The Silver Cross
The story of “St. Caterina of Siena and her Silver Cross” is one of her many visions, recorded by her confessor.
The Silver Cross
Through the streets of old Siena, at the dawning of the day,
Went the holy Caterina, as the bells began to sound;
With the light of peace celestial in her eyes of olive gray,
For her soul was with the angels, while her feet were on the ground.
She was fair as any lily, with as delicate a grace;
And the air of early morning had just tinged her cheek with rose:
Yet one hardly thought of beauty in that pale, illumined face,
That the souls in trouble turned to, finding comfort and repose.
And the men their heads uncovered, though they dared not speak her praise,
When they saw her like a vision down the row street descend;
And they wondered what she looked at, with that far-off dreamy gaze,
While her lips were often moving, as though talking to a friend.
There were few abroad so early, and she scarcely heard a sound,
Save the cooing of the pigeons, as about her feet they strayed,
Or the bell that sweetly called her to the church where she was bound;
While the palaces around her stood in silence and in shade.
And the towers built for warfare rose about her, dark and proud,
But their summits caught a glory, as the morning onward came,
And the summer sky beyond them was alight with fleecy cloud,
Where the gray of dawn was changing, first to rose and then to flame.
By a shrine of the Madonna, at a corner where she passed,
Stood a stranger leaning on it, as though weary and forlorn,
With a bundle slung behind him and a cloak about him cast;
For he shivered in the freshness of the pleasant summer morn.
Said the stranger, “Will you help me?” and she looked on him and knew,
By his hand that trembled feebly as he held it out for aid,
By his eyes that were so heavy, and his lips of ashen hue,
That the terrible Maremma had its curse upon him laid.
So she listened to his story, that was pitiful to hear,
Of a widowed mother waiting on the mountain for her son;
How to help her he had laboured till the summer time drew near,
And of how the fever took him just before his work was done.
He was young and he was hopeful, and the smile began to come
In his eyes, as though they thanked her for the pity she bestowed,
And he said: “I shall recover if I reach my mountain home,
And if some good Christian people will but help me on the road.
“For I go to Casentino, where the air is pure and fine,
But my strength too often fails me, and the place is far away;
So I pray you give me something, for a little bread and wine,
That I may not set out fasting on my weary walk to-day.”
Then a certain faint confusion with her pity seemed to blend,
And her face, so sweet and saintly, showed the shadow of a cloud,
As she said: “I am no lady, though you call me so, my friend,
But a poor Domenicana who to poverty am vowed.
“I can give a prayer to help you on your journey, nothing more,
For these garments I am wearing are the sisterhood’s, not mine,
And the very bread they gave me when I left the convent door
To a beggar by the wayside I this morning did consign.
“I would give you all you ask for if I had it to command.”
Then she sighed and would have left him, but the stranger made her stay,
For he held her by the mantle, with his cold and wasted hand:
“For the love of Christ, my lady, do not send me thus away!”
He had used the name unthinking, but it moved her none the less,
And she turned again toward him, with a softened, solemn air,
While her hand began to wander up and down her simple dress,
As though vaguely it were seeking for some trifle she could spare.
Then the rosary she lifted that was hanging at her waist,
And its silver cross unfastened, which was small and very old,
With the edges worn and rounded and the image half effaced,
Yet she loved it more than lady ever loved a cross of gold.
It had been her life companion, in the tempest, in the calm;
She had held it to her bosom when she prayed with troubled mind;
And she kissed it very gently, as she laid it in his palm,
“For the love of Christ, then, take it; ’tis the only thing I find.”
So he thanked her and departed, and she thought of him no more,
Save to ask the Lord to help him, when that day in church she prayed;
But the cross of Caterina on his heart the stranger wore,
And her presence unforgotten like a blessing with him stayed.
Now the city life is stirring, and the streets are in the sun,
And the bells ring out their music o’er the busy town again,
As the people slowly scatter from the church where Mass is done;
But the blessèd Caterina in her seat did still remain.
For the sleep divine was on her, which so often to her came,
When of mortal life the shadow from around her seemed to fall;
And she looked on things celestial with her happy soul aflame:
But that day the dream that held her was the sweetest of them all.
For the Lord appeared in glory, and he seemed to her to stand
In a chamber filled with treasures such as eye had never seen;
And a cross of wondrous beauty He was holding in His hand,
Set with every stone most precious and with pearls of light serene.
And He told her that those treasures were the presents He received
From the souls on earth who love Him, and are seeking Him to please.
Were they deeds of noble service? that was what she first believed,
And she thought, “What happy people who can bring Him gifts like these!”
For herself could offer nothing, and she sighed to think how far
From the best she ever gave him were the gems in that bright store.
But He held the cross toward her, that was shining like a star,
And He bade her look and tell Him had she seen it e’er before.
“No,” she answered humbly, “never did my eyes the like behold.”
But a flood of sudden sweetness came upon her like a wave,
For she saw among the jewels and the work of beaten gold
Was the little Cross of Silver that for love of Christ she gave.
And I think her dream that morning was a message from above,
That a proof of deepest meaning we might learn and understand,—
Though our very best be worthless that we give for Jesus’ love,
It will change and turn to glory when He takes it in His hand.