IN THE SCHOOL OF ST. APOLLONIA

When Anna Mary was barely nine years of age, according to the custom of the best families, she was confided to the care of the Benedictine Nuns in Florence for her education. Good to everyone, with her ready smile and affable words, she seemed in her great piety and love of quiet meditation so above all the rest of the pupils, that the Nuns themselves were the first to admire her. Just as she was in her home, so she became in the school, a veritable angel of the convent of St. Apollonia.

She was obedient to her teachers as she had been to her parents. Never did she neglect a command, though often it entailed the sacrifice of one of her most cherished pious exercises.

Modest, serene and cheerful, she never lost sight of the Divine Host under whose hospitality she lived, and often in the very middle of a game or an animated conversation these words would, as it were, escape her: "While we are playing, Jesus is thinking of us". And she would remain for a moment as if absorbed in prayer. Then the next moment she would enthusiastically resume the game. Her devotion was gentle and modest, there was nothing singular or remarkable in it. When she could slip away unobserved to perform some little act of devotion, she would take her chance with a saintly dexterity.

She so loved the virtues, that from the very beginning she set herself the task of practising one of them at least every day, according to the feast of the Saint on that particular date. She would say, for example: "Today is St. Scholastica; I will mortify all my feelings and keep a strict guard over my tongue".

In chapel she was noted to be particularly devout and fervent in prayer. Her countenance seemed to light up as with a reflection of the Divine Goodness that had attracted so irresistibly her pure and innocent heart. Often her companions would be aware of deep sighs from her while she gazed entranced at the Tabernacle that formed the center of all her affections.

Ah! how Anna Mary envied the older children. They were destined to receive the Bread of Angels that term, while she would have to wait, she knew not how much longer. Her tears expressed clearly the vehemence of her desires. The good Nuns saw and understood; and notwithstanding the prejudices of the times, hastened for their beloved pupil the date of her First Communion.

Who can picture the joy of that childish heart when the Reverend Mother Superior informed her of their intention to admit her to the Eucharistic Banquet!

She would have wished to spend many hours of the day in church before the Tabernacle in order to prepare herself to receive her beloved Lord. Instead of recreation, she would have preferred to be left alone in the semiobscurity of the church in adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. But how could she obtain permission? It was impossible. What then did the child think of doing? She had heard related of St. Louis Gonzaga that in the dead of night he crept through the gilded halls of his palace and prostrating himself on the bare floor would pray at great length. So she decided: "I too will dedicate some hours of the night to prayer". And she did. She was happy to be able to offer this sacrifice to God, convinced that it would remain a secret between Jesus and herself. But she was wrong! Sister Eleanor, who had been told to sleep with her from the time of her arrival in the convent discovered her one night. It was late and Anna Mary may have been slow in getting up and going to kneel at the foot of the Crucifix. Whatever the reason, Sister Eleanor turned over, awoke and opened her eyes.

From the half opened window the moon cast rays obliquely into the room, and turned the kneeling figure to shining silver. At first Sister Eleanor thought it was a dream or a vision she was contemplating, then becoming fully awake she cried out with fright. "It is I, do not be alarmed", whispered Anna Mary, all confused at having her secret discovered, and she begged Sister Eleanor not to mention the fact to anyone. But she was unable to keep it to herself. It was breathed from one to another until the secret was a secret no longer.

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Finally the great and beautiful day dawned for Anna Mary. It was the 15th of August, the Assumption of Our Blessed Lady, 1757. We know very little from the child's own lips of her thoughts and feelings on this great day of her first meeting with Jesus. We can, however, well imagine the preparation that she brought to it and her great love of the Holy Eucharist. What celestial joys must have flooded her soul and inundated her heart!

The Saints have a certain resemblance to each other in one way, and the essential point of their sanctity, is their love of God. The language of some, is the best interpretation of the silence of others, and reveals to us their spirit in like circumstances.

"There are thoughts that cannot be put into human words without losing their profound celestial meaning," writes St. Theresa of Lisieux. Anna Mary found herself faced with this difficulty. She, however, could have said to us in almost the same words as little St. Theresa, "Oh! How surpassing sweet was that first kiss of Jesus to my soul. It was a greeting of love, and the knowledge that I was loved in return. I love Thee, Lord, I give myself to Thee entirely and forever. I myself have disappeared like the drop of water that is lost in the bosom of the sea, and only Jesus remained, Master of all, the King!"

That this was the very truth, was manifested by her radiant joy, patent to all onlookers. It glorified her whole visage after Holy Communion and did not fade away all that day. She revealed it also by an added love and thanksgiving to God, Who went on increasing celestial favors in her and raising her to the highest of virtues.

Profoundly convinced of the holiness of the Great Mystery (we read in her contemporary memoirs), that each time she went to the Sacred Banquet she had the same fervor of love as on the day of her First Holy Communion. She gleaned from this a more vigilant caution in fleeing from the mere semblance or even shadow of anything that could in any way displease her God; a care which ever increased to seek most faithfully those things that would be pleasing to Him.

Once it happened that she feared she might have committed a venial sin. She was so grieved that she cried the whole of that night and did not regain her peace of mind until she heard her confessor pronounce the words so longed for: "Be of tranquil mind, you did not in any way offend God; put if out of your mind".

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