When we had reached the drying hut I turned to her in my despair. “What will become of us when Dominic is gone?”
“Don’t be afraid,” Clarette responded, “for God is present, whether Dominic is here or not. You know that the Blessed Virgin watches over you and that Jesus will guide you if you turn to him. His Holy Spirit will not leave you comfortless.”
“But I don’t want to be alone with the Blessed Virgin or Jesus or the Holy Spirit,” I wailed in protest. “It is Dominic whom I love.”
“Shush,” replied Clarette. “Do not speak such a foolish thing.” But her words came too late.
“You are a little whore!” a voice behind me hissed. I swung around to find Guillelmette glowering at us. “You’ve been instructed to observe the rule of silence, and in its stead have spoken blasphemy against our Holy Mother and her Son. How dare you give devotion to your brother Dominic? I’ve noticed how you pass close by him in the chapter house. I’ve seen you fix your eyes on him in chapel. Do you not know the Rule of Augustine? It is a sin to gaze upon a man or look upon one with desire or wish him to desire you.”
Dear God, I knew that she was right. I lowered my head in shame, and Guillelmette grabbed my arm. “Clarette, you are dismissed,” she uttered curtly. “Elmina, you will lay down your basket and follow me. She led me to the chapel and pointed to the wooden crucifix above the altar. Then Guillelmette bid me lie down upon the icy stone floor and stretch my arms as if I, too, were on the cross. “Heed well the Rule of Augustine,” she warned and started to recite the words that would become so familiar to my soul:
“Do not say that your heart is pure if there is immodesty of the eye, because the unchaste eye carries the message of an impure heart. And when such hearts disclose their unchaste desires in a mutual gaze, even without saying a word, then it is that chastity suddenly goes out of their life.
“You will not move until morning. You will remain in penitence and contemplation of your wretched sin. And I shall pray that God have mercy on your piteous soul,” she said. Then Guillelmette spun around and walked away.
Do You remember, God, how I lay prostrate there before You? I thought about the suffering You once bore upon the cross, and my shame flooded over me. I shook and cried until the tears would come no more. At vespers and at compline, the sisters processed around my miserable body and sang the Office as if I were not there.
That night, the sharp December wind that heralds winter howled through the belfry and seeped into my soul. The frigid floor sucked out my body’s warmth and my heart became as ice. I feared that I might freeze to death without the benefit of final rites, and I begged that You forgive my sinful longings.
Were You listening then, God? Perhaps You were, for You did not see fit to take my life. It must have been past midnight when I heard the iron hinges of the oaken chapel door and Dominic’s footsteps striding up the nave. As he came near, I closed my eyes and held my breath.
“The sins of the flesh are not so easily subdued,” I heard him say as if he fully grasped its truth. “But know these words of the Apostle Paul: ‘If you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body you will live. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.’”
Dominic moved slowly past my prostrate body and stood before me. He bid me look at him as he removed his tunic and his hairshirt. I should not have done so, for I observed his dear scarred back and recoiled.
“’Tis not an easy thing to tame the flesh,” he said, “but I can teach you how it’s done.”
He then took out a wooden flagellum with knotted ox-hide lashes woven round its base. He started chanting in his most resounding voice, “Domine ne in furore tuo arguas me . . .
O Lord, do not rebuke me in Your anger
or discipline me in Your wrath.
For my iniquities have gone over my head;
they weigh like a burden too heavy for me.
My wounds grow foul and fester because of my
foolishness.
I am utterly bowed down and prostrate;
all day long I go around mourning.
For my loins are filled with burning,
and there is no soundness in my flesh.
I am utterly spent and crushed;
I groan because of the tumult of my heart.”
As he sang out, Dominic began to swing the whip from side to side so that its lashes cut into his back. He did not falter as his flesh turned pink and then in time to deepest red.
He kept on chanting as if in a trance. “De profundis clamavi ad te Domini: Out of the depths, I have cried out to You, O Lord. Lord, hear my prayer.”
Soon welts arose, and drops of blood dripped down his naked back. When he had completed six full Psalms, he laid the whip beside me.
“This is my gift to you,” he said as he walked away.
Dear God, that night is burned into my soul. I had loved You since I was but a little girl. I had longed for You and had wished to offer up my life to be Your bride. But God, my longing was not pure and chaste. I dreamt of earthly love. And in my heart I did commit adultery and worshipped Dominic as if he were my God.
It is a shameful thing to live as woman, God. As I lay there, I begged to know why You created us with yearnings and desires. I asked, Why would You tempt us as You tempted Eve so long ago? I ask it still. If You abhor our mortal state, why did You make us thus?
I thought then, God, about the Good Christians. They too despised their corporal state and vowed to shed its deathly hold. Their perfecti also mortified their flesh and lived a life of fasting and denial. But they at least attempted an answer to my question. They simply claimed that You were not the one who made our bodies.
As I lay rigid on the stone, the cold coursed through my veins. The hours stood still and morning would not come. Finally, I raised my head to look upon Your body, hanging from the cross, and dared to pray. I asked for Your forgiveness and begged our Holy Mother to reveal her way of chastity and grace. When I lowered my head, I stared in horror at the flagellum beside me, and I knew what I must do. Rising to my knees I freed my arms from their sleeves and slipped my tunic to my waist. I grabbed the whip and gently stroked its knots and ox-hide lashes. Then I took a deep breath and raised my arm. As I brandished it across my shoulders, I barely felt its smart. And so I swung more forcefully. The ox-hide seared my flesh and I recoiled at its sting. Over and over again, I let its lashes cut into my flesh as I prayed the words of Augustine, “Domine Jesu, noverim me, noverim te . . .
LORD Jesus, let me know myself and know Thee
And desire nothing save only Thee.
Let me hate myself and love Thee.
Let me do everything for the sake of Thee.
Let me humble myself and exalt Thee.
Let me think of nothing except Thee.
Let me die to myself and live to Thee
Let me accept whatever happens as from Thee.”
Dear God, I felt Your Spirit stirring through the numbness of my body, and I prayed more fervently:
“Let me banish self and follow Thee,
And ever desire to follow Thee.
Let me fly from myself and take refuge in Thee,
That I may deserve to be defended by Thee.
Let me fear for myself, let me fear Thee,
And let me be among those who are chosen by Thee.
Let me distrust myself and put my trust in Thee.
Let me be willing to obey for the sake of Thee.”
Ah, God, Your Spirit moved along my spine and settled in the darkness of my hidden parts. It made them to burn with a blessed fire, and I did not know whether my stifled scream was one of pain or pleasure. I ended my prayer:
“Let me cling to nothing save only to Thee,
And let me be poor because of Thee.
Look upon me, that I may love Thee.
Call me that I may see Thee,
And forever enjoy Thee.”
I put down the flagellum and pulled up my tunic. I lay again upon the icy floor, stretched out my arms and sank into a deep, deep slumber.
Before the break of day, Guillelmette walked into the chapel. She saw my bloodied tunic and the flagellum beside me and nodded her approval. She then bid me rise for matins.
That morning Dominic was gone. It was Father Guilhem who led the service and celebrated Mass. My sisters looked away when I stumbled in. After we ate our bread, Guillelmette handed me another tunic. “Go to the river and scrub your own until it is clean,” she said. I did as she instructed, and of that night we did not speak again.
The next two weeks were filled with preparations. At breakfast as we ate, Guillelmette read the Rule of Saint Augustine aloud.
“Before all else, dear sisters, love God and then your neighbor, because these are the chief commandments given to us. The main purpose for you having come together is to live harmoniously in your house, intent upon God in oneness of mind and heart.” She told us that it is to this end we will follow the precepts of the early Church as found in the acts of the apostles. They had all things in common and made to each one according to her need.
“You, too, will call nothing your own,” Guillelmette continued. “Even your mattress and your habit are but yours on loan. You should consider it a privilege to share them should the need arise.”
I couldn’t help but think how much the Rule resembled that of the Good Christian perfecti, and once more I wondered if Amelha was now one of them. But Guillelmette fixed her eyes on me and broke into my musings with her words:
“Subdue the flesh, so far as your health permits, by fasting and abstinence from food and drink. In your walk, deportment, and in all actions, let nothing occur to give offense to anyone who sees you, but only what becomes your holy state of life. Although your eye may chance to rest upon some man or other, you must not fix your gaze upon any man. If you notice in some one of your sisters this wantonness of the eye, admonish her at once so that the beginning of evil will not grow more serious but will be promptly corrected.”
I blushed and glanced around the room. Several sets of eyes met mine before I looked away.
“Please know that I hold no ill will toward any of you,” Guillelmette continued without taking her gaze from me. “It is my duty as your prioress to hold you to the highest levels of propriety.”
She then read on:
“Just as you have your food from the one pantry, so, too, you are to receive your clothing from a single wardrobe. Your clothing should be cleaned as the superior shall determine, so that too great a desire for clean clothing may not be the source of interior stains on the soul.”
We had begun to sew the tunics and the mantels we would wear at our enclosure, and a wave of anticipation flowed over me. Dear God, I dared to hope that when I donned the habit, it would cover my shame.
Next Guillelmette read of “the superior.” She was, of course, speaking about herself:
“’The superior should be obeyed as a mother with the respect due her, so as not to offend God in her person, and, even more so, the priest who bears responsibility for you all.’”
I must take care to obey Guillelmette, I thought, for I do not wish to offend Dominic in any way. Then the sinking realization came. Dominic was no longer with us. It was Father Guilhem who now served as our priest. I sighed and listened vacantly as Guillelmette concluded:
“The Lord grant that you may observe all these precepts in a spirit of charity as lovers of spiritual beauty, giving forth the good odor of Christ in the holiness of your lives: not as slaves living under the law but as women living in freedom under grace.”
Dear God, I must confess that living under the Rule as enforced by Guillelmette did not feel like freedom. For a moment I wondered if I should have chosen a different path. But then I realized that there is no freedom for a woman anywhere. She is always under the rule of a father or husband, a perfect or a mother superior. I prayed that one day I might come to experience life at Prouilhe not as a slave but as a woman living in freedom under Your grace.
By Christmas Day, all was prepared for our enclosure. Nine white tunics and nine black mantles lay folded in the chapter house. Nine veils lay waiting in the chapel. We had swept the floors and polished the brass until it shone with a light befitting our reception into our Savior’s arms. And best of all, Dominic had returned from his travels. He would officiate at all three Christmas Masses and be present for our enclosure.
Dear Lord, it was a sacred Christmas day. We arose at the first hour. The Angelus bell struck three times and Dominic again led us in chanted prayer, “Angelus domini nuntiavit Mariae,” he sang. “Ave Maria, gratia plena . . .
The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary . . .
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst women,
and blessed is the fruit of Your womb, Jesus.”
At dawn we sang the Shepherd’s Mass and at the twelfth hour we gathered again for the Mass of the Divine Word. Our Christmas meal was modest, for we were saving our stores for the grand feast to come two days hence. But Curtslana and Alaide had added chicken to our pottage and made a Buche de Noel decorated with meringue mushrooms. On that day, God, I set aside my jealous longings and joined in the festivities.
The next day, Bishop Folc arrived from Toulouse with his full entourage. Guillelmette told us that he would call each one of us into the chapter house to confirm our devotion and desire to enter the religious life. We went about our daily tasks anxiously awaiting our turn. I had just laid down my pails from gathering water when I heard the bishop’s servant call my name, “Guilhemina de Beaupuys.”
Dear God, I froze in place. I thought upon my shame and wondered what of it the bishop had been told. With sinking heart, I followed the servant into the chapter room. “Good morrow, Guilhemina” he said to me. “Our Holy Father has blessed us this day with your desire to serve him.”
With my eyes lowered, I knelt before the bishop and responded, “I give thanks that you have come to sanctify our convent and vocation. And if it please you, I am called Elmina.”
“And so, Elmina, why come you to this house of God?” he asked.
I took a deep breath trying to remember the words that we’d been taught. “Since I was but a girl, I’ve loved the Holy Church and wished to do the bidding of Our Lord and Savior. I did blaspheme and live among the heretics, but I have ever longed to serve the One True God. I know that Jesus Christ did live as flesh to free us from our wretchedness, and in his shelter I, too, wish to live my life. I pray that I might make my home among my sisters and dwell in purity and chastity as did the Blessed Mother,” I answered him.
“That is all well and good,” the Bishop answered. “But you have gazed upon your prior Dominic and disavowed your loyalty to God.”
My heart did sink at the realization that he knew everything. I hung my head and tears welled in my eyes. “It is so,” I replied. “My heart has lusted after Dominic and I have greatly sinned. I have lain in prostrate penance for my transgression and mortified my flesh before our Savior. I will continue in such vigil the remainder of my days, if I might have the chance. O my most reverend Father, I beg you to absolve me; please do not hold this sin against me forever.”
The bishop breathed a deep sigh and then placed his hand upon my shoulder. “Elmina,” he said, “your flesh is weak. You will continue with your nightly penances and wear the cilise to remind you of the curse of your flesh.”
What is the cilise? I wanted to ask but held my tongue.
The bishop continued, “But I can see you love Our Lord and long to serve him. I shall allow you to assume the habit and pray that God has mercy upon your wayward soul.”
Dear God, You know the joy that welled within my heart was tempered by my shame. I kissed the ring upon the prelate’s pudgy finger and rose to join my sisters in their final preparations.
The night before we were to take the veil, Guillelmette put a bowl upon our head. She took the scissors Bishop Folc had brought and, one by one, she cut our hair above our ear. When she had cropped my russet locks, she offered me two crowns: a crown of flowers and a crown of thorns. “Which one do you prefer?” she asked.
“The crown of thorns,” I answered dutifully. She nodded at my choice and bid Gentiana to come forward next.
When she had finished cutting all our hair, the floor was covered with intermingled locks of golden curls and flaxen, black and russet tresses. I stared in quiet shock as Alaide cried and Guillelmette swept away the glory of our maidenhood.
I passed the night in silent vigil with my sisters and shared my anxious thoughts with You alone. Tomorrow I would be enclosed and never step into the world again. I wondered if the walls of Prouilhe would be my sanctuary or my prison. Dear God, You know I had a passing wish to leave behind my shame and penitence and flee. But where might I find haven? And how would I survive?
As I knelt in the darkness I came to feel Your presence swirling in the air around me.
“Abide with me,” You seemed to say. I took a deep breath and then glanced around the room at my sisters, also deep in prayer. And I knew this was meant to be my home and they my family. I was naïve enough to entrust my young life to Your Holy Church.
When daylight came we sang the Angelus at lauds before we gathered in the chamber house. It was the feast of St. John the Evangelist, but there was no Holy Mass that morning. Instead Dominic entered to speak with us.
“My dearest daughters,” he began. I stared intently at the floor. “We must give thanks to God for saving you from sacrilege and bringing you to safety in this place. Your souls were in great jeopardy, and now through God’s great mercy, they may come to find salvation. As to your former heresy, may you be ever penitent and pray unceasingly for other heretics to follow your example. There still is much for you to do before the twelfth hour of the Mass. I shall retire and let Guillelmette instruct you.”
Dear God, I took great care that my eyes not betray my heart, but the hair upon my arms took note as Dominic walked past me to the door. Reluctantly, I turned my mind to Guillelmette.
“You each will need to bathe before you bow to take the veil,” she said.
“A bath?” objected Paperin in horror.
“A bride must always bathe before her wedding,” Guillelmette replied. “Elmina, you will go first.” She’d hung a linen sheet around a barrel in the corner, and she bid me stand behind it. She first picked lice from my cropped hair; she ordered me to shed my tunic and my shift and step into the barrel. Then she handed me a cloth and soap made from olive oil and salt. I noticed there a bucket filled with water. “First wet the cloth, and wash the dirt from off your body,” instructed Guillelmette. “And do not let your washcloth linger upon any place,” she warned. I did as I was told. “Now bend over the bucket and wet your hair,” she said. I did so and she handed me a mixture of egg whites and ashes. “Use this to clean your hair,” she said. “Then pour the water over you to rinse yourself.”
The icy water made me shriek. I feared that I might catch my death of cold, but I did not. She handed me a towel and gave me a clean shift. Dear God, I did feel ripe and cleansed before You, ready to commit my life into Your care.
When we had bathed, we went into the chapel to decorate the altar. Berengaria, Clarette, and I had saved dried flowers and herbs for the occasion, and Alaide had made a full livre candle that would burn through all the ceremony. Beside our veils there lay a stoup of holy water and the aspergillum the bishop would use to sprinkle each of us. Before the altar lay the prie-dieu where we’d kneel to take our vows. All was prepared.
We gathered in the chapter house to don our habits, but Guillelmette beckoned me to step outside. She handed me a heavy belt with iron rings and inward-pointing tines. “This is your cilise,” she said. “Tie it around your waist to mortify your flesh and keep you mindful of your need for penitence.”
I took the heavy object from her hand and stared at it with horror.
“It will not do you harm,” said Guillelmette. “You will soon become accustomed to its prongs. Go quickly now and put it on. No one need know that you are wearing the cilise.”
I did as I was told. I raised my shift and placed the icy rings around my waist. I pulled the hemp cords so the tines pressed at my flesh and tied them tight. I hung my head and stepped back in the chapter room. When I lifted my arms to don my habit, the tines of the cilise poked at my tender belly. Is this how I am to live the remainder of my life? I asked of You, but I knew well the answer.
At the noon hour the tower bells began to toll. We formed a line behind Guillelmette, and Dominic appeared to lead the way. Slowly we processed across the frozen ground toward the Chapel de Ste. Marie. With every step the tines of the cilise reminded me of my unworthiness.
As we entered the chapel, I was surprised to find it filled with people. I quickly scanned the room for Mama, Papa, and Amelha, but of course they were not there. There were monks with robes of the Cistercian Order and fancy ladies dressed in silk, but I recognized no soul but Na Gracia. Our cloistering would be complete, and there could be no heretics within its sacred walls.
Dear God, You know the pang of loneliness that welled within my heart. But then Dominic began to chant the Angelus. My eyes darted in his direction. Quickly, I lowered them to the floor, and he alone took note of my transgression. As we processed, the tines against my skin awoke me from my maudlin reverie. My heart then turned to You, God. I thought of Your Dear Son as he walked the road to Calvary. I saw that in my trifling pain I would be joined to the enormity of his, and grateful tears began to form. My heart rejoiced as the last chorus ended and we took our places kneeling at the altar.
Dominic opened the service with a prayer.
“Graciously enlighten thy Church, O Lord,” he intoned, “that she may be illumined by the doctrines of Saint John, thy apostle and evangelist, and thus obtain the gifts of eternity.”
Father Guilhem read from the Gospel of St. John the Evangelist the verses that remind us, God, that You are our creator:
In the beginning was the Word, intoned Guilhem.
And the Word was with God and the Word was God.
He was in the beginning with God.
All things came into being through him,
and without out him not one thing came into being.
For a moment I thought about the Good Christians. They too recited John at the consolamentum, although they saw it differently. I remembered Sister Bruna teaching us that in Jesus, not one material thing came into being. My mind again fled to Amelha, and I ached to have her here. Most certainly by now she was a perfect, and I wondered if she ever thought of me. For one short moment I dared hope that You might bless both my cloistering and her consolamentum. I bent in earnest prayer until a sharp prick from the cilise brought me from my musings.
I remember full well the beauty of that day, the words and chants that brought us to the moment of our vows. Berengaria went first and Guillelmette came forward to pin her veil to her wimple. One at a time we each lay prostrate on the floor as Bishop Folc reminded us of what we were to do. When my turn came, I lay again upon the icy stone. The cilise pressed against me, lest I forget the stain upon my soul.
“Profisciere anima Christiana de hoc mundo,“ intoned the bishop. “Go Christian soul, escape the prison of your body, because Heaven offers you freedom. You have now shed the garments of your former life; you have donned the habit that you may be dead unto the world, your family, and all that is without.”
I lay there, God, and saw again the Blessed Mother by my side. My heart opened in prayer:
My Queen, My Mother, I offer myself entirely to thee.
And to show my devotion to thee,
I offer thee this day, my eyes, my ears,
my mouth, my heart, my whole being without reserve . . .
I heard the bishop’s words as if in distant echo, “Rise now into the sacred arms of Christ.” As I stood up, he bid me kneel upon the prie-dieu and repeat my solemn vows.
“I, Guilhemina de Beaupuys, do take the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience to God and to the Blessed Virgin, according to the Rule of Blessed Augustine.”
I swallowed hard and continued.
“I also vow obedience to my prior Dominic, my prioress Guillelmette, my priest Father Guilhem, and their successors.”
Then Guillelmette, as domina of our little order, set a wimple upon my head. She let a long black veil unfold and pinned it there.
Dear God, I was then wed unto Your precious Son, in body, mind, and spirit. I felt His presence in the air I breathed, and His dear love came coursing through my veins. I vowed to You and to my very soul that I would ne’er forsake my vows. And I promised that to Your Holy Church I would be ever true.