, though this appears to have had
a provisional gallery at its inner side. There is no indication where the spaces of
the lay sisters or brothers may have been — an issue that still lacks comparative
investigation.62 The original cloister, despite its incomplete form, appears to
have provided all the constituents the nuns needed for the regular life. In the
two-story eastern wing they had their dormitory at the upper level — a single
space with an open roof-structure and the typical small window openings that
indicate thirty-six sleeping places. Below the dormitory, there was a richly dec-
orated sacristy. Evidently, however, this room did not belong to the nuns’ enclo-
sure but was, as liturgical space, a male domain. Centrally, in the east wing was
the chapter house with a range of familiar features: a depressed ground level, in
order to allow the building-up of an elegant groined vault supported by pillars;
two open windows flanking the open entrance; three windows facing the east,
of which the middle one had tracery to mark out the place of the abbess. Next
to the chapter house was a passage to the garden, a small staircase to the dormi-
tory, a little chapel room with apses, and a large polyfunctional room that the
nuns used during the day. At the outer post stood a six-sided tower, housing
latrines (necessaria dormitorii) over two floors. In the south range the nuns had
their two-storey refectory with the typical interior.
In its spatial arrangements, particularly those in the east range, the Cister
cian nuns of Brenkhausen clearly adopted patterns that were common in the
Order and known from the ‘ideal Cistercian plan’. They took up the elaborate
antetype of male houses, such as Maulbronn, although — and this is an inter-
esting point in Mersch’s argumentation — this evidently did not provide an
optimal solution for the nuns’ daily usage and needs. Among the rather unprac-
tical features in Brenkhausen, as well as in other Cistercian nunneries, we find
the intrusion of the sacristy into the women’s space, or the fact that the central
living space of the nuns continued to be bound to the traditional position in
the east of the cloister. This constituted a striking breach with the usage of space
in the neighbouring church, where the nuns were banned from the choir and
backed off to the west. The cloister of Cistercian nuns, we could conclude, was
the place for continuing male claustral tradition. Much emphasis in Mersch’s
and other recent studies is on uniformity and a corporate order identity that
would have shaped the architectural style of the early female Cistercian houses,
rather than diversity. Local and regional building tradition no doubt affected
62
Mersch, ‘Conversi und conversae’.
female houses in their style, yet this diversity was apparently overlain by a com-
mon forma ordinis. The Order’s intention, so it appears, was to distinguish its
nunneries from the bulk of other female houses sprouting at that time and
to mark them out as distinctively Cistercian.63 Therefore, the suggestion was
made that Cistercian nunneries can and must be compared with the houses
of Cistercian men. Such a comparative approach must now be widened and
tested to include other orders and congregations, such as the female mendicant
houses or, looking back in history, the houses for women of the earlier reform
movement, such as Hirsau or Cluny, phenomena which have only recently been
systematically studied for the first time.64
I hope that this essay has shown the developments of scholarship on space in
female monasteries and suggested some new directions. It seeks to demonstrate
that the fruitful insights provided by previous scholars, particularly in regard
to nunnery churches, should be integrated into studies about the wider claus-
tral compound. Corporate and separate identities, individual functions of the
diverse groups of religious women, external impacts and expectations, as well
as the integration of wider ideas of the divine — all these are issues a system-
atic and comparative exploration should consider with regard to women and
space. What future investigation can certainly benefit from is a wider notion
of space, which basically means that space is not only the physical container in
which life takes place but a product of manifold social and cultural interaction.
Based on such a wider notion of space, a systematic investigation can start with
physical structures but should not remain stuck there. Social behaviour, rituals,
religious practice, art, and decoration (such as painting, wall hangings, pictures,
and images), as well as atmospheric qualities — ‘the visual and the visionary’, as
Jeffrey Hamburger puts it65 — it was all of these elements combined that created
63
Mersch, Das ehemalige Zisterzienserinnenkloster Vallis Dei, p. 237. Another important
new study that comes to similar conclusions after studying a wider geographical area is Jäggi,
‘Ordensarchitektur als Kommunikation von Ordnung’.
64
New investigation on these earlier congregations of women is in Melville and Müller,
Female ‘vita religiosa’; among them is Hedwig Röckelein’s pioneering work on the female
branches that emerged during the Benedictine reform; see Röckelein, ‘Frauen im Umkreis
der benediktinischen Reformen’. In the same book, Janet Burton considers the connection of
female houses to the earliest Cistercian Order: Burton, ‘Moniales and Ordo Cisterciensis’. An
important new study on the norm and practice of early female religious life is in Vita religiosa
sanctimonialium.
65
Hamburger, The Visual and the Visionary. For ‘sensory’ definitions of the sacred, see
Spicer and Hamilton, ‘Defining the Holy’, pp. 7–10.
320 Anne Müller
the space of the religious, both male and female, and were vital for definitions
of the sacred. Clearly our investigation of female monastic spaces should not be
guided too strongly by what we already know about monks and their spaces, or
about supposedly ideal plans, for in doing so we run the risk that an essential part
of what is a complex and individual world might otherwise escape our attention.
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Cogitosus, Vita Brigidae, in Patrologiae cursus completus: series latina, ed. by Jacques-Paul
Migne, 221 vols (Paris: Migne, 1844–64), lxxii (1849), cols 775–90
Regula Caesarii ad virgines, in Césaire d’Arles, Oeuvres monastiques, i: Oeuvres pour les
moniales, ed. by Adalbert de Vogüé and Joël Courreau, Sources Chrétiennes, 345
(Paris: Cerf, 1988), pp. 170–273
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ed. by Bruno Krusch, Monumenta Germaniae Historica: Scriptores rerum Merovingi
carium, 3 (Hannover: Hahn, 1896), pp. 433–501
‘Vitae S. Brigitae: The Oldest Texts’, ed. by Richard Sharpe, in Peritia, 1 (1982), 81–106
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klöster’, Kraichgau: Beiträge zur Landschafts- und Heimatforschung, 20 (2007), 171–81
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—— , Landscape with Two Saints: How Genovefa of Paris and Brigit of Kildare Built
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Architecture, Archaeology and History, ed. by Sheila Bonde and Clark Maines, Biblio
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Gesta, 31 (1992), 83–91
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The Place of the Choir in
Churches of Female Convents
in the Medieval German Kingdom
Matthias Untermann*
D
ifference or conformity to the male convents was a quintessential issue
for the topography of the female monastic church in the high and late
Middle Ages. The modern seminal research on the female monastery
complexes in the medieval German Kingdom by Claudia Mohn, as well as on
the female monastic churches of the mendicant orders by Carola Jäggi and some
earlier authors, focuses only on particular groups of ecclesiastical building.1
The lesser importance of the liturgical service may explain the lack of a system-
atic and comparative investigation in the liturgical layout of female convent

* Special thanks to my Heidelberg team, Charlotte Lagemann MA, Silvina Martin MA,
Gesine Henze, and Anastasia Kurzel.
1
Mohn, Mittelalterliche Klosteranlagen der Zisterzienserinnen; Jäggi, Frauenklöster im
Spätmittelalter. For particular observations on the topic of this essay, see Achter, ‘Querschiff-
Emporen in mittelalterlichen Damenstiftskirchen’; Kosch, ‘Organisation spatiale des
monastères de Cisterciennes et de Prémontrées en Allemagne’; Leopold, ‘Frauenemporen
in Stifts- und Klosterkirchen des frühen Mittelalters’; Muschiol, ‘Architektur, Funktion und
Geschlecht’; Untermann, Ausgrabungen und Bauuntersuchungen in Klöstern, Grangien und
Stadthöfen, pp. 59–64; Mersch, ‘Gehäuse der Frömmigkeit – Zuhause der Nonnen’; Volti,
‘Le Chœur des sœurs mendiantes au Moyen Âge’. I have already discussed the dispositions
of the nuns’ choir in Untermann, ‘Das “Mönchshaus” in der früh- und hochmittelalterlichen
Klosteranlage’; Untermann, ‘Angemessen und zugleich erschwinglich’; Untermann, Handbuch
der mittelalterlichen Architektur, pp. 105–06.
Matthias Untermann ([email protected]) is professor of European Art

History at the University of Heidelberg.
328 Matthias Untermann
Figure 14.1. Vilich, convent church, c. 990, reconstruction by Irmingard Achter

(Achter, Die Stiftskirche St. Peter in Vilich, 1968 p. 137).
churches. Even a quick glance shows contrary solutions to the disposition of

the nuns’ choir,2 and this is no coincidence. It is, however, not easy to interpret
these different dispositions as an expression of various liturgical arrangements
or monastic ways of life. Medieval female convents belonged to different reli-
gious orders — we see Benedictines and canonesses, Cistercian and mendicant
nuns. Excluded from celebrating the mass — for all of them the regular choir
service was their main duty — the choir stalls were their only accepted place
inside the church. For the moment, let us consider no fewer than seven different
options for the positioning of the medieval nuns’ or canonesses’ choir in their
churches. In contrast, monks’ and canons’ churches in the medieval German
kingdom present only three positions: in the crossing or in the eastern part of
the nave, or in a separate eastern choir combined with the high altar.3
2
Zimmer, Die Funktion und Ausstattung des Altares auf der Nonnenempore, pp. 15–19;
Jäggi, Frauenklöster im Spätmittelalter, pp. 185–246
3
Untermann, Handbuch der mittelalterlichen Architektur, pp. 57–64, 94–105; Untermann,
Forma Ordinis, pp. 233–41; Descœudres, ‘Choranlagen von Bettelordenskirchen’.
The place of the Choir in Churches of Female Convents 329
1. The West Gallery

Modern scholarship and popular opinion consider as typical the galleries in
the western end of female convent churches of the medieval German kingdom:
hidden from the view of men, raised above the laity, and removed from the
sanctuary, the choir stalls are positioned on an elongated fitting above a ground
floor with columns and low vaults or a flat ceiling. Numerous examples of this
arrangement are to be found in the churches of Cistercian, Franciscan, and
Dominican sisters, as well as canonesses regular from the thirteenth to the fif-
teenth centuries.4 Well preserved is the nuns’ choir in the former Cistercian
convent of Wienhausen.5 Here, the Gothic stalls date back to c. 1330. The choir
is accessible from the cloister by a staircase, as well as directly from the upper
floor of the monastic buildings.
The early history of such galleries is unclear. An important example is the
church of the female convent of Vilich near Bonn (Figure 14.1), founded in
980.6 Detailed written sources inform us that the first head of the convent, a
daughter of an aristocratic family, had long hesitated between the observances
of canonesses and the Benedictine nuns. About 990 she chose the strict monas-
tic observance. In the excavated western part of the church there was a low
basement floor. Above it could have been a gallery, a presumed location of the
choir stalls.
The Benedictine abbey church St Mary in Quedlinburg, founded in 989,
also had a transverse west gallery, where the nuns’ choir is presumed to have
been.7 The convent was constructed in the immediate proximity of the high
nobility house of secular canonesses of Quedlinburg for the sisters of the lower
nobility. In the collegiate church for women, the canonesses sat presumably
in the transept arm, and therefore in the east end of the church. A wide west
gallery from the twelfth century is preserved in the canonesses’ church of St
Cecilia in Cologne.8 It is comparable to Vilich, as the space below the gallery
4
Jäggi, Frauenklöster im Spätmittelalter, pp. 191–207.
5
Bühring and Maier, Die Kunstdenkmäler des Landkreises Celle, pp. 16–25; Appuhn,
Kloster Wienhausen, pp. 12, 17–21; Zimmer, Die Funktion und Ausstattung des Altares auf der
Nonnenempore, pp. 46–58.
6
Achter, Die Stiftskirche St Peter in Vilich, pp. 64–81, 135–39; Untermann, Architektur
im frühen Mittelalter, p. 180.
7
Scheftel, ‘Die ehemalige Klosterkirche St Marien auf dem Münzenberg in Quedlinburg’,
pp. 169–70.
8
Kubach and Verbeek, Romanische Baukunst an Rhein und Maas, i, 523–27.
Figure 14.2. Gnadenthal, Cistercian nuns’ church, c. 1230,

view to the west (photo Charlotte Lagemann, Heidelberg).
Figure 14.3. Cappel, Premonstratensian church, c. 1160, reconstruction by

Manfred Schneider (Schneider, Die Stiftskirche zu Cappel, 1988, p. 309, Fig. 5).
lies lower than the rest of the nave. The west gallery was therefore not limited
to the Benedictine (or the later mendicant) convents.
There were various uses for the space under the gallery: sometimes it served
as a burial place, sometimes as a part of the space for the laity or a narthex,
sometimes perhaps merely as a storage room. Interesting solutions from the
thirteenth century resolve the problem faced by priests who had to deliver the
Eucharist to the nuns without them leaving the enclosure. In the Franconian
Cistercian nuns’ convent at Gnadental (Figure 14.2), two staircases once led to
the doors of the rood screen of the gallery.9
9
Lagemann, ‘Die Bauformen der Klosterkirche Gnadental’, pp. 181–83.
Figure 14.4. Gravenhorst, Cistercian nuns’ church, late 14th century.

Reconstruction by Birgit Münz-Vierbohm (ed.), Von Klostermauern und frommen Frauen, p. 60.
The west gallery could also be a distinct structure annexed to the church
of a male convent or a parish church. An impressive example is to be seen in
the church of Cappel in Westphalia (Figure 14.3), founded c. 1140 as a double
monastery for Premonstratensian canons and canonesses.10 In the eastern cross-
ing of the church, the male choir is separated by the rood screen. In the west
end there is an elongated, double-storied structure with a gallery for the female
choir. To secure the enclosure of the women during the foundation of the con-
vent, the female choir was first built attached to the older parish church. Also
in the above-mentioned Cistercian convent at Wienhausen, founded shortly
before 1229, the nuns received a new western part of the church for their gal-
10
Schneider, Die Stiftskirche zu Cappel, pp. 122–25, 142–53, 159–61.
lery in 1325.11 The new choir stalls, comprising eighty-nine seats, incorporated
elements of the older stalls dating back to 1277. The vaulted choir is richly
decorated with frescoes depicting scenes from the Old and New Testament
as well as the Acts of the Saints.12 This nuns’ choir had its own sacristy. The
winged altarpiece was installed there in 1519.13 Particularly monumental is the
autonomous nuns’ choir in the abbey church of Cistercian nuns of Roermond,
founded in 1218.14 As an endowment of the high aristocracy, the church dis-
plays a very rich late Romanesque architecture — it presents itself not as a
Cistercian building. A big, three-aisled western structure stands out from the
nave in the ground plan as well as in the cross-section. Here, the nuns’ choir was
located on a gallery of the central nave.
More often the western gallery was an integral part of the nave.15 This
applies to many new monastic churches of the twelfth to fourteenth centu-
ries. In the Cistercian convent of Gravenhorst in Westphalia (Figure 14. 4),
founded before 1255, the first church of the thirteenth century had a gallery in
the nave.16 It was extended to the west two times — the first time after 1317,
contemporaneously with the construction of the new dorter, and again in the
late fourteenth century. The present-day gallery was installed in 1677.
Easily detectable is the construction sequence in the abbey church of Cister
cian nuns of Nordshausen in Hesse.17 After the foundation of the Cistercian
female convent shortly before 1257, the Romanesque parish church, now in use
by the nuns as well, was first expanded to the east by a new nave for the laity
and a sanctuary. Immediately afterwards, the older church was raised, vaulted,
and a western gallery was inserted.
Three-nave churches could also have a western gallery. The Romanesque
Premonstratensian churches in Wenau, Konradsdorf, and Averdorp may serve
11
Bühring and Maier, Die Kunstdenkmäler des Landkreises Celle, pp. 16–25.
12
Michler, Die Wand- und Gewölbemalereien im Nonnenchor des ehemaligen Zisterzienser
innenklosters Wienhausen.
13
Zimmer, Die Funktion und Ausstattung des Altares auf der Nonnenempore, pp. 233–49.
14
Kubach and Verbeek, Romanische Baukunst an Rhein und Maas, ii, 965–70.
15
Coester, ‘Die Cistercienserinnenkirchen des 12. bis 14. Jahrhunderts’; Coester, Die
einschiffigen Cistercienserinnenkirchen West- und Süddeutschlands von 1200 bis 1350, passim.
16
Pieper, ‘“Musterbeispiel” einer mittelalterlichen Zisterzienserinnen-Klosterkirche’,
pp. 40–41.
17
Martin, ‘Von der romanischen Kapelle zum gotischen Kloster’.
as examples.18 In Wenau and Konradsdorf the western part of the nave did not
feature arcades. Corbels carried the floor of the nuns’ choir, unmarked on the
exterior. The Averdorp church is even depicted in the contemporary illustra-
tion in the choir book of the canonesses:19 The existence of the gallery is in no
way indicated; it is an image of a ‘normal’ church — the exact placement of the
nuns’ choir was evidently, one would presume, of no interest to the paintress
and, therefore, to the self-image of the convent.
2. The Choir in the West End of the Church, on the Ground Level
A west choir on the ground floor of the church is found in many Spanish medi-
eval churches, such as the Cistercian nuns’ abbeys in Gradefes or Las Huelgas.20
In the German region, the evidence seems to be less frequent, dating predomi-
nantly to the second half of the thirteenth century and in rebuilds of the later
Middle Ages.21
Therefore, of great importance is the well-documented excavation evidence
of the early medieval female convent church of Oberroden near Frankfurt.22 In
the first stone structure dating back to the ninth/tenth century, two side altars
were located in the eastern part of the nave; the nuns’ choir must therefore
have been in the western end of the nave. In fact, the clay tile flooring from the
twelfth century proves that the choir stalls stood here along the sides and that
the middle path was a walkway. The west tower belonged on the ground level to
the area of the nuns; it featured no portal, and its flooring was levelled with the
choir. The location of the convent building remains unknown.
In some churches of Cistercian nuns the western gallery was incorporated
subsequently. This is proven in the single-nave church of Rosenthal in the
Palatinate (Figure 14. 5), which was erected for the abbey of Cistercian nuns
18
Verbeek, ‘Romanische Prämonstratenserinnenkirchen am Niederrhein’; Friedrich, Das
ehemalige Prämonstratenserinnenkloster Konradsdorf, pp. 90–107.
19
Verbeek, ‘Romanische Prämonstratenserinnenkirchen am Niederrhein’, ill. 1.
20
Fernández González, Cosmen Alonso, and Herráez Ortega, El arte cisterciense en León,
pp. 71–85; Karge, ‘Die königliche Zisterzienserinnenabtei Las Huelgas de Burgos’; Herrero
Sanz, Santa María la Real de Huelgas, pp. 18–37.
21
Sennhauser, ‘Kirchen und Klöster der Zisterzienserinnen in der Schweiz’, pp. 29–31;
Jäggi, Frauenklöster im Spätmittelalter, pp. 204–07.
22
Schallmayer, ‘Geschichte bis zum Bau der neuen Kirche’, pp. 23–29.
Figure 14.5. Rosenthal, Cistercian nuns’ church, c. 1260 and c. 1480

(photo Charlotte Lagemann, Heidelberg).
founded in 1251.23 In the fifteenth century the nave was raised, and a long west-
ern gallery was added. The new entrance to the convent leads above the old
door to the choir area at the ground level. The nuns’ choir was therefore ini-
tially located on the ground floor in the western end of the church, presumably
enclosed by an eastern rood screen, and separated from the sanctuary by the
space for the laity.
3. The Choir in the Gallery of the Transept Arm

Characteristic of canonesses’ churches of the early Middle Ages in Saxony is the
positioning of the choir in the gallery of the transept arm.24 This arrangement
23
Heberer, ‘Das Zisterzienserinnenkloster St Maria im Rosenthal’, p. 101.
24
Achter, ‘Querschiff-Emporen in mittelalterlichen Damenstiftskirchen’; Lobbedey,
‘Bemerkungen zur ursprünglichen liturgischen Nutzung der Stiftskirche zu Freckenhorst’,
pp. 36–37; Leopold, ‘Frauenemporen in Stifts- und Klosterkirchen’.
Figure 14.6. Meschede, canonesses’ church,

c. 1000, reconstruction by Uwe Lobbedey.
Untermann, Architektur im frühen Mittelalter, p. 146.
is preserved in Gernrode, founded in 969.25 The vaulted substruction of the

Romanesque transept arm gallery was integrated later in the twelfth century.
The church also has side galleries in the nave as well as a gallery in a western
tower. The side galleries seem not to have been used, their arcades serving as an
25
Voigtländer, Die Stiftskirche zu Gernrode, pp. 29–53; Erdmann and others, ‘Neue Unter
suchungen an der Stiftskirche zu Gernrode’, pp. 254–69; Leopold, ‘Frauenemporen in Stifts-
und Klosterkirchen des frühen Mittelalters’, pp. 22–25.
Figure 14.7.
Bersenbrück, Cistercian nuns’
church, 1263. Nöldeke, Die Kreise
Wittlage und Bersenbrück, p. 84
(revised by Matthias Untermann).
architectonic enrichment of the central aisle. The west gallery was presumably,
as in other monastic and collegiate churches, a chapel.26
New problems have arisen during the archaeological investigation on the can-
onesses’ church in Meschede (Figure 14.6).27 This building, constructed c. 900,
has three galleries: in both transept arms and in the western tower, dendrochro-
nologically dated to 897. The walls of the tower gallery had many ceramic pots
immured in them that acted as a sound box.28 This is an important indication
that this area was used for singing. However, there is no convenient access to this
gallery, therefore disqualifying it as a choir of the canonesses. Unfortunately, the
transept-arm galleries in Meschede have been barely preserved.
26
Lobbedey, ‘Der Herrscher im Kloster’.
27
Claussen and Lobbedey, ‘Die karolingische Stiftskirche in Meschede’; Kottmann, ‘Die
Ausgrabungen in der karolingischen Stiftskirche St Walburga’.
28
Kottmann, ‘L’Allemagne: état de la recherche’.
Figure 14.8. Levern, Cistercian nuns’ church, c. 1230.

Pohlmann, Kirche und Stift Levern, p. 9 (revised by Matthias Untermann).
Figure 14.9. Sulzburg, canonesses’ church, c. 990,

reconstruction by Karl List. List, St. Cyriak in Sulzburg, p. 110.
Based on the compound piers, similar transept arm galleries can be assumed
for the above-mentioned Quedlinburg abbey church for the ladies of the nobil-
ity.29 In the new high Romanesque church of this abbey, the transept arms along
with the clergy area and the chancel were raised above the crypt and separated
from the nave. While the south transept arm housed the nuns’ choir, the north
transept arm had a stone depository for the important treasury of the church.
Both transept arms were separated from the clergy choir in the crossing by a
richly decorated rood screen.
4. A Separate Nuns’ Choir on the Side of the Church

Seldom seen is the construction of a second nave for the nuns’ choir on the side
of the church. This solution, as well as the separate west construction, was symp
tomatic of the female convents that were erected next to an older parish church.
In the Cistercian convent of Bersenbrück in Lower Saxony (Figure 14.7),
founded in 1231, the nuns’ choir was added to the parish church wall-to-wall,
its construction commencing in 1263.30 There the choir stalls stood on the
ground level. Eighty nuns lived in this convent c. 1280. The preserved choir
stalls with tracery decoration date to the year 1511. Only after the dissolution
of the convent were both church parts united by arches. Similarly constructed
were the convent churches in Levern (1227; Figure 14.8) and Netze (1228).31
This fourth disposition stands in the tradition of the ‘Church families’
of early medieval female convents. These consisted of two or three separate
churches: one for the Liturgy of the Hours and mass of the female convent,
another for the priests and laity, and the third one for the burial of the nuns
and noble benefactors. An important example is the monastery of Nivelles,
founded in 642.32 The burial church, with the shrine of the daughter of the
founders — the first abbess —, was turned into a monumental abbey church in
the eleventh century and the convent moved here.
29
Leopold, ‘Die Stiftskirche der Königin Mathilde in Quedlinburg’, pp. 168–69, 153–54;
Leopold, ‘Frauenemporen in Stifts- und Klosterkirchen des frühen Mittelalters’, pp. 16–22.
30
Witte, Ehem. Zisterzienserinnenkloster Bersenbrück, pp. 7–9; Nöldeke, Die Kreise Witt
lage und Bersenbrück, pp. 80–91, esp. pp. 86–88.
31
Pohlmann, Kirche und Stift Levern, pp. 10–12; Schaal, ‘Netze’.
32
Mertens, ‘Recherches archéologiques dans l’abbaye merovingienne de Nivelles’; Kubach
and Verbeek, Romanische Baukunst an Rhein und Maas, ii, 860–96.
5. The Choir in the Eastern Part of the Nave

Two further, today seemingly unusual, solutions follow logically these early
medieval dispositions: the canonesses assume the area of the populus ecclesiae
in the nave. This fifth disposition, the choir in the east part of the nave, differs
only in the large churches with transepts from the choir in the crossing, to be
discussed in the next section.
The early medieval canonesses’ church of Sulzburg near Freiburg (Figure
14.9), bordering on the Black Forest, is well examined.33 It was built c. 1000;
the female convent was endowed in 1108. It is a small basilica with an apse
and a slightly newer west spire. Two screens were detected in the middle of the
nave: the western one separated the area of the altar of the Holy Cross, while
an older screen was located behind it. The little crypt is in the eastern end of
the nave and in the apse. The liturgical use is therefore divided into the chancel
and clergy area in the east, two metres above the crypt, as well as the choir of
the female convent in the eastern part of the nave, and the space for laity in the
west and in the northern flanking aisle. Stone rood screens, that separated the
choir from the nave and from the aisles, were installed in the high Middle Ages
— presumably their precursors were made of wood.
In the house of secular canonesses of Oberstenfeld in Württemberg the female
choir was elevated in the east part of the nave over a crypt, directly following the
sanctuary in the east.34 The aisles and the west end of the nave were assigned to
the laity. Strikingly, apart from the chancel only the choir was vaulted; the rest
of the church featured flat roofing. The house of the canonesses was founded in
1016, and the new construction of the church begun c. 1180/1200. This situa-
tion is in complete accordance with the choir location in a monastery or a colle-
giate church with a male convent. A west gallery was added to the — Protestant
since 1535 — church of Oberstenfeld only in the year 1891.
More difficult to interpret is the situation in the Cistercian nuns’ church at
Brenkhausen in Westphalia.35 After the foundation c. 1240, the building of a
three-nave church came to a stop following the completion of the second dou-
ble-bay; the nave was expanded by another bay in the fourteenth century and
remained unfinished. The nuns’ choir was located in the second bay of the nave,
33
List, St Cyriak in Sulzburg, pp. 51, 57, 83–87.
34
Mettler, ‘Die bauliche Anlage der alten Stiftskirche und der Peterskirche in Obersten
feld’, pp. 48–56.
35
Mersch, Das ehemalige Zisterzienserinnenkloster Vallis Dei, pp. 168–86, 225–33.
Figure 14.10. Preetz, Benedictine nuns’ church, c. 1330, choir seen from the east
(Photo Charlotte Lagemann, Heidelberg).
directly following the sanctuary. It was extended to the west later. The nuns’
entrance to the cloister led to the aisle from the south, as was common in male
monasteries. The area for the laity could only have been located in the northern
aisle. That this solution corresponds to the original plan — as I do suppose —
cannot be proven without a doubt since the church remained unfinished.
There is, however, a well-preserved example of such a disposition of a choir
in Preetz in Holstein (Figure 14.10), the church of the Protestant convent of
canonesses.36 It was founded in 1211 as a convent for Benedictine nuns and
relocated to Preetz in 1260. The church, newly constructed c. 1330, presents
itself as a three-aisled basilica without windows in the nave. This unusual form
is very typical of the region. The nuns’ choir follows directly the sanctuary and
the clergy area; the western part of the nave and the southern aisle were des-
ignated for the laity. The floor plan thus in no way differs from the layout of a
male monastery, with the exception that the area of the northern aisle served as
36
Stocks and Schütz, Klosterkirche Preetz, pp. 4–10.
Figure 14.11. Enkenbach, Premonstratensian church, c. 1150/1200.

Matthias Untermann, Heidelberg/Heribert Feldhaus, Trier.
the southern wing of the cloister. In the present day, the choir is characterized
by Baroque modifications for the Protestant canonesses of the high nobility:
loges for the family members of the ladies are located above the choir stalls.
Original gothic stalls for seventy persons are preserved in its core; tracery fini-
als are still visible in its western part. Located in the far north of Germany, this
crucial complex has been practically ignored in the academic literature.
6. The Choir in the Crossing

Remarkably often, the choir stalls of the ladies are even located in the crossing,
matching the location of choir stalls in many male monasteries. Both options
— choir in the crossing and choir in the east part of the nave —prevailed in
male monasteries from the ninth to the thirteenth century. ‘German’ traditions
(exemplified by the plan of the abbey of St Gall) stand hence in contrast to the
‘French’ customs.37
37
Untermann, Forma Ordinis, pp. 233–41.
In south-western Germany, the twelfth century produced an important

group of cross-shaped female convent churches with a transept that, how-
ever, remained unfinished for some time after the construction of the east
end. In Lobenfeld, construction of a church began c. 1180 for a female con-
vent founded in 1145.38 The order of this convent is unclear, a typical state of
affairs in the German kingdom.39 In the beginning the nuns stood officially
under the auspices of the Augustinian canons; factually, however, their affilia-
tion was swiftly moved to the Cistercians of the nearby monastery of Schönau.
It was only in the course of the thirteenth century that the Cistercian Order
allowed the incorporation of this female convent. The nave with a large nuns’
choir dates to the fourteenth century.40 Previously, the ladies must have had the
rich, late Romanesque east end at their disposal. There are fragments of a rood
screen, but due to lack of excavations the location of the choir stalls remains
unknown. The south transept arm on the side of the enclosure is unsuitable
for the choir stalls since a southern aisle was supposed to begin there, leading
directly to the cloister portal. Therefore, the stalls must have been located in
the crossing, in the same manner as in male monastery churches.41 In Cistercian
monks’ churches the nave often remained unfinished, after the initial financing
sufficed only for the sanctuary and the monks’ choir in the east end.42
In the female convent of Enkenbach (Figure 14.11), vacillating between the
Cistercian and Premonstratensian Orders, a south transept was also supposed
to be extended by a southern aisle; later, when the construction of the nave
resumed, however, the only addition was a narrow entrance for the canoness-
es.43 The choir stalls were located here likewise in the crossing, separated on
three sides by rood screens.
Prototypes were the monumental female collegiate churches in the
Rhineland: in Neuss the house of canonesses of high nobility had a new church
with a magnificent triconch built starting in 1209.44 The canonesses had their
choir stalls in the east end, above the crypt. The size and the form of St Quirinus
38
Beuckers, ‘Die Klosterkirche von Lobenfeld’, pp. 145–55.
39
Rückert, ‘Frauenzisterzen und Paternitätsstrukturen in Südwestdeutschland’.
40
Beuckers, ‘Zur kunsthistorischen Stellung des gotischen Langhausneubaus’.
41
Untermann, review of ‘Kloster St Maria zu Lobenfeld’, pp. 353–54.
42
Untermann, Forma Ordinis, pp. 205–06.
43
Kaiser, ‘Die ehemalige Prämonstratenserinnenkirche Enkenbach’; Keddigkeit and Unter
mann, ‘Enkenbach, Prämonstratenserinnenstift’, pp. 391–402.
44
Kubach and Verbeek, Romanische Baukunst an Rhein und Maas, ii, 827–36.
Figure 14.12. Colmar, Dominican convent of Unterlinden,

reconstruction by Carola Jäggi, ‘Eastern Choir or Western Gallery’, p. 87.
in Neuss give no indication that this was not, in fact, a church of an important
male convent — thus, the liturgical disposition differs cardinally from the con-
temporaneous, above-mentioned Cistercian church at Roermond.
7. The Choir in a Separate Eastern Part of the Church

The second, greater church of the Dominican sisters’ convent of Unterlinden
in Colmar (Figure 14.12), founded in 1232, was built from 1252 onwards by
the Dominican brother Volmar and solemnly dedicated in the year 1269 by the
Figure 14.13.
Königsfelden, Franciscan double convent,
reconstruction by Brigitte Kurmann-
Schwarz, ‘“.. ein vrowen chloster sande
Chlaren orden und ein chloster der
minneren Bru(e)der orden...”’, p. 153.
Dominican Albertus Magnus.45 The nuns’ choir was located in the eastern part
of the church, formerly separated from the nave by the rood screen. Around
1250, the junction of choir and sanctuary in a separate, elongated eastern part
of the church (in German, Langchor) was then very modern, developed for
churches of Premonstratensian and Franciscan male convents who sought isola-
tion of their choirs from the laity.46 In Unterlinden, the sisters shared this choir
45
Jäggi, Frauenklöster im Spätmittelalter, pp. 45–48, 207–18.
46
Descœudres, ‘Choranlagen von Bettelordenskirchen’.
building with the priests belonging to their monastery, and they apparently
behaved as a male convent. In Basel, the Dominican nuns’ church of Klingental,
built from 1274 onwards and consecrated in 1293, was similarly organized.47
From the outside there was no way to distinguish whether a male or female
convent used the choir.
8. An Unclear Case: Königsfelden

In conclusion, a controversy about the church of the Clarisses in Königsfelden
(Figure 14.13), in northern Switzerland, merits a mention.48 The convent was
founded in 1308 upon the murder of King Albert of Habsburg by his widow
Agnes of Hungary not far from the site of the crime. Dendrochronological
data show that contrary to the usual practices, the nave was constructed first:
the nave was roofed in 1313/14; the choir was completed in 1330. There were
two convents in Königsfelden: a small Franciscan community ministering to
a large convent of the Clarisses. Until recently it was a matter of contention
as to which convent had its buildings on which side of the church. The loca-
tion of the nuns’ choir stalls remains unclear to this day. Only the location of
the stalls in the choir behind the screen has been proven — but it remains an
open question whether they belonged to the male or female convent. Detailed
written choir regulations only complicate the matter because the statements are
ambiguous. Temporarily, based on these regulations, it was assumed that both
nuns and monks used the stalls in the choir on a rotating system,49 but the choir
is less elongated than in Colmar and Basel, and not suitable for the large nuns’
convent. Later, Carola Jäggi suggested that a narrow gallery along the west wall
could be interpreted as a nuns’ gallery50 — even though it does not have suf-
ficient room to accommodate traditional facing choir stalls. Brigitte Kurmann-
Schwarz has finally convincingly ascribed the western part of the nave to the
nuns’ choir.51 She did, however, also reconstruct a wooden gallery between the
47
Jäggi, Frauenklöster im Spätmittelalter, pp. 49–52; Maurer, Die Kunstdenkmäler des
Kantons Basel-Stadt, pp. 13–140, esp. pp. 35–53.
48
Maurer, Die Kunstdenkmäler des Kantons Aargau, pp. 42–59; Kurmann-Schwarz,
‘“Quam diu istud cadaver equitare permittemus?”’.
49
Gerber, ‘Die Verwechslung des Männer- und des Frauenklosters zu Königsfelden’.
50
Jäggi, ‘Eastern Choir or Western Gallery?’ and Frauenklöster im Spätmittelalter, pp. 201–02.
51
Kurmann-Schwarz, ‘“.. ein vrowen chloster sande Chlaren orden und ein chloster der
minneren Bru(e)der orden…”’.
arcades that left no traces on the walls or the floor. With scholars fixated on the
idea that there must have been a gallery, the possibility of locating the choir
stalls on the ground level in the nave — the second disposition in my system —
has never even been up for discussion.
Conclusion
Strikingly, older monastic regulations had no references to the various architec-
tonic dispositions.52 Only the transept galleries are attributed exclusively to the
convents of the high nobility, the monumental houses of canonesses in medi-
eval Saxony with a long history dating back to early Middle Ages. The place at
the western end of the nave on the ground floor, separated from the sanctuary
by the zone of the laity and clerics, was chosen by Cistercian nuns of the twelfth
and thirteenth century, but is proven also to be an early medieval disposition.
All other dispositions are to be found in the churches of a strict monastic order,
such as Benedictine and Cistercian nuns, as well as in the churches for canon-
esses, and also in the strict regulated orders of the Premonstratensian nuns.
The Italian disposition of a choir room outside the nuns’ church, annexed to
the sanctuary or to the nave (in German, Psallierchor) was not adopted before
the sixteenth century, and also from the eighteenth century onwards by male
convents.53
The correlation with the enclosure buildings also remains inconclusive.
Since the surviving buildings of the enclosure are predominantly younger than
the church, it seems that their location is determined by the disposition of the
choir area54 — but there are nonetheless monasteries, such as Marienstern, with
a dormitory in the east, a nuns’ choir in the west gallery, and an accordingly
long, impractical connecting corridor.55
Many unusual female convents have been overlooked by academia, which
has focused primarily on the architecture of the mendicant orders and seem-
ingly typical churches of Cistercian female convents.56 The ‘normal’, i.e. cor-
52
Ellger, ‘Das “Raumkonzept” der Aachener Institutio sanctimonalium von 816’.
53
Jäggi, ‘Raum und Liturgie in franziskanischen Doppelklöstern’.
54
Untermann, ‘Das “Mönchshaus” in der früh- und hochmittelalterlichen Klosteranlage’.
55
Winzeler, ‘Das “Opus sumptuosum” des Bernhard III. von Kamenz’.
56
Jäggi, Frauenklöster im Spätmittelalter; Coester, ‘Die Cistercienserinnenkirchen des
12. bis 14. Jahrhunderts’; Coester, Die einschiffigen Cistercienserinnenkirchen West- und Süd
deutschlands; Mohn, Mittelalterliche Klosteranlagen der Zisterzienserinnen.
responding to the male monasteries, location of the choir in the east end of
the nave and in the crossing was quite common in the female convents of the
eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries — my examples are but a few of this
group. In the context of the development towards the west gallery — in the
modern period at the latest — a discussion must address whether the stalls in
the east reflect an old ‘self-evident’ monastic tradition or a conscious, active
conformation to the male positions. The visible and tangible distinction to the
male monasteries, as in the case of the segregated choir in the west gallery, has
long been noticed — I would, however, like to call into question whether this
was a valid convention already in the thirteenth century. The architectonic evi-
dence reveals that in the territory of the German kingdom until the fourteenth
century, the choice of different locations for the choir of female convents was
indeed possible and common.
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im 13. und 14. Jahrhundert, Studien zur internationalen Architektur- und Kunst
geschichte, 34 (Petersberg: Imhof, 2006)
—— , ‘Raum und Liturgie in franziskanischen Doppelklöstern: Königsfelden und S. Chiara
in Neapel im Vergleich’, in Art, cérémonial et liturgie au Moyen Âge, ed. by Nicolas
Bock, Études lausannoises d’histoire de l’art, 1 (Rome: Viella, 2002), pp. 223–46
Kaiser, Jürgen, ‘Die ehemalige Prämonstratenserinnenkirche Enkenbach’, Mitteilungen
des Historischen Vereins der Pfalz, 94 (1996), 81–135
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by Christian Freigang, Ars Iberica, 4 (Frankfurt: Vervuert, 1999), pp. 13–40
Keddigkeit, Jürgen, and Matthias Untermann, ‘Enkenbach, Prämonstratenserinnenstift’,
in Pfälzisches Klosterlexikon, ed. by Jürgen Keddigkeit and others, i (Kaiserslautern:
Institut für Pfälzische Geschichte und Volkskunde, 2014), pp. 378–404
Kosch, Clemens, ‘Organisation spatiale des monastères de Cisterciennes et de Prémontrées

en Allemagne et dans les pays germanophones au Moyen Âge’, in Cîteaux et les femmes,
ed. by Bernadette Barrière and Marie-Élizabeth Henneau, Collection Rencontres à
Royaumont, 15 (Paris: Créaphis, 2001), pp. 19–39
Kottmann, Aline, ‘L’Allemagne: état de la recherche’, in Archéologie du son: les dispositifs de
pots acoustiques dans les édifices anciens, ed. by Bénédicte Palazzo-Bertholon and Jean-
Christophe Valière, Bulletin monumental, Supplément, 5 (Paris: Société Française
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—— , ‘Die Ausgrabungen in der karolingischen Stiftskirche St Walburga’, in Mescheder
Geschichte, i (Meschede: Heimatbund, 2007), pp. 121–32
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ihre gemeinsame Nutzung der Kirche’, in Glas, Malerei, Forschung: Internationale
Studien zu Ehren von Rüdiger Becksmann, ed. by Hartmut Scholz and others (Berlin:
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FemMoData: A Database of
Medieval Female Monasteries in Europe
Hedwig Röckelein
M
y contribution is dedicated to a tool for research on female reli-
gious houses — ‘Female Monasticism’s Database’, or FemMoData in
short.1 FemMoData provides access to a vast corpus of information
on medieval female religious houses all over Europe. The database currently
comprises entries on three thousand European religious communities. By giv-
ing access to data on social, economic, geographic, and gender-related issues,
as well as material culture, innovative perspectives of research as well as com-
parative studies can be opened up to scholars. The database allows us to group
religious houses according to specific periods in history, to analyse the social
background of important people associated with any given convent. Thus, it
gives us the opportunity of creating prosopographical analyses.
FemMoData incorporates all European female religious houses that were
founded between the beginning of the monastic movement in c. 400 ad and
the Reformation period (c. 1550 ad). This distinguishes FemMoData from
other databases that are usually limited to one country or one region — such as
the database for Hungary or ‘Monastic Wales’,2 the latter of which only covers
the period from the eleventh century onwards.
1
‘Female Monasticism’s Database’ <http://femmodata.uni-goettingen.de> [accessed 3
March 2015]. This is also the location where the current state of work on FemMoData and
information on its application are published.
2
‘Monasteria Hungarica’: ‘monastic routes’, currently only available on CD-ROM and in
Hedwig Röckelein ([email protected]) is professor of Medieval History at the University of

Göttingen.
356 Hedwig Röckelein
FemMoData focuses on the individual monastic house, not on monastic

networks or orders. The database reflects the whole spectrum of female reli-
gious communities before the emergence of orders in the twelfth century. It
encompasses houses that were incorporated into orders from the twelfth cen-
tury onwards as well as those that remained unincorporated, such as most
Cistercian convents. Also included are the few and usually short-lived double
monasteries and — sporadically — semi-religious communities (Third Order,
so-called Schwesternhäuser, houses of Beguines, Hospitallers).
FemMoData is a database designed for research from the ground up. As
opposed to the Scandinavian monastic database of Johnny Jakobsen,3 it is not
limited to providing general information of interest to a non-academic audi-
ence; nor does it focus on primarily regional aspects, such as the databases for
Bavaria and Baden-Württemberg.4 While other databases, such as those for
Hungary and Catalonia,5 were created for predominantly or even exclusively
touristic purposes, FemMoData provides comprehensive information on the
written and material evidence for individual religious houses. It gives access to
current research but also refers to established older publications and editions.
Technical Information and Functionality

FemMoData is structured as a relational database using the open source con-
tent-management system ‘Contao’. Each item — that is, each religious house
— is identified by a unique number (ID) and can be addressed by permalinks.
There is an option for entering personal names and place names in accordance
with authority files (such as that of the German National Library, ‘Gemeinsame
Normdatei/GND’).
There are two different field categories: first, the statistical data fields (e.g.,
‘order’, ‘date of foundation’) that can be used to observe larger trends and ten-
dencies. They also allow the creation of maps displaying the distribution of
Hungarian. An English version is in preparation. For ‘Monastic Wales’, see <www.monasticwales.

org> [accessed 3 March 2015].
3
‘Katalog over klostre i middelalderens Danmark’ <www.jggj.dk/KlosterGISkatalog.
htm> [accessed 3 March 2015].
4
For Bavaria, see ‘Klöster in Bayern’ <www.datenmatrix.de/projekte/hdbg/kloster/index.
php>; for Baden-Württemberg, see ‘Klöster in Baden-Württemberg’ <http://www.kloester-
bw.de> [both accessed 3 March 2015].
5
See ‘Monestirs’ <www.monestirs.cat> [accessed 3 March 2015].
FemMoData: A Database of Medieval Female Monasteries in Europe 357
communities based on specific queries. The statistical data fields are completed
with fields for commentaries. Second, ‘narrative’ fields for extended description
(e.g., ‘history’) can also be accessed by a full text query.
The Basis of FemMoData

FemMoData’s corpus is based on both published and unpublished data as well
as on already existing, but incomplete or specialized, digital resources. The
lion’s share of data was adopted from the online database ‘Monastic Matrix’,6
which was created in the late 1980s in the United States by Mary Mc Laughlin
and Suzanne Wemple in the context of the project ‘Women & Religious
Life’.7 ‘Monastic Matrix’ is based on published — in many cases outdated —
handbooks of research on monasticism, for example Laurent Henri Cottineau’s
Répertoire topo-bibliographique des abbayes et prieurés (published between 1935
and 1939).8
The ‘Monastic Matrix’ core of data was supplemented by collections of
index cards and unpublished material by Robert Suckale, Free University of
Berlin, which are mainly concerned with information on art history and archi-
tecture. A second unpublished corpus was provided by the notes of Katrinette
Bodarwé. Her material reflects the state of research, albeit only for the Frankish
period until about the year 900.
In addition, we have systematically incorporated data from current online
databases, handbooks on monastic history, and monographs on specific regions,
orders, or individual religious houses. 9 FemMoData incorporates data from
the repertories ‘Germania Sacra’, ‘Helvetia Sacra’, and ‘Germania Benedictina’,
as well as data from monastic handbooks on individual federal states of
Germany.10 Because FemMoData integrates these systematic and, in some cases,
6
‘Monastic Matrix: A Scholarly Resource for the Study of Women’s Religious Com
munities from 400 to 1600 ce’ <http://monasticmatrix.osu.edu> [accessed 3 March 2015].
7
The project is currently directed by Alison Beach of Ohio State University: <http://
monasticmatrix.org/dematrice> [accessed 3 March 2015].
8
Cottineau, Répertoire topo-bibliographique des abbayes et prieurés. Cottineau is now in
revision in the database ‘Corpus des monastères français’, which is not yet available to the public.
9
Compare the list on FemMoData’s website.
10
Heimann, Neitmann and Schich, Brandenburgisches Klosterbuch; Dolle, Niedersächsi
sches Klosterbuch; Hengst, Westfälisches Klosterbuch; Zimmermann and Priesching, Würt
tembergisches Klosterbuch; Klosterführer Rheinland; Groten and others, Nordrheinisches
Klosterbuch.
finalized publications, female religious houses in the German-speaking part of

Europe dominate the corpus of the database, while other European regions are
underrepresented. In the future, we will add data from publications on other
European countries.
For Ireland, the main task will be the integration of numerous cellae. With
regard to the Iberian Peninsula, only Catalonia has been included comprehen-
sively so far. For Castile, only Cistercian convents are represented.11 In Italy,
only the areas of Rome, Latium, Apulia, and the Basilicata,12 as well as female
monasteries connected with Cluny,13 have been incorporated. Monasticism in
Italy was of a very differentiated nature. There were many smaller eremitic com-
munities and minor female convents associated with urban monasteries. No
research on these has been carried out so far. Furthermore, one has to consider
both Latin and Greco-Italian monasticism. Both Central and Eastern Europe
— that is, Poland, Croatia, Romania, and Bulgaria — are decidedly underrep-
resented at the moment.
The Input Mask

FemMoData’s input mask is available in German and in English. New entries
can be created in major modern languages used by the scientific community,
for example, English, German, French, Italian, and so forth. It is subdivided
into the following sections: name of the monastery (including medieval vari-
ants), place (including medieval and modern diocese), founding process and
development (including date of foundation, reform, destruction, and aboli-
tion), prosopography (including the founder’s and donor’s family; the advo-
cate; a list of abbesses and nuns; monastic offices; such as cantrix, portaria,
etc.; the social background of the convent’s members), function of the house
(burial place of a noble family, parish church, incorporated parishes, seat of
an archdeacon, anchorites in the vicinity, etc.), institution (e.g., abbey, priory,
double monastery) and order (including filiations, congregation, observance,
and rule), cult (patron saints, relics), history (including economy and posses-
sions), equipment, architecture and archaeology (including sources in archives
and libraries — such as charters and manuscripts, architectural monuments
11
Based on Cavero Domínguez, El esplendor del Císter en León (siglos xii–xiii).
12
Based on Garaffa, Monasticon Italiae, i: Roma e Lazio; Lunardi, Houben, and Spinelli,
Monasticon Italiae, iii: Pugliae e Basilicata.
13
Based on Andenna, ‘Sanctimoniales cluniacenses’.
and material culture, and the bibliography). For frequently quoted references,
only short titles are listed in the entries, a click on which shows the full title.
The full references are collected in a separate general bibliography that can be
accessed individually. Where contradictions are presented by current literature,
we point these out, albeit without correcting or commenting on them. It is
up to the user to evaluate the extant evidence, possibly by conducting further
independent research.
Historical phenomena and processes are often more complex and more dif-
ferentiated than the standards of modern databases. This concerns particularly
the names of persons, places, orders and offices, and the high proportion of
variants in Medieval Latin and in vernacular languages as well as in modern
ones. The problem of standardization for female monastic houses is rather rel-
evant due to the fact that female monastic institutions in the Middle Ages were
often at the margins or excluded from the norms of the male ones. A significant
number were not integrated into the hierarchy and affiliation systems that are
typical of male convents.
For the names of religious orders and their corresponding acronyms, we
adopted the standards set by the third edition of the Lexikon für Theologie und
Kirche (LThK3) (Encyclopaedia for Theology and Church).14 For routines we
implemented lists of standardized entries of acronyms of religious orders, dio-
ceses, congregations, reform groups/observances, and rules. Standards for the
spelling of saints’ names — with regard to patron saints and relics — are taken
from ‘Calendoscope’, a database intended as a tool for the calculation of feast
days, which is maintained by the Institut de recherche et d’histoire des textes
at the CNRS in Paris.15 This database, however, has its limits: Calendoscope is
based on the Roman calendar and therefore does neither cover the numerous
local saints of Gallia in the early Middle Ages nor the hundreds of Irish saints!
But not all problems can be attributed to the structure and necessities of
databases in general. A number of difficulties result from gaps in the transmis-
sion of female religious houses, as well as from the specific status of women’s
communities which was markedly different from that of their male counterparts.
Thus, the history of their foundation is often obscure and the date of foundation
cannot be determined precisely. In the case of double monasteries, it is usually
only the male part of the community that is well documented, while the female
14
Kasper, Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche.
15
‘Calendoscope: logiciel d’aide à l’identification des calendriers liturgiques médiévaux’
<http://calendriers.irht.cnrs.fr> [accessed 3 March 2015].
component is either completely undocumented or the little information that

does exist rests solely on memorial lists. Written sources, especially in the case
of female religious houses, rarely allow conclusions with regard to processes of
reform. Sometimes material culture — such as architecture and equipment, or
liturgical texts — are much more convincing than (other) written sources. But in
times of reform, changes in the convent often coincided with a change of gender.
Applications of FemMoData
The following examples may serve to illustrate how investigations on monasti-
cism can profit from the database. With regard to the examples of publications
that were prepared with the help of FemMoData it has to be stressed that they
relied on older versions of the database (local version in AskSam and the first
web-based version) that did not include geographic data.16
FemMoData, launched in 2002, was first used for the creation of maps for
Crown and Veil (Krone und Schleier), a major exhibition on female religious insti-
tutions and female religious attitudes that attracted international attention and
was hosted at the Federal Exhibition Centre in Bonn (Bundesausstellungshalle)
and the Museum of the Ruhr in Essen (Ruhrlandmuseum) in 2005.17 With the
help of FemMoData, maps were created that displayed foundations of monas-
teries, monastic reforms, and Benedictine as well as Augustinian double houses
in the Empire, 1050–1200 ce;18 statistical analysis was carried out on patron
saints of female religious houses.19
In 2009 FemMoData contributed significantly to the investigation of the
role of male canons in the reform of female monasticism during the high Middle
Ages. This investigation highlighted various relations that transcended the sys-
16
The older state of the database is described by Bodarwé, ‘FemMo-Data — Female
Monasticism’s Database’. I would like to take the opportunity to express my gratitude for many
suggestions and essential help to my colleague Katrinette Bodarwé, as well as to my former and
current student research assistants, chiefly among them Katharina Mersch, Timo Kirschberger,
Katharina Knesia, Alexander Winnefeld, and Robin Volkmar, who have been involved in the
development of the database during the last ten years.
17
Frings and Gerchow, Krone und Schleier. The English translation of the main articles
(the catalogue itself is not included!) is Hamburger and Marti, Crown and Veil.
18
Frings and Gerchow, Krone und Schleier, p. 309.
19
Röckelein, ‘Gründer, Stifter und Heilige’, p. 74, figs 4–6; cf. the English version: Röcke
lein, ‘Founders, Donors, and Saints’, cf. p. 218, figs 9.4–9.6 (percentage of dedications to the
Virgin, St Peter, St John the Baptist, and St John the Evangelist considering the number of
foundations of female monasteries, 400–1300 ad).
tem of religious orders — relations between canonesses, Augustinian canonesses,

Benedictine nuns, and male Augustinian houses, particularly in the Middle Rhine
Valley, Bavaria, and Saxony.20 In other cases, research questions clearly demon-
strated the deficits of the database. When I wanted to prepare a paper on the role
of female monasteries in connection with the Benedictine Reforms of the high
Middle Ages in 2009, we noticed that the database did not contain any usable
data on this topic. There were only a few entries that listed ‘Hirsau’ in the field
‘reform observance’, and other reform groups such as ‘St Blasien’ and ‘Siegburg’
were missing altogether. To make matters worse, entries on Hirsau were of lit-
tle use because they were either wrong or did not contain precise information.
The reason for this unsatisfactory situation lies in the source database ‘Monastic
Matrix’ which did not fully consider German research and thus omitted the vital
data provided by the monographs of Josef Semmler and Hermann Jakobs on
Hirsau, St Blasien, and Siegburg.21 Before using the database for the paper, we
had to dedicate a lot of effort to extracting, correcting, and systematizing rel-
evant data from the published monographs and integrating it into FemMoData.
The huge number of female monasteries and double monasteries that emerged
during the Benedictine Reform period is now accessible in the printed version
and integrated into FemMoData.22 This example clearly illustrates the mutually
beneficial relation between the database and current research.
Working on another project in 2008, we learned that many female monaster-
ies served the function of parish churches.23 There are many reasons for this, such
as the location of parish churches within the territory of a female community,
the foundation of a female house in association with a parish church — quite
frequent in the case of Cistercian convents —, or the incorporation of parish
churches into female houses during the high medieval period due to economic
and legal reasons. This fact had consequences. For example, it is the origin of
the community’s, respectively, the abbess’s protective power and advowson, and
at times also of her role as archdeacon. FemMoData also provided us with the
20
Röckelein, ‘Die Auswirkung der Kanonikerreform des 12. Jahrhunderts’; cf. the
English version: Röckelein, ‘The Implications of 12th Century Canonical Reforms’.
21
Jakobs, Der Adel in der Klosterreform von St Blasien; Jakobs, Die Hirsauer; Semmler,
Die Klosterreform von Siegburg.
22
The paper is now available in print in a significantly extended version: Röckelein, ‘Frauen
im Umkreis der benediktinischen Reformen des 10. bis 12. Jahrhunderts’ (see also the appen
dices and the maps).
23
See Röckelein, Frauenstifte, Frauenklöster und ihre Pfarreien, particularly my intro
duction: ‘Die Frauenkonvente und ihre Pfarreien — Aufriss eines Problems’, pp. 9–17.
insight that a substantial number of female religious houses developed into cen-
tres of pilgrimage — even if this appears to be a contradiction of prescriptions
mandating strict enclosure in many late medieval communities. We are going to
investigate the female religious houses as places of pilgrimage in the course of a
recent research project with the Hebrew University in Jerusalem: ‘Practising Love
of God: Comparing Women’s and Men’s Practice in Medieval Saxony’.
Future Plans for the Improvement of FemMoData

1) Creation of maps and links to external maps: So far, maps are created
manually, using the data provided by FemMoData. In the future we will
implement the option for the dynamic creation of maps based on (vari-
able) periods of time, religious order, and geographic regions (including
data on abandoned villages).
2) Integration with image databases: Art historians, archaeologists, and con-
servators have voiced the wish to combine our textual database with image
data. In future, we would like to link to digital facsimiles of charters,24
manuscripts, and to digitized editions.
3) Expansion of the editorial team: During recent years a group of colleagues
have engaged in discussions about the uses and structure of our data-
base and have contributed to the improvement of FemMoData. Mention
must be made of the long-term project 'Germania Sacra' at the Göttin-
gen Academy of Sciences, and particularly Bärbel Kröger, responsible for
the IT aspect of that project.25 Colleagues from Hungary, Slovakia, Italy,
Wales, Spain, and particularly Catalonia have been active in an exchange
of ideas and knowledge with us and have signalled their intent to estab-
lish pilot projects for specific countries. Some of these colleagues have also
been involved in a joint DAAD-MÖB project ‘Monastic Landscapes’ at
the Central European University in Budapest.26 The aim is to establish a
Europe-wide network of authorized editors in different countries, each
chosen for their specific areas of expertise.
24
For example, ‘Monasterium.net’ <www.monasterium.net> [accessed 3 March 2015].
25
In the future, ‘Germania Sacra’ is going to publish a database of all monastic institutions
(male and female) of the Empire; ‘Germania Sacra: Klöster und Stifte des Alten Reiches’
<http://klosterdatenbank.germania-sacra.de> [accessed 3 March 2015].
26
Laszlovszky and Röckelein, ‘Medieval Monastic Regions in Central Europe’.
Works Cited
Secondary Studies
Andenna, Giancarlo, ‘Sanctimoniales cluniacenses’: studi sui monasteri femminili di Cluny e
sulla loro legislazione in Lombardia (xi–xv secolo), Vita Regularis, 20 (Münster: LIT, 2004)
Bodarwé, Katrinette, ‘FemMo-Data — Female Monasticism’s Database: von einem inter
nen Hilfsmittel zum internationalen Internetprojekt’, in Datenbanken in den Geistes
wissenschaften, ed. by Ingo Jonas (Frankfurt a.M.: Lang, 2007), pp. 49–61
Cavero Domínguez, Gregoria, El esplendor del Císter en León (siglos xii–xiii) (León:
Fundación Hullera Vasco-Leonesa, 2007)
Cottineau, Laurent Henri, Répertoire topo-bibliographique des abbayes et prieurés, 2 vols
(Macon: Protat Frères, 1935–39) (supplementary volume, Turnhout: Brepols, 1970)
Dolle, Josef, ed., Niedersächsisches Klosterbuch: Verzeichnis der Klöster, Stifte, Kommenden
und Beginenhäuser in Niedersachsen und Bremen von den Anfängen bis 1810, Veröffent
lichungen des Instituts für Historische Landesforschung der Universität Göttingen,
56, 4 vols (Bielefeld: Verlag für Regionalgeschichte, 2012)
Frings, Jutta, and Jan Gerchow, eds, Krone und Schleier: Kunst aus mittelalterlichen
Frauenklöstern (München: Hirmer, 2005)
Garaffa, Filippo, Monasticon Italiae, i: Roma e Lazio (Cesena: Badia di Santa Maria del
Monte, 1981)
Groten, Manfred, and others, eds, Nordrheinisches Klosterbuch: Lexikon der Stifte und
Klöster bis 1815, 1. Aachen bis Düren, Studien zur Kölner Kirchengeschichte, 37.1
(Siegburg: Fran Schmitt, 2010)
Hamburger, Jeffrey F., and Susan Marti, Crown and Veil: Female Monasticism from the
Heimann, Heinz-Dieter, Klaus Neitmann, and Winfried Schich, eds, Brandenburgisches
Klosterbuch. Handbuch der Klöster, Stifte und Kommenden bis zur Mitte des 16.
Jahrhunderts, 2 vols (Berlin: Be.bra Wissenschaft Verlag, 2007)
Hengst, Karl, ed., Westfälisches Klosterbuch: Lexikon der vor 1815 errichteten Stifte und
Klöster von ihrer Gründung bis zur Aufhebung, Veröffentlichungen der Historischen
Kommission für Westfalen, 44, 3 vols (Münster: Aschendorff, 1992–2003)
Jakobs, Hermann, Der Adel in der Klosterreform von St Blasien, Kölner Historische Ab
handlungen, 16 (Köln: Böhlau, 1968)
—— , Die Hirsauer: ihre Ausbreitung und Rechtsstellung im Zeitalter des Investiturstreits,
Kölner Historisches Abhandlungen, 16 (Köln: Böhlau, 1961)
Kasper, Walter, ed., Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche, 3rd edn (Freiburg i.Br.: Herder,
1993–2001)
Klosterführer Rheinland, ed. by Rheinischer Verein für Denkmalpflege und Landschafts
schutz (Köln: Verlag des Rheinischen Vereins, 2004)
Laszlovszky, József, and Hedwig Röckelein, ‘Medieval Monastic Regions in Central
Europe: The Spiritual and Physical Landscape Setting of Monastic Orders and Reli
gious Houses’, Annual of Medieval Studies at CEU (Central European University Buda
pest Press), 17 (2011), 296–308
Lunardi, Giovanni, Hubert Houben, and Giovanni Spinelli, eds, Monasticon Italiae, iii:
Pugliae e Basilicata (Cesena: Badia di Santa Maria del Monte, 1986)
Röckelein, Hedwig, ‘Die Auswirkung der Kanonikerreform des 12. Jahrhunderts auf
Kanonissen, Augustinerchorfrauen und Benediktinerinnen’, in: Institution und Char
isma: Fs. f. Gert Melville z. 65. Geb., ed. by Franz Felten, Annette Kehnel, and Stefan
Weinfurter (Köln: Böhlau, 2009), pp. 55–72
—— , ‘Founders, Donors, and Saints: Patrons of Nuns’ Convents’, in Crown and Veil:
Female Monasticism from the Fifth to the Fifteenth Centuries, ed. by Jeffrey F. Hamburger
and Susan Marti (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), pp. 207–24
—— , ‘Frauen im Umkreis der benediktinischen Reformen des 10. bis 12. Jahrhunderts:
Gorze, Cluny, Hirsau, St Blasien, und Siegburg’, in Female ‘vita religiosa’ between Late
Antiquity and the High Middle Ages: Structures, Developments and Spatial Contexts,
ed. by Gert Melville and Anne Müller, Vita Regularis, Ordnungen und Deutungen
religiosen Lebens im Mittelalter, 47 (Berlin: LIT, 2011), pp. 275–327
—— , ‘Gründer, Stifter und Heilige — Patrone der Frauenkonvente’, Krone und Schleier:
Kunst aus mittelalterlichen Frauenklöstern, ed. by Jutta Frings and Jan Gerchow (Munich:
Hirmer, 2005), pp. 66–77
—— , ‘The Implications of 12th Century Canonical Reforms with Regard to Canonesses,
Augustinian Canonesses and Benedictine Nuns’, unpublished paper presented at the
CEU Budapest Workshop ‘Monastic Landscapes – Spiritual and Physical’, 5–7 March
2009 (Budapest, University of Göttingen)
—— , ed., Frauenstifte, Frauenklöster und ihre Pfarreien, Essener Forschungen zum Frauen
stift, 7 (Essen: Klartext, 2009)
Semmler, Josef, Die Klosterreform von Siegburg. Ihre Ausbreitung und ihr Reformprogramm
im 11. und 12. Jahrhundert, Rheinisches Archiv. Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für
geschichtliche Landeskunde des Rheinlands an der Universität Bonn, 53 (Bonn:
Röhrscheid, 1959)
Zimmermann, Wolfgang, and Nicole Priesching, eds, Württembergisches Klosterbuch:
Klöster, Stifte und Ordensgemeinschaften von den Anfängen bis in die Gegenwart (Ost
fildern: Thorbecke, 2003)
Index
Abingdon family: 111 Alfonso family: 28, 29, 31, 33, 37 n. 105, 38
Absalon, Danish bishop (d. 1201): 170–72, Alice Page, prioress of Baysdale: 257
178 Almanzor: 19
Adare, Co. Limerick: 243 Alvastra, Cistercian monastery: 180
Adelaide, daughter of William Amalarius of Metz: 98
the Conqueror: 102 Amesbury, Fontevraudine nunnery: 99
Agilolfing family: 80 Ammiana, island in Venice’s northern
Agnes, dau. of King Birgir of Sweden: 177 Lagoon: 155 n. 33, 156, 157, 159, 160
Agnès de Peranda, sister, foundress, Ancrene Wisse: 114 and n. 76, 135
abbess of Sant Antoni i Santa Clara de Anglo-Saxon England: 85, 86, 106, 123,
Barcelona: 191, 196, 198 n. 51, 53, 202 309, 312
Agnes of Hungary, widow of King Albert bishops of: 99
of Habsburg, foundress of names: 108
Königsfelden: 346 Anna Michiel, wife of Doge Niccolò
Agnese, foundress of San Lorenzo of Giustiniani, foundress of Sant’Adriano
Ammiana and nun: 156, 157, 159 of Costanziaco: 159
Alan Niger, count of Richmond: 105 Anne Vavasour, nun of Swine Priory: 270
Alan the Red, count of Richmond: 104, 105 anniversary masses: 281–86, 288, 289 n. 43,
Alba, diocese of: 55, 65 290, 293 and n. 56, 294
Alba-Iulia (Gyulafehérvár, Weissenburg): 213 Ansa, Lombard queen: 148
Albert, king of Habsburg: 346 Anselm, archbishop of Canterbury: 100–09,
Albertus Magnus: 345 115
Albigensian Crusade: 284 Anselperga, abbess of Santa Giulia in
Alfonso, abbot of the monastery of Santos Brescia: 148
Facundo y Primitivo in Sahagún: 30 apostolic life: 156, 162
Alfonso III, king of León: 29, 30 Apostolic See, appeals to: 131
Alfonso VI, king of León and Castile: 24, protection by: 60
25 n. 54, 26, 27, 29, 30 and n. 72, Apulia: 358
31, 32, 34–35, 36 and n. 103, 37, 39, Aragon: 17, 22, 46, 194, 196, 205
40 n. 116, 44, 46 archaeology: 6, 7, 8, 231–46, 358
Alfonso VII, king of León and Castile: 18, Arles (Bouches-du-Rhône),
20, 30, 39 n. 112, 42 convent of Saint Jean: 303, 306
Alfonso VIII, king of Castile: 18, 39 basilica of St Mary: 306
Alfonso Díaz, count of Grajal: 28, 31 Armagh, Co. Armagh: 235, 245
366 INDEX
Armengol III of Urgell: 22 Bec, Benedictine abbey: 100, 102, 107

Arnulfus, bishop of Metz: 81, 82, 83 Bede: 76 n. 8, 85
Life of: 81, 82, 83 beguines: 187, 199, 200, 204, 205, 223, 224,
Arroasian observance: 237 and n. 59 231, 356
Arthington, Cluniac nunnery: 132 n. 35, Benedict of Aniane: 15, 16, 46, 77, 90
253 n. 1, 257 Benedictine Order: 15, 16, 24, 26, 27, 30,
Askeaton, Co. Limerick: 240 41, 42, 45, 46, 58, 67, 148, 156, 162,
Asti, diocese of: 54 170, 174, 182, 185, 189, 213
Asturias: 23, 25 n. 55 double houses: 41, 123, 134, 237, 312, 360
Athelitz, abbess of Romsey: 103, 105, 106 nuns: 17, 39, 42, 46, 58, 110, 124, 133,
Augustinian Order: 26, 237, 238, 343; 134, 136, 158, 160, 168, 172, 211,
see also regular canons 213, 214, 237, 238, 280, 328, 329,
Arroasian observance: 237 n. 59, 238 331, 341, 347, 361
canonesses: 124, 133, 237, 361 reform: 23, 319 n. 64, 361
double houses: 360 Rule see Rule of Saint Benedict
male houses: 361 Benvenuta, foundress of Sant’Angelo of
rule see Rule of Saint Augustine Ammiana and nun: 157, 159
Averdorp, Premonstratensian monastery: Berenguera d’Antic, ‘Soror penitentium’:
333, 334 200 n. 60
Avice, abbess of West Malling: 101 Bergen, Cistercian nunnery: 167, 178–79, 180
Bernardo, abbot: 31, 37
Baden-Württemberg: 356 Bernardo, count of Sospiro: 58
Baiamonte Visconti, abbot of Chiaravalle Bersenbrück, Cistercian nunnery: 337, 339
della Colomba (Piacenza): 55, 56 Berta, countess of Sospiro: 58
Baldwin IX, count of Flanders and Hainaut,
Berta, foundress of San Lorenzo of
first Latin emperor of Constantinople:
Ammiana and Sant’Angelo of
279, 283
Ammiana, and nun: 156, 157, 159
Ballyvourney, Co. Cork: 231
Berthe de Morlanwelz, foundress of Notre
Barking Abbey, Benedictine nunnery,
abbess of: 98 n. 5, 102 Dame d’Olive: 289
prioress of: 102 Bertilla, abbess of Chelles: 85
Bartolomea Riccoboni, nun of Corpus Bertram Haget, founder of Sinningthwaite
Domini: 161 Priory: 128
Bartolomeo of Benevento, canon of the Bertramus Reoldus, historian: 66 n. 63, 67,
cathedral of Pavia: 64 68 n. 67, 68–69 n. 68
Basilicata: 358 Beverley Minster: 266
Bathildis, queen of Burgundy, widow Beverley, St Mary’s parish church: 273
of Clovis II: 79, 84, 85, 86, 87 Biblia Pauperum: 266
Life of: 87 Bijloke, Cistercian nunnery: 279, 281 n. 8,
Battle, Benedictine abbey: 101 288 n. 38
Bavaria: 356, 361 painted decoration: 273
dukes of: 80 Bindon, Cistercian abbey: 129
Baysdale Priory: 253 n. 1; see also Alice Page Birgittines: 180
Béatrice of Brabant: 291 Bistriţa (Bistriz, Beszterce): 214 and n. 9,
Beatrice of Grendale: 137 n. 52 215 and nn. 12 and 13, 216 nn. 17
Béatrix, countess of Guînes: 283 and 20, 217 n. 22, 218 n. 26
Beatrix Lowe, prioress of Swine: 272 Dominican nunnery of: 217
Beaupré at Gimminge: 281 n. 8 Blendecques: 286
Beaupré-sur-la-Lys, Cistercian nunnery: Cistercian nunnery: 281 n. 8, 283, 284, 286
281 n. 8, 285, 289, 290 and n. 49 Bo, caretaker of Cistercian nuns at Bergen: 179
INDEX 367
Boniface VIII, pope: 114 Cashel, archbishopric: 237

Book of Mulling: 311 Castella, abbess of St Giovanni
Boudelo Cistercian monastery: 280 della Pipia (Cremona): 59
Boxley, Cistercian abbey, abbot of: 129 Castile: 29, 45, 46, 358
Braşov (Kronstadt, Brassó): 213, 214, 223 Catalonia: 6, 8, 9 n. 17, 15, 16, 46,
Cistercian nuns at: 211, 212, 223, 224 185–205, 356, 358, 362
Dominicans at: 215 and nn. 12 and 13 Caterina, abbess of Santa Maria Magdalena
parish church of: 217 n. 22 de Tarragona: 197 n. 50, 198 n. 54
Poor Clares at: 215 and n. 15 Catesby, Cistercian nunnery: 111, 112, 113
Brenkenhausen, Cistercian nunnery: 317, 318 Catherine, saint of Siena: 272
Brewood, Benedictine nunnery: 110 Celestine III, pope: 285
Brigit of Kildare, saint see St Brigit Cell Dara (Kildare, Co. Kildare): 230, 231,
Brondolo, Cistercian abbey: 155 237, 245, 309, 310, 312
Brunechildis, queen of Austrasia: 81, 82, 83 Cervera, Order of Saint John of Jerusalem:
Buckfast, Cistercian abbey: 129 186
Buckland, Augustinian nunnery: 112 Chagnericus, advisor of King Theudebert II:
Bulgaria: 358 78 n. 7, 79, 80
Burgondofara, daughter of Chagnerius: Chard, Thomas, abbot of Forde: 269
78 n. 7, 79, 80 Charles the Bald: 87
Burgundy: 79, 80 Chelles, nunnery in Gaul: 78 n. 11, 79, 84,
burial: 18, 22, 23, 30, 43, 106, 153, 172, 216 85–86, 87, 92
and n. 20, 234, 235, 243, 245, 268, 269, Chester, Benedictine abbey: 101
274, 275, 282, 290, 291, 292, 294, 306, Chiaravalle, Cistercian monastery: 55, 61, 65
315, 331, 339 Childebert II, king of Austrasia and
of benefactors: 43, 153, 256, 290, 292 Burgundy: 80
and n. 54, 358 Chlothar II, king of the Franks: 82, 83
segregated: 234 and n. 41, 235 Christina, Swedish queen: 181
Byland, Cistercian abbey: 132, 269 Christina of Markyate: 109
abbot of: 257 Christina of Ravensberg, foundress of
Bywater, Thomas, chaplain at Swine Priory: Ravensberg Abbey: 285
263, 270 Cistercian nunneries: 123–40 (England
and Wales), 167–82 (Denmark
Caesaria, sister of Caesarius of Arles: 76 and Sweden), 253–75 (Yorkshire),
Caesarius of Arles (Césaire d’Arles): 3, 98, 279–95 (Flanders)
302, 303, 304, 306, 309 art and architecture of: 253–75, 300,
cailleach, Irish for ‘veiled one’: 234 317–19, 328–48
Cantabria: 27 Cistercian Order: 4, 7, 39, 40 and n. 116,
Canterbury: 108, 109, 133 44, 45, 53–69, 110, 123–40, 148, 155,
archbishop of see also Anselm, Edmund 156, 158, 162, 167–82, 187, 188, 192,
Rich, Lanfranc: 100, 108, 111 211, 212, 214, 223, 224, 237, 238,
Christ Church, Benedictine cathedral 253–75, 279–95, 300–19, 328–48, 356
priory: 108 attitude towards nuns: 3, 4, 110, 124 n. 5,
St Augustine’s, Benedictine abbey: 108 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 133, 168,
Cappel, Premonstratensian double 181, 212, 256, 257
monastery: 331, 332 General Chapter: 39, 62, 127, 129,
Carenza Visconti, abbess of St Maria of 130, 131, 132, 133, 134 n. 40, 135,
Terzo Passo (Piacenza): 66 136, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 175,
Carretto family: 55 212 n. 2, 253 n. 1, 256, 257, 284 n. 21
Cârţa (Kercz): 212, 213, 223 reform: 16, 25 n. 54, 26, 41, 44, 45, 186
368 INDEX
Cîteaux, Order of see Cistercian Order de Clare, Richard and Rohais: 107 and n. 44
Clare of Assisi: 67, 188, 190, 192, 193, 195 de la Hay, Piers: 268
Clara de Janua, nun, foundress, abbess of de la Pole, Sir William: 262
Sant Antoni i Santa Clara de Barcelona: Desmond, earls of: 240
190, 191, 198 n. 51 de Verli, Robert, priest of Swine and founder
claustral plan: 239, 240, 241, 242, 243, 244, of Swine Priory: 255
245, 301, 302, 303, 307 Diana of the Andalò, abbess of St Agnese of
Clonmacnoise, Co. Offaly: 235, 245 Bologna: 67
Cloonburren, Co. Roscommon: 231 Divine Office: 110, 285, 286
Cluj (Kolozsvár, Klausenburg): 213–22 Dodsworth, Margaret, benefactor of
Cluj-Mănăştur (Kolozsmonostor, Sinningthwaite Priory: 269
Abtsdorf ): 213 Dolça de Pau, Catalan noble lady: 198 n. 53,
Cluniac Order: 27, 31, 36 n. 103, 38, 45, 46, 204
154, 155, 162, 358 Domesday Book: 108
reform of: 16, 24, 30, 31, 37, 41, 45, 319 Dominican Order see also Friars Preacher:
Cluny, Benedictine abbey: 20, 24, 37, 358 57, 58, 194, 200, 212 n. 2, 214, 215
Hugh, abbot of: 35, 37 and nn. 12 and 14, 216 and n. 20,
Cogitosus, author of a life of St Brigit: 230, 217 n. 22, 218, 219, 220 and n. 34, 221,
310, 312 222, 224, 237 n. 55, 280, 300, 329,
Columbanus see St Columbanus 344–45, 346
confessors: 130, 195, 203, 257, 313 Doña Aldonza, abbess of San Pelayo: 20
Contemplation on the Dread and Love of Doornzele, Cistercian nunnery: 281 n. 8, 286
God: 272 dormitory: 134, 240, 258, 270, 312, 315,
Cook Hill, Cistercian nunnery: 132 316, 318, 347
Cordoba: 22 double houses: 15, 16, 17 and n. 24, 18, 23,
Cork, Ireland: 237 28, 29, 39, 41, 42, 45, 77, 78, 87, 123,
Council General of Aix-la-Chapelle (802): 134, 238, 309, 312, 313, 332, 345, 356,
305 n. 19 358, 359, 360, 361
Council of Coyanza (c. 1055): 24, 25, 26, Downpatrick: 237
29, 39, 47 Druda, abbess of St Spirito of Asti: 66
Council of Friuli (796/7): 305 n. 19 Ducheman, Thomas, sculptor: 265
Council of Mainz (847): 305 n. 19
Council of Riesbach and Freising (800): Edmund Rich of Abingdon, archbishop of
305 n. 19 Canterbury: 111, 112, 113, 115
Council of Tours (813): 305 n. 19 sisters of, Margery and Alice, nuns at
Council of Ver (755): 305 n. 19 Catesby: 111
Covarrubias, monastery of Santos Cosme Egidius de Bredeene, chancellor of Flanders:
y Damián: 17, 23 291
Croatia: 358 Egypt, deserts of: 75
Crowland, Benedictine abbey: 106 Ela, countess of Salisbury: 110, 113
crusades: 113, 155, 280 n.3, 284 Eldena, Cistercian monastery: 179
cura monialium: 97, 98, 168, 177, 188 Elder Zealand Chronicle: 173
Eleanor Plantagenet, wife of Alfonso VIII of
Dagobert, king of Austrasia: 83 Castile: 18, 39
Darcy family, patrons of Swine Priory: 267, elections (of heads of religious houses):
268, 270 30, 43, 55, 126, 136, 137, 138, 139,
Darcy, Sir George: 263, 267, 268 152, 154
Lord Thomas: 263, 267 Elizabeth Webbe, abbess of Cook Hill: 133
de Burgh, John, benefactor of Kirklees Ellerton, Cistercian nunnery: 132 n. 35,
Priory: 269 253 n. 1, 257
INDEX 369
Elvira of León, daughter of Alfonso VI: 44 Fosse, Cistercian nunnery: 123

Emilia Romagna: 53, 54 Fountains, Cistercian abbey: 128, 131
Emma of Stapleton, prioress of Keldholme: abbot of: 130, 131, 132, 133, 257
137 n. 52 Franca, abbess of St Siro of Piacenza: 55, 66
Emma of York, prioress of Keldholme: 137 and n. 63, 67, 68 and nn. 67 and 68, 69
and n. 52 Franciscan Order see also Friars Minor, Poor
Enkenbach, Premonstratensian nunnery: Clares: 188–202, 214, 215, 216, 218,
342, 343 219, 221, 222, 223, 224, 237, 257, 280,
Enrico Dandolo, patriarch of Grado: 154 329, 345, 346
Enrico of Carretto, marquis: 65 frescoes: 333
Épinlieu, Cistercian nunnery: 281 n. 8, 286 Friars Minor see also Franciscan Order: 130,
Erik Ejegod, Danish king: 175, 176, 177: 189, 194, 197 and n. 49, 203, 204, 215,
Ermessenda de Celles, Aragonese noble 216, 219, 221, 257
lady: 195 Friars Preacher: 130, 212 n. 2, 215, 216
Esholt, Cistercian nunnery: 132 n. 35, and n. 20, 218 and n. 26, 220 n. 34, 221
253 n. 1, 256, 257, 269, 274 Fruttuaria, reformed abbey: 155
Esrum, Cistercian monastery: 168, 179
Eufemia Haget, prioress of Sinningthwaite: Galicia: 39–46
131 and n. 29 Garner, Robert, alderman of Hull: 269
Eugenius III, pope: 154 Gaul: 7, 75–92, 303, 305
Eulalia, abbess of Shaftesbury: 103 Gautier du Flos, knight: 285
Eulàlia Anzizu, nun and archivist of Santa General Chapter, see Cistercian
Maria de Pedralbes: 193 Geoffrey, abbot of St Albans: 109
excavations, archaeological: 92, 234, 239, Gerald of Wales see Giraldus Cambrensis
242, 243, 244, 288, 290, 334, 343
Geretrudis, abbess of Nivelles and saint: 79,
83, 84; see also Vita Geretrudis
Faremoutiers, Benedictine monastery:
Gernrode, canonesses’ church: 336
77–81, 83, 85, 86, 87, 92
Ghent: 273, 280, 282
Farewell, Benedictine nunnery: 110
feminism, the three waves of: 232 Giffard, Walter, archbishop of York: 134
Fernando I, king of León: 18, 24, 26, 27, Giffard, William, bishop of Winchester: 107
29, 46 Gilbert of Sempringham, founder of the
Fervor Amoris: 272 Gilbertine Order: 101, 312
Finglas, Co. Dublin: 235, 245 Gilbertine Order: 123, 129, 134, 139, 312
Fitzwilliam, Dame Lucy: 272 Ginevra Gradenigo, foundress of Santa
Flanders: 6, 7, 8, 279–95 Maria degli Angeli: 159
Flemyng, John, carver in York: 266 Giraldus Cambrensis: 124, 125, 126, 128,
Flemyng, John, resident of Hull: 266 129, 231
Flemyng, Thomas, carver in York: 266 Gisela, daughter of Lothar II, abbess of
Flemyng, Walter, resident of Hull: 266 Nivelles: 89
Flines, Cistercian nunnery: 281 n. 8, 289, 292 Gisela, sister of Charlemagne, abbess of
Flixton, Augustinian canonesses: 110 Chelles: 87
Flodden, battle of: 267 Giustiniano Partecipazio, doge of Venice:
Folco Scotti, bishop-elect of Piacenza, 151, 152:
bishop of Pavia: 62 Glendalough, Co. Wicklow: 235, 245
Fontenelle, Cistercian nunnery: 281 n. 8, Gnadenthal, Cistercian nunnery: 330
282, 290 Gondibour, Thomas, prior of Carlisle: 266
Fontevraud, Order of: 4, 99, 109, 238 Grace Dieu, Co. Dublin: 240
Forde, Cistercian abbey: 269 Gradefes, Cistercian nunnery: 40, 334
abbot of: 132 Graney, Co. Kildare: 235 n. 45
370 INDEX
Gravenhorst, Cistercian nunnery: 332, 333 Hirsau, abbey and movement: 319, 361
Greenfield, Cistercian nunnery: 132 n. 35 Holy Trinity, Lough Key,
Gregory VII, pope: 31 Co. Roscommon: 238
Gregory IX, pope: 58 and n. 34, 60, 64, 65, Honnestasse de Hamelaincourt, benefactress
158, 189, 195, 203, 204 of Brayelle Abbey: 290
Groeninghe nunnery: 281 n. 8, 291 Hornby, Thomas, chaplain of York: 270
Guido, cardinal legate: 180 Hugh, archdeacon of Canterbury: 103
Guidotto, bishop of Genoa: 66 Hugh de Wells, bishop of Lincoln: 99, 139
Guillema de Polinyà, ‘Soror penitentium’: Hull: 266, 268
200 n. 60 Holy Trinity, tomb of Catherine
Guisborough, Augustinian priory: 257 Norwich: 262
Gundreda Haget, nun of Sinningthwaite: parish churches: 266
131 n. 29 Hungary: 216, 355, 356, 362
Gundulf, bishop of Rochester: 100, 101, Hynde, Thomas, carver in Hull: 266
102, 109
see also Vita Gundulfi Ingreta de Walkeringham, nun of
Gunnhild, daughter of King Harold III Sinningthwaite: 130
Godwineson of England: 104, 105 Inishglora, Co. Mayo: 234, 237, 245
Gutier Alfonso: 29, 33 Inishmaine, Co. Mayo: 239
Inishmurray, Co. Sligo: 234
Hailes, Cistercian abbey, abbot of: 133 Innocent III, pope: 99
Hainaut: 8, 279–81, 285, 287, 289, 292 Innocent IV, pope: 61, 64
Hall, Sir John, vicar of Huddersfield: 274 Innocent VII, pope: 211
Hampole, Cistercian nunnery: 132 n. 35, Ireland: 8, 83–84, 229–46, 309–11, 358
Isabel Whateley, prioress of Hampole: 272
135, 136, 253 n. 1, 257
Isabella, prioress of Sinningthwaite: 130, 131
Isabel Whateley, prioress: 272
Isabelle, widow of Thierry, castellan of
painted ceilings: 273
Diksmuide: 279, 280
Handale, Cistercian nunnery: 253 n. 1, 269
Isak, Roskilde canon and monastic founder:
Harold II Godwineson, king of England: 104 170
Haverholme, Gilbertine priory: 109 Isidore of Seville: 18, 24
Hedon, Thomas, benefactor of Swine Islamic Spain see also Muslims: 21, 29, 197
Priory: 269, 274 Isot, canonesses of the Order of Saint John
Helenard, seigneur of Clarques of Jerusalem: 186
and Grigny: 284 Italy: 6, 7, 8, 53–69, 85 n. 36, 131, 145–63,
Helwidis, stepmother of Louis the Pious, 189, 190, 191, 195, 205, 358, 362
abbess of Chelles: 87
Hemelsdale, Cistercian nunnery: 281 n. 8, 286 Jakob, caretaker of Cistercian nuns at
Henry I, king of England: 103, 104, 105 Bergen: 179
Henry VI, king of England: 273 Jaromar, prince of Rygen: 178, 179
Henry VII, king of England, chapel of: 265 Jaume I, king of Aragon: 195, 197
Henry VIII, king of England: 267 Jaume II, king of Aragon: 198 nn. 51 and 52,
heresy: 16, 195 204
Hesirig, Dame Johanne: 269 wife of, Maria of Cyprus: 204
Hildegardis, daughter of Louis the Pious, Jaumeta, nun of Sant Antoni i Santa Clara
abbess of Laon: 87 de Barcelona: 198 n. 53
Hilton, family, patrons of Swine Priory: 260, Jenyns’ Ordinary: 268
262, 263, 267, 268 Jerusalem, Heavenly: 310
Hilton, Sir Robert: 268 Holy Sepulchre: 311
Hinchingbroke, Benedictine nunnery: 109 Temple of: 311
INDEX 371
Joan Frankelden, abbess of Cook Hill: 132 letters and letter-writing: 5, 56, 58 n. 34, 60,
Joan of Pickering, prioress of Keldholme, 89, 98, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 107,
prioress of Rosedale: 137 n. 52, 138 108, 130, 136, 137, 170, 172, 173,
Joan Skirlaw, prioress of Swine: 270 174, 175, 176, 177, 180, 181, 211,
Joana, nun of Sant Antoni i Santa Clara de 230, 231, 304
Barcelona: 198 n. 53 Levern, Cistercian nunnery: 338, 339
Johan Sverkersson, Swedish king: 179 Liguria: 53, 54, 55, 61, 62, 66
John, abbot of Vale Royal: 132 Lincoln, bishop of: 99, 109, 111, 136, 139;
John Wotton, Franciscan friar and see also Hugh de Wells
confessor: 257 Linköping: 167, 179
Jonas of Bobbio: 77–84, 87, 92 Lismullin, Co. Meath: 240
Jouarre, Benedictine monastery: 77, 78 Llanllugan, Cistercian nunnery: 128
and nn. 8 and 9, 85 Llanllŷr, Cistercian nunnery: 5, 124, 125,
Judith, empress, abbess of Laon: 87 126, 128
Lobenfeld, nunnery (order unclear): 343
Karl Sverkersson, Swedish king: 179 Lombardy: 53, 54, 56, 58, 61, 200
Keldholme, Cistercian nunnery: 136, 137, London, bishop of: 102
138, 253 n. 1 St Mary Graces, Cistercian abbey: 132
Kilcreevanty, Co. Galway: 237 St Pauls Cathedral: 130
Kilculliheen, Co. Waterford: 240 Louis, emperor of Italy: 90
Kildare, Co. Kildare: 230, 231, 235, 245, Louis the Pious: 77, 87, 90
309, 310, 312 Luxeuil (Haute-Saône): 77, 81, 82, 83,
Killeedy, Co. Limerick: 230, 231 85, 87, 308
Killeentrynode, Co. Mayo: 238 abbots of: 79–81
Killevy, Co. Armagh: 230, 231 Lytlington Missal: 261
Killone, Co. Clare: 233 n. 34, 237, 240
Kirklees, Cistercian nunnery: 253 n. 1, 257, Mahaut, patroness of Blendecques nunnery:
269, 274 283, 285, 289
Kirkstall, Cistercian abbey, abbot of: 256 Malcolm III Canmore, king of Scotland: 104
Klingental, Dominican nunnery: 346 Marcigny, Cluniac nunnery: 35, 36
Königsfelden, Franciscan nunnery: 345, and n. 104, 37, 109
346–47 Margareta, Danish royal figure: 181
Konradsdorf, Premonstratensian Margery Graymore, nun of Sinningthwaite:
monastery: 333, 334 130
Margrete of Højelse, Danish local saint:
La Ferté, Cistercian monastery: 63 171, 172, 173, 177, 178
Lacock, Augustinian nunnery: 110, 113 Marguerite, countess of Flanders and
Lanercost Chronicle: 112 Hainaut: 279, 280, 281, 285, 289, 292
Lanfranc, archbishop of Canterbury: 101, Marham, Cistercian nunnery: 127, 128,
102, 104 132, 133, 256
Làscaris, Greek princess: 198 n. 52, 204 Mari (de) Antilia, noblewoman: 55
Lateran Council, Fourth (1215): 57, 99, 170 Mari (de) Tiba, noblewoman: 55
Latium: 358 Maria de Pisa: 190 and n. 12
Leander of Seville: 98 Maria of Cyprus, queen consort of Aragon:
Ledsham: 270 198 n. 51, 204
León: 16, 18, 19, 21, 22, 29, Marie, abbess of Brayelle: 289
36 nn. 103 and 104, 40, 45, 46 Marienstern, Cistercian nunnery: 347
Leschman, Richard, prior of Hexham: 266 Markyate, Benedictine nunnery: 108, 109
372 INDEX
Christina of, anchoress see Christina of Nostell, Augustinian priory: 257

Markyate Nostra Senyora de la Serra de Montblanc,
Marquette, Cistercian nunnery: 281 n. 8, 291 Clarist nunnery: 198 and n. 52
Mary of Egypt: 75 Notre-Dame des Près, Cistercian nunnery:
Mathias Corvinus, king of Hungary: 223 281 n. 8, 283
Mathilda, lady of Tenremonde: 289 Notre Dame d’Olive, Cistercian nunnery:
Matilda, abbess of Wilton: 103 281 n. 8, 289, 291
Matilda, daughter of King Malcolm III Nunkeeling, Benedictine nunnery: 136
Canmore of Scotland: 104, 105 Nun Appleton, Cistercian nunnery: 136,
Matthew Paris: 110 n. 57, 111 253 n. 1, 257
mausolea see burial Nun Cotham, Cistercian nunnery: 99, 127,
Meaux, Cistercian abbey: 129, 256 132 n. 35, 139
Melton, Dorothy, wife of Sir George Darcy: Nun Monkton, Benedictine nunnery: 136
267
Melton family: 268 Oberroden, Cistercian nunnery: 334
Mercia: 123 Oberstenfeld, secular canonesses: 340
Meschede, canonesses’ church: 336, 337 Oosteeklo, Cistercian nunnery: 281 n. 8,
military orders: 26, 186 282, 285
Molough, Co. Tipperary: 240 Orso, bishop of Olivolo: 151, 153
Monnikendam, St Nicolaaskerk: 265 Osmund, bishop of Salisbury: 105
Moors see Muslims Otto, archbishop of Genoa: 55
Moselle river: 91 Otto I, Holy Roman Emperor: 153
valley: 91 Our Lady of Pity, images of: 269, 274, 275
Moustier-sur-Sambre, Cistercian nunnery: Oviedo: 19, 21
289 Øm, Cistercian abbey: 181, 182
Moxby, Augustinian nunnery: 136 Øm Abbey Chronicle: 180
Muslims: 29, 197
Pachomius: 229
Nella Michiel, abbess of San Zaccaria: 154 Paraclete, Augustinian nunnery (Æbelholt):
Netherlandish craftsmen in England: 263, 173
265, 266, 267 patronage: 5, 7, 44 n. 134, 98, 102, 106, 109,
Neuss, St Quirinus, house of canonesses: 112, 125, 157, 246, 267–72, 274, 292
343, 344 Pelagius, child martyr: 18, 19, 21
Newburgh, Augustinian priory: 267 Peter, parish priest of Swine: 270
Newcastle Packet, Scarborough, carving at: Peter Sunesen, bishop of Roskilde: 178
266 Petronilla, abbess of St Maria of Betton: 65
Newcastlewest, Co. Limerick: 240 Pfullingen, Poor Clares (Baden-
Newenham, Cistercian abbey: 129 Württemberg): 313
Netze, Cistercian nunnery: 339 Philip of Alsace, count of Flanders: 283
Niels, son of prior of Roskilde: 174 Piedmont: 53, 54, 56, 62
Nieuwenbos, Cistercian nunnery: 279, Pierre, knight and lord of Ghoy: 289
281 n. 8, 283, 285 Pietro Polani, doge of Venice: 154
Nivelles, nunnery in Gaul: 78 n. 11, 79, pilgrimage: 77, 91, 169, 172, 173, 175, 190,
83–85, 87, 89 and n. 51, 92, 339 194, 195, 205, 231, 234, 286, 362
Nordshausen, Cistercian nunnery: 333 Pilgrimage of Grace: 267
Norman Conquest: 102, 104 Pinley, Cistercian nunnery: 132
Normandy: 101 Pippin, maior domus of Austrasia: 83
Northern Lagoon, Venice: 147–50, 154, Pippin II: 87
155–58, 159, 160, 162, 163 Pippin III: 87
INDEX 373
Poland: 358 Robertsbridge, Cistercian monastery: 129

Polesworth, Benedictine nunnery: 110 Rochester, see of: 101
Pontefract, Cluniac priory: 267 Roermond, Cistercian nunnery: 333, 344
Poor Clares: 8, 185–205, 215 and n. 15, 216 Roger de Clinton, bishop of Coventry and
and n. 17, 218, 219, 300, 313; Lichfield: 110
see also Franciscan Order Romana, sister of Bishop Orso of Olivolo: 153
Preetz, Benedictine nunnery: 341 Romanesque architecture: 18, 169, 173,
Premonstratensian Order: 26, 213, 238, 259, 265, 333, 336, 339, 343
256, 332, 333, 343, 345, 347 Romania: 211–24
prints, as iconographic source for Romanus (Le Romeyn), John, archbishop
woodcarving: 266 of York: 256
Rome: 58, 84, 190, 195, 358
Quedlinburg, Benedictine nunnery: 329, 339 rood screens: 261, 263, 264, 265, 331, 332,
335, 339, 340, 343, 345
Radegund, queen and saint: 76 Rosedale, Cistercian nunnery: 137, 138,
radio carbon dating: 243 253 n. 1
Ralph Haget, abbot of Fountains: 128 Rosenthal, Cistercian nunnery: 334, 335
Ramiro I, king of Aragon: 17 Roskilde, Cistercian nunnery: 167, 168,
daughters of, Urraca, Teresa, and Sancha: 17 169–75, 177, 178, 179, 180, 182
Ramiro II, king of León: 18 Rothildis, daughter of Charlemagne, abbess
daughter of, Elvira Ramírez: 21 of Faremoutiers: 87
Ramiro III of León, son of Sancho I the Fat: Rule of Saint Augustine: 110, 111, 312
21, 22 Rule of Saint Benedict: 16, 17, 18, 20, 21,
Ramona de Vilanova, nun of Sant Antoni 26, 29, 30, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 40, 43
i Santa Clara de Barcelona: 198 n. 53 and n. 127, 46, 79, 90, 91, 92, 98 n. 5,
Rathbreasil: 237 102, 103, 109, 124, 156, 158, 159, 170,
Ravensberg, Cistercian nunnery: 281 n. 8, 185, 189, 237
285
refectory: 134, 242, 245, 258, 273, Sahagún, Benedictine monastery: 22, 29, 30,
314, 315, 316, 318 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 38, 39
Regula cuiusdam ad virgines (c. 629/70): Diego, abbot of: 33, 36, 38
308 Domingo, abbot of: 39
relics: 21, 41, 113, 150, 152, 175, 292, 304, Roberto, abbot of: 32, 34, 35
358, 359 St Attracta: 233
Relignaman, Co. Tyrone: 234 St Bavon, Benedictine abbey: 280
Remiremont, Columban nunnery: 77, 79, St Benedict: 30, 35, 42
81–83, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89–92 St Blasien: 361
Rhine valley , Rhineland: 343, 361: St Brigit: 230, 231, 233, 309, 310, 312
Rhys ap Gruffudd, lord of Deheubarth: 124, Life of: 309
125, 128 St Catherine’s, Old Abbey, Co. Limerick:
Rialto (Venice): 150, 151–55, 156, 159 239, 240, 241, 244
Richard, Benedictine abbot of Ringsted: 171 St Columbanus: 77, 79–82, 84, 87
Richard, bishop of Chichester: 112 Rule of: 78, 81
Richard le Poor, bishop of Salisbury: 110 St Dominic: 58, 162, 218
Ringsted, Benedictine abbey: 178 St Dympna: 233
Ripoll, Benedictine monastery: 16, 185 St Egidius: 220
Robert Bingham, bishop of Salisbury: 110 St Eustasius: 77, 79, 81
Robert Grosseteste, bishop of Lincoln: 111, St Francis: 188, 197, 218, 223
115 St Fructuosus: 26
374 INDEX
St Gall, plan of: 306, 311, 342 Sancha Raimúndez, infanta, sister of King
St Gobnait: 231 Alfonso VII of León and Castile: 18,
St Ita: 230 20, 40 n. 116
St John the Baptist: 16, 18, 21, 273 Sancho I (the Fat), king of León: 21
St Malachy: 237 Sancho II, king of Castile and León: 29
St Mary de Hogges, Dublin: 240 Sancho III Garcés (the Elder), king of
St Monenna: 230 Navarre: 17, 23, 24, 26
St Nicholas of Bari: 175 Sancho García, count of Castile: 17
St Patrick: 230 and n. 24, 23
St Peter, Ghent, Benedictine abbey: 280 Sant’Adriano of Costanziaco, Benedictine
St Radegund’s, Benedictine nunnery: 109 nunnery: 159
St Rupert: 218 Sant Antoni i Santa Clara de Barcelona,
St Samhthann of Clonbroney: 230, 231 Clarist nunnery: 193, 198 n. 53,
St Saviour: 21, 40, 41 199–205
St Sepulchre, Benedictine nunnery: 108 Sant Daniel de Girona, Benedictine
St Thomas Aquinas: 162 nunnery: 185
St Ulrich: 218 Sant Feliu de Cadins, Cistercian nunnery: 186
Saint-Jean of Laon, Benedictine monastery: Sant Hilari de Lleida, Cistercian nunnery: 186
77, 78 Sant’Ilario, Benedictine monastery: 155, 162
Saintonge, France: 243 Sant Joan de les Abadesses, Benedictine
Salisbury, bishop of: 110; see also Richard nunnery: 16, 23, 185
le Poor, Robert Bingham Sant Pere del Burgal, Benedictine nunnery:
San Facundo, Benedictine abbey: 29, 30, 185
31, 32 Sant Pere de les Puel·les, Benedictine
San Giacomo in Paludo: 156
nunnery: 185
Cistercian nunnery: 161
Santa Catalina de Zaragoza, Clarist
San Giorgio Maggiore, Benedictine abbey:
nunnery: 195, 197 and n. 50
153, 155, 162
Santa Cecília d’Elins, Benedictine nunnery:
San Lorenzo, nunnery: 151, 153, 154, 155,
156, 157, 159, 160 185
San Maffio (or Matteo), Cistercian Santa Clara de Castelló d’Empúries, Clarist
monastery: 158, 160, 161, 162 nunnery: 196, 198 and n. 53, 204, 205
San Marco, relics of: 152 Santa Clara de Ciutadella, Clarist nunnery:
San Pedro de las Dueñas, Benedictine 198, 202, 205
nunnery: 27, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 38, 39 Santa Clara de Palma de Mallorca, Clarist
Urraca, abbess of: 33, 34–35, 36, 38 nunnery: 197 n. 50, 198 and n. 55, 199,
San Pelayo, Benedictine nunnery: 18, 19 202, 205
and n. 30, 20, 22, 23, 28 Santa Clara de Salamanca, Clarist nunnery:
San Salvador de Oña, Benedictine nunnery: 195–96
17 and nn. 24 and 26, 23 Santa Clara de Tortosa, Clarist nunnery:
San Salvador de Palat de Rey, Benedictine 197, 198 n. 51, 199, 204, 205
nunnery: 18, 21 Santa Clara de Vilafranca, Clarist nunnery:
San Tommaso dei Borgognoni, Cistercian 196, 205
monastery: 158 Santa Clara de Zamora, Clarist nunnery: 195
San Zaccaria, Cluniac nunnery: 145, Santa Cruz de la Serós, Benedictine
151–55, 158, 160, 162 nunnery: 17, 22 and n. 43
Sancha, countess, dowager of Armengol III Santa Engracia de Pamplona, Clarist
of Urgell: 22 and n. 43 nunnery: 195, 201
Sancha, wife of Fernando I of León: 24 Santa Isabel de Lleida, Clarist nunnery: 197
Sancha of Aragon: 21 and n. 49
INDEX 375
Santa Isabel de Valencia, Clarist nunnery: Scotland: 105, 238

197 n. 50, 198 n. 54 Selby, Benedictine abbey: 267
Santa Maria Magdalena de Tarragona, Sempringham, Order of see also Gilbertine
Clarist nunnery: 197 and n. 50, Order: 4, 99, 101, 108, 129, 238, 312
198 n. 53, 199, 201, 204 Shaftesbury Psalter: 103
Santa Maria de Cadins, Cistercian nunnery: Shanid, Co. Limerick: 240
186 ship (motif ): 243, 244
Santa Maria de la Bovera, Cistercian Shrewsbury, Benedictine abbey: 101
nunnery: 186 Sibiu (Hermannstadt, Nagyszeben): 213,
Santa Maria de las Huelgas, Cistercian 214 and n. 9, 215 and nn. 12, 13,
nunnery: 39, 40, 45, 127 n. 13, 334 and 14, 217 n. 22, 220, 223
Santa Maria de les Franqueses, Cistercian Siegburg: 361
nunnery: 186 Sighişoara (Schässburg, Segesvár): 215
Santa Maria de Meià, Benedictine nunnery: and n. 13, 217 n. 22, 218, 220
185 Sigobrand, bishop of Paris: 86
Santa Maria de Pedralbes, Clarist nunnery: Simon, abbot of La Ferté: 63
193, 196, 205 Simon, abbot of Sorø: 168, 171, 172
Santa Maria de Pedregal, Cistercian Simon de Ghent, bishop of Salisbury: 114,
nunnery: 186 115
Santa Maria de Vallbona, Cistercian Simon Walton, bishop of Norwich: 110
nunnery: 40, 186 Sinningthwaite, Cistercian nunnery: 128,
Santa Maria de Valldaura, Cistercian 131, 132 n. 35, 253 n. 1, 269
nunnery: 186 nuns of: 131
Santa Maria de Valldemaria, Cistercian prioress of: 130
nunnery: 186
Siscar, Order of Saint John of Jerusalem: 186
Santa Maria de Valldonzella, Cistercian
Slangerup, Cistercian nunnery: 167, 168,
nunnery: 186
175–77, 179, 180, 182
Santa Maria de Vallsanta, Cistercian
Slovakia: 362
nunnery: 186
Santa Maria de Vallverd, Cistercian Sorø, Cistercian monastery: 168, 171, 172,
nunnery: 186 175, 178, 179
Santa Maria del Montsant, Cistercian Spain: 7, 15–47, 190, 197, 362
nunnery: 186 Stephen Hispanus, provincial prior of the
Santa Maria del Terzo Passo, Cistercian Dominicans in Lombardy: 58
nunnery: 54, 55, 56, 67 Stixwould, Cistercian nunnery: 123, 132 n. 35
Santa Maria degli Angeli, Benedictine Strata Florida, Cistercian monastery: 125, 128
nunnery: 159 abbot of: 125–26
Santa Maria di Galilea, Cistercian nunnery: Strata Marcella, Cistercian monastery: 128
54 Stratford Langthorne, Cistercian monastery,
Santa Maria di Nazareth, Cistercian abbot of: 132, 133
nunnery: 54 Sulzburg, canonesses’ church: 338, 340
Santiago de Compostela, council at: 25, 47 suppression of religious houses: 148, 151,
pilgrimage to: 286; see also pilgrimage 153, 255, 270, 275
Sawley, Cistercian abbey: 256 Svend Northman, bishop of Roskilde: 169,
Saxo, Danish historian: 170, 175 170
Saxony: 335, 347, 361, 362 Swine, parish church: 270
Scandinavia: 6, 7, 167–82 Swine, Cistercian nunnery: 127, 128, 129,
Schönau, Cistercian abbey: 343 132 n. 35, 134, 135, 136, 253–75
Scot, Sir John, benefactor of Kirklees canons at: 256, 258
Priory: 269 lay brothers at: 256, 258
376 INDEX
prioresses of see Beatrix Lowe, Venice, dogado or duchy of: 6, 145–63

Joan Skirlaw, Dame Joan Wade Terra Ferma: 148, 149, 153, 154, 158,
Sybille de Wavrin, patroness of 160, 161, 163
Beaupré-sur-la-Lys: 290 Vermudo II of León: 19, 20
Syria, deserts of: 75 wife of, Velasquita: 20
Vilich, Benedictine nunnery: 328, 329
Tallaght, Co. Dublin: 235, 245 Violant of Hungary, queen consort of
Tarrant Keynes, Cistercian nunnery: 256 Aragon: 197 n. 49, 203, 204
Temple Hirst: 267, 270 visitations of nunneries: 62, 97, 98, 99, 100,
Templecashel, Co. Kerry: 237 107, 110, 111, 115, 126, 128, 130, 131,
Tervuren, St Janskerk: 265 132, 133, 134, 135, 139, 170, 255, 256,
testaments see wills 257, 315
Tg. Mureş (Marosvásárhely, Neumarkt): Vita Columbani: 78 nn. 7 and 9, 79 n. 14,
219, 223 80, 81 n. 23, 82, 84, 85 n. 36
Thame, prebendal church: 264, 265 Vita Geretrudis: 83, 84, 87
Theodechildis, abbess of Jouarre: 78 n. 9, 85 Vita Gundulfi: 101
Theotildis, abbess of Remiremont: 89, 90 Volmar, Dominican friar, founder of
Theudebert II, king of Austrasia: 79, 80, 81 Unterlinden: 344
and n. 23, 82 Vreta, Cistercian nunnery: 167, 168,
Theuderic II, king of Burgundy and 179–80, 182
Austrasia: 80, 81, 82
Thierry III, castellan of Diksmuide Walbertus: 79
and lord of Beveran Waas: 279 Wales: 5, 9 n. 17, 123–40, 238, 269, 362
Thomas Becket, relic of: 113 Wallingwells, Benedictine nunnery:
Thomas Bywater, chaplain of Swine Priory: 132 n. 35
263, 270 Walter Giffard, archbishop of York: 134
Thurstan, archbishop of York: 109 and n. 55 Walter Skirlaw, bishop of Durham: 270
Tisrara, Co. Roscommon: 239 Waltheof, earl of Northumbria: 106
Torcello, bishop of: 157, 158, 159, 160 Watton, Gilbertine double house: 312,
and n. 51, 162 313 n. 47
diocese of: 155 Waverley, Cistercian monastery: 128
island of: 150, 156 Wenau, Premonstratensian monastery: 333,
Treviso: 62, 153 334
Tuam, archbishopric: 237 Wessex: 104, 123
Tulebras, Cistercian nunnery: 40 west gallery in nunneries: 244, 329–34, 335,
Tuscany: 54, 187, 189, 200, 202 337, 340, 346, 347, 348
Twyer family: 272 West Malling, Benedictine nunnery: 101, 102
Westminster, Benedictine abbey: 265
Unterlinden, Dominican nunnery: 344, 345 council of: 106
Urraca Alfonso: 28 and n. 66, 29, 35 Wevelgem, Cistercian nunnery: 218 n. 8, 291
Urraca of Castile: 21, 39, 42 Whistones, Cistercian nunnery: 127
Wicklow, Co. Wicklow: 237
Valdemar I (d. 1182), Danish king: 176, widows, entering religious community: 46,
177, 181 148, 151, 161, 162, 217, 218, 219, 224,
Valeria, abbess of St Spirito of Asti: 66 256
Varnhem, Cistercian abbey: 181 Wienhausen, Cistercian nunnery: 269, 329,
Veneto: 53, 54, 62, 158, 200 332–33
Veng, temporary Cistercian abbey site, cloister: 269
Jutland: 181 painted decoration: 273, 333
INDEX 377
Wilfred the Hairy: 16

daughter of, Emma: 16
wife of, Vinidilda: 16
William, abbot of Æbelholt : 173, 174, 175
William II Rufus, king of England: 103, 105
William Melton, archbishop of York: 270
William of Sabina, cardinal legate: 180
wills: 5, 80, 149, 153 n. 26, 159, 197 n. 49,
218, 221, 222, 255, 269, 270, 279, 282,
291, 292 and n. 54
Wilton, Benedictine nunnery: 104, 105,
110 n. 57
Winchester, bishop of: 106;
see also Giffard, William
Windsor, chantry of Edward IV: 265
Woburn, Cistercian monastery, abbot of:
132
Wolsey, Cardinal Thomas: 267
Wykeham, Cistercian nunnery: 253 n. 1
York: 109, 136, 266, 270

archbishop of: 109, 130, 131, 133, 137,
138, 257, 270; see also Romanus,
Thurstan, William Melton
Corpus Christi Guild: 270, 272
diocese of: 130, 132 n. 35
foreign craftsmen: 266
Zancarolo family: 159, 160

Zwijveke, Cistercian nunnery: 281 n. 8, 289
Medieval Monastic Studies
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Women in the

Medieval Monastic World

Janet Burton and Karen Stöber

© 2015, Brepols Publishers n.v., Turnhout, Belgium

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

List of Illustrations vii

Spanish Female Monasticism: ‘Family’ Monasteries and

Cistercian Nuns in Northern Italy:

Female Monasteries of the Early Middle Ages (Seventh to Ninth Century)

Bishops and Nuns: Forms of the cura monialium

Medieval Nunneries and Male Authority:

Women and Monasticism in Venice

Cistercian Nuns in Twelfth- and Thirteenth-Century

Female Mendicant Spirituality in Catalan Territory:

‘For they wanted us to serve them’:

An Archaeological Perspective on Female Monasticism

Silk Purse or Sow’s Ear? The Art and Architecture

Pro remedio anime sue: Cistercian Nuns

Symbolic Meanings of Space in Female Monastic Tradition

The Place of the Choir in Churches of Female Convents

FemMoData: A Database of Medieval Female Monasteries in Europe

Figure 3.1. List of nuns of Remiremont.

Figure 11.8. London, British Library MS Harley 2509, fol. 2r,

Figure 14.1. Vilich, convent church, c. 990. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 328

Figure 14.2. Gnadenthal, Cistercian nuns’ church, c. 1230,

Figures 14.3. Cappel, Premonstratensian church, c. 1160. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331

Figure 14.6. Meschede, canonesses’ church, c. 1000. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 336

Figure 14.7. Bersenbrück, Cistercian nuns’ church, 1263. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 337

Figure 14.8. Levern, Cistercian nuns’ church, c. 1230. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 338

Figure 14.9. Sulzburg, canonesses’ church, c. 990. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 338

Figure 14.10. Preetz, Benedictine nuns’ church, c. 1330,

Figure 14.11. Enkenbach, Premonstratensian church, c. 1150/1200. . . . . . . 342

Figure 14.12. Colmar, Dominican convent of Unterlinden. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 344

Figure 14.13. Königsfelden, Franciscan double convent. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 345

Map 3.1. Monasteries of Gaul. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76

Map 6.1. Venice and its surroundings. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146

Map 11.1. The location of Cistercian nunneries in northern England. . . . . . 254

Janet Burton and Karen Stöber*

In the world of chivalry most literature was composed by

Janet Burton ([email protected]) is professor of Medieval History at the Uni­ver­sity of

Karen Stöber ([email protected]) is researcher and lecturer at the Universitat de

Thompson, ‘The Problem of Cistercian Nuns’; Degler-Spengler, ‘The Incorporation of

fundamentally in the celebration of Mass, which was prohibited to women and

Tracy Collins), Transylvania (Carmen Florea), Flanders (Erin L. Jordan), Gaul

Freeman, Elizabeth, ‘Cistercian Nuns in Medieval England’, Studies in Church History, 42

Vita Regularis, Ordnungen und Deutungen religiosen Lebens im Mittelalter, 47

Gregoria Cavero Domínguez

Gregoria Cavero Domínguez ([email protected]) is lecturer in Medieval History at the Uni­

1. From East to West: The Main Nunneries

monastery.21 The latter was the founders’ great-granddaughter. The female

queen, was staying.30 A diploma by Vermudo II of León attests to this.31 In the

In 1122 this monastery was owned by Cristina Vermudez’s descendant, the

2. ‘Family’ Nunneries in the Castilian and Leonese Space

The survival of ‘family’ monasticism throughout the tenth to twelfth centu-

The council of Coyanza, which has been described by historiography in general

Janet Burton ([email protected]) is professor of Medieval History at the University of

Gregoria Cavero Domínguez ([email protected]) is lecturer in Medieval History at the Uni

Janet Burton ([email protected]) is professor of Medieval History at University of Wales