THE REDI'S VILLA AND THEIR ORCHARDS

The villa, with its orchards and vineyards, is one of the most attractive and picturesque properties that lie in the neighborhood of Arezzo. It is about twenty minutes' drive from the town, on a slight eminence which dominates the entire panorama of the Colla di San Donato on the side of the Medici fortress. It still preserves all the marks of ancient nobility, with all the comforts, which, in those days, were considered necessary to the people of means.

The ample and spacious entrance hall has a bust of the Poet, and the walls are adorned with frescoes depicting scenes from the Crusades. I thought to myself: How often the child Anna Mary must have gazed on those battle scenes for the Faith and, like Theresa of Avila, felt her heart aflame with desire to fly to those lands and convert the infidels. From this same hall she was to leave her home, when but a young girl, to fulfill the dream of her infancy. Descendant of Crusaders! but with the spiritual arms of prayer and immolation; bearing the symbol, the Cross of Christ, not on her coat, but in her heart. Anna Mary too, was a Crusader, not in the shining fields of glory, midst the blowing of the trumpets or the wave of marching warriors, who unfurl the standard of the Mussulman — the Crescent — but in obscurity, in the silence of Carmel.

The present owner of the villa, Mrs. Lucy Marzi, accompanied me to the floor above. Going through room after room, we reached one which she indicated as the one the Saint's parents used to occupy.

The eye is immediately attracted by a fresco of the Assumption of Our Lady on the ceiling. This was the room where the young girl said her final farewell to her mother before leaving for the convent. Next to this room was Anna Mary's bedroom. There she had an altar with a statue of the Blessed Virgin, in front of which she would spend many hours praying to her Heavenly Mother, to make her good, virtuous and holy. Many times during the day she would fly to her little oratory. Her love of meditation and silence increasing as the years went on, she sometimes used to bribe her little brothers to be more quiet in their play, by promising them a little holy picture; and they, wishing to have it, would run away and leave her for a time. Then they would creep back on tiptoe to have a peep at her and, finding her immersed in prayer, would whisper to each other: "Isn't she good?"

The Chapel, mystically devotional in its simplicity, is only a few feet distant from the house. On its walls are frescoes of episodes in the life of St. Francis of Assisi. These must have inspired our Saint, since she chose St. Francis as her Patron, and was drawn to imitate him in the way of poverty.

In the flooring of the chapel are various tombs, all of members of the Redi family. I searched in vain for the names of the Saint's parents, but they are not buried there. The Cavalier Ignatius lies in the local cemetery and his wife is buried in the Church of the Capuchins. This supports the theory that she died in this same villa which is so close to the Capuchin Church. She was only 55 years of age. It is said that she was truly beautiful as a young woman and that her daughter resembled her greatly. Her husband died five years later, in 1784. He was seven years her senior and was 67 when he died.

Returning from the Chapel to the villa, we traversed various reception rooms and finally came out into the garden. Besides the apple orchard, which has a pond in the center and is enclosed by walls, there are two gardens round the house, one facing south and the other west. This latter was, perhaps, the favorite haunt of the young girl. There she used to hide in some corner behind the bushes and, unseen and unheard, uplifted her heart to God. Did this love of prayer extinguish in her, her happy and vivacious nature? By no means. I love to picture this attractive child in the flowered walks, or in the shade of the tall trees, romping and playing gaily with her little brothers and chasing butterflies. However, if, as she passed the gates, she saw a ragged beggar asking alms, all her love of trifles gave way at once to tender pity. She would drop her hoop or her ball and would run to implore her mother to give her something for the unfortunate one. Then, full of joy, she would fly to him with her gift; and surely even the shadows in the garden would disappear in the radiance of her smile.

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It is written of St. Rose of Lima that she used to love to pick flowers and throw them up to the sky while singing a hymn of praise to Jesus in her childish treble. Asked why she did such a thing, she replied: "Because Jesus lives up there in Heaven, and I wish that my flowers, instead of falling to earth again, could be transported on high so as to fall at the feet of His throne". And one day, in fact, the flowers she threw did not fall to earth again, but remained suspended over her head and gently fell on her in the shape of a crown. Jesus, Divine Lover of little children, showed He had accepted the homage of such sweet and innocent love.

Little Anna Mary also loved to gather flowers as she went about the garden, and when she had a nice bouquet, she would run to her mother exclaiming with joy: "These are enough for today, aren't they, Mother? They are for Jesus". And Jesus, to Whom the simplicity and candor of a child are so dear, accepted the gift and reserved to Himself to compensate the giver later. Those flowers did not shed their petals in vain, but bloomed and budded anew, forming an invisible crown on the head of the child, the crown of the Virgin and Spouse of the Lamb Whose pasture is among the lilies.

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Leaving the villa of memories, I made my way to the Capuchin convent. On the almost deserted road I espied a priest, white, bearded and old, going towards the convent, and a little further on a man with a child of little more than seven summers, who greeted the priest and kissed his hand. I stood a minute to contemplate the scene. It made me think that perhaps little Anna Mary, while walking with her father, may have also run to greet one of the predecessors of the friar, while on their way to confession. Once on this road she stopped and spoke to her father of the Sacrament of Penance with such inspired words, showing such ardent love and zeal burning in her heart that her parent was moved to tears. What sins could the child ever have committed if, as we know, all her confessors affirm that during her whole life she preserved an angelic purity and baptismal innocence?

At the very mention of the word sin, a word that implies an offence to God, she would blush, and when she was told of someone who had committed some fault, she would sigh unhappily and crying would exclaim: "See what harm creatures can do!"

All this was a forerunner of what eventually came to pass in the monastery, when she heard one of the Sisters relate a grave misdeed. "Impossible!" she cried "that anyone could so offend God!" and was so overcome with the spirit of supernatural virginal purity that she fell to the ground in a dead faint.

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