But he had been confined in his cell on bread and water for chattering.
'Then let him be brought out of his cell; for I want him!' answered
Papa Braschi.
That time he took Padre Fontanarosa away in his carriage, and no one
durst say anything to him any more.
2
Father Fontanarosa was very simple in his habits himself; and
he thought the best way to keep the Order simple was to keep it
poor. Whenever anyone wanted to leave money to it, instead of
encouraging them, he used to tell them of some other good work to
which they might leave it.
One day there was a penitent of his who was very devoted to the
Jesuits, a very rich nobleman, who came to die, and, as he was making
his will, he would have Padre Fontanarosa and the notary present
together. 'I leave all of which I die possessed to the Church of the
Gesù,' dictated the rich nobleman.
'What! do you leave all to the Son and nothing to the Mother!' said
Padre Fontanarosa, who knew he was too weak to argue with him as to
whether the Order was better without the money or not, and therefore
adopted this mode of avoiding the snare, without damaging the good
purpose of the testator.
'Ah! you are right,' answered the dying man. 'Thank you for reminding
me. Make a codicil,' he said to the notary, 'and say I meant it for
Gesù and Maria.'
The notary wrote just what he was bid, and the dying man and the
witnesses signed all duly. But the money had to go, not to 'the Gesù'
at all, but to the church of 'Gesù e Maria'--you know where, at the
end of the Corso, which doesn't belong to the Jesuits at all, but to
the Augustinians.
3
Others give him not quite such a good character, and tell the following
story of him:--
The reason why the Jesuits did not look favourably on Father
Fontanarosa was that they thought he went too often to the house of
a certain lady. He perceived that they had found out that he visited
her, but he went on all the same, only he said to her, 'If anything
happens that the fathers send after me, and anyone comes into the
room suddenly; fall down on your knees before the crucifix, and I will
speak so that I may seem to be here to give you a penitential warning.'
There happened to be a handsome crucifix, kept more for ornament
than devotion, on a slab in her boudoir, and she promised to heed
his caution.
One day, when they were together, they heard a ring at the outer
door; then a whispering in the passage; then footsteps in the
adjoining room. Padre Fontanarosa looked at the lady, and the lady
looked at Padre Fontanarosa. Each understood that they were under
surveillance. She fell down on her knees before the crucifix, and he
exhorted her to take a pattern from the Magdalen; and, as she knelt
clasping the foot of the cross, with her beautiful hair all loose
over her shoulders, she really looked like a living picture of the
Magdalen. Still no one came into the room. But they felt they were
being watched; so it was necessary to keep up the deception. Padre
Fontanarosa had to speak loudly and fervently in order to make
his words resound well in the adjoining room; the lady had to sob
to show she was attending to them. Still no one came in; and Padre
Fontanarosa had to continue his discourse till, partly through fear
lest his courage should fail, and partly lest he should be discovered,
he forced himself to forget present circumstances, and to throw himself
into his exhortation to such an extent that he preached with a force
and eloquence he had never exercised in his life before.
At last those who had been listening felt satisfied of his sincerity,
and went back to the General and told him there was no fault to be
found in him.
But so effectually had he preached, and so salutary had been his
warnings, that the next day the lady entered a convent, to be a
penitent all her days.