But however modestly they lived, the wise virgin, as Raimondo called her, demanded that the house-keeping should be ordered and that all should have time to make their pilgrimages and visit the churches of Rome. So she arranged that all the women in the company should take a week at a time to look after the house and prepare the meals, and if they lacked bread or wine or fuel, whoever was in charge that week was to say so to Catherine, so that she might go out and beg or send some of the others to do so. But one day when it was Giovanna di Capo’s week she forgot to tell Catherine that they had almost no bread. Only when the company were about to sit down to their meal did Giovanna think of it and, filled with shame, she had to say so to Catherine. For once it looked as though Catherine were cross: “God forgive you, Sister, how could such a thing happen? Have we no bread at all?” Yes, there was a little, said Giovanna, but it was so little as to be almost nothing. “Let the family come to table,” said Catherine, “and tell them from me that they are to begin and eat the little we have.” The family was ravenously hungry, for they had fasted the whole morning, so they began to eat with hearty appetites. But the scrap of bread—bread is the chief sustenance of the Italians—was more than sufficient; they ate bread before the soup, and with the soup; and when the men had eaten and the women came to the table there was still more than enough. After the meal they were able to give away a lot of bread to the poor. Throughout the mealtime Catherine had knelt in her chamber in prayer.
On November 29 Pope Urban solemnly excommunicated Cardinal Robert of Geneva and a number of other cardinals, prelates and princes who supported him—also the military leaders of the troops which the rival Pope had collected in the hope of taking Rome by storm and getting rid of Urban. The three Italian Cardinals, Corsini, Orsini and Brossano, and the Spanish Cardinal de Luna, had not yet openly joined the Clementists.
It is possible that a letter from Catherine to the three Italians caused them to hesitate. She begins by telling them that if they come out of the darkness in which they live she will call them her fathers, but not if they do not change their opinions. The Sister of Penitence speaks sharply and to the point to the cardinals, as one who has authority. Even her favourite theme of the two kinds of love, the one life-giving, the other bringing death, is turned into a violent attack against these men who have been invested with the greatest responsibility and the highest dignities in the Church, but have become traitors through love of temporal things. Not that all that God has created is not good in itself, but how sinful and stupid our flesh is which clamours for and becomes attached to the transitory goods of this life! Our life and the beauty of youth are as short-lasted as the beauty of a flower; once it has been plucked no one can preserve it. So it is with our life on earth when the Highest Judge lets death pluck us, none knows when. She reminds them that it is their duty to be examples of pure and holy life—and they have become as hired apprentices, ungrateful and untruthful. For it is a lie to say that they elected Urban out of fear—the comedy with Cardinal Tebaldeschi was played through fear. “Perhaps you will ask me, ‘Why do you not believe us? We know the truth about this election better than you, for we were present and made the election.’ I answer that I have seen you depart from the truth in so many ways that I cannot believe you when you try to convince me that Urban VI is not the lawful Pope.” If this were true, they have tried to seduce her and all Christians into idolatry, and they themselves have been guilty of idolatry and were heretics when they crowned Urban VI (Orsini had put the tiara on his head) and received simoniacal marks of favour from his hand, if they doubted that he was the lawful Vicar of Christ. If they had only elected him through fear, “how could you partake in such an election, even though you were in danger of your lives?” But “you could not even take a well-earned correction, let alone a hard word of accusation. Then you became obstinate; that is what has made you rebellious. Yes, we know the truth. Before Christ on earth corrected you, you were ready to acknowledge him as the Vicar of Christ and did homage to him. But the last fruits you have borne show what kind of trees you are.” She begs them with great eloquence to return to the fold, and promises to pray for them. Finally she uses a very human argument: “In the eyes of religion we are all alike. But humanly Christ on earth is an Italian, and you are Italians. You cannot be led astray by patriotism as are those from the other side of the Alps.” “Do not believe that I wish you any evil when I hurt you with my words; care for your salvation is what makes me write. I would sooner have talked to you personally if God had allowed it; but His will be done: you deserve punishment more than words.” Even Catherine’s usual excuse for her boldness in speaking to those who are so much above her in wisdom and rank—she begs for forgiveness because she only thinks of the salvation of their souls—is exceptionally short and meagre in this utterly crushing letter to the three Italian cardinals who have become traitors to God and the Holy Church.
Catherine had advised Pope Urban most urgently to collect around himself a lifeguard of the most worthy, righteous and pure of God’s servants—the same advice as she had given his predecessor. The Pope listened to her advice, or perhaps he had himself had the same idea. Now he wrote to the prior of the Carthusians at Gorgona and asked him to arrange for Masses to be said and prayers offered in all the monasteries in Tuscany for the Pope’s cause. He commanded the prior moreover to appear in Rome before the end of the month, for the Pope wished to consult with him and other holy and pious monks regarding the problems of the times. Catherine sent her own letters with the Pope’s bulls: she wrote to most of her old friends in the various monasteries, and also to the prior of Gorgona.
Almost all of them came to Rome. But the English hermit of Lecceto, William Flete, refused point blank to leave his solitary dwelling in the woods, although Catherine told him and his friend Fra Antonio di Nizza that woods and solitude could be found round Rome if they could not manage without them. Fra Antonio decided to answer the Pope’s call, but Catherine wrote to him expressing her deep displeasure with Fra William. “I sigh from the bottom of my heart over his stupidity, for he does not seek the glory of God and the good of his neighbour with noticeable zeal.” She has heard that two servants of God (William and Antonio) have had a revelation from God that if they left their solitude they would risk losing the glow of their faith and would not be able to put themselves whole-heartedly into their prayers for the lawful Pope. Catherine remarks: “The glow of your faith cannot be very ardent if you risk losing it by changing your dwelling. It seems as though God cares about places, and is only to be found in solitude and no other place in the day of need.”
But the learned Oxford theologian did great work for Urban’s cause through the letters he sent home to England. It was largely through him that England remained steadfastly loyal to Urban, while Scotland became Clementist.
Urban was always loyal to Catherine. He always thought seriously over what she suggested and advised, and he did not turn against her or become sulky, as Gregory XI had done at times when it seemed as though he had got himself into a difficult position through following her advice. The obstinate and headstrong old man never seems to have been offended at anything she wrote to him; he obviously felt real fatherly love for “this little woman” whom he allowed to lead him, and honoured her as the chosen spokesman of his Lord and Master. Gregory insisted that Catherine should undertake the dangerous mission to his enemies in Florence; he “did not think” they would do anything to her. Urban immediately gave up his plan to send her and the Swedish Karin as his messengers to the Queen of Naples as soon as Karin refused because of the far more unlikely dangers to which she thought they might be exposed. Catherine and Urban looked in exactly the same way at the most important questions of their time—the cleansing of the Church and the re-awakening of faith among all Christian peoples. She was not blind to his faults; her letters show this all too clearly. And Catherine of Siena had been dead several years, and Urban had become worn out by the wars and treacheries of the Clementists, and
was probably suffering from acute hardening of the arteries, when he developed into the dreadful old man whose insane suspicions and devilish cruelty shook even the most ardent of his supporters.
In spite of his consistent loyalty to Catherine he soon demanded of her that she should make the greatest sacrifice possible for her, humanly speaking. She had looked forward greatly to being with Raimondo again. Perhaps she was no more fond of him than of any other of her spiritual sons, she was so indescribably fond of them all, each in his own special way—“the melancholy Neri, and the joyous Stefano, the angelic Barduccio, the faithful old Fra Santo, and the unstable Francesco Malavolti”. But Raimondo was the only one of her sons who could ever be compared spiritually with his mother. He was the grown-up son with whom she could have a comradeship of the soul. And now when she had not been more than a couple of weeks in Rome Pope Urban had decided to send messengers to King Charles of France; they were to try to persuade him to break with the schismatics, in spite of the fact that he had been one of the first to encourage them. The Pope was to send three men, and Raimondo was to be the leader.
The story of his leave-taking from Catherine must be told in his own words:
When I became acquainted with the Pope’s plan I talked about the matter to Catherine. Although it cost her much to renounce my presence, she immediately advised me to obey the Pope’s commands and wishes, and said to me: “Father, do not doubt that this Pope is the lawful Vicar of Christ, whatever scandal the schismatics may invent about him. I wish you to face anything to defend this truth, just as you would face anything to defend the Catholic faith.”
This confirmation of a truth which I already knew strengthened my determination to fight with all my strength, whatever the schismatics might do, so that to this very day I have never ceased to work assiduously for the defence of the lawful Pope, and when I have come into dangers and difficulties these words of Catherine’s have always been my consolation. So I did as she advised me and bowed my neck under the yoke of obedience.
But because she knew what was to happen she wanted to talk to me during these few days before I left of the revelations and consolation she had had from Our Lord. And she spoke to me in such a way that none of the others who were in the room could hear anything. After our last conversation, which had lasted several hours, she said to me: “Go now and work for God, but I do not think that we shall meet again in this life or talk to each other as we have done now.” This prophecy was fulfilled. I went to France and left the saint in Rome. When I returned she had already been taken from this earth to heaven. Never before had I enjoyed the grace of listening so long to her holy conversation.
I think it was because she wanted me to understand that this was a last farewell that she went with me to the ship when I sailed. When the boat had put off she fell on her knees and prayed, and then she made the sign of the cross with her hand as though to say, “Son, go in safety, protected by the holy sign of the cross, but in this life you will never see your mother again.”
Christmas was approaching—the first which Catherine was to celebrate in Rome. As a Christmas present Catherine sent the Pope five oranges which she had candied and covered with gold leaf. (Oranges were at that time a novelty in Italy; according to tradition the first orange tree was brought to the country by St. Dominic, who planted it in a garden beside the monastery of Santa Sabina.) The Christmas present was accompanied by a letter which she had written “desiring to free you from the bitter agony which rages in your soul. May the cause of this agony disappear so that you know nothing but the sweet pain which makes the soul strong and passionate. It is the pain which springs from the love of God—I mean the sorrow and pain caused by our own faults.” She develops the theme of the difference between the bitter and the sweet pain, and gives the Pope a recipe for making candied oranges. Catherine, who was such a good cook, finds it seemly to draw some good spiritual maxims from it: “This fruit tastes bitter at first, when we bite it with holy desire in the mouth, but when the soul has become willing to suffer unto death for the love of Christ Crucified, then it tastes quite sweet. I have often noticed this with the oranges, which seem sharp and bitter at first. When one has taken out the inside, and allowed the orange to absorb boiling water, the bitterness disappears, and then one fills them with good and nutritious things and covers them with gold on the outside. What has become of the bitterness which is so unpleasant to human taste? It is drawn out by the fire and the water. Most Holy Father, it is just the same with a soul which understands the love of virtue. The beginning seems bitter, for the soul is still imperfect, but if it uses the remedy, which is the blood of Christ Crucified, then the water of grace which is in the blood will draw out the physical bitterness which causes our dislike. And as the blood can never be separated from the fire, because it is poured out of the fire of love, we can say that water and fire take away the bitter taste of self-love, and so constancy fills the soul with good things—the patience combined with the honey of humility which conserves our knowledge of our own self. . . . When the fruit is filled and finished, the outside must be covered with gold. This gold is the purity which shines radiantly from burning love, and it manifests itself through faithful and patient service of our neighbour.”
Catherine had come a long way since the time when she was a little girl in her father’s house in Fontebranda and played her games before God, in the serious and preoccupied manner of children when they play. But the pale and emaciated woman whose body was almost annihilated by supernatural experience and supernatural problems, must sometimes have shown a glimpse of the same small girl who played before God, smiling delightedly at her own strange ideas and inventions.
XXIV
CATHERINE WROTE TO STEFANO MACONI that she longed to see him break the bonds which he obviously was unable to loosen and which kept him in Siena. “The blood of the great martyrs who went so ardently to their deaths here in Rome, who gave their lives from love of life, is still boiling, and invites you and others to come here and suffer for the glory and majesty of God; and for the Holy Church.” “The bonds” were possibly the illness his brother suffered from, but he was better by this time, and Catherine expressed the hope that Madonna Giovanna had been consoled so that Stefano would soon be able to “say farewell to the world”.
But Stefano remained in Siena another year—his loving mother would not let him escape. Maybe he had changed a little since the time when his only wish had been to be with his “mother” always. Although in his letters to his friend Neri di Landoccio he is always talking of their wonderful mother and of his longing to sit at her feet. He kept Catherine and her friends informed of what went on in Siena. Her native town stood firmly on Pope Urban’s side, and Stefano thought that if ambassadors from the “anti-demon”, Fra Fondi—whom in a somewhat confused simile he calls the rival Pope—were to set their feet inside the gates of Siena, the street urchins would stone them. Moreover, through Stefano Catherine kept up a lively exchange of letters with her friends in Siena, and she naturally kept in constant touch with her native town through all the Sienese who came and went in her house in Rome.
Her mother had come to Rome some time in the New Year of 1379. Now Monna Lapa—Catherine’s family called her “Nonna”, grandmother—was to be allowed to remain with her daughter as long as Catherine lived. It was not very long.
The Tyrrhenian Sea was infested with pirate ships and the galleons of the schismatics, but Raimondo travelled safely as far as Pisa. Catherine’s first letter reached him while he was there. Lovingly and earnestly, she encouraged him to carry out with bravery the task which had been committed to him in the service of the lawful Pope; he must seek from the Source of wisdom and light for wisdom and light to perform his actions. Without light a man may say too much or do too little. But at the end she could not retain a sigh: “I do not want to say things to you which would be hard to say or write, dear Father. My silence ought to express what I wanted to say. I end. I long greatly to see you return to this g
arden and help me to pull up the rank weeds. Rest in the sweet and holy joy of God. Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love.”
Raimondo and his companions sailed to Genoa and continued their journey overland. But in Ventimiglia a Dominican monk from the neighbourhood came and warned Fra Raimondo—he knew that an ambush had been laid for them, they would be taken prisoner, and Raimondo at any rate would certainly be killed. They returned to Genoa, and Raimondo sent a message to the Pope and asked for further instructions. The Pope told him to remain in Genoa and preach against the schismatics. But Catherine took an unfavourable view of her dear confessor’s carefulness: “My very dear Father in Jesus Christ, I Catherine, Christ’s servants’ serving-woman and slave, write to you in His precious blood, full of longing to see you grow out of your childhood and become a grown man. . . . For an infant who lives on milk is not able to fight on the battlefield; he only wants to play with other children. So a man who is wrapped in love for himself only wishes to taste the milk of spiritual and temporal consolation; like a child, he wants to be with others of his kind. But when he becomes a grown man, he leaves behind him his sensitive self-love. Filled with holy desire, he eats bread, chewing it with the teeth of hate and love, and the coarser and harder it is the better he likes it. . . . . He has become strong, he associates with strong men, he is firm, serious, thoughtful; he hastens to the battlefield with them, and his only wish is to fight for the Truth; he is happy and praises himself, like St. Paul, for his adversities when he has to suffer for the sake of the Truth. . . . Such men always find peace in the centre of the storm; they taste great sweetness in bitterness. They barter poor and wretched wares for eternal riches. . . .” But “you were not yet worthy to fight on the battlefield, and therefore you were sent behind the lines like a little boy; you fled of your own free will, and were glad to do so, because God showed mercy for your weakness. . . . Oh bad little Father, what happiness it had been for your soul and mine if you had cemented a single stone in the Church of God with your blood, out of love for the precious Blood. . . . We have truly reason to complain when we see how our wretched deeds have lost a great reward for us. Oh, let us lose our milk teeth and cut instead the strong teeth of hate and love. Let us take our coat of mail, the breastplate of holy faith, and rush onto the battlefield. With the cross before and behind us we cannot run away. . . . ”
Catherine of Siena Page 27