CHAPTER XVII

Gemma’s Heroic Mortification

WHOEVER WISHES to follow Jesus and be perfect, must deny self—that is to renounce all things and take up the Cross. Because without the Cross it is impossible to become like Jesus Christ, Who is God Crucified—the Author and Finisher of Faith, Who having joy set before Him, endured the Cross.

For this finishing of the Faith centered in the Cross, this mystery of suffering is, so to say, the climax of all that is sublime and perfect in God; it is God’s own free choice and must surpass in infinite wisdom, splendor and Love all that it came to complete. Therefore it is impossible to become one with Jesus without embracing the Cross. Furthermore in order to become like Jesus and be transformed into a lover of the Cross, man vitiated by sin must subjugate all his wicked appetites of heart and sense. This cannot be effected without doing great violence to self by means of assiduous mortification.

Hence the Divine Master Himself has said: “The Kingdom of Heaven,” that is the sanctification of the soul, “suffereth violence.” These words became the rule of Gemma’s whole spiritual life. She realized the force of the above doctrine; it moved her to the heroic practice of all virtues, by the constant thought of Jesus Crucified, and hence her determination to overcome every obstacle to her self-mortification and likeness to Him. Let us treat first of her mortification. Gemma wished to become like Jesus at any cost, having drunk in this ardent desire so to say, while in her mother’s arms. It went on increasing until it absorbed all others and she no longer wished to know of anything else. Hence it was enough to look at her face, or movements, or hear her speak, in order to know that she lived in this one desire; to become like Jesus, to please Him alone. It was then to be expected that this child of grace would set herself to employ every means to the desired end, particularly that of self-mortification.

The first thing she gave evidence of in this undertaking was her uninterrupted diligence in bridling her senses. She never made a bad use of them; yet she seemed to wish to punish them as if she had been a most abandoned sinner recently converted.

From her infancy she had become mistress of her eyes, and kept them habitually lowered, but without affectation. As she advanced in years and in virtue she became more firmly established in this practice, owing to a resolution she made, when one day in church she happened to look with curiosity, for a moment, at the dress of a little girl who sat next her. She was so angry with herself for this, which seemed to her a crime, that she resolved never more to turn her eyes to look willfully at anyone in this world.

From that day forward those innocent eyes remained closed to exterior things and subject to her will. In order to make her use them a formal command was needed. She then obeyed but only for a few seconds and again modestly blushing lowered them. On this account whoever desired to observe the beauty of her soul that shone in her eyes, was obliged to do so while she was in ecstasy, as then she generally kept them raised to heaven.

As to her sense of taste, nothing could induce her to gratify it. No one was ever able to ascertain what meat or drink pleased her most, and in order to induce her to partake of what was on the family table it was necessary to press her; otherwise she would deprive herself of what was absolutely necessary. To hide her mortification she used a thousand artifices, feigning to take food while her hands moved but nothing entered her mouth. She went so far as to carry into effect the thought of making a small hole in her spoon, so that the broth might leak through before she brought it to her lips. We have seen that she found pretexts to rise frequently from table, now for one thing, now for another.

When in the kitchen helping the servant she would never taste any of the viands, nor would she ever partake of sweets or fruits that were offered her out of meal time. And in order not to be wanting in courtesy by refusal, she managed gracefully and dexterously to get away.

Being a healthy girl she had a natural taste for food and a good appetite. This seemed to her a sort of derangement, and little short of sensuality. With a view to overcome it she would willingly on her part have abstained from taking any nourishment, but this was not allowed her. She thought and rethought, and at last, all gladness at having found a means of remedying her difficulty she came to propose it to me. Note with what delicate skillfulness she did so.

“Father, for a long time Jesus seems to have inspired me to ask you a favor. Don’t be vexed with me, for in any case I will do as you wish. There will certainly be no harm in granting my request; but you will have a thousand reasons to bring forward against it: that I am thin, that it is not necessary, etc. But these are valueless reasons—don’t wonder at my way of putting it.”

It is Gemma who writes, listen:

“Will you be content with my asking Jesus the grace not to let me feel any satisfaction in taking food, as long as I live? Oh this favor is necessary, and I hope Jesus will tell you to grant it me. At all events I am content.”

As I did not answer this letter she repeated her request several times. And at last, more to see how such an extraordinary thing would end, than from any other motive, I gave my consent. Then the simple child went at once to speak to her Jesus, and at once her prayer was granted.

From that day forward she lost all sensibility of palate, and never again felt any impression of taste in eating and drinking; neither more nor less than if she had eaten straw or drunk only water. Thus did this young girl mortify a sense that may be considered one of the most difficult to subdue.

The same may be said of the mortification of her other senses. She was never known to gratify herself with the perfume of a flower or other scents. As to her sense of speech, she seemed almost to have no tongue, so rigidly did she bridle it; and yet she continually reproached herself with having failed in words, and renewed with earnestness her resolution to curb the erring member.

On one occasion she wept an entire day at Our Lord’s feet, because, not having been able to put off some friends who came to see her, she spent a short time talking with them on innocent matters that seemed to her excessively worldly.

“O God,” she exclaimed, “and I have allowed myself to speak of such things! Oh tongue, wicked tongue, from this day forward I shall know how to keep thee in bounds!” At another time humbling herself as she was accustomed to do, after her victories in the spiritual combat, she wrote thus:

“Yesterday I gained a good victory over my worldly tongue; but I had a hard struggle to keep from speaking! And then I more resolutely renewed my determination never to answer unless questioned. If you only knew what a storm there was between Aunt and me! But silence has overcome all. I have begun, I may tell you, to keep these my resolutions; but with such difficulty!”

The fact was, she began to observe them when she was almost a baby, with only this difference, that then in order not to transgress with her tongue in any dispute, she got out of the way, and hid herself; but when more advanced in years and in virtue, she remained in modest silence allowing her adversary to cool down.

Of curiosity in Gemma it is needless to speak, inasmuch as, dead to herself, she cared for nothing in this world. It all wearied and weighed on her. Games, amusements, recreations she would not hear of it; and not even in the days of her infancy did she care for them.

One year in carnival time an attempt was made to take her with other children to some private theatricals. She was dismayed at it, and so influenced her spiritual father, convincing him with such strong arguments that, through compassion, he caused her to be left at home alone.

What was most admirable in this charming creature was the continual war she waged against her inner impulses. I have already called attention to her great vivacity and sensibility. She would in consequence be naturally inclined to impatience. But she never allowed herself to give way to it. On the contrary, the more violent her impulses, so much the more earnestly did she apply herself to curb them and bring them under control.

“I will not give them peace,” were her words, “until I find them dead within me.” This contest was in her mind, and she was most watchful lest anyone might notice it; nevertheless those who lived with her knew quite well that she had to strive without ceasing in combating her impulses.

In order to succeed better she very early began to crucify her flesh by means of severe austerities. How many times has she not importuned her confessor to allow her to discipline herself, to wear a hair shirt, chains, and other instruments of penance! And she knew so well how to insinuate her wishes that she often succeeded in obtaining his leave, which she looked on as a singular favor.

More frequently, however, it happened that her instruments of penance were taken from her; and she made an offering to Our Lord of at least her will to use them. I was the last one who confiscated them. They consisted of a band armed with sixty very sharp iron points; a discipline likewise of iron, having five strikers, and a long knotted cord, with points and nails in the knots, to be used as a girdle. She did not on this account desist from her austerities, but in a hundred other ways sought means of compensating her losses.

“This nature of mine,” she used to say, “within and without, is always seeking its satisfactions, and always on the look out for a respite. Give me leave to do all I can to overcome self. The flesh would like to command, and instead I wish to make it serve as it ought, now and for ever.” And again: “I want, father, to have a certain leave from you; and I am certain that if Jesus inspires you a wee bit, you will grant it me at once. It would be to promise Jesus not to seek solace henceforward in anything; and rest assured father, that if this request be granted me, I shall know how to regulate myself so as not to fall into excesses. Think it over.”

Once, when speaking heart to heart with her God she was heard to say with filial simplicity: “Look Jesus, it is my body that rebels; but I shall know well how to manage it. It often cries out, and would fain not obey me; but I’ll see to that. Yesterday it seemed as if it would revolt, and I made it keep quiet by dint of hard blows.”

As I knew too well to what extent she would have gone, I took care not to yield to her repeated pressing requests. Besides, I was well aware of the immense internal and external sufferings to which God Himself subjected her. These alone were enough to make her a real martyr and we shall consider them in the next chapter.

Let us pause a little to consider the striking effects that such assiduous mortification produced in Gemma’s soul. The first was a complete dominion over all her affections and all her senses. She commanded them as their mistress, and they all were obliged to obey. Hence that most sweet peace that she enjoyed; which according to the Holy Ghost, is the fruit of victory. Hence also that spontaneity with which her innocent body lent itself to all the movements of her soul, and to its sublimest flights. One would have said that those members were only there in order to serve her soul; for they were as ready to leave her free to pray when in church as to go into ecstasy when she sat at table or when walking in the public streets, or when having a bath.

In all places as well as at all times she was able to dispose of every one of her senses. If she wished to commune with heaven, in an instant her imagination was silenced and ceased its wanderings; her memory became powerless to remember any created thing as food for thought or expression; the importunate movements of her heart stopped still; and even her physical pains were no longer a trouble or distraction. But no sooner did she return from those celestial interviews than all her senses, as if they had been dutifully waiting outside, returned, each one to its proper office, as fresh and active as before.

This was of almost daily occurrence, except during periods of trial and spiritual dryness. For then, God, in order to refine more and more the virtue of His servant, permitted that the full dominion of her soul over its lower powers should remain at least in part suspended in order that she might feel the struggle. At no other time did her senses offer Gemma, now an adult in virtue, any opposition, any repugnance, any weariness. As the result of such an enviable serenity there reigned in the heart of this happy child a joy of paradise that could only be ruffled by the fear of offending her Lord and the thought of His inscrutable judgments.

Outside these limits nothing caused her disquietude. And this was quite evident in her exterior, always so bright and affable, and in her perpetual smile, that so strangely contrasted with the dignity of her countenance and the gravity of her bearing.

Another fruit of Gemma’s untiring self-denial not less precious than the preceding, was her purity of heart, than which nothing more perfect could be desired. The reason of this is clear. Sin, which contaminates the soul, is the effect of the three great concupiscences that reign in man, pride, sensuality, and love of earthly goods. Now Gemma from her very infancy had not only checked in her heart, but absolutely destroyed these incentives of evil.

We must then conclude that sin, not having the means of approaching her, left her soul free from every stain of fault. Even after she had reached the heights of perfection she did not stop there. She knew too well how full of contagion the air is that we breathe, and how corrupt the world in which we live. Hence she was always afraid of herself, and not content with what she had already done in bridling the disorderly appetites of nature, she wished to continue without ceasing the work of her perfection, as though those appetites were still rebellious within her. In this meritorious exercise she gave the first place to the avoidance of dangerous occasions. Clear-sighted though she was and of accurate judgment, notwithstanding her childlike simplicity, she could always discern the danger of such occasions at any distance. “Here,” she used to say, “Jesus is not to be found; then Gemma, let us fly.”

Without thinking evil of anyone she feared all company; and knowing that she had nothing to share with others, she kept aloof. For the same reason she desired to remain alone, and if it had not been necessary to go out to church, and sometimes to the city on business, she would never have left the house. The same may be said of talking, mixing in the affairs of others, making friends, writing letters, and such-like. She used to say: “Gemma, don’t trust yourself; remember that every occasion may be dangerous to you; outside Jesus all is deceit; keep with Him alone and go on without attending to anything else.”

Yet the most beautiful fruit that our heroic maiden gathered from the tree of the Cross and from the mortification of Jesus, was chastity. Adorable virtue, how rare you art in this depraved world! And yet you should be the dowry of every Christian soul, whose vocation according to the words of the Apostle is to be holy and immaculate. Jesus loves this virtue infinitely and declares the souls that possess it to be His chosen spouses, reserving for them also the sweetest tenderness of His Sacred Heart.

Our Angelic Gemma learned all this while yet a child from her saintly Mother, and as from those first moments she began to love her Jesus, so also thenceforth she became smitten by the luster of this priceless jewel and strove with all her energy to keep it untarnished in her soul. Among the practices to this end suggested by her solicitous mother, one was to recite devoutly every evening, with her hands under her knees, three Hail Marys to the Queen of Heaven in honor of her Immaculate Conception.

The innocent child though knowing so little at that early age, took keenly to this devotion, and never omitted it. Rising from this prayer and joining her little hands she added these words: “Mother, never allow me to lose holy purity. Place me under your mantle, guard this treasure for me, and I shall become more pleasing to Jesus.”

A few days before her death, finding herself alone, although she had lost all strength and could not stand, she rose, and taken by surprise, was found with her hands beneath her knees, in the fulfillment of this devout practice.

As she advanced in years, her love of this angelic virtue and her desire to preserve it without spot grew with her. This was a special object of her mortifications, penances, and the custody of her senses. It seemed to her that every liberty however innocent and insignificant, might discolor this beautiful flower, and to avoid this she took every precaution.

She never went near a looking-glass, not even to do her hair or wipe away the stains of blood that flowed from her forehead, when crowned with mystic thorns, or from her eyes during her dolorous contemplation. And when during impulses of divine love, her heart took fire and burned the corresponding exterior part, and when by a dart of fire from the side of Jesus Crucified she felt a large wound open in her side; and when her heart itself by its mysterious throbbings greatly distorted three of her ribs, although ignoring at first what such phenomena meant she refrained from looking at or touching herself, and never did so on the frequent renewal of these wonders.

We have seen already that from her earliest childhood she shrank from being touched by others, and from the most innocent caresses. Not even was her father to kiss her. When she lay on her deathbed and of her own accord asked for Extreme Unction, great was her consternation at the thought of having to get her feet washed by other hands. What was to be done? Her love of holy modesty gave her strength, and seizing on the first moment that she found herself alone, she put out her hand, took the basin, water and towel, and did all for herself; then full of joy, to those who came to do her the needful service she was able to say: “Thanks; I don’t need help; I have done all by myself.”

She was quite as scrupulous with regard to her words. Not only was she never heard to use words of double meaning, but not even less delicate though harmless expressions that are used without scruple by good people, specially in Tuscany, where everything is called by its proper name. If obliged to make herself understood on delicate subjects, she resorted to paraphrase, but with such good taste, that no one could have taken it for affectation, but rather as her own peculiar style. All this exquisite delicacy in Gemma’s ways must appear the more singular as she never mixed with the world, and knew little or nothing of its hateful looseness. She however feared exceedingly, and moved with the greatest caution.

“I know nothing whatever,” thus she confessed to me, “about many things. But what, if perchance I have been wanting? It appears to me that I have not.” And then she concluded: “No I would not willfully commit sin; and now, once for all, I would rather die than be guilty of the least sin, I would rather become blind for ever than offend Jesus in the least against holy modesty; so I would rather be deprived of all my senses than that, in the least way, they should be to me an occasion of sin.”

I don’t know how far I am to trust a pious soul of my acquaintance to whom Our Lord, in a distinct locution, is said to have made the following splendid eulogy of Gemma: “This child, whom I love so much, and by whom I am so much loved, is always asking Me for love and purity, and I ,Who am Love itself and Purity itself, have lavished on her as much of these treasures as a human creature is capable of possessing. I have always guarded the purity of this child’s heart as the heart of one chosen by the Divine Spouse Himself, and I have preserved her as a spotless lily of paradise in My pure love.”

The angelic purity of Gemma’s soul was reflected in her body, which in many ways presented quite unusual qualities. You would have said it was formed of some crystalline material. Although neglected by her, Gemma’s body was resplendent in its exquisite regularity. And not even during the trying maladies that confined her to bed for such a long time did her body ever emit the least unpleasant exhalation. Some marveled at hearing of this, and to satisfy themselves proved it by remaining near her night and day. More than that, on several occasions those near her remarked how her person and what she touched exhaled a delicious fragrance that certainly was not of the earth, for as we have already said, Gemma never used unguents or perfumes, or even soap for washing except when necessary. Moreover that grateful fragrance seemed to be supernatural, because it came quite unexpectedly, and moved all to devotion.

“Don’t you perceive a fragrance?” said the bystanders one to another. “Our dear Gemma! Assuredly Jesus or the heavenly Mother, or her Angel Guardian is here with her.”

At all events such a fact is not new in Christian Hagiology; nay, it is told of many saints, and in particular of Our Founder, St Paul of the Cross, and of St Mary Magdalene of Pazzi whose body even now, three hundred years since her death, diffuses a delicious perfume.

A gift of such rare purity could not fail to be an object of hatred to the evil spirit, who certainly must have raged with fury against this Angelic Virgin so favored by God. An assault on so much virtue was a difficult undertaking even for hell. How was this simple dove to be assailed? She so to speak did not even know the name of vice. How then could this foul spirit insinuate his gross suggestions into a heart so pure and full of delicate sentiment.

The wicked enemy himself foresaw from the start that he would have striven in vain, knowing for certain that God would not have given him power over her. Hence he employed all his guilty machinations in tormenting her externally. He represented lurid objects to her imagination, and appeared to her himself, uttering vile words, and sometimes even coming to open violence. Although the saintly child knew not what he meant by his wicked expressions, nevertheless through an instinctive sense of delicacy that penetrated her whole being, she felt that it was wrong.

Accordingly from the very outset she armed herself against her enemy and gave him determined resistance. And he, although he found on trial the uselessness of his attempts, renewed his attacks merely to frighten and torment his innocent victim. Indeed it is impossible to express what a cruel torture it was for this angelic girl to see and hear such abominable things. Let her give us an idea of it herself in words spoken in tears at the feet of her spiritual father: “O father, what terrible temptations these are! All temptations are painful, but these against the holy virtue, how they torment me! What I undergo is known only to Jesus, Who secretly guards me, and (note the sense of this expression) is pleased with me.”

In order to avoid seeing those representations, the poor child, not knowing what else to do, used to shut her eyes and keep them so until the angel of impurity had gone. She also seized her crucifix, called for aid to her dear angel guardian, to her patron saints, and above all to her Heavenly Mother. By these means, after long hours of fighting, being left free, she returned immediately to her soul’s peace, and full of joy exclaimed: “Let us thank Jesus, that today also things have passed in the way most pleasing to Him.”

But Gemma was not satisfied with this. Having learned that the saints in order to repress similar temptations, had resort to scourges, hair shirts, plunging into frozen water, etc., and not knowing the distinction between internal temptation—the result of sense—and objective temptations as with her, and believing that she ought to imitate those servants of God, she made up her mind to do so. And so earnestly did she set about it, that if obedience had not interposed, she would have cut her innocent body into bits. But, for all that, so great at times was her fear of being led in those horrible moments to offend against the Angelic virtue, that she lost sight of all else, even of the necessity to ask her confessor’s leave to do extra penance.

Then without let or hindrance she had recourse to the lash and the hair shirt, and the knotted cord and sharp points, with which she tightly girt herself; and very often the pain of those sharp points penetrating her flesh caused her to faint! But she went even further.

One day on rising from the table the demon appeared to her in his wonted attitude of livid insolence, and snorting with rage threatened to overcome her at any cost. Gemma turned pale, raised her eyes and hands to heaven, and without hesitation ran straight to a deep tank in the garden. It was winter and the water was frozen. There and then, making the sign of the cross she threw herself in. And for a certainty would have been drowned had not some invisible hand come to her assistance and drawn her shivering from the water. So in this particular also she emulated the heroism of the athletes of Christian Hagiology in the arena of penance.

Now in the face of such examples ought not we all to blush; we who, professing to follow Jesus Christ in the ways of sanctity, show ourselves so tender towards our bodies, and so adverse to curbing their unruly appetites.

Has not our Divine Savior said: “The Kingdom of Heaven suffereth violence, and the violent bear it away?”