Repentance.
On the road that led the traveller to the ancient village of Torre
del Greco, and about a mile from the populous parts of the city, there
stood a neat little cottage. In the front there was a flower garden,
small but charmingly pretty; the doors and windows were surrounded
with a woodbine creeper that gave an air of comfort to the little
dwelling. The door was ever closed. Few were seen to pass in and
out, and no noise ever betrayed the presence of its inmates.
Here for many years our young penitent Alvira passed a holy and solitary
life. After the stirring scenes of the preceding chapters, Father
Francis procured from the military authorities for his Magdalen, as
he was wont to call her, the full pay of a captain as a retiring
pension. This remarkable circumstance may be authenticated by reference
to the military books still preserved in the archives of the Molo at
Naples. Her rank and pension were confirmed by the king.
Under the able direction of the man of God, Alvira gave herself to
full correspondence with the extraordinary graces offered by our blessed
Lord. Her austerities and fervor increased until they reached the
degrees of heroic sanctity. She knelt and wept for hours before her
crucifix; she slept on hard boards and only allowed herself sufficient
to meet the demands of nature. She lived on herbs, and the fast of
Lent was so severe that Father Francis saw a miraculous preservation.
Long before daylight she knelt on the steps of the Gesu waiting for
the opening of the doors, and this austerity she never failed to
practice in the midst of rain or cold, until her last illness chained
her involuntarily to her couch, where her submission to the will of
God was equally meritorious.
Several terrible scenes of judgement, sent by Almighty God on
unrepentant sinners, had, in the very commencement of her conversion,
a most salutary influence on the feeble struggles of Alvira. Her
confidence in the Blessed Virgin was much enhanced by a severe act
of St. Francis towards one of the members of the Congregation of the
Most Holy Mother.
A young man of this congregation got suddenly rich, and, with wealth,
self-conceit and pride entered his heart. He considered it necessary,
to preserve his respectability, to separate himself from the humble
society he hitherto frequented, and cease to be a member of the
Congregation of the Madonna, composed of industrious and virtuous
youths who labored honestly for their livelihood. St. Francis, on
hearing of this slight on the congregation and insult to Mary, was
fired with a holy indignation. He sought the young man, and rang in
his ears the prophetic warnings which, in the case of this great saint,
were never uttered in vain to the unheeding. Again and again
St. Francis warned, but pride was still triumphant. One Sunday
afternoon, after the usual meeting of the confraternity, the saint
went to the alter of sodality; it was the altar of the Dolors. Seven
daggers seemed to pierce the Virgin's heart. Ascending the altar,
he cast a sorrowful glance on the weeping countenance of the Queen
of Sorrows, and said: "Most Holy Virgin, this young man has been for
you a most acute sword, piercing your heart; behold, I will relieve
you of it." So saying, he took one of the poniards from the statue,
and at the same time announced to the members that the proud young
man was expelled from the congregation.
Let those who fancy that such reprobations have not a corresponding
echo in the judgements of God tremble in reading the effects of this
simple but terrible excommunication.
Like sand through the perforated vessel, the young man's wealth passed
away; one month found him a cringing debtor, another found him a
beggar, a third found him dying in a public institution, abandoned
by God and man.
On another occasion Alvira was present when a terrible judgement of
God upon a hardened sinner thrilled the whole city with awe.
St. Francis was preaching in one of the streets during Lent. He
happened to pause and address a crowd near the house of an impious,
ill conducted woman, who came immediately to her window to laugh and
mock at the man of God. Having gratified herself tot he disgust of
the crowd, she finally slammed to the window violently, uttering at
the same time some filthy and unbecoming remark. St. Francis stood
immovable fro a moment; his eye was fixed on heaven; and then, in a
voice head half over the city, he cried out: "My God, how terrible
are thy judgments! That unfortunate woman has dropped dead."
The groans and confusion of the inmates soon convinced the crowd of
the awful fact, for the corpse of the hapless wretch was brought into
the street where it was exposed to the terrified people.
These and similar instances of the judgement of God witnessed by Alvira
had a salutary effect on her trembling soul. The fear of God, which
is the beginning of wisdom, erected its watch-tower around the citadel
of her heart; the virtues, once entered, were not permitted to flee,
and soon won for this penitent soul the sweets of the illuminative
degree of sanctity.
St. Francis, a master in the science of the saints, soon recognized
the extraordinary graces destined for this chosen soul. Full of
gratitude and love for God, he spared no effort to correspond with
the sublime destiny entrusted to him; hence in the after-history of
those two holy souls the marvels of virtue and sanctity intermingled,
so that at times it would seem doubtful whether the miracles recorded
were given to the exalted sanctity and zeal of the holy priest or to
the weeping virgin penitent, so privileged and so loved in the forgiving
memory of God.
On one occasion a young mother lost her infant. Death had stricken
the little flower ere it had blossomed. The mother was poor and unable
to bury the child. With an unbounded confidence in the charity and
zeal of St. Francis, the bright thought struck her: If she could only
get this good man interested in her behalf, all would be accomplished.
Accordingly, she made for the church of the Gesu by daylight. Only
one individual was before her waiting for the church to be opened.
It was Magdalen. Even from Magdalen she concealed the object of her
early visit, and pressed closer to her heart the dead treasure she
intended as a present for Father Francis. The church opened; she stole
around the dark aisles, whence the daylight had not yet banished the
shades of night, and noiselessly approached the confessional of the
holy man. She placed the dead child on the seat, and hurried to some
recess of the great church, where she could watch the happy issue of
this ingenious mode of disposing of her child. The early morning
hours wore away, and at length the wished for moment came. The vestry
door is opened. The tall, mortified form of St. Francis appeared at
the foot of the altar. He prayed awhile, and rose to go to his
confessional. But the young mother watched with her heart leaping to
her mouth. He did not go to his tribunal; he moved majestically down
the church, and came to Magdalen's corner where Alvira was wrapt in
prayer. He whispered something to her. They prayed for a moment,
then Alvira flitted like a shadow through the dark aisles towards
the confessional of Father Francis. She entered and took the infant
child in her arms. The child was alive. The mother came rushing
from her hiding-place to claim the infant, and when she received it
into her embrace the man of God raised his index finger in the act
of warning, and with a sweet, forgiving smile on his countenance,
said to the young mother: "My child, don't put any more dead babies
in my confessional."
Alvira had to undergo a severe trial in the absence of Father Francis.
He was directed by his superiors to commence his missions in the country
districts, and was virtually removed from Naples for some years. Before
leaving, he fortified his chosen children with salutary admonitions,
but for Alvira he had special words of encouragement and consolation.
It pleased God to let him know in her behalf that, in return for her
sincere repentance and deep devotion to the Blessed Virgin, before
her death three extraordinary favors would be conferred on her, which
would also be the warning of the setting sun of her career in life.
Alvira treasured his words in her heart, and in deep humility wondered
at the goodness of God.