Peter, King of Aragon, at the approach of death, devoutly confessed all his sins and received the sacraments. After bidding his family farewell, he took a cross in his hands, lifted his streaming eyes to heaven, crossed himself three times, kissed the cross, and then said, "O Lord our Father, Jesus Christ our true God! into thy hands I commend my spirit. Deign by thy holy passion to receive my soul into paradise with the blessed St. Martin, whose festival Christians this day celebrate." And with his eyes still raised heavenward, he departed.[44]
When James, an unlearned lay brother of the order of St. Francis, came to die, he begged pardon of all his brethren, took a wooden cross from the head of his bed, kissed it, put it to his eyes, and then said, with tenderness, "Dulce lignum, dulces clavos, dulcia ferens pondera, quæ sola fuisti digna sustinere Regem cœlorum et Dominum," "O sweet wood, sweet nails, supporting a sweet burden! Thou alone wast worthy to sustain the King and Lord of the heavens." All around him were greatly astonished, for he was unlearned, and they had never heard him speak in Latin.[45]
We read in the life of St. Gertrude of the death of a young person, who from her infancy upward had always shown a real spirit of detachment from the world. When she found herself in the agony of death, she bade farewell to all who were present, promising to be mindful of them before God. Then turning in her sufferings toward the Heavenly Bridegroom, she earnestly said, "O Lord, who knowest the most secret thoughts of my heart, thou hast known how eagerly I have longed to spend all the powers of my being, even unto old age, in thy service; now that I feel thou desirest to recall me to thyself, all my desire of serving thee in this world is changed to such an ardent longing to behold thee, and be united to thee, that death, however bitter it may be to others, only seems sweet to me." She wished the sisters to read to her the account of the sufferings of our Saviour in the Gospel of St. John, and when they came to the words, "He bowed his head and gave up the ghost," she asked for a crucifix. She lovingly kissed the feet of the image of our Saviour, thanked him for his graces, commended her soul to his care, and then slept peacefully in our Lord.
Our own Mother Seton, though she saw the intense grief of all the community, and heard the sobs of her daughter, who fainted at her side, died with the most profound composure. Her whole appearance indicated peace and resignation. Lifting her hands and eyes to heaven, she said, "May the most just, the most high, and the most amiable will of God be accomplished for ever." Her last words were the sacred names of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
The poet Tasso, when informed that his last hour was at hand, not only received the warning without alarm, but, embracing the physician, thanked him for tidings so agreeable, and, raising his eyes to heaven, returned tender and devout thanks to his Creator that, after so tempestuous a life, he now brought him to a calm haven. From this time he did not speak willingly on terrestrial subjects, not even of that fame after death of which through life he had been most solicitous; but resigned himself wholly and with the liveliest devotion to the last solemn offices prescribed by his religion. After confessing with great contrition, and receiving twice the sacrament with a reverence and humility that affected all the beholders, he received the papal benediction humbly and gratefully, saying this was the chariot upon which he hoped to go crowned, not with laurel as a poet into the capital, but with glory as a saint to heaven. When he had arranged all his earthly affairs, he begged to be left alone with his crucifix and one or two spiritual advisers, who by turns sung psalms, in which he sometimes joined. When his voice failed, his eyes still remained fixed upon the image of the crucified Redeemer. His last act was to embrace it closely. His last words, "Into thy hands, O Lord."
I quote the following account of the death of the great Raphael, in the form of a letter from Cardinal Bibbiena:
"As I entered, he held in his hand a few spring flowers, which he let fall as I handed him the rosary. He pressed the cross to his lips and whispered, 'Maria.' His voice had a peculiar sound, clear but so low as to be scarcely audible. In the sick-room I found Count Castiglione, the good fathers Antonio and Domenico, the painter Giulio, and others. They had moved his couch to the window which stood wide open. Was it the effect of the softening light or of the approaching triumph? Raphael had never appeared more beautiful. His complexion was more roseate, and his thoughtful, brown artist-eyes larger and more luminous than usual. I told him what his holiness had requested me to say.
"'And so, dear Raphael,' I concluded, 'may the sympathy which the highest as well as the lowest feels for you, have the power to keep you long with us!'
"He smiled sadly.
"'You will, you must!' broke in Castiglione. 'Think what a longing for art your attainments have awakened within us. Think of your favorite plan to rebuild classical Rome, with its marble palaces and temples, its triumphal arches and picture galleries!'
"'Yes, I desired it,' replied he; 'and if God had granted me longer life, I should have succeeded.'
"'Do you still speak,' said I reproachfully, 'as if you would never recover?'
"'O father!' said he, 'the separation is not easy for me. If I could describe to you the longing which I have to retain the departing day! How my heart cherished the last ray of the sun that lingered on the hill! How beautiful is the world, how beautiful the faces of men! And now to take leave of them for ever—to sleep without hope of seeing the morrow!'
"'Beloved,' said I, 'do not forget that to-day the Saviour died, that we might throw off this mortal life and put on immortality.'
"'How should I forget Him from whom I have received every thing?' he answered softly. 'But even this mortal life was beautiful.'
"There was a moment's silence. Castiglione had taken Raphael's hand. The latter was looking through the open window at the distant hills that were lit up with the soft glow of the setting sun. Then his glance wandered, evidently in the direction of his thoughts, to the blue heavens, where the evening star looked down quietly like a messenger from the other world.
"'I shall see Dante,' said he suddenly.
"At this moment one of those present took the cover from Raphael's last picture, which hung on the wall opposite the couch. It is, as you know, an altar-piece—the Transfiguration. The sight of the immortal work, the dying master, the subject of the picture, and all remembrances associated therewith, overpowered us, and we wept aloud.
"His features began to change quickly, he spoke still, but wearily and without connection, though in significant phrases. Twice we heard those words of Plato, 'Great is the hope, and beautiful the prize!' He mentioned your name, too, and begged that you would lay your hand on his head.... The painter Giulio threw himself on the couch and wept in agony. I asked the others to kneel with me and pray for the dying.
"Once more Raphael revived, and, supported by two friends, arose and looked around with wide-open eyes.
"'Whence comes the sunshine?' murmured he.
"'Raphael!' cried I, and extended both hands toward him, 'do you recognize me?' For a moment it seemed as if he had not heard me, then he spoke again, and the holy calm of his expression, in spite of the death-struggle, bore testimony to his words, 'Happy.'... He did not speak again; but it was full night when a voice broke through the long stillness, 'Raphael is dead!'"
He died on Good-Friday, 1520, aged thirty-seven.
Besides these holy and edifying deaths, which might be continued indefinitely, we all have treasured up in our heart of hearts the sacred memory of some dear ones whose last words will go on vibrating in our hearts for ever.
"Oh! soothe us, haunt us, night and day,
Ye gentle spirits far away,
With whom ye shared the cup of grace,
Then parted; ye to Christ's embrace,
We to the lonesome world again;
Yet mindful of the unearthly strain
Practised with you at Eden's door,
To be sung on, where angels soar
With blended voices evermore."