Seeing such a concourse of praises and such a beautiful in-gathering of
works, Barnabas lamented to himself his ignorance and his simplicity.
“Alas!” he sighed as he walked along in the little garden of the
convent, “I am very unfortunate not to be able, like my brothers, to
praise worthily the Holy Mother of God to whom I have pledged the
tenderness of my heart. Alas! Alas! I am a rude and artless man, and I
have for your service, Madam the Virgin, neither edifying sermons, nor
tracts properly divided according to the rules, nor fine paintings, nor
statues exactly sculptured, nor verses counted by feet and marching in
measure. I have nothing, alas!”
He moaned in this manner and abandoned himself to sadness.
One night that the monks were recreating by conversing, he heard one
of them relate the history of a religious who did not know how to
recite anything but the _Ave Maria_. This monk was disdained for his
ignorance; but, having died, there came forth from his lips five roses
in honor of the five letters in the name of _Maria_, and his sanctity
was thus manifested.
While listening to this recital Barnabas admired once again the bounty
of the Virgin; but he was not consoled by the example of that happy
death, for his heart was full of zeal, and he desired to serve the
glory of his Lady who was in Heaven. He sought the means without being
able to find them, and every day he grieved the more.
One morning, however, having awakened full of joy, he ran to the chapel
and stayed there alone for more than an hour. He returned there after
dinner. And beginning from that moment he went every day into the
chapel at the hour when it was deserted, and there he passed a large
part of the time which the other monks consecrated to the liberal and
the mechanical arts. No more was he sad and no longer did he complain.
A conduct so singular aroused the curiosity of the monks. They asked
themselves in the community why Friar Barnabas made his retreats so
frequent.
The Prior, whose duty it is to ignore nothing in the conduct of his
monks, resolved to observe Barnabas during his solitudes. One day
that he was closeted in the chapel as his custom was, Dom Prior went,
accompanied by two elders of the monastery, to observe through the
windows of the door what was going on in the interior.
They saw Barnabas, who--before the altar of the Holy Virgin, head
downward, feet in air--was juggling with six brass balls and twelve
knives. He was doing in honor of the Holy Mother of God the feats which
had brought to him the most applause. Not comprehending that this
simple man was thus placing his talent and his knowledge at the service
of the Holy Virgin, the two elders cried out at the sacrilege.
The Prior understood that Barnabas had an innocent heart; but he
thought that he had fallen into dementia. All three were preparing
to drag him vigorously from the chapel when they saw the Holy Virgin
descend the steps of the altar in order to wipe with a fold of her blue
mantle the sweat which burst from the brow of her juggler.
Then the Prior, prostrating his face against the marble slabs, recited
these words:
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God!”
“Amen,” responded the elders as they kissed the earth.