CHAPTER XIII

Gemma’s Characteristic Virtue

BESIDES THE essential spirit of sanctity common to all the just, there is also an individual spirit, more or less clearly manifested by each one in particular. The first consists in the possession of all the virtues taught us by Christ our Lord, model of all His Saints; the second becomes evident in a characteristic prevalence of some particular grace or virtue that gives, as it were, a special form to the others, and distinguishes the individual. We have seen that Gemma from her earliest years labored with unwearied energy in the acquisition of every virtue. She possessed and practiced them all in such an eminent degree, that it would be impossible to know which was her greatest perfection.

She had, for all that, a characteristic virtue, and gave continued proof of it through a peculiar trend of mind that was entirely her own. This virtue was transparent in her whole person; it shone in all she did, and made her the beloved of all; it was her extraordinary, her evangelical simplicity. It will accordingly be well, before giving a general description of her virtues, to make her rare simplicity thoroughly known and valued. In worldly estimation this virtue is thought little of or wholly undervalued; but the true value of things is God, and He says in the Gospel, “If you do not become simple like children, you shall not have part in the Kingdom of Heaven.” These words of Our Lord clearly show the importance in the Divine Mind of evangelical simplicity, and surely mean that a Christian for Virtue’s sake has to become what children are naturally, by keeping the soul free from malice and deceit, and all the faculties disposed to rectitude. According to St. Thomas, holy Simplicity is the fruit of truth and modesty. It is quite evident that Gemma possessed this precious virtue to perfection, and in a way that was surpassingly rare. She was simple in thought, thinking no evil, and therefore incapable of forming a rash judgment. In her soul there reigned an unalterable serenity.

With her mind ever fixed on God, in Him she saw all else, whether good or bad, agreeable or the reverse. She was like a spotless mirror, that receives all images and upon which none leave an impression. This perfect quality of soul was apparent in her exterior. Hence it happened that not only her presence dispelled restraint, but it inspired at the same time feelings of veneration and sweetest confidence.

Once a venerable Prelate, who had spoken to her for a while, was heard to say: “I should have no difficulty in making my general Confession to that girl, or in confiding to her the most intimate secrets of my soul, so great is the confidence with which the candor of her mind inspires me.”

Indeed, many, attracted by this candor, used to consult her on most delicate matters. The saintly child listened to them modestly, gave her answer in a few words, adding if needed even an admonition, and then, re-entering into herself, thought no more about the matter. She feared lest, if other ideas came to mix themselves with those heavenly ones which always occupied her thoughts, they might lessen the simplicity of her soul. I myself, on more than one occasion, determined to prove Her angelic mood by introducing irrelevant matter into our conversation; but she always turned the subject; “I prayed to Jesus, Father, as you know, for that unfortunate: I have thanked Him for the happy termination: don’t let me think more about it.”

Because of this rectitude and candor of soul she seemed incapable of conceiving thoughts of vainglory; as a matter of fact she never had any, and no matter how insidiously Satan tried to put her merits and good qualities before her eyes, he never was able to take her unawares. That “Yes, yes; no, no” of the Gospel, on which she had established her rule of life, was as a compass that kept her on a steadfast course.

Praise was certainly painful to her, but reproach and abuse failed to ruffle her. Everything came alike to her just as happens with infants. Because of their simplicity, they know not how to give a thought to things that for certain would upset their elders.

And as the mind, so was the heart of this innocent dove. Here too perfect order, calm lucidness, and shining candor. Her most pure heart belonged to all, was all in all, but ever in God. She was grateful to those who loved her, and, as we have already shown, knew not how to wish harm to those who were against her. She desired nothing, sought nothing, and nothing made her sad, because she was devoid of all earthly affection. During the horrible sufferings with which the evil spirits continually tormented her, her only affliction was her fear of offending God. Otherwise she would not have spoken of such trials, even to her Director.

The same may be said of all her other pains; even as the Prophets foretold of the Divine Lamb, Who, led to the slaughter, opened not His mouth, but offered His face to those who insulted and struck Him. How often when she went to the Church to ask for her Confessor, was she not publicly insulted and all but turned out by insolent boys dressed up as Clerics? and she always remained silent, not wishing to speak of it even to those of her home. But more of this hereafter.

As Gemma’s simplicity of mind and heart was so great, and as from the abundance of the mind and heart the mouth speaks, great indeed was the simplicity of her speech. She never thought ill of others, and so knew not how to speak disparagingly of anyone.

“You would need a wrench,” said a witness, “to draw a word from her regarding others, even when the information was necessary or useful, if that word had to be one unfavorable to them.” Such was her way of acting, not only with those of the family around her, but also with her Director. When interrogated by him, her answer reduced itself to an allusion to facts, out of which one could make nothing; and when she answered by letter, she interposed dots in blank, as if to say “You know the rest,” and passed on quite naturally to other subjects. This extreme caution on her part was all the more marked when of her own accord she made up her mind to speak of such things to her Director. “Father, pray; that person is not going on as Jesus wills. Write to him (or her) on the subject; admonish him to amend”—then dots; and there it ended.

When beginning to speak or write, she avoided the preambles that are ordinarily used, and in many cases called for. It appeared to her that such were a loss of time and little less than an artifice to ensnare the reader or listener. Hence she entered at once on her subject, and she did so without any special regard to the dignity of the person addressed; unless indeed we regard as introductions certain expressions full of ineffable simplicity, and peculiarly her own, with which she often began her letters. Here are a few of them:

“Monsignor, stay and listen; today so and so happened to me.”—Countless, “Jesus has said that you are the one who will have to carry out that holy work”—“My Father, Viva Gesu!”—“Listen to the curious thing I am going to tell you”: These, and other similar words should please sensible people infinitely more than all the affected phraseology that as a rule one meets everywhere.

In her conversation, as we have said, Gemma was of few words, and reserved. When writing, being free from the restraint of another person’s presence, she was less reserved, unless she had to write about herself and her own affairs. But as a general rule she was only perfectly free and open when treating with her Director. She was not in the least concerned about the style of her speech or writing—if well put or not; if it would bring her praise or blame; if it might be taken in good or bad part. And, when her letter was finished, she closed it without waiting to read it over, and thought no more of what she had written. When she had not a whole sheet of paper by her, she wrote on half a sheet; and when there was not even so much, she used any bit of paper at hand.

On one occasion only did I know her to apologize, because, having need to write, and not being able to find a postage stamp, she posted her letter unstamped. “Who knows what Father will say at having to pay double postage? But forgive me; I am poor, poor, and have no money.” Who could be displeased by negligences like these, accompanied as they were by such lovable ingenuousness.

It happened sometimes however that this dear child, yielding too freely to the instincts of her large heart, was the cause of some slight inconvenience; and then it was most difficult to persuade her that she was not to trust everyone so readily, or to make her see that she deserved to be scolded for what had happened. She believed that everyone acted with candor like herself, so that all could be trusted alike.

Likewise, as she could not think that those who scolded her excessively were moved by anger or other inordinate passion, she sought to persuade herself that their action was of diabolical suggestion permitted by God to humble her. Yet, as we have seen, Gemma was far from being deficient in talents and intelligence; but she felt and acted in this way because she had virtually become a little child through her love of God.

As then the rare simplicity of this admirable girl was the fruit of the virtuous habits she had acquired, it is not to be wondered at that this virtue should accompany her in everything and everywhere. Simple in her bearing and ways, simple in her dress, simple in whatever belonged to her (if indeed she could be said to possess anything), nothing in her was superfluous. She interpreted the word simplicity in its strictest sense, and contented herself with bare necessaries.

It was enough to look at her to become rapt in wonder; and yet there was nothing singular about her except a certain dignified gravity, the result of her continual union with God. In the church, where every day she passed long hours at the foot of the Tabernacle, she remained immovable as a statue. If her fervor of soul forced her to tears, she no sooner became aware of them, than gently bending her head, she covered her face with both hands. In a word this all-pervading simplicity was evident in Gemma’s whole person, and in her virtues of which it was the form and as it were the savor. Therefore we have every right to say that simplicity of soul was truly the distinctive characteristic of the holiness of this virgin spouse of Christ.

She entered this mystic life a baby in spirit as well as a baby in age; in spirit she always remained a baby, and as such treated with the Majesty of the Lord, listened to His ineffable secrets, and tasted their sweetness. This was always what I found most to be I wondered at and to admire in Gemma, and this likewise was the most convincing of the arguments which from the beginning made me pronounce the Spirit of her Sanctity to be true-so unconcerned, so natural, so spontaneous, was she, in the midst of all that is most sublime in the supernatural order.

Moreover, who does not know that the transcendent things of the faith are of such a nature that in their presence mortal man is overwhelmed, and that even those who are most versed in them never on that account become accustomed to them, but in fear and trembling, hoping and loving, receive the communications with which Our Lord favors them? Yet it was not so with this Angel; with her faith seemed no longer to be faith but evidence. With its most hidden mysteries, she seemed to find herself at ease, and as if in her natural sphere.

Gemma had no need to make the least effort in order to nourish her mind and heart on the great truths of religion. God, the sacred Humanity of the Divine Word, the Blessed Eucharist, the Angels and Saints of Heaven: she sees them all, she speaks with them, heart to heart; she humbles herself before them—adores, prays, weeps—but always as if she beheld them without veil. Nor was this only during her ecstasies and raptures, and in the more hidden depths of contemplation, but, so to say, in an ordinary and habitual way even during the time of profound spiritual dryness. These are wonderful but undeniable facts.

I must confess that because of such clearness of evidence, appearing to be almost excessive, a suspicion or doubt once came over my mind. It was but for a moment. Gemma, as if aware of it, began to give me an account of some of the sublime communications she had from God, and then added the following words, which, to my mind, are worth a treatise of theology:

“Without doubt this is a Paradise on Earth, and yet I wish to go to Paradise all the same; because, see Father, here I behold my God, I behold Jesus, but not entirely. He does not let me see His Whole Self, although what He does let me see is so much that it surpasses all human understanding. I want instead to see Him wholly and entirely.”

Behold then the merit of faith that remains undiminished in the desire of future glory, even in spite of so much evidence and such great intimacy.

Gemma thus passed her life in God’s presence, singularly privileged, and so far as it is allowed, seeing God even. in this life. Yet that Infinite Majesty did not dazzle her. She talked to her Lord with the same ease and confidence as a little child speaks to her father while sitting on his knee, as in her right place. Nay, without being wanting in reverence, she addressed Him with the same simplicity of words and ways that we use with our fellow-creatures.

In order to give an adequate idea of this it would be almost necessary to produce all that has been preserved of her long colloquies with our Lord during her ecstasies and contemplations. For the present let one suffice, which she herself related to her Director; others will be seen as we go along:

“On Friday Jesus appeared to me; and this time He was serious, serious. He seemed to weep, and I said to Him: ‘O Jesus, what is it that makes you weep so? Oh! would it not be better to leave the weeping to me, who feel I want so much to cry?’ But Jesus did not answer me; and then, moving aside quietly, I got near my Heavenly Mother, and said to her, ‘Tell me, Mother, what is it that makes Jesus weep so? And what can I do to content Him?’

Nevertheless, while this child as it were plays around her God, He lifts her up by means of the highest contemplation to a clear understanding of the mysteries of His justice and mercy in the government of the world, and of His infinite love of souls.

The visible presence of her Angel Guardian, with which Gemma was singularly favored by God, was for her one of the most natural experiences. Her Angel used to talk to her as ordinary mortals talk to their friends. She gave him commissions of every kind for the inhabitants of Heaven and Earth, and that with the most humble reverence, being full of affectionate confidence. If, while engaged talking with him, she was called away, or some duty intervened, she arose at once, and without excuse or compliment went quickly away to her duty, leaving the Angel to wait for her.

At night, when lying down to rest, she begged of him to sign her on the forehead, and watch by her pillow; and being assured that he would, she immediately turned on the other side to sleep. What a blessed virginal repose, at which the Angels are visibly present! In the morning on awakening, when she saw her faithful Guardian still at his post, she paid little or no attention to him. Her anxiety was to fly to the Church and Holy Communion, of which she had been thinking all the night; for she slept very little: “I have what is so much better in my thoughts,” she used to say to him, “I am going to Jesus,” and left immediately. But if the Angel were taking leave of her she would reply charmingly: “Good-bye, dear Angel; offer my salutations to Jesus.”

Every week for a long time those wounds of the stigmata were renewed, and the punctures of the Crown of Thorns around her head, the shedding of tears of blood, and other extraordinary graces were added. From Thursday to Friday evenings in particular she was made to participate in Our Lord’s Passion, and suffered excruciating pain, such that she then believed she would die of it. But no sooner was she out of the ecstasy, than she rose as if nothing had happened, washed her hands and head, to remove the stains of blood that had flowed in profusion, drew down the sleeves of her dress to hide the large marks on both hands, and—believing that no one had noticed her—with her wonted serenity and gentleness, she returned to join the family gathering. Does it not seem a wonder that a woman, a girl, to whom such strange things happened, should not even stop to think of them, or to ask herself what it all meant; if they were a good or bad sign; the work of God or a wile of the Devil? Gemma did not put to herself any such questions; she without waiting simply told all to her Director, in order to have his advice and guidance, whilst she herself remained perfectly tranquil about it all, and did not further inquire into what was taking place in her. After having seen face to face her crucified God, after having suffered with Him, and after having contemplated the hidden mysteries of Redemption, she no sooner returned to the use of her senses than she was quite ready to join in amusing the little children of the house.

One more instance of this Angel’s holy simplicity must suffice for the present. She often, when in ecstasy, received light from God regarding things that had to be done or avoided either by her or by others. She then hastened in person or by letter to inform her Director of what had happened.

“Jesus,” she would say, “has said so and so. He has commanded me to tell it all to you. If I have not understood Him rightly, make Him explain it better to you Himself.” So said, she thought no more about it. But if the same locution were repeated three, five, ten times, she each time returned to manifest it to her Director with the same calm and candor, as in the Sacred Scripture, the child Samuel is related to have done with the Priest Eli. “Jesus has said so and so. Kind Father, listen to what He says, and please Him.” Surely we have in this favored child the essence of holy simplicity.