_S. CLARA_
It has been often remarked how that a saint who initiates a reform, or
does some great work, has a faithful woman to assist, or carry on his
work, and complete it. What he designed for all alike, he was competent
only to apply to men, and she carried out his ideas among women. Thus S.
Bridget supplemented the achievements of S. Patrick, and S. Hilda those
of S. Aidan. Benedict’s twin sister Scholastica worked side by side with
her brother; and, as we shall now see, S. Clara was the spiritual sister
and helpmate of S. Francis. The moon, according to David, is an ever
faithful witness in heaven; and yet the moon wanes and for a time
disappears. The moon much resembles the Church.
“The moon above, the Church below,
A wondrous race they run;
And all their radiance, all their glow,
Each borrows from its sun.”
As the moon wanes, so there are periods when the Church proves dull,
dark, and without much token of spiritual life; but this is for a time
only, and precedes a restoration of illumination. The period when S.
Francis appeared was one of those of darkness in the Church. The
enthusiastic faith of the barbarian kings and nobles, bred of the
self-devotion and earnestness of the first missionaries among them, had
led to their endowing the Church largely. This was done to enable her to
carry on the great work of evangelisation without care for the material
concerns of life. But it led to an unfortunate result. As the bishoprics
were wealthy, and seats of power, ambitious and greedy men of the noble
class rushed into Holy Orders for the sake of these material advantages,
and in entire disregard of the religious responsibilities attached to
such offices. And as with the prelates, so with the clergy. They seemed
to think that the things of Jesus Christ were best served by making
themselves comfortable; they were ignorant, careless, and worldly. The
great ecclesiastics made a display of their wealth, and exercised their
power tyrannically. “The Church might still seem to preach to all,” says
Dean Milman; “but it preached in a tone of lofty condescension, it
dictated rather than persuaded; but, in general, actual preaching had
fallen into disuse; it was in theory the special privilege of the
bishops, and the bishops were but few who had either the gift, the
inclination, or the leisure from their secular, judicial, or warlike
occupations to preach even in their cathedral cities; in the rest of
their dioceses their presence was but occasional—a progress or
visitation of pomp and form, rather than of popular instruction. The
only general teaching of the people was the ritual.
“But the splendid ritual, admirably as it was constituted to impress by
its words or symbolic forms the leading truths of Christianity upon the
more intelligent, or in a vague way upon the more rude and uneducated,
could be administered, and was administered, by a priesthood almost
entirely ignorant, but which had learned mechanically, not without
decency, perhaps not without devotion, to go through the stated
observances. Everywhere the bell summoned to the frequent service, the
service was performed, and the obedient flock gathered to the chapel or
the church, knelt, and either performed their orisons or heard the
customary chant and prayer. This, the only instruction which the mass of
the priesthood could convey, might for a time be sufficient to maintain
in the minds of the people a quiescent and submissive faith,
nevertheless, in itself, could not but awaken in some a desire of
knowledge, which it could not satisfy.... And just at this time the
popular mind throughout Christendom seemed to demand instruction. There
was a wide and vague awakening and yearning of the human intellect. Here
that which was heresy stepped in and seized upon the vacant mind.
Preaching in public and in private was the strength of all the
heresiarchs, of all the sects. Eloquence, popular eloquence, became a
new power which the Church had comparatively neglected or disdained,
since the time of the Crusades. The Patropassians, the Henricians, the
followers of Peter Waldo, and the wilder teachers at least, tinged with
the old Manichæan tenets of the East, met on this common ground. They
were poor and popular; they felt with the people, whether the lower
burghers of the cities, the lower vassals, or even the peasants and
serfs; they spoke the language of the people, they were of the people.
All these sects were bound together by their common aversion to the
clergy—not only the wealthy, worldly, immoral, tyrannical, but the
decent yet inert priesthood, who left the uninstructed souls of men to
perish.”[9]
It was when, apparently, the bulk of the population was hesitating
whether to break away from the Church, and when certain ardent spirits
began to question whether the Church could be the Kingdom of God,
wherein appeared so much of evil, that almost simultaneously two men
stood forth to arrest the evil. The story was told afterwards that the
pope in a dream had seen the Church under the form of a building
tottering to its fall, but that two men rushed forward and sustained it.
These men were Dominic and Francis. The former founded an order of
preachers, by which Christendom in the West was overspread with a host
of zealous, active, and devoted men, whose function was popular
instruction.
Francis, seeing the universal greed after lands and money, took the vow
of poverty, made that a capital point in his institution. The grasping
after possessions should never curse his society, and he donned, and
made his disciples don, the poor, coarse dress of the common labourer,
to show that they were to be ever of the people, and for the people,
even for the lowest. And he aimed first of all to encourage piety—the
striving of the soul after God—and to show that within the Church that
flame could burn brightest and give out most heat. But he taught as
well. It was due to his great desire to bring home to the people the
truth of the Incarnation, that he devised the _crèche_ of Christmas, and
composed the first Christmas carols. And he was a preacher—fervent,
inspired, convincing. His heart so overflowed with love, that even birds
and beasts were attracted to him, and his love extended to them—“his
sisters and brothers,” as he termed them.
The story of the conversion of S. Francis, the wealthy merchant’s son,
is well known. He was a young man, just at the age when the deepest
feelings of man’s nature begin to make themselves articulate. One
evening he was revelling with his companions of the same age with
himself. When supper was over, the merry party dashed out of the hot,
lighted room into the open air. The dark indigo-blue vault of heaven
overhead was besprent with myriads of stars, and Francis suddenly
halted, looked up, and remained silent in contemplation of this wondrous
canopy.
“What ails you, Francis?” asked one of the revellers.
“He is star-gazing for a wife,” joked another.
“Ah!” said Francis gravely, “for a wife past all that your imagination
can conceive.”
His soul with inarticulate cravings strained after something higher than
a merchant’s life behind a counter, a nobler life than revelling and
drunkenness. Then probably he first conceived the idea of embracing
poverty, and of devoting his whole life to his poor brothers.
The first great gathering of the Order he founded was in 1212, and that
same year saw the establishment of a sisterhood in connection with the
Society. It came about thus:—
Favorino Scefi was a man of noble family in Assisi, given to the
profession of arms, and a good swordsman; his wife, Hortulana, had
presented him with three daughters, Clara, Agnes, and Beatrix, but no
son.
One day—it was Palm Sunday—in the before-mentioned year, when Clara was
aged eighteen, she and her mother were present when Francis preached.
The effect of his sermon on her young heart was overwhelming and
ineradicable. From this moment she resolved to leave the world and its
splendours, and the prospect of marriage, and to devote her whole life
to God and to the advancement of His kingdom.
What she was to do, what God’s designs were, all was dark before her;
only in her was the intense longing to place herself in His hands, that
He might use her as He saw fit. And it appeared to her that her desire
had been known and her self-offering accepted. As already said, it was
Palm Sunday, and the custom was for the bishop to bless the palms that
were presented him by the deacon, and to distribute them among those who
came up in single file to the altar steps. Clara, shy and retiring, hung
back. The bishop’s eye rested on her. All at once he stepped down into
the nave, the acolytes bearing their tapers before him, and carrying a
palm branch, he placed it in the hands of the shrinking maiden.
To her it was as a consecration.
In the evening she ran to the chapel of the Portiuncula, where Francis
and his disciples were installed; she fell on her knees and implored to
be received, and given work to do. In a paroxysm of devotion she plucked
off her little ornaments, and tore away her rich dress.
Francis, unable as he was unwilling to refuse her offer of herself, cast
over her a coarse habit, and she was enrolled in the ranks of the
Champions of Poverty.
But where was the young girl to be put? He had no other female
adherents. He accordingly took her to the Benedictine nunnery of S.
Paolo, where she was to remain till he had considered what to do with
her.
The parents of Clara were indignant and annoyed when they learned what
she had done, and they endeavoured by every means to induce her to
return to them. They even employed violence. She escaped from them to
the altar, and laid hold of the cloth that covered it. They tried to
drag her away, but she clung with such tenacity as to tear the very
cloth to which she clung.
Clara now removed to another convent of Benedictins, S. Angelo di Panso,
where she spent a fortnight in prayer and silence, considering the step
she had taken.
At the end of that time her sister Agnes, two years younger than
herself, came and entreated to be allowed to remain with her. The father
was very angry, and called the members of the family together to consult
on the matter. Nothing, however, could be done; the two girls were
resolute.
In the meantime S. Francis was busy preparing a dwelling for them near a
little church of S. Damian that he had restored. When this was complete
he removed them to it. Many girls and even women now joined the sisters,
and constituted a little community. Francis was appealed to for a rule
by which they might form their lives, but this he was unwilling to give.
Let them, said he, take Clara herself as their example.
Presently, little Beatrix arrived. She could not bear to be alone in the
now desolate home, she yearned to be with her sisters. She also was
accepted. After the death of her husband Hortulana also joined them, so
that mother and daughters were united again.
As the fundamental rule of Francis was absolute poverty, his brothers
were obliged to beg their bread. They went round the town and country
with sacks, asking for scraps of food; and as it would not be seemly for
the sisters of the house at S. Damian to do the same, the friars were
constrained to divide their crusts with them.
Gregory IX. very sensibly objected to the friars going in and out of the
convent, and he forbade it. “Very well,” said Clara; “if holy brothers
may not minister to us the Bread of Life, they shall not provide us with
the bread that perishes,” and she refused the crusts and broken meat
they had collected on their rounds. What was to be done? The whole
convent would starve. In a few days the Poor Clares would be dead. An
express was sent to the Pope. Gregory could defy an emperor, and that
such an one as Frederick Barbarossa; but he was no match for an
obstinate woman. He gave way.
The rule imposed on the sisterhood by S. Clara was one of dreary
penance. Their services in church were to be without music, even on the
high festivals. She would not allow those who were ignorant to learn to
read, so that to such these services were unintelligible.
In fact, extravagance marked all she did. She did not suffer the sisters
ever to interchange a word with each other without permission, and they
were all shut up in their convent, which they might not leave. It is
true that S. Francis did slightly modify some of this severity. But his
own rule of absolute poverty was a mistake. He intended it as a protest
against the money and land grabbing which prevailed, not among laymen
only, but among ecclesiastics, and also among the monks; but he went too
far. He turned his friars into mere beggars. If he had insisted that
they should be poor and work for their livelihood, that would have been
well; but to employ them as tramps, begging from door to door, and
sponging on the honest, hard-working people, was a fatal mistake, and
led to very bad results.
So also Clara, in the hope of keeping her sisters devoted only to the
service of God, dissuaded, nay, forbade, reading. In place of
cultivating the intellect—a splendid gift of God—she made those under
her direction bury their talents.
Insensibly, the Manichæan heresy had penetrated all minds, and made men
and women think that the body was evil and must be tortured and bullied,
and all that was human trampled underfoot, that the soul alone should be
cared for. The result was the production of hysterical, ecstatic beings,
who were helpless to do anything for themselves, and were, so far as
their minds went, idiots.
S. Clara’s work would have been worse than useless, positively
mischievous, had it not been for one thing. S. Francis, in order to
extend religion among the people, had instituted a third branch of his
institution, of which the second was that of the Poor Clares. This third
order comprised men and women living in the world—in fact, a great guild
of pious people, observing very simple rules, which bound all together
in the service of God, His Church, and the poor and sick. This spread
like wildfire: everywhere men and women, husbands and wives, young men
and girls, rich and poor, nobles and merchants, day-labourers and
needlewomen, joined this community, encouraged each other in good works,
and learned, by knowing each other, to lose class exclusiveness.
Inevitably the charge of the female members of the third order devolved
on the Poor Clares. Then other duties sprang up. There were plenty of
little orphan girls adrift; these had to be cared for, and the Clares
took charge of them. The devout desired to have their daughters taught
by them, and they were constrained to open schools,—and thus to
cultivate their own minds, and abandon the rule of silence, or at least
to modify it. Consequently the order of Poor Clares did a great deal of
good, but not in the way in which S. Clara desired.
The time was one of furious intestinal war in Italy between the factions
of Guelph and Ghibelline, and there were far more women than men, as the
latter had fallen. Children were left without fathers, wives lost their
husbands, girls were deprived of their natural protectors, and the
convent served as an asylum for these unfortunates, who otherwise would
have succumbed.
In 1220 occurred a scene bearing some resemblance to that of the last
meeting of S. Benedict and his sister. S. Clara felt a great desire to
be with S. Francis and to eat with him; but he constantly refused. At
length his companions, seeing how this troubled her, said to him,
“Father, it seems to us that this sternness is not in accordance with
Christian charity. Pay attention to Clara, and consent to her request.
It is but a small thing that she desires of you—just to eat with her.
Remember how that, at your preaching, she forsook all that the world
offers.”
S. Francis answered, “As it is so in your eyes, so let it be. Let the
feast be held at the Church of the Portiuncula, for it was in that that
she took the vows.”
When the appointed day arrived, S. Clara went forth from her convent
with one companion, and came to the place appointed, and waited till
Francis should arrive. After awhile he appeared, and he caused their
common meal to be prepared on the grass. He seated himself beside Clara,
and one of his friars beside the nun who had attended S. Clara. Then all
the rest of the company gathered about them.
During the first course S. Francis spoke of God so sweetly, so tenderly,
that all were rapt in ecstasy, and forgetting their food, remained
wondering and thinking only of God.
When the repast was ended, Clara returned to San Damiani greatly
comforted. This was her only meeting, for other purposes than those of
ghostly counsel, with her friend and father.
S. Francis died in 1226, six years after the meeting; but Clara lived on
for more than a quarter of a century after his decease.
Concerning the austerities practised by S. Clara it is unnecessary to
write: a knowledge of them would provoke disgust; but they have probably
been vastly exaggerated, for had they been what is represented, she
could not have lived forty-two years of self-torture. As she died she
was heard murmuring that she saw our Lord surrounded with virgins
crowned with flowers, and that one, whose wreath was “like a windowed
censer,” bowed over her and kissed her.
She died in 1257.
We cannot say of S. Clara that she originated a great work of utility.
She supplemented the undertaking of S. Francis, and carried his
extravagances to a further extreme. But she was sincere, she held to her
purpose; and although her foundation was one void of common-sense and
right principles, yet, because well intended, it worked itself into one
of utility, and continues to the present day in the Latin Communion
doing good service.
[Illustration: S. THERESA.]