SAINT CHARLES BORROMEO
(1538 – 1584)
In
the history of the Church there are dark and painful pages that make Christians
suffer and give reasons to those who wish to deny its divine origin.
It’s
not just about the grave historical sins of the Church’s children, for which
Pope John Paul II repeatedly asked forgiveness, but also those episodes or
customs where the human element abused power in an intolerable manner.
We
think, for example, of the times when the church admitted forced vocations to
the clerical or religious state, of the centuries when the nepotism of the
popes and the unbridled luxury of the high clergy were almost justified.
But
whoever attentively reads even these pages of ecclesiastical history cannot
deny that, at times, one is left dazzled by certain unforeseen lights that
shine out right from these dark happenings.
We’re
in the middle of the 16th century: the Council of Trent has already
been interrupted for more than a decade without being able to launch the longed
for reform of the Church. In Rome, the nephews of the most severe
reforming Pope (Paul IV, Carafa) have stained themselves with innumerable
crimes and, upon the death of this Pope, one of the longest and most contested
conclaves of history (it would last around four months) drags on.
Finnaly, on Christmas evening 1559, the cardinals agree on the name of Cardinal
Gian Angelo Medici, from Lombardy, about whose reforming intentions there are
doubts.
On
the same day as his election, the new Pope – who has taken the name Pius
IV – calls his two favourite young nephews to Rome: Frederick and Charles
Borromeo.
Frederick,
25 the first born, is nominated commander in chief of the papal army.
Charles,
the second born, is nominated Secretary of State (the first in history to
receive this title); and, as well as being secretary, is also nominated
Administrator of the Papal State, Referendary of the Apostolic Signatura,
titular and beneficiary of numerous Abbeys, perpetual Administrator of the
Archdiocese of Milan, Governor of the Papal legations to Bologna, Romagna and
the Marches; Protector of Portugal, Austria and Switzerland and of numerous
religious Orders.
As
well as this, on the day of the Pope’s coronation, Charles is proclaimed
Cardinal.
Well
then: Charles is only 21 and not even a priest, even if – being the cadet
of a noble family of Arona – he was inexorably destined for an ecclesiastical
career from infancy and wore a soutane since he was seven.
This
nephew overloaded with unheard of privileges, with boundless honours and
burdens, didn’t earn much sympathy in Rome: Charles is a lanky young fellow,
with an ungainly face, with an excessively pronounced nose, closed in
character, awkward in speech.
Someone
starts the rumour that he’s not even that intelligent.
The
young Cardinal leads a lavish lifestyle, suitable for his rank: he has at his
disposal 150 domestic staff in elegant livery of black velvet; he possesses the
most beautiful carriages and the best horses in Rome; he is passionate about
hunting and dogs; he is good at chess; he loves music and plays the
cello. He founded a night time Academy (“Notti Vaticane”) in
which, together with intellectual friends, he takes pleasure in literary and
philosophical conversations, just like every good renaissance prince.
In
a short space of time Charles is able to fix up all of his many relations and,
through marriages, the Borromeo family is married into the oldest Italian
families (the Colonna, the Della Rovere, the Gonzaga, the Trivulzio) as well as
other noble European family lines.
Nevertheless
Charles’ habits are beyond reproach; even if he has become the richest
Cardinal in Rome, he conducts an honest life and generously uses his goods to
endow the city with public works (aquaducts, hospitals and suchlike).
Against
every expectation the new Pope showed himself intent to reopen the Council of
Trent and to guide it to a good conclusion, even if it was not easy to get all
those governing Europe to agree, whose consent was necessary, because of the
many implications and connections then existing between ecclesial life and the
politics of the various nations.
It
was about getting agreement between some of the most difficult personalities
such as the emperor Ferdinand of Germany, Philip II of Spain, Francis II of
France, as well as the other Italians princes and dukes of Florence, Venice,
Genoa, Naples...
At
that time it was unthinkable to open an Ecumenical Council without the previous
assent of the various princes to whom it was up to, to grant permits and safe
conduct, or without taking account iron directives that each one intended to
give to the bishops of their respective zones.
And
it was not easy to sew up the ties between the Holy See and the various powers,
after the fiery Paul IV had made enemies of nearly all of them.
Germany
and France were already marshalled for the defence of protestants (very
numerous in their kingdoms) and they threatened obstructionism and retaliation,
and Spain had decided to impose a strongly nationalised Church.
Charles
Borromeo, who had only studied Law, but not courses of philosophy or theology,
certainly could not offer his doctrinal competence to the Council, but puts at
its disposal an extraordinary ability as a mediator and conciliator, between
the will of the Pope and that of the many and litigious parties: it was about
getting agreement between sovereigns, apostolic nuncios, ambassadors, legates
of the Council and Council fathers.
During
the two years that were necessary for the preparation of the third phase of the
Council of Trent, and during the two years of its celebration, every
negotiation, every letter literally passed through the hands of the young
Cardinal Secretary.
Every
day couriers departed from Rome and reached Trent with a dispatch box of
correspondence, so much so that the Archbishop of France sourly grumbled about
the fact that “the Holy Spirit(who should have been guiding the Council) was
constrained to travel from Rome to Trent every day in a dispatch box”.
But
even these ironic remarks tell of the incredible dedication and service to the
Church that Cardinal Borromeo was able to guarantee for many years.
At
that time the most burning questions were those about the reform of the clergy
and bishops. Someone, amongst the Council fathers, turned up his nose
upon hearing talk of reform even for the Pope and the cardinals, until one holy
Bishop present, a friend of Borromeo, exploded with anger in the hall to say
that “indeed the most illustrious cardinals are in need of a most illustrious
reform”.
Charles
was too intelligent not to realise that many of the questions stirred up at
Trent touched him personally. His conscience burned not so much about the
lavish lifestyle that he lead, but more about the perception of the grave
damage done to the Church by bishops who had not resided in their dioceses for
years, leaving there instead some administrator without true pastoral
authority, and he – while residing in Rome and working as Cardinal secretary –
was really Archbishop of one of the vastest and most important dioceses:
Milan!
He
knew he must choose, the Council would hardly be closed, and he was sincerely
However,
for a more total and radical conversion, God served him with a very hard
suffering, by which he spoke not just to his intelligence, but also to his
heart.
Just
in those months of whirling activity and infinite discussions, his brother
Frederick, commander of the papal armies, head of the Borromeo family, also
honoured with innumerable titles and goods, fell sick with a fever of an
unknown nature. It didn’t seem a serious illness, but after a week – on
the very day on which Philip II of Spain was to nominate him as a prince – he
died in the arms of Charles, leaving him his inheritance as well as his rich
patrimony, in goods and noble titles.
To
the consternation of the Pope and dignitaries, the custom followed that now it
fell to the second born to take in hand the destinies of the Borromeo family:
for the rest Charles had not yet been ordained priest; it was enough that he
would renounce the strictly ecclesiastical titles and he would inherit the
honours and responsibilities of his deceased brother.
The
Pope himself was favourable to such a solution.
But
at that very moment Charles decided to delay no longer: he had himself ordained
priest immediately and celebrated his first mass on 15th August
1563, on the tomb of the apostle Peter.
So
he became the reformer Cardinal.
He
started to reduce his lavish entourage: more than eighty domestic staff were
laid off, but each one received as a gift between twelve thousand and fifteen
thousand ducats (an enormous figure for that time). He renounced all splendour
in clothing, carriages, food, social relations.
He
kept only what was absolutely necessary for the decorum due to his office (for
sure, compatibly with the mentality of that lavish century).
Calumnies
and false faces were not lacking: some said that Borromeo had unforeseeably
become mean; some whispered that he suffered from rigorist obsessions.
A
famous literary figure of the time, Annibal Caro, wrote contemptuously to a
realtion: “I don’t know what news to give you from Rome, if not that that low
level sacristan has started to reform it entirely; and Rome isn’t enough for
his zeal: he wants to do likewise for the whole world!”.
The
ambassador of Venice – with more subtle and elegant malice – also
wrote to a friend who had solicited him to obtain a well paid job in Rome: “You
don’t come here to eat now, but to pray...”.
But
he also honestly knew to recognise that “Only Cardinal Borromeo is the most
efficient in the city of Rome, otherwise all the decrees of the Council
wouldn’t be put together”.
The
truth was that Cardinal Borromeo had by now definitively chosen his “Cathedra”.
In
ecclesiastical usage the “cathedra” is the elevated place, from which
Popes and Bishops govern and teach.
For
Borromeo the chosen “cathedra” – the more honourable – was for him the Cross of
Christ: if Jesus had chosen to instruct and govern us form the disturbing
height of the Cross, his ministers must behave themselves in like manner.
Therefore
he started to read the gospel while kneeling and to lose himself in very loving
contemplation, to live in a frugal manner and even to give himself over to
exaggerated penances.
But
by now nothing seemed exaggerated to the love he felt inside for his Lord and
Master: even the most austere penances, what more were they if not the humble
possibility to experience something of what He suffered for our
salvation? What more were they, if not the means to be able to learn, to
be able to speak about them with a minimum of experience?
In
the meantime he pressed upon his uncle the Pope in order to obtain permission
to abandon Rome, to be able to reach his Diocese.
He
prepared himself intensely for Episcopal Ordination and received it on 7th
December 1563, the feast of St Ambrose.
But
he could only definitively leave in 1566, such were the urgencies of service,
that kept him riveted to the roman curia.
He
set out, travelling through all northern Italy, in his capacity as Papal
Legate, that is equipped with full powers, which he exercised in order to
improve the Christian life of those reasons, at least within the limits granted
by a brief visit, but shunning lavish welcomes and refusing to live in the
castles or sumptuous dwellings of his countless relatives.
He
entered Milan with every solemnity, mounted on a white horse, and accompanied
by an uncontainably festive mass of people: it was deliberately done in such a
way that the cavalcade of the Spanish governor would be among the retinue.
The
city had waited more than 70 years to have a Bishop who would finally decide to
reside in the Diocese, and in all those years the only authority present in the
city – that of the said Governor – had swaggered all over the place.
In
his first sermon in the Duomo he commented on the words spoken by Jesus to the
disciples at the start of the last supper: “I have longed to eat this Passover
with you”, and the people understood that this young Archbishop who was not yet
27 years old – already laden with ecclesiastical experience, amongst other
things – had decided to spend his whole life for them, as a true servant of the
Church.
In
the archiepiscopal house, he called around 100 people to share his life and his
work: all exclusively belonging to the clergy, binding them unto a form of
community and quasi regular life (in prayer, food, timetable).
He
prepared the archiepiscopal palace in such a way that the official apartments
and rooms would maintain the decorum and luxury needed by an Archbishop (for sure
paintings, tapestries and luxurious furnishings were not lacking!), but to
access the private apartment of the Cardinal, he needed to go up a steep little
staircase that went to the attics: there, in two little cold rooms, he could
retreat, pray, study, prepare the interventions required by his high
ministry.
When
he would die, the inventory of furnishings would include: a walnut trunk, a
straw mattress covered in canvas, two cushions, two footstools, a sideboard, a
clock, a walnut table with little columns; and the paintings were all
representations of episodes form the Passion: a Jesus in agony, the ascent to
Calvary, the crowning with the thorns... Only one painting outside this
theme: a portrait of Thomas More, the noble English chancellor who had humbly
known how to follow the footsteps begun by Jesus to martyrdom.
In
public Charles Borromeo always appeared in cardinalatial robes (they said of
him that “he’s never not a cardinal”); in private he wore a simple black tunic
in the manner of the Jesuits.
And
the apparent contrast between public appearances and private style wisely
guaranteed that his personal humility of life and heart would not serve as a
pretext for whoever would have wanted to belittle the authoritative task which had
been assigned to him.
In
this regard his secretary has passed onto us a touching episode that comes from
the last years of his life:
“It
happened one time in Caprino in Bergamasco, I being with the Cardinal on a
visit, that one night while turning over on the pallet where he was sleeping,
his tunic fell on the lamp, so that the whole thing was stained. In the
morning, having called me as usual for study, when study was over I asked him
why there should be such a smell of oil of the tunic. In a most human
manner he recounted to me how it had happened. I responded to him that it
would have been better to send that tunic to Milan and have them take out the
stain, and have them bring another tunic for the use of his Most Illustrious
Lordship. The Lord Cardinal responded smiling at me: and what other
tunic, if I don’t have another one? I did not have another, but I’ve worn
this for 14 years or more, and I have given it for the love of God. This
tunic has to do me until I die, because I consider that this should be my
proper garment, that those other red and blackish gowns which I wear, are not
my robes, but belong to the dignity of the cardinalate...”.
So
he began – with all the force of his dignity and with all the humility of his
person – to be the watchful and untiring shepherd of his vast Diocese that took
in the whole of Lombardy and extended into the Swiss valleys, in which there
were at least 56 parishes.
The
entire population did not quite reach 600,000 inhabitants, and Milan accounted
for around 180,000. There were around 753 parishes in the diocese and
about 2000 members of the clergy.
He
started by re-establishing his own proper authority in front of the
over-whelming power of the civil authorities.
This
over-whelming power had become so strong over the years that the derisory
memory was still current in Milan (from a century beforehand) of when duke Gian
Maria Visconti, with the intent of sustaining his warlike enterprises, had
prohibited the word “peace” from being spoken in his territories, to such an
extent that even the priests during Mass had to abolish it and not say: “Lord,
grant us peace”, but “Grant us , Lord, tranquillity”.
Milan
had lost its independence in 1535: upon the death of Francesco II Sforza, the
duchy had become a province of the empire of Charles V and , lacking a resident
Bishop, the Spanish governor was used to laying down the law for everyone.
The
first serious conflict broke out when the new Archbishop demanded that a break be
put on the city carnival that by then started at Christmas and culminated in
the first Sunday of Lent, which had become the most chaotic and vulgar day,
sweeping away every liturgical tradition and all modesty.
Charles
was accused of being a moralist, of wanting to take away the people’s
legitimate fun. Sure one can be cheerful at the thought of people in
masks, between merry-go-rounds, dances, fairs and tournaments, for eight to ten
weeks a year, but it also causes much sadness when we realise that it was (and
also today, in more diffuse and sophisticated forms) a vulgar way to keep the
people slaves and foreigners to themselves and to their true interests.
In
reality the issue of the carnival dragged behind it a thousand other claims
that the civil authorities boasted over patronages and benefits, convents and
monasteries, and even over pastoral matters.
During
Cardinal Borromeo’s time in Milan there were 4 Spanish governors and, with the
first 3, there was non-stop war: the most pig-headed of these governors reached
the point of having posters displayed on the doors of churches which described
the Archbishop as “an ignorant and scandalous man, untrustworthy, suspected by
the sovereign, unjust, reckless, lacking common sense, and unworthy of his
homeland (i.e. Spain!).
Charles
felt constrained to excommunicate him. But when the haughty Spaniard was
on his deathbed he only wished to be assisted by that stubborn and holy
Archbishop.
An
even more serious battle was the one where Charles opposed the decision of
Philip II to set up a tribunal of the Spanish Inquisition at Milan,
notoriously the most ferocious inquisition and directly dependant on the
monarch. It didn’t just serve to defend the faith, but for political
ends, excessively extending those powers which were tightly controlled in the
ecclesiastical (Roman) inquisition.
The
Roman inquisition could not occupy itself with non-believers (Jews or
Infidels), it never accepted anonymous accusations, it did not allow summary
trials, it was mild in punishments and easy to grant pardon. All limits
that the Spanish inquisition, with direct dependence on the sovereign, swept
away in a cruel and frightful manner.
Charles
was already opposed to the attempts of Philip II to found a tribunal of his
inquisition at Milan while he was still in Rome. He continued to oppose
it in the years to come, even resisting weaknesses of the Pope who at times
seemed ready to bow to Spanish requests (others say that the Pope only bowed
because he was sure that Charles would be opposed...).
In
the end even Philip II would come to bow before the famous sanctity of
Borromeo, sending a new governor from Madrid instructing him to act as
“minister” to the Archbishop and even affirming that “the king of Spain would
be very happy if all the cities of his kingdom would have bishops like the one
in Milan”.
Equally
epic were the battles that Charles had to carry on with some powerful religious
institutions in the city which were particularly corrupt, such as the
collegiate of canons of the Scala and the religious order of the Umiliati, who
reached the point of ordering an assassination attempt: they paid a hit man, a
certain Donato Farina, who got into the chapel of the Archbishop and shot him
between the shoulders while he was kneeling in prayer in front of the
altar.
No-one
was able to understand how Charles was could remain unharmed, given that the
shot was fired from point blank range and the cardinalatial robes on the
Archbishop’s shoulders appeared to be completely burned, this also contributed
to the growth of his fame.
Certainly
Charles proved himself to be unusually severe, decided as he was to uproot
every abuse: he intervened about the style of life of clergy and religious; he
intervened on issues of family and social morals; he laid down prescriptions in
regard to the sacramental and spiritual life of single people.
They
say that if he had been able to he would have transformed his Diocese into an
immense abbey, in which life would have been totally lived out in rhythms of
prayer and work, sobriety and charity.
Above
all Sundays would have been entirely directed towards prayer and spiritual
formation.
But how he had twist their arms, when they read the recommendations that he was
constrained to make explaining to the faithful that in Church they must “avoid
mocking talk, laughter, fatuous or obscene speech...”, or when set himself to
describe the humanly unsupportable vulgarly theatrical rough behaviour of many
preachers, or when he bitterly observed that “the honky-tonks and bars are
always fuller and the churches always emptier”?
Charles
immediately realised that the people had the faith and that it was well rooted
for centuries, but the pedagogical results, even the most basic, were absent
because of the long negligence of pastors, the absence of bishops and the
sloppiness of priests and religious.
There
were inveterate abuses to correct in parishes, convents and various
ecclesiastical institutions; there were outdated or corrupt liturgical usages
to be reformed; preaching and catechising, ignored for a long time, had to be
recommenced.
One
after another he started to celebrate Diocesan Synods and Provincial Councils,
legislating on all that would have regard to the dignity of worship due to God
and the Christian life of the people.
From
time immemorial churches were abandoned: temples were neglected and
inhospitable; presbyteries falling down and badly kept; sacred furnishing old
and insufficient; tabernacles dirty and poorly adorned; the sacred rites
slovenly and rough; preaching rare and vulgar; monasteries and convents relaxed
and at times, even corrupt.
Priests
were neglecting their ministry and many dedicated themselves to other goods and
immoral occupations. It seems that a crude saying when around Lombardy:
“If you want to go to hell, be a priest”.
Borromeo
wanted to reform everything, systematically, inexorably. He laid down
prescriptions about the beauty of liturgical vestments, the sparkle of sacred
vessels, the preciousness of marbles, the harmony of music, the decorum of
drawings, the updating of archives, the exactness of registers, even indicating
the shape and number of candlesticks which had to adorn the altars.
What
did it matter if some contemptuously called him “the sacristan Cardinal”?
Charles had sharply perceived that a true Christian people doesn’t just believe
with the head, but also with its body, eyes, hands...
Little
by little he reorganised his Diocese in a capillary manner, creating a dense
network of managers and educators who answered only to him.
In
the first place he constructed seminaries that had to guarantee a renewed
clergy according to the decrees of the Council of Trent and he called in the
Jesuits, the most “intellectual” Order of the time, to direct them.
He
wished that “common libraries” would be set up in all the collegiate
churches, to benefit the permanent formation of the clergy. And he went
as far as furnishing his seminary with a printing house, something almost
unthinkable at the time, in order that priests could arrange for spiritual
texts at a good price.
He
had colleges built for the education of young nobles, colleges to give lodging
and board to worthy university students who didn’t have adequate means (the
famous almo collegio Borromeo of Pavia will remain). At his own expense
he had a seat at the University of Bologna constructed; he asked the Jesuits to
open a University in Milan, and he also endowed it with an adequate university
college. He had another college built in Ascona on the Swiss border.
At
that time instruction was only provided for nobles: society provided nothing
for the children of the general populace. So Charles decided to supply,
within the limits possible, some sort of instruction in place of the inexistent
public system: he desired that every parish would have its own “school of
Christian doctrine”, where they would begin by learning reading, writing and
arithmetic, so much so that the first pages of the catechism were dedicated to
the alphabet and to the basics of mathematics.
Upon
Charles’ death there will be around 540 of these schools with 40,098
scholars.
The
pedagogical principle that Charles gave to parents and teachers is splendid: “Recta
filiorum educatio, eorum ad Christum adductio” (“Proper education of
children, leads them to Christ”).
He
also placed a magister scholasticus at every collegiate, a priest who
enjoyed a benefice but who had the job of teaching all the children of the area
gratis et amore Dei.
Then
he looked after the institution and the diffusion of the “Confraternity of the
Blessed Sacrament”, which gave back “dignity and heart” to the liturgical
life of parishes and gave substantial nourishment to the devotion of the
faithful.
Certainly
the Archbishop was not loved for his severity and his reprimands, but he was
intensely loved for his charity: and it was precisely for this reason that the
people perceived the goodness that his prescriptions must also have had.
On
his initiative a network of charitable works were founded in the city: houses
for orphans, houses for beggars, houses for children without social protection,
houses for widows or abandoned women, houses for convalescents, houses for the
mentally ill, houses for the homeless, pilgrims and foreigners.
And
to every house he gave magnanimous rules. So at the hospital for beggars
he prescribed: “Every sort of poor person will lodge here, be they Milanese or
foreigners, men, women and children, because charity does not make differences
between nations and we are all brothers in the Lord. Foreigners and those
from other dioceses were to be sent to their homeland with whatever help which
will be possible, not violating them however, because they are brothers and
members of the Lord”.
And
every Bishop of the metropolitan dioceses was invited to set up a Monte di
Pietà to combat the scourge of usury.
In
1570 when a tragic famine broke out, crowds of hungry country people poured
into Milan to contend with the city dwellers for what little food
remained. A crowd of tramps stayed in the centre of the city.
Everyone knew that the porticos of the Archbishop’s house had been transformed
into field kitchens, where it was always possible to have a plate of hot rice
and vegetables. And every day not less than three thousand starving poor
came.
Meanwhile
the site of the major seminary which was being constructed was kept open by
Charles in such a way as to be able to give work to the always growing number
of derelicts.
He
even interested himself in favouring new cultivations of maize, a plant not
long arrived in Europe that carried notable benefits, so much so that to
remember its name the people called the plant “carlone” in his honour.
Six
years later terrible and recurrent plagues occurred. Deaths were counted
in hundreds per day and reached a figure that was placed between 13,000 and
17,000.
The
leper hospital of the Eastern Gate filled with mercy and horror and, when it
was full, hovels of sick and moribund started to proliferate outside the city
gates.
As
usual the civil authorities and nobles fled; doctors travelled around
cautiously, distributing medicine and advice from a distance; the healthy
barricaded themselves in their houses, avoiding going outside at all costs; and
the city found itself abandoned into the hands of the corpse collectors who
gathered up the cadavers and dedicated themselves to their base trade.
Or
at least it would have been like this if the Archbishop would not have exposed
himself first, demanding a generosity without measure from his priests, and
also constraining the few civil authorities remaining to do their duty.
Every
day he travelled through the streets of the city, visiting the sick and the
moribund. The doors of houses only opened for him and some trickle of
charity came out, in alms or means of support, destined for the most
derelict.
The
Archbishop certainly had no more knowledge than the scientists of his time
would have had: at that time no one knew anything precise either about the
cause of the disease or the remedies to overcome it.
But
in the meanwhile he gave the people what he knew best: he explained to them
that there was a certain relationship between the plague that destroyed bodies
and the one that destroyed souls and that the same mercy of God that saves
souls could also save bodies.
Therefore
he asked for conversion of heart, he suggested prayers and liturgical
celebrations, he organised processions and rites of expiation...
Already
then he received criticism from those who reproached him for favouring the
spread of the plague by organising these public gatherings, and maybe there was
some truth in this, but Charles knew that it was not enough to avoid the spread
of the plague when reasons to live were fewer and fewer and the most bestial
instincts and ferocious selfishness were exploding amongst the superstitious.
It
wasn’t much use inculcating fear and prevention of contagion when family
members abandoned their own loved ones at the first sign of illness, and
everyone barricaded themselves into their houses, uprooting from their hearts
every instinct of human solidarity.
For
the rest the wisdom with which the Archbishop sought to make the most of all
the scientific knowledge which he could arrange at that time is surprising,
even to our eyes. He repeatedly engaged himself on the issue with the
most famous clinicians of the university of Pavia and personally studied the
best medical texts that he was able to procure.
The
hygiene guidelines which he gave to his collaborators are some of the wisest
that could have been expected at that time: he demanded that all would wash
themselves and change their clothes after every encounter with the sick, and
even when money was distributed the coins were placed in a container of
vinegar.
He
even came to the point of hurling excommunications against those who traded in
clothes taken from plague victims.
He
was spiritually prepared making his will and leaving his inheritance to the
Major Hospital.
He
had already donated all the fabrics, even the precious ones, kept in the
cupboards of the archiepiscopal palace, which comprised red, green and violet
vestments, so that they could be used as clothes and covering for the
sick. He had all the silverware sold and he even sent his own poor bed to
the leper hospital.
When
the plague ended around 20,000 people were dead, but not one collaborator of
the Archbishop had been infected.
Whoever
does not wish to admit a miracle must at least admit the wisdom of the hygienic
norms severely inculcated by him. They say that it was due to his
prescriptions that the number of victims was less than half than in Venice in
similar circumstances.
After
being worn out helping the plague victims, Charles continued to wear himself
out with his never-ending pastoral visits: visits to the whole Diocese which at
that time went into Veneto, Piedmont, Switzerland: there isn’t an out of the
way area which he doesn’t visit at least twice. To this was added his
responsibility as metropolitan of an ecclesiastical province taking in 15
dioceses, which he also had to visit.
Every
visit lasted around 3 months, and the saint also reached the most distant
parishes. One of the most exhausting visits was in 1580 to the diocese of
Brescia where he was welcomed – according to the reporter – “with
manifestations of infinite and splendid joy”, amongst which were the
sensational conversion of notorious heretics, the pacification of inveterate
hatreds, the repentance of brigands and bandits. One night he was
constrained by bad weather to spend the night at an inn in Martinengo, the usual
meeting place of a group of bandits; such was the charm of his severe sweetness
that they decided to change their way of life and to confess to the holy
Archbishop. They only had difficulty in overcoming human respect, for
this reason they established that the one who would have to confess first would
be the one who lost a game of mora. And on loosing, with the relative
penance, was rightly their head. We still have a letter with which
Charles recommended them to the provost of Crema so that he would help them to
keep faith with the proposition of changing their way of life.
Everywhere
he arrived he needed hours and hours to be able to distribute communion to all
those who wished to receive it from his hands. And when he reached
Castiglione delle Stiviere he was also able to give first communion to the
little Luigi Gonzaga.
“It
was as if an Apostle of Jesus Christ had returned to earth”, said witnesses to
explain the enormous influx of people and the enthusiasm of conversions.
Even entire lands that had for a long time been in rebellion against their own
bishop came to bow before him, as happened in the locality of
Valcamonica.
He
typically travelled by horse, at times at night, covering the distances in the
briefest time possible. He only took rest in presbyteries and convents,
avoiding noble palaces. At times, traversing mountain valleys, he had to
prove himself talented at mountaineering, which is still celebrated in certain
popular songs. There were also worrying misadventures on the journeys or
true and proper accidents from which he emerged miraculously unharmed.
All
told the fame of Charles was such that even today there is hardly a church in
northern Italy and in the Swiss part of Italy that does not have an oratory or
a chapel or an altar or a painting or a statue dedicated to him. And yet
at the end on his cardinalatial coat of arms he left only one word: “Humilitas”
(“Hunility”)!
Meanwhile
Charles had become poorer and penitent, supposing that such could have been
possible.
He
prayed long and intensely, he slept on straw, he ate little, he wore threadbare
clothes and worked uninterruptedly. At times, when they called him for
dinner, he said: “Too soon!”, indicating that he still had work to attend
to. They left him for an hour or so, then called him again. “Now
it’s too late!”, he said with a humble and a little mischievous smile, and he
was prepared to take what little bit of rest that he granted himself. He
never wished that they would heat up his bed and he said that “there is an easy
way to find a warm bed: that is to come in the long vigil when our body is
colder than the bed”. It was not masochism: Charles was simply
remembering the long years passed amongst comforts and riches (when he delighted
in hunting, societal games and the cello), and it never seemed to him that he
had appreciated enough the art of being like his Crucified Lord. He went
to confession every day and always found some sin over which to cry.
One
day when he was distributing communion a particle fell on the ground, he
punished himself for this negligence with a week of fasting and staying four
days without celebrating.
Certainly
it seems to us an exaggerated scruple, but how would it have seemed to one who
lived only for the love of the Crucified one and the Eucharist.
To
those who reproached him for excessive penances he responded: “To give light to
others the candle must consume itself... This is what we must do”.
The
fame of his penances was so widely spread that invitations to moderation
reached him from every part. Even the Pope sent him a Brief (really an
official document) obliging him to take care of his health. But it
arrived to late.
When
he breathed his last – after a brief agony passed by contemplating with
extreme emotion the paintings of the passion of Christ which he had in his room
and which he had placed around his bed – Charles Borromeo was only 46.
They
say that his last words were: “Behold, Lord, I am arriving...”.
When,
late in the evening of 3rd November 1584 the funeral bells tolled
from the height of the Duomo, a river of people poured into the square of the
archbishop’s house: men, women, children, priests and religious sought to
invade the archiepiscopal house to reach their father and shepherd. They
all wanted “to see the saint”.
No
Bishop had ever stirred up such affection and veneration in the people, as did
Charles Borromeo, notwithstanding his inflexibility (which however was known to
be sweet). They called him “Father of the poor”.
Even
the civil authorities felt constrained to write to Rome, sending condolences to
the Pope and declaring that Charles had known how to gain himself in Milan
(these are their exact words) “an incredible love”.