Page 61 - FLIPBOOK - Life of Saint Gerard Majella - Vassall-Phillips

LIFE OF SAINT GERARD MAJELLA

by his Superiors that he was to stay in the house of a gentleman
named Papaleo. As the Saint had never been to Corato before, he
had no idea where his host lived. So he let the bridle fall loosely on
his horse's neck, and abandoned himself into the hands of Divine
Providence. The faithful animal went on quietly until it came to the
house of Papaleo, when it entered the courtyard.
“Can you tell me where Don Papaleo lives?” asked Gerard, on
seeing that they had come to a standstill.
“Why, Brother, here you are!” was the answer he received. The
Saint then dismounted, thanking God the while.
“Why, Brother, here you are!” was the answer he received. The
Saint then dismounted, thanking God the while.
Meanwhile, full of gratitude to God for his success, Gerard was
called away on other business to Muro. What, then, must have been
his pain and dismay on returning after a few days to discover that in
his absence all his work had been completely undone. To all
appearance once more it was useless to interfere. All prospect of
reconciliation had seemingly vanished into the grave of buried hopes.
Matters were even more serious than they had been before his first
arrival on the scene.
The man's wife, infuriated at the news that her husband had
promised to forgive the enemy of his house, had brought him the
blood-stained garments of their dead child, which she had always
carefully preserved. Then, in a terrible paroxysm of mingled grief and
rage, she had appealed to the unhappy father — by all the memories
which that sight recalled — was he going to be so base as to make
friends with the murderer of their poor boy? Yes, she continued, well
might he gaze at that blood. Still did it cry aloud to Heaven for
vengeance — a vengeance upon which, alas! it had not yet been hers
to feast her eyes. Pardon such a wretch! Never, to her dying day!
These wild and wicked words had their effect. To his grief, Gerard
recognized the fact that the last state of that man in the sight of God
was far worse than his first. He had steeled himself sternly against
every appeal that could be made. It seemed quite useless to speak to
him. Forgive he would not. His anger was implacable.
Still the Saint was not to be refused. He knelt down before the
injured parents, laid his Crucifix on the ground by his side, and asked
them were they prepared to trample on their Saviour's Wounds. This
they do who will not forgive. All, however, was as yet in vain. Their

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