HE was born on the Feast of the Assumption, in the year of our Lord
1654, at the town of Ischia, in the island of that name, belonging to
the kingdom of Naples, of respectable parents, Joseph Calosirto and
Laura Garguilo, and was upon the same day christened Charles Cajetan. He
early discovered the seeds of those virtues that in a special manner
enriched his soul, and sanctified his life in the religious
state,--humility, sweetness, obedience, and an incomparable modesty; and
at the same time manifested a marvellous inclination to silence,
retirement, and prayer. Wherefore, even in childhood, he made choice of
a room in the most secluded quarter of the house, and therein fitting up
a little altar to Our blessed Lady, (on whose great festival he had the
happiness to be born, and towards whom, through life, he cherished a
tender and filial devotion,) he spent his whole time in study and pious
exercises. Here, too, he early manifested his attachment to the cross,
sleeping upon a narrow hard bed, and fasting on appointed days during
the week; and as he mortified the flesh betimes, so also he checked all
pride, by wearing constantly mean clothes, notwithstanding his birth and
station, in despite of remonstrances and reproach. His horror of sin was
equal to his love of virtue, so that his mind, from the first dawn of
reason, shrunk like a delicate plant from the very shadow of guilt, and
was all-imbued with zeal for God's glory. Idleness, levity, vanity, and
falsehood, even in trivial matters, were censured by him as faults
severely reprehensible. And when his efforts to check sin drew upon him
the hostility of others, he was so far from losing patience, that he
therein only discovered a fresh opportunity of practising virtue.
Towards the poor he overflowed with tenderness, reserving for them the
choicest portion of his meals, and devoting to their use the
pocket-money he received.
The sanctity of his boyhood merited for him the grace of a divine call
to a state of holiness; and feeling an interior movement to quit the
world, he {513} sedulously sought counsel from the Father of lights, as
to the manner in which he should obey this inspiration. For this end he
redoubled his ordinary devotions and mortifications; performed a novena
to the Holy Ghost, and threw himself upon the tender patronage and
powerful intercession of Our Lady. God hearkened to his fervent appeal;
for his providence so disposed that at this period the renowned servant
of God, Father John da San Bernardo, a Spanish Alcantarine, came into
the country of our saint, with the view of establishing his order in the
kingdom of Naples. The mean habit and devout demeanor of this holy man
and his companions, touched and won the heart of Joseph; he desired to
imitate what he beheld, and doubted not but the desire came from God.
Wherefore he journeyed to Naples, that he might impart to the fathers of
the order his inclination; and they, having prudently considered his
vocation, admitted him to the novitiate. He manifested so much ardor,
that the superiors deemed it fitting to clothe him with the habit before
the usual time had expired. This happy consummation of his wishes took
place before he had completed his sixteenth year. He adopted the name of
John Joseph of the Cross, and on the feast of St. John the Baptist, in
the year of our Lord 1671, he completed his edifying novitiate, and took
the solemn vows of his order; whose holy founder, St. Francis of Asisi,
and St. Peter of Alcantara, he proposed to himself as models.
In obedience to the express desire of his superior, our saint submitted
to receive the dignity of the priesthood, and was appointed to hear
confessions; in which task he displayed a profound theological learning,
which he had acquired solely at the foot of the cross. But, carried
onward by an ardent love of the cross, whose treasures he more and more
discovered as he advanced in the dignity and functions of the sacred
ministry, he resolved to establish in the wood adjoining his convent a
kind of solitude, where, after the manner of the ancient Fathers of the
Desert, he might devote himself entirely to grayer and penitential
austerities, and give to the Church an illustrious and profitable
example of the sacerdotal spirit exercised in a perfect degree. There
was found in the wood a pleasant fountain, whose waters healed the sick;
and hard by he erected a little church, and round about it, at
intervals, five small hermitages, wherein, with his companions, he
renewed the austere and exalted life of the old anchorites, and advanced
greatly in spirituality. And in order that no care or worldly thought
might ruffle the sublime tranquillity of this contemplative life, the
convent had charge of daily supplying the holy solitary with food.
But the superiors, who knew the rich treasure they possessed in our
saint, when he had attained the age of twenty-four, chose him for master
of the novices; in which new office, so far from allowing himself the
smallest dispensation, he was foremost in setting the example of a
scrupulous observance of every rule; assiduous in his attendance in
choir, constant in silence, in prayer, and recollection. He was careful
to instil into the hearts of those under his charge an ardent love of
Our Lord Jesus, and a desire of imitating him; as also a special
veneration for, and tender attachment to His blessed mother.
From Naples, where he was employed as master of the novices, our saint
was transferred to Piedimonte, and invested with the office of guardian.
The zeal which this new and more responsible charge called for, was
surpassed only by the profound humility its exercise demanded. Ever a
rigid enforcer of the rule, he was careful to make his enactments
agreeable to others, by being the first to observe them himself. The
beneficial result of such conduct was soon made manifest, for he thereby
won the hearts of all the religious, who under him, advanced with rapid
strides towards the most heroic {514} perfection. Still his humble and
gentle spirit sighed to be disburdened of so heavy a charge; and having,
after two years, obtained the desired release, turned its charitable
energies to the direction of souls, the assistance and alleviation of
the dying and distressed, and the conversion of sinners.
When he was released from his post of guardian, it was only to reassume
that of master of the novices, which be held for four successive years,
and exercised partly in Naples, and partly in Piedimonte. But now
succeeded the accustomed visitation of crosses, to be afterwards
followed by an increase of grace and supernatural favors; an alternation
which checkered the whole course of his life. He was summoned to his
native country, Ischia, to order to discharge the painful duty of filial
affection, and receive the last sighs of his dying mother. Her death
ensued, full of hope, and calm, in the presence of her beloved; and,
stifling the swelling emotions of sensible grief, this incomparable son
followed her remains to the church, and offered up for her soul the
sacrifice of propitiation. Who shall adequately conceive his feelings
during the celebration of that mass? Was his grief less filial, less
poignant, because it was reasonable and Christian? and because, instead
of breaking into wild laments and barren demonstrations, it remained
pent up in the recesses of his strong heart, and left free play and
exercise to calm judgment and the salutary measures of Christian
charity? Christian fortitude requires that we should bear up against the
stroke of death not despondingly, because inevitable, but firmly and
cheerfully, because it is the season of better hope, whereby we plant
the ensign of salvation upon the grave. This will be no unnatural check
to those emotions, which it is so great and yet so painful a consolation
to indulge. They will flow no less freely, and far more profitably, when
the calls of religion have first been satisfied. Was St. Bernard a
violator of the sentiments of humanity, when he followed with tearless
eyes and calm countenance the body of his brother to the grave,
assisting at all the offices of religion, and officiating thereat
himself? Was that great heart insensible, when its uncontrollable grief
burst out in the midst of a discourse on other topics, into an
impassioned address to his departed brother, and a magnificent tribute
to the virtues of this partner of his soul and affections? Or does not
such an instance of Christian fortitude and magnanimity favorably
contrast with the pusillanimous and almost heathen despondency and
desolation which overwhelm many at the sight or news of death, even as
the Catholic faith--warm, generous, and confident--cheers beyond that
cold and gloomy creed, that bids farewell to hope at the brink of the
grave?
In the provincial chapter of 1690, he was appointed to the office of
definitor, in addition to that which he already held. The difficulties
of these two functions, requiring a union of the virtues of the active
and contemplative life, our saint marvellously and happily surmounted.
But now an event happened which well-nigh extinguished the institute to
which he belonged, in Italy, and which gave occasion to an illustrious
evidence of his exceeding utility to the order. The Spanish
Alcantarines, having some differences with the Italian, procured from
the apostolic see their dismemberment from the latter, who, being thus
abandoned, recurred to our saint for succor. Suffering himself to be
overcome by their entreaties, he undertook the advocacy of their cause
with the pontiff, and succeeded, in a congregation held in 1702, in
changing the sentiments of the cardinals and bishops, previously
disposed to their suppression; so that on the day after the feast of St.
Thomas the Apostle, a decree was issued by which the order was
established in Italy under the form of a province. A chapter was
convoked, in which the arduous task of government was, by the unanimous
voice of {515} all, forced upon the humility of our saint, who,
surmounting incredible hardships and obstacles, had at length the
satisfaction of seeing the necessary means provided, and the order
firmly established. Before the chapter-general of the order met, he was
named definitor by the provincial chapter; but on his remonstrances at
being thus so often compelled to assume offices, in spite of his
repugnance, he at length obtained a papal brief, exempting him from all
charges, and annulling even his active and passive vote in the chapter.
During the course of the year 1722, another brief made over to the
Alcantarines the convent of St. Lucy, in Naples, and thither our saint
retired, never afterwards to be brought out into the public light, which
he so much shunned, but left to edify his brethren during the remainder
of his life, and to build up the fabric of those extraordinary virtues,
of which we shall now proceed to give a sketch.
Faith, like the keystone of the arch, is that which gives the fabric of
Christian virtue solidity and stability. Of the attachment of our saint
to this necessary virtue, it would be superfluous to say any thing, as
his whole life was a speaking evidence of that attachment, as well as of
the eminent degree in which it pleased God to enable him to appreciate
its consoling mysteries. But he was content to thank God for having
admitted him to the truth, without rashly or profanely lifting the veil
of the sanctuary, and scrutinizing that which is within. He was
persuaded that the attempt to fathom the secrets of God, or to measure
his designs, would prove as hopeless as it would be impious, and
therefore he bowed to the truths of faith with implicit submission. From
this attachment of our saint to the virtue of faith, proceeded his zeal
to instruct the ignorant in the mysteries of religion, as well as the
force, fervor, and clearness, with which he expounded the sublime dogmas
of the Trinity and Incarnation, and even of predestination and grace;
the gift he possessed of quieting doubts respecting faith; and finally,
that constant exercise of the presence of God which he practised
uninterruptedly, and constantly recommended, saying: "Whoever walks
always in God's presence, will never commit sin, but will preserve his
innocence and become a great saint."
Hope in God rendered our saint of even temper in the midst of the
various contradictions he experienced in establishing his order in
Italy. He used to say to his companions, when they were dismayed by the
persecutions they suffered, "Let us hope in God, and doubtless we shall
be comforted:" and to the distressed who flocked to him, "God is a
tender father, who loves and succors all;" or, "Doubt not; trust in God,
He will provide." Hence his heart enjoyed a peace which no sufferings
could molest, and which did not desert him even when he lay under the
stroke of apoplexy that terminated in his death. For his hope was based
upon the Catholic principle, that God, who destined him for an eternal
kingdom, would not refuse the succors necessary to attain it. Still,
though his hopes, through the merits of our Lord's blessed passion, knew
no bounds, yet was he tremblingly sensible of the guilt of sin, and the
awful character of God's judgments; whence were derived that intense
grief with which sin inspired him, and that astonishing humility which
led him to bewail unceasingly his want of correspondence to divine
grace, to proclaim himself everywhere a sinner, and implore the prayers
of others.
To complete the crown of theological virtues, charity in both its
branches pre-eminently characterized our saint. This divine virtue
burned so warmly in his heart, as to be transfused through his features,
over which it spread a superhuman and celestial glow, and gave to his
discourse a melting tenderness. "Were there neither heaven nor hell," he
would say, "still would I ever wish to love God, who is a father so
deserving of our love." Or: {516} "Let us love our Lord, love him verily
and indeed, for the love of God is a great treasure. Blessed is he that
loveth God."
Our saint, who so ardently loved God, whom he saw not, was not without
bowels of tenderness for his neighbor, whom he beheld. It was the
constant practice of his life to feed the poor; and when he was
superior, he ordered that no beggar should be dismissed from the convent
gate without relief: in time of scarcity he devoted to their necessities
his own portion, and even that of the community, relying upon Providence
to supply their wants; and when he was only a private monk, he earnestly
recommended this charity to the superiors.
But it was towards the sick that his charity displayed itself. He used
to attend the infirm in his convent with unwearied assiduity; nor was he
less anxious to serve those who were without, but generously sought them
out, and visited them, even during the most inclement seasons. And as
God maketh his sun to shine upon the wicked as well as the good, so our
saint would not exclude even his enemies from the boundless range of his
charity. For one who had insulted him he once labored strenuously to
procure some advantageous post; and being warned that the man was his
enemy, he replied, "that therefore he was under the greater obligation
of serving him." Besides these general virtues, he possessed in the
highest degree those which belonged to his religious state, especially a
prompt and implicit obedience to all commands, however painful or
difficult. That obedience which he practised himself, he was careful to
enforce upon others, which his office of superior made it his duty, for
he justly regarded this virtue as essential to a religious. Nor was his
love of poverty less remarkable. A rouge seat and a table, a bed,
consisting of two narrow planks, with two sheep-skins and a wretched
woollen coverlet, a stool to rest his wounded legs upon, these, with his
breviary, formed the whole furniture of his cell. And although the order
allowed each one to possess two habits, yet during the forty-six years
that he was a member of it, he never had any other than that which he
put on in the novitiate. But it was in his vigilant guard over chastity,
that our saint was most remarkable. His unremitting mortifications, his
extreme modesty, and perpetual watchfulness over all his senses,
preserved him from the slightest breath of contamination. Never during
the sixty years of his life was he known to look any one not of his own
sex in the face. His every word and action bespoke purity, and inspired
the love thereof. Our saint, so solidly grounded in this virtue, was not
without its only sure foundation,--humility. He delighted in performing
menial offices in the convent, and when the task allotted to him was
finished, he was anxious to fulfil that of others. Hence he also avoided
all posts and honor, as much as was consistent with his vow of
obedience. When he journeyed through Italy as provincial, he would not
make himself known at the inns, where he lodged, lest any distinction
should be paid him. To the same cause may be ascribed his unwillingness
to revisit his native country, his aversion to being in company with the
great, when their spiritual affairs did not require it, his not
accepting the invitations of the viceroy and his consort to the palace;
his calling himself, as he was wont, the greatest sinner in the whole
world, ungrateful to God for his benefits, a worm on the face of the
earth; his custom of frequently kissing the hands of priests; his
unwillingness to declare his opinion in council; his care to break off
every discourse touching upon his birth or connections; his gratitude to
God for enlightening those who disparaged him; his never being
scandalized at the sins of others, how great soever; and finally, his
never evincing the smallest resentment at any insult or injury. He was
studious to conceal and dissemble the great gifts of miracles and
prophecy with which God favored {517} him; ascribing the miracles he
performed to the faith of those in whose behalf they were wrought, or to
the intercession of the saints. Not unfrequently he desired those whom
he restored to health, to take some certain medicine, that the cure
might be attributed to a mere natural remedy; and with regard to his
prophecies, which were numerous, he affected to judge from analogy and
experience. To the numerous penitential austerities enjoined by his
order, he added as many more as an ingenious self-denial could devise.
Silent as long as possible, when he spoke, it was in a low voice.
Bareheaded in all seasons, he wore under his rough and heavy habit
divers hair-shirts and chains, which he was careful to vary to keep the
sense of torment ever fresh. Besides, he used the discipline to a severe
degree; and when, at the age of forty, his superior obliged him to wear
sandals, he placed between them and his feet a quantity of small nails;
but the most tremendous instrument of torture, which he devised against
himself, was a cross about a foot in length, set with rows of sharp
nails, which he fastened tight over his shoulders, so as to open there a
wound which never afterwards closed. In sooth, these things would appear
incredible, did we not remember that St. John Joseph of the Cross had
taken up the instrument of our Lord Jesus's blessed passion, and was
miraculously supported under its weight. If we are not blessed with
equal strength, still we are all capable of enduring much more than is
demanded of us for gaining heaven. Is not the life of a worldling more
irksome and more painful than that of a mortified religious man? How
many heart-burnings, and aching heads, and palled appetites, and
disordered faculties, and diseased frames, could bear out this
assertion,--that the way to heaven would be easy on the score of
mortification, if men could consent to sacrifice to virtue but one half
what they sacrifice to feed their passions?
It was usual for our saint to be absorbed and rapt in heavenly ecstasies
and visions. In this state he was lost to all that passed around him;
seeing, hearing, and feeling nothing, he stood like a statue of marble,
and when he was awakened, his countenance glowed like a burning coal. In
a condition so closely resembling that of the blessed, he was, from time
to time, made a partaker of their glories. Thus, during prayer a halo of
light often encircled his head; and, during mass, a supernatural
brightness overspread his countenance. In the practice of every virtue,
and in the enjoyment of sublime graces, our saint passed the days of his
pilgrimage, glorifying God and giving alms and doing good, until it
pleased the Lord to close his career on earth, not without a previous
forewarning as to the time and circumstances of his death. In the year
when it occurred, his nephew writing to him from Vienna, that he would
return home in May, he sent back answer that he would not then find him
living. And only a week before his departure, discoursing with his
brother. Francis, he said, "I have never asked a boon of you till now;
do me the charity to pray to Almighty God for me, next Friday, do you
hear? mind, do not forget." It was the very day he died. Two days before
his last mortal attack, accosting Vincent of Laines, "We shall never,"
said he, "meet on earth again." Now, upon the last day of February,
after hearing mass, and receiving communion with extraordinary fervor,
he betook himself to his room, to deliver to the crowds that resorted to
him his last paternal admonitions. He continued without interruption
till mid-day, and at that hour precisely, turning to the lay-brother
that assisted him, said, "Shortly a thunderclap will lay me prostrate on
the ground, you will have to raise me thence, but this is the last I
shall experience." Accordingly, at two hours and a half after sunset, an
apoplectic stroke threw him on the ground. At first the nature of his
disease was mistaken. It was thought that over-fatigue had brought on
giddiness but the next day {518} the symptoms manifested themselves
alarmingly, and spread in defiance of remedies. Yet though he was thus,
to all appearances, senseless during the five days that he survived,
doubtless his soul was occupied in interior ecstasies and profound
contemplation; as indeed his countenance, his lips, and gestures,
expressive of the tenderest devotion, indicated. His eyes, generally
shut, opened frequently to rest upon the mild image of Our Lady, whose
picture was opposite him. Sometimes, too, he turned them towards his
confessor, as if demanding absolution, according to what had been
previously concerted between them. A pressure of the eyes and an
inclination of the head were also perceptible, and he was seen to strike
his breast when he received, for the last time, the sacramental
absolution from the hands of the superior. At length the morning dawned,
which was to witness the passage of our saint from this vale of tears
and land of sorrow to a better life. It was Friday, the 5th of March, a
day yet unoccupied in the calendar, as if purposely left for him. He had
spent the previous night in unceasing fervent acts of contrition,
resignation, love, and gratitude, as his frequent beating of his breast,
lifting his hands towards heaven, and blessing himself, testified.
Before the morning was far advanced, turning to the lay-brother that
attended him, as if awoke out of an ecstasy, he said, "I have but a few
moments to live." Hereupon the lay-brother ran in all speed to give
notice to the superior, who, with the whole community, at that moment in
choir, hastened to the cell of the dying man. The recommendation of a
departing soul was recited with an abundance of tears. The
father-guardian perceiving he was in his agony, imparted to him the last
sacramental absolution; which he, bowing his head to receive, instantly
raised it again; opened, for the last time, his eyes, now swimming in
joy, and inebriated with heavenly delight; fixed them, just as they were
closing, with a look of ineffable tenderness, upon the image of Out
blessed Lady, and composing his lips to a sweet smile, without farther
movement or demonstration, ceased to breathe.
Thus expired, without a struggle, John Joseph of the Cross, the mirror
of religious life, the father of the poor, the comforter of the
distressed, and the unconquerable Christian hero: but when death came to
pluck him from the tree he dropped like a ripe fruit, smiling, into his
hands: or, even as a gentle stream steals unperceived into the ocean, so
calmly that its surface is not fretted with a ripple, his soul glided
into eternity. To die upon the field of battle, amidst the shouts of
victory, in presence of an admiring throng, surrounded by the badges of
honor and respect, bequeathing to history a celebrated name, may merit
the ambition of the world; or to perish in some noble cause, buoyed up
by enthusiasm, conscious worth, and the certainty of having the sympathy
and applause of all from whom meed is valuable, may make even
selfishness generous, and cowardice heroic, but to suffer during life
the lingering martyrdom of the cross; and then to expire, not suddenly,
but like a taper, burnt out; to fall like a flower, not in its prime and
beauty but gradually shedding its leaves and perfume, and bearing its
fibres to the last, till it droops and lies exhaled and prostrate in the
dust; is a death too pure, too self-devoted, too sublime, for any but
the annals of Christian heroism to supply. And assuredly a day will come
when the conqueror's crown shall not be brighter than the Christian's
halo, nor the patriot's laurel-branch bear richer foliage than the palms
of Paradise, which the humblest denizen of heaven shall carry. A day
will come that will give to all their proper measure and dimensions; yet
even before that day shall God glorify those who have died the peaceful
death of the just, by embalming their memory and rendering their tombs
and relics illustrious, so that, for the one who shall have heard of the
hero, thousands shall bless and invoke the Saint.
{519}
* * * * *
He alone is a perfect Christian who is crucified to the world, and to
whom the world is crucified, and who glorieth in nothing save the cross
of out Lord Jesus. Nor without embracing the cross at least in heart and
affection, can any one belong to the religion of Christ. Upon entering
life we are marked with the cross; through the various vicissitudes
thereof our every step is encountered by it--go whithersoever thou wilt
and thou shalt find it impossible to escape the cross--and it
accompanies us even unto death and the grave. For a Christian dieth
pressing the cross to his lips; and the cross is engraven upon his tomb
that it may bear witness of his faith and hope. But if Our Lord has
said, in general terms, "Whosoever will be my disciple, let him take up
his cross and follow me;" and if it be true that through many
tribulations it is necessary to enter into the kingdom of heaven, then
are all without exception called upon to assume this burden. It is not
strange, then, that saints should have delighted to blend their names
with the cross wherewith their hearts were so closely entwined; or that
men, after their departure to glory, should have designated them by the
title of that whereof they were so deeply enamored.