II. "Thou hast taught me, O God, from my youth."

Psalm lxx, 17

Like a flower that has sprung from the rich soil at the foot of a gently sloping hill, Anna Maria grew up within the walls of her father's house, drinking in eagerly the daily lessons on the fear and love of God that her mother gave her. The love of God which she felt burning so deeply and strongly within was like the heat of an inner sun that could foster the growth and blooming of only the most luxurious virtue. Her mother thanked God every day, joyfully and from the bottom of her heart, because He had given her a daughter who was so loving and obedient; before that pure heart could be clouded by any profane breath, before it could be besprinkled with any dew other than that of her own pious teaching, she made it a point to remind Anna Maria repeatedly, but always lovingly and tenderly, that the first and best way to please God is to observe scrupulously the commandment that insists on honor, respect, and obedience to parents. The mother's instructions worked marvels on that little will that was already so firmly inclined towards good, and in that little mind that made its own everything that came from God.

Anna Maria's mother tells us that very often she saw her little girl approaching her on her knees, happy and smiling, giving no evidence of physical discomfort. On her knees she would tell her mother her desires. The mother would then say, "Why do you not walk naturally? Why do you come on your knees?" and the little girl would answer, in an ingenuous attempt to hide this act of respect and veneration for her mother, "Because it is fun for me and does me good, too!"[1]

Her brother, Francis Xavier, describes her to us as much given to prayer and much devoted to work at that age. "When I was quite a small boy, I climbed up the door-steps one day to see why my brothers and sisters were making such a racket. Anna Maria was knitting, her eyes downcast ... she was praying, as I now know. She was so lost in God that she gave no sign of seeing me. I continued to stare at her. As small as I was, I must have realized that she was in a state of recollection, for I remember saying to myself, "How good she is -- just like a little madonna!"[2]

One observing Anna Maria could not help discerning in her way of life the efficacious influence of the mother whom she loved so intensely and respected so deeply. This influence had enriched the moral treasury of the soul which already felt an indeterminate desire to give itself wholly and forever to God. Anna Maria's girlhood was like a limpid day-dawn, splendid in its promise of the beauty of late morning. Her soul was like earth fertile with flowers which open wide their sweet-smelling corollas at the sun's first caress. Her heart sent forth a multitude of holy longings, like unto the plaints of the dove which "in the clefts of the rock, in the hollow place of the wall" welcomes the season of love.[3] For Tertullian's "Sweet Enchanter of souls" she had only love and canticles; it would seem that, pouring out of that adoring heart, the poetry of flowers, of the fields, of waters, kept ascending to God in an endless canticle of melodious praise.

It was time that this angel all afire "with that flame which gives birth to flowers and holy fruits"[4] should be given an excellent, Christian education which, with its gifts of useful knowledge and sane and healthy experience, would serve as a complement to what she had learned at her mother's knee. Her parents dreaded the thought of separation from their young daughter, but, for her good, determined to place her with the Benedictine nuns of the Convent of Saint Apollonia where schooling was given to young girls of noble family. She entered the school on November 13, 1756, late in the evening, almost at bedtime. Her first act was to remind the Directress that she had not said her rosary that day and to ask permission to take time to say it. Although the little girl was always somewhat lonesome after this separation from her family, she was, nevertheless, delighted to find herself in the Lord's house where she could give herself heart and soul to new duties.

While Anna Maria was opening her mind to the knowledge of letters and the sciences, her heart, almost spontaneously, was unclosing itself to the gentle sweetness of that religious training which sows, with sanctity and happiness, the soul that loves God. All her words, all her thoughts were of love, the tenderest love of God. Her every act breathed of divine love. In truth, she was the "angel" of Saint Apollonia's, a shining example to her companions, the object of the Sisters' complacent satisfaction, a child dear to God and men. One of her biographers says, "Her obedience to the Sisters was that which she would give her own parents. Not a single one of their commands did she ever disobey, although such exacting obedience meant to her the sacrifice of some of her particular and favorite spiritual exercises."[5]

With her companions she was so friendly and agreeable that all sought her company, and, because she was so easy of approach, many, edified by her good example, made it a point to discuss spiritual matters with her, oftentimes spending the entire recreation period in devout conversation. Modest, tranquil, cheerful, she never lost thought of the Divine Host under Whose roof she lived; she quite frequently reminded her companions that Jesus was always thinking of them, more intensely, perhaps, while they were at play, the very time when they were likely to have Him less in their thoughts.

When her younger sister, Eleonora, was sent to the same convent school, the Sisters, in recognition of the wise and prudent conduct of the Servant of God, entrusted to her care not only her own little sister but also the rest of the smaller pupils. She supervised their work, taking special interest in their spiritual life, teaching them how to meditate, to examine their consciences, and, above all, how to go to Confession. To the more diligent and devout she always promised some little reward. At need she reproved the refractory, but her reproofs were always gentle. She found it a pleasure to teach them all the prayers that she herself had learned at home. In a short time she had won all those little hearts. From this situation the religious derived great contentment ... they realized how much the children could profit from association with the Servant of God.

At school Anna Maria became so enamored with the practice of the virtues that she commenced to allot to herself each day the exercise of one of them in accordance with the sentiment of the feast of that day. For example, she would say, "Today, in honor of Saint Scholastica, I shall mortify all senses, particularly my tongue," having in mind, no doubt, Saint Scholastica's restraint in that memorable last conversation held with her great brother, Benedict, patriarch of western monasticism.

Life at school was for our young saint an endless wreath of prayer and study. Prayer and study ... these two words express the uppermost ideas in well-born souls, ideas which, in accordance with the advice of parents and teachers, wellborn souls should aspire to possess. Study was Anna Maria's taking-off-ground, love of God and prayer were the wings which, like those of an eagle, must propel her upwards into the more spacious knowledge of the pure and radiant beauties of religion. The sole aim of this studious and good child was the exact fulfilment of every duty, a sure means of ascending the lofty ways of Christian perfection. Is there any wonder, then, that she advanced along the road of the spirit with almost the speed of light?

When Anna Maria entered Saint Apollonia's Convent school she was not yet ten years old. Such great virtue in so young a child would overwhelm us with wonder if the Holy Ghost had not taught us that "Venerable old age is not that of long time, nor counted by the number of years; but the understanding of a man is grey hairs. And a spotless life is old age" (Wisdom, IV., 8, 9).

[1] Canonical Process for Beatification.

[2] Can. Proc.

[3] Canticle of Canticles, II., 14.

[4] Dante, Paradiso, Canto XII.

[5] From manuscript of Msgr. Albergotti.

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