The young widow of noble family to whom this letter was written was the
most cherished among Catherine's women friends. She seems, as often
happens with the chosen companion of a fervent and powerful nature, to
have been a person simple, lovable, and quietly wise. Having after her
husband's death assumed the habit of St. Dominic, she distributed her
possessions to the poor by Catherine's advice, but she evidently retained
her home in Siena. This became a constant refuge for the saint from the
overcrowded Benincasa household, and the scene of more than one charming
episode in her life as told by the legend. For the Mantellate, or
tertiaries of St. Dominic, were not cloistered, nor did they take the
monastic vows; they simply lived in their own homes a life of special
devotion.
To Alessa, Catherine left on her deathbed the care of her spiritual
family. This intimate little letter dates from an early period in their
friendship. In its homely, practical wisdom, as in the gentle loftiness of
its tone, it shows the watchful and loving care with which Catherine
entered into the details of the daily life of those whom she sought to
lead with her in the way of salvation. The tests she proposes are as
penetrating to-day as they were then.
In the Name of Jesus Christ crucified and of sweet Mary:
Dearest daughter in Christ sweet Jesus: I Catherine, thy poor unworthy
mother, want thee to attain that perfection for which God has chosen thee.
It seems to me that one wishing so to attain should walk with and not
without moderation. And yet every work of ours ought to be done both
without and with moderation: it befits us to love God without moderation,
putting to that love neither limit nor measure nor rule, but loving Him
immeasurably. And if thou wish to reach the perfection of love, it befits
thee to set thy life in order. Let thy first rule be to flee the
conversation of every human being, in so far as it is simply conversation,
except as deeds of charity may demand; but to love people very much, and
talk with few of them. And know how to talk in moderation even with those
whom thou lovest with spiritual love; reflect that if thou didst not do
this, thou wouldst place a limit before perceiving it to that limitless
love which thou oughtest to bear to God, by placing the finite creature
between you: for the love which thou shouldst place in God thou wouldst
place in the creature, loving it without moderation; and this would hinder
thy perfection. Therefore thou shouldst love it spiritually, in a
disciplined way.
Be a vase, which thou fillest at the source and at the source dost drink
from. Although thou hadst drawn thy love from God, who is the Source of
living water, didst thou not drink it continually in Him thy vase would
remain empty. And this shall be the sign to thee that thou dost not drink
wholly in God: when thou sufferest from that which thou lovest, either by
some talk thou didst hold, or because thou wast deprived of some
consolation thou wast used to receiving, or for some other accidental
cause. If thou sufferest, then, from this or anything else except wrong
against God, it is a clear sign to thee that this love is still imperfect,
and drawn far from the Source. What way is there, then, to make the
imperfect perfect? This way: to correct and chastise the movements of thy
heart with true self-knowledge, and with hatred and distaste for thy
imperfection, that thou art such a peasant as to give to the creature that
love which ought to be given wholly to God, loving the creature without
moderation, and God moderately. For love toward God should be without
measure, and that for the creature should be measured by that for God, and
not by the measure of one's own consolations, either spiritual or
temporal. So do, then, that thou lovest everything in God, and correct
every inordinate affection.
Make two homes for thyself, my daughter. One actual home in thy cell, that
thou go not running about into many places, unless for necessity, or for
obedience to the prioress, or for charity's sake; and another spiritual
home, which thou art to carry with thee always--the cell of true self-
knowledge, where thou shalt find within thyself knowledge of the goodness
of God. These are two cells in one, and when abiding in the one it behoves
thee to abide in the other, for otherwise the soul would fall into either
confusion or presumption. For didst thou rest in knowledge of thyself,
confusion of mind would fall on thee; and didst thou abide in the
knowledge of God alone, thou wouldst fall into presumption. The two, then,
must be built together and made one same thing; if thou dost this, thou
wilt attain perfection. For from self-knowledge thou wilt gain hatred of
thine own fleshliness, and through hate thou wilt become a judge, and sit
upon the seat of thy conscience, and pass judgment; and thou wilt not let
a fault go without giving sentence on it.
From such knowledge flows the stream of humility; which never seizes on
mere report, nor takes offence at anything, but bears every insult, every
loss of consolation, and every sorrow, from whatever direction they may
come, patiently, with joy. Shames appear glory, and great persecutions
refreshment; and it rejoices in all, seeing itself punished for that
perverse law of self-will in its members which for ever rebels against
God; and it sees itself conformed with Christ Jesus crucified, the way and
the doctrine of truth.
In the knowledge of God thou shalt find the fire of divine charity. Where
shalt thou rejoice? Upon the Cross, with the Spotless Lamb, seeking His
honour and the salvation of souls, through continual, humble prayer. Now
herein is all our perfection. There are many other things also, but this
is the chief, from which we receive so much light that we cannot err in
the lesser works that follow.
Rejoice, my daughter, to conform thee to the shame of Christ. And watch
over the impulse of the tongue, that the tongue may not always respond to
the impulse of the heart; but digest what is in thy heart, with hatred and
distaste for thyself. Do thou be the least of the least, subject in
humility and patience to every creature through God; not making excuses,
but saying: the fault is mine. Thus are vices conquered in thy soul and in
the soul of him to whom thou shouldest so speak: through the virtue of
humility.
Order thy time: the night to vigil, when thou hast paid the debt of sleep
to thy body; and the morning in church with sweet prayer; do not spend it
in chatting until the appointed hour. Let nothing except necessity, or
obedience, or charity, as I said, draw thee away from this or anything
else. After the hour of eating, recollect thyself a little, and then do
something with thy hands, as thou mayest need. At the hour of vespers, do
thou go and keep quiet; and as much as the Holy Spirit enjoins on thee,
that do. Then go back and take care of thy old mother without negligence,
and provide what she needs; be thine this burden. More when I return. So
do that thou mayest fulfil my desire. I say no more. Remain in the holy
and sweet grace of God. Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love.
TO BENINCASA HER BROTHER
WHEN HE WAS IN FLORENCE
One questions whether Catherine's brother would have relished the
admonitions of his saintly sister, had he known what we learn through her
biographer: that, feeling the temporal prosperity of her family to be a
snare to them, she had earnestly prayed that they might fall into poverty.
The petition was promptly granted: worldly losses, and the departure of
two of the brothers for Florence, followed upon the Sienese Revolution of
1368. Apparently, family misunderstandings accompanied these
readjustments. In the first of the present letters Catherine takes her
elder brother to task for neglect of his mother, Monna Lapa. We do not
know the effect of her remarks, but we do know that in the large family of
twenty-four, no one except Catherine herself--first recluse, and later
busy woman of affairs as she was--seems to have carried the
responsibility for the mother's welfare. The mother lived for the most
part with her great daughter, except when public interests took Catherine
away from home--occasions to which poor Monna Lapa was never reconciled.
In the second of these notes, Catherine comforts her brother very sweetly,
probably for the loss of his wealth. But if we may judge from the nature
of the reflections addressed to him, the spiritual instruction by which
Benincasa was capable of profiting was extremely elementary in character.
In the Name of Jesus Christ crucified and of sweet Mary:
Dearest brother in Christ Jesus: I Catherine, a useless servant, comfort
and bless thee and invite thee to a sweet and most holy patience, for
without patience we could not please God. So I beg you, in order that you
may receive the fruit of your tribulations, that you assume the armour of
patience. And should it seem very hard to you to endure your many
troubles, bear in memory three things, that you may endure more patiently.
First, I want you to think of the shortness of your time, for on one day
you are not certain of the morrow. We may truly say that we do not feel
past trouble, nor that which is to come, but only the moment of time at
which we are. Surely, then, we ought to endure patiently, since the time
is so short. The second thing is, for you to consider the fruit which
follows our troubles. For St. Paul says there is no comparison between our
troubles and the fruit and reward of supernal glory. The third is, for you
to consider the loss which results to those who endure in wrath and
impatience; for loss follows this here, and eternal punishment to the
soul.
Therefore I beg you, dearest brother, to endure in all patience. And I
would not have it escape your mind that you should correct you of your
ingratitude, and your ignoring of the duty you owe your mother, to which
you are held by the commandment of God. I have seen your ingratitude
multiply so that you have not even paid her the due of help that you owe:
to be sure, I have an excuse for you in this, because you could not; but
if you had been able, I do not know that you would have done it, since you
have left her in scarcity even of words. Oh, ingratitude! Have you not
considered the sorrow of her labour, nor the milk that she drew from her
breast, nor the many troubles that she has had, over you and all the
others? And should you say to me that she has had no compassion on us, I
say that it is not so; for she has had so much on you and the other that
it costs her dear. But suppose it were true--you are under obligation to
her, not she to you. She did not take her flesh from you, but gave you
hers. I beg you to correct this fault and others, and to pardon my
ignorance. For did I not love your soul, I would not say to you what I do.
Remember your confession, you and all your family. I say no more to you.
Remain in the holy and sweet grace of God. Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love.
In the Name of Jesus Christ crucified and of sweet Mary:
Dearest and most beloved brother in Christ Jesus: I Catherine, servant and
slave of the servants of Jesus Christ, comfort you in the Precious Blood
of the Son of God: with desire to see you wholly in accord with the Will
of God, and transformed thereby; knowing that this is a sweet and holy
yoke which makes all bitterness turn into sweetness. Every great burden
becomes light beneath this most holy yoke of the sweet will of God,
without which thou couldst not please God, but wouldst know a foretaste of
Hell. Comfort you, comfort you, dearest brother, and do not faint beneath
this chastisement of God; but trust that when human help fails, divine
help is near. God will provide for you. Reflect that Job lost his
possessions and his sons and his health: his wife remained to him for a
perpetual scourge; and then, when God had tested his patience, He restored
everything to him double, and at the end eternal life. Patient Job never
was perturbed, but would say, always exercising the virtue of holy
patience, "God gave them to me, God has taken them from me; the Name of
God be blessed." So I want you to do, dearest brother: be a lover of
virtue, with holy patience, often using confession, which will as often
help you to endure your afflictions. And I tell you, God will show His
benignity and mercy, and will reward you for every affliction which you
shall have borne for His love. Remain in the holy and sweet grace of God.
Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love.
TO THE VENERABLE RELIGIOUS, BROTHER ANTONIO OF NIZZA,
OF THE ORDER OF THE HERMIT BROTHERS OF SAINT AUGUSTINE
AT THE WOOD OF THE LAKE
It is in her letters to persons leading the dedicated life that one can
most clearly study Catherine's own inner experience. When warning and
consoling them, she is speaking to herself. This obscure girl had a way of
writing to the great of this earth--and indeed to the very Fathers of
Christendom--with the straightforward simplicity of a teacher instructing
childish minds in the evident rudiments of virtue. Often the sanctified
common sense of her letters to dignitaries is the most noticeable thing
about them. But when she turns to a holy hermit, the tone changes. The
commonplaces of the moral life are assumed or left behind; she speaks to a
soul that has presumably already brought its will into accord with the
divine will in regard to all outward happenings, and she takes calmly for
granted that this is a light and little thing. We proceed to the analysis
of temptations more subtle and more alluring. Catherine has few superiors
among religious thinkers in the power to trace self-will to its remotest
lairs, in the deeper reaches of personality. In letters to such
correspondents as Frate Antonio she often gives us, as here, precious
records of her intercourse with her Lord.
In the Name of Jesus Christ crucified and of sweet Mary:
To you, most beloved and dearest father and brother in Christ Jesus: I
Catherine, servant and slave of the servants of Jesus Christ, write and
commend me in the Precious Blood of the Son of God, with desire to see you
kindled and inflamed in the furnace of divine charity and your own self-
will--the will that robs us of all life--consumed therein. Let us open our
eyes, dearest brother, for we have two wills--one of the senses, which
seeks the things of sense, and the other the self-will of the spirit,
which, under aspect and colour of virtue, holds firm to its own way. And
this is clear when it wants to choose places and seasons and consolations
to suit itself, and says: "Thus I wish in order to possess God more
fully." This is a great cheat, and an illusion of the devil; for not being
able to deceive the servants of God through their first will--since the
servants of God have already mortified it so far as the things of sense
go--the devil catches their second will on the sly with things of the
spirit. So many a time the soul receives consolation, and then later feels
itself deprived thereof by God; and another experience will harrow it,
which will give less consolation and more fruit. Then the soul, which is
inspired by what gives sweetness, suffers when deprived of it, and feels
annoyance. And why annoyance? Because it does not want to be deprived; for
it says, "I seem to love God more in this way than in that. From the one I
feel that I bear some fruit, and from the other I perceive no fruit at
all, except pain and ofttimes many conflicts; and so I seem to wrong God."
Son and brother in Christ Jesus, I say that this soul is deceived by its
self-will. For it would not be deprived of sweetness; with this bait the
devil catches it. Frequently men lose time in longing for time to suit
themselves, for they do not employ what they have otherwise than in
suffering and gloominess.
Once our sweet Saviour said to a very dear daughter of His, "Dost thou
know how those people act who want to fulfil My will in consolation and in
sweetness and joy? When they are deprived of these things, they wish to
depart from My will, thinking to do well and to avoid offence; but false
sensuality lurks in them, and to escape pains it falls into offence
without perceiving it. But if the soul were wise and had the light of My
will within, it would look to the fruit and not to the sweetness. What is
the fruit of the soul? Hatred of itself and love of Me. This hate and love
are the issue of self-knowledge; then the soul knows its faulty self to be
nothing, and it sees in itself My goodness, which keeps its will good; and
it sees what a person I have made it, in order that it may serve Me in
greater perfection, and judges that I have made it for the best, and for
its own greatest good. Such a man as this, dearest daughter, does not wish
for time to suit himself, because he has learned humility; knowing his
infirmity, he does not trust in his own wish, but is faithful to Me. He
clothes him in My highest and eternal will, because he sees that I neither
give nor take away, save for your sanctification; and he sees that love
alone impels Me to give you sweetness and to take it from you. For this
cause he cannot grieve over any consolation that might be taken from him
within or without, by demon or fellow-creature--because he sees that, were
this not for his good, I should not permit it. Therefore this man rejoices
because he has light within and without, and is so illumined that when the
devil approaches his mind with shadows to confuse him, saying, 'This is
for thy sins,' he replies like a person who shrinks not from suffering,
saying, 'Thanks be to my Creator, who has remembered me in the time of
shadows, punishing me by pain in finite time. Great is this love, which
will not punish me in the infinite future.' Oh, what tranquillity of mind
has this soul, because it has freed itself from the self-will which brings
storm! But not thus does he whose self-will is lively within, seeking
things after his own way! For he seems to think that he knows what he
needs better than I. Many a time he says, 'It seems to me that I am
wronging God in this: free me from wrong, and let what He wills be done.'
This is a sign that you are freed from wrong, when you see in yourself
goodwill not to want to wrong God, and displeasure with sin; thence ought
you to take hope. Although all external activities and inward consolations
should fail, let goodwill to please God ever remain firm. Upon this rock
is founded grace. If thou sayest, I do not seem to have it, I say that
this is false, for if thou hadst it not, thou wouldst not fear to wrong
God. But it is the devil who makes things look so, in order that the soul
may fall into confusion and disordered sadness, and hold firm its self-
will, by wanting consolations, times and seasons in its own way. Do not
believe him, dearest daughter, but let your soul be always ready to endure
sufferings in howsoever God may inflict them. Otherwise you would do like
a man who stands on the threshold with a light in his hand, who reaches
his hand out and casts light outside, and within it is dark. Such is a man
who is already united in outward things with the will of God, despising
the world; but within, his spiritual self-will is living still, veiled in
the colour of virtue." Thus spoke God to that servant of His spoken of
above.
Therefore I said that I wished and desired that your will should be
absorbed and transformed in Him, while we hold ourselves always ready to
bear pains and toils howsoever God chooses to send them to us. So we shall
be freed from darkness and abide in light. Amen. Praised be Jesus Christ
crucified and sweet Mary.
TO MONNA AGNESE
WHO WAS THE WIFE OF MESSER ORSO MALAVOLTI
Catherine is well aware that the world can be as true a school of holiness
as the forest cell. She writes to the noble lady, Monna Agnese Malavolti,
in much the same strain as to Frate Antonio. The danger of spiritual self-
will forms indeed one of those recurring themes which pervade her letters
like the motifs of Wagnerian music--ever the same, yet woven into ever-
new harmonies.
But the general subject of this letter is the "Santissima Pazienza," which
is still frequently invoked by the common folk of Siena: and Catherine's
analysis searches deep. Patience could hardly have been one of the virtues
most native to the woman's valiant spirit, and one feels in her keen and
solemn meditations that she had herself known the bitter and corroding
power of the sin "that burns and does not consume," and that "makes the
soul unendurable to itself." It is with convincing fervour and fulness
that she presents impatience as the permanent condition of the lost. The
little discussion of impatience in human relations, and of the "proud
humility" resorted to by a soul ravaged by a sense of neglect, has also a
very personal note. But it is still more clear in the letter that
Catherine's had become the disciplined nature which can "endure a restless
mind with more reverence than a tranquil one," if such be the will of God,
and which has entered deeply into the joy that awaits the meek.
Monna Agnese must have stood in special need of these touching
exhortations: she was a woman sorrowfully tried. Her son had been beheaded
in 1372, in punishment for heinous sin; and now her only daughter had
died. "For the which thing," writes Catherine, with one of her own
inimitable phrases, "I am deeply content, with a holy compassion."
In the Name of Jesus Christ crucified and of sweet Mary:
Dearest daughter in Christ sweet Jesus: I Catherine, servant and slave of
the servants of Jesus Christ, write to you in His Precious Blood, with the
desire to see you established in true patience, since I consider that
without patience we cannot please God. For just as impatience gives much
pleasure to the devil and to one's own lower nature, and revels in nothing
but anger when it misses what the lower nature wants, so it is very
displeasing to God. It is because anger and impatience are the very pith
and sap of pride that they please the devil so much. Impatience loses the
fruit of its labour, deprives the soul of God; it begins by knowing a
foretaste of hell, and later it brings men to eternal damnation: for in
hell the evil perverted will burns with anger, hate and impatience. It
burns and does not consume, but is evermore renewed--that is, it never
grows less, and therefore I say, it does not consume. It has indeed
parched and consumed grace in the souls of the lost, but as I said it has
not consumed their being, and so their punishment lasts eternally. The
saints say that the damned ask for death and cannot have it, because the
soul never dies. It dies to be sure to grace, by mortal sin; but it does
not die to existence. There is no sin nor wrong that gives a man such a
foretaste of hell in this life as anger and impatience. It is hated by
God, it holds its neighbour in aversion, and has neither knowledge nor
desire to bear and forbear with its faults. And whatever is said or done
to it, it at once empoisons, and its impulses blow about like a leaf in
the wind. It becomes unendurable to itself, for perverted will is always
gnawing at it, and it craves what it cannot have; it is discordant with
the will of God and with the rational part of its own soul. And all this
comes from the tree of Pride, from which oozes out the sap of anger and
impatience. The man becomes an incarnate demon, and it is much worse to
fight with these visible demons than with the invisible. Surely, then,
every reasonable being ought to flee this sin.
But note, that there are two sources of impatience. There is a common kind
of impatience, felt by ordinary men in the world, which befalls them on
account of the inordinate love they have for themselves and for temporal
things, which they love apart from God; so that to have them they do not
mind losing their soul, and putting it into the hands of the devils. This
is beyond help, unless a man recognizes himself, how he has wronged God,
and cuts down that tree of Pride with the sword of true humility, which
produces charity in the soul. For there is a tree of Love, whose pith is
patience and goodwill toward one's neighbour. For, just as impatience
shows more clearly than any other sin that the soul is deprived of God--
because it is at once evident that since the pith is there, the tree of
Pride must be there--so patience shows better and more perfectly than any
other virtue, that God is in the soul by grace. Patience, I say, deep
within the tree of Love, that for love of its Creator disdains the world,
and loves insults whencesoever they come.
I was saying that anger and impatience were of two kinds, one general and
one special. We have spoken of the common kind. Now I talk of the more
particular, of the impatience of those who have already despised the
world, and who wish to be servants of Christ crucified in their own way;
that is, in so far as they shall find joy and consolation in Him. This is
because spiritual self-will is not dead in them: therefore they
imperiously demand from God that He should give them consolations and
tribulations in their own way, and not in His; and so they become
impatient, when they get the contrary of what their spiritual self-will
wants. This is a little offshoot from Pride, sprouting from real Pride, as
a tree sends out a little tree by its side, which looks separated from it,
but nevertheless it gets the substance from which it springs from the same
tree. So is self-will in the soul which chooses to serve God in its own
way; and when that way fails it suffers, and its suffering makes it
impatient, and it is unendurable to itself, and takes no pleasure in
serving God or its neighbour. Nay, if any one came to it for comfort or
help it would give him nothing but reproaches, and would not know how to
be tolerant to his need. All this results from the sensitive spiritual
self-will that grows from the tree of Pride which was cut down, but not
uprooted. It is cut down when the soul uplifts its desire above the world,
and fastens it on God, but has fastened there imperfectly; the root of
Pride was left, and therefore it sent up an offshoot by its side, and
shows itself in spiritual things. So, if it misses consolations from God,
and its mind stays dry and sterile, it at once becomes disturbed and
depressed, and, under colour of virtue--because it thinks itself deprived
of God--it begins to complain, and lays down the law to God. But were it
truly humble and had true hate and knowledge of itself, it would deem
itself unworthy of the visitation of God to its soul, and worthy of the
pain that it suffers, in being deprived, not of God's grace in the soul,
but of its consolations. It suffers, then, because it has to work in its
chains; yes, spiritual self-will suffers under the delusion that it is
wronging God, while the trouble is really with its own lower nature.
Therefore the humble soul, which has freely uprooted with eager love the
root of Pride, has annulled its own will, seeking ever the honour of God
and the salvation of souls. It does not mind sufferings, but endures a
restless mind with more reverence than a quiet one; having a holy
respectful knowledge that God gives and grants this to it for its good,
that it may rise from imperfection to perfection. That is the way to make
it attain perfection, for it recognizes better thereby its own defects and
the grace of God, which it finds within, in the goodwill that God has
given it to hate its mortal sin. Also, by meditating on its defects and
faults, old and new, it has conceived hatred for itself, and love for the
Highest Eternal Will of God. Therefore it bears these things with
reverence, and is content to endure inwardly and outwardly, in whatever
way God grants it. Provided that it can be filled and clothed with the
sweetness of the will of God, it rejoices in everything; and the more it
sees itself deprived of the thing it loves, whether the consolations of
God, as I said, or of its fellows, the more gladsome it grows. For many a
time it happens that the soul loves spiritually; but if it does not find
the consolation or satisfaction from the beloved that it would like, or if
it suspects that more love or satisfaction is given to another than to
itself, it falls into suffering, into depression of mind, into criticism
of its neighbour and false judgment, passing judgment on the mind and
intention of the servants of God, and especially on those from whom it
suffers. Thence it becomes impatient, and thinks what it should not think,
and says with its tongue what it should not say. In such suffering as
this, it likes to resort to a proud humility, which has the aspect of
humility, but is really an offshoot of Pride, springing up beside it--
saying to itself: "I will not pay these people any more attention, or
trouble myself any more about them. I will keep entirely to myself; I do
not wish to hurt either myself or them." And it abases itself with a
perverted scorn. Now it ought to perceive that this is scorn, by the
impulse to judge that it feels in its heart, and by the complaints of its
tongue. It ought not then to do so; for in this fashion it will never get
rid of the root of Pride, nor cut off the little son at the side, which
hinders the soul from attaining the perfection at which it has aimed. But
it ought to kneel at the table of the Most Holy Cross, to receive the food
of the honour of God and the salvation of souls, with a free heart, with
holy hatred of itself, with passionate desire: seeking to gain virtue by
suffering and sweat, and not by private consolations either from God or
its fellows; following the footsteps and the teaching of Christ Crucified,
saying to itself with sharp rebuke: "Thou shouldst not, my soul, thou that
art a member, travel by another road than thy Head. An unfit thing it is
that limbs should remain delicate beneath a thorn-crowned Head." If such
habits became fixed, through one's own frailty, or the wiles of the devil,
or the many impulses that shake the heart like winds, then the soul ought
to ascend the seat of its conscience, and reason with itself, and let
nothing pass without punishment and chastisement, hatred and distaste for
itself. So the root shall be pulled up, and by displeasure against itself
the soul will drive out displeasure against its neighbour, grieving more
over the unregulated instincts of its own heart and thoughts than over the
suffering it could receive from its fellows, or any insult or annoyance
they could inflict on it.
This is the sweet and holy fashion observed by those who are wholly
inspired of Christ; for in this wise they have uprooted perverted pride,
and that marrow of impatience of which we said above that it was very
pleasing to the devil, because it is the beginning and occasion of every
sin; and on the contrary that as it is very pleasing to the devil, so it
is very displeasing to God. Pride displeases Him and humility pleases Him.
So greatly did the virtue of humility please Him in Mary that He was
constrained to give her the Word His Only-Begotten Son and she was the
sweet mother who gave Him to us. Know well, that until Mary showed by her
spoken words her humility and pure will, when she said: "Ecce Ancilla
Domini, be it done unto me according to Thy word"--the Son of God was not
incarnate in her; but when she had said this, she conceived within herself
that sweet and Spotless Lamb--the Sweet Primal Truth showing thereby how
excellent is this little virtue, and how much the soul receives that
offers and presents its will in humility to its Creator. So then--in the
time of labours and persecutions, of insults and injuries inflicted by
one's neighbour, of mental conflicts and deprivation of spiritual
consolations, by the Creator or the creature, (by the Creator in His
gentleness, when He withdraws the feeling of the mind, so that it does not
seem as if God were in the soul, so many are its pains and conflicts--and
by fellow-creatures, in conversation or amusement, or when the soul thinks
that it loves more than it is loved)--in all these things, I say that the
soul perfected by humility says: "My Lord, behold Thy handmaid: be it done
unto me according to Thy word, and not according to what I want with my
senses." So it sheds the fragrance of patience, around the Creator and its
fellow-creature and itself. It has peace and quiet in its mind, and it has
found peace in warfare, because it has driven far from it its self-will
founded in pride, and has conceived divine grace in its soul. And it bears
in its mind's breast Christ crucified, and rejoices in the Wounds of
Christ crucified, and seeks to know naught but Christ crucified; and its
bed is the Cross of Christ crucified. There it annuls its own will, and
becomes humble and obedient.
For there is no obedience without humility, nor humility without charity.
This is shown by the Word, for in obedience to His Father and in humility,
He ran to the shameful death of the Cross, nailing and binding Him with
the nails and bands of charity, and enduring in such patience that no cry
of complaint was heard from Him. For nails were not enough to hold God-
and-Man nailed and fastened on the Cross had Love not held Him there. This
I say that the soul feels; therefore it will not joy otherwise than with
Christ crucified. For could it attain to virtue and escape Hell and have
eternal life, without sufferings, and have in the world consolations
spiritual and temporal, it would not wish them; but it desires rather to
suffer, enduring even unto death, than to have eternal life in any other
way: only let it conform itself with Christ crucified, and clothe it with
His shames and pains. It has found the table of the Spotless Lamb.
Oh, glorious virtue! Who would not give himself to death a thousand times,
and endure any suffering through desire to win thee? Thou art a queen, who
dost possess the entire world; thou dost inhabit the enduring life; for
while the soul that is arrayed in thee is yet mortal, thou makest it abide
by force of love with those who are immortal. Since, then, this virtue is
so excellent and pleasing to God and useful to us and saving to our
neighbour, arise, dearest daughter, from the sleep of negligence and
ignorance, casting to earth the weakness and frailty of thy heart, that it
feel no suffering nor impatience over anything that God permits to us, so
that we may not fall either into the common kind of impatience, or into
the special kind, as we were saying before, but serve our sweet Saviour
manfully, with liberty of heart and true perfect patience. If we do
otherwise, we shall lose grace by the first sort of impatience, and by the
second we shall hinder our state of perfection; and you would not attain
that to which God has called you.
It seems that God is calling you to great perfection. And I perceive it by
this, that He takes away from you every tie that might hinder it in you.
For as I have heard, it seems that He has called to Himself your daughter,
who was your last tie with the outer world. For which thing I am deeply
content, with a holy compassion, that God should have set you free, and
taken her from her labours. Now then, I want that you should wholly
destroy your own will, that it may cling to nothing but Christ crucified.
In this way you will fulfil His will and my desire. Therefore, not knowing
any other way in which you could fulfil it, I said to you that I desired
to see you established in true and holy patience, because without this we
cannot reach our sweet goal. I say no more. Remain in the holy and sweet
grace of God. Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love.
TO SISTER EUGENIA, HER NIECE
AT THE CONVENT OF SAINT AGNES OF MONTEPULCIANO
Two nieces, daughters of Bartolo Benincasa, were nuns in the Convent of
Montepulciano. To one of them the following letter is addressed. One can
read between the lines a lively solicitude. Never cloistered herself,
Catherine had a close intimacy with cloisters, and knew their best and
worst. She held in hearty and loyal respect the opportunities which they
offered for leading an exalted life; to this Convent of St. Agnes she was
peculiarly attached. At the same time, she was well aware, as other
letters beside the present show, that even the best of cloisters afforded
at this time scant shelter to young girls from emotional temptation, gross
or fine. Her warnings to her niece have the authoritative tone of anxiety.
Let us hope that Eugenia took them to heart; and that, leading the
disciplined life of Catherine's desire, she became not unworthy to receive
and apprehend in its full beauty the penetrating meditation on Prayer
which forms the second part of the letter. The thoughts of this
meditation, like many others in Catherine's letters, will be found
amplified in her Dialogue--a colloquy between God and her soul, composed
and dictated in trance during the year 1378. The following quotation
illustrates an interesting passage of the letter:--
"In this way, vocal prayer can be useful to the soul and do Me pleasure,
and from imperfect vocal prayer it can advance by persevering practice to
perfect mental prayer. But if it aims simply to complete its number (of
paternosters), or if it gave up mental prayer for the sake of vocal, it
would never arrive at perfection. Sometimes, when a soul has made a
resolution to say a certain number of prayers, I may visit its mind, now
in one way, now in another: at one time with the light of self-knowledge
and contrition over its lightness, at another, with the largesse of My
charity; at another, by putting before its mind, in diverse manner as may
please Me, and as that soul may have craved, the Presence of My Truth. And
the soul will be so ignorant that it will turn from My Visitation, in
order to complete its number, from a conscientious scruple against giving
up what it began. It ought not to do thus, for this would be a wile of the
devil. But at once, when it feels its mind ready for My Visitation, in any
way, as I said, it should abandon the vocal prayer. Then, when the mental
has passed, if there is time it can resume the other, which it had planned
to say. But if there is not time it must not care nor be troubled or
bewildered."
In the Name of Jesus Christ crucified and of sweet Mary:
Dearest daughter in Christ sweet Jesus: I Catherine, servant and slave of
the servants of Jesus Christ, write to thee in His precious Blood, with
desire to see thee taste the food of angels, since thou art made for no
other end; and that thou mightest taste it, God bought thee with the Blood
of His Only-Begotten Son. But reflect, dearest daughter, that this food is
not taken upon earth, but on high, and therefore the Son of God chose to
be lifted up upon the wood of the Most Holy Cross, in order that we might
receive this food upon this table on high. But thou wilt say to me: What
is this food of angels? I reply to thee: it is the desire of God, which
draws to itself the desire that is in the depths of the soul, and they
make one thing together.
This is a food which while we are pilgrims in this life, draws to itself
the fragrance of true and sincere virtues, which are prepared by the fire
of divine charity, and received upon the table of the cross. That is,
virtue is won by pain and weariness, casting down one's own fleshly
nature;--the kingdom of one's soul which is called Heaven (_cielo_)
because it hides (_cela_) God within it by patience, is seized with force
and violence. This is the food that makes the soul angelic, and therefore
it is called the food of angels; and also because the soul, separated from
the body, tastes God in His essential Being. He satisfies the soul in such
wise that she longs for no other thing nor can desire aught but what may
help her more perfectly to keep and increase this food, so that she holds
in hate what is contrary to it. Therefore, like a prudent person, she
looks with the light of most holy faith, which is in the eye of the mind,
and beholds what is harmful and what is useful to her. And as she has
seen, so she loves and condemns--holding, I say, her own fleshly nature
and all the vices which proceed from it, bound beneath the feet of her
affections. She flees all causes that may incline her to vice or hinder
her perfection. So she annuls her self-will, which is the cause of all
evil, and subjects it to the yoke of holy obedience, not only to the Order
and its chief, but to every least creature through God. She flees all
glory and human indulgence, and glories only in the shames and sorrows of
Christ crucified: insults, outrage, ridicule, injuries, are milk to her;
she joys in them, to be conformed with the Bridegroom, Christ crucified.
She renounces conversation with fellow-beings, because she sees that they
often intervene between us and our Creator, and she flees to the actual
and to the mental cell.
To this I summon thee and the others: and I command thee, dearest daughter
mine, that thou abide for ever in the cell of self-knowledge, where we
find the angelic food of the eager desire of God toward us; and in the
actual cell, with vigil and humble faithful continual prayer, divesting
thy heart and mind of every creature, and clothing them with Christ
crucified. Otherwise thou wouldst eat upon the earth, and there I have
already said to thee, one should not eat. Reflect that thy Bridegroom,
Christ sweet Jesus, wishes naught between thee and Him, and is very
jealous. So as soon as He saw that thou didst love any thing apart from
Him, He would go from thee, and thou wouldst be made worthy to eat the
food of beasts. And wouldst thou not truly be a beast, and food for
beasts, didst thou leave the Creator for the creature, and infinite good
for finite and transitory things that pass like the winds, light for
darkness, life for death, Him who clothes thee in the sun of justice with
the clasp of obedience, and pearls of living faith, firm hope, and perfect
charity, for him who robs thee of them? And wouldst thou not be foolish
indeed to depart from Him who gives thee perfect purity--so that the
closer thou dost cling to Him, the more the flower of thy virginity is
refined--for those who many a time and oft shed a stench of impurity,
defiling mind and body? God avert them from thee by His infinite mercy!
And in order that no such thing may ever happen to thee, be on thy guard:
let not thy misfortune be such as to enter into any private conversation,
with monk or layman. For if I were to know or hear it, even if I were much
farther away than I am, I would give thee such a discipline that it would
stay in thy memory all thy whole life; never mind who may be by. Beware
neither to give nor receive, except in case of need, helping every one in
common within and without. Be steadfast and mature in thyself. Serve the
sisters tenderly, with all vigilance, especially those whom thou seest in
need. When guests pass by and ask for thee at the gratings, abide in thy
peace and do not go--but let them say to the prioress what they wanted to
say to thee, unless she commands thee to go on thy obedience. Then, hold
thy head bowed, and be as savage as a hedgehog. Keep in thy mind the
manners which that glorious virgin Saint Agnes made her daughters observe.
Go to confession and tell thy need; and when thou hast received thy
penance, run. Beware, moreover, that thy confessors be not from the men
who have brought thee up. And do not wonder because I talk so; for many a
time thou mayest have heard me say, and it is the truth, that the talk of
so-called pious men and women, full of depraved expressions, ruins the
souls and the habits and practices of Religious. Beware that thou bind thy
heart to none but Christ crucified; for the hour would come when thou
wouldst wish to set it free and couldst not, which would be very hard for
thee. I say that the soul which has tasted of the food of angels has seen
in the light that this and the other things we were speaking of are an
obstacle between itself and its food, and therefore flees them with the
greatest zeal. I say that it loves and seeks what may increase and
preserve it. And because it has seen that this food is better enjoyed by
means of prayer offered in self-knowledge, therefore it exercises itself
therein continually by all the ways in which it can hold closer to God.
Prayer is of three sorts. The one is perpetual: it is the holy perpetual
desire, which prays in the sight of God, whatever thou art doing; for this
desire directs all thy works, spiritual and corporal, to His honour, and
therefore it is called perpetual. Of this it seems that Saint Paul the
glorious was talking when he said: Pray without ceasing. The other kind is
vocal prayer, when the offices or other prayers are said aloud. This is
ordained to reach the third--that is, mental prayer: your soul reaches
this when it uses vocal prayer in prudence and humility, so that while the
tongue speaks the heart is not far from God. But one must exert one's self
to hold and establish one's heart in the force of divine charity. And
whenever one felt one's mind to be visited by God, so that it was drawn to
think of its Creator in any wise, it ought to abandon vocal prayer, and to
fix its mind with the force of love upon that wherein it sees God visit
it; then, if it has time, when this has ceased, it ought to take up the
vocal prayer again, in order that the mind may always stay full and not
empty. And although many conflicts of diverse kinds should abound in
prayer, and darkness of mind with much confusion, the devil making the
soul feel that her prayer was not pleasing to God--nevertheless, she ought
not to give up on account of those conflicts and shadows, but to abide
firm in fortitude and long perseverance, considering that the devil so
does to draw her away from prayer the mother, and God permits it to test
the fortitude and constancy of that soul. Also, in order that by those
conflicts and shadows she may know herself not to be, and in the goodwill
which she feels preserved within her may know the goodness of God, Who is
Giver and Preserver of good and holy wills: such wills as are not
vouchsafed to all who want them.
By this means she attains to the third and last--mental prayer, in which
she receives the reward for the labours she underwent in her imperfect
vocal prayer. Then she tastes the milk of faithful prayer. She rises above
herself--that is, above the gross impulses of the senses--and with angelic
mind unites herself with God by force of love, and sees and knows with the
light of thought, and clothes herself with truth. She is made the sister
of angels; she abides with her Bridegroom on the table of crucified
desire, rejoicing to seek the honour of God and the salvation of souls;
since well she sees that for this the Eternal Bridegroom ran to the
shameful death of the Cross, and thus fulfilled obedience to the Father,
and our salvation. This prayer is surely a mother, who conceives virtues
by the love of God, and brings them forth in the love of the neighbour.
Where dost thou show love, faith, and hope, and humility? In prayer. For
thou wouldst never take pains to seek the thing which thou didst not love;
but he who loves would ever be one with what he loves--that is, God. By
means of prayer thou askest of Him thy necessity; for knowing thyself--the
knowledge on which true prayer is founded--thou seest thyself to have
great need. Thou feelest thyself surrounded by thine enemies--by the world
with its insults and its recalling of vain pleasures, by the devil with
his many temptations, by the flesh with its great rebellion and struggle
against the spirit. And thou seest that in thyself thou art not; not
being, thou canst not help thyself; and therefore thou dost hasten in
faith to Him who is, who can and will help thee in thine every need, and
thou dost hopefully ask and await His aid. Thus ought prayer to be made,
if thou wishest to have that which thou awaitest. Never shall any just
thing be denied thee which thou askest in this wise from the Divine
Goodness; but if thou dost in other wise, little fruit shalt thou receive.
Where shalt thou feel grief in thy conscience? In prayer. Where shalt thou
divest thee of the self-love which makes thee impatient in the time of
insults and of other pains, and shalt clothe thee in the divine love which
shall make thee patient, and shalt glory in the Cross of Christ crucified?
In prayer. Where shalt thou breathe the perfume of virginity and the
hunger for martyrdom, holding thee ready to give thy life for the honour
of God and the salvation of souls? In this sweet mother, prayer. This will
make thee an observer of thy Rule: it will seal in thy heart and mind
three solemn vows which thou didst make at thy profession, leaving there
the imprint of the desire to observe them until death. This releases thee
from conversation with fellow-creatures, and gives thee converse with thy
Creator; it fills the vessel of thy heart with the Blood of the Humble
Lamb, and crowns it with flame, because with flame of love that Blood was
shed.
The soul receives and tastes this mother Prayer more or less perfectly,
according as it nourishes itself with the food of angels--that is, with
holy and true desire for God, raising itself on high, as I said, to
receive it upon the table of the most sweet Cross. Therefore I said to
thee that I desired to see thee nourished with angelic food, because I see
not that in otherwise thou couldst be a true bride of Christ crucified,
consecrated to Him in holy religion. So do that I may see thee a jewel
precious in the sight of God. And do not go about wasting thy time. Bathe
and drown thee in the sweet Blood of thy Bridegroom. I say no more. Remain
in the holy and sweet grace of God. Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love.
TO NANNA, DAUGHTER OF BENINCASA
A LITTLE MAID, HER NIECE, IN FLORENCE
This tender and playful little letter, with its childlike simplicity of
fancy and gentle authority of tone, encourages us to believe that
Catherine appreciated the full advantages of being an aunt. We have other
indications that the many spiritual ties which held her as she grew older
never weakened the bond of any natural affection. Indeed, Catherine re-
created each natural bond, when possible, as a spiritual bond, an
achievement none too common. Doubtless, many children grew up around her
in the large Benincasa household. We know that at the time of the plague,
in 1374, Lapa was bringing up eleven grandchildren in her own house. Of
these, eight fell victims to the pestilence, and we have a glimpse of
Catherine burying them with her own hands, and saying as she laid them to
rest one by one, "This one, at least, I shall not lose." Of the little
Nanna to whom this letter was written we know nothing, except that she was
the child of the elder brother, who, as we have already seen, had moved to
Florence.
In the Name of Jesus Christ crucified and of sweet Mary:
Dearest daughter in Christ sweet Jesus: I Catherine, servant and slave of
the servants of Jesus Christ, write to thee in His precious Blood, with
desire to see thee a real bride of Christ crucified, running away from
everything which might hinder thee from possessing this sweet and glorious
Bridegroom. But thou couldst not do this if thou wert not among those wise
virgins consecrated to Christ who had lamps with oil in them, and light
was within. See, then, if thou wishest to be a bride of Christ, thou must
have lamp, and oil, and light. Dost thou know what this means, daughter
mine? By the lamp is meant our heart, because a heart ought to be made
like a lamp. Thou seest that a lamp is wide above and narrow below, and so
the heart is made, to signify that we ought always to keep it wide above,
through holy thoughts and holy imaginations and continual prayer; always
holding in memory the blessings of God, and chiefly the blessing of the
Blood by which we are bought. For Blessed Christ, my daughter, did not buy
us with gold or silver or pearls or other precious stones; nay, He bought
us with His precious Blood. So one wants never to forget so great a
blessing, but always to hold it before one's eyes, in holy and sweet
gratitude, seeing how immeasurably God loves us: who did not shrink from
giving His only begotten Son to the opprobrious death of the Cross, to
give us the life of grace.
I said that a lamp is narrow below, and so is our heart: to signify that
the heart ought to be narrow toward these earthly things--that is, it must
not desire nor love them extravagantly, nor hunger for more than God wills
to give us; but ever thank Him, seeing how sweetly He provides for us so
that we never lack anything.
Now in this way, our heart will really be a lamp. But reflect, daughter
mine, that this would not be enough were there no oil within. By oil is
meant that sweet little virtue, profound humility: for it is fitting that
the bride of Christ be humble and gentle and patient; and she will be as
humble as she is patient, and as patient as she is humble. But we cannot
attain this virtue of humility except by true knowledge of ourselves,
knowing our misery and frailty, and that we by ourselves can do no good
deed, nor escape any conflict or pain; for if we have a bodily infirmity,
or a pain or conflict in our minds, we cannot escape it or remove it--for
if we could we should escape from it swiftly. So it is quite true that we
in ourselves are nothing other than infamy, misery, stench, frailty, and
sins; wherefore, we ought always to abide low and humble. But to abide
wholly in such knowledge of one's self would not be good, because the soul
would fall into weariness and confusion; and from confusion it would fall
into despair: so the devil would like nothing better than to make us fall
into confusion, to drive us afterward to despair. We ought, then, to abide
in the knowledge of the goodness of God in Himself, perceiving that He has
created us in His image and likeness, and re-created us in grace by the
Blood of His only-begotten Son, the sweet incarnate Lord; and reflecting
how continually the goodness of God works in us. But see, that to abide
entirely in this knowledge of God would not be good, because the soul
would fall into presumption and pride. So it befits us to have one mixed
with the other--that is, to abide in the holy knowledge of the goodness of
God, and also in the knowledge of ourselves: and so we shall be humble,
patient, and gentle, and in this way we shall have oil in our lamp.
Now, then, we must have light--otherwise it would not be enough. This
light has to be the light of most holy faith. But the saints say that
faith without works is dead, so our faith might be neither living nor
holy, but dead. Therefore we need to exert ourselves virtuously all the
time, and leave our childishness and vanities, and not behave any longer
like worldly girls, but like faithful brides consecrated to Christ
crucified; in this way we shall have a lamp, and oil, and light.
The Gospel says that these wise virgins were five. So I tell thee that
there must be five in each of us--otherwise we shall not enter the wedding
feast of eternal life.
By these five it is meant that we must subject and mortify our five bodily
senses, in such wise that we may never offend with them, taking through
them or some of them unregulated pleasure or delight. In this way we shall
be five, when we have subdued our five senses.
But think that that sweet Bridegroom Christ is more jealous of His brides
than I could tell thee! Therefore if He should see that thou didst love
anyone more than Him, He would be angry with thee at once. And if thou
didst not correct thyself, the door would not be open to thee, to the
wedding feast which Christ the Lamb without spot holds for all His
faithful: but we should be driven away like bad women, as those five
foolish virgins were, who, glorying only and vainly in the integrity and
virginity of their body, lost the virginity of their soul, through the
corruption of the five senses, because they did not carry the oil of
humility with them, so that their lamps went out. Therefore it was said to
them: "Go hence to buy oil." By this oil is meant in this place the
flatteries and praises of men; since all the flatterers and praisers of
the world sell this oil. As if it were said to them: "You have not wanted
to buy eternal life with your virginity and your good works; no, you have
wanted to buy the praises of men, and to have the praises of men you have
wrought. Go now and buy praises, for you will not enter here." Therefore,
daughter mine, beware of the praises of men; and do not want praise for
any work that thou mayest do, for the door of eternal life would not be
open to thee later.
So, reflecting that this was the best way, I said that I desired to see
thee a real bride of Christ crucified; and so I beg and command thee that
thou try hard to be. I say no more to thee. Remain in the holy and sweet
grace of God. Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love.