Thanks also for the information about Corio's 1495 source, for the article to track down (so far no luck) and for the good photo. I don't doubt that the painting was considered good luck for spiritual and physical healing. As Newman says, the legendary Guglielma replaced the real one. But in reading Kovacs (http://epa.oszk.hu/02000/02025/00026/pd ... 27-045.pdf) and one of her references (Nancy Black, Medieval Narratives of Accused Queens , 2003), I see that the history is more complex than Newman supposed. I will explain.
Here again is Marco's translation of the passage on p. 37. In brackets I have suggested a few changes for the sake of clarity:
For the sake of completeness, here is the rest of footnote 39.In 1842, Michele Caffi, mentioned the cult of Guglielma in Brunate when discussing another Guglielma, who was thought to be a princess and lived in Milan, her followers were condemned as heretics by the inquistion in 1300. Later, people studying the guglielmite heresy, posed the question of a possible link between the two cults. In the last decade, in various publications appeared the hypothesis that the legend we are discussing was actually based on Guglielma from Milan, and that it was created as a coverage [cover story] to continue her cult prohibited by the inquisition. The authors of these works have formulated their hypotheses without knowledge of the history of the legend (39) that was copied in collections of legends, was documented since the XIV century in Lombardy, Veneto and Tuscany, was diffused among the most various religious orders and was linked to the devotion to Mary, to [omit "to"] an ecclesiastic cult that, as we will see below, already existed when the inquisition processed the guglielmites. This excludes that our legend (and the cult in Brunate) could be a derivation from the heretic tradition of Guglielma from Milan.
(footnote 39) Newman, erroneously thinking that the legend was created by Bonfadini in Ferrara in the XV century, made efforts to build an hypothesis explaining how the heretical cult spread to Ferrara, in order to link it to the origin of the legend.
Now I will go on, more extensively than Marco's brief outline, so as to include the evidence that she offers to rebut Newman. First she gives one original 14th century manuscript, another "14th (?)", and two 15th century ones that seem to be copies of documents done at the beginning of the fourteenth century. Her one certain 14th century document (not known when in that century), BNF Fond Italien 665 Paris, which Kovacs calls P (for Paris), is the one with a miniature of a woman with a crucific praying to Mary.Kovacs sees it as related to another (p. 38f):Falvay, sviluppando le idee di Karl, riteneva che sotto l'influenza di un topos della "regina/principessa ungherese", fosse modificata nella leggenda la memoria di Guglielma di Milano, e nel suo studio del 2008, ha ribadito la tesi di Newman. Sebbene in una nota (p. 66) abbia elencato diverse fonti della leggenda, non le ha
considerate (il manoscritto parigino p.es., che lui stesso ha citato, essendo copiato nel Trecento in Toscana, confuta la tesi di Newman).
(Falvay, developing the ideas of Karl [Lejos Karl, Budapest 1908], believed that under the influence of a topos of the "queen/Hungarian princess," Guglielma of Milan was changed into the memory of the legend, and in his 2008 study, repeated the arguments of Newman. Although in a footnote (p. 66) he has listed several sources of the legend, he has not considered them (e.g. the Paris manuscript, which although mentioned, being copied in the fourteenth century in Tuscany, refutes the thesis of Newman.)
The other 15th century ms. is a "lives of the saints" by Andrea Bon, in which, after recounting the legend of Guglielma, we find a sentence in Italian followed by a Latin "Antiphona/Oratio", which I assume is a prayer in the form of a responsive reading. Here is the part in Northern Italian, which I'm sure I don't have translated exactly right (p. 39).Il testo tramandato da questa copia è in strettissima parentela con quello di P, e pare addirittura più arcaico. Potrebbe essere stato copiato da un modello molto più antico della sua età. Sul f. 23 Ov del codice si legge: "Iste lìber est domine Mansuete domine sancte Grate ordinis sancti Benedicti. Egofrater Stephanus de tirabuschis scripsi". Se la soscrizione fu copiata dal modello, il possessore potrebbe essere identificato con Mansueta de Carpionibus badessa tra il 1297 e il 1310, del monastero benedettino Santa Grata di Bergamo.
(The text passed on by this copy is in very close relationship with that of P, and it seems even more archaic. It could have been copied from a model much more ancient than it. On f. 23Ov the codex reads: "Iste liber est domine Mansuete domine sancte Grate ordinis sancti Benedicti. Ego frater Stephanus de tirabuschis scripsi ". If this signature was copied from the model, the owner could be identified with Gentile de Carpionibus, abbess from 1297 to 1310.of the Benedictine monastery Santa Grata in Bergamo.)
The Latin Antiphona/Oratio mentions Guiglielma often. At the end it has:"Questa è una devotissima sancta ala quale puole recorere futi lì infermi et maxime quelli che patìsseno clolia de testa e lei sovviene a chi devotamente se lì recomanda."
("This is a most devout prayer to enable recovery from sickness and especially for those who suffer headache, and she assists those to whom devoutly it is recommended.")
Amen. Amen. Deo gratias semper. 1300 1. adi 20Marzo. Finis.
Kovacs says that the numbers mean that the original was from the year 1301. In Budapest there is a 19th century copy of Bon with the same date: "1301 a di 20 marzo". She notes that other manuscripts have copied this same Italian sentence,
BonVE1 is another 15th century manuscript of Bon; VAT1 is the "14th (?)"; C is 1491, and M is 15th century. She concludes, as Marco had it:La frase relativa alla preghiera in italiano e l'antifona con l'orazione in latino, furono copiate (senza la data) anche in BonVEl. È conservata la stessa frase italiana (senza l'antifona, l'orazione e la data) pure in alcuni manoscritti
della leggenda anonima - sia in veneto (VAT1), sia in lombardo (C), sia in toscano (M) - il che fa supporre che la leggenda originalmente fosse tramandata insieme con questo testo.
(The sentence on the prayer in Italian and the antiphon with the prayer in Latin were copied (without the date) in BonVEl. And the same Italian phrase is preserved (without the Antiphon, Oratio and date) also in some anonymous manuscripts of the legend - and in the Veneto (VAT1), Lombardy (C) and Tuscany (M) - which suggests that the legend was originally passed along with this text.
Now for my comments. 1301 is Kovacs' earliest manuscript date. This is the same year that Newman gave for the beginning of the "English princess" legend for Guglielma (although in that case a descriptor of the one burned in Milan), so to that extent there is no contradiction with Newman. But if Newman's thesis that the legend was introduced as a cover story to permit devotion to the real Guglielma is correct, it would have had to have been done at the beginning, right after her remains had been burned by the Inquisition, and not after 1425. Yet Kovacs is going even further, and saying that the devotion to the legendary saint preceded the real one, because there was a Latin liturgy to invoke her healing.La data alla fine del manoscritto londinese non solo prova che la nostra leggenda era già conosciuta nel 1301, ma il testo liturgico in latino fa supporre che il culto della santa fosse nato ben prima.
(The date at the end of the manuscript in London not only proves that our legend was already known in 1301, but the liturgical text in Latin suggests that the cult of the saint was born well before.)
What is also interesting there is the specific mention of her ability to heal headaches. That would seem to explain why, in the Brunate fresco, she has her hand on the kneeling woman's head, long before the 1425 Ferrara ms. recounted her power to do so.
However Kovacs doesn't appear to know that the gesture depicted in the Brunate fresco was also the consolomentum of the Cathars, and the means by which the Holy Spirit was passed from a perfectus so as to perfect another. (Again, I am not saying that Manfreda was a Cathar; it's just that she might have seen people receiving the Consolomentum, seen by them as receiving the Holy Spirit; perhaps she even received it herself and then went her own way.) She doesn't know that Manfreda's monastery was five miles from one of the historical main centers of Catharism, still to a degree protected--until 1268--at the time of Guglielma's alleged arrival in Milan, 1262, certainly within Manfreda's lifetime. Kovacs doesn't know that Cathars passed through the area again shortly before 1388. She doesn't know about the Visconti emphasis on the Holy Spirit in the Trinity, or their habit of putting portraits of themselves in depictions of saints.
So for us, knowing all these things, there remains a fundamental ambiguity to be resolved.
Kovacs does give us the main earlier version of the legend, called the "Empress of Rome". Here she cites Nancy Black, Medieval Narratives of Accused Queens. So I will try to summarize the relevant points in Black, some of which Kovacs omits.
Although the "Empress of Rome" legend existed in obscure 12th century Latin manuscripts (p. 20), it only became popular after a Benedictine monk named Gautier de Coinci (d. 1236) translated one of them into Old French toward the end of his life (p. 22); the manuscripts have numerous illuminations illustrating key parts of the story. A Latin version, for the learned, was included in Vincent de Beauvais' 1244 Speculum historiale; its popularity may be gauged by the 242 extant manuscript copies in European and American libraries (p. 33).
The story concerns a Roman Empress devoted to the Virgin Mary, who suffers false accusations and consequent sufferings paralleling those of the legendary Gulguilma, After the first accusation, she suffers in the woods dressed in rags, is rescued by a lord, and is given the job of caring for the rescuer's young son. The rescuer's brother makes sexual advances to her, which are repulsed, and in revenge kills the young son. The murder is blamed on her. (Kovacs omits a part in which the murderer places the knife in her hand while she is sleeping.) Then, Kovacs says (her summary is better than a lengthy quote from Black):
This is very close to the Gulguilma story as related in 1425 Ferrara. The different ending in some versions is how the story ends in the less worldly 14th century versions.l'imperatrice viene condannata; i marinai che devono portarla via dal paese, vogliono violentarla, ma poi la lasciano su uno scoglio; le appare la Vergine che le da un'erba per guarire la lebbra; una nave che porta pellegrini, la salva; guarisce lebbrosi; vien da lei il fratello del grande signore malato di lebbra, confessa il suo peccato e vien guarito; l'imperatrice va a Roma, e guarisce anche il fratello dell'imperatore; il marito la riabbraccia e tutta la città festeggia; in certe varianti l'imperatrice rinuncia al suo rango e in povertà continua a guarire malati.
The Empress is condemned; sailors who must take her out of the country want to violate her, but then leave her on a rock; the Virgin shows her an herb for healing leprosy; she saves a ship carrying pilgrims, heals lepers; to her, suffering from leprosy, comes the brother of the great lord, who confesses his sins and is healed; the Empress goes to Rome, and also heals the emperor's brother; her husband embraces her and the whole city celebrates; in some versions the Empress renounces her rank and continues in poverty to heal the sick.
For comparison, here is Kovacs' paraphrase of the 1425 episode aboard ship (p. 28).
This paraphrase is not quite the same as Newman's (p. 25). For Newman, the dream comes before she boards ship. Kovacs' version is closer to the Empress legend.E, di nuovo, aiutata dalla Vergine Maria, miracolosamente riuscì a fuggire. Condotta da due angeli a un porto, salì su una nave. Mentre navigava, i marinai, tutti, si ammalavano di mal di testa, e non c'era chi governasse la nave. Allora a Guglielma nel sonno apparse la Vergine, annunciandole che, come premio per le sue virtù e le sue sofferenze, Gesù Cristo le donava poteri taumaturgici. Guglielma infatti riuscì a guarire i marinai, per questo cominciava ad essere rispettata come santa.
(And again, helped by the Virgin Mary, she miraculously succeeded in running away. Conducted by two angels to a port, she climbed on a ship. While sailing, the sailors, all of them, got sick with headache, and there were none who governed the ship. Then to Guglielma asleep the Virgin appeared, announcing that, as a reward for her virtues and sufferings, Jesus Christ gave her miraculous powers. Guglielma in fact succeeded in curing the sailors; for this she began to be respected as holy.)
After this episode, for both Newman and Kovacs, Gulgielma continues to heal people, including her two old accusers, whom God has afflicted with leprosy. Newman and Kovacs then finish the story: after the healings aboard ship: she is taken by the captain to the convent, whose abbess is his aunt, where she serves the nuns there. When the two accusers come for healing, she takes a nun's habit, with veils, to hide her identity when the two confess their sins.
In the Empress legend, in contrast, according to Black, she is left abandoned on the island after the ship breaks up in a storm (for Kovacs, the sailors have a change of heart and leave her on a rock rather than violating her--but in the late 13th and 14th centuries there were various versions of the legend), and then after receiving the dream begins healing people. For neither Black or Kovacs does the Empress get to a convent or disguise herself as a nun before hearing her accusers' confessions.
What is strikingly missing in the account of Empress's ordeal with the sailors, compared to Guglielma's, is the bit about the headaches
In either Kovacs' or Newman's paraphrase of the Guglielma, this bit strikes me as a clumsy addition, all those sailors suddenly getting headaches. There seems to me a natural, common-sense explanation: the Church, at the time of the burning of Manfreda, adds that part, so as to account for the gesture of the laying on of the hand--by then already well-known--spreads the word, and the sanitized version of Guglielma is born. The other changes from the Empress legend and Guglielma's can be explained as a desire to make the story fit the particular situation in Italy, including locating her at a convent, and improve its lessons in piety.
What I am hypothesizing is that the Guglielma legend was not adapted from a pre-existing legend (or legends) so as to be useful as a cover for devotees of the real Guglielma, but that a pre-existing legend (or legends) was adapted by the Church as that of Guglielma so as to serve as a substitute for the real Guglielma and thereby eliminate the her gradually from the collective memory.
This was a standard operating procedure for the Church. For example, in the 4th century, faced with the highly popular cult of Mithra among Roman soldiers, whom the Church needed on their side, they simply called Mithra's birthday, December 25, Christ's birthday, and suppressed public mention of Mithra. So the soldiers could still celebrate Mithra's birthday, they just couldn't be open about it and had to endure the outward trappings of Christ. Sooner or later Mithra was forgotten. The same was done everywhere. A church in Milan was erected on the site of a temple of Cybele; it was still possible to worship Cybele there, but quietly. In Mexico, churches were placed on sites sacred to goddesses of the indigenous people, celebrating miracles there by the Virgin Mary. Similarly in 1301 Lombardy, I hypothesize, a legend about a princess-devotee of the Virgin, adapted from legends about an Empress and other pious royals, replaces the real Guglielma and her followers.
Such a strategy is, for humanitarian reasons, preferable to actually going in and rooting out every last believer in the heresy. It is also safer, in terms of dealing with the local nobility. Perhaps, as in the case of Mithra, there is even an agreement, implicit or explicit, with the secular authority about the process. (In the case of Matteo Visconti, it would be to get the inquisitors to leave.)
Reading Black, I can see where the "English/Hungarian" nationality of the princess comes from. In 1234, only four years after her death, Elizabeth, daughter of the king of Hungary, had been canonized. Her story, Black says, has similarities to that of Guglielma. Also, in England c. 1250. the monk Matthew Paris inserted the story of a falsely accused queen into his Latin history of the founders of the Benedictine abbey of St. Albans (p. 6f).
I can see elements of the "Empress of Rome" story even in the "confession" of Manfreda and her friends.The Empress is always shown healing by means of the communion cup in which the herb has been mixed, she standing and the leper kneeling or in bed. Leprosy, Black explains, was associated with lustfulness (p. 27). The ones who come down with leprosy are the ones who attempted to coerce her into sex, and they are given the chalice only after they have confessed their sins publicly--including that one, Similarly, in the Guglielmites' confessed (under torture) rite, it is by swallowing the host, after it has earlier been placed next to Guglielma's body, that the Guglielmites get her salvific power, now a desecration rather than a parallel to the Eucharist. This is of course not the scene in Brunate, Hence the need to introduce the headaches, now revealed as cured by a hand to the head, converted into a prayer to her after her death.
Another indication of the Inquisitors' forethought is Saramita's confession, if it was planted by torture into his mouth, is that she is from Bohemia. Bohemia is a variant on Hungary, Poland, and other central European locations of saintly princesses.
My hypothesis is that the Inquisitors calculated that the refurbished legend would be welcomed by Gulgielma's surviving followers, because it makes Gulgielma both the victim of false accusations and an agent of healing (as surely the real Gulgielma would have been thought to be, as well as Manfreda). In the Empress's devotion to the Virgin, the Empress becomes like her model. Black observes (p. 26):
The Inquisitors might have hoped that making Guglielma such a latter-day embodiment of the Virgin would be attractive to the remnants of her followers. The Virgin, too, was an agent of healing and salvation....the Empress of Rome is a virtuous woman who is empowered to heal and save others. She takes on an aspect of sainthood--the ability to perform miracles--and like the Virgin Mary, becomes an instrument for the salvation of sinners.
The danger in such a strategy of co-optation, of course, is that it won't succeed. For their part, the Visconti will not likely forget the real Manfreda, among themselves; they are obsessed with family history. To help them, there is also, later, the trial record, assuming that Matteo grabbed it. There is the return of the Cathars just before 1388, perhaps revealing themselves to certain of the populace. There is Bianca's relationship with Maddelena Abrizzi, whatever it was. In any case, we have the Inquisition back again in the 1450s, grilling old healers in the area, mainly women, about the Trinity and burning them as heretics incessantly for at least the next 70 years.
When the legend of Gulguilma appears in 1425, it follows the changes that have occurred in the legend of the Empress of Rome over the previous 200 years. Instead of, at the end, refusing earthly honors and keeping to her celibate state, the Empress resumes her life at court, once she has converted the Emperor. Likewise Gulguilma, as told in 1425, returns to Hungary and resumes life with her husband. Life is more worldly in the Renaissance than in the Middle Ages. I do not know how the 14th century versions ended Gulguilma's tale, other than the Colmar version that had her burned at the stake.
In one 15th century version of the Empress story, there is an interesting twist. It is one in sculptures done in Norwich Cathederal, England, sometime after 1455, when the roof of the chapel needed to be replaced, as the gift of a man who died in 1460. They stick faithfully to the story except in one regard: they show the Empress wearing the tarot Popess's triple tiara. Below are two of the six photos that Black reproduces. In the top one, she is riding side-saddle:
http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S13UUVhRkjM/U ... k33-34.JPG
Black observes (p. 146):
I don't know how well known this association was, given that it is the only one of its kind. And it is in the 1460s, which is not the Middle Ages. I can't help wondering if there is somehow an association with 15th century Milan. Here is my reasoning.In most bosses, the empress is immediately recognizable by her unusually tall conical crown, a triple crown such as those used elsewhere to depict the pope. The crown is unlike any known to me from other depictions of the empress. Although its size undoubtedly aids the viewer as a means of distinguishing her from the other figures, it also suggests that in the middle Ages the empress of Rome was a well-known figure, associated not only with false accusation and healing powers but also with religious authority.
First, Black (p. 147) speculates that the sculptures were meant to flatter Edward IV's queen, married to him in 1464 but not the virgin expected of royal marriages:
So Black's hypothesis is that the Norwich "Empress of Rome" series is another set of images designed to associate Queen Elizabeth Woodville flatteringly with the Virgin. The episode where the Virgin directs the Empress to pick a certain herb is prominent among the sculptures. Black says that she cannot prove her hypothesis; but the Queen did visit Norwich in 1469 (per Atherton et al, Norwich Cathedral, p. 247), and we do see long, loose hair in the bosses (see above), another unusual feature in her depiction and one associating her specifically with the Virgin (since loose hair is associated with virgins).Joanna Chamberlayne, in her article "Crown and Virgins: Queenmaking during the Wars of the Roses," [in Young Medieval Women, ed. Lewis, Menuge, and Phillips, pp. 47-68] describes a traditional preference among English royalty to choose to choose virgin queens. Elizabeth Woodville, wife of Edward IV, was a noteworthy exception to the practice. The queen was a widow, the mother of two children, and five years older than her new husband when Edward IV married her secretly in 1464 [p. 47]. Chamberlayne tells us: "Royal image makers adopted two strategems in dealing with Elizabeth's unconventional status. The first was simply to ignore the fact that she did not conform. The second was to construct her motherhood in strikingly Marian terms, so distancing her from ordinary women" [p. 60]. She provides us with a number of examples of the second strategem: depictions of the queen in virginal white and gold clothing, or with the blue cloak associated with the Virgin Mary, or with the loose blond hair associated with virgins [pp. 60-62].
It seems to me that the depictions of the donors at Brunate should be seen in a similar way to that in which Black sees the depiction of the English queen of the 1460s: they are literally of the donors, but symbolically also suggesting something else.
So what is the connection to Milan? I have discovered via Google,that in Milan around the same time, another homage to Elizabeth Woodville was being undertaken. A Lombard poet named Antonio Cornazzano wrote a long poem on famous women which included the same Queen Woodville as one of its two contemporary examples. He has her resisting Edward's efforts to make her his mistress, even when he threatens her with the banishment of her family (from London) and finally her own death (I am not sure about the exact details of the threats; it is not only 15th century but in northern dialect. To see Cornazzano's text, untranslated, go to Conor Fahy, "The Marriage of Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville: A New Italian Source," in the English Historical Review, 1961, available on Jstor; a fuller account, Fahy says, is his article in La bibliofilia, lxii, 1961. In any event, she is an example of chastity under fire. The poem, including specifically this section, the author says, was meant for Bianca Maria and written between 1466 and her death in 1468 (p. 663). The poem makes reference to a Vitaliano, who Fahy (p. 668) thinks is Vitaliano Borromeo (d. I449), founder of the famous family's fortunes, as well as to the lord of Milan, who at this time, after 1464, would be Galeazzo Maria.
The Borromeo, of course, are associated with the tarot via a famous fresco.Da quel di in qua costei gli occhi soi bassi
sempre porto, rarissimo apparendo,
42 donde 'l Re ne perdea sospiri e passi.
E per quel che da molti odo et intendo,
di che grado era lei, basso o soprano,
45 daro comparation, se nullo offendo:
quasi el nipote del gran Vitaliano
s'hauesse bella figlia, e la piacesse
48 (com'io son certo) al signior di milano.
(From that in here this woman bore her eyes always low, rare appearing, 42 from which the King loses sighs and steps. And of that from many I hear and understand of what degree she was, low or high, 45 I will give comparison, if I do not offend: the nephew of the great Vitaliano has a beautiful daughter, who 48 (as I am certain) pleased the lord of Milan.)
What actual, as opposed to poetic, connection would there have been between Bianca Maria and Norwich? At the time, starting in 1461, there was much ambassadorial contact between Francesco Sforza and Edward; Francesco was even made a knight of Edward's Order of the Garter. Moreover, I see from a footnote of Fahy's (p. 667) that there was a "Borromei" bank in London:
. "Borromei" is merely a different spelling of the name, and Filippo is the 14th century head of the family, whose death in service to the Visconti elevated the survivors (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/House_of_Borromeo). But the precise connection to the PMB Popess eludes me. If there is one, then the merging of the two Gulgielmas has run full circle: the Empress of Rome, the source of the legend, now has the papal crown of the real Manfreda.1. G. Biscaro, 'I1 banco Filippo Borromei e compagni di Londra (1436-9)',
Archivio storico lombardo, 4th ser., xix (I913), 37-126, 283-386;...
I can feel people getting impatient with me. What is the point, you ask, of such unnecessary positing of double meanings? I answer, in part: that is the way life is under a totalitarian regime in which anyone can denounce anyone; its heretics learn to speak in the "Aesopian language" of saying one thing to, in a deniable way, mean another. (That there were people considered heretics there in this time period, the third quarter of the 15th century, is abundantly proved.) But in addition, and more significantly for our purpose, it explains the PMB Popess, that is, why, along with the Hanged Man, we have the highly unusual fact that both cards correspond to actual members of the Visconti-Sforza family, for whom this first known deck with these cards happens to have been made. It is as though someone planned it that way, for her family, and now us, to see and remember Manfreda.
It also explains why the legend should have such an absurdly awkward addition to it, that of the entire crew of a ship all coming down with a headache at once. My hypothesis also explains the numerous other coincidences that I have mentioned, even up to the 1460s in England. I think one has to look at these texts that Kovacs cites with the eye of a jury scrutinizing the records of a corporation that has proved itself both highly sophisticated in destroying, creating, distorting, and manipulating evidence, permitted even to torture its rebels, and at the same time genuinely trying to be moral as it interprets morality. What we get is not proof, to be sure, just a string of striking coincidences.
Barring additional texts from before 1300, I think my hypothesis--that the legendary "princess" is the Church's attempt to co-opt the real heretic--is most likely closer to the truth than Kovacs'. Already in Colmar 1301, the English princess was the one burned at the stake. Whoever wrote that didn't get the point of the "English princess" legend, and included the truth as well as part of the legend. The probable or plausible truth, that of the cover-up, however, is also what gives us a way to see the Popess in the tarot: she is someone on an equal footing with the Pope. Just as the tarot Pope is the vicar of Christ, the tarot Popess is the vicar of his feminine equivalent: the Holy Spirit, Mary, Sophia, or what you will. Likewise, if the Popess represents the Church, so does the Pope: two aspects of the Church. What these aspects are is left undetermined in the tarot, which after all is just a series of pictures with titles. Concretely, I think, the masculine side is expressed when a bishop confirms a believer, or elevates someone to major orders, in the laying on of hands, and the other when a woman who isn't even in a recognized order passes on the Holy Spirit, as a form of spiritual healing and the power to heal others, by a similar means.