Part 7
ANTHONY AT PADUA AND HIS DEATH

ANTHONY AT PADUA

Anthony had long been a wanderer. From Portugal he traveled into Spain, Morocco, Sicily. He journeyed from Messina to Assisi; from Assisi to Monte Paolo, Toulouse, Puy-en-Valey, Limoges, Rome, Rimini, Venice, Ferrara, Mantua, and elsewhere. But of all the cities he visited and of all the peoples he ministered unto, his name was destined to become associated with Padua and the Paduans.

The Padua of today is not the Padua of old; it is naturally more or less modernized; yet, happily, a delightful flavor of antiquity still abides there, and is perceptible in all its nooks and corners. When I first visited Padua I was a pilgrim and a stranger. One may be ever a pilgrim in that hallowed land, but never twice a stranger. Alighting at the station, I wandered through the streets, suffering myself to be piloted-----by my Good Angel it may have been-----till I came to the inn with the sign of the Three White Crosses, and I abode there. The fifty thousand people of Padua left me to myself, and I went my way as if I were invisible to any. This shrine seems to be the least commercial of them all, and yet it is one of the most famous and the most popular.

How soon one does Padua as a tourist: devouring it, as it were; bolting it as the hungry sightseer bolts everything visible! Of course there is a memory and an indigestion after all is over, and the fagged tourist packs himself home and sits down to think. One does it in a day-----so much of Padua as is in the guidebook. There is a memory of lovely churches and the tombs of Saints, and old walls covered with very ancient frescoes and other works of art-----here Giotto was in his glory. And there is a memory of a host of college boys wandering to and fro with their arms upon one another's shoulders. A world-famous University, that has been flourishing half a thousand years, is located here.

Somehow, one can not help thinking of Enrico and his Italian "School-Boy's Journal"-----that most charming of the works of De Amicis-----when one falls in with these Paduan students, with their troubadour faces and airs and graces-----albeit they are not half so interesting as little Enrico. Oh, the power, the beauty, the fervor and the pathos of that book-----"Cuore," by Edmondo de Amicis! Read it if you have not read it; there you will see the heart of Young Italy laid bare.

The great circular piazza of the city is wreathed with a double row of statues, commemorating in marble the famous-----or perhaps in some cases the infamous-----graduates of the memorable University.

In Anthony's day Padua was a very different town. Now it languishes in its comfortable age; then it was the abode of luxury, the haunt of vice. Debauchery and usury flourished; family feuds were rife, and God was forgotten. At Rimini, Bourges, Toulouse, Anthony had warred against heresy; at Padua it was the sensuous and sensual and dissolute life of the people he was called upon to reform. Fearlessly he struck at the root of the evil; face to face he attacked the depravity of those high in office; hand to hand he wrestled with every obstacle that was raised before him, and overthrew them each and all. He was gentle, but firm; and his manner was so majestic, his argument so convincing, and his denunciation so terrible, that no one could long withstand him.

He put an end to the most painful family contentions, and to the scandalous quarrels of political factions. Guelph and Ghibelline were reconciled; those who had been long estranged fell upon one another's necks and exchanged the kiss of peace. Those who seemed unapproachable were approached by him; those who were deaf to all others gave him an attentive ear.

Sixty-four years after his conversion by St. Anthony, a once notorious brigand gave to the Friars Minor the  following remarkable narrative of his personal experience:

"I was a brigand by profession and one of a band of robbers. There were twelve of us living in the forest, whence we issued to waylay travelers and commit every kind of depredation. The reputation of Anthony, his preaching and his miraculous deeds, penetrated even to our ears in the depths of the forest. Rumor compared him to the Prophet Elias. It was said his words were so ardent and efficacious as to resemble the spark that falling into the sheaves of corn sets them aflame and consumes them.

"We resolved to disperse ourselves one day amongst the crowd in order to test the truth of these assertions. While he spoke another voice seemed to resound in our ears-----the voice of remorse. After the sermon all the twelve of us, contrite and repentant, threw ourselves at his feet. He called down upon us the Divine pardon, but not without warning us that if we unfortunately relapsed into our old ways we should perish miserably. This prediction was verified. A few did relapse, and ended their days on the gallows. Those who persevered fell asleep in the peace of the Lord.

" As for myself, St. Anthony imposed upon me the penance of making a pilgrimage twelve times to the tomb of the Apostles. Today I have completed my twelfth visit; and I feel confident that, according to his promise and through his merits, I shall meet him above." The chronicle adds: "Tears and sobs interrupted the old man's. last words."

Anthony is the glory of Padua, and gloriously has Padua enshrined him. In all her strange, eventful history there is no name that shines like his. He was one of the two who did more for the enlightenment, the humanizing and the harmonizing of the hordes of the Middle Ages than all the rest besides.

Frédéric Morin, in his "St. Francois et les Franciscains," says "Modern Europe has no idea of all it owes to St. Francis of Assisi."

 Montalembert has proved by indisputable facts that "the victory of Christianity over neo-paganism in the Middle Ages was chiefly due to the gallant efforts of the two new religious bodies that sprang up in the thirteenth century."

In the introduction of his life of "St. Elizabeth of Hungary" Montalembert says: "The children of St. Dominic and St. Francis spread themselves over Italy [then tom by so many disorders], striving to reconcile rival factions, to vindicate truth and confute error; acting as supreme arbitrators, yet judging all things in a spirit of charity. In 1233 they could be seen traversing the peninsula, armed with crosses, incense, and olive branches; upbraiding the cities and princes with their crimes and enmities; and the people, for a time at least, bowed before this sublime mediation." Cesare Cantu, in his "Histoire Universelle," adds: " At the end of the peacemakers we must place St. Francis of Assisi and his disciple, St. Anthony of Padua."

Anthony preached peace and he restored it. His constant cry was: "No more war; no more hatred and bloodshed, but peace! God wills it!" And there was peace. He was not quite alone in his noble efforts toward the reconciliation of all mankind: the parish clergy, the sons of St. Benedict and St. Dominic, as well as the sons of St. Francis, rallied at his call and mustered under his generalship. It was a holy war and a triumphant one. Among these soldiers of the Cross was one Luke Belludi, a preacher of eloquence and power, who received the habit from St. Francis himself, and who was one of Anthony's most devoted followers. His ashes lie buried by the side of those of the Saint he loved, in that wonderful shrine in Padua.

He had his willing workers there in Padua and elsewhere, but the burden fell upon the shoulders of Anthony. And what a burden of responsibility of patient endurance, of calm judgment and wise and deliberate action it was! Yet all the while he was devoted to his mission: day and night he was in the pulpit or the confessional, or by the bedside of the sick and dying; and none of the thousand cares of the sacred ministry was neglected by him. Ever forgetful of self, it is said that often and often he would toil until evening with no other nourishment, and no thought of other nourishment, than the Blessed Bread he had received from the altar at dawn. And all this was for the love of his people, for the honor of Padua and the greater glory of God.

THE PASSING OF ANTHONY

Anthony having chosen Padua as his place of residence, because, as his biographer, John Peckham, says, "of the faith of its inhabitants, their attachment to him, and their devotion to the Friars Minor," he there ended his life's work in his thirty-sixth year of grace.

How he loved Padua! A fortnight before his death, having ascended a hill overshadowing the city, he gazed down upon it in all its beauty; and, stretching forth his hands above its marble palaces, its domes, and lofty bell towers, embosomed in bowers of foliage; while the incense of its blossoming gardens was wafted to him, and the ripening cornfields and the vineyards framed it all in a frame of gold and green and purple, he exclaimed in rapture: "Blessed be thou, O Padua, for the beauty of thy site! Blessed be thou for the harvest of thy fields! Blessed also shalt thou be for the honor with which Heaven is about to crown thee!" What honor? At that moment, in a vision, he beheld the celestial city, and through the gates of Padua the beloved his soul was to pass hence forever.

It was while on his way to the heights of Campo San Pietro, a few miles from Padua, passing through a wood, the property of his friend Don Tiso, Anthony discovered a walnut tree of gigantic proportions; here was deep shadow, layer upon layer, among branches as large as the rafters of a hall. Nothing could be more inviting; for only the birds nested there, while the butterflies fluttered in the sunshine that environed it. It was a green island in a golden sea; a place of refuge and refreshment for the world weary.

Having foreknowledge of his death, Anthony bethought him of this retreat. With pliant boughs he wove a wall of verdure, and fashioned a little cell between earth and Heaven-----the daintiest oratory that ever was, and a couch for one who was in the world but not of it. The old masters have pictured him as in a nest among the spreading branch, and have painted him with childlike simplicity as brooding there. Probably his leafy cell was a little Heaven of detachment, where nothing ever broke in upon his meditations. His faithful allies, Brother Luke Belludi and Brother Roger, kept watch with him-----two silent sentinels standing between him and the outer world.

Once a day he descended from his airy solitude and broke bread with the two Brothers who attended him; it seemed to be more a matter of form than of necessity. He no longer was of the earth as we are, but was a spirit bearing about a fragile shell of clay that was soon to be laid aside, a useless and abandoned thing. His waking hours were passed in prayer and in the completion of his commentaries. He spoke not, nor was he ever known to smile: he was absorbed in preparation for his final flight. One day, when he had descended to break his fast with his companions, he fainted at their rustic board. At first the Brothers thought him in ecstasy-----for his ecstasies were frequent now; but, seeing the shadow of death upon him, they hastened to assist him to a couch of green shoots close at hand. Having recovered consciousness, and seeing the Brothers bending over him in tears, he begged that he might at once be taken to the monastery at Padua, there to die among his brethren, supported by their presence and their prayers. He was tenderly placed in a passing peasant's cart, and the sad procession started. But so great was his exhaustion when they reached Arcella-----the Convent of Poor Clares, near the gates of the city-----that the Brothers besought him to alight there to seek the rest he stood so much in need of. With difficulty he was assisted into a small hospice adjoining the convent, where dwelt three or four Friars Minor who acted as chaplains to the daughters of St. Clare.

By this time Anthony was beginning to lose consciousness; but, recovering himself for a little while, he made his last confession. When the friars proposed to anoint him he said: "I already possess that unction within myself; but it is good to receive it outwardly."

While Extreme Unction was being administered he recited with the brethren prayers for the dying and the Penitential Psalms, and received the absolution. Then, filled with a Heavenly joy that was like an ecstasy, to the wonder of those about him, he sang alone, and in a clear full voice, his favorite hymn:

O gloriosa Domina 
Excelsa super sidera, 
Qui te creavit provide 
Lactasti sacro ubere.
Quod Eva tristis abstulit, 
Tu reddis almo germine: 
Intrent ut astra flebiles, 
Coeli fenestra facta es.

Tu Regis alti janua,
Et porta lucis fulgida:
Vitam datam per Virginem, 
Gentes redemptae, plaudite.

Gloria tibi, Domine,
Qui natus es de Virgine,
Cum Patre et Sancto Spiritu
In sempiterna saecula.

Having ceased singing, he raised his eyes to Heaven with a gaze that startled his companions; it was as if those eyes were filled with some wondrous vision. Brother Roger, in whose arms he was supported, said: "What do you see?" And Anthony answered, still gazing in rapture: "I behold my God!" For about half an hour he was lost in contemplation of the Beatific Vision; and then, like a weary child, he fell into a deep sleep and woke no more.

At the moment when his soul was set free from its earthly tabernacle Anthony appeared to Don Thomas, the Abbot of St. Andrew's at Vercelli, who was at the time sitting alone in the room. His former pupil entered and said to him: "See, Father Abbot, I have left my burden near the gates of Padua, and am hastening to mine own country." He then passed his hand carressingly across the throat of the Abbot, who was suffering from a severe chronic affliction; and the throat was permanently cured. Thereupon Anthony disappeared.

The Abbot, surprised at the sudden entrance and the exit of Anthony, hastened after him to beg him to remain a little while a guest; but, throwing open the door of his chamber, no Anthony was visible. Those who were waiting in the antechamber had seen nothing of him; nor had anyone at St. Andrew's, save the Abbot, any knowledge of Anthony. Then the Abbot knew that the burden Anthony had left at Padua was his body; and that the home to which he was hastening was not Portugal, but Paradise.

Efforts were made to keep Anthony's death a secret. He was the popular idol of all Italy, and not alone of Italy: he had wielded greater personal influence than almost any man of his time. He was not only respected by the masses, but he was listened to with rapt attention by the representatives of all classes, from the peer to the peasant. He was loved by all, reverenced by all; he was venerated by the vast multitude of his faithful followers. And, therefore, it was deemed wise to keep his death a secret-----for a time at least-----lest the populace should be distracted and demoralized by so terrible a blow.

Man proposes! Hardly had his bright spirit taken its flight when the children of Padua-----the children he so dearly loved-----as if inspired, rushed about the streets in a kind of frenzy, crying out: "Our Saint is dead! St. Anthony is dead!" Consternation followed; the whole city was plunged in desperate grief; and still worse was to follow.

The body of Anthony was a precious treasure coveted by all. As the dying gaze of St. Francis rested upon Assisi, the city of his soul, whose portals he was not again permitted to enter in the flesh, so Anthony, homesick and heartsick for his Padua, gave up the ghost without her gates. Had Anthony entered the city and breathed his last in the monastery of his Order, there could have arisen no question as to the ultimate disposition of his remains. But he fell by the wayside, as it were; therefore the Poor Clares, in whose humble hospice he died, claimed the honor of enshrining his remains; so did his brethren, the Friars Minor of Padua; so also did the suburbs and the magistracy of Padua promptly forward their claims. Thus it happened that the body of the Saint who strove to bring peace into the world once more, became the source of violent contention.

John Peckham describes the grief of the Poor Clares at the death of Anthony. "Alas!" they cried, "unhappy we! O tender Father of our souls, taken forever from your daughters, why has death spared us for this cruel blow? Our poverty contented us and we counted ourselves rich when we could hear you preach to us the Gospel of the Lord."

Then one of the nuns sought to console the others in these words: "Why shed useless tears? It is not the dead we are bewailing, but an immortal, the companion of Angels, an inhabitant of Heaven. A great consolation will flow for us out of this painful separation if we can keep him here amongst us-----a joy we could not have whilst he lived."

The Poor Clares sent a deputation to the magistrates and nobles of Padua, beseeching them to lend their influence to the end that the body of Anthony might be retained in their convent. The friars, immediately upon learning of his death, hastened to Arcella with the intention of removing the remains at once to their monastery of Santa Maria. "It was his wish," they said, in proof of their right to possess the body. And so it was his wish; yet the people of Capodiponte, where Arcella was situated, openly sided with the Poor Clares, and resolved that the Friars Minor should not carry away with them the blessed remains. The friars appealed to the bishop, who decided in their favor; but when the enthusiastic Paduans went forth to bring away the body, they were met by the armed partisans of the Poor Clares, and bloodshed seemed imminent and inevitable.

At length the bishop persuaded the combatants to declare a truce until the provincial-----who was absent at the time, and had been sent for-----should return. Still this did not suffice. That very night, while the friars at the hospice of the Poor Clares were watching beside the dead behind barricaded doors, the excited populace, eager to get a view of the body, if not to carry it away with them, threw down the barricades and rushed in to drive away the watchers. On the instant they were struck blind, and transfixed as if turned to stone.

At daybreak the multitude assembled to look upon the body of Anthony and to touch it. Miracles were wrought then and there; while from time to time arose a wail from the people, who cried with one voice: "Whither have you gone, loving Father of Padua? Have you really gone away, and left behind the children who repented and were born again to Christ through you? Where shall we find another to preach to us orphans with such patience and charity?"

Owing to the non-arrival of the provincial, Brother Leo Valvasari, a very wise and prudent man-----later Archbishop of Milan-----went out to calm the passions of the ever-increasing throngs. Addressing the men of Arcella, he said:

"My brothers, there can be no question of justice as regards your claim; but if you wish to retain the body of Father Anthony, asking it as a favor, I and my brethren will consult as to what seems to be the will of God. Meanwhile I gladly give you permission to watch the place where our holy Father Anthony lies, in order that you may not distrust us."

A body of armed men was sent from Padua to protect the convent of the Poor Clares, and an order issued that anyone molesting the friars, or found carrying weapons at Arcella, should be fined a hundred pounds of silver.

When the bishop held court a few days later, he summoned the Friars Minor, as well as the representatives of Capodiponte, in order that he might hear and judge both sides of the question. It was now the belated provincial who arose and said:

"Justice is a holy thing, and must never be made the sport of passion. Love and attachment are praiseworthy, but they must give way to justice. This present affair has been conducted with blind passion rather than according to the rules of justice. Who can doubt that Brother Anthony belonged to us? You all witnessed his arrival at Santa Maria; how he went in and out amongst us; how if he went on a journey it was to us he returned.

A month ago he left us; but only, as he himself said, to come back in a short time, and then to remain with us altogether. I, therefore, who, although unworthy, govern this province, declare frankly Brother Anthony belongs to us, as he himself wished. We do not demand this; but we, in all humility, ask the venerated chief pastor, the honorable council, and the faithful people of Padua, to grant our petition."

The petition was granted: the Sisters of Arcella graciously resigned their claim; peace was restored; and on the 18th of June, 1231-----five days after his death-----the body of Anthony was solemnly conveyed from the convent of the Poor Clares to the Church of Santa Maria, in Padua. It was a triumphal procession, participated in by the bishop, the clergy, the members of the University, the civil authorities, and vast throngs of the inhabitants. The noblest of the Padovani in turn carried the bier; a myriad flaming candles borne after it were as a wake of fire. Pontifical Mass was celebrated by the bishop; and, after the customary rites, the body was laid in a marble sarcophagus supported by four columns. From this shrine a flood of miraculous power issued. The blind saw, the deaf heard, the maimed walked, and the sick were healed. Even those who could not enter the church for the throngs that filled it to suffocation were cured in the presence of the multitudes without.

Toward the end of his life, by reason of his prolonged vigils, his continuous fasting, his arduous and unceasing labors, Anthony's form was wasted, his face haggard, his skin like drawn parchment; he was enfeebled to the verge of decrepitude. Those who looked upon his body after death found it restored to the incomparable beauty of youth. The smile of infancy played upon those fair features; a delicate flush suffused them; the limbs were once more softly rounded, and were pliable to the very last, as if he were but dreaming a sweet dream of rest. There he lay, wrapped in the innocent slumber of a child, fragrant as a dew-drenched rose-----a very lily of purity plucked in its perfect prime.

Continued Next Page.

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