Before leaving, Catherine took the prior aside and warned him: “The devil will try to cause trouble here in this monastery, but do not be afraid, he will not succeed.” At his request Catherine gave the prior her cape. Some days later when a young monk suddenly had an attack of depression and tried to take his own life, the prior cured him by laying Catherine’s cape on his shoulders. “I know that she prays for me”, the monk said later to his brothers. “Without her prayers I should now have been damned.”
Catherine’s stay in Pisa was not exactly a holiday. In spite of visions which shook her soul to its roots, and in spite of physical overstrain, she worked tirelessly, using her influence with Pietro Gambacorti and his advisers to strengthen the bonds between Pisa and the papacy. She wrote letters to the Queen of Hungary and to Queen Joanna of Naples to win them to the proposed crusade.
Here too the doubters came to try to catch her in some heresy or charlatanism, but they were overcome by her wisdom and sound common sense. A poet from Florence wrote to warn her against misconceptions—he was especially afraid that her attempts to live without eating were a deception of the devil. Catherine replied very humbly and thanked him for his interest in her salvation; she was herself always afraid of the devil’s snares, and as for the fact that she was unable to eat she asked him to pray for her to be like other people in this respect, but it seemed as though God had given her this extraordinary physical condition. Nevertheless she asked him to pray for her to be freed from it.
Then something happened which hit the whole of Italy like a streak of lightning. On June 7, a courier from Cardinal de Noellet, the Pope’s representative in Italy, rode into Pisa with the message that the Pope had lately made a truce in Bologna with Bernabo Visconti.
The messenger bore an olive branch in his hand. It must have seemed like cruel scorn to the Pisans. In this truce they saw the first step towards a new league against the freedom of the Tuscan republics. The way to their small city states would now be open for the armies of both the Pope and Bernabo Visconti, and the Tuscans trusted neither of them. And the English condottiere Sir John Hawkwood, with his reprobate mercenaries, was at the moment out of work—he had been used by the Pope against Visconti. He would have to look round for plunder with which to pay his mercenaries, and it was most likely that he would turn to the small rich republics and the fruitful countryside of Tuscany. These republics were already examples of the advantages and disadvantages which follow democracy always and everywhere. Freedom had made the citizens rich, cultured and intelligent, their best men burned with patriotism and took their responsibility towards their countrymen very seriously. But these free citizens were also implicated in an endless series of private quarrels and political feuds—sometimes the enmity was caused by childish vanity or mean egotism, sometimes by serious conflicts between ideals and philosophies which led to differing opinions as to what is necessary to a good and just government. There were ceaseless encounters between men who cynically sought their own advantage or blindly believed in the infallibility of their own wisdom. People constantly changed sides in these quarrels, either because of their convictions or for the sake of what they could get out of it. Freedom had emptied its cornucopia over the beautiful Tuscan countryside and let its good and evil gifts rain down.
To make the prospects even darker the legate had forbidden all export of corn from the Papal States, and at the same time asked the Florentines for a loan of 60,000 guilders so that he might buy himself free of Sir John Hawkwood. If he did not receive them he refused any responsibility for what the condottiere might do.
The Florentines decided that sooner than lend de Noellet the money they would themselves hire Hawkwood and his troops. Hawkwood took what money he could from the Florentines and then began to force as much as possible out of the other Tuscan republics. As yet open war was not declared, but Florence, which was sure to be the first victim if an attack were made, gave the power to the Ghibellines and prepared for war. A government was formed of eight advisers—they were called “Otti della Guerra”—the eight war lords. There was no mistaking what Florence’s policy was to be. When a conspiracy was discovered in Prato, a town which belonged to the Florentine republic—it was said that the conspirators intended to give the town over to the Cardinal—the plotters, one of whom was a priest, were brought to Florence and killed by a furious crowd who literally tore them to pieces and flung their flesh to the dogs. Now there was practically no hope of keeping the peace—and the Florentines were longing to fight for the freedom of their town. As a preparatory step to the war with the papal legate the Florentines made a five years’ truce with Bernabo Visconti.
In the meantime Sir John Hawkwood, with some of his soldiers, desperate men of many nations who had turned their backs on their native countries and on all ideas of humanity and morals, came towards Pisa and camped not far from the town. From Pisa Catherine sent Fra Raimondo with a letter to the condottiere. “In the name of Christ Crucified and gentle Mary” she turns to the chief of the robbers and murderers and calls him and his accomplices her beloved brothers in Christ, asking them to consider what terrible pain and trouble they have suffered in the service of the devil. She advises them to be converted and take service under the cross of Christ. “I beg you in the name of Jesus Christ, because God and our Holy Father command us to attack the infidel, and as you are so fond of war and fighting, fight no longer against Christians, for that is a sin, but against our common enemies. Is it not a horrible thing that we who are Christians and are one, because we are the limbs of the body of Holy Church—that we should attack each other?” She is surprised that Hawkwood is thinking of making war here, as she has heard that he has promised to die for Christ in a crusade. (It is quite possible that the Englishman had made such a vow.) Such a war is a poor preparation to follow God’s call to the Holy Places. He and his companions should prepare themselves by seeking the way of virtue and show themselves to be true and noble knights. She recommends Raimondo to Hawkwood and signs herself “Catherine, the useless servant”.
For people of our time, perhaps the most astonishing thing about this exchange of letters between the leader of mercenaries and a young girl with no other power whatsoever than that she was considered holy, is that Fra Raimondo was well received in the condottiere’s camp. Hawkwood promised, along with his captains, to join the crusade as soon as it took shape. He sealed his vow by receiving Holy Communion. It seems as though, at any rate for a moment, Catherine had managed to create a breathing space for Pisa, and Pietro Gambacorti and his advisers avoided a break with the Holy See, which would have been considered a terrible step for faithful children of the Church. They decided to try to keep neutral—always a difficult and doubtful policy.
In September Catherine was able to start on her return journey to Siena. She had received several letters from her native town impatiently demanding her return. Catherine had to reply and defend herself against the accusation that she was not loyal towards her own town: even some of her closest friends shared the doubts on this score. Among her friends in Pisa was a seventeen-year-old widow who was later to be known as Blessed Clara Gambacorti—the daughter of Messer Pietro.
Catherine’s stay in Siena was short. The Pope did not yet seem to have any fear of the Sienese republic’s forsaking him, and he now sent a message to Catherine that she should go to Lucca and see whether she could strengthen support for his cause in this republic—one of the smallest. Catherine travelled via Pisa, and it was presumably while she was in Lucca that she wrote a long letter to the Pope.
The letter is nothing less than a serious warning to Pope Gregory XI. If he did not shoulder his great responsibilities like a man, the terrible evils from which the Church of Christ was suffering could not be averted. As usual she begins her letter in the name of Jesus Christ and gentle Mary, and addresses herself to the Pope as her dearest and most worthy father in Jesus Christ. For herself she has chosen the title of God’s servants’ servant and bondwoman—it is remin
iscent of the Pope’s traditional signature, “the servant of the servants of God”. She describes her longing to see him stand as a fruitful tree, loaded with noble fruit because it is planted in good earth. But if the tree is not planted in this good earth, which is self-knowledge—the knowledge that we are nothing, existing only in Him Who Is—the tree will wither. The worm of egoism will eat up the roots, for he who loves himself feeds his soul with mortal pride, the principle and origin of evil in all men, in those who rule and those who must obey. A man who has become the victim of self-love becomes indifferent to sins and faults among his subordinates, for he is afraid to annoy them and make them his enemies. Either he attempts to punish them so halfheartedly that it is useless, or else he does not punish them at all. In other words Catherine tells the Pope openly that in the last resort it is he who carries the whole responsibility for the terrible abuses which are draining the life of the Church, even though according to human reckoning he may be a fine person with many good qualities. Nevertheless it is he who is responsible for the bad shepherds and the treacherous monks whose shameful way of living is undermining the faith of believers. “If the blind leads the blind both fall into the abyss; doctor and patient hurry to hell together.” The kind of mercy which is due to self-love and the love of friends, relations and temporal peace, is in fact the worst cruelty, for if a wound is not cleansed when necessary with the red-hot iron and the surgeon’s knife, it festers and finally causes death. To apply salves to it may be pleasant for the patient, but it does not heal him. Love your neighbour for Jesus’ sake, and for the honour and glory of His sweet name. “Yes, I could wish you were a good and faithful shepherd who was willing to give a thousand lives, if you had them, for the glory of God and the salvation of His creatures. Oh, my beloved father, you who are Christ on earth, imitate the blessed St. Gregory. You can do what he did, for he was a man as you are, and God is always the same as He was. The only thing we lack is hunger for the salvation of our neighbour, and courage. But to arouse this hunger in ourselves, who are nothing more than barren trees, we must graft ourselves to the fruitful tree of the cross. The Lamb who was slaughtered for the sake of our salvation still thirsts—His desire for our salvation is greater than could be shown by His suffering—for His suffering is without end, as is His love.”
With regard to the unnatural children who have rebelled against the Pope, she says that Gregory shall have care for the things of the spirit, appoint good shepherds and good rulers in his towns, for it is the bad shepherds and the evil rulers who are the cause of rebellion. “Go forth and carry out with holy zeal the good resolutions you have made. Come back to Rome and start the great crusade. . . . Have courage, Holy Father, no more indecision, raise the banner of the holy cross, the fragrance of the cross is what will bring you peace.” “Forgive me, Father, for all I have said to you. The tongue speaks of that which fills the heart. . . .” Regarding the citizens of Lucca and Pisa, “Send them such fatherly words as the Holy Spirit will inspire you with. Help them as much as you can, and then they will stand fast and be faithful.” She tells how she has used all her influence over the people in the two republics to prevent them joining with those who have been guilty of rebellion against the Pope. But they cannot understand why they get no help from him when their enemies press them so hard. Nevertheless they have as yet promised nothing. . . “Write at once to Gambacorti”, is her advice.
Finally she talks of the forthcoming nomination of cardinals, and warns him that he must choose those men who are most worthy, otherwise he need not be surprised if God punishes him. For the Dominican order, which is to have a new Master General, she begs him to choose a pious and virtuous man, “for that is what our order needs”. She ends by asking humbly for his blessing and forgiveness for all she has dared to write. “Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love.”
This letter is a good example of those which she wrote to Pope Gregory during the following years. To this man, whose self-love was of the amiable sort which made him appear pure among prelates who openly gave themselves up to brutal and disgraceful vices, Catherine talks of holy love, love of God, and Christ’s love of mankind, at the same time reminding him that he is Christ’s vicar here on earth. And when Gregory at last overcame his egoistic love for his family, his beautiful Provence, and his French countrymen, who seemed so friendly and companionable compared with the stubborn and rebellious Italians, she started the fight against his other outstanding sin—his indecision when dealing with important matters. She cries aloud for manliness and courage. Although Gregory was less worldly than most of the leaders of his time, and much less revengeful than almost all his opponents, she exhorts him to fight for the Church’s spiritual riches, and not for its temporal possessions, and advises him to show gentleness and loving forgiveness towards his enemies—towards his friends he showed all too much of both these qualities.
In order to get an idea of Catherine’s almost uncanny ability to read the human soul, one has only to compare her letters to Gregory XI with those which she wrote later to his successor, the ascetic Urban VI, whose pure life was spoilt by his lack of mercy—a lack which, as the Pope grew older and his arteries hardened, developed into a psychopathic desire for revenge. She writes to him in quite another tone, begs him to forgive all his enemies, even the schismatics (whom she herself bluntly calls incarnate devils), if they are willing to return in obedience to the lawful head of the Church.
Catherine always wrote in Tuscan, her native tongue. It is impossible to give any proper idea of her style in translation—she has complete mastery over the music of the Italian peasant language, whether she is tenderly admonishing a soul whose welfare means just as much to her as her own, describing her heavenly visions, or threatening with the wrath of God; whether she is advising powerful lords or ordinary people, laymen or monks in cases concerning the fate of people and countries, or private people’s everyday difficulties. But because her soul was filled with the love of Christ and belief in Him, her interest for everything human was bathed in faith; to use her own analogy, as the swimmer under the water only sees what is in the water, or what can be seen through the water, so she sees everything through her faith. But in our time and the language of our time the expressions we use for religious emotions and religious experience have become worn out and meaningless; words which in Catherine’s language are as shining as new-minted gold, become, when repeated by us, worn-out coins, which have almost gone out of circulation. Catherine speaks of virtu, and for her the word retains its full weight; it means a vital and powerful pursuit of high ideals. “Virtue” in English has no connection in the popular mind with capability, capacity for goodness; we think rather of virtue as something slightly sour, weak and boring. Catherine’s eternal cri du cæur, GESÙ DOLCE—GESÙ AMORE, is filled with very different associations from those which occur to us when we read “Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love.” A sweet-Jesus, a lady-Jesus; Jesus-Love—a substitute or sublimation of sexual love. In Catherine’s language, and when she lived, sweetness was also a name for strength, for all that is good and at the same time gentle and merciful. That goodness must also at times be hard and aggressive, no one knew better than Catherine. For her and her contemporaries, even for the hosts of people who in practice tried to forget or deny it, it was acknowledged that AMORE, love, is fundamentally an expression for the connection between God and the soul of man. Analogously one can speak of amore, love, between people—between children and their parents, between man and wife, between lovers, between brothers and sisters, between spiritual relations; and it can be a power of good or evil, according to whether earthly love is in harmony or disharmony with the will of Him who is auctor vitae—the origin of life. It is perhaps even more difficult for present-day people in Protestant lands to understand her attitude towards the two Popes whom she can in the same letter call Christ-on-earth, the immortal Peter whom Christ has built His Church upon, and advise, command and admonish for their human weaknesses; or she can turn to the Pope like an unhappy little gi
rl to her father, calling him Babbo—“Daddy”, in Italian baby talk. For her it was no contradiction, beyond the fact that all human relationships are full of contradictions, that Christ had set a vicar over His faithful as long as they live on earth, and that He demands we should show His vicar honour and obedience, even though the vicar may be unworthy to fulfil his mission. No one can know whether the Holy Father has been a holy man until his death—and as it has been put in the hands of men to appoint a man as the Vicar of Christ, it is only to be expected that the voters will all too often vote from impure, mean or cunning motives, for a man who will become an evil to the Church of God on earth. God will nevertheless watch over His Church, raise and restore again what mankind may ruin or soil; it is necessary, for mystical reasons which the saints have partly seen and understood, that the offence should occur. But woe to that person through whom the offence comes. . . .
In Lucca Catherine was received with enthusiasm and honoured as a saint. But the policy of the little state, threatened on all sides by dangerous and powerful enemies, was decided by other factors. Many new affectionate friends joined her circle. At least one—Monna Mellina Balbani—seems to have attached herself to her guest (Catherine had stayed with her) with an all too worldly affection. Catherine wrote to her later and reprimanded her for complaining that she had missed the company of her friend: “I do not wish you to be fond of me or any other person, if your love is not rooted in God.” She begs her to take as an example the Very Truth who sought death on the cross, even though He loved His Mother and His disciples so greatly, and the apostles who divided and travelled separately to different parts of the world in order to work for the glory of God and the salvation of souls, although they loved each other and the Blessed Mary so much. Among all those who love God are to be found the bonds of real love, even though they may be separated in the flesh. She must love God and the crucifix, and then she will satisfy her natural hunger to love and be loved.