CHAPTER XXIX

Final Sufferings and Heroic Virtues

IT WAS to be expected that a life wholly spent with Jesus Crucified would end on the Cross with Him. Gemma had participated one by one in all the sufferings of the Man God—in His agony of soul and external torturings; in His Sweat of blood, His scourging and His wounds; in the piercing of the Crowns of Thorns, the dislocation of His bones and the lacerating of His flesh by the nails. In order to perfect the lifelikeness to Jesus there only remained to be accomplished the last agony and death in an ocean of pain, and He would not deprive her of this.

As Gemma’s delicate body was certainly not capable of so much pain, He compensated for its intensity by its duration, keeping her on the Cross for several long months. We have seen something of the progress of this Martyrdom; now let us see its Consummation.

Although Gemma’s state was most serious, she managed for a time to rise early every morning and drag herself with great difficulty to a Church close by for Holy Communion. Her faithful adopted mother came every day to take her, bring her back, and put her to bed, there to make her thanksgiving. The joy that this angelic girl found in the Bread of Life was too great, and its invigorating powers too energizing, so she had to forego it. In less than two months increased fever prevented her moving. Then she bowed her head and said: “Jesus, so be it!”

Her corporal food now consisted only of a little nourishing liquid, which her stomach very soon refused, and, for some time at least, she could not take it, but she rejoiced in her inability. Her whole system was breaking up by degrees, and had reached such a stage that there was not a sound spot left in her body, nor one that was not tortured by some special pain.

“Poor Martyr!” they wrote to me from Lucca; “poor victim of Jesus! she suffers without cessation and feels as if her bones were being disjointed; it is evident that she is tortured in every part of her body, and is being dissolved in hopeless agony. For the last twenty days she has lost her eyesight; her voice has become so weak that she can scarcely articulate, so that it is impossible to catch what she says; she is a living skeleton that seems to waste more and more, and to behold her is to be filled with pain and dismay.”

And yet all these sufferings so great in themselves were a mere nothing compared with those inflicted on the poor patient by the powers of hell. The Holy Ghost has said that in our last moments Satan will use desperate efforts in tempting us, knowing that little time is left him to effect our ruin. Imagine then his last hellish assaults on Gemma against whom during her whole life he had nurtured a hatred so deadly and waged such a relentless war.

I read of other Saints who at the end of their days had to sustain fiendish assaults that were more or less lengthened and fierce, but they were intermittent. With Gemma the siege was continuous with only momentary intervals. The mention of these particulars makes me shudder, but they are true; for all those who were on the spot during the seven months of her last illness are unanimous in their statements of what happened. The evil spirit disturbed her imagination with every sort of fantasy apt to excite anxiety, sadness, disgust and fear, in order thereby to drive her to despair. He pictured to her the whole scene of her life of trials in its blackest aspects—her family reverses, her privations of every kind, and even the appearance of the public officer who on the death of her father came with his creditors to seize what remained in their home.

Then he said to her: “That is what you have had for so much done in the service of God;” and profiting by the profound desolation of spirit in which our Lord for her greater sanctification allowed her to remain, he strove by every artifice to persuade her that she was entirely abandoned by God, and would to a certainty be lost for having taken the wrong course. Even the heroic virtues she had practiced and the exalted favors that she had received from Heaven were made by the astute tempter to appear as hypocrisy and deceit. This temptation was the most terrible of all and lasted longest. The poor child was crushed by it, but still, hoping to be saved, she resolved to remedy her state as far as possible by making a general confession.

In the midst of this agitation of mind and the confusion of ideas that beset her, she wrote a long history of her life, declaring that she deserved a thousand hells for having with diabolical malice succeeded in deceiving Confessors, directors and herself. Then descending to particulars she went through all the Commandments, the deadly sins, and the duties of her state, making herself out to be guilty of the greatest crimes. This document, having first been read at her request by a third person, was sent by her to a priest of holy life well known to her, with an entreaty that he would come and absolve her from all those sins. He came, heard her confession and reassured her. But the enemy did not on this account desist; he disturbed the irascible part of her nature with violent impulses to anger and impatience, in order that thus at least she might lose the reputation of sanctity in which she was deservedly held by all who knew her.

That which more than all agonized this angel were the violent efforts of the enemy to tarnish her purity. This spirit of uncleanness knew very well with what love and care she had guarded this treasure during her whole life and with what heroism she had always fought and defeated him in her determination to defend it. Now his aim was, if not to gain a victory which he knew was impossible, to be at least avenged against her by embittering the last days of her spotless life; seductive thoughts and imaginations were out of the question, for she could not be influenced in that way; so he had recourse to apparitions in ever-changing forms and to open violence. “Father, father,” she wrote to me from her bed of pain, “this torment is more than I can bear. Ask Jesus to change it for me into any other one. Send an Anathema and an exorcism from where you are that will expel this contemptible demon, or tell your Angel guardian to come drive him from here.”

But when one battle was over another began immediately; there was no respite. Hence one who was nursing the sufferer and often wrote to me said: “That abominable beast will be the end of our dear Gemma—deafening blows, forms of ferocious animals, etc.—I came away from her in tears because the demon is wearing her out, and there is no remedy for it; the wretch will surely do for her, we help her by sprinkling holy water in the room; then the disturbance ceases, but only to begin soon again worse than before.”

From tormenting her soul he passed to torturing her body. Who could enumerate his artifices for this purpose? Her difficulty to take food had somewhat lessened, so they began to give her a little nourishment; but in vain. No sooner was it put before her than the fiend caused it to appear covered with disgusting insects and with the most repulsive things imaginable. As a natural consequence her stomach sickened immediately so that everything had to be taken away.

Horrible and fetid animals, whether real or imaginary, came into her bed, crept over her limbs and tormented her in various ways so that the dear child had no means of relief. More than once full of terror she said to the Sister in attendance that she felt a serpent winding around her from head to foot and striving to crush her.

In order to be relieved she repeatedly asked with great earnestness to be exorcised; but it was not thought well to gratify her. Then she tried to repeat the exorcism herself, and turning towards the enemy with animation and in a resolute voice she said: “Wicked spirit, I command you to depart from here to the place that is destined for you; if not I will accuse you before my God.” Then turning to the heavenly Mother she exclaimed: “O Mother, I am in the hands of the devil who labors, strikes, torments me in order to drag me from the hands of Jesus. No, no, Jesus! Do not abandon me, Mother; I will be good; pray to Jesus for me. I am alone at night, full of terror, oppressed, and as it were tied in all the powers of my soul and powerless in all my bodily senses. Jesus my life for Eternity!”

From time to time Our loving Lord came to encourage and reassure her, and, allowing her to feel His presence He spoke Divine words to her: “Why my child instead of being intimidated by those attacks of thine enemy, do you not increase thy hope in Me? Humble thyself beneath My potent hand and let not temptation weary thee. Resist always, never yield and if the temptation lasts, continue thy resistance; and thus the battle will lead thee to victory.”

On other occasions it was her Angel guardian who came to comfort her, and, as she herself wrote to me, these visits reanimated her, but only for short moments; her soul returned into darkness, and the tempter presented himself anew with greater fury than before. The poor sufferer passed days, weeks, and months in this way giving us an example of heroic patience, and motives for salutary fear of what may happen to us, who have not Gemma’s merits, at the terrible hour of death.

This saintly girl did not even bestow a thought on all that concerned the bodily pains and discomforts of her malady. She never showed that she was annoyed or weary, nor displayed the least sadness of countenance, but was always smiling and contented. She never seemed alarmed at the many varied crises in her sickness; nor did she ever allow those groans or sighs to escape her that excessive pain forces from the bravest sufferers even without their knowing it.

She never asked for any restoratives, not even to be lifted or moved in bed although it was noticed that she was often in the most uncomfortable positions. The assistance given her, she said, was all that could be desired, although it sometimes happened that she was left whole nights alone when she stood most in need of aid. To avoid such a recurrence recourse was had to the good nursing Sisters of St Camillusde Lellis, and these with their usual charity took every care of the invalid and remained with her to the end. This is how one of these Sisters speaks of the extraordinary patience of the Servant of God:

“During all the time that I had the consolation of assisting dear Gemma in her last illness I never heard her complain. I only heard her at first repeat occasionally this ejaculation: ‘My Jesus, it is more than I can bear.’ And when I had reminded her that with the grace of God everything is possible, she never again used those words; but when any of her visitors moved to pity happened to say: ‘Poor child, it is more than she can bear,’ she instantly replied: ‘O yes I can still bear a little more.’”

And yet continues the Sister, “what I saw Gemma undergo was so much and so excessive that I believe one could not suffer more in Purgatory.” All who used to visit this heavenly child during her long sickness speak in the same way of her patience and other virtues.

Notwithstanding so many obstacles—in the midst of so many torments and such fierce batt1es—Gemma found time to treat with God familiarly, and with the same serenity and serene unruffled spirit as during moments of the greatest consolation.

“O where art You Jesus?” she used to be heard saying after her battles with the infernal enemy. “Do not believe that I am trifling with Thee; You know all O Jesus, You see my heart.”

She repeated these and similar words with open arms, her eyes raised to heaven, and in accents of ineffable tenderness. Then turning to the Blessed Virgin: “Mother, my own Mother,” she continued, “you must tell Jesus that I will keep my word with Him, that I will be faithful to Him.”

And with the same affectionate abandonment, on feeling herself again suddenly attacked with greater violence by the enemy, she called aloud: “O Jesus, if it is pleasing to Thee give me a little respite! I feel myself growing faint. A little respite, Jesus!” These aspirations, either outspoken or mental, were incessant. “Do You not know, Jesus,” she would say, “that I am all Thine? Yes, all Thine, soul and body. Suffering yes, but I wish to be Thine; I want to go to Paradise to Thee.”

Once on hearing such expressions the Sister attendant said to her: “And if Jesus were to give you your choice what would it be; to go at once to Paradise and cease to suffer or remain here to suffer when this would give greater glory to God?” She answered with animation: “Better to suffer than to go to Heaven when the pain is for Jesus and to give Him glory.”

She asked the Sisters to repeat prayers and ejaculations during the long night hours, saying that she found great consolation in them: “Come Sister, come, let us pray, and not think of anything else. Jesus only!”

Those good, Religious were full of joy at finding so much fervor in a poor child already half dead, and they vied with one another to be with her; because, as they said, their souls profited by being near her, and it gave their bodies comfort and strength so that they did not feel either fatigue or its effects. They will themselves tell us what they felt:

“The impression that young girl made on me,” says Sister Camilla in her attestations, “is that she was a union of all virtues. During the whole time I was with her, it was a continual scene of edification. I noticed in her a profound knowledge of spiritual and mystic things. While talking with her, and we never spoke except on Holy subjects, I felt my soul greatly consoled and seemed to listen to an Angel. Her words were so lucid, so exact and impressive that one could not expect better from a Doctor of the Church. When I reminded her of the example of Jesus to encourage her to bear her pain patiently her whole countenance lit up; she smiled charmingly and her suffering seemed to cease, such was the effect on her whole being of the ravishing thought of Jesus.”

The sentiments to which this saintly child gave vent most freely were those of compunction; indeed witnesses say that she was often seen to tremble at the thought of her sins, and during the whole course of her sickness this thought seemed specially to terrify her. The words she used to express what she felt in her soul were so ardent and moving that listeners could not refrain from tears.”

O Jesus, oh how many sins! Oh do You not see them, Jesus. But Thy Mercy is infinite. You hast pardoned mine so many times; O forgive them now once more.” And turning to the Madonna: “Mother,” she said with tearful eyes, “when I shall be in the presence of thy Son, tell Him how to deal with me mercifully.”

Her most frequent ejaculation, day and night was, “My Jesus Mercy!” so that one of the same Infirmarian Sisters was able to say in evidence: “That which was most resplendent in Gemma during her last sickness, and affected me more than anything else, was her great humility.”

Her prayer, in a word, was continuous; and usually, seeing none around her but familiars she prayed aloud, turning alternately to a large crucifix, that she had caused to be hung on the side wall of her room, and to an image of the Blessed Virgin that she had opposite her bed. When tired by the repetition of words, it was still evident from the expression of her countenance that she was continuing her prayers with unabated fervor.

“Monsignore,” she said to me, “has told me, when unable to use my lips, to pray with my mind and heart and I do that.” Before losing her sight she used to read occasionally. Once her Aunt seeing a book in her hand asked: “What are you reading, Gemma?”

“I am reading, Aunt, the preparation for death. O Aunt, why don’t you also read it, for you are old? At all events I am preparing for death!” And she performed this devout exercise every evening during the whole course of her malady. “But tell me, Gemma,” continued her Aunt, “do you regret to die?”

“Oh no,” she answered, “I have no longer any attachment to anything in this world.”

Not only did this child of heaven in the midst of her greatest sufferings find time to converse with God; she did the same also with creatures. And when she was not in actual combat or prayer, paying no attention to her corporal troubles, she gave herself up to those around her, edifying them as we have seen by all that she said, and trying to turn their thoughts from the sorrow they evinced at her pitiable state.

To her Aunt who was moving about her bed in tears she said: “Aunt, I know your disposition; you are too sensitive; you fret at seeing me suffer. You must go away, go now. Yes, take her away, she grieves too much about me; don’t let her come any more by my bed.”

She answered all questions; and knew even how to mix witty words in her conversation, replying to the pleasant things they said to cheer her in terms equally agreeable or else with charming laughter. When her benefactors’ little children came to see her she caressed them most lovingly, and gave them comfits and pastry, brought her by others, and carefully put aside for the little ones. Her only surviving sister came to visit her, and on seeing her such a wreck, gave way to intense grief and tears. And Gemma, trying to soothe her said: “Don’t cry, Angiolina, be calm, for it is nothing; and listen, Angiolina, I want to ask your forgiveness if I have ever shown you bad example.”

This speech increased her sister’s grief, and she in turn asked pardon. Gemma’s rejoinder was: “Don’t think any more about all this, Angiolina, but strive only to be good, I beg of you.” Then they parted.

She showed the greater deference and gratitude to the good nursing Sisters, and although owing to her frank and simple disposition she could not pay compliments, it became quite evident in her eyes that she was full of recognition. She happened once to hear her adopted mother saying to the Superior of the good Sisters: “I shall not forget my duty in recompense for all you have done for her,” whereupon with earnest looks she called out: “No, no, I will see to the Sisters with Jesus.”

Likewise to anyone who did her the least service she used to say: “Be good, and be assured I will remember you, when in the presence of Jesus I will not forget what you do for me now.”

In the last stage of her illness, owing to extreme weakness she fainted very often and became delirious. The devil availed himself of this loss of strength and impossibility of action in order to torment her the more with phantoms and fear; but the result was only to increase the merits of the helpless victim, who even in that state of prostration was able to intone her usual exclamations of defiance: “Viva Gesu! All for Jesus. Jesus only!” And thus she repelled the wicked suggestions.

It was further noticed, that even while in the greatest delirium. No sooner was she spoken to of God, than she instantly returned to herself and answered intelligently as if her mind had been perfectly undisturbed. The same thing happened when of her own accord, moved by divine impulse, she raised her mind to some exalted thought of God. Then the lower at once gave way to the superior sense, and from the delirium there was an immediate transition to words of the sublimest Mysticism.

Thus on one occasion being deprived of her senses in a severe fit of coughing, that seemed as if it would either choke-her or burst her breast, she spoke some incoherent words, and then all of a sudden, noticing one of the family who was holding a basin and looking at her compassionately, she returned her gaze and said: “Learn, Euphemia, how Jesus wishes to be loved.”

The child to whom Gemma spoke was her favorite and the confidante of all her secrets; she was her assiduous attendant during the whole time of her illness; she was present at her death, and received the precious inheritance of her spirit. But we have yet to see this saintly Virgin on her Cross and learn how Saints die.