Miracle Stories, Part 2

 In my previous post, I discussed miracle stories, the kind that would be collected at a shrine to extol the power of the local saint in healing the sick.  But how about saints like Mary, who were not nearly as closely tied to a specific locale?  (Though she too would have special veneration in certain places; the most important healing shrine today, that of Lourdes, is dedicated to Our Lady of Lourdes.)

Miracle stories of the Virgin would be told and retold in many places.  Although she was entirely capable of healing, many of her miracle stories involved other sorts of intervention in human affairs.  At one time modern scholars tended to be a little embarrassed by some of these stories, and tried to pass them off as the superstitious tales of the unlettered.  But these were stories told by monks and clergymen.

They may have been embarrassing (now) because a lot of them lacked what you might call a clear moral lesson.  Rather, they emphasized the power of the Virgin in helping those who called on her.  In one story, a knight on the way to a tournament stopped at a shrine to Mary to pray, and he prayed so long and so hard that he forgot all about the tournament.  In the evening, he proceeded into the town where it had been held to find a place to stay and was shocked to be heralded as winning the tournament!  It turned out that Mary had been so impressed by his piety that she put on armor, took his horse and lance, and fought disguised as him, winning the prize.

Okay, you can see why some scholars would rather not talk about this as the product of learned priests.  In another story, a criminal, caught and deservedly condemned to death, prayed so hard to the Virgin that she came to the gallows where he was to be hung and, when the trap door opened to drop him and break his neck, she held him up.  After a few hours the authorities realized there was a miracle going on (man with a noose around his neck hovering, unhurt, in the air) and carefully lowered him and set him free.  In this story at least the criminal was reformed, having learned his lesson, and lived the rest of his life very virtuously.

So what is going on?  These were stories both about the power of the saint and stories to tell sinners that anyone can turn to the saints for help.  The greatest sin has always been despair, feeling that you are so evil that you are beyond redemption (which of course requires pride in one's wickedness).  These stories say that anyone, even knights (routinely branded as sinful) and criminals, could count on mercy if it was sought with a truly contrite heart.  Mary took the role especially of the mother who always will love you, no matter what.  (That's a medieval wooden statue of her below.)

 

Other saints would also listen even to sinners.  In fact, a lot of miracle stories were quite subversive, with those in authority, both secular lords and church leaders, being given their comeuppance by the saint.  For example, at Conques (see previous post), Saint Foy routinely broke the chains of escaped criminals, and when the monks tried to lock the church doors to keep poor pilgrims out, she swung the doors open herself.  Not just sinners but the poor and downtrodden were depicted in the miracle stories as helped by the saints.

The New Testament parallels were entirely deliberate.

© C. Dale Brittain 2022


For more on religion, saints, and other aspects of medieval history, see my ebook Positively Medieval, available on Amazon and other ebook platforms.  Also available as a paperback.

Conques

One of the loveliest medieval villages in France is Conques.  It was a major stop on the pilgrimage route from Vézelay to Santiago.  Efforts have been made to link the town's name to the cockle shell that was the emblem of pilgrims.  The medieval bridge at the bottom of the village's hill is still called the "Romey" bridge because pilgrims (locally called Romeys, even though they were going to Spain rather than Rome) headed (and head) across it.  (In fact, cars still use it.)

There are a lot of tourists and modern pilgrims in Conques, but once the tour buses leave it is still a stunning place.  The village is dominated by the old abbey church. The monks had the bones of Saint Foy ("Saint Faith"), supposedly a girl who was martyred by the pagan Roman governor because she wouldn't give up her Christian faith.

In fact, unlike most French churches, Conques still has the relics of their saint.  She was hidden during the French Revolution and is now in a little museum.  The golden reliquary is in the shape of a seated person, with a head that appears to be that of a man from Late Antiquity.  It is encrusted with semi-precious stones.

The monastery of Conques claimed to have been founded by Charlemagne (unlikely, as Charlemagne founded no monasteries), and "proved" it by carving Charlemagne on the front of their church.  They also had a curious silver object (probably really from around the year 1100) that I would say looks like the letter V, but they called "Charlemagne's A."  According to the monks, Charlemagne listed the 24 best monasteries in his empire (the medieval alphabet had 24 letters, not 26, because I and J were the same letter, as were U and V) and gave them each a silver letter to show it.  Conques naturally got the A, as best of all.  When asked why, if Charlemagne had been handing out letters, no one else seemed to have them, the monks responded by saying that other houses were too embarrassed to admit that were (for example) way down at X or Y, or even worse, not even on the 24-best list at all.

The monks had Foy's bones because, they said, the (other) church that had had them since Late Antiquity didn't respect her properly.  The monks sent one of their number who pretended to join that church, stole the relics, and miraculously wasn't spotted as he fled (because of course she wanted to leave).

Because Foy was martyred as a girl, twelfth-century accounts say she still is playful and likes to play tricks on people who might not be properly reverent.  Her particular focus is eyes--she will blind evil-doers and restore the sight of those blinded by evil-doers.  If someone came to Conques to seek healing without bringing any of the jewels she expected in return, she might do something like make their hand swell the next time they wore the withheld rings.

Foy also was subversive (a truculent teenager?).  Any noble lord or high official in the church who did something that harmed a poor person was in trouble.  Even her own monks did not get off scot-free, according to twelfth-century accounts.  When they started locking up the church at night to keep out the pilgrims (fearing they would steal the golden reliquary), she broke the locks to let the pilgrims in.

Conques is definitely worth a visit.  Be sure not to miss the treasury/museum with Foy's reliquary.  I knew she was looking after me when my retina detachment surgery was scheduled for a Catholic hospital and the nurses made  me remove my rings before the surgery.  I didn't dare tell Foy I didn't believe in her until after I was healed (fortunately I got both my rings and my vision back). 

© C. Dale Brittain 2018


For more on monasticism, saints, and other aspects of medieval history, see my ebook Positively Medieval, available on Amazon and other ebook platforms.