CHAPTER XXVIII

Gemma’s Last Sickness

ALTHOUGH GEMMA had suffered much from spiritual trials, from frequent loss of blood, from the want of necessary food, and from continual and horrible attacks of the devil, she was in spite of such obstacles healthy, well nourished, of florid complexion, and strong in body. Except for an occasional passing feverishness caused rather by the ardor of those inner spiritual fires than by physical infirmity, no sickness ever troubled her after the miraculous cure of her spinal disease. And this state of robust health lasted until Pentecost of the year 1902. On that solemnity her celestial communications were altogether extraordinary, her recollection more profound, her countenance unusually alight, her bosom heaving as though her heart would burst within.

While undergoing these marvelous spiritual influences she was rapt in an ecstasy that lasted a very long time, and learned that great things were in store for her. She had offered herself to God as a Victim for the salvation of souls; but the victim does not become properly such until immolated; and Gemma had to reach that consummation in order to fulfill her mission of expiation. Our Lord had now come to ask this of her. “I have need,” He said to her, “of a great expiation specially for the sins and sacrileges by which ministers of the sanctuary are offending me.”

And He added: “If it were not for the Angels who assist at My altar, how many of these should I not strike dead!” At these words, at the sight of her Lord angered, the faithful spouse trembled with horror and grief, her face became pale as death, her heart throbbed and her eyes filled with tears. When then Our Savior came to ask her if she would accept the expiation of those sins, with an impulse of her whole being she exclaimed: “Do You not know, O Jesus, that It accept it? Yes, at once, O Jesus; exhaust Thy vengeance on me and be glorified in this Thy miserable creature.”

God accepted the generous offering and Gemma fell dangerously ill. Her stomach ceased to act and she could no longer taste any kind of food. Whatever she was forced to swallow, even the smallest quantity caused internal convulsions and allowed her no rest until she had rejected it. She was barely able to sip a little wine; this was almost her only nourishment for two months, and it was wonderful how she was able to live on so little. No one could say what her sickness was, or what might be the cause of the strange and terrible phenomena that accompanied it. But the victim knew quite well, and one day while in ecstasy she thus addressed Our Lord: “Jesus, we shall shortly be at the end of Thy month (June) this has been all Thine; You know that my Jesus. But I shall not be sated. This month ended, I have still many obediences to fulfill. Help me Jesus!”

As I knew the exact state of things and did not want this holy child to get into the hands of doctors, I wrote and told her, under obedience, to ask God to cure her of that terrible malady. She with perfect docility, though doing violence to herself, prayed, and Jesus gave her to understand that, in deference to the obedience, and to show that He was truly the Author of what was happening to her, He would cure her at once, but only for a short time. Gemma suddenly recovered, took her food as before, and from having become a mere skeleton, through about sixty days of absolute starvation, was restored to her full strength and freshness of complexion in a week. The Divine will however had to be accomplished. On the 9th of September, after a respite, of about twenty days, she fell sick as before her cure; by the twenty-first of the month fever had set in and she began, as on a former occasion, to throw up pure blood that came with the violent loving throbbings of her heart.

Meanwhile to render the sacrifice of this generous victim of expiation more agonizing, God willed that all at once she should be deprived of all the delights of contemplation, of all those ravishing heart-yearnings, and with few exceptions, of every mysterious manifestation of the supernatural—visions, raptures and the like. Thus she was left alone without consolation, being consumed by pure pain as a holocaust to the Lord. The letters that they wrote me from her adopted home at the time move to pity.

“Gemma is very ill,” they said. “She is reduced to skin and bone, she suffers excruciating torments, and internal pains that terrify; one cannot bear the torment of not knowing what to do to relieve her. Gemma feels great want of you. Come quickly to tell us how to act.”

On receiving other pressing requests I determined to go. The poor child evinced the greatest joy when told that I had come, and wished to get up to welcome me. Imagine my grief at finding her in such a state, added to my fear that God this time would act indeed. I blessed her and bade her go back to bed; then sitting by her side I said: “Well Gemma what are we to do?”

“Go to Jesus father,” she answered in a tone of inexpressible joy.

“But really?” I added.

“Yes father, this time Jesus has told me clearly, so clearly. To heaven, my father, to Jesus with Jesus in heaven. “But,” I rejoined, “our sins, how are we to atone for them if You would make it an easy matter!”

“Jesus,” she answered, “has thought of that. He will let me suffer so much in the short time I have to live, that, sanctifying my poor pains by the merits of His Passion, He will be satisfied and will take me with Him to Paradise.” “But,” I said, “I do not wish you to die yet.” And she with characteristic vivacity replied: “And should Jesus wish it, what then?” At this point, I cannot understand why she went into the most minute particulars about her death—how the last sacraments would be administered—how they would clothe her after death—how she should be placed on the bier, carried to the cemetery and buried.

She spoke of all these things with an admirable indifference, as she would if it were only a question of changing her room or bed. She listened and answered with brightness and grace. But when we spoke of the place of burial, she became serious, and in an impressive voice said: “Mind, father, attend closely to where they put me. Don’t leave Lucca until you have well secured my corpse.”

I did not see what she was aiming at, and so asked for an explanation.

“I mean,” she said, “that I wish my body not to be seen or touched by anyone, because it belongs to Jesus.” I assured her that it should be as she desired, and she was quieted.

Nothing could exceed her contentment at knowing that her spiritual father was at hand. It seemed to her that she was then quite safe, against any attack of Satan, and in her soul she thanked God for giving her this comfort after so much suffering. I heard her confession that evening, and in order to gratify her still more I allowed her to renew her general confession. During this act I could not refrain from tears of consolation at the reassurance of what I already knew, that during the whole twenty-five years of her life, Gemma never committed even one deliberate venial sin, and was taking to heaven unspotted the fair garment of baptismal innocence.

It would be impossible to give a just idea of the spiritual refreshment she experienced in this confession. So great was the expression of her joy, through ardent words and excessive emotion, that it was feared it might hurt her owing to her state of exhaustion. I arranged that she should receive the holy viaticum next morning at an early hour, and notwithstanding her burning thirst owing to lung congestion, she wished to pass the whole of the night without any restorative. She was placed in a sitting posture in bed wearing a bridal veil, and having said a few words to her I withdrew to kneel in a corner of the room. She very quickly was rapt in profound ecstasy, with her hands raised and joined, her eyes closed, and became insensible, as on similar occasions, to all exterior influences, even to being burnt by a lighted taper. She seemed an angel in adoration before the majesty of God.

The priest soon arrived with the viaticum, and having placed the Pyx on the little altar he turned towards the sick girl; but as she appeared to him to send forth rays and light from her countenance, he stood still, filled with religious awe. I encouraged him to go forward with the sacred particle, assuring him that although in ecstasy she would do the right thing; and so it was.

On the approach of her Jesus she opened her eyes full of tears, put forth her tongue, received Him and at once returned into ecstasy. When the devout ceremony was over and the Blessed Sacrament taken back to the church, the priest returned immediately to Gemma’s room and kneeling by her bedside he remained praying and weeping while her thanksgiving lasted. I too could not restrain my tears although accustomed to such transfigurations of the favored soul. I shall never forget that day, that room, that Communion.

The malady continued its ravages with occasional vicissitudes. Her faintings were frequent and alarming; hence it was necessary to remain with her day and night, always ready with oxygen to restore breathing and hinder suffocation, and I waited to give her the last absolution. However as some days passed I said to her: “Gemma, how long shall we be? I must be going.”

And she answered: “If you wish, father, you can go, as I shall not die now. This illness will certainly finish me, but not yet; at least, this is what Jesus has told me.” I blessed that angel for the last time, as I was not to see her again in this world, and I left her.

Before leaving I wished to make sure that the children of that good family should not be exposed to danger. The majority of the doctors had declared that Gemma’s disease was tuberculosis while others, in the absence of any microscopic proof, stated that, in their opinion, her malady was a new and mysterious one. All however admitted the possibility of contagious infection and the need of separation.

In effecting this I met with incredible difficulties. “What?” they all—old and young—exclaimed, “that we should let Gemma leave us? God has brought her to us, and shall we now allow her to go? Never! If she is to die we will assist her to the last.”

“And what would become of us,” said the eldest son, a University Student, “if Gemma were to leave us? God has always protected and helped our family through the merits of our holy guest. You will see, you will see what will happen.”

It was the same with all the others, who so opposed Gemma’s removal, that four months had elapsed after my visit and they could not even then make up their minds to the separation. At last wise counsels prevailed and a middle course was agreed to.

One of Gemma’s Aunts rented a small apartment close by with the windows facing her adopted home, and on the evening of the 24th of January, 1903, she was taken there. Little or nothing was charged with regard to her service and attendance. Her affectionate benefactors were constantly at the bedside of their sick treasure, and in spite of all the doctors’ warnings, even the little ones, managing in turns to elude every vigilance, ran after their Aunt to see Gemma, from whom they could not bear to be separated. The poor invalid herself felt the separation most acutely; for in her turn she tenderly loved that affectionate family, but most of all her whom she called her second Mamma; therefore on leaving their house she said as she wept: “This is the second time I lose Mamma. But Jesus remains for ever! I alone with only Jesus!”

She wrote to her spiritual father on the 6th of February as follows: “My good father, Jesus always! These are my words every moment of the day. Jesus mine for ever! He has given me such great strength and courage that I ought to keep thanking Him without ceasing. I have made my sacrifice so easily that I have not even noticed it. I have understood, dear father, that now it is time not to be any longer a baby. Strength and courage! But you must help me by often giving me a little sermon, that does me so much good. Be contented as I am in the midst of affliction. Bless me always and with a big blessing. Every morning, indeed every moment I pray for you, that you may have patience with me a little longer. I am poor Gemma.”

Soon after she was settled in her new quarters she wrote her last letter to the Queen of Heaven. It was her custom to write to the Blessed Virgin on her principal feasts and when some special need called for it. She enclosed this last one to Our Lady in her last letter to me. I cannot tell her reason for this as she never did so before. Assuredly the good child could not have left me a more precious keepsake, for in this letter she set forth her whole spirit. Here are its principal expressions:

“Mother, my frail existence here drags on, always fighting, but I am contented, and between fear and hope I abandon myself to God. ‘I am all thine’—Jesus said to me is morning—‘Who can overcome thee?’ Dear Mother I am not at all well; you know this. My life burns down and is day by day consumed. But the spirit? O my God! I cry out I call aloud in the midst of much suffering, in turn to Jesus promising Him love; but Jesus is hidden, He no longer seems to love me, or very little. Patience! But you away from me, no, no, no! I will intone my nunc dimittis at my last moments. O Mother, ‘Viva Gesu! ’ Jesus very soon and divinely will be avenged, through His love for the most ungrateful of His creatures. O Mother, pray for me; tell Jesus that I will be good and obedient. But I want to go soon to paradise if He wills it. Bless me, I am poor Gemma.”

Thus over the most furious waves of the tempest the calm faith of this holy girl was seen to ride triumphant; thus the sweet expansiveness of her love in the depths of bitterest agony; thus the serenity of her hope and her longing for Heaven, while facing the terrors of death. Blessed they who imitating Gemma have learned how to train their hearts to such sublime sentiments.