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

submission, in her heroic tv instancy, she hud suo/vvded in subduing
all sentiment, all natural weakness, in order tli
easily to resign herself to the accomplishment
able will.
of God's ador-
The young man htul moved on his bed of pain.
" Are you suffering much, my child ?" she asked.
"
Yes, mother, much, God be praised for it," he replied with
great calmness. And then, after a short pause: "Do you
think, mother, that I shall suffer much longer ?"
" It will be as God shall wish," she responded.
"You are right," he "
replied. I desire only the accom-
plishment of Thy divine will, O my God !
Do
with me ns
Thou wilt, and as lout? as Thou wilt,'' And ho piously kissed
the crucifix that his mother presented to his lips.
" What day will to-morrow be ?" he asked after a moment.
"Saturday, my child."
" Oh ! so much the better. I shall die on a day consecrated
to my Immaculate Mother."
At these words the poor father burst into tears.
" Oh Victor, my child, what are you saying ? You shall not
die !" he cries. "It is impossible my son should die."
"Oh, dear father," interrupted Victor, "how can you be BO
afflicted and weep when I feel so happy ? . . . Yes, what
happiness, what inexpressible happiness !" lie repeated after
an instant's
"
pause. My God calls me to Himself and wishes
to rejoice me with His Divine Presence !"
But still the old man wept bitterly and would not be con-
soled.
" O father," resumed Victor, hi a caressing tone and with
angelic tenderness.
"
Why do you abandon yourself to such
bitter grief ? . . . You love me, however, and desire my
glory and happiness before anything. "
His father had not the strength to reply immediately to
those tender words.
'
Father," he
"
continued, think our separation will be short.
Yes, short, and, above all, happy, my dear father. . , Cannot
you console yourself in thinking that you have a son in
heaven who died for the honor and glory of his God ?"
The poor father raised his head a calm smile of resignation
shone through his tears. He now understood the divine lan-
guage of faith.
The dying man then stretched oat his
his companion in arms.
already icy hand to
" My dear Joseph," he murmured, " thanks for love and af-
fectionate care. Remember me to your good mother and sis-
ter. And you, my dear Martin, you who have so valiantly ex-
posed your life to save mine, receive my thanks; don't forget
your friend."
He then turned to Stefano.
" And you, generous friend," he continued in a voice still
' '
weaker and more tremulous, you and your amiable sister
who, in caring for me, have given me another home and another
country, let me thank yon a thousand times for your kind-
" Well must we pray, my child?" she asked.
" Yes, mother, thanks."
She herself then began the prayers for the agonizing, and
her maternal voice, which had ceased to tremble, was sweet
and consoling to his dull < ar.
Suddenly he was seen to shudder and tremble, and stre'.ch
out his nnns towards his mother. A more violent rattling then
t >re at his throat, and a torrent of frothy blood issued from
nth.
" Mother, I am dying," he murmured. " Life is going. . .
I am "
dying
"
My child," she replied with heroic firmness, "our God is
good and great ; may His holy will be done. We will r cite
the Te Deum for your deliverance, my son."
And that glorious and triumphant chant, the finest and snb-
Jimest victorious hymn of joy ever inspired, was breathed at
that moment from the lips of that heroic mother by the .
bed of her beloved son.* And while the hymn of thanksgiving
:veu, the priest's hand was extended to give the last
bene liction to the soul about to begin its journey.
"O mother, father," murmured Victor, with a last glance
and a last smile, " we will meet again in the glory and peace
of the Lord. . . My
Saviour, I love Thee ! . . O my
God, Jesus, and Mary !"
And the soul had received the kiss of peace from the lips of
the body, while the body, stretched motionless and lifeless,
now reposed in the shadow of death.
But the martyr was already crowned ;
the peace and brightness
of heaven caressed his pure and tranquil brow, his noble
smiling countenance, with their divine rays.
Next morning the converted philosophe and his afflicted wife
alighted from a carriage at the gate of the Vatican.
Victor's father desired, first of all, to pour his grief into the
bosom of the noble Pontiff. When he was admitted to the
presence of the Holy Father, he immediately threw himself at
his feet, which he bedewed with tears.
" O Holy Father," he murmured in the midst of his tears,
when the Pontiff, profoundly moved, gave him his hand to kiss,
"our child hn s kept his word : he has sacrificed himself; he
has died for his two fathers !"
CHAPTEE
CONCLUSION.
The yonng martyr's parents, who now occupy their country
house at Schrambeck all the year round, still suffer from the
deep cruel wound the premature death of their beloved
son inflicted on their hearts; but time is gradually softening
the anguish of that sorrow, which they bear like Christians.
At the foot of that bed of death, where he saw his son smile
upon him and sleep in peace, the philosophe bade adieu to all
the vain errors of his proud reason. Before quitting Rome,
lie was solemnly reconciled to God, and the tears he shed over
his son's tomb were the humble, fervent, patient, sincere tears
ness and affection towards a . . . poor stranger. Farewell,
friends; farewell, all. I'll not forget you in my heavenly
country As to you, father," he continued, turning
towards the priest, " remember me, I conjure you in your
prayers at the altar of God."
"And you, my dear child," replied the old man, with affectionate
"
gravity, remember me when you are before His
throne !"
of a Christian. He is now the friend of the venerable pastor
of Schrambeck, and the members of the Society of St. Vincent
de Paul have elected him president of their confraternity.
Along with his amiable wife, he has become the support, eonsolation,
and visible Providence of all who suffvr and mourn.
The dwelling of the libre-penseur of former days has become
the refuge where the sick and indigent seek health, consolation
and hope; and the prayer of gratitude daily ascends to God
from more than one grateful heart, invoking His benediction on
that justly -revered roof.
Then there was a long silence, broken only by the stifled
Bobs and murmurs of the young man's friends.
The clock already marked the first hour of day, when the
harsh, hollow death-rattle was again heard.
"
Mother," murmured Victor, "The moment is now ap-
"
proaching
Joseph and Martin, on their return to Schambeck, were received
with lively demonstrations of joy and sincere respect.
Since then Joseph has married; he had the happiness to liud
an amiable and charming wife, who united her efforts to those
of her husband and his pretty sister Mary to make Madame
Van Dael's old age as calm and happy as a fine summer e\i-n-
ing. Indeed, the good lady seems to grow younger every day,
she is BO proud, happy, and contented to see a charming lit-
tle boy, whom she is accustomed to call Joseph although in
memory of his grandfather he bears the name of Henry playing
about her.
Thin is au historical fact.