File:Where ghosts walk - the haunts of familiar characters in history and literature (1898) (14782725142).jpg

Identifier: whereghostswalkh00harl (find matches)
Title: Where ghosts walk : the haunts of familiar characters in history and literature
Year: 1898 (1890s)
Authors: Harland, Marion, 1830-1922
Subjects:
Publisher: New York : G. P. Putnam
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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e of the half-dozen or so a year when the head of St.Catherine is exhibited alike to the believ-ing and the skeptical. We see it—a lividmemento mori, enough like her portraits topain, as well as repel, us. It is enclosedin a hermetically sealed tabernacle, but theflare of the altar-candles falls full upon it.Some of the women weep, all kneel andcross themselves, eyes bent upon the holyrelic ceded to Siena by the gracious Seeof Rome. After one swift look, we turn away andretreat noiselessly from the crowd, findingour way, without guide or sacristan, towhat we came hither to see,—the realchapel and oratory of Catherine of Siena. Such a plain, bare room to eyes achingfrom the gorgeousness of the shrine builtover and above the poor, dismemberedhead ! A few cheap frescoes; a meanaltar at one end ; above the altar the oneauthentic likeness of Catherine extant,painted by an artist who was her discipleand dear friend ; a tablet or two, and stonebenches built into the walls—these are all
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SAINT CATHERINE OF SIENA.The only authentic portrait extant. A 14th-century New Woman 133 we see, and we are thankful. Thankful,especially, that besides ourselves, not ahuman creature enters the room duringthe silent, busy half-hour we spend in theeffort to winnow biography from tradition,and history from ecclesiastical and ex cathe-dra detail. For we do not forget in Protestant andrational intolerance with the usual run ofthe Lives of the Saints, that CatherineBenincasa was no more a myth than Joanof Arc, or than Bernardino Ochino, born,like her, in the Ward of the Goose, whosewords, said the Emperor Charles V., would move stones to tears. The four-teenth century produced no woman whowas her equal, few men who excelled herin mental gifts, and none who were hersuperiors in virtue. We have read, andthen turned our backs upon, the entabla-tured inscription telling that Here shewas invested with the habit of St. Domi-nic ; and she was the first woman whoever wore it. Here, she remained w

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