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DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE:
Catherine Plans Her Trip to France
Who would ever want to leave Siena?
I certainly do not; Siena is God’s garden
Filled with figs and golden wheat
Nuts to eat in winter when Mama bakes
The almonds into little cakes with prunes
And the sweet peels of glorious oranges.
In spring the mares and their foals
Graze and frolic on the green hillsides
Where the wild roses and fresh herbs thrive.
In summer sunflowers stand tall above the lilies
In the fields and lean against the warm red bricks
Of our cathedral and the beautiful buildings
That circle the heart of our ancient commune.
But since my marriage to my Lord Jesus Christ,
I no longer have eyes for earthly sights
Or appetite for cakes and sweets or any kind of food.
Each morning at Mass my Lord gives me his Body and his Blood
And I have no other need for food or drink.
Still, I do not wish to leave my sweet Mama behind
And travel to far-off Avignon, that cloudy place
Of cold wine and colder welcome
Where human speech sounds like
Cats arguing, and people argue
More than they embrace.
Mama always embraced and cared for me.
Though she gave birth to twenty-five babies,
She always had time for each of us, even the ones who died.
Sometimes we talk about my sister, Giovanna, my twin
Who gave up her tiny spirit after sharing
Her whole life in the womb with me.
I know her soul has grown large and luminous
Nurtured and fed in heaven by the communion of saints
While I down here on earth, even in sunny Siena,
Remain small, thin and insignificant.
When people see me at a distance,
They mistake me for a child.
But my husband instructs us that we must become
Like little children, and I am not ashamed
To be thought of as a child.
The minds of children are not weak,
They can run and travel far without tiring
And their limbs are strong and supple.
When an idea is conceived in a child’s heart,
He will not give up until he has followed this plan
To the far margins of the earth.
A girl will imagine a castle made of pebbles
And will construct her castle
From the smallest stones,
Even the gravel from the garden paths
Around her father’s villa,
Until her castle—turrets, towers and angels on the high precipice--
Grows taller than her own growing frame.
Mama allows me to remain a child, lets me play with angels.
She relented and released me from hateful betrothal
To a man with unclean hands,
Welcomes me always in her dear old brick home
Where I was happy as a girl, lets me join
The Daughters of St. Dominic in service to the poor,
Blesses my marriage to Our Lord Jesus
And does not force food on me when I wish to fast.
I love my life and my ministry in Siena,
But I must go to Avignon; my Husband will travel with me
Though I will leave Mama behind.
I must reconstruct the castle—our Mother Church.
I have enlisted scribes to write messages to Papa Gregory
Informing him that I am on my way.
I will convince him to return to Rome,
Rebuild our Church and make peace with the Florentines.
All of this can easily be done, as this is my Husband’s wish.
I certainly do not; Siena is God’s garden
Filled with figs and golden wheat
Nuts to eat in winter when Mama bakes
The almonds into little cakes with prunes
And the sweet peels of glorious oranges.
In spring the mares and their foals
Graze and frolic on the green hillsides
Where the wild roses and fresh herbs thrive.
In summer sunflowers stand tall above the lilies
In the fields and lean against the warm red bricks
Of our cathedral and the beautiful buildings
That circle the heart of our ancient commune.
But since my marriage to my Lord Jesus Christ,
I no longer have eyes for earthly sights
Or appetite for cakes and sweets or any kind of food.
Each morning at Mass my Lord gives me his Body and his Blood
And I have no other need for food or drink.
Still, I do not wish to leave my sweet Mama behind
And travel to far-off Avignon, that cloudy place
Of cold wine and colder welcome
Where human speech sounds like
Cats arguing, and people argue
More than they embrace.
Mama always embraced and cared for me.
Though she gave birth to twenty-five babies,
She always had time for each of us, even the ones who died.
Sometimes we talk about my sister, Giovanna, my twin
Who gave up her tiny spirit after sharing
Her whole life in the womb with me.
I know her soul has grown large and luminous
Nurtured and fed in heaven by the communion of saints
While I down here on earth, even in sunny Siena,
Remain small, thin and insignificant.
When people see me at a distance,
They mistake me for a child.
But my husband instructs us that we must become
Like little children, and I am not ashamed
To be thought of as a child.
The minds of children are not weak,
They can run and travel far without tiring
And their limbs are strong and supple.
When an idea is conceived in a child’s heart,
He will not give up until he has followed this plan
To the far margins of the earth.
A girl will imagine a castle made of pebbles
And will construct her castle
From the smallest stones,
Even the gravel from the garden paths
Around her father’s villa,
Until her castle—turrets, towers and angels on the high precipice--
Grows taller than her own growing frame.
Mama allows me to remain a child, lets me play with angels.
She relented and released me from hateful betrothal
To a man with unclean hands,
Welcomes me always in her dear old brick home
Where I was happy as a girl, lets me join
The Daughters of St. Dominic in service to the poor,
Blesses my marriage to Our Lord Jesus
And does not force food on me when I wish to fast.
I love my life and my ministry in Siena,
But I must go to Avignon; my Husband will travel with me
Though I will leave Mama behind.
I must reconstruct the castle—our Mother Church.
I have enlisted scribes to write messages to Papa Gregory
Informing him that I am on my way.
I will convince him to return to Rome,
Rebuild our Church and make peace with the Florentines.
All of this can easily be done, as this is my Husband’s wish.
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