AT LA VERNA

La Verna is a mountain that rises amid the fury of the winds, crowned by rugged and barren rocks that rise sharply outlined against the blue of the Italian sky.

How beautiful it must have seemed to Anna Mary! As she gazed at its flanks adorned with majestic pines and intersected with many declivities, the whole was gilded to a soft radiance by the afternoon sun! The two pilgrims were ascending its slopes by the road that becomes steeper and steeper as it nears the summit. Suddenly they perceived the little chapel built where Francis, tired from his journey, had sat under a walnut tree to rest awhile, and where he had been cordially greeted by the feathered inhabitants of the mountain. From the fields, the woods and the forests, the birds had alighted at his feet, on his knees, upon his shoulders and even on his head. They had saluted him with frills and gurgles and whistles, and seemed to dispute in friendly rivalry, as to who would be the more convincing in bidding him welcome, ... Welcome Brother Francis!

The young girl reminded her father of this fact so replete with poetic feeling. The silence could be felt, it was a solemn moment ... the chant of the birds could be heard, but, disturbed by their footsteps so infrequent in that wild spot, they rose and soared into the blue, their singing becoming ever fainter in' the distance. It seemed to her but another invitation to rise higher and higher in the way of perfection, to take her flight to the sacred Mount of Carmel.

They continued their ascent and finally arrived at the entrance to the Sanctuary. On the great stone archway they read these words: "non est in toto sanctior orbe mons". (There is no mountain in the world more holy than this).

La Verna is, in fact, the Calvary of Italy, where the most Italian of all her Saints relived Christ Crucified.

They entered this holy spot. Before them was the little Church of Santa Maria degli Angeli; on the left the small square with the cross erected in the middle, and at its side, the well, where the poor came to draw their water in the porch of the church.

The spectacle that spread before their eyes was wild and majestic: a sea of mountain crests under an infinite sky; an abyss of rocks dominating an immense expanse of green plains, dotted about with trees and white boulders, a veritable gamut of color. Far, far away, Bibbiena wrapped in a vague mist; and lastly, a chain of mountains exultingly rising in triumphant sunshine completed the picture.

Cavalier Ignatius, as well as his daughter, was enraptured with the gorgeous spectacle, which both contemplated in silence.... They both felt the spell of the Infinite.

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They crossed the threshold of the temple, heard Mass, during which the girl made her confession and received Holy Communion. She knelt devoutly on the bare floor with her eyes fixed on the Tabernacle, indifferent to all around her. Anna Mary was almost in ecstasy. Even though she was not out of her senses, she certainly must have felt close to God. Her soul was flooded with heavenly joys that were mirrored in her expressive face. The girl was undoubtedly renewing her complete dedication to the Divine Heart of Jesus.

She remained immovable in that position for an hour, nor would she have risen from prayer then, if her father had not called her.

After having fortified themselves with a simple repast in the guest house, they proceeded under the guidance of one of the Friars, to visit all the spots made holy by St. Francis.

Leaving the little square, they descended by way of a rugged and seemingly never ending stairway rudely fashioned out of the face of the rock, down to a gorge, which they followed as far as the entrance to a cave.

They found themselves looking at a huge boulder which bears the name of "sasso spico". Verily detached from the mountain itself, it is seemingly held in place by two feeble-looking iron bands, fastening it to the rocks behind, but looks in its precarious position as if the slightest wind or touch would send it hurtling down into the valley. Yet it has stood there, century after century, in sharp contrast to the cliff opposite, which rises sharp and clear, as if made of forged steel, its slender points outlined against the sky.

This was the spot, related the guide, where Francis loved to go and pray, and not far from there, somewhat below, was the cave where he retired to sleep.

Cavalier Ignatius and his daughter looked at each other in amazement. To live here, pray here and pass your days and nights with a climate that, to put it mildly, could be nothing but rigorous at the very best of weather, was unbelievable. What a prodigy of sanctity!

Who knows how often the memory of this scene returned to Anna Mary in the enclosure of Cannel! Alone in her cold little cell and on her hard pallet, in the depth of some winter night that made one tremble and shiver, she would see in spirit, St. Francis on his lonely mountain, with the shrieking of the winds and the buffeting of the hurricane. With that picture in her mind, the cell was indeed a refuge, and her couch far softer than the cold hard rock.

From place to place, and from rock to rock, our pilgrims wended their way and finally reached the little Chapel of the Stigmata.

They stood in front of that stone on which Francis had knelt praying, when he received from Christ the last seal that he bore in his body for two years.

Anna Mary knelt and kissed that blessed stone more than once, in a transport of love, then she lost herself in thoughts that kept surging through her mind and stirring her soul.

Gradually, the walls of the monastery, the altar, the people about her disappeared. She seemed to find herself in the silence of the forest, and to see Friar Francis come out from his little cell and walk among the fantastic shadows under the pale light of the stars. Francis, knowing his way, could find it even in the semi-darkness and now he was here at the very stone and knelt with his arms folded.

His hands and features were thin and emaciated; his eyes, hollow with many fasts, were raised to Heaven and his expression showed the intense longing of his whole body and soul to be able to fly up to the Infinite where his heart had preceded him. All was shadow and silence around that praying solitary, but the pure light of early dawn was already appearing and soon the rosy and purple mists would herald the morn.

Francis, in the intoxication of his love and in a spasm of compassionate pain, flings out his arms. A Seraph, with six wings, resplendent as the newborn sun, descends speedily towards him from on high. Two wings are stretched over his head, two more are unfurled in flight and two cover the rest of his body which has the figure of a Man with feet and hands nailed to a cross. Francis trembles from head to foot, while from the Crucified One darts mysterious rays of light, and words of profound meaning are uttered.

The Seraph vanishes.... Francis rises from prayer, but from his side that bears a new wound, the blood is gushing, so that his humble garment is soaked with it ... his feet and hands are pierced and have nail wounds in them resembling those that a while ago he had seen in the vision of the Redeemer.

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Cavalier Ignatius approached his daughter and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. Anna Mary came back with an effort from her ecstasy. The forest ... Friar Francis, all had disappeared ... only the stone remained ... the stone on which she was still kneeling ... that same stone that had seen the great miracle of the Stigmata, but was now enclosed forever within the walls of a chapel. She no longer had the skies for her roof, nor did she hear the wind sighing in the trees.

Before her she perceived above the altar a majolica representation in white on blue of the Crucifixion by della Robbia. The Christ agonizing in His Humanity, crowned with cruel thorns, stood before her, with His arms open wide and His merciful eyes glazing in the throes of death.

At that moment, she too understood the hidden meaning of that mystery, the impression of the stigmata. She understood how the soul in love with Christ must transform itself entirely into an image of Jesus Crucified, not only by martyrdom of the flesh, but by an inner spiritual fire.

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In the afternoon of that day so rich in memories, our two pilgrims wended their way down the mountain side, so full of the fragrance of its woods ... the convent bell could be heard following them with its sound.

Down at Bescia, they found waiting the carriage that was to take them to Bibbiena. They reached there at sunset and were the expected guests of His Lordship Bishop Poltri, who was an old friend of Cavalier Ignatius Redi. Before entering the city, Anna Mary turned back to admire once more the lofty crests that rose like a giant fortress on the horizon. The summits were vaguely disappearing behind light golden clouds. With a heavy, though happy heart, she repeated her farewell to La Verna.

The next day, Anna Mary rejoined her mother ... the day on which she was to leave her forever was very near.

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