CHAPTER XXVI.

HER PRECIOUS DEATH.

"Arise, make haste, my love, my dove, my beautiful one, and come” — CANT. II, 10.

Sister Teresa Margaret was in the 23rd year of her age and the fourth of her religious profession. Father Ildefonso, seeing that her interior pains increased immeasurably, began to fear her approaching death, although she was yet in the flower of her age and in excellent health. The experienced director knew quite well that a more crucifying purification of the mind, united to a more intense longing to go to God, are, in the just, signs that death is not far distant. "I observed," he says in an account written regarding our Venerable Sister at the request of Pope Clement XIV, "the extreme frequency and impetuosity of her desires to consummate her union with God: towards this end all her thoughts, all her efforts tended." And later: "She seemed to have a presentiment herself that her wishes would soon be granted. This last year of her life she raised herself to a yet more eager intensity of fervor in order finally to entirely sanctify herself, and to act in all things with the greatest perfection, for the pleasure and glory of God. Four months had passed since the death of the venerated infirm Sister, whom our angelic Sister Teresa Margaret had asked to obtain for her from the good Jesus the grace of a speedy death. And it is not easy to believe that our Sister had forgotten her request, nor the dear old Sister her promise.

It was the month of March, a month sacred and revered by all, in which are celebrated the two ineffable mysteries of the Incarnation and the Redemption. And it is the month in which was written in the Book of Life, that to this beautiful soul would be granted the desires for blissful union which God Himself had inspired. The divine Redeemer wished also that the death of His spouse should have some resemblance to His own. She was to expire from what may properly be called a violent death, in the midst of the most cruel torments. In these hours of agony she was to be deprived even of the supreme favor which sweetens the last combat: confession and communion as viaticum. Ordinarily our Lord does not refuse this grace to His dearest friends. However, as a compensation, the celestial Spouse interiorly urged Sister Teresa Margaret to receive the Sacraments for the last time with as fervent dispositions as if the approach of her death had been revealed to her. On the 4th of March, which that year fell on Sunday, she sought her father director and begged him to permit her to make a confession more detailed and lengthy than usual. She asked permission also to communicate the following day, as if that was to be the last day of her life. Father Ildefonso was the more surprised at this last request, as he knew that it was always her custom to receive holy communion as viaticum. The Sisters "noticed that she left the confessional that day more radiant than usual, a more heavenly peace reflecting from her countenance." The following day, Monday, the 5th of March, eve of her death, she approached the holy table with the other religious. This was her last communion. On this day and the following, nothing could be noticed about her to cause anxiety. Our fervent Sister, apparently in perfect health, performed her usual occupations. On Tuesday evening, about six o'clock, she attended to the wants of the Mother Prioress, confined to her cell by sores on one of her limbs. She then went to another sick Sister, Sister Teresa Maria, and with a pleasant countenance she suggested to the latter a beautiful protestation of conformity to the will of God, that she read to her from a spiritual work of Father Binette, S. J., entitled "Practice of the Divine Love of God."

Immediately after, she descended to the refectory to take her Lenten collation. She was there alone, her duty as infirmarian preventing her from going to table with the community. And it was there her Spouse came suddenly to knock at her door, and invite her to the eternal nuptials in Paradise. Scarcely had she seated herself at her place than the Venerable Sister was suddenly seized with violent interior pains, which obliged her to leave immediately and try to reach her cell. But her pains were so intense she could scarcely reach a little room on the ground floor. There, on her knees, leaning against a bed, she waited a short time until the suffering became less agonizing. With a great effort she succeeded in dragging herself to her cell. So cruel was her torture that she threw herself on the floor, and, not being able to move, she called for help. Sister Maria Victoria, who was passing, quickly ran to her. She assisted her to lie down on the bed, that bed which was to be her cross from which, after several hours of indescribable suffering, she would take flight to seek repose in the arms of the God she so dearly loved. The distracted religious all hastened to her. What did the dying Sister ask of them? "Will you," she said, "recite five Gloria Patris in honor of the Sacred Heart of Jesus? It is to a special grace from this divine Heart that I attribute my not having succumbed to the first attack of this pain." What a sublime love of suffering! In her most ardent desire for death, nothing assuredly could have caused her to recognize as a grace the prolongation of hours of agony, if it was not the divine instinct to wish to resemble Jesus by a slower death and more dreadful pains. Frightful, indeed, were the convulsions which tortured her, and which continued for nearly twenty-one hours.

We will now see the magnificent example of all the virtues which she gave to her community, as the crowning of her angelic life. Some drops of laudanum having been given her, she took it with gratitude, saying that she did not merit any attention. A young maid was left to watch her. A command of obedience was necessary, to oblige her to consent to this, and it was only on condition that no religious, not even a lay Sister, should remain with her, declaring always she did not merit so much attention. During the night, notwithstanding the direst suffering, not a moan escaped her lips. She asked her attendant from time to time to pray for her, then cautioned her not to make any noise for fear of disturbing the community. When morning came, her first care was to ask that she who watched with her should take some repose. The physician arrived at an early hour, and bled her right foot. This was a real torment for her excessive modesty. In the midst of the general excitement, occasioned by so unforeseen an accident, the religious in charge, herself more alarmed than the others, had forgotten several things necessary for the doctor's convenience. The zeal of another religious, leading her to reproach her, Sister Teresa Margaret, in faltering tones immediately tried to calm her, saying it was sufficiently good for her and that it made but little difference whether better preparations were made. The reproaches continuing, however, the sick Sister could not rest until her excuses succeeded in quieting the distress of her over-solicitous companion. All were moved, even to tears, at the sight of her virtue in the midst of such intense suffering. As soon as morning dawned she eagerly asked for news of her Mother Prioress, spoke of an ointment to be used for her, and wished to be informed if Sister Teresa Maria was better and needed anything. The religious were surprised and touched at seeing this young Sister, in so desperate a condition, already entering upon her agony, forget herself to think only of others. She accepted care and remedies with a gratitude which caused embarrassment. She did not ask for the slightest relief, and it was necessary to use force before she would consent to change her woolen tunic for one of linen, as is customary with the sick. Writhing from head to foot with deadly convulsions, devoured by burning fever, bathed in an icy sweat, our Venerable Sister kept wholly united with God. Entirely recollected within herself, she prayed, offered her sacrifice in union with the bloody sacrifice of the Cross, took long interior draughts from the chalice of Christ's suffering, and died in closest company with Jesus crucified. From time to time she pronounced lovingly the sweet names of Jesus and Mary, pressed her lips to the wounds of her Savior, fixed her eyes on Him, and persevered thus during the entire time of her terrible sufferings.

Gangrene was not long in developing. The physicians understood this, when the sick Sister declared that "she felt a little better." About the twenty-first hour, according to the Tuscan sun-dial (3 P. M.), Sister Teresa Margaret said she felt she was sinking. Instantly a terrible convulsion passed through her frame and left her speechless and motionless. Father Covari, a Dominican who was the extraordinary confessor of the convent, was brought in haste and administered Extreme Unction. After a few moments she expired in profound peace, as if she had fallen into a sweet sleep — her soul had flown to Him who had been her only love here below. It was the 7th of March, 1770, at three o'clock in the afternoon, the same hour in which Our Lord, expiring on the Cross, saved the human race.

There was this consoling thought when our monastery lost this beautiful lily of the divine Spouse — it was that it was transplanted to the heavenly gardens. The deceased was aged 22 years 7 months and 19 days — she had spent in Carmel a little more than five years. During her short career our Lord had enriched His servant with all the gifts of nature and grace.

We will now give some idea of her appearance. She was tall and well proportioned. Everything about her person was most graceful and refined. A ravishing, indeed a heavenly, beauty shone from her countenance. Her eyes were blue, her hair bright gold. Her quick, lively disposition was restrained by a continual effort of self-mastery which gave her absolute control over all her movements. Gracious, sweet, amiable, obliging, and at all times very reserved and modest, she was worthy of the esteem, and we do not hesitate to say, of the veneration which her virtue won for her. 

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