XX
BEFORE STARTING on his journey to Rome, Fra Raimondo had a visit from Catherine’s old friend and correspondent, Niccolo Soderini from Florence. Messer Niccolo was fairly optimistic: the Florentines really wanted peace. The four or five men who wanted the war to continue could be rendered harmless if everyone else would work together, irrespective of parties, and have them banished. The best thing would be for the leaders of the Guelph party to put themselves at the head of the action against the war-mongers.
One morning, after preaching at the High Mass in Rome, Raimondo was called to the Pope. The Pope said that he had been informed that if Catherine went to Florence the Florentines would make peace. Raimondo was strongly against his “mamma” being sent on such a dangerous mission, and offered to go himself. “Not only Catherine, but all of us are willing to do anything Your Holiness demands of us, even though it might lead to a martyr’s death.” But the Pope was not impressed. “I will not send you, they might murder you, but I do not think they will do anything to Catherine—she is a woman and they have great respect for her.” The next morning Raimondo had to appear before the Pope to receive credentials for Catherine. She was to go to Florence as the Pope’s ambassador.
In December 1377 Catherine was once again in Florence. This time there were no priests in her company—the town lay under an interdict. She had only a very few companions, the faithful Alessia and two other Mantellate, Stefano Maconi, Neri, and Fra Santo, the old hermit. Niccolo Soderini housed the Sienese visitors in his home. But another leader of the Guelphs, Pietro Canigiani—also an old friend of Catherine’s from her first visit—made a collection among the men and women of his party to build a house for her.
Catherine was often present when the parties had their meetings, and friends and enemies were in agreement about one thing: this woman was unusually well versed in everything concerning the Church, was very learned, and had a brilliant intuitive understanding of things. Otherwise they were in strong disagreement: her supporters considered her a holy virgin, a visionary to whom God had granted special revelations. Her enemies called her a hypocrite, a shameless female, or a witch.
Ever since she had been a very young girl Catherine had been used to meeting violent opposition, misunderstandings and slander. First in her own family, when she refused to allow herself to be married as they had planned; later among her sisters in the order because many of them did not like her ecstasies and exaggerated love for the poor and the sick—they suspected her of hypocrisy. Poisonous tongues had talked of her friendship with the brothers up at San Domenico, and murmured that when it came to the point it was not so certain that the holy virgin was a virgin. Her burning zeal for the conversion of sinners had infuriated sinners who had not the slightest wish to be converted—this impertinent young woman practically forced people by violence to cease their wandering down the broad and pleasant way to hell and shoved them onto the way of thorns which leads to heaven. Well-meaning people were always criticising her travels over Italy, not to speak of those in foreign lands—even to the Papal court in Avignon, at the head of a company of priests and monks, young and old men and women and God knows who else besides. . . . They considered that a virgin consecrated to God should stay at home in her cell, say the daily Office, do good in secret, and otherwise hold her tongue. As for less well-disposed critics, all with their private reasons for being upset and annoyed—when they saw a young woman, the daughter of respectable but quite ordinary people, mixing herself up in affairs which concerned governments and prelates, stepping into the arena where complicated party interests and matters of state were decided by force of arms—what could they say, but that in spite of all her fine words about humility and the love of Christ, conversion and all kinds of spiritual things, they realised that behind all the pious words and excuses for daring to give advice to men who held the fates of countries and peoples in their hands, was an unbending will; and beneath all the fine words they heard a tone of steely determination.
Now she should really learn to know the passions of men fired by political fanaticism and violent disagreements between party groups. Even many of the Guelphs were greatly put out because Catherine was in the town and was present at the party meetings—it was unpardonable of the Pope to give a woman the authority to come here and mix herself up in their affairs. Canigiani had to put up with the scorn of his party because he admired and loved Catherine. This did not prevent him from letting his young son, Barduccio, join Catherine’s family. Barduccio was extremely young, fragile in health, but with an unusually lovable and pure mind. He became one of her secretaries, and when she left Florence Barduccio accompanied her and was with her until her death.
At the same time the Guelphs were fully aware of the prestige they gained through their connections with Catherine. They used it to slake their thirst for revenge against their old enemies, and once they began to condemn the “war-mongers” to banishment, many more than the original six or eight were driven from their native town. But Catherine was nevertheless full of hope. The Florentines had again accepted the interdict, they no longer forced the priests to celebrate sacrilegious Masses and services, and it seemed to her that this was the first sign that the republic really wanted to return to the Pope’s community. She wrote to all the monasteries where she had friends among the monks and nuns and asked them to pray for peace and God’s grace.
At the beginning of 1378 a peace conference started in Sarzana. The Pope was represented by three French cardinals, Florence by five ambassadors. Venice, France and Naples had also sent ambassadors, but Bernabo Visconti came in person. But before the conference had achieved anything came the message that Pope Gregory XI had died suddenly on March 27th. The conference broke up, and it did not look as though peace were any nearer.
A Florentine chronicle tells us how, on the night of March 27th, the guards at the Porta San Frediano heard someone knocking at the gate and a voice shouting: “Open at once for the bearer of peace!” But when they drew back the bolts they saw no one. Nevertheless the news flew over the town: “The olive branch has come, peace is established.” Some thought that the invisible messenger was an angel of God, others that it was the soul of the dead Pope who regretted his hardness towards the Florentines. . . . It was not long before the whole of Christendom discovered that the death of the Pope had not brought peace to the war-weary world. Quite the contrary. . . .
On April 18th the cardinals in conclave chose the Archbishop of Bari, Bartolommeo Prignano, as Pope. He took the name of Urban, the sixth who had chosen that name. Catherine had met him in Avignon, when he was Archbishop of Acerenza. At the court in Avignon, where all the vices of the world, greed, pride, lust and lies, flourished profusely, the Neapolitan was like a pillar of virtue. He was old, born in 1318. As the Pope’s Vice-Chancellor he had shown also that he was far from being afraid of work and was a competent administrator. Catherine knew that she could depend on him to try with a firm hand to root up all the weeds which were overrunning the Church of Christ on earth, and carry out the reforms which were so sadly necessary. But perhaps right from the beginning she had her doubts as to whether he could show himself merciful when it was necessary. The prior of the Carthusians at Gorgona wrote to Catherine: “It is said that the new Holy Father is a terrible man, and he frightens people with his words and deeds. He seems to have complete faith in God, and therefore fears no man, and it is obvious that he will uproot the simony and love of luxury which has flourished in God’s Church.” With regard to the outlook for peace, the prior writes that the Holy Father tells everyone that he wants peace, but it must be a peace which is honourable for the Church. He does not demand money, but if the Florentines want peace, they must come forward openly and honestly, without any lies. In other words, for the new Pope it was a question of spiritual, not temporal values—exactly what Catherine had begged his forerunner to remember. Urban VI had never been greedy for temporal reward. But when he spoke of spiritual values he did not mean quite the sa
me as Catherine. He demanded that the Florentines should declare themselves guilty and humble themselves as he ordered, prompted by his own pride and his idea of what the honour of the Church demanded.
Catherine remained in Florence. She had decided that she would not leave the town until peace was made. But the Guelph party which was in power continued to persecute their public and private enemies. In vain Salvestro de’ Medici, who was himself one of the heads of the Guelph party and Gonfaloniere della Giustitia—the Flagbearer of Justice—begged his companions in the government to use their power with discretion and avoid arbitrary and unjust decisions. All the lawlessness practised by the other members of the government became at length intolerable, and on July 22 Salvestro led his countrymen to rebellion. The guilds mustered to arms and were joined by the enraged mob. It was civil war.
The course of the civil war was the usual one—once the passions of the masses are roused, the people attack any and everyone, guilty and innocent alike, without discrimination. The palaces of well-known Florentines were stormed and plundered, whether they belonged to the tyrannical rulers or to those who had fought against tyranny. The houses of Pietro Canigiani and one of his sons were plundered and burned, the prisons were broken open, the monasteries stormed. Those citizens who were known to belong to the peace party had to save their lives by escaping from the town. Hordes of furious rebels streamed over the Ponte Vecchio towards Niccolo Soderini’s house on the west bank of the Arno. They were going to seize Soderini, and they would also seize the Sienese witch whom he harboured. “If we get hold of her we’ll tear her to pieces, burn her alive. . . . ”
Catherine was in the garden behind the house. The garden was on a hill, so she could see right over the town. It seemed to her that devils sailed on their wings under the clouds, which were lighted from the flames of burning houses. It was a night full of blood and fire. She prayed to Him whose blood is the only remedy against man’s thirst for the blood of his fellow-men, whose fire of love is the only cleansing fire which can consume the fire of self-love on earth—the same fire which now dyed the heavens red over Florence. And when the men who came to murder her stormed into the garden, swinging swords and clubs, and shouting, “Where is the damned woman—where is Catherine?” she went to meet them. “I am Catherine. Do what God allows you to do, but do not touch my companions.” The leader of the band was so confused that he started to put his sword back in the sheath, and when Catherine knelt before him he began to tremble and begged her to go away; but Catherine repeated, “Here I am. Where do you want me to go? I have always longed to suffer for God and His Church, so if you have been appointed to kill me do not be afraid to do so. Only you must leave my friends untouched.”
The man turned and ran, and soon all his followers too had disappeared. But the danger was not over yet. Soderini’s house was not considered safe. Raimondo, who heard the story from an eye-witness, Ser Cristofano di Gano Guidini, says that the Soderini were frightened and advised her to leave the town, Catherine would not. The tailor Francesco di Pippino and his wife Monna Agnese proved to be the most courageous of her friends. She had got to know them the first time she was in Florence, and had exchanged letters with them. They now opened their home to her and her companions. But whether it was because she was worried about her friends or for other reasons, some days later she left Florence, but not Florentine ground. She found a place of refuge in a lonely wood, where some hermits lived. It is generally thought that this brotherhood was the community of hermits in Vallombrosa, founded by St. John Gualbert, the man who had spared the life of his deadly enemy because it was Good Friday, and later rushed into the nearest church and fell before the feet of the crucified Christ, as though drunk with this new adventure—the adventure of forgiveness. And the Saviour leaned down from the cross and kissed the boy.
But flight was against Catherine’s nature, and it was not long before she returned to the town. Soon she did not even try to hide the fact that she was in Florence, where the waves of passion still rose so high.
Just after she had been attacked in Soderini’s garden she wrote a long letter to Raimondo. In it she speaks of the longing of her soul to give its life for Christ and His Church. Let us never look back at what hindrances and persecutions we might encounter in the world, but hope steadfastly in the light of our holy faith that we shall be able to cross this stormy sea with courage and perseverance. “I tell you that to-day I shall begin a new life, so that not even my old sins will be able to take from me the happiness that it would be to die for Christ Crucified. . . . I burned with desire to suffer for the glory of God and the salvation of souls, for the reform and welfare of the Holy Church. My heart almost burst with the desire to give my life, and this desire was both sweet and painful—sweet because I had become one with the Truth, painful because it tore my heart to see this insult to God and this crowd of demons which darkened the sky and blinded men’s understanding, for it seemed as though God let them do as they wanted for the sake of justice and vengeance. I sighed because I was afraid for the misfortune this would be if it became an obstacle in the making of peace.” So she understands that it was perhaps for the best that her desire to suffer martyrdom was not fulfilled. Nevertheless there is a note of disappointment in her description of the feelings with which she went to meet those who came to take her life with swords and daggers. This is one of the most revealing of Catherine’s letters; it shows that she was never granted peace in her soul. When she met her heavenly Bridegroom in Holy Communion she was carried away in ecstatic visions and mystical bliss, but she was always thrown back into the bubbling cauldron—the world which bleeds from all the sores made by the passions of men and their misfortunes. And in spite of her triumphant trust in Christ, in spite of her unselfishness and assurance when she went on her Bridegroom’s errands, the young woman with her quick intelligence understood quite clearly that in the maelstrom of world politics into which she had been thrown the most vital interests of the parties she had tried to reconcile were in fact often completely irreconcilable.
Finally she gives Raimondo a message for the Pope: “I must beg you to ask Christ on earth not to let peace be delayed because of what has happened. On the contrary—say to him that he must work even faster to bring about peace, so that he can be free to occupy himself with the great plans he has for the glory of God and the rebuilding of the Church. For these events have not altered anything, and the town is now quite calm. Tell him to hurry, in the name of mercy, for it is the only way that an end can be made to the innumerable offences which have been committed against God. Tell him that he must have mercy and sympathy for the souls which are in darkness. Tell him that he must free me from this prison, because if no peace is made I feel it impossible to leave the town, and I long to come away and taste the blood of the holy martyrs, to visit His Holiness and meet you again, so that I can tell you of the wonderful things God has done in these days to delight our souls, intoxicate our hearts and increase our hope in the light of our holy faith. I end now. Remain in the holy and sweet joy of God. Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love.”
From Florence too she sent her first letter to Urban VI. She begins as usual, but, with an eloquence unusual even for her, she praises love, the perfect love of the good shepherd who gladly gives his life for his flock, unhindered by love of himself. Catherine compares justice combined with mercy with a precious pearl. Justice without mercy would be dark, cruel, more like injustice than justice. But mercy without justice would be like salve on a sore which should be cleansed with the red-hot iron; if the salve is applied before the wound is cleansed it only makes it smart, and does not heal it. But a leader must never relax, even though his subordinates oppose a thousand times his attempts to improve them. The guilt of the rebels does not detract from the virtue of him who tries to lead them back to the right road through pure and true love. He does not seek friendship with his neighbour for his own sake but for God’s sake. “He desires to do him the service which he cannot do God, for he sees a
nd understands that He who is our God does not need us. Therefore he strives zealously to be of use to his neighbour, and especially his subordinates who have been entrusted to him.” With perfect honesty she speaks of the abuses which flourish in the Church and of the sins of the worthless servants of God who bring up their bastards to sell the blood of Christ, behave like tinkers, throw dice with their consecrated hands, and practise simony, usury and innumerable other sins. “Oh, Father, give a crumb of consolation to the servants of God who die of grief and cannot die.” To complete the reform for which she has sighed so long she advises the Pope to surround himself with many holy men who are not afraid of death—he must not worry whether they are of noble or common birth, but only whether they are fitted to be shepherds for the lambs. He must create a college of cardinals, firm as pillars, who will be able to support the Pope’s work, of reforming the Church. (She presumably already knew that the Pope had begun the badly needed reformation in the Church itself, with boundless energy and complete lack of tact.)
She prays for the Florentines: “I pray and beseech you to lay it to your heart for the sake of Christ Crucified that you must have mercy on the sheep who are outside the fold—surely because of my sins. Out of love of the Blood which you have command over, do not hesitate to receive them with true mercy and goodness. May Your Holiness triumph over your hardness and treat them well, and in this way you will win them back to the fold. And if they do not approach with true and perfect humility, may Your Holiness overlook their hardness and the faults caused by their weakness; do not demand of the sick more than they can achieve. Ah, woe, woe, have mercy on all the souls which founder, do not think of the offences which have occurred in this town. . . . The Divine Goodness has seen to it that the great evil did not bring even greater evils after it. Now your children have become calm and beg you for the oil of mercy. Overlook the fact, Holy Father, that they did not beg for it in the most seemly manner, not with the broken-heartedness which they should feel for their misdemeanours and which Your Holiness demands. Oh, do not turn them away, and you will see that in future these children will prove themselves better than all the others.”