Fabiola : or, The church of the catacombs - Digital Repository Services

* I would try to recollect," replied
THE VISION OF OLD ANDREW THE WEAVER. IS
the saint with more of
Solemnity and feeling than before, "Him who was deserted by
all, even His most cherished friends ; who was denied by the
ever, hesitating. "I've got nothing else to say; I'm fairly
beaten."
"Why not say convinced?" asked his saintly instructor,
"convinced that these things, which you have hitherto looked
shine like diamonds
in your crown, as you see the very threads of my coarse habit
shining now. Jesus has told you, that not one hair of your
head shall fall to the ground, unmarked by your Heavenly
Father; much less shall one care, or one pang, or one privation,
however trifling or unimportant, if borne in patience for the
love of Jesus, fail of its reward."
The saint paused for a moment, but Andrew was silent, he
clearly bad got no more to say, so his lovely monitor went
on.
"Remember, too, that the greater the affliction that threatens
you, the greater opportunity is there of heaping up treasure
on treasure in heaven, so that by one month spent patiently
in a workhouse, such as you have described, you may gain as
much as by years spent in a monastery ; especially, if, as you
seem to suppose, there would be nothing there to disturb your
peace. Yea, even the loss of spiritual consolations is not without
its own peculiar recompense. For such loss, borne with
patience and in obedience to the will of God, will have more
merit in heaven, than any masses ever assisted at in the spirit
of self-gratification. For obedience is, and ever has been,
1
better than sacrifice.'"
It was at length plain that Andrew began
to falter. He
hung down his head and became more thoughtful, whilst the
saint resumed :
"You just now spoke of the happiness of preaching to and
converting sinners. There are great consolations in it. I have
experienced them, and let me tell you, the hope of experiencing
them again, has had some share in making me so willing,
if heaven permits, to resume the office by exchanging with
you."
Andrew could no longer keep silence. " Small chance of
your doing that hi the workhouse," he said; "you'd find few
listeners there, even if the master didn't stop your mouth.
They won't let any one but the church parson preach there."
" There is one mode of preaching," replied the saint, "which
none can hinder and few resist, that of good example. Forbearance
under injurious treatment, meekness towards all, and
patient resignation in pain and suffering, would make converts
even in a workhouse, and disarm the cruelty of the most hardhearted
master. And no one could hinder that. "
"True, true ! I see you're right,"
said Andrew. Then as
if communing with himself, he went on, "It's very strange,
I've always been grumbling and making myself
miserable about my lot aye, I was hah5 inclined to quarrel
with Father Peter yesterday, when he said, I might be worse
off, and that if I have troubles. I have also advantages more
than many others, and I laughed that I did when ho told
me many a one would be glad to change with me. Little then
did I dream of what I've heard this night. Now I find there
are millions who would be glad to make the exchange the lost
;
hi hell, that they might have time for penance; the souls in
purgatory, that they might get to heaven all the sooner and
easier and even the blessed in heaven this ig the ; strangest
of all that they might show their love of God more, and earn
more merit and a higher reward. And then, only to think it,
ry things I've been grumbling at are those that make
them more anxious to get into my place. Well, well,
I'd never
ha' believed it, if I'd heard it in a sermon." He stopped, and
the saint, who had listened with a complacent smile to the old
man's reverie, resumed.
"What say yon now, brother? Will yon exchange with
Will yuii give me the op] I now in your power,
tor yourself ? Thereby,
01 will you keep
when (id nh:dl summon you
of adding to this luippineBS which I
most favored of His apostles nay, who complained, whilst He
was hanging in the very agonies of death, that He was left to
die without the consolations of His Father and His God."
"
Well, I see I nmst give it up," said Andrew, still, how-
upon as such evils, are, in reality blessings ; which, if you
know how to profit of them, shall one from your place of trial to join us, to be placed on a brighter
throne, and made more glorious than any that yon see even
here."
He raised his eyes as he spoke, and fixed them full on the
countenance of Andrew. The glory that was poured
day forth
from them, and his own tears which now began to run fast down
the furrows of his cheeks, for a moment blinded the old man,
and choked his utterance, but at length he spoke.
" If your eyes were as persuading when you used to preach
hereabouts as they are now, I trow there were no discontented
people to be found in our village. At least you've persuaded
me so, I'll try to remember what you've told me when I'm in
the workhouse, and that's likely to be to-morrow and if I feel
;
impatient, I'll just fancy I see you looking at me as yon do
now and if that won't make me ; patient, I don't know what
will."
"Bather think," said the holy monk, "that He who hangs
there above us is looking at you ; His eyes are brighter far, and
carry in them more persuasion than mine, or those of all the
saints, and cherubims, and seraphims united."
"I'll try then to think of both," said Andrew.
" Then you've made up your mind not to change."
"
Yes," replied, Andrew, "I think I have."
" Then can I do anything further for you ?" asked the saint.
"
O, yes !" cried Andrew, sinking down on his knees before
him, "give me your blessing now, and promise to pray often
for me,that I may make as good a use of poverty and afflictions
as yon have done. " The saint stood for a moment with eyes
uplifted to the rood above as if in prayer, then stretching forth
his hands over the old man he said :
"You have chosen well and wisely. May He, who to shov
his love of poverty, was born in a stable and died naked on
cross, bless you ; may He confirm your choice, and make yofc
every day more and more like unto Himself. May He
strengthen you and support you, and console you, and teach
you the secrets of that heavenly wisdom, which He so often
conceals from the great and proud, but reveals to the little and
lowly. Such, brother, is the blessing I wish you now ; and
thus will I pray for you every day and hour, until anJ I
trust I shall not have many prayers to offer np before the tune
shall come until we meet here again."
He ceased, and folding his arms upon his breast, glided
quietly to his place amid the golden stalls. The Mass at once
proceeded, the ministers took their places at the altar, aad the
choir of saints and angels once more burst forth.
The strain had in it a more beseechful energy, ii possible,
than any which had preceded it, and Andrew could plainly recognize
the words of the Offertory. "Lord Jesus Christ, King
of Glory, deliver the souls of all the faithful departed from the
flames of hell and from the deep pit. Deliver them from the
lion's mouth, lest hell swallow them, lest they fall into dark-
ness ; and let the standard-bearer St. Michael bring them iuto
Thy holy light, which Thou promisedst of old to Abraham and
his posterity. We offer Thee, O Lord, a sacrifice of praise and
prayer ; accept them in behalf of the souls we commemorate
this day, and let them pass from death to life, which Thou
proinisedst of old to Abraham and his posterity."
Andrew listened overwhelmed with emotion, but ere it was
concluded, the voice of one of the angels seemed to speak ir,
his interior. "Thou must retire, for thy errand here is ended.
Until thou hast passed the gates of death, thou canst not be
permitted further to behold the mysteries of this night."
Obedient to the intimation, the old man rose from his knees,
sorrowful indeed at the disappointment, but resigned. As he
raised his eyes to catch a last glimpse of the glories of the
chancel, he found that the mist was again closing around him,
and the altar, with the splendor that t u it, wns nlr
"j faint and indistinct, like some beautiful and glowing
object seen in the distance.