ONCE MORE IN THE BOSOM OF HER FAMILY

Anna Mary was little more than sixteen years of age when it was considered time for her to leave school and return home.

Towards the end of March, 1763, she returned to Arezzo, lovingly welcomed by her parents and awaited by the old family retainers, who hadn't seen her since she had first left home. She was then a beautiful child, full of spirit and gaiety, but she showed, even then, a lively faith, a desire of good­ness and a hidden love of sacrifice, a perfect cult for truth and straight dealing that seemed to pre­dict great things for her character in the future.

Now she was back among them with the same simplicity and overflowing kindness as before.

After the first few days, Anna Mary returned to her natural calm, and it was apparent to all that her education had succeeded in bringing her to a high state of perfection. She had become so humble and charitable that not only had she every regard for the servants, but assisted them in all their daily work, however much they tried to prevent her. She listened to all their troubles and consoled them, entering into all their affairs with that true Chris­tian charity that levels all ranks.

With regard to her father, she most delicately and tactfully tried to spare him any extra expense on her behalf. While at school, she had received a present of money from her father. She now returned the sum intact and implored him to take it from her. While showing her his pleasure and love over such a generous offer, he nevertheless refused to accept it. She then gave it all away in charity. Every week she frequented the Sacraments in the church of the Jesuit Fathers. While there, she invariably knelt upright on the cold marble floor with no support, and was so absorbed in prayer and so full of reverence that she resembled an angel.

Quite alien to the things of this world, she ab­horred pomp and luxury and fashionable clothes because of the purity of her soul; she loved cleanli­ness, decency and neatness.

She was quite inaccessible to the temptations of vanity, and on occasions would use it rather as a means of mortification. Content with everything, she received unquestioningly the clothes they gave her to wear, provided they conformed with her ideas of modesty and plainness. She wore them without any alterations. If a button or a hook caused her any discomfort she never complained and would wear the garment just the same.

Every morning the hairdresser came to attend to her hair, but she never raised her eyes to the mirror to see the effect of his labors, and if asked to do so she would reply: "It is immaterial. It is well, thank you".

The marvels of nature, however, always interested her; they were to her like a shining prism that reflected the love of God. The purer a soul is, the easier it communicates with the Creator through the creature.

Anna Mary loved flowers, plants, glowing sunsets, the pale dawns, the calm and the fury of the elements, the birds and even the insects, because she used to say that even these proletarians of the animal world taught her to love and to correspond to the love of God.

However much she loved retirement and quiet, she knew how to adapt herself when necessary, to the social duties that her rank and position obliged her to keep up. Her exceptional modesty added a special attraction to her angelic personality, and the inward splendor of her soul seemed to radiate outwardly and give a new grace to the rare gifts of beauty with which nature had endowed her.

Her mother was aware of the admiration Anna Mary awoke in others and began to speculate with pleasure about a suitable marriage for her daughter. No matter how closely she had watched her from infancy, she did not have an inkling of her child's great secret.

Who among that aristocratic crowd could have even dimly imagined that that beautiful and delicate girl wore a hair shirt under her fashionable clothes, or that an hour or so after the entertainment, she would be cruelly flagellating herself?

That little room of hers could indeed tell tales of severe mortifications and penances voluntarily undertaken. She would pray for hours with her hands under her knees; now prostrate with her face on the ground or barely keeping her balance on the extreme edge of the prie-dieu.

When she was sure that the household was asleep, she would remove the mattress of her bed and lie on the bare boards. This was a great sacrifice to her, especially because she had to rise extra early to put the bed in order before she was called, so that no one would discover her austerities.

Why these hard penances? Why the thorns crushing the flower ere the bud had burst into bloom? So that God alone would be the Master of her whole being and not the rebellious flesh. Anna Mary approached mortification in a simple manner. It was sufficient for her to contemplate Jesus suffering, to be with Him, like Him, endure all He endured; to sweeten His pain by sharing it. God cannot but melt with tenderness seeing a soul mortifying itself for love of Him. She tried to imitate the Divine sufferings of His only Son perfectly. This soul went to Him wearing a livery stained with blood, and to this blood, He denied nothing.

A soul that cannot bear some privation midst the pleasures of this world, a soul that will not mortify its senses, even without encountering any great danger, is not fit for the sublime reign of perfection.

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