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

myself nicely at your foot, and I si mil listen quite nt my
"
I cannot answer for its "lein;.; enlirrly true, iinil it is BO long
since I read it, that I almost forget it. She was on orphan,
brought up from her earliest infancy in a convent of which her
aunt was abbess. I think her Heavenly Father must Himself
have chosen out this sanctuary of peace for His little one, in
order that no obstacle might be opposed to the 1
graces which
He had reserved for her innocent soul, and by means of which
drew her to Himself, that, from the earliest dawn of rea-
son, her thoughts seemed to turn as naturally to Him as the
thoughts of other children do to the toys and orna-
ments of her age. From the moment she could speak, her
words were of Jesus from the moment she ;
could walk, her
f i I ever
turned towards the altar of Jesus ; spiritually
every day, and every hour of the day, she united herself to
Him by her fervent desires; although far too young to be received
into sacramental communion with Him, yet was this the
object of her most earnest aspirations, of her unceasing petitions.
Day after day she used to accompany the nuns to the
church, and to watch them with eyes of envy, as two by two
they approached the altar, and two by two returned to their
and ; when she saw them depart in peace, because their
God was with them, she would prostrate herself at the feet of
the abbess, and implore her with many tears to give to her this
Jesus, in whose embraces she herself was so happily folded."
" And they would not?" said Agnese, in a tone of deep sym-
pathy.
" She was so young, my child. But, young as she was, God
had given to her a faith, a perception of the real presence of
Jesus in the sacrament, which saints deem themselves happy
to attain after years of penance, solitude and prayer; and often
she has been heard to say in her sorrow: "He is near, and I
cannot approach Him; He is here, and I cannot possess Him;
He is with all the others, and I alone am deprived of His embraces."
Of her it might be truly said, that she mourned like
the dove, whose sweet name she bore, for she did languish and
pine until her bodily health sank beneath the vehement desires
of her soul. Her step grew languid, and her cheek grew pale,
and her soft eye softer and softer still, and yet, within its depth
of softness (so the old legend tells us) a light, as if of heaven, did
dwell; and still the hmguid step led her to the altar, and the
weary head was bowed before it, and the eye was tinned in
patient sorrow towards the, dove that watched above it, iloating
calm, and silvery, and pale, beneath the lighted lamp of the
holy place, and seeming to tell, even in its outward form, of
Him, the peaceful and the pure, who night and day reposed
wilh in its bosom."
" Hi:n, Francesco ! do you mean Him? Was Jesus really
dwelling within the dove !"
"In those days, Agnese, the Blessed Sacrament was not kept
upon the altar; it was placed in a silver vessel, suspended from
above, and most often, I believe, fashioned in the likeness of a
dove a dove, chosen, perhaps, because of the sweet and lov-
ing qualities with which our fancy has invested her. Yes, and
I may also say, within which God Himself has chosen to surround
her, making her ever, as it were, His messenger of peace
to mankind. And so it may have seemed right and fitting to
the early Christians, that she, who brought the olive branch to
Noe, should likewise bear Him above that altar, to which
never would He descend except in thoughts of loving kindness
to His creatures. "
"A dove, "said Agnese, thoughtfully; "that js for meditation,
is it not?"
"True," said the old man " so she ; would also remind them
how they were to meditate like doves before Him, and how
they were to put off their rough, ungainly notions, and to put
on His meek and dove-like spirit, for He was a very dove in
heart, aud He came to us through the dove-like Mary."
" Tell me now about the child, Francesco, and what was
Did you not Bay that she was the name-sake, <
BLIND .'U/.YA'.SV.
1 the
" She was called Colomba ; I know not whether for her
Bweet An
; but I HIM call'- I Aj/nrsc,
and that
and not
is better still. For I am the namesake of
halice iii which Ho is contai.
the Lamb,
so weak at lust that she could neither walk
"Colomba grew
nor stand, and then they would carry her to the church and
lay her on the pavement just beneath the silver guardian of
the altar. Here they used to leave her for she always was
best pleased to be left alone with Jesus. But often Ihey
watched her through the hours when she deemed herself unseen
and those who did BO have left it on record, how slm
would lie motionless as one in a slumber, her hands folded on
her bosom, her eyes lifted to the dove, which through
tin; i
ble light and gloomy shadow, seemed watching her from on
high and ever and anon, after a long and loving .silence, she
would say, in a voice so sweet and sad, it might have been the
'
bird she looked on that the
very mourning of the quiet
Oh,
dove would descend and give Him to my prayers. '
" One day she seemed so feeble, they almost feared to move
her, but she prayed so earnestly to be carried to the church
for the last, last time to visit Jesus, that the nuns had it not in
their hearts to refuse her petition. So they bore her to His
altar, and then, yet more earnestly than she had ever done be-
fore, she besought them to leave her to herself. It always appeared
strange to them afterwards that they should have done
so ; they did not understand their feelings at the moment ;
but later they confessed to one another that a kind of awful
love had crept over their spirits, she looked and spoke so like
a creature acting and speaking under the influence of the Spirit
of God, her very -words penetrating their hearts with a kind of
celestial sweetness, such as they had never felt or known be-
fore. It seemed almost, to them, as if some hidden influence
had left them no choice but to obey her.
" One there was, however, not quite so submissive to the
wishes of Colomba ;
this was her little sister, who was passionately
attached to her, and to whom she herself was fondly devoted.
The child, it appears, could not bear to leave her, ill
and alone, in that gloomy church, so she hid herself behind one
of the pillars, and watched her from a distance.
"
Then, as ever, Colomba folded her hands upon her bosom,
and lifted her eyes to her silver dove, and said so softly and
beseechingly :
'
Oh, that thou wouldst descend and give Him
to my prayers. '
And then scarcely could the child believe
her eyes slowly and steadily, through the dim shadows of tho
evening, the dove descended the light of the lamp above
gleaming brightly on its silver wings and, as if some secret
spirit gave her power, Coloinba rose to meet it. And her
folded arms were folded still, and her head was bowed in lowliest
prayer, and she knelt, yet scarcely did she seem to touch
the pavement, and a soft and silvery mist seemed floating
around her, as if to fold her from all mortal vision. And then,
in fear and wonder, the child ran to summon her companions ;
but when the nuns returned with her to the church, the dove
had re-ascended to its former position, and the child lay once
more stretched upo-i the pavement peace on her brow, an un-
utterable expression (it could not be called a smile) yet resting
on her lips. The nuns were frightened at her stillness. They
drew near, but she did not move ; they spoke, but she did not
answer. They kissed her, but no look of gratitude was returned
for their embraces. Still seemed the bird of the sanctuary
to brood over the fair child, but Colomba no longer had
need of its assistance closed were the eyes which had been
fixed upon it so often and so long, hushed was the voice which
had called it from on high. The dove's celestial habitant had
taken her to Himself, and the child was dead."
" Francesco ! But He had come to her in her dying hour?"
" Who can tell," replied Francesco. "This much, indeed,
is certain, that when the dove was lowered, one was missing of
the sacred Hosts which had been confided to its keeping ; and
so the nuns were left uncertainly to conjecture, that Jesus,
whose delight it is to bo with the children of men, would not
refuse Himself to the embraces of this child, nor suffer her soul