CHAPTER 12
THE PRIDE OF PERU
D AWN FOUND the streets of Lima filled with people hurrying
to Don Gonzalo's house. Word of Rose's death had spread like wildfire, and
there was an eager rush to obtain relics. Among the first to arrive was Alfonsa
Serrano, a close friend of the dead girl.
"Last night Rose appeared to me!" she declared
excitedly. "I was sound asleep. Suddenly, a little after midnight, a
bright light shone in my room. In the middle of the light I saw Rose, dressed
as a Dominican Tertiary, and shining like the sun. She told me she had just
entered Paradise."
Father Alonso Velasquez, together with every other visitor
in the de Massa house, listened with interest to what Alfonsa had to say. This
girl had been one of Rose's most intimate associates. Indeed, the two had made
a bargain some years before: the one who died first was to appear to the other,
encouraging her to continue with prayers and good works.
"Rose seems to have kept her word," smiled the priest.
"She was dead only a few minutes when she came to tell you about the
beauties of Heaven. As far as that goes, she's appeared to several other people,
too-among them Doctor John del Castillo." All morning the crowds streamed
in and out of the tiny room where Rose had died. Strangely enough, no one felt
sad. The sight of Rose's body, the face more beautiful than they had ever seen
it, filled them with joy. There was a strange fragrance, too-as of freshly-cut
roses and lilies. It was everywhere in the de Massa house, but especially about
the body.
"I don't understand it," Maria de Oliva told
Father Alonso. "Surely it isn't coming from that plain little wreath of
flowers we put on her head!"
"It's a miracle, señora," the priest replied, smiling.
"God is taking this way to show us Rose is a saint."
As the hours passed and still more people thronged the
house, Doña Maria de Usátegui was repeatedly asked to show what keepsakes she
had of Rose. Accordingly, the miraculous statue of the Child Jesus, "The
Little Doctor," was put on display, together with a rosary, some holy
pictures, and other items. There was also a letter which Rose had written to
Doña Maria some years before. The letter was signed "Rose of Saint
Mary," the name so loved by Gaspar's daughter that she had taken it for
her own the day she became a Dominican Tertiary.
Looking at the letter, Maria de Oliva recalled that far-off
night when she had found her daughter fainting from hunger in her little garden
cell. At the time she had wanted to send Marianna to a nearby store to buy
chocolate and sugar with which to make a nourishing drink. But Rose had begged
that Marianna should not be sent. In a few minutes, she insisted, a servant
from the de Massa house would arrive with the hot chocolate already prepared,
because she had asked her Guardian Angel to tell Doña Maria of the sudden
attack of weakness.
"And so it happened," thought the mother. "In
the middle of the night there was a great knocking at the garden gate. When I
went to open it, there was the servant with a silver pitcher full of delicious
chocolate. Rose drank it and felt so much better. The next day she wrote this
letter to thank Doña Maria for her kindness."
Many other stories were told of Rose's gifts and virtues
during the hours her body lay in state in Don Gonzalo's house. Several of these
came from the Indian servant woman, Marianna. She, as well as Ferdinand (now a
soldier in Chile), had shared many a secret with Rose. Faces paled as Marianna
described Rose's heroic sacrifices, undertaken in the interests of sinners. For
years she had worn a spiked metal crown under her white Tertiary veil:
although, when the Jesuit priest, Father John de Villalobos, had heard of this
unusual mortification. he had been so upset that he insisted on blunting most
of the sharp points. Rose had also worn a chain about her waist, locking it in
place, then
throwing the key into the well near the back door. "One
night she couldn't stand this painful chain any longer," said Marianna.
"She sobbed and cried, and I knew I'd have to break the lock. But how,
without waking the family?"
Her hearers were silent, absorbed in the picture of heroic
generosity which her words painted so vividly.
"Go on, Marianna," said Father Alonso at last.
"Explain what happened."
"The blessed child began to pray to the Mother of God,
and the chain loosened of itself and fell at her feet!"
At the insistence of Father John de Lorenzana, a former
Provincial of the Dominicans, Marianna continued to relate other stories about
Rose's heroism. Finally Don Gonzalo requested permission to speak.
"I always knew Rose was a saint, Father John. Now, will
you please look at this?"
The priest turned to take the paper Don Gonzalo handed him.
It was a document, signed by Rose as she lay dying, requesting that the priests
of Santo Domingo grant her an alms: she begged to be buried within the cloister
of their convent.
"I felt every religious Order in Lima would want that
holy body." Don Gonzalo hastened to explain. "In order to avoid
trouble, I told Rose she would be practicing humility if she asked her
Superiors in the Dominican Order to give her a burial place." Father John
de Lorenzana examined the paper carefully. There was no doubt that Rose's
signature was authentic.
"It's nearly four o'clock," he said. "I
wonder if the body shouldn't be taken to Santo Domingo now. There are so many
people crowding this house. At the church there would be much more room."
So presently Rose was being escorted through the streets of
Lima for the last time. The crowds were so huge, so eager to obtain relics,
that the soldiers of the Viceroy who had been guarding the de Massa house had
to clear a way for the funeral procession. Everywhere-from balconies, from
windows and doorways-men and women tried to get a last look at Gaspar's holy
daughter. The air resounded with repeated cries as they begged Rose's blessing
from her place in Paradise. Nor did anyone seemed surprised that the six
pallbearers were members of the Audiencia, that very important group of men
which assisted the Viceroy in matters of government. They knew that nothing was
too good for La Rosita, their little Rose, who now was not only the pride of
Lima but the pride of all Peru as well.
Slowly the immense procession made its way to the Dominican
church. Gone were the usual distinctions between class and race. Spanish nobles
walked side by side with Indian beggars. Negro slaves found themselves elbowing
learned professors. Indeed, so dense was the crowd that Bartholomew Lobo
Guerrero, successor to Turribius as Archbishop of Lima, had been unable to get
to the de Massa house to head the procession. His carriage was forced to make a
detour and await the
body at Santo Domingo. At the church, the holy remains were
placed on an elevated platform near the sanctuary. A small space was kept clear
so that the sick might be able to approach and beg for cures. Rapidly the word
spread that the body was warm and flexible, as though life still remained. And
then there came a great cry of wonder as the Rosary Shrine, before which Rose
had loved to pray, was seen to be bathed in a glorious unearthly light.
"Another miracle!" thought Father Luis de Bilbao,
for fourteen years Rose's confessor. "The Mother of God herself pays honor
to our little friend."
Because it was the Peruvian custom for burial to take place
a few hours after death, preparations were soon being made to carry Rose's body
into the convent cloister where a grave had been prepared.
But such a cry arose from the people who had not yet secured
a relic that the Archbishop consented to postpone the funeral. It would be held
the next day, he said. In the meantime, the body would remain where it was, so
that everyone might venerate it with due devotion. During the night it would
lie in state in the novitiate chapel.
But the Archbishop's plan was to suffer a change.
When dawn came, and the body was returned to the public
church, the people of Lima refused to be parted from Rose. So loud was the
chorus of tearful prayers that the celebrants of the funeral Mass could
scarcely hear one another. The Bishop of Guatemala, Pedro de Valencia, could
not believe his senses. How was he to conduct the ceremonies at the grave if
such a hubbub continued?
Finally another order was given: The funeral would be
postponed for an additional twenty-four hours. At this good news a great wave
of relief swept through the crowded church. People cried for joy. Now there was
still a chance to claim a piece of the white woolen habit in which their dead
friend was clothed, or one of the beautiful roses which encircled her head.
As the hours passed, excitement reached an even higher
pitch. Everyone knew that several hopeless invalids had been cured after
touching the holy body. One of these, a Negro lad of twelve years, was
particularly in the limelight. He had been born with such badly crippled feet
that he had never been able to walk. He could only drag himself along on his
knees. Urged now by his great faith in the power of Rose's intercession with
God, he had somehow managed to reach the elevated platform on which her body
rested and had settled himself under it, behind the folds of the richly
decorated black velvet pall. No threats could dislodge him from his refuge. In
the end, La Rosita had been pleased with his prayers. She had granted him the
normal use of his feet, so that he might walk, run and jump like other children
his age.
"Look at the boy now!" said Don Gonzalo to his
wife. "Did you ever see such joy in a child's face? Why, he's positively
beaming! He's even helping other sick people to reach the body."
Doña Maria nodded. She had always believed that Rose Flores
was a saint. Now she knew the whole world agreed with her, and her heart sang a
Te Deum all its own.
But the Archbishop, Bartholomew Lobo Guerrero, was worried.
As the hours passed, he sought out the Prior of Santo Domingo.
"How many times has the body been clothed with a fresh
habit?" he asked. "Four or five?"
"Six times, Your Excellency. There's been an enormous
demand for bits of the habit as relics. Many people have scissors hidden in
their sleeves and even the Viceroy's soldiers cannot keep all of them from
reaching the body."
The Archbishop nodded. "Then we'll have a secret burial
this afternoon, Father-during the siesta. It's the only way."
The Prior realized the wisdom of the Archbishop's words. If
the body of Rose Flores was not buried soon, there was a chance it might suffer
serious injury from the great crowds.
"A secret burial," he said slowly. "Yes, Your
Excellency. I'll see that everything is in readiness."
Promptly at noon the Dominican church began to empty; soon
each door could be locked and bolted. No one showed surprise, for it was the
prevailing custom that everyone take a rest from twelve o'clock until three.
During these siesta hours there was little activity anywhere. Churches and
shops were closed, and the shutters on each house carefully drawn.
But this day there was no siesta at Santo Domingo, nor did
the Fathers of the community go to dinner as usual. Instead, priests and lay
Brothers came in silent procession to the spot where Rose's body was lying.
Tall wax candles flickered as usual, and there was the same sweet fragrance of
flowers.
Once more the onlookers' hearts marveled at the beauty of
this young sister in Saint Dominic who had been dead for thirty-six hours.
"Blessed be the day you came into the world,"
thought Father John de Lorenzana. "Pray for us, little Rose, now that you
are in Heaven!"
The pallbearers stepped forward to take up their holy
burden, and soon the procession had passed from the church into the cloistered
garden of the convent. No sound was to be heard but the rustle of rosaries and
the muted tread of the Fathers. This last farewell to Rose was of necessity a
secret affair, lest the citizens of Lima learn what was happening and attempt
to storm the church. But it was joyful nonetheless; there was happiness in
every heart as Gaspar's daughter was finally laid to rest. A girl had died; a
new saint now walked the courts of Heaven.
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