ON BL. BONAVENTURE OF POTENZA, CONFESSOR, NOT A BISHOP, OF THE ORDER OF FRIARS MINOR CONVENTUAL,
AT RAVELLO IN THE KINGDOM OF NAPLES
IN THE YEAR MDCCXI.
PRELIMINARY COMMENTARY
Bonaventure of Potenza, confessor, of the Order of Friars Minor Conventual, in Italy. (B.)
BY V. D. B.
§ I. To whom the examples of Bl. Bonaventure are set forth. The old biographers. The new Life. A series of the principal deeds of the blessed man.
Although in decreeing the glory of saints or of the blessed to the servants of God it is not chiefly the purpose of the church of Christ to define who
of mortals, [Bl. Bonaventure, noble not by any grand actions but by heroic virtues in the common kind of life,] having finished the present life, have obtained the eternal inheritance in heaven; — for if this were its purpose, baptized children would have to be enrolled first before all among the saints by solemn statute; — but to point out to mortals excellent men who by the splendour of their deeds, the praise of their virtues and the abundance of their merits may excite amazement, show the greatness of Christian holiness, and carry men away into love and admiration of them: yet this honour is not to be reserved for Charles Borromeo and Francis de Sales, Ignatius of Loyola and Philip Neri, Francis Xavier and Vincent de Paul alone; lest by the contemplation of the greatest men alone minds be repressed, confounded and weakened; but place is also to be given to Aloysius Gonzaga, Camillus de Lellis, Jerome Emiliani, Rose of Lima, Joseph of Cupertino, John Berchmans and so many others, who may be an example to those from whom God does not expect grand deeds, but who must be taught that even in a middling kind of life one can arrive at the highest degrees of heroic integrity. To which order of saints Bl. Bonaventure of Potenza is to be referred; in whom you will find nothing which the world praises or makes much of. For his birth was most humble; his learning almost none; his offices common; his deeds not above the usual. In this one thing he was eminent, that, so that he might always be able to say: I live, now not I; but Christ lives in me, he was continually the conqueror of himself, never seeking himself, but the things that are Jesus Christ's, and intent on this, that he might perpetually obey not the inclinations of nature but the divine will: by which striving of sixty years he obtained so great a dominion over all desires and movements of the mind that he seemed not a man but an angel. Let no one therefore hope that in the Life of Bl. Bonaventure of Potenza he will meet very long journeys to foreign nations, huge undertakings for the divine glory, incredible crowds of men standing around the sacred pulpit, streams of doctrine opened and spread by the publication of learned books: nothing of these will come forth in this place; but only a man who, knowing nothing but Jesus, and Him crucified, advanced by obscure ways to the summit of perfection, meanwhile gaining very many souls for Christ, the yoke of sin shaken off. And this above all is to be considered, that the blessed man, although he was very often summoned to Naples and lived there, left no memory of himself there; so that Luigi Parascandolo, in the historical, critical and diplomatic Commentaries on the church of Naples which he began to publish in the year 1847, made no mention of him at all; although he is not wont to omit other men distinguished for holiness. Similarly most of the Neapolitan witnesses who gave testimony before the apostolic investigators are very meagre: whence it would appear that the blessed man by no means flourished in a city abounding in learned and pious men, although some even then made use of his counsels. On the contrary, in small towns, in which eminent men were rare or none, such as Capri, Ischia and Ravello, the servant of God excited great admiration of himself; and in those same places he exercised the sacred ministry with the greatest usefulness.
[2] [he found an excellent biographer in Giuseppe Maria Rugilo; to whom Luigi Sileo, postulator of the cause, gave outstanding assistance. Rugilo's work was abridged by Giuseppe Luigi Rossi.] Although, however, the highest praise of holiness followed him when dead, yet much time intervened before his deeds were written down. There were indeed brought to light, and that in the very year of his death, short little books in which the course of his life, above all the part spent at Ravello, and his principal virtues were recorded; but in all of them diligence and accuracy are so much wanting that they do not even deserve to be reviewed [Compare Vita del Ven. Padre Bonaventura da Potenza, Minore Conventuale, scritta da F. Giuseppe Maria Rugilo dell' istesso ordine, dedicata all' eminentissimo e reverendissimo principe Antonino cardinal Sersale, arcivescovo di Napoli. In Napoli, 1754, presso Giuseppe Raimondi, con licenza de' superiori]. To Benedetto Mazzara, a Reformed Minor, the procurator general of the Conventuals sent before the year 1722 an epitome of the life collected from the Acts of canonization drawn up by ordinary authority Mazzara, Leggendario Francescano, volume X, page 346; but neither is this to be praised, since in it no series of deeds is woven and very few things, most of them of Ravello, are related without order and method. Wherefore Giuseppe Maria Rugilo, joined to Bl. Bonaventure by community of homeland and of religious order, and lector or regent of the faculty of theology in the college of the convent of St. Lawrence at Naples, gave himself wholly to writing up the deeds of the blessed man, and giving them to the public, with no less sincerity than splendour. To whom very much help was given by Luigi Sileo, postulator of the cause before the holy see and about the year 1750 companion and assistant general of his order. He, namely, for almost thirty years endured labours, journeys and cares, so that the ordinary and apostolic processes might be duly brought through, meanwhile surveying, examining and inspecting the places, things and men with which the venerable man had had dealings; the fruits and profits of which long labour he shared with Rugilo. And he profited excellently by those studies of another, above all so as to understand better the testimonies which are usually included in the acts of canonization and to know the manners and reasons of the events. All of which he so arranged and narrated with such clarity and elegance of style that his writing is to be counted among the better Lives of the saints: except that variety and majesty of affairs is lacking; which certainly were not placed in his power. He divided, moreover, the whole work into four books, of which the first contains the course of the life, the second the virtues, the third the gifts freely given, and the fourth the death and posthumous glory; but from this division it has followed that the first book is thinner than is right, and that in the second and third books many things are set forth which are to be referred less to his whole lifetime than to certain times. This fault was seen long ago by Giuseppe Luigi Rossi, a Minor Conventual; who in the year 1775, when the servant of God was by lawful decree enrolled in the ranks of the blessed by Pope Pius VI, wrote and published a shorter Life, which Luigi Maria Marzoni, minister general, dedicated to the pontiff's name [Vita del B. Bonaventura di Potenza, sacerdote dell' ordine de' Min. Conventuali di S. Francesco scritta da F. Giuseppe Luigi Rossi dell' istess' ordine e dedicata alla santita di N. S. Papa Pio VI. In Roma 1775. Nella stamparia di Giovanni Zempel. Con licenza de' superiori. The same came out again at Turin in the year 1776.]; following Rugilo's footsteps in such a way that he contracted the work into two books, most things being referred to their certain times. This Rossi (to note it in this place) was followed by Charles Butler [Continuation of the Rev. Alban Bulter's lives of the saint, page 33 and following], who himself found a translator in the Very Venerable Tresvaux [Vies des Pères, des Martyrs et des autres principaux saints. Supplément à l'ouvrage de MM. Alban Butler et Godescard, Tournay, page 39 and following]; but the latter afterwards, having obtained Rossi's book and understanding that the deeds of the blessed man had been rather indicated than narrated by Butler, wrote a new epitome, which has been received into the more recent French hagiographical collections, quite different from Butler's [See this error in the second edition by the Very Venerable De Ram of Butler's Lives of the saints, volume V, page 622].
[3] [We have drawn together the Life, published below, from the books of Rugilo and Rossi.] And since we tried in vain, by written letters and the help of others, to have communicated to us the Summarium on the doubt whether the virtues of Bl. Bonaventure of Potenza were established, — of which book no copy is said to exist outside the archive of the sacred congregation of rites, — we have had to drink from the springs of Rugilo and Rossi. But these are wholly pure and clear, and also most abundant; so that they seem to have passed over nothing that is of any importance; and such is Rugilo's diligence that throughout he has written in the margin from which processes and places of the summarium his statements were drawn. We have, therefore, found sincere and upright guides. Yet something troubles us, which we would not wish to conceal. Rugilo certainly examined the witnesses carefully and reported their words with the greatest fidelity. But did he not follow their sentiments too closely? Were all the things which seemed praiseworthy to men little learned in the ecclesiastical laws to be praised by him also? Can there not occur in the life of the saints several things which, although proceeding from a pure mind, are yet less right, or at any rate are not to be looked upon as an example? That it is so no prudent man would deny. Nevertheless, if a rock lies in excessive facility, a much greater danger lurks in the censure and blame of the deeds of saints. Wherefore, since we cannot be too cautious, we shall narrate the things themselves as they were done; and, if anything should seem strange or departing from the common way, we shall explain in the annotations what is handed down by the laws of the church or the precepts of theologians. For although neither the books of Rugilo nor those of Rossi seem fit to be turned into Latin, since the style of the one, as Italian, is too diffuse, and the narrative of the other sometimes too abrupt, this Life, nevertheless, as collected from their writings, will be theirs rather than mine; which I may therefore explain with commentaries, above all in those places which have something to cause wonder or deviate from cisalpine manners and customs.
[4] The order of the deeds of Bl. Bonaventure. And here I would put an end to this paragraph, were it not established by daily experience how useful is a very brief series of deeds, arranged according to the order of times. — In the year 1651, therefore, Bl. Bonaventure is born of Lelio Lavanga and Catherine Pica, poor tailors, and is baptized on the 4th day of January, receiving the names Carlo Antonio Gerardo. — In the year 1657, on the 11th day of March, he is confirmed at Potenza. — In the year 1666, on the 4th day of October, he is admitted among the Minor Conventuals at Nocera dei Pagani. — In the year 1667, on the 5th day of October, having taken the three religious vows, he professes the regular life, and not long afterwards is sent to Aversa, where he takes a taste of the precepts of logic; hence a little later to Maddaloni in the Terra di Lavoro; where he says farewell to studies for ever. — In the year 1668 he goes to the convent or hermitage of St. Mary of the Graces on the estate called Pio, in the diocese of Benevento. — In the year 1671 he proceeds to Amalfi, where for eight years he lives with the most holy master Domenico da Muro. In the first year he becomes a subdeacon, in the second a deacon, in the third a priest, the holy see granting a dispensation of age. — In the year 1680 he proceeds to Naples to the convent of St. Anthony of Padua, or of the Holy Spirit; from where he is sent to the convent of Maranola, in the diocese of Gaeta; hence to the convent of St. Crescentius in
the territory of Giuliano, in the diocese of Aversa; then to the convent of St. Francis of Montella, in the diocese of Nusco. — About the year 1685, at the age of 34, he obtains a residence in the convent of St. Euphemia at Sorrento; from there, towards the year 1688, or at the end of 1787, he is sent to the island of Capri; from where three months later he is recalled to the Neapolitan convent of St. Anthony, where he stays only a little while. — In the year 1688 he is sent to the island of Ischia, where for ten whole years he spends very much labour in the sacred ministry. — In the year 1698, on the 19th day of October, he withdraws from there for the sake of his health and goes to the Neapolitan convent of St. Mary Apparente. — In the year 1701, on the 7th day of July, he begins again to dwell in the convent of St. Anthony at Naples; where he lives for almost three years. — In the year 1703, in the month of October, he is sent to Nocera dei Pagani, to discharge the offices of master of novices there. — In the year 1707, in the month of June, he is sent back for the third time to the Neapolitan convent of St. Anthony, to care for the sick of the neighbouring village of the Vomero. His leg is cauterized and cut. — In the year 1710, on the 4th day of January, he comes to the recently recovered convent of Ravello; from where he goes out as a missionary to the neighbouring peoples. He becomes confessor of the bishop of Minori. — In the year 1711, on the 26th day of October, he dies at Ravello, in the 61st year of his age, the 46th of his religious life having begun. — In the year 1770, on the 4th day of June, Pope Clement XIV declares that he shone with heroic virtues. — In the year 1774, on the 8th day of September, the same pontiff decrees that the prodigious healing of Andrea Russo and Andrea de Pino, through the intervention of the Venerable Servant of God, is established. — In the year 1775, on the 29th day of June, Pope Pius VI solemnly pronounces that one may safely proceed to his beatification. — In the year 1775, on the 19th day of November, the same Pius VI issues a letter in the form of a brief, by which he assigns the honours of the blessed to the servant of God.
§ II. The four decrees by which the cause of the beatification of Bl. Bonaventure was completed. The lessons approved for the divine office.
[The apostolic decrees are recited by which the virtues of Bl. Bonaventure are pronounced heroic,] The four decrees which I have just indicated, and by which the cause of the beatification of the most holy man was completed, seem to be set forth in this place: for in the Life itself we have explained, so far as seemed sufficient, the principal parts of this business, which was delayed by no singular impediments. The first concerns his heroic virtues: Of Potenza or of Ravello, for the beatification and canonization of the Ven. servant of God Bonaventure of Potenza, professed priest of the order of Minor Conventuals of St. Francis. He who, admirable, disposes ascents in the heart of men, and by certain increments, as it were, of virtues raises them even to the throne of His glory, has it also in His good pleasure that those set over the works of His hands should be celebrated on earth as soon as possible; and hence the faithful peoples, roused by more frequent examples, may be more ready both to run in the race and to receive the eternal prize that has been prepared from the origin of the world. With these blessings of sweetness God plainly anticipated the venerable Bonaventure of Potenza, professed priest of the renowned order of Friars Minor Conventual, and set on his head such a splendid crown of evangelical virtues, that after the antepreparatory congregation held on the 20th day of September 1763, not only did the consultors of the congregation of sacred rites, after a repeated careful examination of them in the preparatory congregation assembled on the 24th day of April of the current year, disapprove nothing with censorious note, but also, with the same Rev. Father promoter of the faith approving, all brought forth a unanimous opinion that they were to be decreed most shining and most excellent. Wherefore His Holiness thought it fitting to hold as soon as possible a general congregation concerning the theological and cardinal virtues of the same servant, namely on the 30th day of May: in which, although the concordant vote of the most reverend cardinals of the holy Roman church of the same congregation was given as to their heroic degree; yet, as is the custom, he deferred a judgement of so great importance, so that from the Father of lights, from whom every best gift and every perfect gift comes down, he might implore by his own and others' prayers the spirit of understanding and counsel, the spirit of wisdom and truth. On this day, therefore, of solemnity and gladness on account of the anniversary memory of the inauguration to the supreme pontificate of our most holy lord Pope Clement XIV, whom the order of Minor Conventuals itself formerly had as a confrère, and this cause had as relator, having summoned before him after the holy sacrifice had been performed the most reverend Cardinal Flavio Chigi, prefect of the congregation of sacred rites and relator of the cause, patron of the aforesaid order, and the Rev. Father Carlo Alessio Pisani, promoter of the holy faith, and me the undersigned secretary, he declared and decreed That the theological virtues of the venerable servant of God Bonaventure of Potenza, professed priest of the order of Minor Conventuals, faith, hope and charity towards God and neighbour; and the cardinal ones, prudence, justice, fortitude and temperance, and those annexed to them, in a heroic degree, are established in the case and to the effect in question. And he ordered this decree to be entered in the acts of the congregation of sacred rites and to be published. On this fourth day of June 1770. So it is found in the acts and registers of the secretariat of the congregation of sacred rites. In faith etc. From the same secretariat, on the 4th day of May 1864. D. Bartolini, Secretary of the S. R. C.
[6] two miracles are declared certain, The second decree concerns the miracles; and this is its form: Of Potenza or of Ravello, for the beatification and canonization of the Ven. servant of God Bonaventure of Potenza, professed priest of the order of Minor Conventuals of St. Francis. Never has the seraphic religion been barren or unfruitful in producing new shoots of holiness. This is made plainly known in the venerable servant of God Bonaventure of Potenza, professed priest of the order of Minors of St. Francis Conventual; among whose excellent prodigies, which God, Best and Greatest, deigned to perform at the invocation of this venerable man to prove his holiness, the religious men of the same order, solicitous, as was right, to procure the honour of beatification for their confrère, put forward three above all to be duly and rightly weighed in the scale of the sanctuary, after the judgement on his heroic virtues had been happily completed in the year 1770. The examination of these miracles, therefore, was first set on foot in the antepreparatory congregation in the house of the most reverend Cardinal Marefoschi, ponent, on the 20th day of April 1773; then in the preparatory one, assembled in the apostolic Quirinal palace on the 5th day of July of the current year 1774; and finally in the general session celebrated before our most holy lord on the 16th day of August 1774; in which, the doubt having been proposed by the most reverend cardinal ponent, whether and concerning which miracles it is established in the case and to the effect in question, all the votes of the most reverend cardinals and consultors agreed with the greatest concord in ascribing to the rank of miracle two healings that followed upon imploring the aid of the servant of God, put forward in first and second place by the postulators: but His Holiness deferred giving sentence, so that in this most grave business he might beg the divine light by his own and others' prayers. On this day, however, on which the commemoration of the Nativity of the blessed Virgin Mary is celebrated by the church, the same most holy lord of ours, after the divine mysteries had been performed, having called to him the most reverend Cardinals Lazzaro Opizio Pallavicini and Mario Marefoschi, relator of the cause and prefect of the congregation of sacred rites, and also the Rev. Father Domenico di San Pietro, promoter of the faith, and me the undersigned secretary, declared and decreed that of the three miracles which were put forward as performed by God at the invocation of the venerable Bonaventure, it is established in the third kind, namely concerning the first, The instantaneous healing of the priest Andrea Russo from a most dire inveterate disease of sciatica; and concerning the second, The instantaneous healing of the infant Andrea de Pino, sprinkled everywhere with malignant ulcers showing the appearance of leprosy, and consumed with extreme emaciation, flesh and the brightness of the skin having been recovered. Which decree he ordered to be published and entered in the acts of the congregation of sacred rites. On this 8th day of September 1774. So it is found in the acts and registers of the secretariat of the congregation of sacred rites. In faith etc. From the same secretariat, on the 6th day of May 1864. D. Bartolini, Secretary of the S. R. C.
[7] and it is answered that one may safely proceed to the beatification. The way is paved next to the beatification by the third decree; which is conceived in these words: Of Potenza or of Ravello, for the beatification and canonization of the Ven. servant of God Bonaventure of Potenza, professed priest of the order of Minor Conventuals of St. Francis. After the excellent and heroic virtues of the venerable servant of God Bonaventure of Potenza, professed priest of the order of Minors of St. Francis Conventual, had been approved by a solemn decree of Pope Clement XIV of holy memory on the 4th day of June 1770, and on the 8th day of September 1774, out of the prodigies which were contended to have been wrought by divine power at his invocation, two had been reckoned among the miracles by a similar decree, it seemed indeed fair to come to his solemn beatification: but, lest anything of diligence be omitted in a most grave matter, a new general congregation was held on the 2nd day of May 1775 before our most holy lord Pope Pius VI; in which, on the report of the most reverend Cardinal Marefoschi, prefect of the congregation of sacred rites and ponent of this cause, the doubt was proposed: whether, the approval of two miracles standing, one may safely proceed to the solemn beatification of the same servant of God. And all answering affirmatively, His Holiness willed to defer the resolution, so that first, prayers having been poured out to God, he might implore the aid of heavenly light in so grave a deliberation. On this day, however, on which the commemoration of the holy apostles Peter and Paul was being celebrated by the church, having summoned the Most Rev. Cardinal Marefoschi, prefect of the congregation of sacred rites, and the Rev. Father Domenico di San Pietro, promoter of the faith, and me the undersigned secretary, he ordered the present decree of beatification, to be carried out whenever it may be in the Vatican Basilica, to be dispatched and published by apostolic letters in the form of a brief with the customary indults. On this 29th day of June 1775. So it is found in the acts and registers of the secretariat of the congregation of sacred rites. In faith etc. From the same secretariat, on the 6th day of May 1864. D. Bartolini, Secretary of the S. R. C.
[8] The Brief of Pope Pius VI on the beatification of the servant of God. The fourth decree is the very Brief of beatification of the Ven. servant of God Bonaventure of Potenza, professed priest of the order of Friars Minor Conventual of St. Francis. Pius PP. VI, for the perpetual memory of the matter. The most hostile enemy of the human race, leaving nothing ever untried by which he may everywhere lay deadly snares for souls redeemed by the blood of Christ, strives with anxious cunning to turn to their ruin even those things which the charity of the most loving Saviour directs to their salvation. The ineffable goodness of the Redeemer has taught that narrow is the gate and strait the way that leads to life: but wide that which leads to perdition and destruction: that it is necessary, therefore, that, having entered upon the laborious journey, we strive earnestly through many tribulations to take the kingdom of heaven as it were by violence. Yet by the very divine warning by which tepid and slothful faithful ought most to be raised up and roused, they are on the contrary often wretchedly deterred by the cunning of the lurking demon, and, pleading the excessive weakness of fallen and corrupted nature, and feigning labour in the precept, they either dread to set foot in the ways of the commandments of God, or, having scarcely taken a step, basely draw it back;
not considering that we can do all things in Him who strengthens us, the faithful God, who does not suffer us to be tempted beyond what we are able. But so that the animal man, not understanding the things that are of God, may at length be wise, it has come about by the supreme providence of the merciful God that glorious men of every order and condition have arisen in the church at every time also, who, strong in the war with the ancient serpent, walking in the ways of the Lord as in a broad place until the issue of their consummation, have shown to all by their own example that the commandment of God is exceeding broad. In the number of these is certainly to be reckoned the venerable servant of God Bonaventure of Potenza; who, walking most holily in the law of the Lord from his earliest age, yet disposed greater ascents in his heart when he embraced the discipline of the renowned order of Minor Conventuals of St. Francis; and, bound more strongly to Christ as by a new bond, like a solid vessel of gold, adorned with every precious stone, he shone in the house of God. For he flourished with the most ardent charity towards God and neighbour, with humility, with innocence joined with an almost incredible austerity of life, and with the praise of the other virtues: and what we know befell other holy men by divine dispensation, namely that they excelled in a certain virtue among the rest, so that hence the church, encircled with a certain marvellous variety, might shine more and more: that very thing the venerable servant of God, with the Lord's help, attained. For he set before himself to cultivate obedience more excellently; and he rightly preferred it as the greatest and the mother of the other virtues. He held nothing ever dearer than this, and it was his supreme law, so long as he lived, to do nothing by his own choice, but in all things to depend first on the nod and power of his parents and then of his superiors. With obedience perpetually as his guide, walking justly in simplicity, he was made a fool for Christ's sake, that he might become wise, and, the snares of the cunning enemy having been mocked, he spoke of victories, until, his course completed, he flew away to the unfading crown prepared in heaven. After his death, as the fame of the holiness of the venerable servant of God spread more and more, the wishes of all were at length brought to this point, that, processes having been completed by apostolic authority and judgements having been instituted according to custom in the sacred congregation of rites, both on the holiness of his life and his virtues and on the miracles which were asserted to have been worked by God to make manifest the holiness of the servant of God; and all things having been duly weighed, Clement XIV of holy memory, our predecessor, both judged the virtues of the servant of God heroic and asserted by his oracle the certainty of the miracles. We, therefore, set in this height of the supreme apostolate by the will of God, and not indeed by our own merits, since, having heard the votes of the cardinals and consultors of the same sacred congregation of rites, we have learned that the aforesaid servant of God could be declared blessed whenever it should seem good to us, assenting also to the common wishes and prayers, by the tenor of these presents and from the fullness of apostolic authority grant and allow that the same servant of God Bonaventure of Potenza be henceforth called by the name of BLESSED, and that his body and relics be exposed to the veneration of the faithful (not, however, to be carried about in processions), that his images also be adorned with rays or splendours, and that every year on the XXVI day of October the Office be recited and the Mass celebrated of him from the common of a confessor not a bishop, with the prayer approved by us, according to the rubrics of the Roman Breviary and Missal. Further, we grant that such recitation of the Office and celebration of the Mass be done both for the whole Franciscan family, and in the city of Potenza, in which the servant of God had his origin, and in the city of Nocera dei Pagani, where he made his regular profession and long resided, and finally in the city of Ravello, in which he breathed forth his soul and his body has remained buried, by all the faithful of Christ, as well secular as regular, who are bound to the canonical hours; and, so far as concerns the Masses, also by all priests flocking to the churches in which the feast shall be kept. Moreover for the first year only, beginning from the date of these letters, we likewise give the power of celebrating in the churches of the aforesaid places the solemnities of the beatification of the same, with Office and Mass under the greater double rite, on a day appointed by the ordinaries, but after such solemnities have been celebrated in the basilica of the prince of the apostles of the City (for which we assign the XXVI day of the current month of November). Notwithstanding apostolic constitutions and ordinances, and the decrees issued de non cultu and concerning it, and all other things to the contrary whatsoever. We will, moreover, that to transcripts or copies of the present letters, even printed, subscribed by the hand of the secretary of the aforesaid congregation of cardinals and fortified with the seal of the prefect or pro-prefect of the same congregation, exactly the same faith be given by all everywhere, as well in judgement as outside it, as would be given to these presents themselves if they were exhibited or shown. Given at Rome at St. Peter's under the ring of the Fisherman, on the XIX day of November MDCCLXXV, in the first year of our pontificate. J. Card. de Comitibus. M. Gallo, Secretary of the S. R. C. Place † of the seal. Rome MDCCLXXV. From the printing-house of the reverend apostolic chamber. So it is found in the acts and registers of the secretariat of the congregation of sacred rites. In faith etc. From the same secretariat, on the 9th day of May 1864. D. Bartolini, Secretary of the S. R. C.
[9] Proper lessons, granted in the year 1817, in which As is clear from these very letters, the cult and public veneration were at first restricted to the congregations of Friars Minor and to the dioceses of Potenza, Nocera dei Pagani and Ravello. Afterwards it was increased a little. For in the Amalfi Calendar of the year 1847, by which the feasts of all the dioceses of the Amalfi coast (these dioceses, moreover, are five in number, all extinguished in the year 1818 and united to that of Amalfi) are prescribed, the feast of Bl. Bonaventure is ordered to be kept on the 26th day of October not only in the former diocese of Ravello, but also in the metropolis and at Scala. The same feast is not celebrated in the diocese of Naples; but in the Ordines of the divine office to be observed in the first royal palatine chapel and in the whole royal jurisdiction for the years 1844 and 1847, the same feast is appointed on the 26th day of October with double rite. The lessons at first were recited from the Common of confessors not bishops; but on the 8th day of July 1817 proper ones were approved by the sacred congregation of rites, which are now used in the dioceses of Potenza, Nocera dei Pagani, Ravello, Scala, Amalfi, in the Royal chapel and above all by the Minor Conventuals; but the other families of St. Francis, which on account of the excessive abundance of their saints and blessed keep the festival of Bl. Bonaventure at will with semidouble rite, make little or no use of those new lessons; whence it comes about that in the regions north of the Alps they are very rare.
[10] his religious virtues, It will not, therefore, be useless to recite them in this place. Lesson IV. Bonaventure, born of pious and honest parents at Potenza in Lucania, while still a boy showed even then beforehand, by the modesty of his face, his love of solitude and his zeal for prayer, with how great holiness he was to be endowed. As a youth, so that he might cleave more closely to God and serve Him more freely, he obtained to be enrolled among the Minor Conventuals. But since after his profession had been made his superiors foresaw that he was called to the science of the saints, they called him away from the philosophical studies already begun and from scholastic disputations, so that with the gift of contemplation he might be free for God alone. Wherefore, sent to Amalfi so that there he might give himself to a most approved director of the spirit, under that master he advanced in an admirable manner in all virtues: applying himself above all to this, that by perfect denial of himself he might become conformed to Christ. Above all he was so eminent in obedience that, dead to himself and stripped of all discretion of his own judgement, at the mere voice of the one commanding he would fly eagerly to carry out every arduous and almost impossible thing.
[11] apostolic labours, charity towards the poor, penances, Lesson V. Initiated into holy orders, he devoted himself wholly to procuring the salvation of souls, to the preaching of the word of God and to the instruction of children in matters of faith. In hearing confessions, although afflicted by various and troublesome diseases, he persevered assiduously to the very end of his life: to the sick placed in their last agony he ran tirelessly, at whatever hour he was approached. Burning with wonderful charity towards the poor, in order to refresh them he not only abstained from his own food, though most meagre, but procured aid from others by begging, and more than once by pious largesse he multiplied oil and loaves by a miracle. He frequently visited those held in prison, to rouse them to penance, sparing no labour so that he might provide at once for the temporal and the eternal good of his neighbours. Though distracted by so many cares, he did not relax his mind from prayer, being wont to pass sleepless nights in the adoration of the Most Holy Sacrament of the Eucharist and in the contemplation of the Lord's Passion (by which mysteries he was greatly affected). Hence it came about that, cleaving to God alone and despising all worldly things, he became a splendid example of religious perfection, above all of poverty, never so glad as when he was compelled to beg his food. Likewise he was of singular austerity in abstinence and penance; for his fasts were continual, and almost every night he raged sharply against himself with scourges. Nor did he use a bed except in grave infirmity; for he was accustomed to snatch a brief sleep on the ground or on a bare plank.
[12] [the spiritual fruits of his sermons, the gifts freely given, his unconquered constancy and his miracles are reviewed.] By such macerations of the body, like the dead grain of wheat, he brought forth much fruit. For although he spoke to the people in simplicity of speech, yet his speech was living and effective. Wherefore he gained for Christ very many lost sinners and immodest women, above all in the island of Ischia, God attending the apostolic labours of His servant with most excellent gifts: for he was often seen to be rapt into ecstasy, by the spirit of prophecy he foretold many things, and by the grace of healings he suddenly healed various diseases: sent back from there to Naples, when he was wholly given there to the offices of charity and piety, as the tumour with which he had long laboured in the knee was now growing worse, he endured unmoved the dreadful instruments of the surgeons and the burnings of red-hot plates as an exercise of penance. When he had recovered, he set out for Ravello, and there, more than sufficiently filled with merits, having foretold the time of his death, having received the sacraments most devoutly, sweetly singing psalms and hymns, he fell asleep gladly in the Lord on the twenty-sixth day of October, in the year one thousand seven hundred and eleven, the sixty-first of his age. Immediately after his death many miracles were performed, among which this one is spread abroad, that when he was about to be buried, as the bearers passed before the tabernacle of the Venerable Eucharist, he opened his extinguished eyes, and, with all seeing it and struck with amazement, bowed his head in sign of veneration. These and other signs having been duly proved, Pius the Sixth, supreme pontiff, enrolled him in the register of the blessed.
[13] The proper prayer and the elogium in the Martyrology. This is the form of the prayer: O God, who deigned to set up in blessed Bonaventure, your confessor, an excellent example of obedience; grant, we beseech you, that, denying our own will in imitation of him, we may be able to cleave perpetually to your commandments. Through our Lord. The elogium, moreover, inserted in the appendix of the Roman Martyrology, is short and is conceived in these very words: Of Blessed Bonaventure of Potenza, confessor, of the order of Minor Conventuals; whom, outstanding in obedience and the other virtues, Pius the Sixth, supreme pontiff, numbered among the blessed.
[14] The Conventuals vindicated. I would not, however, wish this very short commentary
to close without trying to overturn a wrongly twisted and inveterate opinion, so that the very condition of Bl. Bonaventure may be better understood. Since, namely, the Conventuals do not observe the entire Rule of St. Francis, but admit in the laws of poverty pontifical dispensations, confirmed by the Council of Trent and extended to many other orders of mendicants, they are often traduced by others as degenerate sons of St. Francis; and so, if you listen to some, you would say that there is nothing among them which is not corrupt and perverse, and certainly that the discipline of the congregation is tottering and by no means attentive. For my part I pass over old and new stains, which arise from the weakness of men and the bad condition of the times and from which no religious families are wholly immune: but the institutes of the Conventuals themselves are most holy; and if they do not live wholly from begging, it must be considered that the Spirit of God was not lacking to the Council of Trent, to which it seemed that a measure should be imposed on the mendicant religious orders, and which above all was pleased that the Conventuals should have revenues. Nor indeed are the decisions of the church to be judged according to the statutes of St. Francis, but these statutes are to be governed by those decisions. Then, that the history of the Conventuals (as of the other regulars) is not free from miseries hardly pertains to our argument, since convents and provinces notable for an abundance of most holy men have always existed, and in none have the instruments of salvation and of religious perfection been lacking. And indeed, while blessed Bonaventure lived, the province of Naples seems to have had very many men devoted to the solitary life, to contemplation and to most severe penance. What religious province, moreover, brings forth, I do not say a singular man, but a continuous series of men who deserve to be solemnly enrolled in the catalogue of the saints? But the Neapolitan province of the Conventuals brought forth the Venerable Servant of God Domenico da Muro, Bl. Bonaventure's master, who died in the year 1683: it brought forth Bl. Bonaventure, his disciple, who passed to the heavenly ones in the year 1711: it brought forth the Venerable Servant of God Antonio Lucci, who, born in the year 1681, put on the habit of the Conventuals in the year 1695; which he exchanged only in the year 1728 or the following one for the mitre of Bovino, to lay this down in the tomb in the year 1752. And at the same time there flourished in the neighbouring province Angelo Antonio Sandreani, born in the year 1675 in the diocese of Senigallia, admitted to the novitiate of Urbino in the year 1691, and then the ornament of the convents of Senigallia and of Jesi, until in the year 1752, on the 29th day of October, he flew from there to heaven. Which four, to be enrolled some day among the saints, at one time and in a very short space of earth spread the odour of Christ by the exercise of heroic virtues. Let the Conventuals set these against their detractors.
LIFE OF BL. BONAVENTURE OF POTENZA, OF THE ORDER OF MINOR CONVENTUALS,
Collected from the Lives by Giuseppe Maria Rugilo and Giuseppe Luigi Rossi, and from other historical records.
Bonaventure of Potenza, confessor, of the Order of Friars Minor Conventual, in Italy. (B.)
PROEM.
Of the wretched condition of the Kingdom of Naples while Bl. Bonaventure of Potenza lived
After the middle of the 17th century, at which time Bl. Bonaventure lived, Although the life of Bl. Bonaventure was so obscure that his name seems to have had nothing in common with the history of the state, whether civil or sacred, I think nevertheless that what the condition of the kingdom of Naples was in the last fifty years of the 17th century and at the beginning of the following one should be briefly narrated; since no one, however slight and humble he may be, can wholly withdraw from the force and efficacy which is inherent in the character of times and places. Its fortune, moreover, was very wretched: academic studies had declined, the nobles were reduced to want, the merchants had become unable to pay, the profits of estates were lost [Franc. di Andrea, Ragionamento a' nepoti, in P. Napoli-Signorelli, Vicende della cultura nelle due Sicilie, volume V, page 142]. Long since the cultivation of the fields, which ought to have been the source of riches (for in many places three harvests a year can be gathered Napoli e i luoghi celebri delle sue vicinanze, volume II, page 207), and almost all trade, above all in silk, from which at one time forty-eight sextulae * of the city of Naples had lived Ranke, Hist. des Osmanlis et de la Monarchie espagnole, page 387, had been oppressed by the improvident imposition of taxes. Public credit had been destroyed by the furtive clipping of coins and then by the minting of a baser money [Ibid. page 457. Compare Giannone, Hist. civile du royaume de Naples, volume IV, here and there; Ludovico Bianchini, Storia delle Finanze di Napoli, volume II, page 543 and following]. Embezzlement was common in every rank of offices; the penalty of death was everywhere changed into fines; many governors, poor on their arrival, were shamefully rich on their return Ibid. pages 454 and 455. Compare Giannone, op. cit.. Ecclesiastical men were not immune from the stain of extortion Ibid. page 287 and following. No constancy of counsels, nothing firm, nothing stable. Under the rule of the Spaniards or the Austrians, in the space of two centuries, forty viceroys and twenty lieutenants were set over the kingdom; each one (if the interval be divided equally) three years and some months. Whose effort was partly spent in pulling down the undertakings of their predecessors, and universally in vigorously collecting and even increasing the tributes [Napoli-Signorelli, Vicende etc. volume V, pages 9 and 10. Compare Ranke, page 455].
[2] the wretched state As the most certain documents do not allow these things to be denied, so he is unjust who would ascribe them to the fault of men rather than to the necessity of things; not that the sins of some governors are nothing, but that, willing or unwilling, at that time no remedy could be applied [Compare Colletta, Storia del reame di Napoli, book I, §2]. The finances, namely, of the kings of Spain had gone to ruin already from the times of the emperor Charles V; nor could they ever be restored, since peace never flourished long enough. In the middle of the 16th century, when affairs were flowing prosperously, there were brought from America into the royal treasury no more than four hundred thousand scudi, a weight of 71,642 marks of silver Ranke, op. cit. page 375, about 3,000,000 francs: from the Low Countries at one time six times as much Ibid. pages 377 and 382. When, however, this region was thrown into turmoil and, so far from giving money, absorbed infinite sums, other provinces had to be wrung dry: Castile was not spared, and much less the Kingdom of Naples; Aragon, Sicily and the Milanese territory were more difficult, more tenacious of their old privileges Ibid. page 385. The Kingdom of Naples, therefore, which in the times of Charles V was succumbing under the burden of taxes, was afterwards pressed much more, so that in the space of sixty years the tributes increased threefold Ibid. page 298. Compare pages 386 and 387. Nevertheless in the year 1620 they amounted to fifty hundred thousand (5,000,000) ducats, or nearly three hundred hundred thousand (30,000,000) francs Ibid., at the page cited, that is (since there were about twenty hundred thousand 2,000,000 inhabitants Galanti, volume I, book I, chapter III, §10) to fifteen francs per head; which, since the power of money is now three times less, is worth as much as 45 francs now. These, however, did not all press with the same weight, since feudal and ecclesiastical goods, at least half of the Kingdom, were immune. Indeed, at the end of the 17th century, writers not bad will have it that two thirds of the free lands were in the hands of ecclesiastical institutions Compare Ludovico Bianchini, Storia delle finanze di Napoli, volume II, page 269. If to these burdens are added other dues to be paid to the barons and others, everyone sees that at least three times more was paid by the inhabitants of the Kingdom of Naples than now by the Belgians. But rarely do such enormous tributes seem to have been exacted Ibid. volume II, book II, chapter 8 and following.
[3] of both the civil and the sacred commonwealth But the calamity arose above all from this, that the art of collecting public money was unknown in that age, and so was the right method of imposing taxes. It was the purpose of all kings to exact the necessary revenues with the least burden on the peoples, since they had perceived that more stuck to the fingers of the collectors than came into the public treasury; and indeed Sully demonstrated that of one thousand five hundred hundred thousand francs (150,000,000) contributed by the people, only three hundred hundred thousand (30,000,000) were brought into the treasury of the king of France De Hamal, Traité élémentaire d'économie politique, page 186. Wherefore the kings of Spain eagerly received those who boasted that they could bring a remedy to the evil Ranke, op. cit. pages 383 and 384; the cities and the people, however, through their procurators in the assemblies or cortes, demanded above all this, that the very collection of the moneys should be in their own hands [Ibid. page 401. Compare Marina, Hist. des grandes assemblées nationales d'Espagne, volume II, page 347 and following]: but this demand seemed to tend to the detriment of royal authority. Every kind of collector, therefore, was instituted; and since this was less prompt and shrewd in taking in certain taxes, the door was opened to tax-farmers, and the Kingdom of Naples was as it were handed over to the Genoese to be plundered [Signorelli, op. cit. volume V, pages 9 and 10. Compare Colletta, Storia del Reame di Napoli, book I, §13]. No lesser errors were committed in establishing the system of tributes. Above all, offices, fiefs and jurisdiction over villages and hamlets were very often sold, mostly to those who thought of nothing but how they might get the greatest profit from them [Ranke, op. cit. page 455. Compare Colletta, Storia, book I, §13 and 16; Galanti, volume I, book I, chapter III, §8]. Then, since king, governors and people laboured under a shortage of money, all strove for this, that they might keep the precious metals within the borders of the kingdoms, foreign goods being (as far as could be done) kept out, or the export of coin forbidden Compare Galanti, Neue Geographie von Italien, volume I, page 187; not knowing that money is not to be retained by force or fraud, but rather to be attracted by the security of mutual commerce. Then almost nothing was permitted without the exaction of taxes. If anything was sold within the Kingdom, the exactor was there; if it was imported, he was there likewise Signorelli, op. cit. volume V, page 132 and following. Toll-houses were set up everywhere, since customs dues were received not only at the frontiers, but at the gates of cities and in the middle of the markets Compare Giannone, Hist. civ. volume IV, page 513, as well on native produce as on foreign goods. But although these things seem strange to us, in those times they were common; indeed in Spain too, in each kingdom, principality and city, a tribute was exacted from passing mules, and one in a hundred of travellers' money, under threat of confiscation [Le Jeunehomme, Relation d'une voyage de la Flesche à Lisbonne, en 1627, pages 7 and 8]. So the peoples wished, to whom the kings of Spain listened much too much Ranke, op. cit. page 425 and following, and to whom it seemed certain that economic science consisted in this, that tributes should be exacted above all from foreigners,
that money should not be permitted to leave the kingdom, and that direct rather than indirect taxes should be imposed Compare Signorelli, op. cit. volume V, pages 9, 132 and following. Not considering that trade could not but perish in this way and the tributes themselves be accordingly diminished; that impositions would therefore have to be added to impositions, until nothing more was free; that, trade perishing, the cultivation of the fields could not flourish and the whole commonwealth would go to ruin. And indeed, since, whether you will or no, the lowest natural price of things is made up of the cost of production, which is the necessary living of the workmen, the payment of rent, and the taxes; and none of these can increase (unless the selling price grows) without the other parts being diminished; and since, the export of grain having been prohibited and public granaries established Galanti, volume I, page 187, the crops could not be sold at a price increased on account of the taxes; the condition of the farmers became intolerable, and the fortune of the landlords themselves was diminished in a wonderful manner, since the tenants paid scarcely anything which the agents and lawyers did not absorb. Nor was the condition of ecclesiastical goods better; so that the abbey of Monte Cassino in former centuries, when it possessed a great part of the Kingdom of Naples, had less money than now, when it has been despoiled of almost all its goods Tosti, Storia della badia di Monte Cassino, volume II, pages 319 and 320.
[4] in the Kingdom of Naples. Since, therefore, misery grew year by year in the Kingdom of Naples as in the other Spanish provinces, so that in the 18th century the Jews had to be recalled by the Bourbons, by whom some stimulus might be added to decayed trade Colletta, Storia, book I, §31, and so that there were villages or parishes in which no one but the officials lived in a house, the farmers using underground caves for dwellings Colletta, Storia, book II, §19; and since nevertheless the kings of Spain, waging almost continual wars for dominion, glory and the defence of the church, needed much money, quarrels often flared up from this between the Roman curia and the Spanish court, since both needed coin, the former for the fabric of St. Peter's, the war against the Turks and ecclesiastical splendour, the latter for protecting and preserving by land and sea the authority of the Castilian name. Charles V, therefore, Philip II and other kings of Spain provided that no apostolic letters should be brought in without their permission, or royal exequatur, fearing nothing so much as that schemes for catching money might lurk in them [Giannone, book XXXIII, chapter 4; Ranke, page 285 and following, 291 and following]. By which it came about that the supreme dominion which belonged to the holy see over the Kingdom of Naples, either by written diplomas or by prescription [Compare Muratori, in Borgia, Breve istoria del dominio temporale della sede apostolica nelle due Sicilie, page 212 and following], brought to Rome nothing but a yearly palfrey Ranke, page 293, and that much also was lost of the emoluments which came from the conferring of benefices, from the sending of nuncios and collectors, and from many other old and new customs Compare Giannone, book XXXIII, chapters 5 and 6: which was a continual source of complaints, certainly just, of the Roman pontiffs, and the occasion of frequent contentions of the worst example. However lamentable these things were, the piety of the people nevertheless suffered no harm. For under the rule of the Spaniards more churches and monasteries, some of them very splendid, were built than in any other times; so that this is Giannone's constant complaint. Then the number of clerics, monks and nuns rose to a hundred and twelve thousand (112,000), when there were scarcely forty hundred thousand (4,000,000) inhabitants; and so, generally, among twelve grown males one was of the ecclesiastical or monastic order, and of thirty marriageable girls one was a nun [Compare Galanti, volume I, book I, chapter VI, §3 and elsewhere here and there]. And although not all were led to this institute of life by piety, most of them, however, thought chiefly of the service of God. Finally, when more than once the people, roused by the enormity of the tributes, broke out into open rebellion, it was wonderful to see how much reverence and trust, at least at the beginning of the seditions, they showed to the archbishop of Naples, to the pontifical legate and above all to the vicar of Christ. Naples, however, was squalid with a sink of vices, and several provinces laboured for a century and a half under brigandage, to which want and the immoderation of taxes had given rise. Meanwhile, however, together with the misery the number of inhabitants increased threefold Ibid. volume I, book I, chapter III, §10. The last Spanish governors tried to bring some remedy, and much more the Bourbons; but since they too were entangled in wars, they could accomplish nothing much at first; afterwards, however, they set over affairs ministers, by no means pious, who prepared the ruin of the Kingdom. But these things happened after the death of Bl. Bonaventure, and do not pertain to us. I had written these things when there came into my hands the History of the Neapolitan treasury by Ludovico Bianchini, and the Political essay on the census of the inhabitants and the public taxes of the Two Sicilies, written by M. L. R., both published in the year 1834 by royal authority at Naples by the Flautina press; and in these the face of the Kingdom of Naples in the 17th century appears no less wretched than in those other books which I have used above.
Annotata* 48/60=4/5
CHAPTER ONE.
The birth of Bl. Bonaventure, his religious profession, his residence at Nocera dei Pagani, Aversa, Maddaloni and in the hermitage of St. Mary of the Graces. His renunciation of studies.
[Bl. Bonaventure, called in the world Carlo Antonio Gerardo Lavanga, grows up piously in the midst of poverty, and is sent to school in the twelfth year of his age;] Above the public road by which one goes from Salerno to Matera, about midway along it, Potenza a rises on a hill, an old town of Lucania, now the capital of the Basilicata, or province of Potenza b, and from before the memory of men an episcopal see, looking towards Manfredonia on the north, Taranto on the east, the gulf of Policastro on the south, and Naples on the west. There Bl. Bonaventure saw the light, born of his father Lelio Lavanga, a poor tailor, and his mother Catherine Pica, his wife, and he was washed in baptism in the cathedral church of St. Gerard c on the 4th day of January of the year 1651, being called by the domestic name of Carlo Antonio Gerardo. Six years later, namely on the 11th day of March of the year 1657, he was signed there with the sacrament of confirmation by Bonaventura Claverio d, who had been taken from the order of Minor Conventuals to the bishopric of the city. Since through want the townspeople were diminishing in number day by day e, and his parents lived by a craft of lesser gain, the boy grew up with no rich food and no soft clothing; nevertheless, since even in summer it is cold there, he did not, from the time he began to have understanding, go about in that dress which a reader not ignorant of the manners of the Kingdom of Naples might suspect. Already in the boy it shone out what he would be; since he seemed as it were born for piety. Wherefore it pleased his father not to keep him in his own workshop, but to send him to the elementary school which a pious and grave priest conducted at Potenza, confining himself within the elements of letters. There was, namely, no seminary at Potenza then; which kind of institution, than which none more salutary was prescribed by the Council of Trent, penetrated with great difficulty into the Kingdom of Naples f. Since, moreover, the vernacular tongue comes so close to the Latin that two centuries before it was often still spoken in Latin to the people from the sacred pulpit g (in almost the same manner as now a sermon is given in French to uneducated Frenchmen), boys were taught not in Italian but in Latin; and indeed, although the blessed boy must be reckoned not to have been sent to a master before the twelfth year of his age h, since he was not slow of understanding, he advanced in Latin letters within a few years beyond expectation.
[2] he passes his boyhood and youth most holily, dear and pleasing to all; Yet he excelled much more in religion and innocence of manners. By nature he was courteous, witty and easy in conversation (which gifts he retained to the end of his life); but, since he was wholly intent upon himself and upon God, he was sparing of words, seldom speaking of his own accord, and almost never except when asked, and briefly. Likewise, as if by his own native disposition, whether he was alone or in public, he was composed and modest, with downcast face, an example to all, and in his look and eyes, as the witnesses said, revealing purity of body and soul. He did not spend time in the streets except to go to church or to school or to carry out his father's commands; and generally he was so obedient to the orders or wishes of his parents that he was never worthy of any reproof. He loved to withdraw apart, either to finish his school tasks, or to read pious books, or to adorn a little altar with sacred images, above all of the Blessed Virgin Mary, whom he loved from boyhood: in which place, when he had advanced in age, he sometimes prayed for a long time. And if ever he went out of the house without being compelled, he did not stay an eighth part of an hour in the street. In school, moreover, mute and motionless, he either studied or hung upon the lips of the master; wherefore a certain more impudent schoolfellow, to test whether he could disturb this firmness of mind, once assailed him with blows and slaps; in vain: the youth was not moved at all from his gentleness. Without doubt he had learned this virtue in the school of the suffering Christ; where he was also taught to strike his body with scourges, sometimes until the blood flowed: for which weakening of the flesh he used an upper room, which no one was accustomed to approach. Moreover, from his tender years it was a delight to him to visit the churches and to assist every day on his knees at the sacrifice of the mass, and, when he had fully come into possession of judgement and the use of reason, to partake of the eucharist every Sunday; from which undertakings he never turned aside. He was therefore looked up to by his parents and the whole city; so that it was openly said that he would one day be a saint and the ornament of his homeland.
[3] [In the year 1666 admitted among the Conventuals, in the following year he makes his profession at Nocera dei Pagani.] In the year of Christ 1666, moreover, the sixteenth of his age, since he seemed to know those things which the Minor Conventuals wished not to be unknown to the candidates of their order, he resolved to join them. His parents consented; and when a little later Master Antonio da Pescopagano, minister provincial, had come to the convent of Potenza, the youth offered himself, and was easily admitted as a son of the family of Potenza. He was sent, however, as a novice to Nocera dei Pagani; which city is situated in a most fertile region eight miles from Salerno on the road to Naples. Having laid aside, therefore, his secular name, so that thereafter he might be called Bonaventure of Potenza, he began his novitiate there on the 4th day of October, celebrating his happiness together with the feast of St. Francis, his spiritual father. In a short time, moreover, he turned the eyes of all upon himself: so great was his modesty, piety, observance of the rules and obedience! Indeed, those who had been witnesses of such eminent virtue in tender years renewed his memory half a century later not without signs of admiration. But that of the novitiate
year he completed, he was admitted to the profession of the religious life; which he made in the hands of Master Francesco da Cerchiaro, guardian of the convent, with that consolation and eagerness of mind which his eyes and voice betrayed to those standing by.
[4] [Sent from there to Aversa and then to Maddaloni to apply himself to studies, he says farewell to them on the advice of Sebastiano di Cesare. From there he is sent to the hermitage of St. Mary of the Graces] Not long afterwards he was ordered to go from there to Aversa, an episcopal city which lies between Naples and Capua, to begin scholastic studies there: for the seminary of the province was there. He spent, therefore, some effort in learning the first elements of philosophy; but not with much delight, because his mind was called away to heavenly things. His superiors, therefore, since perhaps he seemed not sufficiently prepared for severer studies, sent him to the convent of Maddaloni i in the Terra di Lavoro, in the diocese of Caserta, not far from the ancient Calatia, between Naples and Benevento; where at that time there was a seminary of the junior professed . But, so far from availing to instil in him a love of letters, it was the occasion of his saying farewell to them for ever. Once, namely, in the year 1222, St. Francis, passing through this village, had received from the inhabitants a little chapel, erected by them not long before; which he surrounded with little cells. And although the convent had afterwards been greatly enlarged, yet in the year 1668 there still remained a narrow balcony on which the holy man was said once to have stood. When the blessed youth had heedlessly leaned against it, it suddenly came into his mind that this had been done unworthily by him, a great sinner; and he broke out into lamentation. When Master Sebastiano di Cesare, a man grave in age and of good counsel, had heard him, he asked him why he was weeping so much. Hindered by shame or sadness, the youth answered nothing. When, therefore, Cesare asked again: "And how," says Bonaventure, "shall I refrain from tears, I who have leaned upon the balcony which the holy founder touched?" Since, then, for so slight a cause he was dissolved in religious tears, Cesare understood that his breast abounded with eminent piety; wherefore he added: "My son, do you not see that you are called by God to Himself and wholly enrolled to Him? Send notice of dismissal to your studies; for which it plainly appears that you were not born. From now on give yourself wholly to the pursuit of perfection and to the science of the saints. These things God asks of you, who has inspired in you such tender sentiments." These things pleased the blessed youth very much, nor did they displease his superiors; who, although Bl. Bonaventure had scarcely reached his eighteenth year, yet dismissed him from the course of studies and destined him for the convent of St. Mary of the Graces on the estate called Pio, in the diocese of Benevento.
ANNOTATA.
* minor gioventu junior youth
* angusta loggia narrow balcony
CHAPTER TWO.
The progress of Bl. Bonaventure in all virtues, above all in blind obedience, in the hermitage of St. Mary of the Graces and much more in the convent of Amalfi, under the guidance of the Venerable Servant of God Domenico da Muro.
[In the hermitage of St. Mary of the Graces he was inferior to none in the arena of holiness. Three years later he finds at Amalfi an excellent director, the Venerable Servant of God Domenico da Muro;] In the midst of the woods, far from all commerce with men, that house is set; which at that time, according to the old institute of the Friars Minor a, some Conventuals inhabited, drawn by the pursuit of a harsher life and of contemplation. When the blessed youth had been associated with them for three years, he seemed inferior to none in the observance of the rules, in the acceptance of voluntary penances, in the custody of the senses, in the conquest of his own will and in long prayers. Yet elsewhere God had prepared for him a master of greater perfection, namely Domenico da Muro, whose heavenly prudence sent forth such splendid rays that the most pious among the Conventuals consulted him on the affairs of the soul, and many, even good masters of theology, who longed to serve God singularly and of whom some advanced to the summit of Christian perfection, flocked to the school of his holiness, and whose virtue was so conspicuous that he was also celebrated for miracles, and solemn processes were drawn up by which the way might be prepared for his beatification b. This eminent teacher, moreover, lived at Amalfi, on the gulf of Salerno, between two rugged mountains, where in the eastern part, having received the castle of St. Sophia, St. Francis had in the year 1222 founded the convent of St. Mary of the Angels (which title was afterwards changed to St. Francis) and where to this very day, although the religious family has been expelled and the house is incredibly squalid, there is seen under the church the narrow cell of the most holy man, turned into an oratory; then, moreover, the vines, myrtles and pomegranate trees planted in the earth by his hands were still being pointed out.
[6] [who cultivated him with the greatest care. Enrolled there in the order of lay brothers, the blessed youth discharges the office of sacristan. His devotion to the holy Eucharist;] The place, therefore, pleased Bl. Bonaventure, the company pleased him, above all the excellent master pleased him. When they knew each other, they loved each other in the Lord, so that they could scarcely be separated. The disciple disclosed all the secrets of his soul to his teacher; and the latter omitted no care to cultivate the field blessed by God, taking him as his companion and partner in prayer. By night both lay prostrate before the most august sacrament of the Eucharist; and also by day, at the hours when they would be less observed. From this the blessed youth drew an incredible love of this mystery; so much so that thereafter, as long as he was among the living, his mind could scarcely be called away from Christ placed in the sacred tabernacle, his conversations returned to Him very frequently, and pious thought of Him often drew forth tears and sighs. And indeed devotion to the divine Eucharist became as it were his native character, the form and manner of his holiness. At first c he was held in the register of the lay brothers and the care of the sacristy and church was committed to him; which office pertains most nearly to the worship of the venerable sacrament. He omitted nothing, therefore, so that all things might be clean and ready, the altars, the furnishings, the church; the lamps lit at the proper time, the purificators diligently washed. And these things he held greatly at heart through all the time of his life, even when this solicitude did not lie upon him, labouring also, for the sake of cleanliness, that not red but white wine should be used in the sacrifice of the Mass, and exceedingly anxious that the light before the tabernacle should not fail, and sometimes spending part of the night on this matter. The rest I shall disclose in another place.
[7] poverty and humility; No less did the disciple follow the master in other good exercises. The venerable Domenico loved holy poverty as the mother of the religious life; which, although it does not forbid the Conventuals common ownership, yet prohibits them from all free use and persuades them to prefer cheap things to more precious ones. Bl. Bonaventure went much further, since he went so far as to use only torn garments mended by his own hand, to inhabit a cell barer than all the others, and to be unwilling to handle any money, not even an obol, with his hand. Nor afterwards, as will be said in its place, did he turn aside from these practices. His body
Domenico held very harshly, so as to subject the flesh to the spirit; in these things too the disciple imitated the master, so much so that, although he was by nature robust and of firm strength, from excess of scourgings, from vigils and continual fasts he became wretchedly emaciated, with unsteady step and scarcely dragging his limbs. Since this proceeded from sincere piety, it certainly availed to give himself more and more to God; but it cannot be set forth as an example, since it was afterwards less approved by the servant of God himself. Yet there was no danger that he would fall into pride: he had become vile in his own eyes not only on account of his birth, whose lowliness he loved to recall, but above all on account of his faults; which, however very small, seemed to him portentous crimes which had to be washed away by him with the gravest penalties. From his heart, therefore, he called himself an infamous sinner, the most wicked and most shameful of the whole world. With this lowliness of mind he embraced all the lowest offices, subjecting himself to the lay brothers and sometimes bearing their insults most patiently. Wherefore Father Michele Ferrigno, who was then his guardian at Amalfi, called to testimony by the apostolic judges, could not but declare that in all the time of his life he had never seen other religious exercising themselves in humility with so heroic a spirit as the servant of God. And yet at that time there were religious at Amalfi whose holiness God was confirming with miracles.
[8] his obedience prompt and blind and simple beyond measure; of which examples Obedience went as companion to humility: which, since it had taught him to recognize the divine will in the will of the superior, was blind in him and prompt, as will become manifest from some specimens. When cucumber rinds had been thrown onto the road that adjoined the convent, and which was more like a precipice than a street (so that even by day the approach was dangerous), the guardian, returning home as evening was darkening, had slipped or had not been far from slipping. After supper, therefore, he said publicly that the rinds were not well placed in this spot, but should be thrown into the neighbouring sea. Which words were those not of one commanding, but of one remarking; nor did they pertain singly to Bl. Bonaventure; nor certainly did the superior wish this to be done in the middle of the darkness, but the next morning. But Bl. Bonaventure was too blind in obeying to see these things. Accordingly he went out at once, collected the rinds by feeling for them, and, collected, threw them into the sea: which task he performed not without danger. It pleased the venerable Domenico once to test his obedience by an experiment. When, namely, Bl. Bonaventure, having lost the key of the sacristy, could not carry out his office, he went to his master for advice: "The key," answered Domenico, "is at the bottom of the cistern; if you wish to recover it, you must fish with a hook. Do this, therefore: let down the hook of those fishermen, fixed to a line, and fish for it." Doubting nothing, the most obedient youth ran at once to the hook, then to the cistern, where the key hung itself upon the very light instrument. Which prodigy was very much celebrated in the convent and the city. The guardian also tested him sometimes; and once, on the first day of August, he summoned him to himself and said: "Tomorrow in our church the indulgence of the Portiuncula will be to be gained. Go to the Benedictine nuns of the Blessed Virgin Mary of the Annunciation, and invite them in my name and that of all the Friars to our church, where, having adored the most holy sacrament, they may gain the indulgence." These words were jocose, since the nuns are enclosed; yet with eminent simplicity the blessed youth went to them and, the invitation having been made, waited for an answer. Aptly the maidens answered that they would come, if not in body, in mind. Which words he diligently reported to the guardian.
[9] several are related; Beyond expectation, on another day the same guardian saw a notable specimen of this simplicity. Bl. Bonaventure had collected for the use of the Friars a mass of snow, with which he came upon the guardian. Having inquired of him where he should put it away, he got the answer "in the sacristy cupboard." Which words the superior had said in jest, as to a useless question, since it was well known where the snow was to be kept. But the servant of God understood them without the jest and stored the snow away in the cupboard of the sacristy. Then, at the time of the midday meal, asked for the snow, he answered with wonderful candour that it had been put away in the cupboard by order of the superior. Which words brought upon the hearers first amazement, then fear, lest the sacred furnishings had been fouled with impure liquid. But although the heat was most scorching and a great deal of time had already passed, they saw the snow indeed somewhat diminished, but the water not poured out, rather clinging within the bounds of the ice, with no damage to the neighbouring cloths d. On another day no less ingenuousness appeared. Since it was part of his office to care for the chapel of Blessed Mary of Mount Carmel, situated outside the convent at the side of the stairs, he went to it every morning to open the door, to arrange the altar, and to keep the little shrine clean and seemly. One day he felt himself inwardly roused to betake himself there earlier than usual; he went and soon heard the wailing of a newly born girl. Moved with mercy, he would have wished to take up the infant; but reverence for the superior stood in the way, without whose licence he understood that the little girl could not be brought into the convent. He went to him, therefore; by whom he was ordered to carry the child he had found to the neighbouring wheel. When he returned, since the superior and the friars standing around wished to test how simple and candid a mind he had, the guardian said: "My son, since it has befallen you to find this little infant, you must satisfy a most grave charge. From the event it is understood that God wills that you take care of her. In this, therefore, your thoughts will be occupied, that you bring her up, nourish her, clothe her, in a word that you discharge a father's offices towards her. What do you say?" Having heard these admonitions, the youth shrugged his shoulders; and consenting to the will of God: "If God," he said, "asks these things of me, I, although poor, am content, and will try to do what I can:" and he would in fact have done it, had not the most innocent soul been translated within a few days to the choirs of the Angels.
[10] [in other matters, however, he was prudent. His care for chastity and his zeal against the wanton.] But this simplicity of his was far removed from stupidity. Prudence, which he did not seem to know while obeying, he diligently employed in other things. He so hid the splendour of the virtues and the notable gifts with which God had heaped him, that for a long time they lay hidden from a great part of his confrères. With most ready mind he foresaw and avoided occasions and dangers, even remote ones, and all snares to his purity. Seldom did he converse with religious, most seldom with seculars. And if he could not escape worldly men, he watched himself the more severely; nor could he hear a less chaste word or see a vain or immodest gesture without a colour, pale and red, the sign of his modesty, suffusing his face. Against the wanton he sometimes used a fervent zeal; but he took account of places, times and men, repressing the fire of his ardour or applying it more gently. When he had performed this office, he withdrew from the company blushing and hurried to his cell. By which it came about that the most petulant men dared to do or say nothing before him that was not right. When, however, through obedience or charity, he was not allowed to be away from the company of women, it is scarcely credible how much he watched over himself: he kept his eyes motionless; and at all times he so followed this that he never looked at a woman. By this care, always a virgin in body and soul, he laid down the white baptismal tunic at the tomb. In the practice of all the other virtues he shone among the most holy brethren of Amalfi, so that those who then knew him most intimately solemnly testified after his death that they were persuaded that within the eight years in which he heard the precepts of Father Domenico da Muro he had not committed even one venial sin, and that the purity of his conscience vied with that of an angel.
[11] He esteems very highly the Venerable Servant of God Domenico da Muro. Moreover, Bl. Bonaventure was the more drawn to God by the admonitions and examples of his master, the more he esteemed him: and he esteemed him very highly, as is established from a conversation which the two had between themselves and which Bl. Bonaventure himself, cited as a witness by the judges in the cause of the canonization of the Venerable Domenico, related: "One day," he said, "I wanted to know whether Father Domenico had performed miracles; I said aptly: 'Blessed is he who serves God and works miracles?' To which words he replied: 'What miracles, what miracles? How?' Then I: 'But does not the church show that it esteems miracles highly? Does it not enrol no one among the saints unless miracles have been recognized?' To which Father Domenico, wishing to signify that holiness consists not in miracles but in virtues: 'For my part,' he said, 'I hold it of no account. The church ought then to enrol me among the saints, since a sick man recovered at my touch; and a wound was cured when the sign of the cross was made! Am I therefore a saint?'"
[12] [He is advanced to holy orders and begins to apply himself to the salvation of souls.] By the companionship of so great a man Bl. Bonaventure, wholly free and open to the workings of divine grace, could not but advance much. Whether, however, this eminent virtue and holiness of his drove his superiors to advance him to holy orders or not is exceedingly obscure. This one thing we know, that in the first year in which the servant of God lived at Amalfi, — and he came there (as we have said) in the year 1671, — he was promoted to the degree of the subdiaconate by Giuseppe Sagezio, bishop of Ravello and Scala; in the second to the honours of the diaconate by Stefano Quaranter, archbishop of Amalfi; and in the third to the priesthood, the holy see granting a dispensation of age, since he was only in his twenty-third or rather twenty-fourth year e. "He received holy orders," says one among the witnesses, "with the highest eagerness of mind, and he had prepared himself like an angel for so great an honour. From then on, always advancing in spirit and fervour, he celebrated mass every day until he departed from the convent of Amalfi." From then on also he began to thirst for the salvation of souls and every kind of help to his neighbour. He began first to give words of exhortation to the people, to visit the sick, to console the sorrowful, to bring aid to the needy, and to do other works of corporal and spiritual mercy. Since this labour succeeded happily and produced fine fruits, it did not long remain hidden from the prelate of Amalfi; to whom Christian prudence seemed to fill up in the blessed man the gap of knowledge and learning. For that some have held that he was taught and instructed by divine power rests only on weak suspicions; which in this place, since the matter is grave, we shall call to examination.
ANNOTATA.
HIC IACET CORPVS VENERAB. SERVI DEI P. F. DOMINICI A MVRO ORD. MINOR. CONVENTVALIVM QVI CVM MAGNA SANCTITATIS AC MIRACVLORVM FAMA OBIIT DIE XXX MENSIS DECEMBRIS ANNO MDCLXXXIII. [Here lies the body of the Venerable Servant of God Father Brother Domenico da Muro of the Order of Minor Conventuals, who died with a great fame of holiness and miracles on the 30th day of the month of December in the year 1683.] Muro, moreover, from which the Venerable servant of God came, is an episcopal city of the province of the Basilicata.
CHAPTER THREE.
Whether Bl. Bonaventure was taught by divine power.
[From the instruction of his masters, from the reading of a few books, above all of the catechism, and from the practice of meditation and the examination of conscience, without a miracle] In very truth he had not spent much time on studies, since he had learned only the elements of the Latin language and had touched logic with the tips of his lips. But he had diligently listened to the master of novices and above all to the Venerable servant of God Domenico da Muro; who, although they dealt with him only about humility, simplicity of heart, contempt of the world and the perfect imitation of Christ, yet by this very art taught him to think accurately about moral things, to distinguish similar things, to measure the way of virtue and to apply the remedies of vices; and since he was instructed by them in the methods of meditating and contemplating and in the rules of examining conscience, he easily grew accustomed to think and speak in order about divine things and to judge the affairs of the soul. Then he read pious books, few indeed, but which he seemed to exhaust, taking from them the subjects of his meditations. He also loved to turn over the Lives of the saints, from which he drew examples very opportune in simpler sermons. But what is most important, he had known the catechism, or Christian doctrine, thoroughly; whence the definitions of all sacred things were ready to hand for him, and so the principles of all dogmatic and moral theology. If anyone understands these well and has them arranged in his memory, he knows much more than most suspect. Add that the blessed man had read a treatise on moral theology written in Italian; that he did not engage carelessly in this reading is persuaded by his very virtue and holiness. Since, moreover, he was of a keen and ready mind, of right and good judgement, and very much practised in searching into divine things and those of his own conscience, he seems to have been able, without a prodigious infusion of knowledge, to do all those things which he is read to have done.
[14] [Bl. Bonaventure could know whatever things are necessary for the common sacred ministry,] In the first place, that he arrived at the priesthood without going through the course of studies will cause wonder to those north of the Alps, by no means to those south of them. For the bishops of our countries have long since been far more difficult in admitting young men to holy orders, laying hands on no one who has not spent the lawful time in philosophy and theology in seminaries or other institutions of that kind; whereas there, above all in the 17th century, when the dioceses of the Kingdom of Naples were still commonly without seminaries, priests were created who, "a diligent examination having preceded, had been proved fit to teach the people those things which it is necessary for all to know for salvation, and to administer the sacraments:" which lowest goal of knowledge the Council of Trent had prescribed Session XXIII, chapter 14 de reformatione; nor certainly had Bl. Bonaventure reached it with difficulty. That he had no knowledge of the world, which he had deserted as a youth, this was the almost common ignorance of clerics and religious, certainly easily and quickly removed. That he was an excellent counsellor is no more to the point: since counsels are to be sought less from learning than from natural understanding and prudence. Nor does a surer indication arise from his sermons; whose sublimity of subjects, loftiness of thoughts and ease of words are indeed praised: but rather he followed a popular diction, mixing difficult and arduous things with trite and common ones, known partly by the practice of meditation, partly from books read. That the fervour of his speech struck the unlearned and the perfect order of his reasoning pleased the learned, and that they led the unbelieving to faith and the tepid to take up virtue, that fervour proceeded from the love of God and neighbour; and this art of discoursing from the natural firmness of his judgement.
[15] and to certain answers on moral matters and on theological knots, There is brought forward besides the testimony of Father Master Simeone, a most celebrated man among the Conventuals and at one time promoted to the helm of the whole order. "When in the year 1707," he says, "I was living in the convent of Nocera dei Pagani, I was accustomed to converse with Bl. Bonaventure after the midday meal in my room; and although I knew well that he had not studied moral theology, it pleased me nevertheless to propose to him most intricate cases. He always answered me aptly; so that I marvelled; and he gave ready and good reasons. Then, therefore, it came into my mind that so great a learning in morals had been infused into him from heaven as the reward of his heroic faith. In the year 1708 also I had for many months the companionship of the servant of God in the Neapolitan convent of the Holy Spirit, or of St. Anthony of Tarsia, outside the Porta Medina a. Again it was a pleasure to me to put to him the most difficult knots of theology; but he, with no hesitation, solved them excellently. Sometimes I pressed arguments most strongly: 'To these,' I said, 'you will not answer.' But he humbly and with much reverence said: 'With divine grace I will answer;' and in fact he answered rightly. By which that opinion of mine about his heavenly instruction was confirmed. When, moreover, I was once mingling theological discourses with the servant of God, I proposed a most difficult theological question to be resolved by Father Master Giacomo Pasca, a learned man and professor of theology, who happened to be present. Having understood his opinion, I asked the servant of God what he himself thought. He answered something altogether different and demonstrated it with apt arguments. His statements
Master Giacomo tried to defend, and to refute the objections. But the servant of God contradicted with such force of speech and such weight of reasons that we both marvelled and came over to his opinion."
[16] for example concerning the concord of free will and grace, "Some months later, however, turning over with myself whether it could happen or not that two men of the same disposition, having received the same grace, should act differently, so that one responded to grace and the other did not, I questioned the servant of God about the solution of this question. He answered me with such learning, ease and grace as the best master of theology would not have attained. For my part I not only admired his answers, but admitted them, together with the arguments added; since I was entirely satisfied. Of the many things, moreover, which he then told me, this one now occurs to me: 'You theologians,' he said, 'do you not say that grace was granted to the Angels in proportion to their nature? So that the angels of more perfect nature received greater grace than the angels of the lower choirs. Lucifer, therefore, more perfect in nature than the rest, was endowed with greater grace than the others: and yet Lucifer did not co-operate with the greater grace, and the other angels co-operated with the lesser grace.' From this time, when talk fell upon the servant of God, I was accustomed to say to all that, although he had not applied himself to studies, he was nevertheless to be revered as a most learned man, since he had obtained knowledge not by his own labour but by divine infusion. This also appeared in his catecheses and sermons to the people: for in them he not only showed great zeal for human salvation and profited his hearers very much, but also carried away all other preachers and learned men into admiration of him, so that it was the voice of all that his learning was infused."
[17] [which are brought forward to prove the divine origin of his knowledge. His disputation on the immaculate conception of the Mother of God by no means theological.] But in this testimony some things are general, others particular. The former certainly have less weight, since they cannot even be examined; except that some sort of judgement must be formed of them from the particular ones. That Masters Simeone and Giacomo stuck fast on the question of the concord of free will and grace, but by no means the blessed man, this seems to me to be the one cause, that they had applied themselves to books in which grace efficacious of itself is taught, while he, those opinions having been left aside, and following the light of natural judgement, understood that in free will, if it is to be anything, there must at least be this power, that it assents or does not assent to grace at its pleasure, and that every determination of the will comes from itself, and not from external helps with which its dissent would not be compatible: and so that one of two men of the same disposition obeys grace, because he freely wills or determines himself to it; the other resists the same grace, because he freely wills not to consent to it. Which things he confirmed by the example of Lucifer, using an argument from the greater to the lesser. Certainly you will elicit answers of this kind from hundreds of men who have been exercised in some practice of meditation. Nor is there greater authority for persuading in the admiration of the theologians; every day, namely, pious schoolmasters, who are instructed only in the catechism but have a trained understanding, so explain the heads of Christian doctrine that they please in a wonderful manner and surpass far more learned men in clarity, order and accuracy of words. If to these gifts you add ardour of heart and zeal for souls, from which a copiousness of words easily proceeds, nothing will be wanting for excellent sermons. For the rest, only one place occurs in the Life of the blessed man from which his manner of disputing may appear. Namely, when in the island of Ischia one night, Matins having been finished, the Friars were conversing about the immaculate conception of Blessed Mary, none surpassed the servant of God in praising the Mother of God; and he even exclaimed: "Mary was created by God infinitely beautiful!" When someone carped at these words, Bl. Bonaventure added with the greatest eagerness: "As much as God could and would, so much He gave to Mary!" "And these things," answered the critic, "how do you demonstrate?" Then the servant of God, burning with holy ardour: "I," he said, "am not a theologian, nor do I know how to demonstrate these things; but I demonstrate it with my neck;" and at the same time he stretched out his neck, as if offering it to the executioner to be cut off. In which there is nothing by which an infusion of heavenly learning is made manifest; but on the contrary it is clear from it that he seemed neither to himself nor to others a theologian or endowed with theological knowledge.
ANNOTATUM.
CHAPTER FOUR.
The deeds and virtues of Bl. Bonaventure when he first lived in the Neapolitan convent of St. Anthony, or of the Holy Spirit.
[Sent to Naples to the convent of St. Anthony or of the Holy Spirit, he at first discharges the offices of the lay brothers,] Although, therefore, Master Simeone's persuasion about the supernatural instruction of Bl. Bonaventure is more pious than certain, it cannot nevertheless be denied that the principal aids by which he might gain souls for God were not lacking to him. Which fame was in a short time so spread among the Conventual Friars that the blessed man began to be asked for by all the best superiors, both that by his example he might bring convents back to better discipline, and that he might call outsiders back to the path of holiness. It was hindered, however, somewhat by the venerable man Domenico da Muro; who for some time refused that Bl. Bonaventure should withdraw from Amalfi: but at length the minister provincial intervened, who ordered him to move to the Neapolitan convent of St. Anthony or of the Holy Spirit outside the Porta Medina, not far from the gate and the Via Toledo; where he was most vehemently longed for by all. Not without grief were the most loving souls torn from one another; yet the Venerable Domenico foretold that the separation of their bodies would not be perpetual, warning his confrère that he would one day return to this shore: that he would lay down the burden of his body at Ravello, where through the friendship of the bishop the order would recover its ancient seat, and that in this way it would come about that the bodies of both would obtain rest at no great distance a. When, therefore, in the year of Christ 1680, about the thirtieth of his age, three years before the death of the Venerable Domenico, he first came to Naples, he was received by his brethren with the greatest reverence and joy; but he, thinking of nothing but his own weakness, felt that he had been called there out of mercy. Wherefore he presented himself to the superior, ready for domestic offices of whatever kind; and without delay he added himself to the lay brothers. Thereafter he was to be seen labouring in the kitchen, carrying wood on his shoulders, drawing water with the pulley, wiping vessels with cloths, setting the tables in the refectory and arranging the napkins, then cleaning the rooms and dormitories, ministering to the sick, but above all looking after the church, the altars and the sacristy; so that he was as it were the sacristan.
[19] with which he joins a singular zeal for prayer and for all virtues. Judging himself wholly unworthy of the priestly ministry, he had resolved to lead a hidden life; on that account a diligent displayer of his defects and a most diligent concealer of his virtues; but the rays of his holiness could not but come to the knowledge of men, nor did God will that the lamp which He himself had lit should be placed under a bushel. He was always present at the common exercises of piety, imprudently turning the eyes of others upon himself. For he took pains to be the first to come to the praises of God; and while psalms were being sung he stood upright on his feet, with head uncovered, hands pressed together, body motionless; and he followed the words with such attention of mind that he seemed carried away into a continual ecstasy. No less wonderfully did he celebrate the sacred rites. He never went to the altar without first having washed away the little stains of his conscience once or twice in the sacrament of penance, never in his own judgement pure enough and well disposed. The sacred mysteries themselves he performed with a most rare gravity, immersed in the consideration of such great things that he seemed to see or hear nothing, and frequently dissolving into pious tears. Then for whole hours he gave thanks to God, his mind lifted up to heaven. Nor could his free and private performance of divine worship lie wholly hidden. For a long time every day, namely, he stayed in the church, visiting the altars of the Most Holy Sacrament, of the Blessed Virgin Mary, of St. Francis, of St. Anthony and of other saints, with such stillness of body and intensity of mind that he was like a statue, and was roused by no noise. His colleagues also understood that every day he added to the divine office the Little Office of Blessed Mary, the whole Rosary, litanies and many other set prayers, yet with greater zeal and fidelity than number. To which were added his consummate diligence in observing the rules, an almost perpetual silence and love of solitude: for he did not go out of the house unless ordered by his superiors or led by charity; and not even out of his cell, except to help the lay brothers, to be present in choir or to pray in the church. And if it happened that he spoke, his words seemed to burn with the fire of divine love. At first he was held to be a man who was the enemy of his own body, because he very often fasted beyond the law; but only gradually was it discovered that he never fasted more than when he ate something of every dish, using a wonderful art to conceal his abstinence.
[20] [Roused by the fame of his holiness, very many have recourse to his ministry: before others he cares for the poor and the dying.] The holiness of the blessed man, therefore, became manifest first to the brethren, then to outsiders; which won him the highest veneration and trust, so that many entrusted their conscience to him to be directed and sought his counsels even about temporal matters. Since in these matters his heavenly wisdom appeared, the nobles also came to him and made him the arbiter of their soul and household. Among whom are reckoned a certain Fulvio and Antonio Pagano, noble men of excellent judgement; then Francesco Navarretta, a royal councillor of distinguished fame, and Giuseppe di Gennaro, a Neapolitan patrician; how much these advanced in the school of the servant of God we shall tell in another place. He could, however, be overcome by no labour or weariness if any unlearned persons were to be instructed, penitents to be confirmed in good resolutions, sinners to be brought back to God, but above all if poor sick persons
and dying persons were in need of help. "If I were called," he himself used to say, "to a poor sick or dying man, and the doors were closed and every exit blocked, I would throw myself headlong through the window." At that time he is related to have flourished in such esteem that religious visitors at Naples did not depart without first having tasted something of his spirit.
[21] He foretells to Bonaventura Cennamo the fortunes of his life. His fame was increased by the gift of prophecy, which was very much celebrated: the memory of one prophecy survives. In a convent near Naples Bonaventura Cennamo was applying himself to letters, shortly to come to the examination by which among the Conventuals a step is made to the class of collegians and from there the way is paved to the mastership. Since he was in doubt and very anxious about the outcome, he greatly desired to learn from the blessed man what fortune awaited him. While he was turning these things over in his mind, it happened by chance that he was sent to Naples and came upon the man of God first of all, at the very time when he was preparing to set out for the convent of St. Lawrence b, to which he too had to go, and was seeking a companion for the journey. With the greatest eagerness the young man offered himself. When they were on the road, he would have wished to question the blessed man; but shame suppressed the words in his mouth. Having at length become bolder: "Father Bonaventure," he said; but he could go no further. The servant of God nevertheless understood; and with changed face and suffused with a blush: "You young men," he said, "think of nothing but obtaining the mastership. You will be a master, as you wish, and more than a master; but then so many and so many things await you …," and he broke off his speech and returned to his natural appearance. Having heard these things, Cennamo, full of terror and gladness, did not dare to open his mouth further; but he never lost the memory of this very brief conversation, and he himself once confessed that faith had been added to the oracle. In fact he not only came to the mastership, but was held among the more distinguished fathers of the province; indeed he also held the office of commissary general in the same province, and at last was created preacher of the emperor Leopold; but the course of his life was troubled by innumerable vexations and wearinesses.
[22] [Through the intervention of St. Anthony of Padua he frees Giacomo Pasca from the stone.] It was also said that the blessed man was so pleasing to heaven that God denied him nothing and that the saints appeared in his sight, above all St. Anthony of Padua, through whose intervention his vows and prayers were never empty. This, moreover, has been handed down to memory, that Master Pasca c, whenever he was pressed by grave straits or dangers, used to be heard saying that his deliverance was placed at the discretion of Father Bonaventure, if indeed he would make a little prayer to the wonder-worker. Nor was this trust of his vain. For when once he was labouring most atrociously in the kidneys, he crept to the servant of God, saying: "Quickly, father, quickly, for charity's sake; come with me into the church; recite for me the Responsory of St. Anthony d, that he may free me; I am being killed by spasm." When they had gone down into the church, the blessed man began the customary prayer; but when he came to these words, Dangers perish, he was rapt in mind to things above; and, his colour changing, he raised his voice and cried out most loudly, as though he had put the disease to flight: nor in vain; for on the spot Pasca passed a huge stone, so that it is doubtful which you should rather marvel at, the sudden cure or the size of the little stone expelled through the narrowest passages.
ANNOTATA.
The Responsory of St. Anthony of Padua, of which talk will very often recur, is conceived in these words:
R. If you seek miracles, death, error, calamity, The demon, leprosy flee: the sick rise up healed. * The sea gives way, and fetters; limbs and things lost Young men and old ask for and receive. V. Dangers perish, and need also ceases; Let those who feel it tell it, let the Paduans say it. * The sea gives way, etc. Glory be to the Father, etc. * The sea gives way, etc. V. Pray for us, Blessed Anthony. R. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.
Prayer. Let the votive entreaty of Blessed Anthony, your confessor, gladden your Church, O God, that it may always be fortified by spiritual aids and may deserve to enjoy eternal joys. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.
This Responsory is ascribed to St. Bonaventure and is in use everywhere in the convents of the Friars Minor. Papebroch commented a little on it in the appendix to the Life of St. Anthony, or the analecta on St. Anthony of Padua, number 135; where he also reviews some changes in the prayer and some additions: for which prayers and additions I find others substituted elsewhere. But these things are not to be pursued further in this place.
CHAPTER FIVE.
The residence of Bl. Bonaventure at Maranola in the diocese of Gaeta, in the convent of St. Crescentius in the diocese of Aversa, at Montella in the diocese of Nusco and in the convent of St. Euphemia at Sorrento. Danger of death from fasts; blind obedience. A journey to Potenza interrupted by divine power.
[To Maranola, so that he may be an example to his colleagues, there is sent suddenly] Meanwhile it seemed good to the minister provincial Bonaventura de Nicola to send the blessed man elsewhere. Five thousand paces, namely, from Gaeta towards the east lies Maranola, a castle peopled by a thousand inhabitants, Bl. Bonaventure; formerly of the counts of Fondi, afterwards of the family of Carafa; where towards the middle of the 14th century Onorato Caetani, count of Fondi, and the community of Maranola had begun a church of the Blessed Mary of the Annunciation, without endowment and rector. It seemed good to them, therefore, to make it over to the Friars Minor; to which thing Pope Gregory IX assented in the year 1371. This convent, built in the midst of the mountains, remained in the hands of the Conventuals when the order was divided into several parts; but regular discipline towards the close of the 17th century was not such as did not need the help of a distinguished example. The minister provincial resolved, therefore, to send there Bl. Bonaventure, who might show the path of perfection to his colleagues. When this plan became known, it affected with the greatest sadness not only the inhabitants of the convent of St. Anthony, but also very many laymen who had chosen him as master of their life, above all Francesco Navarretta and Antonio Pagano, who, interposing their authority and pouring out their own and others' complaints, strove to bring Bonaventura de Nicola to another opinion. The minister provincial would not yield: private advantages were to be put after the good of the order. Of these things the blessed man had heard nothing so far; who, when, suddenly summoned to the superior, he was ordered in virtue of holy obedience to move to Maranola without delay, lest new intercessions should be made, threw himself on his knees, exclaiming that he was ready to go wherever he should be sent by his superiors, even to hell a. Having said this, at the command of the minister he rose and at once, having received the blessing, proceeded to Maranola, asking nothing about the causes of the journey, but obediently and blindly doing what was commanded.
[24] [from there to the convent of St. Crescentius in the diocese of Aversa; where by excessive fasts he is brought into danger of death. Ordered to eat a whole fish, he tries to eat even the bones.] When he had been there for some time and had instilled into the brethren and the people a love of religious and Christian perfection, he had again to change his ground, sent to the convent of St. Crescentius in the territory of Giuliano, in the diocese of Aversa; which place, peopled by more than eight thousand inhabitants, is situated on the left of the road by which one goes from Naples to Aversa, five miles from the former city, two from the other, and abounds in sacred buildings. No less did his example avail there than in other places for correcting the morals of the brethren and introducing a severer life. He himself, however, left to his own judgement, exceeded the measure, and imprudently would have put an end to his life, had he not been of a more robust nature and by his simplicity deserved the help of God. For here too, with his usual art, he concealed from his colleagues his continual fasts, or rather his starvation, going at the proper time to the refectory and taking the food brought to him, not to eat it, but to keep it for the poor. By which abstinence he was gradually exhausted of strength and entangled in most grave diseases, so that he was not far from death. Yet this excessive temperance could not long be concealed from his colleagues, who warned the superior: for it was not right that the blessed man should bring death upon himself, but he must be compelled really to eat the food set before him. On the next day, when it had by good fortune happened that pious fishermen had presented the convent with a great quantity of fish, the superior ordered that one of them, excellently seasoned, be set before Bl. Bonaventure, with the added command that he eat it out of obedience, and that whole. He, obedient to the command and reflecting on nothing else, took the fish with both hands and put the head into his mouth, chewing scales, bones and spines, so that palate, tongue and gums were bloodied: true obedience, namely, as St. Gregory the Great says, neither discusses the intention of superiors nor discriminates among their precepts: whoever has perfectly learned to obey does not know how to judge b. But when he tried to swallow, he was almost choked. But, having heard the coughing, the superior understood the blessed man's trouble, and at once exclaimed: "What are you doing, Father Bonaventure?" He, with eyes raised and mouth obstructed: "I am obeying, Father," he said; "I am eating the fish whole." The superior then declared that his mind had been otherwise, having learned from this with how cautious words the servant of God was to be commanded. At another time, when the blessed man was living in the Neapolitan convent of the Holy Spirit, he similarly tried out of obedience to eat a whole fish.
[25] [The blessed man is sent to Montella in the diocese of Nusco, and from there to the convent of St. Euphemia at Sorrento, where half a century later his fame still flourished.] Not long afterwards he was sent twenty-five leagues to the east, namely to Montella in the diocese of Nusco, formerly a town of the Samnites, now of the Principato Ulteriore, eighteen miles distant from Montefusco and forty from Naples, having six thousand inhabitants distributed into nine villages and eight parishes; to which are added other sacred institutions. Among these came a large convent of the Conventuals, designated by St. Francis himself on the bank of the river Calore at the edge of the Falconio forest, and surrounded by mountains and hills. Young Conventuals completed their literary studies there, and the boys of Montella attended the schools: from which the importance and standing of the place may be discerned. Not long was the blessed man an example to his brethren there, called in the year 1685, the thirty-fourth of his age, to the convent of St. Euphemia at Sorrento. This archiepiscopal city, frequented by not many more than five thousand inhabitants, lies on the eastern shore of the gulf of Naples and abounded in sacred buildings and institutions. The blessed man flourished there, moreover, in such fame of holiness that half a century later it still flourished. "There came into my hands," says Rugilo, "the testimony of a certain woman of Sorrento, named Cecilia
Fiorentino, set down in public letters, concerning a benefit obtained eleven years after his death by the touch of his relics. When, namely, she was labouring in grave danger of body, a man of the secular clergy persuaded her to implore his patronage, since his death had been made illustrious by so many miracles. She, on hearing the name of Bonaventure of Potenza, seemed to rise again as from a long oblivion. There came back to her mind, therefore, the face and fame of the servant of God, once known to her; and at once she exclaimed: 'What are you recalling to my memory! He whom you tell me died at Ravello and shines with such fame of holiness and miracles, I knew when he lived in the convent of St. Euphemia; and even then the same esteem was held of him; his penance above all was marvellous, and on that account he was called by all the holy father *.'" In another solemn testimony on the same matter by an ecclesiastical man of Sorrento there occurs a similar spontaneous confession of his praise.
[26] [He dreads going to Potenza; where, however, sent to his dying sister, he does not arrive, her death having been made known to him by divine power on the journey.] From which it appears that these changes of place were not useless to the peoples; and they also brought this advantage to the servant of God, that he clung less to created things day by day. Most of those houses, moreover, held no more than five or six religious, so that their domestic means were more straitened, discipline more difficult and the lay brothers very few; Bl. Bonaventure therefore rejoiced that he could suffer more there and be occupied in domestic labours. One residence he dreaded, namely his homeland, because he feared that he would be held in honour there. Wherefore he very often approached his superiors with most ardent prayers, that they would not yield to the wishes of the friars of Potenza, of his kinsmen and fellow citizens, above all of Count Errico Loffredo. One minister provincial, however, once consented. Bl. Bonaventure's sister was gravely ill, and feared more than ever that she would not see him again before her death; the minister ordered him to betake himself to her without delay. Offering no resistance, the blessed man set out on the road with a companion; but when he had come to Eboli, a town of the territory of Salerno, he understood in spirit that his sister was breathing out her soul. At once, turning to his companion: "The journey is not to be continued," he said, "nor are we to go on to Potenza. My sister is dead. It remains that we return to the convent from which we set out." And they retraced their steps. Meanwhile the people of Potenza, who had prepared to bring him into the city with an honourable escort, when they perceived that they had been cheated of their hope, inquired diligently why he had not come. When they found it out, they held him much more a prophet, since he had known of his sister's death at a distance of forty miles.
ANNOTATA.
* padre santo holy father.
CHAPTER SIX.
The mission and foundation of a new convent on the island of Capri. A ring found by the help of St. Anthony.
[Sent to the island of Capri to begin a new convent, Bl. Bonaventure begs off the office of guardian.] Meanwhile the servant of God was preparing himself for a new change. At the entrance of the gulf of Naples lies the island of Capri, nine thousand paces in circuit, once adorned with many buildings by the emperors Augustus and Tiberius, now rocky, poor and rustic, having two castles, Capri, distinguished by an episcopal see, and Anacapri, set on a steep hill, both peopled by fewer than two thousand inhabitants. And as the people of Anacapri were said to be simple and good, so the people of Capri were fraudulent and wicked; nor did almost any commerce pass between the two a. Since, moreover, no regulars lived there who might take care of souls, the islanders asked the minister provincial of the Conventuals that, assigning some of his men to them, he would establish a convent on the island; nor did they suffer a refusal. It seemed that Bl. Bonaventure should be set at the head of the new colony; who, when he suspected this, in order to forestall an inescapable command, pale, trembling, shaken, went to the superior; and, when the latter began to order him to be guardian, he threw himself at his knees, drenched with sweat and terrified as if he had come into extreme danger; and, sending forth a shower of tears, besought him suppliantly not to set him over the brethren: that he was unfit, stupid, ignorant; that he could not govern himself, how much less the brethren? that he was most ready to obey, and would willingly spend all the powers of body and mind; but that he implored this grace, that he be sent not with the name of superior, but as the lowest servant, since he was not fit for greater things. Which he pleaded with so tearful a voice that the minister, moved with pity, raising him from the ground and consoling him with kind words, freed him from the command. Glad, therefore, having boarded a little boat, about the year 1688 he crossed to Capri, with a lay brother and Master Giacinto Silvestro as companions, Master Innocenzo Pezzella, a man of approved manners, being set over them with the title of director; who, although apart from his fame he knew nothing else of the servant of God, rejoiced very much that he had as companion a brother of such celebrated holiness. They were received honourably by the islanders and led to the little house prepared for them; where as soon as possible they set their labour to the cultivation of souls.
[28] [He looks after the domestic offices and the sacred ministry at the same time; he is discovered never to lie in bed.] Nothing, however, pleased the blessed man more than servile offices, whose performance, since it seemed necessary, was less to be wondered at in a priest. He had, therefore, the domestic care divided with the lay brother; sweeping the little dwelling with brooms, scouring the pots and vessels, preparing the food and also, with a wallet thrown on his shoulders, begging from door to door: which last office, prudently, he had not been able to do elsewhere b. He rejoiced in these mean and vile works, and no less in that the narrowness of the house, the scantiness of food, the neglect of the pallets and the furnishings savoured of the highest poverty. He took care, however, that servile labour should not be an impediment to the apostolic duties and the pursuit of prayer; so tempering and distributing all things that he did each in its time, and returned from conversation with men more composed to converse with God, from prayer more spirited to the sacred ministry, from bodily fatigue to the exercise of the mind. And indeed he never suffered his help to be missed in the seat of penance, in the preaching pulpit, at the bedside of the sick, above all of the dying, in the care of beggars. Meanwhile he relaxed nothing of the severity of his life, the use of the hair shirt and the scourges and abstinence from food. And then for the first time he was found to lie on the ground, not on a mattress. A suspicion of this had crept into the mind of Innocenzo the director: who, to remove every doubt from himself, once came unexpectedly into his cell very early in the morning; but he found him standing and dressed. Nevertheless, as though he had something to say to him, he approaches the bed, and sees nothing ever moved in the bed. Then, as though inquiring whether the little pallet was in good condition, he feels it with his hand; and detects no traces of use. At last he lifted the edge of the coverlet from the straw stuffing (for of these the whole bed consisted); but behold, a nest of mice appears, fleeing in every direction. Then Innocenzo, to press a confession from the mouth of Bl. Bonaventure, accused him of negligence; but he, not opening his mouth about his custom of lying on the ground, received the reproach in silence; until the director, every pretence removed, commanded him in virtue of holy obedience to confess the truth, namely how these things had come about and whether he slept in the bed. Then he suppliantly asked that these things not be made known, and, suffused with shame, confessed that he had known nothing about the mice, since he took a short sleep on the ground and never touched the bed.
[29] [Out of literal and blind obedience he once stands almost a whole day in the same place.] The simple and blind obedience of the blessed man was experienced with no less admiration by Ignazio de Rapone, who a little later was made guardian of the house of Capri. For when one day he was thinking of going to Naples and was in the domestic oratory with the servant of God: "Wait here," he said, "until I go down to the shore and look for a boat that is sailing for Naples." When he arrived, he found a little boat preparing to depart; so that there was no time to return. But when, his business at Naples completed, he returned home on the third day, he asked the lay brother in vain where Father Bonaventure was; the brother answered that he had supposed him to have sailed to the city together with the guardian. A search having therefore been made by both, the servant of God was at length found standing on his feet in the oratory, in the very place where he had been ordered to wait; for three days having taken no food, and perhaps no sleep: which would not have been far from a miracle. Ignazio, forgetful of his own command, asked what the matter was. To which he simply answered that he was obeying what had been said. Nor did he behave otherwise one morning when, the offices of the choir having been finished, he had been led by the guardian into a neighbouring garden given as a gift by the islanders. For while they were standing there, watching the gardener's work, an ecclesiastical man came to them, asking that one or the other would reconcile two islanders, made savage by a huge hatred. Having heard this, the guardian went as companion to the messenger; and thinking he would not be away long: "Wait here a little while," he said to the blessed man; "for I shall soon be back." But he was cheated of this hope, so that he could not return home before the darkness of night. Thinking nothing of Bl. Bonaventure, he finished certain business, then went to supper. When he did not see the servant of God there, he told the lay brother to call him: and then for the first time he understood that he was not at home, and had not come to the midday meal. "Oh, oh," exclaimed the guardian, "God grant that Father Bonaventure is not being kept out in the country by his blind obedience, where I left him this morning!" So the matter stood; for the lay brother found him standing in that very same place where he had been ordered in the morning to wait c.
[30] [St. Anthony of Padua often appears to him, from whom he learns where a ring lies hidden,] Since nothing was observed in him that was not pious and excellent, the people held him in the greatest veneration, and thought that he had very great power with God and the heavenly ones. With this trust a woman once came to him, hoping to recover through him a gold ring lost by chance. She was pressed by the most violent grief because her husband, a harsh and fierce man, suspecting the worst things of her, said the jewel had been secretly sold, and received his wife only with savage eyes and threatening words. The woman went, therefore, to the new little lodging and asked the guardian and Father Bonaventure to recite the Responsory d of the most holy wonder-worker. Then she called the servant of God aside, to tell him
that her confidence was placed above all in him, and that he ought therefore to take pity on her and speak with St. Anthony, from whom he might learn where the ring lay hidden; that she would return the next day to receive the answer. It was commonly said, namely, that the servant of Christ had converse with the wonder-worker appearing to him, by whom he was taught many secrets. To which he said: "What, daughter, what are you saying? Do you believe that I converse with the saints? You are simpler than is right. You must know that I am a most wicked sinner; and I have a very bad nature, which resists good works. How then can you believe that the saints are willing to appear to me and that the good God hears my prayers? Nevertheless I will pray St. Anthony for you; and, if it pleases you to return tomorrow, return." The woman fastened on the last words and went away with much confidence. Meanwhile the guardian had noticed him smiling; having asked him the reason for this, he received this answer: "See how good and simple this woman is; she wanted St. Anthony to be asked by me for her ring, and herself to return tomorrow to receive the answer." The guardian knew the common report; he did not wish, however, to ask the blessed man whether it was true or false, but only admonished him to strive to help the poor woman: which he answered he would do, both out of mercy and on account of obedience.
[31] the cause of discord between a husband and wife. The simple woman certainly did not fail to return the next day; and when she saw the servant of God approaching: "Father Bonaventure," she cried, "what did the saint say about my ring?" And he, mentioning nothing about the wonder-worker: "Remember," he said, "that last Sunday, when you had come back home from the sacrifice of the Mass, you placed the ring on the chest near the window; then took off your festive clothes and, having folded them, put them back in the open chest, without noticing that the ring fell into the same chest while you were opening it. Look for it there diligently and you will find it." Since the woman knew that each of these things, known to no human being but herself alone, was true, she returned home certain of a happy outcome, and soon found the ring in the designated place, to her own great joy and the satisfaction of her husband. The report of this thing was at once spread through the city, and at length came to the ears of the guardian. He therefore ordered him to disclose how he had found out these secrets. By which command his mind was vehemently troubled. But since he was bound by the law of obedience, having made a tearful preface and asked for silence, he confessed that on the previous night, when he was commending the sad woman's business to St. Anthony, the wonder-worker had stood before him and revealed each thing to him; then, compelled by the superior, he added that he had often appeared to him in familiar converse and had disclosed many things. That many other things were made known by heaven to the blessed man on this island was long handed down to memory, although he lived there only three months.
ANNOTATA.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
A short stay at Naples. A residence of ten years on the island of Ischia. His friend Sabbato Schiano. Exercises of piety. Penances. His manner of suffering with the suffering Jesus. Scruples and temptations of lust. Examples of obedience and of trust in God. His dread of his kinsmen.
[After a short stay at Naples, in the year 1688 he is sent to Ischia, where he forms a friendship with Sabbato Schiano, a priest.] It had seemed, namely, that he should be recalled to Naples to the convent of St. Anthony; and as soon as the rumour of this thing was spread, it affected the minds of all the people of Capri with grief, and at Naples filled with the greatest joy those who had once tried to prevent his departure, but now with wonderful ardour were hastening his return. But brief was this gladness of theirs. For in this very year 1688 the servant of God was sent to the island of Iscla, or Ischia, called by the ancients Pithecusae and Aenaria, situated at the entrance of the gulf of Naples on the west, opposite Capri, eighteen thousand paces in circuit and inhabited by 24,000 cultivators; its capital Ischia, an episcopal city, distinguished by many sacred institutions: among which a convent of the Conventuals under the title of St. Mary of the Graces. The man of God crossed there alone, without a companion, in the year 1688. There awaited him on the shore a priest never seen before, Sabbato Schiano, a man most devoted to Christian perfection and to distinguished servants of God; whom his fame and veneration had drawn there. When the blessed man came down from the little boat, he gave a silver coin to the sailors for the fare, and they gave back some coppers. Then, received most kindly by the unknown priest, he proceeded with him to the convent, where on the spot he asked for the superior and, when he came, paid him reverence. Then without delay he put into his hands the remaining coppers, with such eminent simplicity that the priest standing by, knowing well that nothing of this kind is commanded by the laws of the Conventuals a, could not but marvel at this love of absolute poverty. He therefore bound himself to him in intimate friendship, so that he seemed unable to depart from his side; and both lived with the closest union of minds for more than ten continuous years, communicating their spiritual secrets to one another.
[33] [Since he lives ten years at Ischia, all the parts of his piety are observed by the people and by his colleagues.] And since the servant of God stayed so long at Ischia, his piety was very much observed by the inhabitants; which virtue the people understand most of all and hold in just esteem. He was present, therefore, first at the divine offices in choir; where, with head uncovered, arms crossed before his breast and standing on his feet, he chanted the psalms with such eminent composure of body and elevation of spirit to God that he seemed carried away by a most sweet ecstasy. To the prescribed hours, moreover, he added every day the Office of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the whole Rosary and the Litanies, besides his day and night stations before the altars of Blessed Mary conceived without stain, of St. Francis, of St. Anthony and above all of the Most Holy Sacrament. Where his motionless bearing, his outpouring of tears and his fiery look, the image of a soul contemplating God, excited admiration. For more than the space of an hour he prepared himself for offering the sacrifice of the Mass; to which he never came unless first cleansed by the sacrament of penance. In which matter he put such diligence that he was troublesome to the confessors, by whom he was sometimes harried and driven away. When, therefore, he had once already been heard, and returned again to the priest, the latter, wearied of his excessive scrupulousness, cried out: "What am I to do with this man? And what does he want to confess? From what fault can I absolve him, when he is not guilty even of venial sin?" Certainly here, as elsewhere too, he was sometimes vexed by scruples, but he never lost heart, always enjoying a notable tranquillity of conscience, and worshipping God not with servile but with filial fear. "Let us love," he used to say, "and fear our Father and Lord, not as servants, but as sons." Within the sacred liturgy he melted with heavenly consolation, and by his example roused the people to a tender and pious fervour. When it was finished, he withdrew behind the high altar, where for a whole hour, with sighs, sweet lamentation and plaintive cries, he expressed the tender and ardent sentiments of his soul towards the Saviour, then shut within his breast, not departing from there except to lend his ears to penitents.
[34] His fasts, his hard sleep and his love of the worst razor; This piety is common to most saints; to fewer his zeal for suffering, which so stood out at Ischia that it seemed then to begin as if for the first time. From the beginning he abstained from meat, as though it were harmful to him; his fasts were almost daily; his ordinary food beans softened in water or raw onion; he did not eat bread every day; very often the whole portion set before him went to the poor. By a fault of nature he did not shrink from wine, but he seemed abstemious; so accustomed had he become to water. He again used his old art of sitting at the common table and concealing his abstinence, being wont to say that in this way he deceived the world and the devil, did his duty and brought delight to God. He continued not to use a bed, concealing this custom by a new device. The linen, namely, which was brought to him every two months b, he stained and dirtied with dust; but this deceit was soon uncovered. Which he nevertheless used for ten years, not knowing that no one was deceived by it. Otherwise he neglected no occasion of suffering. When for the first time the barber had come to shave his beard, taking out an excellent razor, he strove to perform his office with a very light hand. But he, feeling no pain: "Change the razor," he said; "for this one is no good." The barber was astonished, but did as he was told. But when the second razor too was very sharp: "Bear with me kindly," he said again; "but neither is this one good for me; use another." Then the barber, indignant, as if he had come upon a more difficult man, with a heavy hand applied the worst blade: "Oh!" said the other now, "this one is excellent; always use it on me." The barber scarcely kept from laughing; but, remembering the blessed man's fame of holiness, he began to suspect that those things had been said by him out of zeal for mortification; which zeal he twice tested thereafter, first using the best razors, then the worst. Since only the last pleased him, he at length plainly discovered that it was sought by the servant of God out of love of torments; and thereafter he humoured him reverently.
[35] likewise his and Angelo da Palea's most dire manner of recalling He himself was cruel beyond measure towards his body. Caring as it were nothing for the ordinary scourgings, which he used every night, mostly until blood flowed, on Fridays the passion of Christ; his scourgings and hair shirts. he had turned the night of every Friday into a time of penance in a certain extraordinary way. Then, namely, in memory of the Lord's passion he used to go to the church and shut himself in the chapel of the Crucifix with Father Angelo da Palea *, a lover of the same severity; and there, meditating on and pitying the condition of the suffering Christ, they spent almost the whole night in shedding tears and blood and lacerating their limbs. So atrocious were the blows that they resounded through the buildings and struck horror into the monks. One of them once, coming down into the choir, seemed to himself to hear most ferocious men killing one another rather than doing penance, and was seized with such terror that he almost fell down. Several times afterwards he wished to investigate the same butchery; but as many times he fled for horror before he had come to the door of the chapel. Often on the following morning he visited the little chapel, and, discovering the walls wet with blood, sometimes stained his hands with the gore of the penitents. For the rest, the shirt of the servant of God, foully soiled, was a testimony of those nocturnal chastisements, which could not escape the washerwomen c. The more prudent certainly forbore to question the blessed man about the reasons of his penance;
but this was not the restraint of all. If, however, he sometimes understood that they were moved by a good spirit, he did not wholly break off the conversation and discoursed somewhat on sharing the sufferings of Christ. But if he noticed that they were moved by vain curiosity, he blunted their rashness with a grave or witty answer. In this manner, when some imprudent persons, having noticed traces of blood on his stockings (which, since he had only one pair, he could not change), once asked the cause of this thing, he used to check this intemperance charmingly: "The fleas," he said, "have stained me." It had become known to all that he went about clothed in a rough hair shirt; whence sometimes while walking he twisted his body with sudden movements. Wherefore when someone once asked him, not without insult, what he was doing this for, with much peace and a most equable answer he calmed this bad desire. To others, however, whom he could trust and to whom he could be useful, he confessed that he wore a hair shirt. Since he could not himself sew this hair shirt onto cloth, he had to implore the help of another religious; which religious then saw that the hair shirt consisted of iron hooks and was three palms square. Over the hair shirt he wore a vest of rough cloth with which horses are customarily rubbed down. He would not, however, permit another religious, who used him as confessor, even though he very often asked, to put on a hair shirt more than three times a week. And when the latter objected that he himself performed this penance every day: "For my part," he answered, "I have a very hard skin and can wear a hair shirt every day; but you, who are younger and of more tender skin, cannot." He knew well, namely, that in this kind of thing a measure is necessary, and that the same things cannot be done by all.
[36] [Meanwhile he is pressed by diseases of every kind and most grave infirmities, and is vexed by scruples and by a three-year temptation of the impure spirit.] Meanwhile so great was the harshness of his life that, although he diligently concealed it, it was shown by its outcome. From the long habit of kneeling there had arisen in his knee a tumour, which could not be pressed without the greatest pain. Yet he relaxed nothing of his steady custom of kneeling. The hollow of the pelvis on both sides at the kidneys was so enlarged by the hair shirt and the scourgings that an ordinary loaf could be placed in it. Vigils, abstinence and the meanness of his food wholly vitiated his humours and blood, whence constantly, after the manner of consumptives, he coughed up purulent and bloody phlegm. The lower part of the peritoneum, moreover, so slackened that the intestines descended into the scrotum: whence he was afflicted for his whole life with an incurable hernia. There was added a vexation of the bladder and the urinary passages, by which he often laboured in the kidneys, and a most troublesome strangury, by which he was sometimes provoked by the desire to urinate twenty-five times within the space of an hour. Yet in the midst of these pains and diseases he did not cease to afflict his body with torments. But what was the gravest of all, while he was sparing himself least, he was tempted for three years by the impure spirit, groaning in vain with the apostle: "Unhappy man that I am! Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?" Nor did he then enjoy quiet of conscience, being vexed by almost continual scruples and anxieties. Yet he stood firm in this contest; for when once he was speaking with a friend about this three-year fight: "In this matter," he said, "God stood by me very much, and I was always the victor; so that the devil caught flies with me."
[37] [Out of obedience he crosses a most turbulent sea to betake himself to Bonaventura Ferrara, a sick commissary;] Obedience, the mother of the other virtues, went as companion to penance. When, therefore, Master Bonaventura Ferrara, set over the province of Naples with the title of commissary, lying ill with a grave disease in the convent of Sant'Anastasia (which most fertile village is situated at the foot of Mount Vesuvius towards the summer east), had written to the guardian of Ischia to send the servant of God to him as quickly as possible, the latter, when he understood this, although the letter had arrived on the evening of the vigil of the Lord's Nativity, wished to gird himself at once for the journey. But the guardian opposed it on account of the dangers of night, winter and sea, and also because at so great a festival boats would not be ready, and forbade him to set out before the feast of St. Stephen. The blessed man obeyed, but the next day there was no rest for him, as though the commissary's voice were sounding continually in his ears. But on the third day, when he felt himself free, very early in the morning he celebrated the sacrifice of the mass and took care that Benedetto Panico, the companion assigned to him, should cleanse his conscience in good time and receive the eucharist (for he was not yet a priest), and as soon as possible, having received the guardian's blessing, he set out on the road. But since the sky was foul with rain and wind and the sea turbulent, the sailors did not dare to commit themselves to the waters. Then the blessed man, thinking of nothing but obedience, prayed, adjured, pressed, until he had given the boatmen courage. They cast off the boat, therefore, but shortly so great a storm arose that the danger of shipwreck was very near. They therefore drew in the sails and tried to break the threatening waves with their oars; but, their strength exhausted, they lost heart: and no one was more terrified than the younger companion. They ran back, therefore, to Bl. Bonaventure, who was calm and free from fear. He, as Panico and the sailors cried out to him, answered smiling: "Let them not doubt; there was no danger; let them continue the voyage eagerly, since God would help and preserve them." Faith was not wanting to the words; but they had been in such peril that, when they had put in at Naples, they scarcely believed themselves safe. They fell on their knees, therefore, around the servant of God on the shore, giving him thanks that by his prayers they had escaped death.
[38] to whom he comes by night and by most difficult roads. But a journey of six miles remained, the rains had spoiled the roads, and night was coming on. Panico asked, therefore, that he would be willing to spend the night in the Neapolitan convent of St. Lawrence; that night and the roads stood in the way of their going further; that he himself was broken with fatigue, and that he could scarcely walk for infirmity; that the next morning they could go to the village of Sant'Anastasia. The blessed man answered nothing to these things, going on further. But shortly they came upon a boy guarding two asses; which, the price having been agreed, they mounted, to hasten their arrival. But they had scarcely completed half the way when the boy, pleading the darkness of night and the precipices of the roads, compelled them to get down. These things by no means disturbed the blessed man's mind; who ordered the whole price to be paid by his companion: for he himself did not carry money, but as was his custom had entrusted it to his companion. Then without delay he pressed on with the rest of the way, pouring out no complaints at all, although this night-running through hills and valleys was most grievous to his infirm and wounded body; nor did he rest a little until at the third hour of the night he stood at the commissary's bedside, weary and broken. The sick man marvelled at the blessed man's prompt obedience, at the same time grieving that he had caused him so much trouble; and he did not send him back to Ischia until four days later, when through his consolations and prayers he felt himself better.
[39] [On this occasion, and also when he was sent to a sick woman of Sorrento, his trust in God.] On the return, before they cast off from the port of Naples, he entered with his companion the church of the Carmine Maggiore, to adore Christ in the sacrament of the Eucharist and commend themselves to the patronage of Blessed Mary. Their prayer finished, they met a beggar; to whom he vehemently urged his companion to give some money. The latter denied that he had anything. The beggar went on asking the servant of God, the latter urging his companion, and the companion repeating that he had nothing. Then at last the blessed man: "How," he said, "can it be that nothing is had from which alms may be given to this beggar?" Moved by this rebuke, the companion confessed that he had indeed a silver coin of twenty-six grana d, given by the guardian for the expenses of the journey; but if this were given, what would then remain for the journey? Having heard this, the man of God was kindled with zeal, because money was not lacking, and yet was not given to the beggar: "it was not fitting that they should be anxious about their own need; God's providence would not fail." The coin was therefore given, nor were they prevented from crossing to Ischia. A not dissimilar thing happened at another time. When the fame of his holiness had been spread in every direction, a certain woman of Sorrento had asked the minister provincial to summon the servant of God to her, as she was near death. Ordered to come, he at once betook himself to Naples with Father Bonaventura de Marinis. But when they had to sail from there to Sorrento, his companion said the purse was empty, and that the fare had to be sought in a neighbouring Neapolitan convent. The servant of God refused, solicitous only for the eternal salvation of that woman and for obedience: "for nothing was to be cared about; God would provide." Having said this, behold, an unknown layman came up and of his own accord offered the necessary coins.
[40] [He shrinks from the company of his kinsmen; yet he helps his marriageable nieces.] Returned to Ischia, he was following his customary manner of life when once he saw coming to him the son of his brother or sister. He took this ill, nor would he speak with him more than once, and briefly, by no means to be moved from this resolution, although the young man pressed him, pleading the length of the road, and his colleagues with friends added their prayers. But when the youth put off his departure, he admonished him through his friend Sabbato "to retrace his steps as soon as possible; that his waiting was vain; that he would not hear him further, since in his profession he had said farewell to the world and to blood; nor did he know other kinsmen than his brethren in community." Yet it is not to be doubted that the servant of God used this severity because his relatives wished to entangle him in secular affairs or to use his help to increase their family property. For religious profession does not dissolve the bonds of blood, made by the very author of nature and strengthened by Christian charity, but rather perfects them and makes them spiritual. Nor was the blessed man's mind otherwise. And indeed when he understood that two daughters of his brother or sister, their parents having died and the rest of their kin also extinct or absent, had been left orphans at marriageable age and destitute of all human help, not to relieve them of poverty, but to rescue them from danger to their chastity (as he himself explained to Master Simeone), he strained every nerve. He earnestly requested, therefore, from the superiors of the order and also from the Roman congregation of cardinals licence to help his kinswomen with alms sought out among the richer people of Ischia. He collected, therefore, no contemptible sums of money; which, offered in place of a dowry, won husbands for them. Yet for this reason he by no means wished to go away to Potenza. When, however, since that money came not from his own (for he was poor) nor from the convent's means (for it had none), he was once asked why it had seemed to him that he must be furnished with special faculties, which he by no means sought for helping strangers: "Because it was a question of my own blood," he answered. "For by natural love I could easily be blinded and deceived." This matter never fell from his mind; but he loved to speak of it, even from the altar to the people, so as to show the lowliness of his birth and lessen his own esteem.
ANNOTATA.
and 65 centimes, and much more by a special command of the superiors or for the use of the monastery itself. Rugilo judges that nothing had to be given back by the blessed man from the journey money, since he could have used up on the journey all that the Neapolitan superior had given, and what was left over could be reckoned as a slender alms to his private store or to his discretion. This was then received by custom among the Conventuals. In most religious orders journey money is governed by usage or by a fixed law: and to these one must keep.
* Angiolo della Paglia.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The conduct of Bl. Bonaventure at Ischia; his severe life; temptations; admirable virtues; apostolic ministry.
[At Ischia, with the help of the bishop Girolamo Rocca, he exercises the sacred ministry with wonderful fruit: his labours on the Fridays of the month of March] But the servant of God had not been sent to Ischia only to profit himself or his own, but above all to gain men for God by the apostolic ministry. When Girolamo Rocca a, the bishop, truly the pastor and father of his people, came to know him, he designated him confessor of the laity of both sexes, and then by many prayers obtained him as extraordinary confessor and spiritual director for the nuns of St. Clare. And since he himself applied himself with his whole heart to the care of souls and even heard confessions publicly, he co-operated in the blessed man's apostolate rather as a minister than as a prelate. To root out sins and to put down the misery of the poor Bl. Bonaventure set before himself above all. To attain the former end, on every Friday of the month of March, which the memory of the Lord's Passion is wont to make more venerable to Christians, he spoke to the people of the city and neighbourhood, gathered in the conventual church, about the bitter torments and death of Christ with such ardour and piety, with so many tears and sighs, that the church resounded with lamentations, penitence appeared in the faces of the hearers and frequent sinners returned to God. After the sermon he occupied the confessional seat; which so great a crowd of men was wont to surround that he spent not only days, but sometimes whole nights in hearing them, although other religious brought help. Yet the industry of all of them was not sufficient; wherefore the bishop, lest any part of the harvest should perish, compelled all the secular confessors to cleanse penitents in the church of the Conventuals: indeed he himself came very early in the morning to the same church, and, after he had himself lamented during the sermon of the most fervent orator and had invited the people to lament, he sat at the sacred grilles for almost whole days, relieving the penitent people of the weight of their sins.
[42] [and in the rest of the time of the year; sailors and others instructed in the practice of meditation; his zeal for martyrdom,] Nor in the rest of the time of the year did the servant of God allow the Fridays to pass by empty; but in the evening he gathered the people in the church to sing the hymns of the Passion and the penitential psalms, to celebrate the scourging publicly and to adore the cross of Christ, by which rite this pious function is privately practised in all the houses of the order b. He also persuaded his disciples to recite on those days the crown of the agony of Christ the Saviour, consisting of thirty-three Lord's Prayers c. He mixed these exercises, moreover, with sacred exhortations, by which, since he was an orator by nature, he easily bent the minds of those present whither he wished. Besides, almost every day he spoke from the altar, now to teach children and the unlearned the catechism, now to instruct more cultivated minds in the art and practice of prayer and meditation; being wont to affirm that eternal salvation is placed chiefly in prayer, and that no one can be saved, except with the greatest difficulty, without the help of prayer. Who would believe it? He persuaded not only polished citizens, but also very many rustic sailors to betake themselves every day before sunrise and the beginning of their labours to the threshold of the church; where, if the door was shut, under the open sky on bended knees they made mental prayer according to their capacity. He often spoke publicly of the excellence of our faith and wonderfully praised the constancy of the martyrs; so that the hearers, moved and kindled, desired to stand before tyrants and to shed their blood in the midst of torments.
[43] [the love of God and of the other virtues inculcated with incredible ardour and authority.] Nor did he omit the praises of the other virtues, the love of God and the hatred of sin. These things could not be heard without there being roused in the minds of those present so great a zeal to please God and such horror of displeasing Him that they were ready to lose all things and life itself rather than offend their creator by the least sin. He also loved to explain the degrees of the love of God; of which he said the last was the complete forgetting of all created things and the establishment of the whole soul in God alone d: which he declared no less clearly than sweetly. And generally, since he had grasped by practice this and other heads of more sublime doctrine, he knew how to expound them in common and easy speech, so that even ignorant and simple little women understood his words. "For his discourses about God proceeded from his inmost soul; and they availed very much to inflame souls with love of the Supreme Good; and so whoever heard him were captivated." With which testimony of Maria Angela of the Cross, his eminent disciple, other witnesses agree, proclaiming that he was consumed with zeal for God.
[44] [In the confessional seat he produces admirable fruits, so that he is called the snare of sinners. How he attracted and searched out sinners.] While speaking he grew pale, burned, sweated, drew sighs, and in his words, though motherly and simple, there was a hidden force and so sweet an authority that no one could resist them. Whenever, moreover, he had preached the divine word, he at once betook himself to the seat of penance, there to gather the fruits; endowed with a wonderful gift of examining sinners and leading them to perfect contrition. Those who had once used him as confessor were wholly his, or rather God's; nor did anyone depart from him without being changed for the better. Wherefore he was called by the islanders the snare of sinners *. All to a man, even if before they had been wholly immersed in the mire of vices, were made just and very many perfect; others, already fearing God before, advanced very greatly in the way of holiness. The number of these grew so much that the whole island could be said to have him as its spiritual master. Nothing could keep him from the sacred tribunal, neither pains, nor straits, nor diseases; of food and sleep he did not even think. Sometimes he sat motionless for whole days; so that he seemed to suffer nothing. Yet he was often most atrociously tormented, and one day, falling to the ground as if dead in the seat of penance, he had to be carried by the brethren to his cell. He would gladly have given his life to gain one soul for God; sparing neither labour nor fatigue. Hardened sinners would not hear him, much less approach his seat; yet some came at times: but that many fled his company grieved him vehemently. Wherefore he went to them at home or in the fields; he accosted and wearied them, and did not let them rest until he had led them to penance; but since this cure was rather slow, he employed very many men and women as scouts, to search out public sins and public sinners. He groaned, then, at the reports that were brought to him; he enjoined prayers, but at the same time investigated diligently how he might bring back the straying sheep to the path of salvation; doing this above all, to attract them through friends to hear preaching or to meet him in the seat of penance; where with much labour he turned them into other men.
[45] To gain sinners he shuts himself up in prison. Nor was the squalor of prisons burdensome to him if any soul was to be gained. He had learned that a Neapolitan patrician, conspicuous no less for his crimes than for his birth, was lying by royal authority in a dark prison of the castle of Ischia, built on the top of a rock in the midst of the waves of the sea. By a rough path Bonaventure climbed there and invited the sinner to penance. But the criminal could not be bent, harder than the rock. The apostolic man did not lose heart, not distrusting the help of God. For eight days, going and returning, he made this difficult journey; nor did he stop until he had overcome the obstinacy of the prisoner, and had heard for three continuous days the confession of his crimes. At another time, when Father Tommaso da Cereto was discharging the customary duties of Bl. Bonaventure, the islanders, having made inquiry, found that for eight days and as many nights he had lain for the greater part of the time as though buried in the damp prison of a tower, to entice a wicked man to the detestation of his sins. Afterwards they said to him in jest: "What is this, Father Bonaventure, that they have consigned you to prison?" To which he answered "that he would gladly spend any time in any prison whatever, if indeed he could save a soul." But he did not hold it enough to cleanse this wretch from his sins and refresh him with the eucharistic food; he wished also to provide for the safety of his body. He fell therefore into the greatest sadness when he understood that he had been condemned to death. His disciples, therefore, noticing one day his sorrow and the pallor of his face while he was going to the castle, asked what was the cause of his distress. "What can it be?" he answered. "The wretched prisoner has been condemned by capital sentence; do you want me to be glad now?" Then one of those standing by, to console him, pointed out that his life was not despaired of; the sentence could be revoked. He, however, his thought turned elsewhere, ordered in virtue of holy obedience Maria Angela, whose praises we shall soon declare, to commend the business with much ardour to St. Anthony of Padua; he would do the same. For three days, therefore, he ceased neither from prayer nor from anguish of mind; but on the third day, when he understood that his prayers had been heard, he changed his mourning into joy: and indeed towards evening a messenger came that the accused had been so defended by the advocate of the poor that beyond everyone's expectation he had been acquitted of the crime. He was, moreover, affected with most vehement grief if any soul not wholly averse to penance slipped from his hands. Certainly, when once the confessional seat was hedged about by a huge multitude of people, a certain man, impatient of the delay, turned his back, saying in a low voice: "For three years I have not confessed my sins; I will wait three other years and more." Which words, passed on by the mouths of those standing by, the servant of God could not hear without the greatest
sorrow; he rose, therefore, at once, sought the wretch in the church and the squares, and having found him took him gently by the hand, and did not let him go until he was contrite of heart. But we must return to those whom he searched out by the ministry of others and drove to the way of penance.
[46] Some notable women sinners and men sinners converted to God. Among the very many, therefore, whom by that device he brought back to God's fold, came Prudenzia Curcio, a public and notorious sinner. It was enough for this woman to present herself to the servant of God; who with the help of divine grace accomplished all the rest. Nor did the unhappy woman return to her vomit, whom he instructed with frequent admonitions and also with temporal aids, until he had married her to a good young man, Antonio Parasole: for he also once gave her to sell some cloth which he had received for making breeches for himself; preferring that his diseases should be aggravated by the cold rather than that the wretched woman should suffer hunger. Another woman, commonly called Cianna di Sasso on account of the foulness of her life, was similarly brought to him; who not only cast off the weight of her sins, but advanced to notable holiness, redeeming her scandals by the example of a most severe life, and from a public sinner became an illustrious penitent. Indeed, under the guidance of the servant of God, she professed the spiritual life and adorned the monastic habit with virtues to the very end of her life. To which is referred the testimony of a certain matron: "That the servant of God converted a wicked woman; that under his guidance she so dedicated herself to divine service that she was the example of all, a publicly wicked life having been changed into a holy and perfect one; and that this was the common esteem." Not otherwise a certain perverse and treacherous soldier, his morals changed, was converted into a perfect man; so that the servant of God, when he wished to rouse his spiritual daughters to greater fervour, was wont to say: "Oh! why should we not at least have as pure a conscience as that constable *?"
ANNOTATA.
* la tagliuola de' peccatori the snare of sinners,
* quello sbirro that constable.
CHAPTER NINE.
The most holy intercourse of Bl. Bonaventure with Sister Maria Angela of the Cross.
Sister Maria Angela of the Cross, snatched from the vanity of the world, But no prize was more precious than Sister Maria Angela of the Cross, by one confession made for ever unlike herself. She was a young girl distinguished for the brightness of her skin and the whole composure of her body, of lovely face, of honest manners, but too lively and merry, a slave of feminine vanity, following the pleasures of the world and above all hunting for a husband. This levity displeased a grave matron; to whom it seemed good to lead the girl to the servant of God. From the first confession a wonderful change appeared; for the young girl cast far from her all feminine finery and worldly trifles, and having cut off her hair, clothed herself in a mean sack of ash colour, and received the penitential habit of the third order of St. Francis from the hand of the blessed man. Thereafter she spent her days in weeping for her sins, subjected her body to voluntary torments, and cultivated her soul with heroic virtues, having by the command of the blessed man made a promise to God that she would never commit the least deliberate sin. She was the crown of Bl. Bonaventure; she his minister in pious works; she the arm by which he often drew sinners to penance and even performed notable miracles. She lived many years after the departure of the servant of God from the island of Ischia and even after his death; by which it came about that her testimony stands out by the greatness and abundance of its matter in the apostolic inquiry into the virtues and miracles of the blessed man. Meanwhile, moreover, she never moved her foot from the path she had entered upon, and closed her life with such repute of holiness that she obtained a special tomb in the church of St. Mary of the Graces.
[48] [Bl. Bonaventure, singularly modest in his dealings with pious women, teaches a most hard life, above all obedience: a remarkable apparition.] But it will help to gather into one and to explain a little more fully what is read here and there about Maria Angela in the deeds of Bl. Bonaventure, so that it may be more easily understood what was the method of his instruction as a spiritual master. In the first place, although a crowd of women of every condition professed themselves his disciples, he wished to have familiarity with none, never having looked at even one with his eyes; and before Maria Angela, who seemed as it were to depend on him and was his constant helper, he never uttered a word nor gave a sign by which he manifested a more tender affection; but you would have said he was a heavenly angel acting in human form. As he himself loved severity of life, so he impressed it on the minds of penitents; nor did he allow Maria Angela to be a stranger to it; indeed God himself once added a prodigy. When, namely, the sister had been ordered by her master to beat herself with scourges at a fixed hour of the night of Monday for the redemption of the punishments by which the souls of the faithful are purged after this life, and she, having lit a light and standing on her feet, was already gripping the scourge in her hand, she was seized with loathing; and she was already on the point, although she had tried to raise her mind by prayer and put the enemy to flight, of laying down her arms; when behold, she seemed to see Bl. Bonaventure standing opposite the lamp, with a threatening and grim face, and to hear these severe words: "Is this, then, your obedience? Come, take courage! Conquer yourself and do the scourging." These words said, the image vanished, and Maria Angela scarcely kept from falling half-dead to the ground. When she had recovered her spirits, she raged against her body, to help the departed. Many doubts and various thoughts followed: "My confessor at this hour outside the enclosure of the convent! At this hour in my room! Whence did he come? How did he get in?… Perhaps it is a mockery! Who was it that appeared to me?" Turning these and other things over in her mind, before day had dawned she was already standing at the door of the church, with mind so troubled that she preferred to question Father Bonaventure as he came with her eyes rather than with words. And indeed when he appeared from afar, he seemed to have the same threatening face; but when he came near, he first spoke these words: "Do you not know that the souls of the departed expect relief from you every Monday by night? Why then did you resist this night and were so slow and sluggish in obedience?" Made more certain of the former prodigy by this new one, Maria Angela confessed her weakness and thereafter looked up to a certain heavenly power in her master.
[49] He trains the same woman in bearing most unjust insults, Yet he did not wish the chief care to be placed here in subduing the body, but in restraining the evil desires of the mind. Of which thing let this be a specimen. One day, after the confession had been finished, he said to Maria Angela, to prepare her for patiently bearing insults: "What would you do if some woman struck you with her fist?" Maria Angela, not knowing that a prophecy lay beneath these words, answered smiling: "If I do injury to no one, who will strike me with the fist?" Then he: "Yet if God should allow this to happen, what would you do?" "For the love of God," said the girl, "if God should permit this, I would bear it patiently." These things were by no means vain. For two days later, when a procession was being made in the church of the Conventuals with a great crowd accompanying it, a certain woman struck Maria Angela's left shoulder with so strong a fist that it ached from it for four days. But not forgetful of her master's prophecy, she was not at all disturbed, but bore the offence in silence for the love of God. The master had seen everything, not with his eyes but in spirit; and after the procession he summoned the disciple to himself. When she, smiling, wished to speak of these things: "I know the matter," said the servant of God; "that is why I called you. But tell me what you did and why you are laughing." Upon which he again admonished her of the necessity of patience, and at the same time ordered her to be silent about the fulfilled prophecy.
[50] in conquering her own desires, With no less solicitude he conquered her own will, often commanding things which he understood to be contrary to her nature, disposition and desires: and in these things too a singular light of God was not lacking to him. On a certain day, at any rate, on which Maria Angela had been ordered by her master to keep a fast and to eat nothing but bread and water, in the morning an unusual desire had come upon her to eat at the fixed hour not ordinary bread, but unleavened bread baked under the ashes. Since she had seen no fault in this matter, she did not accuse herself at all of this thought when on the same morning she came to the tribunal of penance. Nevertheless, the confession finished: "Tell me, daughter," said the servant of God, "were you not moved by a singular craving for some food?" Which he had never asked at other times. The girl was astonished and said within herself: "Good God! Even secret thoughts lie open to this Father!" And then she added aloud: "Truly this morning I vehemently desired to eat of unleavened loaves baked on the coals." "Good," answered the master; "for my part, in virtue of holy obedience I forbid you to eat this food within the next six months." And she assented.
[51] [and in renouncing all pleasure: the prodigious obedience of a little bird. The praise of this virtue.] On another day, however, when contrary to her custom she came to him with great joy, the man of God asked why she was so glad. She answered that on the way to the church she had heard a little bird singing with so sweet a voice that she seemed to be rapt into heaven. The master did not disapprove of the thing itself, but discoursed much, nevertheless, on shaking off all desire of created things, and on giving up all pleasure and overcoming one's own will. Then
at last: "Oh, daughter," he said, "if you were wholly free of your own will and indifferent to all pleasure, how great things you could do! If you promise me that you will depart entirely from your own will, I promise you that I will show you an obedience much more perfect than yours, an obedience namely astounding and prodigious." Maria Angela promised that she would endeavour to seek her own advantage in nothing and not to follow her own will. "And I," said the servant of God, "will keep my promises. Do, then, in this manner. While you are returning home, you will see the same little bird again sitting on the same branch and hear it singing. Then stand opposite it, and with open palm say to it: 'Creature of God, by holy obedience I command you to fly from this branch onto my palm without fear.' If you, daughter, are perfectly obedient, and carry out this command blindly and without disputing with yourself, I promise you that this morning you will be the witness of a miracle." When, therefore, Maria Angela, having received leave, full of confidence and certain of the counsel, was returning home with her companions, behold, in the designated place she sees and hears the same little bird singing the same song. Glad at this beginning and sure of the prophecy, she turned to her companions: "Friends," she said, "let us stop here a little while; for I must carry out my confessor's command in this place." Then, turning to the little bird and opening her palm: "Creature of God," she said, "in virtue of holy obedience I command you, leaving that branch, to fly securely onto this palm which I hold out to you." At once the little bird did what was commanded, and, while the women marvelled, remained confidently on the palm; so that Maria Angela easily caught it and carried it home. The next day, when she went to her master, he again first recalled the prodigy. For when he saw her: "Well done, well done," he said, "now you are glad because you have the little bird at home: behold, faith has been added to my promises. Observe, daughter, the great virtue of obedience, whose force even animals without reason feel. Learn from this little bird how without repugnance and evasion, against nature and with eagerness, all things are to be left and one must fly in every direction for the sake of obedience. Obedience is the virtue by which we are carried into heaven."
[52] [A Jerusalem cross found at the command of St. Anthony of Padua: a new praise of obedience.] At another time, when Maria Angela's joy had been succeeded by a huge sadness on account of a Jerusalem cross that had been lost, the blessed man, understanding that this grief proceeded not from piety alone but also from an inordinate attachment, received her more severely than usual, and then taught blind obedience by a new prodigy. "I will," he said, using a commanding voice, "I will that you be no longer troubled on account of the lost little cross; I will that you be exercised in blind obedience, and that it be shown to you that no one obeys blindly without doing and obtaining what he wishes. Have, therefore, this faith; obey and you too will be obeyed. Go at once to the altar of St. Anthony of Padua; recite there his Responsory b; and then command him in virtue of holy obedience to have your little cross carried at once to his altar, wherever in the world it may be." Maria Angela did everything commanded, thinking of nothing but the command of the blessed man; and the Responsory finished, she was saying other customary prayers; when behold, another girl, sitting at her side, sees on the pavement near Maria Angela the Jerusalem cross, partly covered with black sea-sand, and pointed it out to her companion. When the latter heard these words, she was astounded, remembering the blessed man's prophecy, and could scarcely turn her eyes towards it. She turned them, however, and said within herself: "Behold, this is my little cross;" but she could do nothing further, and, tossed by innumerable thoughts, she did not stretch out her arm to take the cross. Wherefore one of her companions placed it before her, yet drawing from her mouth no word by which the secret might be betrayed. Nor did these things come to the knowledge of men before inquiry was made into the holiness of the servant of God. By teaching, therefore, by miracles and much more by the example of virtues, the blessed man showed the path to the pious souls who had chosen him as their spiritual master.
[53] Fish wonderfully found. One day, on which Lenten food was to be eaten and the stormy sea had denied fish to all the islanders, a guest came upon Maria Angela; and because she could not receive her handsomely, she was somewhat troubled. "Why are you not of tranquil mind?" said the man of God to the girl as she came to him. She candidly confessed the cause of her disturbance. Then he: "Do not doubt; put away these thoughts, and go home cheerfully, since divine Providence will supply what you seek." She was obedient to the command. When, therefore, she was returning home with her companions, and the waves of the sea were still swelling, she found beside the road by the sea five most beautiful fish, quivering and tied with a rush. It is incredible to say with what joy Maria Angela carried them home.
[54] [Bl. Bonaventure prepares Maria Angela for the greatest calamities: the fulfilment of the prophecies.] This same woman, sprung of no obscure birth, then abounded in plenty of all things; but God had resolved to purge and perfect her wholly through adverse fortune. Which counsel He made manifest to His servant, so that darts foreseen might wound less. He, therefore, once said to her: "Know that your hopes are not to be placed in men, but in God alone. A time will come some day when, devoid of all human help and as it were driven out by your own, you will moreover be tried by God with a most grave infirmity. Prepare your soul, therefore, for patience." Yet some time later God added a consolation, again using the ministry of His servant. When, namely, the pious girl was once speaking with her master about the affairs of her soul, behold, a boy of nine years enters the church. Pointing to him with his finger, the man of God said: "Turn round and see this boy, and tell me whether he is joined to you by blood: do you know him?" Maria Angela answered that he did not belong to her and was scarcely known to her. "Know, therefore," he said, "that in the times of your greatest desolation this boy will be your father and protection." Maria Angela looked up to all these words, although she did not understand that help could come to her from a boy who was a stranger, which the multitude of her brothers and kinsmen would deny. Not without reason; for long after the death of the blessed man, when she was already worn out with old age, she experienced the burden of the prophecy. For, some of her own having died, she was cast out of the house by the rest and shortly afterwards most bitterly afflicted with fevers, apoplexy, gout and other diseases. She lay, therefore, helpless and abandoned in a poor bed and a solitary room, bereft of strength, movement and voice. Stripped of all help, she took refuge with her former master, whom she did not doubt to reign in heaven, and at once she seemed to hear a voice saying: "Behold, he now comes who was promised to you as a helper." And indeed after a short interval she saw two ecclesiastical men come in, Biagio Tirabella and Antonio Terzuolo, wholly unexpected and unaccustomed intervenors. While they were sitting by the bed, behold, a new voice sounded in Maria Angela's mind: "That is he (Biagio was signified) who will be with you in all necessities." And in fact he offered himself of his own accord to be son, brother and father to the wretched woman; and the deeds agreed with the speech. And when Maria herself testified to these things before the apostolic investigators, she had already been experiencing Biagio's charity for eight years. That this Biagio was the same boy of nine years pointed out by Bl. Bonaventure the reader scarcely needs to be told.
ANNOTATA.
CHAPTER TEN:
The charity of Bl. Bonaventure towards the sinners, the wretched and the dying of Ischia. The fruits of his labours. Some miracles.
[To avert the cause of sins, he provides for the poor of Ischia, making large use of the ministry of his disciples and of alms:] His industry, therefore, did not consist only in converting sinners; but it also extended to souls desirous of Christian perfection. He was, however, more inclined to helping the former and wonderfully successful; so much so that Maria Angela testified before the apostolic investigators that so many sinners were brought back to God by the most fervent zeal of the servant of God that there would be no end to counting them, and that they were known to the whole city of Ischia. Nor was it enough for him to have washed them from the mire of sins, but he took care that they should not return to the wallowing-place. Since, therefore, he had understood by experience that want and shame are plagues that counsel evil, he omitted nothing to procure clothing, food and shelter for all the poor; so anxious that he counted it a fault in himself if he could not help someone. With the superior's leave, therefore, he gave out to the needy almost whatever food was supplied to him every day by the community. He often gave his shoes and stockings a, himself going about barefoot; indeed he sometimes took off his undergarments to cover the naked limbs of beggars. But this would have been slight relief had not the charity of others been added. He sought alms, therefore, himself; yet he rather used the ministry of his penitents: which he so tempered that he imposed duties on each according to his condition, although he wished nothing to be foreign to Maria Angela. She, therefore, was to be seen sometimes carrying huge burdens, as though she had been a beast of burden for the love of Christ. But the distributor of all was the servant of God himself, who divided them to each according to need. He visited the needy and the wretched, therefore, in hovels and prisons, both to search out their want and to bring them gifts from door to door, passing over no one; nor could he be hindered by infirmity of body, by the continuance of labour, by the roughness of the roads, by the darkness of the nights, by the heat of the sun, by the fury of the storm, by winter frost, or by other dangers. It is certainly a wonderful thing that for ten years one man fed the hungry, clothed the naked, received pilgrims as guests. Moreover, he restored very many sick to health by a prodigy, freed many from prison by a prodigy, snatched others from the peril of death. Meanwhile he gave the rich an occasion of deserving God's mercy, his helpers an occasion of exercising virtue, and the poor an occasion of praising divine providence and of ceasing from sins.
[56] [Bread given to the poor at his command and with his approval, without the knowledge of the masters,] Whoever lent him their help were rewarded by God with conspicuous rewards. Above all, the house of the marquis Giacomo Lanfreschi experienced this, which, like some other richer families, had as it were bound itself by a vow never to refuse anything that was asked in the name of Bl. Bonaventure, and which had received within its walls Sister Maria Angela, not as a servant, but rather as a companion and mother, to spread piety among the household, to lead all by the example of virtues and to bring up the children in the fear of God. One day, therefore, the servant of God said to his disciple: "I wish you to procure for me tomorrow a more plentiful aid than usual; the poor
will be present in great number." The girl rose before sunrise to carry out the command; but Costanza, the eldest daughter of the marquis and set over the household affairs, was still prolonging her sleep. Maria Angela, however, went to her importunately and asked for alms in the name of Father Bonaventure. At once Costanza, generous in giving, said: "Take the keys of the larder, and do as pleases you and is fitting." Maria Angela found five loaves of the larger size, such as are customarily baked there. She took them all away; and laden with this huge weight she went off, not without sweat, to the servant of God. He, when he saw her, said: "You have done well, daughter, to have brought so great an alms." But she, to whose memory it had recurred on the way that these loaves had been prepared for the farm-hands who were to return in the evening, and upon whom fear had accordingly come that she had committed a fault, answered: "On the contrary, my Father, I seem to myself to have fallen into a grave error. This bread was to be given to the servants, who are likely to return this evening; and I imprudently left nothing. What, then, will the masters say?" But he, not at all disturbed: "If the servants come, do not doubt, God will provide." What this saying meant Maria Angela had learned by experience, and so she returned home secure, and disclosed nothing.
[57] God restores it and triples it, Meanwhile the sun set, and behold, the farm-hands are there from the field and bread is asked for. In the room the whole household was sitting in a circle, nor was Maria Angela absent. While the others talked about the bread, she went on with what she was doing, not even moving her eyes. A maidservant, therefore, was ordered to look for bread; but, a diligent search having been made, she returned, affirming that there was not a crumb of bread in the larder. Maria Angela broke the silence with no word, nor changed colour, nor blinked her eyelids. Then the mother of the family, whose name was Angela, marchioness of Bellarena, said: "You must be very blind not to have seen so great a mass of bread. There must be some, and indeed much." Then, turning to her daughter Costanza: "You go," she said, "and show it to her, since she is not herself this evening." The daughter, therefore, rose and went with the maidservant to the larder; but to them searching every corner nothing presented itself; so that Costanza, wondering, brought back the news to the household that no mistake had been made by the maidservant; that there was not a crust of bread. Hence there arose a great dispute among the women; the blame, however, was thrown on Costanza by her mother, who testified that she had seen the loaves with her own eyes the evening before. Then the girl: "For my part I took nothing, nor do I know anything further. Yet I know that this morning I gave the keys to Maria Angela: what she did is unknown to me." All, therefore, turned upon her, saying: "Did you, then, take the bread? God forgive you! But why did you not give warning, so that at least other bread could be procured? See, it is already growing dark: what then shall we do?" To these things Maria Angela, as if awakened from sleep: "Good God! Can it be that there is no bread? Those girls cannot have looked carefully. Let us all go and see. Come with me; I for my part will find bread." For Maria Angela did not doubt that God would provide, as her blessed master had said. The whole household, therefore, went to the larder. When it arrived there, it saw before it the table, a little before wholly empty, but now laden not with five loaves but with fifteen, and those fresh and steaming. All were astounded at this prodigy, almost beside themselves. "And so great a quantity of bread," they said, "whence has it arisen? whence has it come? Who made this bread today? For it is still fresh and warm." Those who had entered the larder a little before added: "But just now the table was empty; I saw it empty with these eyes of mine." Meanwhile Maria Angela, taught by her master not to magnify miracles, said: "See, did I not say that it was impossible that there should be no bread, and that these girls had been blind?" But they affirmed and swore that once and again they had seen most clearly with their eyes and with sound mind; and indeed this at last was the opinion of all, that it had been a divine miracle on account of the merits of the servant of God and a singular reward of his charity poured out upon the poor. For three days the household was fed with this bread; of the same it was set on the masters' table; and its taste seemed most delightful, like heavenly food. The next day Maria Angela hurried to her master to tell him of the prodigy; but the servant of God, who knew everything, imposed silence on her, and forbade that any talk should thereafter be made of the matter. But when the apostolic investigators came to Ischia to investigate the virtues and miracles of the blessed man, a great number of witnesses deposed about that wonderful multiplication of bread; among whom Maria Angela, the marchioness Angela di Mesa and her daughter Costanza, eye-witnesses and sharers in the event.
[58] Oil similarly multiplied. Oil was increased by a similar miracle. The marquis Giacomo Lanfreschi had given Maria Angela the faculty of drawing from a cask as much as the servant of God should ask. A long time afterwards, when he thought the vat was already almost empty, he inspected it, but found it full to the very brim. He was astounded; but, not suspecting a second miracle, he summoned Maria Angela, of whom he asked whether she had used the oil, from where she had taken it, for how long and in what quantity. The girl answered that she had drawn from the jar which he was showing her, for a long time, very frequently and in great quantity. "How much, then," said the marquis, "do you think is now missing?" "At least half," said the girl. "Come here, then," said he, "and see how the cask is full." Maria Angela could not hide the miracle, and the whole house recognized how powerful the blessed man was with God and how much the love of the poor pleased Him.
[59] His wonderful charity towards a Hebrew family converted to the faith; By his own frugality and fasts, therefore, by the liberality of the generous and by the wonderful providence of almighty God, he gathered enough aid with which to relieve the necessities of all. Some singular examples have been preserved for remembrance. It is scarcely credible how much care the man of God bestowed on the harlot Prudenzia Curcio: but this charity we have indicated above. With no less mercy he attended a foreign family of beggars, formerly blinded by Jewish superstition, then illumined with the light of faith. Father, mother and daughter had come to Ischia; but no lodging was open to them. They came, therefore, to the servant of God, asking for a roof and food. Without delay the blessed man went to a pious house which he knew to be ready for the offices of Christian hospitality, and easily won the cause. Then he procured their daily food. Meanwhile the father fell into a most grave disease; and behold, the merciful man made himself not so much the attendant of the sick man as his servant, scouring the vilest vessels, preparing food and remedies and summoning the physician. Yet he took greater care of his soul, inculcating in him the principles of the faith, suggesting pious sentences and exhorting him to commit himself to the divine will. His assiduity at the sick man's bedside grew still more when death seemed to approach. He took pains that he be fortified with the last sacraments for the final journey; he stood by him in his last agony; nor did he depart from there before he had blessed him as he breathed out his last spirit. Then he took care of his burial, and diligently saw to it that suffrages and masses were made for the refreshment of his soul. A little later he exercised the same charity towards the mother; nor did he neglect the orphaned daughter, whose leg was not long afterwards affected by a sore. He provided food for her for some time; but when she had come to the twelfth year of her age and was flourishing in a remarkable beauty of body, he took counsel with three other religious about her lot and resolved to snatch the marriageable girl from the danger of lust. A hard thing indeed; but it was accomplished through the intervention of more powerful men, to whom it was a pleasure to humour him. For the young girl was placed in service with noble nuns of Naples, and so the crown was put on the cares bestowed by the servant of God on the Hebrew family.
[60] The singular care with which he attended the Hebrew father and mother when they lay sick, this same he applied to other sick persons also, as the condition of each required. In which ministry he obtained such fame that no one at Ischia laboured gravely, or at least was drawing his last breath, without the common father of all being summoned. Nor did it seem far from a prodigy that, when he was called even at the dead hour of night, he at once came out of his cell dressed and ready for the road. Wherefore a rumour was spread that he not only never put off his clothes, but kept watch for the people's welfare, and lived not without a miracle. Nor shall we abstain from examples in this place. Once in the middle of the night a cry sounded from outside of someone calling the servant of God to the bed of a dying man. Scarcely had the first words been heard when he was present, dressed and ready, in the superior's room, asking leave. The superior objected the darkness of night, the savage storm, the long and less safe journey and his infirm health: "For my part," he added, "I neither send you nor hinder you; the thing is placed in your judgement: you decide." The man of God stood by anxious, never doing anything without command and drawn by charity to the sick man; nor did he utter any word, but with a pitiful face seemed to ask that he not be left in uncertainty. The superior understood the mute prayer and, commending him to God, ordered him to go. Which command he carried out with such gladness that he seemed to fly rather than walk. On another night, when he was called, he was without stockings and had undone his shoes. But he was driven by so great an impulse of charity that he went barefoot to the sick man. He, moreover, was the most wretched man of the island of Ischia. He lay in a cave in the earth, filthy, fetid, foul, on straw, covered with lice. Those who cared for him either from blood or from Christian charity ministered to him only from a distance. They warned the servant of God, therefore, not to come nearer. In vain. Misery roused his love. He sat at his side the whole night through, often bending over the dying man, and not ceasing to prepare him for a better life, and much less caring for the filth, the stench, the lice; until he had breathed out his last spirit. Hence a jest was spread through the city "that Father Bonaventure had gone to Giovanni Aniello (this was the dying man's name) to load himself with his lice."
[61] likewise towards the apoplectic. It happened once that a fisherman on the sea-shore not far from the convent was struck down by apoplexy. The man of God ran up; but he found him dead and had him carried into the church. Yet, hoping that life was lulled rather than extinguished, he sat at his side the whole night, now examining his eyes, now his mouth, in case some sign might perhaps appear: "Who knows," he said, "whether he will rise up from his torpor? It often happens in this kind of disease that the spirit has been absent for many hours and then has returned." Nor did he leave the corpse until he felt it cold and covered with the pallor of death. He was more fortunate at another time. He had similarly run up to a man cast down by apoplexy on the shore and in his death-agony. He applied his body to the body, his face to the face, and lay so long at his side, shaking him and calling out to him, until he came to himself. Whom at last, with the greatest
joy, refreshed and raised from the ground, he led to a neighbouring lodging. In these cases, moreover, although he did not neglect the body, he looked much more to the soul, lest it should depart from this earth without the help of the sacraments.
[62] [How various and continual were the labours of Bl. Bonaventure; what were the fruits of his zeal.] But truly it seemed most wonderful of all that so many things were done by one man. He moved about in the city like an apostle, now in the pulpit, now in the seat of penance, now in the streets, now in houses, at one time in the country, at another in the convent; and yet he did not lack time to be present at the common exercises of the brethren, above all those of the choir, to make the long prayers privately appointed for himself and to torment his body with expiatory penalties. What of the fact that, like a sacristan, he rang the bells, swept the church, looked after the altars? What of the fact that he gave his help to the cook, lighting the fire, preparing the food, scouring the vessels? And meanwhile he suffered a voluntary martyrdom, exhausted by abstinence, covered with wounds, struggling with diseases and pains, but always with a cheerful face and a brow free of cares. To the incredible labour, moreover, an equal harvest responded. First of all a general reformation was observed in conversation, in deeds and in dress. Women above all changed some wanton fashions of dressing, a more modest habit being universally assumed. Then he wholly rooted out of the island public harlots and men of the worst example. And finally, thirdly, whereas before singular works of penance and piety were scarcely known by practice to those islanders, in a short time so great a multitude embraced the spiritual life that in all houses conversations were held about penance, about prayer, about holiness. A great number put on the habit of penance of St. Francis, cultivating a severe and religious kind of life; of whom many ascended to notable perfection. To bringing about so great a correction of morals the fame of his miracles availed very much; of which we have already mentioned some. It remains that we speak in a separate chapter of his prophetic spirit and his searching of hearts, which also belong to the miracles and were the most efficacious of all.
ANNOTATUM.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
The prophecies, the knowledge of secrets and the prodigies of Bl. Bonaventure while he lived at Ischia.
He foretells to two needy women that food will not fail them; One morning there were in the church of the Conventuals Laura Montefusco and her sister, very poor women. When, after their exercises of piety had been finished, they were preparing to return home, one of them, remembering that nothing of food was left at home, whispered a few complaining words about it into her sister's ears, but in a voice so low that the blessed man, who was also in the church, but at a great distance, could hear nothing at all. He understood, however; and, rising from prayer, came to the needy little women with a joyful face: "Go away cheerful," he said; "trust in God; He will provide." Having said this, he returned to his former place. The sisters were astonished that the servant of God had known these things; but since they knew by long experience that the words "God will provide" were worth as much as that God had already provided, they left the church with great confidence; and behold, at no great distance they find in the sand a silver coin worth one tarì a; as much, namely, as would be enough to get through the day. They certainly gave thanks to God, so wonderful in His servant.
[64] he wonderfully knows the secrets of penitents; That hearts lay as it were open to him was firmly persuaded by all his penitents, but by no one more than by Maria Angela. "With the gift of searching souls," she says, "Father Bonaventure was so endowed that whatever I turned over in my mind, whatever I desired in my heart, whatever I did in secret, he told me before I opened my lips. Whence I in my simplicity thought that confessors knew the secrets of hearts by a common privilege; but I learned by experience that it is not so." The same was experienced and testified by the sisters in blood and in purpose Lucrezia and Maddalena Famurare, admitted to the habit of penance of St. Francis by their master and spiritual guide Bl. Bonaventure. When they confessed their sins sacramentally, above all at the beginnings of their conversion, they omitted through ignorance many particulars of their faults. But when they stopped speaking, the servant of God went over the whole series of their life, adding many hidden things and the secrets of the heart and the circumstances of each. Then: "This and this," he said, "which you thought at that time, place and manner, is not free from fault, as you believe. This other thing gravely displeases God. That, however, you must by no means do any more. Of this and that thing you must accuse yourself with sorrow, distinctly and faithfully." And other penitents of Ischia generally similarly testified before the apostolic investigators that the blessed man's command over consciences was supreme, which the wonderfulness of his prophecies, the force of his prodigies and the clarity of his admonitions commended.
[65] [he understands that his hair is being kept by the barber for the sake of a penitent woman,] The example that follows is of a wholly different kind. Andrea Chiaromonte, barber of the convent of Ischia, often, insistently and secretly asked by Giovanna (commonly Cianna) di Sasso (who, as we said above, a notorious sinner, had been induced by the man of God to embrace a most severe penance) to keep for her a lock of her master's hair, had sometimes refused, sometimes promised in appearance, so as to free himself from the woman's importunity. But Giovanna did not cease to vex him. Wherefore he resolved at last to humour her, as soon as he had cut the servant of God's tonsure. But, thinking of other things then, he very often let the occasion slip by. At length, one time, when he was cutting his hair, the memory of his promise recurred. Cautiously, therefore, he received in his left hand a curl cut from the back of the head. At once Bl. Bonaventure, understanding by divine power the barber's attempt: "Andrea," he said, "leave off this vanity; do not let yourself be deceived; throw it all away." The barber was astonished, and stood with his hand motionless. Wherefore the servant of God rose with a quick impulse, collected the hair scattered on the ground and threw it out of the window into the garden. Andrea asked pardon, confused with shame; and when the thought struck his mind that the hair thrown out could easily be recovered from the garden, he answered himself that this would be of no avail, even if done secretly, since he looked into wills; that perhaps he already knew what he was turning over in his mind. He therefore cast away this plan.
[66] [to the same penitent woman he foretells that her face will be spoiled by gangrene;] At another time the same Giovanna di Sasso experienced the prophetic spirit of the blessed man. Not long after she had emerged from the mire of lust, she heard from his mouth these and similar words: "Woman, you have wished too much to please the world, to the detriment and injury of God. Know, therefore, that God wills to purge you of your sins in this life and to chastise you in those very things in which you sinned. In the last years of your life that face of yours, with which you delighted the eyes of men, will be spoiled by a most foul and incurable gangrene, which will bring nausea and horror not only to others but to yourself also." The sinner received this news with equanimity, confessing herself worthy of so great a penalty. The blessed man wished Maria Angela to be aware of this future event; wherefore a few days later, when he was speaking with her: "See," he said, pointing to Giovanna with his finger, "see that woman, healthy and robust. Know that her face will go to corruption, so as to be eaten by worms; and in this way she will die." The report of this prediction had been spread through the city; and the blessed man had long since left the island, indeed had died, while the public expectation of the event persisted. And indeed only after six lustres was the prophecy fulfilled, a foul gangrene eating away the whole face of the woman, so that she was a horror to others and to herself. All medicine was vain; and so Giovanna, the more patient the longer she had been forewarned, after a long martyrdom at last succumbed to the evil.
[67] he foretells that an unknown Spanish knight will come to great holiness; Another example is related, in which the searching of the mind and prophecy are contained together. Angela di Mesa b, a matron of Ischia and a penitent of the blessed man, once brought with her into the church an unknown Spanish knight, a guest commended to her. From the confessional seat the blessed man saw them praying apart. At once rising, called by no one, he came to the matron and said to her calmly: "What angel have you brought with you this morning? How great a servant of God he will be! How great a servant of God he will be!" Which words the matron shared with no one. A little later, his prayer finished, the knight summoned the servant of God to him and led him to a secret place, as though about to speak of the greatest matters. From the long conversation the knight departed glad, yet concealing all the deliberation that had taken place; except that it soon became evident from the outcome. For he crossed the sea; and when he came to Naples, casting away every worldly hope, he put on the habit of St. Francis among the Discalced disciples of St. Peter of Alcantara. He went through among them with the highest praise the most severe year of novitiate, made his religious profession with huge eagerness and lived with a notable fame of holiness among the Spanish Discalced in the Neapolitan convent of St. Lucy del Monte c. From there he passed over into Spain. But those who testified to these things before the apostolic investigators did not know the rest of his deeds, although it is not to be doubted that the end corresponded to such holy beginnings, approved by the blessed servant of God.
[68] two years beforehand he foretells the death of Father Tommaso da Cerreto; Another prophecy stirred up a much greater commotion at Ischia. On the feast of the immaculate conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary Bl. Bonaventure had recited Matins with his colleagues and, since it was night and the cold was raging, was standing with them by the hearth. Conversations were held about serious and useful matters, since all were religious of most chastened life; when the blessed man, turning to Tommaso da Cerreto, said to him with prophetic mouth: "Dearest brother, set in order the affairs of your soul, since two years from now you will die the death." Which words, as having come from a man of so approved a spirit, no one received as a jest. Tommaso himself, a religious man and most obedient to God, answered with a voice neither sad nor troubled: "Let it be as pleases God; for my part I am most ready for whatever the will of God may bring;" and a little later he added this: "One favour I ask of you, Father Bonaventure, namely that at that terrifying time you assist my soul." To which the servant of God with a new prophecy: "I would do it gladly, Father Tommaso; but I shall no longer be here." All of which those standing by could not hear without astonishment and terror. Afterwards Father Tommaso, suffering something human and fearing the threats, began to try whether there might be some way of escaping death. Wherefore, as though his lot were in the hands of Bl. Bonaventure, he poured out his complaints into the ears of Sister Maria Angela, to whom he narrated the prophecy. She, moved with pity, because Father Tommaso was an excellent confessor, as soon as she saw the servant of God said: "How, Father, could you bring yourself to tell Father Tommaso that he would die at the end of two years? Alas, poor man! He is still young and strong; moreover he is most pious and most useful to souls. For my part
I confess to you that I grieve greatly on that account." The servant of God received these things calmly, shrugged his shoulders and answered: "How was it not well done? Is it not better that this Father should know that two years of life and no more remain to him, in which time he may become more perfect and unite himself to God with greater fervour?" Maria Angela agreed; but when she seemed to be returning to her complaints: "Know," said the man of God, "that I could do nothing less and that I was compelled by necessity to say these things." After this he was silent, nor did he thereafter touch on this prophecy by a word. Meanwhile Father Tommaso strove to redeem the time with new ardour, enjoying youthful vigour for some months, until with a violent onset he coughed up blood, by which ailment he gradually slipped into a consumptive fever, the ministry of the physicians being useless. When, therefore, he had been sick for years and some months, within the octave of the Immaculate Conception he gave back his soul to God, fortified with the sacraments of the dying. At which time the servant of God had already departed from Ischia; so that all the parts of the prophecy were fulfilled.
[69] [he foretells death to one sister, recovery of health to the other, whom he also helps by a miraculous multiplication of bread;] To another prediction, and that a double one, the same faith was given. Lucrezia and Antonia di Pietro, both sisters, were labouring with an acute fever; and the former was nearer to death. Bl. Bonaventure, who was as it were the public infirmarian, visited them and helped them with the customary spiritual offices. Then, rising with authority, he looked at each woman, and, moved by the prophetic spirit, said to Lucrezia: "You will live;" then to Antonia: "And you, prepare yourself for death." Lucrezia answered that she could live no longer, since she felt the symptoms forerunning imminent death. Then again the servant of God: "And I tell you that you will live and that Antonia, your sister, will die." A few days later, contrary to everyone's expectation, Antonia declined for the worse and died; Lucrezia, on the contrary, recovered and lived long enough to be able to give testimony of these things before the apostolic investigators. The same Lucrezia di Pietro (for the name agrees) at another time also experienced the heavenly power of the blessed man. She lay sick at home, having nothing of nourishment to share with her four little children. Although the servant of God had visited her as was his custom, having understood her extreme want, he took her little daughter of four years with him to the door of the convent; through whom he sent to the mother three carlini d and a four-pound loaf. The bread was torn apart by most eager teeth; but, what is a prodigy, for six days that whole household was satisfied by that one loaf (for there was no other food), as Lucrezia herself testified.
[70] he foretells that two accused men will be released free beyond all hope; The brother of Laura Greco, serving for pay in the French galleys, had been made guilty of rebellion, and, laden with chains, had been thrown into the prison of the royal militia. While he was awaiting a sentence of death or of perpetual service at the oar, his sister, wailing with fear, took refuge with Bl. Bonaventure; who judged it most advisable to recite the Responsory of St. Anthony of Padua. The prayer finished, as if warned by a heavenly one, he rose, and turning to the mourning woman: "Be of good heart, daughter," he said; "neither of the two evils which you dread will happen to your brother. Indeed I tell you that on the feast of St. Anthony you will see your brother at home, free and safe." They were then about a month away from this celebration; during which space of time, receiving no news, Laura lived wavering and in doubt between hope and fear. But as the feast day dawned, behold, the lamented brother came down onto the shore, loosed from chains and guilt, and narrating to his family with full mouth the story of his misfortunes. In worse condition was the case of Andrea Chiaromonte e, who after the hardships of a long imprisonment was at last condemned to death by the judges of Naples. When this report was carried to Ischia, his mother was affected with incredible grief. She therefore, with hair dishevelled, beating her palms and filling the streets with wild cries, ran to the feet of the blessed man. Through sobs and tears she was scarcely able to declare to him the causes of her grief. Moved with mercy, Bl. Bonaventure, and without doubt illumined by heavenly light, said: "Woman, do not doubt; set out for Naples at once; I tell you that your son, through the intervention of St. Anthony of Padua, will be safe." She did as she was told; unexpectedly the judgement was rescinded, and the son returned home, free from death, prison and infamy.
[71] [he forewarns a young girl of an unhappy marriage, and procures a happy delivery for another woman of the same name.] Teresa Garofalo, to her own hurt, did not give faith to the words of her spiritual father. The man of God exhorted her to consecrate her virginity to Christ; but the young girl, more desirous of marriage, lent little ear to these counsels. When Bl. Bonaventure noticed this obstinacy, he once accosted her with a threatening voice in these words: "If you put an earthly bridegroom before the immortal heavenly bridegroom, know that divine chastisement awaits you: through all your life you will groan under the weight of your most bitter cross." She was overcome by the desire of marriage; but scarcely had the wedding been celebrated when she felt the heavy hand of God. For three years she was tried by a disease so troublesome that she implored the solace of death. She recovered, however, and bore twelve children, all surviving, but not all healthy. Four sons were a burden, but much more eight daughters. In whatever way helpless and poor, she brought up so great a family, but with such hardships that before the apostolic investigators she herself confessed that the prediction of the servant of God had been more than sufficiently fulfilled in her. Another Garofalo, named Prudenzia, also experienced the heavenly power of the servant of God. She was carrying twins in her womb, of whom she had brought forth one by miscarriage, and could not bring forth the other, and hence was already near to death. Bl. Bonaventure came, placed relics of St. Anthony of Padua on her head, then on her belly, with a coverlet between; and said to the woman: "Be of good heart, for soon you will give birth without danger." Having said this, the servant of God went away. But he had not yet come to the foot of the stairs when the woman was happily delivered of the child; and she recovered in a short time and lived many years afterwards.
ANNOTATA.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
Other prophecies, knowledge of secrets and prodigies of Bl. Bonaventure while he lived at Ischia.
[He encourages a poor woman and her family by prophecies and sustains them by prodigies;] Laura Montefusco, who has already been mentioned, with better fortune heard the voice of the blessed man sounding in her ears. On her breast there was rising a tumour no smaller than a pomegranate, by which she was tormented with most bitter gripings. One day, therefore, while she was confessing her sins to the servant of God, she was seized with a most vehement pain and, her voice sticking in her throat, uttered a tearful cry. The cause of the ailment having been learned: "Do not fear," said the man of God; "it can last only a little while." And, the swelling having suddenly burst, there came out sand, wholly dry, of various colours. At once the wound closed up, leaving no trace of scar or pain. Rugilo thinks that either the sudden healing or the prediction of Bl. Bonaventure is to be reckoned among the miracles; we, with greater prudence perhaps, shall abstain from this inquiry, holding it enough to marvel at a wonderful thing. That Laura, moreover, was of the poorest of the city; but a greater anxiety was caused her by two sisters, marriageable young girls, from whom neither father, nor brother, nor any kinsman would ward off dangers. The servant of God alone was their patron and guardian; who had laid down this rule for Laura: "Whenever you have nothing, and I have nothing to give you, go to the sea-shore, and you will find a fish that will suffice for your sustenance." The girl was obedient to the commands of the man of God. And indeed, when first, destitute of all help, she went to the shore, carrying with her neither hook nor net, she found on the dry shore a rather large fish, gleaming, of no mean price. Having caught it, blessing God and giving thanks, she sold it in the public market, and received what she and her sisters might live on that day. She did the same thereafter whenever she was pressed by want, nor did the sea ever deceive her trust. Bl. Bonaventure also put another hope into her mind, when he once said to her: "Bear your cross with good heart; for the time is short, nor will you have to bear it long. Very soon God will free you from these miseries. Moreover I tell you that both your sisters will be suitably settled; who will shortly be a relief to you." Which thing, although up to that day no indication of it had become known to Laura, came about a little later; and when she gave testimony before the apostolic investigators, she was leading an easy life, having goods in plenty and happy in the love of her well-married sisters.
[73] [he forewarns the same woman of an approaching insult and at another time wonderfully frees her from fever;] Before these things happened, Laura had experienced the prophetic spirit of the man of God. For once after confession, exhorting her to Christian patience, he had warned her that there would shortly be occasion for exercising this virtue, since very soon she would have to be struck with a strong slap; which insult was to be borne with moderation, out of love and imitation of the suffering Christ. The girl promised, although she did not understand whence this misfortune could befall her. But behold, the next day the square was filled with shouts: her younger sister had started a quarrel with a neighbour, and the heated women were laying hands on each other and flying at each other's hair. So that this brawl might cease, Laura came forward as mediator: there also ran up a man ready with tongue and hand; who, by no means distinguishing the peacemaker from the brawlers, struck Laura's face with so firm a fist that he made a bruise, a wound and blood. The girl, remembering the words of her confessor and her own promise, restrained every outward movement; but she mastered her mind less than her tongue and hand, digesting her anger in her breast. Composed in this manner, she went to her confessor; who received her with a severe face and would not hear her. Two or three times she tried to meet him, but was always treated in the same way. At last on the fourth day she was permitted to enter the seat of penance; where the servant of God, before the woman had opened her lips, accosted her with these words and a harsh look: "Do you know why for three days I would not hear you?" To which she: "No." "Know, then," he said, "that I wished to chastise you, because you are neither obedient nor patient. Tell me: did I not forewarn you of the slap that was to be inflicted, so as to prepare you to receive it with a moderate and tranquil mind? You promised; but you did not keep your promises. Indeed you showed no signs of anger outwardly; but you fostered plans of revenge in your breast: which I for my part know. Are you so weak
that, having been forewarned, you cannot bear a slap patiently?" The woman shuddered, seeing that her inmost feelings had been perceived by the servant of God; she confessed her fault, therefore, and promised that she would do her duties more faithfully and constantly. And indeed at another time she was more obedient. She was labouring, namely, already the eighth day with a most grave fever. Her spiritual master sent to her someone to order her in his name, in virtue of holy obedience, to rise from bed, to come to the church for confession and to carry out her usual spiritual exercises. The girl obeyed, although the night before the disease had grown stronger and the way was long and difficult. But in the church, after receiving communion, she was seized by an unexpected cold and trembling. When this had become known to the servant of God: "Fear no evil," he said. "Nay rather, I wish you, in the weakness in which you now are, to make the visit of the seven altars on your knees; and only then do I give you leave to return home." Which commands Laura faithfully carried out, wholly free from the cold and trembling. Nevertheless, on returning home, she settled herself in bed, not without counsel, as one recently restored from sickness; but in a very short time she recovered all her strength.
[74] he foretells the future state of life of four boys or young men; A certain Degnamerita Scotto was also a witness of the prophetic spirit in which the servant of God flourished at Ischia. For he foretold to her that her little son, although there was then no indication of this, would give his name to the order of the Hermits of St. Augustine; which also came to pass. To Beatrice de Laurentiis he spoke these words: "I see your little son, clothed in our habit, always before our St. Anthony;" by which words he signified that he would be numbered among the Conventuals; and this too happened, with no intervention of the servant of God, although then no hope shone, indeed quite the contrary. To the younger knight Francesco Lanfreschi, still clothed in secular dress, he foretold that he would one day obtain ecclesiastical dignities; and in fact, having given his name to the ecclesiastical militia, he was created bishop of Gaeta and then archbishop of Matera. To another knight, who affirmed that he would profess the secular militia, he answered that this could not be, since he would follow the institutes of St. Peter of Alcantara. With which words the outcome agreed, since he became Fr. Mattia.
[75] he heals a sick man with oil from the lamp of St. Anthony of Padua; To another kind of powers belongs the healing of Giovanni Battista Canetti. He was lying in bed, suffering most atrociously in all the joints of his limbs. The man of God visited the sick man, taught him the horror of sins and, when he was crushed in sincere heart, cleansed him from his sins. Then he prayed on his knees at the side of the bed; and soon rising with a joyful face: "If you," he said, "rouse your faith, the pains will suddenly leave your body." Then he anointed him with oil from the lamp of St. Anthony, which he was never without. Scarcely had these things been done when the sick man affirmed that he was wholly free of all pain, and at once rose from bed healthy. At Ischia also, by the sign of the cross impressed on her forehead, he forthwith restored to her former health a little girl of one year, placed in danger of death.
[76] [he puts putrid leaves into his mouth, to show with how great charity and reverence the sick are to be treated.] For the rest, he attended all the sick with a certain singular reverence, which charity roused and fostered. This reverence once appeared eminently in the convent itself. When a lay brother was labouring with many grave sores on his legs, and the blessed man himself was away from the house by command of the superior, another religious had the care of the sick man. Meanwhile it happened that the latter, when he had scarcely renewed the leaves, was called to the church; and while he was going there, he asked on the way a professed cleric to be willing to collect the leaves scattered on the ground in the room. But the latter, more fastidious than was right, kept his hands from this office and soon answered his returning colleague that he would not do such things. From this a quarrel arose. While, therefore, they were disputing contentiously, Bl. Bonaventure came up, and, to restore peace, asked the cause of the brawl. As the one accused and the other defended the omission, he understood that the beginning of the dissension had been contempt of the sick man. Suddenly the colour of his face changed; yet no word escaped him; but he rushed to the invalid's room, gathered the leaves stained with pus; and, holding them balled up in his hand, accosted them with these words: "And how? Are these leaves to be shunned? Or disdained? Where then is charity?" Having said this, he put the putrid leaves into his mouth. When the cleric saw the blessed man chewing them, he was seized with horror and forbade him to swallow: "What are you doing?" he said. "You are killing yourself. What are you doing? It is poison." And only with many prayers and cries did he make him spit them out. The blessed man had certainly shown sufficiently with how great charity and reverence the sick members of Christ are to be attended and treated.
[77] His charity towards an insulting robber. For the rest, he embraced with the same charity the most abandoned men and those who did him injury. A worthless man, sought by the constables for death, had taken refuge in the convent; where he behaved very badly. Meanwhile one night the fringe of the altar cloth was taken away. When there was talk about this among the Conventuals, and the criminal himself was questioned, he, seized with anger, accosted the servant of God: "You," he said, "you, father, you hypocrite, are a thief; you have stolen the fringe." Which he received modestly and calmly; indeed on this day he brought him all the food destined for himself, himself passing the day with an empty stomach. Which example he induced a spiritual daughter, gravely offended by another woman, to imitate a few days later.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
A new residence at Naples in the convents of St. Mary Apparente and St. Anthony. Charity towards Father Polono.
[He is sent for three years to the Neapolitan convent of St. Mary Apparente, where he leads the others by his usual virtues.] To so great strength of mind, however, the health of his body did not correspond, to which the climate of the island, healthy for few, had always been hostile, and which his voluntary torments were ruining. He laboured, therefore, more and more every day with burning of urine, obstruction of the chest, the opening of the kidneys and a tumour of the knee; so that his disciples, fearing for his life, very often suppliantly asked him to seek a better air by a change of place and to set a measure to the severity of his penance. But he, wholly placed in the judgement of his superiors, would never speak a word about his departure from the island: "This," he said, "I ought not to care about. God sees all things, and knows what is good for me. When He wishes me to set out from here, He Himself will inspire it in my superiors, and I shall set out at their command." Which came to pass. For the minister provincial, fearing lest Bl. Bonaventure should succumb to the heaviness of the climate, ordered him to withdraw to Naples to the convent of the Perugian Fathers, commonly called St. Mary Apparente a, to which he was summoned by the wishes of all. With the greatest grief of the people of Ischia, therefore, he sailed from the port on the 19th day of October of the year 1698. When he came to Naples, he threw himself at the feet of the superior, asking his blessing and leave to carry out some of his usual exercises of piety: which he is believed to have done elsewhere too, lest he should perform anything outside the law of obedience. He lived there three years with no less religion and holiness of life than before; but the witnesses heap only general praises upon him. Before the apostolic investigators the guardian testified that he was most perfectly master of all the movements of his mind and the senses of his body; that every kind of recreation, even momentary, was unknown to him; that his bed seemed to him a perpetual enemy, so that he hardly interrupted his vigils; that poverty was cultivated by him in every way and to the extreme, and nothing was ever asked for by him, although his clothes were torn and most wretched; that he abstained from the touch of money as from a hostile thing; that he was most eager for taunts and mockeries, so that he went to meet them. "He seemed," says the same guardian, "to desire above all to spend himself for the honour of God and the salvation of his neighbour; to attain which two ends he fled no labour, however arduous. His words moved souls and wonderfully roused faith, hope and charity." Then he praised his diligence in observing the regular institutes, his zeal and striving for indulgences, or ecclesiastical remissions of deserved punishment, and his angelic innocence of life. This last Giovanni Battista Brocchetti, his confessor, proclaimed no less, asserting that it was wholly certain to him that the servant of God from his tender years had rivalled the angels, so that it was not easy in the general confession of his whole life to detect traces of venial sins.
[79] [He foretells the discovery of a sacrilegious robber and the death of a boy of Ischia.] While Bl. Bonaventure was living there, it happened that by night the sacred building was sacrilegiously stripped of all its silver. To the superior, grieving beyond measure, the blessed man came of his own accord and with a beaming face said: "Do not be sad, father guardian; hope in God and the robber will soon be discovered." And in fact the next day the robber was found with the greatest part of the booty. Then too there came from the island of Ischia to the servant of God Andrea Chiaramonte b, already named above, with his wife and his sick little son. For they trusted that he would be restored to health by the prayers of the blessed man, whose power with God they had long known. They asked him, therefore, earnestly to interpose his prayers. But he, disregarding the parents, began to stroke the boy with his hand and then said smiling: "This little boy must soon go to paradise; for he is called and awaited there." Having heard this, the parents returned to Ischia, not at all doubting the truth of the words of the servant of God; and in fact within a few days the little innocent soul went away to heaven.
[80] [He is sent back to the Neapolitan convent of St. Anthony, where his virtues, vigils and ecstasies are better observed;] When, moreover, he had shone for nearly three years in the convent of St. Mary Apparente with examples of virtues, on the 7th day of April of the year 1701, by command of his superiors, he was again assigned to the convent of St. Anthony outside the Porta Medina. He was seen there to be the same as before, except that he appeared more estranged from created things, wholly lifted up in mind to God. The torments of his body were equally atrocious; so that Father Master Grillo, his confessor, certain of his innocence and blameless life, could not understand how a man not guilty of crimes of his own raged against his limbs with such severity. He gave scarcely two hours each day to sleep, going to the choir of the church when the others withdrew to bed, and not seeking his cell until one hour before daybreak, to be the first present at Matins when the sky grew white. Of which thing a layman, according to the Neapolitan custom the keeper of the church, was a witness. For when he had several times been accused of negligence by the servant of God because he let the light before the tabernacle go out, he, certain that this happened only at night, had wondered that this fault had become known to the blessed man. But his wonder ceased when, rising several times at night, he saw, the light of the lamp having gone out, the choir illuminated with a prodigious light, which proceeded from the body of Bl. Bonaventure, until the lamp was lit again; and then he noticed that the blessed man conversed with God for whole nights. At that time also there was understood his perpetual silence and composure of mind, which was observed everywhere, above all at the time of the divine office
and of the other public prayers, and when he was preparing himself for the sacrifice of the Mass, celebrating it and making his thanksgiving, that it was not an ordinary attention of mind, but an ecstasy and a carrying up to heavenly things, a spring of most sweet delight.
[81] he strips himself to provide for the nakedness of a Polish Father. To this time also must be referred a notable specimen of charity. There had come to the convent a Polish Father, named Telesphorus, in a habit so torn that it roused laughter, pity and blushes. The servant of God took him aside into his cell and clothed him with his own habit, covering himself with the other's rags. When he then came to his colleagues, they could not but laugh at so strange a spectacle; and one even received him with severer words: "What indecency and disgrace!" he said. "What was this prudence of yours? It is the same evil. If this nakedness was unseemly in the guest, it is no less unseemly in you. And how will you procure another habit for yourself, you who have nothing with which to buy one c?" Of these things the blessed man, carried away by the force of charity, had not thought, nor did he give any other answer than that God would take care of it.
ANNOTATA.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
The duties of master of novices at Nocera dei Pagani entrusted to Bl. Bonaventure. His manner of training novices. Prophecies. Zeal.
He is sent to Nocera dei Pagani, to be master of novices there; At that time the superiors of the Conventuals were taking many counsels and sparing no effort to restore the vigour of regular discipline, and above all to correct the education of novices, in which all hope is placed. For this reason for very many years they had admitted no one among the novices; and when it now seemed that the course should be opened again, they felt that as much prudence was needed as when a new order is instituted. The director of the young men, on whom everything depended, was to be chosen with the greatest care. No one seemed more fit than Bl. Bonaventure. He was not, indeed, learned; but neither St. Francis of Assisi, nor St. Francis of Paola, nor so many other authors of religious orders and initiators of holiness had this praise; but what was their commendation was not lacking to him: contempt of the world, the fear of God, love of a severe life and a singular zeal for the divine honour and human salvation. Father Master Bonaventura Zola, minister provincial, resolved, therefore, to commit this office to the servant of God, even by interposing a command if he resisted. When he had deliberated these things with himself, he was once with the distinguished Father Master Simeone in the church of the Fathers of the Oratory of St. Mary Nascente a. Behold, the blessed man came upon him; and, having ordered him to stand, Zola told him that he had it in mind to appoint him master of novices at Nocera dei Pagani; where he himself had learned the regular institutes thirty-seven years before. When Bl. Bonaventure heard this, he begged off this honour: that he was ignorant, unfit, and the rest, by which he was wont to remove from himself whatever was more honourable in the eyes of men. The minister answered that there was no room for excuses; for the matter was certain and decreed; let him prepare himself for departure in virtue of holy obedience. By which command not only did all resistance cease, but on foot, with no preparation, he set out on the journey on the spot. Zola and Simeone soon learned of his sudden departure, and, having called him back from the road, told him that there was no need of such haste; let him arrange his affairs in two or three days and go to Nocera at a more convenient hour.
[83] he teaches them obedience with singular care, In the month of October, therefore, of the year 1703, he went to the convent of St. Francis by a journey of 19 thousand paces. For Nocera is that far distant from Naples. In which residence he excellently satisfied the common expectation. For, a diligent explorer of the disposition of each, and a fair teacher and exactor of duties, he strove to implant in the souls of the young men not middling but eminent virtues. A great lover of perfect obedience and self-denial, he wished it to be the supreme law. After the example of St. Francis and of the founders of other orders, he sometimes commanded things either absurd or useless, tolerating no negligence or contumacy in these. A novice, once ordered for an error he had committed to wipe the pavement with his tongue, had been promptly obedient; but, the command having been repeated, he hesitated, doubtful in mind. When the servant of God learned this, he threw himself on the ground and crept through part of the dormitory, sweeping the pavement with his tongue. The disciple could not see this without shame, and afterwards became a mirror of obedience to his confrères.
[84] humility and other virtues, having become an example of perfection to all. With eminent moderation he corrected defects, so that it appeared that amendment was demanded by him rather than penalties. He sometimes showed a severe face, yet so that he did not allow his fatherly mind to be obscured by the gravity of the superior. He sometimes opened his mouth in harsh and lofty words, but his threats passed off into soothing and kindly words. He wished the very tittles of domestic discipline to be observed, but he himself went before by example, although he strove to join with the offices of master the parts of apostle, penitent and contemplative. He demanded mutual compassion, but complained of no one, even when there were most just causes. A novice had lately come from the world who, out of contempt for the master, had sprinkled his habit with a great quantity of oil. But he received him with no other words than these most kindly ones: "O son, what have you done?" By which he was so much moved that thereafter he attended him with no less veneration than deference. This veneration and deference towards superiors he inculcated in their minds very much. When, therefore, Father Master Pasquale Rossi had once entered the novices' quarters, the blessed man, turning to his disciples, said: "Venerate this father singularly, not only because he is set over this convent, but because he will soon be set over the whole province." Yet at that time this office was not under deliberation; but faith was added to the prophetic words in the following year, when Rossi was elected minister provincial by the chapter. A perpetual follower of Christian humility, which is the foundation of all perfection, he omitted no occasion of teaching the novices this virtue by example or by exercise. He gave up a great part of the rank of superior, never allowing them to serve him according to custom and law; indeed he often seemed to be subject to them in many things. "From his heart (this is the testimony of one) he despised whatever redounded to his esteem and praise; and he embraced only those things which covered him with shame. He called himself, therefore, vile, ignorant and of humble birth, and put himself after all his colleagues, even the lowest, and even after his novices."
[85] [He corrects them not by words only, but also by examples; he converts a young religious;] He once ordered them, arranged in a circle around him, to spit on the ground for no reason, then to lick up the spittle with their tongues. When the servant of God saw them shuddering and almost openly contumacious, he himself lay down on the ground and licked up all the spittle with his tongue, teaching by example how nature is to be tamed by virtue. Then, raising himself and standing on his feet, and with a face as it were darting flames, he said to them in a grave and severe voice: "You are nothing, and more to be abominated than that spittle." Having said this, he left them astounded and as if struck by lightning. Another young man he amended no less notably. He was Brother Arcangelo Rossi, the nephew of Father Master Pasquale Rossi, who had already professed the religious life, but was living with such ferocity that he had wearied the patience of several superiors (for he had been sent from one house to another) and had at last turned from himself the mind of his very uncle, then guardian of Nocera. The last remedy, therefore, seemed to be hoped for from the care of the blessed man. He accosted him now gently, now harshly: but he got back nothing but insults. He did not lose heart, however, but resolved to tame him by humility. Having summoned him, therefore, into his cell and taken him aside, on his knees, with a rope tied round his neck and with joined hands, as though he himself were the guilty one, he addressed him with incredible gentleness and love, accusing his own ignorance and asking pardon for the errors committed in his correction. By which pitiful spectacle the young man was so moved that, confessing his past faults on the spot, he promised amendment of life: which in fact he carried out.
[86] his humility when his ecstasies became known to the novices. Even by silence he taught his disciples humility. When, namely, a certain novice, who most of all admired the holiness of his master, had very often seen heavenly rays coming forth from his face, and had noticed him coming out of his cell again surrounded by a prodigious light, he could not but exclaim reverently: "Ah! my father master, you have the face of an angel and your presence fills me with ineffable gladness; and when you speak to me, all the disturbances of my soul subside." Shaken by this simplicity of his disciple, the servant of God neither answered a word nor moved his eyes towards him, but, turning his back, threw himself into his cell. Nor could other gifts of God escape the sharp-eyed young men. "My master," said one of them, standing before the apostolic investigators, "was adorned with the gift of ecstasy; so that, when I was a young man, I used to say that his soul was always wandering abroad; but afterwards, when I better considered each detail, I understood that they were ecstasies; and I myself very often noticed him deprived of the use of the senses when he was contemplating the great works of God, above all while celebrating the sacrifice of the Mass." Similarly another: "In the familiar intercourse," he said, "which I had with the servant of God, I often saw him while praying rapt in God, bereft of his senses and motionless for some time. When he came back to himself, he seemed to be waking from sleep. The cause of this was his facility for the most sublime contemplation, which had arisen from his continual practice of prayer and his most ardent charity towards God. His fervour, moreover, grew most of all in the celebration of the Mass. Very often I saw him standing on the tips of his toes, as though he had been taller in body. His face was kindled before the most holy sacrament, so that the thing did not seem human. Bright rays came forth from his face, which I cannot describe, since they were supernatural, and not like any bright bodies that are on earth."
[87] The distribution of his time and the subjects of his instructions. He had divided the spaces of day and night by a fixed rule, giving part to his duties, part to free piety and penance. For four hours he was wholly in spiritual exercises, conversing in mind in heaven. The rest he distributed between the common duties and the instruction of the young. Every day he spent an hour in explaining the constitutions of the order,
the sacred rites and the ecclesiastical ceremonies. Which instructions he seasoned with a wonderful sense of virtue; but more wonderfully he spoke of the mystical and hidden life: for there was such force, feeling and eagerness in these discourses of his that he kindled souls, however inert and tepid, and carried them whither he would. As much time again he spent in explaining mental prayer: during which he spoke of the practice of virtue and the carrying out of duties. On no day did he omit the reading of the Lives of the saints, never meanwhile so much master of himself that he could hide the inner impulses of emulation.
[88] He foretells to seven young men the vicissitudes of their life. From this reading he had once taken occasion to speak of the uncertain time of death. Driven by this opportunity of discourse and by the presence of a prophet, the young men each asked him about the course of their lives, and above all when they would die. To Fr. Bonaventura Casella, therefore, who had first raised this kind of question, he answered: "Soon; for you will die before you ascend to holy orders." "And I, father master?" then said Fr. Eugenio da Pescopagano. "You too," said the servant of God, "will die in the flower of youth." To the third, Fr. Giuseppe della Saponara, who used these words: "Tell me, what will become of me?" he answered: "You will ascend to the priesthood, but shortly afterwards you will die." The same was asked by Frs. Giuseppe da Piccinisco and Bonaventura Garofalo: to the former of whom he answered: "You will not only die young; but shortly you will be dropsical;" and to the latter: "Very few years of life remain to you." Two other brothers were present, Tommaso Albanese and Paolo Alvaro; who did not choose to question the man of God. These survived long, the rest having died at the designated time. Above the others the death of Bonaventura Casella caused great wonder. After his profession he had been sent to studies and in the year 1710 was staying in the convent of Montella, in flourishing youth and ready to ascend to the degree of the subdiaconate. He was not unmindful of his master's prophecy; but, thinking him a lying prophet, he had earnestly requested dimissorial letters from the minister provincial. The bishop, therefore, was ready, the day fixed, his health excellent; so that the young man laughed at Father Bonaventure's threats. Two days before, therefore, he said to his confrères: "This time Father Bonaventure has divined badly. He foretold to me that I would depart from the living before I came to holy orders: and behold, I am very near the subdiaconate; I have the dimissorial letters with me; the bishop is most ready; I am alive and well; and the day after tomorrow, which is Sunday, I shall be established in holy orders." His colleagues accused him of rashness, but he received the reproof with laughter. The next day he felt how improvidently, when, seized with a violent fever, he was compelled to lie in bed, and shortly afterwards, because in the month of August the air there is heavy and malignant, was carried to Naples, his homeland; where he died, never having received the order of the subdiaconate. Before his death he was heard saying: "Ah! too true was the prophecy, too truthful a prophet my master Father Bonaventure b!"
[89] Other lessons by which he trained the novices. Most delightful and most tender of all, moreover, were his addresses on the passion of Christ and the love of God. When he was engaged in these, he discoursed more with tears and raptures of the spirit than with words. Then he was to be seen suffused with heavenly devotion, with sparkling eyes, his body stretched out, scarcely standing on the ground on the tips of his toes, or, if he was sitting, with body and seat raised and leaping like a spark, drawing sighs and sprinkled with copious sweat, even in the coldest weather. To instil into the souls of his disciples the necessary veneration towards the Holy Eucharist and the due homage to the Mother of God, in free hours he led them with him before their altars. If they were to be refreshed with holy communion, he prepared them with restless solicitude, inflaming their breasts with holy fervour. Of ecclesiastical indulgences, if any were to be gained, he diligently taught the value and use. Of chastity he spoke with the greatest prudence, carefully inculcating modesty and the custody of the senses, and imperiously forbidding them to look at their own or others' naked limbs c, or to touch anyone with the hand. In nothing did he wish them to be worthy of reproof; he assiduously instilled into them the love and fear of God, so that they might shrink from the least faults; continually recalling to their memory that small defects neglected are the parents of the gravest sins. He accustomed them to do nothing without his knowledge and also to open their thoughts to him. In sum, by tireless and prudent charity he had obtained so great an authority over all their acts, wills and thoughts that, hearing only these words: "Mortify yourselves," they would strip themselves even of necessary things, and cast food out of their mouths, to be kept for the poor, who were perhaps pressed by lesser hunger than themselves. In the last hour of the evening he directed a pious exercise to which he had given the name of living well and dying well. It consisted in this, that, the customary prayers having been recited in common, one of them lay on his back on the ground in the guise of one in agony or dead, and the novices standing around said the psalm De profundis and other funeral prayers d. Then he dismissed them to bed, always keeping with him now one, now another, with whom he would spend almost the whole night, either in pious meditation or in spiritual conversations.
[90] [He demands a most severe life from them, himself far more severe towards himself.] This novitiate you would have called either a solitude of hermits or a paradise of angels. Amusements, or relaxations of the mind, permitted by the rules themselves, were bidden farewell. If leave were given to go out of the cloister every month, it was remarkable liberality; for only every three or more months was it permitted to set foot outside the convent e. When he granted this faculty, he wished everything to be turned to spiritual profit; conversations to be held only about divine things; dress and gait to be composed according to the laws of modesty; and, if the loneliness of the places allowed, he ordered them to pull up thorns and thistles, lest they should harm travellers and be occasions of anger and blasphemies. Hard indeed was this yoke for young men scarcely come out of the world; but by his gentle addresses it was made so sweet and desirable to them that they grew accustomed to bear it eagerly: nor were they ordered to reach the summit of perfection in one day, but were led by degrees to absolute victory over themselves. There was added the example of the master, from comparison with whom they understood that only easy things were asked of them. He taught them to crucify the body, and to be sober and excellent in abstinence; but they heard the din of the nightly scourgings, they saw the walls of his little cell sprinkled with blood, they knew of the tumour of his knee spoiled by gangrene, and all his limbs bloodied as if with one continuous wound; and yet the torments of his body were not diminished by him, nor his fasts, nor his constant running about to the sick and dying. He tolerated no idleness at all among them; but the master appeared before their eyes looking after the sacristy and the church, helping the poor and penitents, directing nuns enclosed in their cloisters, never weary of preaching and instructing and, while they slept, watching in body and spirit. Finally the heavenly sagacity with which he looked deep into their minds, and the frequent prophecies about their future fortune, held them in a certain sacred fear and at the same time bound their souls to him with an ineffable love; so that they dared to transgress not only his commands, but not even his wishes, even when they were out of the sight of men.
[91] [He detects a novice's theft; he is not held at his just value by all; he is ill treated by a superior.] From this way, however, Fr. Francesco Maria Tolbe, of the territory of Abriola, in the diocese of Potenza, once turned aside; but it turned out badly for him. The servant of God had received relics from the protector of the order, Cardinal Vallemani; and Tolbe had earnestly requested some. But not content with these, opportunely making use of the absence of his master, whom he was helping in his cell in mending torn clothes, he had opened the box, taken away other relics, and returned to the work. When Bl. Bonaventure, on his return, saw him diligently sewing: "Friend," he said smiling, "put the relics back in the little box from which you took them." The young man blushed and denied the theft. The master bore the lie more grievously and with a severe voice said: "There is no reason for you to deny or lie. I know most certainly that the relics were taken by you; take them back to their place." No escape remained, and the young man confessed his fault. Nor did all the others follow the master's teaching and hold his virtues at their just value; so that on this occasion Rugilo observes that saints are heaped with due praise only after death, when envy ceases and the tacit reproof of others' negligence which is wont to attach to eminent holiness. And indeed a religious priest, at the devil's instigation, accosted him in the public cloister no less injuriously than arrogantly; but the servant of God, not at all disturbed, held the insults in the place of a benefit, and on his knee kissed the hand of the evil-speaker, gave thanks and asked pardon. Which, if I am not mistaken, was the sin of the guardian himself f. But neither did others hold his holiness in its just place. From the mouth of one Rugilo heard this confession: "Oh! if then I had had that estimation of things which I have now! Through my ignorance I did not then understand many great things, which now seem to me mysteries and prodigies!" Nevertheless he went about among them as a prophet, and the house of Nocera was full of the fame of his prophecies. We have related several; we shall add a few in this place.
[92] [To one Conventual he foretells a bishopric, to another the outcome of an adverse theological examination.] Once, while walking with his disciples, he said to them with a pitiful voice about a professed young man they met: "Oh! that young man will die before he reaches the priesthood!" and in fact, although he was then of robust strength, he died not long afterwards. It also happened while he was staying there that there was brought to Father Master Simeone, whose name has already recurred very often, from the island of Ischia, a letter from Father Master Gagliani, by which Bl. Bonaventure was singularly greeted. Suspecting nothing, Father Simeone carried the greeting to the servant of God; who answered: "I know what that father wishes to signify. I knew him at Ischia and told him that he would be a bishop. By this greeting he intends to recall to my memory this promise of mine, not yet fulfilled. I tell him, and do you write to him simply, that he will be a bishop." Which last words he uttered with a more cheerful face. When Father Simeone testified to these things before the apostolic investigators, he added that at that time, namely in the year 1707, and much less some years before, when the man of God lived at Ischia, there were no merits in Father Galliano that would deserve or presage so great a dignity for him. Nevertheless in the year 1715, four years after the death of the blessed man, he was created bishop of Umbriatico g. At Nocera also there once came to the servant of God a young father notable for diligence and keenness of intellect, already a bachelor, named Gennaro Antonio Ercolini, when he was going to Rome to seek the laurel of the mastership in competition. He asked the blessed man whether he would obtain approval and some day arrive at the highest literary honours. Taking him aside into his cell, he took in his hand and showed him a little image of Christ fixed to the cross: "I praise," he said, "your studies; but I ask of you that you study at the feet of this Christ Jesus, that you give greater effort to His service and spend all your powers for the salvation of souls." This was the blessed man's common exhortation to talented young men
namely that they should meditate on the suffering Christ, hear confessions, preach the word of God and diligently procure the eternal happiness of their neighbour. But then he added: "I foretell to you, son, that all your fatigue will be vain. With all your skill you will not obtain what you are thinking of; you will never be a master." The young man did not heed these warnings; but neither was he approved, nor did he ever attain the honours of the mastership.
[93] [He tames a priest who was out of his mind and was saying many erroneous and blasphemous things.] Since he owed his chief care to the novices, he could give less time to outsiders than elsewhere. He gave it, however, as we have said above. To which belongs the untiring ardour he showed in checking the absurd sayings of a deranged priest. This man had once flourished in the fame of learning, honoured by all; but by disease he was somewhat affected in mind. Raving, he sometimes blurted out many rash, erroneous things, or things foreign to the purity of the faith. These things were neglected by other priests, as proceeding not from a wicked will but from a disordered mind; not so by the servant of God, for whom it was not enough to restrain sins arising from vicious liberty, but also those which were to be pardoned as arising from insanity. When, therefore, he learned that the wretched man had said blasphemous or less pious words, whether he was near or far, he at once ran up and as it were blasted the madman with the flames of his eyes and the darts of his words. And he was kindled the more and grew fierce if the other resisted; and if it was necessary to refute errors, he called his oratorical faculty and his theological knowledge to his aid. This man, who reverenced no one, he so tamed that he dreaded his voice no otherwise than an infant dreads the master's rod. But we must return to Naples with the blessed man.
ANNOTATA.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
The care of the sick by Bl. Bonaventure at Naples. New examples of piety, charity and obedience. Wonderful constancy in the dreadful cure of his leg. Care in his words. Flight from his kinsmen.
[Recalled to Naples, he cares for the sick of the Vomero, more ready than usual for heavenly things and ecstasies.] There, then, to the west of the castle of Sant'Angelo, there rises on a hill the village of the Vomero, now surrounded by most pleasant villas on the slopes of the mountain and adorned with churches; formerly much less flourishing, difficult of access and by no means rich in ecclesiastical ministry: on which place in the year 1707 an epidemic plague had fallen, causing great slaughter. Meanwhile at the beginning of the month of June the servant of God is recalled to Naples: which journey he undertook with great consolation, both because he showed obedience and humility by leaving the ministry of the novices, and because he had the hope of helping the wretched. And indeed, although he was pressed by the hardships of advanced age and impaired health, he omitted no day without climbing the ridges of the rough mountain and visiting the scattered houses with the greatest fatigue, passing over no sick person. Having given them a little courage, he discoursed on the means of eternal salvation, sighs and weeping interrupting his voice. When he saw the sick moved by these things, thinking no more of the health of the body, he gave himself wholly to the cure of the soul, not desisting from what he had begun before he saw that it had returned into favour with God. At last he applied to them a drop of oil from the lamp of St. Anthony (he always carried a little vessel of this oil about with him); by which heavenly remedy he brought many back to health, not without a prodigy. Nowhere did he appear more ready for heavenly things. More often than ever his face was kindled and his spirit rapt; more brilliant rays proceeded from his forehead; more copious sweat flowed from his limbs, even in winter; the movements and shakings of his body were more out of the ordinary; and his contemplation was as it were perpetual. "Since I lived a long time with the servant of God in the Neapolitan convent of St. Anthony," — so one of his colleagues testified before the apostolic investigators, — "I often saw him for whole hours kneeling before the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar, wholly motionless, although all around there was noise and a crowd of people; changing neither his place nor the composure of his body, above all before and after the sacrifice of the Mass. And then I and others present judged, and now I judge, that he was carried away in ecstasy and estranged from the senses."
[95] He is moved to tears by a conversation about the church of Assisi. Before, he was sparing of words; now he spoke more willingly, more securely and freely, but always about God, and with the keenest words. Which discourses were often mixed with or interrupted by tears and lamentation. An example was related by Nicola Sirleti, a priest of the order of Conventuals, who had also been a great part of it. For Sirleti himself, having venerated the memory of St. Francis at Assisi, had scarcely returned to his convent of St. Anthony, or of the Holy Spirit, at Naples, when behold, the servant of God is there; and, greetings having been given and returned, he asks him with incredible eagerness about the several parts of the sanctuary, its structure, arrangements and manner. But, having heard a few things, he changes colour, is kindled and dissolves into vehement lamentation. By which the narrator's voice is obscured and his mind softened; so that he too began to pour out tears, and could not continue his discourse.
[96] He shines with charity towards the poor and with obedience. When it had become known to the people of Ischia that the blessed man was again living at Naples, many of his former disciples came to him: among these are reckoned Maria Angela of the Cross and the canon Michele Garofalo. When the servant of God once went into the city with the latter, he came upon a beggar, who, passing over the religious, asked alms of the canon. Michele, wholly intent on the conversation, without design, but with some slight movement of impatience, drove the poor man away. The blessed man felt this no less than a wound inflicted on his breast. He first was silent, then grew pale and trembled, and at last swelled up in the belly; so that he seemed about to breathe out his soul. Noticing this, the canon called back the beggar and dismissed him with a gift. "At once, however," these are Garofalo's words, "the swelling went away, serenity returned, and we continued our conversation with his usual tranquillity and cheerful face. So much was whatever was opposed to charity a horror to him." Similarly he shone to the end of his life with simple and blind obedience. Bonaventura de Marinis, guardian of the convent of the Holy Spirit, had once taken him with him as companion; a friend, meeting him in the market of the Castello, drew him aside to tell him something in secret. The guardian told his companion to stand in this place; that he would soon return. But he let himself be carried away by the importance or the pleasure of the conversation, wholly forgetting the blessed man. Nor did he remember him at home before the darkness of night. Then, asking about him, he understood that he had not yet returned, although rain had fallen copiously. He ordered a search to be made where he had commanded him to stand. He was easily found, wholly drenched; and indeed, while the rain was pouring down, he had not moved from the place, although a shelter was four paces away a.
[97] By a fever he is compelled to reveal to his superiors the gangrene of his knee; But what is mostly much more difficult, he let his penitential works be bound by the law of obedience. But when he set a measure to these, God applied a substitute hand and afflicted him with so many evils, pains and wounds that his colleagues feared, however great his constancy, lest death should follow. The long-standing tumour of his left knee had passed into gangrene b, and there was danger that the swollen leg and thigh would be vitiated by the same. But he, concealing the pain and discomfort, continued his customary labours; nor did he reveal his sickness before, falling into fever from the inflamed wound, he was compelled to lie in bed c. Then at last he handed over his body, covered with wounds, to the physicians to be cared for, not without a jest; rejoicing that God allowed him to suffer. When, moreover, the pains were most bitter, then he was heard exclaiming with joy: "Behold, does my God now truly wish me well? Ever be praises, blessing and thanksgiving to my God!"
[98] with incredible constancy he endures surgical cutting and cauterizing; All, however, seemed to be imperilled in Bl. Bonaventure, and thought that nothing was to be omitted by which help might be brought to the servant of God. The best surgeons of Naples, therefore, were summoned. But with these the marquis Francesco Navarretta, royal councillor, was not content, who, having cast off all temporal cares, was living in the convent of the Holy Spirit, so as to be more easily directed by the blessed man. He sent, therefore, to Giugliano, to summon from there Francesco Buglione, the best surgeon of the whole region. Buglione hastened there and held a consultation with his Neapolitan colleagues. The fever, gangrene and erysipelas seemed so grave that by common consent they pronounced that death was near, unless a miracle intervened; that fire and iron, however, could be applied as a last hope. At which news all were moved to tears; but the servant of God was not at all disturbed. While, therefore, some bare his knee, thigh and leg, others heat in the fire a broad plate and two iron rods, and Buglione makes ready the instruments with which
he might pluck rather than cut the flesh. It seemed that the body ought to be held, lest he should move during the cutting and the danger be increased. But the servant of God, placed in the middle, surpassed all in constancy and advised that it was not necessary that he be held; that he was strong enough: and in fact he admitted no one's help. He shrank much more from baring his body; but he obeyed the commands, yet so that he uncovered only that part which had to be seen and touched. Into the knee, swollen with gangrene, Buglione put the forceps, and applied the red-hot plate to the opened wound. Then with a razor he cut the thigh down to the quick in three places, and to each cut he applied the fiery iron. Meanwhile another surgeon was tormenting the shin, applying the knife and the fiery rods in turn. The witnesses of this butchery, as they themselves afterwards declared before the apostolic investigators, were overspread with pallor and horror; but the servant of God himself, whom you would have called a martyr, moved neither foot, nor hand, nor any part of his body, like a marble statue or rather a man contemplating divine things. For he kept his open eyes continually fixed on heaven, repeatedly saying: "Mary, Mary, Mary!" To whose help one of the very many witnesses attributed such great constancy.
[99] he is wonderfully exact in his words; The care of his body the servant of God then left wholly to the physicians and his superiors. He was ordered to lie in bed; but, unaccustomed to this comfort, he was first found not covered, but wrapped, beyond decency, in a heap of rags collected long before about the house; so that another religious had to cover him with his own coverlet. He also abstained from all sacred ministry; but for a short time, since soon enough strength returned, not so that health seemed restored, but so that rest was taken away from active charity. Then he was more anxious about his words than ever. To the physician Bartolomeo Persico, who asked him, he had answered that he was somewhat better, but could not yet climb stairs. But these things seemed to him not accurately said; having called back the physician, therefore: "See," he said, "I said that I could not climb stairs; but this is not absolutely true; I meant to say that I could climb them only with the greatest difficulty." At another time he had promised the surgeon Sebastiano de Alteriis, who asked him, that, mindful of the benefit received, he would pray God for him until the end of his life; but shortly the thought came to him that impediments might occur. He added, therefore: "See, I promise that I will pray for you, but only when I can. Are you content?" "Entirely," answered the surgeon, unaccustomed to such care in words.
[100] [he begins to esteem less the voluntary torments of the body, to which, however, he soon returns;] He also began then to think otherwise about the voluntary torments which he had learned from his master Domenico da Muro, by which he had afflicted his body beyond measure all the time of his life and which had without doubt been the cause of the gangrene and of twelve other diseases which he was experiencing. To someone, therefore, who mentioned corporal penances, he answered: "I do not do little if I take care of this sick one" (he pointed to his body). Moreover he taught one of his colleagues these precepts about severity of life and perfection: "Take care that you mortify your passions; for in this thing consists true perfection, not in scourgings, in fasts and other afflictions of the body; which are of slight importance. For my part, in my youth I used this kind of penances much; but in the course of the years I came to know that the chastisement of the body is certainly useful to spiritual progress, but that genuine holiness is the daughter of perfect dominion over the passions." Nevertheless, although he thought thus, as soon as it was permitted he returned to his former custom of afflicting the body; so much so that the change could hardly be detected. He went on keeping novenas and vigils, on which he fasted on bread and water; every week he gave three days, as formerly, to fasts; he spent almost whole nights and part of the days in prayer, which seemed even more continual as death approached. Nothing was intermitted of his kneelings, although the wounds of the knee, thigh and shin, soon changed into cavernous and incurable fistulas, counselled otherwise. At fixed hours he scourged his body, as before, until blood came. The very rough hair shirt he laid down only with his life. And so he changed scarcely anything in his penitential practices.
[101] he reluctantly lets himself be seen by a kinsman. Meanwhile there came to Naples by a long journey one of his kinsmen and for three days tried to approach him; but in vain. For the more the blessed man lived for God alone, the more he shrank from all intercourse that rested on flesh and blood. The stranger therefore asked the superior to interpose his authority. Ordered, therefore, to present himself to his relative, the man of God went to the door of the convent: where, with eyes turned to the ground and arms folded, he let himself be seen; but he answered the questions only in a few obscure words, and after a short delay left the newcomer, more confused with shame than content with his fortune. But the blessed man himself also had to depart from there a little later.
ANNOTATA.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
The restoration of the convent of Ravello. The mission of Bl. Bonaventure. The office of guardian offered in vain. A rapture. A prophecy. The sacred ministry. Insults from a superior. Desertion by his companions. Extreme penury.
[At Ravello on the Amalfi coast, where there were innumerable sacred buildings, the monastery of the Conventuals had been suppressed by the constitution of Innocent X;] More than twenty miles in a straight line from Naples, looking towards the east, lies Ravello, also Rebellum and Rabellum, a city set in the mountains of the Amalfi coast *, fifteen miles distant from Salerno by the sea route, seven leagues by land, two from Amalfi. About its antiquity controversies once raged, as about the beginnings of most towns of Italy; but in the 11th century it had already been founded and had its own bishop. They will have it that at one time thirty-six thousand men lived there; which no one of sound mind would believe. At the beginning of the 16th century 180 hearths were counted; which number somewhat increased and decreased, so that in the year 1669 there were only 69, and so about 300 men. At the beginning of this century, moreover, scarcely 1500, and twenty years later nearly 1200. But if inhabitants were lacking, so many the more sacred buildings were present: once there were said to have been a hundred and four; in the year 1724, a little after the death of Bl. Bonaventure, fifty-two, of which thirteen parochial and four monastic; so that in the times to which we have come there was almost one sacred building for each family. What, moreover, would you expect from such a state of things, except an idleness that counsels evil in priests and monks, the abasement of the clerical state, the neglect of the fields and of industry and a slow and incurable exhaustion and want of the people? To bring some remedy to these evils, the Council of Trent had long since provided that no one should be ordained "who in the judgement of his bishop is not useful or necessary to his churches;" the Roman pontiffs had passed many laws by which a measure might be set to the building of convents or churches, above all lest any should be built that were of little use or burdensome to the peoples; in a word, many things had been wisely established against an excessive number of sacred buildings and ecclesiastical men. But through the negligence of men or a less wise piety it had come about that the fruit expected from this was not gathered. Wherefore Pope Innocent X in the year 1652 ordered that all the smaller convents, in which the fewness of the inhabitants did not allow regular discipline to be kept, should be suppressed. Many outcries at once arose against the constitution Instaurandae, above all against its author, the most celebrated jurist Fagnani, whom they called the mortal enemy of the Friars, but who seems to have provided excellently for the church. In very truth Olimpia Maidalchini Pamphili, the sister-in-law of Innocent X, is related to have taken occasion of gain from this decree; but the misdeeds of this harpy, from which nothing remained whole, cannot bring it about that the Innocentian law is not excellent.
[103] when it seemed to the bishop Perimezzi that this monastery should be restored, Since, therefore, at Ravello the convents of the Augustinians and of the Conventuals lacked the necessary number of brethren, both were suppressed. But although Ravello abounded in parish priests (they were thirteen in number) and although there were canons and other clerics with the bishop, yet since there were no Friars to whom, according to the customs of the region, the inhabitants might confess their sins, the town laboured under a spiritual penury. Wherefore Giuseppe Maria Perimezzi, of the order of Minims of St. Francis of Paola, raised to the government of the churches of Ravello and Scala (for they had long since been united, since both were wonderfully small), and commended by his learning in letters and his uprightness of morals, spared no effort that the Conventuals should be brought back by right of postliminium to their former convent. Over the Neapolitan province of the Conventuals there was then presiding, for no long time, Bonaventura Cennamo, that very young man to whom the blessed man had once foretold, as we have narrated in its place, that he would one day be a master and more than a master; and, being master, that he would discharge the office of provincial: all of which had been fulfilled. It remained that the Conventuals should be restored at Ravello, so that Bl. Bonaventure might obtain a tomb there, as the Venerable Servant of God Domenico da Muro had forewarned him thirty years before. Nor was faith lacking to this prophecy. For Cennamo assented to the requests of the bishop and of the people of Ravello, and, so that the beginnings might be the holier, resolved to destine Bl. Bonaventure for it. Which plan was approved by the commissary general, who was then staying at Naples in the convent of St. Lawrence Major.
[104] [Bl. Bonaventure is sent there, who then suffers a rapture and begs off the office of guardian:] Having summoned the servant of God to him, therefore, the commissary said: "A convent is to be founded by us at Ravello, since we are asked by the bishop and the people; and it is certain to me that I destine you there." Scarcely had he heard these words when, mindful that he was to die at Ravello, as he had heard from his master and had himself very often declared at Ischia, Nocera and Naples, the blessed man's face blazed up, and falling on his knees and with his arms stretched out in the form of a cross, as though beside himself, he exclaimed: "I go, father commissary, I go; and if that convent is not to turn out to the glory of God and the honour of the order, I pray God to snatch my life from me before I come there." While he was saying this, he was rapt in spirit and, without changing the composure of his body and the posture of one kneeling, he was lifted into the air, hanging a third part of a palm above the ground. Having seen this miracle, the superior ordered him in virtue of holy obedience to return to his senses and to the ground and to stand on his feet. Which was done on the spot, the ardour of his face vanishing. Then the superior, dissembling the miracle, said: "I should wish you to go to Ravello with the title of founder and superior of the new family, so that you may better establish regular observance there and procure the good of your neighbour and the glory of God." At these words
the servant of God grew pale, and trembling in his whole body poured out tears and broke forth into these words: "Suppliantly I pray you not to do this; believe me, I am unfit to govern others. God grant that I may be able to govern myself;" and he went into more abundant tears. The superior could not resist, and, having changed his mind, sent him without any authority.
[105] [Before his departure he foretells to the prince of Sirignano that by the votes of the nobles he will be a royal councillor: which happens beyond all hope.] Before he departed from Naples, he went to bid farewell to Giuseppe di Gennaro, prince of Sirignano, of most noble blood but shipwrecked in his patrimony. What then took place must be taken from the mouth of the prince himself. "There had been conferred on me the office of governor in a province; but both the old age of my parents and other just causes did not allow me to accept it. I was wishing, therefore, for another post with which to support my family; for by the calamity of the times the revenues of my house had been cut down. I set out my necessity to the servant of God; who, being asked, undertook to pray God for me. When, moreover, in the year 1710, when before the journey to Ravello he came to greet me for the last time, nothing had yet fallen to me, I complained that he was going away, nothing having been done for my advantage. But he said to me apart, with kindled face: 'I have done it, I have done it,' and then: 'What perpetual office could you have in this city?' I answered: 'I could have had that of curator of the public health; but this is not public.' Then the servant of God: 'But what office could you have in the council a?' To which I: 'The city does not confer offices in the S. R. council; nor can I be a councillor, since I am neither a doctor nor learned.' But he: 'This I know, and I know nothing else except that you will have a perpetual office in the S. R. council, with an annual salary of a thousand and even two thousand ducats b.' Since in this speech I suspected nothing that was not human, I shared it with no one except my wife Alessandra Minutolo Casarelli. Nor did I know that there was in the S. R. council a patrician office which was called that of the primary royal council and was conferred by the city by the votes of all the orders of nobles. That I should even think of this was prevented by the flourishing health of the duke of Spezzano, whom Ferdinando Sanfelice seemed likely to succeed. But two years later the duke of Spezzano, having fallen from a building, died. The duke of Marigliano urged me to seek the vacant office; but lest I suffer an unbecoming refusal, I did not wish to expose myself to the danger, and left all care of this matter to him. And indeed, since all the nobles seemed to be voting for others, so many obstacles arose on every side that I lost heart altogether. Then my wife recalled to my memory the words of the servant of God; by which, as though prophetic, I was strengthened in mind and allowed the canvassing and contests to be continued. Yet everything was adverse: for the whole nobility, indeed my own kinsmen and friends and Cardinal Pignatelli, favoured other candidates. Nevertheless so many and so various things intervened that, minds having been changed, the office was conferred on me: so that I do not doubt that it is a miracle. For all the parts of the prediction were fulfilled. Against all human expectation, namely, I obtained the perpetual office of the primary S. R. council; which is the only office in the S. R. council conferred by the city by the secret votes of all the orders of nobles. In the first year I received a salary of a thousand ducats, in the second about two thousand. All of which I attribute to the most powerful intercession of the servant of God; who obtained, when dead but reigning in heaven, what he had promised me while living."
[106] [Received festively at Ravello, he becomes confessor of the bishops of Ravello and Minori, and of the monasteries of St. Clare and St. Cataldus, and exercises the sacred ministry along the whole Amalfi coast.] After the servant of God, therefore, had bidden farewell to the prince of Sirignano and other friends, on the 4th day of January of the year 1710 he set out for Ravello with the guardian Father Domenico Vessicchio and other brethren, where they were festively received and restored to their ancient seat. This was held among them in singular honour, since St. Bonaventure the cardinal was said to have lived there, and St. Francis of Paola to have rested there, a little hill rising up prodigiously for his greater convenience: in memory of which thing a little chapel had been built. The arrival of the servant of God pleased Perimezzi very much; from the first days he told him that he committed his whole flock to his care; he then set him over the spiritual government of two monasteries of noble virgins, St. Cataldus and St. Clare c, and finally entrusted his own soul to him until death. When Francesco Morgione d, bishop of Minori, formerly prelate of the see of Ruvo, understood this, he also chose him as his confessor and the arbiter of his conscience. (For Reginna Minor is only a mile distant from Ravello, set on the sea-shore, having at that time not many more than eighty hearths, but three parish churches and very many others; among which the cathedral, served by fifteen canons and six hebdomadaries.) In these, however, the servant of God did not confine his zeal; he was wholly devoted to the salvation of souls, nor did he suffer his help to be missed by anyone. The whole Amalfi coast, which seemed to consist of little episcopal cities, saw him labouring, and so Scala, Amalfi, Atrani, Reginna Minor, Reginnella Major * and other places were very often wet with his sweat. Wherever he was called he went, never hindered by any difficulty or distance of places and always ready to preach the word of God, to hear confessions and to help the wretched, the dying and sinners, miracles also being performed.
[107] Wonderful obedience; Truly wonderful was his tireless labour, which the infirmity of his body, arising from so many diseases and torments, could never check, nor the roughness of the mountains, which in this region is extreme, nor the force of rain and wind, which in these more elevated places rages most unseasonably. Obedience alone could stop him. And indeed when once he was on the point of going out with the guardian, the latter, because he preferred to go out alone, said to him: "Wait here." As was his custom, the servant of God did not move from the spot any further. Meanwhile there came from Atrani e by a most difficult path a woman to confess her sins; but he refused to approach, having been ordered to stand there. And so he stood there motionless for four hours, preferring the law of obedience to charity. Behold another specimen of obedience: the house was full of mice; against which plague the guardian had procured a cat and, when he was called elsewhere, had entrusted it to the servant of God, saying: "Watch this cat until I return." When, however, the beast saw itself in the dormitory, an unknown place, it tried to hide itself. But the servant of God, ordered to watch it, followed it; so that it was a spectacle no less pitiable than ridiculous to see the servant of God watching a fleeing cat. Four hours later, namely when the superior returned, the man of God was found opposite the animal, coaxing it.
[108] patience and reverence towards an insulting superior. The daily injuries and ill-treatment which he experienced there brought no detriment to his zeal for obeying and his reverence towards his superior. The guardian, namely, a young man, imprudent, inexperienced, of intemperate tongue, irascible and violent, persecuted him with constant reproaches f. Once in a circle of several he called him a drunkard and a glutton, and struck his breast with a violent blow, because, tired and sweating from a most difficult journey, he had asked for a cup of wine. Often also at the time of the midday meal he ordered a man notable for years, holiness and common veneration to kneel and scourge himself publicly. Which cruelty was disapproved by all except the servant of God; who, always master of himself, accused himself and his own doings, corrected those who reprehended the superior and attended the guardian with due reverence. Sometimes, however, as he himself disclosed to his confessor, he felt his breast swelling, as if a bursting of the veins were imminent. When he saw himself in near danger of anger, he said to himself: "Burst, die; but do not answer."
[109] [Left with a lay brother alone, he goes daily to Amalfi to his confessor; he obeys the lay brother and lives in the greatest penury:] Nor was his patience exercised by this one harshness of the superior. The convent, deserted for so many years, lay open to rain and winds, falling into ruin; the revenues were most scanty, since in the absence of the fathers part of the property had been dissipated, part had come into others' hands, and scarcely anything could be recovered without a lawsuit; Perimezzi supplied some help, but not enough, and so in a very poor region they had to live by begging. Comfortable furnishings were absent from the cells; in the church and at the altars there was scarcely anything decent. Not bearing so great a penury, the guardian and the other brethren slipped away one after another as winter approached g; but the servant of God, out of charity to his neighbour and love of poverty, did not move his foot from there, and persuaded the lay brother to remain too. Having, therefore, no priest with him, and yet wishing to cleanse his conscience sacramentally every day before Mass, for some time every day at earliest morning he went by a mountainous road to Amalfi and from there returned to Ravello, so that he might celebrate more purely. But afterwards, when a younger Conventual priest from another province had come to Amalfi, he induced him by blandishments and inducements to live with him at Ravello. At first he obeyed the lay brother as superior, afterwards the young priest. As long as he was with the lay brother alone, he entered neither the kitchen nor any other place without first asking leave at the door. Once, at the beginning of winter, trembling with cold, he asked leave to enter the kitchen; but he found the hearth extinguished: which the brother said could not be lit again for lack of wood. The servant of God therefore went out and sought a less exposed part of the convent; but no place was free from the wind. Ottavio Deliani, a painter and the blessed man's spiritual son, therefore found him frozen in a corner. When he wondered that in so great a cold he was not standing by the fire, he answered with wonderful gentleness and simplicity: "The lay brother told me the fire was not to be lit; for it is necessary that wood be spared." But this penury was universal; yet he poured out no complaints about it; if Perimezzi asked him whether anything was lacking, he used to answer that nothing necessary was lacking, and that there was more in the convent than he deserved. Nor did the commissary general learn anything of this want, except late and from outsiders.
[110] [Bl. Bonaventure himself increases the penury by the bestowal of alms, consoling his companions with talks on abstinence, or placating them otherwise.] The servant of God himself increased the want. For since the poor knew that he was alone at home, they came to the door of the convent, and, their signal having been heard, the blessed man went to the slender larder and brought them something with which to relieve their hunger. His companions bore this in silence for some time, but at length the lay brother began to complain. Since the merciful father was not moved by these complaints and went on distributing necessities among the beggars, the brother gradually broke out into quarrels, anger and reproaches; which the man of God received with a gentle and smiling face, answering in these or similar words: "But what is to be done, when the poor
are many and are dying of hunger?" To which the brother: "And shall we not meanwhile also die of hunger?" But he: "God will provide for us." Frequent were these disputes between the patient priest and the impatient lay brother. The latter was very often compelled to go out again to collect alms, and God was sometimes present with miracles, but sometimes a fast had to be borne by the unwilling. They were once sitting at table (the servant of God then had two other priests with him), and the lay brother could bring neither bread nor other food, since he had noticed the want too late. The preposterous charity of the servant of God displeased all; who with wonderful tranquillity of mind and with most sweet face and words began to speak of the fruits of abstinence. Which discourse, at first little welcome, gradually so soothed them that no one complained any more of the enforced fast. And in this way he very often settled complaints about his unseasonable largesse. On another day the lay brother had collected a great quantity of bread by begging; but in the evening he found the larder empty. With flaming eyes, therefore, he went to the servant of God: "What," he said, "have you done with all this bread?" He answered peaceably: "I gave it to the poor, who came this morning in great number; and on that account I was fasting this morning." Then the other: "You speak of the morning time, I of the evening. What shall we do?" To which the blessed man, smiling: "We shall be able to eat grass." The lay brother could not hear this without agitation of mind, and, although it was growing dark, he went out again to beg. At another time, all the food having been distributed among the poor, he calmed his companion priest with a scrap of bread, and the lay brother with one ship's loaf, or biscuit *, himself content with wild herbs.
[111] He omits no arts by which to feed the poor: his reverence towards them. But often he passed the days fasting. For on certain fast days of his own he asked the lay brother for the portion of bread destined for him at table, and gave it to the poor, eating herbs, beans or other legumes; and if these were lacking, he went without all food. And so he lacked nothing, as he said to Perimezzi, and took care of his infirm body, as he told his clients. If the lay brother was at home, he gave nothing without his leave; but when he knew the poor were there, he called the lay brother until he came: and then he begged and adjured him in the name of the poor of Jesus Christ to grant an alms: ending his tearful plea with almost these words: "The poor little ones have nothing to live on. What if they die of hunger!" The blessed man was happy beyond measure if the lay brother easily consented; but if not, he pressed with such fervour and used such blandishments that he softened him at last. To make the lay brother more liberal and more reverent towards the poor, who represent the person of Christ, he took care to be present when he distributed alms, first kneeling before the beggar and kissing the gift. Which form the lay brother also had to keep when the servant of God was absent.
[112] Likewise his charity towards a leper and towards insulting men. But much more admirable is the following example. As Bl. Bonaventure was going from Ravello to Atrani with the lay brother, a beggar met him whose face had been eaten away by leprosy. Seized with horror, the blessed man turned away, yet asking his companion to give an alms to the needy man; but soon judging that he had sinned against charity, he retraced his steps at a run, clasped the leper in his arms, and licked his sores with his tongue. Asked then by his companion why he had licked the putrefaction of his face, he answered: "On account of my weak flesh I seemed to myself to have fled from this poor man who met me; when yet it may be that he is a saint." Having said this, he chastised himself again, biting his hand with his teeth. His charity put on another form in what follows. Asked by a secular ecclesiastic to bring back peace between brothers by interposing his help, he was received by the same man in the public street with most unworthy gibes; which he heard as gladly as others hear praises, and on bended knees gave thanks to the angry man. He acted similarly with a young nobleman, a libertine: who, when he felt himself hindered in his furtive amours by the blessed man's ministry, conceived anger and revenge in his mind; which, when he once met him, he vomited forth in fury: but he, as soon as he heard the first reproaches, fell on his knees and heard the scoundrel in silence until he gave out from fatigue. Then with a most calm face and voice he said only these words: "What evil have I done?" By which the other was not indeed softened, but he abstained from violence and turned his back, saying: "Go and be hanged." When he had risen from the ground, his companion asked him what was the cause of the young man's enmity; but the servant of God would not disclose his disgrace, holding it enough to answer: "God knows."
ANNOTATA.
* Costa d'Amalfi Amalfi Coast.
* Majore Major.
* biscotto biscuit
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
Miracles and prophecies of Bl. Bonaventure at Ravello.
Bl. Bonaventure. God sometimes aided his charity with the gift of miracles. Giuseppe Manso of Ravello, bent by an injury of the lumbar vertebrae and hindered from walking, was brought to the convent somehow by the arms of his son and the help of two sticks. The blessed man sent the son away; who, foreseeing a prodigy, hid himself in a corner. The surgeon Giuseppe d'Ippolito came up; who also withdrew. Both, therefore, saw the servant of God approaching the sick man and heard him saying: "My Giuseppe, how are you? How do you feel?" But he, sighing from the bottom of his breast, answered: "Ah, Father, I am dying." To which the blessed man: "Do not doubt, take courage; for by the omnipotence of God you can be healed. Have you trust in God?" And when the sick man had affirmed it: "Kneel down, then," he said: and holding him up with his arms, he helped him. Then, to make his faith livelier, he ordered him to recite the Apostles' Creed and the Lord's Prayer. But meanwhile, raising a shout, the man leaps up; he had, namely, recovered health and strength. Then, filled with consolation: "Father," he said, "what is this? You have restored me to health." But the servant of God: "Not I, not I," he answered in a humble voice, "have restored you to health, my son; but God, infinitely merciful and powerful. Be grateful, then, towards Him; and be silent." Having said this, he shut himself up in his cell; from which he did not come out for the rest of the day.
[114] God aids him with the gift of miracles. Behold another example: Antonia di Palma was labouring with a slow and subtle fever and, already afflicted for five months with water under the skin of her feet, had been abandoned by the physicians, as being sick with an incurable dropsy. Despaired of, therefore, by mortals, she resolved to take refuge with those above, and by an inner and unknown impulse had herself brought to the altar of St. Anthony of Padua; where before the image of the wonder-worker she complained of her ills with tears. Roused by her lament, blessed Bonaventure asked her what was the cause of her grief or what she wanted. The woman declared her infirmity and commended herself to his prayers. Then he: "Be of good heart, daughter; for the saint will grant you this grace." Then, bending down, he lightly touched one foot, and left her full of hope, going to celebrate Mass. The woman piously assisted at the Mass; and indeed at the end of the sacrifice the swelling of both feet and the fever had vanished. Afterwards she lived on for a long time in firm health. Similarly by a light touch of the head he freed from a most grave ailment Catherine Christina, paralysed by apoplexy and near to death. The nobleman Giuseppe Confalone, tried for three years by most dire pains of the stomach, he anointed in vain with oil from the lamp of St. Anthony; but the next day, when water had washed off the oil, he suddenly brought him to health. A woman suffering most acutely first in the head, then in one shoulder-blade and at last in the other shoulder-blade, he so cured by the imposition of hands that he seemed to pursue the fleeing evil.
[115] By the prophetic spirit he corrects his brother and an uncouth young man; The prophetic spirit had also followed the servant of God to Ravello, as will be manifest from the following examples. He had a younger brother, named Giuseppe, enrolled among the Conventual lay brothers of Potenza, more fond of jests than of religious severity; for which thing the blessed man had very often rebuked him in vain, either by written letters or by the help of others. When, moreover, the sky was once roaring with thunder, the lay brother climbed the tower to ring the bell according to custom; but a falling thunderbolt burned his cap, the middle of his clothes and the middle of his body, and threw the wretched man headlong, so that all believed him dead: but by a prodigy he was found unhurt. And indeed four days later he received from his brother, who very rarely
gave letters and was four days' journey distant, a note inscribed with these words: "Brother, let the mishap you have experienced make you more diligent. The thunderbolt had come for your death; but the merciful God, through the intercession of your patron, grants you a new space both of life and of penance. Give thanks, therefore, to God for this great benefit, and show your grateful mind henceforth by works." From which it seems that Bl. Bonaventure knew of his brother's danger by divine indication and averted it by his prayers. From this time Giuseppe became another man; who, long surviving his brother, met a most holy death. Giovanni Manso, a poor and simple young man, he wholly corrected by the prophetic spirit. For, as he himself testified before the apostolic investigators, the servant of God often called him aside, and then, having ordered him to fold his arms, said: "You did this or that other thing, or thought it, in this or that place;" distinguishing each thing accurately. "Wherefore," Manso goes on, "I carefully abstained from every imperfection, knowing that the servant of God would know it by the divine light and would reprove me." Of which thing this is a singular specimen. Giovanni, sent to Atrani, had forgotten the blessed man's commission, remembering it only on the way back. On his return the young man said before many to the servant of God that he had sought it at Atrani in vain. Bl. Bonaventure dissembled the lie; but when the companions had gone away, he took Giovanni aside and gently accosted him with these words: "A fine lie! You said that you could not find at Atrani what you were seeking: this is not true. You sought nothing; you had forgotten; and you remembered only before the church of St. Mary de Castellione. Take care that you do not lie again. For the mouth that lies kills the soul (Wisdom I, 11)."
[116] likewise two men prepared to take cruel revenge; Ottavio Deliani, the painter of Amalfi already mentioned, was staying in the convent of Ravello on account of the work assigned to him, but spent the feast days at home. When, therefore, he had once returned to Ravello on a Monday, the servant of God came to him and said: "Ottavio, you are not the same man who went away yesterday." He denied it. Then the blessed man: "Why do you deny it? For I know that yesterday evening you quarrelled violently with your kinsman, by whom you have been gravely offended; by whom you would have been killed had you not been on your guard." Ottavio shuddered at these words, because outside the house no one had understood anything of these things. But the servant of God went on: "I know moreover," he said, "that this morning, when you were coming from Amalfi to Ravello, you thought of means of revenge and resolved on his death." When Ottavio heard these things, known only to God and himself, he more easily let himself be bent to grant pardon from his heart. Giuseppe Manso a, perhaps the brother of that Giovanni, angry with Carmelo di Amato, had deliberated with himself to put him to death, and so at night was waiting for his enemy on the lonely road delli Magroni. Meanwhile Carmelo was with the Conventuals; but at the second hour he went out, suspecting nothing. The servant of God knew the danger by divine power; at once he leapt out of his cell, went down the stairs, and ran after Carmelo. When he had overtaken him: "My son," he said, "when you now return home, avoid the usual road delli Magroni, and take another." He added nothing further. Carmelo obeyed the warning and went home by a roundabout way. In vain, therefore, Manso waited for him the whole night, who returned to his people only when the sky grew white. But after sunrise he was summoned by Bl. Bonaventure through a messenger. He went, not knowing what the blessed man wanted of him. When he saw him, he took him aside and said: "Giuseppe, what did you think of doing this night?" The wretch grew pale at these words, and answered that he had thought of doing nothing. Then the servant of God: "How do you affirm that you thought of doing nothing? Did you not yesterday evening grasp a dagger? Did you not this night wait on the road delli Magroni for Carmelo, to kill him?" He then moved him with such powerful words that he brought him to renew friendship with Carmelo: and they thereafter lived the whole time of their lives in the greatest peace and concord.
[117] by prophecies he forewarns some women of the future; Antonia di Palma, whom I mentioned a little above, was once complaining to Bl. Bonaventure about her numerous offspring, which poverty allowed to be fed only with difficulty. The blessed man rebuked her for complaining of God's gifts; but then he exhorted her to patience, and added gladly: "Rejoice, since on a certain Sunday you will bear a son, who will one day be a priest and your helper." To which words the outcome added faith. Sister Caterina Bonito, a noble nun of St. Clare, when she was once talking in the company of other sisters about the cloistral offices and showed a mind averse to them: "Nevertheless," he answered, "you will be elected abbess; you will govern the monastery for several years and will die in that very office:" And indeed two years later she was elected, and, a three-year term having been completed, by consent of the Congregation for the affairs of regulars she was confirmed in office for a new three-year term; towards the end of which she died: so that all the parts of the prophecy were fulfilled. In the same convent there was being brought up a noble girl, Anna d'Afflitto, who loathed the religious life. The nuns bore this aversion of mind with difficulty, above all her kinswomen. One of whom, sadder than the rest, when she once explained her sorrow to the servant of God, he answered in these words: "Do not doubt; I give you my word that your niece will never be a laywoman, as she seems to wish and you fear. A year from now she will of her own accord take the religious habit, and will make her novitiate and solemn profession, to the great edification of you all; and she will always live in the cloister, as befits a good nun." To all of which the outcome corresponded.
[118] likewise some men, The surgeon Giuseppe d'Ippolito, whose name often recurs, used to bring his little son with him to the servant of God; of whom he often said amid caresses: "Oh! this little boy was not made for this world; he must be an angel of paradise." And before he passed out of boyhood, he exchanged this earth for heaven. Fulvio Guerra, a young Roman and a member of the household of bishop Perimezzi, when, having left his service, he was on the point of departing from Ravello, Bl. Bonaventure came to him and said: "Make your journey with good heart; for soon you will serve another bishop, likewise a regular, of noble stock, but set over a greater diocese." In fact, having returned to Rome, the young man shortly passed into the household of Lascaris, bishop of Spoleto. Which prophecy Perimezzi disclosed before the apostolic investigators; who also testified that the servant of God had signified in express words, and those not in the least doubtful, that he would be translated from the churches of Ravello and Scala to a greater one; and that he had never afterwards weakened his words. Nor was faith lacking to this prophecy, since Perimezzi at the beginning of the year 1714 was translated to the episcopal see of Oppido in Calabria b.
[119] above all a noble young man, Emanuele d'Afflitto. In the last year of his life, of Christ 1711, on the feast day of St. Anne c, his patroness, there had come from Scala to Ravello a noble youth named Emanuele d'Afflitto. On the way he had thought of confessing his sins to the servant of God, whom he scarcely knew by face, having spent almost all his life elsewhere for the sake of studies. But remembering that he had fallen into a reserved sin (he had conversed for a long time with a girl being brought up in a convent, whom, against the will of his mother Maria del Ponte, he had resolved and was burning to take as his wife), he changed his mind. But in the evening, entering the cathedral church to venerate the miraculous blood d of St. Pantaleon, patron of Ravello, he came upon Bl. Bonaventure praying; whose hand he tried courteously and reverently to kiss. "Oh," said the servant of God, "I expected you this morning: why did you not come?" The young man understood the obscure words and answered: "I confessed my sins to the vicar e." Then he: "You did well: but is there anything you have to tell me?" The young man's wish was to tell of the promised marriage and his mother's opposition; but he was held back by a blush, and said nothing except these words: "Father, pray for me." As he was going away the servant of God took him aside and addressed him with these words: "My son, disclose to no living person what I am about to tell you. In vain you desire marriage. You will never be the husband either of that young girl or of any other woman. God created you for the priesthood." To which the young man: "O Father," he said, "do not touch on this. What you say cannot happen. That girl must become my wife. I have made a promise; which, since I am noble, I must fulfil, even if the world falls." Bl. Bonaventure replied: "Do what you will; you will nevertheless be a cleric, and you will never marry a wife. Beware, therefore, and fear lest, if you resist the will of God, you die before you have married a wife:" By these words the young man was somewhat troubled, and disclosed the blessed man's sayings to the priest Carlo Alviggi, a familiar of his house. When his mother had heard them from this man's mouth, she began to hope; except that she was frightened by the threats of death. She sent the priest, therefore, to the servant of God, to ask him that, having poured out prayers for her son, he would manifest the divine will to her more clearly. He brought back as the answer: let her not fear; it would certainly come about that Emanuele would not contract marriage; that he therefore would not be deprived of the enjoyment of life, but would give his name to the clergy. And indeed that love gradually so cooled that he wished to enter the clerical condition as soon as possible, and wearied his mother with his prayers. But she, without consulting the servant of God, would not consent; and he answered that the time had not yet come; that a new change of mind was imminent; that the reins were to be slackened; that it would nevertheless most certainly come about that he would become a priest, and that at the very time when the cathedral church would most need it. In fact, after the death of the servant of God, he cast away his new resolve and began to love another girl. The mother was not moved by this news, trusting in the blessed man's words. Not in vain. Three years after the former betrothal, with firm will he ascended to holy orders, and was advanced to the office of cantor (for the cantor then died); and when he was created priest, Antonio Sasso, capitular vicar and archdeacon of Scala, departing from life, left this place vacant for him; which archdeaconry he held long with much praise.
ANNOTATA.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
The sermon of Bl. Bonaventure on disarming the wrath of God. Raptures and elevations of his body above the ground. His last illness. His likeness.
A wonderful sermon of Bl. Bonaventure on disarming the wrath of God; Without doubt that charity of the blessed man and this knowledge of future things availed to win him public reverence. Perimezzi would not be the last in venerating him; who once threw himself at his feet to kiss them. But the man of God resisted, and did not consent until he himself had first fixed kisses on the bishop's feet. If, moreover, any matter of greater moment was to be carried out either in the church or in the diocese, the good prelate employed him as counsellor and apostle: so that Bl. Bonaventure was as it were the eye and guardian of his vineyard, and, if public or private calamities fell upon them, the refuge and solace of the wretched. Of which thing behold an example. Vesuvius had vomited forth fiery ashes, ruining the region all around and the Amalfi promontory itself. So that the wrath of God and the eruption of the sulphurous mountain might cease, the prelate of Ravello asked the man of God to speak to the people on disarming the divine vengeance. The blessed father was obedient to the request; and he had already bent the minds of his hearers to penance, when, after the example of St. Francis of Assisi, he besought the people to rage against him as the cause of all the evil; and prostrate on the ground and creeping swiftly along the earth, he ordered the nearest religious to help him with a rope, which he had put to his neck, in dragging the limbs of his body along the ground. Which would in fact have been done had not the cries of the people and the bishop's prohibition stood in the way. For the rest, the honour of God kindled his mind. When he was once in the church, he heard a proud and violent man outside bursting out into blasphemies. At once inflamed with zeal, he ran out without fear to the madman and rebuked him with such force of words that he who reverenced no one revered him, and, pale and trembling, fell at the feet of the servant of God, humbly asking pardon.
[121] [in the last times of his life, above all at the time of Mass, he suffers raptures and is very often raised above the ground] The nearer he was to death, the more grew his zeal for contemplation and the frequency of his raptures. In this solitude of the convent the cell which he had chosen for himself pleased him singularly. For it was the old choir of the religious, from which through a little window there was a view to the altar. Here in the deepest silence (for for a great part of the time he inhabited the convent almost alone, which convent was situated apart from the scattered little houses of the citizens of Ravello) he adored Christ hidden in the holy Eucharist, gazed upon Him, and attended Him with such devotion that he could only with difficulty be torn away from there. And if he had to be fetched from there, it was not enough to open the door and call him, but he had to be shaken with the hand as if out of a divine sleep; unless the poor or the dying needed his help: then he was ready to hear and to go out. Biagio d'Ippolito, the surgeon's son, preserved certain particulars in memory: "For my part," he said, standing before the apostolic investigators, "I know that the servant of God was adorned with the gift of ecstasies. For since I frequently served him at the sacrifice of the Mass, I very often saw him, when he had come to the canon of the Mass, raised in body about four fingers above the step of the altar: then his face blushed, shone and ran with sweat. The same composure of the body lasted about a quarter of an hour. Meanwhile the posture of his limbs was that which the sacred ceremonies required. These things happened to him above all on ferial days, when no one was present; and so his Mass was then longer than on feast days, when the people stood by. These ecstasies I always judged to be supernatural; and it was to me at once a terror and a joy to see him motionless like a statue and raised without breath above the ground." Lucrezia Famulare, a tertiary of the Conventuals, similarly testified that she had very often seen at Ischia (so that he had already received this gift long before his death) the servant of God, while celebrating the divine sacrifice, lifted with his feet from the ground, so that he rested only on the tips of his toes on the step of the altar; that then his face had shone; and that this elevation, which seemed to all present a divine gift and proceeding from the love of God, had sometimes lasted almost half an hour. Not otherwise Sister Giovanna Proto, likewise a tertiary, who testified that she had heard her grandmother Aurelia Marina say that she had once at the time of Mass seen the servant of God raised a palm above the step of the altar. "And I once," added Giovanna Proto, "when I was present at his Mass, saw him inflamed and as if ready to fly." Antonia Amato gave this testimony: "My mother Angela di Marino told me that one morning during the sacrifice of the Mass she had seen him with her own eyes raised with his whole body above the step of the altar." Which Lorenzo Proto, an ecclesiastic, confirmed, saying: "Angela di Marino, my grandmother, told me that the servant of God during the sacrifice of the Mass had been raised with his whole body about a palm above the step of the altar."
[122] [and by the smallest things he is carried out of himself. In many ways he foretells his approaching death.] For the rest, at that time he was rapt out of himself by the smallest thing, and not only by the majesty of the eucharistic sacrifice. For when the parish priest Francesco d'Amato offered him an apple, saying: "See how well this apple smells;" the servant of God, thinking of heavenly sweetness and fragrance, was changed in face, lost the use of his senses and remained for some time raised a palm above the ground: but when he came back to himself and descended to the ground, he ran to his cell to hide himself there, as if suffused with shame. Then also no conversations pleased him more than those about death. He was heard saying "that he wished to go away to his homeland; that he wished for a place where one lives in perfect peace and charity." Speaking, as was his custom, to the people from the left horn of the altar of St. Anthony, he said: "Where I now stand on my feet, I shall soon lie with my face and head;" which in fact came to pass. He seemed to be bidding farewell to his penitents and colleagues. In the month of May, six months before his death, he said to the superior with unusual gladness: "I see my diseases growing too much; it is necessary that I move from this place shortly. I have always desired a residence where one lives in perfect peace and charity, and where all zeal is placed in the love of God. I have not yet been able to obtain this residence; it will therefore be necessary that I set out and go to my homeland." Similar things he said to friends, colleagues and other ecclesiastics; most of whom believed that, having laid aside his old repugnance, he was thinking of Potenza. Some, therefore, asked him when he would depart; to which question he answered: "At the end of the month of October." When this answer had been spread abroad, many of those who clung to him most threatened him that they would see to it that his superiors, the people and the bishop prevented his departure. To whom he answered that there was no man or any creature, no prayers or any force, by which he could be held back; that it was necessary that he go away, nor could it be that he remain. In which speech some detected that a secret lay hidden; among whom his friend the surgeon Giuseppe d'Ippolito said: "For some time Father Bonaventure has very often spoken of going to his homeland. I understand what he means. I remember that Father Domenico da Muro, his master, when he was approaching death, many times said that he wished to go to his homeland. Afterwards it became known that he had not spoken of an earthly homeland, but of the heavenly one, to which he flew away. It seems to me, therefore, that Father Bonaventure signifies the same. He will leave us, not to go to Potenza, but to paradise." The blessed man himself was present at this conversation; who, as if he had suffered a violent convulsion of mind from this speech, trembled from head to foot, drenched with most copious sweat. It is therefore very probable that he had long since been forewarned from heaven of his approaching death.
[123] His last illness Meanwhile there came the 15th day of October, on which, as was his custom, he went to bishop Perimezzi to hear his confession. Having discharged this office: "Most Reverend Lord," he said with a sense of singular friendship, "I have something of the greatest importance to tell you; which I shall disclose to you when you no longer confess to me." The prelate, impatient of delay, ordered him to tell it to him at once. "If, then," he said, "you wish to know it, I will tell it. When I shall no longer be your confessor, take care to call another, who will deal with you with apostolic freedom." Nor did he add anything, going at once to the church of the convent; where, having occupied the confessional seat, he did not cease to give his last admonitions to his spiritual children; until, seized that morning with a most burning fever, he was compelled to lie in bed. The report of this, spread through the Amalfi promontory, roused huge emotions of mind. Then all understood of what departure, of what homeland he had been continually discoursing. There came to the convent a huge multitude, some to assist the languishing man, others to commend themselves and their house to him, others to ask him for some memento. Among these Perimezzi stood out, not allowing himself to be torn away from the sick man's bedside. Nowhere, certainly, could it be better learned how those die who loathe the world, love heaven and enjoy peace of conscience, trusting in the divine promises. On the eighth day the fever seemed malignant, with a thickening of the blood and heat of the limbs added; but the weaker the body, the stronger the spirit became through the abundance of heavenly consolations. When he was warned by the physician of his approaching death, an ineffable gladness appeared in his face. Having therefore given thanks lavishly for the news of so great a good, he asked for the last sacraments with no less fortitude than humility. Which he preceded by a public confession, by which those standing by were most vehemently moved. Pouring out tears of most sweet penitence: "I," he said with a pitiful voice, "have been a most unworthy creature, and the most shameful sinner that has existed on earth. By my sins I have been a scandal to seculars, and by my negligence of discipline and softness of life to religious. Wherefore I humbly ask pardon of God and of you." Then, turning to the superior: "I," he said, "confess to you that I am unworthy to wear the habit of the order and to be called a religious. Wherefore I ask of you that, before I die, you forgive me my sins and negligences; and allow me meanwhile to throw myself at your feet, humble and penitent." And at once he rose and stood up in the bed, to kiss the feet of the superior on the ground; and he would have got down, had not the command of the guardian been added to the efforts of those standing by, who, weeping hindering his voice, pronounced these words brokenly: "My Father Bonaventure, I command you not to move from the bed; and if you wish to kiss feet, kiss the feet of Christ in their place." He at once did as he was commanded, putting to his mouth the image which he had at his breast.
[124] and his wonderful passing. Having received the sacraments, he kept himself in deep silence, his temples encircled with a heavenly ray, as though he were already enjoying the first-fruits of paradise. Then, as if awakened from a peaceful sleep, and never turning his eyes from the image of Christ fixed to the cross, except to cast them upon the icon of the Mother of God hung opposite the bed, he began with a prodigious singing of psalms and hymns to render thanks and praises to God; and although, even youthful
in age, his voice had always been hoarse and low, and his throat had been parched by the heat of the fever, admitting no drink, for twenty-four hours (others said two days) he kept up this angelic melody in a clear and sweet tone; nor did he cease from it until one hour before his death. At last, amid the blessings of the superior, oppressed by no fatigue, no change and no agony, having three times greeted the Mother of God with the angelic words "Hail, Mary," on the 26th day of October, at the second hour of the evening a, in the year 1711, he gave back his soul to God, or was believed to have given it back b, at the age of sixty years, eight months and twenty-six days; of which he had spent forty-four years in religion, and twenty-two months, less eight days, in the convent of Ravello; where his body is preserved to this very day.
[125] His outward appearance and inward gifts. Gaetano Fumo drew his likeness, which Antonio Baldi engraved on copper, to be shown at the front of Rugilo's Life; beneath which are written these words: Vera effigie del ven. servo di Dio Pre Bonaventura da Potenza True likeness of the Venerable servant of God Father Bonaventure of Potenza. But it does not command enough faith to be reproduced here. For in it the blessed man appears above middle height, whereas it is established that he was small. Nor did Giuseppe Luigi Rossi place the same at the front of his Life of the servant of God, but another, wholly imaginary, in the Greek or classical style. Leaving those aside, therefore: his stature was below the middle, his body firm and strong, his disposition fiery by nature, but by virtue wonderfully calm. His face was easily kindled, ruddy and youthful, even in his old years; he never had the face of a penitent man, however great his voluntary torments were. He abounded in wit and charm, and was quick in action; so that without an informer no singularity of manners or virtue was noticed in him: by which it came about that, until after his death it pleased God that his holiness should be made manifest, he lay hidden in great part. He had little strength in letters, yet was not wholly without them. He knew something of the Latin language and of moral theology, but much more of mystical theology; instructed more by experience, sound judgement and the teaching of the Holy Spirit than by the precepts of men and the reading of books. He spoke little and almost only in a low and sweet voice; towards the end of his life, however, he indulged more in spiritual conversations. There shone in him above all innocence of manners, chastisement of the body and love of neighbour; with which virtues his whole life was adorned.
ANNOTATA.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
What was done during the three days before the burial of Bl. Bonaventure. Lethargy or death. His burial.
A great concourse of people and clergy to the bier of Bl. Bonaventure; The body of the deceased was cared for in the evening according to the rites of the order; round about, the office of the dead and other prayers were recited privately. Perimezzi was present, who earnestly asked for himself the small image of Christ fixed to the cross belonging to the servant of God; which cross he thereafter wore on his breast. He also ordered that, while the bells of the convent were being rung, those of Ravello and Scala should answer: by which the sad news was soon spread everywhere, so that many inhabitants of the Amalfi coast spent part of the night in the praises of the blessed man. Brother Giuseppe Lavanga, moreover, the servant of God's own brother, on hearing of his death, was affected beyond nature with incredible joy. As the sky grew white, the corpse was carried into the church with chant and lights; where from early morning it was surrounded by a multitude of people of every sex, condition and age; who had come from the neighbouring valleys and the surrounding region "to see," as they said, "the blessed one, and to commend themselves to the saint's prayers." Some admired his lovable face or the sweet fragrance of his body; others tried to kiss him or at least to touch him with a finger; others applied medals and rosaries; others, more daring, snatched a little piece of his habit. Gradually the popular devotion exceeded every measure; for there were those who plucked his beard and pulled out the hair of his head; what more? some tried to cut out pieces of flesh; and they would have done it, had not the bishop come up, and the nobility, clergy and religious thrown themselves in the way of the crowd. Then, lest a new onslaught should be made, a strong guard was set around the bier, the people crying out that they should at least not grudge them the joy of looking upon their father and apostle. Then all in order, the bishop leading, approached and kissed the feet of the deceased. Then the prelate offered the sacrifice of the Mass and the other priests after him; and so the morning time was filled. Then the prelate departed with part of the clergy and the nobility; the rest continuing the guard. At the hour of Vespers the bishop returned with his retinue; but he could scarcely get through to the choir, because almost all the people of Ravello and Scala were present. The funeral office was performed, the remaining prayers recited, holy water sprinkled and incense applied to the corpse. These things finished, talk was had of designating a special tomb on account of the fame of his holiness.
[127] [at the prayers of the people and the nuns the bishop Perimezzi postpones his burial; the body is carried through the squares and streets;] When this news began to creep among the people, who occupied the church, the forecourt, the cloisters and even the level ground under the open sky, a vehement murmur arose: that they would not have the saint and blessed one buried; that they had not yet been satisfied; that they wished to invoke and at their leisure to see their father. Meanwhile from the convents of virgins of Ravello and Scala there were also brought prayers of the nuns, asking that the body of their master be shown to them before it was laid in the earth. When Perimezzi saw this unusual devotion of all, he felt that one could depart from the common path, and ordered that the sacred remains be carried through the more convenient streets in a splendid procession. But behold, as the funeral procession was about to go out of the church, an unexpected shower and a vehement wind fell upon them. While some proposed one plan and others another, someone cried out: "Let the procession go forth, and you will see what our father Bonaventure knows how to do." The saying pleased, and the voice of all was one: "Let us go out, let us proceed." Which was done. But behold, as the leader set foot outside, the clouds became thinner, and the shower and the wind ceased. On the shoulders of the inhabitants, therefore, a double rank of clerics, nobles and others going before, the sacred corpse was borne in the presence of almost the whole people of the Amalfi promontory.
[128] [wonderful cries and movements of a noble infant; not without a prodigy the nuns see the body of their confessor;] When they came to the palace of the noble family of Confalone, a girl of two years, lying in the arms of her nurse, began to laugh, to leap up, and for joy to clap her hands; then to cry out, to call the household and to say in her mother tongue: "The little boy is passing, the little boy is passing ." When they had run up, the girl again, pointing to the body of the servant of God, said with the greatest gladness: "Behold the little boy, behold the little boy ." Nor did she cease from her festive movements until the bier, which she had followed with clapping, leaping and voice, had vanished from her eyes. Which childish testimony many believed was not foreign to a divine impulse a. Meanwhile the nuns of St. Cataldus at Scala were informed by the sound of the bells and the chants of the priests of the carrying about of the body. But that they should be visited by so great a retinue was prevented by the length of the way and the intervening valley. This one thing remained for the pious virgins, to climb the walls of the convent to view the procession from afar. They climbed them, but because of the interposition of most dense clouds they could see nothing. Extreme was the grief of the women. Then one of them: "Why do we lose heart? Shall we alone in this region be left destitute of solace? Shall we not see Father Bonaventure? Will he himself allow this to happen? By no means. We wish to see him and we shall see him. Let us arm ourselves with living faith, and on bended knees recite three Hail Marys in honour of the purity of the most blessed virgin, as he ordered us to do in every necessity b." All approved the plan, and with arms stretched out towards the part where they judged the body to be, they three times greeted the Mother of God and cried out to Father Bonaventure to reveal himself to them. At once the cloud was split into two parts, so that in the interval the bier appeared, surrounded with a shining light; which seemed to them to be so near that they discerned its form and colour, the hairs of the eyes and the hair of the head. They were astounded at the prodigy; and one of them disclosed before the apostolic investigators what were then the feelings of her mind: "For my part," she said, "when I gazed upon the divided cloud and the people advancing, I seemed to myself to see the divided waters of the Red Sea opened to the people of Israel."
[129] [before another convent of nuns the colour of his face changes; that infant of her own accord embraces the body;] The procession then went to the convent of St. Clare at Ravello, where some nuns in the lower courts, others on the upper balconies, were awaiting with anxious minds the funeral of their master. The mournful procession stopped before them a little; but behold, the face changes its white colour for red and seems more and more to revive c. Of which thing all who stood around the bier were witnesses; who were the most noble of all. The rumour of the miracle was at once spread; the crowds acclaimed most joyfully; and the virgins, having seen this testimony of their father's love, broke into tears. But they had to go on; nevertheless the redness of the face disappeared only when the funeral procession was out of the sight of the nuns. At last, amid the applause of the people, the sacred treasure was carried again into the church. When it was at the threshold, that girl of two years, whom her nurse had carried there, moved by a new spirit, begins again to leap. With eyes and mind intent on the blessed body, she tries to get to it; in vain is she held back: she twists herself with such vehemence that she slips from her nurse's arms and runs festive and eager to the bier;
where, having attentively contemplated the body, she bends her knees, prostrates herself on the ground and venerates the sacred remains with as much reverence as she can [d]. Then the priests around the body renew the funeral rites and prayers, wishing peace and eternal rest to the servant of God. Then at last the common people, satisfied with seeing and warned by the darkness of the coming night, returned each to his own home.
[130] which, carried back into the church, runs with sweat, There remained in the church all the most distinguished persons who were to be present at the burial. The left horn of the altar of St. Anthony was chosen; where, while the earth was being dug out under the direction of the vicar general Carlo Mansi, set over this work by the bishop, two of the men present, seeing the body alone and thinking it a convenient occasion, tried to carry off some relics. The one who first laid his hand on the face seemed to himself to put his hand into water. Doubting whether it had been sprinkled with holy water, he wiped his hand and spread it again over the face. When it was wet again, he said to his companion: "What is this? I find the face of Father Bonaventure moist; and I do not know whether it is water or sweat." Putting aside their plan, therefore, they found with eyes and hands that it was not water poured over it, but living sweat, welling up from the body in such quantity that the hair was wet as if washed in a fountain. They also observed the cheeks red, the rest of the face white, all the limbs warm and soft, the joints flexible and the whole body as if living or reviving e. Sure of the prodigy, they called Mansi; who, having made an examination, ordered the work to stop and all to come to the bier, crying: "The body is sweating." To which one of those standing by, more suspicious than the rest, answered: "Let us examine carefully whether it is not holy water poured over it or the condensed vapours of the misty air." By this doubt the diligence of the witnesses was roused. First the moisture of the hair, neck, face, mouth and hands of the servant of God was wiped off with a linen cloth; then, with eyes intent on the body, a quantity of new sweat was seen to flow out on every side from the rubbed body. The experiment is repeated, the head having been washed more scrupulously: the same sweat comes forth. Then the whole body is inspected, and the breast and other limbs are found warm and wet with sweat.
[131] [it is flexible, gives off odours and goes on sweating: Perimezzi judges that it is not yet to be buried.] Whether the body is flexible is then weighed; each limb is found to be capable of being bent in every direction, so that with the two arms they made the sign of the cross on the forehead and the breast. The tension of the flesh was no less certain; for, compressed and relaxed several times, it yields and springs back. It gives off moreover most pleasant and most penetrating odours; which some said were like the tuberose Indian hyacinth f, others like apoplectic balsam, a prodigy the greater because a pestilential and noxious south-east wind was blowing. Wherefore it seemed that someone should be sent to announce these things to the bishop. He was sitting in a circle of clerics and nobles talking about the events of the day; when he heard these things, he rose at once and, although it was an unseasonable hour, came with all his retinue to the church, weeping for joy. With those standing by he knelt at the bier, certain that he would see new miracles; then, having kissed the feet, and several torches having been lit, he came to the head and saw the sweat flowing from the hair over the face and chin onto the garments. He wiped it with cotton; but behold, more copious and steaming sweat breaks out. The witnesses could not see these things without tears; and all collected some of the sweat with cotton, to be kept in the place of relics. Since the prodigies did not cease, it seemed to the prelate that it did not yet please God that the body be laid in the earth. He ordered, therefore, that the body be laid up in the oratory, whose very strong door had its opening into the church, to be guarded the next morning by the nobility against popular tumults and to be buried only on the third day.
[132] [Bl. Bonaventure, ordered to stretch out his arm, offers it to the surgeon; who, a vein having been cut, draws forth copious blood.] Then the vicar general, having returned home, said to some companions: "We have seen and done great things; yet we seem to ourselves to have neglected and lost something worth the trouble. As you have seen, the body of the servant of God lacks only the spirit to live. I saw the veins swollen and the blood still seems to circulate: why did we not try a letting of blood? Why should we not go at once to try it? Do you think we shall not see a miracle?" To which the bishop: "Let us return to the church before the crowd of common people breaks in; and let the letting be tried." The vicar went, therefore, with the archdeacon Andrea Coppola, with the primicerius Francesco di Vito, with the canon penitentiary Gaetano Agostino, with the physician Agnello Gambardella, with the surgeon Giuseppe d'Ippolito and other conspicuous men; who, accompanied by some religious, entered the oratory. At once lights are lit, prayers are poured out, the corpse is surrounded. While the surgeon loosens the bonds of the arms and makes ready the lancet, the vicar raises his voice in these words: "Come now, Father Bonaventure, offer us your right arm." No movement was detected. Then the vicar again: "I understand. Living, Father Bonaventure never moved hand or foot except at the command of his superiors. Dead, he will do the same. He will not wish to stretch out his arm unless the superior has ordered it. You, therefore, father guardian, command him to offer us his arm." The latter had not yet finished this command when, to the admiration of all, the dead man unexpectedly and with great force moved his arm from his breast, and, holding it suspended in the air, offered it for the letting. When they had collected themselves a little, the surgeon bares the arm and finds it soft and white, with the veins swollen. He bound it, therefore, with bands, as is customarily done in the living, and cut the larger vein. A little stream of red and warm blood gushed out, which was received in a basin; so that the physician afterwards testified that no more successful letting had ever been made by him g. Several ounces were collected, nor did the flow cease before the vicar, broken by fatigue and wonder and fearing a fainting of mind, ordered the wound to be closed. Linen cloths were steeped in the prodigious blood and distributed to each; a handkerchief well soaked was kept for the bishop; the emptied basin was set apart as a sacred thing. The bishop could not hear these things without pouring out tears while kissing the handkerchief.
[133] [The crowd rushes in, but is driven out. The body is found wholly like a living one.] The report of all these things was soon spread; and so before sunrise the inhabitants come to the convent and get into the church by indirect ways. Soon, the door of the oratory having been broken open, they stand around the corpse, tear the garments, pull out the hair, nor would they have abstained from violating the body itself had not the guards appointed by the bishop run up and removed the aggressors by shouts, commands and force. Meanwhile the common people were clamouring that the body should now be exposed for public veneration; that they wished to commend themselves to their blessed one; that they wished to venerate him; why should he not be placed upon the altar? Scarcely were the wiser believed who said that this could not be done without the licence of the Roman church. The answer was: "We want graces from Bl. Bonaventure; we want relics of St. Bonaventure." Meanwhile there was the greatest throng of those trying to reach the bier. The uncouth being excluded out of reverence, the more illustrious men and matrons were admitted, observing these rites: they first prayed to God and praised Him because He had so much rested in His servant; then they kissed the hands and feet of the corpse; afterwards they contemplated the most pleasing face and were delighted by the unknown odour; they tested moreover the tension of the flesh and the flexion of the limbs; finally they received a linen cloth that had been applied and was moist with the sweat of the face, neck or hands; at last, the scar of the arm having been opened, they dipped a little cloth in the blood. And in such things the day was spent. On the third day, moreover, neither sweat nor blood was less abundant, nor did the other prodigies cease.
[134] A woman is wonderfully healed of a tumour. Meanwhile there appears on the threshold of the church, opening a way for himself through the crowds, a certain man, drawing with him a woman with a disfigured face. He was the surgeon Giuseppe d'Ippolito himself, whose wife, named Candida Capezza, had been suffering for four months from a scirrhus larger than an egg, stubborn against all remedies, and near to gangrene. Giuseppe had commended himself and his house to the prayers of the dying man and trusted that the time had now come when they would be heard. With cries, therefore, entreaties and boldness he broke through the obstacles and came with his Candida into the oratory. There, prostrate, they three times greeted the Mother of God with the angelic words in memory of her purity; which devotion the servant of God has already been said to have been wont to commend. Then the husband to the wife: "I wish you to rouse your faith and with your whole soul to place your hope in Father Bonaventure: today I recall to his memory his promise, that he may fulfil it. I will that he restore you to health. Take hold of his hand and apply it to the tumour." The woman did as she was told, and when she lifted the blessed man's hand, the scirrhus had vanished; so that no swelling, spot, pallor or trace remained. Which sudden healing was lasting. At once Giuseppe and Candida exclaimed with their whole hearts: "A grace, a miracle!" Which words those near and far repeated again and again, above all when the woman appeared before them with her face free and sound.
[135] [With the greatest labour a marble sarcophagus is carried by night, in which the body may be enclosed;] For three days and as many nights the corpse lay unburied, the greatest throng of people always standing by, which scarcely yielded to the night. There was a rumour that many benefits had been received; of which, however, no record survives, except that half a century later there was still talk everywhere on the Amalfi promontory of that celebration. At last on the evening of the third day it seemed good to the bishop to bury the body. He wrote, therefore, a short memoir of the life, death, virtues and miracles of the servant of God; which, fixed on a thin plate, he enclosed in a metal box sealed with his seal. When, moreover, the people had departed and only chosen men were present, the prelate, having entered the church secretly, ordered the pit begun at the left horn of the altar of St. Anthony to be completed, although no one so far had thought that this very place had been designated by the blessed man for his tomb. A wooden coffin was brought, which seemed to the prelate too mean to hold so great a treasure. Then the vicar: "In the church of St. John del Toro h, of which I am rector, we have a suitable sarcophagus. It is more than six feet long, about three high and wide, cut from a single stone. It is empty and of no use. With a ready mind I offer it to the most illustrious lord in honour of Father Bonaventure; but its huge weight stands in the way, which on level ground could be moved only with wheels, machines, oxen and beasts of burden. What then in this region, at so great a distance, in the darkness of night, along mountainous, narrow, winding roads? For my part I doubt that this stone can be carried over by young men, however robust and numerous." He had spoken, when, to the admiration of all, six young men standing by freely offer their strength for so great a labour. The offer, however rash, pleased the bishop, and the bold men set out with the vicar to attempt the work. The others, however, followed the bishop, who was to wait in the hall of the convent.
[136] [meanwhile the guardian contrives that the left breast be cut off; which is not done without a change in the face and a copious flow of blood.] When, therefore, no one any longer was in the church, the guardian i, on a pretended pretext, took the surgeon Giuseppe d'Ippolito aside into the oratory; where he accosted him with these words: "Since I trust in you, I have drawn you here. I need your help; nor can you do me anything more welcome. If you comply with me, I will be mindful of the benefit as long as I live. But first I adjure you that with inviolable secrecy
you will keep secret what I am about to tell you. Indeed, you will be guilty of a most grave sin if you reveal it k. I have no peace, therefore, unless I obtain relics from this body. I have thought with myself, moreover, that one of the breasts can be cut out most easily of all. Therefore I pray you to cut off the left one skilfully, so that nothing appears outwardly. Do not doubt; there is nothing evil in this thing: we act only out of piety, and be certain that by this sacred pledge we shall obtain whatever graces we wish. In similar circumstances this is customarily done. Let us use the opportune time, and before we are detected, make ready the forceps at once." The surgeon shuddered at these words: "O father," he said, "what an atrocious thing you have thought of! Shall I put the iron into so venerable a breast? I have not so much courage; the mere thought makes me tremble." The superior did not yield; but by prayers, blandishments and promises extorted the surgeon's consent. At the first and second stroke the blessed man was seen, as if indignant and pale, to turn his mouth and face to the opposite side, and he emitted a stream of blood, by which the inner garments were stained l. The breast, when cut off, seemed at first white and muscular, then red, moist and dripping with blood; and when six months later it was shown to the same surgeon, it was no less fresh, whole and moist than when it was first cut off. What its fortunes were afterwards is unknown. But twenty-nine years later, when the body was solemnly examined, there was observed in the breast a wound of the size of a host, lively and bloody, as if fresh from the cutting.
[137] [While the body is carried before the tabernacle, he opens his eyes and venerates the Eucharist. He is buried.] Meanwhile the six young men, the vicar going before, bring the stone sarcophagus into the church, to the amazement of all, and let it down into the dug-out tomb. Then, between joy and lamentation, they go to the oratory, and, lights having been lit, a short procession is formed, by which the sacred body, placed on a wooden bier, is carried to the tomb. While they were passing before the altar of St. Anthony, where the sacraments of the Eucharist were kept, after the example of St. Paschal Baylon when dead, the servant of God not only opened his eyes, but also bowed his head, adoring Christ. He who first noticed it (for the bier was open above), thinking that he was returning to life, said: "Look, see; the body opens its eyes and bows its head." At this warning they brought the torches near and all were witnesses of the prodigy. The corpse was then placed in the stone tomb. When, moreover, the last offices had been completed, the vicar received the metal box from the hands of the bishop; and when he lifted the garments under which he was to place the case, he discovered the breast cut off, the flesh bloodied, the garments wet with blood: but the authors of the deed did not betray themselves; and it was laid upon the irreverent rabble. Then the tomb was covered with solid beams and roofed with an arched work; then earth was thrown on and the floor rammed down. By these things the way was as it were paved for the thought of enrolling the blessed man's name among the heavenly ones. But since the decree of beatification contains a judgement on his heroic virtues and posthumous miracles, these must first be touched upon, before we come to set out this solemn sentence of the apostolic see. Yet in declaring the virtues we shall be allowed to be brief, since we have referred the testimonies to their several times. We must therefore confine ourselves almost to general matters.
ANNOTATA.
* Passa il ninno The little boy is passing
* Ecco il ninno Behold the little boy.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
The worship, observance and piety of Bl. Bonaventure towards God and his veneration of the saints.
Bl. Bonaventure, in his duties towards God, Further, the love of God, as it ought, was his greatest praise. The witnesses, questioned by the apostolic investigators, said that no other end was set before all his thoughts, words and works than God, whom he strove to please in all things. Of the highest value to him were the divine, ecclesiastical and regular laws, the evangelical counsels and the precepts of the spiritual and mystical life; so that it is scarcely credible how diligent and cautious he was in all his works, words and thoughts, and with what solicitude he called all his doings, however small, to examination. Bishop Perimezzi called him the mouth of truth and charity; others added that no idle word had been heard from his mouth. He was most observant of the ecclesiastical ceremonies, even the minutest, pursuing accuracy and seemliness. He recited the divine office with admirable piety, all his limbs composed, standing motionless on his feet, head uncovered, eyes lowered, arms joined, not allowing a word to pass unmeditated, or at least his attention to be interrupted. And if he broke this resolution, he very often recited the office privately over again from the beginning. The same carefulness he demanded of his colleagues, not bearing a hurried psalmody, or one less devout, or not accurate enough; so that, when the superior was absent, he very often enjoined silence, himself then going on alone with the greatest devotion. Nor at other times was his mind separated from God, even in the midst of external occupations. In the apostolic inquiry one of his superiors testified as follows: "He was singular in the exercise of mental and vocal prayer; which was as it were his ordinary and continual business. He was, therefore, in perpetual contemplation, united with God and absorbed in God in all his thoughts. Nor were bodily exercises and other labours commanded by his superiors an obstacle to him." Unless, indeed, he was detained by the sacred ministry, he spent about fourteen hours every day in prayer and sometimes many more. But we have explained his day and night functions here and there; warning in the present place only this, that they were not everywhere the same: in smaller places, namely, such as Capri, Ischia and Ravello, he stood out with a certain renown and was much occupied in hearing confessions and preaching the word of God; much less in greater cities, for example Naples, where his name was almost so unknown that even now it is wholly passed over in the ecclesiastical histories. When, therefore, he was left in peace by men, he spent his time almost wholly in prayer; except that he loved to give his help to the lay brothers.
[139] and most dutiful towards his ecclesiastical superiors, The same devotion with which he attended God he showed to his ecclesiastical superiors; of whom he would not bear anyone to speak irreverently. "All the heads of the church," he said, "hold the place of Christ; with them, therefore, we must deal as with Christ." Wherefore at the names of the pope, cardinals, bishops and regular superiors he bowed his head, and sometimes he went in to bishops on bended knees. At another time he was heard saying: "The pope, the cardinals, the bishops and the superiors are ministers of God and so many gods on earth. This reverence, therefore, is to be shown to them which is shown to God, who governs us through their ministry." He was no less reverent of the priestly order; so that he promptly and simply obeyed priests at the least sign.
[140] he pursued sin with the highest hatred. He pursued sin with the highest hatred, preferring that heaven and earth should perish rather than offend the divine goodness even in the least. He seems to have bound himself by vow never to commit any deliberate venial sin; for he once wished to elicit this promise from Maria Angela, being wont not to propose to others what he did not do himself; then his confessors agree that they never detected a voluntary sin in him. How much he shrank from it is indicated by his anxieties of mind and scruples; so that he often returned to his confessors, who did not understand of what sin he confessed himself guilty. But of these things there has already been talk here and there. Since he detested sin out of the love of God, not out of fear of punishment, it was enough for him to hear that God had been offended by someone for him to be consumed with restless grief: the colour of his face changed; he was wholly disturbed and anxious, and he was heard exclaiming: "How can a soul be found that offends God, that endures the enmity of God!" At another time: "Let all things be lost, let God not be lost!" He was also wont to say: "I cannot understand that a man, created by God to enjoy paradise, should lose so great a happiness for nothing." These words too sometimes burst from his mouth: "O! if men knew with how great a love they are loved by God, they would all try to love Him with their whole heart; they would go mad with love." At another time: "Let us all become saints! Let us love God, let us serve God! Is there a greater happiness than the service of God, than the love of God? All the things of the world have an end; God alone is without end." Nor did he omit anything by which he might spread the love of God and the hatred of sin.
[141] [He zealously spread zeal for the honour of God, at that time more ready for tears and raptures.] If he saw among the religious a young man adorned with excellent gifts, he bent all his cares to bringing him to spend his powers for the glory of God. He courted him, took him aside into his cell and set before his eyes how great benefits he owed to God, how severe an account he would one day render. He commended to him above all the ministry of the sacrament of penance and of preaching, declaring its dignity and reward. This was laid up in his mind as a principle: "To look upon God as present at every time, in every place and in every action, and not to lose Him from sight for a single moment." Which he also inculcated in others, now the thought of the divine presence and the right
end of works, now exhorting them to conform their will to the divine. He went before by example, being wont to say: "Be it to the glory of God!" and these other words: "Let us do the will of God! Let us all become saints; nor does God will anything else than that we all become saints." In these things he was fervent, free, bold and constant, so much so that the ardour of his mind appeared in his face and his whole body, and that he could not be without a little cloth with which to wipe away his sweat continually. He was then ready for tears, his pupils red with blood. He sometimes seemed ready to fly, and sometimes with a great impulse sprang from his seat; indeed we have narrated elsewhere that he once wonderfully leapt up together with the seat itself. In public sermons he frequently broke off his discourse, rapt in spirit; and when he felt the approach of these raptures, he said to those standing by: "Let us wait a little, let us wait a little!" And they too very often felt this approach, warning one another with these words: "Come, now we are losing Father Bonaventure."
[142] [He was eminent for a wonderful trust in God, for faith and for the desire of martyrdom;] Since he sought nothing but God, he trusted that he would possess Him for ever. Wherefore he was once caught saying, suffused with joy and with eyes and arms stretched towards heaven: "What else is going to paradise than a flight?" and then, rapt from his senses: "O infinite mercies of God!" At other times in public sermons he called himself a saint and blessed. And this trust extended to all things. For, leaning on the help of God, he undertook many things which surpassed the powers of body and mind, using these words of the Apostle: "I can do all things in Him who strengthens me;" and so he inculcated in his disciples "that a living faith is omnipotent, and that he who has a living faith obtains from God all things that he wishes." And indeed it was enough if he said: "Let us hope in God; let us trust in God; God will provide," for it to be certain that wonderful things would happen. He was ready to do all things for God, not knowing how he might sufficiently attest his fidelity to God. The supreme happiness seemed to him to consecrate the Christian religion with his blood amid the bitterest torments; which was understood whenever he uttered these words to the people: "Faith, martyrdom, martyrs." He extolled to the stars the grace of dying for Christ; which grace he called singular, denied to many saints, and granted by God only to His dearer friends. Nor could he read the Passions of the martyrs for long, because he was hindered by sighs, tears and raptures. He was once heard saying: "We ought to pour out all our blood for Christ. We ought ardently to desire to give our life for God. Every Christian ought always to be ready and vehemently to wish to meet death for the faith." He loved to imagine to himself times in which it would be granted to attain this eminent good. Since others also sometimes did this for the sake of pleasing him, and one at Ischia once said: "Let us imagine the Turks putting in at this island: what would you do, Father Bonaventure?" he answered with unusual gladness: "What more beautiful occasion could there be of shedding blood for Jesus Christ?" Nor did he hesitate to confess to many of his spiritual friends that martyrdom was above all in his wishes.
[143] similarly by zeal against sins. From this love of God proceeded his huge zeal for the divine glory; by which it came about that he who was mostly gentle and calm in words and works seemed wholly another man if he understood that God was offended. Then, as though a mist had been spread over his eyes, he attacked sinners most vehemently, forgetful of his own condition and of others' dignity. He blazed up above all if any irreverence was offered to the faith or to the Christian religion. "Above all," so it is read in the solemn apostolic inquiries, "he was zealous for the honour of the faith; and whenever he heard words contrary to it, he was at once kindled, he reproved, he admonished the bold man." Blasphemies he pursued with similar horror; hence in the same inquiries these things occur: "If any blasphemy sounded in his ears, without delay, with inflamed face, he vehemently rebuked the guilty one. If, moreover, he heard someone breaking out into blasphemy in the fields near the convent or under the window of his cell, he shuddered and summoned the blasphemer to him to rebuke him." If any offended the saints or the ecclesiastical magistrates, neither did these go away unreproved; and in a certain proportion no sinners did. What of the fact that he blazed with zeal against a superior negligent of his office, above all of choral observance?
[144] He made very much of indulgences; So that he and his disciples might wash away their faults more perfectly, he made very great account of ecclesiastical indulgences; striving so diligently to gain them and to urge their use on others that it almost surpasses belief. He knew by heart the infinite indulgences granted to his order by the Roman pontiffs, and the several days appointed for them; indeed also many others, set forth for all the faithful. To obtain these graces the more certainly, he prepared himself for several days beforehand with unusual works of penance, humility and mercy, and with a severer review of conscience.
[145] He venerated the Holy Eucharist most of all; Among all the modes of homage, however, by which he showed his love and reverence to God, his devotion to the most august sacrament of the Eucharist stood out: of which we have related many things here and there. And so, whenever he came upon persons less devout: "The angels," he said, "stand trembling around the tabernacle: and how great must be the reverence of men?" To others more negligent he inculcated "that holy things are to be handled holily." He sharply rebuked a priest because he had not wiped the chalice clean enough. He frequently admonished the ministers and sacristans of their duty; so that one of them once exclaimed: "It is too much!" To which he with vehement zeal: "What is too much? What diligence, what accuracy, what reverence towards the most holy sacrament can be, I will not say superfluous, but sufficient? Know that I would easily lay down my life on that account." Had not the commands of his superiors and the sacred ministry stood in the way, he would not easily have withdrawn from the altar where the body of Christ rested. At night, when he was freer, he broke out before the tabernacle into sighs, tears, exclamations and spiritual offerings, prostrate and kissing the pavement, or on bended knees with arms outstretched. He let no day pass, whatever his labours, without spending an hour in visiting Christ in the sacrament of the Eucharist: nor did he pass by a church, however frequent they were, without first going to the tabernacle; and if the doors were shut, he adored Christ from the street. Whenever, moreover, he performed these acts of homage, his body was more motionless than usual, his face more ardent, his mind more applied to heavenly things. But nowhere did his devotion appear more than in the sacrifice of the Mass. He prepared himself not only by the daily cleansing of conscience, but also by many acts of faith, love and charity. At the altar the composure of his body, his acts and his pronunciation were a certain image of his inward piety. At the canon his look changed, his ardour and sweat increased, and tears fell in greater abundance; and from then until the end his body and soul were adorned with supernatural gifts; of which agility and splendour were the more conspicuous. What he did after Mass we have shown elsewhere.
[146] He recalled the Lord's Passion with most tender piety, above all in Holy Week; How he celebrated the memory of the passion of Christ at Ischia and proposed it to others to be celebrated we have likewise said. But in Holy Week his piety almost knew no measure. This one word, Passion, which is read in place of the Gospel on four days, drew a fountain of tears from his eyes; so that they seemed to run down like streams over the sacred vestments and the missal, by which, however, the paper was not wetted. On Thursday, when the sacred host had been carried to the sepulchre, he lay prostrate at the altar, nor did he rise from there until the next day, when the sacraments were brought back for the Mass of the Presanctified, meanwhile forgetful of food and rest, and wholly immersed in meditation on the death of Christ. Then he rose from the place, persevering in meditation, and spent Good Friday and the night of Holy Saturday in silence and mourning. But on the feast of Easter, at earliest morning, he seemed to rise again with Christ; so great then was his eagerness and jubilation! And his more fervent disciples imitated him so far as to abstain from all food on the Wednesday, except that late in the evening they ate three mouthfuls of bread sprinkled with ashes.
[147] He loved as a son the Mother of God, conceived without original stain; Since he who loves Christ cannot but love His mother, he who so tenderly loved her Son could not but attend the Mother of God with the highest charity. As a boy he already professed this devotion, which grew with his age. To the end of his life he kept by inviolable law a fast, content with bread and water, on all the vigils of the feasts of the Blessed Virgin Mary and on all Wednesdays and Saturdays; and for nine days he prepared himself for the more solemn feasts. Every day, moreover, he recited the Little Office, the Litanies and other prayers; if the times were dangerous, then above all he took refuge in her protection. Truly the name of Mary was as honey in his mouth. The chief benefits which he had received from God he confessed that he owed to Mary also, and he placed the hope of eternal salvation in Christ and in Mary. At the beginning of every action, above all if the beginnings were difficult, he implored her help, venerating singularly her purity: which devotion he also inculcated in others as most efficacious a. Of Mary he did not speak except with inflamed face. In this duty of spreading her cult he was unconquered by labour. He commended above all the power and character of her patronage, and also meditation on her sorrows. Her immaculate conception was in the greatest esteem with him, so that in prayers and sermons he was wont to call her Mary immaculate, Mary without stain, Mary all beautiful or pure; omitting nothing by which he might spread the knowledge of this mystery. But this did not seem to him to suffice; and so they very often heard him exclaiming: "Why am I not another Scotus? O! if it might befall me also to be able to defend the immaculate conception of Mary!" The faith of which mystery he would gladly have sealed with his blood, as at Ischia, as we have narrated in its place, by stretching out his neck as if to the axe, he sufficiently showed.
[148] [devout also towards St. Francis of Assisi, St. Anthony of Padua, St. Joseph, St. Teresa, St. Bonaventure the cardinal and St. Anthony the abbot.] In a certain proportion he attended other saints with the homage of similar devotion, striving to imitate their examples and trusting in their patronage. The first place was rightly held by St. Francis of Assisi, whom he held in the place of a father. Of this devotion we have already related many indications: to which is added his singular veneration of his relics. When, namely, he had obtained a particle of the celebrated miraculous sack (of which the councillor Navarretta, perhaps at his instigation, — for he directed his conscience, — wrote very much), and a certain religious vehemently desired to share this treasure, he granted it indeed, but would not divide it except with two candles lit on a little table; then he knelt and made his companion kneel; afterwards with the greatest observance he uncovered the cloth and, having divided it, gave it to his colleague. But this once. Every day, however, he paid his homage to the holy father, visiting his altar; and every year he prepared himself for his feast with a novena and a severe fast, taking care besides to spread his veneration everywhere. To the most blessed patriarch he joined the illustrious St. Anthony of Padua; whose altar he likewise visited every day, consecrated the vigils of his feast with a fast on bread and water, and him
feast with most holy actions. He omitted nothing by which he might increase the people's trust in his patronage, renewing his memory every Tuesday and speaking of his miracles and of the imitation of his virtues. He thus deserved to enjoy his apparitions, conversations and familiarity; so that the report was that the wonder-worker was his ordinary interpreter with God, by whose intervention he obtained whatever he wished; and that it passed into a common proverb that whoever wished to receive benefits from God must see to it that the Responsory of St. Anthony of Padua was recited by Father Bonaventure of Potenza. Which saying rested on experience. Other things we have related in their place. St. Joseph also, the spouse of Blessed Mary, he singularly venerated, trusting very much in his prayers and labouring everywhere that his clients might grow in number and piety. Wherefore in many places he taught the people to prepare themselves for nine days for his feast. Which he also did in honour of St. Teresa, so great a mistress of perfection and most loving towards St. Joseph. The glory of St. Francis of Paola also he had at heart, taking care that the thirteen Fridays which are celebrated in his memory b should be adorned with singular exercises of piety both by himself and by his disciples. Of the Seraphic Doctor St. Bonaventure, whose name he had taken, he was also an eminent devotee, and also of St. Anthony the abbot; of whom he once spoke at Ravello before some noble citizens of Salerno with such ardour that he suffered a fainting of mind, to the terror and pity of those standing by.
ANNOTATA.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.
The charity of Bl. Bonaventure towards his neighbour, his penance, chastity, humility, obedience and poverty.
[He attended his neighbours with most ardent charity, above all so as to reconcile them to God,] As the worship and veneration of the saints consists in the love of God, so also does charity towards neighbour. Which virtue was truly illustrious in Bl. Bonaventure. It embraced indeed the whole human race, except that in this respect, as in others, he allowed himself to be governed by the commands of his superiors. But if things were at his own discretion, he followed the order of charity, preferring to help souls rather than bodies, sinners rather than the just, the sick rather than the healthy, the poor rather than the rich, the dying rather than all the rest. The salvation of souls, therefore, was his first care. He was wont to say that all things were to be put after this business, and that no one could labour or suffer as much as one soul deserves: and that what he said with his mouth he fulfilled in deed has already been read here and there. In his apostolic functions he began with the children, whom he taught on every feast day the rudiments of Christian discipline, adapting his speech to their understanding, and taking care above all that, having conceived a huge horror of sacrilege, they should come reverently to the sacraments of penance and the eucharist. But much more was he occupied in instructing the older, and in exhorting them from the pulpit to good and turning them from evil; so that he omitted no argument: but his greatest force and authority came from the praise of his holiness. Yet he led far more souls to God in the sacred tribunal, where he was wont to sit as long as penitents were present, having no fixed time for rising, sometimes going past midday, sometimes cleansing sinners until evening. He received each one, moreover, with eminent patience, perseverance, prudence and heavenly unction, so mixing severity with sweetness that the penitents trembled at his feet, and yet innumerable people were drawn there, and those who had once come would not go elsewhere. Nor did he perform this ministry perfunctorily, and he dismissed no one whom he had not moved to perfect contrition. He cared for the sick and dying before all, being wont to say: "If, when I am called to a poor sick or dying man, all the doors were shut to me, and no other exit lay open, I should be ready to throw myself through the window into the street." That these were not bare words, but the feelings of his heart, became known from innumerable examples.
[150] which God adorned with many miracles. We have seen such eminent charity adorned almost everywhere with the glory of miracles; nor does it please us to repeat what has been sufficiently declared elsewhere. For this place, therefore, we have kept only a few things; which, since they happened at Naples, where the servant of God very often lived, we could not refer to certain times. Giovanna Cipolla, namely, labouring with a grave tumour of the eyes and a bloody flux, human remedies having been applied in vain, had lost one eye and was in manifest danger of losing the other: so that the physicians affirmed that this danger could not be averted. Opportunely the blessed man came up and ordered her to put away the useless bandage from her eyes. Then, on bended knees, he recited the customary Responsory of St. Anthony of Padua; then with the last knot of his sacred cord he made the sign of the cross over each eye; and on the spot all the bloody swelling, all the pain and dimness vanished, so that for the rest of her life her sight was whole and good. Another woman similarly at Naples, brought into danger of death by a copious flux of blood, he restored to health on the spot by the imposition of his girdle and a sacred blessing.
[151] [Although his diseases were most grave, he relaxed nothing of the sacred ministry, of fasts and of the use of voluntary torments:] That charity of his, moreover, was always so great that it was never overcome by the pains of his body. For neither by the troubles of the hernia, graver at the waxing of the moon, nor by the burning and dripping of urine, the weakening of the kidneys, the tightness of the chest, the spitting of blood, the tumour of the knee, gangrene and fistulas and the wounds of all his limbs did he allow himself to be hindered from the sacred ministry. For he wished at once to suffer and to be present to the wretched. When, moreover, the ills were sharper than usual, he was heard saying: "Behold, now my God wishes me well! O! be there ever praise, blessing and thanksgiving to Him?" Nor did he complain of the onslaught of the devil, which he very often experienced not only in his mind but also in his body. Not content with this constancy, he strove to put away from himself all delights, even the smallest and most innocent, so as to admit only necessary things: hence his sleep was very short and hard; his abstinence from meat and wine almost perfect, and his choice of food that which was less pleasing. As he himself confessed to a spiritual friend, he devoured his food rather than ate it, so that his palate might not feel the taste. The better morsels he kept for the poor or secretly threw to the cat. We have mentioned here and there his singular fasts: which, on Rugilo's authority, consisted in this, that every Wednesday, Friday and Saturday he fasted on bread and water, and for nine days before the seven more solemn feasts of Blessed Mary and before the feast of St. Francis of Assisi. From the Ascension of the Lord to Pentecost he ate only some chestnuts, beans softened in water, raw onions and wild herbs; similarly for nine days before the Nativity of the Lord and on all the more solemn vigils of the church and of the order. There were among the witnesses those who said that he often abstained from bread and lived on herbs and wild fruits; others that for whole days and even two days he used no food, either so as to have something to give the poor, or to enjoy the quiet of contemplation, or to carry out a more difficult command. These fasts are the more wonderful because he was sometimes vexed by what they call a canine hunger. The hair shirts, scourges and other instruments of torment we have described elsewhere; the use of which he taught to his colleagues, his novices and his penitents, even women.
[152] what is to be thought of those torments. But at the end of his life he began to esteem these things less as instruments of perfection. And this reasoning and judgement is certainly of the greatest weight, and rests on experience and the truth of the matter. Nevertheless it must be considered that God, if He wishes to show His mercy, is accustomed to choose from the several classes, cities and orders of men some from whom He exacts the punishments not only of their own sins but also of those of their fellows, and who are, as it were, public victims. And since at that time God was most beneficent towards the Conventuals of the province of Naples, although among them, as in all human societies, sins were not lacking, he will not stray from the truth who believes that by the penance of the Venerable Domenico da Muro, of Bl. Bonaventure of Potenza and of their disciples the divine justice was placated and turned into clemency.
[153] [He eminently cultivated chastity and modesty, and taught that they were to be cultivated;] For, as was clear from his whole life, the servant of God never stained his soul with any grave sin. That virginal chastity was kept unblemished by him is established by the testimony of his confessors and of himself, although he was not free from the vexations of temptations. He was wont to lower his eyes modestly; he walked with a slow and grave step, his hands folded within his sleeves; but always simple and far from all affectation. Hence he was said by the witnesses to have shown purity in his face and eyes, and to have been so chaste and pure that he seemed an angel clothed in flesh. By his words he instilled modesty into others; and if anything less chaste sounded in his ears, he rebuked it with apostolic vehemence. He shunned most carefully the sight of women, and even their voice. On that account he wished his window closed, lest a woman's voice or song should reach his ears. He shrank even from crude pictures of women; as was clear at Ravello, where, when the superior had given him a basin on which a woman was rustically painted, he bore this misfortune of his, as he called it, most grievously, and would never use this vessel to wash himself. If cloths were to be given to the washerwoman, he threw them from a distance, fearing danger from nearness. But obedience overcame his modesty; so that the sacred ministry suffered no detriment from it: but he then so guarded himself that, even if he was very often surrounded by a circle of women, he never looked at the face of any. Maria Angela herself, with whom he had frequent intercourse, never drew from his mouth any caressing word. With no less diligence he turned his eyes away from the members of his own body, nor did he uncover them before physicians and surgeons without the greatest repugnance and blushing, showing nothing but the sick part. To others also, young men above all, he vehemently commended the custody of the senses, and he counselled modesty in putting off and putting on clothes to some, and commanded it to others who were more perfect. He carefully forbade young men and girls, even kinsfolk and full brothers and sisters, to converse familiarly with one another. In a word he omitted nothing, wherever he was, by which he might spread the love of the angelic virtue; vigorously pursuing useless ornaments, licence of manners and public scandals. God willed that His prodigious gifts should not be absent from this zeal. For it often happened that, when he passed through unknown places where lustful men lived, he closed his nostrils, so as not to smell the stench of sin (as he said); and he perceived the same stench when lustful persons came to him. He himself, however, gave off from his body a most pleasing odour, which almost all his familiars experienced, above all those who reverently kissed his hand according to the custom of the region: which, however, he suffered only unwillingly. Indeed the surgeon too drew into his nostrils this sweet odour, emanating from the putrefaction of the wound. Which odour was at times so penetrating that, on the witness of Maria Angela, it could scarcely be borne.
[154] endowed by God with a wonderful odour flowing from his limbs. When she once came to his confessional seat, she perceived an odour greater than usual and continually growing, so that she seemed to herself to perceive as it were the odour of paradise. Whence she was compelled very often to interrupt her speech. Wherefore at last the servant of God asked her why she stopped thus in the middle of her words. The girl wished to dissemble, as she had long been wont to do; but by new increases of the odour and new interruptions of her speech she was at last brought to answer: "What is this, Father, and what do I want? I know that you carry no perfumes about you; and yet I feel coming from you an odour so sweet that I cannot bear it and almost suffer a fainting." The blessed man's humility was not disturbed by these things, and he replied: "What odour, what odour are you talking of? What you feel and believe you feel is a stench, it is a stench. How have you not yet learned that I am putrid within and without? a living stench? Do you want to see? Behold." And he coughed up putrefaction mixed with blood. Even his garments and whatever had been applied to his body shared these wonderful emanations. The chalice which he used at the altar was not free from them; and so those who knew of this prodigy were wont, as soon as he had withdrawn to give thanks to God, to run to the chalice to draw the heavenly odour into their nostrils. And this prodigy of his most chaste body persevered even after death.
[155] He was a pattern of humility, This, moreover, like the other more splendid gifts of God, he concealed as much as he could: for his humility went level with his holiness. Wherefore if he understood that anything of them had become known to others, he earnestly begged those who knew to cover these things with perpetual silence. For nothing was more grievous to him than the fame of a wonder-worker; so much so that for some time he was doubtful whether he should go on visiting the sick. This anxiety of mind he disclosed to a friend, saying: "I have found by experience that men are so made that, if they see anything done by the divine mercy, they at once spread it about that I am the author and begin to say: 'A saint, a saint,' when yet I am a most wicked sinner." He proclaimed everywhere the lowliness of his birth: "You ought to make nothing of me," so he spoke almost everywhere. "For who do you think I am? I am a vile man, the son of a poor tailor. All my kinsmen are poor, and my nieces were married by the alms of good Christians." He was assiduous in abasing himself, putting himself after his elders, his equals and even his juniors. He had invented a certain art by which while walking he would cover the left side of his companion and everywhere take the lower place. He greeted those he met first, nor did he allow himself to be forestalled in this kind of courtesies. One of his novices testified as follows: "The servant of God was of most rare humility. He thought most badly of himself, judging that no more wicked sinner lived on earth. He despised therefore whatever tended to his honour and praise; he embraced only those things which availed to abase him; he called himself vile, ignorant, of humble birth, loving to be despised. He put himself after all religious, even the lower ones, and even after the novices." Bishop Perimezzi gave this other testimony: "I very much admired the perfection of the humility of the servant of God when he declared to me the poverty of his kinsmen, his lowest birth, his nature prone to evil, the temptations by which he was vexed, and the imperfections of which he found himself guilty. He fled all human applause, nor did he allow me to kiss his feet unless he himself had first kissed mine." Finally Father Master Simeone related almost the same: "That servant of God," he said, "truly excelled in humility. He despised all considerations of glory and esteem and sought reproaches and contempt. He loved therefore to make known the lowliness of his birth, the poverty of his kinsmen, his imperfect studies, the imperfections of which he was conscious. He thought himself the most shameful of all sinners; he fled the applause of men, and obeyed even his inferiors." But everywhere in his life the zeal for humility so shone forth that these general testimonies wholly suffice.
[156] and likewise of obedience. Not unequal was the simplicity of his obedience; so that everywhere he did the words of his superiors rather than their will: but this has already sufficiently appeared. He was wont to say, using a pious hyperbole, that out of obedience he was ready to go through the whole world, and even to descend into the abyss of hell. He allowed himself to be surpassed by no one in obedience; so that if the superiors commanded generally something which pertained rather to the duties of the lay brothers, he himself nevertheless was the leader of the work. Thus when once the guardian had seen a light languishing in the dormitory and had said to those standing by: "Bring help to this lamp," the servant of God went ahead of the others, to give his effort to a long and troublesome task. It sometimes happened that these things pleased his priestly colleagues less; one of whom, seeing him labouring in the kitchen, asked him whether it befitted priestly hands to handle such things: to which the servant of God answered: "That food will taste better, prepared by a priest's hands." For the rest, he wished to do nothing except by the authority of his superiors; and if the superior was absent, he asked the blessing of another priest; and if only lay brothers were present, he submitted himself to their judgement. Of which disposition of mind the tertiaries sometimes took advantage. But if, being entirely alone at home, he was called out of the convent, he saluted the superior's cell with a deep inclination of the body, and then in the church asked the blessing of the Blessed Virgin Mary and of St. Francis. Whatever, however, was his observance towards his superiors, it was not mean or abject. Wherefore he was once seen, as I have already said, to reprove a guardian because he neglected regular discipline and above all the laws of the choir. As he loved to be subject, so he shrank from all office, lest he should lose anything of the merit of obedience; groaning, lamenting, trembling if there was talk of making him a superior. He diligently exercised his disciples in the same virtue; as was sufficiently clear from the instruction of Maria Angela, and much more from the training of the novices.
[157] Taught by the Venerable Servant of God Domenico da Muro the strictest poverty, In the school of Domenico da Muro he had learned to cultivate most zealously poverty, which that venerable man loved as a mother, and which, although it does not forbid the Conventuals common ownership, yet prohibits them from all free use and persuades them to prefer cheap things to more precious ones. Bl. Bonaventure so embraced it as to use only torn garments mended by his own hand, to inhabit a cell barer than all the others, and to be unwilling to handle any money, not even an obol, with his hand. Nor did he ever turn aside from these practices. For he clung to nothing at all, not to his homeland, not to a convent or any cell, not to garments or any furnishing, always ready to leave them at the commands of his superiors; indeed he would never ask for anything of them, much less what was as it were singularly for his own use: for this was certain and fixed for him, always to be subject to the dispensers. What of the fact that he had persuaded himself that he had no right to anything in the order? Seldom did he inform his superiors or the servants of his needs; and if he did, he asked them to provide for him out of charity; or, if he asked for anything, he said he did so to relieve his poor. Superfluous things he shrank from like a plague, then most glad when something was lacking to him. He had only one cloak, of cheap cloth of ash colour. The stricter among the Conventuals then used Amalfi cloth *, common and coarse; of no other were Bl. Bonaventure's tunics made; who would not have covered his body even in winter had not obedience and decency stood in the way: but he knew how to arrange his tunic so that he suffered not much less from the cold. If he had breeches, they were like a hair shirt, hung from his sides; and if he lacked them (which happened very often), he wore a rough little tunic coming down below the knees. He never had more than two shirts, mostly only one in the shape of a sack, without sleeves and collar, and of the cloth of which the dress of porters is customarily made there. If this single one had to be cleaned either of blood or for some other cause, he borrowed another from a colleague who knew of his penance, or he suffered the lack. Very often he had only one pair of stockings of cheap wool; these frequently torn or mended. His shoes lacked almost all shape; nor did he ever have more than one pair.
[158] he vigorously cultivated this virtue all the time of his life, But although he diligently sought and wore rough and coarse garments, he yet so spared them that he wore them for whole lustres, adding patches to patches as long as there was room for sewing. Nor was he wont to throw away the rags he had laid aside; but he kept the better parts in a wallet, so as to have at hand at all times something with which to mend a falling garment, or he gave the same to the poor, or made caps from them. Since St. Francis forbade the Friars Minor to use silk, he so understood these words, "nothing of silk," that he did not wear even a silk thread in his garments, content with linen thread. For the rest, he so fled all show in clothing that he is said by the witnesses to have gone through the streets like a clothed sack. In his other furnishings the same poverty shone forth. In all the houses he inhabited this was the appearance of his cell: it contained the narrowest and worst bed of the convent, which he knew how to obtain in whatever way; a little table of rough wood, useful for one writing or reading, with a pious little book laid on it, from which he might feed his meditation; and two common chairs of straw. The walls were adorned with a small figure of Christ fixed to the cross and two paper pictures of saints: nor did Master Simeone, the minister provincial, find more in the cell of the deceased. In the bed, moreover, neither pillow nor coverlet; in the last three years he lay on the stuffing, in the rest on the ground or on the bottom board of the bed and a straw bolster. He did not put off his habit before sleep, nor did he cover himself except with rags; so that, when he was sick, a blanket had to be brought from elsewhere. And this extreme poverty he cultivated not by the authority of the rule, not by the force of vows, nor by the avarice of his superiors, but of his own accord and out of love of Christ, who became poor. When he was a priest and confessor, it grieved many of his penitents to see their spiritual father in such want; but he would receive nothing from them except what he distributed among the poor with the consent of his superiors, or what went to the common use of the brethren: taking care then above all that these alms should be in the hands of the superior as soon as possible.
[159] he vehemently shrank from little gifts and money: of this thing He could never be induced to admit anything for his own use. In vain did Giuseppe Maria Perimezzi, bishop of Ravello and Scala, try towards the end of his life to press something upon him by which his want or that of his kinsmen might be relieved. He said that he needed nothing for himself or his own and had more than he deserved. A certain penitent woman pined with the desire of giving him drawers, which she knew he lacked: all her efforts were useless.
Another, who was bringing him a pair of stockings, was not more fortunate; for when he saw her, he fled. At Nocera he did not accept from a tertiary a little kerchief full of nuts, except when ordered by his confessor for the woman's consolation; but at once he carried it to the superior. He did not touch gold and silver, after the example of the Capuchins, except with his garment between, saying that money was like a viper. And indeed if ever he held it in his hand, he was no less restless than if he had been carrying that animal about. Of which thing the spectacle was once ridiculous. When, namely, he was living in the Neapolitan convent of the Holy Spirit, or of St. Anthony, the superior had ordered him to entrust his cap, which was growing white, to the steward, who would see to having it dyed; and at the same time had given him a little silver coin, no bigger than a carlino a, to be handed to the steward. But the latter was away from the house; and until he returned, the blessed man did not seem master of himself, as though he had been carrying fire in his cloak: and when he saw him returned, he cried out pitifully from afar: "Oh God, father bachelor, when did you come?" No otherwise than if some calamity had happened; nor did he breathe again before he was freed of his little coin. At Ravello a penitent saw almost the same thing; who, when he wished to kiss his hand, and found it gripping the edge of the sleeve with wonderful anxiety, asked what it was. And the blessed man, uncovering a little silver coin: "It is an alms," he said, "offered to me as a Mass stipend; I am waiting for the lay brother, to hand it to him; I put it in my sleeve, since it is not permitted me to touch money b." And similar things happened very often.
[160] some wonderful examples are related. When, moreover, he was sent out by his superiors without a companion and furnished with some money for the journey, this, wrapped in the edge of his garment, was a spur for him to make the journey at a most rapid pace and to entrust the coins to other hands. But so that the faculty of keeping money or any other thing whatever might be taken away from him, he would not have a purse or little bag sewn to his habit. This horror of money, as it was known to many, so lay open to jests. And certainly, since his shoes (for he rarely admitted new ones) frequently had to be repaired, the superiors sometimes ordered the small payment to be handed to the cobbler by himself. When a cleric, not ignorant of that abstinence of his, once saw this command being carried out by him at Naples, he said, as if he were suffering scandal: "What, you, Father Bonaventure, handle money!" And he, not noticing that these words had been said with the jest not put aside, blushed and trembled, as if caught in a crime; and then excused the matter, saying that permission had been given him by the guardian. At another time the superior had again given him some little coins destined for the cobbler. But the cobbler opportunely was not there, and the blessed man had to go out of the house: by which it came about that he did not see the shoemaker before night, and did not remember before sleep the money laid away in his cell. But when he saw it the next day, he shuddered, nor would he offer the sacrifice of the Mass without first being cleansed. He went, therefore, to his confessor, Master Ludovico of San Felice c, whose judgement scruples and anxieties of mind had so obscured that, on account of the troubled consciences of many, he had been forbidden the right of hearing confessions by Father Bonaventura Nicolai, the minister provincial. When the imprudent man heard these things, he pronounced that it was a mortal sin and a case reserved to the superiors. The blessed man saw that these things could not be so; but, a praiser of another's opinion rather than his own, he believed with unspeakable grief that he had become an enemy of God; and with the greatest abundance of tears he threw himself at the superior's feet. The latter understood the confessor's error most of all when Bl. Bonaventure, asked whether he was held by the love of money, answered: "Father guardian, so far from loving money, I do not know it;" and went on pouring out tears: by which it appears that coin had never been attentively looked at by him. So that the superior, therefore, might correct the error of the confessor, not of the penitent, he sent him back to Master Ludovico, ordering him to absolve the blessed man and thereafter not to turn things free of all fault into most grave offences. But why do I touch upon the several virtues? For his whole life consisted not of illustrious deeds, such as history loves, but of holy actions, such as are inserted in ascetical books, and of divine charisms, which are as it were their crown and approval: so that Rugilo, who wished to pursue his gifts one by one, had to repeat, or at least recall to memory, almost everything he had said before. Which example certainly it does not please me to imitate.
ANNOTATA.
* Saya della Costa di Amalfi serge of the Amalfi Coast.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.
The miracles performed after the death of Bl. Bonaventure, and his beatification.
Bl. Bonaventure appears to the sick Since, therefore, the man of God, adorned with so many and so great glories of holiness, had been taken from the living and had been committed to the tomb in so singular a manner and with so great an excitement of minds, it is certainly no wonder if men everywhere, above all the people of Ravello, took refuge in his help in their necessities and if God confirmed this trust in His servant with prodigious benefits. It remains that we relate a few things, beginning with those in which the blessed man appeared. In the first place Sister Maria Angela of the Cross testified as follows before the apostolic investigators: "Four years ago," she said, "I was deprived of the use of my tongue by a grave apoplexy, so that I could not confess my sins except by the help of signs, nor receive communion: in which state I was for three days. Despairing, therefore, of my recovery, they anointed me with extreme unction; and the Very Venerable Biagio Tirabella was with me to help me to die well. Then I commended myself vehemently to the servant of God and said to him with inward words: 'Father Bonaventure, my spiritual father, who now enjoy the face of God, pray for me.' Then on the morning of the third day, when I was in agony and, a blessed candle having been lit, they were reciting the Litanies and the Commendation of the soul, the servant of God appeared to me and said to me these words: 'Sister Maria Angela, take courage: the time has not yet come; you are well.' Having said this, he vanished and I began to speak. My first words were: 'Father Bonaventure, Father Bonaventure;' and from then I began to be better and to recover my health." Those who were present similarly testified that they had heard these words from Maria Angela's mouth: "Father Bonaventure, Father Bonaventure," when they were continually expecting her death, and that to those who asked Maria Angela what the matter was she answered: "Father Bonaventure came and bade me rejoice that I am not yet to depart from this earth;" and that from this time she was wonderfully better and in a few days was perfectly healed.
[162] and by his intervention them to health The same Maria Angela testified to this other thing: "At another time, I do not remember whether I was asleep or awake, I seemed to myself to see the servant of God sitting in the confessional seat and to hear him saying these things: 'Don Giuseppe Messina is gravely ill; and yet you do not visit him? Be obedient; go to him and tell him in my name that things will turn out well for him; that he will shortly obtain a dignity and that many souls will have to be led by him to God.' In the morning I carried out the command of the servant of God, who, although dead, yet always lives for the help of his friends, and with the Very Venerable Andrea Morgioni and his sister I betook myself to the sick man; to whom I said that I had been sent to him by Father Bonaventure; and I faithfully performed the embassy." Which testimony the same Messina confirmed in these words: "About twenty-three years ago God afflicted me with a most grave disease, by which I was brought to the extremity, so that the physicians despaired of my recovery. Then Sister Maria Angela of the Cross came to me, who had never entered my house; so that on that account she had to be brought there by the canon Andrea Morgioni. Having dismissed him, the sister came to my bed, and, kneeling, asked me to keep secret what she was about to say. Then she began thus: 'Sleeping or waking, I know not, I saw the servant of God, our Father Bonaventure of Potenza, who told me that you were gravely ill, and ordered me to visit you and to tell you: that you should rejoice; that you should not doubt of your recovery, since you would get well; that shortly you would have an ecclesiastical dignity and that God would entrust to you many souls whom you would direct to Him.' Having said this, she withdrew. Whence I took great consolation; and when I had commended myself from my heart to the servant of God, I suddenly began to be better and rose from bed. Four days later, moreover, Don Francesco Migliaccio, canon penitentiary of this diocese, died; whose benefice I obtained. Moreover Don Trapani, then our bishop, made me ordinary confessor of the nuns of St. Clare of this city."
[163] to health Sister Giovanna Proto, a tertiary of St. Francis, had already been sick for twenty years with a fault of the chest and a continual spitting of blood; and so she was being consumed by a slow consumptive fever, the physicians despairing of her recovery. To which evil was added a new pain from a most grave fall, by which the nerves were injured, her arms and feet made immobile, all use of her limbs hindered, so that she lay in bed like a trunk. When, therefore, one night, a light having been lit, Giovanna was awake, she made this prayer to the servant of God: "If the restoration of my body is useful to the salvation of my soul, come, servant of God, bring me help!" "And while I was commending myself in these words," — so Giovanna continued her testimony, — "Father Bonaventure of Potenza appeared to me visibly, with a venerable and gentle face, filling the room with the highest dignity and the odours of paradise. And he said to me: 'Trust in God. Do you not know that by these labours the glory of paradise is purchased? Rejoice.' Having said this, he was taken from my eyes and I was filled with the greatest consolation. Then I remembered that under my pillow lay a particle of his habit; which I applied to my back, praying him again to obtain for me either health or a courage equal to bearing my pains. Then I felt myself free of all evil and fell asleep. In the morning I rose of my own accord healthy and
free of both my infirmities, and at once I began to work, I who before could not move myself without another's help. I continued thus for several days; but one morning, when I wished to rise, I saw myself entangled in the same evils as before, and unequal to putting on my clothes. When it came into my mind that this happened because I was keeping the relics of the servant of God not on my back but under my bolster, I took them back, and again without delay I was made healthy and free from all disease, and from then on I continued to be well." Which testimony was confirmed by the deposition of her mother Antonia di Amato and of the physician Felice Coppola.
[164] he brings back. A citizen of Potenza, named Ludovico Tramutoli, received a similar benefit; of which he testified in these words: "Eight years ago, tried for fourteen days by a malignant fever and abandoned by the physicians, I was in near danger of death. My brother Gerardo came, therefore, to me as I lay in bed and said to me: 'Ludovico, I have made a vow to visit the tomb of the servant of God Father Bonaventure, our fellow countryman, from whom I hope help will come to you.' And having given me in a draught of water a particle of the servant of God's shirt, he went on in these words: 'Have faith and you will be saved.' On the following night I was oppressed by the pains of the disease, yet wholly master of myself; and behold, there appeared to my eyes a Father of the Minor Conventuals of St. Francis, who, coming to my bed and raising me up, undid his cord and girded me about the middle, saying: 'Rejoice, for you are now healthy;' and at once he vanished. And at that very moment of time I felt myself healthy, free of fever and of all pain; and within a few days I rose from bed." Similarly Antonia Palma, having invoked the servant of God, saw him and was wholly and without delay freed from a grave wound of the head.
[165] Very many, laid upon his tomb, recover; The miracles that follow were selected among many others from the apostolic inquiries, both because they are almost the more notable, and above all because they were confirmed by a great number of witnesses. Sister Maria Fortunata di Afflitto, of noble family, when she was being brought up in the monastery of St. Clare at Ravello, affected with malignant pustules about the nostrils, had found relief in no remedies. Exasperated over the space of nine years, they had degenerated into a horrible fistula, and seemed incurable to the physicians. Then the wretched girl took refuge with the servant of God, having conceived a vow to visit his tomb. When she had done so, she tearfully applied her face to the tomb; and she whose face before was wholly corrupted rose without pain, without wound, without spot, without trace of the ailment; and so the healing was sudden, public, entire, stable, and acknowledged by the consent of all. Gioacchino Guerrasio, a boy of two years, had lost all his strength through a most grave disease of three months and seemed to be drawing his last breaths. His most sorrowful mother then took the poor little one into her lap and placed him upon the tomb of the servant of God. Scarcely had the little boy touched the sacred place when he rose of his own accord, healthy, vigorous, ruddy, and went away from the church with his mother rejoicing and festive. Fr. Angelo Amendola had fallen from the bell tower of the Conventuals of Ravello, and lay on the ground gravely wounded, covered with gore, half-alive. Carried by the arms of many onto the blessed man's tomb, at the first contact he was healed and rose of his own accord unhurt. Domenico Coppola from the hour of his birth to the twelfth year of his age was labouring with a most grave intestinal hernia, the peritoneum ruptured and the viscera descending into the scrotum; Candida Gascano was affected with the same inveterate ailment; and Orazio Famulare for a long time with a tertian fever; which three, when in their extreme straits they lay on the ground spread over the tomb, wholly recovered from their ills. By which miracles a huge glory accrued to the tomb of the servant of God.
[166] the same benefit granted to those who piously apply his relics to themselves, The application of his relics and the invocation of his name were no less useful. Lorenzo Manso, herniated, the membrane ruptured and the intestines slipped into the scrotum, and the canon Giovanni Domenico Famulare, labouring with the same ailment and besides with erysipelas and a deadly inflammation of the lungs, when both lay without hope, expecting death very soon, and Simeone Galise, likewise sick with an incurable hernia, implored the patronage of the servant of God and applied relics to themselves: and when they did so, they were restored to health. Ignazio di Amato, with a wound vitiated by gangrene, and having received the last sacraments, when he lay despaired of, was cured on the spot by the invocation of the same patronage and the application of relics; similarly Sister Angela Maria Confalone from inveterate pustules and incurable tumours of the throat, and at another time from erysipelas; Natale Manso from a deep and old wound of the leg; Stefano Manso from a huge tumour of the right leg; Agnese Manso from a stubborn tumour of the knee; Giuseppe di Amato from a swelling of the face, human remedies having been applied in vain; all were restored to health as soon as the relics were placed upon them. The mouth of Cesare Carola, doctor of medicine, had been painful for two years with malignant and incurable ulcers. Since he was helped in nothing by the medical art, he invoked the heavenly physician, a tooth of Bl. Bonaventure having been applied to his mouth. On the spot the ailment gave way. Teresa Bonito, afflicted with an acute fever, was in her death-agony; Giovanna Zaccaria had been labouring for six years with a bitter internal disease and an obstinate hoarseness; and Antonia Milano had a huge tumour in her neck; the relics of the blessed man having been applied, they suddenly recovered health.
[167] [or to those who implore his patronage: a foetus, three days dead, is recalled to life.] Laura Mosca had fallen from a high place. Her broken leg, either by bad treatment or some other cause, had been vitiated by gangrene. When, therefore, she was already in danger of death, she applied the relics of the servant of God to the wounded limb, and behold, health having been restored, she rose whole and safe. Andrea di Simone and his son Antonio, labouring at the same time with a malignant fever, when they saw themselves in the straits of death, commended themselves to Bl. Bonaventure; not in vain: for suddenly both returned to perfect health. Brigida Lombardo had come into the last peril from a difficult birth. The mature foetus, dead for three days, lay crosswise in the womb and was infecting it with putrefaction. At last the wretched woman and those standing by implored the help of the wonder-worker of Ravello. When his relics were applied to her belly, the foetus was suddenly expelled and the woman restored to health. Which miracle inspired the hope of another and greater prodigy. With new prayers, therefore, they besought the servant of God that his kindness should not fail the infant: and in fact that very child, three days dead and already putrefying, at once came to life and went on living.
[168] The healings of sciatica and of leprosy approved by the Holy See as miraculous. To the end we have kept two miracles which were confirmed by the judgement of the holy see. Andrea Russo, priest and canon of Ravello, was labouring for more than five months with an atrocious sciatica, despaired of by the common vote of the physicians. For the hip-bone had been moved from its socket; the gummy fluid within had hardened; the leg had dried up and become like a stake; so that the sick man lay motionless in bed. In the greatest pains he implored the help of the servant of God and applied relics to the sick part of his body. By which contact the hip-bone was restored to its place and all pain ceased on the spot, never to return. Without any support, therefore, Russo went to the church to give thanks to his benefactor, and from there to bishop Perimezzi, to announce the prodigy to him. Andrea di Pino, an infant of about forty days, had been given by his mother, Agata Amatruja, who was without milk, to be nursed by Santa Proto, an honest woman of Ravello. When she had taken off his swaddling bands, she found his body covered with elephantiasis, or Arabian leprosy, so that the ulcers and the wasting moved nausea. The remedies applied availed nothing; and continual sleeplessness, corroded flesh and a form of the tender little body like a skeleton presaged that death was near. Wherefore the mother and the nurse, afflicted with grief, took refuge with those above, and amid tears and prayers placed the half-living little boy upon the tomb of the servant of God. Scarcely had the infant touched the sacred place when he began to laugh and to play healthy with his mother. When he was carried home and stripped of his clothes, he was found wholly clean of the leprosy, without scar or spot.
[169] [The prodigies which happened in the year 1750 at the examination of the body of Bl. Bonaventure.] To these at last let there be added, as a crowning piece, the wonderful uncovering of the blessed man's body; which I shall relate according to Rossi from the letter of Agostino Giannini, bishop of Lettere and an eyewitness. For Giannini on the 8th day of April 1750, together with Antonio Maria Santoro, bishop of Ravello, and the Venerable Servant of God Antonio Maria Lucci, bishop of Bovino a, made the examination of the body by the authority of the apostolic see. After, therefore, Giannini had said that the body was found by him whole, soft, flexible, fragrant, clothed with all its flesh and like a living one, he continues thus: "It seemed good to me and to the other bishops and distinguished men present at the examination of the body that the body should be laid again in a wooden coffin lined with fine linen… But when they tried to place the body of the servant of God, taken out of the former tomb, in the coffin, this was found so narrow that the body stood out as far as the breast, since the width of the shoulders exceeded that of the coffin by a third of a palm. We were seized with amazement, but at the same time with fear lest the indiscreet devotion of the people should exceed measure and bounds. In this danger, therefore, impelled by a certain higher spirit, I said in a loud voice, the others hearing: 'Come, Father Bonaventure, settle yourself in the coffin, because we cannot do it.' Scarcely had I said these words when I saw, and those standing by saw, the venerable body of its own accord drawing in its arms and shoulders, entering wholly into the coffin, and settling itself there comfortably. But when the body had entered the coffin, the head remained outside the bolster which we had placed there for decency and convenience. Moving my outstretched hands, therefore, as if to lift the head, I said with the same confidence: 'Come, Father Bonaventure, as you did before, so do now.' When I had said this, without the impulse or help of my hands, which only followed the movement, the head of its own accord moved and settled itself comfortably upon the bolster beneath." There are still living, Rossi wrote twenty years later, very many witnesses of so great a prodigy b.
[170] Immediately after his death the way begins to be prepared for his beatification; The cause of the beatification of the servant of God, on the occasion of which this examination of the body was made, had already then been greatly advanced. Which cause began, as it were, within the three days in which, before burial, the body was carried about through the squares and set before the popular devotion: for then the common people were heard calling him their blessed one, their saint, their patron. The prodigies which during those three days the people of Ravello and of almost the whole Amalfi coast seemed to themselves to have seen could not but be spread through the whole Kingdom of Naples. Indeed the name of the servant of God was spread beyond the mountains by the Conventual Friars: to which spreading painted or printed images and short memoirs of his deeds contributed very much. There was also much rumour of benefits and prodigies performed after his death through the intervention of the blessed man. Gradually, therefore, the thought prevailed among the Conventuals that they must labour that
Bonaventure of Potenza should be enrolled among the heavenly ones by apostolic decree. Which thing was asked for in ninety-four petitionary letters by cardinals, archbishops, bishops, barons and ecclesiastical and secular colleges. Of this work Father Master Simeone was as it were the leader, who was set over the province of Naples when the blessed man departed from the living. When he understood of his death, he betook himself without delay to Ravello, both to collect memorials and to preserve his furnishings: of which nothing would have remained had not the law of the order stood in the way of popular devotion, by which no one is permitted to enter the cell of one who has been carried out without the authority of the minister provincial. When, moreover, the minister was present, a reasonable distribution of the deceased's inheritance was made. To the convent of Potenza he sent the whole inner tunic of the servant of God; where, received with much honour and enclosed in a seemly urn, it was deposited in a secret compartment of the domestic altar: in which tunic more than forty years later no moths were noticed. From there the urn was taken out and placed more honourably when the honours of the blessed were decreed to the servant of God. To the Neapolitan convent of St. Lawrence Major, which was the principal seat of the ministers provincial, Simeone destined his scourge, or discipline, and other lesser things; from which things, when they were uncovered in the year 1752, a sweet odour emanated. The minister reserved for himself the shirt, stained with blood; and one of the blessed man's disciples earnestly begged for the staff of rough wood which he had sometimes used on journeys. Others obtained other things according to the fervour and dignity of those asking: all of whom testified that in all their necessities they had not used the relics granted them in vain. What part Luigi Sileo, postulator of the cause, had in promoting the business of the beatification we have said in the preliminary Commentary.
[171] [whose solemnity was at last celebrated at Rome on the 26th day of November of the year 1775.] By the labour of these men, therefore, the cause of the beatification of the servant of God was vigorously promoted. In the year 1727 the customary inquiries into the fame of holiness, the virtues and the miracles were begun by the authority of the ordinaries, and three years later they were sent to Rome; from where in the year 1739 there came articles and mandates that a new inquiry should be made in the name of the pontiff; which was completed within the space of a year and sent to Rome. Then the cause proceeded in the prescribed order and form, until on the 4th day of June of the year 1770 the heroic virtues of the blessed man, and on the 8th day of September of the year 1774 two miracles performed after his death, and related by us a little before, were confirmed by solemn decrees by Pope Clement XIV, taken from the same religious family. Then on the 29th day of June of the year 1775 Pope Pius VI declared that one could proceed to the solemn beatification of the same servant of God; and indeed on the 19th day of November of the same year he ordered to be publicly read the letters by which he granted and allowed that the servant of God Bonaventure of Potenza should henceforth be called by the name of blessed and that his body and relics should be exposed to the veneration of the faithful: but the four documents in which all these things are more clearly contained we have given in the preliminary Commentary. With the greatest celebration, therefore, the solemnity of the beatification of the servant of God was held on the 26th day of November in the Vatican basilica, the peoples rejoicing and much more the heavenly ones, among whom the blessed man counted very many whom by his counsels, sermons and administration of the sacrament of penance he had once brought from the mire of sins to the friendship of God. As we lay down our pen, we beg of him this grace, that he will be willing to bring his help to the Kingdom of Naples, now afflicted by so many evils, so that the land, ennobled by his birth, labours and virtues, may again see justice and peace flourishing.
ANNOTATA.
EPILOGUE
When we wrote these things, the new laws had not yet been passed by which all religious societies and almost all ecclesiastical colleges in Italy have been consigned to destruction. These have now been enacted, so that it is probable that almost all the regulars will have been cast out of their houses when this volume is published here; and so, what I have affirmed here and there in the Life and the Annotations, that houses are still occupied by the Conventuals, will no longer be true when the book comes into the hands of readers. But such is the condition of these times that nothing is stable, since the foundations of human justice have been moved, and that history has as it were to be written day by day and changed with the daily changes. But there is no means by which these inconveniences may be guarded against.
[2] May God grant, through the intercession of Bl. Bonaventure of Potenza, who was the most recent among the Conventuals to be enrolled among the heavenly ones, that this family, the most ancient of all among the Franciscan ones, but which outside Italy has only a few houses, may stand firm in duty in the midst of the tribulations that await it, and that all its members, thinking of nothing but God, the church and the salvation of their order, may keep the seraphic spirit in the midst of the cares of the world; animated and fervent with which, they may raise up again the tree, not cut down but thrown down, when the temporary storm has ceased to rage. These are our wishes; these our hopes. For as yet the vision is far off, and it shall appear at the end, and shall not lie. Habakkuk II, 3.